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. ;-)

Another Home Depot Fart

So, we made a special order for a cabinet from the Home Depot about a month ago. We paid enough for it to expect decent treatment, but first, it took a month for them to deliver it. Second, a box turned up missing. A $400 box. When I called them about it, they said the delivery was signed for, so it's not their problem. I told them we received a delivery, yes, but a box was missing. They basically said, "Sorry, you signed for it." Seriously? Do companies actually operate like this? I paid $400 for an item that I have not received, and you're just going to say, "Your problem, not mine."

If only I were a newspaper columnist who could threaten bad publicity. =D The thought makes me grin with mischief. I could probably get my way pretty quickly and easily if I had that job.

Alas, I am reminded that we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against principalities, powers, and princes of the dark places (like Home Depot.) So, I'll pray about it before I go give them a piece of my mind.

Big decisions

Here's the big news: We have decided to have a homebirth.

I'm thrilled about the opportunity, and here's why: I've had some very normal births with some very offensive hospital policies and practices. With the exception of the twins' birth, all my births could have been accomplished at home. I know every birth is different, and that's why we spent much time in prayer about the decision.

With Saja's birth in North Carolina, a midwife delivered her in a hospital. I had told her how desperately I wanted to avoid an epidural because of the statistical connection between epidurals and c-sections in first births, and she actually talked me out of it when the pain became so unbearable. She offered Stadol, which took the edge off the contractions, and also allowed me to walk around at the end of my labor to finish off dilation.

Also during this birth, I heard, "Push! Push! Push!" until I actually pushed, and then, for the first time ever, I heard, "Stop pushing!" What? Since when do they tell a woman delivering a child to STOP pushing? I thought I must have heard wrong--I was on drugs, after all, so I ignored her. She caught Saja bare-handed, and I ended up with stitches. So that's why she said, "Stop pushing!"

During my second child's birth, I had moved to the Memphis area where midwives do not deliver in hospitals. I chose a single-doctor practice and gave him my very conservative birth plan, to which he reacted favorably. I started labor two weeks early and spent the majority of my labor at home, walking around the block or around the house for hours, eating grapes and drinking orange juice for energy, and bouncing on the birthing ball.

When the contractions became more unmanageable, we headed to the hospital, where they told me I was 9 cm. They loaded up my room with medical students without my consent, laid me out flat on a bed, and watched in disappointment as my contractions slowed down. I asked to walk around, and they told me no. I asked to bounce on the ball, and they said, "You're in the best position to have this baby." (What they meant was, "You're in the best position for US when you have this baby." No midwife would tell you that lying flat on your back is the best way to get a baby to descend and deliver.)

Finally, the last straw broke when Tanya, the nurse from the hot place, told me my fever "was cooking the baby" and I would probably need a c-section so I should just suck it up and get an epidural now. She proceeded to move to the foot of the bed (the business end of things, if you will) and gossip with the doctor about which nurses were shacking up with which doctors. I am not kidding. I thought I would punch her. They made everyone leave for the epidural except my doula, my mom, and my husband. Kora was born about 10 minutes after the epidural.

During my third child's birth at the same hospital with the same doctor, I also labored at home. When we arrived at the hospital, they refused to let my husband come back to triage with me because of the "Safe Haven" policy, where they ask if a woman has been abused. I told them at registration I wanted to waive that right and have my husband by my side the whole time. They said no.

I obeyed, went to triage alone, and when they saw how far along I was, they moved into high speed. I asked time and again for my husband, and it took them 45 minutes to comply. By that time, I had asked to forego the IV without medical indication, and they basically said that I had to have one, or they would make me leave. Seriously? I'm 9 cm and you're going to make me have the child in the lobby?? Whatever. But when Chris finally got back there, the nurses had blown two IV sticks, and he was so angry he was shaking. I still have nerve pinges occasionally from that blown attempt.

Finally, the doctor came into the room in a terrible mood, broke my water without asking or telling me he was doing it, and then turned on the television and turned around to watch it while I was pushing. I never felt the sensation to push with any of these children. They told me to push, and I did, and I burst capillaries in my eyes because of it.

The twins' birth went fine because I did it the way the hospitals and doctors wanted. I came in with mild contractions at 2 or 3 cm. They gave me an IV and pitocin. I lay in bed for 6 hours with no progress. They broke my water. I had an epidural. Three hours later, Tobias and Tyler were born. This was the first time I felt the pushing sensation, because the doctor wasn't in the room yet, and they were yelling, "Don't push!" (I obeyed this time!) It was a fine experience, and I have no complaints, except that the hospital charged us for an extra day in the nursery because Tobias was born at 11:59pm. He wasn't even IN the nursery until the next day, but they went ahead and got their $1500 because they could. Also, they made me choose only one person to stay in the room during the epidural, because it was hospital policy. How amusing that it wasn't hospital policy two years prior!

After all that complaining, I do want to reiterate that I appreciate doctors and hospitals, because they do save lives, both of mothers and babies, when medical intervention is necessary. It just seems that in many cases, doctors and hospitals do things that are most convenient for them, not for the patient. I'm excited about the opportunity to have a medical attendant at my birth who is most concerned about what is best for me and my baby, not for their building or their schedule. (My doctor with the twins had 13 c-sections scheduled for the day. That's why she broke my water at 9pm instead of earlier.)

We feel like God has led us in this direction and will continue praying for a safe, healthy, easy delivery and an encouraging story for families everywhere who have the same desires for themselves as we do.

Attached to the old

Today, I sold a beat-up old dresser with a fold-down desktop on Craigslist. I was proud of myself for getting the $20 back that we put into it last year when we bought it for the girls' room. Since we're moving into a furnished house, we don't need all our furniture, and I am thrilled that the girls will have a matching four-poster cherry bedroom suite. They're old enough to enjoy it and to keep it nice.

However, when Chris dragged the dresser out into the living room, Saja caught wind of our intentions. She kissed her dresser good-bye and then broke into tears. I had no idea she was so attached to it!

It is missing a handle. The fold-down desktop is no longer attached. The knob needs to be replaced. The drawers don't stop, but frequently fall out on the floor, scattering her clothes everywhere! A tic-tac-toe game is inscribed on one side of it. (I don't know if that's their doing or not. We did buy it used.)

Yet Saja refused any comfort from the one who snatched her most beloved treasure from her bedroom and sold it (to a missionary, none-the-less.) No amount of begging, reasoning, or bribing could stop the tears. I, against my better judgment, offered to buy her a brand spankin' new one for her birthday.

She said, "I don't want a new one. I don't even want one just like it. I want THAT one."

Her mood improved after I showed her a picture of a similar dresser that she would have in her room in our new home that even matched her bedroom suite. And Kora prayed at lunch that Saja wouldn't have a bad mood all day long.

The point is, it struck me how often we can do that exact same thing with the Lord Jesus. Perhaps he may want to offer us a brand, new dresser that has all its handles and pieces and never spills, but we tend to hang on to the familiar, regardless of its flaws and faults. It could be your job, your role in your family, your friends, how you spend your time, or even your attitude.

