Disneyland--the memories are about family, Pt 1

I did not grow up seeing my dad's side of the family much, since they lived in California and Minnesota and we were in Illinois, but the families made a point of gathering every few years, usually someplace central, like Colorado.  (Which is also why I was thrilled when DH and I got to live in Colorado as newlyweds--like living in nostalgialand, so close to Crested Butte and Mesa Verde and all the places that were dear to me from childhood.)   The few times we did gather all the way out in California, we of course had to visit Disneyland.

And when DH were married and living in Colorado, we were close enough to California for a roadtrip to the big family reunion to celebrate my grandparents' 60th wedding anniversary, B.C. (that's "before children," in my family lingo).  (Family, that first reunion was back when we still used a film camera, so I don't have any digital pics!  If any of you have some, would you be willing to email them to me? Thanks!) We did Disneyland all together--ALL the aunts and uncles and cousins and even my grandparents.  But it was also the first time DH and I visited Disneyland as adults, and as a couple, enjoying sharing memories and appreciating the fun from a different vantage than childhood.

Our next trip to Southern California was a few years later, for my cousin's wedding, when we had our first baby. 

Summer 2001

 

My big sister Rebecca, with her two daughters Sarah and Emily and my little Sunny, there in Grandma Betha and Grandpa Chuck's living room, Summer 2001.  I don't think we visited Disneyland--there was just too much other family fun to do!

 

My grandparents stayed young at heart, still getting down on the floor to play with their great-grandchildren. 

Then when DH's job moved us from Colorado to California, we had even more opportunity to drive down and visit family, and get to know them more than I had as a kid.  It's still a 6-8 hour drive to LA from where we live on Monterey Bay, but we love road-trips, so it's totally doable several times a year.

Fall 2003

November 2003, when Grandma Betha and Grandpa Chuck first met Merry.

We used to go when my parents were visiting, and stay in their camper parked out front of my grandparents' house--or if we were going down at a time of year when my parents were back home in Illinois, we would stay in my grandparents' guest room.  They had a wonderful, amazing gift of hospitality, and ALWAYS made you feel like they wanted nothing more in the whole world than for you to come and stay, and for as long as you wanted.  It was so fun visiting them.

My grandparents also happened to live five minutes from Disneyland.  Ok, 10 with traffic, but close enough to watch the impressive weekend fireworks from their driveway.  Both DH and I have a fondness for Disney, although I would say more the vision and values of historical Disney; we don't at ALL buy into the merchandising, or the whole princess phenomenon, and we have chosen not to show some of the movies to our kids (but that's for another post).  But Disneyland we love, and so while my grandparents were still alive and we were driving down to see them several times a year, we bought annual passes. 

First Disney trip with our kids.

The thing about the passes--once you have gone about 5 days they have paid for themselves, and so if we have free lodging and are frugal with food, the main expenditure for a Disney trip is the gas to drive there and back.  (We never buy any souveniers in the parks--our memories or little freebies we get here and there are plenty for us simply pleasured, space-challenged folk.)  It was so fun to drive down, get to see family, and then be so close to the park that, thanks to the annual passes, we could just drive over to Disney for a few hours, until toddlers were needing lunch and naps, and then drive back to Grandma and Grandpa's for rest. 

Aunt Joyce with Merry.

And then often my Aunt Joyce, who at that time was living with her parents to help care for them, would offer to babysit the kids in the late afternoon/evening and put them to bed so that DH and I could go out and have some fun just the two of us.  Sometimes Aunt Joyce would even offer to drive us to the park and back, so we did not have to pay for parking.  That's how much my family spoiled us when we would visit.  (Nowadays DH gets one "deluxe" pass when we buy the annual passes, so we get free parking, as well as a larger discount on purchases in the park.)  Having the passes allowed us to be so flexible, so we didn't feel like we had to be there when a toddler was all done, which is really the way to do it, if you can.

Because when you are three, it is hard to enjoy the waits for the Dumbo ride.  Esp. when you missed your nap.  

And since we were driving down several times a year to see my grandparents as much as possible, it made sense to drop in on Disney while we were there.

Summer 2004

Disneyland, during the last big family reunion, Summer '04.
 

My dad playing with Sunny and Merry in Grandma and Grandpa's front yard, in front of my parents' camper.

Merry and Papa sitting around my Grandma Betha's kitchen table.

 

 Merry and my mother playing in the living room.  I have no pictures of Grandma Betha from this trip, because this was the week she lay dying, yet still wanting to take care of her family and make sure we all knew how much she loved us.

