the best two years

To our golden boy.

love,
rrww

i'll miss you, i'll miss you not

Things we will not miss about Minnesota:
-snowpack on roads from December to April
-poorly timed traffic lights
-merging lanes shorter than our couch
-having to bag our own groceries

Things we will miss about Minnesota:
-strawberry/raspberry/apple picking
-parks on every other block
-ice skating on frozen lakes
-cheese curds
-excellent hospitals
-lakes and trails
-hearing the Minnesota accent while up north
-the people the people the people

I better stop before I convince myself to stay here. *gasp* If only we were moving in the middle of February. This state has the unsettling ability to replace gray with green and white with blue, making all residents forget winter ever even existed.

Just glad this little man is coming with me. Families should never be separated.

peace
rrww

one

My son turned one yesterday. 

One. 

The simplest and most basic number, and yet it holds innumerable memories, emotions, and events. 

Best one yet. 

peace and birthdays

hunger games

Zero sum game: a mathematical or economic situation in which each participant's gain or loss of utility is exactly balanced by the losses or gains of utility of the other participants.

In other words, if you are happy or succeeding, then I am not. And if I am happy or succeeding, then you are not.

And in even simpler terms... There is one donut. If you get the donut then I don't and I am sad and hungry. And if I get the donut, you are sad and hungry.

I'm sure that mathematicians and economists are all shaking their heads in shame at my very basic understanding of zero sum game, but I didn't do so hot in ECON 110 i was distracted by a cute TA before i knew harry existed so just go with it. I'm guessing that there are some actual life situations that are zero sum games - the donut example above, maybe a promotion at work, definitely class rankings in law school eye-roll, and The Hunger Games. But you know what's NOT a zero sum game?

Basically every other piece of good news in the world.

We are not battling each other in a zero sum game of good news. Good news for you does not equal bad news for me, and vice versa. I have found myself falling into this twisted game mentality when I see photos of people traveling. Somehow I end up resenting them for their vacations, blaming them for my lack thereof. Do I wish we were traveling as well? Of course! But are we NOT traveling BECAUSE this couple holding hands and jumping in front of the Eiffel Tower ARE? did you follow my emphases? 

No! We aren't traveling because we've chosen to freeze our eyelashes off in the great white north while pursuing a law degree. Our lack of travel has nothing to do with anyone else and everything to do with poor student life.

The examples of good news being turned into resentment are endless, especially between moms and moms to be. Motherhood and all it entails is an incredibly sensitive subject, close to many tender hearts. It requires consideration for others feelings and as much sympathy as is humanly possible. However, we should be able to share our good news of motherhood- whether about our child's health, our different labor experiences, satisfaction with successful breastfeeding, getting a good night of sleep, or when we manage to get an hour of gym time in - without the fear of being blamed or shamed for it.

Good news should be shared in a tasteful way. If you're bragging and rubbing it in people's faces then stop it because you're wrong. But if you have good news, share it. If you've accomplished something difficult and are proud of it, share it. And if you find yourself asking people to stop sharing their good news because you wish it were your own news, get out of the game. We all know Katniss wins anyway.


peace and sugar
rrww

ps. i promise to post photos on here again at some point.

guest post

 

Harry wrote this credo for one of his many ethics classes I guess schools think lawyers need to learn more about ethical living and said I could share it here. His professor asked to meet Harry for coffee or hot chocolate after reading his submission, calling his writing and story "powerful." I completely agree.

 

*****

 



"Rain pounded the windows. I pried open the drapes to catch a glimpse of the golf ball-sized water droplets only to peer into the endless black abyss. I could only hear them. The weather service issued a tornado warning for the area and the nurses would dance into the room with their light blue scrubs to instruct us on evacuation routes. I sensed it was only protocol. The weather, for once, was the least of our worries, because it was the early morning on June 16, 2018, and my wife had been in labor for eight hours. I slept next to her on the stiff, sterile couch in the delivery room. Sleeping a half hour every hour, I could not tell if I was waking up from that faux leather donned couch that squeaked every time I moved, the pounding rain, or my indescribable fear. I would wake up and examine my wife, who at this time was half-way through her epidural and rather enjoying it. She smiled at me, but I can see in her eyes the same unrest and uneasiness that I felt. In a few hours, our lives would change.

