Christmas Has Come and Gone

I just realized it has been over a month since I posted anything. Admittedly, it is the busiest month of the year, so I will cut myself some slack.

I spent the last month growing larger. My stomach is quite, um, out there now, but that is okay. I know that at 24 weeks, I am just at the beginning of the hugeness. I have a plan to spend the last trimester sugar free, so I pray this time my baby can be under 10 1/2 pounds. Until then, I will enjoy my chocolates of the world that my beloved husband blessed me with this Christmas. Man, the Swiss, Italians, Canadians, Belgians and Spanish sure can make some yummy chocolate.

Yet, today, I just craved a good old fashioned American Snickers bar. We love what we know the best, don't we?

So, here we are, 6 weeks into our knowledge of our baby's girlhood, and it is sinking in. We were blessed earlier this month with a TON of clothing from a friend, and it was really fun to go through and ooooo and aaaaaahhhhh over.

Still, there is a part of me that says, "they could be wrong." There is also a part of many other people that needs to remind me of that frequently. So, this week, I am sorting out our baby clothing and boxing it up to mail to my sister-in-law for her new baby boy. And to hand over to my lovely friend who is having her first boy after 4 girls. My plan, however, is to hold on to these things until we either have another ultrasound, or we give birth to a daughter. Upon confirmation of the female gender, I will gladly relinquish control of the blue clothing and bring in the boxes of pink sweetness.

Part of the reason I have not been blogging, truthfully, is that I am STILL so nauseous so much of the time. As we speak, I am feeling very green around the gills. Gotta go lay down now. More later when my guts aren't churning. Ugh.

Shifting Paradigms

I am still in shock, two days later. I am having a daughter. We are calling it "she" now. Wow.

Just a quick little check in. I went to Costco this week, and Jeff held up a size 4T pink, soft, Minnie Mouse covered jacket with flowers and leaves on it. It was girly. It was sweet. And I burst into tears in the middle of Costco. Thanks a lot, honey!!!

So, here is my latest realization. We, in this house, will have baby dolls. With pink clothes. Pink blankets. Barbies. Princess stuff. This is enough to make me sit down heavily and stare off into space for over an hour at a time.

Well, right now I am off to make rolls for dinner, so I can't space out quite yet. We have already been telling the boys things like "Well, you'd better get used to it," when they say "Ewwwww" to all the above mentioned girly paraphernalia.

We all have to . Mostly I am trying to get used to their being another girl in the house for Jeff to fall in love with. Honestly, I have struggled with this a bit. I guess I have enjoyed being his only princess.

I suppose now I get promoted to queen, huh? Hey, I can handle that!

Everything Changes

I know a few things for certain. I mean REALLY for certain, like, you could stake your life on them. I know my husband loves me and only me. I know that Jesus truly lived and breathed, died, rose from the dead, and has saved me from my sin. And I know that God intended me to be a mommy of boys.

For as long as I can remember, I have cared for boys. In college, God prepared me for my life by allowing me to be a nanny to twin boys. Those boys felt like my own kids sometimes. I just love the laid back, take life as it comes nature of boys. I love the rough and tumble. I love the noise and the boisterousness. They are a unique breed, and I am so honored to be trusted with these future men.

So, why is it that today, at the doctors office, looking at an ultrasound, there were no boy parts? There was nothing where the boy parts are supposed to be! And when the tech (and another tech who came in for a backup opinion) looked closely, she saw girl parts? Girl parts. On a child inside MY body.

Girl parts.

I'm numb. I'm shocked. I'm stunned. And yet, I'm not. This is the only baby that has actually caused me to vomit. I have never vomited before, and especially not AFTER 16 weeks pregnant. I have been more tired, more emotional, more sick than ever before. Is this due to an overload of estrogen? Could be. Still, I am shocked.

It doesn't help that the techs both said they were about 75% sure that they were right, since the baby was using its (her?) modesty and keeping the private parts private. Still, they took a photo, and there was no scrotum, no penis, no nothing. Just very girly looking parts. Neither Jeff nor I feels 100% that we are having a girl, yet we clearly saw a distinct lack of protruding parts.

Maybe it is just shock that keeps us from fully embracing this news. I feel like when it finally hits me, I am going to cry. I just saw a picture of a baby girl wearing a beautiful dress and a head band, and I almost lost it. I almost let myself accept this.

Still, what does this do to the bucket I live in? Well, it is still a bucketload of boys. This has not changed. A daughter will not change the fact that God intended me to be a mother of many boys.

It just appears that He also intended me to be a mother to a daughter.

Oh, here come the tears. I am going to need some time to really take this in. This is quite a loop that motherhood is throwing me for. I am not sad, just shocked. Scared. Wanting to be excited, yet not sure that I should be just yet.

Well, if this is true, and if all goes well, we should be holding Carolyn Rose in our arms in about 5 months or so. There, I said it.

Until then, I'll be breathing, breathing, breathing. And learning how to play dolls again. And thinking pink and lacey.

Oh my goodness. This is huge. I am going to go and ponder for a while. Something this enormous is going to need time to sink in. I'll check back in soon.

The Face of Desperation

This is the face that plagued my morning. My husband went off to a men's breakfast this morning at church, totally at my bidding. I really wanted him to enjoy some man time, and not with men of the pint-sized variety. This left me to do Jeff's daily job. Make breakfast.

Being that today is Saturday, it is pancake morning. So, not wanting to throw off any one's rhythm, I began making pancakes. I must start off by saying, I can cook many things very well, but pancakes are not one of them. Jeff makes the most killer pancakes ever. Oh, well, if they want to eat, they'll have to eat my meager attempts.

Our precious little toddler/terror Tobe was in the kitchen with me, and he woke up with a massive hunger. This is nothing new. So, I assured him I would be making his pancakes and getting him some food soon.

Our oldest, Jeffery, had expressed to me that Daddy always lets them have a handful of whatever chocolate he happens to be putting in the pancakes that morning. Today, it was mini M&M's and blueberries, so I chose not to break with tradition. I gave each boy a few of the little candies to enjoy while I flipped breakfast. I should have known this was a terrible idea.

Since two summers ago in Branson, MO, we have known of Tobe's problem with sweets. He can't have a little. When he has a little, he wants MORE MORE MORE. And he is quite vocal about it.

This morning I made pancakes to the dulcet tones of my boy screaming "MO TAWKAT!!"over and over again. Then it changed to "MO PANKAY!!!" as he saw the pancakes stacking up on the plate. Eventually, time out took over, and I had a moment of peace as he shouted at the walls in his room. Once he returned, it began again.

How can I blame the kid? How many times has my heart shouted out "More Chocolate!" even when my external facade looked calm and serene? If I can say anything about this boy, it is that he is a product of his genes AND his environment. He comes from a "TAWKAT" loving family. We have created a monster.

Just look at his pitiful little face! Just look at the desperation in his eyes. Where are the pancakes? Where is the chocolate? Why is his horrible mother withholding such wonderful bliss from him?

