Thanks!

I have been meaning to write this out, and now, with Thanksgiving nearing, seems a good time. I was to express my gratitude for all the kind and supportive words left in the comments of the post I made a few weeks ago about the abortion I had five years ago.

Thank you for sharing your own stories and sorrows. It is always strengthening to know that others have been there, too.

Thank you for complimenting my self-portrait. It was the first time I'd used my D50 with a wireless remote, and I ended up with a portrait that was just what I had in mind (minus a bit of photoshopping, of course).

Thank you for checking out and perhaps even signing the We Had Abortions petition, which aims to end the silence and stigma that surrounds abortion.

If anyone perhaps felt like saying less than kind things, thank you for not doing so. I was bracing for it. I am glad to have been wrong.

When the fact that I'd had an abortion was made known to my friends and family, a last painful weapon pulled out by my ex-husband when I told him I no longer wanted to be married to him, I called my mother to tell her before she heard from anyone else. After I had done so I couldn't help but ask if she still loved me. And of course she said she did. Her answer, of course, was yes. You can't really comprehend the love a mother feels for her child until you are a mother yourself. I wouldn't need to ask such a question today.

My Baby Bookworm

Today being Thursday, we went to the library's program for babies. The past few times we've been there Pearl has not wanted out of my lap, but she smiles and laughs as babies and toddlers scamper around, and the adults sing and play hand games. Today she warmed up right as the program was ending and was clapping, then got up and did a little scampering around of her own.




It is always a lot of fun to see all of the babies; the little tiny ones who stay put and take it all in, the fearless crawlers, the new walkers waddling around, the older tots singing and dancing along with the program's director. My favorite part of the program is the last verse to The Wheels on the Bus - when all the adults in the room sing, "The parents on the bus go 'Shh shh shh!'", all cooing and babbling and shouting and moving ceases and silence falls almost eerily across the room. Then the director wisely uses this moment of calm to start reading the day's book.



After the book it's pretty much a free for all. A tub of books is set out for the babies. The moms gather up in clusters to chat... it's pretty clique-y, and being clique-less I feel rather left out and lonely at that point. (The playgroup I'd been going to fell apart with the advent of cold weather, so I'm feeling extra sad in this area.) Everyone seems to know people and have no interest in interlopers. Once I chatted with a nice mama who seemed to be like-minded, but I never saw her there again.

In the last picture, Pearl is investigating a little boy laying down with a book... he shortly afterward started kicking her, then later quite purposefully smacked her in the face with a book as she wandered by him! Poor Pearl was a little perplexed but other than that was okay; it takes more than that to get her down. Having been out of the daycare scene for a few years, I hadn't witnessed any baby-on-baby violence in a while. Was kind of startling.

A Life Filled with Books

There are very few times in my life that I can recall when I was not reading at least one book. Reading is like eating (I happen to often combine the two activities!)

I started reading to Pearl before she was born, and her father read her some Dr. Seuss before she even left the hospital. For the first few months of her life Pearl and I fell asleep listening to him read aloud in bed each night. Not long after that she started obviously enjoying being read her books while nestled in our laps.

Her books are her favorite toys, and one of the few she will play with on her own, though she is not always content to do so - in fact, if I am sitting at the computer while she is awake, there is a good chance I am being whacked with a book!

She recently has begun reciting words she's memorized while she sits and reads to herself, punctuating the babble with "shhhh!" or "kite!" or "kiss!"

We occasionally go to Baby Bookworms at the library, or just to the library itself, letting Pearl wander the rows upon rows of books, selecting some to sit in nooks and read.

I spend a lot of time looking online for books to get her as she grows (this is one I am particularly looking forward too, but I am making myself wait until she can really get the most out of it! Next fall, perhaps.) I've created a wishlist for her too, mostly containing books I loved as a child.

The world of books is such a fascinating one, one that I have gleaned so much from. I am thrilled to be sharing my love of reading with my daughter and watching as she gets her toes wet in the literary life.

~* Find more Life at Mama Says Om *~

A Tangled Web

Sometimes it seems that events and people collide and coincide in such a way that one can almost glimpse some pattern, make some sense of how and why things are connected and effect each other as they do. Maybe it's just this time of year that makes me feel this way... so many things ending and beginning.


For the past week I have been talking a lot with an old friend, who is falling in love with someone. She is married to someone else. Talking her through the stress of it and trying to help her find what path she needs to take. I do not lecture and I do not judge, as I fell in love with my husband while I was newly married to another man at this time four years ago. I remember very clearly the sea of emotion I was in, trying to find my way between being true to my heart and keeping the promises I'd made. My friend says things I said; feels things I felt. I am trying to listen and counsel without wrongly influencing her, as although her situation is similar to what mine was, there are big differences. She has been married for two years, not just a few weeks. And her husband is a good person. She claims they are happy.



I have also been talking to my ex-husband. Some of you may remember that over a year ago I took on a secret identity all over the internet and moved my blog because I was afraid of him finding it. I've since come to believe I was over-reacting at least a little (postpartum hormones, anyone?), not that it's at all a bad idea to try and protect one's anonymity and privacy, crazy former spouses in existence or not.

I had a few dreams about him during the past few months. In one I dreamed that he had died in the war, and I when I learned of his death I was so sad, I wept and wept. In the other he came to me with his wife because he wanted to show me his newborn baby, who was very ugly, but I thought he was a beautiful baby and I cried because I was so happy for them. While I was thinking about those dreams I realized something: I didn't hate or fear my ex anymore. I was no longer angry with him and I didn't feel that I wanted to blame him for the things that had gone wrong in my life. Somewhere along the line, I had forgiven him, and I had forgiven myself as well.

