So, we did a thing....

As many of you may recall, we had a pregnancy loss in 2015 that knocked us for a big loop. It was a winding and arduous journey to healing enough to function on the most basic level. We grew our family unintentionally as it were, and out of it has come great adventure. Imagine some of our surprise, when a year and a half later, that we learned that we were expecting another little person!
Because of our loss, we waited with bated breath for labs and scans to confirm it was in fact a potentially viable pregnancy. I didn't trust my body to do things the same way at 40 as it did even at 37. We were too scared to announce anything outside of precious few who we trusted with the news, and knew would be supportive of what ever came of the pregnancy. Add to it, the family size comments we garnered previously, and there was just little room for dealing with the kind of garbage that comes from negative opinions. Every pregnancy has been darkened by something, and our hearts just didn't have the capacity for more of it. The decision was made that we'd keep it off social media and basically keep it quiet till we couldn't. We told the kids at Christmas, and were met with a variety of reactions from them. As the pregnancy progressed, I kept a photo journal of weekly bump pictures. And by Easter, there was pretty much NO more hiding it at all. If anyone asked, I wasn't going to deny it, but I still wasn't going about intentionally announcing it either. And for once, aside from the keeping it quiet, we were able to enjoy this pregnancy. We didn't have to deal with the barrage of comments fraught with other people's opinions. And that has become part of our healing. We didn't even tell family members outside of our kids and my husband's parents.

Then I was gifted an opportunity to model for a photographer, and the session was on my due date. I have not ever been able to do something like this, and fully expecting that this really *is* our last baby, I was excited for the chance to document it with something better than bathroom selfies and pictures taken by my kids.





And here I am now, typing this from the hospital with a freshly hatched mini human beside me who is our Rainbow Baby. She was born on Friday the 14th, and we are embarking on this new leg of our family's journey. She's an opinionated little stinker and getting her here was its own adventure. We're hooked up to phototherapy lights at the moment due to some elevated bilirubin.

Shocked at Mass today

There was a family in the pew behind me at Mass today with a small child and a baby who I'd guess was about 14 or 15 months old. The little guy had a noisy couple of minutes and dad was trying to quell the noise. Then someone came over to them, stepped into the pew and chastised them. I couldn't make out everything being said. But the family responded by getting up and leaving in the middle of the Mass. I was not expecting that reaction.

I'm going to skip my commentary. It's well known with a simple search of my blog my thoughts and they have not changed.

Finding our new normal here

So, it's been a month.

It has been a busy month at that.

Trying to deal with the mental and emotional aftermath of a loss, and still keep going with life is a challenge at best. It's not entirely as difficult because I dealt with a lot of junk that whole dreadful week. But it has still been difficult. It has been compounded by a new school year in a new school. At the same time, Devildog changed jobs and entered into the electrical apprenticeship program, which comes with him going back to school part time, and working full time. Clone is really having to step up the ante in her game across the board after 2 years of  middle school elsewhere, and having been in remediation that still did not bring improvement in her test scores (not that I rely on test scores for assessing her ability). Blur requires extra monitoring to keep her moving and develop the habits she needs to make her self sufficient. Speedy has been a typical toddler and just exhausts me. But on the upside of things, I have begun attending Mass daily at a geographically nearby parish since I'm right there every morning anyway. There is no excuse for missing it. I am not rushing off to punch a clock, and I would otherwise be at home doing little else except trying to do something productive or being lazy. So, I go 4 days during the week that there is Mass in the morning. I'd been attending mid-week Mass at my parish while Clone was in religious ed classes for the past several months. I can't say I am able to pay a whole lot of attention because Speedy is not still, and I am incessantly chasing him. I figure this is my opportunity to help teach him during the week at a shorter Mass so that he can manage to sit through Sunday Mass just a bit more. At least, that is my hope. Some days are better than others. Tonight...I struggle to shut my brain up so I can sleep. Hence this brain-dump into a blog to get it out of my head so I can't mentally harp on it so much like I am hard-wired to do. And writing this has brought tears to the surface - not entirely a bad thing but not really a way I wanted to end my day.

My hormones are still out of whack, and I know they will be for a while. I was surprised that my first post-miscarriage menses would bring up so much emotion and difficult pain for me, but it did. To be blunt and border on TMI here, I had heavier bleeding than when I was miscarrying. I had cramps that needed heat to alleviate them, which is totally new for me, and they were in a different spot than usual. I've also been wrestling with the idea of another child. I do not quite know where I am in terms of wanting another child versus preferring to avoid another pregnancy. There is fear of a lot of things. Some of that is the fact that I'm nearing 40, I never rebuilt my core muscles after my 4th pregnancy, dealing with symphasis pubis dysfunction sucks royally, I don't know that I want to re-enter that phase my mommy-board friends call "baby jail". Speedy is at that point where he can feed himself, get his feet into his shoes himself, identify when he needs a diaper, occasionally uses the potty, starting to talk, and he's just plain a monkey toddler who gets into everything. It really is exhausting, and my attempts to get anything done in a day are interrupted by his antics. Do I really want to go back to a mewling newborn, completely dependent upon me and start the clock all over again? Am I feeling like I want another child only because Francis was taken from us? Am I even considering this idea because I don't want a loss to be the end of the story of our babies? Or do I really want to enter that realm again and have another child solely because I really am crazy enough to actually legitimately want that for our life? And here is a lame one: But I have these cute cloth diapers and was looking forward to putting them on the new baby since I can't use velcro diapers with Speedy. I was loving the idea of using cloth on our next baby too, and not having to buy diapers because - hey look here's a really good stash of butt covers. I honestly have no answer for any of it. I just know that a month ago, my life spun a different course and I am still having moments of reeling, frequent spots of sadness, and forever wonder who my child would have become. And I will always have them. My 89 year old father lost 2 children to miscarriage. Each of his two wives bore a 4th child directly into heaven, and to this day he still laments over them - some 50 and 30 years later. It will never go away for any of us.

