Seventh Heaven

Thank You Netflix

2011-08-07T21:47:00.000-05:00

Pickers: it's Antiques Roadshow meets Hoarders.

True Colors

2011-08-03T22:18:00.002-05:00

Does anyone else wonder about the expression "violets are blue"?

Why Can't he Just Take a Mistress?

2011-07-23T00:02:00.001-05:00

Why do we believe we'll have the opposite of our parents' undesirable traits? My mom is a worrier, and so I have always thought I would not be that way.

Yet, here I am at nearly one in the morning, worrying. Although it doesn't happen often, I do have these worrying fits at times.

At this such time, as I am typing, my husband is driving to the Grand Canyon. He had flown to California on business, and has decided drive to Arizona to hike from the north rim to the bottom of the canyon. In one day. In July. Alone.

Should I be worried? He has hiked the Grand Canyon several times before, and usually makes the hike in one day. What is different this time is that he will be hiking from the north rim, which is a first for him. It is a longer and more difficult trail. Oh, and yes, let's see, he's ALONE.

I hope that he will be wise on this excursion. If he leaves the marked trail but yet manages to come home alive, I will then kill him. Leaving the marked trail is what gets a person on a show like I Shouldn't Be Alive.

I shouldn't be worrying, but I am.

Darth Tired

2011-07-21T20:25:00.000-05:00

Taking over the galaxy is exhausting. Don't make me climb stairs afterwards.

What's the Dealio with Dumbo?

2011-07-20T19:22:00.002-05:00

Since moving down to Florida, I have now done every ride in Disney World, with the exception of Stich's Escape and Dumbo. I will probably never ride Dumbo. Well, maybe, because a second one is supposedly being built in the new Fantasy Land expansion. If waiting in line doesn't take half a day, then maybe.

What is the deal with Dumbo anyway? Read: county fair ride!

Read more about our Disney adventures here: http://snowwhiteandseven.blogspot.com/

A Thought on the Girls

2011-07-19T22:50:00.001-05:00

I miss pregnancy boobs. They're big and liked to be touched. Breastfeeding boobs, on the other hand, are an ever changing landscape that have one purpose and one purpose only. Sorry, Hubby.

BTW, Hubby, quit giving baby the evil eye.

Spoiled American, or "How Hard Can it Be?"

2011-07-16T01:05:00.001-05:00

You would think a six by six shelf would be enough to hold the items I need in the shower.

When NOT in Rome

2011-07-15T19:22:00.001-05:00

Foreign visitors to Orlando: please acquaint yourselves with the shower.

Saber Sorrow

2011-07-09T16:32:00.004-05:00

My children have discovered Star Wars. In many households, this would not be a catastrophic discovery, but in this house, we have four boys. Too much force it is.

No Cookies for You!

2011-07-09T15:36:00.003-05:00

Dear Hubby,

Did you think I wouldn't notice that you got into the chocolate chips? Now I know why your eyes didn't widen with delight when I said I was baking cookies.

A Think on Ink

2011-07-07T22:25:00.003-05:00

I am beyond a tattoo virgin. At this point, I am a tattoo spinster. It's never gonna happen.

Settling Down

2011-07-05T09:25:00.009-05:00

Last night my family and I grabbed our ponchos and strolled downtown for an evening of 80s music and fireworks. While it may seem we were prepared due to my mention of ponchos, we were decidedly unprepared. We noticed this soon after we arrived at Lakeside park with no ID card with which to admit our ready-to-pee, penis-holding three-year-old to the restroom. You see, in our neighborhood, one has to have his town ID card to get into the amenities, such as the awesome playground our kids had to sit next to all night without being able to go in, because I forgot aforementioned card.

Also woefully left behind was the blanket we were to sit on, the cold beverages and tasty snacks, and the card game we would have enjoyed until someone got tired of losing and threw the cards all over the grass. Insect repellent: who would have thought to bring that along on a warm Florida night near the lake?

So we perched on our ponchos amidst our fellow townspeople who could pee when they wanted or send their whiny kids to the playground or pick up the Uno cards their sore loser seven-year-old tossed at her brother's head. We waited about two hours there shooing bugs and playing solitaire on our phones. We "watered" the bushes and found some toys in the bottom of my backpack amidst the layers of toddler snack crumbs, diapers, and sand. The children quit fighting and complaining about lack of snackage. It didn't even rain as expected. Little by little the "misery" eased (it wasn't true misery after all). We settled down.

I wish to "settle down" in the other areas of my life. Like our outing on the Fourth, our lives are lacking due to not being prepared. Granted, it is not easy to prepare to move a family of eight out of state and start a new job and life, but I am rethinking our decisions this past year. We have moved three times. We are currently paying high rent. We need new cars. We may have been emotionally damaged by homeschooling. I am only partly joking on that last one. Our decisions have gotten us to this place in our lives, and this place is not ideal.

Let me go back a few steps. I said it wasn't true misery on our Fourth of July outing. It wasn't. We were sitting under the stars waiting to see breathtaking displays of pyrotechnics to celebrate the amazing country in which we live. My baby girl perched on my belly as I lay on my back to view the show. The rest of my family was flung out beside me, the sparkles reflected in their eyes. It was worth the wait, and the wait wasn't all that bad anyway (spoiled Americans we are!). Reflecting back on that outing, let me put my life in perspective. The place we are in is not ideal, but it is far from horrible. We live in a beautiful home in a beautiful town, albeit temporarily. I could go on about the ocean, the weather, the Mouse at our disposal, blah, blah... We have the challenging, but fun task of finding a permanent home, school, and "life" for a family of eight. We may not have things exactly as we want, but like the fireworks display, all's well that ends well.

Midsummer Night

2011-06-29T22:23:00.006-05:00

I am eating my Peanut Butter Captain Crunch as various minutiae orbit my mind. The peeling laminate on the drawer, the baby in the photo, the loud washing machine containing the VBS shirts that need to be clean by tomorrow. I should brush my teeth and go to bed, but some nights, like this one, delay me. What is the thing I should be doing instead of sleeping?

I am too tired to think of it. Pull away, brush the teeth. The bed will stop the searching, unless my pillow puts the answer in my head.

What's this Cardboard Thing with Pictures on It?

2011-04-29T16:14:00.003-05:00

Why does it feel good to see my children sitting around the kitchen table playing Chutes and Ladders? Yet, seeing them in their respective bedrooms playing PSP and DSI brings no fuzzy feelings.

I have always loved board games, cards, and dominoes. I do enjoy the occasional video game, but I love the human interaction and physicality that comes with games like Monopoly and Uno. I think kids like those things too. It is ironic, but I think my kids like the "novelty." For me, it is the nostalgia.

I am always happy to retrieve the games for them from the closet, even though I know that, in this house, a board game never ends well. They end with silver thimbles thrown on the floor, or maybe a preschooler throwing himself on the floor. Dice are rolled, then eyes are rolled. Tears and tantrums. Yes, we have sore losers. Often, games are played too close to bedtime for tiny temperaments to handle. Then there is the cleaning up (or not) of little pieces, fake money, and flitting cards.

Why do I still enjoy handing them Operation or Connect Four? You see, all that fighting and frustration is good for them. Video games bring frustration as well, but a computer won't talk back or fight. It is good for children to work out these human conflicts and have a little fun while they're at it. They also practice different skill sets playing a board game than with a computer game.

Secretly, I am glad board games, flat, non-animated, and sans flashing screens, still entertain my children. It means they still have innocence of some sort. They aren't completely spoiled by modern technology.

I'm sure I'm not the only parent who gets an uneasy feeling by the fact that my kids know more about computers (or possibly everything) than I did at their age. In fact, it is because of computers that they probably know more about everything. This knowledge separates us, and it does so early. My three-year-old is already joining the ranks of the computer literate, as are most three-year-olds.

So help me Candyland. Work your magic, Slap Jack. Keep them a little longer laughing at the kitchen table. Sibling rivalry, you're OK, go ahead and stay. It's better to play and fight than to never play at all.

Home is Where the Heart Is

2011-03-21T20:57:00.005-05:00

I am packing tonight for the third move here in Orlando. We stayed in corporate housing for the first two months before finding a rental we loved in Reunion. We planned to stay for a while, as we are hesitant about buying a house in Florida. The home was foreclosed by the bank, unfortunately. We were offered a sum to move by the end of the month, and we decided to take it instead of staying for the end of our lease. I may regret that decision.

It's tough work to move. Moving from Indiana to Georgia was tough enough to make me not want to do it again. From Georgia to Florida, we had movers do most of the work, but the "work" is not just packing and lifting, it is also mental and emotional. We had to move ourselves from the apartment to our Reunion house, and that was bittersweet for our children. They were glad to be in a house instead of a small apartment, but moving means upheaval. It was more of that. Now, even more.

We are moving from this house that was starting to feel more like home every day. The kids loved their bedrooms and their own bathrooms. We hadn't even swum in our pool yet. Again, it is bittersweet. The kids are excited to be moving to a better school district and go to a school with other children instead of being homeschooled. The new neighborhood has lots of kids for playmates. It is bittersweet because the move makes us feel homesick. Homesick for our old house, sure, but also just in the generic sense. We want a home for keeps.

While packing, I found a small planter that my mom gave me. It was my grandmother's. It's vintage, but nothing of monetary value. When I unpacked it back in December at the Reunion house, my husband asked if I wanted to keep it. We were thinning out, since we didn't have as much storage here. I said to put it in the "maybe pile," because it was my grandmother's and also chartreuse, my favorite color at the moment. It has a pink dogwood flower on it, and reads "home is where the heart is." As it turned out, I didn't even have time to sort out the maybe pile, and it is there that I again find the planter. I reexamine it, thinking of the Goodwill box. I read the message again and know its destiny is not to be among the other discards on a thrift store shelf.

Earlier this evening, I was thinking of a pep talk for my kids. Emotions are tender and tough. The environment here is uncertain. The planter's little saying hits home, pardon the pun. Wherever we are, as a family who loves one another, that's where the heart and home is. After we return the rental truck to Uhaul, after we get around to unpacking all the boxes for a third time, we are heading to Home Depot and picking out a little plant. Maybe an African violet would look nice in this inherited pot that is destined for the window sill of our new "home."

Adventures in Moving

2010-10-29T14:54:00.012-05:00

Moving Day

We'd been planning our trip to Disney World for several months. We helped clean a local park and got free tickets through Disney's Give-a-Day, Get-a-Day program. Finally, we were heading to Orlando over Labor Day weekend. Coincidentally, Steve landed a job interview with Disney, so he coordinated it with our trip.

I enjoyed Magic Kingdom as much as I could, being eight months pregnant. I have actually never been to that park not pregnant, so I am used to swollen feet, aching back, etc. etc. of being at a theme park all day with an extra passenger.

Steve had his interview, and I didn't think much of it, as he'd had many interviews this past year. Maybe it would work out, maybe not. Whatever happened, I'm sure it would happen way after the baby was born.

