Emilia's Birth

Some of you have read this already. But I wanted to share.

Emilia Ruth Hamilton's Birth Story

With some birth stories, it's hard to know where to begin. I will begin with the first “false alarm” and go from there. On Thursday, October 27, 2011 contractions began to become regular. They started the day at 10 min and ended at 3 min. We called for a ride and went to the Spokane Midwives Birthing Center on Euclid. The contractions were fairly strong, but I did not feel overwhelmed and Edward said that I would have failed the Bradley “camera test.” Not that I was feeling like posing as we walked out the door, but I wouldn't have shoved the camera away. When the midwife checked me, I was not even fully effaced. We went home a little sad but the contractions stopped, so we went to bed.

Five days later they started up again. This time we were more cautious and waited each day to see what would happen. Each day from 3pm to midnight, I would have steady contractions that required concentration, but did not progress past 6 min.

At 3am on Wednesday, November 9, I had some bloody show! I was so excited that I woke my husband to tell him! Contractions began soon after that and were steadily 10 min apart for the morning, moving to 6 min in the afternoon. My husband went to work and hoped for a phone call from me to return, but they were never unbearable nor did they grow close enough together for me to concern him. They were much worse when I would lay down, so I spent most of the day either sitting or walking. The contractions continued all night long and I could not sleep. Edward decided to stay home on Thursday, as things seemed to be progressing rather well- but by the end of the day, the contractions were still only 6-10 min apart, but far stronger than they had been.

We called the Birthing Center to see what they wanted us to do. Linda had been our main midwife all along as Beth was out of the country, but now Beth was back and Linda was on leave. Beth had done a birth that morning and then had clinic all day long. She felt that it would be better to have me take magnesium oxide to slow the contractions and sleep and then go to the Birthing Center in the morning. We then called our Birthing Class instructor for a second opinion because we didn't know what magnesium oxide would do to Baby and we weren't sure where to get it. We were also looking for a second opinion because I didn't want to slow things down. We got it and decided to just try to make it through. That night I sat up on the couch because lying down was excruciating. I dozed off a couple of times, but the contractions were still 10 min apart and strong.

Friday, November 11 we called our ride to take us to the Birthing Center again. We arrived a few min ahead of the midwife. She took us in and immediately checked to see how I was doing. I was dilated to 1cm. She poked around a bit and got me open to 2cm and said that we would wait an hour and see where we were. Ed and I walked around the room for a while and sat on the love seat when I was tired. After an hour I was at 3 ½! Beth said we would wait another hour and see again. After the next hour I was only at 4. But after the next hour I was at 5 and she decided I was in active labor and should stick around. I labored mostly while walking for a few more hours. When I was at 8 cm, around 5pm, I got into the tub! It was wonderful! The pain lessened enough for me to get a couple short naps in. After a bit more than an hour, Beth offered to break my water. She said it was fine if I didn't want it, but it would speed things up a little. Since I was already at 9 cm, I said it would be fine. I was excited to get past first stage and into the pushing stage! She broke my water in the tub- it was clear, which was good. Baby's heart rate had stayed steady throughout the entire day and all looked to be going well. After a while, my contractions came back very strong! Edward patted my head with a cool towel as I continued to labor in the tub until about 7:30pm.

After getting out of the tub, they checked to make sure I was at 10 and that the cervix was completely pulled back on both sides. Beth had found a little scar tissue on the right side of my cervix and wanted to make sure it didn't protrude during pushing. I walked to the bed and she had me take a few contractions on my side, which was horribly uncomfortable but seemed to work. She announced at 8:30, I was ready. I got up and walked around waiting for the urge to push. Beth felt I had not reached transition yet, so she went to lie down for a bit. She told the assistant, Kim, that she would be back at 9 and I should keep walking. Edward helped me walk around slowly. The contractions were very painful. At 8:45, I felt the urge to push, but in my head I told myself I had to wait until 9. I felt slightly irrational thinking that- as a child who is told to stay on the couch for 10 min. But after 4 min I could not wait anymore. I said rather quietly to Ed that I needed to push and Kim jumped up to fetch Beth. “When a first time mom needs to push, it's time!”

Beth came back in and the pushing began! It was almost 9 pm on November 11. We had been laboring for over 12 hours at this point. We started on the bed with my back propped up with pillows. Kim remarked that it would be great if I delivered at 11:11 pm on 11/11/11. Ed said, “We are NOT going to be pushing for 2 hours!” More as a plead for confirmation than an emphatic statement. He did not get the desired answer.

After an hour of pushing, Beth reached inside me and found that that bit of cervix which had been out of the way, was no longer out of the way. She then had me push during every other contraction while she held it back, which was horribly painful. On the other contractions, she had me breath through them... without pushing! This was just as hard as they say it is! I hope you never have to do it. This went on for 2 more hours- in the tub most of the time- until Baby's head was finally past the point where it would move back and allow the cervix to re-protrude. More pushing. This time the problem seemed to be that Baby was awake and would keep moving her head out of position. Beth reached in again and would turn the baby's head with each contraction, hoping to get it to a point where she could not turn it back. This went on for 2 more hours. After the first hour, I asked Beth what the likelihood of transfer was. She said that she would let me go another hour and if Baby's head was not in position we would go. I asked what they would do when I got to the hospital.