In the end, I told Saja, "I am the mom, and I get to make the decisions." In truth, God is waiting for us to make the decision to let go of that which displeases Him and embrace the fullness of the riches of His grace that He has awaiting us.

My love/hate relationship with my dentist

Carbocaine. The "pregnant" version of lidocaine, the numbing agent shot into your gums just before you go under the drill at the dentist's office.

Carbocaine is to lidocaine as tylenol is to ibuprofen. In other words, it doesn't work as well at its intended purpose, but for some reason, dentists feel like it's safer for pregnant women.

Last week, my dentist, Dr. Wilson, told me I had a new cavity in my wisdom tooth that needed a filling, as well as a leaking filling in a lower molar. I knew something was wrong for the sensitivity I had been having, and I was unwilling to wait 5 months until after the baby's birth to fix them, so I consented to two fillings at 8am on a Monday morning.

I mean!

If you are one of those people who hates Mondays, just remind yourself as you're sipping on your coffee every Monday morning that you could be drooling on yourself in the dentist's chair this morning, were God not so gracious to you.

Two applications of topical anesthesia goop, two shots of carbocaine, two shots of lidocaine, and lots of drilling. By the time he finished the first filling, the tingling sensation of feeling returning to my mouth concerned me, and sure enough, the drilling in the second tooth sent an uncomfortable shiver sensation through my spine. Dr. Wilson certainly obliged when I asked for another shot, but I think he finished the filling before the medicine made a difference.

Sadly, this meant I endured the apprehension of a possible zinger sensation, but become substantially numb at the grocery store after my appointment.

I do love dentists. I simply cannot live with the pain of cavities or abscesses, but I can't say that I enjoy my time in the chair.

Especially on a Monday.

New blog title?

I have been remiss in sharing the news with my blog community.

We're expecting.

Number 6.

(Not numbers 6 and 7! The first question people ask me is, "Are you sure it's not twins again?" And the second is, "Have you seen that show about the Duggars?" Listen, having six kids is nowhere NEAR having 19 kids and Counting!)

Still, I feel like this new addition mandates a blog title change. While yes, I did have five under five, in January, I will have six under age 8, which doesn't have the same ring to it.

I'm thinking:

"Not the Duggars."

Saja's got talent

Me: "Who wants grape juice?"
Saja: "I prefer water. I'm talented."
Me: (puzzled) "You're talented?"
Saja: "At spilling drinks, if you know what I mean."

Two minutes later, her ice water hit the floor... and the table... and the chair... and Saja's lap.

Thank God for good judgment in a six-year-old that helped me stay a little bit more sane today.

The one CSR who works the phones for Home Depot

So, we're remodeling a bathroom. It costs a lot, but we budgeted for it. I spent many hours selecting fixtures from Home Depot's website with the intention of going to the store and handling the items before ordering them online. Why, do you ask, would you order them online instead of buy them at the store? Good question, the answer to which is simple: the online prices regularly sat at $20 to $40 below the store cost, with free shipping to boot.

When I arrived at the store, I discovered they don't actually have all the items I picked out in stock. I should have anticipated this, since it's a common practice with all big box stores to carry more inventory online than in-store. I decided to simply browse the actual store, pick out new fixtures, and go home and order them online.

Bad idea. Turns out, Home Depot doesn't make it easy to find in-store items online. They have different names, different categories, and yes, even different model numbers for the same products. So the model numbers I hastily inscribed on my handy-dandy notebook in-store yielded no results in the search field. I accidentally discovered that some items might actually be available online when I accidentally clicked a link to browse shower heads and recognized the picture of the shower head I had picked out. The name under the picture was unfamiliar, but that was the one I wanted.

At least I hope so. I haven't actually received the order yet.

Well, after all that cumbersome effort to get the right price and the right product, I finally sat down, mid-afternoon, at the computer with the intention of completing the fixtures order for the remodel. Of course, when you need 30 minutes of distraction-free time, some kind of alarm goes off in the kids' heads and chaos ensues. I think I got up 15 times over the course of an hour to help Tyler "go potty," which I put in quotes because he never actually DID anything on the potty, but yes, he did go TO the potty.

By the end of it, I remembered that I was working on a laptop which did, in fact, also work in the bathroom, so I took it with me to watch Tyler sit on the toilet. He has mastered sitting on the toilet. That's why I will be thrilled with the new sitting area we have designed in our new bathroom, for the mom who has spent many hours each week watching a toddler sit on the toilet for the last 6 years of her life.

I pressed "Submit order" triumphantly after accruing a hefty total, but (and I pride myself on this) I scoured the Internet for a coupon and saved 10%. It just about covered sales tax.

Twenty minutes later, chaos ensued.

The credit card company called to say they had declined five charges from Home Improvement Warehouse based on suspicious activity. I told them I didn't know about Home Improvement Warehouse, but I did just make a hefty purchase from Home Depot. Is that what they meant? No, it just says Home Improvement Warehouse. And on it goes. I believe an hour passed, or maybe three hundred days for all the cumbersome mire we were wading through in the customer service arena, before they finally figured out that "Home Improvement Warehouse" was just a category, and yes, it might well be Home Depot. Why they broke it up into five charges is beyond me. I blame Home Depot for this whole insanity, because their weirdo accounting triggered suspicion in the credit card company. We told them we were remodeling a bathroom, and had in fact bought those items from Home Improvement Warehouse AKA Home Depot.

So then I called Home Depot and very kindly asked them to resubmit the charges because the credit card company has agreed to accept them next time they run through. After a very tiresome 10 minute conversation about why she can't do that, the customer service representative told me, "I don't mean to be rude, but you're just going to make things worse by running the charges again. It was already declined. I can't run it through again. You're going to have to make another order and cancel this one line-item." (Turns out, that wasn't entirely true.)

I replied, "Listen, I know a lot of this is automatic, but there has got to be a person or a department at Home Depot that manually handles problems like this. Can I talk to one of them?"

She said, "No ma'am, there's no one else."

What?! No one else works at Home Depot. This woman must be a superhero.

"You just need to be patient and see what happens over the next few days."

I said, "Thank you."

She then repeated her previous statement about making things worse not once but twice, to which I replied, "Thank you" each time, wishing I could just hang up without being rude.

So I hung up. And I was patient, which was hard, considering I was counting on "3-5 day delivery" and the items weren't even packaged up by day 3, much less shipped. The next day, I made the order again. I posted my 10% coupon and free shipping, and I also found those few lurking items that had alluded my notice the day before. So I was happy.

Then I clicked the "Live Chat" button to cancel the first order line-item, as instructed, even though it had already been declined. "Elizabeth" heard my story and set about cancelling. She then noticed that the items in the order were now routed, meaning they had been pulled from the warehouse and packaged.

I said, "That's funny because yesterday, they told me the credit card had been declined, and I would have to make another order."

She said, "Yes, I see in the notes here that you requested they resubmit the charges."

