Me: "Who has the best seat in the house, me or daddy?"

Adam: "Well, Daddy's is nice, but yours is best. Your's is squishier."

Wednesday, May 29, 2013

Maybe Baby

"Could beeeeeeee
Who knoooooooows...."
I'm singing the song from Westside Story. 
I don't know all the words, so I just smile and sing what I know and fill in the blanks
 with "da-da-da-da! da da da da! DA DA!!!!"
We have a date.  Maybe.
Well, the hospital has a date.
They say (ahem!) "Attention world!  The Holman baby will be born on FRIDAY!"
I might have a different date. 
 I have been contracting very nicely for 3 days.  I was up about every half hour last night enjoying  lovely belly crunchers.  Other signs (that I will spare you) are present.  I'm thinking this could happen tonight or tomorrow, and am hoping so.
But if it doesn't, it's nice that there is a backup (she says sarcastically).I know my body could do this on its own, but I also know things are different now,
 so I am going to keep a sense of humor about it. 
I am in no hurry to get this baby out and put it in the NICU, but we will get through it.
So just in case, we decided to have our Welcome Baby party tonight. 
 We made a poster that says,
 "Welcome to our family, Baby!:
 "It's a Boy!" and "It's a Girl!" signs
 to hang in the tree out front with a pink or blue bow to let the neighbors know our happy news.
I have spent the day snuggling Jonah (we call the seat beside me the "spider Man Spot" and that makes him come running to park in with mom for a while). 
He won't be my baby anymore.
I have made calls and sent emails. We're all packed.
 I think we are ready to go.
Oh, and we will have cake. 
Cause what's a Welcome Baby party without cake?
Come on baby!  Bring it on!!!  We're ready for you!!!

Monday, May 27, 2013

Towards the Light

My first jug of used needles.  Working on my second. 
There is an old 80's movie
called Poltergeist where a little girl named Carol Anne gets sucked into an after-life spirit limbo.  At one point in the movie she sees a light.   Her mother calls out to her, "Stay away from the light!" because she will end up in the after-life, never to return.  Later in the movie, a wacky munchkin-medium tells the mother she must instruct Carol Anne to go toward the light, as it becomes her only way out.
Often Guy and I call to each other, "Go toward the light!" and the other responds, "No, Carol Anne, stay away from the light!"  We think we are so funny when we misquote old movies.
But this has been in my head today.  Going toward the light.  I have become so sensitive to every tone of voice, statement and expression of other people.  If someone responds sadly to something I say, I feel their sadness.  If I think about or linger too long on things, I get pretty far away from the light.  I don't know why this is a lesson I must learn over and over again, but it is.
Tonight I went to see Stephanie.  It might be the last time for a while.  She was tired and so drained from the chemo.  I brought her a silk scarf I made to cover her head now that she is shaved, and showed her how to tie it pretty (thank you youtube cancer survivors and devout jewish women for your tutorials!).  We visited for a bit.  I wanted so badly to hug her and take away her fear and pain.  I wanted to wash away her memories of the past three months and fast forward her to a time when all this will be fading memories.
As we talked, I heard in my head the words I tell so many laboring mamas, "Don't think about the past contractions and how hard they were and how many, and don't project forward to the next one.  If you do, you give away the peace of this moment."  I have been telling myself this over and over in the past few days as I find myself fretting about the birth, perhaps another cesarean, and the procedures waiting after that. 
 Just be here now; and if something makes you feel dark,
 go toward the light.
The dark tells me to count my troubles since February; (31 doctors appointments, 70+ blood tests, 184 shots, hundreds of blood sugar tests... oh yeah baby, suddenly I'm a math rock star!).  It tells me to worry the baby won't latch, that the NICU stay will be much longer than expected because baby will be very sick, that I won't be able to hold the baby at all or get to the NICU if I have surgery, that I will be in one hospital getting my procedures while my baby is in another. 
It whispers discouragement and fear
and interminable trials.
But when I try really hard to see the light, I can see that there are only about a dozen shots left.  Only about as many days till I am able to really hold my baby in my arms as there would have been if I had gone up to my real due date (or later, like I usually do).  Only a few more of the terrible what-ifs left on my list to move past, instead of all of them.  I see that it all could have been so much worse, that I have made it to 38 weeks, 5 days, and that the past 7 of them have not been with a preemie in the NICU.  I did get a blood clot twice, but not three times.  No abruption.  No fetal distress.  I have been carried in the arms of loving friends and devoted family who have picked up the pieces of my life, loved my children, and been true instruments in God's hands.
This quote bears repeating here:
"Don't you quit. You keep walking, you keep trying. There is help and happiness ahead. Some blessings come soon, some come late, and some don't come till heaven, but for those who embrace the gospel of Jesus Christ, they come.
  It will be alright in the end. Trust in God,
 and believe in good things to come."
- Jeffery R. Holland
We can get through this.
God is in charge.
Ethan joined many of our friends and shaved his head
to support Stephanie in her battle-future-win with cancer.
Proud of this boy.
 Oh, and no, we have no idea about when this baby is going to come.  Contractions last night for 3 hours that stopped.  No word from any of our millions of doctors; total radio silence (likely the holiday weekend didn't help that).  I imagine sometime this week.  A month ago it was all they could talk about to get this baby out, now nothing.
Weird.  Feel like I am in limbo, too.  Carol Anne, help!!!

