Just Another Manic Monday.....

Does anyone know this song?   It's definitely a dated song.  If you notice it's June 1986....I believe I was in 8th grade- but after my Monday today, I was definitely having a Manic Monday Moment....and the big hair?  Well, I did sport that as well back in the day....  My music taste has definitely improved since the mid 1980's but who can really listen to this song and NOT let it take you back to the 8th grade dance where you sat there and BEGGED God for the class jock to just NOTICE you even existed??  Ha- before I see anymore squirrels, let's continue, shall we?

So recap-

Seven kids.  Five in school.  One insane toddler who absolutely does not talk intelligibly.  Oh, and a baby who LOVES to stay up late and makes me a tad tired during day.

Got it?
Good.

Today the small peanut was up at 5:50AM.  Now, lately, I've just been getting up after nursing her and just getting ready for the day.  Mostly because the kids during the school week are up at 6, but also because when I fall back asleep, I tend to sleep HARD for an hour, have the wackiest dreams possible and wake up super hard and feel incredibly groggy.

So what did I choose to do today?  Yep. You guessed it.  I fell back asleep.  I was SOOOOO very tired and thought the extra hour would do me good.  The older 4 can pretty much get themselves ready for school and my oldest two have come to expect rarely seeing me at 6am....although I am trying to make more of a physical appearance as of late....

But, as usual, after 7 I woke up groggy and feeling incredibly exhausted.  Why didn't I JUST get up and stay up at 5:50???  I was awake, I wasn't crabby and I could have taken a shower.  Oh, wait.  I just admitted I don't shower.  Oh well.  I am rather unfiltered, so I suppose the fact I don't shower every day should not probably surprise anyone....or perhaps it does....

I woke up feeling even more tired than when I went to bed last night.  I had some crazy bizarre dreams and even remembered some of the dreams.  When you dream about your neighbors and your big ole bus you drive, and snow, you know you're exhausted.

But I woke up tired and angry because I realized I would NOT get to shower and I forgot I needed to go to Target to get some things that had been on my list for a MONTH.  I'm not even exaggerating there.  Ask my husband.  It's been on my bathroom counter growing each week.

So I quickly got dressed and got the last three kiddos off to school and fed the toddler and got the baby all ready for a road trip.  There were a few things on my list that were essential I buy today.  But the other things I was basically going to price.  I had a few gift cards leftover to use for some "fun" things, like onesies for the baby, underwear for the toddler (God help me in that endeavor...) and some towels for my bathroom.  I needed (and yes, I use that word loosely) sheets for my bed, pajamas for my oldest, and these fabulous nursing pads that two of my friends use called 'lily pads.'

Fast forward.  I'm in my mini van.  Driving with the toddler and baby in the back seat.  I'm feeling pretty good about myself.  I've got the double stroller, the diaper bag, a snack for the toddler, her water bottle.  I'm the BOMB!!!

I should stop the blog there because anything OTHER than being the bomb occurred after that.  Well, maybe a bomb did occur.  It slowly became a GONG show and when I pulled in the parking lot and had to drive half a mile out of the way because they were blacktopping big holes everywhere, I should have taken that as my clue to head back home, IMMEDIATELY....

But instead, in true crazymomma fashion, I hohummed my way into the store, and was no where near prepared for what ensued....

My first mistake was the double stroller.  In an effort to remain germ free, I insist on the double stroller.  The problem here is that the car seat actually causes the back seat of the stroller to need to be flat.  Therefore, I can NOT stick things (i.e. items I am buying...) in the bottom where one could normally place items.  So in true crazymomma fashion, I thought I could pull a cart and push the stroller!

Don't say it.  I already know.....First word into my head was something I can not type here, but the PG version would be 'idiot.'  Can we agree to that?  Good.

So once I walked about 50 feet into the store trying to push a double stroller and pull a target cart, I realized it was not going to happen.  (have I mentioned how well I handle humility???)

I abandoned the cart over by the beauty products.  Essentially, I felt, I was leaving another customer an easy way to get a cart who may have realized their purchases were too many and they needed a cart.  Call me a 'good Samaritan' if you will.  The only thing is, I pretended I needed a product at the end of the aisle and basically RAN AWAY FROM THE CART.

I can only hope that no one was videotaping my asinine move.

Once I figured no one saw me escape from my "cart," I proceeded to lay low by rolling through the back of all the aisle ways.  (yes, I know I have issues....no need to alert anyone else about them...)

I hurriedly ran across the main aisle and darted into the kitchen aisle and pretended to be fascinated with a new Keurig.  I don't need one, but I needed to look distracted.  At that moment, my James Bond meets McGyver act came crashing to a halt.

The peanut started to spit up, but got choked on her spit up.  She scared me because she was having trouble catching her breath while she coughed, so I hurriedly pulled her out of her seat and picked her up.  She was fine, but when I tried to place her back in her car seat, she had decided that me holding her was the ONLY way she would continue on this journey, we'll call, the TRAIN WRECK....

I foolishly believed I could get through the store quickly and painlessly while holding her, and pushing the double stroller.

Side note- empty car seat, in the back of a double stroller, with a 30-40 pound toddler in the front seat, makes for a rather difficult time in pushing in any direction but straight.  I had several aisles to maneuver through, so imagine my dilemma.  It was becoming comical, much to my dismay...

The next item of business to get was the lily pad package.  This is apparently the next greatest invention to sliced bread.  They are nursing pads and incredibly, will NOT move from their position.  Maybe they have some sear sucker action?  I wouldn't know, because, I spent about TEN minutes in the breastfeeding aisle and couldn't find them ANYWHERE!!!  At this point, I wanted to cry.  My friends swore by them and were convinced I could find them with no problem.

