I wrote this a while ago and wasn't sure whether to post. Well, now even more people I know are pregnant and this is an important part of my life, so I will share....
With one of my closest friends expecting her third baby and a friend here in Bangkok pregnant with her first, pregnancy has been on my mind. No, we are not planning on a fifth, just reminiscing on the past. Both of these friends are interested in natural childbirth. When I was pregnant with Eris, I read the advice that reading lots of childbirth stories would help prepare so I would have a better idea of what to expect. Someone gave me a book of birth stories which was a fun read but didn't really prepare me. Each story was very different from the others, and each of my own four birth stories are radically different. Everyone should just expect each birth to be different from anything they've ever heard of; that's the best way to be prepared.
As a rising third year medical student, I knew the basics of labor but had not experienced many deliveries. I also had read quite a bit about giving birth and practiced the Bradley method of relaxation. I was actually very terrible at relaxing, but thought that in the "real thing" I would do better - ha! I knew that most labors do not begin with the water breaking (supposedly Hollywood often depicts it this way, but I didn't know as I don't watch many movies). I expected contractions to begin far apart and so mild that I barely noticed them. I would have time to pack my bag, go on a walk with my husband, maybe eat a light meal before the contractions started becoming uncomfortable. I had taken a major medical school exam (USMLE Step 1) at 38 weeks pregnant and had been anticipating the birth any day after that. I had made up my mind that the baby was going to be born after the due date, so was not anticipating going into labor on this particular day which was the day before the due date.
Philip and I were staying at my parents house for the summer. I had wanted to have the baby in the States, as it was my first and I was more comfortable with the medical system and language. I also wanted to be with my mom, although she would have come to Israel for the birth if I had requested. This particular morning, Philip was working in the front garden while I relaxed in the soft green grass. My mother was away grocery shopping. Philip somehow managed to lift a garden rock in a way that tweaked his back. He suddenly cried out in pain and couldn't stand up or talk. I thought he was having a heart attack. I started sobbing and trying to lift him up. He finally managed to pull himself up on the nearby truck, and I was able to help him into the house with him trying hard to to lean too heavily on me. I had just gotten him to the couch just inside door and sat down beside him when a pain nearly doubled me over. I couldn't speak, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't even cry. I didn't immediately tell Philip, as he was in pain himself, and I thought maybe it would be an isolated event. Before I had much time to hope that would be the case, another pain came, just as bad. I told Philip that I thought that I was in labor; he looked at me in disbelief. He couldn't walk, so in between contractions I him a cane we had in the house from my brother's twentieth birthday (the age of becoming "old" as we considered it as children).
With the cane, Philip was able to hobble around the house. He got a watch and timed the contractions - five minutes apart; at this point we were supposed to call the hospital. In the meantime, I went to the bathroom and was pretty certain my water broke. I was dismayed. All of this was not supposed to happen until hours into labor. My mother had a cell phone but couldn't be reached. We called my dad at work and left a message. Philip called the clinic, and they instructed us to come in. A few minutes later, they called back and told us to go straight to the hospital. Philip tried to gather all the supplies that I had planned to pack during early labor. He just threw things into a bag. I gave reminders as I could from the couch. As my mom pulled in the garage, Philip met her with a cane in one hand, an unzipped and overflowing overnight bag over one shoulder, camera bag over the other hand. He told her we needed to get the hospital as I was in labor.
My mother is very practical and stable. She is not one to rush into things. She calmly unpacked the groceries and then started slicing potatoes for the soup she had planned for supper. She explained that she wanted to have supper in the crockpot in case the labor proved a false alarm. It seems funny now, but then all I could think was that she was crazy. In her defense, she had no idea how uncomfortable I was and probably thought that my contractions were pretty mild. Finally she got the potatoes in the pot, so in between contractions, Philip with cane in hand, helped me to the car. I had to stop for a contraction on the way and afterward promptly threw up all over the garage. At least it wasn't in the car.