That was kind of astonishing, because I had spent so much of my mental energy in the past four years feeling negatively about him and about everything we'd gone through. To wake up one day and realize that I was in a place where I could look back on the time we spent together and be glad about the good parts was almost exhilirating. He was my first love and my best friend throughout high school; we practically grew up together, and for the past four years I had loathed him and tried to ignore the place he'd had in my life.

I wanted to tell him that I didn't feel right about how badly our relationship had ended, and that I didn't bear him any ill-will. However I didn't want to contact him, because I had no idea how receptive he would be towards hearing what I had to say. I did not know how much, if any he had changed and grown since I spoke to him last.

So I was glad when he sent me a message and I sent a carefully worded one back in response. When I felt that he wasn't going to be hateful and throw the past back in my face, I told him that I forgave him, and I offered a fresh apology for the pain I had caused him. He replied with words much the same: that he no longer was angry at me, and that he wanted to make peace between us too. That he didn't mean most of what he'd said when we were splitting up - that was something I knew, but it lightened my heart to hear it all the same. We both felt that we did not want to try to have a friendship or anything - there is too much behind us, and he is not someone I would chose as a friend these days anyway.

Our conversation went as well as I could've hoped, but when it was over I was surprised at how I felt. I felt relieved that he hadn't used this as an opportunity to hurt me, happy that we had managed to create a better ending for our relationship, but I also felt so unexpectedly sad. I cried. I guess I feel just a little heartbroken again, because - especially now that I have healed - our story just seems so damn tragic. My ex actually summed it up very well: "Funny how two kids caused so many problems for themselves..."


My wonderful husband, the love of my life, is planning on starting school again next semester, on the same campus where he works, the same campus where we met and fell in love as I started college and the leaves changed colors and winter crept closer four years ago. He held my hand through those first dark days and through all the days that followed, and I wish him the best as he undertakes this endeavor to enrich himself and better our lives.

Beauty is...

Beauty is a home baked chocolate cake so melt-in-your-mouth tender that it collapses upon being removed from its pan...



I love to cook. It is the one creative effort I am sure to have time for because it doubles as a chore. Scrubbing the toilet and putting laundry away just do not bring the same satisfaction. Cooking is more than dull drudgery. It's alchemy, sculpture, therapy. And the result is often delicious.

The planning phase of a project is often the part I enjoy most. I sift through recipe sites for new dishes almost daily. When inspiration strikes, I hunt for advice as to how to make my ideas work. I devour cookbooks and hungrily await updates from the food blogs I read.

I made this cake using this recipe. Having only half of the flour required, I substituted cocoa for the rest and the result is heavenly. It is very moist but not gooey, and the oats and whole wheat flour I used provide some textural interest.

~* For Mama Says Om *~

End of Summer Stream of Consciousness

Last week a series of rainstorms ushered in Autumn. After a hot, dry summer during which the clouds tended to just sail on by, staying aloof and seldom deigning to send down any moisture, I had almost forgotten it could rain so many days in a row. But rain it did, and Pearl would toddle to the window when it started and make the sign for rain, excitement on her face. Evening on the last day it rained was beautiful: the tail end of the front moving darkly east ahead of a double rainbow; the sky to the west endlessly blue.

Now the sky seems a little farther away, and though the sun is still hot the air itself is cool. It almost looks like springtime because the lawns and foliage are all lush and verdant from the rain, except for a tree here and there whose leaves have turned yellow and begun to drop.

The college students are back in town; hordes of them swelling the streets and filling the stores. Lots of them are my age and slightly older, more still are younger. They are so reckless it scares me - don't they know their SUVs do not make them omnipotent, that just because they don't look before stepping out into the street doesn't mean no one is there?

In some ways I like living in a college town and in some ways I don't. I think it keeps the atmosphere younger and more progressive, but it's also kind of strange to see new students coming in each year and moving on semester by semester and as I live my life not doing that it seems that I'm standing still.

For me, Spring is ecstacy and excitement, and Autumn is a bittersweet sense of forboding; perhaps some deep-buried instinct to migrate for the winter is kicking in. Right now I just feel happy that summer is drawing to an end, and I'm looking forward to brilliant colors, crisp days spent outside throwing leaves into the air with Pearl, and harvest-time meals that take hours to cook, making the kitchen warm and filling the house with the scent of plenty.

Damn Straight

Here is a news bit from ABC on how much stay-at-home mothers should be paid. Could someone make this happen? Please?

Two Steps

The other morning Mr. Peach got up with Pearl and let me sleep a few more hours and so he got to see a special sight: Pearl taking more than one step for the first time! I guess that's called walking. She took two steps between the coffee table and the sofa with nary a stumble.



Part of me is thrilled at this new, big, important skill she's developing and wants to encourage it: I hold out my hands to her as she stands with one hand on the windowsill and say, "Come to Mama, come see me!" and watch, smiling, as she thinks about it and gets as far away from the windowsill and as close to me as her little fingers can stretch and her little feet can step, but she isn't quite ready to let go yet and crawls to me instead, and I'm happy then, because I don't want her to leave infancy behind just yet, even as my heart swells close to bursting with pride over this milestone.