And then there is the other side of this loss. A strange sense of relief that I won't have to deal with an expanding body that physically struggled with the 4th & 5th pregnancies. That the exhaustion of pregnancy is not coinciding with the exhaustion of raising a child in the toddler stage. That the exhaustion of a newborn and infant stage isn't right there with the exhaustion of a toddler becoming a preschooler. And then all that sense of relief leaves me feeling guilty for feeling relieved. And I grapple with the reconciliation between the pain of a loss, the relief of not having that segment of my life to handle, and the guilt of it all. I ache to know who my child would have become, what kind of personality quirks would appear, the kind snark our family is known for having, what kind of amazing things would be done at my child's hand. And that is an ache I feel in every part of my person. I get sad, angry, frustrated and sometimes just have to stop what I am doing and spend time being in that moment of emotion to acknowledge it and let it have a visit. I am also always afraid of getting stuck in that emotion too long, or even not enough. I am afraid of moving onwards and forward too much or too soon. I'm afraid of allowing myself to be angry too long or too much. I just don't want to get stuck there, and I know I run that risk every time I let any of it visit. But I can't run away from it or hide. I have to run headlong into it so that I don't ignore it, shove it aside, or insulate myself too much from it. Maybe I have some warped logic that wants to immerse myself in the pain in hopes of getting it over with so I can find some kind of normalcy that I lack currently.

I don't even have a lot of direction right now, and I am feeling like I have an idea of where I want to head, but there are so many spoons in my fire at the moment, I can't do everything. And that is bugging me because Devildog is making dinner more often than he should have to, especially since I am the one at home most of the day. I'm fighting to up my own ante, and I feel like I am battling muddy banks on a rainy afternoon. I just want some kind of normal and not this haphazard random flopping around that I feel like I am doing. But I don't even know what my new normal is supposed to even look like. I am just incredibly grateful that my husband is this patient, understanding, and kind man who does not complain when I haven't gotten dinner ready and it's nearing dinnertime. Which then prompts more guilt. But it's laced with immense gratitude for his help and strength where I can't muster it. He spurns me forward when I stall out, and he graciously takes up my slack as I work to heal. Every time I think I have gained some measure of improvement, I hit a point of detour or pain and he bolsters me yet again. I keep feeling like I can't let that stay the norm, even though he can cook some amazing food that makes mine look boring. A girl could get really used to that, and my husband would be willing to keep it up if that's what it took to get me over the hurdle.

Regardless, I am still patiently seeking to find our next version of our normal. This just does not feel like it's

My kids don't do your idea of normal

For years, there have been stereotypes as to what little boys and girls do in terms of playing, socializing etc. And for the last 21 years, MY kids have been doing their own version of these things. My eldest asked for a Barbie for his 7th birthday. My 3rd child wanted a toy dumptruck for her birthday. I have provided my boys with toy kitchens alongside their cars, and my daughters with Rip-Stiks alongside their dolls. Honestly, my girls have a tiny doll collection by comparison to some of my friends' daughters. I did too. And I dug in the dirt as a kid. If my dad, who abhors yardwork, had a tree I could've climbed in the yard, I would have. He bought the smallest lot on the block so he wouldn't have to do much mowing or gardening. So my tree climbing skills never blossomed.

I also was prone to hanging out with boys more often than girls, because boys didn't have the same B.S. going on than my female peers. The fact that I now have a TON of female friends is sometimes boggling to me. But, I've also gotten girlier as I've gotten older, and then this crazybaglady gig I do *is* rather girly. And my daughters are a healthy blend of girly and tomboy, and I am not doing anything to squelch it. It does pose some challenges at school because our genetic quirks make us and our children outside the herd. The herd doesn't know how to handle us right away, and the kids struggle with fitting in at school.

My 5 year old tells me with regularity that the girls in her class move away from her, and that it makes her sad because she likes them. It hurts my heart because I know what that means for her. It means that she isn't someone they relate to easily, and she's probably a bit rowdy at school (because she is at home too), so the girls don't want to get involved with a rowdy girl who would probably play better with the boys. My suggestion was to just leave the girls alone and hang with the boys. My daughter said that the girls are better than the boys and she didn't want to play with boys. I told her that sister and I were faced with the same problems as little girls, and we decided that girls were annoying and we hung out with the boys instead because they were just more fun.

It is a bittersweet realization that my daughters are SO much like I am, because I know the difficulty they have been living. My 12 year old was one of 2 girls in 5th grade who opted to go play football with the boys instead of walking around the playground gossiping. Middle school has been tough on all of us, and I truly wish more parents embraced variety and encouraged their daughters to go climb a tree, play football, go fishing, or skateboard. I wish more parents embraced their sons' softer sides a little more and let their sons play with kitchens and dolls. All of these things for each gender serves purpose, and makes them more well-rounded individuals. My oldest sons are awesome caregivers to their siblings, and can care for a home. My daughters will eventually learn the nuances of mowing the yard so my husband won't have to do it as often, and basic hardware use so they can install their own curtain rods, unclog the sink drain, or check the fluid levels in their cars.

Why do I do things this way? I do it because I don't want my sons to be a source of frustration for their partners by never helping around the house. I do it because I don't want my daughters to feel like they must settle for a partner who does this stuff, but neglects her soul or worse yet, abuses her. I want them all to appreciate what their partners do for them, because they understand what it entails. We're too weird to be your idea of normal, but we're too normal to be weird. And speaking only for myself, I am absolutely ok with that because... well, frankly I don't care if you think we're weird. I do, however, care that you teach your kids to not be jerks to mine for being slightly off center from your definition of normal.

Tenants, landlords, farmers, and parents

I love my pastor's homilies. He shoots from the hip and minces no words. His message came from today's Gospel reading that as parents we are the tenants who must produce good fruit (Matthew 21:33-43). He commented that the kids are wanting to serve, but parents are preventing it. "Parents, they can not drive." He commented that when we fail to tend our gardens properly, they yield bitter fruit. Likewise, when we fail to teach kids the things they need to learn, our own children also become bitter fruit (aka brats). Sometimes, weeds overtake the garden and our kids choose their own path that we wouldn't have chosen for them.

Twice last week, it was suggested to me to use the cry room on both Saturday at the vigil Mass, and then Wednesday when I went to Mass because I was seeking some time of peace on a difficult day. The message was not received well, and I physically bit my tongue to avoid making more problems for myself. I was angry, hurt, frustrated, and felt unwelcome in my own home. So, today, I brought it to my pastor's attention after church, wishing I could have caught up to him before Mass because this would have been related to his homily today.

