The Most Timely Gift

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?

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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!

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!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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...

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.

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

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

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 . . .

It Was A Dark And Stormy Night

Here's the story Charis told me at bedtime tonight:

One day, Aunt Beth went into the forest, and there were many creepy things there. She saw some pirates, and they poked her all over with their hand-hooks. She was very frightened, so she ran away from the pirates into a very small, warm cave. She stayed there until the pirates told her it was safe to come out. Then they all had a picnic and they ate turkey.

Of course, it took much longer for us to get through it when she told me firsthand, but she liked her story so much that she kept asking me to "read it again."

When I asked her to tell a story about Daddy and Judah, it was strangely similar. But instead of pirates, there were bears. And instead of one warm cave, Daddy had a big cave and Judah had a small one, and they were both very cold. She never got to the end of that story, but I think it's safe to assume that a picnic and some turkey were probably involved.

The Potty Saga Continues

This time, it's Judah.

This morning, when I awoke, I turned immediately to go upstairs to use the restroom. I'm pregnant; it's what I do. Judah was already awake and greeted me as I exited the bedroom, and when I turned to go upstairs and informed him I was heading up to the bathroom, he started frantically shouting, "ME! ME! ME! ME!"

"You want to go to the potty?" I asked.

"YEAH!" he replied. And he did want to--that much was clear. He spent the next 10 minutes on the potty--a few minutes on the big one, then a few minutes on the little one, then back to the big one, and so on and so forth. He made a few mentions of what he anticipated to do on the potty, but I largely disregarded them, because the diaper I removed from him before he sat on the potties showed evidence that he was really all done in that area.

Charis came up to use the restroom herself, and Judah and I had wandered back to the little potty to sit for a spell. Then, hearing that Charis was all done, he headed back for the big potty with a determined look on his face. He clearly meant business.

I watched in horror/amusement as he quickly ran to the toilet, aimed his little self in the general direction of the bowl, and did his thing. All over the side of the toilet and the floor.

Well, at least he's got the right idea. Now we've just got to get him some shoes with lifts so his target practice can be a little more accurate!

What You Want, Baby, You Got

Just a few minutes ago, Abe was out working on the addition, with the radio tuned to some radio program called "Retro Lunch." Apparently, during the lunch hour, this particular station plays retro pop favorites.

Imagine our delight that much of what is deemed "retro" was popular when we were in high school.

Anyway, I heard Abe whoop giddily, and he cranked up the volume on the radio. I immediately recognized the distinctive bass line of that oldie-but-goodie Young MC classic, "Bust a Move."

Oh, yes.

So immediately, Abe and I were transported back to our youth, and I hustled out onto the addition to have a little impromptu dance party, with the kids trailing behind me in a scene from "90s pop Pied Piper of Hamelin."

Well, normally, Charis and Judah can bust a move with the best of them. But they're never really seen us strut our stuff.

The result apparently horrified them.

Charis actually stood next to me, tugging on my shirt and softly saying, "No, mama, no." Meanwhile, Judah stood across the room next to Abe, absolutely still and transfixed by the train wreck that was his mother's dancing. We tried to encourage him to groove a little himself, but he was apparently too mortified to try.

And all I'm thinking is, if my dancing affects them this strongly when they are but mere toddlers, imagine the effect it will have when they're teenagers.

Oh, yes.

3 Days, 2 Nights

. . . that's how long it has been since Charis has worn a diaper. She asked us two nights ago if she could try to sleep in her underwear, and we figured, gotta try sometime! She had already had a few successful naps sans diaper, so we knew it was becoming more and more likely she could go all night without an accident. And she did. One down, one to go! (Abe's goal is to have Judah potty trained by the end of summer. Man, wouldn't that be nice. Improbable, but nice.)

A Whole Lot of Nothing

I know it has been a while since my last post, and I feel really, really bad about that. I know I should be doing a more thorough job of documenting life here, but the thing is . . . there just hasn't been much to document.

