It was bound to happen sometime.

With all the stress of selling our house, moving, unpacking, and everything else that goes along with all of that, the arrival of a seriously major meltdown was just a matter of time.

And it finally happened. Saturday, July 6. I had The Fit.

Mostly, things have been moving along. We have been getting a lot of little things finished up, managed, taken care of. The bigger things are coming more slowly, but they aren’t too far behind.  But it’s also been stressful, tiring, lonely, and taxing my creative resources at just about every turn.

Add to that the busy week we’d had, and matters were even more ripe for craziness.

On Thursday, we hosted our first “event” — a party for the Fourth for my family. So we spent the week getting ready. I finished a manuscript I was working on. We cleaned. Emptied a few remaining boxes. Stuffed the rest of them away. Made room. Fixed food. Got everything ready. And then my family showed up and we had a good day of hanging out, talking, and eating.

Then, suddenly, it was the weekend. We were caught up on our cleaning. On unpacking. We were open. We could actually dedicate an entire weekend to some major project we hadn’t been able to tackle theretofore. So Eric and his dad and brother decided it was time to burn stuff. Now, you have to understand that Eric’s dad is a closet pyromaniac. That man can make anything burn. ANYTHING. So the fact that it had rained every day for the entire month of June was not going to dissuade anyone from burning some of the old barn. It needs to come down. Everyone had a day off. Let’s burn stuff, people!

And since the garage is right next to the barn they’d be tearing down, I decided it was also a good day to try to organize that particular pit of despair.

The garage is a good distance from the doublewide. So getting there to work with 4 kids hanging on me just isn’t going to happen normally (thankfully, my MIL volunteered to come watch kids for me that day). More importantly, the garage is where things have been dumped for almost 9 months. When we de-cluttered the house to make it show-ready, we dumped the boxes in the doublewide or the garage. When we moved in, a bunch more stuff got dumped in the garage. And as we unpacked and started settling into the doublewide, even more stuff got dumped into the garage. But that day, I decided was the end of all dumping. It was time to start organizing, no matter how painful.

And until that moment, we thought the garage was fine. Turns out…it wasn’t.

As I began to pull things out, organize, sort, and generally deal with the stuff dumped into the garage, I noticed it. The big wet spot on the exact middle of the floor. It hadn’t been there long. The garage had been dry with good drainage for months. But, as I began to move more stuff and shift more boxes, I realized the wet spot was surprisingly big, some important stuff was sitting in the middle of it, and worst of all, there was mold and mildew growing everywhere.

The longer I worked, the worse things looked. And I lost it. I sobbed. Literally. Tears. Snot. The occasional stamped foot. It was not pretty.

Thankfully, I was alone for the initial ugliness. The guys arrived to work on the barn (they’d been working to steer a bull calf), and Eric noticed (surprisingly fast) that all was not well. He came over to see what was up. I showed him. I cried some more. He started to help.

I will be forever grateful that no one thought I was overreacting. Eric was totally understanding and helpful and concerned, too. My MIL gave me a huge hug and let me cry a bit on her shoulder. Everyone else stayed out of my way. Because I cried when I saw my card table mildewed. I cried for fear that the bins and bins of kids clothes might be ruined. I cried to see our Christmas tree box sitting in the worst of the wet and the advent calendar box on the bottom of the pile, right at the edge of the water. I cried a lot.

I kept telling myself (and everyone else) that it was just stuff. So what? If it was ruined, it wasn’t the end of the world. But I was heartbroken. And it wasn’t really about the stuff. It was the first time that the entire burden of the move was more than my cup could hold. All the stress, the sadness, the frustrations, the sifting and packing and sorting and repacking to fit our family into a house suddenly 2/3 the size of the house we’d had. All the disappointment of leaving my friends, my family, my sister, our church, a decade of my life. All the nerves about moving to a new place, the loneliness, the frustrations of starting over, the sense of being outside, of being an outsider. It all came together in a puddle exactly the size and shape of the wet spot on the floor of the garage.

And I cried.

To be fair, it was not as bad as things at first appeared. The fit subsided. My MIL took my kids to nap at her house. Eric stayed and helped me until there was nothing else we could do. I cleaned and scrubbed and unloaded and threw a few things away, and in the end, we lost…almost nothing.