My Grandma died, just a few days after we had our last big family reunion (God's timing--was such a blessing for everyone to get to see her and say goodbye). And then my Grandpa got so that he could not live on his own, and so he moved in with my Aunt Sharyn and Uncle Don. And so when we came down to visit to see Grandpa, my aunt and uncle continued the legacy of hospitality and opened their home to us. They had three children who were grown and on their own, so had bedrooms to share, but even then, it was their strong sense of family and their casual and gracious generosity that made us feel so welcome, what with our two little kids and one baby at the time.

Fall 2004

Oct. '04

Oct. '04.  I love looking back at the pics I have of the kids playing with this ball fountain over the years--you can really see the progression of our family.

January 2005

This is the only photo I have from our trip down to So. Ca. that January.  Clearly our purpose was to see Great-grandpa Chuck, and the fun at Disneyland was bonus.

Fall 2005

Our first visit to Southern CA with baby Happy to visit Grandpa, there at Aunt Sharyn and Uncle Don's house, Oct. '05.  Let me tell you, big helium balloons make the best baby toys! 

 

Tie one to a hand, or foot, or both at the same time, and your baby will be delightedly engaged for a good 15 minutes, which is precious time to a mother of three little ones. I am sure it is good for hand-eye coordination too. 

There was a stage in our family Disneyland life when one of those Disneyland stroller rentals was worth its weight in gold.

 

Summer 2006

This visit down to Aunt Sharyn and Uncle Don's house was the last time we saw Grandpa Chuck.  We did not visit Disneyland this trip, just spending time with my parents, who were visiting Southern CA, and my extended family.

I'm so thankful my children knew their great-grandparents, even a little.

After Grandpa died, we did not go back for several years.  It was not that we didn't want to see our family, but there were no longer Reasons to go--no more weddings, no more great-grandparents, and even my parents were not traveling down there as often now that Dad's parents were gone.  And so several years passed.

Fall 2011

But then, last Sept. my cousin Stacia got married, and DH and I drove the kids down earlier in the week so we could be helpful in the preparations.  We got to stay with Aunt Sharyn and Uncle Don, and be of some help.  We also got to have a couple of days to take the kids to Disneyland once again. (Smiley's first time, Happy's first time being big enough to actually ride anything but "It's a Small World".)

Spring 2012

And that's why we got Disney passes this past year, and why we made another trip this past Feb, to make the most of the passes.   It has been really fun, since the kids are so much older than the last time we had passes, and the girls can actually ride all the rides, and even Smiley is big enough to really engage with the whole experience.  And I love my Southern California family--they are such wonderful people, and we always enjoy being with them.  And I am so thankful that they are so big-hearted, to invite us to stay with them when we come.  We try to be low-maintenance guests, but still, we are a family of six with little kids, and so we appreciate very much how welcome they make us feel.

Fall 2012

We did not stay with Aunt Sharyn and Uncle Don this time, but they so sweetly treated us to lunch at the Rainforest Cafe,  Downtown Disney.

I thought after our summer trip to Illinois this year that we would not have the time or extra $ to make one last trip to Disneyland, but about a month ago DH surprised me by suggesting it.  And since we had invited DH's parents to join us at Disneyland back in Feb, but they couldn't make the trip then (they were spending time out in Colorado helping Auntie N with little Sweetness while Uncle S was back in India on business), and since MIL had *just* been offered a sweet early retirement deal and would be officially retired the Friday before we were planning this last trip, it seemed only right to invite them to come with us. . . .

Pt 2 yet to come!

In case any of you were wondering why I've been quiet. . . .

So much fun things to share!  I'll try soon to start blogging and sharing pics of our trip to Disneyland with my in-laws.   God was all over it.  : )

In the meantime, I have to get through a B U S Y week--all good stuff, just really exhausting! 

I hope you are all having a good week, and settling smoothly into your Fall routines!

fun with attic diving #2

Me attempting to vamp in my bridesmaid dress from the wedding of my college suitemate Heather.  (It was such an elegant wedding, as you can see!)  By the way, I took pics of me in these dresses there at my parents' house because I was not planning on bringing them home to CA with me.  I just don't have room for everything (isn't that what Grandma's attic is for? ; )  And this dress was tailored to fit my newly married form; it fit like a glove even then, and a little more like a sausage casing now. . . (Heather, if you come by and see this, I realized I don't have ANY pics from your wedding!  If you have any extra, I would love to have one!)

