Caught

What do you think

little kids do

when the grown ups are off chatting?

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Well, first they steal the camera.

Then one climbs way up on a rickety bookshelf

while the other snaps

a picture of the crime.

(shhhh! mommy will never know!)

Photo by four year old Benjamin. You have a great future career as a photographer for the tabloids, Benj.

In loving memory

I went to Ruth’s today. I was nervous to go, not knowing if I would be able to somehow help, or if being there with Jonah would hurt. I am so glad I went.

Ruth has been my friend for a few years now. We met at a support group I host for women who have experienced a traumatic birth. Last year when Guy and I experienced our last miscarriage, Ruth had one a week later. Ruth and I became pregnant again just 10 weeks apart, and had enjoyed sharing our pregnancies; complaints, joys and all.

A few days before her due date, Ruth came to see Jonah for the first time. She was round bellied, tired, excited, and counting the days till she would finally meet her baby, who she had named Rhys (pronounced like Reese).

On the 15^th Ruth called. Her hello didn’t sound very good, and I figured she was just plain exhausted from being 4 days overdue. I asked if she was ok.

“Rhys went to live with Jesus” she said, softly beginning to cry. I barely comprehended her. What did that mean? I tried to put it together in my mind, while my voice blankly responded to her, asking questions and echoing over and over, “Oh, Ruth, I’m so sorry…”

I hung up the phone, and sat in the studio for several minutes repeating her words in my mind. Then I looked down at Jonah, asleep in my arms, and it hit me. I burst into tears and sobbed endlessly. I called Guy, crying, and told him. His sincere shock came to my ear in a whisper, “Oh, no!” I didn’t have any answers for his questions of why, because I realized I had not heard a word of what Ruth had said after telling me of her agonizing loss. I told Guy of my lifeless response to her news, and decided I must call her back. Certainly she must have been pained by my distant response. When she picked up the phone, my voice tried to reach out to her through my tears, “I just realized, I am so sorry, I didn’t understand!” We talked and cried.

Ruth had gone into labor, and was excitedly looking forward to meeting her wee babe soon. She called the midwife and prepared herself for her homebirth. After a few hours Ruth realized that it had been some time since she felt the baby kick. When the midwife arrived, no heartbeat could be found. Ruth was hurried to the hospital where her worst fears were realized. Baby Rhys was born at 2AM, and Ruth and her husband Steve met their baby, then soon said goodbye.

I hung up the phone, weeping. I have wept, and at times sobbed, in the days since.

At Rhys’s memorial on Friday, I was so touched as Steve bravely stood before a room filled 300 strong, and spoke from his heart. “I refuse to let Rhys become a tragedy in my life.” He said. He spoke of the amazing outpouring of love to their family, of how relationships were being strengthened, friendships rekindled, all because of little Rhys. He encouraged us all to reach out to someone in our lives from whom we had grown distant. I came straight home and made a phone call to someone I deeply miss. That was what Steve asked from us as Rhys’s legacy, and I wanted to make that legacy start in my life.

So today I spent the day with Ruth. We cried a lot. We laughed quite a bit, too. She shared with me the beautiful portraits that had been taken for them by Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep, a group of photographers who donate their time to take the tender images of stillborn babies for their grieving parents. I tidied the house and fed the kids, but my small efforts seemed so weak in the shadow of my friend’s loss. Ruth held Jonah while he slept, and by some small miracle, he slept for hours, seeming to soothe her aching heart and empty arms. Small miracles are welcome in this home.

So this is my simple tribute to Rhys. I never was blessed to meet him. But I know that God knows him, and knows his mother and father. I know we will not understand why this sweet angel didn’t get to stay, or why his mother has to say goodbye in this life, but I know she will hold her son again, because I know God loves his children.

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Ruth is in all of my prayers, and I know she would welcome your prayers, too.

How to get your kids to eat dinner

Two nights ago the kids were unanimously grossed-out by the dinner they were served. They whined, they moaned, they threatened to puke. I grew up in an Eat-it-or-else house so I stink at dealing with food strikes. Guy was handling it all very well, though. First he began complimenting them on their awesome "Yuck" faces. Then he made it a competition to see who could make the most disgusted, obnoxious, completely repulsed face after each bite. The winner, he promised, would get "The biggest bowl of ice cream".

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Ethan won, hands down. And after dinner was over (and eaten, I might add) he was handed, with great pomp and circumstance, the biggest bowl we own, with two scoops of ice cream in it... two scoops, just like everybody else.

