"What a Change a Few Weeks Makes in the Lives of the Meesters!"

When I posted last, I had not the slightest notion of what was just over my horizon. Not even the tiniest glimmer. In fact, Dave and I had been talking about keeping things stable for the remaining first year of Scarlett's life, since it seemed we had always made some kind of big change within the first year of each previous child's life. I thought Scarlett might be the first one to have a relatively uneventful first year.



Ha!



As it turned out, she's had the biggest and most drastic event by far. Late in October, Dave received a call from the vice president of his company, who wanted to talk to him about a corporate position. When Dave first talked about it with me, we thought it wasn't a very serious prospect, and that even if it was, it might be something he could just do in South Carolina.

But then the company flew him up to the corporate office in Ohio to talk about it, and what they offered him was much better than anything we had imagined. When Dave was talking to me about it over the phone after his interview, my first reaction wasn't, as I would have anticipated, one of rejection or dread, even though the position he was offered would require relocating to Ohio. I couldn't even begin trying to explain why such an enormous move and change seemed like the right thing to do, other than that I feel we received internal confirmation from the very beginning. The responses we got from friends and family seemed to add to that confirmation, and then each of the logistical questions we had were also answered almost immediatly. In short, it seemed like God had the doors wide open and the paths fairly clear, so we decided to walk through them. And five weeks later, here we are in Miamisburg, Ohio! For the most part, I've had only positive feelings about all this, although once or twice I've had a panic moment in which I've second-guessed this decision (such as when we were stuck in rush-hour traffic on the way here Wednesday night, in the dark, freezing cold, and snow). Here are some of the positives and negatives we've encountered so far:

Positive: This is a huge adventure! It's exciting being in a completely new region of the country.

Negative: That region of the country is the dreaded "North."

Positive: Service up here is amazingly fast and efficient. So far it seems that the aim is to please the customer - what a novel idea!

Negative: We haven't encountered much hospitality. There have been some pretty rude and abrupt people.

Positive: Snow!

Negative: It's alway so COLD! No slow acclimation for us. No, we jumped right into a Northern winter!

Positive: The library here is jaw-droppingly amazing. It's library heaven. There are no fines on children's books, the check-out period is three weeks, and you can renew up to five times. The online catalog is incredible, and they have an express checkout.

Negative: There is no corresponding negative to that. I think the library itself might have been worth the move.

Positive: They seem to have EVERYTHING here. You name a store or restaurant, and they've got it. In fact, some grocery stores and convenience stores have...drum roll, please...drive-thru's. I've seen it, but haven't tried it yet, and until I do, I'm not sure I'll be able to wrap my mind the idea.

Negative: There's also a billion people here, so the traffic can be terrible.

Positive: This great house Dave found for us! Four spacious bedrooms (my master suite truly is a suite!), large closets, a school and music room, a great den, a huge basement, and a laundry chute (we can make dirty clothes just disappear! It's fantastic.)...we're enjoying being able to spread out here.

Negative: Leaving the house we own (and still own - we need some renters soon!). It's small, but still, we liked it. And Scarlett was born in that house, in one of the cozy corners of our bedroom, which made it all the more special.

Negative: (one to which there is no positive right now!) Leaving friends, family, and an area we loved. That was just hard in all sorts of ways, not the least of which was leaving the South.

I hate to end on a negative, but I'll post more on the adventure later!

PS The quote that is the title of the post is from my midwife/friend, when I emailed her about the move. It hadn't been long before when I had just updated her about what was going on with our family, and Ohio definitely hadn't been in the picture at that point!

The Hunger Games

I read many good books, but every once in awhile I come across a book that is mesmerizing and addictive. Most recently, The Hunger Games fit the bill. There are three books in the series, and I devoured them at an alarming rate. I won't even admit how fast I read them (especially the second one, Catching Fire), nor what was neglected around here as a result. I will say that Dave read them, too, and we both eagerly awaited our turn at the library for the third installment. It has never, ever happened before that we were enthralled by the same book. (We would never have been paired by any online dating service, because our tastes are as different as you could imagine!) I was excited when I saw that he was as interested in them as I was, because I thought we could discuss them, until I realized that he wasn't the book club type.

But I was dying to discuss it, and so I thought I would just write down my thoughts about it. Then when Hannah passed on someone else's thoughts about the about the book (I wanted to post the link, but couldn't find it!), I was more determined than ever. So here's what I would have brought to a book club discussion. No, I really didn't have time to do it (it took me a couple weeks, and there was still so much I wanted to say, and I would have loved to polish it up), and it was probably a complete waste of the time I did spend on it. But it was fun to pretend I have some brain cells left.


***********************************Spoiler Alert!!!!***************************************
Those of you who are in the midst of reading it, or haven't started yet, don't continue! :-)



What I found intriguing about The Hunger Games is that it elicits introspection about what we might value the most when it comes to survival. What’s really deep within? And what would it look like when forced to the surface? Katniss is distinguished by her drive for survival, and even more so by her need to protect and preserve her sister Prim. She loves Prim, but even her love for her sister seems to be tied to her own survival. (I’ve now used that word way too many times!) Practically abandoned by the death of her father and breakdown of her mother, Katniss was stripped of the love, care, and protection a child needs, and she was exposed to such hazards and wants as children should never know. So it seems likely that her self-imposed mandate to shelter her sister from harm may be a desire to preserve vicariously the innocence Katniss herself ought never to have lost. Later her motives become more complicated, even to herself, when Peeta and other figures enter her life. Still, near the end of Mockingjay, Gale tells Peeta that Katniss will choose whomever she can‘t survive without., so obviously this remains a central theme of her life. (Note: But why are they even having this discussion? Why does Peeta, who has only recently been recovering from the "hijacking" that programmed him to hate Katniss, and is at this point acutely aware that he is unstable, even considering the possibility that he might be in the running for her affections again? I thought this was a misstep in the story.)

I think Katniss is such a compelling character because most of us , in the natural, would identify most with her primal drive for survival. We would like to think we would embrace Peeta’s idealism and pure form of love, or even Gale’s sacrificial passion for justice - and some probably would - but if we were completely honest, the need for our own survival would probably be all-consuming. And in a metaphysical sense, isn’t it already? Isn’t it the essence of our struggle against “self?” Doesn’t it already creep into our relationships with others? Our love, in it’s bare humanity, is riddled with ulterior motives. Of course in reality, this vulgar drive for self can be redeemed, and usually is, to various degrees. I found it interesting, incidentally, that The Hunger Games never addresses the spiritual element. - the characters never allude to any form of religion (are we to assume that it’s been eliminated in the upheaval of the social and government structures? And would that really happen in reality?), and the question of morality seems to shift with each party’s motives. There seems to be no fixed reference point for right and wrong. At first oppression and brutality seem to be clearly evil; however, as the series progresses, various individuals and groups use both to further their means, bringing to the fore the question of what lengths are acceptable in any given cause. Neither is the sanctity of life the clear good, as all the characters are willing to sacrifice it for whatever they value more. Gale acknowledges that for the sake of the rebel cause he may have been responsible (and willingly so) for a gut-wrenching act of mass murder, and Katniss reaches the place‘where she is able to kill “without hesitation” when circumstances seem to require it. She also votes for another round of Hunger Games, which I think is one of the more brilliant and fascinating turns in the series, because it leaves us with deep questions about who Katniss is and has become, as well as what might emerge in any individual after undergoing these kinds of circumstances. Although let’s face it, I would have been the girl who made the fire in the first book, who thus foolishly expedited her departure from the games. And that’s if I had known how to make a fire in the first place. So this is probably all a moot point for me personally, since the likelihood of my own survival from the start would be pretty much nil.!