She said I would be given an epidural and either the doctor would manually position the head until I had pushed it down or I could have a c-section. She stressed that I could still have the first option and when Edward asked what a transfer entailed, Beth said she would call two hospitals where she has a relationship and see which doctors were on call to get us the most natural friendly doctor available. Then she would drive us.

Things looked tough, but Baby was doing fine and I didn't feel that it was impossible to have a natural birth still. I continued to walk with Edward and pushed mostly on the birthing stool in the squatting position, which was the most comfortable for me. After an hour, Beth said “Congratulations! You have convinced me that you can have a natural birth! Baby's head is now stationary!” We were so happy!! Even though we had been pushing for over 5 hours, we felt we could go on!

Edward convinced me to have some honey. I had been drinking steadily, but had not had much food that day. Beth and Kim both offered me honey or yogurt at different times, but I declined and they didn't push it. Ed had been napping for a bit, but when he returned he was insistent that I eat. He was such a good coach!

We continued to push... and push... and push. We tried all kids of positions from the stool to propped up in bed to "all fours" to on my side to standing to flat on my back. All of them were of different comfort levels- the stool was best, "all fours" was worst- but they also produced slightly different results. In the end, I spent most of my time either on the stool or flat on my back, which surprised Beth as being the most productive for me. Somehow, I had better leverage in the unlikeliest position. But Baby was slow to come out. She crowned around 4am... but I kept pushing... and kept pushing... and kept pushing. We walked and swayed my hips in between contractions. Let me tell you how uncomfortable it is to walk with a head at the bottom most point... never mind, I'll leave it to your imagination.

All of my attendants were patient and cheered me on with every push. I knew that they were tired, too, but they never said anything negative or made me feel like I was anything more than their first priority. My husband was so miserable seeing me in pain, but he kept a good face and cheered me on with the rest. He held my hand, held me up when I was walking and said encouraging things to me. At one point, when I was using him to support me while I stood and squatted, I said, “I am just trying to earn the title of 'good wife' that you keep giving me.” He is always telling me what a good wife I am, but sometimes I feel downright lazy, especially during the last trimester. He began to cry and said that I did not have to earn that title. That was the most touching part of my labor up until I held my baby. Neither of us will ever forget that moment.

Finally, at 6:30am, I was lying flat on my back with my husband holding one leg and Kim the other. I was having some double peaked contractions, which had helped to keep baby's head in place at the end of each pushing session, making her so close to coming out that they could see her ears. With the next contraction, all three of them cheered me on and when it ended told me to keep pushing no matter what. After about 8 pushes, the head was out!! You would have though we were at a football game! Everyone cheered and took pictures! (I left them out of this post because they are a little graphic- but I have them! Just a head in my nether regions- a beautiful, beautiful head!)

I was so relieved that I just laughed and laughed. Her head had been very big and had molded a little. Beth checked her neck for the cord and after not finding it told them to flip me over because she was worried that Baby's shoulder would be caught. They flipped me and had me give one big push with Beth's hand on Baby's shoulder- Baby came flying out!! Then Beth apologized for pulling her out of me! Apparently, Baby was not as big as her head and length suggested. I said, “Are you kidding! Thank you!” They rolled me back and put my new daughter on my belly. They wiped her off and then covered her with a receiving blanket to keep her warm. She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen and her eyes were alert and looking at me! She only cried a little and then rested on me while the whirlwind of activity when on around me.

I looked around for my husband and he was gone! I asked Kim where he went. She said that she thought he was calling people. "Not my husband," I said. But I was wrong. He had gone to call the grandmothers! When he came back, he sat next to me and cooed over his daughter. After a few minutes, Beth checked the cord, but it was still pulsing, so she waited. But soon after that I felt a gush of liquid come out of me and she quickly clamped and cut the cord. I passed the placenta easily, but there was some membrane left in me. They got it with a thing that looked like a thin, long nosed clamp and gave me a shot in the leg of something. After that, they scooted me up a bit so I could begin nursing. Emilia nursed at 15 minutes old. She had a tiny mouth, so it took a few tries to get her on, but she took to it well enough. After a while, they poured hydrogen peroxide on me and checked for damage- there had been NO TEARING! There was a little scratch on the inside, but nothing to repair! I was shocked, partly because her head had been so big and partly because I felt so tender- but all was well.

The two things I had been most concerned about going into the birth was the possibility of tearing and of Baby having her first meconium in utero. Neither happened! Emilia Ruth Hamilton was born at 6:37am on 11/12/11. She was 7lb 10oz- so, not big at all! They were so concerned because her head was 35 cm or about 15 in, that she would be really large- but she just had a large Hamilton head- probably full of Hamilton brains! She is 20 ½ in long and thin with long fingers and toes. She does not have the typical newborn “old man” face and was beautiful from the moment she arrived. She passed all her newborn tests with flying colors and was alert and cuddly for a while after birth before dropping off to sleep. I showered after about 90 min with Baby and they did her tests while I was getting clean. I was a little light headed from not eating and was given some yogurt and offered more food. I decided to eat more at home. I also had some pudding while breastfeeding her for the first time- treats for both of us!