The face he made next was classic. (see photo :)

*****

I gotta say I have been pretty impressed with the boy lately. He has pulled his grades up with great determination. He takes care of collecting cans each month for the scout's ongoing fundraiser, never complaining about riding his bike with huge bags of cans dangling from both hands, or about standing in line with the local hobos and wine-os to cash them in. He has been working out, eating well, taking care of his scout and church responsibilities, all without being prodded.

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But what impressed me most happened a few nights ago. He came out of his room after having gone off to bed, and handed me a book-on-CD he had recently checked out from the library. "Here Mom," he said, "This book is really inappropriate. It has a lot of swearing in it, and I shouldn't be listening to it." His voice sounded almost reverent. No, not reverent, self-respecting (is that a word?).

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What a cool kid.

Living in Disneyland

Just before Jonah's blessing, there was a flurry of cleaning. It was a feeble attempt on my part to reverse the effects of months of deferred maintenance while I grew a tiny human. At one point, having run out of time to actually mop, I gave Tessa a wash cloth and asked her to spot clean the floor. She happily obliged, and a few minutes later said,

"Mama, I is like Cinderwella."

"You are?"

"Yeah, cuz I is cleaning da' floohr, only I don't have a dwess of wags."

Not 15 minutes later, Ellie came in to ask if daddy would be the one doing Jonah's blessing. I told her he would, to which she replied, "Can you tell him to lift Jonah up like in Lion King?" She struck a Rafiki-pose, her face stoic and serious, raising her arms to the sky as though she were holding up young Simba.

A few days later, Tessa got a cloth and went at the floors again, only this time she was really workin' it.

"Look mom. Dis is my upset face, cuz I am Cinderwella and I am sad washin' da floohr."

If there is a casting call for a Disney film any time soon, somebody should let these two know about it!

Sending a prayer

A dear friend of mine is going through a trial right now that no one should ever have to experience. I don't feel like her trial is mine to share, so I can only say my heart is with her. I can't quite focus on anything else right now than her and her pain. I think of her dozens of times a day, and each time I am overcome with my inability to help her. Only time, and her faith in God can. So each time I think of her, I just pray.

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I know you don't know her, and you don't know why, but maybe you can pray for her, too.

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Beautiful photo by Ethan

Wait and see, cradle crap and potty talk

Warning: The following contains graphic descriptions of breastfed poop. Reader Beware.

Jonah's doctor visit last week was, um, ok…I suppose. Doctor V. agreed with me that due to the blood I had seen in is dipe, Jonah likely has a food allergy . Of course, just like when you go to the mechanic because your car is making a weird sound, and the sound disappears while you are there, Jonah had no blood in his diaper when we were there. But the green mucus was still there, as was his reflux. The good doctor gave him some reflux medicine which seems to be helping some, but she also said the words I feared, “Well, he is clearly thriving, so I am not concerned about him. This will probably resolve with time, so we can just wait and see.”

Yikes. Wait and see? He is in pain, I told her. To me, thriving or not, he deserves to have his pain investigated. She said give the reflux medicine a chance. What if it isn’t the reflux? I had asked. One step at a time, she had replied.

Dang. I don’t do waiting well, especially not when my baby is in pain.

As far as the rash goes, she suggested hydrocortisone cream and said it was likely a very bad case of cradle-cap. It didn’t make sense to me to treat the symptom and not the cause. I had read that cradle cap was the fungus (one that we all have a little bit of) that also caused dandruff. There is a special shampoo that I had begun using a while ago that has medicine in it to kill the fungus, but I had stopped because the rash was still there, and I started pursuing the food allergy idea at the same time. When Jonah showed some improvement on his skin, I had attributed it to the diet changes.

When we got home I gently exfoliated Jonah's skin with a pinch of salt granules and bathed him for two more days. His skin cleared almost completely.

With all of the crying Jonah has also developed an umbilical hernia. His little belly button has become an outie, and a large purple one, at that. Again, her response was to wait and see if it resolves on its own. In this case, I am ok with waiting. I would hate to subject him to surgery that was not necessary.

She suggested I stick with the diet if it helps. So I haven’t really known if it is the food, reflux, or itchy rash that has had him screaming, but since the rash is gone, and he is on meds but still fussy, I am back to the food drawing board.

I abandoned corn two days ago. I am down to rice in its many forms, and a few fruits and veggies. Oh, and chicken. And prayer!

