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.
********************************************************

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".

Izak at 3 1/4 years


Liberty at 21 months


Levi at almost 5 months.

What's a Grit?

The two visitors look at the plate, and the guy says, "What's a grit?" As he takes a bite, his girlfriend takes a picture of him.

Does the scene sound familiar? From one of my favorite movies. I will not go into which one, as my mother reads my blog and would certainly not be amused.

Anyway, the other day I had grits for breakfast for the very first time. They were good!

I'm a northern girl, raised in mid-Michigan. The most south I've ever lived has been mid-Indiana (Marion, to be exact). It was too hot for me. That being said, I was reminded what a wonderfully different culture Indiana is as I drove through it's heartland on my way to last week's funeral. Big sprawling farms. Tiny little towns. Lots of stores that contain the word "Gramma". Acres of fields. Tire swings made out of real tires with long ropes tied up in 300-year old trees. People write their family names in colored shingles on the roof of the barns, and you can read it for miles. Some people live a good mile from their nearest neighbor (that must be awesome! writes the intorvert). Farm equipment as big as my suburban home. It was a really peaceful change. There was a quietness there that I coveted.

I stayed with my adopted mom and dad from college. In the morning my mom made me a gia-normous breakfast, which included grits! How fun! And good... I used butter, salt and pepper as she recommended.

Mom and Dad F. said they would be up to the windy city this summer for some Furrbaby lovin.' So last night, I bought a container of grits (all that was available was instant).

Dear Southern readers - what are your secrets for making good grits?

Download

I can't believe I'm sitting here trying to sound together. Image management never ceases, does it? I'm so tired I can hardly blog. Last weekend Levi and I made our first big trip together to Marion, Indiana for the untimely funeral of my sister's FIL. It was supposed to be a family thing, but we were experiencing round two of boggers, coughs, and fevers. Travel really takes it out of me, I'm much more energized by staying home and checking off a list of things to do that's as long as my arm. But being on the road steals my pizazz... if there was any to begin with.

Things that seem precariously balanced start to teeter. Issues that need addressing are once again pushed out of sight. Conversations that need to happen are covered by communicating the urgent information, the "report" of the home happenings. Fix dinner? Well, it's 5p.m. and my husband's almost home. I guess it will be pizza. Balance the checkbook? Now when can I find an hour to myself for unadulterated number fun? Forget it. Check the balance online and hold your breath. Take a nap? I'm so tired I can't sleep, except for at night when I'm so soundly oblivious to the baby that my husband has to wake me.

But in the hustle and bustle I've heard from the Lord. It's like He's taken me out of my orbit just enough to give me a new insight, a new encouragement regarding my family. When I'm traveling in the same old pattern I almost unconsciously tune-out and mentally go to screen-saver. But when I'm scampering to merely survive I feel like God more readily gets my attention. Funny - I have to be tired and poured out in order to hear Him. Maybe it's as close as I get to "being still."

I wish I could tell you about His word to me, but it's too sensitive. Too private. But just know I'm sitting here, pooped out, sleepily grinning and trying to keep my face off the keyboard. I am tired. I'm sorry, I don't mean to whine. And I try not to blog when I have nothing productive or encouraging to say. But people, more than anything, God is good.

Juggling

I am performing schedule trick-riding over here in Chicago... can you see it? My little sister's FIL passed away yesterday morning, so we're looking at how to get to Indiana for the viewing and funeral Friday and Saturday, returning Saturday afternoon. Thought we had it all sewn up when the 3-year old took another pass at the cold-fever thing. It'll be another 24 hours before I know if it's an ear infection needing antibiotics. So I'm leaving him and his sippy-cup (petri dish) buddy home with two amazing sitters and taking the baby. And then there's work... I shouldn't leave a sick kid with a sitter, so I'm calling off the first 4 hours of tonight's shift, waiting to see Matt in the doorway and then jumping in the car and heading into the hospital. Oy. And for my next trick...

Hey, what do you get when you combine an exersaucer with it's feet pulled up, a 3-year old who loves things that spin, and a 4-month old minding his own business in said exersaucer?

A human top!

Tagged

I've been tagged several times, so as to not be a loser, here goes:


10 YEARS AGO:

Lived outside of Boston, Massachusetts
Began a church plant with my husband
Husband graduated with masters from Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary
Was a visiting nurse - route included the Gloucester fishermen as seen in "A Perfect Storm" and Salem witches
Drove a green Honda Civic
Saw the Atlantic Ocean every day
Camped on the weekends in the White Mountains

5 YEARS AGO:

Was just coming off birth control
Lived outside Buffalo, NY
Husband was a beloved assistant pastor at a mega church
Led worship
Was doing acute hemodialysis around town in various ICUs
Had a Newfoundland dog named Sailor and a retired seeing eye dog named Jay
Hiked all the time
Drove a Hundai station wagon with the two dogs in the back

1 YEAR AGO:

Became pregnant with my third child
Moved to Chicagoland, IL
Husband is lead pastor
Drove a minivan
Gave my Newfoundland to my sister-in-law


YESTERDAY:

Went to Dunkin Donuts
Went to Ikea with the entire family for 30 minutes total! Ha!
Did not shower
Drew on the doodlepad with my daughter for 30 minutes
Made faces at my 3-year old from the front seat and made him giggle
Breastfed, breastfed, breastfed


5 SONGS I KNOW ALL THE WORDS TO:

Come,Thou Fount of Every Blessing
Worthy, Worthy
Silent Night
All Mary Poppins songs
A Mighty Fortress is our God

5 THINGS I’D DO WITH A MILLION DOLLARS:

Pay off all debt
Tithe
Invest for kids' college tutition
Buy a second home in Vermont
Buy a live-in nanny for another set of hands

5 PLACES I’D RUN AWAY TO:

Vermont
Maine
Massachusetts
Oxford
Wales

5 THINGS I’D NEVER WEAR:

Anything orange-colored
Bikini
Killer heels
I'd have to go with Peach on the whole tube top thing
A cowboy hat

5 FAVORITE TOYS:

Computer
Cell phone
iTunes
Dishwasher
CD player


5 FAVORITE BOOKS OR TV SHOWS:

Redeeming Love
The James Herriot series
CSI
Anne of Green Gables/Avonlea
Dancing with the Stars

5 GREATEST JOYS:

Staring at each of my children
Being in the center of God's will
Working hard as a nurse and making a difference
Spending time with L, C, A, J.
Listening to my husband speak each week (his sermons are available on audio on our church's website)

There you go. Though possibly the most boring list ever composed, I have fulfilled my duty!!!!!!!! Good night!

