All in the Family

2011-05-05T10:49:00.001-07:00

This weekend is a big one for the Hubby family down in Austin, Tx. It's Mother's Day, Dad's birthday, and special celebrations for my brother-in-law Grant who's turning 30 and has just earned his MBA (superstar). Since we can't be there in person, we decided to post a few short video snipits of our lives up here in the midwest. So much love!

2011-05-02T07:50:00.000-07:00

Just wanted a current picture up on my blog. Special thanks to Annie's Godparents for these adorable Easter dresses. Christ is Risen!

Annie

2011-02-08T08:32:00.000-08:00

Today Annie is five months old. Last year at this time I was three months pregnant and terribly nauseous. I was also still raw and shaky from Adrian's death; worried that I might also lose this baby.

Looking at this bright eyed, chunky little one today, it's hard to remember those feelings. I feel peaceful now - hypnotized by Annie's smile and extremely chubby legs. But somewhere in the back of my mind, I know. I know that more pain and worry and problems lie ahead. I know a little bit about tough times and it freaks me out to think of what may be to come. Thoughts like these make me want to crawl back in bed.

I don't, however. Crawl back in bed, that is. Not today at least. No, I get up and say prayers and drink lots of coffee and thank God for the tasks of the day that distract me from negative thoughts. Dn. Michael Hyatt has a podcast on AFR this week about fear. He says that thankfulness is its antidote - so I'm testing his theory.

It's in this spirit of gratitude that I write this blog. Participating in poetry Wednesday has seemed - well less than appealing up to now. Don't get me wrong. I've enjoyed reading your posts more than you know - it's just that locating a poem, picture and actually writing a blog has seemed an insurmountable task. Today, however, I have a poem to share, and I am grateful for this place to post it.

Dn Joshua Lollar and his family serve at St. Elizabeth's. The parish is 45 minutes (at least) from their home in South Bend, but they rarely miss a service. I read an article in The New Yorker once about a father's advice to his daughter. "Go to the funeral," he instructed. He goes on to explain that although perhaps a bit difficult or tedious, people are always worth the inconvenience. He was basically telling his daughter to, "be there" for others.

Both in our painful and joyful moments, people have, "been there," for us. Our friends and family helped us mourn the loss of Adrian, celebrate Annie's birth and experience her baptism. The Lollars are the kind of people that, "go to the funeral," and their support for others is almost tangible.

This beautiful poem was written by Dn Joshua for Annie on her baptism.

For Annie

Why must birth come through the waters,
Daughter Anya, are you born today where
Darkened depths are met by only
Deeper, running, mind,
Clothing for a glowing body?

Somewhere there are water shapes, for
Nights are days with colors near the edges
Looking in: the center ripe with
Time is running, slowly, silent,
Eyes and waters speaking clearly.

Only waters clothe the ground. You
Woke and there you found the world the face of
God: Adam is his eye and
Eve his eye, right and
Left and sometimes blind or light.

What is air but water in her
Memory? Her breathing winter silence
Thin and sharp and lost in backward
Longing by the seashore’s
Lonely watchfulness.

What is earth but water’s slower
Life? Always faulting lines to know her
Fluency and shining voice to
Be her own once more,
But the voice is so far faded.

What is fire but water’s fate and
Inward life where death and light become a
Mirror and a silver pool who
Look, astonished, into
One another’s lidless eyes?

Everything begins when motion
Goes to sleep and you at last awake, an
Eye returning to the moment
When the colors were the
Names of faces, hands, and feet.

16 January 2011
video taken by Jane Maddex with instructions to "put it on the blog."

Some new pictures

2010-11-02T08:59:00.001-07:00

I have trouble finding time to blog these days, but wanted to post a few pictures. My sweet dad got tickets for us to attend the Notre Dame football game last week. We got there early, had lunch with friends, rooted our hearts out, and returned in time for trick-or-treating. The perfect fall day.

Isabelle's day in the city

2010-07-09T08:20:00.000-07:00

When I was little, my mom took each of us on a "mother's day out." Basically it was a chance to have some one-on-one time with mom as well as get in a little shopping. Yesterday, I took Isabelle for a day in the city. We went to the zoo, shopped around, and visited the cultural center (they had an amazing Louis Sullivan exhibit). For a 6 year old, Isabelle was really taken with the Chicago architecture and began taking pictures of the sights. These are a few of my favorites.

Father's Day

2010-06-17T14:49:00.000-07:00

I love this picture of my dad. He's big and strong - and surrounded by so many kids.

As I look at this picture now, I think that he is actually about my current age. I realize - how he must have realized - that one never does feel grown up or ready for one's responsibilities.

In fact, how totally overwhelming it must have felt - to have so many children dependent upon him.

****

Throughout this pregnancy, Bobby has been amazing. Cooking meals without asking, taking the girls on errands when I seem spent and even bringing me little treats (magazines, icecream, coffee drinks) just to be nice.

I was thinking that it must take a little while for men to understand that having a baby is hard work - and some pregnancies are more difficult than others - some days more trying - and you never know how the physical demands will effect your ability to get things done.

But I have been so busy trying to make Bobby understand how I feel, that I have had little time to consider his position. For example, I decide to work - or not work with little more thought than considering if I have time to knit. For Bobby - whether to work would never be an option. The luxury of "considering what he's good at" is a thing of the past. There are scary financial concerns looming over him - concerns that I care about and then forget about...

****

Today I met my friends Beth and Jared at the airport. They were returning from Ethiopia with their new little baby, Lucia. What a precious little thing she is, too. But on my drive home, I kept thinking about Jared. He was hesitant to share much information about the trip - not because it didn't affect him - quite the opposite. The whole experience affected him too profoundly to speak of casually. What's more, I could already see adoration for that little girl in his eyes.

****
I guess I'm just starting to realize how much I have misunderstood - well men! Not that they're all the same or anything - but with the important men in my life, I think I've dismissed them in a way, simply because they communicate a bit differently than my female family and friends. I've misread and possibly misjudged - and this has prevented me from truly appreciating them.

So as I look at this picture again with fresh eyes, I see a loving father - who took time out to take his many children swimming. I see a dad who was willing to be silly, energetic, and patient - when there were more pressing things to be done - probably even a much needed nap! For skipping the nap and so much more, I want to thank you, Dad. I love you. Happy Father's Day!

Slip-n-slide

2010-05-25T10:57:00.000-07:00

"Weekend in Review"

2010-05-08T16:02:00.000-07:00

Sweet Molly prepares a "Week in Review" for her in-laws to see what the Chesterton Sabourins have been up to. Following her example, I've decided to post a little "weekend in review" for my family that's away.

Early Friday morning Bobby left for Guatemala. Although I haven't been able to talk to him by phone, we have emailed and he sent a couple of pictures:

Bobby at Vespers

Bobby with a resident of the Orphanage

I am so interested to hear details. From what he says, the orphanage is actually located in a violent section of Guatemala City and is surrounded by huge gates. The generous women of my book club here in Chesterton donated spiral notebooks, clothes, seeds for planting, and more for Bobby to take. We're so grateful for their help!

In his absence, the girls and I were faced with the choice of sitting around the house bickering or finding an adventure. We chose the later and decided on a children's museum in St. Joseph's, MI (about 30 miles up the lake Michigan coast):

Isabelle wants a rock climbing wall in our new house.

They both loved face painting!

Jane loved the water exhibit.

All in all it was a successful trip - complete only by the huge carousel ride!

Coming home is a different thing, though. It makes me realize just how much Bobby does with the girls! Thank goodness for our local library's plentiful supply of princess movies.

Oh - some other very good news: We found out Friday evening that Isabelle is accepted into Discovery Charter School. Check out the school's website - I think it looks really great.

I did want to include this, too:

Although a less than flattering shot, I had to include something that documented this pregnancy. I mean, I've reached the 6 month mark - Yea!!

Anyway - it's been a full weekend and we're only at Saturday night. Tomorrow Molly is having us over for Mother's Day. And while I would love to be celebrating your birthday with you tomorrow, Dad, and Mother's Day with you, Mom, I'm grateful that Tonya and Molly are just around the corner - especially with Bobby out of the country!

We love you all!

Mondays with Mary

2010-04-26T14:22:00.000-07:00

On Mondays, my little niece Mary comes to play. Although she's small in stature, Mary's personality is anything but little. She's a born performer with big ideas and big style and is the perfect companion for my two girls. She falls just about between them, age wise, and although there's always a few, "you huurt my feelings," for the most part there's harmony.

Today they played store - for hours. Representative of our crazy little town, their store featured baked goods, beaded necklaces and art. And with giggling girls as background noise, I was able to complete work for Ancient Faith Radio (most of which is due on Mondays) and Bobby was able to work mostly uninterrupted.

Thank you, sweet Mary. What would we do without you?

February 25

2010-02-25T04:43:00.000-08:00

Today my sister, Tiffany, would be turning 35. It's weird for me to think of her as "old," since that is something she never was. But she was my contemporary. Just 17 months younger than me, we hit developmental stages at roughly the same time and so my dreams of her continue in this fashion. I dream that she has kids too, or that (and I really like this one) she comes to visit and cleans my kitchen. When I wake from such dreams, I sometimes keep imagining. I picture her more than willing to stay in our cold basement (it serves as our guest room), but also could see her winning my little girls over and ending up snuggling in bed with them. I guess I will always really miss her - the her that she was when we were growing up, the tormented her of her 20s, but also all that she might have become.

This past week - well into Lent and still deep in winter snow - has seemed pretty dark. Part of it, I'm sure, is that I'm always sad this time time of year. My body remembers to grieve before my mind. Plus - the lack of light and fresh air really take it's toll. It's late February when I start looking for real estate in Texas and cursing the very snow that looked so picturesque just weeks before.

But it seems like like this February was worse than "normal." It's one thing to grieve, but quite another to despair. I wandered around for a few days feeling sorry for myself until I realized what was really going on. In truth, it has not been the pain of loss causing my sadness. No, embarrassingly enough, it was my choice to focus on the meaningless superficial distractions of life. Oh my house is just so small, our finances never improve - and on and on. I witnessed first hand how dwelling in the muck of greed, vanity or jealousy just poisons you.

To be honest, I was actually a bit grateful to come back to grief. There is something very pure about grief that forces you to face your faith head on. Is God real? And if He is, what the hell are you doing? I mean in the light of God's presence, my girls' lack of matching bedroom furniture seems awfully petty.

In the Orthodox Church, we refer to the Lenten experience as a "bright sadness." I love that - and in many ways, that is how grieving is for me. It's no doubt painful - but also beautiful, because behind it lies meaning, purpose - and God. Sin is not like that - sin just takes you down deeper into more insecurity, more pain and no hope.

This lent, Bobby and I are also celebrating another pregnancy. Only three months in, I'm still really nervous. The wound of losing our little baby Adrian is quite fresh - and I'm scared of feeling that pain again. What's keeping me going, however, is the realization that it is not grief or loss that causes despair. It's sin. I can truly feel more pain just sitting around focusing on the weight I'm gaining, the anthropologie catalogue, or our how we "never go to the city anymore." Isn't that ridiculous? Letting sinful thoughts percolate unattended, will inevitably lead to misery. And truly, I'm tired of that. As scary as it is, - I'd rather put forth the effort - for confession, prayers, services, communion that enable me to experience God's presence now.

Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy.

Through Isabelle's eyes

2010-02-10T18:28:00.001-08:00

For Christmas, Isabelle got a new camera. She's only six, so this was a pretty "big girl" present. But her grandmother and I knew (based on past history with her dolls) that she would care for it with the responsibility required. This past weekend she used the camera to document a conference we attended in Louisville. Both her daddy and aunt Molly spoke at the conference. I was glad she was there to capture the event.

More interesting to me, though, was flipping through the photos on her pink digital "vivicam" - viewing what she chose to capture. (Yes, the ones of me on the phone were a bit eye opening). It made me thankful that she was being exposed to Christian adults - who treasured both her and their faith. But mostly it made me keenly aware that she was real - a little person observing, listening, and absorbing the life around her.

I remember worrying so much about the type of foods I was eating when I was nursing Isabelle. I wanted so desperately to give her the highest quality of nutrition possible. How much more important are my words, my responses, my attitude towards her - and to her dad. Yikes.

During her speech, Molly passed out a copy of a prayer. It's called simply, "Parents Prayer" and it made me cry when I read it. It made me realize how many times I have confused impatience and irritation with discipline.

"Oh Heavenly Father, make me a better parent," the prayer begins. "Teach me to understand my children, to listen patiently to what they have to say, and to answer all their questions kindly. Keep me from interrupting them or contradicting them. Make me as courteous to them as I would have them be to me...Reduce, I pray, the meanness in me. And when I'm out of sorts, help me, O Lord, to hold my tongue. May I ever be mindful that my children are children and I should not expect from them the judgment of adults..."

Oh my precious little Isabelle, forgive me! I hope that as I parent you, I can learn to look a bit more though your eyes - instead of always pushing my own mom agenda. Oh - and thank you for giving me permission to use your photos on my blog! You're one amazing little girl.

Do what you can

2010-01-15T16:47:00.000-08:00

Today at Molly's house, we discussed the tragedy in Haiti. Impulsive and sad, I contemplated adopting Haitian orphans. Not really a plan of immediate assistance considering I would have to find an agency, do a home study, get accepted and pay 20,000. Perhaps a goal to work towards...

Anyway, Molly had a much more realistic plan. International Orthodox Christian Charities (IOCC) is requesting assistance assembling emergency hygiene kits. Molly suggested that we request donations from our friends and neighbors and send the kits to IOCC. So, Molly, dear friend Kris, and I constructed the following email. We sent it to our local paper, our parishes, email tree and as many facebook friends we could think of in Northwest Indiana. I gotta say, planning has it's place, but actually doing something really feels great!

Greetings,

We are gathering much needed supplies for relief efforts in Haiti.The IOCC (International Orthodox Christian Charities) organization is asking for assistance in assembling desperately needed emergency hygiene kits. We (Paige, Kris, and I) will assemble these kits on SATURDAY, JANUARY the 23rd. We need your help!! Please review the following list and consider picking up, while your at the store, a few of these essential items. You can drop them off at my house (see address below) anytime before Saturday! If you have any questions, let me know!

Items needed:

hand towels
washcloths
combs
metal nail file or nail clippers
bars of soap (bath size, new and wrapped in original packaging)
toothbrushes (NO TOOTHPASTE)
Band-Aids
one gallon zip lock bags
monetary donation towards shipping costs

Thank you sweet Molly for helping me live today. Thank you, Kris, for your ever present desire to help and serve - it's contageous!

Click HERE to find out more about IOCC's haitian relief efforts.

Eating

2009-12-31T18:10:00.000-08:00

So now I am into eating. Really, I'm into shopping for the food, making the food, the science of making the food and the people who made making food great. At the top of my list is my mother - whose chicken pot pie will nourish your soul. Next is Julia Child. I realize that it is quite cliche - and even a bit lame and after the fact to be a Julia Child fan now - but I mean really! I had no idea. Thank you big blockbuster.

I mean aside from the liberal, communist, and politcal packaging, Julia Child was pretty amazing. I mean no wonder she inspired Julie Powell (who disappointingly went on to cheat on her husband and write a weird book about meat) but the point is, that was a woman committed to creating quality food for her husband and friends (and herself). She was opposed to taking the easy way out with mixes and margarine. The media honors her as a feminist - whatever - I think she's on to something. In fact, I think that her integrity, sense of humor and love for her husband have done more for me than even she would like to acknowledge.

For Christmas I made Beauf Bourgenon. I can't even spell it, but I did make it. I took time to purchase quality ingredients, set aside time for recipe assembly - I even got the right pot (thanks John and Tonya). It was marvelous. People clapped and I wore pearls. Tomorrow I am making her Chocolate Almond Cake and I'd like to think that my beloved grandmother, Patsy Beth Parker would look down on me and smile.

Here are a few pictures of our Christmas Season:

Much love to you all - Happy New Year - and of course, bon appetite!

Thankfulness

2009-11-28T07:49:00.001-08:00

Molly's memorable blog picture of herself in a pilgrim's hat has prompted me post this picture. To be thankful means that you have to be present - not looking ahead or behind. Today my sweet little family went to see A Christmas Carol - in 3D. Today I am thankful for my enthusiastic husband who LOVES holidays, my cooking, movies, and our girls.

Thank you

2009-11-20T13:01:00.000-08:00

Bobby and I would like to thank all of our friends and family for their support during the past two weeks. Please click on this LINK to hear a special thank you from Bobby.

Grieving

2009-11-10T13:19:00.000-08:00

As many of you know, last week we found out that our little baby didn't have a heart beat. Because I was already almost 5 months, I had to deliver the tiny body - only confirming my belief that life starts at conception. Holding this fully formed little being, I had to face the extent of our loss - a little boy, who Bobby says resembled me.

When I first learned that the baby had died, I wanted to run away. I wanted to magically return to the time last summer before I got pregnant - and pretend like this whole sad time hadn't occurred. The D and E procedure that the hospital offered almost made this seem possible.

But I have to tell you (and really my willingness to experience the birth so fully came from my dear friends Matushka Jenny and Matushka Stephanie) that delivering that precious boy brought me joy. Oh don't get me wrong - it brought me sadness, too. And certainly the medical crap that followed was far from enjoyable. But I truly realized in that moment that the veil between life here and eternal life is thin.

Thank you all for your many emails, facebook comments, flowers, meals, calls and tears. Thank you for keeping my children, keeping friends updated when I couldn't, for calling funeral homes, for flying in, for sending comfy sweats and cozy socks, for physically constructing a coffin (wow, Fr. John!!!). Thank you for experiencing this with us - for validating our grief and participating in our little one's departure from this life to the next. The Church is real and Christ is risen. I love you all, Paige

The Flu

2009-10-30T08:07:00.000-07:00

Well, we've reached day 10 of this ridiculous flu. Not trying to be overly optimistic, but I believe we've turned a corner! Fevers are normal, coughs are decreasing, and the girls are actually starting to play around (ie move off the sofa)!

Community

2009-10-13T17:11:00.000-07:00

"What are you doing today?"

"Oh, I'm just going to pick up Mom - we're meeting Nancy (a precious relative) for lunch. Then tonight I guess we'll just rent a movie or something."

"Hmm...you and Grant?"

"No, I'm going to stay at Mom and Dad's. Bethany and Erin are coming over."

"Hmmm."

This is an example of a typical phone conversation between me and one of my sisters. I live far away - in Chesterton, Indiana, they all live in Austin, Tx. They see each other - not every day - but regularly - and certainly more than I am able to see them. It seems they're always doing wonderfully fun things together - shopping, lunch out, wine and dinner with Mom and Dad. But it's not the activities I miss (although they do sound dreamy) it's them. It's the feeling of belonging that is so wonderful and intoxicating. Growing up in a family of 6 kids meant that you were rarely alone. Frustrating at times, but incredibly comforting. It was one thing to be away when we were all teenagers and young adults - struggling to find our paths - but now that we are putting down roots and having kids, it's painful.

This week, on The Orthdox Moviegoer, Bobby talks about community He discusses the film, Into the Wild, and beautifully describes the importance of other people to our lives and our faith. He talks lovingly of our own parish and how much he cares for the people in it. I got teary listening to him.

This weekend, I attended the second annual girls getaway with my dearest friends - most of whom live just a couple hours away. See Molly's blog for beautiful pictures and a more thorough description. It was wonderful and considering those dear friends combined with the community we have in Chesterton has left me feeling richly blessed. I mean, I can walk to Molly's, to my priest's, to our church, to my friend, Kris's, drive 2 minutes to my in-laws, and have my precious brother around - I'm really lucky. And while my heart will always ache to be a part from my sisters and parents, I am so grateful for those around me and my little family. Bobby's right, we need people.

Here are some pictures of us having fun with our friends:

Birthday Girl

2009-09-30T07:44:00.000-07:00

Someone in my house loves birthdays almost as much as her Daddy! Jane giggled and sparkled all day on Saturday, September 26th. And who could blame her? It's big stuff, turning 3 - punctuated by many, many cinderella type presents. We now own enough polly pockets to start our own ebay store - but I'm finding it practical to have spares (especially with our dog, Lola sneaking tiny shoes and dresses for snacks).

We started off the day with Fruitloops, headed to the county line apple orchard and ended the day with pizza at Nuni and Pappy's. My mom sent her a special birthday tutu - to celebrate in style - and we let her open presents all day long. What more could a 3 year old ask for? Apparently nothing, as jane declared more than once that this was, "her best birthday ever!"

p.s. molly took this amazing photo!

Bobby

2009-09-10T10:38:00.000-07:00

I'm not a mushy, romantic sort of girl. I'm just not. My sister-in-law can gush about the crush she had on her husband when they first met and continue to explain how her love has grown into a beautiful whatever - and I can't do that. My sister can speak so purely about the love she has for her husband - and how she misses him so when he works long hours. Again - not me. I used to wonder if the romantic part of me was broken or missing or just covered up by plans and to do lists. All I knew was that romantic talk made me feel strange and false and mostly just really embarrassed.

Anyway - Bobby has always accepted and loved me for who I am. Romantic and sweet - or not. Lately, though, I have not even been kind. Granted, I am 11 weeks pregnant and sicker than ever. I feel like I've just gotten off that centrifuge ride at 6 flags - all of the time. But it's no excuse. Cognitively I know that, but emotionally I just want to be mean to someone and I'm fairly certain after 15 years, he's going to stick around regardless.

It's not that he's doing anything "wrong," either. To the contrary, he's making dinners, taking Isabelle to the bus, and folding laundry. I would have been stunned by such behavior 6 years ago. But it's never enough for me. It's never the exact way I'd do it - plus It's not giving me my energy back and that's all I really want anyway.

So this past week, i've just sort of given up. I met with the doctor - heard my little baby's heartbeat and was told to just lay low for the next couple of weeks. "The nausea will pass," everyone including the doctor keep telling me. And one of my sisters (not the mushy one) has advised me to just keep my mouth shut until it does. Good advice, actually.

So I'm just sitting in my sick chair - the one in the living room that has my computer/phone/book/ice water/&snacks placed conveniently beside it so that I do not have move and thus jar the nausea into action. Anyway, so I'm sitting here - being still and quiet, when Bobby brings me a cd.

