Trickling down, around, forward, abound

My husband used to work at Home Depot. He impressed the store manager so much that 9 months after he got there, he was promoted to manager. You need to know that my husband has always been a leader, it's one of those natural born traits he has. A few of our kids have that gift as well. But before he could officially promote, this store manager required that every new promotee read Cmdr Michael Abrashoff's book It's Your Ship first. That was how they were to run their departments because that was how she wanted the store run. Apparently he was so good that every time she transferred him to a different department, she got minimum 15 requests from people around the store to transfer to that department. They wanted to work for him. Seriously, it was crazy and the managers who were there before him and operating on different mindsets couldn't handle it.

He took his Marine Corps training, his natural leadership skills, and his DILLIGAF of what anyone thought about him, blended with this approach, and it was golden. He rarely had to write up anyone after a single corrective conversation. He had people seeking him out for various things. Customers would drive an hour just to find out if he was there and turn around if he wasn't because they didn't want to talk to anyone else. Employees begged to work in his department. I've rarely seen anything like it, but if more people operated like that, the world would be a more productive and happier place to work.

He got moved to garden center during peak season, not having much knowledge of actual gardening. He mowed the grass too short every time and did things that made me crazy. Our yard left a lot to be desired, and that's all I'm going to say about it. But he's always been willing to learn and try, so he did. He had a part time associate working for him who was there to fill a job gap and make some extra money. They were working together one day, and the other guy was spotting for my husband on a forklift, making sure customers kept clear of the area and that my husband was warned of problems and safety issues. My husband asked the other guy if he wanted to learn how to operate it. The guy said "nah, I'm an admin kind of dude." My husband told him he couldn't screw up anything on it and that it was easy enough, almost like a video game joystick. He taught this associate how to operate the machine, and helped him gain the company's required certifications to operate the machines. That was around 2008 or 2009.

Fast forward to the past year, where my husband was able to secure a job that has been a bit of a dream for us. He was working on something, and recognized a guy in the vicinity and kept wondering where he knew him. Meanwhile this other guy was wondering the same about my husband. Finally someone said something. And they reconnected. My husband is easy to remember, hard to forget.

They got to talking and the other guy told my husband that he left working with a relative because things were not going well and now owns a forklift rental company. And it all started because my husband took the time to share knowledge, and he handled customer service differently, and led by example in a way that other managers didn't. My husband would explain the why and how behind a company decision and the results it would have when associates followed those instructions. He taught them how to read reports and understand the operational side of the store beyond just getting product in the customers' hands. The other guy even said that when he's talking to people about how to do things within his business, he uses my husband's name saying "He knows how to take care of customers AND coworkers."

It absolutely made my husband's day, and it made my day to hear about it. One simple action, one small gesture, one shift in behavior is all it takes to be different. And you do different well enough, you influence others to be different too. And when you empower your employees, they want to work for you. When you keep your employees happy, they can keep the customers happy. Small influences have big impact. If my husband had not been willing to share his knowledge, this young man would have never thought he could have the option to own forklifts and rent them out to people. He would have continued thinking "nah, I'm just an admin guy" and kept looking for desk jobs. Instead, he took his "admin guy" experiences, his customer service experiences at Home Depot, the business knowledge he probably learned from my husband, and he put it together in his own business.

Know that every choice you make not only impacts you, but it impacts others. Every action you take yields a result you'll never see or know. Occasionally, you get really blessed and someone shares how your influence impacted them. And it's ridonkulously cool when they tell you that because of your influence, they have had some amazing experiences. The trickle is there, all you have to do is listen for it and let it flow.

Pastors, your Mother's Day stuff is nice and all buuut....

I have friends who skip church for Mother's Day because of you.
After being told she's less of a woman by people who were supposed to be on her side, your decision to have mothers stand and be honored or prayed over by the congregation has driven her decision. Even 50 some-odd years later, my father still grieves the loss of a child, and then the other loss 30ish years ago. My FATHER, a man, who is supposed to apparently be stoic and push aside *his* grief. My own husband is having a difficult time of it himself. My best friend's grandmother had a loss in the 60s, and the doctor was anything but compassionate toward her. She told him to never say that crap again and he was not to return to her room. He returned the next day with more of the same junk, and she threw a bar of soap at his head. She is 50+ years out from that loss, it still burns with an indescribable ache, and she was one of the ones who suffered in silence all these years. Women like her are why I have my big mouth and why I refuse to keep it shut.

So, pastors, get creative. Get compassionate. Get your congregation involved. Get them talking. Get them to understand the pain. Get them to show love to the women with empty arms, even if they also have full ones.

I will keep it simple and share these links with you, because they say it so much better than I could or would. 

http://www.messymiddle.com/an-open-letter-to-pastors-a-non-mom-speaks-about-mothers-day/
http://www.messymiddle.com/Beyond-the-surface-of-mothering

I am NOT saying skip the celebrating of mothers. I am saying shift a couple gears and rework it. I'm saying that while you're celebrating mothers in May and fathers in June, that you plan for October to honor the reason parents grieve too. I'm saying you've got noble intentions, and there is room to make it better. Believe me, word will get out that you do something awesome for the moms-of-a-different-sort, and you will build your community and have a group of women who are going to wrap their arms around newly-grieving families so that they do not suffer in silence like my friend's grandmother and countless other women, or like my father and husband.

I shouldn't

I shouldn't be sitting here drinking this wine.
I shouldn't be able to fit into this pair of pajama pants.
I shouldn't be able to walk normally.
I shouldn't be able to move without worrying about my hip dislocating.
I shouldn't be able to move my arms without whacking my engorged breasts.
I shouldn't be able to see any part of my body from the midsection down to the floor.

But I can, and I am, and I do.

I should've been a shuffling, waddling, fat husk fielding a million questions.
I should've been using a plastic bag on my driver seat to get in and out of my van.
I should've been worrying about choosing a name.
I should've been reconfiguring car seats.
I should've been having heartburn.
I should've been having insomnia.
I should've been excited and nervous.
I should've been worrying about juggling a toddler and a newborn.
I shouldve been perhaps even actually holding a squishy new baby.

