An Impending Change

Notes from Home Plate has been going strong now for about two years. I first began it as a way to keep everyone updated when Nick and I moved to Boston. Digital technology, I've discovered, has a marvelous potential for keeping people together. Through online tools, I've been able to connect with family as far as the Philippines, as close as Russia, Ohio, and spread news to neighbors on our street.

Well before I started this particular blog, I had been slowly spreading my writing to different magazines, both in print and online, and have been able to forge relationships with different publishers, press houses, and writers. The majority of my assignments, requests to present at conferences, and basically any opportunity to advance myself as a writer has come from opening my writing to the web. With careful navigation and a discerning eye, the internet is and can be the leading tool for freelance writers, especially those like me are looking to stay independent, but advance in my writing projects to become more streamlined and long-term. In a nutshell, I'm growing out of short stints for magazines, quick reports, and blog posts. It occured to me in a car ride with Nick, after one of my photography shoots, that I had reached a point in my pregnancy, or rather, in my life, where I finally had my first encounter with physical limitation: I wasn't just physically exhausted, I was mentally drained by my desire to accomplish so many different things.

Not only was I tired, but I realized after shooting a wedding for 13 hours, that to be good great at anything requires much more than just love and passion. I've got plenty of that. It takes large doses of discipline and a thick skin for rejection. As I collapsed in the car and Nick drove me home, this epiphany of age dawned on my noggin: I have to choose.

You don't become great at anything spreading yourself too thin or promising your time and energy to 10 different ideas. You choose one. And the rest is a lot of prayer, luck, and work.

As Isaiah lets me know more and more everyday that my life is about to take on a monumental and glorious change, my concept of "time" and "freedom" is going to undergo a radical makeover. It's time for priorities.

How does that all affect this blog?

Well, let this post be a sign of an impending change. At the endless prompting by writing colleagues, support from my editor, and a profound desire to retain and grow my readerships from various circles, I am working with a webdesigner to create my own site. It will be a forging of several blogs and websites that I already contribute to, a home for my writing, a place where people can find me. As I begin to present my writing and work to different audiences, it will only behoove me to settle into one place where everyone can find me -- family, friends, strangers, publishers, and readers. Also, it will allow me to focus on ONE place, one site, one project. The easier it is to find me, the more obtainable my writing goals become.

The new site will be much different than this blog, obviously. Notes from Home Plate has largely been anecdotal writings about my personal life with Nick, our life together, and glimpses into our domestic creation we have called home and marriage. It is quite different than, say, articles I have written about social activism, gender equality, or spiritual liberation. It won't be easy, but my vision is to incorporate ALL of my writing, all of who I am, into one place.

As a writer, especially as an online contributor where readers respond instantaneously and emotionally-charged, I've learned much about disagreement and criticism. Opening ALL of my my writing to strangers is not what makes me nervous, it's opening it to those already in my life! It's to my family and friends who often see me, know me, and will also be reading my work. But, in addition to coming to a point in my life where I have grown tired of separating my audiences, I have come to point where I feel the need to allow those in my life to read me, to know me, and pray that that will lead me to a better place as a writer. I'm planning on writing more courageously. There is a very, very fine line I must observe when it comes to boundaries and taking risks. I've been sitting on this decision for a mighty long time and I finally decided to bite the bullet. Pull the trigger. Jump in the deep end. Hit the gas pedal.

My own website is on its way.

The spirit of change is always fraught with unpredictability and fragility. It's always a channel of excitement, opportunity, and novelty. Watch for it in the next month.

UPDATE!

The link to my flickr page should work now if you want to see the bathroom photos! Sorry about that! Now, really, you can CLICK HERE for the photos :)

Thanks, Betsy, for the heads up!

Baby Grand

Isn't it purrrrtyyyy?

HALLEJUAH!!!

CLICK HERE for more pictures that show a bit more of the process. I recommend just clicking on the small icon pictures where you can read some comments I made at the bottom. Clicking "Slideshow" deletes the description. Suit yourself.

