Hand-drawn sketches of new sewing storage

My Sewing/Craft/Art room Makeover

My craft room is a little out of control. I need a storage solution, and I need it fast!

So I've planned a little remodel, "Little" loosely defined.

Although I'm eager to jump in and build, the foundational design phase can make or break a project. I know what items I need to store, how I want access to them, and what kind of crafting I do, so it makes design a lot easier. 

First, I made a list of the areas I wanted:

--sewing/serging/embroidery area

--computer/printer area for the embroidery program (which morphed into a mini-office area)

--scrapbook/art area

--hairbow/headband area

--fabric storage/ironing/cutting area

Then I listed the supplies I would need within reach at each station.

I measured my space and sketched a few cabinets, including how I want the shelves and drawers arranged. I sketched a corner table, some wall shelves, and a desk for sewing. The counter height on the ironing/cutting counter is 42" tall, customized to my height to minimize hunching, and 32" deep, to allow for folded fabric off the bolt to lay flat.

I found I could combine the hairbow, scrapbook, and office area with just a tabletop in the corner, accessible drawers for supplies, and wall shelves and cabinets. The shelves will have dowel rods hanging down to hold my ribbons. The table height on the corner art/scrapbook/hairbow area will be 28" with a 2-foot-wide knee drawer.

I sketched a long desk to go under the window, with drawer bases on each end and the middle, and 2 sections of leg room--one for the sewing machine and one for the serger. I had this setup as a kid, and it was perfect. No more switching out bulky machines! I'm also planning to use the wooden column in the center of the window as thread storage. 

I was giddy with anticipation.

Then, I nearly fainted at the prospect of undertaking this massive project. I'm handy with tools. I even know what a coping saw is. But I've never built custom cabinets...

So I texted my generous and talented brother, who immediately replied, "Ooh, I can't wait... but I'm going to." :-p

Walter did get excited about it, though. I could tell, because he mentioned SketchUp. It's a free and very useful design program available through Google.

I will admit that my original idea was to fashion this storage solution from items I already had on hand or could purchase used--entertainment centers, desks, extra dining tables, bookshelves, dressers, armoires--you get the idea. But with Walter on board, I may set aside those inhibitions and enjoy a NEW handmade, custom built, rockin' awesome storage solution to my craft/sewing/art room.

Pavlov's Dogs meets Dorothy's Baby

Anyone who knows my baby knows that she loves her mommy! She clings to my arm with tears in her eyes when she senses a pass-off. She brightens up and bounces when I walk into the room. She stops crying every time I pick her up. (Manipulative, much?)

So imagine my surprise yesterday when I left Julia with my mom for a few minutes while I helped the older children prepare for soccer practice. I returned after 15 minutes. When I walked into the room, Julia spied me. She looked at me with growing panic. She glanced at Mimi. She glanced back at me. She glanced at Mimi. Then, she opened up. Wailing and sobbing. I could hardly take it.

But Mimi couldn't take it at all. She swept down and picked up the baby...

Who immediately stopped crying.

(Isn't that my job?!)

When Mimi tried to pass her to her loving mother, the baby tightened her grip on Mimi's arm and just wailed louder. We were baffled.

Then, thankfully, Mimi thought of something. Every time she keeps Julia, she feeds her a banana. I don't know why or how it started, but it's a pattern that apparently Julia now expects, thank you very much.

That child ate her banana, then willingly and happily accompanied me back to our house. Hilarious.


It's like my own little Pavlov's Dogs experiment.

(Manipulative, much? Mwahaha!)

The mind of a poet

Communicating with a three-year-old isn't always a breeze. I understand the twins about 75% of the time--understand the words that are coming out of their mouths, that is! Sometimes, even after deciphering the words, I still don't have a clue what they want.

For example, yesterday, Tyler came up to me crying. "Cut the grass off my strawberries!" he pleaded. I repeated him with a question on my face. Then it came to me. The green grass. The cap of the strawberry. It's like 11th-grade English all over again. Interpreting the metaphors.

Just after that, Tyler buried his head in the fridge again looking for yogurt. I hollered at him from another room, "It's on the door!" He closed the fridge and skipped right on over to the back door. Puzzled, he looked at me and said, "I don't see it here!"

I promise, I have never, not even once, stored yogurt anywhere near the back door. I did leave some in a cooler at Shelby Farms one day, but that's another story all together.

They say that puzzles are good for your brain, to prevent dementia and Alzheimer's issues in old(er) age. I'm claiming Tyler as my daily puzzle. If you've got a kid with the mind of a poet, send him over. We'd have lots of fun.

Almost as much fun as 11th-grade English class.

Ramona Quimby Moments

Yesterday morning, my 3-year-old son woke me up holding a raw egg.
"Mom, can my brother have this boiled egg for breakfast?"
Yikes! The thought of cleaning up a runny egg off the floor--or worse, my bed--startled me to full-mom mode.
"Honey, that's not boiled. Please don't crack it."
"Oh," he said. "We already tried two, but they were runny."
Sigh.
"Please tell me you were at the sink when you cracked them..."
"No, we were at the chair in front of the television."
Wow.
Welcome to my day!

