My first GIVEAWAY!

Hey everyone! 

I'd like to introduce you to my friend, Lisa. 

Lisa is absolutely lovely. Seriously. I love this girl. We worked together on staff at church before I had Rowan, and I don't think I had a single day where she didn't say something that made me laugh. 

A ray of sunshine, that girl. 

Lisa is also a very talented graphic designer. She designs stationery, greeting cards, and everything in between! Many of you have mentioned how much you like my blog header and buttons. Well, I have Lisa to thank for that! She also custom-designed some artwork for my son's nursery. 

Lisa's design business is called My Little Buffalo, and you can buy all of her deliciously cute paper goods through her Etsy store! You can also see some new stuff she's working on at her blog. 

She makes amazing stuff...

...and I'm giving one of her prints away! 

Look at this adorable multi-colored tree! (click on the image to see it larger)

It's like bringing a little piece of the outdoors into your home. 

I absolutely love it (and I'm kinda jealous of the person who wins it!)

This adorable piece is 5"x7" and it's printed on eco-friendly linen card stock.

It would add a nice outdoorsy touch to any room of the house! 

Here's how to enter:

• Go to Lisa's store and look through her stuff. Come back here and tell me which item is your favorite in the comments to this post.

For additional entries, you can do the following:

• Tweet about this giveaway, mentioning @theoutdoorwife AND @mylittlebuffalo 
• Follow me on Twitter.
• Follow Lisa on Twitter.
• Subscribe to my blog.
• Blog about this giveaway.

*please enter each entry as a separate comment*

Entries will close on Sunday at midnight and I'll pick a winner on Monday morning!

Good Luck!

Inked: Part 4

Picture of Rowan is courtesy of Sarah Budd over at Sarah Grace Photography

Part 4 begins three weeks after Rowan was born. 

All of the family that came to visit had left. Thanksgiving came and went. Erik left for a conference he had to attend in Reno.

And this is where I lost control.

I had been experiencing pretty negative feelings leading up to this point, but it all came to a head one night while Erik was gone. In the weeks prior to my breaking point, I felt suffocated by guilt. I felt like a failure as a mother. As a wife. I don't know why or how it all started, and doctors say there's no rhyme or reason to it, it just happens to some women. But the guilt, pressure and feeling like I was out of control of my emotions had finally caught up to me. For as long as I live, I'll never forget that dark night.

I had finally achieved sleep with Rowan... he was quiet in his Moses basket in our bedroom. I'm not sure of the thought process that led to that moment, but I remember sitting on my bathroom floor with about 30 different pain pills in my hand, ready to take them all in a single swallow. I was crying uncontrollably. I couldn't handle the feelings anymore. I felt so guilty for feeling the way I did. I wanted everything to end. I had somehow convinced myself that Erik and Rowan would be better off without me around.

I'm now convinced that the Lord rescued me in that moment. Somehow, I snapped out of the black vortex of guilt and stared intently at the pills in my hand. My mouth dropped open. What was I doing?! What was I thinking?! I dropped the pills. They scattered all over the cold tiles on the floor. I cried some more.

Erik came home a couple of days later. We were in our room, getting ready for bed. I picked up the bottles of pain medication off our bathroom counter and handed them to him. I said, "It's probably best if you take these." Immediately thinking about his family's history with addiction, he asked me "Are you having a problem with these?" I responded, "Not the kind of problem you're thinking about." I started to cry. "I had them all in my hand the other night. I was ready to take them. I'm not safe around them." He held me... much tighter than usual. He spent the rest of that night holding me, making sure I was always at arm's-reach.

I called a therapist & my doctor the next morning.

My diagnosis was obvious. Severe postpartum depression. At least the black vortex from hell now had a name to it.

There's not much to say except that I battled for three long, painful and excruciating months.

Erik, like the incredible pillar of strength that he is, took all of the abuse in stride. I would say horrible things when I was in my vortex. I would lash out. I would cry. I was inconsolable. I was stricken and paralyzed with guilt. But we pressed on and we did it together. Most of the time, I needed to be pushed and pulled. Before long, I was able to detach myself from the PPD. I could speak about it objectively in the moments I was feeling normal. I put defenses in place to help me avoid bad moments. I had a support system... a small and intimate one, but worth their weight in gold.

I battled hard. I worked through a lot in my therapy sessions. I talked about the depression, even though I never wanted to. My friends were relentless in their care and concern. It took a lot of love, a lot of understanding, and an overflow of God's faithfulness to get me through the darkest time of my life.