I replied, "I did. I was told that was not possible, and I would have to make another order."

She said, "I will proceed with the cancellation, but there's no guarantee it will work."

At least I can return the double-ordered items to any local Home Depot... she assured me (which I will have to do, according to the most recent automatic email I received from Home Depot). Of course, all the Home Depot assurances I've been getting lately don't make me confident. I imagine many more hours and miscommunications will be invested before this whole mess is over.

Maybe next time, I'll order from Lowe's... the other Home Improvement Warehouse. Oh boy, here we go again.

The middle child

Our oldest two children spent five days with friends this week, and I learned a lot about my middle child, David, who's currently 4.

I learned he can start a game on NickJr.com all by himself.

I learned he can navigate to the Braves baseball website and start watching video highlight or full-length games by himself.

I learned he can actually tell the score of a baseball game, and that he prefers to cheer for the "Not-Braves" team, just to tease his daddy.

I learned the sucker can read! READ, I tell you! Sounding out like a pro!

I learned he will sit for an hour doing puzzles or coloring scraps of paper without whining.

I learned he still likes to race the twins on little ride-on toys.

None of these things happen when the older, capable sisters are around, because why work when you don't have to? Why read when someone's always vying to read for you? Why race with little kids when you can be racing big kids? And forget starting a computer game by yourself when you have big sisters who beat you to the computer!

It's been enlightening and delightful, but I am glad to have the girls back. It will certainly be livelier!

Chore Charts

I created some chore charts in Microsoft Excel for my older kids, ages 6, 5, and 4, to reward good behavior and good attitudes. Since we homeschool, I also included schoolwork as an additional motivation for them. I reward all chores, schoolwork, and good attitudes with a smiley face, and on Mondays, I give them a penny for every smiley face. I also have a small section of bad attitudes that get a frowney face, and they lose a penny for every frowney face. There's really no way to do all the chores and schoolwork in one day, but they're on the chart to be rewarded when they DO get done, not as incentive to complete them every day.

When I created the charts, I had specific things I wanted to improve in our kids. You could create your own chart for the specific things your children need. For example, my children have a terrible habit of interrupting, so I put interrupting under the bad attitudes. We also have a whiner, so whining made the list, too. I have one child who breezes through her schoolwork, paying little attention to whether she's doing it properly or not, so I put "Get 100%" on the good behavior list. (The one who always gets 100% sure enjoys it!)

I made it to last a week, and I print it out every week for every child. Since we started, my younger ones have begun to help with chores, too, so I decided to let them in on the action. I print them out on plain computer paper, and then make an event of letting the children color and decorate their own charts.

As a side note, I posted the same chart for myself so the children could see how much money they could make if they would do my chores all week. It worked! The first week, I got $0.75, while they earned merely $0.17 or $0.20. The very next day, I woke up to my older two doing the dishes, the laundry, and the table! In fact, Saja completed nearly every chore on the chart!

Some people think that you shouldn't pay kids to do things that they should be doing anyway, like housework or schoolwork. But I have found, in the last three weeks, that I fight my kids much less, and their behavior has much improved. It's worth it to me.

Fishing in Hell

On one of our long car trips, Grandma gave us tiny, disposable cups, and told us to pass out different types of food in them to make the trip more interesting. So, at one point, we passed out goldfish, and we asked the kids where in the world they were fishing. Saja said, "Canada." David said, "The lake."

Kora said, "Hell."

What? Did I hear that correctly? "Kora, sweetie, I didn't hear you very well. Where are you fishing?"

"Hell!"

Chris and I stifled our chuckles.

Chris asked, "What kind of fish are in Hell?"

With authority and knowledge, Kora replied immediately, "Sharks and catfish."

Oh, well, then.

David's prophecy

Tonight, just before he dropped off to the Land of Nod, David, who is 4 now, said to me, "Mommy, this baby you're having, I just know it's going to be a girl. I just know it." I guess we'll find out in January!

He was so young when his little brothers were born that I never got to experience his anticipation before. It's very cute. He will make a wonderful big brother again.

---Coming out of the terrible twos---

I am all smiles.

I think the twins have turned a corner--from the hall of temper tantrums and miscommunication into the corridor of giggles and glee. Since November, there have been entire weeks when the only sound coming from Tobias was screaming--the WHOLE time! Today, we laughed, we played ball, we took a bath (okay, they took a bath, I got splashed), we read stories, and we talked. I asked Tobias to get a cup of water for David for breakfast, and he did! With pleasure. I smiled all day long!

Yesterday, the older kids decided to play hide-and-seek. Tobias, not one to be left out, stood in front of Chris with his eyes shut, counted to 20, and then opened his eyes. I watched to see how much of the game he understood. Turns out, not much! He took off like a shot around the table into the hall and back to the couch, in a well-worn circle that provides much entertainment in our house, giggling and squealing the whole time. Then he circled again, and again, and a fourth time, before he came to rest in front of his daddy, grinning a toothy, open-mouthed grin, asking with a sparkle in his eye to be chased.

I think the other kids may still be hiding. =D

But we had a blast playing the "Close-your-eyes-and-count-to-20-then-run-like-mad-in-circles" game with our newly-not-so-terrible-2's twins. =D

That sentence had a lot of hyphens.

Tyler has learned to kiss properly, finally. I must admit, I was none-too-thrilled (<--more hyphens!) to continue receiving slobbery open-mouthed kisses. Now he sucks in his cheeks and puckers his lips like a fish. I'll take it over tongue any day!

Last night, Tobias, lying in bed for his stories, said, "Daddy, mmmm?" and puckered his lips. I called Chris in, and Tobias repeated himself and then kissed his daddy. What a cute way to request affection!

And you should hear them bust Swiper on Dora the Explorer. Every time that sneaky fox shows himself on screen, Tyler yells, "Dider!" (which also, by the way, means "diaper," but usually not yelled at the top of his lungs at the t.v.) He also correctly identified the yellow steering wheel for Tito to continue his voyage after Swiper swiped it, despite Tyler's best preventative efforts. I was one proud mama.

Full of fish-kisses, bath-splashes, hide-and-seek-chase, and something-that-makes-me-want-to-use-hyphens-all-the-time, I am all smiles.

My life is a comic strip

This week has been the least normal week I have ever experienced, but considering that I've been a mother for 6 years, I suppose it's long overdue.

I don't have time to adequately describe the events of this week, so I'll give you the condensed version here, and go back and fill in the gaps with descriptive words and lots of ellipses when the kids are asleep... which means, for the most part, safe.

First, Chris, my nurse-husband, went to Knoxville on Tuesday. That's when David decided to slam the toilet seat down on--ahem--himself and leave a nice purple mark--"there."

Second, Tobias locked himself in the girls' bedroom, and I had to get on the roof in hopes of rescuing him. But I couldn't get in. He got out before I got off the roof!

Third, David fell two feet off the couch onto the hardwood floor and lacerated his head. We waited 5 hours in the emergency room for three stitches.

