Leaving the nest

The day has come.  My oldest, my Frog, is leaving home.

She is working full-time now, and is going to live with my mom.  Mom needs companionship and help with things like cleaning and cooking and grocery shopping and laundry, and those are all things that the Frog is very capable of taking on...and although her house is a mere 25 minutes from here, it seems much farther.

I *sigh*.

I haven't yet processed how I'm feeling about this.  I am happy for the Frog.  I am optimistic for her future and for her time at my mom's.  But I'm sad and wistful, too.  She's my first little bird to leave the nest!!

The little ones are all anticipating with a sort of anxiety and beginning to miss her even before she's gone.  We're reminding them that there will be plenty of opportunities to visit and even have sleep-overs with their big sister, who has been like a second Mama to them.  I'm sure it will all be ok.

It's interesting to be in this place: my oldest leaving home, and my youngest still climbing into my lap for milkies--to have one foot taking it's first steps in one life season, and the other foot still firmly planted in the season I've been in for nearly two decades now.  It's surreal and exciting and scary and affirming and suspenseful all at the same time.

My prayer is that my Frog will continue to make good choices for herself, that she will remain rooted in the Faith of her upbringing, and that our relationship will remain strong and loving.  I pray that she will be happy, that she will be able to work through moments of frustration and anxiety, that she will be able to see the things of her past and remember the lessons she's learned, and draw from all of those things to grow into a confident woman who knows that she is supported and loved, and that she is worthy of that love no matter what.

The practical things are not a concern for me.  I know she will be fine in all of those areas.  She is a very capable, hard-working, knowledgeable young woman.  It's hard for me to step back sometimes and see that for the reality that it is.  My instinct is to help--that's who I am!  I'm a helper!  I want to see the people around me be ok, have the resources and supplies they need, and share with them where I see that they're lacking.  I want to check in with people and be certain that they don't need my help.  And although I know that my Frog will ask for help if she needs it, there's part of me that doesn't want to wait for her to ask...and that's not always a good thing, either.

Letting go is hard.  And this is the first of many letting go moments for our family.

But it's not ever really letting go, is it?  Just as parting ways isn't always saying goodbye.

I wouldn't mind your prayers in this.  Pray that I would be able to know when I am needed, and to know when I am not needed, and to respect that boundary in a way that allows my Frog dignified in beginning her life as an adult.

My prayers are very much with Syria, with the suffering people in that country who are persecuted because they profess their faith in Jesus Christ, or because members of their families do.  My prayers are also with the people or Nigeria who seek the faith despite the imminent danger posed to them and their families by organizations who want to see that faith snuffed out.  Please join me in praying for these people.

Shower of Roses giveaway

There is a lovely Catholic blog called Shower of Roses.

This week, the author has compiled an incredible list of Eastertide products and resources, and she's also put together a beautiful collection of things which are being drawn for in a giveaway.

Go on over and visit.  The way to get entries into the drawing is to go to each of the links, and then verify that have done so.  There are etsy shops, retail sites, Facebook pages galore (YES, please clutter my news feed with Catholic goodies!), and a few other odds and ends. 

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Speaking of social media, I've decided that there is enough going on in my life here at home that I actually kind of need the outside link to the world.

Here's the thing: in a typical week, I leave my house once.  Definitely once.  Mass on Sundays.  Before Mass, I rehearse the week's music with the choir and maybe a little bit of next week's music, too.  After Mass, I stand in the narthex with lots of other people and try really hard to give my attention to at least one dear friend for more than 2 minutes.  Usually, I end up sitting with Honey Bee on one of the two stretches of pews to give her a little milkies.

I don't get to go to choir rehearsal.  Rehearsals are on Thursday nights.  Frog works most weeknights.  Pickle and Reepicheep are in the school musical, and have rehearsals on Thursday nights.  It's a good thing I have an incredibly gracious choir director who lets me sing with the choir even though I am not able to be at rehearsals.

Date nights used to be a regular thing, but with the increasing number of musical practices (impending performance and all that) and the Frog's evening job, there just isn't anyone to watch the four littles.  We don't do babysitters--they're scarce, I'm not terribly trusting, and our budget is very limited.

So......social media is back in.  There are Mamas there.  There are people with fibromyalgia there.  There are Catholics there.  There are a huge number of priests and seminarians there, and even several religious sisters.  It's not an entirely bad place to be.

This last week, especially, was not one of my favorite.  For about a week preceding, there was a cough going around the family, and then my Honey Bee popped a fever.  It topped out at 103.5 under her arm, and I felt solidly good about medicating that fever.  (I am one of those Mamas who doesn't reach for the meds immediately: until it gets to be about 101 or a little above, I would rather let it do what it's supposed to do.  Tepid baths and cool cloths are great for comfort.  Obviously, if one of my little ones is in pain, I do what's necessary for comfort.)

Hence the visit to urgent care (because the clinic could not get us in for a few days, even though I said, "My littlest one has an ear infection, and I think my eldest has a scratched cornea.").  Five hours.  Six of us seen.  Lots of meds being juggled.  And we're on the upswing now, thanks be to God!

But when a Mama's buried beneath a pile of coughing babies, Mama sometimes needs to be able to connect with other Mamas who know just what that's like.   And those Mamas are there on the social media, the facebook, the place where we meet people on a regular basis whom we might not ever meet in person.  It's an interesting time in which we live...today I'm glad for the facebook.

And today, we shall wash the diapers.

I make no promises of regularity, because I don't like to break promises, and I've already done so too many times in this place.

And I really do need to wash diapers.  But it's more like "tonight" than today.  The diapers don't know the difference though.

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It's been such an odd winter.  So little snow, so little cold, so few days where it looks or feels like winter then, and no help for it.  People keep muttering, "Yeah, but we'll get socked in the spring," but I don't think we will.  If we could get one good snowstorm this year, I'd be happy with that.  I think it's just a mild winter.  Ho-hum.  No snow-days.  No blizzards.  No hibernating.

Not like last year.

My Gingersnap has turned ONE.  She is a year old, plus a few weeks.  It's hard to believe, though I think back on what things were like around here a year ago, and I believe it all too well.  It's been a year of many refinements, through the grace of God.  It's awesome and wondrous and terrible and mystifying all wrapped up into a year's time.  Some of the lessons God intended for me, I believe I've come to terms with.  Others have remained as elusive as a cloud.

I still experience brief, unpredictable bursts of intense pain in my side where my blood clot was/is, though the scan I had over the summer showed no reason to be alarmed about it.  My vascular surgeon doctor was pleased with the progress.  She told me that with clots the size mine was, they expect about 80% reduction, but that there will always be something there.  I'm no longer on the blood thinner (which is such a funny name...it doesn't make the blood thinner, it makes it slippery--but they don't call it "blood slipperier".  Too bad, too.  I think it's funny.), thanks be to God.  That mess ended in July.  I was happy to see it go--no more fresh crop of bruises on a daily basis, just from existing.  No more avoiding a glass of wine, should the notion strike (which isn't frequent, but it does happen from time to time...).  Best of all, though, no more lab visits for blood draws for the INR test.  I was over that dog and pony show.  Pin cushion?  Yeah, that's a tool in my sewing box.  It no longer defines my arm.

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So the Gingersnap is ONE.  ONE!!!  ONE!!  I cannot even believe it!  She is an entire year old.  She crawls with amazing speed and agility.  She has a gorgeous sense of humor, and loves to see everyone around her laugh at her little antics.  She has a few words, and is learning new ones every day.  She gets very upset with me if I do not Give Her The Milkies Right NOW and tell her to sign "milk" to me.  She beats her little fist at my chest, tugs at my shirt, and whimpers like a sad puppy.  Is it wrong that I find this not only adorable, but amusing?

Cuppie is THREE.  But we don't say "three" around here.  We say "flee."  So Cuppie is FLEE.  She has become Little Miss Independent, deciding, thankyouverymuch, that she is over wearing diapers or pull-ups or anything other than Princess Panties on her little rumpy.  And that's all there is to that.  Yes, really.  She decided one day that she was going to wear panties, and so she did.  She is dry overnight, she is dry all day, and in the course of the past 5 weeks of wearing them, she has had exactly three--oops: flee--accidents with wetting.

With poo, it's not quite the same story.  That bit always takes a little longer.

I admit I am into bribery that way.  When she began, she would get five "white chips"--so-called because she refused to call them "white chocolate chips."  Everyone knows, after all, that there is not one iota of chocolate in white chocolate anyway.  It's vanilla.  So, white chips they are.  So she would trot herself to the loo, do her business, and after the loooooooooong hand-washing ritual, she would count out her white chips: "One, two, flee, four, five!" and eat them up.

Once I remembered (DUH!) and bought the Tootsie Rolls, well that was all the motivation she needed for the Number Two to become her new goal.  So she learned very quickly to run (RUN!) to the loo for poo, too, and the Tootsie Roll came out.  But------we don't call them Tootsie Rolls.  No.  They are "Twitsie Lolls"!!  (Of course they are!)

My Squash......he just turned SIX.  Saturday was his birthday, and he was beyond excited to be turning six.  I likened it to Winnie The Pooh--"And Now We Are Six"--and he was unimpressed.

