Twelve?

Olivia turns twelve today.  I'm going to make a huge list of the things she says and does right now, so I can use it against her later.

Hey, Liv.

You are very gung-ho about writing and illustrating a book and having it published.  You spend tons of time on it.

You help with Cora like a pro.   Sometimes, you don't even complain about it.

You are obsessed with Minecraft.

You just got new glasses with a skull and crossbones on the temple pieces.  You are obviously far cooler than your parents will ever be.

You can make cookies by yourself with an 80 percent success rate.

Your best friends are mostly boys, but not like that.

You're into ninjas, and you want to make videos about ninjas with your friends.

You have nicknames for each other like "Captain Chicken Teriyaki."

You started playing the trumpet this school year, and you practice every day without being told.

You love audiobooks.  We don't have much private space to offer you right now, so you like to walk around while listening to books.  You love Garth Nix the best.

You love black and camo clothing, but you're starting to be a bit interested in girly things, like makeup.  On Thanksgiving, you sneaked some mascara.  Yeah, I noticed.

You are terribly excited about going into Young Women's at church.  (I am not so much.)


When I give you a job, you get it done.  This is AWESOME.

We love you, Livvie!

Ivy Said:

Toby was making scrambled eggs for breakfast.  Ivy and Maggie were helping.  As he poured the beaten eggs into the hot buttered pan, it made a sizzling sound.  Ivy giggled.


Toby:  "Ivy, do you like that sound?"

Ivy:  "Yeah, it's like a weird pootie."

And today, he also introduced her to burp-talking.  My daughter is a teenage boy.

AWKWARD!

This happened to me last week... My youngest is five months old.  I know that the sweet older lady wasn't trying to be mean, or judgmental. 

We had three of the kids with us, and she commented that we have our hands full.  In the slight pause, where I considered if I wanted the longer conversation that we had three more in school, she blurted out,"And another one on the way!"

After an awkward pause, she said. "Well, I guess it takes nine months to put it on, and nine months to take it off."  Um, thank you?  And yes, it does.  But it still made me crazy for about three days. Then I realized, why am I upset because someone else has a moment of tactlessness?

I need $250. Right now.

May I present to you The Velvet Inigo.

If you follow the link, you can bask in the awesomeness that is this painting surrounded by a frame of twinkle lights.

You're welcome.  I know I have a stronger testimony because of this painting.  Amen.

This is what it's like.

Three of the kids start school tomorrow, leaving us with only the high-maintenance, low-chore-accomplishing contingent at home during the day. 

It's one in the morning, and I can't sleep due to, um, everything.  You know how sleep eludes you when you need it the most?  That's where I am.  Postpartum depression will mess with all your stuff.  I think I'm over the worst of it, I HOPE I am over the worst of it.  I probably am, because I can think about it and write about it, instead of just doing nothing.

What's it like?  The best way I can think of to describe it is like a gray fog.  It's between my brain and my body and the outside world.  Food doesn't taste as good, music that I normally love leaves me flat, I don't have energy to do anything about anything.   The only emotions that come easily are guilt and shame and anger and sadness.  Nothing is funny.

Sometimes I feel like I'm two people:  I feel a kind of duality to my perceptions and reactions.  I have this awesome and adorable little baby, who is becoming more wiggly and smile-y every day.  The rest of the kids are so excited about her that they run in to our room first thing every morning to see her.  At the same time, some other part of me is just numb, and treading water, and feeling terrible that such an important time in my life is passing by while all I can do is barely function.

I'm freaking out over any little bump in the road.  Is Cora getting enough to eat?  There is a massive spider infestation (of massive spiders) in our sewing room.  The kids are taking for-frakking-ever to do the dishes again.  Toby isn't paying enough attention/the right kind of attention to me.  Then I melt down like a two-year-old, and hold a grudge for days.