We have spent the day in the rocker today.

Maybe tomorrow will be better.

Blessings and more blessings

This weekend was so special. Our family came from all over; LA, Fairfield and San Jose, and friends joined us for a sweet celebration. This was the day that Jonah was given a tender blessing by is father, my sweetie, at church. It is our custom to have a baby blessing for new sojourners on the earth, and usually the blessing is given to the baby by their papas. All the special men in their lives gather in a circle to participate; Grandpa, Uncle Chris, Justin, David, Bishop and Dennis. Guy blessed baby Jonah with strength and health. He said that Jonah would be blessed to be able to overcome his trials, for it was through trial that he came into this life. That he would be helped and supported by his brothers and sisters on both sides of the veil. Guy wept, I bawled, and tears moistened the cheeks of so many in in congregation. Guy had to wipe his face on the burp cloth he had taken up with him in case Jonah urped. I ended up using a onesie to wipe my tears.
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The only one who didn't cry, miraculously, blessedly, was Jonah. He started to rev up at the beginning and I just assumed I would be picking out my husbands voice from amongst the squalls, but he hushed, and only fussed for a moment once, when David smiled at him. It made for a great joke later.
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At home that afternoon, we celebrated with so many loved ones, there was barely room to keep them! We ate and laughed and told stories. Everybody washed hands and passed Jonah around. The germ-phobe in me stepped aside and made room for the part of me that believes that it takes a village to raise a child. This is my village. These are the people who have supported and counseled us, grieved with us, and now at long last, share in our joy and celebration.

G'ma and G'pa H with our kiddos

Supermom Auntie Kori with two of her 11 kids.

My brother Kenny, wife Tracey who I adore, three of their great and amazingly polite kids, and my Dad.


Uncles are great for putting babies to sleep. Kenny is so tall he makes Jonah disappear on his lap. .

Sweet Nicole helped with the food, and helped keep my nerves calm. I tend to stress when we host a gathering, wanting every thing to go well, and every one to feel content.

My studio was transformed (oh, and cleaned!) for the buffet table.

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The big kids, and...

the little 'uns.

I was sad when people started gathering their things and saying their goodbyes. It may be months before I see some of them again. Many, many months. And then there was the ever present reminder of those who were not with us... Julean and Zack (we missed you!), Mom, (she would have loved being around so many grandchildren. I can hear her voice in my head right now, saying "Please pass the baby!" as though he were the pepper), and my two sisters who live out of state and don't get out this way often.

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Soon the pile of little shoes was gone, and Guy and I walked across the grass after having said goodbye to all of our family almost at once. Steph and David stayed, and helped me transition between a houseful and a house nearly empty (funny that seven people in the house can feel empty!). It is too hard when everyone leaves at the same time. But I have to say, I have finally figured out the thing about spending special days with family and friends is that after the day is done, you still have the people you love, no matter how far away they are.

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(Oh, and I took Jonah to the doctor. I will tell you all about it tomorrow. Right now I need to sleep!)

Here we go...

A sudden flare up.

We have a doctor's appointment today. Jonah continues to scream in pain and break out in a mystery rash. I have gone off of dairy, soy, gluten, citrus, nuts, tomatoes, chocolate (oh, say it isn't so!), bananas and pineapple. Rice is my new friend. My friends know I am not the type to run to a doc to solve my problems, but I am officially out of ideas.
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Jonah will be content, even smiling, and suddenly, mid-smile he pulls is legs up, grimaces and screams. It breaks my heart. The rash flares up for no apparent reason. There has been blood in his diaper...
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I pray that the doctor will listen to us. I hope that Jonah will show the doctor what we see at home. I'll keep you posted, no pun intended.
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Your prayers would be appreciated.

Listening

Twice a year we have the wonderful opportunity to listen to a church conference that is broadcast from Salt Lake City. We stay home and watch the conference talks on the computer, all snuggled together in our jammies. It can be challenging to get the kids to sit still and listen, or to stay awake and listen (you can count the adults in on that second one!).

During the first two hour Sunday session, the little kids jockeyed for the best lap space, arguing over who touched who, while Ethan pretended to be “resting his eyes”. Adam and Ellie squabbled, and in general everyone was in a rather snotty mood.

I wondered if it was worth it… trying to get the kids to listen to “a bunch of old people”, as the boys put it, expounding on gospel topics. About halfway through, I sort of gave up on getting Ethan to stay awake, and just felt grateful that Jonah was staying asleep. 50% ain’t bad.

