BeRightBack.

The Oklahoma wildflowers are finally in bloom, waving their white flags of a passed Spring ('11).
On these days, where the seasons start to shift, I can't bring myself to spend a second longer than I need to doing anything but my list of lazy Summer promises: watering holes, picking flowers, cut-offs, watermelon, patio nights, the hammock, bare feet, and my garden.

I will be right back. For now, I need a few more days to give proper welcome to Summer 2011.

Here's to you.




PS, Melissa over at Dear Baby is on a little break from her blog to enjoy these first sweet weeks with baby Arlo, and is featuring a few guest posts. I blogged over there, last week: Life With Elodie.

It takes a village.

When Michael and I started our life together, we knew that being close to our family was a priority.
In my family's culture, it's not uncommon for Grandparents to actually live with their children, and help them raise their own. When I was younger, the 6 of us - My Mom & Dad, Grandma & Grandpa, my sister and I all lived together. Sardined in University Housing apartments, as my Dad attended college. The sound of the train running through the heart of town is still a memory I feel in every part of me. After we moved out, we moved to a tiny 2-bedroom home on Berry Street. The house is long gone - torn down years ago to make room for half a million dollar homes. But when I drive past that part of town, I always remember our little house.
Set on a large plot of land, it backed up to the creek. We had a cherry tree, a fence covered in grape vines, and a huge garden. We also had two large white rabbits that kept me company, and a couple chickens and a rooster (before Grandpa ate it).

Our neighbor was Mister Powers. That's what our (barely English speaking) family called him. Dad was in school, submerged in the language. Mom was....not as great with hers :) Grandma and Grandpa only left the house to go with us on trips to the lake, picnics, and camping trips. So their English language never grew. And my sister and I were still speaking our first language - Farsi. In pre-school we started to learn our second language - English.
I think about Mister Powers, an old farmer. In his plaid shirt, white hair, and glasses, walking with a cane. Every farmer and 80 year old man I see is Mister Powers, to me now. 25 years later, his memory is still a print on a portion of my mind. I wonder if it made him laugh to see us....odd and brown, in the middle of a town picking chicken eggs and backyard farming. Sometimes I think that's what he liked about us. And the fact that those words, the sound... the sound of his name, on our unfamiliar tongues....mister powers, were our first words.

Together, we lived in that house on Berry. A strong unit, where one of us fell short, the other stood tall. And there, I learned what a babysitter was. I learned that it really does take a village to raise a child, and our village was family.


When we decided to have children of our own, I knew that I wanted my own little village to raise this child. There are things only I can offer Elodie, as her Mother. But there is another world of opportunity, learning, and love she will receive from my decision to go back to work part-time.
Every woman chooses what is best for her family, and that is a personal choice that no one is allowed to judge. I have never felt guilt over what I have decided to do for her, and us.


And on Thursday, I went back to work.

On my last day home with Elodie, I wished for peace. For leaving her, for my sanity. I wished for sleep, a calm baby, and learning to balance the new change that was about to wash over our family, like a changing tide.

Instead, Elodie woke up on the wrong side of the bed.

For three days and nights, the three days and nights before I went back to work, she was up all night, screaming during the day, and demanding to be held. It wasn't like the Elodie I really know in our quiet moments. Watching the birds fly over her, closing her eyes in the breeze. My baby finds peace in her heart, easily.

And she cried, and cried, and cried. And I cried. And begged. And nursed her and rocked her, wore her all day, sang her her favorite songs, showed her the new blooms in the garden. Still, she cried, and she didn't sleep. And I cried.




On my last day home, I took her to visit Grandma, and find my own peace in my heart.

She fed me hot tea, dried fruit & nuts, saffron rice&chicken...trying carefully to hide the chicken underneath the rice. Insisting it was good for my milk, insisting that I hated meat from the time I was a little girl. We laughed as we remembered Grandpa in his "babysitter" days.
He watched me during the day, and one day, as he tried to feed me some of his meal - dried chunks of meat and bread, I demanded as much as a 3 year old really can - "so you're some kind of babysitter, now?" Then he taught me a lesson - my Grandpa, always one of my fist teachers of life. He said, "this comes from the chickens in the backyard."
For years, I struggled with my relationship with eating meat. And even though Mom and Grandma are still pissed that he taught me a hard lesson of life so young, I was never angry at him. He was indeed, just teaching me life...and he wasn't such a bad baby sitter, after all.

25 years later, my Mom and Grandma still throw their voices in a high pitch, and repeat this, as we laugh and remember our tiny house on Berry Street. Mister Powers. The chickens.



