Does anyone else remember that line from Grease?!

I haven't seen it in years, so I'm probably saying...er...typing it wrong.

Anywho....

Funny title for a blog entry, huh? 

Why would I be talking about something as juvenile as hickeys?!  This isn't the wholesome kind of story one expects to read at homeschoolblogger...

Well I know that.  This is normally not a subject that I would share in such a family-oriented forum, but if we didn't talk about the "h-word" we couldn't laugh together over the fact that our new Pastor commented on the "spots" on my hubby's neck yesterday.

AAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

That was my reaction to George when he leaned over to whisper in my ear just after service yesterday, "Pastor Jimmy commented on the hickeys.".

"WHAT?!?!  What did he say?!".

"He said that's a mark (pun intended?) of a healthy marriage.  Then I said, 'What the 5 kids weren't sign enough of that?!', and he patted me on the back, laughed and said he could see us teaching a marriage class in the near future.".

I don't know about teaching, but being a part of a ministry geared at marriage and young families has been my dream for years...kinda passing on the good things that God has done in our own marriage.

I wonder if Gary Smalley got where he is today through a public display of love bites?

So as you read previously, my first child (my son) was born the day before Halloween. 

No longer something observed in this household, but that's a tale for another time....

That October 31, I was trying to get some rest.  The crazy hospital I was in not only wouldn't let my dh stay with me to help with the baby and field the phone calls of well-wishers, but I had no option but to keep the baby in the room with me and I alone was responsible for getting him back and forth to the nursery at the whim of the staff. 

Remember, I had just given birth for the first time, which was slightly traumatic for me.  I still felt woozy from the drugs and at this point I hadn't slept in about 72+ hours.

I had just dozed off when my Dr. and his nurses and a covey of student drop in to visit.  I thought that I was either dreaming or once again under the influence because the spectacle before me blew my mind...

There at the foot of my bed stood ...I'm not kidding here...Captain Hook, Peter Pan, Tinkerbell, and an assorted lot of other characters holding charts and Dr. Hook is asking about my bleeding and bathroom habits.

Welcome to motherhood?!

The other highlight of my hospital stay would be a toss-up between dropping my baby because the nurse took off with the bassinet and I dozed off with him on my chest...his head lodged between the rail and the mattress sparing him a drop to the floor...and the nurses hovering over me, suspicious that I wasn't bonding or coping well- asking questions that had me scared that DHS would be waiting for me at home if I wasn't careful.

I don't know why I wasn't cheery and giggly (or whatever they expected) after days without sleep and a rough labor...sheesh, sorry 'bout that.

Any first timer, or young lady dreaming of motherhood someday, let me tell you this...

My first birth was a really out-there kind of experience, most births (nearly all) go much, much smoother than this story or any of the crazy stories you see on TV...I tell you this confidently having given birth quite easily a few times since then. 

If it takes a few hours or days even to bond with your baby, it's not the end of the world (and don't let anyone tell you differently).  You have your whole lives to be snugly when you are a bit more rested and less sore.

Plus, it's a right of passage to tell your horror stories to the newbies to scare 'em a bit.

Okay, enough of the venting about something that happened 9 years ago...

Off to see if there's any birthday cake left!

Nine years ago yesterday I became a mother. 

I was 19 years old and having just become estranged from my own mother in the months before, I was scared and totally unprepared for what this new role would do to my life.

I arrived at the hospital at 2 am on Tuesday after having contractions every 10 minutes for about 6 hours or so.  The hospital was 70+ miles away, so we didn't feel safe waiting any longer than that.  After an exam (in which the nurse had to make me remove my underwear...don't ask...I was silly and very naive) and an hour of walking and another exam I was sent home to wait it out.  A sweet nurse caught us in the hallway and recommended that we just head for a local park and walk rather than going all the way home, knowing how far we had to travel. 

I wished later than we had listened to her, but we headed for home.  We stopped at my inlaws hoping we could get some sleep.  We had left out as soon as my husband had come home from work, he hadn't had any sleep and he was afraid he couldn't safely drive the last ten miles to our apartment.  Precious MIL met us on the porch with, "What are you doing here, I thought she said she was in labor?".

Dh shrugged his shoulders and I was left to answer that I was in labor but it was still early.  Dh asked if we could take a nap there and she responded that he could, but she didn't want my water breaking in her bed.  I started tearing up and thankfully dh decided that we could make it home.  At some point I passed the plug which was like a greenish blob of thick jello, yuck- I know! 

At home, dh slept most of the day and I continued to contract sporadically throughout the day.  I knew that I should probably get some sleep, but the contractions were just close enough and just strong enough that paired with my excitement, sleep was an impossibility. 

The next afternoon we made the trip again and were again sent home, though there had been some changes.  On the way home we came across an old lady with a flat tire who was being helped by an even older man.  Anyone that knows George knows that he couldn't help but stop and play hero.  Any other time I love that quality in him...but this just wasn't the time!  20 minutes and 3 contraction later we were on our way again.  At this point I was finally ready to sleep, but dh had other plans.  We have to make the rounds visiting various friends. 

When we do finally get home we are surprised by some of our friends bearing baby gifts...A beautiful handmade Precious Moments quilt from Mrs. Anonymous and her sister and the cutest little outfits from another friend.  It was almost like an impromptu baby shower, which could have been really fun, but by then this whole labor thing was joining hands with sheer exhaustion and I was getting pretty whiny.

DH has the terrific idea to go back to his parents so that we would be that much closer to the hospital...an idea that I was less than thrilled about after our last visit.  My friend Christy rescued me and took me to the local football field/walking track to see if we could get this bally rolling.  Within 2 laps around the track my contractions are every 3 minutes and I want to die.

We rush back to the inlaws and off to the hospital.  Christy heads home to change clothes and then she is right behind us.  It is now about 8pm, totally dark, and Christy has not a clue as to where the hospital is.

We get to the hospital at about 9:15.  Not only was I not buckled up, but at some points I am all but standing up and screaming at George to hurry.  He drops me off in the ER parking lot where we get into a fight about him not walking me in (he had to park elsewhere).  I get inside and the staff is laughing at us.  I get to the desk and the lady says, "I'm guessing you are in labor?". 