A couple random notes on which I don’t have time to expand further: I loved the imagery in the series. It was fitting that Katniss was the Mockingjay, as in being the face and voice of the rebel cause she was picking up a song that wasn’t really her own. The bomb and her resulting injuries are a perfect metaphor for the whole story itself. Mentally, emotionally, and, at the end, physically, Katniss passes through agonizing fire, and when it’s all over, her soul is as patchwork as her skin. Some of her former self is left - some of it untouched, but other parts “damaged but salvageable.” Some parts, of course, have been entirely ruined, and have been replaced with something new. (Another note: I didn’t understand the use of the phrase “fire mutt.” Weren’t “muttations” - which word, I thought, wasn't a very clever deviation from "mutation,"but I may have missed the point - genetically altered creatures? Why would being burned make her Katniss and Peeta "fire mutts"? I thought it was a little strange and unncessary.)

While I loved the story as a whole, I did think there were some elements the author could have developed further, and every once in awhile I came across phrasing that was so awkward I wondered how it made it through all her drafts and then an editor’s desk. Of course, this is all coming from someone who hasn’t written a wildly successful novel!

Now that The Hunger Games has been simmering in my brain for weeks, I really need to move on to something else!

From Leisure to the Humdrum

Today is the last day of our week long vacation at Edisto Beach. This is the fourth year we've come here, and each year we've enjoyed the peaceful, slow pace of an island that is heavy on wildlife and light on nightlife. There's really not much to do here as far as man-made entertainment - and we absolutely love it. (I should note here that my dad wishes the waves were bigger, but even that bodes well for families with young children!). The most exciting thing that happens to us is when we spot dolphins swimming in the ocean, which we do quite often here.

I had hoped to use this week to just BE with the children, as opposed to managing them throughout the day, and also to do some blogging that I hadn't had time for at home. The former I accomplished (thanks to my dad, who often kept Scarlett at the beach house, I was able to spend time with the rest of the munchkins at the beach), but the latter fell to the wayside. And that's fine, of course. It's the way I would have prioritized things had I been pressed.

Another goal was to come away from our vacation feeling recharged for going back into the fray. Sometimes I feel even more depleted after a break, but this time I truly do feel ready to hit the ground running when we return home. That's good, because that's precisely what we have to do when we get there. Almost every single one of our fall clubs and activities start next week. As I was pondering what our schedule was going to look like, I realized I was going to have redouble efforts to get a good routine going again, fussy baby or no. Being able to step out of things and enjoy a long respite from it all this week has, hopefully, enabled me to take a figurative breath and clear the cobwebs from my mother-of-a-newborn brain so that I think I'm ready to tackle the job ahead of me. Fortunately experience has taught me that a strict minute-by-minute schedule will be unrealistic even to attempt, so what we'll go for is just laying out and sticking to a general routine - but still, it will need to be a firm one.

Check back in later to see how well that goes!

And the Lost Return...

There's a picture that goes with this post, except that we've expended the life of yet another computer, and I can't work with pictures on Dave's work computer, so I can't do anything with said picture. Oh well.



The good news is that four days after Duchess' disappearance, and the day after we had a heart wrenching talk with Aimee about how it was unlikely that the cat was going to return, our next door neighbors knocked on our door and excitedly informed us that she was in their workshop. It seemed she had been stuck in the rafters all that time. So Dave went up to get her, and despite being bedraggled and hungry, she was otherwise ok.

Aimee's lesson in faith - check.

Anne's lesson in not jumping to conclusions about what God might or might not be doing - check!

Thanks, But Can We Have This Life Lesson Some Other TIme?

Please?

Aimee's cat Duchess was last seen Wednesday night, and, given her habit of bounding in the back door by dark at the latest, hopes for her return are now seriously waning. I know this is just a cat we're talking about, and these things happen, and this is just life. It's hard sometimes, and we learn and grow from these kinds of experiences, but oh, how I wish with all my being that we didn't have to do this right now, and didn't have to do it at all with Duchess. Aimee has loved her, cared for her, and has been as responsible and attentive a pet owner as anyone could hope for - it just seems cruel that she is losing something she has cherished so deeply. And I know better, but as I've prayed for Duchess' return and/or for Aimee's comfort, I've asked God why he would allow such a thing at an already stressful time (I spent all of Thursday morning listening to Aimee's tears and lamentations, while also consoling Scarlett during her long crying jags - it wasn't a happy time!). If one of our animals had to disappear, why did it have to be the most beloved one? And I even asked what would happen to Aimee's faith if it seems her passionate prayers go answered - and worse yet, if she has to pass through this particularly agonizing tug-of-war between hope and despair that will probably go on for days and maybe weeks until she finally gives up? Of course I know better - we don't need to go into theology or discuss the importance of a cat versus other issues in life - and even as the thought entered my head, I was reminded that God will take care of Aimee's faith in him. It's not even my business to try to defend Him to her in this matter, only to comfort her as she endures a difficult time.

I've always liked the part of The Horse and His Boy in which Aslan explains to a character that she doesn't need to know what's going to happen to another, because "No one is told any story but their own." I thought of that this week as I grappled with why God would allow this to happen to Aimee right now, and how it might affect her, etc. It's just alarming to realize (more than just intellectually) that my children have their own stories, and many parts of those stories have absolutely nothing to do with me. Some of my children, of course, are still in the stage of life in which I am the answer to all of their needs and questions. as far as they know anyway. It's a good thing that other aspects of that stage are difficult; otherwise I think we as mothers would want our kids to stay there forever. Who doesn't like being adored and being looked to as the one who can make the path of life fair (as it seems to us, anyway) and fairly easy? But my older children, Aimee in particular right now, are moving into an entirely different stage, one in which they are beginning to step out into their own story, full of griefs and joys - one in which they are beginning to deal with their Creator on their own. It's strange not to have as big a part of the conversation anymore.


But while it is strange, and while watching my oldest grow up often tugs at my heartstrings, it can also be wonderful. The same day we realized Duchess was truly missing, Aimee received a letter from the zoo, saying that she was invited to come for an interview for the "Kids' Comission". In the spring, she noticed that they were accepting application for this, which is a panel of 7-14 year-olds who give their opinions about some aspects of the zoo. (I'm still a little sketchy on the details!) The application involved writing a short essay, and so Aimee promptly wrote one and put it in an envelope. I remember when she brought it to me and asked me for a stamp, my first reaction was, "Wait - you need me to proofread that first!" I checked that first reaction, but I did ask her if she wanted me to read it. She said no, she was perfectly happy with it, and I swallowed feelings of wanting to make sure her handwriting was neat, her spelling accurate, and her writing polished enough to make a good impression. We mailed it, and I forgot about it until we reveived the letter this week. Aimee was beaming, her confidence lifted by having done something that was completely hers alone.

So I suppose there are some life lessons I'm welcoming this week. Still heartsick about others.

Are You Going to Read All These?

Librarians who don't know us as well as most of them do sometimes pose this question to the kids when we're checking out. Of course the answer is yes, and it almost turns out to be true. So the kids did actually devour - more than once - "supplemental" Ancient Egypt books you see on the long list to the right. Some were more popular than others, but all in all, we've covered quite a bit of Ancient Egyptian history in the past few week, and all without much effort on my part. (Like, like, like.) I'm probably supposed to make them do more writing on it, and they would like to do some activities from the Story of the World activity book (a chicken mummy? I'm on the fence about this)...but we'll see.

