Peanut, Bubba, and Jelly

Iris Mae

2011-03-21T14:57:00.002-04:00

This is Iris Mae, born at 5:20 am on March 10th. We feel so blessed to have her here! Her name is important to me: Iris means "Rainbow," and while that in itself is not a terribly profound meaning, God created the rainbow as a promise. Because we felt that God had promised us that despite all of the hubbub around this baby and her well-being, it was all going to be okay, it seemed natural to choose a name that reflected His fulfillment of that promise. I also liked the link with Iris as a part of the eye--and the connection that our baby girl was in God's eye the whole time. Psalm 139:16 says "Your eyes have seen my unformed substance; and in Your book were all written the days that were ordained for me, when as yet there was not one of them." Also, I think the name Iris is simply unique and beautiful. Mae just seemed to go well with Iris--but even more significantly, it is my grandmother's middle name. A lovely heritage.

Here's the story of the delivery, if you're interested. I document it here mostly for posterity's sake.

I started having consistent contractions at about 5 in the afternoon on Wednesday. Strangely, though, they weren't intensifying or increasing in frequency, so I just wasn't really sure what was going on. You'd think that, this being the fourth time around for me, I'd know if I was in labor or not, but I just didn't. They say that every childbirth experience is different, and I can definitely attest to the veracity of that statement. So by about 8:30 or 9 pm, we shuffled off to the hospital, where I was hoping they could tell me definitively if I was in labor. Unfortunately, they were on the fence, too. They had us walk around for an hour (a very boring hour) to see if the contractions would pick up. They did seem to come faster and faster while were were walking, but when we stopped, they slowed down. They rechecked me after that hour, and I hadn't really progressed much. Even so, they decided to keep us for a while to see what was going on.

The next stop was the tub. The tub is great, because no only is it warm and relaxing, it seems to answer the "Am I in labor?" question for you; lounging in a warm bath will either kick your labor into gear if you're really in labor, or shut it down if you're not. I guess that I had progressed enough after an hour or so in the tub that they felt confident this was the real deal. By this point, it was midnight. And while I had progressed "enough," I hadn't progressed a lot. This labor was unlike any of the others because with the others, I seemed to whiz right through those centimeters towards the finish line. This time around, I was moving so slowly that they'd say things like, "Now I'd say you're a GOOD three," or "Let's call it five and a half, okay?" With each check, I'd secretly despair. I was exhausted and the contractions were starting to become very serious indeed. They were contractions that should have had me progressing like a champ, only they didn't. I was mad at my contractions for not getting the job done.

Around about 4am, I started to get really miserable. I was totally wiped out. I'd been able to doze a bit between contractions, but I didn't know how much longer it would be ("You're a VERY NICE 6!!"), and I was ready for some relief. I had a completely natural labor with Charis and Judah, and had had an interthecal (read: one-time dose, and short-lived) epidural with Ruby because of my kidney issues. I had decided that I did not need to be a hero this time. I asked Abe if getting an epidural would make me seem like a wimp, and he looked at me like I was a crazy person. I decided I'd go for it. So, at 4 am, I asked if it was time YET for the epidural. They'd apparently been waiting until I was progressing consistently until they started the process, but the sticky wicket was that I never really did that. But I was measuring around 6 at that point, so she started the saline drip that is apparently a precursor to the epidural. By this point, my contractions were such that I was actually seeing colors and spots before my eyes during them. I asked the nurse if I could have any pain meds at all to take the edge off until my epidural arrived, and she gave me Stadol. It made me incredibly drowsy, which was good--it made it easier for me to doze off between contractions--but it also made me a bit loopy. I started imagining dancing bears and elephants riding the exploding waves of colors that I saw in my head with each contraction. Not normal, I tell you.

At around 5 am, I began to moan. That is also unusual for me. I am a silent laborer, and I manage pain by counting during contractions. Counting not only keeps me from focusing on the pain, it also helps me know that time is passing and that the contraction is nearing its end, and it helps me keep my breathing measured, and not panicky. This time around, near the end, I couldn't even count. The contractions were so intense that I wasn't able to put one number next to another. I knew things were happening when I became snippy with our wonderful nurse. "TELL THAT ANESTHESIOLOGIST TO RUN FASTER!!" I said to her. Then I turned my attention to my husband, who had been dozing on the couch. "At least sit up as a sign of SOLIDARITY!!!" I snapped.

And then, I knew. I knew it was almost over. And I knew I wasn't going to have the chance to have my epidural. "She's coming! You'd better get someone in here!" I said to the nurse. She told me to take deep breaths and not push. Which, YEAH, RIGHT. About a minute later, the midwife was in the room, and I told her she'd better hurry up and get ready, because "SHE'S COMING!!"

"Hold on just a minute," she said. UM, OKAY.

"Now?" I begged.

"NOW."

And approximately 20 seconds later, Iris was born. She was wriggly and purple and slimy, but in her own way, gorgeous.

She does not appear to have Down syndrome. In fact, she appears in every way to be "normal." The pediatricians have mentioned that we may see a geneticist and get some testing done to see if she does indeed have any chromosomal abnormalities, but we're just not feeling rushed to do that. We figure that if she's healthy, we'll just keep on keepin' on. And if someday we have questions about her development, those doors will still be open to us.

Last week, I discovered Iris has a plugged tear duct. Judah and Ruby also had this, so nothing new there. More significantly, Iris didn't pass her hearing test in the hospital, so we're being referred to a hearing center. It may turn out to be nothing, but one never knows. Be in prayer for that little matter if you happen to think about it!

Iris is squirming and starting to wake up from her nap, so I'm going to end this post here. But I'll leave you with some photos of our family all united for the first time in the hospital after Iris' birth.
Charis kissing her "so cute" sister.

Daddy telling Judah that they were going to have to stick together to take care of their girls.

Ruby relinquishing her role as baby of the family and looking so grown-up in the process.

Our family is now complete!

She's HERE!!

2011-03-10T14:23:00.003-05:00

But you'll have to wait for a more detailed post later. :) Our beautiful, healthy baby GIRL arrived safely this morning at 5:20. We never did hear how long she is, but she weighed 6 lbs., 13 oz. Not bad for 38 weeks and 1 day! We are, of course, thrilled that she is here. We'll post pictures (and whatever name we select) when we can!

Just Waiting

2011-03-05T10:20:00.002-05:00

Well, I promised I'd keep you updated, so I am. Right now, I am 37 weeks and 4 days, which means it has been 5 weeks since my last post. Time flies when you're enjoying leg cramps and frequent trips to the bathroom! In the in-between time, I've had several midwife appointments. In fact, one week after my last post, my midwife noticed that my belly was measuring SGA--Small for Gestational Age. I'm no newcomer to this situation; in fact, during my pregnancy with Charis, I did monthly ultrasounds for the last four or five months because they were concerned she wasn't growing as she ought to have been. In reality, she was just fine--not an especially large baby, but well within normal ranges for size. In fact, when she was born at 37 weeks, 3 days (nearly a month early), she already weighed 6 lbs., 3 oz. Just fine.

It felt a little funny to be going to yet another ultrasound when I'd already had--what was it, four?--several, each indicating that our baby was growing just fine. But whatever. In these days of 3D ultrasounds, it's always fun to see more pictures of your yet-unborn baby. Not only did they measure for size during the ultrasound, they also did some sort of biometric assessment to see if the baby had adequate muscle tone. Apparently, some babies with these chromosomal abnormalities show low muscle tone. Of course, our baby looks fine and healthy, fit as a fiddle. If they'd asked me, I could have attested to the fact the baby's muscles were fine, as evidenced by the semi-violent kicks and squirms I feel at all hours.

Admittedly, though, these most recent pictures of our little one aren't my favorite--I think things are getting a little bit cramped in there, so the baby's face was a teensy bit smooshed. Ruby was totally enamored of the pictures, though, and carried one in particular around with her for several days. "My baby!" she'd say every time she looked at it.

Speaking of Ruby, she is absolutely in love with this baby right now. She very, very frequently comes over and lifts my shirt so she can "hug the baby." She'll even kiss it, or ask if she can "see" the baby--sometimes I think she wants to make sure the baby hasn't disappeared. Also, lately, she has been so drawn to our friends' small babies--wanting to cover them with kisses and stare at them and generally hover over them, making me (and probably the babies' mothers) a tiny bit nervous. But she has always been so gentle, if overly attentive. She's just fascinated by the thought of a tiny human, which bodes well for us!

I have been in full-blown nesting mode lately. I go to bed at night achy and sore, and usually wake up at some point during the night because it has been painful to switch positions, but it is as if I am possessed with the notion that my house must be in order before this child arrives, and nothing can stop me. Abe keeps encouraging me to sit down, but I don't think he understands that in my mind--however silly it may be--these things MUST get done. And I know that if I sit down and rest, no one will pick up the slack and clean the things I feel it's necessary to clean. Who else will scrub underneath the upper cabinets in the kitchen? Doesn't everyone in the house realize this task must be completed before we can bring another tiny person into our home?

Of course, as any mother with small children knows, keeping the house clean with little kids running around is like--as I've said before--trying to plug a volcano with a cottonball. It is always a losing battle. Always. So I continue to sludge about in a way that my non-nesting self would find ridiculous.

I mentioned before that I am now 37 weeks 4 days, and Charis was born at 37 weeks 3 days. Ever since that first delivery, I've greeted week 37 of my subsequent pregnancies with a certainly-this-must-be-the-week attitude. Judah was born at 38 weeks, and Ruby at 39, so I don't know why I still feel like week 37 is the magic time. But even this time around, when I entered week 37, I viewed every contraction as the beginning of labor.

Alas. No baby yet.

I'm sure I will post on Facebook when we deliver--that takes ever so much less time than constructing a blog post--but rest assured that I will continue to update here. In the meantime, I continue to take every measure at my disposal to hasten labor. Hopefully, between that and my back-breaking, completely out-of-control cleaning, labor will begin sooner than later!

And Baby Makes Six

2011-01-24T09:09:00.004-05:00

Hello. Have we met?

I won't even pretend to make excuses for not updating the blog. It's terrible, really. I even missed blogging about Ruby's 2nd birthday, which I think makes me a horrible mother.

And I missed telling you about Charis' first day of school. And Thanksgiving and Christmas. And lots of stuff in between.

But what I really missed the boat on was telling you that we're expecting! Again!

And the kicker of it all is that I'm nearly 32 weeks along, which is to say, almost done. Yep. Expert communicator, I am.

Of course, some of you already knew this, so it isn't news. But many of you who knew about Baby don't know what the past few months have entailed, so I'm going to give you a brief rundown.

First of all, perhaps fewer of you know that this past Spring, we had a miscarriage.

You know, my pregnancies with Charis and Judah were so uneventful, and then my pregnancy with Ruby wasn't--for those of you just joining us, at 31 weeks along with Roo, I had a stent put in to be of some "help" with the kidney stone I'd developed. Shortly thereafter (and linked with the kidney trauma, I think), I went into pre-term labor. At 32 weeks along, we believed Ruby Belle was about to be delivered via emergency C section. Long story short, we avoided the C section, but I was not able to get out of 7 weeks of total bedrest. Ruby was born about a week before her due date, healthy and happy.

When we discovered shortly before Christmas '09 that we were expecting again, my biggest worry was having to endure another kidney stone, which for me, seem to be linked with pregnancy. "Certainly," my Midwife said at my first prenatal appointment, "you've had enough drama with pregnancy! I'm sure this one will be a breeze!" And then we couldn't find a heartbeat for our baby with the Doppler or on a low-tech ultrasound.

Minutes later, I was speeding down the highway to get a higher-tech ultrasound to determine the status of our baby.

The fetus, at that point 8 weeks old, was fine. The heartbeat was a lovely 142 beats per minute. I wept with relief. The ultrasound did find a cyst they wanted to monitor, so I scheduled a follow-up ultrasound a month down the road to check up on that finding.

Just an hour before that next ultrasound, Judah began throwing up. Abe and I had planned to take Judah and Ruby with us to the ultrasound, but that plan was cancelled when All The Sickness began, so I went on my own.

That meant I was alone when the ultrasound technologist told me that she was very sorry, but my baby didn't have a heartbeat. She went to get the doctor as I tried to piece together what had just happened. I wanted to scream and throw things. I called Abe, sobbing, and he couldn't even understand what I was trying to tell him. I begged the ultrasound tech to look again. Were they sure? Could they have made a mistake? They asked if I'd be able to drive home.

I drove home, screaming and sobbing.

At that point in my life, I was not walking with the Lord as I ought to have been. I spent so little time with Him in prayer or in His Word, that at that moment, even though I know He was with me, I was so far away from Him that I felt alone. I was angry and bitter, and remained so for longer than I wish to admit.

The real kicker was that three of my friends were also pregnant, due within weeks of my due date. Sweet. I'd get to WATCH them get to be pregnant and be constantly reminded of our loss. Then, about a week after the miscarriage, another dear friend of mine, with whom I'd shared all of our pregnancies (all three of our kids are just WEEKS apart in age), told me she was expecting.

I shut down. I avoided her, because it was just too painful. I was horribly jealous that she, of all people, would have a baby when I wouldn't. I realize that sounds infantile and horrible, and it was both of those things. But, like I said, I wasn't spiritually right then. I was too wrapped up in my own sinful self to see anything else.

I won't go into all of the specifics of her story, but just a month or two down the road, that same friend, Megan, and her husband found out in an ultrasound that it was likely that their baby girl had Trisomy 18, a chromosomal abnormality that is incompatible with life. As time progressed, that likelihood turned to certainty. She finished out her pregnancy knowing that she would not get to raise that little girl, might not even get to hold her while she was still alive. Unlike me, though, Megan had a peace about the whole thing. That doesn't mean she wasn't sad, but she felt God's reassurance of his protection and plan, and she knew He'd be with them as they walked the painful road ahead.

In short, her response to the impending loss of her child was everything my response hadn't been: she blessed the Lord, and I wallowed in my own misery. She proclaimed His goodness; I locked myself away.

She carried that little girl, Josie, to full term, and delivered her via C section. She and her husband (and their three little girls) enjoyed 12 days with Josie before Josie went back Home to heaven.

In the meantime, I'd discovered I was pregnant again, and, more importantly, I'd gotten back in touch with God. I was spending time in the Word and in prayer. We scheduled my routine 20-week ultrasound for a Tuesday. That turned out to be the very day of Josie's funeral. I called and rescheduled my ultrasound for the following day.

Now, here's the part of the story that many of you don't know.

That Wednesday, Abe and I took Judah and Ruby with us to the ultrasound. It was uneventful, which was a relief to me.

After the ultrasound, I took the kids home for naps. While I was putting them down, I missed a call from my Midwife, who requested I call her right away. I tried to call back, but got the office voicemail saying everyone was at lunch. Just a few minutes later, Abe came home unexpectedly from work. I knew right then that though she hadn't said so, my Midwife was not calling with good news. I knew God had sent Abe home because He knew I'd need some support when my midwife called back.

He was right.

When she called, I turned the phone to speaker, and Abe and I sat down to listen as she explained that they had some concerns about our baby. They were worried that, because of some things they saw on the ultrasound, our baby might have some sort of "chromosomal abnormality."

Keep in mind that just the day before, my friend had buried her 12 day-old baby who'd had a "chromosomal abnormality."

I was in complete shock.

It was a week before were able to get in to see the Genetic Counselor and Fetal-Maternal Medicine Specialist. They interviewed us about our family medical history. They did a thorough, high-powered ultrasound. We waited.

Then they told us that they were noticing some markers consistent with Down syndrome or Turner's syndrome. Those, coupled with my age, made one of those possibilities seem likely.

Abe and I were completely not worried.

Having lost a child already and having watched friends of ours lose theirs, we were a) relieved that this abnormality didn't appear to be life-threatening, and b) familiar enough with God's grace to know that whatever the problem was, He'd walk us through it. I still had occasional moments where the weight of the situation was heavy, and I'd cry. Or I'd start to Google those syndromes and have to walk away from the computer because I didn't yet have the strength to face those things. But by and large, I felt a total peace.

Still do.

We went in for three follow-up ultrasounds with the Fetal-Maternal specialists, and after the last one, two Mondays ago, they informed us that the baby looked healthy and was growing well. Two of the three markers they'd been monitoring had disappeared. They told me they didn't see any need to follow up with us anymore.

Now, because those markers were ever there, it still means that it's possible our baby has one of those chromosomal abnormalities. But to be completely candid, I have for so many weeks felt God telling me, "It's going to be okay."

I know God well enough to know that "okay" doesn't necessarily mean our baby will be "normal" (as much as any of our other kids are "normal!"), but it does mean that whatever is in store for us and our baby, God has it under control. He will give us what we need to walk that road, day by day. Psalm 139:14-16 says,
"I will give thanks to You, for I am fearfully
and wonderfully made;
Wonderful are Your works,
And my soul knows it very well.
¹⁵My frame was not hidden from You,
When I was made in secret,
And skillfully wrought in the depths of the earth;
¹⁶Your eyes have seen my unformed substance;
And in ^W)">Your book were all written
The days that were ordained for me,
When as yet there was not one of them."

So, you see, God knew the end of this story before there was even a beginning.

We ultimately decided not to get an amniocentesis to confirm the perinatologist's suspicions. We felt that it was an unnecessary risk to acquire "peace of mind"--especially when we already felt like we had peace of mind. We are encouraged by the fact that those markers have vanished, and encouraged even more by the assurance that our little one looks healthy. We'd love it if you'd pray for our little one as we count down the days to the arrival!

I PROMISE that, my spotty blogging track history notwithstanding, I will keep you posted on the well-being of our baby. I look forward to posting pictures and sharing the news of the arrival!

Hazel

2010-07-16T14:10:00.002-04:00

This is our new puppy, Hazel.

For most of my life, I considered myself a Cat person. Dogs require so much more energy and attention, they chew things to bits, and you can't leave them alone for a few days with a big bowl of food and a supply of water, while cats are mostly self-sufficient. Dogs need extensive and consistent training to be able to function well with humans, cats only need to know how to use the litter box and hide under the bed when strange characters come around. For a person like me who is by nature a wee bit on the undisciplined (lazy) side, cats are a much better fit.

But then we got Muirne. And while I know that not every dog we have will be as great as she was--maybe none will--she gave me hope that there were dogs out there worth putting forth all of the effort for. I also came to realize that dogs are great for kids, and kids are great for dogs. And that I feel safer at night with a dog in the house if Abe is gone. And that a dog is a great companion to take on a walk with you. And they're ever so much more fun to play with than cats: Muirne would spend hours fetching sticks in water, Radley will claw your face off if you try to give her a bath.

So when we lost Muirne, I knew we'd get another dog. In James Herriot's books (All Things Bright and Beautiful, All Creatures Great and Small, All Things Wise and Wonderful, etc.), he always counsels his veterinary clients who have lost a dog that they should get another soon, and I figured this was wise advice. I started scouring Craigslist and the classifieds for a suitable dog for us. Most of what I found were purebreds, and we are really mutt kind of people. So when I saw this listing for a littler of "Lab mix" puppies, I knew I wanted to call. Turned out the mother was a Lab/border Collie mix, and the father was unknown. Still, both of those breeds are highly intelligent and good family dogs, and the price was fair, so after twisting Abe's arm (just a little bit), we drove up and picked ourselves out a good one.

She was without a name for a while. We have almost impossible (and oddly indefinable) standards for names, and we knew that any "typical" kind of dog name was out. I made several lists with names from movies we enjoy, literature, and various mythologies, almost all of which got tossed out. Even when it came down to the final list of 6 (Ailis, Harper, Teagan, Tierney, Zora, and Hazel), Hazel didn't stand out to me at first. But then I had the kids vote for their favorite, and had Abe vote, and Hazel was the clear winner; it's different, it's cool, it's old-timey, we know no dogs with that name. I do think the kids believe her name is really Basil, which would be fine, too.

We've only had her for three days, so it's impossible to tell where she will fall on the list of Great Dogs We Have Known. But so far, so good!

She's Hazel, and we love her!

Note that she's wearing a red collar and using Muirne's red leash. It's our way of nodding to our dear girl. I still think about you all the time, friend.

Muirne

2010-07-10T21:39:00.010-04:00

I don't even know how to write this post, but I feel like I need to. I created this blog as a way to stay in touch with far-flung loved ones and to chronicle the events in my kids' lives. This dog is worth chronicling.

We first met Muirne in Knoxville, TN. Some friends of ours had a dog with a new litter of pups, and they asked if we'd like one. Abe and I had been married a little less than a year, and were still living in a tiny little apartment. We already had Radley the cat, and even she was a violation of our landlord's no-pets policy. It was folly to think we'd be allowed to have a puppy as well, but look at her--even with the blink, she was just the most precious ball of fluff ever. We told our friends we'd take her as soon as she was ready to be weaned.

When she was ready, they brought her up to us, along with her pudgy little brother. They didn't want her to be lonely on the car ride, so her brother, the only other chocolate dog in a litter of mostly-black golden lab/rottweiler/german shepherd pups, was simply intended to be good company. But Abe's sister came with us to pick up the puppy, and she was enamored of the little boy pup, so long story short, she kept him. I chose the name Muirne for our dog because it means "Beloved" in Gaelic, and we chose Fisk for the little boy dog because he was a lot pudgier. Pudge. Carlton Fisk. Fisk. It was about a month before Abe's sister could take Fisk, so in the interim, we kept both puppies as the cutest contraband ever in our tiny apartment. Every time the dogs needed to go out, we'd scan the street first to see if the landlord was hovering around, then dash out as quickly as possible.

The day we got Muirne, we looked at a house that seemed perfect for us. The next day, we made an offer, and it was accepted. We moved in about four weeks later. About two weeks after that, we learned we were expecting our first child, which would turn out to be Charis. Just like that, in the span of a month, we had gone from newlywed apartment-dwellers to dog-owning, mortgage-paying expectant parents. We were a family.

Of course, Muirne went through the chewy puppy stage. We have one chewed-up leg of an otherwise beautiful coat tree as evidence. Other than that, though, she was smart as a whip, full of energy, and easy to train. We taught her using verbal and non-verbal commands, so even if she was at a distance, she could sit and stay. We taught her the boundaries of our yard, and she nearly always stuck to them, wandering only in the woods out back. When I was about 6 months pregnant with Charis, she did wander over a street to have a playdate with another dog. It freaked me out, but we got her back shortly thereafter, and forever after that, she came with a call or a whistle, no matter where she was.

She was the fetchingest dog you ever met, and I mean that quite literally. If you threw a frisbee or a ball or a stick even once, she was bound and determined to fetch until you were worn out. She treated it as her job. She especially loved fetching sticks and things in water. We never had to teach her to love water.
For a long time, until we had multiple kids, we'd take her everywhere we could with us--snowshoeing, to various fairs and parades, on hikes, to ponds and lakes, everywhere. She was always so well-behaved, and so beautiful to look at. On more than one occasion, random strangers offered to purchase her. I'm telling you, there never was a better dog.

She was the absolute best dog with kids. We trained her from an early age to adapt to little people who might tug at her, jump on her, or periodically try to take food out of her mouth. She was docile, she was loving, she was infinitely patient with everybody.

She loved nothing better than hearing the jingle of the leash and knowing she was going exploring. I took a lot of walks with her recently. It all started one evening when I was frustrated and needed to go blow off some steam. I decided to go for a walk, but opted to take my faithful dog with me, knowing she'd protect me if need be. She peed about 20 times during the walk and sniffed at every mailbox, but it worked for us. For weeks, I'd take her on two or three long walks a week. I don't have any pictures of that, and as I scanned through hundreds and thousands of pictures looking for snapshots of Muirne for this post, I was saddened to notice that over the past couple of years, I have taken very, very few pictures of Muirne. I suppose it's because she just always looked the same. It's probably also because I used too much time taking photos of my children, and maybe it's partly because we didn't take her quite as many places as we used to. Sure, she always went with us to play with Fisk at Tim and Beth's house, and to play with Quigley at Abe's folks' house, but there were regrettably fewer outings of interest to her. I regret not taking more pictures of her.

Oh, but there are more regrets.

Three weeks ago, we left for a week to visit my brother and his family. Muirne stayed with Fisk for the week. We were home for a week, then, this past Friday, we left again to vacation with Abe's family. Some friends of ours watched Muirne for us. We got a call from them on Sunday evening saying that they'd gone out for pizza and when they left, Muirne was on our back porch, but was nowhere to be found when they returned. They drove the neighborhood calling for her, asked neighbors if they'd seen her, but to no avail. But Muirne has never given us a reason to be concerned, so we figured someone had picked her up or she was through the woods at the pond. We figured she would show up.

I regret so much not specifically telling our friends to lock her in the house when they left. We always put her inside when we're gone, and I figured they knew that, so I didn't think it even needed to be said.

We got a voicemail from Animal Control on Monday morning saying they had a message about our dog. In my frame of mind, I distinctly heard the woman say that they had Muirne, and she was in their shelter. When Abe listened to the message, he heard no such thing. Frantic, I called back to animal control and left a message begging them to call me back with any news. When they returned the call, the message was not good. Muirne was gone. I sobbed and sobbed and screamed angry words and ran and ran just because I didn't know what else to do--and am still sobbing, days later. She was only 7 years old.

I regret not doing to math to realize that it was the 4th of July. Muirne has always been skittish about firecrackers, so around the 4th, we always end up keeping her inside. This year, we were gone on the 4th, and she was wandering outside by herself. The only thing we can figure is that she was wandering when she got scared and disoriented by the noises and ran. A policeman picked her up the next morning and gave her body to Animal Control. Oh, how I wish we would have very explicitly told our friends to leave her inside.

I haven't taken photos of Muirne recently, in the past couple of years. So that's why it is odd that, almost exactly a week before we learned we had lost her, I snapped this picture. You have no idea what a treasure it is to me now.

Abe came home late in the evening on Tuesday and picked up our sweet dog on Wednesday. She is buried deeply in our woods, her favorite place to wander, and her grave is marked by three logs. I wish I had been there to help bury her, I wish I had been able to stroke her fur once more and say goodbye. I suppose this post is my way of saying farewell to my good friend. I am hoping to get a puppy soon--not to replace Muirne, because there will never, ever be a replacement for a dog like her, but because we need another buddy to train and grow up with our kids, to take to the fair and to the pond. We need a friend to guard our house and family, to play fetch with, and to snuggle up with on cold evenings. And whatever color or size our next dog is, she will always wear a red collar, as Muirne did.

Muirne, you were the best dog, and I miss you almost more than I can bear. You were our first baby, our finest and most loyal friend, an endless source of entertainment and pride, and there will never be another you.

Goodbye, dear girl. I love you.

Charis Turns 6

2010-06-30T09:29:00.003-04:00

Dear Charis,

It's official. You're six. I vividly remember purchasing a new pair of footie pajamas when you were 18 months old, holding them up to get a good idea of how large they were, and thinking, Well, she will never be that big. Boy, was I wrong, and it didn't take long. You are now wearing size 6 clothing, a size 11 shoe, and you weigh 40 pounds. That's a far cry from the 18-month-old you.

It has been a big year for you--this year, you started school, and, for the first time ever in your life, went away from me every day. I didn't even put you in Preschool because a) I figured it would be pretty easy to teach you letters, shapes, numbers, and patterns, and b) I just wasn't ready to let the world have you yet. I am 34 years old, and have been married to your dad for almost 8 years, and all of that flew like the blink of an eye, and I knew that just like that, your childhood would also be gone, and I'd regret it if I didn't savor every moment. If I stop and think about it too much (which I try not to do very often), it makes me sad that I no longer know that 18 month-old Charis, with the footie pajamas and sweet blond curls, that I will never again get to hold the 6 month-old you, who loved to be cuddled at all times and who I could wear in a front pack while I did my grocery shopping. I will never again delight in hearing you say for the first time, "Mama," and I will never again watch you sing in front of church for the first time. Looking back at pictures, I try hard to remember what it sounded like when you cried and babbled incoherently, try to remember how you walked and ran, and what you liked to eat best. You won't remember that stuff, either, so I feel like I am the sole repository of those precious early memories, and if they're lost to me, then they are irretrievably gone. That makes me sad, because I cherished the tiny you.

