Telling Big Stories with Small Things

If you have had the patience to sort through all of my ramblings and boastings that, let’s face it, are mostly about Amelia, you have probably put together that I may be a little bit of a nerd.  No worries here, I accepted, even embraced it, long ago.  A while ago, after a reliable recommendation, I read “The Read Jane Austen: A Life in Small Things” by Paula Byrne.  Each chapter in the book examines an artifact from Jane Austen’s personal life to show how it influenced her books; the characters or the setting or the plot.  I’ve accepted that most people probably don’t share my interest in this as a literary device or in Jane Austen herself, and so, I won’t drone on about that in and of itself.  I know that, reader, you’ve been patient to bear with me so far, so thanks for that.  Anyway…that book, coupled with one of the most poignant quotes (quoted above) from one of my favorite, cheesy, romantic movies, You’ve Got Mail, strikes a chord with me.

In You’ve Got Mail, as any AOL user from the 1990s would put together, the main characters communicate via email.  There’s an inherent excitement in those three little words – You’ve. Got. Mail.  Because of this story-telling framework that underlies the romantic comedy part of things, there are quite a few soul-baring emails that are voiced over as they are typed or read.   This quote is from one of those emails…

“Sometimes I wonder about my life.  I lead a small life – well, valuable, but small – and sometimes I wonder, do I do it because I like it, or because I haven’t been brave?  So much of what I see reminds me of something I read in a book, when shouldn’t it be the other way around?  I don’t really want an answer.  I just want to send this cosmic question out into the void.  So good night, dear void. “ –Kathleen Kelly, You’ve Got Mail

Sometimes I wonder about my life, Kathleen.  I’m sure we all do.  As children, as teenagers, even as young adults (and some of us, on into older-than-young adulthood), we often have dreams bigger than life.  There are countless preschoolers who would claim to want to be superheroes or princesses or astronauts or Olympians or cowboys or any number of other storybook worthy occupations.  As we grow up, so do our dreams.  Some of us do grow up to be famous or to leave our mark in a public and society altering way.  Most of us, however, do use small things to tell big stories.  We all leave a mark and make a difference; it just may be on a smaller scale than our younger selves envisioned.  It’s up to us how that difference takes shape and whether it’s one that improves our world or tears down.

Small does not equate to less valuable, but that’s a realization that comes with growing up.   It can be a tough lesson to learn, or at least to accept.  Personally, I know that to be true and I don’t question the validity or the value in my small life, but sometimes it can be difficult to look back and see the difference in the scales with which fifteen year old or even twenty five year old Katy dreamt and thirty year old Katy lives.  I think most, if not all, of us want to be great.  We want to be great at something; maybe not the best, but still great.  There are people out there who are great – most of them have that one thing that ignites their passion and they have the support, the opportunities and the talent that fuels that greatness.  It happens.  However, the vast majority of us dabble in many different things.  We all have talents and gifts that we may nurture or forget, and we may be good, or even really good, at a few of those things.  Our greatness lies in the small things.  Like Sylvia Plath sort of said, Virginia Woolf repeatedly implied and both struggled with endlessly, choosing one thing wholeheartedly means losing all of the rest.

I can and will continue to strive to be great to Adam, to Amelia, to Scout, to the rest of my family and friends, but the world, or even the country, or my town, or my community most likely won’t remember my legacy.  It, whatever it is (and that’s a conversation for another day), will have to be passed down through those who truly know me.  There’s value in washing bottles, in walking a dog, in doing my job well, in reading, in every other small thing that demands my time.  Cognitively, I know that…and we all know that, sometimes we just need that reminder.  Someday, people may look at artifacts from my life to tell my story as a whole.  Someday, I may show up in history books.  If I do, I hope I can be proud of my story.  If I don’t, I will rest easy knowing that each small thing added up to great things because, as Mother Theresa, so inspiringly put it, I also will strive to, “do small things with great love.”

Bring Your Love To Me...

This is the 5th track on The Avett Brothers album "The Magpie and the Dandelion". It was released on October 15, 2013. 2 weeks later we would find out that Katy was pregnant. I had been listening to this album, basically, non-stop since it was released. I sorta liked this song, but when I found out that I was going to be a father, it took on a new meaning to me.

