Where we're from

We must not look Idahoian. We are constantly being asked where we are from.

"Um," pause, "um, well..." pause.

We could just say Boise, but that is a lie. We could say that we just moved from Seattle for a year. Or could simply answer that we're from Chicago. But none of that feels right.

But I doubt that this is the answer people are looking for:

"Um, well, we are in Boise for the year but I'm from Canada and Adam's from Massachusetts, we spent 8 years in Chicago and moved from Seattle last year."

I'm guessing that's an over-explanation. But each time we're asked we find ourselves at a loss for an answer.

The truth is, I don't know where I'm from anymore and I don't know where home is either. 'Home', in the truest sense is still Calgary where I grew up and where my parents still live. But I haven't lived there for 12 years now. In many ways Chicago is also 'Home'. It's where we spent our college years and early 20's. It's where most of our mutual memories, friends and family are. Seattle? Soon Seattle will be 'home' again, but it's not where we're from, and it's not quite 'Home' yet. And Boise? Well we love Boise. It's a fine city. But 'Home' it most certainly is not. It may be where we live, but it's not where we're from.

I wish we could choose a city and go with it because I doubt anyone actually cares what we answer. But we never seem to be able to pick just one place. I don't particularly relish this transient phase of life and I look forward to feeling that I have a 'Home" again someday, but this is our journey and each stop along the way shapes our lives. We're 'from' ALL those cities, and all those places are 'home'. It might not be the answer that strangers are looking for when they are making small talk on chair lifts or at the mall, but too bad, they asked.

Where are we from?

"Um, well, I'm from Canada and Adam's from Massachusetts, we lived in Chicago for 8 years, are in Boise now and will be moving back to Seattle next year."

That's where we're from. Deal.

Oh Christmas tree

Adam and I are both what you could call nostalgic fools or sentimental saps. You only need to look as far as our Christmas tree to find evidence of this. If you can't be unapologetically nostalgic at Christmas, when can you?

So we adorn our tree with old school red and green bulbs like the ones we grew up with and every single ornament we have, including many that we have collected over the years as souvenirs from our travels. There is never any editing, no discretion. Everything makes the cut. Ours is never a pretty looking tree, but it is always full of meaning.

Here is some of what graced our tree this year:

From a hockey game we went to with my family 3 years ago (Flames won):

A souvenir from our first ballet, "The Nutcracker"

This one was a tag on one of Anna's presents:

Commemorating our time in Boise:

Anna's handprint:

This one of our wedding:

Jack as a kitten:

and finally, this one my mom dug out:

This year our varied ornaments, along with a improvised tree topper (at Adam's insistence) of a nativity scene his departed Grammy gave us years ago, transformed what was an otherwise perfectly beautiful tree into what you could call an eyesore. Or as we see it - our one of a kind, perfect, and properly sentimental tree. It might not be pretty, but it's beautiful to us.

Picture perfect

I had time before Anna was born. The nursery was ready, Jack was trained, the freezer was stocked with meals. I had time. So I cleaned my wedding rings, whitened my teeth, got my highlights done. There were going to be pictures, you know, pictures capturing the first moment when she is born and I'm holding her and am overwhelmed with emotion and the amazingness of it all. So I was ready for those pictures.

Except it didn't happen that way.

My contractions began at 3:30 a.m. Sunday morning, we got to the hospital around 10 p.m. and she was born at 10 a.m. Monday morning after a late epidural, hours on pitosin, plenty of vomitting from pain, a failed attempt at vacuuming, a near c-section, and over 4 hours of pushing. By the time she came out I was barely conscious, and my eyes kept rolling back in my head. I vaguely remember Adam saying "it's a girl, we have our little Anna, we have our Anna." I remember something being set on my chest momentarily before being taken away again. I remember hearing her cry and being told that she was healthy. I cried tears of relief and exhaustion when Adam brought her over and showed her to me, but it wasn't until later that I felt truly ready to hold her, look at her, enjoy her.

I certainly loved her from the beginning, but the feelings that they say you're supposed to have, the immediate joy, overwhelming emotion and connection, it was delayed for me. And this is hard to admit. The physical and emotional trauma took a toll that I didn't expect. It's not that I didn't think it would be incredibly painful, but that I did expect it to be incredibly and immediately joyful.