The tubs of clothes were fine (and are now in my MIL’s basement). The furniture that mattered cleaned up beautifully, and the furniture that didn’t matter either cleaned up or burned up. The advent calendar could be washed. The stuff was still just stuff.

As far as we could tell, the driving rains for days on end had simply beaten sheets of water under the garage door, creating the puddle. And the wet, humid weather and air-tight garage kept everything so moist that the mold formed. But it hadn’t been there long or things would have been much worse. And we found it and dealt with it and can guard against it now.

But for all my “putting on a good face” about the move, The Fit was a pretty clear indicator that the last few months have been much harder than I imagined. It’s a definite struggle to live as we are living…and to choose to LIVE here. I know I could rant and rave, and I have struggled not to keep a running list of all the things I miss or dislike or wish were different.

But I am adamant that the Fit won’t be repeated too many times. Sometimes, the state of affairs surprises you, and you react. The reaction, in my opinion, is fine. It’s normal. But what you do after that initial shock…that is what really matters.

And I’ve decided…

I will not waste these days. These months. However long. I will not waste them, wishing them away and telling myself “I’ll be happy when…” Because I won’t be happy then. I have to find happy now. I have to find Jesus now. Right here, where I am…where we are.

And that is hard. That costs something. Sometimes, it costs tears.

But at least The Fit is now behind us. There will probably be another one or two along the way. Humility is not my normal. I’m not good at it. I’m not used to it. I’m quick to excuse myself from being made low. And yet, for the first time in a long time, or maybe ever, I have only that road to follow. Accepting humility with open hands and letting God change me, mold me, break me open. The only other option is to harden my heart – against God, my family, and life in general. And that is not the way I want to go.

So I threw my Fit. And we moved on. And we moved some stuff. And when we build a house, we’ll move it all again. And in all of it, I just want to find more of Him and less of me, more of beauty and less of ugly, more of love and less of pride.

Because I cannot stop the rains from coming, but I can choose to let them push me closer to the only One who can protect me from the storm. The One who is never turned away by my Fits, but who can use them to bring me closer to His heart.

Which is the goal, anyway.

Obviously, I am way behind. WAY behind.

In the time that my blog has been down, you have all missed out on The Fit 2013, Timmy turning 6 months old, lots of random kid cuteness, a party for the Fourth of July, the stomach flu, and the (mostly) completed writing project I have been working on when I’m not trying to manage 4 kids, laundry, and the aftermath of our move.

So I will try to cover all those things (and keep up with the present) now that I have this site up and running. Or more accurately, Eric has this site up and running. And someday, maybe I’ll be back to blogging on a regular basis…wouldn’t that be a wonderful dream world to live in!

Dear Timmy,

You are quite the dude at 4 months old. I’m sure you’re nearly 15 pounds, but you’re just solid from head to toe. You are a rock of a little man, and you’re starting to recognize the sound of your name. Oh, and you are terribly cute. 

Everyone here still thinks the world of you. You’re Timmy Bear or Little Dude or “Our Baby,” as your siblings call you when they’re introducing you to every stranger or cashier we meet. Alex still loves you. He can’t wait to teach you “fantastic” things. At least that’s what he tells me and Daddy. This is to include running super fast, spinning in circles and jumping. Also funny faces and silly noises. I know I can’t wait. 

Your sisters also love to help you, shoving pacis in your mouth at the slightest peep and covering you with blankets to your chin (and sometimes just a smidge higher). Erin wants to be in every picture with you (it’s hard to keep her from photobombing every picture we take of you). And they love to tickle you, pat your head and get you to smile at them. 

You are the sweetest, most laid-back baby we’ve added to our family. You don’t cry unless you have reason to. Either because I need to feed you or you have a burp. You’re also not a big fan of dirty diapers, but you’re pretty gracious when it takes me a little longer than it should to get you changed. You love to smile at us, and we love to see it. You think the sound of certain words is downright hysterical – “poopy” almost always gets a grin out of you. And you will belly laugh when you’re in the best moods, which is usually right before you fall asleep. I guess you get slap-happy as you get tired. That’s okay, so does your momma!

You’ve had lots of adventures in your few short weeks. 