Steve got a call from Disney only a few days after we returned from Orlando. He was offered a job. I was in shock. Didn't the company have a bunch of red tape it needed to cut through, a number of people to consult, many other tasks to do, taking a month or two, before they could just hire Steve? I was going on nine months pregnant! We didn't need another life change. I told Steve I was OK with moving to Orlando, but I was having the baby first, and the kids were finishing the nine weeks period at school.

Steve accepted the job and gave October 11th as his start date. Our baby was due the third, so he thought he was in the clear. Dear Steve forgot that our babies tend to be late. If our little one was two weeks late, that would put her birthday on the 14th. However, I had a good feeling about this one. I really thought she was going to be a forty-weeker. The one constant in all my pregnancies is that I start having serious pains two weeks before the birth. The pains started at 38 weeks, so I was hoping 40 weeks would be the time. Thus, I agreed to the start date of the 11th, and moving date of October eighth, after the kids got out of school. Disney did say Steve could start later if the baby didn't come in time, but he was really hoping to get a good start at his new company without having to ask for time off right off the bat.

October third came and went. Then the fourth, and the fifth... We had painters coming and going, cleaning crews, packers (who packed our stove knob by mistake), and movers. We were slowly closing up our Georgia life. One thing remained "open." Our last little Sullivan still had not arrived. We were getting nervous. We knew we weren't able to make the eighth as moving day. Maybe the ninth, or maybe Steve could go ahead without us. We were trying to figure it out, when I decided maybe I would have an induction.

A semi truck worth of stuff

I don't like inductions; I learned with my first pregnancy that Pitocin is not my friend. I realized that an induction may not even be an option, anyway, because I had had a previous c-section. We were getting desperate. We went to talk to my doctor. He said, "come in tomorrow morning, and we'll get you out of this pickle." Elated, but also nervous (I'd had all of my babies except the c-section, without medication or interventions) we left the doctor's office to prepare. Steve's mom came down to help with the kids.

As the evening went on, I told Steve we were probably going to the hospital that night. My "pains" that started two weeks prior, were organizing themselves into regular, consistent contractions. Sure enough, little Delaney Grace was born that night, October sixth at 10:33 PM. I suppose we just had to threaten her with the induction to get her to come out.

Eli, Sawyer, and Delaney

We were released to an empty house on the eighth, our original moving day. I slept on an air mattress. We decided Steve was going to Orlando on the ninth with or without us. We just had to decide if I could make the trip, or come later after resting up. Well, this being my sixth baby (and ninth pregnancy), I just didn't feel that beat up. It was an easy delivery, and she was sleeping a lot still. The house was empty, and so I decided to go ahead to Orlando with Steve the next day. Yes, you are reading this right. I birthed a baby on the sixth, and took a roadtrip on the ninth. Yes, for those of you who haven't caught on yet, we are crazy. Did you miss the fact that we now have six kids? We are still waiting on Amazon to deliver our straight jackets.

We loaded up the vehicles and said good-bye to Kilmersdon Lane. I went to use the bathroom before we left. I heard a plink and a small crashing sound. I looked down in horror to see my cell phone in the toilet. It had fallen out of my back pocket. I grabbed it and dried it off the best I could, but it was ruined. Now, I wouldn't be able to keep in contact with Steve on our road trip.

I go outside to share the news only to find that our van won't start. We had left the doors open all morning. Steve jumped the van and told me he'd meet me at Chipotle for lunch. I left him and his mom and got a head start for my burrito.

I turned the corner and drove through a big pile of glass. Great, now I could get a flat tire and not be able to call Steve. Steve and his mom would drive through this pile of glass later. So Steve's mom could get a flat on her way back to Indiana by herself.

At Chipotle, the kids and I wondered what was taking Steve and Baka (my kids' name for her) so long. Finally, they came in and told us Baka's van wouldn't start (this is a problem with Dodge minivans). We were off to a terrific start (pardon the pun).

All's well that ends well. The rest of the trip was uneventful and the baby slept through most of it as did I. Just kidding. We agreed that if I got tired we would stop. We broke the trip up into two parts. Four hours each day. Not bad for a sleep-deprived mama.

We're sort-of settled here in Orlando. We're in temporary housing and the kids aren't in school yet. We are ready for our new adventure in Florida. We'll sell our Atlanta house (hopefully), get a new one, make new friends, explore the state, but we miss our old life. It is painful, but exciting. Just like giving birth, no pain, no gain!

Eli and the view from our new balcony

We began our married life in Indianapolis. Seven years later we moved away from our home state of Indiana to the foreign land of Georgia. I was pregnant then too. New house, new job, new state... Another seven years later, here we are again. Who knows where the next seven years will take us?

Why We are Going to Hell

2010-04-08T09:19:00.003-05:00

Bubble Boy asked me, "what state does God live in?" We had just gotten back home after visiting relatives out of state for Easter. We had traveled through three states, and the kids always get excited to cross the borders. Bubble Boy knows his grandparents live in Indiana and he has cousins living in various states. Naturally, he wondered in what state God resides.

I told him God doesn't live in a state or even on Earth. Most people believe God lives in a place called heaven, and that might be in outer space, but no one really knows where heaven is. At least, that is my belief. "But, you will see him some day," I told him.

"When I'm dead?"

"Yes."

He put his head down, and I noticed he was crying. I asked him, "what's the matter- you really want to see God?"

"Uh-huh."

"Would you like to start going to church so you can learn more about God?" We never go to church, but always say we will start going someday.

"Uh-huh." He is feeling better now.

Is this mere curiosity or is he missing something in his life? People usually seek out God when they need fulfilling of some sort. He's four. What fulfilling could he need? All kids are curious about God, but do they cry when they can't see him?

As parents, I believe we are guides for our children. We can impart upon them our wisdom and beliefs, but should also allow them to explore other beliefs on their own, hopefully with our guidance (we are the guides after all). We haven't been going to church, and I feel we are denying our children an experience. Perhaps we aren't church goers because we don't feel it is crucial to our well-being. What if it is crucial to our children's well-being?

Here is this little wide-eyed four-year-old who wants to know God. As Christians, it feels sinful to not make this happen. However, even an atheist should allow her children to explore religion. A child should learn about the world for himself and not just from what his parents tell him.

In any case, the former Baptist in me says we better set the alarm clock next Sunday, or we parents are really going to HELL.

Rewind, Pause, Fast-Forward

2010-03-10T07:04:00.006-06:00

Today is the day. Was supposed to be the day, anyway. Only five percent of babies are born on their due dates. Lily's already gone, so no sighing when today comes and goes and I still have a huge belly to "sleep" around tonight. I wish I could rewind to the day I saw her tiny arms waving during her ultrasound. To the day our children's faces lit up at the thought of another baby. If only I could enjoy again those brief moments before we lost her. To rewind and not feel this pain.

Things are back to normal around here. However, it is not the same normal. After a tragedy, the old normal is never felt again. The same is true of any major experience. My life has to accommodate this change and all the pain, lessons, and inconveniences that go with it. It is a "process," it does "take time," but in the meantime, a new normal is constructed for survival.

We have a new normal and a new reality. Our baby plans have been pushed back. I am not having a baby girl, our last child, this March at the age of 36. We still want to go for another baby, because we are nuts. So, I will be pregnant this summer. I won't be able to paint and vacations must be considered. I have to wait another several months to find out if my daughter will finally have to share her room or if my oldest boy will get his own room. I will be another year older when our last Sullivan arrives.

These inconveniences won't mean anything when we finally hold that last little baby in our arms. The nine months we have to wait will be scary and tiring. Morning sickness and fatigue, etc. Before every ob appointment, I will be holding my breath until the heartbeat is heard or until the tiny image appears, moving, on the ultrasound screen. I wish I could fast-forward.

At the same time I wish to rewind and fast-forward, but we all know we have to enjoy life in the moment. The cliches are all true. Our children grow up in the blink of an eye. I have to remind myself daily to enjoy them now. So I smell the baby shampoo in my toddler's hair as he hugs his "Melmo," see my school-agers pretending to be spies with all their homemade gadgets, watch my husband squeezing our four-year-old who is giggling only as four-year-olds can. Pause.

Six Loads

2010-02-15T17:25:00.003-06:00

Six loads on the sanitary cycle. That is what it takes to clean up a food poisoning incident for four people. That and a bottle of carpet cleaner, several antibacterial wipes, and a half-bottle of carpet cleaner in the Hoover carpet shampooer. Oh, and several squirts of Febreeze. Chemicals can be a good thing.

I'm so glad I didn't eat the ham. Six out of our seven did. One barely ate a molecule of it. One got lucky- I microwaved his a long time. That's why only four got sick, but last night at 1:00 AM, I kept waiting for those two to join the vomit party. First my husband started the good times. Then my six-year-old. I went to check on my baby only to see him snoozing next to a pile of vomit. Later, I heard through the baby monitor my four-year-old heaving.

My husband doesn't even want to see ham again. Ditto the other unfortunates. I didn't eat the ham, but even I don't want to see it again. I saw enough second-hand ham last night, thanks.

The kids had the day off today, and we were supposed to have friends over for a playdate day and make cookies and other fun stuff. Instead, most of us stayed in Superman p.j.s and the like and cleaned up the results of a very disappointing meal.

The ham had been fully cooked, but it must have sat out too long or something. Lesson learned. I will zap leftover meat for a long, long time. That is if we ever eat it again.

Look, Mommy!

2010-01-28T20:37:00.007-06:00

Today at Arby's Bubble Boy pointed to something and said something I couldn't make out (he is in speech therapy for intelligibility issues). I had a sense that he was pointing to someone instead of something so I was afraid to look.

I remember when I was about three or four and I was sitting in a restaurant with my younger sister and mother. My sister and I were giggling and pointing. To my mother's horror, we were giggling and pointing at someone. That someone was a black man. Thankfully, we weren't saying the "N" word. I don't even think we'd heard that word. We had heard the word "colored," however, and that is what we were giggling about.

"Mommy, look, there's a colored man. Hee hee hee."

Obviously, there weren't many "colored" men in the town in which we grew up. Obviously, we had gleaned from society or certain family members, who shall remain unnamed, that being "colored" was something to giggle at.

My mother tried her best to hush us. I don't know if the man heard us or not, but he gave no indication that he did.

I remembered this incident as I sat in Arby's with my four-year-old, hoping he wasn't pointing at someone.

"Mommy, I said look!"
"Look at what?" I said, eyes still lowered, procrastinating the embarrassment I knew was coming. Who was it? A person of color? Surely not. Bubble Boy has seen a million on t.v. not to mention the many we call friends. A disfigured person? Maybe.

No. "Look. It's an old guy."

I briefly looked out of the corner of my eye. As in my childhood memory, I couldn't tell if he heard us. I hoped he didn't. Awkward!

When I didn't respond, Bubble Boy said it again, louder. "AN OLD GUY!"

I whispered the mommy-type things. "It's not nice to point at people," etc.

Bubble Boy sulked. How could I not get excited about an old guy? Maybe he rode dinosaurs or something. What? Has my son not seen old people? To his credit, his grandparents, and even his great-grandparents, do seem young.

