Come Back To Me

Mother, father, where have you gone?

Why do I interest you so little?

I crave yours ears, your eyes, your imagination entwined with mine

Play, my first friend

Engage in your creation, the outcome, the furthering of love

Touch my check and hold me to you

Embrace my curiosity and give us time

What you seek from your omnipresent tool, dear love, is what I seek from you

A story, validation, a laugh, acknowledgement, hope, compassion

Be one with me mother, father

Reset how my impressionable life can go...

 

He'll Greet You In Your Way

Your chest rises, your chest falls
A flutter in your heart
Lips relax as you exhale
Eyes closed, eyebrows raised
Breathing

I dream of what you're imagining
What stories do you play?
Cheeks warm, hands cold
You're so alive with playfulness even still
Are you thinking of when you first saw her?
When you knew you had love...
When you knew she wanted you too?
Or the moments you saw your children's faces the day they were born
Maybe the sun on the green spring fields
The smell of her favorite flower or her night gown
Do you remember the very first laugh my mother laughed as a small babe?

As you feel her soft hand on your arm
Do you remember those first steps of hers?
The first tears she cried that made her leap into your arms
Perhaps you recall the nervousness of your first day in the service
Or the chill of the snow air in Ohio
Can you feel the ringlets in your baby's first baby's hair?
Weaving the sweet, downy strands through your fingers
Sweet Melody

I know the tape in your mind plays all of our voices
All the tidbits you know of us
We're with you
All of us
With you there
Can you feel us?
A river so calm
No toiling, no pain
Breathe in, now out
We're here
We'll always be with you
It's okay, what you need
Inside of us you're never gone




For my grandfather, Robert Eugene Winn
April 25, 1927-May 1, 2015

Up Again

For those who do it on their own
You are seen
You have a push, a keep-going that is unfathomable
Whether you are up and moving or have fallen and climbing back
You still say, "I have to, for them, it's what I'm here for"
It teaches me--chin up, press on
Hold them tight, eat together, know each other, tell your stories
You are here, completely here
We must be too
It IS a choice, I finally see
A daily stay, a daily push and recover
A knowledge that not all stay
Whether physically present but permanently out
Or gone, having given up or simply waiting for us there
We persevere because fight feels so good
We fight to triumph over death
We push with every single breath
Collapsing and getting up again
Again and again
We fight with a strength so deep
With a joy so full
Because we build it, we bind to it
We can't help but see it, and we choose to build up
We are here
Completely, for one another
For the ones missing someone, for the fallen
We will not let them be without
We will not let them be alone

A Poem For Husband

To the man who brings me tea in ninja cups

My one and only in flannel button-ups

You're doing it right with me, with us

Though you may second guess in the excess of fuss

This bright goofball who's truly nuts

Who pulls me from mud and digs us from ruts

You bring such passion and huge, vibrant cheer

Maybe it's a bit greater with a little good beer

If my jokes crash you'll still give me a laugh

Evening winking at me when I give you some sass

You've got us Mr. Hawley, day in, day out

It's so clear next to you, THIS is what it's all about

My husband, muse, advocate, hope

This girl sure wins 'cause you never said nope

Goodbye, My Babies.

     Norah and Cedar. What I want for you is to be kind. In that, the happiness will come. I’m not worried about your happiness. I’m not worried about much. I hurt for much, crave change and will pursue the movement toward it. I don’t worry about you, loves. But I think about your spirit. Our job, mine and daddy’s, right now, is to foster that glow in you. That magnificent wonder and enthusiasm burns brilliantly bright in you. Your attention to detail, your imagination, your vigorous grasp around our necks, your compassion, your delight in the small things, like tiny, warm blueberries, building a racetrack, getting to pick your own cookie, or tooting. My hope is huge. My hope is that your fire remains irresistible. I’ve met very little adults who have theirs still, fewer still who have triumphed over defeat and hurt and ache to ignite the burn of goodness and zeal in others. My children. It is not easy. You will be fighters. Your mother and father are fighters. We have lost many. We have seen things we do not wish anyone to see. As children ourselves, that light in us was constantly dampened by those whom we were to trust and look up to. Children, defeat the pain. Move onward into progress and marvel at good, giving little attention to the bad—for those things are a tantrums demanding attention. Overcome evil with goodness, with a patience and perseverance that becomes wholly addictive.  Worry switches on genes that were previously dormant, genes that you’ll battle with once they are allowed to play out their script in your chemistry. Worry sits in your blood, in your bones. Worry keeps your neurons from firing the way they were meant to. So, it’s simple. Do good. Think outside of yourself, look into the eyes of the ones serving you, lift up the hurting (and they will often be silent, don’t make assumptions, just go, love them), reveal your affection (it makes people wiggle, I like it). Demonstrate with your voice, your hands, your feet, your eyes, children, WHERE this world can go. You have an Ally. And you have us. But if somehow you feel lonely, afraid to show that you are deeply hurting, sit down and write to me. Play music, make a cup of tea, and write… and while you do so, daydream of all the good in this place that you want do in your glorious life. I will advocate for you. If you cannot see me, if you cannot be with me, I am STILL your advocate.

     It’s pretty clear, you are no longer infants, no longer completely reliant on daddy and I for all of your needs. You can prepare yourselves snacks, use the potty, safely bathe, play with and comfort each other. Babies, you are not. Years will keep going and you will become stronger, more inventive, more independent. I can’t wait to witness! Each day we are more deeply and passionately intertwined with you, sweet children. My young lady, my young man… go on, get on with it then. Face all this fearlessly, and with unstoppable pride, through all of it, I sit here listening, watching, beaming. 

The Truth No One Can Handle

Maybe just a few of you will understand this. But most of you will judge. Maybe those of you who’ve done it and see the light and the glory and have gotten back to a regular sleeping and eating schedule can kind of remember. But to tell you the truth, like any other heavy job, you can’t know unless you are in it NOW. If you did the job, and you’re done now, even if you do something similar, it’s not the same. It doesn’t help us to say, “ I remember that, that was hard!” or “Hang in there, it’ll get better” or “Just wait until they are teenagers!”. Are you kidding me?! These all make you feel better but do nothing for us. Truth. It’s pretty and poetic and supposed to do something. You’ve taken this sweet dream we have of a time when we can be ourselves again, have a marriage again, sleep again, eat food when we NEED to, and pursue our passions again, and smashed them… and for the sake of…?! Of course that’s not your intention. You want to encourage. Honestly, and please hear me, actions are more. Actions of encouragement take effort, something that’s easy to feel like we are doing the most of. And it often feel futile. Sure, there are not many things you can say to truly help us, but it’s okay to say no things. It’s okay to leave a meal on the doorstep and send a text to let us know it’s there (WOW, that would be AMAZING!!), it’s okay to play along and keep a drowning couple afloat with your presence. It’s the loneliest job. And we can’t run away. We can’t even step away for a minute. Because if we do, they kill each other.

