The Mother Load

7 Quick Takes

2012-01-27T13:49:00.001-05:00

One

I've discovered that the palm of Baby's hand is the most ticklish part of her body. All my kids' palms have been ticklish, but Baby's the most ticklish, hands down. (Ba-dum-bum. Thanks, I'll be here all day.) Whenever I want to hear her gurgly belly laugh, I tickle her palm. If you have a baby at home, try tickling his or her palm. Is it just my kids or is it funny to all babies?

Two

Speaking of Baby, she's been awfully busy with her milestones.

A couple of weeks ago, I had mentioned to her doctor that I was surprised she wasn't sitting up on her own yet. She was 7 months at the time, and she showed no inclination to sit.

Usually I feel pretty laid back about the time frame for developmental milestones, but the sitting up gets me. I think it's because it was one of the major developmental problems that we missed with Fiver. He didn't sit up alone until he was 11 months old. Baby wasn't that old, but it still made me kind of twitchy for some reason.

Well, all that twitching was for naught. In the space of ten days, Baby decided to sit up, crawl, and start to pull up on furniture. She is everywhere.

I'm telling you, it's feast or famine in all things over here.

Three

We are undergoing another great room swap with the girls, and it all makes me slightly twitchy until the dust settles.

We pair the girls up mostly according to sleep patterns as opposed to age. Mopsy is the lightest sleeper on the face of the earth. A feather can hit the floor and her eyes will pop open. People who have slept in a room with her regularly report back that she wakes at all kinds of odd hours, talks to herself for a little while and then eventually drifts back to sleep.

Knowing that, we moved Sally in with Mopsy. Sally could sleep through the apocalypse, which is handy when Mopsy wakes up at dawn and yells for her sister from her crib.

That leaves Francie and Baby as roommates. I don't think Francie is all that excited about sharing with Baby, but it's what we've got. On one hand, Baby can't get into Francie's stuff yet. On the other hand, Baby goes to bed at 6:30 at night, effectively barring Francie from her room until she goes up to sleep.

Oh well, at least she gets the room to herself for a short time since Baby is staying with us until we get things switched around. And knowing the glacial way things move around here, she may get her own room for a little longer than she anticipated.

The boys, God bless 'em, are going nowhere. They are stuck with each other for the long haul, but their sleep patterns are perfectly suited to each other.

They did ask me to consider a new coat of paint for their room, and I will. They also asked that I consider orange with green stripes for the new paint in their room, and I will absolutely not.

Four

For those of you with larger families, I put this question to you: Does everyone in your home have a dresser or set of drawers of their own in their room?

We have to be fairly creative with clothing storage, which means people share dressers and closets. And those shared dressers and closets are not necessarily in the room in which they sleep. It's like an adventure, right?!

Besides, their clothes are small and we don't have the room (or cash money) for another dresser. Sharing makes sense. And it's GREEN! Don't forget the planet! (How could we?)

But my kids tend to be disbelieving when I tell them that tons of other people do this. It bothers certain people more than others, but I have no sympathy since I don't have a dresser at all.

Five

I have joined Pinterest and I find it . . . interesting.

I won't say I've become completely addicted, I just don't think I have the time for that. But I do like that I have one place to stash all the cool things I see on the internet but can never seem to find twice.

I also feel a real sense of kindred spirit-ness with people when I see that they like the same things I like or they have re-pinned something from one of my boards. I am so weird, and it's nice to know that there are people out there who are similar in their weirdness.

Six

Sally got to see the new dentist at the office for her cleaning and checkup, and when she was finished he came out to talk with me. He was cute as a button and looked to be about 2.5 days out of dental school. He very kindly and earnestly told me that Sally is a sweet kid, her teeth look great, but we need to really discourage her thumb-sucking because it's ruining her bite.

He said, "She's a great kid, I'm sure she'll do whatever you tell her to do."

Yep. That'll be the day.

Then he said, "If she doesn't stop, then we'll look into some behavioral therapy for her."

Yep. That'll be the day.

I tried so hard not to laugh, mostly because he was so sweet, but behavioral therapy? No thanks. Not everyone in this world needs some kind of therapy.

It was one of those times where I was acutely happy that Sally is not my first child and I am not a 23 year old mother anymore. It's takes a lot for me to feel pushed around about my parenting style these days. I'm not saying I've got it all figured out, but I have definitely realized that no one else does either!

Rob and I had a good chuckle over it, and we have now taken to offering each other behavioral therapy if deemed necessary. Funny thing is, we are probably the ones who need it!

Seven

A certain almost-4 year old found the camera feature on my iPod. He shot 145 pictures of himself.

This kid cracks me up so hard.

Happy weekend, my friends!

Late Middle and Little Little: The Sisters

2012-01-23T05:00:00.000-05:00

"Sisters, Sisters,

There were never such devoted sisters . . ."

Mopsy: Hey, Sissy, come sit with me. No, no, don't leave. Let me hold on to your arm, just in case you get any bright ideas about making a break for it.

Baby: Uh, Mom? I am feeling extraordinarily uneasy about this situation.

Baby: Still not feeling real great about this. She's really holding on pretty tight.

Mopsy: Look, I'll let go a little bit. See? you are totally free to move around.
Baby: Uh, okay . . .

Mopsy: Hang on there, chick. You ain't that free to move around.

Mopsy: I'll give you FIVE little reasons to stay on this sofa with me. Bam.
Baby: Mom, are watching this? Are you just going to take pictures or are you going to step in?

Mopsy: There, see? We've reached a happy medium.
Baby: Sure, fine, whatever.

Oh, my girls. They crack me up.

And don't worry about Baby. She more than holds her own against the very hands-on love of Mopsy. She's got teeth, she loves to pull hair, and she is nearly the same size. That evens the playing field quite a bit.

{p,h,f,r}: the purging edition

2012-01-20T01:14:00.001-05:00

I am late to the {p,h,f,r} party, but it was still Thursday when I started this, so I think it's all good.

January always makes me want to purge the house and start fresh. I think it has a lot to do with putting all the Christmas decorations away and trying to get more streamlined. There's something about hauling a giant tree out of the middle of your living room that makes you feel like your house has doubled in size.

Of course that illusion is shattered about five minutes after the tree hits the curb and I realize that approximately 754 new toys need a home, but it's nice while it lasts.

A friend of mine, who is a professional organizer, started a 6 week clutter clean up challenge on Facebook. Since I am practically wallowing in clutter, I joined up. Space is at premium around here and I need to make sure I am using every bit wisely.

I admit that I haven't been able to keep up with each assignment as she has posted them, but I do manage to get to them eventually.

So, some very {real} before and after photos:

The closet in Mopsy and Sally's room. Most of this stuff belongs to neither Mopsy or Sally, so what is it doing in their closet? Plus, this is apparently where all the hangers in this house go to die.

I had a very cute "helper."

Here is the finished product. I was able to sort out three bags of clothes to be donated. Neatness is so pretty.

This was the terrible state of my hall closet. Its location in the house makes it ideal for housing the cleaning supplies and extra paper goods, but the disorganization negated all that convenience.

Much better now; I can feel myself starting to breathe again! I'm not sure if the picture above this one conveys how messy this closet was, but consider this: when I sent Fiver to get a roll of paper towels after I cleaned the closet, he came back saying he couldn't find any. Knowing that we had some, I said, "Really? You didn't see any on the shelf?" He said, "Oh, I didn't know they went on the shelf! I was only looking on the floor." Sheesh.

Messy boys' room closet.

After! I even managed to empty that dresser out for Baby's clothes. Around here we like to play a game called "Guess which room your clothes are in!," since not everyone gets their own dresser in their own room.

This was just a start, but I feel better already knowing that these closets are finished. It gives me a little confidence before I consider tackling the storage room. Shudder.

Back to Reality

2012-01-17T22:42:00.000-05:00

My birthday and Rob's birthday are five days apart. This year, having some extra vacation to burn, Rob took those five intervening days off from work.

You know what happens when Rob takes some "ordinary time" off from work? Not a whole heckuva lot, that's what.

Don't get me wrong, I love having him home in the middle of the week. It makes things like the morning school rush and the after school activities so much easier since I don't have to bundle any babies into the car. (I dread the bundling. We all do.)

It also makes my daily schedule implode.

When Rob is home during the week, we go to the mall in the middle of the day and get ourselves some fancy new phones for our birthdays and we both take the kids to library story time.

I stay in my pajamas and drink coffee for far too long in the morning. I send every baby with a dirty diaper to him, I don't make lunch, and I surely don't wipe the table. I eat cake. Way too much cake.

I also end up forsaking the vacuuming and the bathrooms and the kitchen floor to sit around with him and watch episodes of Downton Abbey on the computer when the babies are asleep.

Luckily, Catholics have a term for this. It's called "strengthening the domestic church."

In many ways, this almost felt like Christmas vacation to me, since our Christmas plans were scuttled by illness, and it was a lot of fun. But now our days of playing hooky are over, and it's back to the daily grind.

Let's go, Giants!

Tonight I'm Gonna Party Like It's 1999. Or Maybe Just Watch a Movie.

2012-01-11T15:57:00.000-05:00

Thanks for all of your encouragement on my last post, my friends. I really do appreciate it. And I also feel compelled to dispel the myth of my superhuman will power. I just don't have it and I regularly feel like eating a bag of cookies. Not just one or two, the whole stinkin' bag, people. It's why I can't buy anything tasty for the house anymore. Just wanted to put that out there.

Today is my birthday, and I have been having a lovely day, but as we all know, the beat goes on whether it's your birthday or not. So that means school for the big kids, library time for the little kids, after school study groups for Francie, dance class for Sally, and on and on.

The really nice thing about today, though, is that Rob took the day off. All the regular hubbub of a busy day is made so much nicer when you can spend it with your best friend. Plus, he bought me flowers and an iPhone, which is completely fun. (And he also got one for his birthday, which is on Monday.)

When I was a little girl, I wanted everyone to know it was my birthday. I didn't necessarily want stuff, but I wanted people to recognize that it was My Day. (Well, mine and a million other people's, but whatever.)

Then I got older and I went through a phase where I didn't want anyone to know it was my birthday. I was too cool for that. Who cares if it's my birthday?

Now I've reached a happy medium. I don't expect adulation, but I don't mind when people find out either. Which is good, because I think my children have told just about everyone they've encountered today. And they've each come to me separately and wished me a happy birthday multiple times.

I think that's the gift I've liked the best of all. So far, 36 looks really good to me.

Progress

2012-01-05T09:56:00.000-05:00

2012 seems to be hitting the ground running around here. My people seem to be over most of the illnesses that have plagued us for the entire Christmas vacation. Or we are at least on hiatus from them, since everyone knows that the kids just pass around the same runny nose and hacky cough from November until May.

Since we've started a new year, it seems like the perfect time to talk about the steps I've made toward regaining my health and living better. It feels a little strange to broach the topic, but you were all so supportive and lovely. I don't want you to think that I up and quit before I really got started.

A number of people joked with me that I was nuts to start a "clean" living plan right before Christmas, with all its treats and excesses. Didn't I know that's what the new year was for?

But I've got to tell you, I think it's the smartest thing I've done in a while. I actually enjoyed reading about everyone else's resolutions without feeling guilty that I wasn't being resolute enough for the new year. I had already made my big step, my big commitment to my health.

I'll start with the bottom (ha!) line first: I have lost 9 pounds in three weeks. Considering I hadn't lost a pound in three months, even with scrupulous calorie counting and daily exercise, I am pretty excited by this change.

And I lost those 9 pounds without changing my exercise routine at all. In fact, I've even throttled back on the intensity of my exercising.

So what's the deal, you ask? The deal has been a pretty complete overhaul of not just what I eat, but the way I eat.

Quite simply, I haven't been eating enough. Crazy, right? Actually, not so much. I had been unwittingly sending my body the message: "Hang on to your fat cells, girl, because you ain't gonna eat for a very long time after this."

I used to think that the "starvation mode" theory was a bunch of bunk. I thought snacking was a thing I could never do. I ate breakfast, I ate lunch, and I ate dinner. The end. If I ate sparingly, I would lose weight.

Surprisingly, that plan did not produce the expected results. (I am only speaking to my experiences and for my specific body type here. I know plenty of people who can reduce their calories and lose weight no problem. My husband is one of them. I am not.)

Instead, the reverse happened. I kept cutting calories, but lost no weight. I increased the exercise, but lost no weight. I quickly became discouraged, especially since the prevailing attitude for weight loss seems to be "eat less, move more." I was already doing that!

Essentially, the "eat less, move more" philosophy is true, but not in the classic sense for me. Certainly exercise is always good, and I don't care what anyone says, you cannot have lasting weight loss and increased health without moving. Your body is a wonderful machine and it is meant to be used that way, with all the parts working in cooperation.

But the "eat less" part was what tripped me up. I need to eat less of certain foods, not less times a day.

After lots of reading, internet researching, and working with people who know more about nutrition than I do, I think I've arrived at a plan that can work to help me both lose weight and recapture my lost vitality.

What that plan looks like for me is heavy on the lean protein, heavy on the green veggies, moderate on most fruits, moderate on complex carbs, and very light on just about everything else. I need to go for the whole foods and strictly avoid the processed.

Here's what I've learned about myself thus far:

It is a myth that you can eat whatever you want as long as you do enough exercise to burn it off. At least it's a myth for me. I cannot, and will not ever be able to, eat three giant soft pretzels and then hit the treadmill or Zumba for an hour and a half. Those pretzels will negate everything I do in the gym. Times three.
I was seriously undercutting my portions of protein. Since I had done weight loss programs in the past, I thought I was pretty savvy about estimating portion sizes. Then I started weighing my food and I saw that I had been underestimating my portions of protein by at least half. Not good for my body type.
I really had (and still have) an unhealthy attachment to certain kinds of food. I would tell myself that I had a hard day and I deserved those three little cookies. After all, I had run three miles on the treadmill, and three cookies was the serving size listed on the package. But you know what? No one deserves a cookie. Food is just food. It's not a measure of how good a person I am.
Even eating this way for only a week, I started feeling better. I had more energy and less mood swings. I think my blood sugar was more unstable than I thought.
I can't lie, the change has been hard. There really has been an element of addiction for me - especially to simple carbs and sugar - and breaking that has been like a withdrawal of sorts. It speaks to how awful I felt that I have been willing to leave behind my beloved mini pretzels. And it speaks to how addicted I am to simple carbs that I call pretzels "beloved."
At Christmas, all bets were off and I ate a lot of junk. I'm okay with that.

I'm figuring out more and more as I go along, but what I've learned so far has been pretty profound for me. I still have a long way to go, and there are still some hormonal issues I need to address, but I'm on my way.

Stick with me, my friends?

Our Year in Review

2011-12-31T06:00:00.000-05:00

One of the things I love best about blogging is the record this blog keeps of my family. It has taken the place of a baby book, but I also write more here than I'd ever write in a baby book.

I enjoy going back over the year's posts and seeing how our lives have unfolded. There are lots of things I've forgotten -- seriously, why did no one tell me just how grumpy I was at the end of Baby's pregnancy?! -- and lots of things I could never forget -- Baby Love, we're so glad you're here!

Here are some of my favorites from 2011 (and if you are relatively new to The Mother Load, then think of this as an appetizer platter):

January:

1/11/11 was my birthday and with it I entered the world of Apple. I started with an iPod, then graduated to an iPad, and now we have an iMac. Apparently, Steve Jobs is communicating to me from beyond the grave.

February:

We found out once and for all that our beloved little school was closing and consolidating with the other little Catholic school one town over. There was a lot of consternation, but those two little schools together are absolutely thriving as one school. I really need to write another post about how pleased we are with the results so far.

March:

I put all my fears about having Baby out there, and you guys really showed up for me. You were "my great cloud of witnesses." Because you are awesome.

April:

Ever wanted to know the dish on Rob and me? I wrote ten facts about us in April.

May:

After all my fears, Baby finally arrived and everything I worried about sort of dissolved. She's pretty fantastic that way.

June:

Sally turned five, and I was so sleep deprived that I hardly wrote anything else.

July:

It only took two months to finally get a picture of all the kids together, but I did manage to write up all the kids' birth stories in haiku form.

August:

Baby got baptized, and apparently nothing else happened because I didn't write about anything.

September:

My Mopsy, she was at that age and feeling her oats. She and I are much recovered now.

October:

I wrote all about those real(ly) bad mom moments that we all have but never want to admit. At least I don't, but I do anyway. Just keeping it real.

November:

Francie learned a hard lesson and I had to let her learn it. We both made it out better for the struggle, though.

And that brings us back around to December. Happy New Year, my friends. We'll drink a cup of kindness yet, for auld lang syne.

7 Quick Takes: The Nostalgia Edition

2011-12-30T15:25:00.005-05:00

It's almost time to kiss 2011 goodbye. I have to admit that, even during rougher years, there is always a part of me that hates to see the year go. All those little moments that made up the year are really over.

Oh well, time keeps moving on, and as the wise Pocahontas once told me, "you can't step in the same river twice." Can you tell we've been watching a lot of movies during the Great Infection of '11?

One of the movies Rob and I caught recently, of the non-animated kind, was "Super 8". I thought this movie was great, and I dearly wish there was less swearing so that Francie could watch it. (They say sh*t. A lot. And there may even be one f-bomb, I can't remember. I'd block it for the kids on the sh*t alone.) It reminded me very much of "E.T." in some ways, although "E.T." was a gentler movie.

Set in the '70s, the props, costumes, and sets of "Super 8" really struck a cord with Rob and me while we watched. The painstaking dialing of a rotary phone when the caller is trying to move quickly, the huge television sets with the knobs, the three day "rush" job on the development of super 8 film -- all of these things are long gone.

We laughed, because now I can press a button on my steering wheel and call anyone, I can watch television on a computer the size of a piece of paper that lays in my lap, and I haven't seen a film canister in years.

I remember my parents using those drive-through Fotomat kiosks that were in every grocery store parking lot, and I remember using the empty film cans for holding pennies. My father used them for our baby teeth, and he would tease us and tell us he was going to make a teeth necklace when we finally lost them all. We are an off-beat bunch.

Of course the movie sent us off into a round of "remember when," which seemed especially appropriate for this time of year. We eventually ended up talking about the television shows that were on when we were kids in the '70s and early '80s. Not the ones we watched, but the ones our parents enjoyed. The ones whose theme songs play along in a loop reel to some of our most lasting memories.

Rob was born in '72, I was born in '76 -- a bi-centennial baby! -- and these are a few of the theme songs of our childhoods:

"Taxi"

I vaguely remember seeing bits and pieces of this show as a child. I never saw very much, though, since it was on at night and I don't even know if my parents really watched it. (I'm sure my mom will set me straight in the comments if she reads this.)

But this theme song? I heart it so much. I have no idea why, but when I hear it I just feel like things are going to work out. It makes me think of my parents when they were very young and being around them as a child.

I love the mournful whistle of the intro, and then the bridge to the heavier synthesizer sounds. And the continuous looping shot of the taxi driving over the same part of the bridge.

I know, I'm a nut.

"WKRP in Cincinnati"

I've known all the words to this theme song for almost 30 years. I don't know if that is epic or pathetic, but they're up there just the same. And they aren't super happy lyrics, either, but I can't shake them.

"M*A*S*H"

If you watch that tiny Army medic helicopter come up over the mountain, while Alan Alda runs from stretcher to stretcher, and your brain can't immediately supply the opening bars of the acoustic guitar intro, then you need to get some intensive "M*A*S*H" therapy.

This show easily makes it into my top ten list of the best shows ever made. It's probably in the top five.

"The Rockford Files"

I just don't know if you can get more '70s than that. Really.

And I don't care what anyone says, James Garner was a fox.

"The A-Team"

This was the '80s, but I had to include it because my dear husband loved him some A-Team back in the day. In fact, I still think he loves it.

He was appalled when I told him that I'd never seen an episode. Or even a part of an episode. In fact, I didn't even know the characters' names, except for Mr. T. (I pity the fool who doesn't know Mr. T.)

He loves me anyway, despite the obvious gap in my cultural education.

"Cheers"

Neither Rob nor I watched this show, and I don't even know if our parents did either, but this theme song is instantly recognizable.

Although, as I came to find out later, the lyrics are also not so great. Good thing they only play the shortened version on t.v.!

"Newhart"

We're fully into the '80s now, because I do remember seeing this on television with my parents, which meant that I was older.

I always thought this was such a light and happy theme song, with such pretty scenes of the Vermont countryside.

So there's a little trip down memory lane for you. Or, if you are much younger than me, a trip in the Waaay-Back Machine.

Feel free to add to the list in the combox and visit Conversion Diary for more of the final quick takes of 2011. Have a happy weekend, my friends. Hopefully you have something fun up your sleeve!

By The Way . . .

2011-12-28T15:36:00.001-05:00

this is what became of all that butter:

Traditional Shortbread, from my Scottish shortbread mold.

Sugar cut-out cookies with gold sugar

Pecan tassies. Not really a cookie, but a tartlet. Either way, I can't quit them.

