tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-277767602024-03-07T19:03:55.715-08:00the city of no left turnsopportunities to turn left in san francisco are precious... take them when you can.sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13763268111311610354noreply@blogger.comBlogger341125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27776760.post-13077511460674047262014-05-24T15:50:00.003-07:002014-05-24T20:35:55.855-07:00What I think about when I think about Michael.My friend Michael died a few days ago.<br />
<br />
Space. Breath. Space.<br />
<br />
I now see him everywhere, in places he never inhabited. In some ways, it's lovely to think about someone who always made me smile, but in other ways his memory is too raw, too sad.<br />
<br />
I feel empty and full of him. And I can hear him talking in my head, astonished by the way he died. At 40, quietly. In his sleep.<br />
<br />
Michael and I met at work soon after he started his job. He was sweet and smiley and told me in those early days that he couldn't believe I was 40, "you're so fresh-faced!" Michael's compliments were genuine, a bit anachronistic, and always heartfelt.<br />
<br />
He was a contemplative guy, always learning and often exploring new ways of living, whether it was improving his grammar, learning about pickling, or joining a foodie club that took him on unbelievable adventures. He was adventurous at the curious level--not a risk taker, but a life-taker. I learned a lot from him, even though he was officially my mentee. And that was my pleasure: mentoring. Because our relationship was all about learning from each other. We'd tuck in to a conference room to eat lunch together and share difficulties we were experiencing and really, just listen. I pushed him and he pushed me back, always with pride in each others accomplishments.<br />
<br />
I learned of his death through a coworker while I was at work. I sat down, my mouth drawn wide, and immediately had this electric feeling of connection to him, as if he could hear me. And I sent powerful thoughts to him of love, and I guess now that I think of it, of safety. I can't really describe how clear this pipeline was to him, and how sure I was that he was tethered to the other side, listening. I still believe it. And it brings me comfort knowing this was true.<br />
<br />
Because Michael's work was centered around social media, it was Facebook that carried word of his death far and wide and quickly. This 21st century mode of sharing difficult news made me uncomfortable. I couldn't look at Facebook. Soon, however, his page became a thing of beauty. Michael's friends and family shared how much they loved him, what they loved about him, and how he came into their lives. Suddenly this navel-gazing platform rose up to exemplify what we all knew about Michael: kind, loving, super funny, ridiculously smart. <br />
<br />
The last time I saw Michael I gave him a big hug, kissed him on his cheek, and told him I loved him. The last thing he told me in an instant message was, "thanks, doll!"<br />
<br />
Both of these make me smile. Big.sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13763268111311610354noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27776760.post-67471486461224751772014-05-18T15:50:00.002-07:002014-05-18T22:08:47.036-07:00memory-testing the progenyWe used to rely on Death Cab for Cutie. Track two was a sacred tune, one that we promised--her panel, that is--we would never tire of, nor complain of its constant refrain. We were bound by that song; we knew it by heart and praised its very existence.<br />
<br />
"I Will Possess Your Heart" was burned into our car's CD player. I expected some day the abuse would send us desperately to an online retailer to overnight a replacement. Enduring one full day without its powers was unthinkable. Plain bad parenting was what it was.<br />
<br />
This track was the only sure fire way to coax--nay, force--our daughter to cease her incessant screaming during a car ride. When played, the brief glissando that begins the song lifted up a few notes and caught hold of her little mind. I'll never forget how her head would shake back and forth, as if a hypnotist were guiding her subconscious. Her eyes would relax for a beat and she'd focus forward in a dreamlike state, while the adult riders would take a deep breath--like I just did, remembering--and we'd continue forward for 8 minutes and 31 seconds. It was heaven when it worked. And it did enough that everyone swore by its powers.<br />
<br />
While she grew inside my belly, <i>Narrow Stairs</i>, Death Cab for Cutie's 6th album was released. I soon became a fan, listening to it full blast in my car, often repeating track two again and again. After entering the outside world, she soon let us know that the confines of the carseat did not suit her. In desperation, my sleep-deprived brain happened on what would become our salvation: she remembered and was calmed by her in utero listening sessions. Gobsmacked, I was. <br />
<br />
Now that she's older, a car ride is a matter of getting somewhere, not a caged-in scream hole where eardrums go to die. The song has not been played for years. On a lark, I decided to cue up the track during a recent playful dance party in our living room. The thrum of the first beats rung out, while the heartbeat of the bass cast us forward. My mind swept back in time. I smiled. Nothing will ever let me hate that song. <br />
<br />
The kid didn't recognize it. I'd inquire, every so often, if she remembered it. She'd shake her head, asking, "when are the words going to come?" A little disappointed, I decided to believe that the tune must be deep in the recesses of her subconscious, like nursing, like learning new words, like being an infant, like just trying to survive each day and move forward.<br />
<br />
Or maybe I'm projecting. sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13763268111311610354noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27776760.post-10763042668103128602012-09-25T22:16:00.000-07:002014-05-18T22:22:18.021-07:00the First Dayone of the last things my dear auntie lee said to me was, "oh sarah. you've always been such a crier."<br />
<br />
she was right. it doesn't take much to get me misty. my college roommate pattie could always tell when i was even the tiniest bit sad or on the brink of crying. an antique childhood scar on my face blazes pink when my eyes tear up or my emotions run high. <br />
