5 of the most ludicrously gorgeous sacred carols EVER (with fancy links)

Lately I've been missing the spiritual aspect of Christmas.  Having spent many of my adult years working in churches as a paid choir singer (aka "ringer"), my December calendars of yore were always full of rehearsals, services, and concerts.  But when I went back to school last fall, I made a commitment to keep my priority list simple so I could be as available to my son as possible.  I didn't want to be away from him all day, only to see him briefly at dinner time and then rush off to another evening rehearsal.  So this is the second year that I find my December calendar oddly devoid of musical commitments.  And I'm left feeling that some crucial element is missing from the holiday season.  That element is music; not the corny, boisterous carols like Jingle Bells, but the brilliant choral masterpieces that celebrate the sacred, calm, and mysterious aspect of this season. 

 

 

Although I've drifted far from the comforting black and white Christian faith of my childhood, I still hold onto a sense of reverence for the birth of Christ.  I am not sure whether the whole story of Christ is an elaborate myth, or if Jesus actually was God incarnate (though if He was, he had a few wise spiritual brothers who inspired their own religions, in my very humble opinion).  Despite my lackluster identity as a Christian, I do maintain faith in some Divine Power greater than us all.  It is a benevolent presence that is beyond my understanding.  I like it that way.  I'm fairly certain that the Omnipotent Being who created the intricacy of a snowflake and the vast power of the Universe has qualities that are far beyond my puny human brain's capacity to comprehend.  And that mystery is exciting, because it tells me that there is more to our existence than the day to day ups and downs.  It tells me that there is hope beyond the horrific tragedies that we see each time we turn on the news.  As we approach the 1st anniversary of the Connecticut school massacre, that darkness and tragedy is particularly close to the surface of our realities.
 

 

I see this beautiful mystery when I look up at the stars and attempt to grasp just how tiny our little world is in relation to the grand scheme of things, or when I look at my little boy sleeping peacefully and try to fathom the miracle of his existence. Pema Chodron, a well-known American Buddhist nun and writer, talks about our awareness of such mystery in an article called Waking up to your world: "Awakened mind exists in our surroundings—in the air and the wind, in the sea, in the land, in the animals—but how often are we actually touching in with it? Are we poking our heads out of our cocoons long enough to actually taste it, experience it, let it shift something in us, let it penetrate our conventional way of looking at things?"

 

This mystery is captured so perfectly in the image of the baby Jesus.  Mind you, I don't mean the bigotry-spurning Jesus portrayed by fear-fueled fundamentalists.  I mean the radically loving and compassionate Jesus who unconditionally accepted EVERYONE; republicans, democrats, prostitutes, judgy pharisee asshole types, gay people, straight people, alcoholics, meth addicts, compulsive shoppers, potheads, anarchists, welfare queens, CEOs, and even George Bush Jr.   Whether He was literally the Son of God or just an amazing leader and teacher, his life embodied compassion, and his birth and existence was and is full of miracle and mystery.

 

As a musician, I have found that music conveys this mystery far more fully than any sermon, book, or dogma I've ever encountered.  So as I prepare for the Christmas season, I am going to try and take a few moments here and there to be still and be awake to the mystery of the baby Jesus and all that He represents.  When I'm tempted to obsess over our limited gift budget or the catty annoyances that come up between family members, I'm going to listen to songs like those I've listed below (with fancy youtube links so you can hear them too!).  These are choral classics which I've had the honor of singing many times with various choral groups.  They never fail to quiet my soul and help me tap into the mystery of the Divine. 

 

1. Lux by Eric Whitacre, a modern (and living!) composer.  The video is almost as orgasmic as the music (and no I don't mean THAT kind of video).


2. A Christmas Carol written by the great American composer Charles Ives, and sung here by the exquisitely in-tune choral group Chanticleer (*PS: if anyone needs more evidence that gay men are indeed just as blessed as Godly as any straight person, I suggest listening to a few of their spirituals, and then try to spout reasons why they shouldn't be able to marry one another in a sacred union).  And speaking of Chanticleer, here is their amazing recording of the next song on the list...


3. Ave Maria by Franz Beibl.


4. Bogoroditse Devo, the "Ave Maria" movement of Rachmaninoff's obscenely gorgeous Vespers. 


5. Oh Magnum Mysterium written in 1572 by some guy named Vittoria (clearly I've forgotten everything I learned in my music history courses). 

 

On that note (HA!  Get it?  Note?  Music?) whatever your belief system or religion, may you all find a moment to stop, breath, and ponder the mysterious spirit of this season.  I'd also love to know, my dear readers, which songs bring you BACH to your spiritual center (get it?  BACH? the composer?  Oh nevermind...).  No seriously though, I really would love to know, so please share, either here (if you can figure out how to comment) or on facebook.  Happy singing/listening!