Today, David pushed his butt against the window in an effort to move the bunk beds, and broke the windowpane clear out. Thank Jesus he didn't follow, because the drop is 10 feet or more!

Doesn't it sound like a comic strip? Like one more event for the next panel? Like hyperbole? My life is a comic strip, and I am hyperbole. But with the peace of Jesus, we will make it through happy, and we will make it through sane.

Bedtime terror

Saja and Kora discovered that their new angel dolls say bedtime prayers when they push their bellies. One says the Lord's Prayer, and one says something that's NOT in the Bible, nor is it the common, but terrifying, bedtime prayer we learned as children about dying in our sleep. However, they both sound sweet and gentle, and the girls had fun pressing the buttons over and over tonight.

David, however, did not want to be left out, so he looked around the room and eyed another doll that makes noise. So amidst the sweet, gentle prayers of the plush dolls comes a terrifying roar of a dinosaur! (How apt.)

It was like watching Godzilla--Bedtime.

Honesty

Tonight, Kora was massaging my feet while I read her bedtime story. She raised her hand and asked very politely, "Momma, when I'm done rubbing your feet, my I please go wash my hands because they are going to stink very much."

I, of course, allowed it.

What kind of restaurant is that, exactly?

So... we're driving down the road today, when David bursts out excitedly, "Nutcracker! I see Nutcracker!"

I had no idea what he meant. We do actually own the movie, The Nutcracker, but it wasn't playing. So...

Kora asked, with much verve, the question on everybody's mind, "Where, David, where?!"

David matched her excitement when he pointed out the window and said, "Right over there, Kora!"

We were all confused until he sheepishly added, "Oh, I mean Cracker Barrel."

Ooooohhhhhh. Right.

Anybody want to join us for a down-home meal from Nutcracker? =D

Rat news

We've had mice before, and we survived. But last week, we saw a R-A-T. I'm talkin' a big, honkin', furry, long-toothed, gnawin' rat with a tail that doubled his body size. The thing was bold, too, coming into the kitchen for a bite to eat while I was standing there doing dishes. He found a hole where the cabinet doesn't quite reach the floor, but it wasn't quite big enough to drag the WHOLE APPLE back through. So, one morning, I found a half-gnawed apple surrounded by tiny apple-peel scraps sitting in front of his escape hole.

We saw him four times today, each time in the dining room, like a little pet dog coming to clean up after our dinner. Only it wasn't a dog. It was a RAT. Gross.

Chris bought a snap trap and a glue trap, and I told him he would have to take care of it all, because a) I was scared I would break my hand on the snap trap, because I'm that clumsy, and b) I did NOT want to deal with the death of a warm, furry creature on my kitchen floor. I don't even like stomping on spiders (but I'm warming up to it!)

The first night that he set the trap, he smeared peanut butter all over it. After 45 minutes, he checked the trap, and the smart, brave rat had licked the trap clean without tripping it! Shees. I told Chris he should paste a hunk of cheese on top of the peanut butter, and put the snap trap adjacent to a glue trap to ensure success next time.

Well, next time, no luck. I guess the rat was sleeping. Or making rat babies. Let's hope not.

Tonight, however, Chris set the trap with peanut butter again in the kitchen, in front of his favorite hole. I went down the kitchen stairs to start the laundry, and, incidentally, found a cell phone in the washer. I was fooling with the battery as I topped the staircase, entering the kitchen, when I heard the sound of death--the snap of the snap trap. This is not a soprano snap, like a teeny mousetrap. This is a booming snare drum that demands your attention, and without thinking, I gave it my attention.

And I saw the rat breathe it's last. It quivered. It affected me terribly.

I hid behind the door and yelled for Chris. "Chris! Chris! CHRI-I-I-I-IS!!!"

He came running, thinking I had tripped the trap! "Are you okay?!" he yelled.

I asked him kindly to please take care of that, and then it happened. I broke down in tears.

I suppose it's one thing to see a dead rat in a trap you set for him. But it's another thing entirely to see the thing die.

I know, I know, most of you guys out there are thinking, "That is SO cool! I wish I were there!" And I admit, I am such a girl. But that's how God made me. Emotional and whiny.

And while I feel quite traumatized at the moment, I am glad that I don't have to share any more apples.

(PS Thanks to my very sweet, darling, and loving husband for taking care of the remains. I hope it's not all I get for Valentine's Day.)

Nothin' like it

Chris and I spent the evening in a hotel in Gatlinburg, which was wonderful, and when we returned home, all the children ran up to us, yelling, "Mommy!" and "Daddy!" and giving us big leg-hugs. What a beautiful, fantastic, enthusiastic love. Down the road, I hope we continue to share this type of love, and that those short-people leg-hugs turn into full-bodied bear hugs.

The Rat in the House

It's a new Dr. Seuss series. You don't want to miss it.

I've dealt with mice before. They are a minor inconvenience, excused because they are just so darn cute.

Not so with a rat.

He's ugly. He's scary. And he looks like he can gnaw my finger off if I look at him the wrong way.

I don't even know how to trap a rat... humanely... "tidily"... successfully.

He has the audacity to come out in broad daylight and scurry--make that lumber--over my feet in the kitchen.

He chewed a hole the size of Lake Eerie in my bag of pancake mix and went for a swim in there. Then, as an afterthought, showered off in my rice.

A rat.

Ick.

I shiver.

and I will not sleep well tonight.

Exciting news!

Saja, 6, asked to be baptized last night. Our church will be licensing Chris on Feb. 7, so they're going to let him baptize her on the 14th! Daddy baptizing daughter on Valentine's Day!!! Isn't that sweet?!

Goodnight kisses

My boys are so affectionate. Tyler and Tobias have begun to play a goodnight game with me--when I get ready to leave their room for the night, I turn and say, "I love you! Night-night!" They either reply in kind, "Ly-lay-loo, Nite-nite!" or give me the flirty-eye. The flirty-eye looks like this: chin turned toward shoulder, slight smile on the face, and fluttering eyelashes. Then I say, "No crying when I leave!" They always giggle, because they know they're going to cry when I leave just to get me to return! When I close the door, they cry the worst fake cry you've ever heard. So I open the door quickly and say, "Hey, there's no crying when I leave!" And they both giggle. I'll lay my whole body on top of theirs so our faces are touching and say through puckered lips, "Gimme goodnight kiss." Sometimes they do, but most times they turn their cheeks and make me chase down their lips... which, of course, I do with glee. Bedtime can be fun, but it sure takes a long time!

THEN... I run upstairs to start bedtime for the older kids. I always kiss them on their cheeks after I read their stories, and sometimes, they'll throw their arms around my neck and yank me down, keeping my chiropractor in business. Tonight, David took my face in both hands, turned my lips toward his, and fish-kissed my lips ten times in a row! I left the room with a smile on my face and a light heart.

The most hilarious van adventure yet

So...

Praise God we're all safe and sound and tucked into bed tonight... and we didn't even have to call AAA Auto Services.

