finding wonder in the mundane

Where did my inner adventurer go?

2012-01-27T07:58:00.000-06:00

Phoebe and I are in Minneapolis right now with my parents. We are heading to Fargo for a funeral and my dad is shopping at about 10 Macy's department stores along the way for Ralph Lauren products to buy that my brothers can sell in Japan. My parents are 66 and 68 and they have about quadruple the energy I have!

It was somewhere between sitting in a vacant parking lot at 11 pm trying to figure out the GPS and trying to keep Phoebe calm at dinner before that when I realized that I am a TOTAL HOME BODY.

I always have liked to think of myself as some sort of renegade adventurer, but the truth is this: I AM SOFT.

I called Scott last night and he was sitting in his easy chair watching "Burn Notice". I was a little jealous.

I bet the house was pretty durn clean, as I was not there.

Anyway, growing up as the youngest of four kids, we always flew by the seat of our pants. My parents would decide, on a Wednesday, to go on a two week trip on a Saturday. Off we would go! We never really had schedules and our gigantic rambling house on a hill was always the place that our friends wanted to come because there was always something going on, and always delicious food cooking.

I was quite popular with my friends in high school for one reason. Well, 3 reasons, to be exact: Nathan, Daniel, and Michael, my sweet and adorable older brothers (I'm not being sarcastic - they were and still are both). It was a one-stop cute boy viewing shop for my friends!

I ate my weight in Thai food last night. Now I am feeling guilty about it. What is it with us women and our weight? Scott tells me he likes curves, but I still obsess about weight.

Why must we torture ourselves, ladies?

WHY?

I bought 10 pair of underwear for $7 at Charlotte Russe. Or was it 7 pair for $10?

Either way, that's the extent of my fashion gluttony.

Shout out to Rebecca for taking Lucy after school and being party to my fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants ways. Scott went to pick Lu up and Rebecca and her family weren't there. I was arguing with Scott over whether or not Rebecca's house was white or green, and whether he was at the right house.

Rebecca, it's friends like you that allow my jet-setting ways. You take wonderful care of my daughter and take her out to eat for french fries and then come home and make macrame kitchen bowls out of nothing but hemp. I love your crafty ways.

Shame on you for enabling my behavior!

And shame on the rest of you for reading this far! Shouldn't you be doing laundry or something?

We got a call for a 3 and 4 year old sibling set the other day. I said "no".

I can't imagine going to endless shopping malls with a baby and two foster children in tow...unless...

Rebecca, are you available?

Is it wrong to pray very, very specifically?

2012-01-25T10:00:00.000-06:00

I just got off the phone with Baby Man's foster mama, the girl I hit it off with right from the beginning.

I learned some new details of Baby Man's case which, of course, I can't disclose, but I am wondering:

Is it biblical to pray that if his biological parents' home is not the best place for him to be, for various reasons, that God allow Him to stay where he is?

And if it's ok, would you commit to praying that prayer with me for the next 30 days? 30 days is important.

Please comment that you will commit to praying at a certain time each day for Baby Man's future. Please only say you will if you really will.

He was my son once upon a time, and I'm longing so much for him to be my friend's FOREVER son.

excuse me, ma'am, your bitchiness is showing...

2012-01-20T13:13:00.001-06:00

I was planning to run into Wal-Mart with a return this morning.

Asher and I have a constant battle regarding his pumpkin-orange winter coat. The boy is as stubborn as Justin Bieber is adorable, and I had in my head a fool-proof little plan to remind him of the consequences of trying to brave a cold, cold day without a coat on.

You see, he thinks that wearing it is optional. I told him a few days ago that whenever he gets out of the car, it's his responsibility to have it on. He likes to take it off when he gets in his car seat. That's fine, but he really needs to have it back on when we leave the car.

Today I locked the car and then saw him without his coat on. I have had this conversation with him 847 times. I am so DONE with this particular conversation.

"Asher, put your coat on, please."

"Nooooooooo!"

"All right. I think you've made your choice. Let's go."

He was all machismo and big muscles going into the store, but the bravery quickly dissolved into a puddle on the way back to the van.

"Mama! I'm cold!"

"Asher, why do you think you're cold?"

"Because you didn't put my coat on me!"

"No, I told you the coat was your responsibility. You need to keep your coat on."

At this point Asher is standing in the middle of the parking lot right next to me. If I could have framed his face for all posterity, I would have. There he stood, looking up at me, all at once a little dude in need of protection once again. "Maaaaaaaamaaaaaaaaa! It's too cold! I can't walk!"

I continue to walk, and out of the corner of my eye there is a lady (seriously, do these witchy ladies belong to a coven who's key end is to torture me?) mumbling something. I think she's talking to herself as she tries to locate her keys. I realize she's talking to herself about me when we lock eyes and she mumbles something again. She shakes her head twice, hard, and continues to mumble.

"Ma'am? Is there a reason you're shaking your head at me?"

She just looks at me, stunned, I guess, that she's been confronted, and says nothing. She stares at her keys...1, 2, 3 seconds. Then, our eyes meet again and she says, in a very condescending and nasty tone, "You need to put a coat on your son!"

I looked back at her and realized, in that moment, that every time I have ever judged another person it was for my gain, not theirs. Let's face it: passing judgement on another person only serves our own ego. The only judgement that is acceptable is judgement that comes paired with an offer of help.

This was so eye-opening to me. This lady thought she was helping, but all she was really doing was making me feel small and, well, judged. The situation wasn't what it appeared to be.

"Oh! Well in that case, thank you for your judgement!"

Stunned, again, she just looked at me, huffed once, and jumped into her golden minivan with the "GRMA4" license plate.

I was thinking about how, if a person were truly concerned about the welfare of a child out in the cold, that person could say, "Hi! Would you mind if I bought your son a coat in the store? I've got some extra cash this week and I'd like to help."

What kind of world would it be, then?

It gave me pause as I backed my minivan out of its space, and Asher, chilled to the bone, shrugged into his little orange cocoon once again.

What kind of world would it be?

in the grip of grace

2012-01-19T09:23:00.002-06:00

I am 32 years old and I have been a Christian since I was in the third grade (that's when I remember consiously making the choice, at least. A guy at the camp I was at asked, "Where would you go if you died tonight?" Aghhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I wanted to go to heaven.)

I feel like I'm just stepping into the full realization of God's grace for me, and what it means for day-to-day living. Accepting grace is HARD for me, really really hard. I want to "do" to gain approval. I want people to notice how great a person I am. I want people to notice what a great mom I am. I want people to say, "That Rachel, she's such a great writer." "That Rachel, she's such a great friend." "That Rachel, no one can hold a candle to her mad mothering skillz!"

Enter screeching record.

I've always heard that the grace of God will cover me, but I've always thought that I had to DO something to earn it. It still blows my mind that I don't.

I see my people-pleasing behaviors in all areas of my life. Last night Asher said to me, "Why did you talk to me so mean?" We had a horrible time getting him to bed, and I had to be very stern with him. I was thinking later, wondering if I really DID sound mean, or if I just sounded stern. I'm thinking I sounded stern, and he's used to the Mama who always gives in when he asks to stay up "just five more minutes".

My kids have me figured out. Already, they can use my people-pleasing personality to their advantage. Don't worry, we don't need to clean our rooms! Mommy will do it! And then I end up frustrated and upset.

Grace means that God will stand in the gap where I fail. I get so exhausted thinking about the world my kids are living in. The world wants them to be and do so much that is different from what God wants for them. I worry and fret about it instead of taking it to the Lord in prayer, as the old hymn states.

My friend Jess sent me the most amazing book in the mail about a year ago. I had been praying for the last few weeks that God would give me "signs" (ah, the old lazy prayer of the struggling Christian), that he'd lead me in the direction he wants my heart to go. I've felt thirsty and dry lately.

I was cleaning out a "junk" drawer and found the book, just itching to be read. It's a book written by a priest who spent 15 years in a hard labor camp in Communist Russia, simply because he was a priest. The title? "He Leadeth Me", and it's by Walter J. Ciszek.

I've been struggling with what God's will for me looks like, on a day-to-day basis. I want His will for me to be something big and grand. I'm realizing that God's will for us is what we're experiencing, right now, this day, this moment.

God's will for me today is for me to be fully present for all people I come into contact with today. His will is for me to clean up the kitchen, do some more laundry, make a noon sandwich for myself, and clean the dandruff out of Phoebe's hair. It's not rocket science and it's not exciting, but I want to be in the center of it, because it's His will for me.

from p. 137:
It's easy to lose sight of the vision (to build up the Kingdom of God on earth), to become discouraged, to feel helpless and useless as Christians in the drab lives we led and the conditions under which we tried to work. But whoever has an easy life? The vision of the kingdom, the call of CHrist to labor and suffer with him, had overtones of a great and noble crusade - yet we must each of us translate that vision and retain that spirit in the routine, humdrum events of every day, even days in a prison camp.

It would be easy, we think to ourselves, to be constantly on fire with that vision if we could be a Francis Xavier or a Richard the Lion-Hearted, converting the Indies or scaling the walls of Jerusalem, sword in hand, caught up in the tumult of battle to win some great victory.

We forget that Xavier, too, lived one day at a time, frustrated and perhaps discouraged, each twenty-four hours filled with as many defeats and frustrations as victories, each hour made up of sixty minutes of humdrum things and little people busy and concerned about many other things, day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year. As he went about trying to preach the gospel, how often must Xavier have wondered whether it would ever be possibly to reach the millions of people around him? How often must he have felt discouraged at the individuals he met each day who failed to respond to his preaching? How often must he have despaired of the evil in the world around him, or felt helpless in the face of it?

God's will for me is this day, this minute, this moment. It's not always exciting, and I will fail miserably sometimes as a mother and wife, and other times I'll think I'm doing the best job ever.

This is a rambling post, and I don't even know what I'm trying to say. I guess I'm trying to "work out my salvation", and if it helps someone else struggling along, too, then it was worth writing in a public forum.

As an aside, my living room actually CAN be clean! Look, look, before it's gone:

Just don't open up the front hall closet, or you will be buried in the deluge of junk that rolls out and never be heard from again...

hang me out to dry

2012-01-17T16:10:00.000-06:00

I have been struggling with guilt in alot of areas and recently had a breakthrough. Guilt is another form of pride!

I am basically saying that only *I* can be everything to my friends, to my kids, to Scott, etc., etc., etc., ad nauseum.

Sort of pathetic and weird.

I recently told a friend, "I will not feel guilty any more! This is my New Year's Resolution!" and she responded, "You will fail."

Actually, what she said was alot nicer than that, and it was about 3 pages long.

Basically, the crux of it is that I *will* fail, if I'm depending on my own strength to do anything.

We've had six calls for foster care and I've said no to every one. Strangely, I haven't felt guilty about that.

Anyway, here's an emails I sent out to some friend today. You'll get a kick out of it.

I am sitting at my desk in our living room, looking at a picture of the kids and their cousins taken about 3 years ago... the picture is adorable and sweet and makes me think, "Oh, I miss when they were that little!"

...and then I remember that day. Asher was throwing tantrums all. day.

Days like these are easily forgotten, aren't they.

Anyway, enjoy the email. I sure enjoyed writing it:

let's see. i went to wal-mart, the bane of my existence, to get "just a few
things". of course asher didn't have his coat on as we were getting out of
the car and so i told him to put it back on, then feebee started screaming
and literally had a snot bubble 2 inches wide coming out of her nose. it
really was lovely. asher chose that moment to decide he had to poop, so

into the walmart bathroom we went. i was expecting one of us to contract

a VD. anyway, he's screaming "i can't go potty on that thing!"
(toilet paper cover on the toilet), so i tried to explain to him that his
pee would make the center part go down, and then he yelled it really loud so
everyone would know. the people at the pharmacy were amused.

then there was this lady buying horrible 3.2 beer, and she was angry my cart
was in her way. i was getting the stuff for sausage casserole i am making (haha sausage)

and this little asian woman was parked in the middle of the shopping aisle...this is
when my nose started running like a faucet and I had NOTHING TO WIPE MY NOSE
ON, not even a baby wipe. it was terribly classy. i'm sure you are wishing
you were there. i was sniffling all over the place. then, this 7 foot tall
man was trying to get past us and asher wouldn't move. (an aside: he is
eating Little Debbie heart cakes and claiming they are his lunch - he might
be on to something there)

i actually had to rip into the kleenex box at the checkout line before
payment was complete because the lady ahead of me had apparently never
shopped at a grocery store before. the lady behind me was trying to "shush"
fee-bee which made her cry harder.

i picked her up and she stopped and the lady said, "oh, so she's all bark, huh!"

and I said, "Yes!"

the majority of my coupons were expired, and the checker kept shaking her head and sighing when
she hit an expired one.

it was like a game show, only i was the loser.

five!

2012-01-16T15:12:00.003-06:00

thank you, Aunt Sara, for capturing the moment so perfectly!

Babysitting

2012-01-11T17:17:00.001-06:00

Do you remember when you would be babysitting and the kids were going crazy and you would think, "Only so many more minutes until their parents get home!"? Sometimes parenting feels like that, except that no one is arriving to relieve you.

to be old

2012-01-09T16:26:00.000-06:00

Sometimes I wonder what it'll be like to be old.

I know I'm not the only one. I listen to older women talking about the middle of the stomach sag, the battle of the bulge, the struggle to make the boobs attractive to the man they've been married to since 1952.

I see sunlight hit my childrens' faces and I think to myself, "They see me as 'old'." Maybe not "Grandmother Willow from Pocahontas" old, but old nonetheless.

What am I telling my children about age?

How do the wrinkles that are appearing on the skin of my hands tell a story?

Who am I becoming?

These are all thoughts to ponder, especially as they pertain to a glass of wine at 4:20 in the afternoon.

Right now I rest in the homey cocoon of my three children who are all very much at tender little ages and needing me, and a husband who depends on me the same.

Growing old scares me; the vulnerability found now in the midnight hours, the vulnerability that is only "someday" will be the "now here", at a certain point.

I think the thing that keeps me up most at night is this singular thought: "Will I have done the things I wanted to do? Will I have been the things I wanted to be?"

I don't want to be doing something wrong and realize it when the respirator is sighing its last and I have no more breath to tell. I fear most the panic of realizing a thing wrongly-done and no more energy to make it right.

I suppose therein lies the rub; we only recognize a youthful dalliance as being superfluous in hindsight.

Afterall, maybe that's the folly, the only glory,

of youth.

sometimes the golden years just make you a jerk

2012-01-07T13:22:00.008-06:00

Today I begged Scott to let me go out for a little while. All I had to do was to deposit some Craigslist money, and he pointed out that I could do that in *conjunction* with another trip.

I had to think really, really fast...and I came up with..."Oh, those glass beer bottles need to be recycled!

I didn't really say those things out loud. Instead I said, "Yes, I will combine this with other errands." I spent $78 at Target, but that's neither here nor there, is it.

Anyway, I was reading a blog last night about how, in these crazy mind-numbing days of raising children, you spend most of the time feeling a combination of guilt and panic. When the little old ladies come up to you and say, "Enjoy this time! It's going so fast!" you (at least I do) start to think,

"Oh my gosh. Am I enjoying this enough? Are the kids enjoying this enough? What does "enjoying" a thing LOOK like, exactly? I spend too much time on the phone, or cleaning up toys that will be spilled again, or trying to feed a baby who really just wants to barf down my shirt after I JUST took a shower after not taking one for four days (you heard it here first).

All I can think about is a glass of wine and reruns of "Psych" at the end of the day. I don't want anyone to touch me, or look at me, or ask me to get them a glass of water. I don't want them to get me a glass of anything, really, unless it's something alcoholic and tasting like berries.

and then I think..."A GOOD MOTHER WOULD NOT LONG FOR THE END OF THE DAY! I AM A HORRIBLE MOTHER! MY KIDS WILL HATE ME! I WILL BE SITTING IN THE NURSING HOME SOMEDAY, HATING MYSELF! I WILL TELL THE UNDERPAID NURSING HOME STAFF TO BEAT ME!"

And then a whisper...soft, sickly sweet, breathy..."A good mother would enjoy every moment, you know. Yes, that's what a good mother would do."

And so on, and so forth, ad nauseum, the end.

Enter my sweet friend from church, Helen. She is 85 and I love her to pieces. She saw me trying to corral my kids one Sunday at church (I think I still had the tag on my shirt) and she said to me, "I don't miss those days at all."

I nearly vomited up the communion juice.

I looked up, sure there was a huge gape in my shirt and everyone around could see that my nursing pads were out of place. Say what?

There are huge portions of my kids' early days that I think I just blocked out. My dear Robert was in the service and it was just me and four kids and most days all I could think about was night time. Nope. I don't miss the craziness.

Well. Doesn't that just turn everything *I* ever believed about the "I loved EVERYTHING!" WWII generation on its head. You mean, you didn't crochet shirts every morning after baking 3 loaves of fresh-made bread and putting a cherry pie in the window just for fun, and all before 6 am, when you would go to the local factory and wear one of those cute head band things with "the gals" and talk about Rosie the Riveter? And then, when your husband came home at night, you had a gin and tonic (there's that drinking again) at the ready and never, ever in a blue moon said, "Honey, not tonight...I'm too tired?"

Let me play narrator here and tell you that Helen is a wonderful person - wonderful wife, mother, mentor, friend. See, I even feel like I have to defend *her* for not enjoying it enough. What kind of a sick soul doesn't enjoy the beauty of children? My kids will be kids for a blink of time in light of eternity, and so were hers. Heck, one of her kids even died at the age of 20. What kind of a jerk didn't enjoy so much her childrens' early early years?

Here's Helen:

As I left Helen's house, she whispered, "Thanks for making me feel like I'm worth something today. Some days I feel like I'm nothing but an old widow. How could I possibly be any use for anyone any more?"

"You've got a precious possession," I told her, tears in my eyes. "The possession of experience. You tell me you don't miss these crazy early days, and it makes me feel better. Because sometimes all I can think about is the end of the day and some conversation that doesn't involve macaroni and cheese or Barbie."

She winked at me, hugged me, said, "You're a gem, my dear."

Oh, how I love Helen.

*****************
Today, in the parking lot, there was a woman who was going into Target as I was coming out. My erm - "ladies" were crying out. I felt like I'd been caught in the crossfire when David was throwing rocks at Goliath. Get my drift? It was the first night Pheebs had slept in a crib instead of between us, and there had been a lot of crying going on. Not much nursing, which means the ladies were mad.

I had been carrying her all throughout the store, and my arm was tired. I was wearing a brown knit hat, as seen in this picture:

Phoebe had been wearing her purple knit hat, as seen in this picture:

She cried when I put it on her, so I took it off.

