It’s been quiet here as we all scramble to catch up on work/household chores that fell neglected during our two-ish weeks of storms and power failure. The siblings went back to college and Michael misses them already. I’m glad they were able to be here for his first birthday.
Even though it’s been a week since his party, I still wanted to document it here. Michael’s birthday party was a quiet affair for similar reasons: power outage cleanup and head colds made throwing a large party out of my ability. Plus, Michael chose the week prior to drop his afternoon nap and the transition was difficult for all of us. But I still wanted to make his first birthday something special that he could look at in our photo albums as he gets older.
Using felt and some macrame rope, I stitched together some bunting that matched the colors of his room and went with our Hobbit-themed party. My blanket stitch wasn’t perfect (those pesky corners) but I love the handmade look and Michael doesn’t seem to mind. It now hangs over his window in his bedroom.
I also made him a birthday crown. I’m hoping to keep up the tradition as the years continue, embroidering or felting something on each that reflects an aspect of my child’s interests and loves. For this one, I felted a leaf, a sun, a ladybug, and an acorn — to capture Michael’s love of the outdoors and his curiosity about the world around him.
It was my first attempt at needle felting so it’s a tad rough, but I’m happy with the end product.
Hobby Lobby had some fun woodland themed decorations and I enjoyed putting them around our living room and kitchen. Mushrooms, acorns, hedgehogs, and foxes all helped transform the small space into something magical.
Food was a simple affair, based on some of Michael’s favorites and those that might be found in The Shire. We had cheeses and veggies and fruits and honey cake with blueberries.
Our family crowded into our tiny cottage, and Michael was delighted by all the love and attention. He spent the afternoon ripping tissue paper and toddling from one person to the next, showing off his new books and toys.
He loved every present, as did I — they give me a few minutes of independent play here or there so I can get a few chores done around the house.
Watching him with his birthday cake was probably the best part of the entire day. He loved the candle, and the singing, and the frosting. He also loved demolishing the cake.
I had been struggling with “mom guilt” over having a simple and small birthday party, especially since my original plan had been much more ornate and exciting and involved inviting many friends. But seeing the happiness on his face as he opened gifts and wandered from person to person and smashed cake into every crevice of his high chair, that guilt eased a little. Although his party wasn’t elaborate, the cake was wonky, the house small, and the decorations imperfect…I know he still loved every moment of it.
It’s Michael’s first birthday today, and my heart is full to bursting. I look at him and see the tiny baby I held with love and shock and exhaustion a year ago today, after twenty-seven hours in labor.
I also see a strong and inquisitive and fiery soul with insatiable curiosity and energy, and the gentlest and sweetest spirit. Getting to know him and help shape him as he grows is the greatest privilege and honor I’ve ever had. It is also one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done.
He walks when he wants to, usually for quite a few feet, but is still unsteady so he chooses to crawl more often. His favorite activity currently is emptying things out of containers: toys from his bin, books from the shelves, clothes from the drawers.
His language skills are blooming: he babbles to himself constantly, and his favorite sound right now is “geegogeegogeego”. As well as “bye-bye”, he says “please”, and “up”, and “num” (which means he wants a bite of whatever we’re eating) and can very emphatically say yes and no, with accompanying nods or head shakes.
If he could be outside 24/7, he would be. He is happiest being in the fresh air, whether on a walk around the block or hiking in the mountains.
He’s come to accept church as a second home, and is comfortable enough to crawl wherever he desires, keeping both me and his godmother on our toes.
Grandpa still remains his favorite person in the whole wide world. I love watching his relationship with my parents and my grandparents: it’s such a joy and a delight.
He loves music and now plays the piano almost daily, insisting on sitting on my lap and watching my hands move and joining in.
It seems like only yesterday I was in the hospital giving birth — and it also seems like an entire lifetime ago. I haven’t told Michael’s birth story on a public forum yet, and I figured his first birthday was a good time to recount the events leading to his entrance into the world.
If birth stories freak you out, feel free to stop reading past this point. I’m recording it for myself as much as for those who are curious, so I intend to hold nothing back!