Bath Time

Once a month Matt has an Elder's meeting at church. It starts around 5:30p and goes into the night... which means I'm doing the nighttime wind-down alone. Managing tubby time for three three and under can prove to be a challenge. Tonight things were rather comedic. I was running the bath upstairs and asked Izak, who just strolled up, if Libby was watching Kipper downstairs. He said warily, "Nnnooo." Strange, I thought, so I asked again, and again he said no. He was right. She was downstairs, locked in the bathroom doing a little pre-wash of her own. The toilet paper was all unrolled and wadded up, damp. She was soaked, her hair, her shirt, her blanket. There was very little water in the toilet bowl. As I put Blankie in the washer for a quick disinfecting wash, I decided not to think about what she'd been up to. Izak accidentally dumped a TON of bubble bath in the tub; it was a little like Willie Wonka's Chocolate Factory when they're riding the psychedelic boat and getting belched on by the pipes full of bubbles. Actually, that whole scene used to freak me out, but the imagery was very similar. Rinsing off was tough, bubbles are sticky things, and it required several tries to get the shampoo out of the hair and not have those latent bubbles when the hair looks clean but is really still sudsy... I digress.

Then there's the baby, who I bathed first and let play (read: lay and stare at the ceiling) in the hallway. Generally we go right from the tub to nursing, so Mr. Boobie was quite put out that he was put to bed last.

The end of the day is one of the toughest for me. It's like my strength is waning, my resolve shaking... not.. quite.. sure I'll... make it... . Then, like the still after a storm, comes the most beautiful time of the 24 hour funny-farm -cycle - silence! Ah... the babies are all asleep! Usually Matt and I give one another a high-five and collapse on the couch until one or the other can utter an intelligible sentence... "Want popcorn?" "What's on tonight?" "Do you want the computer?"

Matt is usually at the helm during bath time. I'm eternally thankful for his strength and energy during that time of day. And I'm appreciating it even more as I realize that he does what I did tonight by himself twice every week since I'm working Wednesday and Saturday evenings. I dread the one or two nights a month that I have to do baths alone, and yet he never complains. I think he actually likes that goofy time of day.

Matt's a wonderful husband and dad. At the end of a long day it's not uncommon to hear me say to him, "If you're ever going to leave me, or run away and change your identity, or get really sick and end up hospitalized, could you please try to wait until after bath time?"

RSV

Stands for really scary Valentine's! Really stupid Valentine's. Really sad Valentine's. Really (crappy) Valentine's! Well, the bug that I thought was influenza has turned out to be RSV. It started with Izak (3-yr old), and four days later the two younger ones (20 months, 4 months) began coughing. Monday, the 13th, I took both of them to the pediatrician and he did a quick RSV test on Levi - RSV positive. They also both have ear infections. So $200+ dollars later I have a slew of antibiotics, albuterol treatments with nebulizer for the wee one, a decongestant/antihistamine, and a battery of Tylenol and Ibuprofen. We spent Valentine's Day holding Libby, who wouldn't stop sobbing, flushed and feverish, and sucking boogers out of Levi to keep his tiny airway clear. God bless him, though, he still smiles amidst it all. Happy frickin' Valentine's Day!

Buckshot

My Uncle Laverne (yes, he is a he) is a survivor similar to the friend of Mr. Cheney. As a young man he, too, was quail hunting with an experienced (read "ancient") fellow hunter. One wrong move in a distant bush got his tail-end filled with lead. To this day he has pellets under his skin. Though I have to admit, the face... YOWZER!

I cannot begin to imagine what Saturday Night Live is going to do with this incident. Especially if you tweak the spelling to read "Quayle"...

The smallest Furr-muppet

Perspective

One of the things I enjoy about getting out of the house is the new point of view it hands me. Life as a SAHM can be very limiting, IMO. Little issues become overwhelming mountains. Annoyances become obsessions. I think that down deep I struggle a little with obsessive-compulsive issues. I count things, like bottles and markers and sippy cups, and cannot rest unless I know where they all are at day's end. (I always have a list of things I'm looking for: it currently consists of a green sippy cup, a pink pacifier, and the round magnet out of Libby's doodlepad.) I put puzzles back together when the kids are in bed and over-organize the toys. Things may not be spotless, but at least I know where everything is. I always run the dishwasher at night, even if there are only 5 cups and 2 forks in it. All of the light switches in the house need to be off in their down position at the end of the day. It's like there's a certain pattern that things must travel in, and any deviation is a major distraction to me.

I noticed that this really worsened the longer I was away from my job. But upon returning I'm enjoying a reprieve from the compulsiveness of it all. It's like I'm able to get my nervous energy out at the hospital a few evenings a week, thereby breaking the behavior cycles at home. Giving a bath to a woman dying of cancer reminds me that though my children are sometimes struggling, at least they're with me. Holding burned babies in the ICU reminds me that though Libby's accident prone, a little bump or bruise is a minor thing. Taking care of a trauma patient reminds me that my family is blessed with safety and security every time we arrive home after a drive. Taking care of the belligerent post-op patient makes me think of the "difficult" people in my life, and how I'm glad they're not as out of control as the patient... and when they are, I can get away and not be liable for abandonment.

And the little things: toys, cups, dishes... they're just a tiny, tiny piece of the real puzzle.

Martin Luther used to say, "When I think too much of myself I go out and stare at the stars in Heaven. And when I feel very small, then I go to bed."

Perspective.

Snow Day

Well, not exactly. My son is in bed with a fever and a nasty cough, so I called off work. It's never hard to call off in the moment because I know it's the right thing to do, but afterwards I get to thinking ($$$). This is a good thing, though. I've been running just to catch myself lately, as you can tell by my missing entries. I keep wondering if working the little that I do is a good idea. I have a peaceful, quiet, relatively simple life. I feel like is transfers directly to my kids, who are happy little critters. But as a friend said, "All home and no work makes Heidi a dull girl." It's the truth.

Matt and I had a funny moment the other day. I was watching him poke food into the garbage disposal with a wooden spoon. Careful, not too deep, I'm thinking, and I can just see splinters everywhere, but the words that come out of my mouth are, "Hey! Don't use the spoon! Use your fingers!"

My little sister, Kat, with Libby as a (chubby) baby 

Made for the Moment

I believe every person needs to experience the sense that, "Hey, I was made for this moment!" It brings with it a sense of identity, a sense of calling, purpose. Sometimes the real blessing is helping others see that they're living in that moment of greatness, that God is mighty in them where they are.

A person that lives in those kind of moments would be my little sister. Looking back over my blog, I realize I've mentioned precious little about Kat. This, by no means, indicates my lack of affection and admiration for my little sister... I think of her all the time. I just don't have the prominent issues tied to her like that of my handicapped sister. I live around Chicago. She lives around Pittsburgh. I have three little kids. She owns eight rental properties that she and her husband revive and make available to people who may not otherwise find housing. Kat has always found unique facets of ministry to excel at... real estate for the less fortunate, sign language so that she could involve herself with a deaf group of friends in Marion (she's very fluent, has even interpreted for the Governor of Michigan)... In reading this I see that Kat often puts herself between people and opportunity, and then manages somehow to pull them together. She champions the underdog, always believes the best, always strives to make a difference, always tells the truth. People should feel honored to be befriended by my sister.