He is reading.  He loves Dick and Jane, just like my big kids did at his age, and he loves that he can now sit down with his books, open them, and make sense of what he sees on the page.  It's one of my favorite things in the entire world--watching a little child decoding the written English language and realizing that the whole world has just shifted greatly in their favor....poetry, stories, ideas, Psalms--it's all of a sudden open to them, like the sunrise!  What a blessing!!

My Squash has such a beautiful spirit and such a loving heart.  He has a fondness for a girl named Annie.  Not long back, I said to him, "Are you going to marry that Annie girl?"  He said to me, "Probably."  And then he grew quiet and thoughtful.  After a minute or so, he said, "Well, unless I hear God tell me I need to be a priest.  Then I can't marry Annie.  But I could still see her."

I melted.  I completely melted.  This sweet boy knows that we need to be still and quiet and wait to hear what God has to tell us, what God wants from us, and what we need to do and be to fulfill His design for our lives.  Thanks be to God!!

Reepicheep.  Ahh.........Reepicheep.

She is twelve.  We're in the thick of it, she and I, in the part where it feels like she's running at a pace through the thick jungles of the Amazon, and I'm trying to keep sight of her, let alone keep up with her.  This age has so far been the most difficult for me to parent my children through--especially the girls.  I've found that when their bodies start to really take off and grow like crazy (at about 9) and through puberty, to the other side, it's fish or cut bait.  It's so difficult to keep up with the emotional challenges, the outbursts of frustration and anger and emotion, the desire for more freedom coupled with the resistance to responsibility are just a huge obstacle for me as a Mom.  I'm working my way through it--we're working our way through it--but it's a big jungle, and it's awfully darned hot in here.....I feel like the heroine of a movie, before she earns her heroine status.  I'm slogging through the jungle, all hot and sweaty, with hair falling out of my ponytail and sticking to my forehead and cheeks...legs all scratched up, machete feeling reeeeeaaaaaallllllllyyyyyy heavy about now, barely able to swing it to clear my path, and all kinds of venomous creatures lurking about, just waiting for me to have to stop to take a breath.

Yeah.  It's like that.

Now, having parented a girl through this already, I also know that I'm doing the right things, and that even though it's tremendously difficult, the rewards are even greater than the challenges.  I know that if I can help Reepicheep navigate through the puzzle of hormonal swings and moods and interior struggle, that she and I will both come out of this not unscathed, but definitely stronger, both emotionally and spiritually.  That is why I take a deep breath every morning before I wake her up, and continue to breathe as deeply as I can throughout the day.  I pray every time I know I need to correct her.  I search for reasons to praise her, no matter how small.  I remind her how blessed we both are, especially that we can come and go as we need to, that we can put food on our table at every meal, that we have plentiful choices in the way we dress our bodies that keep us modestly covered and comfortably warm, that we can attend Mass daily if we want to without much effort at all, save for driving, and that we have a snug, warm, FULL home to live in.  And I remind her that there are lots and lots of little extras that can be made to disappear if necessary (and sometimes, they do!).  :)

My Pickle is still thirteen; his birthday isn't until early spring.  He is absolutely thriving at the Fabulous Catholic School where we are blessed to send our children.  He struggled in the beginning, going from having been home schooled for four years to being in the classroom setting again, but he's been spending some time after school a couple of days each week with a tutor, and he is improving so greatly that it's actually astonishing!  He's found a really good groove of time-management, for the most part, and has learned through natural consequences that his school work is his responsibility.  I must say, it's an advantage sometimes to live 35 minutes from school.  If he forgets something, there is no way I'm packing up my three little ones and the Reepicheep to bring it to him!!  (I doubt I would if we lived in the same town as the school, anyway, but at least this way, there isn't even the temptation.)  He's looking so forward to next year's cross country season, and is already running a couple of times a week.  Because in this completely ODD winter, running is actually an option.

There was a family who used to belong to our Parish whose eldest son was the head server, and I think they've switched to a parish closer to their home now.  They've not been to Sunday Mass in a long time.  I'm not sure what to think about it, but I do know that it means that Pickle is one of the older senior servers now, and he's really doing a great job shepherding some of the younger boys.  I'm so proud of him!  He's showing a maturity that is very gratifying to witness in my own son.

Also, his voice is changing.  I am a little fragile, emotionally, about that fact.  I make him laugh at every possible opportunity, because I just cannot get enough of his ridiculous giggle, and I know that someday it will be gone.  *le sigh*

And the Frog.

The Frog will be sixteen in just a few days.  SIXTEEN!  SIXTEEN???!!!  WHAT?!

There are all kinds of things that barrage my head about this.  Sixteen is old enough to drive, when properly licensed.  (She won't be just yet.)  Sixteen is the age at which My Darling and I decided that, should a young man desire to court our daughter, and should he seek our permission--in person--and should we decide to grant him permission, we would allow her to be courted.  Chaperoned, of course.  In groups, of course.  One on one, not so much.

Sixteen is the age, it seems, when childhood is carefully folded, set into the Hope Chest, and looked back upon with wistful memories clouding the vision.

I remember holding her when she was tiny, combing her impossibly curly hair and pulling it into pig tails for the first time.  I remember her taking her first steps, in those old-fashioned white baby shoes--on her first birthday.  I remember singing with her, dancing with her, playing tea party with her, hearing her read her first book ("Go Dog, GO!"), and watching her the first time she walked to school with the Pickle (I never let her walk alone).

How, in Heaven's Name, can she be turning sixteen?  Now I'm watching her dance with young men (MAN, can they swing dance!!), hearing her sing in the choir with me and at her private voice lessons, watching her put her hair in any manner of elegant or fun or frilly arrangements, running cross country, baking or cooking anything she fancies, and reading to her younger siblings.

The lump in my throat is enormous.  It hardly bears mentioning that she is better than half way through her sophomore year......just a little over two years and she'll be-----------------

*sigh*    ~~and *sigh* again.

For now, she is my little Froggy, and she is here with me.

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I'm working on me.  Every day, every hour, I'm working on me.

I still don't know where my heart is on the things that happened after my little Gingersnap was born.  I have my moments when I am overwhelmed by the thought of being rushed to the hospital in agonizing pain, sure that I was going to die, and then learning how real a possibility that was.  Looking into the sweet face of my tiny, tiny baby girl, I was thinking, "Will I ever see your face again?  Will you grow up knowing me, or being told stories about what others remember about me?"  Even now, it's hard to reconcile it in my heart.

I had a lot of guilt to carry in the aftermath.  I felt guilty that it happened at all.  I felt guilty that I needed the help of others to do simple things for so long.  I felt guilty that My Darling had to ferry me about, because there was no one else to do it.  I felt guilty that my medication stifled my milk and forced me into choosing formula supplementation, even though it was only for a few months.  I felt guilty that I didn't get thank you notes written and sent out, or that I got some of them written and not others, or that I lost track of the ones I had written, so I just stopped, even though I never stopped being grateful for the people who helped me and my family, and I told them so every single time I saw them over the year since.  I felt guilty that I felt guilty about things that were completely out of my control, were not my choice, were not predicable or preventable, and will probably never happen again.  I felt guilty that I didn't think my faith was up to snuff when the chips were down.

Sometimes I still do feel guilty.

Part of my Lent will be to finish here.  To complete my story, to get it out, to hammer it until it's shiny and smooth instead of a lump in the pit of my gut.  I'm asking God to refine me and help me to stop hanging on to this albatross of guilt and shame.

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PRAYER REQUESTS, and the first one is urgent:

Dear friends of mine--a couple, V and C.  V is pregnant with their sixth baby, and has just made it to 23 weeks.  Twenty-three.  Barely over half-way.  Last week, she started bleeding and cramping, so they went to hospital.  They were sent home after a while, but returned soon after.  The scan showed fluid in Baby's abdomen.  She's been in hospital ever since, and today they induced her.  I've not heard an update yet.  She had lost a lot of blood, and very early this morning she was given a blood transfusion, finishing up about 9:00.  By this afternoon, she had lost another 2 units of blood, and between that and almost no amniotic fluid, they needed to deliver her.  They are in an amazing hospital, where other friends of ours delivered a baby at not quite 24 weeks--that baby's birthday is tomorrow, and he's turning three.  That is a tremendous factor in their favor.  The fluid, though, in V's baby's abdomen, is a factor not in their favor.  It decreases the odds of survival for the baby to under 10%.  So please pray--pray for God's will, for peace in their hearts, for the teams of doctors and nurses who are caring for this family, and for the children who are waiting at home for their Mama to return to them.

God's ways are the best ways, even when it hurts like heck.

*Pray for other friends of ours who were very uncertain about their pregnancy until the scan this morning showed things to be fine.  They suffered a miscarriage about 6 months ago, and so are understandably anxious about this little one.  Saint Padre Pio says, "Pray, Hope, and Don't Worry."  Well, he's the saint, so I reckon he knows.

So many prayers to lift up, and God knows what they are even when I don't.

*Pray for Rebekah, who is 6 and will be receiving a bone marrow transplant from her little sister, Theresa, who is 2.  Rebekah is BRAVE--her Mama says, "Broken, brave, and blessed."  Rebekah is the fourth of the five children in their family.  She's quite an inspiration!

Know of my prayers for your intentions, too.

Progress here, progress there, a little progress everywhere...