Instead, I am forging a new normal that doesn't include any of that.
Instead, I regularly find myself counting how many spoons I have left to get through the rest of the day.
Instead, I found myself having the sensations of a phantom pregnant belly as I laid in bed this afternoon.
Instead, I cry in the hot shower as I look down and see my frame and body all the way down to my feet.
Instead, I am staring at my fertility awareness app on my phone, and seeing that the only thing due this week is my menstrual cycle - and *not* my baby.  Oh, mind and body, you are cruel playmates this week.
Instead, I'm praying to get through the next week without as much heavy grief as I had nearly 7 months ago.
Instead, I am sitting here, mournful and sad, completely depleted of energy.
Instead, I am drafting plans for an annual collection for a charity in honor of Francis' due date that never came.
Instead, I carry the weight of a heavy heart of miscarriage and feeling alone in my grief event though I know I am not.
Instead, I am finding myself comforting other mothers of angels in their journey, just as others walked with me in mine. It is a supremely sucktacular sisterhood have to join.
Instead, I argue with platitudes intended to comfort when all they do is cut deeper and sharper.
Instead, I fight with myself to find silver linings, hidden graces, and the what-ifs that I couldn't do if I had continued that journey.

Instead, I get to say things like "If a girl has to endure the suckage of mourning the loss of a child, she deserves the kind of love and support I got."

And instead, I know not everyone does. And they shouldn't get anything less than I received.

A month seems so long yet is not

As I got dressed for church, I grumbled. I could not just wear jeans today, since I was scheduled as Lector. Most of the pants I have are either too small, or too big. Or they fit my waist, but my hips and thighs make them too tight. Or they fit my hips and leave so much gap that it would look crappy with all the fabric bunching in a belt. Such is the life of having a ghetto bootie. Dammit, I should be fitting in to that pair of maternity pants, not trying to figure out if this regular pair might fit. They should ALL be too small! None of these pants are supposed to fit. I am supposed to be seeing a little 14/15 week bump and lamenting that nothing fits because there is a mini human in the making who is causing me to grumble about my wardrobe. I huffed as I settled on the purple striped dress. I was running out of time to look for anything else, it was appropriate for church, and it fit.

It was not till I was about to walk out the door, that I realized I was wearing the same dress I was wearing 5 Sundays ago. And the same shoes were on my feet. The only difference was the undergarments, and that was only because the ones I wore 5 weeks prior were too big for me now.

Then my friend came by with a shawl she knitted for me, made out of the same yarn as the tiny miniature blanket and hat she made while we sat vigil over a month ago. It is a beautiful blue, with beading, and lace, and a lot of love in it. She said it was so that I would have a warm hug when I needed it. I knew she was making it, but had not seen the pattern. She wouldn't have posted the project in her Ravelry project page because she knew I might run the chance of seeing it before she gave it to me. I tucked it into my bag because I wanted to show it to anybody who would listen, and I might need a hug.

I arrived at church early enough to catch any instructions from the sacristan, and glance over the Prayers of the Faithful. If you are not Catholic, this is the part where the congregation responds to prayer intentions with "Lord, hear our prayer". I was stopped cold at the 3rd line. That one was for people in grief. I asked the eucharistic ministers for extra prayers during that portion of Mass. I was afraid I would lose my composure at the ambo in front of the congregation. I sought out Father J to ask him to send up extra prayers and shared my concern. I got through it with a cracked voice and I  could feel the prayers bolstering me, cheering me on with a quiet "You can do this. Keep going." I went to my seat but did not stay there but a few seconds. I escaped to the conference room to cry because I could not hold it in any longer. It took me several minutes to regain my composure and return to the sanctuary. I could see Father J was relieved that I was back. 

After Mass, my daughter said that she heard my voice crack and she immediately looked at Fr J, and he was about ready to continue for me if I wasn't able. I was also greeted by a couple friends asking what was going on with me. I told them. I had a miscarriage at the end of July. It has been a tough month. One of these friends has always told me I need to stop saying "upright and breathing" as a response to someone asking me how I am doing. My answer to that is if I'm having a craptastical day, I am not lying by saying "fine" when I am in fact not fine. She argued that it was speaking something other than gratitude or joy into the world. Today I told her that it was perfectly acceptable to say "upright and breathing" because I am just *not* fine, well, dandy, or good. Some days I'm barely surviving. 

I came home, changed clothes and just crawled into bed. I didn't even greet my husband. I was just on the verge of tears. He found me a few minutes later, asking if I was mad at him. I related the gist of things and bed surfed most of the afternoon. I could not muster the energy to do anything. I was mentally and emotionally exhausted and it was taking a physical toll on me. I fell asleep a while later, and when I woke up, my husband was making soup and grilled cheese for dinner. Once again he is picking up my slack and taking care of me. I don't know where he is with his grief or mourning, but I do know that he wants me to just be ok, and when I am not, he does what he can to at least bolster me. I am in awe of how much he pours his love in to me and just wants me well. He will tell you he is not good with words. Sometimes he has said things that did not help me in my grief, although well-intended. But his actions speak volumes to me. And I don't know how long it will take till I don't need to rely on those little actions so much to get through the moment. I only know exactly how much they mean to me when I am at a weak spot.

You look good for .... what?

In the past several weeks, I have repeatedly heard "You look good for having five kids."

whut tha whut??

First of all, what *SHOULD* I look like for having five children? Well, 6 when you count angel Francis. Seriously. What is anyone expecting? Frumpy? Dowdy? Do they expect that I'll be dressing like the stereotypical evangelical homeschooling matron? Do you expect that I am supposed to look like I just rolled out of bed in my clothes from yesterday like a slovenly teenager from a 1980s movie?

Stop saying that to people.

Either we look good, or you look silent. Full stop. When people say to me "You look good for having 5 kids", I have taken to snarkily responding with "How about I just look good, period." What people see about me is physical appearance, and it is one that people want for themselves or they hate me for it. I have said it before, and I will say it again. I. CAN. NOT. HELP. THE. PHYSICAL. PERSON. I. HAVE. Do not hate me for winning the genetic lottery, because it comes with caveats. My grocery bill will forever look like I'm feeding a herd of teens. My clothing is difficult to fit properly because of curves, a long rise, big feet, and broad shoulders, and what is available in stores is not always appropriate for my age.

What you don't know or care to know is that I am not the picture of health. I have weak core that my chiropractor has been nagging at me for 6 years to rebuild. I have not done it. I own my laziness, and I make no excuses such as time, energy, etc. I just do not do it. I know this. I admit every second of it. What you don't know or care is that I have a high metabolism, and if I skip meals, I get migraines. It has gotten worse the older I get, too. What you don't know or care to know is that I think people who say "You look good for....(insert qualifier)" are problematic. You need to know and you need to care about that last one.

