It's Been HOW Long?!

Oh my stars and garters, I'm the worst blogger ever.

Since I last posted, we got a dog and a sister-in-law.

The dog came shortly before my birthday.  She gets me out of the house walking twice a day.  This has been good for me.

The sister-in-law moved in last week.  She has an internship with my husband's company.  This is good for her.  She helps out around the house.  This is good for me.

In the meantime, pictures:

We've become expert selfie photobombers.

We checked out Hershey Park.

We tried our first cotton candy.

We LOVED scaring ourselves silly!

We learned how to smile like everything depended on it!

We went shopping in water wings... and we liked it.

We are too cute for words!

We got new responsibilities.

We got flowers for our 33rd birthday.

We got active and independent enough for a saucer.

We enjoyed rolling in the grass.

We supported each other... perhaps a little TOO much.

We took every opportunity to learn science!

We got to squeeze in a nap or two.

Well, some of us got to nap...

And the mischief continues...

Checking In

My husband's coworkers have approached him about having me start a more commercially appealing blog about parenthood.  According to them, I should also have a Twitter account so that I can share the antics of my children far and wide.  Old high school friends, current friends, and far-reaching family all seem to be in agreement.  It should culminate in a book or two that will hit the best sellers list and result in a fat paycheck.

I think that's awesome, and I'm humbled by their confidence in my ability to spin the craziness of motherhood into a humorous, if not positive, light.

However, I am firmly stuck on the fact that my rantings and ravings are a far, far cry from any other mother's experience with her child(ren).  In fact, most of you reading this have stories of commiseration that you share every time I bring up the latest shenanigans.  When I question the humorous angle I try to put on things, the Mom Army shows up with similarly hilarious, hair-raising accounts of all the times they wondered if motherhood was going to have massive casualties.  My own mother could turn your hair white with the memories of horrors wrought by me and my brothers on a daily basis.

This doesn't even touch on the things my husband has admitted to doing as a child with his brothers.  If I wore pearls, I would clutch them every time my husband said "back when I was a kid..."

This is not to say I won't give it a try.  I'm currently compiling most of my Facebook posts about my kids and expanding on the their surrounding stories when I have a free moment or two (yes, I laughed at that, too).  My husband and I brainstorm in passing about possible titles.  He has a pretty sweet background in marketing, so that will hopefully be a breeze.

But the whole idea seems to be a "preaching to the choir" scenario that will fizzle quickly.

I guess we will see, depending on when/where/how/if it takes off.

I also need to brush up on my grammar.  I used to outwardly proclaim pride in my grammar nazi-ism, perhaps erroneously, but I find more and more that my mistakes are becoming more frequent and pathetic.

Also, I typed up this entry while rolling a flat tennis ball under one foot beneath the desk.  Then it occurred to me: we don't have any tennis balls.  It was a half-eaten apple.  I'll have fun getting that out of the carpet...

It Deserves Its Own Post!

A huge and thankful and long overdue shout-out to Ann and her expert craftsmanship for the beautiful swaddlers!  The cotton gauze is glorious for the summer, the embroidery is just too cute, and they are earning their miles with our new little one!

He is one comfortable, stylin', blessed little guy!

A Birth Story

This has been a long time in the works, as I have felt the need to revisit and revisit and revisit the birth of our newest addition.

The night my mother flew into town, she and I loaded up the kids and went to "walk out the baby" at the local mall.  She was only going to be in town a week, so we had to get labor rolling ASAP.  As God, luck, chance, and fate would have it, the walk through the mall did the trick and I was in active labor after about an hour of brisk walking.  It was the world's most amazing timing!

We took the kids home, got them into bed, I finished loading my hospital bag and took a shower.  I won't lie: I tried to stall and stall and stall (would an "oops" home birth have been too much to ask?!), but my mom ended up insisting that we roll out to the hospital around midnight.  I was oddly at peace about it, which is cause for all of my revisiting the entire birth experience in my head.  I'll explain shortly.

I checked in and my doctor was called.  I got to slip into one of those ever-so-fashionable hospital gowns and I proceeded to walk the halls like a mad woman.  This kid was going to come fast, so help me!  Well, I didn't take into account that I'd be laboring that whole time without so much as a nap the day before, so I ran out of steam around 4 a.m. and began to fall asleep between contractions.  It was far beyond my control.  I'd wake up, breathe through it, and fall right back to sleep.  John, God love him, was falling asleep and waking up with me through nearly every contraction.

