My Latelys

I can't believe it's May already. May 27th to be exact. Nearly a month has passed since I've shared a blog post (more like journal entry), I think to myself, as I sprawl out on our sturdy wooden bench at the dining room table. The cool, smooth surface of the wood feels refreshing against my skin. Coupled with this quiet moment, I breathe deeply and relax.

My body instinctively tenses as I hear a few tiny squeaks from the safari-themed baby bouncer to my right. I notice my body clenching; I'm feeling hopeful and yet realistic about what will happen next. Is she going to wake up? Or continue sleeping? My window of opportunity for accomplishing small tasks (i.e eating a meal, paying bills, folding laundry, or loading the dishwasher) is quickly closing, as baby girl's cute squeaks transition into shrieks and crying. Ruby wants to be held close, so I put down my lunch plate of warm veggie pasta, in all its savory goodness, and cuddle with her on the couch. Cuddling turns into nursing, and then napping - napping on mama's chest. An hour or two passes, and I try to maneuver my way off the recliner with a sleeping baby in my arms. She immediately senses that I'm trying to put her down and crying ensues.

And we are now back to cuddling.

From what I've read and heard, this is a phase - a sweet, albeit exhausting phase - where baby girl wants to be held all the time. On any given day, this will include 5-10 minutes here and there of playtime, called "Tummy Time," where baby girl is placed on her stomach and practices lifting her head and legs. It's a form of strength-training. Ruby typically likes the first few minutes of Tummy Time and then wants to be held again. I also try to hoist her around in our baby carrier front-pack, but unless I time it for right after a feeding, she freaks out and tries to nurse, despite whatever I am wearing. Thankfully, she is starting to enjoy her bouncer chair more often, and as part of my daily routine, I set her in there while I race around the kitchen compiling snacks or throwing together a meal. She can see me and that works for a short time.

Ah, the life of a brand-new mom. My days are structured around Ruby: nursing her, changing diapers, encouraging naps, and baby playtime. All these responsibilities are new to me, and I'm trying to balance them gracefully. There are moments when I remember what life was like before Ruby: sleeping in on the weekend - or just sleeping in general, preparing extravagant home-cooked meals and desserts for Ken and company, and hosting friends and family on a regular basis. Our house was well-kept most of the time, and clean laundry didn't pile up in the dryer for days (or weeks) on end. Ken and I made plans and were consistent in them.

My how times have changed. In this season of acclimating to a baby at home, I sense that God is growing my ability to hold things loosely. I no longer plan things with such definitive expectations. Mostly, I verbalize my desires with a keen awareness that something could change - my days are currently centered around taking care of my baby. A baby who is tender and reliant on Ken and me for everything. We are her world right now. (Well, us and the wild, black-and-white creature named "Penny" who likes to lick her face.)

As I adjust to all these things, I think about how beautiful and unique this time in my life is, where I have the opportunity to be at home with Ruby. I get to watch her grow and develop. I treasure her gentle heart, energetic spirit, and curiosity about the space around her. I'm her mom and she feels safe with me. Our home is a place of joy and hope and life. In truth, it also a place of challenge, as I juggle my new role of mother as well as wife and friend. At times, I have to remind myself that only in taking good care of my health and wellness, am I then able to take care of others. There's a reason why, when traveling on an airplane, emergency protocol dictates that parents are to put the oxygen masks on themselves first, before placing one on their child. I didn't understand this concept as a teenager, in hearing it broadcast over the plane's intercom. Only years later, through counseling, did I recognize the incredibly helpful metaphor that is for my life. In order to help others, it's best for me to operate from a place of strength. The strength that God provides, especially when I feel weak and exhausted and overwhelmed - strength I choose to pursue by practicing peace and rest, which looks very different in this season but is still just as important.

Savoring the small things. Like steaming hot showers, crisp bed linens, freshly vacuumed carpets, and soothing cups of tea. As well as celebrating the nights when we are blessed with a few hours of interrupted sleep. These are examples of how God is renewing my spirit and equipping me with endurance for this journey of motherhood. I find it interesting that in learning how to take care of Ruby, I'm also learning how to better take care of myself.

On that note, I better head out. I hear soft squeaks coming from Ruby's direction. She needs her mama.