On Thursday, January 13th, Jake and I headed to my early morning 39 week appointment. We expected to hear the heartbeat and go home (to continue eating dates, curb walking, drinking raspberry leaf tea, and all the other natural labor augmenting tricks.) But when my OBGYN placed the Doppler against my stomach, we didn’t hear the regular heartbeat rhythm we’d come to expect: it sounded like an extra beat kept getting thrown in, reminiscent of a bad dubstep from the early 2000s. After calling and consulting with another doctor, she sent us over to the hospital to be induced, hoping that the sudden arrhythmia would resolve after birth.
Without any of our prepped bags, we headed over to the hospital around 11 am. I quickly ate a granola bar since I hadn’t had breakfast due to the early appointment time. We were both in a bit of a daze as we filled out the paperwork and made our way to the labor and delivery ward. I wanted both Jake and my mother with me during labor, but due to COVID regulations, my mom couldn’t join us til I tested negative. I was grateful Jake had come along to this appointment — otherwise I would’ve been by myself for quite a while. So we sat and waited as I was poked and prodded (they blew two veins trying to get an IV in me), started on Pitocin, and had a cooks catheter inserted to help with cervical dilation. I was 4 cm dilated and 50% effaced, and the baby was at a -2: a bit too high in my pelvis.
When my COVID test finally came back negative, my mom headed over with all our bags. For the next several hours, I breathed through contractions, rocked on the peanut ball, chatted with the nurses, and watched John Mulaney comedy sketches. Finally, around 11 pm, the Pitocin contractions were at the point where I had very little to no breaks between them, and I had barely progressed since that morning. I also hadn’t been able to pee since the cooks catheter was inserted, no matter how hard I tried, and my full bladder was adding more pain and pressure to each contraction. I realized later the catheter had probably been pressing on my urethra. Due to the discomfort of my bladder and the unceasing Pitocin contractions, I finally agreed to an epidural.
When the epidural was inserted, the anesthesiologist brushed a nerve, and that was probably the most painful part of this entire experience. But once the epidural took effect and the catheter helped me finally empty my bladder, I was finally comfortable enough to doze through the night while they cranked up my Pitocin. I had the kindest night nurse who braided my hair for me so it wouldn’t tangle, and held my hands and prayed with me as the epidural was inserted.
By morning, I hadn’t progressed as much as we had hoped, and I was getting tired and discouraged. This entire time we had also been struggling with monitoring Michael’s heartbeat. They tried Bluetooth monitors, external monitors, and internal monitors — none of them could give us a consistent and steady reading of his heart rate, which concerned everyone. On top of that stress, there was a miscommunication between the nurses and my OBGYN, and I was incorrectly told I should prepare myself for a c-section. Thankfully, that was not the case, but the stress didn’t help our situation.
With the morning also came a new nurse: Lindsay. She was the biggest blessing, and looking back, I’m not sure how I would have done it without her. She was the doula I couldn’t have (due to COVID restrictions). She encouraged me, laughed with me, helped me shift positions and do different movements even with an epidural to engage the baby lower in my pelvis.
Early afternoon I began to feel pain on my right hip, even through the epidural. No amount of position changing or epidural dosage increasing would get rid of it. As it increased, I felt the urge to push. I pushed for two hours, in a primal haze of pain and determination. At one point Jake was speaking to me, and my brain couldn’t understand the words he was saying. I just needed to push, and meet my baby. I had the icon of the Theotokos, our Helper in Childbirth, on my pillow (given to me by my wonderful friend Catie) and I rested my forehead on it between pushes, the Jesus Prayer the only words I could formulate in my head.
Lord Jesus, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.
Finally, he was crowning, and the OBGYN came in to help deliver him. I had been pushing this entire time on my hands and knees, and I had to switch to my back for the delivery (Still not the happiest about that.) At this point, I believe my epidural was wearing off. I could feel intense pressure. Lindsay locked eyes with me and helped coach my breathing through the last pushes, and then the pressure gave way to sharp pain as he was finally born at 4:45 pm. He came out with his hand up by his head, which might explain both the hip pain and the second degree tearing I experienced. To this day, he still loves to sleep with his fist by his face.
No visitors were allowed due to COVID, and we spent our first night as a family of three in the hospital. My mom came back the next morning, and finally we were cleared to go on Saturday evening. The first meal I had when I got home was sushi (oh how I had missed it!) and a glass of my favorite Chardonnay.
