Creature Bug

Week 214: When a Picture shows A Thousand Days

Jason told me that yesterday morning he woke up thinking, "Now what do I have to do in the backyard today?"

And then he remembered. The backyard is finished.

Of course, as any home owner will tell you, the outside is never really finished because there are always weeds to pick, grass to mow, cobwebs to shake down. But in the grand scheme of Projects for The Backyard, we are done.

To know me is to know my struggle with our backyard, so here are a few links (minus the ones where all I do is sob quietly onto my keyboard) that should catch you up with the drama:

• (November) Receiving eight pallets from Lowe's
• (January) Working on the patio and retaining wall
• (May) Finishing the patio and play area

It only took us a little over two years, and a few thousand dollars. It only cost Jason six months of hard labor, and many, many tears (and pleading with Oprah) on my part. That's all behind us now, and there are no hard feelings on my part about any of it. The money, the work, the tears, the frustration, the mud tracked into the house by our dog--a distant memory. That's because I've just spent the last week really enjoying our backyard. Really. Really really. I can't even fully explain how much it means to me that I can go out into our backyard and read a book while the girls play in the water table, or sit on the grass, or splash in the kiddy pool, or go down the slide. Basically, they're doing everything a kid should be able to do in a backyard, none of which was available to them last summer when the only space we had to play in was a small patch of grass in our front yard. 

This is what I've been dreaming of.

You already witnessed the completion of the southern backyard. And now

finally,

at long last,

here's the completion of the eastern backyard.

Just last week it looked pretty much like this, except Jason had ripped out the sod before our trip and our lilac bush is done blooming:

 

And now I walk off our patio...

and turn the corner to see...

*drumroll*

This is where I've been reading, where I've been cutting fresh roses, where I watch the cherries turn red on the tree. This is where Sydney is learning how to hop from stepping stone to stepping stone, and Jules is mastering her picking up rocks skills. This is all because my husband is amazing.

This is my backyard.

(c) Creature Bug 2008. All rights reserved.

Week 209: Discovering Ballet

If you had ever visited my bedroom when I was a teenager, you would have thought I was a ballerina. Ballet posters adorned my walls, my closet doors, my bulletin board. I had teddy bears with tutus, pins with ballet slippers. I had seen every dance-themed movie, and secretly practiced the ballet moves behind the closed doors. I wanted with all my heart to be a ballerina, or at least some kind of dancer.

But I never took dance lessons.

To tell you the truth, I'm not sure if I ever even asked my parents if I could have dance lessons. I had piano lessons, voice lessons, a short and unfortunate period of time as a soccer player. But I never danced, even though I really wanted to. I suppose I didn't ask my parents because I figured they would say no. Maybe if I had really been insistent on it they might have considered it. It didn't ever cross my mind that I actually could be a dancer, only that I wanted to be one.

So, last Christmas when Jason's mom--who had been a ballerina for 20 years--said she'd help pay for Sydney to attend a dance class, I was giddy with excitement. Just like pursuing my own dance aspirations years ago, it had honestly never occurred to me to put Sydney in ballet at a dance studio because I always figured it would be too expensive. As it turns out, it really was too expensive for us, so I don't know if we can manage her going back in the fall. However, I don't regret the money we spent. And if there's any way we can have Sydney in ballet again in the fall--especially because she clearly enjoys it so much--then we'll do it.

Every Monday morning since last January, Sydney would put on her red leotard, her white tights, her white dance skirt, and her pink ballet slippers. She'd spend 45 minutes in Miss Erin's class with nine other 3-year-old girls, and they would twirl, and leap, and stretch, and demi-plie. They also diligently practiced their routine that they were to perform for the recital. I was a little apprehensive that Sydney would be too shy, or not be able to follow the directions, but my fears were unfounded and Sydney thrived in her class. She loves to dance.

Last Friday was the dress rehearsal, where I took most of these pictures and the video. Saturday was the recital, and it was a big production, much bigger and much more professional than I thought it would be. Sydney's dance school had rented the Historic Elsinore Theatre, and all the preschool classes were part of the matinee performance (the school-agers and adults performed during the evening production), as well as the advanced ballet class. Sydney's grandmas and grandpas and cousins came to watch Sydney the Beautiful Ballerina. She with her hair pulled back in a bun, make-up sparingly applied, costume properly fluffed, tights brand new for the occasion.

There is something magical about little girls in tutus, their sweet voices reminding each other where to stand on stage. The music played, the tulle swirled and swished, and the little pink slippers tripped across the stage. Sydney knew where to go and swayed when she was supposed to. As I watched her, I was surprised by the tears in my eyes. Who knows what more she'll do in the world of dancing, but for that moment she was a beautiful dancer, on an amazing stage, curtsying before an applauding audience. Even afterwards, as she held her flower bouquet in her arms, I looked at her and beamed. Not because I had a secret wish for Sydney to fulfill my dreams of becoming a dancer; I was just so very proud of what she accomplished. On her own two pink slipper-clad feet.

 

Bravo, my sweet.

Here's the video...Sydney is the one without her crown (she had her crown on for the performance, but we couldn't find it for the dress rehearsal):

(c) Creature Bug 2008. All rights reserved.

take note

Sometimes joy is so big
the only thing you can do
is put on your boots,
run outside,
climb to the highest point,
raise your arms to the heavens,
and burst into song.

Joy doesn't wait
for convenient moments
and doesn't care
if you have your pants on
or not.

*****

(c) Creature Bug 2008. All rights reserved.

When Strangers Judge You

I had an unfortunate incident happen to me today. One of those things that I suppose happens to people every day, although rarely to me. One of those things that at first seems like a practical joke, but then you realize that it isn't. One of those things that makes you laugh, makes you mad, makes you confused, and above all else, makes you wonder what on earth is going on.

I had a post up today that tried to come up with a clever way to talk about the miracle properties of Diaper Goop (that I received from the ever fabulous Parent Bloggers Network). In this post (which no doubt is still in your Google Reader if you haven't read it yet), I talked about how Jules cries in her crib, even with a messy diaper. While this is true, I haven't ever knowingly allowed her to cry in her crib with a messy diaper. My story was meant to illustrate how Diaper Goop keeps Jules rash-free even when I sleep through her cries. (BTW: It's a great product, and the whole family has loved using it.) Also, the story was meant to be humorously self-deprecating--me, the lazy mom. Ha ha. Of course, as anyone who knows me will tell you, it couldn't be farther from the truth. I do everything in my power to keep my kids healthy, safe, and happy. My friends know that. People who regularly read this blog know that. And yet, one story, taken out of context gave someone the right to call me a bad mom.

