It’s not writer’s block.
It’s not that a lot isn’t going on.
It’s just that offline life is growing in exciting and demanding new ways that cuts a bit of my blogging.
But, the 411 is …
My sister is engaged!
And my best friend in the world is engaged!
And one of my closest dearest friends in the world is engaged!
And Nick’s best friend is engaged!
and
YOU should get engaged…
2011 is going to be a massive nuptials year.
Maddening.
Consuming.
Head-stuffing.
Forehead in my hands disbelief.
Bone deep fatigue.
Silent pleaing.
Aching feet.
Aging knees.
Eating on the run.
Singing non-stop for baby.
Gentle surprises.
Foregone fashion.
Observing delight.
Broken toys.
Bottomless baskets of laundry.
Wrecked balance.
Quick prayers.
Stains.
Anxiety.
Questions.
Doubt.
A lot of doubt.
Remembering.
So this is motherhood for today.
…are found in make/shift magazine.
Issue 8 is out.
It’s hella awesome.
Isaiah 9 Months from Lisa Factora-Borchers on Vimeo.
Dear Isaiah,
Yesterday was your first day in a swing. I have a picture of it that completely captures who you are right now. The view is from the ground up, you are looking at me, mouth wide open in a smile, and your limbs are as free as a bird. It looks like you’re flying. The camera can only take pictures from the lens looking out, but if it could have taken a picture of the photographer as it took a picture of you, it would have captured an image of me, smiling just as widely at you.
Happy nine months, Angel.
You are THISCLOSE to crawling. Each day for the past two weeks, you have progressed a little further to independent transportation. You were on all fours, then you rocked back and forth like you were revving your engines, and then your right arm started going forward (followed by a bodily collapse), and then you started slowly moving backward.
This morning you took your first honest to goodness crawl move on my bed; at least, I call it a move because I think you moved about three inches. And you were smiling at me and looking at me the whole time. I’m actually quite surprised you weren’t scared by my high pitched squeals of delight. That moment – you crawling toward me with the happiest and purest look on your face – was beyond measure or price. At that very moment, there was no place I would rather be than in my clothing-infested bedroom with mismatching sheets because I haven’t done the laundry this week, and watching you glow with nine months of discovery, accomplishment, and life.
You are often complimented as handsome, adorable, cute, beautiful, but most of all “SO well-behaved,” and I have to agree. You rarely cry out of no reason, are perfectly happy with a stranger’s hold, and you smile at the long line at the post office. You’re a miracle.
Tito Victor is in town and the last time he saw you was when he came in from Los Angeles for your baptism. You were five weeks old then. It’s genuinely hard to fathom how these past nine months have sped by, but they only keep getting better.
Sure I’m getting cornier by the minute and wearing make-up is now as frequent of an occassion as the presidential State of the Union speech, but YOU, Isaiah, have brought unthinkable beauty and wonder to your father and I. We have no complaints. In our eyes, you are perfect in every way and God left nothing to the imagination when you were created. Every part of perfection God made visible in your face.
You nap right now as I right this, snuggled in your Winnie the Pooh “Adventure Suit” with the little red buttons that flash when you move. Your favorite musical toys – the carousel and laptop – are on the fritz because of overuse and drool bombs dropping onto the speakers.
But you adjust and turn your attention to something more mesmerizing, like an empty plastic Gatorade bottle. You are so easily satisfied.
You have been outside in the world longer than you were germinating in my belly and that fact turns my feelings over and over. It feels sometimes as if children are born to be adored and simultaneously break your heart with love. Everyday, you take one step closer toward me and your Dad and another toward your own little life unfolding in your own way.
You’re on your way, Isaiah, and I will always be there to watch you crawl toward your next achievement; be it an empty gatorade bottle, a degree, a job, a marriage, a partnership, a deal, an understanding, a peace, a creation, a job, a new home, a life.
I will always be there.
Love,
Mama
If there was an award for the blogger who wrote the most about landscaping, specifically pachysandra, I would win by a landslide.
But, the bitch sessions are and will be decreasing because the pesky vines and eyesore of a front lawn is GONE! Yes – GONE! Monday afternoon, the huge John Deere bulldozer came and raked the front clean. I, literally, made a small bag of popcorn and watched the whole show front row. Isaiah was mesmerized.