We left the Birthing Center around 10:30am. Our total labor time was over 22 hours with 9 ½ hours of pushing. Beth said that this would be one of her most memorable births because of my determination. I was so thankful for my birth attendants and how they prayed for me and quoted scripture to me throughout the process and were always calm and encouraging, even though I know they were all tired.

Even though this labor was very hard, I do not regret it or feel that I did not have a good experience. I got to have a natural birth with wonderful support and I have a healthy baby girl!

Life Moves Pretty Fast...

I can't believe it is February already! And I haven't written anything here since September!

Well, Ferris Bueller had it right. "Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."

I don't think I have missed much, though. Most of my life at the moment has been about Baby.

Emilia Ruth Hamilton was born on November 12, 2011. She is our first child and our whole world at the moment. I will post her birth story in a separate post. She is 14 1/2 weeks old now and those weeks have flown by! During her first three months of life we have all traveled from WA to MI and back by train, spent 3 weeks with family, Daddy has gotten a new job in Texas which begins in August, Mommy has been crocheting like the wind in hopes of opening an etsy store and Milli (we call her Milli, reason will be in another post) has grown and grown.

Emilia was 7 lb 10 oz at birth- surprising size considering she was 12 days late. She was 20.5 in long, so she was long and thin. Now, she is 24 in and about 16 lb! But the most miraculous thing about her is that she has been sleeping through the night since she was 3 weeks old (I can hear some moms out there cursing). At 3 weeks, she was consistently sleeping 6 hours a night and by 6 weeks was doing 7-8. She has stuck with 8 as her average- did a couple 9 and 10 hour nights at random and a few 7 hour nights. I am a spoiled mamma!

Milli is also a very happy baby. She smiles most of the time and has very few crying fits. She currently goes to anyone who wants to hold her and is getting really good at making her desires known without resorting to weeping.

My friend, Debbie, called her first child a "hooker" because she gets you hooked and makes you want more... little do you know that the next ones are never as well behaved! I am hoping to have a second child next year (won't start trying until autumn), so hopefully we will see if she is right. :)

I am still on maternity leave for a few more weeks. My life currently consists of feeding, changing and playing with Milli. She has favorite books and smiles when she sees one she wants. She is "talking" now and has long conversations with me! We sing together almost every day and he new thing is chewing on my fingers.

Daddy is smitten.













As I have bragged about my daughter, I suppose I should brag about my husband! He has been just as loving to me since her birth as he was before! But even more, he has been a very attentive and doting father. He loves to cuddle with her and introduce her to things. He walks around the house and yard with her and talks about the things they are seeing. He shows her off at work and church and loves to take over for me on weekends. He changes diapers, calms crying, sings and rocks her to sleep. He gives her tons of kisses! And the phrase I hear most often out of his mouth is, "I love my little girl." Melts my heart every time!

One of My Favorite Things

I got to do one of my favorite things on Wednesday. My husband came home early, as it was one of his short days. After lunch, we each picked up a book and began reading the first few pages. Then I stopped reading to comment on something in the book and that sparked an hour conversation that ranged from the book topic (marketing to adults) to what we think the hardest thing will be to teach our child with a range of things in between. I love to sit and chat with my husband, who is one of my oldest friends. Even though we have known each other for over 25 years, we still learn new things when we sit and talk. Unfortunately, with our work schedules, those times are rare. But Wednesday was a good day!

Here's the story that made all the fuss

This can't be happening!

Many stories begin this way, the main character or the author are making a statement of frustration or awe. But they are always wrong- whatever this is, it probably can be happening. But not in this story.

Maybe I should clarify. If something is happening, it can be. The entire definition of “to be” is that it is. The definition of “can” is that it is possible... or something you put beans into. So, if it is happening, it can be happening. Same thing.

If you look down at your stomach and suddenly, your intestines are coming out of your navel, you might think that it is not happening. But, unless it is a dream or hallucination, it is happening to you and you should seek professional help.

Life is like a Sudoku puzzle. There is only one solution that works. You can't just throw numbers around and have it work out. You have to deduce what is the correct number to put in each square. If you are filling in the squares with numbers and you come to a point where there are two possibilities, you cannot arbitrarily pick one and be guaranteed to solve the puzzle. Only one answer is correct. But you do have to choose. If you have gotten to this point in a puzzle and gotten stuck, I'm sorry. It is frustrating when both numbers could be the right one and there aren't enough clues to help you pick. In the game, unlike in life, you can see the whole puzzle and all the other possibilities; and if you are good, you can try both numbers to see how they affect all the other boxes, to see if they work. If you come to a dead end, you can try the other number. For some, Sudoku are easy, for others, they are very, very hard. And, yes, I am still talking about life.