I said, "Is it that obvious?", as I was trying to act really cool.

She responds with a grin, "Well, I saw you in the parking lot."

Mortified, I wait for dh to walk me to Labor & Delivery.  When he finally comes in I chew him out in the privacy of the elevator.

We get checked in and I get checked out.  I think I was dilated to about a 6, which was pretty disheartening after so many contraction.  At least they weren't sending us home this time...

Eventually Christy arrives with a wild adventure story.  She not only got lost but at one point she was pulled over in a very dark spooky area in the middle of nowhere and the "officer" that pulled her over hit her car pulling in behind her and then took off.  Somehow I don't think it was really a police officer, as there was reports of weirdos impersonating officers in the weeks before.  Who knows really.

She also told us the funny story of having such a full bladder that she grabbed herself and did a pee-pee dance like a little kid in the "privacy" of that same elevator that we had argued in...then she looked up and noticed the sign about the security camera in the elevator.  Those guards must have peed on themselves laughing at us all that night!

Her bladder relieved, Christy (the only person I knew my age that had already been through this) proceeded to try breathing with me, kinda Lamaze style I guess.

Later we would learn how entertaining this proved to the L&D staff.

I'm telling you, all these births later, that this was the craziest hospital I have ever been to!  Here I am, a scared first timer with no real experienced support, and I have no labor nurse to check on me, support me, and help me through this.

You'd think it was the fifties, but this was only nine years ago!

About 1am I am wheeled to a delivery room that looked much like an operating room and told to push.  Not knowing the first thing about how to push, I kick the 2 nice nurses holding my feet across the room. 

I wish I were joking!  I seriously had no idea what to do.  I didn't help that at this point I had a good dose of nubain in me that had me hallucinating.

The nice lady explains to me how to push and I try again.

Suddenly there is panic in the room!

They shove an oxygen mask over my face and tilt my bed till my head is nearly on the floor.  Everyone is whispering and no one will tell me anything.  Later I would learn that the baby's heart had dropped into the 60's and my dh and friend were told not to tell me.

I don't remember how long I was in that position, but soon I was flat on my back trying to push again.  I was so tired and discouraged that the pushing didn't go very well.  It didn't help that my "support" chickens....er...people took turns leaving the room to throw up at the sight of it all.  Bless their hearts!

About 3:30am I am ready to give up.  The staff gathers in a corner and decides that if I'm not pushing effectively in 5 minutes that they will have to break the baby's collarbone and push him back for a c-section...of course I'm not told any of this until after the fact.

I push again and the doctor frowns.  The sweet midwifery student who would be catching my baby asked me if I would reach down and feel the baby's head and all of his beautiful hair.

That was all it took.  I will never forget the feeling of his wet little head or the rush that went through me in that moment.

Who needed sleep at a time like this!!

At 3:53am (50 hours from that first trip to the hospital) Wesley James slipped into this world, all 10lbs, 2oz of him.  He had fuzzy red hair and the chubbiest cheeks you could imagine! 

I never imagined then what a blessing he would be or how much I would love being his mommy.  His cheeks aren't nearly as chubby as they were nine years ago, nor his red hair as fuzzy, but he is still my baby...it's just a bit harder to convince him of that now.

Happy birthday bubby!

I intended to let y'all in on the big secret tonight since I finally told Mrs. Anonymous, but I have something else interesting to talk about...and this whole suspense thing is fun.

I was putting baby Paige to bed and flipped on the tv to watch some preaching while I gave her a bottle. 

There was a Phillips, Craig, and Dean concert on and I thought, "Oh, I've heard of them.  I wonder what they sing."

I know at this point some of you are in shock that I didn't know who they were but I can explain.  B.C. I was a huge country music fan...more accurately a Garth Brooks fanatic.  There's just somethin' about that chubby cowboy wannabe that I was just mesmerized with.  I not only owned every cassette (eventually cd's), but I knew every word to every song on those tapes and even who wrote each song.

My walls were covered in posters/pictures of Garth/Chris Gaines and that was how everyone knew me...the Garth fan.

When I came to the Lord I trashed every bit of that garbage and began to listen only to Christian music.  I decided that I would not pick some artist to swoon over, but rather just focus on the music and the Focus of the music.  I do know who some artists are simply because I had to learn names to buy cd's, but for the most part I couldn't tell you who sings what.

Anywho, I thought I'd watch the concert to see if I recognized any of the songs. 

Of course I knew nearly every one and found myself worshipping along with tears streaming down my face as the Lord spoke to me through the music.  At some point I open my eyes and am startled...

A fellow blogger is playing the keyboard.

That can't be...can it?!

As I continue to watch and worship I become certain that  I know (well at least in the blog world) that musician. 

At the close of the concert I watch carefully for the names of the band members.  I don't know the last name of course, but there is a musician listed with the same first name.

Cool beans!

Of course, these reports are unconfirmed at the moment, but stay tuned to my comments and maybe we can get this fellow blogger to confirm and maybe tell us more about it.

Did I ever tell you that I love my Pastor?

As he spoke this morning on joy he talked about things that had happened, good and bad, over the last six years as Pastor. 

I thought about the day I first met him just over 5 years ago.

My marriage was in shambles.

George and I had just reunited after a 3 month separation and I wanted nothing more than to head back out the door.  The man I had come home to was quickly reverting to the man I had left and I wanted out...again.

George decided we should go to church and that would solve all our problems.

I had come to know Jesus a year earlier, but when we were reconciled he made fun of my faith and so I dropped it.  This seemed like the perfect opportunity to show George how good I was at being a Christian, so I agreed. 

George knew of a church where a friend from high school was the youth Pastor and it was the same denomination that we both had been to as children so we decided to go there.

A few days before we first visited I had a dream that we were in a large sanctuary singing worship songs.  I had my eyes closed and my hands in the air and when I opened my eyes I was alone. 

The rapture had happened and I had missed it. 

I comforted myself with the thought that if even George, sinner that he was, had been taken in the rapture I was surely safe.  The dreams kept coming and I was continually missing the rapture.  I was afraid to close my eyes sometimes, afraid that I would be alone when I opened them. 