Her "day job" is in cytology. Simply put, she looks at slides of tissue under microscopes, providing diagnostic insight into the condition - cancer and other various diseases. That's very simplistic. But she majors on the minors, looking to the cells for clues, putting herself between the disease and the ability to detect and fight it, joining the two sides together for many patients. Mom (an RN), Kat, and I (an RN with oncology background) have spent many an evening at the Bennett compound discussing cancer and other diseases and their peculiarities. She offers great knowledge on the pathological side, while Mom and I fill in the picture with what happens after diagnosis. (She also has more gruesome stories than I do, in regards to... tissue... and, well, I'll stop there.) I imagine there are a bunch of IWU grads out there, too, who owe Kat a big "thank you" for being the phenomenal lab assistant that she was in undergraduate. She's a great teacher. She's also involved in a tumor review board, which discusses recent cases at the hospital, their presentation, detection, treatment, and outcome. (Kat's probably cringing right now because I'm sure I've slaughtered the definition of a few things... not to mention she corrects my type-o's.) Kat's been interested in cancer and it's effects since junior high, when her best friend died of Ewing's sarcoma. Kat has always suffered from a delicate heart, finding a place to hide on the scientific side of the disease without having to confront the people she diagnoses, which, I'm sure she would agree, is just fine... until recently...

She went home with her husband to Marion, IN, for the Holidays. Her in-laws are kind, gentle folks. A lovely compliment to the Bennett insanity, in my opinion. Buddy, her FIL, wasn't looking well. He'd lost weight, was complaining of abdominal discomfort. Kat immediately jumped on the diagnostic train and began brain-storming with him, asking him about symptoms. She told me she didn't panic until he mentioned night-sweats, then she knew there was something very wrong. She began stretching her arms between the two worlds again, one hand towards medicine and it's diagnostics, and the other hand holding Buddy. The worst of news came - stage 4 cancer everywhere, the primary site being his eye - a rare choroid melanoma. I remember the first time we spoke about it over the phone. After hello, there was a long silence which was punctuated by crying and quiet sniffing... but at that moment I was overwhelmingly aware that Kat was made for that exact moment with her in-laws, that moment and the thousands to come, and I told her so. Cancer, as a crisis, brings out the real parts of people. Some fight, some deny, some make their lists and start checking it off. Kat would be third kind. She and her husband, Dave, bring their expertise in financial planning, expertise in the disease and health care, and their experience in being wonderful, honoring kids.

Kat, do not forget, though saddness will come, that God made you for this moment. You're bringing your best to the table for Buddy and Lois and the family. You are loving them well and doing an amazing job preparing them for one of the hardest stages of their lives. I am so proud of you.

Winter Furrbabies

Learning (and un-learning)

Things I've learned since turning 30, which was several years ago...

1) The Philippines is NOT in Central or South America. It is considered an Asian country.

2) The commercial slogan "Every kiss begins with Kay's" has a double meaning: The word "Kay's" refers to both the name of the company and the letter "k," which begins the work "kiss." (I immediately tried to call my little sister when I realized that to see if she's known this all along...)

3) The term is "for all intents and purposes," not "all intensive purposes."

4) "Caps Lock" or the term "caps" is a short way of referring to the word "capital", as in capital letters.

5) The term is "Nip it in the bud," not "nip it in the butt."

6) The War of 1812 was fought in America. Napolean did not fight in the war of 1812.

7) Self-effacing humor makes you easier to live with.

The Light of Day

I feel like a new woman most days. I've been working more shifts in the ICUs and I'm having a blast! I'm trying to pick up about 12 hours a week, one four-hour and one eight-hour shift. I've been in open heart, the burn unit, trauma/surgical, and a general ICU at a second hospital.

The thing I've noticed the most about picking up my old career is that I'm highly energized. I feel like I think clearer, act quicker, and have better overall judgment. It gives me a new level of optimism about a lot of things, but first and foremost, about being a mom. Matt and I were discussing that last night, I said I didn't see the correlation, and he pointed out, "Getting out of the house and doing something you love sharpens you as a mom because it breaks up the monotony. It gives you the strength to deal with things that you'd otherwise tolerate." Yeah, Baby! Right now the pace seems right, I work the evening shift, or a partial, so I leave at 1 p.m. since the drive is at least an hour to the hospitals I work at. Matt gets home at 5, but the day I work a full shift is Saturday, so he puts in a half-day at the office and comes home in time to kiss me good-bye. I get home at either 9p or 1a, depending on the shift. It's awesome.

I realize that nothing really profound is coming out of my mouth. I get so excited because after almost a year of being close to home-bound, I get to see the light of day... by myself! And do something that I'm good at. I see the differences in going back to ICU nursing this time vs. after Izak was born as the following:

1) I don't have to work.
2) I know what needs to happen, even if I don't know where to find everything.
3) I'm less bashful about asking questions.
4) I feel more confident, therefore I'm less needy of affirmation and support from co-workers.
5) I know that I'm successfully managing my home when I'm not at work, which is the other 148 hours a week.

We're celebrating our one-year anniversary here in IL. It's been quite a year. Hard, happy, sad, nauseous, faith-filled, peaceful, stressful, new, old being like new... I'm so thankful for the prayers and patience of our new church family at NWCC. The other week a woman said one of the nicest thing to me: "Since your pregnancy finished, it's like watching a whole new person bloom."

God is good to me.

Behind

I have this overwhelming sense that I'm behind... nothing specifically, just behind in general. Can't quite keep up, managing a few steps ahead of the rolling rock (for an Indiana Jones analogy), but somewhere along the line my margin disappeared. Any mother knows the importance of keeping two, if not four, steps ahead of the pack. But then there's the general management of the dailyness of a household. I'm sure you've seen the saying, "God put me on earth to accomplish a certain number of things during my life. At the rate I'm going, I will never die."

Perhaps it's the grey skies. Perhaps it's because Saturday is tax day. Maybe it's my broken-up nights and endless days. Maybe it's because I'm late on my blog. Maybe it's because I've been sorting Liberty's clothes and have seen that time is really an illusion, and that life is charging forward without even looking back to see if we're following along.

Good things come...

Welcome, 2006!

I have a few minutes to blog since I'm in bed with the flu. It's really horrible, I've not felt this sick since the flu bug I had on top of my morning sickness when I was carrying Libby in 2003. I was praying out loud, Jesus, please help me, Jesus, protect my baby. For those of you who know how brutal my hyperemesis (constant nausea, persistent vomiting all 9 months) was with my pregnancies, you'll appreciate this:

I was crawling into bed after tossing my stuff. Matt groggily mumbled something about the flu. I said, "What'd you say?" because what I thought I heard made no sense. He repeated himself louder, and I had heard him correctly. "Tell me you have the flu!" "Yes, it's the flu." His response? "Oh, good!" (In hindsight this really has us laughing.) Yes, pregnancies were terrible things, and over the last four years I've spent 27 months vomiting. It's so good to just have the flu!

