Twinapalooza

Yesterday was Memorial Day. On many fronts. Most of you are Zuckerberged to me through the magic of The Social Network and so were party to my minute-by-minute account of the twins' arrival. Unlike Dillon and Reese, there was an actual labor. And though with Reese, we rushed to the hospital to avoid the Snowpocalypse, we had plenty of time before she arrived.

But yesterday, Eva's water broke around 2 p.m., and we found ourselves once again racing for the hospital. And we made it just as they were putting in the epidural. We'd barely arrived before Baby A was crowning - and subsequently born with one gentle push. And four-and-a-half minutes later, Baby B emerged feet-first.

Elyssa Anne arrived calmly, delicately, small-ly. Under six pounds, her features are doll-like. Her hands tiny with miniature fingers. Her feet, however, are long and thin and capped with monkey toes. Ethan Carter worked himself around into breech position, requiring the doctor to pull him out feet first and squalling for all he was worth. And while his sister basked peacefully under the heat lamp, he wailed himself fully red as a beet.

When Reese was born, I felt awe at the miracle of life, delivered in an instant into the room and the world. With Elyssa and Ethan, I felt awe at the magnificence of Eva, a determined vessel that nourished 13 pounds of baby. She was in the hospital on Sunday after straining a ligament under her belly, and I started to worry that her dedication to keeping the twins until late in her term was going to tear her to pieces. Yesterday, with quiet strength and grit, she delivered two lives into this mad world. She lay spent on the bed, listening to the music of two cries, and I thought, "Wow, what a woman."

Dear a-Men:

I read your latest letter to Penelope with, per usual, an absolute sense of likewiseness. Of the sense that tradition clearly stems from the past, is carried into the present and seems rather moot in the face of a faceless future. How (and who - which I must point out is an anagram of "how" -) will it be toted forward if there are no small hands to reach for it? And not even one hand to reach for yours to make new tradition?

Christmas Eve started well enough with coffee with an old friend. But then, it was on to some rather joyless cooking. The chopping and stirring and measuring all seemed rather like a chore than a shared experience. Though we tried to laugh and infuse the egg peeling and pretzel smashing and vegetable boiling with yuletide brightness, it simply felt tired and dim.

We watched the Christmas Eve service on the internet rather than going because I just couldn't muster the energy to push everyone to go. And then we watched Prep & Landing, and it was lovely, but the theme of dissatisfaction and finding fulfillment just made me cry.

And then my brother called and wanted us to come down to his house before Santa's arrival on Christmas morning. But his in-laws were there, and the house doesn't really offer the room for four more adults to be added to the festivities and plus we don't open presents on Christmas day anymore because the in-laws are there and so we postpone until the New Year's weekend. This all led to serious Nana-guilt for my mother and envy-guilt for my sister and me who were having a hard enough time with this holiday season.

The call was a reminder of all the tradition lost and the way our Christmas has become this slippery ephemeral thing to be moved around on the calendar to accommodate everyone's schedule. It all leads to a half-hearted Christmas on both ends of the week - a Christmess if you will. And not only that but there was the reminder of children, of in-laws, of new celebrations and bright eyes and innocence and the kind of love that creates all those things that's decidedly missing from my life right now.

Even though it was snowing - my first white Christmas! - and the Christmas music played in the kitchen and there was a blue velvet birthday cake for Baby Jesus (because Dillon's favorite color is blue) and Reese woke up from her nap demanding "Ash'ey" and curled up in my lap all warm and cherubic for some TV time, there was still on the inside a void. A cold hollow that echoed with all the doubts about whether it will ever be different. Whether I will ever have my own warm cherub and strange desserts by request.

We ended the night by watching two horrible made-for-TV movies that somehow took the edge of bitterness off the day. If even the Hallmark movie could fail in holiday perfection, perhaps I should cut myself some slack.

Ah, M. Let us continue the advent celebration with the same sense of hope that Immanuel delivered to us. God is with us. And for now, that will have to be enough.