Today a stranger judged me. Not just one stranger, although the first one I suspect encouraged the rest of the group to follow along, leaving a string of mean comments in their wake. Today people who don't know me judged me on the basis of one half-factual story. These are people who have never met me, never been to my blog before, never read my posts before, never seen my pictures of my girls or been witness to my love for my children. These are people who tried to shame me into thinking I was a bad mom, although there are no words that will make me feel that way.

If it made them feel better to get their scolding words off their chest and say it to me, well, all right then. If they felt like they were making the world a better place--teaching one more bad mommy a lesson and hoping she changes her meth smoking, whip cracking, martini-before-noon drinking ways--okay. There is a place for outrage, this I know. Unfortunately, it was completely misguided being directed at me. Who, I guess it needs to be noted, does not smoke meth, crack whips, or drink martinis.

Clearly they don't know me otherwise they would have known that I am the mom you want on your side, in your corner, fighting for justice and safety. I am the mom you want teaching your children in the classroom. I am the mom who is raising children to be compassionate and loving, not, as you too quickly surmised, someone else. If there's anything you can learn from this mistake it's this: it's very difficult for a stranger to adequately judge someone else. Especially if you're judging through the printed word. Especially if your directive to judge came at the prodding of an annoyed friend. There is no happy ending to that story.

I have my failings as much as anyone, but when it comes down to it I know I'm a great mom. I don't need to list everything I do for and with my children because who the heck cares about that? My kids, that's who, and they aren't reading yet. But when they get old enough to read this post, they'll be the first to rise up and call me blessed. Of that I am convinced.

My story does have a happy ending, however. And it is this:

xoxo

*****

(c) Creature Bug 2008. All rights reserved.

Morning Glory

For reasons unclear to me, I have been awake since 4 am. I am not, unlike some of you mysterious creatures, a morning person. I wish I was. I'd like to get up early and get a bunch of work done before the girls wake up, but I just can't do it. Every night I think, maybe tomorrow I'll wake up before the girls. And then every morning I wake up to Jules screeching in her crib at 7:30. I know, 7:30 is sleeping in for most people. You've already showered and done the dishes and read blogs and taken a dozen photographs before 7:30. Or, if you're like my husband, by 7:30 you have gone running, played basketball, done prep work for class, and are ready to welcome students into your room. Crazy.

But this morning, I was awake. So I got up, showered, searched Amazon for a good devotional book on Lent (came up with nothing), and read through what some of you have been writing over the past couple days. Two posts in particular made me all weepy with joy:

• My friend Kristan's baby boy is getting stronger and stronger, and will hopefully be home soon from the hospital. Here are pictures of the gorgeous little guy. He's a miracle baby.
• It was a Good News Thursday for Cynthia and J-L. Jack is growing and his heart is strong. Watch the video with kleenex in hand.

If you get a chance, both these women could use encouraging words. Any parent who is fighting for their child's life needs as much encouragement and prayer as possible.

And so my morning was filled with joy, which was sorely needed after a horrid Thursday filled with a migraine, a messy house, and the discovery of FOUR web sites illegally stealing content from my blog. I really do loathe plagiarists, but at the moment I can't muster up the energy to get cranky about it. It's irritating, but in the grand scheme of life--particular Logan and Jack's life--it's minor.

Now it's 7:34, and I hear a little voice screeching from her crib. My day begins.

*****

(c) 2008 by Creature Bug. All rights reserved.

32 Things I Love About You

Happy Birthday to my wonderful husband, who gets to be a year older than me for nine whole days. To celebrate him turning 32, here are 32 things I love most about him.

1. He gives me a hug, a kiss, and tells me he loves me every single day.
2. He reads bedtime stories to Sydney every night.
3. His playfulness when he wrestles with the girls.
4. That he cuts his own hair
5. He always notices when I've cleaned the house.
6. Our mutual ability to recite Seinfeld lines to each other with perfect intonation: "The sea was angry that day, my friends." "I'm DRIVING the bus!" "We had a deal!"
7. The way he dances
8. He loves to exercise and is persistent about asking me to exercise too.
9. He always compliments me on dinner and says "thank you" even if all I did was put a pizza in the oven.
10. Cereal, also, is a perfectly good dinner to him.
11. He will watch "Grey's Anatomy" with me, even though I think he (not so) secretly hates it.
12. He has given up watching "CSI" just because I couldn't handle watching it anymore.
13. He doesn't complain that I refuse to get cable tv (even though we wouldn't have to pay for it).
14. He reads books.
15. I know he's a really great teacher.
16. He's way smart.
17. He is loyal to his friends.
18. Our secret code to tell each other "I love you"
19. That I can lean over to him in church and he instinctively knows to turn his watch towards me so I can see what time it is.
20. His freaky ability to sing cartoon/commercial/old tv show jingles, word for word. Seriously. It's some sort of gift.
21. He has limitless patience with me.
22. The amount of time and effort he is putting into our backyard
23. He's a great gift giver (diamond earrings one year for Christmas, trip to Maine this year).
24. We can play cribbage together, and even when I beat him, he will still play another round.
25. He will do laundry, vacuum, straighten-up, and cook without being asked.
26. His commitment to Tuesday nights: dinner, Dutch Brothers Coffee, story time at the library
27. We promised never to go to bed angry, and have stuck by that promise all our marriage except one night when we had a stupid argument over the dog.
28. The way he looks at me when we hear the theme song to "Antique Roadshow"
29. His passion to be a man dedicated to serving God.
30. His love of good smelling candles, and a willingness to spend a small sum of cash on peppermint candles because that's our favorite
31. When I told him I was afraid of having another baby for fear he'd be disappointed if we didn't have a boy, he said, "I'd never be disappointed. I love my girls."
32. He lets me put my freezing cold feet on the back of his legs when I crawl into bed at night.

Happy Birthday, Iokona.  {* * *}

Love, Me

Week 190: Self, divided

Something that continues to give me pause is when life simultaneously brings joys and sorrows. Before you start to be overly concerned regarding my well-being, rest assured that all is well in our household. What has been filling my thoughts are the households of friends, near and far, who are going through hardships and have had me in prayer so much of this past week.

*****

There is the joy of last Monday, when Sydney attended her first ballet class. Oh, my goodness me. Sydney in a leotard, tights and slippers is a sight to behold. She was fortunate enough to receive the ballet classes as a gift from her grandparents, Jason's parents. While I had always thought it would be wonderful if she could take lessons, there wasn't even the smallest hope of being able to afford them. Granted, there are inexpensive classes offered through the YMCA, but throw in the cost of all the other necessities (clothing, costumes, recital tickets) and it becomes out of our reach. However, Jason's mom had ballet lessons as a child and wanted the same for Syd. It is marvelous. We have been busy dancing and flitting and twirling all week.