A pawn in God's hands

No one wants to be the pawn. I'd rather be the queen, thank you very much! But the truth is, when God is the one playing chess, I'll be whatever He wants me to be. Have you ever read the story of Joshua and the Battle of Jericho? I have. I have read it time and again. I've even watched the Veggie Tales version, "Josh and the Big Wall" ...time and again. Imagine that! In my most recent examination of the text in the first part of the book of Joshua, I realized something. Answer this: Why did God want two spies to go into Jericho? Seriously, think about it. God, who has written all the days of our lives in His book, who has planned our going and our coming, certainly knew the method of the eventual destruction of Jericho. (Reminder: The Israelites marched around the city for seven days in silence. On the seventh day, they marched around it seven times, then shouted for the Lord, and the wall crumbled down.) Now why would the Israelites even need spies to search out the city when it's just going to crumble before them? Here's what I think: I think God chose those two spies to risk their lives in this foreign land for the specific purpose of bringing Rahab the harlot into the line of Christ. Do you realize that Rahab was "saved" through this event? She eventually married and settled in Israel, becoming King David's great-great-grandmother. Her lifestyle must have changed for anyone to even want to marry her. Her faith in the Lord was shown not only in that action of hiding the spies and deceiving the king, but also in the fruitfulness of the rest of her life. I think those spies' entire purpose was to show the power of God to change a life (but not their own lives) and the grace of God to use repentant vessels (but not themselves) for His lasting glory. What is God asking you to do that seems to serve no purpose for yourself, your family, or your own interests? Maybe His whole purpose--and your whole purpose--is for someone else. That's a difficult concept, isn't it?

The Joys of Boys

My 3-year-old son brought me a screw last week with a mischievous look on his face. I knew right away what that meant. We marched to the door to replace the screw. This may be the third or fourth time he has removed the deadbolt. A burglar in the making, eh? He really aggravated me, because he couldn't match up the inner mechanism in the deadbolt, and it required about 20 minutes of my time to fix. No sooner had I triumphantly replaced the bolt and returned the screwdriver, Tobias was up and at it again. This time, I found all the bathtub drains unscrewed. At least he hadn't thrown them in the trash. We surmise that was the fate of all of our remote controls. Up until last week, we had been turning the TV on its side to push the buttons manually when we wanted to change the channel, volume, or input. And we chose to ignore the DVD menus because all we could do was press "play." Good thing they all played in English. Imagine my delight when I opened a package addressed to my husband and found a replacement remote control. Universal. I found it today in my bathroom, missing the battery cover. Sigh. Boys like fiddling. Take it off, put it on (if you're lucky). Unscrew it, rescrew it (sometimes.) Push the button, flip the switch, open the door. Yesterday, my husband and I were sitting on the couch enjoying a play our children had written and rehearsed for us. I think Tobias' role was Superman Prince, from what I could gather. But instead of standing on "stage," he walked across the glass-top table, jumped onto the springy ottoman, and leapt onto the stage. Well, we do have accident insurance, just for him. Praise God, we haven't had to use it yet. Boys can't just walk anywhere. They bounce. Or strut. Or skitter. Or zoom. My sons keep my life entertaining. They will take care of me when I'm old. They will help their sisters. They will invent something wonderful one day. Like a voice-controlled home theatre system. But what fun would that be?

Why I love Kroger

Last Friday night, I realized we needed milk and pull-ups from the store, or I would be cooking breakfast and washing sheets in the morning. I jetted out the door without thought toward my appearance, because, after all, it was just a quick trip. Turns out, in Arkansas, you will see every one of your Facebook friends at the store on a Friday night.

When it comes to grocery stores, we all have our preferences. I, personally, am not hard to please--I just want a store with the least expensive prices, the best quality, loads of customer service, a quick check-out, polite clientele, and a babysitter or two.

I used to shop at a particular store. This being Arkansas, you can guess which store it was. You can also see why I switched.

I now shop at Kroger. I "heart" Kroger because:

1. The cashiers unload the cart for me. There's not a conveyor belt in sight.
2. The cashiers bag the groceries for me. That leaves me free to chase down my kids. Or watch the prices. Or both.
3. The manager once gave me a $25 gift card while I was corralling my kids at the checkout line, just because he appreciated my business. He told me so.
4. The cashiers always push the grocery cart out for me. This is huge, because I am inevitably pushing a cart full of children out as well. (At "the other store," I often have to push a cart of kids and pull a cart of groceries.)
5. The store is often less crowded than others, as is the parking lot.
6. If three people are standing in one line waiting to check out, they will open another one. (Seriously! I thought I was in trouble the first time they pulled me out of my line to start a new one!)
7. The managers mark down products frequently for quick sale.
8. The employees can point you in the right direction when you ask where a certain item is. (I asked for granola once at "the other store," and the guy said, "I've never heard of granola. You mean, like, granola bars?" Sigh.)
9. The people who shop there tend to be, well, normal. More normal than "the other store." I mean, I've never seen a "PeopleOfKroger.com."
10. I can load coupons directly onto my Kroger card at Kroger.com. I've never been much of a couponer, but it's a lot easier when you don't have to fiddle with all those little squares fluttering down to the floor every time you pull out your list.

And finally, I "heart" Kroger because I can often go there without my makeup on and not see one person I know... even on a Friday night.

Real-life weight loss

My brother eats meat. Lots of it. And vegetables. They call it the Paleo diet or the Caveman Diet. The Hunter/Gatherer diet.

And he's lost 30 pounds.

My husband's parents are on the HcG Diet. They can eat 500 calories per day. (In case you forgot, the average recommended intake is 2,000 calories per day.)

My mother-in-law has lost 20 pounds.

But the Caveman Diet and the HcG Diet really cramp your social life. Dinner parties are out, unless you bring your own food. Your time and energy is spent on menu planning and food preparation. And if you're cooking for your family, you have to just cook a separate meal for yourself. Three times a day.

Who has time for that?

Over the past eight years and five pregnancies (one of which was a twin pregnancy), I have managed to lose the same 30 pounds after each baby and keep it off, maintaining a social life and feeding my family at the same time. The trick is to focus on a healthy lifestyle over a short-term fad.

I've listed some tips I've learned that I want to share for those of you in the same situation.