You can reach for things and actually get them in your fingers sometimes. Sometimes, you hold the animals on your dangle mat and just holler at them. I’m not sure if it’s a victory cry or a scolding that they got caught. But, either way, you can be loud!

You desperately want to sit up, but your core muscles just aren’t strong enough yet. Still, you lean your shoulders forward in your carseat or bouncy seat, trying to get closer to the toys dangling in front of you. And you did accidentally roll over once. I even got a picture as you tipped! 

You’ve started sucking your thumb. You still like your paci just fine, but you’re happy to suck your thumb, too. The paci works best for getting you to sleep because you don’t keep a good seal on the thumb, but we’ll see whether you pick one or the other in the next few weeks. 

We just recently tried putting you in the high chair to sit with us at dinner. You still aren’t ready for real food, but you enjoyed the view!

You can sleep through the night, though not every night. I, for one, love the 6-8 hours of sleep in a row.

Of course, you’ve had a few mis-adventures, too. A ball that bounced right off your head. You accidentally rolled off the couch once when I wasn’t looking (guess you’re now on the floor for good!). And your siblings get right in your face and yell “Boo!” occasionally which startles you every time (it would startle me, too!). But you seem to be mostly unphased. I’m pretty sure you’re going to be my toughest one, with all of your family keeping you on your toes like we have so far!

Basically, we’ve loved our four months with you. You’re a sweet, happy guy. And you light up our world the way your smile lights up your face. Love you, Timmy Bear!

For about 25 minutes one day last week (it might have been Tuesday), I was completely caught up on my kids’ laundry. 

Megan is still one of the best for funny comments. The other day, Erin informed us that she had found one of Meg’s pacifiers under her bed and put it back with the paci stash on the dresser. Megan responded, “Thank you, Erin. You are a good finder.” She’s also quite the empathetic one. “Awww, it’s okay,” she’ll say if she sees that someone got hurt.  

Bedtime prayers are getting to be quite the adventure these days. We’re trying to teach the kids to sit quietly and listen while the others are praying. It doesn’t often work all that well. Instead, they take turns sitting on the little wooden rocking chair in their room to say their prayers. Whoever is sitting there prays, while the other two go on about their bedtime activities. *sigh* Erin tends to pray so fast and mumbled that you can’t understand her (we’re working on slowing down and praying intentionally, too). And Meg, who “doesn’t need your help” to pray, pretty much always says the same thing: “Dear Jesus, thank you for my day. Amen.”

On the other hand, Alex has lately been praying longer and more detailed prayers. Things like: “…and thank you that we do not have to be afraid because Jesus and God are with us…and the unicorn, too.” On another occasion, this concept came out: “Thank you that Jesus gave us the unicorn so we don’t have to be afraid.” I’m not sure who he trusts more…Jesus or the Dream Lite unicorn. 

The other day, while we were in the van, this conversation ensued:

Me: This Sunday is Easter. Do you know what we celebrate on Easter?

Erin: Bunnies!

Me: Nope.

Megan: Eggs!

Me: Nope. We celebrate the day Jesus rose from the dead.

(Several cheers of “Jesus is alive!” followed)

Me: And did you know, because Jesus is alive, he can save us from our sins.

Erin: …and dinosaurs!

We are very imaginative these days. Megan and Erin play with dolls and dress up clothes. They all three play pirate, puppy dog or dragon. They love to be firefighters or doctors. They also pretend to do magic. Alex, in particular, likes to wave something he’s decided is a wand and “make things away!” Thankfully, another wave of the “wand” brings them back again. He’s also started pretending very mechanical things. Like that there’s a lever that he has to pull, and then “oh no!” the lever breaks and he has to fix it. At my Mom’s house the other day, he was pretending there was a broken elevator in the bathroom doorway. He checked the batteries, he said, but it still wasn’t working. My mom told him he better check the fuses, and he said, “Oh yeah, I haven’t checked the fuses yet,” and proceeded to replace that imaginary piece as well. And all three kids regularly pull out their toolboxes to “fix” the television, a stool, their beds or some other piece of furniture or technology that has “broken.” It’s really quite fun to watch…at least until they grab the hammer to fix the TV!

Alex is still my collector. Recently Eric showed me a box Alex had filled with balls, rocks, play phones and the like. He called it a “box of boy.”