I know, it is kinda a shame that I was modeling these dresses in my no-makeup, hair-not-brushed-cleaning mode, but I took advantage of the one chance I had to get a record of them before we gave them away.  This dress was my Grandma Evah's (my mother's mother) wedding dress, when she married her second husband.  I was in college, Grandma had just reacquainted with a man she knew as a child, who was now a retired veterinary doctor.  We called him "Doc." Grandma  was a widow, he was a widower, they reconnected and then married.  He was a really nice man, and she was a beautiful bride on her wedding day.  I am the only family member who is near Grandma's size (my cousin Katie and I take after her the most, but Katie is a petite little thing, while I am almost exactly Grandma's height).  I felt so tender for that beautiful dress, and it was a really tangible reminder of Grandma, who I miss.  So I could not give it away without one photo record of me in it.

(And by the way, the shoulder pads on that dress were enormous--I felt so silly in them--and yet look at what an elegant structure overall. Neo-Victorian, now that I take a second look, which is of course my favorite!)

fun with attic diving #1

Junior Prom, 1989.

Treasure Hunting, 2012.

Smiley's face says it all.

Let's just say I was carefully not breathing at the time this pic was taken.

And what I lacked in decolletage was well compensated lower down.

And love handles are not at their prettiest when sausaged in fushia sateen.

But I admit to glee that DH could even get it zipped up.

Take that, 40!

the attic

I started out my helpfulness the day after we arrived by diving into the attic and sorting with relish. My parents' house is an old one, built around 1910, if I remember correctly (you can see one pic of it here.) It has a downstairs and an upstairs, plus a full basement, complete with coal bin, and a walk-up attic--from one of the front bedrooms you open what looks like a second closet door, and see the staircase going up. 

I love the attic.  I have ever since I was a kid here.  Some time after we first moved into this house (so, sometime after my second grade), my dad thought my two sisters and I might like to play up there, so he placed a piece of carpet under the west gable (if you look at that linked photo, you can barely see the east gable and window there at the top under the eaves--the other side is just the same from the outside), and arranged a little area for us.  Even as children we had to duck our heads while playing up there; only in the very center peak of the attic is it high enough for a tall adult to walk without fear, and most of the attic you have to watch your head or stoop or even crouch.

No matter.  It is a fantastic space.  Possibly my favorite place in the whole house.  Wood floor blackened with age, exposed red bricks of the chimney in the middle, the two wood-framed gable windows on either end letting in morning or evening light and occassional welcome breezes.  Just the right amount of neat storage and jumbled treasure, new trunks of off-season clothing and old trunks of old formals and costumes.  Hand-knitted baby sweaters and little white leather shoes kept simply by sentiment. A yellow and green and gold sequined Mardi Gras fish costume.  Prom dresses from the 1950's and 60's.  An antique wooden wardrobe against the chimney, with a real stuffed king cobra coiled on top, his hood flared and fangs bared--and an apologetic dressing of silver duct tape around his middle from where he had suffered too much handling by us little girls. 

Of course it was freezing up there in the winter; my memories of the attic during the cold months are pretty much limited to quick excursions up to bring down Christmas decorations or to find boxes for wrapping presents.  And in the summer it could be oppressively hot, the air so thick and almost heavy in my lungs, and even breezes could not penetrate the dull, baking air and were only felt if I pressed my sticky face against the aged window screen for a moment of relief.

But still, even the heat felt like adventure, and comforting at the same time, and I frequently went up to the attic in all but the most unbearable heat.  I remember sitting in that West gable, playing house with the antique doll bed and quilt and a little box I had with three drawers and blue flowers painted on the sides.  I remember, too, sitting in the attic and playing our family Simon game. Why in the attic? I'm not sure, except that my parents must have stored some games in the attic during the years that my dad was finishing the basement.  But that game was all the more mesmerizing in the semi-dark attic. 

For a time in my later years--late middle school or high school--there was a mattress on the floor over near the West end, and I remember escaping up into the attic to read, for hours, lying there on that bare blue and white ticking-striped mattress in the dim, hot quiet.  But it is that west gable for which I have the most affection.  I don't think my sisters played up there as much as I did, so I remember it feeling like more my space than a family space.  Maybe that was important to me growing up as the middle of three sisters, and always sharing a toom with my older sister--I don't remember desiring my own space as much as just naturally going and seeking it out. 

I am  having sudden waves of nostalgia wash over me as I type this, along with sudden glimmers of mental images--of certain toys or items that we had in that little play area. . . but the pictures in my mind are not complete, so I am having a hard time remembering exactly what the items looked like. . . .  I can recall better the things that ended up in the attic in my teenage years, or after college--models built by my grandfather, boxes of memorabelia like our yearbooks and old, dried corsages and artwork and awards.  This time, going up in the attic, it was even farther removed from the space of my childhood, as my parents have had garage sales from time to time, and things I remember could not be found this time--they must have been released into the world years and years ago, while I was off busy with my own family.