<br />
as i expected, it was great fun to see the lil' whip play with the trucks, with her to-be friends, and with three painting easels all lined up. "am i an artist?" she asked, enthusiastically. of course she is. as she continued selecting her paints, she declared she was "artisting." <br />
<br />
i've been thinking about this day for some time, preparing those school parts that can be purchased, made, and scheduled. i didn't spend much time preparing my soul for the emotional parts, instead glossing over this transition with vague word choices, like "fun," or "challenging," or even more blase: "something to get through." considering my lack of soul-searching, i didn't sleep the preceding night. i struggled with first day jitters that cluttered my brain with horror stories ranking high with showing up to class naked. none of it was important, and all of it kept me from resting.<br />
<br />
so i wasn't my best that first morning. lucky for me, my daughter was shining so brightly she didn't notice the tears streaming down my face as her teachers sang the "goodbye song," marking our cue to hug and depart. she barely noticed as i hurried out the door, distraught, surprised, and a little embarrassed by my unhinged emotions. when we returned home, i splashed cool water on my face, and recognized that age-old mark that has measured my emotions since i was only a couple years older than my daughter, reminding me that even a closeted emotion is not so opaque.sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13763268111311610354noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27776760.post-69518141336656734252012-09-17T21:09:00.002-07:002012-09-17T21:09:49.358-07:00on trainingwe're in the throes of what is commonly called "potty training." like our challenges with sleep training, it boggles the mind how something so simple, so fundamental to operating in our first world can be so mystifying, so needy of training.<br />
<br />
like others, this training episode stretches my patience, my reserves, and my ability to problem solve. i'm lucky to be a pretty patient person, as the amount of screaming and general grouchiness in our house has definitely skipped way past the bell curve. and in my moments of stretch, where i grasp for that nugget that might ease the tension and limit the howls, i've dreamed up some pretty fun stories.<br />
<br />
"baba wore diapers, too!" (or, "what did baba look like when she was your age?") <br />
<br />
"nene used the potty, too" (or, "did she flush?")<br />
<br />
"paul was small once" (or, "was he born with really long hair in a braid?")<br />
<br />
in the whip's world, both baba and paul were "teeny tiny" (that is, about the size of her fist). and in the case of nene's prowess on the potty, i'm hoping to use that one again and again. who knew i'd unearth that time in my life some 15 years ago to help our daughter do it too? totally great. nene would be so pissed. (ha!)sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13763268111311610354noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27776760.post-28540301731468894552012-09-04T22:23:00.001-07:002012-09-04T22:25:51.226-07:00dear s, on your first day of schoolwhen i imagine what it might be like for you on your first day of school, i smile. you're ready for the adventure, for the new friends, and for the challenges that lay before you. i think i am, too.<br />
<br />
on that first visit to your school, you entered your new classroom and walked straight to a toy that interested you. you wanted to explore it all by yourself. your teacher, sarah, kneeled down, and introduced herself to you. it was at that point that i got misty. i was so proud of you. so independent, so strong, so curious. here was this new person in your orbit, and you talked to her, asked questions, and expressed yourself. i loved seeing you hold your own that night, and i'm certain these skills you inhabit will serve you well tomorrow, and into the future.<br />
<br />
<br />sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13763268111311610354noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27776760.post-57885893782242561412012-09-02T21:37:00.002-07:002012-09-02T22:02:18.308-07:00window into her futurei often say that she's more self aware than i am. somehow this statement doesn't slip into the category of playground boast or preschool parent banter. instead, i marvel at it. i admire her. she has such a keen sense of how she feels at any moment, and she searches for just the right words to articulate her feelings. before turning two, she'd often say, "i'm not happy about that book;" a concise, explicit admission of her strong feelings regarding a book that doesn't please her. later, she'd cry out dramatically as only a toddler can, screaming that she's crying because...<br />
<br />
"...i'm sad about not going on an adventure!"<br />
or<br />
...i'm sad because i want to listen to 'Jasmine' [sic Summer Breeze] again!" (during her Seals & Crofts phase)<br />
<br />
i remember mindful parenting classes where the instructor drilled into our heads that as soon as we begin to rehash the past or rehearse the future our baby will yank us back into the moment, whether we wanted to be there or not. a powerful image, this yanking. one that i never forgot. and it's true: mostly, the kid is in the current, the here and now, The Moment. but this was different.<br />
<br />
today she experienced two very similar moments where adults weren't treating her fairly. she noted it. brilliantly.<br />
<br />
in the first instance, my sister and her friend were visiting our house and chatting away with the whip. when she refused to put her shoes back on after being asked, the friend chided her, joking that she might take her shoes because they'd probably just fit her small feet. the whip loves these new and apparently perfect shoes. she's said as much. she also didn't understand how this adult-sized human could fit into her perfect and small shoes, and she most certainly did not want her shoes to disappear. the whip was noticeably uncomfortable, which the friend acknowledged by ceasing her game.<br />
<br />