The saving grace is that I have the Now you, the six year-old you who is independent, who loves to sing and draw (it's your talent, you informed me recently), who is (generally) very kind to Judah and Ruby, who has a sweet, tender, vulnerable side, and who can (Oh, how I have waited for this day!!!) READ. One of my new favorite things in life is to have you read me a story before bed. It is an absolute wonder to me that your brain can sort out the jumble of letters that is the English language, decode it into things that you can say out loud and even comprehend. You are so SMART. Even though you were one of the very youngest kids in your Kindergarten class, you were academically right on track--you end-of-year tests put you in the mid-to upper 90th percentile. In fact, you did even better in math than in reading, which I cannot understand. you did not get those math genes from me! You yourself are a wonder. You've always been a happy, well-adjusted child, and now you can tell us all about it, and even write it down. And it's slightly miraculous to me that, even though I can no longer hold the tiny version of you, the kind whose whole body fit in my arms, you love to cuddle with me still. Sure, your gangly arms and legs spill out of my lap, and you're about half as tall as I am, but hugging you is still one of the best things I know to do.

You are an absolute character, a total live wire in Sunday School. In Kindergarten, it was a bit different. You were decidedly shier. I thought you would have a best friend on day one, but it was actually a rough year for you in the friend department. Sometimes I suspect it is because your personality is so big and because you like to lead, not follow. Whatever the case, it broke my heart when you came home from school some days and announced that you had no friends. I'll be your friend, I said. It helped to know that Mrs. Newton loved you dearly, and that she took every opportunity to tell us that you were her very favorite. I knew that even if you didn't have a good friend your own height, you were still going to school with someone who thought you were special enough to love on. And someday, maybe this coming year in Mrs. Bell's class, you'll run home to tell me about your new BFF, and the next day you'll have another BFF, and the sadness you felt in Kindergarten will evaporate. Until then, I'd be happy to read you books and take you to the store with me and have you help me in the garden. Anything so that you know just how much you are loved and enjoyed. And you know, there's always Judah. You guys are pretty much the best of friends anyway. Who needs anything but a good brother?

The 9 month-old Charis smiled and laughed more or less constantly. The 2 year-old Charis could spend hours looking at books. The 3 year-old Charis loved to help me in the kitchen. The 6 year-old Charis is all of those things and more, a smart, funny, delightful girl that I am always proud of. I may no longer get to enjoy the babyish you, and you outgrew those 18 month footie pajamas long ago, but the big you is such a wonder, such a mystery, such a treasure, I wouldn't trade you for the whole world.

Kids Say the Darnedest Things

2010-05-26T18:15:00.003-04:00

I began writing this post on Wednesday. Its title, Kids Say the Darnedest Things, I borrowed from the name of a show hosted in the late 50s by Art Linkletter. Obviously, I wasn't around to see the show when it first sired, but my grandmother had a book of excerpts from the program that I'd read whenever we visited her house. I LOVED that book, and I loved Art Linkletter. I thought he was so clever to be able to interview these kids and get such consistently funny responses. I mean, I was a kid at the time, and I certainly had never said anything so oddball as those kids in the book said.

I found out last night that Art Linkletter died on Wednesday, the very same day I was composing this post about a couple of humorous things my kids said that day. Strange coincidence, no? Well, Art, thanks for publishing such a funny book for me to read at my grandma's house. Hiding in the back bedroom reading it probably saved me from all sorts of work. In honor of you, here are a few of the darnedest things my kids said the other day.

It began when Judah was singing a song he learned at Bible Study. The actual song goes like this:

I may never march in the Infantry
Ride in the Cavalry
Shoot the artillery
I may never fly o'er the enemy,
But I'm in the Lord's Army!

But of course, I liked Judah's version better:

I may never march or hit the tree
Ride in the cattlery
Shoot the artillery
I may never fly o'er the energy,
But I'm in the Lord's army!

Charis head him singing and knew it was all wrong. So she offered up to him HER correct version of the song:

I may never march in the impentry
Ride in the Calvary
Shoot the Altiraly
I may never fly ower enemy
But I'm in the Lord's Army!

Ah, kids. They do say the darnedest things.

And finally, we had homemade fried rice and homemade egg rolls for dinner last night. Judah particularly liked the egg rolls.

Judah: Mama, did you make these egg rolls?
Me: Yep.
Judah: All by yourself?
Me: Yep.
Judah: And no Chinese persons even helped you?

Have a wonderful weekend, everybody!

Charis Gallery

2010-05-21T10:03:00.004-04:00

I think this is why I hate posting pictures. I can never get them to end up in any specific order. Why does this picture stay stuck up here? And why is it duplicated below? And why won't blogger let me delete it? I will probably never know.

At any rate, here are some (very old) shots of my precious first born, who will turn 6 in less than a month. Where did all of the time go?
I just love when she gives me a good smile for the camera. Usually, she puts on a grumpy or silly face.
This was her first "gingerbread" house, made out of graham crackers, frosting, and lots of candy. I may be biased, but her house was the best one. Of course, she's almost a year older than the next oldest child who made a house, so that's probably to be expected.
Ah, yes. This is a more typical shot of sweet Charis. One of these days, when she really learns to read quickly (She CAN read. Isn't that amazing?), we'll have to get this girl in drama. She has a million emotive faces available at a moment's notice.
Like this one, taken on a school field trip to see how maple syrup is made. You just have to love those eyes! (At least, I do)
Here she is "drilling" for "sap" in a "maple tree." It was actually "turning the crank four times" for "air" in a "dead stump."
On a mission: Easter egg hunting. Do NOT get in her way when she's hunting Easter eggs. You'll get run over.
And, finally, Charis' first year coloring Easter eggs. We did a dozen eggs, and this year, for our first year, we went very basic. I accidentally purchased a "tie dye" egg-coloring kit, but after reading the directions, I quietly threw away all of the tie dye paraphernalia and all we did was straight dipping. Amazingly, the eggs turned out great--not a brown one in the lot.

I'm hoping that, now that the weather is nicer and it's staying lighter longer, I'll start to be more consistent in taking the camera out. I am WOEFULLY behind on taking snapshots of my beautiful little people. And maybe one of these days, I'll learn how to upload pictures to Blogger without major drama!

Mother's Day 2010

2010-05-11T10:58:00.002-04:00

I wish I had gotten a picture of myself with my kiddos on Mother's Day--they were so adorable, and for many reasons, this Mother's Day was especially precious. Of course, Ruby is still unaware that any day is different from any other, but Charis and Judah are well aware. Weeks ago, Charis' teacher asked us to bring in a bar of Dove soap for a Mother's Day craft the kids were making. The day Charis brought it home, already beautifully wrapped in tissue paper and ribbon, I thought she would explode with anticipation. On Saturday evening, I stayed home and cleaned the house (I wanted it clean for a relaxing Mother's Day but knew I was on my own for that particular wish) while Abe took the three munchkins to Meijer to have them pick out some treats to give to me the next day. They loved the time with Daddy, and I loved the quiet and very productive time at home.

Sunday morning dawned nice and sunny, if a little bit cold, and I showered and got ready before I went up to wake the kids. I woke Charis first.

"Mom, you were supposed to sleep in as long as you wanted," Charis protested.

Judah wasn't as ready to get up, and he protested differently--whining about how he didn't get to sleep long enough. either. Just then, Charis piped in again. "I'll go downstairs and get your presents," she said. Judah sat straight up, and in his most chipper and excited voice, he said, "Is it MOTHER'S DAY????!!?!?" You'd think it was Christmas morning.

He and Charis were thrilled to be able to celebrate me. I opened the cards and papers and drawings they gave me. Charis wrote her name neatly on her card, but Judah, who can't write very well yet, had drawn me a picture--a page full of a circular mass of scribbles. "I drew you the whole world, Mommy!" Charis gave me her Dove bar craft--a Dove bar wrapped in tulle, with beads attached with pins. I don't totally understand its intended purpose, but it is sitting on display in the bathroom, where I can admire it. I thanked them profusely and asked them to please change quickly into their church clothes. It being my special day, they complied. Wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles, we made it out the door on time and I arrived to choir a few minutes early. Abe told me that was his Mother's Day gift to me. We spend too many Sunday mornings driving to church in a snit, because I'm frustrated that my husband's lack of time management has made me late yet again. Having a Sunday morning drive be pleasant was truly a great gift.

After church, we discussed what we'd do for lunch. "Make pasta salad," said Judah.

"I'm not cooking," I replied.

"How about pizza?" he asked.

"Yeah," Charis chimed in, "you could make us each our own favorite pizzas!"

"They seem determined to get you to cook," Abe chuckled.

In the end, we did choose pizza, but we chose to have someone else cook it for us. We went to a pizza restaurant near our church, and I think we will definitely go there again. The pizza was outstanding. Abe and I shared a pizza with Alfredo sauce, roasted chicken, bacon, mushrooms, feta cheese, and mozzarella, with a light crust brushed with whipped garlic butter and finished with a sprinkling of oregano and Parmesan. Good grief, it was good. The kids had a cheese pizza and couldn't have been happier.

We returned home where the kids presented me with their treats--double chocolate Klondike bars, a bar of dark chocolate Toblerone, and a dozen Ferrero Rocher Rondnoir chocolates. And two bottles of Coke. Nothing says love like a trunkload of sugar!

After that, we put the kids down for a nap, and I slept for two hours. THAT was a great gift. When we all woke up, we drove to Abe's mom's house. I called my mom on the way and had a nice chat with her. After visiting with Abe's folks for a while, we all packed up and met Abe's sister and family for ice cream. Then it was back home and to bed.

All in all, it was the THE BEST MOTHER'S DAY EVER. Except for the fact that I didn't get a picture to commemorate it, it couldn't have been more perfect.

Random Photos: Ruby Edition

2010-04-21T08:49:00.005-04:00

Ruby helping pick out a Christmas tree in her OLD hand-me-down snowsuit. It's tough being the third child.

Christmas morning, on mom and dad's bed, opening her stocking stuff. Oooh! Socks! And bubbles!
Still Christmas. Playing the cutest Santa ever.
Ruby in her BRAND SPANKIN' NEW snowsuit. Thanks, Grandma and Grandpa! She didn't love having the hood zipped up.
Don't let Ruby drive the bus
She climbed into the sink by herself (well, a tall stool helped) because she was dirty from playing outside and wanted to clean up. As most 19 month-olds do.
Her first yer really participating in an Easter egg hunt. Not sure why she was looking in the driveway.
Ah, that's a better place to look. She's so smart.

We love our little peanut! At her recent well-baby (it was her 18-month appointment, even though she was 21 months old and had skipped her 12 and 15-month well-baby appointments), she was 32 3/4 inches (45th percentile), 22 lbs, 10 oz (10th percentile), and her head circumference was in the 61st percentile. All of that means that she's bigger for her age than I imagined! She's always been such a tiny peanut. But her growth has been steady, so we're thankful for that. Maybe she'll be a petite gal. Time will tell.

Random Photos: Judah Edition

2010-04-10T09:50:00.005-04:00

Grandma and Grandpa got Judah a tool kit for Christmas so he could help his dad fix stuff.

Building and racing cars with Daddy at the museum

Judah went with me to Charis' field trip to the Nature Center to learn about how maple syrup is made. Here he is being curious. I don't remember what he was being curious about, unfortunately.

This is Judah's Easter loot from YiaYia's Easter egg hunt.

Riding the mechanical bull with Daddy at a fundraiser. They stayed on for about 10 seconds.

Blowing out the candles on his birthday cupcakes. He helped make them AND decorate them. Charis picked out the swirly candles (and also tried to blow them out from afar.).

Judah's first "gingerbread" house

waiting to open Christmas presents at Yia Yia's house

Hamming it up in the parking lot at Aunt C's apartment

Visiting at my parents' house

In our backyard? Last fall?

Not much narration here. But it has been a while since I've posted pictures for my mom to print out and hang up at her desk, so I figured it was time for some photo galleries of the kids. judah gets to go first because he just had a birthday.

Judah Turns Four

2010-03-19T13:25:00.003-04:00

{I can't find the cord that connects my camera to my computer, but when I do, I 'll insert a few pictures of my little man HERE.}

Dear Judah,

I vow never to blink again. Because I did blink, once, when you were a baby, and now look where we are--you're four years old. Stop it, just stop it. I don't want you to grow any more. I want you to stay four ALWAYS. I want you to stay four because four-year-old you is such fun. You love to help me cook (case in point, you helped me make your birthday cake AND cupcakes, AND you helped decorate them), you love to help me by "keeping Ruby company" when she wakes up from her nap. You love to sing, usually snippets of songs your dad and I listen to in the car. Most notably, you usually sing a few lines of "Don't Stop Believin'": "strangers waiting in the night..." You're cute like that.

And speaking of cute, four year-old you is so cute and cuddly. I know that if I blink again, you'll be all old and grown up and everything, but for now, you're little, and still okay with snuggling up next to mom, especially if I'm carrying a book and it's nap time. You say, "Mama, can you just come lay down with me for a few minutes?" Sometimes, we've postponed naptime so long that I really can't--you need to get to sleep immediately, before The Meltdown happens. But if we have a moment or two before you need to be sleeping, I take my opportunity to be near you. I know I won't be able to do that forever. Before long, you'll probably give up Mom time in favor of Dad time outside and in the pole barn. I've got to get mine while I still can!

You do love that pole barn, though. And you do love spending time with your dad. Toys are fine in their moments, and certainly, you like to ride all sorts of Big wheels and bikes, but even if you were outside with nothing else to play with but your dad's stuff, you'd be happy. As near as I can tell, your favorite gift from your birthday party last night is the set of 12 bungee straps and two carabiners we gave you for modifying anything into a trailer to be towed. Cool new hat? Eh. Cars DVD? Whatev. Nifty stainless drink bottle? Okay. But BUNGEE cords.... well, I'm glad you like them.

You even shared them with Hayden when he came to play today. And you shared your birthday gum (so you don't have to ask for mine anymore) with Charis last night--half of it! How on earth did you get to be such a great sharer? You share EVERYTHING--so much that sometimes, you share everything you have right away. Your Sunday School candy? Right into Charis's hand. Your sticker from the doctor's office? Ruby's. Whenever we go to the bread store, you pick out Little Hug juices for Charis and Ruby. And when you know we're having little friends over, you pick some out for them, too.

You're a good friend. If I were a four year-old kid, I'd want to be friends with you. Lizzy likes hanging with you. So do Gideon and Elise. And Charis, well, don't even get me started. You guys are best friends, and you don't even know how much joy that brings me. And when we go to Charis' school for lunch and recess duty, you fit in so well. Everyone in Charis' class knows your name, and some of the girls have even taken you under their wing. It's probably because you're so cute. But I already talked about that, didn't I?

Well, Judah, we have one more year together at home before you, like Charis, are in school all day. I'm excited for you to start school, because you're really smart and I can't wait to see what great things you do when you're armed with knowledge, but I will be savoring every moment of this last full year we have to spend entire days together. I love to go to the store and library and museum and park with you. I love it when you take me for walks through the woods and down to the pond. I love how happy you are to see us when we pick you up from Bible Study or Gopher buddies or Sunday School. I love to hear your laugh when we tickle you, love to see your dimples when you smile. I love to watch you build and climb and dig and ride. I love to watch you clean your plate at dinner time--your appetite is a thing to behold.

So, yeah. I'm all done blinking. Because I already feel like your life is zooming ahead too quickly, and I don't want to miss a single moment of you. Happy birthday, Judah-boy. You cannot possibly know how much we love you!

Mom, I HAVE to!

2010-02-16T13:21:00.002-05:00

This morning on the way to school, Charis started telling me about a conversation she'd had with a boy in her class named Jacob.

"Mom, Jacob is wrong," she said.

"About what, honey?"

"He said that Jesus died and he is dead forever. And he is wrong."

"Well, either he's teasing you, or he doesn't understand about Jesus," I said.

"Mom, he IS wrong. Jesus died, but He didn't STAY dead. He came back to life later, and a lady went to visit his tomb, and He wasn't there, because he wasn't dead anymore."

"That's right, baby. And why did He have to die?"

"So that our sins could be forgiven."

"Wow, Charis, I am so proud of you for telling your friends about Jesus."

"Mom. I HAVE to tell my friends about Jesus! They don't KNOW!"

Jump Right In

2010-01-06T13:14:00.003-05:00

I don't want to be writing today. I really don't. It's 1:15, and while I already have dinner in the oven, have paid bills, sent important emails,made important phone calls, and have put away (some) laundry, I still haven't made it to the shower yet today. Ruby and Judah are napping, so in theory, this would be the perfect time for me to attend to such sensitive matters. But here's the thing: every time I see the link to "Blogger: Dashboard" staring at me from my Bookmarks list, I feel a little bit guilty. I cringe, because I know that Sherrie will probably mention I haven't posted in a while, and I will see her at choir practice tonight and try to dodge her. But she sits two seats away from me, so that's not really possible. And April (who hasn't blogged in eons, either) just left a comment that she'd blog when I did. So here I sit, in the blue recliner we just got from my aunt and haven't moved from the dining room yet, tapping away at my keyboard, entirely unsure of what I want to say.

It has been a while. Sherrie is right. In late October, my father-in-law had back surgery and also found out he has cancer, and not only did I get caught up in errand-running and helping out a bit at my in-laws', I got caught up in my own rehearsals for the Christmas program at church AND with drama rehearsals for the same program; celebrations for Thanksgiving; the actual Christmas program; Christmas decorating, shopping, celebrating, and what-have-you; and while I probably could have scraped together 10 minutes in there somewhere to whip out a post, I'm afraid I never felt I had enough emotional energy to do it. Or it could be that I'm just lazy; either one is a plausible explanation.

In the time I've been away from the blog, I've gained 6 pounds. I've vacuumed the floors a lot. I've done approximately 652 loads of laundry, and loaded and unloaded the dishwasher so many times, my head spins. I made 3 batches of gingerbread men for Charis' class to decorate (only to learn from Charis that they didn't even use mine because they were too big, despite the fact that the teacher had specifically requested "LARGE" Gingerbread men). I attended my daughter's first-ever Christmas concert at school; it was thankfully short, but half of the time was taken up by The Twelve Days of Christmas sung by 75 bored/distracted kindergartners. I've bundled Judah up to go outside a thousand times. I've also changed his sheets 25 times because they were wet. SOMEDAY we'll be past this stage. Either that, or we'll cut him off of liquids past 4 pm. Ruby's hair has been in ponytails twice, and we've swooned twice on account of her cuteness. She says "uh-oh" and "Night-night" and "bye-bye" along with her usual (albeit occasional) mama and dada. She follows instructions, nods when she agrees with things, and is still a wee peanut of a child. We got a Christmas tree, and the kids helped me decorate the bottom third. We went to see the Christmas lights in a nearby city. We celebrated Christmas a bunch of times with various sides of the family and even took a trip to Ohio where Abe and I got to go out (!!) with some friends of mine from high school. We got a new couch from my aunt. We moved the big kids into the Big Room, Ruby into the Small Room and into an actual crib, and Judah (at LONG LAST) into a Big Boy Bed. He had been napping in one for a year or so, but it's now official--no more climbing in and out of the crib for him. Now that's Ruby's prerogative. And in there, we've cuddled, read books, talked about the True Meaning of Christmas, eaten lots of sinfully delicious food (there's the 6 pounds for you), and watched White Christmas for the hundredth time.

So. The ice is now broken. Since I started this post, my in-laws stopped by on their way back from chemo, I tossed the Red Skin potatoes and carrots into the stew in the oven, and though I didn't get a shower, I did put on clothes. A shower will have to wait until after I pick Charis up from school, but at least I won't feel quite so guilty when I see that link anymore.

Happy Wednesday!

Halloween at Home

2009-11-02T09:14:00.002-05:00

I suppose I'll begin this post back in the 80s somewhere. While I remember dressing up (as Princess Leia for several years in a row) and trolling the neighborhood for candy, I also seem to remember that this wasn't an every-year occasion. Sometimes, we'd just drive over to Grandpa's house and get candy and nickels from him and have powdered donuts and cider. At least those are the memories I have manufactured for myself; the reality may have been very different. I don't have very detailed recall about a lot of my childhood. My husband did not go out Trick-or-Treating often at all, if ever. He's not here at present for me to ask.

All that to say that Trick-or-Treating is not very important for us. We didn't do it very often; our kids probably won't, either. We don't even like getting dressed up: for an annual Halloween party we attend, I always try to think of a pun-type costume that allows me to wear normal clothes: one year, I was a Spice Girl, with spice jars strung in a necklace around my neck. Last year, I went as a Schizophrenic. I plastered normal clothes with dozens of different nametags. Done. Pass the candy corn.

This year was especially different. I will elaborate in a later post, but between Abe going up to his parents' house last week to do chores and the sickness that pervaded our house (Ruby may or may not have had H1N1), we figured it would be to everyone's advantage if we opted out of the Annual Halloween Party. Instead, we stayed home and had our own party. It was the best.

It has been a long week. We were sick, as I mentioned, and most nights, Abe didn't get home until after the kids had gone to bed. We hadn't been together as a family for a long, long time, and we desperately needed to. So on Halloween, we put Ruby to bed, covered the coffee table with plates and bowls of yummy things like chicken wings, tortilla chips and spinach artichoke dip, popcorn, donuts, cider, and heaps of candy, put in a movie and gorged ourselves silly. Then we cuddled up in blankets until the movie was over. The kids loved being able to eat all of the candy and junk they wanted to, they loved being allowed to eat in the living room, and we all loved just being in the same place at the same time.

It was nothing profound--just snacks and a movie--but at one point, snuggled in the recliner next to my little boy and looking across the room at my husband snuggled on the couch with his baby girl, I got a little teary-eyed at the beauty of it, of just enjoying being next to each other. I cannot imagine how life gets any better than that. I thought about taking a picture, but it was one of those moments where you're almost afraid to breathe and risk spoiling things; I was enjoying our family moment and I didn't want to break the spell. So I took lots of mental snapshots, and I will have those forever. It was a happy Halloween.

Mama Bear Eats Suzie Applewood

2009-10-22T08:29:00.003-04:00

When Charis was 18 months old, thw two of us were invited to a tea party. It was a tea party with real tea, real scones and finger sandwiches, and real, antique, heirloom china. I spent the whole time terrified Charis would drop the irreplaceable cup on the priceless saucer and I'd spend the next dozen years trying to track down a duplicate. There were only three families there that day--mine, which consisted of me and my 18 month old; a mother with three girls between the ages of 4 and 8; and a mother (the hostess) with twin 3 year old girls. The tea portion of the outing went well--Charis miraculously did not break anything--and then all of the girls scampered off to the next room over to play. After they'd played for a few minutes, I stuck my head in to make sure Charis wasn't drawing on the walls or something. She was not drawing on the walls, but she was sitting sweetly by herself watching the older girls play, and I heard one of the twins say to her, "You can't play with us. We're BIG girls. We don't like you. You're too little. Go away."

Well, for the first time in her precious little life, my baby girl was being mistreated by another kid, and the Mother Bear in me wanted to reach over and tear this three-year-old limb from limb, because that's what Bears do. That'll teach you to mess with my kid. Being the grownup I am, though, I refrained from issuing bodily harm to the toddler and instead tried to very gently let her know that Charis was pretty much a baby and merely fascinated by the older girls. Then I smacked her upside the head.

Oh, but I wanted to.

I still have a few hard feelings towards that little girl (because I am such a mature and forgiving person), and I will NEVER forget how much I wanted to scratch her eyes out for being mean to my baby. She was only two and a half feet tall--I probably could've taken her. But time marches on, and I didn't think about this incident very much.

Until we met stupid Suzie Applewood.

She has already called my Charis "silly," and told her she doesn't want to be friends with her, which made Charis very sad. And, not that I'm bitter or anything, but even though Suzie Applewood's mother is one of the head honcho PTA people, I have never once seen Suzie dressed according to the dress code--and apparently, this is just overlooked. I guess leadership has its perks. I was very thankful the day Charis was moved from sitting next to Suzie Applewood to sitting at an entirely different table--I hoped Charis would move on, make other friends, and forget about Suzie Applewood. Honestly, we've been without a Suzie Applewood incident for a while, and I thought things had gotten better.

But this morning, we sat waiting in the drop off line, and suddenly, Charis couldn't get her bag quickly enough. "Mom!! Can I go with them? Please? Can you let me out?" I looked, and there was Suzie Applewood and her mother and sibling. Charis wanted desperately to walk into school with them. I took a deep breath, told Charis I couldn't let her out because we were still moving, and hoped the Applewoods would pass quickly. Of course, they didn't. We rolled to a stop RIGHT NEXT TO Suzie Applewood, who was kissing her mother goodbye. I had no excuse not to let my girl out. So I did.

Suzie started to walk away before Charis was fully out of the car, but Charis ran as fast as her tiny little legs could carry her to try to catch up. And even though Charis was clearly inches from her, tapping her shoulder, trying to say hello, Suzie Applewood did not turn around once. She went directly to the teacher, gave her a hug, stood in line, and proceeded to ignore Charis as if she was not even there. I would love to have simply pulled away and not watched my beautiful little girl get snubbed, but I was stuck in line. And how do you pull away from your baby girl when your heart feels a little bit broken?

All of that happened an hour ago. The morning began just fine, but at that moment, a switch flipped. I became grumpy and short-tempered and considered pulling Charis out of school so I could teach her at home, where everyone loves her and enjoys her company. Sigh. I probably won't. But this Mama Bear is having a hard time calming down. I wonder what Suzie Applewood would look like without limbs.

Conversely (because while I feel angry, I would never, of course, hurt Suzie Applewood or even be mean to her because see: mature and forgiving), I am praying that Charis will not be so enamored of Suzie and pick one of the very sweet girls and boys in her class to be friends with. Could be Neil! Or Corey! Or Bailey! Or Paris! Or Allison!

Or. Sigh. Stupid Suzie Applewood.

Clearly I will have a harder time getting over this than Charis will.

She's Walkin', Yes, Indeed

2009-10-21T09:17:00.003-04:00

I've been meaning to tell you for about a month that our dear, sweet infant is now a toddler. This is where it gets fun. She walks. She runs. She climbs off of beds and the couch on her own. She goes up and down stairs at will and without assistance. She hates being cooped up in a stroller, wagon, or shopping cart; this girl wants to MOVE.

About a week before Ruby officially began walking, Abe and I were scheduled to be in Nursery B, which is the 12-18 month "early walkers" nursery. Our church is a little bit big, and our nurseries are crazy; no mere infant Nursery for us, no sir. We've got to separate them by ambulatory prowess. At this point in time, Ruby was still in Nursery A, "infants," because she was not yet walking. We thought it would be nice to have her in the nursery with us, though, so we temporarily bumped her up. I don't know if it was the power of suggestion or what, but within a week of being with all of those Early Walkers, she joined their ranks. She just stopped wanting to crawl and started running.

On a side note, she's a bit behind on her Well-Baby doctors' visits (she's my third child; what can I say), so I really have no concrete knowledge about her percentiles or anything, but when I saw her next to all of these other children her age--instead of standing next to a three month-old--I was astounded at how small she is. It's not like she's a dwarf or something (at least I don't think so...), but she is a tiny little peanut by comparison.

What she lack in size, though, she makes up in cuteness. And ambulatory prowess.

Dancing Queen

2009-10-08T08:50:00.004-04:00

For years now, Charis has wanted to take ballet lessons. We've postponed it again and again, for lots of reasons, but this fall worked out to be (I thought) a good time to plunk down the cash and let her learn. I am not personally a ballet-type of person; I took ONE gymnastics lesson as a child and was traumatized because they wanted me to take of my tennis shoes. My husband and I have, at various times in our lives, played and coached basketball and volleyball, respectively. We're really team sports people around here. But like it or lump it, Charis has always been fascinated by ballet. She twirls, she waves her arms, she believes she's really doing it...so we figured it was maybe time for some formal instruction.