Life's Big Questions

When the baby is screaming - all morning long - is it better to let the kids cut up newspaper into little teeny tiny pieces all over the kitchen table, and eat cereal in, around, and all over the living room, and pull out all their pillows and blankets to make some kind of indoor campground in the hallway (oh, and pull out all their stuffed animals to join them, too!), and then get out some markers and paper (lots and lots of paper...) for "art time" ("Can I make a copy of this coloring page? What about this one? And can I have some tape? Can you help me with the tape? Why not?")...or to let them watch too much TV? (While I pondered this question, we managed to avoid the TV, but what price my sanity? Still pondering this big philosophical question.)

Does all the bouncing and pacing (and bouncing and pacing...and bouncing...and pacing...) that I've been doing to console the baby count as a workout? Or, even if it does, does periodically downing handfuls of chocolate cancel out any benefits? And exactly how much do I care?

When the baby finally falls asleep, what to do? Should I take a shower and get dressed? Should I clean up the bits of newspaper (or the breakfast things all over the kitchen and living room?). Should I do something about lunch, since the morning is now over? Should I ask the kids to do something that resembles schoolwork? Should I throw in a load of laundry? Dry and fold one? Put one away? Should I do none of the above and just sit in silence with my eyes closed for a minute and hope I don't fall asleep? (Should I now, in this particular quiet moment, be sitting in my pajamas and blogging? Probably not...)

Fortunately, these were yesterday's questions. Today has been a little smoother. Still, this is the extent of my deep thinking these days!

Being a Mom of More than Most...

I want to say first of all that I realize it's not a competition. and I'm not for an instant suggesting that. For one thing, I have a number of friends who have larger families than I do, so I wouldn't even come close to winning. But there's something about having five children that seems to nudge one over the "you must be crazy" edge. If people took note of how many children we had in tow before, now I can almost see their lips moving as they count us all up. "One, two, three, four...five?!" So it seems that five children is more than most people have, want to have, or can even imagine having. Hence the catchy title.

But this isn't meant to be a comprehensive look at all the ins and outs of being such a mom; it's just a snapshot of my first real week as one. The first week after Scarlett's birth doesn't really count, as I stayed in bed dutifully and let Dave, and then my mom, take care of the other kids and the house. For that week, I allowed myself to be a mom of just one, and I didn't assume my full responsibilities again until last Friday. After eight days of doing nothing but snuggling with a newborn, I was pretty well rested, we had no appointments or anything much to do, and Dave was off again the next day... so that day doesn't really count, either. Monday was my real inauguration into life with all five of my charges. I'd like to say that beginning that day we had a week full of peaceful snuggle time, with lots of reading to older children during nursing sessions. I'd like to say that, once more at the helm, I directed a cheerful flow to our day, that the older children were always happy and productive, and that the baby was blissed out in the sling while we all went about our orderly business.

But alas.

The reality, of course, is that Scarlett wasn't always as easy to please as is instructed in the fifth-baby handbook, and that often while I was attempting to console her, some of the older kids were fighting loudly (or pulling out every toy in the house, or raiding the pantry - again, or picking handfuls of green tomatoes out of the garden...) and other children, completely oblivious to the chaos, were asking me to help them locate Scotch tape or inquiring about random Star Wars trivia. The reality is that all the kids watched a little too much TV and played a little too much Wii this week. The reality is that sometimes when Dave came home I retreated to my bedroom to rock the baby...and rocked her for quite a long time after she was sound asleep enough to put her down.

Then again, there were plenty of positives - more often than not at least the beds were made (at some point in the day), everyone was fed, and they all enjoyed plenty of bonding time with Daddy in the evenings. We had two appointments this past week, one to the pediatrician for Scarlett and one to the dentist for Drew, and we made it to both on time. A friend watched the older four kids for the former, but the latter was my first solo outing with the kids, and we survived it!

And sometimes Scarlett was blissed out in a sling...

The Name

It is a fact that Gone With the Wind is one my favorite movies. I've loved it ever since I was just a little older than Aimee is now, and it used to be the movie of choice at my birthday sleepovers. So I probably will call my new daughter "Miss Scarlett" every now and then, and I don't think the Scarlett O'Hara quotes thrown our way (yes, I mean YOU, Sarah Elliot!) will ever bother me.

But while I admit this was all in the back of my mind when I began contemplating the name Scarlett, it isn't the reason we eventually chose it. It's funny how I had a list of favorite girl names I had been hanging onto for years, and yet I still searched through lists of baby names (and only ever girl names, even before an ultrasound confirmed what I think I knew from the start), not quite satisfied with any of those favorites. The little soul I was carrying was someone different than the potential daughters of the past - the daughters, incidentally, whose absence I didn't mourn. I had always wanted boys, and with some of the finest specimens have I been gifted. But this time, from the moment I suspected her presence, it was a girl, and it seemed just the right time for another one of that variety.

That said, from the time we announced that we were expecting her, there was an undeniable vibe that "another one" would only make sense for us if it were going to be a girl. Because for heaven's sake, five? We had better be having a girl, anyway, because we certainly didn't "need" another boy, even if we did insist on having another baby we didn't "need." I don't mean we got this from people who love us, but we certainly heard it from society in general. So as I began thinking about names, I knew we needed to give this baby a name that would forever speak against that vibe. Even when it was confirmed that she was a girl - and I almost hated giving nosy strangers the satisfaction of that knowledge when they rudely inquired, "You're having a girl, I hope?" - I wanted to let her know that she wasn't just "another one," a superfluous baby who was only good for being displayed in pink. I wanted her always to know that she will always be wanted and needed, a vital part of our family, whose very existence will give us more than the insignificant numbers it will cost us to raise her. (Ugh - I really loathe when the "cost" of raising children is expressed in monetary terms.)

So something struck me when I came across the name "Scarlett" one day. Of course it only refers to a shade of red, but I find red to be a vibrant, cheerful color, and I like to have at least some threads of it in each room. It makes me happy, and that's the thought that remained with me when I pondered that name, which I also found to be a pretty and unique one. Not everyone in the family was sold on it when I first suggested it, but it remained on the list, and they began to warm up to it. But when we first saw her on the ultrasound screen , suddenly there she was - Scarlett. It was just WHO she was. Dave apparently felt the same way, too, because while we hadn't said anything about it in the doctor's office, he sent me a text later that day and asked how Scarlett was doing. And that was that.

As for Jane, I can't even remember when that was first suggested, but it just seemed to fit, and when I put the names together, I could picture the spirited girl I imagined she would probably grow up to be. Oh yes, and then there's this relative we have who has the name Jane...who herself is a rather spirited and vibrant individual, so that was probably some of it, too. (But don't let it go to your head, Erica Jane, baby sister o' mine.) Jane, too, means, "God is gracious," and that fit with our theme as well. Very simply put, grace is getting things we don't deserve. We don't find our children to be trophies that fit into the neat decor of our own lives - because, among, other things, that would lend itself to suggest that too many of them, or too many of the wrong kind, would be...too many. And even worse, that the ones we have are ones we "deserve." We believe instead that God creates people for his own purpose, and so that our children don't ultimately belong to us anyway. But as usual with God's plans and purposes, He weaves the big picture and the small pictures together in a perfect tapestry. With our children, this means that they are gifts to us - gifts we don't deserve and therefore can't rightfully hoard, but ones we welcome, treasure, and protect.