But the sense of it--the sound of my feet on the steps leading up the attic stairs, the still heaviness, the smell of old tar and old wood, the dim light from the single bulb leaving the eaves in shadow--is exactly the same. 

And I am so glad I got to explore and remember and escape in it one last time.

Relish

"Cayenne, marjoram, cinnamon."

The names of lost and fabulous cities through which storms of spice bloomed up and dusted away.

He tossed the cloves that had traveled from some dark continent where once they had spilled on milk marble, jack-stones for children with licorice hands.

And looking at once single label on a jar, he felt himself gone round the calendar to that private day this summer when he had looked at the circling world and found himself at its center.

The word on the jar was RELISH.

And he was glad he had decided to live.

RELISH!  What a special name for the minced pickle sweetly crushed in its white-capped jar.  The man who had named it, what a man he must have been. Roaring, stamping around, he must have tromped the joys of the world and jammed them in this jar and writ in a big hand, shouting, RELISH!  For its very sound meant rolling in sweet fields with roistering chestnut mares, mouths bearded with grass, plunging your head fathoms deep in trough water so the sea poured cavernously through your head.  RELISH!

He put out his hand.  And here was SAVORY. . . .

"Savory. . . that's a swell word.  And Basil and Betel.  Capsicum.  Curry.  All great.  But Relish, now, Relish with a capital R.  No argument, that's the best."


--from Dandelion Wine, in honor of Ray Bradbury, who taught me the marvel and pleasure of words well used.

Nostalgia Week

It started with looking at photo albums of Dear Husband's childhood, kindly brought down by his parents when they visited this past weekend. 

Then came Halloween, and stories of different costumes we had as kids, and then going out and building memories with our own kids. 

Then it was me introducing the girls to "moonwalking" and MJ gliding through a live Motown performance of "Billie Jean" (I'm passing on "Thriller"--so not into the whole zombie thing).  (And since I can't help myself, "Beat It" led to a whole long discussion of Mr. Jackson's place in music history and American culture which covered slavery and MLK and Jim Crow laws and radio and records and the advent of rock-n-roll and R&B stations and teenagers.)

Then it was looking at slideshows together of our digital photos from when each of the kids were toddlers, which then suddenly morphed into dancing to and acting out "Mr. Roboto," "Don't Pay the Ferryman," "Holding Out for a Hero," "People Are People," and "The Sun Always Shines On TV."  (This time DH was being the DJ, with me leading the silliness and remembering fondly my sister Rebecca's K-Tel Hot Tracks record album. Which was, like, the best record ever.) 

This morning the girls asked for "the stories" of each of the dolls they slept with the night before, which were all mine as a girl and which I have given to them for birthday or Christmas presents.

And then the LitWits workshop today was on From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, which just so happens to be one of my childhood favorites--and I even had the exact same well-worn copy on my shelf for Merry and Sunny to read. 

Then tonight we spread out an old blanket on the floor and watched The Love Bug, which is famous in my family's lore. (Oh nooo! Oh nooo!)  (And this is when it really pays off to have kids who are not so oversaturated with TV and desensitized to where such a wholesome movie is deemed lame--their shrieks of laughter at the over-the-top-silly climax was just too adorable.  Smiley included!)

You see, it's Nostalgia Week, which I dreamed up a few months back.  DH and I had so much fun thinking about the things we wanted to share with the kids that we remember fondly from our childhood--although, oddly enough, much of that centered on specific sugar cereals and Saturday morning cartoons.  (Yes, our Sat. morning is booked ; )  We waited until we had what seemed like a good week, and almost waited too long, since I wanted to do it before the holidays (and the sugar rush) started in earnest.  So, what with Halloween night, and other things going on the past two nights, we have had a slow start with our family fun--just the odd breakout of 80's music and telling stories of the past.  But tomorrow night is game night--and I have a feeling Park N Shop will be the choice game, since would you believe both DH and I grew up playing it?  (And most of you have probably never even heard of it!)

 Photo credit here--with a great description of the game!

Or maybe we should introduce the kids to Mille Bornes, which we also both played in our youth (and which would fit nicely following the children's enjoyment of Herbie's hijinks tonight):

Trust me--you want these cards.  Photo credit and game description here.

Whatever we end of doing the rest of the week, we will not plan it out too much, and just relax and enjoy one another, share bits of ourselves with our kids, and together build their own memories of family life.  The kids so far are so excited that we are going this special week, even if we have not done all that much.  I can tell this is a new family tradition in the making!