soon after, we entered a neighborhood store we've visited since she was a baby. the shop keeper recognized her and immediately set out to start a conversation. she scurried away, offering her typical admission, "i'm shy." but this time she didn't break out of her shyness, and the shop keeper continued to engage with her, clearly stepping over a line i didn't know how to cross back into safety. i could tell she was uncomfortable, but the woman was sweet and has a young son, so i didn't interfere. i thought her teasing was harmless.<br />
<br />
the whip told me later that it was not.<br />
<br />
during our bedtime snuggle, she wanted to know why both her auntie's friend and the woman at the store wanted to take her things. both had teased about her belongings--her treasured shoes and constant furry companion. she couldn't wrap her sweet little mind around adults' seemingly harmless teasing and the very real fear that they might take her tangible possessions.<br />
<br />
i apologized. i felt so bad that she felt bad. and i racked my brain for an explanation that would provide clarity without damning these two sweet adults whose intent was fun, not harm. i started by using the word "tease" which she immediately connected to her favorite book series about Yoko, a sweet kitty who has been teased by schoolmates. "teased like the Franks?" she asked. yes, only the Franks were being mean, and these women were playing a game with you that you didn't think was fun. we spent a lot of time talking about both experiences. each time i thought we were done, she'd refrain, "can we talk about what happened today and why those women wanted to take Racoony and my shoes?"<br />
<br />
i'd start again, until finally i turned a corner on to a possible solution, or at least a scrap of one. when faced with a similar situation in the future, i encouraged her to say out loud that she doesn't like what is happening. i promised i would help if she could tell me. this tact made her nervous (it would do the same to me, but sometimes little kids are uncommonly brave), so i changed my route and made it into a game of sorts. "the next time you feel uncomfortable or scared or bad, we'll have a secret sign for each other. look at me right in the eyes and blink blink blink blink blink many times, like this, and i'll help you. i'll know." she smiled then looked at me knowingly and said, "ok. but i'll just blink once." and she did it, proving that really, she's still in charge. <br />
<br />sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13763268111311610354noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27776760.post-37791543224857274962011-05-11T13:57:00.000-07:002011-05-13T13:47:49.478-07:00books n' reading (repeat)i read a lot.<br /><br />not so much for myself these days, but when we visit the pediatrician and the nurse asks how many minutes we spend reading to our daughter, we chuckle. "uhhh, not minutes, <span style="font-style: italic;">hours</span>" is our answer.<br /><br />we supplement our book collection with frequent visits to neighboring libraries. selecting a book for a toddler is not as easy as it might sound. unless we all go as a family, one watchful eye is on her and the other is scanning the book quickly for content, illustrations, non-offensive gender stereotypes, a topic that might be relevant to her world, and the oh-so-important characteristic: repeat readability. few books are read once in our world, in fact, as i type, i can count no books under our roof that were read just once. repeat. that's our motto. or from her, "uh-gan!"<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLlrIoP-zZvs5iwH7eUfj73iRTADSrBlDFaNS3gNvoFTXZTzICjH1empdc_bt1WRS9mJyu3pIbjMK7Ez-A1sJBPZ3EfmmwQ8VHPpyhyGllfK-839ek7gSb5BEnj1ALBJ7zxJU8Ew/s1600/DSC04198.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLlrIoP-zZvs5iwH7eUfj73iRTADSrBlDFaNS3gNvoFTXZTzICjH1empdc_bt1WRS9mJyu3pIbjMK7Ez-A1sJBPZ3EfmmwQ8VHPpyhyGllfK-839ek7gSb5BEnj1ALBJ7zxJU8Ew/s320/DSC04198.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5605569508903022466" border="0" /></a><br />a friend mentioned the other day how hard it is to find decent books for her almost-3 year old. i concurred, sharing that i've been planning to blog about the goodies in our world, both for our own benefit--i hope to notice patterns and be reminded of good authors--and for anyone else who might stumble upon or be directed to my blog.<br /><br />and so it happened that what spurred my first post on this topic was not a book, but a magazine. i don't subscribe to any magazines right now, but i picked up a Saveur at the grocery store a few months back that continues to move around the rooms in our home as someone reads another article. (the subtext to my first sentence being that our reading habits include slowed pace and a hunt-and-peck quality.)<br /><br />our daughter is a talented narrator of her world, and when she sees this magazine, she points to the cover and yelps, "sandwich! sandwich!" the image of a gigantic bread-laden sandwich delights her in its relevance to her own eating habits, and it was this knowledge that coaxed me to sprawl on my bed with her and page through the varied sandwich concoctions. we talked about the ingredients she recognized and about those she didn't (sprouts, for one), about the different types of bread, and about elvis, who was pictured eating his favorite sammie: creamy peanut butter, banana, and honey, a combination she could happily imagine.<br /><br />this activity brought me back to our visits to the pediatrician and the concept of minutes. reading isn't just a 16-page story between 2 boards. it's ascribing words and letters to meaning. it's taking moments--hours, even--to imagine a world outside our own. it's fun. and lovely to share.sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13763268111311610354noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27776760.post-11171041565524531732010-06-18T21:07:00.001-07:002010-06-18T21:13:12.700-07:00don't ever wake a sleeping baby. unless.we've been so focused on sleep the past (almost) year that i'd forgotten how sweet, how charming, how positively magnetic a baby in deep slumber is.<br /><br />i had to wake her to help out my sister. when i saw how peaceful, how asleep she truly was, i held my breath. and tears flowed. such a sweet, sweet face, breathing and then sucking on her paci. like nothing else. i couldn't do it. but then i had to, and so i began to sing. i didn't want to startle her, so i sang, and then gently touched her face, and she stirred, ever so slightly, so i sang a bit more loudly, and pop! her eyes alighted on me.