The hours we spent in the hospital awaiting Amelia's arrival were equal parts of what we expected coupled with doses of surprises. The first surprise was that Katy was already in labor upon our arrival. Can I just say that my wife is one of the toughest people I know?!?! Also, she performed like a champ that evening and following day. We watched several comforting/light movies that we brought, and settled in for a long night and day. The nurses and doctors told us to sleep...yeah right! That was great advice, but a little hard to follow with all the adrenaline coursing through my veins.

I tried to sleep dreaming of what Amelia would look like, picturing Katy and myself holding her while our families surrounded us. Prior to that day, I hadn't really been able to imagine what that day would look like, so I was really enjoying it. We had music ready and a gameplan for the big arrival. The room was bustling with activity beginning around 3:30pm on June 5th. Nurse Tanya told us that soon there'd be another person with us, and all of a sudden, there she was.

I was told all about what to expect from books, family, friends, the internet, and many others, but nothing could have prepared me for those first few moments, minutes, and hours. While I was driving around listening to these lyrics in October of 2013, June 5, 2014 seemed so far away:

"Bring our love to me

I will hold it like a newborn child

One of my own blood

I might just even sing a song

To keep it calm" 

I was helpless in Amelia's first 2 hours of life. I couldn't do anything to comfort or calm her. All I could do was pray, and trust that the nurses and doctors would do their best for Amelia, Katy, and myself. I had no idea what to do. I walked back to Katy's room to give her an update. I paced the hallways to give my family an update. I went back to check on Amelia. I would retrace these steps and scenarios several times over the next hour. I was a wreck. I just wanted to hold her, calm her, be with Katy, and celebrate our new family.

Fast forward eight months, countless lullaby playlists plays, lost voices, and long nights later - I love singing that song to Amelia. It reminds me of one of the most joyous moments of my life. It reminds me of how much I love Katy, and am proud of her. It reminds me of how much I instantly loved Amelia. It reminds me of how much I love music, and love singing to Amelia. It allows the chance to dream and look forward to what she'll mean to our lives. It reminds me of how much love I have for the many people and things for which I care.

These have been the 8 greatest months of my life, and I can't wait to learn to rest of the notes that will be the music we share.

Sugar and Spice and...Everything Nice?

If you haven't been in a Babies-R-Us recently or ever, then you are missing out on one of the most overwhelming retail experiences out there.  I can't honestly tell you whether it's because of the store itself or because of the fact that the majority of their clientele is on the brink of at least one major life change.  I would recommend trying this store out for the first time on a Saturday morning.  Try to avoid the parking for expectant moms and then go in with an open mind; maybe make it a game, give yourself a point for each couple fighting over which car seat to choose, for an expectant mom who looks as though she might cry trying to pick one brand of bottle over forty others, for every grandmother-to-be who has a full shopping cart and for each type of "essential" baby paraphernalia that you have never imagined.

To me, all of that was overwhelming, but, of course, it had it's charms.  However, the part of Babies-R-Us and in its footsteps, every other baby/kid/toy store I've been in over the course of the last year, is the toy section.  I love toys.  Of course I do, they're inherently fun.  Everyone loves toys, whether they admit it or not.  These toy sections, though, have very stringent dividing lines.  There are clearly marked sections.  No, the main division between toys isn't about their function or the material they're made of or really even the company that manufactures them; the main division, even with infant toys is by gender.  I never realized that children who can't hold their heads up needed the pink ball rather than the blue because they are girls.  I never knew that a boy who can't sit up yet would prefer a block with a car printed on it to one with a doll on it.

When you have a baby, you get the opportunity to register for gifts.  It was one of the many fun activities that Adam and I participated in to prepare for Amelia.  As we joyfully pointed the registry gun at all of our wants and needs in the store, the official names of the items would pop up in the screen on the registry gun.  I quickly noticed that almost every item was preceded with either "boys" or "girls."  For example, "boys'" bib, "girls'" toy, etc.  From there, more patterns emerged.  There were two things that stuck out to me more than anything else; one about toys and one about clothes.