When you tell me I look good for having 5 kids, what you are telling my best friend with 5 kids is that she's fat, slovenly, ugly, a pig, or she is lazy. A lazy day for her still outpaces my busy ones by a million miles. She battled an eating disorder and STILL fights it daily as an adult. She has diastasis recti which is only going to be corrected by surgery because pregnancy really did a number on her and physical therapy has only done so much to improve it. When you tell me I look good for having 5 kids, what you tell another friend of mine is that she is inadequate for not being able to lose all that weight after just one baby. She has PCOS and some other issues, not that it is any of your business. Maybe it needs to be your business, so you can educate yourself on the challenges of that situation. What you're telling another friend who doesn't have any children is that she is not enough because she's overweight, and has no excuse for it since she didn't have any kids yet.

What you're telling me when you say I look good for having 5 kids is that I am doing something wrong. You're telling me that I shouldn't "qualify" to look this way, or that I shouldn't "qualify" to have 5 kids. Nope, no way. I don't need to qualify for either equation. I am raising kids to be independent, capable of functioning without me in the adult world, and to have the kind of work ethic to be a leader that gets stuff done. THAT is what matters most. Am I proud of the way I look? Yes, I am. There is no shame in the way I look. I know I am easy on the eyes, but I also know that could change in a BLINK with one momentary turn of the world. Do I enjoy getting compliments? Absofreakinlutely! Who doesn't!?!?!

I do enjoy the reactions I get when people learn I am the mother of many, and that my oldest can make the beer run for me, or that I am nearing age 40. It's fun. It gives people something to think about in terms of looks being deceiving. It boosts my mood when I hear a compliment. But a compliment should not come with a qualifier, or at the cost of someone else. Lift up someone's soul without exception, qualification, or exclusion. Do it because it is the right thing to do, or because someone's spirits just need the boost. Don't do it because your expectations and their reality are in different lanes.

Uncertainty, Hope, and Waiting

This is a somewhat graphic, quite long, and emotionally charged post. 

It was drafted as I traveled this journey over the course of several days. I am baring my soul in this post, and this is part of how I work to heal. My pain is not unlike almost every other woman's in the world. There are millions suffering in silence. I refuse to be one of them. I will use my big mouth to help others. The world needs to know how this affects those around them, and that certain comments are best left completely unsaid. Be respectful in your comments, and if you have a point of disagreement, choose your words carefully.   

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All I am able to do at this point is pray, hope, and wait. And repeat.

As I type this while lying down, I am completely uncertain. I think my brain knows more than my heart wants to admit. And I hate that this is where I am.

I am on doctor's orders for rest, and a follow up with my regular doctor in a few days. I am home from the emergency room because of spotting. I thought it was just because I overdid it on Sunday after church, shopping with 2 kids in tow while wearing wedge heeled shoes. Seeing it when I went to use the bathroom made me gasp loudly, and Devildog came to check on me. It was brown and it subsided after several hours of rest and plenty of water. Spotting is considered a normal occurrence in this situation, and as long as it's not red, and cramping is not involved, it could just be a slight swish in the cycle. And then today, it resumed, increased, and at some moments blood-tinged. Plus there has been some cramping that feels like dull pressure. I was advised to go to the E.R. because all diagnostic tools were there, and if this was an ectopic pregnancy, I would need to be there anyway. It's not ectopic. But I didn't see a heartbeat in the ultrasound. I don't have a trained eye, but having had 5 children before, I know what to look for and where. To the best of my ability, I was unable to see what I'd hoped to see. Every ultrasound tech is quick to point out fetal heart rate. There was no such point of conversation today. That doesn't mean it doesn't exist. It just means my fears were neither confirmed or denied. But I still didn't *see* a heartbeat. According to what is known as LMP dates, I should be 9 weeks 4 days. According to charted details, that's farther ahead than my potential actual dates. My HCg beta levels are measuring 7-8 weeks. But even this early, a fetal heartbeat can be detected. Sadly, I am only clinging to a thread of hope here. And as the pressure has increased the last few minutes while typing this, I'm losing my grip on even that.

I'm fairly attuned to my body, and when something isn't right, I can usually tell. I haven't been feeling the same way this pregnancy as the others. People ask how I'm doing, and I feel normal. I don't feel exhausted, nauseated, or have sore boobs. I was still nursing when I got pregnant, and I weaned shortly after discovering that I was pregnant because the vasospasms were really problematic for me. Between the hormonal dump of that, and the hormonal surges of pregnancy, I figured it was just balancing itself out. But it was always something in the back of my mind that felt different. I know every pregnancy and baby is different. So I just chalked it up to being different.

This was something that we did not look for in our journey, but having it happen is not a bad thing. We were growing excited about this new baby, and joking about how to reveal the pregnancy, and deciding when to do so. My sister-in-law is due in a few months with their first, and some of my hesitation was a worry about stealing some of her thunder. Other issues are the opinions of others who differ from ours about this, and have said things to us in the past about our family size. I opted to wait because I did not want those opinions to spill over in conversation in earshot of my 13 year old daughter while traveling with relatives to and from camp. She doesn't need to hear that commentary, nor does she deserve it. She is one of my children, and criticizing our family in front of her, means she too is being criticized. I needed to spare her that nonsense. Right now, I am kind of regretting the decision to wait to share the news, only because I want so desperately to have support and prayers from those who know us. Right now, only select friends who we trust and who we know will not make backhanded comments have been told that we are pregnant. Some people we do trust still don't know because we haven't gotten around to it. So if you didn't know, please don't take it personally.