His arrhythmia did not resolve after birth, and we had a few appointments with a pediatric cardiologist in the first months of his life that determined he was experiencing premature ventricular contractions. He also had a small septal defect in his heart. Thankfully, both of these things resolved themselves within the first six months of his life, and today he has a clean bill of health.
I’ll never forget watching my parents meet their grandson for the first time, and my siblings their nephew, and my grandparents their great-grandson. I didn’t know love could grow as incredibly and exponentially in such a short period of time, but in just a few short days, I was full of more love than I thought was humanly possible.
Happy first birthday, my sweet boy. May God grant you many years.
Storms continue to rage through Northern California for the second week straight. They are pretty intense, including a tornado warning for our county and some of its neighbors. Pray for safety for us and for our neighbors!
A rainbow during a break in the storm
We’ve had power outages on and off all week due to the gale and flood warnings. It’s been an exercise in flexibility for our family. We never know if we will wake up warm with the preprogrammed coffee pot brewing, or to a dark and chilly house with no running water. It’s been pretty stressful, especially with a rambunctious almost one-year-old. Both Jake and I work remotely too (him full-time, me part-time) and the lack of power and internet has added to the stress. Thankfully, both our employers are understanding.
My best friend joked that we’re living like pioneers. We have our bathtub full of nonpotable water for toilet flushing and miscellaneous cleaning, and a few five gallon jugs full for drinking, cooking, and teeth brushing. I have new respect for the labor it takes to cook, clean, and do basic household functions without the luxury of electricity.
If I’m being completely honest, we’d given up trying to cook three meals a day in a house without electricity. Michael enjoyed the new experience of eating breakfast in a restaurant and charmed the waitresses and cashiers while we got some much needed hot coffee.
During one of Michael’s naps with grandpa, I took advantage of my limited independent time to get started in my garden. There was a lull in the storm and the rain has made the ground wonderfully soft and perfect for leveling as we make baby steps towards the garden I have envisioned.
I assembled two small galvanized steel beds (2×4), laid down some hardware cloth to keep the ground squirrels from interfering with my plans, and filled the beds with soil and compost. The fresh air did wonders for my mind and body (though I was quite sore from all the shoveling and ground leveling).
Thankfully, the power returned as I assembled the last bed. I’m grateful, otherwise I would’ve spent the next few days smelling of sweat and compost.
Muddy knees
I’ve helped in my parents’ garden ever since I was young, but this is my first time really having my own garden. I’m starting out small, but I have grand ideas for this homestead. I have plans for cultivating produce for our kitchen and to preserve, and herbs for food and medicine, and even plants for natural dyes. But one small step at a time.
For a while now I’ve been focusing on making: what can I create with my hands that both gives to me and gives to my community? What small steps can I take to cultivate life and joy? Today, that small step was gardening outside in the rain with my son. Even though it was drizzling and windy, I wanted to transplant my lavender and rosemary to the wind-sheltered beds before their pots got blown over in the storm. We both bundled up and prepared to get muddy. Michael was very excited to help me, and to play in the garden.
I loved watching him explore with his hands and help me pack the dirt around the roots. Even after we had transplanted both the lavender and rosemary, he wanted to stay and toddle around the beds, one hand holding my spade.
We spent a lot of time outside, and I got to see the garden from his eyes. Where I saw ordinary things, he saw magic. He was quite upset when I made him go inside, as the drizzle had become a steady downpour and the wind had picked back up.
Now, as I sit inside and hold him while he has his afternoon rest time, I can hear thunder thrumming low across the horizon outside. The storms are continuing, and in my journal, the plans for my garden wait.
To all of you more experienced gardeners out there: do you have any tips for me? Things to keep in mind as I start to cultivate what I hope will be a lifelong practice?
We have power! It returned to us late Monday night (hallelujah) and is still running (praise God). The high wind and rains continue into next week, so we’re preparing for the worst and have our bathtubs filled, candles ready, and generators gassed just in case we lose power again.
Now that we have power, I’ve been able to focus on other things: specifically, putting up the Christmas decorations and preparing for Michael’s first birthday party. I initially wanted to have it be a large party with friends from all over, but another nasty bout of illness has been jumping between my family members and I don’t think it would be wise to host a party. So we’re keeping it small — just family — but there will be plenty of pictures, and time to celebrate with friends at a later, less infectious date.