We’ve all seen the effects of crappy parenting. It’s terrible and gut-wrenching and the adult zombies that didn’t choose to work on themselves and make it better are everywhere. E-V-E-R-Y-W-H-E-R-E. Because it takes work. I am a hard worker. A very hard worker. I take little rest or reprieve. When I rest I get behind and get upset that I’m behind and then get upset that I don’t get enough rest. The rest can never come when we need it or want it the most. We have to wait, even we shaking and about to call 911. I get upset when people or memes or books or whatever say, “This is the magical key to enjoying life to the fullest right now. Also, look how beautiful they are..”. The way I look at it, no one does it right. Those of us who try, try until we scream and are near spiritual seizing, and then keep going, are phantoms. And that sucks.

Honestly, I am a fighter. A fighter like you wouldn’t believe. I have peace in my bones and a growl in my belly. My brain, my soul… they are gasping for air. And it’s okay. It’s how it works. No one gets through this collected and totally satisfied. I fight. I fight through with abundant love and feeling like a huge idiot and screaming and apologizing and trying again like a dummy. I can feel this. We, the phantoms, don’t talk about it, because we aren’t supposed to feel this. LET US. Or go away. We need to. Don’t butterfly and rainbow all over us when we are screaming, scream too. Then make spaghetti and cookies quietly so no one gets injured. God knows, we need a village, a village so giving, so thoughtful that it becomes common place and that’s just what we all do for each other. I’ll keep on working, forgiving, loving, admiring, washing, dreaming and all the things, including, probably, wanting more out of it all….

But for right now, I’m pissed.

And I’m not apologizing for that.

The Moms, The Cows, And The Poop

Cows are incredible. They poop. Their poop is amazing. They lactate. That stuff is amazing. I lactate, too. But that bit’s not for you.

In 1862, French chemist and microbiologist Louis Pasteur, now widely known as the Father of Germ Theory, completed his first test of a process that heated liquids enough to kill most bacteria and molds inside. "I intend to establish that, just as there is an alcoholic ferment, the yeast of beer, which is found everywhere that sugar is decomposed into alcohol and carbonic acid, so also there is a particular ferment, a lactic yeast, always present when sugar becomes lactic acid."* Sanitation in Mr. P’s day was not as wonderful as it is today and germ control was key to getting a foothold on the health of the public. Because of his work, Joseph Lister (sound familiar?) took off on his developments in antiseptic methods in surgery. This idea truly did change everything.

But, like every good idea, we need to always question the validity of the thing and have the relevance conversation. Is this practical now? Is it doing more harm than good? Because of developments in complimentary areas, are we able to render this supplement obsolete? Science rocks, but it changes. And so do our needs. For example, those functioning on mobile phones usually don’t need a landline, it’s superfluous. For our family, we have a laptop and Netflix so the pricey duo of television and cable are unnecessary (that’s a HUGE passion of mine—I double dog dare you, and nearly beg you, consider trading in your television to invest in your skills or passions).

Personally, after researching instability in vitamins and the effects processing and homogenizing (which rearranges the fat and protein molecules, ridding milk of the cream-line, to break the fat globules into smaller pieces so they’ll be suspending in the milk instead) have on the fantastic nutrient quality of foods, I find that we are killing a good thing, billions of good things to shave off a bit of risk, which is a different ballgame now. A major contributing factor to the ever-prevalent American diseases is what we’ve exchanged for shelf-life. The American diet revolves around these faux-gods of convenience and sterility. I shudder at Safeways now and have befriended farmers. When food is hardly touched, its taste and nutrient quality are as nature (I say: as God) intended it for our bodies. There is very little fossil fuel involved in walking into your yard or onto your patio or driving to your favorite farm or Googling “CSA near me” for your food. Less gas equals less money. There is a belief, a stigma, that organic and unprocessed is expensive and pretentious…but oh, what a mistaken belief. We are always trading something for cost. Organic farming takes WORK and attention to detail. It’s about symbiosis and perpetuating a healthy ecosystem for ourselves and children and so on. We’re sick, our bees are dying in droves, our children are going through D.A.R.E. programs at school while on ADD/ADHD meds after having been pumped with Cap’n Crunch and Gatorade and sat in front of a screen for hours on end, our animals are confined to cages where they cannot turn around or stand up or breed or eat the foods they’ve been designed to eat… this is preposterous, disturbing, and wrong. THIS is wrong. Lifestyle must be re-evaluated if we are going to live, and live well. People often dislike change because it’s an adjustment. People dislike being challenged because it feels like an attack. We are being attacked, however, in our folly, in our acceptance of Big Food. Dig in. Learn about your food. Surely you’ve heard a bit. Surely you love food. Imagine how good it could be, and how your body will pay you back.

I bring up the cows for a few reasons. One: cows are awesome. Healthy cows are the best. Happy cows are healthy cows. Eat the good, happy, healthy ones. Eating less cows, and only the good ones, will heal you and your planet in great ways. Let’s reduce this methane, demand meats without antibiotics and animals that eat what they were intended to eat. Look for grass-fed AND FINISHED beef. Look for PASTURED meats (they were free-roaming). Know the terms. Be aware too, because the Big Food folk love to play games with terms and lobby for their interests, not necessarily yours. Monsanto just started work on GMO grass, so, good gracious, get to know the cattle rancher nearest you. The other reason I bring up cows: I intensely love genetics. What can’t we learn from genes? Also I love dairy. I am a second-time nursing mother and nursing my son still at nearly two years old, so learning about mammals tendency toward the benefits of milk, at least early on, adds to the wonders and facets of health, physically, emotionally, and sociologically. The fermentation processes that Pasteur worked with to further develop the Germ Theory naturally take place in the gut of most adults today. Lactose intolerance is an inherited condition that begins to develop around age four when, as physical anthropologists tell us, we are intended to be completely weaned from mother’s milk. The enzyme that digests milk shuts down in most mammals soon after weaning. In the gut (a truly fascinating epicenter of whole-health really) of a person with lactose intolerance , the sugar molecule lactose just floats around in the intestine and eventually ferments…and well… things happen, things we like when cows do it but not so much when we are in the second-comer to a still-warm porcelain resting spot. Milk-drinking adults are an EXCEPTION to the norm (look at you, all exeptional, give yourself a pat on the back). It took thousands of years, but we domesticated cows, loved them for the beautiful things they gave us, and soon isolated herding populations began to adapt a fancy new, and glorious (for us— YAY, icecream!) gut-trick, where our special enzyme stuck around. It’s a deviant gene on Chromosome 2. Our cute little rebellious lactase-persister is named SNP C/T13910. Aww. It should be on a Tee shirt, for sure. Or at least embroidered on something.