It's a balmy 60 degrees today, and out in the parking lot I let a woman cross the crosswalk in front of me. "No, go ahead!" I said, attempting to be gracious, even though my boobs and arms were aching...all because of the aforementioned little baby.

She looked at me, not in a pleasant way.

"You know, shouldn't that baby be wearing the hat, instead of you? It's too cold for a baby."

I should have responded with, "Well, yes, but seeing as how you're wearing a t-shirt and no hat, why don't you mind your own damn business?"

or

"Yes, but only a good mother would know that particular fact!"

I just said, "Yeah, probably." and laughed it off.

I heard her muttering about irresponsibility as I walked away.

And it hit me. In 30 years, when I have the precious possession of experience,

I want to be Helen.

Reshare this post from "Finding Wonder in the Mundane's" FB page as your facebook status and you could be the lucky recipient of a $15 Target gift card. Winner announced tomorrow!

can I buy a consonant

2012-01-06T17:18:00.002-06:00

I was standing in my friend Rachel's entryway tweezing my eyebrows in front of her hallway mirror while she sat on the couch. Ash walked up to me and said, "Look, Mama! I made my name out of cookies!"

Like any good mothers, we had to hold his arm steady while we took a photograph to document. This is what he proudly displayed:

different

2012-01-04T09:51:00.000-06:00

I've been thinking alot about temperament as it relates to baby/child-rearing.

Phoebe's love language is definitely touch. It's not good enough in her little mind to be right next to you, she needs to be ON you.

You might say that every baby is this way, by very nature, but I would disagree. I could lay Lucy or Asher or Baby Man down anywhere and they'd generally fall right to sleep (after roughly 7 minutes of "cry it out"). I've been told more than once that I've had three very easy babies in a row.

I think I have.

I'm not saying that Phoebe is hard. I'm just saying that she's different! I think it was J.J. who commented that one of her sons just came out different than her other two. He just needed her more; needed to be closer, etc., and she adapted to that. That really clicked with me, as I see it with Fifi.

From the minute she was born she was taking everything in. Looking around, taking stock. I remember my mom saying that day, "It's like she wants to involve herself in everything, right from the start!"

It's so true. She does, and she doesn't want to mess with pesky sleep. I mean, who needs sleep, when there are things to giggle at and mothers to barf on?

It's all clicking. To her, sleeping next to me is a definite comfort. My other kids didn't really care one way or another.

You gals are right. If it works for us, we should keep doing it. I'm not going to regret snuggling her extra bits, am I now.

She's worth it:

The offender

2012-01-01T21:46:00.001-06:00

Fi doing what she usually never does. She even looks slightly angry doing it!

cry it out versus not

2012-01-01T19:28:00.000-06:00

I am opening up a can of worms here. Yay! Let the can-opening begin in honour of the new year. I spelled honour that way for my British friend Lucy, who is probably one of the few people that still read this blog. Oh, and Cole. I dreamt we went to California and got robbed at gunpoint. What do you think of the beach now???

Anyway, Fifi is 5 months old and well, as Scott puts it, a tad bit spoiled.

The facts:
She cries if she is not being held.
She cries the minute you put her down.
We are not used to this. Lucy, Asher, and Baby man would all sit there and look at us as babies (no, they wouldn't look at us while WE were babies, but THEY were the babies.)
Not Fifi.
While awake, the girl wants to be next to my bo*ob.
End of story.

She has been sleeping with us and I know right now there are people gasping in horror.
I have been unsuccessfully trying "Cry it out".
There, now the other half of you are gasping,

horrified.

Scott has been keeping a tally. The current score chart is:
Fifi: 157
Rachel: 1

She cried for 35 minutes tonight and I rewarded her by picking her up.

I think she's more spoiled because she's my last.

Any thoughts? Comments? Public humiliation for letting her sleep with us or letting her cry it out? Both?

Advice welcome - I'm going to regret this.

guilt

2011-12-22T20:44:00.001-06:00

I've been dealing alot lately with guilt.

I feel guilty if I am playing with the kids - that I'm not doing something right. I feel guilty if I'm just doing housework and not playing with the kids. I feel guilty if I have a piece of cake. I feel guilty when there are dishes in the sink and Scott comes home.

I feel guilty for not cracking open my Bible lately (really, the last year or so, who are we kidding?). I feel guilty for not calling my Grandma. I feel guilty.

Guilty, guilty, guilty.

I have tried, argued and convicted myself: GUILTY.

This New Year?

I'm going to work on looking at the ways that guilt has detracted from the overall quality of my life, and what it has stolen from me.

Then, I'm going to change it. These kids, this husband, this life doesn't necessitate that I be a steaming bundle of nerves. They deserve better, and so do I.

the kids with their cousin

All of my guilt and shame should be *gone* because Christ did his atoning work on the cross.

My head believes it right now, but my heart doesn't.

~~guilty in 2012~~

over

2011-12-20T11:25:00.001-06:00

Yesterday Phoebe turned 5 months old.

I thought yesterday about how crazy her birthday really was.

I find it really hard to believe that I didn't think about Lucy and Asher (I didn't really even know who Phoebe was as a person yet) when all of the doctors were working over me and saying things like, "She doesn't have five minutes for an ultrasound" or "Honey, we're gonna take real good care of you, OK?"

I remember staring at the glare on the tv and thinking, "They aren't saying I'm going to be OK. I will not ask."

"This is it" kept going through my head. Not the Michael Jackson song, but the phrase.

"This is it. I'm going to die."

It wasn't even that I was afraid or panicked. It was more of a realization. I think all of that rustling and scurrying around took about 10 minutes total - but I felt like I had forever to think over my life.

Have you ever been in a car crash that you knew was going to happen? The seconds before impact feel like a drawn-out kaleidoscope of time.

We're so insulated from death. We don't see the dying all around us as some do in other countries. We don't witness the execution of our daily meals. We don't sit with dead bodies after their inhabitants have left.

Sometimes, I wish we did.

That day brought crystal clarity to me. If I want to do something, I better do it now. If I want my kids to learn something, I'd better teach them now. If I want to be nice to Scott, I'd better do it today.

If I want to stop fearing, to let go, to jump, I'd better do it now.

I remember allowing Lucy and Asher to dwell in the corner of my mind those moments when I was coding and being brought around again, and I remember thinking, "You will break down if you think about that."

So I didn't.

But now, I do. I have the luxury of thinking about it. I'm good in a crisis - I go into survival mode. But now...now? It makes me cry.

All of the birthdays I would have missed
all of the "Mommy, I'm hungry, what's for dinner?"
all of the afternoons driving up to the school in the van, smiling to myself as I see her expectant look and the smile that breaks across her face when she sees me
all of the cuddles with Asher, sitting in a messy living room while we watch tv together
all of the laughing at Archie Bunker shows with Scott
all of the lunches out with my dad
all of the times seeing the kids playing with their cousins - just thinking about my amazing family
all of the "what're you up to" phone calls with my mom
all of the "you guys can play for 5 minutes, but then you need to come inside for dinner"

My kids just got green finger paint all over the upstairs carpet. They are "making Christmas presents" out of tape (wasting it) and random ribbons they have found that I was hoping to use to make hair bows for the girls. They are so proud of themselves and the first thought I had was to get upset with them.

You know what? Not worth it. I'm going to cherish my random bits of paper and hair balls from them on Christmas morning.

We think we're going to have so many of these moments, but they can be gone in a flash.

Don't be depressed.

Just live your life.

Don't wait until it's over to wish that you had.

over

2011-12-20T11:24:00.000-06:00

Yesterday Phoebe turned 5 months old.

I thought yesterday about how crazy that day she was born really was.

I find it really hard to believe that I didn't think about Lucy and Asher (I didn't really even know who Phoebe was as a person yet) when all of the doctors were working over me and saying things like, "She doesn't have five minutes for an ultrasound" or "Honey, we're gonna take real good care of you, OK?"

I remember staring at the glare on the tv and thinking, "They aren't saying I'm going to be OK. I will not ask."

"This is it" kept going through my head. Not the Michael Jackson song, but the phrase.

"This is it. I'm going to die."

It wasn't even that I was afraid or panicked. It was more of a realization. I think all of that rustling and scurrying around took about 10 minutes total - but I felt like I had forever to think over my life.

Have you ever been in a car crash that you knew was going to happen? The seconds before impact feel like a drawn-out kaleidoscope of time.

We're so insulated from death. We don't see the dying all around us as some do in other countries. We don't witness the execution of our daily meals. We don't sit with dead bodies after their inhabitants have left.

Sometimes, I wish we did.

That day brought crystal clarity to me. If I want to do something, I better do it now. If I want my kids to learn something, I'd better teach them now. If I want to be nice to Scott, I'd better do it today.

If I want to stop fearing, to let go, to jump, I'd better do it now.

I remember allowing Lucy and Asher to dwell in the corner of my mind those moments when I was coding and being brought around again, and I remember thinking, "You will break down if you think about that."

So I didn't.

But now, I do. I have the luxury of thinking about it. I'm good in a crisis - I go into survival mode. But now...now? It makes me cry.

All of the birthdays I would have missed
all of the "Mommy, I'm hungry, what's for dinner?"
all of the afternoons driving up to the school in the van, smiling to myself as I see her expectant look and the smile that breaks across her face when she sees me
all of the cuddles with Asher, sitting in a messy living room while we watch tv together
all of the laughing at Archie Bunker shows with Scott
all of the lunches out with my dad
all of the "what're you up to" phone calls with my mom
all of the "you guys can play for 5 minutes, but then you need to come inside for dinner"

We think we're going to have so many of those moments, but they can be gone in a flash.

Don't be depressed.

Just live your life.

Don't wait until it's over to wish that you had.

winner

2011-12-16T18:32:00.000-06:00

Ireta is the winner of Space Buddies! Congratulations!

winner

2011-12-16T18:31:00.001-06:00

Ireta is the winner of Space Buddies! Congratulations!

homework

2011-12-16T09:15:00.002-06:00

...and I think she's not watching me...

space buddies

2011-12-14T12:26:00.000-06:00

Alane B., you're the winner of the gift card! Thank you for "liking" my page on Facebook. Email me at pipsersmom @ gmail.com. Also, if you've already "liked" the page and you haven't won yet, you're eligible for every drawing.

Scott always says that parening Lucy is like having me for a kid. SHE IS MESSY:

no bed sheets because they are in the wash...yes, she does sleep on sheets!

I know, I know. You're horrified I would even *allow* my kid to leave her room this messy.

I'm not going to make up excuses (like she does) or apologize (like she doesn't). Truth is, I need to teach her some organizational skills and I need to learn some MYSELF. I keep house like I think.

We were cleaning Asher's room and I was looking at his ghetto, broken lamp. I decided he needed a Star Wars lamp for Christmas. I was going downstairs to throw something big away in the kitchen trash and stopped at the computer to google "Star Wars Lamp". I GET SO DISTRACTED!

OK, tell me. How do YOU clean? How do you keep your house clean? If it isn't, what is the major thing that keeps it from being clean? One of the hardest things for me to deal with is the kids' school papers. I will not keep them all, but I like to keep the cute things, but then everything gets so cluttered. #firstworldproblem

Spill your secrets! Comment on this post or "Like" Finding Wonder in the Mundane on Facebook. Up for grabs today is this movie, which is $15 on Amazon:

Give me your cleaning tips!

An aside: We did not take the 2 and 8 year old, though our new friends have them and I am so excited these kiddos get to be blessed to be in this family! The 11 month old was only going to be respite and the case worker found someone else before I got a chance to call back. If I weren't so cheap and actually had a cell phone, that might have helped...

I WILL vomit on you

2011-12-09T20:05:00.005-06:00

Today, Scott got home at 5:36.

He was supposed to be home at 5:15 so we could do our secret shop at Buffalo Wild Wings.

All day Asher was wanting this or that, he and Lucy got into it with the fighting when she got home, and Phoebe - oh, Phoebe...bless her little heart, she just wants to be IN on the action. At this point in time, her little muscles don't work and it PISSES HER OFF. She wants to just be held all of the time so she can see what's going on. She's always craning her neck to see around, under, and over things. She doesn't want to miss a thing!

I tried to nap two times and they were both unsuccessful. I came downstairs and the kids were ON YOUTUBE, WATCHING VIDEOS OF SOME SCHMOE PLAYING GRAND THEFT AUTO.

I was horrified. We need Net Nanny! Stat! The last thing I need is for my children to see a cop's head blown off on a video of some demented video game.

Like I said: SOOOOOOOOOOOO done by the time Scott got home. Here was the list of things I didn't get accomplished today:

make personalized calendars for Scott's side of the family
balance the checkbook
do the four loads of laundry sitting in the basement
help Asher clean his room
research online ways to get Phoebe to sleep IN HER OWN BED so a) i don't suffocate her by rolling over on her and b) so I can actually feel rested in the morning. (Ideas welcome here...)
sell things that need to be sold on Craigslist
wrap Christmas presents so prying little baby eyes don't see what they're getting
send out more Christmas cards
organize the filing cabinet
start my diet

What I DID do all day was clean up spills, settle disputes, change my clothes three times because that # correlates with the number of times a certain someone spit my own breast milk back at me,

ah......

you get the picture.

"I NEED TWO HOURS TO MYSELF TOMORROW MORNING. COMPLETELY TO MYSELF," I told him, and he has learned, in our 9 years together, just to stay quiet.

I neeeeeeeeeeed to see my dear friend Lucy and her beautiful little baby boy John and I plan on hitting up Target beforehand to bring him a little gift. I will splurge on Starbucks while I am there.

A two-hour outing is my oasis in the desert, my frick to your frack.

I AM SO EXCITED!

Asher hung close to Daddy while we were out at the restaurant.

"Honey, was I mean to you today?" I asked.

"Yes!" he answered.

Four year olds, like elephants, never forget.

winner, winner, chicken dinner

2011-12-09T13:30:00.001-06:00

The winner of the prize for this round is Cole!

I assigned each commenter a number (if you commented twice you got one number), and added on the "likes" from Facebook. Cole, your movie will be going to you very shortly! (No, the top number was not 100 - it was 17. I have no idea why it changed!)

Min: Max: Result:7Next up, a $10 gift card to the Cheesecake Factory. Park your car, run in and pick up a slice to treat yourself, to go.

Now, how have you, or how will you pamper yourself this week? What is your guilty pleasure? (Remember, if Mama aint happy, aint NOBODY happy.) We have $400 in the bank right now and I still went to get a massage from the cutest little man from Costa Rica this morning. Responsibility, anyone? (Hey, our furnace wasn't supposed to break.)

I'll draw tomorrow night at midnight, central time.

side

2011-12-08T12:41:00.000-06:00

It's Christmas time.

You should be happy, light on your feet, and merry-go-lucky. Things shouldn't bother you. You should always be kind to your children. You should always keep everything in your house picked up. You shouldn't cuss at other people in traffic. You shouldn't get upset with your kids and wish you were on Facebook instead of interacting with them. You should do something special each day for advent. You should always look cute on Sunday morning.

Should, should SHOULD.

Damn you, shoulds. Let's just dehorn the shoulds, shall we?

I've always had a guilty constitution. Even as a young child, if there were something to feel guilty about, you can bet I'd be first in line for the parade. So much of my life has been made up of shoulds, woulds, and coulds.

I'm not sure how much of this attitude is wrapped up in the OCD part of my brain, the part of my brain that believes it truly can control everything just by thinking positively or negatively about it, and how much of it is just part of my upbringing.

I have been thinking so much about Derek Clark, the foster kid who became so much more than everyone thought he would become.

I was reading his book last night when I probably should have been asleep. The sheets were dirty and I had a million other thigns I was feeling guilty about not doing. His book was so much more fun, though. In one striking passage he writes:

"Life is confusing and I don't always know what to believe. There are only a select few who can enjoy unwavering faith. They never question anything. It is like they have a knowledge others do not. I believe some people are directly connected to God, and it is beautiful to see this connection. But I am not one of those people. I would like to have that unwavering faith. Anyone who has suffered or gone through bad experiences either strengthens their faith or lets it fade away. I continually try to strengthen it day by day. But just because I don't have this unwavering faith doesn't mean that I don't believe in God or that I am not a Christian. I am always going through the process of questioning my faith, and I will never give up trying to find it."

he goes on:

"I have always struggled with the suffering of the innocent. I can only imagine the faith a mother has when her child is diagnosied with cancer and has only a few months to live. She is probably praying with utter sincerity and devotion to God, asking that He not take her child away, yet often the child passes on."

I first read these passages and found myself instantly judging him. He'd grown up in a Christian foster home and he'd had many opportunities to see God at work in his life. And then, I thought of how different his early years were compared to mine.

He was abandoned by everyone he ever loved. His parents gave him away. He was bullied, sexually abused, categorically rejected by all of those who were supposed to protect him.

I was always loved, always cared for, always. My dad never walked out on me.

I've heard people say that it's hard for them to trust a heavenly Father when their earthly father did nothing but crap on them.

As my friend Cole puts it, "It's hard to hold your hand out, only to get it constantly bitten. How many times do you do that before you just plain give up?"

Listen. If you've read my dlithering for any length of time you know I have had definite opinions on religion and politics.

The older I get, though, the more I realize that it's all about love, about helping others up, about judging less and serving more.

We all fall down. We all, hopefully, try to get back up. I have a friend who is about as far opposite me on things like politics and religion. She has worked for various animal protective leagues, lots and lots of charities dealing with stillbirth, and she's working hard at raising her boys to the best of her ability.

She's a gorgeous, giving spirit, and she has a killer sense of humor.

I love her for it.

I guess what all of these ramblings really are saying is this:

talk less.
listen more.
give yourself grace.
don't believe that so-and-so has it better or easier or anything.
you don't know so-and-so's story.

Basically, just do this:
He has showed you, O man, what is good. And what does the LORD require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God. Micah 6:8

It's really that simple.

Talk softly, carry a big stick.

Show compassion.

Give someone else grace, extend it back to yourself, tenfold.

