Motherhood From Tomorrow

I escape to my room for about 15 minutes of solace. I had just finished helping my 5^th grader with math, while my 3 year old screamed at my feet for not buying popsicles, and my 1^st grader used his new texting app to text the word “poop” to everyone he knew.

I hop on to Facebook hoping to scroll mindlessly and I encounter it. One of those inspirational motherhood posts; the one designed to encourage tired mamas. It talks about how the mom is frustrated with Legos and shoes on the floor, but one day those will all be gone. I stop reading. Same old, same old: cherish these moments because someday they’ll be gone.

Maybe you are one who gets a boost from those posts…but I doubt it. You’re probably like me. You stop and think about what your childless home will look like and you realize that you will miss your babies. Then, it hits you. The waves of guilt because you’re tired. You’re so tired. You feel like your brain is melting from the menial tasks and you’re are overused and under-appreciated. And, dang it, you’re not appreciating it.

Do you know why you aren’t appreciating it? Because you’re not crazy! Congratulations! You’re not crazy! Even though every child in your home is trying to make you feel crazy, you have successfully avoided it up to this point. You deserve a cookie…oooh, cookies…but I digress.

Jesus said not to not worry about tomorrow, but somehow I think it’s OK for me to worry about what Empty-Nest Jen will think about my current situation. Wait, what? And even worse, someone thinks it’s OK to encourage tired Mamas with guilt from the future! This is NOT OK.

Now, don't get me wrong. I do think that sometimes in life we look back and wish that we had done better. We try to share those lessons so that someone else doesn't make the same mistake we did. I don't think anyone is trying to heap condemnation on an already tired mom. But...and it's a big but, a tired Mama is going to be better able to appreciate the moment after she's had a nap. Maybe, to encourage a mom, dishes and babysitting is a better bet than trying to make her see from a sketchy future.

God sees, tired Mama. God sees that you are doing your best. God sees that you are loving your little people with everything you have, even when you don’t think it’s enough. And God doesn’t want you to worry about your future feelings. See, you don’t have grace for future scenarios that may or may not occur. If you’re anything like me, you’re using every ounce of grace you have to walk through your day. Empty-Nest You will have the grace you need for that moment. Rest assured that the God who stays by your side while you explain to your 3^rd grader that she can pick up even though she has a broken arm, will still be by your side when you’re sitting in silence. You might even be able to hear Him a little better.

Confessions of a Grammar Nazi

It is no secret that I am a Grammar Nazi. In an era of text messages and social media the ability to write well has gone to the wayside. I never succumbed to the “u” instead of “you” or “r” instead of “are.” Also, as a student I had to diagram sentences for years and years and years. I learned to enjoy the structure and design of the English (or American English) language. Prepositional Phrases are fun! I know, I’m playing fast and loose with the word “fun.”

Very early this week someone pointed out that I am not perfect. I shall pause for a moment to let the collective gasps subside. I was having an exceptionally dreadful day and decided to unplug from life for a bit by playing on Facebook. (Let me pause again for a helpful hint: When you are in the middle of a four-hour crying jag, stay off social media. It won’t help your mood.) Anyway, I commented on what I thought was a friend’s post on the ridiculous grammar. Most of my friends understand my sarcasm and graciously put up with me. The problem was that this was not my friend’s post on his page but one in a public forum AND my phone autocorrected one of my word choices. OH. DEAR. LORD. I got called everything from stupid to someone who thinks I’m better than everyone else. For the love, I couldn’t even deal. (Again, don’t de-stress on FB.)

Herein lies the confession…I am, in fact, not perfect. I am a terrible speller. Terrible! I taught myself to spell using the corrections suggested by spell check. I spelled “maybe” like “mabey” for a large chunk of my life and the word “definitely” was my arch nemesis. I have a dictionary app on the home screen of my phone and I reference it multiple times a day. I am sure that there are mistakes in this blog and when one of my friends points them out I will correct them. The edit function on FB posts is my favorite thing. I don’t even care if you can see the history, I care that I can make it right.

The thing is, we all make mistakes. English is a crazy language. It’s got all kinds of rules, synonyms, homonyms (homophones, whatever the heck they are called now), and is ever changing. “Fishes” even became acceptable plural for “fish.” O.o 

It’s not easy but it is important. Take for instance a post that I came across online today. A young man was commenting on his inability to find a job. It didn’t sound like this:

“I am having quite a challenging time locating a job in the area. I have filled out multiple applications and have not yet been successful. Is there anyone who might have a lead on a job or would be willing to share tips with me regarding your success?”

Rather, it sounded more like this:

“what is wrong with this town I cant find a job nowhere noone will call me back this town sux”

Uh, I can probably identify part of the problem…

I once heard someone say that to be successful in life you needed to be able to speak well and write well. It’s the truth! Yeah, (<<that’s the Midwesterner in me), it isn’t always easy, and we do things incorrectly, but it is important to at least try. A friend pointed out yesterday morning that I said, “I’m good,” instead of, “I am well.” Oh my gosh, I do! Sometimes I end a sentence with a preposition or use “them” as singular, but I try to fix those things. Impressions are important, and whether or not I  inherited the Davies’ mutated spelling gene, I’m going to keep trying to be better. We all should.

Handy guide in case you don’t want to read the whole thing:

1.     I am bad at spelling

2.     Dictionaries are awesome

3.     At least try to present yourself well

4.     Stay off social media if you’re having a sad day.

Spa Day Ahead!

We have been dealing with a stomach bug at the Widmer house this week and it’s a doozy. My youngest vomited for 6 days and my youngest son is now on his second day. Add to that a husband who worked two jobs all weekend, an ink pen exploding in the dryer, and a broken prong/lost diamond in my wedding ring, and I kind of want to run away.

In the middle of a conversation with someone about my week, (thank God for electronic forms of communication keeping you sane while stuck in the house), she said, “You need a spa day after all that vomit,” and I thought, “You know what? I think you’re right!” That thought had never occurred to me before but it has stuck with me providing both excitement and uncertainty.

April 9, 2014, I miscarried our sixth child. Honestly, it wasn’t the worst thing in the whole world. I wasn’t very far along and logically I knew that when that happens it’s usually for a reason. Still, I was sad and Matt had to go to Erie, PA the next day. I didn’t like the prospect of being alone so we decided that I would leave the kids with a sitter and go with him. It was at a time in our lives where we couldn’t afford a whole lot but I decided that while he did whatever it was he needed to do, I was going to go get a manicure/pedicure. It was $50 and I put it on a credit card. (I bet Dave Ramsey is rolling in his….recliner in his million-dollar mansion.) Then I took myself to lunch at Panera with a book and regrouped. It was lovely, perfect, and exactly what I needed. When I look back at that time I think of that day first. I remember all the bad and scary stuff but also that I took some time to heal and process and thus it’s much less traumatic than it could have been.

I allowed myself that “splurge” because a miscarriage was a “big deal”. I gave myself permission to feel and regroup and spend a little on myself to carry on. It probably wasn’t so much the money, but the time alone. Then I think about my week and I question. Is this a “big deal”? Does this “qualify” me needing time away? Does it make me a weenie to need it? Don’t laugh at that last one. I have certain rules for myself so I can’t be viewed as a wimp, but that’s a whole ‘nother post.

Does my week…or however long it ends up being…allow me to be justified in spending that money? Thanks to the grace of God and my husband’s work ethic I’d no longer have to put that money on a credit card but is money spent on me for “relaxation” justifiable? Seriously, don’t laugh, I’m thinking these things even though as I write them it sounds ridiculous. My motto to my children has always been, “People before things” and Matt and I have always lived with the viewpoint that people are more important than money. (Everybody calm down, I’m not talking about not paying our bills to spend money frivolously) But we’ve stretched our very tight budget to donate to those in need or buy an extravagant gift for someone just because we knew it was important.