So, in giving our new gift this name we are saying that you, Scarlett Jane, are more than a fifth child and a ninth grandchild. You are not one too many, more than we need, a slip-up, an extra, or a problem that we should have "fixed" before you were conceived. You are God's gift to us, an outpouring of his graciousness in our lives, and you are bringing to our family vibrance, color, and happiness - and we're so glad you're here!

Scarlett Jane Meester

I haven't been diligent at all in my blogging of late - well, for the last nine months, I suppose - or else I would have posted at least once about how blessed I was during my pregnancy. Obviously I had my share of the typical and less than pleasant pregnancy symptoms, but by now those are a distant memory. And I suppose those are part of the blessing anyway. But what I'm referring to, at any rate, is having had a support system of caregivers who made the time of preparation a beautiful and peaceful one. Having connected with my midwife, Jami, from the very first time I spoke to her on the phone, my visits with her (here at our house) were some of the most pleasant hours of my pregnancy and were almost therapeutic in nature. She was a vital part in helping me to prepare in all ways for the birth, which I wanted to be one of faith and not of fear. I needed to work through some issues from past births, but I also wanted to be purposeful in letting this birth have its own story, rather than just be full of reactions against the past - and she certainly helped me sort through those feelings and take postive steps. The fact that she shares my faith and would pray with me at times also contributed toward the feeling of being kindred spirits. And of course she was careful and professional in guiding me through the ins and outs of the pregnancy and in watching over the growth of the baby. When questions arose that required some outside help, she directed me to an OB who proved to be both genuinely concerned over my welfare and the baby's, and completely unthreatened by serving as a back-up, which was refreshing. Even his nurse, who had had a midwife for her last birth, was kind and supportive, and even sent me a personal note a couple weeks ago. And then throughout the last trimester, I went to a chiropractor Jami recommended, in the hopes that we could have things lined up correctly in order to have the easiest birth possible (i.e. not the posterior variety I had experienced the last two times!). Said chiropractor is a down-to-earth, understanding woman with a small, no-frills office, and she, too, seemed truly to care about my overall well-being and about helping me achieve a good birth. It didn't even bother her in the least when the kids had to come with me.

So...the bottom line is that I felt beautifully supported throughout my pregnancy, and as the time for delivery drew near, I felt prepared , and, at the same time, largely stress-free. As in my other pregnancies, I did feel the need to organize and scour, cook and freeze, and generally nest liike crazy, but I didn't feel like I was going crazy as I did it, and for the most part I felt content to let things happen whenever and in whatever way they were going to happen. Because the other kids were born either a few days before or right on their respective due dates, I did feel fairly confident that we could probably expect a baby somewhere in the 40th week, but I tried to not put everything on hold or get too keyed up about it as that time arrived. I didn't want any anxious hours of waiting or being watched every time I thought labor might be starting, and as we entered this week, we planned for all our usual activities.

Even when at my prenatal on Tuesday Jami reported that I was at 4 cm and 85% effaced, I still tried not to read into that too much (it doesn't always mean much, after all), and I felt comfortable letting Dave go fishing that night. Jami had brought over a birth ball that morning, and I sat on it while I read to the boys at bedtime and then later when I enjoyed some time to myself and watched an season 1 episode of Lost on Netflix. I had been having good Braxton Hicks contractions for a few days, but sitting on the ball that night soon changed the nature of those contractions, so that they were actually a little painful. I got off the ball and onto the couch, watched (ahem!) another episode, and contemplated once or twice calling Dave and suggesting that he might want to come home. But I checked the urge and reminded myself that I didn't want to panic, so eventually I just decided to go to bed and see what happened. It took me until after midnight to go to sleep, and I was beginning to hope a little...when I finally settled into a nice sleep, and only woke up a couple times for my customary bathroom visits. I had contractions each of those times, but was always able to go back to sleep, so, slightly disappointed, I concluded that it just been a trial run. I consoled myself by reasoning that it would probably be best if things held off until the weekend, anyway - I still had some things I wanted to finish around the house and in my school planning. I woke up that morning planning to take the kids to the movies (the Free Family Film festival that theaters put on during the summer), even though as we were doing chores and getting ready, my contractions resumed a steady pace and were still somewhat painful. Since I could still get around without too much pause at each one, though, I was determined to make it through the day as planned, and we headed off to the theater. We settled into our seats, and a lady behind us took a look at my belly and quipped, "Gracious, you're not going to have that baby in the theater, are you?" I smiled, pretending I found that amusing, and then struggled the entire time to hide the truth that in fact the contractions I was having were awfully distracting. I even tried to convince myself that they weren't bothering me all that much, but for most of the movie I just wished it would be over, and the thought escaped that if they got the slightest bit stronger or closer together, I wasn't going to want to be by myself.

When we finally got home, the kids were hungry, and I asked Aimee to make lunch while I supervised, but with every contraction, I ducked around a corner and dealt with it quietly, because I didn't want the kids to get excited or be worried...even though I was still not admitting any thoughts of real labor myself. I did straighten some rooms up and vacuum, because if it were labor...well, I hadn't been cleaning vigorously for a week so people could come in to a mess, contractions or not! It turned out, though, that I couldn't get everything. The kids moved from lunch to art projects at the school room table, and by that point, I was definitely getting too distracted to care about clearning up after them. I did call Jami then to let her know that I was having contractions that I thought were about ten minutes apart, and that I didn't know what they signified, if anything, but since she had wanted an early heads-up, I thought it couldn't hurt to call. She suggested I try to get into the chiropractor for an adjustment to see if that changed anything, but as she was telling me this, I had a contraction, and after she listened to me deal with it, she laughed ans said she thought I was probably in labor. I told her I wasn't sure, but that I would schedule and appointment and call her in an hour with an update. I made an appointment with the chiropractor for 3:30, texted Dave to let him know I might need him, but NOT to come home just then, and then timed some contractions out of curiosity. As it turned out, they were actually 6-7 minutes apart, and a few were only 4 minutes apart. When I called Jami after the elapsed hour, she laughed some more and told me she really thought it was labor and didn't think I was going to make my chiropractor's appointment. She said she could come whenever I liked, and I told her I still wasn't convinced, so I would just call her with an update later. This was at about 2:00, and I texted Dave again to tell him what she had said, but that I also wasn't yet sure and I still didn't want him to come home. But then at 2:30 I had a contraction that prompted me to send him another text and tell him that I had changed my mind and wanted him sooner rather than later. He was home about ten minutes later, and when I expressed doubts about being able to make it through an adjustment, he told me that he didn't think I should go, and he called the office for me to cancel it. I was back in our room at that point, sitting on the birth ball and simmering in a state of uncertainty. Dave came back and suggested that he should probably have someone to come get the kids, and I told him no, because I still wasn't sure if it was the real thing, and I didn't know what to do or when. He watched me for a few more minutes and commented that I was being stubborn and it really looked like labor to him, at which point I began to cry, protesting that I hadn't imagined going into labor in the middle of the day, and my room was too light, etc....at which point he smiled, covered the windows, and announced that he was going to call Jami to come, and he was going to ask my mom to come get the kids. I cried irrationally for a few more minutes while he took care of everything, but at least at that point, I had moved to a state of semi-acceptance that I probably was in labor.