It's in moments like these that I begin to question how, as a parent, I can possibly teach my children the values that I hope to instill in them. How can I compete with the noise of the world, it's media, and it's call for excitement that puts them in peril? Will the lessons I try to teach them be heard above the din?

In the break between sessions, Guy made a brunchy table-full of food, including gluten free pancakes for me (and just in case you were curious, yes, you can use gluten-free, egg-free, dairy-free pancakes as rubber insoles). Jonah woke and had his first cry-fest of the day, and everyone else woke up a little bit, too.

When the second session started, we settled in to listen. The kids began making paper airplanes, and as long as they were quiet, I figured it was okay. Perhaps some of the words floating through the room, over the sound of crumpling paper, would be able to penetrate their ears.

And then, there it was, evidence that it was not all in vain; Ethan began reciting aloud from memory the scripture being quoted by the speaker. The choir and congregation began to sing, and the kids all joined in; “I am a child of God, and he has sent me here, has given me an earthly home with parents kind and dear…” Well, I don’t know how kind and dear we are, but I for one was feeling my heart swell as I saw my children casually folding paper airplanes and singing about needing to be led by faithful parents... "lead me, guide me, walk beside me, help me find the way; teach me all that I must do to live with Him someday".

The best came later as a speaker began telling a story, and the kids shushed each other, then grew more quiet and still to listen. Once in a while one of the boys would even comment, proving that indeed, something was getting through to them.

And again, Jonah slept quietly in my arms.

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As the teenage years zoom toward me, I grow more fearful that the world will have a tighter grip on my children than I will be able to have. And though I know it is really up to them, and I have no real "grip" at all, I still wish I could hold them tightly and not let the world have it's chance with them.

Am I teaching them enough? Am I leading them and guiding them?

Today Tessa came into the room singing to a picture that she held in her hands. "A song I made up about Jesus" as she put it. Then she said, "Mom, Jesus is the son of God." (the phrase that she was assigned to recite in an upcoming program at church).

"Oh, you already learned your part!" I said, smiling.

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"No, it's writted right here." She said pointing to the picture in her hands of Jesus blessing the little children.

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She's learning. And whether or not I am teaching her, or her sweet little soul somehow just knows, as long as she understands that she is a precious daughter of a loving Heavenly Father, that is all that matters.

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PLANO

"Daddy could gib me plano lessons."

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Wouldn't it be nice if we could take her, hand over hand, to teach her all she needed to know? Wouldn't it be perfect if we could help her to never mess up, never make a mistake?

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She sat tonight all by herself at the piano (plano!) and sang as she played random notes. She was singing "I Am a Child of God", perfectly out-of-tune at the top of her two little lungs.

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She flipped the music book open to "Once There Was a Snowman" and then brought the book in to me to complain. "I used to know dis one! Now I can't easy pway it!"

(In Tessa-talk, "easy" means "even").

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I wish I could easy do things, too. I'd hardly know where to start.

Equestrian Midwifery

Did you know that ponies came in litters?

Introducing Midwife Tessa and her apprentice, Sailor.

If you put on your magic glasses, you can see the invisible gloves.

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Sex Talk and other such nonsense

I am really tired tonight. I want to tell all of the funny and touching things that have happened this week, but I just haven't got the strength in me after two hours of Jonah fussing and crying. But here is what I might have talked about...

About how a conversation about the tooth fairy somehow turned into a sex talk. It was so funny, the boys and I were laughing our heads off. It was the best sex talk ever, I think.

About Tessa being a midwife to her stuffed unicorn. It gave birth to about six Pretty Ponies. She wore imaginary gloves.

About learning how to eat while still avoiding dairy, gluten, soy, nuts, eggs, citrus, tomatoes...um, gosh, there must be more, but I am too busy enjoying this lovely rice cake to remember.

About how Robin showed up with hamburgers that were bun-free, mayo-free and cheese free, and wrapped in lettuce. She just felt like she should come over. I didn't know why until that evening, when my nerves were shot and I would have fallen apart, but I was able to look at the laundry I got folded while she held Jonah, and I didn't feel like crying anymore.

About how in one tiny week, Jonah as learned to push up on his sweet little feet, reach up and bonk my face repeatedly with his little fist, and coo. It was gorgeous.