Suddenly, little peanut spit up all.over.the.floor.

I'm talking something that would probably need a friggin MOP AND BUCKET to clean up.

I ran.

Ok.  Running is stretching it a bit- but I sure as heck pushed that darn stroller as fast as a one legged dog could push a cart.... (is that even possible?  Who cares at this point...)

I moved to my next destination.  Sheets..  I found a nice set, "on sale" because really, the way things are getting, when it's "on sale" anymore, it's basically just regular priced from a year ago.  Tossed into stroller.  At this point, peanut is getting heavy.  She has to be pushing 16 pounds and my one arm is starting to shake.... Quiver....

My last item I went looking for I never found.  Pajamas for my oldest.  I don't know if I've mentioned before, but she's 15 years old and is SIX FEET TALL....

The girl has grown literally out of all her pj's.  She is traveling with me later this week and just needs a nice decent pair of pajamas.

No offense, Target, but the only jammies I found came in two styles.  Old lady and prostitute.

Who in their right mind wears some of these clothing items labeled PAJAMAS!?!?  Honestly.  Have we as a society just decided to toss the idea of modesty or just plain DECENCY out the cotton pickin' window?  I believe so.  I found some interesting moo moos.  Some rather bizarre tank top hoochie momma tops and some incredibly SHORT SHORT bottoms, but I found nothing in the form of ACCEPTABLE for my 15 year old.  I could have bought a moo moo, but I didn't want to insult her cute style and I certainly wasn't going to buy her something she'd be looking like she needed to go downtown and stand on the street corner cat calling in either!

At this point, my frustration level was through the roof, and the little peanut pooped and began to let me know she was ready to get a clean diaper.  The toddler had also decided she too wanted out of her cage and was doing everything in her power to escape the double stroller.

I am pretty sure my head was about to explode....

I'm rounding the corner heading to the checkout when I suddenly get that sick feeling in my stomach. Does anyone know what I'm talking about?  I am probably one of the ONLY people left on the planet that does NOT have a Target credit card.  I say that because every single time I check out from that store, they ask if I want to open an account and save 5%.  Nothing would please my husband more than for me to save him money.  However, his idea of me saving money is basically not shopping....but getting another credit card, is NOT his idea of saving money...EVER...  For whatever reason, I get so insanely stressed when I go through the checkout and have to tell them no.  For whatever reason again, I seem to be plagued with visiting the most DETERMINED employees that insist on knowing exactly WHY I won't cave and just get the card.  I mean, it's 5%!!!  Why on God's green earth would you NOT want to save money?

So once again, I did what any irrational red head holding a fussy baby with a poopy diaper and a sister who is screaming for her "Olaf panties" would do-

I blamed my husband.

I'm certain there are people out there who are convinced I'm in some kind of archaic relationship.  I have this vision of people seeing a cave man like fella with a giant club dragging me by the pony tail back into our cave....

I promise, it's nothing like that.  I just like to blame him when I don't have the courage to just say, "no thank you..."

You'd think I'd get over that one.

But, today, I blamed him for not getting a Target credit card.  He's ok with that.  I think he's just relieved I don't just cave and get the card....although, he is looking into what exactly our savings would be with the card...  :)

So I got home.  The sweet, screaming, poopy diaper filled baby fell asleep in the car.  The crazy toddler got her package of Olaf panties and sang "Let it Go" all the way home....and I?

Made a huge cup of coffee when I got home and sat down to type this adventure...

Cause I promise, the grass IS always greener....right where you water!!!

"Let it Go" takes on a whole new meaning....

Monster Mommy Blogger....and other tales from the crypt...er-I mean homestead...

I have sat down to blog about fifty times.  I promise.  I can't even make up the stuff that happens when I go to sit down.... I had desperately wanted to blog about Easter Sunday and how beautiful it turned out after quite the fiasco of having a free front row pew dropped into our laps and then arriving to Mass on time (which on Easter Sunday is suicide-you may as well wait for the next Mass if you do that...) only to discover the ushers had not put out the reserved signs?

I had wanted to blog about how my Grandma Grace had been CRAZY on my mind that day, starting with the wake up of my little peanut.  So strong was she, that I felt compelled to pull out her very old, very dainty crucifix necklace and wear it to Mass.  She remained on my mind the rest of the day and I desperately wanted to blog about how my amazing husband realized after all these years why it was so important to me to have pictures made after Mass.  My grandma had always, always, ALWAYS done that- even if the weather was yucky- we had our pictures taken either on her front porch or in front of a giant bush/tree in her front yard.  There were some amazing pictures of me that I recall.  And let me tell you, I use that word "amazing" incredibly loosely.....

My Grandma Grace's necklace

I wanted to blog about how we had baked a ham and a turkey to bring over to our friend's house to celebrate the holiday together with other friends.  How when we got there, we met some new friends and incredibly, one of them was the very resident who was the first one to start trying to save my life after I birthed my little peanut and began hemorrhaging three hours later.  The funny thing was that she recognized my husband, but couldn't place where she had seen him, and it wasn't until I was sitting and nursing my little peanut and she came into the room I was in and I immediately recognized her.

Talk about surreal!  God has done that on more than one occasion.  Placing the person back in our lives after not being able to thank them for something they've done for us.

I wanted to blog about how, after 10 weeks, I was starting to emerge from my cocoon and was starting to feel almost human again, but was discovering that although I was able to get out, I was suddenly dealing with something very distressing.  I was overly angry, anxious, irritable, over exhausted, and very depressed.  I was losing my temper with my children. I was getting upset with my husband.  I was getting angry I couldn't sit down to blog, which always brings me such peace to just sit and type away.

