A Few More Words of Encouragement...

Adding to my last post, here a few more things you could do if you wanted (obviously addressing only women and mothers here!):

Have a natural birth.

Breastfeed.

Breastfeed your baby past age one. Past age two. Past age three. Past age four.

Have your kids home with your kids home with you all day, every day. (You wouldn't go crazy. They wouldn't become clingy, socially-stunted introverts. Trust me.)

Have large-ish family (because we're not actually a large family, in my opinion).


You could, if it's what you wanted. Of course, there may be other reasons you don't, and that's perfectly fine. But I'm always alarmed when people marginalize me - and us - as if I'm a supermom (or just a crazy person, depending on your viewpoint!). The above list is not true of me and my family because I have strength beyond normal womanhood or motherhood. I have a low pain threshold (I'm pretty wimpy about it, actually). I like personal space (and have very little these days.) I like neat, orderly spaces (which are also few and far between). It also seems like people assume that homeschoolers and/or stay-at-home moms are either wealthier than most, or too poor and homely to care about what "everybody else" cares about. I know the former isn't true of us, and I don't think the latter is, either. We just do it.

And that's how it is - you just do it. And in the doing, you find out what you're made of, not the other way around!

If I Can Do This, So Can You!

This post may have the tendency to come across as a bit obnoxious in places, if anyone should happen to misinterpret my intentions. I hope it doesn't. I hope you don't! I really truly mean it as encouragement, and not as a way to toot my own horn (or that of my offspring) surreptitiously.

Often people who meet my kids will remark on how smart they are, and then they'll ask if we homeschool. It's great to receive affirmation that I'm not completely ruining my children, but on the other hand, sometimes I worry about what this does for those people, because then they'll often follow it up with a statement that begins, "Oh, I could never..." And I wonder if they feel genuinely disheartened, the way one might feel if they walked into my house right after I had cleaned it (and I mean RIGHT after - it doesn't last long), instead of walking in on a random moment of a normal day. They might think it always looked that way, and they might wonder at my amazing homemaking skills. In the same way, when they hear that we homeschool, I worry that sometimes they think, "I could never be so...creative, together, organized, teach all those things, etc, etc, etc."

The reality is that some homeschool moms are exceptionally creative. Some moms are organized. Some moms may actually spend a good deal of time teaching subjects directly to their kids. But some are completely on the other end of the spectrum. Many are somewhere in the middle, and that's where we fall - and to be honest, less toward the creative and organized side! Now, I'll just say that our relaxed style of learning may blow up in our faces when high school years roll around (but I don't think it will), so take this all with a grain of salt, but our philosophy is that kids have a natural desire to learn, that it takes more work to stifle that desire than to encourage it. For us, encouraging it simply means making information and experiences available, giving the kids the opportunity to explore both, and trusting that learning will happen. (Yes, in some things I believe they need a nudge and more direction, and sometimes there are special circumstances that mean children will need more intervention than usual. I'm just generalizing here!).


So for anyone who has a mental picture of our detailed daily lesson plans, of hourly schedules, of happy craft time around the kitchen table, or of me knowing what I'm doing as I teach a Latin lesson, dispel those thoughts! It doesn't look anything like school or what a teacher does there (the gift of teaching is for schools, and is a great gift, but it's not necessary at home, thank goodness!). Learning happens, lots of it, but it has almost nothing to do with me! There may be other reasons why you choose not homeschool, but I implore anyone and everyone to cross, "I could never be that...[fill in the blank]" off the list. If I can do this, so can you!

Just an Update

I know you were all just dying to know how things were going for us in general here in Ohio, so here goes...




When I first wrote about our first impression of Ohio, I said that people weren't very hospitable here. I feel I should clarify that a bit, because, as it turns out, we have met some very nice people, and the church we've been going to is especially welcoming and friendly. And while our neighborhood seemed a tightly closed shell in the dead of winter, warmer weather has opened it up to reveal some friendly souls as well. Each afternoon Drew is hailed from across the street by the troop of boys who play basketball and football together until dinnertime, and Aimee's company is requested by the little girl who lives across the street, or the older one who lives around the corner. We still encounter some abrupt people while out and about (people seem less tolerant of the kids here, and behave as if we had twenty wild hooligans in the store with us), but since our social life is otherwise rounding out fairly nicely, who cares? Maybe they just have the winter doldrums and will thaw out with the Spring.