But I’m not altogether sure that I apply this same principle to myself. In fact, I know I don’t.

We are looking at Matt deploying later this year and me being single parenting for 4 months. It’s a daunting thought and I’ve been asking God to begin preparing our family for this, to give us strategies to not just make it through, but to thrive. What if this is one of them? What if I need to allow myself to take time to regroup occasionally? I have been known to scoff at “me time” but I’m starting to think that was wrong.

I think I’m going to plan a spa day when everyone is healthy…not because I NEED to, but because it’ll be good for me. After I’m done holding puke buckets I get to look forward to more than laundry!

What do you think? Do you think that time to regroup is important and what does that look like for you?

The Ick Factor Subtitled GERMAPHOBE LIVES MATTER

My husband and I were fortunate enough to be blessed with a babysitter this past weekend. A very nice family from our church volunteered to come over and babysit all 6 minions so Matt and I could have some alone time. It took a while for us to coordinate but last Saturday was the lucky day.

I’m a creature of habit, so we ended up at a local favorite Mediterranean place for dinner. We ate hot meals without having to stop to cut up anyone’s food, wipe a butt, or clean up a spilled drink. We had a full conversation. It was lovely. After our dinner, we decided to keep our romance going by visiting the Verizon Store. What’s more romantic than being able to talk to a sales rep without having to chase children through an electronics store? After a 90-minute stint there, in a last-ditch effort to be out past 9 o’clock, we stopped at Starbucks. Here’s where this gets interesting.

OK, OK, I’m playing it fast and loose with the word interesting. Here’s where my story begins. After drinks at dinner and numerous water refills, plus an extended stay at a store without a bathroom, Matt and I both had to go. We walked into Starbucks and he ran to the bathroom while I ordered my drink. He returned and we swapped places. I walked toward the alcove in which the bathrooms were housed and stopped short. There were two individual bathrooms and both we marked with the same men/women/handicap signage.

Don’t worry, liberal friends, it’s safe to keep reading. This isn’t the conservative, Christian rant that you’re expecting. I have previously stated that I don’t care where anyone goes to the bathroom…I may alter that statement henceforth. Keep reading.

So, I am standing in front of the Starbucks bathrooms and having an anxiety attack. What was my problem? All I could think was that I didn’t want to go in the same bathroom as the gross boys...yep, that was my thought. Come on, don’t tell me that you’ve never had that thought. See, I know boys. I know how they go to the bathroom. Peeing never actually requires looking at the toilet. It’s based solely on sound. If they hear water, they’re good. Or so they think. In reality, when the sound of pee hitting water stops, it takes them 2.5 seconds to look down and locate the area where they are peeing and another second for the brain to send the signal to the body to move the stream back to the toilet. Do you know how much pee can get into unwanted places in 3.5 seconds? Come on…you all know this is true. I have cleaned up pee of the boys that I know and love in the weirdest places: shower curtain-twice, wall, bath mat…the list could go on forever.

And for real, that’s the least of the grossness than occurs in the bathroom. I won’t go into too many details but I’ll leave it with these facts. One, I cleaned bathrooms at McDonald’s for three years. Ninety-nine-point nine percent of the time the men’s room was the grossest and smelled the worst. Once, I even found an apple pie smashed in weird places….I don’t even want to know. Secondly, the term “dingleberry” did not originate in the description of women’s restroom issues.

So, what did I do? I reached back into the dark recesses of my subconscious memory and picked the bathroom in which I thought that Matt went, that way if I sat in pee I could pretend that it was at least the pee of someone I know and love.

I am now concerned however. We have solved the plight of the gender redefined, undefined…or whatever we call them, but what about the plight of the germaphobe? GERMAPHOBES MATTER TOO!!! If you find me smuggling bleach spray into bathrooms, you’ll know that I couldn’t take it anymore.

I CAN'T EVEN

            As many of you know from my whiny statuses, I’m on a lose-the-last-of-my-baby-weight kick, at least for this week. My hubby is also super amazing at keeping himself in shape and eating right. As part of his effort he has purchased some protein powder which he insists is wonderful mixed with his morning coffee. I, myself, am an iced coffee fanatic. I have it down to an exact science. One medium to bold K-Cup, cooled a bit with 1 T of heavy cream and 1 T of your chosen flavored coffee creamer. Add some ice and it’s better than Starbucks. I usually have one in the morning and then dream about it until the next day when the thought of my iced coffee helps me rouse myself to the screaming children.

            There are days, however, that call for more than one iced coffee. At 100 calories a pop I don’t want to drink all my calories for the day so it has to be absolutely necessary to indulge. Today is one of those days. There is excessive amount of wailing happening. The baby got her 15 mo. imms yesterday so she has an excuse. The boys….oh, the boys…they have no reason to be so ill at ease with life, and yet, they are. There was the “my waffle tore so I must have another one” incident, followed by the “why won’t you make me lunch NOW after I insisted I wasn’t hungry and you sat down to eat your lunch” incident. There have also been numerous spills and demands, including the child currently laying at my feet screaming for a treat. (Does that ever work? Why do they think it should?)

            So, I thought to myself. “Self, let’s go get another coffee. It’s just one of those days. It’ll be worth it.” Then I thought, “Hey, Matt keeps saying that the protein shake stuff is really good in coffee and instead of 100 empty calories maybe they can be chuck full of energy! Yes! Energy! I need energy!” So, I made my K-Cup, cooled it for the appropriate amount of time and mixed in the vanilla protein powder. I smelled it first. That’s in the Widmer code of conduct…you must smell new things before you put them in your mouth to make sure they’re safe. It smelled really good. “Great,” I thought, “this is the beginning of a whole new world of iced coffees.” Next, I added ice and the straw and took a great big swig. My reaction is best summed up in the words of Whoa Susannah and her grocery store Vlog, “MERCIFUL HEAVENS, WHAT NEW HELL IS THIS!?!?!?!”

                        “Why! Why is this so bad?” I wondered to myself. It tasted like someone had stuck a vanilla bean between their sweaty toes and waded through my coffee. It was salty and overly sweet and did not resemble my iced coffee at all. “Now what do I do?” I didn’t want to waste my coffee, it is earth day after all, so I contemplated saving it. To be sure I took another swig! ACK! “Why?! Why would I do that again?” “More Ice, more ice had to be the answer. I grabbed my blender (which I hate to clean so you know I was desperate) and I put ice in it and threw in the coffee and tried to blend it. I say tried because the coffee/protein mixture wouldn’t mix with the ice. “Seriously, what is this stuff? It doesn’t blend with water?” You would have thought that I would have given up, but sadly no. I continued to mix and blend. It grew! I held on to the lid for dear life. Finally, I stopped the blender and tried to put it back into my cup, or half of it. The ice had now doubled the volume. Ya’ll, I actually put it back into my mouth. I just drank as fast as I could. I still couldn’t bring myself to waste the coffee. Alas, after drinking the first half I couldn’t do it anymore. It was so bad.

            I have now tried one of the leading MLM shakes (which tasted like someone took my multivitamin and blended it into liquid) and an off the shelf protein powder and I cannot for the life of me understand why people drink this crap? It’s for real a multi-million dollar market! The only conclusion I can draw is that there must be crack in it. It’s gotta have some sort of addictive qualities. If anyone finds me twitching in the corner, from withdrawals, not from the children, which might be hard to differentiate, we’ll know for sure.

            Guys, I had to eat a half a bag of Cheez-Its and some chocolate covered blueberries to get the taste out of my mouth. Now, I’m slightly concerned about the possibility of anal leakage as an after effect. I just don’t know… I can’t even… I think I’d rather starve. Well, no, that’s not true. I’d rather eat cookies, but since that’s currently not an option I think I’d rather starve. If someone comes up with a protein packed, good for you cookie, that doesn’t include banana or peanut butter (gag, but that’s another rant) let me know. Until then, I shall return to my beloved iced coffee once a day and pray that the children don’t run me into the loony bin.

