While perusing Pinterest for homeschool ideas earlier this week, I stumbled on a Teachers Pay Teachers file utilizing the free app Stop Motion Studio. My kids love making movies, so I knew they would be uber-excited about this project. For the past few days, my 12-year-old has become a stop-motion-movie-making machine. Their first project was inspired by the Pinterest Pin I found. It outlines how to make a stop-motion movie showing the phases of the moon.
We have learned much about life after death. Sarah Hinze leads us into the next great area of research–the study of where we come from. -Elizabeth Kubler-Ross
Three years ago I gave away three copies of The Memory Catcher, Sarah Hinze’s remarkable memoir. For over twenty-five years, Sarah has conducted extensive research and thousands of interviews related to near death, prebirth and other spiritual phenomena. She has presented her work in several books, at workshops, seminars, conferences, and on radio shows and television shows. Last month, Sarah traveled to the United Nations Commission on the Status of Women with the Big Ocean delegation to share her research. While there, she gave away over 150 copies of the revised and updated 15th Anniversary edition of her important book, The Castaways.
About The Castaways, Sarah explains:
Fifteen years ago my husband and I wrote a book called The Castaways. Since that time almost 10,000 copies have gone worldwide to teach people about the spiritual implications of abortion and that some souls who are aborted may return and be granted another opportunity for earth life.
Little Miss Hope has been the fussiest of my newborns, or “fuzzy” as my 5-year-old says. While I wouldn’t call it full-fledged colic, it has been pretty stressful for us. For the first month+ of her life, she was often unhappy. During those fussy periods, she would usually protest if I tried to nurse her. She wouldn’t take a pacifier. Being in someone’s arms wasn’t usually enough to soothe her, and neither was rocking. When all else failed, bouncing on our birth ball would at least soothe her to some extent.
A few weeks ago someone in a homeschool facebook group asked if other families had given their schools a name. Apparently some states require this, but Arizona doesn’t. Even so, I thought it was a great idea. So I asked my kids what we should name our homeschool.
We started throwing names around, and I can’t remember which clever kid came up with it, but as soon as it was spoken aloud it was a winner. Hopeschool it is. I wanted to make a cute logo to go with it as well, and we agreed on a bird nest theme since I associate Hope with birds. Also… because I like alliteration, I decided to add Haven ’cause that’s what I hope our home/nest will always be. Here’s the graphic I put together with a pic from the public domain.
Babies are such a nice way to start people. -Don Herold
When my husband and I were engaged, we talked once or twice about our future family. We agreed that we wanted children, and it seemed to both of us that four kids was a good number. Three seemed too few, five or more seemed too many. But four sounded “just right.” Now, here we are, fifteen years later with baby #5.
One year ago today I started yoga teacher training! It seems sort of surreal… did that really happen? I was a totally different person then. And a new person again by the time I graduated. And then I birthed yet another version of myself when I brought my fifth baby earthside on Christmas day. I wonder who I will be next Valentine’s Day?
As I reminisced about my first weekend of yoga teacher training, looking over my notes and recalling so many beautiful epiphanies and experiences, I thought… gosh I miss this. It has been several months since I had a daily yoga/meditation practice (a casualty of the third trimester, I suppose). Given a choice between doing yoga or relaxing/sleeping/taking a bath, well… yoga lost just about every time.
I think maybe I need this beautiful watercolor painting created by one of my yogi friends Siri Kirti Kaur. Yogi Bhajan always urged his yoga students: “Keep up and you will be kept up.”
For home school, I try to have my kids write something in their journals several times each week. I let them pick what they want to write about, and they usually come up cool stuff. In the week after my baby was born, we mostly took a break from “school,” but we did have the kids write in their journals a few times. It was my 10-year-old’s idea to write about Hope’s birth. As soon as I found out what she was doing, I was eager to share her account on my blog. At first she didn’t want me to post it, feeling a little self-conscious. But I’m so glad she decided to let me go ahead. With her permission, I will transcribe her journal entry here:
On the early morning of Christmas day my parents woke me up and told me that my mom was in labor and said if I wanted to come I had better get up and find something to bring. So I changed, got my water bottle, some snacks, and a magazine my parents gave me.
That’s when I dropped my pants.