The girls wanted to swing on a friend's tree swing, so I took them over there at about 4pm. Tobias and Tyler had not napped, but I figured they wouldn't be too cranky with the outdoors calling their names.

Wrong.

Tobias fussed so much that I put him back into the car. Tyler thought that would be grand fun, so he joined him. They pushed the button on the van that automatically closes the door.

I knew that Tobias had a habit of plugging in our DVD player, which, when activated before cranking the car, will drain the battery. I also knew it doesn't happen ALL the time, and that I was parked conveniently for a quick jump, were it to happen today, so I let them play in the car for about 15 minutes while I kept an eye on them and the other children in the yard. I also chit-chatted with the Mommy-friend, Missy Rhodes.

Then it hit me.

Tobias has my keys. If he locks the door, I will not be able to get into the van. And I'm not so sure he'll be able to unlock the door on command.

I raced to the van, and sure enough...

It was locked!

I yelled through the window to Tobias. "Where are my keys?"
He went right to them... hanging out of the ignition.
"Can you push the button to unlock the door?"
He, in fact, did push a button. The LOCK button.
"No, no, baby, the other one. The UNLOCK button."
The lock button again. Sigh.
The he climbed to the door and manually pushed the button on the door--to lock it!
I suggested that he go back to the key fob and try again, and this time, he got it right, much to my joy and salvation from panic.

So, naturally, I tried to crank the car. D-E-A-D.
Missy offered to have her husband jump it if we had jumper cables, which I promptly located. Eddie, her husband, did NOT appreciate the fact that the red alligator clips were missing the rubber grips. Watching him try to attach the clips to the battery while thinking his risk of shock was high was like watching a little boy sneaking into the cookie jar. He jumped and squirmed and squealed, and finally asked, "Are you confident that this isn't going to shock me?" to which I, of course, replied, "Yes, I've seen Chris do this fourteen times." (Then I looked at Missy and mouthed the word, "No.") I offered to do it myself, but Eddie's ego would have none of that. He did settle down after I threatened his manhood. I missed a real opportunity with America's Funniest Home Videos having left my camera at home. Sigh.

Eddie, you could have won me $10,000. If I won, I would buy new jumper cables... with proper grips. =)

As soon as it cranked, Tobias turned the ignition back off. That boy.

Chris told me one time that driving four blocks doesn't do squat to recharge your battery, so if you have a dead battery, you should drive around 15 minutes or so. Our fifteen minutes led us to Little Caesar's, where I bought dinner for $5.46, and Kora fell asleep, and I nearly rear-ended someone while my attention was on opening the back windows for Saja.

But we made it home, safe and sound, and full. What could have been a tiresome, stressful evening turned out to be fun and injury-free. Thank you, Jesus!

Mary Kay Miracle Set really works

I started using the Mary Kay miracle set for my facial skin care two weeks ago. Last night, lying in bed with Saja, she caressed my face and then asked, "Mommy, why is your skin so soft?!"

Embarrassing moment of the day

Tobias stripped at basketball practice today. It was embarrassing. I'm sure I'll look back on it and laugh some day, but not now.

Learning new languages

Today at the Y, Saja squealed in excitement when she heard a young boy, about age 3, speak. "Mom, he's Spanish!"

I said, "I know. Did you say, 'Hola?'"

She looked at me puzzled and said, "He doesn't speak Spanish! He speaks... baby!"

Exercise and eating

We have to stop exercising to save our grocery bill.

The kids practiced basketball tonight, and when they came home, they had two helpings of dinner (which was really leftover lunch that they had refused at that time), two clementines, a half-cup of almonds, two bananas, and a third of a pint of blueberries--EACH. My eyes grew wider every time someone came out of the kitchen with another vittle in hand.

On the plus side, they ate my cooking. That's new.

So, I guess we'll keep basketball on the docket for now.

Reading with David

Disclaimer: I admit it--I push my kids academically. Not all 3-year-olds should have to learn to read.

David is almost 4. I went through Teach Your Child to Read in 100 Easy Lessons (which uses the Distar method) with Kora and Saja at age 3, so of course, David must follow suit. No options.

We stopped at lesson 50 before Christmas. He was being stubborn about it, so I decided to read colorful, easy Scholastic books with him to revitalize his enthusiasm.

Today, I reinstituted the EZ Lessons book, but we reviewed lesson 37. Here's how it went.

David read, "I am a log."

Then he said, "Ah, that's so funny. Logs can't talk!"

Then... the text said, "I can not sit on an ant."

... which he read perfectly.

"But an ant can sit on me."

David decided the story would sound better if he said, "But a tiger can sit on me."

... so that's how he read it.

I could NOT get him to sound out A-N-T if my life depended on it. I think EVERYTHING is a tiger to him. Heck, he's a tiger most days! So I'll laugh it off. I think it's still pretty good for a three-year-old.

Bedtime, anyone?

Tonight, I read Bible stories to the twins, prayed with them, lay down with them for a moment, then said, "Nite, nite, I love you!" and closed the door behind me. I always hope for a "Nite, nite, I love you," in return, but none was forthcoming this evening.

Then, as I usually do, I continued bedtime upstairs with the older children, reading stories and praying with them. However, half-way through, I heard crying from the twins' room. I let it continue 15 minutes before I intervened. When I opened the door, there sat Tyler, sans pajamas, complaining about, "Potty."

I quickly zipped him up and lay down with Tyler and Tobias for another moment to soothe them before I left again. Things got pretty silly! Tobias started playing peekaboo and the snoring game with me. Tyler kept crawling face-to-face with me and then giggling. Their favorite bedtime song? "I love Tobias, oh yes I do. I love Tyler, and will be true. When you're not with me, I'm blue-ooo-hoo-hoo. Oh, Tobias (or Tyler), I love you!"

I think I hear them dribbling the basketball now.

Oh, well. I'm going to bed. At least SOMEONE will be sleeping.

Ice cream in the winter

So... after naptime today, the kids received a treat--ice cream in a real sugar cone! Yippee!

Of course, it's 17 degrees outside, and about 65 degrees inside... not the best conditions for ice cream.

David knew this, being the smart fellow that he is, so he took his ice cream cone and stood in front of the space heater... facing it.

Drip, drip, drip.

Today's highlight

We had the twin's speech and language screened last week, and we were told they appear to be developmentally delayed. Neither one really speaks clearly, and definitely not in sentences. Imagine my surprise tonight when I asked Tobias, "Do you want some juice?" and he replied by holding up his cup and saying, "Just a little bit."

Tyler and Tobias both enjoyed Chuck E. Cheese this morning more than ever before. I gave them a cup with 10 tokens in it each. Tyler put all his tokens in the Clifford ride one after the other. Tobias figured out how to climb into the Monster Truck all by himself and enjoyed many minutes up there. Saja, Kora, and David plucked all the tickets off all the machines left from the early-morning test run, so we ended up with more prizes than ever before! We had the place to ourselves because of the light dusting of snow that shut down the world, and it was pretty awesome. I can see myself having a basement like that some day... minus the freaky robotic mouse and teeny-bopper music. Chuck E. Cheese- the place where a kid can be a kid--and a mom can have a break. We love you, freaky mouse!