The neurotic mother's guide to graduate school survival

My decision to enter graduate school was based on sound logic.  It came from years of searching, self-awareness, and an excessive number of therapy sessions.  And it came from a realization that motherhood takes on a different form for each woman.  It was the right decision, and the more time I spend in my current grad school program (which involves a full time course load AND a full dose of clinical rotations) the more I realize that my entire disjointed, sporadic professional AND personal life has led me to my current profession; speech pathology is an ideal mix of people, singing, data analysis, and adorable, hilarious children with special needs.

Despite these revelations, I sometimes feel that I am going nuts. And when I do feel nuts, here is what helps:

1) Reaffirming my goals and identity as a mother.

This means checking in with other working moms who have happy, well-adjusted children, and cleansing myself of unhealthy sources of mom-shame (i.e. trying to be the same mother my mother was to me, which is not realistic on many levels, or comparing myself to my girlfriends who love the SAHM career path).  

2) Making the most of the time I DO have with my child.

Even if I get home from a tedious class that goes until 7 p.m. ( hypothetically speaking) and only get 2 hours with Elliot before bedtime, I do my best to make those hours count.  That means putting away the fricking phone (I often fail at this) and engaging with him.  Most of all it means cuddles, laughter, 5 or 6 nighttime stories, and an excessive number of kisses which he cannot escape, despite his futile 31-pounder attempts...mwahaahaaaa!

3) Lowering my standards for myself as a student.

I recently turned in the WORST paper I have ever written.  I skipped the class that it was written for in order to complete it and slither by the teacher's mailbox sheepishly in order to turn it in on time.  And I had a minor Type A breakdown right after turning it in...oh the shame of the typos and minimum number of required citations!  But I spent the weekend caring for my sick child, and that is more important.  I have managed not to slack to the point of flunking (yet) but I sure as hell don't put my all into my schoolwork anymore.  I put in the least amount of time required to learn the material on a basic level and pass the class, and I put my maximum effort into my clinical training (which occupies roughly 25 hours a week these days).  Something has to give.

4) Letting go of irrelevant and counterproductive mom anxiety.

Elliot still uses a binky, wears diapers, and sleeps in our room (in his own little bed).  If I still spent my day around other full time moms, which typically results in comparing milestones like baseball statistics, I'd be completely freaked about these facts.   I know this because I spent Elliot's first year freaking out about his 10th percentile weight and his feeding aversions.  But thankfully I rarely have to engage in milestone stats talk these days, unless it comes to talking about communication milestones related to my clients who aren't speaking yet at the age of 5.  So I've finally woken up and given both Elliot and myself a break.  So he needs a binky to feel secure. Big EFFING deal!  We'll pay for the braces! If he potty trains 5 months beyond the milestone chart- WHO  CARES????   Let me tell you, there is nothing better than being around beautiful, adorable children with genuine developmental delays  to alleviate obsessive, perfectionist parent tendencies.

5) Laughter.

When my heart starts pointing with anxiety and I want to scream very loudly or just punch a wall because I don't know how to do everything I have to do, I resort to hysterical giggling.  We are all surrounded by comic relief, if we choose to see the hilarity or each situation.  And as a mom, sometimes it comes down to choosing whether to laugh very hard or scream very loud.  I try to choose laughing.

6) Giving myself a break.

I continually have to forgive myself for the less productive coping mechanisms I engage in which  result in excessive calorie intake.  Clearly the 5 pounds I've put on since I started this program is purely neuron weight.  Because neurons are huge, and real heavy!  See point #3 if you're wondering whether I am making an accurate statement. (note: as I compose this very profound post, I am also trying to determine which type of take-out to order this evening.  Pizza?  Indian food?  Thai?).

7) Keep a ludicrously simple priority list.

Mentally, I can only handle two priorities: my boys (husband and child) and school.  I'm not very available these days, as a friend or relative.  But it's temporary, and it's worth it.  The people who are close to me and support our family know this. 

Back in the miscarriage saddle again...

Lately it seems that I only blog when I'm grieving.  I suppose it's because writing is therapeutic, as is sharing.  And because the only time I am able to sit down on my own and write for "pleasure" is when I'm a blubbering mess and therefore earn the coveted and rare gift of alone time.  Also, for certain topics, I believe in sharing my experience so that others may benefit and feel a little less alone when they experience a similar loss.  With miscarriage, I believe sharing is particularly important.  It is a very common grief.  One THIRD of known pregnancies end in miscarriage.   There are a lot of women dealing with this loss, perhaps some of the (5) readers who will see this post.  Yet there is tremendous shame around miscarriage in our culture, and the topic tends to get swept under the rug. Screw that!!

