the life in the day

What's new?

2011-03-09T23:36:00.000-05:00

Our family is working on a little something new. I'm not gonna tell you what it is right now, because I'm going to do a review on it in a month. But so far, we have been having fun getting prepped to begin.

Dad learning to woodburn

Boys watching (in their "daddy shirts" ready for bed).

First they were amazed watching big daddy (who can do ANYthing, if you ask them). Then they felt a little let down because they weren't allowed to try...or even get a good look up close. ;-)

But they were all kinds of excited once they realized they got to use stickers and stamps to decorate. Of course, they went a little overboard. As they get a little older, we may have to scrape/sand/start over. Those are some busy looking little boards. Can't wait to see them put to good use!

Don't Bring Your BRAT to School

2011-03-07T20:00:00.000-05:00

Today was an especially fun school day for me. We had our first Bible lesson from the Calvary Chapel verse-by-verse Bible curriculum. Then we spent some time learning new hymns. We looked them up on YouTube to see which ones were our favorites. Since my post yesterday included some "soul food," I thought I would include something a little...shall we say, different?

Okay, so maybe this wasn't the BEST version I could have found, but it was the most interesting video of this particular song that we watched today. I wouldn't quite consider it torture, even if it's not my cup of tea. But one of my children was complaining so loudly about every aspect of school today. First he was tired, then he was irritated, then he just plain didn't want to. I started thinking about all the complaining he's been doing lately about school, breathed a little prayer under my breath, and headed to the white board.

This white board is where I do a lot of my "splainin" to my children. Sometimes it's about the Circle of Blessing. Sometimes it's a verse that we copy that has something to do with an issue we are currently trying to correct. Today, I had a vision of the word "BRAT." Who likes a brat in their classroom? Who would really want to be thought of as a brat? Who feels good about behaving like a brat?

Here's what I came up with (I believe it was a God-breeze):

So for the next little while, we are going to be working on keeping these feelings checked at the schoolroom door. Instead, we will bring hearts ready for work, doing all to the glory of God.

The catechism in a rap

2011-03-06T21:37:00.000-05:00

A friend of mine pointed out this site on Facebook. It's a fun little number about the Westminster Catechism done by Curtis Allen. Nah, it's not my style. But it does put me thinking about how little real doctrine is taught in our churches, especially to the children. This is something I want to instill in my children; and since I'm tight with the teacher and the principal, I have quite a bit of say in what my kids study.

One of my favorite ways for the kids to get some good doctrinal teaching in is here. I like Shai Linne. Did I just say that? I guess I did. :-)

And since I seem to be on a theme here, I'd love to share with you a little SM Lockridge. If you've heard it before, then listen to it again. If you've never heard it, you are in for a REAL treat. That's MY King!

There are a lot of YouTube videos with this sermon in them, and some of them have better sound quality. But most of them are edited, plus they are set to music which I believe takes away from the overall impact of Rev. Lockridge. Be blessed!

Here we are, Rebecca

2011-03-04T00:50:00.001-05:00

My dear friend Rebecca, whom I met through this blog, has challenged me to begin writing again. There are a few truths I'd like to share about blogging: 1. I love to write. It has been a passion since I was a little girl. 2. I'm nervous every time I publish something. There is this pressure to live up to a standard I've set for myself. 3. Inconstant Kitty...that's me. Updating my blog has been rather sporadic, unfortunately.

I'm issuing myself a challenge this time. I will blog at least 20 days this month. Do you think I can do it?

In post number one, I have some amazing things to share with you. For well over a year now, our family of seven has been crammed into a little 6 seat Mercury Sable. We were determined not to take on debt with another vehicle after Loren hit a deer, totaling our van and freeing us from the $12k we still owed on it. We had been given, yes GIVEN, a Sable with about 280k miles on it. We found that, with creative buckling, we could fit all of us into this car.

Here is the driver side of the back seat.

Here is the passenger side of the back seat.

Front Seat

We have put over 40k more miles on her, and she's still going strong at 320k+ miles. But over the last year or so, the kids have done the most outrageous thing. They've grown. And we have gone from cramped to downright squished.

We have been praying for a new vehicle that could fit all seven of us, plus still have room for our groceries when we go shopping and our luggage when we travel. We already knew that a minivan would not would do all that, so what I really wanted was a Ford Econoline (Loren is a Ford guy). Well, lookie at the blessing that God sent our way!

TaDa!!

Complete with roomy seating for seven, plus tons of room for groceries, luggage, and even the family dog. :-) We are feeling so blessed.

Isn't she beautiful? My favorite color, even!

Starting over...again

2010-08-17T23:00:00.003-04:00

It's a new school year now...time for new ideas, new schedules, new subjects, new responsibilities. It might be deceptive of me to say that I haven't been feeling apprehensive about this for a while, but I'm also excited. Homeschooling has never really been easy, but there is nothing more thrilling to me than to watch my children learn and grow over the years. I never know if they are learning in spite of my best efforts or because of them, but the real credit all goes to God. I know that on my own, I'd never make it. I'm not any of those things most people think of when they picture a homeschool mom. I'm not terribly creative, organized, or patient. Also lacking in my life are, evidently, persistence and stability. I never seem to be able to stick to anything through a whole year (that is a major goal for me this year).

But, with the Lord's help, I have found the courage and motivation to keep on trekking. I used to see homeschooling merely as a specific calling on my life. Now, I just can't imagine doing things differently. There are things that children learn year after year at home that just can't be learned in a brick and mortar school setting. And there are unforgiving lessons that are learned in these other institutions that just cannot be unlearned, no matter how good a parent's intentions may be.

So, not looking back at what else I could have done with my life, I press forward. My fulfillment will not lie, for now, in what I could possess or where I could go. It will lie in starting over, again...making a renewed effort to become the mother and teacher that I would love to be. If I can grow and learn half what my children will this year, then it will have been a great success for me.

Goodbye, sweet summer!

Something in the Smile

2010-07-14T15:24:00.002-04:00

"It won't hurt so much always, Anne."

"The thought that it may stop hurting sometimes hurts me worse than all else, Marilla."

~~

"Oh, everybody has been so dear and good and lovely to me, Marilla. I'm not ungrateful--and perhaps--when this horrible ache grows a little less--I'll find that I can go on living."

~~

Anne found that she could go on living; the day came when she even smiled again over one of Miss Cornelia's speeches. But there was something in the smile that had never been in Anne's smile before and would never be absent from it again."

Today, I remember the "fair maiden clothed with celestial grace." I see her, a tribute laid in grateful devotion at the feet of the Father. Today, all the little remembrances are gathered together and poured over with love. Her name will not be forgotten.

2010-07-02T14:11:00.005-04:00

First of all, thank you to my blogger friend Sheila, who always encourages me to get back on here. Yes, Sheila, I am alive and well. :-)

So, what things have been slurping up all my time lately? Well, first there was my venture into writing for profit. For an example of this, you can click here. I haven't given up on this, but the website that I was writing for seems to have gotten more difficult to navigate as a writer. I need to get back on it, though, because I did make some money. (Yay)

Then, there was my month long attempt at being OCD about housework. I'm not OCD, and I don't seem to be able to keep up the energy/desire to go around behind my family of 7 and pick up, put away, wipe up, etc. enough to make it look spotless 24/7. Who really likes (or has time) to vacuum and mop every day?? I've decided I'm gonna have to be happy with 2-3 times per week. The kids are great about doing all the household chores...WHEN I'm directing their efforts. When I try to leave them to do the things I've taught them without my supervision, it usually ends in disaster. Most recently, this was a glass mixing bowl shattered all across the kitchen while I was away briefly with just the younger two. My husband seemed to think I should let them clean it up while I was still gone. Personally, I believed it was a better idea to tell them to hide out downstairs at grandma and granddad's until I got home. I would much rather they learn to be "responsible for their messes" when I am available in case someone gets hurt. As it was, Rachael still managed to get a sliver of glass stuck in her foot which crumbled as I was trying to remove it.

Which brings me to the other adventures related to feet: I've decided to give you the shortened story rather than all the fun/interesting details. My mom ripped off her toenail. My dad doesn't really do gross very well, so I was the caretaker/bandage changer/dr's office transport. During one of these Dr. visits, I received a phone call from my husband asking me to come get Rachael and take her to the hospital. She had stepped on a nail. Really, that's an understatement. It was an enormous nail (about half the diameter of a pencil) that she drove nearly all the way through her foot. My little baby girl was such a trooper with all the horrible things they had to do to her at the hospital, and I took her out for an ice cream treat afterwards (with a cookie bowl--yumm!). Needless to say, I spent a lot of time soaking feet in Epsom salts and changing bandages over the next few weeks.

There was also Joshua's trampoline accident which led to a hospital visit several days later. There were no broken bones, but he was definitely subluxated--which the chiropractor kindly took care of for us. :-)

Oh, and the bank transfer. Our bank was closed by the feds, taken over by another bank, and overhauled. To add to the excitement, our account number was the same as another account holder with the new bank. This took several hours over the phone and at our local bank branch to straighten out. This sweet lady took good care of us, though.

Then there was my dad's visit in the hospital. Actually, he spent several weeks there because the insurance would not approve the medicine he needed in order to go home. Funny that they were willing to pay three times as much for him to be in the hospital.

My mom was also in the hospital for a couple of days. She had to have some procedures done on her heart. I guess our family has spent a lot of time at the hospital over the last couple of months.

And last of all, we went to Waxhaw, NC to visit some friends. Jenny and her husband Isaac just had their first baby. Her name is Olivia, and she is a doll.

We also got to see Jenny's sister and her family. They live in Ireland (Tammy married an Irish fellow). Her children are beautiful, and she still looks just like she did when she was fourteen!

And I got to spend a few minutes trying to act like a kid again. It was tough to get my nerve up (I really wasn't sure I was strong enough to hold on). :-)

2010-04-02T00:09:00.005-04:00

I thought I'd share some quick pictures and a few thoughts tonight before my hectic weekend starts tomorrow morning. :)

The youngest three getting ready for bed. (Okay, well, Rachael getting ready for bed, anyway.)

Striking a pose.

One more before mom finally ushers them to bed.

And here we have a little pick-me-up dropped off by Stephanie. What a sweet thing to do! It's a butterfly cake!

And here to prove that it was DELISH:

And last, look what else got dropped off this week!

Some dirt for our landscaping project. We are hoping it will help alleviate our septic tank problems by diverting the runoff from neighboring properties.

But the kids had better ideas for how to put it to use. :-)

Should it feel this difficult?

2010-03-31T08:20:00.003-04:00

Parenting can be tough in some of the smallest ways...at least for me, that is. As is the case in much of life, most parenting decisions don't directly impact my life exactly now. It is the constant investments, consistently made over time, that eventually add up to some kind of return later on. I think this is why it is so easy for me to underestimate the importance of daily decisions. Their impact is often not felt immediately, so it seems not to matter if I tend to waffle.

For example, I often hear this one excellent piece of parenting advice: "You have to choose your battles." Sure. That's true. But what do I use as the standard for which battles are worth choosing? As a Christian, it's easy to give a hasty answer: the Bible. But what wisdom does God's Word share for whether I should make my three year old eat his vegetables, or for which expressions of emotions are acceptable from my adolescents? I believe the answer is simple, but profound. By asking this question: "How will this bear up in the end?" It is too easy to convince myself that small things don't matter. But every single parenting decision I make has the potential to yield dividends that I haven't counted on.

So here's my most recent example. A couple of days ago, Loren and I decided to take the kids to the dollar theater. They were very excited, and we had to eat a quick dinner so we could get there on time. As they ate, the older kids talked animatedly about what they were about to experience. When they mentioned popcorn and sodas, our three year old, Isaiah, suddenly pushed his plate away and pronounced he was full. He had eaten half a chicken drumstick and none of his green beans. I told him that he could not be excused until he had eaten those green beans. He refused, so I said if he did not eat the green beans, he would get no popcorn. He claimed that he did not even want popcorn anyway, and I answered that it was a good thing since he wouldn't be having any without eating the beans. His brothers and sister tried to convince him that he should eat them. They knew, as did I, what was going to happen later.

I'm sure you are not surprised to hear that Isaiah was not happy when he was sitting down in the theater watching his siblings and father eat popcorn without him. I certainly wasn't, nor were the other children. But what did surprise me was the mental wrestling match going on in my mind! Maybe I should give him just one little handful. No, I told him he'd get no popcorn. Well, maybe he didn't really understand! You know better than that. Well, if I just tell him I changed my mind... Maybe...

And then the hubby gives me those puppy dog eyes and says, "Mom, can't he have just a little?"

How sad that our hearts were willing to put his temporary happiness ahead of our duty to shepherd his heart and mold his character. How indicative of our human nature, to try to shield him from even such a small consequence of his own choices.

It would have been all too easy to underestimate the importance of staying true to my promise that he would get no popcorn if he did not eat that tiny handful of green beans. After all, he generally does eat his vegetables very well. And his sad little eyes looked with such longing...and his dimpled little fingers reached out for that popcorn bucket every few minutes.

In the end, I took him in my lap, squeezed him to my chest, and whispered into his ear: "Isaiah, I love you. I love you too much to lie to you. I told you no popcorn, and that is what I meant. I'm sorry this is so hard for you, and I really wanted you to have some popcorn. But it is very important for you to remember that mom told you the truth."

Would it have been easy to rationalize letting him have a little popcorn? Certainly. Would it really make that much difference? I don't know. But I hope and pray that it made all the difference in the world, in his little mind, to know that mom really meant what she said.

Maybe I'm alone in this. Perhaps everyone else would have had an easy time carrying out such a sentence. Perhaps no one else would have chosen this battle. I don't mind having chosen to tell him he must eat his green beans, but perhaps next time I'll think more carefully about how difficult it will be to follow through with an imposed consequence before I pronounce one.

Loosing that first tooth...and other signs of growing up

2010-03-26T23:53:00.010-04:00

A couple of days ago, Zechariah lost his first little baby tooth. It had been holding on in there for quite a while, but the little fellow asked me to pull it at last. Usually, I am the designated tooth puller, splinter extractor, hang nail remover, etc. (my husband does not like these things). But this time I couldn't pull it well, and wrangled the dad into the position. Once again, I have a Snaggle Tooth in the house...and boy is he proud of himself. He was in quite a bit of shock at the beginning, which mom took to mean that he needed ICE CREAM!! It bled quite a bit, and what better excuse to eat the last little bit of ice cream in the house (mom usually saves that privilege for dad).

In other news...

the kids are all growing up. Joshua is going through---dare I say it?---Puberty! All these little Man-traits are popping out all over my little baby boy who I KNOW was just born a couple of years ago...right?

Rachael is working hard to control her moods (aka: attitudes!). I had noticed a particularly shining attitude a few days ago, after the lot of us had endured some serious TUDE from her for several days running. I complimented her on it, and she gave me a shy little grin. She asked me if I wanted to see what she had read, and ran and fetched her Princess Bible. As I washed dishes, she read to me about God's desires for our attitudes and dispositions. What a cherished moment. I'll hold on to it forever.

Daniel has recently turned 10, and even more recently been coaxed away from his YouTube addiction, where he would spend all day watching videos of "boss-fight" songs from various video games...if only mom would allow it. Poor dear has been restricted to only two per day. Now he researches sensible things again AND spends more time with his family. Yay!

And Isaiah, bless him, still has those adorable baby cheeks that I just don't want to go away. It is so hard to believe that he is three and a half. Please pray that I will have the courage to let him grow up rather than to baby him the rest of his life.

On the pet front, my poor little kitty had to be taken for an emergency trip to the vet today. It appears he somehow got into a fairly vicious scrape with another cat. His previous owners had the poor guy declawed, and he's practically defenseless in such tangles. Several stitches and several hundred dollars later, he's home and learning to deal with his Elizabethan collar. Only two more weeks to go, and it is simply heartbreaking to watch him. I've never had a pet with one before, and it interferes with his walking, sleeping, and I'm sure even his dignity...which is SO important to a cat.

And finally, at our house, Friday night is Family Fun-Filled Feast and Film Festival. This week, we ate hot dogs sans buns, broccoli soup, and mac and cheese. The only rules for our Friday night Feast are that it must be something the kids like and it must be made in plentiful quantities. The movie was A Light in the Forest. Not a must see, for sure, but still made for an enjoyable evening. Here, in a rare moment not covered with kids, is the relaxed king of the castle...and take note of this: Isaiah has this thing for piling up random items and pronouncing it a fort. So, in the top right corner, you will notice various pieces of armor (all plastic), a broken "golf club" that mom has disposed of quite a few times already (not sure how it makes it back into circulation as a toy), and an empty cracker box. What you cannot see is the cat carrier standing on end just on the other side of these items (so he could duck behind it---voilà, a fort!).

2010-03-22T16:14:00.004-04:00

Wrestling am I, with what to post. Do I try to back up to my last post and bring you up to date? No, I really don't have time for that since today's my wonderful husband's birthday, and I'm going to make him his birthday dinner. Biggest news: we're all alive. :-) But I have precious little time, and I want to share so much. So I'll start small and share with you the most recent awesome thing that happened in my life.
For Valentine's day, Loren (my love) wrote an essay and sent it in to our local Christian radio station. It was for a giveaway. He was trying to win us a spot in a wedding vow renewal ceremony. He did this without my knowing, and finally told me about it after he figured that he didn't win because he had not heard back from them.
Well, the day that we were snowed in, he received a call informing him that, unfortunately, they had been forced to decide to postpone the ceremony. WHAT??!! We looked back through his emails, and there in the trash box was the discarded, unread message that he had indeed won. Wow! If it had not been postponed, we would have missed it entirely.

And then...THEN...while we were there saying our vows, he surprised me with a diamond engagement ring/wedding band to replace the one I lost over 10 years ago. How he managed to do it without my noticing the money missing is beyond me, but he earned major brownie points, YES HE DID!!! (It's going to have to be sized up to fit my ring finger...guess he sees me as much tinier than I am...more brownie points.)
I can't imagine life without him. Perhaps it would be a little less complicated (what relationship isn't), but I can say with certainty that it would be much less exciting, quite lonely, and absolutely unthinkable.

So here's to my amazing husband, who has overcome more heartache, abuse, neglect, disadvantage and trouble than perhaps any other person I know...and come out a better man than perhaps any other man I know. I love him completely, even all the terribly irritating little bits. And he loves me completely, even all the terribly irritating little bits. For that I am truly blessed. Happy Birthday, Loren, my love.

Breakfast at Last!

2009-10-13T13:59:00.002-04:00

We have been officially off our media fast for about a week now, but I have been slowly adding back in a little here and a little there. It seems like this has taught me some sense of moderation that I don't want to lose. But a lot has been happening in our lives. Hmm...a little synopsis is in order, I suppose.

I resigned my job. Yes, it has been wonderful. Sad sometimes too, but overall fantastic. After the last pictures I posted, my house improved dramatically in just a few hours. And even more so over the next few weeks. Unfortunately, I don't believe I took any pictures to show how wonderful it looked. Did I say looked? Sure did. That brings me to what else has been going on.

My kids have started a new business. It all fits in as part of our homeschool life. See, for a few years now my kids have wanted to start a lemonade stand, but with a job and new babies and just general busy-ness, I haven't been much help in facilitating the idea. So once I was a little more free, I started helping them plan for this. Now, being a homeschool family, we certainly wanted to do this with excellence. So...

We went to the library and checked out books about business, money, and entrepreneurship. We conducted market research. We worked out brand ideas, sketching logos and such, and planned color schemes and more. We made field trips to Sam's Club to scope out prices. We went to Goodwill and found coordinating collared shirts for all of us. We borrowed a canopy and table from friends (and we decided that we would conduct business rain or shine), with the plan to invest in those items with our business profits. We decided on a charity to receive 10% of our profits (Children's Healthcare of Atlanta). Weeks after the beginning of this whole process, we designed and passed out flyers to every house in the neighborhood. And we woke up on opening day to a downpour outside.

If only you could have seen my husband and me as we attempted to raise that borrowed canopy for the very first time in the pouring rain at 5:30 am. It was, well, comical! But I was so proud of my little entrepreneurs as they braved the rain and cold, and stood out under that canopy waiting for those mythical creatures otherwise known as customers. Two wonderfully faithful friends did stop in those next couple of hours, and we had prepared the children well for the possibility of little to no success on that first morning because we had not told anyone that we would still be there rain or shine. So there was no bitter disappointment. Just the understanding that driving by and seeing three little munchkins braving that weather to remain consistent and reliable would only help build trust among our customer base.

That was yesterday. Today, we had steady customers the whole time we were open. And the kids also learned the value of a soft open before the Grand Opening...we actually ran out of coffee! Right in the middle of a customer's cup! So we will be getting a few of the kinks worked out this week. Our Grand Opening is planned for next Monday. We are planning discounts and giveaways.

The kids already have visions of franchises in their little heads. :-) Have I mentioned before how much I love to teach my kids at home?

Lots more has been going on, but getting back to the condition of my house. Well, with all this coffee stand business, it has kinda slipped a little bit. Not like it was, mind you, but slipped none the less. Especially yesterday. I spent all day cleaning out the garage so that we can run the business out of it when the weather is especially cold and rainy. So, while mom was working downstairs, you can imagine what the preschool set were doing upstairs! And after getting up at 4am yesterday, I wasn't worth anything by the time I got my kids in bed at 8. I did the dishes and then fell asleep on the couch with hubby playing around on Facebook at the other side of the room. So, well, I guess now I'll put up with a little bit of chaos upstairs while we finish redoing the garage suitably for a coffee stand to run out of it! And we'll figure out how to fit all of this back into a workable schedule over the next few weeks.

Boy, have I missed blogging! I'll post some pictures as soon as I can.

Media Fast

2009-09-10T12:41:00.002-04:00

Our family is doing a media fast right now. The only computer time I am allowed is the time I take to check important emails and certain school work for the kids. But I thought I would briefly pop on here to let you know why I'm not updating my blog right now (for Sheila, LOL). I haven't forgotten you, though. There is tons of stuff I want to share with everyone as soon as our fast is over in a few weeks. Ok, break-fast over. Hahaha!

Full disclosure

2009-08-18T10:53:00.012-04:00

In all this time of leading a "double life," I have found myself getting farther and farther behind on so many important things. My home has suffered terribly as I have tried to decide just what had to fall off my plate. In the beginning, I was letting all leisure time get slashed from the menu. After about a year of this, I finally understood the immense importance of having some down time for the whole family. So, little by little, the little things have fallen off my plate. And anything that happens little by little has the potential to become a very big thing. Still, I've managed to keep some things very organized and tidy......
.....but in the interest of full disclosure, I'm going to bare my soul. I'm going to show you the good, the bad, and the ugly.

This is just a glimpse of our homeschool room. It used to be our dining room, but we never ate in there. So I started moving all the homeschool supplies from all over the house into our homeschool room. It's a little small for organizing everything a family needs to school across 5 different grade levels, but it's nice to have everything in one place. I have been reading up on organization ideas, and I've learned a lot from my friend Laura (she did all the organizing and planning for our new space in Praise Park).

Here we have our new "workboxes" from Sue Patrick's Workbox System. They are ready to be loaded up for the beginning of our school year. If you've never heard of this system and you are homeschooling or have toddlers, you should check it out.
You can google "workbox system" and get lots of pictures of how other mom's have put this system to use in their homes.

This is our supply cabinet. It holds some of our school supplies like craft foam pieces, stampers, file folder games, ribbon, beads, whatever. The whole idea for organizing this cabinet came from what I learned from Laura. I have no real organizing sense whatsoever on my own. I owe her soooo much!