Ever notice that some people have an easier ride than others? Of course you have. This is what makes up most of the world's frustration, politics, and power. If everyone had an easy time, someone would become discontent and begin making it harder for others. If everyone had an equally hard time, there would be a lot more assisted suicides. But what does this have to do with Sudoku life? Well, some people have an easier time coming up with the right answers... some people have an easier time choosing between the hard answers... some people refuse to play the game and end life with a bunch of empty squares... and some people seem to have incredible luck at throwing numbers down and making it work... I have to tell you, though, the number throwers usually lose in the end- you can only be accidentally right so many times.

So, back to the thing that cannot be happening. Zack was not only wishing that it could not be happening. He was not hallucinating. He was not in a dream. He was not in an alternate universe where the laws of physics are different than ours. In all these cases, the thing that couldn't be happening, could have been happening.

Zack's intestines were not coming out of his navel. It was much, much worse.

Zack was in Hell. Literally. Hell. Now, some would argue that that could happen. Some would argue that it can't, to which the first group would say, “Use the author's argument. If it's happening, it can happen!” Whoa, I'd better watch what I say here! Don't let me get drunk on the power! Some would say that Zack was obviously having some kind of episode and that the Hell was not real, but the hell was. Yeah, way to get around it, guys. No. I am the storyteller and am omniscient. He was in Hell. He knew it couldn't be happening because he was a Christian. I see another argument coming.

If you want to just begin with the idea that Christians are right, then it will save you a lot of mental trouble over this story. But I'm not here to promote a religion. An argument can be made that Christians can still go to Hell. But this argument doesn't seem sound for two reasons: Christians are one of the few religions that believe in Hell and if a Christian can go to Hell, what keeps everyone else from going? And, if there is no Hell, then neither Christians nor anyone else can go there. I'm sure you can come up with some better arguments for me, but for the purposes of this narrative, Christians cannot go to Hell. And please do not cite my first argument to prove your point. Storytellers are omniscient in their own works- believe!

So, Zack is in Hell. I guess I should describe it, since there are so many ideas and versions of what Hell is. You will note that all of these versions are told by people who have never been there.

This particular Hell, which for all intents and purposes is The Hell, is not a place full of fire. It is not full of other damned, moaning or gnashing their teeth. You won't find Hitler or Stalin or Bin Laden there. This Hell is empty. And I mean EMPTY! No light, no sound, no one. Zack would have thought he was asleep or in a dark room or maybe even in a comma. He could not hear his own breath- being dead, he didn't have any, but that only occurred to him later. He could not feel his body- being dead, he didn't really have a body as we think of a body- this also occurred to him later. There was no wind or even a slight draft. There was no light and his eyes never became used to the darkness (did he have eyes?). There was nothing.

You know how bored you can get when the power goes out and there is no internet or TV or video games and it is too dark to read and the cell phone towers are down? Not lately? Well, think of the old days and you will have a sudden feeling of boredom. Now, take away touch, sight, smell, and sound. Hell for Zack is complete lack of anything, good or bad, and a boredom so intense that if he could have felt, he would have tried to strangle himself. The only “feeling” he had, was of loss- he felt that the space around him was empty, but he also felt an emptiness of spirit or soul. This is hard to describe, but his heart did not feel exactly heavy, but empty. His only emotions were panic and apprehension. Not only was he not feeling happiness or love or comfort, but he felt as if he could never feel them again- as if all good emotions had been whipped out of his reach. They were un-feelable.

He did, however, have his own thoughts and they tended this way:

Where am I? What is going on? Why can't I feel my body? Why can't I shout out for help? Am I dead? What was happening 5 min ago? How did I get here and into this state? What do I do now? What can I do now? If this is Hell, how is it possible that I am here? Answer: it isn't!

OK. Five minutes ago I was talking to that stoned beggar with the dog. He asked me for money and I said “no.” I'm sure he was just going to buy more drugs with it. He was really pissed... told me I was going to hell. Then his dog jumped at me and I backed up... that's all I remember. Huh. Well, I would say that was no big deal except that I seem to actually be in Hell! Who was that guy? Did I piss off some angel in disguise? No, angels don't have the power to overrule God. Shoot. Maybe it was Jesus and maybe he wasn't stoned but crying for human kind and that made his eyes puffy!

Things can get easily mixed up in your brain when you are in Hell. The beggar was not Jesus. And he was indeed stoned.

***

Back on Earth, a funeral is being held. It is a closed casket funeral, as Zack had accidentally lept in front of a semi while trying to avoid the dog. Poor soupy mess.

The crowd is just breaking up when a man in his late 30's approaches a woman in her late 20's. Both were fairly attractive and fit, the kind of people you see at movie funerals. Neither is crying.

“Excuse me. I couldn't help noticing you from across the grass. Did you know Zack well?”

“Not really. We worked together and I was assigned the job of sending flowers. I though I might as well take a day off and pay my respects. What about you?”

“He and I would go running twice a week. We used to live in the same building years ago and kept the habit of running together after we moved. My name is Guy.”