Red raspberry thumbprints. I know they are just called Jam Thumbprints, but we only like them with red raspberry jam.

Homemade cookie tray for Rob's office. In addition to the above cookies, I tucked in some chocolate chip, chocolate peanut butter chip cookies, and assorted chocolate pretzel treats.

Thanks for asking after our health, my friends. I am feeling much better, with only a few days of fevers with chills and muscle aches. Rob thinks I picked up some kind of flu-like virus rather than the real flu, since I got the flu shot this year and my illness was rather short for the flu.

After the past few days, I will thank the real flu to keep its distance. Its cousin is ornery enough.

The kids all have varying degrees of the same upper respiratory infection, with poor Baby being the worst off. Her tiny little airways and newbie immune system are no match for it and she is suffering with lots of coughing, chapped cheeks, and a very red nose. And still, her little happy soul struggles to come through.
What a sad little dear.

Come on 2012, we need a little change around here, I think.

Merry Christmas + 1

2011-12-26T10:16:00.002-05:00

This was the best picture we could get of the hooligans. Bun looks like he's in pain, Fiver looks practically manic, and Mopsy was so unhappy that she wouldn't even look at the camera. I guess three out of six isn't bad . . .

From our home to yours, we wish you a very merry Christmas!

We managed to eke out a lovely day, despite my being hit by the flu on Christmas eve. Not good times, my friends. Fevers, chills, body aches, the whole shebang hit me like a freight train on the afternoon of the 24th.

I missed mass, I missed the kids opening their gifts, and I missed Christmas dinner with my parents. I mostly kept to my bed until this morning, but I still feel fairly awful. Not as feverish, but still achy. In fact, I think I need to head back to bed.

I'm hoping for a less infected new year.

Hope your Christmas was wonderful and flu-free!

Seven Quick Takes: Christmas Movie edition

2011-12-21T15:45:00.000-05:00

There are a lot of Christmas movies out there, and it seems like everyone has that one movie more than any other that makes it feel like Christmas to them. Some people go for "A Miracle on 34th Street," some go for "A Christmas Story." There's "Rudolph," "A Charlie Brown Christmas," "White Christmas," and "The Bishop's Wife" (Cary Grant/Loretta young version, thankyouverymuch).

I like them all (well, most of them anyway), but my hands-down favorite is "It's A Wonderful Life." I just have to see that movie one time during the holidays or I feel like something is missing from the festivities.

Here are seven reasons why I love it:

One: Dad is the Man

I love the way fathers are portrayed in this movie; they are upstanding citizens, valued for their wisdom, and looked to for answers.

When George realizes that Mr. Gower has accidentally poisoned the capsules marked for delivery, the first person he runs to is his father. The sign in the pharmacy says it all: "Ask Dad, He Knows" (I really want to find one of those for Rob's office.)

Even as an adult, George seeks his father's counsel and respects him for his values and opinions. After expressing all his hopes for the future to his father, and accepting his father's encouragement, he tells him, "Pop, you want a shock? I think you're a great guy."

Two: The Mr. Gower Defense

I have a friend who often invokes what she calls "The Mr. Gower Defense."

Poor Mr. Gower was deep in grief over the sudden death of his son when he accidentally substituted poison for medicine intended for a house full of sick children.

George, after realizing the mistake and failing to get anyone to listen to him, refuses to deliver it. When he finds out, Mr. Gower strikes him in anger and sorrow, thinking George lazy, until he discovers his mistake. He apologizes and embraces him while George cries, "I know you didn't mean it! You were upset is all!"

So my friend, whenever ill-treated for no reason, liberally applies "The Mr. Gower Defense." Maybe that extra rude bank teller has just lost her husband or child. Or maybe she really is just rude. Either way, it can't hurt to respond with kindness.

Three: "George Bailey, I'll love you til the day I die"

That's what young Mary Hatch whispered into George's deaf ear while he was serving her ice cream at the soda fountain, and she meant it. She never let go of her love for him, never compromised, and she loved him through the worst night of his life.

It's easy to think that Clarence was the one who saved George from suicide on Christmas Eve, and in a big way he was, but it was Mary who really brought him back. When George saw his life as if he'd never been born, he was certainly troubled, but the breaking point was when he saw life without Mary. That's when he begged Clarence to take him back. "I've got to get back to my wife!," he cries.

I know Jimmy Stewart has been in many great movies, but I'll never love a role of his more and it's because of one scene. When he realizes everything has been made right with his past, George rushes home to find Mary. After they reunite, and people start coming in with donations, Uncle Billy shouts, "It was all Mary, George! Mary did it! She told everyone you were in trouble and they came!"

George looks over at Mary with a look of such tenderness, gratitude, humility, and reverence, and I cry every time.

Four: "This is what I wished for."

Mary whispers that to George on their wedding night as they embrace in their new home. They only thing they have is each other, and it's enough.

I love the portrayal of the Bailey's marriage, especially the early years. A lot of modern movies don't do justice to a marriage; most of the time people aren't even getting married, they are just "involved" on some level. That's the easy way out.

Marriage takes guts, and the Bailey's have them. As they are leaving for their wedding, there is a run on the bank and George has to stop and save the building and loan. He and Mary use all the money they had planned for the honeymoon to keep the business open.

They start their lives in a house that is less water tight than the Titanic, with everything they have tied up in the building and loan, a business that George never wanted to run and that often depresses him.

While their friends and family leave Bedford Falls for brilliant careers and fascinating lives, George and Mary make the choice to stay in town and build a life little by little.

They had nothing but each other when they started, but they stuck it out because that's what you do when you commit yourself to someone. You don't cut and run when the going gets tough.

Five: "You call this a happy family? Why did we have to have all these kids?"

This is the flip side of a real marriage. After Uncle Billy loses the money he was supposed to deposit, George comes home depressed and hopeless.

Of course, he is greeted by the normal chaos of a house full of children on Christmas Eve. Zuzu is sick, Janie keeps playing the same song on the piano, Pete wants to know how to spell "frankincense," pieces of the house are breaking off in his hand, and just like life, all of this happens before he is inside the house for ten minutes.

He's out of control, he knows it, and he's sorry for it, but he still hurts those closest to him. In a real family, it happens every day.

Six: You can't always get what you want.

If there was ever a guy who didn't get what he wanted, but got exactly what he needed, then it's George Bailey.

George had always planned to "shake the dust of this crummy little town" off his feet, and travel the world. He wanted to see places and build things and make a lot of money.

Of course, he went on to do precisely none of that. He stayed in Bedford Falls to earn money for college, and then, after his father died, stayed to take the helm of the building and loan while he sent his brother to college instead.

At every turn, his desire to leave town is overruled by his responsibility to his family and his desire to help them.

But the best instance of the immovable object meeting the irresistible force is when George visits Mary and realizes he loves her.

"Now, you listen to me! I don't want any plastics, and I don't want any ground floors, and I don't want to get married - ever - to anyone! You understand that? I want to do what I want to do. And you're... and you're... oh, Mary . . . Mary . . ."

He may not want to stay, but he needs to.

Seven: "Do small things with great love"

Mr. Potter, the resident grinch, accuses George of being a "chump" and a bad businessman, like his father before him. From one point of view, Potter is correct. There's not much to show for all of George's hard work.

Except the love and gratitude of everyone he had ever helped. That's no small potatoes.

What George discovers is that what you put into other people - your love, your time, your compassion, -- is what will come back to you ten fold. Even the smallest deed, done with love, will multiply.

It really is a wonderful life, my friends. Merry Christmas.

Nom-nom-nom

2011-12-20T08:33:00.002-05:00

I bet you'll never guess what I've got on the agenda for today.

I think four boxes of butter should hold me. For now.

Let All Mortal Flesh Keep Silence

2011-12-18T23:14:00.000-05:00

I am sitting here in the stillness, the only one awake in a sleeping household, with the tree lights as my only illumination.

The only sounds are the whirring of the heater and the occasional white noise from the baby monitor. I can hear Baby softly snoring in her bed, and I keep the monitor on even though she is still in our room and Rob is there.

I should go to bed, but this kind of quiet is so rare in my home that I feel like I need to savor it. Even early mornings are not this quiet because someone is always fitful or stirring. This is the kind of quiet I long for in the middle of my very loud days.

People keep asking me if I'm ready for Christmas. I don't mind the question, but I don't really know how to answer. If they are talking about the gifts and the cookies and the classroom parties and the pageants, then no, I am not ready. I learned a long time ago that there is always something I want to do at Christmas that will have to go undone, and I am usually the only one who knows.

If they are talking about having my heart prepared, I'm not sure of that either. I can't tell if I've made my heart as ready as possible for the birth of our Lord. My guess is most likely not. It's been my experience that as soon as I start thinking I've got the hang of something, the farther I am from it.

This week has NO MERCY written all over the calendar. I will be running and running from the time I get up until the time I collapse into bed each night. I have two different calendars going because I can't fit everything on one. Despite all my attempts to keep things simple, I know it will be a marathon run at a sprinter's pace.

That is why I am sitting here tonight thinking of the lyrics of one of my favorite hymns:

Let all mortal flesh keep silence,
And with fear and trembling stand;
Ponder nothing earthly minded,
For with blessing in His hand,
Christ our God to earth descendeth,
Our full homage to demand.

King of kings, yet born of Mary,
As of old on earth He stood,
Lord of lords, in human vesture,
In the body and the blood;
He will give to all the faithful
His own self for heavenly food.

Rank on rank the host of heaven
Spreads its vanguard on the way,
As the Light of light descendeth
From the realms of endless day,
That the powers of hell may vanish
As the darkness clears away.

At His feet the six wingèd seraph,
Cherubim with sleepless eye,
Veil their faces to the presence,
As with ceaseless voice they cry:
Alleluia, Alleluia
Alleluia, Lord Most High!

My favorite verses are 3 and 4. I can only imagine the hosts of heaven spread as a vanguard for Christ, with even the angels shielding their faces from the presence of the Lord. It makes me want to keep absolutely still.

But now it's very late, and I have to turn myself over to the stillness of sleep. I'm sure I will be scarce around here this week. I have to find the time to be still even while I'm not.

I'm Not Dead Yet!

2011-12-15T13:27:00.000-05:00

I must apologize to you, my friends, for making the last post sound like I am barely clinging to this mortal coil. I got a few emails asking if I was all right and what in the world was wrong with me?!

My own mother even called to ask, and I talk to her nearly every day. She thought maybe I was suffering with some kind of illness that I had decided not to disclose.

I'm okay -- I really am. I am just . . . tired. And I feel too old for my actual age. Does that make any sense?

It's like that scene from Monty Python, where they say "You! Old woman!" And the actor replies, "I'm only 37!"

Exactly. I'm only 35, but sometimes I feel like an old woman. Much older than I should be feeling, anyway.

(And if you are unfamiliar with Monty Python, I'm sorry but I don't have a better analogy. Get thee some Python.)

I have yet to make it into my doctor for a checkup and blood work (not stalling, she was out of the country), but I strongly suspect a thyroid problem. I know Rob hates when I consult Dr. Google, but that was actually my last resort. I have also been reading some very interesting books, written by real doctors, about thyroid disease.

I don't know if I have true, permanent hypothyroidism, or if I am more in a state of "thyroid fatigue", but either way it's doing a number on me and I need to address it.

In reading about thyroid irregularities, I came across those risk factor/symptom checklists, and although I knew about my family history of hypothyroidism, I was still surprised to see how many I was checking off on each list.

My energy levels are through the floor, and even though I have six children, none of them are routinely waking during the night anymore (thank you, Baby!). There is no reason for me to feel like, at any point during the day, I could just lie down and sleep for about three hours. I feel that way more times than not.

My hair has stopped growing, which is more upsetting to me than I thought it would be. I've always had a lot of hair. So much hair, in fact, that I've never been one to worry about it. But now that it's not coming back in, I'm sad about it. Does that make me vain? Most likely.

I cannot lose weight, despite all my best efforts. And I am not fudging about the best efforts. I have been exercising more than I've ever exercised in my life -- every single day, in fact. So much so that a 2.5-3 mile jog on the treadmill at 5 miles an hour and a steady 3% incline is a lighter workout for me. That might not sound like a big deal to a real runner, but for my body that is really something.

I've also tracked all my calories, which has always worked in getting rid of the weight in the past, but not this time. I haven't lost a pound in four months and I feel like I'm killing myself.

And if anyone out there ever asks me what NFP is good for, besides being able to be at ease with my conscience, I can tell them that all the effort has been worth it just for the past few months of information that I've learned from my own body.

Maybe this is oversharing, and you are welcome to stop reading now, but that temperature reading and ovulation tracking has saved me so much trouble and guess work.

One of the symptoms that can be indicative of thyroid dysfunction is very low body temperature. I can go into my doctor with the information that my basal body temperature is abnormally low. I'm talking practically reptilian. My temps are usually right around 97 degrees, and they have been lower.

My metabolism isn't just sluggish, it is at an absolute standstill. I am fighting against my body.

I can also tell her that I have stopped ovulating, which after two babies back to back might seem like a nice little break, but it's not normal. It tells me that my hormones are really out of whack.

Now what to do? Well, blood work and a physical now that my doctor is back. But even if all my levels come back in the normal range, I still know how I feel and what's going on in my body and it's not good.

So what else? That's where all the changes come in.

I honestly feel like the last two babies threw my system into a tailspin. I'm not grousing, and I'd do it all again for those little girls, but being pregnant for 18 out of the last 22 months has done a number on me. I am not bouncing back this time like I have after the other children, and my body is telling me so.

I have started working with a nutritionist to help me create a diet that will be thyroid supportive. There are certain foods out there that will help to repair your thyroid -- or at least alleviate some symptoms. I didn't know enough to create the diet on my own, so I found someone who does.

She is a really great woman, and she has designed a lovely meal plan for me. She is supportive and helpful without being overbearing, and I am learning so much about how absolutely mistaken I've been about what my body needs right now.

I'm not going to lie -- it's not easy. I'm not living on twigs and grass and honey, but neither am I having the afternoon cup of coffee and cookie in which I used to indulge. And I am about ready to slap my granny for a piece of chocolate cake.

(Not really, I love my granny. But I have felt close to inflicting bodily injury a couple times this week.)

I've only been doing this for a week, and I'm still sorting out a lot of these changes -- especially my extreme emotional attachment to my particular comfort foods. I've been berating myself for so long for not having enough self control or will power, and at the same time I've been denying myself so many good things.

So there you have it; the answer to the big mystery! I told you it wasn't really that bad.

Do you even want to hear updates on my progress? It might make me more accountable, but it may also bore you to tears. It's a toss up, so I guess I'll just see how I feel about it as I move forward.

Changes

2011-12-11T22:04:00.001-05:00

So many things are changing around here, that I thought I'd just go whole hog and change my template.

I feel like I've changed this template more in the past few months than I have over the life of this blog. I just wanted something a little less autumnal, and I thought the cranberry color was pretty. A little Christmas-y.

What else is changing, you ask? Sigh. Too much to go into for a Sunday night, and besides, we all know how well I do with change.

Never fear, it's not all bad. In fact, I wouldn't even say that any of it is really bad at all. More like growing pains. Necessary but uncomfortable.

A lot of it has to do with my health, and some very necessary changes I need to make in my life. I promise to write more about it when I have the chance to let the changes sink in a little.

But to focus on some of the more fun changes: I am typing this on our brand new iMac and it is fabulous. Beyond fabulous -- I feel like we've gone from the dark ages and stepped straight into the brightness of midday.

I can't say we didn't get our money's worth out of our old computer since it was nine years old. Nine! Its age impressed the heck out of the tech geeks (said with big geek love!) at the Apple store. They couldn't believe it lasted that long.

We knew the end was coming, but when the kids were unable to use the computer for their homework assignments, we knew it was upon us. We tried limping along, but in the end we couldn't do it any longer.

We had been saving up the money, so we took a deep breath and took the plunge. I don't know about anyone else, but it still makes me wince when I see a big chunk of money going out, even if I know it's been specifically budgeted for use.

The kids have pretty much figured the whole thing out already, and I am enjoying even the simplest features. This is the first time I've seen my whole blog on a screen in three years. That's a nice change.

Sometimes it's the little things, right?

Happy Gaudete Sunday, friends.

7 Quick Takes: Checking it Twice Edition

2011-12-09T09:38:00.000-05:00

The lists are piling up thick around here. Okay, maybe not exactly piling up since I have them all categorized on the iPad, but there are still multiple lists going. Baking, shopping, things the children would like (bow and arrows, anyone?), they just keep scrolling through my head.

Then Rob asked me what I would like for Christmas and I have no idea. All year long I see little things that I could put to good use in my daily life and I think, "That's a great idea for a Christmas gift. If someone asks me what I need, I'm going to tell them this is it!" And then I promptly forget. Until December 26th. I am so annoying.

On the other hand, I've seen enough commercials to know what I would not like this Christmas, and what I will not be buying anyone else:

One: Pajama Jeans

Have you seen these? They are supposed to be as comfortable as sweats so that you can go from lying in bed to a swinging party without having to change your pants.

First of all, if I am going to a swinging party, then I AM CHANGING MY PANTS. I go to maybe two parties a year that are not held at a bounce house or Chuck E. Cheese, I think I can handle popping up off my duff and putting on something nicer than what amounts to elasticized jeans-looking stretch pants. Maybe these are great for that gal who has a packed social calendar, or at least a very spontaneous one. I have neither.

Besides, I need my jeans to be constructed out of the highest quality denim, preferably with some kind of girdle sewn into them. I have too much to be held in to risk it on Pajama Jeans.

Two: Dreadlocks Santa Hat

Why? I'm sure that Santa comes to the islands, just like he does the rest of the world, but I highly doubt he dons this cap.

You know this was only invented to part college guys from their pizza and beer money.

Three: The BangO

No. Nonononononono.

I have six children who are all pathologically attracted to scissors (well, I'm not sure about Baby yet, but I'm playing the percentages). And when they get those scissors, there isn't enough paper in the world to satisfy them. Nope, they need curtains and bedspreads and Barbies and hair. Especially the hair.

If this ever fell into the wrong hands, of which there are SIX PAIRS here, the results would be unimaginable. Actually, I can imagine it, so no. Nonono.

Four: The RoboStir

Theoretically, I should be able to put this to good use. If there is anyone out there who has burned something in a sauce pan because she was distracted by mayhem, then that girl is moi. You would think that a device I could clip onto my pot to stir and stir the soup while I deal with whatever Lord of the Flies situation is going down would be a genius move.

But I can see it all going awry. The RoboStir won't stop stirring, or it shorts out and splatters soup all over the kitchen. Burned soup in a pan is easier to clean up than perfectly fine soup sprayed all over the back splash and the wall.

Five: Sauna Pants

This is the gift you get someone who doesn't want to reproduce. I am all about melting fat away, but I'm not real keen on that much heat being supplied to the general baby making area.

Call me crazy, but I just don't think it's a wise idea to wear pants that you need to plug in.

Six: The As Seen On TV Hat

This just looks ridiculous.  How are you supposed see where you are going when you are essentially wearing a View-Master stuck to your face?   Pretty soon, we won't even need this because we'll have movies played directly on our retinas thanks to the computer chips we have embedded in our skulls.

Seven: Forever Lazy

These might be a sign of the apocalypse. At least a cultural one.

They are basically footless footie pajamas for adults. That are meant to be worn outside your home. You know, to tailgates and such. And here I thought the pajama jeans were too casual.  Why not just put on a prison jumpsuit? It's the same design, just fewer color choices.

Look, there's a drawstring hoodie! And you can keep your hands a feet free! You know what else keeps your hands and feet free?  Shirts and pants.

But the "zippered hatches in front and back for great escapes when duty calls"?   Eww.

I am no fashion icon, but I for darn sure know that this can't look good on anyone.

Have a great weekend, my friends. And if you feel the need to be forever lazy, at least wear something that you can pull up and down in the bathroom.

{pretty, happy, funny, real}: a character study

2011-12-08T00:00:00.001-05:00

I've always felt uncomfortable with the question, "But is she (or he) a good baby?" when people were cooing over whatever little nugget I happened to be toting on my hip. I don't subscribe to the good baby/bad baby school of classification.

Are some babies easier to manage and less fussy than others? Oh yes, and I've had a few of those. But I don't think that's because they are good or bad. They are just babies, and some of my fussiest babies have grown into totally happy, easy going kids.

All that being said, Baby is a decidedly happy baby. She is just a little lump of wiggly loveliness, who is easy to please and pleased to be surrounded by her nutty siblings. She wakes up cooing and smiling, she babbles in her sleep, and she lights up the room. She is like a powerful little people magnet; her brothers and sisters can't stay away from her.

Yesterday, as she jumped around in her exersaucer, I sat and snapped frame after frame of her delicious little face. She was pretty, happy, funny, and real all over.

This is the face she makes when she wonders what the heck I am doing. She makes this face a lot.