Jami's daughter Jessica, a labor and delivery nurse who assists her when she's available, arrived first, at around 3:30, and began matter-of-factly setting the room up with the birth supplies, and also massaging my back with each contraction. I wanted to protest that she might want to wait until we really knew. but she seemed so calm and decisive that I didn't say anything, and then Jami and Brooke, the doula who assists her, both arrived at about 4:00 and settled right in to the labor motions as well. I remembered that Jami had said they didn't mind about false alarms, anyway, and I reasoned that if my labor stalled out, it wouldn't be the first time they had dealt with it. Jami and Jessica cheerfully took my vitals, while Brooke, without a moment's hesitation, starting in massaging my back with each contraction (I immediately realized she was going to be amazing), and pretty soon I resigned myself further to the idea that this was the real deal, although I did mention once or twice that it seemed surreal. They asked me if I wanted them to fill the birth tub (I had wanted another go at a waterbirth, and had borrowed a friend's birth pool, which was ready and waiting in a corner of our bedroom), and I was taken aback, thinking that it was too early. But Jami said my contractions were coming regularly and were lasting about 90 seconds at that point, so she thought I was well into active labor and could get in anytime I wanted. Still, I waited until sometime after 6:00 before asking them to fill it. Dave ran a hose from the hot water hook-up to the washing machine, and filled the tub. Everyone but Dave left the room so that I could get in and get comfortable (and I was relieved that we actually had some food in house so that they could have dinner!), and I tentatively climbed in and hoped my labor wouldn't stop. It didn't, and I tried out different positions through the next several contractions, figuring out what worked best. At some point Jami, Jessica, and Brooke came back in to check on me and listen to the baby, and Brooke began massaging my back again - leaning over the tub! She was incredible and, it seemed, tireless. It was somewhere around this point that I reflected how it seemed like I should have felt like a "watched pot," or at least should have felt awkward with them just being there, sitting quietly around the tub, but they were so calm and unhurried that they exuded a sense of being perfectly content to sit and wait on my every need. There wasn't a single vibe that I was inconveniencing anyone...even as they were frequently bailing out cooled water to make room for more hot water. As the contractions became more intense, I grew more tired, and I commented once that I hoped the baby was getting the point and things were actually moving along. Jami asked if I wanted her to check me, and I said yes, thinking I might like to know. She tried to check me while I was in the water, but ended up needing me to get out, which I reluctantly did. A couple of contractions out of the water reminded me how much the water was actually doing for me, and I looked forward to getting back in! But Jami did the exam, and reported that I was at 6 cm. and 90% effaced. My bag of waters was also bulging, which accounted for the pressure and overall discomfort I had been feeling in front. She offered to have give me some more privacy at that point, and I could only nod as I climbed back in the tub. Dave sat silently on the bed in front of me, probably waiting for the inevitable meltdown, which came only a few minutes later. In previous births I had always been "stuck" at about 6 cm. In Chase's, this had been particularly agonizing, and I had been at a place of feeling exhausted and overwhelmed for what had seemed an almost unbearable number of hours. So I had been working during this pregnacny toward an easier, faster labor, but it seemed, at that moment, that my efforts had been in vain. I was despondent over the idea of having to labor in pain for countless hours more., and I began sobbing. I verged on hysterics through the next several contractions, which of course didn't help, until I finally resolved - just a little bit, but enough to pull myself together - to stop thinking about the past and focus on what I needed to do this time. I asked Dave to call someone in to continue massage and counterpressure on my back, and they all came back. I didn't seem like much longer (and later Jami told me it was about an hour, that I was in transition, and this time I was in an almost trance-like state. I could only mutter things in one word, like "Hot," "Cold," or "Juice", and whatever I needed appeared almost instantly. The only full sentence I could utter was, "I don't want to do this anymore," and that I repeated often, although I told Dave later that I didn't have any thought of actually wanting to go to the hospital or anything like that; I just needed to say the words. I was having fierce contractions one after the other. Some were double-peaked, and during a particularly rough one after I been in the bathroom and was out of the water for a few minutes, I could hear the seams in Dave's shirt ripping as I held on to him. Somewhere around this time, that pesky bag of water broke, and for just a minute I enjoyed a completely blissful feeling of relief as it slid out. It was only momentary, of course, and very soon I had to focus hard again to stay on top of the contractions. I felt like I was barely hanging on, and it was only the last rational thought I had left, tiny as it was, that held everything together - the thought that I couldn't let go and give up, mostly because there wasn't even a precipice to go over. I wouldn't go anywhere, and nothing would happen, except that the contractions would be in control, instead of me. One contraction did actually get ahead of me, and the resulting feeling also helped prompt me to work to stay on top of the rest of them. During this stage, Jami would say, "We're with you," as each contraction began, and while in the moment being reminded of that didn't seem to help, it was a bouying force.

Finally I felt a familiar urge I had been waiting for, and I told Jami I had to push. Calmly, she said, "Sure - you can push a little with the next one," and even pushing just a little with the next couple helped. She checked for the baby's head, said it was close, and soon I was really bearing down with each contraction. I generally like pushing, and felt relief this time as well - I suppose I like being able to do something with the contractions instead of feeling like I'm hanging on for dear life. Also this time I felt as though I could control them a little. They began to space out, as they do during the pushing phase, and I felt like I could hold them off until I was ready. Whether it was true or not I'm not sure, but when I felt twinges of one coming but felt like I needed a few more seconds to rest, I would chant, "Break, break, break." Pushing was hard work, though, and I wondered after awhile if we were getting anywhere. It turned out to be about an hour before I felt the head come through. I was in a semi-squatting position then, and I wasn't actually sure I had felt her head come, because while usually the rest of the body follows pretty quickly, this time Jami asked me to recline so that she could see "what was going on." She asked me to bear down hard with the next contraction, and I when I did, I felt a tremendous pulling. (Later everyone told me that the shoulders were stuck, and Jami had had to do a little pulling to get the baby out). I was so surprised by the intensity of this feeling that I was shocked when the next thing I knew there was a baby in my arms. I looked up at Dave and actually said, "It's a baby! We have a baby!" Then I was asking if she was okay, because she wasn't crying, but everyone assured me she was fine. I also asked if it was before midnight, because I had been hoping she would have a June birthday - it was 11:36pm, with which news I was thrilled. After I talked to her a little, she cried some, and then after looking her over Jami told me we needed to get out and over to the bed to deliver the placenta. With everyone's help, I got out of the tub, holding a still-attached baby - which was a funny feeling! - and went over to the bed. Scarlett began rooting around, and I wanted to nurse her, partly because I felt it would ground me a little - and I was still feeling a bit in shock - but I wanted to wait until the cord was cut. We were waiting for it to stop pulsing for that, but the cord pulsed for over 20 minutes. Jami said she had never seen one go so long! She told me today that she asked another midwife about it, and was told that sometimes the baby's heartbeat is so strong that blood is actually being pumped through in the opposite direction. But it finally did stop, was clamped and then cut, and I finally put an eager Scarlett to the breast, where she nursed for a few minutes. Delivering the placenta was a little harder than I remember it being in past births, and then there were some clots that had to be worked out. I had to give the baby to Dave while Jessica massaged my uterus, because it was rather painful and I couldn't focus on the baby. When I did get her back, though, I nursed her on the other side, which appeared to be her favorite. We all remarked that it's funny how babies often have a favorite from the beginning. After she was done nursing, Jami checked her over - she was beautifully healthy - and weighed and measured her. She weighed in at 8 lbs, 10 oz, and was 19 3/4 inches long.