“Hi. I'm Tracy. He seemed to have a lot of friends.”

“Well, he was active in a lot of groups. He was always talking about his church stuff and other charity groups he was with. Good guy, really.”

“He worked hard, too. But I don't think he was close to anyone at the office. I didn't see anyone else here.”

“I know this is forward and I might be a jerk for picking someone up at a funeral, but are you free for coffee?”

“I did take the whole day off. Sure. There's a cafe just around the corner from here.”

Guy and Tracy walk around the corner. He keeps telling himself not to be too smarmy. She is feeling confident of her attractiveness. This is one of those scenes that can make women swoon at the theatre. But don't get too caught up girls. This guy is bad news.

After ordering coffee, the conversation gets flirty but informational. Step two in pickups. We don't really need to know what they do for work or where they live, what schools they went to or any of that other boring drivel. The important question come late in their talk. Why is this not the first thing every woman asks, instead of something you warm up to?

“Are you married?”

“Nope. Never been.”

“Girlfriend?”

“I'll let you know how this works out.”

Too smarmy. But somehow she falls for it. They set up a date for Friday night, exchange phone numbers and part.

***

That evening, before entering his home, Guy pulls a gold band from his pocket and put it on his left ring finger. As he walks up to his door, he notices that there are no toys in the yard. Funny. His brats are always leaving their bikes and Barbies and squirt guns around.

“Honey, I'm home.”

Silence.

That is also funny. Usually he is greeted by a nice but chubby woman who is wiping her hands on a towel and has just finished yelling at the kids. Today, nothing.

Maybe she's out.

But if she needed something from the store, she would have called him to pick it up for her. Well, he wouldn't worry yet. To the bedroom to change.

The closet is empty.

Now he begins to worry. What had he done? Did she find out about one of his affairs? Would she just leave with no note? How could she find out? He kept a separate phone for his hanky panky and the bills were sent to his office. What was going on?

As he walks around the house he notices other things. The pictures of them at their wedding are gone. All the kids' pictures are gone. All her nick knacks are gone and had been replaced by his old school trophies and other stuff she hadn't let him display in years. She didn't just leave him, she redecorated the entire house! How could she have done all that in just 8 hours? She must have had help!

He picks up the phone and dials her sister.

“Cassie, where is Julia?”

“Who is this?”

“Don't give me that! It's Guy. Where is she?”

“I'm sorry, but I don't know who you are.” Dial tone.

What was that all about? He dials again.

“Cassie, I'm serious! Just tell me where she is. All of her stuff is gone, even our wedding photos. What happened?”

“Look. I don't know who you are, but my sister is married to a man named John and they are both here for dinner. You either have the wrong person or you are nuts!” Dial tone again.

Guy has to sit down. Too many thoughts are going through his head. And who is John?

***

Richard was thinking about his brother. He was skipping class today and walking leisurely toward the corner store of an adjacent neighborhood to the one he lived in. He knew his buddies usually scored smokes there with their fake ID's and he was itching to try his out. But on the walk, which was about eight blocks, his thoughts turned to his brother Charlie. Charlie had gone off to war a few months before. He was just 18, two years older than Richard, and had been drafted almost immediately. Richard had been learning about other war drafts in history class and knew there hadn't been one in ages- but this war was different. Not a World War, but still serious. Now, his brother was in a foreign land, just deployed after a brief visit home following boot camp. Charlie was in harm's way, and would remain so for who knew how long.

Richard tried not to think about it, but couldn't stop the thoughts from jumping into his other musings. He had quit playing video games because they made him think of Charlie. He had stopped watching action movies because they were no longer entertaining. He had stopped doing most of the things he did to distract himself from the real world because the real world had just become too like his distractions. He had, however, begun to smoke. He had also been reading a lot of sci-fi and fantasy novels, because in them, he was transported out of this world.

Richard reached the store. He pulled out his new ID and looked hard at it. He had examined it several times since receiving it from a “friend” a week ago. He had memorized the birth date and tried to steady himself before entering the store to use it for the very first time. Deep breath. Bell ring above him. Deliberate strides straight to the counter. Don't look nervous.

“One pack of American Spirits, please.” Was he being too polite? Was that a give away of his youth?

Apparently not. The clerk put the pack on the counter and asked casually for ID. No note of suspicion in his voice and he hardly even looked at Richard. This was going to be easier than he though.

“Just 18, huh?”

“A couple months ago.”

“How long you been smoking?”

“A couple years. Would swipe 'em from my folks before I was legal.”

Richard had decided that having a squeaky clean past in this imaginary scenario would seem too unreal. Play it cool.

The clerk handed the ID back and rang up the smokes. At the last second, Richard threw a lighter on the counter- he almost forgot!

“Always losing them,” he fumbled.

The clerk still looked unconcerned, as if he either didn't care or completely believed the kid. Richard was out the door in minutes, his heart pounding and in need of a cigarette.