And probably at the same moment as Sydney was dancing across the floor with her new classmates, another family was experiencing a grief greater than any family should have to bear. A ninth-grade student, who Jason had as a seventh-grader, was on her way to school Monday morning when the car she was riding in had an accident. She was thrown from the car and suffered traumatic head injuries; the parents made the heartbreaking choice to take her off life support on Tuesday. Jason didn't make it to Alma's funeral but several of his co-workers did. My heart is heavy for Alma's family and friends, and so I am in prayer for their great loss.

*****

There is the joy of last Wednesday, when the three of us girls got to spend a wonderful afternoon with Rachel and Sawyer. I am not always a good one for making new friends (the old insecurities never fail to pop up!), but I am so thankful that I ignored those unfounded fears of "what if they don't like me?" and have had opportunities to hang out with Rachel. She is a fountain of positive energy, I tell you what! And the fact that Sawyer and Sydney get along so well (including their penchant for racing through the house) warms my heart. Sawyer even bestowed upon Sydney her former ballet slippers that she had outgrown, and those have been constant fixtures on Syd's feet ever since. Ah, what fun!

Wednesday brought another joy into the world, one a million times greater than even the most perfect play-date. Wednesday brought us Logan McNally. He was born to my friend Kristan, whom I have had the pleasure of knowing for a couple years now through my MOPS group. For unanticipated reasons, however, Logan's arrival via c-section did not go as planned. As a result, Logan got very sick and after a few days had to be transported to Portland due to internal bleeding. He is still there, and has a long road to recovery. (My friend Leslie is keeping us all updated on Logan's story.) It is not the beginning anyone expected of his life, and I have been praying that God would restore him to health.

*****

There is the joy of last Thursday, when I stepped back into the classroom again, finding 35 fresh new faces before me. I can't even tell you how giddy I was, practical breathless with excitement as I went through the syllabus (even my students seemed a bit concerned how giggly I was talking about the splediferousness of speech). It's unnatural for someone to enjoy teaching public speaking this much, I'm sure. But love it I do.

On the other side of the continent, J-L and ccap were enjoying the wonders of having a 20-week ultrasound. Anyone who has experienced a pregnancy ultrasound knows that it is an amazing and incredible experience to see those little toes. The chambers of the heart. The halves of the brain. The tiny fingers as they clasp and unclasp. What you don't expect to see are problems, which is what the ultrasound revealed. Little Jack has a tumor on his back. When I read ccap's post about it, tears filled my eyes. When I read J-L's letter to God, I cried. It doesn't matter that I haven't met either of these two blessed people in real life, their lives have touched mine and so I pray.

*****

There is the joy of Saturday, when I got to spend an evening with my MOPS friends, seeing P.S. I Love You (loved it) and chatting over hot drinks at Starbucks. The joy of today, taking a nap with my girls and then later making a yummy dinner of meatloaf and scalloped potatoes. And another joy? Kristan got to hold her baby Logan for the first time today. Sweet joy.

Of course, it is much easier for me to continue with the day-to-day than any of these families whose lives have intersected with grief this week. But I know what it is like to feel sorrow, to lose, to grieve, to wish with all your heart that a moment could be redone with a different outcome.

There's joy. There's sorrow.

And thankfully, there's prayer.

Week 187: Merry and Bright

"I bring you good news of a great joy which shall be for all the people; for today in the city of David there has been born for you a Savior, who is Christ the Lord." (Luke 2:10-11)

Merriment

It has been a holly, jolly week, even though the weekend hasn't actually been so jolly on account of illness. But I'm not sick, and I think my family is recovering, so let's celebrate.

::last Saturday::

(photo Timothy J. Gonzalez, Statesman Journal)

We went to the Festival of Lights parade here in town, and it was quite the thrill. Even though it was freezing (fa-reezing!!), it wasn't raining, so there were swarms of people along the parade route. In fact, I read in the newspaper that 100,000 people were there, which is a lot of people considering the city's population isn't even 150,000.

We were prepared with hot chocolate and bags of popcorn, as well as blankets (though not enough), and enjoyed the school bands the most. The pimped-out cars that had the fire exploding out the tailpipe was definitely too scary for our girl, although I think she'll remember it for the rest of her life.

::last Sunday::

As if Saturday wasn't exciting enough, we topped off the weekend with our church's Children's Christmas program. Last year, Sydney was so not into singing the songs and being on stage. This year we practiced. We did the hand motions in the car. We built it up to be THE event of the year, at which Grandma and Grandpa would be in attendance. You'd never think that little Miss Drama Queen me would have a child who is so anti-showing off, but our practice paid off and she did make it through the program with stamina and flair. I think it helped that she got to wear her new Christmas dress, which as it turned out was the same dress her friend Gabry wore.

She was pretty happy to see me in the audience (in this video you can see her tell her teacher, "There's my mom!"), but that pales in comparison to how happy I was to watch her. If there is one thing that Sydney loves doing, it's singing. And to see her overcome her fear of crowds and sing her heart out was a proud moment for Jason and me. If you happen to like watching kids sing, here's Sydney singing Who Was There That First Christmas Day?, and here she is singing Away in the Manger.

I love my girl. Especially when she's wearing little lamby ears and laying her head down for "the little Lord Jesus, asleep in the hay."

::last Tuesday::

Peppermint hot chocolate. Obvious merriment.

::last Wednesday::

Remember when I got together with some area bloggers? And I said I met a mom who loves to read? Well! She came over! To my house! With her adorable daughter Sawyer who had the grandest time playing with Sydney! Though you may not think it from my writing, I can be a bit of an introvert. But after talking to Rachel, and then later chatting with her at the library's bedtime storytime, I decided to be bold and invite her over. Of course, I'm so glad I did because we had a lovely afternoon talking about (as she said) everything but books. But we did trade books. And Sydney and Sawyer read books together. And Jules probably ate a book or two while we were all having fun. How about that. Thank you Rachel and Sawyer for a wonderful afternoon. Can't wait to get together again.

I love new friends, don't you?

::last Thursday::

Gave my students their final exam, and now have four weeks off for Christmas vacation. It's bittersweet because I do love teaching that class.

Also, I got my hair highlighted. The week before I got it cut short again, and so happy am I to have found a new hair stylist that I love. At the aforementioned blog party, Ona gave me Nikki's phone number along with a hearty recommendation, and so I made an appointment for a haircut. I was so smitten with her I had her do my eyebrows. And then she highlighted my hair. I think I've run out of things I can have her do, so now it's your turn, all you local girls. Nikki. Studio 554 on Ferry Street. I have her number and so does Ona.