She's 12 weeks old now and I still replay it all, over and over again. I tell myself that I must be remembering it wrong. I keep taking the pieces and playing with them, trying to create the moment that I thought I would have. I try to convince myself that it was different than it was, that it was the way everyone said it would be. I imagine it the way I think it should have been: Anna covered in goo, Adam teary and relieved, and me - exhausted yet beaming, holding my precious baby girl with my gleaming white teeth, a sparkling diamond and those perfect highlights - of course.

We don't have those pictures. It didn't happen that way for us. And so I have some work to do. Not to whitewash the memories, but to accept them. Of course I wish it was different. I wish I held her right away and never let her go. I wish I could have shared the news with my family and friends myself rather than having Adam do it. I wish I was with it enough then so that I could fully recall and cherish every moment of those first precious hours and days.

Maybe it didn't end up the way I had envisioned, but the result is just the same: a healthy, precious and perfect baby girl whom I absolutely adore. I can't imagine my life without her and can barely remember what life was like before her. I love her so much my heart hurts.

So it wasn't picture perfect, but I wouldn't change a thing.

A long ago bet...

When my parents visited in October they brought along an old envelope my mom found in their desk drawer. On the outside in says in child's writing:

Bet
cannot be opened
until Sheri has
her first child

Oh boy. Never say the past can't come back to haunt you.

Dad says he remembers the bet well, and he kept the proof (typed on old printer paper with the holes on the sides - remember?):

"I really really really love babies. I have a bet with my dad for 25$ that when I have a baby I will let it sleep in my room and won't care when it wakes me up at any or many times when i'm asleep, I'l rock it to sleep, I'll think how lucky i am for bringing life to this world. I'll also never ever ask my parents to babysit at night. and that I'll never complain about my child cause I'll love it every minute of every day, of every week, of every month, of every year, forever. my dad will erad this to me when I have my first child & by then I'll have enough money to pay this bet. My dad won't have to pay me 25$, so it's a one way bet but I know that I'll win it, cause I love babies."

Sheri Hendrickson

signature

Sheri Hendrickson

I think I owe my dad $25.

Our American baby

If you asked me a few years ago, the idea of having a baby in Boise, Idaho would have been not only inconceivable but laughable. In fact, it wasn't so long ago that the thought of giving birth in the United States would have been dismissed as crazy. Yet here we are.

You see, even after it became clear that we would be in the US for a few years waiting for Adam to finish Med school, etc. I held out hope that we would have moved to Canada before we would start a family. Not only is Canada my home and where we ultimately want to end up, but I really wanted to raise our kids in Canada's educational system and with their health care, not to mention other things that I value so deeply about the way of life, and thinking there.

Let me make this clear, this is not a criticism of the United States or a political statement, so please do not misinterpret it as such. We will certainly apply for dual citizenship for all our kids and no matter where they are raised, we will do our best to instill a love, respect and pride for BOTH countries.

But I'd be lying if I said it isn't hard for me to realize that this child and perhaps the rest will be born (at least they can run for President of the United States!), and raised here because my fear is that their Canadian heritage will become to them nothing more than "where mom is from." Can we really find a way, no matter where we live, to raise our kids with an ownership of both their countries of citizenship?? Can they be raised in the US and still share Canadian values and ways of thinking or vice verse?

Well of course they can. Ultimately, it's not where you are raised, it's HOW you are raised. I believe that environment and context are very influential indeed, but at the end of the day, it's up to Adam and I and certainly not our country of residence to raise our kids. Moreover, country-specific values are something that we want to rise above and not default to.

Among other things, we desire for our kids to love God, love others, be compassionate, respect all others, seek justice and righteousness, think for themselves, stand strong in their convictions and live lives with character, honesty and integrity. The great burden and responsibility of parenthood is now upon us, and we are humbled by it. It will take hard work, intentionality and most of all, God's great grace - not a specific mailing address or country.

Baby clothes and gender roles...

If you are looking for some insight into where our socialization into gender roles begins, look no further than the baby clothes aisle.

Since we opted not to find out the sex of our baby we are in the unenviable position of finding 'gender neutral' clothes for newborns. This has left me less than enamoured with the offering of yellow/brown/mint green clothes, and so I have resorted to shopping for boy clothes that I'd dress a little girl in (because 'gasp' I think that girls can wear blue too). And this is where my real issue comes to light - not the lack of 'gender neutral' clothes, but what constitutes gender appropriateness.