There is a road in my hometown that is made up of large concrete blocks. When it was made, it was thought that it would be simpler and cheaper to replace one block at a time as needed rather than repave the whole road for each little crack. I have always loved that road; it is the signal that I am almost home, no matter how far I have come. When I was little, the gentle bump, bump of the road would wake me when arriving home late at night. Now this same road was torture; during a contraction every bump jarred me horribly and made me feel nauseous. I wanted my mom to drive slowly but I wanted to arrive at the hospital sooner rather than later.
My mom dropped us off at the front entrance and then went to park the car. Philip and I foolishly thought that since the clinic had told us to go ahead to the hospital that they would have informed the good people at the hospital. We thought that someone would be expecting us and waiting to whisk us up to labor and delivery, so we were a little taken aback when the lady at the welcome desk asked us what she could do for us. Philip announced, "We're having a baby!" The lady smiled politely and didn't know what to say. Then she looked over at me, double over and panting through a contraction and said, "Oh, you mean now?!"
Tuesday, April 28, 2015
Saturday, April 25, 2015
Not in the United States...
Life here feels normal (and it is to those who live here); many days, I forget how different Thailand is from the United States. Then, all of a sudden, something or somethings will happen to remind me. Just the other day, I had three occurrences that would not have happened in the United States.
The first was on the way to visit a Thai preschool for Hollis. She has a great opportunity to attend a little school where no one speak a single word of English. Well, I think one boy actually knows how to say, "My name is..." which is the way Thai people try to ask, "What is your name?", but that's the extent of English ability. We learned of the school from Jeab (a neighbor who comes over sometimes to help us learn Thai) whose son Beum attends. When we walked over to her place to ask directions to the school, she immediately called a friend to come take us there - on a moped. While a moped is not a particularly safe mode of transportation, I did not feel that I could graciously decline without potentially damaging our friendship. In cases such as this, Philip and I have decided the right thing is to go along with whatever it is we feel is culturally appropriate and trust God to take care of us. I did, however, act as an overprotective, crazy "farang" (white person) and run home to get a helmet for Hollis.
While I was filling out paperwork for Hollis to start preschool, I was reminded of another Thai particularity. The questions on the form were fairly routine, although they asked for father's income and mother's income separately. Then it asked for number of children in the family, number of boys, number of girls, then Hollis's birth order. That would certainly never be considered on a school registration form in the States. In Thailand status is extremely important and is influenced, among other things, by education, income, age, and birth order. In an upper class family, younger children would be encouraged to call their older siblings Pi___ (like Pi Eris; pi means older sibling) as a sing of respect.
Later that same day, I learned the word for broom - maikwat. More specifically, I learned that the type of broom I was sweeping with was maikwat matphrao, or coconut broom, because parts of the coconut tree are used to make it. How many of you know what plant material went into making your broom?
Then, Philip came up to me to ask if I knew of what material certain decorative objects in our house were made. They are curved in the shape of tusks, and he was curious if they were ivory. It was the last day to register with government currently owned ivory, as after that it would be illegal to possess any ivory that wasn't registered. He felt we should notify the owners of our house so they could register them if they were ivory but did not want to say anything if they were not. After some internet research, apparently, ivory does not burn. Philip heated a small stick of metal on the stove and touched it to an inconspicuous part of the questionable item; it quickly melted a small dent before he took it away. Not ivory.
So while many at first unusual activities have become routine and other daily events are not much different from in the States, we do live in a country where some things are quite dissimilar. I sometimes wonder what will surprise us when we go back to the States....
The first was on the way to visit a Thai preschool for Hollis. She has a great opportunity to attend a little school where no one speak a single word of English. Well, I think one boy actually knows how to say, "My name is..." which is the way Thai people try to ask, "What is your name?", but that's the extent of English ability. We learned of the school from Jeab (a neighbor who comes over sometimes to help us learn Thai) whose son Beum attends. When we walked over to her place to ask directions to the school, she immediately called a friend to come take us there - on a moped. While a moped is not a particularly safe mode of transportation, I did not feel that I could graciously decline without potentially damaging our friendship. In cases such as this, Philip and I have decided the right thing is to go along with whatever it is we feel is culturally appropriate and trust God to take care of us. I did, however, act as an overprotective, crazy "farang" (white person) and run home to get a helmet for Hollis.