My darker moments of anger and guilt became less and less with each small step I made towards recovery. Slowly, but very surely, I was starting to gain back what was lost in the darkness: Hope.

Hope and reassurance started to return with every shuffle, with every gentle push from Erik, with every loving pull from my friends.

Then, it was right before Valentine's Day. My therapist said, "You have made a full and remarkable recovery."

I shared the news with my closest friends. One of them asked me how I felt. I said "Free. Healed. Rescued."

She replied. "Praise God. Amen."

Amen, indeed.



NOTE: I am not a therapist or physician. But if you would like to talk about postpartum depression, I am always happy to offer encouragement and share more about my own experience.

Thankful on a Thursday.

      

Back in high school, I was part of a tight-knit group of four. The other three were friends long before I came around, but they welcomed me with open arms and a love for choir music. Oh yes. Yours truly was a choir geek. AND an orchestra geek, too. My geekyness was balanced out with years serving in student government and playing varsity sports, so I did have street cred somewhere.

Anyway, the four of us were pretty inseparable my senior year of high school. Two of us had serious boyfriends and two of us spent hours pining after guys who would never look our direction. We sang in the car. We toilet-papered people's houses. We screamed our heads off at football games. We debated the pros and cons of whether we'd have kids one day. We fought intensely and fiercely during the weeks that UNC, Duke and NC State would play basketball against each other. We freaked out together when we got our college acceptance letters. They taught me the rules of wearing makeup. We were your classic case of goofy, awesome and hilarious high school misfit besties. And wouldn't you know it, but one of those girls was Blair.  Yes.  Of Heir to Blair fame.  That very one.

I was thinking back on that year of high school and was reminded of these posters that we created called "Happy Lists." We would go to the grocery store around the corner from my house and buy big honkin' pieces of poster board. Then, we'd buy the Titanic-sized pack of Crayola markers. After that, we'd sit on the hoods of our cars in front of Blair's house and write out everything we could think of that made us happy. We'd spend hours on these beasts... making sure that all of the words were completely even, using our most crafty and spiffy handwriting. Every item that we wrote down was in a different color. After our monolithic lists were complete, they would hang in our bedrooms. Mine hung on the back of my bedroom door. I'm pretty sure it hung above my desk in my freshman dorm room, too.

My memory has faded since then and I regret saying that I'm not sure what started this movement (I still can't believe it was almost a decade ago. DECADE, I say).

After reminiscing about our Happy Lists, I was struck by how many things I could put on my list today... and I was deeply humbled. I'm humbled by everything the Lord has provided for me over the last 10 years. I'm humbled by the path that He has me on today and the things that he blesses me with every day. In that moment of reflection & pause, I felt a deep longing... a longing to speak thankfulness and praise with every breath. To constantly remind myself of what I have to be thankful for. To start making a list of His movement and blessings... both on paper and in my heart.

So, today I'm going to start Thankful on a Thursday. Every Thursday, I'll write out at least ten things that I'm thankful for and post them here at The Outdoor Wife. It's my prayer that you'll join me, whether on your own blog, or just in your heart. Join me in speaking words and breathing sighs of thankfulness and God's blessing.

Will you join me for Thankful on a Thursday? 

I'm thankful for...

1. The love & admiration of a faithful and strong man.
2. The little life of Rowan & his big presence.
3. The smell of coffee in the morning.
4. Blooming cherry blossoms in the heart of the city.
5. The encouragement of steadfast friends.
6. Full pages of answered prayers in my journal.
7. The way both dogs snuggle against me to stay warm in the mornings.
8. Our Netflix subscription.
9. Seasons of pause and reflection.
10. The chocolate chip pancakes we eat every Sunday morning.  

Inked: Part 3

Rowan Matthew made his arrival on November 15th at 9:34pm. He weighed in at 7 pounds, 12 ounces and measured at 20.5 inches long.

He was perfect. His soft round cheeks, his inquisitive grey eyes, his tiny button nose, his dad's skin and dimples... it's like I knew his face forever, but I couldn't stop looking at it like it was the first time I'd ever seen it. Rowan is tragically cute and good looking. Just like his dad.

Contractions started at about 8:15 in the morning. Erik and I were in bed (sleeping in on a lazy Sunday), and I felt like I was getting pretty bad cramps & a searing backache. I wasn't sure what it was at first because the pain wasn't overwhelming or constant. But when the pain started to increase and arrive in steady intervals, I had a feeling I was in labor.

