The Perfect Ruffle-Bottom Pants

The Perfect Ruffle-Bottom Pants

Two days later, my shoulders are still sore from my search for the perfect ruffle-bottom pants. Brandon and I were picking out our fanciest outfits to wear to our friend Ruth's wedding. We knew it would be a swanky affair.  As we tried on different clothes and perfected our look, we realized that we didn't have a fancy dress for baby Hazel to wear to the wedding. Oh, sure, she had cotton sundresses, but those simply wouldn't do.  We needed something better, and it was already the night before the wedding. 

The obvious solution was for me to stay up until three o'clock in the morning crafting a dress out of scraps of black lace and hot pink chiffon. Baby couture is always a very serious affair, so I spared none of my skill in crafting the prettiest little dress I knew how to make.  When I finally collapsed into bed I was giddy with my accomplishment.  Little did I know that I was forgetting something. 

I put the dress on baby Hazel in the morning to fit the straps.  That was when I realized what I had forgotten: the diaper cover. Every little baby dress comes with a color-coordinating diaper cover. My hand-made creation had none. I had a plain white cotton one, but it didn't MATCH.  The dress was pink and black. Clearly I needed to buy a new diaper cover. A black one. With ruffles. 

With this vision before me, I took my oldest girl to her grandma's house and set out, baby in tow, to find the perfect ruffle-bottom pants.  I just knew I would find them at Avant Garden, a crafty shop in downtown Ottawa, IL, where I had glimpsed numerous frilly baby items for sale. Since I only planned to visit one shop, I parked nearby and hefted Hazel's bulky infant car seat onto my hip. It would be easier to shop if I didn't have to hold a baby in my arms. 

I strode into Avant Garden with my characteristic optimism. I just knew that they would have exactly what I wanted. Except they didn't. The sales lady gave me a tour of the baby merchandise, and there were zero ruffle-bottom pants of any color. I was surprised and disappointed. However, the helpful lady offered me a ray of hope. One of their biggest baby item vendors had a booth at the downtown flea market. They might have more options there. 

Determined to find the perfect baby pants, I lugged Hazel and her car seat out of the store and onto the sidewalk. I peered down LaSalle Street.  It was only two or three city blocks to the flea market. I could carry her that far.  I set out to find the vendor. 

Arriving at the flea market with my heavier-by-the-moment burden, I began looking for the vendor's booth. I saw hair bows and cutting boards, painted signs and upcycled furniture. As I traipsed through the grassy aisles, a slight hint of despair began to steal over me. The booth was nowhere to be found. I took an extra turn around the stalls. It wasn't there. Hot and beginning to sweat, I readjusted the bulky car seat, thankful that at least the baby was sleeping. Defeated by the fruitless flea market search, I trudged back up the sidewalk the way I had come. I popped into a dance shop and a custom tee shirt shop on the way, praying for a random stroke of luck that would leave the perfect pants waiting for me in an unexpected place. Suddenly, I was struck with a new hope. Perhaps the booth was at the other part of the flea market by the movie theater. It had to be. What was one more block to walk in search of the perfect baby pants?  I ignored the cramping in my shoulders and hiked the car seat further up on my hip. It was my last chance. 

As I poked my head into booths of jewelry, lawn ornaments, doll clothes, and gutter covers, my spirit sank. No baby clothes. All of my searching, all of my sweating and walking, the pain in my shoulders; the exhaustion was for nothing.  Tired and annoyed, I retreated into my oven of a car and drove home. 

In a last ditch hope for a miracle, I dug through a box of too-big baby clothes in my basement. There were no black ruffle-bottom baby pants, but I did find a pair of huge black tights with silver hearts on them. Those could work...if I sewed them. I could sew them!

Triumphantly I wound a bobbin of black thread and threaded my sewing machine. I cut the feet off of those huge tights and wrestled the stretchy knit through my machine to close up the ends. At long last, I put them on my baby. Finished. 

It was a rush trying to get everything else ready for the wedding. My punctual husband had been giving me time warnings for hours, but there just wasn't enough time left to do everything. We ended up leaving the house late, and Brandon was frustrated and tense. We had to drive all the way to Chicago, and we were running late, all because I had wasted the entire morning on my empty quest for the perfect baby pants. 

Late turned into later when we hit a traffic jam on I55.  There was no way we would make it to the wedding on time. We drove as quickly as we could into the city and parked about a block from the massive Catholic church where Ruth and Danny were getting married.  As we tiptoed, half an hour late, into the sanctuary, I prayed that no one would turn around and glare at me. My heels on the polished granite floor sounded like tiny gunshots. 

