Have You Had Some Fresh Air Today?

This afternoon, just when the sun was starting to go down, Isaac came inside and asked,

"Have you had any fresh air today?"

Well, I guess if you count walking from the house to the car, I had. But no, I'd been stuck in the house most of the day, first cleaning, then teaching a music class, then working on the PTA newsletter for hours and hours.

He dragged me down to the creek to see their new rope swing, and said,

"See Mom, isn't it so quiet down here, with the sound of the water and the smell of the trees. Isn't this just what you needed?"

Yes it was.

Kate & Ellie

Katie swooped in and made me stay in bed for two days last week. She drove almost three hours to get here, and got home just in time to do an amazing 3rd birthday party for Ellie. That's love.

She painted my toenails hot pink, brought Ellie to play with Graham while the boys were at school, and did laundry. She lifted the load from stressed-out Rich's shoulders, made a dinner with lots of visible zucchini that everyone LOVED, went with me to the doctor, and pushed my cart at Costco while we stocked up.

Here's some great pictures from her blog of Russell and Graham playing with Ellie (I took zero pictures, but I was laying on the couch, remember . . .):

They jumped on the trampoline!

Played in the backyard!

On the swings!

Unloaded the WHOLE dishwasher by themselves!

Played dress up

Memories from My Cell

It might be time to delete the 96 contacts on my cell phone from past lives. Most are from Delhi, and several from both Delhi and America are no longer even living on this earth. But I resist deleting them. I enjoy scrolling through them while searching for the current people in my life, as if passing by their name means I'm still connected to them.

It's sad to me that my life could be so transitory that I have 96 people on my cell phone (which is less than three years old) who are no longer a part of my life and most probably never will be again.

Lullaby

Pray for me, world. That baby looks beautiful and perfect, but my placenta doesn't. Apparently it's got a blood clot behind it, and I'm stuck in bed wondering what I did to cause this, though they say it just happens sometimes.

Nonetheless, I can think of lots of things I did that would make it my fault--Bollywood dancing and climbing a tall tower at the Wildflower Center on Thursday, carrying Graham around too much every day, hoisting the heavy stake canner out of my car and taking a meal to someone on Friday, going to San Antonio Saturday, not getting enough sleep.

But none of this helps. What helps is recognizing that this pregnancy is in God's hands. Though some of the things I did last week were not all that wise, He knows my intentions are pure, and has the ability to cover my weakness with His power.

Or heal my heart if things turn out otherwise.

That knowledge should give me the peace and hope to go back to sleep at this ungodly hour of 3 a.m., and wait upon the Lord.

Good night, baby. Sleep tight. And safe.

Another Birthday

We're having a birthday party. Wanna come?

When: October 12th (at least we think that's when the party will go down)

Where: North Austin Medical Center

Why: Because we like babies

How: Do you really want that much information?

I think it's silly that people traditionally don't tell people they are pregnant until they're 12 weeks along, just when the morning sickness starts to wane. So many of you already know the news. But if any of the rest of y'all have been wondering why I've been walking around like a zombie, eating constantly, and getting unusually weepy at church for the last few months, here's your answer.

I don't remember the first trimester feeling so yucky, but maybe pregnancy in your thirties is a whole different ball game. But despite the sickness and exhaustion, we're all quite excited for the arrival of the little person October 12th. Graham asks every few days when the baby is going to come, and Russell and Isaac love to hear about how big the babe is (currently the size of a peach).

Monday we had an ultrasound and everything looks great. The teeny tiny bones lined up perfectly along the gleaming spine were stunning to me—and the tiny arms moving back and forth, the skinny legs crossed with tiny toes at the end. There's a real, amazing little body squirming around inside of me! Though the rumors flying around the elementary school might tell you otherwise (who knew third graders could be so gossipy?!), we do not yet know for certain whether we have spawned a boy or a girl. So sit tight!

Meanwhile, I'll be lazing around the house, eating pickles to get that blasted bile taste out of my throat. And when I'm not napping or feeding my face, I'll be cleaning out closets and moving furniture, puzzling over where to squeeze in another person.

Get ready for the party!

Trees, Part 2

When we first moved to Austin, I kept telling Rich I was surprised how green it was. He'd remind me that my stereotypical view of Texas came from the Western flicks I'd seen, most of which were filmed in Southern Utah. Nearly every major road I drove down was lined with scrubby evergreen trees called juniper trees. I later found out these trees, better knows as cedar trees, are the evil purveyors of the dreaded cedar allergy fever that hits Austin, ironically, every winter just when the weather is perfect—but that's beside the point.

Ten years later, my little suburb in the country no longer looks very green. But now we are the proud owners (and users) of a Wal-Mart, a toll road, Target, Hobby Lobby, Einstein Bagels, a chic little sushi bar, IKEA, an outlet mall, a giant events center, and two new giant high schools. My favorite new addition to our suburb-turned-city is our very own weekly farmer's market, which is about two miles away from our house and will be accessible by bicycle once they complete the trail that will hug the new toll road. Oh, and Schlitterbahn is coming to town next year!

The tree hugger in me misses the trees, replaced by loads of concrete, rows of identical houses, and more and more cars. The gardener in me is mad that the beautiful deer no longer have anything to eat except my humble little vegetable garden.

But the American consumer in me cannot deny the fact that I really like my Wal-Mart (I tried unsuccessfully to boycott it when it came to town), all that great shopping, and most of all that awesome new farmer's market. I'm happy to see that our little hick town is become oh-so-much more cosmopolitan.

Apparently I Love Trees

Yesterday Russell and his friend were playing in the creek. After being gone a while, they came in the house, proudly displaying in their fists a bunch of about 20 flourescent pink and orange plastic ties.

"Look! We picked up trash from the creek!" they said.

My heart sunk. I had looked at those ties several times, many of them tied to giant sycamore and oak trees on the banks of "our" beloved creek, wondering what they meant. I hoped they meant those trees were marked by the MUD (Municipal Utility District) to save when they came to clear the creek beds, but at the same time I worried that if that were the case, why weren't more trees marked? Well, apparently there are no longer any trees marked along our stretch of creek, thanks to some well-meaning seven-year-olds. I quickly called the MUD manager and left a message about our blunder, and forgot about it.

But last night I had this horrible nightmare. I was on the phone, talking to a tree guy about how to save my sick potted lemon tree, when suddenly I realized the guys with Bobcats had come and were clearing trees. I ran down to the creek to find that every last tree was cut down and neatly chipped away into mulch, leaving nothing but red dirt, Bobcat tracks, and awful piles of dead mulch. I started sobbing, running madly down the creek, trying to find the ignorant tree killers who were just doing their job, knowing all along that all of this was my fault.

I woke up very distressed and couldn't sleep for a while I was so worried. All those beautiful trees. Gone.

Can you picture a sycamore tree? The ones in our neck of the woods are so tall I have to strain to see the top of their silvery white, smooth trunks. And the leaves are bigger than monster cookies.

I think I'm turning into a crazy old hippie lady—doing my part to keep Austin weird.