Celebrating Success

There are some people you'd love to see succeed. And then there are some people you'd really love to see succeed. Thanks to the FB age, for the last year, I've been following the amazing career of my old friend Matthew Zink. Last I'd heard, he had taken the Kent State University Fashion Department by storm, and scored an internship with in New York City with Carolina Herrera.

Matt was a great friend in high school. We were show choir buddies. He helped me pass chemistry. He took me to a dance when my college boyfriend was over the high school social scene. And with apologies to all my other dance dates, Matt kinda blew them out of the water. Granted, we didn't have the whole angsty "boyfriend/girlfriend" vibe working against us, but the night I spent dancing like a fool in the Stow High Commons with my dear friend Matt was all kinds of fun. We really, really wanted him to come to my girls-only sixteenth birthday party, so much so that we devised a plan that he would help me scrub all the patio windows to convince my mother he should be granted a waiver. Windows were washed, but the request for waiver was not granted. (My mother has since admitted that she totally should have let him come.)

So, my friend Matt is wildly successful at what he does, and what he does is design clothes. After working for the Victoria's Secret swimwear line for a while, he launched his own Charlie by Matthew Zink line. (Ben likes that I actively encourage him to check out girls in bikinis when Matt launches a new season.) His work is gorgeous, and is the darling of celebrities and upscale boutiques. I got so excited about seeing one of his swimsuits in a magazine at the obstetrician's office that I had to show the nurse before she took my blood pressure. It looks like Matt will be doing full collections before too long, and I can't wait to celebrate that stage of his career as well. It's just so wonderful to watch someone so creative and smart and good-hearted do so well. 

Matt modeling a suit in Esquire Magazine

Jennifer Love Hewitt in one of Matt's designs

Instafam

When I was in Ohio on the last minute licketysplit road trip - gosh, that was over a month ago now! - I walked around waving my iPad in peoples' faces so that I could have matching Instagram photos of everyone present. I love the Big Huge Labs mosaic I made with the snapshots (thanks to Elizabeth, who sent me a tutorial). Though it does make me awfully sad all over again that Ben couldn't come.

Behold, it is Instafam:

Get in Shape, Girl

(Title of this post borrowed from the brand of exercise toys I had in the late 1980s.)

Having gestated, birthed, and nursed two babies now, I can see there's a definite pattern. I get pretty darn big by the end of the nine months, gaining quite a bit more weight than you're supposed to. And then the vast majority of it melts away by the time the newborn can hold her own head up. I don't actively try to lose it. I eat a lot of really healthy stuff - I swear, I spent half the summer with a knife in hand, cutting up vegetables. And then I eat enormous bowls of ice cream. Sometimes two in one day.

Granted, nothing is as it was before the pregnancy. Even though I currently weigh about five pounds more than my normal weight, very few of my clothes actually fit. This may be a bit of a problem, to be honest. The maternity stuff is almost completely boxed up, but the fall/winter wardrobe I invested in last year - after having run myself into the best shape I've ever been in my life last summer - is Not Gonna Happen. But I don't want to buy too much new stuff, because I'm fairly confident I'm going to be back in those jeans before Thanksgiving.

I ran today for the first time since the day I found out I was pregnant. (I ran four miles that day in November, wondering the entire time why I felt like I was going to keel over.) I was extremely active throughout this pregnancy - walking, mowing the lawn, etc. But I never worked hard enough to generate sweat or endorphins. And oh, did that first hit of endorphins feel good. I think I'm an endorphins junkie. I feel them, and I just want more. Which is how I ended up rollerblading a couple hours later - albeit slowly, since Juliette was along on her new scooter, and on account of my rusty balance.

I've come to the place where the point isn't how I look, but how I feel. (Believe me when I say I was not always at this point. Anyone else remember how jittery ephedra made you feel?)

But now, I'm just so excited to feel strong again, to feel energetic and powerful and healthy. And if there was any doubt that this is how I think - and therefore talk - about my exercise regimen, when I was getting ready to go to the gym last night, Juliette excitedly told me that when she grows up, she's going to go to the gym with me so she can be strong and healthy. Only it was more like: so I can be strong! and healthy!!

I hope and pray that the girls in this house keep up the pursuit of strength and health, of energy and, well, practically speaking, pants that fit. And that we steer our stationery bikes far, far away from some of the other reasons girls can get really fixated on working out.

Here's to strong and healthy. (And enormous bowls of ice cream.)