While I was filling out paperwork for Hollis to start preschool, I was reminded of another Thai particularity. The questions on the form were fairly routine, although they asked for father's income and mother's income separately. Then it asked for number of children in the family, number of boys, number of girls, then Hollis's birth order. That would certainly never be considered on a school registration form in the States. In Thailand status is extremely important and is influenced, among other things, by education, income, age, and birth order. In an upper class family, younger children would be encouraged to call their older siblings Pi___ (like Pi Eris; pi means older sibling) as a sing of respect.
Later that same day, I learned the word for broom - maikwat. More specifically, I learned that the type of broom I was sweeping with was maikwat matphrao, or coconut broom, because parts of the coconut tree are used to make it. How many of you know what plant material went into making your broom?
Then, Philip came up to me to ask if I knew of what material certain decorative objects in our house were made. They are curved in the shape of tusks, and he was curious if they were ivory. It was the last day to register with government currently owned ivory, as after that it would be illegal to possess any ivory that wasn't registered. He felt we should notify the owners of our house so they could register them if they were ivory but did not want to say anything if they were not. After some internet research, apparently, ivory does not burn. Philip heated a small stick of metal on the stove and touched it to an inconspicuous part of the questionable item; it quickly melted a small dent before he took it away. Not ivory.
So while many at first unusual activities have become routine and other daily events are not much different from in the States, we do live in a country where some things are quite dissimilar. I sometimes wonder what will surprise us when we go back to the States....
Tuesday, April 14, 2015
In Sisters' Arms
One of my favorite things about being a parent is getting to watch my children interact with each other. Going through some old pictures, I found treasures capturing some precious moments. Here is a photo journal of the girls with their newborn siblings....
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| Eris meets Meriel |
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| Sweet sisters |
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| Meriel holds Hollis |
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| Eris with Hollis |
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| Hollis with Simeon |
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| Meriel holds Simeon |
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| Eris holds Simeon |
Saturday, April 11, 2015
When they were young(er)...
I remember the days when I had three nearly completely dependent children. With a newborn, a 22 month old, and a not quite 4 year old, I had to do everything for everyone. My husband would wonder why we could rarely make it anywhere on time. Two in diapers to change, a nighttime pull-up to get off then a last minute attempt at sitting on the potty. Three dresses to put on with buttons or zippers. Then pulling up shorts over fat cloth pull-ups. Wisps of hair to brush and clip barrettes, only to have them slip out (or yanked out) in minutes. Gather each item needed for the outing, packed in the diaper bag. Six sock and four shoes. About to head out the door, when a diaper urgently needs changed, a temper tantrum ensues, a necessary item is missing, a screaming infant. Those days, my children were capable of nothing without my help.
Just a few month later, Eris started pouring Cheerios in bowls (and all over the table and floor) for her hungry little sister when Mommy was still laying in bed with Hollis. Once out of those pull-ups, she could completely dress herself (when the outfit didn't entail buttons or a zipper in the back). Suddenly, I have an independent (well, comparatively so) child!
Fast forward a few years later...ages 7, 5, 3, 1. Three children completely out of diapers, even at night. They all can go to the bathroom by themselves. The can dress themselves; Eris buttons Meriel and Hollis, Meriel zips or buttons Eris. They brush their own or each others hair. I braid, clip, and fix ponytails. I change one diaper, clothe one child (with clothes picked out by a sister), pack a diaper bag with diapers for one. Six sandals on (usually the right feet) independently; two more with help from a sister.
What am I going to do with myself in a few years when Eris can prepare breakfast, Meriel can wash up, Hollis can read, Simeon can dress himself? Treasure the infant years; more craziness ahead!
Fast forward a few years later...ages 7, 5, 3, 1. Three children completely out of diapers, even at night. They all can go to the bathroom by themselves. The can dress themselves; Eris buttons Meriel and Hollis, Meriel zips or buttons Eris. They brush their own or each others hair. I braid, clip, and fix ponytails. I change one diaper, clothe one child (with clothes picked out by a sister), pack a diaper bag with diapers for one. Six sandals on (usually the right feet) independently; two more with help from a sister.