I wanted to blog how I hadn't been able to just sit and spend time in quiet prayer or conversation with God in I didn't know how long.  Sure we did our bedtime prayer with the children, but for me to just SIT and chat with my Savior?  It had not happened in so very long.

But an event in my life this past week, opened my eyes and "woke" me up.

I got angry.

I'm not talking, grouchy mama bear angry, I'm talking, anger that scared me to the point that I actually wound up accidentally hurting myself.

Back up a few months.  Ok, maybe back up a few years.

My kids fight every single night after dinner.  Over what?

Cleaning the kitchen.

Ok, before you say, "why bother?  Just clean it yourself."  Well, yes, I suppose I could just say that.  But I am a firm believer that my children's generation is going to have a really tough time in the real world when they grow up.  Kids are not made to do chores, clean up after themselves, or pretty much anything my generation and probably every generation before me, were made to do, ever!  It's important to my husband and I that our children learn responsibility and what it's like to be a part of a community (aka family).  In order to do this, they have expectations they must complete.  One of the very few things we expect them to do is the shared responsibility of cleaning the kitchen after dinner.  Now by "clean the kitchen" I have already tried to have a great deal of dishes done, so basically it involves loading your plate, cup and silverware, wiping the table, counter and stove down, sweeping the kitchen and the dining room, and a few dishes.

You would think we had asked them to clean the kitchen after a dinner on the Titanic.

Every night they bicker over WHO has to do what and WHO is waiting on whom to complete a task.  Whether it's one waiting to sweep until someone wipes the table, or someone waiting to dry dishes while another actually washes them.  Doesn't matter, they fight.  Constantly.

Well, like I said, I am really fighting some serious PPD.  To the point I am now going to actively seek someone to speak to about it because it's starting to wear me down.

They started fighting and I got upset.  I told them to get out of the kitchen.  Ok, well, maybe I YELLED for them to get out of the kitchen.  My husband always gets irritated with me when I do this, because I'm giving them exactly what they want.  FREEDOM!  No kitchen cleaning tonight!!!  I see it as the quiet time I can spend cleaning the kitchen by myself.  But tonight I could tell I was more angry than normal and instead of calming down, counting to 10, cooling off, or whatever I could do to calm down, I blew up.

I know I'm not the only mom in the world who blows up.  I feel like I am.  Facebook and moms groups, and other places where you see 'perfect' moms can make you feel like your the only mom who does practically anything wrong beyond the scope of June Cleaver....  I certainly felt like I was the only mommy monster at the time.  My husband got upset that I had sent everyone out.  So I did what any rational, hormonal, post partum red head would do.  I slammed a plate on the counter.

Well, that didn't go over so well.  As I slammed it, I realized that this fancy dish (phaltzgraff) would break, not only break, but break into three nicely sharpened pieces.  I went to grab the one piece that started to fall in the sink and literally sliced my hand open.  Like a can opener.  Blood started pouring out (yes, pouring...) and I immediately realized what a dumb thing I did.  On many levels.

Fortunately, not all my kids saw the juvenile display I put on.  Most just knew mom broke a plate and cut her hand.  But for me, it was so much more.  It was the final tipping point that said, I am not handling things anymore.  I am overwhelmed and exhausted and my expectations are beyond what I can reach.  I needed help.

I did again, what anyone with any ounce of rationale would do, and just cried.  "I am such a mess..." I whined to my husband.  He didn't agree, but he didn't disagree either.  I am a mess.  I know I'm a mess.  I have seven children!!!  Who isn't a mess while recovering from a birth to begin with, but to be the seventh time?  It's challenging to say the least.  The external pressures outside our home, whether from me trying to constantly look as though I "have it together."  Or whether it's the constant barrage of questions inquiring how we even handle that many when those with one or two are barely afloat.  It begins to take a toll on a person and especially just having a baby- when the hormones don't know if they're coming or going, and the sleep is hit or miss- and by MISS I mean, this baby does NOT sleep so it's definitely missing in my life...and my husband's.  The laundry that seems to morph out of no where.  And I mean NO WHERE.....

I knew in that instant I needed something.  Whether it was a coffee with a friend or a MOMs meeting I needed it.  The very next day, I found myself at my church's MOMs meeting and listening to a mom witness about anger.  It did my soul good.  I cried like a baboon through the entire talk.  Thankfully, I was surrounded by other hormonal post and pre partum moms who cried with me.... :)

I knew after attending that meeting what I needed.  I needed confession like you wouldn't believe.  The healing benefit of confession is profound.  I think for most of us, we let fear dictate whether or not we'll go to this sacrament.  We let fear of what the priest will think, or what he'll say to us, or we allow ourselves to believe that our sins aren't really bad... Just so we're clear, sin never looks "bad" or we wouldn't choose it...

So Saturday afternoon I was able to visit the sacrament of confession.  I left feeling as though the weight of the world had been lifted.  I was showered with that grace that only God can give me and the priest I visited wound up being one of the most pleasant and kind priests!  I know we tend to be so hard on ourselves as moms and have this ridiculous expectation that can not always, nor should it be always, met.  He was able to talk me back down off the cliff and into reality.  Reality is, I'm not a nun.  I don't live in a convent, and my prayer life is temporarily on a bit of a chaotic hiatus right now.  Sporadic at best.  He encouraged me to pray when I can.  Whether that be while I'm doing the laundry, feeding the kids, cleaning, whatever moment I was in, offer that moment to God.  He loves me so much for even trying to do that.  That's where He has me right now.  I am in the midst of chaos and laundry, and babies, and no sleep and He wants to me meet me right there.  Not in my little prayer chapel with my veil and rosary in hand.  That's not who or even where I am right now....  Just pulling out the seventh load for the day or changing the tenth diaper.  Loading the breakfast dishes.  Sweeping the floor. Dusting the TV stand. Breaking up another fight over Barbie.  Picking up toys for the umpteenth time that day. All of that is where He has me.  Use those moments to pray.