Good things come:

My baby boy, Levi, is a sweet one with good sleeping patterns emerging. My third child has come to me.

Unless God over-rules, I will not have to carry any more children. Excitement for the future has come to me.

Work happened! I've had the opportunity to work at Loyola twice in the last few weeks, both were four-hour shifts in the Burn ICU. It was awesome. I really enjoyed a rotation I took through burn while living in Buffalo, and felt privileged to return... and I still feel like I have the stuff for good nursing, despite the shifts being so short. Familiarity has come to me.

I had a wonderfully special surprise baby shower a few weeks ago, thrown for me by the other pastors' wives, SB and Anj. They took me for a pedicure and manicure, and as we stopped by the house to "pick up a gift certificate for the restaurant", SB asked me to come in and look at something. Then there was a big "SURPRISE" and people jumping out from behind the island in the kitchen. It was elegant, peaceful, thoughtful, private, and thoroughly nourishing. I left there SO energized, something I haven't experienced in months and months. SB was also working on making me a blessing blanket by having friends either knit and/or pray over knit quilt squares for Levi. She was also thoughtful enough to include my mom and my Buffalo friends, Carrie and Audrey. I sat and wept because God has been so gracious to me. (Pic of Anj, me and Sarabeth) Good friends have come to me.

In the throes (throws - ha!) of flu in the trench, my husband has responded with strength and presence of mind that has stunned me. Libby got sick early Sunday morning, and my mom was here visiting. She sat on the loveseat as Libby slept on her lap for three restless hours. I was so, so glad to have my mom here, but I must admit, Matt's wow-ing my socks off. Libby continues gacking today after a day and a half reprieve. Not one to handle emesis lightly, Matt donned gloves and cleaned up carseat sickness without complaining once, while I slept in the bed, unaware. He's met every need, quieted each sob, and held destruction at bay from the trench and it's inhabitants all day. Being so weak and incapacitated as had a "post-traumatic" type of effect on me, calling forth genuine fear of everyone being so sick, and no adults to comfort and clean up. Physical weakness is a nemesis of mine, but God has strengthened me through Matt. My servant husband has come to my rescue.

My in-laws and mother and big sister came for extended visits in the trench, and loved on their grandkids. They brought their prayer, encouragement, and two big tepees for the toddlers. Family has come to me.

I pray for my sons' and husband's health and wholeness, but sense God's sweet nearness even now. Emmanuel has come to me again and again through many different venues, different people. And tonight I'm so grateful.

Christmas 2005

This time last year I was bracing myself for a monumental shift as we were about to leave Buffalo for Chicago. I never would have dreamed I'd be having such a beautiful Christmas one year later.

A family of five with a very pleasant little baby boy.

A big house with individual bedrooms.

No tree (crushing hazzard), no lights (electrical hazzard), no bulbs (choking hazzard), but a lovely mantel with 5 stockings (on stocking hagers with the potential for laceration hazzard, but avoided!).

A little girl who likes to wear a tiara and make faces at herself in the mirror.

A boy who could play with his electric toothbrush all day.

A loving, gracious congregation.

A cool, fun, family-like staff.

An amazing husband.

And the chance to remember my Savior came to earth for me.

Merry, merry Christmas.

I Wanna Work! Part II

Re-read last week's post using a slightly higher-pitched voice, add a few tears of frustration, and you've got a pretty accurate picture of my day.

A Little Hole

I saw something on the wall of Izak's bedroom, near the head of his bed. A dark spot. Not a spider. Not dirt. I started to scratch it off when I realized it was really stuck on there. So I picked a little more, applied a little more pressure, and then, oops! Took off the first layer of drywall. So now there's a little hole that will someday be painted over... the dark spot? A dried booger.

I Wanna Work!

Well, today was my greatly anticipated first-day-back to work. A new hospital (Loyola University Medical Center), a new state, a new situation (staffing agency - kinda like substitute teaching for nurses), a new computer charting system. I rose and shone (?) at 4:30 a.m., and just before I left the house ... 4:59... the phone rang. "Sorry, Heidi, but Loyola cancelled you today." Aahhh! What a major disappointment! Matt had slept on the couch to give me a sound night's rest since we're all fighting colds. He heard the phone ring and knew it was either a cancellation, or my Grandma (97) made her worldly departure. Choice number one.

I went back to bed and stewed. Man, was I mad! I needed this day out for more than simply money. My nurse's heart is aching for action. My sedentary brain is longing for complex conversation that doesn't involve noodles, pee-pee on the potty, or one-sided safety talks. I want to know if I know what I used to know: how to hang drips, how to start IV's, how to assist a physician during procedure, how to detect impending doom.

I keep calling the phase after baby number three "the beginning of the beginning - again." Everyone's born, everyone's growing. The only thing slowing me down is the limitations of the children, not my physical fatigue from pregnancy, so I shoulder alot more. I feel strong and sharp. I can see my way to organize, prioritize. I know that my primary job is being the SAHM, which I love, not because I've always dreamed of this, but because I'm fulfilling a calling and see God in it all around me. This is the most valuable of times. I treat my days with the seriouness that I would any other job. I don't take my time with the kids lightly. I don't look for distraction for myself (since I'm pretty introverted) or sit idly by; I focus on being present to the kids, teaching, playing, observing. Each night I think, Did I look each child directly in their eyes and communicate their value in a way they understood? Did I cuddle each one? Did I kiss each one without worrying about the time of day? Did I give my best? I think it takes deliberate choices to engage the kids and not focus on myself.

That being said, I also believe that I need to work a little bit outside the home. Matt is my greatest champion to that end. He doesn't try to harness my energy by re-directing my focus home, he synergizes my efforts in helping me seek the right kind of nursing job for this phase. Granted, there are only a few days a month that I can work that will not totally throw off the rythym of the household - a few Saturdays, maybe some Sunday evenings, but not Mondays. Mondays are about the only sacred space that we have. They're deemed "Family Days," and we protect them fiercely. However, working Saturdays impacts Matt because he generally works at the office for 6 hours, and then later after we (kids and I) go to bed in the evening. But he's willing to reallocate those hours elsewhere in the week to help me get the release that I need in my career. Honey, I love you, and am grateful for the way you're encouraging me.

So, for Pete's sake, don't call me off! The scheduler is looking to see if there's anything available this evening. I'm hopeful. Even if it's just for four hours (though the drive is an hour in itself), I'd like to get my foot in the door. This could be the start of my working pattern for years to come. I look forward to my orientation at Northwestern University Medical Center, too. The more orientations I've completed, the more facilities I can chose to work in. I'll begin to accumulate skills, experiences, information, and relationships that will solidify my nursing path. No more foreseeable long absences from ICU or oncology (I've been out for 9 months with the move and pregnancy). It's time to jump in and stay in the pool!