Spring does seem to work an even more noticeable magic and feeling of excitement here, probably because there is one, for starters. Instead of going from winter-ish weather straight to 80 degrees, the warming-up process is gentle, and the tilt of our corner of the Earth towards the sun seems more perceptible here than down South. And since winter was so cold, gray, and dreary, that the combination of the sun, singing birds, and temperatures over 50 degrees is enough to make one practically giddy. Each warm and sunny day finds us trying out a new park (the metroparks are pretty nifty here), or at the very least, finds the kids out riding bikes and scooters in the cul-de-sac (on which we really enjoy living) and playing with the aforesaid friends.

Having just mentioned the metroparks, I'll say again that I love them, as well
as the myriad of other things to do here. The library is still fantastic, and we even found another library system in the city next to us (still only about 3 miles away) which is a better place to take the kids. So now I have a slightly bizarre system worked out in which I enjoy the best of both libraries (no fines at one, so I put all our "school-ish" books on hold there, and just run in to check them out, and nice facilities at the other, where we like to hang out). Dave took a look at our library basket recently and said, "Do we really need all these books?" What kind of question is THAT? That's like saying, "Do we really need all these channels?" Oh wait - that's nothing like it, is it?

Okie, dokie, moving on! So we love the parks, the libraries, the museums. We also just recently joined our local Y, and that's pretty wonderful, too. It looks like the summer will open up some more fun opportunities. We like our church, as well as the local LLL Group, where we've found other homeschoolers with several children each (so we don't feel so completely crazy all by ourselves in these categories!). But that brings me to some of the downsides. We haven't filled the gap in the homeschooling support category. I just haven't found a support group like we had back home, and that troubles me a bit. In fact, I'm having trouble finding many stay-at-home moms at all, or moms of many (or of several, depending on your perspective!). I miss having this kind of camaraderie on a regular basis.

And sometimes I just miss home. I miss the South. I feel a little panicked sometimes about the possibility that the kids won't grow up as true Southerners, the way I had imagined they would. Sometimes I still feel like an outsider, and I wonder if I'll ever feel otherwise...and then I wonder if I really want to feel like I belong here! It's tricky. But I have a feeling that that's all normal for a big move like this. Overall, it's been positive so far for us, though. My kids have scattered into the Spring-like winds while I've been writing this, so off I go to round them up again!

That Crazy Fine Line

One of the advantages of homeschooling often touted by homeschool advocates is more one-on-one time with each child.

Sometimes I think that's an absurd thing to claim, because that's the last thing it seems I have to offer. I feel like I'm constantly short on time in general, and time with each individual child to nurture their academic pursuits at each individual pace and learning style...hear the sound of me laughing! Instead I constantly struggle with knowing how to balance everyone's needs. If I concentrate on getting the older kids through a full day of "school," the younger ones (and the house) seem a bit neglected. If I focus on the younger ones, not much "school" happens. So I walk this very fine line between order and chaos as I try to balance both worlds and keep them in harmony. It's a little messy, it's a little loud...but somehow it all comes together, and they're always learning, no matter what kind of day we have.

But when the scales start to tip toward chaos, and when I feel I'm flying off in five different directions at once, I realize I have to be purposeful in correcting the balance. It means just doing with math with one child who might need a little extra direction that day, and surrendering to the fact that everyone else is probably playing upstairs instead of "doing school" during that time. It means slowing down to look each child in the eyes when they're talking to me, instead of including listening in a list of things I'm multitasking. It means remembering to get down to a little one's eye level when I'm talking to them, so that they know I really see them. It means stopping in the middle of getting the breakfast dishes done when someone comes to me with a box of Duplo Legos and implores "Play?," even though I really "need" to get on to our schoolwork.

I still picture this idyllic world in which I have time to do each subject properly (at least in the way I think it should be done!) with each child, and play with the younger ones, AND keep the house in order... and I still know that's fantasy. Reality is much more hectic. But each morning offers fresh opportunities for me to learn and love with five great people - sometimes one-on-one, usually all together in helter-skelter fashion, always just the way I like it.