The teacher I chose is Cathy K., who sat next to me in choir for years. That first picture of Charis is from circle time at the beginning of class. The girls each got a little plastic place mat to sit on so their space would be defined; they used it not so much to sit on, but to hold up, bend into a tube, wear as a hat, or use as a blanket. That picture was taken during the 4.7 seconds Charis actually sat on the mat.
Soon thereafter, it was time to move. Or, as I like to call it, "It's All Downhill From Here." They marched in a circle and performed actions as instructed by the song they were listening to, and on their march, Charis discovered her favorite thing ever: a giant mirror. She has always loved mirrors--she stares into them, makes funny faces, smiles at herself, poses--and this mirror was bigger than any mirror she has ever seen.
Not that it became a problem or anything.
Nope. The mirror didn't distract her one bit.
Okay, maybe a little.

Charis is not a very sit-still-and-listen kind of kid; she's usually fidgety and distracted unless she's absolutely engaged. Multiply the fidgety distraction by about a thousand, and you have Charis In Front of A Giant Mirror During Ballet Class. In my estimation, it was a bit of a disaster.

For the first few weeks, despite the presence of the huge reflective surface that allows Charis to watch her favorite program, "The Charis Show," Charis said she didn't really like ballet class. I think she imagined ballet class to be a big room where they played music and she could twirl to her heart's content. We missed last week because we were traveling, but this week is Parents Viewing Week, where the parents get to sit in the class and watch. I am a little nervous, truth be told. We'll see if she likes it any better.

And if she doesn't, we'll just have her stand in front of the mirror and make faces. She'll like that.

Charis' First Day at the 'Garten (Part 2)

2009-09-21T19:56:00.003-04:00

At precisely 8:00, the doors opened, and we made our way down to the classroom. The place was swarming with parents. That is, as a matter of fact, one of the reasons we chose this school; parental involvement is a fundamental part of the school's operating procedure. Parents volunteer for lunch and recess duty, volunteer to help with classroom projects and to drive on field trips, volunteer to bring snacks to the kids...the list goes on and on. We loved that when we visited. It is reassuring to know that we will know who our kids are friends with, and studies show that students whose parents are closely involved with their educational process are more likely to succeed. I've already had the opportunity to do lunch duty. I don't think Charis enjoyed it very much. Speaking of not liking things much, check out her face in this picture. She is SO not sure she likes this. I thought for a minute she might cry. It was this fact that actually kept me from crying; I figured it would be harder for her to leave me if we were both crying, and I really didn't want kindergarten to start that way for her. She should have fun! She should be excited to learn! Her evident fear helped me to be strong and encouraging in that moment.

When we arrived at Mrs. N's classroom, we noticed the the other kindergarteners were lined up against the wall. We stood there until Mrs. N began to usher the children in. She greeted them all warmly, shaking their hand and saying something like, "Welcome to class! I'm glad you're here, [Charis]." This is standard procedure, too. I guess it helps the kids learn good manners?

Then, before sending Charis into the classroom, she attempted to rip her head off. Oh, I kid. She cupped Charis' face in her hands and said, "I'm so glad to see you!"

And then Charis walked into the room and I thought I might die. I began to walk away, fumbling for my tissues, hoping I wouldn't make a fool of myself in front of the much-more-stoic parents of the upper grade children.
That is, until I noticed a couple of parents going INTO the classroom with their kids. Really? Are we allowed to do that? Shoot, who cares? I thought. I'm goin' in! I wiped away my solitary tear and marched right into the room, like I belonged there. Charis was identifying her cubby and hanging up her backpack. That red arrow is pointing to her arm. Glad I got that shot of her arm. She's really going to treasure that someday.

I watched Charis begin to color her butterfly picture (with a pencil).

I watched her tell her little sister what everything was.

I watched as the teacher directed them to their spots on the story rug.

And I watched as Charis was chosen to select her favorite donut as they chanted some kind of song.

And then, after I'd watched Charis acclimate for about 20 minutes, I slipped out with nary a tear. She seemed to be doing well. She was following directions. She wasn't crying.

Fast forward to 3:15. I took Judah and Ruby in with me to pick Charis up, eager to hear all about the fun she had and the friends she made and how much she loved it...only to find that she didn't. She didn't love it, she didn't make friends, and she was grumpy. VERY grumpy. It took me a while, but I finally realized that she hadn't, of course, had a nap. Charis was still napping up until Kindergarten Day 1. We knocked her bedtime back to 7:30 and hoped for the best for Day 2.

I never realized what a difficult transition it would be for her. I thought it would be all sunshine and happiness, and the first week brought only fatigue and loneliness. Even as I write this, she hasn't made any close friends. And around the 6th day of school or so, she seemed extra grumpy as she got into the car. I asked her what was wrong. "Suzie Applewood (not her real name) HATES me. She thinks I'm too silly and doesn't want to be my friend." My heart broke. Stupid Suzie Applewood. She should BE so lucky as to be friends with my wonderful little girl. I refrained from asking her where Suzie lived so we could go have a few choice words with her momma. I did, however, tell her that I was certain there were other very nice girls in her class who would like her exactly the way she is. It's Week 3, and she is still a bit of a loner. I never in a million years thought I'd write that about Charis. But I am confident that in time, she will find a sweet friend to be silly with. Maybe it will be Bella or Bailey orElla or Kaylie. Maybe it will be Yeaniva or Paris or Arylon or Allison. Maybe it will even be Suzie.

(On a side note: on the day I had lunch and recess duty, I met Suzie. "Hi," she said, "I'm Suzie. I sit next to Charis." "Oh, hello, Suzie," I replied. "I've heard a LOT about you. Tell me, are you being a very good friend to Charis?" Suzie looked flummoxed for a few seconds before finally uttering a very indecisive "yes?" Then I kicked her in the shin. Or maybe that part just happened in my head.)

Charis' First Day at the 'Garten (Part 1)

2009-09-21T12:57:00.004-04:00

First of all, let's get this out of the way: take note of how dark it is in these first few pictures. Yes. It is essentially still nighttime, a fact Charis reminded me about when I went to wake her up that morning. It was the first day of school, though, and there wasn't any chance we were going to be late. I'd even arranged for Judah to spend the night at Auntie Beth's house the night before so I'd have one less child to get ready to go on the first morning. I woke up ridiculously early and shared morning space with my husband. We've never had to do that before. In fact, until school started, I'd convinced the kids to sleep until at least 8--well after the sun had established its place in the sky, and well after my husband had left for work.

Weren't the good old days great?

Plus, I didn't want to run out of time to take Charis' First Day picture. Every parent needs one of those, right? She stood patiently for this first one, but then...

"Mom...."

"Almost done, sweetie. Just a few more."

"Mom, we need to go!"

"We neeeeeeddddd to gooooooooo!"

"Fine, then. go get buckled. We're pretty early, but at least we'll get a parking spot."

"Thanks Mom! I'm so EXCITING!"

You can't really tell it, but this photo was taken on a side street next to Charis' school. I knew I'd walk her in that first day, and as I drove through the parking lot and saw that EVERY. SINGLE. SPACE. WAS. TAKEN. (a full 20 minutes before school was to start, mind you), I figured my best bet was to head for the street and park as closely as I could.

I usually keep the van stocked with umbrellas, but the children have a habit of removing them. So that morning, we waited in a wee bit of drizzle until they let us in to the school.

Funny...the closer we got to the school and to her actual classroom, the more visibly nervous Charis became. I would never have guessed it to be so; Charis is by far one of the most social, outgoing little girls I know, and I was convinced that she'd take to the Kindergarten social scene like a koala to eucalyptus.

By the time we were next to the door, ready to be let in, she looked downright petrified. Charis, who ALWAYS has something to say, was speechless.

I had come prepared with tissues, knowing that I was likely to dissolve into some sort of tearful puddle as my baby girl walked triumphantly into class for the first time. I mean, we never even sent her to Preschool, so this was really, in all aspects, her first day of school ever. This was the first day I was sending my precious daughter to spend most of her day with complete strangers. The first day she'd carry a lunch with her and eat it with other kids, not sitting at the kitchen table with us. Yes, she's crazily independent, and of course, she'd love it wholeheartedly by the time the day was over, and no, I was not emotionally prepared to let her go do that.

to be continued...

Eye, Eye, Judah.

2009-09-21T12:39:00.004-04:00

So a week or two ago, on the Big Canning Day, Beth and I were in the kitchen working when we heard Judah crying in the living room. All of our kids were in there, and it is just not unusual for one of them to be crying at any given moment when they're all together, so I was not initially alarmed. The crying continued and even escalated, though, so we went to investigate, and we found Judah really was upset. Apparently, he tripped and fell into the coffee table (not that piles of toys on the ground had anything to do with that, oh, no), narrowly avoiding putting his eye out with the corner.
The area around the eye swelled immediately. Judah's head injuries tend to get bad really fast--lots of blood in there?--and I figured we'd ice the area and watch its progression from this lovely shade of lavender to the green and yellow shades that always follow it.
When we woke in the morning, I realized it had to get worse before it got better. Judah could barely open his eye, and the gentle lavender color was replaced by this deep magenta hue. Also, the color extended all the way around his eye now. We had Sunday school the next day. We were worried about what people would think.
As always, though, Judah rolled with the punches. Here he is posing gamely for the camera. We were at Elise's birthday dinner. This is Judah after the french toast and bacon, and before...
he inserted his head in his ice cream cake.

Two weeks later, he is now back to normal, but may be steering clear of that coffee table.

These Feet Were Made for Walking

2009-09-03T15:56:00.003-04:00

Today, Ruby took 16 steps in a row, unaided and unprompted! That's right--she walked of her own volition! If I'd had my camera anywhere nearby, I would have taken some pictures. So sad. It was not nearby. But it seems we're seeing the beginning of the process, and before we know it, she'll be running! (I know this one from experience.)

The Times, They Are A-Changin'

2009-08-27T15:50:00.004-04:00

For a few months now, I have been actively trying NOT to think about the fact that my little girl is about to start Kindergarten. I'm sure I'd be emotional even if she were starting half days or every-other days of school, but the heart-wrenching fact of the matter is that she's about to start all-day, every day, school. Nothing like jumping into the deep end of the pool. Or, to further exploit the pool metaphor, it's like diving right into Lake Superior without getting used to the water first: it might feel great, but you also might get hypothermia. It's a stretch of a metaphor, I know, because the chances of Charis getting hypothermia at Kindergarten are pretty slim, but still.

I am so not prepared.

I realized my lack of preparedness when I was in the Back-to-School section at Meijer a few weeks back and I started to cry. I actually began to weep over packs of crayons and Princess lunchboxes. I hightailed it out of the section and pretended everything was normal and my life was not about to radically change. A week or so later, I braved the section again, hoping for a better, more beneficial outcome.

Nope. Not yet.

Finally, before our big vacation, I took Charis to pick out a backpack and a lunchbox. This was not so difficult, because I was shopping in preparation for "vacation," not for "letting my child go forever." While we were at it, I also picked up a box of crayons and a box of tissues. I knew I was finally making progress on our school supplies list, because, as everyone knows, tissues are the most difficult thing on the list. Or not--I figured if I pretended they were just normal tissues for our house, that would make them easier to purchase. It did.

But I spent the bulk of yesterday gathering the remaining bits of supply list odds and ends--roll of paper towels, check; dry erase markers, check; package of 9oz. cups, um, okay...check--because last night was Meet The Teacher night.

I didn't tell Charis about it until the day before, because her grasp of the passage of time is still a little shaky. That morning, though, and all throughout the day, she asked me: "Is it time to go meet my teacher yet?" We practiced her teacher's name over and over, so she'd remember, we went to Meijer again for some items I'd forgotten, and I made sure she was all clean and trimmed and sparkly. A good first impression is important no matter how old you are. We took ribbon and pictures and a clipboard with us for a project--scrapbooking on Charis' paperwork clipboard so she'd have pictures of loved ones to comfort her. We dropped of Judah and Ruby at Yia Yia's house so it would be just the three of us--Dad, Mom, and Charis.

Finally, it was time.

We drove to the school, parked, grabbed our truckload of supplies, and headed for the classroom. We wandered down to the Kindergarten wing, but soon realized we weren't really sure where Charis' classroom was. We did eventually find it--I recognized it based on the font on all of the paperwork we've received from Mrs. N.
The first thing we spotted when we got inside the classroom was a cubby with Charis' name on it. I'm not sure what this cubby will be used for, and right now, it seems to be holding random classroom stuff, but it was exciting and a little too realistic that our little girl's name is printed on labels and signs and all sorts of things all over the classroom.

It's happening. She's going to school. This is going to be her classroom. I might be developing an ulcer.

This is the top of Charis' teacher's head as she shows Charis her place at the table. Charis is seated really close to Mrs. N's teaching spot, which will be very good for her, I think. Charis has a Virtues Box for jewels she may receive during the year for exhibiting behavior that coincides with the Moral Focus for the month. She also has a crayon holder with her name on it. Doesn't she look excited?

The longer we were there, the more she seemed to warm to the idea of school. We began work on her clipboard, then, with Charis picking out the pictures and Abe pasting them on for her. She picked really random photos, and I almost tried to press some different ones on her, but I took a deep breath and realized that a good first step in my letting her go be a student would be letting her do the project the way she wanted to. We sat through a New Parent Orientation and then headed home.

This morning, the first thing Charis asked me was when she could go back to her school.

Oh, I am still so unprepared. We counted today, and there are 12 days until school. 12 days until everything changes.

I may go back to Meijer and pick up another box of tissues.

A Toothy Grin

2009-08-19T10:35:00.001-04:00

p.s. Yesterday, Ruby cut her first upper tooth, bringing her tooth total to 3. Her dental delay continues to amaze me!

By the Shining Big-Sea Water

2009-08-19T10:29:00.002-04:00

We've just returned from a wonderful vacation to Michigan's Upper Peninsula--eight days of outdoor adventure, delectable food, games and laughter. Ruby threatened to start walking, but is still resisting it. Judah skinned his knees approximately 14 times. Charis got her teeth knocked in so many times, her front tooth is now loose. I took senior pictures for three kids. I've got over 1000 vacation photos to wade through, but once I do, I will show and tell all about our fabulous trip!

Charis-isms

2009-07-22T08:44:00.002-04:00

The other day, on the way up to my in-law's AGAIN to help with their garage sale, I was introducing the kids to my good friend, Billy Joel. Mostly, while we are in the car, we listen to kids' music or just the wind blowing through our hair (we have no AC), but on this day, I needed something different. Billy Joel's Greatest Hits Volume 3 it was.

First, we listened to "The River of Dreams" (In the middle of the night/I go walking in my sleep/To the waters of faith/To the river so deep...) . Then, because I was in a sentimental mood, we listened to Lullaby (Goodnight, My Angel, now it's time to sleep...) about ten times in a row because I wanted to be able to sing it to the kids at bedtime. It's such a sweet-sounding song. In fact, Charis asked why I was listening to it so much, and I told her. Later, at bedtime, she asked me to sing "that song from the car" to her, so I sang her "Goodnight, My Angel." "No, mama," she said. "The one about the RIVER." (Meanwhile, Judah asks for the "one about the rain." I presume he means "To Make You Feel My Love:" When the rain is blowing in your face/And the whole world is on your case/I can offer you a warm embrace/To make you feel my love.")

Later in our car ride, we listened to "We Didn't Start the Fire," to which Charis' response was, "They are lying. They DID start the fire."

Later, at the garage sale, Charis was perched, along with Ruby, near the cage that held the kitties that were for sale. A woman with several small children happened by. "Oh, how cute!" she said, eyeing the kittens. Charis looked her square in the face and said, "You cannot buy her. She is my SISTER."

Newsletter for Today

2009-07-15T10:08:00.002-04:00

Just a few tidbits to share:

A) Yesterday, Ruby stood unaided for about 20 seconds. We tried to get her to walk to me, but that scared her too much, so she sunk to her knees and crawled instead. It won't be long, now...

2) While we're on the subject of Ruby, I thought she was teething recently, but no teeth have popped. It was apparently a false alarm. Perhaps she'll have teeth by the time she's seven.

III) She's also becoming more vocal, and seems to understand the command "Say..." If you say, "Say mama!" She says, "mamamamama." If you say, "Say goodnight!" She might wave at you, or say "aaaackkagkkkk."

M) Judah has been becoming more and more comfortable on the bike. It's almost time to start training him for the Tour de France.

17) Judah is gong to have a sleepover with Gideon and the daddies this Friday, and Charis is having a sleepover with Elise and the mommies (and Ruby and Isaiah). Then we're all going to our favorite parade and garage sales together. Also, the boys are going to the annual fireman's pancake breakfast. The girls are not. Get up early to eat pancakes of lead? Not for me.

18) We've been getting a lot of literature in the mail pertaining to Charis' starting school in the fall. Supply lists, teacher assignments, dress code information... Frankly, I'm kind of excited about the dress code. It should make getting dressed in the morning much easier.

XI) Charis had to say goodbye to one of her favorite friends this weekend. Katie G. officially moved to Florida, where her father got a new position. We're very sad to see the Gortons go--we always enjoyed our playdates so much! The Gortons' kids are all the same ages as our kids, within about 4 weeks of each other. That was (obviously) unplanned, but fun to have that in common. Of course, they have all girls, so poor Judah is the odd man out.

3) We're going on vacation up North in a few weeks. It will be our first trek to Family Camp at Gitche Gumee Bible Camp. The kids are constantly asking, "Is it almost time for 'acation?"

That's all for now. We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.

License to Thrill

2009-07-10T10:18:00.003-04:00

Here's one from the story archives, one that I've been meaning to post for quite some time now. It is about Judah, our minivan, and the mind of a three year-old.

I mentioned that Tim and Beth's family is growing; they just added Isaiah Reed to their household a month ago. He's very cute, as are all babies belonging to people you like a lot, and shortly after they returned from the hospital with their little bundle, the kids and I went over too see and hold him. It was so soon after their return from the hospital that they didn't even have their other kids back from Grandma's house yet. This turned out to be a very good thing.

Tim and Beth have a whole lot of acres, and more importantly to this story, their house is set about a quarter mile off the road, making it a really secure place for the kids to run around unattended. The kids aren't allowed into the woods by themselves, but if we can see them from the house--whose windows offer sweeping vistas of the yard--we let them play out there on their own. It's so secure that not only don't I lock my van, I leave the keys right in it, sitting on the drivers' seat or the dash. This was the case on this particular day. Since Gideon and Elise weren't there, it was just Charis and Judah running around outside, playing in the sand, playing on the swingset, being safe and obedient (or so I thought).

I was inside cuddling Mr Isaiah, thinking to myself I could do this again, when Charis barged into the house.

"Mom! Hurry! The van is rolling!!!!"

"What?!?!?" I asked, incredulous. Stupid van, I thought. Just one more thing for Abe to fix. Now the gear shift doesn't even work right. Still, though I wasn't concerned too much about where the van was headed, it being parked in front of a hill, I thought I'd better hustle out and look into it.

When I got outside, there was Judah, walking towards me, sobbing, and speaking words I couldn't quite make out. Of course he'd be afraid--who wouldn't be afraid if they were standing next to a van that started moving of its own volition? I saw Transformers, and even Shia Leboeuf was scared of self-moving vehicles.

As I got closer, I could tell Judah was sobbing, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

"What do you mean, buddy?" I asked.

"I'm sorry I moved the van!"

Let me tell you, it's a good thing I already knew everyone was safe. I had no idea that the van wasn't actually moving of its own accord...it was actually Judah, who had somehow selected the right key, put it in the ignition, and had turned the key just enough so that he could slip the van into neutral, thereby letting it roll until it stopped on its way up the hill. Judah's first driving experience had terrified him, hopefully sufficiently to keep him from making the same mistake, at least until he's old enough to see over the dash. Apparently, when the van started rolling, Judah got really, really scared, and JUMPED OUT OF THE VAN.

As a million possibilities raced through my head--What if he had gotten trapped under the wheels? What if Charis or Gideon or Elise had been standing nearby? What if this had happened in our driveway?--I started to have myself a tiny little panic attack. It was short-lived, of course, because none of those What Ifs was the case, and everyone was in one piece. But still. My little guy somehow figured out how to move a ton of steel, and lived to tell about it.

As you might expect, a couple of things changed after this event:
1) The children are no longer allowed to play in the van, or any vehicle that had wheels and/or an engine.
2) I take my keys with me now. You just never know

Just a thought

2009-07-09T19:11:00.003-04:00

It's berry season 'round these parts, and at our house, that means black raspberries. They're wild, they're tart and sweet, and even though they're a little bit seedy, they're super tasty just the same. The kids and I go out every day to pick, and we usually end up with about 3 cups of berries. Well. I end up with three cups. Charis and Judah end up with berry-full bellies. My rule for them is that they may eat whatever they pick, but whatever berries end up in my bowl are off-limits. I mean, they still get to eat them in the end, tossed with sugar and topped with whipped cream, or flipped into a pancake. But while we're by the bushes, my bowl of berries is a hands-off zone.

Besides producing a bumper crop of berries, our backyard, situated 1/4 mile away from a pond, and wooded, sees more than its fair share of mosquitoes. And it seems the mosquitoes LOVE the berry patches. They positively swarm. Which also means I get attacked whilst picking, making the berry harvest a true labor of love. So in the midst of picking, swatting, and protecting my berry bowl from greedy little hands, I try to distract myself by thinking deep thoughts that will pull my mind away from my present strife. Usually, my thoughts get no further than gee, maybe I should go get the insect repellent, but the other day, I actually came up with something worthwhile, and I wanted to share it with you.

Our black raspberries are wild, as far as I know. The vines are very thorny, and since they're not cultivated by us, they grow in a very haphazard way. They proliferate along the border of our woods, so between the thorns and the woody brush, any black raspberries that are not within arm's length are out of bounds. They will rot on the vine and never make it to plate or belly. But it always seems like the biggest, juiciest-looking berries, shiny, with the most beautiful purple-black bunches, are always just out of reach, while the tiniest, dry-looking shrively berries are the close offerings the vine has for us. So the other day, despite the fact that I was wearing non-thorn-friendly shorts and a tank top, I decided to approach the berries from the back, through the woods, hopefully securing for my family the choicest black raspberries. I was fairly salivating as I tramped through the brush, swatting away ever more bugs, treading so carefully lest I encounter poison ivy or a snake. There were prickers there, too, which made the going even tougher than I'd imagined. Finally, many minutes and scratches later, I arrived at the back of the patch and reached out my hand for the Promised Berries. Huh. Somehow, up close, they weren't as juicy-looking and plentiful. I picked a small handful and disappointedly made my way out of the woods.

It was the old grass-is-greener phenomenon; the berries that were out of my reach looked so fabulous compared to the inferior berries I was picking, but upon closer inspection, they were just the same old berries, just farther away.

Extrapolate with me, will you? Abe's sister and her husband are some of our dearest friends in the whole entire world. We spend all kinds of time together, because in every way, we are compatible. Beth and I have similar interests, Abe and Tim like the same things, too, and our kids, when they're not antagonizing each other, get along swimmingly. Up until recently, they rented a home. Then they got an amazing deal on a huge house and 37 wooded acres and upgraded from their teeny tiny rental. Suddenly, my house looked so tiny, so inferior. I was wildly jealous for a while, until I realized that it's just a house. It's a beautiful house, sure. But God provided us with a lovely house, too. THEN, to add insult to injury, they recently had to purchase a mini van to accommodate their growing family. The van they acquired is newer, shinier, and lots prettier than our heap. Again, I could taste envy. I was so ungrateful for my van, with its lack of air conditioning and TV screens. But again, I realized it's just a van. Ours works just fine, even if it is a little less posh. But their house and their van were like those berries--so beautiful from afar, but up close, they were just a house, and just a van. Just like we have.

Around the corner from us, there's a business that has a sign reading: "Fight the recession: Learn to be satisfied." Whether you're talking about recession, berries, or bigger things, I think that's pretty sage advice.

I almost fell for the juicier-berries lure again today. But I did not succumb. The berries we have are perfectly delicious.

(photo acquired from oregonberry.com)

Ruby's 1st Happy Birthday Post

2009-06-20T01:53:00.004-04:00

Dear Ruby,

It's late as I type this--nearly two in the morning--and uncharacteristically, you've kept me up for a while now. I suspect that you are teething, or maybe you can't sleep because you ate way too much at our birthday feast tonight, but the romantic part of me chooses to believe it's because you want me to wallow in nostalgia and get all weepy-eyed. Yes, I think that's definitely part of it. A year ago tonight, I was also up because of you, and there were also drugs involved, though tonight, it's Oragel and baby Tylenol, and then, it was a powerful epidural. A year ago tonight, I was miraculously pain-free, a switch from the seven weeks prior, and anxiously awaiting your arrival.

It was a difficult pregnancy that you and I had; while my pregnancies with Charis and Judah were smooth-sailing and uneventful, you and I had a bit of a struggle. Diagnosed with placenta previa at 18 weeks, I had to hang up volleyball season. It was a big disappointment, but of course, your health wasn't worth the risk. Then, at 31 weeks, during a visit to your Grandma and Grandpa's house, I was blindsided by a kidney stone, and shortly thereafter, underwent a minor surgical procedure to insert a stent. While the doctors didn't see any medical need to prescribe bed rest for me at that point, the pain and discomfort I felt led me to self-prescribe bed rest; no other position was tolerable. But physician-advised bed rest was soon to follow, after I went into very scary pre-term labor a week later. Your dad rushed me to the hospital, and we were terrified--as much as we longed to meet you, it was far too early for you to arrive. They admitted me to the hospital, and twice that night, we thought a c-section was in order. Placenta previa made a more typical delivery an impossibility, but it seemed you needed OUT. But the hospital staff administered some very very strong and very very nasty drugs, and things slowed down. You stayed put, and so did I--for five says they kept me on all sorts of drugs and machines, sending me home only when they were totally convinced we were out of the woods.

As soon as things were under control, they gave me steroids to boost your development. We met with neonatologists who shared with us the challenges we might expect if we gave birth to you at 32 weeks. And finally, we had not elected to find out whether you were a boy or a girl--we like to be surprised--but curiously, the nurses and doctors kept asking what you were. They shared with us that your odds of thriving were much greater if you were a girl, so we ordered an ultrasound and found out you were a She. It was still a surprise, just a little bit earlier than normal for us.

The next seven weeks were some of the hardest in my life. I'm sure it is only because of the strength God provided and the kindnesses offered by many that got us through. Because I was completely unable to do anything beyond laying on my side, your Grandpa very generously offered to come stay and take care of me. Charis and Judah went to stay with Yia-yia, and they'd come by for occasional visits and weekends home. It was a particular time of misery and solitude, of loneliness and longing to hold you and your brother and sister, and Trinie, my midwife, warned me against holding it against you.

I never even conceived of holding it against you.

It's not your fault that my body struggled to fight off infection after infection in those weeks, not your fault that we were in and out of the hospital with false labor more times than I could count. Our separation as a family had nothing to do with you--I will blame my own weirdo body for that. You were mercifully spared, amazingly and miraculously kept safe in the womb until the perfect time had arrived.

I was in the bathtub when I began having contractions, one year ago tonight. I spent a lot of time in the bathtub in those final weeks--it was the only place I truly felt comfortable. My water had broken, though I did not realize it at the time, being in the tub and all. I was hesitant to wake your dad and drag him to the hospital for yet another of my false alarms, but I timed my contractions, and they were getting closer, and more importantly, they were getting harder. I knew it was really time.

Dad and I scurried to the hospital. Auntie Beth came, too. With Charis and Judah, I delivered drug-free; with you, I couldn't bear the thought. I didn't honestly think I had that kind of strength in me after all of those painful, sleepless weeks. So they gave me some very powerful drugs that made your delivery a dream--it truly was wonderful. And when it was over, and they handed me your tiny, squirmy, healthy body, all I could do was weep and say over and over again, "I'm so glad you're here! I'm so glad you're here!"