I decided that I had read way to many of the Left Behind books and I had an overactive imagination because after all...if George was safe....

That security blanket unraveled one night in June 2001.

We walked into the church that night and found a seat in the back. 

The music was good, led by a beautiful young blond pregnant woman.  I even knew a song and got to look spiritual singing along.  After the music our friend prayed and introduced another young man.  I waited and waited for this handsome young man to sit down so we could see the Pastor.

He never did.

I couldn't tell you what he preached about, but there was an altar call at the end and we all came forward to pray.  I stood there with my eyes closed and my hands in the air and recited some meaningless prayer.  I peeked and saw our high school friend praying with George.  I closed my eyes and stood there trying to hear what George was saying. 

I was startled by our friend whispering in my ear, "Trish, do you know Jesus as your Savior?".

I quickly assured him that I did and thanked him, still with my eyes closed so I didn't have to face him.  My self-assuring words tasted like a lie in my mouth.

After church I met our friend's wife for the first time.  She was cute and talkative and pregnant too.  She talked to me as if we had been friends forever and I was a bit put off when she asked me to feel how swollen her legs were from a combination of pregnancy and a recent canoeing trip with the youth group, but she seemed very sweet.

We collected our children from the nursery and learned that the elusive Pastor's son had bitten Nicole.  The nursery workers seemed nervous to tell us, but James had bitten her 12 times that week, so I wasn't to shocked or concerned.  We were ready to leave when our friend asked if we would like to meet the Pastor. 

He led us down a hallway and we bumped into the young man that had spoken that night getting a drink from the fountain.  Our friend introduced him as Kevin. 

Kevin shook our hands and talked to us for a minute and we followed him and our friend back through the hallway.  I didn't pay much attention to what he said because I was looking past him trying to spot the Pastor.

We left without meeting anyone else and went home disappointed that Kevin had distracted us from meeting the Pastor.

That night George got saved and I got scared.  All the dreams I had been having became very real to me.

George and I had the biggest fight that week.  I had decided that he was acting very holier-than-thou and he had no right to preach at me when I knew Jesus way longer than him.  He was telling me that I should be reading my Bible and letting him make decisions in our family and start treating him with a little respect....of all the nerve!

Things came to a head Wednesday evening when we were getting ready for church.  I don't remember what was said, but I turned vicious and he slapped me. 

I started packing my things and he got scared.

He made me promise not to leave before he got back and he left.

Little did I know he headed straight for that church and demanded to see the Pastor.  He told the Pastor every dirty detail of our sordid past and begged for help. 

Meanwhile I was still packing my bags and wondering where on Earth I would go.  I had no friends and no family to lean on and my only plan was to take my (then) 3 children and live in my car until the state intervened and took them away from me. 

I felt absolute hopelessness.

George came home that night and I hardly recognized him.  He walked straight to the kitchen and got a trash bag.  He informed me that he was the leader of this house and that he had made some decisions.  He had arranged counseling for us and we were going to church every time the doors were opened. 

As he talked he went through the house with his trash bag and collected up every dirty magazine, every porn movie, every trashy novel, every R-rated movie, and every piece of country music we owned and he trashed it.  Gone from our lives forever.

I like to refer to that night as George's Holy Ghost housecleaning. Another surprise I got that evening was that young (and I mean young) Kevin was the Pastor....huh, I thought you at least had to get through high school before you could be a Pastor...and that the beautiful blond worship leader was his wife Martha.

That next week we began marriage counseling.  Kevin listened to my fault finding problems with George and occasionally rolled his eyes and made me feel really lousy having been born a woman with emotions and junk.  I thought he was a real jerk, but at the same time I was amazed that he seemed to care about my marriage...no one, especially not of the male persuasion, ever cared before.

The next week we were supposed to meet with him and his wife for lunch.  Martha met us at the church and took us to Mazzios and we got to talk a bit while we waited for Kevin.  She was so smart and sweet and so different than I had assumed she would be...Miss PerfectBlondeCheerleaderType...you know the ones I'm talking about.  The kind that made all my high school nightmares become a reality.

Through the months of counseling I lived on an emotional roller coaster. 
I had to talk about things that I had worked very hard to bury and more than once I ran out of the room crying...like when Kevin looked me in the eyes (something I've never been good at) and asked me, "Trish, has someone sexually abused you?".

That question set me free.

Kevin and Martha inspired us to be better than we were and to not settle for less than God's best for us.

My greatest and worst memories are from the year that Martha went back to work as a PS teacher.  They asked me to be their nanny.

Essentially this meant that they paid me very well to supervise as young children, both mine and theirs, destroyed their lovely home on a daily basis.  I got to know and love their family and they grew in patience, forgiveness, grace, and accepting disappointment through that experience.

Remind me sometime to tell you about the day the children broke a dozen Precious Moments figurines in about 30 seconds.

One October day I arrived at the house in time to answer the phone and talk to a man that had just lost his mother the same day his tiny baby son was having a major surgery. 

This particular day was his mother's funeral which Kevin was preaching (if that's the right term, I've never been to a funeral).  I was so sad for Doug but distracted by the flu I'd apparently come down with, or severe morning sickness as I was 10 weeks pregnant.  I laid around the house with the kids all morning and just felt so achy and miserable. 

After lunch the phone rang again with news that a couple in the church had just had their first baby.  A precious little girl!  I was so thrilled for them and yet sad that she was born on such a sad day as the day of Doug's mother's funeral.

That night at home I decided to write a letter to the new parents.  I was about halfway through it when I got up and went to the bathroom and discovered that I was bleeding.  Within an hour Martha and Kevin's phone was ringing again with news that we were in the emergency room. 

What a day that must have been for my young Pastor to go from a funeral, to greeting a new baby at one hospital, to yet another hospital to sit with us as I tell my husband that our baby is gone.

Five months later it is Martha's turn to be in the hospital. 

They are told that the baby she is carrying will likely not make it on the same day George and I are renewing our marriage vows and announcing that we are expecting baby Elizabeth.

Despite his pain, Kevin still officiates our ceremony and makes our announcement for us, though we asked him to go home and let us make other arrangements.