1. Fad diets will tell you otherwise, but keep it simple: Calories in verses calories out. Eat less, exercise more.
2. Eat healthy foods. Fruits, vegetables, and low-fat dairy are much better choices than bagels, muffins, and cookies. Try to fill half your plate with fruits and veggies.
3. GET THIS: Pay attention to your portion size. Pull out your measuring cups for a week or two until you get comfortable eye-balling your portions. Did you know a portion of meat, for example, is roughly the size of the palm of your hand? That's HALF a chicken breast. A bowl of cereal should be less than a cup, but most cereal bowls hold two or three cups. Get smaller dishes, if you have to, to make you more satisfied with your smaller portion sizes.
4. If you get hungry between meals, eat a 50-calorie snack. A piece of fruit. A 1/2 cup of yogurt. A 1/4 cup of walnuts. (That's not very much. See number 3!)
5. Buy fresh fruits and vegetables for snacking. Clean, peel, and chop them when you get home from the store, and keep them handy for snacks throughout the week. When you have the munchies, the last thing you want to do is spend 15 minutes preparing a snack. That's why we often reach for the prepackaged, high-calorie convenience foods.
6. Don't deny yourself goodies. I had a 1,200 calorie/day diet and reserved 100 calories each night for a 1/2 cup of sugar-free ice cream. The promise of that treat everyday kept me away from indulgence the rest of the day.
7. Eat something healthy before you go out to dinner or social engagements. An empty stomach is much more likely to indulge.
8. When you get the munchies, find a distraction. In the past, I have planned several different strategies for my 3pm munchies--go for a walk, get out of the house, chew sugar-free gum, have a cup of coffee.
9. Shop on a full stomach. You are less likely to buy yummies if you're not hungry. And if it's not in the house, you won't reach for it when you want a snack.
10. Don't eat for the last three hours before you go to bed. If you're desperately hungry, have some vegetable juice.
11. If you want to jump-start your weight loss, a short program like Slim in 6 (6 weeks) or P90X (90 days) works wonders. But stick to moderation and healthy eating in the long run. I have found that I just cannot maintain an ongoing lifestyle that dedicates more than an hour each day to exercise, as well as lots of time and energy on menu planning and food prep. I do have a passel of kids to care for, after all. Oh, and a husband, too.
12. If you have trouble fitting exercise into your life, try finding ways to incorporate it with your family. I took the kids to a playground with a walking track--they played while I walked for 30 minutes. I lost 9 pounds in 2 weeks just by adding a 30-minute walk to my day. Try a home-video that incorporates both cardio and sculpting. I used Slim-in-6 and Power-90 for years. I also like the SELF series. I once joined a gym that had childcare included for 2 hours each day.
13. Set realistic goals. You do NOT need to look like anyone you see on a billboard, on television, on movies, or in magazines. Accept the shape of your body, enjoy your build, and appreciate your curves. Focus on health rather than form.
14. Reward yourself. I bought a new outfit every time I dropped 5 pounds.
15. PRAY for help! Self-control is a fruit of the Holy Spirit for a reason--we humans don't naturally tend that way.

Find something that works for you. Avoid temptation. Pray for help.

You don't have to be a Caveman to lose weight and keep it off. If you adopt a healthy lifestyle, you'll probably live longer than any Caveman ever did. And look good doing it. ;-)

The Howl that Never Ends

Parents, have you ever heard the "howl that never ends?" You know what I'm talking about--some catastrophe has occurred in the life of your three-year-old, and he gets so worked up with whining that he forgets what he's howling about or how you can fix it.



My day started with one of those yesterday.



Whining, crying, howling, all-out weeping, all day long.



Brothers and sisters irritating each other, picking on each other, purposely inciting the howl that never ends.



It was not fun.



I told the kids to pile in the van because we were going to the playground. This was not for their good, mind you, but for mine. I fully intended to pop in my earbuds and enjoy a full 30-minute walk, uninterrupted, around the walking track while they played on the nearby playground. For the first time that day, I heard rejoicing. Finally.



So I turned the keys to crank the car and be on our way.



Nothing.



I sighed. Really, God? Really? Do you think this is funny??



I dragged my husband out of his office to help me jump off the battery. (It was, after all, his fault--he left the lights on in the van last night.) I knew from sad experience that I needed to drive for 10 minutes or so to give the battery adequate time to charge before I cut the engine, which meant I had to take the long way--the really long way--to the neighborhood playground.



The howl that never ends is even less pleasant in the car. I rolled down the window and let the wind deafen me. "Mama! Mama! Mama!" I could hear in the background. I sighed and rolled up the window, ready to respond.



What I heard delighted me. My three-year-old son, Tobias, sat, buckled in (a miracle in and of itself), singing at the top of his lungs, a song he learned at Bible school, "Where is Jesus, Where is Jesus?" His twin brother, Tyler, answered in tune, "In my heart! In my heart!"



I smiled a genuine, refreshing smile. In the middle of the howl that never ends, God had sent a song to my heart.



Don't be misled, the howl didn't end. (That's why it's called the howl that never ends!) But that one shining moment strengthened me and renewed my patience, reminding me that God expects me to teach, train, and love these children of mine in patience and joy.

War of the Wasps

I lived in the same house my entire childhood, and I remember being stung by a wasp one time. One time in 20 years!

Now we live next door to my childhood home. I have been stung twice in the last month.

Twice.

In two weeks.

Additionally, two of my children (and a cousin) have been stung. This month!

I officially declare war on the wasps--especially the red wasps. Ten minutes ago, I felt the agonizing pain that I am experiencing far too often these days in my ankle. Now my entire leg is numb, and I have pain shimmying up and down my spine.

Yes, I put baking soda on the site of the sting. But the venom is already doing its work.

I am open to suggestions, short of nuclear devices, on how to win this war. I considered hiring soldiers, but we are trying to reduce our budget deficit. ;-)

For now, my dad takes his perch on the deck, armed with a can or two of wasp and hornet spray, and he hunts them down.