What makes it worse is the conviction that I should not feel the way I do.  If I could just try harder to be happy, to not lose my temper, to not get so stressed out about every little thing, would I be better?  That's the real question, isn't it?  Am I depressed because of how I think, or do I see things the way I do because of the depression?  Believe me, Toby and I have talked this one into the ground repeatedly.

I realize that I have many, many risk factors against me.  Depression is strong in my family like the Force is strong in Luke's.  I have a weird combination of a perfectionist and a slacker nature, which means I don't get nearly the results I envision from life, then beat myself up over it. Add six kids and two unfinished houses into the mix, and maybe anyone would be equally crazy.

I wish I could end this with some helpful hints, a list of what I've learned.  The list is pretty short:  I know I've made it through this before. 




On a lighter note, Loch created this little sculpture from only a teaspoon, some butter, and a Micromachine Van.

Baby Pictures!

 Taking a nap her first day home.

 Giving a skeptical look to Grandpa McDonald.

 All the kids want to hold her.

This is before heading home from the midwife's house in Harrison, Arkansas.

She's here!

Cora Lenore:  8 pounds, 3 ounces.  More soon...

Other Things I've Learned: End of Day Eight.

*Near/past my due date, I become a hermit.  I don't want anyone to look at me. I don't want to go out in public, or to church.  I don't want anyone to ask me when my baby is due, especially if it's then followed by a story about how their doctor "would never let them go so late..."  Yeah, bite me. 

*I also have started to consider lying to people when they ask if this is my first baby.  Should I be flattered that I look like a first-time mom?  Mentioning that it's actually my sixth always leads to more conversation than I'm comfortable with.  Now that I think about it, I'd rather avoid conversation at all costs.

*We've been in this weird holding pattern for at least a week, if not more.  You know, ready for things to happen at any time, and all packed and ready to go.  Now, it seems like I packed the bags for the trip to the midwife's place so long ago, and I keep being tempted to go and make sure that I got everything, because I don't remember.

*All those folk remedies?  Yeah, tried 'em.  Pretty much everything but castor oil.  We've done the fun ones, anyway.  Still nothing.

*It's ultra-depressing when some of my more flattering/closer fitting maternity clothing doesn't fit anymore.  I'm relying on one pair of jeans and some leggings, plus a couple of my longest shirts.  Those are all that will consent to cover the belly.

*It's becoming harder and harder for me to not panic about how long this is taking.  Is there something wrong with the baby?  Is there something wrong with me?  This is definitely the longest I've ever been pregnant, and eight extra days is quite literally an eternity.  I want to cry every morning when I wake up and every night when it's bedtime, because I am not in labor.  I normally cry about twice a year, not twice a day.

*Oh, yeah.  There's a kid in there.   I kinda want to meet him or her face to face, and sometime soon.  Now I feel really selfish and whiny.

Things aren't making sense.

*Disclaimer:  This ended up being a fairly physical description of the end of pregnancy.  It's a bit on the personal side, so if me discussing thigh cramps turns you off, just skip this one...



The blog ticker to the side is wrong, actually.  I'm three days past my due date, not just two.  THREE DAYS.  That translates to an eternity, times three.  I've been really close to my due date for each of the other kids, with the exception of Hollis (whose due date was sort of fuzzy.) 

Here are some interesting things I've learned about the very end of pregnancy:

My mind will only acknowledge events that take place before the due date.  There is no concept of time after, and any mention of an event that theoretically takes place after has absolutely no meaning in my personal frame of reference.  What this means is that for three days I've been living in a weird limbo state, where I'm mildly shocked that life does go on as normal.  How can this be?

Not only leg cramps, but thigh and bum and hip cramps are reality when I stand/walk for any length of time.  Braxton-Hicks contractions (the practice ones that don't do much and aren't true labor) hurt more, too.  I feel like my body is saying to me:  "What the crap were you thinking, we just did this less than two years ago, and you're thirty-two now, and this makes six times in the last twelve years.  ENOUGH, ALREADY!"