Another little house anecdote

What I wrote earlier this morning brought back to mind another favorite memory of mine, something that I wrote about in the comments to a post a looooooong time back, so most of you probably never saw it.  I like it so much, I'm going to share it again here, a story that happened back in December of 2008:

.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .
At Christmas, we visited DH's grandma's home, which is a spacious 4 bedroom 1950's ranch style house. The girls could potentially play almost anywhere in the house, esp. on the seeming miles of carpet, which is a novelty for them. While hanging out in the living room one afternoon, I sat on the short end of Grandma's vintage 60's "L" shaped sofa to nurse Smiley. Soon DH came over and sat a few feet away on the long side of the "L" to put up his feet on the coffeetable and read a magazine. Then one of the girls came to "nap" and stretched out on the other side of her daddy with a throw pillow and afghan. A few minutes later, I was bemused to look up again and realize that the other two girls had taken up residence with their toys between me and DH, and now all of my family was sitting engaged in various activities within a 5 ft. space on that sofa. The sofa is in the corner, with FOUR other cozy recliners or couches or rockers to choose from in the room, all much more centrally located and with better natural lighting. But no, my family must have unconsciously gravitated to be near each other. We clearly don't have much need for personal space!

.   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .
It still gives me the warm fuzzies. 

The original post that led to this comment is here.  Those of you who are intriqued about our house, or who need encouragement about your own house today--you should enjoy it. : )

Antidote for Melancholy #3

Oh, boy--did I just follow the most fun, heart-lifting train of videos on youtube.

All '80's.

All favorites from jr.high/high school/college.

Oh, yeah.

(And once again, CONSIDER YOURSELF WARNED)

But if you are in the mood for some good tunes, please come along! 

It started when I saw that Tears for Fears is coming to perform at a semi-local venue, and I clicked on a link in the email announcement and found myself at the blog of Curt Smith, one of the co-founders. ('80's pop stars blog--who knew?)  Learned he is now a naturalized US citizen (originally from Britian, for those of you who did not pay attention to the '80's) and lives with his wife and two young daughters and two dogs somewhere up here in Northern California.  Somehow I really enjoyed thinking of this guy I used to listen to over and over again through the headphones of my Walkman living a life so similar to that of me and my friends where we are now in life. :  )

ANYWAY of course that got me in the mood for some Tears for Fears;  hence, Everybody Wants to Rule the World.  Of course, while I listened, my eyes were drawn from the video to the "Suggested" videos listed to the side. . . DH can attest I gasped aloud at some of the goodies featured there. . . I started watching one, and then another, since for every excellent video there were several equally totally awesome videos suggested. . .

Something About You -- Level 42 (this is the video that popped up--for some of these I couldn't find the official video for some reason, but that's ok, since it's the music that made me smile tonight), which naturally led to Lessons in Love -- also Level 42.

Then that led to Don't Dream It's Over -- Crowded House.  Don't know why, but I LOVE THIS SONG.  I had this album (ok, cassette tape) and played it over and over and over.  Years later, while in college, I got to see Crowded House in concert at WOMAD (World of Music and Dance) (along with Peter Gabriel, Sinead O' Connor, Lenny Kravitz, and I can't remember who else) I think somewhere around Indianappolis.  When Crowded House played, I had worked my way to the front row, right in front of the bassist, Nick Seymour, and during "When You Come" while I was singing along in raptures--a very young woman in a long black tank dress with an India printed fushia silk scarf wrapped around her hair--he kept looking at me with huge grins.  Later that night I actually got to meet and chat for a moment with Mr. Seymour, among the various booths of arts and cool things to purchase there at the concert.  Right before I was accused of shoplifting a ring from the jewelry vendor next to where we were standing.  Oh, how that appalled and humiliated me.  So another strong memory from that night is walking, bawling, back to rejoin my friends on the lawn while in the dark skies around me Peter Gabriel sang "Salsbury Hill."  And a random vendor leaned out from his booth to call to me, gently, "Hey, is it so bad? C'mon, girl, give a smile." 

And finding that song just now led me to another favorite favorite Gabriel song, "In Your Eyes."  Which, listening to now, I remember played there at the concert just after I had been reunited with my friends.  It is a song of romance, but I have always sung it like a prayer, perhaps never more than that night:  ". . . I look to eternity to keep me awake and alive. . . And all my instincts they return, and the grand facade* so soon will burn.  Without a noise, without my pride, I reach out from the inside. . . in Your eyes I am complete. . . in Your eyes I see the doorway to a thousand churches. . . in your the resolution of all the fruitless searches. . . oh I wanna be that complete. . . "

And then I wanted to look up another favorite, beautiful, uplifting song I remember from the concert and throughout college, Don't Give Up -- Peter Gabriel and Kate Bush (Sinead sang her part at WOMAD--oh, so cool). . . "Don't give up, 'cause you have friends.  Don't give up, you're not beaten yet. Don't give up, I know you can make it good. . . .Rest your head, you worry too much.  It's gonna be alright.  When times get rough you can fall back on us. Don't give up. Please don't give up."

