On those other Mother's Day songs

I went looking through the children's songbook today to find a mother song that we could change the words to--my little baby wanted to sing a song for her grandma.  The selection is not stellar.  Turns out that clover song I was ranting about the other day is the best one.  Maybe that's why it gets sung so often.

In related news, the traditional primary Mother's Day musical number in church today was especially awesome.  We were sitting in the second-to-last row.  It was basically a piano solo with kids standing on the stage.  Maybe if you were in the front row there was singing to be heard, but we sure didn't hear it.  The pianist did a nice job playing the clover song though.

(I'm sorry to anyone who loves the mother songs.  I don't mean to offend.  I'm sure that when my kid sings them I'll get all teary-eyed and think they're great; I've got a tender heart.  But, when they're deconstructed, I'm not a fan.  I know, I know, the problem started with deconstructing primary songs.  I'm a weirdy, what can I say?)

On graduations

The long list of names, the mildly interesting speeches, the painfully boring presentation of research (yes, this happens).  Graduations are awesome.

Ten years ago I graduated from high school.  Well, more accurately, I completed high school and received my diploma, but I didn't go to the graduation.  I thought graduation was a boring and pointless ceremony.  I remember thinking that graduating from high school wasn't that big of an accomplishment, that it was kind of a given, and therefore not really worth all the celebration.  Holy cow!  Seriously?  Yes, I laugh now at how naive those thoughts were.  I was so privileged and didn't even realize it.  (I'm talking about social privilege here.  You know, race, socioeconomic status.)  

I have since had experiences that opened my eyes.  I understand that there are many youth and even adults in the world who may never have the opportunity to gain education equivalent to my high school diploma. Then, relative to my peers within this country, I realize my high school experience was above average.  I got it without really wanting, working, or sacrificing for it.  It was just a given.  Everybody graduates from high school, right?

So, I didn't go to my high school graduation ceremony (so, no pics of that one).  If I recall correctly, we went to equestrian special olympics instead.  Just over three years ago, I graduated from BYU.  I went to that graduation.  

Somehow, graduating from college seemed like more of an accomplishment to me.  It was something I had worked hard for and was proud of.  (I got my degree in English and just ended that last sentence in a preposition!)  I was also seven years older and somewhat wiser, I'd like to think.

In just over a month, I have another graduation coming up.  I'm finishing my masters degree.  Now I feel so incredibly privileged and just lucky to have had the opportunity to get this degree.  I tear up a little just thinking about it.  I know not everyone would want to do what I did if given the chance.  But I did want it, and I feel blessed to have been able to achieve this goal.  

I present my final case next Friday.  It's an oral comprehensive where I defend my clinical work in front of a panel of my professors, they ask me questions based on papers I have submitted and video clips I show.  I show them that I am competent as a therapist and they tell me whether I can pass and graduate from the program.  

I am going to this graduation.  I wouldn't miss it.  I might be wearing pajamas under my gown.  I might not have time to take a shower or put on makeup that morning, but I'm going.  I'll march across that stage  with drool and spit up on my robe and maybe collapse in an exhausted heap on the other side, but I'm going.  Pictures of that one coming soon . . . 

On that one mother's day song

If you went to primary in an LDS church, you might have sung this song:

“I often go walking in meadows of clover,
And I gather armfuls of blossoms of blue.
I gather the blossoms the whole meadow over,
Dear Mother, all flowers remind me of you.

Oh Mother, I give you my love with each flower
To give forth sweet fragrance a whole lifetime through
For if I love blossoms and meadows and walking,
I learn how to love them, dear Mother, from you.”

Maybe you sang it a lot, maybe every year, maybe more than that.  I don't get it.  I never liked this song.

First off, on a practical level, whose experience does this fit?  How many children in the English speaking LDS world often go walking in meadows of clover?  I've never seen a meadow of clover.  I'm not even sure that clover blossoms are blue; I'm just taking the song's word for it.

Second, I have problems with the song on principle.  Flowers aren't something that remind me of my mother, and as a woman, I don't like the implication that flowers "should" remind us of mothers.  You know what reminds me of my mother?  The beach, the swap meet, Jack-in-the-box tacos, children's books, puzzle kind of learny games, and the smell of mentholatum.  I'd like to see someone write a song about that!

Third, as a mother, I hope I have more to teach my children than to love walking and blossoms and meadows.  Now, these things aren't bad, nor is enjoying them.  But, if my kid is going to be singing over and over again about the things I taught her, I don't want it to be walking and meadows.  All kidding aside, I sincerely hope that my daughter could say that she learned to love others from watching me.  I hope I can teach her to treat others, especially those not like her, with kindness, compassion, and understanding.  From watching me, I hope she will learn to be a confident woman with a strong sense of self-worth and dignity in a world that tries in insidious ways to take that away.  Maybe, if I'm lucky, she'll also learn to love board games and hiking and rodeos and cemeteries.  