The one time I did manage to stay awake was when I went to turn onto my other side and I felt my water break.  I peered down and saw what I had dreaded with every pregnancy: meconium.  I had avoided this with every pregnancy so far, and I had read up on the risks involved with meconium, so I, in my exhausted state, buzzed the nurse and woke up John in full panic mode, already anticipating a long NICU stay for the baby that involved complications from pneumonia and full rounds of not-in-my-control immunizations, steroids, and other things that would assault my baby's already fragile system.  I know, I'm a total fatalist.  It didn't help that the nurse immediately told me the NICU team would be present for the birth to assess the baby and see if any intervention was needed.  All I heard, of course, was "NICU needs to intervene, so this is just about as disastrous as it gets."  Yay for a heaping dose of the crazies, exactly when I don't need them!

Then, at about 7 a.m., the nurses were preparing for shift change and traffic picked up in my room as I paced like a caged animal, trying to figure out a way to go home.  My contractions looked like the Rocky Mountains on the strip, the baby's heart rate looked perfect, I was stalled out at 6 cm for the last 4 hours, and I wanted so much to just go home.  I was feeling like He-Man, going without an IV of any kind, and drugs were nowhere in sight, and I hated everyone in that room except my husband, and why was there a stupid gravel roof outside the window, and I hoped my mom was doing ok with Louis, and did I have enough food at home for everyone, and I wanted to go home.  Yes, the thoughts were that scattered and insane.

After about forty-five minutes, I crawled back into the bed and wanted so much to cry.  The doctor was coming in to check my progress and I knew 6 cm was going to be it, and then she'd start talking c-sectioning.  I was all kinds of ready to choke her if she even breathed about a section.  Alas, I was up to 9 cm.  I was so happy!!!

But then she had me lie back and she got her "rain gear" on.  She got into position and told the nurses to flank me and bring my knees up.  She then told me to push.  I looked at her, utterly bewildered, asking if that would cause the cervix to swell and give cause for a section (as she told me when I was laboring with Louis and felt the urge to push too early).  She said baby was still high and left and I needed to work him down with her.  I had no idea what that meant, which was the most frustrating and angering thing at that point!  I thought I had prepared for everything, and then she throws THAT at me?!  Fine.  Whatever.  Get the baby out safely so he can have his meconium pneumonia and his gazillion shots and I can take him home before his first birthday.  (Yes, still with the crazies.)

John said he watched her work her hand like she was turning a doorknob that was hidden within my body.  As she did that, the contractions took on an inhuman feel.  One nurse pushed the baby's heart monitor into my abdomen in a way that felt like she was keeping the baby from descending.  The pressure from the doctor working to turn the baby's head also felt like she was pushing him back up into my body.  All of this caused each contraction to feel like my uterus was going to rupture into my chest, and still they were telling me to push through it.

Every fiber of my body recoiled.  I wanted to straighten my legs and get them all away, but I also thought the baby could have been in serious danger because he hadn't descended and he was marinating in his own poop.  So, against my instinct and against the deafening pleas of my body, I pushed.  I pushed and begged them to stop touching me and begged them to go away and pushed and pushed and pleaded with them to give me just a little more time to walk.  I pushed nearly to the point of passing out.

Just as I was going to give up, his head popped out and his body followed with little more than a deep breath on my part.  The NICU team took him to the other side of the room immediately and he wasn't crying.  John, who read me like a book and knew that this was all wrong for me, was working to keep himself composed while he tried to help me pick up the pieces of whatever this fiasco was that shattered me so strangely.  The adrenaline and euphoria of having muscled through this didn't come.  I felt broken.  I clung to John and cried.  This was nothing like my other births.  I'd have preferred the drugs and the spinal headache and the threat of a section and the pathetic recovery and the extra time spent in the hospital to all of that.  It all felt so wrong.

But it was over.