As far as the toys go, when a toy had a girls' option and a boys' option, the colors weren't the only difference.  If the toy played a song, the boys' version seemed to be much more likely to play a song like the "ABC song."  There are quite a few girls' versions of toys out there that play "You are My Sunshine."  Amelia is undeniably my sunshine, my only sunshine, and I will continue to sing her that song repeatedly; however, I'd like her to be a literate sunshine, just like I hope that for any future sons.  To avoid making sweeping generalizations, I will say that not all toys have different versions for different genders and not all of the ones that do, have differences other than being pink or blue.

The second striking thing that I noticed was about baby clothes.  The clothing sections are clearly defined as well, just like any adult clothing store.  Baby clothes are dominated by baby blues and pinks.  In addition to colors, baby clothes often have things written on them, especially onesies.  Parents, me included, are apparently easily drawn in by cute sayings on their babies' clothes.  Amelia has more than one onesie that we bought solely because it made us laugh.  When you walk through and start reading these onesies, again, patterns emerge.  I've found that there are an overwhelming number of girls' onesies that say things about looks.  "Cute as a button" or "Pretty like Mommy" or "Adorable" or "Doggone Cute."  Our babies are adorable and cute and pretty; trust me, I'm not denying that.  I believe that Amelia is absolutely beautiful.  However, even now, I know and I am doing my best to lay the foundation for her to know, that her value as a person does not lie solely in her looks or in who she marries.  She is so, so much more than that.  I know that most people would agree with me on that point; so, let's start making sure we convey that to our children.

When you cross the aisle to the boys section, you find words that praise boys' abilities and their futures.  "Future Hall of Famer," "Daddy's Helper," "Future Astronaut," or "Built for Speed."  There are also boys' and girls' clothes that can be a little questionable for other reasons. Again, this is not true for all baby clothes, but enough for me to notice a pattern early on in my baby shopping experience.

From the moment you find out whether your baby is a boy or a girl, you find yourself drowning in either pink or blue.  I don't mind pink in and of itself, but I don't want Amelia to wear one color day after day.  I buy her pink and frilly clothes, but I also buy her blue and green and purple and white and black and gray and all of the other colors I can find.  We've even bought her several outfits from the boys' section - gasp!

In the future, if Amelia wants to play princesses, beauty parlor and have tea parties, we will.  If she wants to build, play with cars and do math (Inspire Her Mind), we will.  If she wants to do a little of all of it, we will.  The point is, she can choose and change her mind and choose again.  I will not tell her she can't like superheroes or tell her that blue is a boys' color or stop her from getting her dress dirty sometimes.  I will do my best to help my daughter to grow up to be herself, to like what she likes, to do what she feels called to do, not because it's acceptable for a girl, but because it completes her as a person.

There are differences between boys and girls.  However, celebrating our differences does not mean teaching one gender that they are inferior to another.  I am thankful and proud to have been given the opportunity to raise a daughter knowing that she can do anything.  She can grow up to be anything, including President of the United States, a preacher, a farmer, a ballet dancer, a baseball player or a nurse.  She can be called to be anything.  I can't wait to see what the future has in store for her and I know that it can be as bright as any future son's.  Why doesn't our society teach that, not just in words, but in how we treat our children?

Why do we find ourselves asking our sons about their favorite books while complimenting our daughters on their hairstyle?  There is nothing inherently wrong with either of those things and we're trying to show our love and attention through them.  However, when we continually place more emphasis on appearance, we are telling our girls that appearance is the most important aspect of their person.  How can we be surprised at the prevalence of low self esteem, eating disorders, or even bullying?  Why do we perpetuate the assumption that doing anything #LikeAGirl is an insult?  We need to be held accountable, to hold ourselves and our children to higher standards.

"And the night wind whispered, 'Life will never be the same...'"

"On the night you were born, the moon shone with such wonder that the stars peeked in to see you and the night wind whispered, 'Life will never be the same.'  Because there had never been anyone like you...ever in the world."