And if this pregnancy does end in loss, do us and every other parent who has lost a child a huge ass favor. Shut up. Don't say a word about "at least....", better places, better off, you have enough kids, you're young, you can try again, God has plans, etc. Don't. Just do.not.do.it.ever.  Seriously. I don't care that you think things will be better off this way. I don't care that you think I have enough kids. I don't care. I don't want to know your opinion. All you have to do is say "I'm sorry. That really sucks." and leave it at that. That is a million times better than some of the other stupid crap well-meaning people say. It does not help assuage the pain. It hurts. It jabs the knife deeper and twists the blade. So shut up. Never say those things to me, or any of the others you know who have had a loss, are experiencing a loss, or will experience a loss in the future. If you say it to me, you are seriously at risk for having a new butthole drafted for you.
(July 27, 2015 - 5pm)
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Here it is, a couple hours later, and the spotting has become red. I am fairly certain that I am in the early stage of losing this pregnancy to a loss. And I am in tears. I want to go cry in my husband's arms but he's asleep, and I don't want to wake him. He would hold me, and let me cry. But I'm on the couch for now. I will probably go cry with him later. Right now, I want to let him rest. He's been dealing with a lot outside of home and he's exhausted. I will call on him when I need the extra support. For now, I am chatting with friends online and getting support that way. He too, will mourn his own way, and we will walk this leg of this journey together. In the meantime, I retrieved the old chuckpad I swiped from the hospital when I gave birth to my eldest and put that under me on the couch. This thing has seen 5 kids' fourth trimesters, potty training, sick nights of pukey kids, and a few hefty visits from Aunt Flo. Somehow there is a measure of comfort in its presence beneath me. (7 pm)
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And an hour and change later, I got up to pee, the bleeding has increased and clotty tissue has started releasing.  I crawled in bed with my husband, woke him up with my crying, and he did all he could do. He held me as I cried. An incredibly amazing friend took the kids so we could go to the ER and is keeping the 2 youngest kids overnight to allow us uninterrupted time and space. She just left with a bag of clothes for them, and to drop off a jar and saline solution. She is sadly all too familiar with this experience. I want to help my husband in his mourning, but I don't even know what I'm going to do to get through this, much less help him. I am regretting that I didn't ask for a printed picture of the ultrasound. I'm not even sure I would have been granted one.
And another wave of abdominal pressure is starting to appear. I don't want to go pee even though my bladder feels full. I would rather not be in this situation. (8:40pm)
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As the night has progressed, my butt was growing sore from 2 days of couch surfing. I got up to clean my tub around 10:30 or 11. Some of it was because I needed to just DO something instead of laying on the couch waiting with dread. It was also that I'd rather not reach into the toilet to reclaim my child's remains. I've been peeing in the tub and washing it out instead. I was using the hall bathroom earlier, but my tub has this divot where water pools in it. I decided that this one was going to enable me to catch anything I don't want going down the drain. But it was in dire need of cleaning. And especially in this situation there is no dignity in a gross tub. I have decided not to return to the ER unless it becomes emergent. I don't want that experience. I don't want the sterility and cold and strangers. I had called a new OB's office on the way home from the ER and booked an appointment for a follow up check. At that earlier hour, I was still holding hope for viability. That appointment will be altogether different now. As I started scrubbing the tub, the tears began to flow, and my body heavy with the sobs. Here I was on a perfunctory level, just cleaning my tub. In reality, I was preparing the place where my child's person would land for me to collect. In essence, it felt like I was preparing a coffin of sorts. My husband found me several minutes later, half scrubbing, half sobbing and unintentionally startled me. He listened to my lamentations of how unfair it was that people fight and struggle to get pregnant and can't, yet I seem to get pregnant just looking at him sideways. Or people who harm their children get to keep them, and people who would make amazing parents have empty arms. I later apologized in advance to him for any unexplained emotional outbursts or upsets. They are bound to happen. The cramping is more like a dull pressure and ache at this point, and I feel the bleeding. I occasionally get up to use the bathroom or check things. My husband is worried about me. I know this is weighing on him, and his primary concern at the moment is me, how I'm doing, and how I'm handling this. But I know his heart is breaking too.
I got a text from a best friend checking on me. Then another from the best friend keeping the kids for me. I laid out the tub story for her. This loss of mine is churning up deep pain for her own 9 losses. I am glad for her support, but heartbroken for her that I am part of a painful experience for her. She said she was knitting a hat and a blanket. She is always knitting. Last month when I'd told her I was pregnant, she'd found a heart lace blanket pattern to make for this baby. One of the things in her projects includes finishing projects for others who can't complete them. I thought when she said she was knitting, that it was for one of those things. I said "well I suppose this helps shrink your queue." She stunned me silent with "they're miniatures". I don't even have to ask. (July 28, 2015 - 12:30 am)
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After finally crawling into bed at 2am, I drifted off to sleep, albeit lightly. My husband's bi-pap machine often disrupts my sleep, but it's nothing like his snoring. He and our oldest left for work at 5:45, and I crawled back in bed with my laptop and a bowl of cereal to try to get something done but the printer wasn't working. I eventually tired again and fell asleep for a few hours. I have been getting texts, and messages on facebook checking on me. That comforts me, and I am thankful for this circle of support around me, virtual and real. I can not imagine doing this unsupported in the physical or the emotional aspects. In my reflections and hindsight, I suspected that the feeling normal was not normal, and the sixth sense I have, I knew before I knew. I also had a weird loss of hair last week when that much hair loss only happens postpartum. At the time, I chalked it up to stress from another big life storm brewing outside of this pregnancy. I now suspect that was when this baby actually died, and my body has finally responded to the cessation of life within my womb many days later.  (11:00 am)
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I had to go register my girls for school, and that was an exercise in fortitude on a day I didn't want to face people. In the activity of getting myself ready to leave, I began crying again, lamenting aloud while alone. It took me a while to muster the energy to get back up off the couch and go, but it's mostly completed save a trip tomorrow to collect grade and test reports and take to the new school. That two and a half hours has exhausted me. I'm nauseated, partly due to insufficient food, and partly due to being part of this process. I'm hoping my husband is able to leave work on time. He is always a comforting presence to me, even at those times when I'm upset with him. At this moment, I just want him near me for solace, and to sense his own grief. It might be weird to some, but I can feel his energy, and he needs comfort just as much as I do. (3:45 pm)