Baby likes to pull her bibs off and then stuff them back into her mouth to chew on them. Makes her gums feel better, but it doesn't do much to protect her shirts.

This is what Baby looks like when the kids are running around like crazy. You can practically hear her thinking, "What is wrong with these guys?!"

She is not very mischievous (yet!) but she can sure look it sometimes.

This is how she spends 90% of her time. This gummy smile could power a small city.

I think this is my favorite face of all. So sweet and serene.

Santa's Got Her Covered. So Does St. Nickel.

2011-12-05T21:32:00.000-05:00

Quick, if you are reading this before your children awake on December 6th and you have forgotten to put out the shoes for St. Nicholas' Day, then you still have time.

If you have children like mine, however, then there have been several different right shoes lined up near or in front of the front door for the better part of a day. I don't know why they pick the right shoe, and I don't know why they line them up right in front of the door. If they are thinking St. Nick is coming in that door, why are they setting up the shoes like a booby trap for him?

I don't question their methods. It leads to my madness.

Baby has no shoes to put out, although Sally offered to put out an extra one of hers, but even without a shoe, she'll be getting a canister of rice cereal from St. Nicholas. It's the best thing his helper could come up with during a late night run to the grocery store.

Besides, all she really wanted for Christmas was her two front teeth, as evidenced by her ferocious teething and drooling. And although it is very hard to tell in the picture, if you look very closely and squint and use your imagination, you can see the glimmer of the razor sharp baby teeth that broke through this weekend.

No one better even hint that Santa doesn't deliver, because he so does. As well as St. Nick, St. Nicholas, and St. Nickel (?!?). All of which Sally has called him in this evening. She says St. Nickel is her own nickname for him.

Apparently, they are tight, which is why she put a boot put tonight instead of just a shoe. She sure has friends in high places, that Sally-girl.

{pretty, happy, funny, real}: riding the rails edition

2011-12-01T05:00:00.001-05:00

We had such a fun time on our Thanksgiving weekend train ride. It was one of those rare times when a small amount of spontaneity, judiciously applied, worked out for us.

Of course, when I put it like that it doesn't sound very spontaneous at all. But if you've ever tried your hand at mobilizing a herd of children, then you know what I mean.

{pretty, real}

My bookend girls. When people ask me the fabled large family question - "but how do you DO it?!" -
I tell them my secret. Ready? They are not all six months old. A set of teenage (or nearly teenage) hands can really come in handy. And they can do so much more than what is generally expected of them in today's world.

{real, funny}

The swaying of the train car hypnotized Baby. "You are getting veeerrry sleeeepy . . ."

{happy}

What we didn't realize, until just before we boarded, was that this was the Santa Train! Bun was pretty excited when Santa came into our car.

Fiver looking pretty hypnotized as well.

{pretty, happy}

Sally was a little nervous as the train started, but she perked up when the candy canes came out.

{real}

This is how you know Mopsy is missing nap time: her favorite fingers go in her mouth and she starts twirling her hair.

{pretty, real}

Sometimes I can't believe how grown Francie looks. When I see a snapshot like this, or when I look over my shoulder in the kitchen and realize I am looking at her face at eye level, not down near the floor, it practically slaps me in the face. When did my baby reach 5'3" and start wearing shoes one size smaller than mine?

Now head over to LMLD and join in the {p,h,f,r} fun!

Thanksgiving Blitz

2011-11-29T14:18:00.000-05:00

The kids still had a vacation day yesterday (thank you, opening day of deer season in Pennsylvania!), but they are back to school today and I feel like this busy weekend is finally winding down. Mama is beat, my friends, but in a very happy way.

Now that I think about it, I've been going full steam since last Monday so I guess it's a stretch to call it a busy "weekend". I think "busy week" is a more apt description.

Last Tuesday we hosted a good friend and her daughter for dinner. Normally I would not be jazzed about having dinner guests during Thanksgiving week, but these are the kind of friends for whom you make an exception. They live on the west coast, so their visits are infrequent. Plus, this is the awesome woman who delivered Fiver, so there's that!

Tuesday was a busy day, because poor Sally threw up on her teacher's shoes (poor teacher!), and was sent home from school. She was very disappointed to miss the mini-Thanksgiving feast in her class (she was to play the part of Pilgrim girl), and I was very disappointed that her illness derailed a chance to meet up with Colleen of Martin Family Moments fame.

It would have been the first time I've ever met anyone I know solely through blogging, and we had hoped to meet up on Wednesday morning as they passed through our area on their travels. Alas, it was not to be. I would have been ejected from the Mommy Club if I had knowingly exposed five children to a stomach virus. Especially when they would be in the car and far from home.

Happily for everyone concerned, Sally recovered after about 12 hours. She recovered so well that she asked me for spaghetti and meatballs on Wednesday morning. Uh, that's a negative, good buddy.

Next time, Colleen, next time we'll do it!

Thursday was the big dinner here at the HomeFront Corp. We had our usual gang, as well as my parents, my brother and sister-in-law, and my other brother and sister. We've been doing this since we moved to this house, so my Thanksgiving prep has become a routine. I know what I'm going to do and when I need to do it, so I usually feel pretty relaxed about it all.

Rob had the day after Thanksgiving free this year, and I wanted to do something fun with the kids. We don't do spontaneity well with the children being the ages they are, but I really felt like we should take advantage of what turned out to be a beautiful weekend of unseasonable temperatures.

We decided on a train ride in the town of Jim Thorpe, PA. Jim Thorpe is very close to us, and it's so beautiful and quaint that it's called "The Switzerland of America." Apparently due to the cute shops, homes, and gardens tucked into the mountains, and not because of its neutrality. (I live in PA, and I know that us natives are rarely neutral about anything.)

It's one of those towns that I'd really love to just walk all around and explore. Except then I realize that all my children would also be walking around and exploring. Mostly with their hands and mouths, which is universally frowned upon by mothers and shopkeepers alike.

So exploring Jim Thorpe has gone on the extensive list of "Stuff that Aimee and Rob Must See Without Small Children In Tow." This list is primarily composed of movies, restaurants, and stores, but sometimes whole towns like Jim Thorpe make it on there.

In case you are wondering, Jim Thorpe, the town, is named after Jim Thorpe, the man. He was the consummate athlete, playing football, baseball, and basketball professionally, and he was also a decorated Olympian. The town used to be called by the Native American name of Mauch Chunk (pronounced "Maw Chunk"), but there's a whole story about how it became Jim Thorpe. You should read up on it -- it's both depressing and inspiring.

Anyway . . . the train ride was fantastic. We took the Lehigh Gorge Scenic Railway along the river and through the mountains, at one point crossing over the river on a very high and very narrow trestle. It was so narrow that you couldn't see the supports from the train windows. It made it seem like we were flying over the river. So cool and terrifying at the same time.

We also found out that the weekend after Thanksgiving was the beginning of the Santa Train, where they pipe Christmas carols through the cars and Santa comes to visit each one. We've been on Santa train rides in different towns, but this one was the best so far. It was close to our home, it was low key and less expensive, and it was the perfect length of time for a ride.

But what really pleased me was that Santa said "Merry Christmas," and the carols really were carols -- everything my kids would normally hear in church. And altough there were some signs around town saying the generic "Happy Holidays," there were just as many saying "Merry Christmas."    Good job, Jim Thorpe, PA, the Switzerland of America.

On Saturday, the kids' school held a movie night fundraiser where parents could drop off their children at the gym for a movie and then have two hours to themselves. Since we are not at a point in our lives where we can take advantage of that anyway, I volunteered Rob to be a chaperone. He was full of love for me on Saturday night, I tell you, but he did his duty cheerfully.

Sunday was new translation day, and we were ready. We are so blessed to belong to a parish that took its responsibility of educating the flock very seriously. We have been preparing for several months, and all of our homilies for the past six weeks have been about the history of the mass and how the new translation is better all around. We've practiced the new music settings, and the kids have been doing the same at their weekly school masses.

And right out of the gate, I flubbed it by saying "and also with you." Gah. That's what happens when your attention is diverted by your 3 year old loose cannon who is trying to make a break for it.   And as I was saying the wrong response, I caught myself and tried to replace the words with the new ones, but it just came out sounding all garbled.

Luckily, I had Fiver right in my ear whispering, "Mom. You said it wrong. You messed it up. You should have said 'and with your spirit' but you didn't."   Yes, thank you, dear.  Messed up. Got it.

Once I got past that, I did pretty well, and I love the new translation overall, especially the creed. So good.

After mass, I applied for a personal loan and took the four older kids to see "The Muppets", while Rob stayed home with the sleeping babies. Now it was my turn to chaperone, although at least I had popcorn and candy to get me through. Plus, the movie was cute and the kids enjoyed themselves. We rarely get to the theater, so it's still a treat for all of us when we do go.

Which brings us back to the week at hand. This post has become so long and boring that I hesitate to even publish it, but I've come too far to turn back now. Also, the spell check is not working, so I cannot even begin to imagine what kinds of errors I've made, but it's too long for me to go back and proofread carefully before the kids get off the bus.

Aren't you so glad that my stick-to-it attitude has saddled you with this kind of mediocrity on Tuesday afternoon? Maybe I'll get it together someday . . .

Happy Thanksgiving!

2011-11-24T01:21:00.000-05:00

I'd love to be able to post a picture of my table, set well ahead of the big meal with pretty plates and sparkling glassware, but that's not how it happens here.

Even though it's a feast day, I still have lots of little bodies who want to eat their regular meals. At the table on their regular old plastic dishes, no less. And as much as I want to just throw them some crackers until dinner and call it good, the reality is that I'll find myself making ham sandwiches at noon, just like every other day.

Instead of a pretty table, I'm posting a picture of how it really goes down in this house and I'm coming clean about the half eaten apple crisp sitting on my stove. Rob and I cannot help ourselves - we are powerless when it comes to crisp. Happily, I made two so I could live up to the family motto of "go big or go home."

I pray that your tables are just as full as ours and that they are surrounded by the smiling faces of the people you love. Happy Thanksgiving from the whole HomeFront gang!

Motorin'

2011-11-21T05:00:00.000-05:00

Hey, how you doin'? It's me, Baby.

Me? Oh, I'm doin' fine. Thanks for asking.

In fact, I have this new thing I've been workin' on. I pull it out whenever I feel like the old lady needs a little awesomeness in her day. I'm pure awesomeness, so I've got that going for me already.

Wait, I forgot what to do now.

Oh, yeah. Pull up on my hands and knees and rock back and forth. Told you, pure awesomeness.

She Bounced Back

2011-11-20T22:01:00.001-05:00

For two weekends in a row, Francie has spelled her way to first place. First for the district spelling bee, and then for the whole diocesan spelling bee.

But what made us most proud was that she walked over and shook the hand of her final competitor at the end of each bee (with no prompting from us).

She's growing up, and there may be hope for gym class after all.

Life's Lessons

2011-11-16T23:03:00.001-05:00

Francie has an amazing brain. I don't write that to brag because we never take it for granted. It's completely a gift and we usually just stand back and watch her go. She is a very self motivated student and she truly enjoys academic pursuits.

But with that great brain comes a price. She is a perfectionist in the extreme and that can be a hard way to live.   If something does not come easily to her she would rather abandon it than put more effort into it. She has a hard time accepting that even if she is not accomplished at something, it doesn't mean she should quit. The work she puts in is the important part.

When she came through the door yesterday and burst into tears over her report card I was surprised to say the least. I never even think about Francie's report card; I just read it over, congratulate her and sign it.

Since I have seen and signed every test she's taken this year, I just could not imagine what could be serious enough to cry over. After she calmed down enough to tell me, this is what came out:

She had set herself the goal of Principal's Honors for the quarter, and she didn't make it. Because of a grade of "satisfactory" in gym class. Well, you would have thought that someone took a big red marker and wrote FAIL on the front.

The whole story is that to attain Principal's Honors a student must get a 97 average or higher with a grade of "good" in all minor subjects, with gym being one of those minor subjects. If you fail to meet those criteria, well, you can try again next quarter. You don't get busted down to First or Second Honors. It's all or nothing. Just like Francie.

Watching her cry, my first reaction was to try to make it better for her. Should we talk to the teacher and try to get the grade changed? I know plenty of people who would do that.

As I thought more about it over the course of the afternoon, I realized I was of two minds about the report card.

Half of my brain was saying, "Really? A satisfactory in gym is enough to negate an entire report card? Huh. That seems kind of cruddy to miss her goal for what amounts to a subjective assessment of her physical fitness skills. She got a satisfactory, which means she is average in gym. She did not get a "needs improvement" or "unsatisfactory," but it still kept her from earning any kind of honors."

Then the other half of my brain responded with, "Well, maybe this is a good time for Francie to learn this lesson.  Whether or not we agree with the criteria for honors is not the issue. The issue is that she needs to put forth her best effort in all things. The smartest brain can be wasted by a poor attitude and an unwillingness to make the effort. Even though she felt like she was doing the best she could, her teacher thought not. There will be times in her adult life where she will not meet the expectations of her superiors, and she needs to learn how to handle a setback like this. I'd rather have her learn it now, in a place where people love and support her, than out in the world."

In the end, Rob did end up writing a note to the principal, whom we respect very much and who has always been very supportive of our children.   He did not ask for the grade to be changed, but I felt like he was able to articulate our conflicted feelings. He let her know that we expected Francie to be responsible for her own attitude and work ethic, and that we had advised Francie to seek out her gym teacher and ask him how to improve her grade.

As for Francie, she had a good cry and got it out of her system. She decided to adjust her outlook and she got some good feedback from her gym teacher after class. She got busy setting herself some new goals.

But I will admit that this one was tough for me. I could taste the disappointment almost as bitterly as Francie. I know how hard she works, and it was so difficult to just let her feel that and realize that what she says and does will eventually come home to roost.

It was a tough lesson, but one worth learning. Hopefully it sticks.

7 Quick Takes

2011-11-11T19:06:00.000-05:00

Quick Takes, another easy back-to-blogging transition, courtesy of Conversion Diary. Here we go! . . . .

One

Oh dear Lord my heart is broken and sick over what is going on, and what has gone on unchecked, at Penn State.   I am not even going to link to any news stories because if you haven't heard about it yet, then you are probably not anywhere near a computer, television, newspaper, magazine or another human being.

See, we are big Penn State fans here. I get it from my Dad, who listened to the games on an old gray radio while he worked out in the yard or the barn. We grew up knowing what to say when someone yelled WE ARE! . . .   We cheered hard for the blue and white.

And now my children are Penn State fans, and they cheer for the blue and the white, and when I say to Bun, WE ARE!, he yells back PENN STATE!

So hearing all of the news coming out of State College is like hearing about a death. And from all the reports, there certainly have been deaths in the murdered innocence and trust of children. The abuse allegations are horrific.

What has been beyond disappointing is the response of the adults in the situation. It is sickening to think that a person could walk in on the rape of a child and still wonder about what course of action to take. Are we dead inside? The course of action is to do whatever it takes to stop it! If that means standing there and calling 911?  If that means confronting the abuse in the moment, even if it means a physical altercation to stop it?   If that means not only reporting it up the chain, but also notifying police and weathering the repercussions? Then DO THAT. ALL OF THAT.

I know that I don't know all the details, but it certainly seems that, in addition to the evil perpetrated by the actual abuser, some good people made some very wrong decisions. It is a betrayal of the worst kind.

So, will I still let my kids root for Penn State and wear their Penn State shirts? Yes, I will. Because I am proud of the students who are organizing vigils and a "blue-out" for the victims at Saturday's game.  Because the majority of students, alumni, fans, and supporters are sickened and outraged. And because when my kids say WE ARE . . . PENN STATE, I want it to be true. I want to believe in the good people there. People of character who will do the right thing.
And if they are in short supply, then I guess I just have to make some more.

Two

Sally is really enjoying kindergarten, but having not gone to preschool she has been relatively sheltered from the meanness of other kids. Of course she has tussled with her siblings, but it's different with them.  Mostly because, underneath it all, her siblings love her and get her. It's strange to contemplate a peer being mean to you just because.

She got a crash course this week when one of her table mates, after hearing her express pride about coming in second place in a game at gym, told her "well, you know that second place just means first loser."

Nice.

Unfortunately, it backfired for the kid because Sally was still pleased with her effort and said, "at least first loser is first!"

I pray every day that she keeps her sunny disposition. It's her best feature and I think it will serve her well in life.

Three

Speaking of Sally, we are all so happy that she is only two doses away from being finished with her 84 dose course of antibiotics. A month's supply almost done, whew!

I hadn't mentioned it on here, but she has been battling Lyme Disease. She had had a fever a couple months back, but it only lasted a few days and we figured she picked up a virus somewhere. She did have a rash, but it was not the typical bullseye at the site of the tick kind of rash. It was all over her body, and then it disappeared as quickly as it came.

But about a month ago, she complained of some joint pain. Then one morning she woke up and couldn't bend her legs. It was scary because a healthy and active 5 year old usually does not have severe joint pain unless it's something serious.

Rob took her in for an x-ray, and he also told me he was getting a lab panel for Lyme Disease. Even though the lab usually re-runs the test as a precaution, her titers were so high that they knew right away and started her on antibiotics.

Even though it was sad to watch her miss her beloved dance class and struggle with walking, I realize that the other diagnoses that would explain her joint pain, like cancer or juvenile rheumatoid arthritis, are worse.   She has responded very well to the medicine and she is back to normal range of motion.

Thank you, Lord, for modern medicine!

Four

The little kids and I are getting a huge kick out of the Motown station on the Pandora app for the iPad (I also have it on the iPod).   I grab Baby, and Bun and Mopsy and I dance all around the kitchen while I sing at the top of my lungs.

First of all, the music is upbeat and highly danceable. Also, the lyrics are not horrible or full of bad words like most pop music these days.   It just makes us happy.

And also? When Bun hears Sam Cooke or Otis Redding, he says "Now this guy is GOOD!" and I just die a little from the cuteness.

Five

This is Bun's pick for song of the day:

Six

Thanksgiving is almost here!   We are big Thanksgiving fans around here and we always look forward to celebrating it.

I am starting to plan out the menu, even though we usually eat the same thing every year, but I like to have my ducks in a row anyway.   My brother is cooking the turkey, which I am very happy about since that's always the part I like least about cooking the meal, but I'm happy to do the rest.

Plus, it's really the only time of year that I make apple pie, since I am a glutton who cannot handle being around pies with any regularity. Mmmmm . . . pie . . . .

Seven

Happy Veterans Day to all the vets out there. We love you and thank you for your service! Now go find some free food and celebrate!

Have a great weekend, my friends!

{pretty, happy, funny, real}

2011-11-10T15:09:00.000-05:00

I've been away from it for so long that I think I've lost the hang of blogging. I'll think of a million different things to write during the day, and by the time I'm ready to blog they have all left my head.

Oh well, I think that's a little bit of an occupational hazard. I can only keep a certain amount of information active in my brain at one time, and I think keeping the kids alive may trump blogging. Just this once.

Or maybe blogging is like anything else in life in that it requires practice, practice, practice. The less I write, the more I fall out of the habit of writing, and soon I'm not writing at all.

And that is why I am thankful for things like {pretty, happy, funny, real}. It gives me a graceful re-entry to my blog!

Bun and Mopsy went as a matched set for Halloween. Peter Pan and his little pixie friend Tinkerbell were the hit of the library's preschool story time.

{real}

It doesn't get much more real than a pre-Halloween snowfall that left thousands in our area without power. I like the winter, but I like it even better when it starts after Thanksgiving.

{happy}

iLove!
Actually, this baby is like a really fancy stop-gap measure until we can go whole hog into an iMac for the family. Since I only do goof-off computer stuff, like blogging and Facebook and email, I am setting up this iPad as a central command for myself. The kids are totally jealous.

{funny}

Fiver was Super Mario for Halloween. I find the mustache alone to be incredibly entertaining.

{funny}

I love Bun's face in this picture. It's like he can see Capt. Hook off the starboard bow!

{pretty}

Cinderella Sally, just waiting on the Fairy Godmother. Have pumpkin, will travel.

Limping Along

2011-10-25T14:07:00.000-05:00

Our computer is dying a slow and annoying death. It is very old . . . ancient even, when considered by technology's standards.

Over the past few months, several key components have either not been working or working only in a limited capacity. There are certain files I can't open, I have limited success with uploading pictures and video, and when added to a host of other little problems I end up with a big headache.

But now I think I've reached the last straw. Now I can't comment on certain blogs. And they are some of my favorite ones. The horror!

This is one situation where it can honestly be said, "it's not you, it's me!" and I'm still reading, even if I can't comment.

We are looking at new computers, and hopefully I'll be able to start offering my two cents again soon. (Is that a blessing or a curse?!)

Until then, here is a picture of Baby. I feel almost as disgruntled as she does when I make her wear the mouse hat.

(Full disclosure: Between the uploading and all the other issues, it took me 40 minutes to write this post. Crazy.)

The hat, Mom? Seriously?