***

Richard wandered around for another hour or so before going home. He didn't want his mom to think he might have ditched class. Not that she was as attentive these days, since Charlie had gone. He walked into the house without much concern. The living room was full of smoke. That was odd. His mother was sitting on the couch with a cigarette in her hand, picking at her nails and staring into space. That was odd, too. Richard had never known his mom to smoke before; but she had been under a lot of stress lately. Richard sat down next to her in case she wanted some comfort.

“There's a letter for you on the table,” she said, her voice trembling as if she had been crying or was trying not to cry.

Richard went into the dining room and picked up the official looking letter addressed to him. Curious, he opened it. His brow began to furrow as he read words he could not understand. He walked back into the living room.

“What is this? I don't understand.”

His mother stood up and snatched the letter from him. After just a moment, she threw her arms around him and erupted in sobs! Richard was even more confused.

“First Charlie and now you! How can they do this to us?” his mother wailed.

“What do you mean? I can't be drafted, Mom. It has to be some kind of mistake.”

His mother cried even harder and held him in a vice like hug.

“I have been worried about this ever since your birthday. I knew they would take you right away! Oh, why did you have to turn 18? Why couldn't you stay my little boy?”

Now, Richard was irritated. Did his mother not know how old he was? How could she forget? She would often call him “Charlie” on accident, but she also always treated him like a child. So, how could she make this mistake?

“Mom, I'm not 18 yet. I'm only 16. There really must be some mistake.”

His mother pulled away from him and stopped crying. She looked at him shrewdly.

“What are you saying, Richard? You had your 18^th birthday two months ago. We bought you a pack of cigarettes to celebrate. How can you not remember?”

Richard was even more confused. Had that actually happened? How could he not remember? And his parents would never buy him smokes, would they?

He sat back down on the couch and stared at the carpet while his mother began to cry quietly again. She offered him a cigarette and he shook his head. What was going on?

***

Gracie worked for the Times. She was a fact checker but had aspirations of being a foreign correspondent. Maybe after the war was over, though. She didn't fancy being in quite that much danger.

This week had been a strange one for news. Reports had been pouring in of differing, contradictory accounts of the same events. One reporter had told of a favorable outcome of a recent battle, while another had told of a mounting death toll and the loss of the same ground. Hundreds of people were claiming to have won the same lottery. Reporters had been sent to the same press conference with the President but had come back with bafflingly different quotes. Gracie's job load seemed to have tripled overnight!

But the strangest part about these odd stories was that she couldn't seem to find where the discrepancies lay. She would listen to the recordings of the President and hear all of the quotes that were being reported. It made his speech incomprehensible, but they were all there. She found that the Lottery department was actually acknowledging the rights of all those claiming to have won. This was not really a problem for them because they would just pay out a few cents to each, but they did respond with some concern that the numbers were leaked. How this could have happened when the drawing was done live on television with an audience, they couldn't say. And the battles... how is it that the American army could have won the battle but lost the ground and that many troops? Gracie didn't know, but when she checked with the official report from the war department, that seemed to be what had happened.

What was going on?

Gracie decided to take a break and wander over to the desk of her friend, Rita. This did not help.

Rita was the gossip girl. She wrote the “entertainment” column that got so many people to buy their paper. But Rita was not having a great day, either. As soon as Gracie got close enough to hear, Rita began to complain.

“I might as well go and write for the Enquirer!” she almost shouted. “What is going on today?”

“I'm not sure. What's wrong on your end?”

“Well, it seems that about 18 women have become impregnated by Brad Pit in a matter of hours. They have all had positive paternity tests and everything!”

Gracie couldn't believe that! No man can be both that busy and that fertile.

“And I guess I have to start believing in extra terrestrials because one of them just had a baby at Memorial Hospital!”

“Are you sure you aren't writing for a tabloid? I mean, how did you get that story?”

“I was there! Someone called and told me to go to the maternity ward for some good gossip- turns out it is bad gossip. Who is going to believe me? I can't print it, but then, when the alien woman goes on Good Morning America with her offspring, we are going to look like we dropped the ball. I guess I have to decide between being fired now or later.”

Gracie began to look around at her fellow Times employees. Every single one of them had a look of bewilderment or frustration or some combination on their face. The Editor was pacing his office with his hands over his face, obviously frustrated.

What was going on today?

***

As the people of earth become more and more confused, there is laughter on Mount Olympus. Zeus, the god of law, order and fate is talking with Hermes, his son, the god of cunning wiles, and writing who is also in charge of leading souls to Hades' realm.

“Well, Son, I'm not sure what to think of your little experiment. It seems to have just thrown everyone into confusion. As far as I can tell, no one has even figured out that the lies they tell are now coming true. At least, no one has stopped lying because of it. I'd call this one a failure.”

“Not at all, Dad! We just proved that the human race is either stupid or too stubborn and driven to evil to warrant out good will. I wasn't expecting any of them to stop lying! Plus, we have had some really good laughs out of this!”

“I suppose we have had some fun, although at their expense. Oh, well.”

“I love to see the looks on their faces! Do you want any more popcorn?”