He has used his i-tunes gift card to make me a cd. A cd of all of my favorite girly folk songs that are hard to find on lala - and whose cd's and tapes we have lost several moves past. As he plays it - Dar Williams, Shawn Colvin (pre- sunny comes home), Nancy Griffith, and obscure Indigo Girls come tumbling out of the speakers reminding us both of hours spent in used music stores in Charlottesville, DC, Chicago and Austin. And of still more hours harmonizing with Amy and Emily while road tripping.

Bobby has moved way past such 90s girly folk music. The Deadweather, Yacht, and the Woods are more his scene. I'm sure there were a million songs he wanted to spend his gift card on. Yet he made this for me. To cheer me up. It made me teary - I love him so much.

A Colorado Girl

2009-08-17T17:09:00.000-07:00

There's just something magical about the Colorado Rockies - and my family's ties with this colorful state run deep. I know my great grandmother, Grandmom Ivy had a ranch in Colorado and I can remember visiting it - well after it had been sold - the new owners more than willing to let my mom tour the place that held so many of her childhood memories.

Some years after the ranch - mid to late 50s - my grandfather, Robert Escar, discovered a mountain lake perfect for catching Rainbow Trout and surrounded by the majestic collegiate Peaks. He began routinely taking his sweet little family to Taylor Reservoir during the summers. As newlyweds my parents continued his tradition easily enough, as they lived in Denver, and could escape to the mountains on the weekends.

Visiting the Rockies proved more of a challenge for my parents, however, once they moved back to Texas and began having children. They had lots of children (6) and car space - even in a Suburban - proved scarce. But the challenge intensified the joy - and Christmas morning presents couldn't compete with the excitement my sister and I felt the night before a trip to Colorado. We would stuff our pillowcases full of dolls/doll clothes, books, and stuffed animals (and later tapes, headphones and magazines), totally breaking the "one toy" rule set by my parents earlier that day. We would wake up unbelievably early - the Texas air already thick with heat and humidity - and try to help my poor outnumbered parents pack 6 kids, a huge cooler, bags of whole foods snacks and a million suitcases in the car before sunrise. That was our goal - to leave while it was still dark. Somehow, my parents did it though, every summer. And Colorado would lay before us, promising relief from the stifling heat, and from the stress that accompanies trying to provide for and raise a large family.

I introduced my husband to Colorado the year we married. We went in the winter this time, and although Bobby is incredibly athletic, he had had limited skiing/snowboarding experience. His approach was to tackle these new endeavors head on, full force. We laugh to this day at a video of him crashing into a grove of trees on a sled. A couple of years later, Bobby and I drove to the mountains from Chicago. I was a bit disappointed - the drive was different. From Tx, you drive up from the base of the Rockies - small foothills becoming bigger and more beautiful as you approach Ra ton Pass. From Chicago you drive through Iowa - which is sort of hilly and really green - and then through miles and miles of flat cornfields being drenched in pesticides. The mountains don't start until you reach Denver - which really doesn't lend itself to the same type of build up as the TX trek. But it still proved a wonderful trip - the perfect anecdote to city life.

This summer our Colorado trip was scheduled for August. We live in a small town now - surrounded by farms - and the weather this July has been unseasonably cool. I was excited to see my family - but wasn't feeling the desperate pull to get to the mountains that I had in years past. Plus, I had just found out that was (am) pregnant. I found out because of a pervasive nausea. The thought of driving 1000 miles seemed daunting. But I did it - to see my dear family - and in to continue a 50 year tradition. To be honest, I wasn't expecting much.

We took I-70 west from Denver, however, and I became giddy. Bobby and I could smell the pine trees and caught a bit of a passing mountain rain. The temperature dropped, huge peaks loomed ahead, and we could feel our ears pop as we climbed. It was magical.

By the time we got to the cabin - I was transformed. There's just something about the mountain air that makes you feel alive. The people in the mountain towns know it - and have moved there because of it. In addition (or intead of) their day jobs, they rock climb, bike, hike, raft, ski - they're all fit and tan and you know their toddlers wear merrils and can snowboard. Organic food stores abound and you can almost see that healthier version of yourself hiking one of those 14,000 footers.

And then we get there - the last to arrive - welcomed at the driveway by a huge crowd. My siblings have families and busy lives now - the fact that we are all there, together is amazing in and of itself. And so the week progressed - too quickly. We slept in, read on the deck, swam in the natural springs, biked, took walks and shared many lovely meals together. At night we played games and laughed until we couldn't see straight. Magical, indeed.

GO JANIE, GO!

2009-07-23T15:31:00.000-07:00

When I was a little girl, I was pretty confident. I was first to raise my hand in class, introduced myself and my siblings to "new people", and even challenged babysitters on their competency. By fifth grade, I had written a letter to president Reagan, contacted Yale university about their entrance requirements and started a little business doing neighborhood chores that payed for my first puppy.

My weak point was athletics. More specifically, it was running relay races. I LOATHED them. Inevitably some annoying red head boy with freckles and a stopped up nose would observe loudly, "that girl is SOOO SLOW!"

It seemed to me, like some mean prank. I talked fast, thought fast, had big fast plans, even bordered on hyperactive, yet as my sister later joked, "was at odds with the physical world." I clearly remember entering a new school and having to do relay races on the first day as an "icebreaker." It was a private school and we raced down this weird carpeted hallway (I promise this was not a dream). I was on the purple team and the races last all week during recess. Each night before school I would pray that I could somehow, miraculously find SPEED. I never did. I found that feigning a fall sometimes helped (although other times it would look obvious and make matters way worse).

Anyway, I'm older now - more sure of myself and my body - I've had two babies and now take a class at the Y (ymca) called "ZUMBA." I just adore Zumba. It's like Jane Fonda meets the club scene - in Miami. So I've been going to this crazy Latina dance party aerobics class for about 8 months now. Some weeks I get there more than others, but recently I've been going a lot - 3 to 5 times a week. I've even started dressing a little more Zumba-ish (tighter, tankier clothes) and feeling pretty good.

So anyway, I'm dancing my heart out one morning - neither my sister-in-law or good friend were there, so I was really givin' it all I got. "Wow, I look good," I was secretly thinking to myself. I mean, granted, it was a skinny mirror, but heck, I was really getting the hang of this.

Then I went to get a drink in between songs. I was pouring sweat from my efforts and a bit had gotten into my eye. "Is this your first time at Zumba," a voice asked. I wiped my eye and could see that it was the girl who had been standing behind me. My first time? What?

I'm not kidding, I nearly hit her. That would have been bad. A sad ending to my family's Y membership. And then I realized: dang, I've been coming for 8 months, that really stinks that you thought that. What a reality check - I mean I truly thought that I was co-teaching that girl. Visions of the purple team relay race came swirling into focus. My sister-in-law told me later that that girl was probably just making small talk. Sure.

Needless to say, it has been pure joy watching my oldest daughter Isabelle conquer the physical world. From the time she was teeny tiny, she has attempted to lift, climb, race just about anything that has entered her path.

My daughter Jane has been a different story. Softer, slower, she entered the world verbally rather than physically. I thought she was a girl after my own heart - or body, rather.

Well...getting to the point, this Sunday, Jane surpassed my athletic ability, shattering a box I had put her in. At the church carnival, she raced (gleefully, willingly) and BEAT her opponent (a stunning 2 year old male). Yes, Gabe may have been distracted by the toy whistle or lollipop that he had in his mouth. He may have misunderstood the object of a relay race (since he is only two). However, my daughter won the race. And instead of murmurs of, "wow, that girl is really slow " there was a soft, continuous chanting, " Go, Janie, Go."

Cherries

2009-07-10T16:01:00.000-07:00

So today Isabelle, Jane and I went on a fieldtrip to Niles, Mi with our sweet friends Kris, Mikey and Del (in fact, today Del turned 2! Happy Birthday, little guy). Anyway, we picked cherry after sour cherry - eating them, squishing them and dribbling them all over our clothes. The kids were bored quickly, and chose instead to play "Sleeping Beauty" in between trees. That left Kris and I to fill our enormous buckets by ourselves. Luckily the weather cooperated - neither raining nor blazing hot - and within a couple of hours, we were rinsing them in big metal buckets and waiting our turn at the pitter (yes, free pitting) what could be better!

Now, hours later, I'm cherrying it up - jam, pie, even a sour cherry martini to start the evening off in style!. Nothing's turning out too well - I mean, I really prefer wine to sour cherry martinis and the jam looks both too runny and too chunky at the same time, but hey, these cherries came off the tree today! They weren't shipped from goodness knows where, sitting on a truck for days and touched by who knows how many hands. No way.

So visiting Lehman's Tart Cherry Orchard clarified something for me. In all honesty, it was not just the Orchard, but rather a heartfelt conversation with Molly, countless brainstorming sessions with Zach and a quick catch-up conversation with my talented artist sister, Bethany. Regardless, our little business (maddex media relations) is refining it's approach. What I want to do - what really energizes and excites me, is encouraging others. Weird, right? but what I want to do it promote the underdog. Any small business, artist, author or friend who needs help promoting their work. Fortunately Zach is technologically and mathematically skilled. With the installation of our new programs (the Adobe Creative Suite along with Dreamweaver and the new microsoft office) we are preparing to offer professional graphic design services. Hmmm - if only we knew an artist/photographer that needed a job...(Just kidding, Bethany, you can do freelance work for us where ever you are).

This doesn't mean that I don't want to become the premier Orthodox Christian Publicist, I do! It's just that I think that will unfold in time. I'm building contacts, logging experiences and learning about book promotion. In the meantime, however, Sander's Dairy Farm sells fresh milk, local honey and Amish butter. They just opened a store and we need to get the word out! My dear friend Kris is an amazing florist. Although she's busy making cheese, ruhbarb soda and parenting four kids, her beautiful arrangements have made a name for herself. She's quite talented and is taking clients! The wedding arrangements she does are fabulous! Just check her blog.

All in all, this is just a great time in my life. Cooking, gardening, encouraging my friends and community, learning about my girls and how to parent them - these are fun and interesting endeavors. Stay tuned to see this reflected on our website!

The Bright Side

2009-06-15T19:55:00.000-07:00

It has been so long since my last post. I have many excuses, not the least of which is the lack of a camera. For a while I was taking pictures on Bobby's phone - but as of May something or other the phone file filled to capacity and it is beyond Bobby or I how to unfill it. Ridiculous and a bit like my parents (no offense Mom or Dad) but true.

So, supposing I did have a camera...

I would take a close up of Isabelle - crazy curls highlighted from our days outdoors - and show you the space left by her tiny bottom tooth that now sits in an envelope under her pillow. (I keep praying I won't forget to replace the tooth with a dollar bill - how horrible that would be?). She is very proud, and I love to watch her preen in front of our dining room mirror - sticking her tongue in and out of that space. You can actually watch her growing up - it's happening that quickly.

My garden, on the other hand, is NOT growing. I guess I would take a picture of that, too - sad little tomato plants, wilted bean stalks, and yellowed cucumber leaves. You've really gotta hand it to those farmers. I could get kind of down about that - and other losses, really.

