Catharsis

Writing really is cathartic for me.  I find that I work through my problems so much better when I've written about them. It's the release that I need to move on to the next chapter. I'm gonna get pretty personal for this post, so if you'd rather read fluff, wait until next time.

I've recently suffered a loss. Two losses actually. My grandmother passed away. A wonderful, service-oriented, bubbly, caring, cheerful, lovely woman. She wrote music and played the piano masterfully. Every time I play one of her arrangements of music, I feel her near me (even before she passed away), her soul is in music. This is how I will always remember her: forever connected to the piano.

I had a miscarriage. The hubs and I were really looking forward to having another little bundle in our home to love and hold, but twas not to be. I don't think that we'll be a single-child family, but if that is to be the case. I have an awesome little man to be grateful for! I mean look at that face, who couldn't love that? 

When I first found out that we weren't going to be having another baby, it was terrible! I cried all the time at the drop of a hat and was mad at every pregnant woman I knew or didn't know for that matter. But after I went in for a procedure, it was like the last punctuation had been placed on the last page and I could turn it and move on.

So that is what I'm doing, moving on. Due to the recent events, I'm no longer working as a vocal coach. My boss felt that I should take this time to heal and we were nearly done with the season anyway. I thought that was very sympathetic of her. I am looking forward to real meal planning again and just being able to use my time the way I want to.

Until next time,

Lady Jane

Lesson Learned

One of the weirdest phrases I heard in my writing class was, "creative nonfiction." What does that even mean? I was at a loss for words. I had no idea how I supposed to get creative without being false or bending the truth. Had I been a reader of Real Simple magazine when taking the class, I would have known exactly what my professor meant. In each issue they have a section called "Life Lessons". I learn the strangest, saddest, and sometimes simple things when I read that section. This is creative nonfiction. These writers just seem to know how to paint a story without brushing over the truth.

So here goes, if I were to actually submit a piece for an essay contest about understanding the meaning of love it might go something like this:

My mother always used to say that I would never understand how much she loved me until I had a child of my own. There's no way that could be true. There were so many ways that my mother showed me love: supporting my talents by attending choir concerts, always being a listening ear, staying up with me to finish that forgotten term paper, always finding time to teach me valuable life lessons as she transitioned into grandmother-hood while I was still only eight. As I grew up with a matriarch overflowing with positive words and love, I never thought it would take me until I had my first child that I would truly understand. As I groggily woke up to feed my crying baby, carefully prepared his food, happily changed his diaper or enjoyed his coos and giggles I was reminded of all the loving attention given to me by my own mother as her youngest.

Due to medical complications, I didn't get to spend an entire week with my newborn and had to leave my son in the care of my mother. She was much older now, and physically less prepared to repeat the routine of a newborn baby. I ached to be out of my hospital bed and be home with my husband and son, but I knew that my son was more than competently cared for, perhaps even more so than by a brand new mommy like me. I knew that my son would be loved and given the attention that I would have given him myself.

My mom with my son

When I was finally discharged from the hospital, I still couldn't hold my son and walk at the same time thus the nighttime responsibilities again fell to my mother. It was after I had regained strength in my leg that I profusely thanked my mom for caring for my boy. She gushed about how much she loved being up with him in the middle of the night and not being sore or too tired (like having her own seven children felt). What I imagine she was trying to say, "You won't understand how much I love you until you have a child of your own." I wouldn't have done any different had it been my grown son and his family in need of service and I an older woman in her latter years. She managed to show me how much she could love her grandson and through this selfless act, I know what unconditional love truly is.

So mom, if you happen to read this I love you for all that you have ever done and still do for me!

~Lady Jane

My Son

As Mother's Day approaches I reflect on the little miracle that made me a mom. I love my little boy and I thank Heaven that he came to me! Ever since he was born I felt like I was taking on a huge challenge to raise one amazing little man. Having received my Bachelors degree in teaching before F was born, I thought of all the wonderful things I could teach him as he grew. Little did I know, he has taught me more than I ever thought possible.

