Reality Check

Let's have a reality check, shall we?

This was my home early this morning. Or rather, the main rooms of my home. I can't make the pictures very big, because they are humiliating.

It's making me crazy.

Most of you know that I'm not really much of a housekeeper. I used to be. And I want to be. But I really struggle with having a bunch of people undo my cleanliness. Then I just give up.

Someone near and dear to me once famously commented that they always thought growing up that my brother would be the slob and I would be the neat freak, not the other way around. True story.

It's making me crazy.

I've been gone off and on for three weeks. My husband is usually a pretty good housekeeper. But on top of parenting all of our children on his own while I was gone, he came down sick. Sicker than he's been in years.

And now we see the results. Ugh. So frustrating.

I spent my day picking up stuff. Not cleaning. Just picking up stuff. I got all 10,000 of my steps in, solely by picking up things and putting them back where they belong. For reals, people. I got one room presentable. One.

I also threw out three bags of garbage. That was somewhat liberating.

And I located one of the missing binkies. That's like a lifesaver.

One of the children, bless their little heart (and I'm using that phrase in a very subversive Southern manner), asked me why on earth I was cleaning.

I answered that I like living in a clean house. I asked, didn't they want their house to be a temple?

The answer will give away which child it was: "I don't want to live in a temple. It's home. I want to live at home. And I like it the way it is."

It's making me crazy. And I mean that quite literally. My mental health is at stake here.

More cleaning tomorrow.

These last few weeks, I've pushed myself to the very edge of what I can give. I need a few days to chill. But not in this mess. Who could chill in this?

Haha. Maybe I'll just confine myself to the one clean living room. ;)

P.S. Nobody better show up to my house to clean tomorrow. I'd probably eat you alive. My post is a vent, not a plea. Although...if you want to fix that dumb kitchen drawer, I wouldn't turn you away, lol.

In Which I Seek Answers to Life's Great Questions

So, when I got up this morning at the happy late-Saturday-morning hour of before 7 a.m., the dogs met me in my doorway because they were ready to be walked, the baby was crying in his room to get out of his crib, poor Rex was on the bathroom floor because he felt like throwing up (did I mention 4 of the 6 are sick with relatively high fevers?), Sariah was in my bed where she'd arrived at 5, and Bob was sound asleep after conducting a job interview with somebody on the other side of the world at some ridiculous hour in the middle of the night here.  I walked past the kitchen, and saw all the dishes out--not a single one put away, including the bowl of absolutely scrumptious honeydew melon, which I don't even like but I'm telling you this stuff was YUMMY and 0 WW points, which had sat out all night and not been returned to the fridge (is it even safe to eat now?).  I strolled (OK, at this point, I was most likely dangerously close to stomping) past my living room and spied dirty clothes everywhere, stinky shoes all over, books, toys, pencils, you name it, scattered EVERYWHERE.  And my desk, my office workspace, looks like it's buried under mounds of paper--mind you, I cleaned it off earlier this week, like 2 days ago.  I went to check on Rex, and the bathroom door wouldn't open easily, because there were so many dirty clothes piled behind the door.  I went to get Sam, and stepped on a duplo lego on my way--can we say pain?  I closed the girls' bedroom door so they could rest, since they are tired and sick.  I had closed my bedroom door, so my husband and The Diva could rest.  Meanwhile, the dogs were following me around, Jonah pushing his cold nose into the crook of my elbow; for some reason, this gives me the heebie jeebies.  Oh, and Sariah woke up after all.  And Sam demanded breakfast.  And Caleb wanted to know if he could make pancakes.  In the kitchen whose countertops you can't see.  And Sariah wanted cereal.  And the dogs still needed to be walked.

All this after the day where I dealt with a very cranky and sick Sam.  And a very cranky Diva.  A Wal-mart run for supplies, which I didn't get to finish because Sam got feverish again in the middle (YES, I took a sick kid to Wal-mart, so sue me), and which I had put off all week because Sam and Sariah has been sick all week long.  A trip to the Health Department (oh what joy is mine, I absolutely ADORE the way they treat you there...not!) to obtain "official" shot records for my school-age children, only to be told that Lizzi is, naturally, missing some shots that she needs to have by next Tuesday (AND did I mention we just got health insurance on Thursday, and the health department can no longer give us shots BECAUSE we have health insurance, and there's no way a doctor in town will get us in by Tuesday since we are new patients, and the Minute Clinic at CVS administers practically every vaccine BUT the chicken pox booster Lizzi needs for school?).  And a trip to the grocery store because we have been massively out of anything that I can throw a WW-worthy meal together with for several days since I was waiting for the beginning of September (has to do with something inconvenient called pay day) and for the littles to get well enough for me to go to the store.  And when I got home, Sam and Sariah were screaming bloody murder, and some of the older kids (including Hannah, otherwise known as my right hand, blessed girl!) were running fevers, and I had all these groceries to put away (in a clean kitchen, thank you, family! oh yeah, it's not clean anymore), and Sariah needed seriously to be put in bed, and Bob wanted to go on a date (which, ordinarily, would be a fabulous idea), and the girls were fighting.  And.  And.  And.