We got up, drank our cups of coffee, watched Meet the Press... all the while the contractions were increasing in intensity and starting to come at 5 minutes... 4 minutes... 3 minutes apart. I called the hospital as instructed and talked to the triage nurse, explaining my symptoms. She said it's probably time to come in, and the worse thing that can happen is it's not labor and I'll go home and enjoy my Sunday.

We packed the remainder of our stuff, double checked the car seat and headed to St. Vincent. We got checked into triage, I got hooked up to the monitors, got a cervical exam, and it was confirmed - I was definitely in labor. At that point, they got me a room (with a view of the life-flight helicopter landing pad) and we called our families and told them that the new addition to the family would be arriving sometime very soon. My parents were thrilled... November 15th is their wedding anniversary.

Soon after I got moved to my room, the contractions were too much to bear, so I asked for my epidural. Let me tell you something... I totally admire the women who want to deliver naturally. I am just not one of those women. I've never had a desire to deliver a baby naturally and I never will. My epidural was like a gift from God. After the catheter was placed in my back and the medicine started flowing, the pain was gone and I could enjoy my Sunday football games. I actually surfed Facebook, sent Tweets about the process and text-messaged a bunch of friends during the whole thing. I was comfortable and happy and my legs were numb. It was lovely. Soon after the epidural kicked in, the doctor broke my water to get things moving quickly.

My body did great through the whole process. A lot of first-time deliveries with epidurals can go pretty long, and contractions can level off - calling for doses of pitocin to kick-start labor again. I didn't need any of it. As soon as I crossed the threshold of 4cm dilation, things stayed at a steady pace all the way up until delivery. In so many ways, I felt like the Lord cut me some slack that day. After the surgery and the gallstones, I was pretty down and out about my body & it's condition. My labor and delivery was seamless and perfect.

At around 8:30pm, I was talking to my nurse about what I was feeling. I told her that the urge to push was incredibly strong with each contraction, and it was starting to remain in between. She checked me again and said "Oh wow, the baby's head is RIGHT THERE. You definitely need to start pushing." So, push I did...

The epidural situation is a weird one. It takes away the pain of contractions, but doesn't take away the pain of pressure. So, pushing was actually quite painful. Certainly not as painful as it would have been without the drugs, but it was still exhausting and cause for a lot of yelling. I spent about 30 minutes pushing with each contraction... so I got a break every 3 minutes or so. After those first 30 minutes, the doctor came in to deliver Rowan.

Rowan had a hard time coming around my pubic bone. His head just didn't want to make it. When the doctor broke my water, it was filled with meconium... in other words, Rowan had his first bowel movement in-utero. Not uncommon for babies that deliver after their due date, but enough cause for concern during my delivery because he seemed to be stuck, and we needed to get him out soon, otherwise we were risking infection. Since we were running against the clock, the doctor asked if he could give me an episiotomy to get him out. Both him and the nurse said that it looked like I would have a really bad tear, and this would not only speed the process of delivery, but it would be a controlled cut that would heal a little faster than a larger, unpredictable tear. So, I let him do it.

After he made the cut, I had to push. I pushed hard... I screamed, I cried and could feel Rowans head come out. Another huge breath and an excruciating push later, his shoulders and body came out. I screamed again. Feeling him being pulled from my body and into the world was the most incredible, spiritual and amazing thing I've ever felt. Painful, to be sure. But it was unbelievable. It was the most in-touch I had ever been with my body. So much of it was second-nature and effortless. It's like I just knew what to do.

When the doctor pulled him out and put him on my tummy, the only thing I could do was cry. I sobbed, actually. It was over. The pregnancy from hell, the anticipation, the fear... it was all over. And there he was, laying on my belly crying his lungs out, too. We cried hard, Rowan and me. We had come through so much together over the past nine months.

Erik, full of tears and smiles leaned over to meet him. He grabbed me, put his face against mine and told me how much he loved me, how proud he was. He asked me what we should name him. We looked at his face... I said "Rowan" and Erik said "I think so too."

Erik cut the umbilical cord, the nurses weighed him and gave him his first bath. The pediatrician came in to give him a look-over, and the nurses helped me get cleaned up in the bathroom. After all was said and done, it was Erik, Rowan and me. We sat together. We snuggled together. We adored each other. Our family was finally together and my heart exploded with overwhelming joy and gratefulness.

Two days later, we brought him home to a house full of family and friends... people who had prayed for him for so many months, and loved him... even before they met him.

It was the best "welcome" a kid could ever ask for.

Wisdom Wednesday - First Aid: The Necessities.