I feel like a bit of a tattle tale, but honestly, the pastor needed to know this was happening. If the two individuals said it to me when my family has served as liturgical ministers, they were going to say it to others. The first is unfamiliar with my family since it was a different Mass than we normally attend. He was polite and I want to believe he was well-intended, but the second being familiar with us may not have been. They are also older, from the generation that was raised to be seen and not heard. There is a time and place for children to be seen only, but it's a short list.

As I suspected, the pastor did not disagree with me. He even said "how else will they learn?" My kids get louder, more disruptive, and more distracted by the other unchecked kids running around in the cry room. Plus it has a tile floor, making the noise reverberate. No thank you, my kids have my permission fidget all they need to, so long as they're quiet and not getting overly disruptive to the prayers of those around them. I will not be taking them to the noisy room, but instead, will continue to remind them to be respectful of those around them, be quiet in the presence of God in church, and set the example for other parents in teaching their children. If I have to take them out of church, there are consequences for junior, and then - this is key - WE GO BACK IN THERE.

This goes back to my beliefs as a parent that we are raising our children in preparation for the adult world. When my kids are somewhere with me, they must behave appropriately even when they are bored, don't want to be there, or don't like the place. There is also time and place for children's fear to be addressed, but in this instance, my youngest 3 kids have been coming to Mass with me since birth after I learned the hard lesson with the oldest 2 with regards to church. It's not an unfamiliar or unsafe place that would merit a freak-out from my neurotypical children. After what feels like a million years, the kids start figuring out how to participate in the Mass, how their actions impact others, how to adapt to their surroundings, and how to deal with things they may not like.

Perhaps my kids being difficult is divine intervention to get that person behind us to get out of their own heads for a minute and pray for peace to come to the frustrated mother who can't seem to get the pre-Kindergartener to stop doing obnoxious things in an attempt to get mom's goad, or the baby who's figured out his voice carries very well given the acoustical design of the sanctuary to not be quite so loud till he's back outdoors, or for the older sister who is being annoyed by the pre-Kindergartener because button-pushing is a favorite activity. Perhaps, the bouncing kids are supposed to be a reminder to the estranged grandparents that it's time to reach out again to their child in an attempt to mend the fence. What ever the reason behind the lessons presented, they are being presented because that annoyance is supposed to teach something. Instead of clucking or ostracizing, pause a minute, and listen to God's whisper, and find out what message you are supposed to be receiving.

I am keenly aware my kids are disturbing the peace. I live with them. Peace comes about midnight when they're all drooling on the pillow, and even then there is no guarantee it will remain till sunrise. As a mother of an interfaith marriage who wrangles her children at church solo, I want nothing more than my children to be quiet and not disrupt your time at Mass. Because when they do that for you, they also avail it to me. And by the time my nest is empty, someone near me will have a full one, and the shoe will be on the other foot. I hope I can remember the challenge, and offer prayers for peace for them, and not cluck at them.

Of snails and puppy dog tails

That's what my little boy is not made of at all. He's a greased pig, flying out a greased chute and like his siblings before him, he has a mind of his own. He crossed over to the 7th month on my dad's 87th birthday. He's crawling, negotiating from sitting to crawling and back to sitting. And then he decided to start pulling up on things. NO, dude, just NO. This means he's going to walk at 8 months like all the others too. We have tile floors, and none of the other kids learned to walk on tile. For the first time ever, I'm giving consideration to buying one of my kids a helmet. He lacks spatial ability quite yet, and is still grossly top-heavy. It's mildly amusing that we can barricade him off from some place by a chair because he hasn't figured out ducking under the rungs...I give that 2 more weeks tops before he wrinkles that corner of his brain. I'm trying to stave off another few weeks the inevitable walking, at least till he and I return from a trip to the crazy bag lady convention.

He's also teething - EN MASSE. He *just* got one tooth to pop through the surface of his gums a couple weeks ago, and dang if I didn't find the 2nd one today. I was not expecting that to happen so soon. I've caught him trying to gum the refrigerator door because it's cold and his mouth hurts. I'm praying he is not mid-teething on our trip, and that he hits the Sir Sleeps A Lot phase of a growth spurt while we're traveling.

He's got a decent receptive language, understands a few basic signs, and tries to mimic what we're saying. Daddy is his favorite person. I'm just his favorite when he's hungry. He loves his sisters, and when the big boys are home, he loves them too. Hot Sauce won't admit that he likes his baby brother, but you can tell when he's home on leave who his favorite person in the family is. Evil Genius talks to him in Spanish, like he did for the girls. Moments like that make me wish the older boys were still home, because I feel like the youngest sprog is missing out on some things they have to offer.

And I think I finally have a pseudonym for him. I've called him a variety of things, but as days pass, and he leaps over milestones in proud fashion, I keep thinking "dude this kid is just fast." Since we already have a spawn nicknamed Blur, and given part of his name, I think this little boy's moniker online is going to be Speedy. If he stays fast, it will suit him. If he's laid back like Hot Sauce, it'll be an amusing irony.

Somehow, I think he'll be quite a bit like the other siblings, and do things fast, and the name will be oh so apropos.

Bittersweetness

It's been an interesting several weeks since my last post, fraught with cognitive failure and the pendulum sweeping the other way to sheer brilliance for a fleeting second. I should be sleeping right now, because the clock is ticking on the incessantly hungry infant's tummy. But I am sitting in the silence and relative stillness of the house, with only my brain running at warp speed. Such is the joy of an ADD brain. It's 1 am and I'm unable to get my brain to shut up at all tonight.

I have been seeing this one blog post about "The Last One" in my crackbook feed numerous times this week. Finally, I read it. And in doing so, my eyes welled up and my brain started running even faster. I never imagined I'd have FIVE kids in my life. I figured  after #3, and we were good. Then I had a 4th, and thought we had 2 of each, we were golden. HAH! Have I mentioned that I was supposed to have a home office and a motorcycle?