Then the baby cried.  My head shot up, as did John's, and we caught the NICU nurse giving the thumbs up.  His lungs were clear, his breathing was fine, and his APGAR scores were great.  They finished cleaning him off and brought him to me and John and I got to drown the horrifying delivery in the joy of meeting our sweet little boy.  After a few minutes of touching him and thanking God that he was here and safe, I let him nurse, and he nursed like a pro.  I studied his little face and kissed him and breathed him in and clutched my husband to the two of us as we just let this moment happen.

John Elias was born June 5th at 8:15 a.m., 

weighing 8 lbs. 7 oz. and was 20" long.

Everything after that was a bit of a blur.  They weighed him and took his stats, handed him back to us for a while as they prepared to wheel me into recovery, and took my stats as they congratulated me.  They wheeled me to recovery in these new suites that were just built.  I got "the best room" that had two windows as compared to one (they were very big windows).  The shower was super nice and the whole floor had a "day spa" feel to it.  My room had loads of natural light, all the rooms were private, and the walls were built to be soundproof so the entire floor was very quiet.  It was, indeed, very nice overall.

Still, I felt wrecked.  I felt the need to replay what happened over and over.  Then, when John handed me the baby to hold, I noticed that the baby's forehead and cheeks were bruised.  I felt horrible all over again.  I wasn't the only one having a really rough time with that delivery, and I hated that he bore signs of it.  I was told by everyone that it was normal, given his traumatic delivery (their words).  Had he not turned, his shoulders would have been wedged in my pelvis and things would have gotten really bad, really quickly.  I tried to let that be of some comfort, but looking at his poor little face made me wonder if they had just let me labor an hour more, would it have been different?  Would I have ended up here if a midwife were in charge versus my doctor, whom I truly like and respect?

Then I found out that my doctor high-tailed out of there after delivery to get to her son's kindergarten graduation.  My cynicism took hold and I wallowed in the thought that she rushed things to suit her schedule.  I totally understand wanting to be there for that.  I really, truly do.  I was being selfish and I had no sleep at that point, so I asked John to talk me out of this weird, dark funk.  He sighed heavily and said he thought she should have waited, that history has proven that my kids stay high until I hit 10 cm.  Then they descend quickly and they're out with less than five pushes.

I coiled up around the baby and slept, hoping that my anger was entirely my own selfish reaction to a hard delivery and praying that I'd learn to see past it all and revel in the joy of having a healthy (though beat-up) baby to show the other kids when they came with Avia to visit.

The nap did a lot of good.  I felt better physically and mentally, and the cynicism had taken a back seat.  When I thought about what had happened, I was left with more of a feeling of shock, like I wasn't sure the whole thing had even happened.

I had great nurses, I had some decent sleep, I got a decent meal, and my pain had all but disappeared.  My mom brought the kids, who went nuts over their new brother.  I got the ok for my 24-hour discharge and filled out all the paperwork necessary to see that John Elias would be coming with us.  A good night's sleep later, and we were sent home.

He had a hero's welcome, for sure!

Louis got to show baby John his lovely shiner!

Joseph just giggled the whole time he held the baby.

Thomas studied the baby's movement and maintained

a sweet sense of awe and wonder.

And Maria is a natural with him.

My mom was a blessing to have around!  She kept laundry going, she kept us fed, and she kept the kids happy while we adjusted.  She was wonderful company and it was so nice to have an adult around to talk to amidst the usual craziness of the kids.  I cried the whole way home from the airport after dropping her off.

However, we weren't alone for very long.  In the weeks to follow, our son was Baptized, Chrismated, and received his First Holy Eucharist with his Godmother and Godfather in attendance.

He was in a diaper only, at first.  He had to be anointed

on his chest, back, palms, feet, ears, and head.

All fresh and clean, literally and in every sense!

Now that the passing through of various family and guests has died down for now, we're just taking in his emerging personality and adjusting to sleepless nights and diaper duty all over again.  He's an easy baby, crying only when in need of a change or a meal.  He'll wake up no more than three times a night so far, and that has been exceptionally nice for me.

We've even had our first non-gassy smile!

Deep thinker, or does he just like windows that much?

Having readily available helpers has been awesome!

Baby wearing is invaluable!

That's it for now.  Duty (and doody) calls!