So here's a quick snapshot of the emotional roller coaster ride we have been on the past 2 weeks:

• STEP 1: 1st pregnancy test turns up negative.  feel mostly relieved for all the reasons described in this previous post about having a 2nd child.  And because at this point in our lives, I already feel spread far too thin between school, parenting, and family (which is ironic b/c as a result of being so busy, I don't have time to exercise, and thus being "spread too thin" is purely metaphorical relative to my ever-expanding ass).
• STEP 2: four days later, 2nd pregnancy test turns up positive.  Feel panicked for all the reasons described in the aforementioned post.  Then feel excited.
• STEP 3: excitement continues to grow as we realize that we WILL be able to figure out how I can finish school after the baby is born sometime around Dec. 22 (the due date, according to the fount of all procreational knowledge...and no, I'm not talking about my OB-GYN...I'm talking about babycenter.com).
• STEP 4: decide not to tell anyone until after the 1st trimester, given that I've had a miscarriage already (before Elliot).
• STEP 5: begin to tell my girlfriends who have had miscarriages.  There are many of them.  They are all amazing, wonderful women, and I want to be able to lean on them for support if I lose this pregnancy.
• STEP 6: order maternity clothes because my pants are getting abnormally snug.  Apparently with the 2nd pregnancy, your tummy pops out right away. 
• STEP 7: decide to let myself feel joy and gratitude about the pregnancy; to live in the moment despite what the future may bring.  Brene Brown, my new favorite self-help author (and Oprah's new BFF) talks about how many of us find joy to be one of the most frightening emotions.  We tend to hold back from enjoying the gifts we have in our lives, thinking that this will protect us from the agony of losing them (e.g. that thought that you have when things seem to be going "too well" and you think "oh shit, I better not get too used to this, because at any moment, things could fall apart.  My husband and child could be in a car crash.  My parents could get cancer.  I could have a stroke.  Etc...etc...").  Here's a somewhat cheesy and melodramatic but AWESOME clip of Brene (yeah, we're on a first name basis) discussing this exact topic with, you guessed it, Oprah. 
•  

•  STEP 8: Come home from an insane day at work/school and soon after, discover the tell tale signs of a miscarriage. Although it is common for women to have spotting in the first trimester, my gut just tells me what's up.  I may have even known before I saw that first terrifying flash of red.
• STEP 9: try to explain to Elliot why mommy is crying and laying on the couch, and why it's probably not a good idea for him to jump on my belly during our nightly cuddling-wrestling routine.  He promptly offers me medicine and a band-aid, which warms my heart like nothing else could.
• STEP 10: tell all those wonderful ladies I mentioned in step 5, as well as all the family members we told.  As expected, they surround me with virtual hugs, love, and support.  I am so grateful for my support network.  

So that brings me to the present.  Today, I am staying home from school for the first time since I started last fall.  My type A perfectionist tendencies will just have to shut it.  Staying home is an exercise in leaning on others; specifically my wonderful clinic partners Alyssa and Rachel, who will conduct the evaluation of a stroke survivor's communication impairments, which I was supposed to lead as part of my clinical training.  My dear friend Amy will record the lecture that I am missing this morning on stroke-related swallowing disorders .  And I'm guessing that my clinic supervisors and professors will understand, and remind me once again that when it comes down to it, most people have very compassionate hearts, particularly in this wonderful profession.

I am going to spend the day crying, writing, and listening to sappy music.  Tonight, Rob and I will bury the embryo that passed from my body this morning; a seed-sized remnant of a living being who, despite his/her tiny size, already had such a huge impact on my body and our emotions.  I will likely continue to cry when I see posts from friends having their 2nd or 3rd babies, because it will make me wonder if Elliot will ever get a chance to pose in those cute family photos with a baby brother or sister.  I am going to practice gratitude for my precious son, as I am once again reminded of what a miracle his existence is.  Tomorrow evening I will go for a walk with a dear friend who has experienced this same grief.  Healing comes in so many forms, and at times like these, a girlfriend can serve as a real-life angel.

If any of you women who read this have experienced a similar loss, know that you are not alone.  You have a wide, far-reaching sisterhood of  women who have been there; who have experienced this unique and confusing loss.  Before you try to blame yourself for it, remember that you did nothing wrong.  In a culture of miscarriage-shame, I will be reminding myself of this fact as well.    