Thankfully, a few months later their third baby boy is born healthy, strong, and perfect...just like his brothers.

Over the years I have run from our church family, Kevin and Martha, and from God...feeling that I'm not good enough to be near any of them and tired of being a walking disappointment...but eventually we always felt the need to go back to our church home.

Two weeks ago we returned to that church home.  As we listened to the preaching that Sunday night I felt deeply impressed to pray for Kevin. 

I had no idea what the problem was, I just felt that he was heavily burdened and needed prayers that he wasn't asking for.

This morning he announced to the congregation that he had resigned to take another pastorate. (Is that really a word or am I inventing it?!)  If I'd have known that decision was what I was praying for, I'd have kept my mouth shut....

Yeah that's selfish me rearing her ugly head...give me a minute to knock her back down and we'll continue...

Kevin, Martha, and their sons have meant so much to my family over the years and we will miss them so much. 

Today I find myself feeling like an idiot for wasting so much time that could have been spent gleaning from their leadership, but excited at what God has in store for their family and for mine. 

I'm scared that they will never know how much I respected and appreciate their ministry to us and to the community.  I've never been good at letting people know how much I care.  Now I have two weeks to say good-bye to this precious family.

Fifteen years ago today I met the man God would have me spend my life with and Wednesday is our 10th wedding anniversary.  I know that Kevin didn't save our marriage, but without him caring enough to point us in the right direction we would have never made it to this day.

How do you thank someone for that?

Martha is to blame for this blog.  If it weren't for her cheerleading spirit I'd have never had the nerve to pick up a pen (or start this blogging adventure).  She is the semblance of who I want to be when I grow up.  Nicole thinks she is the most wonderful woman ever, yeah I take that personally...once in a while. 

All of my children love her.  She is their children's Pastor and when I told them that Kevin wouldn't be our Pastor anymore they replied with, "Well at least we still have Martha!"

Sorry Kevin, but that's where their loyalties lie. 

These are the words I awoke to at 2:47 am.

Half asleep, I assume Elizabeth is thirsty and tell her to go get her sippy cup.  She starts wailing and tries to climb up in the bed with me.  As we snuggle I realize what she is trying to tell me...

Apparently "All drinked up" translates as "I've soaked my bed and now would like the opportunity to soak yours as well."

Once upon a time there was a lonely, overwhelmed, opinionated housewife...a mother of 5 who needed some creative outlet in her life that she didn't have to take too seriously and that could be whatever she made of it. 

Enter homeschoolblogger...

"Wow, what a great idea!", thought the crazy lady.  "I'll blog interesting, inspiring things everyday for the rest of my life!", she vows.

At first it was a dream...a wonderful dream come true.  She couldn't wait to blog and was so thrilled to find that her peers were quite accepting of her. 

That isn't always the case IRL for crazy lady.

And the comments!  Don't get me started on the joys of getting comments!

Then one day crazy lady is feeling things that should have been long ago buried.  These feelings are further triggered by teaching she reads online and disagrees with.  Suddenly crazy lady is angrily blogging and picking the scabs of the old wounds. 

She begins to become bitter and it spills over IRL.  She is overeating again, she cries alot and her husband and children fear that aliens have taken over her body...

Crazy lady hides from friends, family, and church traveling further down the path of self destruction. 

Crazy lady feels like the pit of depression is closing in and she cries out for help.

Crazy lady is Heard!

Just as things seem on the verge of spiralling out of control for our dear crazy lady the clouds melt and things begin to become clear to her once again.

Crazy lady is not alone.  Crazy lady is loved, cherished and needed and her crazy existence does have a purpose.

Crazy lady is not crazy...

okay, so that is yet to be determined but I'm hopeful.

I am striving to get my focus back in the right place.  I will no longer be a slave to my past or the sins of anyone else...Not because I'm strong enough, but because He is!

I am in the middle of purging things from my life that are of no gain...Things that have held me down that I have no need of holding on to.  I have asked for your prayers before and have prayed myself of course, but now it's time to show God that I'm serious.

I have been fasting for a number of days now.  I don't say that to appear spiritual, but because I need prayer to continue. 

I feel a set number of days in my heart due to scripture that the Lord opened to me.  It seems like an impossible amount of time right now to my flesh, but that's kinda the point. 

This isn't about weight loss, though that might be nice of course. 

I need prayers to keep my focus on the Lord and how He is going to change me through this and prayers that I will not listen to my very hungry flesh.

Also if you would, please pray for my dh.  He has been pretty freaked out by my fasting thus far and is worried about me.  I just pray that the Lord will give him the peace about it that He has given me.

The kids haven't been told and don't notice and I hope to keep it that way.

Right now I am hungry, but not miserable by any means.  The hardest time is when I'm making meals for my family...like right now.  I get a bit grouchy, but I'm trying to keep that in check.  Just more of my flesh crying out I guess.

So stay tuned if I haven't scared you away and I'll let you know how it goes.

I'll share a story about Prissy Nicole's bad day with you tomorrow. 

For now let's just say that your ear is not a handy place to store small objects.

Re-posting this because a friend was looking for it and because something like this happened AGAIN over the weekend at church...

Yesterday we took our children to the dentist.  That of course is what inspired my last entry. 

George and I were sitting in the overflow part of the waiting room (a.k.a. the hallway) with Paige, being the only of our children without teeth she lucked out of seeing the dentist. 

You experience many interesting sights and sounds waiting for 90+ minutes in the hallway of a building such as the one we were in. 

We of course (you may recall), were in front of a dentist's office.  Just down the hall to the right was an FBI office (I'm not joking) and an ethnic type Pediatrician's office that had the coolest fishtank and children's waiting area.  To the left was a clinic for those with heart conditions (mostly elderly going in and out of there), and directly in front of us was an office that apperantly keeps books for fast food joints, a motorcycle shop and the dentist.  Interesting indeed.

We saw many fascinating people come and go during our wait and heard many fascinating conversations.  For instance, I learned that if you bounce a check and don't take care of it, you end up paying for it at the courthouse, to the D.A..  I might not have ever known that, otherwise. 

