Levi is dedicated

Sunday we dedicated baby Levi to the Lord Jesus. May God's hand rest on Him.

He is wearing the dedication gown that my mother crocheted. I wasn't able to put the hat on... it was so small it looked like a yarmulka. My other two children were dedicated at 6-8 weeks of age. But I did manage to cram his feet into the booties. I look forward to handing down this gown to my children.

Matt was teasingly bemoaning the fact that another one of his boys had to "wear a dress." I asked him to think of it more as a robe...

June toe wear

Miss Liberty is TWO!

My daughter turned two last week. She is, of course, my pride and joy.

Childhood

I was looking at the handprints that Libby left on the back step. It caught my attention, the brighter print that faded into nothingness. Reminds me of the fleeting nature of baby/toddler/childhood...

June Babies

And my June toewear: American flags for Memorial day.

Tendencies

One thing about mothering, it highlights my personal tendencies. I have a choice to either learn and be moldable, or insist on my way, become brittle, and break under the weight of it.

If I tend towards "control freak", I need to recognize and relenquish my need to always have my way.

If I trend towards passivity, I need to learn how to communicate and expect obedience.

If I hate the thought of playing with my kids, then I need to offer to play their favorite game with them, even if it means I get hot, sticky or wet.

If I would rather punish and ask quesitons later, I need to listen, get to the bottom of my anger, and not die on every hill.

If the thought of disciplining my child is a real turn-off, then I need to fight inertia and intentionally parent my child.

If I know that I'm an overbearing mom, then I need to give my kid some space.

If I like noise, I need to practice quietness.

If I like peace and quiet, I need to allow for noise.

And so on...

A Call to Pray

Friends of faith,

I would ask you to link to my friend's blog ("Donut's Quiet Corner") in the sidebar. Momrn2's DD has been terribly ill, and we are moving as many people to pray as possible. I have been managing her blog while she's in the hospital with her daughter.

Thank you.

His Face is Toward You

Once a month I help out at NWCC by doing the communion meditation. I wrote this while reflecting on being separated from my little boy while he was hospitalized. Thought I'd post it. Enjoy.
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I have become aware of the power of my face. With three little children around my ankles all day, my face is a secondary communication tool next to my voice. When I’m happy, my face tells my children that there are good things ahead and all is well. When my eyes widen, it’s a cue that there is a surprise about to unfold, or that this is a time of delight. When my eyes narrow and I lock my jaw, the child needs to seriously re-evaluate his or her actions. A parent quickly learns the Creator’s design for the connection of the parent’s face with the heart of the child. There is great comfort when my face is towards them.

Can you imagine the heart of a child that loses the ability to look upon his mother or father? The darkness of abandonment she feels when she can no longer see the face of the one who loves and defines her? Especially in times of trouble or pain? Especially when it’s the one thing left before losing everything? One dark afternoon Christ hung on the cross enduring the most cruel death known to man. He was brutalized, scorned, humiliated - yet - His Father was present with Him and He endured. But as the weight of our sin was heaped upon Him, God the Father had to look away. He removed His gaze from His son, and we read the cry of Christ’s heart as he screamed, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

Everything can be endured because God‘s eyes are upon us. Psalm 33:18 says, “The eyes of the Lord are on those who fear him, on those whose hope is in His unfailing love.“ We receive life and forgiveness and wholeness because God’s countenance rests on us. He looks upon us today because one afternoon, two thousand years ago, He looked away from His own dying son.

As you take the bread remember that Jesus received the full weight of our sin upon his body, and it was broken because of it.

As you take the cup remember that Jesus blood poured out when He was utterly alone and forsaken so that we would enjoy the gaze of God forever.

Jesus, thank you for your sacrifice. Thank you for enduring the abandonment of the One who loved you most to make a way for me.

Brothers and Sisters, The LORD bless you and keep you; the LORD make his face shine upon you and be gracious to you; the LORD turn his face toward you and give you peace.