This is where the everday supplies go. It's right next to the workboxes so it's easier for me to reload them each night. It holds our pens, pencils, crayons, markers, glue, scissors, whatever.

It has made a big difference just having these all together. I used to try to keep separate boxes of these items for each child. It seemed like such a good idea to me, but it never worked out. Everything just kept disappearing. Now the kids know exactly where something goes instead of having to figure out whose box it belongs in.

The bottom of the cabinet holds all their coloring books and artwork that they want to keep. It's pretty much a mess in there right now.

Here is where a lot of our curriculum supplies are located, along with the science supplies and math manipulatives. This shelf stands about two feet high, so it's great for the kids to be able to reach the things they need.

And here is a bookshelf where I try to keep interesting books to read. We have bought the supplies to create our rain gutter bookshelves, but we haven't been able to come to an agreement about where they should go.

So none of this looks too bad, right? Well, that's because I'm showing you the closeups. Now, here's the part where I open myself up to vulnerability. I'm not looking for disapproval here, or even pity. This is just straight up honesty about where I have been. But by the end of today, it will be soooo much different. Maybe I'll pop back on here and post some pics of that as well. Okay, here goes...There. I've done it. You know it all now. I'm so glad that the Lord led me to understand that I had to choose my home and family over my other ministries. In this season of my life, my sacrifices should be for my husband and for the little ones God has entrusted to my care. There will be plenty of time to throw myself into other important endeavors later on, Lord willing.

2009-08-15T22:36:00.002-04:00

Tomorrow will bring big changes to my life. For nearly three years, I have held a part time job working for my church. I have loved this job, working with so many beautiful children. In the beginning, I was responsible for coordinating both volunteers and paid workers for the nursery through Kindergarten age children. But about a year ago, it changed dramatically when the church leadership asked me to help them embark upon a new mission.

Our children's pastor and I had both dreamed of having a worship service for the three year olds through kindergartners. So, that is just what we created along with the help of a few dedicated friends. Praise Park. A fun-filled, bright and cheerful place for the children to grow and learn about what it means to reach beyond themselves and worship their Creator! How awesome it is to be a part of Praise Park. To listen as 35-40 preschoolers recite God's Word that they have hidden in their hearts. To watch them dance and sing that God is alive, and jump and shout F-A-I-T-H. To hold a little boy with autism while his mama worships in the worship center.

It has been wonderful, and challenging, and often even frustrating. But for a very long time now, I have felt like I've been stretched too thin. I've found myself having trouble even getting out of bed, just so tired and overwhelmed. My homeschooling efforts last year were certainly less than joyful, and my performance at every single task I was undertaking was less and less acceptable. I spent time reading books on leadership and organization, trying to learn to make myself more capable.

But finally, I picked up a book I had read a few years back:
A Woman After God's Own Heart by Elizabeth George. It was a great book for me to read the first time around, but it was even more precious to me this time. As soon as I read it, I knew where I had gone wrong. As a wife and mother, my first ministry is to my family. But I had been giving so much of myself to Praise Park that my family was left eating the crumbs that fell off my plate.

So I told my husband that I felt we needed to choose between Praise Park and homeschooling. I just couldn't keep trying to do both and expect our home to be what God wanted it to be. He and I both came to our decision with sadness, but once we had landed upon it...and put in our six weeks notice...there was a sense of relief. Especially when a replacement for us was found, and it was a couple who would be so perfect for the job. (Way more perfect than us, I'm sad to say).

So, after tomorrow, I will once again be "just" a homeschooling mom, teaching and learning and loving and growing. It's my first ministry, and I am so eager to give my children and my husband my most creative and energetic efforts. But pray for me, please. This year I will be taking on 6th, 4th, and 2nd grades, along with Kindergarten and preschool...an exciting, though a bit daunting, prospect!

Lovely now her life shall be

2009-08-14T23:51:00.004-04:00

It has been a while since I blogged about the here and now. I'm so happy to have shared with you all the story of our sweet Abigail's short life with us, and I feel blessed to have heard from so many of you how you have been touched by it. But now, there is so much life that happens each day in our home, and I hope to be able to share that too. Our struggles, our joys, and our sorrows go on.

I'd like to leave you with the words of one of my favorite poets, who also knew too well the pain of losing a child:

As We Prayed
by Edgar A. Guest

Often as we watched her there
From our lips there fell this prayer:
"God, give us the pain to bear!
Let us suffer in her place,
Take the anguish from her face,
Soothe her with Thy holy grace."

Then the angels came, and they
Took her lovely soul away
From the torture house of clay,
As we'd prayed, they brought release,
Smoothed her brow with gentle peace,
But our pain shall never cease.

Ours is now the hurt to bear,
Ours the anguish and despair,
Ours the agony to share!
When our hearts with grief were stirred,
Thus we prayed and thus were heard,
Shall we fail to keep our word?

Was our promise all in vain?
Would we call her back again
Just to spare ourselves the pain?
We are hurt, oh, that is true!
Desolate and lonely, too,
Suffering as we pledged to do,

Lovely now her life shall be
Safe through all eternity,
Always beautiful to see;
Now the pain is ours to know,
But we prayed to bear this blow
That she need not suffer so.

We love you Abigail. We miss you terribly. But we take comfort in the understanding that you live on, made whole and perfect in the presence of the Almighty. Your pain is now ours to bear, and we know that we will be with you again someday. We praise God who granted you the ultimate healing rather than to leave you living in the agony which mortal life afforded you.

He remembers

2009-08-13T11:59:00.003-04:00

In church one Sunday morning about 6 weeks after Abigail had passed from this life into the next, I was broken. My arms ached with emptiness. My soul was bruised, and I wondered how I could even breathe. Yet I raised my hands in praise and choked out the words to the songs of God's faithfulness.

Pastor Scott got up and began an altar call. He asked all those with needs to come forward for prayer. I had a need, that was certain. I wanted to be prayed over. My spirit cried out to me that I needed intercession. But something held me back. Perhaps it was that I didn't want all those hundreds of people, who knew of our loss, to see me and, forbid it, pity me. I didn't want to be pitied. True, I was a victim of human suffering, a kind uncommon to most in that building. But my spirit was not crushed. I simply had a request to make of my Father in Heaven.

So I cried out to him in my heart, "God, I need you. But I can't go up there. I need you to meet me here. I know you can minister to me right here where I am. Father, my arms are empty. I understand what I must do, and that is to wait for your perfect timing. But I want you to know that I'm scared of your timing. I'm afraid my heart will break in two. I'm afraid that my spirit, though strong, will become crushed by the wait. And yet, I trust in who you are. You have brought me through so much. And I will trust in your timing. Just please, know that I feel as if I can't bear these empty arms much longer."

As I prayed these thoughts in my heart, I held back the tears. Then I felt an arm slip around my waist. I thought it was my husband's, but I turned my face to see a woman who had come down from the choir and made her way past the other worshipers down to the middle of the row where I was. She put her face against mine and started speaking: "God wants you to know that He hears you, and He is coming to you right where you are. He knows the desire of your heart, and He will give you what you need. You don't have to worry about His timing, because it will be sooner than you think. And He will hold you up. He will wrap His arms around you and you will not feel empty any more."

Through these words, I found that the tears had started to stream down my face. By the end, I was fairly sobbing. I had never experienced something like this before. I had been in love with my Heavenly Father since I had given my heart to Him at the tender age of four. I knew that He cared for me so much that He sent His only Son to die for me. But I never felt as loved as when He reached down and touched me that morning, through the words of a beautiful woman I had only just met. Suddenly it was me, there at the center of His heart.

How I wish I could express in words the jumble of feelings inside me as I left the sanctuary that morning. The God of creation had come to meet me where I was. No, I wasn't surprised. I knew He could do it. It's just that my expectation was to find a quiet peace come over me there where I stood. My envisioning was that I would find a spiritual connection such as the others that I had found throughout every other trial of my life. But that He would place it upon a relative stranger's heart to come and speak to every petition I had just made, and that she would hear it and command the courage to come down to me from the choir and deliver it, was greater than I could ever have imagined.

And yet, human as I am, fickle and often fragile in my trust, I left wondering if she had been right. I wanted to believe it. She had literally answered every private word spoken through an intimate conversation with my only Hope. And yet, there was a tiny seed of doubt lingering deep within my soul. And even the comforting words that His timing would be sooner than I thought (which, by the way, was along the lines of years) left me concerned. How soon did that mean? It's funny how I went before Him seeking merely peace, and He delivered much more; so I wanted even more yet.

But true to the words of that faithful acquaintance (now a dear friend), my wait was not to be unbearable. Only two weeks later, I had a positive pregnancy test. By my calculation, I conceived perhaps on that same day that I had poured out my soul to a God who really does care enough to meet me right where I am. And only a month away from the anniversary of Abigail's short life, my arms were finally wrapped around the answer to a promise. His name, Zechariah, which means "the Lord remembers."

And a few days later, I once more walked up those stairs, turned to my bedroom, and saw an empty cradle. But this time, I walked over and placed into it my beautiful baby boy. Then I sat on my bed and cried, just as I had only eleven months before as I looked upon it as empty evidence of her that was and is no more. There will never be a way to replace Abigail, and nothing will take the place of my love for her. But the faithfulness of the Lord is to be found in this: He not only held me through this terrible storm, but He also remembered my cry and gave me my heart's desire.

The Struggle

2009-05-13T14:43:00.000-04:00

When I first arrived back home, I struggled up the stairs. It was a physical struggle because of the C-section, but more painful was the emotional struggle. I knew I had left the cradle by my bed, ready to receive our little Abigail. I knew I had left a trail of blood all across the hall and into the bathroom. Memories of these images had flashed through my mind so vividly, and I was honestly afraid of losing myself to the pain.

When I got to the top of the stairs, I found the floor spotless. My brothers had cleaned away every trace of blood from the carpet. I had spent so much time worrying about that blood on my way home, and I was grateful to them for performing that difficult act of love for me.

As I turned and walked into the bedroom, my breath choked up inside of me as my eyes fell upon the little cradle. My arms instantly felt empty and cold, and for a moment I wondered how my heart could go on beating. My mom and Loren and the children had dropped me off and gone to handle something (I can't recall what it was), and I sat on my bed, alone, and cried. I think it was my first real chance to cry out to God with no one around. Everyone had been trying to be there for me and hold me up, and now I am convinced that I needed that time to learn to be ok all alone. I needed to be comforted by Him. Just Him. It was one of the most difficult moments of my grieving process, but it was important to me and has become one of my strongest memories of God's presence in my life. My own arms were empty, but He was holding me in His.

The emotions that surrounded Christmas only 5 days after our daughter passed away are difficult to describe. I felt so empty, but at the same time peaceful. I spent a vast amount of time on my knees pouring out my soul to my heavenly Father. Then He would fill me back up with Himself. But I had to do this over and over, day in and day out. I didn't want anyone to see this. Not my children, not my husband, not my mother. It was a private purging and filling.

Those lessons I learned on my knees were life changing. There was a cosmic shift in how I saw myself and those around me. I realized how much God in His infinite mercy, grace, and love had shaped my life...shielding me from harmful influences, humbling me by showing me all that I was capable of doing and being were it not for His guiding hand.

I spent countless hours on internet support boards for grieving parents, reminding those other hurt souls that their own pain didn't change the truth of who God is. I think the most important lesson those other parents and I solidified in our minds was that knowing and loving God doesn't shield us from terrible and tragic events. I'm not sure how we as Christians can sometimes come to that irrational conclusion, but it is so common. "How could God allow this to happen to me?" As if being a Christian is somehow supposed to guarantee us a life free of pain. But most of us wrestle with it. Or, "I prayed in faith, believing Him for a miracle. Why didn't He save her?"

But it was there in that place of countless questions and few satisfying answers that I found the comfort for my own heart. I learned that even when I don't know the mind of God and why he allows something to happen (His ways are not our ways, and His thoughts are not our thoughts...Isaiah 55:8-9), I can trust His heart and know that He has only my best at the center of His heart (plans for a future and a hope...Jeremiah 29:11).

It still hurt. And I still had questions (still do). But I was not consumed by the struggle.

Christmas

2009-04-20T21:38:00.003-04:00

Abigail had passed away late on a Saturday evening. We entertained the thought of going to church the next day because we felt the need to be in the presence of fellow believers and friends. We were tired, though, and there was much to do, and we weren't certain that we were ready to face the questions or even the silence of those who didn't know to ask.

We decided to go ahead and clear out of the little house we were staying in, even though we had been told we could stay as long as we needed. I wasn't sure I was ready to go back home. I knew that it would be difficult, but I also knew it wouldn't really get easier. Some things you just have to dive right into, and I believe dealing with grief is one of them.

With Christmas coming upon us quickly, we thought it would be good to stop by Toys R Us on the way back home from Atlanta. Again, it seemed like life was going on too effortlessly around me. Why didn't everyone else look like they could barely muster the will to even breathe? Why the carefree smiles on so many faces? Why the frowns and complaining about mundane things like having to wait in line or not finding that certain toy? Didn't they know they had so much to be thankful for? And then there were the babies being pushed around in buggies or straddling their mommies' hips. I remember feeling the aisles closing in around me.

I had decided to stay up near the front of the building as my mom and Loren and the kids wandered about the store. It had only been a week since I'd had a C-section, and I was still easily tired by too much walking. Suddenly I felt so lonely in that crowded place (and if you can think of what the stores look like on the last weekend before Christmas, you can imagine how many people there were). It seemed like we were there for hours.

I found a flat packed box and sat on it while I waited, and I tried to smile at the shoppers as they passed me. As I sat there, I wondered what Christmas would be like this year. I tried to envision myself portraying excitement as our children opened presents. I practiced feeling happy. Above all, I knew that I didn't want painful memories of Abigail to be the focus of this special celebration. Instead, I wanted us to celebrate her life as well as our Savior's.

It was something I had to practice repeatedly, not just that year, but in every year since.

Life should somehow have slowed down

2009-04-14T00:04:00.001-04:00

In the days leading up to Abigail's death, Loren and I had been unable to really eat anything. When we had left the hospital's little chapel, we were both surprised to find that we were at last ready to eat. There had been a sense of finality and release once we had spent that time in prayer and praise. So we left the hospital and went to the only place we could find open so late at night, Waffle House.

It was a very strange feeling, sitting there in Waffle House with life going on all around us. Inside, I felt like life should somehow have slowed down. I wanted everyone who saw me to know that my daughter had just died and my heart was broken. Instead, I said nothing. Not even our waitress knew that we had just lost such a precious part of our lives. We ate our meal in relative silence and managed weak smiles as we were leaving. The waitress had been unusually kind and quietly attentive. It was another blessing.

When we got back to the little house that we had been staying in through the graciousness of strangers, my mom was asleep on the couch and our three remaining children were in sleeping bags side by side on the living room floor. We stood in the doorway and held each other as we watched them sleeping. After watching for a few moments, one of us said what both of us had been thinking. "We are so blessed."

Really. Just think of all those parents who lose their first child...or their only child. When we left that hospital, all our parental hopes and dreams were not imprisoned within it's halls. We had living, breathing, beautiful children waiting for us in that cozy little home. We had a reason to drag ourselves out of bed the next morning.

When we spoke those words out loud, my mom stirred on the couch. She looked up at us and asked, "Is she...?" We nodded, and the tears came to her eyes. As hard as it had all been for Loren and me, it had to be just as difficult for her. I knew her heart hurt just as much for us as it did for herself. But she stayed strong through it all. I love her for her strength, both then as she allowed me to be strong when I needed to be, and to let go and cry when I needed it, and now as she has read all these posts. I love her for never having to pretend that any of us have forgotten how very much we loved Abigail.

2009-04-13T23:32:00.003-04:00

After Abigail had been pronounced dead by the NICU doctor, the nurses asked me if I wanted to help them clean her up. Immediately, Loren said, "No." One of the nurses very gently told him that they weren't really asking him. They were asking me. She explained that the fathers almost always answer the way he had.

I asked them what was involved and they explained that they would be giving her a bath and putting fresh clothes on her. At first I said no, but something in my spirit told me that I would regret it if I didn't. I wanted to try to explain to Loren, but the nurse beat me to it and told him that it would give me closure.

I wanted closure. Really, I did. But what was even more compelling to me was that not once since she was born had I been able to really take care of her myself. This was a way for me to care for my baby girl for the first and last time.

I helped them bathe her body, and we picked out an outfit from the hospital's stash of newborn clothes. Together we measured her length, something that had never been done because it wasn't medically relevant. She was just shy of 20 inches.

They clipped a bit of her hair for us to keep, and we made handprints and footprints in her journal. They gave us a beautiful keepsake box to hold on to the molds they had made of her foot while we had been away the night before. In it, we also placed the gown she was wearing as she passed from this life into the next, her journal, the little bit of her hair, and pictures of her that were made at the hospital.

We took pictures of us holding her, and we stood and looked at the tiny body that had once been the home of Abigail's spirit.

It was hard to actually walk away. She was all tucked into blankets, with her little stuffed animals all around her in the isolette.

There was a hospital chaplain there with us. Judy had called him before Abigail passed, and when we met him he told us he would be there whenever we were ready for him. When we were finally ready to go, we went to the chapel with the chaplain and our sweet nurse, Judy. We asked the chaplain (I'm sad that I can't remember his name. He was so kind.) if we could sing some songs together and share verses among ourselves. So that's what we did until well after midnight. We prayed and thanked God for giving us the beautiful gift of our sweet Abigail Noel. We thanked Him for having a plan for her life, and for loving us through the most difficult time of our lives. It was a worship service, and it held such healing for our freshly wounded hearts.

Loved to the end

2009-04-10T12:31:00.004-04:00

They had told us it wouldn't take long. She might breathe on her own for 20 minutes. We had made the impossible decision. It really was the only choice we could make. Every other option was to leave her to a long and painful death. She was already in so much pain.

They could hold her for us, they said. Children's Healthcare never lets a baby pass without someone cuddling her. I tried to understand what kind of emotional detachment a parent would have for not taking every last opportunity to let their baby know how much they loved her. I would not allow myself to linger upon the thought that it was cowardly and cold.

Can it ever be easy to hold your child as she struggles for her last breath? No. Never. But we would do that most difficult thing. We would hand her over into the loving arms of her Heavenly Father ourselves.

Waking up that morning was so hard. I didn't want the day to begin, because I knew it would be the last day of our sweet Abigail's life. I still prayed, believing for her healing. But I knew in my heart that God was going to take her home.

I didn't want to go to the hospital. I didn't want to go to her room. I was worried that they would rush us, and I wanted to savor every painful and heartrending moment of our precious little time left together. I guess those kind people caring so beautifully for our baby knew and understood all of that. We had told them the night before that today would be the day. But when we arrived, they did not mention it. They were so wonderful.

We spent most of the day with her, letting all the family have a chance to hold her. We read to her, talked to her, sang. When it came time to remove the tube, we finally gave the nurse, Judy, the go-ahead to extubate. They might as well have removed mine too. It was so hard to breathe. I felt her pain as my own. Soon everyone but Loren and me left. It was a private time.

Loren and I held her. We read to her from Dr. Seuss' Oh, the Places You'll Go and from the Bible. We told her everything you could imagine a parent would want their child to know about life and our family and our loving Creator who had created her for a purpose. She would meet Him soon. We sang to her one of our favorite songs to sing with our other children: "This is the day that the Lord has made, we will rejoice and be glad in it." Our voices choked up as we sang it, but we pressed on.

Minutes turned into hours, and she still was with us. Judy came in to make some notes and stuff (she mostly just left us alone, telling us to call her if we wanted her for anything). She could read in our eyes the question. Why was Abigail still with us? I wanted to believe maybe she was gonna keep on breathing, just like I had prayed. Judy explained to us that babies whose parents hold them and love them take longer to pass. They hold on harder. They fight harder. They know we don't want them to go. But they do eventually lose the fight.

When Judy left, we held Abigail tighter and told her that it was ok for her to let go. But she held on still. And so did we.

Meanwhile, my dad had gone to the store to buy me some ibuprofen because someone had stolen my pain pills out of my purse when I left it in Abigail's room. I couldn't believe how calloused someone would be to steal medicine from a woman whose baby was dying. The only people with access to the room were the nurses and the janitorial staff. When Daddy called to tell me he had my medicine, he wanted me to meet him out in the lobby because he couldn't bear to see his granddaughter dying.

When I tore myself away from Abigail's room, her heart rate had been a steady 140 bpm. I went and fetched the medicine, indulged in a long embrace from my daddy, and headed back to my daughter and her daddy.

I walked into the room and was surprised to see a look on Loren's face that I cannot even describe. There were tears in his eyes as he said, "I didn't think you were going to make it back in time." I looked frantically at the monitor. Her heart rate was now 40 bpm. She was going, and fast. We watched helplessly as her labored breaths became farther and farther apart, and then finally ceased altogether. Incredibly, the monitor still registered 40 bpm. Her lips were blue, and she was growing colder in our arms. We looked at each other and at Abigail, wondering what was going on. After a few moments, Judy came in and said she had been watching the monitor and wanted to listen for a heartbeat. She could not find one. She explained that the monitor could still pick up residual electrical impulses and interpret them as a heartbeat.

Abigail's doctor had just gone home for the night, and they had to call her back so she could call time of death. It was finished.

Bye for now

2009-04-09T02:08:00.003-04:00

On December 12th, Abigail Noel Hankins was born an unexpectedly very sick little baby. On December 17th, we learned that there was nothing more the doctors could do for her. On December 19th, we gathered all our family together to witness as we dedicated her to our Father in Heaven. Pastor Scott Sheppard came to Atlanta to perform the dedication service, and we asked him difficult questions.

If we knew that it was never too late for God to heal her, was it OK to let them remove her breathing tube? Could we do that and still be practicing faith?

He looked me in the eyes and asked me an even more difficult question. What do you feel Abigail needs?

I had to breathe a prayer for strength to say what I really knew deep within. Abigail was tired. She had fought so hard. She had been through so much pain, and all there was left for her besides our love was more pain and inevitably death. I didn't want to admit it, but I could see that she was even losing her natural newborn reflexes. There was no doubt in my mind that it was time to let her go and pray for a miracle.

Pastor Scott assured us that it was no lack of faith. He knew what we knew, and that was the simple and unquestionable fact that God could heal her with or without that breathing tube...and if it was His will for her life, that was exactly what He would do.

He proceeded to bless her, and to bless us. We promised to give her fully to our Lord no matter what. We dedicated ourselves to this, and our daughter to the Sovereign God who was already holding her in His heart. Pastor Scott wrote something beautiful in Abigail's journal, and I wanted to share it with you.

Dear Abigail,
What a beautiful little girl you are. Everyone is so very proud of you! The blessing these few days has been to your family and friends is a gift from God all wrapped up in "you." I am so sure God knows your every move and has your best interest in the center of His heart! Hey as pretty as you are he has to have your picture on his wall. Listen, I need you to promise me, if you get to see Jesus before me, tell Him how much I love Him. P.S. You are doing everything God wants you to do for your family. Keep up the good work! You are a special little Princess. Elizabeth, Hope, and Harrison wanted me to tell you hello and give you hugs and kisses. Bye for now, and God bless you forever.
Pastor Scott

I was standing nearby when he finished writing and stood up. He leaned over Abigail and kissed her head, then he whispered in her ear, "Keep on breathing!" I held on to those words. I prayed them over and over as I held her swollen little hand and breathed in the smell of Johnson's baby lotion that we had smoothed over her dry skin. I prayed them all that night and all the next day as we prepared to do what we had to do. Lord, just let her keep on breathing.

I thought I'd also share with you the note I wrote in her journal that evening too.