I heard tales of no-good-good-fer'-nothin son in law's and that Cingular apperantly "screw's" people around for no reason.

At some point a nice "hillbilly" (sorry, I know that's not pc) family sits accross from us.  They were sweet, but SO loud.  The grampa talks to us and ask's the age of our baby and tells us about his grandchildren, one of whom he is there with.  The conversation lulls and a couple of guys from the FBI office walk past.  When the two are out of earshot, Grampa states, "That man was left-handed."  His family looks at him puzzled, as do I. 

Where'd that come from?!

He leans over and explains to his family, but I did not hear what he said. 

I think to myself, "Wow, attention to detail, he's gonna notice."

(Notice what? you may ask...  It's coming.)

We sit there a bit longer and he ask's what color the baby's eyes are, "Is that blue or brown?".

"Hazel.", my dh answers.

I notice him staring at her and I almost giggle, knowing he's about to see it...

His eyes widen...

Finally,

"Can I ask you folks a question?".

"Of course, ask away."

"Is that an extra finger there on her hand?"

Now at this point I wonder how many of you scrolled down the page to find that picture of Paige. 

For those of you who were too reserved to do that, go ahead, it's totally fine.  Seriously.  Go ahead, I'll wait.  She's the lovely,naked chubster in my dh's arms.

Are you back?

Good.  Pretty cool, huh?

His family members (and everyone else in the waiting area) snap thier heads around

and look first at him and then at Paige. 

Whiplash anyone?

We tell them about how she has extra digits all around, that it is a family trait, and how our son was born with them as was I.  

Silence.

I said, "We serve a creative God don't we?".

Nervous laughter.

I never know how to approach people about it.  Should I just say something upfront, or wait for them to notice?

I go back and forth between the two options. 

I just refuse to be ashamed of it or try to hide it.  This is just how God made us and I am okay with that. 

The worst response I've gotten yet was, "That's caused from incest."-UGH!

I have to add that the one who said that was the sister of dh's former girlfriend, and I find it interesting that she herself has two different colored eyes and her sister has webbed feet. The hateful, bitter gal in me wonders if she was speaking from experience.

I was born in Maine and moved to this area.  My dh's family has thier roots here and is "kin" to everyone around here but me, I swear.  He jokes that our marriage is the first real branch on the family tree.  As for my family, this hexadactyl thing has been going on for generations.  If there is incest back there somewhere, I don't know, but considering we all came from Adam and Eve, isn't there incest in some form in every family at some point? - double UGH!, but true...

Going back to that waiting area,when I made the remark about our creative God, my eyes met with those of a man with a walker.  He was about 4 feet tall, if I had to guess.  We smiled at eachother.  Just then my children came barrelling out of the office with shiny teeth, new toothbrushes and toys.  Our wait was finally over!

I am happy to report that no dentist's were harmed (bitten) in the telling of this story... 

I really was worried.

And for those that still wonder about the left-handed man in the hall, my dh tells me it was obvious because his gun and holster were on his left hip rather than his right...

Another lesson learned.

Eight years ago I was celebrating my very first Mother's Day.  James was about 5 1/2 months old and honored the day with his very first word. 

That sounds too good to be true, right?  Like something out of a Hallmark movie or an afterschool special....

Well, this being my life, things could not turn out that storybook could they?

James' first word....

DA-DA!

Happy Mother's Day, ladies! (and da-das)

My Elizabeth just walked past me emitting an unpleasant odor. 

Mom: "Sweetie, you smell shoo-ee, are you poopie?"

E: "No poopie, I feel kinda chocolate()...um, yeah, I poopie..."

(nods head in agreement)

I love my job.

Happy Mother's Day ladies!

This morning we stopped to pay our phone bill at a rental storage place that accepts payments to our phone company. We pull in behind a beat up old truck that had trash in the back and I noticed a small blue sticker on the back glass that read "clergy".  There was a sad, tired, grouchy looking teen girl in the cab of the truck and a couple of hillbilly (I know, there's that word again, not very p.c. of me) looking women in the building.  I though to myself, "Clergy?! They probably put that sticker on there so that they could get a close parking spot at the hospital...sheesh what people won't do to avoid walking...the sticker's not even on there straight!"

I don't know where the hospital thing came from, I'm just sharing my mindset with you.

I watch my dh walk in and go to the empty booth beside them to pay the bill and I pray that they don't talk to him...I'm catty and jealous and hate to see my dh talk to another woman okay, I'm not proud of it but I admit it.

I notice a man come in behind my dh that looks like his father will look in 20 years and my thoughts drift to in-law problems...

I snap out of it and see that the women are talking to my dh and he is not shy about responding.  Everyone in the place seems to be enjoying the conversation they are having.  They've got the whole place smiling.  My mind races to think of who in the world these women are...an old girlfriend maybe?

Suddenly they are walking towards me and it hits me...

This is a family that we have known for years, I used to spend weekends at thier home as a refuge from my own family problems as a teen.  They never moved away, but the kids changed schools and we lost touch about 15 years ago. 

The reason for the clergy sticker and the dumpy truck is that they voluntarily live below thier means to operate the only homeless shelter in the county.  They are very much in the ministry, probably moreso than many of us will ever be.  I had heard about it a few years ago. (they would never bring it up themselves to tell us.) 

We had a nice chat in the parking lot and caught up on all the baby news and what both of our brothers were doing in the military.

The Lord really showed me didn't He?

We parted ways and I felt like the biggest idiot and the smallest person on the planet. 

Where do I get off judging what a clergyman is and isn't supposed to look like?

My eyes were opened a bit wider today to see the ugly, judgemental person I have become. 

I gripe and complain about what some churches have become and I am no better.

Thank you Lord for loving me too much to allow me to stay where I am.  I didn't realize how pitiful and miserable I had become.  I didn't see that I am poor, blind, and naked.   Thank you for showing me today.  Thank you for your forgiveness and mercy and for the Hope that I have in You.

With nothing particularly interesting going on at the 2 message boards I like to read, I was bored outta my gourd.  George wanted to look at farm equipment on eBay...cause you know with that tilled up bit of dirt outside and thriving seedlings in the classroom we're farmers now right?!