In our home, we’ve tossed out processed foods: white flour, white sugar, HFCs, 5+ ingredient anything, store-bought milk, conventional f & v, and the like (ask, I’ll do my best to give you a relatively exhaustive list). We participate in a herd share from a local farmer and enjoy insanely delicious raw milk and the full benefits of the folate, thiamine, vitamin C, water-soluble B-group vitamins (and other such things) that haven’t been cooked out of them. We eat whole, organic, traditional and as local as possible (some exceptions, which we educate ourselves about: chocolate and coffee—ALWAYS FairTrade). We eat grass-fed and ethical. We want to know WHERE our food came from and HOW that land and those animals were treated. Our teeth are in wonderful shape (I haven’t used anything with fluoride in years and the children never have). Our bodies are healthy and energetic. Our brains are excited and hungry for ignition in our passions. Mind you, we are generally exhausted from the raising kids thing, we are happy and enthusiastic, none-the-less.

Do one thing today: Google CSA. If you get to enjoy your rebellious SNP C/T13910, look into a herd share, too. You’ll be pumped. Find a cow and her farmer near you. Meet her, rub her neck a bit and thank her for eating grass and pooping (the cow, not the farmer)… after all, her poop can make that soil a happy place for the delicious things you’re going to enjoy within the next few hours. Eat with intention. Eat with people. Eat for good.

   -->For some wicked-good insight and delight, watch Food, Inc. and read “In Defense of Food” by Michael Pollan and “Animal, Vegetable, Miracle”by Barbara Kingsolver!

~THANK YOU CURTIS HAWLEY FOR THE COW POOP MEME IMAGE!~

*Manchester, K.L. (2007). "Louis Pasteur, fermentation, and a rival". South African Journal of Science 103 (9-10): 377–380.

The Hunt

I am trying to be silent in the deep fog

The chill on this early morning bites intensely

It’s coming out of the darkest part of night now

Pulling my focus away from my cold body to the movement ahead

I see the steam of his breath before I see him

It rises, disperses into the frigid air

There is a slight crackle as the hoof I barely see taps at the earth

He paws twice at the fallen leaves

The sound travels far into the dark

I sheath my arrow, lay down my bow and crouch low

He exhales a deep, hot breath

As I slowly move toward him I see his body

He moves gracefully, lifting his head up, looks at me

I flatten my hand against the bark of the tree beside him

My chest heaving great, slow breaths

He is so beautiful

Never on a hunt had I seen a horse in these forests

As ran my hand along his smooth nose, over his cheek and to his neck I know he belonged to someone

He lowers his neck

No longer am I aware of the bitter cold

No longer am I concerned with this hunt

It’s only us

He gently touches his cheek to my shoulder

The steam of his breath warms my hands

The slightest hint of dawn saturates these woods

A warm so slight, so gentle

As I look out at the brightening horizon, I feel him lower his head more against me

He rests his cheek on my side

Beside him I stand in such an unknown, peaceful captivation

Amidst the need, the determination, the cold, I found you

In this wild, you were here

In this cold, you have given me more than I came for

It is early, yet, here you are

Family Forward... Or Something.

I really want to write on the area of being a stay-at-home parent. It’ll be tumultuous and dissatisfying that I can’t cover every facet I want to, but, none-the-less, I want to. It was bound to happen.  

I’ve read many articles making valid points for and against the choice to have a parent stay at home with the kids. Some are a fuzz on the ludicrous side: (against) “you might get divorced”… then surely you may’ve anyway because there have to be other issues here; (for) “you don’t have to get dressed everyday”… oh, please, do get dressed. People do indeed get married for reasons other than mad-crazy, “I’d willingly do all the hard things for you and with you” love (surely I don’t understand why… Maybe it’s that patience is hard. And no, I have absolutely no room to talk. I met Curtis when I was eighteen). But your commitment to your children and your spouse’s commitment to supporting your grueling endeavor (and vice versa!) to be near them as they become world-handling people cannot be a cause of separation. How terrible that even sounds, “We stopped ‘cause it’s hard”. Put on your big-boy pants and GUNG-HO this thing with every breath in your lungs! Do or do not, there is no try.

 The idea of putting your marriage first sounds great but it is very tough to live. These little people were built to figure this place out, how to get their needs and desires met with whatever means possible. And usually it’s with their noise. ALL. THE. NOISE. – Admittedly the most surprising part of parenting for me. WOW, with all the noise. Just wow.—Conversations that used to (hopefully) flow like sweet melted butter on your warm cornbread…won’t anymore. Separation cannot be a fear. You have to know (again, I honestly don’t feel like I have room to talk, I seem to have him intensely fooled that I'm awesome) that you WILL be loved back and you ARE worth it. You are still bound together even if it looks different. Even if your ears are bleeding. Even if someone is about to lose a face. Be worth it. Don’t be a whiner. Don’t grumble. Smile. Compliment each other. Wink at each other. Tell him when he looks good (or finally smells like soap again, thank you, Jesus!). Tell her you noticed that the pastas were organized in the pantry in alphabetical order… and that her quirkiness is cute. Tell him you are pumped that he knows how to say “quinoa” and better yet didn’t roll his eyes when you actually made it. Tell her that her legs are still sexy. And so is her laugh. Do nice things, out of the ordinary things. Often. Book a hotel and call a brave relative who can still stand your children. Kiss the back of his neck and walk away like nothing happened. NOTICE each other. LOTS! God knows, your kids are noticed. They make a very LOUD point of getting themselves noticed.

YOU HAVE TO WANT IT. 

YOU HAVE TO FIGHT FOR IT. 

BAD.  