I feel like it's my first day of school, but the bus didn't pick me up. If not today, then hopefully next Saturday.

The Herd of Cats

Levi at 8 weeks.

Liberty at 18 months.

Izak at 3 years.

Grateful Patriot

Since my husband's a night owl, he had a chance to steal my blog before I could get it typed out. Rather than repeat it, I copied his reflections and pasted them. They are well put, and definitely something I wanted to share with you.
**************************************
Heidi and I went to Olive Garden for a date the other night. We were stuffed back in a corner, far from all the hubbub...perfect. As we were talking, I heard a little voice above the din. Glancing to my left, at the next table, I saw a little girl, probably about 7 years old, standing straight and looking directly into the eyes of the three Navy men who were all sitting quietly and looking back at her. She was singing to them in a soft and tender voice.

I couldn't make out all the words to the song, but above the noise of the room, I heard "You answered the call..." and "Thank you...Thank you...Thank you."

Her family was there to celebrate grandma's birthday. But this little girl had to sing a special song for these servicemen. Her mother explained to them that they have tried to teach her how special men and women have answered the call to serve their country in the military. She understood...and when she saw them, she just wanted to say, "Thank you..."

It's a moment that took be aback...difficult to put into words here. I was glad to have been invited into that moment by the tender voice of a little girl.

When she finished, the three of them all said, "You're welcome."
*************************************

When Matt pointed out the little singer, I immediately teared up. For me, it was a holy moment. Yes, my heart agreed with the little girl, thank you, thank you, though I'm too old and proud to say it myself. I am so grateful for your service.

As I have mentioned before, I'm deeply grateful to our service men and women for their dedication to our country. Among many things, I pray to raise children who respect the armed services. And as they grow older, a part of that teaching will include understanding that, though they may not be asked to, our men and women in uniform may choose to lay down their lives to protect us here on earth. It's then, I believe, a quick transition to being humbled and grateful to the One who served us by laying down His life for our ultimate freedom here, and also in the life to come.

A new twist

Jesus loves me, this I know
For the Bible tells me so.
And there's still another way
I know, though it seems strange to say.

With 3 under 3 I have found
That I'm house- and auto-bound.
To take the 3 into a store
Invites chaos, danger, maybe more.

So for fifteen minutes plus five
One-way, I'd load the kids and drive
To my favorite coffee shop.
They had drive-thru, no need to stop.

Don't unload the herd of cats
Who bolt and dart, imagine that!
And do not give them space to run...
I know, they never have any fun.

But, oh, God loves me, I'm glad to say
Because while driving the other day
I spied a sign both orange and pink.
I was so excited, I could hardly think

Of anything else! For you see,
It's a mere six miles down the road from me!
A Dunkin Dounts, open 24/7...
And the best part - a drive-up window! Ah, that's pure heaven!!!!!

Levi at one month. 

Must write

Must blog, must blog. Writing is the form I can use to express a lot of thoughts that hang on me all day, though finding the time to sit and write is nigh impossible. Either sleep or write, take your choice. Forget eating, I gave that up weeks ago.

I guess I'll just be newsy. Levi is a month. He's much less fussy, and has stopped screaming bloody murder during his baths. He actually looks over at his reflection in the mirror, very calm, perhaps it's just resignation. But my policy is that all men that I sleep with need to smell good.

Speaking of which - Matt and I celebrated our 11-year anniversary this weekend. It was amazing to recall the places we'd lived and the jobs we'd had. We love to talk all day about our wedding day, remembering the moments. I'm afraid that there wasn't as much pizzaz this year as we'd hoped, since I totally wiped out around 8 p.m.. Sorry, Lover! Next year, and each year will continue to be better! We will see Vermont again!!

Libby is recovering from an emergency operation on her hand almost two weeks ago. We ended up in the ER, and then need the OR for repair. Gosh, she's a spirited little thing! I love it. We met one of the most fantastic surgeons I've even known, Dr. Frank. A short, more narrow version of Mr. Rogers. He adored Lib, and she thought he was pretty cool too, being an expert peek-a-boo player and all.

Izak is growing more and more observant. Yesterday we were making a U-turn in an Applebee's parking lot and he said, "Come on everybody. Let's go inside for nuggets and colored balloons!" Not bad for a kid of few words.

There's a lot that I can't tell you in the blog. A lot of confidential issues, some things that I may be able to reflect about in time. Can I just say that this last month has been one of the most difficult times that I can recall? If we were using battle terminology - "heavy shelling" is a pretty good word picture. But I was so encouraged when I was stumbling through Isaiah and it said repeatedly, "Do not fear; I will help you." The pastoral families have prayer every other Tuesday night here at our house. We prayed that God would make us desperate for Him... now we're praying for relief! Okay, okay we're desperate already! But God promised help.. and to a mom and wife of a family under the purifying fire, help is exactly, exactly what I need right now.

Jesus, thank you for being with me. Your presence is something I sense in the deepest parts of who I am. Thank you for being my strong, right hand. Thank you for enfolding my home with your arms. Thank you for being in the future, and for your protection in moments of crisis. I am so blessed.

Eleven years ago today. You're still my hero. Matthew. I love you.

My Trench

Being a SAHM (stay at home mom) with three three and under lends itself to several words pictures. For example, most days I say that getting the kids in order feels like I'm herding cats. Certain times of the day feel like I'm being pecked to death by ducks. But most days I just refer to it as my life in the trench. In the morning I get up and put on my work clothes, grab my pick ax and jump in the ditch. On a normal day I just dig. If I'm digging at the right pace then I usually just keep my trench dug out. Some days I dig like crazy because the pressure is causing the sides to cave in. Other days I dig and bail water because of the storms. I don't mind my trench, it's familiar, it's busy , but it's mine.

Basic trench issues: Keeping the house in relative order, accommodating new changes to the schedule and taking into account the impact on each individual family member. Remembering the things that make each one sad, or happy, or content, and knowing when to employ the right one. Knowing when to lean on my husband, and when to draw up the bootstraps in order be leaned upon. Always remembering that only one adult at a time is allowed to be having a terrible day in his or her particular trench. Knowing where pretty much everything is located in the trench including the 9 bottles, 7 sippy cups, 4 pacifiers, and two blankies. Remembering when to pay the bills and balance the checkbook... Ah, home sweet trench.

Lately there have been special people who have come along and worked tirelessly alongside me. At this point in my life, when the workload is so intense and constant, I don't have a lot of time for folks who just want to stand up on the edge, look down in my trench and talk. Nor do I have time for people who want to sit around and tell me all about their trench. If you're going to take up time and space in my life, then for God's sake, grab that ax, get down here next to me and dig! DIG!!