We had a living-room picnic the other day for lunch. We imagined all the neat things we’d be able to see in the sky or on the ground: kites, trees, birds, flowers, etc. They “counted” them and took turns trying to count higher. “I see 17 birds (count to 17).” “Oh, well I see 23 birds (count to 23).” This was the day that I realized the twins insert 100 when they get to 20. So it goes 17, 18, 19, 100, 21, 22…and on. I also think it’s funny that with Alex’s particular manner of speaking (F is usually pronounced as a B or P, for example), he pronounced 13 and 14 and “Burteen” and “Borteen” though they sound almost identical when he’s counting fast. I guess we should work on that, but I still figure that most of those quirks will go away soon enough (and probably very suddenly), so I’m not terribly worried about it. 

We started using a computer program to begin learning to read. So far, they think it’s a fun computer game, so I hope we can stay on it. I’m also interested to see how much Meg picks us just by watching along with them. 

So we have our house on the market now and are working to get a living space ready on the farm, just in case our house sells, you know, fast or something. So we talk a good bit about our new farm and finding just the right family to live in our house after we move. Meg has started announcing, “Maybe…when we go to our new farm, I can be a farmer, Mom. Like Daddy. Won’t that be cool, Mom?” Of course, then there was the time she was going to be a farmer “just like YOU, Mommy!” Obviously, she does not have a clue how far from being a farmer I actually am!

Speaking of selling our house, we have had 4 showings in less than a month. So that’s good. None of them have resulted in an offer, but as we don’t actually have a living space to move to yet, it can wait a little bit longer!

Anyway, back to random kid things…

My kids pronounce the flavors of sweet things as “choclick” and “banilla” – nice…

One day a couple of weeks ago, I pulled the couch cushions over to the staircase so the kids could jump onto them (Meg ran down) for some indoor activity time. They were upstairs playing at the time, so I just waited for them to discover it. As Alex headed down the stairs, her realized what it was and I heard, “Mommy…It’s beautiful!” They jumped for probably half an hour, trying to see who could jump higher. 

The other day, Erin took one of Timmy’s real diapers and put it (correctly) on Timmy’s stuffed giraffe. This next morning, I overheard her and Alex:

Alex: I think he has a dirty diaper, Erin!

Erin: I will get him a new one! 

(Alex removes and flings the “used” one while Erin runs to get another for the stinky giraffe. Good thing they aren’t in charge of the disposal of Timmy’s poop!)

 

We kept Meg in the family worship with us a few weeks ago. She colored and did a puzzle and jabbered at Eric and enjoyed her animal crackers. Then, just as Pastor started his invitation (bow your heads, please no one looking), she started to hum. Loudly. Finally, Eric and I both shushed her. She stopped coloring, looked at us and (I swear) rolled her eyes. Seriously, the child isn’t even 3. Yikes.

 

Erin and Megan were playing in the loft. Erin came to the rail and announced that she has a baby in her tummy (she had a hacky-sack up her shirt). Megan grabbed the 4 or 5-in blue playground ball and shoved it up her shirt. “Look,” she says, “I have a booby!”

 

 

Today, we dyed Easter eggs for the first time. They actually did very well, and it would seem that my fears of stained clothes, walls and floors was mostly unfounded. Lucky me!

 

And to finish up (since naptime just ended), Timmy will be 3 months tomorrow. He’s been sleeping through the night for over a week now, so I think I can mention it without jinxing us (I hope!). He started going 9:30 or 10 to 4:30. Then it was 5:30 for a few nights. Last night it was 6:30. So, praise Jesus, we may have officially gotten a sleep routine. I am very, very excited about this, needless to say. Unfortunately, he has started spitting up a lot more than. Not anywhere near as much as Megan used to do. But still, he’s done a lot of it recently. On the other hand, he has also been doing a ton of smiling, laughing, grinning and general responding to us recently. The kids love to make him smile (he is definitely ticklish), as do we, honestly. He’s generally a very happy little guy, and very easy-going. We definitely love him to bits.

 

 

Happy Thursday!

If you ask a mother, any mom you know, how she’s doing, she’ll say, “Fine.” You might get a “Good” or a “You know, we’re hanging in there.” You might even get a “Well, it’s been a little rough this week, but we’re doing okay.” 