The great architect Frank Lloyd Wright designed his homes with small, enclosed hallways, doorways, and awnings dramatically opening to grand and open spaces. This idea promoted an emotional catharsis, or, a sudden release from pain, pressure, and stress. He conceptualized the theory of being born again in his designs. As I watched my son being born, the rain still pounded the windows, the sky emanated a pale green prominence, and tornados warnings remained in effect. However, my fear, uncertainty, and selfishness conceded to feelings of profound euphoria. As my son drew his first breath, the way I viewed the world rushed with indescribable clarity. It was no longer about my goals, aspirations, and desires. It was about him. And I could not be happier about it.

I was raised as a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, or more colloquially known as, “Mormon.” I believe that the bible is the word of God. I believe in the Book of Mormon, not as a sacrilege Broadway musical, but as additional teachings from God’s prophets. I believe that families are not separated at death, but an entity that continues into the eternities. I do not drink alcohol, coffee, or tea. I try not to curse, lie, cheat, or steal. I do not gamble, shop on Sunday, or view R-rated movies. I believe in the cleansing power of Christ’s Atonement, that our mistakes, burdens, struggles, and sins will be completely, utterly exonerated. Lastly, I believe that God loves every man, woman, and child who ever lived on earth, lives now, and will live on this earth and amen to my salvation if I do not try to do the same.

When I was 19, I gave up my family, friends, worldly entertainment, and schooling to be a proselyting missionary for two years. I was assigned by church leaders to proselyte in Denmark. I learned Danish in nine weeks and before I knew it, I was doing the very thing that my parents, family members, church leaders, and friends had influenced me to do my whole life. I wore a white button-down shirt and tie every day. I trudged through the pelting rain and the brutal North Sea winds. I walked kilometers down winding, narrow country roads, along colorful beaches, and stumbled over cobblestones in three-century-year-old streets. I knocked on cottages with thatched roofs, crooked doorways from the medieval era, and luxurious downtown apartments. I spoke with atheists, Christians, Muslims, Hindus, and Jews. I spoke to drug addicts, single working mothers, college students, and wealthy businessmen. I spoke to them on the busses, on the trains, on the streets, in their homes and apartment buildings. I ministered to those that were in need, and I taught these people about what I believed in. This was among the hardest experiences I was yet to have, but by genuinely serving others and learning about others, regardless of their beliefs, I grew to love them deeply. There is a special veneration in my heart for the Danes.

My experiences living in Denmark and in Minnesota have taught me that there is no such thing as atheism. Most Danes claim that they believe science, or themselves, or in the power of love and kindness. What they did not realize is that God is manifested in all these areas. God is omnipotent and omnipresent, he is in everything good and wholesome, and is everywhere good and wholesome. People may not fully recognize that or are quick to disprove the forces they cannot see.

There have been many of my friends and family members, who Mormon or not, have failed to remember the goodness that God has brought them. The process of losing faith is not sudden. It begins by small sinful actions that go unrepentant, or it begins when we skip a couple days from reading in the bible or praying. It could also begin by skipping church a number of weeks in a row. When we fail to nourish our spiritual intellect, our spirits concede to worldly, tangible thinking. Science becomes a way to prove a nonexistent God, rather than science to prove the existence of God. They replace spiritual happiness with worldly happiness, chasing big jobs, expensive homes, and extravagant lifestyles. I have wet my pillow at night, when I see strong believers I loved and respected slip into states of faithlessness.