The day before I went back to work, Grandpa split open a watermelon for us to share, as they told stories of life in Iran - watermelon and bread for dinner some nights.
I watched Grandma with Elodie, amazed by a woman who reared babies in a time and place of little resource. Still showing her innate ability to calm a baby in no time flat, I have been photographing her doing this quite often. One day I will show Elodie and she will learn the story of Aubibi-Bozorg, Great-Grandmother.



Grandpa ate his lunch by the South window, where he always sits in the sun. Bits of dried meat, and bread. Twenty five years later, an 88-year-old man is still a creature of extreme habit.



The drapes danced in the late Spring breeze.



We looked at old photos, and found this one of my parents in Germany, right before they moved to the states in '78.



Grandma, and my Mom.



A photo my Dad took of my Mom, on one of their little dates to the Caspian Sea.



....and our house on Berry Street. It catches my breath in my chest, to see the orange drapes under that window. Only a child, I realize the photo I am holding is just the way I remembered it...always printed on a piece of my mind. Every day I would rush behind the curtain to find the eggs that Moghky-joon (darling chicken) had left for me.

And in that photo, I was in the lap of my second babysitter. My teacher.
While Grandpa taught me about the parts of life that stung my skin with their reality, Grandma taught me to find love. "Chouk-Chouk, Chouk-Chouk," she called after the hens as she threw handfuls of rice and bread for them to eat.




She is holding Elodie in her lap, and somehow, she is fast asleep. For me, on my last day home before I went back to work, she cried. And cried. And cried. And I cried.
Today, she is fast asleep on Grandma's lap as she tells me a story.


After my sister was born, they left Iran to come live in tiny University housing and become a village, so they could all raise that child. And when my Uncle needed them, they left everything they knew for a second time to become his village.
In Nigeria, Africa, where my Uncle was living with his wife and two babies, they lived in a small house next to the jungle. Grandma still feels her own stings on her skin, telling me how terrified they were of where they lived. On the edge of a town surrounded by no one they knew or could communicate with, they were sandwiched between Nigeria, and the open jungle. She softens her mouth into a frown and lists the wild animals she would hear at night.

She tells me "Your Grandpa has always been a bad babysitter. One day, after our kids had gone to work, we were home with the babies and I was washing dishes. I asked him to watch them, and before I knew it, they had disappeared." She shoots him an angry glare, and he keeps eating his bread and dried bits of meat. She goes on.

"I found him sitting on the porch in the sun, drinking his tea. And they were gone. I ran into the street after them, terrified that they had gone into town. Even more terrified that they had wandered into the jungle."

She stops, and I watch pain take over her body. She rocks Elodie, and tells me that half a mile down the road, she finally found their shoes. Collapsing into tears of desperation, a little African boy came to her and pointed down the road. No lines of communication between them, she saw hope in his eyes. He ran down the road and came back with my two cousins.

Telling me this story on my last day before I went back to work, Grandma feels gratitude, all over again. She said she ran home, grabbed the little money she had, and took it to the boy. Thirty years after the day she lost her grandchildren to the jungles of Africa, she is still begging her God to bless the little boy who returned them.

My Grandmother, Elodie's Bibi-Bozorg, is the type of woman that loves any child with her entire being. When they hurt, she feels the sadness in every part of her own body. And in happiness, her heart sings to the rhythm of their laughter.






When I got back home, Elodie was calm. We watered the flowers, walked through the garden, and both soaked in the Spring air. Every May, the air in Oklahoma turns thick. And before the wave of heat washes over us and Summer comes, there are a few weeks of absolute bliss.

I spend every evening in these sweet weeks, outside.

The trees bend and warp as our evening thunderstorms and tornadoes roll through the Midwest. There are not many things I love more than the way that feels on my skin. So much that I immediately stripped Elodie down on my last evening, before I went back to work. For the first time, she will feel our late Spring roll through into the heat of Summer - she'll learn that this feels like home.

And instead of finishing my list of things to do before work in the morning (I'm learning To-Don't) we spend the rest of the evening out there. Swinging on the patio, where she fell asleep to that sweet breeze, and felt the damp night rolling through on her naked skin.



And I thought about tomorrow.
And if going back to work was right for us.
And in that very second, I remembered our house on Berry Street.

My teachers.

The ones that would teach Elodie, while I work part time to support my family. How could I ever be so stressed about a decision that suddenly seemed so right?


And I realized not only will she be just fine, but she will be even better for it. There are things that as a Mother, only I can give her. But it truly does take a village to raise a child, and I can't take that experience away from her.



She will be in the arms of a beautiful woman with a free spirit and dirt under her fingernails. One who had her picture taken by her best friend, next to the Caspian Sea.



In the arms of a teacher who taught lessons about the reality of life.
And one who would run into the streets of the jungle, crying out for babies so precious they could have been her own.