Countdown

The countdown to my return to work is fast approaching - T minus eight days. I preach on World Communion Sunday and the following week, and kick off a new weekly Bible Study and monthly Writing Group in the same two week span. My calendar is perhaps a little ambitious, but I think I did enough planning before I left in July to not completely lose my mind in October. For the last few weeks I've been easing back in - I'm fully engaged in the moms group, and will spend much of the next week planning worship and writing my sermon. (Sans childcare, you know, but we'll figure it out.)

I'm happy to be going back, especially since Ben will be coming home. I know there will be plenty of moments when I feel stretched in one direction or the other (or both, most likely), but I'm also confident that both my church and my family will give me grace. Everything will be okay, so long as I live my moments faithfully: love on my family, work hard, eat good food, and get as much sleep and exercise as I can. (And write. And manage the household clutter. And keep in touch with my friends. And read the Sunday New York Times before the next Sunday New York Times arrives on our driveway, let alone the fifty books I challenged myself to read in 2011. And finally, for the love of God, finish writing my thank you cards. But there I am with the ambition again.) I'm acutely aware of a common pitfall, an almost kneejerk reaction to the pressures of working motherhood: believing that time is a commodity to be organized, an enemy to be conquered, that if you could only hoard enough of it you could finally cross out the dregs of your to do list.

For the first time I got a little weepy today, thinking about how when I return to work, a great deal of my energy will be flung toward Christmas Eve preparations - revising the pageant script, casting the play, sorting the costumes, creating the Powerpoint, picking the hymns. And how, on Christmas Eve, Genevieve will be nearing six months old. The difference between a ten-week-old baby and a twenty-three-week-old baby is astonishing. It's as though time collapses in on itself, or as though someone has set the record on the wrong speed. But only if you don't pay attention, if you let it sweep past you in a blur.

I don't expect to get everything done. I don't expect to capture every photograph I wish I could. I will probably forget something important, or be called away from a meeting because a child needs me. But, oh, I hope I pay attention to at least most of the moments.

Ten on the Day After Tuesday

1. It is 6:44 and both of my children are in bed. Juliette is in the throes of giving up her nap again; she was done with it last spring, but the heat and fun of summer meant we had a nap reprise. On days she naps she can't fall asleep until after ten (boo!), but on days she doesn't she can hardly stay away for dinner. Exhibit A:

Tonight she fell asleep on the couch in her tights, leotard, and long-sleeved turtlenecked dance cover-up. It is not easy to remove such a getup to get pajamas on a sleeping child.

2. Elizabeth gave me the heads up about this recently released study about aggression in nursing mothers. It is a fascinating - and funny - article, and you should totally read it. I love that there is scientific proof that I am not to be trifled with.

3. Which reminds me of a recent incident in which I was, in a manner, trifled with. A very distinguished dean of a very distinguished divinity school quoted the interview I did in the Christian Century, in a fairly critical way. (It had to do with the bit where I cast aspersions on academic biblical studies, implying that scholarly study alone isn't sufficient preparation for pastoral ministry, but that ministers need to learn how to read the bible in the context of the faith community as well.) Thanks to the beauty of the internet, I heard about the sermon the day of, watched it online the day after, and sent off a cordial but ever-so-slightly-ruffled response by weekend's end. The distinguished dean was super nice in his return email. I'm pretty sure he fell of his chair that his comments were virtually overheard so swiftly.

4. Speaking of the Christian Century, I wrote about the Back to Church Sunday video for their blog last week.

5. Juliette is not yet allowed to use our home computer, but she loves playing on the library computer. I shot this video last week, proof that she is always and ever Little Miss Giggles:

6. I was called a mean mama for not letting Juliette touch the computer or iPad. Not by Juliette, but by a certain older sister. (The one who had apparently never been on a treadmill until yesterday.) So, I rectified the situation by downloading Drawing Pad.

7. The older sister who has been around the treadmill a few times needs to update her Photo 365 already. Chop chop.

8. We have a smiler. Oh, do I adore baby Genevieve. We have gazing contests.

9. Having heard from Erica about her experiences trying to shop for some Missoni gear at her Chicago Target, I decided I was going to check things out at the very suburban Target near us. I was 100% confident that the Missoni frenzy wouldn't have hit the 'burbs. Believe me when I say there was precisely one tube top remaining in the women's clothing section. I did find a few things scattered throughout the store, but most of the cupboards were bare. The Missoni stuff is cute, but I'm more of a Liberty of London girl myself.

10. It's official: Ben is once again going to be a stay-at-home father. He turned in his notice last week and will be home as of October, when my maternity leave comes to a close. It worked for us last time, and I think it's going to work even better for us this time. Juliette and Genevieve and I are some lucky girls.