Dear Abigail,
You bring me such joy. It is amazing that it can hurt so much. I'm still praying for a miracle, but if you need to rest in God, that's a miracle too. Your light shines.
Mommy

Faith not built on circumstances

2009-04-07T11:13:00.002-04:00

I remember sitting in the NICU/PICU waiting room the day after we found out that Abigail would not live. I had been pumping colostrum for her every few hours ever since she was born. Now I knew that she would never get to have it. Sitting there in that room full of people I didn't know, I felt my milk let down for the first time since she was born. My other children were playing a video game a few feet away, and my parents were standing with them. I sat there alone, feeling a very physical tie to my newborn baby girl. I wanted to hold her in my arms. I wanted to let her nurse. I wanted her to just live. I felt invisible as I sat there and cried. Why couldn't I shout to all these people in this room that my baby was going to die? I didn't want pity. I just wanted everyone to know...to care. I wanted them to think about her. Does that make sense?

Our children had been staying with some friends because we couldn't take them to visit Abigail since it was cold/flu season. But once the doctors knew Abigail was not going to make it, they told us we could bring her brothers and sister to meet her. We brought them into her little room and let them all see her and touch her. Joshua got to hold her for a little bit. Here is her swollen foot against his hand.

We explained to them that she wouldn't be coming home. It was so hard. They needed to understand that there was nothing more to be done for their baby sister, but they couldn't understand it. Couldn't the doctors keep trying? Couldn't they give her a bandaid?

Joshua, the oldest, was only 5. He had a basic understanding of death, having seen dead bugs and such. He realized that it was final. But he couldn't understand why a baby would die. Daniel was 3, and he really just wasn't very interested in the new baby. He never did really grieve her at all. Rachael had just turned 2 the month before. She was so excited about having a little sister. She didn't understand death at all. For weeks after Abigail passed away, she would come to me and say, "Mommy, wanna go see baby sister. I get my coat, ok?" I had to keep explaining to her that we could not see her again. I had to hold her as she cried. She just thought I was saying no. She couldn't understand that Abigail was actually gone.

The grief counselors at Egleston (Children's Healthcare of Atlanta) had explained to us that the children would have to go through the grieving process over and over again as they grew. They would reach developmental levels that would cause them to reevaluate their whole understanding of death, and they would have to grieve again. I was thankful that they had prepared us for this, but nothing prepared me for Joshua's question a year after Abigail had passed away.

We were driving to a friend's house, and I looked back and noticed that Joshua had tears in his eyes. I asked him what was wrong. There was a look of accusation in his eyes as he said, "Mama, I remember you telling me that if Abigail was born before Christmas she might not live. Why did you let them take her out of your belly? You knew she could die!" Earlier in my pregnancy, I had been trying to give him a frame of reference for when she would be born. I had told him it would be after Thanksgiving, after Christmas, and after New Years. He had asked why it had to be so long, and I had explained to him that she needed time to develop and if she came too early she might not live.

So now he wanted to know why I had let the doctors take her early. He thought I had not protected her the way I should have. I was prepared for all the questions about death. I was prepared when Joshua would walk up to perfect strangers in restaurants and tell them that his baby sister had just died. I was prepared for their not knowing what to say. I was prepared for nightly tears on Rachael's pillow. I was prepared for Daniel's apparent lack of concern about it all. But knowing that my precious little boy was grappling with the idea that his mama had caused his sister to die...it caught my breath. I had to swallow away the choking feeling in my throat. I had to blink back the tears. I had to stop the car.

Now Joshua was 6 years old. I explained it all to him all over again. Abigail was very sick in my belly. She was bleeding, and they had to get her out to try to save her. She would have died much sooner if they hadn't done it. They did everything they could do to save her.

"Well why didn't God heal her? We all prayed for her so much!" I took a deep breath. I asked God how I was supposed to explain this to him when I wasn't sure I understood it myself. I told Joshua that God had a plan for Abigail's life. His plan had been for Abigail to live a short life, but we had been so blessed by it. I told him how I had been able to minister to other women whose babies had died. I had been able to share the hope and peace that God can give in times of crisis. He began to grow into an understanding of how we can pray for God's will to be done and for His name to be exalted even when we don't get what we want. His understanding of God grew away from the idea of some genie who grants wishes when we pray. He also began to learn to trust that God's ways are not our ways, and His thoughts are not our thoughts. It was the foundation of a faith not built on circumstances, and for that I can never be grateful enough.

A different kind of hope

2009-04-03T10:23:00.004-04:00

How do you make a decision to let go? How do you give up on the hope you've held on to, that everything will be okay?

The doctor told us there was no hope. He said that even if, by some miracle, Abigail pulled through, she would be blind and have severe brain damage, perhaps even needing serious medical intervention just to live day to day.

I told Loren that I wanted another opinion. The other NICU doctor had always said more encouraging things from the very beginning. In fact, hearing from him was so different that I had my own names for these two doctors: Dr. Hope and Dr. Gloom. It was Dr. Gloom who sat us down and told us there was nothing they could do. But Dr. Hope had told me that Abigail's brain was young and still developing because she was born early. I wanted to believe that he meant she could be fine.

While I slept, Loren went and talked with Dr. Hope.

As I was waking up, I couldn't bring myself to move. I was tired, scared, and hurt. Lying on that little cot, I was separated by only a black curtain from other parents who were feeling all the same things. I didn't know their stories, and I barely recognized their faces. None of them had babies in the NICU, I knew, because in the 5 days I had been there I had never seen another parent come to be with their tiny babies.

I thought about the day before, when we heard a voice come over the loud speakers. "Code Blue, P.I.C.U....Code Blue, P.I.C.U" I thought about how I had walked toward the NICU a few minutes later, and there were nurses walking past us with red, tear-stained faces. We knew what had happened without even asking. They had held death at bay for as long as they could, but ultimately it had come. I had felt relieved knowing that my little baby was showing signs of improvement every day.

That was yesterday. Today had brought the death of my hope. I told God that I would still love Abigail even if she was severely handicapped. I knew He could hold us through that. I imagined our lives being redefined by the presence of a child who would never really grow up. I was ready for that. But I wasn't ready to let go.

Loren came and got me. He wanted me to go talk to Dr. Hope. When the doctor's eyes would not meet mine, I knew I didn't want to hear what he had to say. What he said didn't matter, and I can't even remember the words. It came down to this. Death was going to come to our baby girl. They could not say whether it would come in days or weeks, but it would come soon.

I would like to say that I immediately accepted this as the will of God for our lives, but I can't. I wanted to shut it all out. I wanted to fight. God could still heal our baby. I knew He could. No matter what the doctors said, Abigail's fate was in God's hands. He knew the plans He had for her.

That's what finally hit me. He knew. He knew what the plan for her life was. Verses started flowing through my mind, washing over me with peace. I started thinking of that old hymn, It is Well With My Soul: When peace, like a river, attendeth my way, when sorrows like sea billows roll, Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say, It is well, it is well with my soul. At the time, I did not know the story behind that song, but it ministered to me.

I had forgotten that my hope was in Him. I remembered the story of Job, and how he had said, "Though he slay me, yet will I hope in him." (Job 13:15) I prayed that God would save her life. That He would let us keep her. That He would miraculously make her whole. I would give Him all the glory, and praise His name. But if His plan for Abigail did not include a long life on earth, I would give Him all the glory, and praise His name.

Find rest, O my soul, in God alone;
my hope comes from him. Ps 62:5

I remembered something said by Oswald Chambers. "No love of the natural heart is safe unless the human heart has been satisfied by God first." I committed myself then and there to dive into Jesus and find my soul's satisfaction in Him. Then my love for Abigail would be safe. Her life, and my hope, was His.

taking a break for Not Me Monday

2009-03-30T13:28:00.002-04:00

I'm gonna take a break from my own thoughts and ponderings to tell you that I have been praying for a little baby boy named Stellan. He's 5 months old, and he is fighting for his life. I am praying that God will heal his little heart, and that He will hold his mama and the rest of his family in His comforting arms. His mama does this weekly blog carnival called Not Me! Monday, where people every week post little confessions about what they've been up to that week. This week we are coming together to let her know how our lives have been impacted by little Stellan over the last few days.

Welcome to Not Me! Monday! This blog carnival was created by MckMama. You can head over to her friend's blog to read what her friends have not been doing to remember Stellan this week.

This is not my very first Not Me! Monday post, nope. I haven't spent all week checking up on little baby Stellan and his mommy, not me. I haven't added the Mckmama group or Praying for Stellan groups to my facebook account, not me. I haven't mentioned him to all my friends or sent emails asking everyone to pray for him, not me. I haven't posted a Praying for Stellan button on my blog, no way, not me.

I didn't sit in my small group meeting this past Sunday evening at Pastor Steve's home and tell everyone about how I had prayed for Stellan while he was in his mama's womb and how he was once again fighting for his life and at the top of my prayer list, not me. We didn't circle up and pray together for this little guy and for his mama whose beautiful testimony of love and complete reliance on the God who gives and takes away is the very reason we are created. We didn't thank God for her and for the miracle of Stellan's birth and healing. We didn't all come out of there with teary eyes and hearts blessed by this family that none of us know.

I didn't get called aside by one of those friends to find that she also followed MckMama. I didn't greedily press her for details since I had not been able to log on yesterday, nope...not me.

I'm not fanatically in love with mamas who put their complete faith and trust in God when nothing makes sense...when they just want to be angry instead and then realize that they can be angry and trust at the same time...when they are faced with the knowledge that what they have is not really theirs after all and they just have to let go and believe that God has a purpose for even this...not me.

2009-03-30T10:39:00.002-04:00

Once we were settled into the home that was provided by our new friends, we spent a few turbulent days between it and the NICU at Egleston.

I had procured a breast pump and was pumping every few hours, trying to preserve that precious small amount of colostrum for when Abigail was well enough to take it. I'm an avid breastfeeding fan, but I have always hated pumping. I've always been amazed by mothers who continue breastfeeding after putting their babies in childcare, and I've spent many moments wondering if I would have stuck with it like that if I weren't staying at home. But I found myself taking comfort in pumping for Abigail. It was really the only thing I could do for her at first. I couldn't hold her or even caress her swollen little body in the beginning. They stored all my little 2 ounce bags of colostrum with Abigail's name on them, encouraging me every time I turned one in with comments like, "Wow! You must be a pro! 2 ounces is a lot!" I couldn't wait for my milk to come in, because pumping out that colostrum was a major pain in my mommy parts.

Daily we were given little glimpses of hope. Abigail had been weaned off this medication and her dosage of that one had been lowered. She was on a regular respirator now, and was receiving fewer and fewer breaths per minute as she tried to breathe on her own. Her kidneys were not functioning, but there was time for that to come and they had options like dialysis and transplant.

It had been several days of getting little bits of encouraging news from one of the NICU doctors when we got the big blow. On day five, they had scheduled an ultrasound of her brain. They called us in to discuss the results, and when we got into the NICU we found that they had put Abigail into her own private little room there. The doctor sat us down next to her isolette and proceeded to tell us that our baby was bleeding into her brain stem. There was nothing they could do for her. Her kidneys still weren't functioning, and she was no longer a candidate for the other treatments because of the bleeding in her brain stem. That was when everything faded away except the sound of his voice echoing in my head. I was suddenly cold and trembling. He went on talking.

He didn't know exactly how much longer she would live. The bleeding in her brain stem would start shutting down her basic body functions like heartbeat and blood pressure, those things we don't consciously control. They could not feed her the IV nutrition any longer because her kidneys were not filtering. They had to stop giving her all but the most necessary medications. Her final passing would be caused by one of three things: because her kidneys weren't working she could die of toxins building up in her little body; because they couldn't feed her (because of the kidneys) she could starve to death; or she could die because of her other functions shutting down one by one. Or, we could post a DNR on her chart and remove the breathing tube to see how she did on her own. The Do Not Resuscitate meant that if she did not breathe on her own (which they expected she would not do for more than 20 minutes or so) there would be no medical intervention, and she would pass on to be with Jesus.

The doctor left, saying we had time to make our decision. I don't even remember if I cried. Loren was prepared to let her go. I didn't understand that. God could still work a miracle in her life, and we couldn't just give up on her! I was angry with my husband for being so quick to process it all. I was angry with him for not thinking of my feelings. I was angry with him for telling me that I needed to take a pain pill and a nap. I was absolutely certain that he couldn't possibly feel the pain I did, because he had not bonded with her before she was born like I had. He and my mom pressed me, though, and I took my pain pill, found an empty cot in the little sleeping area adjacent to the NICU waiting room, and waited for sleep to overtake me.

new friends

2009-03-26T21:27:00.002-04:00

The first night after we arrived to visit our newborn baby girl at Egleston (Children's Healthcare of Atlanta), we were able to procure a room at the hospital. This was no small feat. There are a very limited number of rooms (and I use the term rooms lightly). They had these tiny closet-like rooms with a cot, and these were first come-first serve. The NICU waiting room receptionist snuck our name onto the list, knowing that mama who just had a C-section did not need to drive home or sleep in a waiting room chair. God bless her for that.

But it was not a proper place for us to camp out indefinitely (partially because we had to move out daily). I don't remember much about that experience, except that I was grateful for the opportunity, and I was grateful when it was over.

The next night, we had been told that my friend Valerye's mom could get us a room in the Atlanta hotel where she worked. What a blessing. While we were on our way back there, Valerye called and told us that instead, we would just stay the night with her parents whom we had never met. However, once we had arrived and introduced ourselves to Mary and Ed, they told us the most wonderful news. There was a home that was ready for us to stay in and have all to ourselves. Mary's aunt had recently passed away, and they were still working on going through her things and getting the house ready to sell. There was still power and water, and Mary and Ed had just stocked the fridge with some groceries for us. This home was to be ours for as long as we needed it to be near our baby.

The love I felt for these new friends was instant. But the feeling of being held so lovingly in my Father's arms was unlike anything I had ever experienced in my life. All the scriptures I had learned throughout my life came to me just as I needed them. A passage that I only remembered sketchily would flash through my mind, and I would look it up. These verses would minister to my heart, answer my deepest questions, and hold me up when otherwise I would have fallen. Loren and I clung to the promises, knowing that they were not promises that we would not experience deep pain or loss, but that our eternal God had a plan for Abigail's life...and for ours.

Reunion

2009-03-25T10:44:00.002-04:00

When I next opened my eyes, it was nearly 7am. Before the cobwebs were even gone from my mind, I pressed my nurse's button and told them I was ready to go. I believe I was out of there in less than 20 minutes. My parents had spent the night at the hospital with me so we could leave right away. We had to go to Walmart to pick up a few things I needed, like some shoes to fit over my giant, swollen feet.

The drive to Atlanta was the most horrible part of that day. We were in a boxy old Jeep, and it shook mercilessly the whole way to Children's Healthcare (we call it Egleston around here). I choked down my tears of pain, and I reminded myself that we would be with Abigail soon. I had no idea what we would find when we got there. Every moment that I was awake, I was praying for the chance to hold my baby. But it was not to come that day.

We arrived at Egleston and found a wheelchair. It was such a strange feeling being pushed through the halls of that place. Obviously they had put much effort into making it feel fun and cheerful, but it was somber and maybe even erie to know that there were so many children inside those walls fighting for their very lives. I was wheeled past brightly colored children's artwork, a huge and fascinating fishtank, and a chapel where parents poured out their hearts to God...perhaps bargaining for their children's lives with heartful promises of good deeds.

Finally, we made it to the NICU lobby. After getting some pointers from the receptionist on how everything worked around there, we went through some doors and around a corner and through some more doors, finding ourselves in the NICU. We sterilized ourselves and put on masks and gloves and gowns, walked past isolettes holding the tiniest babies I ever saw, and made our way to Abigail. When my eyes found her, my heart sank, and I cried. She was so swollen that the skin over her belly was shiny and tight. Her entire body shook with the hundreds of breaths per minute being forced through her little lungs. My sweet hubby handed me a picture, taken the night before, of her tiny little hand inside his own. Her hand didn't even look the same any more. We took another one together:

I wanted to hold her, nurse her, sing to her. But it was not time. I had to settle for a kiss. It was more than I had been offered yet since she was born, and I took it greedily. Strangely, memories of the next few days are very mixed up in my mind. I may not put them all forth to you chronologically, but I think they will come together and form a picture of what happened and of everything that I kept in my heart. The story is full of blessing and hope, heartache and grief, and healing.

The Pain of Separation

2009-01-28T13:15:00.004-05:00

They wanted to take my baby girl to Atlanta, a little more than an hour away. I knew she needed to go, and they needed an answer quickly. Abigail was on 100% oxygen to compensate for the lack of the proper machine, and pure oxygen carries all sorts of dangers. Already she was at risk for blindness from the time she had spent on it.

Loren and I made the decision to let her go. But it wasn't easy for me. I had just undergone a C-section, and I couldn't leave the hospital yet. How could I live with being so far from her. I needed to touch her...smell her sweet newborn smell...feel her heartbeat...before it was too late. I pleaded with God to keep her alive till I could join her.

And I couldn't bear the thought of her being with strangers. It was important to me that she have something to hold onto. I asked Loren to go with her. He wanted to stay here. We had the other children to think about, and how we were going to arrange childcare and transportation. Besides, there was nothing he could do for Abigail.

"You can let her know that her mama and daddy are still there and they love her. You can be available to tell me exactly what is happening. And you can help me feel like we are still together somehow." I don't know how to explain why this was so important to me. Maybe it wouldn't be to other people. But he agreed to go.

Pastor Steve offered to drive Loren to Atlanta. It was just the beginning of the many beautiful ways people supported us through this difficult time.

When the NICU ambulance from Children's Healthcare of Atlanta arrived at our hospital, the people who were going to transport her brought her to my room in her isolette to say goodbye. They were so sweet and hopeful. Their calmness and tenderness helped to ease my anxiety. The sense of urgency vanished for just a moment, and I took it all in. She was so beautiful, and so perfectly formed. It was the best I would ever see her look, and I treasure those few moments where her beauty could shine through all the machines and tubes and wires. But time was our enemy, and they took her away.

I will forever be grateful to my wonderful nurse from Labor and Delivery. Her name was Shelley, just like mine. When her shift in L&D was over, instead of going home, she stayed with me in our Family Care room. She held my hand, cried with me, and searched the hospital for some little clothes for Abigail. She nursed me with tender care, though I was no longer her patient. Another beautiful gift from a stranger.

Things progressed rapidly for my recovery. I was able to get up and walk, eat, and use the bathroom within around 8 hours. I had weaned myself completely off the Morphine, and I was taking my pain pills with less frequency. I don't know if it was because I was so ready to go be with Abigail, or if it was Divine intervention (maybe both). In fact, I was doing so well that the nurses called Dr. Sepesi and told him that I had all the markers of someone ready to go home. It had been less than 12 hours since my C-section. He was so understanding. He gave permission for me to be released after procuring my promise not to go home to my children, but to go straight to Children's Healthcare. I was to remain in a wheelchair, and I was to lie down when I felt fatigued. It was easy for me to agree to all this...I wanted to be healthy enough to care for her.

Excitedly, I called Loren to tell him Dr. Sepesi had agreed to discharge me. Have I mentioned that he was ever-practical throughout this ordeal? I cried as I listened to him tell me all the reasons he did not want me to come. There was nothing I could do there. I was in no condition to travel. It was dinner time, and I just needed to eat and get some rest. I could come in the morning, etc.

I was devastated. I argued with him. But Dr. Sepesi said it was ok! It won't help her for you to come right now. I wanted to hold her. You can hold her tomorrow. I wanted to hold her while she was still ALIVE. She'll make it til then. I didn't believe he could tell me that for sure. If the nurse says she'll still be alive when you get here in the morning, will you stay? I...guess so.

Abigail's nurse assured me that, although the outlook was uncertain at best, she was not in danger of passing during the night. Sobbing, I agreed to stay. My nurse got me something to calm my nerves and help me sleep. She told me she had my papers ready to sign as soon as my eyes opened in the morning. My mom made sure the room was packed up and everything was ready to pick up and go first thing, and I fell into fitful sleep.

Birth

2009-01-27T09:24:00.002-05:00

When we arrived at the hospital, I got out and a man pushed a wheelchair to me. I was dressed in only a t-shirt and panties, with a towel covering the rest. Modesty had not even crossed my mind. He wheeled me straight to registration in the ER. That's what they do with pregnant women at our hospital. The woman at the desk asked me why I was there, and I don't remember what I was trying to say, but nothing really came out. My husband walked up after having parked the van, and said, "Did you tell her you are hemorrhaging?"

The woman asked me if my water had broken, and I said yes. She was up in an instant and getting me sent up to Labor and Delivery. This is when I finally remembered what I had heard in childbirth class again and again. At our hospital, the magic words to get things moving are, "My water broke."

Once we made it to Labor and Delivery, I remember trying to convince them that it was a large amount of blood. They just weren't listening. They decided to put me on a fetal monitor to check on the baby. When they first found the heartbeat, it was only about 40. But instead of rushing me for a C-section, they decided to "wait and see." Her heart rate soon went back up to about 140, and they were happier. But she still wasn't moving. I knew something was wrong.

At some point--my sense of time during all this is unreliable--a doctor walked in. I had made it a priority during my last few weeks of pregnancy to meet and get to know all the midwives in the midwifery where I was receiving my care. But the new, and very young, back-up physician...that's another story. He came and stood by the bed and explained that the baby's heart rate seemed too unresponsive. It was basically flatlined at 140. He felt like we needed to do an emergency C-section. I instantly agreed, but Loren, ever practical, started asking questions. I remember looking at him and saying, very convincingly, that I wanted the C-section right away.

He nodded his consent, but as the doctor was walking away, Loren asked, "Are you a praying man?" Dr. Sepesi stopped and turned, and said, "Yes. Yes, I am." He knelt and we all held hands, and this man we had never met instantly bonded our hearts with his own as he prayed fervently over me, our family, our baby's life, his hands as the surgeon, and the NICU team as they took over with the baby. His prayer was one spoken to a close friend and Savior, not a strange God in the sky. I was reminded that no matter the outcome, I still had a Comforter.

The nurses quickly prepped me for surgery, and they explained to me that I needed to go under general anesthesia in order to get the baby out faster. I consented, said goodbye to my husband after telling him to make sure he stayed with the baby, and fell asleep.

When I started to wake up, the nurse in my room had her back to me. I was trying to ask the hardest question of my life. "Is the baby okay?" But for some reason, it wasn't coming out right. It took me a minute or so to realize that I wasn't fully awake, but I had at least made some sound. The nurse asked me if I was in pain (I was), but I just asked again, "Is she okay? Did she make it?" She didn't know how to answer me, I could tell. Then Loren walked into the room. He could see I was in pain, and asked the nurse if she could give me something, but I said, "No, first tell me if she's okay!"

"She's alive," he said. "It's not good, but she is alive." I don't remember all the words. I only remember that I wanted to be with her. I was so afraid she would die before I ever got to tell her I loved her or kiss her head or hold her to my chest where she belonged. Somehow I got all the information that still floats around in my mind. I don't really remember who told me which details: She was 5 lbs 15 oz... She was nearly completely white at birth, needing immediate blood transfusions (the blood on my floor was hers)... They couldn't take her length measurements because it was not important to her medical care... She had pulmonary hypertension. Someone brought me a Polaroid picture of her.

At some point, they moved me from the recovery room to the family care room. I was wheeled straight passed the room where they were working on my baby. Loren came to me (this may have been before I was moved, I'm not sure) and told me that while they were giving her a transfusion she had hemorrhaged. Blood had come out of her eyes, nose, mouth, and vagina. This was not good. She had some sort of clotting disorder they thought. It was the most horrible thing for him to see, and for once, I was glad I had not been there. I had seen so much blood already.