::last Friday, aka last night::

Well, not to say that there's no more merriment going on, but it ran a bit short in the middle of Friday night, whereby I make a 9-1-1 call and find myself with a firetruck and ambulance in the driveway and paramedics in our bedroom tending to my poor sick hubby. That story, however, will have to wait until Monday.

Until then...

Brown Eyes

'Tis the season for gift giving, and Parent Bloggers Network asked, "What makes a gift memorable?" My mind immediately went to a gift I have already written about, but thought it was worth sharing again. I just now read it again and got all weepy over it.

May your Christmas be filled with brown eyes.

*******

I would be hard pressed to remember every Christmas gift I have ever received. Of course, I'll always remember the Christmas I was pregnant and Jason got me diamond earrings. I'll remember the dress I received one year that a relative promptly proclaimed as "hideous." I'll remember the not-an-engagement ring that Jason gave me when we were dating. I'll remember the yellow puffy stuffed animal that still sits on my bed at my parents' house.

And never, for as long as I live, will I forget the year I got blue eyes instead of brown.

That year there were four identical boxes under the tree. This tag had "Stephanie," that one had "Tyler," and those over there had "Andrea" and "Jacob." Love, Mom.

With four kids, lots of grandparents, cousins, pets, aunts, uncles, and a mom and dad, you can imagine that under our Christmas tree were piles of presents. My parents didn't hold back the gifts until Christmas Eve. They were there for us to organize -- that side of the tree was for my presents, that corner for Andrea... -- and gently shake. We'd search the creases and corners of the wrapping paper to see if we could get any hints to the contents of the gift.

The four boxes were a total mystery. What could they be? What would we all be getting? Our imaginations never strayed to thoughts of socks, or pajamas, or shoes. These were real gifts. We knew it.

Christmas morning came, and we four kids tumbled into the living room after an early morning of opening stockings in my room. The 14-foot tree sparkled with tinsel and bubble lights, and there! beneath the tree! the four boxes.

Other gifts may have been opened, carols may have been sung, but the only thing on my mind was the box. Finally, with our own respective boxes in front of us, we simultaneously opened. For some reason I dawdled behind in opening, so I saw what everyone else got. My mom had made us -- hand stitched, hand stuffed, hand painted -- dolls. They looked kind of like Cabbage Patch dolls, except better because, oh! because they looked like each of us. Tyler's with sandy blond yarn hair, and blue eyes. Andrea's with long red hair, and brownish eyes. Jake's with brown hair, and brown eyes. The dolls were us.

I finished opening my present, ready to hug her close to my heart. Imagine my surprise when I saw that my doll wasn't the same. My doll was a real Cabbage Patch doll. One that my mom had stood in line for, paid extra for, bought in the knowledge that I wouldn't want a hand-made doll. My good manners kicked in, and I smiled and thanked my parents. A real Cabbage Patch doll with a shiny vinyl face and birth certificate.

But something wasn't right. I looked at my blond haired doll and noticed, of course, that she had blue eyes. I knew all blond haired dolls had blue eyes. I was old enough to know the doll codes: red hair with green eyes, brown hair with brown eyes, blond hair with blue eyes.

Blue eyes.

The wrong color.

The present opening celebration continued, but my subdued manner finally caught the attention of my mom. Stephanie, what's wrong?

I had always been proud of having blond hair and brown eyes. Dark brown, chocolate, without even a suggestion of blue. Norwegian in every way but the eyes. Those eyes were from my dad, a gift that I wasn't ashamed of. Yet, somehow, looking at this homogenized doll felt like ridicule. Being teased. Made fun of. For being different. Bitter tears of disappointment streaked down my face, even as I thought, "I should be grateful." I realized what my mom had done. She had thought I wouldn't want a hand-made doll. She had thought I would prefer the store bought one, the doll that all my friends had. She had tried to make Christmas special for me by getting me the gift that was at the top of the list. The real, not the fake.

Turns out, real and fake are sometimes in the eye of the beholder. I didn't want blue eyes. I wanted brown eyes. I wanted one that was like me, so that our four dolls could play together and be little replicas of our selves. And of course, it wasn't just about the eyes. It was also about something else -- something I couldn't articulate at that age -- about having something from my mom that I couldn't get from a store. "You didn't make me one," I cried. "You made one for them, and not for me. And her eyes are BLUE." Tears tears and more tears. (Can you believe it, I'm even crying as I type this up.)

I know I surprised my mom. She had guessed incorrectly about the state of my materialistic heart. Maybe it made her smile. Maybe it made her laugh. I hope it made her proud.

The best Christmas present I ever received wasn't the one that I got on Christmas, but the one that my mom gave me a couple weeks later. My very own Stephanie doll. Blond hair. Brown eyes.

The perfect color.

------

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Sk*rt this story.

'Tis the season for gift giving, and Parent Bloggers Network asked, "What makes a gift memorable?" My mind immediately went to a gift I have already written about, but thought it was worth sharing again. I just now read it again and got all weepy over it.

May your Christmas be filled with brown eyes.

*******

I would be hard pressed to remember every Christmas gift I have ever received. Of course, I'll always remember the Christmas I was pregnant and Jason got me diamond earrings. I'll remember the dress I received one year that a relative promptly proclaimed as "hideous." I'll remember the not-an-engagement ring that Jason gave me when we were dating. I'll remember the yellow puffy stuffed animal that still sits on my bed at my parents' house.

And never, for as long as I live, will I forget the year I got blue eyes instead of brown.

That year there were four identical boxes under the tree. This tag had "Stephanie," that one had "Tyler," and those over there had "Andrea" and "Jacob." Love, Mom.

With four kids, lots of grandparents, cousins, pets, aunts, uncles, and a mom and dad, you can imagine that under our Christmas tree were piles of presents. My parents didn't hold back the gifts until Christmas Eve. They were there for us to organize -- that side of the tree was for my presents, that corner for Andrea... -- and gently shake. We'd search the creases and corners of the wrapping paper to see if we could get any hints to the contents of the gift.

The four boxes were a total mystery. What could they be? What would we all be getting? Our imaginations never strayed to thoughts of socks, or pajamas, or shoes. These were real gifts. We knew it.

Christmas morning came, and we four kids tumbled into the living room after an early morning of opening stockings in my room. The 14-foot tree sparkled with tinsel and bubble lights, and there! beneath the tree! the four boxes.