The carpet has been installed in the new master bedroom.  There's still a bit of trim needing to be put up--there are no baseboards yet, and the door trim needs to be nailed up.  One of the window frames needs to be painted, and a little bit of paint here and there on the walls needs to be touched up.  The handles on the doors haven't been changed, and in fact, the doors don't stay closed at this point.

But--I absolutely could not wait.  We moved the bed in on Thursday, thanks be to God!

Before My Darling picked up Frog and Pickle from cross country on Thursday afternoon and returned home with them, I had moved the bedside tables and lamps, my striped chair and footstool/ottoman, Gingersnap's little bed, and all of the bedding.  We were able to move the bed easily, and I very soon had it made up.

Over the weekend, we moved the credenza into place, hung pictures, and brought in the little things that make it the quiet, welcoming, relaxing place I need it to be.

There are still a few things that need to be moved, but for now, I am very pleased.  Five years is a long time to wait and plan and work toward a specific goal!

One thing I've been thoroughly enjoying is the decision-making during shifting things into the new room.  What things do I truly need/use/want/enjoy?  What things have I been holding onto out of habit, sense of guilt or obligation, or greed?  What things could benefit someone else, or be used to make someone else happy as a gift?  I'm trying to simplify, to not hang onto the false need of having something in every corner, nook and cranny.  We are so blessed--blessed in abundance, for Pete's sake, and it's a fine line between abundance and excess.  I don't want this beautiful room to be turned into a storage unit, so I'm taking the time now to discard junk, donate things I don't need, and remember to give thanks for the things we have.

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This past Saturday was the last cross country race of the season.  The kids were satisfied with their performances--which were a bit slower than the week before, because the week before it was cold (which is perfect for runners), and Saturday was hot.  The team has a banquet coming up on Friday, where they will receive rewards and recognition.  It's been an incredible thing to watch my children learn, improve, meet and surpass goals, and constantly challenge themselves.  It's been difficult in some respects--watching them give every ounce of effort they can and sprint at the end toward the finish line, dripping with the sweat of their effort is bittersweet.

One of my favorite things about these races, though, is seeing the kids who don't finish in 17 minutes or 20 minutes or whatever is the average.  The kids who take 30 or 35 or even 40 minutes, but stick it out and still finish the race, are the ones that really get me teared up.  Those kids are pillars of the virtue of perseverance.  They're not in fantastic shape, and they cross the finish line after everyone has left the course sidelines.  Their teammates have already had their shoes off and their water bottles refilled again and again.  But when they come toward the finish line, everyone gathers again by the chute and hollers and whistles and claps and cheers for them as they finish!  And that's their goal--not to shave of 10 seconds from last week's time, but just to finish, for Pete's sake!  It's incredibly humbling.  It's also a reminder that I don't even have the guts to start one of those races...

...until now?

At some of the events, after the various heats have been run, and while the time judges are tallying the results, there is an open race--open to coaches, parents, spectators, basically whoever wants to run--and some of us Mamas decided that we want to run next year.

This is a very silly thing for me to commit to.  I cannot run.  I do not run.  I walk very quickly when I need to get somewhere fast, but I do not run.  I used to run.  I used to do lots of crazy things.  But I am in no shape to run.  Especially not the course in question: it's fraught with hills, and is definitely among the more challenging of the courses for the year.  There is no way I can do this.  I don't have the guts to even stand behind the start line.

But that's kind of the point--I'm not in good shape at all.  In fact, I'm not in any kind of shape.  I'm just kind of....here.  That's not good.  I'm tired, I'm sluggish, and Sloth has gotten hold of my ankle and is yanking with strength.  Pile on the guilt factor, and it's just not a pretty picture.

So I spent $10 and bought the 30 Day Shred video.  I've heard good things about from people I actually know.  I've seen some tremendous results from those same people, and I'm hoping that it will help me, too. I don't know how much I weigh, because we don't have a scale.  But I do know that I could stand to lose some inches just about everywhere.  I figure I can hack a 22 minute workout--at least time-wise!--and hopefully it will give me the boost I need.

I definitely need the endorphin boost that I know exercise will provide, too.  Even if my body aches and my muscles scream in protest, if my moods improve, it'll be worth it.

And so, as soon as my little ones are asleep for Quiet Time, I'll open the box that's had me trembling since Wednesday, and see what I can do.  I might even do "before and after" pictures.  I'll wait to post those though....

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Prayer requests:

*In thanksgiving for the Ordination to Transitional Deaconate for Deacon Mark!  Thanks be to God!!

*For the conversion of our neighbors, who increasingly call us to patience and forbearance.  Thank the Lord we have someone who draws out virtuous effort on our part, all for our sanctification.

*For Joshua P. who is desiring to feel the warm embrace of Jesus as he struggles with terminal conditions, and for his family, especially his mother, who so desperately wants to see her son's suffering end...even though it means she will bury him.

*In thanksgiving for the joyful news of our dear friends, who find themselves preparing to welcome Baby Number 11--with eight safely in their home and two little Saints praying for them in Heaven.

*For a renewed effort to promote respect for all human life, from conception to natural death, during this month of October (Respect Life Month).

*For a renewed passion for Our Lady's beautiful prayer of the Rosary, and for many souls to be brought nearer to her Son, which is all she desires for us...

*For a very specific intention, dear to my heart, which is known to the Holy Spirit and does not need to be given in detail here.  He knows.

I thank you graciously for your prayers on my behalf and for those I love and who are dear to me, and I bring to Our Lord all of the prayers of your hearts, too.

Moving along...

I keep neglecting my blog.  I know this, and there's been no help for it save for me to put some strict limitations on other things that have kept me occupied in ways I perhaps should not be.  Prudence, self control, and the other good virtues in which I seem to be lacking these days, have nudged my shoulder.
This is a good thing.

Interestingly, though, I seem to have lost the list of blogs I've been following all along--I'm not sure why this has happened.  But I wonder if it's something tied to my inability to comment on any blogs as well.  There has been a lot I've wanted to say in response to some excellent entries over the past few months, and every time I have attempted to do so, I'm hit with the "choose an account"--and when I do, nothing happens.  It's as though I've no account and am thus unable to sign in at all.

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Home schooling is going better these days.  My little ones are loving their binders, which I've outfitted with plastic page protectors covering pages of letters, numbers, shapes, names, and words for them to trace or color or circle or outline.  My Squash is reading, however haltingly, the short stories which begin with Dick and Jane and Sally and Spot and Puff and Tim...and of course, Mother and Father.  It's what all of my big kids learned with, and Squash seems to really enjoy himself when he realizes he can recognize a word from a previous page.  I love this stage!!

Even Cuppie is enjoying tracing the things in her book, and naming the shapes and colors, and learning the letters in her name, and counting things all over the place.  I was thrilled to find some math manipulatives in the dollar section at Target, and scooped up a bunch of different colored foam shapes for sorting, counting, adding, subtracting, multiplying, dividing, making patterns and so on.  Cuppie and Squash have loved using them.

And Reepicheep, as my last big kid at home, has been working on things like sketching, investigating botany, reading like a fiend, knitting, and writing stories.  I know she'll learn whatever she needs to know as she needs to know it, so it's been a blessing just seeing her gravitate toward things which truly interest her.

We're also working very hard toward temperance.  I think it's the virtue left behind sometimes; it's almost as if it's expected for a "tween" to be sassy and short-tempered.  What a perfect time to work even harder at holding one's tongue, carefully thinking before speaking and acting, and always with charity as our goal!  It's definitely not without challenges, and I've found myself having to grit my teeth mightily more than once.  We'll get there, though.

My little Gingersnap grows at a pace.  She has begun to get beyond even squunching (which some people call creeping, but we've always said "squunching") to nearly crawling.  She's been saying "Mama" quite intentionally for weeks now, generally when she is not in my arms and wants to be.  And I have on my hands my very first ever baby who fits into the size clothing which manufacturers deem age-appropriate: at not quite eight months old, she fits neatly into 6-9 month sizes.  She's loving whatever we give her to eat, but only if she is allowed to feed herself.

Having my two eldest both in school at the Wonderful Catholic School which we are so incredibly blessed to have available has been a true mixed blessing.  On the wonderful side, they are learning so much from an incredible faculty!  And the focus that is required, the self-discipline and time management--that's all definitely fantastic.

They are also both running with the cross country team, and doing unbelievably well.  I've always known that junior high boys are ridiculously fast--like fleas, really.  But I had no idea how, with some intense coaching and conditioning, that my Pickle boy could be hearing things like, "You have the ability to become a truly great cross country runner."  I had no idea that by watching my boy run, I would be so inspired that my entire understanding of who he is and what makes him tick has changed dramatically.  And watching the Frog improve her time, meet after meet, mile after mile, has been inspiring, too.  She has been able to change her attitude from, "I'm running well and that makes me happy," to, "I'm running well, but I know I can run faster, so I'm going to work really hard toward that."  That inspires me, too.

We've been going to all of the meets as a family, which enables us to spend a great deal of weekend time together.  We have a family habit of praying the Rosary whenever we're in the van for any length of time--which is usually the case, since we're roughly half an hour from most of our destinations.  It's been truly bonding for the kids, to cheer for one another, to know that their family is literally backing them every step of the way.  And it's been one step in this stage of life which sees us with kids in junior high and high school who have found a niche where they are more than comfortable, they excel.