.....

Thursday I went back to work, and the world didn't end. I felt amazing, put on makeup and a cute outfit, and caught up with clients so dear to me they've become friends almost a decade in the making. I walked to lunch, turned my radio up really loud in the car...and I felt like me, again.

And that day when I came home, Elodie was still waiting for me. On the porch we swung, and it's like we never missed a beat.




When the weekend came, we celebrated our new life. We had friends over and drank beers & wine on the patio, watched the Oklahoma City Thunder in the playoffs, and spent time with family. We went to the first Summer Breeze concert series in the park, and we danced and felt Oklahoma Springtime rolling over our naked skin.



And she didn't cry. And I didn't cry.

And for the last two nights, Elodie has slept.

You can swim through every tide.

Hello, friends.

I want to say that I always appreciate your sweet feedback and comments, but I especially appreciate them on my last post. There were so many wonderful, heartfelt comments in there, and I promise that I do read every single one. Even Michael loves to take time out of the day to sit and read through them all. Unfortunately about 20+ comments went missing on the day that Blogger had the hiccups, so I'm sorry if yours was one of the ones that disappeared.

I also need to address something. It was not my intention at all to necessarily call out or get back at the anonymous comment I received. Although I appreciate everyone coming to my defense, I have incredibly thick skin, and it takes a lot to hurt my feelers :) It was my intent to show that life can go on after you have a baby, and who you are does not have to change. With that being said, I also agree with anonymous, and those of you that suggested that we all do change.



I absolutely have. There are parts of me that are the same, and parts that will never be the same, again. I hope that in the next few weeks, I can be open here and share some of the hard times we have had with Elodie. Because lord knows there were bad days...and sometimes weeks. There is an ugly side to every beautiful story, and our story was no different. Becoming a parent changes you, even if you dig your claws deep and refuse it, kicking and screaming.


I also want to add that I want to continue to keep this blog a place where anyone can come to gather inspiration or find their way. Our monthly visitors are now closing in on 100,000 readers a month, and I know that a lot of you read through the comments as well as my posts. It is so easy to find support, encouragement, and new friendships in the words you all leave here. I would love it if we could all try our best to always be kind, and treat every one else with respect. Not only in the messages you leave for me, but for the ones you leave each other as well. I would hate to ever feel like something I said started a disagreement that could not be handled kindly.



Thank you, friends, and how was your weekend? We spent time with family, shopped, laid out on a blanket and listened to music at Groovefest, and walked some new trails.



I also got to spend a little time working in the yard, and pulled my first handfuls of strawberries and some lettuce from the garden. We are putting a lot of work into our landscaping/the patio this year, so pulling weeds from my veggie beds felt like visiting an old friend. And check out that mess in front of the fence on the right! That is a huge bed of volunteer sunflowers, coming back from last years spilled seeds. I hope that soon, I can find a minute to blog about backyard farming, this year.



And speaking of change, the day after tomorrow I am back at work and my maternity leave is over. This time flew by entirely too quickly, and all day I have been feeling a bit blue about the changes that are to come. But like every other milestone I have reached in my life, I know that this too will transition smoothly and life will go on...with a few extra tears. We can all swim through every tide.



Happy Tuesday, friends.

Life, Lately ...(making room for Elodie)

anonymous asked: I think you wrote way back, when you'd just found out you were pregnant, that motherhood would not change you. You'd still be you, your husband would still be him, you;d still take pictures of lots of things every day...Hmmmm...still feel the same way? Doesn't sound like it :)


Dear anonymous: When you have a newborn, you're exhausted, covered in spit up, living in pajamas, and fighting post-partum hormones... sometimes you don't feel like you. But I can assure you that I am still me, and Michael is still Michael. And of course I still take photos every day! Photography is a decade-long passion of mine, and I don't go one day without my camera in my hand.

When you have a baby, it doesn't mean you will forever lose yourself, and the things you love. The most healthy thing you can do for that child is show them that you have a sense of identity, outside of them. I grew up with two parents who had a world of hobbies, passions, and love for each other.

I guess by reading this comment, I realized that I must have given the impression that something about us has changed. It hasn't. Just because Elodie is here doesn't mean my world turned completely upside down and I lost all sense of who I was. Right now, life is about learning to incorporate Elodie into every part of who we are.
We are continuing to live our life just like we had before...everything just takes a bit longer, and there are a lot more messes :) Life does not have to stop because you have a baby. You can use it as an opportunity to show these precious little sponges what life, and the things you love, are all about.

Here are a few photos from the last 6 weeks.



I am still taking photos every day, of the things I find to be beautiful. Like the tiny dried bits of last years tomato harvest...