What am I going to do with myself in a few years when Eris can prepare breakfast, Meriel can wash up, Hollis can read, Simeon can dress himself? Treasure the infant years; more craziness ahead!
Thursday, March 26, 2015
A Taste of Love
Eris says that I should write a post on our biscuits. While I was making a quick batch for breakfast this morning, I decided she is right. These simple biscuits cut in the shape of a heart are an essential ingredient in our little family. I assume that the recipe is not unique; there are no unusual ingredients. The baking powder biscuits are simple to make and go with everything from vegetable soup to bacon and eggs. In our house, they can form the staple of a meal or be a dessert. Eris is proud to have joined the generations of women who can mix the dough without looking at the recipe. Little Simeon joins in the clamoring for a piece of dough to snack on. I personally have made these biscuits in three countries, two Native American "Nations," and eleven states. I've made them in electric ovens, gas ovens, over a campfire, and now in my cast iron skillet on my two burner gas stove. They are certainly a family tradition.
Growing up, my mom would make biscuits at least a couple times a week, often to go with Sunday noontime dinner. They became a favorite snack with neighborhood children and visiting friends. The biscuits weren't always in the shape of hearts. That started on my parents first married Valentine's Day; my mom dyed the dough pink and biscuits out with a heart shaped cookie cutter. My dad did not appreciate the food coloring but did like the shape. Somehow, it seems that hearts baked just right and tasted even more delicious than round biscuits. Since then, the biscuits have always been heart-shaped, regardless of the day. When I left home, my mother gave me the correct sized heart shaped cookie cutter so I could continue the tradition. Eris has experimented a little with the shapes - stars around Christmas, "Queen Esthers" (gingerbread shapes) for Purim - but we generally have the hearts.
When I make biscuits, I am connected with my mother, my grandmother, my daughter, my friends with whom I have shared the recipe. I remember making them for Christmas, for sick children, for my husband in our first home, for numerous gatherings. I cherish the memories of sharing a piece of dough with Maiden; she loved to try to catch it and sometimes she would even succeed. I've pretty much made biscuits at one time or another for anyone I've loved and in any home in which I have special memories. These simple six ingredients manage to conjure up the taste of home and love wherever I make them.
In case you want to join my "Biscuit Family" here is the recipe:
4 cups flour
1/4 cup sugar (can add more or less depending on how sweet you want them)
5 tsp baking powder
1 tsp salt
2/3 cup oil (1/2 cup seems to work better in Thailand due to the humidity and extremely
fine flour, I think)
1 cup milk
mix ingredients together, press out dough with your hands to desired thickness (will rise in oven but not as much in cast iron skillet on the stovetop), cut out in heart shapes, bake for 10-15 minutes at 400 degrees Fahrenheit, 200 degress Celsius, 477 degrees Kelvin, or whatever works with the method you happen to be using. Enjoy!
Growing up, my mom would make biscuits at least a couple times a week, often to go with Sunday noontime dinner. They became a favorite snack with neighborhood children and visiting friends. The biscuits weren't always in the shape of hearts. That started on my parents first married Valentine's Day; my mom dyed the dough pink and biscuits out with a heart shaped cookie cutter. My dad did not appreciate the food coloring but did like the shape. Somehow, it seems that hearts baked just right and tasted even more delicious than round biscuits. Since then, the biscuits have always been heart-shaped, regardless of the day. When I left home, my mother gave me the correct sized heart shaped cookie cutter so I could continue the tradition. Eris has experimented a little with the shapes - stars around Christmas, "Queen Esthers" (gingerbread shapes) for Purim - but we generally have the hearts.
When I make biscuits, I am connected with my mother, my grandmother, my daughter, my friends with whom I have shared the recipe. I remember making them for Christmas, for sick children, for my husband in our first home, for numerous gatherings. I cherish the memories of sharing a piece of dough with Maiden; she loved to try to catch it and sometimes she would even succeed. I've pretty much made biscuits at one time or another for anyone I've loved and in any home in which I have special memories. These simple six ingredients manage to conjure up the taste of home and love wherever I make them.