And that video led me to another totally great classic, "I Want To Know What Love Is," -- Foreigner.  "In my life, there's been heartache and pain.  I don't know if I can face it again. . . ."

You see how easily the youtube '80's train is begun and how hard it is broken. 

ANYWAY the final video in the train tonight was another uplifting classic, Broken Wings -- Mr. Mister. "Baby, I think tonight we can take what was wrong and make it right. . . Baby, it's all I know that you're half of the flesh and blood that makes me whole, I need you so. So take these broken wings and learn to fly again, learn to live so free.  And when we hear the voices sing, the Book of Love will open up for us and let us in. . . "

So many good songs.  So many positive feelings in them.  So many memories. 

Feelin' pretty happy all of a sudden.  ; )



*Yes, I know it is Versailles not facade, but facade is what I heard in high school, and that's what I sang to God

Retro beauties

Fascinating collection! 

And, as you can imagine, not necessarily something you want to look at in front of the kids.  (Mommy, why is it always windy when they are taking pictures of those ladies?)

But still, I like the innocence of these images, both the befores and afters.  They are glorifications of the female body, but without stripping the female--of her Selfhood.  Not degrading, but sassy and fun.   

In fact, I want a pic of ME like that.  Don't laugh--it can be done:

This is my cousin Stacia.  At different times these were her facebook profile pics.  Yowza!!!!

That is really her, just cleverly transformed into a retro pin-up.  Yes, she is gorgeous naturally.  Yes, she is naturally curvy, and that really is her hair.  Yes, she is a swing dancer and lives in LA, and clearly knows all kinds of creative retro people.  Still, I know for a fact that is really her looking so, so, so amazingly amazing--which means maybe someday it could be really me. 

I would pay a large amount of money to some skilled photographer to do this for me.

Um, honey?  Sixteenth anniversary present?  (nudge, wink)

Random Snippets: c

Dedicated to Susan, who after seeing this may not mind the trees clapping their hands quite so much.



Ahhhhh, the early '80's and primitive Christian Rock.

on bleeding and life-giving

Ok, I lied.  I said I would finish whatever I wanted to write about my week in Illinois this past weekend--not for any particular reason, just because my brain liked how neat and tidy that would be.  Finish that one train before jumping into my usual stream of consciousness blogging.  Except it turns out the things left to say are not little things--not snippets.  They are big things, like homeschooling, and marriage, and breastfeeding and spiritual growth.  So I guess I will just let go of my need for tidiness here in this blog--because, really, why should my blog be any different than all the other facets of my happily untidy life?--and jump right on in to the swing of life as it is now.

And at this exact now, the pendulum of life has swung to that time of the month.
(so, no more snippets, but loads of TMI ahead)

This is a sorta big deal for me, since I have not had a period for. . . (counting on fingers. . . resorting to paper and pencil. . . ) 33 months.  Almost three years.  And I truly enjoyed being without periods, so am only reluctantly welcoming them back into my life. 

Welcome back.  We loathe and are embarassed by periods when we are teenagers, dismayed at the treachery of our bodies that would make us ache and stink and break out every month, and give any notion of premarital sex an ominous weight.  Then when we are women, more attuned to our bodies, to the give-and-take of pleasure and sacrifice and rhythm and blood, we are much more accepting of our menstrual cycles.  We are like little heathens, our bodies connected to the moon, to the earth, to loam and musk--fresh-bodied still, our spirits and flesh much more loosely bound.  The most heathen of us anticipating the blood rite with eagerness, with dread, with despair, then with relief and celebration as the spin of the roulette wheel once more chooses liberty, and the slow decay. We get practical about the mechanics of our monthly rituals, and even flippant, or if we are lucky, transparent about it all with a lover with whom we are safe.

When we have matured a little more in our sexuality, feeling a fullness of body, a readiness, a restlessness for achieving life, our periods take on a whole new weight.  They no longer represent inconvenience, uncomfortableness, awkwardness;  instead, they represent a cycle of life to which we are now drawn, in which we hope and trust with desire and awe.  Suddenly, sex takes on a spiritual weight, our bodies and spirits pulled together by awareness and longing--we are vulnerable, and beautifully so, as with our lover   we seek to make love tangible, physical, in a new little body into which we expect to pour forth all our joy and by which multiply our joy further.

And then, when motherhood is no longer about anticipating but immersion, when our bodies are no longer young and ripe but worn and dried out, when our spirits are weighed by the daily toil of loving those little bodies, little beings--then . . . ?