Ruby Belle, if I had to do it all over again to end up with a prize like you, I'd do it--a thousand times over. You are absolutely worth it. You are such a delight to me, such a mild-mannered, pleasant peanut of a girl, and now that you've been here a year, I cannot imagine a life without you. You make my heart leap when I see you after a long absence. Cuddling with you will turn any dreary day sunny. Your constant smile and cheerful giggle are high points of any day. In times like this, when I really allow myself to think about how very much I love you, I think my heart will shatter into a thousand pieces for the weight of it. Like all of my children, you are my very heart embodied, and in a way that you will only understand when you are a parent, the amount of love I feel for you is at times terrifying; if I lost you, I just don't know what I'd do.

When you started crying tonight, the irony of my being up on the eve of your birthday was not lost on me. It was just a chance to reflect on that night one year ago, and on what we went through to bring you into this world safely, a chance to think about how in one way, we earned you, but in a much more overwhelming way, we didn't earn you, and don't deserve you. You are one of the three most precious gifts God has benevolently given to us, and this one year with you has only made us hungry for more. Even after you had stopped crying tonight, I just kept holding you and rocking you, remembering holding you and rocking you almost precisely one year ago. On both occasions, I cried.

Happy 1st Birthday, Ruby Belle. Thanks for waking me up tonight to let me ponder you.

I love you!

Happy Birthday, Charis!

2009-06-16T21:35:00.004-04:00

Dear Charis,

Today, we celebrated your fifth birthday. FIFTH! How on earth can this be? Just yesterday, we brought home all six pounds, three ounces of you. Today, you're 38 pounds of energy and laughter, a delight to everyone who knows you (and even a lot of people you don't).

Yesterday, I asked you if you'd like to go to the park today for a pizza picnic, just for something special to do. "Yes," you replied, "but can I bring all of my friends?" So today at noon, we went to the park and had pizza, chips, cake, ice cream, and pop (enjoy the junk--and don't get used to it!) and you and your friends ran around until you dropped. Katie and Travis were there, and so were Gideon and Elise, Lizzie and Daniel, Emily, and Katie, Alyssa, and Emily G. You've got a lot of "favorite" friends for a 5 year old, but that's part of what makes you YOU. You are extremely social and friendly, and almost always sweet and kind. Even when you were very small, you were outgoing and fun, and time has not diminished that one bit.

You're also unafraid to try new things. When I was a little girl, new things terrified me--it was years before I learned to ride a bike or play kickball, years when I missed out on the fun. You, on the other hand, are pretty fearless. When I asked you what gifts you'd like to receive for your birthday, you named only one item. I asked again and again, for weeks, certain that you'd change your mind, but the answer remained the same: "All I want is a pogo stick." A pogo stick? Really? But that's part of what makes you YOU. Hopping around precariously appeals to you. Trying new and potentially dangerous things sounds good to you. You're not afraid to fail, and I love that about you. I know that you will accomplish fantastic things because of that.

You're curious. Today, before your party, we went to "Little Sneezers" (as you call it) to pick up a few pizzas for your party. When we pulled in, you announced, "We're at the renstraunt! Can you say that, Judah? You say 'Ren-straunt.'" "Actually," I said, "it's pronounced 'REST-raunt." You cocked your head to the side, and squinting, asked, "Why is it REST? Why do they want you to REST?" This is part of what makes you YOU. You want to know why, to understand everything about everything.

You're a great sister. Ruby is crawling fast these days, and we don't always have all of the safety gates up that we need. Not only will you alert me when she is crawling toward dangerous territory, you'll also snatch her up as if she's a tiny kitten and scurry her away to a safer place. In a similar way, you're a little mother to Judah when you think he needs it. He does not always agree that he needs it, but you are willing to look out for him just the same. And this is part of what makes you YOU; your family is very important to you, and you will always do your best to make sure they are well looked after.

You really are sweet. Today, after our family-only party, you approached Auntie Moriah and thanked her specifically for the bracelet and hair clips she gave to you. And the funny thing was that this isn't strange behavior for you; it is totally like you to thank me for making you a piece of toast or to thank Judah for sharing a handful of cereal with you. THis is a very YOU part of you; you're a kind girl, and I pray that that will always be the case.

This fall, you will begin school. While a part of me will mourn your absence during the day (I get that from your Grandpa), another part of me (the part I got from Grandma) is totally excited for this new phase in your life. I have no doubt that you will love the learning, the activity, the creativity, and the social interaction you'll find in your kindergarten class. So while I'll be a bit jealous that these other people will get to spend so much quality time with you during the day, another part of me thinks Lucky them. They will get to know an outgoing, fun, curious, kind and sweet girl, the YOU that I have cherished for five years now.

Happy Birthday, baby girl. You are the best firstborn I can imagine. I love you!

An Important Time In Every Child's Life

2009-05-20T15:15:00.004-04:00

Today, as the kids and I were outside trying to determine if our garden is sprouting anything other than weeds, I heard the familiar chimes of the ice cream man. And, like any kid-at-heart would do, I went running.

Growing up in Cleveland, we heard a lot of the ice cream man. In Old Brooklyn, the section of Cleveland where I grew up, the streets are narrow and grid-like, packed full of tiny post-war era houses, and sounds carry with ease. Ice cream truck music ("Do your ears hang low/Do they wobble to and fro/Can you tie them in a knot/Can you tie them in a bow...") was largely the soundtrack to my childhood. I grew up on a main street, though, where ice cream trucks won't stop for you no matter how desperate you look. So if we wanted to partake, we had to grab money (often kept strategically near the door) and sprint around the block to the side streets. But, oh, the orange push-ups that awaited at the end of the jog, with their cool polka dot tubes and plastic sticks. And oh, the bomb pops. And the sno-cones. And the memories.

Fast forward to my college years, when my dear friend Stephanie moved to Chicago for a summer to drive an ice cream truck. I went to visit her on the weekend of my 21st birthday and spent a day riding around with her. I was in heaven, except for the incessant plinking of the ice cream tunes, whose repetitive melodies lodged themselves in my head for weeks. I reorganized the freezer. I listened to the order and tried to gather the goodies as quickly as I could. I marveled at the newfangled novelties: Choco Tacos. Lemon Sharks. Chipwiches. Stephanie knew all the best places to go; namely, places populated densely with people, places like apartment complexes and baseball fields. Side streets aren't super profitable--to much area to cover, not enough patrons. Sidelines at soccer games, on the other hand, with their throngs of indulgent parents and hungry kids, are perfect. I loved riding in that truck with her--I felt like I was looking behind the curtain at the Wizard of Oz, and it wasn't just some short guy in a costume. It was an actual Wizard.

These days, we live on 2.5 acres, on a road that is not a part of a neighborhood. I never even considered it a possibility that the ice cream man might venture our way. We've lived here almost 6 years, and I don't think I've ever heard an ice cream truck before. So today, when I heard the gentle strains of the music, I grabbed money and ran for the street, yelling for my kids to COME HERE! FAST!! HURRY!!! Who knows when this opportunity might present itself again? And I have such fond memories of the ice cream truck, I wanted to give my kids those memories, too.

While we had a long talk about how it is inappropriate to run towards the street unless mom is telling you to do it, we tucked into our frozen treats. We each selected sno-cones. They were $2.50 EACH. I then explained to the kids this was a once-in-a-great-while treat, on account of the second mortgage we'd have to get to pay for our FROZEN WATER. On a side note, the man driving the truck had to use a calculator to total our tab ($2.50 x 3) AND ALSO to make change from the $10 I gave him. I'm no math whiz myself, but that's pretty bad.

Anyway. I didn't have the forethought to grab my camera along with the cash in my dash for the street, but I did capture these photos shortly thereafter. Duly documented.

Mmmmm. Memories like this taste good.

Is It Too Much to Ask, Really?

2009-05-16T19:23:00.004-04:00

Is a good family picture too much to ask?

Apparently so.

Congratulations to Shaun and Emily! What a lovely wedding. Thanks for making my husband wear a tux! And kids, when you look back on these pictures, just remember: WE TRIED.

Hold Me Closer, Tiny Dancer

2009-05-15T14:12:00.002-04:00

Today, I've been in the kitchen finishing up my baking duties for Shaun and Emily's wedding tomorrow. Yesterday, I did three loaves of Pumpkin bread, early this morning, I did two loaves of Zucchini bread, and I just put a Lemon Pound Cake into the oven. Let me just say that the Lemon thing had better come out tasty, because that sucker was what I like to call LABOR INTENSIVE. Jeesh. Zest the lemons. Rub the zest into the caster sugar. Supreme the lemons. Soak the eggs in hot water for 10 minutes (really?). Anywho, to keep at least one of the kids from getting underfoot, I put in Barbie: 12 Dancing Princesses. Charis was enraptured.

She was enraptured mostly because she so badly wants to take ballet lessons. Last week, I took her to a pre-ballet dance recital to gauge her interest, and it turns out her interest is high. Two highlights for me were: A) When two groups of the youngest girls filed onstage and promptly got confused. Charis noticed that they were all mixed up, and spoke up about it: "MAMA, THOSE GIRLS HAVE GOT TO STAY WITH THEIR TEAMS!" You probably can't tell we're more about team sports than ballet at our house. B) When the littlest girls were doing the "Circle Dance." The voice in the song would tell them "circle right," and "circle left," and those instructions had no bearing whatsoever on which directions the girls circled. I CANNOT wait until Charis is a part of this.

Anyway, when I came into the living room to check up on her midway through the ARDUOUS CAKE PROCESS, I caught her gracefully twirling and spinning (are those the same things?). I reached for my camera, but she got shy all of a sudden (Charis? Shy?) and wouldn't let me. So this fall, she'll be joining other 5-year-olds in learning how to circle left and stay with their teams. Should make for some good video! Hopefully, she'll let me take pictures of her then in her frilly "uniform."

(Ballet. What has my life come to?)

The Ruby Belle Diet

2009-05-06T23:32:00.003-04:00

This has been the week of the Pediatrician--we had both Ruby's (better late than never) 9-month well-baby appointment and Charis' getting-ready-for-Kindergarten appointment. Charis' appointment was fairly uneventful. Her hearing is fine, her vision is fine, she didn't appreciate getting the shots, and apart from the fact that she was traumatized by the idea of having to pee in a cup (and, I guess, by the shots themselves), it was a relatively painless appointment. She got free markers, bubbles, animal crackers, and a juice box. And a book! She pretty much wants to go back tomorrow.

Ruby also had shots (not a fan), and developmentally, she's right on track. She even got bonus points for her aptitude with the M sound, and her plugged tear duct is a thing of the past. Way to go, Roo! However, while she has been gaining weight, her weight percentile has been declining. This puzzled me--the girl eats like a horse. Seriously, people are shocked at the amount of food she can fit in her little belly. But the kicker is that I've apparently been feeding her food that is too "healthy." Poor girl isn't getting enough fat and calories. Her deadbeat mom gives her too many veggies. Now, wouldn't that be the best doctor's appointment ever?

"Well, ma'am, your health looks fine. But I'm a little concerned about your weight."

"My weight?"

"Yes. It's far too low. You don't have nearly enough fat and calories in your diet. I'm going to suggest that you lay off of the green beans and oatmeal, and add multiple daily doses of cheese, butter, pancakes with syrup, full-fat yogurt..."

Poor Roo. So, for the past four days or so, I've had to "fortify" her food with powdered formula, and she did literally have pancakes with butter and syrup for breakfast yesterday. She also gets expensive YoBaby yogurt (Try to find full-fat yogurt. I dare you.) and avocadoes, along with actual grown-up cheese. I've also tried full-fat cottage cheese with applesauce, cheesy hashbrown casserole, and I broke down and bought baby food--jars of "dinners" with meat in them. She liked the chicken and Vegetables, but did NOT appreciate the Turkey and Gravy. I don't even think we're going to attempt the Ham and Ham Gravy.

(However, at about 12:30 that night, I heard the unmistakeable sound of a baby jar being knocked to the floor. Muirne had herself a nice Stage 2 snack. Licked the bottle clean.)

We're scheduled to go back in about a month to have her weighed. At her appointment this week, she was 17 lbs., 1 oz. My goal for her is 30 pounds by May 29th.

Oh, I kid.

But since I'm eating sympathetically fatty foods, there is a chance I'll have gained 30 pounds by May 29th.

p.s. I should add that Judah and Charis refer to the canister of formula as "The Fat," as in, "Can I scoop The Fat into her food?" And when Uncle Tim came over to watch the kids yesterday, Charis assured me she'd show Uncle Tim where the "Fat and Calories" were when Ruby got hungry.

Charis' Excellent Adventure

2009-04-28T12:53:00.003-04:00

My baby girl. It seems minutes ago we were figuring out a feeding schedule for her, watching her learn to walk, and changing her diapers. Somehow, in the blink of an eye, she has grown into a pretty self-sufficient kid who feeds herself, runs around at warp speed, and fetches diapers for her baby sister. And who is on the cusp of beginning school.

This first picture was taken from the drivers' seat (duh) while we sat at Sonic and waited for our treats after Charis' Kindergarten screening. I was so proud of her, I even let her get a toy. Here's how it all went down. That morning, we dropped my aunt off at the airport. She had been visiting with us for a week, and the kids were wired with excitement to be able to see the baggage return belts and climb on the airport chairs again. Charis, in particular, was everywhere, completely ignoring all of my instructions and admonitions and running amok. I was already a nervous wreck thinking about her testing, and not sure how she'd do; though I've tried to prepare her well and give her plenty of opportunities to grow socially, emotionally, and intellectually, we didn't send her to a formal preschool, and I was afraid that would be to her detriment when it came time to be tested. Seeing Charis running wild, my aunt suggested I have a talk with her about how important it was to follow her teacher's instructions and obey. I assured her we'd have a long, long chat about that on the way there.

I dropped off Judah and Ruby at a friend's house, and Charis and I headed over to the school. On the whole ride there, I was trying to quiz her and prepare her for the evaluation. The only problem was that I myself didn't know what to expect from it. Charis has a knack for knowing when you're trying to elicit information from her, and loves to thwart your efforts; she'll do things like insert an L into her numbers when counting or toss a 7 into her alphabet, just to be funny and to give me gray hair. So we talked long and hard about obedience and cooperation, and about how it was a day to show the teachers how very smart she is. "No being funny, Charis. This is serious, and you have to answer all of their questions as best you can," I said. We arrived a few minutes early, prayed, and marched into the school.

She's so confident, is the thing. In my personal opinion, she's brilliant and charming and funny and beautiful, and I can't imagine a world where she wouldn't be invited into Kindergarten with open arms. But I am her mother, and so I realize I have a certain bias and that professional educators might want to put my still-four-year-old, who will just have turned five this summer, into the Young Fives program to give her a chance to mature a little more. I tried to give myself the pep talk wherein I convince myself that admission into the Young Fives program is not tantamount to parental failure (because it really isn't), and handed her over to the teachers for the evaluation.

Several people have asked me about what sorts of things they asked her or required her to do, and the real answer is that I do not know. There were six tables set up: four tables were occupied by the teachers doing the screening, and two tables were activity tables for the children who were waiting to be screened. Then there was a semi-circle of chairs set up for the parents--all of of whom looked terrified. We were given a packet of information and a checklist to fill out with our child's abilities and told to wait there while our kids were being tested. I fruitlessly strained to hear what was going on at the teachers' tables. Charis had a few minutes to wait between teachers, during which I tried to ascertain what they'd asked of her. Mostly she said things like, "Don't worry, mom. It was really easy."

And just like that, it was over. "Is that it?" I asked.

"That's it," they answered.

Charis beamed. "Mom, I didn't even say anything funny! I did a good job!"

I glanced at the folders, a pile of which was sitting on one of the tables. I noted that Charis had comparitively high-ish scores, but I had no idea what the numbers actually meant, so it was little consolation. I knew we'd be notified by mail what decision they'd reached, so my anxiety didn't subside for a while. Treats at Sonic helped, as did some one-on-one time with Charis where I realized that it really didn't matter a whole lot whether she was assigned to Young Fives or regular (all day! everyday!) Kindergarten, because she's a happy, well-adjusted kid who will bloom well wherever she's planted. (All the same, I was glad to learn, two days later, that she'd been accepted into the Kindergarten program. I'm still human.)

Twelve minutes ago, she was a little spitting up, diaper-clad, rice cereal-faced bundle of joy. Four minutes ago, she was a walking, potty training toddler. And tomorrow, she'll be off to Kindergarten. Just like that. But she'll always be my baby girl.

Judah Picture Page

2009-04-27T00:22:00.005-04:00

Ah, Judah. There's something about a little (big) boy that just warms a mother's heart. Yesterday afternoon, Abe was washing a few dishes. While I will assure you that that is not a frequent occurrence, it is not completely out of the ordinary. Mostly. So there he is, sudsing away, when precious Judah gave him what-for: "Daddy, boys aren't supposed to wash dishes! Only girls!" Abe laughed and immediately sent Judah to tell me this piece of breaking news.

I shouldn't have been surprised, then, when, upon seeing his Auntie Moriah in a t-shirt with a picture of a tractor on it declared, "Girls don't like tractors! Only boys!"

Ah, Judah. Sweet Judah. I couldn't even get it together enough this year to write you a Happy Birthday post. But it's not because I don't love you, or that it's not important to me; it's because every time I sit down to try to write about you, I am at a loss for words. I'll sit down to type a glowing review of you and a list of the thousands of reasons why I love you, and then you hit Ruby over the head with a truck, and I find my praise a little bit derailed. I catch myself saying, "Where was I again?" and I give up on the post and decide to write about you when I am in a better frame of mind. You are in one moment totally obstinant, and cuddly and compliant in the next. One minute, you're laying down the rules for gender roles (which I will teach out of you), and when next I catch a glimpse of you, you've put on your sister's dress up princess shoes. You will pour yourself a glass of milk or juice without assistance, but balk when I suggest you select your own apple from the fridge.

You used to be quite timid. And there are situations when you still are, and that's okay with me. But I'm delighted that you beg me to let you go to your class at church. And I'm thrilled that you have a sense of adventure when you're playing. I love a boy with abandon, and boy, you've got it. Especially when your cousin is not pushing you around.

You are at times obsessive about having clean hands, and you're always the first to request a napkin when we're eating. But it does not bother you in the least to walk around with food on your face. Can you not feel it? At any rate, in most of my recent photos of you, you've got some sort of chocolate mustache. At least we won't forget it.

And the whole hitting-your-sister-with-a-truck thing? It really happened. In her crib. You went in to "keep her company," which is not out of the ordinary. You love that baby like no other. But when, minutes later, she was crying after taking some lug wheels to the head, I was a bit miffed. And mystified. At what point does "I love my Ruby" turn into "...so I will now throw this Tonka at her."?

But I suppose it is your slight unpredictability--I say slight because you really are quite a joy most of the time--that makes you so intruguing. While I would never say that Charis was a high-needs baby, parenting you was, by comparison, like parenting a marshmallow. People would ask, "Is he always this content?" And we'd sigh and gaze lovingly at our brown-eyed boy and beam. You were always that content, and remained so until you turned two, at which point you developed the tiniest stubborn streak. Now you're three, and while we still catch glimpses of that streak at home, I am happy to report that you're still that content, compliant little boy when you're in public. People are still amazed at how laid-back and easygoing you are. I am so proud to be your mom.

And that is why I am typing this post while you're still asleep. When you're asleep, I can write away and not encounter one of those contradictions that makes it so hard for me to stay on-task. I know that soon, you will wake up and start being a typical three-year-old boy, but for now, you're just my sweet, lovable little marshmallow.

Oh--you're coming down the stairs. Good morning, child. What's it going to be? Guns blazing, or cuddly mama's boy? The fun thing is, right now? I can't wait to find out.

I love you, boy.

(But you will wash the dishes someday.)

Ruby Picture Page

2009-04-24T09:44:00.004-04:00

Look at how big I'm getting! I can pull myself up on furniture and stand for hours. This picture was taken on Easter. Look how proud everyone looks! I can even sit back down without falling. I know, I know!! I'm amazing. I'm also starting to eat table food. I love cheese. And potatoes. And cheerios. Really, anything is better than those mushy green beans my mom keeps trying to feed me. Those things are disgusting. On Easter, my mom fed me some homemade noodles, and they were a taste sensation. Why didn't I know about those sooner?
And look at me! I can take a real, live big-kid bath! Sure, I require some close supervision. But just last week, I took a bath with Charis and Judah, and it was FUN. Their bath toys are way cooler than mine, and their bubbles smell like watermelon. Word to the wise, though: don't eat the bubbles. I tried them, and trust me, the watermelon essence is just a scent. They tasted terrible.
Here I am soaking up the sun in the back yard. I love to swing in the baby swing. I try to keep from cackling--I mean, I don't want to appear as if I'm enjoying a baby swing too much--but I just can't help myself. Baby swings are exhilarating, and don't let anybody well you otherwise. I feel so ALIVE when I'm swinging through the air. And those moments when Charis lets me swing out of control...wow. Talk about exciting.

All in all, I'm a very happy baby. I hesitate to call myself baby, though, because after all, I am TEN MONTHS old. Really--crawling, standing, waving, clapping, eating, SWINGING? I'm nearly grown up! Now, if only I could get some teeth...

Easter Picture Page

2009-04-22T16:17:00.005-04:00

Can you tell which one of these objects is an Easter egg? I'll give you a hint: it's made of white plastic. Easy for an adult to find, difficult for little kids. That's what Yia Yia was banking on this year when she and Moriah hid 32 plastic eggs for Charis, Judah, Gideon, and Elise to find. This is the second year she has organized a hunt for the kids, and they really enjoy it. (Duh. There's candy involved. They'd hunt down rabid wolves if there was candy involved.) Last year, the hunt took place inside the house, but this year's weather was nice enough--and the kids are old enough--to move it to a larger area.
Never underestimate the bloodlust--I mean chocolate lust--of a three year old. These kids had their egg territories STAKED OUT.

My sweet girl has the advantage of age and height, and she ended up with an inordinate amount of eggs. Thankfully, she is pretty kind, as almost-five-year-olds go. Here she is donating an orange egg to Judah's cause.
Here she is keeping some for herself.

The beauty of 32 eggs is that they are easily divisible by four. Not only that, Yia Yia had the foresight to fill the eggs strategically so that when all the eggs had been located, their contents, too, would be easily divisible by four.

(Side note: I cannot for the life of me keep my train of thought on this post. Charis is fighting sleep even now, at 10 pm. First, she was distressed because I'd been at choir practice late and hadn't tucked her in. Then, she was distressed because earlier, on the way to church, she'd accidentally inhaled a triangular piece of confetti into her nose and it hasn't resurfaced. The latest protest was so laden with whines and sobs we still have no real idea what's wrong, other than extreme fatigue. Now, she's up in her room fake-sobbing, but we are not going to crack. And I am GOING TO finish this post, if it's the last thing I do tonight. For pete's sake. I have no fewer than six drafts of posts I was unable to finish, all dated within the past eight weeks--something's gotta give.)

So anyway, here's Charis, keeping tabs to make sure everything is tallied up fairly.

And here's Egg Inspector Number 1, Judah, in a coat that used to belong to his uncle. Or dad. Someone in that era, anyway.When it was all said and done, the kids did pretty well. Yia Yia included some candy in the loot (Peeps. *shudder*), but there was also fruit leather ("The other kids always got Fruit Roll Ups, and we always had nasty organic fruit leather. Gross." -Abe) and miniature baby animal toys and the like, so they weren't completely hopped up on sugar on Easter. Of course, we did eat Blueberry Peach Cobbler and Homemade Chocolate Pudding with Fresh Whipped Cream and Strawberries when we went back inside, so I suppose they probably had a little tiny hint of sugar buzz.

You know, it's important to me that my kids know what Easter is really for--celebrating Jesus' resurrection and the fact that He conquered death so that we might have eternal life in heaven--but a little Easter egg hunt with some candy never hurt anyone.

(Though I might hurt someone if Charis keeps carrying on like this.)

Goodnight, everybody. Happy Belated Easter.

Sorry, I thought You Knew

2009-03-26T10:05:00.006-04:00

I've been operating under the assumption that you instinctively know about what's going on in our lives, but comments from some of you have led me to believe you are not, in fact, aware of the haps at our house. Strange! I thought you were supposed to read minds, and it appears as if you are not equipped with that ability. So, sorry. Maybe after the next full eclipse you will inherit the superpower of omniscience. Until then, I will try to keep updating you.

First,the most oft-asked question: is Abe back to work? Yes, he is. As a matter of fact, it was the shortest layoff ever. For two weeks, he suspected layoffs were imminent, and only worked three days a week. On the Friday of the second week, he was officially pink-slipped. We feared the worst. Abe is a good worker, though, and I knew that if anyone had an opening, he'd be snapped up in a jiffy. He was--by Wednesday. That made for a total of six days without work. Right now, he's working for his former company on a new nursing home being built approximately 4 minutes from our home. Please forgive me--seriously--for not updating you about this. I know many of you have been praying, and I didn't mean to leave you hanging.

Second, I'm having arthroscopic knee surgery tomorrow. I'm not sure at this point what I've shared and what I haven't, but for those of you who don't know, I tore my ACL (and a whole bunch of other stuff) playing volleyball in January. I put off going to the doctor because I was pretty sure they'd tell me to suck it up and heal, but after being pestered by a whole lot of well-meaning mothers in my choir, I went. After a month of physical therapy and an MRI, the doctors that be determined knee surgery was essential. The strange thing is that I've been getting around just fine lately; apparently, the ACL is not necessary for walking. But if ever I wanted to play sports again (I do) or chase my kids again (sounds nice), surgery was the only option. So tomorrow at 2:30, I'm going under in an outpatient procedure to repair my meniscuses (menisci?) and graft in a new ACL. Hopefully, I will be as good as new before all of the summer fun.

Why are all of those pictures in a bunch? I don't know. That last one is the tile in our entry way. Abe just completed that tile and the tile in our laundry room and the main floor bath. The paint in the addition is almost completed, and the next task will be his installation of hardwood flooring. Our addition is nearly complete. (It has only been TWO YEARS.)

We got a new camera--a digital SLR. It's a Nikon D40, and I couldn't be more excited. A friend of ours, Jim, was upgrading and sold us his still-relatively-new camera for a song. I will be taking my sister-in-law's senior pictures (and those of a friend of hers) this summer, so I'm trying to do a lot of practicing; unfortunately, I've been quite busy lately, so I haven't been able to play with it as much as I'd like. I feel much cooler now that I have a "real" camera, even if I'm still a very amateur photographer.

Anyway, on to the kids:

Charis...

...has been accepted to the Charter Academy we were hoping to send her to. Applications exceeded available spots, so the school held a lottery to determine who would be allowed entrance, and she made it! I am so excited about this school. It is not a Christian school--which we'd love, but cannot afford--but the principal is a believer and has made it her mission to create as "Christian" of a school as she can within the confines of the law. We know several families whose children attend school there, and they've all been overwhelmingly pleased. Because Charis made it in, this guarantees admission for Judah and Ruby, should we still be there when they are school age. Charis will go for testing near the end of April, so we've been really working hard on letters and numbers and such. With her June birthdate, she would be eligible for the Young 5s program if testing proves she's not academically or socially or emotionally ready, but I don't honestly see that happening. She's as smart as a tack, and as social as anyone I've ever met.

I recently taught her our address to the tune of "Skip to my Lou," and now she will never forget it. In fact, when I ask her what our address is, she always sings it back to me.

Judah...

...had a birthday! I've been so frantic trying to get some cleaning projects and whatnot done before my surgery that I haven't had time to construct his birthday post, but that is not a reflection on how much we love him, and how grown up he is getting. We celebrated with Abe's family the Sunday before his actual day, and had our own pizza party on his actual birthday. Judah received lots of "Cars" items (his latest favorite thing), and some sporting equipment. So far, he has played basketball with Daddy and tee ball with Mommy and Charis, but he hasn't had a chance to test out his (REAL) golf clubs. I never knew they made golf clubs that small! He also received some wiffle golf balls and some tees (which he calls "golf nails").