I know how disturbing it is that my sister and I laughed at an African American back in the seventies. Our society has come a long way. Thankfully, my sister and I did too; we grew up as sensitive, caring people who would never do such a thing nowadays.

I find it disturbing that my son thinks of an elderly man as a novelty. What does this say about our society today?

My family is planning on participating in Disney's "Give a Day, Get a Day" promotion. We have chosen a job that entails visiting and helping out the elderly. The timing is perfect.

Do You Like Sugar?

2010-01-21T07:09:00.006-06:00

All morning the kids were waiting to open their presents.

Waiting so patiently.

First, everyone had to get up. Then they had to eat breakfast. Then Daddy needed to run out for one last forgotten gift.

Finally, we were ready. Each cherub had his presents neatly stacked in front of him. Their fingers were posed for ripping.

Wait- where's the baby? We need to go find E.E. He's been way too quiet, and we know that isn't good.

Where was E.E. when everyone else was thinking about Littlest Pet Shop and Bakugan, I mean, the birth of Jesus?

This is where he was. Putting syrup on his giant table pancake and licking it off.

Emily: "Do you like sugar?"
Buddy the Elf: "Is there sugar in syrup?"
Emily: "Yes."
Buddy the Elf: "Then yes!"

He had syrup all over him, the table, and the floor. Guess what kiddies? Now we have to give him a bath. So, just a while longer before presents, OK? Sure, Mommy. We were just sitting here thanking the lord for the baby Jesus and discussing the wise men's gift choices. No rush.

Brotherly Love

2010-01-06T19:37:00.004-06:00

Today I was making turkey noodle soup for dinner. As I was pulling the meat from the frame, I gave the wishbone to J.T. and Bubble Boy. I told them each to take a side and pull while making a wish. I forgot to mention wishes are made silently, and so they both excitedly blurted their wishes out loud.
As they yanked on the greasy bone, Bubble Boy said, "I wish that J.T. and I will never get hurt again." I will never forget that sweet face, still healing from a run-in with the bedroom door frame, and that four-year-old voice wishing not only for himself, but for his brother. *sigh*
Meanwhile, J.T. exclaims, "I wish Bubble Boy were dead!" Do you hear all the movie sound effects for "the fun has ended"? I took the bone and asked J.T. why he said that. I suppose he could tell from the look on my face he had chosen the wrong wish. He ran from the room, and when I caught up with him, he was tearing up. I asked him if he was kidding. He had a confused look on his face, and I think his wish was just the act of repeating a line he had heard other kids say about themselves, siblings, parents, etc. It was a stock answer. J.T. has never said anything like that before, and he and Bubble Boy love each other and are best buddies.
He finally said he was kidding, and apologized to Bubble Boy, who was horrified and crying. He gave J.T. a hug, and all was well (except Bubble Boy might sleep with his eyes open tonight).

Still

2009-12-02T10:52:00.003-06:00

Still processing...

Lily, if you were alive I think we'd end up calling you "Lily-bell" or Lily-bug." We'd end up calling you silly names like the rest of them.

I hope you don't mind we gave you the name "Lily" instead of "Delaney" like I was planning. Delaney didn't seem reverent. You were born an angel, and some names are more earthly than others. Delaney is a name for a little girl who will run and jump, scream and throw tantrums, sing and eat lollipops with a melty smile. I am so saddened that you will do none of those things.

You are still and quiet. You were delicate in your body. Lily is a name for an angel.

I plan on planting some lilies-of-the-valley for you by Evan's magnolia tree. These are better for me than a cold headstone.

Lily, if we do have a Delaney that runs and sings and eats lollipops, I hope you will feel happiness. I hope you know that every time I see lilies, I will remember you.

Processing

2009-11-24T20:19:00.004-06:00

How discordant are my last two posts with one another? Wow. One is happy times and the other is like a smack in the face. Unexpected for sure.

Today I got the call telling me my daughter's cremains were ready to be picked up. Is that even a word- "cremains"? That's what the funeral director called them. So, I will be bringing home a tiny silver urn. It will be rough to do that. Going in the funeral home to sign the papers wasn't bad, but having the urn in my hands...

I'd say some days, I still forget what happened. Denial, maybe? It seems as I have already done the denial thing. However, I have read that grieving people skip around the phases of grief, coming and going and coming again.

I have my "postpartum" visit next week. I hope all my parts are in order. I had a thought today- if I cannot have any more children, I will be devastated. I will fall in a hole. That tells me I do want another baby. First, my visit and questions. Second, hubby?

I am heading to Indiana tomorrow to enjoy Thanksgiving with family. I know it is going to be uncomfortable. I still look pregnant.

I keep thinking about Ambercutie and her new favorite song. Before the loss, she had been singing along with her Barbie MP3 player to Carrie Underwood's "All-American Girl." When I heard it today, the lyrics made me sad. Ambercutie was so excited about that "little pink blanket" that she was certain we were going to bring home.

Well, we did get a girl, but we will be bringing her home in a little silver urn instead.

Lily

2009-10-30T22:59:00.010-05:00

Lily is the daughter we didn't get to bring home. At least, not the way we expected. She will be in an urn beside the urn of her older brother, who would have been seven this January. Yes, we have two urns now. I did not plan on being a collector.

This is our third loss so far. The first was due to a blighted ovum, so no urn for that one. The second loss was a baby boy, Evan, who had Trisomy 18. Now Lily, whose death is undetermined at this time. Fortunately, we have five BEAUTIFUL children, and I feel blessed more than ever now that I know how fragile life can be. Thank God for these children at home; they are a life line right now.

What happened to Lily? I have seen a specialist for my past three pregnancies after Evan. I had the neuchal translucency scan to check for chromosomal abnormalities. I did the same for Lily. Her scans at twelve weeks all showed a healthy fetus with no defects. My blood work indicated our chances for a chromosomal problem were one in 3000. At about seventeen weeks, I heard her heartbeat. Less than a month later her heartbeat was gone.

I have gone over everything that I did in that month. The exterminator came. We were around livestock at the fair. There was mold in our basement. I drank caffeine. I had a sinus infection. I don't think any of these things was the cause, but I wonder. No word from my doctor yet, and it is so hard not knowing.

I wonder if we will be able to have the sixth one we were all looking forward to. Because we are already so blessed, I feel bad complaining about it if we can't. However, will I always see the empty seat, the empty coat hook...? Most likely, we do not have a genetic problem that has caused these tragedies. I believe they all have different causes. We were just unlucky. If that is the case, and our doctor says we are not likely to have another stillborn or miscarriage, we may try again. We have much to learn and discuss before we make that decision.

Until then, we will also mourn and heal. I miss the baby for whom we planned. At least I got to meet and hold her. At the last ultrasound, when the heartbeat was not detected and she was still, the doctor told me the news. He switched off the monitor, and all I could think was "turn it back on." I saw her face, and then it was gone. I felt I would never see her again, but I forgot about the part that comes next. I forgot we would pack our bags and go to the hospital. We have done this many times with happy outcomes. This time I would not leave with a baby on my lap, but a memory box instead.

Just a few "memories" are in that box. Among them are tiny footprints and a lace-trimmed blanket the size of a handkerchief. What is not in the box are the dreams of a precious life not lived and love for a little girl named Lily. No box is big enough.

Lately

2009-10-20T15:47:00.024-05:00

Cumming Country Fair:

Myrtle Beach:

Little boys do not think fish heads are gross...

My three-year-old (or a wild boar) got into the cupcakes for my daughter's party.

I should've used gloves. No, I didn't kill the three-year-old. This is food coloring from kneading fondant cake icing.

Birthday cake for nine-year-old vampiress.

Please See Attendant

2009-10-08T14:04:00.005-05:00

I'm over the pee in the trash can, the pee on the shower curtain, the pee behind the door, stepping in pee, pee anywhere it can be in the bathroom (except the toilet bowl) and not to mention pee on the seat, of course.

I don't use the kids' bathroom anymore. Ambercutie calls it the "gas station bathroom" because that's how bad it is. It smells like a gas station bathroom in which the door knob is missing and stuffed with toilet paper, there is no soap, the walls are plywood, and you look for hidden cameras. That type.

Where did I go wrong in my toilet training of my boys? I better learn now, because it's only going to get worse. We have four boys (well, three boys and one man) "using" the toilet now, and I still have one to train. I will probably have two more to train if this little one in my womb is a boy (who am I kidding, we KNOW it will be a boy- all of hubby's girl sperm swam away to better families).

I have decided to do another session of toilet training. Potty Training 102. I will stick a sign on the bathroom doors that says, "Please See Attendant." The doors will be locked, so the boys must summon me, the attendant, to unlock them. I will then supervise the visit. The pee better land in the bowl. Put the seat and lid down (ah, how wonderful to not have baby splashing away in the toilet bowl). Flush. Good boy. Now wash your hands! Towel hangs back up. Very nice. I'll put a sticker on your chart.

It should all work out very nicely. Yeah right. Men's restrooms are gross, and I've got one in my very own home. I should just deal with it. Ambercutie and I will go to the nice "women's room" to do our business. Maybe we'll get a little couch or a make-up counter with lights...

Are We Freaks Yet?

2009-09-29T08:00:00.005-05:00

Nowadays it is difficult to announce the upcoming birth of a child. If that child is your sixth child. For many reasons, my husband and I have put off sharing our news. Now, we can't hide it anymore.

I have a bump. No wait, I'm 36 and have been pregnant multiple times. I do not have a bump; it's more of a mound. It is now apparent that I have not just put on weight. Plus, people we have told are beginning to leak. The baby news is draining down through the roots of our social network. Friends are shocked. Feelings are hurt. Why aren't we including them with this special announcement? Yet, people feel free to gossip, because at this point, it is gossip. People will "talk" until it is confirmed. The tongues wag: "How many are they going to have?" "They need a hobby." "Those poor kids." "How can they afford it?" We are viewed in a different light. We are different. Freaks even.

Why else would an educated, healthy, financially stable, "normal" couple decide to have so many kids ? Mormon? No. Catholic? No. Quiverfull (whatever the heck that is)? No. What is WRONG with us? That's what people really want to know. We're talking about only six kids, people. That's right, I said "only six." Do you know how many ancestors are laughing in their graves right now?

By the way, shouldn't all the educated, healthy, financially stable, "normal" couples be the ones having lots of kids? Hasn't anyone seen Idiocracy?

Do others feel guilty that they must not love their children because they didn't want more of them? That the two children they do have drives their bourbon-at-bedtime habit? Do they hold us in contempt because of what our multiplication must be doing to Mother Earth? Are they quietly or openly scornful that we must be neglecting our dirty, hungry, howling-for-attention brood? Perhaps others are frustrated that they can't figure out how we are raising such a large family and wanting more? Aren't we zombies already? Will we have to take out a second mortgage to pay the food bill or to hire a laundry management team? Are we exhausting their imaginations by living and wanting a life that is hard for them to imagine?

I think most people are glad it is us and not them. That is their choice and right. Just like it is ours.

