Saturday, November 5, 2016

One Year Later: The Exclusion Policy

One year ago today, my church's new policy regarding LGBT families was leaked. In essence, it says that same sex couples who marry are apostates and must be subjected to a church disciplinary hearing. It further states that the children of homosexual parent[s] in a same-sex relationship (or even who were previously in a same-sex relationship) cannot be baptized, cannot be ordained to the priesthood (just boys, obvs--girls aren't ordained), until they are 18 and "specifically disavow the practice of same-gender cohabitation and marriage." These children are also not permitted to receive a name and a baby blessing (the Mormon equivalent of a Christening).

I cringed even just typing that out; it's so embarrassingly draconian. I remember the night of November 5th a year ago: an article about the leaked policy popped up on Facebook and I read it to Jay as we drove to Costco. I was shocked, disbelieving. In the weeks and months since, I spent hours upon hours reading articles, listening to podcasts, and trying to understand. While I feel I've been able to grasp the apologetics and reasons behind this policy, the fact remains that the gut-punch sensation I felt when I first read it has never gone away. 

I'm not looking to have a discussion about the ins and outs of the policy. I don't feel qualified to say too much about its effects because it hasn't affected me directly. But I will say that I think it is deeply harmful, needlessly inflexible, and fundamentally unchristian, and I do not condone, agree with, or support it. 

As I've looked into some of the sketchy parts of church history, I have viewed controversial (and now repudiated) quotes and practices through the lens that these early church leaders were products of their time. Indeed, the church itself acknowledges this in regards to the former priesthood/temple ban for black members, among other things. Looking at our current leaders through the same lens, however--that they are men influenced by their culture and preconceived notions about the world--seems to be discouraged. Yes, I believe in revelation. I even believe in a living prophet. But I don't believe in infallibility. I think the church can (and does) make mistakes. I believe this policy is one of them. 

In the past, I turned my moral authority over to the leaders of my church: "If the prophet/apostles say it, it must be right." If I did question, I did it under the assumption that I was the one in the wrong. It was easy, in a way, to let the church decide things for me: what God wanted me to do, what my stance was on select political issues, what is right and what is wrong. And while I do still align with the church on many issues, I don't take it for granted anymore that they're always right, especially if it doesn't feel right to me. 

I've reclaimed my moral authority, and I am at peace.

Wednesday, September 14, 2016

Happy Birthday, Drew

Andrew Jayson
Born Tuesday, August 23, 2016 at 7:22 PM
9 lbs, 21 inches long

Kate calls him "The Baby Brother." As in, "Can I hold the baby brother?" She and Jayne both love helping with anything he needs. Currently, Drew's "bed" is a swing just outside our bedroom, and sometimes when I'm sleeping in the morning or taking a nap, Drew will wake up and start to fuss. I often hear Kate's sweet little voice talking to him, followed by silence from Drew. When I get up, Drew is asleep, covered by a fresh blanket, sucking on a pacifier. The small ottoman is pulled over close to the baby swing, and I know Kate sat there, offering the pacifier and watching her brother until he fell asleep.

Jayne calls him "Baby Jew." She loves touching him: "Can I touch a head? Can I touch a ear? Can I touch a hand?"

Jay was talking to a friend and said, "I'm not going to lie: it's pretty great to have a son."

As for me, I'm just trying to memorize the heavy weight of him curled up on my chest, his small, downy head cradled against my neck, his whole hand clenched around my finger. 

And Drew? He really is a little sweetheart: snuggly, easily calmed, and a good sleeper. His skin is covered in peach fuzz and his hair is strawberry blonde. He has scrawny little legs, a flat tush, and a double chin. He's three weeks old today, and it feels like he's been here forever. We love our little guy. 

Thursday, August 11, 2016

The Ghost of Eternal Polygamy: A Review

I recently read The Ghost of Eternal Polygamy: Haunting the Hearts and Heaven of Mormon Women and Men by Carol Lynn Pearson, and a couple of friends expressed interest and asked me to let them know what I thought of it. I'm not much of one for writing coherent reviews, but I will record some of my thoughts because this topic, and this book, are important.