<br /><br />sweet sweetness.sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13763268111311610354noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27776760.post-79609946271542972642010-05-30T18:13:00.000-07:002010-05-30T18:17:26.866-07:00believe iti wondered what we might chat about, and now i know.<br /><br />today i asked her where her daddy was, and she resolutely turned and pointed to david. it was amazing. since friday, she's been pointing and chatting and really enjoying how this new found skill has changed our relationship with her. she's always been a curious kid, and now when she points, she learns new words, and most importantly, she can signal her needs. this evening, her meal centered around a variety of foods, and when she wanted more of one, she pointed and received. such a gratifying leap for her and for those around her!sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13763268111311610354noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27776760.post-61961114877015054802010-05-28T22:20:00.000-07:002010-05-28T22:22:47.584-07:00a leaptoday siena's pointing took on a whole new meaning. she began pointing to what she wanted--oatios--and when i handed one to her, she smiled broadly while i cried. it was so sweet, so tender, and so meaningful... she communicated, i responded, and we both understood our exchange was an enormous leap forward in our relationship.<br /><br />she continued to point and receive, point and receive. i can't wait to find out what we'll talk about tomorrow. :)sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13763268111311610354noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27776760.post-56496495548715065832010-05-17T19:42:00.000-07:002010-05-17T21:28:45.402-07:00the wind up<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwvxvd2zc7_20VSVVALIFXd8J9PWfL0_jkIju1Mi07vDsc0-1_Tc6oP9I9DR7B08E1Nb1wBZurjhDE' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br />it is so worth it to watch this video. she pulls out every single move, and each one serves her well. it's hard to believe that she is already moving so much more than this video illustrates, just a week and a half or so ago. many of these moves are already a memory; she has new ones, now.sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13763268111311610354noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27776760.post-21552019251710495892010-04-04T11:03:00.000-07:002010-04-04T11:18:03.018-07:00vast generalizations<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5S4OF7Xz5HeeYxF8SLTdRmENEhxCwKAnVMRJr_ippsSezvNkpmRp5qu-UEzMFv_PiSktS1bJ3cUmk44pEFI8HqSNA8oXxuIipX5L4j0YAQ8g04XZwG7vEUQyxf0kRRbbjIWq2RQ/s1600/DSC02014.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5S4OF7Xz5HeeYxF8SLTdRmENEhxCwKAnVMRJr_ippsSezvNkpmRp5qu-UEzMFv_PiSktS1bJ3cUmk44pEFI8HqSNA8oXxuIipX5L4j0YAQ8g04XZwG7vEUQyxf0kRRbbjIWq2RQ/s320/DSC02014.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456348184905111906" border="0" /></a><br />the world can be divided into two camps...<br /><br />i sorta dig wild generalizations. there are a few in which i truly believe, and others i just like to toss into the air, watching it float or fall flat: splat!<br /><br />one such nugget that was tossing and turning in my gooey, sleep-deprived mind is that there are two type of humans: those who can be consoled and those who cannot.<br /><br />i am of the first camp.<br />as of late, my daughter has joined the latter.<br /><br />we tell ourselves that she is teething, that these high-pitched screams, these violent gyrations, these normally consolable fits are due to hard, angled bone mass shoving through soft and tender flesh.<br /><br />but we're not really sure. we're consoled by the apparent normalcy of this reasoning, especially since her daylight self is cheery, playful, and seeking fun. we yearn to share her sunny disposition; each day less sleep turns me into a grumpski fusspot, and i'm a better person when sleep stretches longer than 3 hours.sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13763268111311610354noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27776760.post-12491524980765292302010-01-15T16:16:00.000-08:002010-01-22T16:42:03.254-08:00i'm a reader<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0JIvCspfYw9j285nLwzl2E6Zv0935uFEFk49qOjr1PUY6f6zL28HTKQm_6KXzPTshPgkselZJcc5JE7ofDyyZmGviRcFxZMXGDxHCuZ44411PEYtrcLA6m2AnBN8eI6OVEjwSNw/s1600-h/DSC01179.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0JIvCspfYw9j285nLwzl2E6Zv0935uFEFk49qOjr1PUY6f6zL28HTKQm_6KXzPTshPgkselZJcc5JE7ofDyyZmGviRcFxZMXGDxHCuZ44411PEYtrcLA6m2AnBN8eI6OVEjwSNw/s320/DSC01179.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429728941454888946" border="0" /></a>books, magazines, newspapers, blogs, twitter--i read all formats (yet prefer the type that folds). i also love reading out loud. i loved reading each week to young children in seattle, and when i suggested to david one evening on the oregon coast that we read aloud a book i'd been reading, i fell in love with the words all over again. i had been reading "crossing to safety" by wallace stegner and was enjoying it so much--and felt david would, too--that we started the book from the beginning so we could enjoy reading chapters to each other. it took us a year to read that book, because we decided that it could be read only when we visited the oregon coast. what a dreamy way to spend a year!<br /><br />fast forward four years: reading aloud has shifted from husband to daughter. siena loves words, pictures, and turning pages. gone are the days (as illustrated in the photo) where books could capture her attention for a few short minutes. oh how grand a life is with books!sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13763268111311610354noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27776760.post-65857733974841309842010-01-01T20:28:00.000-08:002010-04-04T11:19:06.931-07:00the year in sleep<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi_aHkj9VsH0TdSbd2-qeqhkl2MCSqMfvAWfHy3O6WYw90O4I7LGl0qDmf80LJ9Ma9GoAxLofHg2n5UpoiTcT8LM-DrPDb1zoSRB2aMZtGOGeKQidmu-ttog_8m5NPpdqGfoG_tQ/s1600-h/DSC00943.