I could bounce a quarter off my belly, the skin is so tight.  AND, Toby managed to give me poison ivy on the eastern hemisphere of it, and behind my left knee.  Freaking massively itchy belly anyway, and now it's rashy and blistery.  Am I milking this situation for sympathy?  You bet.

I think a woman's mind sort of blurs out the details of exactly how rough labor and delivery are, so that she can blithely make the decision to do it again someday.  I think that worked for me...the first five times.  I guess that's four times, since no one knows quite what she's getting into the first time.  Anyway, I remember vividly what it was like when Loch was born, and have had steadily increasing panic for the last eight-plus months.  

Most illogical of all, I have this stupid sense of relief that I don't have to worry about it now that the due date is past.  What, like I dodged that bullet?  Um, the kid is still in there, growing bigger all the time, and I still have to get him or her out of there somehow.  I'm in a constant haze of anticipation and dread each time I have a contraction.  Is this it?  I hope so/hope not! 

Pretty much every night at about eight o'clock, I have a massive mood crash.  Another day gone.  I keep telling myself to be calm, that things will go more smoothly if I can relax, but I'm terrible at waiting for random things to happen. I hate uncertainty.  I also hate feeling like a bomb that could go off at any time.

Schools out...kinda.

As most of you out there know, we had some MAJOR storms rip through our area last Sunday.  Power was not available to the Granby Elementary and East Newton High School for Monday and Tuesday.  So, even though our Triway Elementary was functional, they canceled classes for those two days.  Okay, fine.  Our last day of school was supposed to be Thursday, a half-day.

This year was a crazy winter mess, and we had to make up eleven days already.  So this pregnant woman watched the end of the year stretch right up to four days before her due date.  I was not happy about that at all.  Imagine my chagrin when the kids came home from school on Wednesday with a note saying that to make up for the two days we missed this week, they expect us to send our kids for TWO HALF DAYS, on FRIDAY and SATURDAY.  I don't think so. 

So, like the closet anarchist that I am, I didn't send them.  Thursday, my kids cleaned out their lockers and desks, and came home.  I dreamed of sleeping in, but woke up with a full bladder right on time both mornings anyway.  The End.

Helpless.

Our little corner of MO has managed to avoid being hit by a tornado once again.  Joplin was not so lucky.  My cousin and her husband and little girl crouched in their bathtub while the house disintegrated around them, but they were fine.  Toby's grandparents were on a visit from Utah, and also rode out the storm in a bathroom.  They did sustain some injuries from falling debris, and were very shaken.  They wasted no time in returning to Utah.  Toby's uncle's house was also flattened.

I'm feeling helpless about all of this.  All I can do is watch the news and feel sick.  We've been told by our church not to start collecting things until we know for sure what is needed most.  The hospitals in the area are desperate for blood donations, but I'm just one click off being a universal donor (O positive instead of O negative).  And I'm not sure they'd let me donate anyway, being more than 39 weeks pregnant and all...I can't even send Toby to help, since I don't know if I could contact him if I went into labor.

On top of all this, the weather has no sense of decency.  Our area has had about five waves of storms pass through since the big one.  Nothing too major has occurred, but it's keeping everyone edgy.  Monday, when we went to Harrison, AR for my last scheduled midwife appointment, we watched a lightning storm that lasted ALL DAY.  I mean, it was literally a huge strike every five minutes.  Last night, strong winds took the roof off a public works building in the town just a few miles east of us.  All we got was a moderate thunderstorm.

I've been sleeping through the night for the last week, until all the storms hit.  Now, I keep waking up and checking the weather obsessively.  We're keeping the hall closet cleaned out in case we have to hustle the kids out of bed to hide in it.  Last night, we had to make them go to bed, because they wanted to just sleep in there...just in case.  We're all more than a little jumpy.

Taking Kids to Church.

Please visit this link and ponder it in your heart:
http://bycommonconsent.com/2011/04/17/sacrament-meeting-opening-prayer/

Amen.