Mommy's Done Gone Around the Bend

2011-10-17T13:21:00.000-05:00

Yep, yep. Still here. Still busy. Just like the rest of humanity.

I haven't been feeling the blog lately (no, really?!) but I just had to answer Colleen's call to come clean about the bad mommy moments we all have. Except she calls them REAL mommy moments because she is nicer than me.

She was so sweet and earnest when she divulged her low points, but I found myself thinking, "Really? That doesn't seem so bad to me. Oh crap, I am truly awful."

Actually, I don't think I am truly awful, but I have had a summer full of REAL(ly bad) mom moments so maybe it's just a cumulative effect kind of thing I'm feeling. Yeah, let's go with that explanation. Definitely.

I do think it's important to be honest, and that means sometimes going "warts and all" in public. I know that there have been times when I have been just as inspired by a mom saying, "I am screwing this up royally!!" as a mom who has all her mojo working for her. Because that is life with kids. Sometimes you are on FIRE and sometimes you are just going down in flames.

And like Colleen says, if anything, this list might make you feel really good about yourself today!

ONE

Baby is a puker. I am talking BIG TIME, people. I change her clothes/my shirt/her sheets multiple times. A DAY.   She has reflux and we haven't put her on any medicine because I just don't see the need for it. She is so happy, not fussy at all, gaining weight like a prize fighter, and the reflux will disappear as she sits up more and starts solid food.

But still. The spit up is apocalyptic and I am not kidding. I don't even use burp cloths because they are too small. I go straight for whole receiving blankets. And to top it off, I'm convinced that she likes to save it up for public places for the highest ick factor.

At the doctor's office while everyone is admiring her cute outfit? Check. In the grocery store checkout line where they had to get a mop? Check. In my hair, down the back of my shirt and all over the pew at church? Check, check, check.

You would think that since she's our sixth kid and we also experienced this with Fiver that I would roll with it? Uh, no. I find myself over-explaining on a daily basis. "Oh it's reflux.  I'm so sorry! She has bad reflux. REEE-FLUX!!!!"

Also?  After a particularly bad episode I have been known to look at my baby and say something along the lines of, "SERIOUSLY?! You needed to do that on the THIRD shirt I've worn today?! STOP PUKING!!"

Now if that is not a patented cure for reflux in infants, then I don't know what is.

TWO

Along the same lines as the above, I have also been known to look at Baby and say, "What. Do. You. WANT?!" when I can't figure out why she is crying.

Because I'm the adult in this situation.

What makes it even worse is that she probably spends about .002% of her day crying. For real. She's a dream.

THREE

While I'm on the treadmill, I pray along with the rosary and divine mercy chaplet on my iPod.   Patterning myself after the best mother ever, right? So good, right?!

Um, not so much, thanks to lapses in patience and maturity like this:

"I. Am. PRAY-ing. the. RO-SA-RY here!!!!  STOP ARGUING!!! If I have to stop praying and get off this treadmill there is going to be crying all over this place!!!!"

So SUPER holy.

FOUR

Last week, a small child of mine did not make it to the toilet in time.   While said child was contrite, I was irritable and annoyed at the mess since he had fooled around until it was too late, even after repeated reminders to use the bathroom.

He was very upset about his wet pants, which I knew would be enough to curb him from doing this in the future, but I still could not stop my tongue from berating him. "I TOLD you this would happen! When mommy says use the bathroom, then USE THE BATHROOM. Don't wait. Now there's a big mess."

That's what my mom calls verbal diarrhea. Not pretty, but accurate.

FIVE

When Bun asked me to open the big storage container of trains in the playroom, I told him to pick something else to play with because I didn't feel like walking down a flight of steps.

I've also put him off about going outside because I didn't feel like getting Mopsy and Baby all ready to go out.

SIX

Let me just say that I love Baby like crazy. She is the sweetest little lump of babyhood ever and I wouldn't trade her for anything.

In the interest of being honest, though. . . . sometimes my OCD side still gets a little itchy that she broke the Girl-Boy pattern we had going.

Ridiculousness, but there it is.

SEVEN

I may or may not have said these things last week:

"Okay, bye-bye and have a good day. Wait. Are you SURE that's how you want your hair to look today? Totally sure?"

"I quit. I don't get paid enough for this s--t" (although in my defense I did NOT say this when any children were present.)

"I don't care if your teacher did ask you to take the cactus home, I do not want to be responsible for one more thing around here."

"No, I don't want you guys to drag out any games right now. Fun is too messy."

So there you go. Some real mom moments.

Admit it. You feel better now, don't you? Because at least you don't have to live in a house where fun is too messy.

Care to unburden yourself of any less than stellar moments around your place? Or, conversely, care to inspire me with what's going fabulously well in your home? Spill it.

There's One In Every Crowd

2011-09-25T22:09:00.000-05:00

This one, my friends.   Oh, this one.

I love her, but still we have had some rough going over the last four months, she and I.

She has reached the age that tries to defeat me. 12 to about 19 months absolutely kills me.    It was the age that tried mightily to persuade me to make Francie an only child.

This is the age when my children's vocabulary is not nearly matched to their language comprehension or their manual dexterity.   They want things they don't know how to name. They can follow simple directions, but they can't manage to keep up with the big kids. They know what they want, but they can't get it.

This disparity causes frustration. A LOT of frustration.

Mopsy's got an independent streak a mile wide that is continually curbed by her need to be in constant contact with me at all times. Not just in the same room, not just near me, I mean constant physical contact.

She will follow me from room to room, crying and clutching at my leg. But when I pick her up, she will cry to be put down and run.   If I am sitting and feeding the baby, she will insist on being on my lap at the same time. Right next to me is not nearly good enough.

It can be somewhat . . . draining.

I went to a party this weekend and I only had Fiver, Sally, and Bun with me. All three are able to tell me what they need, and nine times out of ten they don't need my help at all. I found myself sitting and not knowing what to do with my hands since I had no one in my arms.  It felt like a vacation, and I still had three children with me.

I don't like to live in the future or indulge in the "Once the kids are older . . . " thoughts very often. I find that that kind of thinking blinds me to the joys of what the kids are doing right now.   But sometimes, in the thick of a harrowing day, I get a little glimpse of the future and I hang on to it.

Do parents of surly teenagers dream of exchanging them for a day with the snuggly babies they used to hold?   Do parents of newborns try to imagine the day when they won't be bleary-eyed and covered in spit up? Do parents of toddlers in mid-tantrum occasionally dream of walking around a store next to a chatty, chipper grade schooler?

I like to think so. Actually, I really hope so, because then I won't be the only one who does.

There are joys and challenges of every age, and I know that, for better or worse, nothing lasts forever. For every exhausting moment with my twelve year old or one year old or four month old, there is the ballast of the happy confident skip of the five year old and the eager, wide eyed observations of the three year old.

And when the one year old finally becomes the five year old, I'll cry that it all went too fast. Remind me of that often, my friends.

7 Quick Takes

2011-09-16T14:43:00.000-05:00

Lately I have been subscribing to the "If you can't say anything that doesn't induce a narcoleptic response, then don't say anything at all" rule.   That's how the old adage goes, right?

Who wants to hear how many ham and cheese sandwiches I made for lunch anyway?

For the record, I made none. Because my husband made them. But I did helpfully yell out the lunch order from the living room for him.

With three of the six in school now (brutally honest moment: I originally typed three out of FIVE. Sorry Baby, I hardly ever forget you anymore!), life is starting to settle down a little bit.   The school schedule gets superimposed on our home schedule and it actually works out better for me to have that outside influence for now. It's a real temptation for me to let things slide around here when I have a little baby in the house. I look around at a wasted morning and think "But I just had a baby!! I can't stick to a timeline!!"

Except that Bun, Mopsy, and Baby all do much better when I have some semblance of a schedule in the morning. They can't be feral children forever.

The blogging has remained light. I've lost my focus . . . or rather, my focus has been misplaced for a long while. And the blog does not seem to fit tidily into what I need to be doing for my family right now.   I'm not closing shop, but I am trying to see if I can work it back in.

Until then, we always have Conversion Diary's Quick Takes! Huzzah!

One

I've been once again trying to lose my baby weight . . . from three babies ago.   This is such a tough struggle for me, because I have a personality that likes to fill myself up with whatever is easy or new or shiny and so on.   I am very much "of the world" that way.

Losing weight is not just about eating less and moving more, for me. It is tantamount to a spiritual fight. To a person who has never struggled with weight, I know that may sound absurd, but it's true.

I have been blessed with overall wonderful pregnancies and happy, healthy deliveries. If I can forget about weeks 4-13 (nausea!) and weeks 36-41 (enormity!!), then I can honestly say I enjoy everything about being pregnant.

I know there are people who can't believe that, but we all have different crosses.  While they might be reveling through postpartum, I am just crawling along.

Two

In a similar vein, I'm pretty sure I have a low functioning thyroid. I have a lot of the symptoms of hypothyroidism and it practically gallops through my family, but every time I am checked out, the levels are not low enough for medication.

Which means that it takes me twice as much exercise to lose a stupidly small amount of weight.

What was I saying about crosses again? Oh yeah.

Three

Have you ever gone somewhere, even somewhere fun with someone you really love, but you just couldn't seem to muster up a lot of excitement for the event?   And then you get there and it turned out to be the best time ever?   (or do I just have spectacularly low expectations of things? I'm not sure . . .)

Well that happened to Rob and me when we went to the wedding of some friends up in the Pocono Mountains a few weekends ago.   It turned out to be one of the best dates we've had in a long time.

I didn't think it would be as much fun as it was, especially since I called my sister the day before the wedding and said, "So do you want to come over and help me shop for a dress for this thing or what?"   The excitement was palpable.

To her credit, my sister found me TWO great dresses that were on sale. It is really so much easier to shop when you have no kids and a personal shopper at your beck and call.

The wedding itself was a civil ceremony, outside in the mountains, and it was lovely, if just a little hippy-dippy. When the officiant started invoking the spirit of love and of the earth, I could see Rob out of the corner of my eye and he was making the sign of the cross a few times in a row.   We got God in on the ceremony, too.

The reception was fantastic, and we had an even better time than I thought we might.

Even though I didn't start out in the right frame of mind, I'm convinced that if you can't get on board with good friends, a delicious meal, a live band, dancing all night, and champagne, then you might be a robot.

Scratch that, you might be dead. Even robots like to party.

Four

The aforementioned wedding was for two people in Rob's Family Medicine residency program, so there were many people from his office in attendance.

The Monday after the wedding, one of the residents said to Rob, "Your wife is a lot of fun!"

I had to laugh, because I don't really think of myself as fun. I don't know if I ever have.  The words most people use to describe me are responsible, dependable, and stable.   It was nice to hear a different description for a change.

Five

Bun's love of the Phillies keeps growing, and he is now teaching himself all the numbers of his favorite position players.

When the checkout lady at the grocery store asked him how old he was, he replied: "I am three! Just like Hunter Pence is #3. We match!"    Luckily, this is Phillies country and the checkout lady knew what he was talking about.

Six

A friend mentioned to me the other day that I have yet to pick a "permanent" blog name for Baby. After all, she said with a chuckle, what happens when another baby comes along?

Two things jumped out at me about that:

1. I am now at the point where people just assume that another baby will be coming. I'm okay with that because it saves me a lot of time when people don't ask "Aren't you DONE yet?!"

2. Why haven't I given Baby a blog name? I do think "Baby" is a sweet moniker, but I really think it's because I don't want to rush away her babyhood. She's such a happy little doll of a baby, too.

Seven

There is no seventh take this week. Rob's got a patient in labor so he won't be home until late, and the kids all have a little head cold. I foresee an easy dinner and an early bedtime. And the kids should probably hit the hay early, as well.

Enjoy the weekend, my friends!

{pretty, happy, funny, real}: the little girls edition

2011-09-08T13:11:00.000-05:00

Joining up with the ladies at Like Mother, Like Daughter for my weekly pictorial . . .

Sometimes I feel badly for my little girls because it's relatively easy for them to get lost in the shuffle of a big family.   It doesn't happen with Rob or myself, thankfully, but many times the two little girls kind of blend into one "baby" persona for those outside of our family.

I have lost count of the number of times I have heard something like . . . "oh, you know, the little one. What's her name?" or  "Oh that's right! I forgot about Mopsy!" or "Am I missing one of the little ones? I just can't keep track of all your kids."

Luckily, keeping track of them is my job, and I obviously don't expect my circle of people to be as up-to-date on my children as I am. Still . . . I just cringe a little inside when I hear people joke about them being all lumped together.

I know I spend all day with them, but they are so incredibly different that I never lump them all together. Call them by each other's name? Heck yeah. But forget about them as people? Not once.

These little girls are where it's at.

{pretty, happy}

Mopsy is just a tiny little thing. Her brother started calling her "Tiny E" (her real first initial) and the name has stuck, but boy is she tough. Once she has her mind set on something, watch out! Also, I know I am biased, but I think she's just about the prettiest little 17 month old I know.

{funny, real}

This is Baby's elf ear. The cartilage has been that way since birth, and it's only on her right ear. I just love it.

{funny, happy}

Baby has been busy discovering her hands. She loves to suck on her thumb to fall asleep, but when she is awake she loves to stare at her fist and wave it in front of her face. I like to imagine what is going through her mind when she does that: "If I had better gross motor control, I could run this place!"

{pretty, happy, funny, real}

2011-09-01T06:42:00.000-05:00

So I've been known to blog here from time to time. You would never guess that, though, from the way I've been posting lately. Or not-posting, as the case may be.

I would love to write a long cleansing post about the rigors, both real and self-inflicted, of this long summer. But now is not the time. The words aren't ready and I am exhausted today. Lots of wakeful children last night lead to a sleepy mommy.

So instead I will get back in the saddle with the ladies at Like Mother, Like Daughter and a {pretty, happy, funny, real} treatment of the first day of school.

The kids were supposed to start school on Monday, but thanks to an unwelcome guest named Irene, their opening day was pushed back to Tuesday. I think I was more put out than the children, although Sally did cry when she found out that their first day was cancelled.

But come Tuesday morning, they were all smiles and ready to go.

{funny, real}

This picture puts me in mind of "The Sound of Music" for some reason, even though there are only three of them here and they are not singing in beautiful harmony. Maybe it's the way they are lined up. It also reminds me that half of my children are now in school. *sniff*

{pretty, happy}

Francie got her hair cut a few days before school, and we are both fans of the new 'do. Her hair is so thick and heavy, and she is really not a "hair" girl. I usually have to beg her to brush it thoroughly. Now it is a breeze to wash and style.

{happy, real}

Speaking of hair, Fiver has some crazy hair of his own. No matter the cut or the amount of combing, Fiver always manages to look like he just lifted his head off his pillow. I don't know if he could possibly be more unconcerned about it.

{happy}

Sally can barely contain her excitement. For a child who was adamantly opposed any kind of preschool program in favor of staying home with me, she has been chomping at the bit to start kindergarten.

{real}

Mopsy was not especially happy to watch her big kids walk out the door to school. As much as the big kids need to adjust to a new school year, the little ones back at home are feeling the growing pains as well.

{pretty, happy, funny, real}

2011-08-04T08:07:00.001-05:00

nSince all my posts seem to be pictures lately, I'll continue that trend and link up with our lovely hosts over at Like Mother, Like Daughter.

I really wish I could write a post with more words than it takes to make a caption, but sometimes you have to take what you can get. And what I can get these days is about 11 minutes of constantly interrupted computer time. So pictures with captions it is!

{pretty}

Some homemade blueberry jam. I am not a good photographer, but the color of blueberry jam is beautiful. And is it weird that I think Ball jars are about some of the prettiest kitchen supplies out there?

{real}

Bun and Mopsy are both less than thrilled with being in a family picture. I am convinced that it is photos like these that prompted the invention of Photoshop.

{happy}

Bun loves Baby like crazy. He calls her "my Baby" and considering he is ready to punch, kick, karate chop, or tackle his way through life, the tenderness he shows her makes us all happy.

{funny}

Oh, Mopsy, you stubborn little stinker, how I just love the cut of your jib. Can you see it, my friends? That set of her lower lip and jaw, even though she is smiling? That light in her eyes that says, "bring it!" Yeah, watch out for that. That means she will throw down for just about anything she wants. #5 don't mess around, folks.

Cradle Catholic

2011-08-01T12:14:00.000-05:00

Baby joined the Catholic church at her baptism yesterday, and it was a lovely day all around. Even though the heat was just ridiculous -- seriously, how are you southern friends not completely insane in the heat? How do you not burst into flames each time you go outside? Especially you Texans? It is not supposed to be this hot for this long up here in the Northeast. We are not designed for this.

(But be sure to remind me of this when I am crying in February because it is -5 when I have to drive the kids to school one morning, okay?)

I am sad to admit that I used to not think too much about the sacrament of baptism. It was one of those "everyone gets it" kind of sacraments to me, and I think along the way I was not properly instructed to recognize its power and beauty.

Now that I have had the blessing of having six babies baptized, it has become one of my most favorite sacraments. Each time I've brought one of my children to the baptismal font, it has become more beautiful for me.

I especially love the prayers over the baby during baptism -- I feel like each one is a like a layer of spiritual armor; a special call for heavenly protection for my baby. From the prayer of exorcism to the litany of the saints, I think of all the angels and all the holy men and women, who have achieved the perfection of heaven, looking down on this little baby and being called upon to protect her and guide her. And when the priest calls on her patron saint, I get a little thrill of knowing that she's got Baby's back. You don't mess around with the citizens of heaven, people.

Of course, as I was pondering the heavenly hosts and all things good and their connection to my youngest daughter on her special day, I did have someone to bring me back to my temporal existence. After cleaning up the entire first floor in preparation for the party after Baby's baptism, Sally walked into the living room and said:

Oh, Mom! I just love what you've done in here! We should keep it like this all the time -- you know, like clean and organized.

Humility, thy name is motherhood.

Wait, what? We're going to be pouring water all over my head?

The whole passel o' younguns. This is the first picture we have of all eight of us together.

Anointing Baby's heart with sacred oil.

The new and improved Catholic Baby, now Original Sin Free and chock full of Sanctifying Grace!

Two Months Old . . .

2011-07-23T09:21:00.001-05:00

. . . and the reason why I get nothing done around here. The sweetness incapacitates me.

Twelve

2011-07-16T05:00:00.001-05:00

Francie turns twelve today.

I know twelve may not seem like a milestone birthday, but I like to think it is. I guess I like to think of every birthday as a milestone birthday. At least they are for me.

Twelve can be a difficult age. For Francie, she is walking a fine line as a twelve year old. She has one foot firmly pointed in the direction of her adulthood, but her other foot lingers longingly in her childhood.

Sometimes she needs me to relate to her as the young woman she is becoming, and other times she just wants to play with dolls. I am often not very adept at telling the difference, but I'm learning.

She waffles between a burgeoning smart mouth and her still public declarations of familial affection. Her father calls her "The Tude" (short for "The Attitude") when the sassiness comes out. She says she hates the name, but she is laughing when she says it. She knows we've got her back.

Despite all the growing pains, she's a real keeper. And even when we seem to be driving each other crazy, she is always seeking to help me. She is motivated by good -heartedness and I can't ask for more than that.

Happy Birthday, Francie! We love you.

And I'll be there for you
When you need me to be
I'll be the sun at your door
I'll be the wind in your trees
If I've nothin' at all on the surface to see
I'll be the ace up your pretty sleeve

"Ace Up Your Pretty Sleeve"

from

Vince Gill's album "These Days"

{pretty, happy, funny, real}

2011-07-14T18:00:00.000-05:00

Whenever anyone apologizes for being away from their blog for a while, I always think to myself "well, it's their blog, they can write when they want. It's better to live life well and not blog, than to be a slave to a blog post schedule."

But then I get pulled away from my blog, and I feel like apologizing, so I guess I understand the urge.

I won't apologize this time - even if I want to - but I will just say that I have been busy living. I have absolutely nothing concrete to show for that other than the fact that we are all still alive and relatively happy.

I feel like I've done nothing this summer but feed babies, carry babies, change babies, break up fights among babies (and big kids), soothe babies, rock babies, and beg!beg!beg! babies to sleep. It's not exciting enough to blog about most days, but it's important to the babies so that makes it important to me.

If there is any blessing to having babies a year apart (and I am discovering that there are indeed many blessings), it's this:

On those hard, hard days and nights, when Baby consumes every second of my time leaving no time for anything else, I look for Mopsy. And when I find her, I think "One year. That's it. I was in the same place with Mopsy one year ago and now look at her."

Man, that time is flyin'.

{happy}
The more I look at this picture, the happier I get - and I don't even know who took it!
I love that Bun is front and center, wearing his favorite shirt, while Rob and I, holding Mopsy and Baby, are waiting for him at the front door. It's the kind of picture that I imagine Bun showing to his own family someday, saying "That's the old house where I grew up."

{real}

I love this -- Daddy is asleep and Baby is wide awake.