Love,
A

Miscellany & All That Jazz

* Today I bought a pair of sunglasses at the same time I bought underpants featuring characters from Cars for Dillon. I felt compelled to explain to the cashier that they were for my nephew because I don't have a kid so these aren't for my kid that I don't have, but instead, I took a deep breath and reminded myself that no one cares but me.

* I bought a house two month's ago that I'm still not living in because I can't move Kudzu at the moment. It's now serving as the world's most expensive storage unit.

* Dillon asked me yesterday why I wear glasses. He found it delightful that "my peepers don't work right." I'm pretty sure I set him up to say that to a stranger in an embarrassing manner before long.

* As I've unpacked items at the *new* storage unit, I've found pictures from 3, 5, 10 years ago. And no matter how recent or distant from present, they all seem like lifetimes ago.

* I'm wondering if it would be taking advantage of the intern to allow him to mow my lawn. He says he likes yard work, and I'm pretty sure that I'm not gonna.

* I've had a spate of Facebook invitations from people I obviously went to high school with but of whom I have absolutely no recollection. And I'm pretty sure I'd remember someone who went by "Jeff Bo."

* Lately, I've dreamed a lot about travel. It reminds me how reluctant I am to take the time, spend the money, make the leap. And so I just stay put and dream.

* How long does it take for water to go under the bridge? I mean, are there just people/relationships/occurrences that you have to let go? But let go in a float downstream unresolved kind of way? And not in the we can be friends kind of way?

* Is it worth it to keep the big fat box of skinny pants? Or should I just accept my fatness.

* In my office of eight, five are women. In the last six months, one got married, and three are engaged. One is pregnant.

* I want some banana pudding.

* Kudzu is in my lap and purring, and I don't want to move him so I may just sleep crooked on the couch.

* I am stupidly excited that the AP Stylebook finally relented and made "website" the correct spelling over the historic "Web site."

* One of my favorite clients took another job in another state. I won't miss the mild sexual harassment, but I will miss a client that curses like a sailor and laughs at my jokes.

* I named a microbrew by a local brewery in town. It's one of my greatest professional accomplishments.

* Lately I've encountered people who remind me of my hopeless quest to be a cool kid and the hopelessness of it. Because, let's face it, there will always be cool kids. And I will never be one of them.

* Friday I ate a blood orange "handcrafted popsicle." I'd like another, please.

* One of the signs that Kudzu's anemia might be worsening is if his tongue gets pale. I never thought I would have such a high per diem of saying "His tongue looks pretty good."

* Right now, my mother's cat is asleep on my right toes - just the little one and the one next to it. His breath is tickling my foot.

* Reese says "hi" in the most charming manner - just a sing-song "hiiiiii."

* I have to go to bed now and pretend that I'm going to get up early and make it to work even before I'm supposed to be there to catch up on work. I have such a good imagination.

Are You There, Blog? It's Me, Ashley.

Six months ago, the words stopped.

I couldn't say precisely why. Perhaps it was my unwillingness to let the laptop go and embrace a new computer. Perhaps it was the myriad of out-of-town trips that kept me busy through October. Perhaps it was the onset of the second holiday season without Ronnie. Perhaps it was the relentless pursuit of the perfect house. And perhaps it was a combination of those things or none of those things. But whatever the reason, the inner-narrative that became the outer-blog was suddenly silenced.

I feel like I ought to be able to find the words now to describe those months, to fill in the great void I've left here. When I try to pin them down and sort them out into some chronological experience, it all falls apart. Instead it's a rush and blur of images and scenes. Mountains in October in North Georgia and Boone, NC. Dahlonega in November. Pictures of leaves. A second Thanksgiving without Ronnie. And Christmas without him, too. Cold, gray days, long and dark.

There were sounds: A Death Cab for Cutie concert at the Fox. And Ray LaMontagne's voice crying out "Jolene" against those beautiful theater walls. A new David Gray album - fourth row tickets purchased for his upcoming concert in Atlanta. John Mayer at Phillips Arena again, covering "Ain't No Sunshine."