Hopscotch

I'm mildly obsessed with Instagram. For the most part, I use it to turn crummy, low-lighted, out of focus pictures into funky, visually appealing pop art. It's quick and easy, and even though there is a very good chance the future is already going "What were you thinking??", I like it.

But this, this is my favorite. This is leaps and bounds above my average Instagram shots - largely because I didn't actually take it. My father-in-law did. I loved the original, but I knew as soon as I saw it that it would make an Instagram masterpiece. It takes me back to the morning Juliette was outside with her Grandpa and Monica (Ben's step-mother), having the time of her life playing hopscotch.

p.s. These shoes, purple crocs, have since been taken out with the trash. Having been worn by the Dillow girls before they were passed on and worn hard by Juliette all summer long, they were so done.

Juliette the Great

This is Juliette on the first day of school. Since she started attending preschool at nineteen months, this is the third time she's posed for a first day shot. I love this picture; it's so Juliette. The brilliant smile, the tilted head, the mismatched outfit. The beauty.

She's had a rough go of it lately, as a scary high fever (105.7!) last week threw off her sleep and her mood. We went days and days without temper tantrums this summer, but we're in one of those spells where we're lucky to go hours between fits. I don't always handle it well, and we seem to know how to push each other's buttons.

While I'm sure the advent of her sister is an element of the emotional mix, Juliette has yet to give Genevieve so much as a wayward glance. She absolutely adores the baby. This afternoon, in between kite flying at the park and ballet class, we were sitting on the front steps eating granola bars. I was holding Genevieve in my lap, and Juliette scootched over to us, pressed her cheek against mine, put one arm around my neck and one arm around the baby, and cooed, "Oh, Genevieve, we love you so much!"

We're trying really hard to give her the skills she needs to handle the big emotions she inherited from her parents. If we succeed, I think she's going to be a person of significant emotional intelligence and depth. And embodiment. She already has a charming maturity about her displays of affection; she pats me on the arm like a grandmother sometimes. She requires a lot of snuggling, which is no surprise, since she didn't ever want to be set down as a baby. She regularly asks for "mama time" after dinner - to sit on my lap and cuddle - and her worst temper tantrums don't end until she curls herself into my lap.

And the gratitude. If she hears the postman deliver the mail, she'll dash over to the screen door, fling it open, and shout "Thank you!!"

I worry that it's off-putting to gush about my kid like this. I know every parent thinks their kid is exceptional, as well they should. Every kid is exceptional, in his or her own way. The fun part is paying attention to what makes them so.

Like that morning a few weeks ago when Juliette showed up in our bedroom at five, crawled under the covers, asked if the dishes in the dishwasher were clean, and promptly fell asleep. She's exceptional all, right. Exceptionally weird.

Now is Now

My last blog post began with the observation that I was one-third of the way through my maternity leave.

And now: two-thirds.

If the calendar can't convince me, the temperature will. It's chilly enough to close the windows tonight. And Juliette starts preschool tomorrow. Summer is almost over.

The last month has been a whirlwind of activity. I'm kicking myself for not making the time to write things down, but the whirlwind just went so quickly. We entertained friends, visited with grandparents, read books, fed the ice cream maker (and, in turn, ourselves) an entire gallon of heavy cream, washed diapers, harvested tomatoes, hung out with neighbors, visited the zoo, took train trips to the city, hosted houseguests (five Dillows for one night, and one Lara for five nights), and put the already outgrown newborn clothes away. Oh, and the girls and I took an entirely unplanned road trip to Ohio, where all the cousins on the Willis side were united. (You can't really say reunited, as two of them didn't exist the last time we were all in my parents' backyard.) Then, just when I thought things might start slowing down, I received my book manuscript from Chalice and have been stealing moments here and there to work on revisions.

I may not have captured all the details before they faded away, but I take solace in the knowledge that I have been deeply present during this season, and so grateful for the gifts of time, food, friends, and family. Several times I've thought of this passage by Laura Ingalls Wilder:

"When the fiddle had stopped singing Laura called out softly, "What are days of auld lang syne, Pa?"
"They are the days of a long time ago, Laura," Pa said. "Go to sleep, now."
But Laura lay awake a little while, listening to Pa's fiddle softly playing and to the lonely sound of the wind in the Big Woods,…
She was glad that the cozy house, and Pa and Ma and the firelight and the music, were now. They could not be forgotten, she thought, because now is now. It can never be a long time ago." 

Now is now.

Genevieve at one month old, in my Pa's lap