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I've been bedsurfing most of the day. Too much activity is wearing on me. I find the waiting game to be wearisome and am ready for it to finish its course. It's not unlike any other labor where I await it to commence and get annoyed that my body is taking its time like it is. I'm still bleeding, and clots are more frequent. I think I'm starting to see bits of tissue and I feel a bit like a weirdo sifting through this gross stuff in my tub when I go pee. But this is how I am processing this loss, and I need to do it this way. Around 5pm, I found in a Facebook group the midwife who I have the follow up appointment with on Thursday. I asked if I should keep the appointment considering the progress and she said it was my call. I answered her questions with what I know or suspect, and she was very kind. I felt that I was intruding on her mom-duty, and told her deal with mom stuff first. Work later. I know she has a difficult job sometimes, and her family needs her. She would have kept talking to me if that's what I needed. I felt her kids needed her more. I have other support, her kids may not. But I later asked if she could get me a picture from the ultrasound. I wanted to ask for one, but felt that I wouldn't have been able to get one. She told me that she could. As the evening progressed, I dozed off and on, my husband made dinner for me, and sat with me. Then nausea crept in and hung around like a drunk acquaintance, annoying but not enough to get to me. It subsided after I took my allergy med and nixed the post nasal drip that was probably a culprit. I still have the headaches. I think its related to the BP or slacker bun, or both. My husband eventually found me in the bathroom, and asked if I was ok. I find myself wanting to shield him from the imagery of what leaves my body, because I don't know how he would handle it. He tells me it wouldn't bother him. Some of it might be my fear of being considered weird or crazy for sifting through this stuff to find the pieces that do not deserve to flush down the drain. My husband and I crawled into bed around 11pm and he held me, we talked, I cried, he said some amazingly beautiful things, and apologized for making me cry. He's worried about me, and his wish is to take away my pain. I brought up the idea of naming this child, and why, and the names I was considering. I have felt this child was a boy, and have been looking for names that have good meaning. I am careful about the names we give our kids, because the meaning is important to me. (July 29, 2015 - 12:13am)
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I laid in the bed from the time I woke at 8 till after 10, when a caffeine withdrawal headache and a high-metabolism-starvation dragged me to the kitchen to get breakfast. I felt a hair tickling my arm, and couldn't catch it, so I grabbed my comb, and stood over the trash can, combing, and combing, and combing. I got pissy. I told myself that it was just hair. But it wasn't the hair. It was what the massive hair fallout represented. And then I got angry. My anger was because we hadn't told our parents yet. And instead of sharing exciting news, we will share heartbreaking news instead. I am angry at how we let the reactions of others cause us to hide the last 3 pregnancies, even though we were married and over 18. I am angry that people were doubly robbed of this joy. I am angry that we felt shamed, as if we were still 17 and in high school. I was angry that we have not been granted the same joy and dignity at the news of an impending child that other people receive. I told my husband that we will never hide another pregnancy, should one happen. "We will not hide God's light under a basket." were my exact words. I updated the handful of friends walking with me through this virtually, and my best friend who has my kids - still, 3 days now. And I talked with a friend who is on my team to share the news with her. I only left the house because I needed to collect my daughter's report card and test history to take to her new school, and find remaining pieces of uniforms I needed for the girls. I was up and moving another couple hours. I stopped at the grocery store but forgot the debit card, so I was only able to get some raspberry zinger tea that I needed to steep with the red raspberry leaf tea. Up to that point, things were not progressing much more than the pace already in motion. My plan was to drink the tea to help my uterus do its job. Which by the time I got home, it was starting to do on its own. Kinda like taking the car to the mechanic, oh look, it behaves. My husband called at 4pm to update me on his whereabouts due to work. I came home, steeped tea, chatted with friends to update them. I've been sitting at the table because the thought of laying in the bed or on the couch another day was not where I wanted to be. And in the last 2 hours since getting home, things have started moving faster and getting messier. I don't wish this on anyone. I'm having back labor again, like I did with my 5 previous live births. I've grabbed my rice sock and heated it so I can try to ease the discomfort. TENS unit is another option if I need relief. And my husband is finally home so that I'm not alone. My best friend was about ready to come over here if he wasn't going to be home soon. She really worries, and wants to make sure I am safe. I am forever grateful she is helping us. It is truly a gift. (July 29, 2015 - 6:15pm)
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It's been a few hours, and the pressure and discomfort has been in varying waves and extents. I've been back and forth to the tub, changing the pad almost hourly at some points. My husband has gone to bed because he's exhausted (I can see it in his eyes), and he needs to go to work in the morning, barring my needing him. I was instructed to call upon him if I needed him. It's been 4 days, and the wait is wearing on me. The tea helps encourage things along, it just tastes awful. Some of the contractions are gaining intensity. I am hoping for this to complete soon. It's dragging on for days, I want my younger 2 kids home again, and my husband is having a hard time with their absence. I just know I can't get through this with a toddler in the house who is prone to getting into EVERY thing he can. And I need to hug my babies. Like many labors, mom's body often waits till the house is quiet and everyone has left her in peace to progress. I wonder if that is what is happening with me. (11:10 pm)
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I ended up falling asleep on the couch, and after waking up and crawling into my bed in the morning I wished I'd slept there instead. I was so tired the night before that I was afraid moving to the room would wake me just enough that I'd have a hard time getting back to sleep. I lazed in the bed for a while till hunger dragged me to the kitchen. I asked my husband if he was interested in or able to get off work to come to the follow up appointment. He's been so focused on me that I am not wanting him to be left out of anything if he can be part of it. He can't take away the pain. But he's setting his own aside to help me with mine. And if there is a step in this journey that he can join, I invite him to do so. He couldn't get off work early enough to come, so I told the doctor's office that if they nudged another patient ahead of me, to allow him time to come, I wouldn't have issue with it. The midwife who had already been awesome as it is said she would move my appointment to later so he could join us. My husband left work a little early and was able to be there. While waiting, I started having cramping and it was getting stronger. Then in the exam room they were getting downright unpleasant. I needed my husband to apply counter pressure on my back. Really? Even in a loss, I freaking have back labor? I drew upon the hypnobirthing lessons from my 5th birth to get through it. After answering the nurse's preliminary questions, she left to get the midwife. The midwife came in, introduced herself, told me what the ER records indicated from Monday's visit. The ultrasound measured 6 weeks 3 days, and registered no heartbeat. I was 9 weeks 4 days at that point. I *knew* there was no heartbeat. I should have been told, instead of being allowed to leave the ER with a thread of pointless hope. She said it infuriates her that it happened that way. She then had me get on the exam table so she could see what was going on with me. And as she started, her tone got very subdued and you could tell she was affected by what was happening. The placenta and sac were passing through my cervix, and she was witness to it. She asked if I wanted it sent for genetic testing, and I declined. She carried it like precious cargo, asking if I wanted to see it. "This is what I've been waiting for?" came out of my mouth. I asked for gloves so I could get a closer look. The midwife gingerly set it on a chux pad and began to separate the clots to find the sac. She stopped, realizing that wait...she was leaving me in a bit of a compromised spot, went back to complete the exam and do an ultrasound to check for retained tissue. She gingerly resumed her search and asked me if I wanted her to open the sac to find the baby, telling me that if she did anything to upset me to say stop. She was intrigued by this on an intellectual level as much as I was. But she was reverent and respectful about it. She felt honored that we would indulge her curiosity, and allow her to be part of something so intimate. She had never seen a baby at that early gestation. The earliest she'd seen was 14 weeks, and here she was witnessing a 6 weeker. We were both in awe of it. It may seem gross or weird to some, but I had my husband take pictures. I think it bothered him a bit, but this is how I've been processing it as it happens. I didn't get an ultrasound picture, and I may not be able to get one. If I'd kept the earlier appointment I might have, but then, we might not have been granted the opportunity we were as things ended up unfolding. The midwife hugged me, saying she was sorry we had to meet under such circumstances, and thanked me for allowing her to be part of it. She was so careful and respectful in honoring everything, I am grateful for her role in this journey over the last 5 days.
Francis Anthony
born 9w3d gestation
Thursday July 30, 2015 approximately 4:18pm
Into the hands of the midwife, and laid on mom's stomach.
His names mean Free and Peace.