A Year in Review

…I will look up, for there is none above You. I will bow down to tell You that I need You, Jesus, Lord of all. I will look back and see that You are faithful. I look ahead, knowing You are able, Jesus, Lord of All. Jesus, Lord of All… (Elevation Worship)

At this time last year I was, to borrow a phrase from Anne of Green Gables, in “the depths of despair.” I was 37 weeks pregnant, ready to be done and exhausted. I was looking forward into 2015 and seeing myself as a “single” parent frequently. It looked like Matt, with away rotations and military obligations, was going to be gone for more than 3 months out of the year. I know that there are many military families who face deployments and training much longer than three months but with the last 4 years of medical school absence so clear in my memory, my heart was not ready for such a separation.

In addition to the upcoming absences, we were also struggling financially. Medical School can take a toll on one’s finances and the secret they don’t tell you is that Residency is worse. I pity the poor unsuspecting person who makes a comment about Physicians being overpaid in my presence. By the end of last year we had experienced 6 years of struggle and because of Matt’s busy schedule I was one who would play financial Tetris to make things work. I was burnt out. Matt had tried several things to bail us out, including the National Guard – which he was in, but not yet being paid, and getting his unrestricted license to be able to moonlight for extra income. Every avenue he tried wasn’t panning out. I didn’t honestly believe anything was going to change.

My outlook about the upcoming year was bleak, to say the least. In January, trying to steel myself from the struggles ahead I started a 20 day Bible study by Havilah Cunnington called, “I Do Hard Things,” and honestly I cried my way through most of it as God spoke to my heart. The thing that stuck out the most was this statement (that I’ll paraphrase): We create these scenarios in our heads, we imagine how we think things are going to look or how people are going to react and then we attach our emotions to them. We become emotionally invested in things that have not yet happened and it’s a giant waste of time and energy. WOW! That is exactly what I had been doing and it needed to change. I didn’t know what my year would hold so why was I despairing now? That helped my perspective…a lot!

Another thing helping my perspective was the delivery of Vivienne! I’m not the norm, but I’m always MORE rested when I have a newborn than I am at the end of the pregnancy. As soon as I get out of the hospital and I can do things my way and on my terms I’m a better person. Vivi was no exception and has been an ideal child…way to make me sad that you’re the last baby, kid.

In February God did what we couldn’t! Matt’s back pay came through and also his unrestricted license, allowing him to moonlight. Over this year we’ve watched our income double and we’ve been able to pay of a new car’s worth of debt in less than a year. I am grateful to have a husband who works a full time job, three part time jobs, and a contingent job to get us through this time. I love how we play a part and God picks up and completes the work.

Over the spring and summer I watched as what we thought would be long periods of separation for our family unraveled and fall apart, and the ones that remained were covered in grace. Matt’s weekend drills weren’t as big of a deal as I’d anticipated and because his audition rotation at his chosen Sports Medicine Fellowship program went so well he didn’t have to do many out of town. In fact, he was gone just one week! One week instead of 3 month! I cannot tell you how happy that has made me. My life is always distinctly better when my husband is by my side.

As we looked forward to 2015, we didn’t think we’d be able to take a family vacation, but we’ve had three! THREE! Sometimes I’m amazed at the extravagance of my heavenly Daddy! Our family get-a-way to the cabin in Canada in August fell into perfect place. Then, God gave me a kiss – a nod that my dreams weren’t forgotten – in the form of a sports medicine conference in MN on the dancer’s hip. Day one of the conference was for the medical professional and day two was for the dancer! I learned so much and spent many of the lectures sitting in the back in tears of amazement that even this Mama of 6 could continue my dance dreams.

One of the things that we thought would cause times of separation was a medical policy program to which Matt got accepted. Only 10 people in the nation were selected for this program and Matt was one. It’s quite the honor but it requires conferences in NYC, DC, Chicago, and AZ. The December conference was in DC so we packed up the kids and went a few days early for their first trip to our Nation’s Capital. DC is one of my favorite places, although, I’ve not been there many times. Our time there as a family was precious, even if Elaina was miffed that we not going to a shopping mall but, “a large plot of land that they could build a mall on!”

God spoke to me through my kids the other day. Jillian was playing a game on her tablet and Evelyn watched. Jill quit a round and Evelyn asked her why she quit. Jill’s response was that she was going to lose so she just quit. Evelyn said, “No you weren’t. You just had to shoot this ball over here and then you would have won!” At that point God said to me, “You do that, you know. You quit when you think you’re going to lose but you can’t see what I can see. Don’t quit because you’re going to win.”

I know that this has been a year of reaping for us. I believe there is more reaping to come but I also know that there will be periods of sowing, more times where we will be giving to accomplish the call that God has placed on our lives. But what a year of learning this was for me. I cannot attach my emotions to events that I don’t know are going to happen, it is a good thing to look for the harvest, and I can’t quit just because I think I’m going to lose!

I look back and see His faithfulness and I now look ahead to 2016 knowing that He is able to not just help me survive but to thrive!

I thank God for His goodness to us and I pray that you experience His overwhelming love for you this year.

Blessings,
Jen

Keep Jumping!

In a ballet class a very long time ago, one of my mentors and dance teacher extraordinaire, explained a new concept to me. We were doing sautes, jumps in laymen’s terms, and she was telling us how to improve. With each jump a ballerina must begin with bent knees in a plié, then must push off the ground stretching her legs as much as possible and then pointing her toes as if they were reaching for the ground, then land softly in another plié, rebound and again stretch her legs and toes with energy emanating from them. In amongst the technique she said something like this, “When you feel tired, your muscles are screaming at you, and you’re tempted to not point as hard or stretch as much. When you’re tempted to let things relax, that’s when you need to push harder. Keep pointing and stretching with everything you have. Do one more jump that way, then another, then another; that is how you’ll improve.” I suddenly found myself contemplating those words this week and as usual found that the lessons and discipline I learned in ballet translates to adulthood and real life quite well.

It’s been a really rough week. Matt’s been on an Internal Medicine rotation. When that happens he works a minimum of six 12 hour shifts. Add in an hour drive to work and back and a National Guard Drill day in the mix and you have a very tired hubby and a family who has been without a father for most of the week. Then we’ve gotten another round of the plague. I’m not exactly sure how one family can experience so many viruses in a 5 month span but my guess is we’re super special. (Oh, and I’m pretty sure it’s mostly because I eschew essential oils. For this reason we may never have the ability to be healthy again. But I digress.) And I’ve felt very judged and maligned at times this week, even in the places where your heart is supposed to be the safest.

Anyway, it’s been an exhausting week. Many, many times this week I’ve felt like running away. On one particularly frustrating day I saw myself in my mind’s eye standing in front of that dance studio mirror, jumping, jumping, jumping, pointing my feet for all I was worth and when I was tired, pushing even harder. Years later at a dance intensive run by a professional dance company I was complemented on my jumps. It was because I was taught keep going when things get hard. It was because I learned that we don’t improve when things are easy, we improve when we come to a wall and we push through it.

So, in this crazy thing I call my life, I press on. When a kid dumps an entire plate of food on the floor, I take a deep breath and jump again. When I have to wait with a cart full of squirming kids behind Frick and Frack perusing the yogurt aisle so I can buy my toasted coconut greek yogurt…jump higher. When I have to breathe deeply instead of freaking out at mascara on my kitchen rug…stretch. When I have to apologize to my children for freaking out…stretch harder. When I’m so exhausted but I have to get up with a coughing child…keep pushing. When I need to discipline a child for the same thing they just got disciplined for…reach. When I’ve got to try and find an Easter outfit for a body that’s not what I want it to be…jump, jump, push, SQUEEEEEEZE…Ha! You get the picture. When it’s hard we just have to keep jumping, stretching, and pushing through knowing that the reward is worth it.