In full disclosure: I do not believe polygamy is or ever was ordained, sanctioned, or commanded by God. It's taken me years to come to that conclusion, and I won't go into my reasons here (there are a great many). Carol Lynn Pearson shares this view, and this book is written through that lens. However, she never criticizes or condemns anyone, past or present, who may feel differently, and she treats historical figures (particularly Joseph Smith) with compassion and respect. This is not an angry book or an expose of the salacious details of polygamy, though you may feel angry or scandalized at times while reading it

This is a book that explores how the practice of polygamy, while officially abandoned (but never repudiated) by the church over 100 years ago, still affects us today. Earthly polygamy may be a thing of the past in the LDS church, but eternal polygamy, or the understanding that in heaven, men will be able to have multiple wives, is very much part of our present. The influence of this harmful doctrine is seen in our sealing practices and church policies and felt in our marriage relationships. 

The history of polygamy is complex and thorny, and the author dips into it only enough to give context to current practice. (If you are interested in learning in more detail about the history of polygamy, I highly recommend Lindsay Hansen Park's Year of Polygamy podcast--I'm nearly through it and have learned so much. It is incredibly well done.) Pearson's writing is smooth and lyrical, her voice calming and wise. At the end of each chapter, she shares dozens of collected experiences from anonymous, average Mormons about the ways the "ghost of eternal polygamy" has affected and is affecting their lives. The stories are all somewhat different, but they are all connected by threads of pain, of anger, of grief. After reading story after story after story they all run together, and it becomes impossible to assert that "polygamy was a long time ago and doesn't affect us anymore."

This book is for all Mormons: it's for those, like me, who have experienced grief or pain or bewilderment over polygamy, and it's also for those who aren't personally impacted by polygamy but would like to understand how it continues to shape our present culture and remains a very real issue for many of their fellow saints. 

Pearson deftly weaves vivid stories with insightful compassion. She lays out a gentle but compelling case for why polygamy is harmful, offers rebuttals for common explanations and rationalizations for it, and, ultimately, presents a way the church can choose to be rid of it, once and for all. It's more than wishful thinking: she explains precedent for her conclusions and makes renouncing polygamy and moving "from patriarchy to partnership" seem not only perfectly rational and desirable, but also completely doable. 

Before purchasing the book, I listened to this podcast interview in which Carol Lynn Pearson discusses and reads extended excerpts from it. Her words and her voice are powerful. At the end, she reads a couple pages from the end of her book that talk about her vision for our future: what life could be like if the church formally renounces polygamy for time and eternity. I listened to her as I ironed a pieced quilt top I'm making, an activity during which I feel close to my Mormon grandmothers and great-great-great grandmothers--including those who lived polygamy--and somewhere between the puffs of steam and the sliding sounds of the iron I became lost in Carol Lynn's vision and I melted into crumple faced sobs. The words were rich and strong and so hopeful, and I cried in hope and grief and desperate longing.

I left this comment on the page after I finished the podcast:

"I am, even still, even not believing that polygamy is God-ordained, haunted by this principle. I cannot see past it in the temple. If I were to die first, I would be happy to see my husband remarry…but not if it means he is sealed to another woman. We’ve talked about it, he understands, but my fear is still there. Polygamy and temple inequities between the sexes drive a wedge between me and God. I cannot hope to understand a God who forever subjugates women to men. I have always known I, as a woman, am just as capable/intelligent/valuable as any man, and to not see that reflected in our holiest spaces is devastating to me.

"I cried when Carol Lynn read the excerpt from the end of her book of her vision of what the future could be if we let go of the notion that polygamy is or ever was the will of God. I want to wrap my arms around her for expressing so beautifully the pain and the hope in my heart."

In conclusion, yes, you should read this book. It may create new wounds or uncover some you weren't aware you had, but the pain is productive, the way she tells the story is cathartic, and the resolution she proposes is healing balm. 


Here is an excerpt that was particularly meaningful to me. The words are Carol Lynn's, but many of them have been sitting in my heart, unuttered, for a long time:

"When heaven has an earthquake you fall to your knees and feel through the rubble to find the pieces of God. When my eternal, temple-blessed marriage shattered and everything that had been meaningful lay in jumbled shards around me, I had to slowly and carefully pick up every single piece and examine it, turning it over and over, to see if it was worthy to keep and to use in building a new house of meaning. As I gathered the broken pieces of God, I used only my own authority, only my own relationship with the divine, and the good, small voice that speaks inside me, to appraise them. I threw away many, and I kept many, assembling the bright pieces into One Great Thought. I asked only, "Do I see God's fingerprints on this? Does this little piece feel godly? Does it speak of love?" That made it easy. I was forever finished with the insane attempt to love a God who hurts me. When I picked up the little piece of God-ordained polygamy, I smiled because there was no question. I thanked the God of Love, and I threw that piece away.