Both for the well-being of and ACCELERATION of your family. As whole people on their own. And as a unit. WANT your children to excel. WANT your spouse to excel. If you’re focused on forward motion, stagnation doesn’t stand a chance. If you are determined for them, and for you, every single second and if you look at the faces you love with a humongous smile on your face and amazing thoughts for them in your bones they will excel, and so will you. Kindness will come from your mouth and kindness will come from your hands and you will excel. The paradox here is that you absolutely must SLOW DOWN to do it.

That is what can be painful. Heart-wrenching. Draining. Monotonous. While you’re in it, if you had that “gonna be when I grow up” dream moving and you jumped from that platform you’ve been working on since day one of your education to the home-with-kids arena of entropy and nonsense and noise, you will surely question your sanity. But you can find it here too. I am convinced.

If you stay at home: GET UP MUCH EARLIER THAN THE KIDS. And yes, this is impossible. Sorry. But do. Stretch with your music on. Shower and get dressed in what makes you feel good and look good. Drink coffee and read something that intrigues you. Do not clean. Not now (maybe before bed every night?).Put your mind into wonder mode first thing in the morning. That’s where it should be for the day with your children. Slow and open. If you start your day in cleaning mode, in “getting done” mode, you will not recover and you certainly not get it all done before they wake up. And probably you’ll resent the kids for keeping you from all the work, the working of keeping a house, keeping a life…bills, errands, responses, demands … all the things that make you feel important or suffocated. Start in wonder. Surely things will go wrong. Someone will wipe poop on your favorite book. Someone will straight up tantrum over a lost stegosaurus (it’s under that blanket) and be misssssserable even when you reveal it’s indeed still in existence. Someone will swallow a quarter (or help someone else swallow a quarter). An adult will weep like a baby and the baby will probably match said harmony but an octave higher. Someone will fall asleep after you dropped hints and lit candles. You’ll often not bathe. Or sleep. Or eat. Or pee until you have to do the cross-legged walk of adulthood-bladder-mastery pride to the potty… to, of course, find your favorite necklace at the bottom of the pea-soupy water.

It’s certainly a choice many people misunderstand. I have been told both, “I couldn’t do what you do!” AND “I wish I didn’t have to WORK! That’d be awesome!” Of course it’s not work. I get to sleep in. My bonbon belly is all happy and I’m all caught up on my celebs and Grey’s Anatomy. I’ve got my toes done, my hair done, a fashion-current wardrobe and my massage therapist says my back, neck and shoulders are the most malleable she’s ever seen. I wear heals to Gymboree and my lipstick matches my ironed blouse. But, really though… my self-esteem is not problematic because I LOVE the work. I do have to CHOOSE to take pride in my job*. And I do have to CHOOSE to still be me, to be fun and educated (that’s never a “done now” thing) and choose to be silly and choose to be ready to full-force it and keep on. It’s brutal and senseless. You can’t KNOW how the kids will turn out or if they’ll friend you on FB when they’re teenagers. But they cuddle me now. They bring books over and beg (like they have to), and plop down into my lap even though they have all these books memorized. And I am HAPPY with our relationship. I touch them constantly. I praise them. I get silly beyond all reason with them. They are my friends. My want for them is to be KIND not for them to be HAPPY. Clearly, I have to be that model. I can’t always manage happy, why on this silly-ol’ earth would I bound them with that expectation where they’d feel like they’d disappointed me if they weren’t tickled about every moment here? I'm selfish. It's in my genes. And that's not happy. But KIND, that I expect. And a good heart will find what it needs in that soil.

It’s nowhere near easy. It’s gratifying in a section of your life that you have to literally grow on the spot because you haven’t been preparing for this since grade school. If only we began lessons in tantrum management as teacher had us trace our letters on those giant dotted lines.

Obviously there isn’t a better choice, stay home or not. But do follow what’s right, follow that weirdo butterfly in your tummy, your instinct or whatever (*cue God debate*). That same one that made you KNOW you were in love. That lil’ Lepidoptera has a great sense of direction. At the moment I have “been home” for three years. And now I am going bananas. Like… ready for banana bread bananas…getting all funky and dark and mushed and ready to get some heat and change going.  I’m ready to get moving. I’ll start back it the direction my soul craves for. I am here first though, and that’s okay. Well. It’s better than okay. I am his wife and their mother first. But now, now I leap from a platform of beautiful confidence (WHAT HAVEN’T I HANDLED? WHAT CAN’T I DO?! BRING IT!!!). And I will leap with a joy so great it’s unmatched by most. How’s that for humble?

*It’s a job.

On the bright side… husband made me dinner. Candlelight and red wine caliber, am I right, ladies?!?

Hotdogs and apples, ftw!

On The Water

As it became night the boat felt more like home than it ever had. The stars had a brilliance not even a mountaintop had shown her. It was still. Quiet. A glistening—a vastness and openness, possibility, an intensity in her stomach that the importance of such a minuscule creation meant everything to the sum. She’d never had a problem with the sea churning her stomach, but today, right now… at the sea, that infinite above and infinite below, that was the feeling she needed. That was a deep, tearing craving coming to fruition. A nervousness and perfect calm simultaneously. A true peace within the lack of faux security, with which came more wonder, more freedom than anywhere on land, any work of her hands, any realization of her passions.

On the bow she stood, listening to the jib trembling in the slight wind, the lifeblood of movement. This is the most awake she’d ever felt. The most in humble reverence there could be here.

As the sun began to give that sweet touch of light, she pulled the blanket over her head and stretched her body, tensed from falling asleep on the deck under the stars. The blanket was soft on her face and warm from the heat of rest. The rain brought her to her feet.  She upturned her face and felt the tiny droplets awaken her skin. A single drop hit the back of her neck and slowly moved down between her shoulder blades, falling all the way down her back. The chill brought her alive. She stared at the surface of the water. The droplets caused reactions, changed the surface, made eddies that stretched out to touch each other. All mixing eventually into one body. How invigorating it was. Water reaching water. The fish coming up to take part in the newness, the change, excited by the movement. The dynamics of tranquility amongst impact was so much to savor. She tasted the rain, the drops made deep orange and blue by the sun accelerating into the horizon. It happens so fast out here. It never truly felt dark. The warmth traversed her skin and gave her goose bumps. So much is under there, unseen, quietly affecting everything. Mysteries and symbioses. Phytoplankton reviving the air more than trees. Nematocysts of every potency. Communications in deep songs, in vibrations, in changing color. Flirtations without worry. Absolutely no desire for destruction. Simply continuance.