We bring our big water coolers and a little folding table, two big canopy tents with sides and tarps for the ground, and a few camping chairs.  We get to the meets early, which really does mean early--most meets are on Saturday mornings, with the runners needing to report in time to walk/jog the course, stretch, warm up with their team, and prepare mentally and physically...which means they're usually arriving about 90 minutes before their race begins.  We get things set up for them so that when they arrive, they can relax, get into their warm up shoes, and stay warm while they wait to run their respective races.  Last year, when I was carrying my little Gingersnap beneath my heart, I stayed home with little ones (or sometimes alone!!), and now I see what I was missing out on.  Even with a very small team (we have about 15 runners all together), the kids have a wonderful time.

And so we're all just going along, day by day, trying to hang in there with the intensity that beginning the school year brings with it.  Some activities have been set on hold until a good pattern is established, or until cross country season is over, or both.  Some activities have been stopped all together in the interest of more family time.

Though I've said it before, I really do hope to come back to writing here with some increasing frequency.  I've written many posts in my head, and at some point, I need to make room for other thoughts.  :)

Prayer requests:  Please keep in your prayers:

* Kate and her family, who are dealing with a terminal illness within their family.

*Mary and her family, who recently welcomed their fifth child.

*Our neighbors, who could just really use some prayers--and I'll just ask the Holy Spirit to use those prayers in whatever ways are necessary!

*My Grams, who celebrated her 96th birthday this month, thanks be to God, and who is just always wonderful.

*All those suffering from depression, anxiety, stress, or any other mental ailment, especially those who are negatively affected by the change of seasons--those silent sufferings can be so terribly crippling, even though the one bearing them does not look sick.

*All those suffering with health issues which result in seasonal flare-ups, like arthritis, fibromyalgia and others--for the same reason as above.

Always know that I pray for those who ask me to do so.  Your intentions are always brought before Our Lord in the Blessed Sacrament when you ask for my prayers.

Gingersnap, the Entrance

Sunday, January 30th began like every other Sunday does in our home. We are gentle in our waking on Sunday mornings...the children emerge from their rooms on a natural schedule, rather than being rousted. Mass isn't until 11:00, and we leave here at 10:00 to get there in time to calm ourselves and prepare our hearts.

Somewhere around 7:45 or so, My Darling and the Squash begin making the pancakes. Squash pulls his youth chair over to the counter near the stove. My Darling hauls out the cast iron griddle, which takes up two burners on the gas stove. They mix the pancake batter in the old Tupperware pitcher, and joust just the littlest bit with their spatulas--"tings" Squash calls them, because "ting" is the sound they make when their flat blades collide. He helps Daddy to flip the pancakes on the griddle, and then flop them into the stoneware bowl from which they are served at the table.

That Sunday, I was feeling a bit nauseous, and couldn't eat even a bite of the delicious pancakes. I think Squash was a little sad about it, but he was cheerful nonetheless.

As I dressed for Mass, I was just not feeling quite right--a little off, but not enough to make me think I shouldn't go to Mass, for Pete's sake. Mass is the one time I get out of the house these days, and I wasn't going to miss it for the world!! The drive in was mostly uneventful--My Darling took us past the scene of the Great Truck Roll, and we could clearly see the imprint of the truck door and window, and we could see the place where the mirror would have been...

I was very uncomfortable all during Mass. I could not concentrate very well, and I could not sit still. Things were beginning to happen, and I knew I was in early labor. I rejoiced, thinking, "All of the saints and angels are here, and I get to begin the joyous work of meeting my baby here at Mass!!!!" What an incredible blessing!!

I had to get up and move a little bit. I used the ladies' room, and then stood in the back of the nave, just swaying from side to side...just a little, subtle dance that I was sure no one could possibly notice.

That's not really how it works though, is it? In a parish with so many large families, there is always someone who knows. And in our parish, there are midwives, doulas, and Mamas of Many--and their husbands, who have watched their wives go into the beginning dances of labor. It nearly surprised me when, after Mass, my dear friend who is Mama of Eight asked me, "You're in labor, aren't you?" Actually, she didn't really ask me, so much as she made a statement of observation. I said, "I am totally in labor!" We grinned about it, and as she hugged me, she said, "My husband pegged that about five minutes into Mass."

So much for subtlety!

We intended to shop for groceries after Mass, but I informed My Darling that we had better reconsider. It took him forever to head for the parking lot to drive the van up to the door--the parking lot, being a block away, was not in the cards for me. The entire ride home, I found myself having to very quietly vocalise through each contraction, and the timing of them and the intensifying of them told me that this was true labor, that it was moving along very well, and that it would likely be just as wonderful and enjoyable as my labor with the Cuppie had been.

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When we got home, I went upstairs and spent some time dancing around in the bedroom...swaying, rocking, lunging--just as I had done on Thursday. After a fashion, I thought, "I'd better get a little rest. I'll lie down for a bit, and then I'll fill the tub," which was, after all, where Gingersnap was going to be born.

I did lie down for a bit, and since I hadn't really felt a ton of movement through the morning, I poked and prodded my belly a little bit. I talked to my baby, saying, "I get to meet you today! I finally get to see your sweet little face!" I was a little gun-shy about it, since Chris' comfort level for a home birth is normally 36 weeks 4 days, and at that point I was only 36 weeks 3 days...but I knew she wouldn't split hairs over it.

As I was going in to fill the tub, I felt a big thudding movement from the baby--and that was the beginning of the drastic change in my labor.

I filled the tub and got into the deliciously warm water. Good thing, too, because the contractions changed and became more intense...and began to radiate way more into my back than they had initially.

I suppose it was around 2 or 3 in the afternoon when that happened--I don't really know, because though I'm sure I glanced at the clock as I passed it, there isn't a clock in the bathroom, and that's where I remained for most of the labor at that point. My Darling came and went between me in the bathroom and the kiddos downstairs. I had no idea what they were up to, but he let them know what was going on, and they seemed to be just as good as gold. Don't know what they had for supper, or what movie they watched...don't know what time the boys went to bed--the girls stayed up for the duration.

What I do know is that by the time My Darling called the midwives and they arrived, it was about 6:30 in the evening. They were cold and so comforted by our heated tiles in the bathroom! They brought in their equipment and put things where they needed them to be. They began chatting with My Darling a bit....

.......and my labor slowed tremendously. I moved between the tub and the loo, and really thought it was *time*--but when Chris checked me, I was only at 2 cm.

I was so frustrated. It was about 10:00 in the evening, and this had officially become my longest labor...and I was only at a 2?

I sat on the edge of the bed and cried...and breathed through a few contractions. They were really spaced out though. Chris said to lie down and get some rest...maybe things would pick up again in the morning.

The midwives left.

I tried to lie down, and got gobsmacked by a contraction. And another one. And another one. And good grief did they hurt in my back!!

I got into the bathroom as quickly as I could, but had two contractions between the bed and the tub. By the time I got into the water and had it warmed up again, the contractions were like sledge hammers smashing against my spine.

So much for the peaceful, enjoyable labor I had envisioned. This was serious work, and having had two back labors before, I knew it wasn't going to be any easier until it was time to push.

With each contraction, I would squat and lean forward and grab onto the water spout. I sang a very loud song of opening, and tried desperately to focus on anything. After a few contractions like that, I began hanging onto My Darling's hand with each pain. I squeezed the very lifeblood from two or three of his fingers...I figured it was the least he could do. ;)

At one point, during a break between the pains, I slept. Actually, I slept what felt like a good bit between each of them, though My Darling says I only had about 30 seconds between the end of one and the beginning of the next. But at this particular point, Our Lady came to me. She said to me in the most beautiful voice, "Look there...do you see my beloved Son? Do you see His suffering? I am bringing you to Him, to His cross. Be there with him in your suffering and know that He suffers with you, for you. I will remain here with you." I have never experienced anything like this in my life....and I will never forget it. No song could ever be as sweet as her voice was. It was like the scent of heaven, but in a sound...and to even try to explain it with words makes it sound coarse and jagged.

I was also beginning to see, in the tile on the wall, the face of a lion. The face was gentle, but strong, with an open mouth and eyes. Something in my spirit said, "As with the Lion of Judah..." and I began to think, "I can roar my baby out like a lion." I really needed to--the pains were so incredible, so powerful, so much bigger than anything I had ever experienced, I could not help but roar.

My Darling called Chris to come back at around 1:00 in the morning. My labor had begun 13 hours earlier, and I was lost trying to get from one pain to the next. My Darling held the phone out as I roared through yet another contraction, and Chris said, "Tell her she needs to calm down...I'm on my way!"

This time when the midwives came, my labor did not slow. When Chris checked me, she let me know that I was at 6 to 7 cm, with a bulging bag of waters. It wasn't too long after that that I needed to give a push...and the bag burst. It was such a strange sensation, one that I could never adequately describe. It felt like a balloon bursting in my lungs, or something near to that. There were about 2 or 3 contractions after that during which I felt relatively little pain--Gingersnap's little head was descending from where it had been floating in her watery world...and when it finished descending, the pain came right back again.