Now, I am happy to say, all is well. He is adequately full and happy, and is currently watching Wishbone with his brothers. I have succeeded in making breakfast, and everyone is content.

Now I need a nap from dealing with the screaming wild man all morning! My husband gets off work in about 11 hours or so, not too long from now! My nap will come. And probably a few more time outs between now and then!!!

Baby Wonderings

I got news from a friend that has shaken me to my core. She is due to have her fifth child about 5 days before I am. She, like me, has four children of the same gender. Only her family is a sea of emotional, flowing estrogen, rather than rough and scratchy testosterone.

The news? She is having a boy. A boy!!! She did it. She figured out some way to have a child of the opposite gender from what she already has. How did this happen? I am happy for her. As a matter of fact, I literally shed tears of joy for her. And then......

The terror descended. What if I have a girl? What will I do with her? Where will we keep her pink things so that they don't drip onto the boy world we have so carefully crafted? Who will do her hair? It surely won't be me! I can't even do my OWN hair!

This is where I fall back on my faith to lower my blood pressure. God won't give me more than I, with His help, can handle. So, if this little critter is a girl, I will be able to handle it. To quote my wise sage of a husband, "We can't handle it yet because we don't need to yet." Actually that was more of a paraphrase on his regular how-we-will-make-it-with-no-money-in-the-future pep talk that he gives me. Either way, he is right. When we need to do it, we will be able to.

Honestly, I am mostly just trying not to care what this little one is. I just want a healthy, alive baby. I don't know that anyone who has had a miscarriage can ever really say they care what gender they have. I just want to hold this baby in my arms. That is all I care about.

It always amazes me that I can fall so deeply in love with someone I have never seen. I don't have a clue what this little person is like. I just know that I am his or her mommy. That is enough for me. And, every so often now, I can feel a little wiggling in my belly. This baby seems to be a mover and a shaker already. This just deepens my love for the little one because now this baby is real. And, to be honest, it makes the fear of losing this sweet baby all the more acute.

Thankfully I know God is in control. Either way, it is in control of a loving God who loves me and my family very much. I have to remind myself of this OFTEN!!!

So, either way, boy or girl, we will be thrilled to hold this little one. And if it is a girl, well, um, we'll cross that fluffy, lacey, rose-colored bridge when we come to it.

Visitor from Texas

My mother will be coming to visit this Wednesday. It is rare that we get visitors up here in the great Midwest, and when we have them, we are always very excited. My boys get to show off their world to their grandparents, aunts, or whoever is visiting, and to show a little of themselves off at the same time. That is cool.

There is, however, a downside. The cleaning. Have I mentioned that I HATE housework? I am content to work on the computer, balance our books for our family, raise and educate the children, shuttle little people back and forth to the places they need to go, shop, discipline said little people, anything but cleaning. I hate it. With all of my heart.

My sister is my hero. Every time I talk to her, she is cleaning something, or folding something, or mopping something. (That one was for you, sis.) Every time she is doing these things, I feel guilty. But then I tell myself, she has some time alone every day. Maybe if I wasn't constantly surrounded by little stinky boys I would get a bunch of things done, too. There, now I have my excuse to wallow in my own filth.

I must differentiate, here. I don't mind picking up. As a matter of fact, I am a bit of a fanatic with my boys that we keep the house picked up. Clutter makes me sinful. Clutter makes me want to cuss loudly. Clutter, well, let's just say its a bad thing. So, most of the time, our house remains picked up.

(Isn't that a funny phrase? Picking up the house? What a visual that is!)

Fast forward to today, and here I am needing to clean up my pitifully dirty home. My mother will be here in 4 days, and after today, I will only have one of those days at home without being gone for school, church, etc. Eeeeeeeeeeeeek. So, what are my choices here?

Well, I can clean like a fiend today. This is a good option since sons 1 through 3 will be gone at a friend's house all day. This leaves me and the 22 month old and a freshly bought, new set of cleaning supplies for the entire day. This sounds like a good plan.

There is another option, however. I could just say, forget it!! You birthed me, woman, so accept me the way I am! Come and sit in our grungy home and just love me without conditions!!!!!!

Okay, well, that doesn't sound like such a good option. And I am already doing that with my hair, so maybe I am going to clean all day.

I know she loves me without conditions, but there is only so much my pride can stand in one visit. My hair, well, we won't even go there. That I can't change right now. But the house, I can do something about.

So, I am off to the store to pick out a birthday present for the above mentioned friend of the boys, and then I will be cleaning the day away. I know I will survive. And it is only temporary after all. Some day I will finally be able to hire a maid to come and clean for me. Of course I will be taking my monthly trip to Disney World while she is here, so we will never even notice her. Probably by then the boys will all be doctors at age 16, and jointly ridding the world of all it's most terrible diseases. Since I am their mother, they will repay my hard work by supporting me and giving me my every dream come true. And as they are receiving their Nobel Peace Prize, they will credit me, yes me, for all of their accomplishments!

Well, really, is any of this less likely than me getting a maid? A girl can dream, right?

Blogging While Baking

I must be leaving the first trimester of pregnancy, because I am cooking again. Still gagging and hating certain smells, (today it was a rotten potato at the store, and pesto in my sink) but overall able to function in the kitchen again.

So, that explains my title. I am baking. And blogging.

Have I told you about our small group? They are six families (plus ours) that get together every other Friday night to just encourage one another in our faith, laugh a lot, and eat. We also pray for each other, which for many of us has been our lifeline through hard times.

(Pausing to take out cookies.)

Okay, cookies out, more in. Now, back to my small group. These families are some of our closest friends who know just about all there is to know about us. This is a close group, and we look forward to Fridays because of it.

So what does this have to do with baking, you ask?

Well, we eat dinner and dessert together. We take turns providing aspects of the meal, what they call a "pitch in" in these here parts, what I grew up calling a potluck. Tonight, it is my turn to make dessert for the adults and snacks for the 20+ children that we all bring along with us. We will be having a breakfast dinner tonight, so what does one bring to breakfast for dessert? Why cinnamon rolls, of course.

It seems that ever time we have breakfast together, I get put on dessert duty. And oddly enough, I always bring cinnamon rolls. There are several possible reasons for this. One would be the drooling lips and watery eyes that always greet me when I walk in the room with two pans of cinnamon rolls. (This is primarily the men.) Another could be that I love them more than any other food on earth, and I look, even search, for reasons to make them.

So today I shopped and got my cinnamon roll supplies. I was set. Then my beloved hubby says, "So what are you bringing for the kids?"

Silence. Then, "Oh, shooooooooooooot!!!!!!" I totally forgot. Hence the cookies. Hopefully the little boogers will be happy with a simple oatmeal cookie, because that is all I could pull together on short notice!!!

Well, off to make cinnamon roll filling. Oh, baby. Did I mention these are heaven on a plate? Or a bowl? Or in your hand, if you are not afraid of a sticky mess? Well, if I didn't, I highly recommend you email me for the recipe for these rolls. You will NEVER be sorry.