I've been thinking a lot about having another baby. So much so, actually, that I called the dr from the Mayo clinic to see what he thought about another pregnancy. The conversation was anticlimactic. He said he had no idea what to expect as my condition is so rare.

I also have been daydreaming about a house on the next street (grass is always greener, right?). It's much bigger and prettier and right across the street from Molly, Troy and the cousins. I ran into the woman who owns it and she said that she would like to sell it in a couple of years...So there I go crunching numbers; planning and wasting time figuring out how we could buy it.

Yet in the meantime, I have a great house. While my vegetable garden is piddly, my flowers are beautiful. Blue hydrangeas are blooming, as are three different types of roses, snapdragans, gerber daisies and and lavender. What's more, my brother has discovered that hardwood lies under linolium (which is under carpet). This weekend he pulled almost all of it up and the wood is beautiful! Quite a nice surprise. I would love to have had a picture of him working on those floors!

I remember always doing this - looking ahead. When I was in junior high I could wait until highschool. I was desperate to be "on my own" yet not long after starting college, I couldn't wait to get married. But, a year and a half ago, after being so sick, I was happy to just be alive. I wish I could hold on to that perspective - it's elusive...

If my camera was working, I would take a picture of my adorable Jane - sleeping in her own bed (no more crib) - looking nothing less than angelic with her white blond ringlets fanned out in a circle on her pillow.

I do have one picture. I had the opportunity to stay with my dear friend, Jen, who has recently had an adorable baby boy. Because my little ones are a bit more independent, I was able to go with my best friends to visit sweet Jen. What a gift. Molly took this picture and I like it because sitting there in the midst of good friends, holding a newborn, it reminds me to be content in the moment.

Determined

2009-04-30T17:06:00.000-07:00

Ok - so now the day is done and the laundry sits in big mounds in my basement. There's dirty dishes everywhere (even on the back porch - because I couldn't fit them on my counters). The day's emails are unanswered - and I know there was more book promoting that I could have been doing. But - today I made LASAGNA.

It's in capitals because this is different from your everyday lasagna. You betcha. This is certainly different from the packaged "Amy's" single serving lasagna I used to eat in the teacher's lounge when I was a school counselor and needed something to get me thru the day.

No, this was make your own ricotta, make your own pasta, stick it to the man kind of cooking. This was, I am more than a consumer, Whole Foods has nothing on me, I may move out to a farm kind of lasagna. Yes and "I don't mean maybe" - as my mother used to say when she was being really firm.

Last night I edited Fredrica Matthewes-Green's AFR podcast for this week. It was written when her granddaughter was a newborn and was published in Again magazine during manic Christmas shopping season. She spoke of the "Hypnotic Mall." You know the kind - with all of the people and lights and action that you turn to a zombie and make you buy lots of stuff you don't need. She then talked about how years ago mothers were teachers and chefs and artists and now they buy stuff. I'm paraphrasing, of course. You should listen to it, because it's inspiring.

Anyway, I woke up today and decided that this day, I would not be a just a consumer . No way. I've already found this amazing man that sells raw milk (for animal consumption only, ofcourse, since it's illegal to sell raw milk in Indiana). I was going to make lasagna with real fresh ricotta and homemade noodles and local beef - yes, and dangit, it took me all day - so I don't really understand how those Italian women did it without their pasta rollers and blogs to brag on - but...

I did make it. And sure, part of the reason I'm blogging is to stretch the oohs and ahhs, but I'm also blogging about it because our culture doesn't really support this kindof slowness. It's not acceptable to waste your whole day cooking. But why not? Because it's so much better to spend your day driving around or hurrying or doing weird marginally important errands? Isn't this day important enough?

Well, for my weird little household (remember, my 20 something brother lives with us) today was important enough. each individual in this house was important enough. And while I may not do this everyday (no one needs that much saturated fat in one sitting) today was quite special.

The Angel Cried

2009-04-20T09:59:00.000-07:00

My girls singing "The Angel Cried" - directed by their cousin, Ben. Off key and adorable!

Hope

2009-04-14T09:41:00.000-07:00

So I haven't written in a while. It's not that things haven't been happening, but rather that I haven't known what to think about them. To update you on my gardening attempts, my first round of seeds all died. This was extra discouraging given all of the attention we gave them.

My lenten journey has looked a bit like my battle with the seeds—seemingly barren. My local weather cooperated by offering an appropriately bleak backdrop.

It's just really overwhelming to try to be like Christ. He's so...perfect. He helped all those people and still managed that intensely ascetic life. And I feel really grumpy without whipping cream in my coffee - plus I'm sure I'm hypoglycemic and protein deficient (I mean, not the protein powder kind of protein deficiency, the tasty kind - like that from a bacon cheeseburger kind of deficiency).

Some scary things happened this lent. I experienced some abdominal pain - probably just the flu - but I really thought I was on the way back to the hospital for CT Scans. I'm fine now, but that week felt like a dark time.

My brother moved up here with us. Now, he's not scary, he's adorable, but it's kind of a risky move. He's just out of college and needing a job - we need help - it seemed like a win-win situation. Then he got here and I started to panic. What was I thinking? I was ruining his career, possibly creating a chaotic situation. Our financial situation surely couldn't support this. My girls, our dog and the mess are surely going to drive him insane.

But now we're into Holy Week and my mindset is starting to shift. Zach's starting to settle in - and it turns out that he's really good at this job - he's computer savvy, dependable, confident on the phone, knows about things I've never heard of (like finance), and plus he does the dishes. We've actually named our little company maddex media relations and we're quite busy!

My girls love to have their uncle around - he and Bobby play basketball with Isabelle each weekday. Jane thinks he's hilarious (and only a little scary) and Bobby has someone to watch weird movies with. From my end, Zach's working out great and I'm honored to have him here. I mean I hate doing the dishes!

Last night we reading about the Bridegroom services on the first 3 days of Holy Week in the Orthodox Church. I was reading to the girls about the 10 virgins (I think I paraphrased princesses) who were waiting for the Bridegroom. Five were prepared and five let their lights burn out. I have spent so much of my life flighty and unorganized that I'm terrified of being unprepared! But just as I run around doing things trying to force "preparations" - cleaning house, making Pascha treats, etc, etc. I read about tonight' service. It's about the pharisees eating with Jesus - and then in comes the "sinful woman" wiping Jesus' feet with her tears. I mean how beautiful is that story - but also how wise is the Church is to place that story here - lest we get unbalanced by last night's reminders?

This last week has marked a shift in Bobby, too. After several difficult weeks of working, feeling frustrated and overwhelmed, he's seeing some results of his efforts. His work for AFR is becoming more manageable. He's completing articles for this quarters' SALVO and has just produced his new podcast, The Orthodox Moviegoer.

And Isabelle has found shoes that fit (no small feat)! Thanks, John and Tonya!

We still have a lot of work to do, this week. The girls' room is in shambles.

Clothes need ironing (this precious dress was my sister, Tiffany's).

But my next set of seeds are sprouting. Ironically, I spent much less time on them. My daffodils and tulips are blooming, too - and Pascha is less than a week away.

To my precious family who has just celebrated Easter, Christ is Risen! And wishing all of my Orthodox friends and family a blessed Pascha!

A Youtube video we stumbled upon

2009-03-20T15:46:00.000-07:00

I can't get over this - It's absolutely beautiful. We have no idea who put this together - but it's amazing.

Gardening

2009-02-27T16:29:00.001-08:00

We came home from forgiveness vespers Sunday afternoon - ready (in theory) to begin Great Lent. I had been shopping at Costco, purchased my weight in hummus, and felt almost "prepared" for the 40 days without meat and dairy. (Mise en place as Martha Condra explains on this weeks WHEAT WINE AND OIL.

Forgiveness Vespers is both my favorite and least favorite service. For those who haven't experienced it, it's a beautiful but rather chaotic service that ends with each of us asking forgiveness of EVERY other parishioner. It's kind of embarrassing and sometimes you bump heads (because there's bowing and kissing of cheeks). You invade one another's space and smell their breath - and it nearly paralyzes my daughter Isabelle with fear (she's not a hugger), while two year old Jane can't get enough. "Forgive me, dada" she repeated all afternoon - in a regal Audrey Hepburn sort of voice.

So I came home, ate approximately 25 milk chocolate candies and fell asleep. Not the "mmm really needed that rest" kind of nap, but a "block out the hideous mess around me" type. When I awoke, I felt worse. There's something so utterly humbling about apologizing to so many people - it forces you to look a little deeper. There's something about looking your husband, your children in the eyes and publicly asking for their forgiveness that causes you to forget the petty grudges you've held and realize how you may have injured them. In short, I came home and saw things more clearly.

Not to "confess" here on the blog - but I did realize that I have really fallen short particularly in the homemaking department. I mean I bake bread and do fun domestic things - but the daily tasks (the unseen ones that require patience and discipline and servant hood - like laundry) are really sub par. I mean I can't even tell you about my library fines. There's a lack of structure and order in my home that is inefficient if not destructive.

But as I picked myself up after that nap, I thought of Jonah - first running away from God and then returning. I thought of how Fr. Bill told us today to forgive one another but also to forgive ourselves - because there's work to be done.

Man, there is so much work to be done! Good work - His work. I used to think that I was only doing God's work if I was a missionary in Africa or working in a homeless shelter. While those can be so valuable, I've got plenty to do right here. And so my struggle this Lent is to do my daily work more patiently, more thoroughly...

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For some Christians, it seems the temptation is to get lost in details of the fast - almost obsessively checking labels for hidden dairy - and forgetting that the Resurrection is always close by. I have the opposite problem. From my Calvinist and rebellious roots, I remember the Resurrection, but struggle with the discipline and patience needed to participate in this beautiful season. I'm quick to cut corners, make exceptions, and excuse myself from obligation - justifying my behavior - I mean I wouldn't want to be a Pharisee! What I'm starting to realize, however, is that the more excuses I make, the more I miss out. Or in other words, the more I participate - give myself over to the rules and details, the more I gain! I gain not from pride at my own minuscule successes, but because my own arrogance and "logic" is put aside.
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Last week, the girls and I started a garden. Ha Ha - it's 20 degrees outside - what we started looks nothing like a garden. Tiny little seeds were placed in a smidgen of dirt in egg cartons. These little guys require a lot of work - I mean they are constantly drying out and they need the light of my sun porch, without the freezing temperatures. But now I am starting to see why my past gardening attempts have failed. See, I want THIS (my garden blogging expert) without all the fuss. But do I? Just as in my spiritual life, I'm starting to realize that my peace and satisfaction directly correlate with the style and amount of work I put in. Maybe that's why my mother-in-law irons her sheets or my mom separates her laundry so completely (I mean she has off-white loads - whatever Martha). I know there is balance here - I know from my therapist days that there are those who struggle with perfectionism and OCD. At this point in my life, however, I am not one of those people.

So, we at the Maddex home are going to garden - planting tiny seeds in pots indoors (Some of us like to wear hats when we garden and some of us prefer to garden in the buff). We are also going to (God help us) turn off the t.v., say our prayers, attend Church (on time) and participate in the fast. We are going to do this because we believe in home grown, organic vegetables. We "...look for the Resurrection and the life of the world to come...." But we also do this because we believe that how we live now has meaning and importance. That we can experience God and His peace today - as the sun shines through the windows of my porch and the hymns of St. Andrews Canon are sung.