In the words of Travis, the best band EVER:

Well I believe there's someone watching over you
They're watching every single thing you say
And when you die, they'll set you down and take you through
You'll realize one day

That the grass is always greener on the other side
The neighbor's got a new car that you wanna drive
And when time is running out, you wanna stay alive

We all live under the same sky
We all will live, we all will die
There is no wrong, there is no right
The circle only has one side, side, side

We all try hard to live our lives in harmony
For fear of falling swiftly overboard
But life is both a major and minor key
Just open up the chord

But the grass is always greener on the other side
The neighbor's got a new car that you wanna drive
And when time is running out you wanna stay alive

We all live under the same sky
We all will live, we all will die
There is no wrong, there is no right
The circle only has one side, side, side, side

But the grass is always greener on the other side
The neighbor's got a new car that you wanna drive
And when time is running out, you wanna stay alive

We all live under the same sky
We all will live, we all will die
There is no wrong, there is no right

But the grass is always greener on the other side
The neighbor's got a new car that you wanna drive
And when time is running out, you wanna stay alive

We all live under the same sky
We all will live, we all will die
There is no wrong, there is no right
The circle only has one side, side, side, side side, side, side, side

I'm realizing more and more, in my own journey, that it's just a day at a time, an hour, a minute. NOBODY has it figured out.

We're all just travelling the line of life, hoping one day to hear the "Well done" piece. We're all struggling.

Chin up, friend. It'll get better.

Do what you can today, give a little something of yourself, or take if you need to.

Taking is OK, too.

We may be getting an 11 month old today, for just a little while. Haven't heard back yet.

Stay tuned for the winner of the movie! (This is so fun, isn't it?)

Oh, light bulbs

2011-12-07T13:24:00.004-06:00

Oh, my. I am getting ready to call the local hemmorhoid treatment center (yet another reason why I am glad I am not having another baby, thankyouverymuch) and I realized I needed to post about the giveaway! (giveaway closes at midnight Thursday night, Eastern Time - I don't even live in Eastern time but I like the beach.)

Here is what's up for grabs today! The two-disc Platinum Edition Sleeping Beauty DVD, shrink-wrapped and everything. All ready for gift giving:

Prince Philip is sort of a stalker

All you need to do is make a comment on this post about how you are or will be making this season sweeter for someone else, even if you don't FEEL like it. It has to be an action; not something tangible you are giving (unlike the movie, which will arrive on your doorstep in no time if you are the lucky winner, randomly drawn!)

I'll tell you about me. Yesterday was a rough day; my sinuses were going to explode out of my head and I had nine million things to do. The sweet people who made my day were:

the lady who let me into her lane even though I was one of those annoying people who waited until the VERY. LAST. SECOND. to move over
the man behind me in Wal-Mart who literally waited 15 minutes (a long time when you're in the check out line at Wal-Mart) so my gift card could be swiped through properly
my sister in law lugging Asher back and forth to preschool...seriously - I hit the sister in law JACKPOT!

we plan on stocking up on these before they're off the shelves, thanks to the Commies! Did you know that the new "environmentally friendly" lightbulbs, when they break, require a HazMat suit to clean up? this is neither here nor there.

Anyway, I have been thinking alot about what I"ve been through and how that can translate into me helping others. My "light bulb" moment was when we were at the foster parent conference, listening to a man speak who had been abused and then thrown away by his parents at the tenderest age of 5. He entered foster care and came to be in the home of parents who NEVER GAVE UP on him, through all of his crazy behavior. One thing he did was to slash the 4 year old next-door-neighbor boy with a razor blade when he was 7. These weren't piddly little behaviors.

Anyway, at the beginning of this man's book he actually THANKS his mom for giving him up and not ever giving him the false hope that she would be back for him. The light clicked on then...if he can be thankful for that, then I can say:

Thank you, Lord, for SPARING my life four months ago. Thank you for giving me a wonderful husband who dotes on me and three awesome kiddos who, in the words of my OB, are each one a miracle. What happened is all in the past. The past is gone, dead. All I have is today, and I'm going to milk it for ALL IT'S WORTH.

God, thank you!

THANK YOU!

There are still people in our lives who don't understand why we would still want to foster, now that we got our "last baby".

I wish I could relay all of the stuff that's in my heart over to you, just vomit it out onto this page so you could see just a glimpse of what I'm seeing and feeling these days. I *know* we need to do it, and so does Scott.

Two days ago we got a call for a 2 and 8 year old sibling set. My heart said "yes", but my head said "no".

Ever the people-pleaser, but I know it would have been too much.

So, tell me: what are YOU doing for someone else? What are YOU thanking God for? If you'd like two entries, then "like" 'Finding Wonder in the Mundane' on Facebook.

My hair looks like a rat died in it and Bible study started exactly one minute ago, so I'm out.

2 and 8

2011-12-05T14:37:00.002-06:00

We just got a call for a 2 year old and an 8 year old.

If you are thinking about fostering, JUST. DO. IT.

More thoughts later.

fear/OCD

2011-12-05T09:17:00.000-06:00

I have struggled with severe OCD since I was 7 years old. I wanted to share an email I wrote to a lady who has been struggling with fear and living life:

>

Katie,

Four months ago I gave birth to my daughter. The entire pregnancy I was OBSESSED with something happening to her...a cord wrapped around the neck in utero, birth defects, anything that would kill her. I was so convinced she was going to die that I made the nurses keep the monitors on my belly until the VERY LAST SECOND before the c-section so I could be 100% sure she wouldn't die. I spent hours a day researching death in utero. While I was lying on the table right before the c-section there was no monitor on my belly and I thought to myself, "I bet she has died in the five minutes between when they took the monitors off and this moment." I was THAT convinced she would die, and only I could keep her from death.
>
> Long story short - my baby was fine.
>
> I, however, was not. I lost half of my blood volume that day due to a completely random bleed on my uterus. There were 17 people working on me and I coded twice. The night before our daughter was born my husband and I were watching the popular television show ER. I made the comment to him, "That's so silly. The doctors wouldn't let the family watch while they're frantically working on someone, trying to save a that person's life." I found out the hard way that it's true...the family IS allowed to watch, the husband IS allowed to sob over his wife and kiss her cheeks and tell her goodbye and that he didn't get enough time with her while she is being bagged and having all kinds of drugs and blood pumped into her system IF the medical team thinks she's going to die.
>
> It happened to me. I spent nine months, an eternity, "making sure" that my daughter wasn't going to die in utero. The big fat crazy joke of it all is that it was *me* who was in danger. My OCD and the complete and utter lies my faulty brain has been telling me about my abilities to keep myself "safe" are nothing more than a faulty brain being faulty. I have wasted so many precious moments worrying about things that never happened...while I was lying on that bed, watching all of those medical professionals work on me, watching my husband look like he was going to pass out while he watched me die (or so he thought), I wanted to start laughing...so much precious time wasted on trying to control things I never could have controlled in the first place.
>
> I never had obsessions about myself dying during childbirth...somehow, the natural order of things didn't require me to have obsessions about my death in order for me to nearly die. I was too worried about my baby's death, thinking I "had it all covered", that we were safe.
>
> I think that may be the definition of irony.
>
> My entire point is that you've got yourself so convinced that you're not going to die that you're missing out on life.
>
> Someone asked in an earlier email how people found motivation to fight OCD. I fight OCD because I don't have any other choice. I refuse to "miss out" on living my life as a wife, mother of three and friend to many simply because I was afraid that that life may be cut short if I didn't follow through on my obsessions. I realized, four months ago on what I thought was my death bed, that I was being given another chance.
>
> I am SO thankful for that chance. I'm not going to miss out.
>
> Don't you miss out, either. Some day it's going to be you on that bed, and you're not going to get THIS time back.
>
> Rachel

sheer awesomeness

2011-12-04T18:19:00.003-06:00

You know, I really don't even know where to begin.

I suppose I shall begin at the beginning. We were at our foster care conference this weekend. It was soooooooooooo wonderful to see old friends and meet new foster parent friends. It is so nice to have a local network of people who "get it".

Scott the Mexican gangster holding FeeBee at the Foster Parent Conference

Asher: I just can't quit you, Baby Man!

We got sooooo many goodies. New movies, kids' clothes, an awesome awesome hotel stay, wonderful food, great activities for the kids, and on, and on, and on. We definitely felt the love this weekend. I love our fostering agency. I love that we got to encourage other foster parents, even though we don't currently have any placements.

I just loved that.

The kids loving on Baby Man at the conference.

It's almost been a year since we became foster parents. I'm going to be honest here (like I'm ever anything but). Our becoming foster parents was a direct result of the loss we'd experienced trying to have babies. Yes, it's probably obvious that I have carried those losses around like a badge...trying to make something out of them. I keep feeling like our losses are a lump of clay and I keep trying to mold them into something beautiful with my words. Like David, I realize that my futile attempts are nothing:

O LORD, God of my salvation,
when, at night, I cry out in your presence,
let my prayer come before you;
incline your ear to my cry. Psalm 88:1-2

I can't tell you how many times that Psalm has run through my mind. There has been alot of hurt in relation to the loss, and loss, and loss. In the process of letting it all go I've found that there's a huge part of me that longs to hold onto it. There's a huge part of me that is afraid of my identity without it.

it's complicated.

This weekend was our fostering agency's conference. I have so much to say about it but will keep my thoughts to a minimum. Hey, how's about I do a bullet-point type thing?

At our conference we:

Got to see all three kids get a picture with Santa. I felt a tad bit like a poser since we don't have any placements, currently. Santa was all sweet with us and then, without skipping a beat said, "Yo yo yo, dawgs!" to the group of teenage foster kids behind us. It was sheer awesomeness:

Phoebe looks slightly like an angry Russian in her Bolshevik hat.

met an awesome lady who reads this blog! When we first showed up we were given a gift bag full of goodies and were told to check in and then go down to the "gift room" (ermmmm...a room FULLLLLLLLLLLL of brand new Hallmark goodies, free for the taking! Can you say JACK POT?!) to pick out whatever we wanted to. I slogged out of that room looking like the bag lady down by the river. I think I got about 600 bucks worth of stuff. I'm a nerd. I actually calculated it. By the end of the night the ladies there were begging us to take it! It was awesome. Anyway, the lady I met happened to read here. It was so awesome, but I wondered if I had any boogers or if she noticed that I had something in my teeth or my outfit was dumb. blerg. She and her husband have two very adorable and very feisty little three year olds, along with their older daughter. Hello, new friend!
There was a lady at our table who kept falling asleep during the conference. It was 9,387 kinds of hilarity. In fact, she always falls asleep during these types of things.
Had a hilarious conversation in which Scott and I sat with a table of women who had been fostering for about 186 years between the four of them. "Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrl, my foster boy tore up my car and I had to have it repossessed. I gave it to the next foster girl because it wasn't no good to me any more." "My little foster boy started fires." "My foster daughter would cuss me out, so I'd make her sit out on the porch while she cussed me out, because Mama knows there aint gonna be no cussing of me in MY house!" Apparently when it snowed the kid got tired of being outside in the cold and the cussing stopped. When I asked these ladies why they continue to foster they responded with an almost unanimous, "because we love it!" (In foster circles, the phenomenon of the inability to say "no" to a foster placement is called "foster crack".)
I got to have an amazing conversation with Missey Smith after she and her husband Greg led a seminar about stranger danger and the like. Their daughter Kelsey was abducted and murdered from my favorite Target store in 2007. Separate post coming about that.
I am soooooooo very excited for our next foster placement! So many new ideas and a little bit nerve-racking. I can't wait. I wonder who it will be?
We heard from an amazing guy who the system had all but given up on. 13 foster homes in as many years, and finally he was placed with foster parents who NEVER GAVE UP on him. He is an amazing man. A post coming soon about my lightbulb moment while hearing from him...
As you can see up top we got to see Baby Man, the foster son we got straight from the hospital last December and got to have until he was nine months old in October. It was delightful!
I have one million other things to tell you about. I will be back tomorrow! I'll also be starting an awesome Christmas giveaway each two days from tomorrow until Christmas.

Hooray!

moments

2011-12-01T14:25:00.000-06:00

I've been given the go-ahead by my lovely husband to take another placement, should one become available.

Since our nine-month-old foster son left us on October 2nd after being with us his entire life we've gotten calls for:

2 month old and 12 month old siblings
3 year old brothers
2 and 4 year old siblings

Our last call came just a few days ago, and it was for a little 5 year old girl. She was having to move from her current foster home because she had anger issues and was displaying lots of behaviors. She had destroyed a comforter already and had punched holes in the walls.

I told the lady I was talking to about her that we would *love* to take her but I have other little ones I have to protect, especially a 4 month old who is unable to defend herself. I've no doubt it was the right decision.

I hung up the phone and went back to whatever I was doing.

For me, that moment was just one of a series of moments in my day.

For that little girl, wherever she is, that moment could very well have determined the course of her life...or, a moment like that.

It just made me think.

grace

2011-11-29T13:33:00.003-06:00

not our actual furnace guy, though this guy looks like a cross between a presidential candidate and Burt Bacharach. He also looks like he needs to find a toilet soon.

We all expect Thanksgiving to be relaxing, don't we? I mean, the vacation itself.

We plan on just "hanging out", but then we put too many expectations on ourselves and it turns into a free-for-all of guilt and "I should get this done, do that, go there."

Life is a lot more freeing when you take your hands off of the handlebars and just let things happen.

We're all along for the ride. Bet you didn't know that.

We were just starting to build up our "emergency fund" again after paying off Scott's student loans (Yay, debt-free!).

The furnace didn't get the memo and decided to break. There went our fund. When I say, "We don't have any money!" I really mean it!

That takes us off the hook for buying lots of Christmas presents for everyone this year. Personalized calendars all around!

This morning I got a call from a guy who called back and wanted to give us a bid for his services. We had already decided on the first guy. The second guy said, "Well, I would have loved to give you a bid." I apologized and said I hadn't heard back from him, and he said, "So be it." and hung up in my ear.

I got off the phone and started crying. ??!! When will I stop being a people-pleaser? Dude, GET A GRIP. He sounded like a jerk anyway. I called my mom and asked her why, at 32 years of age, I am still a people-pleaser. She said, "because you have a soft heart."

OK.

I'm working on becoming comfortable with being less, doing less, expecting less out of others and myself. Instead of worrying whether or not someone likes me, or if my house was clean enough or if so-and-so thinks this or that, I'm working more on just not giving a flying flapper-doodle. You don't like me? Great. Take a number!

What are you working on right now?

sorting it all out

2011-11-23T14:46:00.002-06:00

For some reason I'm feeling alot more anxiety around Thanksgiving.

The "holidays" have always had me seeing quite a bit of anxiety, but this year it's especially so.

I am feeling sort of at a loss for how to describe what I'm feeling.

I feel like it's just all hitting me, REALLY hitting me, what happened four months ago. Were it not for medical intervention, I would be dead.

Yesterday I took Asher to the CVS Minute Clinic to have his sinuses checked. It turns out I'm the one with the raging sinus infection. The Nurse Practitioner said that it looks like raw meat in there. Vunderbar! She gave me a prescription and I went to Costco and got it and two pumpkin pies. (Plus $90 worth of other stuff.)

I think what freaks me out about having had a hysterectomy is that I can't ever "replace" any of my children if something happened to one of them. It's a gigantic fear of loss and panic that I am not in control. It's a manifestation of inner turmoil. (Thank you, Oprah.)

One of my friends called this morning and she was in the neighborhood so I invited her over. I told her my thoughts and she said, "Rach, that is so incredibly messed up."

It is! And isn't the very first part of healing being able to: 1. voice whatever crazy thought you're having out loud and 2. admit that that thought is extremely flawed?

How could I ever replace ANY of my children? And why is it so hard to go from that "getting pregnant/miscarrying/getting pregnant/miscarrying" cycle to just normal life that doesn't revolve around my uterus?

How could I have ever thought that having another or another would have taken away who I lost before?

I really do think that's the big lie foisted upon the human soul:

"I will be happy once this occurs..."

I really have alot of "heart work" to do. Let's face it, guys, "heart work" is HARD work.

It aint easy.

So I eat cookies and blog instead.

Or maybe, in the blogging, the work's already begun.

One can surely hope.

Al

2011-11-21T16:07:00.002-06:00

From 1943 - 1946, Al served in the Marines at Okinawa.

I get ahead of myself. The very first thing Al was to me was this: in my way in the detergent aisle at Target.

There he was, a bit stooped but every bit a gentleman.

There I was, a bit haggard but every bit needing some Cascade for my dishwasher.

I noticed his Marines jacket and cap firstly, which led me to, "Thank you so much for your service!"

"Ah, it was nothing." he told me, getting out of my way so I could grab some Cascade.

"No, really. Your serving means alot to me. Where did you serve?"

Al served in Okinawa, and he lost many buddies there. When I asked if he ever went back, he gave me a slight chuckle and a strange look. Why would he want to go back?

To me, war is a novelty.

To Al and his buddies who didn't make it back, war is a very dark reality.

His wife, Christian name Elizabeth, passed away 13 years ago. He carries her picture in his wallet. He calls her "Little Jewel" and he thinks about her every day. "There wasn't a woman better," he says:

Later, well after Al and I had parted ways forever, a Target employee comes running over, telling me an elderly gentleman wants to show me the photo book his oldest daughter had made for him for his 86th birthday. (He was a Halloween baby.) We met up in front of the ice machine, where he whipped out his iPhone and quipped, "I'm not so sure what I'm doing with this thing, you know."

Al has been written up in the local paper.

The main points, bulleted here for your convenience:

Al is awesome.
Al has a zest for life.
Al likes the ladies.

A local restaurant celebrates "Alloween" every year, in honor of Awesome Al.

Al's last words to me as we parted ways: "That baby sure is beautiful."
"Hey, check out this picture of me dancing. That's Sally. She likes to be dipped, so I dip her:

Keep on dippin' the ladies, Al, and thanks for making my day.

:)

that's my God

2011-11-17T11:22:00.000-06:00

This girl. You guys, I can't get enough of her. I really just can't. I must thank Scott about 45 times a week for having the courage/stupidity to knock me up again, "just one more time".

The other night I was holding her and she got so sleepy. She fell asleep into my bosom of life (I should trademark that term). I was breathing her in and I heard a voice say, "Rachie, this is your hug from ME. Soak it in."

OK, maybe I didn't hear a voice, but man, she's sweet. And I figured it out the other day - she feels like a big hug from God. My God.

We were looking together, Pheebs and I this morning, out at the place where one of our trees had been cut down two years ago when I was recovering from my near-death ectopic experience. The guy arrived the day after I lost my tube and my baby, and I hobbled out there to tell him what we wanted him to do with the stump.

It was October, and I hated that stump. I hated the dreary weather. I hated being awake.

Today, I looked out at that exact place. I looked where Phoebe was looking, at the glowing leaves on the trees, and then her attention shifted to that old stump spot.

There isn't a stump there any more.

There's grass, and it's greener than anything around it.

That's my God.

people pleaser, table for one

2011-11-13T21:20:00.007-06:00

The trauma of the last four months has really brought my people-pleasing ways clearly into focus.

