Ignore

I know I haven't been keeping up of late. Do you ever get hung up on a post? I have one saved in my drafts and keep getting stuck. Why does this happen? I believe I find myself wrestling with thoughts. How open do I really want to be? What will others think? Is now a good time to open the door for all to look in at my inner self? Then I go and write something like this and I kick myself. Now someone is going to be waiting with baited breath for some shocking event or news. Perhaps they expect me to reveal some dark secret. Now I've set others up for disappointments. Grrrr....and I shouldn't really care....or should I? Others will ask, "is this it? Was she talking about this?" And maybe I will never post it at all and the thoughts will forever be banished to the little drafts folder. Let's pretend I never posted at all. I'm going to ignore my draft folder and move on and maybe never pull it out. It will make posting so much easier.

Grandkids are the best!

I've always loved kids, and always wanted a houseful. (My house seems to be so empty these days-only 3 here full time.) On the weekend Christina (my oldest) and my 3 year old grandson are usually here. They didn't come down this week, so Michael and I decided to take my new car for a spin. (Good excuse to go visit.)

Ethan was so excited to see us. What a wonderful feeling to be on the other side of that excitement. I love him every bit as much as any of my own children, but without the responsibility of training him up. I don't have to worry whether or not he will be spoiled if he gets a cookie, or even if he says please and thank-you. I can just enjoy him.

I forgot my camera, but got a couple of pics with my phone. (Hence the poor quality.) But you can probably see from Ethan's expression how much fun he had riding in Gramma's new car with Grandpa and playing at the park.

I love Colorado

Friday evening I was standing at my kitchen window doing dishes. I looked up and this is what I saw:





There were 6 altogether, but by the time I grabbed the camera, I couldn't get them all in the shot. I took it through the window and the screen blurred it a bit. There was one right up next to the front door, but he moved when I tried to take his picture.

Happy Spring!

The First Day of Spring in Colorado

Happy 14th Birthday Hilary!

Hilary arrived 14 years ago today. Being the youngest of 5, we knew she'd be fast in order to keep up with her siblings. We left for the hospital at 3:30a.m. I awoke to 1 hard contraction and knew it was time. I had 1 more before we left. The hospital was 30 minutes away.

Upon arrival, nurses scurried about rather quickly. They skipped a lot of the usual protocol and called my doctor immediately. He was there just before 5:00a.m. He broke my water, stepped out of the room to change his shoes, and out came this beautiful baby. One nurse ran over and picked her up, the other screamed out the door for the doctor.

Things settled down and it was time to pick out a name. We didn't know if we were having a boy or girl. I was leaning towards boy since we had 1 and 3 girls. Ever since our 3rd pregancy, Michael had another boy's name picked out, so I was sure we'd use it. She was definately not a boy.

Michael left the hospital with the baby name book in hand. He came back with 3 names. Catherine, Theresa, and Hilary.

Early in the pregnancy, as I prayed for my baby in utero, I felt the Lord tell me she would be a child of joy. I looked up the meaning of the names. Hilary comes from the same root word as Hilarious, and indeed meant happiness and joy.

Happy Birthday Hilary Rose, our bundle of joy and laughter.



P.S. This was Hilary in these silly pics.

Nail Biter

Have you ever had to interview for a job, try-out for a part in a play, audition for a musical, or try to make the team? If so, you know how stressful the waiting to find out can be. The only thing worse is when it is one of your children-or 2.

This week SB tried out for high school Concert Choir. Thursday afternoon the new "Concert Choir List" would be posted for all to see. That is when the world knows if you were successful or failed at your tryout. It is the best and worst of tmes for a teen.

Also on Thursday, Hilary was trying out for the Pom line. She would find out sometime that evening. As long as both kids were successful, life would be grand. But what if one makes it, while the other doesn't? Or if both fail? These are those times of character building.

We've been down this road before with our kids. Last year SB tried out for concert choir and didn't make it. She was one of the few who checks the list and walks away feeling the sting of rejection. A past failure makes it especially hard on the parent who has encouraged, cheered them to practice, work hard, and try again. At your urging they attempt once more to achieve success. And you wonder if it was the right thing. Fear can sneak into your heart at the thought that it could happen again.