Overheard:

Saja: "Somebody get me a pencil!" ... "David, you can learn to be a gentleman by getting stuff for girls."

English in Chattanooga

Kora: "Mom, when I say 'purty' instead of 'pretty,' it's because I'm trying to talk like our neighbor."

Competitive, me?

So, Saja and Kora had their first ever basketball practice today. We signed them up for Upwards basketball and requested that they be on the same team. This particular church decided to separate into a girls' league and a boys' league, instead of age-segregated leagues, so Kora, 34" tall and so many pounds, is on the same team, (and, I presume, playing against) full-grown Goliath second-graders. If nothing else, she will develop some scrap this year.

Both girls laughed until their voices gave out during practice. I know, I know, in high school, Coach Benton would have made us run ladders for such behavior, but it thrills me to hear my girls having so much fun. I hope sports will always be that fun for them.

So... at the end of the practice, the coach sat all the parents down to explain the Upwards rules: 1. Man to man defense always--decided by the color your daughter is wearing. 2. Substitution in order and fairness, not based on who's playing the best, so everyone gets the same amount of playing time (which actually plays in Kora's favor!). 3. The refs are volunteers, so if they miss a call, keep your cool, keep your attitude in check.

Eeeek. We haven't even started playing, and I'm already sensing a battle looming in the distance between my Christian self and my competitive self.

Bring on the Xanax!

Seriously, it will be fun. David found a soccer ball and ran himself silly dribbling back and forth across the court. Even Tyler discovered the mechanics of a bounce-pass tonight. Seriously. He's only 2. He did spend most of the night splayed across a volleyball on the floor as though he were a bridge. Tobias spent his time trying to dribble and then kick a basketball. I think we annoyed the other practicing teams. But you know what, I have a basketball team of my own in my house everyday! So if I find something that occupies all of them, like a gym full of balls, I'm taking full advantage of it!

(On another note, my hero husband rooted the pipes today, so no more sewage in the bathtub. Isn't that wonderful?)

A good day and yuck, yuck

We had a really good day today. We took the twins to a speech screening, and it was determined that they are, in fact, a bit delayed in language development. When we returned from the appointment, the twins played downstairs in the playroom while I taught the older kids. Saja's reading Sarah, Plain and Tall right now, and I cried twice during the first chapter! I remember reading that book as a child, but it seems to make more of an impression on me now that I am a mother.

Then we went to the YMCA, where I kicked my tooshie in a Step class. What was I thinking?

Chris, my darling, sweet husband, has been doing yucky work today--I threw a trash bag over the deck to the "trash area," and, of course, the bag burst. I intended to clean it up, but I persuaded my sweet husband to do it instead. He didn't complain one time... except to say that our trash can always fills up about halfway through the week. NOW, if you can believe it, he's got a coat hanger pushed through the toilet pipes trying to remedy a clog. We think a toddler might have flushed a comb... or a pair of scissors... or socks... or a water gun... or the toilet-paper-roll-holder... or a shoe... (these are all things we have found in the toilet on previous occasions.) And finally, someone has to clean the poo out of the tub. It almost makes you gag to read it, doesn't it? It's not poo that a baby did because of the relaxing warm water, oh no... it's gross sewage poo, complete with soggy toilet paper, now dried and crusty on the surface of the tub. Apparently, it's been seeping up through the bathtub drain. The whole downstairs reeks of sewage.

But that's okay, because no guests are allowed down there.

We keep them upstairs, with our dead Christmas tree and our applesauce-covered chairs. Care for a visit?

Laughter is good medicine for the heart

I want to laugh more with my kids. So I chased Tobias down the hall and back a few times before bed. Boy, was he thrilled. It was cute.

Tyler and Tobias each got a TAG, Jr. reader for Christmas. They played with them just before church. It's a toy that reads a book to them, but there's no pen or machine to break. (We'll see about that--people who use the words, "Unbreakable" or "Guaranteed" haven't met my kids!) Each page of these particular books we have play a Christmas carol or the Alphabet song. Tyler and Tobias, and occasionally one of the older kids, were jamming to the oldies all afternoon.

Speaking of, this morning, when we walked in church to drop the boys off in the nursery, Tyler wandered off. I finally found him 5 minutes later mesmerized by the rehearsal of the praise band. He looked as though he were in Heaven. If I had given him chocolate, he would have been in Heaven!

Kora told me her favorite part of the day was church, "because I can't remember any other part of the day."

David tried to sit in big church tonight, but when he started slinging his binoculars around up and down the aisle during the sermon, I decided we needed more practice before we attempted this.

Saja told us she wants to be baptized, but with all the other distractions of our misbehaving children, she, too, was whisked away to nursery. Our dramatic child, she lay on the pew in a pout, claiming her legs hurt too much to stand or even sit properly. So, off she went to play in the nursery, where the strength of her legs miraculously returned.

Now I listen to the silence and smile at my day. That, my friends, is my goal.

New Year's Resolutions

I recently read an article that suggested making New Year's Resolutions that you can keep instead of unattainable (and thus, discouraging) goals of perfections.

Saja and Kora have done just that.

Once we explained to them what a resolution was, they caught on quickly and wrote things like:
1. Read Bible every day.
2. Eat Candy.
3. Watch T.V. every day.
4. Be nice.

These are resolutions... if not in the grain we normally associate with New Year's Resolutions and becoming a better person.

It's Jan. 2, and so far, so good.

Wardrobe Malfunction

Tobias and Tyler wore underwear today. They eagerly put them on, and they just as eagerly take them off. Today, Tobias went upstairs into Chris' office wearing them, and then he took them off. As if to see how proud Daddy would be, he began the tedious process of putting his Elmo underwear back on... both legs in the same hole.

Then he tried to walk.

Then he fell over.

Then he cried.

You can guess what Daddy did...

Laughed.

And then repeated the tale so the rest of us could enjoy it.

Santnigalas and other little-known Christmas Carols

Saja wrote a list of Christmas carols to sing while we cleaned up yesterday. Mondays are our new "Scrub the House" cleaning days. It's exhausting. I didn't find the list until dinner, and it gave me a much needed laugh. Included are the following:

Joy to the world
Hart the hrrld
Jingrldells
DingDong meralion hie
Gotell it on the mountin
SiLinnight
O Chrismas tree
Old Santnigalis

Oh how I love this age... the beauty and delight of a 6-year-old mind thrills my heart.

Potty training or potty playing?

So, I tried potty training the twins in July at 18 months, then again in September at 20 months, but after seeing how incredibly difficult it was, I decided against becoming a walking mop and waiting until they were more ready. I have left the little potties out, and I let them get on the toilet for fun. I think it's adorable to see them fight over who gets to sit on the toilet. Tobias has always been able to pee on command, but he doesn't go when he has to go. Tyler has not once, in this entire 6 months, actually done anything in the toilet.

