Ode to my crazy baby girl

Warning: You are about to read my feeble attempt at poetry. Continue at your own risk!

Add some cutesy illustrations of baby animals and you've got a children's book! ;)

I love you when you're happy,

I love you when you're sad.

I love you when you scream,

Even though it drives me mad.

I love you when you're wet,

I love you when you're dry.

I love it when you laugh,

I still love you when you cry.

I love you when you puke on my dress,

I love you when you pee on the floor.

Even though you make a mess,

I couldn't love you more.

I love you whether rain or shine,

I love you when it doesn't rhyme.

I love you, Baby, all the time.

I love you, just because you're mine.

Orchestra Dreams

I'm told it's pretty typical to dream you show up to class only to discover there's an exam on material you haven't studied, or that you go to give a speech and you're up on stage completely naked, but I've never had any of those dreams. I have dreamed of being late for orchestra, though:

Last night I dreamed I was playing in the Chicago Symphony Orchestra. Except instead of Robert Chen, it was Pinchas Zukerman (one of my favorite violinists) in the concertmaster's chair, and I was sitting next to him! I'm not sure which I would be more nervous to play with...

Our conductor was a young, very dynamic Ricardo Muti look-alike, and we were playing some non-existent but very cool sounding modern piece (I swear, my unconscious brain is 100 times more musically creative than my conscious self. Either that or I have poor taste in music when I'm asleep!). It must have been a special rehearsal, because there were tons of people observing it.

We went on break, and somehow I ended up talking to former music director Daniel Barenboim, who was one of the observers. He asked me what I did for a living (an odd question, considering the circumstances), and I gave him my real-life answer (I teach theory on the weekends, but most days I stay home with my adorable baby girl). He seemed a little confused that I didn't mention playing in a professional orchestra, but was polite enough not to mention it. We ended up having a lovely conversation about teaching, and before I knew it, I was LATE for the second half of rehearsal!!!

As I was rushing back in (sure enough, they were already tuning!), who should greet me at the door but my former violin teacher Stefan Hersh! He scolded me for being irresponsible and told me I was fired. I tried to tell him I was talking to DANIEL BARENBOIM, but that didn't seem to impress him. Rats! I guess I'll never find out how the piece ended!

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This may be the most elaborate orchestra dream I've had, but it is by no means the first:

I remember when I was 12 years old, having a nightmare that I showed up to Youth Symphony, and just minutes before rehearsal started, I went to get out my instrument and opened the case to discover I had forgotten my bow! I could have redeemed the situation by finding someone with an extra bow I could borrow, except there was no time, and I was sitting in the front row with no way to be discreet. Mr. Tham (I've never been more afraid of a conductor than I was of him) was going to kill me!!! Thankfully I woke up before he could tear me asunder.

Of course, we won't go into the time when I showed up to a real rehearsal without my instrument! Talk about my worst nightmares come true! I was a soloist, too! But that's another story...

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So, what about you? Anyone else out there have strange orchestra dreams, or am I just completely neurotic?

On Love and Sacrifice

This post was inspired by a discussion of this quote:

"We have meekly agreed that the kitchen sink is an obstacle instead of an altar... The routines of housework and of mothering may be seen as a kind of death, and it is appropriate that they should be, for they offer the chance, day after day, to lay down one's life for others."

-Elisabeth Elliot

Let me put it this way: First, while I find housework rewarding (as unpleasant as the chore may be, there is a sense of satisfaction in the final result), it is rarely my first choice (I have yet to meet someone who looks forward to doing dishes). But it is something that has to be done, everyone has basic needs that must be met through cooking, cleaning, and other chores. As a wife and mother, I have made the choice to provide not just for my own needs, but also for the needs of my family. And, as is true in so many areas of life, to choose to do one thing, is to choose NOT to do a host of other things. We make these kinds of choices everyday, when we choose to go to work rather than sleep in (we regard maintaining our employment at a higher value than a few extra Z's), or when we choose onion rings instead of french fries with our Happy Meal (totally worth the extra charge). In High School, my choice to be involved in marching band and youth symphony meant I couldn't participate in other extracurriculars like the cross-country or speech teams. Sure, it was a bummer I couldn't do those things, but I wanted to play music more, and I don't regret it.