On my day today

After our time off with Bonnie's birth, Blake and I went back to real life this week.  He started back to work, and I started school.  (I'm going back to work next week.)  Blake worked from the office today, so I was at home with Bonnie all day.

Here's what I accomplished (not in this order):

• Washed and dried one load of laundry
• Folded and put away two loads of laundry
• Showered
• Ate (I didn't cook, but I ate.  Hooray for leftovers!)
• Emptied the dishwasher, loaded the dishwasher, and wiped the countertops
• Reviewed notes from missed classes to prepare for final exams
• Responded to emails
• Coordinated meetings for later this week
• Got caught up on the blogs I follow
• Took an exam
• Administered two assessments (Thanks to Blake for being my guinea pig.)
• Watched an episode of "White Collar," four episodes of "This American Life," and "Freakonomics" while Bonnie ate
• Changed Bonnie's diapers (I didn't keep track of how many.)
• Fed Bonnie
• Bathed Bonnie
• Blogged

As the day was progressing, I didn't feel like I was getting much done.  Everything had to happen in short bursts and around a 3 week-old baby's schedule.  But, now that I look back on it, I'm pretty pleased with what I accomplished on my first day being a full-time caregiver to Baby Bonnie.  Maybe I'll have time to finish my final oral exam and presentation after all!  I've just got to figure out how to work at my computer and feed Bonnie at the same time.

On welcoming Bonnie Jean

For most of you this is old news, but I'd like to announce the birth of Bonnie Jean.  She was born last Tuesday, on Grandpa Hook's birthday.  It's pretty awesome that they share a birthday.  I think he would have loved her; I do.  

Getting her here was different than I expected but still good.  The labor took about 30 hours.  It wasn't terrible, just different, everything was a little longer and more intense than I thought.  She was born at home and has been the healthiest, strongest baby I could imagine.  She weighed 10 pounds at birth and is 22.5 inches long.  

The baby is named for two of her great grandmothers.  Bonnie was Blake's grandma and Jean mine.  We were both close to our grandmas growing up.  Blake gave me a blessing as the labor was going and another shortly after the birth.  Both mentioned that there were angels there from our family to protect and watch over and strengthen us.  After what we went through to get her here, it only seemed appropriate and fitting that she should have her grandmas' names. 

She has wonderful hair; when she nurses, her hair kind of comes over her shoulder.  It looks like a baby mullet.  I love it.  Her little pinky fingers are crooked a little at the last joint, just like mine and Grandma Jean's.  When she was born she had little blisters on both her wrists from sucking on them inutero.  Just in the last three days or so she's started becoming more expressive with her face, making little half smiles.  We're in love!

On home birth

Baby invited me to guest author a post on her blog about why we are choosing a home birth.

As we are preparing for the birth, we've been experiencing a roller-coaster ride of emotions (me especially).  Being able to write out some of my thoughts about birth helps me feel more prepared and calm.

If any of you are interested in reading that post, you can find it here.

On being kind of tall

Generally I think I'm of average height;  I don't really consider myself a "tall" person.  But then when I stop and look around me, I see that at almost 5'9 I am taller than average or at least on the tall side of average.

This is not so fun when buying pants.  Regular length are usually a tad bit short, and tall length are WAY too long.  I'm actually pretty self-conscious about always having pants that are too short for me.  My height was not so fun when I was dating.  There are a lot of guys out there who like dating smaller women because it makes them feel bigger.  It's not all their fault though, I mean, there are plenty of women, myself included, who aren't too keen on the idea of feeling HUGE next to their boyfriend or date.  However, having many friends who are taller than I am, I know I am in no position to be complaining about being tall.

So I'm not.  This post is about some advantages of being kind of tall that I have been enjoying recently.  Being tall and pregnant is awesome!  Since we first announced we were expecting (at about 4 months) to when I really started showing (around 6 months) to now I frequently hear "Wow!  You look great!" when people find out how far along I am.  I'm not used to people telling me I look great.  It feels awesome.  I also get "You're so small!" which is another thing I'm not used to hearing.  Being on the back row of every class picture, I'm not sure I've ever been told I was small.  I don't buy size small anything for myself, even at my thinnest.

I haven't had any back pain, no stretch marks (yet), my feet aren't swollen, my wedding ring still fits great, and I have a lap!  I can still drive, and with about six inches between me and the wheel, I expect to be able to drive right up until Baby's birth day.  (This is a big deal.  With my current schedule, I don't know what I would do if I couldn't drive.)  I'm sure that these things are a combination of there being a lot of room in my torso for the baby to live in and the healthy choices I've been making during pregnancy, but either way, it's awesome!

I know not every pregnancy is this easy.  I feel so lucky to have had such a comfortable and easy pregnancy up to this point.  I've had great support from Blake and a wonderful midwife and a fantastic childbirth class that have all helped me have a great pregnancy.  Being kind of tall is not so bad.