When Elisabeth was Hilary's age, she tried out for Cheerleading. The next morning at school the list was posted for every hall-walker to see, each and every student in the entire school would know if she made it or not. I was having a bible study at my home when the phone call came in.

"Excuse me, I have to answer this one." They all knew that I was waiting to hear news. I picked up the phone. "Hello?" Silence. Uh oh, this was not good. A sniffle. I knew there were tears, I understood the feeling of not being one of the chosen. I wanted to cry too, but I was the mom. I was supposed to make things better, to offer up words of encouragement, help her to know that everything would be alright. The sun would still rise tomorrow. But at this moment in time, this is a 14 year olds entire world.

It was especially difficult because her best friend made the Varsity Squad. It took the entire next year to convince her to try again. I could hardly breathe when I found myself once again waiting for that phone call. This time was better, but not the best. She had made the JV Cheerleading squad. The following year was the most celebrated as she made THE list of Varsity Cheerleaders.

Michael and I sat at the kitchen table just waiting. Sarabeth, who had gotten her driver's license on the previous Friday, had driven to school. She was afraid she might miss the bus since the list wouldn't be posted until after school. She did not want to look too anxious or excited by rushing to the list to avoid being late for the bus, so we allowed her to drive.

Would she phone when she knew? If she didn't call, was that good news or bad? If she was late, was that because she was crying and had to compose herself before driving home? Or did that mean she simply had been rejoicing with her peers, causing her tardiness? Elisabeth joined us in the wait and shared in the experience of the parents on the other side of the waiting. We reminisced about her times of tryouts and we waited.

Sarabeth appeared in the open doorway. I saw just a hint of a smile. She shared her news and broke out in a run. We embraced joyfully! Her hard work and practice had paid off. She was now a proud member of the Concert Choir. Now, the second waiting began.

Hilary shared in the waiting. She'd returned from her try-outs and was home. Some of her friends waited at the school for the posting. It was to happen around 11:30p.m. A friend had promised to call as soon as she knew.

Hilary didn't think she did as well as she could have. But she was still hoping to make the JV Pom Line. She mentioned that her friends had said if they didn't make Varsity, but made JV, they wouldn't do it at all. In fact, they were asked that question as part of the interview process. Hilary had answered of course she would be on JV if she didn't make the Varsity Squad.

11:00p.m.
Her phone began to ring. "Hilary?" The voice was loud enough we could all hear it. "You made it!"

"Which did I make?"

"Varsity!"

There were shouts and cheers. I breathed a sigh of relief as I hugged her. Two celebrations in one day. I could go to sleep peacefully tonight. I didn't have any soothing of hurt feelings to take care of. Not this time. But nothing changes. Even with my children grown, I will always be here, whether it is a job interview or waiting on the successful delivery of a child. I will be here to cheer and shout, or to help pick up the broken pieces and see them put back together for a future success. That's a parent's job till the day we die.

Busy with my Birthday

I haven't been around so much this week. I have a new birthday present that has been consuming all of my time. My kids aren't so happy, as they cannot really enjoy it with me, at least not as a family or together-just one at a time. Here is that all-consuming gift:

Making a Chocolate Cake

Who designed a mixer with only 2 beaters? It must have been someone with only 2 children. I think a mixer should have the same number of beaters as a house has children. Anyone with children, who has ever mixed a chocolate cake, knows of the fight that ensues over the coveted beaters.

For years I tried to come up with a way to satisfy all of the chocolate cake batter, licking kids. Two beaters, 1 spatula, and 2 kids to share licking the bowl was how I usually divided the chocolate goo. But no matter how I tried to leave the same amount on the spatula as on the beaters and twice as much stuck to the inside of the bowl, everyone still wanted the beaters. I think it is because they are so much more fun to lick and it takes longer to eat, making it much more savory.