As I wrote this credo, I reflected upon the instances that defined me. My job now is to take what defines me and be confident in raising my newborn son and strengthening my marriage. Everything I do, whether it is being a successful lawyer, a strong member of a workplace community, or a societal figurehead, trickles down to what provides me with the greatest sense of self-worth and happiness: my family. On June 15, 2018 I did not see that. It is incredible how your entire perspective can change in 24 hours."

 

Photos by Mal Wolfgramm
@malwolfgrammphoto

birth

Well, it's been a quick minute since I've written - except not really that quick. More like one of those minutes when you're waiting to see if your screaming baby will fall asleep before you go back in there and let him know that the world isn't ending and that goodness does exist. those minutes are even longer than microwave minutes. We haven't done much of what we usually do in the summer. We didn't camp once, go on any road trips, take a single picture with my nice camera, canoe across any bodies of water, swim more than once, or make a cute documentation video. But man did we have our biggest adventure yet. And while I would like to acknowledge that Harry has been along for the adventure as much as I have, I think that my physical exertion beats his out. Just a tad.

While I was pregnant I loved reading birth stories. I was desperate to try to learn from as many experiences as possible so I could anticipate everything and anything. There's no way to completely prepare for labor and delivery, but that didn't stop me from reading all the tips on Pinterest about what to bring, what to ask, who to contact first, and generally how to make the whole thing more like a trip to the spa rather than a 20 hour long menstrual cramp for the record it's usually more intense than a menstrual cramp. And now that I've been through it here are my two cents: my favorite things to have at the hospital were my nice body wash, lotion, and lip balm. Maybe a pair of comfortable sweats and socks. Other than that... forget the robe, down pillows, full face of makeup, and extra 3 outfits for baby.

And now it is my turn to wax wise in the ways of birth. Gather round young chicks, and listen to my tale.

Friday morning I started the day off with a prayer. I was 4 days overdue and OVER IT. So the prayer was less like the kind the teach you to say in Sunday School, and more of a demand that it be over. Tears were shed. But that wasn't unusual at the time, or any time in my life. I spent the remainder of the day sending angry texts to Harry at work "everything hurts!" "I'm losing my mind!" "I would rather die than be pregnant one more day!" "Answer me!!! I'm carrying YOUR child!", eating cottage cheese straight from the container, and wearing as few clothes as possible. The weather in Minneapolis that weekend was about 102 degrees with 90% humidity. It was death.

Harry came home from work around 4p. I'm sure he was delighted at the idea of spending the weekend with his overly pregnant, emotional, angry wife. He was probably praying for it to be over as hard as I was. Fortunately both our prayers were heard when, at almost exactly 4p, I got my first contraction.

It was strange. I didn't know exactly whether it was a contraction or not. I mean, how was I supposed to know that's what it was and not just bad gas from our Olive Garden the previous night? I hesitantly told Harry that I thought I had had one, and he immediately jumped to action counting minutes, taking down times and finding the standard deviation of the contractions we did meet in a stats class, so that's appropriate. This continued for about 6 hours. We watched a movie with Cate Blanchett while I sat on a towel in case my water broke. Glamour.

My sister called and talked me through a handful of contractions while discussing with Harry whether the contractions were close enough to constitute going to the hospital. They decided that they were and while Harry called the hospital I did the dishes, made the bed, took a shower, and shaved my legs. Considering how distraught I was that morning, I felt surprising calm during the whole thing once it started. I was practical. I wanted to bring the baby home to a clean apartment, so I cleaned. Harry's teased me about that since.

Well, 10:30p rolled around and we headed out. I had labored for about 6.5 hours at home and was dilated to a 5 when we arrived at the hospital. I got my epidural around midnight and climbed in to the bed I'd be living in for the next 13 hours holla atcha catheter.