A loving shout out to my fellow trench companions: Mom, Aunt Lo, Aud, Jenny, Bonnie, Anjee, Carrie P., Liz, Charlotte, Linda, Wanda, Rache, Jennifer G.. Your presence has made my time mothering and managing a heavy load much less lonely and much more joyful. Thank you.

Levi 2.5 weeks

Looking more stretched out! My sitter, Rache, would say, "Next thing he needs is to grow a neck!"

Bad Mom

Today I had the thought, Perhaps this was a mistake... three children when I only have two arms, two hands, two adults... . Common thought, I know. I've found that it actually occurs earlier and earlier with subsequent babies. I didn't question my soundness of my decision until after Izak was born. I remember wondering what I'd done when I had a wailing newborn daughter and sobbing son locked in their car seats in the minivan... and I clearly remember panicky moment early on during Levi's pregnancy that centered around the lack of good judgment I'd used in bringing a third upon myself and the family! But each time I rest in the fact that these are God's children, not mine, and order eventually comes.

When Izak was a newborn, I remember the parents who rolled their eyes at me and said, "You ain't seen nothin' until you have ___ (insert numbers greater than one) kids to deal with!" Though insensitive and invalidating, they had a point. Two is nothing like one, and three is two on an exponential graph! I'm busy every second, though breastfeeding every two hours may not look like busy-ness. There were a few times today when everyone was crying, and at least two of the three were hanging on my pants simultaneously, while I held the baby. (Which baby? you might ask.) There have been times I've played too many videos and not read enough books. There have been times when I haven't changed the dirty diaper quickly enough and someone's gotten diaper rash. I think the easy (and extremely unhealthy) thing to think is, I must be a bad mom. Good moms wouldn't have these problems. The reality is that there are hard moments. Even when there's only one child, and especially when there's more than one. But that kind of thinking does nothing for either Mom or family. So you cowboy up, suffer through; you cry a little, you pray a lot. And things get better.
Bad moms don't do that.

We regarded one another... 

F5 update

The transition continues to go well. Levi is a relatively calm baby, Libby and Izak have grown accustomed to his presence. Matt is back at work, and I haven't flown the coop, or flown over the coop as the case may be. The kids and I ventured to a park down by the church and had a lovely time. Levi slept in his seat, which I hauled from site to site. The weather was balmy and sunny. I'm still surprised from time to time how strong and agile I feel. I can squeeze in small places, fit on the slides, and eat brownies for lunch if I want... it's great not being pregnant!

I'm figuring out how to make life fun on the fly as we adjust to spreading things between three kids. Izak has been relegated to the back seat of the minivan. This was not a welcomed adjustment since he's always seemed to need my help in being settled. "Mommy, here's my water, Here's my napkin. Here's my half-eaten french fry." Now he has to manage his own space, so to speak. He has cup holders and places to put things... but how do you get food to him if you're driving down the road? Well, if you see me driving down the road and turning around to chuck a chicken nugget at my toddler, don't laugh too hard. It works. He thinks it's a fantastic game. It's also useful with chocolate munchkins. And I'm a pretty good shot - so far it's mostly right between the numbers. Hope he doesn't lose an eye...

Libby is a beautiful fireball. My little mini-me, according to my mother. She'd watch Libby's antics while she was here and shake her head. "It takes me back thirty-some years in a flash." And what was it like to have me after having Stef, a handicapped child? Mom: "I was no more ready for you than I was for Stef." Great. But Libby is extremely fun and crazy. She's discovered the girl in the mirror - she spends long stretches of time working on her expressions: the smile, the head-tilt, the flirt, the uh-oh, the kiss, etc. Boy and girls... way different!

The church is pounding us with meals. We've enjoyed some fabulous cooking over the past week and a half. I can't imagine what we'd be eating if the meals were up to me... cereal, toast and crackers, maybe.

That's a quick update.

Dr. Fisher

Levi and I went to the pediatrician for our first visit yesterday. Dr. Fisher is a very tall, lanky 50-something man with wispy white hair and large hands. He speaks quickly, admits to mumbling, and occasionally changes the subject so quickly that even I can't keep up. He rapid-fires the basic questions, "How's he eating? Sleeping? How many wet diapers a day?" I find myself responding like the contestants on Family Feud, all I need is that big red button.

He was going through the drill when he asked, "What color are his bowel movements? Yellow?"

"No, they're actually orange."

"Orange?!? Do you know why?"

So here's the doctor asking my medical opinion, obviously testing my nursing degree prowess. Test question: Give the rationale for a newborn's orange poopy diaper as it would compare and contrast to the normal yellow breast-fed poopy diaper. Right. Ready, sir.

"Well, I figure it's him clearing his bilirubin. I've noticed that his jaundice is lightening so he must be passing the excess bilirubin in both his diaper and urine-"

He interrupted, "No that's not it."

"No?"

"No." And a wide mischievous grin crawled across his face. "It's orange for Halloween."

F5

An F5 is considered an "incredible tornado" by the Fujita scale. It has winds between 261 and 318 mph. Damage sustained can be any of the following: Strong frame houses lifted off foundations and carried considerable distances to disintegrate; automobile sized missiles fly through the air in excess of 100 meters; trees debarked; steel re-enforced concrete structures badly damaged.

The Furr family has now become... an F5.

Matt and I are giving each other lots of hugs nowadays to keep one another's morale up. F4 to F5 is still early in it's transition. Most of the time it seems to be going well, and then, without warning, the wheels fly off and trees disembark, the house creeks... you get the picture. Overall the kids seems pleased with Levi's addition. Izak refers to him as "baby brother" and is so very concerned with his little cries, shouting for my attention, "Baby Brother Crying!!" Libby circles him like a small shark, eyeing him out of the corner of her big browns, every now and then coming in to poke him on top of his head, not too hard, but hard enough as if to say, "Hey you, this is MY turf... you feelin' me?" Some days I choke back tears thinking of an encouraging word a mom gave me when Libby was a baby, Before you know it, you'll hear them running down the hallway together laughing. But until then, we take it a moment at a time.

The birth details (Men, you've been warned.) This is especially a shout out to my curious Bradley and Buffalo buddies.