Tonight I will meet with my great friends, eat breakfast, and dodge the men as they knock down every woman in the place to get a cinnamon roll on their plate. And then, I will sigh contentedly as I pick myself up off the floor, wiping the size 13 footprints off my face.

My work here is done.

The Incredible Shape-Shifting Boy

My 8 year old is amazing. While you may look at him and see a sweet, blonde haird, blue-eyed, average little boy, in reality, he is........well.........it varies from day to day. At the start of every day, this beautiful boy emerges from the living room, meets me at my bed, or wherever I happen to be at the time, and announces to me what he is that day.

Probably my most favorite of all of his alter egos is "Super-Sharp Thornbush Man." It was my favorite because he made this noise like spikes flying out of something metal, and I swear I could see his thorns popping out. Very scary, indeed.

This morning he sat down on my bed and said, "Hi, momma."

To which I replied, "Hi!"

Then I could see it coming. The wide eyed, patient expression on his face that told me to buckle in because I was about to find out today's identity. And then it came. "You know what I am?"

"What are you?"

"A Ghoul."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah, and I have dark blue skin, red zombie eyes, a bright yellow mouth, with a Grim Reaper hat and cloak with dark blue zombie hands. I have dark blue feet with toenails as sharp as vampire fangs and they are as long as my pointer finger but curved."

"How do you walk?" I asked.

"I claw the ground or I float!"

What else could I say? "Um, wow!"

For those of you who are NOT boys, does this strike you as a little odd? Well, it used to with me, but after several years of seeing him capably exist in our world with all of his "other identities" I am convinced that he is able to pull this double life off beautifully. Don't worry.

What concerns me is this: Why can't he be a something a little less violent? Or scary? Or mean? I am raising my sons in the church. I don't let them watch scary movies or TV. We talk about heros in history and from the Bible. So why isn't he pretending to be one of those?

I think the answer lies in the fact that he possesses a Y chromosome. They tend toward rough, violent, war related things. What I need to do is embrace my inner little boy, and just make our history and Bible sound rough, violent and war related. It really isn't hard to do when we are talking about the Old Testament!! There are plenty of battles and war to choose from.

So this will be my next goal in parenting. Make the Bible sound more violent!! I'm not sure this is my most lofty goal ever, but my son with blue skin and finger-long toenails is not a picture I want to dwell on for very long!!! My only concern is that if I do this, he might approach me one morning and say, "Hey momma. Guess who I am?"

To which I will reply, "Who?" because I am a well trained monkey after all these years.

I have no doubt it will be something like this: "I am a huge giant Philistine and I am coming to kill all the puny Isrealites with my giant club and sword."

Sigh. Where am I going wrong? Somehow the good guy isn't as exciting as the bad guy to these boys. I'm going to work on that!!!

As James Dobson said, even if you refuse to give a boy a toy gun, he will find a way to make one out of something. It is in the nature of a kid to want to be rough and have weapons. Heaven help the mommy who raises these little warmongers!!!!

Okay, am I obsessed?????

My oldest son, who has a knack for making comments that hit me at my most insecure spot, has done it again. He made a comment the other day, something along the lines of how I talk about recipes and food all the time. Once I nailed him down, and asked him if he has EVER heard me talk about ANYTHING but food, he admitted that his "all the time" was a little misplaced. And I truly believe that he wasn't trying to insult me. It was more along the lines of a 9 year old's observation.

Well, maybe he is right. I LOVE to cook. When a beautiful recipe comes together to make something that I would be happy to serve in a restaurant, I get immense satisfaction. I get on the phone and share it with my friends. I email my husband and tell him to start salivating now, because heaven is waiting in the fridge for him when he gets home! In short, I love cooking.

In a recent past life I was a personal chef. It took me away from my little chickens once too often, so I let it go, but it was a great thing for me. I loved sharing my food with others. It was also one of the scariest things I have ever done. Sometimes.....GASP!!!...the person didn't like something I had made! Something that I personally knew to be the yummiest creation any chef could ever lay on a plate. Something I have been getting great reviews on for years on end. I know that personal food preferences are just that. Personal. But come on!!!!! How could you not like THAT?????

So, I have been trying to not obsess about my recipes. I was doing well, until the other day. I was craving, in my pregnant body, thick soup. So, I checked my recipe file, and I found a recipe I have never made before for Cheddar Broccoli Soup. I made it, I tasted it, and I fell off the wagon. I had to call my sister. I had to tell my mother. I had to tell my husband, and when he came home late that night I had to force some down his throat even though he said he wasn't particularly hungry.

To my IMMENSE satisfaction, he sighed. He rolled his eyes back in his head a little. He said "Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm." He agreed with me that in any restaurant, we would consider this the best Cheddar Broccoli soup we had ever eaten. And, to top it off, he got seconds. Now THAT is success. If the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, I've got this guy hooked forever!!

So, maybe I am obsessed. But, I also have a houseload of 5 men that really like to eat, so maybe that isn't a bad thing right now. And if this baby turns out to be a boy, which it surely will, then I will have yet another growing boy to feed. And let me tell you, these people can put away the food.

Ahhhhh, the satisfaction of feeding the troops well. The personal satisfaction of hearing my boys say, "Momma, you should open a restaurant." Not to mention the personal satisfaction of eating yummy food!! But, I will try to achieve balance so it is not ALL I think about, thank you, son number one.

Don't even get me started on the cinnamon rolls!

The Romantic Side of Kindergarten

I will be the first to admit that my 5 year old is a doll. Dimples, cheeks, blue eyes and blonde hair. Just too cute for words. Well, apparently, I am not the only girl who thinks this is true.

A couple of weeks ago, my boy came home from Wednesday night church and told me that the little sister of my 8 year old's best friend had announced to him that she "has a crush" on him. He was quite embarrassed by this, and just seemed to want it to go away. I laughed about it, told him this girl has really good taste, and just moved on. Oh, if it were only that easy.

Yesterday, my 5 year old had his first day of Kindergarten at the homeschool academy my kids attend once a week. He was so excited, and had lots of fun stuff to tell me at the end of the day. His favorite class probably was something like....lunch. Normal boy stuff.

So this morning, as I am settling down to school the kids, I get a phone call from a mom from our school. She and I both work for the school taking care of the younger kids, so I figured it was business. I figured wrong. Here is how it went.

Friend: "Julie, this is (friend). I just needed to talk to you about what happened at school between my daughter and your son."

Me: "I didn't know anything had happened!" Undoubtedly this is because she has the daughter and I have the son. These boys just don't tell me anything sometimes! Especially the juicy stuff.

Friend: "Well, my daughter had heard that so and so at church has a crush on your son, so she decided that she does, too. Then she led her little friend to also say that she had a crush on him, and they both ended up kissing him."

Me: Silence. Then, "Okaaaaay, he did not tell me about this!!!"

Friend: "Well, I wanted you to know about it, and that the mom of the other girl and I really are sorry to have had him put in such an uncomfortable position. I am sure he was embarrassed. But he dealt with it in a way that I and the other mom think was really great. I just want you to know that first. We like the way he handled it."