The reason I pray....

And by no means am I perfect.  Confession was just Saturday and I can assure anyone, I've already snapped at one or two.  I made a not so nice mental comment to someone who made a comment out loud about my large family.  I even fell off my "no more swearing" bandwagon again....

But I know I'll pick myself back up, and keep trying.  God wouldn't want me to do anything less than that....He loves me.  He loves you.  He loves all of us.

A little Momster humor...

Oh where art thou, you spring time?

I'm seriously dealing with some difficult post partum.  That's why today, you are getting a second dose of my blogging.  In two short days.  Because if I don't write- I'll explode.  Ok.  I won't explode.  But it's March 26, 2015 and I'm losing my mind slowly but surely.  Do you want to see the biggest cause today of that?  Ok.

This is unacceptable. 

 See that?  That white stuff is what is aiding in my semi depressive state today.  SNOW.  I am a snow lover.  When we moved here, I was one of the ONLY people excited about snow in this entire area.  But today?  I'm done.  I'm completely done.  I'm wearing capri pants and dying to go flip flop shopping.  I'm dying to just GET OUT OF MY HOUSE.  I have been literally cooped up in my house for EIGHT WEEKS!  Minus a billion doctors appointments and hospital visits.  Which, I'm done with.  You can only have so much fun spending your retirement at pediatric clinics, urgent cares, and children's hospitals.  I'm done!!

Do you want to see what is holding me together today?
ok...

I love the man who sent this....

 This man loves me so darn unconditionally I can NOT catch my breath when I think about it.  Seriously.  That sounds incredibly disgustingly mushy, but mark my words. I am more in love with this man today, than I have ever been.  LOOK AT WHAT HE SAID!!!!   An incredibly hormonal mess texts him that she's having a really bad time and is just super depressed and a hot mess and LOOK WHAT HE RESPONDS WITH!!!  I get teary eyed when I read what he says.  'With God's help and Grace we'll get through this....'  I love this man!  What an incredible man of faith.  How far he has come in the 23 years I've known him!  How much his faith and love of the Catholic church has grown.  Just a blessing that I don't deserve!!!

So he sent me this text after my slightly small mini meltdown when I saw it snowing this morning.  I have not been able to get outside and walk during the day because it's been so cold and I just don't feel comfortable enough to get the littlest peanut out in it.


Now the other peanut?  I'll show you what this being cooped up is doing to her!!!

No fear child here...

She needs to get out as well.  Experience the warmth of sunshine and ride her little Dora bike around the driveway and ride in the double stroller with her baby sister and laugh and just BE OUTSIDE!!  But I can't take her outside.  It's not only snowing, but it's freezing.  Because, as you know, snow falls when it's COLD.  Not warm.  So there you go.

Now that my children are arriving home from school, the opportunity to vent to my blog is depleting.  They tend to talk.  A LOT.  And it's usually about nothing.  But that's ok.  I like listening to their conversations about nothing.  At least they are talking.  I must admit that.  But I'll leave you with another shot of the older peanut dropping a photo bomb.  Her first.  Yes, I'm beyond proud.  She's taking after her momma....

See the little photo bomber behind two of my cuties?

Sacrifice, crucifixes, and ice cream.....

It's been a long time.  I'm talking a very, long, time.

Since I've blogged that is.  Of course, it's been a long time period.  Almost 8 weeks since I gave birth.  And in those 8 weeks, I am certain, if you named it, it happened in my home.  Every illness known to man, a hospital stay with RSV, depression, craziness, theft, lying, chaos.  Oh snap.  What a time.

And isn't that typical that it has occurred during most of my Lenten journey?  I am almost certain I have never had a "quiet" Lent.  My journey through Lent has, since my "reversion" back into the faith, ALWAYS been an adventure of some sort.

This year is no different.  It's Lent.  Springtime.  Although, where I live, it's anything BUT spring, but don't, and I mean, DON'T, get me started on that one.  Another day, another blog.

But it's springtime.  I find it fascinating that Lent begins during winter.  When it's still less daylight than spring.  Before we lose DST and get more sunshine.  During the course of Lent, we begin to see daylight growing longer and longer.  Temperatures getting warmer and warmer  (well, in SOME places) and new life and growth springing up everywhere.  Baby animals, flowers, trees budding, new babies being born, all kinds of fantastic life emerging from the winter.  Including the cold, cold, VERY cold, place I live.

Kids slowly emerge from their homes with their bikes, scooters, skates, ripsticks, in tow.  Hockey in the streets, basketball games, capture the flag games.

It's a thawing of our spirits as well.  I am in awe of the connection to our world with our journey during Lent.  As we "give up" something, or promise to do something more during this time, we grow closer and closer to our Lord.  As our hearts grow more and more in love with Him and His story, our walls we've built up (almost like ice, or snow) begin to melt away and the capacity to love even more grows.  Much like our spring outside.

Our faith can only grow when we feed and water it.  There is no coincidence in my motto for my blog and what our faith does when we nourish it.  My motto is 'the grass is greener right where you water it.'  Same with our faith.  You will only get out of it, what you put into it.  Bored at Mass?  Tired of the same ole, same ole?  What have you put into it lately?

'I gave up chocolate, crazymomma.'   Oh wow. Good for you.  How's that helping you grow in your faith?   Do you stare at the bag of peanut butter Easter eggs and watch them taunt you from the shelf?  (ok, that's a rhetorical question, because let's face it, candy just taunts me no matter what...and I didn't give it up....)