Life in This Great State

A drop of blood clings to the off-white border on my flannel mittens, and I realize at that moment my face must be bleeding. Seconds prior, I had hastily reached for the lower, snow-laden branch of our backyard spruce tree, trying to assist Penny, our puppy, in locating the stick I accidentally tossed into the tree. She leapt forward, thrusting all her weight into increasing her elevation. She wanted that stick and was determined. In a flash, she locked her teeth onto the stick and fell back.

Snap, cracked the branch, as snow careened through the space surrounding us. At that same moment, I felt sharp needles hit my face and mouth.

“I’m hit!” I cry out. “The branch hit me.”

I look down at my gloves and realize I’m bleeding. My face is bleeding. Darn. I run inside and tell Penny that we will pick up our game of fetch later. She chases me to the door, assuming that we are playing a new game now.

Once inside, I assess my face and clean the slight scratches.  What a morning it’s been, and it’s only slightly after 10 a.m.

Originally, I took Penny to a nearby park to get some exercise. As we ventured deeper into the park, she started jumping incessantly and fighting the leash. Betwixt by sights and sounds – none of which seemed alarming to me, she wanted to explore the north end of the park, without anyone holding her back. I couldn’t control her easily, so I told her that we were leaving. Turning toward the west park entrance, we trudged through the snow, stopping only to gather little sticks for Penny.

The swooshing sound of hundreds of birds flying overhead caught my attention and I veered back around, enjoying their airborne dance. At that same moment, I noticed a large, dark creature take shape near the playground, where we had just been.

A young moose emerged from the forest. Trotting along, it stopped to lock its gaze on us, as if to say, I’ve been watching you.

“Thanks Penny,” I motion to her with pat. “You were looking out for us. As a reward, we can play more in the backyard when we get home.”

Temperatures near our home in Anchorage, Alaska, are hovering around zero degrees this week, with an occasional spike of 8 or 10 degrees at mid-day. Most days, I keep our fireplace burning with the spruce logs we purchased last spring. I can start a fire going myself, and feel accomplished by this newfound skill. In addition to heating our home and saving on gas costs, our fireplace is cozy. It provides a charming backdrop for reading a good book while cuddling with the dog.

Life in Alaska, aptly named “The Last Frontier,” is just that. A wild, untamed land holding great promise for explorers, dreamers, and adventure seekers. There are mountains for miles, large beasts that roam the state, and dramatic changes in light and dark and temperature, depending on the time of year and proximity to the coast. To survive the elements, one must be prepared.

I suppose living in Alaska has been such a shift for me in that way. Growing up on the island on Maui, I was privileged to live without much need for surviving the elements. My girl friends and I would throw together our swimsuits, towels, water, sometimes sunblock, and a snack and head to the beach for the day. Oftentimes, I would forget one or more of these items. Without a swimsuit, I’d jump in the water in all my clothes. Lacking snacks, or water, we’d find a public fountain to drink from or purchase ice cream at a local shop. Likewise, beach towels are nonessential. You can sunbathe and dry off pretty fast under the tropical sun.

Alaska is a stark contrast from the balmy beaches of my home state and yet, there is incredible beauty here as well – a fierce beauty that demands respect and forethought. Rather than passively enjoying Alaska, it must be experienced through preparation and reverence. Realizing that the weather can change drastically and moose or bears can cross your path.

As a child, I vividly recall telling my family that I would never live in Alaska nor did I ever want to visit. “Why would anyone want to be cold?” I’d curiously ask. In my mind, Alaska equaled death. Frostbite seemed like a horrible evil to me, one that could easily be avoided. Ironically, I married a man from Alaska who loves this state dearly, which in turn, helped me reconsider my preconceptions about this place. In coming here, I wanted to gain a deeper awareness of where my husband is from – what his childhood was like and how the place he grew up in has shaped him.

I’m thankful for this season of living in Alaska, where I’m learning how to better prepare for the elements. I think in many ways I’m becoming a stronger and more confident woman, wife, and mother. I am also growing in my ability to cherish the things that I must work for, and focusing on stewarding resources well.

Last night, while ladling steaming hot bowls of homemade moose chili and portioning out triangles of skillet bacon cornbread for dinner, I thought back over my day. I feel like a real pioneer woman – cooking, cleaning, avoiding moose, and fighting the elements (or really, that one spruce tree.)

What an adventure.
A snapshot of life in this Great State.