Well, we won our volleyball game against Second Christian Reformed Team 1 last night, but I think that was predestined. Tee hee.

And when we got home at close to 9 pm, Judah was still awake, and remained so until 10 pm, probably because his deadbeat mother let his afternoon nap last until 6:15 pm.

Then this morning, Charis woke up at about The Crack of Dawn o'clock because she had to use the potty, and of course, no one could sleep after that--except Abe. He's pretty resilient that way, the lucky duck. Of course, he let me sleep in on Tuesday morning, so I can't complain too much, even though I try.

And then my kids started in with the whining--Judah because he wanted to nurse, which we don't do anymore, and Charis, because she wanted a bagel and cream cheese. Pleeeeeeease? I just want a bagel and CREAM CHEESE!!!! Pleeeeeeease cheese I want bagel please cheesebagel bagel bagel bagel.... This went on for so long despite my command for the whining to stop that she lost all bagel and cream cheese privileges. She later settled for a few Kraft singles and half of an english muffin, which, in retrospect, is about as close as you can come to a bagel and cream cheese without having one.

Today, I'm trying to move mountains of laundry and help Charis finish up her gopher Buddies pages.

So, see? You haven't missed much. But as soon as I have something remotely interesting to say, I'll be back, I promise.

Thank You

God never ceases to amaze me. I don't know why; His timing is perfect, His provision complete, His love unfailing. You'd think I'd come to expect it around every corner. Here's our story in a nutshell: Abe found out two days ago that it may be March before there is work available again. I had just used up the rest of one of the kids' Christmas gift cards to buy groceries, and have been constantly worried about money. So why was I surprised when we received an anonymous gift of money and grocery gift cards last night?

As soon as my friend Joni, the carrier of the gift, handed me the envelope, I suspected its contents. I opened it anyway. I pulled out this perfectly timed gift from someone wonderful and immediately started sobbing out of relief and gratitude. I don't know who gave it; they choose to keep that secret, making it difficult for me to know who to properly thank. I feel like I should thank everybody I meet, just in case. Whoever it was, they can't know what an indescribable blessing they have been to our family.

I'm writing this post for a couple of reasons:
1) To put my appreciation out there. I have no idea if the giver even knows about this blog. But maybe they do, and maybe by reading this, they will know how touched and thankful I am for their overwhelming generosity in our time of need.
2) To testify to God's never ending goodness. We have been blessed by so many, in unexpected ways--from money from a dear family member that helped us pay the mortgage, to this gift that helps us feed our family. People have given us these gifts, but I firmly believe that they were given with His prompting. God hasn't made us rich in dollars through these gifts, but He has continually reminded us of the richness of His love and blessing.

To whomever thought of us with this gift, we can't thank you enough! God has used you to bless us in a way you can't have predicted. And to the rest of you, take a moment to reflect on God's goodness and provision in your lives. It doesn't always show up when we're expecting it or in the way we expect to receive it, but it always shows up. Praise the Lord!!

Charis Sings the Classics, part 2

Charis just walked into my bedroom singing that old Sunday School classic, "God Loves a Stiffer Giver." Apparently our denomination doesn't encourage tithing amongst the preschool set.

Oh, the Humanity

Quite a while ago, Judah developed the amazing talent of climbing out of his crib. Though we tried to discipline him to stay in, our efforts were fruitless, and in the end, we were beat. We ended up turning his crib, a sleigh-style crib, around, so that the high back was in the front, and the low front was in the back. The new front of his crib is so high that we cannot even put him down in his crib without using a step stool, so we figured we were safe from any more crib escapes.

Until last night.

I heard a ruckus up there after the kids were supposed to be asleep. I rose from my comfy chair and climbed the stairs to reprimand my daughter, who I assumed was the cause of the ruckus. It turns out that she was not. Instead, it was Judah standing at the bedroom door, looking guilty.