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 201px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi_aHkj9VsH0TdSbd2-qeqhkl2MCSqMfvAWfHy3O6WYw90O4I7LGl0qDmf80LJ9Ma9GoAxLofHg2n5UpoiTcT8LM-DrPDb1zoSRB2aMZtGOGeKQidmu-ttog_8m5NPpdqGfoG_tQ/s320/DSC00943.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421996578709325506" border="0" /></a>as i sit here considering 2009, sleep surfaces as a recurring theme. maybe it's because david just put siena down successfully, but more likely it's because sleep--as a topic and as a reality--became such a focus in 2009.<br /><br />sleep began eluding me during pregnancy. i had a rotating schedule of solutions; sometimes i'd read or do some work, and other times i'd relax in the recliner, trying to create an environment where i was almost flat on my back (who knew that back sleeping was an absolute no-no?). my ability to stay asleep became a bit more predictable when i borrowed a large, snake-like pillow from a friend. "the snoog" fashioned a nest for my bulbous body while fostering an albeit anti-social setting in our bed.<br /><br />my friends with kids would tell me to savor the sleep i was getting, as i'd certainly suffer from sleep deprivation once i became a parent. i never understood the gravity of their words. the long period of sleep deprivation that muddled my brain and pummeled my mood far outlived my expectations. and now, as my friends suggested, the quest for sleep has become priority number one, both for me and for our daughter.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPoKk7ffLmFwuT2yRCC1H9Pi0ADlbni7pcOruA65zj4y56PdNbhBMkt6fhrY0pNozpZfH30G9up-btxhg9vsO6El3wc66pK8AssZWXEBvr0OufcBkyJUvnmZVutI8KRno9ZsUJrw/s1600-h/DSC01748.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPoKk7ffLmFwuT2yRCC1H9Pi0ADlbni7pcOruA65zj4y56PdNbhBMkt6fhrY0pNozpZfH30G9up-btxhg9vsO6El3wc66pK8AssZWXEBvr0OufcBkyJUvnmZVutI8KRno9ZsUJrw/s320/DSC01748.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421996810055471394" border="0" /></a>so here i am, normalized on less sleep, and fortunate to not be sleep-deprived. these days our sights are focused sharply on our daughter's patterns, hoping we can unleash a secret charm that will shift our current situation, whatever that might be. i continue to spend fits and spurts of time scanning sleep tomes, in expectation of unearthing that nugget. just today, we agreed to keep a chart of her sleep and waking hours because we can't remember what happened yesterday or last week. again, the hope is that the chart will make clear what is evading clarity.<br /><br />but when i return to the thesis of this post, i'm reminded that we've come so far and learned so much. while sleep may ebb and flow, the constant is our remarkable daughter who teaches us daily how tremendous a gift she is, and what a joy it is to share our world with her.sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13763268111311610354noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27776760.post-41172340898083740212009-12-09T15:37:00.000-08:002009-12-09T16:03:07.451-08:00momentstoday david's cousin stopped by to meet the illustrious siena. she was all smiles, as exhibited <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/davidsilver/4172331647/">here</a>. as with most conversations, the topic turned to parenthood, and something ruben said resonated with me: even though you may think you'll remember many of the special moments, you forget. he admitted that he wished some of those moment were recorded, and it was that statement that influenced this post (and hopefully future ones). thanks, ruben.<br /><br />today was different. siena smiled more, was mellow for longer periods, and she seemed to genuinely enjoy the greater part of the day. she also hung out on her belly for an extended amount of time, even resting her substantial cheeks on her arms. she appeared quite comfortable, and oddly, grown-up. very sweet.<br /><br />and then jewlee came over, which is always a highlight for her. and for us. soon it was time for a nap, and she willingly submitted to the swaddle--even pushing to her side so jewlee could get it good n' snug--and then, poof! into (almost*) dreamland.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">*ok, there was a bit of crying after that, but the going down episode was definitely a first.</span>sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13763268111311610354noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27776760.post-61877651171725080192009-12-01T18:31:00.001-08:002009-12-01T18:41:02.653-08:00and then she...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEief0Bm_HJpNAGmDWKOHc1JrdUl_mpaSi3-PVNlZW7EACbx1SokOl4Zsn82KrCp_Ez3hZ7dSazMdz91BNINMxSEdGh-am9_t1t71PyjsLxboPoEs_AxCVIV7piSjiFwQgQHg0ODaA/s1600-h/P1030907.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEief0Bm_HJpNAGmDWKOHc1JrdUl_mpaSi3-PVNlZW7EACbx1SokOl4Zsn82KrCp_Ez3hZ7dSazMdz91BNINMxSEdGh-am9_t1t71PyjsLxboPoEs_AxCVIV7piSjiFwQgQHg0ODaA/s400/P1030907.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410463221914362706" border="0" /></a>so many changes the past few weeks. she grasps, she shakes, she giggles... a grab bag of new emotions and skills that keep her parents enthralled. she also loves. she has reached for me when sad, and has developed more of a baby cry that can be soothed with softness and love. she's a baby, not an infant, and each day brings more joy.<br /><br />today she hung out on her tummy for quite some time, and then tucked her knees under her belly, and started to move. in a few minutes, she had moved about a foot! amazing. tonight she was over-tired at bedtime, and after crying on my shoulder, turned her head and gave me a sloppy kiss on my cheek. so sweet.sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13763268111311610354noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27776760.post-79247906929283844732009-11-05T15:15:00.001-08:002009-11-05T15:23:09.986-08:00today i'm a yeasayeraugust coppola has been on my mind. i knew nothing of him until i read his <a href="http://www.latimes.com/news/obituaries/la-me-august-coppola30-2009oct30,0,1538527.story">obituary yesterday</a>, and now, i want to know more. those close to him called him a dreamer, a renaissance man, a "yeasayer." i plan to learn more about him while my daughter sleeps. for now, i like thinking about this:<br /><br /><blockquote style="font-style: italic;">In 1991, instead of leading a groundbreaking for a planned addition to San Francisco State's creative arts complex, Coppola hosted a "skybreaking" because, he said: "The idea is to look up, rather than down -- look up to the sky, the clouds, teach young people to dream."