Land of Bribes

2009-09-23T19:37:00.004-05:00

Like most families, we rely on bribery from time to time to get our children to cooperate. Here's a piece of gum for not waking the baby or a soft drink for helping the little brother wash his hands. Sugar works. That's one of the reasons we are so stingy with it. That and we want the chocolate all to ourselves.

Lately the bribery has extended to the grown-ups. Steve will go buy some ice cream if I will make the baby stop crying (if I knew how, he wouldn't be crying!). Tonight I bribed him with a "special treat" if he would just take screaming Bubble Boy outside.

We have begun a new chapter. How often will bribes imprint themselves on the pages of our lives? Will this be a satisfying, funny thing or an annoying, "wish we hadn't started that" thing?

I'd give five dollars to know.

On My Honor....

2009-09-21T11:26:00.003-05:00

The weekend before last I camped with my daughter's Brownie troop. I was one of two moms to "rough it" overnight with four giggling third graders. Half of the troop couldn't make it, mainly due to illness (H1N1 has made a home here in Georgia). So, it was a fairly easy gig due to the small group.

We were competing in an "Iron Chef" challenge. Each troop was given a secret ingredient and was to make a dinner to share with the other troops. Our ingredient was chicken. We planned to make chicken pot pie. The other mom, Bridget, had brought portable propane Webber grills to make the dinner on. Neither one of us had used them before. I have a Coleman stove that we use when we camp, so at least I was familiar with using propane.

The first problem was that she had brought the wrong sized propane. The Webber grill used the long, skinny cannister, and we had the short, fat one. We finally decided that shouldn't make much difference, and we used the short cannisters.

When it was time to start dinner, Bridget had to go home to check on her daughters who were sick (how great of her to follow through with her committment even after her own Brownie got sick!). Sandy came to help me with dinner. We read the directions for lighting the grill, which indicated we needed to take the lid off first. We dutifully complied, and I put my hand on the handle as shown. I pushed the ignition button. BLAM! Flames shot out the side of the grill onto my arm and toward the tent (er, sleeping shelter). I FELT the flames hit my skin and scorch off my arm hair. Fortunately, the contact was so brief, I didn't get burned. Just hair removal. I could smell the burnt hair too. In reality, the biggest problem this presented was that I now had one hairy arm and one smooth arm. At the time, however, we all stood around with our mouths open and took two steps back from the grill. I shut it off immediately.

After the shock wore off, we pondered our second problem. The "explosion" could have been caused by the wrong sized container of propane. It also could have been caused by the pans that were on top of the grill (the directions had said remove the lid; maybe these pans acted like a lid). The problem is that we didn't know which caused the arm scorch, and we were afraid to try again. Why don't direcitons tell WHY we aren't supposed to do things! Wouldn't it have been nice if Webber had said, "if you have a lid or pan on top of the grill during ignition, your face might melt off" or "if you use the wrong size of propane you could end up needing to buy a new tent while firefighters calm your hyperventilating Brownie troop."

Thankfully, I brought my trusty Coleman stove and we used that. However, we didn't have enough time to do the pot pie due to our pyrotechnic show and its ensuing confusion . We ended up making a casserole. It was still yummy, but it didn't win the competition. That honor went to "Natural Gas Chili" made by a troop who may have sucked up a little too much by giving their dish its own theme song (you might imagine some of the lyrics).

After we prepared and eaten our casserole, I found out some distasteful news. As per competition rules, the girls had to do most of the cooking and prep work. The girls took turns chopping the chicken, but one girl did the most chopping. This girl had arrived a little late to the campsite, because she needed to get cleaned up after swimming in the lake (or so I thought). It turns out she needed to change clothes and get cleaned up after having a bout of diarrhea. She was chopping the chicken! The chicken we fed to everyone there! I don't think anyone would disagree with me if I say that a third grader, who has just changed her clothes due to a fecal mishap, should not be chopping chicken.

Despite these minor blunders , I am glad I went with my daughter. She was on cloud nine when she found out I was one of the camping moms. She kept bragging to her brothers that she and mommy were going camping without them. "Without them" is probably what she relished most. Steve and I have realized over the course of parenthood so far, that our kids need to encounter occasions of "only childness." Luckily for us, it happens naturally due to the different activities our kids are involved in. So, if I ever have another opportunity to provide my child with a stint of "only childness" such as camping alone with mom, "on my honor" I will try to capture it, chicken shit and free arm hair removal withstanding.

An Ant in the Sun

2009-09-10T14:01:00.003-05:00

Last night my son called me into his room to show me a fire ant he killed. "I smashed it against the wall, Mom," he said proudly. He picked up the crumpled insect to show me.

"That's not a fire ant," I said. "Fire ants are red; that one is black." He had a look of horror on his face. He didn't want to believe he killed an innocent "friendly" ant.

Finally, he said, "Tomorrow we will take it and put it in the sunlight, and it will come back to life." I calmly (read: madly trying not to laugh) explained to him that sunlight does not make things come back to life. "But J.T. said it does!" I told him I was older and wiser than his brother and again insisted sunlight will not make the little ant crawl around and do anty things again.

I said, "If you want to, we can do an experiment and put the ant in the sun tomorrow. We will see if it comes back to life." By that time he was defeated. He smeared the ant on his pajamas and flung himself in bed.

Sweet dreams, little repentant bug killer.

On Frogs and Other Things

2009-08-31T21:15:00.007-05:00

This weekend my children were playing at the water table we have on the deck. Critter touched what he thought was a toy frog. He screamed (he is a ten-year-old who screams like a little girl) when the "toy" moved. It turned out to be a green tree frog. We looked it up on the internet, and it had not yet been documented in our county. Our county is the farthest north in Georgia in which the frog has been spotted. I think we parents were more excited about this than the kids.

Later on that night, Bubble Boy decided he did want to eat his chili after all. He sat at the table and started chowing down. Steve and I were watching t.v. in the adjacent living room. I looked over at the table, and Bubble Boy was gone. "Where's Bubble Boy?" I say. Steve says, "He must have gone back to bed." "Oh, O.K." We preceded to have sex right there in the living room, watch porn, cuss like truck drivers, get drunk, worship the devil... JUST KIDDING! I was still shocked to see him sleeping under the table. What if we were doing all those things? What if I left him there all night and creepy things crawled on him (there is always some kind of grub left under our table to which creepy things might be attracted)?
Don't ask me why he's wearing Halloween pajamas in August. Laundry is a challenge around here. He's lucky he's not wearing a Cinderella nightgown.
Maybe he just wanted to be first in line for breakfast in the morning. I think there's only one bowl of Captain Crunch left. Who knows when Mommy will break down and buy Cavity Crunch again!

A Few Green Thoughts

2009-08-28T12:53:00.003-05:00

I was reading our local paper this morning. In the opinion section was a column from my school superintendent. He always writes thought-provoking pieces. This one is about environmental stewardship. Our county schools are stepping up to the plate for Mother Earth. Students have been recycling for a while, but efforts have improved along with a new initiative to reduce and resuse county wide. The superintendent asked, "How can we ... be better stewards of our environment?"
I wrote him a comment that follows. "Something small: kids should be encourgaged to reuse school supplies from year to year (backpacks, pencil boxes, pencils). How many people just throw perfectly good things away to start "fresh" each year?
Something tall: imagine the impact on the environment and kids' health if schools made use of sidewalks and crossing guards! It is ridiculous that kids who live across the street from a school have to ride the bus to get there!
Speaking of health: they may be good for the environment, but those cold-water-only faucets that turn off immediately are not good for kids' health. Kids don't want to wash their hands anyway, and these faucets require too much work! Plus the kids have to touch them several times (to keep turning the water back on)to get hands clean. Touching a faucet= touching germs. The cold water does not help fight germs as well, either. "

I do hate those faucets!

However, my family is blessed to have a successful and innovative school system that welcomes parental involvement. I love that the seed of environmental responsibility (which goes hand in hand with economic responsibility) is being planted in our community.

Family Guy

2009-08-24T20:33:00.003-05:00

A couple of years ago I had a serious eye infection. This infection spurred a condition I have called recurrent corneal erosion. Yes, it is as painful as it sounds. Although my right eye was fine, if I used it it would cause me to move my left eye, which would be extremely painful. Therefore, most of the time I would have my eyes closed (except when I needed to open the Percocet bottle).

Why am I writing about this? Well, there is something that makes me think back to those days of almost blindness. That something is a show called Family Guy. Family Guy almost makes me look back with fondness on those days of eye patches and the inability to drive. At least back then I wouldn't have to see that crappy show.

My husband is an avid watcher of the Griffins and their shenanigans. If the show is on, he is watching it. This often means I have to send the kids to bed early (if you've ever seen it, you know why). He chooses the show over the kids most of the time. Ah, t.v. and family togetherness.

Tonight, I let my three-year-old stay up. He has been feeling lonely now that the older kids are in school. Steve was watching "Family Crap." I hoped most of the show would go over Bubble Boy's head, but he always knows when something is supposed to be funny, and he repeats it. Tonight he repeated, "Daddy, ha, ha, they said, 'when you die you are supposed to soil yourself!'"
Now he just needs to repeat that during his preschool interview.

Why don't I like it? #1: It is just not funny. The crudeness and politically incorrectness and anything else it exudes to be "shocking" doesn't bother me; it just isn't funny. #2: It is annoying. Why do I want to hear the kinds of things kids say in junior high? The pointless and weird tangents the show takes do not make it funny.

The only thing that puts a slightly amused smile on my face is Stewie, the evil baby. He is my comic relief while I am stuck listening to the show because I am trapped in the kitchen doing dishes. Stewie makes one wonder if all innocent looking babes are plotting the world's destruction and their mother's demise. Alas, unlike the show itself and its nightly marathons, all it takes to quiet Stewie is his binky.

Kids Love this Place

2009-08-20T20:30:00.007-05:00

As part of our summer vacation this year, we visited Great Sand Dunes National Park in Colorado. We had gone there two years before, and the kids loved it. It was last on our trip, so we were worried we'd be able to fit it in. The delight on our children's faces says it all. It should have been a priority!

There is a creek to get dirty in.
The footprints blow away in minutes- nature's Etch-a-Sketch.

It is like part desert, part beach, part flying.

Kindergarten Rant

2009-08-18T21:15:00.004-05:00

Experts have discovered in recent years that preschoolers have more learning potential than previously thought. The good news concerning this is that preschool education has flourished and is taken more seriously. The bad news is that preschool education is taken more seriously.

Granted, my background is in secondary education, but as an educator, I believe preschool and kindergarten are probably the most important years in a student's learning career. Many times as a high school English teacher, I would lament，“if only this kid had had a good start." Preschool skills are built upon in kindergarten and so on. If these steps are missed or done poorly, it is noticeable all the way up to high school. Kids have a hard time climbing the educational ladder if rungs are missing. Let's switch metaphors now; preschool and kindergarten are the foundation. That being said, that doesn't mean those years should be treated as high- pressure academic years. One does not use the same tools to lay a foundation that one uses to put the roof on.

