Pic of the week

Maria's trip to Haiti

I've been reading our midwife's blog about her trip to Haiti to train and support midwives there.
She ends her post on the last day of her trip by talking about what she's learned in Haiti:

'Brother Michael at the Maison Fortune often would ask in the evening circle, "What has Haiti given you today?" It is a question to punctuate the fact that we, as Americans, as foreigners, are receiving, more than giving ourselves while we are here. Haiti has given me a glimpse into the harsh realities of global midwifery. Haiti has shown me hope through the smiles of the children. Haiti has given me an opportunity to witness the strength of women, midwives, who go back to work, day after day, not knowing whether the day will be weighted heavy with joy or grief.'
http://wisewomanchildbirth.blogspot.com/2010/09/journal-entry-september-4-2010.html

As parents, Arne and I talk frequently about how in the learning continuum, we are in the position perhaps of learning much more from HC than the other way around. Funny how learning and teaching get flip-flopped like that in all sorts of scenarios.

More perhaps about how I feel about Haiti later. For the moment, suffice to say that there is no real way to not feel sensationalist and since I tend to distrust sensationalism, I'm left with feelings that have to wait for another proxy venue to come out.

Music

Today, we present you with the glorious hearing abilities of dear Haraldur, and the sounds that surround him:

Sound Check from Arne Johnson on Vimeo.

Dreams

I realize I probably don't have everyone reading this on our email list, so here are some pix we've been sending around:

One Month Old!
http://gallery.me.com/missionpictures#100227

17 Days Old!
http://gallery.me.com/missionpictures#100219

Today, Cati and I were driving along and the local public radio station replayed Martin Luther King's "I have a dream..." speech, as it's the anniversary of the March on Washington. Once he started talking about all our children holding hands and little children growing up in a world where they can go anywhere without seeing signs saying "Whites Only" tears starting welling up in my eyes. I was glad I had my sunglasses on, but then Cati's hand reached up from the backseat and touched me on the back, and I thought she was just consoling me. But a minute later, I could hear her sniffing and crying too. She said "We're not all the way there yet!" And he hit the end of the speech with that amazing cascade of words:

"Let freedom ring. And when this happens, and when we allow freedom ring—when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children—black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics—will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual: "Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"

And we both started crying and I had to pull over. It's amazing how much power those words carry when you're a parent. I couldn't even look at Haraldur without getting teary-eyed again. What have we done to make this world better, to carry that dream forward? We decided right then and there in the car to do more this year to make sure Haraldur grows up in a world that Dr. King died for, one that, in Cati's words, "We are not all the way there yet."
Here's where I got choked up:

"I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character."

I have always assumed my child would be judged by who they truly are, it's so hard to imagine what it would feel like to look at a face like his and know that his future would be defined by the one thing he got from me that he could do nothing about.

All smiles

We have liftoff! The corners of HC's mouth and eyes are beginning to come up on a regular basis. Things what make my little man smile: French (oui oui oui!), showers (but definitely not baths), silly daddy, horse lips, possibly sometimes his best friend/nemesis, Mr. Purple elephant.

This is not a smile, but I know some grandparents who'd be sad about a post w/out pix.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Hankie

Ok, this is that uncomfortable part of every ceremony when the guy gets up in front of family and friends and tries to make a speech about how great and supportive everyone's been and how much it means except he keeps getting choked up and stopping for awkward silences and giggling inappropriately and going on weird, emotional tangents. At first, everyone's moved, some even dab a tear from their eye, but there's also dinner waiting to be plated, drinks to be emptied and dancing to be done. Eventually there's a restlessness as the poor guy mumbles on, completely overcome by the pool of love surrounding him.

Everytime I think about all of the messages and acts aimed towards us from the moment Cati got pregnant to now, I become that guy. Everything from sweet emails to my brother dismantling our house and bringing it to the hospital so we could have traces of the homebirth we'd planned, they accumulate around our heads like constellations, ones we'll sit out back in the grass and point out to Haraldur some day. "See that one, the one that looks like a giant cake? That's the apple cake that our brand new friend Trevor brought us two days after you were born. And that one over there, the one that looks like a speeding car? That's Grandma and Grandpas racing all the way down from Portland and Colorado to meet you after you were born. Right next to it is an empty laundry hamper, the one we could never get filled because Nonna lived with us for the first week like an invisible cleaning angel. And see those stars all piled together, like a mound of gifts? Those are the wonderful gifts and insights brought to us by recent and not-so-recent mothers. And that circle of women holding hands? The midwives and doulas and nurses and doctors who lowered you from Cati on a pillow of light."

I don't think I've ever felt so well loved in my whole life. Right now I have Haraldur in a wrap, snuggled up against my chest with two crossing soft panels enrobing him to me while I write this, and I feel myself and Cati and him supported in the same manner. In the host of many reasons to have such a miraculous and beautiful and sweet child, one I didn't expect was that it quickly flashed a light on the true hearts that surround us, far more than we had any right to believe in. Haraldur has changed our lives in wondrous ways, and so have all of you. It's a scary thing having a child, but having everyone be here like this has made it seem like the easiest thing in the world, like jumping out of an airplane and knowing the birds will never let you fall.

Ok, dinner is served. Thank you.

We Live in a Haze of Beauty

Today we had a really sweet naming ceremony for Haraldur, something we'd been thinking about for a long time but never solidified. With all the grandparents in town for what might be the only time in a while, we suddenly felt the urgency to do something and wrote up a ceremony basically the same morning (with months of brainstorming to inform it). Cati has been pushing for an official christening, and I'm somewhat uncomfortable with churches, so we were trying to come up with a compromise. We did the same kind of inventing for our wedding, and I really loved how we navigated that, so we mushed together various traditions and added our own twists. We had a few little ceremonies and then had all the grandparents say a few words to Haraldur to send him on his new life. Every one of 'em just about cried or had to stop for being choked up, which made me think this hobbled together secular/spiritual/religious ceremony had hit the mark. In fact, everyone (including me) got choked up while speaking except Cati, who cried while everyone else was speaking. No one knew what to expect, including us, which made the surprise of the emotion even sweeter.

Then Cati and Haraldur and I spent the rest of the day in the bedroom cooing and nudging and ogling and staring and crying and smiling and touching and holding. Many more days like this and I'm afraid I'll lose my skin and dissolve into the clouds. Which would be ok, as long as I could still be around to embrace that little one.

mama love from Arne Johnson on Vimeo.