The Tie Breaker is 3 months old and careening through his milestones with warp speed just like his siblings did. And I was looking at him asleep in my arms tonight, wondering what purpose God has for him to send him to us after we feel like we've screwed up at least one of our other kids some how or another. I am still shocked and awed that we were entrusted with the care, feeding, and training of another miniature human. I am boggled that my friend thinks so highly of me to ask that I would be Godmother to another of her children, when I am a slacker in so many ways, including my faith. But at the same time it's all humbling. How haughty of me to think I should strike out on some kind of adventure in my life that didn't necessarily include starting parenthood alllllllll over again.

And I am chronically struck by the sheer fact that we have TWO adult children, yet there are 3 more home, and that the youngest is a brand new sprog. I do derive bemusement from telling people our kids are 3 months old on up to 20 years old. Part of that is just me still trying to digest it. Part of it is that I am amused by the shock others have when they learn we're a larger-than-average family, and NOT a blended household. Yeah, we're rebels like that. I sometimes think that I should have been a sociologist.

But with all of that comes an occasional pang. I miss my boys sometimes. Reality is though, that they are at the point where they must transition into adulthood, despite my desire to keep the little boys they used to be. They're grown and turning into fascinating adults. And every time the baby smiles, I see both his brothers too. And then I see a quirk from one of his sisters. I thought I was done having kids after the 2nd, 3rd, and 4th. And I'm certainly feeling done after the 5th. With each of those done feelings comes a hint of sadness behind the celebration. First steps for them, but the last first steps for me. First teeth (oh lordy, who are we kidding, teething is abysmally miserable), first words, etc. And I find myself doing something I was incapable of 20 years ago. I find myself dwelling on the smile, the diaper change, the nursing (not always, because oof - someone is constantly touching me!), the giggles, the cooing, the completely different means this kid needs to get a burp out of him, the comforting a baby with reflux and knowing you can only do so much. Then I dig in my memory bank, wondering if the oldest 2 had any of these quirks and issues, and I just didn't have the knowledge then that I do now. Parenting would have been a whole different experience for both me and the spawn, had I been connected with the kind of people who share their story. When you know better, you do better. I hope I'm doing better.

And those well-intended words those veteran moms and old ldies shared when my oldest 3 were born: "Enjoy those babies". It is difficult when in the throes of sleep deprivation, missed showers, gross diapers, the whole kit-and-caboodle. I find myself feeling more present in this segment of the mom-gig. I constantly work to have balance and avoid losing my sanity. And I want to enjoy my kids. I just don't always find the wherewithal to do it. Despite my efforts to find balance, I sometimes don't have it. I rely heavily on my middle child now, and I have mixed feelings about it. She needs to make her own transitions toward growing up, but she's still a child too. And again, we strive for balance. She's incredibly helpful and has the capacity to follow her brothers into adulthood with a different brand of thinking and experience that will hopefully catapult her beyond her peers.

Each of the older kids loves the younger siblings. As much as I hate to admit that I miss my sons, one of them hates to admit he misses his newest brother. When they're here, they're awesome with the younger kids (usually). When they're here, I also selfishly breathe in their presence because I know they're not staying long. And I enjoy those fleeting moments, because I painfully recognize them for what they are. And then I look at this newest person to join our world, and think how much more I really do have the privilege of getting to know him before we launch him. It's a perspective that was impossible for me to properly possess two decades ago.

Kathryn's plight

I interrupt my usual snarky banter with something important.
Please keep this girl, her family, and those tasked with her medical care in your thoughts and prayers, as they embark on a long journey. After many days and nights of searching for an answer to the problem, she has been given a diagnosis. And it's a heartbreaking situation.

http://catholichusband.wordpress.com/2013/12/31/kathryn-gets-a-horrific-diagnosis-and-needs-a-miracle/

Originality and Humor

When questioning the fertility and family size of folks who have more than 2.8 children, you are encouraged to avoid the same. trite. comments. every. single. body. else. has. used. before. you.

Seriously. It's lame. We live in a circus of our own, with our own brands of chaos. If you're going to waste our time with the same junk as everyone else, save your breath. It takes a lot to entertain us, given our own spawned clowns and elephants. It's the one common vent amongst parents of larger sized families.

The family of four kids I have doesn't really feel that large to me. But, I got lots of crap when I was pregnant with Blur. So you can imagine why I felt a need to just keep this fifth one off the radar completely. I was mentally and emotionally starting to come around to the idea of surprise #5, and then my husband outed me on Facebook with a post of an ultrasound picture. He missed the memo on my non-online-disclosure decision. I'd intentionally kept it off my primary page, and only shared in closed groups and private messages where I knew I'd have supportive, or at least funny, commentary.

And in that 21 week scan, we learned this baby had bilateral cysts on the choroid plexus. It's a normal variant, provided there are no other variants like the long bones being short. Thankfully the long bones were measuring normally, if not a week ahead of dates. (It explains the incessant craving for dairy, there was some bone growth & ossification happening.) So we had to do a follow up today. The cysts remedied themselves. The fluid was apparently just extra buildup in some hormonal surge and extra time was needed to reabsorb it. I don't have to go back to get that monitored. Then there's the issue of my "advanced maternal age" prompting things like needing a fetal echo done. Yep, heart is fine too. Everything is where it should be and functioning properly and well.

Since my husband outed me, I figured I'd post my own picture from today's scan. Apparently, I'm not stalker-worthy material and some folks were unaware of the story, and that surprised a few more folks. And then visibly, the belly is winning the race now, and it's darn near impossible to hide the belly, unless I don one of Omar-the-tentmaker's frocks. So, I'm getting comments in person too.

Here, let me just answer all the questions and save folks the trouble of asking. I want to spare you the trouble, and also spare you the dirty looks you'll get, plus the tone of voice, and sharp responses of which I'm capable of providing. Because like I said: It's lame, and it does nothing to entertain me. And it's just not funny. I'm easily amused, but the same questions just don't do it for me. Step up your game already. Be original and humorous. Give me something I haven't already heard.

Are you ready for it? Here goes:

1. Yes, we know what causes it. We've had 21 years of practice. We're damn good at it. We like it. We're married to each other, so we're SUPPOSED to be doing it with each other, not someone else. It's not wrong to actually LIKE your spouse. We've worked a lot of years to get where we are, and we like where we are. Don't be jealous that you can't get in on our party, ok? Just go get your own.