He still wears a diaper for naps and bedtime, but other than that, he is undie-clad. His favorite undies are "Cars"-themed undies. The only problem is that the picture is on the back, so he prefers wearing them backward. I figure that as long as he makes it to the bathroom in time, it's not really important how he wears them.

Lately, when Judah wakes up in the morning, he comes down to our bedroom and hops in bed with me for a good cuddle. I'm not kidding--it's a pretty great way to start the day hearing your 3 year-old say first thing, "I LOVE you, Mama."

Ruby

What can I say about Ruby? I already told you she's crawling. She is getting pretty speedy at it, as a matter of fact. She has also started trying to pull herself up on chairs and coffee tables and such. She doesn't quite make it--she gets stuck on her haunches--but she's still trying!

She still has no teeth. What's up with that? Ruby's lack of teeth have little effect on her appetite--it is not uncommon for her to eat a cup of food at a sitting. Where does it all go, I wonder?

Her eyes have stalled in their color-changing process; I'm not entirely sure what color to call her eyes now. Hazel? Greyish brown? Herman?

WHEW. I think that about covers it. Now you're all caught up. You know, I get frustrated when my friends don't update their blogs very often; I never thought I might be causing the same frustration to some of you. I will try to post more often, friends! (Unless that superhuman knowledge thing works out for you after the eclipse. You let me know.)

Guess Who Is Crawling?

2009-03-10T10:48:00.002-04:00

Fewer Diapers, More Lysol Wipes

2009-02-19T13:23:00.002-05:00

The day has, at long last, arrived! Judah is finally interested in using the big boy potty. Frankly, I thought it was going to happen earlier than it did since he has a potty-using sibling and generally tries to emulate her in so many other ways. But here it is, a mere month before he turns 3, and he has embraced the notion of wearing big boy undies and all that entails. With two kids in diapers putting us in the poor house, it couldn't come soon enough.

Of course, potty training is not without its pitfalls. We don't leave the house without two extra pairs of undies and two pairs of pants, just in case. I've also realized that I need to pack extra shirts. I didn't have to do that when Charis was potty training, so it didn't even occur to me that along with different physiology comes different spray patterns. My laundry has increased, and I've been wiping up lots of "almost made it!" accidents. But all in all, I'd say Judah is doing quite well. We've been using a sticker chart/candy reward system with some success, but mostly, I'd say he is doing a great job self-motivating. I've had to be a bit more vigilant about the whole thing today because he wanted to emulate his sister's leotard-wearing habit (leotards are tough for anyone to get off, especially 2 year-olds), but so far, so good! He still gets a diaper for naps and at night, but he's off to a great start!

Poor, Sweet Sickies

2009-02-09T23:11:00.003-05:00

We've been having a yucky week. All three kids have had some sort of stomach bug. Charis slept on our floor next to a bucket last Wednesday and Judah had his turn Saturday and Sunday nights. I won't go into further details, because WHY would I? But I will tell you that, while Charis was too consumed by her illness to note the lack of a nightlight in our room, Judah still needed one. And since I couldn't find an official nightlight on such short notice, he used this:

It's a Christmas tree made out of colored lights, clear plastic beads, and safety pins. My grandmother made it for us (we actually have two of these trees), and it is pretty much Judah's favorite thing. I wish I could have gotten a shot of how he fell asleep gazing at it. Who needs a security blanket when you've got twinkle lights and plastic beads? Not Judah. Thanks, Grandma! Your tree made those nights much easier for him.

Jesus' New Friend

2009-02-06T13:58:00.002-05:00

This is my 200th post here on Peanut, Bubba, and Jelly. I remember anticipating my 100th post and wanting to do something special to mark the occasion, but when the moment came, I neglected to note it. And then it was too late--no one cares a whoopty-do about post #101, so that particular milestone came and went without fanfare. I will not make that mistake again! This is post 200, and it calls for something special.

I cannot imagine anything more special to tell you than this:

Charis asked Jesus into her heart this week.

She has been asking about specifics in regard to salvation, and of course, I have been more than happy to oblige. We've talked about sin, and how our sin keeps us separated from God. We've talked about Jesus, about how He died on the cross, becoming the sacrifice that paid the price for our sins once for all. We've talked about forgiveness, and love, and heaven, and about accepting God's gift of eternity with Him. And then, this past Sunday, Charis asked The Question: How can I go to heaven?

We were in the van, all of us, heading for a little Super Bowl get-together, when she asked. I glanced over at Abe, not sure if I should explain it then, in the noisy van, or wait until we got to the party. I decided that you don't just let your child ask about going to heaven and not answer; besides, I figured that by the time we arrived at the party, she would have forgotten and the opportunity would be lost. So I took a deep breath, and explained it all again. And then my girl said she wanted to do that, she wanted to ask Jesus into her heart. I asked her if she wanted to pray right then, and she said yes. So we did.

Since then, I've been trying to gauge whether she really understood what it all meant. I've asked her to explain it to me in her own words, about sin and forgiveness and Jesus and heaven. And, with the help of some leading questions, she can. Only God knows her heart, and whether she understands well enough to have really made that decision that day, but as far as I can tell, it was for real.

Welcome to the family, Baby Girl!

On a sidenote, I suggested that she tell her Gopher Buddies teacher. "Tell her that you asked Jesus to forgive you of your sins and come into your heart and life. And tell her that you know how much Jesus loves you! And tell her that you know that He died for your sins, and that you're going to be in heaven with Him someday," I said.

Charis rolled her eyes. "Mom. I'm not going to tell her all that. I will just tell her that I asked Jesus into my heart, okay?" Okay.

So, Anyway...

2009-01-31T12:41:00.002-05:00

Things here are good.

Okay, I was trying to think of a sentence to follow that, and I thought, Are things really good here? I'm on antibiotics for one thing, our oven isn't functional, I've got a bum knee, and thanks to the booming economy, my husband was laid off on Thursday. We've had a lean year financially because of last year's layoff and my preterm labor and multiple hospitalizations, which makes it even more difficult to be laid off right now.

To top off all of the chocolatey goodness, our satellite is out, so we WON'T HAVE TV UNTIL SUNDAY. Things do not seem good. They do not seem good at all.

While we do not have a job or a whole lot of money or access to the Food Network at present, we do have:

A warm house
Clean clothes to wear (thanks to a dear lady from church who came to help with laundry)
Plenty of food to eat (thanks to two wonderful church ladies who brought meals, and because we have 1/4 of a cow in our freezer)
Happy, healthy kids
A healthy marriage
Lots of friends and family

God provides all that we need, when we need it. He has never left us on our own, and He has taught us through this past challenging year that He is always faithful. (Though, to be fair, I'VE GOT IT. YOU'RE FAITHFUL. I'D LIKE TO COAST ON THAT FOR A WHILE.) So, to sum up...

Things are good. Oh yes, they are.

___________________________________

Charis is as charming and exuberant as always. We're spending more and more time these days learning letters, numbers, and phonics in an attempt to ready her for Kindergarten. She loves going to her classes at church, and seems pleased that I am no longer her teacher. Right back atcha, kid! She says hilarious things, though her vocabulary is somewhat limited, lately, to the words poop and pee. And just today, she suggested we watch the movie about "the big green yogurt and his friend, Donkey. I like that yogurt. He's funny." Charis is well-spoken, wonderfully quirky, and confident in who she is! Sometimes she makes me want to strangle her, but she also holds a very tender place in my heart and I can get a little bit teary just looking at her precious self when I tuck her in before I go to bed. Just now, she has on her dad's big old snow boots: "I'm the Stamp Stamp Crush Woman!! Does that make sense?"

Judah is getting taller and taller and has, to a certain extent, put aside the quiet toddler portion of his personality, and seems to have embraced his inner chatterbox. He also seems to be turning into Charis in a few ways. He does put his own spin on things, though. When Charis prays for dinner, she almost always says, "Thank you for this food, thank you for this day, Amen." Judah squeezes his eyes shut and says some variation of "Thank you for Jesus, thank you for dinner, thank you for the snow, thank you for Daddy, thank you for the Christmas tree, thank you for my class. Amen." He, too, likes his classes--that is, after he has finished his mini-meltdown when we drop him off. Today, he is dressed like a bumble bee and loving it, but most of the time, he eschews costumes for his trucks and "engie fires." If I had a nickel for every person who expressed their love for Judah, we'd be incredibly wealthy. Just now, he is singing: "Here is pointin', here is pointin'. Here I'm is, here I'm is. How are you today? Run away, Charis. Run away, Charis."

Ruby is our squishable baby doll. We're all fans. When she wakes, Judah races over to his "RUBY BELLE!" Charis likes to help her "crawl" during her tummy time. Ruby can sit on her own, unattended. She does topple occasionally, but she always makes it look like she meant to do it. She can scoot on her belly, but only backwards, and is beginning to love food (namely carrots and peaches. She's not such a fan of peas). Her tear duct is still plugged, which I am OVER. I am not over waiting for teeth; at seven months, she has gone longer without teeth than either of our other kids. Maybe she doesn't have any. Time will tell.

And us? We're okay. We've got electricity to the addition, which means that instead of going down into the basement with a flashlight, I can just flip light switches on my way down. And my kitchen has 5 delightful can lights that illuminate our worksurfaces. Laaaaaaaahhhhh! Abe's mom is helping us paint the addition, which will then give way to flooring, then trim, then hallelujah, we're pretty much done. For now. And besides that, it's naptime for the kids, which means a few minutes of quiet.

What more can we ask?

Hidey Ho, Neighbor

2009-01-22T10:58:00.002-05:00

First: I got a new camera. It was a steal on eBay and will fill the gap until I win the lottery and can afford the digital SLR I've been coveting. It will be especially useful when I can find the cord that came with it and upload some of the photos I've taken. I'd like to pretend that this level of disorganization that precludes me from including more pictures on this blog extends only to my photographic life, but that would be a lie. Currently, I cannot find the envelope full of money and checks people submitted to me for Volleyball League fees, and lost forever is the receipt for the fleece sweatshirt I got for Abe's Gran for Christmas. Turns out she needs to exchange it for a larger size. I am SO in trouble.

So, you know, until I find said cord and organize my life, can you just ponder this imaginary cute photo of Ruby?

She's a doll, isn't she? I agree. Look at those browner-by-the-minute eyes, and her 25th-percentile chunky thighs, and-oh!-that smile! She's been sleeping through the night regularly, so we're all very happy. Next, check out this photo of the kids taken by Olan Mills for our church's pictorial directory:

Why did Charis feel she had to stick out her tongue? And why is Judah scowling? Whenever we say "Don't smile!" at home, it results in a huge grin--why did he choose picture day to begin following directions? And similarly, why isn't Ruby smiling? I was doing all of my best tricks--blowing raspberries, chanting "Ruuuu-by" in an embarrasing sing-song voice, telling her favorite joke ("bababababa")--but...nothing. Sigh. At least we didn't feel too guilty when the picture salesman put on his "crestfallen" face when we informed him we'd just take our one free picture (un-retouched, no less) and be on our way.

In other news, we had our first official volleyball game this Tuesday night. I was so excited about it, I went ahead and blew out my knee. I've been hobbling around on crutches ever since, and my knee is swollen to the size of a Volkswagon. I was able to put a little bit of weight on it this morning, but I've been sitting here at the computer getting caught up, and I'm afraid it has seized up again. Back to the drawing board...

And finally, the most exciting news of all: I feel that Charis is on the cusp of beginning a life with Jesus! She has been asking tons of questions about Jesus and heaven, and has even brought home a few tracts from church (which she calls her "little books") that have sparked quite a few conversations. Pray for her understanding, and pray for me as I try to make salvation clear to her.

Miscellaneous

2008-12-22T10:09:00.003-05:00

Sad news: our digital camera may be dead. It has ceased to charge or be able to hold a charge, even though I bought a brand-new battery for it. So, until Santa brings us a new digital camera (and it may be a long time, because HELLO, bills), the only way I am able to snap pictures is if our camera is plugged into the wall. Unfortunately, because of this, we have missed out on a good many photo/video ops recently. Like, for instance:

When Charis and Judah were singing in the living room the other day. Charis was singing "It's the season to be Jelly." Judah was singing about rowing his boat "gently down the street."
When Charis, Judah and I decorated sugar cookie cutouts on an evening I've dubbed "Battle of the Sprinkles." We only decorated a dozen cookies, but we somehow used the contents of three bottles of sprinkles. Those gingerbread men were SPARKLY.
When Charis and Judah were sledding at Grandpa and Yia Yia's. Charis had on a skirt and tights, but she was having the time of her life. I guess frostbite isn't that big of a concern when you're 4.
When Ruby had her first bites of food. I only had peaches on hand, so that's what she started with. I thought she'd be a big fan. Turns out she wasn't.
When we went to pick our our Christmas tree. I made matching fleece hats for Charis, Ruby, and me, so we looked too cute for words. But with no picture to prove it, you'll just have to take my word for it. I did not make matching hats for Abe and Judah because they are too manly for that sort of frou-frou stuff. This was the first year we've actually been prepared with cold-weather gear for all of the kids. It's a big step for us!
When the kids "helped" me "decorate" the tree. It looked great, if your idea of great is six plastic snowflakes hanging on two branches.
When we were all dressed up and looking fabulous for Abe's cousin's wedding. Ruby was wearing a precious red velveteen dress, Judah had on a button-down shirt under a sweater vest like a Gap Kids model, and Charis was wearing a black, white and red Christmas dress with feathery cuffs and a flouncy, tulle-y skirt. Our outfits were immortalized in the family picture, but since we were five people out of thirty or so, and since we were in the back, I'm thinking they won't show up super well.
When we went with Tim and Beth, Gideon and Elise, and Moriah to the Festival of Lights Riverwalk. There were lots of photo-worthy moments, like the 12 Days of Christmas done in lights, with Tony the Tiger holding the 5 golden rings. Or the kids staring at the accordion-playing Santa in the warming house, or nearly mauling the talking Christmas tree. But the thing I would most have liked to capture on film was the moment that Abe and I stepped out of the van and realized that neither one of us had grabbed the big kids' coats. We had outfitted them in snowpants, boots, and mittens and hats, so they weren't completely without weather protection, but with no jackets, they were ill-suited (quite literally, it seems) to walk out in the snow. I shed my bulky sweatshirt and scarf and bundled Charis, and Abe donated his wind-breaking jacket to wrap up Judah, then we tucked them into a wagon with every towel and blanket we had (except for the blanket that Abe then used to try to keep himself warm). Of course, Charis wanted to walk rather than ride in the toasty warm wagon, and of course, she ended up getting a bit chilly tramping through the knee-deep snow, so I gave her my down jacket and took back my (now soggy) sweatshirt and scarf. Thankfully, throughout the ordeal, Ruby stayed toasty in her cozy layers and snowsuit. Still, despite the outwear mishap, it was a very fun evening, an event which I hope will become a family tradition. Though next year, I hope we have a camera to bring with us.
When, in a few days, I try to get photos of Ruby's first Christmas with an extension cord trailing behind me. She's so cute, I can't bear the thought of missing out on pictures of her, but it does feel a bit hoopty having to take pictures so close to electrical outlets. If anyone from Canon or Nikon or Kodak or Sony or, well, any digital camera manufacturer is reading this and wants to surprise this young family with a free camera, we'd be forever grateful.

I wish you and yours a blessed Christmas!

My Girl Is So Big

2008-11-24T15:50:00.005-05:00

Last night, we crossed some sort of line--a Charis-Is-Getting-Old line.

This fall, she began taking part in Wee Praisers, a kids' choir for 4 and 5 year-olds. Since she's not doing any sort of organized preschool beyond what we do at home with games and worksheets and projects and stuff, I've been trying to give her ample opportunity to learn how to "do" school--namely, the Sitting Still part and the Following Instructions part. Besides the obvious outlets like Library Storytime, she does several hours of Sunday School every Sunday morning, Gopher Buddies on Wednesday nights (where I am her teacher--but that's fodder for another post), and Wee Praisers on Sunday nights. I love her teacher, Mrs. Marcia, and Charis is in Mallory D.'s group. She LOVES Mallory. On Wednesday nights, I'm able to watch how Charis interacts with others and with her teachers, and I can witness firsthand how she performs the Sitting Still and Following Instructions tasks (um...let's just call it a Work In Progress.). But with the other groups, I must observe from afar, asking questions of the teachers to better grasp Charis' status and development.

Our attendance at Wee Praisers has been a little bit spotty, so I wasn't sure how well Charis would do in the first Wee Praisers performance this past Sunday night, but I was really looking forward to catching a glimpse of what she'd been learning there. We rehearsed her script in the car on the way to church, and there were several parts that she didn't seem to know. I'd start: "Psalm 100. Shout for..."

And she'd answer: "JOY!"

"To the..."

"LORD!"

"All the..."

"EARTH!"

"Worship the..."

"SEA!"

"No, Lord. Worship the Lord with...."

"SINGING!"

"No, gladness...."

And so on and so on. I told her that if there was any part she did not know, she should just stand still and let the other children say it for her--I could almost picture her in the mini-concert, not knowing the words, tugging the sleeve of one of the helpers: "Mallory! I DON'T KNOW THIS ONE! WORSHIP THE SEA!"

We also talked about standing still and not running around the stage. Again, I watched a video of this in my head, and it seemed an all-too-likely possibility.

During the rehearsal before the "concert," I shot a whole bunch of not-very-good pictures to document the occasion. I was so proud that my little girl was old enough to be singing about how Jesus Loves her, how All Ye Little Children should Praise Him, because God is Love. I was thrilled that there were portions of Scripture that she could recite. I love it when she hides God's Word in her heart! My heart swelled. Oh, there were funny moments during the rehearsal, like when Mallory let Charis go to the bathroom and Charis returned with the front of her dress tucked into her tights. Charis crossed the entire stage before God and everybody until some kind soul noticed the wardrobe malfunction and helped her out. But all-in-all, it went very well. I was so excited to see the whole thing during the actual service.

I saved a front-row seat for Abe and I to occupy, the closest I could get to my little girl acting so grown up. Abe asked if I really thought it was a good idea to be where she could see us. He was watching a mental video where she jumped off the stage to come say hi and talked to us during all of the songs: "Daddy! I worship the SEA!"

When she came out onto the stage, she of course waved. She was being so grown-up, so ladylike! Then the boy next to her lifted his shirt, exposing his belly. Uh-oh. We hadn't covered this in the car. Abe and I exchanged anxious glances. We knew it was only a matter of time until she did this:

That's our girl. She did not disappoint.

At one point, during a particularly long portion of Scripture--or maybe it was during the Doxology, which she didn't know (we were probably gone the week they learned that one)--she went and stood behind the girl to her right, much to Mallory's consternation. Charis considered it a game, and I considered crawling under the pew in shame. Not really. It's all pretty funny when you're dealing with 4 year olds.

But for me, the absolute highlight came at the end of the Wee Praisers' rendition of "My God is so BIG."

Where did she learn that?? Yes, Charis. Take your bow, little girl. What a joy you are to watch grow!

You Were There

2008-11-10T13:19:00.002-05:00

Like everybody, I have good days and I have bad days. On bad days, I listen to this song, and it is one reminder that I am never walking through life alone. My friend Sue sang this at church a long time ago, and I cried when she sang it. I still cry every time I hear it. Here are the lyrics--I hope they speak to your heart today.

You Were There (by Avalon)

I wonder how it must have felt
When David stood to face Goliath on a hill
I imagine that he shook with all his might
Until You took his hand, and held on tight

'Cause You were there, You were there
In the midst of danger's snare
You were there, You were there always
You were there when the hardest fight
Seemed so out of reach
Oh, You were there, You were always there
You were always there

So there he stood upon that hill
Abraham with knife in hand was poised to kill
But God in all his sovereignty had bigger plans
And just in time, You brought a lamb

'Cause You were there,
You were there
In the midst of the unclear
You were there, you were there always
You were there when obedience
Seemed to not make sense
You were there, You were always there
You were always there

So haven't I learned that my ways
Aren't as high as Yours are
And You alone keep the universe
From crumbling into dust
You are God and though we would
Not have understood You
There You were

Hanging blameless on a cross
You would rather die than leave us in the dark
Every moment, every planned coincidence
Just all makes sense
With Your last breath

You were there, You were there
During history's darkest hour
You were there, You were there always
You were the Victor and the King
You were the power in David's swing
You were the calm in Abraham
You are the God who understands
You are the strength when we have none
You are the living, Holy one
You were, You are and You will always be
the Risen Lamb of God

You were, You are and You will always be
The Risen Lamb of God

Rubaby

2008-11-08T10:08:00.004-05:00

Dear, sweet Ruby. I haven't posted pictures of her for a while, so I thought it was high time I gave you an update on her.

A) She's a delight. She's so easy going, it's amazing! Sure, she cries when she's tired or frustrated, but since we keep so a fairly consistent routine, I can usually anticipate her needs before she can, thus avoiding a lot of tears.

2) She will not have blue eyes. The jury is still out on whether they will be green or brown, but I'm almost positive they will end up on the brown side of the spectrum.

III) She has words. My favorite is "ugrb," followed by "eeek."

F) She cackles in delight. Just a few days ago, I let out a big breath--HUH--and she thought it was almost as funny as the cat.

5) She is teething. It may be a while before we see evidence, but the drool and the incessant gnawing is proof enough. Charis, who, by the calendar, was born four days earlier, sprouted her first tooth on Thanksgiving day, and Judah's first popped out two weeks earlier than that, so it's time!

F) She sucks her thumb. At first, she'd get her thumb in her mouth with an open hand that would cover her face. Now, she's more experienced, and she hooks her pointer finger over her nose like a pro.

vi) She is so smiley. It makes some people feel special that they can "get her to smile," but I'm here to tell you that it's no mean feat. Toast can make her smile.

M) She's rolling from tummy to back, and she can scoot quite a ways with her legs, so we have to be very careful if we put her on a bed--we surround her with a barricade of pillows, and even then, she sometimes sneaks through!

45) She's fascinated by books. I'll sit her in my lap when I read to Charis or Judah, and she sits there, mesmerized by the pictures. Hopefully, she'll be a reader!

?) She's tall for our family--at her 4-month check up, she measured in the 60th percentile for height, and the 50th for weight. She's currently perfect in most of her 3-6 month clothes, but some are a bit snug at the feet.

[) She's just about the most popular person everywhere we go. There's just something about a cute, smooshy baby.

Case in point:

Several weeks ago, we attended the wedding of Abe's cousin. My parents came in for the event, too--not to attend, but to hang out with our kids while we went. The wedding ceremony was outdoors at the bride's parents' house, but the reception, several hours later, was held at the Country Club. Still, since she doesn't take a bottle, I couldn't NOT take Ruby, so she tagged along to the fancy reception.

The bride, Abby? She is a BIG Ruby fan. Huge. She came over several times during the reception to hold Ruby, and I wasn't about to turn her down, it being her day and all. Thankfully, Ruby didn't urp on her lovely shoulder or dress.

But then, people started clinking their glasses. Abby and Doug had been at far ends of the room, and convened near the head table for the customary kiss...only, she brought a friend. Ruby. I'd say that, with the exception of the HILARIOUS toast given by one of the "bridesmaids" (he was a guy, and not only did he use the word "bedazzled" in his speech, he also sang a ditty from The Music Man. We were in tears with laughter), this moment was about the highlight of the reception. The bride and groom say that they want to wait before they introduce children into their family, but I'm not so sure.

But make no mistake: while others may borrow her, she belongs to us! And we're not giving her up!

Who Is This Girl?

2008-11-03T20:28:00.002-05:00

Another entry from the "Where'd That Come From" file:

Judah's nightlight came up missing tonight. We had speculated about where it might be, we had looked under the bed, we had looked in toy boxes and in every nook and cranny we could think of, when finally, Charis had the answer.

"Oh, I know who took it," she said knowingly. "It was those three monsters. You know, the ones that talk to me?"

We apparently looked concerned, so she assured us that "They are nice monsters." She nodded for effect.

I asked what their names were. "Oh, Hone, Shon, and Pong. They're really nice."

I'm not making this up, but I think she is...

In Some Countries, It's a Delicacy

2008-11-03T14:23:00.003-05:00

Charis was keeping Ruby company while I put Judah down for a nap. From downstairs, I heard her say, "Ruby just urped, and I need a burp rag!"

"Okay, sweetie. I'll be right there," I replied, not sensing any urgency in her voice. "We'll get you cleaned up and put a new shirt on."

"No, mom!" She scampered up the stairs, giggling. "She urped right in my MOUTH! And I didn't like how it tasted! I didn't like it at all!"

I suspect that's an understatement.

When we were back downstairs, she looked over at her baby sister and said in a very motherly tone, "Try not to do that again, Roo."

Wrench Monkey

2008-10-28T15:06:00.003-04:00

This summer, I was definitely on a grilling kick. You name it, I grilled it. The upshot is that our grill is stored in our garage, so every time I wanted to grill, I had to open the garage door. Now, to Judah, going through the garage door is like entering the magical world of Narnia; so many shiny things to touch, an alternate reality to imagine. He is drawn to Abe's tools, many of which took up residence on a makeshift table in the garage this summer. So when the magical world opened, Judah was the first one on the scene, fiddling about with socket wrenches and all sorts of tools whose names I do not know. For all I know, they could be called things like, "Blue-handled pointy thing" and "Round-ish flat metal Thingamabob" or "Screwdriver." Judah simply doesn't care what they're called. He just knows that he sees his daddy use them all the time to fix things, and he wants to be exactly like daddy. On one particular day this summer, when I was smoking ribs and chicken and making a hundred return trips to the grill to adjust vents, add wood, and brush on sauce, Judah tagged along just so he could "fix" a spare tire that sat near the grill. In the photo above, he's helping dad work on the brakes, I think. I know Abe loves that Judah takes an active interest in such things, and he's only mildly annoyed when essential nuts and bolts come up missing.
Judah loves daddy. Daddy loves Judah.

Pictures of Things to Come

2008-10-27T22:39:00.002-04:00

See this girl? That's me, sometime in the early eighties. I don't think about this girl very often, mostly because my recall is not very strong. I don't remember a whole lot of specifics about my childhood--I remember in snapshots, not stories, and consequently, the tales I have to tell to my kids about my youth are few. The magical thing about memory, though, is that even if it can't be called up in an instant, that doesn't mean it's not there; a scent, a look, a song all trigger memories hidden deep in the dusty, cobwebbed recesses, and suddenly, they all come rushing back, fresh. Take this photo, for instance. This was taken in my grandfather's house. And that cat there is my first cat, Karen. There's only one reason Karen would have been at my grandfather's house, and that's if this picture was taken the day I made Karen mine and we took her over to meet the family. That means this picture was taken in the late summer of the year when I was six. I remember nothing more about the day, but suddenly, looking at this photo gives me some lines to color in. I will tell Charis the story about The Day Mommy Got Her First Cat, and even though many of the details will be recently-concocted embellishments, I know the framework will be true. (P.S. Judah looks JUST like me. This picture is further proof.)

One of the things I do remember about my childhood is that I loved to read. I have always loved to read. As a child, I would save up my pennies to buy books, and then I'd rush home, lay in my room, and read them cover-to-cover, then get antsy for the next book. I'm still this way; when I've finished a book, I'm immediately on to the next one. I don't like gaps of time where I have no books in progress, but these days, when I'm a little bit out-of-touch with modern fiction and take a little longer to finish a book, I am frequently at a loss for where to go next. So I have this friend, Beth, who was an English major with me, and I ask her what she's reading, and she tells me. And then I go to the library and check it out and read it. This always works out very well. Her most recent recommendation was to read L.M. Montgomery, who wrote the Anne of Green Gables books. I had all but forgotten about these, it's been so long since I've read them, so I was eager to dive in and re-imagine life on Prince Edward Island. I was immediately struck by Anne's imagination--it was a short leap for her to paint elaborate pictures of romances and pirates and fortunes made and lost. I found myself jealous. Oh, I'd love to write books and stories, even if they're only for my kids, but DOGGONE IT, I always feel like my imagination is in neutral. I wish I could conjure up pirates and fairies like Anne Shirley could.