I’ve also been taking time to intentionally think about the upcoming year. Many people like to choose a word at the beginning of the new year: a word to guide their intentions and help them navigate the coming months. I haven’t chosen a word for 2023, but I do have a topic that at the forefront of my mind, and that I will be holding close as I navigate whatever the year brings:
Repair.
Last year, for me, the brokenness of the world felt stark and unavoidable. Wherever we looked, it seemed like we — and everyone we loved — were encountering this brokenness on deeply personal levels, with death or illness or grief or pain or all of the above. As a coping mechanism, I turned to making and found a joy I cannot describe, but still long to share with everyone around me.
Somewhere along the line, we as a society lost our appreciation for the magic of fiber arts. Clothing in particular has become something consumable instead of something precious. Over the past few decades, we’ve seen the quality of clothing decline, the norm now cheap polyester with a short lifespan instead of garments that last years.
When you put your own labor into a garment, you realize that the end product is something precious instead of something disposable. This has brought me to a new appreciation of a lost art: mending.
Our society has forgotten the beauty of repair. When a button falls off or a seam rips, we tend to treat the item as ruined instead of fixing it. Instead of seeing things as valuable, we see them as consumable and replaceable. It’s easier to dispose of something instead of invest in it.
I owe the seeds of these realizations to the sisters who wrote Mending Life, my new favorite book on mending. Not only does it teach practical steps for mending garments, it also offers beautiful thoughts and meditations on the practice of mending and how it can change both us and the world around us. They also have an excellent Etsy shop with gorgeous prints, stickers, and zines.
In their book, they talk about mending as an act of healing. I used to hesitate to mend my garments. Patches are obvious, and I’m not a skilled seamstress so they never look quite perfect. Plus, it’s easy to go out and buy new jeans instead of taking the time to patch an old pair. But their discussion of mending as healing transformed patches in my mind. Instead of being unkempt, they’re now a physical manifestation of brokenness made whole. They’re an opportunity for art.
The practice of repair is applicable to all facets of life, not just clothing. People and relationships have also fallen victim to the disposable mindset, with “cancel culture” being one example. People are precious — when mistakes are made, feelings hurt, or relationships are broken, often it’s worth the time and energy and dignity of repair.
I’ve found the practice of repair especially important as a parent. As I stepped into motherhood, my own flaws and brokenness became even more glaringly apparent. My favorite book on parenting, The Power of Showing Up, talks about the importance of repair in a different sense. The authors Daniel Siegel and Tina Payne Bryson are under no delusions: they know parents will fail their children. We will yell, or snap, or make the wrong decision, or fail to meet our child’s needs. It will happen, no matter how hard we try to be perfect. The important thing is how we respond after we have failed our children: we apologize. We reconnect. We communicate. We repair.
Embracing mending fosters a lifestyle that embraces our brokenness and also embraces making things whole again, whether through fabric and thread or repentance and forgiveness.
Mending helps us answer the question: what can we do when faced with the brokenness of the world? We transform our suffering into something beautiful. We trim the fraying edges, thread our needles with our most beautiful thread, and take the hole or rip or tear and make it into something beautiful.
New Year’s Eve was a fun-filled evening of games and cocktails and dancing with my siblings and some friends. We laughed and played games while the storm outside pounded against the windows. Our power flickered a few times, and then finally by 9:30 pm, it went out completely. We continued our party by candlelight and Bluetooth speaker. Even when it was still out after our midnight countdown and most of our guests had left or crashed on the couch, we were unperturbed. We assumed it would be back on by the morning.
We assumed wrongly.
On New Year’s Day we woke to find a huge branch from our neighbor’s eucalyptus tree blocking the driveway. Thankfully we could get around it through my parents’ driveway, so we got in the car to try to make it to church, but after our third time being rerouted due to flooding, we turned back and went home.
Michael enjoying himself in the Starbucks parking lot
We got warm food and coffee from the Starbucks a few miles away from home and decided to wait it out until our power had been restored. My dad and Jake cut the fallen eucalyptus branch so we could move it, and we could hear chainsaws and generators being used up and down the street as others did the same with the debris from the storm.