That's as far as I have gotten on this walk--I am not sure how the story ends.  But as you can tell, since two days ago I have been conscious of entering a new stage in my sexual/fertile life, and I am not sure how it will be defined, what it will hold.

But yesteday, in "celebration," I took the day off.  I knew it was coming--had warning signals for several days.  Night before last I knew it would be yesterday, and so I mapped the day all out:  stay in pj's all day, lay around as much as possible, eat whatever chocolate happens to be on hand. (Which, to my complete dissatisfaction, was NONE.  Next month I'm planning ahead.)  The girls and I did school, but it was a slow and easy day, more keeping up momentum than actually having goals to accomplish.  I actually did way more than I intended to--some necessary yardwork, and cooking for both lunch and dinner (again, next month I'm planning ahead), but I also allowed myself to not do a few other things that really needed doing, like vacuum and do laundry.

And, really, it was not that bad of a day. Cramp wise, I mean. On one hand, this could just mean my body is being a little slower to get back with the game now that I am so advanced in age, but the bad cramps will still come by next month.  OR if things are really starting to slow down, my body slowly shutting down its productivity, then maybe the cramps won't come back with such a vengenance ever again.  That alone would certainly make me look at periods much more affectionately.  Ah, poor tired ovaries, you've done good, girls, your run is nearly through.  Ah, my dear uterus, whose thick, rich nourishment I always distained, and yet which grew and held my babies strong and healthy--your showing this first month is but a wan reminder of your past vibrance, vitality, and my abundant fecundity, which I have taken for granted all these years. 

It is nice to be now at a place of feeling affection for my body like this.  When I was young, my body and I were most definately at odds; for several years the cramps and overall ill-feeling were so harsh I even threw up once a month.  Ugh.  I am very fortunate that my parents had sympathy, and let me stay home from school on those days.  But still, I remember days when I had something important I needed to do after school, like audition for a play, and so had to stick it out all day. . . and yes, even hurling at school, at least once in that exact same bathroom featured two posts earlier (first stall on the right--ah, memories).  And then, when I was in college a gynocologist told me about A*naprox (now available over the counter as A*leve, which, yes, it does).  If you have bad cramps and have not yet discovered the magic of A*leve, please let me urge you to try it out as quickly as possible.  No other pain killers come close.  But I must also confess that I have always doubled the recommended dose, to meet the dose prescribed for me, which is NOT medical advice, so always talk to your doctor before doing any drugs (does that phrase cover me from lawsuit?), but definitely ask him if you can try upping your A*naprox if you are wanting to feel the magic.

Yesterday I didn't need any pain meds.  The cramps, like I said, were not bad, and they reminded me oh so vaguely of post-partum cramps, which I actually always enjoyed (well, after the first day when I felt likeI was going to vomit or pass out from their intensity) because they reassured me after each baby that my uterus was doing what it could to reduce my distended belly back to what would be "the new normal."  And these cramps were such a pale imitation of what my periods used to be, that every ache in my back and abdomen was a positive reminder of how great this was in comparison.  And I remembered too, nostalgically and a little awed, how those heavy periods and horrible cramping had meant there were some serious baby-making hormones at work, and organs eager to do their job. 
And, yes, I have been quite fertile.  Proof is on my sidebar--but that is not even the half of it. Seriously.  Once we decided to try for our first child, I think it took us a few months to get pregnant.  But no more than 3, and that includes the time my body was re-adjusting from being on the pill.  When our first baby, Sunny, was about 16 months old, we decided we would like to have a second child, but did not want them to be too far apart in age, and knew it might take a while to get pregnant (in theory), so I actually weaned Sunny completely so that I would resume ovulation and menstruation and we could try for a second.  My body jumped into overdrive big time--and I started having two periods a month!  Well, at least I had three periods in a month and a half, and then I got pregnant.

Years later, once again I ended up weaning our second, Merry, at 18 months, and once again my body kicked into overdrive, and the exact same things happened.  By this point we had figured out that fertility was not an issue for us.  We also realized we still had our senses of humor, which is fortunate for my death-defying Dear Husband, who, during my third period in two months, listened to me griping about something and then asked with mock concern, "Oh, is it that time of the two weeks again?" 

When I weaned our third child, Happy, I am pretty sure my body was wacko at the start, but this time I did not pay it any mind, except to be glad whenever I had a period because--as I have mentioned before--we did not think we wanted any more kids.  So, it took a while longer, what with the various methods of birth control we were using and all, at which God must have just looked and chuckled, but a short while later we ended up with Smiley.  And now, here we are in this strange spot--feeling really, truly blessed and submitted to God in this area of life, and yet feeling done with our family, and not having any clue what that will look or feel like.