Other gifts may have been opened, carols may have been sung, but the only thing on my mind was the box. Finally, with our own respective boxes in front of us, we simultaneously opened. For some reason I dawdled behind in opening, so I saw what everyone else got. My mom had made us -- hand stitched, hand stuffed, hand painted -- dolls. They looked kind of like Cabbage Patch dolls, except better because, oh! because they looked like each of us. Tyler's with sandy blond yarn hair, and blue eyes. Andrea's with long red hair, and brownish eyes. Jake's with brown hair, and brown eyes. The dolls were us.

I finished opening my present, ready to hug her close to my heart. Imagine my surprise when I saw that my doll wasn't the same. My doll was a real Cabbage Patch doll. One that my mom had stood in line for, paid extra for, bought in the knowledge that I wouldn't want a hand-made doll. My good manners kicked in, and I smiled and thanked my parents. A real Cabbage Patch doll with a shiny vinyl face and birth certificate.

But something wasn't right. I looked at my blond haired doll and noticed, of course, that she had blue eyes. I knew all blond haired dolls had blue eyes. I was old enough to know the doll codes: red hair with green eyes, brown hair with brown eyes, blond hair with blue eyes.

Blue eyes.

The wrong color.

The present opening celebration continued, but my subdued manner finally caught the attention of my mom. Stephanie, what's wrong?

I had always been proud of having blond hair and brown eyes. Dark brown, chocolate, without even a suggestion of blue. Norwegian in every way but the eyes. Those eyes were from my dad, a gift that I wasn't ashamed of. Yet, somehow, looking at this homogenized doll felt like ridicule. Being teased. Made fun of. For being different. Bitter tears of disappointment streaked down my face, even as I thought, "I should be grateful." I realized what my mom had done. She had thought I wouldn't want a hand-made doll. She had thought I would prefer the store bought one, the doll that all my friends had. She had tried to make Christmas special for me by getting me the gift that was at the top of the list. The real, not the fake.

Turns out, real and fake are sometimes in the eye of the beholder. I didn't want blue eyes. I wanted brown eyes. I wanted one that was like me, so that our four dolls could play together and be little replicas of our selves. And of course, it wasn't just about the eyes. It was also about something else -- something I couldn't articulate at that age -- about having something from my mom that I couldn't get from a store. "You didn't make me one," I cried. "You made one for them, and not for me. And her eyes are BLUE." Tears tears and more tears. (Can you believe it, I'm even crying as I type this up.)

I know I surprised my mom. She had guessed incorrectly about the state of my materialistic heart. Maybe it made her smile. Maybe it made her laugh. I hope it made her proud.

The best Christmas present I ever received wasn't the one that I got on Christmas, but the one that my mom gave me a couple weeks later. My very own Stephanie doll. Blond hair. Brown eyes.

The perfect color.

------

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It takes a village

(Snow Village photo courtesy of Department 56)

For the past thirteen Christmases, I have watched my mother-in-law, Sharon, put up her Snow Village. When I first saw it so many years ago, she had already developed quite a large collection but throughout the years since then the collection has continued to grow. A school building. A coffee shop. An evergreen tree with tiny, blinking Christmas lights adorned on its snowy branches. Only in the past four or five years has she asked that we not add to her collection of more than 20 houses, 3 cars, three dozen people, and other assorted pieces because she doesn't have enough space to display even what she does have, let alone room for more.

I have admired Sharon's Snow Village--even though I refuse to collect anything myself--because it has always seemed magical. Little towns, dressed up for the holidays, built on the theme of a good old-fashioned Christmas: reminds me of being a kid. I didn't grow up with anything even remotely resembling the Snow Village, but I remember a little church that my mom would display every Christmas season.

One little plastic church that sat on top of the TV. No town, no little people caroling around the church, no fake snow--just a church. And yet, I would spend hours standing next to the little church, winding up the music that chimed out "Silent Night" from inside the church, watching the tiny Christmas light glow from the windows. It didn't matter that all we had was one church because my imagination filled in the missing pieces. I created whole stories surrounding the church--there was the village that was "down the hill" from the church, the people who went into that little chapel for Christmas Eve, singing Christmas songs, and having festive parties in the church basement. In my mind's eye, I saw the wooden pews and the nativity scene set up in the church. There may not have been a whole village, but that didn't stop me from pretending there was.

Today, as we were visiting at Jason's parents' house, Sharon pulled out the huge storage containers filled to the brim with Snow Village pieces. We have always talked about the day Sydney would be old enough to help set up Snow Village, and this was finally the year.

Oh, the look on her face as she saw all the pieces! The wonder, the awe, the absolute delight in pulling out the glass figurines. She assembled a small pile of fake snow on the carpet in the livingroom, and there the tiny horse drawn carriage made its rounds. Sydney would guide the carriage around and around, singing Jingle Bells and pretending to pick up other little children who would ride in the sleigh. I sat back and watched--not wanting to intrude on the story between Sydney and her grandma--listening as they created whole lives for the people of Snow Village.

As Sharon would unpack each piece, Sydney would decide where the building would go on the table. To the left were the houses and trees, in the center was the park with benches and an ice skating rink, to the right was the village square, with the Toy Shop, of course, at the center. Sydney sprinkled snow over the whole village, and gave names to the people. "Here is Daddy holding Julianne. Here is Mommy and me singing songs." And on and on she'd go, creating conversations between the people, all the while scooping up the snow and dropping it over the village.

Sharon took out less than a third of her collection, although even at that it still filled up an entire side table. Next year, when Sydney is 4, we figure that the whole village will have to come out. I can't imagine Sydney letting any buildings stay in their boxes once she knows how much fun it is to sit and watch and create the stories of the Snow Village. She already loves the little yellow VW bug, the ladder that sits waiting to be climbed, the red bird that sits atop the snow-covered bird house.

Today, as Sydney's imagination was in full swing, I saw myself in her, whispering out the words of pretend conversations, moving little people to their places and then moving them back. There is something magical in the way she plays on her own, and it stirs in me emotions I'll never capture in words. I found myself watching her today, as the Snow Village became alive in her eyes, and feeling thankful for that gift.

I admit that for more than a few years, I haven't looked that closely at Sharon's Snow Village anymore. It has become part of the decoration, like a throw pillow that says Merry Christmas, or a picture of Santa Claus on a Christmas card. Just some image of the holidays. But today, I saw the Snow Village again through Sydney's eyes and realized what a lovely place it is. I also figured out what the attraction is to that kind of collecting: there is something fun about creating a village of your very own.

The village doesn't have to be very big, though. Today I realized that no matter how old some people get, there is always joy in the experience of standing by the little plastic church, listening to the faint strains of "Silent Night," and envisioning all the people who are part of the Christmas village.

Blessed

I have a blessed life and am thankful for so much. Today I am thankful that our nation sets aside a day specifically to think about what we are grateful for. We remember the blessings in our life, and we are intentional about being thankful.