The time came to help her to leave her little warm home and come into our big, open world...there was no position I could find that felt good or right. The world was entirely pain. Everything was pain. I could not believe the amount of pain I was in. It felt like my body was being torched with a fire that burned but did not consume. An unbelievable amount of pain which I never imagined existed was now banging against my back. I kept trying to see Our Lady and her beloved Son, and it was all I could do to keep that vision in my mind's eye.

I begged for an epidural. My Darling said, "I left the stuff for that at the shop..." I implored them to just knock me out. One of the midwives said, "I don't think that's a service we offer..."

Well, then, somebody get this baby out, because I can't!!!

Finally, Chris suggested that I stand. I did, and I leaned over her shoulders and gave a mighty push to help my baby's head come forth. Chris had me lower back into the water, and as I did, there was my sweet little Gingersnap. She was looking right up into my eyes, which is, of course, why my back had felt during my entire labor exactly like forty-two legions of soldiers were marching up and down my back, as though it were a battlefield, and stabbing their spears into my spine with every step.

2:34 in the morning, January 31st, thanks be to God!!

She was so tiny--and I was so surprised that she was a girl! I really thought there was a little boy in there!

Oh, she was so beautiful, and so very, very tiny...I could barely feel the weight of her.

Reepicheep and Frog and Cuppie came up from the downstairs to see...I believe Reepicheep was the one to cut Gingersnap's umbilical cord, which had a true knot in it. By the time I was ready to get out of the tub, Frog was holding Cuppie, and My Darling was tucking Squash back into his bed (he and Pickle had made a cameo appearance to lay eyes on their baby sister) or something--so Reepicheep was the first one to hold my little Gingersnap for a minute.

The midwives got me and Gingersnap tucked into the bed for a little while so that they could clean up the bathroom, get my herbal bath ready for me, and prepare for the newborn exam. As I soaked in the tub, Chris readied to measure and weigh my little Gingersnap. I had already guessed that she wouldn't even come near six pounds. But she was pretty long--I couldn't wager a guess at how long she was. Chris measured her, and scrunched up her face--"That can't be right!" she said. She measured again, and looked at me with a puzzled expression. "Twenty inches long?!" she exclaimed. That's my longest baby yet! "Maybe she'll surprise us with her weight, too," Chris said.

Five pounds, four ounces. Tall and thin!!

She scored well on her apgars, 9 and 10 I think.

She nursed beautifully, and pooped even before the midwives left.

By 5:30, we were all tucked into our respective beds, my girls finally collapsing into their beds, although I'm fairly certain Reepicheep didn't sleep until late that afternoon.

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Everything went very well...until Thursday, when I began to feel so low I could have crawled underneath a snake's belly wearing a top hat. Every single muscle in my body was doing it's dead level best to remind me what I had done on Monday. My back and my legs were in a screaming match, and the rest of me felt like so much jello.

Thursday night, I was beginning to notice a twinge in my side. It seemed to come on with the after pains, which were pretty substantial, but not unendurable. But by Friday mid-morning, this twinge had begun to hurt. By lunch time, it had begun to throb. And by early afternoon, it was getting so severe that I was getting a little scared about it. I began to feel feverish, and my gut told me that this was something substantially wrong.

I called My Darling to come home. He did come just as soon as he was able, and by the time he got home, I could not stand up on my own. I couldn't straighten out, couldn't lower my right knee from my chest. We got Gingersnap dressed, and My Darling brought me pants and socks.

We headed out to the hospital just like that.

Gingersnap, the Overture...

I know this is a long time coming. I just feel like every time I sit down to think about my little Gingersnap's birth story, someone needs me, someone climbs on me, someone wants to nurse, someone needs a referee...but that's just life in a big family.

So it happens that I am curled up on the couch with some Norah Jones soothing me with her sultry voice, Gingersnap snuggled in and sleeping deeply, and the house is sweetly quiet. I'm tired, but I need to get this written...

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The week before Gingersnap was born was eventful. That Thursday, the 27th, I spent much of the day laboring quietly. While the little ones napped, I paced in the bedroom, rocked, danced, swayed, lunged, and just generally moved in whichever way felt the most natural with each wave that came. I didn't really think it would progress much that day, which is unusual for me. My more common response to obvious signs of early labor is, "YES!!! Come on home, Baby, we're gonna meet the next one!"

For some reason, that just didn't even occur to me on Thursday. Friday wasn't exactly the same--a bit of labor here and there through the day, but nothing remarkable. My Darling was, of course, going to work in the evening, which is the way of it on Fridays. He almost always calls me on his way home to see how the night has gone, and to let me know that he's on his way. The only time he doesn't call is when he's coming home earlier than either of us expected....then he just likes to walk in early and surprise me. I don't mind a bit.

But on Friday the 28th when he called me, and I said, "So how was your night?" he answered with, "Well....um.....I rolled the truck."

*jawdrop*

The scoop was that we had just received a couple of feet of new snow, and on that night it was snowing/sleeting/freezing raining/crapping from the sky. Well ok, it's February--we expect that. The county in which he was, where the restaurant is, uses a different mix of concrete and blacktop for their road surfaces than the county in which we live. They also treat their roads differently, and tend to use a lot more salt in crud weather like we were having. That's a good thing, for Pete's sake. So as he drove into our county of residence, My Darling did what he always does on cruddy roads: he waited until there weren't other cars on the road, and he checked to see how much traction he had, by way of letting the truck slow way down and then giving a light tap to the breaks.

It was a good thing he was going so slowly. The truck began to slide, and then to turn--he ended up facing the opposite direction in the opposite lane--almost a slow-motion half-donut-U-turn. The truck slid all the way over to the shoulder, where it stopped....but as it came to a stop, the wheels on the passenger side came up against the berm of snow left behind by the plow, and it was just enough to top the truck onto its side. My Darling said it all happened in such slow motion that he had time to hang on--he didn't end up with a single bruise, cut, or scratch--nothing, thanks be to God!! No windows were even so much as cracked. The bumper was dented, and the passenger mirror snapped off. I suppose that's to be expected, for having landed on its side in the ditch.

Well of course I completely freaked out. There was no way I would believe that he was fine, as he kept insisting. I could not see him with my eyes, so I could not believe that he was unscathed. A county sheriff had come to process the accident, and My Darling waited in the back of the cruiser for the wrecker to come haul the truck out of the snow. Even as he spoke with me from the warm shelter of the police car, I could not make myself believe that he was ok.

To make things worse--after the wrecker came to My Darling's rescue, they were only able to get about 5 miles down the road before the dispatcher contacted the driver of the wrecker to let him know he was needed urgently elsewhere...like on the Interstate. He had to drop My Darling off at a gas station on the highway--which was, of course, closed--and I had to venture out to pick My Darling up. The wrecker driver was needed for a 5-car accident...apparently, another car had slid off of the road (terribly common that night, sadly), and he was ok...until he got out of his car. And then he got hit by a car. And then other drivers smashed all around. I don't know how that man fared...but we definitely prayed for him.

The drive to the gas station to rescue My Darling takes, on a normal trip with clear, ice-free roads, takes about 5 minutes. But on that evening, it took about 15 minutes. It was horribly slick out there, and I was so incredibly happy to see My Darling that I practically vaulted out of the van to hug that boy's neck when I got to the gas station. He drove us home, and I was glad he did...I was shaking.

All the while, I had asked people for prayer for My Darling, and of course, got the comments saying, "Now don't you let him scare you into labor!" Being nearly 4 weeks ahead of my due date, I knew that some labor was normal for me, and I actually did expect to go early--but not that early!

Saturday was quiet. No labor to speak of...perhaps a few contractions here and there, but nothing significant. My Darling worked on the laundry room that day, and I stuck around the bedroom, napping, puttering, and just being near him in general.

Saturday night, I had a few stronger contractions, but again, nothing that made me think that true labor was imminent.

Aaaaaaaaaand then Sunday came.

So.....I've been a little busy.

I'll write the full story later, because I'm still working on processing it all................

...............but my little Applelumpkin--who is now called my little Gingersnap--arrived into my arms at 2:34 AM on Monday, January 31. She was precicely 36 weeks, 4 days cooked.

Gingersnap measured an incredible 20 inches long, and weighed only 5 pounds, 4 ounces. She's a tiny little thing!

I am falling maddly in love with her with every passing second.....

We are fit and hale and healthy, and working on learning how to get the milkies to increase the pudge.

The big kids, which now includes the Cuppie (!!), are all in love with her, too. Everyone clamors around for the most part, wanting their turn at holding her. Cuppie checks in regularly, including in the dark of night, wanting to count Gingersnap's little toes. Squash keeps smooching her nose "so it doesn't get empty." Reepicheep is like a helicopter, hovering and grinning. Pickle has held her all of twice--I think he's afraid that he'll drop her or squish her or something along those lines. And the Frog, who LOVES school, was happy to miss it on Monday, sad to go on Tuesday, and thrilled that she has a snow day today, on account of the gigantic blizzard we're in the middle of.

Thanks be to God!

Patience? A virtue, you say?

Patience has just not been one of those beautiful gifts with which I have been blessed. I have had to work for every little bit of patience I have ever possessed (thanks be to God, perseverance is one of the gifts I've been blessed with!), and the results are not always what I would call virtuous. Perhaps I judge myself a bit harshly, but then...don't we all?

