Fear is a B.

I'm a mom.  I can't wait to meet my baby.  And every now and again, so many questions swirl in my mind:  

What if I tear giving birth? 

What if I can't breastfeed?

What if I don't love this baby enough?

What if I love this baby to the neglect of Mr. F?

What if this baby has colic?

What if I have really bad post-partum?

What if I utterly fail as a mother?

I've met this demon of fear before--before I married the love of my life.  And it's not the same as doubts.  Fear knows that I am on the track to Happiness, and he can't stand it.  In the heart of my heart, I knew marriage was where I was being called.  But Fear hated it.  Fear wanted me to be miserable and hopefully walk away.  

And he comes back every now and again.  But you can't walk away from a baby.  You just can't.  Ina May talks about how fear can prolong or even stall labor.  And at different points in our lives, I'm sure we could all dredge up something to be afraid of, something to fixate on and let our imaginations run rampant in the dark.  

Stop it.  Harness your thoughts.  

Fear is not from God.

Fear is a terrible counselor.

Fear is paralyzing.

Fear will ruin your life.

Fear will ruin your relationships

because the fears you have are not between you and _______.  

They are between you and God.

Trust.

Turn around and face your fear,

Find the lie in the middle of its inflated importance in your life,

Scream the truth at it,

Reject it in Jesus' name.

Accept love.

Love casts out fear.

Our Lord wants to do that for you.

He wants to drive out your fear,

So that you can accept His love and 

Love.

After all, that's what each of us is called to--Love.

This print will soon be hanging in our living room.

March It Out

My sister is one of my heroes.  

These are three of her five children.  

Today, I'm going to march down the capitol mall

because a third of my generation is missing.

because I'm sick of people treating babies like a disease we should get rid of.

because I wish those who are struggling and feeling like their baby is a burden

would reach out and find grace and strength to fight against sickness

in support of life.

because our President is pushing people in the medical field to act against their conscience in matters of life.

Ten Little Happies

Yesterday, after 21 days with no internet, we are back to the future!  I don't recommend going so long without internet in 2012.  In order to celebrate Verizon getting their Fios here, I put together ten little happies that have accumulated over the last few weeks.

We are in a new space and have sold some stuff on good ole' Craigslist.  And picked up some stuff from Ikea, because you have to shop there if you have tiny space.  Without further ado...

#1:  A new kitchen table.  

Both of the leaves of this table fold down.  

Which makes our table take up only 8 inches.

Hallelujah.

#2:  New flatware.

We got one set for our wedding.

And we just splurged and got enough for everybody.  

I love eating with these.  

Don't you love the clean simplicity of these?

And they are heavy.  

I like a heavy fork.

#3.  Shelves.

We have three cabinets in our darling little kitchen.  

It's not enough.  

My genius husband put these shelves up.

Now I don't even have to open a cabinet for spices.  

See the white corner elbowing itself into the top right corner?

That's where Mr. F. hit his head for the first 8 days we lived here.

Now he's conditioned to duck.

Good thing he had lots of practice on ships.

He's good at ducking.

...Enough about the kitchen.  For now. 

#4.  A Shower Curtain

There are plenty of curiosities about our new little place.

One is the shower space.  

It's abnormally long.  Longer than a sheet.  

So, I had to make a shower curtain.

I was afraid it would look all jankety, but

the pattern lined up ok.

Phew.

#5.  The Snoogle

See how this lady from 1997 is smiling while she sleeps?

She's probably been sleeping since she was contracted to model this pillow.

This huge C-shaped pillow helps me sleep like a beauty too.

#6.  A crib!

{full disclosure: this is not our kid.}

But this is our first big baby purchase!  

I found it on Craigslist for about 1/3 of the cost.

what-what!

#7. Bag-o-Clothes

Quick story:

Last night when we went to pick up the crib,

the lady had three bins of baby clothes and told me I could look through.

So I did.

And found a huge pile of Gap baby stuff.  

This woman had a small fortune in clothes.

I sorted through, and found a bunch of stuff I liked, 

looked down at my mound

and asked,

"Can I have these things for $20?"

{Afterward on the way to the car, Mr. F. said he was embarrassed by this.

He was ready to offer $50.  