Just like he's done for 20 years.

Making it difficult

I like to sleep in. With six kids under age eight, it is a privilege rarely afforded me. However, I have noticed that since we hooked up the Wii, the children will pitter-patter downstairs without ever poking their heads in my room first thing in the morning. When the baby finally cries out for her early-morning nursing, the kids have already helped themselves to an hour or so of the Wii.

So we're locking it away.

I can't help myself. It's just too easy to let them enjoy video games while I sleep. I know it's not good for them. They know it's against the rules. But it's just too easy.

Now, whenever they want to play, they will have to come get me to unlock the closet and set it up for them. Life won't be as easy for me, but it will be better for my kids.

We also, at some point, unintentionally lost the remote control to our satellite and also to our television. (By lost, I mean one of our kids thought it would be funny to hide it in the trash can, and now it's gone forever.) It turned out to be a good thing. We can still operate the t.v., but it's so difficult that the children often come to me for help, at which time I can dictate what they watch and how long they watch--or if they watch at all.

My kids are young--too young, really, to deal with the temptations and choices that can change a person's life forever. But in the grown-up world--in our world--temptations are too easy. Pornography comes right to your computer, in the privacy of your home office. Flirting is acceptable, and "innocent" business lunches no longer frowned upon. Living with your boyfriend is expected, and babies before marriage are "in." Anger, lies, cheating, carousing--if it's too easy, we may just fall into it.

Make temptation difficult. Lock away the Wii, lose the remote controls. Cough up $99/year for a good Internet filter. Let your friends know you don't have lunch alone with someone of the opposite sex out of respect for your marriage. (Be sure that they will talk if you do!!) Refuse to hang out with people who engage in the kind of behavior you're hoping to avoid.

It won't be convenient, but it will be good for you.

Now I've got to go resolve some dispute I hear brewing around the t.v.

Training the baby

Baby Julia hit the 6-month mark a few days ago. She has been a delight her entire existence. The transition from five kids to six has been much easier than any other transition, in part, I think, because the other children are older and, therefore, less demanding.

In our house, at age 6 mo, we start "No Training." It's a terrible birthday present. I think I read about it in "To Train Up A Child" by the Pearls. I started today with Baby Julia Joy.

She is a very good student.

I took her to a room where we could be alone for five minutes. I handed her the cord from a lamp, which she immediately put in her mouth. I thumped her little hand (which broke my heart), said, "No," and took the cord from her. (I try to never yell the word, shout it, or even say it firmly. I want my children to understand that I shouldn't have to elevate my emotions for them to know that I mean what I say.)

Julia Joy didn't even cry. She did, however, reach for the cord again.

I let her grab it and put it in her mouth. Then I thumped her other hand and repeated the process. The child didn't cry until the sixth time I thumped her. Oh, it nearly sent me to tears!

But she stopped reaching for that cord.

The child stopped reaching for the cord. Incredible. I can't say that any of my other children actually learned to stop reaching for the cord within the first week of no training, much less the first five minutes. (I've got a 3-year-old son who STILL "reaches for the cord.")

I have high hopes for this child. ;-)

Now if you'll excuse me, I have a (probably naked) 3-year-old to chase down.

Solomon's wisdom to wives

I have been reading one chapter of Proverbs everyday since I started college. I have read the 18th chapter of Proverbs countless times in my life. (Okay, technically, someone could count them, but I certainly don't have the time to tally it up!) But I have never seen the correlation between two verses that I saw today. Don't miss this!

Verse 21 says: "Death and life are in the power of the tongue, and those who love it will eat its fruit." Well, any girl who's lived through adolescence can attest to that.

Verse 22 says: "He who finds a wife finds a good thing and obtains favor from the LORD." And that's all well and good.

I've heard both these verses often throughout my decade of marriage.

But Solomon, the man with 700 wives and 300 concubines, wrote these two sentences together for a reason. His train of thought went from, "Your words can kill," to "Wow, I've got this concubine who's tongue is sharp as a knife," to "If you find a wife, you've found a good thing."

Solomon wants women to understand and heed that you can crush your husband with your words. Or you can refresh him.

Be life to your marriage. Mind your mouth.

Religion is a whistle

Religion is a noisy whistle
Yesterday, my twin preschooler boys fought over a toy. The screaming and squealing from the fight itself nearly deafened me, but what really drove me batty was the toy. It was a whistle.
This fancy Native American musical instrument had a mouthpiece, three finger holes, and totem-pole carvings. It dangled from Tobias' neck on a leather cord. When properly played, it made beautiful melodic tones in the Native American tradition. But Tobias did not play it properly. He stuck the mouthpiece in his mouth and blew with all his might while deftly escaping Tyler's eager grasp. Whistles, squeals, and screams filled up every room in this house, until I finally stormed in between them and snatched that troublemaker away.
The Bible says in I Corinthians 13 that ministry without love is like a clanging cymbal. I imagine our works, when accompanied by an improper attitude, fill up the rooms of Heaven with a most irritating and unpleasant noise—not the sweet melody of true ministry in a spirit of love. Ask God to help you serve in a true spirit of love, not out of obligation or selfishness.

A song in my heart

Parents, have you ever heard the "howl that never ends?" You know what I'm talking about--some catastrophe has occurred in the life of your three-year-old, and he gets so worked up with whining that he forgets what he's howling about or how you can fix it.

My day started with one of those yesterday.

Whining, crying, howling, all-out weeping, all day long.

Brothers and sisters irritating each other, picking on each other, purposely inciting the howl that never ends.

It was not fun.

I told the kids to pile in the van because we were going to the playground. This was not for their good, mind you, but for mine. I fully intended to pop in my earbuds and enjoy a full 30-minute walk, uninterrupted, around the walking track while they played on the nearby playground. For the first time that day, I heard rejoicing. Finally.