Thanks to that epidural, I was able to ride out the contractions without too much pain. Given, it didn't take very well in the right side of my body, so I spent those 13 hours on my side to help the elixir seep its way through my body. There was a small misunderstanding with the epidural. I was told that in case the pain got to be too much, I could administer myself an extra dose of the pain med with a click of a button, but no more frequently than every 15 minutes. Somehow I understood this to be "click the button every 15 minutes or your epidural will stop working." So I religiously clicked the button for more epidural every 15 minutes because there was no way I was going to let that thing run out. Finally, towards the end of my labor, the nurse came in to ask if everything was alright- I had pressed the epidural button 21 times. Usually people press it maybe 4 or 5 times. Moral of that story? 1. Don't let me self-administer drugs and 2. I had a great labor experience.

The hours ticked by. We pretended to sleep on uncomfortable beds and in a very bright room because we couldn't figure out how to turn the TV off I swear we are 77 years old, I threw up a couple of times, and I started to lose my mind because I just wanted to be able to MOVE. Finally, 10a Saturday morning the nurse told me I should try to start pushing.

I panicked. I gripped Harry's hand and told him I couldn't do it. I couldn't push a baby out of me. It was physically impossible. I couldn't be a mom. I couldn't do this because as soon as I did everything would change and I wouldn't have my life anymore. I told him I was so scared.

I don't know what really happened, but one minute I was panicking, and the next I was taking a deep breath and accepting what I had to do. So I did it. I pushed about 5 or 6 times when suddenly the nurse told me to stop and not push again until they could get the doctor in the room. I closed my eyes to gather myself, and when I opened them again there were about 9 more people surrounding me than there were before one to deliver my baby, one to learn how to deliver a baby, one to wipe my brow, one to hold my juice straw to my lips, one to give me a facial. The doctor took one look at me and then said, "Alright, looks like we're about to have a baby. I need you to give me one good push." So I did.

And just like that Hans was born. They quickly put him on my chest and I was stunned. And then immediately in love. I had always doubted that I would have that bonding experience that other moms had spoken of, but I did. I was amazed at how strong and sweet and brave this little baby was, and that he was ours, and will be forever.

This moment.

We can't get enough of him.

peace and hans

a month

Who would have thought that these two delinquents would ever have a baby, let alone be responsible enough to keep that baby alive even a month?

And yet, here we are. We have managed to keep our son alive for a month and I'm not entirely sure how. But man are we glad that we have. And since I'm such an expert now, here are 6 ways to tell if you are a new mom besides the obvious "I watched a human come out of me" thing:

-you can only remember the last time you went to the bathroom by tracking when your child took his last nap, and even that isn't always reliable.

-you try to paint your fingernails because "happy mom means a happy baby" but you run out of time before the baby calls for your attention really he just wants the boob. You fully acknowledge that you've committed a fashion faux pas but just don't have the heart to either take off the polish you've already applied or find the time to finish the other hand. So you're now going on a week and a half of one hand being manicured and the other not.

-you've taken more naps using your nursing pillow than you have with your actual pillow.

-your clothes are always wet. Whether it's urine, spit up, poop, or your own breast milk, you haven't been completely dry since the babe was born.

-you not only change newborn diapers all day, but also your own. That is all I will say on the matter.

-you cry while rocking your baby to sleep because your heart is so full and you never thought it could be this good.

Hans Fitzroy Williamson

You are loved. 

rrww

photos by Mallory Wolfgramm 

***You guys, pregnancy was NOT for me. Hormones reigned supreme I was a grouch ball for 9 months, and there were some dark, difficult times. I dreaded labor and resented the loss of my physical abilities. I was convinced I wasn't cut out for motherhood. Now, it's still tbd if I'm actually cut out for this, but in case you're reading this and pregnant and not feeling super hot about it, just know that actually having the baby beats being pregnant 1,000 to 1. At least it does for me. I could say all the cliche things that are supposed to make you feel better, but I won't because they didn't ever make me feel better either. The only thing that made me feel better was finally meeting this little guy. I hope the same for you. ***