But you can't go down in bargaining, you have to go up.

So I started low.}

She said, "Oh.  That's a LOT of clothes for $20.  

And many of those things are brand new.

Could you pay $30?"

Playing the bargaining part, I looked at my husband and said,

"Babe, do you have 30 more dollars?"

And we walked out of there with this bag.

I had to cram it all into one bag, 

because it didn't feel right to ask for another bag.

Smooshed in here, we have gold, people, gold!

8.  Care packages.

Remember when you were a freshman in college and people sent you stuff?

Just because you had to live on pop tarts and cafeteria food?

I got one this week.

These chocolates are homemade peanut butter chocolates.

The best.

The recipe is from a chocolatier in Pittsburgh.

We used to get these in our Easter baskets.

But then the chocolatier retired and sold the business to some other candy company.

And they didn't keep this recipe. 

WHAT.

My mom, in full Nancy Drew style, tracked down the recipe.

What a gal.

#9.  Fünf's somersaults.

I wish I had a video for this,

When my whole belly moves.

I wish you could see

how Mr. F's eyes get so big

when we are sitting on the couch

and it's like an alien 

inside my tummy.

But a sweet alien

whom we can't wait to meet.

#10.  Shirts that are still long enough to cover this belly.

The face is because this used to be almost a tunic.

And be warned:

Don't tell me I look like I'm gonna pop,

And 

You don't think I'll make it to the due date.

Or

I look huge to you.

Or 

You can tell it's a boy because I have all that weight in my hips.

I will cut you.

............

But you are welcome to tell me the little things that are making you happy today.

El Cid: A Decade Reunites

This last weekend we trotted back down to Charleston for Mr. F's ten-year reunion.  There are so many things that mystify me about this school.  But it is lovely.

It's amazing to see the cadets (aka students) marching in ranks.  Scary to see them get yelled at.  

It was fun to hear all the stories from yesteryear.  Fun to see pictures from back in the day.  

{Thanks, Mrs. H., for this photo!}

The beach where we stayed was so relaxing.  And it was so fun to meet the people that My Love went to school with.  Every single one of them were so nice, and I could tell they made a motley crew.  The thing about the guys at The Citadel is the torture and discipline of enduring those four years creates a bond of brotherhood I've rarely seen elsewhere.  It really is phenomenal.  Not just fraternity, but the whole process produces a work ethic and commitment to excellence that is really rare these days.  

Now, I have to admit:  when I first walked on campus, and saw all these rules in action about knobs (aka freshman) walking in the gutter of the street because they haven't earned the right to walk on the street, etc. I was a little alarmed and a bit repulsed.  But why?

My college experience was a bit militaristic too, but guised as a religious college.  And I suppose seeing the full-fledged military way of life was like a diorama of how I felt inside all during college.  EXCEPT, The Citadel is what it is.  They make no bones about it.  "We will physically torture you to see how much you can take.  And in the end, you'll have brothers and be a better person for it."  You don't like it?  Ok, get out.

But my college was more psycholocigally bazaar.  All their rules were a maze leading to spiritual superiority.  And if you pigeon-holed a person in charge, they'd deny it.  But that's how it fleshed out:  equating your ability to follow the insipid rules to your spiritual worth.  

Here's an anecdote to illustrate the kind of mindless rule-following I'm talking about:  

One of the rules of the school was women must wear pantyhose every day but Saturday.  This particular day, I was wearing black pantyhose.  The kid sitting next to me in chapel flopped open his messenger bag, and the grabby part of the velcro stuck to my leg.  Before I could say anything, he yanked it back.  Leaving the right leg of my nylons in shreds.  Right afterward, I went to the restroom and threw them away.  I was not going to walk around all day with that tackiness.  I was about 100 yards from my car when this lady professor approached me:

{Think Professor Umbridge from Harry Potter}

Lady Professor:  Excuse me?
Me: Yes?
LP:  Are you aware that you aren't wearing any pantyhose?
Me:  (thinking, what kind of question is that?  explained the whole scenario, and told her I was headed home.)
LP:  I see.  ...You know, it's for times like these that you really should keep an extra pair of pantyhose in your bag.
Me:  That's a great idea.  May I borrow your extra pair for today?
LP:  Oh. um.  hm.  ....