Funny how few circumstances there are when going bottom-less in front of other human beings is totally appropriate, but childbirth is one of them. I was ready to get in the tub. So I settled into the warm water, my husband held my hand, and Cherise knelt beside us and started pouring water over my belly. A few moments later, Mary came and stood at the foot of the tub. She must have known somehow that I was still feeling guilty about giving birth on Christmas, and she knew I needed a way to let that guilt go. The words she said to me… oh those words… those beautiful, beautiful words. Perhaps I’m not quoting her exactly right, but she looked straight into my eyes and said words very similar to this:
There is no greater gift to God’s service than what we’re doing right here right now.
As soon as her message penetrated my heart, it was as though the guilt instantly released its grip on me, and I began to cry. It was a massive, monumental, beautiful release. I sobbed, “Thank you…” and Mary didn’t skip a beat before responding, “Thank YOU.” Cherise and Mary both encouraged me to cry and let it out. This was the first time I had ever cried in labor, and it felt good. Releasing those trapped negative emotions allowed my body to move forward, and the contractions became even stronger.
My midwife partners and I at the The Farm learned by observation and experience that the presence of even one person who is not exquisitely attuned to the mother’s feelings can stop some women’s labors. All women are sensitive. Some women are extraordinarily so. -Ina May Gaskin
Apparently, reading Ina May Gaskin is a great way to boost oxytocin levels. My contractions had fizzled out when I curled up in bed to read, but within twenty minutes or so they were back. I kept reading for a while, but eventually I turned off my lamp and slept through the waves. As I slept, I noticed the contractions, but they were never strong enough to wake me completely.
Sometime around 4:00 a.m. my husband got up with an earache. I decided to get up too and start timing my contractions again. It was not the ideal time for him to be sick (ha, is it ever?), but I did my best to make him more comfortable with all the various natural remedies up my sleeve. It was looking highly likely that we would be having a Christmas baby, so he promised he would focus on supporting me despite his aching ear.
I really didn’t want to call my midwives. It was Christmas morning! And I especially didn’t want to bother them if it was just a false alarm. I waited until contractions were coming between 5 and 10 minutes apart and lasting a minute. And finally I bit the bullet and paged them. Amy was the one who called back (she was on-call until 7:00 a.m.). I told her I felt like maybe I was holding my labor back because I wasn’t yet at my birth location, so I felt like I should probably come in. She said that was fine and that she would meet us at the birth center.
[The first part of Hope’s birth story is HERE.]
As I wrote in the first installment of this story, giving birth is such a multi-layered experience. And what a woman is feeling has such a deep impact on how the birth unfolds. With that in mind, I can’t really give the full scope of what I went through with Hope’s birth without sharing some deep emotional upheaval I experienced a week before. In my last post I shared one layer of my pre-birth emotional state: fear about letting my baby come out. Today I’ll make Brené Brown proud with some hard-core vulnerability and share another layer.
He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under his wings shalt thou trust. -Psalms 91:4
With each of my births it has gotten harder and harder to write about the experience. A birth carries with it so much depth, so many layers of emotion. I feel like human language doesn’t have the capacity to truly encompass or articulate the profundity of it all. At the same time, I think that writing is an important way to process intense experiences, and I value having a record of important events. So, despite the weakness of the written word, I am sitting here with my baby strapped to my chest and my birthing music playing in the background with the intent of documenting my fifth venture into giving life.
I was afraid to let her come out. Having this baby inside of me had been such a peaceful journey. As my belly grew, my mental health steadily improved. I felt so stable. I felt so safe. But giving birth was going to create a lot of inevitable upheaval. And I was afraid of what was going to happen to me. Would I plunge into darkness again? Would my stable, happy world crumble to pieces as it had more than once before? Would I be able to give my baby the love she deserved?
In the weeks leading up to the birth, I spent a lot of time processing those fears. And I knew that those fears could potentially interfere with labor progress if I didn’t figure out how to let them go. When I woke up early in the morning on Christmas Eve with contractions, I felt a bit of panic. And when I used the bathroom and noticed the blood, I knew I had to finally come to peace with letting this baby come out of my body. My husband comforted me for a bit, and then I told him to get some sleep. I texted several friends and family members about the bloody show and mild early labor contractions. Then I sat in the early-morning glow of the Christmas tree and meditated.