Leaving the earned warmth of her blanket and the deck absorbing the sun’s gifts, she threw her clothes aside and dove, hands leading, arms above, gracefully… changing everything again. 

Blackmill-- The Drift

Like THIS, He said.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YBaauZ0nji0


Our Father in heaven, GLORIOUS is Your name!!!!
Bring Your Kingdom, make this place like heaven above!
Give us what we need today, our meals, our shelter, our relationships, our peace, our hope!!
Forgive us Lord!! We strive to forgive others, be with us as we do!! Use my own measure of forgiveness on me so that I may be always aware of my own judgments and sins!! I will work tirelessly to be more like You!
Lead us away from temptation, from distraction. Keep us from the ways of this world, away from the evil one, whose kingdom dwells in the hurts and wrongs of this place!

FOR YOURS IS THE POWER, THE GLORY, THE GOODNESS, THE LIGHT, THE WONDERFUL, THE PEACEFUL, THE INCREDIBLE, THE JOYFUL, THE LOVE OF ALL LOVES!!! AMEN!!

Entangled

Play while reading--
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jdYJf_ybyVo


This is falling in love with you.
This is praising... praising Christ with you.
This is our first prayer together.
This is those tears of joy and redemption, that moment, in your prayer, I knew these things...
This is forgiveness, acceptance.
This is love like I have never known.
This is all of the beauty and all of the good and all the joy and all of my dreams.
In you.
In us.
Your hand, wrapped around mine.
Your chest rose and fell, rose and fell. My head rested warmly on you.
This is every breath you take.
My love.


My love.
This is us.
This is falling in love with you.
This is life together in Christ.
This is me entangled with you.
This is the warmth of your bare chest.
This is that contagious laugh.
This is my racing heart.


My love, my sweet, sweet love.
This saying goodbye to Rylan.
This is knowing our first babe is home.
She is safe.
This is gasping for air.
This is getting through.


This is hope.
This is a good night's sleep.
This is a new chance.
A blessing, a healed heart.
This is our new child.
First breathe, full lungs.
All the possibilities at once.
This is her gaze.
This is perseverance.
This is triumph.
This is our second life.
The freedom in birth.

Freedom.
This is his grace.
His smile.
This is HIS INHERITANCE.
Our gift.



Oh, my great love.
This...
This is us.
This is all we are.
All we give, what we breathe, what we fight through, what we praise for.
This is our walk.
This is gleaming.
This is worship.
Dedication. Relationship. Being freely bound.
Hopelessly lost in love.
A Creator and creation.

Glory be to THE LOVE.
This is a sweet, blessed taste...
Of how He meant it to be.



I love you Curtis.

I love you.

We are still far from over.

Son

My heart raced.
Butterflies.
So many butterflies.

She didn't say, "It's a boy!"
She didn't ask if we even wanted to know.
Curtis did. I was curious, but I would've liked the surprise.
"I see a penis!"
"A brother! She'll have a brother," we cried.

His birth changed my life.
In the way birthing your child does.
But in the way that becoming free does too.
Emancipated from the trauma of our first birth.
From fear.
From letting the hospital take over my body.
This time I was in charge.
Curtis, me and Jesus.
No intervention at all. Just support.
And it was there.

I danced with Jesus then, all day long that day.
As I brought His son here.
I danced with Him.
Through the labor.
Through the pain.
Curtis guided me, held me, prayed for us, danced with us.
Through feeling like I was near death.
To being brought completely back to life.
Full, deep, lungs-filled life.
We brought you here, Cedar, together.
To heal this place in your own way.
With your gifts.

It was rescue.
Redemption.
Peace.
It was holy.
And here you are.
A whole trip around the sun.
Still I often stop.
Stop just to marvel.
I've known you all along.

I smell your head.
Close my eyes, I can't help it.
Hold you, sleeping, warm, soft against my bare chest.
Whisper to you, "All of me loves all of you..always, always."
Thank the Lord.
My Dear Jesus...
Oh how I thank you Lord.
Your gift is full.
Your gift.
Your inheritance.
Thank you. THANK YOU!

Silence is often the best praise.
I just soak in the goodness entrusted to me.

Cedar.
Mighty you will be.
Roots deeply sown.
Living in faith as you were taught.
Love with all your being my boy.
ALL YOUR BEING.
Every breath in you.
Use it for love.
My son.
My great, peaceful gift.

I love you Cedar.
How I love you SO!!

Listen: Your Hand in Mine.

Keep On

Keep close

Keep on

You have your story to tell

Every move tells it

Every word from you

No one has a grace like yours, a peace like you

Believe in The Good, like a child believes

Like a child, overcome the wounds

Like a child, laugh wildly

Play deeply

Like a child, be marveled

Don’t force your grief away

Do not be distracted

Allow yourself to feel

But come back

Return

With your whole heart

With that grace only you have

With that grace only He gives

Be still, look forward

Look around with your childlike eyes

Can you feel it?

That wonder, that movement to press on…

Losing My Dad and Brother

"...Because suffering makes your testimony irresistible"

So, like the birth stories of my children—two days which also, rather obviously, changed my life forever—I have been meaning to write this story for quite some time, but all the silly things like grocery shopping and baby poop stuck to horrible things (“how in the world did you get THAT there?!?”) and being silly for sanity's sake and being still for a moment to gather myself so I don’t fall apart into something heartbreaking, well… those things consume this time stuff. The time that anyone who knows better wouldn't reasonably agree to partake in, it’s all too linear and rude.

So this will be rather raw and graceless. But it’s what I can do right now.

Kari, my sister, called. I had a two year old and a six month old (July 2013), so I don’t remember if she called and I immediately answered or if I returned her call (it was probably the latter… when she calls twice I know it’s an emergency. We both have kids; we know that sometimes answering often magically turns baby crevices into volcanoes of both noise and profound mess. Go ahead, test it.) I don’t think she said “hi”. I don’t think she asked if I could sit or whatever people in movies think to do because they have a dumb script.

“Mike died”.

Our dad. 

I know she repeated it because I didn’t get it, I didn’t… I don’t know. I just didn't get it.

I called Curtis. He knows me well enough. All I said was, “Please come home”. He was home in seven minutes. I thank Jesus that the kids were still napping.