If a child is lucky enough to stay at home with a non-working parent who has a knack for "staying at home" (not all kids who stay at home are better off than kids in daycare- there are all kinds of parents and all kinds of daycare- but that is another discussion), then that child is in the optimal environment in my opinion. When that child is ready to start school, it makes sense to me, that it be a gradual process. A short week (two to four half-days) of preschool is a nice introduction to all that preschool should accomplish: social skills, independence from parents, school settings and rules, taking direction from other adults, pre-reading skills, pre-math skills, art, music, movement, and simple handwriting.

Then comes kindergarten. Ideally, in my opinion, this should be a small step up from preschool. Added to the above mentioned goals would be more handwriting, simple math, early reading. Should there be homework? NO WAY! The exception would be an activity the child would do with a parent every once in a while, such as complete a family tree. Should the child be at school all day? I say no. A full day is way too long for five-year-olds. I have my third kid in full-day kindergarten now, and we hate it again just like we did with the first child and the second child.

My third child comes home exhausted, and though he was so excited to start school that first day, he now doesn't want to go to school because "it takes too long." He doesn't even get a nap or a quiet time at school. I think a half-day is plenty of time for kindergarten's purpose. Yes, it is an important knowledge absorbing time for a kid. The kindergarten year should not be wasted, but it is not akin to an all-nighter before a college exam. Young kids learn differently- not through textbooks and worksheets so much- but through playing with a tub of worms or exploring a creek. These things can happen at home, too.

Half-days give parents more input into their young child's education. The same reason many give for staying home with their kids is still at play. Do you want your child to get most of his learning and caregiving from someone else? At this age, no. Eventually and gradually, OK.

Now, for the kid who has grown up in daycare: it would be silly for this kid to go from full days at daycare and preschool to half-days at kindergarten. For many, full-day kindergarten is better. Research has shown it to be beneficial to economically and socially disadvantaged kids as well. If enrichment can't happen at home, it should happen somewhere. If kids can't have the parent at home, then kindergarten full time is better than the alternative of an inferior daycare center, for example.

There are different types of family situations out there and different types of kids. That's why I wish all states would offer both full and half-day kindergarten. Plus, for crying out loud, make kindergarten and preschool mandatory (as long as it isn't all (full day) or nothing). Educational experts now know the learning power of the preschool brain, but let's not go overboard. In Georgia, preschool (the last year before kindergarten) is free. However, the four-year-olds must go to school everyday and all day. Preschool! This is all or nothing. It is not quality. It is basically the easiest thing for the school system to do but not the best thing to do. It does help kids who would be in daycare anyway, but it is not ideal for the children who are blessed with the ideal of a parent at home.

I have done limited research on this subject (research data is actually limited) I do not have a degree in early childhood education or development. I have only my gut and my experience as mother of five young children, plus my own childhood memories. How much farther could I have gone in life if I had had full-day kindergarten? Rather, how much farther could my children go with only half-days?

Ambercutie's Birth Story

2009-08-13T21:19:00.007-05:00

Ambercutie is our one and only girl. I'm glad she is a girlie-girl. How ironic would it be to have my only girl be a tomboy? She is the second oldest and came to be sort of by accident (almost all of our kids are sort of by accident). It depends on what you mean by "planning." Were we "planning" on having another kid? Yes. Did I want to become pregnant with that kid while my first was only eight months old and still nursing? No. I told myself I never wanted to do THAT again. Leech #1 (baby inside) gets fed first, then Leech #2 (baby outside) gets fed, then dear old mom is last. Talk about STARVING. I needed those Krispy Kremes in order to not feel hunger pains for about... two minutes. I really just wanted an IV line. I could wheel it around and feel the fat and calories course through my veins. I could also get the dishes done at the same time. It is so time consuming to eat constantly. Then there's the peeing and sleeping. How was I supposed to raise a toddler in the middle of the full time job that is pregnancy?

As it turns out, I love having kids a year and a half apart. They were into the same stuff (potty training, Barney, etc.). They were the best of friends until about first grade when Critter learned that girls are yucky.

I had much more nausea with the girl. I had vomiting even. With Critter, I had occasional nausea that went away with food. With "Amberpukie," I was sick all the time, food or not. Besides that delight, the pregnancy went well.

I was a week and a half overdue with my first, so I expected the same this time around (so naive). I was already overdue, when a novice nurse examined me and told me I was five centimeters dilated. Holy cow! I told my husband we were going to the hospital tonight. We called the grandparents. Woo hoo! That night, nothing. Next morning, nothing. We were scratching our heads. At my next week's appointment, my doctor examined me and told me I was three centimeters. She apologized for the error. I told her to give me the two centimeters back and all would be forgiven. She said, "you are a good candidate for induction." No thanks. I've been down the pitocin road, and it is NOT for me (a story for another time).

Anyhoo, I got to be two weeks overdue. What the heck was she doing in there? The little diva didn't want to come out until she had pretty long nails and curly hair? I thought, seriously, she has to come out eventually. As all preggos know, we say it, but we don't believe it.

As with my first pregnancy, I began having bad Braxton Hicks about two weeks before the birth. What I mean by bad is that these contractions are no different from real ones. I have had five babies, and I mean I can never tell when real labor begins! The only way I know is that the real contractions get so bad that I have to catch my breath. This false labor can go on all night and the contractions do get closer together, so I can't use "they go away" or "they don't get closer together" as guidelines. The "fake" contractions just don't take my breath away.

I had these fake contractions for several hours, and they were five minutes apart. We decided to head to the hospital, where it was determined I was five centimeters dilated (for real this time). As soon as we walked in the hospital door, the contractions stopped. What kind of cruel game? I expressed my laborly doubt to my nurse, but she said, "honey, you're having this baby tonight." I was admitted, but I felt no more pains. Hubby and I fell asleep and woke up the next morning babyless. The doc came in and said they could induce me or I could go home. I said, "See you later today." Being dilated to five, I knew it wouldn't be long. The nurses looked at me like I was a slime covered alien. What? Why would I want to sit around the hospital all day? Unless they can hook me up to a Krispy Kreme bag...

The next morning I woke up at about 5 AM to annoying pains. I went back to sleep and woke up again to these pesky pains knocking on my peaceful sleeping door. Something about "Wake up. It's time to push out a big fat Irish baby head." I got up, woke Steve up, called the grandparents, called my sister to come and watch Critter, grabbed the bags, and got in the car. The pain was still manageable when I called my ob, who didn't believe me when I was in labor with my first and didn't believe me this time. "Angel, you sound so calm for someone in labor." I'm sorry; I'm not a screamer. I save that for the tween years.

At the hospital, the ladies at the admittance counter looked at me skeptically. I'm sure they were whispering to each other that I'd be going back home in about an hour, because how can a woman supposedly already dilated to five, two weeks overdue, about to GIVE BIRTH stand there quietly like that? Does everyone have to be the stereotypical raving bitchy woman in labor? I like to keep things fresh. Mix it up a little bit.

The nurse told me I was seven centimeters. I told her to call my doctor. Where was my doctor? This was my second baby, and my first labor was quick. She asked me if I wanted an epidural. This time I looked at her like she was an alien covered in slime. I'm seven centimeters, lady. By the time you hook me up the kid will be crowning. I wasn't a fan of this nurse. She was staring at me during contractions, as if she were the zoologist and I was the gorilla rearing up the baby tiger as my own. No. 1, don't stare. No. 2, don't stare at a woman in labor. Did she have a death wish? Seriously, she was causing me to break my mental imagery. I was in Maui, and Critter was building a sandcastle; then this nurse comes over to our beach blanket and asks, "how do you do it?" Well, I'm going to be "doing it" all by myself if you don't get my doctor in here.

By this time, I was in transition. I was swaying my hips holding onto the table with the telephone on it. I focused on those black and white numbers until they swirled before my eyes. The pound sign was especially comforting (I don't know if that is a little Freudian violence?).

Soon, I told the nurse I was ready to push. She examined me and said I was nine and a half. "Almost there," she said. If I had the strength I would have pushed her. She went out into the hall to get the intern on call. Apparently, my doc was told I would be a while, so she went ahead with an elective surgery (tube tying) with another patient who had just given birth.

While the nurse was gone, I hopped up onto the bed and started pushing. To hell with nine and a half. I needed to push. The nurse and intern came in a few minutes later, all befuddled. The nurse said, "Well, I guess if you feel you need to push, go ahead." If my eyes weren't shut tight in pain, I may have rolled them. the teenager, I mean intern, started to examine me when he saw my daughter crowning. I swear, he literally just put his hands out like he was going to catch a football.

And so, Ambercutie, in diva fashion, decided that after making everyone wait for two weeks, she didn't want to wait another hour or so for the real doctor to bring her in the world. She wanted out now. Even if now meant she would be born in poo. Yes, meconium, people. That really freaks nurses out. Suction! That's what happens when you outrun your uterus lease, babies.

**I didn't have the episiotomy with her (not that there would have been time). The tear was small, and I could tell no difference in pain or healing time between the tear and the cut I had with my first labor.

Ambercutie: born October 9, 2000 at 9:46 AM (labor lasted about five hours)
8 pounds and 13 ounces, 21 inches long

Seed of Christine?

2009-08-10T09:32:00.010-05:00

I didn't like the Nissan Pathfinder the moment I saw it, but National Car Rental was all out of minivans and large SUVs. I shouldn't blame the vehicle, actually. The happenings I'm about to describe were mother nature's fault.

I don't recommend a Pathfinder for a family of seven. I couldn't even fit my stroller in the trunk, let alone our six pieces of luggage, five backpacks, baby backpack, laptop, and cooler. After an uncomfortable, but thankfully brief, ride to Walmart, we purchased some bungee cords and put most of the stuff on top. It would then go on to rain several times during our vacation.

We took up every inch of the vehicle. There was no room to climb in the back to buckle kids in or settle Leapster disputes. I told everyone to pretend we were on safari. The vehicle had no shocks, apparently, so this was easy to pretend.

If someone rolled a window down while all the others were rolled up, a hideous noise similar to a flat tire's thumping (magnified 10 times) would enter the vehicle. Many times I thought for sure we had a flat (which is a fun thing to get in the middle of nowhere).

We were in the Rocky Mountains, so it was fitting that a rock flew up and dinged our windshield. There were already two dings in it prior to our renting it, so we weren't that concerned. Then the ding turned into a bigger ding, and then a inch-long crack in a matter of minutes. Every minute it grew another inch. We were in Grand Lake, Colorado, just south or Rocky Mountain National Park. We pulled over as soon as we got cell phone reception and called the rental company.

The agent told us to return the car to Denver and trade it in for another one. While I would love to get rid of this sardine can, Denver was two hours away, and we had been driving all day. We had five hungry, tired kids in the back who were ready to scarf down pizza and jump in the hotel pool. We were going to be driving through Denver in four days, so we decided to trade it in then. That was settled, but we still needed to file a claim with our insurance company. We found out we would be basically paying out of pocket because the damage didn't meet our deductible. OK, at this point the windshield can still be repaired, we thought, so it wouldn't be that much.