Philippians 3:13-14           Brethren, I do not regard myself as having laid hold of it yet; but one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and reaching forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal of the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.

Be encouraged, friends, for there are many of us, jumping together. Once again, in my mind’s eye, when that young ballerina sees herself in the mirror there is a whole class with her; jumping together to reach the goal.

Vivienne's Birth

I've made it a habit to write down my labor experiences for my kids. My mom did it for my birth and I always enjoyed reading the story as I got older. I've shared the last few here on the blog and I'm doing so with Vivienne's story. It's written as if I'm speaking to her because it's for her, you just get a peak into our conversation.

Vivienne’s Birth

Your birth, Vivienne, was a completely different story than any of your brothers and sisters. After William, Daddy didn’t know if he wanted any more babies but I was not quite ready to be done. In late February we found out that we were pregnant. On April8th I began to bleed and we lost that baby. Five short weeks later I again got a positive pregnancy test. I had poison ivy all over my legs and was going to the doctor to get something for it when Daddy suggested I take a pregnancy test just to make sure I could have the steroids the doctor would prescribe. As it turned out, I was expecting you and just had to suffer through the poison ivy. Thankfully, it didn’t last long.

We again opted to not find out whether you were a girl or a boy at the ultrasound. The ultrasound tech was fantastic and went out of her way to keep your gender a secret. I thought for sure you were a boy just based on some of the symptoms that I had during pregnancy and the fact that Daddy and I had so quickly agreed on a girl’s name but couldn’t agree on a boy’s name.

Fast forward several months and you were late! William had been overdue and it looked like you were going to follow suit. It was different this time, though. With William I had been so panicked and so concerned that I was going to have to be induced or that something would go wrong and I’d have to have a c-section. With you I was not panicked at all. I had peace that everything was going to be OK and that you would come when you were ready.

At 1:00am, Saturday morning, January 17^th, I started having contractions. They were pretty irregular and even when they got a little more regular they were still only 6 minutes apart. I had learned by labor number six that anything over 5 minutes apart can stop at any time. I didn’t get too excited. I got out of bed and watched a Netflix for a while. At about 3 your brother woke up and I rocked him for a bit. William is almost as notorious for not sleeping as Jillian was. My contractions slowed down considerably at that time. At about 4am I decided to go back to bed. The contractions slowed more and I slept the rest of the night with only a few contractions waking me here and there. All during the day the 17^th we had plans. Uncle Ben Widmer’s birthday party was at 11:30 and Elissa Garcia’s birthday party was at 4:30. Daddy wanted to know if I wanted to stay home since I was still having contractions but they were so random I didn’t want to stay and be anxious. We decided to go about our day and stick with the plans we had unless something changed. And that’s exactly what we did. I had contractions all through the day and they hurt but nothing ever got regular so I didn’t think we were that close. We got home from all our partying at about 8pm and Daddy helped me bathe your brothers and sisters for church the next day. I set out clothes for the girls and we got everyone to bed.

Everyone got to go to bed but me. Aunt Val and Aunt Sandy had both sent me text messages asking if I thought you were coming soon but I told them both I didn’t think so. I guess that’s what I get for thinking I knew what you were up to. At 11pm my contractions again went to 6 minutes apart. I decided to sit on the yoga ball and watch HGTV shows on Netflix. Daddy went to sleep at 12:30. By 1:30am, January 18^th contractions were 4 minutes apart. I woke Daddy up and told him I couldn’t take it anymore. The contractions hurt, I was 40 weeks, 5 days gestation, and even if they needed to give me Pitocin at the hospital I just needed to be done. He told me he thought this was definitely labor. I called Aunt Sandy to come and stay with your siblings and then I called Doctor Owen to let her know we were coming. Aunt Sandy got here at about 2:15 and we left for the hospital shortly thereafter.

All during the drive to the hospital contractions were 4 minutes apart and pretty intense. Both Daddy and I were thinking that it seemed like transition contractions but neither of us wanted to say that and be disappointed when we got to the hospital. I got to the OB unit a little before 3 and as it was the last few times the night nurses couldn’t get an IV in. I really miss those veteran labor and delivery night nurses! Anyway, they called anesthesia and got an IV in and started my antibiotics. The resident, Dr. Denny, checked me and said that I was 6-7cm dilated but that you were -2 and posterior. Shocker, all my babies like to be posterior. She said, “We just have to get this baby to turn and it will come flying out.” I thought, “Yeah, right. None of my babies come flying out.”

After they got the IV in and everything settled I sat on the ball for a while and then they set up the squat stool and squat bar for me. I told Daddy I needed to do something because I didn’t just want to sit and think about how much the contractions hurt so he turned on an episode of FRIENDS on his iPad. We watched and Daddy used a method we developed over the course of all my different labors to get you to turn. I watched an episode, about 20minutes, and then I felt a lot more pressure. I was the only person in the OB unit and when I yelled “OUCH!!,” 3 nurses and the resident came running in the room. Dr. Denny checked again and I was 8cm dilated, zero station and you had turned! She was sure that you were just going to fly out and I was sure that you weren’t going to. None of your brothers and sister had been that cooperative.

We turned on another episode of FRIENDS and watched half when my water broke and I started to feel the need to push. Dr. Owen walked in and we were ready to rock. I still didn’t think you were really going to come out and I began begging for Nubain. They told me that I was going to deliver and didn’t need it because it wouldn’t help. You were coming and they didn’t want to depress your breathing when you were born! At this point I freaked out because I’ve always had Nubain and didn’t know what to expect without it. I got on the bed on my hands and knees and started to push. But I also started to yell! “Give me Nubain, even half a dose,” “I can’t do this!” and then, “I’m going to pass out!” At this point your Daddy said, “Quit your yelling and breathe!” This still makes me laugh just thinking about it. He was so unsympathetic (which I find hysterical) but it was exactly what I needed. A few more pushes and you were out.

As I said before, I really thought that you were a boy and Daddy did a double take and said, “Jen, it’s a girl!” The nurses asked what your name was and your Daddy right away said, “Vivienne Jane.” The time was 5:11, less than 2 and ½ hours after getting to the hospital and you weighed in at 7lbs 12oz and 20” long. Your head was 13 1/4'” around.

Your sisters were so excited that you were a girl. Even over 2 weeks later you’re still creating a stir around here. They want to hold you constantly. Your brothers love you and also don’t want to leave you alone. You’re pretty spoiled since between me, Daddy, your brothers and sisters you are held constantly! Jill constantly thanks God for you and says that you’re the perfect baby for our family and I agree! We are so glad you’ve joined our family.

Adulthood and the Icky Sickies

The older I get the more I find myself longing for my younger years when I knew everything. You know, that point in your late teens and early twenties when you have everything figured out and you don’t know how in the world your parents are so stupid as to not know this stuff. One thing I totally had figured out was how to be healthy.

            I grew up as the oldest of 5 kids. The youngest was almost 11 years younger than I. As with most large families sickness was no stranger to us. I’m not sure which was worse, getting sick first or watching everyone drop one by one just waiting for your turn. I remember one Christmas/New Year season, after high school, that any time I spent at home I spent in my bedroom because everyone had this terrible stomach bug. My self-imposed exile didn’t work. I still got it.