'I gave up chewing gum.'   Really?  What has it done to lead you closer to our Lord?

'I gave up ice cream.'    Ahhhh- now we're getting somewhere.  Ok, not really, but it IS what I gave up and if you people knew how much I loved ice cream, you would understand this incredible sacrifice.

When we give things up for Lent, it's supposed to draw us closer to Christ. Connect us, if you will, to that time when He, Himself, knew what would happen to His life.  He would give up his life.  For us.

When we decide what we're 'giving up' are we completely honest about why we're doing it?  Are we willing to substitute our minute sacrifice for the sacrifice on the cross?  Could we essentially take the place of Christ on that Cross?

You know, side note here, because I see squirrels, and this is a big one.  Follow me.  (if you dare...)
 I read an article on why Catholics have crucifixes everywhere and I found it to be the reason I've always shared with anyone who will ask.  We as Catholics have a firm understanding that Jesus Christ died for our sins.  He died.  Once.  For all.  We don't "re-sacrifice" him at Mass during the Eucharist.  We don't dwell on His death by having these crucifixes.  But what these crosses do, with the body of Christ on them, reminds us.

Reminds us that once, over 2000 years ago, the Son of God came down as a tiny infant.  He was raised by some pretty amazing parents (Mother Mary and foster father Joseph). He learned a simple, but beautiful trade in carpentry.  Then spent a mere three years in public ministry trying to teach and spread the message of His Father to as many who would hear it.  All this, while knowing He would die.

That crucifix, which is affixed to almost every single room in my home, reminds me DAILY of His life.  Not only from the cross, but from His birth to the cross.  I see that crucifix and I thank God every.single.time.  I am not kidding.  Every. single. time.  I see a crucifix, I promise, I say 'thank you.'  He did that for me.  For you.  For my children.  For people 2000 years from now.  Hard to fathom that, isn't it?

Lent is that time to grow.  To die to yourself.  A little every time.  With each passing year, with each passing Lent, I die a little more to myself.  I fall.  I fall a LOT.  Ask the other 8 people who live in my home with me.  They'll tell you how much I fall.  How hard it is to do the right thing.  But that's what makes our faith so amazing.  God still loves me.  And between the sacraments of Healing and Reconciliation, and His never ending love, He scoops me up, and shows me how to keep going.  Through my own sacrifices during Lent, I can see just how hard it is to really give up something I love.  Give up something I enjoy.  A pleasure. Something I think I couldn't live without.

Just like Jesus.

I just can't live without Him.  I can not fathom my life with His body and blood shed upon that cross.  And I will stare at that crucifix every chance I get.  Just to remind me of what exactly it was He did for us.

That, my friends, is a sacrifice.  Gum?  Candy?  Ice cream?   Let's try to finish out the last week or so of our Lenten journey by finding that one thing that will truly cause us pause and see if we can 'let it go' for just a bit.

Then we can look at that crucifix and tell our Savior just how hard it was to give up that one thing for such a short time, and tell Him just how much we love Him for what He did that was so very huge.

God bless y'all.  And enjoy this springtime.  You won't get this one back ever again!

The reasons for my sacrifices....

Reflections & Renewals...

As I sit here with my newest addition sitting in my lap (sleeping the ENTIRE day away) I finally have a few minutes to begin to reflect on what has happened since I last blogged.... I believe I last blogged around January 16th and was in the final stages of misery...all the last few weeks that pregnancy brings, good and bad, and was definitely ready to birth this child and find out what the gift was growing so sweetly inside of me.

Little did I know I was to travel down a path, I've only traveled once before, and one probably not many have ever traveled, but one I'm not sure I would want others to travel down.

My last OB appointment for this seventh full pregnancy would be January 27th.  I was miserable. I was 4 cm and almost completely effaced.  I was tired, not sleeping, and ready for something, anything, to get this labor party started.  My doctor, who is probably one of the best doctors I've ever had, for reasons I'll indulge you in a moment, assured me that I could have this baby soon.

We scheduled the induction for January 29th.  Oddly, that was the date I originally had figured out when I went back and painstakingly put my chart back together (remember, I tossed that puppy aside because I thought I was menopausal....)

January 29th came and we arrived at the hospital at 6 am.  I was both excited and nervous, for lots of reasons, but mostly because I know how painful labor is!  I was ready for the epidural before I got there, but wanted to wait as long as possible before I got it.  I was 5 cm and on a pretty high dose of pitocin and had decided I had had enough fun and was ready for the epidural.

It was smooth sailing getting the epidural and I was ready to relax and wait patiently for my body to do it's job.  Just a little after noon, the nurse came in to check on me and asked if I was feeling any pressure or urge to push- at that moment I was not, but not a few moments later, the urge was almost unbearable!  I paged her back in and she checked me and I was 9 cm!  I was definitely ready to push and they were frantically paging my doctor and getting the room prepped.

A few minutes later, my doctor was dressed and ready and I began pushing.  The baby's head came out relatively easy- and they noticed the cord was wrapped pretty tightly around the neck and so they clamped it and cut it so I could push the rest of the baby out without any trouble. But boy this baby was anything but easy to push out!  A big ole baby came plopping out at 12:24 weighing 8 lbs and 13 oz and was 20 inches long. Which is one of my shorter ones.... :) She was a girl and came in second place with her birth weight!  She had a head full of red hair and was absolutely the most gorgeous baby on earth.  I was instantly in love, even despite that small twinge of it not being a boy slowly melting away as I gazed at yet another amazing miracle being placed on my chest.