But just today, I uploaded this picture, and even though it is a photo of my daughter, I saw in it a snapshot of myself.

See that look in her eye? She's just sitting in a mini-train at the fair, waiting to take a two-minute spin around a 1/32-mile track. But she's there with her cousins and her brother, and she sort of looks like she's waving at us, and you can almost her the gears turning in her head, spinning a tale of her adventure to come: Farewell, dear parents. We're off on a grand adventure! Of course, some girls would be scared to be on their own at such a young age, and put in charge of three other kids on an excursion like this, especially since there is all probablility that our train will derail somewhere in the Alps and we will be the only survivors, lost and on our own. But I am brave and smart and strong, and I will protect us from the kidnappers that will inevitably try to take us. We will hide under tarps and behind doors to escape their grasp. And when we get hungry, I will beg for food if I must, but we will be well-fed. I will create a tasty new dish from the scraps I collect to feed us, and perhaps a passer-by will stop and sniff it and think it smells delicious and say that I should be a restaurant chef. And of course I will become one, because I have three other mouths to feed--and maybe more, because other wandering children might see my excellent, capable leadership skills and want to be protected and taken care of and join our gang. And wouldn't it be amazing if you saw a photo of me in the newspaper in the review of my restaurant that declares it "The BEST RESTAURANT EVER" and you realized at that moment that you knew I was always meant for greatness, and if you'd only known that when you sent me off on a train trip from which I would never return, you wouldn't have lain awake in bed all those years wondering where I was and if I was safe.

Or, you know, something like that.

So when I saw this picture and the wistful look in Charis' eye, I was immediately taken back to my childhood, where I would imagine scenarios probably not very different from the one I just described. In my young mind, every stranger was trying to steal me from my parents, my swingset was an Olympic apparatus where I always triumphed over the evil East Germans, the tree behind the garage was a hideaway and lookout from which I could see the neighbors' illegal actions, and I was a pro tennis player. If only I had written down all my ideas then; I would have material enough for a thousand books.

What I love about this photo is three-fold: first, I love it because it reminds me of a young myself; second, I love it because it shows a real depth of personality in my daughter; third, it suggests to me that even though we don't look a whole lot alike, my girl and I are not totally dissimilar after all. And even though I may do a thousand things wrong as a parent, maybe, just maybe, I can help her imagine pirates and fairies and dragons and princesses. Hopefully, her recall will be better than mine. And then she can write that bestseller and support me in my old age.

I was also scared of roller coasters. So, see? She's just like me.

A Hundred for a Home

2008-10-24T19:39:00.002-04:00

Whenever I leave the house, or whenever my kids leave me, I kiss them and hug them tight and tell them how much I love them. In an uncertain world, I know too well that it is not a promise that I will see them again. Losing my kids is one of my greatest fears in life.

Now imagine that you watched your children as they slipped away from you. This is the reality two college friends of mine, Matt and Shannon, face every day. Both of their children have Sanfilippo disease, a terminal and regressive disease which will cause their children to lose faculties and abilities until it finally takes their lives. Matt and Shannon have recently relocated to the US from London, where Matt worked. They are currently in a two-bedroom apartment, but are in need of a home. Some friends of theirs have started a project called A Hundred for a Home, where friends and strangers can go to contribute financially toward making a safe home for Matt and Shanon's kids, Waverly and Oliver, a reality. If you feel touched by their story and wish to help, you can do so at that site.

You Heard It Here First

2008-10-08T17:23:00.003-04:00

Our friend Jon, who is the Worship Leader at our church, wrote a simple and beautiful song, and I want you to check it out. It's called Mighty Jesus, and we use it our worship services at church. Follow this link, and select the tune Mighty Jesus from the list. Then listen, and enjoy, and you'll be glad you did.

(I suppose you can also follow this link directly to the song.)

Out of the Mouths of Babes

2008-10-03T14:33:00.003-04:00

Last night, I saw Judah out of the corner of my eye, smacking Ruby's hand. "Naughty, Ruby! Naughty!" He said.

"Judah, what did Ruby do that was naughty?" I asked.

"Ruby play with the computer! Naughty!"

I wondered where all of my blog posts have been disappearing to. Naughty, Ruby! Naughty!

Joy in the Journey

2008-09-24T23:51:00.002-04:00

I wrote this piece some time ago and just found it this evening at the bottom of a mountainous stack of papers on my desk. Since it will probably be a while before I am able to write a decent post again, I thought I'd give it to you to mull over until then.

Years ago, before kids and a mortgage, my husband Abe and I decided to celebrate our anniversary with a trip out West. The plan was to fly to Portland, Oregon, meet up with some dear friends of ours, then drive down through California to Yosemite National Park. It was the first time I’d traveled to the West coast, and I was eager to see all that I could see. Indeed, we did see many awe-inspiring things that the Midwest, where I was born and raised, lacks.

One of the highlights of our trip (or lowlights, depending on your view of it) was a day excursion our friend, Tim, took us on. Tim is a very fit fellow. He hikes. He’s trim and athletic. My husband had hiked with him extensively in the past, but I confess that I am not much of a hiker—scratch that, I’m not really a hiker at all—so since our marriage, Abe has done little in the way of camping or trekking anything steeper than the nearby bike path. Suffice it to say, we were not at our prime physical peak when Tim suggested we “hike” Mount St. Helens. But again, Abe had been an accomplished outdoorsman, and I am moderately athletic, so we figured Tim had considered our physical limitations and planned accordingly.

Apparently, Tim has a different perception of what is exactly in our comfort zone. The hike up the mountain was far more than we had anticipated—no trouble for Tim, slightly more trouble for Abe, and a whole lot of trouble for me. Oh, it started out easily enough, similar to a challenging trail in a local park, but once we got up past the timber line, things became substantially more difficult. Instead of treading the well-worn trails we’d traversed from the parking lot, we were pulling ourselves up over vertical miles of sharp volcanic rock. It was physically demanding, the day was hot and humid, Tim was climbing full-speed ahead, and I was worn out.

I was mad, frankly, that we’d followed him trustingly into this outing, believing it would be a fun adventure, when in reality, it turned out to be just a lot of work. There were lots of shops and tourist traps I’d rather visit, I concluded, than some treacherous mountain. It was a mountain, for pete’s sake! The only good I could see of it was that we’d come after the volcano had erupted. That meant less mountain to climb.

Sad to say, I did not keep any of these negative comments to myself. No, I was vocal about my discomfort and displeasure, and spoke it loud enough for anyone to hear. You’ve never heard anyone whine the way I did that day. My husband, the lapsed hiker, confided in me that this was the hardest hike he’d ever done in his life, and that if he’d known how difficult the climb would be, he would have suggested to Tim that a different activity might be better, or at the very least, he would have suggested that I stay home. But Abe hadn’t known. So there we were, stuck on what I called “this stupid, stupid mountain,” with seemingly no end in sight.

I whined for hours. Literally. I complained about thirst. Fatigue. Aches and pains. Heat. But still we climbed, higher and higher. I knew that we’d better get to the top to make the trip redeemable in any way, but I was doing my very best not to like it.

Finally, after hours of scrambling over craggy rock and trudging the steep incline of unforgiving, unrelenting volcanic ash, we reached the top. Suddenly, as I looked down into the vast crater at the center of the mountain and out over miles and miles of lush, mountainous terrain, it all seemed worth it. Peering over so much of God’s miraculous and beautiful creation, I was overwhelmed. I couldn’t keep from smiling. I was no longer thirsty or tired; instead, I was renewed and energized. We snapped pictures, savored the moment, felt kinship with our fellow climbers, and chiseled the images into our memories. There was not a complaint or whine to be heard from anyone, even me.

The way down was every bit as difficult, if not more so, and I am embarrassed to admit that I complained about that as well. I was bitter when my husband and Tim went on ahead of me and I lagged behind. I completely forgot about the high I’d felt at the summit. I was back in the whiny pit of despair, firmly planted there until the hike was over.

On the drive back to our friends’ house, though, the arduous trek behind me, I felt exhilarated. I knew this would be a great experience to reflect upon in the years to come, a wonderful story to tell, and an accomplishment I’d savor. Only one thing marred it: the fact that I’d been so whiny and baby-ish the whole time. I wished that I had kept silent about my frustrations and forged ahead bravely. I felt as if I didn’t deserve to have accomplished the summit because my attitude had been so poor. I wanted to do it all over again, but without the complaining spirit.

I knew this experience at Mount St. Helens had to be a metaphor for some other part of life, but at the time, I was not sure what. It is only years later, as I’m now chasing after kids, trying in vain to keep up with laundry, dishes, and bills, trying to stretch every dollar, and struggling to update our “fixer-upper” home, that I see it. So many days, I look at the things around me that I am charged to maintain, and I feel overwhelmed and tired. I resent being stuck in an uphill climb and long for the day when the path shallows and the way gets easier. I think that if someone had told me just how difficult the journey would be, I would have skipped it and gone to some nice shops instead. I spend those days bitter and complaining. Those are dark days.

But the St. Helens climb has a lot to say about living. God has put things in our lives—obstacles, it sometimes seems—for us to conquer and maintain, things like mortgages, families, ministries, and work. So often, we come to resent them for what they become—labor—and miss the joys they bring to our lives as well. We complain and whine about them, thinking instead of how our life could be easier or better. We miss altogether the fact that God has given these things to us as blessings. Is marriage a struggle? Perhaps. But your spouse is God’s gift to you. Do children manage to make us crazy? Occasionally. But children are a blessing. Does your home seem to be crumbling around you? It seems like it sometimes. But it is God’s provision for us.

The point is, we sometimes spend so much time complaining about God’s blessings, we miss the wonderful and miraculous view of his creation and provision. We don’t see the awe-inspiring view of life and its design, we only see our tired feet and aching backs. When we get to heaven, do we want to remember how our complaining and bitterness tarnished the experience? Or do we want to have shouldered on, thankful that God gave us the opportunity to make such an amazing climb? Do we want to be ashamed of our attitude and approach to life in the face of God’s limitless grace and blessing, or do we want to have been appreciative and fruitful? Perhaps instead of resenting the journey, we should seek to find joy in it.

The Sun is Shining

2008-09-20T13:19:00.002-04:00

Last night, Ruby slept through the night! Yep. I couldn't believe it myself. When Charis slept through for the first time, I thought (I'm not even kidding) she had died. Nearly hysterical, I went next door to her room to make sure she was still breathing. She was. Now, four years and two children later, sleeping through the night is cause for much rejoicing. I put Ruby down at about 10:30, she woke up at 7:30 to eat, and went back to sleep for another couple of hours. She still sleeps in bed with us, even though she is (as of today) 3 months old. I think that the fact that she is likely our last child has me cherishing this cuddly baby time more than usual. None of our other kids stayed in bed with us so long, but I am still not quite ready to let her go. Cuddling with her at night is one of my great joys.

You'd think I felt well-rested after Ruby's big feat; unfortunately, this is not so. I chalk it up to eating far too much fair food yesterday, but I woke up at about 2:30 with a horrible nightmare about Charis. It was heading in such an awful direction that I woke up from it, knowing it was a nightmare, but needing to see the reality for myself. I went up to Charis' room, crawled into bed with her and stroked her hair for a few minutes, just to reassure myself that everything as okay. I was glad to be there; I was able to witness her laughing in her sleep and saying, "It has such a big tongue!" (We had just been through a thousand animal barns that day, so she could have been talking about anything!) When I had woken up enough to replace the horrible dream images with real-life healthy sleeping child images, I went back to bed.

Just a few minutes later, though, I heard Charis at the top of the stairs. Apparently her sweet dream about funny, long-tongued animals had taken an unfortunate turn, and it scared her awake. I took her into the new room and we cuddled together for another few minutes, praying that God would take away the yucky dreams and replace them with pretty ones. Then she asked me if I would please go back to my bed. She shuffled off to hers, but not before pausing at her door and saying, "Have sweet dreams, Mama! I will pray for you!"

I did have sweet dreams, thanks to her prayers and a dose of Rolaids. When I woke at 7:30, I did the math and realized that Ruby had slept for 9 consecutive hours, which I woke Abe to tell him. At that moment, he was probably not quite as excited as I was. Hopefully, though, we've turned a corner, and this sleeping will become a habit!

And hopefully the nightmares will not.

When the Roll is Called For Up Yonder

2008-09-17T10:50:00.002-04:00

Judah and I took Ruby up to the pack-n-play for a nap just now, and as is so often the case, she didn't agree with the decision. I covered her with a light blanket because--wonder of wonder, miracle of miracles--it's actually getting a little bit cool, and she didn't like that, either, so she cried. In fact, she got so emotional over the whole thing that in the midst of her squirming, she actually turned herself from her tummy (so sue me, she's a tummy sleeper--all of my kids were) to her back. I knew it was about to happen and I became her one-mommy cheering section: "You can do it.....almost there! Keep it up!" And she did. Judah and I cheered, although I'm sure he had no idea why it was such a big deal.

I came right down to document the event in Ye Olde Blog, and midway through that first paragraph, I heard Ruby's crying intensify. I remember that when Judah was so little, he'd flip over and get stuck like a little turtle, and this really stressed him out. I suspected that this might be the case with Ruby ("Now she rolls over all the time! She can't help herself!"), so I ran up to check. It turned out that she hadn't rolled over again, but was in fact upset because her big, hulking brother had climbed into the pack-n-play with her. Too much closeness for her, I guess.

I must end this here because I think Big Brother may be up to his old tricks again, and Charis is begging for pretzels.

Charis is Four

2008-09-09T00:27:00.003-04:00

...and I have the photos to prove it. It had been a while since I'd sent any pictures to the grandparents or aunties and uncles, so I thought it was high time. I'm not a studio-portrait kind of girl, mostly because the idea of wrangling my kids to a professional studio is completely overwhelming to me. It does NOT sound like fun. What is fun to me, however, is doing photo shoots in the comfort of our backyard; we can change outfits if we want, the kids behave naturally in their element, and we've got a couple of acres to choose from, so it's never boring. Sometimes the pictures turn out quite well, sometimes they look amateurish. It's part of the challenge.

Miss Charis is especially difficult to shoot because she has an overly-dramatic mind of her own. Tell her to smile, and she'll likely frown. Tell her to look at you, she'll likely look away. And if it's not that kind of uncooperation (is that a word?), it's the kind where she wants to take the picture instead of being in it. Photo shoots with her haven't produced the best pictures lately.

But the other day, I noticed Kodak Gallery was running a Labor Day special with 4x6 prints going for a mere $.10, so I gussied Charis up just a little little bit (though, in retrospect, it is somewhat strange she's not wearing a dress, since they're her favorite), (And, come to think of it, the gussying consisted mainly of brushing her hair) and took her to an"open shade" area to snap some cheap photos. I like the rustic look of our fence, so we went with that as a backdrop this time. Two minutes later, we had a couple of passable 4-year pictures. And in case you were wondering, there's not a frown in the bunch--I finally figured out that I have to play the "Don't smile!" game. Works like a charm.

Enjoy!

It's kind of a goofy smile, but I think she looks sweet. She's really trying to stifle a grin here. Not too successfully, thankfully.

I don't know if this one really looks all that much like her, but I loved the band-aids on her knees. In the interest of full disclosure, you should know that she actually didn't have an injury that warranted bandaging--she just wanted to wear her new Hello Kitty band-aids. You know, for the fashion of it.

This is just a close-up from the first picture. But man, she's cute. I love this girl!

Things That Go Bump In the Night

2008-09-02T10:12:00.005-04:00

Charis is a dear, sweet girl, and I love her. Sometimes, though, she tries my last nerve. Nighttime is a battle where this nerve is most severely tested, because we have differing opinions about what should happen then: Abe and I think Charis should stay in bed and go to sleep, while she believes she should get out of bed and wander. Usually, she is armed with a book and seeking out any lamp that will enable her to read for just while longer. Occasionally, though, I think she just wants to see what kind of action is going on without her. More than once, we've found her asleep on the landing at the top of the stairs, where she fell asleep while listening to whatever we had on the TV. Whatever the case, we almost always hear her creep out of bed and leave her room, so we're likely to jump on the situation and hustle her back to bed.

Last night, we didn't hear her.

We were watching a movie in the living room when we heard a series of sickening thuds. I knew in a moment what it was: my beloved daughter had fallen asleep at the top of the stairs and was now rolling down them. Abe and I both jumped up at once, but in moments like that, it is as if you're in slow motion, stuck in wet cement. We both instinctively wanted to catch her to keep her from harm, but we just simply couldn't get there fast enough. Charis tumbled and tumbled, and I thought the stairs would never end. When she landed at the bottom, I screamed.

Abe snatched her up, and while he cradled her, I spent the next few minutes making sure everything was okay: testing her reflexes, palpating her spine, making sure her arms and legs worked, feeling for head lumps, looking for blood. Then I took over the cuddling, because nobody comforts like mom does. Where she had been whimpering in a state of semi-slumber while
Abe held her, she calmed down as soon as I took over. We kept her up for a while to make sure she didn't have a concussion, which she didn't, and then I went and lay down in bed with her, just trying to soothe her back to sleep. I figured she was okay when she asked me to please go back downstairs so she could sleep.

It was just the latest in a series of bumps and bruises. But strangely, it was the first time for Charis to be involved in the scenario; poor Judah has had more than his fair share of injuries. It all started one evening when we were playing before bed. I think I've told this story before, but I'll recap: we were knocking the children over in Charis' bed, which the kids love. The kids fall over, land, giggle, and ask for more. On this particular night, I made an error in spatial judgement and pushed charis over before Judah was quite up. The result was the collision of their heads. The back of Charis' head hit the front of Judah's, and while she was fine, he immediately developed a giant lump on his forehead. It took forever to calm him, but we did the same as with Charis, keeping him up for quite some time to check for injury or concussion. We plied the bump with ice packs and plied Judah with popsicles, all in the name of comfort.
Here's Judah once hehad calmed down from the trauma. Note the goose egg on his head, and the end of his second popsicle. I couldn't believe how quickly this bump sprang up, nor could I believe how long it took to go away: it took only second for the bump to form, but it was weeks until the swelling went down, weeks until the purple bruise started to turn greenish yellow. And when it did eventually start to fade, the bruising migrated down between his eyes, giving Judah his first shiners. Then his shiners turned green, too, so instead of calling him Brown Eyes, we took to calling him Green Eyes. Poor kid.

Here he is a few weeks later, when the bruise had started to fade. Notice the green in the corners of his eyes? That took forever to go away.

We thought the bump was behind us, but it seems Judah has a knack for injuring his head. One day, not too long after this photo was taken, Judah was pulling his wagon up the hill to the pole barn when he fell on the concrete, landing on his--guess what?--head. In the exact same spot. The lump was back.

Only days after that, Judah was retreiving a puzzle from under the couch when he stood up and whacked his--guess what?--head on the wooden arm of the couch. We wondered if it would ever end, if the bump would ever ever go away.

As of right now, the bump is nearly non-existent. It has faded and flattened, so the worst of it may be behind us.

But we're going outside to play later, and we may take the wagon with us, so stay tuned...

Teaser

2008-08-28T18:25:00.003-04:00

I have good news and bad news. First, the good news: my usb cord arrived today, at about noon. Yay! The bad news? At about 11:50, I found my old usb cord, thus rendering the new one totally superfluous and unnecessary. So now I've got two, and should never have a time when I'm without. At any rate, the very good news is that I've dumped lots of pictures from my camera onto my computer (AND onto kodakgallery.com, just to be safe) and will continue to do so, so you won't have to suffer through quite so many word-heavy posts in the future.

I would show you all of them right now, but it has been a busy, busy day, and I've got about 30 pounds of peaches to freeze and turn into jam, so I've got a full night ahead of me. Soto whet your appetite, I'll leave you with one new-ish picture of each of the kids. Enjoy!

This is Charis at an extended family member's lake house. I loved the rustic, aged quality of those steps juxtaposed with the beauty and youth of my daughter. Now, if only I could stop her from making faces when she's getting her picture taken...

This is little man Judah in one of his two favorite hats, working on some bubbles. He's so serious!
This picture was also taken at the lake house.

This photo is new--just taken on Sunday in the picnic area above one of our favorite Lake Michigan beaches. Ruby was borrowing her cousin's hat. I know I may be slightly biased, being her mother and all, but I'm pretty sure that Ruby is the cutest baby in existence.

So that's all for now! But I promise I'll have more to come--and soon! Unless I misplace both of my usb cords, in which case I might have some sort of memory-loss issue.

Oh, USB cord, Where Art Thou?

2008-08-27T14:55:00.006-04:00

I'm still waiting on my usb cord. Sherrie seems like she's getting a bit antsy for a new post, so I thought I'd give her one.

A couple of days ago, my computer was running really slowly. I mean, the thing is ancient in computer years, so it's not ever lightning-fast, but on this day, its speed approximated that of slugs or my husband when I ask him to take out the trash. In an effort to thwart whatever was holding my RAMs back, I re-started my computer. Only, as proof that it was possible for the computer to move more slowly than it had been, it wouldn't restart. Not at all. Not only that, it was piping hot like a fresh dinner roll, if dinner rolls were made of metallic gray plastic. I pressed the power button over and over, like you do when you're waiting for an elevator, but with each press, the result was the same: not a darn thing happened.

I can live without the internet. I've done it for months at a time. I can go to the library to pay bills, though I don't like to do it. And I can go a couple of days without checking my email . . . I think. I can even do without Facebook. And I'm sure about that last one, because I still don't totally get the allure. But one thing I cannot do without is pictures of my kids, and unfortunately, many many pictures of my children exist solely on my computer. I know this is irresponsible--they should be backed up somewhere, like on an external hard drive or something. But the fact of the matter is that, on this computer-crashing day, they were not. So I panicked.

Immediately, what had been an okay day turned ugly. I was so sad to think about all of the beautiful images that were lost, and angry with myself for not protecting them as I should have. I moved my computer to the dining room table and left it to sit, hoping it would resurrect itself after a nice rest in a cool spot. I have this theory about electronics, that they need naps just like we do. Whenever they start acting up and being naughty, it's a sure sign, to me, that they need a few moments alone. I'm a big fan of giving electronics moments alone, so I walked away from Mr. Backstabbing Computer and went off to sulk and pretend the crisis had never happened.

When Abe came home that afternoon, I was visibly upset. Actually, he had called before coming home, and could hear the distress in my voice. "Are you okay?" He asked.
"Rough day," I panned.
He paused knowingly. "Oh," he said. "The kids?"
I sighed. "Actually, no. The kids are fine." Oh, my kids, my precious kids, whose childhoods I'd just erased because I was stupid. "We'll talk about it when you get home."

Only, here's the thing: by the time Abe got home, the computer was as cool as a metallic gray cucumber. I had, after all, given the machine a nice naptime--was it possible that it might start up now? I pressed the power button and waited. Miraculously, my beast of a laptop sprang to life! I was overjoyed. I immediately opened my photo software, and there were the smiling faces of my children. Ah, bliss. And sweet relief.

My next thought as that I had no idea how much longer my computer might hang on before it left me for good, so right away, I began uploading my precious photos to the internet--not the most trustworthy place for them, I know, but better than nothing. I am still in the process of uploading, because I have approximately twelve million pictures, but the process has nonetheless begun. And here are a few things I would have lost if the computer thing hadn't turned out so well:

Charis, 3 months

Charis, 10 months

Judah, 2 days

Judah, 10 months

Two of my beautiful children

Aren't those good ones?

Now. I have more than a hundred pictures sitting on my camera, waiting to be uploaded. When that blasted usb gets here, I will put those photos onto my computer. And then, I will save those precious images somewhere else, too, because this whole computer scare was enough to teach me a lesson about taking the time to protect the things that are valuable.

I'll be back soon with current photos!

An Oodah by any other name

2008-08-23T20:46:00.003-04:00

Judah will now say Charis, if pressed. It has a very "care-us" quality to it, but it is funny to hear it coming out of his mouth so fully formed after months and months of saying Oodah when referring to his older sister! The other thing we love to hear him say is the word pepperoni. It is so small and so perfect, as if he has known how to say it since the womb, but has been saving it for a special occasion.

My new usb cord arrives this week, so prepare to be inundated with kiddie pictures!

Charis' Story

2008-08-14T17:15:00.002-04:00

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The Most Timely Gift

2008-08-14T16:38:00.003-04:00

Ruby is growing to be an actual human, which quite took me by surprise. She has been a really easy baby, so I don't have complaints, but for the first several weeks of her life, she was very lump-ish. Our favorite babysitter, Shelby, watched the kids last night for the last time before she leaves us for college (kids and their wayward priorities), and she asked me at what point babies really start to show personality. Thinking back to Ruby's lumpiness, I was tempted to tell her it took a year, but the reality is that any mother searching for the sparks inside her baby's head will tell you that the first glimpses of personality accompany the First Smile.

I remember Charis' First Smile very vividly: at two months, she was of course not sleeping very well, and I was, as a first-time mom, wondering what's in it for me? I mean, what with all the spitting up and poopy diapers and leakiness and lack of sleep and NO REAL ACTIVITY OF INTEREST WHATSOEVER from my little one, I was wondering what, exactly, the payoff was. But we went camping sometime in that second month, and one night ventured into town for pizza. Abe was holding Charis in a standing position on the table, and she was looking across at me, and all of the sudden, there was the payoff: a real, honest-to-goodness, with-her-eyes-and-everything smile. Sure, she'd had those little, gassy, involuntary smiles, but they hadn't really meant anything. This smile was ON PURPOSE. And she gave it to me in a Pizza Hut in Attica, Indiana.

Fast forward to the present. This past Sunday was a really weird, difficult, confusing and sad day. I was dealing with some Self issues and some family issues that had come to a head, and I spent the better part of an impromptu drive over to Ikea crying it out, asking Abe to make sense of it for me. When we arrived, Ikea was busy and crowded and we didn't end up buying anything all that fun, and I was pretty much feeling like the day was a total bust and that it had been a very disappointing end to a weekend I had really really been looking forward to. The day didn't seem like it could be redeemed.

But then, bada-bing, The Payoff.

I had just fed Ruby and was gazing into her smoky blue eyes, trying to find a bit of happiness in her innocence and unconditional mommy attachment. We had carried her around in the front pack all day and she had mostly slept a very lumpy baby sleep, oblivious to the world around her. But there, in the front seat of the van, in the parking lot of Ikea, after a disappointing and teary day, Ruby gave me the most fantastic gift: her First Smile. A real, honest-to-goodness, with-her-eyes-and-everything smile.

A miraculous thing happened: for a little while, I forgot about my shortcomings and those pesky family struggles and remembered to breathe in those gifty moments of life, the moments that surely God provides when we most need them. I laughed with my children, because there may come a day when laughing together won't be as easy as it is now, and I laughed with my husband, because he is good for putting up with me. And I rode the rest of the way home sitting next to Ruby, watching for another beam of light. She didn't give another one then, but that's okay. She had saved the day with her gift, improved my state of mind, and become a little bit more like a real human all in one fell swoop. Things were definitely looking up.

And He Has, Hasn't He?

2008-08-07T02:50:00.002-04:00

It's 2:51 am as I sit down to type this, and I'm doing so not so much because I feel SO SO compelled to write its contents, but because I was just awoken by the most unsettling dream (and some itchy feet, for some reason), and I cannot go back to sleep until I get the disturbing images of the bear in our house (Yes. A bear. In our HOUSE.) out of my head. I fully realize that tomorrow, when I read this post in full coherence, I will find it absurd that this dream kept me up--it was a friendly bear, apparently, because after it wandered into our yard, it had come into the house, hopped up on the kids' bed with them, and was letting them pet it like a dog--but there you have it. The bear dream was too much for me.

So now I'm here, listening to the calming hum of the fan and squinting against the glare of the computer screen, and I want to tell you about the most marvelous illustration of God's forgiveness that I saw today. It really struck me when it happened, and I knew at the time it was destined for Ye Olde Neglected Blog, I just had no idea I'd be giving it words so soon.