Perspective

I woke up this morning wedged between my toddler and my husband, twisted and uncomfortable, but unwilling to disturb either of them, even with nerves in my hip screaming for relief.  My husband did eventually wake up and stumble to the shower, leaving me room to roll away from the still-sleeping toddler.

When I did, something popped in my pelvic area and pain shot through my body.  I curled up and began sobbing, letting the rush of self-pity totally consume me.  I'm still gigantically pregnant, the house isn't spotless, I hardly sleep anymore, I'm physically and emotionally and mentally exhausted all of the time, nothing is getting done, my nesting is feverish-yet-unfocused, making sure I have a baby before my mom's visit is over is stressing me out, and the list goes on.

Then, out of the blue, comes a message from an old high school friend on Facebook.  She had been MIA on Facebook since the beginning of December.  I figured it was because she was only days from giving birth to her first baby, a girl, and the chaos and joy of being a new mom was probably consuming her every moment.  She asked how my pregnancy was going, excited for me and the expansion of my family, and then tells me that she and her husband lost their daughter.  I am not aware of any details, but we have a long overdue phone call planned for tomorrow morning.

I ache so much for her.  I ache so much for any mother who has lost any child.  How selfish I have been to complain about the trivialities that come with any normal, uncomplicated pregnancy when there are mothers who would give anything to have those aches and pains to a blinding degree in exchange for mere moments with their babies.  I should be grateful for the pain, for it isn't even peanuts compared to the pain that could be.

With my whole world slammed back into perspective, in all of its terror and simplicity, I've taken to my meager sufferings with quiet resolve and gratitude, prayers for the souls lost and those that had to let them go, and a renewed effort to quiet my nagging urgency to keep a wholly unrealistic schedule.

Thank you, God, for my sufferings.  If they should ever be so great as those of others, please hold me closely to You, that I might remain ever faithful and grateful for the gifts borne of sadness and hardship.

Update And Kid-isms

As there is never a quiet moment for proper reflection, meditation, and self-preservation, I've learned to take what I can "on the fly" during our days and laugh about them with my husband during our evenings.  I am not complaining at all, but rather I am ecstatic to be caught up in the whirlwind of our days, the craziness of these moments, and the fact that I have been blessed with laughter from the beginning of my life through today.

Today is a lesson in humility from my daughter:

Daughter: "Mommy, I was thinking..."
Me: (bracing myself)
Daughter: "I don't want a lot of presents for my birthday. All that My Little Pony stuff we talked about, clothes, dolls, even the books, I can do without all of that. I just want one thing..."
Me: (mentally high-fiving myself for the long awaited confirmation that my encouragement of a humble heart and simplistic living might actually be taking root in her beautiful little soul)
Daughter: "...a jetpack."
Me: (deep and depressed sigh, thanking God for keeping at least ONE of us humble...)

On an outing to the grocery store:

Upon seeing two little hispanic girls dressed in orange shirts and purple skirts:
Son #2: "Mommy!  Look!!!  Dora the Explorer has a twin!!!"

Daughter: (to an elderly woman) "Are you buying Jell-O because you're old?"

Son #3: "MOMMY!!!  I HAVE TO POOP!!!  I HAVE TO POOP RIGHT NOW!!!" (yes, full volume in the middle of a Memorial Day crush of fellow shoppers)

That is hardly the half of it, but it's all I can think of as the four of them run around behind me while I type, erupting with laughter and impossible numbers to rank how happy they are as compared to each other.

Update: The baby is due today.  This means absolutely nothing to me and the baby and my body, of course.  He's comfortable and happy, I'm puttering around making sure we are set for babysitting and meals in the extremely unlikely chance that he'll debut before my mom arrives next week.  I saw my OB today and she is more than happy to let my body do what it does without intervention of any kind.  The baby's heart rate is great, my blood pressure is pristine, I'm characteristically uncomfortable, and that puts everything at normal.  I go for a quick round of fetal monitoring tomorrow (fluid check, cord mapping, and general checking-in), though I would absolutely LOVE LOVE LOVE to have the baby on Ascension Thursday!  Still, I won't push it.

Today is met with another laundry blitz (yesterday's laundry blitz was gloriously successful!) and cleaning up of the boys' room, setting up the baby's bassinet, packing my hospital bag (maybe), and rejoicing in the rain that is due to shower us all afternoon.  Speaking of rain, I suppose I should transfer my seedlings before the rain begins...