So sure, I'd rather read a good book, or hang out with friends, or sleep, or watch TV than do laundry or change diapers, but I choose to do these things, becasue I know that providing clean clothes for my family will be far more rewarding in the end. The death is not mine, rather my choice to love and serve my family necessitates the death of other activities I may have enjoyed.

"Sacrifice" is defined as "an act of giving up something valued for the sake of something else regarded as more important or worthy." That is what my status means. I have sacrificed some of my valued activites for the sake of my family, which I regard as more important. While sacrifice is never easy, this is not a death to be mourned. Rather, I have given of myself in order to receive something greater. In this case, a happy, joy-filled home. How could I regret that? Thinking in these terms takes mundane, tiresome chores and turns them into something greater, something filled with meaning.

Jesus said "Greater love has no man than this: that he should lay down his life for his friends." (John 15:13)

We revere as heroes the soldiers, police, firefighters and numerous others who made the ultimate sacrifice for the sake of another, yet we ignore the fact that so many women willingly and happily "lay down their life" day after day for those they love.

Don't worry, this is not a tragedy forced upon me, this is a choice I am proud to have made, and I know my husband and daughter will appreciate this gift of myself.

Now, everyone go hug your mothers! ;)

Love is...

I've been thinking about this for a long time, but I have been really hesitant to write this post, because I am so afraid it will come out sounding preachy and self-righteous. I DONOT want that! In fact, this post is partly for me to come forward and communicate just how lost and helpless I have felt in the last several months.

Before we were married, my husband and I took a marriage-prep class at our church. I heard one of the pastors define love as "zealously guarding the happiness of another." I had never heard it put that way, and I liked it. After mulling it over, I made a few tweaks of my own and came up with something slightly more complicated, but I felt it rounded out the concept in my mind a bit more: "Zealously guarding the well-being of another at one's own expense." I like that definition, I feel like it covers many different aspects. I shared it with my father tonight, and he gave me his simplified version: "putting others ahead of yourself." I love my Dad's way with words. Somehow, he always manages to communicate thoughtfully and efficiently.

I also remember the "blessing" he gave to my husband and me at our wedding. He quoted a Clint Black song called "Something That We Do." The lyrics continually return to the title message that "love isn't something that we find ... [it] isn't something that we have ... [it's] not just something that we're in ... Love isn't just those words we said ... [it] isn't someplace that we fall, it's something that we do."

I have heard many people say that marriage is refining. Sixteen months in, I can wholeheartedly agree! I have learned so much about how selfish and impatient I tend to be, and I have had so many opportunities to practice "putting others ahead of myself." I am fond of saying "it hasn't all been easy, but it's all been good." It's not always pleasant, but I am so thankful to be slowly learning how to love.

Then I had a baby.

Yikes.

I won't mince words, that first month was torture. Our poor baby was (and still is) terrifically fussy. She cried so much in her first few days that even the nurses were astonished. She was only 2 days old when she lost her voice from all the screaming. It was horrible, but it was to become a regular occurrence: she lost her voice about once a week until about a month ago when it went away and never came back. Our poor baby has been hoarse for a month, but that's another story. If she was awake, she was crying. She wouldn't sleep unless we were holding her, and even then she needed to be rocked and nursed.

Now, I want to reassure you that this is exceptional behavior, not the norm. Approximately 20% of babies fit into this "extremely fussy" category, and our little one's condition was exacerbated by undiagnosed acid reflux which was causing her pain. Please don't let this scare you away from babies, they really are lovely!

In addition to the fussy baby, I was recovering from a C-section and was weak, sore and had a difficult time getting around. It was a good two weeks before I was able to manage anything more than shuffling around the apartment. Usually after major abdominal surgery you are told to rest and take it easy, but I had an infant who needed to be cared for and comforted constantly. She didn't know I was supposed to be resting. I was also experiencing extreme pain while nursing (another story, the details of which I will spare you. Suffice it to say that this too is abnormal), and this made me dread the task of feeding my baby--the one thing which seemed to calm her down!

Add to all this the fact that my husband is in his medical residency and was on overnight calls at the hospital every few days and was absent most of the time, and exhausted when he was home.