So, there we were, two happy souls watching the deforestation of our own property and I celebrated with some popcorn and Snapple while I took pictures. It now is just a bunch of dirt paved over and people STILL say, “Wow! It looks great!”
You know things are bad when you just shaved your front lawn and people exclaim GREAT.
The planting process will commence once a tree stump is removed sometime today.
You just won’t believe how AMAZING it is to just look at our front lawn and not feel like we need a machete to get to the street.
A suitcase, empty of its contents, lazily drapes itself on an armchair in my bedroom
It still has the smell of the Carolina Ocean
And my bathing suit, dried and crumbled, peeks out from said armchair’s left front leg
Isaiah’s bright orange tank rompers, with pictures of smiling whales and blue fish,
are cleanly folded in untouched towers on the spare bed
And the sandals that I wore everyday through the humidity are nowhere to be found
My toothbrush has changed
The windows are closed
and the air conditioning units are ready to be taken out
Isaiah’s two bottom teeth are fully emerged
His round cheeks are slightly less round
from his constant activity and endless motion
Nick’s jackets hang loosely on the coat stand
now placed near the side door
and his sweatshirts lean lopsided in his closet from use
The sounds of splashes are now crinkling leaves
And the colors are taupe, pumpkin, and navy
The fireplace doesn’t seem so ridiculous either
Even the kitchen talks differently
with its leeks, potatoes, and broth
farewell-ing to the arugula and delicate greens
The skies are sharp blue and piercing white
not fluffy cotton against a deep blue backdrop
as the wistful wind blows against the bricks.
Limbs are covered by long sleeves and jeans
Even a scarf, I spotted, on an evening walker
And children are sniffling their way to school
But my car never got washed as I said I would
Neither did my windows
The scorching sun never let up
and the garden I had hoped to start
and the vinaigrette I planned to try with
my grown herbs
stays bottled inside my head
while the dogs walk in less light
and the mornings are more quiet.
The lemonade stand kids are at the park
and the thick grass demands less
but, the weeds keep coming. Of course they do.
And I, surveying the remnants of summer, wonder
how June, July, and August
so quickly departed.
When people learn that I am a loose vegan, many assumptions are assumed:
1) I must not really have the discipline to quit eating animal and animal products
2) Going vegan is too hard
3) I am crazy for trying in the first place
Going loose vegan is a huge privilege. Veganism, initially by force because of nursing issues, wasn’t exactly the ideal life. It’s HARD. It’s not easy to find egg free, dairy free, casein free anything. And Whole Foods is not exactly wallet-friendly, to put it lightly.
But, I sit here -after having made a deliciously vegan spinach and artichoke dip that Nick is sneaking his paws into right now – wondering how to explain to folks that going vegan is actually quite simple and pleasurable once you get the hang of it.
Now, I’m not a hypocrite by saying I’m a loose vegan. Just last night I shameless grubbed on a huge ass burger (hold the cheese for Isaiah). Loose vegan means that in my house, when I cook, roughly 90% of what I make is vegan. The last 10% is usually when I have not time manged myself well enough for the day and find myself in a crunch and need to eat something before I pass out. Or, I have not yet found a way to cook a yummy recipe without animal or animal products.
The 90% of vegan living is awesome. I feel fantastic and feel no deprivation whatsoever. Two nights ago, Nick gobbled down my vegan chocolate chip cookies and even Carmen, my cookie obsessed sister, proclaimed them heavenly. Just remember, I told Nick, just because it’s vegan and animal-free, doesn’t mean it’s completely healthy. Nick replied, “Yeah, it’s hard to remember that. Every time you say something is vegan, I equate it to eating a carrot.”
Mhm, no.
Supplementing animal stuff for non-animal stuff is sometimes loaded with soy, beans, oils, and different kinds of fat. Granted, they are better for you, but that doesn’t mean they’re equivalent to a bunny food.
So, as I sit in my vegan kitchen, I have to say that I think this is going to be my way of life for the long haul. I am officially on board. I love being a loose vegan and I never in a million years thought that would EVER be me. Filipino cuisine is not exactly friendly to the livestock. But, there’s room in my life for flexibility.