Having spent the last 4 days in lamentation, reflection, and tears, I have gotten a lot of catharsis out of it. I know reading this has yanked hard on your own heartstrings, and if you are part of this club, they get yanked harder. I will be forever changed by this. As much as it hurts, I do actually have peace. I've worked through some of the immediate emotional stuff, but I know there is a lot more coming. I'm mentally at ease because I'm no longer waiting for things to culminate. I can pee on the commode again! Physically I felt better immediately, with some residual soreness and tiredness from the whole experience. Based on the lingering dull pain, I'd venture the placenta was attached at the top left side of my uterus. I can now put my life back in gear and move onward. In serving me, my friend was helped with her own healing. She was able to give me the support those around her were unable or unwilling to give her. I am forever grateful and I have been given a gift that most do not receive. I have been supported near and far, prayed for, listened to with a wide berth, hugged, and loved. I know I have been blessed with amazing friends, and I have never taken any of it for granted. It is times like this, you discover just how much people really do love you.
(July 30, 2015 - 11:39pm)

Fluffy tush and how it started

I don't know that I've shared here that I started using cloth diapers for Speedy last year. It started on Ash Wednesday, as part of my Lenten Penance. It need not be abstaining from something. Sometimes, it can mean adding something, especially it has value, merit, or conserves resources, or it increases one's spiritual connection to God. I needed to find a way to save money since the merchandising job went away with the company shuttering shortly after my maternity leave ended, and my Thirty-One business was not yet consistent. I had a literal handful of pocket diapers that a couple friends gave me. I liked them, but didn't have enough of them to make it fully feasible. So, I started out with using cloth while at home, and disposables while we were out of the house. At that time, we were leaving home to go to a lot of places, so it was about a 50/50 split. As we used up the disposable diapers, and I gained confidence in using cloth diapers, I found myself leaving the house without changing the fluff butt to paper butt. Plus, I was growing fond of the cute prints some of my covers have.

Fast forward to this year, and I've scored a couple ninja deals on a couple bundles of second-hand diapers that I have shared with a friend. She expressed interest in trying cloth for her youngest, and got hooked on it, to the point that she decided to start cloth diapering her 3 year old triplets who have shown no interest in using the potty. She bought more diapers, costing as much as 3 months' worth of disposables. The diapers have already paid for themselves, and the family is using that money to pay off debt. I know some people look at me sideways when I tell them that we use cloth diapers. But these are not the ones I had when my 22 year old was born. If I'd had the diapers I have now when he was a baby, all of my kids would have been in cloth. These do not require pinning a moving target. It doesn't mean I touch poop. Besides, if you actually read the instructions on a package of disposable diapers, it tells you to knock solids into the commode. Nobody does that, and there is a lot of unfiltered biohazardous poop in landfills as you read this. I am guilty of putting a share of it there. 

It does mean that we save easily $30+ each month, going on low estimates of using store brand diapers, or the big case of Luvs at BJ's. It does mean that I can't remember the last time we had a poosplosive diaper. It does mean 2 extra loads of laundry a week. Since I don't wash my husband's laundry, or the older kids' stuff, I have room in my repertoire. This goes back to other posts where I explain why I don't do the family laundry, among other oddities my household practices. I can guarantee you that my electric and water bills have not increased $30 each month since we've started cloth diapering. The human ovens in my household playing dial-down-the-AC causes more havoc to the bill than washing 2 loads of diapers a week does. So, if you want to say it's too expensive, your argument is invalid.

Personally, I have spent $95 between the 2 lots I purchased second-hand, and the diapers gifted to me from friends. There are lending programs in many places that loan out diapers for families to try, or to help them avoid having to decide between diapers and something else that is needed. I *might* spend $10 a month in electricity, water, and detergent to wash the diapers, and that is a high estimate. When I am done with the diapers, I can sell them and make back what I have paid for them. You can't resell used disposable diapers. And when we do some math, based on the history of my older kids finally potty training at age three and a half, we're looking at three years of using cloth, which means a savings of $1080, based on a $30 per month expenditure on disposables. Those numbers can be higher if national brands are used and couponing deals not utilized. Even subtracting the cost of laundry, my savings is $720. This is for one child. When I resell the diapers, I am going to recoup the initial investment. So, even if I break even and sell them for what I paid, we're looking at $815 saved on one child. There is a chance I could sell them for more than I paid, but since I'm still using them, we won't know that till later. Again, all of these figures are personal to my household, and if a child can't tolerate store brands and must use a national brand disposable diaper, these numbers will be very different.

Yes, time is money, and my time has value. When you think about it though, the time spent going to the store and arranging the trek around kids, naps, meals, other errands, and payday takes longer than throwing a load of laundry into the machine between other tasks, refereeing kids, and keeping the toddler safe from himself. Plus, I don't have to be publicly presentable to do it. I also do not have to deal with the challenges of taking my very active children to the store to procure the butt covers. Some days it is just not worth leaving the house.