So I turned the keys to crank the car and be on our way.

Nothing.

I sighed. Really, God? Really? Do you think this is funny??

I dragged my husband out of his office to help me jump off the battery. (It was, after all, his fault--he left the lights on in the van last night.) I knew from sad experience that I needed to drive for 10 minutes or so to give the battery adequate time to charge before I cut the engine, which meant I had to take the long way--the really long way--to the neighborhood playground.

The howl that never ends is even less pleasant in the car. I rolled down the window and let the wind deafen me. "Mama! Mama! Mama!" I could hear in the background. I sighed and rolled up the window, ready to respond.

What I heard delighted me. My three-year-old son, Tobias, sat, buckled in (a miracle in and of itself), singing at the top of his lungs, a song he learned at Bible school, "Where is Jesus, Where is Jesus?" His twin brother, Tyler, answered in tune, "In my heart! In my heart!"

I smiled a genuine, refreshing smile. In the middle of the howl that never ends, God had sent a song to my heart.

Don't be misled, the howl didn't end. (That's why it's called the howl that never ends!) But that one shining moment strengthened me and renewed my patience, reminding me that God expects me to teach, train, and love these children of mine in patience and joy.

Grandma's Traditions

Grandma likes special traditions. When our kids find out that we're going to Grandma's, they always ask if we can make s'mores. (Grandma's actual tradition is roasting hotdogs and eating s'mores, but the kids always seem much more excited about the s'mores than the hot dogs!) Grandma has a fire pit on her patio, so we never have to worry about it being too muddy or too wet to build a fire. She also enjoys the enthusiasm with which they pick up the sticks in her yard for the fire.

Because of Daylight Savings Time, it's never dark enough these days to build a nighttime fire before the kids' bedtime. We have allowed them to stay up late every night during our visit to Grandma's, but the fatigue has caught up with us and made them very cranky. Since we have a nine-hour drive tomorrow with six children, we decided that we must have them in bed on time today. Crankiness is much more difficult to withstand when you're trapped in the car with it. (“Car,” of course, is loosely defined when you have six kids! It's really a huge, black limo van advertising charter service to Las Vegas. We got it on Ebay.)

So we let them make s'mores at 3 p.m. in a chiminea. Grandma had told the kids that she would give them a penny for every sweetgum ball they retrieved from the yard, and they came back with 704 sweetgum balls. They also collected, of their own volition, 294 pine cones. The sweetgum balls became fodder for a new throwing game, and the pine cones ended up in Grandma's chiminea. She thought roasting marshmallows over a pine cone fire would be a great idea. I thought they might taste like a Christmas tree—not that I've ever tasted a Christmas tree, but I did warm up a green bean casserole in the same oven that I had pine potpourri in, and the green bean casserole came out tasting very much like what I suspected a Christmas tree would taste like.

The thick pine cone smoke enveloped my children, stinging their eyes and stealing their breath. Grandma warned us that the pine cones would turn to ashes pretty quickly, and we had a whole package of marshmallows to roast, so we pushed through the inconvenience and roasted away. I prepared the crackers in pairs with a bit of chocolate perched right on top, waiting for the ooey gooey marshmallow to melt it down into the cracker. The sun did a fine job of that, too. It also melted the chocolate I had yet to unwrap and made my job much stickier. A small price to pay, if it meant an early bedtime.

The kids roasted two marshmallows at a time on old, contorted, metal hangers. They skipped back to me to scoop their cooked marshmallows onto the s'more as usual. I sent back Tyler and Tobias, my three-year-old twins, as usual, to cook theirs some more—one side black and crunchy, the other cold and raw! They dropped some on the ground, as usual, and scooped them into the fire with their hands. And when they finally returned, marshmallows bubbling and expanding, and I placed a graham cracker sandwich around them to cleanly scrape it off, I discovered one moderate drawback of daytime marshmallow-roasting.

You can't always see the fire burning.

I suppose the fact that the marshmallows were still bubbling and cooking should have clued me in. Perhaps the very hot sensation on my hands as I closed in on the gooey goodness. At some point, I realized my s'more was on fire, and thinking quickly, I blew it out. I couldn't even see the fire, and I saved the whole neighborhood from a raging inferno. Yes, I am wonder woman. Someone get me a skimpy superhero outfit. Well, not too skimpy. I did just have a baby.

After the kids had enjoyed enough s'mores to make them sufficiently hyper and sticky, I set about cleaning up. The pine cones had indeed turned to ashes, although a few sticks remained with sad little flames struggling to survive. I could still see the heat rising off the ashes, causing visual distortion of the house in the distance, so I stuck the metal hangers in the heat to disintegrate the leftover sticky white marshmallow, most of which was covered in ashes or dirt by this time.

After holding those stupid sticks in the heat for ten minutes, I realized something. That stuff was not going to burn off with just heat. It needed fire. I dug around in the ashes to find those lonely little flames and did my best to burn off the goop.

The Bible talks of the purifying fire in relation to our lives. God cleans our lives with suffering. Of course, the Bible uses gold and silver in its analogy—not marshmallows and metal coat hangers. It's a good thing, too, because when the trials end, I don't want to just be an old bent-up coat hanger. I want to be like gold. I want to be an imitator of God!

Grandma's s'mores tradition will always make the kids smile. They will reminisce about it together for the rest of their lives. I just hope they remember that I'm the one who saved the neighborhood from certain destruction. Even without the costume.

Packing

I'm procrastinating.

I've told my husband's grandmother that I will bring my twin 3-year-old boys and my baby girl to her house tomorrow. The wisdom of extending a 9-hour trip with rambunctious boys for the sake of a nursing infant is certainly the subject of debate for another day.

Today's issue is packing.