Letter #2

Dear Isaiah,

So apparently, you LOVE yoga. Perhaps you would have loved it even more if your mother wasn't such a bluthering baffoon sometimes.

Since our yoga class didn't start until 6:30pm and I made arrangements with my belly to eat a nice healthy lunch and snack the rest of the day and then eat a somewhat late dinner circa 8pm.

Apparently 1.5 hours of stretching, downward dogs, and holding odd poses can zap all the calories left that you decided to leave behind. So, you were as happy as a leaping frog and my body crunched its way through yoga, using the last of the 4:30pm banana and peanut butter snack I inhaled.

By 8:40pm, I walked into the living room, greeted by your father ready to pounce on me for cutting it so close to the season premier of Grey's Anatomy, the only acceptable trash prime time show on TV I will expose you to which started at 9pm.

It was then that I felt a prickly sensation at the top of my belly, the roof of your home, the oven.
I figured my body was responding to my out of routine eating habits and so I gobbled down a black bean burger on a small bagel with some naked spinach thrown in there. It was a delish, globby mess.

By the second round of commercials of the two hour opener, you were a full-fledged boxer, taking on your vision of a miniature Oscar de La Hoya, I'm sure. Between that and the ring of fire that was spreading over the insides of my belly, I started worrying something was wrong. Two hours later, I could bare stand up or exert any effort because it agitated this burning sensation. Getting up the stairs to bed took forever and I could barely enjoy the newly finished bathroom that I had landed me a spot in the Guinness Book of World Records in the "HOW MUCH CAN ONE PERSON COMPLAIN ABOUT ONE THING FOR 16 DAYS STRAIGHT?" category.

My dear boy, I broke a rule that I swore I never would: I googled pregnancy symptoms. By the end of 10 minutes, I was convinced I was dying of a ruptured absess in my intestines or I was in premature labor (never mind I didn't have contractions).

I sat up in bed because it was too hard to lie down and you fought your way to a comfortable spot inside for a long time. I kept apologizing that I didn't do a better job of whatever caused this and even your dad, furrowed his brows at my incessant whimpering. Eventually, in the wee hours of the night, I fell asleep on 8272 pillows that propped me up.

This morning, my stomach was sore and you were quiet which freaked me out so much I placed a call to the doctor. I cursed Cleveland Clinic for being so complicated. I was patched into different departments until I got Nurse Nancy, who works with our doctor, Dr. McElroy. After what seemed like eons, I explained the ring of fire feeling, what I ate that day, ("Do I have food poisoning?"), and prenatal yoga poses that I held.

Her assessment, "Is it above the belly bump?"

Yes.

"Is the pain below your chest?"

Yes.

"Is the baby still moving?"

Like a ferocious upset animal.

"Well, that's good."

What's the problem? Do I need to come in?

"Nope, just take some Tums."

TUMS?

"Sounds like acid reflux."

"What's that?"

She sounds incredulous,"You've never had acid reflux?"

No, does that hurt the baby?

"No, you probably had an empty stomach and there was nothing to soak up the acid so it burns like that for a long time."

Oh, so it's common to feel like I'm about to die and that can be acid reflux?

"Sure. Take some Tums and call me at 4pm if it doesn't get any better."

Hang up.

So now I feel like an idiot. And overreactive. And naive of acid reflux. And lucky that I never had acid reflux. And dumb when my co-worker heard that I have acid problems and promptly handed me a roll of Tums. I promptly popped 4 in my mouth.

They taste like Pez candy.

So, my renewed promise to you, my son, is to never again let so many hours go by without some nutrition because apparently that can lead to death-like experiences when pregnant.

Your mom has learned her lesson.

I hope you enjoyed the variety of today's eating selection.

Love,
Mom

Letter # 1 - About 3 Months to Go

Dear Isaiah,

You are almost 26 weeks old and we are almost exiting the second trimester together. You and I, if you haven't noticed, are in this together.

I've been enjoying our morning talks about the world, my observations about the kind of life you might lead. I do apologize for the random profane words that shoot out of my mouth from time to time which disrupt our profound conversations. You see, my son, I am usually driving when we have our talks and sometimes a disgustingly irresponsible driver will cut me off or turn without signaling or speed by me and, involuntarily, your mouthy mom goes off.