When I think back, I have:

apologized to the anesthesiologist who was putting me under for the emergency surgery/hysterectomy for being "too much trouble"
apologized to the doctor for slapping her hand away when she was trying to find the bleeder on my ute (stats were 30/60 and heartrate of 212 - and there I was, apologizing away like a 15th century monk - all I really needed were the self-flagel*lation tools)
thought the whole thing must have been my fault, and apologized to Scott over and over for losing my woman parts
still find myself rationalizing to other people who notice that our nine month old foster son is gone the "whys" of giving him up ( I mean, what kind of person am I? Had him since two days old and gave him up?)
always asked 10 million people their opinions before making a decision (trying to reach some sort of impossible universal concensus, I suppose)
apologize to people at Target when I am standing in front of an item and they walk in front of me
constantly ask my children if they are having 'fun', to the point where they don't want to clean their rooms because "it isn't fun"
always had trouble believing my friends and those I am close to are really wanting to give me things (food, time, attention, gifts) without expecting something back - and don't get me wrong, there are many who don't give without strings attached
always had trouble expressing my opinion to others or letting them know how I feel for fear that they would shut me out or not like what I had to say
apologizing profusely for even *having* an opinion (I'm much less opinionated in real life than I seem on my blog - I don't have to look you in the eye and face your scorn if you don't like what I have to say here)

getting a stranger's blood - i'm sorry, stranger, for taking your blood...

I googled "emergency hysterectomy" today and found the blog of a woman my age who had a molar pregnancy which turned into cancer and caused her to need an emergency hysterectomy less than a month ago. On top of the recovery, she is fighting cancer.

I am so thankful for how it all turned out. Don't get me wrong. (There I go, rationalizing again.) I got to keep my life, I got a beautiful baby girl, and I don't have to make any further decisions about my reproductive parts.

I am also angry that it happened the way it did. I'm going to admit that. Ashley (the new friend I "met" online today) has the balls to admit it, and I will, too. The question, "Are you going to have any more?" is a loaded one for me. "No, we're not having any more!" I say, too much sunshine in my voice. I also have to add that I had my tubes tied that morning, so that makes it all "ok".

I want to tell her what I wish I would have had the grace to tell myself three months ago. "Yes, you will feel better. No, you're not a failure. Yes, you need help from everyone you can think of to give it to you. No, at this time in your life, you can't feel guilty for taking. Yes, your other children will be fine. Yes, you need to measure your progress in centimeters, not even inches." and on, and on, and on.

It still stinks. I *know* it's a blessing in disguise that it all happened the way it did, but I also know that there have been many emotions and there's been a lot of "head work" that I've had to do as part of the fallout. I spent *so* long thinking of my own worth in terms of my producing a healthy baby that, now that that's gone, it gives me pause and has me re-ordering my priorities and also the way I think about things.

I think that's why I googled "emergency hysterectomy" today. That's exactly why.

It's lonely and isolating having had this experience at age 32. It's easy to say, "Oh, that's great" when you still have your reproductive organs, or at least you still have the *choice*. When I read that Michelle Duggar was having her 20th, I will admit it. I was jealous. I won't ever have a baby again.

It is what it is what it is.

I read this other woman's blog, remembering sobbing in Scott's big easy chair (the one I wanted to get rid of so desperately because it was UGLY only weeks before) and asking my mother, "Am I *ever* going to feel better?" I had a panic attack over the amount of pain I was feeling in that chair. I thought I was having another blood clot.

After the surgery, my doctor thought I had a pulmonary embolism but didn't mention it to me because there was no use freaking me out. After I was all-clear for the blood clot and it turned out to be good old-fashioned panic that was making my stats all jumpy, she told me about the suspicions she had had.

Anyway, yes. Panicking about the blood clot and the amount of pain I was having:

I hadn't want to admit the amount of pain I was in because my pain medicine prescription had run out and I didn't want to "bother" the doctor with a request for more pain meds.

I should be stronger than all of that.

When I talked to the doctor, she told me there was no reason I shouldn't have more pain meds, and that it was silly to try to combat the pain without them.

That panic attack caused Scott to leave home early. He came home and I apologized for "making" him take off work early.

He said he was just glad I wasn't dying again.

I've had alot of time to think about some relationships in my life that I'd thought were really good. I'd thought they were good until I actually had the guts to tell the other party how I was feeling. I read "Jesus Calling", an awesome devotional my mom gave me, every day. I think there are still tear marks on the pages. It's all scripturally based, about how we need to rest and relax in the overwhelming goodness of Jesus' love...Jesus, the healer of all wounds.

I told friends I was sorry I couldn't get together more, wasn't a better host, wasn't getting up to show them out the door when they left.

It really took a full three months before I even *began* to feel like myself. I still have achey days where I have to load up on the Ibuprofen.

I still cry.

I don't blog about it so much or talk about it so much because I don't want people to get "tired" of what I am saying or think I'm whining.

I have lived under others' expectations that I should be fully healed, happy I survived, and "over" it. I've been striving and striving and striving to *be* everything to everybody, and still it's not enough. I need to be more reciprocal in my relationships, I'm told.

Then, I realize: things don't need to be this hard. They shouldn't be. I don't have to apologize for things I have no business apologizing for. I don't need to apologize for feeling a certain way, having an opinion, or taking a parking spot I've been waiting for.

It's too tiring, and I can't do it any more.

and you know what?

That realization feels pretty damn great.

7

2011-11-13T15:26:00.002-06:00

originally posted on 9/7/11

7 years ago today I was sobbing in an ultrasound room.

I was wiping my husband's tears with my hand.

Watching a grown man cry is its own particular kind of sorrow.

We had learned that one of our twins was gone, and little did we know that in just three weeks, our world would shatter again. The remaining baby would be diagnosed "incompatible with life".

I remember so clearly walking out of that doctor's office, numb.

I remember hearing the receptionist tell my husband, "Oh! Twins! Next time, it's the big ultrasound! We book an hour for twins."

My sobs escaped me, harder, and he ran over to the elevator to push the "down" button. As the doors closed I heard him tell her, "One of them just died. It'll be a shorter time slot we'll need."

Two more sets of twins were conceived within the next five years, none of those babies survived.

*******

I open up the twin stroller in the garage as I watch dust mites float through the afternoon shafts of sun light, down into my son's dusty blond hair. He's beautiful at this age; all skin and bones and lightness and Lego t-shirts. I still sometimes can't believe he came out of me, perfect, breathing,

alive.

He's not wearing shoes, only Lego socks, so I go inside the house to grab his shoes. That's when it hits me that this was the day seven years ago, when my world fell apart.

7 weeks ago she was born, perfect, breathing.

7 weeks ago I nearly died, and my uterus was thrown into the trash - God's official message to me that my uterus is no longer needed...He'll do fine without it. (And thank you, God, for that tender mercy.)

7 months ago a baby boy was born in our city. Not so perfect, squalling, tiny, needing a home.

7 months ago we welcomed him here.

As I place each baby in his or her side of the stroller, it hits me...

twins.

again.

and the levity

is not lost on me.

no way

2011-11-12T07:44:00.002-06:00

Right around this time last year Scott and I were having irresponsible teenager-like romps in the hay.

We were finishing up our foster/adopt application and I *knew* there were no more babies coming from my body. My body was the place where embryos came to die. My one gimpy tube wasn't going to do the reproducing job. God knew that. Right?

Then I woke up one day and realized my period was late. I whispered to myself, "NO WAY!" while I ripped out the ICs (internet cheapies) from the cabinet and talked to a man about some horses on five of them. All, unmistakable. All, positive.

"When will the miscarriage happen?" I asked myself. I was resigned, calling the baby "it" and trying to keep myself totally unattached.

At seven weeks, a good friend accompanied me to the ultrasound. On the drive over I wondered whether I would choose a D&C or opt for the "bring the products of conception to the office in a Zip-Loc" treatment I got the last time.

7 weeks: beating heart. no way.
12 weeks: beating heart. no way.
18 weeks: beating heart. sucking thumb. no birth defects. girl. NO WAY.
37 weeks: not freaking out, no emergency c-section, doctor tells me I can hang on for two more weeks.
39 weeks: screaming, crying, wiggling baby. NOOOOOOOOO WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY.
later in the day: emergency hysterectomy due to blood loss: NOOOOO WAAAAY

I'm not sure there is really a point to this blog post, except to say NOOOO WAYYY:

don't mess with the hoodie

weekend

2011-11-10T21:49:00.001-06:00

This weekend we were going to be out of town but plans changed.

Asher had preschool photos taken. I asked my sister in law what they looked like when I picked him up from her house. She didn't say much:

I think they may be even cuter simply because they're colossally awkward. I *have* to order some now, right?

A few days ago I had a conference with Lucy's teacher. She said she is the most organized student in all the class, and it made me laugh. When I asked her why her organization doesn't extend to home she said, and I am directly quoting, "I've got some secrets I keep at school, Mom." And then she walked upstairs.

Tomorrow Asher, Phoebe and I have a secret shop. We're cool like that.

I am getting the girls these matching dresses for their annual Christmas picture (not sure what Asher is wearing yet) and our lighting of the advent candle at church later this month:

I am really looking forward to a cozy get-together of moms of Lucy's classmates at another mom's house. We're discussing the book Maisie Dobbs and eating lots of yummy food!

Saturday there's a craft fair from 9 - 3 at Lucy's school, and we're taking care of Baby Man and his new foster sister in the afternoon. In the evening we're having a friend and her family over for dinner. I decided I never like to have people over because I'm always afraid they won't like what I cook, but I need to get over that!

Sunday night I am going on a secret shop with a friend. We get to dress up and spend $150! We'll be livin' high on the hog.

What are you doing this weekend?

thankful

2011-11-10T12:06:00.003-06:00

change

2011-11-06T21:21:00.000-06:00

Today I drove around town, windows down, music soothing me.

I watched leaves drift down from trees who wanted to keep them, and I knew how they felt.

The past three years at this time I had just said goodbye to somebody. I don't even know who those some bodys were, because they left too quickly.

The air was beautiful, the atmosphere golden. Dust mites played in my vision as I tried to figure out where to go from here.

When you've been living in the land of loss for a really long time, and now you're out of that particular kind of loss, your friendships are bound to change. They have to morph into something recognizable or else they die.

I know that.

I know that.

It doesn't make it any easier when they do.

I don't want to forget.

2011-11-04T11:44:00.002-05:00

The day we buried my grandfather we all stood in a little room at the Nazarene church my grandma had attended. The pastor said a prayer and told us we were all welcome to go and say our final goodbyes to the man who'd lived his 97 years so well.

I walked out to his casket in front of forty people.When you are a North Dakota farmer who dies at the age of 97, most of your friends have already spent quite a bit of time pushing up daisies, so they're politely unable to attend your funeral.

I put some chocolate in the little box within his casket that was made for little treasures. It seemed so silly that a casket would have a treasure box because we're all just fooling ourselves that it's not going to turn into tree root, anyway. I put my hand on his forehead, automatically expecting it to be warm. It was cold and waxy and as I held his hand and whispered through tears, "Sloppy kisses for you, Gramps," I was comforted by the very obvious absence of his soul.

I couldn't bring myself to watch his coffin being lowered into the ground. I made the excuse that the weather was too cold for two-month-old Asher and that he was hungry even though he'd just eaten. No one tried to convince me to come.

I watched my grandmother, stooped as she was, say goodbye to the love of her life. She cried, but I knew there was happiness in the salt of her tears. How can you *not* be happy after having had a marriage like the one they had?

Today in our society it's all about *me*. "Me" time, what I want, how I feel, what I believe, yadda, yadda, and more yadda. When it comes down to it, friends, no one cares about YOU and how you feel about yourself. You are just not that important.

My grandparents understood this concept. My grandfather took excellent care of my grandmother. He farmed for a whole lot of years, wearing his body out. He teased her mercilessly. He called her "hon". It was only after the funeral that we all began reading the love letters that my grandmother had lovingly tucked away underneath her bed. She quietly asked us to put them away because they just made her too "lonesome".

The later ones were signed this way:

Love,
your sweetheArt

My grandfather was Scandinavian, stubborn, and gruff, and I don't ever remember him saying "I love you".

When I was 12 years old I was obsessed with a book called Caddie Woodlawn. Caddie raises baby chicks, and I told my mom I wanted to do it, too. We bought an incubator and hatched two baby chickens in our basement in the middle of the city. When the birds got too big and messy to be in the middle of the city, our family drove 14 hours with two chickens in our minivan (yes, my parents are awesome) to my grandparents' North Dakota farm.

Those chickens never had a better home.

At the dinner after the burial a woman came up to me and said, "You must be the granddaughter your grandpa talked about so much. Did you hatch some chickens in your basement? One of those chickens ended up at my farm. Your grandpa came to me one day and said, "I just can't slaughter this bird. My little granddaughter would be heartbroken, so you have to take him."

I knew he loved me.

Reading his love letters, there weren't swirly hearts and there wasn't oozing poetry and there wasn't any mention of his needing my grandmother until the end of time. There was an undercurrent, though, of longing...of his deep admiration for her...of his abiding love.

I think of the relationship my grandparents had and I think of how much they gave their children and their grandchildren. They taught us how to love, and they taught us how to live.

For some reason I think today of my grandmother, stooped, ready to see her husband again, 99 years old and in a nursing home not two miles from where my grandfather's body lies, cold and hard in the ground.

I think of all she has taught me, and I think of how well she did it; how well he did it. How well they lived live together.

And I think that I never want to forget.

I'm like Baby, Baby, Baby, Ahhhhh!

2011-11-03T22:09:00.000-05:00

2011-11-02T11:09:00.001-05:00

Anonymous said...

I promise I'm not a troll, but good grief, you sure drink a lot for being a nursing mama!

November 2, 2011 10:56 AM

Actually, you left a negative, anonymous comment. By definition, you are a troll. Also, if you are someone I know and just didn't have the guts to say it directly to me, shame on you. (I love me some Sitemeter. You're not as anonymous as you think!)

want to be

2011-11-01T22:28:00.001-05:00

I made my BFF cry on the phone tonight when I told her, "You know, I don't feel this hugely pressing need to blog any more. I feel like my blog has been so full of sorrow and pain. I guess I just don't *feel" it any more like I used to."

It's true - that valley sucked. It was so hard to see pregnancy pictures and hear announcements and wonder if I would ever get to have a healthy, lovely little baby.

She's three months old now, and to me, she's so. much. more. than the completion of our little family. She is the face I imagined each time that sonogram technician said, "I'm so sorry, honey. This baby isn't viable."

She is the little one my brother couldn't get enough of. It was enough to make me cry. He called her "Sweet Pea" all weekend. There is something so special about your older brother loving on your baby.

She is the sweet little one I cuddle, and dress, and marvel at.

She is the dream I dreamt the night after the induced miscarriage of baby #4.

She is my water in a desert...my drink at the bar...my starfish on the seashore...my Burt Bacharach record when I thought it was lost...

Like all gifts, I know they can tend to be transient. Our children are not ours. Oh, yes, we like to think they are, and we set things up in our minds in such a way that makes it impossible for them to ever NOT be ours. Truth is, they are God's.

I had a wonderful five days with my brother and his girlfriend in Indianapolis. He took us out to a fancy pants restaurant and spent an exhorbitant amount of money on us (I was in love with the $10 flirtini), and I just felt so loved, and warm, and happy.

I looked over at the man I would marry again, ten times again, and wondered how I ever got so lucky to have such an encourager and friend in him when so many others have so much strife in their marriages.

I looked at my little trick-or-treating kids and wondered how I got to be their mom.

I looked at my brother holding Phoebe every chance he got, and I wondered how I got to be so lucky to be his little sister.

I am just full of gratefulness after this trip, and a renewed sense of who I want to be versus who I am.

The new "want to be's":

streamlined, simple house. I don't *need* this or that item because someone else has it. I want our home to be a place of quiet, organized serenity...our haven from this crazy world.
attentive to my own needs. I like cute jeans and nice perfume. I bought myself both this weekend.
a patient, understanding mother with a killer sense of humor.
an encouragement and someone my husband can't wait to see on his drive home from work (good in the sack, too)
a light in a world so shattered by darkness. I can only be that light if I take care of myself - less time on the computer, less time running around town chasing deals and making appointments, and more time lounging with candles and Kahlua after the kids are in bed
a foster parent again. Someone is going to need us. Frankly, I am *so* excited to see who it will be.
a delight to my God. I *so* long to hear Him say, "Well done, good and faithful servant!" at the end of my life.

What are your "want to be's?" Do you give yourself enough grace if you don't 'perfectly' achieve them?

Hello

2011-10-28T20:15:00.006-05:00

I have decided that I don't lose all of the baby weight until I'm done nursing, and I will hopefully not be done for two plus years, so I just need to get over it.

I am applying for a job with the mystery shopping company I have been working for. They told me I'm a great shopper and that great shoppers usually make great employees. It would be two - three hours a day, but I am excited about it.

I buy jeans, but they are tight at first but then stretch out as the day wears on. By the end of the day, they are saggy.

Phoebe is crying and this is all I have to say.

"blacks" in the military

2011-10-25T17:26:00.001-05:00

This guy calls our house the other day and introduces himself as being from a market research firm. He then says, "How do you feel about gay marriage?"

"What do you mean, how do I feel about it? Can you be a little more specific?"

"Well, do you believe that gays should be able to get married?"

"I think it's a little odd that I can divorce my husband tomorrow and then get married to a dude I met at the bar next week, but two men who have been living together can't commit in the same way. I guess I'm not sure."

next question:

"What do you think about blacks in the military?"

?!?!

"What do I think about it?" (Hello, 1955?)

"Yes. What is your opinion?"

"Well, blacks have been serving in the military for a very long time, and I think anyone who serves in the military has made an amazing sacrifice. I suppose if I saw an African American who had served in the military I would tell him thank you, just as I do his Caucasian counterparts."

"I see."

The really funny thing about it is this: I can tell the man I am talking to is black. I REALLY wanted to ask him what "he" thought about 'blacks serving in the military.'" I also wanted to ask him how he felt about gravity or french fries being served at McDonalds or Wal-Mart being open 24/7, but I refrained.

Tonight I go and talk about my political views for two hours and they'll pay me $100.

Scott will try to breastf*eed our love child and break fights between the older two, and I'll be spouting off and sipping Diet Coke.

It's a win-win for all,

except for the "blacks" who are still under the assumption that they can't join the military.

Why Facebook is annoying

2011-10-24T09:45:00.001-05:00

I keep trying to think of things to write here. Sometimes I write just to find out what it is that I have to say.

Baby Man's new foster mom called and said he took his first steps. I was very happy for him. I was also very happy that he's not walking around my house, making it necessary for me to chase him everywhere.