I have a note on my iPhone listing various items I need to remember to include. The iPhone lists are so handy, because I can jot it down any time a new item comes to mind, excluding, of course, those times when I'm driving. (I hope to God you exclude those times, too!)

So far, over the last four days, I've accumulated quite a list. It includes things like:
portable crib (very important and very forgettable!)
ibuprofen (equally important but easily accessible at any convenience store, should I forget it!)
diapers, pullups, burp cloths, bottles, formula, blankies, and infant gas drops (self-explanatory, I think!)
AND, of course, the vague but necessary, "stuff to do."

Stuff to do? How do you entertain two toddlers strapped in a car seat for hours on end? How do you keep them occupied for a four-day stint in Great-Grandma's "inside-voice-only" home while you, as the grown-up, try to visit in a grown-up way with the other grown-ups? Coloring books, crayons, TAG readers and books, snacks, songs, movies, stickers, balls, cars, costumes, sidewalk chalk, bubbles and perhaps glue and scissors, although that sounds like a really terrible, awful, no-good idea.

Wow, I feel like I'm running a preschool. Good thing I drive a huge, black storage cabinet with seats!

I just realized I forgot to put clothes and toiletries on the list.

Well, at least we'll have stuff to do.

Babies at a tennis match

I learned last night that when the Racquet Club says, "Yes, you may bring your infant to the tennis tournament, but we do require quiet," what they really mean is, "Please don't bring your infant." I swear, it was worse than church!

When we were seated, the stadium had a suitable dull roar that would cover the infant squeaks and grunts that inevitably would occur, and probably even a moderate cry. When Andy Roddick stepped to the line to serve, however, and the stadium when so quiet you could hear a pin drop on the concrete tennis court, my eyes widened and my brain screamed, "Oh dear God. That is quiet."

I did have to leave three times because of baby noises. However, we spent five hours watching two incredible matches. The first, Roddick (seed 1, and most handsome, I must say), vs. Tipsaharovich (seed 59, and quite comical) looked like a crusher, but Tipsaharovich gave him a run for his money. Julia's dirty diaper forced me to leave right when it was getting good. Roddick complained three or four times when the line judges misjudged his shots. Tipsaharovich took an opportunity to mock Roddick at a time when one of his shots was called out (and obviously was.) I am sorry I missed that. Laughter is the best medicine, you know. Roddick pulled out the match. It was a real treat to watch him in person.

Lleyton Hewitt played the next match against a guy named Mannarino, seed 69. I don't know Hewitt's seed, but he has recently been the top player in the nation! Mannarino actually claimed the first match. Hewitt and Mannarino both exhibited a competitive spirit. Hewitt actually broke his racquet in frustration at one point!

At 11pm, Mannarino had managed to secure a double-matchpoint against Hewitt for the set! Hewitt was serving. All was quiet. Hewitt tossed the ball up. And then...

Waaaaaahhhh!

Oh. My. Word. Talk about timing.

Hewitt let the ball drop. The entire stadium (which wasn't many) glared at me. I scooted out of there in a jiffy, and as I passed the usher, she sent me a look that I choose to interpret as sympathetic. I assured her that I would not be back. Chris followed shortly, and we watched the end of the match, which Hewitt managed to win, on the screen outside the stadium. They started their third set at 11:30pm, and I sincerely believe Chris would have stayed til the bitter end if Julia had not been there.

Well, lesson learned.

We spent five hours at the racquet club. The baby cried three times. I'd say she deserves a medal... as does Hewitt, for winning in spite of the noise.

The flag is up!

I don't drive to the post office ordinarily. I don't see the reason to do so. The post office comes to me every day. Every day (Sundays excluded, of course, because we're a Christian nation.) So I regularly put my mail in my mailbox right outside my door and flip the flag up. It works every time.

Except when it doesn't.

I discovered that birth certificate packet with its many enclosures scattered across my bedroom floor this morning, and upon further investigation, I discovered that Tobias, age 3, decided to do us the favor of getting the mail last night at midnight, opening it, and scattering it on our floor.

I can't decide what's more annoying--the fact that he displaced the *outgoing* mail or the fact that he did it unsupervised at midnight when the rest of us were sleeping. I do know which fact is more disconcerting.

A future escape artist? I hope not. A future postman? Maybe, but I doubt it.

At any rate, he's gotta learn what the flag means first.

Will she run for President?

What happens when you have an accidental unattended homebirth in the state of Arkansas? A paperwork nightmare. (If you thought that was a joke, you were sorely mistaken!)

I have spent more than eight hours collecting "evidence" that I was a) actually pregnant last year and b) actually living in the state of AR. I asked the lady at the Dept. of Vital Records if the testimony of 700 Facebook friends would be sufficient, but alas, it isn't.

I realize that very few people in the state of Arkansas actually have unattended homebirths, but the paperwork is like filling out a tax form, but with no instructions. Line 9b, for example, says, "Attendant." Who would have guessed that they wanted my name there? I thought I was "Mother." Anyway, the few directions that came with the paperwork were actually a copy of an inter-office memo, using jargon and abbreviations that rendered it almost useless--if not worse, causing more confusion that I already had!

After sending in what I thought was sufficient evidence, I received a call from the Dept. of Vital Records. Actually, I received four calls. In a row. About four different mistakes I had made on the form. She was actually very kind and typed up all my answers on a new form and sent it back to me to sign!