Great Expectations

2009-02-12T15:56:00.000-08:00

so this is kindof a sad post. I'm just warnin ya - i don't necessarily enjoy sharing personal details - especially in writing - especially when they aren't cute or funny - but I've kindof gotten into the blogging thing and it seems like it might help.

See, I've been wracking my brain - trying to understand why I would discard three years of grad school, three more years of supervision, a year of test taking and licensure craziness (in three different states, mind you) and then a bunch of paperwork to be able to accept insurance. Why won't I practice? I thought I would love being a therapist. Even though I chickened out and applied for my MSW instead of a PhD in clinical Pych, I thought all along that I wanted to be a therapist. I knew clinicians with social work backgrounds and couldn't wait to get to that point. Family therapy, couples counseling - it all sounded facinating and helpful and lucrative.

I guess the long and short of it is that I didn't know my sister would die.

That's awful, isn't it? But the truth is, I've pretty much always had to work at staying above the depression line and all the pain shared in the course of therapy - combined with my own grief - made it really difficult. Pain doesn't always remind me of her - but it reminds me of the feelings I feel about her; because of her death.

My friend Jenny just wrote a book about parents grieving the death of their children - thru miscarraige, stillbirth, or infant death. She talks about grief - the kindof pain that hurts so bad at first - she compares the initial pain to labor - it's that intense. But later - weeks, months, years later - the pain hangs around. It levels your insides and although you can rebuild them, they show the cracks. I'm much more fearful now. I know how bad things can get and there's never a day that I don't recognize what's possible.

The gift in this - and I know this doesn't happen for everyone - is that I feel desperate for Christ. There was some weird comforting peace I experienced in the midst of Tiffany's death - especially in that first week - like someone was helping me hold up my head. It was God, I have no doubt.

But without that - without God - it would have been torture. That veil between heaven and earth seems thin to me now - and so to go to Church - to participate in the Liturgy - to remember all of those who have suffered - to be reminded of a purpose! That's really what keeps me above that depression line.

So how could I practice therapy and see people in that despair and not offer them that life raft? What other hope is there? Friends definitely help as does my wonderful family - but if you feel life is meaningless, they only go so far.

Ok - so I realize now that I can't be a therapist. But, even that makes me sad. The truth is that I really love people and wanted to be able to sit with them in that painful place. I thought that was my gift - I thought my grief would help! But I can now admit that despite the time and money invested, it is not the career for me - at least not now. And not without being able to offer the Church as a refuge!

So... I embark on a new career. One in which I have no schooling or experience - but one that I enjoy. I want to promote books. Specifically, I want to promote my husband's books. And those of precious sister-in-law - and hopefully more. I've asked my genius brother to move up here temporarily and help me get started. I've asked my artist sister for graphic design input, my business sister for contacts, and for advice from my other sister who just has an eye for beauty and balance.

Anyway - I write this, I guess, as a turning point. The permission to officially let go of the guilt and weirdness tied up in not practicing therapy. I thought, for a while, that I just had a problem "working." That I just really wanted and needed to stay home. This is in part, true. But it's also true that having something else besides parenting to think about seems to help me think about parenting (and actually parent) better. Anyway - I'm going to give it a shot. And I'm thinking about calling it, "Great Expectations."

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So on February 25th, Tiffany would be 34. A healthy Tiffany would have had kids near my girls' age. We could have called each other and laughed about the ridiculous things our 2 year olds did today (mine refused to wear a coat, boots, and seatbelt - despite doing these things no problem everyday for the past 40 days). I like to think what I would have gotten for her for her birthday - morbid, I guess - but I know she would have loved Anthropology.

But even as I write this sad post, I feel a little bit grateful - that I got sick and had to rethink things. That I'm not sitting in a therapy office with people I don't know - but am instead at home, with my family, a part of my church, closer to my friends, more full of love and respect for my precious parents and in-laws. I also think that this time in Bobby's and my life is kind of exciting. It's fun to start a new business - Bobby's new job with AFR is amazing. The girls are growing and learning. In many respects, It is a hopeful time.

I guess it's just that, as the years pass, the pain of grief - although lighter - comes along, too. And while I am no longer a therapist - perhaps because of that sting, I can be a bit more present to friends/family/neighbors in need than I otherwise would have been.

Party

2009-02-07T18:19:00.000-08:00

For heaven's sake, the snow is FINALLY MELTING. Isabelle woke me up this morning yelling that the snow was shrinking. And true enough - the snow mounds were being replaced by icy puddles (the down side being that about 50 piles of Lola's poop were now mushy and visible). But focusing on the half-full glass, we embraced the "warm" day - and headed out for gymnasics/ballet without coats!

See, this was an especially glorious day, because in addition to bright sunshine, we were hosting a "Fancy Nancy" party. Big times here at the Maddex home. We sent out fancy pink evites to the two families we know (one being our relatives) and prepared by reading the Fancy Nancy book and making tiny pink cakes. Now I know that Martha Stewart actutally hosted Jane O'Connor (Fancy nancy's author) and discussed proper ways of hosting Fancy Nancy themed birthday parties. But really - our party was out of desperation. The girls and I were so tired of being stuck here in the house - and we had just received a huge bag of fancy dress-up clothes from our priest's wife. What else were we supposed to do?

Here is some more evidence of our fanciness:

2009-01-31T17:14:00.000-08:00

jane started gymnastics today. She was so brave, so respectful to her teachers, so polite to the other children and so excited about the outfit. As far as the actual gymnastics...hmmm.

Winter Doldrums

2009-01-15T06:57:00.000-08:00

Those close to me know that despite my melancholy adolescence, I'm a fairly upbeat person - pretty optimistic - especially in the last couple of years. This week, however, has been a challenge to my sunny disposition. No doubt the weather has played a role. I mean come on - sub-zero temperatures, interminable gray skies, snow piled upon snow (pretty much keeping us homebound) was taking a toll. "Hmm, got the winter dull-drums?" my husband said (sort of mockingly - him who could live just fine on the north pole - but give him Texas sun and he breaks out in hives).

But I did - have the winter doldrums. Nothing seemed to be working - like one of those bad dreams that you run with all of your might, but get nowhere - sweeping the floor just produced more dust and crumbs, disciplining Jane just resulted in more tantrums and our new puppy (who seemed to have mastered the housebreaking thing) had suddenly taking to pooping in the girls' pink fairy tent.

So when I woke this morning, I expected more of the same - I had, after all, heard that today's high was expected to reach a whopping -2 (that's just ridiculous). But something had shifted. As I was editing an AFR podcast last night, Dn Michael Hyatt referred to the Old Testament story regarding the Arc of the Covenant. I guess one of David's men had tried to help out and was immediately struck down dead. Sort of seems like a raw deal - but as Dn Michael points out - God doesn't need our help. That reminder lodged itself in my brain - and I awoke this morning feeling a little lighter. Of course it's not that we don't work - we do - and hard work feels good - but we don't control. Trying to control the things around me results in depression every time.

And so I will try - to pottytrain this dog and my two year old - too winterwize my old drafty house - to get the word out about Molly's amazing book - to feed my family local, wholesome foods - to teach Isabelle how to read....and on and on... but I can't and won't be able to control the outcome of my efforts. I may still find poop in the tent - but, truly, a little poop beats depression any day.

p.s - just because today really did get better, I had to post a couple more pictures. I mean, my neighbor shoveled my walkway, for goodness sake. And - Isabelle and jane got dressed all by themselves - and the sun is shining. Things are certainly looking up.

The Hubby Family

2009-01-09T20:12:00.000-08:00

Just a little shout out to my precious family in Tx. It's 20 degrees here in the greater Chicago area and snowing - again. Lola, Jane and I are freezing.

January 6

2009-01-04T17:53:00.000-08:00

"The word 'theophany' means 'the manifestation of God' or the 'showing forth of God'. The Orthodox Feast of Theophany is a remembrance of the Baptism of Jesus Christ by John the Baptist in the waters of the Jordan river, (Mt.3:13-17; Mark 1:9-11; Luke 3:21-22), and, more generally, a celebration of the public manifestation of the Incarnate Word to the world."

We got back from our Christmas trek to Texas last night - late. I woke today to the gray cold mess that I know will last for many months; trying to recapture the thrill the cold air gave me as i decorated and baked cookies a few weeks ago. it's not that our trip wasn't great - it was - it's just that living 1136 miles away from my parents, sisters and brother is a really long way. I think often of something a blogger friend wrote a few months ago about living under one roof with all of those she loves - drinking coffee until 3:00 and switching to wine after that - it sounded glorious. My fantasy is more like the compound on Big Love (sans polygamy and ugly clothes). I would love to live across the street from my sisters and mom - sharing meals with ingredients we've grown in our own gardens - I'm even trying to talk my brother into becoming a farmer (he doesn't realize that he also has to move to Indiana and live next door to me).

But I'm back home now - and everything seems foreign and overwhelming. It's like this when I've come from my mom's - like I've completely forgotten how to do laundry and make food (fortunately my amazing in-laws took us out to lunch) - unpacking the car seems in the realm of running a marathon or passing the bar. Yet despite the Talking Heads song repeating itself in my head, this is my house, and around 4:00 this afternoon I force myself to unzip a suitcase.

I guess I just feel a bit down after Christmas. I love it so much and think I run a bit on adrenaline and coffee - only to realize after the fact that I should have taken several more naps along the way. It's also two days before Isabelle's 5th birthday. "Didn't we just get you a bunch of gifts?" doesn't really sit well with a 4 almost 5 year old who wants a legitimate birthday. I think of my two close friends whose birthdays are just before and after Christmas - and I resolve to "gear up" and make the day special for my precious daughter.

This morning our priest's homily referred to Christ's fulfillment of the Old Testament prophesies not only by His birth but by His ministry. Christmas is just the beginning. As I started putting away t-shirts, swimsuits (yes it can get pretty warm in Tx) and other remnants of our trip a small feeling of determination began to take root. Our priest reminded us of the value of doing the Lord's work despite "rewards." "Get busy," he seemed to be saying - not in the frenzied, manic way I'd carried out some of my holiday preparations, but in a steady, real way - "keeping our eyes fixed on the prize."

Isabelle was born on january 6th; Theophany. The longer I'm Orthodox, the more I'm realizing just how special that is. Isabelle was born just a few months after my sister Tiffany died. Her birth was ray of hope for my family. We realized that life would and could go on. Theophany - the "showing forth of God." How amazing is that?

St. Nicholas Day

2008-12-08T07:49:00.000-08:00

A picture of the girls with St. Nicholas at the celebration at St. Mary's in Merrillville.

We thought the girls would be shy - especially without their cousins who were home sick - but both girls kept inching closer as he spoke about the life of the precious Saint who sacrificed his inheritance for those in need around him.

Granted, Isabelle particularly, remains somewhat confused about the details (does St. Nicholas have a sleigh?, etc.) but I feel, at least, that we're moving in the right direction!

Joyous Feast!