PS Let's be real...sometimes I want to run screaming out the front door and down the street in pursuit of some personal sanity. That's life. It's still a good one!

This Program is Brought to You By...

I love Veritas Press, a classical Christian education supplier. I can't afford all of their curriculum, but I love dreaming over their catalogs, I use their literature suggestions, and every once in awhile, I do buy something that I think I just must have. I did so several years ago when I purchased their Phonics Museum, which I have used with all the kids, and which has now produced our third reader. So here's some free advertising for you, Veritas Press!

I realize it's expensive, and probably not all of it is necessary, but it's been great for us. I will say that we don't do all the activities or worksheets - by now we just follow the general guideline, and do whichever sheets strike our fancy. That's pretty much what I do with all our curriculum by now, actually, and it seems to work out fine. Ryan, on minimal instruction and direction, is right about the same place as Aimee, who was on the opposite end of the spectrum (because I didn't know any better). Hooray for Ryan, and thank you, Phonics Musuem!

Going to the Underland

After some rather deep and serious posts, on to lighter fare!


Well, actually... not really.


Today's post is about books in general, and about The Underland Chronicles specifically, and that particular series isn't exactly the lightest of reading, juvenile fiction though it is. The series is by the author of The Hunger Games, definitely not cheerful reading, but enthralling and thought-provoking all the same, so I was initially excited about the idea of introducing the kids to Suzanne Collins through her children's books. When I read, however, that they were about an underground world inhabited by giant rats and cockroaches, among other things, I was considerably less enthused, and I forgot about it for some months.




But recently Drew was looking for something new to read, and remembering these books, I thought they might actually tickle his fancy, so I checked the first one out from the library, handed it to him one day - and lost him for the rest of the day. I checked out the rest of the books in the series, and for the rest of that week, he was, much like Gregor (the main character), more in the Underland than in the Overland among the rest of us.

When Aimee saw that there was something completely engrossing about the books (rather than just gross, the way she and I imagined!), she dove in after him, and I read along as well -when I could get to them, at any rate. The first thing that struck me was how cleverly Suzanne Collins crafted this world in a way that made otherwise repulsive creatures almost enchanting - and definitely interesting to read about. I was also impressed with the way the story allows children to experience some intense themes and emotions in a relatively safe way - i.e., there is war and battle, life-and-death struggle, actual injury and death, but because much of it happens to fantastical animals, it's somewhat easier to process. Somewhat. The violence escalates towards the end of the series, and by the fifth book, it was pushing our limits just a bit. At one point I thought that the kids might just as well read The Hunger Games after all at the rate things were going. And in fact, as an aside, I thought the fifth and last book of this series was remarkably similar to the last book of The Hunger Games series. The main character in each spends a great deal of time wandering around in the depths of despair, witnessing and ruminating on just how terrible the situation is, believing he or she is going to die, and watching a close loved one die a terrible death instead. And to tell the truth, it gets just a teensy bit tiresome. Drew's interest wavered midway through the fifth book, as did mine (I think Aimee read through uninterrupted.) But then towards the end, the author pulled out all the stops in a spectacularly heart wrenching manner, which was absolutely brilliant or absolutely terrible (or maybe both), depending on who you talk to, and at what time. One of my children came to me at that point in the book, almost ashen, and said tremulously, "Sometimes authors make really...bad...choices." And then later, "Would it be silly to cry over a book character?" No, it's not at all silly. The other child came to me literally weeping, explaining the tragedy, then holding up a warning hand and advising through sobs, "I don't suggest you finish reading it." Both said at first that it was the worst book EVER for having done that, but both continue to talk about the series as a whole with warmth and excitement. So we talked a little about whether having one's emotions wrenched in a story makes the story a horrible one after all...or maybe just a really good one.

Which brings me to the subject, briefly, of books as a whole. What does make a good one? Recently -right about the time we began this series, actually - a post on a homeschool list I'm on prompted me to think about what criteria we use for deciding which books our children should read, and whether this particular series could fit the bill. We don't restrict ourselves to Christian material only, and one reason is because the world doesn't come packaged in a neat and tidy Christian box (the Bible, for that matter, doesn't come packaged in a very pretty box. Ever read Judges?). Eventually our kids will encounter topics and behaviors outside their worldview and value system, and I'd rather be with them when they do. But obviously we place some filters on what they read. Here's what we try to avoid:

Senseless violence, darkness, cruelty, or even just unkindness. (This is vague. But I guess I mean that there can be a place for some violence, as long as it's tempered by a noble purpose. Still vague? Sorry.)