Ode to an Orange Orb

I can't stop sobbing over this cat.  In the past 24 hours, I have literally sobbed a river of tears for Francine, our beloved family pet who went to kitty heaven yesterday (pictured here wearing a degrading sombrero, which she patiently donned for 5 minutes before hissing in an offended fashion).   My eyelids have swollen to the size of marshmallows from the crying.

I have always had a tendency towards animal death drama, as my mother can attest.  I missed countless days of elementary school to grieve for lost gerbils.  There was Luigi the gerbil, who I found lurching around his cage one morning with complete unilateral paralysis.  Apparently gerbils have strokes too.  [side note to speech pathology nerds: Do they also get aphasia?  Impaired squeak-production and squeak-recognition?].  On that dreadful gerbil stroke day, my patient mother drove her sobbing daughter (me) and the ailing gerbil (Luigi) to the vet 3 times, and the patient vet gave us a number of optimistic but destined-to-fail treatment options (including Karo syrup) which I spent the day administering to the hopelessly impaired rodent.  The poor fuzzball was probably thinking "dear God kid, just let me die a normal rodent death!  Where are the snakes when you need them???".  Needless to say the Karo syrup did not cure Luigi, and there was much plaintive sobbing as we lowered the checkbook box that was Luigi's coffin into the ground next to the swing set and the shed that also functioned as an "animal clubhouse" (note: the animal club was a bit like the Babysitter's Club, but instead of a cool clique of pre-teens, it was a group of socially awkward chubby 5th grade girls who didn't know how to interact with other humans and thus obsessed over rodents...now that I think about it, I may have been the only member). 

But despite my history of hyper-dramatic pet-grieving processes, I have still felt blind sighted by the wall of grief that hit me when we euthanized Francine yesterday.  Amidst bouts of sobbing, I have identified a few factors (other than hormones) that made this grief particularly salient. 

First,  I think that for some of us, it is just easier to grieve for animals.  Their lives are shorter, and some might say simpler.  When they die, you don't have to consider whether they regretted any of their life choices.  Nor do you typically have to worry about how their death will affect your loved ones, as you do when you lose a grandparent and watch your parents grieve that deep and unfathomable loss.  In short, it's easier to just get to the heart of the sadness and process it, without having to peel through all the other emotional layers.  As I stroked Francine's cold little paw this morning before we lowered her into the ground amidst a circle of ferns, I did not have to worry about staying strong and moving forward with my life, because I knew the grief would pass.  So I dove into it and let the tears flow (while Elliot built train tracks in the house with his father). I shamelessly pondered how it was possible that she was "dead", and tried to comprehend the fact that she really truly was not going to wake up and start purring or "clucking" with her disproportionately small voice.  At the end of the tears and the questioning, I came away with a firm belief in animal heaven.  But that's another blog post entirely.

Also, by virtue of their short lives, pets often function as emblems of whatever era of your life they had the pleasure of partaking in.  We rescued Francine from the pound when I was unknowingly 1 week pregnant.  Francine laid beside me and purred when I miscarried 9 weeks later, and licked the tears off of my face with her sandpaper tongue.  A year after that, she happily laid atop my round Elliot bump as I sprawled out on the couch watching trashy TV each night, and her rotund orange form was the first thing we saw when we walked through the door with our new baby boy. 

Francine was not a fan of sibling life.  Her loud, mournful high-frequency cries resounded through the night in the first few weeks after Elliot's birth, waking us from coveted opportunities to sleep between breast-feeding marathons.  She scratched newborn Elliot a few times.  I can't say I blamed her, as I often wanted to scratch someone during that post-partum period of raging hormones and flowing tears.   Thankfully we had the gift that other new parents in this situation (and there are sadly so many) would die for: an angel known as Lisa (Rob's mother).  Lisa took Francine in and gave her a home full of cat friends, and cared for her in a way that bumbling, sleep-deprived new parents cannot.  Francine's lonely midnight cries ceased, and I am not ashamed to admit that she was far happier in her new home. 

Despite Francine's change in location, she was still part of our family, and her time with us was one full of life-altering events; pregnancy, loss, 2nd chances, and our transition to parenthood.  She blessed us during that time with her silly and unique behaviors; her staccato cluck-like "meh?", her big-boned waddle, the Queen Latifah voice that Rob used when speaking on her behalf, her tendency to close her eyes effort-fully when she "smiled", and a plethora of other amusing antics.  Though mourning her life was a "simple" process relative to mourning grandparents and other relatives, there was nothing simple about the rich and wonderful blessing she was to all of our lives.  We will miss you sweet, goofy Francine.