No one noticed as we slid into a back pew and heaved sighs of relief.  As Ave Maria filled the room, I marveled at the beauty and holiness of a space dedicated to housing God in lavish splendor.  Stained glass windows, intricate carvings, statues, the grandest of grand pianos, and elaborate paintings gave the room a splendid majesty. At the front our friends were standing in their wedding attire.  The priest recited solemn phrases, and the guests responded, participating in the ceremony with songs, liturgy, communion, and the gift and receipt of God's peace. We had missed the marriage vows, but we made it in time to be a part of the joyous rituals that unite friends and family with God and each other. 

Ruth and Danny were married. As Brandon and I spent the evening eating, drinking, talking, and laughing with friends, do you know what no one noticed?  Hazel's tights. They absolutely didn't matter. What had seemed like such a big deal to me that morning was completely forgotten, and I was the only one who had noticed or cared about it in the first place. I had let myself become so preoccupied with one little detail that I sacrificed my own peace and happiness on the altar of perfectionism. As I held my beautiful baby in her time consuming, elaborate outfit, I knew that all of the ruffle-bottom pants in the world couldn't make her any more perfect than she already was. She fell asleep in the midst of the dancing and din, completely content. And so was I. 

Why the Stars Shine

Why the Stars Shine

By: Joy Ortiz

The sun was lonely out in space.

Suspended in the dark

He burned with fire wild and bright. 

He remembered early days

When he was young and free;

Just a floating mass of dust and gas;

A nebula among many

Stretched out in the arms of the galaxy. 

Unformed. 

One day, unexpectedly,

His center collapsed. 

Gravity entered his life,

Pulling him inward;

Curling him into a ball.

He was forever changed. 

Slowly spinning,

Trying to cool down,

He sent out weak waves of radiation.

With radio waves he tried to say,

"Something terrible has happened.

I used to be a cloud.  

Can anyone hear me?

I am afraid."

Neighbor supernovas shone

Brilliant and blinding,

Dazzling the little ball. 

Their huge voices

Hit him like shock waves:

"Be like us. 

Do as we say, and one day,

If you are good enough,

If you know all of the answers,

You will be a star like us."

Nearby stars buffeted him with 

The hot gas of their agreement. 

The ball didn't even want to be a star. 

He had been perfectly happy 

As a cloud of dust,

But that part of his life was over. 

What was left for him?

He certainly wanted answers. 

"We will tell you!" cried the stars. 

Their voices washed over him in waves. 

Under the combined influence of the surrounding stars,

He collapsed for the second time. 

Within his crumpled center

Pressure began to build. 

His temperature rose. 

Faster and faster he spun,

Gravity holding him together,

And pressure longing to burst out. 

Gradually, as he whirled,

A central core began to form. 

The rest of him was flung out

Into a disc of dust. 

His new form experienced friction,

Causing him to begin to glow. 

Hotter and hotter he grew. 

He reached 27 billion degrees Fahrenheit. 

That was when his core exploded.

Brilliantly he burst into flame

As his hydrogen turned to helium and energy. 

He was a newborn star. 

So young, so full of energy,

He sent out intense jets of radiation,

Causing surrounding matter to glow. 

His magnetic field 

Sent his starry influence 

Rocketing at 500,000 miles per hour

Trillions of miles into space. 

He was glorious. 

He was the Sun. 

Gradually the Sun began to stabilize.

He noticed things orbiting around him. 

His gravity had attracted certain spheres. 

They came regularly. 

Some were closer to him than others,

But even the farthest ones kept coming back. 

The Sun reached out with rays of light

To see what difference he could make in the various worlds. 

Some were burned or barren. 

Others swirled with beautiful gas clouds,

Reminding him of the nebula he had once been. 

Some were icy and distant. 

Most mimicked him

And had at least one moon

As a companion,

Pulling their satellites around them

Just as he pulled each planet

In his solar system. 

He surveyed these worlds,

Products of his explosive transformation,

Born of his violent past. 

They were beautiful. 

Each was unique. 

Something brought the Sun

Out of his nostalgia. 

From far, far away,

The Sun heard a tiny voice. 

"Where are you, Mr. Sun?

I can't see you. 

The clouds are in the way."

It was a little girl on his third planet. 

"I didn't know there were clouds hiding me, little one," he replied. 