It's a day in the life of this wonderful, crazy, exhausting adventure I'm on, called My Very Own Family.

Don't get me wrong.  I really love them, and I chose this life because it's what I wanted.  And it's what I still want.

But some days, I long for some Calgon (do they even sell that anymore?) and a big garden tub that doesn't regularly grow mildew because everything in Georgia apparently grows mildew rapidly if they are covered in water 24/7 because everyone wants to use your tub to bathe in.  I find myself asking repeatedly, and more grumpily with each incantation, "Must I do everything around here?"

What's the deal?  Am I too much of a control freak?  Am I not patient enough?  Are my kids really lazy bums, or it is that I'm too freakin' tired to fight with them to make them do things they don't want to do?  How is it that in Norman, I was the PTA president, had a calling in church, and had a social life, and still managed to survive days like the last 24 hours without flipping out like I feel like doing this morning?

How do I shake myself out of this pity party?

Discuss.

Overwhelmed

Two of my favorite inspirational quotes of all time:

"Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming.  Just keep swimming."

~Dory in Finding Nemo

"[B]y small and simple things are great things brought to pass...."

~Alma 37:6 

And now having told you how dear they are to my heart, may I now say that these last few days they just haven't been working for me?  As a mom, I'm feeling like every part of my day is a small thing, and it's just not getting me anywhere.  There are too many small things for me to deal with.  I feel like I'm always swimming, but to where and for what?

So, truly, I know that there are answers to these questions, and in my mind, I know that mothering these children is a great work in and of itself.

But what do I do with a child who is turning into a perpetual liar and a thief?

But what do I do with a kitchen and a living room and a big stack of bills and a bunch of piles of laundry that never seem to shrink?

But what do I do with a toddler who is a TV addict, and who refuses to cooperate, obey, or be peaceful?

But what do I do with the bottomless pit that has become my garage?

But what do I do about the constantly grumpy tween?

And what do I do with the teenager who is very well behaved, and because of that, probably a little ... neglected?

What do I do with the kid with sensory issues whom I feel like I'm always correcting?

And what about the baby who never seems to be fed enough, despite my best attempts to increase milk supply and regulate sleeping and eating?

What do I do when I feel like the small things are drowning me, and "just keep swimming" sounds like the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard?

Mixed Feelings

This week is the biannual local consignment sale.  I spent a bundle.  I usually do.  I've been shopping it for 10 years.  I needed some good stuff this year, since I gave away a bunch of my baby stuff.  I got a cool baby bath and a bassinet and lots of fun clothes for all of the kids, including an especially sweet dress for Sariah that didn't cost me very much at all.  I was proud.

Of course, so are some of these consignors.  It really annoys me that many things at the sale are priced so high.  Dude, I could buy new clothes for those prices, not already-used stuff.  And I'm not talking about Wally World clothes either.  It's a consignment sale, not a professional antiques market, darn it.  Yeah, you wanna make money, but this isn't going to make you or break you.

Okay, I'm done venting now.  :)

Oh, the Drama!

Wanting to post something cheerful after a day chock-full of drama.  It wasn't horrible drama.  PTA anyone?  What about 1 predictably unpredictable toddler and 4 grumpy children in trouble for ... integrity issues?  No?  Okay, well I did finish a bunch of laundry and paperwork.  That's a good thing.  I can actually see the top of my desk (in places, lol!).  And despite a bitter wind, the sun was out, so all my serotonin and endorphins are firing happily away.  That's a good thing, too.  Oh, and there's chocolate ice cream in the freezer, and my bed has a heated mattress pad, and I have a book (or twelve) waiting eagerly to be read.

Yeah, it's all good.

Are You Kidding Me?

I had a bunch of lab work done last week.

Surprise!  I have low iron.  It's not really a surprise.  I always have low iron and go anemic on them when I'm pregnant.  It was expected, really.

Surprise!  I have high blood sugar.  Now they're going to do tests for gestational diabetes.  Are you freakin' kidding me?  I can't gain weight.  Sugar makes me sick.  I supposedly have a small baby.

I'm so frustrated.  Nothing has been easy-breezy this time.  I know I haven't had major complications, and that's a good thing, and I am blessed.  But this is getting really old, and I keep wondering what I'm doing wrong.