{funny}

The chins! The Mona Lisa smile! The cheeks!
They keep me going when the going gets tough.

{pretty}

Here's another reason for me to keep having babies - Barbara's baby quilts! She made one for Mopsy's arrival and this year I received a lovely pink box with one for Baby. They are really beautiful and I use them all the time. And I know I'm a bum about the thank-you notes, but one is coming for you, Barbara!

Head over to our lovely hosts, Like Mother, Like Daughter, and join in the {phfr} fun.

Birth Story Haiku

2011-07-06T07:28:00.000-05:00

Jen at Conversion Diary is home with her new baby and she's looking for some birth stories to read. Here's the catch -- they have to be haiku. Fun!

I'm totally game, so here are my six trips to L&D in 5-7-5 syllabic format:

Francie:

A week overdue

stalled at 4, epidural.

Three hours pushing, birth!

Fiver:

First induction's good,

'til oxygen with tight cord.

All's well in the end.

Sally:

Induction, part two.

Bum epidural, painful!

Born in six minutes.

Bun:

Induction, part three,

But dates were wrong, too early.

Blue boy, NICU bound.

Mopsy:

Induction the fourth.

No drugs, three pushes later,

Holy Week girl!

Baby:

Induction, no drugs.

Convinced a boy is coming,

Surprise! A lovely girl.

Happy Fourth of July!

2011-07-04T12:31:00.000-05:00

Enjoy the day, my friends, and remember what it took (and still takes) to be free.

The whole gang

My four girls

Summertime is Baseball Time

2011-06-30T13:23:00.000-05:00

Personalize funny videos and birthday eCards at JibJab!

My New BFF . . .

2011-06-29T12:02:00.000-05:00

. . . is one hot little number.

I have a feeling she and I will be spending a lot of time together.

Happy Busy-ness

2011-06-26T21:59:00.000-05:00

I can't say that this weekend was one of the busiest we've had since Baby's birth -- that title belongs to the weekend of my brother's wedding when Baby was five days old -- but we still managed to pack a lot into two days.

On Saturday, I had the privilege of witnessing my friend's beautiful wedding. We met years ago at our parish's mothers' group, and even when the group no longer met regularly at church, our little knot of mothers has continued meeting whenever we can. You can't keep the Holy Trinity girls down.

So it was with great joy that I met up with these friends for a wedding of one of our own. It was a blessing to see her at one of her happiest moments when we had already seen her at one of her saddest.

My friend lost her first husband in a sudden and tragic way almost five years ago. I'll never forget leaving a two week old Sally to attend his wake, and seeing her there, so strong with her two young girls.

On Saturday, I left a five year old Sally for a much happier reason.  She was radiant as she walked down the aisle in our church with her lovely girls at her side.   I'm so thankful that the old mothers' group led us to each other and that we've stuck together long enough to be able to share in her happiness.

Today, we celebrated Sally's birthday with a tea party. Our birthday celebrations are usually low key, mostly being a homemade cake and the birthday honoree's choice of dinner. We're not anti-party, I'm just lazy and cheap.

But this year, Sally finally realized that most kids invite other people to celebrate their birthdays. I blame her dance class for that. Little girls were bringing in treat bags left, right, and center and I finally had to explain to her that most parents were not in the habit of sending their children into class with bags of candy for the other kids unless it was to celebrate something.

The scales practically fell from her eyes.

She has wanted a fancy tea party for a long time, so she asked me if we could invite her entire dance class to a tea party for her birthday. There were 25 girls in her dance class.  That's a lot of tea.

Call me a meanie, but I did not want to do a tea party for the entire dance class. I don't get enough sleep for that these days. I needed something much more laid back.

In the end we compromised. We had a very small tea party for the girls in the family at a local tea room. We drank specialty teas, ate scones and finger sandwiches, and then came home for cake. All in all, a nice little girly party.

We also got to see my mother-in-law this weekend when she met Baby for the first time. Since Baby is named after her, their names are the same and I get a kick out of saying them together. I know, I know -- I need more sleep. (But I still think it's cool.)

And now, to bed.   The kids start vacation bible school at our parish tomorrow, which means I need to be out of my pajamas looking presentable by 8:30 am.   Maybe I should get a head start and just sleep in my clothes.

The Five Spot

2011-06-23T05:00:00.003-05:00

Our Sally is five today.

Rob and I often joke that if a child could be made out of flesh and blood and joy and rainbows, it would be Sally. We should have named her Sunny. Even her siblings know it -- she's the one they all want to play with because she's so amiable.

There are almost four years in between Fiver and Sally, and we had always wanted to have them closer together. But thankfully our plan was not God's plan because any other child would not be Sally.

And we just can't imagine our lives without her.

Happy birthday, lovey.

Quick Takes Friday

2011-06-17T09:18:00.000-05:00

My little corner here is being sadly neglected.   I feel terribly out of the loop beyond these four walls and often I feel terribly out of the loop within these four walls.

And what no one tells you before you have children is that sometimes there is NO LOOP -- there is just a lot of aimless wandering through the house trying to remember why in the world you came all the way up the stairs.

But there is really no help for it. Not while all your efforts are baby-centric anyway.

I'll get back into the saddle eventually, and until then I can still do some quick takes. Woo!

One

I would like to officially apologize to any and all women who have ever raised children whose ages are separated by 14 months or less.

I secretly used to think that babies that close in age would not be too hard to manage, especially since you are already in the baby stuff/diapering mode. You could find your groove and go with it.   Besides, Sally and Bun are 17 months apart and I thought that age difference was a pretty easy transition around here.

Mea culpa. Mea maxima culpa.

This age difference is no joke, people, and these babies are handing me my a$s.

In fact, last night I opted to take all four of the bigger ones to Target at 7:30 at night because that seemed like less stress and work than juggling the two little babies at home.

I cannot even believe I just typed that sentence.

(PS: And please don't hate me for mild profanity, my friends. I am so bone tired that I slipped back to my old salty language days.)

(PS 2: If you have babies less than 14 months apart, please tell me a happy story about making it through the newborn days. Baby is a really good baby - and so is Mopsy - but I am having a hard time getting into the groove of things.)

Two

I typed the above "babies are SO HARD" statement at midnight. That is really not a good time to write anything, especially when you've been up since 5. in the A.M.

Hey, babies ARE hard, in their own way. We all know it. But babies are also one of the world's truly GOOD things.

And also? They don't talk back. Or run away from you with a dirty diaper. Or demand crustless peanut butter and jelly sandwiches at precisely 11:35 every day. Nope, they just let you sit on the sofa and feed them while you watch a ridiculous amount of "A Baby Story" on TLC.

(To which your husband, when he catches you, will say "Seriously? THIS is what you're watching? You JUST DID THIS three weeks ago. I'm sorry honey. It's a compulsion I cannot explain.)

Plus, babies think you are the most awesome thing they've ever encountered, so there's always that silver lining.

Three

This has been the first full week of summer vacation for the big kids. It is Friday and we are all still alive. Gold star, everyone!

To be honest, I have been dreading the summer. Life with a new baby naturally tends to take on a very free-
form approach to time . . . there is no planning when you are at the beck and call of a new human.

Baby is a total doll, but sometimes she wants to eat every three hours and then sometimes she requires bodily contact with me every seven minutes. There's just no way of really knowing.

That makes the summer very looooong for the rest of the crew who is used to at least some semblance of a schedule. No one understands when Mommy is still on the couch with the baby when lunch time rolls around.

Except Baby -- she totally gets it.

Four

To help direct the kids' energy, Rob has been leaving them lists of activities each day.    These activities range from household chores to more academic pursuits.

A sample from of some of the week's lists for Francie and Fiver:   take out the garbage, clean the downstairs bathroom, name the nine planets, calculate the distance between our house and your cousins in NY in centimeters, draw a map of the countries of Europe including their capitals, empty the dishwasher, kiss your mother.

These lists remind me of the scene in "Cheaper by the Dozen" where the Gilbreth family goes on vacation and their father decides to use that time to teach them astronomy and the Morse Code. The younger kids think that it's a great idea while the older ones are mortally embarrassed.   That sounds about right.

Five

I still get caught a little off guard when I look in the rear view mirror of the van and see nothing but little heads behind me.

We also seem to gather more kids wherever we go. I guess when you have kids hanging out of every window they are powerless to resist the urge to jump on the party bus.  It's the law of attraction at work right there.

Six

I watch a lot of baseball when I am up late at night with Baby. I usually end up falling asleep with her draped on me in some fashion, which leads to me waking up with all kinds of kinks in my neck and back.

As I woke up at the end of a Phillies game this week, the starting pitcher felt a "little tightness" in his back and the pitching coach and athletic trainer immediately came out to the mound, took him out of the game, and sent in a reliever.

I found myself thinking that is what I need:   a mom bullpen.   I could be the starting mom, but when fatigue and achiness threatened my ability to perform at my optimal level, they could call in a reliever until I could make my next start.   Then I could go back to the clubhouse and sit in a whirlpool tub and get a massage and painkillers -- just to keep myself in prime condition, of course.   Nice.

And this is what I think about when I am half asleep at 11:30. You're welcome.

Seven

Has anyone else seen the show about extreme couponing on TLC? (Yes, I know it seems like I watch a lot of TLC, but I just manage to catch random episodes here and there.)

I am partly in awe and partly repelled by the whole extreme coupon movement. Can it even be called a movement? It seems like you have to have a certain amount of zeal to be an extreme couponer, so I think it could be called as such.

In the episode I watched, a husband and wife team saved almost a thousand dollars at the store using all their coupons and store cards.   That's amazing!

However . . .   they bought all kinds of stuff they never use. They have two years worth of groceries and health and beauty products in a stockroom in their home. Two years worth! And yet they still go on these huge shopping trips.    They have a separate insurance rider for their grocery stockpile.

I am mystified.   And I think I could write a whole post about it, but not right now. Right now I need more coffee.

Check out all the quick takes over at Conversion Diary, and have a great weekend, my friends. I'll see you when I see you!

Dynamic Duo

2011-06-14T06:00:00.016-05:00

I am still here, my friends. Tired and more than a little strung out at times, but still here.

I have a million thoughts running through my head these days, especially during the baby's 2 am chow break, but amazingly enough they never make it to the blog. Either they are obliterated by lack of sleep or otherwise thwarted by my inability to get to the computer in a timely fashion. I'm a good typer, but even I can't go very fast with one hand, people.

Luckily, I am not going anywhere this summer other than rolling over towards the baby's little cot all night long. Maybe some of my ramblings will eventually make it on here. Then again, maybe I'll spare you. Thoughts that seem so profound in the wee small hours often sound a little loopy in the light of day. There's a reason why sleep deprivation is considered cruel and unusual punishment.

Anyway, none of that matters today.

Today, Rob and I celebrate 14 years of wedded bliss. And I can say - with a totally honest heart -- that being with Rob is about as blissful as it gets on this earth for this girl.

I have yet to meet another single soul with whom I'd rather spend more time, and I don't think I will (shhh, don't tell my kids!).

After all this time, I'm still smitten.    What a lucky girl I am.

There will be no fancy candlelight dinners this year, no gift -- I can't even guarantee that I'll be awake for most of the evening.   But underneath this rumpled, sleepy exterior, beats the truest heart.

Happy anniversary, Rob. I love you.

Tell It Like It Is

2011-06-05T12:42:00.000-05:00

We've had a busy weekend, one that included Sally's first dance recital and all the attendant craziness that big recitals bring.

Rob, having watched his sisters' many dance recitals over the years, was trying to prepare Fiver for what a recital is really like. That led directly to this exchange I overheard between Fiver and Sally:

Fiver:   Dad said that your recital will be three hours long!

Sally: No, it won't be that long.

Fiver: Oh, good.

Sally:   No, it is longer than that.

Fiver: What?!

Sally (with a sassy hair flip): Fiver, you know you love to see me dance.

Indeed.

(Sally was correct, by the way. Her recital was four hours long.  We love the performing arts, but that's a long a time, people. Let's just say that bringing two cars was one of the best decisions we've made in a while.)

2011-06-02T06:00:00.002-05:00

Go visit Like Mother, Like Daughter -- you'll be glad you did.

{real. happy.}

That puddle on the floor? That's where I melted after seeing how tender Fiver is with Baby. He's got a heart of gold, that one.

And the Winner Is . . .

2011-06-01T15:47:00.000-05:00

So it turns out that I'm not the only one Baby fooled. Of the 29 recorded entries for the HomeFront Baby Pool, only six of you guessed she would be a girl. My mother's intuition was on the blink and it led us all astray.

As a group, we were also surprised by her size, with the highest guess for her weight coming in at 9 lbs, 8 oz. Surprisingly enough, I was the only one who guessed the correct day, May 23rd, but there was no rhyme or reason for that. I just picked it because Sally's birthday is June 23rd. I was obviously way off for the other two categories.

After discussing it with Rob, we decided that the winner should be someone who guessed the gender correctly, since so few of us did, followed by the closest date and then the closest weight.

That means the winner of the baby pool is our friend Tricia, from way back in our Navy days. She offered her guess via my Facebook page, and she was the closest on record with her guess:

"Girl...because I don't think you could possibly keep the pattern going... May 22nd (my anniversary)... 9lbs 1 oz."

Congratulations, Tricia! You have won a donation in your name to Mary's Shelter, our crisis pregnancy center, and a special treat from Pennsylvania that will be arriving on your doorstep soon. Enjoy it!

And thank you to all of you who kept my spirits high during this pregnancy with your guesses and comments and prayers. I think you are all swell!

Monday's Child

2011-05-31T21:52:00.000-05:00

"Monday's Child is fair of face . . ."
The cheeks! We are powerless to resist them.

Full disclosure: This is Baby's birth story, and it's long. If you don't like birth stories or talk about cervical dilation or you don't have the time, go ahead and skip this one. If, like me, you are a Nosy Parker, then feel free to keep reading.

It's been one week since Baby joined us, and I still can't believe she's here. And that she's a she.   It's fair to say that it's been quite a week around the old place.

Even though I was pretty sure that I'd be having another induction, I was still hoping to go into labor on my own. At my last doctor's appointment, when it was clear that my cervix hadn't changed, I knew that my doctor was ready to do whatever I wanted in terms of scheduling an induction.    My doctor is such a good egg.

One of the comforting things about having another induced labor was the familiarity.   This would be my fifth induction in a row, and I knew that I would be considered an elective induction even though I was overdue. I put it off as long as my doctor and Rob felt comfortable with, trying to give Baby as many chances as I could to come on her own.

Baby was not as into that plan as I had hoped, so it was induction time once again. Because of my stubborn cervix, I needed to go into the hospital overnight for ripening medicine, so my mother came over on Sunday night to be with the other kids.   I packed my bag, we put the little ones in bed, and left for the hospital.

Although Rob and I have made that unhurried drive to the hospital five times in a row now, it is still a strange ride.  I feel about a hundred different things in a twenty minute span: excitement, nervousness, fear, happiness, a little sadness, and relief.   Rob likes to keep me talking so that I don't start to obsess over how much our lives are about to change. He is also a really good egg.

We checked in at 8:00 pm and I got to see the inside of yet another labor triage room in our hospital. There are four triage rooms and I've been in three of them. All of them are similarly bleak looking, which has always struck me as unfortunate. I know they have to be bare bones since they are not designed to have women stay there for the duration, but I still think they should slap a picture or two up on the wall. Maybe one of those posters with the little kitten dangling from a tree branch with the words "Hang in there!!!" across the top?

Once I was outfitted in my spiffy gown, my IV was started and I signed all the papers saying, essentially, "Hey, I'm pregnant and I'd like to have my baby here, so give a girl a hand, will you?"   My doctor came in and placed the little tablet of medicine on my cervix and the waiting began. That's probably the part of labor induction that can be so maddening to me -- the hurry up and wait game.

Luckily, I am also the mother of five other hooligans, so even though I was feeling anxious, my natural reaction to lying still in a bed in a dimly lit room for longer than five minutes is to sleep. I listened to the low gallop-gallop noise of the baby's heartbeat, and before I knew it, four hours had elapsed and my doctor was coming in to check on my progress.   The nurse looked at the record of my contractions and asked if I was feeling any of them.   I wasn't -- and that's how you know just how tired this mama was.

The doctor checked my cervix and all those contractions I couldn't feel had bumped me up to four centimeters. Now that's the kind of labor that I like!   That four centimeters was enough to spring me from the triage room and into a real L&D room.

I gathered up my IV pole and our whole little entourage ambled down the hallway at 1:30 in the morning to a new room. In retrospect, this sounds like it was taking a sweet forever, but for an overnight induction we were moving right along.   Rob and I were amused to realize that my room this time around was the same room where I delivered Bun.   I guess if you have enough babies in one place, you're bound to end up using some of the same rooms.

My nurse was awesome, just the cutest little thing ever. I know that makes me sound like a grandma, but she was so tiny and petite that I could have slid her in my pocket. She kept the room dim and quiet so that I could doze if possible.   She also set up my pitocin drip, so I knew the lovely light contractions would quickly become a thing of the past.

I definitely started feeling the contractions more and more, but they were still completely manageable. I wasn't even breathing too heavily through most of them, so I took that as a good sign. Maybe the pitocin would not send me on a crazy hormone-fueled labor rage this time?   It is good to have a dream . . . .

Then I hit six centimeters. And there I stayed. For much longer than I would have liked. (Although again, in retrospect, I was not really stalled out at six. Just an extra long stop as compared to my last three labors.) The pitocin was kicking things into high gear now and I was still breathing and breathing. I was happy that I still had some nice gaps to breathe between contractions.

My doctor came in and she was ready to break my water.   She and the nurse asked that loaded question: Do you want an epidural?   If I did want one, then now was the time, before that little cushion of fluid was gone and the contractions became even more intense.

For a lot of women, that is not a loaded question at all. Either they get one or they don't.

But I've done it both ways, and I just didn't know how I wanted to go this time around.  "Pain free" sounds so enticing when you are riddled with pain.

I figured I'd always opt for an epidural because it has worked so well for me, but something happened to that plan during Sally's birth. I got an epidural, but it hit a little patch of scar tissue in my back and it didn't work.   I ended up having a natural childbirth, in which I also happened to have a catheter in my back and a numb left leg.   That is not the exact recipe for a pain free birth.

What that epidural mishap showed me was that I could do it without drugs, if I wanted to.  But what I also learned about myself was that I had to REALLY want to do it without drugs. I had to commit, because the thing that nearly broke me about Sally's birth was that I was expecting pain relief and it never came. It's all mental with me, and as strange as it sounds, it was harder for me to go into labor expecting pain relief and not getting it than to go into labor expecting nothing at all.

(And just to clarify: I don't think that one way is necessarily better than another.  The times that I've chosen a medicated birth turned out to be the best way for me at that time. That's why I usually shy away from full blown birth plans -- what works one time may not be what is most needed another time.)

So, to get an epidural or not, that was the question.   I had not had one with Mopsy, and I really felt terrific afterward, so I was leaning towards not getting one again. But I was hesitant to just say no thank you. I think a lot of it had to do with having Mopsy only a year prior to Baby. Not enough time had elapsed for me to forget what was coming down the pike.

Still, something in me just told me to wait it out. And if the window closed on my chance for an epidural, then so be it. I could do it.

So I told my doctor that I thought I could go without one, and she said that she'd let me labor for a little while in case I was still on the fence. I knew she would check me and break my water when she came back and then all bets were off.

I labored for another hour, and when my doctor checked me, I was still hanging around six centimeters. I was surprised and disappointed because the contractions had been increasing in length and intensity. I wanted some progress to show for all that work.

Of course I started to cry, and Rob, God bless him, managed to talk me off the ledge. I still refused the epidural, even though I knew the ride was about to get a whole lot bumpier now that my water had been broken.

Sure enough, the contractions became pretty unbearable in a matter of minutes. I kept thinking, Dear God, please make this pass quickly. And if it's not in Your plan for it to pass quickly, then please just let me pass out quickly!   Those kinds of thoughts are not that helpful during labor, and so I just focused on listening to Rob reminding me to breathe.

By this time, I was feeling more pressure and pain, and it was all I could do to not scream bloody murder. I always thought it sounded barbaric, but at that moment I could understand why someone in extreme pain might bite down on a leather strap.  Each time a contraction hit, I would involuntarily clench my jaw.

My doctor checked again, and I had made it to eight centimeters. Just the knowledge that I had made it past six was enough to help me relax a little. I was clinging to those little moments of rest between contractions, even as those moments became shorter and shorter.

A few minutes after I reached eight centimeters, I felt nauseous, followed by the urge to push.   Transition doesn't mess around, my friends, and neither do the doctor and nurses when they've got a woman having her sixth baby. I think they half expected Baby to shoot straight out across the room.

Sure enough, I was ready to start pushing. There was a flurry of activity around me -- my doctor was getting into her gown, the nurses were breaking down the bed, and the nursery staff was getting the warmer all ready -- but I could only focus on Rob and not screaming.   I think one of the hardest parts of labor is not being able to push when your body is telling you to push with every fiber of your being.