"My choice is not between either honoring our founding prophet or acknowledging that he made a significant error. I choose both. I can love King David for "The Lord is my shepherd..." even though this is the same man who arranged the death of Uriah after taking his wife Bathsheba in adultery. Quantum physics has proven light to be at once both wave and particle. Like David, Joseph was at once both a man of God and a man of earth, and he never claimed to be perfect. 

"But this is the thing. No one today weeps in the night because in 1837 Joseph Smith made the monumental error of establishing the "Kirtland Safety Society," an underfunded bank that promised riches, failed within weeks, and caused financial ruin and loss of faith for a large number of his followers. Yet thousands and thousands, perhaps a number larger than we can even imagine--women and men in today's LDS Church--still live with sadness or fear, or anger and confusion, some weeping into the night because of the Ghost of Eternal Polygamy. Something went terribly wrong, and I believe that God insists, and insists very loudly, that we Latter-day Saints do everything we can to put it right. We will not leave the pain unattended. We are better than that.

"And now I wonder. Those who have lived very large lives, who have left legacies beyond their deaths--do they continue to feel both the positive and the negative effects those legacies have on those who are now taking their own turn on earth? None of us wants to be remembered for our errors. None of us wants to see hurt and know that it has come from our actions. I believe that seeing Joseph's polygamy as an error is the kindest way to evaluate it. And the surest way to correct it.

"Brother Joseph said that "Friendship" is a "grand fundamental principle of Mormonism." True friendship, I believe, is described in that lovely thought I have read more than once from writer Dina Craik, who lived in England during Joseph Smith's lifetime:

"'Oh, the comfort--the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person--having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but pouring them all right out, just as they are, chaff and grain together; certain that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and then with the breath of kindness blow the rest away.'

"I count myself as a friend to Brother Joseph, and I wish to honor him like this. I hold the fullness of his life in the palm of my hand, chaff and grain together. I keep the many kernels worth keeping, and with the breath of kindness blow the rest away."

- Carol Lynn Pearson, The Ghost of Eternal Polygamy, pages 69-71

Monday, August 8, 2016

That One Time We Took Our Kids to NYC, Day 2: Broadway Baby

Saturday morning, we headed to Grand Central Station. It was historical site meets indoor mall meets public transit--sort of like an airport, but prettier and with a grocery store. The vaulted blue ceiling in the main hall, spangled with golden constellations, was spectacular. 

{In the Main Concourse of Grand Central--check out our crew in the bottom right corner}

What I most remember, though, is that Jayne had a diaper blow out and there was no changing table in the men's bathroom, so I had to change her (because of course there was one in the women's restroom). #whyweneedfeminism

Jay bought a block of New York cheddar cheese in the market-like grocery, and Kiyomi took us downstairs to Magnolia Bakery where we ordered a slice of icebox cake and dug in with five forks and no shame. It was probably up there with the richest cakes I've ever had: imagine dense, decadent chocolate cookies layered with thickly whipped cream. Divine.

To say that Kate and Jayne were enthusiastic fans would be a bit of an understatement.

We jetted back to Alex and Kiyomi's to feed the girls lunch and meet up with a babysitter so we could go have some grown up fun. The sitter was late (darn public transit delays), so Kiyomi and I took off first, speed walking our way from tram to subway. Apparently, this pregnant body can still be motivated to move if the enticement is great enough.

We'd wanted to see a Broadway show and decided on Les Mis because, in a twist of fate that turned out to be too good to be true, my very favorite stage actor, John Owen Jones, was playing Jean Valjean. 