After looking at a selection of items we have no use for and could never afford anyways, dh was bored as well.  The children were occupied with "cleaning" the playroom, and the baby was asleep so we had a bit of time on our hands.

We played my favorite I've-got-too-much-time-on-my-hands game...eBay scavenger hunt.

We started coming up with crazy stuff that no one would buy or sell in a million years...or so we thought...

Used underwear? they got 'em.

tampons? check. 

pregnancy tests?...new and used...yeah, I said used

toilet paper?..yup

hair clippings?...oh yeah.

There were even catagories (not just listings, but catagories) for "real dog poo" and worse, but we didn't even check into those...

Like the ad says,

"Whatever "it" is- you can find it on eBay!"

Yeah, we gotta get a hobby.

I was beginning to think that my children were snacking on crayons between meals.

Last August just as school was starting we bought 10 packs of crayolas that were on sale at Wal-mart 4 for $1.  I just knew that this surplus of crayons would last us well through the school year...I was wrong.

About Christmas time, as we were ready to make things to decorate the house, I realize that all of the new crayolas are gone. 

Every new pack had been emptied and there were only about a half-a-dozen broken crayons in the tub....hmmmm? 

After Christmas we restocked with another 5 pack to finish out the school year.

As of last week we were again crayon poor.  Where in the world are they going if the kids aren't eating them?!

Over the weekend we bought 5 more boxes of crayons and have them under lock and key...and we didn't bother splurging on our favorite brand.  What's the point?!  The crayolas don't last any longer around here than the awful ones that are like coloring with a birthday candle, so why spend the money?

I decided that the lost crayons were in another dimension somewhere along with at least one set of keys, my library card, our marriage liscence, and a plethora of missing socks...apperantly a universe that isn't accepting of matching socks as many lonely mates are left to linger in the bottom drawer of my dresser...

but that's a tale for another time.

Today we tackled the children's playroom.  I hadn't remembered that there was carpet in there, I hadn't seen it in so long!  What a lovely surprise. 

My kids are blessed to have an assortment of little tykes type plastic ride on toys in thier playroom from the collection I began to furnish the daycare center I had thought I would be starting a few years ago.  Among thier collection is a tug boat, a  couple of mind-numbing musical ride ons, a slide and a funky blue rocking horse.  As we began to find carpet under the mass of toys and junk, a desire grew to clean out the room and sweep the floor.  (Our vacuum recently bit the dust, but again- that's another story...)  My dh started lugging the big stuff out when there was a strange rattling from the funky blue horse...

Once upon a time there was a wooden handle piercing "blue's" head where he should have had ears, James discovered that said handle was removable and a handy-dandy makeshift weapon. 

It disappeared that very day, but I assure you that was no mystery. 

So "blue" was left with a hole in head.

You know where this is going...

To make a long story a bit less long, thus far we have recovered the following items from that funky blue horse:

3 pennies,1 pair of  size 3T glow in the dark Dora the Explorer panties (your guess is as good as mine), 1 steel marble, and about 100 crayolas...looks like they were never even used.

The whereabouts of the other missing items is still unknown. 

The dryer is being held for questioning as the main suspect in the dissapearence of at least 27 socks, and possibly my library card.

I thought I'd give you all a peek into mornings around here...

8 a.m.-Mom wakes up surrounded by babies! 

My bed in order from left to right...Elizabeth (half draped over mom and half hanging off the bed), Mom (laying on side, clinging to Elizabeth to make sure she doesn't fall off.), Paige (snuggled against my back, awake and tugging at my hair), George (about 6 inches away from Paige, I'm jealous for that 6 inches! LOL!).  All this in a queen sized bed.

I tell George that I need out of the dogpile and he digs me out from under the babies.

I head for the bathroom and take care of the morning routine, including praying before I hit the scale...It didn't work.  

After scolding the scale I peek back in at my bed, my dogpile has rearranged on top of and around daddy and they are all back to sleep, so I head for the classroom for my morning computer time.

The older kids will be up soon and ready for breakfast, so I try to make it quick. 

Of course I can't get signed on right away...I have to fiddle with this, reinstall that...

Grace greets me with a morning snuggle and asks if we can get into the cake I made the night before.  I think, "Well, it's a carrot cake with pinapples, raisins, and nuts.  That's a better breakfast than cheerios right?". (more of that Bill Cosby thinking) 

We place the cake on the classroom table and I cut her a piece.  She walks away a happy girl, thinking that she talked me into this treat...I won't spoil her fun telling her that my laziness this morning got the best of me!

Elizabeth stumbles into classroom rubbing eyes, spots carrot cake on table behind mom...

E: Is you birfday?

M: Good morning, no my birthday is tommorow sweet.

E: Is you cake?

M: Yes mam, would you like a piece?

E: (nods in agreement)

I give her a small slice.  She gobbles it up.

E: Now you fouah (4) mommy? (holds up 3 fingers)

M: No, Mommy will be 28.

I smile at her and turn back to typing.

E: Is that you stuiakeu? (points at objects on my desk)

M: uh-huh?

E: Oh! That is you rifwnr....You was 7 now you 8.  Is that you cake?  (reaches both hands towards the cake platter)

M: uh-uh-uh-uh-uh

E: it's you birfday.  (heads out the door, mumbling happily)

Enter Nicole.

N: What is today mommy? 

M: Wendsday the 26th.

N: (giggles at the fact that mom made the cake 2 days early-hey, it is MY birthday right?  I can make my cake anytime I want!)  Oh...(more giggles)

She happily accepts a slice and heads for the morning cartoon time to join her sisters.

Grace re-appears...

G: Mommy, James is awake and he looks skinnier than yesterday.  Can I bring him some cake?

M: I wish I could have that problem!  We both laugh as I tickle her.

G: Yeah, you're still fat today huh?

M: Yes mam, still fat...(more tickles and giggles) Go tell him to come in here.

She runs to find stickboy.

James comes in and hugs me.  He rubs his sleepy eyes.  No words, just a nice snuggle and more cake doling. 