"How on earth did you do that?" was all I said, but it was enough for Abe to ascertain what had happened and come see it for himself.

Needless to say, we were both stunned.

So when we heard Judah climb out at too early an hour this morning, we started brainstorming additions to the crib that might persuade him to stay in: barbed wire, netting, and a series of 2x4s all came up, but I'm sure we weren't thinking clearly, it being so early. Chicken wire would certainly suffice.

Oh, of course I kid. But really. I'm just not quite sure how we're going to make it through this tragic development...

Okay, Charis says it's time for me to stop working and get off the "Pooter." Have a great day!

Grocery Store Phenomenon

Today I ran a couple of errands with the kids. We struck out on our first two stops, at JCPenney and World Market, but were successful at our third, Meijer. Of course, Meijer had the easiest task: Stocking milk and eggs. The other two stores had a more difficult row to hoe: JCPenney needed to carry some cute maternity athletic pants (which they do not), and World Market needed to supply an (apparently) obscure Middle Eastern spice I'm looking for, Sumac (ditto).

But what I really want to mention about our errands is a special "Family Friendly" checkout lane I saw today at Meijer. I'd never heard of such a thing, so even though it meant waiting behind a lady with no family and a very very full cart, I was willing to give it a go. The premise is this: this particular checkout lane is not stocked with any sort of toys or candy, thereby reducing temptations for little ones. What they do not take into account, however, is that kids aren't only interested in toys and candy; Charis, for instance, is more than happy to while away our minutes in line playing with the bins of sundries like nail files and tweezers. And Judah isn't attracted to the candy bars, necessarily. He is also grabbed by small, brightly-colored bags of Trail Mix, which, while certainly a healthier option than a Kit Kat, are not something I'm going to spend money on. Long story short, I saw that the Family Friendly lane was every bit the minefield a normal checkout lane is, and I decided to go instead to the Express checkout lane, where there was no waiting. So while there was--gasp!--candy in the Express lane, we were not there long enough for it to tempt. We escaped the store without incident, and without candy. Take THAT, Family Friendly lane.


Money Talks

Speaking of avoiding candy, we've abandoned our sticker/sucker system of potty rewards.

It worked well enough in the beginning, when Charis was using the potty once a day. We can certainly allow one sucker a day for a reward. But when she started using the potty with more regularity (no pun intended) and was demanding several suckers a day, we knew something had to change. We shifted to smaller pieces of candy--whatever I had around--and that was fine, but she was still consuming more than her share of candy per day. Add to that the fact that if Charis has candy, Judah wants some, too, so then we had TWO battles to fight every time Charis used the toilet.

Two days ago, I had a brainstorm that seems to be working fairly well: pennies. Charis loves to put money in the piggy bank, so I decided to make that the reward. I counted out fifty pennies and put them in a bowl next to the piggy bank. Every time she uses the potty, she gets to put pennies into the bank. When she has transferred all of the pennies from the bowl to the bank, she gets to go pick out her very own candy bar at the store. That reduces us to candy every two weeks or so--certainly a much better ratio than 4 candies a day. Also, with pennies, we can subtract from the bank if she chooses not to use the potty as recommended, or up the ante with special large-amount penny rewards for bigger feats, like staying dry through the night.

So far, so good!

Judah 1; Charis 0

We reached a new level of disgusting-ness last night.

Abe and I were downstairs and the kids had gone upstairs to play, which is fairly normal. Charis has been a bit whiny lately, so we weren't particularly alarmed when she began to whine, and were even a little annoyed when her whining turned into full-fledged crying. Gee whiz, we thought. Suck it up, kid. But then Charis came to the top of the stairs, wailing. "I'm all wet!" she cried.

Abe got up and went to see what all the fuss was about. "YHoly Cow, you really are wet!" he said. "Wha--what is th--Judah! What did you do?"