When my sister and I studied abroad in London a year before Jay and I got married, we basically went without food so we could see as many half-price West End shows as possible, and our favorite by far was Les Mis because John Owen Jones was knock-your-socks-off, change-your-life amazing. We saw it twice--the second time front row center on Sara's birthday--and it was unreal. Exhibit A:

Kiyomi and I arrived at the theatre about 5 minutes late, so we missed the very beginning of the show. I'll admit that when I saw Valjean was being played by an understudy, I was disappointed. But that only lasted for about ten minutes because I quickly reminded myself that I was watching Les Mis on Broadway for the second time in my life, and how many people can say that? And even though I'm a bit of a Les Mis snob since I've seen it so many times, and even though I thought Valjean was mediocre and Marius was a whiney pretty boy with a pinched voice that was entirely unsuited for the role, Eponine was by far the best I've ever seen. She brought the house down with On My Own--I've never heard such power. The Innkeeper's Wife was also fantastic, as was her smarmy husband, and Enjolras was absolutely phenomenal. Cosette's character is probably my least favorite because she's written so weak and one-dimensional, but the actress playing her had a pure, clear tone with floating high notes. Javert and Fantine were also enjoyable to watch. In the end, it was well worth my time to see those performances alone. The production itself was good, but very different from others I've seen: they did away with the rotating stage, and whole thing was much, much darker than any other rendition. (The version I saw at the Utah Shakespearean Festival a few years ago, by contrast, was hilarious and light in places--this version was moody and had darker themes even though the music and lines were all exactly the same.)

Anyway. Forgive my nerdy rant. 

Jay and Alex made it about ten minutes after we did after the sitter finally arrived. They rode the tram to Manhattan and then decided to take Citi Bikes to Times Square. Even now, I try not to imagine them zipping in and out of busy Times Square traffic.

Once our matinee let out, we returned to the bustle of Times Square. The theater next door was showing sold-out Hamilton, and there was an insane crowd around the side entrance. I heard that they were waiting for Lin Manuel Miranda to come out--he basically has rockstar status now. We paused for a couple pictures on Times Square before Alex and Kiyomi started getting too twitchy--turns out that Times Square is to New Yorkers what the Strip is to Las Vegans: people who actually live there avoid those congested tourist traps at all costs.

Kiyomi and Alex took us to one of their favorite restaurants: Up Thai. It was delicious, and Jay is still raving about the yellow curry he had there that was unlike anywhere else we've tried. It was nice to have some time away from our kids (understatement). After dinner, we half walked, half rolled ourselves to Insomnia Cookies, Kiyomi's favorite. The cookies were insanely rich and gooey. Afterward, we hopped on a bus and headed back home.

{Jay's curry}

We were pretty bushed that night, but Jay and I did make it up to the roof of Alex and Kiyomi's high rise so Jay could capture a panoramic of the skyline.

Ah, NYC.

Thursday, June 23, 2016

That One Time We Took Our Kids to NYC, Day 1: Planes, Trains, and Automobiles

{Kate and Elli looking at the Statue of Liberty}

I've had an itch to visit the Big Apple for several years now. Chalk it up to nostalgia and the fact that half the shows and movies I love are set there. I've been once before, almost exactly 15 years ago, and every other city I've been to has paled in comparison with the history, the architecture, the bustle, the culture, and the density of The City That Never Sleeps (except London. Ah, London!).

Our dear friends who we've been meaning to visit for ages moved to Manhattan a few months ago and graciously acted excited when we announced we'd like to crash in their two bedroom apartment for a few days. Bless them.

We flew out of Vegas crazy early on Friday, 5/27. Despite the fact we'd woken them up at 4:00 AM, the girls actually fared pretty well on our flight. We barely made it to the gate on time--I think we were the last ones on the plane--but everything went smoothly. We broke down and bought a couple tablets specifically for this trip (five hour plane ride with a four year old and 21 month old!), and we brought an obscene amount of snacks, and we made it through mostly happy even with the four of us crammed into three seats since we were too cheap to buy Jayne a ticket.

{Jayne with Kiyomi and Alex}

Kiyomi met us at the airport and helped us navigate the subway system and our luggage to her apartment (yes, she's a saint). We grabbed some delicious NY-style pizza and decided that since our kids were still kinda holding it together, we'd drag them out on the town.

{Manhattan skyline. One World Trade Center is the highest building with the antenna}

While I'd have loved to go to the Ellis Island museum and see the Statue of Liberty up close again, we opted for the more kid-friendly route of taking the Staten Island Ferry: it's free, it passes close by Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty, and you get a gorgeous view of Manhattan. We sat on the side deck of the ferry, luxuriating in the perfect breeze, and watched the sun spill a trail of orange light over the water as it set across the bay. Kate had recently learned The Star Spangled Banner for her preschool graduation (her teacher is ambitious), and I got her to sing most of it with me as we slowly cruised past the Statue of Liberty.