I realized several years ago, that I mostly go to church so the kids get something out of it, because I'm usually so frustrated getting them there, I'm just glad I didn't murder someone.

P. S.  Don't pray for me or try to fellowship me, I'm always glad I attended...on the way home.

This is the last time?

A couple of weeks ago, we were visiting at my parents' house.  I was sitting in the recliner when Hollis came in the door, crying.  He climbed into my lap, all sweaty and dusty.  When I asked him what happened, he managed to get out that he'd been riding in the jeep while Ivy drove, and he stood up and she gunned it, so he fell out.

He must have landed pretty hard, because I couldn't remember the last time the boy had come to me for comfort, or openly wept.  I held him in my lap, and it only took a few minutes for him to settle down.

I looked at him, all long bones and pointy elbows and knees.  Before I was ready, I could feel his body switch from "little-boy snuggle" mode to "I feel awkward that Mom's holding me in her lap" mode.  I wondered if it was the last time he'd come to me like a little boy.  I hope he'll still want to be comforted by his mom, even when he's older.

On a somewhat lighter note, what do you bet that Ivy laughed when he fell off, as she peeled out?  We need to have a talk with that girl.

Willow Pictures

Loch and his pet golf ball battle through the drooping branches.

Ivy making the face she's usually making.

Maggie rocking her Damsel bustle ruffle.

Hollis in an unguarded moment, not making that face he makes when he notices the camera pointed at him.

Liv IS Napoleon.



Jill IS 28 weeks pregnant (between 6 and 7 months).

 Only Toby can somehow make a willow tree look dirty.

I Have a Bad Feeling About This...

http://thatsnerdalicious.com/accessories/r2-d2-and-han-solo-in-carbonite-ice-trays-now-available-for-pre-order/

Yes, please.  These rock!

We've been getting the Star Wars Trilogy from Netflix, because we're trying to buy the right one, while simultaneously introducing the offspring the the REAL Star Wars.  Apparently, there is more than one version of the classic three out there...one is untouched, but relatively low quality resolution and sound, and one has been digitally doctored to work better with modern AV equipment. 

Unfortunately, the modernized version was released in tandem with the three bastardized prequel movies (Episodes I, II, and III), and has "bonus" material added in.  This version was on at my parents' house one day on satellite.  I watched in horror as a totally unnecessary and ridiculous song and dance number was shoehorned into the Jabba the Hutt scenes of Return of the Jedi.  Why didn't they just put in Jar-Jar Binks and finish making complete fools of themselves?  Lucas has some explaining to do.

We've been watching a British show on Hulu called "Spaced."  To me, the rage the main male character feels at Lucas and the prequel episodes is the funniest part of the the whole series.  He works in a comic book shop and chases out any young boy who requests a Jar-Jar action figure.  And he burns all his Star Wars memorabilia in a bonfire of rage.  That's actually just from one episode, with a few references about it later.   The show is mostly about nerdy, jobless slackers, and it's not terribly clean.  (So don't consider it a recommendation, then blame me.)

But I digress.  Project:  Offspring Pure Star Wars Indoctrination has been going very well.  The smaller kids weren't that into the movie when I first put it in.  However, the magnetic appeal of a glowing box cannot be denied by any of them.  In one hour, Maggie went from asking if she could watch Spongebob to requesting an R2-D2 costume for next Halloween.  I felt a nerdy-mom glow warm my heart. 

Birthday Girl.

This awesome little girl turned six during the snowstorm.  The picture is from Christmas, with skirt from Grandma and apron from Boo.  I think she liked them!

Things I Never Thought I'd Say:

"Ivy, take those underwear off your head! They have skid marks!"



Well, now that I think about it, I can't believe I haven't said it before now.

A Good Day.

Today, the thrift store gods gave me a mini-doughnut pan.

Tonight, I will make mini-doughnuts, like these on Sprinkle Bakes.

You don't mess with the thrift store gods.

Success! Okay, progress, anyway.