This was at the end of my time there, when I was sick of it.  But there were plenty of times before this that in a very similar situation, a teacher or dean or student with star privileges would berate me and make me feel like I had sinned for the wind blowing up a full skirt or being late for class or cut through the grass to be on time for a class.

Oh, and by the way, I still got punished for not adhering to dress code that day. 

I'm embarrassed just to tell people where I went to college.  I'd never go to a college reunion.  I had no understanding of why my husband would want to.  As soon as I sorted out the difference in my head between the two colleges, I could appreciate El Cid for what it is.  And the man that it made of my husband.  

To end on a happier note, we bought a couple things for Fünf too.  Mr. F. just couldn't help himself. 

Baby Pictures

You'll have to squint your eyes a bit.  But, do you see?  That's our BABY!  

Here are the little feet

This one's my favorite.  Can you see that darling nose and tiny lips?

AND we know: girl or boy.  

Do you want to know?

Preggo Monster Strikes Metro DC Area

WARNING:  It could be miserable to live with a pregnant woman.  Yes, she loves you.  Yes, she is ecstatic that you are the father of her child.  Yes, she is amazed at the miracle of life.  Yes, she wants to be nice--but it's so HARD to be while feeling like passing out and/or throwing up 97% of the day and night.  

So, gentlemen, be prepared to face a woman who seems like nothing you expected or thought you knew.  Get some grace to deal with this lady.  And perhaps your love will help her out of the nightmare.  

Here is a sample of the type of thing you may have to deal with:

HE:   I'm gonna start dinner.

SHE:  I need something now.  I'm just gonna make a little PB&J.  [looking white and grey in the face]

HE:   I'll get it.  You just rest.

SHE:  Ok, but be sure that you toast the bread first.  But not so toasted the bread turns brown, just enough to make it warm and perfect to melt the peanut butter.

He:  I got it.

[Bumbling in the kitchen, HE presents a half PB&J and goes back to preparing dinner.]

SHE:  Thanks.  [opens the sandwich, fails to control facial muscles that reveal disappointment]

HE:  What?  

SHE: [realizing it's pointless to say "nothing"] It's just that... there's only one dollop of peanut butter and a bit of jelly in the very middle.  So, the first middle bite is sandwichy, but the rest is ...*crust* essentially.  ...I just make them differently.  

HE:  Sorry.  [takes the sandwich and "corrects" it.]

                                       ............................................................................

 [Always having trouble remembering things -- before pregnant brain --  SHE has forgotten the wrinkle-free shirts in the dryer, found them hours later all wrinkled, put a wet wash cloth in and restarted the dryer.  x4.  Finding it to be ridiculous to try a fifth time, she resigns herself to a few hours of ironing.  HE comes home at the close of business to find HER ironing the last shirt.]

HE:  Hey!  How are you?  Thanks for ironing.  You know, if you just get those shirts out of the dryer while they are still hot, you don't have to iron them.  

SHE:  [shooting eyeball arrows]  Thanks.

HE:  I'm just trying to be helpful.  

SHE:  I know. [more eyeball arrows]

WHY!?!  Why couldn't she just say, "You know what?  The funny thing is, I've tried that.  Four times between yesterday and today.  And I just kept forgetting.  So I decided to iron.”

Why couldn't she have said upon receipt of the sandwich, "Thank you."  And been really grateful that he's the kind to make her a sandwich.  

These moments are the perfect groundwork for sainthood.  We’ve all heard the saying that goes something like “It’s not the trials that make you; it’s what you choose to do with those trials (aka sufferings).”  

And it’s true.  You see, in the above scenario, the question isn’t:  Isn’t she acting like a B?

The question is:  Will she recognize it?  

I found this article so helpful.  While I could drag every excuse my brain can imagine into the argument about why I’m so cantankerous, I should just recognize it.  And see it for what it is:  these moments reveal my weakness and imperfection.  In the above scenarios, it’s easy to spot pride and ingratitude.  

And to pour salt into the wounds of pride and ingratitude, he responds with love.  ugh.  Having someone love you when you clearly don’t deserve it is humbling.  But that’s it:  Nobody deserves love.  And when my actions and words in the above scenes are assessed on the love-ometer, I have to “realize that what [I] once thought was love, was only an imperfect affection.  [And am] now beginning to understand [of] what true love consists.”