So the blood yesterday, today, brings up so many emotions, so many memories, such strong fears and hopes for our future.  I do welcome it, as symbolic of this journey I am on in body and mind and spirit, and give it over to God, along with the fears and hopes.  I feel like He and I are embarking upon a stage in the journey even bigger than where we have walked before, and while it is a journey with my husband, it is even more a journey of MySelf, walking in faith. 

You brave (and not easily offended/made queasy) readers who have made it through this post--you have my sincere admiration.  Thanks for coming along. 


Coming soon. . . the complete Blessed restrospective of child-birth and lactation!  ; )

Summer Snippet #2

Yes, I know two weeks ago I said I was going to post lots of snippets and photos, so I could get all the things piled up in my head out here in the way least painful to all of us. I gotta get cracking--the things I really want to write are seriously starting to overtake my thought patterns in the day! When I get an idea going around and around, I find myself blogging in my head about it, and that does not stop until I actually get it written down. Sometimes I even write things that I never "publish," just to get them out of their holding pattern in my brain.


(Which also really makes me wonder what I used to do with the ideas before I blogged. Probably pounced upon my poor, unsuspecting husband some nights when he came home from a long day of work at the office. . . )

And because my brain is the way it is--you know, so obsessive compulsive organized--I have to finish up the trip to IL and the reunion before I can move on.

So here are a couple more pics from the reunion. . .

I was so fortunate in high school not only to have Mina and Susan, but to also have another Susan as a best friend:

Me and Susan M., in front of the choir room during the school tour--

and I can't believe this dim mobile upload is one of the only pics we got of just the two of us

 from the entire weekend! How did that happen?!

Mina and I became friends the summer before freshman year of H.S. when she moved in down the street from me; then midway through our freshman year she introduced me to Susan O., there on the bench in front of school.  I honestly do not know why the three of us became such close friends, other than it was meant to be.  But Susan M. and I became close friends because we were involved in so many of the same activities throughout our years in high school:  musicals, Madrigal Choir, Speech Team, Students for a Better World, Peer Ears (student counsellors).  The first three activities on the list alone accounted for so much of our free time after school and in the evenings and Saturdays, so actually Junior year I probably spent more time with Susan M. than I did with Susan O. and Mina.  And then Mina moved to California the last day of school Junior year, and Susan O.  had an out of town boyfriend she was with much of the time, so Senior year of high school Susan M. was the best friend whom I hung out with the most. 

Saturday morning there was a reunion tour of our alma mater, where I got to relive some of the old, fond memories of my friendship with all three women. 

Memories like hanging out in the bathroom!  Aren't these the most awesome stalls?  Just so classic--I hope they never try to upgrade these bathrooms, because they would just ruin them.  This bathroom is going to look better in 100 years than anything else they could possibly put in, because that's how you made things back in the good ol' days--to last. 

To prove my point further--subway tile!  It's back in style already!  Okay, maybe not in that particular dried pea shade, but still!  And the steam radiators!  Very cool.  Susan M. was our photographer for these shots, and I was going for the nostalgia shot here, reminiscent of how we would all check our hair-do's (and don'ts. hehe) before leaving the bathroom.  Except it looks like I'm checking for gray hairs, which is a little too much realism.

Anyone else remember how teen girls would carry a full-size can of Aqua Net in their purses, for touch-ups in such bathrooms between classes?  Not that I ever did. . . no seriously, I never did.  I was anti-hair product most of my life because I believed it made my acne worse, and I so did not need help in that tragic aspect of life.  And my grandma used Aqua Net, so that was that right there.

We haven't changed a BIT.  ; )

Our high school was not air conditioned back in the day--and amazingly enough, is still not!  Actually, that makes me glad, and not in a sadistic kind of way.  No, I am proud of the "buck-up, pioneer schooler!" attitude of the school, which knows that kids will not actually die of heat, just stick miserably to their seats and lose all ability to pay attention, and might even want to nap, esp. when the teacher turns off the classroom lights in compassion (or was it commiseration?).  And heaven help you if you were not lucky enough to be sitting in the path of one of the box fans teachers would bring from home and set up in the classroom.  Or if you were in a classroom on the first floor, where bees would wander in and out of the open windows.  But still, you grew up hardy, and full of vigor, not like those wimpy Centennial High School kids across town who were actually sent home from school on the days when the air conditioning wasn't working. 

ANYWAY, after the school tour Sat., Susan M. came back to my parents' house with Susan O. and Mina and DH and I and joined my parents for lunch.  It was just a perfect time--laid-back, with delicious, nostalgic summer food (thanks Mom and Dad for such a great lunch!) and good catching-up time.  Really, those moments with my good friends were the best parts of the whole weekend.