Lucia Cecilia was the most beautiful baby!  She nursed immediately and was perfect all over.  I could not stop loving on her.  I am always, always always, so moved emotionally when I give birth.
The tiny face, the perfect nose, ears, eyes, fingers, toes, little body.  Every single thing about this little bitty human just sends waves of emotional moments over me that bring me down to my knees that something so beautiful and perfect could come from two people- that God took something so amazing and created this life-it is beyond words for me.

I can't even type this without tears welling up and a lump in my throat as I choke down a full throttled break down over this miracle in my arms.

Every child is a gift from the Lord.  I believe is the verse from Psalm 127-verse 3.  I am sure I'm not quoting it directly, so please forgive me.   But this child and the absolute miracle that surrounds her birth has renewed in me a new fire, a new passion if you will, to never again, lie dormant about my faith and my God.

You see, every single event leading up to the birth of Lucia was a tiny piece of a puzzle that would present itself after I once again was faced with an event I've only faced one other time in my life.

I would literally see my life flash before me.

Only one other time have I tasted something that could be considered a near death experience.  I was 19 and driving home from seeing my mom after work to see about taking my dad's car to get a hair cut.  It was the summer of 1992.  I had just finished my freshman year in college and was working at TJ Maxx.  Loved that job.  On my way home, I was hit head on and broke my C2 in my neck.  The bone would break cleanly through, snapping and landing back on itself.  A miracle in and of itself.  Had it slipped, I would not be here today to share any stories with anyone.  I escaped with only having to wear a halo for 4 months and have a few stitches in my knee, and my collar bone to be left rather yucky looking forever from the seat belt mark it left.  I could live with that....I attribute that accident to many things- one being a seed that was planted to rediscover my Catholic faith, another was rekindling a friendship with my future husband whom I had really messed up dating before my accident, and lastly, discovering that there is something beyond this world.

My birth experience with Lucia had been relatively uneventful.  Everything had gone as expected and without a hitch.  I was getting the feeling back in my legs and went to take a shower.  It had been about three hours since her birth and I was actually stuck in my room waiting for a room to be moved  upstairs.  So after I got cleaned up, I went to sit back down in the bed and felt a rather strange rush of fluid come out of me.  I panicked when I realized that there was an amazing amount of extremely fresh red blood that had in the course of seconds, already soaked the gigantic saddle bag pad they give you to wear and more was just pooling out of me.  I paged the nurses and told them I was bleeding and they rushed in and what transpired over the next half hour or so (I have no idea how long of time) was nothing short of a scene from some graphic hospital reality show.  Suddenly there were several doctors in my room, people running around all over and my husband standing and grabbing my hand as I began to realize what was happening.

I was hemorrhaging.  Badly, too.  Apparently, my bladder had been full and tilted my uterus in such a way that it was clotting and clotting and clotting and blood began pouring out of me at a rapid rate and would until they manually pulled out every single clot in my body.  Now up to this point, I was relatively aware of what was going on, but once this lead to another event, I began to go fuzzy and will definitely have to have my husband fill in some of the details for me that I know will be left out.
There was a doctor who was explaining what needed to be done.  Someone would have to go inside me and manually pull out the blood clots.

Yes, I know what you're thinking.  What?  They have to do what?  Manually.  That means put their hand where and pull out what?

It was kind of like I was watching these people do their thing like I watch TV.  It just didn't seem real.  I was in some sort of out of body position but was still in my body because make no mistake about it- manually pulling anything out of a body part that just birthed a small watermelon might sound like it wouldn't hurt-but that was a pain I can't even put into words.  I was hurting and I couldn't scream because the pain and pressure of me screaming put too much pressure on my uterus and sent even more pain through my body.

If they didn't get the bleeding to stop, I could bleed to death.  There was a lot going on all at once.  Someone was pulling clots out (never, never, NEVER will I get that sound, sensation, feeling out of my head. )  It's why I kept my eyes closed mostly.  I thought if I opened them and saw anything I would lose consciousness.  I was already feeling woosy and hurting so bad it probably would have been less traumatic had I just passed out, but there I was.  Clots were coming out, my doctor was paged, I swear she teleported there because in seconds I opened my eyes and there she was talking to me, someone jabbed my other hand with a needle and apparently missed the vein so I had a whole new searing pain shooting in my hand and my fingers, another person stabbed me with a shot in my leg, and a new nurse put the second IV in my arm successfully this time so that I could have more contraction causing medicines pumping through my body to help force my uterus to contract and stop hemorrhaging.

At one point, I remember my doctor asking me if there was someone I could offer this pain up for.  I certainly did have someone to offer it up for, specifically a family who had just lost their husband and the wife was pregnant with their fourth child immediately came to my mind and an almost peaceful feeling came over me as I concentrated on praying for that family.  In no way was my pain gone and soon, the conversation turned to what could they give me for pain, but I was able to focus my energy on prayer and think about this family.  I remember them asking if my husband was ok.  I can only imagine what was going through his mind at this moment.

There was an ultrasound machine brought in so my doctor could determine how many clots were still left.  It was still such a surreal feeling.  She felt as if she had gotten as much as she could saying there was still a clot in my uterus she couldn't get to.  She was fairly confident that we were in the clear and the medicine injected in my leg, in the IV's and even the lovely one that was inserted in an "exit only" area were doing their job contracting my uterus.  We all three sat there once everyone left in a sort of stunned silence.  I was overwhelmed with what happened and when she said the next 12-24 hours would be telling if it occurred again, I was overcome with tears as I knew my hubby was planning on going home to relieve our friend and stay with the kids, but the thought of going through that ordeal again WITHOUT him, sent my heart into overdrive anxiety.

My doctor leaned over and said that he should really stay there with me.  I know in my heart he was so torn because he felt awful for not being there for the kids.  My son had an event at the school he had waited a month to attend and was so looking forward to it, so I know that was weighing on his heart as well.  He knew he felt he needed to stay, and was torn.  I immediately felt relief that he would be with me, but guilt for wanting him there instead of with our kids.  Not sure why, but my gut just said he needed to be with me.