That’s what she’ll say, that mom. Whether she works at home or in an office. Whether she staunchly believes in homeschooling or breastfeeding or no-sugar breakfast cereals…or not. Whether she has infants, preschoolers, tweens, teens or grown children. That is what she will most likely say.

But you should know, when she says that, it’s not what she means. Behind those words are so many things that she doesn’t say. 

What she doesn’t say is, “I’m tired.” 

Not just the “oops, I stayed up too late reading or watching TV” kind of tired. She’s the kind of exhausted that results in headaches and stomach pain. It’s an exhaustion that means she’s got no censors, that she can’t think of things to talk about, that she’s struggling to put coherent words together, even as she’s chatting in the lobby or over dinner. It’s a tired that comes from days, weeks, months, even years, of putting someone else’s need to sleep above her own. Whether she’s dealing with kids who are sick or scared, teenagers who are driving home late from the prom, or adult children whose marriages are falling apart, she stays awake for those much-loved ones. And she is tired. 

What she doesn’t say is, “I’m lonely.”

Sure, she goes to work, to the local mom’s group, story time at the library or the gym. Sure, she chats with her friends some, her husband some, her kids a lot. But she is lonely. It’s hard to really connect when she has to be constantly on guard about where her kids are or what they are doing. It’s hard to relax knowing lunchtime or naptime is a hard and fast deadline for any conversation she starts. It’s hard to feel part of the group when she hasn’t read a real book in ages. When all she has to talk about is poop or fourth-grade homework or when her kid didn’t make the team, the grade, the show that everyone else is discussing. That mom that you know? She wants to be seen again. She wants to feel like she’s part of something bigger than herself. Yes, she knows that parenting is like that, and most days she relishes it, but motherhood lacks clear rewards sometimes. It’s daunting, continuous, and there are no medals; there are few recognitions. There is just more laundry, more dinner to make, more “Hey Mom”‘s. She stays up to finish things while everyone else goes to bed, stays late while everyone else goes home, and sometimes, she just wants someone to go out of their way to SEE her. Because she’s lonely.

What she doesn’t say is, “I’m struggling.”

Sickness, angry outbursts, a broken lamp, a broken heart. They weigh on her, whether hers or her loved one’s. She wants to do the right thing, see her kids grow and become all they can be. And she doesn’t know how to admit that, after the umpteenth mistake yesterday, she heard the voice in her head saying, “You’re a bad mom.” That she is struggling not to believe that voice. Because she’s not a bad mom. She’s balancing a thousand things, juggling eggs (which she didn’t have time to hard-boil), and sometimes one falls. Sometimes they all fall. And she feels like a failure. She won’t say that. She can’t say that. But it’s there. If you listen very closely to what that mom is saying, it’s hidden there. The words she can’t take back. The daughter who hasn’t called in months. The friend who judged her unfairly. The child who refuses to go into the nursery or misbehaves in the grocery store or acts up at school. The husband who gets the very last of her attention, who feels lost in the shuffle instead of part of the two-person team she always swore they would be. With so much on her plate and so many “perfect” moms out there to compare herself to, she’s just struggling. 

That’s what she doesn’t say. When she says, “I’m fine,” those are what she means. Those things and more – I’m hurting. I’m angry. I just need a big slab of chocolate and some coffee. (Okay, that last one she probably will say.) But of all the things that most moms don’t say, the most important one is “I need help.” 

She doesn’t need your pity. She doesn’t need advice (unless she asks for it). She doesn’t need you to tell her to “enjoy this time…it goes so fast” or “just wait, it gets worse (or better)” or “don’t complain, it was your decision to become a mom.” She knows all of that. But she still needs help. She needs you to go out of your way to connect with her. She needs you to offer help, sometimes multiple times before she truly believes you want to. And even if she turns you down, believe me, she’s grateful that you offered. She needs you to pray for her, for her marriage, her job, her kids, her failures, her health, for HER. She needs you to drop her a note or email or text, out of the blue, because it means you thought of her and then did something about it. She just needs to know that she matters for more than lunches made and laundry done and prayers said and mundane days spent. 