The napping arrangement in our house finds Judah upstairs in the kids' bedroom and Charis downstairs on our bed. We tried having them nap in the same room with each other, but it did not go well. At all. So Charis is in our bed for naps, and for the most part, this works out well. The downside is that, at age four, she has come to the point where she really doesn't need naps everyday (even though I really need her to nap for my sanity's sake), so naptime is very frequently a battle to try to get her to stay in bed. The rule is that she is not required to sleep, but she does need to stay in bed for a rest. Some days, she actually falls asleep. But on some days, like today, she is up a lot, claiming a need to use the potty (I'm afraid to call her bluff on that one) or claiming a need to "tell me something," or just up in our room playing in the curtains or in the closet, where she inevitably dumps the single-sock basket. Again, let me reiterate that while she doesn't have an absolute need for a nap on a daily basis, it is essential to the preservation of my sanity, and when naptime is a struggle, my sanity creeps away from me.

Today was one of those lost-sanity naptimes.

Charis had come out THREE times to use the potty, and one time to get another book to look at, and another time, she burst out of the door, waking poor Ruby with her excited yelps about the lost shoe she just found. I deduced that if she had found a shoe, she was most certainly out of bed. So I told her to go back into the room, which she did, and lay down, which she didn't. Minutes later, I stuck my head in the door, hoping to find that she had decided to obey, but was dismayed to find her in the closet and single socks scattered all over the room. She had also removed the pillowcases from our pillows, and had filled them with books and the eye-relief rice pack that is off-limits to her. To say that I was incensed would be putting it mildly. My sanity flew out the window, and I flew into a rage. I was so angry she had flouted the rules so repeatedly. I yelled and I yelled, I threw socks back into the closet, I flung books, and I scared my daughter. She cried. "Mommy, mommy, I'm so SORRY," she sobbed. I yelled something about her being SO NAUGHTY and stormed out of the room to the kitchen, where the Holy Spirit immediately gripped my heart. I prayed and prayed for God to forgive me for yelling at Charis in such a way, but He made it clear to me that I needed to go to her first. I nearly started sobbing myself for the conviction of it.

I went back into the room, and Charis, assuming that I was still out of control with fury, started crying at the sight of me. It broke my heart into a thousand little pieces. Like a small child myself, I crawled into bed with her, wrapped her in my arms, and repented. "Charis," I said, "I need to ask you to forgive me. I was angry, but I wasn't the right kind of angry, and I am so sorry for yelling at you like that."

"Mommy, I'm so so SORRY for getting out of bed!"

"I forgive you, baby girl. Will you forgive me for yelling at you like that?"

"Yes, mama, but will you lay down with me for a minute?" And I did. I laid with her for several minutes, in fact, until both of us had calmed down. And then I begged her not to get up again--which she didn't--and left the room.

Later that evening, we were tucking the kids into bed. I bent down low over Charis' bed and hugged her. "Charis, will you please forgive me for being so angry today?" I asked.

Charis looked at me as if I was crazy. "Mommy, I already DID!"

I am nearly in tears as I write this (though, thankfully, that dumb bear dream is gone for good), because if that isn't the perfect image of God's forgiveness, I don't know what is. So often, I beat myself up about a stumble or a shortcoming, or worse, my direct disobedience, and I beg forgiveness from God over and over, somehow thinking that He hasn't granted it yet. Like the incident with Charis, I carry those horrible images of my failures and faults around with me and they play on a more or less continuous loop, and I am convinced that I am the worst parent/friend/Christian there ever was, totally unworthy of forgiveness.

But when I ask for the umpteenth time, here's the truth: He has already forgiven. Can't you just picture Him saying, "I already DID!"? I usually can't. But today, when my sweet girl forgave me for being such a mess of a mother, I did. I saw that His Son's blood has paid for my sins, once for all, so that when I ask forgiveness, it is granted. Covered. Wiped away.

I can't say that I'm thankful to have lost my temper so completely today. But I can say that I am thankful that my daughter was able to be the mature adult that I was incapable of being, and in the process teach me a lot about God.

I'm Sure He Understands

2008-08-02T17:00:00.002-04:00

We sat down for some mac'n'cheese today, and the exchange went something like this:

Judah: PRAY!
Me: Yes, Judah. Let's pray. Dear Lord, thank y--
Charis: No, Mom! I want to pray! Thank you for this food, and--
J: A-MEN!!!!
C: No, Judah. Not yet. Thank you for this food, and thank you for this--
J: GOD! BIG! MIGHTY!
C: No, Judah, you have to be quiet. Thank you for this food, and thank you for this day.
J: AMEN!!!

Judah likes to be in charge of the praying around here, but he's got some stiff competition in Charis. Time will tell where Ruby falls in the mix.

Happy Birthday Oodah

2008-07-22T10:30:00.004-04:00

Dear Charis--

Happy belated birthday, Baby Girl! It does not seem possible that you are already four--it feels like it was just days ago that I was cradling you and marveling at your tiny fingers and toes. Now, you have huge, Big Kid fingers and toes, and you use them to do Big Kid things like draw pictures of people you love and pick black raspberries and put Ruby's paci in her mouth (just your fingers--your toes aren't that dexterous.). Moments ago, it seems, I was thrilled that you had said what vaguely sounded like "kitty," and now, here you are, four years later, and I think you know all of the words in the whole world. And you have the ingenuity to make up your own (definitions unknown) words, like chompley and wompley.

I love you for so much--for your independence, how you fearlessly adapt to every situation; for your spunk, how you really do light up a room when you enter it; for your helpfulness, how you are quick to comply every time I ask you for a favor; and for your kind heart, how you treat everyone as a friend, even those total strangers in the grocery store that you are constantly inviting to come to our house. You are so very silly, but when the rubber hits the road, you are also able to be sincere, too: two nights ago you woke up with a nightmare about a bird that was in our house, and we prayed that God would give you sweet dreams, and this morning, you told me that you had asked God for happy dreams last night and He had answered you! I love that you're old enough to be able to talk to God on your own.

I am so proud of who you are growing up to be, even if I am mystified by how you came to be that way. For instance, how is it that two confirmed non-morning people could produce a child that is so perpetually sunny as soon as she wakes? How could we, who enjoy team sports like basketball and volleyball, be raising a little girl whose only desire is to be a ballerina? Your dad can't understand how you can eat a tomato or a pepper and enjoy it, and I am equally stumped by your attraction to olives. How is it that you came to be so fascinated by dresses, and so repelled by clothes like jeans? We may not always understand your choices, but we're proud that you're capable and mature enough to make them.

I love that you will proudly claim the name "Oodah"--I have no idea why Judah calls you that, but it is kind of you to allow it, and even more wonderful that you seem to enjoy it. I love that you are (mostly) sweet to your brother and sister. I love that my only complaint about your treatment of Ruby is that you sometimes show her just a little too much love. I love that you love others, and talk about them often, usually asking if we can go visit them RIGHT NOW. You are a kind girl. I love that.

I am so pleased to be your mother. So pleased that you are so intelligent. Pleased that you are kind, helpful, fun, and sweet. I look forward to many more years of watching you grow! Happy Birthday, Baby Girl. I love you!

Kid Talk

2008-07-15T18:43:00.003-04:00

Judah prayed for dinner for the first time today. "God, Thank you. Food. AMEN!!"

Charis sang a sweet song to Ruby today. It went something like this:

Rock-a-bye baby
In the treetop
When the wind blows,
You'd better get out...

I couldn't be more proud.

What a Difference a Stent Makes, etc.

2008-07-08T10:01:00.002-04:00

April asked how things were with the stent and kidney stone, so here's a brief update. And after that, kid stuff.

Last Wednesday, I went to the urologist and had the stent removed. It took approximately 43 seconds. Tell me: why did it take a killer epidural and a surgeon to put the dadgum thing in, but it took no pain meds and a simple doctor's office to remove? At any rate, the effects were almost immediate--I am now more comfortable than I have been in months. And as for the stone, well, I still don't know. I go into the urologist's office in a week or two for a follow up (mostly so the urologist can charge exorbitant amounts of money for relatively little effort on his part), at which point they will X-ray (x-rays are so 1991) to see the location and size of the stone. If the miracle I've prayed for has occurred, the kidney stone vanished long ago. If not, we'll likely break it up (and by "we," I do not mean me at all) with lithotripsy. Until then, I take a big bottle of vicodin with me everywhere in case the stone decides to strike again.

On a more humorous note, Judah adds new words to his vocabulary every day. One of the more interesting is theword "Truck." It wouldn't necessarily be interesting, except for the fact that he can't so much say the TR sound, and instead substitutes an F. We just hope there aren't any trucks to play with at Sunday school. Goodness knows what they'd think we teach our kids.

Charis has taken to calling Ruby "My Baby." This is pretty cute. I thought she was just being affectionate until yesterday, when she asked me if we could pick a different name for our baby because she doesn't like the name Ruby. Some days, you just can't win.

Today we take Ruby for her two-week well-child appointment. I forgot to call my mother in law to ask if she could watch the older two munchkins, so I guess we're all taking a field trip! I'm definitely thinking that some McNuggets are in order to help make it a smooth experience. I might also get some for the kids.

Also: I seem to have misplaced the cord that connects my camera to the computer. So I have MANY pictures to show you, but no way to convey them at the moment. As soon as I locate that important piece of plastic, I will post more shots of our little chunk, Ruby. And also shots of her siblings, because while they aren't chinking out at the rate Ruby is, they are still mighty cute, in my estimation.

Peanut, Bubba, and Jelly

2008-06-30T22:40:00.004-04:00

A long, long time ago, when Judah came to live with us, I took to calling Charis and Judah Peanut Butter (Charis' nickname) and Judah.

Then I thought it would be cute if Judah's nickname was Jelly, because then they'd be Peanut Butter and Jelly. And besides, there's the matter of all the matching J's. C'mon. That's cute. Well, Judah as Jelly didn't really work, but we did take to calling Judah Bubba on occasion, so, as much as any nickname did, Bubba stuck. So at that point, in my mind, they were Peanut and Bubba. Still cute. (I realize that right now, many of you think I'm completely cheesy. I have no defense for that.)

Well, when we found out we were going to have a third, my mind started really working. How could we incorporate the new one into the PB&J theme? Simple, I reasoned: Charis is Peanut, Judah is Bubba, and the new child would be Jelly. Easy peasy. And when Ruby turned out to be a girl, I was elated--because really, Jelly is a much better nickname for a girl than a boy. I love it when a plan comes together.

One problem.

Charis decided she wanted to be Jelly. She reminds me regularly, too: "No, Mom. I'm JELLY." Apparently Jelly fits her four-year-old sensibilities better than Peanut.

Well, I'm trying to make the switch. I can't tell you how many times I've said, "Hey, Peanut. I mean, Jelly." But I'm committed to making this work, even if it means that this particular amount of cheesiness will transform me into one of those denim jumper-wearing kindergarten teacher-types. It's just a risk I'm willing to take.

So, because I'm committed to making it work, and because I can't continue to call this blog "Charis and Judah" on account of Ruby's existence, I've decided to rename this thing "Peanut, Bubba, and Jelly." The url will be the same, but we'll go by this new and (I think) improved title.

Just thought you should know.

Oh, and by the way, if you should see Charis, call her Jelly. It just might help it to adhere.

Day One

2008-06-30T22:19:00.002-04:00

Well, I survived it: Day One of Mother-to-Three-land. My parents left yesterday, and Abe worked today (of course), so I was on my own for the very first time in almost two months. I was pretty anxious about it, but it wasn't all that bad. The only glitch was that Ruby's right eye has been goopy, and since Judah had a plugged tear duct as an infant, I was concerned Ruby had one, too, so I took her (and her older siblings) to the doctor to get it checked out. Nothing like starting out Day One with a solo doctor's office visit with all three kiddos. It wouldn't have been so bad if we hadn't had to wait to see the doctor for so long--their patience (and mine) was definitely tried. Turns out it probably isn't a plugged duct, just a run of the mill infection, probably acquired from a young visitor we had who, as it so happens, also saw the doctor today for an eye infection. Neat. I will say, though, that unfortunate as it was to have had to go in, I did find out that Ruby is gaining weight like some sort of mini-sumo. Considering I was convinced that she wasn't eating enough for even a small mouse like herself to thrive on, this was a huge load off my mind.

I also took Ruby (but not the other two) with me to the store to snap up a few 4th of July cookout bargains and to get her prescription filled. It was a difficult trip because of the stent, but it was refreshing to be out by myself doing something for my family, rather than having others wait on me hand and foot. It was nice to feel productive. Along the same line, I served my kids breakfast AND lunch, and with the help of a rotisserie chicken, I served them dinner, too! And I did a load and a half of laundry! And that's it, because MAN. I've got to work my way back in SLOWLY. Thankfully, we've got nice friends from church bringing us meals, starting tomorrow, and another beautiful friend from church gave us a gift certificate for maid service. So to a certain extent, I can just pretend at productivity without having to commit myself fully, and my family will still be well taken care of. I love helpful friends.

If tomorrow goes as well as today did, I will upload and post some more recent pictures of the kids, specifically our newest little miss. See you tomorrow! (Hopefully)

Hallelujah!

2008-06-28T16:59:00.003-04:00

the three of us--just before taking ruby belle home for the first time.

the kids meet their new sister for the first time--judah can't believe how "tiny! tiny!" her toes and "finners" are.

miss charis just wants to be sweet to her new baby.

you wouldn't believe how excited judah was to see "wooby."

hallelujah! we're so glad ruby is here!

And Baby Makes 5!

2008-06-21T17:09:00.002-04:00

Just a brief post to announce the arrival of our newest gem, Ruby!

She was born on Friday morning, weighing in at 6 lbs., 12 oz., and measuring 19 inches in length. We're JUST home from the hospital, so I haven't uploaded pictures from our camera yet, but I will soon. She's a beauty, and we're thrilled. Charis and Judah are also very excited, and come home tonight--let the new family begin!

Bed Rest Update

2008-06-16T14:01:00.003-04:00

Well, as of last Friday, I'm officially not on strict bed rest. I'm still on "take it easy," but since I'm now 37 weeks along (what a miracle!), my midwife wanted me to be up getting some sort of stamina back and helping my body progress towards labor now. Funny--a couple of weeks ago, I was on a slew of medicine to keep labor at bay, and now we're actually inviting labor to the party. I cannot tell you how ready I am to meet this little lady. No, really--I could try, but I'm not certain it would end up being emphatic enough.

The one glitch is this: because I still have the dadgum stent in, I am unable to be up for very long at a stretch. On my first day of non-bed rest freedom, I may have overdone it a wee bit--and paid the price. So now, I'm just up as much as possible, and the rest of the time I'm laying down. I've tried the whole sitting thing, but my body was not a big fan. I did, however, get a chance to get a haircut and make a trip to Meijer for some post-baby necessities. I thought I'd be able to walk around the store and stretch my legs a little bit, but I was obviously fooling myself; here in the land of the stent, walking more than thirty feet is like taking the long route to Mount Olympus. Instead, I opted for one of those scooter carts. I got some pretty funny looks from people who probably thought I was just being lazy.

In other news, today is Charis' 4th Birthday! I am planning the official Happy Birthday Post, but I want to give it the effort and attention it deserves, which I am at present unable to do. So stay tuned! After Baby Girl arrives and Mr. Stent leaves us, I plan a doozy of a post to celebrate my precious firstborn. I imagine there will also be a celebratory post about our precious Third Born, so stay tuned!

Happy Birthday, Charis! You will always be my Baby Girl.

Since I've Been Gone

2008-06-07T15:33:00.002-04:00

Well, it's probably high time for a post. I'm still laying on my side in bed, typing with one hand, so this will probably be brief.

To recap:
I went to the hospital ER in Ohio with severe left flank pain, and was diagnosed with a kidney stone. I was admitted, and the next day they inserted a stent. I do not recommend the stent. It is no fun at all, and is in fact one of the more miserable things I have ever experienced in my life. At the time, I had just entered y 31st week of pregnancy.

Four days later, I endured the longest car ride ever (thanks to the stent) to return home to my family. There, I embarked on a course of bed rest, owing to the fact that I was really incapable of doing much else. My mom stayed with us for a few days to help out and prepare enough food to last us until the next millennium.

I had been home for about five days when I started bleeding and began premature labor. Earlier in my pregnancy, I had been diagnosed with placenta previa, but that condition had been upgraded to "low-lying placenta," which is less serious, but still creates the potential for a C-section. As far as we knew, the bleeding meant that placenta had abbrupted, and we were about to have an emergency C. We rushed to the hospital, where I spent the next five days on some pretty powerful drugs to stop labor. They also gave me a few doses of steroids to "jump start" the baby's development in case SHE came early. Yep, it's a girl! We found out premature girls generally fare better than boys, so we decided to find out the gender of our baby, an unprecedented event in our lives. We met with neonatologists to learn about what would likely take place if our baby was born then, at 32 weeks. Twice during my stay, we seemed to be moments away from having that C section. Obviously, things did not end up that way. When things had stabilized, they sent us home, and prescribed strict bed rest for me. Thankfully, my dad was able to come up and stay with me, and the kids were able to go to Abe's parents' house (during the week) so I could rest as prescribed.

About 3 days later, I spiked a fever and was again admitted to the hospital, this time for a kidney infection (thanks a lot, stent). I was there for three days this time, and they sent me home with some Keflex for the infection, and also Procardia to stave off the contractions that were beginning again.

Three days after that, I went back to the hospital in incredible pain. They basically did nothing for me but tell me to take baths for my "discomfort," and sent me home right away. Two days later, I was still in intense pain, so my midwife advised me to head to the ER. They diagnosed a UTI (thanks again, stent) and gave me Macrobin for the infection and Vicodin for the pain. The nurse told me to take the Vicodin sparingly, so I did. Bad idea.

Two days later, I was back at the hospital, again in intense pain and with contractions five minutes apart. The midwife, after determining that I was not dilated or effaced, gave me more Procardia and told me I could take the Vicodin every 4 hours as I needed for pain. This helped a lot. She then sent me home. At this visit, I had just crossed over into my 35th week of pregnancy. 36 is considered carrying to term, so we were really hoping I'd make it that far. We scheduled an appointment with the midwife for the next Friday for a checkup.

The next Thursday (two days ago), my dad took me to the midwife's office, but not because anything was wrong; I had just completely lost track of the days and thought it was Friday already.

Yesterday, I went to the real appointment, and discovered that I am 75 percent effaced and 1 cm dilated. This really means nothing in terms of delivery time line, but it was encouraging that I was obviously progressing and not having any more bleeding, which means that there is still a chance for a non-C section delivery. She took me off of the Procardia, but I am still (somewhat groggily, most of the time) taking the Vicodin to manage the pain from the stupid stent and kidney stone issues. The stent will not come out until after the baby's arrival, but as of today, I am at 36 weeks, so it could happen any time. Charis was born at 37 weeks, so it could be soon. Judah was born at 39 weeks, so it may not be very soon. At any rate, I continue to be on bed rest in case of other bleeding issues.

Well, this is a very unceremonious ending, but my laptop is about to run out of power, so I will go ahread and post this. Likely, next time you hear fro me, I will be the mother of three!

Out of the frying pan and into the hospital

2008-05-18T21:50:00.002-04:00

Again, this will be short, since I'm typing with one hand from a recumbent position. On Tuesday afternoon, after more than a week of kidney-stone-induced bed rest, I found myself in the very scary position of needing to go to the hospital again. This time, it had nothing to do with kidney stones. I will spare you the gory details because they would probably gross you right out, but suffice it to say that when I arrived at the hospital, we were pretty sure that an emergency C section would be in order. At the time, I was 32 weeks along--I'm now 33--and we were briefed by all sorts of medical personnel on what to expect with a per-term baby. They started me on magnesium sulfate to try to stop the labor, and eventually, it worked. It also made me nauseated, churned up all sorts of acid, made me extremely lethargic, and took away any sort of muscle control. My time on that drug was not good. They started me on steroids to try to speed up baby's development, and we waited. Things seemed to have stabilized until Thursday night, when we again believed we'd be celebrating a birthday. We didn't, thankfully. I am now home, but on complete bedrest for the foreseeable future. Please pray that the baby will stay put for many weeks, and pray that my family will survive this time of adjustment. That's all the gusto I have in me for now. If I come by more, I will post again later.

A Funny Thing Happened on My Way to a Relaxing Weekend

2008-05-11T11:00:00.002-04:00

I had my first epidural--and did not deliver a baby.

I have to give you the short version because I can't really sit up for very long, which makes things like parenting and housework really hard. But I had--still have--a kidney stone. It's a super lot of fun when you are 32 weeks pregnant and have a large baby resting on your bladder.

I went to the emergency room this past weekend while I was visiting my parents with the kids. Abe was still at home, finishing up drywall, so he wasn't there for the drama. After my dad and I arrived at the ER, they did an ultrasound to confirm their suspicion of a stone and began a regimen of painkillers to help ease the pain. Let me be clear: kidney stones are a million times worse than childbirth in terms of pain. But they couldn't give me any "good stuff" for pain or nausea because of the baby, so they admitted me to the hospital, and then the next day, with the use of a very strong "C-section-type" epidural (which I hated), surgically implanted a stent to relieve the pain of the stone. I was released from the hospital soon thereafter, but my recovery has been particularly slow and uncomfortable, and pretty much all I am able to do is lay on my side all day. It was days before I felt I could travel, so Abe, who arrived on the scene shortly after the surgery, took the kids home while I stayed at my parents' home to recover. I am home now, but I can't do a bloomin' thing except lay on the couch. I am so sick of TV.

I feel very vulnerable saying all of this right now! Sorry if it's too much information. But I wanted to let you know that this has taken me forever to type, and so I will be stepping away from the blog for a few weeks, until either a) I've had the baby, or b) I've had some sort of miraculous recovery. Pray for my husband! He's now got a whole lot on his shoulders.

And pray for me--it's really challenging feeling as useless as I do. While I do want this baby to go to full term so it's healthy, I cannot fathom another 6 weeks of living like this. Pray that my body will figure out how to function so we can get back to life as normal! Thanks so much.

Sleepovers

2008-05-01T13:40:00.002-04:00

This past weekend, while Abe and I were enjoying a day away, we farmed the kids out. We sent Charis to her friends Katie and Travis (Charis and Travis apparently think they will be wed someday), and Judah went to Aunt Beth's house to have a sleepover with Gideon and Elise. We've left the kids before, but only with Abe's mom, so this was a new one--and the first time Charis and Judah have been apart for a night.

Uncle Tim and Aunt Beth were over helping work on our house on Friday night, so they just took Judah away with them when they left. Then Abe and I strapped Charis in the van and drove her to our church, where we were dropping her off to be driven to Katie's house by her mom, Tanya. The departures of both children seemed to go smoothly--no tears, no longing looks, no clinging (and the kids did okay, too).

But when we returned home from dropping off Charis (and stopping for ice cream, of course), the phone rang. It was Beth.

"Uh, oh." I said. "What happened?"

"I just need some guidance about what to do. Judah really misses you. A lot. He's in the crib, and he's really, really sad, and I just don't know what to do. Sould I let him cry it out? How long should I wait?"

Poor Judah! I felt terrible that he was so sad. But a part of me was secretly pleased--my little boy misses me. And he asked for me by name. I told Beth to let him cry for a few minutes, as I was sure he was absolutely worn out and would fall asleep soon. We found out the next day that he didn't fall asleep soon--in fact, Beth had removed him from the crib and cuddled with him on the couch, where they both had fallen asleep at about midnight. The next night started out similarly, but Judah ended up falling asleep in the midst of his sadness. Needless to say, he was happy to see us the next day. (And I'm working hard to overcome my jealousy that, even though he asked for me at night, when we walked in to collect him on Sunday, his first words were "Daddy! Daddy!!")

On Sunday, we picked Charis up from church. She seemed to vaguely recognize us ("Hey. You're my mom.") but didn't seem compelled to stop playing and come home with us. I was standing with Tanya, who had hosted Charis for the weekend, as I said to my beloved firstborn, "Charis, I missed you SO MUCH!!!!" Tanya hesitated only slightly before she said, "I wish I could tell you she felt the same." Of course, this is the Charis that never once cried when being left at the church nursery, never scoffed at being left with a babysitter, never seemed sad about our absence--ever. She is the most independent child I have ever known. And while it breaks my heart just a little bit to know that she's perfectly fine with our being gone, I guess I'm glad to know she knows who we are when we return. It's a start...

And Don't Even Get Me Started on the Bottled Water

2008-04-26T22:18:00.005-04:00

Hello, all. We had a very nice day today at the ballpark watching the Tigers play the Angels, and while I have approximately the energy of a geriatric cat on Ambien (my friend Jon wrote something like that once, and I frequently imagine myself as that cat--go figure), I figured I'd better write something about it while it's still fresh. And this might take me a while, because apparently, when I'm tired, my fingers don't type very well.

Okay. So, the kids are with others--Charis is chillin' with Katie and Travis, and Judah is hangin' with Gideon and Elise, which means me and the old man have the whole house to ourselves this weekend. Woo Hoo! That might mean something, except for the fact that we have no opportunity whatsoever to sleep in, so the whole no-kids-in-the-morning thing is pretty much wasted. Back to my original point, about the nice day. Are you still with me? 'Cause I'm not sure I am. We got up stinkin' early this morning so's we could get on the road to go spend the day at the ballpark. There was a special program today, see, where Christian speakers get up and share their testimonies and things, and it was pretty cool. So we had to be there at 11 or so for the special program, a mere FIVE hours before the game was to start. We stopped for breakfast beforehand at a local joint called Cracker Barrel--if you're ever in our neck of the woods, you should stop in. You know, they really ought to franchise it or something.

But I digress.

Not that I currently have a train of thought anyway.

It was supposed to be overcast today, with a high of 56 or so, except that NOT SO MUCH. It was sunny and about 95 degrees down near the field, so good thing I wore jeans and a sweatshirt! And not so good about the fact that we wore no sunscreen, because Abe and I both got a little pinker than we would have liked. After the speakers were all done, we had an opportunity to go stand on the field for a "baseball clinic," which, when 5,000 people are in attendance, pretty much amounts to, "Some man is talking about base running--or it may be outfielding. One can't be sure." All the same, it was really cool to stand in the middle of the outfield whilst someone who may or may not be a major league ball player talks about pitching and/or sliding and imagine what it must be like to play a professional sport where 43,000 people come to your house and stare at you while you play.

Really, paragraphs are a lost cause here. I'm just giving you these spaces so you'll have a chance to come up for air.

We still had an hour to kill before kickoff--I mean, before the first two ceremonial pitches were thrown out by some dude named Brandon, and some other dude named, oh, I don't know--we'll say Chris. Who knows. It was not very ceremonial, and do we really need two non-ceremonial pitches? Don't they just cheapen the real ceremonial first pitches? Anyway, to kill some of the time, we thought we'd go find our seats. We had been told they were really good seats in Row 17. And when we heard that, we were all like, WOW! Row 17!! Well, those seats are humdinger! And they were indeed in Row 17, but in Section 329 in the upper-upper deck. And for those of you scoring at home, there are only approximately 21 rows in the upper upper deck, which means we were pert near the top. We so enjoyed the climbing of the stairs that we decided to kill some more time and go back down to the main level for some overpriced treats and then come climb back up the stairs to our version of Row 17--which, if there were any truth in it, they'd call Row 96.

Which brings me to the real travesty of major league ball parks: the overpriced treats.