The first two months were a nightmarish ordeal. I was in excruciating pain, utterly exhausted, emotionally drained, and very alone. My only company during those long days and even longer nights was this tiny, needy creature who just. Wouldn't. Stop. Crying! I have never felt more helpless, more defeated than I did then.

I often find myself candidly telling people about this, describing my frustration with a child who refused to be comforted, the infuriation of a baby who screams when there doesn't seem to be anything wrong. I decide to be honest and tell them how many times I wanted to shake her and yell at her to shut up (which I never did), and I am met by shocked and horrified stares.

"How could you say such a thing?!" they ask.

"Don't you love your baby?!?!"

Yes.

Yes I love her.

I love her dearly.

I love her so much I would do anything for her.

I love her so much that I DIDN'T shake her.

I love her so much that I bounced her around the apartment, even though I could barely stand.

I love her so much that I nursed her every time she was hungry, even though the pain was so great that it often caused me to weep.

I love her so much that I held her through the night, watching the moon make it's lonely way across the night sky, just so that she could sleep, even though it meant no rest for me.

I love her so much that I gave her absolutely everything I possibly had to give. I poured out my life and my soul and my strength day after day, even though I got nothing in return except more fussing.

If love is warm fuzzy feelings about someone, then no. No, I didn't love my baby during those first two months.

But if love is "zealously guarding the well-being of another at your own expense," or more concisely, "putting others ahead of yourself," then yes I do love her.

I love her more than I will ever be able to express.

And yet I still lose my patience, I still get frustrated, I am still terribly selfish. Every day I get a little taste of just how much more I have to learn, how very imperfect I am. And every day I become more thankful that there is Someone who loves me in spite of all of that. Someone who loved me enough to take all the consequences of my shortcomings upon Himself. Someone who loved me enough to die for me. To learn more about this, ask me, or click here.

It's like candy for my mouth! Oh wait...

There are some words that are just fun to say.

The word that came to mind (or rather, came to mouth) today was "Snuggles." It's my new nickname for my 4.5 month-old baby girl who is responding to the cooler weather by becoming very clingy (it's hard for me to complain when the solution is lots of baby hugs).

I then began wondering if similar words would be just as fun (what else is there to do when your hands are full of a cuddly baby?).

Wiggles: ends the same, but to me, it just wasn't as good.

This made me wonder if it was less the "-ggles" suffix, and more the vowel preceding it.

Puddles: This one makes me happy, but I wonder if I just really like puddles...

Bubbles: Again, very positive associations with this word. Who doesn't like bubbles???

Buckles: This one gives me pause. Buckles aren't as fun as puddles or bubbles. In fact they can be downright annoying when you're in a hurry, so no positive associations there. Also, the "ck" sound is a little harsh. Yet, it's still rolling off the tongue satisfactorily.

On a scale of 0-10, 0 being "axe" and 10 being "snuggles," I'd say this is an 8.

Puggles: NOW we're getting somewhere! Yep, definitely fun to say, and fun to play with. Hmm, we're back to our "-ggles" suffix. AND it has a "u!" Okay, I'm definitely sensing a pattern. I think words ending it "-uggles" are my favorite! This leads us to the ultimate, smile-every-time, fun to say, funnier to think about...

THE BUGGLES!!!

(video killed the radio star!)

Yep, can't stop smiling.

Heehee, Buggles. :D

Crying in the Carseat

So, our daughter HATES the carseat. I mean HATES. IT. With every fiber of her tiny little being.

I know, I know, "But most babies love the carseat!"

Not mine.

She screams bloody murder the whole time. We're talking the kind of ear-buzzing screams where you can hear her throat tearing to shreds. She screams until she chokes herself, which only makes her more upset. I have seen a fair number of tantrums and crying babies in my life, and have never seen anything like this.

The craziest part is the way she stares at you while she's throwing these fits. It kind of proves to me that there's really nothing wrong, she's just mad. I will often sit in the back seat next to her in a futile attempt to calm her. The only response I get for my efforts is a tearful, accusing glare. I can almost understand the message behind her shrieks:

"How can you just sit there?!?! Can't you hear me?!?! You have the power to free me from this torture and you sit idly by doing nothing!!! How can you say you love me, how can you say you have compassion on me and yet leave me here to suffer?!?!"