About how I was alone for three nights while my hubby and kids went to LA to go to a wedding. Then a noisy critter found it's way into our bedroom wall and kept me up until 3AM.

About how Guy fibbed to me and told me he was heading home from LA and would be here by Sunday night, and then surprised me by walking into church with my kidlets.

About going shopping for the first time as a family of seven. Somebody shoot me. Please.

And about being there for my hubby after a hard day. It's the least I could do after he has been here for me over and over this year.

What a week.

Ethan Day

Old hat. Old pro. Been there, done that.

These are some of the things that have been said by folks in reference to the fact that I am now the mother of a fifth child. At first I thought it was just what people say instead of “Holy crap, woman, are you trying to populate your own island?” I would smile and pretend it was true, that I honestly knew what I was doing, and then I thought about it and realized it was true. I kinda do know what I am doing. It’s like stepping into a time machine when I think back 13 years to when Ethan was a tiny babe, to my fear, frustration, and inexperience. I remember him crying all evening, and bouncing him in an unnatural way, not really knowing what to do. I was going through the mommy motions, but I had a lot to learn.

And it was a really huge learning curve. In fact, Ethan believes that since I made all my mistakes on him that we should celebrate “Ethan Day”, where his siblings give him thank you presents for all they have benefited from by me screwing up on him so much.

So (now don't judge me) it is actually sort of good that Jonah is a “fussy baby”. I think if he weren’t, I might easily switch to auto pilot. I first noticed the tendency to tune-out a little in the first few days after Jonah was born (back before the “fussy” set in). It wasn’t that I wanted to ignore him, it’s just that nursing and tending a baby are as comfortable for me as an old pair of maternity pants (I am not back into pre-preggie clothes yet). I can latch a baby in the dark, I can change a diaper on my lap, I can nurse a baby in my sleep and not even know I have done it. I can do dishes, help with homework, fold laundry, and talk on the phone, all with the baby snoozing in a sling on my chest. I have been known to ask Guy in a panic, "Where's the baby!?", only to have him say, "Under your nose."

So, though I am sad that Jonah is hurting, I am finding myself so present for him. When he fusses, I want to sit in the rocker and whisper lovingly in his ear. When he squirms in a wet diaper, I get a kick out of changing him (three times in 20 minutes!). The other day as we got ready to leave, he emptied his belly in a giant splash on the floor (and my legs, and the sling, diaper bag, keys, sandals…). I laughed out loud, and took him to the bathroom where he properly finished the job just inches away from the sink, all over the rug and cabinet door. It was awesome.

I don't even mind our 2AM dances as I sing in his ear to put him to sleep.

Yeah, maybe we should celebrate Ethan Day, and give little gifts of gratitude to Adam, Ellie and Tessa for giving me the chance to hone my mama-skills. I'm not glad Jonah is uncomfortable, but what a blessing that I know how to help him, and can do it with some patience and humor.

Maybe I'll just send Ethan a thank you card. After all, we have yet to traverse the teen-age years. I have lots more mistakes to make!

Alone with Ellie

So, I'm alone with Ellie for the afternoon.

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The whole afternoon.

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One long, long afternoon.

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Yeah, so it turns out that I am not accustomed to being one on one with the child.

I usually have Tessa as a buffer.

Or one of the boys to keep her occupied with tattling, fighting or (as they constantly complain), "being annoying".

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She happens to talk a lot.

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Did I say a lot?

Allow me to re-phrase that.

Like constantly, nonstop, as in chatterbox-on-speed.

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I got to hear every detail of her day.

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Did I say detail?

I meant micro-detail.

I heard about her skinned elbow, but somehow her story started out with her and some boy not finding a frizbee and playing with a deflated ball instead. The ball was red, in case you wondered.

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Of course you did.

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At some point this evening, she actually stopped talking and decided she wanted to have a conversation. She cocked her head to the side, put a hand on her hip, and very seriously said,

"So, Mom. You're 28 years old now."

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"Yup," I said trying not to giggle. "I'm gettin' old."

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(I have been telling the kids for a few years that I am 27. The boys know it is a joke, but they also don't know how old I really am. When my birthday came last week, I said something about being 27 and Ellie corrected me. "No, Mom, you're 28 now!")

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"You're not gettin' old, Mom." She said with consolation. "But Dad is. His hair is getting really white."

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"Yeah, Dad is, like, a hundred." I said. She doesn't know I dye my hair.

(Shhhh. Don't tell)

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A letter from Julean

Photo taken circa 1994. I was seven.