Let Me Out

Anyone see "The Perfect Storm"? (If you didn't and you intend to, skip this paragraph.) Right at the end of the movie, after battling wind and wave, the captain looks heaven-ward, there's a stillness, and the clouds part for a brief moment revealing a clear night sky... you think that they might make it. The music become slightly cheerful, the captain smiles, and tension eases for a second. Then music turns minor, the hole in the clouds closes, and the storm grabs ahold of the ship. The captain's smile fades and he growls, "She's not going to let us out!" Then the ship flips and they all die.

There have been times when I find myself uttering, "She's not going to let us out!" Watching my poor little one lay limp on the ER gurney, and even after a fluid bolus he showed no improvement... my hopes of a quick recovery were dashed again and again against the rock of Mother's Guilt. Waited too long. Didn't get it right. Missed the critical nature. For you nursing folks, he was basically in a ketoacidotic state (much more than basic dehydration), not dissimilar to that of a diabetic coma, except he had incredibly low blood glucose. I can only imagine when it set in. He had been so, so sick, probably as bad as I'd ever seen him, but then he seemed to rally Monday evening at 3p. Got up walked around, talked, wanted to help Daddy with lawn mowing. But by 5p, he was in bed, sleeping, still only taking water, water, water... that demon water. 12 hours later he wasn't getting up to pee... ah! I need to stop here. Thank God we had a great ER staff. Thank God he was salvageable with 36 hours of fluid therapy. Thank God.

He looked so little in that big white bed. Not talking. Not smiling. Daddy and I were with him Wednesday morning and afternoon as he was admitted, poked and prodded. He was brave. I was pretending to be a Mommy, though my Nurse-brain was giving me quite the lecture about "How could I have missed the signs...?" That evening I ran home briefly to nurse Levi and give Libby a kiss goodnight. They had been under the care of Miss Bonnie and Aunt Lo all day - what a gift! I was almost paralyzed by Izak's screams for me as I left him "to go away for a little bit." I could hear him way, way down the hall. It was everything I could do to go. He was with Daddy, his hero, his rock. But when I got home I heard Levi on the monitor and ran up to nurse him. I picked him up and he immediately vomited everywhere. The same virus had gotten him too. Now I knew I couldn't go back to the hospital. I had to stay with the baby. My milk was his best chance at making it out. It was like I looked up and saw the sky clouding back over.

God bless Matt. I have new respect for him everyday. He laid aside his schedule for two days to stay by the bedside of his son. No questions. No whining. He sat with Izak and prayed, comforted, conversed. He slept restlessly on a chair/bed/nice-try-but-nothing-like-my-awesome-bed-at-home. He was full of information for me, texting and calling. He redeemed and healed so many old wounds in me in those 48 hours, and created a new legacy for our children. I cannot adequately express my admiration.

So, as of last evening, we are together again. Levi seems to be withstanding the diarrhea. He had minimal vomiting. In a third world country there's a good chance that Izak wouldn't have made it, but tonight he sleeps in a soft bed with a healing body. He's understandably a little clingy now. After he came home and went through his night-time routine, every time I'd go to leave he'd start asking, "Can I go away? Mommy, can I go away? ... Can I?" If I didn't turn back around and lay down with him, he'd start crying. I didn't understand the phrase. I knew it had something to do with his hospital experience. I thought all day about that little request, and then it dawned on me... When I left him at the hospital Wednesday night I had said, "I have to go away for a little bit." Well, if I went Away, then, in his desire to be with me, he wanted to go to Away too. Where ever you're going, Mommy, can I go too?

Yeah... I'll be processing all this for a long time to come. It wasn't a tragedy, like so many friends have experienced, but it was hard. And at some point, Jesus stood on the bow of our ship and simply said, "Be still." And the storm obeyed.

Yup

...we lost. Z hospitalized. Levi vomiting/diarrhea.

Mayday, mayday, mayday!

Flu here. stop.
Girl mending. stop.
Boy in 60th hours of vomiting. stop.
Dehydration may win. stop.
Baby still fine. stop.
Mommy freaking out inside and cool cucumber on outside. stop.