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The snow is blowing and coming down at a pace. A blanket three to five inches deep is what is expected by nightfall, and I'm convinced that I'm the only one perfectly fine with it. I don't mind a bit being snowed in, especially this winter, while I wait for the small Applelumpkin to make a decision about a birthday.

The weekend wasn't super-snowy, but it was cold and bright, and afforded wonderful light by which to work on the quilt! AND--I FINISHED IT!!!! I am so thrilled to have this part done, and now I truly feel that I can just..........wait.

You know, patiently.

Pictures? You want pictures?? Well, I HAVE pictures!!

First, the co-sleeper. I was very fortunate to spot a listing for a co-sleeper on the infamous craigslist, for a fantastic price. We happened to have some Christmas money just waiting for some special use, and between the two of us, My Darling and I decided that this co-sleeper would be a wonderful gift for our little Applelumpkin.

Now, usually, we would side-car the crib--that is, remove the front side of the crib (which is very sturdy, heavy, OAK even, and can withstand having only the three sides by merit of the fact that it is a convertible crib and meant to be used as a toddler bed down the line), raise the mattress height by adding a second crib mattress, butting it up to my side of the bed, and taking certain precautions to ensure that there is absolutely no gap between the two. It's a lovely arrangement, really, because it gives the baby plenty of room, and means that our queen-size bed does not begin to feel like a camp cot, for Pete's sake.

The downside of this arrangement is that, well, the crib is gigantic. Once it's in place, we don't move it until we're ready to transition whoever is sleeping in it to a room with a sibling, which means it's in our room for about a year. Because I like to have my bedside table handy--for my reading lamp, my glass of water, a place to put my book--you know, the whole reason one would have a bedside table...anyway, the crib is generally centered alongside my side of the bed. This means that my access point at the foot of the bed is only about 18 inches. It's doable, for certain, but it's not in the least bit ideal. Plus, with the size of our room being what it is, and walls not being movable, there are about FOUR inches left between the back side of the crib and the wall. Noooooooooot a whole lot of wiggle room there.

Enter the co-sleeper. It's the length of a bassinet, plus about 6 or so inches. It's the width of a bassinet, plus about 6 or so inches. It is a lovely proportion, and will allow Applelumpkin to be directly beside me, just as though the crib were there, though perhaps not for quite as long. But the good news is, hopefully (she said to herself, secretly praying in earnest that it was a legitimate hope...) the new master bedroom will be finished not too long after this little Applelumpkin makes an appearance--and then the room will be so gigantic--cavernous, even--that having the crib side-car arrangement will not be an inconvenience!

So, in the meantime, I give you...............the CO-SLEEPER!


See the lovely plaid fabric on the back there? It's just for decoration at this point, but I need to find a way to incorporate it. I'm not sure how I'll do that just yet. It's actually a small tablecloth which was found in My Darling's grandmother's cedar chest...it's ridiculously soft, both in texture an the beautiful muted colors. I have a *thing* for antique fabrics and linens, so this fits my bill quite nicely. And as you'll see, the colors are perfect for our needs as well.

When we bought the co-sleeper, I had looked at many reviews of it, and noticed (too late) that several owners reported that the "sheet" which came with it was scratchy, thick, and if laundered in washer and dryer (um......how else would I launder it??) would shrink in such a way that it would no longer fit the mattress. If I had gotten the full-size co-sleeper, a sheet made for a Pack & Play would fit. But the mini? Well, no standard sheet of any kind will fit.

BUT--a standard pillow case does the trick! I used a flannel case, and secured the open end with three diaper pins. Problem solved!


This is where the co-sleeper will eventually be placed. In the very, very beginning days (and nights), Applelumpkin will probably just sleep on My Darling's chest, for that is how all of our babies have begun. And with the number of feedings and diaper changes which happen throughout the night, it's really most convenient. But the day (or night) will come when Applelumpkin will begin to put on the pudge and become squirmy...and need a place to sleep...and that is when the co-sleeper will be employed.

This is my side of the bed. The little plaques with lambs on them hung on the wall at Grandma's house, in what was Aunt M's bedroom. I remember the wallpaper in there was a similar color to my bedroom walls here, and covered in beautiful birds. I'm almost certain, though, that the lambs got their start over my mother's crib back in 1942.

Grandpa made the little wall chest. He loved to craft things out of wood--all of them have this same finish and color. There are bookshelves, sewing organizers, and tables which he made. Grams gave me this little chest and one of her sewing organizers when she moved from her little house. I am honored to have this on the wall in our home.

My bedside table is my touchstone...it holds my glass of water through the night, and I always have some worth-while reading there. The book on top at the moment is Jan Karon's In This Mountain, and just underneath that is Pope Benedict XVI's Jesus of Nazareth. Both are wonderful, and I pick up the one most suited to my mindset. The little shelf next to the table holds more books--the Mitford books are on top, and there is another shelf packed with all different books, from the Mary Poppins books by P.L. Travers to books by Archbishop Fulton Sheen.


I've frequently talked about The Basket. This basket is where my mother, her sisters, my sister and brothers and I, our four maternal cousins, and each of my children have slept in infancy. When I was a baby, Pop rigged hooks on the ceiling and a way for Mom to hang the basket to keep my brother's sticky hands off of my face. I like that I can put it on the kitchen table, or on the gigantic ottoman, or wherever I need to. I can pop it in the back of the van and take it with us to family gatherings if necessary. And for the moment, I like that it so neatly holds all of the things Applelumpkin will need, from tiny t-shirts to receiving blankets to sweet little gowns.

The Towels are there, too. There, on the left, is the towel which will be warmed up in the dryer while I'm busy holding our little Applelumpkin, so that when the time is right, My Darling can hold his youngest child for the first time. That towel, I promise you, is impossibly soft and will be delicious when it's warmed so nicely.


By comparison, here is the Squash as a baby, lying in the basket and playing with his little elephant rattle:


And the Cuppie, barely awake, snuggled into the basket:


So snuggly and cozy that I almost want one for myself.

Well then--a glimpse of the quilt.

I made six nine-patch flannel blocks, ran strips of creamy colored chenille between the blocks, and backed the quilt with the chenille. To finish the edges, I had pondered using a satin binding, but opted to just turn the chenille and tack it around the edges with a decorative zig-zag stitch. I love the way the chocolate brown and the aqua blue work together.


I also found the adorable polka dots in the same aqua and chocolate, and pieced them with the aqua pea pods....I love the print!


The finished product is pretty big--I have it spread across our bed, and it nearly covers the surface of the queen-size mattress. Definitely big enough to snuggle beneath! Oh--and check out the blanket underneath the quilt....my mother-in-law must have had some divine inspiration while she was Christmas shopping. She gave me this king-size plush blanket as a gift for me and Applelumpkin. I could not believe it when I saw the color!! This plush blanket will go in the dryer after The Towel comes out, to be warmed up and then wrapped around me and the little Applelumpkin as we're tucked into bed together. I cannot wait!!


I am definitely not a professional quilter, but my babies don't seem to mind. I am very pleased with the way this quilt turned out, and am very eager to snuggle my newest little one in it.

Wishin' and prayin' and hopin'....

Really, I would love to be asleep, but that's just not been the way of it lately. I catch bits and snatches of sleep here and there as I can, but mostly I'm resigned to the pattern of being tired, dozing here and there, and knowing that in just a few short weeks I'll be tiredly awake and staring at a beautiful, pudgy, sweet little face. That'll do, for now.

Since the Squash loved hearing, many months ago, that the baby was about the size of an apple, he started calling it Little Apple. Several months later, we told him the baby was the size of a pumpkin, but he said that name was already taken (because that's what we called Cuppie for so long!). Now, he's settled on a mishmash of the two words: Applelumpkin! I *lurve* it.

I sent out a notice yesterday to our home school group that I am looking for a Mother's Helper to hire, just a few days each week, for about the first 3 or so weeks after the little Applelumpkin is born. I did this because with the Frog away at school all day and My Darling not being able to take days off from work, I know that I will need some extra hands, feet and eyes to help out with the Squash and the Cuppie. Reepicheep and Pickle do a great job, but for Pete's sake, they are kiddos themselves. They do so much by way of helping to keep the house running (because in a big family, everyone pitches in...), and to expect them to help me do what needs to be done for Squash and Cuppie while I snooze with the Applelumpkin...well...that's just too high an expectation by my estimation.

I've gotten a couple of very encouraging responses: one from a Mama whose daughter would probably be able to lend a hand here and there, and another from a Mama who has many contacts through the friends of her older kiddos who are in college rather locally, and who would likely be able to come up with something! I am greatly encouraged by this, because this issue in particular has been the source of a great deal of anxiety. My Darling reminds me: GOD WILL PROVIDE (seen that anywhere recently?!), and that things will fall into place. My intense need, my instinct to have everything in place before the baby is actually born is just part of the nature of Mamahood, I think. It's part of nesting. It's part of protecting my territory and being sure that the perimeter is sound and secure before I bring my sweet baby forth, and not waiting until I am needing to rest, recover, snuggle, nurse, and get to know every beautiful square millimeter of my newest baby.