So many details are all mixed up in my head, whether from the pain medication, the stress, or the amount of time that has passed. My mom and dad showed up early in the morning sometime. So did Pastor Steve Stringham from church. The senior pastor was out of town, but he called. Some other people visited, but I don't remember who exactly. I still had not even seen her. I remember calling my best friend, Valerye, to tell her the baby had been born. Her joyful exclamation was shortlived as I explained that the baby was not okay. She didn't know what to say.

Loren and I had disagreed over her name throughout the pregnancy. I had wanted to call her Abigail, and he had wanted to call her Sarah. He held my hand and caressed my face and told me he wanted me to decide her name. Really, there was nothing he could do for me, and he wanted to do something. It was a beautiful gift. I told him we should name her Sarah. This was my gift to him. But he understood why I said Sarah, and he said he wanted her name to be Abigail. So Baby Girl Hankins became Abigail Noel Hankins.

Finally, I was allowed to be wheeled in to see her. But I was not to touch her. Her fragile condition worsened in response to noises and touch. I'll never forget those first glances. She had cords everywhere, and she was still so white. The nurse allowed me a few moments to look at her before insisting that I get back to bed.

Later, a solemn looking doctor asked all our visitors to leave the room so she could talk with us. It seems like I remember us insisting that they be allowed to stay, but I don't recall whether they stayed or not. They had put our baby girl into an induced coma, she said. It was the only way she had a chance. She explained to us that Abigail needed a special breathing machine that our hospital did not have. They wanted to send her to Children's Healthcare of Atlanta. There was a fancy ambulance headed our way. It was set up specially for transporting critically ill newborn infants.

Loren, ever practical, and not driven to thinking with his emotions even in times as tough as these, asked a question that took my breath away. "Do you really think we should? I mean, do you think there is a good chance of her survival, or do you think we should just let her go?" It was a question that angered me (you mean, give up on her?!) and then instantly convicted me that I may not have been thinking of what was best for our daughter. Should we make her life, however short or long, be full of painful procedures and cradled only by an isolette, or should we let her go peacefully in our loving arms?

The doctor's demeanor changed a bit. She relaxed forward, and said, "I believe in letting a baby go when there is no hope, and I understand how hard it is to even consider that, but I believe Abigail will have a decent chance if she goes to Atlanta."

I'm afraid I'll have to wait to share more. Thank you for your prayers and your patience, and mostly for your love which I can feel as I share.

2008-12-18T23:22:00.004-05:00

As my story of life and loss continues, I want to take a moment to thank you all for being patient with me as I share with you my heart.

It was a Wenesday, Dec. 10, 2003, to be exact. I was 35 weeks pregnant and going in for my checkup and an ultrasound. With excitement about Christmas approaching, I drove to the midwives' office simply relishing the silence. I had been able to leave my three young children at home with family, my husband would be home from a business trip the next evening, and I knew we had much of our Christmas shopping done already. I was happy.

When the midwife was able to see me, things all looked great. Abigail/Sara (we had not yet decided) was finally head down, and she was already developed enough that the midwife felt confident in saying that if she came any time from then on, they would not try to stop my labor. YAY! I put my ultrasound pictures in my purse and rushed--no, hobbled--away in excitement. I had a strong feeling that she would come soon.

Of course, there was also this other feeling. I had fought it, and I had pushed it to the back of my mind all through my pregnancy. But it was there: the gnawing feeling of something bad to come. I had woken up sweating more than a few nights, having dreamed that something terrible had happened. I never knew what it was. Anyway, I knew that being pregnant always carried with it some amount of nervousness, and that's all this was. I was nervous.

I went to church that evening and shared with everyone the pictures of my baby girl who would be born quite soon. I was certain of it.

The next morning, I had a renewed energy. I was cleaning and straightening and trying to make everything perfect for when my sweet hubby came home that evening. My mother and my brothers were there, and they kept telling me to take it easy. Loren would understand if there were a few toys still on the floor and the cabinets weren't wiped down. There was no need to mop tonight...it could wait. And they were right. I was reaching up into a high cabinet to put something away, and I had a strange pain.

I figured I would sit down for a while, and it would go away and I could keep cleaning. But it kept on, so I decided to take some Tylenol and rest on the couch until my hubby showed up. The kids were all in bed asleep, and I tried to watch a little TV to get my mind off the pain.

When Loren got home, it was about 11pm, and I was still in a great deal of pain. I told him I wanted to go to the hospital, but he convinced me that I had just pulled something and needed to go to bed. About an hour or so after we went up to bed, one of the children woke up and realized that daddy must be home. Loren had missed the children and decided to go lie down in their room with them (they all three shared a bed). I finally went to sleep.

At 2am, I woke up to the feeling of having wet myself. I figured that the baby had just given me a jab to the bladder, and so I got up to go to the bathroom. There it was again: a tiny leak of fluid. Awake now, I instantly knew what it was, and went to get Loren. I was excited. I had been right...she was coming soon!

As Loren was crawling out of the bed, I said "My water just broke! We're gonna have a baby!" Then I flipped on the hallway light and looked down. To my horror, it was thick, red blood running down my legs. I quickly stepped into the bathroom, and immediately a huge gush of fluid and blood splashed out onto the floor. So much blood! This was not right. Then I suddenly realized...she wasn't moving. The baby had not moved at all since I got up. Oh, God, please let her be ok!

Loren was trying to call 911, but one of the phones had been left off the hook downstairs. He finally found it, and called to tell them that I was hemorrhaging. The dispatcher said, "She's bleeding?" Loren snapped, "Well, that's what hemorrhaging usually means! Yes!" I felt like everything was moving in slow motion. I tried to call my midwife and got the answering service, of course. When she finally called me back, I had decided that I didn't know if it was me that was bleeding or the baby. I didn't feel at all faint, and it was a lot of blood.

The midwife started in with the speech. "You know...when your water breaks, a little bit of blood can look like so much blood." I told her, "YOU know that this is my 4th baby, and I should be able to tell by now what blood looks like. And the baby is not moving!" She asked me if I could jostle the baby to see if she would respond. When I put my hand on my belly, it was as if I were grabbing a baby wrapped in a blanket. All the fluid was gone, and I could literally feel the shape of her body. I grabbed her by the shoulder and gently moved her back and forth. No response.

By then, my parents were awake (we all live together). Loren had gone into their room tearing it apart looking for the phone that was off the hook. I don't remember how we told them what was happening. I wanted to be strong for them. No, I wanted to cry and let them hold me and tell me it would be ok. Then, I wanted to be strong for our baby girl, and for our children upstairs sleeping.

I asked the midwife if there was any reason to wait for the ambulance. We could get there so much faster ourselves. She told me to come on, and so we passed our ambulance on our way out of town. I was calculating in my head. The childbirth class told us that when there is internal bleeding, you have 17 minutes to get that baby out before brain damage starts to set in. Oh, God, how long had it been? Please, God, if she is alive let me know somehow!

There it was. It was very small, but she moved. I was certain. I grabbed my husband's hand and said, "She's alive. For now." I wished we could teleport ourselves to the hospital. Twenty minutes is such a long, long drive when your child's life is hanging in the balance. If we could just make it to the hospital.

As I type this, my whole body is trembling. I've never shared our story this way before. I'm sorry to leave it here, but I will have to because my tears are clouding my view. Again, thank you for being so patient with me.

Womb mates

2008-12-15T14:37:00.002-05:00

Instead of sharing Abigail's birth story today, I want to share some things about the pregnancy itself. First, I became pregnant with her at a time of serious financial instability. Loren was working a job which only allowed him to be home on the weekends (most weekends, anyway). Then, one Monday morning after I dropped him off at work to go away again, he called me to come straight back and get him. His boss had called him into the office and told him that they didn't have any more work for him but might have more work in the spring. He was unemployed for about three months, looking for work, and doing odd jobs here and there. We, of course, were not eager to have a baby in this situation. But we've never been successful at waiting for our own timing to have a baby. I guess God's timing supercedes our own. :)

Shortly after I found out I was pregnant, I told Joshua (our oldest and the only one old enough to really understand) that we were going to have another baby. I asked him if he wanted us to have another boy or another girl. He said, "Both." I asked him "You want to have two babies?" That's when he told me there were three babies in my belly. I argued with him, but he was insistent that there were three. I told him that he would be able to see later when I had my ultrasound.

When I went in for my early ultrasound (I have irregular cycles so they had to date the pregnancy), I told the midwife what Joshua had said. She shrugged and said, "Well I guess we'll see!" This truly surprised me because I was thinking she would just get a laugh out of it, not consider it seriously! In the ultrasound room, she got really quiet. This being my 4th baby, I thought things looked a little odd, but I couldn't really tell why. When I asked what was wrong, she showed me a strong little heartbeat (Abigail's) and then she showed me a baby with no heartbeat and another mostly empty sac.

There had been three babies after all. One baby had already reabsorbed into my system. The other was still there, but had recently passed away. I have to be completely honest with you. I didn't really grieve these babies. I had not been aware of them, had not expected them, had not bonded with them, or even the idea of them. And, frankly, I was thinking how difficult carrying and caring for triplets would have been. Besides, here was a perfectly healthy little baby, complete with a steady heartbeat. I was okay.

I even told everyone, "Can you believe I was carrying triplets? God really knew what He was doing! I definitely did NOT need three more babies right now!" Maybe if I had known how things would turn out, I may have felt differently, but for then, I was just happy to have (only) one healthy baby.

When the doctor, whom I had not met prior to the delivery, came to talk to me after the C-section, he told me he had found what looked like a tiny, calcified baby along with Abigail. He had not known about the other babies. Here again, I wasn't all that moved by this news because I was in a great deal of pain and was entirely consumed with my concern for Abigail's health.

When I went back to the doctor for my 6 week check-up, I did talk to him about this other baby, and he gave me a few more details as to the baby's size and such. I remember asking him if there was any way I could see the baby, but I don't remember if that was after the birth or during the 6 wk checkup. They did not have the other baby and had not taken a picture.

I have been asked by a couple of people whether I had ever named these other babies. I hope that no one misunderstands or is offended when I say this, but I've never felt the need to do so. I'm not sure why. I have never really felt a sense of loss with these babies. Maybe that's only because the circumstances surrounding Abigail's birth and death were consuming all my emotions. Maybe it's because I never had a chance to develop hopes or feelings for them before finding out they were already gone.

But I can tell you that I do look forward to one day finding out whether I have more little girls in Heaven or little boys. And I take comfort in the thought that they are all three together there, just as they were once together inside of me.

Ending on a lighter note, my midwife told me I should be careful to listen to Joshua. He seems to have a perceptive nature that is rather amazing. And if you ever ask him, he's quick to tell you that he has three siblings in Heaven. He's really fond of saying that we have as many kids as Jon & Kate plus 8. :0) God bless him!

Okay, more tomorrow.

Bring the Rain...part 2

2008-12-12T14:06:00.001-05:00

Somehow, I managed to put the wrong date on yesterday's post, so it posted as if I wrote it in August. I have remedied that now. So if you missed it, you'll want to scroll down and read it first. For those of you who got it, I know I promised that I'd share the story of Abigail's birth today, but unfortunately I smashed my right hand in the seam of my garage door today. So I hope you will be satisfied with the portion I had already typed before my unfortunate mishap. I don't enjoy typing with one hand. I'm sure I'll be better tomorrow. So, here goes.

Please bear with me as I begin with a little background.
My husband, Loren, and I were married during the summer between our Sophomore and Junior years of college. Although I wanted a large family with lots of children right away, I went on the pill in hopes of postponing this phase of our lives till after college was over. It didn't work. We conceived our first baby only a month and a half after we were married.

The little guy was quite a surprise, but also a joy, and I know that God put him in our lives at that time for a reason. I even believe I know what that reason was, but perhaps that's for another post. We both knew right away that we could love someone fiercely and totally for the rest of our lives, and we thank God for the blessing that is Joshua.

Only a year after Joshua was born, I started getting sick in a painfully familiar way. Nine and a half months later, our second little blessing was tugged into the world. He came into our lives at a time of great uncertainty for us, but loving Daniel has been an amazing journey and we wouldn't trade it for anything.

Finding out I was pregnant for a third time was a bit unnerving because I had been through a near-fatal illness after Daniel was born, and no one knew how my body would react. I had to undergo a few extra tests, but everything seemed grand, and five days before Thanksgiving, Rachael came into our lives. At 9lbs 13 oz, she got stuck tight and when the midwives finally dislodged her, she was nearly lifeless and I was hemorrhaging and drifting in and out of consciousness. But before long, everything was OK, and she lost no time in stealing our hearts.

So sorry, but this is as far as I got. More tomorrow...or maybe Monday, okay?

Bring the Rain...it's time

2008-12-11T19:53:00.001-05:00

I don't know about you, but sometimes there are things that I know I'm supposed to do, except I just really don't feel... ready, equipped, qualified, or even willing. This is the first post in a series that I'm not even sure I want to write. It's too raw, too personal, maybe even too private. It demands that I reach down into a place that I'd rather not reach into. It insists that I share a partly private pain that I'd rather not share. Maybe I'm afraid of being pitied. Perhaps I'm thinking that I'll relate to other women in a way I'm not ready. Maybe I have concerns that I'm holding on to something I should really...release.

Whatever my deep and truest reasons may be, I ask you to pray for me as I pour out to you a pain that time may lessen but will never heal. This seems a fitting time to me, because it all began five years ago tomorrow. Many of you know the background on this, some more painfully well than other. Bear with me as I share with you my heart on losing our daughter Abigail Noel Hankins. Because this is difficult, and because I need to maintain my composure around my children, this will take place over the course of a few posts rather than one. I will try to share as much as I can, as soon as I can.

Tonight, we will be celebrating her birthday, as we always do, at Chuck-E-Cheese's. We're celebrating a day early for a variety of reasons, but the main parts of the celebration will remain the same. We'll head to CiCi's for some cheap pizza, then across the street to Chuck-E's. We'll walk in the door, and we'll tell the greeter that we're there for a birthday party. They will reach for a baloon and a hat and ask us who's having a birthday, and our children will all yell out "Our sister Abigail."

Usually, the greeter will scan the children looking for the birthday girl, and our more vocal children will say "She's not here. She died. But it's her birthday!" The poor greeters usually don't know what to say to that besides, "Oh, okay, well here's her cup of tokens." Not much eye contact with that one.

We all file in with close family and friends, find a table, and set the kids loose to play. Later, we round them all up, gather around some cupcakes, and pray and thank God for the short time we had with a child we loved so dearly, and for the time He has allowed us to hold on to the ones we have here with us. We can never take it for granted any more.

We give each of our kids a small gift in remembrance of their sister, whom some never even met and others met only briefly at a very young age. It is not as easy for them to understand that a part of our family is missing as it is for us who remember it as both adults and as parents, but they understand one thing very well: the love we have for the sister they lost is as real and strong today as it has ever been, and the love we have for all of them will never change. They also understand that their mama and daddy have made a pledge to do everything possible to remember Abigail with celebration and song. It is our tribute to her little life and to the important lessons she taught us in such a short time.

So for today, celebrate with me the life of our baby girl. And for those of you who have lived through losses of your own, know that I am celebrating their lives with you as well.

Tomorrow, on her birthday, I will share with you the story of her birth.

Jobs you can't quit

2008-12-09T20:06:00.003-05:00

A few months ago, my hubby and I told our church that we wanted to resign my position as the Early Childhood Ministries Coordinator. But we weren't really sure we wanted to quit (I say we because we work as a team even though I'm the one on staff). We needed the money, honestly, and we loved the job itself. We were committed to the children, and to our church. But the time constraints as well as the continued changes in expectations for our family kept pressuring us more and more, and we were having some difficulties with our work relationships for a while. So after being a little wishy-washy about if and when we truly wanted to quit, we finally put in our resignation for the end of November.

That was over a month ago, and many things have changed...many things have improved. But, though Loren and I are still torn over what we want, we really feel moved to release the reins and take a back seat. So our last day was supposed to be Nov. 30.

Then it was... could we work through Dec. 7...then the 14th...then the end of the year. Loren and I love our work, and the kids we take care of, and we've put an awful lot of time and heart into remodeling the building and redefining what we do with the children. We just can't bear to leave it in limbo while they try to find someone else. And of course, there's the gnawing feeling that we really don't want to leave anyway.

But we really need this change. We'll actually be able to go to church during the 9am service, and lead Praise Park during the 11am service. We are so excited about being able to meet people in the church and having the chance to recruit them as volunteers to pick up the spots that are still not filled. And as volunteers, we will have more options for our level of service. We are tossing around the idea of maybe working the 11am service on the 1st three Sundays of the month and having the 4th off as well as the 5th when they roll around 4 times a year.

Anyway, I guess that's information overload. The point is, there are some jobs you just can't quit. You have to kinda slide away slowly. And that's where we are. No idea how long it's gonna take. No prospects for a replacement. No way we can leave without spending some time walking the new person through it. But there is an added benefit to all this: A little extra money through the holidays is not a bad thing!

2008-12-05T19:50:00.002-05:00

On recommendation of a blogger friend, I recently read a blog post quoting Martha Peace's opinion of women who claim to be night owls. She describes them as people who "stay up till all hours reading, watching television, or pursuing some sort of interest. The next morning they are too tired to get up and care for their family... these women are not "night people". They are lazy and selfish. Who would not rather stay up late to do whatever they please and sleep late the next day?

I thought this might provoke some interesting conversation for any of you who'd like to chime in on this. But let me preface it by saying that Martha Peace is an excellent resource of a wealth of wisdom for wives. So if you disagree with her on this point, don't assume that she's just a prude. I can't recommend her too highly if you're looking for a godly perspective on your marriage relationship.

Okay, that said, I think that Martha's assessment of "night owls" is fair if they are indeed trading proper care of their families and homes (and even themselves) for nightly self-indulgences such as those she suggested. But my agreement breaks down when this idea is applied carelessly to anyone who considers themselves a night owl. For example, I know several people who are naturally more productive at night, even if they have become so by training rather than by design. And remember those whose jobs require late nights or even sleeping during the day. I can think of many times I've been thankful to have nurses by my child's bedside at 3am...they have homes to manage also (I babysit for a friend, a nurse, who could surely add an amen here!).

And beyond all that, after years of feeling guilty for not enjoying my quiet times early in the morning, I have finally accepted that my most precious times of fellowship with my Savior come in the late hours (burning the midnight oil is, after all, a rather old expression). When I discipline myself to put aside all that remains to be done in my home and spend some time at my Father's feet hours after putting the children to bed, I find Him there waiting just as happily as if I had come to Him in the early hours of morning. I have more to pour out to him, and I feel more desperate for His Word. Then I fall to sleep peacefully, and wake feeling refreshed and securely in His presence. If this supreme fellowship means awaking in the mornings at 7, 8, or even 9 (haha...that's a rare one), then I will happily accept even Martha's judgment of my motives or discipline rather than once again guiltily subjecting myself to ideologies that hamper those times of great refreshing.

Another little side discussion that the other blogger mentioned is that she always has a hard time getting out of bed in the morning, but she does it anyway. Well, here we can agree! More often than not, I am sleep deprived, unfortunately. But I challenge you to find a homeschooling mother with a large family and a part-time job who's not! :)

And as for staying up late for a bit of self-indulgence, of course, I've been guilty. More than I care to admit. Does that signify to me that I should hit the sack earlier as a matter of principle? Not if you ask me. Just means I have to consistently sort out my priorities and apply a little more self-discipline while I'm up in the evening, just as some other moms have to do in the early morning. Believe me, I have spent enough time kicking myself for being a "night owl," as well as doing everything I could imagine to change it. But after all, I finally accepted that this is who I am, and God can use me just the same.

Oh, the potty!

2008-12-04T16:22:00.000-05:00

It seems like it would get easier, you know. Like, after you've potty-trained your third or fourth toddler, you'd become a pro. It seems like it. *sigh*

Joshua was three and a half when he FINALLY trained himself. Notice I said trained himself. I was two weeks away from giving birth to Rachael (#3), and had decided it was too much stress trying to train him in my rather large condition.

Daniel was nearly three when I gave up after setting a timer to take him to the potty every 3 minutes, and he'd still have accidents in between. Obviously, he wasn't ready. Two weeks later, as I was changing his diaper one day, he said, "No diaper, mommy." I told him he'd have to use the potty if he wanted no diaper. He looked away as if he was thinking about it, and then looking back at me, he said, "OK." I was skeptical, but as it turns out, he'd made up his mind. He never had another accident, day or night.

Having learned from my previous experiences, I more or less left the potty training up to the kid with my third and fourth toddlers. Rachael trained herself at 2 with very little input from me. Zechariah trained himself at 19 months despite my best efforts to hold him off. I was just months away from having Isaiah, and I had no interest in a potty trained toddler who could neither pull his pants up and down alone nor climb onto the potty. Things turned out just as I'd hoped they would not, with my little feller hollering, "Mommy, I need to go potty!" Just as I'd latched little Isaiah on, or just as I was laying him down for his precious few moments of sleep.

Looking back, it wasn't so bad having a tiny tot going potty. And I earned some serious bragging rights with the other moms of tots! Perhaps it seems nostalgic now only because I'm trying to persuade Isaiah that he's ready to use the potty. We were doing so well for a little while, there. He went four whole days without a single accident. Then, on the fifth day, we had to be at church all day, and it turned out that he was afraid to use their little potties (they have the ones with the seats that are split in the front). He had an accident while still at church, and he hasn't stayed dry since. That was a week and a half ago.

Oh, the joys of potty training. Anyway, I still have half a box of diapers from Sam's Club to go through. I was hoping to be able to give them to the church nursery because it had looked like we weren't going to need them. Oh, well.

Gotta go change a diaper. Joy.

Blonde moments

2008-12-03T16:04:00.000-05:00

Sadly, I must admit that I have far too many of these. Flighty, forgetful, absent-minded, disorganized, unfocused...these words could all be listed in my profile quite accurately. Once, I found some kind of herbal remedy for people who have trouble staying focused. Bet you already guessed I could never remember to take it!

I think that God made me this way to help me stay humble. Imagine if I could keep it all together...all the balls in the air...all the time. Well, I'd sure have a serious pride issue (at least, I imagine I would). Instead, I have to seek help from people who are organized. I have to write everything down (although sometimes I still forget to read my notes. LOL). And I have to say I'm sorry an awful lot.

So, if I don't show up for your event, or I neglect to answer your email, or I ask you something that you already answered yesterday...feel free to bring it to my attention, pop me in the forehead, pinch me, whatever. Just don't say I didn't warn you, and please, please, please, don't give up on me! And if you feel the need to come at me with your best blonde jokes...well, bring it on. I can take it. :)

Tissue Issues

2008-11-26T20:04:00.002-05:00

I have tissues. I use them on my children regularly. There's nothing that disgusts me more than to see some cute little kid in a store with his mommy and a face full of boogies. Bleck!!

Maybe that's why I've been thrust into the role of Tissue Substitute. Where does it come from? My kids have all learned really quickly not to use their sleeves as a tissue (YUCK! I've seen parents tell their kids to do this!). And they've known for just as long that I don't want to be a tissue either. But it hasn't seemed to deter them. Even Daniel, my 8 year old, from time to time, will absent-mindedly wipe his nose on my clothes.

And they learn so early! Yesterday, Isaiah came running to me and yelled "MOMMY! HAVE A BOOGER!" and furiously wiped his nose back and forth on my pants. Now, I don't know if that "have a booger" meant "I have a booger" or "Here, have a booger." All I know is that my kids have serious tissue issues.

Is it just my kids? Is this some strange family gene? Should I *shudder* have told them to use their sleeves after all? Someone, please, throw me a little comfort!