Did you know that stress itself can contribute to high blood sugar?  Imagine that.

The sorry thing is that I've spent the last 2 weeks really and truly trying to reduce my stress levels.

Apparently, it isn't working.

We Interrupt Again

I'm going to have to interrupt my nice cheerful posts once again.  That's depressing, because I was having fun making happy, happy, joyful, joyful, cheerful posts.  But alas, here I am.

I had my follow-up ultrasound today.

The good news:  The baby is still a boy.  Definitely.  No doubt about it.  (I could post the very graphic picture, but then Net Nanny would probably ban me from my own blog.)  And he appears to be healthy and functioning the way he should.  And my amniotic fluid levels are up and improving.

The bad news:  The baby's growth is slowing and they're not sure why.  He's a pretty small baby.  At least for one of ours.  And the growth of my uterus is slowing.  That means I'm not as big as a small house or  motorhome like I usually am at this point.  Probably by now, all of my other babies have weighed 3+ pounds, and nobody's stood around wondering if I'm really pregnant or just getting marshmallow-mannish..  This little guy probably doesn't even weigh 2 pounds yet.

I have been told this isn't necessarily cause for alarm.  What is warranted is more careful attention and observation.  Translation: 2 week appointments instead of 4, and a follow-up follow-up ultrasound in a month.

The suggested solution so far:  I'm not getting enough calories, and specifically protein calories.  I'm supposed to start drinking protein shakes every day.

I see a number of problems with this, the first being that I can't even drink protein drinks when I'm not pregnant.  My doc said lots of women add a scoop of ice cream to them and that helps, but ice cream sadly makes me sick these days.  I haven't had a second serving, or sometimes even not the first serving, of ice cream in months.  And two, not enough calories?  Hello, I've spent my entire adult life, and a bunch of my adolescence, trying to eat fewer calories.  I don't even know how to eat more and healthier calories, especially when I (bizarrely) crave nice calorie-deprived foods like lettuce and cucumbers and carrots.  Okay, there are the occasional cravings for Cheetos or Lay's potato chips (which, btw, I don't even like when I'm not pregnant), but I'm thinking the sodium counts in those are probably not too healthy when you have questionable amniotic fluid.

So, what's the conclusion of all this whining?  Umm...pray for me to be able to eat more calories?

Sorry, I was choking up there.  :)

Please keep us and the baby in mind, and pray that we and our family can be healthy and well.  We'll take all the help on that count we can get.  Hugs to all!

We Interrupt the Season...

I know it's the holiday season, and I should be posting fabulous uplifting posts and be of good cheer, and whatever....  But I just need to take a minute to implore the powers that be for ... whatever it is that I need.

For those of you who know me well, and worry about me, this is NOT a full-blown meltdown.  More like a mini-meltdown.  Kind of like Christ in the Garden at Gethsemane when He asked His Father for this cup to pass from Him, but then He still got up off of His knees and pressed forward and did what He had to do.  That's what I'm going to do, too.

But this is the part where I whine and complain.  Not that Christ was actually whining and complaining.  But this is the part where I am less perfect than He, and I whine and complain.

Yesterday was an ... um ... adrenaline-filled day for me.  Lizziy went to the surgery center to get her tonsils and adenoids out.  After he performed the operation, the surgeon told us that we had absolutely done the right thing, that her tonsils had tonsil stones (something I'd never heard of until then, but what amounts to large amounts of nasty dead cells and bacteria and all sorts of ickiness in her tonsils that needed to move on out), that her adenoids were interfering with her breathing, and that the surgery should much improve the quality of her breathing, her sleeping, and life in general.  A good thing, even though it's nervewracking to put one of your babies under general anesthesisa and the knife, even if you've done versions of that to all of your other children, too.

Meanwhile, when she's in recovery, coming out from the anesthesia, the nurse is telling me they expect Lizziy will probably vomit, and the kid in the bed next to her starts puking, and my pregnant tummy just can't take it, I send Bob in to be with her.  Good plan, right?  He's always the one who handles the vomiting at home, and he's really good at it.  He'll even help me handle my vomiting, which I think it the epitome of true love.  Anyway, the next thing I know, he's passing out?  Having a seizure?  SOMETHING, on the floor unconscious.  He'll probably be furious at me for posting this, but you know what?  It was freakin' scary, to see my chosen love for life lying there and not knowing what was wrong with him.  And having a bunch of nurses and doctors there that weren't sure either.  That part wasn't terribly reassuring.  And one of my babies meanwhile lying in another room disoriented and nauseous and in pain.