In the mid-afternoon, we went for a walk around the block to assess the damage. The new year definitely began with a bang: that bang was the sound of a tree taking out the power for our entire block.
The freeway was cleared later that afternoon (so thankfully our guests could return home), but the damage from the storm was more serious than we’d realized. The flooding we had seen from our car on our attempted trip to church was just the beginning.
My sister snapped these from the car window later in the day when the freeway had been cleared
We layered up against the chill and ate soup all together for dinner.
The candlelight was cozy and warm, even though our cottage temperature had dropped into the 50s. Jake and I played card games after Michael fell asleep, and I knit a little by candlelight with a glass of wine. It was a beautiful night, despite the unexpected inconvenience.
By the morning of January 2nd, there still was no update on when our power would be restored. Thankfully we have gas stoves, so cooking hasn’t been an issue, and we have been sporadically sharing generators to keep our fridges cold enough to preserve our food. The real complicating factor is water. All three houses on the property have wells with electric pumps, so without power, we have no running water.
We spent most of Monday running errands since our home temperature had continued to drop into the low 50s and we have a wriggly little boy who doesn’t enjoy wearing layers.
Enjoying breakfast at Black Bear Diner
We decided to stop by my favorite used bookstore. I picked up some board books, a set of Beatrix Potter books, and a set of A.A. Milne Winnie the Pooh books for Michael. For myself I got some incredible vintage knitting books by Barbara Walker and some Agatha Christie mysteries. It looks like tonight we will be reading by candlelight as the storm continues.
Because of the fallen trees and the severity of the flooding, our county declared a state of emergency and the power company’s work crews are spread thin as they repair all the damage done by the storm. As of writing this, we still have no estimated restoration for our power.
If anything, this adventure has strengthened my resolve to turn our small cottage into a more self-sufficient homestead. But for now, we press on, make a list of all the things we’d like to have ready for next time, and do the best with what we have.
Prayers appreciated as we navigate this adventure!
The end of the year is one of my favorite times. I love looking back through the past twelve months and seeing how we’ve grown and changed. I’ve had a habit of turning on Regina Spektor’s New Year and reminiscing through the months that have passed while planning and praying for the months to come.
It’s a bit different for 2022. So much has happened. I wasn’t quite sure how to write about it all. We already have the monthly chronicles of Michael as he grew. Much of my life is summed up by his milestones at the moment, as I stay at home to tend to him.
I was looking back through my Ravelry projects for 2022 and discovered I had finished more than I realized. It’s amazing how different projects brought me straight back to the time I was knitting them. It’s as though I was weaving time and memories along with the yarn and thread.
So to reflect on the past year, I’ve decided to chronicle my different creations and describe what was going on in our lives as I worked on each of them.
January began with me finishing my first pair of socks, for myself. It was my first finished project after Michael’s birth, and much of it was knitted as I nursed him or held him sleeping against my chest. When I had Michael, I was certain my knitting days were behind me. I thought that sleepless nights and motherly duties would keep me from creating things, but I was mistaken. Motherhood has only enhanced my creativity and my joy in making. My time is limited, but my abilities have expanded.
In March, I completed a cowl and began a more complex project — a shawl — which I finished in April. In full honesty, much of this project is a blur. It was during these months that I realized I had postpartum depression, and that I needed help from my family, friends, and a little blue pill to get out of the fog and the darkness. I remember numbly moving through the motions of knitting the same way I was numbly moving through the motions of life. Watching a shawl grow from my needles was a physical reminder that the inertia I felt would not last forever. Beauty and goodness were still around me, even if I couldn’t see or feel them. Now when I wear it, I’m reminded of those who love me, and those who were there for me in some of my darkest times.
In April I also began and finished my first garment: a blouse. It was a quick project but was my first time pushing out of my comfort zone. After completing this blouse, I realized I could attempt more challenging patterns — even with my sleep deprivation and the chaos of our living situation, this was a place I had agency. As I began to understand and settle into my new role as a mother, I was discovering new skills I didn’t know I had.
In May, I shifted some of my making focus towards sewing instead, as I needed new clothes to fit my changing body. As someone who has struggled with body image throughout my life, I wasn’t sure how I was going to navigate the changes that came with pregnancy and postpartum. Instead of agonizing over clothing sizes or trying to fit into my pre-pregnancy outfits, I decided to make my own clothing to fit my body where it was at that time. I made a blouse and a skirt, and still wear them both often.