I have everything else in place--almost. The list of supplies that has served me for the past two births has been stocked and restocked, save for only two remaining items. They are on My Darling's "to pick up" list. The baby clothes have been washed and folded and tucked into the traditional wooden basket in which three generations have slept. The only thing that remains is that quilt..........which I have still not even begun, save for in my head. I have come very close to making peace with the possibility that I may not get it finished--but that's not really satisfactory, now is it? Perhaps even writing about it will give me the giddyup to move on it.

After I sleep.

Which I dearly hope happens tonight.

Did you know that on the Hallmark channel, beginning at 1:00 AM, "I Love Lucy" runs for three hours?

Found that out the other night.

Did you further know that if a pudgy little foot encased in a sleeper kicks your eyeball smack on the lens and you are wearing a contact lens because you were too stinking tired to remove the contact lens before you finally fell asleep, you will be jolted most rudely awake, but your eye will survive?

Found that out last night.

I'm hoping for exactly ZERO odd revelations tonight.

G'night!

......aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand the New Year starts with a bang!

Well, ok...that might be an attempt to make things sound more exciting than they truly are.

The New Year started with the January Thaw coming a little early...meaning temps in the mid 40's, lots of the beautiful snow melting, the grey, slushy stuff increasing, lots of puddles forming, mud seeping, and then.......a freeze. You know, ice is really nifty, when you're opting for the crushed variety from the door of the refrigerator. It's not so nifty when it's stretched across the driveway, the streets, into intersections, and no help for it--because the salt has all been washed away by the rain. In December. In Wisconsin. Um..........ick. A lovely summer rain? Why yes, thanks. A December rain? I'd rather not. So really, the New Year started with more of a "drip" than a *BANG*!

On New Year's Day, it was supposed to snow. But it didn't. The good part of this is that fresh snow on top of fresh ice is bbbaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad....very, very bad. The sad part of it is that it's still kind of ugly out there, visually speaking. And now it's cold again. So, it feels like January, but it looks like November. Ew. As I tend to say in November, "If it's going to be cold, at least let it be pretty!"

There was one pretty part of it--with the warmer temperatures for a few days, there was a tremendous amount of fog. When there is fog in the winter, and the temperatures plumet overnight, in the morning comes the hoar frost...and that is beautiful stuff. Would that I had the camera on those mornings and could have gotten a couple of snaps...it really was beautiful, thanks be to God.

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The other *BANG* (or nearly that) is that once again, I find myself hovering between low levels of activity and nothingness, because if I get up and do too much, my belly misbehaves. Boo! Or as The Crescat would say, "Hiss!Spit!Growl!"

The trouble with this is that I never really know ahead of the need--sometimes things kind of sneak up on me. The contractions--well, those I'm used to. Even the ones that are productive, even this early. It's happened in all of my pregnancies, so why not this one?

The part that takes me by surprise is when my blood pressure and my blood sugar bottom out at the same time. The result is that I end up drenched in a cold sweat, shaking, and nearly passing out. When it passes, I am completely exhausted and end up needing a nap--like, a two hour nap. It happened yesterday, even after having been up and moving, even after having eaten breakfast, causing me to stay home from Mass. I hate missing Mass. I know that it's permissible when a person's sick, but I still hate missing Mass. The family left at around 10, as usual, leaving Reepicheep behind to make sure I had anything that I needed, and came home at around 2. I slept almost the entire time they were gone, waking only to eat a bit more and keep well-hydrated.

It happened again this afternoon, too. The good thing about the timing today was that I was already taking it easy, had nothing planned, and it was nearly nap time for Squash and Cuppie, so I just snuggled with the two of them. I'm not keen for it to happen again tomorrow--consistency is not always a good thing.

I know that this, too, shall pass. Sometimes it feels like it'll be forever until that day comes, even though my brain knows that it's only a matter of a few more weeks. I've never claimed to have been blessed with patience as my reigning virtue (if I have any virtues at all, for Pete's sake!), and the end of pregnancy is always a test of what patience I do have!! I guess that even if consistency is not always a good thing, in some ways, it's...well, constant. Ha! And double ha! HA!!

It's good to be tested this way, I think. The patience that I will learn from this, as with all of the others, will benefit both me and the sweet little baby I await.

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All of the things for the baby are washed and ready to go. The towels, always chosen so carefully for their velvety softness are ready to greet a brand new velvety baby, fresh from birth. Sweet little diapers are ready to cover a soft little bum. Receiving blankets are ready to receive. Tiny hats are prepared to sit atop a sweet little head. Adorable t-shirts are ready to envelop a pudgy little body. And my arms are more ready than ever to hold all of it. But--it's a bit early, my little love. Do not be so impatient, my temperamental belly.

So......I will fill the remaining days by scheming up a sweet blanket. I make one for each of my babies, and I have the fabric ready to go for this one--this, and this, and this (but in a coordinating aqua blue), and this (in a lovely cream). Once I figure out how I want to block it, it will only take a couple of days at most to get it made so that I can snuggle with it.

Then, I'm going to make one of these. Is it not absolutely delightful?? And simple?? I am going to make it a little differently--I'll use fusible interfacing rather than adhesive, since I think the adhesive part is a tad bit overkill...but it will be incredibly adorable!! I will use scraps from the quilt, along with various scraps of coordinating materials that I have from other projects. I think it's a simple enough project that the kiddos will be able to help with it, too, which will be fun.

And I really need to get some pictures updated--here, through e-mail, and just in general. We kind of usurp the Frog's camera, since the only other cameras around here either take film (*gasp*!!!) or are phone cameras with not-so-spectacular quality. I've yet to have any belly photos taken with this wee one, and here we are, almost done! And I need to get fresh photos for the kids' frames on the living room wall. The one of the Squash, for instance, dates back to when he was eight months old. Yeah, an update on that is overdue.

I'd like to get some pics of the Christmas Tree while it is still decorated and lit, and of each of the Nativity scenes which grace the living room and sun room. Come to think of it, I should post pics of the sun room!

At least I have things to keep me busy--in addition to keeping the kids involved with their lessons (not a seriously difficult chore, but they do definitely require direction, for Pete's sake!).

MISSING: Sleep. Generous reward offered.

I'm certain that I've experienced this before...but these days, sleep is more elusive than a blade of grass beneath the thick blanket of snow in my back yard. I've had the most horrible nights. I'm tired--exhausted--and yet I cannot sleep. Even when my mind is not racing, I can't sleep. Even when I read until my eyes are closing and I begin to read the same sentence five times, when I shut off the lamp, sleep runs from me at Olympic sprinting speeds. Even when I pray the Rosary and get stuck saying twelve or fifteen Hail Marys because I lose count, sleep does not come. It's ridiculous.

Tonight, I cannot sleep because of a truly impressive amount of pain running down my left hip and leg. Sciatic! GAH!! It started just before Mass this morning, and it's probably directly related to all of the driving of the week. And combined with the SPD that I've been experiencing for a few weeks now...well...it's really....um....special.

The week was crazy-busy, and mostly relating to all things Christmas and church.

Thursday, the kids and I went to town to go to daily Mass. After Mass was over, we helped to decorate the church for Christmas...which I *love* doing. It is all so beautiful and elegant--really well done. One tall lit tree in the sanctuary, lots of red and white poinsettias, and two of the most beautiful Nativities--one more elaborate set-up in the narthex, and one very simple ensemble in front of the ambo.

Friday, being Christmas Eve, found us having supper with some dear friends. Between the four couples there, we had 23 children! What a lovely time it was! We departed for Midnight Mass according to what part we had; four of the servers and I left early, they to vest and prepare for the junior servers, and I to rehearse with the choir.

Unfortunately, Friday began a little differently. It was the second day in a row during which I longed for sleep. I had fallen asleep at four-thirty in the morning, and accumulated about 3 hours' worth of sleep by the time we had to leave the house. It really seemed on Friday that anything which could go wrong went wrong, as though Satan were attacking my desire for a peaceful Christmas. The stinker. But you know how he works--he sends his nasty little minions to do his bidding, a la Screwtape and Wormwood.

I wanted to just rest up, and since My Darling was home, he let me hole up in the bedroom for most of the day. I rested, but did not sleep. When I came downstairs, though, it was to a room which had been clean the night before--now completely trashed. THREE apples lay on the floor, because no one had been watching Cuppie. This made for a crabby Mama who then informed the three older children that they could rinse off the apples and have themselves a snack.

I received a package from UPS, but the box, labeled "2 of 2" lacked it's companion. Of course, when calling UPS, one never really gets to speak to a person. One is encouraged to say various things to trigger the automated response, which sounds very much like an actual person, but which is really a tool of evil designed to drive perfectly sane people completely and very directly mad. And of further course, the company from which I had ordered this shipment was understandably not open on Friday--it being Christmas Eve and all. Was this understandable to Yours Truly on Friday afternoon? Not on your life.

Well ok then--I decided to have a shower in the afternoon so that I would have plenty of time to dress carefully and attend to my ridiculous hair, which has plagued me since I was about twelve. While I used to have to do strange things with chemicals to make it curl, after I had the Frog, that all changed. What used to be a lovely wave in my hair is now a combination of frizz and pseudo-curl, with which I can do very little. I must put all sorts of things in it to make it behave, but it has to be done while the hair is still wet...if it's even the slightest bit dry, then all the products in the world will do nothing, and my hair mocks me as I stare at it in disbelief. I think I actually saw a little man within my riotous locks dancing a jig of glee and sticking his green tongue out at me the other day.