It would be nice to live an intentionally grateful life every day, but that is no easy task. I can do it today though. I'm thankful for my family, for the peace that has been resting on my shoulders for many weeks now, for my job, for my freedoms, for the joys that I receive in this blogging community.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Treats

Oh, I know I should finish my three-part blog post, but I'd rather show off some fun pictures instead. As it turned out, I didn't get any pictures of Julianne--only a video that I need to edit down--but she didn't dress up for the evening anyway. Or at least, she dressed up as Super Baby who can take off with a handful of candy at lightning quick pace.

As for Syd...oh, we were waiting all day long for Daddy to get home and take her out through the neighborhood. Free candy? Mercy. There's no way she's missing that event.

She has had her Trick-or-Treat outfit picked out for a month. It's her favorite princess dress (that was originally a Valentine's Day dress from Grandpa Steve), and she was certain it would woo the candy right away from our neighbors.

Since it was cold outside tonight, then she had to wear two long-sleeved shirts under her dress, tights, and a fabulous chenille cape. Dress to impress to get candy for the Princess. Repeat it with me! Dress to impress to get candy for the Princess!

And, of course, no night out on the town is complete without our hat and kid gloves. There was a bit of trickery involved in getting the gloves on since Jason wasn't aware that there were right and left gloves, but he managed. You can see that I had nothing to do with the dressing up since, as I have mentioned before, if Daddy is home then there's no sense paying much attention to me. I can just make myself useful and hold the camera. Or the baby. Or whatever, as long as I'm not interfering with whatever Daddy is doing.

Ready to head out! Soccer bag in tow to collect the pounds of candy that our neighbors are willing to bestow upon small and impressionable children.

Off they go, Daisy barking at all threatening ghosts and goblins and scary chipmunks that cross the Princess's path. Sydney did have a change of heart about her shoes when she got to the top of the driveway. She had wanted to wear princess shoes--slip-on, heeled shoes--even though I told her that even though I support and endorse wearing heels, they aren't exactly trick-or-treating attire. She finally agreed with me and changed into her new pink tennis shoes. They have little sparkles on them, so they are still princess attire.

Reveling in the bounty of the evening. She was, Jason said, a fabulous princess who remembered to always say Trick-or-Treat and Thank-you at the appropriate time. Manners are very important for princesses. Moderation is also important, so she allowed herself two pieces of candy. We won't mention how much candy I ate tonight. Let's just say I do not follow the code of conduct befitting a princess.

Candy munched, teeth brushed, bedtime stories told.

The clock didn't need to strike midnight before this princess turned into a sleepy pumpkin.

And good night.

Closing

This morning, at 8:45 am, we signed the closing papers on the house we have been trying to sell for over a year. I cried on the drive to the title company, cried as I signed the papers, cried as I walked away, cried as I was about to order my Pumpkin Spice Latte that I got in order to celebrate the occasion.

Yes, this house ordeal has made me cry. A lot.

Just to be clear, we didn't sell our house. No, thankfully, we still have this house. What we sold was the accumulation of two years of planning, dreaming, building, and hard work. Two years of sweat, tears, stress, and then ultimately more tears. We sold the house that was meant to be sold, but not exactly how we had planned it. It was supposed to be a good idea and make our lives a little easier, but then didn't quite turn out that way. Well, I guess it still was a good idea, it just didn't end up being a good reality.

But it's gone. Gone are two house payments. Gone are nights spent worrying. Gone is the heavy load of stress that has burdened me for months, a burden so heavy that I haven't been writing as much as I would like, or talking as much as I want, or sharing the burden in any form whatsoever. In order to cope with it I cut out every extracurricular activity from my life, including my precious and emotionally stabilizing MOPS group. Even though, as my doctor said at a recent visit, what I should be doing is getting out and meeting with people and finding connection, my heart hasn't been in it. My coping mechanism was to shut myself in, take medication, and clean the house a lot. I haven't exactly been the best wife, parent, or friend the last few months, but I made it through. Four months of the worst depression I have faced in years, and here, on the other side of closing papers I can say, we got through it.

I can't say I'm a stronger person because of this.

Or my emotional fortitude is better.

Or my ability to handle difficulties is more refined (as I sit here sobbing at the computer).

But I can confirm one thing: I still have faith that God cares about me. I don't know why things happened the way they did, and at the end of the day maybe there isn't some great lesson to be learned. For all the sorrows I have experienced in my life, this is the only one in which I have asked, "Why?" Why us? Why didn't it work out? Why did it seem like God was punishing us? Why couldn't I hold it together?

And you know what, I may never know why. Sometimes things happen. We don't know why. For all our planning and hopes and expectations, not everything goes the way we thought it would. I have to tell myself, daily, this was not about God punishing us. I don't always believe it, but if I have learned anything over my 31 years of existence it is that hope remains even in the darkest times, and that hope tells me that I am loved and even when things fall apart--especially when things fall apart--God has not forgotten me.

October is a new month, one in which I hope to find some healing. Maybe even call up a friend, or two, or three.

1951 Barnes Avenue doesn't belong to us anymore. We have closed the doors, and by the strength of God we have walked away.

Out of the mouths of babes

No matter what, this I know: some things are true. My sweet Sydney, may you find truth in your life. When you find it, hold it, hide it, and remember it when the difficulties of life press upon you.

You are loved.

You are loved.

To Twirl

I finished Sydney's green and pink tutu, and have already gone back to the store to buy supplies for a few more--including mine, which will be predictably pink. I'm thinking that tutus are the next big thing at our house. Sydney and I have already made plans for red ones and white ones and maybe even an orange one for Halloween. I think my inner crafter has been locked up too long, and now that I've found an easy and inexpensive project (no sewing! under $10!) I'm going off the deep end. Also, tutus coincide nicely with our current dancing obsession. If you're interested in making your own tutu, I used the looping technique from this tutorial (found through Mopsy) and the rubberband tip from this tutorial. [Sidenote: if you haven't perused the Kiddley site, I must encourage you to. Even though they stopped posting months ago, it's still full of wonderful ideas.]

Of course, Jules only gets to wear hers for limited amounts of time since she is mostly keen on ripping the tulle up and putting it in her mouth. If there's a way she can make something a choking hazard, leave it up to her to find it. She's so *smart* like that.

And tomorrow, to round off what has turned into quite the princess week, I have Disney DVDs to give away. Yay for prizes! Princess movies, in fact. But since we're more brains than beauty around here, I have a Little Einstein DVD to give away too. And, because I'm in a fit of tulle around here, I'm throwing in a little extra something for the winners.

I'm off to twirl around with baskets of laundry. Exciting.