This is Julean. She is my sister-in-law, or my "sister-in-love" as a friend of mine calls it. On my birthday she paid a sweet tribute to me, as is her tradition, by writing a post about me and how we met on her blog (sadly it is a private blog, but I wish it were not because she is a gifted writer and an intuitive, inspired and inspiring person).

We met one day while on our missions in Costa Rica, when we lucked out being in the same place at the same time. I remember feeling that day like my heart had found a little piece of itself that I hadn't known was missing. Soon we would be made companions, and together we were a force to be reckoned with. We worked hard, laughed gobs, and had so many amazing experiences.

Back in the good ol' US of A, we learned that God had plopped us together in a mosquito-infested, third world country just so that she could meet and marry my brother. So that made us family, which is even better.

Oh, and she really gets along great with my hubby, which is even mucho mas mejor... um, that is "lots more better". Gotta love Spanish.

Here is a letter she sent to Guy the other day after reading about my b-day dinner:

Dear Guy,

You are a gem...for my next birthday, I have two wishes.

Number one, I wish you would come to my house and cook a mouth-watering masterpiece for me!!!

And number two, bring that delicious baby so I can nuzzle his cheeks and neck while you cook and in between bites of said culinary masterpiece, of course.

That's all I want. Those are my birthday wishes.

Thanking you in advance,

Julean
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(She lives on the other coast, making this wish a little more challenging!)

Ask

Jonah has been battling some minor complications of mortality, truly minor on the list of things that can be wrong with a baby. In fact, when Ethan went through them as a newbie-human, the doctor sent me home with an RX for a chill pill, saying this is normal for a baby. Normal, maybe, but do nothing? Oh, no.

Jonah is wrestling with the notorious “colic”, and a mystery rash of unknown origin. Because I don’t believe in colic, that “some babies are just plain fussy for no apparent reason”, I have been trying to sniff out the cause of his distress. I started two weeks ago by eliminating my favorite food group, dairy (and by favorite, I mean ICE CREAM). I don’t mind not having the sauces, dressings or even cheese, but man, do I miss ice cream. Oh, and by the way, they put dairy in half of EVERYTHING.

Within a week I had also eliminated soy products, hence, there goes the other half of EVERYTHING, including chocolate (Evil, thy name is Soy Lethicin). I decided late last night, after a day of his crying and green diapers, that it is time to go whole-hog and do a full elimination diet. Meanwhile Jonah's tender skin has gone wild with spots that disappear and reappear randomly. At times it has looked like he was on the mend (this is when we take all the cute pictures), and just hours later the rash re-appears, worse than ever. It wasn’t too long before I developed an itchy, bumpy patch on my face, another on my breast. I wondered if they could be related, and headed for my computer. I narrowed it down (via pictures on the Web) to two common, harmless, supposedly self-limiting rashes, and the recommended treatments are “Wait”, and “Wait”. Oh, and guess what the recommended treatment for colic is… yup… wait.

Sorry, I ain’t the waitin' kind’a mama.

The two conditions, rash and tummy trouble, take turns competing for my attention. Tummy trouble wins, hands down, with the shrill, heart wrenching cry it elicits. But the crying infuriates the rash, which becomes hot and stippled, claiming more and more baby terrain by the minute, and more and more of my worry-muscles.

Kind hearted Erin (the gifted photographer-see her site here) who has navigated these waters with her own highly sensitive little girls, has generously become my guide through tummy town. Thanks to her, I have not had to reinvent the dairy-soy-gluten-free wheel, and I have a very sympathetic listening ear (though I cannot bring myself to complain to her, since it would be like complaining of a paper-cut to an amputee). Still there are moments of overwhelm.

Last night as I rocked Jonah, our tears mingling, Guy asked if I would like him to hold Jonah for a while.

“Sure.” I replied, in that I-suppose-so tone.

Then I heard Ellen’s voice in my head; “Ask for what you need” it reminded.

“Actually I would like you to hold me for a while.” I said, almost as quickly as the realization surfaced.

He did.

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As Jonah rubbed his face vigorously into my shirt today, I wondered if he, too, was itchy, and wanted a scratch but couldn’t ask for it.

Gosh, wouldn’t it be awful to not be able to ask for what you need?

Happy Belated Birthday (Dinner)!

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As most folks know, my Sweetie gives the gift of amazing food to those he loves. I think he might love me most of all, based on his latest culinary concoction. I'm glad our friend Annmarie was in town to sample it all. It's always good to share.