2. Yes, we have tv, cable, dvd's, etc and we utilize them. We actually have multiples of each. Oh, ANNNND we have computers with internet access, plus smartphones. We have friends. We have access to entertainment. And we have access to each other - you know like I said up  there^ in that spousal thing.

3. Yes, *I* am Catholic, but my husband is not. Our inter-faith marriage is always a work in progress, and we don't follow any one strict tenet versus another. Ours is an interesting dance of sorts, melded together the last 21 years with a lot of compromise after a lot of trial and error. Apparently, I'm a better Catholic than I thought I was, though. And apparently, I'm the kind of Catholic girl the Southern Baptist boys like. Take that as you will.

4. Yes, we've heard of birth control, and condoms, and at some points, we HAVE utilized a variety of all of them. I don't have to share this topic with anyone outside of my husband, I am not going to share the details of why, how, etc of what we do in that regard. I don't say a word about your decision to do permanent sterilization, hormonal birth control, barrier methods, etc. Be respectful of what we do, just like I'm respectful of what you do. In short, I stay out of your uterus, you stay out of mine.

5. Yes, everything OBVIOUSLY functions just normally, nothing is broken, so please tell me what is there to fix?

6. Yes, I have my hands full. I have a head and heart full too. The van is full. The house is full. The garage is full too. Our lives are full. How is yours? Is it full of good stuff or just junk and drama and crap?
There are people who completely ache and pay lots of money to ATTEMPT to even get a tenth of what we have. I'm truly and completely blessed, while my heart breaks for those who long for the simplest part of my life, and some may never have it. Don't tell me the obvious, because somewhere in earshot of your comment is someone else who you're insulting in the opposite manner, by reminding them of their empty hearts and arms. And there are those who have suffered the losses of 4, 5, even 8, or 12, or more babies and pregnancies. They are so grateful to have a baby make it into this world, while forever mourning the loss of those who grew wings before seeing light of day. They happily bring as many into this world as they humanly can. It hurts and it stings and it drives the knives deeper, while you twist them. Do you still feel brilliant saying that one?

7.  No, I don't know how YOU do it with just one, or two. Seriously, I need balance in my life, and I need my own interests and hobbies. I don't know how you can helicopter- and lawnmower-parent a completely normal child who has zero no neuro-challenges and come out the other side with your dignity and sanity intact, or theirs for that matter. I delegate stuff to the kids to do, as they become independent and capable enough to handle things. I've blogged about that before. Simply put, it's my job to create independent people who can function outside of me, and handle the hiccups of life. I have my own interests because one day those buggers will fly the nest and I don't want to be that mother-in-law that gets ranted about on the internet. I want my children and their families to feel like I respect their adulthood, and parenthood, and I will do my best to allow that by knowing my place in their world and not encroaching where I do not belong. I blessedly have a fair selection of wise in-laws who may not agree with how we do things, but they know it's not their family or household.

8.  No, I didn't realize that we didn't need to have any more kids. Thank you for telling me that. I didn't realize I was still 6, and asking for a second dessert an hour before bedtime. Last I checked, we are well beyond age 18, and still married to the same person after all these years. If I have my wits about me, we have kids who are 20 and almost 19. So unless there's some strange science or miracle, I think we are qualified to decide what my husband and I need, or don't need. I think your words simply speak of your own insecurities, and lack of time spent with us and getting to know us sufficiently. We are raising our kids in a manner that rivals most any other way modern parents do nowadays, and we've got one who was trained for management at his job as soon as he graduated high school, and another about to head off to MCRD Parris Island for boot camp. The Marines don't take *just* anybody. Our oldest daughter has life skills her peers can't fathom, and a perspective they won't achieve till they're much older. Our preschooler is articulate, funny, well-adjusted and capable of handling things kids her age still have a tantrum over happening, and she's fiercely independent. But they're still capable of being kids. We haven't robbed them of anything. We've sacrificed our own self-serving desires to give them what they need. We have indulged in some things, because we need balance and they need to see us doing our own thing, chasing our own goals and dreams, and they need to see us sacrifice for the greater good or to achieve those goals. Despite the fact that I'm running headlong toward 40, and I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up, either.

9. Yes, they were all surprises. No, we didn't plan or try for any of them. They were all not in our radar at the times they appeared on it, and now we can't imagine that radar without them there. Then they brought friends to the party, who we mistreat just the same as we do our own. I have birthed and borrowed children, and never imagined this many people would call me Mom. I'm just glad I didn't have to change all of THEIR diapers, or potty train them.

10.  No, we don't know if we're done yet. We thought we were done with the last 5. No, we don't know if we'll have any more. Every time we have thought "done" and laid plans of our own, another mini human comes along and mucks up the plans. But it's cool. We make pretty babies with brains and a sense of humor. And they think it's pretty neat that mom & dad ride motorcycles. Well, dad does, mom's just good at dropping them and then getting pregnant again.
One other side note about the variations of these questions: Again, when you're asking a parent of one, or ten, about the number of kids, you're insulting them. And the ones who only have one or two who like previously mentioned, utterly ACHE for more kids and can't attain that are once again stabbed by your words. Why must you be so intrusive? Don't be offended if one of us snaps back with "Why? were you looking to hire me as your surrogate, because I don't know if I'm the one you want doing that. I might not want to give up a child to be raised by twits like you."

11.  No, I'm not easily offended. I married a Marine and had a bunch of children with him. When you have that combination, you recognize when God laughs at you (in my case, it's almost daily since the early 1990s), and you learn to live by that other Marine motto: Semper Gumby. If you think you can offend me, you can, but it requires extreme stupidity, lack of consideration and forethought, no sense of humor, and downright intrusive and demeaning foolishness. I am not sure you want to test the mettle of this Feisty Irish Wench. Some of the things slung at me verbally by strangers, meant to offend, really didn't do that. I've survived a number of things, including two teens at once - and one was a daily test of my faith and ovarian fortitude. I have reasonably thick skin, and some of you will be lucky I don't have him with me when you open your mouth.

