I moved! www.sowhathadhappenedwuz.blogspot.com

HAHA!

You thought I went under, didn't you!!!

Well here's what happened.  We decided that in order to cut corners we would cancel our subscription to the internet and use the library internet.  We also found cell phone service that is cheap and has a data plan.  I thought surely I would be able to blog from my phone.  Unfortunately there is a problem with posting text and I have been unable to return to this covetted place. 

I am looking for a server that will let me post from my phone.  Don't give up on me, and don't be surprised when you come back and find a link to a new and improved blog!  I will return.  And hopefully it will be soon, with pictures!!!

lvb

The hard part

63 months of pregnancy

15 years of marriage

9 moves

7 children

5 homeschoolers

34 years of age

10 loads of laundry a week

1000 questions a day

not enough time
not enough energy


I'm having trouble getting the weight off. 

I didn't have any trouble getting it on even though it was a lot.

It's the coming off part that I'm struggling with.

I waited to post a picture of myself for this very reason.

The doctor told me that I could expect to retain three pounds per baby.

That's a hefty twenty-one pounds the I should expect to carry around for the next 66 years.

ugh.

If you wouldn't mind not noticing...

                   I'd feel a lot better about things.

lvb

I don't know what I'd do

If I didn't have all these kids...

Who would save me from eating all the brownie covered oreos by myself?

Who would reassure Max that he is loved after I find him eating out of the trashcan?

How would I know what life with a teenager is like?

Who would chase screaming little girls in circles with scary gorilla hands?

Who would carry Deisha around in the Snuggly sideways?

Who would take countless self-portraits with my camera?

I'd have never experienced this...

or this...

or this guinea pig's birthday party...

or seen this...

or this.

And Scooder's neck would still be cold.

And no one,

not one person,

not a single other person in the universe,

would tend to holding this giant crayon in the air,

if I didn't have all these kids.

I'm so glad they're mine.

lvb

Mercybaby

sigh...

A little smile

It must've been every hour. 

At 11:15pm I was falling asleep on the couch. 
Scarlette was still wiggling around in my arms
   which is why I was still awake. 

I started to fall asleep at 10:30pm.
Unusual for me since
the time change JUST happened and
I haven't adjusted to it. 
So...
I should've been wide awake for a few hours,
but I wasn't.
I was tired.

I decided to just take her to bed and see if she'd conk out.
She wiggled for another thirty minutes
wrestling against the pacifier
before she conked out.

One hour later she was ready for a snack.
One hour later she was ready for a snack.
One hour later she was ready for a snack.
One hour later she was ready for a snack.
One hour later she was ready for a snack.
One hour later she was ready for a snack.
One hour later she was ready for breakfast so
we moved to the couch.

My back was stiff and sore
   from being contorted during the in-betweens
      when I fell asleep nursing.

Not. Restful.

But she smiles.
I'm not mad at her.
She smiles and smiles and smiles.
Maybe it's a growth spurt. 
She's so sweet.

She loves the morning.
As soon as I set her in her seat she smiles:
mouth wide open,
eyes bright,
arms and legs reaching.
It draws out the sweet nectar of my soul.
Even after a night like that.

Spring picnic

Dale has had training all week which means his schedule is "normal" for one week of the entire year.

8-4
M-F 
I love it. 
I love "normal"
       in theory.

I didn't know it would be normal when I scheduled six appointments for this week. 
Actually I thought he'd be home for four of them... which sort of bombed on me, but we survived.

He had a normal lunchbreak all week and wanted to meet us for lunch of a couple of occassions, but we couldn't because I had scheduled six appointments, most of them during his break, unbeknownst to me.

Today I decided that if he did call, since we didn't have six appointments, we would hop in the car and drive to wherever he wanted to meet us.  Except that we're broke.  It would be fine if he and I were meeting for lunch because we're a cheap date, but all nine of us eating out-- even at McDonalds-- is a minimum of $35. 

So I got ahead of the game and made us a picnic to take with us
when we jumped in the car.
Maybe you remember that I'm not one of those.  
I don't have a picnic basket. 
I  used to have two
but I got rid of them when we moved
the fourth time.