2008-11-13T12:12:00.000-08:00

This is one of my favorite pictures of Bobby - for several reasons. First, I love that smile. It's really what first attracted me to him - I told him it was his eyes - and they are beautiful - but really it was that smile: a little crooked, full of confidence, just about to emit something unexpectedly hilarious. In college he was usually the center of things - so full of energy, life and witty remarks that people just wanted to be near him.

In this picture, my daughters and my husband look like triplets (which makes me chuckle in and of itself) but to see the three of them together like that - so happy, natural, and united - it makes me see the past differently.

It's just that was so hard on Bobby during the "baby stage." I wanted and expected him to have the exact same skill set I did - I, a woman who bore the children, who was the oldest of six kids, who baby-sat nearly every day from age 12 to age 21 and then went on to become an elementary school counselor - I expected him to be right there with me - interperating our babies' cries and anticipating their every need (in addition to understanding mine). No wonder transition to parenthood was a little rocky! I never allowed him to transition (or myself, for that matter).

I know my husband is a great father, now. I am reminded of this by my two year old daughter who says incessantly, "I need my DADA." And by my four year old who reminds us all how big and strong Daddy's calf muscles are (that's a huge compliment in her world, by the way. Apparently only those with big calf muscles are capable of keeping the mean men away).

If only I could have seen ahead a little - maybe I would have been a little kinder; a little more patient. Looking at this picture I see though, how even then - in the midst of baby time - Bobby was an amazing father. My girls look so happy and safe - as though they are in best place of all, their Daddy's arms.

sisters

2008-10-29T16:48:00.000-07:00

I have often lamented our decision to postpone starting a family. Bobby and I were approaching our tenth anniversary when our first little one was born. If only I'd known how important this family thing was to me - I feel sure I would have skipped some of the superfluous choices of my 20s. But - like many 20 somethings - I believed the myths: 1) that I would stay young and energetic forever 2) that there would be a time that I would become (magically, i guess) emotionally, financially and spiritually ready for children 3) and that establishing my career would be more rewarding, more true to myself, more financially savy then preparing for a family (after all - what would I do would all my spare time after the kids started school).

Now, $100,000 of school loans later, I see things differently. Hindsight, right? But, God is good, and this weekend I experienced a hidden blessing in my decision to wait.

When my sister, Erin, was born I was 4 1/2. Her little person punctuates my earliest memories. Petite, silly, and outgoing, she was a huge hit among my friends. My daughter, Jane, reminds me of her in many ways. As a little girl, I felt a fierce loyalty to and responsibility for Erin - I can remember repeatedly praying that she wouldn't have bad dreams. Ellen was different. Born when I was 8, I never really thought she liked me. She was quiet and introspective - it wasn't until I left for college and received many letters from her that knew how she felt - to this day, those letters make me teary.

My little sisters flew to visit me this weekend. They loaded up strollers, carseats, purchased coats for their babies (who were used to Tx weather) and made the trek to Chesterton, IN. See, there's this weird gap that exists, now - without Tiffany - I always feel I'm going through life stages way ahead of my siblings - putting us in different worlds. That, combined with the distance between Austin and Chesterton can really feel isolating. But, as these beautiful young women sat on the rug in my living room - their babies, my babies all mingling toys, blankets, nums I felt a special closeness. I felt like I had my children at the perfect time. How lucky I am to be surrounded by a loving family - how lucky my girls are to have such wonderful cousins.

I always feel a tightness in my chest and a lump in my throat after one of my family visits (yes, Zach, you too) - it's hard to watch them leave. But it's somehow easier now that my kids love my family, also - as though we are all intricatly connected. I miss Youcie (Lucie) and baby Knox my little Jane told me this evening. "I know, I do, too," I replied. "We'll see them again soon."

The Romanovs

2008-10-17T11:34:00.000-07:00

It is the shallow fashion of these times to dismiss the Tsarist regime as a purblind, corrupt, incompetent tyranny. But a survey of its thirty months' war with Germany and Austria should correct these loose impressions and expose the dominant facts. We may measure the Russian Empire by the battering it had endured, by the disasters it had survived, by the inexhaustible forces it had developed and by the recovery it had made. [Nicolas II] made many mistakes, what ruler has not? he was neither a great captain nor a great prince. He was only a true, simple man of average ability of merciful disposition, upheld in all his daily life by his faith in God.

He is about to be struck down. A dark hand, gloved at first in folly now intervenes. Exit Tsar. Deliver him and all he loved to wounds and death. Belittle his efforts, asperse his conduct, insult his memory; but pause then to tell us who else was found capable.

Winston Churchill speaking of Nicholas II

It his remarkable book, Nicholas and Anastasia, Robert K Massie brilliantly untangles the historical tragedy: "Why Lenin triumphed, why Nicholas failed, why Alexandra placed the fate of her son, her husband and his empire in the hands of a wandering holy man..." Such an amazing portrait of corruption, loyalty, suffering, self control and humility.

Friends

2008-10-15T10:42:00.000-07:00

Yes, this weekend I got to go on "holiday" with my friends. Sister-in-law/friend, Molly, detailed the adventure beautifully on her blog: from anticipatory packing, to luxurious weekend away, to returning home grateful that our children were not only surviving, but thriving under our husbands' sole care.

Having been back several days now, I keep thinking about how grateful I am to feel so comfortable and "at home" with these precious friends.

My initial excitement about this trip had a superficial element. Living in Chesterton, IN is wonderful - I realize it more every day - but I do occasionally spot a plane zooming across the sky and secretly wish I was aboard. I love to travel - love car trips, maps, airports, foreign languages, different foods - I even vary my route home from the grocery store to see different houses and streets. I also, being a southern girl at heart, love to dress up and go somewhere pretty. My husband teased me by poking fun at the receipts from the girls weekend. I guess stores like "Oh my darling" and "Chocolate Cafe" sounded a bit "girly" to him. "Who cares," I replied, "What's better than champagne and chocolate cake?" Apparently wine from a box and white castle, but that's another story.

All of this to say, that I was delighted that this little trip was happening. I had visited some of the wineries and small Michigan towns with my husband, parents and little ones. I thought then that it would be so nice to go with girlfriends - take our time - eat good food - drink nice wine - read - talk....

We stopped for lunch on the first day at Tabor Hill winery and restaurant. Feeling especially fancy, I ordered a glass of champagne with lunch. It was at about this point - the height of my fanciness (dressed up, drinking champagne in a nice restaurant overlooking a vineyard, and discussing the latest books we were reading - mine was the historical biography Nicholas and Alexandra) that I - well - snotted. In my defense, I was coming down with a terrible head cold, but it would have been a bad thing to have happen on a first date. Not to be too graphic, but it was like I sneezed- I didn't actually - I think I sort of coughed - and much mucus came out of my nose. At the table. While drinking champagne.

And that's when I realized just how much I love these girls. They all went to college together and have weird, embarrassing stories about one another that never fail to crack me up. In fact - I've heard them so many times now, that they are apart of me and my history. I think the reason that they are so precious - these crazy tales of awkward calls to "boyfriends," strange outfit choices, and big (or little) hair dos is that I was so competitive and insecure in college I did all I could to prevent that side - my "real" side from showing. No wonder my relationships were shallow.

As women, these goofy, girls are intelligent, pure of heart, and extremely beautiful. I am honored to be one of their friends. But most special to me - is that over the years, their genuineness has helped me heal. Their ability to be real and vulnerable has allowed me to experience true friendship - and that (please excuse the Sara McLaughlin/Bridget Jones cheesiness) is definitely better than chocolate cake.

Thankful

2008-10-02T14:02:00.001-07:00

A year ago I got sick - crazy, excruciating pain, ER kind of sick. After a couple of long visits to the local hospital, I was referred to a specialist in Chicago. Several x-rays and CTs later I received the diagnosis from the surgeon. I had a slow growing cancer. He told me and my husband, Bobby, that we should go to MD Anderson cancer center in TX so that I could be close to my parents. He said I would need the support.

It was such a surreal few weeks - that gray time last October. One moment stands out to me very clearly, though. I was in the shower (the only relief from the pain occurred if I stood - slightly bent - under scalding water). I remember saying to Bobby, "Do whatever it takes." What I meant was, "Do whatever you need to do so that we don't have to live like this any more."

The thing is, I wasn't referring to the pain, the diagnosis - or anything concerning my crazy condition. It was as though the illness itself was a magnifying glass - allowing me to clearly see the ridiculous way I'd been living my life. Right then-as the hot water began to run out - and the pain escalated, I knew things had to change.

It's tough to explain how exactly I'd been living - or what what so ridiculous about it. To an outside observer, the problems may have been undetectable. How do you know when someone's just crossed that line - the line that separates a righteous thought from a sinful one? Or even a sinful act - how do you know when a day shopping with friends crosses over to greed - or sharing a meal turns to gluttony?

For me the problem was subtle - but quite real and destructive. It was a non-spoken mantra (kinda like in DH Lawrence's Rocking Horse winner) I needed to be more. Thinner, richer, better job were some of my ambitions - but there were "good" ones too - better mom, cleaner house, "better Christian."

It's not like I consciously acknowledged these goals - also - it's not like I was "succeeding" in any of these areas. I mean - you'd think I was Sarah Palen or something. No, the ambition manifested in silly ways throughout my day - trying to be just a bit busier than my time would permit, live a slightly more expensive lifestyle than my budget could allow, be a little bit thinner than was comfortable for my body. And living like this for the past 20 years was about to kill me.

It turns out that I didn't have cancer. A week at Mayo clinic revealed that I had a benign swelling of tissue - quite a wonderful diagnosis to hear in comparison to the first. So I lived for several months in sortof a dream state. Like Scrooge on Christmas Day. I was so greatful to be alive and not going through chemo.

But this afternoon- a year later - I became overcome with thanksgiving again. Not because I didn't have cancer - but because that crazy perfectionism that had eaten away at my soul for so many years had been shattered. This afternoon as the crisp fall air energized me, I cleaned my house made some bread. Let it be clear - I am not bragging here. Many people everywhere clean their house and make food. Many days I did these exact tasks - pre illness. It's just that it felt so different today. Today I wasn't panicked or rushing or trying to suddenly wash windows/curtains/clean out the garage and other manic tasks in addition - I was just living. I think you'd call it peace - and it felt amazing.

Birthday Lunch

2008-09-26T11:04:00.000-07:00

Jane turns 2 today! To celebrate, we went for pizza with grandparents, great grand-parents and "the cousins." This is a video of Jane holding her beloved new baby, "Lucie." Thank you, Mom and Dad - that doll was the perfect gift!!

Go Team Go...

2008-09-24T10:00:00.000-07:00

"Momma, why don't you know any cheerleads?" Isabelle asks, accusingly. Well...Mommy didn't make cheerleader because she was too serious and ridiculously uncoordinated. In fact, Mommy entered high school denying the fact she ever tried out, becoming more cynical as high school progressed preferring to wear black and listen to the Smiths. But Mommy's just delighted to revisit all of that now - in fact, let's do cheerleads all morning!

Of course, I did not answer my sweet Isabelle like that. To the contrary, I spent this and several other mornings pulling cheers out of my Georgetown, Texas, memory. It's not like it's that taxing - to play "cheerlead" - the weather's beautiful and my girls are precious - it's actually pretty fun. My friend, Beth, gets to play "starwars" all morning. I think that would be tough. It's just another one of those parenting situations, like pacifiers, birthday parties, and preschool that I have to ask myself: Is this about them or me. Do I cringe because of my own pride and insecurity or because I'm genuinely concerned for their little souls? Am I pushing this to help them become independent people or to make me look like a good mom?