“No, thank you. I think it has probably been long enough, though. I'll let the experiment end at sundown tonight. Should I put things back the way they were, or just let things run their course?”

“Oh, please let them stay as they are! It will cause so many books and articles with titles like 'What Happened in 2011?' and 'Is The World Insane?' I'm looking forward to inspiring some of the more ludicrous theories!”

“Well, it seems poor sport to let that young man go off to war and that poor guy to stay in Hell. And not even the one where Hades' is, just an empty Hell.”

“Yeah, but you can't make exceptions! I say, all or nothing. Their just ants anyway.”

“I suppose. Maybe I will have some more popcorn. Let's see how many more lies can be told before sundown.”

***

We poor humans! Obviously, the gods do not play Sudoku.

The Pain of Insults

It amazes me how things are timed in life.

My husband and I have been talking a lot about our coming little one; what she will be like, what we will need to teach her, stuff like that. Today, our discussion revolved around hopes for her personality. Both Ed and I had many run-ins with nasty little children when we were young and his dearest hope is that our daughter does not turn out to be one of those nasty children- the kind that are mean on purpose and find joy in the suffering of others. We talked about it at great length- about possible reasons behind the behavior of those children and how to avoid that and about ways of teaching a child what it means to be kind and loving. I have fewer fears than my husband, as usual, but I don't want to assume that because we are loving, our daughter will be.

Than I went online to check my email. This is where the timing comes in. I entered a writing contest a few months ago and wrote my first sci/fi/fantasy short story. It was a good effort and I was mostly looking for the two critiques by published authors that would be given to every entrant. I got them today.

Points were out of 5.

The first author gave me a 4.2! "Pretty good for my first time," I thought! The comments were "Well written with a few grammatical errors. Easy to follow story lines. The ending was drawn out too far. A little more character development would have been appreciated. A shorter conclusion would have given it a very nice 'Twilight Zone' feel. With a little work this could be an excellent piece of writing."

Alright then! I was pretty happy with that. The author gave me some specific feedback, no personal comments, and something to shoot for. Great!

Then I read the second critique. At first, I wondered if they had read the same piece. But they had. Some of the more painful statements were:

"This story is a delirious, wandering, nonsensical piece."

"I just did not get it."

"The writing is too colloquial, scattered, and without narrative voice."

"It feels like I'm listening to a word salad from a crazy person."

"Makes no sense at all."

"If the plot was meant to be insanity, then it succeeds. Otherwise, the plot does not function."

Now, some people would be horribly hurt by this- and I probably would have been if I had a deep attachment to the specific work (I have yet to enter any of my true loves into contests for fear of this kind of critique- I usually start from scratch and see what pops up) or even if I had not read the other critique first, which helped soften the blow. What I did do, was laugh through the entire critique. I laughed partly because it sounded ridiculous to me- the author said my story made no sense and I sounded like a crazy person! That is so specific and gives me real points to work on! (I'm still laughing a little). But I laughed also because the author seemed to be trying to be extra mean, for reasons known only to him/her.

I can just see some smug person who has been published, looking down his/her nose at some amateur entrant in a short story contest and thinking about how to crush them. Or perhaps his/her motives are more to prepare that naive person for the realities of publisher critiques or reader critiques. That may be giving him/her too much credit, but I can see how someone might think that way. In either case, the critique was not useful to me in any way. There was nothing for me to work on and the comments seemed written specifically to injure. How am I supposed to take the score of 1 our of 5 he/she gave me seriously?

This hasn't deterred me from future entries. I can take a punch. I just wish the punch were more specific and less mean. I'm wondering if this person was one of those nasty kids... I may never know.

Grandpa

Memorial Day hold a special place in my heart. My grandpa died on Memorial Day five years ago.

I was very lucky and knew my Grandpa VanderZand very well. He and Grandma lived less than 3 miles from us when we were growing up. She died when I was in my mid twenties but Grandpa lived until I was 32. He was 90.

The day my grandpa died was just another day at first. I had the day off of work and was helping my friends, who had gotten married two days before, move their things into storage before they took a month honeymoon and then returned to stay with me for a few weeks before moving to WI for grad school. I was driving down Burton toward Calvin college (just a couple blocks from the house my husband's parents live in, although he and I weren't dating at the time). My mother phoned me and I answered while driving. I no longer answer the phone while driving for any reason. She told me that my grandpa had died. I must have scared my friend Alexis because I swerved out of the left lane and pulled into the nearest driveway, which happened to belong to one of the houses I admire most in Grand Rapids. I began to cry as soon as the car was stopped and remained on the phone with my mom only a few seconds longer.

His death came as a surprise to us. You would think that we would have expected it since he was 90, but he came from a family of long livers. His brother died later that week at 92 and his sister had lived to be over 100. Grandpa still lived alone and had no assistance in his living. He could still do all the things he needed, still had full use of his mind and body. He was a little stiff, suffered from emphysema, but didn't need oxygen regularly, and was fairly fit for his age. One of his favorite things to do when he would meet someone for the first time was to ask them how old they thought he was. Unless they had a reference point, like my dad standing there, they would guess up to 25 years off! He looked great!