Until today.

Tyler took his own clothes off, retrieved the little potty, sat on it, and did his business without any adult attention whatsoever.

Praise God, I hope it's this easy. Maybe we'll try again in January after things settle down a bit from the holidays. I would love to make you all jealous with my incredibly easy potty training stories. =)

Unscathed escape

David always makes me wonder, "How do we ever make it to adulthood?"

Last night, my household helper took a leave of absence. This morning, the kids and I spent three hours cleaning various parts of the house. We had just finished the girls' bedroom when I decided I should start making sandwiches for lunch. As I sliced the hoagie in half to share with Chris, I heard the most enormous crash from the living room. Rushing in, my mind raced with speculation as to what could cause such a loud, long, tinkling, lingering crash. All the lamps tied up together and dragged across the ground? A baseball through the window? The television pulled to the floor?

Alas, the real culprit actually never entered my mind. There David sat, on the loveseat, somewhat in shock I think, staring at what used to be our glass-top coffee table... in shards... all over the floor. When I say "shards," that's exactly what I mean! Large, long, lean, pointy pieces of glass scattered across the floor, and some lay caught in the decorative metal on the table, pointing straight up.

I had no idea what to do except what any good wife would do. I yelled (some might use the word "screamed"), "CHRIS!" To my amusement, he came rushing out of the restroom, zipping on the run. He guided David to safety and coralled the kids into the playroom. When he returned, I asked for a cardboard box to put the pieces into. He retrieved one for me, then suggested I go find some work gloves (which I was unable to find), and then retreated to his office.

While I feel emotionally drained and sad to have lost my nice coffee table, I am relieved that David survived unscathed. I think a little scratch might have done him good, because he's showing very little remorse, or even the ability to put the cause and effect together. None-the-less, I firmly believe that God works all things together for the good for those who love him, and I'm eager to see how wonderfully God will use this in our lives. I believe angels were guarding my sweet boy today, and I thank God that the only thing we lost was our table.

Kora's new game

Kora is a big ham. Not literally, of course, but in her personality. She's started doing the Mwah-ha-ha laugh when she's picking on her siblings. I thought she invented it all by herself, but today at breakfast, I heard her daddy do the exact same thing! Kora really gets Chris' sense of humor, and she plays along with him a lot. Saja just calls him on his teasing with a "get-real" attitude.

It's fun to play with Kora.

Mwah-ha-ha!

When did this happen??

Saja turned six last week, and something happened. She's talking about b-o-y-s!

We were invited to a birthday party for an 8-year-old neighbor boy named Mason. On the way there, Saja said this:

"Mom, do you know what I said to myself in the mirror? I said, 'Maybe Mason will see me and think I'm the prettiest girl at the party and fall in love with me and want to kiss me!'"

After I laughed hysterically, I asked her not to kiss Mason, to which she replied, "Okay, but what if he wants to kiss me? What do I do?"

Sigh. If only it would be this easy when she's a teenager.

David's thought processes

I love age 3. The kids start talking. They start understanding the world. They process their thoughts so differently than adults. And they believe everything we tell them so literally.

The other day, we left the kids with Grandma and Mimi for the weekend. When we got back, David just looked so much more mature than when we had left him! I think it was due, in part, to the fact that he was the oldest child in the household. We left the girls with Mimi and the boys with Grandma.

So, I praised him, "David, you look so big and grown-up!"

He responded, matter-of-factly, "That's because I eat meat."

He's wonderful.

Funny lines from growing girls

So, today I found out some candy recipes call for paraffin wax. "Paraffin wax!" I exclaimed at the dinner table. "That's like eating a candle!"

Chris replied, "Well, would you prefer beeswax?"

"Yes!" I said, thinking that its relation to honey made it more edible.

Saja piped up with her own suggestion. "How about earwax?!"

Can we just say... YUMMY!

**********************************************************

The other day, the kids were in the car watching a DVD cartoon about Jesus' death and resurrection. I, of course, couldn't see the movie, because I was driving. I actually wasn't even really listening to the movie either.

Kora yelled from the back, "Mom! I thought Jesus was strong!"

I said, "He was strong, dear."

She said, "Then why didn't he just break the rope and run away?"

I discerned she was questioning the part where the Roman soldiers carry Jesus away from the Garden of Gethsemane after Judas' kiss... and then I bumbled around. "Um, ah, because he... Um. Kora, he chose to be born as a baby so he could die for our sins."

She said, "You mean he WANTED to die?!"

"Yes," I said, "because he wants us to live with him forever in Heaven, and that was the only way to make it happen. He loves us that much!"

Kora replied, "I don't like to die. I would have broken the rope and run away."

Well, at least we're not in danger of her helping herself get to Heaven sooner than she's meant to!

Wings and Wet Pants

Yesterday, we drove to Cleveland to visit Chris' sister at a McDonald's for the specific purpose of letting the children play while we visited relatively uninterrupted. Although it had rained, I thought the outdoor playground would be somewhat dry because the slides were tubes. It wasn't.

The kids played anyway. They soaked themselves gleefully.

Later, I overheard this conversation:

Kora: "I wish I had wings."

Saja: "Why?"

Kora: "Because my pants are wet."

Saja: "What?"

Kora: "So then I could fly home and change."

Saja: "Why don't you just wish for dry pants?"

Hell... and the path thereto

Today, I spotted Kora and David hovering over the floor vent in the dining room. David had removed the massive, unsecured vent cover, revealing the cold, gray tube snaking down into the basement. (This, of course, is against the rules.) As I walked by, Kora looked up, not with ashamed repentance, but with true bewilderment. "Mom," she asked, puzzled, looking down the vent, "is this the path to, um, Hell?"

Excuse me while I stifle a laugh.

Pregnant again??! NOT ME!

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

David's Bible lessons

Tonight, at bedtime:

David: "Mom, will we see God in Heaven?"

Mom: "Yes, honey."

David: "Mom, will we see Moses in Hell?"

Mom: "No, baby, Moses is in Heaven. God buried his body."

David: "Mom, did God send Moses back to Peru?"

???

PERU?!

Mom: "Moses was in Egypt and in Israel."

David: "Oh, I thought he was in Peru."

Well, we either need to spend a bit more time on Bible, or a bit more time on geography.

The highlight of the game

Tennessee Temple University has an athletic department--they even have girls' volleyball. Chris and I took the kids to the game tonight, somewhat hesitantly because as bedtime approaches, the kids become more easily irritable and less able to obey the rules. Can you imagine the embarrassment of the poor mother of the child who runs out onto the court during play? It's not rec-ball, folks, it's college-level! (Interesting fact: Christian colleges have their own division of sports: NCCAA. I'm guessing it's NOT a notch above NCAA. Just a thought. =)

So, the twins spent the evening content to watch the game bouncing on our laps. Fabulous! They, of course, were the ones I envisioned shooting out into the court before I found a free hand to stop them dead in their tracks. The older three, however, found complete bliss in climbing under and clambering over the bleachers, as well as tormenting the hideous and somewhat rag-tag would-be mascot who appeared during the second game.