Me: "Uh-oh, what did he do?"

Friend: "Well, he turned to the girls and told them that if they didn't stop he was going to beat them up."

That's my boy. (Sigh.)

So we talked about how I would still be having a talk with him about how we don't ever beat up girls or even SAY we are going to beat up girls. She talked about how this was just an innocent kid thing, but she wanted her daughter to apologize anyway, so she got on the phone with me, and through HEAVY sobs told me she was sorry. I kindly passed on my forgiveness to this poor little broken, embarrassed girl, and then, the real horror began as she had to apologize to the "kiss-ee".

I should say the real horror began for him. He truly didn't even know why she was apologizing. And when he asked me why she was, I whispered, "Because she kissed you." Suddenly he must have been possessed by Yoda or something, because in some weird voice I have never heard him make before, he began saying to this poor little sweet girl, "I forgive you I don't care. I forgive you I don't care." He said this three or four times, and then I took the phone away from him to spare her the agony of listening to that voice anymore. (Or maybe to spare ME the agony!)

What have I learned from this? What nugget of truth can I take away from this and learn from it? Nothing. None. Nada. It just is hilariously funny. Well, I guess I learned that my friend is a sweet caring mommy who really loves her girl and wants to guard her purity of heart as she grows older. I love that about her. Maybe I learned that I need to spend some more time on chivalry with my boys, and on learning how to NOT threaten to beat up a girl.

Mostly I think I learned that my boys are so cute I am going to have to lock them away until they are 35. This was not our first kissing issue in Kindergarten. When son #2 was in Kindergarten, he was also kissed by a girl with a crush on him. Who knew that Kindergarten had so much romance and drama in it?

Come to think of it, it won't hurt them to wait to date until they are 40, will it? Will it? Wait, don't answer that. This is my plan and I am sticking to it!

11 Years, 4 AM, Learning Acceptance

Today is my 11th wedding anniversary. 11 years ago today, I married the sweetest, kindest, most patient man on earth. He has had a lot to be patient with, marrying me! I have been blessed beyond measure as his wife. Maybe not in the traditional sense that some may think. We don't have a ton of money, our house is small, our cars are not fancy. But we have got it where it counts. After 11 years, 4 kids and 6 pregnancies, we love each other. Plain and simple.

So, why am I up at 4 am? It is because, at 6 weeks and 6 days pregnant, I am bleeding. I was blessed to see our little baby yesterday via ultrasound. All 4 mm of it, beating heart and all. Amazing. How can anything that is 4 mm long have a heart beat that I was able to hear and that they clocked at 128 beats per minute? Friends, anyone who doubts God's existence must never have listened to their baby's heartbeat at 6 weeks and 5 days gestation.

Since the baby is so small, about the size of a bean, the boys and I are calling it "Beanie". The boys have been troopers. They served me all day yesterday so that I could stay on the couch and give Beanie a rest. Or, more appropriately, give Beanie's house a rest. I have never seen those boys so unselfish and ready to help. It was such a comfort to my heart to see my blessings walking around in front of me.

And yet, I am frustrated. I feel like my body is betraying me. My blood levels are all normal, I am resting, and yet I am still bleeding. I know that everything might be okay, and I am praying to that end, yet I am angry with my womb. Just quit already! I wish shouting at my body would work, because if it would work, I would do it. Alas, stressing myself out by shouting at my body won't help.

So, here I am at 4 am. I am grateful to God for all of my blessings, and I am scared. My dear friend sent me this scripture: "I lift my eyes up to the hills. Where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth." He made me, this world, the heavens, everything that is part of my world. He made my sweet little Beanie. He knows, better than we do, what we need, and what this baby needs. If He chooses to take this little one ahead of us, we know it had to be a compassionate choice full of love for us and for our baby.

We recently lost our nephew. He was a very sick baby while he was alive. We prayed and prayed for him, but ultimately, the Lord chose to bring him home. It has crossed my mind several times that maybe this baby is sick. If I were to lose this baby, could it be a mercy to this little one to keep it from suffering? I just don't know. What it boils down to is, the Lord is good. There is no evil in Him. He can't screw up. He isn't sleeping and missing this. He is just good and in control.

So, I am going to lay down and pray that our baby isn't going to die. But mostly I will pray for sleep for my weary mind. Man, I am glad no one ever said that walking through this life should be easy. But, for this moment, God has given me a husband who wants to walk beside me through all of this, and I am not alone. Even without him, I wouldn't be alone. I am blessed beyond measure, and clinging to the truth that nothing can change that fact. 11 years, 4 kids, 1 miscarriage and a currently scary pregnancy later, I have more blessings than I can count. I wouldn't give any of this back. Not even this little time I have had with Beanie. Whatever the outcome, God gave me another life to carry, and I am grateful.

Smiles vs. Frowns

Have you ever asked yourself, at what point did it become okay to look happy in a photograph? My dear husband and I were mulling over this question as we looked at a picture my father sent to me yesterday. I would say we could all agree that a 50th anniversary should be a smiling, happy occasion. Yet, let's take a look at my great grandparents on their 50th anniversary....

Bless their little hearts, what is going on there? They are having a party, no doubt family has gathered around to celebrate their life together, shoot, that box looks like it came from a bakery for crying out loud!!! What could possibly be wrong with that? And yet, they look like they are attending a wake!!!

Surely this must be a cultural thing. Surely they weren't just that unhappy!!! If they were, then most of their generation and those before them were miserable, unhappy, and desperate to not have their photos taken, because this type of picture was the norm for a really long time.

Contrast this with our photos now. Here is one from our wedding:

Here we are, happy, smiling, glad to finally be married! (Not to mention WAY, WAY skinnier than we are now.) I am so glad that I was born in the smiling generation.

Truth is, things probably are way easier for us then they were for them. I have my fill of anything I want from the local mega mart. I can stay home with my kids while my husband goes off to his office job. I wash my clothes in an electric washer, wash my dishes in an electric dishwasher, my carpets are cleaned with our electric vacuum cleaner. When I have the time, I blog and catch up with the world around me via computer or the news. Compared to our previous generations, I have a cushy life.

Well, I am thankful for that, although somewhere inside it shames me a bit. I know for sure that there are people out there today living an even harder life than my great grandparents did. So, rather than feel satisfied with my life of luxury, I am going to spend today just being thankful for my blessings. Because, as I look at my home, my boys, my hubby and my electric washing machine, I realize, I have a LOT to smile about!!! Excuse me while I run and get my camera!!

A Nauseous Mommy

I wish to begin this post with this emphatic statement: I am glad and thankful that I am pregnant. I thank the Lord each day, and I am grateful that we have a chance to see another little one come into the world to amaze us daily. Nothing I am going to say makes this not true. Okay, here goes the rest.

Being a mommy, and a homeschooling, working mommy at that, takes many things. It takes good planning, energy, and a certain amount of finess to get it all done. When one of these things is missing, it just seems to all go a bit wrong. If one of these things is missing, and you add nausea to it, it becomes, well, really challenging!