I find myself wondering if there is some great lesson God is trying to teach me through this. And then I think of how often I reach for something other than the comfort that He offers me. I flip on the TV when I can't sleep instead of reaching for my Bible. I talk to a friend about my worries instead of pouring my heart out to the One who can make a difference in my circumstances as well as how I perceive them.

I have known Him since I was just a little girl. He has never failed to comfort me. And like a mama who always has a tissue in her purse, He always has just what I need. Hmm.

Pilgrim Hats

2008-11-25T11:13:00.005-05:00

Okay, any of you who know me well know that I don't like crafts and such. Maybe that's the wrong way to put it. It's not that I have anything against crafts in general. Just like the next gal, I enjoy the experience of putting something crafty and new together. I treasure seeing my children make something interesting, unusual, fun, whatever. It's just that we already have so much STUFF coming through our house, and kids want to hold on to whatever they make until FOREVER! Five kids, a husband, two cats, a dog, two fish, and a frog--I have enough to clean up after...around...etc. I'm certain that we keep Goodwill in business with our monthly truckloads (no exaggeration!).

So when I found the idea for these little Pilgrim hats, I had two thoughts: first, they'd be terrific for us to make with the church kids this past Sunday (and they were!); and second, no clutter! See, they're edible. Yippee!!!

I used the leftovers from church with my little blessings at home...

And my kids deemed them the *dun-dun-duh-dun*....BEST SNACKS EVER!!! I got the idea from Taste of Home magazine, and I had to change a couple of the ingredients (marshmallow fluff instead of vanilla frosting with yellow food coloring, and regular sized chiclets instead of minis), but they turned out so well!

So maybe, just maybe, my kids won't be scarred for life. Mom made "crafts" with them! :) And I thoroughly enjoyed the experience! YUM!

Tell me what I want

2008-11-22T14:53:00.002-05:00

Isaiah has reached the terrific twos! It's that wonderful age where they are learning amazing new things every day... including how to argue. What makes this so complicated, and often frustrating, is that although much of the time they know exactly what they want, sometimes they just don't.

Example: Today when lunch was ready, Isaiah was busy playing with playdough. Even though I fixed one of his favorite foods, and regardless of the fact that he was very hungry, all he could do was cry over the playdough being put away. At lunchtime, he is always very sleepy, so I take that into consideration, and I had to chuckle to myself as he screamed that he wasn't hungry, didn't like eggs after all, and definitely was not tired.

I'm not gonna go into how he was coerced into eating his food, but he did finally sit and devour every last morsel. And then he started rubbing his sleepy little eyes. I took him to the potty and put him in bed, and he fell asleep within 2 or 3 minutes. :)

So I wonder, now, how often I neglect the thing I need most in exchange for a temporary pleasure. How often do I need someone to remind me of what I truly want and to guide me back to what is the wisest and most prudent choice? Probably more often than I'd like to admit. So if I ever wonder why God gave me all these little blessings, I might just reflect on this little lesson from my terrific two!

Perfectionism

2008-11-21T15:57:00.003-05:00

So what is it that keeps me from at least half the things I want or need to do? You guessed it--Perfectionism. If I can't come up with something I think is interesting or witty, I can't blog. If I don't have time to go back and correct all my grammatical errors or confusing wording, I can't blog. If I don't have more than an hour to put into it, I can't blog.

And this same sense of futility comes over me whenever I am trying to commit to many, many other things.

Well, is it okay for me to blog if I don't have much to say...or pictures to post...or an amusing story...or time to type more than a few words? I hope so, because I'm gonna start trying. Maybe it will carry over into other areas of my life. Might that be a good thing? I'll try to keep you posted. But if I can't, well, I'm sure I'll have plenty of other things to blabber on about!

Coming Out Part 2

2008-09-01T08:51:00.002-04:00

First of all, let me say that I am sorry for taking so long. I am sad to tell you that I am *sniff, sniff* without internet! It would seem that my router is dead. So I'm borrowing someone else's internet long enough to send this out, and I hope to be getting my new router today.

Okay, about the names. Well, no one actually guessed them correctly. So here they are:
Joshua, 10
Daniel, 8
Rachael, 6
Abigail, with Jesus
Zechariah, 3 (he goes by Zach a lot)
Isaiah, 2 this past Friday!

Rebecca, from The Washington Walkers, came very close. If you took Joshua from the middle of her list and moved him to the top, you'd read them exactly as they came into our family. Her blog is a heart-filled look into the life of a homeschooling mom. If you look at her post on Aug. 31, I believe you will get a real feel for who she is.

The Broken Man was dangerously close in that he understood the evolution of the names. His blog has a familiar humor to it that I find amusing if not funny. It is peppered with bits of controversial theology that make for an interesting read, even if I'm not sure I agree with his understanding of scripture.

Joshua was so named because we liked it. Daniel was a last minute change from Christopher (I mean REALLY last minute).

Rachael was the first name chosen specifically because it was a Biblical name. We realized that both of the boys' names were Bible names and decided to keep that theme. Abigail was my choice of names for our second daughter, but Loren liked the name Sarah. When she was born so ill, Loren's heart's desire was to allow me to choose. I said Sarah, because my heart's desire was to give to Loren. He assured me that he wanted her to have the name that I wanted to give her, so we together named her Abigail. I'm so glad.

Daniel insisted on naming baby #5 Zach. We knew lots of Zachary's, but that wasn't Biblical. Zechariah seemed a bit "out there," but we finally decided to go with it anyway. I guess that progression from top 10 names (Joshua, Daniel, and Rachael) to names that were certainly less common (Abigail and Zechariah) made it seem a little boring to go with another common one (like Jacob or Paul or Matthew). We also realized that all of them were Old Testament names, so we thought we'd keep that theme. Then we realized that all of the boys' names were also names of books of the Old Testament. So we somehow came down to Isaiah.

There you have it!

Massaging my finger?

2008-08-26T10:23:00.002-04:00

Stick around if you want to know the three-year-old method for massaging your finger...

I want to insert in here real quickly that no one has guessed correctly the names of my kids from my previous post. There are still some lurkers out there...any of you wanna delurk and take a guess? Y'all have just two more days!!!

So, Friday nights are our Y nights. We all suit up in our swim gear and head to the YMCA for a little fun in the pool. It's nice because everyone else seems to have other plans and we have the pool almost to ourselves.

This past Friday night, we had the pool entirely to ourselves. Why??? Because all the sane people stayed the heck away. It was COLD!!! I tried to bribe the kids. "Who wants to go get ice cream instead of swimming?" I asked when we were walking up to the building with a cold wind whipping around us. No takers.

Oh well. We got in the water. It wasn't quite as cold as I expected, but getting back out was NO fun. The kids insisted that they were fine, and the 3 year old is learning to swim (he can swim under water now, but coming up for a breath sends him into a panic, so we can't officially declare him a swimmer yet). So we held out until the baby's lips started to look like they might turn blue, and then headed for the showers.

We were headed home, when I heard a strange sound coming from the back seat. You know when a little guy sticks his tongue out and blows raspberries? Only it was somehow muffled. I have no idea how to write that sound, but that's what I was hearing. Again. And again.

"Okay, that's enough!" I said to our three year old son. And again.

"Cut it out!" I say. And again.

I turn around to apply a little incentive for him to stop, and he says, "But mom, I'm massaging my finger!"

I'm glad I wasn't drinking sweet tea, cause it would've gone right out my nose. (don't ask).

Hubby and I nearly exploded laughing. But you know how that goes. You'll never, ever get them to stop that way. So we held it in till our sides hurt.

So now you know how to massage your fingers the 3-yr-old way, in case you were ever wondering. ;)

Coming out

2008-08-21T22:18:00.000-04:00

Okay, I do this with much prayer and consideration, but I'm coming out with all our names. I don't even know why I felt like we needed to be private, other than the fact that everyone seems to be so concerned with identity theft and such.

But here's the deal...for all of you who don't know me personally, I'm wondering if anyone can match the children with their names. Here's all the information I'm gonna give you:

I have four boys, ages 10, 8, 3, and nearly 2. I have one daughter here who is 6, and one who went to be with Jesus 4 years ago.

Their names are: Zechariah, Daniel, Abigail, Isaiah, Joshua, and Rachael.

Please do not comment if you already know their names. And if you are a lurker, please don't leave me looking like I have no audience. I know you're there!!! ;)

I'm gonna leave this to see what happens for a week, and then I'll send a little link love to everyone who gets it right. I'll also keep my eye one everyone's blogs so that I can put a little review along with the links, OK?

Be blessed, and play fair, please!

Wordless Wednesday...Did YOU just roll your eyes at ME?

2008-08-20T23:33:00.004-04:00

Is it just me, or is she rolling her eyes? I did not roll in the Georgia red mud, now did I?

2008-08-19T20:39:00.001-04:00

So, this is my third TT, and I'm so excited because I have conquered Mt. Washmore. Well, sort of. I'm not sure I want to be this transparent with y'all, but here, take a look....

Yikes!!

And then here's the after!

Now, I know it doesn't make sense to a lot of people that we have a shelving system in front of our fire place, but it works for us. I can throw everyone's laundry on there as I fold it and they can whisk it away to put it where it belongs. Before this, I made 7 plus piles on our beds or all across the furniture. Now I can fit it all in one place, saving myself time and space!

And here are the kids putting the poor old recliner back to use the way they think it's supposed to work...

Thursday Thirteen

2008-08-14T09:53:00.003-04:00

Thirteen thoughts on pets:

1. Cats don't eat as much as dogs.

2. Fish eat even less.

3. Dogs can learn cool tricks.

4. Cats are graceful.

5. Dogs love bountifully.

6. Fish don't love much at all.

7. Fish don't get fleas.

8. Dogs don't get ich (Ichthyophthirius multifilis).

9. Fish don't shed their hair all over the house.

10. Cats are generally allowed on the sofa...perhaps because it's nearly impossible to keep them off. Dogs typically are not allowed on the sofa. What gives?

11. About 6 million people in America are allergic to cats. About a third of those people have cats in their homes. I fit nicely in that third.

12. Dogs and large families might not mix too well. I still haven't decided.

13. We have 1 dog, 2 cats, 3 fish, and 5 kids.

I'm not allergic to the kids. They don't use the laundry basket as a litter box. They don't bolt out the door and refuse to come back until they're good and ready. They don't leave hair all over the furniture. I don't have to balance the ph and chemicals in their water. I think I'll keep them.

As for the rest...............................I'm a softy. I'll probably keep them too. But some days I'm ready to ship them ALL off to the pound. ;)

Props for the kids, and more broken glass

2008-08-12T22:37:00.003-04:00

All Staff Meeting. Three words that can send a chill down my spine. I suppose as a church, or any organization for that matter, grows, the meetings have to get longer. Each department has to have their say, and all of it is necessary and sometimes even fun. But 3 and a half hours is a long time to sit in one spot when you are accustomed to the level of activity that our house sees. Thank the good Lord for small blessings: we only have these meetings once a month.

Today, I had my kids all arranged to go to my friend Valerye's house. It's my favorite place to take them. For one thing, they love it. But more importantly, Valerye has known all my children intimately since they were either very young (as in our oldest's case) or newborn (all the rest). This means that she is familiar with each of their idiosyncrasies, and I don't have to go into any long diatribes about them when she is watching them. I can more or less drop them and go.

On the down side, she lives nearly an hour away. So I suppose, in a way, it is a good thing the meetings are so long. Just imagine driving an hour and a half (the church is halfway between us) to go to a 30 minute meeting and then driving an hour and a half back home!

Regardless, today was different. A couple of hours before the meeting was to begin, Val called and asked if it would be okay for the oldest three of our children to hang out together while she ran an errand that would take a few hours...well, I mean do you have room in your van for 5 extra kids? We decided that they could hang out in one of the classrooms at the church and watch videos and draw pictures while I had my meeting.

This is my shout-out to the kids. Two of my boys, ages 8 and 10, and her daughter, also age 8, stayed in one room watching movies and drawing pictures, and pretending to be shaggy dogs, or whatever else they did...for three and a half hours!!! I popped my head in to check on them every now and then, but they did absolutely nothing out of line, and they didn't even come to me with their gripe list throughout my meeting. So I think they deserve some serious blog applause for accomplishing the improbable.

On another note, remember the broken glass? Well some men are coming to fix it tomorrow (they are coming to me, yay!!), so that meant that all that three hours of driving around today had to be done with plastic taped over the window...I mean, it was supposed to rain! But the tape came undone when my hubby taped it. Everything was going fine. Well, at least until I hit 35 mph. You never heard such horrified children in your life.

"Oh no! Oh no! The plastic! What do we do?? Oh no! Oh no!"

"Okay guys, calm down it's okay." I look for the best place to pull over.

"But mom! Dad put that there for a reason!!!"

"Yes, and that reason would be because I asked him to do it." I get out and start trying to retape it. It doesn't work because dear hubby had vainly tried to save the paint, and so had not really taped the plastic to anything at all substantial. And more tiny pieces of glass keep nipping at my fingers as I work with it. When I close the door, another small sheet of glass showers in upon the interior of the van.

We drive on down the road to the lovely tune of, "Mom, the wind is blowing my hair. Mom, can't we hurry up and get there? I hate this! Can't you roll the window up? (that's from the 3 yr old). Why do we have to go, anyway? MOM!"

And then, on the way home, IT RAINED! Thank you Jesus, for the rain. But come on! All I can say is that I needed some serious headache powders by the time we got back here! I love my life. Every day, a new adventure. Every day, a new lesson. Speaking of, little Mr. Hothead has already gone to the neighbors to ask if he can wash their car so he can earn money to pay for the window he busted out.

Can you believe she's gonna pay him ten dollars?!? He figured it out...that means he only has to wash 20 cars! ;)

Mended spirits, broken glass

2008-08-10T20:24:00.003-04:00

Today is not just any old Sunday. You know, where we get up at 6, get the kids dressed and out the door by 7:30, are at church working by 8, and get finished somewhere between 2:30 and 9pm. Nope, not today. Sure, it starts like any other Sunday. The alarm goes off, we rebel and stay in bed another 30 minutes, finally get up, get dressed and wake the kids.

"Okay, guys, go get your clothes off the table and put them on." (I lay them all out on Saturday nights).

This is met with these annoying whiny sounds that I can't even begin to spell, but if you're familiar with French they sound a little like the vowel sound in "rien."

We drag five very cranky children out the door...oh, and did I mention one slightly cranky husband? This is not really normal for us. Our children are usually quite content little morsels.

Once at church, Loren and I get all the children signed in and realize that we can actually go to the 9am service today! So we mosey on over there and take our place among the worshipers, feeling much like strangers in our own church...it's been so long.

But God knows what He is doing this morning, because that precious time of refreshing does so much to mend our spirits that have been feeling quite downtrodden lately. It's that feeling you get when you've been pouring out from yourself freely, but you haven't had a drink in a really long time...you know what I'm talking about?

We go back to the preschool building for the 11am service with a renewed spring in our steps, and trip along throughout the rest of the morning rather well. Soon after the church children are all gone, I decide that I don't have everything I need to do my usual advance preparation for next week while the children relax downstairs, so we opt to go on home.

Now, everyone knows that just as soon as you begin to feel refreshed, something has to come up to test that. Right?. Is it just me?

So our 10 year old son and 6 year old daughter start arguing in the van. Not uncommon for these two. The have enough squabbling going on between the two of them to ensure that any further squabbling among the other siblings is completely unnecessary. After reminding them two times to treat one another as family and not enemies, I tell them that any further strife will lead to my pulling the van over and dismissing them from it.

Of course, I don't have to tell you how long it takes for them to start back up. My guess would be that it is almost precisely 73 seconds later that we hear them verbally pummeling one another again. Not to be proven a liar, I pull the van over at the nearest side road and dismiss them from it.

Although quite upset by this, the Little Princess (who instigates nearly 90% of these things) unbuckles and exits the vehicle. But Mister Pre-Adolescent has to be coached out of the van a little more persuasively.

Once out, he starts threatening to throw a rock at the window. We tell them that they can fight outside where the rest of us don't have to be bothered by it. He makes good on his threat.

And then when the rock actually crashes through the van's side door window, he has the nerve to be shocked by it.

After our God-ordained spiritual refreshing, Loren and I remain surprisingly calm throughout the whole ordeal. What point is there in overstating the obvious? Mister Temper realizes, with horror, the seriousness of what has just happened. The flame of his former passion is immediately doused, and it is replaced with sincere repentance...toward us, toward his sister, and toward God.

Both of the little culprits assure us that they will do whatever they can to earn money to pay for the mistake...him for the window, and her for the rivalry she is aware she stirred up. And even though we all wish it had never come to such an expensive lesson, I believe that we may have been rescued (even if only temporarily) from the precipice of strife.

I'm figuring that they will be finished paying this off by the time they're ready to head for college. At what point do we have to tell them how much the window actually cost?

How to save money

2008-08-07T13:44:00.003-04:00

1. Turn off your air conditioner. Or, don't turn it as low. Being hot natured, I've always enjoyed keeping it around 72. Now I'm keeping it at 80.

2. Cook with your microwave instead of your oven. Okay, this is so gross to me. But steamed veggies cooked in the microwave still taste great.

3. Eat beans and rice. You can't really cook these in the microwave...reheat, maybe, but not cook.

4. Sell one of the kids (hey, you might even make some money this way!). My hubby has been trying to sell ours since the first one was born.

5. Dress everyone from Goodwill. No kidding, there are some great clothes there! But check out the sales at Belk first. Sometimes they are cheaper.

6. Cancel all birthday celebrations. We have cake and ice cream at home. One or two presents. No big, expensive, blow-up bouncy-things; no overpriced pizza and giant mice; no party favors...just family and love.

7. Start home haircuts. You get better with practice, and it all grows out!

8. Unplug appliances and electronics....okay, after the computer reboots, add..."while not in use."

9. Use vinegar to clean everything. Once you get used to the smell, you'll find it is quite effective.

10. Hang clothes to dry. Well, unless there's some silly rule against it in your neighborhood covenants. :(

11. Drink only water. Easier said than done.

12. Play boardgames for entertainment...or read a book...or throw a ball outside.

13. Get rid of the pets. The feeding, vacuuming, vet bills...it adds up! It's also not very likely to happen in this house any time soon. Oh well.

Any other ideas would be greatly appreciated!! ;)

Wordless Wednesday: Paris for President

2008-08-06T07:00:00.003-04:00

There's not really much to say, now is there?

Tackle it Tuesday

2008-08-05T21:23:00.011-04:00

Well, we did it. We survived the first day of our new schedule. I can't tell you how wonderful it was to know exactly what to do, when to do it, and how long it was going to take.

We didn't implement the full schedule all at once (see, I'm learning!), but we hit the major points like bedtimes, wake up times, meals, play time, changing activities every 30 minutes, and getting the dog out for a walk (yippee!...here she is after having a nice long romp. Don't mind my son's shirt tossed carelessly on the couch, the fact that the couch cushions are in disarray, or even the fact that she's on the couch when she's not supposed to be and she knows it).

Anyway, the before pics of my Tackle it Tuesday project don't really mean much so I'm not sharing, but they include 6 pages of lists of activities for all the kids and for myself. But I thought I'd treat you all to the AFTER pictures...

....here it is all pretty and new on my fridge...
(complete with sheet protectors!)
(and color coded!)

6:30 Rise and Shine...wakey wakey...come on, you can do it...
I should be all right by about 10:30. That's when my body would wake up if I had no kids, no job, no responsibilities...

.....here's page 2....my favorite part is where I get to rest from 3-4 (well that's the plan, anyway). See me in the green?.....
(oh, and I scheduled some time to play with the kids!! They are so happy.)

...and here's the end. Notice....I do actually get to sleep! See, didn't I tell you it was beautiful? ;)

MOTH...and I don't mean the bug

2008-08-04T19:56:00.001-04:00

As many of you know, I decided to try out the Managers of Their Homes scheduling plan because it was designed by a homeschooling mom, Teri Maxwell, with a large family (she has 8 children). I figured that since she has actually been where I am, maybe it might really work. Making this schedule has been challenging, to say the least, but so worth it. I know I mentioned before that I had tried finishing the thing in just one sitting (going completely against one of the most basic principles of the book), but that ended in disaster when I walked away from the computer, after days and hours of work, and forgot to click save.

I had myself a regular old pity party, and gave myself a sound kick in the pants for not (a.) finishing it up with the sticky tac and little strips of colored paper that came with the book instead of opting for the computer version which I thought would be easier with my little morsels crawling all over me; or (b.) practicing Rule #1 of computer use: save early and save often!!! I lost the whole thing. Or should I say, the ~~rotten little~~ children, ahem, lost the whole thing.

Well, after I spent a couple of days mourning my loss and recovering from the brief thought that it wasn't worth it and I might as well just give up....

Drum roll please.....

I finally finished my beautiful schedule!!! I'm soooo happy with it. It turns out that there were quite a few truly important changes I needed to make to it anyway. So maybe I should have thanked the ~~rotten little~~ sweet little morsels for sending me back to square one! I'll update you all very soon on how it is going.

Oh, and I think I finally learned a lesson about trying to finish everything at once rather than breaking it into manageable chunks. Not mastered, mind you....maybe that will be a pleasant byproduct of this new schedule.

It's fun to stay at the.....

2008-08-02T09:24:00.000-04:00

It has recently become our Friday night ritual to take the kids swimming at the YMCA. Loren is able to be with us, none of us usually has to get up early the next morning, and---our favorite reason of all---it seems that most people are doing other things on Friday nights, so we practically have the place to ourselves. It's so much fun!

It doesn't always turn out the way we plan, though. One time just the Quiet One and I went because the other kids had been acting up. He decided to hang out with Youth Explosion (sort of a sitter service where they do different activities) for a while, and I went out by the pool to do some studying. When there was about an hour of swim time left, he joined me, and we hopped in the water together. Less than 2 minutes later, there was thunder, and they closed the pool. The Quiet One was so disappointed, and I was too. So I took him to Dairy Queen for a Blizzard. It was his first one ever, and about 4 bites into it, he looked up at me with the widest baby blue eyes and said, "I think I'm gonna remember this night forever!" Wow.

Our littlest guy (who, BTW, will be 2 at the end of this month) has come to adore the Y. As soon as he sees the road signs indicating that we are getting close, he starts singing Y-M-D-Day over and over again. I wish I could convey in type how cute it is, but I'm sure it doesn't come out the same.

He has quite a few other things we love to hear him say, some more difficult to decipher than others. One of my personal favorites would be, "Weer my dippy dup doe?" (where my sippy cup go?) And then there's, "I nee my hued on." (I need my shoes on, of course!)

On Tuesday, I had left the kids at a friend's house while I attended a meeting. My friend forgot to give the baby a nap (and let me tell you that child LOVES his sleep), and by the time I got him back at dinner time he was cranky!! This was understandable considering the fact that he usually has a four hour nap, but I still couldn't ignore the fact that he decided to start kicking at his mommy. So when I had to discipline him, he grabbed me with tears streaming down his little face and shouted out again and again, "You MEANIE mommy!" Now, I know it's not funny when children disobey or call their parents names, but the way the whole scene played out was just hilarious. My friend and I were about to split our sides trying not to laugh at his little outburst.

However hard we tried to hide our amusement, he must have noticed this, because yesterday something similar happened. He was coloring with markers at the easel, and decided to reach over and color on my shirt. I told him he was only allowed to color on the paper, and not on mommy or anywhere else. Just a moment later, he was coloring on the carpet. When I told him no, he could not color on the carpet and that he had to put the markers away, he did it. Then when he was walking over to me he gave me a funny little smile. He got in my lap, looked up at me smiling, and said, "You MEANIE mommy!" Then he said, "You doowh-bahw." This one was a little more difficult to decipher, but I finally got out of him that he was saying, "you goofball."