Yesterday, with the kids home from school, I made them wash all the laundry, then we evaluated everyone's wardrobe.

Results: three laundry baskets' worth of clothing have been taken out of rotation. It may not be perfect, but that's got to make a difference.

We tossed anything stained or with holes, then culled the non-seasonal items. After removing things that didn't fit anymore, I only had to make a few tough calls about too many shirts for Ivy. Olivia had a drawer full of things that didn't fit anymore and she never wore, and Hollis had four pairs of church pants.

I have the summer clothes and outgrown clothes in a pile in my room, so I need to put them in the appropriate boxes. Then, let the living become easy, right? Thanks to all my commenting friends, for holding my hand here. It really helped!

MINIMALISM: The natural enemy of the large family.

Do you ever have trouble deciding which things you need to keep and which to toss? I sure do. It's easier just to stick something aside than to actually deal with it and judge whether it is worth keeping. Clothing is a major issue in our house. I have five kids, right? So let's say that each of them has five pairs of shoes, then that's twenty-five pairs of shoes (fifty total). My tiny mind starts to boggle.

I read on a forum once about a mom with five or six kids who went through all her kids' clothing and kept a weeks' worth of items for each. I'm talking about seven shirts, seven undies, seven pairs of socks, seven pants/skirts, a couple pairs of pajamas, and maybe a set of nicer clothes for church. AND THAT'S IT. The idea is so appealing to me, with it's logical, black-and-white reasoning.

But then, when I try to sit down and figure out what we would need in a typical week, I invariably get stuck. What is a typical week, anyway? What if we get behind on laundry, do they go nekkid? What would we do about winter/summer wardrobes? Coats and snow boots, bathing suits, and the like? What about when a kid loses their jacket? Don't we need a few spares kicking around to replace it until we find it?

Think about socks. Wouldn't it be simple and easy to have seven or eight boring pairs of socks for each kid, and call it good? But wait, what about for church? Little girls can't wear thick white athletic socks with little dainty Mary Janes, can they? And aren't fun socks one of life's little luxuries? STRIPY SOCKS, people. It's one of my obsessions.

Then, when I try to pare down a child's wardrobe, so much baggage gets in the way. I may not particularly like something, but if it was a gift, or if the kid really loves it, I can't just get rid of it, can I? Ivy and Loch, especially, seem to never have decent-looking clothing that fits them properly. We are always running out of pants or shirts for one of them, but their drawers are packed full. How does this work?

This all leaves their bedroom littered with dirty clothes. The dirty clothes basket is woefully inadequate and always overflowing. I wash two to three loads of clothes every day, and usually end up folding them, because if I don't, they end up in the floor and then the dirty laundry again before even being worn. THIS DRIVES ME CRAZY.

What also drives me crazy is the knowledge that if I did manage to be on top of the laundry, we wouldn't have enough space to store all the clothes if they were clean all at once. I don't want more places to put things, I want to know how to have less things in a reasonable, non threatening (to a borderline packrat) sort of way.

So how do I draw the line between enough and too much?

Thirteen.

I must admit that now I keep track of how many years we've been married by adding two to Livvie's age....

Thirteen Years Ago, We Had:

No money.

Barely nineteen years apiece.

Unwilling parents.

High School diplomas.

A crappy Dodge Omni.

And most of all, determination that we had to be together.


Since Then:

We stayed together.

We've produced six kids (Yeah, I'm counting this one.)

Paid our bills.

Owned thirteen vehicles.

Been in five wrecks that weren't our fault.

Had several different jobs.

Tried school again a few times.

Rented a crappy apartment.

Rented a crappy house.

Remodeled a crappy trailer house.

Mostly remodeled a crappy cat-ridden house and lived there nine-plus years.

Bought an investment property and didn't break even.

Bought another old house on the awesomest 17 acres ever, totally unexpectedly. I hope to be here long enough to make it not crappy....



No list seems adequate to sum up the last 4742 days. All I can say is, it's been worth it.