In case you want to join my "Biscuit Family" here is the recipe:
4 cups flour
1/4 cup sugar (can add more or less depending on how sweet you want them)
5 tsp baking powder
1 tsp salt
2/3 cup oil (1/2 cup seems to work better in Thailand due to the humidity and extremely
fine flour, I think)
1 cup milk
mix ingredients together, press out dough with your hands to desired thickness (will rise in oven but not as much in cast iron skillet on the stovetop), cut out in heart shapes, bake for 10-15 minutes at 400 degrees Fahrenheit, 200 degress Celsius, 477 degrees Kelvin, or whatever works with the method you happen to be using. Enjoy!
Tuesday, March 24, 2015
Thunderstorm with Maiden
A couple of nights ago we had our first thunderstorm in several months. After a busy day at the water park, Hollis managed to sleep through it; Meriel and Eris joined us in bed for a few restless, noisy hours. Midnight thunderstorms always remind me of our dog Maiden, who was terribly frightened of loud bangs. During a storm, I would always find her to hold and comfort her. One particular storm I will never forget.
During our transition time of finishing up medical school in Beer Sheva, Israel and getting settled in Terre Haute, Indiana, Maiden stayed at my parents in Oregon. When we found a house to move into in Terre Haute, my parents arranged for her to fly out to us. We had planned it so our first night in the new house was on the day Maiden arrived. We had mattresses on the floor and a few pots from Goodwill; we were ready to start getting settled in our own home. Eris was already asleep and I was getting ready for bed when we started to notice a subtle smell of gas. It was an old home not well kept, so while we really wanted to just ignore it and stay in the house, we knew the smart thing to do was to get out. Philip called the appropriate agencies regarding a potential gas leak while I packed what we would need for the night and got Eris and Maiden into the car. We were fortunate to have not finished the temporary contract with the apartment nearby, so we had a ready place to stay. However, pets were not allowed.
I was sad to have to live Maiden in the car on her very first night in Terre Haute and after a separation of nearly six months. I made sure she had her favorite blanket and some water if she needed, cracked the windows, and hugged her good night. Some time in the wee hours, I was awakened by a loud crash. Rain rushed down in torrents while lightening tore up the sky. I knew Maiden would be terrified. Eris was sound a sleep on a bed of pillows on the floor; Philip was snoring lightly on the bed. I slipped out of the bedroom out to the front porch. From there, I used the unlock button on the key fob to unlock the car doors before dashing through the rain.
Maiden was shaking uncontrollable but was extremely happy to see me. I spent the next hour or so with her, holding her, talking to her, singing, praying. The storm right over our heads, as was a huge, ancient oak. I prayed that the oak would not fall on the car or the house. After a particular loud clap, I thought I should check to make sure Eris was ok and that Philip was not awake wondering where I was. I again hurried through the rain and then tiptoed to the bedroom. Both humans were sound asleep, so I returned to comfort Maiden. I was never so happy to come to the end of a storm. I usually don't mind thunderstorms and even enjoy the display of power and the refreshing rain, but they are better enjoyed from the comfort of a home than the back of a car.
During our transition time of finishing up medical school in Beer Sheva, Israel and getting settled in Terre Haute, Indiana, Maiden stayed at my parents in Oregon. When we found a house to move into in Terre Haute, my parents arranged for her to fly out to us. We had planned it so our first night in the new house was on the day Maiden arrived. We had mattresses on the floor and a few pots from Goodwill; we were ready to start getting settled in our own home. Eris was already asleep and I was getting ready for bed when we started to notice a subtle smell of gas. It was an old home not well kept, so while we really wanted to just ignore it and stay in the house, we knew the smart thing to do was to get out. Philip called the appropriate agencies regarding a potential gas leak while I packed what we would need for the night and got Eris and Maiden into the car. We were fortunate to have not finished the temporary contract with the apartment nearby, so we had a ready place to stay. However, pets were not allowed.