So, all that said, it isn't for everybody. It works for me. It works for a lot of other people. There are just as many brands and types of cloth diapers as there are disposable diapers. Pockets, flats, fitteds, covers, PUL, aplix, velcro, snaps, .... yea, I've been acquiring the language. As I learn more, I will share, including products that I have used and what I think of them. In the meantime, on other social media venues, you can search for the hashtag, #makeclothmainstream so you can see some of the cute fluffbutts that make mamas like me happy to see.

Birthday gifts

It's been a while since I posted anything, which is not uncommon for me to do around here. Like a lot of people, I thrive on the instantaneous potential for feedback over on crackbook. As those folks over there know, I've recently been tasked with my father's care. He had a stroke, or multiple strokes, over the Christmas holidays. It is coming to light exactly the small missteps others made that led us to where we are today. It has only been a week, and like God tells us, "we know not the hour" of the culmination of this leg of the journey. I have high hopes to tolerate it for the long haul, with the rocky crags, the beautiful sunrises, the smooth terrain, and the potholes along the way.

As my readers know, I couch virtually everything in humor, whether it's truly an amusing situation, a heart rending one, or something that has drawn my ire. My father has a certain wit about him, and he instilled it in me. He is also the genetic source of my debaucherous side. He also taught us many other lessons. He is a living message of "preach the Gospel at all times, use words if necessary." He has always given his time and talent where he could. He has served as church sexton, usher at Mass, and bread slinger at a food mission. The bosses at the bread mission expressed concern over a man of a certain age who was heaving stacks of full bread trays, 5 at a time. My father quite handily put their concerns aside with his feisty wit and determination, outslinging "the young bucks"  as he calls them, and finishing the prep work for his station in less time than it took for the younger volunteers to even get their product to their stations.  Telling him no means he is even more determined to prove the naysayer wrong.

And this stroke has slapped him with a big fat NO. No, sir, you can't drive anymore, because you are blind in the right half of both eyes (hemianopsia). No sir, you can't be alone anymore because not only can you not see half your world, but you will now start seeing things nobody else can, your depth perception is skewed, and your idea of slow is still too fast for your safety. No, sir, your dementia has been made worse by the stroke, and life as we know it has changed. No, sir, you must use that walker because the vision loss is going to affect your balance. No, sir, it is no longer your time to give and do for others, but it is your time to receive. And he quite simply does not know how to sit back and accept others serving him.

For a man who has always given, always done for himself and others, this is a huge blow. It is a slow painful death to a man to not be needed. And as I just typed that, I realized that in my insistence on serving him, I have inadvertently caused him to not be needed. My oldest sister suggested I have him help with small tasks that he can do, like folding the baby's diapers for me. This is a lesson to me as well, because like my father, I have a need to do things for myself. I need to loosen the reins on the small tasks so I can focus on where my purpose currently lies. That purpose is to manage my father's care and keeping, that of my household, and to work on growing my business. And my other purpose is to serve as my dad's protector - from himself, the pitfalls of his environment, and people who would take advantage of him.

Dad has always taught us to never expect anything from anyone, but should someone give you something, you are to be damn grateful for it. It has a link to his upbringing during the 1930s, with parents who, to be polite, were difficult. For whatever reason, Dad feels unworthy. He's always felt that way, but it is truly showing itself as an impediment at the moment. He feels unworthy of being served in his old age. I know how that feels. It's exactly how I felt when I attended a retreat at church, and these women refused to let me lift a finger to do anything except tuck myself into bed, dress myself, and use the bathroom. To a mom who did so much for her family on a daily basis, it was truly FOREIGN to have someone else take care of her. Right now, I've been speaking a horrible foreign language to Dad, and he can't translate.

So, here's this aged man, who has been forced out of his world, and into ours. His presence in our home was my birthday present. He was discharged from the rehab hospital the day after my birthday. I was joking the week prior, and still do, "Happy Birthday! Here's the care and keeping of your father!" It's a very important task, and it's not rainbows and sparkly fairy unicorn farts by any stretch of the imagination. But humor is how I handle things. Despite the snark of the outward appearance of that statement, I am finally getting the opportunity to see a part of my father he hid from the world. His vulnerability calls for my strengths to be put into action. The life experiences I've collected along the way with Devildog have been training grounds for this stretch of the journey.

Having a dad who was 49 when I was born, I always had an appreciation and respect for the elderly. They've been there, done that, got a thousand t-shirts to show for it. Just this week alone, I have seen beautiful things about him, about my oldest sister, and about my husband and children. And that is a gift that can't be taken lightly.

The gift of a wardrobe

There was a post in my crackbook feed several months ago, proffering the contents of a closet being culled as the owner worked her muscles into compact form and these fell off her. I'd just had a baby, and faced the potential of a wardrobe challenge over the coming year. With each subsequent baby, my body takes its sweet time to go back to something smaller. Here, the heavens were opening up before me, and someone was blessing me with something I needed so very much. I took what I could use and passed along the rest to someone else.

I was going to be traveling through multiple seasons with a not-pre-baby-size body, and I trusted that it would be a short lived transitional wardrobe. I would be ok with being the size I am now, because I know I'd be more in line with an "average" size, and it might actually be easier to find things that fit me. Somehow clothiers think my pre-baby size equals twig, not scenic tour with curved roads. I wasn't willing to buy a whole new wardrobe at retail for potentially one season. I wasn't willing to buy out of season on clearance hedging bets on what size and shape I would be for that future season. I still don't know where my body is going to land, so I still can't hedge bets for later.  My luck, I'd buy a size down and my butt would refuse to go any smaller. There are some things that no self-respecting mother should ever allow her clothes to do to her.

This gift was an answer to a whispered prayer for future need. That future is the current moment and season. I have been wearing the 3 pair shorts from that bundle so much that I've killed the hems and have to re-hem them all. They are my "uniform", and literally get worn daily. Today was just below Hell Hot, and I could wear a pair of the pants. Like usual, I have ghetto bootie gap because of my curves. I've killed my belt with that issue. As I was changing into my pajamas tonight, I was feeling extraordinarily grateful for pants that fit, albeit a smidge loose. Far better they are loose than too snug! Between the pants from that bundle, and a seriously awesome pair of shoes from another friend, plus the shirt I found on clearance while I was still pregnant (that was a safe bet to make, pants not so much), I looked pulled together at church today. I felt like a grownup, and not a schlub. As a liturgical minister on hiatus, I am seen and known at church, whether I know everyone or not. Therefore, I am an example to others. As such, I should be the good example, not the horrible warning. As a business woman, my appearance does matter to those who may eventually do business with me. If I look like a bag of butt, people will treat me as such.