I can only respond to these questions as any responsible, loving parent would:

"Oh, child, if only you knew why you were here. You can't understand it yet, but this is the safest and best place for you to be right now. If I were to give you what you wanted, there is no telling what heartbreak would come. I do this because I love you, because I want the best for you, and because I couldn't bear to see you hurt. You are my treasure, and I have pledged to protect you with my life. If you would only trust me, everything will be all right."

It was during one of these "moments" with my daughter that I realized how very similar we are. How often do I react to prolonged hardships in my life by crying out to God:

"How can you just sit there?!?! Can't you hear me?!?! You have the power to free me from this torture and you sit idly by, doing nothing!!! How can you say you love me, how can you say you have compassion on me and leave me here to suffer?!?!"

And my Heavenly Father, as THE responsible, loving Parent always responds:

"Oh, child, if only you knew why you were here. You can't understand it yet, but this is the safest and best place for you to be right now. If I were to give you what you wanted, there is no telling what heartbreak would come. I do this because I love you, because I want the best for you, and because I couldn't bear to see you hurt. You are my treasure, and I have pledged to protect you with my life. If you would only trust me, everything will be all right."

"Do not worry then, saying, 'What will we eat?' or 'What will we drink?' or 'What will we wear for clothing?' ... for your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things." Matthew 6:31-32 (emphasis added)

"Or what man is there among you who, when his son asks for a loaf, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, he will not give him a snake, will he? If you then, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give what is good to those who ask Him!" Matthew 7:9-11

"Every good thing given and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shifting shadow." James 1:17

"And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose." Romans 8:28

"For I know the plans that I have for you,' declares the LORD, 'plans for welfare and not for calamity, to give you a future and a hope." Jeremiah 29:11

Our heavenly Father knows what we need and always has our best interests in mind. We can be certain of that! When we find ourselves frustrated or angry at our circumstances, the reason can be boiled down to our refusal to believe that a perfectly loving, all-powerful God is in control of the world and of our lives. In the words of theologian Addison Leitch: "All our problems are theological ones." When we understand God's character, we can be confident that His will for our lives is better than ours, and allow it to be carried out, even if it doesn't make sense to us in our limited perspective.

"Trust and obey, for there's no other way

To be happy in Jesus, but to trust and obey."

-John H. Sammis

A precious and exceedingly RARE moment of peace, the day we brought our tiny girl home from the hospital!

How About Housework???

This morning as I was scrubbing the toilet in preparation for guests to come over, I began to ponder my feelings about housework. My relationship with cleaning is... complicated. I wouldn't call it a love-hate relationship per se, but I can't figure out another way to describe it.

I've had an odd penchant for housework since I was a little girl. I remember sneaking into my brother's room and organizing their bookshelves, folding their clothes and putting away their toys. My mom had these books full of housecleaning tips and strategies by cleaning expert Don Aslett, and I READ THEM! IN GRADE SCHOOL! Sorting and organizing was always one of my favorite things to do, every few months I would pull out all my books and pick a new cataloging method in which to shelve them (sorted alphabetically by author, title, genre, date published, or a combination of the above...).

When I got to college, my friends used to joke that they could tell which side of the dorm room was mine, because there was an invisible line that wouldn't let the mess past.

Of course, when I was sick or stressed, all of that went out the window. I'd leave my clothes in a pile on the floor, I'd use things and never put them away, and it wouldn't be long before my room was a complete wreck. It's scary, actually, how fast my life deteriorates when I'm not trying! My mother could always tell when I was feeling better because the mess would start to bother me again and I would clean it up.

Organizing is easily my favorite cleaning chore, but it's not the only one I enjoy. There's something so gratifying about doing the dishes or cleaning the bathroom or vacuuming. When you step back and look at the result of your manual labor, the work of your own two hands, it's a feeling of accomplishment. I think everyone appreciates a clean bathroom or a freshly mopped floor, and I for one appreciate it even more if I was the one who made it that way.

So, if I love organizing and find cleaning so rewarding, WHY DOES MY APARTMENT ALWAYS FEEL LIKE A WRECK?!?!?!

Well, several hours ago, after removing my bleach-covered scrub brush from the toilet bowl, it dawned on me that there are multiple factors.