After the Battle of the Locks was fought and...settled...I turned to cosmetics. With the dark circles making my eyes appear akin to skid marks left behind by a race car, and the bags beneath my lower lids looking like Santa's bag of presents stolen from his sleigh, there was no way I was going out of the house without attempting to do something to improve my appearance. I began washing my face and realized not once, but twice that I was using the wrong substance to cleanse my skin. Good grief. The nasty little man danced.

After finally getting my face clean, I went through the usual three minute routine: loose powder for foundation, light eye liner and shadow, blush, and mascara. I am always a little bit nervous about mascara, because it has the power not only to thicken and beautify the lashes, but also to create absolute havoc on a freshly made-up face. And which potential did it fulfil on Friday? Why, none other than the latter, of course! First, the tip of the brush collided with the inside right corner of my nose, making it look like a gigantic black tear had squeezed from my tear duct and landed squarely next to it. Then, even though the brush never touched my left eyelid, I blinked. Anyone who has attempted to apply mascara knows what happens when you blink. It leaves a perfect print from the brush on the skin beneath the lower lashes.

Oh, this was perfect. Juuuuuuuussssssssst perfect. It is nearly impossible, without completely starting over, to remove mascara from skin. If you rub it, it smears. If you try to wipe it away, it rubs in. Again, in the mirror, the horrible little man with the green tongue began to mock me with his nasty little jig. I did get the majority of the mascara off of my face, but was left with what appeared to be an even darker circle beneath my left eye and next to my right eye--making me look, oddly enough, even more tired than I did when I began!

I came downstairs, looking tired and frazzled, but determined to make the "Happy Birthday Baby Jesus" cakes as pretty as they did in my mind: two white cakes, nicely frosted, with the words written in red, and holly leaves and berries in the corners. I found My Darling swirling the frosting onto the cakes, and I reached for the can of frosting and the finishing knife to smooth it all out--only to drop the can of frosting onto the cake. "HA!" shouted the little man, his feet tapping furiously on my shoulder.

After I came back to the kitchen, having walked away to cool off (but not before stamping my foot and complaining rather loudly that nothing could go right today!), I looked for the icing and the decorating tips to do the writing and drawing of holly leaves. Now, I'm not a professional cake decorator. I totally buy those nasty tubes of "icing," colored with horrid chemicals. I use the plastic screw-on tips that come attached to the "flower nail" that I never use. But I do know enough to keep them all together, in a baggie, in a bin in the cupboard, so that I can find them when I want to do things like...oh, decorate a cake.

But they weren't there. The decorating tips weren't there. They weren't in the bin, or on the shelf that the bin lives on, or on the other shelves in the cupboard. And since I only have two cupboards which hold food items (the other used to store canned goods), pretty much they were missing entirely. And the nasty little man danced some more. I wanted to swat him like an insect, but since My Darling was already looking at me a little sideways because of the Mascara Incident, I resisted the temptation to bat at something only I could see.

The cakes were for dessert for this Christmas dinner which we shared with friends. The beautiful thing is that I didn't even have to explain...I just said to the Mamas, "They're Happy Birthday Baby Jesus cakes, and they're white for purity. Also, I couldn't find my decorating tips." They've all had Those Days, too, so they understood.

At least from the dinner on, things would get better.

Right?

Except that we left for church later than I had thought we would (I wasn't driving, or we would have left well sooner)--but not being a regular part of this particular choir, I wasn't in on all of the details, so I didn't know what time I was supposed to be there...and it turns out I was quite late. It did work out ok rehearsal-wise. When we were finished running through the things we needed to, I left the choir loft to run to the ladies' room. A friend was there with her mother and three small ones--one sleeping in Grandma's arms, one being terribly tired and less-than-cooperative, and one being only three months old. She asked me if I could hold the baby while she ran to the ladies'...and I ought to have said no...but I cannot resist the lure of a cute, pudgy baby..........and the choir started singing. Without me. And it's a chamber choir, which is very, very small. So I passed the baby to the Grandma, who I'm sure juggled the two of them just fine as I huffed and puffed my way back up the stairs to the loft, having missed singing Dixit Maria, which is one of my favorites. The nasty little man danced so much I was sure everyone else could see him.

Thanks be to God, that was the last of him though. The beauty and grace of Midnight Mass actually at Midnight and not at ten or ten-thirty, like some places do (and still call it Midnight Mass...), seemed to cause the nasty little jig-dancing, green-tongued man to evaporate into thin air. And good riddance!!

There were so many priests, deacons, seminarians and servers in attendance, one had to look for the miter to know where the Bishop was. The incense was lovely and pungent. The music was sacred and beautiful. The people were rosy-cheeked and alert. The ancient prayers and rituals were reverent and inspiring. And even though we didn't get back home until around two in the morning, our children were well-behaved and polite and helpful with the little ones.

We are a family which goes not only to Midnight Mass, but also to Mass on Christmas Day. This year, I was scheduled to cantor, and it's the first time I've done so in months. I prayed hard for good stamina to make it through Mass, and I was well-rewarded. The odd thing was that since almost all of the families of our parish, of which there are a great number, had attended Midnight Mass, most of them had planned not to attend on Christmas Day. Two of the families who had planned to attend didn't--one family had sudden and severe illness (of the intestinal variety) go through, and the other family had a last-minute change of plans. This meant that my Pickle Boy was the lone server--on Christmas Day, mind you, only one server! Unheard of in our parish, which usually sees about a dozen on any given ordinary Sunday!! But the boy did us proud. He did an excellent job, lighting all of the candles, setting things to right on the credence table, carrying in the Crucifix, holding the book, setting the altar, bringing forward the cruets, helping Monsignor to wash his hands, ringing the bells at Consecration, cleaning everything up, holding the book once more, and carrying the Crucifix again as they recessed. I was so proud of him I think I cried a tear or two. It was lovely to see him move gracefully, with confidence and concentration. I think he was pretty proud of himself, too.

When we got to Mass this morning (because it's Sunday--or it was when I rolled out of bed last--I do realize that it's not quite Sunday anymore...), the boys who grouped up to serve were surprised and impressed that Pickle had done the job on his own. Several of them wished that they were old enough to drive so that they could have been there...but that will come soon enough, for Pete's sake.

The pain that began this morning has been unrelenting. I've iced it, My Darling has massaged, I've propped with pillows, I've soaked, I've done everything I know to do as I bide the time, waiting for the chiropractor's office to open in the morning. In the mean time, I am offering my suffering as a prayer of sacrifice for Candy Rant's mom...and I would encourage you to pray for her, too. I know that my pain will not last forever, and that the cause of it is something to rejoice in. Pain and suffering can be joyful!! But this dear woman's pain is not joyful...and is taking a great toll on her and her family. Read her story and offer your kind prayers for her, and for all those who suffer during this time of year, especially those who are cold, who are hungry, who yearn for love, who cannot find relief of their suffering in grief, and for those whose pain and suffering is not visible to our eyes, but only palpable to the soul.

May the profound joy of the coming of Our Lord as a tiny baby more than two thousand years ago ring deeply in your heart and soul, and may His Peace reign in your home and in your family today and each day in the year to come.

Between the moments and moments

I have been soaking up the last days of my sweet Cuppie's babyhood. She comes to sit with me, climbs into my lap, and asks for her "nulkies." I happily oblige her.

She brings me the stuffed monkey puppet and says, "Hep me, Mom!" I press the button on the hidden box within and the monkey makes monkeyish noises.

She comes to me and puts her little hand on my expanding midsection and says, "Baybee bellee!" and "Wuf-oo, Baybee!"

She pats my cheek and says, "Wuf-oo, Mama!"

She toddles in sometime in the night and starts to climb up onto the bed. All the while, she softly says, "Mom?" and I answer her, "Yes, sweetie." "Mom?" she says again--are you still there?--"Yes, sweetie." "Mom?"--still??--"Yes, sweetie." When she has climbed atop the mound of sleeping Mama, she lays her little head on my cheek, tucks her feet into the blanket, and says, "Mom."

And then she sleeps, too.

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This has happened each time. Each time a new life is coming into our family, I go through a small bit of mourning for the babyhood of the youngest. With the Frog, being my first, I had no idea what to expect when the Pickle came. With the Pickle, I was so sad that he had ended our nursing relationship--he was ready, but I was not. He was the type of baby who only let me hold him when he was nursing...he was not a snuggler, and I knew that the days of holding him close were ending. And even when we were expecing the Squash, and Reepicheep was nearly seven years old, I mourned the loss of her being the "Babyest" of the family. I always said to her, "You're all my babies, but you are the babyest!" ....and then that wasn't true anymore.

When Cuppie was the expected one, Squash and I would snuggle and he would put my Rosary around my belly, and we would pray our way around the Pumpkin within. He has always been a snuggler--he still is--and he sucked up every single minute that he could of it being Just Him in my arms.

And now the Cuppie. In her small ways, and in the best of her understanding, I know that she anticipates with joy the coming of this baby. I know that she will still be a snuggler, and that she will happily share her Nulkies with the baby.

...and I know that very soon, she will no longer be The Baby of the family.

She will be a wonderful big sister though.