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.