First, like I said, when I am sick or stressed out, all sense of order goes out the window. I've often wondered if my delight in organization is a coping mechanism for the chaos inside my head, and once under duress, I lose the ability to cope and revert to my default: anarchy! If this truly is my "default," then any time I'm under duress, the state of my home should deteriorate quickly (and believe me, it does!). Of course, the older I get, the busier I get, the more responsibilities I have to juggle, and the more stressed out I become, meaning I am less inclined now to spend time cleaning than I was when I was younger. This makes me wonder if someday neat-freak Emily will become one of those crazy old ladies who compulsively hoard everything and have piles upon piles of newspapers and lace doilies cluttering every inch of her home. People will say "she was always very neat, I guess the change was so gradual we never noticed until it was too late!" Funny part about all of this is that, I feel more stressed when my surroundings are messy! It's a vicious cycle: when I'm stressed, I get messy, and when things are messy, I get stressed!

Second (and this is closely related to the above reason), I just don't have the time I used to have. If I have a spare afternoon, chances are it will be used to catch up on grading or lesson planning or grocery shopping, or sleep, or something other than camping out on the floor sorting my books according to the Dewey Decimal system! But some of this is also laziness, since I do use up a lot of my free time watching the TV shows I missed the previous night (we don't have TV, so I watch my TV online the day after it airs), or spending countless hours stalking friends on facebook! I should know better. Sure, it's enjoyable and entertaining at the time, but once it's over, I have nothing left to show for it. There's no sense of accomplishment or satisfaction that comes with surfing the internet or watching my favorite show, in fact, I often feel guilty when I turn from my computer to see the pile of dishes in the sink, the dust-bunnies skittering across the floor, or the pile of laundry waiting to be done. Think of how much better I would feel if I had used the last hour to take care of some of those things! And I'd probably sleep better that night, with clear, uncluttered dreams...

The third reason is a big one: momentum! It is so hard to get motivated to start doing something! And object at rest stays at rest! It takes WAY more energy to get started than to keep going. And it only gets worse the longer you wait, because the house just gets dirtier!

On the flip side, once I get started, it can be hard to stop! I have a little hand vacuum that I received as a wedding gift (I would strongly recommend this if you're registering or looking for a gift to buy a friend, I use mine ALL THE TIME!!!). I often will spill something on the kitchen floor, and pull this out to vacuum it up really quickly. Of course, once I'm on the floor, I can see all these other spots that need to be vacuumed, so I quickly take care of them too, but as I move across the floor, I am only confronted with more and more to do, and before I know it, I have spent 2o minutes crawling around my apartment using a hand vacuum to clean the floors! This can be quite an undertaking, considering my entire apartment is tile or hardwood! It's the same when I wash dishes: I finish the dishes, and use the sponge to mop up the water splashed onto the counter, then find myself scrubbing the entire countertop when I reach the stove and notice that, sure enough, I could use some cleaning, too! And surely enough, what started as a simple task of doing dishes turns into a scrub-down of the whole kitchen (the hand vac may or may not be involved in this process, too...). Of course, then my mind starts associating doing the dishes with this grand ordeal, which only makes me more hesitant to do the dishes in the future, knowing what it could become.

Well, there you have it, my personal ups and downs of housework. I love organizing, I find housework very rewarding, and once I start, it's nearly impossible for me to stop. But my default nature is chaos, and I'm lazy and unmotivated, so pretty much my apartment is either very neat and clean, or in ruins. Perhaps someday I'll find a middle ground, hopefully before I become a compulsive hoarder...

Foods I Have Craved During Pregnancy (thus far...):

1. Ritz crackers
2. Canned peaches
3. French fries
(these first three were all I wanted/felt I could eat when I had morning sickness, but we spent 2 weeks in Taiwan, and could find NONE of these things!!!)
4. Potato chips
5. POPCORN!
6. BAGELS!
7. MACARONI AND CHEESE!
8. Taco Bell soft tacos (ask me about our fancy date night!)
9. Crab rangoon
10. Soft pretzels (I've wanted one for months, and STILL haven't had one!)
11. Refried beans (last week, I had homemade burritos every day for lunch: refried beans, cheese, avocado and diced tomato. YUM!)
12. Pickles (yep, I'm a cliche!)

I've also been on a citrus kick lately (oranges, clementines, grapefruit, yum!), and mozzarella sticks sound really good to me right about now... ;)