Saturday, May 25, 2013

Plan B....

Let me start by saying that,
 Yes, I of all people know how important our baby's health is.
For some reason, any time I express less than thrilled feelings over all that we have
and are currently going though, someone chirps up with
"What matters is a healthy baby." 
Without meaning to, what this statement communicates is that somehow I have put my feelings above the needs and health of the baby.
And I also disagree.
There are a lot of things that matter.  The baby matters. 
The experience matters.  The memories matter. 
I have spent years supporting women after they have been released from the hospital with their baby as a clinically physically healthy "duo", only to struggle with the effects of their experience for weeks, months or even years.  Depression or post traumatic stress due to birth trauma are very real and very devastating. 
Feelings matter, too.
Tuesday I went to my NST.  Baby had gone from head down to breech.. That night we got a call from the midwife who was to help us give birth next Tuesday.  She started by apologizing.  A Neonatologist from South talked to the Head Neonate in Roseville and was told I should not be induced or birth there at South.  No clear explanation, just that the Rh status was the problem.  Keep in mind this was 5 days before our scheduled date.

I sent a flurry of emails, first to my Perinatologist, but the responses were very neutral and distant, stating that he was in support of what ever the Neonate recommended.  I contacted the Nurse Manager and other Perinate, and they tried.  Finally, yesterday afternoon the Head Neonate who set it all in motion called us to actually explain to me what is happening.

This is my attempt to explain it.

First, a few important points that we have learned:  When a woman is pregnant, she is two patients in one.  Some of the problems a baby has in-utero are very "different animals" once baby is out of the womb, and in this case much worse

An OB is only the baby doc when baby is in, once out, the baby is lobbed like a football into the field of the Neonatologysts.

There is not any contact with the parents and the neonates until baby is out.

RH iso-immunization means my blood's antibodies have been attacking baby's, but to what degree we don't know. 

After the baby is born the antibodies continue attacking the baby's red blood cells for up to four months.

In response, the baby's bone marrow makes a huge surplus of red blood cells.

Those blood cells are tiny at first and don't cause a problem, so by the time the problem manifests itself as deterioration in the baby, the problem is much bigger than it appears. 

The faster the least invasive treatment is used, the less likely the more invasive treatments will ever be needed.

As we learned, our baby could be born and appear to be fine, only to become very sick days or even weeks after going home.  By the time the disease manifests itself in a sick baby, the remedy is far more extreme than it would have been if treatment had been anticipated and started early, including blood product based medicines and double blood volume transfusions. 

Because my titers have increased, showing active sensitization, and because the level has reached the borderline between safe and dangerous, we have decided to birth at the high risk hospital.

Sadly, losing access to the labor tubs becomes a small matter in this situation.  The least invasive treatment for the baby is phototherapy.  This will mean that when the baby is about an hour old, they will take it away from me and put it in the NICU under intense bili-lights completely naked, not even a diaper.  The baby will be allowed out of the lights for 15-20 minutes once every 3 hours to breastfeed, and will stay for a minimum of 4 days, but more likely a week.  If baby does not respond well, we start getting into scary territory.

I am working my way through what this means, what we will be losing and otherwise forced to deal with.  Keep in mind that I usually push out my babies, pick them up into my arms and don't put them down for days.  I spent last night in tears.  I spent today in research.  I don't know what tomorrow will bring. 