I was sad to have to live Maiden in the car on her very first night in Terre Haute and after a separation of nearly six months. I made sure she had her favorite blanket and some water if she needed, cracked the windows, and hugged her good night. Some time in the wee hours, I was awakened by a loud crash. Rain rushed down in torrents while lightening tore up the sky. I knew Maiden would be terrified. Eris was sound a sleep on a bed of pillows on the floor; Philip was snoring lightly on the bed. I slipped out of the bedroom out to the front porch. From there, I used the unlock button on the key fob to unlock the car doors before dashing through the rain.
Maiden was shaking uncontrollable but was extremely happy to see me. I spent the next hour or so with her, holding her, talking to her, singing, praying. The storm right over our heads, as was a huge, ancient oak. I prayed that the oak would not fall on the car or the house. After a particular loud clap, I thought I should check to make sure Eris was ok and that Philip was not awake wondering where I was. I again hurried through the rain and then tiptoed to the bedroom. Both humans were sound asleep, so I returned to comfort Maiden. I was never so happy to come to the end of a storm. I usually don't mind thunderstorms and even enjoy the display of power and the refreshing rain, but they are better enjoyed from the comfort of a home than the back of a car.
Thursday, March 19, 2015
Compare Yourself to Jesus
I struggle with humility. I have grown up around supportive people who have made sure that I know how wonderful I am and encouraged me to my full potential. Today my husband admires my tenacity and ability to keep the household running while caring for four children. I am the sort of person who knows herself; I know what I want and then set about reaching my goal. I am in a position to be aware of my good qualities. So is it a problem to be praised and encouraged? Should we not lift one another up for fear of introducing pride?
On the flip side, I know of many people who struggle with self worth. They feel like their best is not enough. Close family and friends have criticized and belittled them. They are not self aware; they are unable to fulfill their needs, much less their wants. Should we not attempt to lift them out of their despair for fear of losing humility?
The answer to the above questions of course is "NO!" The true answer in humility lies in not even looking at ourselves. We should feel self assured that we are just as the Lord has made us. We should know that our best is not enough, but that in the Lord, our everything is exactly what He requires, and with that He will do the impossible. When I daily focus on the Lord, He shows me who I am without Him and who I am in Him. Without Him, I compare myself to others; I'm better than my husband in this area, I'm better than my friend in this way. In Jesus, I compare myself only to Him, and, of course, I am never better. Without Him, I feel like a failure compared to another friend or to my husband in another area. In Jesus, I know that He is making me into His image, not that of my friend or husband.
When we encourage one another, let's show each person that God has created them for His purpose and He cares for each of us personally. We should lift each other up and help each person find her place in the body. True humility is not focusing on our shortcomings but rather realizing who we are in Christ and what we can do for His kingdom. We can delight in our reliance on God and feel honored that He has chosen us, allowing God to complete the same work in others' hearts.
On the flip side, I know of many people who struggle with self worth. They feel like their best is not enough. Close family and friends have criticized and belittled them. They are not self aware; they are unable to fulfill their needs, much less their wants. Should we not attempt to lift them out of their despair for fear of losing humility?
The answer to the above questions of course is "NO!" The true answer in humility lies in not even looking at ourselves. We should feel self assured that we are just as the Lord has made us. We should know that our best is not enough, but that in the Lord, our everything is exactly what He requires, and with that He will do the impossible. When I daily focus on the Lord, He shows me who I am without Him and who I am in Him. Without Him, I compare myself to others; I'm better than my husband in this area, I'm better than my friend in this way. In Jesus, I compare myself only to Him, and, of course, I am never better. Without Him, I feel like a failure compared to another friend or to my husband in another area. In Jesus, I know that He is making me into His image, not that of my friend or husband.
When we encourage one another, let's show each person that God has created them for His purpose and He cares for each of us personally. We should lift each other up and help each person find her place in the body. True humility is not focusing on our shortcomings but rather realizing who we are in Christ and what we can do for His kingdom. We can delight in our reliance on God and feel honored that He has chosen us, allowing God to complete the same work in others' hearts.
Humble yourselves in the sight of the Lord, and he shall lift you up.
James 4:10
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