We started driving again, and the crack started growing again. As soon as we entered the park, the wind picked up and blew branches from a beetle-addled dying pine tree onto our window. Great- probably helped the crack along. We then entered a hail storm. Fabulous. What else? An elk want to charge the windshield with his antlers?

After all that drama, we had about a ten-inch crack in the windshield. It would have to be replaced for sure, now. Ah well, at least no one ended up in the hospital on this vacation (I think this was our first vacation in which no one "toured" the local hospital). Better the car instead of one of us with a ten-inch crack in the head (that may or may not have been threatened to the pinching heathens in the backseat).

Growing up Grandly

2009-08-08T20:01:00.010-05:00

My little boy is growing up. He hiked to the bottom of the Grand Canyon with his Daddy on our vacation last week. They stayed at Phantom Ranch at the bottom and, after a $50 breakfast, hiked back up. When the food has to be taken down by mule, it's gonna cost ya.

They took all their food except the breakfast. They had their handy dandy backpacks with built-in water pouches. At ten, he's a bona fide hiker.

Now, fifth grade starts Monday. Next year it's middle school! I am not one of those moms who celebrate the start of the school year. Instead, I start weighing the merits of homeschooling (still afraid that might end in bloodshed). Still, I don't want to see him go!

He made it through the canyon without me. Next he may climb some peaks with Dad. I'm sure he'll do fine then too. He doesn't need Mommy for everything anymore. Fifth grade is no different, but it's all bittersweet to me. I don't want to watch him hike into the canyon without me; I am still proud of him when he does.

The New Billy Mays?

2009-07-17T15:05:00.003-05:00

Maybe I need to restrict the T.V. watching a little more. Today I was putting my hair in a bun, and my five-year-old said, "Mommy, you could put on a "Bumpit." You put it on your head and you can 'bump it up!' It bumps up your hair." OK... Should a five-year-old boy be giving me advice on this?

But wait- there's more! The other day he told me we could get a "Topsy Turvy" to grow larger tomatoes on.

He also told me I could clean better with Clorox disinfecting wipes.

However, it's his latest comment that makes me think he doesn't need to pitch someone else's product. He just might come up with his own product. He just needs to figure out how to market to birds... "If a mommy bird hangs worms on the branch above her nest, then the baby birds will learn to fly by trying to grab the worms."

Now, what is the contact info for As Seen on T.V.?

Tomorrow I Will not Yell

2009-07-15T21:53:00.003-05:00

I will not yell at the kids tomorrow.
I will not yell at the kids tomorrow.
I will not yell at the kids tomorrow.

I am now clicking my imaginary ruby red slippers together while shutting my eyes tight.

I will report back to tell you if this works.

Scrape, Moo, Brush, Jump! (or Things We Did this Weekend)

2009-07-11T21:43:00.008-05:00

My husband and I decided to stain our deck floor a dark natural color and our spindles and railing a white color to match the trim on our house. Steve decided he didn't like the white after a good portion of the staining was done. He then went to Lowe's for the millionth time since the project began and got some chemicals to remove the stain. He is seen here scraping off the white, which I thought looked fine, by the way. Yesterday he had to repaint the back of our house from where he accidentally sprayed stain on it. Maybe next weekend, he will actually get to stain the deck for real.

Our three littlest ones are enjoying home improvement and re-improvement at its finest. I think Bubble Boy in the middle must be scratching his head wondering why Daddy is taking perfectly good stain off the deck.

Friday was Cow Appreciation Day at Chic Fil A. Customers who dress like cows from head to toe receive a free meal. We humiliated ourselves (or at least I was humiliated, but I didn't want to be a "cow-ard"). Our reward was six free meals. Bubble Boy fell asleep in the van, but I propped him up in the stroller and put his mask on him anyway. I wheeled him in the restaurant to get his free kid's meal. It reminded me of a scene from Weekend at Bernie's. I won't pass up a chance to save some "moo-lah"!

The kids cleaned out six months worth of Georgia clay, Goldfish, Lego guy parts, and French fries from the family truckster.

We replaced our old sofa, "Frankenstein's Monster," this weekend. I couldn't sew up the holes in the leather anymore. Until trash day, we will keep it in the garage, where it will be a substitute for one of those "jumpy places."

Things to Get "Into"

2009-07-06T08:39:00.007-05:00

Morning snack.

You think you are think you're boss of the laundry?
I'M boss of the laundry!

What? You won't let me have a real car.

Hey, I'm top-rack only!

Did I do that?

Critter's Birth Story

2009-06-30T23:06:00.010-05:00

Critter is my first born. He is the guinea pig. He is a ten-year-old blonde-haired, blue-eyed cutie. I'm glad we kept him. We decided to have him after we had been married for three years and I had attended too many baby showers one summer. The giraffe-printed onesies finally got to me.

He was due on April 15th. We didn't know if he was going to be a boy or a girl. His nursery was painted yellow with a Hey Diddle Diddle border.

When I was about ten weeks along, I had some spotting. It was terrifying, especially since I had had a miscarriage previously. I was at school, where I worked as an English teacher. I had gone to the restroom to pee (for the millionth time that day, of course), and I noticed the blood in my underwear. I went to my department head, sobbing and hysterical. I thought if this were another miscarriage, maybe I would never have kids. My department head sent someone to cover my class for me; it was the last one of the day, thankfully.

I was in her office, still crying, and students were coming in for this or that. I could just hear the rumors now. No one knew I was pregnant, but I'm sure my kids would wonder what was upsetting Ms. Sullivan. A good cussing? I was fired? A death threat? Gossip rules the high school. Anyway, my boss, who had had her share of miscarriages, sent me home to call my doctor.

My doctor said she didn't do ultrasounds on Friday, but I could make an appointment on Monday. What? We are supposed to wait until Monday to find out if we have lost another baby or not? Livid. Doc says if I'm going to miscarry, there is nothing that can be done about it anyway. Apparently she isn't familiar with the term "peace of mind."

One agonizing weekend later (no more spotting, thankfully), I went in for an ultrasound and saw my little peanut on the screen. Although minuscule, he's alive, and everything looked normal.

I went through the rest of my pregnancy with no more scares. No morning sickness even. I gained 50 pounds. A nurse told me, "I gained too much with my first one too." I wanted to slap her. I didn't gorge myself purposefully; I was just always hungry.

At about 38 weeks, I started having painful Braxton Hicks. My husband, Steve, started timing them. They kept coming regularly until we were about to call the doc, and then theywould fizzle out. This went on for about two weeks. In fact, one night we were so sure the baby was coming that we called the grandparents and headed to the hospital. The moment I waddled in the door the contractions went away. Embarrassing...

While being uselessly checked out at the hospital, I overheard a woman screaming. Her husband was nervously answering questions from the nurse. I heard the nurse say the woman was three centimeters dilated. I had just been told I was dilated to two. I thought in horror, "am I only one centimeter from THAT?" I felt the kind of dread one feels when on a roller coaster and about to go down the big hill.

My hubby and I had attended birth classes like dutiful first timers. I went to the first class determined that no one was going to change my mind about drugs, drugs, and more drugs during the birth. We had wonderful teachers who demonstrated all of the options. They weren't pushy, but objective and honest. The classes served their educational purpose, and we came away from them informed, enlightened, and inspired. Inspired to go all-natural. Yes, I became one of those.

Steve mercilessly kept me walking throughout my pregnancy. We walked a lot toward the end, trying to make things happen. Mostly what happened was my bladder felt like it was going to fall out. One night, at forty-one and a half weeks gestation, we walked to the grocery store (about a mile and a half from our house).

I was having the Braxton Hicks contractions again. I was in a bad mood. Hubby was taking too long deciding on cookies. Finally he picked out some crappy Chips Ahoy, and we headed to the video store next door.

We started for home with the cookies and Witness. We lounged on the couch watching our movie.This was about 8:45 PM. Suddenly I heard a tiny "pop" like someone smacking his lips together. I went into the bathroom, sat on the toilet, and heard tinkling sounds, only I wasn't urinating. My water had broken! It was only trickling, which I didn't even know was an option in water breakage.

Steve and I grabbed our bag, which had a layer of dust on it from being ready for so long (I was a week and a half overdue and had been having false labor since 38 weeks). We called the grandparents and doc. We drove to the hospital to have our Critter.

We got to the hospital about 9:45. Critter was born at 1:45 AM. The labor was about five hours total, that I know of. I could tell NO difference between the false labor pains and the real ones, only that the real ones didn't fizzle out a few hours later, and a baby did eventually come out. Perhaps I had a super long labor lasting two weeks. Either that, or I had a quick labor.

I was thinking I'd have a typical labor of eight to ten hours or longer. Thinking this, I asked for an epidural a little before 1:00. I had been managing the pain by breathing techniques, rocking, and looking at a picture of Maui. I discovered walking while in labor is for the birds. Then, the contractions started coming relentlessly closer together, and I could not rest. I thought I could not take going all night like this.

The nurse I had was one of the most knowledgeable, kind, and skilled that I've ever had. She told me she had had five children (foreshadowing, anyone?), some with an epidural and some without. She didn't push me one way or the other, but simply let me know she'd been there and could answer questions. After she ordered my epidural, she said, "let me check you before we give it to you." She checked me, and I was almost ten centimeters. She told me that she had been suspicious that I was in transition. She advised me to forgo the drugs, because at this point, it was almost over. As if by magic, the pain went away. Maybe my pain-addled brain thought I'd gotten the epidural after all.

I rested for a long time, perhaps twenty minutes, without a contraction (I have since learned this is appropriately called "the resting phase." Then, holy hell, there came the pressure. If I pushed along with it, though, it did not hurt. My baby was resting at the cervical opening in such a way that I felt a natural pain relief (can't remember the medical terms for this). This whole last part of labor was almost pain-free. It lasted about an hour. I mistakenly had arranged to have an episiotomy. I've never "needed" one since, and probably didn't need one then. I grossed Steve (and myself) out for nothing (http://www.hencigoer.com/obmyth/epis.html).

Critter was one ounce shy of nine pounds. He was twenty and a half inches long. He was a boy! He was born with the "Dr. Phil" hairstyle, which he soon lost and was a baldy until he was two. Steve was skipping around with our 1990s camcorder like it was Christmas.

The Grandmas, who were there watching the whole time (it seems like they should've been eating popcorn while enjoying the show), were sanitizing it up; everyone wanted to hold the little blue bundle.

A few days later they let us take him home. We left quickly, before they realized they were handing a baby over to clueless bumblers.

Critter:
Born April 26th, 1999 at 1:45 AM
8 pounds and 15 ounces
20 1/2 inches long

11:00 PM

2009-06-24T22:06:00.003-05:00

It is eleven o'clock. I need to be asleep. I have to get up early to take the freeloaders to scout camp.

Alas, laundry needs to be folded. Spiderman underwear and Cinderella nighties don't care that I should be in dreamland now.