So, we're going to keep cheerleading over here at the Maddex home; pompoms, megaphones and all. I'm not saying I don't tense a bit when Isabelle says she wants to be a cheerleader when she grows up (I keep picturing the Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders with their makeup and midriffs), but have put it into perspective. I mean, she used to say she wanted to be a motorcycle driver! Therefore, beautiful Mom, Bethany, Molly, Beth (and all other former cheerleaders), this picture's for you.

"Back Home"

2008-09-20T17:55:00.000-07:00

I love Chicago. I loved it from the first time I heard my uncle talk about it - an arrogant professor from the university of Chicago - he made us deep dish "Chicago style" pizza and talked about taking taxis. I didn't even really like the pizza -it was "too much", I thought, but loved that there was a "Chicago style." Next to my Texas upbringing it seemed so...urban. The first time I saw it - age 17 - visiting Wheaton college sans parents...I remember taking the metra train into Northwestern station from the suburbs...I was completely smitten. A Wheaton friend recently reminded me of our freshman year - where we were picked up by undercover cops on our way to a Ukranian restaurant. Apparently we were "between two projects." I really didn't know what that meant, or care - it just seemed exciting - and a better story than who got "wasted" at a bonfire in my hometown.

Today - a million years later - I took my daughters and niece to meet a college friend. We took the Metra "into the city." I felt determined to be unaffected by my move to the suburbs (or worse, Indiana)- I mean, we lived in Chicago for a long time - in Roger's Park, Humboldt Park, Lincoln Park, the Gold Coast - we paid our "urban dues," right?

At first it was wonderful. It was as though everyone in a 50 mile radius was out to celebrate the clear blue sky on this last day of summer. And the museum was great - the girls loved each exhibit more than the last - from sponge paint to a three story ropes course - Isabelle especially, was exhilerated.

And then we were hungry and tired and our feet hurt and I realized I had become a suburban/small town mom. I worried about germs on the train and needed to get home and check on my chili in the croc pot. So on the train ride home I felt sort of disappointed in myself. When had I gotten so soft? But then I opened the door to my cozy little home - a wave of cumin and chile powder wafted towards my nose. "Back home!" yelled my two year old enthusiastically and we all four knew how glad that we were.

Family Night

2008-09-12T18:29:00.000-07:00

So we had planned to have "the cousins" over for MOVIE night, tonight - I mean Parent Trap (the original) was on pay preview - and the girls and I got icecream and miniature M&Ms in preparation. Ofcourse, I'd never actually received confirmation from the cousins - just assumed their availabitity - forgetting their scheduled trip early the next morning. My sister in-law broke it to me gently -"I think I'm going to keep the kids here tonight so they're rested for the drive - will Isabelle be too disappointed?" "No, not at all," I lied. Just that morning Isabelle suggested we set various stuffed animals and baby dolls around the table so that we could at least, "pretend" we had a big family. I thought another comment like that might dampen my festive "family night" mood.

As I prepared myself to share the news with Isabelle, I decided to cushion the blow. "But," I said bluffing like a Vegas pro, "Daddy and I have planned an adventure!" It was Friday night and we needed some break in the routine - I mean, we are all four here ALL of the time...

So I went to Bobby's office (in the the basement) and frantically shared the new plan. "Take us on a family adventure," I pleaded/demanded. Long pause. "What exactly do you have in mind?" he questioned (married to me long enough to know to just ask out right).

The thing is, I didn't really know what I was hoping for. A walk down the street for Thai food? A stroll through a used book store? Maybe a trip to Giardelli's for hot cocoa. While viable options in the city (on the weekends, baby Isabelle would start asking for "crab rangoon,") none of these seemed right or even possible out here in NW Indiana.

So, after some internet research, we ended up at Innman's Fun and Party Center. Northwest Indiana at its finest! However, it turned out to be the perfect diversion. After getting through the initial crisis of not having socks (we didn't immediately realize that "fun" meant bowling) we bought new socks and picked out our bowling balls. There was a time I thought that Isabelle would never get over the excitement and stimulation of the city. Turns out that I was wrong - and needed look no further than the local bowling alley. She tied Bobby and badly beat Jane and I. We (and all the other patrons) laughed hard as Bobby slipped on the lane's wax and fell flat on his, "bobum.

On our way home, the girls sang songs together. "Mom," said Isabelle who only sings when she's peaceful, "Tell me another song to sing." "You are my sunshine?" I offered. "Mmm no...not one of those cutsie ones...oh! I know," and then she begins to sing, "The wheels on the bus..."

Within seconds, Isabelle is Joined by Bobby's deep, articulate voice and Janes's tiny one. I listen and feel full and content. My little family is so big, I think to myself; and for the first time, it feels complete.

"Pothead"

2008-09-09T10:20:00.000-07:00

Even to me, this feels like an obnoxious amount of writing about my girls - "they're cute, aren't they?" - I feel I'm begging with each post. While that may be the slightest bit true (first rule of therapy - know thyself and all) I really have another agenda in mind:
1) Document (for the sake of incomplete baby books) - I mean it's sad when you only have two children and they ask - "what did I do when i was a baby?" and you just look back at them sort of puzzled.

2) Update my parents. They live within an hour of their other grandbabies - I need to do something to level the playing field!

3) Avoid doing laundry. At present, my dryer is not working - and it's quite rainy. Hanging wet clothes all over my house seems like a nightmare. In fact - I have washed the same load 3 times as it keep cycling through stages of clean, musty and then moldy.

So - all of that to say...jane has some new words and phrases.

1. (I'm into lists today - I think it relieves the guilt caused by avoiding my "todo"). Anyway, her first new word is, "pothead" as in, I wear a pot on my head.

2. "Sure." This she picked up from her cousin, Mary. They both say it casually, as though they are fifteen and may have time for you if there's nothing better going on.

3. ""Super," as in I'm "super-cold," or "super hungry (hungee)"

4. "Privates," pronounced, "pie-vits" - as in "don't see mine," or "Happy Birthday to you, pievits." Hmmm.

5. This one, she says with her sister - they hold their hand next to their ear, imaginary phone style and pretend to call the "Tickle monster." "hello (hey-yo) tickle monsta?" Wherein the other sister attacks with tickles.

6. This last one is my favorite, "Nope, nope" as in, although I'm smiling, I absolutely refuse to do whatever it is you're asking of me (ie, come brush teeth, pick up toys, etc.) - and you can tell I'm serious, because I'm saying it twice.

Alright, Mom and Dad - this one was for you. Wouldn't want you to get the wrong idea and think Janie is all sugar and no spice!

My Sunshine

2008-09-02T19:44:00.001-07:00

My daughter Isabelle has had quite a summer. We moved within walking distance of her two favorite things: the Y swimming pool and her cousin Priscilla. Yet after Labor Day weekend, Isabelle has a new favorite: the lake. "I'll never swim at the Y again," she exclaimed, jumping off a big yellow raft into the deep, murky water. I don't know what it was exactly about the Wisconsin cabin - the woods, her cousins, the sand on the beach, the nonstop swimming, the bonfire - probably everything combined, but Isabelle was in her element. As we turned into the dirt driveway, surrounded by pine trees, Isabelle started bouncing in her seat. "I'm so excited" she squeaked. She was actually shaking with anticipation. "jane scared.." whispered my sweet little one, not quite getting the magic of a forest.

So often I am hard on Isabelle. She's really shy - to the point of being impolite - a trait that grates against my Texan hospitality. She's also incredibly intense: she has big, loud feelings (including a temper which sortof frightens my husband and i into submission), a healthy appetite, and tons of energy. As a toddler, I would worry about her hurting other kids - she was that strong. But as I saw her play at the lakehouse, totally invested in the moment, I was filled with awe.

As I child, I would have played with the other kids - pretending to enjoy the dirty lake water, the races "back home" and the impromptu soccer games. But the truth was, I'd much rather have been talking with the adults, showing off my social skills. During the weekend at the lake, I realized (again) just how special Isabelle is. I don't want her to be me (what a weird, overly verbal, physically awkward kid I was anyway). I hope I can encourage both of my daughters to embrace themselves - with the minds, bodies, strengths and weaknesses they've been given - learning to use their unique little selves as His instruments rather than the world's (or mine).

"Sweet, sweet, Jane..."

2008-08-23T18:17:00.000-07:00

In Jr High, I lost my backpack - turns out, I had left it in the middle of the hallway. Some kid turned it into the counselor's office after tripping over it. Since then, I have lost my tennis clothes, my homework, my car keys, my house keys, and even my husband's wallet (as he recalls, it was before a three day weekend and we had to exchange wedding presents for food in order to survive, but he tends to exaggerate).

I have gotten much better. However, last night I lost my youngest daughter's green "bampet." She received this blanket from her grandmother when she was three days old, and has slept with it ever since. I say I lost it, because blaming her seems a bit cruel since she's not yet two.

Anyway...lost the blanket and feared a long night ahead. We lost my oldest daughter's blanket once and after a night of screaming, I shelled out the $40 needed to replace it (I could only locate it's replica at the sortof pricey, Neiman Marcus).

Well, there is no Neiman's in Chesterton, so I prepared myself to break the news about "bampet." "Janie, Mommy lost Bampet, you'll have to sleep with something else tonight," I braced myself. Jane's face scrunched into a pout. "Jane's sad-mad," she said softly and then promptly picked out a fluffy scarf to snuggle with. This picture was taken about two seconds after receiving the news. Hmmm....either I'm getting better at this, or Jane's a pretty laid back kid.

2008 ART DAY

2008-08-20T10:54:00.000-07:00

Our theme days basically involve taping a few signs to the door and inviting over "the cousins." Today was "art day" - an excuse for me to go to Michael's and purchase new craft supplies (I can barely resist new markers, crayons and paper this time of year). My girls and I have fun preparing for theme days - even one year old Jane gets into the mood, "Da cousins will yove deese," she exclaims, carefully handling the new packages of clay.

Today's events went well. We painted a mural in the back yard, read a children's book about Monet (which 7 year old Priscilla read with a foreign accent), and ate peanut butter cookies. We even interviewed a live artist. My sister, Bethany is a senior at Old Miss. She is an art major, interned this summer at a gallery, and spent a semester studying in Paris - pretty "art-sy" to me.

The interview took place via speaker cell phone. My phone leaves much to be desired. Add that issue to the confusion of six small children talking at once and miscommunication can occur. "Bobby," I told my husband later, "It sounded like Elijah asked Bethany if her teacher is a whore." "Surely not," he said dismissingly. It really sounded like it, though. When my sister asked the kids what kind of art they liked to do, Pricsilla said drawning, Isabelle said she preferred painting, Elijah said that anything using his imagination was fine, and Ben said he liked to drink lemonade. Hmmm.

Next, I think we want to do a music day, but Isabelle told me we must purchase a violin and a piano first - so it may be a while. That's ok, though, because it may take that long for the mural's 17 coats of paint to dry.

What a difference a year makes...