Bathroom humor. The boys don't need any encouragement here, so I try to steer clear of cheap humor of this sort.

Excessive emphasis on mysticism or wizardry. Oh, this is very vague, I realize, and highly subjective!

Mouthy or bratty behavior in a hero or heroine. Here's another area in which I think kids don't need any help.

At this stage of the game with my kids, I also like to keep the boyfriend/girlfriend thing at a minimum.

Here's what we do like to see emphasized in books:

Honor, loyalty, friendship, family, determination, creativity, selflessness, and more like it!

These are elements woven throughout The Underland Chronicles. So while there are some intense elements (and a few references to evolution), it's a series that highlights some of the best things we like to see in literature. Tears and all.

A Few More Thoughts...

A friend left a comment on post about Scarlett, mentioning truth as a lens, and I loved that phrase. It also provided a perfect springboard for another element of that story that I just couldn't find a place for in the post, but that I wanted to write about in some way. In probably more than one post, I've mentioned how fantastic my midwife, Jami, was throughout my pregnancy and Scarlett's birth, and she continued to be so long after (which, by the way, is one of the many ways I find the midwife experience to be about a trillion times better than the doctor experience). As I said in the post about the unexpected twists in our journey with Scarlett, Jami noted that there were a couple of things that somewhat out of the "normal" range. The beautiful thing is that while these things might have, unnecessarily, been given more immediate attention in a hospital setting, Jami mentioned them in time, but let the focus of the birth be entirely about the miracle that was Scarlett. I love this picture of her examining Scarlett, because much later, I realized that she was just then seeing some things that might be problematic. Dave was teasing her a bit by taking her picture, but she was just smiling, not betraying the least sense of worry. When she handed Scarlett back to me, she didn't bombard me with all the possibilities, but only said how beautiful she was. She did let me know in the most gentle way later than she noticed things that were somewhat different than might be expected, and when I told her what the doctor was concerned about, she acknowledged that he had had to tell me that. But she herself didn't dwell on speculations, nor, on the other hand, did she blow off my fear by offering quick assurances. She always, in the many times we talked about it over the next few months, managed to strike a balance between acknowledging possibilities and speaking peace over my fears, and she did it by being a "lens of truth." She filtered everything through what was just the truth, and she spoke it every time we talked - "She's beautiful, God placed her in this family who loves her, and He has a plan for her." She was, as another friend called her, "a peaceful presence," and that presence certainly was an important part of how I survived (and perhaps grew just a little!) in those first few months of Scarlett's life.

So thanks, Jami. And go midwives!

Anyway, the aforesaid comment on the previous Scarlett post also mentioned my transparency, which I'm not usually known for. But I have tried, on occasion, to be a little more so, after a close friend of mine was talking about rough time in her life, and how it had hit her particularly hard because she had felt naive about anything like that happening to her. I realized that one of the reasons we go through that period of shock in rough times ("how could this be happening to me?') is that we tend to hide those feelings and experiences from even our closest friends. The result is that we spend so much time feeling like failures because it seems that no "good" mother, wife, friend, Christian, etc, would feel that way or have that experience...when the truth is that ALL good mothers, wives, friends, Christians, etc. go through these kinds of things, however the details express themselves. So I'm not advocating answering, "How are you today?" with a list of one's innermost feelings on every occasion, but I do think some transparency is called for now and then, and I'm happy for my story about Scarlett to promote that to some extent.

And on a final note of transparency, I wrapped up that post in a tidy fashion, as if I had achieved loving Scarlett, or all of my children, perfectly. Obviously I hope you all take that librerally, and not as a literal expression of my perfection! If anything, the experience has highlighted how I can't love them perfectly, and how I'm glad that their Heavenly Father can do so. But being aware of that can help me as a mother realize my tendency to cling to expectations of their futures, rather than just loving who they are...and perhaps I can move a little closer each day to the latter.