My father-in-law was the CEO of the Crater Lake Council of the Boy Scouts of America for almost three decades. So, you can imagine how much of that rubbed off onto his eldest son, to whom I am now happily married.

Let's just say that hubs takes "Be Prepared" very seriously.

We are notorious for overpacking whenever we travel somewhere. If we're going on a hike in the Columbia Gorge, chances are we have at least four different types of jackets in the car. Sometimes, it drives me absolutely bonkers... but when it comes to safety, I'm glad that we always have the right necessities just in case something happens.

Our first-aid kit is pretty full. Erik has gone through Wilderness First Responder training, so our kit is a lot more extensive than most due to his experience. The list of things to pack also varies from trip to trip. There are a lot of things that you would pack if you were to summit a 14,000 ft. mountain in winter conditions, that you wouldn't necessarily pack if you were enjoying a leisurely afternoon float down the Clackamas River.

You may not be experienced in adventure travel... and that's okay! Even if you're going to do a mildly rigorous day-hike, there are certain things that you should always carry with you in your day pack. Here's a a list that my husband recommends for good, everyday use. You can also find most items on this list at the American Red Cross:

• Emergency Contact Numbers 
• Insurance information 
• If you're not with any close personal friends, make sure you have any Emergency medical information about yourself (diabetic, heart problems, asthma, etc.)
• Basic backcountry wilderness medicine guide
• 20 Band-Aids (assorted sizes)
• 20 Ibuprofin 20 Aspirin  (they serve different purposes and both are needed)
• 6 Antihistamine tablets 
• 6 Pepto Bismol tablets
• 3 Granola Bars or Power Bars & a few power gel packs
• 5 Sanitary napkins (for wounds with heavy bleeding)
• 1 blanket (space blanket)
• 1 instant cold pack (nice, but overrated)
• 2 pair of nonlatex gloves (size: large) 
• 2 roller bandage (3 inches wide)
• 6 butterfly bandages
• 1 piece of moleskin (medium sized, to be cut for blisters)
• 2 safety pins
• 1 Sam splint
• 5 sterile gauze pads (3 x 3 inches)
• 5 sterile gauze pads (4 x 4 inches)
• Oral thermometer (non-mercury/nonglass)
• Tweezers
• Scissors
• 3 triangular bandages
• 1 tube Neosporin
• 1 small plunger syringe (no needle)

This is a very basic list, but without proper training you can do as much harm as good. 

Your best bet is to make sure you are up-to-date on your CPR and First Aid training. You can take a number of courses through your local American Red Cross organization.

It seems like a large list, but this can all fit into most average-sized First Aid containers and bags. If you're going to be in, on, or around water, make sure to store your First Aid kit in a watertight dry bag.

Inked: Part 2

We begin Part 2 at 30 weeks. I've recovered substantially from surgery at this point and I've now returned to normal pregnant life. Here's a picture of me at 30 weeks along...

...yep, that's my battle scar from the surgery. By the time I was full-term, it had stretched to about 10 inches in length. Cute, huh? I figure I can always use it as leverage against my child. I can just lift my shirt, point, and say, "Look what you did to me!" to get what I want out of him.

I digress.

So, I'm at 30 weeks.

I was laying on the couch watching a movie one evening. Erik was out of town again. All of a sudden, my back started hurting. The pain started to wrap around my chest. Before I knew it, I couldn't breathe because the pain was so excruciating. It felt like someone was holding onto my breastbone with one hand, my spine with the other, and trying to rip my ribcage apart. I know that sounds like it's straight out of Saw III, but I can't think of any other way to describe the amount of pain I was in.

Somehow, I drove myself to the hospital. I went to the ER, but they sent me upstairs to Labor/Delivery. I got checked into triage, hooked up to the baby monitors, was given some Vicodin, and proceeded to go through a night's full of tests. EKG's. MRI's. You name it, I had it. I sat there in that tiny room with bright florescent lights by myself for hours.

[Erik and I spent most of my pregnancy apart. He runs a whitewater rafting company and the operational base is just north of Grants Pass, Oregon, about 240 miles south of Portland. So, Erik spent Thursday through Monday in southern Oregon. He came home for Tuesdays and Wednesdays. This went on all summer. Thus, the "by myself" piece.]

They couldn't find anything wrong with me, so they waited for the pain to subside. After the drugs wore off, they sent me home. I checked into the hospital at around 10pm. I got home around 6am.