Off I go!

It's After 4 p.m. Already?!

It seems my days are a blur of activity, even when I'm sitting on my butt.  If I'm not a frenzied check writer to keep on top of bills that will be coming in during my post-partum days, I'm blitzing to get these kids to finish work samples for their evaluator.  Then comes the evening out of nowhere, and my nesting habits have to be cut short to make dinner before I affix myself to my husband's side for the rest of the evening to get fence stuff managed.

Oh, and John decided that this upcoming weekend is fence time.  The pickets have been ordered and received, lumber purchased and delivered, paint acquired, tools assembled, and the beginning stages of overall installation have begun.  Right now, painting the pickets is the name of the game and you can all call me Tom Sawyer, only without the cunning to manipulate every passer-by into partaking in the work with/for me.  It seems all I can do in between sloshing paint all over these pickets is yell at the neighbor kids to quit digging holes in my freakin' garden.

This fence will be SUCH a blessing!

Until then, it is SUCH a time suck!!!

Seriously, our neighbor has a daughter who is very unhinged.  If she's not carelessly trampling little kids and hurling dirt at others, she's shrieking at her toddler brother and sister for every tiny offense.  Just being near her puts me on edge, and I feel terrible about that.  She's got to be in her late tweens, early teens, she is bossy, quick to anger, she nearly knocked John over while running around in our yard, and threw a garden shovel full of dirt in my daughter's eye yesterday evening.  I know it was an accident on her part, but she doesn't pay attention to anyone around her until it's time to yell.  I hate that I feel so repelled by her; that her very presence makes me want to throw my hands up and immediately remove myself and others from her vicinity.

And she's not the only one.  Our other neighbors have two little girls who have no concept of personal property.  They used to help me weed my garden and we'd talk about stuff, which I absolutely adored doing and I'd give them some produce in return, but then they took it as license to help themselves to anything in our yard.  They used some of my beets as sidewalk chalk, they prematurely picked my apple tree clean of its apples, they tried using our hoses (and water) to spray at other neighbor kids, they have cut paths in our side yards from the constant through-traffic they (and others) create, they have ruined a bike that a friend loaned to us for my youngest, and the other neighbor kids took their example and contributed to all of that.

"Fences make the best neighbors" is no joke.

I was beginning to feel bad that the "Oklahoma panhandle" part of our property cuts so close to one of the other houses, but we paid for it, we are still paying taxes on it, and these kids continue to seemingly do everything in their power to ruin it.  I'm kinda finished feeling bad.  Once the fence is up, it will be the new home of my clothesline.  Once the side yard is fenced in, the garden in the shade will be moved to the sunny spot out front and a hammock will be placed in the shade for our enjoyment.

Anyway, the house is a mess, inside and out.  I can't seem to stay on top of it, no matter how motivated and well-planned I am.  Oh well.  Better keep moving rather than cry here about it. :-)

A Rant

I was flipping through my usual online news sources when I came across the story of babies born with two faces, two brains sharing a brain stem, and a single body.  They are healthy, breathing on their own, eating, and born to a family who loves them just the way they are.  Mom and Dad are over the moon about their new addition and that they are doing really well for conjoined twins.

The comments section is inundated with remarks advocating for the death of these girls.  "They face a life of cruelty from others, so they should have been aborted" is the general consensus.

Just WHO is being cruel here?!?!

Have we degenerated so much as a people that any adversity is reason to die rather than rise above our circumstances?  Assholes calling for the death of these babies are precisely the assholes who are going to treat them miserably because they outright fail to see the value that these special little lives bring to the world.  No, they won't have it easy, but it will be no fault of their own, so why have them die for it?

Just who the hell do people think they are, pretending to be able to conclude that some people are better off dead than facing life in less-than-ideal circumstances?  I have heard people scream and yell about political "death panels" ushered in with Obamacare, yet they will advocate for circumstantial abortion with the same breath.  What is the difference?!

These girls were born into ideal circumstances, especially for their condition, and STILL people cry about the injustice of it all?