Minutes old

Days old

Month old

Six months old

He has taught me to love. I love him beyond description. When I found out that I was pregnant, people asked me "If you could choose the gender, what would you have?" Every time I replied, "Boy!" I don't know why even but as soon as we found out that little F was going to join our family, I felt blessed. I was going to raise a son of God and teach him how to be a good man like his daddy.

He has taught me to reflect. Because of him, I have appreciated the sound of a bird chirping and leaves blowing in the wind and the rain. All these things are new to this little person and he is helping me remember these simple pleasures.

He has taught me to be patient. There are those days, that every parent has, where fuses are short but they lengthen over time because my son reminds me what is really important. So what if we're a little late for an appointment somewhere because he wanted to learn how to climb into his car seat? So what if we don't make it to the grocery store today if we get to nurture our relationship by playing cars? 

He has taught me to be consistent. Children, especially mine like structure and consistency, once we created a bedtime routine, within days he was reminding us what came next. I have learned that when I give him a heads up on what's coming next, he transitions to the next activity (or naptime) almost seamlessly. 

One Year!

Eighteen months

Two years!

I am grateful beyond words (but I'll try to find them) that I have been with my little man for two years! Four weeks after his birth I got a blood clot in my leg. I didn't realize how life threatening a blood clot was at the time. I just kept thinking about how much I missed my sweet husband and my precious newborn. I wanted to get out of that hospital bed and go home to be with my family. I couldn't even feel like I was with him by sending home breast milk. I was on a cocktail of different medications and painkillers throughout my stay at the hospital that I couldn't even pump. That alone was disheartening. After my thrombectomy (blood clot removal) procedure I recuperated at my parents' house. I couldn't walk without the assistance of a walker, so midnight feedings were taken over by the hubs or my mother. I have been a mother two years now and plan on being one forever! I have enjoyed it too much.

And most importantly, I owe my life to my mother! Even after having the perfect Brady Bunch family, she didn't feel like her family was complete until I came along (that sounds really egocentric). What I'm trying to say is, "Thanks mom, for wanting me!"

June 2007

I hope you mothers out there enjoy your day!

~ Lady Jane

Spring Break

Happy Spring Break everyone! I hope you do something especially spring-y this week. See you next Thursday!

Ode to a Macbook/Writer's Unblocked!

I love to write. I have always loved to write. I'm not sure why or when this particular fancy first made its appearance, but I love that I can sit down at my computer and just jot down any thought that comes to me. I remember a time, not long after my grandmother passed away that I decided to write about all the things I could remember about her. It started with the most recent, the time of her death. I was fortunate enough to be with her and my mother during her passing. That experience alone has been one of the most spiritual I've ever had. Like Goldberg said, you make sense of your life when you write. I think that's what I love about writing; I can make sense of my life and who I am in my own eyes, not through the eyes of others.

"Writing is physical and is affected by the equipment you use." ~ Natalie Goldberg

This is the equipment I use. I've had it since my first semester at ASU, five years ago this fall. Has it really been that long? We've worked on many projects together, written dozens of papers on Shakespeare, films, teaching methods, and books. But my favorite thing to do with my Macbook is write about nothings, somethings, whatever might pop into my head, conscious or subconscious.

I think I type as fast as I think, that's why I prefer using my computer than a notebook and pen. I liked using a notebook and pen when I was in school and had to carry a book bag, but now that I'm a SAHM, I much prefer this method during nap time. I do agree that "Handwriting is more connected to the movement of the heart" but I feel just as connected to this medium as I do to writing. However the key to all this searching and making sense of your life is experimentation.

Just keep writing, just keep writing...

Goldberg suggests:

1. Keep your hand moving

2. Don't cross out (This tip is especially hard for me as I am in editor mode often. One of my favorite pastimes is looking for errors in books I'm reading, or cereal boxes, pretty much anything printed.)

3. Don't worry about spelling (Um, sorry. I pride myself on being an excellent speller.)

4. Lose control

5. Don't think. Don't get logical

6. Go for the jugular (This is the scary stuff deep down inside that you don't want to admit to yourself that you think or have thought about. This is also the stuff that I will never show anyone, EVER!)

Just keep writing, just keep writing...