Furrbabies

I hope this doesn't bog my blog down. Let me know if you cannot download it. I'm working with a new camera and program.

This week at the Furr Funny Farm

New items:

*Matt had a five day trip to Boston at the beginning of the month. He was gone 94.5 hours.
*I still don't feel like I've been able to catch up from when he was gone, hence, the enormous gap in my blogging.
*I received my early Mother's Day gift from Matt and the kids - an amazing new camera with all kinds of bells and whistles. What gorgeous pictures I've been capturing. I may not scrapbook, but I do take lots of pics.
*Libby is starting to try more words. She babbles and gargbles in coversation form, but real live phrases are starting to emerge. The most popular: "Hewp, hewp." (Help, help.)
*Levi is thinking about pushing through some teeth, though I see no real redness yet. I can't believe he's 6 months old and I'm still exclusively breastfeeding, though most days I wonder if I can possible make enough to fill his gullet anymore. I haven't had the time to even think about introducing solids yet. That, and I accidently melted the highchair.
*Izak is very fond of being "the baby" now. Carry me, let me sit on your "yap", sit in Yibby's seat in the car and at the table. Libby doesn't care one bit.
*We're painting. So far, two walls are completed. Only 41 to go.

Things that I'm finding to be over-rated:
*A sparkling clean home.
*My need for sleep.
*Fighting every battle.
*Annuals.
*Play dates.
*Daily showers.

Things that I'm finding to have been comletely under-rated:
*Playing with your children.
*Blowing bubbles - incredibly therapeutic. I would highly recommend it to a few world leaders.
*The power of a pretty pedicure (This month it's red background with beautiful flowers on all toes.)
*The ability to listen.
*Japenese steakhouse restaraunts.
*Winning the war. (I'm speaking as a mom, not making political statements)
*Perennials.
*Fostering friendship among sibilings.

What I Do All Day

Daily Outfit

The first thing she does after her morning bottle is retrieves those crazy dragon boots. The fireman's hat is not far behind.



At the risk of offending, I think he looks like Harry Potter. With blonde hair. And a better sense of humor and overall levity.

Reflecting on my Blog

My friend has been very open to receiving comments on her blog about the art of blogging and blog etiquette. She is a fairly new blogger (see Donut's blog "A Quiet Corner") but has a real gift for communicating. She's a warm person, a good friend, and it just flows out of her writing. I look at my blog and wonder if I've been fair when I opened this cyber-relational-account with the universe. Can I keep up? Will I carry my relational weight in the world of bloggers?

"Post every other day." My real preference is twice a week, but lately writing is a luxury item, like sleep. Or I could post a bunch of stuff all at once! Like pictures of my toes! Yeah! Good grief, what a loser. (laughing)

"Paragraphs." Got it.

"Easy on the eyes." Fine.

"Humorous." That's actually been my preference too lately. Life's hard. Let's laugh!!

"Leave comments." Uh-oh.

"No lurking." Double uh-oh.

If I do not comment, I do not intend to be rude or presumptuous. Twelve hours a day I'm usually somewhere between refereeing sibling interactions ("We do NOT push our friends!"), breastfeeding Mr. Boobie, or diving through the air to catch something being pulled over by Liberty, a.k.a., the Death Cheater. After the kids are in bed, I slump onto the couch with a little stream of drool coming from my mouth. Day over.

And I love to read your blogs, but I have such profound responses that 1) I cannot concisely capture what I want to tell you in a short period of time, and 2) I ran out of grown-up vocabulary about 5 hours ago. Just know that your blogs are very special places to me. Good writing. Good stories. Good reflection. It helps me feel like there are others trotting along this same path along with me. Feel free to lurk here, weary moms. Even if no one read me, I think I'd still blog. It's done wonders for clearing out nagging thoughts and funny scenes that occasionally stick in my head.

Prayer

"Wanna pray, Mommy?"

"Sure, Buddy. You go ahead."