2008-08-12T18:51:00.000-07:00

Two years ago, my little sister Ellen and her husband, Grant hosted my entire family for Christmas. This was no easy undertaking. My family is really big and when you add spouses and my two tiny but boisterous baby girls, you have quite a party. How generous (and daring). True to form, Grant and Ellen surrendered their bedroom to my husband, girls and I. They slept on tiny sofas in the living room.

The week was perfect. We got snowed in: beautiful clean, fluffy snow you could play in for hours without freezing to death because you were in Colorado rather than Chicago or Detroit. They had homemade fudge and peppermint sticks for our hot cocoa. We laughed until we couldn't breathe playing B.S. (some crazy board game) and everyone brought gifts for my daughters. We even got to go skiing for a day. In fact, by the end of the week, I think my oldest daughter (then not quite three) thought that Grant was Santa Claus - I know my husband did!

Then came the climax. As we gathered around the kitchen snacking, drinking, and talking, Grant and Ellen told us that Ellen was pregnant. My sister's face was mix of modesty and mild panic, but I could see behind the fear a confidence developing. She was ready and excited.

Well, I returned home daydreaming about cousins playing. I was excited, too. In fact, I was beside myself because they had asked me to be an advocate for them in the hospital. They decided to have a natural childbirth and constructed a birth plan with the assistance of their Bradley coach. I reread articles from Mothering Magazine in preparation.

As the nine (or ten - whatever) months drew to a close, My husband, girls and I prepared for our visit. We humbly accepted Grant and Ellen's financial assistance for our plane tickets and I packed Jane and Isabelle's impossibly small baby clothes to pass on to the new tiny.

Ellen's labor started beautifully. Mild contractions gradually intensified throughout the day. My sister is stunning to look at. At 5 foot 9, she is slender (the perfect kind of thin - not bony - just naturally a size two - no hard feelings) and always impeccably dressed. That afternoon, though, she looked absolutely breathtaking as she quietly weathered one contraction after another, gathering strength for a long night ahead. As we moved "the party" to the hospital, I proudly watched my shy little sister rise to the challenge. She endured each pain with quiet resolve, although I do think I heard her whisper to our youngest sister, "You don't want to do this."

Before I thought possible, (although I'm certain Ellen felt plenty of time had passed) she was dialated to a ten. "You can go ahead and push," we heard the nurse say. The precious couple wanted a bit of privacy at this point. We were ushered into the waiting room with the rest of the Grant/Ellen cheerleaders. I bit my lip in anticipation. A new baby was soooo wonderful.

And then, at least in MY mind, something went terribly wrong. Thirty minutes passed, and then an hour and then two. My mother and I exchanged glances. What kind of pain must Ellen be in - pushing for two solid hours?. The coffee in the waiting room tasted like dirty water and I remember wanting to make a quick jaunt to the Sarbucks at the next exit. How could I advocate properly without a decent cup of coffee? I was beginning to feel nauseous. After the third hour, the waiting room phone rang. It was Grant. "What's going on?" I demanded, (my panic stricken voice fortelling the type of "advocate" I would become that evening/morning). "They're going to do a c-section," he said calmly, "Ellen's doing ok, but she's really tired. I'll let you know more as soon as I can." He hung up. My mind took off, "Damn hosptal...did they read her birthplan? Did the doctor let her move around/change positions? All that time suffering through contractions..." My heart pounded.

"What did he say?" The entire waiting room, parents, grandparents, siblings, friends, sat looking at me. "They're going to do a C-Section," I stuttered, trying to talk over the lump in my throat. I had to do something, I mean, I was the advocate! So I started to sob.

The next couple of hours were a blur. I remember snapping at my sister, Erin, and formulating vague schemes of overthrowing the hospital staff. I also recall a lot of crying. Would the baby be able to nurse? Would Ellen recover? My questions were endless. Towards the end of the morning, even my ever patient mom seemed tired of me.

"It will be ok, Paige," Grant's father reassured me, "as long as the baby's healthy." Wait, was he helping me? Yes, he was trying to calm and comfort me! What kind of crappy Doula would I make? As I looked around the waiting room, I saw my reflection in everyone's eyes. I was not Norma Rae, I was hysterical Harriet Oslen from Little House on the Prairie. I was out of control.

**************************************************

Lucien Elise Demers was born August 19, 2007. She was perfect. Because of the C-section, her head didn't have the smashed birth canal head that most newborns have. She breast fed without missing a beat. Because of the C-section, her father, who would have to work long hours in the weeks and months ahead, got a chance to bond with little Lucie from the start. When we were allowed to see Ellen, she looked as calm and peaceful as she had the days before. "Lord grant me to greet the coming day in peace..."

As we drove back to my parents home after the birth, I felt exhausted and weak. In the movie, "When a man loves a woman," Meg Ryan struggles to parent her daughter while combating a hangover. Her husband, played by Andy Garcia calls it like he sees it, "Honey, I think you've got all you can handle with your coffee and your little spoon." I felt like a joke. I began to mope in my powerlessness. The rest of the trip was painful for me. I tried to support Ellen, but I felt I had let her down. On some level I was embarrassed to be around them all.

It wasn't until several months later, that I began to see things differently. Ellen and Grant merely wanted me to support them . They didn't expect me to interface with the doctors! What sort of grandios lens was I viewing myself through? As soon as I jumped off that pedestal, I experienced immediate relief. It wasn't my fault that Ellen had a c-section any more than it was my fault that Tiffany started drinking or I became sick. "In all unexpected occurrences do not let me forget that all is sent down from Thee." My own responsibilities became more clearly deliniated. "Oh Lord, grant me the strength to endure the fatigue of the coming day and all the events that take place during it." It became easier to monitor what came out of my mouth (or what went into it, for that matter). For the first time in years(?) I felt peaceful.

Lucie will turn one next week. Like her parents, she is beautiful and well adjusted. These days, I still try to control others and my surroundings, but it's out of habit rather than responsibility. In fact, it's something I confess! Each morning, I pray the Last Elders of Optina prayer with desperation, "...Direct my will. Teach me to pray, to believe to hope to be patient, to forgive and to love," and I am happier than I have ever been.

2008-08-11T10:47:00.001-07:00

I love my little sister, Bethany. Of course now she's "all grows up" and fabulous - well traveled, fluent in French - an art major no less. She has more friends than I can count and these days I pine for her hand-me-downs.

As a little girl, Bethany was profoundly perceptive. The youngest of six kids, she learned to relate to (and connect deeply with) all of us; always eager to listen, to support and to encourage. My husband remembers his first visit to my family's home when we were dating. He says he was nervous sitting there - wanting to please my "scary Texas father." Bethany, seven years old at the time, seemed to sense his anxiety and sat down on the sofa beside him. "Can I get you a sandwich," she asked, smiling her genuine smile, turquoise eyes sparkling.

The thing is, fabulous Bethany has retained that sweetness, that innocence, even in the midst of a vain, self- absorbed culture (I know - it isn't entirely disposable - I mean Jack White is pretty amazing). But for the most part, I think, to be genuinely concerned for others and to be true to one's faith (morals and all) is to stand a part. In college I was about as secure as Kurt Cobain (sans musical career), my choices almost as poor. So it astounds me to see this beautiful young woman acting out her Christianity.

Bethany's birthday is August 15th - which is Dormition in the Orthodox Church - the day we celebrate the Virgin Mary's falling asleep in the Lord. The Dormition icon pictures Christ standing behind Mary in the funeral bier, waiting to receive His Mother's soul into heaven. How beautiful is that? My "Building an Orthodox Christian Family" invaluable handbook states that like us, Mary needed to be saved, but we celebrate on August 15th, that, "what happens to Mary happens to all who imitate her life of humility, obedience and love."

My prayer for my sister, as she begins her senior year in college, is that she looks to Mary as an example of faith, obedience and strength. I know the road will not be easy and I ache for her because I know she will experience pain in the process. But, I rejoice with her as well, because I know that Christ promises, "peace that surpasses understanding," and through Him lies our hope.

Happy 22nd birthday, sissy. I love you more than you know.

Tiffany

2008-08-08T07:29:00.000-07:00

Five years ago, I was awakened by the phone. It was the day of my 30th birthday party - we had out-of-town friends staying with us. I assumed the early call had to do with the festivities. It was my dad. I will never forget the tone of his voice - calm, strong, yet gentle. He relayed the delicate news with clarity - becoming in that moment everything I had ever needed in a father.

"Paige," he began, "The Lord decided to take Tiffany last night." I remember feeling confused (take her???) and then as the news began to settle in, it seemed almost logical. A co-worker at a social work agency had told me once that he, too, struggled with alcohol. "You get better," he said matter of factly, "or you die." Tiffany didn't get better.

I have gone through the grieving gamet of emotions in the past five years and spent much of the first two feeling angry and annoyed. It is true that Tiffany spent many years struggling with addictions and depression; chaos seemed to surround her. But what about all of those other years? Shortly after her death, it was too painful for me to remember all of those years, but now I do.

As I watch my own little girls play, I think of that silly, quirky, frizzy haired Tiffany. By my four-year old, I am reminded of Tiffany's physical energy - how when the weather got too hot to play outside she would run the perimeter of each room in the house or do handstands up against the wall - much like Isabelle jumps repeatedly from couch to chair and ends with a sommersault. By my little one, I am reminded of Tiffany's desire to please and to make people laugh. I keep picturing her dressed up as a "hobo" - kleenex stuffed in her mouth to change the look of her face (think Marlin Brando in the Godfather) ringing our front doorbell and pretending to be a "stranger."

Isabelle told my husband and I that we couldn't die because we were, "too real." When I think about Tiffany now, that's how I feel, too. I remember the way her skin smelled, her crooked little teeth, and her shy smile. She seems too real.

Ironically, I had a funeral to attend this morning. As I sat watching the young girl whose boyfriend (and baby's father) was tragically killed in a car accident, I felt nauseus thinking about the days, weeks and months ahead of her. Death hurts so bad. I began to wonder who would be next in my own life and how I could bear it. Oh God, how?

But as I sat there thinking morbid thoughts, the Paschal Troparion began to play in my head - every word a response to my question. "Christ is risen from the dead," it whispered, "trampling down death by death and upon those in the tombs bestowing life." I am beginning to realize that we do not sing this over and over because it's pretty, but because the resurrection message is the answer - and if we believe it, there is peace - especially - in the pain of death.

2008-08-06T17:49:00.000-07:00

I've avoided writing Christmas letters, rarely take family photos, and have never attempted any form of scrapbooking. The reason, I think, is the same one documented in my 1st dairy at age 7, "It is my birthday today. I hope no one sings to me at Sunday School." Well I don't know if it's the thousand miles separating Indiana from Texas or the fact that this week's Madmen is not "on demand," but I am desperate to share my life with my loved ones.

My fancy sister-in-law/author Molly has 16 blogs and updates her, "Snapshot of the day," each weekday. I'm telling you right now that this will not be that kind of blog. In fact, it took 5 times to correctly copy the "authentication code" so that I could even log in. Frequent posts would mean that my husband, Bobby, would have to quite his job to watch our girls.

Anyway, my hope is simply to fill you in on our lives here in Chesterton. Maybe it will help bridge the gap between visits. All my love, Paige