            Then one magical day Matthew and I got married and moved out on our own. I had a home of my own. I grocery shopped for us, cleaned for us, and managed the home. That winter we didn’t get sick. We didn’t really get sick the next one either and that’s when I figured it out. We, Matt and I, obviously had this nutrition/immune system thing figured out. It was plain to see that we had gone from living at our parent’s, being sick, to living on our own with not a sickness in sight! Clearly, we were eating better. We had a plethora of fresh fruits and vegetables that we ate which of course boosted our immune systems to the point of near superhuman. We also made sure we had the proper amount of exercise in our lives. This also aided the superhuman immune system. We got the right amount of sleep. I made sure the bathroom was sparkling clean. Yes, we had figured out the secret to perfect health and it was so obviously easy I’m not sure how our parents missed it all those years.

            And that’s when Elaina was born. As the parents of a newborn we were very careful with her and she never even knew what vomit was until she was over two years old. And then she started licking things and touching things and putting random things in her mouth. She got sick and then so would we. But still, this didn’t mean anything. We were still way beyond what we had grown up with. Kids have to get sick sometimes and since we were cleaning up snot it wasn’t unusual to get a small sniffle here or there.

            After one child comes two, and three, and more; after more children comes school. This, this is when you figure out that you actually know nothing. You take those angelic looking children who lick things, let snot drip from their noses, cough and vomit wherever they feel like and you put them all in one school together. Suddenly, your magic world of superhuman immunity comes crashing down around you. I very vividly remember one winter where Matt and I decided that we were going to do the whole “5 fruits and veggies a day” thing. I, no joke, had 5 colds in a three month span of time.  I was completely baffled!

            Are there things you can do to aid your immune system…sure there are. Are they more powerful than a room full of snotty children…not on your life! Children are the kryptonite to an adult immune system, it’s just fact. This winter has been a particularly brutal one for us. Colds/Flu/Hand Foot and Mouth,ugh! Some days I really miss knowing the secret to good health and wellness.  Be assured, someday the kids will grow up and move out and I will again discover how to be healthy, at least until the grandkids start coming around.

The Sweeping Generalization of Criminality (Ha! I have no idea what that means, it just sounds good)

I have a crap ton of stuff to do today but there’s something I just had to stop and say. This is my own fault. If I had avoided Facebook I could be doing something productive like scrubbing my toilets instead of ranting. Nevertheless, here I am. My news feed today is full of stories of men and women who have broken the law. No big deal, right? People break the law every day. This is true, but the exception here is that these lawbreakers are professionals and this greatly changes the sentiment involved.

When we read stories about a factory employee going postal the follow up stories undoubtedly deal with mental illness and how society has missed it or the poor working conditions where this criminal worked. We hear of how the factory employee was a victim. This is a shocking difference from the news stories where Doctors, Lawyers, Nurses, Accountants, Police, Insurance Agents, etc. are found guilty of crimes. The follow up stories and comments on these post are ones where the entire profession is demonized.

In light of the recent police shootings that have made headlines many of my contacts have taken the opportunity to find any story they can about the criminal activities of those in the police profession. To read these articles you would automatically assume that anyone who would choose to be a police officer is a douche who is power tripping and likes to shoot anything that moves. Are there some out there like that? I’m sure there are. Is it the majority of police officers in the United States? I’d venture to say, “No.”

The one that strikes even closer to home is the article about the criminal in the medical profession who diagnosed healthy individuals with cancer just to get the payout from treating them. If you want to keep your sanity I’d urge you not to read the comments at the end of the article. Everyone has a story about this Dr. who removed appendixes because he felt like it or that Dr. who always ordered unnecessary tests because she got kickbacks. Nowhere does it mention the men and women who spend hundreds of thousands of dollars and countless years of their lives training because they want to help others. And when you get into bashing the medical profession it doesn’t stop with doctors, it extends to those terrible nurses who are sneaking scripts on the side and big Pharma who are all out to make money by poisoning the hapless stupid population.

I. Have. Had. It. You know what’s missing from both accounts – the crazed factory worker who shoots everyone in his sight and the accounts of the white collar criminal? PERSONAL RESPONSIBILITY! When did it happen that we became afraid to hold people personally responsible for their crimes? This thought came to me the other day as I was having lunch with my BFF who was telling me a story of police officers in Detroit who dressed in their uniforms and mugged people. Is this supposed to make me think that police men and women are bad? No, it makes me think that there are criminals in all professions. If you’ve noticed, I’ve used the word "criminal" many times in this post. That’s because that is exactly what these men and women are. I refuse to label them by their chosen career. They are men and women who have engaged in criminal activity. They have made poor choices and they are responsible…not others who have chosen that career.

There are lousy mechanics out there. There are also fantastic mechanics who are honest. There are terrible lawyers who just want to make their money and go home and then there are upright and just lawyers who care about upholding the law. There are terrible doctors and there are great doctors. There are nurses I’d trust with my life and those who I don’t want touching me with a ten foot pole. There are police who get dressed every day, put on their bullet proof vests, kiss their wives and children goodbye, and pray they come home to them and there are those who engage in criminal activity in hopes that their uniform shields them. There are men and women of character and there are those without character. It’s time that we start holding people personally responsible for their actions. We also need to use our own minds and make wise choices as to whom we trust with our healthcare, taxes, protection and so on, but that's for another blog, another time.

I hope that the next time you read an article about someone behaving in criminal activity you stop to think about the personal responsibility and character of the people involved.

Mother’s Day is a Trap

           When I first became a mother I had this idyllic idea of what Mother’s Day would look like. I would be treated to breakfast in bed, not have to go anywhere or do anything all day long. I quickly learned that that wasn‘t realistic. I got up, got ready for church, got the baby ready, went to church, went to my parent’s house, went to Matt’s parent’s house and then came home with a cranky baby that was way overstimulated for the day. After a few years a pattern developed and I learned to hate Mother’s Day. Then I realized a year or so ago that the problem wasn’t the day, it was my expectations of the day. In essence, Mother’s Day with small children is a trap. It is ripe for disappointment. No matter how many sweet and wonderful things your husband or children do for you there is still the “ideal” that won’t be met. However, I have found that by simply modifying one’s expectations, Mother’s Day can be enjoyable.

            First, you will not get extra sleep! There is a great possibility that you will get less sleep. I keep seeing these blogs going around Facebook that say that all a mom really wants for Mother’s Day is to sleep. This is true. BUT, listen to me…you will not get a nap. If you do, you’ve had a bonus but don’t expect it. Most likely you will be navigating families’ houses with children who haven’t napped. The children won’t magically decide to sleep all night Saturday night, or Sunday night for that matter. When you try to lay on the couch the baby will toddle up and poke you.

            Next, you will get tons of little pieces of paper declaring your children’s love for you. They will bring them home from school and Sunday school. They will sit at the dining room table and design them for you. You will smile at their handwriting, cry at their thoughtfulness, and then wonder where the heck you will store all of this – should you keep it, ALL of it, or can you throw some of it away? Will it make you a bad mother if you toss it? How long is long enough to have it on the fridge? Don’t worry! You aren’t a bad mom if in the middle of next week you are digging through the trash to stuff a card far enough down that your child won’t find it again.

            You will still have to eat cold food. Again, it’s a day set aside most likely by Hallmark. This day doesn’t have super powers. Food will still have to be cut, each plate dished out, and cups of spilled juice to clean up. You will finally sit down to eat and a butt will need to be wiped. You will then have forgotten to get a kid their drink and then another one will need seconds. You may get to sit down to eat – hurray for you!