And then it was over. It was only a little while longer that Jami, Jessica, and Brooke took to finish cleaning up and setting things back in order. Dave drained the pool out the window, and we all laughed about how funny it would look to the neighbors if they happened to see him. We also recounted some of the funny moments during the labor, some of which I had appreciated at the time, and others I had been unaware of. My Mom had the kids at a nearby hotel, and Dave went to get Aimee, who was still awake and waiting for the news. He brought her back and she held her long-awaited sister for a few precious minutes before we sent her to bed. (Mom brought the boys the next morning.) Around 2:00am everyone else gave me hugs and said good-bye, and then Dave and I curled up in bed with our new daughter. We had been so tired all night long, but we were suddenly unable to go to sleep as we stared at her sleeping soundly. It still seemed so unreal that she was there - that the previous morning we hadn't known she was coming, and now she was with us. Dave finally went to sleep a little after 3:00, and it took me longer, but I knew I could sleep later. It was just so amazing to look at my little girl.

That little girl is now waking, and this story has to have an end eventually, so I'll conclude it here! I want to explain her name, but we'll save that for a later post. Off to feed her now.

Hannah commented that I was permitted a lapse in posting, as long as I don't fail to give proper notice when our little girl arrives in a few weeks. I'm sure that won't be a problem - in the ecstatic glow after birth, I generally write up several pages of a birth story, and this time probably won't be any different. But in the meantime, I also thought I shouldn't fail to give homage to another birth, in which my sister Mary K. produced a snugglekins of a little girl just last week.

Welcome to the world, Lucca!

(That's her dad's chest, by the way!)

She was born at home, arriving well after her due date and weighing in at 9 pounds, both factors which would have had doctors itching to induce, and thus likely robbing my sister of the peaceful birth I believe she experienced. So it's primarily for that reason I am so glad she was able to be at home. But really more than that, I am thrilled that Mary K. had the opportunity to become educated about birth before having her first baby, so that when the time came, she was able to know what she wanted and to make her own choices, and I'm proud of her for having the confidence to trust in those choices, wherever she might have chosen to have her baby. Not many of us are able to do that at the very beginning of our mothering experiences; most of us have had to learn things the hard way. My own journey has been a long winding one over ten years, covering a variety of birth experiences as it has led me to where I am now on the birth spectrum. Despite the fact that there were things I would have done differently for those births early in the journey, I do value being able to relate to moms and their different birth experiences, as well as being able to look at my sister and her delicious pink bundle and feeling so relieved for her that both of them were spared those effects of medically managed birth that I really do regret. (Episiotomy - need I say more???)

But I do not mean to wax too philosophical here. We are just so happy to have this new niece and cousin, and the kids, who prayed faithfully for her safe arrival, were very excited to meet her the very same day she was born.

Here's the oldest and the youngest of my parent's grandchildren, girls nearly ten years apart.

And the boys waiting their turn....

And Amita enjoying a snuggle (I am NEVER called Aunt Anne). Did I mention this baby is snuggly?

Excuses, Excuses

I see that once again, I have let a ridiculously long period of time lapse in between posts. This used to happen because of the whirlwind of activity that kept us on the go most of the spring semester, and then it happened because I was just trying to be done with school for our mini summer break. During this period of time, my goals changed almost hourly - "Let's get this book done... or at least to lesson such-and-such... Ok, let's bake a chocolate cake and celebrate being done with school today! I rationalize this by adding to/elaborating on my educational philosophy, and explaining (to myself) that since I am not passing my students off to anyone next year, what does it matter if we just pick up where we left off in certain subjects? Even if we didn't make it to an even-numbered lesson in the book. And now that I've said that I feel obligated to explain that the kids did make it through some of their books, and if we didn't see the end of a book, it was usually because I didn't find those particular books a priority and felt we could easily "catch-up" later. The kids aren't "behind" on any subjects, and in fact, Aimee's standardized test scores arrived a couple weeks ago, and...well, it seems she's doing more than fine. So.

But now that we're finished with school proper for several weeks (and get this, I don't have a plan AT ALL for when we're going to start back up again! Our usual schedule would have us starting July 5th, and we might be a little preoccupied with other things around that time this year.), my excuses for not having posted are...are... I'm not exactly sure. It could be because of my intense nesting projects that have been going on in the house the past several weeks, and are scheduled to wrap up in the next couple weeks. It could be just the general tunnel vision into which my perspective has been narrowing, as the time for a certain little girl's arrival steadily approaches and I find myself hunkering down and getting mind, body, and spirit ready for the task - and the glories - ahead.

Or it could be the time-consuming business of attending to my current mothering projects, such as the one who walked up the hallway a few days ago, brandishing safety scissors and a particularly impish grin. "I gave Duchess [the cat] a haircut!" he announced proudly. Thankfully, he's not at all sneaky. For him, there's not much fun in doing something if you aren't going to let people know you did it. I didn't think the cat would really have sat still long enough for him to have snipped any fur, but I still went investigating, and sure enough, I found a not-insignificant pile of white fur on my bedroom floor. Then yesterday, just as I went into the bathroom (of course it never fails), both little boys came in from outside, calling my name. They found me, and Chase came right in (of course) and said, "Mommy, I have a worm present for you!", thrusting said "present" into my face and then laughing hysterically at my involuntary reaction. That same little boy is sporting a bloody nose this morning after the morning's wrestling session with his brother didn't go so well. But despite of, or because of, all this sort of thing, he's just so cute, which makes the necessity of keeping my eye on him at all times not such a hardship after all.

So all that doesn't explain much, but at least it comprises something to post this morning!

The Things We Wish We Had Said...

Does it ever happen to you that someone asks you a question, and only later can you think of the witty, thoughtful, or just basically intelligent reply you ought to have given? Yes, I thought so. Well, here's my most recent example of just such a situation.

Over Easter weekend, one of Dave's relatives asked me how long we thought we would homeschool. After having fumbled through the answers to some other pointed questions about family size and homeschooling, I was relieved to be able to answer this one directly, and I said we would probably go all the way to graduation. But then this relative leveled her gaze at me (she really did - it was somewhat unnerving) and said,

"So you feel you have a sufficient grasp of every single high school subject?"

And the smile froze on my face as I considered how to answer that. Later I remembered a few witty things with which I could have responded, such as,

"Why yes, actually, I do! I was homeschooled myself, you know!"

or, with an expression of panic, "I hadn't thought about that!"

But I don't think that sort of humor would have been appreciated, so it was probably best I didn't have a chance to think of it as I gave a barely intelligent (and probably not very convincing) response about outsourcing. I could have, however, at least mentioned that my homeschool friends and I all made it through the high school years, none of us having parents who were experts at "every single subject," and we seem to have done well for ourselves on the whole. Most of us had above average SAT scores (some had incredible ones!), made it into college, and proceeded to do very well there. I have friends who went on to become talented nurses, engineers, photographers...It's true that not everyone went all the way through college (for various reasons), or even went, or had impressive high school records, but I'm fairly certain that the same is true of public and private school student bodies.

And I could have gone on to talk about why I think we all managed to survive, and why I believe my children won't be shortchanged or ruined, either. Growing up, we fit somewhere in between the first and second generation of the modern homeschooling movement, so while my parents didn't exactly have to create the path, it was certainly a new one when they began walking it. In short, there were many things I think they figured out along the way, and many things we all learned together. That process gave us, the students (and probably our parents, too!), the ability to learn how to learn, which sounds simple enough but is really an amazing gift. When you cannot simply take a teacher's word for it, you have to look it up for yourself, and to do that, you have to learn how to find the resources, and to determine whether they're reliable, and you must explore and question constantly. I think this usually results in an immersion in what I like to call "an atmosphere of learning," in which the lines between "formal education" (i.e. being told what to know and what you're supposed to do with it) and the rest of your life become rather blurred. Learning doesn't start and stop at predetermined intervals, and the fear of learning diminishes.