Finally I could start pushing, and here's where my mind tripped me up again. Sally, Bun, and Mopsy were all born within three pushes, and even though I tried to tell myself that every labor is different, there was still a large part of me that thought Baby would follow suit.

Let's just say she didn't.

I started to push and I could already tell something was different. I couldn't put my finger on it, but my overall impression was that this baby was much harder to move than the previous three. It almost felt like this child wasn't budging at all.   That's when I started to lose it.

Now if you ask Rob, he'll tell you I did great, but in my mind I was FREAKING OUT. And I knew I was freaking out because I started to think about all the crazy things that could happen during labor. I thought about all the times Rob came home and told me about babies getting stuck or needing vacuum extraction or having shoulder dystocia . . . . and the one thought that was constantly screaming through my head was "I have no anesthesia. If they need to shoehorn this baby out of here, I am SO screwed!"

I was pushing with all my might, but I still didn't feel like she was moving. I remember saying to Rob, "Why isn't the baby coming out?! I can't do this forever!"

Of course, I wasn't really pushing forever. Please don't hate me, but I pushed for 12 minutes. (Actually, I pushed for three hours with Francie, so I guess I've done my time after all.)

I could feel the moment Baby made the final move to join us, and I gave it everything I had left. I could see the surprise in my doctor's eyes as the baby came out in one powerful, fluid movement, like a little rocket.

As she lifted Baby up onto my chest, I could hear the surprise in Rob's voice as he laughed and said, "It's a GIRL!"   All along I had been sure she was a boy, but at that moment I don't think I could have cared less. She was there, safe in my arms, and I was so thankful.

The way she was positioned on my chest, I could really only see the top of her head, and I said, "Oh she looks so small!"

I think every pair of eyes in that room turned to me to see if I had suddenly gone insane. Rob patted my arm and said, "She's not that small, hon."

Of course, I was thinking relatively. Relative to the babies I had left at home, she seemed small. But still, when they put her on the scale and I heard "9 pounds and 12 ounces," my jaw dropped.  And then it made perfect sense to me why it felt like she wasn't moving much during pushing.

Once everyone was cleaned up, Rob brought her over and laid her in my arms. She was a solid pink little bundle, who looked like Sally one minute and Mopsy the next. We named her after Rob's mother and godmother, and the first few times Rob looked at her and said her name out loud, he teared up.

She is just exactly what we never thought we'd have, but just exactly what we need.   That's how God likes to work sometimes.

So there you have the whole tale. We are settling in, slowly but surely. We're figuring out the new normal, adjusting our schedules and attitudes, and just trying to reach an even keel. In the meantime, I've got to figure out a blog name for Baby and announce the winner of the baby pool.

We'll get there . . . eventually.

{phfr}: The Before and After Edition

2011-05-26T14:46:00.000-05:00

The waiting is finally over and the baby is here. Now I am battling some serious exhaustion, but I know we'll make it through. Whether or not my household will make it through is an entirely separate question.

I only have two pictures today . . . . it's even more than I could really manage, but I just felt like I wanted to post them.

I went from this . . . . .

{real}
I had to snap one final belly picture the night of my induction.

To this little bundle (or not so little, as it turned out) in about 10 hours.

They don't call it the miracle of birth for nothing!

{pretty, happy}

Our pretty little girl. Who we were sure was a boy. And if that's the kind of surprise that awaits me in this life, I'll take it every time.

Visit Like Mother, Like Daughter and enjoy the {pretty, happy, funny, real} parts of life.

I'll be sure to share Baby's arrival story soon, but for now . . . a nap.

Baby's Here!

2011-05-23T13:35:00.000-05:00

I am trying my hand (literally!) at remote blogging on my tiny iPod keyboard to tell you all that our newest little one has joined us!

We had a lovely baby GIRL! at 8:42 this morning. She weighed in at a healthy 9lbs 12oz and she is 21.5 inches long. Labor and delivery went well after an overnight induction.

I was surprised by many things this time around, not the least of which is her gender. Sorry we thought you were a boy, sweet girl! When I am home, I'll be sure to squeeze in time for a longer post about it all, with pictures of course.

Thank you for all the prayers and good wishes, my friends. They carried us through!

The Elusive Ideal Birth

2011-05-20T21:21:00.000-05:00

In the comments to yesterday's post, Colleen asked me if I have a birth plan.   Since she is the mother of four and due in July with #5, a birth plan is sort of funny to us because you really can't plan much of anything when it comes to babies.

Unless you are having a scheduled c-section, I guess. In that case, your plan hopefully includes "go see your anesthesiologist and your surgeon."

Maybe the unexpected nature of childbirth is just God's way of prepping us for the rest of our children's lives. A mother's motto should be "expect the unexpected."   Well, that and "always pack more diapers than you think you'll need."   (Or maybe that's just my motherly motto? . . .)

I'm not saying that it's foolish to have some kind of idea about what exactly will happen during childbirth; I am saying that things rarely happen exactly as you think of them.

Just last week, I finally had my pre-registration call with the hospital. Since I have had three babies there in four years, they were already pretty familiar with my chart.  None of the questions had changed, so I was cruising through on auto-pilot when the nurse asked me, "What is your birth plan?"

Uhhh . . . . come to the hospital and have the baby? Does that count as a birth plan?

In fact, that's the answer I gave her and she laughed. She told me that it was a new part of their questionnaire and it needed to be included in my chart.   They wanted to know if I wanted the birthing tub or birthing ball or other accoutrement that they could get ready for me.

But here's the thing: I really don't know what I'm going to want until I'm there in labor. I consider each labor a unique set of circumstances and what I wanted for the last baby may not be what I need or want for this baby.

At best, I have a vague idea about how I'd like labor to proceed. Maybe that sounds dumb, but don't forget what my husband does for a living. He has seen lots of birth plans blown right out of the water by truly emergency situations. He has also had to give pep talks to mothers who feel like they've failed because things didn't happen the way they thought.  Feeling like a failure is really no way to spend those fleeting hours and days just after birth.

I have gone into labor on my own exactly one time, and that was just about 12 years ago.   I have had four induced labors in a row now, with not one of them like the other.   I basically have no idea what to expect, and I don't want to pigeon-hole myself into thinking that this baby will come just like any of his/her siblings.

My dream labor would not include induction. Induction is stressful in it's own special way, mostly due to all the immediate intensity.  I'm definitely not saying it's the worst thing to ever happen, it's just not very kind in the timing department. You go from feeling pretty normal to wanting to hit yourself in the head with a hammer and succumb to sweet oblivion.   Pitocin is hard core and it does not mess around, my friends.

I'd love to start on my due date with contractions 20 minutes apart, gradually growing closer, until my water breaks on its own and then the baby appears with a few pushes. Doesn't that sound practically idyllic?

This is what has really happened several times in the past: I leave my due date in the dust. Since I have the cervix of steel, I go in to the hospital at night for medication to ripen my cervix. That will usually start some contractions, but my old friend pitocin is always brought in as a reinforcement. I go from sporadic, mild contractions to killer rib-crushers in less than an hour. Once my water breaks (or is broken) I have about half an hour before the baby is out. In Mopsy's case, I had way less than half an hour after my water broke. I went from 7 to 10 centimeters in 5 minutes.   I was NOT kidding around.

Overall, I'm not unhappy with that scenario. It's what I know, so there is a certain level of familiarity, and to be honest, I'm most likely looking at another induction. Of course I worry about all kinds of ridiculous things, but that's also my personality when it's hopped up on hormones.

I have to give all my fears back to God, and pray that He'll give me the grace and strength to handle however this baby decides to come into the world. It's all I can do in the end.

So there you go, Colleen. That is my ideal, convoluted, and absolutely vague birth plan. As this is most likely my last weekend as a pregnant lady, I'll be sure to let you know if any of it comes true.

2011-05-19T13:24:00.000-05:00

Yes, I am still here and still pregnant.   There are no signs of this baby heading south any time soon, so I'll just continue to gestate.   (I think I'm getting the hang of it!)

I am not surprised in the least, given the track record of the other children. I think I was pregnant with Fiver for approximately 19 months, if you count in "pregnancy time," which everyone knows is 1.5 times slower than real time.

Although I hate the waiting, I'm choosing to look on the bright side and think about how these last days are like a little extension for me to make some last minute arrangements.   Rob's schedule has been blocked out, so his days are a little lighter and more flexible, which is a very nice thing. It's so comforting to contemplate his earlier homecoming when I am ready to lose it with the other kids. Which is more often than I care to admit these days.

Otherwise, the order of the day is to rest, rest, rest.   I've got some work coming in the near future.

Be sure to visit Like Mother, Like Daughter to join in on all the {pretty, happy, funny, real} goodness.

{happy}

Sally, our resident princess, is extremely happy with the style of her dance recital costume. The only drawback is that the puffy sleeves are a little itchy, but sometimes a princess has to put up with itchy fabric. Just ask the Duchess of Cambridge.

{pretty}

My Mother's Day roses next to my favorite Blessed Mother statue. These flowers have lasted forever, and Fiver picked them out, saying "Ladies like to get roses." Indeed.

{real}

Here's the aerial belly shot at +40 weeks. I know what you're thinking . . . it just looks like a normal baby belly, even if I can't see my feet, right? Well, guess what? There's more than feet under this belly . . . .

{funny}

. . . . Sally is also under there! Yes, that's right, my friends. My almost 5 year old daughter can sit at my feet and be completely obscured by my belly. It's time, baby, it's time . . .

Coincidence?

2011-05-16T08:17:00.000-05:00

All of our children have been born on rainy days.   Some during thunderstorms, some during a more gentle shower, but there was rain for all of them.   And three of the five have been born on Fridays. I guess I just like to get all my work done by the end of the week!

The forecast for this Friday is rain, rain, and more rain.   In fact, this whole week's forecast is for rain every single day.   Is God trying to tell me something?

Oh, I really hope so.

Tomorrow is my official due date, so if you want to proffer a guess in the baby pool, then today is your last day.

I apologize to anyone who guessed an early arrival -- I would have totally been on board with that! I guess my babies just like life on the inside.   Fiver would probably still be in there if he could.

There is nothing happening obstetrically speaking, but I am not too surprised. I've been 1 cm for at least a month, most likely longer, with no contractions to speak of.   I know that labor can start at any time, without warning, but I also don't pin my hopes on that. I don't even have a bag packed. In fact, I have to find my bag before I can pack it.

Despite all the other general unreadiness, I did have my "baby dream."   For all the other children, I have had very vivid dreams of having the baby (minus the pain, of course). And each time, the dream baby turned out to be the opposite gender of the baby I eventually had.

Usually I have the dream much earlier in my pregnancy, and I was starting to think that this might be the time when I didn't have one. But this weekend I dreamed that I had a blond, blue-eyed baby . . . . girl.   And she was born smiling.

So what does that mean? Will I be having a scowling, dark-haired boy? Am I just not sleeping enough? Is my subconscious totally messed up?    The answer could easily be yes to all of those questions.

Only time will tell.

Sometimes We All Need A Do-Over

2011-05-13T12:11:00.000-05:00

Well, apparently I'm not the only one who is strung out.

Blogger is having a meltdown of epic proportions. At least, I think it pertains to all of Blogger and not just my blog here.  Or maybe it's something I said?

For a long while I couldn't access my own blog or any other blog hosted by Blogger. Then the secret tech people behind the Blogger curtain said that they had removed all posts published after Wednesday.   In essence, Thursday got lost to the ether.

So that means anyone visiting my blog will only see what I published before Wednesday, which for me is practically nothing.  But feel free to enjoy the cold leftovers of last Friday's post.

I did publish something on Thursday, and there was a narrow window of opportunity for reading before it all disappeared.   Maybe "opportunity" is too kind a word, considering how whiny I was, but I do thank the friends who left me encouraging comments.   Thank goodness for comment delivery via email -- even though the post was gone, I still got to read your nice words.

Since any quick takes post I had ready to go was sucked up in the Blogger vacuum, I'll just say that I'm glad the weekend is here.    I get to have my hair cut one last time before Mr. or Miss Baby comes along, and we are going to one of my favorite local restaurants for a family celebration of birthdays and a graduation. I look forward to waddling all over town.

If you can read this, I hope you have a lovely weekend, my friends. See you on the flip side.  (As long as Blogger says I may . . . . )

The End is Near

2011-05-12T10:29:00.000-05:00

I have hit the pregnancy wall, my friends, and it's not pretty.

It's not that I hate being pregnant so much, although I do seem to become more uncomfortable with each passing hour if that's possible.   Even with the discomfort, I still enjoy feeling the baby squiggle around. What annoys me the most is that I have so much to do and no ability (or desire) to do it.

Rob says he can always tell when the third trimester has officially started to wear thin with me because the most ordinary things annoy the living daylights out of me.

Case in point: yesterday, my belly brushed up against the spiky leaves of a pineapple on the kitchen counter. Instead of reacting like I normally would and calmly moving the pineapple, I thought about how much I hate spiky pineapple leaves. And how I don't even want to be bothered cutting open the stupid thing to get to the fruit inside.

Whoa.

Right now, I am annoyed with this computer and Blogger and the internet in general. I can't sit for very long in the computer chair, and I've been trying to upload a video of Francie's piano recital just so I would have something nice to post here.

Normally, I would sigh and shrug and come back to try it later. Instead, after wrestling for far too long with the whole uploading process, I wanted to pick up my computer, throw it into the garage, buy a new one and start over from scratch.

I am not very compatible with hormonal irrationality and neither is my family given the way Bun just burst into tears because I chastised him for spilling three drops of milk on the floor. (And yes, it was literally three drops, but when you have the mobility of a beached whale those three drops look like a puddle.)

I vacillate between feeling guilty that I can't get the kids outside more because I can't move very well, and being annoyed that I have to take them out in the beautiful weather at all. I am completely ridiculous.

It is taking a supreme act of will to remain as cheerful as I possibly can.  Even my prayers are often short bursts along the lines of "Dear Lord, please don't let this be the day I go around the bend! Help me to be marginally pleasant!"

So after all this lovely disclosure, who wants to come over for coffee?

Just say a prayer for my family, that they can hang in there with me for a little while longer.

Quick Takes Friday

2011-05-06T08:43:00.000-05:00

One

Sometimes, modern science really saves my butt.

Fiver lost his glasses yesterday, and since they were older and we had no back-up pair, he had to tough it out at school with no glasses.   By the time he came home, I could tell the lack of glasses was really bothering him. He kept blinking rapidly, he stood very close to whatever he needed to see, and he kept getting his homework wrong because he couldn't read it.

In addition to the glasses being gone, I was also missing his prescription. I ripped the house apart and found two identical prescripstions for Rob's glasses but none for Fiver's.

I was hoping that it was just a bad case of pregnancy brain and Rob would come home and find the glasses sitting in plain sight, but no such luck. Those glasses are gone.

So there we were, six at night with no glasses, no prescription, and a boy who was starting to have headaches.

I felt like sitting down and crying from exhaustion, but luckily calmer heads prevailed. Rob called the glasses place in the mall where we had gotten Fiver's glasses last time. They still had all his information and as long as we got there by seven, they could have a new pair ready for him that night.

I took Fiver over, and an hour later I was walking out of the mall with a kid who was reading all the tiny print on every sign he passed just because he could.   And I was very thankful for computer records and the technology to whip out a new pair of glasses in an hour.

Two

Speaking of glasses, the last time he went to the opthamologist Rob found out that he has almost "outgrown" his prescription. The doctor told him that within the next two years, he will no longer need glasses.

He can already tell the difference in his eyes, and he really doesn't have much discomfort if he goes without glasses. Rob has worn glasses since he was a child, and he is so jazzed.

Meanwhile, in the next few years, my perfect vision will succumb to age and I will start to need glasses. I am less jazzed than Rob, but at least we will be trading expenses.

Three

The kids' school consolidation is moving right along, and Rob and I have been very happy with the progress so far.   From everything I've seen, I think this new school is going to be a great place for the kids.

The prinicipal of the new school will be the principal who is now at the kids' current school. She has been instrumental in enabling Fiver to stay in a small Catholic school, which are not typically known for being able to accommodate kids with different learning needs.

We also found out that the 3rd and 4th grade teachers from our school have been chosen for the new school as well. That means that Fiver's transition to the new school will be made easier by teachers he already knows (and, just as importantly, who know him.)

In additon to all that good news, we just found out that the enrollment in the new school has allowed the creation of 2 first grade classes, 2 second grade classes, 2 fourth grade classes, and 2 sixth grade classes. This is huge news, especially for the teachers who get those jobs!

The change is still hard and bittersweet, but God works all things for good. Sometimes you just have to leap out of the boat and meet Him halfway.

Four

Rob asked me what I want for Mother's Day, and I told him that I would like to bend at the waist. Sigh.

Although I keep having annoying contractions, they are not painful and I know they are not the real deal. I know it's not a sure thing, but I don't think I will meet this baby for Mother's Day.

That's okay . . . keep growing baby, and I'll meet you soon enough.

Five

Sometimes, when I get ahead of myself and worry about the togetherness of a long, hot summer at home with all the kids and a brand new baby, I start to feel a little nervous about how I'm going to manage. I want to have a fun, relaxed summer, but I have a feeling that I'll just be strung out.

Then I read this interesting blurb about saints and their birth order. I'm still nervous about the summer, but hey, maybe one of my kids emerge from this nuthouse spiritually unscathed. Fingers crossed.

Six

My mom came to help me out for a few days this week, so I got to go to my weekly doctor's appointment alone.   It was the highlight of my week.

After my appointment, I also got to go out to lunch with Rob. Where we ate our own hot food, talked without interruption, and did not escort each other to the bathroom.

What does it say about me that I can't decide which part I liked better: the happy lunch or the carefree feeling of getting in and out of the van without lifting, hauling, buckling, explaining, cajoling, or imposing any kind of moratorium on looking, touching, crying or complaining.

I think the lunch edged out the solo van time, but it was close. And the whole two hours were pure luxury.   Thanks, Mom!

Seven

On the very rare occasions that Rob and I are out alone together, Rob thinks it's hilarious when strangers mistake this for being our first child.   He's not poking fun at the stranger, of course, because how could they know our state of affairs?

No, he just thinks of the five ring circus we've got going on at home and he can't help but chuckle.   If they only knew . . .

For more Quick Takes, hop over and visit Jen.

Have a happy weekend, my friends, and for all the mothers, grandmothers, godmothers, mothers-in-waiting, and women with motherly hearts . . . . Happy Mother's Day!

2011-05-05T09:28:00.000-05:00

I had planned more posts for this week, my friends. I had actual ideas and everything, but I woke up this morning and realized it is Thursday. The week is more than half over, and I can't even remember what I made for dinner last night let alone blog post ideas. Also, the chair at our computer desk has become increasingly uncomfortable for me in the last few weeks. The combination of the chair and the baby's position makes it nearly impossible to sit in the chair for longer than fifteen minutes at a time. That's good for my kids, and bad for blogging. I thought I'd be clever and use Rob's laptop in the evening after work, but I forgot that I have no lap left. Not so clever after all, but oh well. Add to all of this the fact that, for the past two days, my children have been acting like baboons on crack and you can see why real life trumps blogging. I am crossing my fingers that they just have spring fever and have not, in fact, become deranged. So here are some pictures instead! Yay!

{pretty}

My pretty Sally-girl is always smiling. She's such a shiny little thing.

{real}

It's well past time for me to call and pre-register on labor and delivery. Although I feel like I should just be able to call in and say, "You know all the info I gave you last year? Yeah, copy that."

{funny}

Meet spaghetti's biggest fan.

{happy}

Banana bread muffins for breakfast make my kids very happy.

Want to join in the {pretty, happy, funny, real} fun? Just click the button above!

Fiver's First

2011-05-01T14:20:00.000-05:00

Our family celebrated with Fiver this weekend as he received the Body and Blood of Our Lord for the first time.

Even with all the scurrying of party prep and getting all the kids to church on time, it was a really beautiful day. About as perfect as a day can get this side of heaven.

And I love that Fiver now numbers his reception of the holy Eucharist. Today at Mass, he said "now I've had my second holy communion."

I pray you have hundreds and hundreds, my boy.

The Fairytale

2011-04-29T08:57:00.000-05:00

Okay, I know there are a lot of royal wedding haters out there. I'd say my Facebook friend list was pretty evenly divided between the watchers and the haters, and I've heard other dismissive comments for several days now.

Since I married a thoroughly Scottish man, our merry band of wee lads and lasses are very used to their father making little jokes at the expense of the English. Nothing cruel, mind you, but just that wry Scottish humor of his that I love so well.    All that to say that we are not known to be huge anglophiles.

But . . . but . . . it's a wedding! Come on, how can you not love a wedding? Doesn't anyone else choke up a little when they hear marriage vows being spoken before God? Is is just a woman thing? A pregnant woman thing? A me thing?

I haven't followed most of the coverage, I didn't get up at 4:30 to watch, and I don't have a DVR so I couldn't record the events. I'm more than satisfied to watch all the recaps.