We have gotten two calls since he's left. One was for a set of siblings, two months old and 12 months old. Please, try and figure that one out. Another was for a set of siblings, ages two years and four years.

Phoebe is three months old. I love that little girl. She has healed so many places in my heart. One of the things on my long list of things to do is "start writing a book." Honestly, friends, I don't feel the pressing need to revisit all of those sad, dark emotions right now.

I am annoyed with Facebook. It is a double-edged sword. I love seeing what people are doing but I also hate seeing what people are doing. Something about it seems so self-important. I look at what I've written as status updates and it is all so trivial. Another thing I hate about Facebook is how you can offend people without even realizing it. I love the English language and hate it when people treat it sloppily. It happens all the time on Facebook. I want to correct everyone, and I realize that is an annoying habit of mine.

Did you know that once the language starts to slide the culture goes with it? Check out your local history book.

I see grammar errors in our local newspaper. I affectionately call it "The Falling Star" because it's mainly full of liberal-type drivel. There are often grammatical errors in the headlines. PROOFREAD, people! It's not that hard, and it makes you look professional! Feel free to correct my grammatical errors.

I also hate how I always get sucked into political arguments on Facebook. It just riles me up and annoys me.

See, it's hard living in a first-rate country. These are the things I have to think about.

The Occupy Wall Street hoo-ha is driving me bonkers. I am willing to bet my chocolate bon-bons that 98% of those "protesting" and likely being paid for their time also voted for President Obama. I'd like to remind you that President Obama has given more to our financial institutions in bail-outs than any other president in history. Incongruities, anyone?

I'm done now. I promise.

Anyway, that's about all I have. I love my baby girl and people like to snuggle her. Here's proof:

Halloween

2011-10-18T21:04:00.001-05:00

Monster Mouthful Halloween

Create your own Halloween photo cards at Shutterfly.com.

View the entire collection of cards.

it hurted

2011-10-15T13:29:00.004-05:00

My sweet sister in law was due to deliver her first, very longed for, baby this weekend.

Instead, she is hugging a teddy bear.

I looked back on my archives, the ones I wrote and never published. They were too raw to share.

If you're in the middle of it, maybe they'll give you some solace.

This was written on January 29, 2010. I was fresh off my third miscarriage. Does anyone see the irony in Scott's fears?

I'm angry.

Today I am so angry.

If someone looked at me from the outside, they would never guess. I look totally well-adjusted, feeding the kids and laughing with the checkout lady at the store and sucking down Diet Coke.

Inside, though, I've never been more confused.

I think a major cataylyst was seeing the beautiful little cell phone picture of a friend's third child, a mewly, pink, perfect little girl.

I can't help that rage and jealousy that bubbles, and I hate myself for it. I am not capable at this point in time, to offer more than perfunctory congratulations, send a card, and leave it at that.

I'm realizing that this selfprotection, this staying off of Facebook, this avoiding friends with brand new babies, is OK for now. I cannot go back to her blog. I know it now. I feel like her whole post about the baby's birth was just a spit in my face. I know it wasn't. Logically, I know it wasn't. But why does it feel like other new moms seem so "smug", like, they did something right?

Half of the battle is realizing my limitations and honoring myself enough (wow, Oprah much?) to stand by them. To say, "This is the line I cannot cross."

Today we walked past the baby aisle at Target. Dammit, I was minding my own business, and that damn aisle had to go and irritate the hell out of me. I didn't expect that sort of emotion from an inanimate thing.

I am angry. Really? A baby with birth defects, then a loss at 15 weeks, another at 8 and another at 6 and another at 8, AND losing a tube to an ectopic pregnancy?

Shaking my fist at God is nothing new with me. I sat outside on our front porch so many times when I was pregnant with Lucy - begging God to let me keep this child with her guts literally hanging out of her body. BEGGING HIM. Telling me that if He let me keep her, I would never ask for anything, ever again. I am so foolish. I have dear friends who have prayed the same for their children, and God answered "no". God does not work that way. He does not have to give me another baby. If it is not His will, it is not His will.

And still my will presses forward, calmed only by the Muzac at Hobby Lobby, playing "How Great Thou Art" today. Those are my moments of peace. And prayer.

What have I done wrong? This isn't fair.

And then I think, "We could extend that thought to its logical conclusion. It's not fair that someone else lives in Haiti and I live in the United States of America, or that someone else's husband died and mine didn't, or that someone else's mother in law is a beast and mine is not. Shall we rectify those situations then?"

Just a good little reminder, is all.

Those stories of the two-push births annoy the hell out of me. Leave me alone. Remember me. Treat me normally. Ignore me. Ask me how I'm doing. Don't ask me.

I don't know.

I don't know.

Another baby will not bring back who I lost. I am so jealous of full families with 3 children. Before Asher, I was jealous of full families with 2.

Three friends have asked me if I have thought about adoption. "Oh," I want to say. "So THAT'S how my white friend ended up with a black baby. MYSTERIES OF THE UNIVERSE SOLVED!"

Yes, I have thought about adoption. After Scott and I got married, I told him we should not have any biological children and adopt instead. That is how excited I was about adoption. Scott was not so excited about it. So, the reason we are exploring biological children at the moment. But, really? Why do I have to explain that to people? What business of theirs is it?

I think it would be so much easier if God would come down on a cloud and say, "You will not have another biological child." then I might find some peace. I want to know what to pray for, what to hope for. Is it irresponsible to try again? Do other people think so? Do I care?

Scott would adopt if it he knew I wanted it that badly. The thing is, I don't want him to do it for that reason. It's not a good enough one.

He is afraid I will die if I get pregnant again, that blood clots will finally settle in my lungs and leave him with three kids. Really, that is his fear. Maybe it is fear enough to launch him into adoption, I don't know. But is fear a good reason to do something? Probably not. He is being so gentle with me, not making declarations about what we will or will not do, and I love him for it.

I love him for it.

Dear Baby Man

2011-10-14T09:24:00.002-05:00

Dear Baby Man,

It's still strange not having you here. I had to have all of your "gear" put away right away. I couldn't look at it.

Asher wonders why you aren't in his room any more, and I think of funny things you'd do and say that would make us all laugh. Then you'd laugh harder.

I wonder when we'll get a call again. We are going to do respites for now, unless a call for an older child (3 - 5) comes and it sounds like a good fit for our family.

At Costco on Thursday I saw some Carter's three-piece outfits for only $7.99. I instinctively grabbed one in your size, realized what I was doing, and put it back.

I cried all the way home.

Someone told me I need to get to the doctor to get some antidepressants. I don't think you need antidepressants for crying. Crying feels good. You, as a baby, knew that. :)

I don't think you always need to pop a pill just for being *sad*, you know? I'm just sad. I miss you.

There are awesome, happy moments in our home, too. Today the kids and I are going to an inflatables place and they're going to bounce around while I sit on a couch and read and write letters. If you were there I wouldn't be able to do that, because I'd be chasing you all around. See, we're still happy and having fun. I know you are, too:

Sometimes you just have to feel the sad, and not worry about other people not understanding. You'll learn this in life.

Sometimes you just have to hold on, love, and let go. You'll feel an undercurrent, equal parts grace and solace. And I hope you always know that it's God who is giving you those things, and the roots we gave you for nine months.

I hope it mattered.

chasing shadows

2011-10-13T12:58:00.000-05:00

*originally published 04-05-2008* (this is really cool to see where I was then, and how far we've come now.)

Lately I've been praying fervently that God will either give me contentment with having two wonderful children and not ever actively trying for more, or open both Scott's and my hearts about having more. "Either way," I told God, "I will obey." And I will. Do you notice, here again, that I want to know NOW whether or not our family will be expanded? I want to control! In light of some recent conversations on a dear friend's blog, I'm realizing that some of my motives for thinking we shouldn't have any more kids aren't necessarily what I want them to be.

I was sitting today with my family, looking at their beautiful faces, and I prayed a prayer to God. "No, Lord, you can't touch this - you can't touch this beautiful thing I'VE created." I want to be safe. I don't want death or sickness or sadness to hit my corner of the world again. I was reading another blog and the author just announced she's pregnant. She supposed she should wait until it is safe to announce, but then made the statement that life is never safe.

It may be obvious to others that one of the things that motivates me most is fear. Ugly fear. I am afraid of what going for a 3rd child may mean. You know I adore my children. I love being a mother. Scott loves being a dad. But what I feel drives us both is fear. We don't ever want to revisit that fear we felt when faced with terrifying possibilities the first time around. We both knew we dodged major bullets. Today he was looking at her and said to me, "Sometimes I just watch her playing and wonder what life would be like if she hadn't made it, or if we had made a different choice."

I wonder, too. And then I think about all of the times in my life when I wanted to let fear reign supreme. Honestly? Had I let fear reign we wouldn't have either of our children. My fear nudged me in the direction of terminating the pregnancy the first time around. Yes, there I said it. We considered it. You can call me an evil person, but until you are in that situation, you don't know what you would do.

The second pregnancy, with Asher, I felt like we dodged some bullets - that he came out healthy and "unscathed", and that our family is complete and we shouldn't want or have any more children. In some ways I feel almost selfish for desiring, in my heart of hearts, another child. I tell myself that I don't like pregnancy and I'm not really a baby person, but those are "shields" for the real reasons. The real reason is the fear in me that crouches around every corner of my sometimes shadowed heart. I don't want to be vulnerable again. I want to control.

I want to be safe; I want these walls around me never to crumble. I see them crumbling every time I turn on the news, or see the drug deals going down, or see fear in one of my children's eyes. I feel them crumbling under tissue paper fingers when I hear of someone dying of cancer, or watch a tree lose its leaves, or hear of a friend having yet another miscarriage.

I see these things, and I want to run. I want to run and hide, away from good dreams. I listen to the voice that says, "No! You can't have it. Be fearful. Can you imagine the bad things that could happen were you to try that again? Don't do it! Don't give in!"

And so here I sit.

So, here comes the choice, right? Do I give in to the fear?

number

2011-10-12T16:12:00.003-05:00

Because we got two children two minutes after we were licensed, it is strange to be in a place where we are foster parents without foster children.

The majority of foster parents are licensed a bit longer before their first placement, so this is new territory for me.

Yesterday we went to Costco and I saw an adorable little Carter's outfit that would have been adorable on Baby Man.

I cried on my way home.

Then, I took Phoebe to a secondhand store and bought her the cutest, girliest little bouncy seat I've ever laid eyes on. I had always been averse to gender-specific baby gear, but I don't have to be, now!

This girl is it!

I have a clever idea for Halloween costumes and I will give you a preview shortly.

Have I told you lately how lovely it is *not* to be pregnant, and how lovely it is to know I *never* have to go through that hell again?

For now, I am off to Google "number of calories in a shot of rum."

crazy

2011-10-07T18:43:00.001-05:00

Asher stole a candy bar from the grocery store today.

I told him he might have to go to jail.

He sobbed in his room.

I bet he won't do it again.

Also, I had blue frosting on my face the whole time I was in the grocery.

I told a friend her child reminded me of a patient in a mental ward with her aimless wandering around and mumbling.

We are back in the foster care system as "open for placement". Three years old and up. We will free to say "no" to any and all calls we get.

But there may be a "yes".

Yup.

We're crazy.

why don't you want to help the animals?

2011-10-06T09:06:00.002-05:00

Yesterday was a very teary day.

I have to learn to be "ok" with sad days when they come. I sometimes fall into the trap of striving to be "happy" when I just feel sad.

I feel guilty because I think my sadness is rubbing off on my kids and they'll forever remember me as the Sylvia Plath wanna-be mom who was lying on the couch, crying into her pillow.

I feel guilty because I think of all of those older women who tell you, "Enjoy this time, they're only little once!" and I sort of want to throw paint in their hair.

Yesterday I missed Baby Man with a strange intensity. It was also strange because I was completely overwhelmed with emotion yesterday and so was Asher. We butted heads yesterday.

That child is stubborn, and I want to direct it in a positive direction. (Famous last words.)

When my sister in law and another friend called and said they were getting together with their Bible study girls and watching "Bridesmaids" and having "treats", I was standing at the edge of the driveway with Phoebe waiting for Scott to get home so I could jump in her van and make a fast getaway.

I got to meet the amazing Molly (I was actually nervous before I met her, read and go figure) and a bunch of other awesome girls. One is going to be a fellow foster mom, another had a hysterectomy so we got to talk a bit, and the others were just plain cool.

I worried about having two drinks and everyone judging me for then nursing my child. Then I figured that if my womb of doom didn't kill her, a couple'a shots of alcohol through the good old boob weren't going to do her in.

Lucy is dropping out of Girl Scouts. I don't have the energy. For their service project, they made, and get this, CHEW TOYS FOR DOGS AT THE LOCAL SHELTER. When the woman who runs it asked why we were quitting, I just told her I didn't have time. I didn't say, "Well, I sort of think that the whole Girl Scout spiel of believing in yourself and being green and worshiping the earth and making chew toys for dogs at the shelter who would rather be eating their own scat is a tad humanistic, and I don't want my kid in the organization," because I knew she'd just give me a nutters look and say, "Well, why WOULDN'T you want to help dogs?"

and then I would say, "Well, because there are thousands of babies dying every day from malnutrition."

and then she would say, "But we're all inhabitants of this planet!"

and then I would run away screaming. I have these imaginary conversations in my head all the time, you see.

Lucy's girl scout vest is going on Ebay today.

why

2011-10-02T18:07:00.002-05:00

my daddy put cool whip on my nose

I've been getting alot of emails from very confused people asking why Baby Man was moved.

Simply:

1. We decided we could not adopt another child at this time. At this time is crucial. We may in the future, but not right now.

2. If Baby Man does not end up going home, it's more fair to him to put him in a foster home that would adopt him, if it came to that.

3. Baby Man is BUSY. I have a 2.5 month old daughter who is my last biological child, and I want to savor every moment with her.

4. I was driving in the car and it became crystal clear to me one day. "You have to give him up."

5. I miss him, but I know it was the right decision. As a friend just said to me, "You have a nervous breakdown trying to figure out what bread to buy. But you're so sure about this one."

Yep. Yes, I am...and completely unapologetic for our decision. I really wanted the approval of those people who would adopt any child that crossed their path. I felt like maybe I wasn't being Christ-like because I chose not to adopt a defenseless child, should it come to that.

The family that has him came to pick him up Friday night. I text his new foster mom. I called today to see how they were doing. We all had pizza and chatted. It was so fun. We've forged a new friendship. We've known them since March, when they watched Baby Man while we went out of town for Scott's aunt's funeral.

Anyway, and then I realized that you're no good to others if you don't take care of yourself. I visited shrink lady a few days before court and she said, "You know, I always like to talk about the oxygen mask on the airplane analogy. You have to put yours on before you're any good for a child."

So, there we are. I am ready to sit around holding the Phoebester, reading books my friend Lu gives me. I'm ready to take Asher to preschool and drop Lucy off at first grade and take her on errands and not have two baby seats to lug everywhere.

I'm really excited about that.

We will foster again; we're sure of it. Right now we'll be doing respite care, which is in high demand. That's when foster parents who need a break bring their kids to you to watch for a specified amount of time. Also, sometimes, that's when you can find a new placement, if the current foster parents can't keep the child for whatever reason. (Hello, commas.)

So, yes. I'm totally, 100% sure. No second-guessing on this one. NONE. It's your prayers that have covered us.

It feels good.

Oh my mama told me
'Cause she say she learned the hard way
Say she wanna spare the children
She say don't give or sell your soul away
'Cause all that you have is your soul

So don't be tempted by the shiny apple
Don't you eat of a bitter fruit
Hunger only for a taste of justice
Hunger only for a world of truth
'Cause all that you have is your soul

I was a pretty young girl once
I had dreams I had high hopes
Married a man he stole my heart away
Gave his love but what a high price I paid
All that you have is your soul

Don't be tempted by the shiny apple
Don't you eat of a bitter fruit
Hunger only for a taste of justice
Hunger only for a world of truth
'Cause all that you have is your soul

Why was I such a young fool
Thought I'd make history
Making babies was the best I could do
Thought I'd made something that could be mine forever
Found out the hard way one can't possess another
And all that you have is your soul

Don't be tempted by the shiny apple
Don't you eat of a bitter fruit
Hunger only for a taste of justice
Hunger only for a world of truth
'Cause all that you have is your soul

I thought, thought I could find a way
Beat the system;
Make a deal and have no debts to pay
Take it all, I’d take it all, I'd run away
For me myself first class and first rate
But all that you have is your soul

So don't be tempted by the shiny apple
Don't you eat of a bitter fruit
Hunger only for a taste of justice
Hunger only for a world of truth
'Cause all that you have is your soul

Here I am, I'm waiting for a better day
A second chance
A little luck to come my way
A hope to dream, a hope that I can sleep again
And wake in the world with a clear conscience and clean hands
'Cause all that you have is your soul

Don't be tempted by the shiny apple
Don't you eat of a bitter fruit
Hunger only for a taste of justice
Hunger only for a world of truth
'Cause all that you have is your soul

Oh my mama told me
'Cause she say she learned the hard way
Say she wanna spare the children
She say don't give or sell your soul away
'Cause all that you have is your soul

All that you have
All that you have
All that you have
Is your soul

~ Emmylou Harris

sad

2011-10-01T11:13:00.002-05:00

I feel like I'm getting seasonal allergies and called the dentists' office because I was going to be 20 minutes late for my appointment. I took Asher and Phoebe because I do better with Asher when he's sick. Appointment was at 9:30 and we got there at 9:50. She told me she thought I was going to be 5 minutes late (what?) and they had to cancel it.

I had to gulp big breaths so I wouldn't lose it and barely made out the words, "I'll call to reschedule" before I ran out the door, lip quivering, buckling kids in the car.

I lost it approximately 3 blocks from Target.

I knew it was coming...

The UGLY cry.

People were looking over at me at the stop lights and I can't say I cared.

I parked in the Target parking lot and sobbed my guts out. Sobbing feels good. You should try it sometime. You know, the kind of cry where you can't catch your breath.

I thought of everything he did...getting him out of his crib every morning, a big grin on his face. Watching his toupee-like hair waving in the wind,

pudgy fingers smashing Cheerios at lunchtime;

his big grin whenever he saw me after visits.

I told Asher that Mommy was OK; I just miss Baby Man and needed him to give me a great big hug because he (Asher) could hug me and make me feel better. I worry about where Baby Man will end up.

I *have* to give it to God.

I still know we made the right choice but it doesn't make this any easier.

We went into Target, I tried to buy a bre*ast pump, bananas, and underwear for Asher. Got to the line, realized I didn't have my wallet.

Starting to cry again.