Matt and I arrived at the hospital at 7 a.m. Tuesday, October 18th. We were checked in and chillin' in our lovely birth suite for about two hours before the OB got there. The monitor showed that I was having contractions every 7-8 minutes (tell me something I didn't know), but they were mild. I was 5-6cm upon exam, so there had been some progress at some point. The OB ruptured my waters at 9:26 a.m. (that sucked!) and ordered Pitocin to be started. Really though, once my water broke, I rolled over on my left side and got to work relaxing and working with the pain. I've never had my water broken artificially before, but I was determined to play nice and follow the rules as much as possible. Levi was coming down along my backbone, so there was really intense back pain (so did the other two). They hung my antibiotic, and not to change tradition I began vomiting. The nurse checked me and I was already 7-8. Then came my buddy Pit. Induction Pitocin can go as high as 20-30 mu. They started my drip at 2mu. The second they plugged it in, the pain and intensity of the contrx made me start to moan. Heck, I think all I needed to do was smell the stuff. The drip started at 9:58 a.m.. By this point I'm thinking, You know, some drugs would've been nice. I don't think I want this natural thing again. In fact I'm sure I don't. But at that point, it was too late. Within a half an hour I began thinking, You know, a c-section sounds really good about now, I would be fine with that, perhaps I should mention it to the nurse... But what I've learned about childbirth is that the crazier, more desperate the thinking, the closer you're getting to the END. I've also learned that it does you no stinkin' good to give voice to the thoughts because that may only reinforce them. So I was quiet, except for the moaning and occasional "Baby, baby, baby out." Matt was amazing. stayed right by my side, talking gently from time to time, reminding me to relax, put my shoulders down, relax my legs. He was the weather master as I'm calling the climate, "I'm hot!" (whipped covers off) "I'm still hot!" (dropped the thermostat in the room as low as it could go) "I"m cold!" (covers my legs) "No, I'm hot!!" He stood by the bedside and allowed me to grind me forehead into his side as the contrx hit, clutching his shirt. He'd softly say, "Let go and relax, you're doing great." I did not feel like letting go, but knew I needed to obey my coach.

A little before 11 a.m. I thought I'd pull one over on Old Mother Nature. I knew left side-lying was a way to expedite labor, so I rolled over to my right side to slow things down. By now I'm thinking, I'd like to die. No pain meds, no c-section... I think I'll just die right here because this is impossible. If I have to go one more minute with this intense pain, I'll never make it. But as I rolled over I felt everything change. The back pain stopped, the contrx became centered in the middle of my body, I stopped moaning. I actually was thinking, Hey, this isn't so bad. Right side, good move! But then came the pressure... and I felt my body start to push, and I thought, OH NO! Back on the left, back on the left!!! Because as much as I didn't want the pain I really didn't want to push! The nurse was close by, and checked me out, said the time was very near, and started calling for the doctor. I just remember lying there, determined to not push, no matter what. One contrx came and went, and then my body took over and began bearing down. I began to writhe under the force of it. (That was when I had my first behavioral correction from my coach. Matt said firmly, "Heidi, quit biting the sheets!") The OB came in and the nurse said, "She's ready to deliver." The OB said, "Is she getting ready to push?" and the nurse said, "No, she's delivering right now." As the OB was walking across the room I remember yelling, "I'm only doing this once, so somebody tell me the best way to push!" They helped me "assume the position" and I tucked my chin and let 'er have it! I heard Matt counting in my ear, "1...2...3...4" and could feel the pressure and burn of the head, then a slight relief - I'd pushed the head out and wasn't even aware. Normally everyone starts yelling, "Stop, stop, stop!" and they suction, but since no one was saying anything (Matt said the OB was suctioning like crazy) I bore down and gave it another shove.... and then had the most wonderful feeling when it all just came out! And there's wriggling, and warmth, and, well, all that. I guess the nurse was still trying to tie the OB's gown when she had her hands full of baby boy. She'd gotten there just in time. And Matt said to me, in that whispery, tear-choked voice he always has, "It's a boy! It's a boy!" 11:05 a.m.

Levi was full of fluid from rocketing out so quickly without spending time in the squeeze cycle, so he had a bit of suctioning to do. His cry was very pinched and tight at first, but he screamed and screamed. I remember just being absolutely dazed. It had all happened in 1 hour and 29 minutes. I called the nurse over and just said, "Be with me, please." She smiled and stood there and held my hand. Colleen was fantastic. Matt was amazing. The OB made easy money. And the nursery nurse was really funny, cracking jokes, sarcastic, talking to little Levi, apologizing to him. I was too stunned to laugh, but she was funny!

Overall, that's the story. I sustained no damage to speak of. Levi looks like the c-section baby I was wishing for. He eats well and frequently (every two hours), and sleeps... well, that will come in time.

I think back to how much I stressed with the first two. Would they every sleep or nurse well? Would life every moderate? And I'm determined this time to live in the knowledge that Levi will grow and develop, and that this very happy and healthy F5 will see great days ahead!

Thanks for listening.

The Encounter...

Another of Levi

My new son

Welcome, Levi Lawrence Furr. Born at the bidding of Pitocin and the medical team (which included Mommy), he finally came out at 11:05 a.m. Tuesday, October 18th. Nine pounds, 4 ounces. Quite a beauty. More details to come.

Thank you for your prayers and kind words of encouragement.

One Way or Another... Baby Comes Out Tomorrow!

We're sick of messin' around. The doctor said that I should've gone a long time ago... if I could only have contractions. I am scheduled for induction with Pitocin tomorrow morning at 7 a.m.. We have childcare lined up for the day and night. I've had Pit before, so I'm not afraid of any surprises. Labor's just plain hard any way you go about it.

Cake!! 

Izak is three!

My sweet one turned three surrounded by pastoral staff and several friends whom he loves very much. It was a beautiful day.

39 and 4

Last night Matt and I had another potential "last date for a very long time." We left the kids with a charming little sitter and headed to... Benihanas, of course. After dinner we stopped at Target for wipes and strawberries, and as we were strolling between home decor and ladies' clothing a funny thing happened. I've heard of the sciatica attacks that pregnant women get. A sudden pinching of the sciatic nerve that runs down either side of your lower back into the leg renders you immobile. Well, sure enough. I don't know if the baby dropped down into the pelvis (I assume it's coming down sunny side up), or what happened, but my right leg went from functional to collapsible in about 2 seconds. Matt's looking at me as I'm folding backwards into a human envelope saying, "Are you ok? What's happening?" I keep thinking it will get better with the next step as I'm sinking, sinking, slumping towards the floor, yelling, "Get me a stool or a chair." I'm still too proud to go into a heap at this point, and too shocked to believe I'm literally falling down in the middle of the store. (Might have asked for it because on my way in I thought I might be having a contraction, and Matt asked if we needed to stop. My comment was, "If it doesn't stop me in my tracks then it's not worth stopping for." Eh-hem.) Matt grabs a little ottoman and shoves it under my rear as I'm closing in on a landing. We're both belly-laughing. He's asking, "Is your water going to break? Because if it is, we're about to buy an ugly $70 foot stool! Here, get up and sit on this one for $29.99." People began staring, and I'm trying to pull it together. It was a funny event, full of physical humor which is my favorite kind, even if it was at my expense. We managed to limp through the rest of our trip and made it home. Last night was fraught with not-so-funny pain for most of the night... but still nothing to clock or time. It just hurt. But the laugh from earlier in the evening will go a long way in keeping me smirking.

My next OB appointment is today at 1:45p.