Your father does an excellent job of telling me to calm down and, for the most part, I have. I drive in the right hand lane, rarely go above 5 miles past the speed limit and, instead of barreling through yellow traffic lights as I used to, now come to a complete stop without acting as if I'm in the Indy 500.

You've been quite a lovely baby to oven. I like when you're tumbling around in there, doing whatever it is your doing. Your father says that if he were you, he'd spend a lot of time playing with the umbilical cord, studying its flexibility and seeing what tricks he could do with it. That sounds fine, except just don't put it around your neck. That's one of my fears.

We're getting your room ready and this morning, I just sat in there, staring at all these little gifts, slowly appearing in your room, waiting for you. Sometimes, I just really can't believe you're on your way. You'll be here before we know it and neither me or your dad can wait. We're so excited and talk about you all the time.

Today at work someone commented to me, "Guess what's in 3 months?" I shrugged and she said, "Christmas Eve!" That sounded absurd, but it's true. In about 3 months, it'll be Christmastime and you'll be nearly here. Sometimes when people say time-sensitive comments like that, it just brings your reality that much closer. 3 months. That's not far away at all.

Well, I hope you enjoy our activity this evening. I am going to try pre-natal yoga and see if it is all its cracked up to be. Maybe you'll benefit from some of my deep breathing and stretching. If you don't like it, I'm sure you'll let me know. You certainly let me know your thoughts the other night after I ate spicy Thai food.

I'll be more considerate in the future.

Love,
Mom

Baby Grand, Baby Isaiah, and the Headache that Won't Go Away

It has been two weeks now that our bathroom (at least half of it, that is) has been gutted. And, thankfully, since my last post, much progress has been made.

Just last night, I came home and was pleased to find pretty white tiles in place, a new fan and light installed above the shower, new handles and a very high-placed shower head (Nick was very pleased), and the ceilings all patched up.

With our Cleveland baby shower/Isaiah party coming up in a little over a week, I was beginning to feel some relief off my shoulders. There's still a lot that needs to be done, but, literally, the dust has settled, some clean-up efforts have commenced, and Nick tried out the shower and reported that the water pressure was not perfect but was definitely better than the trickling down effect we had a few weeks ago.

So, all was well and good last night that we even began to play with our newest toy: a donated baby grand piano!

About two months ago, I was approached at work by a woman who asked if I knew of anyone who would want a baby grand piano - for free - and all that needed to be covered was transportation. She didn't lie - it was in decent shape and hadn't been tuned in years. Of course, my ears perked up at the sound of "free," "piano," and "grand."

I took piano for a few years when I was a kid and, as my father predicted that I would, now regret that I didn't stick with it. As an adult, it would be nice to have a musical vice. However, the scale lessons and hard practice hours I put in as a child were not entirely lost. My family is a piano family. My father and sister play by ear. Nearly everyone on my father's side can play. To say that a piano is a filipino trademark would be an understatement. Nearly every wedding, gathering, reunion, funeral, or meeting involves a bit of the piano and belting out a song or two.

And so, you can imagine my excitement when the possibility of a baby grand fell into our laps.

A few weeks later, the transaction was final and the piano is now sitting in our living room. I hired a professional piano cleaner and tuner and he affirmed what I already suspected: the piano was in "wild" shape. AKA - it hadn't been played and/or tuned for YEARS. That kind of neglect is destructive. Imagine a piano like a living body. If you don't go out for a run or walk or if you don't do anything but sit in a corner eating Twinkies, you'll be out of tune as well.

And so, the long journey of repairing our Baby Grand has begun, which is perfect timing as I sing to Isaiah, teach him chords, and fine-tune his ear for the ivory keys. Baby Isaiah, I think, is loving it.

One of the instructions left by the piano cleaner was that we had to play the piano "hard" in the next few weeks and really get the keys moving around again. I made an emergency call to my sister, asking her to come over and play for a while because I am not nearly at the level she is. Even Nick is pitching in. Now, if you can imagine NICK, who may not know a xylophone from a french horn, trying to play the piano just to get it out of its rusty stage, you can understand why I've been doubled over, laughing my ass off in the kitchen when he plays.