That was the hardest thing I have ever said to my husband. It didn’t come out easily. He was sitting on the purple arm chair, I was sitting on the floor, as I do. I was shaking. I was holding his hands. I couldn’t break eye contact. I couldn’t say who. I couldn’t say anything. But he knew someone. After twenty or so minutes just sitting like that, searching for… I don’t know… in each other, he finally made sure. He knew our children were okay, that they were upstairs napping, that I would be in a whole different way if it was them. When he finally spoke, he just needed to know it wasn't Joshua or Kaia (he was three, she was two months).We hit the road within hours. We were going to drive through the night. We got an hour and a half from home, not even to the Portland-California border before all the adrenaline ran out and our bodies stopped. We didn't spend any time processing. We hadn't yet. We just went. We just moved quickly. But it was late and we couldn't anymore. We pulled off and slept at I don’t even remember where. In the morning we kept going. That drive with two small children was a mistake. It was too hard on all of us, the being on the road for so long, all in our own seats away from each other’s arms when that’s where we needed to be most. It was too much. Stupid. Obvious. But you can’t think. You can’t… you just can’t. You just get out and run because, well… fight or flight, I guess.

Two months later, life was calming down on the outside of the home-front slightly, a new normal, or whatever. One day though, I got sick of the carpets downstairs being wet (that’s a whole other ordeal, but this is not that story) and I probably threatened the management company somehow because they finally sent a guy to come look at the running list of stuff that was going wrong with their house (our toilet overflowed gallons of water every “lucky” flush, our sink burst a pipe rendering in the sink and dishwasher out of commission and our carpet was soaked downstairs, among many other cruddy shenanigans). The maintenance guy came, did the “HOL-Y COW” thing, and called an air quality testing guy, who then called restoration guys and within an hour or two we learned that the air quality in our home was dangerous and we needed to evacuate immediately, bringing as little as possible (because all of our belongings were now dangerous as they were riddled with unhealthy amounts of mold spores).

So I spent an hour getting things in the safe that needed to be in there and grabbing whatever I would need to care for our two children in diapers for God knows how long. We would have no home base. We drove around Hillsboro late at night, both kids crying because their night had been upturned right when schedules were getting back to normal. Intel was having a thing, a conference or who knows. Don’t get me wrong, I am proud to be an Intel family, but when they have their things Hillsboro fills up with nerdy folk (I love them, but they need beds at night too, inconveniently clashing with our situation) and so the hotels filled up and the prices of the rooms exploded to somewhere between ick and outrageous. We finally, by the grace of God, found a room for a price I won’t mention (because Curtis wouldn’t let his family sleep in the car… or have to go through the stress of going to the city to find a room). The following morning he got the kids and I on a flight to California. Again. Okay, so now we don’t have a home. And we can’t touch our things. Or are they all ruined now? What could I expect? We didn't know.

But we are roll with it people. We are look up, look onward people.

I held my kids close on that flight. I smelled their hair. I cried in my sweater once they were asleep. I pulled it together. I got off the plane. Mom and Dave were there to collect us. I cried again once the kids were asleep for the night, bunking up in grandma’s house again. What more? I couldn’t handle telling anyone we were there. I couldn’t process having to move again (third time in seven months). And being in Livermore again, knowing that I couldn’t drive over to Nadine St. and show him his grandbabies or just... try again… I just… It just hit with a force I didn’t expect.

But...we’ve got this. We are an outstandingly strong family.

We’d been there for a while, two weeks, maybe three. Curtis stayed in a cheap, junky hotel back in Oregon. He worked his 55-65 hour weeks and also furiously searched for another home for his family. Then, with the advice of several respected people, and God’s blessing and peace, we decided to buy. Because of Dad we could do this. He bought our home; this was his gift that he wouldn’t see. This house, this house I am typing in right now, where his youngest son is playing with his grandchildren downstairs as I am upstairs writing this story in the dark… this is from him. This is my favorite house I have ever lived in. It’s gorgeous. It’s home. It is SO home. So, Curtis amended his search. He prayed. He prayed. And prayed. And here “she” was. Other offers fell through because this was the one. Curtis didn’t tell me he’d found it. I was falling apart without him, away from him. He didn’t want to get my hopes up. He found it, he put an offer in, he financed it, and, finally…

I didn’t see pictures. I didn’t know anything about it. He likes to surprise me. And I gotta admit, I like how everyone said I was nuts for just letting him pick our home without me knowing anything about it or seeing it first. But, I am a woman of fierce faith. In my Jesus. In my husband. In what we are as a family. This home is incredible. It’s filled with God, with the brilliant light of Christ. And you can only know what I mean once you walk through the door. Come. I’ll show you.

But it wasn’t done yet. The story. It wouldn’t let up yet.

If you don’t know me very well, you might not know that I have a migraine condition. They thought it was epilepsy at one point (and to his credit, Curtis thought his new girlfriend had epilepsy when we first started seeing each other…and you thought you know how good of a man he is…oh, it goes way further than you might think). These migraines are terrible. Not post about it on Facebook terrible. Terrible, like, I actually am often sure that this time, this time it will kill me. They come with an excruciatingly brutal cornucopia of symptoms that I don’t even care mentioning (I will share these with you one on one if you are hell bent on knowing). They are incapacitating. And I HAVE TO GET THEM UNDER CONTROL when they start, it's up to my willpower (ugh! ha!). Any and all fear I allow through makes them exponentially worse. They can get so bad I convulse, I forgot chunks of time, forget people, lose feeling in half my body and become temporarily blind. Brain civil war, I guess. Anyway, in the last ten years I’ve becoming relatively good at maintaining these—controlling stress and learning to navigate my metabolism and such, whatever it takes. So this particular day, the kids and I were at this park with the Gerharts in Fremont (this park was rad!) when it hit me like a sack of bricks. I was 700 miles from the person that keeps me together, the person that has learned to do these with me for the last ten years. So I did what I do. I prayed. I nursed Cedar. And prayed. My vision faded away, I started shaking. I stayed upright, sitting on a picnic table. I prayed that God would not allow my arms to release, that He would not allow me to drop my son. The Gerharts were several hundred feet away, playing with Norah. That’s what I needed. I didn’t tell them. I needed to do this alone, with God. Don’t allow my arms to release. Don’t allow Cedar to fall. Don’t allow my body, whatever it does, to scare him.