But I also have a little girl who believes that princesses are the best thing about being a girl. It's not just the dresses and the tiaras, although they are pretty nice perks.   Sally knows that to be a real princess, a lady has to be kind, true, loving, and full of grace. I think she's right.

I know that are a lot of women out there who don't want to perpetuate the princess stereotype for little girls. They want them to be empowered and free and bold and choosy.   You know what? I'd rather have the kind, loving, true, graceful princess.

So once I got the bigger kids off to school, I tuned in and let Sally watch the balcony appearance and kiss between the newlyweds.  Sally almost could not grasp the concept of a real princess, since she is used to the cartoon variety, but she loved seeing it all.

Bun, on the other hand, only cared about the balcony flyover by the RAF. That and all the waving flags. He digs nationalism, I guess.

And the dress! I think it's got to be one of the most beautiful wedding dresses I've seen. I love that it was demure and feminine, with long sleeves and lace.  She looked every bit the princess, and I pray that they have a long and happy life together.

As much as I enjoyed watching, now I need to switch gears quickly from one sacrament to another. Fiver receives his first holy communion tomorrow, and there is a lot of cleaning and preparing to be done.
But the sun is shining, the flowers are blooming, and the little kids are "helping," so I think we're good to go.

Happy weekend, my friends!

Since You Asked . . .**(updated)

2011-04-27T13:48:00.001-05:00

I just came back from the doctor, and everything is looking good.  Being just past 37 weeks now, I can technically go into labor safely at any time now.

haha. heehee. hoho.    Yeah, right.

I am totally hunky-dory with tempting fate and making fun of going into labor before my due date. In fact, there would be quite a few scheduling problems that could be cleared up by having the baby now.

But since it's been almost 12 years since I last went into labor on my own, I'm not holding my breath. I think my body may now be conditioned to wait for a little fake labor hormone prompting before committing to the big show.

Maybe that sounds a little callous --to talk about the arrival of a precious new life in the same way you might talk about a dental appointment --but when you've got five other little people who still need to eat, sleep, get washed and get to school . . . well, it happens. There are a lot of arrangements that need to be made.

We love you, #6!! Now if only you'd let Mom pencil you in on the calendar . . . .

Baby seems to be behaving by already being head down, unlike the previous two occupants who thought it would be funny to flip heads-up at the very end of the third trimester.  That's what happens when you try to make your uterus all stretchy and accommodating.

Of course, I scared them right quick into flipping back around when I decided that I'd pop into the hospital to try an external cephalic version, which doesn't sound terribly comfortable for anyone involved. It's better to just do what Mom says from the very beginning, guys.

My doctor likes to joke that my blood pressure is better than hers, so I guess that the throbbing vein I feel when all the kids are scattering to the winds and leaving a mess in their wake is really not a sign that my blood pressure is in danger of making my head explode. Good to know.

Aside from the usual discomfort of the third trimester and the significant hip pain I have experienced since my pregnancy with Sally, I am just playing the waiting game. I should be playing the "dig around in storage for our baby stuff" game, but that doesn't seem to be coming together as well as the waiting around part.

I am curiously unconcerned about all that, given my need to organize just about everything. I think it's probably because I haven't really left the "baby stuff" stage for five years now. We can pretty much host an army of babies at a moment's notice.  It feels relaxing and disconcerting at the same time.

Since we are nearing the end, a few of you have asked me about the good old HomeFront Baby Pool.  Mostly saying, "The POOL! Are you doing it this time?!  You have to, because I'm ready!"

You know I love you for your enthusiasm, right?! It makes these last weeks fun, and it's nice to know that everyone else is as crazy as we are to know what we are having.

So I happily give you the Official 2011 HomeFront Baby Pool!

(Notice I have refrained from calling it the Annual HomeFront Baby Pool, although it feels like that sometimes . . .)

Here are the terms of participation:

1. Leave a comment with your predictions, including baby's birth date, gender, and weight.

2. Comments will be accepted on this post up until my due date, which is May 17th. After that, no more guesses will be accepted.

3. The winner will be the person whose guess is closest in all the categories. You guys are amazing guessers, and in years past the winner has come down to a difference of mere ounces! Rob even has a little winner-choosing logarithm thing worked out, so I leave that to him.

4. The winner will receive a special "Pennsylvania" prize package and a donation made in your honor to one of our favorite local organizations, Mary's Shelter. This place is excellent at offering real, hopeful, life-affirming support to women facing crisis pregnancies. (And they are trying to open a second location very close to my area, so I'd like to help them as much as possible!)

And that's all there is to it, my friends. Once Rob gets home, I'll ask him for his official prediction. Then I'll be sure to post it here, along with mine.

For the record, I have been thinking boyishly. I have nothing on which to base that, except the fact that with this baby my first trimester nausea was about the same as it was with Fiver and Bun. Other than that, there has been no similarity to my pregnancies of either gender in terms of cravings or the way I carry.

I will tell you, however, that my intuition has been correct all five times so far. So my feelings could either be par for the course or my turn for a huge delivery room surprise. I really have no idea. I'll let you decide.

I look forward to your predictions, and good luck!!

This was the belly two weeks ago. Now add the three weeks I have left,
do a little pregnancy math in your head, and make a wild guess.

** For those interested, here are the parental predicitions:

Rob: Boy, May 18th, 9lbs
Me: Boy, May 23rd, 8 lbs 15oz

I know, I know . . . 8 lbs 15 oz is essentially 9 lbs, but I didn't want to guess the same weight as Rob, and that was Fiver's weight, so I went with it.

Also, since a few friends asked about the weights of the other children, here they are:
8 lbs 9oz; 8lbs 15oz; 9lbs 3oz; 7lbs 12oz (4 weeks early); 9lbs 2oz

Happy guessing!

Alleluia!

2011-04-25T08:06:00.000-05:00

Happy Easter, my friends!

Thankfully, Easter is a season, not just a day, because our day was a whirlwind. Not in a frenzied, bad way, but in a five-sugared-up-kids way.

My quest for a decent picture of all the children together was once again denied, but I am becoming more resigned to that. Someone is always looking the other way, smiling like a deranged maniac, or sulking because they didn't get to sit next to the baby . . . such is life.

But I did get to Mass with my most favorite people, some lovely weather, some good family visiting, a delicious meal, and a husband who cleaned up all the dishes.

Hopefully, your Easter Sunday was just as wonderful (although maybe slightly less hyperglycemic?).

Mopsy

From left to right:
Bun, disgruntled about the lack of candy at church; Fiver, smiling like a loon;
Sally, looking in the opposite direction when I said "look at the camera!";
Mopsy in a partial headlock; and Francie trying to keep Mopsy in one place.
Exhausting.

My boys

Bun deciding to forgo the post Mass photo ops

Sally finally looking in the right direction

Francie

Mopsy and me (looking rather like an Easter egg myself -- round and brightly colored!)

2011-04-21T09:52:00.000-05:00

Although this week has been flying by, I think that your comments on my last post and a good confession with a wise priest last night has made me feel much more peaceful. I'm still not doing much of anything, but I have Easter clothes for the children, parents who are bringing Easter dinner to our house, and the ability to make it to church for the next three days.

Sounds like a pretty good deal to me.

I tried to remember what the liturgies were like last year for Holy Week, and when I couldn't recall them I realized it was because I never made it to any of them. I was in the hospital delivering Mopsy during Holy Week last year.

(Well, I wasn't delivering her for the whole week, Thank you God, but she was born on Spy Wednesday, so I spent Holy Week on my "hospital vacation.")

Since I'll be busy delegating house cleaning chores to the children, I thought I'd link up with {pretty, happy, funny, real} over at Like Mother, Like Daughter.

I'll most likely be gone from the computer for the next few days (unless I can get myself together enough to schedule some auto-posts tonight?), but I will see you on the glorious other side.

{real}
New shoes for Easter. Lots of new shoes.

{pretty}
"Eileen's Dress."
Francie wore this dress for her first Easter, then Sally wore it, and now it's Mopsy's turn.
It was given to us by Rob's late godmother, Eileen - one of the funniest and warmest women I've ever met.
We miss her.

{real & happy}
School's out for Easter break today, so that means a little leisure time with a video.
Leave it to Fiver to notice when I'm trying to get a candid shot.

{funny}
Poor Mopsy is a little shaggy these days.
Why do baby bangs grow three times faster than the rest of their hair?
Especially when I hate to cut baby bangs?

Holy Week Already?

2011-04-18T20:15:00.005-05:00

Did Holy Week sneak up on anyone else? Because I feel like it sure has snuck up on me.

On Ash Wednesday, I remember thinking about being only four weeks away from my due date by the time Easter rolled around. That seemed like a very long time to me.

And now here we are: Easter is this Sunday and I am four weeks from my due date. Am I ready for either one? Hard to tell.

I do feel like this Lent has been a rather arid one for me. I can't seem to figure out exactly what I've learned. How have I grown? Other than larger, of course . . .

This has been a season of clinging to the bare minimum for me, and I really have a hard time accepting that's where I am. I don't like just getting by, but sometimes it's necessary.

I don't consider myself a dynamo -- I'm really not always in motion, despite the crowd here -- but I do have a problem with extended stillness. I like quiet time as much as the next mom, but I like to know that I've accomplished something before that quiet time.

It's why I've always empathized with women on strict bed rest. I've never been ordered to rest by a physician, but my body is as good as yelling it at me now. I have to sit down many times during the day, and I feel a little useless.

Of course, I know that I am constantly working. My body is completely devoted to growing the baby, to the exclusion of everything else. It's just that everything else still needs to be done.

As crosses go, this one is so, so tiny, and the end of this season is so close. I'll make it, and maybe I'll even learn what God has been trying to teach me so far.

{pretty, happy, funny, real}

2011-04-14T14:52:00.005-05:00

Capturing the context of contentment in everyday life.

Do you read Like Mother, Like Daughter? Oh, you really should. It is such a good blog, written by mothers and daughters, and filled with such interesting, helpful, and uplifting content.

The posts on 12 year old daughters and competence vs. perfectionism alone completely changed my attitude on several things I've been struggling with around here. So good.

Anyway, LMLD has started a little Thursday link-up called {pretty, happy, funny, real} and since I am short on time today -- I should be squishing meatloaf as I type! -- I thought I'd post my pictures and skedaddle.

(My pictures are not in the proper order, but I don't have time to wrestle with Blogger, so I am choosing competence over perfectionism.)

Hope you are having a lovely day, my friends.

{real}

As in real big. And I still have five weeks to go. Oh baby.

{happy}

All it takes is a little Vitamin D, the old-fashioned way.

{funny}

Her concentration on calling someone - anyone! - cracks me up.

{pretty}

Our daffodils finally decided to show their flowers after a long winter.

The Fifth Time's A Charm

2011-04-13T05:00:00.001-05:00

Rob's gene dominance is a running joke in our family. Whenever we welcome a new family member, we often hear, "well, he/she looks just like the others. You can always tell a HomeFront baby!"

That's because they all look like Rob. Especially Francie and Bun. In fact, if I hadn't gestated and birthed him, I would swear Bun sprang fully formed from Rob's head, a la Athena and Zeus.

Looking at Bun is like taking a ride in a time machine to Rob's childhood -- especially for my mother-in-law. The only concession I seem to have gotten from genetics is Bun's eye color. Once blue like his father's, they have been steadily changing to green. Fingers crossed they keep on going.

Since I tend to be partial to Rob, I've never had any problem with the children looking like his side of the family. I just figured that was the genetic default setting for our kids.

So imagine my delight when we realized that Mopsy was actually looking a little bit like me. Whee, how novel and fun!!

There are definite differences to be sure. He build is slighter than mine as a baby--she's far more delicate. And her hair is totally different. She has lovely, fine reddish gold hair that is straight as a pin. At her age, mine was dark brown, curly, and I'd already had a few haircuts.

She is not my mini-me, as Bun is for Rob, but she's the closest I've gotten so far. And luckily my mom brought me some old pictures for comparison. At least she looks like I had a hand in more than just being her room and board for nine months.

Right?

(And be sure to enjoy the awesome late '70s pattern on my parents bedspread in the first picture. One of my favorite things about old photos is seeing how all the clothes and decor have changed over the years.)

Monkeys in the Middle

2011-04-11T08:04:00.003-05:00

Sally will head off to kindergarten next year, and so there has been a lot of talk about what she can expect at "the big school."

Francie and Fiver are excited to have her join them, and Sally is ready to go. She reminds me at least twice a day that she is going to need a (pink) backpack and a (pink) folder and a (pink) lunchbox and a (pink) jacket for her inaugural year.

Do you see a theme here?

I've been trying to help her realize that we have to make it through the rest of the spring and summer before she gets to kindergarten, but the excitement is still there. And I'm glad for that.

The only hitch in Sally's plan is Bun. She is going to miss him terribly. She mentions it every time she talks about school.

But Mama, you know I'll really miss Bun. I'm just always with him. Can't he come to school with me? I'll let him sit at my desk.

Bless her little heart.

And although Bun is a boy and does not talk about his feelings for days on end, I know he will miss her as well. Normal sibling squabbles aside, he relies on her quite a bit through the day. She is the one he turns to for help or a good play idea or comfort.

Because of my children's ages, I tend to think of them more as sets of two rather than as a whole group. Francie and Fiver are one set, Sally and Bun are the next set, and Mopsy and the new baby make the third set.

Next year, kindergarten will be breaking up the middle set for a while and that transition may be a hard one. Sally doesn't remember a time when Bun was not with her, and because Sally eschewed preschool in favor of staying home, Bun has reaped the benefits of a constant playmate and protector.

There will be new roles for everyone. Sally gets to try her hand at being a bigger girl, the school student. And Bun will get to try his hand at being the oldest for a few hours. He'll become the protector and playmate.

I'm sure they'll both be fine with all the changes, but boy will I miss seeing their two little heads bent together during the day.

Sick Bay

2011-04-07T20:01:00.003-05:00

Well . . . this has certainly been a week. A long one, as evidenced by the lack of posting.

One of the joys of having a large family is watching the merry carousel of germs that makes its way around to each and every member. Sometimes the carousel moves quickly (hello, stomach viruses!), and other times it just creaks its way around.

While the slow creaking is easier on the clean-up factor, it also means that you feel like you have sick people lying around for three years by the time everyone has finally been infected.

This time around has been the slow, creaking kind of trip. There have been high fevers, horrible soupy coughs, and general malaise.

I was certain that the children had picked up something that could actually by treated by an antibiotic, but nope. Just a weird virus that sounds like rattling death, but cannot be treated by anything other than lots of Motrin, Vicks vapor rub, cool washcloths, and a teaspoon of honey for the coughing.

(Around here, the combo of honey and vapor rub really does knock out the coughs, except for the little babies who can't have honey yet. They only get the vapor rub.)

I guess we're on the upswing. Or maybe we're just going around for another ride -- I really can't tell yet. But we'll make it.

Besides, it is spring right? We're not just in some kind of weird holding pattern for winter? Promise me I'll be able to open the windows soon and clear out some of the funk.

10 Facts About Me and My Better Half

2011-04-01T05:00:00.001-05:00

Instead of doing quick takes this week, I thought I'd join in with Betty Beguiles and share ten facts about Rob and yours truly.

One: I went to college with Rob's sister and we met when he came to visit her. We visited the historic sites in Gettysburg and ended up having an in depth conversation for the whole ride home. We haven't stopped talking since.

Two: Before I met Rob, I saw a picture of him in his sister's room and thought he was 35. He was really 21. In my defense, he was wearing his Navy uniform and he wasn't smiling. But typical of his personality, he still thinks it's funny.

Three: Rob and I got engaged when I was 19. I think I might go nuts if Francie came home engaged at 19, but my parents have loved Rob since day one. They've always been insightful people.

Four: Rob and I have amazingly similar personalities. I know they say opposites attract, but I guess we are the exception that proves the rule. Even when we disagree, we can usually do it calmly and sensibly. Unless you are talking about the proper way to load the dishwasher, then it's time to drop the gloves.

Five: Despite our similarities, we have just enough personality differences to keep us complementary. He is much calmer and laid back than I am, and even though I am technically an introvert I have enough spark to bring him out of his quiet shell.

Six: Rob is hilarious. Sometimes people are really surprised to hear that since he is so quiet, but his sense of humor is razor sharp. When we got married, my mother said to us, "Well, no matter what, you'll always have laughter." She was right -- I laugh every single day we are together.

Seven: I've never met anyone I can talk to as easily as Rob. Not even my closest girlfriends (and that's saying something, because I can really talk to my friends. A lot.) He's my very best friend.

Eight: Rob is an amazing father. I always knew he would be a good dad, but truth be told, neither one of us ever expected to have this many children in our family. Our hearts have changed together, and he has turned out to be a better father to our children than I could have imagined. I feel so blessed that my sons can look to him to know how a Christian man should act, and that my daughters can look to him to see how a good man treats the women he loves.

Nine: Rob is a much better Christian than I am, and he is specifically a much better Catholic Christian. He is unfailingly generous in everything, and I should know better than most people since I am usually on the receiving end of his generosity of spirit. I always hope to make him proud and happy that I am his wife.

Ten: We will celebrate our 14th anniversary on June 14th. It seems like yesterday and forever ago all at the same time.

Happy weekend, my friends!

Happy, Happy Birthday, Baby

2011-03-31T07:09:00.007-05:00

You arrived in the pre-dawn hours of a cool, rainy early spring morning. As soon as you settled into my arms, you turned your little round cheeks towards me and promptly went back to sleep. Birth is hard work after all.

And now here we are one year later. I keep thinking . . . how can it be a year already? And then I immediately think . . . is it only one year since you came? That's how easily you slipped into our lives and became our baby.

We've lost track of time loving you. You might be our last baby girl, you might not. It doesn't matter, because you are you. And that is more than enough. Happy first birthday, Mopsy. We love you!

2011-03-30T12:31:00.002-05:00

Snow is in the forecast . . . again, my poor baby Mopsy is sick on the eve of her first birthday, and Lent just seems very long to me today. Spring feels far away.

So I'm fighting back the protracted winter blahs with this:

I've never been a superfan of The Beatles. I like most of their songs, but I've always been able to take them or leave them depending on my mood.

But George? I could watch George play the guitar all day long.

Come on, sun, we need you.

Quick Takes Friday

2011-03-25T05:00:00.000-05:00

One

The girls and I are going to a bridal shower this weekend for my future sister-in-law, so Rob and the boys were brainstorming fun "boy's day" ideas at the dinner table.

They mentioned a local science center, a miniature railroad display, and then dinner at the diner.

That's when Sally looked up and said, "Well, no matter what you do it won't be as much fun as we're having because there will be more girls in our car. Four is more than three. More fun."

There is no refuting logic of that sort. Girls just want to have fun.

Two

I downloaded the Prayer App from Divine Office and I am loving it! It is absolutely worth the two dollars it cost me.

This is not the full Liturgy of the Hours, but it is more than 2000 prayers of the Catholic Church. Everything is covered, from the Rosary to Chaplets and Litanies.

It is so easy to search and mark my favorites, and there have been many times when I had a special intention and had no problem finding an appropriate prayer.

I highly recommend it, and I'm going to look into the Liturgy of the Hours App as well.

Three

Just when I thought we were heading toward some nicer weather, Old Man Winter came back around to give us a little kick in the pants.

We got snow, freezing rain, and then some thundersnow(!) to round it all out. Phil, you totally sold us down the river with that "early spring" junk.

Happily, most late March snows in PA are usually onion snows and they don't stick around too long.

Four

What's an onion snow, you ask?

Here in PA, it's a pretty common expression (or at least it used to be). An onion snow is a late snowfall, usually in early spring, after the onion sets are in the ground. It's typically a very wet snow that melts quickly.

Five

Get yourselves ready, my friends, because the guessing pool for the HomeFront's new baby is coming up soon!

This is fun for me because it really takes my mind off of how much I want to run to the nearest ultrasound machine and demand they tell me what I've got going on gender-wise.

I'm always so happy that I waited to find out after the baby comes, but these last weeks are loooooong.

Six

Speaking of not knowing the baby's gender, I am always surprised when people are shocked that we don't know. Not just surprised, but shocked. And sometimes more than a little put out. Miffed even.

Uhhh . . . okay.

I was in the grocery store a few weeks ago, and two people working in the bakery stopped me and asked what I was having. Apparently, the head baker is an expert at guessing baby genders just from reading my aura or something. They like to test him by checking with the pregnant mother, and so far (according to them) he has never been wrong.

When I told them I didn't know, they could not believe it. They kept saying "but why don't you KNOW?" As if there was some kind of horrible ultrasound glitch that prevented me from finding out. No glitch, just my desire to confound people by my irrational suspension of knowledge.

For what it's worth, the baker quoted my aura as saying #6 is a boy.

Seven

Hey, did you know you can eat meat today? You can because today is the Solemnity of the Annunciation of the Lord.