Lunches need to be made. Bologna sandwiches with two slices of cheese and a smidge of Duke's mayo could care less how tired I am.

I have procrastinated long enough with email, Facebook, and watching fireflies through the window (who also don't care that I have to sleep soon).

Every night my life is punctuated by the arrival eleven o'clock. I feel that dreadful tug of time at its end. Time I want to spend but it is already spent. I must pay the debt of sleep, and sometimes like a child, I avoid it.

ZZZZ

Paging Dr. House

2009-06-18T15:00:00.006-05:00

This past spring break my family and I traveled to the Midwest to visit relatives. We planned on celebrating Easter and our baby's first birthday there as well. We were going to be staying with my in-laws for about a week. About the third day in, I was visiting my mother with the kiddies. My mom had a windmill she was planning on installing in her yard, but it was sitting in her family room. She moved it to the spare bedroom so that my brood wouldn't hurt themselves on it. Irony came along, and while my mom was carrying the baby, E.E., she tripped on said windmill. She fell with E.E. in her arms, and he softly hit his head on the floor. He did cry for a while, but appeared normal the rest of the afternoon. That was that, or so we thought.

Later on that evening, I was back at my in-laws' house. E.E. became irritable. I chalked it up to teething, lack of sleep, and being in a strange place. Then he started crying if he were ever standing for a long time (E. E. had just learned to pull up to things and stand there, but he couldn't stand on his own, cruise, or walk yet). He would cry and then collapse onto his bottom eventually. Then he would stand again and be fine for awhile. I thought this was strange, but again I attributed it to tiredness. Then stork-boy appeared. E.E. started standing on just one leg like a stork. I began to worry in earnest.

I called my mom and asked her if she thought his leg could have gotten hurt in the fall. She said he didn't hit his leg on the floor, but she was holding him so tight, maybe he jammed his leg against her body. We considered this a possible solution to the stork-boy mystery.

I noticed when I changed E.E.'s diaper, he winced. As I would pull his left leg down to straighten him out he would cry. I felt up and down his leg, testing it. He didn't seem to mind me touching his leg at any spot. He did mind when I pulled the leg. I also noticed he tended to keep the leg curled up to the side when on his back (he looked like he was doing a pirouette). I got the idea that maybe he had gas. I know sometimes babies pull their legs up when they have painful gas. This next part will later make me slap myself. I began to pull his leg up into his stomach. This made him cry out in pain, but I thought, "This always helps with the gas. It's for your own good little buddy."

I debated with the in-laws (my husband, Big Daddy, was actually in San Francisco on business and would be meeting us later) as to whether I should take the little guy in to the ER or not. He is my fifth baby; my first born would already be in his car seat en route to the hospital. Also, my family has what we call the "hospital tour" going on. We have been to so many medical facilities across the U.S., (we should really be experts on the state of our nation's hospital care), and we try to avoid adding another hospital to our tour if we can help it. Stay tuned for more medical misadventures.

Anyway, I decided he would be fine until morning, when I would then take him to an urgent-care center for $50 (instead of the ER for $100) if he was still acting like stork-boy. He was completely fine when he wasn't standing or having his diaper changed, so how bad off could he be?

Flash forward to 1 AM, 2 AM, 3 AM, 4 AM... he was waking and crying about every hour. Jeepers, is this a mini-version of The Curious Case of Benjamin Button? He was turning into a newborn again. Needless to say, I was regretting my decision to forgo the e.r. I almost drove him there at 1 AM, 2 AM... I kept thinking, "I've been through this before. We've had gas that kept us up," but this was more intense. My poor baby. He had a fracture. A concussion. His leg was disintegrating. He swallowed a Lite Brite piece, and now it was puncturing his intestines. I actually believed that last one was a possibility. The older ones were playing with the Lite Brite...

Morning intruded on the little wisp of sleep I had gotten. I left the older kiddies with their grandparents and headed to the urgent care. Blood was drawn. X-rays were taken. E.E. was poked and prodded. The doc thought it could be osteomyelitis, a hip infection which usually follows an illness. E.E. was recovering from a cold. If that was the case, he would be fine in a few days. That was not the case. His blood work showed high inflammation and white blood cell count and some other mumbo jumbo indicative of a bacterial infection. He was referred to an orthopedic doctor who came back with E.E.'s blood work results, freaking out. He feared E.E. had a septic hip and he needed to get it treated ASAP or the joint could start to deteriorate. Oh yay. We were then sent to Riley Children's Hospital, in Indianapolis, about an hour away.

Oh, by the way, did I mention:
*my hubby was still out of town- so I'd be doing this alone
* my cell phone decided to quit working, and I couldn't even call my in-laws
*I was supposed to be picking up aforementioned hubby at the airport later that day
*this day was E.E.'s first birthday, and I had a half-iced cake at the house

E.E. was admitted on his birthday and given an I.V. line. Instead of cake he got needles. That was a blast, especially for poor E.E. Little tiny baby veins. I finally suggested they put the line in his head where huge veins were popping out all over the place as he wailed. They took my advice! Once he was "plugged in" (that's what it looked like- he had a power outlet on his head) antibiotics were given. Then more tests were done. To make it more stressful, E.E. developed a fever. A high fever. His dad finally arrived from his business trip. We wrung our hands in mutual worry.

E.E. was knocked out and fluid was drawn from his hip. Not septic. He had an MRI. Hip had no inflammation. Not the hip causing him to be stork boy. However, inflammation was shown in the lower leg. A "toddler fracture" was suspected. Sometimes these don't show up on x-rays right away. A bone scan was ordered.

So far, we had been in the hospital for three days. We were already a day late getting back to Georgia; the older kids had to get back to school and Big Daddy had work. We decided that the older kids and Big Daddy would head back home tomorrow. I would come with the younger ones when E.E. recovered from the mystery stork disease. The next day, off they went.

They had been gone half a day, when E. E. miraculously started standing on his leg again. He hadn't even had the bone scan yet. I convinced the docs to let us go home. We would follow up with his pediatrician there.

E.E. had another x-ray back in Georgia. It showed no fracture. Finally, a pediatric orthopedic doctor we were referred to determined that he had a bone infection. The course of treatment would be six weeks of squirting foul liquids into baby's mouth (antibiotics). Seriously, his meds smelled like a pet store.

Six weeks later, E.E. showed no signs of any leg pain. It was never fully verified that he had a bone infection, but that was most likely what it was. No one could tell us why he got the infection, but all the docs said that it is usually unknown why babies and young children get them. It may have had something to do with the fall he had with Grandma or it may not have.

The doctors, nurses, and staff were wonderful at Riley. Nice, helpful, patient, and they knew what they were doing (with the exception of one intern who was none of the above). I was so grateful; like I said, I've been in a lot of hospitals, and E.E. could've had worse.

I was also grateful that my baby turned out to be fine in the end. Seeing all the much sicker children around the hospital made me count my blessings.

Bubbles to the Moon

2009-06-16T14:43:00.001-05:00

Summer fun is brief here in the south. Yes, we do have a longer summer season, but the actual amount of time we can spend out time without dying of heat exhaustion is brief. Right now, people are jogging and hiking. Kids are playing football in the yard. In mid-July, it will look like a ghost town around here, with people looking out from air-conditioned windows. So we are enjoying summer while we can.

Target shopping the other day, my five-year-old spied the new Bubble Rocket gizmo from Gazillion. We weren't in the toy aisle. I was strategically avoiding that. The gizmo was on an end-cap of sale items. My second son snatched it up and looked at me with his "I am an adorable five-year-old who will only be five once so please indulge my childlike love of fun and curiosity and general five-year-oldishness" face. I wondered how long it would take for the Bubble Rocket to blast me off to crazy land once all the neighborhood kids came stomping along and bubble stomping fights ensued, but I told second son he could have it if he cleaned up the basement. His little chubby hands clutched the box all the way home, bubbly rocket thoughts in his head, no doubt.

Three hours and one clean basement later, we set up the Bubble Rocket in the Georgia heat. We had to move from the driveway to the grass to keep our feet from blistering. The kids had a blast, pardon the pun, but I worried about possible impalements on the rocket launching part.

Bum Rocket Launching

Things for Bubble Boy to Eat

2009-06-16T13:40:00.003-05:00

As I've mentioned, I do have a toddler (we call him "Bubble Boy" because he would have to live in a bubble to avoid all of his allergies) who has many food and environmental allergies. Feeding him can be a challenge. I've found that the more homemade a meal is, the easier it is to make it allergy-free. In that respect it has been easy to make allergy-free meals for him, because I've always tried to avoid pre-packaged or heavily processed foods. Homemade is cheaper, people! However, every mom needs a short cut night. So, I do serve good old macaroni and cheese out of the box. I just scoop out a little macaroni for him before I put the cheese sauce on the rest of it. Easy.

What's hard is making two sets of cookies, or finding store-bought snacks or junk food without dairy, nuts, or soy. We've been at this for three and a half years now, and have learned it can be done. Here are some dairy-free, nut-free store-bought snack/junk foods we have bought for Bubble Boy (our third son). Soy is too hard to avoid, but we avoid it when we can. Mostly we just make sure it's not one of the main ingredients.

*Newman's Own Alphabet cookies
*Oreo cookies
*Bunny Grahams or Teddy Grahams (any flavor)
*most graham crackers
*Austin Choco, Vanilla, or Lemon Cremes
*most animal crackers
*most pretzels (NOT Goldfish pretzels!)
*"natural flavor" microwave popcorn
*Immaculate Baking Co.'s Vanilla Sugar, Chocolate Chunk, or Oatmeal Raisin cookies
*plain rice cakes
*Rice Dream Frozen Dairy Dessert
*Starkiss bars from DairyQueen
*most Italian ice or sorbet
*Sunbutter
*Earth Balance Natural Buttery Spread
*Roman Meal bread (basically the only wheat bread I've found without soy!)

Note: Bubble Boy can tolerate small amounts of soy. He only has a reaction to food allergens if he ingests them or gets them on his skin. He has no reaction if he breathes them. Some kids can't even breathe the peanut molecules! Also, I have found that foods warning of cross-contamination or "made in the same facility" as nuts, etc. don't seem to bother him. I call these "CYA" warnings. They are maddening. In any case, if you are searching for allergy-ree foods, try above suggestions at your own risk.

Another maddening thing is that companies change their ingredients all the time. I discovered that angel food cake mixes were dairy-free (and some other cake mixes as well). I was so excited because my from-scratch allergy-free cakes usually get spit out by unsuspecting party goers just wanting a yummy chocolate cupcake. Anyway, I had bought the angel food cake by Duncan Hines and Pillsbury. Both reaction-free. Next time I went to buy one, both brands had dairy! Beware.

Sunbutter and Earth Balance are great for making cookies and deserts for Bubble Boy. Sunbutter, made from sunflower seeds, can be used in place of peanut butter. Hello, no-bake cookies! Earth Balance is used in place of butter, but we don't use it much because of its soy.