{It took Kiyomi exactly 30 seconds to completely win Jayne over. Both of the girls absolutely loved her.}

Wrestling three exhausted, cranky kids + two strollers through the subway system and back home was a bit of an ordeal, but we managed.

To recap: here are the various modes of transportation we used on this day:

Airport tram
Aerial tram

Before our trip was over, we'd also take a cab and a bus.


{Ellis Island} 

Thursday, June 9, 2016

Pregnancy, Take Three

{Photo by Katie, beginning of May 2016}

I'm right in the thick of the uncomfortable stage of pregnancy. My belly seems to brush up against everything, I'm constantly winded, and bending over to pick things up is the worst thing in the world. Sleep is fitful, and this man-child keeps me awake with his aquatic gymnastics. As I type this, I can see my abdomen ripple as he ricochets around in there. His antics are fireworks inside me.

This pregnancy has been different; though at 28 weeks, I'm finally feeling about the same as I did with my first two pregnancies: ungainly, easily fatigued, but mostly human.

The week after Christmas, Jay came down with a mild flu: malaise, some intestinal distress, exhaustion. He felt better after a couple days. A day or so later, I caught what he'd had just in time to travel to Texas to visit Jay's parents for New Year. It was a relaxed, easy visit, which was perfect because I spent most of my time huddled under blankets with chills and feeling exhausted and vaguely nauseous. We watched movies and played games and ate a lot of food. 

We came home, and I didn't feel much better. After having malaise for nearly two weeks, I started to wonder if the illness would ever pass. One morning after Jay had gone to work, I decided I should take a pregnancy test. I was certain I wasn't pregnant, but I needed to rule it out all the same. 

Ten minutes, two pregnancy tests, and four pink lines later, there was no denying it. I did some quick calculations and determined I was seven weeks pregnant.

Jay came home for lunch that day and told me he thought his receptionist had whatever it was I had because she wasn't feeling well. I had my arms wrapped around him when I said, "I'm pretty sure she doesn't have what I have. At least, I hope she doesn't." And then I gave him a meaningful look, and a broad smile spread across Jay's face. 

"Really?" he said. "You're sure?"

"Pretty sure," I said.

He laughed and squeezed me. "You're happy?" I asked. 

"Of course! Aren't you?"

"I don't really know what to feel," I said. "I think I'm in denial."

Five months later, and I'm still not completely over the denial. 

It took over a year to conceive both Kate and Jayne; with Kate, we finally hit on the right drug cocktail of fertility meds; with Jayne, the previous drugs didn't work, so we were scheduled to begin expensive and extensive testing when we found out we were expecting--she was planned, but not expected quite yet. But this time, it was truly a surprise. I never thought I'd experience a surprise pregnancy--for better or for worse--and it threw me for a loop. 

The first trimester was rough and unlike anything I'd previously experienced. I constantly felt like I had a fever (though my temperature was normal or only slightly elevated): chills, aching/sensitive skin, metallic taste in my mouth, exhaustion, nausea. Some nights, I'd lie in bed and shake with chills. I basically sat on the couch all day, feeling like I had the flu. The girls played together and entertained themselves, and Jay picked up my slack without complaining.

I gradually started feeling better starting at around 16 weeks. Around 24 weeks, I realized I no longer had a hyper-sensitive gag reflex and could even change diapers without dry heaving. Every day, I'm grateful I'm feeling better.

I still don't get much done, but it is amazing to feel mostly like myself again, even if I am lower-functioning. This may well be our last baby--though never say never!--and it is weird to view this pregnancy through that lens. While there is much about pregnancy that awes me, and while I'm incredibly grateful I've been able to have the experience, it's not a condition I'll miss.

It's true that I wasn't ready for another baby so soon (Jayne and this boy will be darn-near exactly two years apart--closer than I'd prefer), but my brushes with infertility have given me some hard-earned perspective. "Whenever they come," I used to say when people asked when we were going to have babies, and I still feel the same way.

Sunday, May 8, 2016

Thoughts on Mother's Day: Autonomy vs. Privacy

I wrote this two and a half years ago when Kate was about the age Jayne is now (20 months). Reading through it, it struck me how much things have changed and how much they are still the same. 

Happy Mother's Day!

Kate begging to be held or given something. This view is a familiar one to most parents of toddlers.