I even tried to bake my cakes while some of the kids were at school. But invariably when the cake was being consumed, someone would ask who had gotten the privilege of licking the beaters. Of couse the recipients would gleefully respond it was them. I'd have some unhappy campers. Try using the mixer when the kids are outside playing. It doesn't matter, they will hear the whir and come running.

Maybe I'll redesign the Mixer. And for my friend with the 13 children, maybe I can make it with mini-beaters or something. To make it perfectly fair, every kid should get one to lick to his heart's content.

Number 44

For six years, #44 was my favorite. This is the number my only son wore on his back during his lacrosse career. Summer days in scorching heat I yelled and cheered for 44 until I was parched. I sweated for that number. Lacrosse games were rarely cancelled because of weather. Only when lightening strikes, anything else and the game went on. I've stood in torrents of rain as Christopher slid up and skidded down a muddy field. On bitter cold days, Michael and I huddled close under heavy blankets while the snow refused to give up. But neither would #44. He was tough and played hard in spite of the elements or his opponents.



I learned to multi-task during lacrosse games. One eye was transfixed on #44 while the other kept track of his younger siblings playing on the sidelines. I'd hand out snacks, videotape the games, carry on a conversation with other lacrosse moms while never missing a single shot or hit. All except for one game.

This game was on the other side of town in an unfamiliar area. For a few moments I was distracted. My littles were out of my sight. I whipped around in order to gain visibility in every direction. I spent a minute in panic before I spied them playing under a tree. Turning back to the field, I noticed the boys "taking a knee." This meant a player was down. Surrounded by a coach, a trainer and some others was a blue jersey and gold helmet. Darn! The injured player was one of ours. I glanced up and down the field. Where was he? While kneeling it was much more difficult to find number 44. During play, I knew his stride even when I couldn't see his back. I recognized his hits, his stick, his swing, even his socks. I saw those familiar legs, from the knees down. It was my boy they were gathered around.




I tried not to be a hovering, overprotective parent, but I scrambled in haste as if I was one. I broke out in a run, but slowed to a jaunt as I neared the center line. I waited anxiously, not daring to sprint onto the field. I heard a voice yell out, "are his parents here?" That was my invitation.

In the middle of the commotion there was a frantic search for something to sling his arm. His jersey was being torn, shoulder pads cut off. I heard words like "broken collar bone, very painful, needs emergency attention." We got him to my car and into the reclined front seat. Shaking, I drove to the only hospital I knew, which was 45 minutes away. Each bump he grimaced and drew in his breath. Silence, groaning, then he'd weakly ask, "are we almost there?" "Yes," I kept lying.

Number 44 was tough. He'd be fine. He's my boy. He's my 44. He did have a fractured clavacle, some bumps and bruises. He missed the rest of that season. But he came back playing stronger and harder than ever before.



Today #44 takes on new meaning. It is my birthday and somehow I've found that same number pinned to me. I'm going to learn to love this number all over again.

Another milestone

Yesterday we hit another milestone. I took our 4th child for her driving test. On one hand I was praying madly for her success and the other I was questioning why we were allowing her to operate such heavy machinery. Is she really ready to be all alone on the road? Do I want to turn her loose to brave the treachery of the traffic and aggressive drivers? She is responsible, I tell myself. She is cautious. But it isn't her that I'm most concerned about. She won't be drinking and driving, but she might encounter a drunk driver while on the road.

I waited for her to return. I watched the door. I was hoping I would have an idea if she passed or failed by her countenance and wouldn't have to ask. She came through the door with a skip. Her smile was unmistakable. We have a new fully-licensed driver in our house. Our drivers once again out-number our cars.

And now I wait anxiously again. It is snowing and cold and I'm hoping the roads aren't too slick or icy. Our driver has gone to the library with her younger sister. I thought this was a good thing, that it would make my life a bit easier. Hmmm...sometimes the mental and emotional work of a parent is harder than chauffering your children around town yourself.