I don't know if I have forgotten how tiring the first trimester is, how exhausting, how GREEN, but it is really kicking my tail. At least today it is! I am still teaching, working, shopping, cleaning, etc., but I am also gagging, shivering, and saying "Boys, stop talking about that. You are going to make mommy puke." I say this a lot, come to think of it. It is amazing how many gut churning conversations can be had by 4 little boys. I am also making time every day, usually during the baby's nap, to sleep as long and hard as I can.

I had a great nap today. Now I am awake and wishing that I wasn't. I am so nauseous that I wonder if I will live through it. I know that I will, but, ugh. No fun.

The odd thing about nausea is that when it isn't here, I worry. I think, what if something has happened to the baby? When it is, I think, okay, I am glad that I have it, but I am going to die here! Nausea, you can't live with it, etc., etc.

I wish that I could do what I have done in the past. Decide that the only thing that will make me feel better is a box of Little Debbies, and then just go get some. But no, I am too financially responsible for that. Well, at least too responsible to do that very often! Truth be told, the Oatmeal Creme Pies I ate earlier this week really didn't stop the nausea. Bummer.

Maybe I need to try Swiss Cake Rolls!

Prayers are Amazing!

Wow, since last I wrote, God has seen fit to answer my fervently typed prayer from the previous blog: I am pregnant. This is a lot to take in, even if I prayed for it to be true.

Just for a little history lesson, I have been pregnant 5 times before this. My first pregnancy was just a few months into my marriage, and we were shocked and excited. 2 months later it was all over. We were devastated and broken hearted. Our baby was gone, we were grieving, and we didn't know what to do.

2 months later, another positive pregnancy test. Needless to say, we were stunned and scared to death. It was the beginning of my battle with fear over the well-being of my children, and the beginning of my learning years. Learning to trust God with the most precious things to me on earth, learning that even if He chooses to take them away from me, I can still trust Him. I am still working on that last one. It may be true, but it doesn't make it easy to believe and live out. I'm just pleased that now I am at least convinced it is true!

Fast forward nine months, and along came son #1. Then 8 months later, another positive pregnancy test. 9 months later, son #2. At this point things changed for us. I was no longer "Fertile Myrtle" as my friends had been calling me. We wanted more kids, but it took quite a while and a lot of trying to create son #3. Wow, it was worth it, though! He is really something! Son numbers 2 and 3 are 2 1/2 years apart, and after having 1 and 2 sixteen months apart, that seemed really long. I had no idea.

So there we were with 3 beautiful little blonde-haired, blue-eyed boys, and my heart cried out for more. My husband and I pretty much as a rule do not prevent pregnancy and are open to however many God would like to give us. Well, during these growing years, God knew we weren't ready for another one yet. Finally, when son #3 was 4 years old, we were blessed with son #4.

(As a little aside, I must note that whenever I had my ultrasounds and found out what the new baby was, I have openly wept every time we saw another little "private part" sticking up for the world to see! Not that I would trade any of them for a whole room full of girls, but it is always just a tad disappointing to know I will still be alone in my little pink world.)

So, as I noted in my last post, my baby isn't a baby any longer. About a week ago, things started feeling a little green and nauseous around here. I started dozing off in movie theaters. I couldn't eat my daily scrambled eggs any more because they made me want to hurl! I was suspicious! 2 days ago, I decided to go ahead and spend the money on a test just to be sure. I was definitely late and all, but that isn't unusual for me. However, the nausea usually doesn't lie. So there I went off to Meijer, bought the cheapest test I could find, and brought it home.

The test said to give about 2 or 3 minutes for results. I waited, praying it would be definitive. About 3 seconds into the test, the telltale plus sign showed up. My response, to go completely numb. I wasn't happy, I wasn't sad, I was numb. There is a person inside of me. Wow. A tiny person, no doubt, but a person nonetheless.

No matter how many of these little critters I am blessed with, I will never lose the wonder of what God has entrusted me with. For the next 9 months, this little one will be on my mind every time I take a bite of food, choose to stay up watching the Olympics when I should be sleeping, every time I have a headache and decide whether or not to take something. My body is now someone else's home, and what I do to me, I do to that person a well. This is an awesome responsibility.

And, in 9 months, I will again have the opportunity to give birth. I am one of the strange people who actually looks forward to this. I am afraid when I think about it, because I know it hurts like nothing else I have ever done, but it is the most amazing process God has ever given me the honor of going through, and even with the pain, I look forward to doing it again.

Today, though, I battle fear. I fear losing the baby. That is it. Again, I am in school learning how to trust God with my most treasured possessions. And this time I am praying that I will come out of this with a victory over my fear. I know He is worth trusting, no matter how this pregnancy ends.

On a lighter note, son #3 keeps calling me thing like "pregnant lady" and hugging my belly. He has no less than 5 times already reminded me that I "already look pregnant", and that my belly is already sticking out. God bless the little buggers, they are honest, aren't they? Wait, why did I want more???

My boys are ruining my baby

So that I don't leave you hanging, as if any of you are, my trip to the lake with my lady friends was wonderful, refreshing, and well worth doing. I had a great time. I bobbed around a lake for a while in a life jacket, I cried, I laughed, I made cinnamon rolls. In other words, it was the quintessential girls' weekend. There was the one adventure with the 4 of us nearly sinking a paddle boat, but other than that, it was a peaceful, recharging weekend. And man did I need it.

I returned home to discover that my boys were still boys. They were still loud, gaseous, wild little stinkers. But you could tell they really missed me, and despite the desperate way that I had wished for a break, I was ready to return to my crazy little men.

So, fast forward a week, and here I am with the above mentioned conclusion: My boys are ruining my baby. My baby is precious. He is sweet. He is also about 20 months old, and not so much of a baby anymore. I know this is natural, but my heart rebels against it. He needs to stay sweet and innocent and neutral forever. I guess when you have three older brothers, though, this is not a realistic goal.

So, how are they ruining him? Here are some examples. When he passes gas, or "toots" as we call it, he laughs. Hysterically. Then he bends over and shoves REALLY hard to try to do it again, with his audience of older brothers laughing with equal hysterics. He didn't figure this one out by himself.

Secondly, today the boys were making "under-arm toots", and he sat with them, laughing and flapping one bent arm like a demented one-winged chicken. Which of course led to much laughing from the peanut gallery, and tons of "Mamma, you should see what Tobe is doing!!" I decided that since I was eating, I didn't need to observe the pit-toots just right then.

Well, I guess it was just a matter of time before he began to explore the fun side of being a big boy. The sounds a boy can make with his body, for some reason, are of endless fascination to them. Must be the testosterone or something. Tobe has discovered that he can make car noises with his mouth, and can chatter on endlessly with strange, nonsensical sounds pouring from his face. He also didn't learn this one on his own. I have a 9 year old that handed that one down.