</blockquote><br />brilliant.sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13763268111311610354noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27776760.post-23415547596335091482009-10-31T19:05:00.000-07:002009-11-01T08:43:25.200-08:00my sister is amazingthese past three weeks have been life-changing.<br /><br />for me<br />for my husband<br />for our daughter<br />for my sister<br /><br />my sister moved here just 3 short weeks ago to be nearer to her niece, her sister, and her family. she needed a change, and moving from her home of nearly 20 years gave her just that. it also tore her away from familiarity, from friends, and from her own family. sometimes all that tearing away shows up on her face and in her mood. i wish i could soothe the sadness she feels. all i can offer are hugs, encouragement, and deep love.<br /><br />today was one of those days. i don't know if a particular exchange influenced or added to her ennui, but what i witnessed was one of those typically uneasy moments when two people meet: "what do you do?"<br /><br />throughout my life, this question has caused me panic, unease, discomfort. after just graduating college, or figuring out what to do next, or having an impossible-to-describe job, i dreaded this conversation ender.<br /><br />my sister's exchange, however, was one of beauty. she started off slowly, brushing off the question by mumbling her latest title of restaurant manager. but then she gained confidence, and told the tale of starting her town's first curbside recycling business. and then the natural foods store. and then the bagel shop. "oh, you're an entrepreneur!" her mate exclaimed. "yes, she is!" her proud sister interjected. it was right then and there that i was reminded of how amazing she is. she has experienced so much and achieved more than she realizes. right now she and i are working on her resume, and i'm astonished to learn how much she has to offer her next employer. it isn't just our daughter who will benefit from her amazing-ness.sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13763268111311610354noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27776760.post-38279903196267250732009-10-30T15:59:00.001-07:002009-10-31T08:22:38.911-07:00nature nurturethe bottle saga continues, and i admit that i've also continued the practice of beating myself up over the fact that we didn't keep up with bottle feeding. i fear it was my consistent breast feeding that influenced her passion for the real deal. (my sister said, "face it, you have a nice rack!") today i shared my fears with a mom of twins, who said that she is experiencing the opposite conundrum: her twins were fed bottles from the beginning, and she didn't keep up with breast feeding because bottles were easier, and now her boys won't accept her breast. she offered that perhaps we both needed to be nicer to ourselves and stop the blame game.<br /><br />she's right. but i'm so good at blaming.<br /><br />today marked day one of our new and improved strategy. first i must digress and share how much my sister rocks. jewlee has been completely in charge of the bottle fight, and has been an amazing source of patience and determination. it's so hard, and yet she goes into the ring with my daughter time and time again, not without resulting tears and exhaustion. for this reason, jewlee laid down the law last night, and demanded that my husband join her in a daily and consistent bottle session each morning. she felt that siena was beginning to see her as the bad guy: as soon as i leave our house, she starts to cry.<br /><br />it was different today. david and jewlee tag-teamed, switching off every 15 minutes so that a calm adult could soothe and offer the bottle in shorter intervals. after what i expect were many switch-offs, the two adults decided to take a walk and bring the offending bottle along. siena really enjoys being outside, and because of this, she relented, and emptied the bottle on a park bench.<br /><br />whew.<br /><br />now, this isn't a sustainable solution, but it sure is progress. both david and jewlee report that little miss no-bottle will change her ways after a week of concerted effort. fingers crossed!sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13763268111311610354noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27776760.post-61196518854172737122009-10-15T16:51:00.000-07:002009-10-15T17:07:04.185-07:00newborn psychologyi never imagined how many unknowns this journey would include. i thought i understood the need-based reality of having a newborn, but i didn't realize our days would be filled with questions, with searching for clues, with trials. and errors.<br /><br />take bottles, for instance. earlier in her life, my daughter took to bottles like it was second nature. no problems there at all. and then we didn't give her a bottle for a spell, and learned quickly that this was a mistake. a big one. she now expects to receive food the old-fashioned way, and is insulted that we would attempt to introduce a facsimile or proxy on my behalf. my husband, my mother, and my sister have all joined the ranks of Those Who Get Screamed At while trying to give her a bottle. the trick is that she drinks a bit without protest at first, but then realizes the trick is on her, and she turns into a kicking-scratching-screaming doppelganger who is not amused. but we continue to try and try again because we're serious about this working.<br /><br />after one such unfortunate session with her beloved auntie, we decided to completely confuse her by introducing me into the plan. i picked her up, apologized for what i was about to do, while making clear that she really needed to chillax and just take it, and what does she do? drink it all without complaint. not a peep.<br /><br />since this episode i've become an armchair psychologist, ruminating on what i can learn from her behavior, and how we can encourage her to treat the other, sweeter folks with the kindness she bestowed on me so that her mom can get a break every so often and return to work in the near future.