Tennessee Temple Crusaders... or Cavaliers? Either way, it is most definitely not a wolf. This wolf had an enormous head with huge, yellowed, enameled teeth. They were awesome. If I were not a mother of small children who have nightmares, I would really love those teeth. Kora thought it would be really cool to jump up and nail Wolfie on his head a billion times until the head fell off. I think she succeeded once. I was doing my best to bounce Tyler on my knee, look occupied, and ignore the situation. Meanwhile, David got it on his mind that Wolfie needed to show his true colors, so he pantsed him.

That's right, my children were simultaneously beheading and exposing the sort-of mascot of a Christian university.

Chris and I could no longer live in the land of the apathetic. Action had to be taken. Chris chose to confront the situation head-on. (Pun intended.) Wolfie was put back together, our children were chastised and instructed on proper college-level girls' volleyball etiquette, and we went about our merry way.

I am sad to say the girls lost, but truth be told, who could watch the game when the entertainment stole the show?

What Saja wants to be

Today, Saja told me what she wanted to be when she grows up: an art-girl. I asked, "Do you mean, an artist?" She said, "Yes, I want to sell my painting and get money for them."

Hmmm... I think this is one of those occupations that really builds your faith in God with regards to regular income.

But I like art. If my daughter can decorate my walls for free with her uber-fabulous art, I am ALL FOR IT.

Birthdays, by David

Our children have no problem talking to strangers. They do it all the time, they do it well, and they do it extensively. I overheard Saja today telling a grown man how best to potty-train his 2-year-old. "I know," she said, "because my twins are potty-training."

The other day, someone came to visit, and they asked David how old he was. Instead of the standard answer, "Three {or 'free' as the case may be]," accompanied by the appropriate amount of fingers, David said, "On my next birthday, I'll be four... and on my next birthday, I'll be five... and on my next birthday, I'll be six..." By this time, we smiled and tuned him out. Faintly, in the background, I heard, "And on my next birthday, I'll be seven." I thought, Shees, this could go on forever!

To my surprise, his next words were, "And on my next birthday, I'll be forty."

And that was the end of it.

Living in Highland Park

I started a new blog to journal our Chattanooga Adventures:

LivingInHighlandPark.blogspot.com

I hate to double-post, so I won't. You just have to go read it yourself.

No Coincidences

This story starts 18 years and 11 months ago, when Chris' mother discovered she was pregnant with her fourth child. Chris was 14 when Josh was born.

Chris graduated seminary this year and felt led to follow Dr. Jim O'Neill for a year in preparation for our missions. Dr. Jim O'Neill felt God lead him to leave Philadelphia to work in Chattanooga. For that reason, we live in Chattanooga.

...which happens to be merely 2 hours away from the Braves, who are playing the Phillies, of all teams, tonight in Atlanta. Chris and Dr. O'Neill and his daughter bought tickets this week for the Sunday night game.

Josh graduated high school this year, and chose to attend UT at Knoxville. Freshmen were allowed to move in this weekend, but if they wanted to bring a car, it cost $250/semester, so Josh chose to leave his car at home. So, his parents graciously took him to Knoxville, (and then took him to Walmart to buy stuff he left at home!), and then decided to come visit us, a mere 2 hours away. They planned to stay one night and leave early Sunday morning before church to head back to Memphis.

After they arrived, we received word that Chris' grandmother was admitted to St. Joseph's hospital in Atlanta for heart surgery. She has an atrial valve that apparently has needed replacing for many months, but caused such ill health last night that Grandma had to be admitted.

Chris offered to take his mother with him to Atlanta so she could be with her mother.

So she stayed and attended church with us at Highland Park Baptist Church.

Our associate pastor stopped us before the service and said he just met another family from Bellevue who just moved to our neighborhood to go to UTC. We actually found them and sat with them throughout the service, but Chris' mom and dad didn't sit with us, because they arrived later than we did.

After the service, Chris' mom came to see us, and when our new friend from Bellevue turned around, they realized they knew each other. Chris' mom had been her Sunday School teacher!

Our new friends spent a good portion of the day with us, and we're both thankful for the fast friendship formed from our common denominators, having both just moved here as young mothers. Do you see how many facts had to fall into place at just the right time to work out the way it did?

The longer I live, the more I see God's hand in every aspect and every decision of my life. I like it. It makes me feel loved to know I'm that important to him.

Healthy Eating Habits, by Kora

Today, I treated my family to dried blueberries covered in dark chocolate--a very healthy treat loaded with anti-oxidants and stress-relieving elements. Of course, my children gobbled them down. Saja innocently asked, "May I have more to go give Daddy some?" She really meant that. Some children (ahem, Kora) are devious enough to ask that question and then eat the extra pieces themselves!

As they were eating them, I said, "Isn't this yummy? It's a very healthy snack."

Kora, now 4 years old, replied, "It's healthy??! It doesn't taste so healthy!"

Shining the [brass] sink

FlyLady.net has a great program to get overwhelmed housecleaners (aka "Moms") back into the groove. I feel blessed to have conquered the clutter issue when we packed up to move. It hasn't crept back into my life yet! We do have a few "hot spots" where clutter tends to collect, but we've been wary of bringing clutter back into our lives.

What we do have, however, is a house that was not clean when we moved in. Our bathroom sink looks mottled, like a cheetah, from the toothpaste water spots left on it. It tarnishes. Seriously. Who the heck needs a SINK that tarnishes?! I don't keep anything in the house if it requires me to polish it. I don't care how wealthy it will make me--if I have to polish it, keep it OUT of my house. Oh, except the stinkin' bathroom sink. I kind of need one of those.

So, I googled it. A quarter-cup salt, half-cup vinegar, half-cup flour to make a paste. Rub on sink, water-spots disappear. Note to self: If any toothpaste or shaving cream happens to be hanging out, rinse it off first. Somehow, a certain spot started off as green toothpaste, and after the vinegar treatment, ended up as an unremovable red streak. The sink still looked a bit dark, so I applied a thin layer of toothpaste and, gasp, polished. The tarnish came completely off, and now the sink looks like the brushed brass it was intended to be.

Chris walked in and said, "Boy, I bet the faucet could look like that too." Sigh. Twenty minutes later, the faucet and the sink BOTH blind you as you walk into the bathroom. It's not maintainable. We'll see what happens in a week!

I took the same paste treatment to the kitchen sink to attack the water spots staining the stainless steel sink. I rubbed and rubbed, ignoring the offensive attack on my nose. I rinsed and rinsed, just as I had previously done in the bathroom. Do you know it did not-a-lick-of-good?

That's when I pulled up FlyLady.net. She sure knows how to shine a sink. I have, however, in my dedication to declutter, pitched the bleach. So I cannot shine the sink.

Oh, well, there's always tomorrow.

And if there's not tomorrow, I'll be in Heaven, where no one will need to polish anything to be blinded by its beauty.