So, please, I absolutely encourage you to get creative when you see me or my larger-family cohorts. Ask us something we have NOT already been asked. Or for poops n giggles, maybe say something encouraging to the mom whose day is shot because of that series of wackadoodle events instead of "well you chose to have that many". Yep, we ultimately did. Someone has to combat the stupidity of the world, and it may as well be us, because YOU are sucking at it.

Unspeakable Acts

Yesterday, 2 people in 2 different countries killed large groups of children.

Of course, amid speculation about the perpetrators of these evil acts, there's a bunch of screaming for gun control, better access to mental health care, you name it. People are yelling for it.

Here's a nugget for you folks out there who think there should be more or less of anything.

JUST FREAKING BE POLITE TO PEOPLE!! Stop being jerks. You being an asswipe to someone that afternoon could potentially be the last straw in their crappy day and you send them over the edge. Remember me talking about my husband's friend that killed himself? THAT is an example. If one person had chosen their words more cautiously, that sailor might not be dead, and friends mourning that horrific loss.

Let me demonstrate the opposite. I half-jokingly say all the time that I mistreat all the kids that come to my house just the same. If you're here when we're cleaning, working, doing yardwork, whatever - we are going to put you to work with us. I treat the kids' friends like I treat my own kids. Borrowed Billy practically lives here more time than at his own house. He loves being here, because he learns something new every day in our house. I never thought twice about sharing knowledge with my kids because that's what my dad always did with his 6 kids. It never occurred to me to not do that. How are they supposed to learn how to function in the world if we don't do that? Not sharing your knowledge with your kids leads to them being financially taken advantage of because they don't know something like how to tell if you need new tires, or your oil is too low, or your water heater only needs a new heating element or sacrificial annode rod versus full replacement. It leads to kids getting credit cards as soon as they turn 18 and student loans when they head off to college, then suffering the burden of being saddled with debt for the entirety of their adult lives. They get to retire into poverty because they couldn't save any cash for their old age. Borrowed Billy is an example of what happens when you're not an asswipe to someone. He's going to head into adulthood with knowledge he wouldn't have gotten at home, and be able to live his life differently than he would have if he hadn't taken up residence on my futon.

A few years ago a friend asked if his girlfriend could stay with us. She lived in what he described as a total trash-life situation. I told him I had to meet her first. If I'd had any hinky feelings, she wouldn't have lived with us. I saw a girl who felt lost and like she was always doomed to living like her family did. I didn't even know she was still 17, and legally her mother could have caused us all kinds of trouble. Thankfully she did not. Like with Borrowed Billy, I treated her pretty much the same way I treated my own. We held her to a standard appropriate for her age, and she did fabulously living with us. It was my husband's friend that mucked up things, but that's water under the bridge. Ours was the first example of a normal relationship she'd ever seen. She had always seen various abuses around her, and that's all she knew. She had new hope that she didn't have to be destined to live like the others in her family tree. We eventually parted ways, but a few years later she popped up in an IM to say hi. She thanked me for letting her live with us, and showing her that she could have a better life. She said that we gave her love and care and that nobody ever did that before. She made me cry. All I did was just help her meet her basic needs, and give her a hand when she was stuck. It as all I knew how to do, because that's how I was taught to treat people.

Common sense and human decency are two lost arts, to the point that they are now superpowers because so few people have and use those tools in their interactions. So when people are acting out evil atrocities such as happened in 2 places yesterday, everyone gets mad and starts muppet-flailing about how things need to change and rules need to be more stringent. How about holding your kids accountable for their actions from a young age instead of telling the teacher "not my child", or "My baby wouldn't do that!" or "why didn't you give my child a passing grade?". What you should have said was "I'm sorry my child did that, and I will discipline him/her at home" (and then DO IT, holding yourself to the discipline too), or asking "what was my child doing, who else was my child with, what else were the other kids doing, and who was supervising them?" and sort out the facts of the situation before calling "not it". It just might have been your kid doing the misdeeds after all. And your child didn't get a passing grade because your child didn't study for that test or do that project themselves. Teachers are NOT stupid. They know when you do the project for your child. If I were a teacher and got the idea a parent did the work, I'd be inclined to giving a failing grade, just because it's not the STUDENT'S OWN WORK. Aren't you lucky I'm not your child's teacher. Only once in Evil Genius' entire school career, did I side with him. ONCE. He knew I was going to side with the teacher because I was always teaching him that the teacher gets my vote initially. I met with her and gave her the benefit of the doubt, till I learned that she ascribes to the teaching method of "no straggler left behind", disallowing the accelerated students in aiding the stragglers to catch up with the other end of the spectrum. She did the entire class a major disservice. It was in the middle of that conference my vote moved and I sided with my son, because that teacher really didn't deserve my support after that.

And then I'm seeing in my crackbook feed the things like "why would someone have three guns in their house if they knew their adult son was mentally ill?"

To that, I say this:
The second amendment does not, and should not, specify that you have to be deemed mentally fit to safely own and operate a weapon. Nor should it stipulate restrictions if you have any form of disability or mental health challenges in anyone in your household. Just because you have a family member that has any of that, it does not mean that they are unable to grasp the gravity of handling a weapon, or the consequences of its use. Mentally and emotionally handicapped people CAN LEARN. When people stop making asinine generalizations and having overreaching kneejerk reactions, and wait a minute till we get all the facts in situations like this, then and only then can appropriate steps be taken to mitigate the atrocities.
I suppose if we use all that same line of logic, then knives sharper than a rounded butter knife should be made illegal too since the loon in another country stabbed a bunch of kids too.

Stop being a ninny and hold yourself, your friends, your children, your coworkers and your leaders accountable for their poor choices. The government can't babysit everybody, nor have they demonstrated that they can successfully handle what they already have. Why the hell would we want them nosing into how many boogers are in your collective noses?

Just be civil to each other, help without expecting anything in return, hold yourself and your kids accountable for actions and choices, and share your knowledge without fear of other people knowing what's in your head. You can't change the collective world till you change your own self, and inspire others to change their own selves. When you have enough people that do things differently on their own, you will start seeing a shift in how society behaves in general.