Week 168: The Nice Things

It's been a bit of a rough week around here, hence my absence. All week long I've had this sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach, and many tears have been shed despite my best intentions to not worry about things I don't have control over. What seemed like a wise financial investment a year ago, has suddenly turned out to be a nightmare. I don't like to write about money problems because it just seems awkward, but I'll just say that sometimes things don't work out the way you hope they would and leave it at that.

Adding to my overall feelings of disappointment is the fact that summer is ending and so Jason is heading back to work. Over the past three years I've gotten better at gearing up for the school year, especially since it means I get to go back to teaching my classes again (which doesn't seem like work for as much fun as it is), but it's still an adjustment having Jason gone all day after having him home for nearly two months. The beginning of the school year combined with soccer practice and games makes those days especially long, but it'll be okay. I'm not going down the "change is good" route, but change is inevitable so best to face it with as cheery a heart as possible.

Rather than dwell on what isn't, let me share with you what is.

What is nice is that Amanda thought of me this week and nominated me for the "Nice Matters Award." You know how when you're having a no good, terrible day and something good happens to you and you start to cry because the feeling of something nice is so unexpected and comforting? That's what Amanda's thoughtfulness did for me. I don't know how many of you read Amanda's blog, but let me tell you one of the most joyous blogging experiences for me is reading about her process of adopting a child. She and her husband are in the midst of this amazing journey, and just as the lovely blinking button says on her blog's sidebar, they are "paper pregnant." A more lovely, thoughtful, amazing, beautiful couple you cannot imagine, and I'm already praying for their little child who will someday be in their arms. Someday, the London Southern Belle will move up my sidebar into the category of 'Mommy Bugs,' and that will be a day worth celebrating. Hugs across the Atlantic to you, Amanda. xx

And now that I'm all teary and weepy, I must tell you what else has been nice around here.

New, green glasses!

Here she's playing it off as no big deal, but you should have seen her jumping around outside after she got them. "I love my sunglasses!" We may have overstressed the importance of keeping her glasses safe because when we went to the grocery store she took them off and tried to hand them to us. "I don't want to break them," she said. "I better wear my old glasses so these don't fall off."

It took quite a bit of convincing that she could, in fact, wear these around like her old glasses. She still doesn't quite understand the whole concept of transitional lenses because she thought she couldn't wear them inside, but after a lengthy explanation--involving my highly scientific explanation of "magic glasses!"--she is adjusting to her new frames.

Other nice things from the past week:

• Going to see Bourne Ultimatum opening weekend. Jason and I have had THREE movie nights this summer. That's more than we've had all year. Bourne Ultimatum was fabulous and I highly recommend it. Even though we had to sit in the third row (because we underestimated the movie going crowd in Battle Ground) it was still the best movie we've seen this summer (for whatever that's worth since the only other movies we've seen are Die Hard and Harry Potter).
• Going to an adults only birthday party last Saturday. Heels, painted toes, sassy dress (a dress! no worries about nursing a baby!), and sangria. Fun conversation and tasty food at Aqui Mexican Cafe made for a lovely evening.
• A morning at OMSI and an afternoon at IKEA with my siblings.
• A long phone conversation with a dear friend who lives in the Middle East.
• Receiving back issues of Martha Stewart Kids from my MIL.
• Meeting with an architect about designing our dream home (in light of the events from the past week this seems like an impossibility now, but it was nice at the time).
• Storytime at the library. Miss Connie and Miss Karen are the best librarians EVER. Love them.
• Getting my hair cut short. Not super short, but at least four inches off. Never underestimate the power of a new haircut.

But before I cut my hair, we had family pictures taken:

 

No matter how stressed, how poor, how saddened and disappointed I get, at the end of the day I have my family. And that's the nicest thing of all.

Week 164: Not so quiet on the summer front

Even though I usually crave quiet and solitude in the summer months, it hasn't quite worked out that way. Obviously, the "quiet" aspect of summer is all relative with two kids running/crawling around the house like firecrackers. As for "solitude," I should define that as just time with my family, rather than running around doing things that stress me out. Okay, forget the quiet and solitude. Maybe I just look forward to a slower pace of life, Jason being home and us relishing the time off from working.

But this summer I've been busier than I had anticipated. Between Jason being gone for a week, and then us spending a week in Kauai, and then coming home to a week's festivities of my sister's return from China, and then a garage sale, and then...whew. It just adds up. Of the things that take up time:

Sometimes it's things that we don't think will take that much time, but then do. Like the garage sale. It turned out fine; our take of the profits was a couple hundred dollars and it we had a nice time in the summery weather talking with our friends who co-sponsored the sale with us. But if I were to do it again (big "if") I'd cut the hours way back. Two days, from 9-6, was too long. After long hours of prepping on Thursday, I'd recommend 9-4 on Friday and 9-1 on Saturday. That's long enough. I guess, if all I was doing was hanging around, sitting in the sun, talking, reading, then it wouldn't matter the hours. It was difficult, though, keeping the kids fully entertained and we all got weary of the "Not right now, honey. I'm busy," refrain. Jules kept us on our toes by insisting on putting leaves in her mouth and choking on them, forcing us to stick our finger down her throat. As far as I'm concerned, she can't grow out of this "put every. single. thing. in my mouth" phase fast enough.

Sometimes it's things that we don't really want to do, but then do. Like a favor I'm doing for a friend of mine. A couple times a year, I'm asked to help out with something in my occupational field (vague reference here in case my friend ever decides to start using the Internet and finds my blog). I know all sorts of life-boundary gurus would advise me against volunteering for things I don't like, but it's a valued friend. And a small favor. Sometimes a friend has to do what a friend has to do.

And the best kinds...

Sometimes it's things that we want to do. One upside of the garage sale is that my sister came down with a few boxes to sell. It was fun to hang out with her, telling jokes, ordering dinner from Love Love Teriyaki. Since she's living in Brush Prairie at the Family Farm, then I won't be able to take full advantage of her time at home, but hopefully we'll still get to see each other more often than we did while she was in China (which was, incidentally, every once in awhile via webcam). Her plan is to go off to grad school and then find a job that won't be anywhere close to home, but that's a discussion for another time. She's home for now, and hopefully will stick around for a few months if living with my parents doesn't drive her stark raving mad. (Nothing against my parents, but, you know.)

Another one of the things I wanted to do was to hang out with Devon on Sunday. She introduced me to the world of "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" (of which I had not ever seen before), and that was a treat. We watched a couple episodes (including the one where they all lose their voices), and I'll probably be back for more. We also chatted about books, teaching, gardening, and then made salsa and headed over to her parents' for a bbq. It was a grand day.