Okay, I'm guilty. That one comes from me. When the kids do something silly, I laughingly call them little goofballs. Bad mommy. Someone get a bar of soap!

A real treat

2008-07-31T14:53:00.002-04:00

On one of the other blogs that I enjoy reading, the blogger (JulieMom) does a weekly post that she calls Foodie Friday. She makes really yummy looking things and takes beautiful pictures of them. I thought it would be nice if I shared with you a recipe that I keep getting requests for again and again.

When Loren and I first got married, our friend Bethany gave us a recipe for lasagna that she said was the most delicious ever. Once we tried it, we could never love another lasagna again. Sure, they're good, but this one is...well, the most delicious ever. I have even made it with cabbage leaves instead of lasagna noodles. YUM!

8 0z lasagna noodles
1 lb ground beef
32 oz tomato sauce
1 tsp salt
1/2 to 3/4 cup water
1 tsp Italian seasoning
1/2 tsp sugar
2 cups cottage cheese
3 cups Mozzarella
1/2 cup Parmesan (go ahead and buy the wedge and grate it yourself...it is soooo worth it)

(you can substitute Prego mushroom sauce for the tomato sauce, salt, Italian seasoning, and sugar, it tastes almost exactly the same)

Brown and drain the ground beef. Add the sauce, water, salt, seasoning and sugar (or just the Prego). Cover and simmer for 10 minutes. In a 13"x9" dish: layer 1/3 meat sauce, 1/2 uncooked noodles (That's right, you don't have to precook them! Just don't make the mistake of buying the noodles that say on the box "no need to precook." The texture is not good), 1 cup cottage cheese, and 1/3 of the mozzarella. Repeat the layers, and then end with the meat sauce, mozzarella, and Parmesan cheese. Cover with aluminum foil, and bake at 350 degrees for 55-60 minutes. Remove the foil and let sit for 10 minutes. ENJOY! :)

And my little confession: I always use extra cheese! *hangs her head*

Mas y mas

2008-07-30T14:01:00.002-04:00

If you're not a foreign language buff, that's Spanish for "more and more." It's basically pronounced "moss ee moss." And for those of you who would notice, I'm sorry that I don't know how to add the accents over the a's, so if you do know, feel free to let me in on the secret.

Okay, scheduling is supposed to be helpful in managing and running a household, right? Well, when I realized recently that I was truly in need of help with creating a workable schedule or routine for our family, I went to the web. Just so you know, I had done this many times...looking for some kind of wisdom for dealing with a largish homeschooling family. But this time, I prayed about it and left it at that. So, the next day, I came across the Maxwell family's website. I was just surfing around on some blogs that were participating in something called Keeping It Real (more on that in another post, perhaps), when somehow I found myself staring at the very thing I'd been looking for.

Teri Maxwell, homeschooling mom of 8, put together this book called Managers of Their Homes. It was affordable, and came complete with a color coded kit for making it all happen. Now, usually when I attempt something new, I get caught up in completing the task at hand and tend to plug away at it bullheadedly. I skip meals, stay up super late, neglect to vacuum or dust, refuse to read to the children..."Mama's busy. I'll read to you when I finish this project, okay?"

One of the most basic recommendations that Teri makes is having assigned amounts of time to work on all tasks, dropping them and moving on to the next thing, and picking them back up at the next scheduled time slot. Great. Here's a little insight into how my brain processed this wise little bit of input. "That's fantastic advice, and I'll work on that as soon as I figure out how to fit everything into this nifty little color-coded schedule."

So, after working on the thing all day for two days, I finally realized that maybe she meant to start that now. Oh, there it is, right there in the instructions: work on this a little at a time over the next week or so. Must've glossed over that part.

My house now looks like messy bears should be moving in soon, and the inside of the van is waist high in the stuff that tends to grow up in there unless I'm extremely diligent to keep it mowed down. Have I learned a lesson? Sure. Scheduling is for the birds.

OK, OK, I'm not giving up on the schedule. The truth is, I understand that our family will never be able to accomplish all the things that we want or need to do unless we schedule them into each day. You don't have to read many of my posts to understand what I mean. Oh, BTW, Loren and I are the new Children's Church Pastors for our preschool ministry, so tack all that on as well!

What I've really been learning is how to let go of my expectation for getting it all done NOW, and to settle for doing a little today, a little more tomorrow, and a little more later. It seems to be a recurring theme for me lately, that I tend to gather little nuggets of wisdom here and there and stash them in my pocket with the intention of cashing in on them later. Foolishness, I know.

So my goal for right now is to practice doing less and less at one time. Thirty minutes should be enough for most missions, and if I do that every day, I'll start seeing results, right? Anyway, I've just spent almost an hour working on this post (well, there've been interruptions, you know!), and I'm off to the church to work on setting up our new little sanctuary! Feel free to send any little nuggets my way. I'll try to remember that wisdom is for today!

2008-07-15T10:42:00.003-04:00

What a day! Yesterday I had my neighbor/friend's children over here from 6 to 3. I have watched these particular children a couple of times before, and I must say that they are a joy to have around. But there's always some kind of drama that happens. You know, the neighbor's 3 year old gets eaten alive by fire ants in the front yard (gee, wouldn't it be nice to be married to an exterminator...oh, wait....I am). She swells up, I call her mom for permission to administer Benadryl and find out that her daddy has a history of anaphylaxis. Gulp. But she ends up being fine.
Later, my nearly 2 year old throws up because the two 3 year olds have been spinning him around and around in the Johnny Jump-up. This directly coincides with the tomato soup reaching a boil and having alphabet pasta added to it, which MUST be stirred to keep from scorching. So I yell for my 10 year old to stir the pot while I extricate my slimy baby from the disgusting jumpy thing. I almost have him out when the 10 year old starts dancing around screaming like a banshee. The rather large tell-tale spot of tomato soup on the floor makes it easy to deduce the cause of this spastic behavior. I holler at him to run cold water over his arm. The 3 year olds come running to see what all the commotion is and nearly run right into the piles of vomit all over the floor. I start screaming (okay, so I lost control a bit...) for them to go back, and the 6, 7, and 8 year olds come running to investigate. This is where I feel like waving my arms in the air and shouting "I surrender!" But the good news is: the baby was fine, the vomit got cleaned up and everything was sanitized, the soup didn't burn, my son's burn was so horrible that you couldn't even see a red spot 10 minutes later, and my blood pressure soon stabilized. The neighbor did come back to get her kids, and they were all in one piece. She was so grateful.

Oh, and don't even get me started on the part where I realized that the cat's whole face was swollen from an abscess which I had to clean and drain with 8 children hovering over us like a football huddle. For now I'm thankful that his previous owners cruelly had him declawed.

It seems like I'm always taking on more children: my neighbors' kids, my friends' kids...I just love'm all. Two weeks ago I kept one neighbor's children (3 of them) from 8 am to 1 pm every day, and added another neighbor's kids (the same 3 I watched yesterday) from 6 am to 3 pm. Let's see, if we do the math, that's 11 children ages 11, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 4, 3, 3, 1, and the baby that's not even 1 yet. The whole thing actually went quite smoothly, and I was able to give myself a big pat on the back for managing to stay sane and even enjoy it. I wanted 12 for myself ya know?

Okay, now don't go letting your eyeballs bug out. It's not that bad. People always tell me, "I don't know how you do it. I have more than I can handle with just my two (or one...I actually hear that one more, and I have a theory on that but we'll save it for another post)." But honestly, though I can't say the work load is easier with five than with one or two, it's just different. First of all, the older kids get old enough to help out with what needs to get done. My 10 year old son can do the laundry all the way from separating and washing to folding and putting away. I taught him this because he was interested, and I have encouraged his early willingness to help by emphasizing that it is fulfilling to be of some use to the family. I believe that all our children should learn to see the basic maintenance of the household as a way of growing and maintaining a beautiful character. His learning has trickled down almost effortlessly to the other children. The 8 and 6 year olds can now do every step of the laundry process except start the machines because the switches need to be repaired and it's tough to operate them.

There are many other things that they do to help keep the house running smoothly. This is just an example. But it helps us not to be so overwhelmed while also teaching the children valuable life lessons. It has always been one of my pet peeves to hear of someone graduating college and still being unsure of how to do their own laundry, clean their house, or cook at least basic foods.

Anyway, I thought I might go into some of the other reasons that having so many children is not so very stressful, but I'm kinda going on and on, so perhaps I'll share more another day. I would like to add, though, that my dear friend Valerye has backed me up on this matter. She only has two of her own, but she says that whenever she has watched 2 or 3 or 4 of mine along with hers, things just seem to go better! Too bad she lives nearly an hour away. Otherwise I would feel compelled to make her day go better more often!! ;) Oh, by the way, I had her kids today. :)

I've been looking all over for me

2008-07-11T12:28:00.007-04:00

Okay, Linda. Thanks for the kick in the pants. ;) My sweet hubby has been at me for weeks to get back on here and update, and I've been trying to decide how much 'splainin' I should do as to why I've neglected everyone. So here goes...my list of excuses in a countdown:

5. The baby hurt his wee little leg and I had to tote him around for 2 weeks while he refused to walk on it. Believe me when I say that toddlers are quite offended by having to revert to crawling and would much rather be carried, while moms of little fellows who refuse to sit still long enough for a hug seem to enjoy the novelty of it all...well, at least for the first few days!

4. I had a deadline to meet for getting the children ready for the end of the school year, and we were working furiously to make up for lost time (baby in the hospital and then injured). We did school work from midmorning till 11pm or later...argh.

3. I lost my inspiration, or perhaps was just too tired to care (see #'s 5 and 4).

2. I decided that it was time to tackle Mt. Washmore a little harder (for those of you non-Flybabies that's the laundry that's spilling out over the top of the laundry baskets and all over the floor).

1. My parents got our family a membership to the YMCA and I've spent every possible moment over there with the kids at the pool. Plus, they have a sitter service for ALL FIVE of my children!!! So I can drop them off, spend an hour working out, go sit in the sauna, go swimming (which I can't do with 5 small children in the pool), sit on the couch in the locker room and read a magazine article in peace, whatever!

Don't get me wrong. I love spending time with my children and wouldn't trade my job for anything. But just knowing that if I need it I have up to 8 hours a week (with no more than 4 hours in any one day) to recollect my thoughts and think about only one or two things at a time has done wonders for my stress levels.

I think our Y membership is the best thing that's happened to me in years. The only thing I could think of that would be more special would be having the money to go on a weekend getaway with just my hubby. We celebrated our 11th anniversary on the 5th, and we've not been away with just the two of us since our honeymoon. I'm thinking of starting a stash for a special trip on maybe our 15th anniversary or something.

But anyway, we've been having a wonderful summer. We've been working on organizing our lives more and creating more workable routines for the kids. They have morning and bedtime routines along with daily habits (some people call them chores, but I like to think of them as good habits for life!) that they rotate so everyone gets a chance to learn how to do them (plus that means they take turns with the most unpleasant chores, like cleaning the litter box). I made up a "Success Manual" for the kids that can be added to or changed as our family grows.There are sheets for their morning and bedtime routines...The habits we are trying to instill in them for every day...And there's a wonderful quote from Thomas a Kempis on the back to help us remember why we do this...Sow an act, reap a habit. Sow a habit, reap a character. Sow a character, reap a destiny. Wow...what a sobering thought.

And if any of you were wondering about the lapbooks, well...my dad's digi-cam was not working so well. Sorry. But they were really cute, and creative enough to satisfy my little artists. Oh, and both grandma (affectionately known as Mam-ma by the little Daredevil) and dear hubby went with us on our outing to Lake Lanier. Everyone had a ball, and hubby didn't have to ride on the floor....he rode on the cooler. Okay, y'all, we need a bigger van. I'm thinking a 10 passenger. Talked it over with our best dealer friend, and it ain't happenin' any time soon. Y'all pray for us now, ya' hear?

Oh, one more thing...drumroll please...for Father's Day my hubby (here he is with his "What are you doing with my new camera?" face on) got a new digital camera from all of us. So now that I've figured this thing out we can have current pics up too!

So here's my very first slideshow, using Picasa Web Albums and the pictures taken just in the last 2 weeks! I hope I don't become a junkie...

portfolios, fieldtrips, and encouragement

2008-05-13T22:32:00.002-04:00

The much anticipated end-of-the-year portfolios for my children's homeschool are due on Friday. For this occasion, we decided to undertake the endeavor of learning to make lapbooks. Being a no-nonsense kind of girl, I personally can't see why they shouldn't just turn in their latest tests and assignments and call it a day. But the teacher who oversees our work said to be creative. She even mentioned a powerpoint presentation for those of us who "were interested."

I was just going to jazz up their papers with a couple of "GOOD JOB!" stickers, but I started to feel like the captain of the loser mothers club. Funny that at that point I should stumble upon this interesting idea called lapbooking (thanks to Sheila at Barracudas Corner Cove). So we have spent countless hours learning and practicing creating lapbooks. And before we send them off to the teacher to go in the children's permanent files, I'll be sure to get some pictures and post them here for y'all to witness...I'm not the captain any more. I can be *gasp* creative! I was previously under the impression that those genes skipped a generation. Or maybe they do! I mean, if I just copycat an idea from someone else...

Tomorrow we are going on the End of the Year Celebration Field Trip to Lake Lanier Islands Resort. I asked both my mom and my dear husband to take the day off from work so that I would not be a nervous wreck over taking all the little morsels over to a water park all alone. Then I found out the water park will be closed and we will just be having various "activities." But I neglected to tell grandma and my hubby that it's not such a big deal without the water. I only need one helper just to help with crowd control. So now they're both off, and I only have room for one of them in my van. But I really, truly want both of them there. I'm thinking that batting my eyelashes and saying pretty please just isn't as effective as it was when I was 50 lbs lighter and 1 foot or 2 shorter. What are my chances of convincing my sweetheart to ride the hour-long trip on the floor of the van? I'll let you know how it goes.

And speaking of my hubby, I've been subscribing to an email newsletter from the Generous Wife website for around 2 years now, and Lori informed us of yet another way to be an encouragement to our husbands. There is a 30 day challenge to Honor our Husbands by praying for them every day this month. There's even a list of different things to pray for each day. So I'm all for blessing my sweetie's socks off this month. If you are too, then head on over to Blessed To Be Home and join in the fun!

We're home! and Kinder Kids stuff

2008-05-09T17:24:00.004-04:00

We have finally been freed! The little Daredevil never did start eating or drinking well while in the hospital, but our pediatrician told me that if he went home it could go either way. He may perk up and be fine, or he may end up right back in the hospital. I said, "Cut us loose! We're going home, and he'll be just fine!" And you know, as soon as we told the fella he was going home, he got all happy and started acting like a healthy little boy.

Since coming home, he has been eating and drinking like a teenager....okay, that's an exaggeration. But he is gooder than good. I have my own little theory. It was just too quiet in that place for him. All that time I thought he was sleeping so much because he felt rotten. Now I believe it was just because he was so understimulated!!!!

I have to give a little shout-out to my mom and husband and all my other kids. The little Daredevil was in the big house for 5 days, and mom was right there with him the whole time. So it would have been perfectly natural for the place to be a sheer disaster when we got back. Instead, the dishes were done, the laundry was clean, folded, and neatly stacked for me to separate into its many destinations (no one else seems to be able to figure out whose is what!), dinner was ready, and the table was set (and even decorated with freshly picked flowers--wild daisies--from the yard). The kids had all had showers, the living room was neat and tidy, the kids' bedrooms were straightened, and my bed was made with freshly laundered linens. The mere fact that I did not faint with shock is almost as much of a miracle as the condition of my home.

Never in my married life have I come home to such a reception. In fact, I'm not sure that I ever have! So: Mama, I love you. You are more better than any other mom I know. Y'all, she took care of my kids, and she even ran errands with all of them in tow. She's amazing (and she's forgiven for cornering me in the bathroom and trying to kill me over last Friday's post). Sweet hubby, my life would be so ~~much more calm and serene~~ empty without you. Thank you for letting me come home to such a beautiful gift. You are my hero.

Now, on to the Kinder Kids stuff...

As you know, I have been away from home all this week, and while between the two of them, my mom and hubby managed my home beautifully, keeping up with schoolwork would have been too much to ask of them. So I don't have any fun and creative Kindergarten activities to share with you. But hold on to your hats, cause next week will be different. And a big THANKS to Sheila from Barracudas Corner Cove for putting this together for us! You can click on her link to the left in my sidebar. And be sure to check out her home's beautiful location!

2008-05-06T16:58:00.002-04:00

My first Tackle It Tuesday.

I don't have any before and after pictures, and I'm not sure if this really counts to all you other Tacklers, but I've been in the hospital with my littlest youngster since Saturday night without access to my computer. A beautiful person (see Friday's post for a picture!) brought me my laptop today at last. So my task for tackling today is my inbox. And now after 2 hours of accumulated effort, I have made all my phone calls, sent all my replies, composed and sent all the important messages, and coordinated all my workers. All in a day's work!

That was the easy stuff. I'm being nice and not sharing with you all of the tough things I've done today. If you are familiar with rotavirus, you already know what I've been doing all day. If not, then be content in your ignorance. Take it from me, you don't wanna know!

Live from the Big House

2008-05-06T16:16:00.002-04:00

So I had a very interesting conversation with a pediatrician at about 2am on Sunday. It went something like this.

me: Hi, my youngest son (21 months) has had a fever and diarrhea since Friday afternoon. He's doing this strange convulsing. I'm sure it's not seizures because he's still sucking his pacifier and breathing during them. But now I can't get his fever to go down. Whaddya think?

strange doctor on call for our ped: Jerking cause is dehydration. He have to go to hospital for the IV.

me: I don't see any other signs of dehydration. If you tell me we have to do this, I will, but I want you to understand that we don't have medical insurance. Is there any other way?

patient MD with accent on the other end: I make the call to hospital to admit baby. You go and they take baby right up, okay? Your baby need IV fluids right away. They wait for you at ER, okay?

me (not one to argue with someone who has an MD after his name when it is something serious like this): All right. I'll be there as soon as I can.

So here we are. The official verdict is in. The Daredevil has rotavirus. He's past any real danger now because of the IV fluids, but he can't go home because he still refuses to eat or drink. Thankfully, he is quite exhausted from all this and sleeps a lot. Otherwise, we'd have a cranky baby on our hands since his IV is in his foot and he's not allowed to get down and walk.

We've been here for 3 nights now and heading into our fourth. Can anyone guess what we're gonna be doing with our economic stimulus package?

Family FotoFun Friday

2008-05-02T00:05:00.004-04:00

Edited to add: I was going to remove this post because I am such a sweet person. But since my life was threatened and I had to stay locked up in my bathroom because of the evil mad woman on the other side with a wooden spoon (and boy, do I have issues stemming from a particular application of said wooden spoon while I was a child...or should I say numerous applications), I feel compelled to leave it for a little while longer. Sorry. Not that I'm feeling vengeful or anything. It's just the principle of the matter. Besides, this are fun....

All right...a word or two of explanation. I know that this is not in keeping with the achievement theme for FFFF. But my mom has always done this every time someone has tried to take her picture for as long as I've known her. So now she's gonna kill me, but there's a picture of her floating out in the blogosphere for everyone to see. And if I turn up missing, someone please find a way to get that picture of her in Greece where she's wearing that itty bitty white bikini (many, many, many years ago) and put it up here for revenge.
I'm really not a mean person. I just found this and couldn't resist!

Thirteen love/hate relationships

2008-05-01T09:48:00.003-04:00

13. Ice Cream. It's Oh-So-Good and I love it, love it, LOVE it. Then I start coughing, then I get the weird metallic-tasting headache (if you've never had one, then I can't explain it to you), then my tumtum hurts if I forgot to take the LactAid stuff. Why do I do this to myself?

12. Housework. Okay, I know I'll lose some of you on this one, but I love it. It makes me feel all domestic and Donna Reed-ish, and I like to be able to look back and see a job-well-done. But I hate it when I feel all guilty for not keeping everything clean all the time. Everyone tells me...you have five children, your house can't be perfect. But I feel all icky inside when things are a mess.

11. Makeup. There's nothing like being all made up and pretty. Love it. There's also nothing like your face being itchy and swollen. I've tried everything I've come across. It all irritates my skin. Thankfully, aside from my one monthly pimple that tells of things to come, my skin is clear and I don't scare people when I walk by.

10. Carbs. Who doesn't love'em? Every potato, noodle, or pastry seems to deposit itself directly into my ample fat stores. (before I get all the little comments...I do eat fruits and veggies galore because my body loves those!)

9. Homeschool. Well, actually I just love it. But there are days that I watch the school bus go by with a strange urge to run out the door in my jammies and flipflops with my robe flowing behind me and yell "WAIT!!! TAKE ME--I MEAN MINE--TOO!!!!"

8. Blogging. So fun. I just don't know when to stop!

7. Burping. Don't laugh. You love it too. Funny thing is that I never could do it without getting a little more than I bargained for until my first baby came along. I'm still not really good at it. That's where the hate comes in. There's nothing like a good burp (but please, remember your manners!!!).

6. Sunny days. Love them as long as I can get out and enjoy them. Hate just looking longingly out the window while we plug away at some important assignment.

7. Rain. Can anyone say drought? If you live around here, you love the rain. That said, being caught at the park in a torrential downpour with 5 small children when you can't find your keys down in the diaperbag ain't so lovely.

6. Pets. I've always been an animal person. Big animals, small animals...I love them all. But I have five children! Who's idea was it for us to have 2 cats, a dog, and 3 fish?

5. Fasting. Sure, everyone gets the hate part. But nothing beats a fast for helping you focus on what really matters.

6. "Mommy". Some days it is the sweetest sound on God's green Earth. Then there are the times when I feel like my grandmother who used to threaten to change her name to a dirty word so she could inflict pain on any child who dared to utter it.

5. Potty training. Who doesn't love the idea of getting that last one out of diapers? That said, potty training is messy, often frustrating, and never turns out exactly like you planned.

4. Music. I'm a classically trained vocalist, and I love so many, many kinds of music. I sing all the time. But when I rarely enjoy a quiet moment, why do I need to clutter up my few peaceful opportunities with noise? So when my hubby asks me why I don't listen to the new sound system during the day, I can't help but look at him with a vaguish (new word?) look of incredulity on my face.

3. Pregnancy. No explanation here.

2. Chocolate. Obsessions are bad. But it's so good.

1. Potty training. Can you guess what's going on in our family right now?

5 days in a row

2008-04-29T14:19:00.003-04:00

I remember when I had a 21 month old boy and a new baby boy, and I refused to go anywhere with them by myself. It seemed too difficult to take 2 babies anywhere all alone. When we added number 3 only 20 months later, I finally decided it was never gonna get any easier and began taking them on "outings" to the grocery store, La Leche League meetings, parks, etc. I was right, by the way. It hasn't really gotten any easier, but I don't think it's gotten much tougher either.

This week, I had to arrive at the Georgia Center for Continuing Education parking deck early enough to make it inside with all five children by 8 o'clock AM. All "tubbed and scrubbed and adequately fed" (any Mary Poppins fans out there?) was not really as difficult as I had anticipated. The toughest part after the first day was trying to get the older two signed in and get the rest back out to the van in time that we could get out of there before the meter went past 30 minutes and the rate went from fifty cents to two dollars.