Kate is currently really into belly buttons. She likes to lift her shirt, put her finger in her navel, and say, "Beh buh!" She also likes finding other people's beh buhs. This generally involves me sitting on the couch and attempting to fight her off but ultimately caving as she wrestles the hem of my shirt up my rib cage. I then sit there while she touches my belly button and says "beh buh! beh buh!" until I acknowledge that I do, indeed, have a belly button. This usually culminates with her stroking the loose skin of my stomach and saying "Sah. Sah." (Soft). Thanks, Kate.

I can't help but think, every time I see her cute little tummy with its sweet little dimple, that she will forever be marked by the time we shared my body. Nothing can erase that--we are both forever changed. And while birth was liberating, in a way, for both of us, and the physical tie that bound us was severed, we were still connected through nursing and feeding and changing and all of the work that goes into caring for an infant. While I loved most of those things most of the time, it was overwhelming to have someone so dependent on me.

As time has gone on, Kate and I have both gained autonomy in the form of her small, bittersweet victories. She gains independence and I regain pieces of myself I'd forgotten I'd lost. We are not two pieces of the same being anymore; she is increasingly becoming her own person, and I am thrilled for us and a bit sad for me that she doesn't need me like she used to. 

Autonomy is great for both of us--it allows us each our own space in which to stretch and grow. I have discovered, though, that autonomy is not the same thing as privacy. I wonder sometimes if privacy is something I will ever experience again. 

From the time Kate could crawl and pull herself up to things, she would make her way over to the shower, wedge her little fingers around the door, slide it open, then stand there and watch me. If I tried closing the door, screams would erupt. The magical bathroom acoustics amplified them exponentially, and I quickly learned to just let her watch. Once she was a little steadier on her feet, she insisted on stepping into the shower herself. Once she got comfortable with that, she would walk to the front of the shower and stand underneath the leaky handle, which meant I had to strip her down and share my shower time with a wet, naked little baby running around me who occasionally fell over backward and hated it when I rinsed her hair.

Thankfully, the shower phase has mostly passed, meaning I get my ten minutes of "me time" back (YES!).

Bathroom breaks, though, are another story. Yes, we leave the bathroom doors open pretty much at all times (except when we have people over; we do have SOME boundaries), and Kate can join us or not, as she pleases (she usually joins us). Closing Kate out generally results in a stressful (and loud) bathroom experience. There are some battles that just aren't worth fighting, and I decided long ago this is one of them. (I'm hoping it will make potty training a breeze. (Ha.))

Kate's new favorite thing is handing me my clothes as I'm getting dressed after I get out of the shower. She knows the word "bra" and sometimes runs around my room holding it to her chest ("ba! ba!").

So while I'm sometimes a little icked out by how open we are in our house with our child, we do what works for us. And I do miss my privacy (sometimes desperately), but I love our growing autonomy.

Friday, April 22, 2016

That One Time a Lady was Super Mean to Me at the Grocery Store

{All photos by Katie; Jaynie at 19 months}

It's easy to pass judgments about people when we see them for a handful of moments: the mom yelling at her toddler in the parking lot, the man in dirty clothes in the checkout line, the six year old throwing a tantrum at the park. We may feel a little concerned, a little uncomfortable, a little superior. Hopefully, most of the time, we recognize that there have been days when we've been THAT person--the one in dirty clothes, the one with no patience, the one with screaming kids. Maybe we remember the circumstances that led to these situations, maybe we don't, but there's always a backstory. 

Remembering this--that behavior doesn't happen in a vacuum--can help us to feel empathy rather than scorn, can lead us to extend help rather than judgment, can cause us to show love rather than disapproval.

I was nine weeks pregnant and had been feeling sick for weeks (both with a cold and with pregnancy-related misery). We had been in survival mode since Christmas, and I spent most of my days curled up on the couch or in bed. The house was a wreck, and my personal maintenance amounted to getting dressed and showering every two to three days. Other than Jay dragging me out occasionally on weekends, literally the only time I'd left the house in nearly a month was to take Kate to and from preschool twice a week. It was a rough time for us, but the girls were doing well and Jay didn't complain about having to pick up my slack. We were making it.

Jayne had recently stopped taking morning naps, so after dropping Kate off at preschool one day, I decided to take a much-needed trip to the grocery store (I'd been trying to get the energy to go for a couple weeks without success). I was feeling okay that morning, though we both looked a little worse for wear. Jaynie's hair was a bit crunchy from her habit of twirling it in her fingers while she ate, and she had bare feet since I couldn't find one of her little moccasins before we hurriedly left our house. I wore baggy clothes and no makeup, but I wasn't concerned about my appearance. I parked the car at the store and sat there listening to the radio for ten minutes, just trying to gather the energy to go inside.