Open up your minds to straddling the black and white lines and learn that not everything needs to be exact and fit perfectly in a box. I have surprised myself over and over again in learning how peaceful and fun it can be to eat whole foods whole. To feel full with vegetables, beans, sugar cane, blue agave, quinoa, seasonal fruits, toasted almonds, and coconut milk feels much more life-filled than being stuffed with animal fat, particles, processed flour, stripped-of-their-nutrients canned soups, dairy, and dead carcass. The exchange sounds formidable, but, trust me, in terms of taste you hardly notice it. In terms of health, you’ll feel more alive than you can imagine.
Now excuse me while I go feast on pretzel bread and my spinach, artichoke, arugala, italian parsley dip.
I wish there was a safe, sanitary way to show you how miserably sick I am right now.
About four months ago, when Isaiah was getting tested for various allergies, I decided to take the plunge and finally pin down what exactly has me wheezing and asthma-ing all over myself at various points in the spring. These series of tests were roughly 30 years overdue.
C`est la vie.
I got them done.
The laundry list of “try not to eat this, don’t eat this, and EAT THIS ONLY IF YOU HAVE A EPIPEN IN YOUR BACKPOCKET” was formidable, but I got this jist:
Patient: Lisa Factora-Borchers
Diagnosis: Semi-annual death march begins in mid-April of each year and concludes early June; re-commences in September and concludes early October.
Treatment: Move to warmer climate, pump the ‘roids, or bitch a lot to spouse or anyone who will listen.
I opted for the last treatment plan.
My head feels like it’s underwater and my entire sinus cavity is stuffed with God-only-knows what. Luckily, Isaiah is as merry as can be and Nick, immune to 99% of germs, escapes unscathed.
Which leaves lonely little me, couched by trees and whatever is released into the air when the temperatures suddenly drop and the leaves begin to die.
Oh, how I used to love jacket weather.
This sickness marks the end of summer (that and the fact I am writing this in sweatshirt and a blanket draped over my legs) and the beginning of football season, holiday anticipation, leaf blowing rants, and caramel coated anything I can get my hands on. September marks the time of year when I peel off the tops of my autumn clothing bins and squeal like it’s Christmas. This is also the first autumn with Isaiah.
Speaking of everyone’s favorite Gerber Giant, the little ball of dynamite is growing unbelievably well. Last week, I walked into his room once I heard him roar awake from his nap and stopped short when I saw him smiling, SITTING UP, in his crib. He was happily grinning at me, as if to say, “Look, Mom, I can sit up on my own and soon enough I’ll be able to catapult myself off this mattress and onto the floor!”
His strength is not to be underestimated. When he wakes up from his nap, I shit you not, the entire house kinda shakes for a few seconds. It’s because he raises his legs as high as he can into the air and SLAMS THEM INTO THE TOP OF THE CRIB BARS. I know, you must be wondering, “But, doesn’t that hurt his feet?”
APPARENTLY NOT because he does this ALL THE TIME. It sounds like there is a monster coming out of its cage and, with its beefy arm, slams its mighty fist into the cave wall causing small tremors of fear throughout the mountain people. The mountain people are Nick and myself. That’s what it sounds like when he awakens. He does this so often that it doesn’t phase us anymore and the phrase, “Is that the little monster trying to get out of his cave?” slips off the tongue so easily now.
So, other than myself being sidelined by leaves and Isaiah turning into a gentle monster, Nick is busy busy busy with his new MBA program. Similar to a cave man, he disappears into our office for many hours and only emerges to use the bathroom and eat. “MUST EAT. FEED ME WOMAN.”
Nick also won our weight loss challenge. He lost 24lbs. I lost 8. That’s a walloping, I know. But, the challenge continues for me. I’ll let you know once I reach my mark. Nick reached his goal of running a half-marathon and losing a bunch of LBs. My goal was to continue breastfeeding, up my exercise, and not lose my sanity.
Missions accomplished.
that makes it smell wistful?
that makes you feel a strange combination of excited, anxious, and calm?
that feels gentle?
that feels like sadness?
that reminds you to hope?
that ushers in peace?
that moves you to a new place?
that breezes through your house like no one month can?
that brings people together?
that feels more like a whisper?
that harbors many painful memories?
that brings you back to new pencils and glue sticks?
that makes me raid the discount aisles of art stores?
that puts summer to shame?
that urges us to let it go?
that gears us up for sports?
that puts oil in our neutral engines?
that creates an illusion of a novelty in the closing months of the year?
that I cannot put my finger on, but leaves me with a sweet nostalgia?