"Oh yes," she replied, "They have been there for quite awhile.

Is anything wrong?"

Wrong?

How could he answer a question 

So small and immense at the same time?

The clouds of which she spoke

Were a piece of her world, not his. 

Yet he wanted to be honest. 

"Child," he replied,

"I am very lonely."

"Why are you lonely?" she asked

With large, concerned eyes.

How could she possibly comprehend 

How it felt

To be a star?

"Well," said the sun,

"I am here out in space,

But no other stars are with me."

The girl looked puzzled. 

"But the heavens are covered with stars," she said. 

"Well yes," admitted the Sun,

"But they are all far, far away 

From where I am.

The closest ones

Are much bigger than me. 

I feel their energy. 

It comes in waves 

That pass over me,

But those stars don't burn

With the same fire

That I do. 

"Doesn't each one have its own fire?" asked the child. 

"Yes," said the Sun,

"But they seem so different from mine."

"Aren't all stars born from dust and gas?" inquired the child. 

"Yes," said the Sun. 

"And isn't it some sort of collapse that causes you to change?"

"Yes," said the sun. 

"And doesn't the force

Thrown from other stars 

Transform you?"

"Yes," said the sun. 

"And doesn't friction and heat 

Ignite you?"

"Yes," said the Sun. 

"Well," said the child,

"What's so different about that?"

In the silence of the heavens,

The Sun began to weep. 

For the first time,

As he gazed into the universe,

He saw. 

"Oh, and Mr. Sun?" 

The girl's voice seemed farther away. 

"Thank you for making my flowers grow."

Birth of a Hazel Tree

Birth of a Hazel Tree

It was night when I felt you stirring

In my womb of earth. 

Awakening, sending forth

The first tremors of change,

You pressed against the dirt. 

I opened my eyes in the dark. 

Was it you?

I had been wrong before. 

Again, you moved within me. 

Could it be?

The ground began to pulse,

Responding to your tiny touch

With living ripples and waves. 

My whole being joyfully cried,

"It is time!"

My hazel seed, on the final day,

Was ready to transform.

She was coming at last. 

The tremors grew as dawn approached. 

Restless and excited,

I could not sleep. 

With busy hands I put the world in order

To make ready for you.

In the next room your father slept.

I knew he would need 

All of his strength

To sustain us during your birth. 

With the sun he rose,

Warm and comforting,

To accompany me in my joyous wait

For you. 

Together

We watched the ground rise and fall,

Timing every wave. 

We ventured forth

To test the soil. 

Would it yield to your tender shoot?

We found it ready. 

Patient rain made hard clods soft,

Breaking them; leaving earth

Fertile and smooth. 

Gentle hands stirred and tilled the dirt above you. 

With every pulse of the ground 

You told us,

"I am coming."

The sun crept across the sky

As morning turned into noon. 

I paced in my dark and quiet house,

Leaning on door jams, bookshelves,

And countertops

While you rocked my frame. 

You grew insistent,

And I laid down to rest. 

At last I knew

It was time to go. 

Your daddy drove us

To the birthing place. 

I carried you, rocking and shuddering,

Up to a darkened room. 

You and I laid down on a snow white bed

And rested. 

Helpful hands tended us. 

Your heartbeat and mine sang together,

"We are well."

We arose from the bed and labored,

Kneeling, sitting, bouncing, crouching; pacing.

We shook together. 

Suspended and carried, 

You turned within me

Into just the right place. 

While the waves rocked us,

Your daddy held us. 

Together we groaned

Deep sounds of making

Like the earth being born;

Like trees bending beneath

Wind and storm. 

But I was not afraid. 

We rested secure;

Heavy in strong arms. 

Again I grew tired

And laid down to rest.

Groaning, stretched out on the snow,

I closed my eyes. 

In the darkness, I felt a pop. 

You rushed toward the surface. 

"She is here. I have to push."

Then we were rocked by a sudden storm. 

Every part of me cried out 

As I strained to bring you forth. 

When the first wave passed,

I shuddered and wept

As gentle hands smoothed my hair

And soft voices consoled me. 

Another wave arose and broke. 

I curled up, screaming with the wind,

And pushed again.  

And again. 

And again, the wave passed away. 

You were so close to the surface. 

The top of your head

Peeked through the soil. 

Excited voices told me

They could see you. 

You were on the cusp of being.

Another wave shook the ground.

With earth-shattering force,

The wind and I

Became one

Calling you out of the depths. 