So, if you're planning to have an accidental unattended homebirth in the state of AR, here's what you need (never hurts to be prepared, right? ;-):

1. An AR driver's license.
2. A utility bill sent in your name to your AR address both BEFORE the birth and AFTER the birth. (We never received one before the birth.)
3. Some canceled checks that YOU signed (not your husband) to local businesses before the birth and after the birth. (Tip: "local" does not mean Memphis, TN.) (We sent dental records in lieu of canceled checks. =)
3a. Alternatively, credit card receipts from local businesses may be substituted, provided they are signed by the mother. (Question: When you sign a credit card receipt, who keeps it--you or the business?)
4. A "very pregnant" picture, either camera-dated or with today's newspaper proving the date of your pregnancy.
5. A similar picture of the newborn at birth, either camera-dated or with the day's newspaper, to prove date of birth.
6. All your prenatal records from AR-licensed medical personnel. (Tip: A TN-licensed midwife does not suffice.)
7. Finally, a dated ultrasound picture from a licensed medical facility. (Tip: A friend who does your sonogram as a favor to you does not suffice.)

So, if my evidence is lacking (No, 700 Facebook friends' testimony will not suffice) and J cannot get a birth certificate, perhaps my child can run for President. ;-)

DiaperFreeBaby.org

Diaper Free Baby, by Christine Gross-Loh, caught my attention in a bookstore sometime last year in Chattanooga. Do you know how much money we have spent on diapers over the last seven years with our five children? Not to mention the waste we've piled on our landfills! If there were a practical way to avoid diapers, I'd like to know! So I set about reading.

As a mom of six small children now, I certainly don't feel like I can devote my attention to baby Julia to notice when she has to eliminate. I was quite encouraged by the book's admonition that the goal of Elimination Communication is to maintain in your infant a distaste for sitting in soil, which can be accomplished in just a 4-hour diaper break each week. I can certainly let the baby sit on a waterproof pad for four hours a week. I can surely do that, I thought.

But I've done better than that! In a pleasant surprise, I've found I can tell when the baby needs to eliminate, and I can swoop her over to one of four tiny potties I have around the house. I hold her on my chest while holding the potty on my lap, and there she sits for 10 minutes or so while she goes. It's wonderful fun. As a bonus, I can tell she really hates sitting in her soiled diapers (which she has, because I just can't swoop her to a potty 20 times/day!), because she cries and cries and cries for a diaper change!

Saving money is great. Saving landfill is great. But what really motivated me to at least give it a try is the fact that my 3+ year old son trained for 12 months before he stopped fighting to have a diaper for elimination. He STILL hasn't "got it," but at least he's interested in wearing undies now. As he approached his third birthday, he was happy as a lark to sit in a dirty diaper for hours... or worse, in dirty britches!

Hopefully, with just a little attention to this matter each week, Julia will learn to use the potty quickly and efficiently on her own when the time comes to potty train her. Meanwhile, I'll be happy keeping a few diapers dry as the opportunity arises.

DiaperFreeBaby.org--making my life a happier place to live

Welcoming baby Julia Joy on 1-15-2011

We are officially Six Under Eight now! I will tell you, this baby transition has been much easier than any of the other infants I welcomed into my life, in part because my other children are much older and capable of entertaining themselves and in part because I have learned how important it is to ask for help or to hire help. I also thank God for answering my prayers for an easy, compliant child. (So far. She is only a week old!)

I'm going to post here a fairly detailed version of her birth, for my own recollection and enjoyment more than for sharing information with my friends. If you would prefer not to hear details about my cervix, then by all means, stop reading. If, however, you are like many moms out there who enjoy every goopy detail, then you have come to the right place!

God led me to a relaxation program called Hypnobabies when I was just 20 weeks pregnant. My midwife in Chattanooga actually taught the course, but when we moved to Memphis, I couldn't find any teachers, so I ordered the home study. I "practiced" every night by listening to MP3 tracks on my iPhone as I fell asleep. While they call it "hypnosis," cuing red flags from Christians hesitant about New-Age or Eastern Mysticism, I would simply label it relaxation sessions. I used the Hypnobabies techniques throughout my pregnancy to help me fall asleep or to soothe restless legs, and my confidence was high that it would help relieve the pain of my pregnancy. (They also, in this program, replace words with negative connotations, like "contractions" and "pain" with more positive words, like "pressure waves" and "pressure.") For that reason, the note I posted on the Hypnobabies forum reads much differently than this one!

Chris and I had hoped this child would be born on 1-11-11, because, well, that's just a cool birthdate. But Tuesday came and went without even one contraction. I attended my appointment with my midwife on Thursday, and she asked if I wanted to make an appointment for next week, to which I responded, admittedly whining, "I don't want to make an appointment! I want this baby to be born!"

Friday, I shopped at Walmart for three hours, collecting not just our standard weekly grocery items, but also enough food for 16 casseroles to put away in the freezer. I felt minor contractions the entirety of that trip, and I'm so thankful that my boys were so well behaved during that time! I didn't realize I was in labor at the time. I suppose I just assumed they were Braxton Hicks contractions, which I had been having my entire pregnancy.

By the afternoon, I told Chris I thought I was in labor, so I spent the evening relaxing on the couch while he took care of the kids. The contractions were very far apart and very mild, but they were regular. When I turned in for the night, I put on a Hypnobabies track, but my legs were so achy that I couldn't sleep. I assume the 3-hour shopping trip caused the incredible ache.

At midnight, I decided to draw a bath to relax my legs so I could go to sleep. While in the tub, my contractions sped to just 3 minutes apart. I had chosen not to time them, but when they came so close together, I got out of the tub and had Chris time them. They still were not painful. We decided to call the midwife, just because they were so close together. She arrived about 4am and checked my cervix. She said it was easily 3 cm dilated, maybe 4.

Lynda, the midwife, had not been able to reach her doula, Penny, at 2am, so she brought someone I had never met--Dee. Dee and Lynda slept on the recliner and the futon while I alternated between the bathtub and the bed, sleeping when I could. I had asked Lynda and my family, who were in the house, to leave me alone unless I needed something. Chris had set up a recliner in the bathroom, and he spent his time there puttering on his laptop unless I asked him for something. It was serene and tranquil.