                                       - On the Night you were Born by: Nancy Tillman

I would be utterly and completely remiss if I didn't begin my re-entry into blogging with the story of Amelia's official entry into our lives, her appearance in this world.  I won't bore you with details or drone on; I'll give you the quick version.  Don't lose interest in me, reader; you'll get your share of ramblings about issues outside of my personal sphere, but without this story, at this point in my life, in our lives, I'm incomprehensible.  The night wind was right in its whisperings...life will never be the same.  

It wasn't a dark and stormy night.  There were no wishes granted or curses given or anything else that would befit the beginning of a fairy tale or a novel.  Instead, it was unique and life-altering in the way that real life asserts itself.  On the day before Amelia was born, at 7:00 in the evening, Adam and I entered St. Thomas Midtown Hospital, thinking we knew what to expect.  I was being induced, as per doctors' orders after quite a few conversations.  Without going into the details and in order to avoid all controversy about induction itself, I will just say that Amelia was ready.  We checked in and were taken to a room.  After quite a bit of poking and prodding, we were told that I was in fact already in labor.  So far, so good.  

We spent the night waiting and watching, like so many other expectant parents before us.  In the very early morning of Thursday, June 5, 2014 I was given some medicine to speed things up and speed it up it did.  I began struggling with the contractions and feeling the effects.  Our families arrived at the hospital with more than enough time to spare.  I will spare you the gory details, and suffice it say that one epidural, at least three movies, and a great deal of pushing, goo, and excitement later, she was here.  Amelia was born at 4:51pm and weighed 8 pounds and 13 ounces.  She was 21 inches long.  See, I told you she was ready.  At 4:51pm, on a bright Thursday afternoon in June, we became a brand-new family of three.

When my water broke, there were some observations made that prompted the inclusion of several NICU nurses and a respiration specialist in our delivery room.  They immediately examined Amelia after her birth and after a quick vote, decided that she needed to be taken to the Transition Room.  That room, which I had never heard of, is apparently a step down from the NICU, but is somewhere that they take babies who need a little help transitioning to the world.  Amelia was only there for an hour and a half. While she was there, she did have some oxygen.  It's easy to brush it off now, but it was most definitely alarming at the time.  Adam did get to go with her and check on her.   All of the nurses in the room left with Amelia as well.  

That left me alone in the delivery room, wondering what was happening.  So, I agonized over her condition and watched HGtv.  Adam walked back and forth between my room, the transition room and the lobby where our families were waiting.  Thankfully, my mom was able to come and wait with me after a little while.  Once Amelia was returned to us, it was nearly time to move up to the room where we would stay until we took her home.  Once there, we had a birthday cake for the new birthday girl.  We sang "happy birthday" and took turns holding her.  

That moment was exactly as I had envisioned it.

Now, seven and a half months later, in a way, it's almost hard to reconcile the active, social, adventurous, bright, determined little girl with that newborn.  However, when I see those eyes, I can remember the first moments.  She was alert from the beginning.  Her blue eyes seemed deep even when they weren't as perceptive. 

Since then, we've learned her current likes, dislikes, schedule preferences, how to stop her cries, how to make her feel safe, and how to make her laugh.  We've struggled some with reflux and finding comfort in childcare.  We've exulted in her growth and each day's new skills.  You'll hear more about our struggles, our successes, our love story with our baby.  We are learning and will continue each day to learn how to be her parents.

Return of the...Blog

I'm back; well, really, I'm still here.  I have to admit that the last few months (ok, so it’s been more than a few…) have been full, to say the least.  Therefore, this blog was one of several things to take a hit.  Rest easy in the idea that you, readers, are not the only things that have been neglected.  I’m not sure if that makes me feel better or worse, but it should at least be reassuring.  Rather than try to sum up life since our last post, I’m not going to make any commitment to catch you up.  I’ll go back and talk about some things that happened and talk about life now, and intersperse it all.  Don’t hold me to any kind of schedule or make any assumptions based on one entry, but suffice it to say, there’s a lot that happened.  As always, bear with us and take it all with a grain of salt.  These are just ramblings, our thoughts, our life.  Hopefully soon, we can mostly catch you up on the absolute wonder and near-chaos that is life that includes a baby, one big move, two new jobs, and all of the randomness sprinkled in between.  Sorry to disappoint you, reader, but this is just a note to say; hey, I haven’t forgotten about you, thanks for hanging out and reading this far, and…I’m back in the game.