It may seem like a simple thing to the giver. She was just clearing out the stuff that was too big. But to the recipient, it has been a literal God-send. I am able to pull together outfits, and dress professionally where needed. I can take kids to appointments or school functions and not embarrass my offspring or myself. I can wear shorts that aren't cotton elastic gym clothes because that was my only other option short of consignment shopping, which is always a crap shoot regardless.

And thanks to another generous friend with big feet and excellent taste in shoes, I have some seriously cute shoes that go with almost everything. Pregnancy changed my feet too, and I killed some shoes, but my feet have followed the same path my hips have. So several pairs of my shoes still don't fit me, or they are no longer comfortable to wear. This will come as sacrilege to some, but there are only so many occasions that flip-flops can be worn.

Anyone who has that one outfit that makes them feel super, powerful, or gives a new posture, knows how important it is to feel good in the fabric dressing your person. So when you're clearing the closet, and passing it on, you really ARE blessing someone else in more ways than you might imagine. In short, I don't just have clothes and shoes. I really do have a functional wardrobe. If you knew me 15 or 20 years ago, you know how monumental this is. And if you know me at all, you know how swollen with gratitude my heart is that I have this gift, and that people shared it with me.

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.

Intention

As per my usual, I have neglected my blog in favor of the instant gratification of crackbook. But I've been insanely busy the last couple months, and trying to shift gears on a few things. I added more to my plate in November when I decided to become a Thirty-One independent consultant. I had an incredibly phenomenal January and I'm just utterly blown away by that. I'm grateful to those who have done what they have done to help me achieve the goals I set out to accomplish. There's a chance I may fall short of one goal this month, and as much as that disappoints me, I am still thrilled with what I did. Devildog was impressed too. Anyone who knows him, knows that is not an easy feat. I am certainly interested in seeing where this journey takes me.

But I started this blog with one word in mind: intentional.

As I've said before, I have been listening to Dave Ramsey podcasts for several months now. One of the things I keep hearing every day is the word intentional. "You have to be intentional about it" is one of the phrases mentioned several times a show.  I am just wired for A.D.D. and that whole "ooh squirrel!" thing nails me every time. As I progressed through the end of 2012, and into 2013, I realized that if I was going to get anywhere better than I am right now, I better be attentive, and be intentional.

Intention means you plan. Doing something intentionally means you lay out the framework, and you DO it. I'm not all the way in place to launch, but I make progress daily. I am constantly restructuring my thoughts, so that ultimately it will lead to restructuring of my actions. Being a work-in-progress is uncomfortable at times. I'm forcing myself to look at what I'm doing, and assign a value to it in my life. And I don't always like what I am evaluating. And then I have to add more to my developmental to-do list so that I don't make the same kinds of errors.

Inadvertently, my personal theme this year has so far become being intentional. And when I am intentional, I generally see decent results. I'm constantly trying to balance the various plates in my life, and trying to return favors that are long-overdue for repayment.
And in the middle of typing this blog, my brain kept poking me off the chair to go load the dishwasher and run it. So I had to, before I decided I didn't feel like it enough to skip that task. This goes hand-in-hand with the stuff I have learned from FLYLady over the last 11 years. It goes hand-in-hand with the stuff I'm learning from Dave Ramsey. It goes hand-in-hand with the ability to accomplish the goals I set for myself. It goes with the idea that I have to pay back into the circle of giving, because I drew from that circle so many times in the past, and I'm finally in a position to help others in a way that I know is directly benefiting them. I'm doing my part to preach the Gospel, and occasionally putting words to it. (See St Augustine for that reference). I've been drawing from that well for about 20 some-odd years. I think I'll be busy for a good long while.

Gratitude: indoor plumbing & awesome fixtures

Blur is three years old and not always cooperative in the attempts to get her to use the bathroom somewhere civilized, instead of in her pants, on the floor or even out in the yard. This comes as no surprise to me, since 2 of her 3 older siblings were equally intriguing to train. In an attempt to stretch the measly budget, and eke progress at using a toilet, some days I put her in panties or cloth diapers. I had to stop that nonsense for a while because cleaning the mess was not worth it. I put out a call on crackbook asking for a shower head with detachable hose sprayer for the purpose of washing her tush more efficiently.
My sister found one for me at a great price (FREE!) but it took a while for one of us (her) to end up on the other side of town with it. Devildog installed it a couple days ago, and it has come in handy a few times already. Indeed, cleaning up the mess is more efficient, and thorough.

So, today I am thankful for my helpful sister, indoor plumbing, and awesome bath fixtures, because without them, I'd be up Poop's Creek sans the paddle, with an uncooperative and stinky 3 year old in my canoe.

Gratitude

So, I'll bite - maybe not *daily* but I'll make a point to post something with gratitude as often as possible. Lord knows I need the attitude adjustment.

So, since I started off my crackbook day with this post:

"One segment of the Today show that I absolutely loved: The story about Catherine Ferguson Academy for young mothers in Detroit. As a teen mom, I had infinitely more support around me than most teen moms ever get in an entire lifetime. It was challenging enough, I can't imagine doing it without those around me who supported me in a million ways. The principal won't let the girls graduate without acceptance into a college first. Her goal: that her students give themselves options in life by surmounting this challenge of young motherhood. I once told a horrified mother of a teen mom-to-be "The best thing you can do for your daughter is be there for her and help her however she needs it. The worst thing you can do is talk about her like you did to me, and criticize her every move. Her life is difficult enough without you making it harder on her." I said it to her in front of her friend, and lost her as a Tupperware customer, but I do not care. She was indirectly criticizing ME by badmouthing her daughter."

I am grateful and thankful from the bottom of my feet to the top of my head that I have been surrounded by generous people who gave of their time, talent and treasure to help us get where we are in this world today. Instead of turning their backs on us, our relatives and friends helped us where they were able, sometimes to their own discomfort or detriment (even though they never shared it, I could sense it). In turn, my gratitude for those gifts has prompted me to try to share with those who could use what we no longer needed. Blessing others blesses us too.