True love reaches outward to the other.  Even when dealing with a headache or nausea or toothache or mourning or thorns pierced into a head and nails driven through extremities, love bears the pain with patience, in hope that the other will receive Love instead of pain.  

And the more I think about this, the more allegorical parallels I find for us and Love.  I hope all of this doesn’t seem overly dramatic to you or seem to be drawn to an extreme conclusion.  While almost half the world deals with morning sickness and gets through it, I found/find it really difficult.  It may seem like no biggie.  “Oh, she doesn’t feel well.”  But please don’t trivialize it.  It is not a biggie, it’s big.  Big like an sumo wrestler sitting in my lap.  And whatever suffering a person encounters, it’s big and crushing.  And in that state of suffering, it seems unfathomable that someone (St. Faustina) would pray to be able to drink the whole bitter cup of suffering.  How does that happen?

Baby steps.  Step one:  Pray it up.  Step two:  Swim in Scripture.  Step three:  The next time suffering presents itself, conscientiously bear the pain -- whatever that looks like -- so that another experiences Love. 

{pb&j from here, quotes from article here}

School Cool

In honor of the back to school season, I started reading a book to Mr. F. and purchased this poster (perhaps for the nursery?).

Today, some of my favorite people are heading back to school.  I love this time of year.  I love school supplies, this weather (even the excitement of a hurricane--it makes me feel at home.).  There are so many things I love about school.  It's where you learn to learn.  It's where you learn to make friends.  It's where they let you holiday with your family.  It's where you get to see really cool things like a model T, or a cannon get shot, or build a trebuchet, or make a table-top volcano...so many amazing things.

But what I love best is that there are so many new beginnings.  Each fall is a new start.  If it's not going so well, you can readjust and try again next quarter.  And if you aren't digging all your classes, maybe you'll get a bit of a change next semester.

I'm feeling like that about this pregnancy.  Ok, abysmal first trimester.  ::deep breath::  Let's move on to the next.  I'll take the new mercies that are meant for today, please.  I think I've worn out yesterday's.

"Yesterday is gone.  Tomorrow has not yet come.  We have only today.  Let us begin."

Mother Teresa

{image}

Desperate Housewife Finds Refuge in Animal Behavior Hotline

I did it.  I called.  I had to.  This is no Dear Abby situation.  I needed professionals.  Let me explain.

As a preface, let me assure you that my husband has done a fabulous job training this dog  our dog.  He does all the basic tricks, never begs or suggests that he wants human food while we are eating, and plays well with others.  He is no puppy.

Episode #1:  Mr. F. & I were having a lovely breakfast with eggs and toast and bacon.  The bacon was the first bit of a three-lb. load I got from Wegman's butcher the previous day.  At breakfast, we were enjoying ourselves and lost track of time.  There were no more public transits to take my love to work on time, so I drove him and was back in the house within 10 minutes.  And the remaining 2.75 lbs. of raw bacon were gone.  All that was left was the wrapping and Desmo, licking his lips.

Lesson learned.  Do not leave raw meat on the counter.  Ever.  Especially with a home alone dog.

Episode #2:  We were not eating our blueberries fast enough, so I made blueberry pound cake.  Oh my my, it is delicious.  Mr. F. took some to work.  One loaf was here on the high counter (you see, I learned my lesson).  I came out of the shower to find an empty loaf pan on the floor of the kitchen.

Lesson learned.  Do not leave food on the counter.  Any counter.  Even if it is 5 ft. high.

Episode #3:  Mr. F & I were at a friend's house for dinner.  We were starting to feel like we couldn't trust Desmo to be by himself for extended periods of time, so I put him in his kennel.  We came home kind of late, stepped into the house, and as I flipped the light switch, was shedding light on the wreckage.  Half of our recycle bin went through the shredder, aka: Desmo.  I walked toward the kitchen to find the pantry open:  ziploc bags spread across the floor, spaghetti splayed like pick-up sticks, a half-eaten roll of plastic wrap.