Some Thoughts on Homeschooling -Proceed at Your Own Risk!

Recently a friend shared this article about homeschoolers, and it inspired several channels of thought on my part...about which you now get to read! This line in particular struck me - "And, proponents say, the home-schoolers of yesteryear, stereotyped as socially awkward, religiously dogmatic and ill-prepared for the real world, aren’t representative of current home-schoolers who more closely mirror the mainstream."

My first thought...well, no, actually my first thought was something like, "Hey, 'homeschoolers of yesteryear' means ME! I'm not so much less cooler than today's homeschooling kids!" And in fact, we had a great network of people in our homeschool support group when I was growing up. I'm not sure that the dynamic of camaraderie that we had can even be duplicated by homeschool groups today . That was pretty cool. We were pretty interesting, well adjusted people. (I think we're still interesting, well-adjusted people!) So I felt rather miffed at that insinuation.

But anyway, I didn't linger on that too long. My next thought was that articles like this keep appearing; this isn't really news, is it? And yet, it must be necessary that they do, because we're still asked questions such as, "How do you know they're at the level they're supposed be?" and, the all-time favorite, "What about socialization?" Still. It seems ridiculous to me, because it seems like we've proven ourselves through this method of education by now, but apparently there is indeed still a stigma to overcome. So a part of me applauded this nod to the normalization of homeschooling and homeschoolers.

But then I thought about how unfair that is that we have to keep explaining and justifying ourselves, about how unfair it's always been. Aren't there "socially awkward" people from every kind of educational system, not to mention people who are "ill-prepared for the real world?" It seems to me that there a fair number of these kinds of people who are products of the public school system - and yet parents of public school students aren't regularly challenged about whether their children will turn out socially or academically stunted if they remain in the public school system. So why is this a stigma attached only to homeschoolers? And why, for that matter, is the public school standard the one we're aiming to achieve anyway? What does define "normal" within this topic? The article offers as an example of socially "normal" a teenage girl who "hangs out with her friends at the mall and spends time on Facebook." Wow. Wherever you have your children educated, I hope your expectations for them are higher than that. I have nothing against either of those activities in themselves, but is that really all that defines "normal" here? "Whew, at least I haven't ruined my child by homeschooling her! I'm so glad she's good at wasting time just like everybody else!"

Just like everybody else. Maybe that's part of the real issue here. I wonder if some of the anxiety about homeschooling is that we grow people outside the mold. I'm not saying homeschooling is perfect, or that those who homeschool are, either. In general, though, kids who are homeschooled are allowed to think, learn, and develop outside the box, and that might mean they approach life differently at each stage of life. That might mean that hanging out at the mall all the time might not seem all that worthwhile. Please understand that I'm not saying this is only true of homeschoolers. There are public school kids who think outside the box, who express individuality, who seek and pursue a more purposeful existence. What I'm saying is that the system doesn't encourage that, and that I wonder if some of the skepticism about homeschooling comes from fear that homeschoolers might be different from "everybody else." It's easier to understand (and control?) normal if the system keeps it at a pretty boring baseline; does homeschooling (or any kind of thinking outside the confines of the mainstream educational system) continually threaten this understanding?

Finally, here's the thing: Homeschoolers tend to spend time explaining and defending ourselves against this stigma that we're not "normal" (even though, as I've already mentioned, studies and articles keep coming out saying that - surprise! - we do pretty well entering society). Sometimes, though, I think we should just admit that we're not actually aiming for the "normal" of "everybody else." Don't get me wrong - I know what is meant by "socially awkward, religiously dogmatic, and ill-prepared for the real world." I know what kind of people it refers to, and yes, there are some homeschoolers like that (just like there are social misfits, and worse, in the public school population, let's not forget). However, in some ways, we may always have those things said about us, and that may not be a bad thing.

-Since we want our children to rise above petty sub-cultures created by unrealistic age divisions, and we encourage them to challenge the social mores of a corrupt culture, that may be understood as "socially awkward."

-Since we teach our children a worldview based on the absolute truth of God's Word, even if we present it with gentleness and respect rather than arrogance, and encourage them to have the same, they will probably be accused of being "religiously dogmatic".