So Bob comes back around, and they decide it was just the talk about blood.  Why do people pass out about blood anyway?  But I digress....  While he's getting his color back, and being babied by the nurses, with his feet up, Lizziy throws up in true Lizziy fashion, while the old man across the room starts hurling, I mean really hurling.  And of course, I'm standing there, pregnant tummy under control through sheer will power alone.

We all go home, pick up Sariah from my fabulous visiting teacher's house.  Lizziy is the model patient.  She was doing what she was asked, eating, drinking, resting, and not whining or complaining (unlike her dear old mother).  But Sariah just didn't get it.  She didn't get that Lizziy was tired and sick.  She knew something was wrong ... but I think what she understood was that she, Sariah, was suddenly not the center of her parents' universe, and it had something to do with Lizziy.  We'd all gotten up early, I'd had the scare of a lifetime, and now we have a cranky, righteously indignant 2 year old.

Rest will cure this.  Not.  We go to bed with a 10 year old daughter with a carved up throat in our bed.  Not a big deal, except now I can't flip around restlessly anymore like I usually do because I'm not supposed to be sleeping on my back because of the pregnancy.  And I have a toddler being potty-trained at night.  And an obnoxious greyhound with nighttime bladder control issues.  And hips that hurt because my sciatic nerve has decided to kick in.

So this morning, everybody expects me to be SuperMom still.  Or to clarify, they still expect me to be the SuperMom that they're always complaining I'm not.  I'm tired.  I'm grumpy.  I'm queasy all the flippin' time, even though I should be about 10 weeks past that.  I'm worrying.  I'm scared.  I'm bordering on emotional and mental exhaustion.  And today I'm supposed to balance my checkbook and pay the bills, buy groceries, go get Rex's birth family for a visit, finish getting ready for the holidays, take my oldest daughter shopping, do more laundry and more dishes, prepare a lesson for the primary class I'm supposed to sub in tomorrow, mop my floors, buy more ice cream, and be a happy, loving, supportive, always-there-and-always available mother and wife.

I'd rather go curl up in a corner and cry my little eyes out.

And where, oh where, I ask you, am I supposed to find time to facebook?!  This is the worst indignity of all, I think.

See?  I told you I'd get up off my knees and press forward.  That's what moms do, right?  They keep going because God will eventually give them a fresh energizer battery.  So.  I'm off to conquer the world.  :)

Thinking Out Loud Here....

As many of you will know, I rarely talk politics here, or anywhere else. My personal politics are a mix of bizarre and Gen X: I'm a registered Republican, but only because you can't vote in the primaries in Oklahoma if you are registered independent. I was brought up in a home with one parent who leaned Democratic and one who leaned Republican, but I wasn't really aware of that until I'd left home. In political terms, I never know whether I'm coming or going. And then there's that Gen X component, the apathetic one that allowed me to not care about voting in the first presidential election for which I was eligible (it was Clinton's reelection, I believe). Since then, I have learned to vote consistently from the major elections to the minor town ones. As a matter of principle, I never take the "vote straight party" option. I believe one of the greatest strengths (and one of the greatest pitfalls) of our country is the two (or more) party system. I just can't figure out which party I belong to. Maybe I'm a Venn diagram. Sounds about right.

I will tell you up front, because I live in a country where I am supposed to be free to do so, that I did not vote for President Obama. But I didn't make up my mind about my vote until the week before the election. I just didn't think there was a good choice.

Having said all that, I am now going to offer my opinion on President Obama's scheduled address to school-aged children next Tuesday. No one's really asked for it, but I'm feeling like I'm in a small minority (funny, I feel that way a lot lately) and that my voice is valid and needs to be heard. I love having the privilege of doing so.

I spent much of my morning surfing the internet, trying to figure out what the heck the story is, since everybody's so up-at-arms over the whole affair. Basically, what I learned is that the extreme right is saying EVERYTHING, and the support base that is supposed to be the President's is staying mum. You want facts? The closest to that I could come was what was on the White House's website, and this seemed fairly tame. Do I understand that this is not The Speech? Yeah. Do I believe that everything out of his mouth will be propaganda? Of course, but everything out of anyone's mouth is propaganda as represented by their opinions, thoughts, decisions, and actions. Would I like for it to be prerecorded so that I could preview it? It would be nice. But how many times have I watched the candidates out stumping or watched the State of the Union address while my kids were sitting in the room? Let's not bother counting. Am I afraid of Big Brother? Well, yeah, I've read 1984, and I do find some disturbing parallels between my world and Orwell's.

However, if my children's school were showing the address (and according to Elisabeth, they are not), I would let them watch it. I am considering showing it to them afterwards anyhow. There are 2 vital parts to this decision on my part.