Came home, told my family I needed a great big *hug*.

Cried some more.

Naps this afternoon.

Crying is good.

Baby Man

2011-09-30T21:07:00.002-05:00

We'll love you forever, little man.

And, yes, we will foster again. Probably many more children.

I got to talk to Mama Foster on the phone the other day before court. She said of her 2 year old foster daughter, "She has a hard life. I live her hard life for her, so she doesn't have to."

When people say to us, "I could never do that,"

Our response: "Who will, then?"

Thank you for giving us 9 months of your life.

breathe

2011-09-29T21:14:00.001-05:00

Our little man goes tomorrow to his new foster home.

"How could we bring him home at 2 days old and let him go at 9 months old?"

I keep asking myself that. The only answer I have to it is that it's God's grace that allows us to do it.

For so long I've beaten myself up over the fact that adopting him is not an option for us at this point. I've wrestled with the fact that God can give us the strength to do anything, and that children are a blessing, and ohmygoodnesshowcouldwesendhimaway???? That sort of thing.

And then, in the stillness, in the quiet, I hear it:

breathe.

be.

Right now, it's what we need to do. Breathe, tuck our little ones in at night, feed them breakfast in the morning, listen intently to their stories and dreams.

Our time with him has come to an end. I've been the only mother he has ever known, but I know for sure I'm not the only woman who can rise to the task.

I gave him his first bottle, his first bite of food, I introduced him to his older brother. I was there when he sat up, when he crawled, when he smiled.

Ball-point lovingly met paper in his baby book, and I recorded it all.

It's time to give those memories to a new keeper. She is so excited, and as I watch her tuck him into her car and drive away, I'll remember what is tucked in my heart,

forever and always.

Aphoeba

2011-09-25T22:00:00.000-05:00

Let's see. I realized yesterday that I miss being pregnant exactly 0%. I see pregnant women and I do not get that wistfulness I got, even when Asher was tiny. I knew someone was missing from our family but I just didn't know who. Now I do.

Not a day goes by that I don't thank God for this sweet baby girl!

We had a delicious day lounging around today and then having a wonderful dinner at our favorite restaurant and 20 minutes (the babies were getting cold) at the park.

I have a video for you that I will upload tomorrow. In it, Phoebe does the cutest sigh after her sneeze (I finally captured it on video!), and you may see a tiny, itty bitty peek of someone else.

Scott calls our baby "Aphoeba", as in "Amoeba", a one-celled organism, because he doesn't think she does too much yet (much like an amoeba). He doesn't give her a whole lot of credit. Growing is hard work!

Thank you for keeping us close to your hearts this week. This is my favorite photo of Phoebe, just because it captures her joyful spirit and sweet little lopsided grin so beautifully. I have been itching to get a little something for her that has her name embroidered on it. Not sure why. Maybe it's because I can't believe she's actually here, all sweet and stuff. I love to see her name printed officially, in random places.

pretending this is the Dave Ramsey show

2011-09-24T10:40:00.002-05:00

WE'RE DEBT FREE!

That's a heck of a lot of:

"I really want this adorable pink coverlet at Target for Lucy's new bed that was originally $64.99 and now on clearance for $16.94, but I'm putting it back, even though it's *adorable* and a super-good deal." (sad that I actually know the clearance prices, and "hello", run-on sentence.)
"Nope, no $1 soft drink at McDonald's today."
"No flat screen, Rachel."
"I love to drive my clunker car to work!" says Scott.
"Bagged lunch today."
"No, we're not eating out - we're having leftovers."
"No vacation this year."

$21,000 paid off in 27 months.

Somehow, shopping will be different, knowing that we don't owe anyone anything, except for our house debt, which we're planning on knocking out, kung-fu style. 3.75 % interest rate.

But, there is no better high than clicking on the "Pay Full Amount" on the student loan website.

SO happy. Now we can even more fully support those organizations that are so close to our hearts. CEF, InHisServiceKC, Legacy Christian Church.

You can do it too, you know. The little things really do add up to be *big* things.

More thoughts to come about Wednesday at 2 pm, which is our foster son's termination of Parental Rights Hearing. (He's been with us since he was 2 days old, cute as a button, and fresh from the hospital.) I want to love him like Jesus would, no matter what the days to come hold.

Can you tell I am distracting myself?

sisters

2011-09-21T22:06:00.002-05:00

can't tell you just how much I love saying, "my girls"...

unfit

2011-09-16T12:27:00.001-05:00

My two eldest brothers love to play devil's advocate.

I have three older brothers, and the youngest of them is totally non-confrontational. He's so non-confrontational he won't call the maintenance guys at his apartment to fix things that break. He just does it himself.

My oldest brother was visiting from Tokyo (where he sells American clothing bought by my youngest older brother at stores all around the country - he drives a kidnapper van to carry the clothing and is often questioned by the cops - a post for another day) and was sitting in the den with me, asking me about Baby Man's case.

"What right does the government have to take an individual's child away from him?" he asked.

I got all defensive and gave him some pat answer.

Really, though, it got me thinking.

I don't know.

I hate the government's infringing on civil liberties as much as the next dreamer of Reagan eras gone by. I think that "Termination of Parental Rights" is a very serious, harrowing, horrible thing to occur. I am not looking forward to court in just days. I am hoping I get some nasty sort of stomach flu so I can't go.

No, really. I'm hoping that.

How do we know when to take a child from its parents? When the parents test positive for one drug and not others? Who defines neglect? Is it considered neglect if a parent leaves his child at home for 4 hours alone, but not 5 minutes? How is a home considered unfit? How many times, or months, or years, does a parent get a second, or third, or fourth chance before the "powers that be" say that baby is better somewhere else?

Who decides?

Obviously we have courts and judges and social workers that decide such matters. It is, however, unsettling to me that a state can decide to take a child away from its parents care without the parents' consent. Many are probably reading this and thinking, "Well, if they are bad parents, of course they should be taken away...duh!"

But, really. What makes a bad parent?

Can you write me a paragraph and tell me?

We've only been in the foster/SRS system for 8 months. Already, I can see that there are many safe guards in place for a reason. Terminating a parents' rights takes time for a reason. So many people would look at Baby Man in his carrier when he was teeny tiny and say, "Why will it take so long?"

It will take so long because we are severing a very important bond.

There are all kinds of different people int he world, we all know that. Tall ones, short ones, smart ones, dumb ones. A lot of the not-so-intelligent may care for their children very much but not have clue one how to care FOR their children, on a day to day basis. Are they unfit? Some parents don't even have a clue that their rights are about to be terminated. Some parents produce and produce children and they continue to be taken and taken and taken away by the state, into (hopefully) loving homes.

How do we rehabilitate parents? Is it possible? Is it necessary? Do we just give up?

There are so many thoughts running through my head and these are only the first. Lucky you!

I was telling a new friend that this is my outlet, my therapy. And since I just discovered via the insurance website that our chiropractor actually costs me $97.50 every time I go, I'll be coming here alot more often for a little relief of the old joints, the mind, the soul.

I was always wondering why he was so happy to see me and my 17 children - in hindsight, I could see gold coins in his eyes as he invited us into his homeopathic lair.

Anyway, what makes a parent unfit? I don't know. Scott and I have discussed on many late night occasions that it makes our blood crawl icily along our veins to think of a judge telling us we are no longer fit to call Lucy or Asher or Phoebe our children.

I'm just glad as can be that I am not a judge.

that kind of friend

2011-09-15T20:21:00.000-05:00

Last Saturday I sent out an S~O~S email to some friends. It basically said that I needed prayer because I was tired and frustrated and overwhelmed. I mentioned in this email that my house was dirty.

30 minutes later she showed up at my door with her cleaning supplies.

I shouldn't have been surprised; a couple of weeks ago I heard someone rifling around in my refrigerator and thought it was one of the kids. No, it was her, depositing a completely homemade chicken pot pie, replete with two dinosaurs making eyes at each other with a heart over their swoony heads:

the reason you don't see the whole thing is because I actually attacked a raw chicken pot pie ...no one else was home but some babies and I have a really bad thing for raw dough of any kind.

N-E-Ways, she showed up at my door with her cleaning supplies and I led her to my pube-laden bathroom. She scrubbed and scrubbed and even posed for a picture with my baby.

She helped me fold towels while we talked about things, and then I sent her on her way.

She's that kind of friend.

I sent her off, and she promised not to divulge that there was an actual piece of turd in the bath tub or some pubes in the shower. She probably knew I'd divulge it myself, on my shameless blog.

She inspires me to be that kind of friend to others:

thank you, friend. Now stop giving my baby the choke-hold.

and then there were 9...

2011-09-13T14:02:00.002-05:00

Last night we got a call asking if we would be willing to take a sibling group of three.

We were sitting watching Netflix and listened as the admissions lady talked to the answering machine.

We laughed and laughed and laughed.

We are turning down children. It feels weird.

7

2011-09-07T16:41:00.002-05:00

7 years ago today I was sobbing in an ultrasound room.

I was wiping my husband's tears with my hand.

Watching a grown man cry is its own particular kind of sorrow.

We had learned that one of our twins was gone, and little did we know that in just three weeks, our world would shatter again. The remaining baby would be diagnosed "incompatible with life".

I remember so clearly walking out of that doctor's office, numb.

I remember hearing the receptionist tell my husband, "Oh! Twins! Next time, it's the big ultrasound! We book an hour for twins."

My sobs escaped me, harder, and he ran over to the elevator to push the "down" button. As the doors closed I heard him tell her, "One of them just died. It'll be a shorter time slot we'll need."

Two more sets of twins were conceived within the next five years, none of those babies survived.

*******

'scuse me, Ma'am, your underwear is showing

2011-09-06T07:10:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I was minding my own business with my girls (you don't know how I love saying that, every chance I get) when this 30-something year old man comes up to me and says, "Excuse me, ma'am, I don't mean to be rude, but I can see your undies through your dress."

?!

First of all, even as a woman, if I could see another woman's underwear through her dress, I wouldn't point it out to her. I'd let her go home and have a come-to-Jesus with the bedroom mirror and figure it out for herself. The fact that this guy WALKED AWAY FROM WHERE HIS FAMILY WAS STANDING to tell me he could see my underwear really freaked me the heck out.

I think I was so shocked that I just looked at him and told him thank you, went into the bathroom, and wrapped a baby blanket around my waist. You COULD see a hint of my underwear line, so I guess he was right. But something tells me I wasn't the first woman he told about their undergarments.

I would imagine it goes something like this in his mind: "Pantyline at 2 o'clock!" "Erm...just a minute, wife, 2 year old and newborn child, I've got a civic duty to complete."

Ew.

My mother in law thinks he got a little giddy being able to tell me, if you know what I mean. Yes, I consulted with her on this.

Of course, after the fact, I can think of 9 million comebacks. I write better than I talk:

1. "Wow, what a creepy thing to say."
2. "Did you tell your wife you noticed?"
3. "Why do you care so much?"
4. "Again: wow, what a creepy thing to say."

Anyway, I had to blog just to tell you about the creepy guy at Target.

he's home

2011-09-02T19:26:00.001-05:00

joy

2011-09-02T07:53:00.001-05:00

I don't think I can adequately express to you my level of excitement. We love this boy so much. Asher is jumping up and down, exclaiming, "Baby Man is coming home! Baby Man is coming home! Now Sissy will have a baby, and I will have a baby!"

Honestly, God's plan is so awesome. Had we not had those 3 years in the desert trying for another biological baby, we would never EVER have gone into foster/adopt land. And oh, I am so glad we are here. Tianna, we *love* the idea of saying, "He's our bonus son!" :)

A friend told me about a year ago, "I don't want you to view adoption as second best." Honestly, then, I think I may have. Now, I don't. No, I don't.

Anyway, in the spirit of joy that is today, here is Phoebe's birth video. I'm warning you, it's graphic. You can hear me sobbing in the back ground. You can also see them checking for an an*us.

You may need Kleenex.
Enjoy.

no, they're not both from my body...

2011-09-01T08:15:00.003-05:00

Tomorrow is D-Day. I take Phoebe and Asher in for a doctor's appointment and their shots in the morning, and then we go over to pick up Baby Man. I am getting really excited! I am finally ready for him to come back.

I know it's going to be like we just got a new placement when we get him back and everyone adjusts. He is such a sweetheart and we'll be happy to have him back.

When he left, he wasn't doing anything other than chewing on everything and rocking back and forth on his hands and knees. Now he has 4 teeth, he's crawling, AND he's pulling up and looking like he's going to WALK any day! Oh, boy!!!!

Bring on the fun...

(Remind me of this when I'm exhausted tomorrow night.)

His court date is in September. Hopefully something will be decided for him.

I have a question....does anyone have anything clever I can say when people ask if both babies are "ours"? I don't want to constantly be in the habit of saying, "He's a foster child," or "He's adopted." I don't want him to feel any "less" than our other kids.

Maybe something like, "Yes, they're 7 months apart..." and then not say anything else...or, "Yes, this one's the mailman's, and that one is his!" (point to Scott.)

Ideas, please.

Mompetition

2011-08-31T16:42:00.000-05:00

"she will wind up crazy and hating you"

I am laughing so hard I am crying.

What a difference 5 weeks makes!

2011-08-30T19:46:00.002-05:00

1 week

6 weeks

give me a lift

2011-08-29T16:07:00.002-05:00

I *really* am wondering how it's going to be once Baby Man comes back on Friday. The plan is that Phoebe and Asher have a combined medical appointment that day, and then I pick up Baby Man after that.

The long labor day weekend may be interesting, considering it wears me out just to take a shower.

They did forcefully rip out my gonads, so I am not sure why I'm surprised I still hurt.

Scott has taken over the cooking responsibilities, which is awesome. I am excited to see how his menus for this week turn out.

Today I'm feeling guilty still, it seems to come along with the OCD somewhat. I just feel like there are a million things I *should* be doing. Oh, if we could all just get rid of the *shoulds* of life!

Scott is still quarantined and sleeping in the guest bedroom. We both enjoy sleeping in our own beds. Phoebe and I can take up the whole queen bed quite nicely, thank you.

How do you lift your spirits when you're feeling worn-out and blah?

Dudette

2011-08-28T14:40:00.006-05:00

emo mommy

I'm feeling melancholy this afternoon and I'm sure there are a few reasons for it. I'm tired, my incision hurts, and I miss my cousins.

One cousin moved to Seattle about a month ago because her husband switched jobs. She's alot like me. We both tend to worry and overthink things and it was many a time I would meet her at McDonalds with our 7 combined kids in tow. Now she's as far away geographically as she could get from me without being in water.

The other cousin is in Detroit. I miss her lying on my couch, talking about how she hated her job. I miss roving Target for hours with her. I miss drinking wine and watching stupid tv shows. I miss watching her and Scott laugh at silly things I do.

I am just melancholy today.

We get Baby Man back on Friday, after a 7.5 week hiatus. I was supposed to be healing from my surgeries during all of this time but I still feel like there's healing to be had. We'll just have to take it easy. As Scott said, "It's going to be like getting a new placement, for awhile. It'll be crazy."

Yes, I know it will. I'm not looking forward to the guilty feelings that are sure to come when I'm trying to allocate little me to four needy little dudes and dudettes. If we could handle Baby Man and his brother AND our kids AND the nausea of a new pregnancy in December, we can surely handle four now. I'm not pregnant and nauseated any more.

Don't ever get cryptosporidium. I came down with it Sunday night, and there was a day this last week where I finally understood how people with cancer, etc., and who constantly feel nauseated just want to die.

I *know* it's time to go to the store and harangue the clearance rack for earrings when I am raiding my 6 year old daughter's earring collection 10 minutes before church.

My girlie is getting nice and round like a little pork chop. Oh, thank you, God, for this little dudette. She looks like a baby female version of my dad. If you know my dad, you are nodding your head right now and saying, "Yes, yes she does!"

Today at church I started rambling to someone about how she has an enormous head like my dad. It was so weird and I'm not sure why that was the first thing out of my mouth, insults for my baby.

That is neither here nor there. Thank you, God, for this little Dudette:

5 weeks

2011-08-23T17:41:00.003-05:00

Phoebe is:

Smiling like crazy - this awkward little smile that makes my ~~ovaries~~ ovary hurt...
Sleeping right next to me at night - if I get up to throw up or to change my diaper or for a glass of water she instantly starts freaking out...
Garnering strange reactions when I tell people her name. It's not that weird, is it? One lady skipped a beat and said, "Oh, Phoebe...interesting!" Ha. I realized while lying in bed the other night that we didn't do so great a job of naming her something that would always be easy to spell. Oh well.
In that awkward "fat newborn with pig eyes and no distinguishable features" phase. Hey, I'm OK with it. My kids cute up with time. And, of course, she's impossibly adorable to me.
The proud new owner of a personally embroidered towel...THANK YOU Renee! I LOVE it! She had her *ahem* 3rd bath today and we used it.
also the owner of impossibly long feet.
Crying right now. Must go.

Good bye. Oh, you'd love it if I posted her birth video, right? Because I'm uploading it now. You can hear me sobbing through the entire thing. And, THANK YOU for all of the encouraging comments. I have been reading every one!!!! You guys have some great blogs!

seriously?!

2011-08-23T10:03:00.000-05:00

I have the stomach flu. So does Asher. Either that or that nasty bacteria that hangs out in swimming pools - there's been an outbreak in our city. Klyptosporidium? Something like that?

I'm on my 4th pair of underwear today. Bet you don't read THAT on every blog you visit.

Seriously, if you've visited our house within the last week and your kid starts throwing up, you know where it came from.

The upside is that I am forced to lie down because sitting up makes me nauseated and then I throw up.

Nursing + stomach flu = best post-baby diet I've ever been on.

demons

2011-08-21T19:05:00.002-05:00

I feel tired. All of the time.

I wake up and feel tired. I feel tired before I go to sleep. I feel tired in the middle of the morning, or the middle of the afternoon.

I feel so much guilt for not being enough of *Rachel* for everyone who needs me. I feel short with the kids, I feel angry at myself for getting annoyed when Phoebe has gas and cries. I feel guilty that Baby Man is not back with us yet. I feel guilty for not getting together with friends more.

Most days I just snuggle the kids and it's been awesome to have meals delivered to us by friends from church. Seriously, how do people without a church family handle life after a new baby?

In a lengthy phone conversation of 72 minutes, I was telling Arwen about Scott and I watching the Anthony Hopkins movie "The Rite" the other night. In it, a seminary student who suffers from "lack of faith" (no pill for that, sorry) goes to visit a Catholic exorcist (Hopkins, of course). During an exorcism the seminary student asks the inhabiting demon, "Why are you lying to me?" and the demon responds, "because that's what we do!"