What I do know is that this is hard, and I am sad and overwhelmed.  We have a lot to figure out, and we still don't have an actual plan.  There is a lot more, too much more really, but a few of those things are:

The NICU is two floors away from the Postpartum ward.
They can offer me a reclining chair to use in the NICU.
I will be allowed to touch the baby, but I will not easily be able to reach unless I am standing up.
I will be dealing with my blood clot and postpartum bod. 
I can only stay on my feet about 1-5 minutes right now.
I will not have nursing care for me when I am with my baby, and will be required to return to my room for all scheduled care, vitals, etc. 

Baby turned last night back to head down while I slept.  I am praying it will stay head down.  If it does not, I will have a cesarean.  Now go read that list above again.

I know God has a plan.
I have no idea how it will play out.
Knowing that doesn't make it much easier.
I pray a lot.
I am exhausted and hurting and not sleeping much.
I am waiting.
I am trying to stay positive.

Wednesday, May 15, 2013

Updates and Lists

Claudette may not be able to catch my baby this time around,
 but she is still a great support and her hands can tell just which way a baby is turned!  (on this day you can see she was holding baby's head in her hand)

Update at bottom of post

I am a list maker.
I always have lists going.  Shopping lists, To-Do lists, To-Call lists.
I had started a "To-Do before baby comes" list back in January, before Cleo the Clot came to stay
It had very practical things on it, like "Paint bathroom door", "Organize linen cupboard", "Clean garage".
Clearly things that MUST take place before a baby can be born.

I have a few new lists now; 
- Questions for the doctors
- Hospital birth supplies
(because they worry about the medical side, I need to focus on the comfort part) 
- Baby bag
(weird, that one.  I have only ever had to walk into
the other room to get a baby outfit, not pack a bag.)

But here is my favorite list:
The "Thank you list"

I would never be able to list here all the kindnesses to our family, but I wanted to highlight a few to flesh out a picture of what has been sacrificed by others to keep our family going.  I know that in doing so I run the risk of forgetting someone.  Sometimes I was asleep when something was done for us, or in the hospital, or so out of it that I didn't write it down.  I know there are some folks who have done things anonymously for us, so this is my prayerful thanks to them as well.  For the ones I may not mention here, please know that it is just my cloudy brain and not my heart that didn't hold on to that moment of generous service.  Thank you each, one and all.

Dawn comes smiling of Fridays to take the girls to gymnastics, and if Dawn can't make it, Sandi  or Bonnie comes.  Sandi has also been the brain behind all the planning, and calls often to check in on me, among her many other visits and kindnesses.  Sheila has kept up with all our needs as well.  Sheila G. took the difficult journey to visit with flowers, and Mabel, Sandi, Madelaine, Steph and Dave, and Kathy and Bishop all ventured out to the hospital while I was there.

Every Wednesday someone has come to bring us dinner so that Guy can spend the hour that he is home between work and scouts/boxing/Activity-Day-Girls getting other things taken care of.  Tonight it was Blythe, with thought and care taken to make a dairy free gluten free dinner and even treats. 

Chantal takes me to almost all of my local doctor appointments, twice or even three times a week.  She takes me for blood tests and to pick up medicine, and often stays to talk, help with laundry, clean, and direct the kids with their chores.  She has been one of my lifelines.

When she hasn't been able to drive me, Heather, Stacey and Julean have stepped in.

Speaking of Julean, my sweet sister-by-choice, former mission companion and great sis-in-law, has called me often.  When one day she heard how sad and overwhelmed I was, she dropped everything and drove 5 hours each way to come stay for just 24, and from the minute she hit the door she was a tornado that cleaned, cooked, and directed kids.  It felt amazing to hear another mom use that "mom voice" on my kids, and for them to respond by kicking into gear and not arguing with her.  We all needed some of that!  I hope she felt as good after her hard work as she left me feeling.