First, we're talking about the American Way here, people. We believe in freedom of speech, not just for ourselves, but for the people around us, too. We believe in freedom of speech, which means that we believe we can try to influence people with our words AND that our audience can choose or choose not to be swayed by our arguments. This is what the entire political process is about in this country. And it's been this way since before the Declaration of Independence. For goodness sake, the United States Constitution took 3 years to be ratified because the founding fathers were debating every nuance of it. Difference, debate, and division are the catalysts of the political process. There are responsibilities that go with those things, and especially with our freedom of speech. We are each individually responsible for our own choices, and without listening to both sides, there is no way we can make any truly educated choice. Neither can we move forward if we absolutely refuse to acknowledge other perspectives and points-of-view. I said "acknowledge," not necessarily "accept."

Before my children are old enough to vote, they need to understand how this process works and how to maneuver it. My children need to understand how to listen to their elected leaders (or soon-to-be-elected leaders, or out-of-office leaders, or basically anyone who opens his or her mouth) and glean what is truth and what is not from those people's words. They need to understand when and how someone is trying to influence them. They need to understand that the same words can communicate many messages. They need to have the confidence to navigate these muddy waters when we as parents can no longer do it for them, because that day is coming, no matter what. Heck, with my oldest 3 at ages 8, 10, and 12, they already do a bunch of this.

Fortunately, and this brings me to my second point, my kids often try out their questions or concerns on me, and though sometimes their timing isn't ideal, I am so grateful that we can talk with them and to them, and help them choose to make wise decisions. It is not President Obama's responsibility to teach my children this, it is not the governor's responsibility, nor our friends', neighbors', school administrators', bishop's, or anyone else's responsibility. That is my responsibility, and if I don't teach my children to discern and dissect and follow truth's light, then I have truly failed them, for they won't be able to vote wisely, or fight for their freedoms, or even choose decent friends in life (and at this point, I'm far more worried about the friends they choose to listen to than what government official they hear).

If you want your kids to think for themselves, then let them try it under your loving guidance. The White House website says the president is going to speak to students about "the importance of taking responsibility for their education, challenging them to set goals and do everything they can to succeed." If that's all he says, what's wrong with that? I don't believe that will be all he says, but there's only one way to find out, and that's to listen, decide, and choose for myself. The best place to discuss politics and issues as well as influence your children's choices and beliefs (read also: indoctrinate and/or brainwash your children, because that's what every single parent in this country does with their children)? At the kitchen table every morning and every night.

Sigh.

I have lots of pictures to post. I have lots of stories to write. But instead I'm just going to whine about why they won't sing for me.

• My dog had a seizure. So on the vet's recommendation, we went to the pet ER, where, for all intents and purposes, they might as well have told me she had a virus. But they're a lot richer now.
• My 2-year-old daughter bounced off a chair last night to the tile floor, afterward proclaiming that she needed to go night-night, then that her eyes hurt, then that her ears hurt, and then she was up and running around like a whirling dervish.
• Have I mentioned that I'm having (hopefully) pregnancy-hormone induced anxieties? Lots of them.
• I'm afraid my girls are going to drown at swim team. I have to go check on them regularly to cope with this fear. The swim team lane is RIGHT UNDER the lifeguard's perch.
• But I'm NOT afraid that my 8-year-old son will get any football related injuries, because I'm too busy hoping that practice will knock the rebelliousness out of him, because he throws such fits beforehand, because he doesn't want to go, even though we signed him up because he wanted to go.
• PTA, PTA, PTA. (This to be said to the cadence of "Marcia, Marcia, Marcia.") I know that I volunteered (sort of) and that we are accomplishing good things, but I forgot how time-consuming it can be made.
• I've banned all Disney youth-aged TV shows at my house. Little Einsteins, Micky Mouse Clubhouse=ok. Hannah Montana, Zach & Cody, Wizards of Waverly Place=NOT ok. And while my kids are less mouthy and kinder to each other, they are now "bored" and expect to be entertained, which means they are mouthy and unkind to each other. Why am I doing this again?
• I have been preoccupied with a CNN segment (maybe it was Fox) on "How to Survive a Plane Crash." This is a reasonable preoccupation, I think, given how often Bob flies. But really, aren't you either going to survive or not?

Okay, I'm done ranting now. I solemnly vow not to rant again for at least another 24 hours. :)

Pick Your Jaws Up off the Floor!

I'm feeling a little judged this week. It's probably mostly paranoia, but there it is. I can't really change what people think, although I'm going to try, so mostly this post is about owning the decisions I've made.

If you haven't heard already, I'm pregnant.

Hence, the title. Obviously.

And worse than that, I'm happy to be pregnant. I can't keep it a secret. It's way too exciting to keep mum about it.