The milestones: Dillon is three now. And Reese is one. And I bought a house. The Barrister, for whatever reason, still sees fit to hang around me.

I still work in the office between The Goofball and The Linguista.

Nothingandsomuch has changed. And nothingandsomuch has stayed the same.

And even though I want to say everything, I settled for saying something. Something like...hello.

Hard Drive Goes the Hard Way

I heard the ominous whirring. The fan gunning and wheezing to a stop. But I ignored it and pressed onward. I could feel it dying every time I turned on the computer, its arduous start-up process. And it was made all the more pitiful by the broken hinges that meant I had to prop the lid on the couch arm to use it.

For Christmas, Mom gave me a ridiculously large external hard drive for backing up my photos. I left it in the packaging under the table by the bed until the night that the whirring turned to clicking.

Oh, the click of a withering hard drive.

I panicked, willing it to turn on just one more time. Just long enough for me to plug a USB in and drag all my precious files to safety. But instead, they drowned in a sea of rhythmic clicking. Like a life preserver tossed into a tempest, Mom (who's quite tech savvy) tried to reboot from the system disk. Alas, there was no hope. And so, I sat there on the couch, with my hand on the lid of the laptop and thought of all of the photos of Dillon and Reese and Wilmywood, all of the half-started stories and poems, all of the downloaded-only music, sinking down through the cyberspace abyss.

I carried it to the mall to a rather chaotic looking little shop where a harried Asian lady attempted to start the failed piece of crap. Instead of success, she shook her head sadly and repeated, "I don't know. It's the hard drive. I don't know." And I thought to myself, Don't say it again. And two weeks later, she declared it a lost cause.

I had flashbacks of the Sad Mac and poor Carrie Bradshaw's lost files. The Barrister guided me out of the mall while I alternately tried to console myself and contemplated quickly dispatching myself in front of a moving vehicle. I sat in the car, the hunk of plastic and circuits tucked inside the Belk bag that held my newly purchased "fat" shorts (adding insult to injury), and looked out the window. I felt stupid. Hard drive failure had happened to me at work. And I knew that the laptop was on its last leg. I remarked nearly every time I started it up that I needed to back it up. Instead, I let myself down.

Now, the hard drive is sitting on the dining room table, deftly removed from its casing by my mom. There's a box in one of the chairs. There's some packaging materials I've tossed on top for when I get ready to ship it to the ridiculously high-priced data recovery center. There's probably a thin film of dust on it - it's been weeks.

So why I haven't I sent it? I don't know. It's not that I don't want those memories back - I desperately want to be able to look again at the photos I took of Dillon at the playground the day before the hard drive died and the pictures I took at the work retreat and the autumn leaves at last year's trip to Valle Crucis and mine and The Barrister's Valentine's Day and, perhaps most desperately, the pictures I took of the Grace Street apartment that can never be replicated. I want the words I never finished, and the drafts of my thesis that lead me to what I published. And yet, if I don't send it, they are still alive, somewhere in cyberspace limbo. And if I do send it, I might have to hear that they're gone forever, little bytes of life vanished as though they never happened.

Rusty

Tonight, I logged in to the Jungle for the first time in ages. I suppose I've checked into the dashboard a couple of times over the last two-and-a-half months, but, to be honest, I haven't really had words. I haven't had words or time or both, or maybe the chemistry to grease the wheels between thoughts and expression. For whatever reason, I took an unintended hiatus.

At times, this accidental absence has felt like a release from responsibility. But at this point, the silence is deafening. The words are clogging my synapses; it's difficult to even know what to say.

My first impulse was to try and write everything...try to somehow recapture the lost time. Instead, I'm going to oil up the brainwaves and just let it all tumble out. And if there's something you want to know more about - if any of you are still out there - I'll be happy to expound upon it. So here's a little of what you've missed...and by the way, it's good to be back.