<br /><br />the lines are open. please share your crazy ideas. :)sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13763268111311610354noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27776760.post-34897006172105278512009-10-10T09:40:00.000-07:002009-10-10T10:01:05.859-07:00morning rumination on thumbswhere do thumbs come from?<br />do they hide underground<br />and sprout like tomatoes from daddy's garden?<br /><br />where do thumbs come from?<br />do they hide between the pages of favorite books<br />wresting free during a nightly read?<br /><br />where do thumbs come from?<br />do they hide in the folds<br />of a tightly gripped fist?<br /><br />wherever thumbs may hide,<br />when the time is right<br />and the need is true,<br />thumbs burst free<br />just for you.sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13763268111311610354noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27776760.post-34764347777233626682009-10-03T18:53:00.001-07:002009-10-08T12:47:23.696-07:00cultivating mindfulnesswhile i was pregnant, david and i attended a mindfulness in childbirth class that came highly recommended by a good friend. she felt this class offered the most useful information of any prep course she took. we agreed.<br /><br />knowing this, i decided to sign up for a new mom's mindfulness class. i was testing myself. and siena.<br /><br />our daughter is what experts call "high needs;" certainly not the sort who would endure a 2-hour session that includes meditation. she requires lots of stimulation, movement, and constant changing of positions. we hold her a lot. we bounce her a lot. we walk her a lot. i can count the number of times i've held her (awake) while sitting: once today, a couple times on the porch, once earlier this week, and maybe a couple other times. and when i say "held her while sitting" i mean that i sat for longer than a couple minutes.<br /><br />it was miraculous that she and i were able to attend this class. it's as if she too, were practicing the art of being mindful in that when we began a meditation exercise, she relaxed as i relaxed, and i was able to be present while attending to her. it was magical. when the facilitator asked us to share reflections, i was teary while admitting that i didn't expect i'd be able to participate in the exercise even partially. what a nice surprise.sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13763268111311610354noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27776760.post-26753437524139729172009-09-19T10:13:00.000-07:002009-09-19T11:49:51.326-07:00liftingno one, nothing, can prepare you for the transition to motherhood. and when hormones catapult you into another world, someone else's head, even, the word "transition" is too tame.<br /><br />this has been my reality.<br />only for a moment, years before eventual parenthood became a topic of conversation, did the term, "postpartum depression" enter my lexicon. my naturopath in seattle told me about studies linking ppd and low cholesterol. my cholesterol was low, so she added casually that if i were to ever become pregnant she'd monitor me closely. i mentioned this study to my midwife in san francisco when i first became pregnant, and then forgot about it. my pregnancy was beautiful, lovely; i grieved its demise when the 9th month appeared.<br /><br />after some medical scares just days before delivery, and then the 30 hour labor that ensued, the shift to motherhood was exciting, new. i felt i was prepared and could travel the bumps and turns with a clear head. i knew it would be hard. at least i thought i did.<br /><br />at around 2 weeks postpartum, i began to feel differently. it's so difficult to describe, but i knew i wasn't myself. i was sad. depressed. i stopped smiling. everything was overwhelming and anxiety-ridden and i couldn't think straight. words alluded me and hyperactive bursts of panic and crying became my coping mechanisms, although there was no coping. there was a fog--almost literally--clouding my head and at times, i knew it. at times, i could stand outside of myself and wonder, "what is going on with me? am i screwing up? can i really do this?" the answer to the last question was always a resounding, "no." my head was filled with desperate thoughts, of long days hampered by isolation. it not hyperbole to state that this was the hardest time of my life. being a mother was anything but blissful, and i couldn't imagine admitting that to anyone.<br /><br />it wasn't until our pediatrician asked me to complete a survey assessing postpartum mental health that i realized i wasn't okay. i mean, i knew i wasn't okay, but i thought the reasons were of my own volition. never did i suspect i was suffering from ppd. at one point, i even told david, "i'm not depressed, it's not like i have postpartum depression." i thought i was just having a hard time of it, sometimes. i didn't admit that it was all of the time, every day. the pediatrician thanked me for taking the survey--at the time i thought that odd--and became very serious. she said that we needed to approach my condition as if i had an infection and needed to go on medication. it was scary. i cried in her office. a lot. she also hugged me and held me, and told me that this was a time in my life where i needed other people to take care of me, that there'd be plenty of time for me to take care of others. i was relieved to have a name for what i was experiencing. relieved that it wasn't my own doing, that i wasn't just failing as a mother.<br /><br />[i want to remember this. i'm crying as i write. it's painful, but important for me to acknowledge the gravity of this experience as i recover.]<br /><br />i would have never recovered if it hadn't been for david. he took on the role of chief caregiver for both me and our daughter. my days were peppered with, "go to sleep, sarah. i'll take care of her." the number one item on the doctor's list was "get 4-6 hours of continuous sleep." we learned that it takes periods of at least 4 hours of sleep for the brain to recover, and at that point, i may have slept for 2 hours at a time, but mostly i suffered from insomnia. recovery also included a village of family and friends. the arrival of my good friend hollis was a godsend. her presence helped me to remind who i was; i even smiled a few times. she swept in and became our assistant in all things--holding, cleaning, running errands. spending time with hollis allowed me to experience moments of relaxation. i could breathe deeply and smile. she even spent an hour doing body work on me so that i could reclaim my body and my mind. both she and david reported i looked more like myself after our session. she saved me, and i am forever grateful for her love and friendship.