But the one thing that really throws a wrench in my joy is being asked a ton of nosy questions. I don't really think fast enough to hand out coherent answers or arguments. So first, I'm going to send you to this link. It's one of my favorite posts about large families. And second, I'm going to post the following "Q & A with Tracy." I'll start with the more polite questions.

Q: Why do you tell people so early? Aren't you afraid of miscarriage?
A: Yes, I'm deathly afraid of miscarriage. My body has proven repeatedly that it's entirely capable of ending pregnancy early, very early. But the fact is that I can't keep my own secrets. Other people's I'm better at keeping, but not my own. If I miscarry, then I miscarry, and there's probably a good reason for it (no matter how much I hate that it happens). I'm not going to wallow in the misery of my disappointment and heartache, but I'm not going to keep my sorrow a secret either. In our culture, it's apparently not okay to have bad things happen to you, and you have to keep them a secret. I happen to think some of humanity is about sharing emotions with each other; that's when we learn the most about each other, when we learn the most compassion, and when we learn that we are not alone.

Q: Don't you have enough kids?
A: When I was a little girl growing up, the only thing I consistently desired when I grew up was to be a mother. I went through phases when I wanted to be a vet, a teacher, a farmer's wife, a Tupperware lady. When I got older, I thought I would enjoy being a speech therapist, a social worker, and an elementary school teacher. Those things I probably would have loved and been good at (although the social worker thing probably would have killed me, which is why I changed my major). What never changed was that I wanted to be a mom. What's more, I wanted to have a lot of kids, like 12. I spent hours and hours naming them and renaming them. I was going to have triplets named Dallas, Austin, and Houston (that was before I moved to Texas and then decided that was stupid). I was absolutely convinced that my parents had deprived me by giving me only one sibling. I am fortunate enough now to be living my dream! I don't need 12 kids any more, but I still love children, and I still love being a mom, and I'm so grateful to have a husband who allows me the privilege of living my dream.

Q: Do you even use birth control?
A: Is this even your business? I will, however, point out that there was a 6-year gap between the birth of my 3rd child and the birth of my 5th child (the 4th is adopted).

Q: Can you even afford the kids you have?
A: Yes, for the time being. Obviously, in this kind of economy, there are no guarantees. Is there ever really a guarantee? But both Bob and I are willing to do what it takes to provide the necessities of life for the children we have brought into the world. I think that this applies to Bob especially. We live on one income because Bob works hard and makes many sacrifices for us. We all make sacrifices. Sacrifices aren't the worst thing in the world.

Q: Don't you worry that your kids will be deprived of time, attention, money, etc.? Don't you worry that your kids will be permanently warped?
A: I worry about these things all the time, but I don't believe they happen intrinsically because a family is large. I, as a parent, have a responsibility to provide for these things. I know plenty of large families, and I often (not always) find that the children are polite, well-behaved, cooperative, willing to work, good citizens, and exceptionally kind. It doesn't warp a child to have to share a bedroom (we could be living in a one-room cabin, right?). It doesn't warp a child to not always have ice cream in the freezer (hello obese America!). It doesn't warp a child to not get to participate in every single thing s/he thinks necessary (as an adult, I can't possibly do everything I want to do). And there are pros, as well as cons, to having multiple siblings--after all, in 50 years, who is going to be there for my children? Me? Please, I hope I'm dead by then. Or will they have each other, their lifelong friends and companions? (Just so long as they don't start a family feud. LOL!) The bottom line is: I'm NOT raising Generation Me here, and I'm so glad for that.

Q: You just got a bigger house. What are you doing?!
A: Consider that we were planning for our future. 4000 sq ft with 2 occupants does not a happy home make. Although, I do have to say we were really squished in our old house. I think as long as Bob and I stay committed to first the Lord, and second each other, and third our family, 2300 sq ft is plenty of room for a happy family and a successful life together. (Please note that I did not say this would be easy....)

Q: When are you going to stop already?
A: Quite frankly, that's nobody's business but ours. And shame on you for asking!

Q: Have any of your children actually been planned?
A: This really isn't your business either, but YES, all of them have been planned for, longed for, and greatly desired. The one exception is Rex, who arrived at our home on one day's notice for a temporary stay when he was 7 months old. He never left, and we've long since adopted him. I think that was an acceptable surprise as he's such a vital part of our family now.