I was putting the finishing touches on my skirt when we got the news that my uncle Leonard had passed away. I remember sitting outside with my seam ripper and my skirt on my lap, undoing a seam and feeling like a part of my heart had been hollowed out. My Uncle Leo was like a grandfather to me. He and my Aunt Nita had been there at all my life events, from piano recitals to my wedding. I’m grateful for the many fond memories we have, like sitting at Starbucks together at Christmas time with ridiculous amounts of whipped cream on our drinks while my mom and Aunt Nita did the Christmas shopping. He would entertain me and my siblings with stories of his mother, or his childhood, or his poodle Fluffer-Loo. He was always telling stories and making us laugh. He had the most contagious laugh.
At the end of May I knit my first color work project: a hat for my mother with mosaic knitting. I have fond memories of this project: often I would sit out under the pomegranate trees while Michael napped or stared up at the sunlight through the leaves, and I would knit beside him as we both soaked up the sunlight and delighted in the smell of the orange blossoms.
In June I began my next pair of socks for my husband, and I’ve already dedicated an entire blog post to the revelations I had while making them. Socks still aren’t my favorite to knit, but I’ve grown a new appreciation for them. Humble work is still good and beautiful work.
In July, I made Michael some socks from the leftover yarn — father and son have matching pairs.
The beginning of August brought much of my making to a standstill when we were all shaken by my uncle David’s unexpected death at age 49 due to a ruptured pancreas. He was my godfather, and I remember him often in my prayers. He had a great sense of humor, and was an earnest man who loved me dearly. When I look back on the month, I remember blistering heat and scorching grief, numbly going through the motions of preparing our second funeral of the year. Midway through the month I cast on some new projects for solace and an outlet.
The end of August and beginning of September I made a few Christmas presents: a vest for Michael and a pair of gloves for my sister. Seeing them wear them on Christmas Day has enforced my love of handmade gifts.
In September, we lost another family member: our beautiful niece Mabel, stillborn. Neither Jake nor I were able to attend the memorial because of family illness, but we ask our niece in heaven to pray for us daily. I still have the bonnet I knit her, wrapped in tissue paper, in a drawer.
When I make gifts for people, I pray for the recipient throughout the making process. Each stitch is a physical symbol of the prayers running through my mind and my fingers. I take comfort in knowing one day I will meet the little girl I prayed for, and who prays for us.
In October, we finally got to call our little cottage home. The moving chaos was punctuated by my maternal grandmother being hospitalized. We had some very scary days where we weren’t sure what would happen. She is still on her journey back to health.
I finished two projects sitting in my chair by the window, like I had imagined from the beginning of this whole moving process. One was a blue jacket for Michael, the other a pair of mittens for one of my nieces.
November brought with it blustery days and dropping temperatures, absolutely perfect for knitting as we settled into our new home with its new routine. I finished my first ever sweater for myself, a bread blanket for my sister in law, and a Thanksgiving sweater for Michael.
My paternal grandmother was hospitalized for influenza before Thanksgiving, and my dad flew out to spend time with them when she was home in December. I poured all my knitting energy into gifts, specifically Jacob’s sweater. I finished on Christmas Eve with a few hours to spare.
Even with all of our family’s grief and health scares, as winter gently tucked the gardens to sleep I feel as though we too entered into a sort of hibernation. Things were quieter as we stayed home and healed from the events of the year. The holidays brought their usual chaos, but it was delightful chaos: friends and family came to visit, and Michael enjoyed all the Christmas lights and presents.
I have a few items on my needles that I’m working on as 2022 draws to a close. A mosaic colorwork cowl I’ve been dreaming of knitting since I saw the pattern on Ravelry, and a few gift knits too.
2022 taught me how to create beautiful things despite the tempests of life. It taught me how to grow with grief grafted on to me, and to embrace suffering as growth while also keeping my gaze fixed on eternity. It also brought with it indescribable joy: motherhood and homesteading and time with family.
Happy New Year to all — may 2023 be a year of light and laughter, and may we respond with grace and holiness to whatever it brings us.
five acres four generations 