He didn’t fall. I was blind, I was shaking, I was terrified, but he didn’t fall. He fell asleep. Alseep. If you are a mom or dad you know that children sense everything your body or brain is doing. If you are stressed, they know and react ten fold. That’s why being human makes being a parent insane. Because you can’t be human. I think his sleep was a gift. I needed that peace. I needed his steady breath. When the Gerharts finally came over with Norah, all happy and exhausted from play, they knew something wasn’t right. Somehow I was able to tell them not to call an ambulance, that this happens, that I will live and we will all be fine. Somehow I was able to stay calm and tell them what I needed. I needed food and water and to not have this be an ordeal and to keep staying calm. Eventually, when I could kind of see the outlines of things a bit, each of them carried one of my children and had their other arms wrapped around my back and we, as lightheartedly as possible, made our way to the car to drive to Sunol, to eat and rest. When we got to their house, I became sick, and held onto that toilet like there was no tomorrow. Somehow I got a text to Curtis (there is never any cell reception at their house so I’m not sure how it got to him) and he called on their home phone, grandma brought it to me, all pale and miserable and terrified, and he walked me through the second half of my brain’s assault on my body.

Of course, grandpa made sure I didn’t go anywhere that night, that the kids and I stayed at their house instead of trying to make it back to mom’s in town. They made up the couch for us to sleep on. I sang to the kids, as normally as I could, I “read” them a few books from memory, and prayed, more deeply and connectedly than I had in… well, it was so, exquisitely, deeply rich. The children fell asleep on me, I prayed over them more, I smelled their heads as my body shook and my stomach churned. I just thanked God though. I thanked him for safety. For family. For my husband. For my children. 

Hind sight: I know exactly why I got that migraine...why I had to stay there that very particular night.

Why am I shaking writing this right now? I don’t know if I can do it.

I don’t know…

At 3 am I heard the phone ring, but I was too messed up still to process that it rang... 

No. I can’t do this. I thought I could.

I thought I could write this. I will try again when I am there.

Brother.

You are on my wall. You are with your son and your pregnant wife. Your baby girl will be coming soon in this one. You are right in front of me. Right here, in this picture. I love this one. You love them so much. Just two evenings before this phone call, in the very living room, IN THE VERY SPOT I WAS when my husband, your brother, told me, we had had the most wholesome, incredible conversation we had ever had in ten years of being brother and sister. You were amazing. You were a beacon of hope and perseverance that night, like I had never seen.

I’m sorry. Maybe I will try to tell more of it all soon.

Just know.

Just know it’s not wasted. Nothing is wasted. Energy doesn’t stop. We don’t just stop. It’s not just physics and clockwork. The physics are a boundary and they go away and the clocks go away. We carry this inexplicable beauty with us for something. A quilt we only can see one side of because we are linear right now. Now we see the back, the stitches that all cross each other and make a huge mess of things. But when it’s turned over, when the pattern, the hard work, THE PLAN, is revealed…

I cannot imagine. I cannot dream anything close.

Peace be with you my family, my friends. Thank you for taking your time on me. I love you.

And I’m not the only one.

Listen to this song...

BASE

Oh how the air is crisp up here! Cold in my throat. I swallow, slowly blink, breathe, blink.

The morning has a sweet smell. My heart jumps. Closed eyes, I picture myself soaring over the giants, cold licking my cheeks, hands brushing the tops of the trees, palms sweating. Arms out.  Legs straight. Knees slightly bent. Steady. Everything flows past faster than I imagined, faster than I want.

 How I want to never come down.

But I am still up here, almost ready.

I pull the hand warmers from my pockets, the sunlight coming over the mountain catches the silver edges of packs label. “Okay”, I think.

Okay.

Out to the sides my arms span. My fingers wiggle in the brisk air up here. Thousands of feet up. I wiggle my toes. I imagine wiggling them in my shoes in the air.

I’ve made jumps before, but not like this. I imagine the angle of attack, imagine the wind, imagine the slight changes of throwing my shoulders back.

My suit came up with me today. I run my hands over it, examining every detail. The webbing of the legs. The wings.

Wings.

The part I was born without.

I get acquainted with her. The cliff. The air. The trees beneath me. The fear melts, the exhilaration ensues and I delight in this moment. Delight in the fragility I feel. Delight in my respect for the birds who’ve mastered this. How prepared they are immediately. They are just born and into it they go. Over many years I have prepared. Yet they do not make it to this cliff before sunrise to get to know her. They know her. She is home. She is their base.

Excitedly I clap, scrunch my nose, squint, shake my head back and forth again and again, throw my arms in the air, laugh.

“WOOO-OOO!!!”

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow I’ll make the jump.

You Have Me

I don’t know how you love me the way you do.


You love me without fail.

You love me with infinite patience.

You love me with encouragement.

You love me with enthusiasm.

You match my playfulness.

You match my silliness.

You match my sadness.

You break apart when I hurt.

You want nothing more than my happiness, my fulfillment.

You want me to shine. You’ll do anything to let me.

You have more faith in me than I’ve ever seen a man have in his wife. More faith than I’ve seen a child’s father have in her mother.

You have trust in me.

You have passion for me.

You have an intensity to show me that this optimism, the one that is often so brutal, so disheartening, so angering, is very needed.

You show me it’s not futile.

You show me that you will be beside me, especially when I hurt.

That you will be my encourager.

That you will offer your hands to me.

Your tears with me.

You show me every day.

Every single day of your life.

You show me what I mean to you. What I mean to this world. What I mean to our child. What I mean to God.

You show me that I mean so much.

You honor me.

You’ve only ever shown me truth.

How can you love me the way that you do?

So infinitely…

So wholesomely.

You keep me on my feet. You keep me hoping. You are the artist of every dream I have in my heart, every certainty I know in my bones.

Amazing What A Minute Can Do

Today...today I feel like, sitting down at the end of the day, the only thing I can think to myself is: You're doing it wrong.

I recount the day. Once the baby is asleep. Once my thoughts are all I can hear.

Today I yelled at my husband.

Today someone dear to me told me if there was a god, bad things wouldn't happen to good people.

Today I complained about at least three people.

Today I wished for more peace than I had.

Today I wished things I enjoyed costed less (landscapers, sushi).

Today I didn't care about the other people in the restaurant because "we deserved to get out more".

Today I wanted to move far away.

Today I wished my husband didn't work so far away. And didn't work so much.

Today I found out a dear friend (a husband, a father) is in the middle of Isaac and his wife is home worried sick. Curtis works an hour away. Only an hour.

Today I called at least two other drivers idiots.

Today I learned that I misjudged someone. And did it for a long time.

Today I whined I never get time away from the baby.

Today, I'm doing it wrong.

Too many days I do it wrong.