            Diapers will still explode, the baby will spit up all over your new outfit, fights will have to be settled, and dads will still fall asleep on the couch while you clean up the contents of the diaper bag which have been thrown around for the toddler’s enjoyment. (This also holds true on your birthday; that isn’t a magic day either.) It took me a really long time to figure out that these things don’t have anything to do with Mother’s Day. Mother’s Day is a chance for your kids to tell you how much they love you but isn’t that every day? For me, Mother’s Day happens when my baby throws his chubby arms around my neck and snuggles his head on my shoulder. It happens at the end of the night when all is quiet and I remember that funny things that Jilly said or when my six year old kisses my face and says, “I really love you, Mommy!” It’s when Elaina offers to do the dishes or the simple fact that my husband and kids have been plotting for a week with a secret craft made just for me.

            Moms (I’m talking to myself too), you are loved and as nice as it might be extra sleep doesn’t prove that. Tomorrow on Mother’s Day, you will still be at work, but take time to notice those moments that make it all worthwhile. Don’t focus on what you think should happen or what you might be missing out on, but notice each snuggle and kiss; each act of obedience and act of service. May each and every one of you have a wonderful day knowing you have the best job in the whole world!

Grocery Store Blessings

We were out yesterday doing our semi-monthly Aldi/Meijer trip and as a general rule we grocery shop as a family. When Matt and I got married it was something that we enjoyed doing together. He likes food and I liked that he was there so he never had the opportunity to say, “You spent HOW much on groceries!” Not that he would, ‘cause he’s just awesome like that, but still, he never was even given the chance to be tempted. When he started Med School he was only home on weekends and so we used grocery shopping as a family outing – usually mixing it with dinner out to make it “fun.” Regardless of how it got started it has evolved into two adults taking five young children to the store. It’s usually not that bad but we get our share of weird looks and comments.

We get the occasional, “Your kids are so well behaved,” OCCASIONALLY! And we definitely get a lot of, “Wow! You have your hands full.” I just had a conversation with a friend about how sick she is of comments like that. I have to admit, they can get really old, really fast. I know most people don’t mean to be annoying but when you’re told you have a “special place in heaven” for having “ALL THOSE KIDS” on a regular basis it can make you think you’re a part of a freak show. Usually they don’t bother me so much, I’ve grown accustomed to most of it and let it roll off my back.

Still, I was a slightly concerned when we got into Aldi last night and the kids were a little bonkers. They weren’t totally spastic or anything but when you haven’t been out of the house in a while cabin fever sets in and the grocery store is the most exciting place in the world. Thankfully, the store was mostly empty. Midway through the store Jilly started asking to take Wally home. Um, what? Apparently, Wally is what she calls little watermelons. I look back and she is hugging a small seedless watermelon telling me that she really loves Wally and wants to take one home. At this point I notice a lady smiling at me. Then Jill takes my shopping list and pretends to read it, announcing, “Mommy, you need to get a castle.” And then, “Oops, I had it upside down. You need chicken.”  The lady chuckles and looks over our two carts (the one for food and the one for kids) and says, “You have 5 kids?” I said yes and she asked the ages and if any of them were twins. Then she gets a great big smile and says, “You are really lucky!”

I can’t tell you what a great feeling that was. I left there smiling. I didn’t realize how much I had steeled myself against the negative comments and how wonderful it felt to have someone recognize my children for the blessing that they are. Instead of asking me if I was done, that kind lady didn’t even flinch when my kids announce, “ANNNNNDDD, Mommy wants another baby!”

Sometimes it’s really just the little things that make your day. I still feel rosy about it despite the screaming and fighting going on in the next room or the fact that Asher has his gun tucked into his diaper! J

It's a Redo Kind of Day

I woke up this morning with an overwhelming sense of dread and monotony. This is odd for me because, well, I love monotony. I don’t like change and I’m pretty content with one day being like the last. But something felt different today. I got up with the alarm, made lunches, got the girls ready for school, same as last Monday, and the same as tomorrow. It all seemed rather futile. I make a lunch today just to make an identical one tomorrow. I washed and dried a load of clothes only to find that a chapstick somehow got in with the load and it all has to be rewashed in hopes that it can be removed. I vacuumed the house, just like I do every Monday only to have to redo it when Playdoh littered the floor. Then I did it again when the baby dumped a whole bag of chips all over the kitchen. Flash forward a few hours to when I returned from my dance class and there is biscuit from dinner all over every floor of my house. So, tomorrow morning, I’ll be vacuuming again. Then there’s dinner. I made dinner as I usually do, aaaand, nobody liked it as they normally do. So, then I had to make another dinner for them all to eat. (Now, before you get all I-know-how-to-parent-better-than-you on me, they’re all on antibiotics and had to eat something before their nightly dose and I just didn’t want to force food down everyone’s throat.)

Anyway, you get the picture. Redo, redo, redo. Everything seems pointless. I do it just to have to do it again. It’s more than a little frustrating. But as I was mentally rehashing my day I realized that it’s really not pointless. I’ve got five sets of little eyes watching me. By redoing I’m teaching them that when things fall apart you pick yourself back up and keep trying. I’m teaching them that when you make a mess you pick it up, as tedious as it might be to force preschoolers to pick up Playdoh and chip crumbs. I’m teaching them by my reaction (Oh dear Jesus, help me with that one) what attitude to have when things don’t go the way you want them to.

I guess in retrospect my day wasn’t as futile as I thought; frustrating, yes, but not futile. So, I’m going to go to bed and get up tomorrow where there are new mercies and grace, and hopefully I’ll be back to my old self and look forward to the monotony.

Cleaning With Children Is Like...

There is a meme going around Facebook that says, “Cleaning while there are children present is like brushing your teeth while eating Oreos.” I find this to be a generally true statement but sometimes it is compounded which makes cleaning with children present more like trying to brush your teeth with your mouth chuck full of Oreos, and marshmallows, and mint chocolate chip ice cream, and...crap, now I’m hungry.

Anyway, I have an incredibly busy week this week, like every moment is planned. Birthdays, cakes, baby showers, Republican women’s dinner, yeah, just nuts. Normally on weeks like this I ignore my house. Let’s face it, I’m good but not quite good enough to maintain a perfect house, do all the crap that’s required of me, and be a halfway decent wife and mother so I just pretend that I don’t live in a pigsty, get through my week and then spend the next week yelling about how we live in filth. But this week I have Bible Study at my house plus company coming on Saturday. I figured that I should at least make a decent path through my house so that people can walk and maybe sit. Things started out pretty good this morning despite the fact that William has not let me put him down without screaming for the last 48 hours. I got dishes washed before story time at the Library (go me!) and got my house vacuumed by 3:00pm. I know that doesn’t sound good but seriously, sometimes it takes me 2 days to vacuum my house. But then it happened, I made the mistake of going to the bathroom. I had just sat down when Asher came in with a cookie in his hands. I believe they hide food for this very type of occasion. Right before my very eyes he began to crumble it and then he walked out of the room to spread his cookie throughout the house. And I was helpless; stuck on the toilet until my business had been thoroughly conducted. Thankfully, this was a small mishap thanks to my handy dandy Dust Buster which still works despite Asher throwing it into the full bathtub. Crisis averted.

By this time the baby was crying after waking up from his 2 minute nap. I picked him up and carried him to the living room to nurse him. There is a rule of motherhood which states that one should always look before sitting. I forgot this rule and plopped down. Apparently now we store our kool-aid in our non-sippy cups right in the middle of couch cushions. I’ll end this part of the story here. You can imagine where it went.

Somewhere amidst all the chaos that is my day I managed to make dinner, do more dishes, clean the bathroom, Windex some windows, watch some extra kids, do a load of laundry, and some other stuff. Matt arrived home and we ate dinner and then I abandoned him…I mean left momentarily for the grocery store. The plan was that while I was at the store he was going to assemble the fabulous new cabinet he bought for the kids’ coloring stuff. I was gone about an hour in which time the children decided that they must get paper out and cut it into a million tiny pieces. No big deal. I can handle that. Then they decided to get a few decks of cards out and throw them about. Again, no big deal, I can handle that. Then they decided…wait for it…that the STYROFOAM that protected my fabulous new cabinet looked fun. As I sit here typing it looks as if there has been a snow storm in my house. I can’t handle that.