...my handsome husband, who I am always creeping on and photographing from behind doorways and hidden in shadows. Until he catches me and flares his nostrils for ten minutes straight so I can't get even one more picture.



The best granola I have ever eaten, brought to me by my friend Megan. Who put together the sweetest after-baby care package for me - yummy acai berry chapstick, lavender soap, yoga pants, home made salsa and granola, all wrapped in brown paper and tied with a rose.



blooming trees...



...and Grandpa :)





A picture a day, so I will never forget these sweet days...



...precious little boys, chasing bubbles in Grandma's sweater.



homework on the back patio, enjoying the lovely Spring weather and sweet, tiny babes.
(and spotting my husbands gorgeous gray hairs)



watching my Mom cook traditional Persian food, and seeing a bowl of chick peas go from nothing to a whole meal.









Barley stew at Grandma and Grandpa's house on my weekly Wednesday visit. She insists it's good for my milk and fills up my bowl about three times after I tell her I'm full.
Then she tells me stories about herself when she was nursing. And how she had enough milk to feed all the babies in their neighborhood. Not only that, but she also fed all the local cats. Then she pours me another bowl of stew, hoping I will attract my own alley cats, while I try not to laugh at the thought of her Mama-catting all those Persian cats.



My Grandma, picking herbs.




Elodie is not a weight that burdens my shoulders or a ball and chain to forever ground me to the confines of sweat pants and daytime tv. She's my daughter, and I want to show her the world. It has taken me 28 years to become who I am, and even though this tiny baby has changed me in ways I never knew she could, I am still me, and Michael is still him. To show her the world, from our backyard and farther is something we dreamed of doing from the minute we found out she would be here, in 40 weeks. And so far, we are doing just that.



She goes with us on our walks. Where we will teach her to find beauty in tiny things.





I look down at her and watch shadows dance across her face from the trees. She squints, and sighs, and I know she is content to feel the sun warming her from the outside in.



She is with me in those sweet, sleepy evenings. With beautiful Oklahoma sunsets. I swing with her on the porch as our late Spring thunderstorms start to fill the air with their weight. She's feeling these things for the first time, and I get to be the one to show her that.

We take her to restaurants, festivals, and museums.



And even if she sleeps the entire time, one day she will wake up to find herself in the middle of the life we kept living, even after she was born.



At least twice a week, she comes to watering holes, hiking trails, and along on trips to play disc golf with her Dad.



Sometimes just the three of us go.



I pull little blooms of honeysuckle up to her nose, and she smells something, for the first time. I was love-sick, remembering my own midwest Summertime, as a little girl. Pulling the stems from the honeysuckle and drinking the tiny drop of absolute heaven, before the bumblebees chased me away. Some day she will do this, too. And today, she smelled honeysuckle for the first time.



Sometimes we go with friends.





And while her Dad is busy playing, I show her the way the Cottonwood trees spread tiny specks of snow across the sky. When the light catches them, I think my heart could explode with how perfect those tiny little dots really look.



We took Elodie to her first music festival, and concert. She was surrounded by 30 thousand people, and she slept the entire time.



But I still know that she felt the bass in her fingers and toes...the same way she did when I was pregnant with her. Every night I would put headphones to my belly and feel her dance.



And I know she saw the lights.



I brought her outside with me, while I gardened.



In her little tent in the shade, she waited....



...while I planted seeds, pulled weeds, and picked fresh strawberries from the garden. These days there is not much time to blog about backyard farming, but I still take the time to teach these things to Elodie.



Some days are hard. She cries all day, and I don't brush my teeth until 4 in the afternoon. I can only dream of my garden and sleep is something I don't even remember, anymore. But just like I thought there would be, there are so many good days, too.



All starting with the days that she started to look at me, and smile...and gurgle a sweet laugh from the bottom of her belly all the way to her throat and into my heart.

And when she's feeling extra sweet, she sleeps for 5 hour stretches at night, and naps during the day. Giving me time to feel like me again.



Time to sit alone for a minute with my husband and drink a glass of wine on the patio.



Time to go for a long bike ride for the first time in almost a year without being pregnant. Time to stretch my tired body that has spent 9 months stretching to grow her. It feels like waking up, again.



And time to look through old photos and laugh. To see where Elodie gets bits and pieces of me, even though she's a tiny duplicate of her Dad.
She has my nose, hair, toes, and tiny little string bean legs.


.......


anonymous wrote: I think you wrote way back, when you'd just found out you were pregnant, that motherhood would not change you. You'd still be you, your husband would still be him, you;d still take pictures of lots of things every day...Hmmmm...still feel the same way? Doesn't sound like it :)


Dear Anonymous - Yes, I do still feel the same way.