There had not been time on my actual birthday to prepare a birthday feast, so Guy saved it for this past weekend when he could really take the time to do it up right. And boy, did he ever!

Cashew encrusted pork with roasted honey-glazed pears (spiced with cinnamon and cayenne, among other secret ingredients), and served with homemade pear chutney that was to die for. But wait, there’s more! Brown-sugared sweet potatoes and yams, and our favorite veggie, broccoli.

All made with special care to stick within the confines of my dairy and soy-free diet. The magical combinations of sweet and savory, accented by the spices he chose allowed the tenth bite to be as amazing as the first.

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Happy birthday to me, baby. Thank you, Guy Alan.

Oh, and for dessert….

We actually had angel food cake topped with strawberries, but it feels like a post wouldn’t be complete without a picture of my lil’ darling, Jonah. Yes, ladies and gents, he has begun smiling on command! Big, peeling grins that go on and on. He even chuckled in his sleep the other day, so I don’t imagine that giggles are too far off. It sure makes up for him spewing down my neck twice today. Lucky for me, my bra was there to catch it all!

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Photos by Annmarie Hall

Quote of the week

"Jesus is de boss of Mama."

- Tessa

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Runner-up:

"I'm finking of you accidentwy poking me in de bum-bone of (with) yoh shawp nails, but you won't do dat 'cuz you love me 'cuz I'm yoh small daughtoh, and I love you too."

-Tessa's reflections after asking me to help wipe her.

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Tessa has taken to blaming Jesus for a lot of things lately, like owies, traffic, and food she doesn't like. I am not quite sure where she is getting this new religion from, as

I am not in the habit of giving him credit for unpleasant things.

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When I asked Tessa if Jesus was her friend, she shook her head "no".

"He's my family." She said.

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Well, that explains everything.

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(Please note the spectacular make-up. She was only sorry there was no blue lipstick to match her dress.)

They got us...

Guy headed out the door Sunday morning to go to his meetings. Soon he popped his head back in the door and said, "They got us!"

(see the post below called "Joke's on you")

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Excellent!

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We learned that while Ellen and her kidlets were outside plastic-wrapping our cars, obliviously we had let Toby, our dog, out to visit the tree. Our fearless watchdog stood and stared blankly at the perps (calling all robbers! Wimpy guard dog on duty!).

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So the game is on. Now it's our turn

(I am open to suggestions!).

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What a difference a year makes

A year ago, I turned forty. It was a really challenging thing for me, I think, for the same classic reasons that many people fight growing older. I realized that I was about halfway through with my earthly sojourn, and that I had not accomplished nearly all that I thought I would have by that point in my life.

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Yesterday was my birthday again. And it was a great day. You know why? I have had the windows of heaven opened to me and been so abundantly blessed, and not for the reasons that one might think.

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When I was nine weeks pregnant with Jonah and was told he had not made it, that I would soon miscarry, and then told that I should hurry to the hospital as they suspected a tubal pregnancy and I might need surgery, it was truly one of the saddest moments in my life. It was on the way to the hospital that day, when I should have been in my most desperately low of lows, that I was flooded with an amazing peace. I was overcome with the sense that somehow, some impossible way, everything was going to be alright. I was filled with joy.

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An hour later we were driving home with the new knowledge that all was well, the baby was fine and we could look forward to the birth of our child.

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Some might think that it would be after the good news that I was able to feel the love of God, but it was before. It was before the good news and the successful pregnancy and the homebirth and the celebration over new little Jonah. It was that day in the van on the way to the hospital, during the tragedy and heartache. It was in one of the worst moments in my life that I felt the love of God. And that love was Joy.

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And it hasn’t been until recently that I realized what that moment has come to mean to me. I think that moment was life-changing. Each day since, each time that I think of it, it comes to mean more to me, and the joy of that moment penetrates my life and becomes more a part of who I am.

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Last year I was the woman who had lost four babies. I was turning forty with an empty belly, feeling so broken, and feeling like I had little to look forward to. Today, one month to the day from his birth, I hold my sweet little son. I have the honor or being mama to four other amazing kiddos and the wife of a good, kind man. But I think the biggest blessing of the past year, the one that lingers and continues to grow, is the joy.

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(And this little blessing is pretty darn great, too).

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(Oh, and 41 is a dairy-and-soy-free cake walk!)

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