This just doesn't even make sense!  I understand the bacon and a delicious, warm, homemade cake, but plastic?  Whaa?  And how did he get out of his pen?

...You get the point, right?  Crazy things are happening here.  There are more, but I'll skip to the most recent episode:

Yesterday's episode:  A dear friend of ours took Desmo for a romp in the dog park.  Des loves it.  He rolls around in mud, gets to play with all the other dogs, play catch--you know what happens at the dog park.  They come back, and Desmo's hot and pant-y for about an hour.  Then he goes and eats ALL his breakfast that he neglected in the morning and drinks ALL the water in his bowl.  One second after his last lap of water, I hear one great wrenching heave.  splat.

I don't think it could be categorized as vomit.  It was just water-logged, swollen dog food and bile.  It took up four square feet on the floor.

Now, you may be thinking, "Poor Desmo, he was still too hot to eat."  Yes, I was thinking that too.  And also, "Poor me, I have to clean up that mess."  And while I am sure that he didn't do that on purpose, a part of me still feels like Meredith Blake, the fiancee from The Parent Trap that the girls are trying to get rid of.

She just got mean.  And it didn't work out.  So I called an Animal Behavior Hotline in San Fancisco.

And basically here's what they said, Desmo is acting out because he doesn't sleep with Mr. F. any more, and he doesn't feel bonded with me.  Rather, he feels pushed back to the back burner.  Why do I have a friend take Desmo to the park?  Why don't I take him?  I should be looking for ways to bond with D.

I suppose I knew that's what they'd say.  I wish I'd said, "I'm trying here.  We go on walks--long walks.  But that's not enough!  He wants adventure.  And that's kind of hard in the middle of the city.  And it's not like you can just fabricate a bond, and presto!  a dog (which you have never really bonded with any animal, let alone one acting out like this!) loves you and behaves for you."

But I just said, "Ok, thanks for your time."  I suppose this is a good exercise in being selfless and getting ready for kiddos.

Differences Attract, Similarities Keep You Together

Have you heard that?  It's surprising how much Mr. F.  and I are alike.  I suppose there's plenty that's different.  We found another difference this last weekend.

Number of concerts attended in one's lifetime--
     Me:  3      
     Him: 56 +

I sat there at the Philadelphia football stadium listing the concerts I'd been to:  DC Talk in 1994, Reba right after that (when "Fancy" was her big hit--and this is probably my all-time fave), and John Mayer.  Mr. F. sat there listing and listing and listing.  Everything from Jimmy Buffet to Bon Jovi to Dave Matthews (15x) to Lenny Kravitz to U2 to Dirks Bentley to Big Head Todd and the Monsters to Sister Hazel (at least 10 x)--you get the point.  That seemed unreal to me.  Well, it's great I get to be this man's date for concerts now.

So, we went to my fourth concert:  U2.  The staging was unbelievable.  And Bono is an incredible showman.  It was a fabulous night.

How many concerts have you been to?  Which ones stick out as spectacular?

Scythian

For years, I've gone to my home town's outdoor concerts in a lovely park with live oaks reaching out their arms to cover us from heat.  Oh, I love dancing under those trees.

Here, there's an outdoor concert series that takes place on a farm!  How fun is that.  At Frying Pan Park (which is on a farm), we saw a band of first generation immigrants from Austria and Ukraine play Irish music.  Irish jigs are called that for a reason, you can't help but dance.

Scythian.  You should check 'em out:  (I picked this one because of the newlyweds.  Long live marriage!)

Next time, I'll try to tell you before we go to a concert, so you can come too!

P.S.  If anyone can tell me what inspired the name of this band WITHOUT googling, I'll give you a cookie.  Like, mail you an actual cookie.

The City

I've moved to a new city.  I have a shiny new husband, hence a new name.  I have a new dog (step-dog, but we are learning to love each other).  I am launching a new business.  Friends gave me new dishes and kitchen gadgets.  All of this newness calls for a new blog.

Hello, Washington, DC, I'm Mrs. F.  Nice to meet you.  Yeah, there's a lot to learn about you, but it will be fun.  Your metro system and bus system and unending dining options and ever-winding paths don't scare me.  We're gonna be good friends, you and me.  I just know it.

Buy a print of this poster here.