Mac and cheese,
boxed.
generic.
Peanut butter and jelly,
ham and cheese,
and turkey and cheese,
on Great Value 100% Whole Wheat Bread.
Kitty Clover Nacho Chips,
pretzels,
peanut butter cookies,
and Peach Sweet Tea.

Tell me that doesn't give you crazy spring picnic fever!

Kennedy came in from the front yard and said, "Have you been outside?  It's beautiful!  There's this cool wind blowing..." 

To which I happily replied, "It's a good thing I'm making us a picnic."

Dale called just minutes later and we set up our meeting place.  He had concerns about it being too cool, the wind, and the bread.  I poopooed his concerns, made him a sandwich on homemade bread, and we loaded up.

To my surprise we arrived before he did and had a chance to set up the table so it'd be ready when he got there.

It was beautiful when we stepped our front door, but when we got out of the truck we were nearly blown over by blasts of cold air. 

I continued to set out food as if I didn't notice the wind picking up the car seat and carrying it fifteen feet across the selter area.  I smiled and spoke gently to the kids and they hovered and hopped around trying to keep warm.  When Dale got there we were just starting to pull out the sandwiches.  He sat graciously across from me at the picnic table with his jacket zipped and his hood shielding him from the hurricane going on around us, not saying a word. 

We managed to eat our lunch and get it cleaned up without anything significant blowing away, but it wasn't pleasant. 

I'm kind of a drag when it comes to being a "funtime" mom. 
I don't play at the park.
I don't push at the swings
     if the kid can pump his legs,
    or if a bigger kid is there to push in my stead.
I don't attend  the many picnics down the street in the churchyard.
I'm selfish that way.
I don't like inconvenience.

Say what you will about me, but this is how I am.

So when our picnic,
the picnic I dreamed up,
the picnic I lovingly prepared
  in secret,
when our picnic went south,
it confirmed something to me.
No matter how much effort goes in, it's never quite like I expect it to be.

The kids loved it. 
They played and ran and got blown over by the wind and yelled and chased little kids all over that place.
And in the end, isn't that what it's all about? 

Titus 2:4 "...train the younger women to love their husbands and children."

lvb

Six weeks and counting...

Backwards. 

We're counting backwards from the usual way that expression is used. 
Usually they say, "Ten seconds and counting: ten, nine, eight..."

What I mean is that I am six weeks from the day my life changed.
Fruitbasket  upset!!

Did you ever play that?  It's a great youth group game.  The kids are all labelled as a fruit, one person is in the middle of a circle of chairs.  That person calls the name of fruit or fruits and they change places.  If the person says "Fruitbasket upset," everyone scrambles for someone else's seat.  It's chaos.  Pure chaos.

My life isn't pure chaos, it just feels like it. 
Everytime I get into the car I am siezed with panic that I've forgotten one.
I count heads,
I count heads again,
then we go.
Still I worry.

There's a moment of panic everyday. 
Yesterday I was siezed with panic when one of them brought a bowl of thawed meat
into the living room
and dripped rancid blood
all over the carpet.
We just had our carpets cleaned.
a luxury we could not afford,
but after hosting church for sixish months, we desperately needed it.

I also panicked yesterday when the dogs ran into the basement with mud all over their feet.
You can imagine how obedient they were when I screamed, "STOP! STOP!"
They ran for cover
and so did the mud.

I was getting gas in the truck the other day and there was a big tag on the gas hose that said DIESEL.  WHAAAATWHAAAAAAT?????  DIESEL???? 

Carrying groceries in one day a few weeks ago
I broke the back window on our truck. 
Repairing it was another luxury we couldn't afford
but couldn't live without.

It triggered vehicle phobia.
I am phobic about causing some other high dollar vehicle crisis.

It wasn't diesel, just an ad.
Freaked me out.
I started to shake.

Does it still qualify as postpartum after the doctor absolves you of your pregnancy at the six week checkup?
And why don't they medicate for postpartum insanity?

I don't have baby blues. 
I'm not sad, just crying.
I'm not upset, just angry.