Madelaine and Krista have taken my kids a dozen times to get out to homeschool events that I can't manage.  They often stay later and do dishes or fold laundry, and help the kids tidy up, and are always checking in on me.  Kathy J. does the same, and sometimes just comes to tend to my heart.  Amanda has brought dinner and taken kids for overnights.  So has Joanna, adding to that, Joanna brought a box of freezer meals and paper goods (in cahoots with her co-worker Omera!) and made sure Adam got to go to his camp-out with her hubby and son so Guy could stay close to home.  Madelaine has brought food and cleaned, so has Julie, Dawn, Chantal, Dale, Tara, and Danielle.  And Masae.  And Willy, and Wanda, and Gail, and Marion and Dan, and Helen, and Sandi, and Jeni, and Angelina...

Rebekah, Eric, Roy and his nephew, Gail, Dennis, Sam, Wilson and Reily all came and fixed up the very neglected yard.  Gail took laundry home for two days.  Amazing.

Bishop's mom, Joanne, has been a dear.  She has taken me to the dentist, and brought an amazing dinner provided by her and her dear friend Patty.  Patty is legally blind, almost completely blind, actually, but it didn't stop her from preparing an amazing meal for our family, and it was enough to feed us for two nights.

Ruth has been so here for me.  She lives far away, but visits and calls often, always listening.  Tiyama, in a risky pregnancy herself, came all the way to visit and makes time by phone.  Robin has descended the way only Robin can, a flurry of help and child tending.  Rides or food are usually involved, and she has thought of little details that really matter.  Dear Kathy F., who knows trials so intimately, has been such a comfort.  Denise pops over to sweep and chat and fold and clean often, and keeps me smiling.

Ellen has held me, massaged my sore body, and listened without judgement.  I can really sort out my soul when I talk to her and Chantal.  My Aunt June calls and sends cards, and Dad is in touch every few days.  Francine, though she is not near by, is always there to listen and reflect, despite trials of her own.

And who does not, has not, had trials of their own?  Every one of these people has experienced loss, anguish, disappointment, illness, heartache and sorrow, to degrees that I cannot comprehend.  In just the women I have mentioned I can think of 13 lost pregnancies and children that I even know about.  But they come, one at a time, here and there, and make a difference that they will never comprehend.  So often they say, "Oh, I didn't do anything at all" but their 'nothing' is more than I have been able to do in three months, and to me it is immense.  The small impact of one visit or card or call may seem to them minute, but when taken together, can you see the collective impact on our lives?  The wave of service, the tsunami of tending and care, is more than can be illustrated here in simple statements of fact.  What I can't begin to mention is the tears shed, the love and prayers offered, and the Christlike dedication that has been the reason our family has been doing so well. 

I am grateful for what this trial has become in our lives.  I am a changed person, and cannot wait to be on my feet and returning a tiny portion of the love we have received.  For now I continue to pray, each day, for each person who has served and prayed for our family.  May God bless them as they have blessed us.
 "God does notice us, and he watches over us. But it is usually through another person that he meets our needs."
("The Abundant Life," Tambuli, Jun 1979)


Now... the update!
First off, Tessa's ultrasound showed no worsening of her growth in the gal bladder.  Although it is perplexing that at 7 she has one, and that it is somehow fixed in place and not floating, the doctor was not worried after today's very thorough scan. 

Next, baby had the LAST of it's many brain scans yesterday.  All results were fabulously normal, heart tones, fluid levels, body and organ growth, and very best of all (since I wasn't too worried about baby given the past great tests),
baby is finally head down, and even anterior
(for those of you who don't speak fetus, that is a very good thing.  Ever heard of back labor?  That is caused by POSTERIOR babies.  Good baby.  Now STAY THERE!)

We are getting the launch date set up for two weeks from now, on the 28th. 
We will be at Kaiser South with the midwife we were hoping for.

We will get to have a labor tub.
We will be meeting this little one soon.
I am actually getting very excited.
It is a strange shift to allow myself the luxury after all that has happened, to become excited and hopeful, but look at all that has gone right!  Yes, things have been hard, and scary, and disappointing, and there have been choices along the way we wish we could have been spared, like the radiation to the baby, and all the medications,
but look at all that could have gone wrong that didn't!

I don't have a preemie.
I am here to raise my kids.
My baby is still here, so far, and I believe it will continue to be.
There has been no rupture, no abruption, no cesarean, no major surgery, no additional radiation, no embolism, no funeral.

We don't know what the future holds, and if more grief and pain are to be a part of it, through the examples of dear friends and with the help of a loving Father in Heaven, I know we will get through it, but I am celebrating all that is right with the world today.