Arwen had been telling me that Satan LOVES to whisper lies to us about our inadequacies, God not being big enough, etc., etc., etc. "God's already won the battle, so that's all they have!" she said.

It hit me like a ton of bricks.

Yes. That's what they do.

That's what he does.

Satan. Father of lies.

If you don't believe he exists, read no further.

In another part of the movie one of the demons tells Hopkins that his work is easiest when people believe he doesn't exist. "People like to think I disappear just because they don't believe I am real," the demon says, "that makes my job a whole lot easier."

DOUBLE WHAM!

Of course, whenever I feel good, I hear a voice in my head telling me where I fall short. Not spending enough time with Scott, I should have been able to keep all the craziness that happened on the day of Phoebe's birth from happening, my 1st grader hates me because I haven't been able to spend alot of one-on-one time with her, my son is going to be scarred for life because I am not always there to tuck him in at night,

and on, and on,

and on.

What are the lies that you believe?

Who whispers them in your ear?

I know I won't always feel this sad/hopeless; I know there's probably a tad of postpartum depression/ptsd after all that's happened. I also know that the enemy loves to kick us when we're down.

Thoughts? I'd really like to know...what are some of the lies that you have been believing lately?

part 2 coming...

Baby Man

2011-08-19T09:28:00.000-05:00

I took the last posts about foster/adoption and bio parent relations down, along with all of the posts ever written on my blog about Baby Man. (that wasn't even a sentence, but deal, ok?)

I took them down not because I feel bad for writing them, but because:

1. We MUST keep all details of his case super confidential until he is ours (if he is to be) so that nothing is jeapordized.

2. I share too much on my blog, but can't share too much about Baby Man.

3. I realized that NO ONE has enough information to judge whether or not we are having the right amount of contact with birth parents, because NO ONE knows the case like we do. So talking about it on my blog is pointless.

The end.

Oy, he is scrumptious. He now looks like he wears a hair piece and he has four little rabbit teeth.

**swoon**

Some day, I may actually be able to post pictures of him.

**swoon**

We get him back soon. Can't wait. Just have to wait a bit longer for my belly to heal from two surgeries in a day before I try to lug his 19 pound body around. Older brother we just had for the first 3 weeks, and then he was removed because he was born in a different state.

I love Baby Man.

**swoon again**

sacked

2011-08-15T20:11:00.000-05:00

the day I almost died part 2

2011-08-10T20:37:00.003-05:00

You can see part 1 here.

So, where were we. Oh yes, I thought, "I'll either wake up in God's arms or recovery!" and then passed out.

My eyes opened and it was like those shows where things are blurry and they're showing you the scene from the patient's perspective. I had tubes stuck down my throat but the only thing I could think was, "Thank you, God! I am alive!"

I heard one nurse (a man) who was caring for me say to the other, "I'm really good with my tongue." The other nurse laughed, and I said to the first nurse, who had his back to me, "You are SICK."

He turned around, shocked, and said to nurse #2, "Wow, I can't believe this girl! She's just been to the brink of death and she came through with a stellar sense of humor!"

and I said, "Good with your tongue? Really? Is that the line you use with the ladies?"

and he laughed and said, "I meant that I was witty. You sure know how to scare everyone, don't you. Let's not do that again, hmmm?"

I then asked them for their names so I could add them on Facebook. They both said they didn't do Facebook, but they probably just wanted to stay away from me.

My doc came in and had tears in her eyes. She told me it was close, that my abdomen was completely full of blood and there was no choice but to take the uterus. She said I had lost nearly 40% of my blood volume and was a very lucky girl.

I don't remember anything of the next 2 hours, but Scott tells me he came into the room and hugged and hugged me.

I *do* remember that night, waking up at various intervals, hooked up to all manner of machines and looking over at Scott in his bed, wide awake, just grinning at me.

"What are you looking at?"

"I am looking at my very alive wife."

:)

And then he would come over and give me a kiss, and one or the other of us would cry a little bit.

I asked him why he was crying and he said he just had something in his eye.

I will continue the story, part 3, later on...oh, yes, the part where they thought I wasn't out of the woods and had a pulmonary embolism. And, because you've been so good...

Is she absolutely delicious or is it just me???? Maybe the 3 years waiting for her has something to do with it...

Ellis Island

2011-08-04T17:50:00.003-05:00

(the song in question can be played in a player at the bottom of this post. I will get very angry if you actually watch the guy singing it, because
1. it's a cover and
2. he bobs his head around alot.)

********
Dear Phoebe,

Today you are 16 days old.

It's still hard for me to imagine you are here, or to believe it. But, indeed, you are. Breathing, Crying, Pooping, demanding more of me than your brothers or sister did as newborns COMBINED.

Yeah, you're right.

I don't mind.

Your first name was one we thought we'd pegged about 4 times before you were born, and I finally told your daddy I'd just have to see you.

I took one look at you in the delivery room and said, "She's Phoebe."

I like what Paul says about his dear friend Phoebe, and I figure that's as good a commendation as any, right? I mean, it's the Bible!!!

Romans 16

^1-2Be sure to welcome our friend Phoebe in the way of the Master, with all the generous hospitality we Christians are famous for. I heartily endorse both her and her work. She's a key representative of the church at Cenchrea. Help her out in whatever she asks. She deserves anything you can do for her. She's helped many a person, including me.

Ha. I like that. Your name means "Bright, shining."

I knew what your middle name was a long time ago. There's a song by Marc Cohn called "Ellis Island" all about the struggles the early American immigrants went through to get here. They wondered what the heck they were doing, if they'd made the right decision in coming to this new land, if they'd even get to see it.

I was driving along minding my own business one day listening to some music when this song came on. The tears were pouring out of my eyes so fast and furiously as I thought about the parallels between that song and our journey to you...

I was driving down Ninth Avenue
As the sky was getting dark
Didn't have nothin' else to do
So I kept on riding to Battery Park
I stepped out in the damp and misty night
As the fog was rolling in
Man said, "Last boat leaving tonight
Is the boat for Ellis Island"

As my feet touched solid ground
I felt a chill run down my spine
I could almost hear the sound
of thousands pushing through the lines
Mothers and bewildered wives
that sailed across the raging sea
Others running for their lives
to the land of opportunity
Down on Ellis Island

"What is this strange paradise?"
They must've wondered through their cries and moans
After all they've sacrificed
Their faith, their families, friends and homes
Then on the Inspection Stairs
They were counted out or counted in
Frozen while the inspectors stared
Down on Ellis Island

Now me I only stumbled in
Just to wander around that empty hall
Where someone else's fate had been
Decided in no time at all
And cases filled with hats and clothes
And the belongings of those who journeyed far
They're strange reminders I suppose
Of where we're from and who we are

But, Phoebes, my favorite lines of all are these, the ones that really made the tears pour down...

But as the boat pulled off the shore
I could see the fog was lifting
And lights I never seen before
Were shining down on Ellis Island
Shining down on Ellis Island

I'm still trying to make sense of the day you were born. I suppose that's the purpose of any of us inhaling breath and letting it out again. Finding purpose, processing, reprocessing. Fixing dinner, cleaning the toilets, letting the dog out, holding hands.

Life isn't the big earth-shattering days, is it now. It's the days in between, the conglomeration of "I did do that" and "I didn't do that" and "Please, God, let me do that"...all those thoughts that make up a life.

I so clearly remember them working on me, watching you in your bassinett and praying to God I could watch you grow.

So, yes, sometimes life is as simple as the "holding hands" part.

Just holding hands.

Love you, little Sis. Welcome to the world.

Mama

spared

2011-08-03T15:32:00.002-05:00

I was looking for a picture to add of Jesus watching over someone, but the pictures I found were all super cheezalicious and made me want to poke my eyes out.

So...

Today I watched as Lucy and Asher put their school supplies in their back packs, then took them out again.

Counting, recounting, taking stock.

I got all teary-eyed, thinking how close I came to not seeing those moments...and how, even now, Satan loves to whisper in my ears all the fears I keep trying to shake loose.

I just had to turn around and see my children so excited about school...and to see all I have been blessed with.

Last night I dreamt that an old friend and I were lost in the ghetto, and people were shooting at us and we couldn't find our way out. It was so strange, because we were children again, probably 8 years old, and we were texting our parents and they didn't seem to mind we were wandering around in the ghetto with people shooting at us.

My dreams are either of those type, or they involve water.

Speaking of water, I was talking with my mom, taking stock over all the near-misses I've had over the years.

Join me:

newborn: Apgars of 1, 1 and 1. Wouldn't breathe. Just wouldn't breathe. And then, finally, gloriously, a breath. My mother was going out of her mind.

2 months: Sitting in my baby carrier next to the inner wall of a cabin my family and some of their friends were spending the day enjoying. My mom moved my baby carrier on to the table, and a minute later my oldest brother came in, slamming the screen door. An enormous boulder came crashing down from the wall (it was one of those cool rock walls) exactly to the spot where my carrier had been sitting moments before.

2 years: At a family reunion, everyone thought someone else had me. I was lost for 4 hours and had everyone searching for me. My mother began to think I had either drowned or was abducted. Finally found by my uncle, sobbing, standing next to a white picket fence in my Strawberry Shortcake swimming suit next to a big, white barking dog (my earliest memory).

4 years: On vacation in Florida, my dad left me with my older brothers, the oldest of whom was 13, while he went to change his swimming suit. I could touch the bottom of the pool in the shallow end and was pretending I was a ballerina dancing around. I went under and my oldest brother didn't notice me for what the docs estimate was 2 and a half minutes or so. Everyone thought I'd have brain damage. I didn't.

(My parents weren't negligent. I swear they weren't. I also swear that they didn't have my birth date wrong for the first 4 years of my life...or that I really don't remember my mom arguing with the school coordinator on when my birth date was. She was shown the birth certificate and that quieted her right up.)

20 years: Car accident that involved speeds of 70 mph, one I shouldn't have walked away from, but did.

30 years: blown fallopian tube, emergency ectopic surgery. Minutes from bleeding out.

32 years: our latest, emergency hysterectomy, estimated 40% of blood lost. When I went for my appointment yesterday I gave my doctor a hug and thanked her for saving my life. I expected her to maybe deny it or say, "It wasn't that bad," but all she said was, "Yes, you are welcome! I'm not worth much when everything goes well; all I really do is catch the baby. But when there's an emergency like you had, that's what I'm really there for. The leading cause of death in childbirth is postpartum hemmorhage."

She said she's never seen this kind of random bleeding and she's been in practice since 1997. The nurse assisting had seen one case, in 1997 as well, and that patient bled out and died on the table.

So, I guess the ultimate question is, Why do I keep being spared?

What am I supposed to learn from it?

I could just as easily have died any of those times...and I suppose if my story was done, then it would have happened.

Just don't want to miss out on anything glaringly obvious.

My aunt, who is battling cancer and currently experiencing awesome healing, said yesterday on the phone, "Do you ever think that God continually saving you is going to change your outlook?"

Yes, yes, and yes.

I just don't know how, or why.

it's time

2011-07-31T18:30:00.001-05:00

Baby Man has a new social worker. I've heard she's not as good, but his case is still going to termination.

I have trouble with the Feebster not in the same room as me. I also have random bouts of crying and worry over the other three kids at random times. Baby Man is staying with the most awesome woman who is taking the most awesome care of him and spoiling him like crazy. She even brought him over for me to see him today. Random bout of crying after he left.

I guess this is probably normal.

Whoever left the "birth trauma" site, thank you. I have been looking at it.

Losing the uterus has been weird. Even though my last godforsaken tube was tied, it's still weird *not* to have my uterus. Kind of a sick codependent relationship I had with the ol' girl.

I also expressed to my mom today that the last 7+ years have had me in a constant state of either pegnancy or grieving over lost pregnancy or dealing with the results of pregnancy gone awry ( birth defects, etc.)

It's so strange to be stepping into this new era,

one in which I will never, ever take a pregnancy test again.

It's time, and I know it. I am so thankful for the biological children God has given me but,

damn, y'all,

it's time to move on.

processing...

2011-07-30T19:06:00.001-05:00

I feel like the ATM display at the bank when it's about to tell you there's no money in your account...

processing...

processing...

processing...

I will finish that story, I promise.

Baby Man has a new case worker. That's some news, too.

She's 11 days old and it's still hard to wrap my head around.

The view from here

2011-07-27T15:29:00.000-05:00

the day I almost died

2011-07-25T14:09:00.005-05:00

Right after the c-section surgery and tubal ligation, I was sent to a recovery room. There, my blood pressure dropped to 70/35, but the anesthesiologist gave me some medication through my IV to get it back up again. Half an hour later it dropped again and the same medication was given. I was told that an epidural can cause your blood pressure to drop, so we weren't all that concerned about it, though I was monitored closely.

During my recovery time I felt a sharp, stabbing pain in my right side, above where the c-section scar was. Whenever they touched on my uterus and got to that spot I would try to push whoever was doing the pushing away. They told me that was normal as I had just been through surgery, that there was alot of soreness there.

Two months leading up to the birth, I was *aways* pressing on that spot, trying to counteract the pressure of the baby and thinking it was just round ligament pain that would go away. It would for awhile, but then it would always come back. The night before she was born, Monday night, I couln't sleep, because that spot hurt so badly. It was stabbing through me like a knife.

Anyway, they brought me back to my room and I spent the better part of the day holding onto that spot and asking the nurse to please not press so hard on it. I told her I needed more pain medication; that what she was giving me wasn't enough, and I distinctly remember her saying, "No, the pain medication you're being given should cover it."

Being the pleaser that I am, I just assumed that this was normal c-section pain and I'd forgotten about it. I really wasn't paying much attention to the baby and hadn't even checked her over. I'd cried like I was a baby myself when she came out, unable to believe she was so perfect. She had the cord around her neck, but it was quickly unwrapped and her apgars were 8,9,9.

I had been so relieved, and I need to recount her birth story, too.

Anyway, the next several hours were a blur. I was sweating so profusely that Scott had to literally sit by my face and wipe it down every 5 minutes or so. It was literally dripping off of my face. The nurse would come in to "palpate the uterus", and I shoved her hands away when she would get to that spot. She didn't seem to understand that that spot really hurt.

I think I have a very high pain tolerance, because after both Lucy and Asher's c-sections I walked out of the hospital the next day without any by-mouth pain medication. In this situation, I don't think a high pain tolerance served me very well. Where someone else may have passed out from the pain, I was just highly uncomfortable but still able to think rationally that it may just be my c-section incision.

My mother in law came to visit around 4, and at that time I felt like a bigger knife was stabbing me. She was on the phone with someone and I yelled at her that I needed the nurse, now. She went yelling into the hall that I needed a nurse, and the nurse I had came slowly walking down the hall and told me again that the pain medicine she had me on was the only medicine she could give me.

At 6 pm that night, my father in law came to visit. As he entered the room I was bracing myself against the bed, trying to counteract or distract myself from the pain in my abdomen. I greeted him by saying I wasn't a very good hostess and please take the baby. He took her, and then Scott came in. Scott told me my leg was falling off of the bed, and as he tried to put it back on the pain in my side got more intense and I screamed at him, "NO!" I still had my eyes closed.

He said to his Dad, "Dad, did she look this white when you came into the room?" I don't think his dad had really noticed one way or the other, but later Scott told me I had looked like a moving corpse. You couldn't differentiate where my lips ended and the rest of my skin began.

I heard Scott say, "This isn't right, I'm getting help." I was amazingly lucid this entire time.

When he came back in with the nurse, she looked at me and said, "Oh, my!" and then ran over to do my vitals. My heart rate was 132 and my blood pressure was 60/30. She picked up the phone. Scott told her the phone didn't work, but she fumbled with it anyway. The message finally got to her and she ran from the room, saying, "I'm going to get some people."

Before she left, I watched her pull the "Code Blue" switch.

I think it was 1 minute and the room was suddenly filled with people. Doctors, nurses, anesthesiologists, they just kept pouring in. At one point the count was 17 people in our little room. The bed next to me was moved out of the room as everyone set up shop.

Phoebe had been forgotten. I watched her in her little bassinett, sleeping peacefully away.

The anesthesiologist took up residence at the head of my bed. He was literally pulling vials out of his pocket as soon as he came into the room. Scott was watching him the whole time and he said he would sort of sort them through his hand, choose one, and dump it into my IV. He'd look at my vitals for a minute, frown, and then try something else.

My bed was elevated at the feet so all of the intact blood in my body could keep my vital functions going. I wanted to panic but I don't think I had the energy. I looked at Scott, standing at the foot of the bed, hands in his back pockets, looking like he was ready to vomit.

I couldn't look at him again.

There were about 7 nurses surrounding me at this point, asking me where I hurt.

"I HURT RIGHT HEEEEEEEEERE!" I said, pointing to the spot that felt like it was being knifed. My nurse went in for the kill, determined to show her aptitude at torturing patients, I guess, poise and ready to press on the spot.

"I think she may be bleeding," another nurse said. "I wonder where?"

I shoved Nurse Rached's hand away and said, "I'm bleeding right here! IT'S RIGHT HERE!'

They kept pontificating, at which point the anesthesiologist said, "She's bleeding. She's bleeding. She's bleeding." At this point he was actually pushing the bed toward the door with his knees. Everyone was waiting for my doctor to get there and make the call for me to go to the OR. What seemed like 45 minutes was probably about 6.

Her partner arrived, and nurses were trying to talk to me and keep me distracted. They had pasted-on smiles and none of them told me I would be OK. I knew they didn't know that, and they were probably assuming I wouldn't be.

All this time I kept returning my focus to an outfit Phoebe's Grammy had given her, size 3 months. I imagined Scott dressing her for church all alone in that outfit, in me never getting to see her wear it. Then, I started praying that I would be able to see her in that outfit, to go home to my kids, to live life with Scott. I started tuning everything else out and just kept praying.

My doctor's partner came in and the anesthesiologist gave her the rundown. One nurse said, "We need to do a sonogram to see if she's bleeding, and where." The sonogram technician came in, very leisurely-like, and said, "Well, this machine will take about 5 minutes to warm up."

The OB just looked at him and then at the anesthesiologist, who shook his head. She said, "She doesn't have 5 minutes." At this point I said, "I don't want a sonogram. I want to go to the OR."

I have never seen a medical team move more quickly once a decision has been made. There was already a male nurse behind my bed who was ready for the call to be made. He had braced himself so as to be able to push me towards the door, and there were about 10 people trying to get me out of the room. When we came back to the room later, you could see where my bed had actually damaged the wall and the door as they tried to ram me out of there.