I am absolutely not saying that this can't happen to students in public schools, please understand me, but I am saying that I have never been in a situation in which a group of public students overwhelmed or intimidated me with learning skills acquired from a lifetime of teachers with a "sufficient grasp" of their subjects; in fact, rather the opposite was true. As a senior in high school, I took a couple classes at the local technical college to fulfill my high school requirements, and I remember being confused at how unnecessarily difficult many of the students seemed to make the classes. Chemistry, for instance, was neither my forte nor even a remote interest of mine, but it didn't take long to determine what it was we were supposed to get out of the class and the best way to get it. We weren't supposed to learn everything there is to know about chemistry, but many students remained stuck in their fear of just the word and couldn't seem to see the forest for the trees, as the saying goes. The English class I took was even worse, as most of the students barely had a grasp of the most basic writing skills and therefore certainly couldn't put together coherent essays comprised of their own thoughts. Later, when I graduated and went to a university, I didn't find things much better among the general population of students. Many students had a very difficult time NOT being told what to do, think, write, and say at every turn, and found the task of doing, learning, and thinking for themselves a challenging one. The point of this is to say that while there are plenty of people, from all different educational backgrounds, who are smarter than I am - and, for the record, a good number of friends who were educated in the public schools and whom I quite respect - I have not found myself behind the masses. I have found, instead, that the ability to learn for myself has been a most valuable gift.

I've been able to bring that gift, and the lack of fear that accompanies it, along with me in the journey of educating my own children. (Ok, ok, not a complete lack of fear and doubt - no one's perfect!) I do remember that in the beginning, I wondered if I would actually be able to teach my children how to read. But it happened - and most of it without my direct instruction. And that's usually how most learning happens around here. I give them a springboard (and there's a vast array of resources these days), we learn together, and if they're really interested, they wallow around in more facts, information, and knowledge than any teacher could every give them. I think about Aimee's "sufficient grasp" of The Lord of the Rings, a book she's read voluntarily now three or four times, all without the knowledge that she's not "supposed" to tackle or understand that until junior high or high school. Then there's Drew's recent love of World War II study. After three weeks of poring over books I had brought home on the subject (and becoming, in the process, a walking encyclopedia of WWII facts, including battles, leaders, and all kinds of other statistics) he begged me for more, and I brought him home an armload of more fact-filled non-fiction, with more World War II information than I've ever known or could teach him. What's funny is that recently both of them moaned something about not liking school. I asked them what they were talking about, and referenced the above. Aimee replied, "We don't mean reading or history- we mean 'school'," which beyond a subject or two each, they never could really explain further. The point is that the learning that goes on here all the time, the learning that is above and beyond what would be asked of them elsewhere, is approached without dread or worry, usually because they hardly know they're doing it. And what of those subjects that they don't love, or those with which I really have no familiarity at all? Knowing that they are hard-wired for learning, at the very least we don't worry that we need someone competent to feed the information to us. We tackle those subjects together, and when we don't understand, we look for more resources to help us...and when we still can't grasp it, we go find people who might know. And that's what we'll keep doing, learning and growing together all the way through.

Are you still there? If you are, you're right, this particular relative wouldn't be at this point if I had attempted to give such an answer. As it was, I had the distinct impression that I had been dismissed and was no longer of much interest after my feeble answers. But I feel better now, anyway!

Belated Update

Oh my...I haven't been very faithful here at all! You probably aren't interested in my schedule, but I still feel I should explain that life has been more than busy these past few months (especially since emerging from that state of the walking dead of the first trimester). And then I should explain that I realize that many people carry around this kind of load on a regular basis (and probably do it ever so much better), but it seems ridiculously busy for me, who at times in my life have found the idea of leaving the house on consecutive days to be an appalling one, and even then, have struggled to go farther than a five-mile radius from home. I am not exaggerating - you could ask my husband and my erstwhile therapist. But I have had a most happy respite from virtually all my OCD symptoms and other anxieties for a little over a year now, which has opened the door for us all to have a more flourishing social and school calendar this year...which in turn has at times produced some whirlwind weeks. And months. This spring has been such that it's the first year I've really understood the sentiment of moms who can hardly wait for the end of the official school calendar. May sits tantalizingly close on the calendar, beckoning me with promises of rest.

But all this simply to say that after all the homeschool clubs, riding lessons, Girl Scouts, soccer practices and games, music lessons, church functions and responsibilities (oh yes, and school somewhere in there), I have little time (again, it seems for me) left to post here, which I am beginning to miss, whether anyone misses me or not! Requiring the most immediate attention is my promise to update on the baby's health, which was somewhat in question as of my last posting. I did put something on Facebook, but it didn't answer everything, because some of you have asked about it. Forgive me! At any rate, the ultrasound showed a very healthy, active little girl (and it would have been perfectly wonderful either way, but there were some happy tears upon that discovery, I do confess), in a healthy uterus, with a healthy amount of fluid. The cause for my rapid and somewhat excessive growth? She's a big baby! Measuring at about 2 pounds already (at 24 weeks), she already had delightful little fat rolls along her back at that point. Now, things have evened out a little, so we're not quite so over the top in measurements, but it seems pretty clear that we're not going to be looking at a six and half pounder, a la her big sister (who is tall now, but for whom the word "big" is in every other way rather inappropriate).

Children are beginning to wake up here, so I'll wrap this up, with promises to return soon, I hope!

Baby News

For the past couple weeks, I've been mentally composing the post which would announce our expected twins.

Wait, wait.

That was increasingly becoming a more likely possibility, and when I went on Thursday to the doctor my midwife recommended, he, too, really thought he was going to see two babies on the ultrasound screen (and was, endearingly, rather excited about the prospect). But after looking around thoroughly, it turned out there was just one baby tucked away in there, growing well and looking just right to be due in early July. This was all great news, but still failed to explain why I had been growing rapidly and was measuring several centimeters over the expected measurement for my dates. Further probing revealed more fluid than should be there, so now I'm scheduled for level 3 ultrasound next week, to do a full biophysical profile of our little one. Apparently the high fluid volume could indicate a problem with the baby's kidneys (what's that? No, I can't be more gender specific, because I asked not to know. I'm feeling enormously proud of my self-control, and pleased with the frustrated expressions of my family members!). So while we're relieved to be expecting just one (oh, the sleepless nights! I didn't announce publicly that I was facing this possibility, but I'm telling you all now that my nerves were wound very tightly for a number of days), we're praying now for the complete health of our baby. Do join with us, and look for a great report on Tuesday!

Winter Birthdays

I mentioned in my last post (which wasn't, it seems, too cheesy after all - thanks!) that I am enjoying the anticipation of a baby's arrival along with the coming of summer - that as things come to life and bloom, we'll be closer to the day our new little one will arrive.

So it HAS been a pleasant experience, one I haven't had in ten years. But the births in between have had their own perks, the last two giving a happy boost to the stereotypically grey and tedious month of February. And thus my (late) homage to my little boys, Ryan and Chase, who share the birthday of February 15th. To be more specific, of course, they are two years apart, and we have to make it clear that we celebrate TWO birthdays on that day, but still, those two birthdays always give a bright lift to the winter, as they did this year. For one thing, Ryan, who celebrated turning five, had spent the previous months creating a contagious spirit of anticipation for his birthday. "How many more days until my birthday?" - every day for countless weeks and months! And indeed, how could we not be excited for our clever, entertaining Ryan? But how can he be five already? I still remember the very first time I looked into his deep blue eyes that looked so amazingly knowing for a baby - an old soul, some call it.