* Third blogiversary
* Winning lottery ticket - $35
* Harry Potter & the Half-Blood Prince
* The death of Michael Jackson
* 30
* New-found affinity for goat cheese
* Monet's water lilies * Birthday shoes
* Dillon's 2 1/2 birthday party
* House hunt with renewed vigor
* Big new account at work
* Trip to Ohio and reunion with the one and only Kim Shable
* Nearing 8 months with The Barrister
* Introduction to Beach Ball Rodeo
* Client placement in an in-flight magazine (the ungetable get)
* Reese sitting up
* A terrible tragedy
* The rise of tweeting
* Frequent travel to the Big City office
* New tripod
* A month of physical therapy for my continued back problems
* Blackberry cobbler
* Weight gain
* Death Cab for Cutie concert
* Death of the Hard Drive
* Tommy's 30th birthday party
* Growing volunteer group
* Seeing Penelope & Andi
* Meeting The Ice Cream Man
* Discovery of The Furminator
* Received a hand-painted lizard from the Dilly Monster
* Laughed, loudly, as always
* Made mistakes, as always
* Lived

Obligatory Cuteness

Reese's Pieces

FAIL

* Blogging

* Reading the novels sent to me by Kim Shable and Susan

* Leaving the bar at Smartini

* Seeing Reese and Dillon

* Contact with the outside world

* House-hunting

* Being productive at work

* Writing (in a way that uses that MFA thing I've got)

* Finances - surprise - $270 for car servicing! Taxes not back yet. Yelch.

* Sending back the merchandise that Amazon sent me incorrectly

* March project for volunteer group (although, I will have to partially blame it on the rain that is falling, falling.)

* Putting a picture of The Barrister on my desk at work

* Life, generally speaking

Oh, Baby

Shameless self-promotion

Reese Marie

Reese Marie
March 2, 2009
1:45 p.m.
7 lbs., 12 oz.
19 inches

And for the record, I went back there. I was present at the moment of birth and it was both transcendent and educational. It took awhile for the adrenaline to wear off...for the come down after it all. But, now that I'm back at home and have a moment to reflect, it was really quite beautiful. And I miss her already.

Just Me & the Boys: An Update

For some reason - is it because I' m a girl? - I keep getting asked if I want to go back to the labor and delivery room. Umm. No. I do not. Like, why is it okay for my dad and Eva's dad and brother and (although less surprisingly) The Barrister to park it in front of daytime TV? But me? They keep prodding. "You can go back if you want." Why would I want to go back there? I want to see the baby, sure. But after it's ungoopified and smelling nice and wrapped in swaddling clothes. I do not need to see the actual emergence into the world. That is all.

And for the record, an epidural is in place and I expect we'll be getting push reports from "back there" before long.

Labor & Delivery

At the moment, The Barrister and I are sitting in the waiting room watching snippets of Dr. Phil addressing the Octo-Mom in his typical incongruous metaphors. I can't really pay attention. Part of me want to go back to sleep...seeing as how we fled the storm of the decade that unceremoniously dropped six-plus inches of snow at home and arrived at Anna's just before 9 last night. And then got up at 6:30 this morning to get ready for the baby's arrival. Not that this chair is all that comfortable, but I am rather tired.

I walked back to the delivery room to say hello to Eva...she's having contractions about ten minutes apart. It was cool to hear the baby's heartbeat. But the machines, the tubes, the hospitalness of it all. I'm content to be stuck with Dr. Phil and now experts on rosacea. Mom had suggested that I might want to stay in the delivery room...but. No. I think I'll wait until Reese is here and wearing a cute little hat before I get involved. Stay tuned...

A Pretty Good Year: Resolutions

* Take a deep breath during perfect moments and really live them.

* Apologize less for being me.

* Accept my limitations.

* Let go of the past - learn from it, but know that the present and the future are where I can exercise the most control.

* Get my stupid passport already.

* Be hopeful and believe that good things exist for me.

* Write more - and write earnestly. It's time to stop holding to insecurities and just do it.

* Welcome Reese into the world with all the love I have to give.

* Embrace happiness without reservation. Love without fear. And relentlessly seek to be at peace with myself.