Saturday, May 11, 2013

Lots of Luck

"What mine say, Mama?" Jonah asked. 
Somehow he has begun speaking so well all of a sudden.  He was holding out his fortune to me.

"It says, 'Jonah is a sweet boy'." I said, not even able to see the tiny paper in the dark car.  We had read the real one to him twice already, but he liked the new fortune better.  Ethan corrected me, but Jonah argued, "No, Eee-fan!  Say Jonah a fweet boy!"

I held my own fortune in my hand.  I haven't held much stock in fortune cookies since February of 2003 when, at 40 weeks and 2 days pregnant I opened one that confidently informed me "Your deepest wish will come true tonight".  Yeah, that would have been a great story to tell Ellie later in life.  Unfortunately, she wasn't born for 3 more days.  Note: If YOU don't know when labor will ensue, I promise that a nice non-English speaker in China doesn't know either.

My new fortune teased, "You will have good luck, and overcome many hardships."  I smiled when I opened it, and showed Guy.  While I don't believe in luck, I am not beyond a little International encouragement, especially when it comes to overcoming hardships.

I am in a holding pattern right now, waiting for someone to tell me what they are planning to do with me.  I still don't know when or where they plan to let me deliver this baby, though the "39 week" mark is now just 2 1/2 weeks away.  I did learn today that faithful-and-true Dr. F. will do both my filter removal and my stent placement on the same day (hurray!) when the baby is two weeks old.  It is the only plan I have to rely on for the moment.

And there has been one other morsel of good news.  My sweet friend Ruth went to see her midwife on Wednesday, the same midwife I have been in deliberations with about birthing at the hospital at which I feel most comfortable.  Apparently, she had arrived at work on Tuesday, the day after we went in to have my leg checked, to hear reports from several nurses that "Laine was here last night!", all with positive things to say about me.  I don't even know which nurses they were, the ones I worked with when I stayed 4 days back in February, or the nurses from my Monday visit.  Either way, Deborah came away with many kind comments and hopefully in some way it will help to influence the decision to allow me to birth there.

We now wait for an appointment Tuesday with Dr. M. to check on baby's brain for hopefully the last time.  Following that appointment we will be taking Tessa for an ultrasound to check on the mystery growth that was found in her gal bladder back in January.  I am trying not to worry about her.
I guess what some people call "Luck", I call blessings.
So wish us "Luck".

Tuesday, May 7, 2013

Hospi~talotics and Hoops

I was at the hospital last night for several hours to check on the clot in my leg and pelvis.  My pain has been increasing, leg turning more purple, and foot going numb.  My meds were changed last week and we were having a hard time getting the levels to get high enough.  They kept me on monitors for an hour and as usual, the baby did great.  A scan of my leg showed no increase in the clot size, but the flow in my leg is slow.  Baby is growing, so it is probably pressing on the vein, adding to the existing clot pressure and slowing the flow.
They sent us home at 10 PM with a thumbs up.  After we got home, old Toby began gagging and throwing up.  His breathing was hoarse and labored and I thought maybe he was on his way "out", so I stayed up with him until about 2 AM till he settled down.
I woke in lots of pain at 5:30 and spent a while trying to figure out how to arrange my six pillows with little success.  The next two hours were toughies.
I was supposed to go to a Non-Stress Test (NST) this morning, but as I had just had one 12 hours before, I called to cancel.  A few hours later a nurse called saying I needed to come in for the test anyway.  I was so exhausted and my leg hurt so much, that I just told her I respectfully declined and  I'd see her Friday for our next appointment.  Then I remembered that at some point in the past dozen conversations with medical staff someone had entered in my chart that I had "refused" medication, which wasn't true, but there it was in ink.  Another time when I had asked why they were doing so many of a certain kind of test, the person I asked responded with a line about policy.  When I asked later about the test, she replied "I wasn't going to ask you again, I just figured you had refused."  I could see that my asking had hurt her feelings, and that questioning had come across as defiance.  It is a delicate balance.
So this morning on the phone, I asked the NST nurse, "If I choose not to come in today, is it going to go into my chart that I was uncooperative?"  I am focusing all my energy on getting to birth at the South Hospital, and I don't want one off-handed remark entered into my charts to make me appear adversarial and unreasonable.
I have been given a lot of great care through all this, and been treated with immense kindness and dedication in most cases. In many cases I have yielded to the protocols because I am just so tired, or because even though I didn't agree with a particular protocol in a small matter, the anger I might generate in people who could later make choices that would effect the outcome of my care wasn't worth the risk.
So I am going in tomorrow for yet another NST (even though I will be back there on Friday, and even though the baby is fine, kicking constantly and has been fine for EVERY SINGLE TEST they have given it).   It's all politics.  I  am re-learning how to play the game.  Give-in here so that you can get what you need there.  It is an alien world to me after all these years of very collaborative pregnancy care. 
So I will go.
A few more hoops to jump through yet.