Dairy-free chocolate? Yes, some chocolate can be dairy free if it's not milk-chocolate. Cocoa does not have dairy in it. Immaculate Baking Co. doesn't use milk-chocolate, so that's how Bubble Boy gets to eat chocolate chunk cookies. Finding out he could have chocolate almost made me cry tears of joy. Seriously, I ripped up the letter to Oprah about the poor kid who couldn't eat chocolate.

The Girl I Used to Be

2009-06-13T08:48:00.000-05:00

I don't want to BE the girl I used to be; I want to HIRE that girl to load my dishwasher.

I used to be organized, with my towels straight and cans lined up a la Sleeping with the Enemy. I used to be on time, showered, and dressed. I used to wear make-up. I used to clean. Now I am not that girl anymore. Now I am a woman with a family, not big by Dugger standards, but sizable. The woman I am now doesn't have time to do the aforementioned things because I am too busy looking for lost Bionicles, fastening Spiderman masks, and making cinnamon play dough. These are things that are more important to me now than cleaning and preening. The woman I am now would rather look for Bionicles than dust bunnies. However, when the kids start naming the dust bunnies, I know I need the girl I used to be.

Sure, I enlist the children to help with the dust bunnies and Mount Laundry. They all have chores, and this is part of parenting. It is good for the kids, but for me it is like an itch in the center of my back that I can't quite reach. It only gets a little scratched. Well, the kids only get the house a little clean.

That's why I want to clone myself, but not my current self. I want the self who doesn't feel guilty about scrubbing, folding, and filing. She doesn't feel guilty because she doesn't have any kids to feed/bathe/read to/teach. She is a clean freak, an organizer from the Martha Stewart school, and she still has time to read and look pretty. She can do all my household errands and chores while I have time to be the woman I am now, a mom.

Dear Pillow

2009-06-11T21:46:00.000-05:00

Dear Pillow,

I miss you and can't wait to put my head on your cushiony goodness again tonight. Maybe this time, teething one-year-old won't wake up at four in the morning.

Longingly yours,

Angel

My Little Chrysalis

2009-06-11T21:23:00.000-05:00

I went into to check on the kiddies before I went to bed last night, and I couldn't find my three-year-old. He wasn't in his bed, under his bed, or on the floor. Sometimes he sleeps under his brother's crib and pretends they are in bunk beds. He wasn't in his "bunk bed" tonight though. Not in the closet or bathroom.

I was about to do a full-house search and alert Daddy when I noticed the little Ikea rocker had legs. Hmm. I saw a little tuft of blonde hair sticking out. He was fast asleep in there.

It reminded me of a little chrysalis. He was tucked so neatly inside. Maybe he was practicing his bomb/tornado/big brother pummeling drill.

Free Family Film Festival

2009-06-09T22:38:00.000-05:00

Every summer the kiddies and I look forward to free movies at the local theaters. Regal Cinemas has the Free Family Film Festival, and the local MNM Theaters has free movies as well. They start at 10 AM, and are older movies for kids and families.

Today we saw The Tale of Despereaux. I took the two neighbor kids, so I had seven kids in all. We got there twenty minutes early, because you have to get there at least that early to get seats, let alone for eight people. I saw a day-care van in the parking lot I was worried we weren't going to get seats, but there were plenty. Usually, you see those little matching shirts filing in, and forget about it. This about the third or fourth movie so far, so it wasn't as packed. You practically have to get there an hour early for the first movie of the season.

I had to take the baby out about one fourth of the way through, so I didn't really get to see the "tale." Baby just wanted to climb the steps which were so nicely lit in the darkness. Sparkly and spaced just right so he could climb down them too without falling on his chubby little face. He kept climbing too far away, so I tried to bribe him with a Sprite to sit on my lap. He slobbered on the straw and pushed it in and out of the lid to make violin-type noises. That entertained him about thirty seconds. I then tried to nurse him to sleep, because it was time for his morning nappy. No way was he going to nurse with the glittering steps and lots of people to look cute for. So we went out to the hall, where we perused the posters of movies to be released. He liked the The Ugly Truth poster. He was probably intrigued by Katherine Heigl's boobs. He let me nurse him after that.

He fell asleep, and we went in for the end of the movie. All the kiddies were still in their seats and hadn't been kidnapped.

From what I did see of the movie, it was suspenseful, and maybe a little too scary for the really young. The graphics were wonderful; it was a beautifully visual film. My daughter loves the story, which I can't speak for since I only saw the beginning and the end. Something about soup, rain, rats, mice, and a princess. Substitute boys for rats and mice, and you have my house on a cold rainy day.

http://www.regmovies.com/nowshowing/familyfilmfestivalschedule.aspx

Allergies

2009-06-06T21:17:00.000-05:00

I never gave a thought to food allergies until I found out my third son had them. My husband and I both have asthma, and he is allergic to trees, grasses, cats, and dogs. I am allergic to pine resin. No one in our families that we know of had food allergies. Weird.

I was starting the little guy on cereal at about four months. I mixed the rice cereal with water. He had it a few times and was fine (it takes the body a few exposures to build up the antibodies). Meanwhile, the whole family had a stomach virus.
Vomiting, diarrhea, misery. Everyone got better. Then, a few days later, third son started vomiting again. To call it projectile vomiting would be an insult to the force. It was a strange vomit with orangey-yellowy-greeny "mucus" in it. He did it repeatedly. Did I mention this was about two A.M.? My kids' favorite time to get sick. I thought it was odd that he would have the stomach virus just come back like that; I didn't think that was it.
I called and had the doctor paged and searched the web while waiting for her to call back. Bile came up (not literally- it came up as a topic in my search). I didn't even know what that was, but it didn't sound good. I found out bile is secreted from the liver. Oh good night, what was wrong with my baby??? Anyway, I also found some search results indicating food allergies. What? He only had rice cereal for crying out loud.

Doc called, and suspecting food allergies herself, she asked what was in the cereal. She said to read the ingredients. Rice and soy. Ding ding ding. Soy is one of the main food allergies, which surprised me at the time since it is in EVERYTHING. Doc said don't give him any more soy (duh) and to start keeping a log of what he eats and any reactions.

Well, I switched him to Earth's Best rice cereal, which has no soy. We went about our merry way of baby trying new foods, etc. By the way, he was breastfed, so he hadn't been exposed to cow's milk yet. One day he was crawling under the table when he was five or six months, and my oldest spilled his milk. It dripped through the crack of the table and onto the floor and his brother's head. Third son began playing in it, of course. I pulled him out from under the table and noticed he had a big red splotch a la Gorbatrov on his head. He had red splotches on his legs, arms, and hands and welts were beginning to appear. The splotch on his head was exactly the spot where the milk spilled and was still dripping down. It was no mystery milk was the culprit.
Being ignorant on the subject, I didn't even know a person could be allergic to cow's milk and not human milk.
We now knew he was allergic to soy and milk. He then went on, to our delight and convenience, to demonstrate an allergy to eggs. At this point we had him tested to find out just how much of a food weanie he was going to be. Verdict: dairy, soy, eggs, tree nuts, peanuts, coconut, sesame seed, dogs, grasses, trees (almost all things that grow outside), dust, blah blah blah. He was bubble boy. Oh, did I mention wheat? That was the killer. What the heck am I supposed to feed a kid who can't eat dairy, soy, or wheat? Styrofoam?
Fortunately, his doc said if he could eat something without a reaction, he could eat it even if the test showed he was allergic. Wheat was the only thing that fell into that category. Thank God. I didn't have to start making the kid bread from bean or rice flour. Who even knew those existed?

I have learned about a lot of new foods since the start of our allergic adventures. Rice milk, Rice Dream (his ice cream), vegan everything (we feel so new-agey), Sunbutter, Earth Balance. Soy is the hardest to avoid, but we have noticed he can tolerate small amounts.

He has his Epi-pen, and I have to warn babysitters and neighbor kids who want to share (I know, but they do exist) their M&Ms. He has outgrown his allergy to eggs and wheat. We will have one big dairylicious celebration when he outgrows the dairy (I was promised most kids do by age five). As a token of symbolism, we'll blow some bubbles to pop, too.

Third son is shown above eating egg-free, dairy-free, soy-free, nut-free cake. Let's just say he had the whole cake to himself. Notice he has taken the cake off of the plate, because he wants to look cool for all the other toddlers who wouldn't be caught dead with their food on the actual plate, people! Recipe: http://allrecipes.com/Recipe/Vegan-Chocolate-Cake/Detail.aspx

The Kiddies

2009-06-05T23:19:00.001-05:00

Some people think I am talking about cats when I refer to my brood as "the kiddies." I'm not old enough yet to have a house full of cats. I have a house full of kids, currently.
I don't think of ours as a huge family, but man, people are shocked when they find out I have five. Many don't get it either, since the girl is #2. If she were #5, then people would think, "oh, they kept trying until they got the girl." No, instead we blew a "perfect family" (a boy and a girl) and went and had another one (and another, etc.).

We had the first one in 1999 and then the girl in 2000, and I always say that age difference is as close as I want to get to twins. We had three more boys in 2003, 2005, and 2008. We actually had two boys in 2003, but that's a story for another time. Yes, I have actually given birth to five boys.

I have always liked the idea of four children- two boys and two girls. However, I wouldn't rule out having more. My husband liked the idea of having kids until the oldest one had a kid, so there'd always be a baby around. Still don't know if he was joking or not. I would have to say we may have stopped at four, if we had gotten that perfect girl-boy ratio. I don't know. I get baby fever as soon as they start walking. Six is my limit, though. I just know. Still deciding on number six. Hubby is worried about pushing our luck as far as health is concerned. I am 36, and my odds of having a baby with an extra chromosome are higher in theory. I would love to have another girl for sure. Not ready to make that decision yet. I just have to stay away from newborns so I can make a rational decision.

I love my kiddies. They make me laugh and make me hold my breath with joy. This is the way to live- to have little ones pitter-pattering around taking it all in so I can too all over again.

New Here

2009-06-05T22:31:00.001-05:00

I can't believe I am finally starting a blog. I haven't even known what a blog is for too long. I do need a blog. I need to download, especially when I am the only adult here most of the day. There's only so much I can unload on a ten-year-old before his eyes start glazing over, and he mentions he needs to go organize his sock drawer. Another benefit to having an outlet is that my poor husband won't be bombarded with the minutiae of my day upon pulling in the driveway.

Maybe my minutiae is boring. Maybe it is the same as moms anywhere, but it is what has happened to me. Writing about it is primarily something I am doing for myself, and mommies need to do things for themselves.

I would have started this blog sooner, but I couldn't think of a snazzy name. I wanted to capture with a catchy title what my blog would be about. Every name I thought of was already taken. My lack of creativity was a downer. I didn't want to be sappy or silly. I didn't want to be vague. Cliches were fine, for some reason. I have five kids, but Party of Five and Five Little Monkeys were taken. I live on a cul-de-sac, but Cul-de-Sac Confessions was done.

Finally, I decided I was only procrastinating and I just picked Seventh Heaven already. It's not my favorite, but it works. I'm not always in seventh heaven, but I figure I beg the heavens for help at least seven times a day.