All of a sudden, my mother's intuition kicked in. I feared the worst. A glance over to the potty chair, where the potty cup was conspicuously missing, confirmed my fear: Charis was wet, but not with water. Oh, no. She had used the potty chair mere seconds before she'd gone upstairs, and somehow, Judah had stealthily removed the cup and carried it upstairs with him, and emptied the cup...on his sister's head.

Needless to say, Charis was rushed to the bath, and Judah was not far behind her.

Oh Concolor Fir, Oh Concolor Fir...

Well, I'm seriously trying to play catch-up here. I am about to post photos of our outing to cut down our traditional Concolor Fir Christmas Tree, while at the same time procrastinating taking it down. I vowed I'd post about the tree while it was still in our house, and I am just barely making it under the wire.

There are a few traditions we observe in our tree-cutting outing. First: with the exception of Jed and Lindsay, who don't have room for a tree just yet, we go out as a whole family. It takes two very full trucks, but somehow, we all fit: Grandpa and Yia Yia, Moriah, Tim, Beth, Gideon, Elise, Abe, me, Charis, and Judah. This will not be the case next year, when we will have at least one more member in our family. Then, we'll have to take three trucks, environment be darned.

Second: we always get Concolor Firs. My history with live trees is short--when I was growing up, we always, always had artificial trees--so admittedly, I'm no Christmas tree expert. But a few years ago, we came upon these wonderful trees whose needles were just the right length, and soft, and when broken or crushed, those just-right needles give off a very pleasant citrus-y scent. There's only one place in our area that sells these trees, so hopefully, their business will flourish for years to come, so that we can always have the tree we want.

Third: our newest tradition is that we (our immediate family only) always go ill-prepared in the winter wear department. Last year, Charis had no boots, so we put plastic bags on her feet underneath her tennis shoes. How apropos. Judah had a snowsuit and hat of two very, very different prints; he was warm, but hard to look at. This year, though Charis' boots from last year still fit, we had only her old (too small) snowsuit, which kept riding up, exposing her very delicate calf. We also had only a pitiful pair of mittens for her, mittens that, though they have a theoretical place for the kid's thumb, do not actually fit any thumb larger than a toothpick. Poor Judah, on the other hand, was wearing an old, hand-me-down pair of boots with no liner, and--the unkindest cut of all--one of Charis' old snowsuits. In Pink. We have since acquired spiffy new snow pants for both children, bombproof boots for Judah, and fantastic mittens. And also hats that match. I did toy with the idea of turning these pictures black and white to save us all from the embarrassment of my children's attire, but I ultimately decided that this blog isn't about glossing over reality--it's about the real deal. So Judah, I apologize in advance.

I also apologize for not having a picture of us with the actual tree, but I'm sure you'll see it in a later post, trimmed and decorated.

Here's Charis going for a sled ride a la Superman with Grandpa. This photo was taken several minutes before Abe and Moriah were bowled over by Grandpa's runaway sled. Thankfully, Charis was not on board at the time--she had safely slipped and fallen on the icy, packed snow all by herself. Way to go, C!

Here's Judah in his lovely snow ensemble trying to take himself for a ride. At any rate, it's safer than being on a sled when daddy, Moriah, or Grandpa are involved. He remained in good spirits for quite some time, despite the fashion tragedy. On our way out, though, and despite the 20-degree temperatures, he stubbornly refused to wear his boots one second longer. I think he sensed that the red cuffs clashed miserably with the pink snowsuit.

Here's Peanut, plumb tuckered out on the way home. We weren't even out that long, but I think the excitement of the day, coupled with the caloric expenditure of trying to stay warm when her calves were constantly exposed to the elements, sucked the energy right out of her. Of course, our brief ride home was all the nap she got that day, but at least she looks good and rested here.

And finally, here's Judah, also worn out. And possibly hypothermic.

All in all, a good day. The Christmas tree may be seconds away from being another page in our history book, but the memories it helped create will live on--oh, for another couple weeks, anyway.