That's Church-speak for big celebration, so no penitential abstention from meat. It's all explained here.

Of course, you don't have to eat meat to celebrate, but if you want to throw a few pepperoni slices on your pizza to honor the Annunciation of the Lord, go for it.

As usual, head over to Jennifer's and check out the other quick takes.

Have a great weekend, my friends! I'm looking forward to the more fun I've been told I'll be having with my girls in the car . . . let's see if you can top it!

My Three Girls

2011-03-22T05:00:00.001-05:00

Since Mopsy is on the cusp of turning one, I've been trying to get "caught up" with some pictures of her. I know, it's ridiculous. There is no way I can get as many pictures of Mopsy as I have of Francie at the same age -- I just don't have enough hands.

But I didn't want Mopsy's pictorial history to go from the labor room to her first birthday cake, with only two or three pictures in between. Hence the impromptu photo session. Sorry, Mopsy.

Of course, after I got pictures of Mopsy, I had to look through some old pictures of Francie and Sally at the same age.

Francie, age 1

Sally, age 1

Mopsy, age 11 mos and 2 weeks

One of the things I love the most about having multiple children of the same gender is the observation of their differences.

I always wonder if my friends whose children are all the same gender ever get really fed up with people asking if they wish they had at least one child of the other gender. As if having gender in common would mean that they would be alike in every way.

I love that I have been blessed with both daughters and sons, because there are real differences between them. No matter how many pink baby dolls Bun picks up, he just doesn't approach them the same gentle way that Sally does. And no matter how many times Sally plays trains and cars with Bun, she doesn't make all the appropriate car noises like her brother.

But what I love best is seeing the differences among my children of the same gender. My girls don't even really look like one another, at least not to me. I guess the overall family resemblance is there, but if you really study them you'll notice that their individual features are fairly dissimilar.

And don't even get me started on their personalities. I don't know that they could be more different if they were complete strangers.

I think that's why I look so forward to meeting this new little babe. Whether we've got a fourth girl coming or a third boy to even up the numbers, I know that he or she will be coming with a soul and a personality all their own.

Eight more weeks to go, my friends . . .

Wearin' O' the Green

2011-03-17T13:08:00.004-05:00

Happy St. Patrick's Day from all the little leprechauns running around this joint! They are quick, I tell ya. So quick, that I could only photograph two of them.

Leprechauns agree with our family motto: Go big or go home!

We don't mess around when the church calls it a feast day.

This little ~~turkey~~ leprechaun is almost ONE! What in the sam hill happened to THAT year?!

Follow me to the end of the rainbow! Or behind the sofa, which is my other secret hideout.

Okay, I admit it. They're not leprechauns, but they are fast. And I am very slow. I wanted to get a picture of all the kids in their greenery, but it just didn't happen this morning before they left for school. Surprisingly enough, family photos are not usually on my agenda before 7 am.

Hopefully you are doing something fun to celebrate St. Patrick's Day, since we are all a little Irish today. Even good St. Patrick himself was an adopted Irishman. He was originally from Scotland, which warms the cockles of my very Scottish husband's heart.

Tonight we'll be having shepherd's pie (yum!), but that's about as far as I got in the planning of festivities. These days I'm running at my very lowest settings. I've got to conserve my energy somehow. I think of it like rolling blackouts in my brain -- I can only do one really fun/creative/time consuming thing per day. If that.

So enjoy your day, all you Irish out there, and remember to ask for St. Patrick's intercession.

from the Breastplate of St. Patrick:

I arise today, through God's strength to pilot me:
God's might to uphold me, God's wisdom to guide me,
God's eye to look before me, God's ear to hear me,
God's word to speak for me, God's hand to guard me,
God's way to lie before me, God's shield to protect me,
God's host to secure me:
against snares of devils, against temptations of vices,
against inclinations of nature, against everyone who
shall wish me ill, afar and anear, alone and in a crowd . . . . .

Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me, Christ in me,
Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ on my right, Christ on my left,
Christ in breadth, Christ in length, Christ in height,
Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of every man who speaks of me,
Christ in every eye that sees me,
Christ in every ear that hears me.

I arise today through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity, through belief in the Threeness, through confession of the Oneness of the Creator of creation.
Salvation is of the Lord. Salvation is of the Lord. Salvation is of Christ. May Thy Salvation, O Lord, be ever with us.

Time Well Spent

2011-03-14T07:28:00.002-05:00

One of the biggest concerns I hear from people who are considering a larger family is the potential lack of individual time with each child. The more kids you have, the less time there is to spend with each one alone.

I really used to pooh-pooh that idea, probably because I was a touch defensive about our family size. Why do the kids need to see more of me? Unless they are in school, they are already with me all. day. long. Preferably physically attached to me in some way. I just don't know how much more time we can spend together.

But what I started to realize was that time spent with me in a herd is not the same as a little time with just me. Was I cheating my kids out of their personal time? Did that mean they would turn out to be stingy, grasping adults because their personal needs were not met? Was the world right? Are small families superior because of their ability to spend more time with the kids? Oh crud.

Thankfully, I've managed to observe a few things about these kids that I am home with all day.

I was wrong about the personal time. Kids need it, at least a little bit of it, from each of their parents. Maybe this doesn't extrapolate to all families, but I can really see the need for it in mine. And not just for the kids who are in school all day. Even the little turkeys home with me still need some one on one time.

But I was not wrong to give my kids all these siblings. My kids are as kooky as kids the world over, but what they do know is that they are not the center of the world. They know that you don't automatically get your own room, or first dibs on the bathroom, or the last waffle, or the new sweater, or the prime seat in the van, and that's good. Minor adversity prepares us for major adversity.

So where does that leave us? I have all these lovely children, with whom I am privileged to spend my whole day (and yes, I really do feel that way. This time goes so fast, and I know too many women who would give their eye teeth to spend more time with their children to be ungrateful about that).

Despite all that, I can see the benefits of spending some private time with each child. How?

In my experimentation, I've found that the current baby generally needs less alone time than anyone else. That's because babies naturally suck up more of my time anyway. They are the first to be picked up, the most likely to be coddled or soothed immediately. They spend an inordinate amount of time in my arms compared to the other kids.

For the rest of the kids, I was surprised at how little private time they needed. Maybe that sounds stingy, but I don't mean it that way. I had visions of having to spend tons of alone time with each child, but it turns out that a little goes a very long way in the morale department.

For Sally, all it takes is a drive every Saturday to dance class. We'd be making the drive anyway, but whenever possible I make sure that it is she and I alone.

Every Tuesday, I try to be the one who picks up Francie from riding lessons. Sometimes we'll stop at the library, but the key is really the empty car.

I tell Fiver to jump into the car if I need to return something to the mall or make a run to Target.

And my little Bun has created his own private ritual. I have taken to grocery shopping every Monday after dinner because that's now the best day for our schedule. Bun noticed and he started asking to go with me.

At first I resisted because I already dislike food shopping and I like to get it over with as soon as possible. As much as I love Bun, having him tag along slows me down. But I relented, and it has turned out to be a very good thing for both of us.

We work on his speech as we go through the aisles, and I've been surprised to learn that he knows all his numbers and letters, including the letter sounds. For so long he hasn't been able to communicate what he knows, and now the flood gates have been opened.

Last week, as we were waiting in a very long checkout line and I was worrying if Bun was getting too tired, he rested his head on my arm and said, "Mom, you are the best girl ever."

I'm lucky they didn't have to call a clean-up crew as I melted into a puddle of weepy love right there. Seven months ago, this kid couldn't even call my name. And I never would have heard his little profession of love if I had had one or two of the other kids with me.

I realized that private time does not mean anything elaborate or fancy, it just means private. The luxury is not being interrupted by anyone else.

I'm sure this comes as no surprise to all the more experienced moms out there, but carving out special time with each child wasn't nearly as difficult as I thought it would be. And even better, my efforts have turned into a joy that I treasure.

PS: All of this goes for Rob, too. He takes his turns alone with the kids because they need time with their dad. It's something that society thinks we can forget about, but it's to our children's detriment.

Sometimes There Are No Words

2011-03-11T15:08:00.003-05:00

It's Friday, and I'd like to post something funny and light and sign off for the weekend, but I'm not in that kind of mood. The news this week has just kind of sucked the funny and frothy right out of me.

This tragic and horrific story from a few hours west of me has been on my heart all week. I cannot fathom the pain this family is going through right now, having lost all but one of their children.

It's one of those cases where I can't help but personalize it. For my own family, it would be like having Bun be our only surviving child. Please pray for this family; for the parents and extended family, and especially for their little 3 year old daughter who has lost her siblings.

While you're praying, Japan belongs high on the list of course. I've been reading all the news sites and looking at the pictures, but they can be mind-numbing. There's no good way to comprehend the magnitude of the destruction. Numbers alone are insufficient.

(and if you are looking for this information, Catholic Relief Services is already in action with a relief fund for Japan.)

And to think that earlier this week I was in high dudgeon over the "Lent Wars" that start on the blogosphere and Facebook every year. You know what I mean: posts and conversations, from people who have forgotten more about church doctrine than I know, covering all the different ways you are sucking it up this Lent. You should wear ashes, you should not wear ashes, you should give up something BIG, you should give up something small but meaningful, you should not give up something at all and instead do extra good things, you should never even talk about what you're giving up . . . and so on.

Seriously?

In the face of a world fractured by sin and groaning with tragedy and sadness, who cares what you gave up for Lent?

I'm not suggesting we be cavalier about Lent, or that we shouldn't examine our motives. Yes, do that. And then pray. And some more after that. And keep on praying.

And then keep your own Lenten promises, look at our world and offer up any discomfort or pain, and really pray.

Get Your Fat Pants Out

2011-03-08T01:00:00.001-05:00

Happy Fastnacht Day!

For those of you who did not grow up in an area immersed in Pennsylvania Dutch heritage, here are the bullet points:

fastnacht is a German word which translated means: "fast night"
a fastnacht is a heavy doughnut, traditionally made with mashed potatoes
they are eaten on Fat Tuesday and they are delicious

There you go, you are up to speed on Fastnacht Day. (I wrote more about Fastnacht Day here and here, if you feel the need to delve further into the wonder of this holiday.)

I had grand plans to make my own fastnachts this year, but they fell through. Mostly due to my inability to get my act together. Plus, Tuesday mornings are taken up with Bun's therapy and they don't lend themselves to making our own doughnuts.

Thankfully, our local grocery store sells some fairly decent fastnachts, so we are well stocked. Now all we have to do is make sure they are all eaten before Ash Wednesday rolls around, but I think the odds are in our favor.

Laissez le bon temps rouler! And please pass the fastnachts . . .

Quick Takes Friday

2011-03-04T13:59:00.004-05:00

Oh, Friday, I've been missing you since Monday. Glad to see you back around these parts.

One

You know those glow necklaces that you see at all kinds of carnivals, festivals, and concerts? The kind you snap together and the kind kids just love?

I loathe them.

Maybe it's just our family, but we always seem to get the duds. The ones that won't glow, the ones missing the little connector thingy to make them into bracelets and necklaces, and the ones that crack open.

Last night, after a lip sync show at the school, the three bigger kids came home with glow jewelry. I just gritted my teeth because I knew someone was going to get disappointed.

Sure enough, Sally took hers upstairs to her room and five minutes later Francie came down to inform us that their room was glowing. Not good.

Sally's bracelet had cracked open in her bed, and when we got up there, the whole bed looked like a scene from CSI after they use the Luminol. Little glowing drops, streaks, and handprints everywhere.

Rob took Sally to clean up while I had fun stripping the bed at 9 pm. We sent a non-luminescent Sally to bed, crying because we made her throw her bracelet away.

Just mark this down as reason #27 why I'll never be invited to a rave.

Two

I have been craving strawberries in the worst way for this entire pregnancy. I would seriously sit and power my way through bowls of strawberries if I could.

So today, when I was at the fancy grocery store (read: expensive and too far from our house, but with more fresh-looking produce) with the littles and I saw some decent looking strawberries for sale, I decided to ignore the price and buy them. After all, we didn't really need those diapers and other stuff on my list, right?

It didn't help that I was shopping with the three children who love strawberries as much as their mother. A fervent cry of STRAWBERRIES! went up from the back of the cart, and even Mopsy, who only says two words, patted my arm and said "Mom! Mom! Mom!" as she stared at the fruit. Bless her little heart.

Well, those supermarket managers aren't stupid. Right next to the strawberries were angel food cakes fresh from the bakery. For a dollar. Come on, people. What else was I supposed to do? I threw that sucker right in the cart and the cry of CAKE! went up from the back.

Funnily enough, Cool Whip was also on sale. Imagine that. (And yes, I know I can make whipped cream that is SO MUCH BETTER than Cool Whip, but sometimes I really like the taste of Cool Whip. Don't judge me.)

After lunch, I polished off a bowl of faux strawberry shortcake and my only thought was that I really should have used a bigger bowl.

Moral of the story: Go grocery shopping with a pregnant woman. You will eat like kings.

Three

Speaking of the fancy grocery store, I have found that I get much more easily annoyed there than at the tiny grocery store near my house.

There are so many varieties of everything that I end up spending too much time dithering over what I should buy. When you are at the store with three kids age four and younger, and a bladder that is on a strict ten minute timer, dithering is a luxury you can't afford.

Also, the things that the store management provide as courtesies often get abused and it makes me nuts. For instance, the parking spaces set aside near the front of the store for pregnant women/families with very small children.

There are about six spots out of the huge parking lot that are designated as such, and I have to admit that I do appreciate them when they are available. It takes me a long time to buckle and unbuckle the smaller kids and get them situated, especially the larger I get.

It really toasts me when, as I'm parked in one of these spots and trying to get my kids safely in and then put the groceries in, I look up and see a little two seater sports car waiting for the spot. Usually the car holds a woman my mother's age who is often wearing workout/tennis clothing.
She pulls in as soon as I get my huge van out.

I realize these spots are courtesies. They are not like handicapped parking spots, and I am certainly fortunate to be young and healthy with similarly hearty children. I do not NEED to park there. I would gladly give a "mother's spot" to an elderly person or a person with a handicapped placard should the need arise.

But I am not Christian enough to let it go when a healthy person with no children swings into the spot, pops out of their car, and jogs into the store. Grr.

Moral of the story: Avoid the near occasion of sin and shop at the local grocery store.

Thank God Lent is right around the corner. Maybe I'll give up parking in those spots.

Four

Let's switch gears before this whole post becomes a complaint.

I have been enjoying the album 21 by Adele tremendously. I don't know exactly how I heard of her, but I've loved her music since her first album, 19 (also very good).

Adele's voice is amazing, and the album is full of cool retro-sounding, brass-heavy songs. It's great for riding around in the car. Or cleaning the kitchen. Or doing laundry. Or having dinner alone with your hubby.

Not that I would know much about that last one, but that's what I imagine music at a grown-up restaurant would sound like.

Five

From the TMI file:

My kids love ice cream sandwiches, but Fiver and Sally are especially messy when they eat them.

Last night, after an ice cream sandwich dessert, we sent Fiver into the bathroom to wash his hands and face.

I went into the bathroom about half an hour later, completely forgetting that Fiver had been the last one in there, and all I saw were the faucets, sink top, hand towels, and even mirror streaked with brown.

I did NOT automatically assume it was chocolate. And that right there should tell you something about life with small children.

I DID manage to remember that Fiver had washed all the chocolate off in that bathroom before I put on a hazmat suit, but not before I had a serious wig out.

Six

I've been reading a novel set in a wealthy family in Victorian England, and I think that we should really have tea time here. Everything about it sounds perfectly lovely -- cup of tea, scones, biscuits, jam, little cakes, finger sandwiches. Heavenly.

The only flaw in my plan is that I don't have Cook below stairs in the kitchen making it all for me. And I don't have a lady's maid to bring it to my room on a tray while the children are resting in the Nursery with Nanny.

I'd rather have coffee anyway.

Seven

Thanks for all your kind comments on my last post, my friends. They were a balm to me.

Usually I'd send you over to Conversion Diary for more Quick Takes, but this week they are being hosted by Betty Beguiles. So head over there -- and have a wonderful weekend!

The Fear Factor vs. The Life of Yes

2011-03-02T10:00:00.000-05:00

So do not worry and say, 'What are we to eat?' or 'What are we to drink?' or
'What are we to wear?' All these are things the pagans seek. Your heavenly
Father knows that you need them all. But seek first the kingdom of God and his
righteousness, and all these things will be given to you besides. Do not worry
about tomorrow; tomorrow will take care of itself. Sufficient for a day is its
own evil. Matthew 6: 31-34

Last week, Jennifer posted a great piece about living a life of "yes." (and if you don't regularly read Conversion Diary, I heartily recommend it. There's always something good over there.)

She talks about her struggle to reconcile her desire to say yes to God in all things and her tendency to become overloaded in her interpretation of how to cultivate a life of yes. In order to say yes to certain things, we need to answer others with a no.

I found that her conclusion resonated with me:
I’ve been pondering this a lot lately, and I think what it comes down to
is this:

The spirit of saying yes is ultimately a spirit of making
prayerful decisions without fear.

No fear.

Although her examples are geared more toward saying yes to volunteer and service activities, the crux of her thought is where I have been living for the past 29 weeks. Trying mightily to live a life of yes, without fear.

I know I haven't written much about this pregnancy, other than my insane cravings and ultrasound pictures, but I think that's because the truth was a little to painful for me to confess. And talking about my feelings surrounding this pregnancy really did feel like a confession.

It may come as no surprise that Rob and I were not trying for baby number six. In fact, we had thought we prayerfully discerned that we were being called not to have a baby right now. Either we are very bad at praying or very bad at discerning because here we are.

Since Mopsy was only 5 months old at the time, I had not fully returned to my regular cycles, which have never really been very regular to begin with. We were still trying to climb back on board the NFP wagon, and when the ovulation tests I bought kept saying I was ovulating for two weeks I knew it was time to buy another kind of test.

It is so tempting to tell you that I did a happy dance and I felt so free and unafraid of God's plan, but it would be a lie. It's so hard for me to admit that because we are a pro-life, non-contracepting family -- this is pretty much what we do, right? RIGHT?!?!

Even now, when I am very happy and excited about this baby, I am still sad about that first moment of reaction. I want to say that my only feeling was one of humble gratitude, followed closely by a deep contentment.

But reading Jennifer's post and reflecting on what I learned during those early weeks, I can honestly say I was overwhelmed by fear: Fear of carrying another baby so soon after Mopsy; fear of being able to handle the close ages of all the little ones; fear for our finances (since a new baby meant a new car), fear for this baby's health and development given Fiver's health history and the fact that I am now considered "advanced maternal age."

And perhaps the fears I am most ashamed of were the ones that were so selfish at their root: fear of gaining all the weight back that I had so diligently lost through exercise, fear of what other people would think of us and "all those kids," fear of more work for myself, fear of upsetting the status quo we had reached with the children already here.

I eventually sought out our wonderful parish priest and I just poured it all out. All that fear. He gently and lovingly reminded me of what happened at the Annunciation.

Luke tells us that "Mary was greatly troubled and pondered what sort of greeting this might be." I often gloss over that. The Blessed Mother, whose life of yes changed the world, was greatly troubled.

And what did Gabriel say to her? "Do not be afraid." Her great trouble was that she was afraid. Father went on to remind me of what Gabriel says further on: "The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you."

That was it, the key for me. If I could allow the power of the Most High to overshadow me, then my fear would be gone and I could reclaim the joy that living a life of yes always brings.

Without that very human cloud of fear, it is so easy to see how saying yes to God has always been to my benefit. It's also easy to see how all of my worst decisions were based in some kind of fear.

I still have those moments of "But what will happen if . . .!" I really wrestle with them, and I don't think I've met anyone who is immune to that kind of spiritual assault. It may not be about having a large family, but it is there just the same.

But I'm still going for it. I'm going for the life God has planned for me because I only get one shot. No fear. All I need to do is look at my children and see that my yes has been the cause of my joy.

He REALLY Loves Me

2011-02-23T07:55:00.003-05:00

Today I have my test for gestational diabetes, which means I get to drink my lovely sugar cocktail as a nice chaser for my breakfast.

One of the little benefits of being seen by one of Rob's partners is that he can bring the glucose drink home. This means I can chug it at home and then drive in with all the kids to have my blood drawn, instead of having to drink it at the office and then sit around a waiting room with three kids for an hour.

That is actually a huge benefit all things considered.

Last night, as I was trying to describe why the glucose drink tastes so strangely awful, Rob surprised me. He told me to save the little bit of glucose that would be left over and he would drink it when he came home. Just to see what it's all about.

Solidarity, baby. Or misery loves company. Take your pick.

(PS: today is also the feast of St. Polycarp, so maybe Rob's favorite saint has inspired him to be bold?)

Point of View

2011-02-22T10:40:00.002-05:00

An exchange last week, regarding household finances, future plans, etc . . .

Him: Well, if we're going to have a big family . . .

Me: Honey, I think it's safe to say that we're already there.