I have decided that I’m done. People can just kick their way through the crap for Bible Study tomorrow. I’m going to eat a hoho now.

William's Birth

For every one of my children I have written down their birth experience for them to read when they're older. Since I have this blog I thought I'd share. Warning...if you don't want to know birth details don't read this.

 Oh son, your birth was quite the experience. You would have thought that with you being the 5^th child I would have had the whole birth thing figured out but you wanted to make your appearance a little differently. The week before your due date I made an appointment with the Dr. to come in the Wednesday after you were due. I assured them that I wouldn’t be in as I’d never had a kid arrive late. Then when I was in the office that Wednesday and made an appointment for the following Monday I again assured them that I wouldn’t be in. Then that following Friday I had 9 hours of contractions that just decided to stop. By the time I walked in the office on Monday, February 25^th, I was very frustrated and just a bit cranky. They did a non-stress test and of course you decided to sleep. I finally moved in the chair and drank enough so that my bladder was invading your space and you began your assault on my innards.

Dr. Owen told me that she doesn’t let people go past 41 weeks so we arranged a time for induction at 4pm the next day. My labors tend to be long involved processes anyway so I really wanted to avoid Pitocin. We talked, I cried, and then we left with her telling me to go get you to come out. So, that’s just what I did. I came home and walked two miles. I’m sure anyone peeking in my windows would have wondered why this giantly huge pregnant woman was “Walking Away the Pounds” with a DVD. Daddy had to go to his trustee meeting and I put your brother and sisters to bed and decided to get out the breast pump to start contractions….and it did. By the time Dad got home I was contracting fairly regularly. Dad had influenza and he decided to go to bed. I tried to but the contractions didn’t let me sleep. Unfortunately, they didn’t let Daddy sleep much either. At about 2 am I decided that we should go to the hospital. I called Dr. Owen because I sure was in a fair amount of pain but I was afraid contractions would stop again. I have a history of on and off contractions. Dr. Owen told me to come in and they would at least start my antibiotic that I needed before I could deliver.

We arrived at the emergency room at 2:30am on Tuesday, February 26^th, and I scared the registration woman half to death. She was sure that with this being my 5^th child you would just fall out. When I stood up to have a contraction she told me to sit back down because “the baby wouldn’t come out if I was sitting.” I assured her that my children have never just fallen out! I should be so lucky.

 We got to room 182 in the birthing unit and the fun began. It took nearly 3 hours for them to get me hooked up to the monitors, get my IV in, and get all their questions answered. As I write this I still have bruises from the new nurses trying to get my IV in. You would have been proud of me though, I didn’t yell at anyone, although more than once I was tempted to tell your Dad to get over to my bed and do it himself. It probably would have been much quicker. Anyway, 3 hours in bed did exactly what I feared it would do and slowed my contractions way down. I went from contracting every 2-5 minutes to contracting every 6-10 minutes. At this point the resident checked me and I was 4-5cm dilated. Not too bad a start. I sat on the birthing ball for a while and then rested some in bed as I was very tired from being up all night. At 7 one of my favorite OB nurses named Ann came in and told me that they wanted me to rest because they thought that they were going to have to try cervidil and still do the induction at 4. At that point I sort of freaked out. Here I was thinking that I’d been up laboring all night and then I was going to have to do it all again the next night. Thankfully, Ann talked me down and then got me some breakfast because I was starving. Dad and I alternated between walking the halls and resting until about 3pm when a resident came in and checked me again. At that point I was 6 and I told them to break my water. Shortly after they did Jane came in. As soon as they broke my water I told them I wanted the squat bar and the squat stool. Things really took off from there. As soon as my water was broken the contractions went to 2 minutes apart. At some point I asked for Nubain and that made me happy…well, happier. By this time your dad knows how to help me manage my contractions and we worked as a team. Jane also helped and they asked me questions while I was contracting to keep my mind off of how bad it hurt. At one point they asked me where I wanted to go on vacation. I told them I wanted to go on a cruise. Dad asked if I would go on a cruise to Alaska with him and I told him yes. Jane then asked what I would pack. I remember responding that I was going to pack a shotgun and have someone shoot me. I think that was probably at the worst part of the contraction. Finally, I knew you were close to arriving. I got out of bed and stood at the squat bar and remember thinking that this wasn’t going to stop until you were out and I just started pushing. I pushed squatting until you crowned and then they let me climb into bed and push on my hands and knees. It wasn’t long and you were out. You had been posterior for several weeks and you never did flip around, you came out posterior. I figure this means you’re going to be ornery…time will tell. You have a giant barrel chest that was bigger than your head and very broad shoulders and yes, I felt them come out.

I was so excited to see you. At some point I turned around and they put you on my chest. You were my perfect sweet boy and you were here! I was so excited. You were born at 6:45pm on Tuesday, February 26^th and you weighed 8lbs 10oz and were 20inches long! Wowza!

We brought you home the next day and your sisters and brother all ended up with influenza but you thankfully came through it all ok. When I took you to the Dr. at one week old you were 9lbs and 11oz. You will be two weeks old tomorrow and you are such a big boy. I love you lots and am so glad you joined our family.

Random rantings of a pregnant woman

It’s been a bit of a rough day and since I am forgoing my iPod this week for a church fast I have had a lot of time to think, so read at your own peril. These are the random rantings of a cranky pregnant woman.

My first thought came to me while cleaning the bathroom. Lots of deep thinking takes place in the bathroom you know. It was about bleach. Bleach gets such a bad rap. I get tired of bleach being slammed so much. Bleach is bad for you, bad for the environment, blah, blah, blah. Everyone sings the praises of Lysol wipes and their special green cleaners. But have you ever read the back of those cleaners? In order to sterilize anything it has to sit wet for 10 minutes. Have you ever tried to wet something enough with a Lysol wipe to get it to stay wet for 10 minutes? I’m pretty sure it’s next to impossible. Can you imagine the poor helpless saps that spend their time trying to wring out a Lysol wipe so that the surface gets wet enough to remain that way for 10 minutes. Let me save you some time; it ain’t gonna happen.

The same thing goes for those green cleaners. They have to stay wet for 10 minutes to sterilize too. Maybe lots of people have time to let their bathrooms stay wet for 10 minutes but I certainly don’t. With only one bathroom in the house I’m lucky if I get to leave something wet for 10 seconds before cleaning it. Usually what happens is I spray my  cleaner and if by magic someone hears the sound of the spray and comes dancing into the bathroom with an urgent need to use the toilet that absolutely must happen now or I will be cleaning a puddle from the floor. But I digress.  So here we are, spraying enough of something to makes sure it stays wet for 10 minutes so we can actually clean the bathroom. Bleach doesn't do that. You spray that sucker on and BAM, you've killed your germs. None of this waiting just lots of germ killing. It’s a wonderful thing! And it’s environmentally friendly. According to my husband, water neutralizes the bleach…so spray, rinse, and done! Plus, if you grew up in my house you would know that nothing is actually clean until it smells like bleach.

I for one will be a defender of bleach. It is a trusty standby that has fallen victim to the latest fads in cleaning.

My second rant comes because I was reading a FB post by a local school district that was reporting that something was returned to someone completely “in tact.” Now, the last I checked, “intact” was one word. In fact (not to be confused with intact) every time I type “in tact” my computer goes bat excrement crazy trying to tell me that it’s one word. I know, everyone is entitled or maybe “in titled” to their spelling mistakes now and again but if you’re going to post for a school district I suggest checking your spelling prior to hitting the “post” button. I totally almost pointed it out on the thread, but I used the last modicum of self-control I had for today and let it be.

