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.