At 10am, eight hours after I called Lynda and six hours after she checked me and said I was 3 cm dilated, I was still laughing and joking between contractions, and handling them beautifully and peacefully. I admitted to Lynda that I certainly felt like I was in the easy first stage of labor. She checked my cervix and said she thought I was an easy 5 but I could be a six. "If you're a six, we'll stay. But if not, we'll probably go home for a little while," she said. She had Dee check because she just wasn't quite sure of her measurement, because my cervix was "stretchy." Dee's face clouded, and she said, "I wouldn't even call you 3 at this point."

She gave some technical reason why, and I said, "Wow, that's so strange. That's so different from my other labors!"

She replied, "Well, I don't even think you're in labor now. Your cervix could have been like this for a month! It feels like a multipara cervix. When you actually start labor, it might be fast."

So she and Lynda left. Dee recommended that I take a nap or go to my kids' ballgame (which I'm SO glad I didn't do!) to distract me, and then call them later that night, or even the next day, when she anticipated the contractions would pick up.

I did take a nap--Chris and I both did. We probably napped a full hour! We had hired someone to watch the kids, and we had a rare hour of peace and quiet! The nap refreshed me, and when I awoke, I ventured downstairs, where Chris' parents and my sister-in-law were patiently waiting. During my little jaunt, the contractions started coming right on top of each other, but they were still completely manageable. I found Chris and made him hold me while I swayed during the contractions. I joked with him that I wasn't really in labor, but if these contractions didn't get any harder than this, I could handle this all day.

I felt silly calling Lynda back just one hour after they told me I wasn't really in labor, and my contractions still weren't painful, so I just didn't call her. Chris and I moved back to the bathroom, where I filled up the tub again, put on a tank top, and hopped in with my earbuds in, playing my Hypnobabies material. I sat straight up through a contraction, and it hurt like the dickens! I thought, "Shees, I'm not doing this position again!" and I shifted to leaning over the edge of the tub, on my knees. The contractions were very close together, and they took my breath away! I was able to start them with a long, slow breath, but by the time they ended, I was moaning and panting in pain.

After a few of these in the tub, I felt like I had to, um, empty my bowels, so I hopped onto the toilet, and I had a contraction there, and ended it with an uncontrollable push. But no bm. So I asked Chris to call Lynda, because I was feeling pushy, and I complained to him as I climbed back into the tub that I couldn't handle this kind of pain for another four hours. I estimated four hours based on my experience with my second child, Kora, where I spent four hours in transition.

During the next contraction, which also ended in a little push, I moaned and groaned and panted, and when it ended, I whined to Chris, "I lost control." He looked up from his computer and said very gently, "I know you feel like you've lost control, but you have to tell yourself that you have control." I nodded assent and asked him to call Lynda again.

On the next contraction, I thought I felt the stinging pain we call the "Ring of Fire" as the baby's head crowns. Absolutely stunned, I reached my hand down to confirm that the baby's head was, in fact, crowning, and as I did, my water broke. I said aloud, "Water broke!"

Chris responded, "Seriously?"

I said, "Yup" as I made another push and the whole head popped out into my hand. It was so big in my hand that I wondered if maybe it was a different body part! Grunting, I said, "There's the head." Chris said, "Are you pushing?!" I said, "Uh-huh." He said, "Well, stop!" And then I pushed out the body, into my hand, and I lifted her up. She was gray, covered in vernix, strangely swollen, huge lips, and huge hands. I heard Lynda's voice say, "Is the baby okay?" and then I realized Chris had called her and put her on speakerphone as he pulled out my earbuds and hopped to the tub to assist me. The baby answered with a cry. She pinked up quickly and cried a few more times. I was very astounded by how bloody the bathwater had become, and I reached down to drain the water, very aware that I was sitting in bloody water, but not so aware that draining post-birth water would seriously clog up the drain!

Chris yelled out the door, "We have a baby!" but his mother was the only one in the house at the time. We had expected to have the midwife, her assistant, my mother-in-law, my mother, and my sister-in-law present for the birth, but none of them were even in the house when the surprise came!

By the time the tub drained, my legs had weakened, and I just wanted to sit down, but the cord had not yet been cut, and I didn't feel like I had enough leeway to sit. I waited patiently while Chris called his sister, a doctor, to get instructions on clamping and cutting the cord. We had two clamps, but no scissors, in our birthing kit, so Chris' mom rummaged around the bathroom until she found some scissors. Chris clamped and cut the cord, I fell back into the tub, and they encouraged me to get into the bed, where Chris gave me a sponge bath. That could have been romantic under other circumstances. =) He propped me up on fourteen pillows, and I nursed Julia for 45 minutes. Lynda and Penny showed up an hour or two later, weighed the baby and check out the momma. Julia weighed a whopping 9 lb and 2 oz, and during that one behemoth contraction and push, I had no tears requiring stitches.

I lay in bed the rest of the day, and, of course, posted updates on Facebook for all my friends following the story. We took a few pictures, but my stinking camera was on the blink, and I sent it in for repairs the next day. Chris took plenty on his iPhone, though. I was so excited about the birth that I couldn't even nap!

The whole experience was serene, tranquil, peaceful, beautiful, and I wouldn't change anything about it. I would never, ever recommend an unattended birth, because so many things could go wrong, but in hindsight, I loved everything about this birth. Only the last twenty minutes hurt. My body responded exactly the way it was supposed to. The baby is perfect and healthy. It was everything I prayed for. Our miracle!

Now we have to go through paperwork nightmares to prove to the state of Arkansas that I really was pregnant and did, in fact, have a baby on 1-15-2011 at 1:45pm, with only Chris and myself as witnesses. But I have confidence it will work out. On the bright side, if we can't get her a birth certificate, she can always run for president. ;-)