39 and 1

Baby remains in solitary confinement, and shows no new signs of emerging. Mom has returned to Bay City after 10 wonderfully helpful days. I'm trying to navigate each day alone again, which isn't as easy as it sounds. I think one of the best parts about Mom's company is that it helped give me someone to talk with, and though I may have been constantly thinking about whether each moment was "it," I could talk about something else. Home alone with little ones means I don't really have the conversational selection of another adult, unless you don't mind exegeting the adventures of Blue's Clues and Riverdance a thousand times a day. I'm not a phone person, especially with two little ones bound for folly. It's nice to have another person as an "alongside one."

My last appointment was last Wednesday and my next appointment is Saturday. I feel rather despondent, so I didn't see what the rush was in getting back into the office in order to be told, "Anytime now... don't know why you haven't gone already".

Izak turns three on Sunday, bless his heart. There will be cake from Baskin Robbins and candles!

Libby has been having tough nights with multiple waking. My assumption is molars and perhaps nightmares. But her nights have been choppy... which makes my nights more choppy.

Not much else that I want to share. I'm working on being an "expectant" mom rather than a "frustrated" one. I'm not sure how I'm doing, but I've resolved that there's nothing else to really be stressed about. Mom's come and gone, Matt's into October which he prepared for mentally to have the big upheaval occur with his schedule, my hopes of a sapphire birthstone have passed... I guess all that's left is beating the snow...

Being Picked

I think I agree with the general psychology that says we carry childhood issues into adulthood with us. I think one of my "things" has always been being one who was picked. Either because of my potential value, or proven worth, or importance... the list goes on. The little voice inside me still, at 34, says, "Pick me!" I remember not making my senior H.S. Homecoming court by one vote, and the burn in my heart because I knew I had not even voted for myself, but another girl on the ballot. If I would've only voted for myself then I would have been picked. I remember an atypical orchestral try-out for an international group I toured Europe with when I was 15 years old. We had to discuss and choose our chairs based on how we thought we played. I neglected to choose principal chair because I thought it was haughty, though I had never received any lower placement than first chair due to my skill and training. I ended up third chair by default, and was absolutely ill about it (until the end of the rehearsal when the conductor shouted, "Heidi, get up in first chair, and Dan, you're always out of tune! You sit third!"). After being embarrassed by third I was picked for first.

Today it's therapeutic for me to say I've been picked again. First, my husband, who consistently picks not only me but our whole family, chose to go to an important meeting with me that he did not have to attend. We both had a crazy night with the kids, who were pretty much up from 2-430a with various needs. He had stayed up late and worked the night before, and uses Saturday as a work day... but wearily looked at me this morning and said, "I think I'll come with you. This is a pretty big thing for our family." And just like that, I was picked. Secondly, my mom, who I've mentioned in the past having a crazy list of dependents back in Michigan, chose to come out here for 10 days to be with us all as we await/survive the end of this pregnancy. She had a million other things that were pushing for her attention, but instead, she picked me. No, I didn't have the baby while she was here, but the around-the-clock helpful presence was perhaps even more of a blessing than had a newborn been in the mix. I got to watch her drink up her grandbabies and delight in their developments, and enjoyed working alongside her throughout the day. ( I also got two homemade pumpkin pies out of it too... oh yummmmm.)

Thank you, Lord, for the way you continue fill the little holes and divots in my heart. Thank you for picking me every single day. And thank you for those who love me and my family so much that we live in the security of knowing we have been, and will continue to be, chosen.

A True Fanatic

Three years ago this month Izak was born. I was at the hospital, recovering from a long but rewarding labor. A few nurses had gathered in my room, and were musing about the sudden increased census in the labor and delivery unit. One nurse said, "I don't know what it is... There's no full moon, and they're too late to be New Year's babies...". The other nurse said, "I know, and it's way too early for Valentine's Day babies."

Without much thought I interjected, "Well, these are Super Bowl babies!"

They just stared at me, while I blushed and grinned form ear to ear. My team won.

Ready, Set...

WAIT! Good grief, Lord! What IS this? Tuesday evening and Wednesday were looking great as far as having the baby. Good contractions, they even started to fall into a nice pattern on our way to the OB office. If the baby drops any lower it's going to be in one of my legs. The exam showed that I'd made good progress, actually 1 cm more than I had hoped, head down. The doc "stirred things up" a little, and by the time we drove down the road a mile for lunch, I thought I'd drop the baby in the Olive Garden. Very intense stuff. I called Mom, told her things looked favorable (She came out on the train the next day), called my inner circle of pregnancy friends and told them things looked like they would be done soon. And then the signs began to fade into nothingness. I had a silent night, got great sleep, and awoke ready for the show. Thursday morning had a few highlights, but then it settled down. I thought maybe subconsciously I was waiting for my mom to come. Her train arrived at 1:53p. And the rest of the day remained quiet. Late Thursday night after Mom and the kids were in bed, Matt and I went for a long, wonderful walk. We got home about midnight, and I "lost something" and had quite a "show". From 1-2a Friday morning I had great contractions 9 minutes apart... and then nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing!!!! In the morning I went in for a labor check with the same doc who had seen me Wednesday. Exam essentially unchanged. She offered to admit me, but said that I may just end up going home if things didn't progress - and that's really unacceptable to me. So home we came. This time I had absolutely no activity as a result of the exam. Nothing to report. Nothing to do but wait... it's either got to be mind-numbing contractions or my water breaking that will prove I've made the leap to real labor.

Why, Lord? Why did Wednesday look SO good and then everything stopped? I was the most sure I've ever been that that was real labor, but it ceased. So here I sit with my mom while the minutes tick away. She's having a great time with the kids, and is such a huge help. No one knows me as well as Mom. But we look at each other as if to say, where's this baby!?!? The caregivers back in Michigan are getting a real run for their money by 97 year-old Grandma, who has a propensity to misbehave while Mom's gone. She's very fragile and child-like... and stubborn. So Mom bears the stress of that end of things too.

I've done everything I know to do. To be very honest, I don't think the wait has anything to do with "doing the right thing." I think it's just about the wait. I've always been control-challenged, and waiting room experiences really bring that out in me. Instead of relaxing, I become more insistent about peddling my agenda. There's a desperation I feel now, an inability to be happy with the current settings. I struggle with a view of God as an irritated father, one that mocks me as I struggle in limbo. I always find it interesting that I'm so opposed to stillness. In the absence of direction I want to go forward. In the absence of progress I want to make things happen, even if it's the wrong thing. In the absence of hearing God's voice I turn up the sound so that I'll at least hear something. And while I'm being lured gently into the desert by the One who loves me, where I've spent a majority of the last three and a half years, I drag my feet and whine to go back to what I know. Essentially less of Him, and more of myself.

Jesus, help me cherish the wait. Give me your peace. Solder my feet that I will not run from your presence, and may that alone be more than enough.