(holding my hand) "Dear Jesus, thank you for Mommy, and Fizzy Pop [Libby's nickname], and Izak. Thank you for Levi. Thank you for pizza and colored goldfish. (pause) And... (voice growing louder) thank you for Daddy, home very, VERY SOON! THE END!"

(Mommy giggling with eyes closed)

(Son thoughtfully reconsiders) "Aaaa-men!"

Toe Wear 2006

Shamrocks on my toes

It's hard to learn to "be kind to yourself" after years of neglect. It's not that I was ever really mean to me, just not governed or paced well. I was always in an all-out roar. Comments I remember from my twenties: "You have such passion!" "You have so much heart!" Translation: Always going at a dead run and a wee bit emotionally wrought because of it.

The blessing of children is that it's forced me to slow down... way down. It was either that, or destroy the little ones that God gave me. So in the name of not killing myself for ridiculous standards set by (and cared about by) myself alone, I practice the following:

1. I don't always shower every day. I have short hair that has a messy look anyway, even when styled, and I find that my skin care products last twice as long.

2. I can wear my pajamas during the day (or my day wear to bed, either way.)

3. I let caller-id and voice mail do their jobs.

4. I get a pedicure once a month, complete with jewels and designs. This month is Irish shamrocks.

5. Once I even served popcorn for dinner... on plates.

Enough to Belly-Laugh

I hate forwarded e-mails. Hate 'em. Don't care who you are. I hate them, except for what my sister, Kat, sends. She knows what I need and when. And I love a good story. I cannot vouch for it's veracity, only it's effect.

A Bad Day At Work

Rob is a commercial saturation diver for Global Divers in Louisiana.
He performs underwater repairs on offshore drilling rigs. Below is an
E-mail he sent to his sister. She then sent it to radio station 103.2 on
FM dial in Ft. Wayne, Indiana, who was sponsoring a worst job experience
contest. Needless to say, she won.


Hi Sue,

Just another note from your bottom-dwelling brother. Last week I had a
bad day at the office. I know you've been feeling down lately at work, so I
thought I would share my dilemma with you to make you realize it's not so
bad after all. Before I can tell you what happened to me, I first must
bore you with a few technicalities of my job.

As you know, my office lies at the bottom of the sea. I wear a suit to
the office. It's a wetsuit. This time of year the water is quite cool.

So what we do to keep warm is this: We have a diesel powered industrial
water heater. This $20,000 piece of equipment sucks the water out of the
sea. It heats it to a delightful temperature.

It then pumps it down to the diver through a garden hose, which is taped
to the air hose.

Now this sounds like a darn good plan, and I've used it several times
with no complaints.

What I do, when I get to the bottom and start working, is take the hose
and stuff it down the back of my wetsuit. This floods my whole suit with
warm water. It's like working in a Jacuzzi.

Everything was going well until all of a sudden, my butt started to itch.
So, of course, I scratched it. This only made things worse.

Within a few seconds my butt started to burn. I pulled the hose out from
my back, but the damage was done. In agony I realized what had happened. The hot water machine had sucked up a jellyfish and pumped it into my suit.

Now, since I don't have any hair on my back, the jellyfish couldn't stick
to it. However, the crack of my butt was not as fortunate.

When I scratched what I thought was an itch, I was actually grinding the
jellyfish into the crack of my butt. I informed the dive supervisor of my
dilemma over the communicator. His instructions were unclear due to the
fact that he, along with five other divers, were all laughing hysterically.

Needless to say I aborted the dive. I was instructed to make three
agonizing in-water decompression stops totaling thirty-five minutes before
I could reach the surface to begin my chamber dry decompression.
When I arrived at the surface, I was wearing nothing but my brass helmet.
As I climbed out of the water, the medic, with tears of laughter running
down his face, handed me a tube of cream and told me to rub it on my butt as soon as I got in the chamber. The cream put the fire out, but I couldn't poop for two days because my butt was swollen shut.

So, next time you're having a bad day at work, think about how much worse it would be if you had a jellyfish shoved up your butt.

Now repeat to yourself, "I love my job, I love my job, I love my job".