Cookies

Ethan and I made cookies! Before Ethan was born I'd imagined baking cookies with him. It just seems like a grandmotherly thing to do. Last week with Christina sick, I was running out of things to do with him. When he doesn't have something to do, he finds things to do. His favorite is putting things in the toilet, or pulling the toilet paper out until it is gone. I caught him with an open bottle of nail polish with the brush end (and some polish) in his mouth. I was ever so thankful it wasn't on the carpet, but it wasn't fun getting it off of his face and chest. (Or off of my hands and arms when I was finished cleaning him up.)

I needed to make cookies for my kids' lunches, so Ethan and I did. While on the phone recently with Christina, she had been making cookies with him, so I thought we'd give it a try.

Ethan loved stirring, but wasn't too happy that I helped. He did a great job pouring in the flour, vanilla, and chocolate chips. It was a proud gramma moment.

I took a bit of dough out, rolled it, and placed it on the pan. He stood over the dough, spoon in hand watching. As I reached to make the second one, he bent over to cover the bowl. I took some dough out. He began protesting immediately. He then curled himself over the bowl trying to hide it from me. He took his spoon and scooped a big blob of dough, all the while hunched over, and began to consume it as quickly as he could. I had to sneak dough out to make the rest of the cookies. At one point he began yelling at me and nothing I could do would convince him it was a good thing to make cookies. I had so much fun and hope Ethan did too. I know he sure did enjoy eating the dough. I don't think anyone noticed anything extra in the cookies, lol. In fact, Hilary said they were the best she'd ever had. Way-to-go Ethan! Here are a couple of pics. I couldn't get him to look up from that bowl for anything.

Elisabeth's Birth

Nineteen years ago, I was 8 days past my due date and feeling awful. I was in tears that morning and called my Dr.'s office. They told me to come in so they could check and see what was going on with me. I am one of those people who have contractions every 5-10 minutes for days/weeks prior to delivery. Christina was 5 and Christopher was 2 at the time.

I called Michael to tell him about the appointment. While on the phone, Christina informs me that Christopher has opened the bubbles and was carrying them around. He toddled into the room with the soapy liquid splashing. I told him to hand me the bubbles and he tried to turn and run. I caught hold of his arm that didn't have the bubbles and held onto him. (This was the days when the phones were attached by cords and you had to stay right next to the phone.)

In the seconds it took me to say good-bye and hang up the phone, Christopher was pulling to get away from me. As the phone clicked on the receiver, I snatched the bubbles away and Christopher began crying. He wasn't crying over the bubbles. He said his arm hurt. I held him and tried to soothe him, but almost immediately I knew something was wrong. I phoned his Dr. and was able to get an appointment an hour before mine. (It's too bad kids don't realize you don't mess with an overdue, very pregnant mom.) But I felt even more awful.

I phoned a friend asking if she could watch my kids after I took Christopher to the doctor. She said of course, so off we went. It didn't take very long for the doctor to diagnose my son. His elbow was popped out of place. Hot tears stung my eyes. I felt like the world's worst mother. It didn't take much to fix it. She pulled it and twisted a bit and it was all better. I was ever so thankful I had an understanding doctor. She joked with me and told me about when her own sister had this happen, how she called her long distance to try to have her explain how to pop it back into place. She'd given her sister instructions and could hear the child screaming in the background as she attempted to put it back. The sister couldn't do it, so was going to a doctor. Later she called laughing, saying she was trying to fix the wrong arm. I was amused, but still felt bad.

Christopher got a lollipop and was happy, so I dropped him and Christina off at my friend's and went to my appointment. After the usual, my doctor examined me. He asked me if I'd been having contractions. I said yes, the same ones I'd been having all week. "Well, you are dilated to 6cm., so I want you to just go to the hospital." I was shocked. I explained that I needed to pick up my kids, but he insisted I go straight to the hospital.

I arrived at the hospital at 3:30p.m., just a few minutes after Michael did. (Okay, I didn't drive straight there. I stopped at my girlfriend's to explain to make sure she could keep my children. Remember, this was before cell phones.)

I was hooked to the monitors and also to Pitocin. I couldn't tell that anything had changed and I didn't feel like I was in labor. Twice, the nurses "lost" the baby's heartbeat. I wasn't sure what that meant. My doctor showed up around 6:30p.m. He broke my water, said he was going to have dinner, then come back and deliver the baby. Fine.