The outing started out successfully enough. I loaded the cart with items from the produce section and Jaynie got excited about the apples. I had just grabbed some onions--letting Jayne touch their smooth, papery skin before placing them in a bag--when I stopped pushing my cart to consult the grocery list on my phone.

Jayne extended her finger toward my face and then laughed as I tickled her neck. We were playing like that, Jaynie giggling, when I felt someone behind me watching us. The woman came up beside me, and I assumed that she, like any other person with a pulse, was admiring my happy and adorable baby.

"Where are your baby's socks? You need to put socks on her," the woman said, gesturing at Jayne's wiggling toes.

I gave her a half smile. "She's fine," I said. I turned back to Jayne and the list on my phone, but the woman behind me kept muttering about socks and how it was winter and cold.

"I don't have socks on, either," I said, irritated. And it was true: I was wearing loafers but no socks because finding a matching pair had been more effort than it was worth that morning.

But the woman wouldn't let it go. "It's abuse!" she said. "It's child abuse!"

Shocked and angry, I said, "We're doing the best we can."

But the woman got increasingly worked up. "Please stop talking to me," I said, and I pushed Jayne away from her. We took up residence near the potatoes where I once again tried to consult my phone.

"You are abusing your child!" she called after me. "I feel sorry for that baby!"

I did not look back at her and pushed my cart as fast as I could past the donut case as her words followed me: "I feel sorry for any child that has you as a mother! You are not capable of caring for your children!"

I made it a few feet further to the deli counter before I had to stop, clutching my chest, as an anxiety attack overcame me. I gasped for breath and tried to hold back tears. I pressed a hand over my mouth and attempted to rein in my panic. The employees and patrons who passed me determinedly avoided eye contact, and I couldn't decide if I was grateful or if I needed help.

I started having anxiety attacks about five years ago (they usually happen at church or church activities since those are very triggering places for me). It is a helpless feeling to hyperventilate--to feel your breath come in huge, deep gasps, your chest spasming like a fish out of water--and not be able to control it. I have no shame when I'm in the throes of an attack--I don't care who sees. But when it passed a moment later, I made my way toward the refrigerated meats and stood there, my cheeks and chin quivering with barely-suppressed emotion.

I was a mess for the next 20 minutes or so and wandered aimlessly through the store, my thoughts too scrambled to function. Even as panic had coiled around me, I knew that this lady was ridiculous--she was obviously from another country and probably had very different cultural norms. I knew I was not an abusive mother. I knew it was fine that Jayne's feet were bare (we live in Las Vegas, not Minnesota, for crying out loud, and it was a sunny 53 degrees, and I carried her the whole time we were outside). Her words didn't pierce my confidence in my ability to care for my children. But my body's reaction was visceral, partly because I've rarely if ever been so blatantly harassed, and partly because I was barely keeping it together anyway and this simple shopping trip was such a monumental effort for me. That this woman, who did not know me, who did not know what I was going through at that moment, thought it was appropriate to publicly shame me for not putting socks on my child simply floored me.

I eventually regained my sense of self, and my on-edge emotions calmed. I completed my shopping trip with my posture erect and my gaze unflinching. I made a plan for if the woman approached me again (firmly tell her to leave me alone and start yelling for security if necessary), and I was no longer afraid of her.

A friendly cashier scanned and bagged my groceries, and I walked out to my car. I pulled Jaynie out of the cart and walked over to put her in her car seat. I rested my cheek on her hair, and she snuggled her head into my shoulder, her body relaxed into mine, her hands gripping my sleeves. We held on to each other long enough that the car doors automatically re-locked. I remember thinking how grateful I was to be her mother and how glad I was that she isn't abused. I buckled her into her seat in the sun-heated car and touched her toes.

They were warm.

Tuesday, April 12, 2016

Soon to be Three

{All photos by Katie of The Jadeite Shutter}

Mom is a bit apprehensive.

Dad and big sister Kate are ecstatic.

As for soon-to-be big sister Jaynie the photoshoot photo bomber... 

She has absolutely no idea what's coming.

...Baby boy arriving late August 2016...