Hurry Up & Wait...

Hurry up and wait is a phrase heard in sports, business, family life, fishing, and many other areas. It's one of those cliches that's easy to tell someone, but it's hard to put into practice.

My high school basketball coach was the first person to say this to me, and it confused me. He would also tell us to "be quick, but don't hurry". It felt like conflicting messages. He would compound these messages by telling us to "let the game come to us". 

I wanted to get out on the floor, run the ball up and down the court, and play the game. I had a hard time learning to ease off the gas pedal during the game, but that's what the coach would tell us. "Let me call off the dogs." It was up to us to play as well as we could at the fastest pace that we could. His job was to temper the pace of the game, as he saw fit. I wanted to force the game, but he was trying to teach us to find our place in the game. Eventually, I would learn what he meant by all of these phrases.

I also heard similar words at work. However...believe it or not...the words were even more thinly veiled than my basketball coach's. Sometimes it seemed like my bosses didn't really know what was going on, or what the plan was...so, they would just give me something to do to keep me busy.

Throughout my professional career I would have to wait on things...other employees to complete their part of the project, the organization to get to a better point for me to help it, waiting on deadlines to arrive for me to do my part (procrastination...ahem), project submission then waiting to learn the fate of the submission. It was never easy, but it gets easier with practice.

Life would teach me the meaning of these words....Adam....just wait!

The lesson is patience, but I guess that there are better ways to say it. Although, sometimes I would prefer to be told to be patient, rather than being kept in the dark about plans or what's actually happening in vague terms.

Now, Katy and I are hurrying up and waiting for the next big moment in our lives. As I write this, there are 10 days between now and our baby's due date, June 5th.

I really want her to get here. I really want her to wait a little while for us to finish getting ready...Ha! Yeah right....ready! We've been waiting for 38+ weeks! What's a few more days?

It seems like forever, but I know that it's not. Once she gets here, I'll probably want time to slow down. I know, I know....I want my cake and to eat it too. Can you blame me? We've prepared the nursery, received many wonderful gifts from our loved ones, and we even received a certificate of completion from our childbirth education class. So we're ready...HA! Ready! Yeah right!

But it feels weird. We know that she's on the way. There's a clock on the wall that's counting down, but I can't see it. I don't know how many days, hours, minutes, and seconds are left to 0, but I feel it. It's getting closer, but at the same time, it feels so far away.

I guess we'll hurry up and wait.

When I Grow Up, I Will Eat Sweets Every Day...

Today is my thirtieth birthday eve-eve.  Just because being thirty-seven weeks pregnant isn't enough, I thought I'd throw in an arguably monumental birthday three weeks before the due date and one week before the end of this particular school year.  That's just how I roll right now.  Nostalgia, melancholia, excitement, nervousness, anticipation, growing up...all these things are vying for my attention and emotions right now.  The winner varies from moment to moment.

I can honestly say that "thirty" in all it's glory hasn't hit me yet; I haven't had much time to dwell on that approaching milestone since we've been all consumed with comparing our growing little girl to different fruits/vegetables to determine how "grown-up" she is already, before even experiencing her first breath.  Bless her heart, even in utero, she doesn't have much privacy.

Most of you that know me (and at this point, after all of my ramblings, I'm assuming that it's only you that know me who are my faithful readers) realize that I absolutely adore special occasions.  All of them; holidays, semi-"holidays" (Arbor Day, May the Fourth Be With You, Left Handers Day, etc. included), birthdays, anniversaries, everything, whether they're mine or anyone else's.  That's partly why I love sending cards to people to commemorate such occasions.  I love celebrating; I love letting people know that I remember their special days; I love marking each occasion.