So, the moral of the story is, it is time for another one. The boys have ruined my sweet little innocent, neutral baby by turning him into a BOY. I guess we'll just have to pray that God wants us to have another child so that I can have another 18 months or so before that child, (undoubtedly male), crosses over to the dark side, leaving me here, alone, on the pink side.

Truth be told, I wouldn't have them any other way. For some reason, God in His wisdom, made them to be farting, burping, pit-tooting little wild men. And that same wisdom dropped me in this bucket with them. I'll be forever grateful.

I'm Learning a LOT About Me

I wish I liked all of it. But I don't. This week, one of my lesser character traits has come to the surface and reared its ugly head. I am impatient. Very impatient.

This Thursday I will be going away with 3 of my dear lady friends to go and have a "mommy-recharging" weekend. We will hang out at the lake, we will eat, because that is what women do, and we will encourage one another. There will be laughter, probably tears, again because that is what women do, and there will be cinnamon rolls. There will not be one ounce of testosterone anywhere!!! Sounds very close to heaven. I should be beside myself with joy.

But no. I am, instead, impatient. I want Thursday to be here. I want a few moments stacked up next to one another where I can compose a thought without hearing "Mommy!!!!!!" shouted from another room. I want to sleep and not listen for the pitter patter of little feet on the carpet coming into our room at 3am. In short, I want a vacation.

I am struggling with the why's of all of this. I love my boys, I love my husband. All of them are, second only to Jesus Christ, the very life's breath of my existence. So why do I want so badly to escape?

I can very honestly boil it down to feeling overly entitled. After full time mommying for years on end, I "deserve" a break. We are approaching the beginning of our homeschool year again, so I "deserve" a chance to "step back and focus." I am tired all the time, so I "deserve" some rest for a couple of days.

So I have to ask myself, what do I REALLY deserve? In the whole grand scheme of things, I deserve NOTHING. I deserve to be treated like someone who perpetually puts her own needs ahead of others in her heart. I deserve to be treated like one who has thumbed her nose at God more times than she can count with this grumbling, ungrateful heart.

But what do I get, instead? A husband who brings me coffee every morning, four beautiful healthy boys with hearts of gold, and a Savior who loves me enough to give His life for me. If that isn't grace and mercy, I don't know what is.

I needed to write this, because I needed to right this. My attitude has STUNK today, and I really needed to remind myself that my life is more blessed than I will ever "deserve." I have no single reason that I can think of to be anything but grateful.

I want to state, for the record, that I believe being aware of my limitations and asking for a break is a good and right thing to do. Where I cross the line is when I feel entitled to these things, and I am grumpy when I am not getting them fast enough. As a mom of 4 rambunctious boys, I will NEVER try to act as if asking for a break is sinful. It is when I demand it that I have lost sight of the point.

I am their mom. This is what I was put here to do. While I have many skills and talents, and do my best to use them all to God's glory, the main roles he has placed in my life are wife and mom. I ought to stop blogging now and go back to doing this, but hopefully with a heart that is thankful for these beautiful little testosterone-laden blessings.

So there is my written spanking for myself. I am going to go on this trip, and instead of looking at it as something I "deserve", I am going to praise the Lord for this tremendous blessing that He has added to my already overly blessed life. I am going to be thankful that He knows my fatigue and mental tiredness, and has looked after me enough to provide the recharging He knows I need. That is a wonderful thing, to have someone who so intimately knows my heart, with all the warts included, and still loves me enough to say, "Here, honey, let me help you feel better." Man, that is humbling. I am officially, and completely, grateful.

Never take anything for granted

I have much to say on this topic. As a mom, wife, woman, even as a human being, I need to be constantly reminded that things may not always be as they seem. This was never more apparent to me as it was just two days ago. My 5 year old son, who is precious in every way, showed me again that I don't know as much as I thought I do.

From another room, one of my sons shouted, "Momma, what year was Joseph born?" My response was, "2002". Whichever son it was said, "I KNEW IT!" I am really not sure what caused this question to be asked.

A mere second later, Joseph comes flying into the room with his "Oh-my-gosh-I-just-discovered-something-AWESOME" look on his face and said, "Wait a minute! Was I born on October 27, 2002????"

I smiled at him and said "Yes you were!" He said to me, in his most surprised voice, "But, that's my birthday! I WAS BORN ON MY BIRTHDAY???"

After much laughter, I explained to him that EVERYONE was born on their birthday. He thought that was just really cool. I guess now we have two reasons to celebrate his birthday. One, because it is his birthday, and two, because he was BORN on that day!!! I loved the innocence of his question, and how he is just a totally unaffected child. He just wears all his thoughts and feelings right out there, and doesn't care, yet, if he looks silly. I love that about him.

The second thing I have learned I never should take for granted is this: I am not becoming my mother as I get older. I am more and more, as time goes on, turning into my father. Unexpected. Aren't women supposed to turn into their moms?

On the same day as the birthday incident, I had a discussion with my step-mom about how I am really hoping to buy a grain mill so that I can grind my own flour. As a non-prairie muffin, she had what some may consider an understandable reaction. She burst out laughing, and made comments about us "going off the grid". I wasn't offended. I know she loves me and supports me in everything I do. We had a good laugh together.

So, jokingly, I said "Hey, maybe we should just buy a huge grinding stone, put it in our back yard, tie the kids to it and have them run around in circles until they grind enough flour for us to make our bread!" We both agreed this would make for well-exercised children, and good eating!

Later that evening, Gayle was sharing this story with my dad. She got as far as telling him we want a grain mill, and he had a great idea. He said we should buy a huge grinding stone, put it in our back yard, tie the kids to it, and have them run around to grind our grain. According to Gayle, she sat there with her mouth hanging open. I can understand why!!

So, the moral of this blog posting is this: Don't take anything for granted. You may find that your son has no idea why he has a birthday every year, and that you are slowly but surely morphing into your father.

Really, this makes sense, though, doesn't it? Since I am soaked in testosterone all day, shouldn't I really be turning into a man any time now?? I guess my dad is a good one to turn into!

Prairie Muffin, in Noblesville, IN???

I have recently heard of the "Prairie Muffin Manifesto", easily found on the internet with the help of trusty old "Google". I read this, and I was encouraged. It is a 50 item list of the ideals I hold for my life as a mom, wife and Christian. I loved it from the minute I read it, even acknowledging that it is an IDEAL, and as of yet has not even REMOTELY been attained in my life. That is okay with me, though. I know all too well that I am a work in progress, and that God has infinite patience with me as I am daily sanctified in my walk with Him.

As you surely can imagine, I also found much dissent in the list that Google brought up for me. Dissent, disregard, and outright attack on any woman who would seek to stay home with her kids, to serve her husband and submit to his authority in the home, to keep her kids innocent of as much of the worlds yuck as possible until they are ready to deal with it. The most hotly debated and heatedly criticized view, however, is the view that PM's allow God to determine the size of their families, and in doing so do not prevent pregnancy from happening. The venom some people can spit over this issue is, to me, astounding.