At first everyone was walking, and then the nurse at the head of the bed said, "She's crashing!" Then everyone started to run, as in, sprint. I vaguely remember thinking that I thought this kind of thing only happened in episodes of ER. Scott and I always thought that was so cheezy.

Guess it really does happen.

We got to the prep room and by that time Scott had completely lost it. He was sobbing. His tears were hitting my cheeks and he said, "You can't leave me. You're my best friend. I love you. We haven't had enough time together yet."

I was surprised the critical care team was letting him be there until it hit me that they figured this was the last time he'd see me alive, and so did he. At this point the anesthesiologist was whispering things in my ear, I'm not sure what. I asked him if he knew what my blood type was, and he started chuckling and said, "Yes, sweetheart, I know your blood type."

I turned my attention back to my Scott.

"You have to pray," I said.

"What do I pray?" he said.

"Pray this," I said.

"Dear God, please don't let Rachel die. Let her live. Dear God, please don't let Rachel die. Let her live. Dear God, please don't let Rachel die. Let her live."

Dude, I'm so eloquent.

My doctor arrived and told me it was probably a bleed in my uterus, and she may have to give me a hysterectomy. "Take it! Take it all! Throw it in the trash!"

haha, that was my response. She smiled and said, "OK."

At that same point, I recall thinking that I would either wake up in a recovery room or looking at the face of God, and that neither place would be so bad. I heard one nurse say to another, "How is she still talking?", and I looked over to the corner of the room where my parents and Scott's dad all looked like they themselves were going to pass out. My mom stood on her tiptoes and waved to me and said, "Lots of people are praying for you!"

My mind flashed back the past 32 years and all the times my parents had been there for me, all the things they'd done for me, all the times they'd sacrificed for me, and now they were watching me about to die.

Then I heard, "She's coding," and lots of alarms going off,

and everything went black.

***
part 2 is here.

so good

2011-07-23T20:51:00.000-05:00

I keep starting to write the story of all that transpired on Tuesday. I always quit.

There is a part of me that wants to go back there, that has needed to go back there.

There's also a part of me that wants to put it in the past and move forward.

A woman who deals with women who have had traumatic births at this hospital told me that the emotion will probably hit me at really odd times and catch me off guard.

The whole time they were working on me, the only thing I could focus on was a 3 month outfit my mother in law had given Phoebe. "Please, God, let me be there the day she fits into that. Don't let it just be Scott and Lucy trying to figure out how to button it up. I can't leave them yet."

As the doctors ran me down the hallway, yelling at each other, practically using their scalpels before I was asleep, I kept feeling this pervading, peaceful calm. I gave up trying.

You hear that?

I gave up trying.

I knew that I would either wake up looking at the face of God, or I would wake up in a recovery room. And either way, I had to let it go.

Scott was sobbing and leaning over me and his tears were falling down my cheeks and the only thing I could think to do was to lead him in a prayer.

The last thing I remember was losing my vision and a nurse saying, "She's coding."

I don't know if I expected God to answer my prayer and let me live, or not. In much the same way that after 4 years of pregnancy loss I can't believe that the little girl with the profile just like her big sister's and the squeaky noises was given to me, perfectly healthy and whole - lying in her bassinett, and I can pick her sweet little body up any time I want.

She doesn't care about pregnancy tests, or ultrasounds, or what month which miscarriage happened. She doesn't care about anything other than the fact that she gets hungry, and she needs me to feed her. She gets lonely, and she needs me to cuddle her up.

I guess I'll write the stories down, sometime, but I keep getting this nudge that it's time for my heart to rest, to reconcile, to move forward.

It is sweet.

love

2011-07-21T13:46:00.000-05:00

My uterus is having a reunion party from my blown out tube of the great ectopic pregnancy of September 2009. Also in attendance is the piece of fallopian tube taken out after my wondrously screaming second daughter was born on Tuesday (holy crap is it weird to say that!)

The same nurse who later held my hand as I coded and Scott was sobbing said at the time, "Wow, doctor, now THAT is a tubal!!!" Scott was even thinking about getting a vasectomy as well, just to be THAT SURE I would never get pregnant again.

Last night they thought I may have a pulmonary embolism (do not Google please), but after the CT we were rejoicing. Nothing more than fluid in my lungs from all of the blood and fluids I was given.

Of course you will get a really long rendition of her birth story, name meaning and the story of how the emergency all happened, but...

I am just so thrilled to see her in the flesh. She is soft and kittenish and smells like wonderful baby and basically she was worth it all. More pictures to come, I promise.

right before emergency surgery

2011-07-20T05:32:00.000-05:00

Phoebe

2011-07-20T05:19:00.000-05:00

2011-07-20T03:50:00.000-05:00

friends...i cannot wait5 to show you photos of our baby girl. She is perfect. I, however, nearly died yesterday.

I was in excruciating pain after the birth in one spot and my blood pressure crashed at 7 pm last night. The nurse pulled the code blue button in my room and ran to get help.

people came running in and I was in excruciating pain. Excruciating. My bp was 63/34 and the doc said I was going into SVT. My heart couldn't handle the stress and massive internal hemmorhage was suspected.

It is thought that baby provided enough pressure on the uterine hematoma (not even near the previous csection scar) to keep me from bleeding out the last months of pregnancy. Had she been born vagin*ally there would have been no way my doctor would have known it even existed.

I crashed on the way to surgery and now have coursing through my veins half of my bodys capacity of someone elses blood. A wonderful stranger.

I heard "we r losing her" more times than I care to count. Scott and I said good bye. He was sobbing and I was in shock. I kept staring at our baby girls new clothes and wanted so badly to be with Scott and watch her grow. During the 2 hoursof surgery the only sound in the waiting room was prayers of petition to our God.

there was so much blood and not enough time that I was given a hysterectomy...all but one ovary. There is so much more to tell you but we have on our hands a beautiful 7 pound 12 ounce baby girl...Phoebe Ellis. Pictures to come as soon as I can figure out Scotts phone.

Thank you God for sparing my life.

Thank you is too inadequate a prayer.

birth plan

2011-07-18T10:29:00.000-05:00

You know you don't *really* care how it all goes down as long as everyone's healthy if you're:

1. Writing up your "birth plan" (ha) 17 minutes before you're supposed to arrive at the hospital to register, and

2. Blogging about it before it's actually written.

3. Oh, and that your "birth plan" involves your husband cutting the cord, an intact and working but*t hole, and waiting on the vitamin k and shots if she looks ok from the get-go.

4. Living and crying would be nice, too.

haha

don't google those things

2011-07-15T16:19:00.009-05:00

I'd been having this odd pain in my groin for the last 4 or 5 days, but really just thought it was tendons and the baby pressing on them, or maybe just the lu*st that burns ever-constantly for my Nautica-wearing husband. (1990s, anyone?)

Talked to a friend who is VERY non-alarmist, and she suggested I talk to our doc (we share the same one; we're cool like that.) Co-pays are separate, though.

Scott actually called me on the phone, something he *never* does unless he thinks I'm dying, which, well, apparently he did. He told me to call an ambulance if I was feeling faint and who cares how much it costs, and, hey, by the way, remember that lady I worked with who died just when we started dating? This is exactly what she died of!

"Oh, honey, that's FANTASTIC!" I replied, as I downed an entire bag of potato chips.

Enter the tears, because if my husband is saying these things, the guy who doesn't raise an eyebrow as the hurricane bears down on the ship, then I am S-C-R-E-W-E-D.

Anyway, 45 minutes later I was getting a doppler done of my leg, freaking out because I had googled "C-SECTION AFTER BLOOD CLOT DIAGNOSIS", (for the love of Peter and Paul, never google this), and imagining my own funeral, complete with my children asking Daddy why Mommy wouldn't wake up, and why is she in a wooden bed?

Lucy would lay a laurel wreath upon my bosom, and she would be wearing that little Cinderella outfit, the one Cinderella wears when she's sweeping the cinders and her evil stepmother is making her stay home from the ball, but only after she buries her dead biological mother and lays a laurel wreath, as I said, upon her bosom.

Technically, I suppose that "little Cinderella outfit" is really just a whole bunch of cast-off rags her older brat sisters donated to the cause, but hopefully Scott would buy her a real costume at the Disney store for the occasion.

Asher would hit me in the face and tell me he needed a glass of milk.

I am nearly shouting from the rooftops with my good news: no blood clot, just freaked out mother... though that would require me walking outside and the humidity here is hellish.

My sister in law came over and made food for all of the kids, watched them while I went to my appointment, and then scrubbed my kitchen down while I lounged in the living room scarfing down Costco apple pie and watching Eloise with the littles.

Sainthood, I tell you.

3.5 days, if anyone is wondering.

And yes, my bags are actually packed.

Time for a nap, because somehow I have deluded myself into thinking that having a newborn, a healing c-section scar, a 6 month old, and two other small children will be a walk in the park.

I keep thinking this weekend is going to seem so looooooooooooooooooooooong, BUT perhaps I'd better enjoy it.

Just really happy they don't have to put mesh things in my veins before the surgery so that clots won't travel to my brain and kill me on the operating table.

But, you know, stay posted for that freakishly worried post somewhere around Monday evening. I have to report to the hospital at 5 AM Tuesday morning, so I won't have much time to think about it, then.

My doc said she'd let me try for a VBA2C up until 40 or 41 weeks, and maybe I'll just go ahead and cancel the section at the last minute.

Or, you know,

maybe not.

93 hours

2011-07-15T08:31:00.002-05:00

Not that I'm counting or anything.

In need of distractions...

the weekend spreads out before me like a vast expanse.

132 hours

2011-07-13T17:27:00.000-05:00

Dear Baby Girl,

In 132 hours we will be leaving for the hospital to see you. To touch your face, to hear your cries. I have faith that we will be doing all of these things, though Satan tells me otherwise.

It's a daily battle, you know, and it has been, for the past 9 months. I have been scared for you, but I know that Providence makes no mistakes and I have to rest in that fact.

Today you weighed 7 pounds and 11 ounces and you've got to be so proud of your mom for officially making it one week past the number of weeks I carried your brother and sister.

It has not been easy, but I do it for you.

I keep praying that you will come earlier, that I won't have to be cut open to have you and that you could be born the usual way. Wouldn't that just be icing on the cake?

Last night I vomited my entire dinner. It was a good dinner, so this was a sad fact. When I exited the bathroom your dad was waiting for me and I let myself have a good, long hard cry. He held me and whispered to me, "I don't know how you do it."

"I don't know how, either," I replied.

We went to Build-a-Dino and your brother and sister built you a dino, a pink one, with your name on it. They were so happy and eager to stuff that Dino full of little hearts they had kissed with their love, rubbed in tiny fingers to warm, jumped with up and down to ensure there was energy when the hearts were inserted.

The Dino is pink and she is named, well, "Pink," and she's already dirty because one or the other has been carrying her everywhere and occassionally holding it up to my belly, saying your name and telling you she is giving you a kiss.

In a fit of wild passion, I filled out the bear's birth certificate at the computers in the corner, meant for kids, with your pretty flower name.

Having you so close I can almost touch you has the anxiety coming faster, but it also has me realizing I have no control and I need to enjoy this time of feeling you kick and punch and of not having to worry about you wrestling with all that is wrong with this world once you arrive here.

In there, you're protected from the knowledge, at least, of anything sad or bad.

Can't wait to hold you, and love you, and tell you how long you were waited for.

Love you,
Mom

BLAH DERP

2011-07-09T10:35:00.003-05:00

10 days until c-section, if she doesn't come before.

I am hot, sweaty, generally feeling nasty.

STOP TELLING ME SHE'S ALMOST HERE. ALMOST HERE DOES NOT FEEL LIKE ALMOST HERE WHEN I AM PUKING 24/7.

Thank you.

Give me your tips on getting her to come early. Ha, I know, she won't come until she's ready, blah, blah, blah,

BLAH-FREAKING-BLAH.

GIVE ME YOUR TIPS.

Oh, and you have been officially introduced to the ugly underbelly of foster care.

Thank me later.

ready for the world

2011-07-07T10:00:00.000-05:00

When you were first born, you needed me differently than she did.

You'd cuddle right up to my chest, nurse longer, gaze at me differently.

"Boys and girls are different," they said.

"Duh," I thought.

But I think it's true. You need the soft reassurances of me, even at this young age, more than she did. She is bolder, brighter, ready for the world.

You: unsure, unsteady. Lots of calls for "Mama" in the night and during the day.

It doesn't matter how often I bathe you (I've sort of given up doing it often), you still smell like rotten puppy. You are adamant about the clothes you choose, and you announce loudly to anyone who will listen,

"I have to poop!" every time you are about to do so.

You always forget to wash your hands, and dirt is always under your fingernails.

You are more stubborn than any child I know, and you wear me out.

Everything is a battle.

And then, some nights as you sleep, I shuffle through the little boy mulch that covers your carpet:

Toy soldiers, Matchbox cars, candy wrappers, filth.

There's usually some random object on your pillow you demanded to sleep with, and I'm usually too tired to object.

I look at your sweaty blond head, the lips that look so like your daddy's, hear the soft puff of your breath.

My heart catches in my throat, and I know this one thing:

Every day I love you, every day I hug and accept and patch up your broken places, every day I tell your father that I don't think I am equipped for you and take a deep jagged breath and wonder what I did wrong today,

I make you ready for the world.

Dear Baby Girl

2011-07-06T21:37:00.001-05:00

Dear Baby Girl,
Being asleep during the Biophysical Profile was not cool. You gave me a heart attack.
Being awake during the Non-Stress Test they ordered after that was cool.

By the way. The acupuncture and the 6 inch long needles inserted into all areas of my body this morning weren't for fun. They're supposed to get you going.

Feel free to come out any time now.

stuff

2011-07-05T20:45:00.000-05:00

Tomorrow is my next-to-last Biophysical Profile. My last OB appointment is next week. My c-section is going to be some time the week after that.

A friend texted me today and told me that I am so in denial about this whole thing that when I actually have her in my arms I'm going to be a little shocked.

my text back: "You know this girl well."

I'm proud of myself for not freaking out, today, at my 37 week appointment. This is when I lost it with Asher and it's when they took him out. And then, well, he spent 2 weeks in the NICU on a ventilator because he couldn't breathe. Now *THAT* was fun.

****************

Baby Man's parents failed their application to have him live in their home, should they ever get him back.

The social worker emailed this information to me today and asked me again about being ready to fill out adoption paperwork.

We are filling out adoption paperwork.

In other news, Baby Man is the smiliest, happiest, calmest baby around.

...and he is now the proud owner of this new talent.
What good this little guy has done our hearts.

in which she gets her name

2011-07-01T15:47:00.004-05:00

No name has really seemed to "click" with this girl.

So, hoping to remedy that, this past Sunday I had a special request of my family. Said family, knowing I have a penchant for hormonal swings, decided to go ahead and honor it.

Scott and Lucy, deep in agonizing thought amidst tortilla ingredients, it appears..

Scott furiously crosses off those names which only have one vote (we were each allowed five).

Asher, meat head that he is, had to be bribed with Twizzlers. He also voted for every name but two.

Scott, furiously crossing out names as we vote...

We came up with our top four favorite names, and we've been thinking about them this week, assuming we'd just take them to the hospital.

Yesterday, however, I was thinking again through our list of 54 names (no, I'm not kidding) and stopped at one that only Asher had voted for. It's not one we've discussed with anyone else, but it's one that just seemed to "click".

I emailed Scott and said, "This is her first name."

He said, "Yes it is!"

Today, driving toward the hospital, I was listening to a song by one of my favorite artists. The emotions conveyed in the song are so similar to my emotions over this entire journey, and I immediately knew what her middle name would be.

Once again, ever the technology officionado, I texted Scott on my ghettotastic cell phone and said, "This is her middle name!"

And he said, "How did you get it?"

And I told him my reasoning and how it struck me, and he said,

"I like it."

I typed out her name in this publishing field and then un-typed it.

Our daughter, her name...both like delicate secrets tucked underneath my heart.

And both, my friends, about to make their delicious debut.

camper

2011-06-30T14:47:00.002-05:00

Our resident Girl Scout Camper. And...I've never had a belly this big in my LIFE.

contractions

2011-06-30T10:06:00.000-05:00

All day yesterday I felt like I was getting my period. I actually went to the bathroom closet, looking for a pad, and then I thought, "How could I be getting my period? I'm pregnant!"

Don't ask me what my ACT score was, please.

So, anyway, went to the doctor, no dilation, told her I had lost a glob of something, wasn't sure what it was, but could that be the mucus plug? She said it could.

Last night around 11, I just couldn't sleep. Felt contractions in my uterus and all through my back, down my legs. Drank some water, they went away. This morning, more contractions, so I've been in bed. They come back when I get up.

I know this could mean that labor would be still 3 or 4 weeks away, but it is amazing what the body does to get ready.

For anyone reading my blog of late and thinking I am complaining about being pregnant, I am, sometimes. I have alot of anxiety about it and don't really *know* how to do the hopeful expectation thing. It's completely new to me.

Scott was furiously rifling through the baby name book last night and said to me, "Hey, maybe we should actually, you know, have a PLAN for what we're doing with the other three if that happened to be the real thing."

He was so cute...asking if he should be packing a bag, sitting up with me while I ate Life Cereal at 1 in the morning, claiming he was "waiting for me to pop".

He was sort of looking at me like a science experiment, one that he had a part in creating, but is a bit horrifyingly strange, none the less.

"Where is she going to sleep?"

"I don't have a clue."

"Maybe we should figure that out, too."

Then he started laughing that I was googling contraction information on his I-Phone, even though we have two biological kids already.

Strange world we live in.

Another ultrasound tomorrow at our favorite children's hospital, and then we get to gorge ourselves on their awesome food.

I'm going to organize everything in this house today, and...once again...sorry about all the pregnancy posts.

I guess it's just where I'm at.

So strange.

So, so strange.

the significance of socks

2011-06-29T14:44:00.002-05:00

Baby Girl has received her eviction notice. I cried my eyes out at the doctor's office, a good cathartic cry. I told her I'm kind of at the end of my rope, and she told me it was time to serve Baby Girl's notice.

This is becoming more and more real.

I even went to Gymboree after my Dad/Daughter date with my dad and he bought her these socks:

I know..."Socks, you say? Really?" Yes, really. I picked them up because they remind me of one of my best friends and I want Baby Girl to have some Aunt Coco fashion... and then I put them back down and picked them up again and thought, "What the hell, she's going to need socks."

He really liked their Bumblebee line and was looking that stuff over, but it gave me the cold sweats and we were looking for something for Baby Man to wear to court, so we got that and left.

My Dad...would have bought out the whole store for me.

Thanks, Dad. Love you. Love how you love me.