Sunday, May 5, 2013

Seeking Inspiration

Jonah boy has re-discovered
 his electric guitar.  When he gets ready to play, he sets the dials and then looks for the button that will play that special song (this week it has been Message in a Bottle by The Police).  Once his fingers are all in place, he shuts his eyes. thrusts his head back and goes into his zone.  He doesn't rock out.  Quite to the contrary, he holds very still and focuses on the strings he strums with those pudgy, dirt-crusted fingers, coaxing little chords here and there from the rainbow plastic while the song plays on. 
And it is not about the audience.  It is the experience.  He doesn't care if he is alone or in a room full of people, he just goes there, to that wonderful place in his cute little head. 
I have been thinking about the nature of Faith lately.  I used to think Faith was believing IN God.  Believing that he exists, sharing that belief with others, making choices based on that belief.
I am coming to understand that Faith is also Believing God.
Believing that He means what He has said.
Believing Him.
When everything was happening so fast and furiously in the hospital, we were drawn every minute to counsel with God.  It was like He was our Compass that we held in our hand to look to as each new choice was presented to us.  We were constantly seeking inspiration in bold bursts, and then immediately making decisions based on the feelings that followed.
Things have slowed down now.  The bad news has gone from a raging fire hose to a trickling sink.  Even when it does come in bigger bursts, it doesn't seem to phase us as much.  I take the bad news and sort it off to the side, like one does mail intended for another person.  There is the pile of things for me to worry about, and the things for God to worry about. 
As I pray, I am in a juggling act between the "ask and ye shall receive" promises found in scripture, and the "Thy will be done" that we are all supposed to humbly surrender to.  There are still things that we would like to have happen, but after all that has happened, to ask for them now seems selfish.  I would like my leg to stop hurting.  I wonder every day if this will be my new existence, "Sorry kids, Mommy can't, she has to put her leg up."  On days when it hurts a lot, like the last several days, I panic thinking that the clot is coming back, something I will be at a 30% risk for the rest of my life.  I want to ask not to live in fear, not to have to worry about that happening, but that is not realistic.  I won't necessarily have to "worry", but I will always have to be cautious, and frankly, to me, it's hard to feel the difference between the two.
And then there is the strangeness of the nature of trials.  It turns out that while we all get our turn, there is no actual turn taking when it comes to experiencing hardship.  There isn't a line we wait in, knowing somehow that the next one is coming.  There isn't a "trial-quota" that once reached, cannot be surpassed.  Trials are not like chicken-pox, endured once, never to return.  They just come.
I used to imagine that certainly after 4 miscarriages I had maxed out.  Then, when a trial hit our lives that I chose not to share here, I thought we had created a cosmic insurance policy that would absolve us from any future griefs of it's kind.
Then all this happened, and happened again, and I have suddenly become aware that there is no limit to the amount of suffering one person or family may face.  And with no assurance that pain and grief will expire, we look for other assurances.
That the pain somehow won't hurt as much.
That a miracle will happen.
That our faith will grow so strong that somehow the outcome, whatever it is, will be something we can face and accept.
And I guess for me this is where the faith has been stepping into play.  I will be challenged.  I will experience loss and grief for the rest of my life.  They are as sure to come as Jonah's messes on my kitchen floor. 
Faith lies in my capacity to move the fear and the pain over to God's pile.  To let Him carry it.  To believe him when He says He will be on my right and on my left.  Faith isn't in the end, it is in the enduring.  Faith isn't never wavering, it is getting your footing back after you do.  Faith is in understanding that having no control over the outcome does not mean having no control over the way you accept that outcome, and how you act in the process.
I'm not there yet.
So I close my eyes, and lean back my head to heaven, and seek. 
More inspiration...
Photos by Tessa