I can see, and totally understand why people of differing opinions would see this overall mindset as offensive. They could easily be offended if they understood it to mean that if I believe this, I am saying you are evil for NOT following all these guidelines as I desire to. I would like to propose that I am able to subscribe to the Prairie Muffin mindset without judging, putting down, or hating those who don't. Obviously I believe in my heart that these guidelines for womanly godliness are desirable for everyone, not just me. I don't subscribe to a view that God's truths are subjective. However, how these ideals work out in God's plan for each woman's life can be as varied as the number of women on earth!!!

For example, let's say a woman cannot conceive. This is in no way contrary to the idea of letting God decide the size of a family. God can give us tons of kids, a few kids, or no kids. They are His to give or withhold. When Jeff and I lost our first child in pregnancy, we were devastated. MANY years later, I became convinced that God causes ALL things to work for good in the lives of His children. Even bad, horrible things like this. He is that powerful. If He had chosen that moment to make me barren, we would have had to submit our broken hearts to the Lord's leadership daily for the rest of our lives. Ultimately, size of family isn't what counts.

Regarding the other items on the manifesto, I see these as godly ideals. I will struggle every day to have the right attitude. (You can reference my last post to see me on a day when my attitude was much less than perfect.) But I am thankful to have a list of attitudes and practices to strive to attain. If there are any that God shows me in my life are not in line with His word, then I would throw that one out. Ultimately it isn't the Prairie Muffin Manifesto that guides my life. It is God's word and His truth contained there.

I am grieved when I see Christians slinging arrows at one another for differences in opinion on how to work out our faith in our daily lives. If we must disagree, let's save it for the big things, and never allow the issues that aren't central to salvation to separate us.

As for this little Prairie Muffin, I am going to make sure that I am following Christ as the Bible dictates, and I am going to make sure that I am loving those around me wholeheartedly, without reserve, never letting our differences pull me apart from those God has given me to love.

One last note, though. I will gladly, proudly and hopefully successfully work toward prairie muffin-hood, but I have a question. Considering where I live, am I a suburb muffin? =)

Boys, schedules, and fear

What can I say about these boys? They are precious, they are my life. Today, they are driving me nuts!!! Why, you ask? For no good reason other than my husband's work schedule. This doesn't make sense at all, so if you are confused, you should be.

Last night, I looked at our calendar and saw my husband is working two days in a row from 9 am to 9 pm. He is working this hard so that we can meet our bills, with some extra to buy our curriculum for the coming school year. He is doing exactly what he should do, and I am so grateful to him.

So, where does the problem lie? It lies in my heart, that's where. I am looking down the road two days, imagining how lonely I am going to be, how hard it will be having him gone for 14 hours a day (with commute). I am looking so far down the road that I am forgetting some very important things. I am forgetting that God will give me the grace to deal with every long, lonely hour I spend without my husband. I just have to take those hours one at a time. When I look at the entire two days, I feel afraid of the loneliness I am going to endure.

It may valid to ask, why is it so lonely when I am surrounded by people? This morning, my 5 year old was being crazy, nonsensical, and well, 5, and I looked at Jeff and said, "This is why I am lonely." I have been sent to live in 9 and under land where all the inhabitants are male, they are all little, and their main concern in life is how to get enough Legos to build the coolest monster ever. While I love the inhabitants of this world with all of my heart, let's just say that I don't get real interpersonal satisfaction out of building with Legos and talking about what super hero they are today. I get lots of laughs from it, but not a whole lot of edification or quality conversation.

Referring back to a previous post, this is all part of the deal. This is what I signed on for. All of these things are true. And yet, equally true is that this is tough to deal with right now. In a few weeks, I will, hopefully if the husband can get his work schedule rearranged, be heading off to a lake with a group of ladies who are also in need of some quality adult girl time, and I will spend about 36 hours soaking up as much estrogen from them as I can. Talking about feelings. Praying. Sleeping. Just being quiet. I am trying not to count the minutes.

I know that I need this girl time, but in the meantime, I have to be content where I am. This is what I am praying through. Contentment while existing in the home of my wild men. I need to look at the picture above about 200 times a day for some perspective. In it, these wild men are quiet, handsome and sweet. They don't need anything, they just smile. They aren't crying or argueing, or just being boys, they are just sitting and smiling. AHHHHHHHHHHHH.

You know, they might just REALLY be worth all of this after all.

Perfectionism

I'll admit it. I am somewhat of a perfectionist. Not so that you would be able to see if you came to my home, mind you! I do not have an obsessively neat house, or laundry always done. I do not have the perfect meals on the table at just the right time, and I do not always look my best. So, outwardly, I don't look like much of a perfectionist.

The problem is, I long for all of the above mentioned things. I want the perfect home, the perfect cuisine, the perfect laundry room. I want to always be perfectly groomed and thin and beautiful. I want to be perfectly patient, perfectly loving, perfectly diligent and perfectly committed to Christ. I want all of these things passionately, and I am discontented in my spirit most of the time because of it.

Unfortunately, I cannot be perfect. I can try to do my best, and I can strive to get as close as I can to it, but I will never obtain perfection. Thankfully, I am not required to be perfect. I am just required to not quit, to keep trying, and be always mindful that I have a Savior who covers my imperfections, while giving me the power to go on trying.

I see myself in my little son, Joseph. 5 years old, and he is already ready to quit anything that is even a little bit hard. If he can't do it right the first or second time, he quits. This is really frustrating to me as his mom and as his teacher. So, today he and I came up with a really great guideline for him to follow. We decided that if, after having tried 6 million times, he still can't do it, then I will gladly believe him when he says he can't. (Hyperbole goes over big for a 5 year old. Obviously we aren't going to adhere to the 6 million rule "perfectly".)

I realized moments later that I really need to take my own advice. I can tend to just emotionally shut down every day when I see how imperfect my life really is. I immediately tell myself I can't do it all, and I let my imperfections pile up around me in the form of dirty floors, and piles of laundry. I have convinced myself that I can't do it, because it is too hard, and it is just too imperfect to be cured.

So, today I am going to imperfectly wash clothes, clean my house, work at my at-home job, snuggle my 4 boys, and serve my Savior. If things don't go just right, well, I have 5, 999, 999 more times to try to get it right. I should be able to pull off at least half-perfect by then!!!!!

"June is Throwing Up All Over" or "The Not-So-Pretty Side of Being a Mom"

June hasn't been a very good month for my family. We have had, in just three weeks time, two bouts with either a stomach virus, or a stomach virus and food poisoning. Either way, it wasn't pretty.

The first weekend of June it involved myself, my 8 year old, and my 18 month old. I have to say, of the two illnesses this month, the first involved the most prolonged, er, clean up. Much time was spent on the furniture and carpet with our Bissell Little Green carpet cleaner. I still am working on "freshening" the couch cushions. YUCK.

Fast forward three weeks to this past weekend. All is well, except the baby has had some nasty diapers for a few days, and threw up at breakfast mid week last week. We assumed he had choked, and was not really sick. Friday night rolls around, and thankfully my husband is driving home from work. All the kids are in bed. Then......it begins.