-Since we, in all of the above, encourage them not to "conform...to the the pattern of this world" we rather hope that they will be "ill-prepared" to be comfortable in it, and that they will instead be mindful of the world to come. And in their time here, we hope they won't just accept what "everybody else" says and does, but that they will challenge it, always seeking and pursuing real truth, real purpose, real worth. In doing so, they might achieve great things, rather than just ordinary.

(Am I saying public school parents can't have these goals? NO! But this is my blog, and I can only speak about our goals as homeschooling parents. So take it as that, and not as an accusation of parents who make other schooling choices. Please!)

And what about socialization? I've often wondered why this question, which seems to have been answered rather definitively time and again and thus is outdated, keeps being asked. Then I realized that maybe they're not just talking about the opportunity and ability to interact with people in our society (because check and check - we've got all that covered). Maybe they're referring to the training of a docile worker class. In that case, they're absolutely right - there is a lack of socialization in homeschooling, and furthermore, I don't want it!

With this potentially inflammatory statement, I'm signing off!

An Unexpected Journey with Miss Scarlett

I mentioned several posts ago that we received "fantastic news" during our visit down South. For those of you that have been holding your breath waiting for me to spill...here goes!

I've actually been mentally composing this post for about eight months, since the earliest days after Scarlett's birth. Now that it's come to writing it, I find it's not so dramatic as it all seemed then, so I may not have as much to write as I though I would. (Note: everything seems ten times more dramatic in a postpartum haze then it does after all those hormones wear off! I've had five children, and yet I always seem to forget this until well after the fact.) There have been two versions in the works, and I'll go ahead and say that this is the version I had hoped to post.

It actually started as a post about one issue, then another issue took over my thoughts and emotions, and eventually they dovetailed into one. At any rate, it all started when Scarlett was born, when - confession time! - I was alarmed to find I was not completely intoxicated by that "cocktail of love hormones" delivered at birth. In my previous natural births, I experienced the bliss that comes after labor, that is heightened by having experienced all the sensations of birth, and I was instantly and rapturously in love with my babies. Even in my two medicated births, when I was in a haze, there was no gap between birth and bonding. But this time, I was disconcerted by having looked at her and thinking, "That's not the person I was expecting." And why in the world this would be, I'm not completely sure. She looked like she fit with her siblings. The birth was amazing. She was adorable and miraculous. I held her tightly when she was placed in my arms, kissed her, spoke her name to prompt her to respond to us and begin crying, loved her and never for a second rejected her with any part of me (heaven forbid she should ever find this one day, read it, and think I was disappointed with her!)...but I didn't have the rush of warm-fuzzies I was waiting for. Part of this, I think, was because after I delivered her head, I had though the worst was over, but then she got a little stuck. The delivery of her shoulders and chest was far more painful than I had experienced before. So when my midwife, Jami, pulled her out of the water and placed her into my arms, I was still feeling shocked and I had a hard time of delivery had been something different that what I expected.

Before I could recover from this, my emotions followed a downward spiral of events that started first when that night and then again the next morning, Jami mentioned (gently and tactfully) that Scarlett's ears were just the slightest bit low-set. She emphasized that she didn't see anything else that could indicate an immediate problem associated with this, and that she felt it was just the way Scarlett was made, but nonetheless, it brought a stab of fear that further held off the happy emotions. Personally, I didn't have a problem with her ears, but the fact that something other than the "normal" box was checked on the section about her ears on the newborn exam sheet made me a little crazy. I felt panicked, thinking, "I can't believe I messed up a baby!", as if somehow I were responsible for this thing (that wasn't really a "thing" at all, but keep in mind what I said about those postpartum hormones!). That feeling was compounded when Scarlett opened her eyes the next morning, and revealed that she couldn't open her left eye all the way. If I felt panicked about her ears, I was all the more so about her eye. It reminded me, irrationally, when Aimee received her first American Girl doll, and one of the eyes stopped opening and closing properly. We sent it to American Girl, they fixed it, and sent it back. I remember wishing desperately that there was something as easy we could do to fix Scarlett's eye...and feeling a rush of anxiety, because she was a baby, not a doll, and couldn't just be "fixed." And on top of all that, feeling so very guilty, because I was her mother and and "shouldn't" even be having these thoughts.