As soon as he left, the contractions became very painful. (You know, I finally figured out that I like that bag of water intact. It is a very nice cushion for both me and baby and from here on out I was not going to let that be taken away too early.) A half-hour later, I was losing it. They called for the doctor to come back and he very quickly began changing into his scrubs and telling me not to push. It didn't much matter if I pushed, she was going to come anyway. I watched the face of a student doctor, who was standing there ready at the foot of my bed. I could tell he was getting worried that he might have to step in and catch her. My doc turned around just in time to deliver her.

The cord was wrapped around her neck twice, and it also had a knot in it. (Somewhere I have a pic, and if I find it, I'll have to post it.) That was why they lost her heart beat. The remarkable thing was my Dr. announced that she had the longest cord he'd ever seen. God is good!

Elisabeth weighed 6lbs, 13 oz. (I'll see if I can scan a photo in, what is a birth story without a picture?)

Happy Birthday Elisabeth!





(Note: I intended to write this on 2/23, Elisabeth's 19th birthday, but that was the day Michael had his angiogram,and the next week became a blur. So I am doing this now.)

Living like the Rich and Famous

I have a confession to make. I feel guilty. I feel like I'm living in someone else's shoes where I don't belong.

After Michael's cardiac ordeal, the cardiologist was pretty insistant that he change his dietary needs to the Zone Diet. Some of you may remember my first attempt at this diet back in June. The recipes in the book were for a single serving and I didn't do very well multiplying them by 7. Michael understood the challenges of making a lifestyle change in our family's eating habits, so he kindly took matters into his own hands. I'm not sure why some of us wait until we have a health scare to fully appreciate our need to take better care of ourselves. But we are now more motivated. So this sweet man made a huge investment. He signed us up for the ZoneDietAtHome.

What this means is: for 1 full month, Michael and I will enjoy 3 deliciously prepared meals & 2 snacks each day. And the best part? They will be cooked by chefs, delivered straight to my doorstep each week. It is a complete no-brainer. Each morning I wake up, I take my breakfast out and eat. The same goes for lunch, snack, dinner, snack. All I have to do is eat! (Heating is often suggested, but not always required.) Could a diet get any simpler???

Well, sure, I still have to make meals for my family. I thought this would be a challenge, but so far it has not. In fact, having meals individually packaged has been so convenient I've been inspired. Sunday evening I cooked up a week's worth of omelettes, pancakes, and such for breakfasts. I then individually packaged them. It is only Wednesday but mornings have been so easy. The kids have a choice in what they want for the week and then just have to pull out their meal and eat. What could be easier?

Today is the last day of the first week of this luxury. Sometime this afternoon, another week's worth of meals will arrive. I will arrange them in the refrigerator by days and Michael and I will be set for the week. It has been fun to try new foods and new combinations. (More inspiration for when I have to really cook again.) Because of the investment, neither Michael nor I feel the need to cheat on this diet. I'm excited to see what this next week's menu will be. Now if I can just get past my birthday and Hilary's birthday...

I Wonder

I've been thinking a lot today. For a very long time now, I have believed that when we try to limit our family size what we are really saying is, "I don't believe God knows what is best for me, so I'll take care of this myself, thank-you-very-much." I think the reason we stop at 1, 2, 6, or 10 is for purely selfish reasons. Oh, we are good at disguising our true feelings. We say things like, "we can't afford to have more, we wouldn't be able to spend enough quality time with our children if we had another, blah, blah, blah."

I am of the mindset that God DOES know what He is doing. Little by little, even science (I believe) proves God right. What if you had 2 children, 1 boy and 1 girl. You and your spouse decided that you had the perfect little family. Snip, snip! You ended your physical ability to have more children saying you could always adopt later if you changed your mind, afterall, aren't there plenty of children out there just waiting to be adopted?