Q: Isn't it irresponsible of you to bring little people into this world when you have a mental illness?
A: I suffer from depression. That sounds so ... depressing. But really, and I've posted about this before, I'm very, very grateful for my mental illness. It is currently under control with medication, exercise, and the avoidance of large amounts of chocolate (I know--that's inhumane). I will not come off of my meds while I am pregnant--a happy, consistent, and loving mommy, one with not so much cortisol running around her bloodstream, is the best gift you can give a child. I have parented with undiagnosed depression and with uncontrolled depression, as well as with diagnosed & controlled depression. It wasn't fun or pleasant for anyone when I was a mess. I'm not a mess now (or any more of a mess than anyone else or pregnant moms, anyway). It was my experiences as a mother that helped me to understand that there was something wrong with my head--I guess parenting in general leads us to that conclusion anyway, but I'm obviously referring to more here, people. It's my experiences as a mother that bring me some of the greatest joys and the most laughter and the brightest smiles. This isn't really a coherent answer to this question, but it's the way I feel.

Q: Aren't you exhausted all of the time?
A: Well, duh. But it's absolutely worth it.

Q: Do you ever get peace and quiet?
A: Only if my parents or my husband provide for it, bless their hearts. And when I do get it, it's kind of creepy weird.

Q: Don't you think you should make your husband stop traveling on a weekly basis, come home, and help you raise all those kids?
A: I'm living my dream, my husband should get to live his. I think he's been happy with this job, he's learned a lot, and he's built his resume. When he's ready for the 9-5 grind again, he'll get a "regular" job. In the mean time, Bob is an active and integral component of our family. I certainly couldn't do any of this without him.

Q: What does your husband think about another baby?
A: He's super excited, and smiled hugely when I gave him the news.

Q: What do your kids think about another baby?
A: I think there are mixed feelings, but over all, the feeling is excitement and anticipation. Believe me when I say I'll have to fight to spend time with my newborn.

Q: When's the baby due?
A: Assuming all goes well, April 12th.

And now I'll sign off to make sure I'm still pregnant. :D

Crank

Why am I always so grumpy on Sunday mornings? Sunday is supposed to be the Sabbath day, a day of rest and renewal. And instead of feeling rested or renewed, I just want to go hide in my bedroom under the covers and not come out until the frown lines between my eyebrows smooth out. I sit and ponder this, and it only makes me crankier. I don't get it.

Overdrive

I think I'm headed into overdrive, and I'm not sure how to stop. Wait, scratch that. I AM in overdrive. I need to stop. But I think my brakes are locked. I don't even know if that analogy makes sense.

The cream of the cake came this morning when my dog bit me. Not Jonah. Junebug, the "obedient" one. I don't think she meant to. I think my leg was just in the way. She couldn't get to a loose dog because I had her on a lead, so she tried to get to Jonah, who was also on a lead, instead. And I was in the way. It was the last thing I expected in a very long week of unexpected things.

I'm really cranky. It's why I haven't been blogging. I'm exhausted. It's why I haven't been blogging. But I miss my "old" life. Not the old house, but the structure and order (believe it or not) of knowing where everything was and where everything should go and what needed to get done at a particular time. I miss not having to go to Lowe's or Home Depot or Ace every day. I miss blogging regularly.

I know things will get better. They really will. It's just a matter of getting there intact, right? So in an effort to achieve that, I'm going to try to get myself back into the swing of things I really love, like blogging. Just bear with me for a little why if my posts are gloomy and grumpy. You don't even have to read them. Come back in a few weeks and see if things are perking up, as they are bound to do.

Hugs to all!

The Rant

This is an abbreviated rant, because if I get started I may never stop. And I only have a few more minutes on the library computer.

I. Have. No. Internet.

Thank you, AT&T.

I'm getting 3 months free, but at this point, I'm not sure that can compensate.

If you hear screaming, you know why. Pray, people, pray, or I may not stay sane.

Hugs to all, and you know how to reach me. And if you don't, I hope you know someone. ;)

Update

So I haven't been on my own blog in so long it forgot my user name. Nice. And now I will explain why with a list:

• Broken arm (Hannah).
  
• Strep throat (Lizzy).
• Concerts, field trips, recitals, games....
• Birthday party (#1, Sariah's).
• The Move to the new house next week (packing, packing, packing, packing...).
• Unrepairable dishwasher. *#$%@*!!!!!
• House repairs.
• Mother's Day--yay!!!!!
• Bronchitis (Sariah).
• Licking people at school (just guess...).
• Chewing the aglets off shoelaces, yours and other people's (do you really need to guess again?). You should check out this website purely for entertainment value.
  
• Astraphobia and lilapsophobia (Caleb). Those are big words for irrational and very inconvenient fear of lightning, thunder, and tornadoes, and anything like unto them (for example, clouds in the sky).
  
• Stolen garage door opener, from my car, recovered but now it's evidence. That means I need to go buy new openers for our buyers because it'll be ages before we see that one again, and for some reason I am unwilling to tell the buyers what happened to the first one. Another @#$%^*!!!
  