He sits and plays the keys like he is taking a type writing course and then out of nowhere, he runs his left hand from the bottom to the top of the keys as if finishing off a Bach masterpiece. Oh, my dear spouse. He is such comedy.

So, last night, after I was fiddling with the piano while Nick was huffing and puffing going up and down the steps, clearing out furniture of the soon-to-be nursery when I hear an extremely rare, "You've got to be shitting me!" from Nick.

My first thought, "He either found a rat or there's another leak in the kitchen."

The ceilings in the bathroom and kitchen HAD JUST BEEN SEALED and I was looking forward to new coat of paint and moving forward in our showering amenities.

For one moment, in all honesty, I almost preferred that he spotted a rat.

I walk into the kitchen to see my hubs staring at the ceiling and, sure enough, there were droplets plopping down onto our newly cleaned floor.

I nearly crumbled in frustration.

As if on cue (I have an emotional reaction, Nick moves into action), our contractor is called and comes right over and accesses the situation. After about 20 minutes of rooting around, he reports it can be fixed first thing in the morning, but he does need to cut out the kitchen ceiling again.

At this point, I am staring like a zombie at the television, wondering if we'll ever get our lives back.

Even the sight of our baby grand, even the feel of Baby Isaiah kicking his disapproval couldn't remove our frustration and disappointment of the new deadline: FRIDAY.

Remember, this entire job was supposed to be done LAST WEDNESDAY. ONE WEEK AGO.

But, at least, we are able to shower and I took my inaugural shower this morning and it is quite lovely. I would just love to be able to clean again, move our kitchen out of the dining room, and get ready for more important things.

The saga continues.

Diffusing the Anger

Today was the deadline for our bathroom to be finished.

I was planning on a phat post about how awesome our lives are, complete with a brand new tub, tiles, and fan, rejuvenated and clear pipes, and a fresh toilet seat on top.

That is not the headline of today's post.

If Nick gets to a level of annoyance, that means that I am approaching warning levels of volcanic eruption. I cannot believe how long and annoying this process is. At this very moment, I am listening to drills, sawing, and a very loud radio in the background to keep the workers entertained. At this very moment, as they start to clean up at 5:06pm, the bathroom is fit for someone along the lines of Jason Voorhees.

Now, don't get me wrong. I have a tender heart. I'm a nice person. I understand that things come up, deadlines are pushed back, people work their fannies off and still things don't always come together as planned. But, just follow how this whole situation has affected me this past week. Remember, Nick is still going to work with luggage for his showers. As if that isn't exasperating enough to watch him truck off to work with a piece of carry-on baggage.

1) The dustbowl that is our house has flared up some allergens that make my eyes itch and throat constrict with coughing.

2) The accessible toilets in our house are on floors 1 and 3. Our bedroom is on floor 2. Which means for pregnant persons, like myself who get up in the middle of the night, one must be fairly alert to navigate the stairs. By the time I get myself back into bed, I am wide awake.

3) Interrupted sleep is making me very, very tired.

4) Isaiah doesn't like this routine and so HE is very, very tired.

5) I am showering at work and must pack a bag everyday complete with shower sandals and extra towels. It looks like I'm moving into my work office.

And so my friends, it's difficult for me to remain my positive self when all I want to do is scream, "GET THIS JOB DONE AND CLEAN UP THIS MESS! I'M 6 MONTHS PREGNANT!"

Sunday Blues

Depression resulting from sports-related issues certainly cannot be resolved overnight.

I know this for a fact because it is Sunday afternoon and I am still moping over OSU's loss last night to USC. I'm normally not an advocate of bottling away emotions without properly processing them first, but, in this case, I think it's better for everyone in my life, especially Nick, if I just move on as best as I can and deal with the blemish on the Buckeye's early football record.

When my sister was a highschool senior, their graduating class' senior tshirts were custom designed for the class of 1993 and on the back it just read: Seniors rule. Deal with it.