But what if God had designed for you to have 4 children. Because God is Omniscient, He knows just exactly what you need. What if in that perfect design for you to have 4 children, He had built in a safe guard so that you would not get breast cancer. Suppose your body needed just the exact hormone variance of having 4 children in order to ensure your health and avoid breast cancer. If you knew this ahead of time and could choose just 2 children and later get breast cancer, or choose to raise 4 children (complete with all of the sacrifices this requires), what would you choose?

Sadly, too often when we make life-altering choices we don't give God enough credit. We don't believe He is looking out for our best interest, or that He truly cares about the details of our lives. We think just because we had 4 children in 4 1/2 years that we will continue to have children this quickly/easily. (My mom had her first child at 19 and had her 4th before she turned 24.) My mom didn't plan to have that many children that soon. In fact, the doctor had told her she would probably never have children. She also didn't know that she would have a complete hysterectomy at age 24. She did not have 20+ children, as some might have guessed at the rate she was going. Had she decided after having her first daughter and first son and quit, I wouldn't be here. I am so thankful that she allowed God to choose her family size.

I also wonder how a man would feel if after deciding to stop his family size at say 3 children, and then later found out this increased his wife's chance of cancer.
What if she did develop cancer and died? Would he see the connection? Would he wonder if he directly or indirectly opened the door for his wife's cancer? And if he tried to warn other, younger men and fathers of the dangers of not allowing God to choose their family size, would these men pay attention?

And what about the wife who twisted her husband's arm to quit having children because she just didn't think she could handle anymore? Would she question if her decision had anything to do with her illness? Would she wish to go back and do it over again so her children would not only have more siblings to enjoy but also a longer time with their mom? Her husband, instead of enjoying his family, is left with the full responsibility of raising his children because of his wife's selfishness, how would she feel?

I'm just thinking out loud today. This is not meant to criticize anyone for their choices in family size. Just wondering what if...

Ultrasound

I went for an ultrasound today. No, I'm not pregnant. They aren't much fun when there isn't a little person you get to see, no tiny hands or feet. I went because my uterus was enlarged the size of a 12 week pregnancy. In the back of my mind I couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to go in and have the tech say, "well no wonder your uterus is swollen, there's a baby in there." Now that would have been a delightful surprise.

While lying on the table I thought about the whole procedure and how it affects one's life. How many times does a woman lie on this table hoping beyond hope to see a fluttering heart beat? The elation that comes when life is confirmed. What about the excited mother-to-be who is waiting to find out if she is having a boy or girl? She comes in and in a moment of time her dreams are shattered when it becomes apparent that something is wrong with this new little life. This machine has the power of alleviating fears, or creating new ones. Your life can change in a dramatic way.

For me it did neither. They found a mass. I was told I'd need to come back for further tests and a different ultrasound. Fine.

The part that stirred emotion was when the tech found my ovary. She turned the screen towards me and exclaimed, "Look! This is your left ovary. You are about to ovulate. See that little circle? That is the follicle about to release the egg." She exuded excitement. It was as if she was witnessing the beginning of life. (Truthfully, this is the potential beginning of life, it should be something that brings more than a yawn.) She never found the right ovary, but said it didn't matter since I would be back for another exam.

There's a desire in my heart to hope beyond hope that my little potential beginning of life would become a reality. My home is full, but inside my heart lurks an emptiness. Will that desire disappear, once these little potentials quit bursting forth? Will acceptance of no more babies ever find a place in my heart? I think not.

Crazy Kid

I was going through photos. This isn't what I was looking for, but made me laugh. These were taken last summer. Hilary was having a good time with the camera.


The Perfect Arrow


Spinning?


Look Ma, no hands


Aren't mirrors fun?

Playdough vs. Poop

Playdough-soft, squishy in hands
Poop-soft, squishy in hands

Playdough-sticky
Poop-sticky

Playdough-sticks to carpet, hard to clean
Poop-sticks to carpet, hard to clean

Playdough-molds nicely into shapes
Poop-keeps falling apart

Playdough-doesn't smell too bad.
Poop-smells very bad.

What would make a kid think one was the other, or at least play with it, rub it in the carpet in the same way, and basically smear it all over????

(Sorry for the grossness, but it's worse in real life. I won't humor you with photos.)