• Tornado sirens, 3 times in one night. And not a tornado in sight.

That's all since last Friday.

Man, I had to look up a lot of words for that post.

Why am I so tired, anyway?

These Are the Ties

These are the ties that (un)bind. Every Sunday since I bought them, we have had a full-fledged brawl over these ties. I have no idea which one is the most desirable ... er, only desirable tie. Because they're so freaking alike, conservative, and boring!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! We're talking throwing punches here, people. Over. A. Tie. Whichever one it is.

The Rant

I just need a few minutes here to vent. And all my ventees are unavailable, so now I'll inflict it on the public at large.

So, all of these years that my kids have been in school, we've never lost a coat, jacket, or sweatshirt. Sure, they might have been temporarily located in the lost and found, but ultimately, the involved child and I had words, and the article of clothing was retrieved and returned home.

But now, now Rex is in school. What does that mean? you might ask. Well, first, Rex is completely oblivious to temperature changes until they are extreme. This is not his fault; I truly believe that it has to do with his sensory integration issues...his nerve system is just wired somewhat differently than the rest of ours, and he either doesn't register things the way the rest of us would, or he over-registers them (I don't know which is worse). And second, Rex has a sometimes-amusing, sometimes-exasperating superfaith in his own knowledge that he clearly knows more than his mom or dad.

How this translates is thus: basically, when Mom or his teacher at school tells him that the weather is chilly enough for a sweatshirt, he first argues that he doesn't need one; second agrees to take it just to end the conversation (a normal kid tactic, I'd say); but it's the 3rd step in this process that's the kicker...third, he loses the offending article of clothing.

So, this morning when the wind chill is down in the 30s for the first time this fall, he has no sweatshirts or jackets to take to school for his field trip to a local "farm." They're going to be out-of-doors all day. Now, as a parenting-with-love-and-logic kind of parent, I'd say he could just go on the field trip without, and suffer the consequences, darn it, if he completely "forgets" every day to go to the lost and found and locate his clothing (which, btw, even if he went, he wouldn't find anything even if it were staring him in the face). However, I do have my pride as a mother...especially when it comes to being the mother of 5, which means that lots of times people are judging you and the "fact" that you allegedly don't take as good of care as the last kiddos as you did the first, which means that you don't love them as well (please don't try to deny this; perhaps I'm a very judgmental person; but really, how do you think I know people are thinking things like this?). I do have my pride as a mother, you know. Oh, I said that already.

So, I sent Rex off to school this morning with one of Caleb's sweatshirts, and the dire threat that if he lost this sweatshirt, he would have to pay Caleb $20 for it. Poor kid, he had a complete breakdown, because currently he only has $1. So, then I told him that he would have to work for Caleb by being his slave until the sweatshirt was paid for, theoretically of course.

Gee, I must wonder at this point, how this is going to come back to me when I next talk to his teacher.

Ok, done venting now. Thanks! :)

The Rant

I have prided myself for not whining on this blog ... until now. Even the very best of us get humility from time to time. I'm just going to need a moment.

What? Is there something in the air this morning? Or is it because I left 4 of them yesterday afternoon with a babysitter, even one of the nicest, best babysitters in the world? Even accounting for that aberration in our schedule, they were still all in bed by 8 last night, and all asleep by 9, which is nothing short of miraculous. They were finally tired enough. I was so looking forward to this morning when they would all be wonderfully well-rested, and therefore obedient, cheerful, and happy, oh-so-happy to get on the bus and head to the magical world of learning.

Ok, I guess I have to confess that phrased that way, it does sound a wee bit far-fetched.

Ideals are good, though, right?

Unless you're a perfectionist. Then ideals become lead weights around your ankles.

So I guess I shouldn't be so shocked that not one of them wanted to get out of bed this morning, not even Farm Boy (Caleb) or Rex, the Eighth Wonder of the World. And I shouldn't be so flabbergasted that Hannah had a massive tummy ache, Elisabeth was too tired to move or try to make the bus, and Caleb's stomach hurt too much to go to school. Rex didn't want to eat his breakfast, either, but it was oatmeal, which never passes muster with him.

Did I mention that over the course of the morning, I discovered that Hannah has a presentation in speech & drama, and that both Caleb and Elisabeth a) have testing today, and b) didn't finish their homework (after telling me that they didn't have any last night)?

It's going to be a good day.

I'll probably have to go pick them up (in the pouring rain that might not get here now, see yesterday's post) because they're all throwing up at school ... but only because I've actually made them go to school.

Arrrrrrgh!!

Ok, I'm done raving like a lunatic now. Thank you for your time and consideration. I promise to post something more ... appropriate tonight.