So this is our morning.  Carrot cake and sleeping in.  Daddy works nights and we are all night owls, pretty rare to find us awake before 8 a.m. unless someone has an appiontment somewhere. 

School will get done in the next couple of hours, the house will get a once over at some piont and meals will get made, but we don't rush things.

Lazy, loving, and comfortable.

Just the way we like it!

I think I'm going bald.

I wish I were joking.

I gave birth to Paige, well more acurately I was sawed in half and she was ripped from my body, on December 4 of this last year.  That makes her about 4 1/2 months old.  A couple of weeks ago I started losing some hair.  This isn't unusual, I always lose a few at this postpartum point, but it seems much worse this time.  It comes out by the handfuls!  I have always had extremely thick hair, so I know that I can afford to shed some, but I'm wondering at this point if I should start saving all my hairbrush  and stuck-on-my-shirt findings to fashion a wig for future emergency use.

I also seem to have shed a few brain cells this go round as well.  I live in a fog of "mommy brain" lately. 

My best friend told me once that you lose 25% of your brain with each birth....

I now have 5 children.  You do the math!

At least I seem to be shedding a few pounds, now that I can use! 

I had gained 20 pounds just before getting pregnant this last time, all that soap watching and bon-bon eating you know, and then I gained just shy of 30 pounds during the pregnancy.  I'm already several pounds below the prepregnancy weight and now the challenge is all the weight I already had to lose in the first place.

The darn zipper on my fat suit seems to be stuck!

My husband loves me as I am.  That's sweet, but it doesn't help...

Thankfully our Father loves me too much to let me stay as I am.  He convicts me and challenges me daily to keep shedding all the things that are really weighing me down...

The bitterness.

The selfishness.

The unforgiveness.

The shame.

I can't wait to see what I look like once all the shedding is done and all the blurry images are clear. 

I have a hope of someday looking more and more like my Daddy.

Now that I'd post a picture of!

(that is if I can ever figure the whole file loading thing again!)

Call me a glutton for punishment, but I think that on my journey as a mother thus far, my favorite stage has to be the age of 2. 

It's so much fun to watch them come into thier own.  I love the way they look at the world. 

I remember when James was 2 and it was time for potty training.  We tried and tried to get him to go potty and he wanted nothing to do with it. 

One day I was talking to a friend I hadn't seen in a while and she asked about James.  I had to tell her that he was not yet potty trained, which at the time I thought meant that I was a huge failure in the mothering dept.  James overheard me say "potty trained" and got all excited, he wanted to know if we could go and ride the potty train...

Abso-stinkin-lutely!!

choo-choo!

He was riding the potty train full time by the end of the week.  We have used this system ever since, not that it always works, but that is a story for another time...

I don't know if any of you perfect mom's out there have this problem, but in my experience 2 year old's don't eat.  Seriously, it's like they have a bite of birthday cake on that second b-day and it sustains them till they are like 3 and a half.   

I am always trying to get little Elizabeth (2) to eat something.   I play all the games I shouldn't play- bribery included, but she just won't eat.  Last night I decided to fix hotdogs, which somehow isn't hugely popular around here and so I tried a new game.  I thought I'd make slashes in the hot dogs so that they would curl a bit as they cooked....Hot dog smiles! 

I was so excited over my creative new idea, the kids were gonna love it right?!

I put the plates in front of them and told them their dinner was smiling at them and they were like, "I don't see it?"

Not the response I was looking for.

Then precious little Elizabeth chimes in, "oooh, caterpillars!"

My "smiles" looked like a monochrome version of Eric Carle's hungry little catterpillar, our favorite book!

Mom picks up the ball and runs with it...

Yeah honey, caterpillars!  Now I want you to be a good little baby bird and eat your yummy caterpillar.  (Sorry Mr. Carle)

It worked!  I actually got a 2 year old to eat!

For the rest of dinner she chirped and flapped her little wings and ate every bite of her caterpillar! YAY!!

That just may quallify me for that Mom of the year award I've been striving for!

As long as the judges don't find out that she isn't a regular commuter on the potty train yet...

shhhhhh!

I have heard this expression more times than I can count.  I have USED this expression many times as well...  But with the recent events in my house, I'm no longer sure of what it should mean.

Of my 5 children (so far) I have 3 that are of age to lose teeth, 1 that just got all of her teeth, and 1 who has yet to sport a tooth.

When my oldest, James, turned 5 he began to get a couple of wiggly teeth.  In a few weeks they began to all but fall out on their own.  It's like it didn't even phase him that they were loose... In fact 1 of them fell out while he was eating and there was already another poking through in it's place.  He has always been nonchalant about the process, kinda that way in every aspect, a very laid back child for the most part.

My #2, Nicole, has always had problem teeth.  I had a severe infection during pregnancy that required some heavy duty antibiotic that did awful things to her developing tooth buds before she was ever born.  She had to have major dental work by the age of 3.  She had three teeth pulled and caps and a couple of spacers put in all in one day.  The nurses said she didn't make a peep through the whole procedure, such a brave girl!  Several months ago she got her first wiggler and she babied that little tooth for months- I'm serious, months, before she would let us touch it.  Finally one day I had to pull it.  I was certain she would choke on it in her sleep.  That little tooth was floppin' around in her mouth, just hanging on by a thread.  I asked her to let me see it and she freaked on me!  She screamed at me with a voice that sounded as if it were from the great beyond, or make that the not so great beyond if you catch my drift- YIKES!

She screamed, growled really, "NEVER!  I'm NEVER GOING TO LET YOU TOUCH MY TOOTH!!", and then she took off running...

For those of you that don't know my precious Nicole, she is an absolute prissy-princess.  The sweetest little doll you can imagine, so this behavior was shockingly out of character...

Her daddy chased her around the house and tried to grab that little holdout of a tooth and Nicole bit him.  There was the sound of a spanking and they were both shouting.  I feared that one of them wouldn't make it out of there...

Worried for my dh , I intervened...  (obviously something I would not normally do)

I sat Nicole down and had a quiet talk with her about how we were only doing what we felt was best for her and that she needed to practice her self-control and let me get that tooth out of there.  She cried and objected, she didn't want me to touch it because it would hurt...  I told her that it might hurt, but I had to do it. 