This minor incident is compounded by my recent visit to Marcos Pizza. In the shop there were many letters written by some lovely little school children thanking the nice pizza people for their pizza party. Each letter started as follows: Dear friends, blah, blah, blah. Does anyone see the problem with that? If you said that the “f” should be capitalized, you win! Every single one of those letters had a lowercase “f” in the word friend. This leads me to believe that the example they were following was done incorrectly as well. GAH! It’s enough to make my head want to explode…who are we let teach our impressionable young minds?

Well now, there you have it. Those are my rants for the day. Bleach and spelling…they have nothing in common...but they've made me nuts today and now you got to share in my insanity. You’re welcome.

I Find It Ironic That The Medical Realm Makes My Head Want To Explode

Well, I’ve had five pregnancies now and without getting too technical I can tell you that my platelet count has gone down each pregnancy. The medical term for this is pregnancy induced thrombocytopenia. Fancy schmancy for my platelets (which are supposed to be 150,000 – 400,000 and run on the low side normally) get down below the “normal” mark when I get pregnant. So it should not come as a shock to anyone when they do this again, right? Yeah, you would think…but not so.

I get a call from the Dr’s office this morning that goes something like this. Oh, but first you should know that my thoughts are in italics and my actual words are in quotation marks…they’re drastically different.

“Hi, this is Suzy (We’ll call her Suzy) from Dr. X’s office. We got the results from the blood we drew on Friday and your platelets have continued to drop” Um…duh…. “and so Dr. X has ordered you to have more blood drawn. Where do you want to have it drawn?”

“OK, what was the platelet count and what does she want drawn?”

Nurse Suzy reluctantly gives me the answers including the fact that the draw we are doing is for autoimmune diseases, there are technical names but seriously it’s all like, ‘blah, blah, blah.’

WTH…this happens EVERY time. Do we really think that it’s suddenly an autoimmune problem?

So I say, “Well, I have a really busy day today and tomorrow, can this be done later in the week?”

“No, this has to be done today, tomorrow at the latest.”

Let me just take a break here from the conversation to say that I don’t HAVE to do anything. Ok, maybe I have to breathe but that’s only if I don’t want to pass out and then die. This probably highlights some deep problem with authority or something that I have but seriously, don’t tell me I have to do anything. That’s pretty much the quickest way to make me ignore you. So now, I’m mad. Are you kidding me? Do I really have to drop everything to get a test done for a problem that we’ve dealt with five times now?

                Then Nurse Suzy asks again, “Where do you want to have it done? Here or the hospital?”

                “Your office would be easier”

                “Hmmmm, well, I’m not sure I can fit you in and I’m trying to think if any of these tests have to get to the lab within a certain amount of time…”

                THEN WHY DID YOU ASK ME????

                “Well then, you might as well send it to St. Charles”

At this point I hang up and consult with my medical counsel who says, “Just tell them ‘no.’” I almost fell out of my chair. That was not the answer I expected. Then he says, “Didn’t the hematologist do these tests before. Call back and find out if we’re duplicating tests.

So I call back and probably give the receptionist a headache when I refuse to leave a message and insist that I’ll hold for the NP. Yeah, I’m a pain like that.

After talking to the NP who says she’ll look for the prior tests she then says, “But can I get back to you though because we’re kind of busy right now.”

                GAAAAAAHHHHHHHH…..I’m not the one who made this sound so urgent that all my little platelets will keel over and die if I don’t get the test done in 30.5 seconds.

                But I say, “Sure.” See people….I have self-control and tact and I actually use it sometimes.

Turns out they can’t find any results from this particular previous test so she called back and told me that the Dr. so generously told me I can bump the test back to Wednesday.

I readily acknowledge that I have a problem with medical personnel, especially when I feel things aren’t necessary but I’m not completely unreasonable. Why must we use phrases like, “You HAVE to” and “It’s OK with me if you move your test back a day.” Is she the freaking Queen of England? Dern straight it’s OK with you. It’s either Wednesday or nothing.

This all ended with Matthew suggesting that I sign a waiver the next time I’m in the office to give him access to all my medical information. This is probably a good idea. I'm usually very serious when I say my favorite Dr. is Dr. Pepper. It is completely ironic that this is my husband's chosen profession. Maybe I should just let him do the talking from now on or I may end up getting myself sedated. 

And I'm Sure I'll See Her At Church On Sunday...

Everyone has their reasons for doing or not doing what they do. That’s quite a vague sentence but let me explain. When I was a young driver, oh heck, even now that I’m an old driver I refuse to flip someone off, even if they deserve it. I, to my recollection, have never flipped anyone off. I wish I could tell you that it was because I’m such a good Christian that I just never have the desire to do so but alas that would not be the truth. I've had the urge plenty of times but there is a fear that has kept me from gesturing rudely to anyone. This fear is (insert scary music here) that I will see that car in the parking lot of church the next Sunday. Yep, that’s what it is. Being from a small town and being the pastor’s kid from a small church can really mess with your psyche. Picture this. You’re driving along minding your own business and someone pulls out in front of you. You yell, you holler, you gesture wildly, then in your moment of victory when you are speeding past the offender you give the ol’ finger. You feel like you’ve won that is until the following Sunday when you’re running late for church. You speed into the parking lot only to discover a new car parked in the lot; the very same car that pulled out in front of you earlier in the week. Yes, I am positive that if I ever were to flip someone off this scenario would play out in my life.

This one fear has never transferred over to other areas of my life until recently. The other day I was out of bread and milk and Matt was gone on a rotation which meant that if I wanted bread and milk I would have to take all four kids to the grocery store….ALONE! (Insertion of scary music would again be appropriate) So, I did what I had to do. I loaded everyone up and headed for Miller’s. We entered, we shopped, we paid and left the store. There is something about successfully taking four kids, six and under, to the grocery store and everyone making it out alive and nothing being destroyed in the store that makes a Mama feel like super mom! I was feeling victorious!

I walked out to my van to see another van parked next to mine. It was an older model, forest green, Ford Windstar. Yep, I know what kind of car it was. The woman from the car was standing outside of her car screaming in the window at her kid. Her cart was directly in front of my car. Previously in my life I would have judged the fact that she was screaming at her kid but since I nearly popped a blood vessel in my forehead the day I stepped on a Barbie hairbrush that is no longer the case. Instead I was more annoyed that her cart was in front of my car.

But I did what any normal human being would have done and completely ignored the screaming and the cart. I took the girls around to the other side of the car and loaded them in and returned to the side next to the screaming woman so that I could load Asher into his seat. I did have to wait though because by this time her teen-aged son was done getting yelled at and had gotten out of the car to return the cart to the store. She had her door open and was S-L-O-W-L-Y getting into her car. Those of you who know me know that while pregnant with boy babies I have slight rage problems. But I was doing well….I was not screaming or yelling. I was just waiting. OK, so I was annoyed and waiting but I was waiting. As she got into her car and sat on her chuck covered seat (yeah, hospital chucks on car seats weird me out) she looked at me with my son and said, “Wait until he gets older,” to which I responded with a vague sort of nod thing. At that very moment that the nod thing was happening I opened Asher’s car door to reveal 3 little girl heads peeking out of the car. The yelling woman on the chuck covered seat in the green Ford Windstar let out a giant gasp and said, “Holy…….(I’ll let you finish that).”

Methodically I finished hooking in the children, never turning back to acknowledge chuck lady, got into my car and drove away. Now, I’m sure I could have been meaner, but I certainly could have been nicer. I probably should have said something friendly or something or made a joke, but I didn’t. I pretended that there were no chucks in my immediate vicinity and I drove off and I’m absolutely, most assuredly convinced that there will be a green Ford Windstar with a chuck on the seat in the church parking lot next Sunday…