Let's advocate for the widespread acceptance of LGBT people, but if you're born with two faces, you ought to die, like, yesterday.  Nobody needs to see THAT.  Nice.

Things like this make me want to hurry up and have 10-12 more kids, just to counter balance the ignorance and sickness of this pervasive culture of death that would literally rather see children die violent deaths (I don't know how being burned alive and ripped to shreds within the womb is humane) than grow up in conditions that are sub-yuppy.  

May God have mercy on us all.

Get In My Belly!!!

I woke up feeling nauseated again, but once I got up and moving I have been struck with this desperate need to eat.

I want to eat everything!

I had two eggs for breakfast and I'm trying to keep it at that until after baby check this morning.  I'm also on Pinterest, flipping through their food section, dying to eat a pineapple cream pie (did you even know there was such a thing?!?!) with a balsamic glazed chicken chaser, making sure not to ignore the bacon-wrapped scallops, blueberry quinoa parfait, and glazed lemon zucchini bread.

As Murphy's Law would have it, I have to go to the grocery store for a couple of necessary items after my baby check, so Heaven knows that it's like walking an alcoholic into a free beer garden.  Ugh...

A friend posted a no-bake eclair cake recipe on her Facebook this morning and I nearly died looking at it.  Thankfully, I read the ingredients and it included Cool Whip, which repulses me.  That's a bazillion calories that I can willingly turn down. :-)

Chicken for dinner is in the crock pot because it needs to be done before three in order to be used in the enchiladas I have planned.  I can barely wait to eat those!

Ok, I need to move on from food...

Last night started a trend that I hope-beyond-hope to continue.  We drove to a lovely park that has an expansive playground and a nature trail so that John could get in a long, necessary walk, and so the kids could blow steam on the playground.  It was a success!  John got his sweat on and the kids went to bed without much fuss.  As we get bikes repaired and strollers refreshed, I'm hoping we can all slowly move to the trails first and then punctuate with a round on the playground.  Or, as John builds his resolve to stay in shape, maybe he can allow me to mosey off on the trail and get my own wrecked physique into fighting shape. :-D

In other news, I tried thredup.com last week.  It's an online consignment store that has prices comparable to our local Goodwill, only they ship to your door.  Anyway, we bought Maria some summer wardrobe essentials (cotton dresses and some tops) and I could not be more pleased with the condition and quality of the clothes.  I know, I sound like a commercial, but it's the truth.  Two of her picks:

Could this not be more perfect for a summer BBQ?

Toss on a shrug, and it'll do for Liturgy!

This one made me nervous, as brown and bright colors,

when paired, intimidate me.  However, this was one of

my favorites.  The picture doesn't do it much justice.

And it was new with tags, so I got to see that I paid

10% of the original price.  Awesome!

We also found a white cotton eyelet dress (so cute!) and a pale yellow cotton dress that's decidedly "hippy chic."  The tops were various Hello Kitty fodder (gag me, but she likes them) that will do well with her clam digger shorts and jeans when playdates come a-calling.

Ok, I need to head out for the baby check.  Time to herd the cats...

EDIT/UPDATE: Doc thought the baby was breech, but did a quick peek on the ultrasound machine and saw that he's head first and ready to roll.  My labs were negative for Group B Strep, so I told her she probably wouldn't see me until I had to push.  She thought that was great, and we then talked a while about lay midwifery being introduced at the local hospital by another doctor, like the hospital would honor coverage for any necessary intervention under one doctor (who is particularly unreliable for that very instance)?  It was an interesting talk.  I also get to go IV free (unless an emergency pops up, of course) and I get an early discharge.  I'm still heavily weighing an "oops" homebirth, though.  (I know, Mom, but it's not like you can stop me!  BWAHAAHAAAAAA!!!)

Onward And Still Onward :-)

Much like last pregnancy, I have managed to find reasons to be tempted beyond tempting to schedule an induction and be done with it.

I won't.  I absolutely won't.  But I am sooooooo tempted!

All of these friends of mine who are due right around the same time as I am have had their babies.  Even a friend who was due a month AFTER me has had her baby.  She won't get to take her baby home until after I take ours home, and I don't envy her for that (her daughter was born at 26 weeks), but I'm feeling that insanely jealous tug to be among those who have gotten to meet, snuggle, and breathe in their babies.  Another was scheduled for a section in two weeks, but had her son last night.  GAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!  Are you kidding me?!?!