As the wave began to recede,

A distant voice cried,

"One more push, and she's out!"

In the swirling storm 

The earth and I

Heaved with unfettered violence. 

I, the wind, screamed with all that was within me,

And you burst from the ground

And into your father's hands. 

Your first cries floated into

A quiet room

For the storm had dissipated with your arrival. 

Rooted in patience, labor, and love,

Your new shoot unfurled,

Tender and green with life. 

I cradled you close,

You who grew within me,

And welcomed you to the world. 

The wait was over. 

The sun shone down 

On a precious, perfect

Hazel tree. 

To the Beachcomber

To the Beachcomber

By: Joy Ortiz

I've traveled far 

From where I was;

Made tracks that stretch backward 

Like sunset-lengthened shadows.

I've grown and become

Wiser;

Stronger;

Tender.

I've ventured out of my shell.

But tonight I feel naked

Instead of free. 

Exposed and soft,

Weak and raw,

I lie on sand. 

Will you find me

Gasping for life;

Longing for home?

Stranded on the shore,

I'm panting;

Withering 

In this foreign air;

Baking under glaring sun. 

Oh that a knowing hand would 

Lift me up

And fling me far out to sea. 

Then I could sink beneath 

Saving waves

Settle to the sandy bottom,

And continue my search

For beauty, growth,

And the next size in shells. 

Do you see me lying here?

Will you pick me up 

Or pass me by?

Lift me from this lonely strand

So I might live. 

Birthing experience letter

May 30, 2014

To the OSF St. Elizabeth Hospital in Ottawa, IL:

Thank you so much for making my labor and delivery everything I hoped it would be.  I gave birth to my daughter Hazel Joy Ortiz at your hospital on Friday May 16, 2014.  Sherry Hartenbower the Certified Nurse Midwife was my care provider, and I was so pleased with my whole birthing experience and how accommodating the OSF staff was to my and Sherry’s requests regarding my all-natural delivery. 

I was already in labor when I arrived at the hospital.  I went straight up to the OB ward, and my nurse Alyssa made me comfortable and allowed me to wear my own clothes rather than a hospital gown.  She patiently waited for me to answer the registration questions in between my contractions.  She also allowed me to turn off the lights and have my room dark.  When she inserted my saline block, she was able to get it in on the first attempt.  Usually people have a hard time finding my veins because the veins roll.  I was impressed that it only took her one try to get it, and it didn’t hurt.  Later, when the nurse removed the saline block, there was no bruising, and there wasn’t even a mark where the needle had been.  I also liked that the nurses took my blood samples through the saline block so that I didn’t have to be poked a second time.

Sherry Hartenbower arrived at the hospital shortly after I did.  She checked the monitors on my belly that were measuring the baby’s heart beat and my contractions.  After she conferred with Alyssa, they took the monitors off, and I never had to wear them again.  This pleased me very much, because it gave me freedom of movement during my delivery.  I was not tethered to the bed and the machines, so I was free to stand, squat, walk, bounce on the birth ball, or to do whatever I needed to make labor more comfortable.  I am so grateful that I did not have to be hooked up to the machines.  Sherry and Alyssa intermittently monitored the baby’s heart rate with a portable Doppler, and I was able to continue in whatever position I was laboring without any distractions or interruptions.

The OB ward was well-equipped with tools to help make my labor more comfortable.  I was impressed by the size and variety of birth balls that were available to me, and the staff was prompt to find someone to inflate one of the balls a little more at my midwife’s request.  They also had a gymnastics mat that we were able to put on the floor in my delivery room so that I could do various different positions comfortably on the floor.  Sherry used many different techniques to help my posterior baby flip over into a better position for delivery.  These techniques would not have been possible if the OB had not been so well-equipped.  Thank you for having everything we needed.

At one point during labor, my husband and I were able to go out of our room and walk up and down the hallway.  Having freedom to do this helped me through one of the transition phases.  I also appreciated that there was a large shower available for me to use during labor if I wanted it.  I was saving the shower as an emergency technique to deal with pain if I ended up feeling like I needed to request drugs.  However, I never ended up using it until after I had already given birth because I had been able to manage the pain with the help of my husband’s and Sherry’s presence in the delivery room.

The nurses’ shift change occurred near the end of my labor, and I was honored that my first nurse, Alyssa, chose to stay with us in the delivery room and witness the birth even though her shift was over.  Thank you for hiring such thoughtful and caring staff.  Our second nurse, Shannon, did a great job at making me comfortable after I delivered my baby.  Her helpful presence and her warm and cheerful personality made her a good companion as I got cleaned up and moved into my recovery room.