When you walk into the clothing section of any baby store you will likely see a very clear divide. For newborns it's pale pink on one side, pale blue on the other. End of story. Then when babies are a little older, you are allowed to dress the girls in fuschia, purple and brighter shades. Boys are now permitted to wear dark blues, browns, red and oranges. Your options are expanding rapidly! But good luck trying to find an article of clothing not adorned with either a truck, football or catcher's mitt for boys, or hearts, flowers or crowns for girls. Your little son is 'daddy's little MVP' goshdarnit, and your daughter surely is a 'princess', or even better, a 'diva.' Might as well embrace it for it has been written.

There are surely clear genetic differences between the two sexes, and there is no shame in celebrating them. However, you don't have to look very far to see where certain aspects of our adopted gender roles break down and can create problems down the line. How many people struggle with self-image when they don't fit into the roles prescribed for them? How many are belittled and bullied because they don't fit in a box? I cringe everytime I hear the term 'ballsy' used to describe courage and gumption - suggesting that men have a monopoly on these characteristics. Furthermore, I am weary of the stigma that surrounds a little boy who shows interests in anything 'effeminate' (read this article http://www.chicagotribune.com/news/opinion/ct-talk-deardorff-halloween-1026-20101026,0,7874609.column for more insight).

My sister, Kristi, introduced me to an author (and friend of hers) Shauna Niequist. I'd like to share this excerpt from her book Bittersweet:

"My friends Brannon and Chris have a little girl named Emme, and before she was born, Brannon and Chris declared their house a princess-free zone. There could be pink, there could be dresses and lace and babies galore, but no tiaras, no wands, and no princes coming to rescue any little princesses.

I love this. I think maybe we should all live in a princess-free zone. I think the current cultural messaging that tells women it’s attractive to play dumb and fragile and hope that they’re saved by their beauty is incredibly destructive.

I’m not anti-feminine. I operate, in many ways, within squarely traditional gender roles. I love to cook, I hate to drive, and I’m terrible with technology of all kinds. I fit squarely within the stereotypes, and then also not, largely because I was raised by a strong leader who recognized aspects of himself in me. I wasn’t raised to play dumb, or play cute, or play princess. I learned to work hard, to develop my skills, to contribute on a team and in society, and it drives me bonkers when women depend instead on their sexuality or their fragility. I think there’s a better way."

There is a better way, indeed. For all of us. Instead of trying so hard to make a square peg fit in a round hole, let's take another look at the pigeonholes to begin with. Starting with baby clothes.

full to bursting...

(This post will likely become uncharacteristically sentimental. Consider yourself warned).

It was 10 years ago this summer that Adam & I met and 10 years today that we started, well, all that brought us here. Our story actually begins even earlier when my sister sent me postcards in Sweden saying that she met the perfect boy for me working at camp in New Hampshire. He was cute, athletic, smart and musical she said... and also in high school in Boston (I was starting college in Canada). Great, thanks.

A year later we met. He with the (sort of) girlfriend and me with loads of (relationship) baggage. End of story, right? Well... not. The short version is that by the end of the summer we both realized that there was something there that was worth pursuing even though we didn't know exactly what that was. Although being in a relationship with someone who lived across the continent was both highly inconvenient and probably short-sighted we both knew that we had no choice. We had to see what came of this. So glad we did.

Much of the time I marvel at how lucky I am. There is no one in the world with a bigger, purer or more tender heart than Adam. To be the recipient of his love and grace on a daily basis makes me no less than the luckiest girl on earth. To have someone who loves me so deeply, and so unconditionally is such a tremendous gift. One that I pray I will never take for granted.

To so greatly admire the character and integrity of someone you share your life with is a beautiful thing. And to so enjoy every second you spend together (most of it laughing) is yet another. I'm sad to let go of all this time together that's just us, but I simply cannot wait to see Adam as a dad. What kid should be so lucky??

On our five year (dating) anniversary, Adam wrote me a card that said, 'thanks for the best five years of my life." Well, thank YOU for the best ten.

Indeed, my heart is full to bursting.