One friend is due a week or two after me.  She's still pregnant, so I selfishly cling to her in my head, thinking she must be the only person on the planet who understands.  However, I'm convinced that she'll meet her baby before I meet mine.  

I know, poor Meghann and her first-world pregnancy problems.  

In a nutshell: I'm 37 weeks (about), baby is measuring 38 weeks, and my body is locked up like Ft. Knox.  Contractions continue off-and-on, but I plow through them.  My nesting instinct has crashed, so I have turned my attention to finishing up the kids' academic year for the school district, though we plan to continue light schooling through the summer in order to help establish a groove in the wake of the baby's arrival.  I'm hoping to have all of their paperwork turned in to the district by Friday next week.

They are diligent little workers, that's for sure:

He has officially mastered subtraction facts for the number 11.

The girl, still clad in her PJs, can't seem to get dressed until

after math is completed.

Sewing continues:

I did a gauze receiving blanket for the baby since he'll

be born during what is predicted to be a very miserable summer.

A swaddler is being made from the leftover material.

Mischief is still being managed:

I don't suppose I should be surprised...

Adding humor to an otherwise boring sensible lunch for John.

(He declared that I was the best wife ever.)

Fence planning is going very well.  My husband has been pouring through books from the library and setting up a good plan of execution.  We FINALLY found a source for pickets that are decently priced and made of decent wood.  That adventure alone was a two week ordeal.  Hopefully the rest will be a cake walk.  In the meantime, I'll be weeding the garden and transplanting our seedlings, doing homework on ideal outdoor paint for the fence, cleaning house (hoping to reignite the nesting), setting up appointments with optometrists and pediatricians, paying bills through next month, planning visits from and to family over the coming births/weddings/baptisms, and laundering cloth diapers and baby clothes.  

It Falls Together.

Remember this handsome guy?

I love him to pieces an all of his hilariously awkward, frustratingly headstrong, loud and obnoxiously defiant ways.  Where I assert authority and, admittedly, control, he fires back with emotional pleas and adamant conditions to his compliance.  

It's like parenting a mini-me.

Once in a while, he does something that shakes down everything I have struggled to establish with him involving the parent-child relationship.  Stupidly and sadly, it is a lesson that I often forget in my totalitarian approach to running a household and educating my children, even in the more casual unschooling environment I seek to perfect.

He must be self-motivated.  He must be given the freedom to fulfill that motivation.  He must do it without me hovering nearby and making corrections, no matter how slight.  If he wants help, he will ask for it.  If he needs clarification, he knows who to ask.

He does beautifully without me.

This is a major lesson in humility for me.  With an autistic son who is not comfortable without an adult presence, a daughter who begs for attention with nearly every task, and a diabolical genius toddler who needs supervision just to keep the house from burning down, you'd think I'd welcome a kid who is independently learning and self-sufficient.  But no, I seem to slide back into this habit of constant instruction and frequent rigidity.

This morning, as I scoured the internet for games and activities to bring him up to speed on his math skills, he pulled out a workbook geared for his age group, sat himself on the floor behind our couch, and began hammering away at double-digit addition and subtraction facts.  I had NO idea until he asked me to clarify an answer he was unsure about.  He had it right.  I left the computer and peered behind the couch to see that he was already two pages into it and doing a beautiful job.  Not a single problem was wrong.

Not only was he doing the work himself, but he was very proud of it, more so than he has ever been when asked to do things like that.  What a joy!  Why do I keep forgetting that these bursts of his more than make up for the days he seems totally unmotivated?  Why do I not grasp that he CAN and WILL do what he needs to do without me harping on him?  Why on earth do I want to consistently rob him of the opportunity and ability to accomplish everything he can on his own terms?  Why do I resist making life easier for both of us with a more hands-off approach?

Who REALLY needs the education here?

He's asking if he can make dinner this evening.  I told him he could.  It sounds like we're having meatballs on spaghetti squash.  I love this kid!

To The Octave And Beyond!

When on Earth did life get to be so crazy?!  Easter seemed like a hit and run, filled with great food and low key enjoyment, but everything since Easter Sunday has been a marathon of non-stop things that need doing!