One of the reasons that it all means so much to me is that these "special" days are how we mark our lives.  Yes, each day is just as valuable as any other in it's own way, as movies like "About Time" (don't be fooled by the time traveling semi-randomness; it's a great movie and also a bit of a tear-jerker) remind us.  It's the idea of marking the "days of our lives" by these occasions that's so important to me.

I do love my birthday...but I'm claiming, whether you believe me or not, that it's because of the idea of using it as time to both look back and look forward.  People rolls their eyes and laugh at my birthday countdowns; it's been birthday month and now birthday week; but, it's just in fun.  It isn't about presents or attention.  My birthday is the only "holiday," albeit a self-centered one, that allows me to embrace nostalgia in relation to just my own life.  We measure family and friend growth, changes, everything by the holidays and special events in that collective life.  Our birthdays seem to me to be self-reflective.

These decade birthdays seem to bring on more of this than the years in between.  It's the end of an era...and also the beginning of one.  There are beautiful and poignant quotes that do seem truthful about this stage of life...

“It is in the twenties that the actual momentum of life begins to slacken, and it is a simple soul indeed to whom as many things are as significant and meaningful at thirty as at ten years before. At thirty an organ-grinder is a more or less a moth eaten man who grinds an organ - and once he was an organ-grinder! The unmistakable stigma of humanity touches all those impersonal and beautiful things that only youth ever grasps in their impersonal glory.” - F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Beautiful and the Damned

"Growing up is losing some illusions, in order to acquire others." - Virginia Woolf

Right now, I'll both acknowledge the truth of the above quotes, but fight against them.  I can't say that my outlook on life is the same as it was at twenty.  Twenty-year-old Katy was different than twenty-nine-and-363 day old Katy, but that is as it should be.

My twenties were awesome, by the way.  When I turned twenty, I had just returned from a semester abroad.  Over the course of the next ten years, I finished college, had a medical scare, traveled more, graduated from college, got my masters' degree, spent quite a few summers with Passport, lived in three apartments, moved to Nashville, met Adam, fell in love, found Scout, got married, have gotten through two and more than a half trimesters of my first pregnancy, and did/learned/experienced/lost/found many things and people along the way.  It's hard to believe.  The last ten years haven't been all rainbows and butterflies, but I am grateful for the experiences, the mountain-tops, the valleys, the friendships, the broken hearts, the joy, and the growth that have come from it all.  I can't resist, embrace the cheesiness with me, it's all been "something unpredictable, but in the end is right."

So, that was then and this is now.  At thirty, I can look back and use those experiences to say what I want out of the next decade.  Never fear, I won't break into a Tim McGraw song, but I will say that Ben Folds was right when he said "it hurts to grow up and we're still fighting it."  I'm still fighting it.  I will never be too old to play, to swing, to watch Disney movies, to laugh at nothing, to love being high up, to crave adventure, to be surprised, to surprise, to try new things, to take chances, to revel in moments, to see the best in people.

There is adventure left out there...and not just for the next "generation" of twenty-somethings...for me.  I am not giving up on it.  During my twenties, I spent a great deal of time dreaming; making plans or wishing for things I could do, things I can be.  I'm not giving up on those dreams.  Now is the time to make them happen.  I don't know exactly what that looks like.  I am confident though that thirty-nine-and-363-day-old Katy will be able to look back and say my thirties were awesome.

I haven't done everything that twenty, or fifteen, or ten, or even twenty five year old Katy hoped I would before I turned thirty; honestly, I haven't done anything close to what I hoped.  I'm not sure anyone ever truly does.  I haven't travelled nearly as much as I would have liked; I haven't written the great American novel, I haven't even written a terrible American novel; I haven't bought a house or found where I want to "settle down"; my "I haven'ts" could go on and on. However, that doesn't mean it's over.  I refuse to look at this birthday as an end instead of a beginning.  I love my birthday and will continue to do so.  I already had my twenty-ninth birthday and it will be my one and only "twenty-ninth" birthday.

Bring on everything that comes next; parenthood, new moves, new jobs, career changes, more school, other kids, travels, accomplishments, failures, who knows what?  Bring on 30!