I really liked the hospital’s policy on visitors in the OB ward.  All of my guests felt welcome, and my 4 year old daughter was able to visit her new sister.  The nursery nurse, Megan, also allowed my daughter to help give her new sister a bath.  That was so special.  We took a lot of pictures, and that is a memory we will always cherish. 

The dietary staff did a good job accommodating my vegan lifestyle and dietary preferences.  They provided me with a good variety of options for every meal, and for my king and queen’s dinner, they crafted a custom dish of noodles and sautéed veggies that was not on the normal hospital menu.  I would, however, like to see a thoughtful vegetarian entrée added to the menu in future since all guests may not be aware that there is a vegetarian option.

Overall, my husband and I were very pleased with our birthing experience at St. Elizabeth hospital in Ottawa.  From beginning to end, everything went perfectly.  Thank you for providing such a wonderful hospital experience.

Sincerely,

Joylyn (Joy) Ortiz

Mother of Hazel Joy Ortiz, born 05/16/2014

Dedication thoughts

Here are my thoughts on a dedication for the girls:

Brandon and I belong to Christ Community Church.  We have been transplanted and rooted into this body. Its members are our family, our companions, our confidants, our support, and our help in times of trouble. They rejoice with us. They hold us when we cry. They pray for us. They provide hospitality in their homes, offices, and hearts. 

As we bring our children before God and our biological families to seek God's blessing on their lives, we also ask for the great privilege of grafting them into the living body of Christ; our body; our church. The church has joyfully joined us in anticipating, welcoming, and celebrating our children. We now ask them to join us in dedicating Zadie and Hazel to God, in blessing their lives, and in vowing to love and nurture them within the body as they faithfully have done for us. 

Zadie's name is a derivative of Sarah, which means princess. We chose it because we liked the name, but I think its meaning also dovetails with Zadie's character. A true princess is born into a royal heritage that comes with both privilege and responsibility. As a leader and political figure, a princess must be strong and upright, intelligent and wise. She must also be gracious and gentle without being weak. She must use her power and influence to care for her subjects and kingdom, yet she is herself still subject to the influence, care, and leadership of the king and queen.  Zadie is independent and possesses a strong will and conscience. She is kind-hearted and generous, affectionate and thoughtful. I desire to see her grow into the fullness of her name. It is my goal to nurture her leadership qualities while also cultivating humility, wisdom, and generosity. 

Hazel's name is also just a name we liked. It means the Hazel tree, which, to me, symbolizes life; growth; one who is rooted in the earth and reaches toward heaven; one who provides shelter and bears fruit in season. Hazel is also derived from the Hebrew name Haziel, which means "God Sees" or "Prophecy of God."

Waiting for Hazel

Waiting for Hazel

Before you ever were,

I was 

Waiting for you;

For the right time to plant

The seed of a hazel tree. 

Through a long and stormy winter,

Holding hope close,

I waited

For the first stirring of spring. 

At last

Warm winds blew,

Sun thawed frozen earth,

And I scooped out a hole in my heart

For you. 

We planted you there,

Safe and surrounded

In the dark. 

You began to grow,

Sending out a shoot and a root,

Transforming from hope to new life

Within me. 

I held you close;

Gave you water and nutrients 

To feed your wondrous growth. 

As you stirred within me,

I knew love and mystery;

Life within life. 

Your roots pressed into

The walls of my heart,

Digging deep and holding fast. 

Your tender shoot

Reached for light,

Pressing toward the surface 

Of the soil. 

Patiently I waited for the day

When time would complete 

Your germination,

And at last

I could meet you

Under the sun. 

Eager as I was,

I stilled my hands

And did not dig to find you.

I knew you were coming

In your own time. 

I waited and waited

In the sun and rain,

Blown by the wind,

Pacing beneath the moon,

Singing in the night,

Sitting, standing; lying. 

I put my ear to the ground to listen

For you. 

I pressed the earth with my hands

To feel you move. 

Every day

I looked for a sign

That you were coming. 

You did not come. 

Days passed, then weeks. 

Where were you?

I longed for you. 

I watered the ground with tears. 

I pulled and pushed my body,

Emptying myself to make room 

For you. 

The window of time was closing,

And you had not come.

What could I do?

I lie, listening to the rain,

Waiting for the shoot

Of a hazel tree

To emerge.