I thought I was in the clear. It appeared to be an unexplainable pain attack of some sort, but the baby seemed to be fine. Well, it happened again. And again. And again. Over the course of the next five weeks, I was in the hospital seven different times. The second visit came with early contractions that put me on bed rest. The 3rd through 6th visit came with shots of Demerol. Finally, on the seventh visit, my doctor was working on-call at the hospital. She immediately had me admitted. She said I wasn't going home until we figured out what was going on.

More and more tests. More and more blood work. There was talk of delivering me early, if they couldn't get the pain under control. I was terrified. I called Erik & told him I was scared. He came home right away.

I was in the hospital for three days. Finally, on the third day, another doctor who wasn't my own came to check on me during morning rounds. She looked at my chart and noticed that there was one test I had yet to pass. an upper-abdominal ultrasound. We were confident at this point that nothing was wrong with my heart or lungs, so it was time to start crossing all of my other vital organs off the list. She booked me for that afternoon. The ultrasound tech was a gentle young woman, about my age. She kindly checked on the baby for me, not just my organs.

She printed a picture for me. My baby boy had a button nose, like me.

Three hours after my ultrasound, the doctor called my room.

"Exactly as I thought. You're full of gallstones."

Yep, it took seven visits to the hospital to find out I had pregnancy-induced gallstones. Awesome.

Now, this may not sound like a big deal, and in the grand scheme of things, it's really not. But, I had to immediately change my diet to dairy-free, fat-free and cholesterol-free foods. No exceptions. No eggs, cheese, milk, red meat, ice cream, among other things. I had already lost a ton of weight because of the surgery, and this only compounded my weight loss. I was the thinnest I'd ever been while I was pregnant. How's that for weird?

Anyway, the new diet took some getting used to. They had denied a pregnant woman her ice cream. I cursed a lot that first week.

I was thankful that we finally had a name for the attacks and we knew what steps to take. They prescribed me more pain medication: hydromorphone. Which is Morphine, but in a pill.

The attacks continued weekly, despite my diet change. But, luckily the medication has been effective! However the after-effects of the pain meds are intense. While I've never struggled with addiction, I can absolutely understand how someone could become addicted. Your body goes from extreme pain to no pain at all in almost 3 seconds, so it almost sends you into a type of euphoria. The downside is that you're completely wasted for the entire next day. Tired, drugged, weak, nauseous.

Only recently have the attacks started to dissipate. It appears that, despite my complaining and initial cursing, changing my diet & eliminating ice cream wasn't such a bad thing after all.

Now, if only I can get myself to stop binge-eating Whole Grain Goldfish...

A crafty victory.

On Saturday, I made an effort to be crafty. As you'll read below, I'm not a very crafty person AT ALL. I'm not very creative when it comes to art, but I decided to forego all of of my fears and insecurities about the situation and just go for it. The worst thing that could happen is I staple my hand to some wood. Or, it all looks awful and I threw some money away. Now that I think about it, both of those things would have been terrible.

But, lucky for me, I think it turned out okay!

The first thing I did was set out to create my "art." I went to Michael's, where canvases of all shapes and sizes were on sale, AND everything in the store was marked down 30%. So, I scored two canvases that measured 12"x24" and two others that measured 12"x12" for super cheap!

Next, I went to the Mill End store where I picked out some fabrics that would add color, but not overpower the senses. Hopefully, they weren't "too girly" as my husband says. I found some great patterns that were on super-sale! I bought a half a yard each of four different fabrics.

Materials? Check. 

That night after we got Rowan into bed, we popped in the first disc of Alias, Season 5 and I went to town. I ironed out all of the fabrics. I cut the fabrics to size. Then, I started wrapping. It was much easier than I expected! I started on one side and stapled the fabric to the backside of the frame with the staple gun. I then stretched the fabric to the opposite side. After tops and bottoms were stapled, I moved to the sides. Stretching, stapling, carefully folding corners so it would look smooth. 

After repeating this for all four canvases, I was done! The next morning, Erik helped me hang them in the pattern I imagined, and it looked good... but the wall was much too big and the art was much too small. So, I poked around online, trying to find some accessories that would work next to my newly-wrapped canvases.

Praise the Lord for Target and Ikea! I found some great little cube shelves to put on either side of the collage at Target ($10 for two!) and Ikea had a great paper-shade lamp for $10 and two vanilla, glass-enclosed candles for $1 each. 

After a massive meltdown from Rowan at Target, I came home & got him to bed. Once he was down, I finished my project! Make sure you click on the picture to see it in full. 

What do you think? Not too bad, huh?
 The color adds a LOT to the room! 

And I did it for under $40!