The inevitable happened...twice, get that, twice I spilled my coffee all over the baby in the stroller. Three times, the 3 and 6 year old just had to go potty. Once, I made it back to the van and was certain that I would make it out of there on time. I backed out of my spot, wound my way around the inside of the parking deck (which is incredibly longer upon exiting than while parking), and reached the exit booth only to find a sign that read "Lumpkin exit closed. Please use Sanford exit" (which I had just driven past to get to the Lumpkin Street exit). I backed out, went back up into the parking deck, because that's how ya gotta do it, and wound my way back down to the Sanford exit to find another sign that read: "Sanford exit closed. Please use Lumpkin exit." No one was in the booth at all, and there had at least been a person in the other booth. I backed out and continued around to the Lumpkin exit which was still closed. I calmly got out of my van and trotted right up to the booth and knocked on the glass. Of course, because customer service is highly lacking around here anymore, I was met with a glare. The obviously underpaid attendant slid back the glass and said with her mouth "Can I help you?." Her body language said something more like "You got a problem lady?"

I explained still calmly that I just wanted to get out of the daggum parking deck and they had both exits closed. Her eyes rolled, and she radioed the other booth with this tone that said, "Yeah, right." Low and behold, no one answered. I waited a while for her to get someone on the radio, and she told me to go back around to the other exit and someone would be there soon. Now my eyes rolled. I know it's a nasty habit, but it still lingers from my pre-teenage days (I think you may still be able to see the handprint my mom added to my profile, also), and every now and then it surfaces unexpectedly.

I waved to the other nice lady who had just dropped off her GVA students and asked her to back out and go to the other exit so I could do the same. We wound our way back up and back down the parking deck around to the Sanford exit, where at last we found our escape. I pulled up to the window where another woman who looked like she had just stepped on something slimy said, "two dolla." I rolled my eyes (yeah, I know) and handed her 8 quarters. I told her to be blessed and pulled away.

From there each day, we went to a nearby park which our family loves. The first day I felt especially happy to be there in the cool morning air before anyone else had even arrived. We all walked along slowly, looked at the turtles and ducks in the pond, and laughed and talked. Leisurely, we ambled through the natural habitat zoo, taking our time and enjoying the bears and otters and other critters. Right in the middle of a crazy, irritating, and stressful week, my 3 littlest morsels and I found a sweet little vacation all our own. It's so easy to forget to take time and enjoy a quiet moment with the children when we're always so busy. I think God blessed us with that because he knew we all needed a time of refreshing. So how about you? Have you experienced a season of refreshing right in the middle of a particularly challenging time recently?

Be blessed.

parking, parks, tests, and tantrums

2008-04-28T14:17:00.003-04:00

Last week our family participated in a strange cultural phenomenon: standardized testing. When I was a little girl, I loved testing. It was my favorite part of the school year aside from field trips. Tests always seemed to bring out in me a thrilling rush of adrenaline, and I usually performed well beyond what I actually knew or understood.

Case in point: upon entering college we had to take a math placement exam which I completely aced. In fact, on the whole exam, I missed one question. This completely floored me because I had guessed on more than half the test. Because of this, they told me that although I only needed Math 111 for my degree, they felt I would be better served to take 121. Not knowing any different, I agreed.

The first day of class, the professor handed us a test and told us that if we were going to pass the class we needed to score 100% on the test. If we didn't, we should go ahead and drop the class. I made a 32. If you know me, you know that I don't like to be told that I cannot do something...anything. I went to the professor and told him that I wanted to make an A in his class. He told me that I could not do it. I said, "If I could do it, what would it take to make it happen?" He gave me extra work to catch me up to where I needed to be in the form of about 3 times the homework that everyone else had. My next test I scored a 54. Not very encouraging. Next came an 80 something, then 113 then 115, and every other score was more than 100% (I got all the extra credit...yep, I became the hated student who threw off the grading curve). Pulled an A in the class.

What's my point? I'm just wondering if these tests are really as indicative of aptitude as officials make them out to be. While I always performed quite well in these tests (testing Post-High School from elementary school on), I did not follow this with stellar performance in college. Nor did I ever attend graduate school. Nor do I even make use of my degree in any way whatsoever at this point in my life. On the other hand, I know several people who received average scores in standardized testing yet went on to have higher grades in college or complete more complicated degrees in less time, then moved on to Ivy League graduate schools, and landed high dollar jobs.

My older brother is virtually a walking encyclopedia. One of my most thrilling moments in life was when I recently found that I knew something he didn't already know. It was the first time I ever remembered that happening. Although he didn't completely bomb out, he certainly never placed as high as I did.

The moral of the story is this: if you find yourself stressed out because you take your children to their first CRCTs and have to pay $8 a day for parking, wait an hour and a half for the thing to actually start (after receiving no fewer than 10 emails stating that anyone who comes 15 minutes late will have to go home and schedule make-up exams), wrestle your younger three kids around a park for the two hours and ten minutes of supposed testing time (without a stroller or snacks or water) only to find when you arrive promptly 2 hours and 10 minutes later (which is in itself somewhat of a miracle) that they haven't even begun the second hour-long test so you have to wait in a cramped hallway with your perfectly behaved toddlers who decide to throw simultaneous tantrums in said hallway which, by the way, is littered with signs that say "QUIET...TESTING IN PROGRESS"........don't despair.

If you figure out why we shouldn't despair, let me know. The best I could come up with was that it's over now and we survived. And the rest of the week did get better. I remembered to bring the stroller.

You're getting sleeeeeeeepy....

2008-04-17T23:18:00.003-04:00

There's nothing in the world like lack of sleep to put a damper on the school day. Today I was reading the Little Princess her stories for Language Arts, and I kept nodding off. Usually, I am okay with my tendency to mismanage my personal sleep time. But every now and then after getting home from Walmart at 2am, even when I get to sleep all the way to 8am, I just can't seem to stay awake through the kids' story time.

I knew that I was having to shake off sleep while reading Ox-cart Man, but it was not until she finally protested "Mom, I can't understand what you're saying!!!" that I realized what she was hearing sounded more like "shm herm hm nuh buh." We decided that mom needed a nap. So I cuddled under a blanket while muttering to the 9 yr old to play with the baby and let me know if he needed help. Fifteen minutes later, I was awakened by said baby slapping me in the face with a wooden spatula. Oh well. That was fifteen minutes more sleep than I had fifteen minutes previously, right?

On another note, a few weeks ago this household decided to cut out tv for 30 days. It doesn't take a genius to figure out who this hurts the most: mother. For example, the very first night of the tv fast, the baby got a tummy bug. Now everyone knows that if you have to stay sitting up in the recliner all night long with a sick baby, you should get to have some mindless entertainment, right? So my sweet hubby said, "We can just start over after the kids are better. Go ahead and watch."

The strangest thing happened right after that...this voice (that sounded alarmingly like my own) came back with: "No, because then there will be some other compelling reason for us to 'break fast,' and I don't want to start out that way." I still haven't figured out where that came from.

It's amazing how much our parenting can change as we add more morsels to the package.

1st baby: sterilize everything and keep hand sanitizer loaded and ready to fire at everyone who looks like they might even be interested in thinking about asking to hold that baby; no candy or soda ever until at least the 2nd birthday; tv restricted to 30 minutes per day maximum no matter what.

2nd baby: pacifiers and teething rings that hit the floor can be rinsed or even wiped with a baby wipe; if the little darling sees big bro/sis with a lollipop it won't hurt to let him have a little taste; maybe an hour of tv won't hurt every few days.

3rd baby: pick off the fuzz and hand it back...5 second rule may turn into 5 minute rule when applied to the cheerios that hit the floor; smarties can keep the baby quiet long enough for me to finish this important phone call; if I put the baby in front of the tv I wonder how many dishes I can get washed before he starts crying again?

4th baby: when baby starts crawling I won't have to sweep as often; big sis, if you don't share your candy with the baby I'm gonna take it all and you won't get any; tv is the best way for mommy to get a little extra sleep after staying up shopping at Walmart all last night...it's also great for babysitting toddlers while big kids do school...it can even be used to bribe little ones into eating their broccoli!

5th baby: You don't even want to know, and I don't want to tell cause you might call in the authorities!

Oh, and don't forget to go down to the bottom of the page and guess why I cleaned house. The big reveal will come in Tuesday's blog.

Just look what you've been missing

2008-04-15T17:46:00.003-04:00

Do you really wanna know? Well, Saturday (Mar 29) The Destroyer threw up a couple of times. We tossed it up (ha ha) to the load of candy which he had stolen from siblings and stashed all over the house on Easter Sunday and dug out to eat all that day. Naturally, we thought it was all over since no one else got sick.

On Wednesday night, my hubby and I went to a wonderful meeting in Atlanta and left the little guys home with Auntie SIL. We came home quite late, and all the little darlings were in bed. On Thursday evening (after my last post) The Daredevil (19 months) started his bout with the heaves. He stayed at it most of the night, and then at 3:30 he was suddenly done and suddenly AWAKE. Nuther sleepless night in Georgia.

No surprises when The Quiet One started in on Saturday. And his timing was perfect if you ask the Destroyer, who was just about to get some discipline *ahem* for drawing all over his brother's dresser, when suddenly The Quiet One started throwing up in a bucket in his bedroom (that kid never can seem to make it to the bathroom so we keep a bucket near the bed). All thoughts of the dresser went flying away, and the Destroyer got off free.

But the worst of all was when Encyclopedia Brown chimed in on Sunday afternoon. We were in the van doing 65 mph when I saw him bolt upright out of the corner of my eye. I immediately started to apply the brake. I know that the men on their motorcycles right behind me had some sweet thoughts about us. In the van, the conversation went something like this:

me: "Sweetie, are you okay?" (knowing he wasn't and swerving off the road trying desperately to make it in time)
him: "I think I'm gonna...*ralph...retch...raaaaaalph*"
daughter: "Maaaaaaahhhhhhm! He threw up all over my favorite doll!" (note that whichever toy of hers he had just doomed to the trash can would automatically become her favorite).

At that moment, I wished I could be anyone but mom for about an hour.

About then the phone rang. I picked it up and heard, "Shelley?"
"Yeah Jimmy." (dear friend of ours)
"Are you on the side of the road?"
"Yep."
"Are you all right? Did you break down? I can turn around!"
"Well, we're fine except that my son just threw up all over the van."
"Oh, well, I uh, I thought maybe you were stranded. Okay, well I'll let you get back to that."
"Thanks Jimmy." Ugh.

So, there I was, on the side of the road, elbow deep in ick, cleaning while trying not to add to the ick with some of my own. Meanwhile, the two little toddlers who had been rudely awakened from their naps by the commotion were protesting their plight at the top of their lungs. My daughter couldn't understand why I wouldn't let her run around on the side of the road and flirt with traffic (which she only wanted to do after I rather forcefully told her that she may NOT watch me clean up...what is wrong with her?!). The little sick culprit was now feeling much better (naturally), but complained sourly when I refused to try to clean the puke off his Nintendo magazine so he could keep it. And my brother's wife stood about 6 feet away, facing any direction but mine, waiting for my dad to come take her back home. She was Not going to babysit.

Where's the Calgon when you really need it?

Well, the Little Princess was unfortunately not spared and that evening could be found hugging the toilet and doing what I imagine every little 6 yr old drama queen does when in this state: crying her wee little eyeballs out. The next night she was feeling better, but I woke often throughout the night to the peaceful sounds of my hubby's sister having her turn with the toilet love-affair.

Thanks be to Jesus that my husband and I did not have to go through it. But seriously, why couldn't they all get it at once and have done with it? It took a week and a half for it to run through everyone (including my parents downstairs). And after all that, I sure was glad to have Spring Break with the kids last week.

Other noteworthy happenings in the household: Auntie SIL has left us and moved back home to Charleston. We miss her and are readjusting to having the household back down to 9. I'm sure the septic tank (designed for a family of four, hee hee) is much happier. If she is reading this, she'll be surprised to know that the living room has been restored to it's former grandeur. I clean when I'm angry or depressed...okay, also when there's company a-comin' or when the dust bunnies revolt and start dragging children under the beds. You can place your bets as to which one inspired me to move all the furniture and vacuum every little cranny. There's a poll at the bottom of the page.

Also, the dog, who had become accustomed to being let out whenever SIL took a smoke break, has been moping around and even peed on the floor once cause we didn't get her out in time. And now she is snuggled up on the couch with my hubby, both of them sleeping peacefully, as I should be. Love to you all, and be blessed! Oh, and stay away from those tummy bugs...vomit is not as glamorous as the super models would have you think.

Amazing Artists I Admire

2008-04-02T13:29:00.002-04:00

Every once in a while, someone sends me something that just knocks me off my feet. I am definitely a fan of the arts, and love to be amazed by unlikely artists. Today, a friend of mine sent me a link to a video of an elephant painting a portrait. Now, back in September, our family went to Zoo Atlanta. The exhibit that we spent the most time admiring was the elephants. We watched in awe as these gentle giants took paintbrushes and abstractly slapped different colors onto a canvas. While this was certainly impressive, nothing I've seen beats this video.

Another artist that has been circulating the internet recently is a young girl who paints beautiful and poignant pictures. You may have already seen this, but it is certainly worthy of a repeat viewing!

And the next artist is not all that impressive just for who he is...let's face it, an elephant or a little bitty girl will trump an old man any day. But Don Marco impresses me because of his chosen medium: Crayola crayons. I've never seen results like these come from a simple child's crayon.

Don Marco - Mr. Crayola-part 1

One of these days, I'll get with the new millennium and acquire myself a digital camera that does not need floppy disks since I don't have a floppy drive and therefore cannot download any of my pics to my blog. But you'll believe me, I'm sure, when I tell you that my children draw some pretty amazing pictures too. If they had access to the paints and canvas, they might be able to do some pretty impressive stuff. But mom is cheap and has enough to clean up without the two littlest tykes getting into paints and brushes. So they'll just have to stick to pens, pencils, markers, and crayons on regular old drawing paper for now. They used to be quite prolific, but they've slowed down recently. Now I only get about 10 pictures per day if I'm lucky!

That's Life

2008-04-01T10:50:00.004-04:00

Okay, so life caught me in a strangle hold for a couple of days and wouldn't let me get back to blogging. That's life.

Well, last night the kids (ahem, er, mom actually) finally got their bedrooms cleaned back up after, I don't know...4 months of chaos?! So, they decided to write a letter to the house fairy telling her they were sorry for not keeping their rooms clean, and asking her to please inspect them again. The house fairy, being kind and forgiving (not to mention beautiful, smart, an incredible cook...I digress), did come and inspect their rooms. She left them each a small sprinkling of soft, shimmery fairy-gold dust, some gifts, and a note. She is so much fun! (I wonder if she ever sleeps?)

That said, you'd be proud to know that I cleaned out around 3 leaf and lawn bags worth of stuff to give away, and a 13 gallon bag worth of stuff to go in the garbage...just from the kids' two bedrooms! This endeavor has taken me a long time to complete. For one thing, just finding time to get in there without the kids (who want, of course, to keep everything), while someone else is watching them (heh!), when we're not doing schoolwork, and I'm not supposed to be fixing dinner, and they're not in bed, and my sweet hubby is not clamoring for my attention...I think you get the point, right? For another thing, when it is time to dispose of the items that I've managed to wrangle away from the kids (even though they haven't cared for them for years), my sweet hubby has to go back through them and tell me that we should keep at least a third of them because...

So, when I thought that we were all finished and could tuck the little morsels into their beds, the Little Princess had a confession to make: all this time when we had thought that she was doing such a splendid job of always keeping her room clean, what she had really done was to shove things under her bed and dressers, or into her closet, or even right on her dresser, and strategically place other things nice and neatly in front of them, cleverly concealing them from our sight. So she and I spent an hour pulling out all her disguised clutter (including dishes, toys, trash, dirty clothes, books, movies, etc), and putting all the items where they actually belonged. Little Princess cried sleepy-little-daughter tears as she told me over and over how sorry she was that she had deceived me and how badly she had felt whenever I made over how well she had cleaned her room. All the while, I kept telling her that she was completely forgiven (after all, at least I wasn't tripping over toys and injuring myself in her room). Give me hidden clutter over death-traps any day!

While all this was going on, my sweet hubby was in our bedroom setting up a sound system that a friend of his had given us, and all the other little morsels had very carefully and thoughtfully torn the living room to bits, unfolded the clothes I had folded, and made a colossal mess of the dining room. And by the time I had finished the kids' rooms and tucked them all into bed, it was so late that hubby was complaining that I would "stay up all night cleaning." So I left the dishes, and went on to bed (if you know me at all, then you know that my least favorite sight in the morning is a sink full of dishes...which, in this case, amounted to about 5 dishes). No surprises, I'm sure, when I tell you that he had an ulterior motive for getting me to bed. And no, it's not what you think...he just wanted to show off his new toy. So we went to sleep to the sound of Mozart wafting softly our way from two gi-normous speakers and two equally imposing boxes on the wardrobe. These, by the way, have completely replaced all my pictures, mementos, and decorative touches, as well as my jewelry box (which is currently on the floor waiting for the semi-sweet children to hide or otherwise misplace its contents).

As a woman of simple pleasures, I was perfectly happy to listen to the local Christian music station on the tiny white radio/alarm clock that I've listend to since I was 11 (yep, it's really still there). As the wife of a man I adore, I'll have to content myself with the fact that having that thing in our bedroom really makes him feel happy (until the next thing comes along that he's just got to have in order to be really happy). ;) Men and their toys, huh.

Hide and Seek with Toddlers

2008-03-20T13:25:00.002-04:00

Mom: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10...ready or not, here I come!

3 yr old: hee, hee

Mom: I wonder where he could be? Is he under the pencil? No, not there! In the sippy cup? No, not there! Did he cover his head with a tshirt? Yes! There he is!

3 yr old: Now I count momma. One...two...

Mom: You have to close your eyes!

3 yr old: One...two...

Mom: No, you really have to keep them closed!

3 yr old: One...two...

Mom: All right, you have to go around that corner to count...No, now stay there...Nope, close your eyes and stay there!

3 yr old: Onetwothreefourfive...Here I come! (mom runs down hallway and dives under daughter's bed...18 month old laughs cause mom is running and follows her, pulls the blanket up and yells "MOMMY!" while smiling)

Mom: *whispering* Go... go... go find your paci!

3 yr old: Found you!

Mom: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 Ready or not, here I come! (walks down hallway to daughter's bed, looks underneath, finds toddler) Gotcha!

3 yr old: Onetwothreefourfive...here I come!

Mom: (has managed to sneak off without 18 month old's notice and find a decent hiding place....waits....and waits....and waits....and waits while toddler plays with toys just outside her hiding place because he has either given up or gotten distracted)

3 yr old: (leaves the room)

Mom: (sneaks out and runs to base and yells: "HOME FREE!")

3 yr old: That's not the base! It's over there!

Mom: Where?

3 yr old: In your room! (which he is strategically positioned himself en route to)

Mom: Why not over there?

3 yr old: Where?

Mom: Over there behind you. (she waits till he turns, and runs for her bedroom and yells, "HOME FREE!")

3 yr old: I was just kidding! The base is in there, momma! (this time not so strategically positioned)

Mom: (runs past 3 yr old and makes it back to original base) "HOME FREE!"

3 yr old? No really it's in there, momma.

Mom: (pretends to run back to her room and lets toddler catch her) Oh, you got me!

Anyone else play this way?

The Little Princess

2008-03-19T14:56:00.006-04:00

I'm taking a moment to pay tribute to The Little 6 year old Princess in my house. Since my accident when it all came crashing down, my usually orderly and clean home *snicker, no, ROFL* has become somewhat chaotic. Okay, somewhat more chaotic. Well, today I decided enough was enough. I was going to whip the kids into action, and we were going to get the job done.

So I asked the Little Princess if she would rather clean up in the kitchen, the living room, or the dining room. She asked, "You mean just the floor in the kitchen, right?" Well, she's only 6..."Sure, just the floor...and maybe wipe down the table, too." She popped up and got to work.

Moving along, I asked Encyclopedia Brown to work on the living room. I know better than to give him options. He gets all worked up over the smallest decisions. I can see him 15 years from now..."Mom, I can't decide if I want the red Ranger or the blue F150. What if I change my mind next year? I just don't know! I mean, the Ranger would be better for fuel economy, but what if I need to haul something? Maybe I don't want a truck at all! How am I supposed to choose one when blah, blah, blah" (at some point I always tune him out, and sometimes *gasp* just walk away).

The Quiet One is even more difficult. A common problem among those with Sensory Processing Disorder is the idea that work is somewhat like vomiting. It's really disgusting, you should wait as long as you possibly can (the urge might pass), and if you just stay away from other people maybe it will never come up. So I usually try to break it down so it doesn't seem like so much. I told him to pick up and put away 5 out of place things in every room of the house. Later I made him fold his laundry and put it away. Even later, I gave him a rag and a spray bottle with some vinegar and let him wash the windows (this is almost like fun instead of work).

I went and tended to some other things, folded some laundry, hung some clothes on hangers (a chore that I often neglect because something else more urgent comes up), chucked out from under the bathroom sink some toiletry bottles that were mostly empty, etc. When I ventured back into the kitchen, that darling little girl had cleared, swept and mopped the floor; cleaned the table till it shined; cleared the counters of all the little odds and ends that had accumulated over the last week or so; washed the counters; washed the cabinets; and was still cheerily busying herself with whatever she saw needed to be done.

For her efforts, she got some Chick-fil-a nuggets and waffle fries that grandma brought, while the boys ate Ramen (I know it doesn't pass the usual conscientious mom's health test, but it stores well and when I haven't made it to the grocery store it's nice to have it to fall back on). Will I now expect this kind of effort from her at all times? Probably not. This was Little Princess's home run. She can't hit one every time. And the boys, well...Encyclopedia Brown cleaned about a quarter of the living room, and the Quiet One picked up his five things in about a third of the rooms in which he was asked to clean. Now EB sits in the living room reading a comic book, while Q mopes at the dining room table that I wouldn't give him the same reward for picking up a few extra things in the bathroom.

Where is the Little Princess? After lunch she commenced to singing in the kitchen where she still works, now washing the windows. She says she's moving on to the living room next, but I figure she will run out of steam soon. She has been at it for 4 hours now, not counting her lunch break. And while I have not accomplished nearly what I meant to, my knee has put its foot down (oh, come on, I couldn't resist) and I'm stuck in the chair again.

So, I'm signing off to light a fire under the boys. Maybe they'll turn a new leaf, or maybe we'll all go up in smoke. More likely, nothing will change significantly. Anyone have any suggestions?

PS Little Princess has moved on to the foyer instead.

Are we okay?

2008-03-17T13:19:00.003-04:00

In response to my friend's comment to my last post, I thought I'd add a new post since my comment seemed to be dragging on a bit.

Yes, we're fine. All we got was crazy heavy rain and later some peasized hail. My hubby and I were driving through Bogart Saturday afternoon and started getting pegged by golfball size hail. Put a few dings in the van, but we were just happy not to see any twisters! My SIL, who was home with the kids, said that while she was trying to find the local weather, the kids went out in the hail. When she caught them, Little Princess was out there saying "ooh..ouch..ow..oh...!" When SIL told us about the kids going out in the hail, I calmly and rationally told them that if I ever found them doing such a thing again and the hail did not cause them bodily harm, then I would! I explained to them that it would only take one golfball sized hailstone popping them in their goofy little heads to cause serious brain damage.

I must admit, though, that it takes someone with serious brain damage to venture outside in the hailstorm with tornado threats all about in the first place! What were they thinking!? I'm not one of those delusional parents who is certain that their kids are headed straight for MENSA, but seriously...how much genius does one need in order to stay away from the little round hard things falling from the sky? My 9 month old Labrador Retriever knows that much! And even if it didn't occur to them that the falling hail might hurt, wouldn't you think that once they felt the stinging little buggers hit them the kids would have the sense to come back inside?!!!