We prayed together and she apologized to her Daddy, and accepted his apology.  I asked her to open her mouth and let me see the little trouble-maker.

I grabbed that little booger and kept a tight grip on it, knowing I would not easily get another chance.  Just as I grabbed it, she yanked her head away in fear...

The tooth stayed with me.

Instantly she went from miserable to overflowing with pride.  Reminds me of that instant you give birth and the pain is forgotten...

Yesterday, #3 woke up with the slight hint of her first wiggler.  She pulled it herself within 4 hours.  Last night she pulled another that wasn't even loose in my opinion.  Just like her mamma!

(I have always been the one to face a challenge head on.)

So now I'm certain  I will never use or hear the phrase "...like pulling teeth" quite the same way again...  Does it mean easy as pie as James has taught me, mission impossible as Nicole has shown, or maybe jumping in with both feet as Gace has done?

hmmmmm.....

What I do know is that the Lord has delightfully surprised me with the uniqueness in each of my children.  No cookie cutters in this bunch! 

Thank you Lord for everyday surprising me with your creativity! 

There's never a dull moment here!

Growing up I heard that said a million times every summer.

My Gramma would shout at us on a daily basis to not  throw rocks from the driveway into the yard because when she mowed the lawnmower would hit them.  We would lay off for a bit, but then it seems we always got right back into them.  I don't know why...there was just some strange appeal there.

Despite all her warnings and worries, no rocks were ever hit by her lawnmower as far as I know. 

As a parent, I find myself hollering about driveway rocks being toted into our yard as well.  It's my job right?  My poor husband has fits about finding rocks in our yard on a weekly basis.  Despite that I never found it all that big a deal, I back him because that's what a wife does...though secretly I would feel bad for having spoiled the children's fun.  l;asdkfj al;sjkdf!!  (thanks for that Amy!)

Yesterday all of my Gramma's and dh's warnings gained a new respect in this house. 

My dh was out mowing the lawn for the first time this year and apperantly there was a larger than usual surplus of driveway rock in our yard.  Our poor mower is old and pretty well "jerry-rigged" to the point of being LOUD.  Not normal lawnmower loud, but LOUD!!  I couldn't hear a thing over the noise of it.  Then it just stopped...

I was back here in our classroom random blog reading (my newest love) when I heard my dh say, "Uh, honey, I think you should see this...".

He sounded so strange that I rushed to see what "this" was.

Oh, my gracious!

The lawnmower had picked up a small rock in the yard and thrown it into our sliding glass doors leading into our kitchen on the side of our house. Shattered!  (Thankfully it only penetrated the first of the double pained glass, so we can wait for payday to replace it.)  It was an amazing sight and sound.  It looked like the finest lace design you can imagine and it was changing by the second.  The sound was like that of a steady sleet on your window.  There was a tiny fly spider in the middle of it wondering which way to go. every time he moved, the glass would crack more around him...

I took pictures, if they turn out well  I will edit this to add them when they are developed.

My children were in amazement!  We all were.  James kept repeating, " Dad, we...are...SO...sorry...", and the girls just nodded in agreement.  I was, for once, speechless.  George wasn't angry in the least.  He seemed grateful that it wasn't any worse and thankful no one was hurt.  He also seemed pretty pleased with himself to have finally gotten his point across to us all.

I'm looking at it as an oppotunity to maybe get the french doors that I have always wanted!

al;skjdfalsdkfj al;skjfl (laughing for those that may be confused) l;askja;lsk!

Maybe this is a blessing in disguise?!

The moral to my story, kids,  is:

Listen to your Gramma!

            or

People with sliding glass doors shouldn't throw stones...

al;skdjf al;skjf 'sdfl;jk !!!

In thinking of activities to do with my children in celebration of Easter, I came across an interesting idea on the FIAR message boards for making crowns out of salt dough with toothpick "thorns".  The idea is that the children get to pluck out a thorn each time they do something kind thus relieving His pain a bit. 

I though that if I were a child I would read that as saying that anytime I did something bad Jesus would have to suffer all over again. Not wanting to pay for therapy bills in years to come, I took this "logic" to my dh who thought I was once again "overthinking" it (something I seem to be very good at ) so we decided to do it.

Having already experinced making salt dough with my children, we decided to go with play doh this time.  We also used finishing nails in place of the toothpicks which gave it a nice look.  As we put it together, I explained the idea behind it and told them that when all the thorns were removed we would get to do something fun with it.  (On Sunday morning we will place flowers in the holes left by the thorns while our resurrection rolls bake.)

At lunchtime we had a family communion sitting in a circle in the kitchen floor, passing around sliced bread and a bottle of grape juice.  It was so beautiful.  To close, I lead us in prayer.  Nicole asked me why I sounded so sad and why was I crying?  That opened the door to talk to them about the TRUE meaning of Easter.  I really think that in a small way, the older 3 kinda "got it"!

That afternoon, my children were falling all over themselves doing good deeds to earn a chance to pluck a thorn, so much so that I added a few back to it when they weren't looking to keep the "game" going !  Early in the evening, the kindness kick wore off and my angels fell back to Earth to resume thier roles as childen.  My peaceful evening took an ugly turn via a shouting match over the remote between James and Elizabeth (8y.o. boy vs 2y.o. girl).  I told James that he needed to learn to be more patient with his little sister to which he responed with tears in his eyes," Does this mean I have to put a thorn back in Jesus' crown?", then he burst into tears...

My ugly suspicion confirmed

I hugged him and explained that Christ died once for all, and that while we shouldn't do bad things, He doesn't ever have to go back to the pain of that day again.

I knew I shoulda' listened to my gut on this one...

Once again, the mommy of the year award slips from my reach.

Today, plucking thorns is a little less exciting to them and I'm not pushing it.  There are 6 thorns left in the crown and I'm certain they will be gone by morning. 

I am so looking forward to a TRUE Easter this year. 

We have said our final fairwells to the Easter Bunny and his baskets, in fact we have a rabbit in the freezer that the cynic in me is thinking of roasting for dinner...

 but then I think of the therapy bills again...

I pray that you all have a blessed Easter!