The turn of events after Lucia's birth were not anticipated at all.  But even down to who was with our children during the whole ordeal, and why I couldn't get in a room upstairs, and even something that happened to my husband the week prior, were all events he nor I can even explain.  I am no longer a believer in coincidences.  I ended that affair when I rediscovered my faith so many years ago.  Perhaps we can call them God-incidents because coincidences could be random and few and far between, and have no author, but I so believe that if we're acutely aware of the presence of God, we would credit Him far more than just random coincidences.

The fact that a room was still not available for several hours after I gave birth is no coincidence.  It's not that they could not have taken care of me in the regular room, but being in L&D where the drugs they needed were readily available at a moments notice and the fact that the floor was full of residents and nurses?  Just moments before this all happened, I had told my friend who was coming over not to worry about heading over to my house because my husband would be leaving shortly to get the kids fed and take our son to his event at school.  Therefore, when he tearfully called another friend and asked for help after the whole ordeal, her husband came over on his way home from work and our other friend also came over later, therefore allowing the husband to take our son to the school event.  Coincidence?  Hardly.

The day we returned home from the hospital, my husband and I were sitting on the couch just marveling at the little angel I was holding and he was just talking about all the events that happened and said he even remembered that a week before he had dreamed I had died in childbirth.  His face shot up and looked at me gravely as he barely spoke loud enough that in his dream I had bled to death.

Talk about goose bump chills.  We sat there in silence for a moment just absorbing the revelation.  How good is God in all this?  He is the author of life, and the reason I'm still here is not because He thinks I need to be here necessarily-or that it "wasn't my time."  We know not when our lives will come to an end, and only He knows that thankfully.  But I think our awareness of His greatness was revealed in a mighty way during this ordeal.  A blink of an eye and our lives can change dramatically.  We could sit and dwell on the 'what ifs' and drive ourselves mad, or we can see glory in the amazing position we were in and how all the pieces to the puzzle fell into place during a very traumatic moment in our lives and praise Him for life, both here and gone.  We can look at the blessing of living in a country where we have modern medicines readily available.  Our other OB told us that what I went through is exactly why the mortality rate of women giving birth is still very high, most especially in third world countries where they don't have the resources to even afford that kind of medicine.  (which makes me a tad nervous when I think of whether my insurance will cover that.... :)  ) He also said another factor which didn't help was the fact I was a redhead.

Now people, come on.  I know I'm a medical anomaly, but really?  Now I'm a free bleeder/clotter, too because of my hair color????  Good-ness....

Point being, the events of what happened to us that afternoon after giving birth to an amazingly perfect baby were once again a catalyst in my faith journey.  Life is too short to spend it idly wondering with no set purpose fleeting place to place and pretending "enjoying the moment" is how we should all be.  There is a purpose to our lives.  There is a greater purpose and God is very real.  My faith has once again been revived with this event.  I will do everything in my power to help proclaim His goodness.

"I will extol you, O my God and King, and I will bless your name forever and ever.  Every day will I bless you, and I will praise your name forever and ever." Psalm 145:1-2

Our little Lucia Cecilia

The End Times.....

Of pregnancy that is....

Come on- I'm not that negative to start dwelling on Christ's second coming- besides- He even tells us we know neither the time nor the hour of His return and quite frankly, don't I have enough on my plate to worry about, then to spend time dwelling on the end of the world?  I only have to read the news, or turn on my computer or TV to see how horrible things are.  Sometimes I actually think the end of the world has GOT to be better than what is going on these days....  Seriously.

End of Pregnancy.

I need to really get back to my Satire book about pregnancy over 40.  It's been rather comical over here as far as the "fun" things that go on while one's body 'prepares' itself for it's 7th birth.  And by preparing, I mean that I'm 38 weeks and I've been "preparing" for almost a month now with all the little annoying things that my body does to torture-er, I mean, prepare for this precious peanut to arrive.

Contractions.  Sometimes we call them Braxton Hicks, sometimes false labor, sometimes I call it just plain old torture to the belly so that I have to stop in my tracks, catch my breath and try to move on, pain....
I've been having braxton hicks since about 16 weeks?  It usually starts that early.  Just my uterus' way of letting me know it appreciates all I've done to keep it young and working continuously as I enter "old" age.  Such a gem it is.
Braxton hicks are supposedly not supposed to hurt.  HA.  Tell that to my body.  They hurt.  And have hurt for at least 5 of my 7 babies.  Now that I'm getting closer?  They hurt even worse.  And no, they don't stop when I get up, move around, change positions.  EVER.  They are pure torture as I time them and wait to see if they ever add up to every 5 minutes apart.  Nope.  Nothing.  Nada.  Never.....

Bowel cleansing.  I was actually trying to come up with some catchy phrase to describe a pretty disgusting thing our pregnant bodies can do.  Some might find it fascinating, I know I would if it WASN'T me, but for now- my body decides every few days to do a cleansing.  And no, I didn't drink any fruit/veggie drink to start it- just my body's way of cleaning things out so I don't do anything too disgusting on the birthing table.  (yes, go ahead-you guessed it-it can happen and NO I DON'T know if I ever have and don't WANT to know if I ever have, thank you).   So today is day two in a ROW of a super special extra deep cleansing.  As if I ate something two nights in a row to deserve those awful episodes either morning!!!