When we were sitting in the first portion of the program, baking in the sub-Saharan heat (isn't it still April? Isn't it?), I sent the hubby to get us a refreshing beverage. He returned some minutes later with a 32-oz. pop, $4.75 poorer. $4.75. FOR ONE POP. Is that not the most ridiculous thing you've ever heard? I just spent $5.00 this week on a 24-pack of Coke in cans. And while those cans don't hold quite half of the 32 oz. that were in our cup, I was still bitter when I did the mental math and realized they'd marked up my canned pop by about 4,000,000 percent. And don't even get me started on the bottled water; you're not allowed to bring in your own containers of anything, which is presumably so you won't have a choice but to fork out $3.75 for a cheap plastic bottle full of water that likely came from a large faucet in a warehouse somewhere. During the seventh-inning stretch, we were singing about peanuts and cracker jack, and I couldn't help but think that peanuts and cracker jack would set us back about $10. Ah, the ballpark. Where else on the planet would people stand in line to spend $14.50 on a Little Caesar's pizza that they could purchase hot-and-ready a block away for a third of the price?

Moving on from the travesty portion of the program... We went to sit in our nosebleed seats (Wait a minute--my ears just popped from the altitude change--that may still be a travesty) and discovered that the sweltering heat we had experienced only, well, an hour before--heat that made us seriously contemplate spending $5.00 on an icee (AN ICEE!)--had given way to a bone-chilling, Arctic temperature that had us switching our order to the $3.75 hot chocolate. I zipped up my sweatshirt, tugged my hood up over my head, and wrapped myself in my gore-tex to fight off the wind.

Nine innings, a popcorn, nachos, Italian sausage, five waves, and a second mortgage later, we won the game.

Then we walked the block to our parking spot, where we waited for half an hour to move, and then inched along for another half hour until we were shuffled with the rest of the traffic onto the highway to head home. Start to finish, driveway to driveway, we were gone for fifteen hours. We are poorer, bloated, and sunburned. We're stiff from sitting and sore from climbing.

But, you know, it was still a good day.

Go figure.

Now I'm off to curl into a ball, groom my paws, take some Ambien, and go to bed.

Prayer for Matt and Shannon

2008-04-17T15:39:00.003-04:00

Matt and Shannon have just learned that their son Oliver has Sanfilippo Syndrome, too. Here's the link to their blog again. Please keep praying for them--they're really in need of it.

My friend Sarah passed along this article about a girl with Sanfilippo Syndrome. Also check out this link for more general information about Sanfilippo Syndrome.

Sweet Nothings

2008-04-16T22:37:00.002-04:00

This afternoon, after a busy morning with a visiting friend, the kids were wiped out. I put them down for naps and they didn't even complain, which is truly rare. I waited a few minutes and grabbed a little snack, catching up on blogs and waiting for someone to make a ruckus that needed to be dealt with. For the most part, all was calm. But then I heard a bit of shuffling and moving in my bedroom, which meant that Charis hadn't settled down to sleep, so I popped my head in the door to encourage her to lie down and rest. She was sitting on the bed, having artfully arranged the pillows to form a sort of Charis nest, and simply smiled an innocent smile as I gently scolded her for playing.

After that, I figured it was safe to commence with my usual naptime activities, which don't regrettably include a nap. I sat down at the computer, arranged my own pillows artfully, and set to work.

I had been working for about an hour when I had an overwhelming urge to go cuddle with Charis. I think I was feeling a trifle guilty at scolding her when she really wasn't doing anything so terrible. And with the constant reminders lately of how life is but a vapor, I thought I should probably act on my urge; after all, work will always be there--or not--but my sweet dear won't always be three years old and of good cuddling size. This is the girl who, most mornings, will try to get me out of bed by saying, "Mommy, do you want to come cuddle with your little girl?" I know that one of these mornings, I will wake up and she will be sixteen, and her phrase will be something like, "Mom. You are so lame. Let me have some privacy and watch my shows!" Little girl, indeed. I ought to smack her mouth! But I'm getting ahead of myself.

So I saved my work and quietly crept into the bedroom, settling myself down beside her. She's not really a sleep-cuddler, so I came as close as I could without actually touching her, and I marveled at this beautiful creature: how her hair lay smooth across her face, how her shoulders rose and fell with each gentle breath, how tiny she looked, but how big she has gotten since she first came to our family. I inhaled the moment, trying to etch it in my mind permanently.

Moments later, my sweet little girl rolled over, saw me there, and said sweetly, "Mommy, will you please get out of my bed?"

Well, it was nice while it lasted.

Great Moments in Sports History

2008-04-16T09:24:00.003-04:00

This February, it was:
Giants win Super Bowl!!

March Madness produced this headline:
Kansas wins NCAA Championship!!

But perhaps most importantly, April 15th brought you this:
Calvary Bible #2 wins Bible Volleyball League Championship!!!!

Yes, you read that right. The prestigious Bible Volleyball League, made up of 11 teams of varying skill and denominations, held its final tournament last night. Only the top 8 teams were admitted into the tournament, and our team, Calvary Bible 2, with its record of 7-3, was seeded 4th. Our first game was against Prairie Edge, seeded 5th. The first game in the match was a disaster and resulted in Calvary's defeat. But thanks to some inspirational words from their phenomenal and essential(ly useless) coach (me) (oh, and the fact that the team hit their groove and started playing like so many Karch Kiralys), Calvary 2 rallied to win the next two games, clinching the match.

After sitting for a game, Calvary 2 then geared up again to face 8th-seeded Second Christian Reformed 3, who were coming right off of an against-all-odds, bracket-breaking victory against the heavily-favored number 1 seed, Westwood 1. Do you believe in miracles? We do. We won this game handily, in only two games.

Then it was time to sit for a spell again, this time to watch Cherry Creek take on Richland Bible. After watching Richland cruise to victory in this semi-final match, Calvary 2 again took the floor. By this time, everyone in the stands (that'd be me) knew the game could go either way; Calvary 2 had been playing lights-out volleyball all night, but Richland hadn't been sitting, and was well-pumped up after their win. Also, Richland has a nearly 7-footer who needs no approach to be able to slam the ball directly in your face. On the other hand, we have pretty good D, and our hitters, while they fall well short of the 7-foot range, are no slouches, either. So, like I said, it could have gone either way.

But it didn't.

Our team emerged victorious after two surprisingly quick games. The crowd (me, and the guy running the tournament) went wild! The team was stunned--last year, Calvary 2 barely made it to the playoffs, and this year, we were standing atop the (theoretical) podium, receiving the (hypothetical) gold medal! Calvary was awarded a handsome cash prize ($50--we're going out for ice cream next week to celebrate) and the most coveted prize of all: the (used) official 2008 Bible League Game Ball. Lord Stanley's Cup has nothing on the Tachikara SV-5WSC, but I think that goes without saying.

So mark it on your calendars, and tell your grandkids: you were alive when Calvary Bible #2 won sport's greatest prize!

Sowing Tears

2008-04-10T14:32:00.002-04:00

A update:

I think that I mentioned that my 20-week ultrasound showed Placenta Previa. During the ultrasound, the technician also noted two spots on the baby's heart known as EIF. These spots represent a slightly increased risk of having a baby with Down's syndrome. I was told by the midwife to curtail exra-curricular activities, at least until after a follow-up ultrasound showed marked improvement.

Well, last Monday, I went back for that ultrasound, and it appears that the placenta is on the move, so things are looking good. I still have the same restrictions and must still go back for follow-up ultrasounds, but we have every reason to believe that a scheduled C section will not be in our future. The technician also took note of the spots on the heart, and looked for other markers that might suggest Down's--the spots were still there, but every other marker was normal. We've been praying about these things, so it was a comfort to see that God had planned for those things to work out in our case. Perhaps He knows we just couldn't do it if they hadn't.

Within the theme of God's plans being beyond our understanding, I'd like to pass along two blogs to you:

The first belongs to some friends from college, Matt and Shannon. I may have already told you about their blog, but I will do it again anyway. Matt and Shannon's little girl, Waverly, has been diagnosed with MPS III, also known as Sanfilippo Syndrome. They are waiting to receive word on whether their little boy, Oliver, has it, too. I will let you read their blog and read about Sanfilippo Syndrome to figure out the heartbreak of their story.

The second I just learned about today. It is the blog of Todd and Angie--you may recognize Todd from the group Selah. Selah's music has always been a source of comfort to me in hard times, and it appears that Todd and Angie are walking through some very hard times of their own. Their little girl, Audrey Caroline, only survived for about 2 hours after she was born. Todd and Angie had known since their 20-week ultrasound that Audrey was not going to live, but I don't imagine that made it any easier to say goodbye.

Pray for both of these families as they each have a difficult journey to take.

God Always Knows

2008-03-29T09:36:00.003-04:00

Before Abe was laid off, he was driving approximately 7 minutes to work every morning. When he was re-hired, he was hired by a different company whose main project, which Abe is working on, is about 25 minutes away. From 7 minutes to 25 minutes--for Abe, who had been making the 7 minute commute for more than 4 years, this was a switch. Just the same, we were so thankful to have him back to work that the few extra minutes' drive was a price we were willing to pay.

We had no idea how fortunate he was to be hired by this company at this time, and how relatively short Abe's new commute would be.

It turns out that the shop he used to work for is encouraging all of its workers to procure cars with good fuel economy because all of its jobs--for the next several months, at least--are not local. Abe spoke with a fellow today who works for Abe's former employer. He lives about half an hour north of us--and is still driving over an hour and a half north to get to work. Some of the locations of the company's jobs are so far removed that the company has rented houses for its workers to live in during the week--the commute there and back would just eat up too much daylight. So these guys travel up there at the beginning of the week and return home to their families on the weekends.

Praise the LORD that He knew all of this! We had no idea this was the case with Abe's former employer. In fact, we were stymied by the fact that there were men still working with the company who had far less seniority, if you will. And when a friend of his got called back to work and Abe didn't, we were discouraged. We couldn't understand why they weren't asking Abe back. We couldn't understand, but it turned out that it was because God was at work with a better plan.

This just goes to show you that God Always Knows. He knew that if Abe worked for his former company, he'd likely be working far, far away from his family--possibly away from us for days at a time. Now we realize that a 25 minute commute is a huge gift. God knew, and worked in His amazing ways to put Abe out of the minds of the people who might have asked him back to work--and into hours of commute. God knew this would take my husband away from me. And when I plan to be in labor delivering a baby in just a few short months, and when you consider that with my last baby, I arrived at the hospital at 8 centimeters, there probably wouldn't have been time for Abe to make it back from whatever distant land he was working at, a 25 minute drive is a blessing. God knew all of this.

We are so grateful that though we don't always understand how or why God works, He always does, and His plan is always best. Amazing!

It's Quite Easy Being Green

2008-03-28T13:40:00.002-04:00

Hello, all. I have a couple posts a-brewin' on the stove for you, namely one about dear, two-year-old Judah, and one about our construction project.

They're just not ready yet.

So instead, I'll say just one more thing about the delights of reusable shopping bags. I posted about how much I loved them several months back, and remain devoted to them as a means of conveyance for all of my purchases. The one thing about them that I lament, though, is that they don't fit very well into a purse, so if you're on one of those spur-of-the-moment shopping jaunts and don't happen to have a bag stashed in your car, you have to use whatever landfill-clogging, environment-destroying plastic bag they throw your way.

Not anymore, my friends!

Today I was at Target, and found a tote bag that zips into its own pouch for easy portability! Super! The tote itself is not quite as roomy as the standard grocery-bag type totes that are made of the same non-woven polypropylene (whatever that means). But it zips to roughly the size of a ladies' billfold, and it holds quite a bit! And it costs 99 cents! I am only slightly excited about this! Here's a link to the company that makes them. It's just an informational site, so if you, too, are interested in carrying this very handy zippable tote, you'll have to go to Target to get your own.

Dear Judah

2008-03-27T16:20:00.003-04:00

Dear Judah--

Well, it's official: You're two years old! I have so much I want to say to you about who you are becoming, and about how proud I always am of you, so I will just jump right in.

Here's the funny thing about being two: you will have absolutely no recollection of this age when you're grown up. That makes me a little bit sad, because I want you always to remember this beautiful time: the time where your sister was your best friend, the "meow" was the funniest thing on the planet, and you were always more than willing to share. The time where you still liked to rock before you went to sleep, still slept with "Muirne,", and still liked to wear footie pajamas. The time where your greatest thrill in life was going out to work with dad, or just going outside for any reason at all. The time where no food was your enemy, and fruit snacks were your best friend. The time when television held little allure, blocks and cars were still a novelty, and wearing funny hats around the house was your idea of being silly.

See? So many good things. Things that you may not even recall.

Will you recall climbing out of your crib for the first time? Or the day you realized that not all four-legged canines were not called Muirne, but were, instead, doggies? Will you remember when you figured out how to say important boy words like couch, pizza, pop, and poop?

More importantly, will you remember all of the precious times you crawled into bed with mom and dad and smothered us with hugs? Some of those other things may slip our minds, too, but not this one. This one will stick forever.

You are shaping up to be one of the best people we know. You are so loving and kind, so pleasant to be around and play with, and just generally a cool kid. You play well with others and share. You love to dance. At night, when Charis asks if we can sing a song, you oblige her with a "La, La, La" creation of your own. Then, you lay down on your back, tuck your hands behind your head and let out a deep and satisfied, "Aaahhhhh." This never fails to crack us up. You love to read, you love to hide under blankets, you love to sneak a hot dog or three out of the fridge. You love to "shovel" snow with my dustpans. You love to help me cook. I cannot say enough good about you, Judah!

For all of that, you do have a stubborn streak. What can I say? Your parents are two headstrong people, so you didn't have a fighting chance; you were always meant to be a little bit strong-willed. We fight those battles with you sometimes, to be honest. But in the end, you always end up with that wonderful smile and charming guffaw, and the whole thing is forgotten.

We marvel at how you seem to grow and mature daily, adding new words, actions, and capabilities to your repertoire at an alarming rate. You are turning into a bona fide boy right before our eyes--no more of that baby stuff for you. It's always fun to watch, and sometimes a little bit sad. The important thing for you to remember, though, is this: no matter how you change, no matter how you grow, no matter how many of these things you remember or discard, we will always love you completely and be awed at the fact that God chose us to be your parents. We feel so blessed and humbled that He gifted us with you.

Happy Birthday, Judah!

I Be Smary. Smary, Smary, Smary

2008-03-20T13:15:00.003-04:00

My father taught Special Ed students for years and years, and one of the most memorable quotes from his students I can remember is this one, by a girl who was writing about her vast and superior intelligence: "I be smary." By "smary," of course, she meant smart. And by "I be," she of course meant I am. (For those of you not fluent in Ebonics.)

What does this have to do with me? Well, since becoming pregnant, my mental faculties have steadily declined. To be truthful, I think the decline started in my first pregnancy and just steadily continued its descent. I have never fully recovered. My theory is that some of my brain power was channeled to my babies, who are now in possession of much of my intelligence. I be smary, indeed. They be smary-er.

Today my smary-ness manifested itself in a new and profoundly absurd way. I was fixing a very sophisticated lunch of hot dogs for myself and my children, and to be fancy, I was heating the hot dogs in a pot on the stove, as opposed to using the microwave, as I usually do. Though my kids take their hot dogs au naturel, I personally prefer eating them with a bun, and a steamed one at that, if I can get my hands on one. Today, since I was using boiling water to heat the dogs, I thought it was only natural to harness the power of its steam to heat my bun. I concocted a thoroughly brilliant (in my estimation) method for this: I set my splatter screen over the pot of hot water and set my bun on it. Perfect, I thought, except that I realized that the bottom of the bun would probably get nicely steamed while the top remained stiff and cold. Aha! I remembered my microwave food cover, that plastic dome that you place over foods while warming them so they don't make a mess of the microwave. I AM PURE GENIUS, is what I was thinking. I WILL HARNESS THE STEAM IN THE DOME. BRILLIANT.

Well, I stepped away from the stove to let the hot dogs simmer away and the buns soften, returning minutes later to retrieve the succulent treats. I was eager to tuck my hot dog (a Nathan's Famous dog--mmmmm) into the perfectly-steamed bun, and proceeded to lift the microwave lid off of the splatter screen to get at the tender baked goods.

Alas. To no avail.

Here's how smary I really am: I had set a plastic dome on top of a metal mesh over exposed gas flames. Needless to say, the splatter screen and plastic dome were now fused as one, and my bun was trapped inside. It was at this moment, when I was picturing the hack saws and metal snips I would need to free my bun from its plastic and aluminum prison, that I vowed never to use this method ever again. I set the plastic and metal glob back over the flame (what can it hurt now, I thought) and pried at the lid with a fork until the lid and my hot dog bun (bought with a price) were freed. The food dome and splatter screen will never be the same.

So it just goes to show you that I don't always do the smary-est things. But almost exactly two years ago, I birthed a boy child of such cuteness and vivacity as to stop traffic and make people of all ages swoon in his presence. That may be overstating it, but only by a bit, even if I may be a bit biased. Once I have regained some semblance of rationale and stopped playing with fire, I plan to post about my precious two-year old boy and why I love him, and why introducing him to the world was the smary-est thing I have ever done (aside from marrying his father and bringing forth his sister). In the meantime, pray for our family's safety. I apparently cannot be trusted.

Job Update

2008-03-10T09:21:00.002-04:00

Well, Abe officially went back to work today! It is 9:30 am, and the kids and I are already tired of each other. Judah woke up asking for daddy, and Charis keeps asking if we can call daddy at work. Then she proceeds to "call him" at the top of her lungs, as if he's just out working on the addition as he has been for the past three months. The really sad part is that Abe plays basketball on Monday afternoons, so he won't be home until around 6 pm. That's a LONG first day . . . for me. And for the kids, because they have to be with me THAT WHOLE TIME.

Abe was offered (and obviously accepted) a job by another shop. He'll be changing management and location, but the job is pretty much the same. Last night, he said he felt a little like a kid on the first day of school--he even had a hard time falling asleep. We are so grateful that he is going back to work, and the timing is, of course, perfect. It is particularly hard on men when they can't provide for their family as they would like to, and I think Abe was really starting to feel that. As an added bonus (if you want to see it that way), his new place of employment is a 30 minute drive away, so he'll actually have time to finish drinking his morning coffee before he arrives at work. Before, his commute was more like seven minutes, and half of his coffee went untouched. That just goes to show you that God's provision is so complete, He even thinks about Coffee Consumption Time when finding where He wants you.

I was a little concerned about my well-being on this first independent morning--Abe usually takes charge right out of the gate when the kids get up, leaving me to wake up a bit more slowly. I was worried that Charis would wake up at 7:15 and I would be a mean, grumpy mess that she would later have to seek counseling to recover from. But that daylight savings time switch couldn't have come at a better time--the clock tricked her into sleeping an hour later than she normally does, so I was able to be awake first. It always helps my state of mind if I arrive to consciousness before the kids do.

So, on the docket for me and the kids today: laundry (Judah's favorite chore to undo), dishes, and probably a rousing game of Cooties. Quite possibly, there will also be some play-doh tossed into the schedule, just to make it interesting.

I also have a transcript to finish up. I'm not sure if I've mentioned this too much before. My cousin Sarah graciously paved the way for me to get set up as a data transcriptionist to enable me to earn a little extra money for our family. Basically, I sit and listen to interviews and type what I hear. I get my first paycheck this Friday! I won't lie to you, I would never have thought about transcribing as a part-time job possibility. But it is very flexible, pays pretty well, and makes me feel like I'm helping our situation some, without sacrificing my time with the family. It is perfect for now. I plan to continue doing it until the demand dries up, and hopefully, it will help us put money back into the accounts we've been draining for the past few months. Plus, the interviews I've been transcribing have been about teaching, which I have a degree in, and more specifically, they've been about teaching division of fractions. So not only have I been plunged comfortably back into the world of education, I've been learning how to divide fractions (which I had apparently forgotten how to do. It seems that I am NOT smarter than a fifth grader.). Again--provision, provision, provision!

Thank you so much for your prayers for us during this difficult time. We've felt and appreciated all of them!

Don't Hate Me Because I'm Beautiful

2008-03-06T18:43:00.002-05:00

So today, we had just finished dinner, and Abe had Charis in his lap. He grabbed her hair, pulling it tightly at the back of her head, then proceeded to do his best impression of scissors. He told her that he had just cut all of her hair off. I tried to look shocked.

"CHARIS! WHERE DID ALL OF YOUR HAIR GO!?" I cried.

She touched her hand to her head. "You can't cut it all off!" She said dramatically. "People LOVE my hair!"

When It Rains...

2008-03-05T09:21:00.002-05:00

Okay, it didn't rain here. But it still poured. On Saturday, I watched the kids ALL DAY LONG while Abe and Tim finished up some of the plumbing for the addition. They pressure-tested it and everything, so things were looking peachy. We went to church on Sunday morning confident that we would return to a house that looked pretty much as we had left it. How naive of us.

When we returned home, I opened the door and, with the keen eye of an expert, deduced that something was amiss. Of course, the large puddle in the new bathroom and the three inches of water in the basement were clues. "Abe, there's something leaking!" I hollered. It turns out that the cap on one of the pipes wasn't soldered on. It had held for something like twelve hours before it decided to blow, but then it apparently gave up the fight. Abe quickly shut off the valve, but the damage was done. We had a swimming pool in our basement.

We have a sump pump for just such an emergency, so we hoped that it would quickly drain the basement once the water supply was turned off. I suggested that we clean up the construction detritus all over the floor, lest it be swept down the drain and clog something. We did the best we could, working feverishly while the kids were down for a (yeah, right) nap. Even so, something clogged the pipe, and clogged it in a location that could not be reached by exterior means. So, in the ensuing days, between much sweeping and shop-vac sucking up of the water and placement of fans for drying, Abe had to replace the pipes in that general area. Which wouldn't have been so bad, if they hadn't been the pipes that carry drain water from the washing machine and kitchen sink to the sewer. So, until late yesterday afternoon, I was unable to do any dishes or cook anything that might have necessitated the draining of water, and unable to do any laundry, even the stuff that had gotten soaked in the flood. I am now caught up on all of the dishes, but still working my way through the laundry. And I've got a transcript I need to finish up today, and choir practice tonight! And a meeting tomorrow morning!

And then, assuming we don't have another water-related catastrophe, I will attempt to nap.

Until Saturday.

So, so...UBER.

2008-02-28T11:09:00.003-05:00

I recently (um, Monday) hung out my shingle as a Reliable Data Transcriptionist. My cousin Sarah helped set me up with the University and posted flyers all over the place advertising my services. Not only that, but she already had a project lined up for me transcribing interviews for a fellow Doctoral student.

It has been uber-interesting; first of all, the general theory is that one hour of audio will take about three hours to transcribe. My first hour took more like . . . seven. I completed the transcription during three separate sleep cycles for my kids: During the first cycle, I worked for three hours and completed 19 minutes of audio. (That is definitely NOT the rate to stay at.) During the second cycle, I doubled my rate of production, and during the third, I doubled that, So things are looking up. Second of all, getting back to the uber-interesting-ness of it all, my first interview dealt with MATH. So, you know, it was right up my alley.

But you know when you get in a groove, and you just can't stop until you're done? That happened to me last night, and I ended up awake until after 1 am finishing the interview. And even after I lay down, my mind was still abuzz. I must have played 20 games of electronic solitaire before I was able to drift off.

Needless to say (but I always say it anyway), when Charis woke up at 7:30 this morning, I was not eager to get up and care for her. So, like any good, responsible parent would, I turned on PBS for her and told her to stay quiet so Mama could sleep some more. She's three, though, so not prone to being quiet for hours--or even minutes--on end, and it was not long before I was thoroughly annoyed that I had ever decided to procreate. Some minutes later, after I had caved in to her endless prattling about bagels and cream cheese and given her sustenance, I crawled back into bed, wanting to sleep for at least another century. It was at this point that my annoying child approached me.

"Hey!" she said, gently smoothing my hair and kissing my forehead. "I love you, sweetie."

I immediately swept her into my arms, smothering her with kisses and apologizing for the copious amount of TV she had been allowed to watch and the neglect she had suffered at my hand.

Or not so much. I mean, I was still really, really tired. But I was no longer annoyed, and even felt a few warm fuzzies toward the girl, which is not really a bad way to start the day after all.

God's Faithfulness and Stuff

2008-02-23T13:41:00.003-05:00

I have a lot of updates to do--namely, an update on our construction progress and, you know, updates on the kids and their growth--but the amount of pictures and editing thereof and whatnot has me feeling slightly overwhelmed. For now, I will settle for this: a post about God's faithfulness in our lives.

Well, as most of you know, Abe is in the holding pattern of seasonal layoff, and has been since the first week in December. We fortunately had a little bit of money saved, and Abe has been able to draw unemployment, but the real sustaining wonder has been God's provision through others' kindnesses. I know I've written about that before, but it is fresh in my mind, since we just received another anonymous gift yesterday. I knew what it was even before I opened the envelope, and, knowing I would certainly cry when I saw what was in it, I made Abe open it. I cried anyway.

I just finished reading the Stephen King book The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon. The story is about a little girl, lost in the woods, who gets a measure of help and comfort from a vision of Red Sox pitcher Tom Gordon. Gordon is a closer, and apparently, his trademark move is to point to the sky, toward God, after a save. In the book, the little girl asks him why he does this.

"I point," he says, "because it's God's nature to come on in the bottom of the ninth."

Well, is this theologically accurate? Not completely. But it feels that way sometimes: you're hopeless, hopeless, hopeless, and then bingo--in the bottom of the ninth, just when you need it, God comes through and shows Himself in such a way that He is unmistakable. Does that mean he wasn't there until then? Absolutely not. But maybe those moments of despair make the skies a little clearer to see Him in.

I mention that to say that yesterday was feeling like the bottom of the ninth to me; we've reached the point where we've almost exhausted our savings, and we've got some big bills coming up. The really big stuff--mortgage, heat--is fine. We'll be fine for those. But our cushion is growing mighty thin, and after doing the math yesterday, I was really feeling the stress of it. And then I got the mail, and we received this anonymous gift, and it felt like God really came on. Enclosed with the gift was this tiny note:

"Please consider this a gift from the Lord!

Philippians 4:19-
And my God will meet all your needs
according to his glorious riches in Christ Jesus."

Amen, right?

But wait, there's more...

We've also had some cause for concern lately related to my pregnancy. A few Fridays ago, we had an ultrasound. We were able to see our baby in 3-D, which was absolutely overwhelming and wonderful. But the technology, you see, has improved since my ultrasounds with the other two kids, and the better technology means a better look at what's really going on. Which means we have a greater chance of seeing some potentially scary stuff.

In this particular ultrasound, we saw two things we weren't expecting to see. The first, placenta previa, caught me by surprise and wasn't even a complication I'd considered. My placenta is so low-lying that it's blocking the baby's exit and may be cause for a C section. We're praying that it won't come to that, but until we see that it has moved out of the way, I am on somewhat restricted activity, which includes not picking my kids up too much (yeah, sure) and stepping away from playing volleyball. Bummer. Still, I know of several women who had a similar diagnosis and everything ended up working out just fine, so we're waiting and praying about that one.

The second thing we saw was called EIF, which is short for something that means "calcified spots on the baby's heart." Echo-something-foci. While this is not life-threatening in any way, it does double our chances of having a baby with Downs Syndrome. Other risk factors--age, family history--are in our favor, and other indicators of Downs were not present, so chances are that this will ultimately amount to just a few spots. But the possibility of raising a Downs child and all that entails is something I'm trying to prepare myself for without obsessing about it (a tall order, for sure).

In it all, God is still God. And when it all comes down to it, He has never--and will never--make a mistake. His faithfulness is great in little things like gift cards and bills, and great in big things like pregnancy. What a comfort to know that in the bottom of the ninth, and in every inning leading up to it, and even in the things after that, God is there.

Sounds Just Like Her Mama

2008-02-18T15:58:00.002-05:00

Judah was being obstinate. I had just told him No for some reason, and he was not pleased with me, so he knocked over the galvanized bucket full of matchbox cars in protest. Charis turned to him, sternly looking him square in the face.

"Judah!" She said. "You need to watch your tude-a-tude!!"

I could barely contain myself. "Charis, what did you just say?"

She glanced into space and worked it out. "Tude-a-tude. Tude-a . . . ATTITUDE! Judah, you need to watch your ATTITUDE!"

I suppose she's heard me say that a time or two . . .