Firstly, obligatory Easter pictures:
(Sadly, they're mostly food.  Louis looked smashing in his three piece gray suit, but putting it on him was a nightmare wrestling match complete with both of us crying and trying to convince the other about the importance/non-importance of pants.  Maria looked lovely in a cream colored dress she was gifted when she was a flower girl in John's cousin's wedding, but I managed to miss pictures of that as well.  The two older boys got ready in a rush, having taken advantage of Mommy and Daddy being busy trying to get the other two kids spit-shined in time for Liturgy.)

Firstly, we made coconut milk to use in various recipes.

After piercing the coconut, it was drained into the processor.

Then the coconut was split, scraped, and everything but the 

shell went into the processor with the coconut water.

Whirrrrrrrrrrrrrr...

And boom, a lovely specimen of coconutty goodness

(after some straining, of course, but I wasn't a stickler about it).

With the leftover manna/milk mix that didn't fit into the jar...

...we tossed in some frozen fruit and raw honey...

...and had frozen "yogurt" for intermittent snacking 

through the impending bake-a-thon.

Finally, onto the Pascha bread, which is a sweet bread made with

eggs that goes into our basket for blessing after Liturgy.

The obligatory nutrolls, which are understated and delicious.

We interrupt the food for some hair!

HAHA, that sounds gross, but it's just how the girl

wanted her hair done up for Liturgy.  She called it her

"princess hair."

Happy Easter morning, eggs benedict!  You were delicious!!!

And lamb chops for dinner are a tradition for our little family.

Rubbed with little more than a garlic/rosemary/salt/pepper/olive oil paste,

they are simple and truly amazing.

Mashed sweet potatoes were specifically requested by the kids.

Shortly thereafter, we were invited back to our friends' farm to check out the goings-on:

Her cuteness meter exploded and she practically crawled

into the box to see the new baby bunnies.

They were painfully cute, even when they peed on my oldest.

They fit, quite literally, into the palm of your hand!

We also saw the new group of meat chicks.  They look like they will be very delicious.  And the lambs are all getting to be huge... and delicious-looking. :-)

I managed to get a few stitches worked into all the craziness:

This is the beginning of a jersey knit maxi dress for the duration of

my pregnancy and into post-partum "I'm dressed, leave me alone" time.

It starts simply, with a giant "pillow case" of fabric.

Cut at the center of the top fold to create a back-and-front V neck.

Too easy.

You then clip off a 9+ inch section on the side seams for each arm.

I then tacked on this white cotton lace that I got many years ago

from my mother-in-law while in SC.  However, after trying it on

and conferring with my mother and sister-in-law via text message,

we decided the lace was too much.  Time to hit the fabric store

for a less matronly alternative.

We've kept up with schooling, shockingly enough, and have ventured into the science of human reproduction in the interest of keep up with the baby's development.  My oldest latched onto this with true fascination and immediately got to work developing Lego visuals to complete the picture:

Here are the sperm and the egg.

One of the sperm infiltrates and a person begins.

This is an embryo in a tiny placenta.

This kid is BEYOND creative!

We also ventured into the "naked egg" experiment.

The shell was dissolved in vinegar and everyone thought

it was really neat.

To boot, we've managed to keep the kids active and inquisitive:

Daily piggyback rides?  Yes and please!

You can tell who gets the better end of these deals...

And this kid is just a sweetheart anyway.

Impish grin and a pair of shoes is all this kid needs 

to conquer the world.

Run and play, sit and pose, it's all the same!

Time to swing!

We need to work on our form, but you get the idea.

We were there just as the nightcrawlers began to emerge.

Playing with worms?  What little kid wouldn't?

One last glimpse:

This kid is already giving his little brother gifts, which more or less

means he finds something he likes, stuffs it under my shirt by my belly,

and exclaims: "It's for baby John!"

Today, it was a blue baby shoe.

Back to real life, filled with quotes for fence materials, eye appointments, garden transplanting, more schooling, end-of-the-academic-year wrap up, baby prep, house cleaning, meal planning, library fine "walk of shame," grocery runs, budgeting, car maintenance, and soooooooo much more!