My grandpa was always either laughing, talking politics sternly (the only Democrat among a family of Republicans) or tearing up a bit at the memory of my grandmother, whom he loved dearly. My grandpa was also the spiritual patriarch of the family. He and Grandma were the first Christians in their families and they lived out that life as an example for all their children and grandchildren- and for my grandpa, two of his great grand children.

My husband and I have a ritual of praying in bed just before sleeping. Last night, he prayed not only for our unborn child, but for the grandchildren and great grandchildren and any descendents we would have. I began to cry a bit, partly because I am pregnant, but partly because I wondered if my grandpa had prayed for me from the time they were expecting my father. I bet they did- Grandpa was a praying man.

The rest of that first Memorial Day, I spent with my friends. I worried that I was putting a damper on their day as they had just gotten married and were looking forward to a honeymoon. I called my best friend, who came to spend time with me that night, who knew my grandpa and loved to talk about her favorite "cute, little, old man." I needed to be around people and my friends were wonderful. I discovered that my grandpa had died of a heart attack in his sleep in the early hours of Memorial Day. He was expected at my parents' house for dinner that day- everyone in the family was there except for him and me. When he didn't show up, they called his house. When he didn't answer, they though he might not have his hearing aid in (bad habit he had). No one ever thought he might be hurt or dead. My dad and aunt went to the house to see what was up and my dad found his dad in bed. He wouldn't let my aunt in until he had adjusted my grandfather a bit- he looked like he had been pinched, was in a position of feeling pain, and my dad didn't want that memory in my aunt's head. They then called the police and then family.

Memorial Day is a day to remember those who gave themselves for us. My grandpa was in the army in WWII, but that isn't his greatest gift to us. His greatest gift was that he gave himself first to God and then to his family. He loved and prayed for every single one of us and was loved by all of us. I remember my grandfather often, but especially this weekend.

Maternity

So, I had a pregnancy dream last night. I'm 18 weeks along today and this was my first real maternity dream, although it didn't actually have a baby in it.

I was walking through a department store of some kind. It had really high ceilings like a Bed, Bath and Beyond, with stuff on the walls ranging significantly higher than my 5'3" would allow me to reach. I went first to what I thought was a wall of car seats, but when I got close up they were really booster seats and washing tubs. I was approached by a sales person, but moved on toward the maternity clothes section.

I have never been a big clothes shopper; partly because I hated my body for a very long time and wanted to hide it in bulky wear, not knowing that those things just made me look bigger and less shapely than I actually am. I was also never into dresses and skirts until I reached my mid twenties and found that they were so very comfortable! Now, I dress cute and comfy and for my body type (although, I will admit that some of my skirts should be shorter to underplay my lack of height) and kind of like it, but still don't like shopping that much.

When I reached the maternity clothes in my dream, I walked about 2/3 of the way down the first row and saw the cutest shirt ever! It was a salmon-ish floral-ish lacy pattern with a scoop neck, ruching on the sides and a slight elastic at the bottom (for under the belly). I picked a large off the rack (which was notated "MNLG") and went looking for some slacks, as I need some for work. As I was walking down the rows, I took the shirt off the hanger and laid it on top of another rack of clothes. I think I was trying to rearrange things in my arms. When I turned around to pick it up, the shirt was gone. Not only that, but the entire display of those shirts was no longer in the place I though it was!

I spend the entire rest of my dream, which seemed very long, looking for this shirt. I asked for help from a couple staff members of the store and they tried to find the display, but couldn't. I walked through other departments and people asked me questions about sheet and automobile parts because they thought I worked there. I walked through changing rooms where women were modeling their maternity outfits for their entire family and friends, like you might with a wedding dress or if you are on a TLC show. I also passed the same woman several times as she shopped for maternity clothes. She wanted to buy two years worth because she planned to have another baby right away. The staff person helping her told her not to get ahead of herself because styles change and she was thinking that the woman might not have a second child. That woman had a room full of clothes!!! I mean, the size of my bedroom completely stuffed with hanging clothes. I thought maybe she took my shirt and wouldn't need it with all the other stuff she was trying on.

I never found the shirt.

This is one of a weeks worth of anxiety dreams I have had this week. My mother-in-law commented on facebook that I am so confident when awake that maybe my dreams release my underlying apprehensions. I'm not sure. Most of my anxiety dreams are centered on work, which is funny because I have worked at the same company for 13 years, have changed stores as many times, have worked in 4 states, and know my job so well I can do it on auto pilot. I almost never feel nervous at work. I have lost my passion for my job over the past two years as I look forward to soon quitting and being a full time wife/mother, but I don't feel anxious. Yet, I have many, many dreams about work and being out of control.

This dream was kind of pleasant, even if it was full of an unsuccessful search. I enjoyed looking at the women and the clothes and even interacting with the people who thought I worked at the store. I enjoyed the search, although it came up empty. But I guess I would still constitute this as an anxiety dream. Maybe because I have to buy some maternity pants in real life.