But the cool thing, the thing that makes me sick and makes me rejoice all at the same time, I get to start again. I get to still be a person. I get to choose. I can sit around in my dirty bath water complaining that it's gotten cold and ick, or I can shape up, soap up, tread that frickin water and keep my sorry-feeling self warm.

I can take pride in doing it backwards. Against the grain. Having a faith that is rare. Having a relationship that's even rarer. Having an ability to forgive, to forget that gets me called naive. Having more of The Dream than I am surely grateful for. Having another life start in my very own body. Having a healthy body, a body I can be proud of for it's unreal accomplishments, instead of shame in it's "flaws". I will not take shame. I will not let it burn me up. I will not let guilt deforest my brain. I will not let people fool me into thinking they don't care. They do. I know they do. I know. I know God, The God, is not doing to us. I know He gives to us. I know He loves but knows we are better, stronger without bubbles. I know He lets us decide. He doesn't need slaves, He has the angels for the "have to do" stuff. We, I... I get to choose. And I like to choose. I like my brain on happy. I like laughing enough to make me look like a fool, where my damaged bladder nearly embarasses me. I like my dingy, rounded, mommified body. I work hard. I love hard. I will love you until it pisses you off. And I will mean it. And I hope it makes you uncomfortable. You probably need to be there. Uncomfortable, I mean. In the best way, somebody loving you until you're nervous and think she's crazy.

When I do it wrong, it's a restart button. At the beginning, in my Contra, I got the left-right-left-right-up-down-up-down-B-A-Start. I've just got to keep fighting. This is my 5'11'', green-eyed, long-legged, preggo-bodied, hope-filled territory. This is my electric yogurt, my land to shape. You run your territory, I'll run mine. I give up wanting to run yours...yours is too much for me. Yours scares me. Hell, mine scares me.  But I like it. Sometimes I suck at it. But I can do it. I control it. I don't want to do it wrong.

So, I will kiss my sleeping one year old, my sleeping husband, send a kiss to tiny baby in my belly, praise MY Jesus, and put my electric yogurt in reset mode for some hours. And I hope, I'm hoping, I'll come out a little better on the other side.



So Damn Lucky


(I want to be like Carter, he is all smiles... and magical drums. And I love him. And will always carry a serious life-long crush.)





For Kaitlin.

Our Light

May 18, 2012—Our Light




I asked you today, “When did you know you loved me?”


When I knew, thinking back, it was like Norah learning something new


One day, it was just who I was now, hard to imagine before that


It was all leading up to you


To us


To her


That bounce in your walk


Your inability to hide your joy when I ran up to you


That confidence you had that you say was so uncharacteristic


Watching you sit at a piano


Hearing you sit with your guitar


Our first exchange with those cords


Laying against you, head on your chest, and your arm around me


Smiling, laughing, joking, kissing in the pitch black and pouring rain


We already knew each other before we met


Somehow


I wonder if our mothers ever walked past each other while we were in their bellies


Every detail I think back on, was planned, just for us


For me to be there when you were there


For me to know him and for you to know him


Every detail


To prove a oneness


To give hope


To be light


To be salt


It was all leading up to this


To us


To her


To share The Beauty


To give light

From Bliss and Blisters

From Bliss and Blisters (In the Making)...

Written shortly after our wedding, i.e early marriage/prebaby-- after moving to Sacramento. Maybe early Spring 2009.

"We are snacking on cold waffle bits from this morning’s breakfast out of a plastic baggy. The crickets in the two gecko tanks behind me are completely still and completely quiet, which is completely unusual. I think they might be coming up with a plan, via group telepathy, of course, to escape the certain death-by-giant-reptilian that mercilessly awaits them. They’re just standing altogether on top of the mock rock cave and half log that the bumpy, green ladies hide in, just standing there… being bugs. Bugs are eerie, especially when covered in calcium powder and standing so still they’re disinteresting to the cat. I am desensitized to cricket death. This is probably the fault of Hollywood. When we first got the geckos, before we were married, we would morbidly watch them pounce, pulverize, and attempt to swallow with brittle, twitching cricket legs hanging out of their mouths. I’ve always silently been grateful that the human process is more graceful and civil, at least from the point of the grocery store on. My husband is in the kitchen, gracefully making hamburger helper. I have to “remind” him to make a vegetable too… In real life, gravy’s not a vegetable.

“You’ve never had this stuff before?” he asks reasonably stunned.

I almost always play sous chef to his lead, trying to work quickly and help him stress about the timing of dinner a little less. Ninja Kitchen Jill works quickly and silently- putting perishables away, clearing the counter as he works, cleaning a pan or utensil, and always putting a large cup of water next to the stove while giving him the I know you need it look. Then she disappears in a brief cloud of smoke that rapidly vanishes with show-stopping sparks. He always feels like he accomplished all of this himself while cooking and I am more than happy to oblige him because it definitely helps him enjoy his creation more. So this is what marriage is like. Sometimes I think about how he’d get along being a bachelor. Would he drink unlimited quantities of apple juice? Would the grounds in the coffee maker grow penicillin? What would his refrigerator look like? Ketchup, 10-meat pizza, eggs, 7 containers of juice (all apple or orange, all open), 2-month old leftovers, stinky half and half that’s “still good”, cheese of some sort, beer. He does have excellent taste in beer, I contentedly and quite proudly admit. He’s not a Coors Light kind of guy, unless camping, when everyone enjoys diluted beer and calories don’t count anyway because, well, you’re in the forest. He carefully pours and savors each cold glass, telling me about the flavors, what it feels like on his tongue as he takes the first few sips, holding the glass or bottle out so he can analyze the color or label, or perhaps for some hidden camera running for a candid beer commercial for which he could potentially make thousands. He does this with wine too, even when I am having a glass with him. We have to have the same kind of glass or he’ll go nuts. He likes to share. He went to Kindergarten twice, maybe that’s why he’s so good at it. I like him. I guess I’m okay at sharing, too. I think I’m supposed to now. If I eat, he has to eat, even if I’m shaking and have the blood glucose level of dirt and he’s just had Thanksgiving, he’ll eat with me. I think it helps him somehow. He’s one of those people who, if he sees your food, he wants it. You people drive me mad. I was skinny and way too passive growing up, when the sheer, striking speed of my metabolism dictated to me that I should eat constantly. I used my elbows as weapons and mastered a mean growl so I could try to put some meat on my scrawny bones. Thanks to post-high school, baby-prep womanliness, my hips are now ever-so-slightly curvy and momma-ready. He likes it. I think I do too."