Finally...

Sometimes it's things that we get to do. Like go to Lincoln City on Monday with Jason and the girls and have a wonderful time. Even though you can count on two hands the number of days it's hot at the beach, we were lucky enough to be there on one of those days. We wandered the outlet stores before heading down to the beach to play in the sand and eat lunch. I didn't take my camera, but the day was full of all sorts of images I want to remember. Sitting on the blanket with Jason, eating roast beef sandwiches and drinking warm root beer, watching Sydney build sandcastles and run screaming delightfully from the waves that splashed at her feet. Seeing her small feet next to Jason's feet as the waves pulled out, Sydney laughing and laughing and grabbing my hand to pull me into the water. My ears taking in the roar of the ocean, the complaining cries of Jules as her feet touched the cold water, the chatter of children playing around. Then we packed up, and drove two sleeping girls home while Jason and I ate salt water taffy as we listened to Jim Dales' amazing voice reading a Harry Potter audiobook.

It's funny. Sometimes the noisiest of days is the most peaceful.

And sometimes quiet is overrated.

Week 158: Continuing to work at it

Ten years ago I was addressing envelopes for our wedding. My mind was filled with decisions about flowers and reception music. I was paying the first month's rent for the apartment we would be moving into that August when we returned from our honeymoon in Maine. Both of us were neck deep in pre-marriage counseling, but hardly paying a bit of attention to any of it.

Fast forward ten years.

I have a stack of envelopes on the counter, but they aren't mailed because I have to get new 41 cent stamps. My mind is filled with decisions about bill paying and which toys to keep out for Sydney to play with. I have cupboards filled with babyfood and rice cereal since we started Jules on solids yesterday. The countertop has papers highlighting our last Well Baby check where we learned that we have a nicely proportionate baby who is in the 75th percentile for everything (16 1/2 pounds of pure love).

My life is night and day different from where it was ten years ago. But some things are the same. I'm still in love with Jason. And marriage counseling?

Actually, yes.

Not because of any problems. (Relax, Mom and Dad.) Just because we're still committed to making our marriage the best it can possibly be, realizing that everything requires constant work, especially a marriage that now involves two kids.

I confess I wouldn't have tried an online marriage counseling program were it not for the offer from Parent Bloggers Network. When they sent me an email asking if I was interested, my initial thought was, "We don't need marriage counseling. We don't have issues that warrant that kind of service." I grew up in a culture that believed marriage counseling was only for marriages that were struggling, not marriages that were healthy. Why work on fixing something if you knew you were in it for the long haul? Then I thought about this a little more and decided that this kind of thinking made absolutely no sense. In fact, it was probably all based on the fear of gossip that tends to run rampant in church circles: "Psst...did you hear? Jason and Stephanie are in counseling," followed by sad shaking of heads.

Good grief. Let's break this notion of only struggling marriages need counseling right now. Even strong marriages can always get stronger. The question was: Would this online service be helpful to people who already had a strong, solid relationship, or was it just for couples on the brink of ruin?

Well, as Drs. Les and Leslie Parrott say: "eHarmony marriage is not about work. It's about about discovering the simple skills that build a better marriage, and a better life."

Maybe you're thinking, eHarmony? Isn't that that online dating program? Yes it is. But they also have an online marriage program that believe or it not isn't totally crazy. In fact, I kind of like it. A lot. The set-up is that you and your spouse separately take this questionnaire that asks about every facet of your life. You answer questions about your perceptions, your ideas, your religious, family, work, mental, spiritual, political opinions. It's very thorough.

After Jason and I did it we discovered two things on our own right off the bat. First, we have a lot of good things going for us. When Jason was finished with the questions, he gave me a big hug and said, "I'm so happy with our marriage." Because when you're answering questions like, "I trust my spouse," "I feel my spouse is committed to our relationship," and "I don't think my spouse is manipulative," you are reminded that you have a good thing going on. The second thing we learned is that I am more precise in answering questions. I made sure that when I strongly agreed/disagreed with a statement my little answer arrow was all on one side or another. Jason played it a little more fast and loose, with his answer arrow in the general ballpark. Not a big deal except later on when we were reading the marriage wellness articles together, there were suggestions about Jason being more accepting of me not bringing in the money for the family. If there's one thing I am sure of it's that he doesn't wish I was bringing in more money. Well, maybe he does wish that my existing job paid better, but not that I was working harder at it.

What eHarmony Marriage provides is a Marriage Wellness plan that is tailored to your needs based on the questionnaire. It gives you videos and exercises to do together, and it gives articles that you can read separately. Truthfully, I probably spent more time reading the articles than Jason did, but that was largely because I have more issues than he does (that is, personal issues, not issues with him). However, we did watch the videos together and went through the discussion exercises.

Even though I never would have thought online counseling would have been helpful for us, what the program did for us was get us talking about the issues we already knew we had. We have a very uncomplicated relationship, one without any cracks in the foundation or questions of our future. Nevertheless, there are areas that we can work on. For instance, having a baby can sometimes put a damper on your love life. At least it did for us. Something about being exhausted and having a baby chomping at the lady bits makes me feel very unattractive. After going through the eHarmony videos regarding this area, we are now talking about how to strengthen this area and what sort of steps we can take to improve this part of our marriage. I think the videos are my favorite part because they are so well done, and the segments with Dr. Neil Clark Warren are really great. He has such an engaging, unpretentious style of speaking. His marriage advice was helpful and lined up with our beliefs.

Probably one of the best things about the program was that we were actually able to do it. Had it been something that required us to get out of the house without the kids, we wouldn't have done it. The cost of actual counseling combined with the cost of babysitting would have made it financially impossible for us. Heck, if we had extra money and time floating around we'd be doing date nights instead of spending our evenings folding laundry, which is what we did last night. Even though eHarmony Marriage isn't a free program, it's reasonably priced. I couldn't find the actual price figures, but I did see them once (after I did the questionnaire) and it was in the double digits. Probably cheaper than an evening of dinner, movie, dessert and babysitting. And for some people, going through the counseling program might just insure a future of dinners, movies, desserts and babysitting. (UPDATE: It's $49.95 for a month's access to all the videos and personalized advice. They suggest doing the program over the course of three months, which is discounted to $39.95/month if you sign up for three months. Either way, a month's subscription is cheaper than an evening out.)

So, my overall estimation of the program? I think it's a good thing. I don't think I would have spent money on it without a recommendation from someone I knew personally because I would have been skeptical about the actual content of the counseling. However, now that I've done it I'm really glad I did. We still have a few articles and videos left to watch, and I'm looking forward to seeing what else I can discover that will make our marriage even better. In short, I thi