I think I should make a similar tshirt for myself that reads: We had that game but we lost. Deal with it.

Beyond football frenzy 2009, Nick and I have had a lovely weekend of hanging out with friends, attending our neighborhood block party, and sleeping in. This morning we attended a pre-baptismal training class which Nick both led as the Pastoral Associate and participated as a soon to be parent.

It's always fun getting the opportunity to watch your spouse in a different role, a role outside of the house. Not surprisingly he was great at making sure everyone's little bundle of joys were on the right path to their first sacrament.

Our little saint, Isaiah, has been stretching his limbs and tumbling around like an Olympian. Sleep has been a bit finicky for me lately and some days I just feel like I just need a comfy chair to lie down in. Others days I am rip roaring with energy.

Today is a lay low kind of day. Nick is working. I can't take any more football this weekend. And our house is a dustbowl of disaster because of the bathroom demolition.

I am hoping by the end of the day my Buckeye-induced sadness will have dissipated.

Here's hoping...

The Weird Reasons

I haven't forgotten about this blog -- really, I haven't.

Maybe there are some things that are forgotten with a pregnant brain (a lot of pregnant women report scatter-mindedness and forgetfulness), but writing and this blog are not one of them.

This week, albeit a shortened week because of the holiday, has been really WEIRD.

Here's one reason: our bathroom tub and walls are getting ripped out. The bathroom ceiling has been taken out. In the kitchen, if you look up through the ceiling hole, you can see to the top of the bathroom ceiling/3rd floor base. That's right. From the first floor, you can see straight up to the second floor.

That means an ungodly amount of dust has settled in the nooks and crannies of our house and I am hacking away like it's the middle of Spring. Poor Isaiah has been tumbling all around when I cough. I think he thinks I'm perpetually choking.

Also, work has turned up the heat on both Nick and I in our respective employment offices. We're both getting up early to shower at work (we both have access to shower facilities) because we're obviously without a tub and unless we want to hose each other down on our front lawns, getting up early and showering elsewhere is the only way to stay respectably clean. And our workload has generally increased. We're busy bees these days.

In the meanwhile my stomach looks like a rising circus tent ready to enfold anyone who comes near it. I've noticed that the floor creaks when I walk on it now. Dude, I feel like a slowly expanding hot air balloon, except I don't get to fly.

Other weird news is that OSU football season has started and WHAT WAS THAT NEAR LOSS TO NAVY AS THE SEASON OPENER? Not a convincing win. That did not put anyone at ease. And so, this Saturday against USC, has us in a quiet nervous state. We don't want to talk about it because the intensity is just that heavy for us.

Weird reason #3, our kitchen stuff is in the dining room. Because of the ceiling hole, we had to clear out the kitchen and move everything into the dining hall. Correction: NICK had to clear out the kitchen and move everything into the dining hall. We have no place to eat and so we keep eating random foods like cereal and granola bars to stay alive and ordering out which we rarely do because we think it's usually a waste of money.

Weird reason #4, my pregnant brain is getting uber introverted these days. That means less blogging, less writing. THIS is not a good thing, as I need to be writing everyday to stay in good practice.

Weird reason #5, REGISTERING FOR ISAIAH IS THE BIGGEST PAIN IN THE ASS AND WE KEEP TALKING ABOUT HOW MUCH WE HATE IT.

Weird reason #6...Did I mention how we have to shower at work? That means NICK IS BRINGING A SUITCASE TO WORK TO CHANGE CLOTHES.

Overall, this week just needs to end.

Like, now-ish....

Conversation

Me: Nick?

Nick: Yeah?

Me: It's September.

Nick: I know.

Me: Do you know what that means?

Nick: It could mean multiple things.

Me: It means our son is going to be here in less than four months, roughly.

Nick leans over and loudly talks to my belly button: ISAIAH! PLEASE STAY PUT FOR A WHILE. IT'S GOOD IN THERE. IT'S SAFE IN THERE. DON'T COME OUT JUST YET. WE'LL LET YOU KNOW.