My mom and dad used to say, "Don't you have the sense to come in out of the rain?" Or even, "Why in the world would you go outside in the snow with your bare feet in a t-shirt and shorts?" (guilty) But if I had gone out in the hail (during a tornado warning), I'm sure my father would have had a heart attack and my mother would have beat me to death right after she called the ambulance. My, how times have changed!

What a morning!

2008-03-15T08:37:00.004-04:00

Just for grins and giggles, we decided at 7 this morning to see what it would be like to pile 10 people into a 6x10ft laundry room. I wish I had thought to grab a camera, but it wasn't high on my list of priorities at the time.

It all started when I was awakened to the feeling of someone gently rubbing my arm (and no, it wasn't my hubby's amorous attempt to arouse me...he knows better than to do that without a cup of joe in tow). I turned around to see Grandma, who had braved the stairs and come to wake me up on a Saturday morning...I knew something had to be wrong.

"Tornadoes-have-torn-up-downtown-Atlanta-and-there's-a-
tornado-warning-in-effect-here," spilled out of her mouth instead of a cheery "Hello!" My loving and supportive husband, always jumping up to help in time of need, rolled over and said, "What did Jesus do in the storm?" *zzzzz...*

So I hobbled down the hallway and turned on the t.v. to FOX 5 Atlanta just in time to see the meteorologist announce that a tornado was on it's way east from the town just west of us, traveling at 60mph, and would hit us in about 2 minutes. I'm sure you can imagine the mad dash to get all five children out of their beds and downstairs into the laundry room, along with five adults, one labrador retriever, a washer, dryer, and one large kitty litterbox.

The baby and the 3 yr.old. obviously could not understand why we had snatched them up out of dreamland and hustled them into a crowded and boring laundry room. Encyclopedia Brown (9) and Little Princess (6) seemed to be somewhat excited and not much alarmed. But it is in times like these that we get a firm reminder of just how much the Sensory Processing Disorder still affects the Quiet One. While the rest of us were quite calm and fairly certain that this was all just an unnecessary precaution, Q was in total distress. He was clearly horrified and certain that, despite our firm assurances, he was sure to lose all his favorite earthly possessions and that we all would be injured or even killed.

Thankfully, after years of taking him to occupational therapy, we are armed with the right tools for diffusing his panic. Daddy held him and squeezed him tightly (much more tightly than you would normally hold a child) and we all started singing. Now don't get me wrong...he didn't make a full recovery until we had been back upstairs for about 10 minutes. He still flipped out every time someone opened the laundry room door, but his eyes weren't quite as big and his face wasn't quite as contorted or red. The funny thing is that working with him this way has become so natural that my hubby didn't even realize he had done this until I mentioned it.

What a morning!

My number one fan!

2008-03-13T22:33:00.003-04:00

Tonight, for the very first time, my little Encyclopedia (9 Yrs old) was introduced to my blog by Auntie SIL. I don't know why it had not occurred to me that he would appreciate seeing our family life through my eyes, but we could not tear him away from it. He said, "Mom, your blog is hilarious!" I'm sure no comment I ever get could top knowing that my own son loves my writing! Well, not unless someone were to offer me their babies...or a sack of $100 bills...or a maid. Okay, so maybe there are a few.

On another note, my dear hubby and I decided long ago that we wanted to have the kind of house where all the neighborhood kids would want to hang out. Easier to monitor friendships that way, don'tcha know. I think it's official. At least 5 days a week, our backyard becomes the meeting place and playground for anywhere from 2 to 8 extra little munchkins. They converge upon the place, jumping on the trampoline, running in and out of the playhouse, climbing all over the wooden swingset, and generally having a good time.

When this first began, I would let them all come and play inside. But I'm a pretty quick learner, and the little rascals now only cross the threshold when someone is hurt or has to potty. Though having them all destroying my living room was stressful to say the least, watching the monkeys running, climbing, or hopping all over the yard by the dozen does my heart good. And when I'm not taking the opportunity to catch up on my housework, I sometimes just stand and watch from the kitchen window. Only once have they caused any real trouble, and even then it was nothing major...I mean, they only set my yard on fire. ;)

Bed rest gets old!!!!

2008-03-13T00:39:00.002-04:00

Okay, y'all. I have a lot of kids to run around after all day long every day. Add in a part-time job and a home-based business, I never sit around. This is killing me!!!!!

So a breakdown of what happened to the poor little Daredevil (18 month old) today while mommy was laid up on the recliner with her friendly icepack. Encyclopedia Brown (9) took him outside to play on the trampoline. For some reason, big brother forgot the rule about always, always, always zip the enclosure. Now, if that weren't bad enough, when the baby crawled through the opening and onto the padding covering the spring, he thought it was cute! When he gave a big "ROAR" through the net to "make the baby laugh," little Daredevil fell. Yep, right off the trampoline.

After a couple of Tylenol and a good cry in mommy's lap, he was up and exploring again. Not long after that, baby was screaming from Princess's bedroom. Aunty SIL ran to investigate and found the little bugger on top of Princess's dollhouse stuck tight. After some furniture rearrangement, the little Daredevil was free. Pop a pacifier in his mouth and he's all better. Well, after the nap anyway.

Later that day...;)...As the children were getting ready to run out the door to AWANAS with Grandma, The Quiet One (8) slammed the baby's finger in the front door (OUCH!). One purple-fingered baby ended up back in mommy's lap for another good cry.

But wait, there's more! As soon as he was recovered from the finger-folly, he was off to climb on top of the computer desk. Mommy, who had hobbled off to the potty, came around the corner just in time to watch baby tumble down from the desk, bash his back on the chair edge, and pitch forward to hit his forehead on the desk...AAAAAHHHH!

Now I know that you are not going to believe that there's more, but daddy had left a whiteboard on the floor after he wiped it down with alcohol and he ran out the door to church. Guess who found the marker tray with his itty-bitty toes? You guessed it: baby Daredevil.

So by the time he made it to his little bed, all that poor little angel wanted was a pacifier and a blankie and lights out! And mommy has decided that she's not allowed to injure herself anymore! It seems to have a domino effect, and I like my little semi-sweet babies in one piece!

Signing out from my recliner...

When it all comes crashing down (or, at least, I do)

2008-03-11T15:53:00.002-04:00

Well, last night I had a wonderful time with some friends of mine at a business gathering. I came home late, and decided to check my email before hitting the sack. One of my friends noticed that I was online and popped in to chat, and we had a wonderful (though sometimes sad) little talk. When I finally crawled into bed, it was 3:30 am and I was bushed!

You know, it's funny how time doesn't just stop simply because you haven't had enough sleep. So, true to form, the alarm clock went off at 5:30 am. I got up slowly, but by about 7 I was excited and raring to go. I went skipping off into my bedroom to sit on the bed while putting on my shoes and socks, and what should catch my little toe but an Xbox game controller cord that NOBODY left on the floor in my bedroom.

That's when it all came crashing down...myself quite literally right smack on one knee, and my emotions rather figuratively as well. I can't describe to you the physical pain, but emotionally and intellectually I decided I was down-right devastated. So much to do, so many plans, and now I would be set up all day with my leg propped up higher than my heart. I had myself a nice long cry as my sweet hubby gathered me up and tucked me in on the recliner with an array of pillows and such. If he thinks I'm a big baby, he wisely never let on. But he did put the fear of God in the kids about those video games!

So here I sits and mopes. Well, that's not quite true. I have a decidedly sanguine temperament, and can't bring myself to mope for long. The kids are taking advantage of the opportunity to ransack the house, and frankly I don't mind. So long as they aren't fighting and there's nothing else for me to do...let them eat cake! ;)

2008-03-09T23:30:00.001-04:00

I'm reading a new book by Peter Walsh called Does This Clutter Make My Butt Look Fat?. It had no special allure to me as a diet book, but the title intrigued me, so I picked it up. Flipping through it, I found that it had a whole huge section on organizing your kitchen and closet, grocery lists, and menu planning. It jumped into my buggy. Funny how that happens sometimes.

Well, it took me about a week to carve out enough time in my bathroom, er, study to read to the part about organizing the kitchen. So, yesterday I took upon myself the task of completely rearranging the kitchen. I have wanted to do this for a couple of years, but haven't had any idea how to go about it. With Peter's help, I set about tossing out stuff I no longer want or need and emptying my cupboards. As you can imagine, with 5 kids this (or any other task, for that matter) can turn into an all day affair.

My dear husband pointed out to me last night about 8pm that the wonderful time each year when we all get to lose one whole hour of sleep was once again upon us. This meant that the kids were already an hour late getting to bed if we didn't want to be awaking 4 angry bears early Sunday morning. (Did I already mention that Encyclopedia Brown was in Tennessee with the Royal Rangers having a sleepover at the Ripley's Believe It or Not Museum?)

Anyway, this revelation (Daylight Savings Time) was made to me while the kitchen floor was knee-deep in the contents of the cupboards, and I was given my marching orders about getting the kids in bed! My well-intentioned husband wanted me to leave the rest of the "organizing" for later (presumably today), and get ready for bed so that I wouldn't be exhausted at work/church today. When I informed him that I positively could not go to bed with dirty dishes in the sink, he sweetly offered to do them while I laid out everyone's clothes for the morning. I told him that I did not want to be greeted with a dirty sink in the morning, and he said he'd take care of it.

Now let me preface this by saying that I would never complain about my husband over this matter. He is the most helpful man I know when it comes to pitching in with the house and kids. But, truth is, he has some sort of mental block against finishing dishes. He would definitely explode if he washed everything down to the last fork. So this morning, I woke up to a kitchen still knee-deep in stuff and a sink full of dishes! AAAAAAAHHHHHH! He meant well, though.

And I didn't get home tonight until after 9:30 at which point I decided that it would all just have to sit there cuz I am done for the day. I can't see it hurting to put it off one more night, can you? Oh, and by the way, the sink full of dishes was technically a sink with a partially washed pot. There, now see? I didn't let myself exaggerate!

2008-03-08T00:42:00.000-05:00

I've been trying to learn how to crochet. Precisely, I've been trying for almost 20 years. But now I'm actually making stuff! My first real crocheted creation is a dishrag. That's right, a double crocheted, baby girl pink dishrag complete with puffed stitched trim! Don't laugh. I used what I had, and made what I needed. And I did it myself!!!

Of course, when you are learning to crochet, and your toddler thinks it looks really fun...well, you can imagine what great lengths he'll go to in order to reach that crochet basket. I think I had to redo rows often enough that I could have made two of those dishrags. But, hey, I need the practice, right?

2008-03-07T11:59:00.001-05:00

Yesterday, I spent much of the day once again going through stuff and coming out with a couple of boxes of items to send off to Goodwill. Since I wasn't focusing so much on schoolwork (okay, so I wasn't focusing at all on schoolwork), the kids were finding ways to entertain themselves in between chores that I assigned them. One of their favorite games was to use the box lid from the cupcakes we had on Tuesday as a television set. They took turns sitting behind it and being news reporters and other interesting characters. The Little Princess has a particular knack for this. She lives for every moment in the spotlight that she can happen upon. I wish I could say I sat and watched them so I could have some funny little story to share, but I was too busy sneaking away all their toys into boxes!!

Oh, and if you were wondering...yes, we did finally get around to schoolwork. At 4:30. ;) Oh, well!

2008-03-06T00:31:00.000-05:00

Last night when we were at the dollar theater, we saw a family with 7 kids. We see these families all the time here and there...6, 7, 8, or more kids. And how do I feel about this? I feel behind. I think I'm a junkie. Is there rehab for moms who can't stop wanting more? Sign me up!

Let it be known that if anyone out there wants to give away their kids, I'm open. ;)

2008-03-05T12:27:00.000-05:00

My little Quiet One turned 8 years old yesterday! It's so nice to have birthdays with just family and a few close friends. I know that the popular thing is to have every child that my son meets all invited to an exciting gathering at an indoor play area with inflatable bouncy things and inflated prices. I know they are all supposed to bring toys and other stuff to fill up his bedroom with things he doesn't need and never knew he even wanted, so that they can become a burdensome daily chore to pick up after. But I'm afraid that we won't be throwing many more such parties. Mama has come to appreciate the value of an intimate evening with cake and ice cream and close loved ones. Throw in one or two well-loved gifts thoughtfully chosen by family and friends who know the birthday boy well enough to be able to sift through all the commercial-driven fads and fantasies to get to the heart of what he really wants (and yet don't feel obligated to bring presents at all because he understands that their presence is gift enough), and you have one wonderful evening.

We started out by letting the birthday boy choose his dinner. I know you'll all gasp in surprise, so don't you all do it at once or there will be a vacuum effect across the globe (as if I had that many devout readers!!). He chose..................pizza!! So I went to Sam's Club and bought take and bake pizzas. We were joined for dinner by grandma and granddad, auntie, and one of grandma's friends. Then we had Transformers cupcakes with chocolate icing and neopolitan ice cream. He got two gifts, and then we went to see Enchanted at the dollar theater. It was a very nice evening! We are all so blessed to have The Quiet One in our lives. He has enriched our family in so many ways, and we thank God for his presence.

2008-03-03T19:18:00.000-05:00

We have had the most beautiful weather today! One of the wonderful blessings of homeschooling is the ability to modify your weekly plans based on the weather. We read that we're supposed to have rain tomorrow, so I just let the kids play outside to their hearts' content! Then every time one of them came inside with their face all red from playing so hard, I snatched them up and did some school. Auntie helped Little Princess with hers, and I worked with the boys. Even with all the playtime, we still managed to get most of the work done today and we'll spend a little extra time tomorrow!

I've heard a lot of great stories since my last posting. I guess that my carpet smelling like baby powder is not so bad. It was unnerving, though, to look up Sunday and see that my living room was still covered in a fine dusting of powder even though I had dusted very thoroughly on Friday afternoon. And of course, we had a friend over whom we had not seen in about 9 years. Not that he really would even notice, or care for that matter! My sister-in-law says I'm too hard on myself.

So I fell asleep while writing this post, and never sent it until Tuesday (I know it shows as being posted on Monday). I slept right through my hubby coming home from bowling with Encyclopedia Brown (the nine year old). Dear hubby even did a load of laundry right under my nose and I didn't know about it till this morning. Guess it's not as bad as the time a couple of months ago when I was so tired I fell asleep on the kitchen floor in the middle of cleaning out the pantry!

2008-03-01T22:18:00.000-05:00

I'm still here. I don't know if it was that I was still in shock from the day's events, or if it was because of the sinus headache. Whatever it was, after I got the kids to bed and turned on one of my favorite brainless tv shows, I promptly fell asleep. So, here's yesterday's tale:

Well, I thought that the 3 year old, hereby to be referred to as The Destroyer, had outgrown his daily need to create huge disasters. Previously, he was found guilty of such undertakings as squirting mom's expensive lotion all over the carpet in the master bedroom; painting the walls, floor, and door of the bathroom with red fingernail polish; jumping off the bed onto a bottle of Clorox because he couldn't unscrew the childproof cap (yes, it did shoot bleach onto a 2.5 foot section of carpet...I know you were wondering); the list goes on...

I'm sure that by now you've guessed that I was mistaken. While it is no longer a daily endeavor, the propensity is still there. Yesterday, while I was seated in the dining room going over times tables with The Quiet One, I should have realized that there was trouble since The Destroyer (not well known for silence) was actually playing serenely in the living room behind me. I was blissfully unaware of trouble until my sister-in-law walked into the room and said, "What's all this powder everywhere?"

Now at this point I was thinking in smaller terms when I heard her say "everywhere." Like, maybe, all over the chair, or covering a small section of carpet. After all, I was right there, ten feet away the whole time. So, turning around, I was not so alarmed. I'm sure you've guessed again...she meant everywhere. All the carpet, the toys, the books, the computer desk, the furniture, and even (gasp) the baby. The inanimate objects were given a fine dusting, with a little extra here and there for artistic flare. But the baby was given special attention (and didn't even think to alert me by some little protest!), so that he looked like a pale ghostling. If you have never tried to clean up a full bottle of baby powder from a living room, you couldn't possibly imagine how tough it is to get the stuff up! So, an hour later, we decided it would have to be good enough because I had a friend coming over to drop off her two kids and I had to make it to the store before she arrived.

I wish I could say that the drama ended there. Alas...later that afternoon...

The little morsels were all outside jumping on the trampoline, when I heard a fight break out. I ran outside to see what was going on. The kids all started yelling that my friend's three year old (otherwise known as The Destroyer's Accomplice) had been hitting, shoving, pinching, and generally abusing them all. So I called The Accomplice, who was sobbing hysterically, to come down from the trampoline. I was about to "discuss" this behavior with him quite sternly when he turned to face me and I saw the shiner. Oh, yes, a nice big black eye. I decided that the "discussion" could wait, and took him inside to apply a rice pack. Meanwhile I called his mom to inform her that we had broken her little sweetheart. When she asked, I relayed the information I had received from the other little morsels. When asked, I told her that, no, I had not "discussed" the incident with him yet because he had received an impressive black eye. "Good," she said. A statement that only a rational and caring parent could have mustered. We decided that he had received what is sometimes the most effective discipline...natural consequence (oh, and he wasn't allowed back on the trampoline..sniff, sniff).

Is the story over yet? No. I'm sorry to say that this is not the end. Later that evening....

My dear hubby comes running inside from watching our five, plus my friend's two, plus a few of the other neighborhood kids, play in the back yard. "The Accomplice" is bleeding. I need the first aid kit," he says. Turns out that The Destroyer had thrown a broken glass off the back deck earlier yesterday, and The Accomplice had found it with his little bare foot. So, once again, I was on the horn with his mama. She answers: "So, did you break my boy again?" and laughs. I say: "Actually, yes. This time he's bleeding." And, boy, was he ever. We got it under control, got him bandaged up, and fed him ice cream (okay, I made him eat his broccoli, carrots, turkey, and brown rice first...I have my priorities!!). He turned out okay, and his mama still loves me!

We got the kids in bed, and The Little Princess was back up, almost immediately, running to the bathroom to pay homage to the great white porcelain god "Ralph." At that time, some friends dropped in for a surprise visit (9pm). I decided to visit with them rather than accompany Princess to her pity party (she is quite the drama queen, and any attempts at soothing just lead to more piteousness). I'm sure I'll feel terrible about that one later, especially since we found her resting her head on the toilet seat, snoring softly, after our guests were gone. Daddy snuggled her in the recliner for a while before transporting her back to bed.

So now you know...That's the life in yesterday. I've never felt so alive. (Nothing remarkable happened today, so I'll not drag this on any further). G'night!

2008-02-28T21:04:00.000-05:00

The Quiet One spent much of his homeschooling day today playing Timez Attack. I'm in a tough position with this one. On the one hand, he is learning so much so quickly. On the other, because of his Disfunction of Sensory Integration, video games pose a real problem for him. He gets so engrossed in them that he forgets about reality. He literally will play them so intently that he will be drenched in sweat with his face all red. His occupational therapist advised against them because they behave in his brain like a drug.

So, I have made a compromise...He will only be allowed to play (practice his multiplication tables) for up to one hour a day. Imagine that. Having to tell your son that he's not allowed to drill his times tables any more than an hour a day. I never thought it would come to this.

On another note, my sister-in-law has decided that the baby will grow up to be a tightrope walker. Or maybe he'll just ride over Niagara Falls in a barrel, I don't know. Anyway, for as long as he has been able to stand with assistance, he has been pulling himself to stand in his highchair. I gave up a long time ago on strapping him in. He will fight and scream and push and wiggle until he somehow gets free so he can stand back up in the seat. Now, it wouldn't be so bad if he would just stand there. But he has this thrill-junkie need to stand on one foot with the other foot and two-thirds of the rest of his body hanging in the air on the outside of the highchair rails. And he doesn't even have the decency to hold on!

There's more! When he was still just crawling, he would grab a footstool, push it over to a dining room chair, climb onto the stool, then onto the chair, and then onto the table. I walked into the living room one time to find him on the computer desk, on top of the monitor! Maybe I should add strapping a helmet onto him to our morning routine! There's always so much life in our days!

2008-02-27T16:04:00.000-05:00

Well, yesterday I was at the limit of my patience with Encyclopedia Brown. We have tried so many things to help him learn his multiplication tables, but he has been struggling still. Even ones that we know that he knows have been taking him forever to spit out. And since he's in 4th grade now, the multiplication is in everything he does!

So don't tell anyone, ;), but I was to the point of tears. In my own little pity party, I whined to God that there had to be some way to get these numbers into EB's little head before I had to just pinch it right off! So this morning I decided to give feet to my prayers and go looking online for multiplication games. I wasn't asking for much. It had to be fun, systematic, fun, effective, fun, speed-building, and fun! So I found it. If you were wondering whether God really answers prayers, you can be sure He answered mine today. Timez Attack by Big Brainz is all I asked for and more. There's even a free full version! Check it out, and then let me know how it works for you!

2008-02-26T15:27:00.000-05:00

Today has been a quiet day for some reason. This is a rare occurrence in our house, you see. I don't know what we've done right, but I certainly hope we can repeat it. The children have been peacefully making dragons and other such creations from their imaginations using materials such as tissue boxes, egg cartons, and construction paper. They are so creative. I don't really understand where it comes from. I could write a craft project book from the simple and fun things that they make on a daily basis. I never provide insight or even specialized materials. They use whatever they can lay their hands on, and the result is almost always entertaining, witty, or even amazing.

Right now, Encyclopedia Brown (9 yr old son) is busy with a history assignment while The Quiet One (7 yr old son) busies himself with the comic book he has been working on creating for 3 days. Little Princess (6 yr old daughter) has just finished her latest creation and is now absorbed in some sort of imaginative play in which she is a pauper child. The other two (the toddlers) are in dreamland, and I have stolen away for a moment to my only real creative outlet besides the kitchen. So here I am. But, it's shortlived, for now EB is calling for my help with his assignment. Hope to meet you here again tomorrow!

2008-02-25T12:27:00.000-05:00

Another crazy day. I haven't damaged any children yet, but the day is still young! I think my day seems to go better when I get every last dish washed the night before and wake up to a shiny, smiling sink (ala flylady). School has started out very slowly today, but Monday's are always like that because of the busy day at church (where I work as the Preschool Coordinator) on Sunday.

Over the weekend, I cleaned out closets. I managed to put together 4 large boxes and one bag of items to send to Goodwill, along with two boxes and 3 bags of things that just needed to be trashed. Loren (dh) and I also continued to work on his sister's bedroom downstairs. That was another 4 large bags of trash and another box for Goodwill that I cleaned out of my parents things they had stashed in that room. Loren, meanwhile, busied himself with hanging sheetrock.

It never ceases to amaze me how much stuff we have piled into this house. I send Loren off to Goodwill with a pickup truck load of things about every other weekend, and we still have stuff up to our eyeballs! Where does it come from? I think the junk is multiplying like little rabbits intent on repopulating the place. And with 10 people in our house, it isn't any wonder!

Anyway, I think that Monday should be our day of rest. That's what our Senior Pastor does, and it makes sense to me. Sunday is just about the busiest day of my week! But on Monday, there's still homeschooling that must get accomplished. So I guess I'm back to the hypothesis that I've held to for several years now (well, ever since baby 5 came along): "I can rest when I die!!!"

2008-02-22T10:37:00.001-05:00

It's raining!!! I'm thanking God for the rain, but really I'm procrastinating. See, I'm supposed to be teaching the kids right now, but I couldn't bear to pull them away from their play. They aren't fighting! This is my new blog, and I am writing just because! So if anyone is reading, welcome to a day in the life of the Hankins family. Hope you come back for more of the life in the day!