I'm getting old, and I don't wanna

This week has already been a roller coaster, and it's only Tuesday.
A few around me are brokenhearted after the loss of loved ones. And then I had an amazing Monday that got punctuated by my sister needing to go to the ER and be admitted to the hospital for a couple days. She will be fine, but she knows how to scare people.

And then... today, is another round of mixed emotions.

This goofy kid......

..... is the future of the Marine Corps

Holiday Happenings

Ok, so I haven't blogged in a while again, but it's not like there wasn't other places to play while I wasn't entertaining you.
Since my last post, I very prayerfully considered some options, talked to friends to get their feedback, and then talked to Devildog. I decided to become an independent Thirty-One Gifts consultant. I approached it with a completely different manner than I did my last venture that ended badly. I made choices along the way that contributed to that end, and it was my fault for not cutting my losses sooner. I simply hooked up with bad leadership. I knew the other side of the problem, but hadn't owned up to my share of it. I know this now, after having read Dave Ramsey's book, EntreLeadership. I checked it out from the library, but one of my purchases will be a copy to keep around the house. At the time of this post, it's on his website for $10 as part of a Christmas sale. WELL WORTH that price and then some. I'm moving down my list of books faster than I can knit anything. And I can't read & knit or watch tv & knit, so knitting is hosed at the moment.

Thanksgiving was its usual, but smaller scale. Then Black Friday, I did no shopping, except to drive to the Publix a mile from the house, and buy a 10 pack of Ivory soap and a 3 pack of store brand soap. The latter for the Devildog, the former was for a project to keep the kids busy if they wanted to do the project. Prior to Thanksgiving, I'd stopped at my local yarn shop and bought some roving (too much roving to be honest). Roving is unspun-into-yarn wool.

So, what can one possibly do with soap and roving?

One would make felted soap.

Why would anyone do that?

It occupies kids inexpensively, and makes neat little gifts. And the felted soap is kind of like a washcloth/soap combo. This was a take-home project we did one night at the yarn shop a couple years ago, and I've always thought it was kinda cool.

Assembled are the roving, knee-high stockings, bar soap (your choice of brand), and random animal fiber yarns.

 I cut the bars of soap in half to accommodate the little hands that would be doing this project. It's not required to do this.

 Dunk the soap in warm water so the roving fibers stick to it.

Pull small bits of the roving off the pile and lay it over and around the soap till you get it covered.

Then, cut varying lengths of the other yarns to add to it. 

I untwisted the plies of yarn and laid the segments around the roving. You can leave the yarn strands intact if you decide to do that.

This is what you'll have at this point. It looks like you dropped a half-eaten piece of candy on the floor of a shearing station.

Here's a tricky spot. Bunch up the knee-high stocking like you're going to stick your toes into the closed end of it. You'll need to make sure any seams are on he outside, and that you gather the roving-covered soap into the finished end of the sock, otherwise the roving will felt to the seam.

 Ask me how I know this last fact.

Then you dunk it into the very warm water (as warm as you can tolerate) and start scrubbing, just like you would when you're washing your hands.

 This takes a few minutes, and I don't mean 2. It could be as fast as 3-5 or as long as 10. A lot depends on the fiber, some depends on the amount of agitation you put into it, some of it depends on the temperature of the water. A shift in temperature from hot to cold, or cold to hot can aid your felting, and of course any amount of agitation will too. I used a combination of all three. I alternated between one bowl of hot water, one bowl of cold water, and lots of agitation.

After your several minutes of scrubbing and dunking in hot/cold water, it'll start looking like this:

When you take it out of the stocking, set it somewhere to dry unless you really just want to throw the kids in the tub with it to get them out of your unsunny place. You can put it in front of a fan, in the sun, or even in front of the fridge exhaust (I do that with wet shoes) to dry the felt. Drying time depends on the environment it's in, and how thick the felted fiber is.

The day I did this with the 2 youngest, my kitchen floor was soaked at the sink so I kept a floor-worthy towel there to catch the drips my 3 year old caused. I then used that wet towel to quick mop my floor. By two days later, you couldn't tell it was "cleaned", but I also lack photographic evidence to prove that it ever was something less than grungy.

---

Life carries onward

My Crackbook post this morning:

Today, I honor those who died in buildings, planes, fields ,and on streets, and those who have suffered the effects of any and all of it - by holding my head high and living my life every day. Why honor them this way? Because the attempt to paralyze us can't be successful. The hatred can't be perpetuated. The lives lost can't be in vain. The joy mustn't be successfully stolen.


And further proof that life must continue and move forward: My toddler.

We've been working on the potty training thing since Clone went to camp at the end of July. So far there has been measurable success with the #1. It's the #2 that's going to be what drives me to drink. She'll keep her panties dry all day, overnight, while away from home. She won't, however, even admit that her backside is about to lose its contents. So, Mommy gets to be the primary mess cleaner in that regard. If you could hear me speak about it, you would just know the party this is for me. It's a real kegger, that one.

So, the Blur got quiet after dinner, as I was trying to plug the INSANE schedule of: 3 workers, 2 students, and Princess-poops-her-pants into the Cozi online calendar, as P-p-h-p pooped her pants. My husband was amused. Of course he was, he wasn't the one who caught her hiding behind the door that I opened to allow the lovely balmy breeze into the house. So she was carted off to the bathroom to hose her and her Boots-adorned panties off, without benefit of the kind of hosed shower head I need to make it easier on me.

Me:   "Seriously, child, this is not nice. You should poop in the potty. Or at least tell me you have to          
           poop so I can give you a diaper."
Blur: "Boots is not happy"
Me:   "I'm not either."
Blur: "Yea, I pooped on Boots."
Me:   "uh huh. What are you going to tell me next time you poop."
Blur: "sorry."

I've got nothing. Because I know she's right.

Sleep deprivation

I live it.