My 8 year old son comes out and says, "My stomach hurts." So, I told him to sit on the couch with me until Daddy got home. He felt pretty puny, but he seemed okay. Then, from the bedroom area comes a strange splashing sound. Now, our two cats have a gift for finding the one full glass of water in my room and knocking it over for a drink. We battle this all time time. (I know, bring the glasses out of your room, silly. I am working on it.) So, I tell my son to stay put, and I go back to throttle a cat. I take a peak into the boys' bedroom. Alas, it wasn't the cat.

My 5 year old son is sitting up in his bed, covered in the remains of his dinner. The side of the bed where his brother normally sleeps is covered in his dinner as well. Thankfully, said brother is dry in the living room. So, I calmly lead my weeping son to the bathroom where I run him a bath and convince him he doesn't need to be afraid of the bathtub. I think he was still a bit asleep. Once I had him all settled in the tub, I go to check on my 8 year old, while calling my husband to check on his progress.

My 8 year old has moved into the restroom and has tried, unsuccessfully, to vomit into the toilet. Mostly it all landed on the floor, the tub and himself. I calmly ask him to stay put, and I move the 5 year old out of the tub into dry jammies, and then run a bath for my 8 year old. In the span of 20 minutes I have had two vomiting children and two baths full of water cleaning them. I am beginning to feel nauseous, as would anyone in my position. I start praying that I am not getting sick as well.

Fast forward to about 20 minutes later. We have two clean boys, one having thrown up again into a bowl, the other having thrown up again, this time successfully in the potty. Daddy is close, so I decide that my nauseous tummy can't handle cleaning up all the puke. In our family, my husband is the vomit cleaner. He has a stronger stomach.

Unfortunately, several hours later, I join my sons in the toilet-hugging for a while. I come out into the living room afterwards to where my husband is sleeping with the two sick boys, and ask him if everyone is okay. He says our 9 year old son came out into the living room and threw up a trail to the bathroom. Twice. Sigh.

So, all in all, it was not a fun night. We spent Saturday basically sleeping all day in the living room because we all felt TERRIBLE. My husband was working, so thankfully he did not get whatever we got. Sunday, we did more of the same, just healing and resting.

What have I learned from this? Well, my 9 year old had an interesting comment for me in the first round of our sicknesses at the beginning of the month. Just after the baby had showered me with his breakfast, all of it running down my face, chest, stomach and legs, he said to me "Man, you are one unlucky mommy!"

I just looked at him, face dripping, and said, "No, honey, I am just a mommy. Every one of you, at one time or another, has done this to me." He looked HORRIFIED!! But this is the truth. When you agree to bring a life into this messy world, you agree to take part in messes. Whether it is sick tummies, or fights, or hurt feelings, or broken hearts, we take on life's messes when we take part in each other's lives. It isn't always fun, but it is always worth it.

And that is what it boils down to in parenting. The hurt, the grossness, the mess, it is all worth it. I love these people so much I don't even know where to put it most of the time. And if part of being their mommy means I have to be thrown up on, so be it. This is part of what I signed on for. And, most of all, they are worth it.

End Note: The clever title has to be credited to my musical-loving husband! This one is for all you "Carousel" fans.

Father's Day

I have been motivated to write this after reading my dad's post on Father's Day. Even if you don't know my dad, it is worth a read. His blog is http://www.earnestdcember.blogspot.com/. I am not ashamed to say that I was reduced to tears, hearing my dad talk about his father. You know, I can't think of any man (besides my husband, of course) that I have ever loved as much as my Daddy. And besides my Daddy and my husband, the only other man that really held a huge place in my heart was my Pappaw. His name was Stanley, and the thing I remember most about him is his love for Jesus. Plain and simple, my Pappaw loved his Savior.

I am not naive enough to believe that Pappaw did everything right, or to hold him up to some standard that no human could ever really meet. I know that he was a man, just like any other man. It is interesting to hear the lifetime of memories my dad has about his dad. My memories occur much later in the last few years of Pappaw's life, when I got to spend time with him as an adult. I remember that he wept frequently after my grandmother died, and that he repeatedly said that he wanted to go to heaven to see his two best friends, Jesus and Elizabeth. I remember the look on my husband's face the first time he saw Pappaw whacking away at my back with his huge hands while hugging me!! My husband looked like he was going to dive in and rescue me until I shot him an "I'm okay" look. After a lifetime of these hugs, we all had Pappaw-callouses on our backs!!

Mostly I remember that he was single-mindedly focused on his Savior in the later years. He lived and breathed his faith. He had one foot in heaven, and the other one reluctantly stuck here on earth. My uncle said once that Pappaw was a funeral junkie, and would go to any one's funeral even if he didn't know the person! What I learned later on in my life was that Pappaw was determined to be at church whenever he could because if the word of God was being preached, and hymns were going to be sung, he wanted to be there.

This is amazing to me. I am so busy, raising boys, being a wife, working from home, keeping the house, making the meals, all of the things that are necessary and right for me to do. What I want to have, in the midst of all of that, is a single-minded focus on my Savior. He is worthy of that single-minded devotion to Him. And I know I can have that heart while doing all of the above mentioned good and necessary things. I just have to get my head out of those things, and remember that I am doing them, not just in service to my bucketloads of men, but in service to the one Man who is my all in all. Pappaw's heart was the example for my heart to follow.

You know, one of the best things my Pappaw did was give me my Daddy. Like my Pappaw, I don't have him on a pedestal, he is a man, like any other man. He has made mistakes, as have I and you and everyone. But for my whole life, my Daddy has loved me. Unashamedly, without reserve loved me. I know that in this world today, this is not something to take for granted. I am proud to say that I don't, and I never will.

How full is your bucket?

By the title above, you would think I have something like 13 sons. Well, truth be told, I only have 4. They are ranging from 9 years to 18 months old, and I love it. They are wild, they are crazy, they are loud. They wrestle almost as often as they breathe. They are adventurous, they talk constantly, and they are so cuddly with me and my husband. It is a good life.

I think the term "bucketloads" is interesting. Your bucket can be full to bursting, and still only be half the amount of my bucket. And my bucket might look like a thimble compared to someone else's. What it boils down to, for me, is I am floating alone in a vast bucket of testosterone, the lone estrogen bearer in my family. I live with 5 men, and while it is a blessed life beyond belief, I definitely feel that my testosterone-filled bucket is about the size of Lake Erie.

So, encouraged by two parents of mine who are turning into darn good bloggers, I thought I would find a place to post my own thoughts. My thoughts on mothering, marriage, Christianity, and anything else that fills up my "pretty little head", as my husband would say. All things girly, all things touchy-feely, all the things I can't talk to my men about very easily. I may be the only one who reads this. That would be okay. At least I have a pink place to be a girl. Even if it is only virtual, the most important thing is this: It is PINK. Boys are invited to come by, but if you drip any testosterone on the pink decor, you're out of here!!!