Thank You Netflix

Pickers: it's Antiques Roadshow meets Hoarders.

Why Can't he Just Take a Mistress?

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

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

Saber Sorrow

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!

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

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

Settling Down

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

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?

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

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

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

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

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

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!

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?

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

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

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

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

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.