<br /><br />my friend becky arrived immediately after hollis, and during her visit, she, david, and i organized an impromptu dance party that had all of us giggling and jumping for joy as we shaked our booties to Beirut in our living room. the laughter and exercise reminded me once again that i was capable of having fun.<br /><br />my mom soon showed up on the scene. her arrival is when the real magic of recovery began to appear. mom became my confidant, encouraging me to spread my wings as a mother, that yes, it IS difficult, and that's okay. it was her admission: "you have a tough baby" that helped us realize that the challenges we faced as parents were not typical, and that our needing help was reasonable. mom was with us during some very dark moments, and she enveloped me with a sense of safety that i could be who i was without fear of judgement. we became closer and bonded as mother and daughter and as mothers. watching my daughter with her granny was amazing. such love. such family. she's lucky to have a granny like my mom. i'm lucky, too.<br /><br />david's mom appeared the difficult day of my mom's departure. she too swept in and began the work of our third pair of hands. she was pragmatic in her approach: she received ample training from my mom and was eager to jump in. first on her list was our crib: we hired a handyman to assemble it correctly. putting her room in order was an enormous relief. i had told my mom that her room was a metaphor for my brain: put together on one side and a huge mess on the other. seeing it all come together was a symbol of progress, and i felt its significance. sandy had the luck to observe siena changing more stridently: cooing and smiling became more frequent and she began to show her personality and consistent signs of needs. sandy also helped me to stop eating so quickly. i had learned to cram food into my mouth in minutes; my anxiety around not having time was so intense. as with my mom, sandy left us with increased confidence and a greater respect for our mothers. our daughter is so blessed to have them in her life.<br /><br />the arrival of auntie jewlee will always be precious. i caught <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/swashcam/3917403773/">her first glimpse of siena on film</a> and smile each time i view it. there's so much to say and so few words to describe what it has been like having jewlee here. she has taught me to laugh about siena's scream fests, to make fun of her blowing out her diapers, to have fun with motherhood. her joy in aunthood has reminded me of all the fun i've had babysitting other kids. we are eager to begin our lives together, for jewlee is moving here to be nearer to us and to be our daughter's nanny. i can't underscore how lucky we are to have her in our lives and i can't wait for this period in our lives to begin. siena is charmed to have her auntie jewlee in her life.<br /><br />david and i could never have achieved this place of recovery without the support of our friends and family. weeks ago i would not have believed that i could be a happy and smiling mother. i didn't think it possible that i might enjoy this time in my life. dread and despair are no longer the norm, and when i cry, it seems reasonable, not desperate. as david noted, "you're back, sarah."sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13763268111311610354noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27776760.post-67522099148938679702009-09-12T15:35:00.001-07:002009-09-12T15:44:06.717-07:00we're insane!my friend ryan visited us the other night bearing food, the skills to make dinner, and wine that people our age don't buy (i.e. he nabbed it from his dad's cellar... we joked about how this illustrates his grown up status).<br /><br />but beyond the love, care, and friendship he bestowed upon our new family, he also shared some knowledge fit for new parents: a study that proves the reality of sleep deprivation damages--not permanently--our brains to that of an insane person. the kicker: this happens in one night. one night! so yes, the fact that i struggle to remember mid-sentence what i was saying, or use words correctly, or just plain experience communication breakdown on a regular basis is because i'm insane. whew. nice to know there's science behind our madness. :)<br /><br />there's also cuteness...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfNmxTsxL2t93MuMxsRs7zF0loDlCCl0Y1SkX-0jaW_SSE7dYsGAzBCnBDehm18Y8rKYshzKvbyb5kJ-RKYQ47EApWrFl5DsOheVO-Qh885LkHN6dGQNmRI7nrVCI_EFe77tCAug/s1600-h/DSC01126.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfNmxTsxL2t93MuMxsRs7zF0loDlCCl0Y1SkX-0jaW_SSE7dYsGAzBCnBDehm18Y8rKYshzKvbyb5kJ-RKYQ47EApWrFl5DsOheVO-Qh885LkHN6dGQNmRI7nrVCI_EFe77tCAug/s400/DSC01126.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380714990029882882" border="0" /></a>sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13763268111311610354noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27776760.post-77217512318080197442009-09-07T17:48:00.000-07:002009-09-08T08:45:41.435-07:00that's what they call itcolic.<br /><br />we resisted using that term until it became clear that that word best depicts our reality. our sweet 'lil daughter has a hard time with tummy and reflux issues which means that she registers complaints often and loudly. it's only in the recent past that her awake time was not fraught with howls. she's changing, and we hope she's feeling better.<br /><br />and she's very sweet. she smiles, plays, coos, and is darn near almost giggling. this window into her world makes the other part a bit easier, but we're still having a difficult time--at times--and look forward to her internal systems maturing so she can live life a bit more comfortably. this is our world right now, and we're very lucky to have family staying with us. a third pair of loving hands is exactly what we all needed, and we're thrilled to share her sweetness with others.sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13763268111311610354noreply@blogger.com1