Chase did not count down the days to his birthday this year, but then, that might not ever be his thing - where Ryan is intensely focused and always thinking, Chase is, while no less intelligent, a more carefree sort. Actually, he's a loose cannon, a wild thing, a happy daredevil...who scares (and sometimes just infuriates) months off my life but then adds them back by being so loving. His first words to me in the morning are usually, "I love you - you're so cute!", and then he crinkles those ridiculously gorgeous eyes in his most endearing smile...and I'm ready for another hair-raising day. And I frequently think back to his first moments, ones that reflected his personality even then - how he made a funny little squeak even before he was completely out, and then once he was born, he latched on vigorously, nursed for an hour at least, then belched heartily like a much older baby. Always ahead of the game, believing himself to be older than he actually is, he hasn't slowed down...or indeed, even stopped moving, since.

Happy Birthday, Ryan and Chase!


(And how I would love to post pictures with this! But alas, both our computers are down for different reasons, and I'm Dave's work computer this weekend.)

Seasons

Ok, I know this has the potential to be pretty cheesy - and goodness, knows, I really dislike cheesy, so I may not even be able to forgive myself after this. I tried to read a blog a couple of times, the subject matter of which I was somewhat interested in, but it was so syrupy-sweet that my brain felt sticky after reading it, and I just couldn't go on (no, it wasn't any of yours, my few but faithful readers!). At any rate, I hope I don't give you a similar feeling with this post! But if I do, chalk it up to pregnancy hormones.

A few days ago I walked past a window and was struck with that fleeting, intangible, but quite distinct feeling that signals the promise of a turning season. Do you know what I mean? It happens before the change of every season - and it's usually prompted just by the way the light comes in and seems suddenly and subtly different, like the way light looks in whatever season is ahead. So something about the late afternoon sun streaming in the window the other day looked like spring, and, as usual, I felt heartened by the promise. Then today when the sun and blue sky pushed the temperature into the 60s, we were all energized by that same promise. It will likely be cold and gray again before springtime truly blooms, but this weekend we began to feel even in our bones that spring is coming - and our steps were just a little bouncier. Dave spent the afternoon building a raised garden for me, and as the rest of us spread truckoads of dirt, we talked excitedly about all the things we hoped to grow in it. And the vigorous movements in my belly all day made me think about what else is growing, and the even bigger promise that warm seasons will bring. It's been ten years since I've had a baby in the summer, and it's such fun thinking that that as life blooms all over the earth, we'll be getting closer and closer to the debut of this new life.

Not, however, as if want to rush it, because sometimes the changing of seasons can bring bittersweet feelings. Drew played Upward basketball this winter (and had a great time at it, by the way), and his end-of-the-year season celebration was this past Tuesday night. He sat up front with his team, and towards the end, there was a slideshow of pictures from the season. Cue the pregnancy hormones, I began to tear up a little as teammates cheered for each other when pictures came up, and in general, there was a feeling of happy comraderie throughout, which of course was great...but I was just struck with how much Drew has grown, enough to belong to a team and to be sharing these kinds of moments with other people. That IS cheesy and cliche, I know - "how did you get so big?" - but there it was. And I suppose what really got me is that this was only the very beginning, that in fact the season is coming in which he will begin to identify with his own groups, teams, friends, etc., and he won't belong to me quite the same way anymore. He'll still be my boy, of course, and we'll always be his family, but he'll make his own way, full of people and experiences that will really have nothing to do with me. That's the way it's supposed to be, I know, and it's my bittersweet lot as a mother to treasure these moments that will become his past, while he forgets many of them in his push toward his future. Indeed, some moments he's never even known, such as the ones from his earliest days tucked in my womb, and those are mine - and only mine - to keep forever. I've been able to appreciate this more with each child, so that by now, when this little one begins stretching and moving, I can truly savor each moment, knowing that there is a new season coming, but not in the least wanting it to come too soon. It will all happen soon enough, and will pass even more quickly.

Was it too terrible? You really must forgive me - the state of my emotions is so fragile these days that I even cried during Locke's funeral on the last episode of Lost! :-)

"Lost" Time

It seems it's been a month since I've posted here! It's probably a small loss - for, as my daughter said matter-of-factly, "Aunt Erica's blog is much more interesting than yours, Mom" - but still, I feel an obligation at least to myself. Once upon a time I kept a journal, then replaced it with blogging, and I've done neither very often lately.

I'm often tired, for one thing (no great bursts of energy here), and for another, I've been trying to put back together everything that fell into complete chaos while I was floundering around in the first trimester. That includes school, which we began again in January, with the hopes of recovering ground we lost toward the end of last semester.

It's debatable, however, whether we really lost any. There are undeniably some things my kids missed out on while I was struggling through those fall months, such as a reliable routine. More than once I wished I could have sent them to school, where someone else could make sure they were doing all the things they were supposed to be doing. We certainly fell behind in many of our books, too, and I just made mental notes to catch up on things like grammar and spelling later. But when I took stock of what they were doing instead of "real" school days. One of the benefits of homeschooling is that children naturally learn how to learn, and they are, more often than not, steeped in an atmosphere of learning of which they probably aren't even conscious. So even when there is a lull in formal schooling ( lull is probably a nice word for it, granted) they may not actually be suffering a loss. Back to taking stock, then - sometime in November, in the worst of my sickness, Aimee picked up and read the entirety of The Lord of the Rings. In December, she followed with the first two books of C.S Lewis' space trilogy. ("Are these kids' books?" "Um, no, not exactly..." "I thought there were some pretty long words in there. Oh well, it's interesting!")
Altogether, this was like a shot of Language Arts directly to the brain - who needs a grammar lesson when you are tackling Tolkien and Lewis in fourth grade? I didn't, therefore, feel too worried about Aimee's education. And Drew didn't concern me, either, as he made it through a stack of Kate DiCamillo's books, and then began On the Banks of Plum Creek (he was growing impatient with my slow progress reading aloud Little House on the Prairie and wanted to get on with things himself). It wasn't only Language Arts that took care of itself - every once in awhile, Aimee and Drew played each other at chess and even attempted to teach Ryan how to play. And speaking of Ryan, he is almost five and has been, according the academic standards I set with Aimee at that age, most woefully neglected. But in the midst of that "neglect" he set out to teach himself, in the manner of many middle children ("If you won't teach me, I'll just figure it out myself"). Our jaws dropped one Sunday when we brought home the bulletins and church papers he had scribbled on during the service, and we discovered he had painstakingly and neatly copied whole words. I've taught him some letters here and there, but certainly not all of those. And not to be left out during math, he insisted on a math page each time his siblings had to do theirs, so the little munchkin has been working his way, mostly by himself, through the Saxon 1 math book.

"It counts, it counts!" my brain happily chanted each time I walked by and saw them reading or doing or learning in some other way. Now it's true, they also watched more TV and played more Wii than I would care to admit. It was necessary to reinstate a reasonable routine at the start of this month, and we struggled at once against those feelings of entitlement that creep up and entrench themselves when there is lapse of said routine. But other than that, I was pleased to discover that they didn't really fall behind, and instead, they kept on going, without even knowing it. The time will come when we have to be vigilant about credits and finising projects; for now, I'm so happy that we can still just revel in learning for learning's sake - and that they can do it even without me!