I am a night owl, by some strange quirk, and it makes for some interesting events. Even as a kid, I was wide awake late into the night when my peers were getting tucked into bed HOURS before I even cracked the first yawn. I'm not a morning person, and require coffee-kick-starting. This week, Evil Genius has been going in to work at FIVE IN THE MORNING. Kill. me. please. This means I get up at 4:15 to take him to work, because he doesn't have a car yet. There have been a couple days that I got up after only a few hours of napping, and one of those nights, I don't even think I caught what could be considered a nap. Dinner has suffered for my lack of energy to think, much less plan or prepare food for the less-occupied household. It's much quieter since Clone and Beast left town with my father-in-law last week. Clone is at camp, and having an ABSOLUTE BLAST! The pictures I am seeing of her show a radiant smile and sheer joy. And I'm eternally grateful to the two aunts who trade their services as nurses in exchange for camp tuition. It would be fiscally out of the question if I had to cough up the cash for her to go. So, I get to live vicariously through my daughter, always a slight pang of envy because she's been given this amazing opportunity. Beast is helping my father-in-law clean up PawPaw's lake house. PawPaw died right before Thanksgiving, and left the house to the grandchildren. It avoided some of the pesky debates that would have come up otherwise. My son and his father's father are a fair bit alike, even though the boy has feet that are identical to my dad's, minus the gross toenail from an injury.

But life here must go onward, and onward it does go. The rest of us here are going to work, pecking along...and I'm just barely scraping myself off the couch some days. I'm thankful for the McCoffee the boy brings to me in my mom-bus, with the requisite creamer and sugar to doctor it up to my taste. Smart child that he is, he brings me a large. I have trained him well in the art of avoiding a cranky mom. Of course, if he got a car so he could take himself to work, or managed to not be scheduled any earlier than say, 6 in the morning, I could probably deal with it. But the sleep deprivation is a minor trade-off for getting a child to his job. This is especially monumental considering there was a time I was seriously thinking this boy was going to be the death of me, himself, or others in the process of getting him through adolescence.

I have been ASSIMILATED!

I am so proud of myself! I completed and passed the motorcycle endorsement class! I can now legally ride a motorcycle! And I think I'm pretty much the only one out of my friends who even wanted to ride (well, aside from Bakerella, but she was already a rider when I met her). And already, Bakerella has added me to two Crackbook groups for female motorcycle riders. There is only so much assimilation a girl can handle at once.

I am saddle sore from riding the bike for like 10 hours this past weekend. But now all I think about is getting on Devildog's bike as soon as I can, to put the training to practice before I lose my nerve, confidence and skill. Except this week is crazy busy and I'm feeling overwhelmed thinking about my schedule right now. So, after this crazy week, I'm probably going to want to go ride so I can unwind a bit. Then come home and knit a little bit to unwind some more. And then have a drink. The drink has to come after the first two, because drinking with either one of those ends badly. At least with the knitting, you can get a do-over.

Taking Clone to school this morning, I asked her what she thought of me learning to ride a motorcycle. She very excitedly said "I think it's AWESOME! Hardly any moms ride motorcycles, so I think it's really cool." I doubt she'll still think I'm as cool in 5 years because we'll be in the throes of adolescence and probably peri-menopause too, but that's ok. I'll deal with it by getting on a bike and going for a ride. I've heard it called "wind therapy". I look forward to being able to go pick her up from the bus stop on the bike though. THAT indeed will be cool, because not many kids get picked up from the bus stop on a motorcycle either.

And yes, I do realize that I am creating additional monsters here. Me riding means I'm going to eventually get my own bike, or get Devildog's when he upgrades. My girls are likely going to be raised around motorcycles, and may end up learning to ride as well. I am not sure about the boys, but I suspect at least one of them may be interested. And a family of riders is cool too. But as a mom, I find it important to visibly demonstrate to my kids that you can indeed step out of your comfort zone and learn something new and accomplish out of the ordinary things. They've seen me learn to crochet, then learn to knit. They're watching Devildog go through college courses, with the goal of getting a nursing degree. They're watching me learn to ride a motorcycle. Yes, we like to do slightly atypical things around here. It's why I bugged Devildog for years to get me my own set of tools. I am just not normal.

And those kinds of things make life more interesting and fun. I look forward to watching my kids navigate their own adventures in the coming years. I guess I better start working on decluttering the garage a lot more ;)

Elusive Solitude

It is 7:10 in the morning, the sun's first rays are crafting themselves behind the trees. As I look out my kitchen window, I see dark tree shadows against a multi-hued sunrise. This is the quietest my house ever is, and even then there is always noise. The refrigerator is humming, and at any random minute the icemaker will drop frozen cubes into its bin with a groan, creak and a crash, then water to refill and repeat. The HVAC unit just stopped. I hear cargo ships a couple miles away on the river. The water heater is doing something. And my husband is snoring. I've joked he snores to the point that the ceiling over our bed is concaved, risking collapse. I've just returned from the high school bus run to take my junior and senior to be collected by some guy they all call Freelove. They hate the bus, because the other kids on it are, to be polite - obnoxious. But it's a given in life that we all have things we disdain and deal with anyway. My Clone is asleep when she should be awake, because she stayed up way too late last night watching tv with Devildog. Blur is, very thankfully, still asleep so Devildog gets to keep snoring a little while longer. And here I sit, when I should be moving about to get the day going. The coffee in my FSU Tervis Tumbler, the appliances going about their business, and the sky behind the trees changing from the pretty colors of sunrise to the ones seen the rest of the day. I have knitting I want to be doing, but that means I'd have to turn on a light and risk waking Blur who sleeps on the couch most nights because we're overly permissive and let this ginger midget run the show more than she should. But like her sister who at that age also slept on the couch and with us for way too long, at least she is asleep. With a toddler, just like during that time affectionately called "baby jail", if that child sleeps ANY where at all, so that parents can sleep, then that child can sleep where ever they cease to fidget. Because when you have children, solitude is ever sought after on a regular basis. When you have 4 who run the gamut of ages and stages, you make a point to seek out any ounce of solace you can when ever you can. And then you get off the computer to go wake that 4th grader who is going to be even crankier the 3rd & 4th time you go in there to wake her because it's now 7:30 and she needs to be ready to walk out the door in 1/10th of the minutes she usually has because she wakes up by 7:00. And you pray her complaints don't wake the toddler, ever thankful she's on the couch so she doesn't pick up her head with that grunt that makes mommy want to curse because you just *know* you better bolster the coffee pot for Devildog because she's not going to go back to sleep.
Ah, there's the icemaker now. And looking around, I better put away the yarn because I know someone will want to "koh-shay" because mommy does too.