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.)