Insanity.

...turn away from it all like a blindman...

pressure
lvb

I'm not one of those.

You know the type. 

They have trendy shoes. 

No handprints on their pant legs. 

Their kids' clothes are folded in their drawers.

They have great hair.

Lipstick.

Hand sanitizer in thier purse.

I'm not one of those. 

Last night Scarlette woke up in the night with a snorty nose.  I dug through all the drawers in our room and the bathroom in search of the bulb syringe to no avail.  It wasn't impossible for her to nurse, but it was noisy.  I felt bad.  Every few minutes she had to stop and cough to keep from choking on the obstruction in her sweet little newborn nasal passage.  I thought about running out to the truck at three in the morning to see if it was in the diaper bag. 

source
Remember that part on "When a Man Loves a Woman" when Meg Ryan attempts to kick the booze on her own and carries the last bottle out to the trash bins only she chugs it before valiantly disposing of the bottle? When she goes back to the house she realizes she locked herself out and had to ring the doorbell to wake her already suspect husband to let her in.

I'm no drunk, but my husband already suspects that I am on the brink of insanity.  (I may be; it's hard to diagnose yourself.)  I can't risk an episode like that.  He might have me committed.  The other night I decided to get up and sit on the couch to nurse.  After I got out of bed, I stood in the middle of the bedroom for a few minutes trying to remember where I'd left my book.  Dale woke up and saw me standing there at two a.m.  You can imagine his confusion when he asked me what I was doing and I said, "Looking for that book."  It makes sense when you hear the whole story, but... I had to laugh.

Scarlette went back to sleep.
I kept thinking about that bulb syringe. 

I swore I'd never be one of those moms that lives in sweatpants.  This year Dale surprised me with a pair of sweatpants as a homecoming gift after the baby was born.  Since we're being honest here you should know that I have them in a rotation with another pair that I wear when they need to be washed.  It's humiliating to put on maternity clothes six weeks later with little hope of getting out of them, I guess.  Sweats are comfy and warm and don't have a belly pouch.  

I wore tennis shoes on our last date.  

When did comfort trump dignity?  I tell myself that my sister wears tennis shoes and still maintains her style, but I don't have her hair.  Or cute shirts with swans on them.  Or jeans without a belly pouch.  Or cute tennis shoes.  

At least we have dates. 

We sit with a seat between us so that there is room to spread out because it's more comfortable...

but we have dates.
Dates in tennis shoes. 

There are worse things
than not knowing where stuff is
and having a makeup budget of twelve dollars
a year.

lvb

I know it's obnoxious.

It's just that I heard this song on a movie and I fell in love.  I was fascinated.  Even a little addicted.

This rock star, dancing wildly inside the perimeters of all the other rock stars in the gig, was singing the soundtrack for this stay-at-home-in-sweatpants-mom's life. 

...mmmm ba da DEH...
Sure, I thought it was Ice, Ice Baby at first, but then when I realized that it was a whole new twist on that 90s mantra that we all used to do the running man to, I was hooked.

I immediately downloaded it and put it on my ipod so I could blast it through the house.  I have considered starting every morning with it.  It energizes me.  If I know what I have staring me in the face each day, and I accept it, I can do it. 

Six weeks ago I breathed focused forced air through excruciating contractions and then delivered a baby in a single push. I knew I HAD to do it.  I knew that if I just embraced the reality and handled each moment with concentrated resolve, it would be overwith faster.  And it was. 

The days when I refuse to accept the responsibility of my reality are the days I lie in bed and wish the light would never come.  It's no good.

I'm under pressure.  Pressure to have: a happy baby, educated children, a clean house, a hot meal on the table, clean laundry in the drawers, healthy food for my growing children, a balanced budget, justice between siblings, a thriving relationship with Jesus, a shrinking postpartum body, a gentle answer, and lipstick on when I go out of the house.  Sometimes it seems like too much.

But whenever I hear this song I feel better.  We're under pressure.  Me, you, David Bowie, even the guy from Queen was.  We're all in it together.  Let it ring from the mountain tops.

...pressure...

lvb