Loss of bladder function.  Now, I know I've complained about my "leaky" bladder.  The laugh, cough, held too long and barely made it to the bathroom events.  Going on my THIRD box of pantiliners (yes, they contain anywhere from 150-200 liners in a box-on my THIRD!!)
Well, now that the baby has dropped into the "zone" my bladder has decided it no longer needs to work EVER.  Cough?  Shoot-it only takes a braxton hick contraction, and standing up to make that little sucker drain itself.  And if they baby gets a hold of it?  Well, if there is any liquid in it, it's emptied as well.  Have you ever felt like the baby was using it as a calming ball to squeeze out his/her tension?  Yes, that's how it feels.  I promise.

Speaking of baby getting into the zone- Lightening.  And I don't mean the kind that strikes right before the sound of it thunders outside.  I'm talking about the baby descending into the birth canal.  And as it descends, supposedly people can breathe better.  HAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHA.  I can't put ENOUGH Haha's there to describe my absolute disgust at the idea that people can actually EVER breathe better with a 40 pound bowling ball weighing them down.  Because once this baby descended into the birth canal- not only did my breathing get worse, but now my skin is starting to do a little split action.  Could I really potentially deliver this through my skin without the c-section surgical incision?  It's a question I've pondered more than not lately.

Insane nerve pain.  So this baby is down, skin being pulled on, muscles being dragged further down and I'm breathing worse than I ever was and not only that, but now, because the baby is so down low, I have this new searing pain that seems to be deep on both sides of the inside of either thigh.  Almost as if the baby's head (or maybe his/her hands) are squishing every single nerve ending known to man in my lower pelvic region.  So much so that when I stand up, I literally make this deep, gurgling sound as I attempt to not fall over in pain because the nerves are freshly pulled on when gravity takes over.  It's amazingly painful.  Amazingly!  And of course, not the first time I've felt this.  So I know it's normal.  I have had that issue since baby number 1!  When my doctor was convinced that the beautiful 5'11" daughter I have now was a tiny peanut until her 8 pounds 15 ounces finally came out....

Pelvic Pressure.  I'm not sure who came up with that phrase, but I'm thinking it's a facade for what is really happening.  It's more like, your pelvic can possibly withstand a certain amount of pressure for an extended length, but trust us when we tell you that it will feel like it could snap in half if you stand for any extended amount of time (10 minutes?) or try walking faster than a turtle at the zoo.  Snap.in.half.  I don't know the number of pelvic bones that have been broken during pregnancy, but I imagine that if you could see my pelvic bone- I promise, it would be bending right now.  BENDING....

I could seriously go on, but there is a certain almost 2 year old who has decided it doesn't matter because if I don't feed her lunch in the next 5 minutes she will hit decibels that could do serious hearing damage.  

Enjoy your Friday and Martin Luther King Jr. weekend.  Blessings~

Confessions of neurotic lady....

This is so me.....

I think there is something wrong with me. I'm fairly certain there is.  Matter of fact, I could probably google my symptoms and find an actual disease that would fit the description of what is wrong with me.

I think I'm crazy!  I don't think it.  I know it.  So it's January now.  Can you believe it?  The birth month.  It's also the month we have to decide once again if the list we're on to retire to is really what we want.

Do I want to move back down to heat, tornado, bug and spiderville?

Do I want to stay in snow, insane tax, and terrible driver town?

I really feel like my reasons are shallow for moving or staying.  For one thing, I have found it extremely difficult to find friends in the actual town I live in.  I don't mean good people I wave to and say hi to.  I mean good, solid, I can trust you with my darkest, secret friends.  I have several good friends at Church in another town (that's a story for another blog) but it would be nice to find someone down here who might either understand my crazy, or at least accept it.

And I am crazy.

So am I wanting to move for my own selfish reasons?  Thinking if I have another opportunity to "start over" someone will want to be my friend?  That my crazy (which is a long list of issues) won't suddenly come out one day and I find myself in the exact same boat I'm in now?  

If we stay here am I just hiding from the fact that I am too afraid to find new friends?  Because every time I actually expose my crazy to anyone it causes them to run the opposite way?  Perhaps.  I have a few friends that I can candidly laugh with about our crazy issues, but for me, it's so much deeper than that.

I know that my views on most everything are quite old fashioned.  I actually believe in and trust a sometimes labeled "archaic" church.  I worry about what others think of me for some strange and bizarre reason.  I tend to speak my mind and offend most anyone in a 20 mile radius of me.  I am a fierce protector of my children and will do whatever it takes to keep them shielded for as long as possible before exposing them to the crap of the real world (despite being told often how dangerous that is for me to do).

I don't like how I feel sometimes.  I wish I was braver, stronger, and less afraid of offending people.  I wish I could stand tall and hold my head high and stand for what I believe in, but most often, I try, and wind up cowering in my corner of the ring.  Assured that once again, I have offended someone because of something I've said or done.

So there in a nutshell is what is wrong with me.  And why I battle with my reasons for moving and not retiring at our current location.  Won't my crazies follow me wherever I land?  Aren't I just putting off the inevitable?
(sheesh, my poor husband and all he deals with)

So today being January 1st, means I once again have to battle in my head about where we should permanently plant our family.  I have prayed, begged, even cried for God to just PLEASE drop me a note, but so far, just as in other ways He answers me, it's been very quiet.  So I can assume that means there probably isn't a right or wrong answer here.  I just have to decide and be happy with that decision.

And I really need to learn to be more confident in myself.  I am who I am.  I have come such a long way in my life, my faith journey and who I am now compared with who I was just 20 years ago.  (hard to believe I was only 21 that long ago....).  I need to realize that if I can't find the joy in where I am, I have no one to blame but me.  Perhaps that needs to be my New Year's Resolution.  Finding the joy in exactly where God has me.

But it sure would be nice to find some friends to share my crazy with that didn't live 1000 miles away.... :)

Pray for me.....