I struggled with this through my the period of physical recovery, and it was somewhat difficult for me to leave my room after the first week to take care of everyone else. Scarlett had been born in my bedroom, so in all kinds of ways, many of which were positive, my room felt like a peaceful cocoon. I suppose I felt that if Scarlett and I could stay there together long enough, everything would resolve itself - her eye would get better, we would have a proper bonding experience, I would feel only the joy and relief of having had a baby, and none of the anxiety and slight confusion that I was feeling instead. But I had to rejoin the real world when Dave had to go back to work, regardless of how I was feeling, and, as usually happen in cases in which we think we can't do something but must do it anyway, the very doing eventually became part of the strengthening and the healing. Still, in the very first week, I remember holding her in the sling on morning as I was getting ready to start our day, and I remember wondering glumly if my memories of our first weeks together would be tainted by my failure to respond emotionally to her, at least in the way that I wanted. But I was reminded in that moment that I was holding her, nursing her, caring for her just the same as I always have with all my babies...and that those are the things I would remember, and certainly those were the things that would count with her. The doing was what mattered...and because there were four other energetic children to care for - four children, incidentally, who were thrilled with Scarlett and never failed to offer affirmation about how beautiful and wonderful she was - there wasn't much time to sit around and marinate in guilt or self-pity.


So that was some relief, and it certainly helped when we were thrown the next curveball at her two week well-check. Her pediatrician, as it turned out, didn't think her ears were low-set after all, but he was concerned about the size of her chest, which was larger than usual. He said that he thought she would probably just grow into it, but that it could indicate a chromosomal condition, so we would just watch her over the next several months and make sure she hit her milestones. So your baby might have a life-altering condition. But it's nothing to worry about yet. Have a nice day!"

I walked out of the office feeling a bit stunned, and wondering how I would survive watching her every move in anticipation of her hitting her milestones...for the next few months. As it turned out, of course, the next few months weren't quite that agonzing, partly because, as I've just mentioned, real life was still happening. I couldn't sit around and wait for Scarlett to be ok, or for all this to the "normal" experience I had expected. I'd like to say that I didn't have time to worry at all, but then I'm pretty sure you would know I was lying! I did spend a fair amount of time in those few months grappling with a depth of mother emotions - and just human emotions - that I hadn't previously touched in my life. And this is what came of it all:

At first, I struggled with rebellious feelings toward God. "How could you do this to her? How could you do this me?" It took some time, but I had to be reminded that life happens to ordinary people. There's no particular reason that I should be exempt from bad things happening. This wasn't about ME, anyway, but about her. I was confronted with my own lingering self-centeredness in regard to my children, and I wondered how often it was my expectations of them, and the way they met them, that I loved best. Ouch.

In realizing and wrestling with these things, however, I also became aware that if I found out that anyone viewed Scarlett as anything other than an absolutely adorable baby, if anyone thought less of her because of her eye, or any other flaw in her appearance - if they even suggested there was a flaw in her at all! - I was capable of doing physical harm to them. That intense protectiveness was the reason I didn't tell anyone, including family members, about what the doctor was concerned about, but it was also what confirmed to myself that there was nothing wrong with the bond Scarlett and I had. Some of the warm-fuzzies might have been masked by anxiety, but I did truly love her. And when she began to smile and coo, it was impossible not to respond to her with adoration. In fact, I cherished each smile and sound all the more because I was watching her so closely to make sure she did all the right things and the right times (which, incidentally, she did and still does). I savored every moment with her, slowing down a time that usually flies by in a blur.

Eventually the things I feared became overwhelmed by what I loved - and in some instances became the things I loved (like the way she winks her droopy eye when she smiles!). By the time we moved her to Ohio, I thought she probably did have the condition the doctor had told us about, and I was no longer afraid of it. So when her new pediatrician wanted to get her tested, I was ready, and we went ahead and had the blood test done (and then waited and waited...apparently those tests take a long time!). When we were back in SC for a visit last month, the nurse from the pediatrician's office called with the results - and they were negative! It took a few minutes to register the news, and even when it did, I wasn't as euphoric as I had thought I would be to hear it. I think it's because it's not her chromosome count that makes her perfect to me - and perfectly loved!