Because she won’t say that. And really, on most days, she doesn’t even think it. But some days, she does. And on those days, you will make a world of difference to that one mom if you choose to hear, not just what she’s saying to you, but all of what she doesn’t say, too.  

Let’s see…

Timmy is now five week old. I’ve been trying to get an update written for a week (thus, the blog title), but obviously that has turned out to be somewhat difficult to accomplish. So here are some of the highlights. 

I cannot keep Erin and Megan from shoving Timmy’s pacifier into his mouth at random moments. Usually, but not always, he is crying when they do. And the are so proud of the themselves when he actually takes it. But sometimes, I’m sure they just shove the thing in his mouth by force, poor kid.

T’s last bath also seemed to erase some of his hair. Or it could have been Megan’s tendency to polish his head like a bowling ball (with her hand). But either way, he’s got a massively receding hairline these days. It’s very cute in a little-old-man sort of way.

Alex has stopped participating in bedtime story time because he uses those moments to get uninterrupted Timmy Time. He pushes a little stool over to the crib and stands there looking at him and talking to him while everyone else is in the other room.

Timmy has quite a strong neck and upper body. Alex was the same way. In his calm moments, he just holds his head up and looks around with his still-dark eyes. He seems to have a very serious disposition, too. His general look is solemn, even concerned (he has a very expressive forehead actually), but given the crazy family into which he was born — without his consent, mind you — I think a bit of concern is probably in order. On the other hand, he gave me a full-fledged smile the other day that lit up his entire face – so, so adorable!

We get some of the best interactions with him on his changing pad, especially at bedtime. Get his diaper changed and jammies on, and he just lays there listening to you talk to him, eyes fixed on you. Love it. 

He’s definitely growing (his next well-visit is this week, so we’ll see how big he is), but he’s still just the perfect little armful for me. And sometimes I even remember to just snuggle with him instead of getting on to the next thing. Don’t want to waste these few sweet days, right?

Oh, and can I just say how much I love the Babies R Us trade in event. They do this a couple of times a year (it’s on right now), and it is fabulous. We got a new stroller by trading in an old one we never used that didn’t work exactly right. No trying to sell it or what not…nope, just hand it to them and get 25% off a stroller that, as it turns out, should be perfect for us. In fact, I put the new stroller together this morning, and the three older kids played on it like a new toy most of the morning. Nice!

Of course, there are rough patches, too. Megan and Timmy both have colds. Meg’s is a (horribly) runny nose, but T is stuffy. It’s SO not fun to listen to a little one trying to figure out how to breathe and eat, all at the same time. Hopefully, it’ll be a quick run and they’ll be back on top in a day or two (and hopefully, the twins don’t get it, though I’m not holding my breath on that one!). 

And for me, the exhaustion has definitely set it. It got really bad a week or so ago when lack of sleep got combined with sickness (me), Meg & Alex not sleeping, serious gas issues and a growth spurt (both Timmy). I was barely hanging on. Seriously. And it’s funny, on the third go-round, you’d think I would have been ready for it. But no, that kind of exhaustion just knocks you out every time. Of course, I have some lessons tucked away…the reality that, with babies this small, every change lasts about a week. Good week? Great…it’ll change in a week or so. Really bad week? Don’t worry…in another few days, it’ll change. And then of course, my cousin Michelle was absolutely right. You can do your best to “catch up” on sleep, but the truth is, you just learn to live without it. So we just slogged through. And things are better. For now anyway (ask me again next week – we’re about due for the 6 week growth spurt!)…

Still, we are making it. At some moments, “epic” doesn’t even begin to cover the magnitude of my mom fails. Other moments, we manage to look like we’re handling all four without a hitch. Some days I remember that Eric needs some attention, too. Other days, I even get something other than feeding Timmy and working on the laundry done…woohoo!

But regardless, we have survived the first month. Can’t wait to see where we go from here…

So Timmy is two weeks old today (okay, in another almost-six hours, anyway). Here’s where we are…

Timmy

He’s really a good sleeper, which is nice. I think we’re starting to find a rhythm, though of course, with a baby this little, it could all change tomorrow. And he can sleep through a lot of noise from his siblings…which is good because they make a lot of noise while he’s sleeping.

Timmy eats like a champ. He was just one ounce off his birth weight at his one-week appointment, so he’s obviously doing well in that area. We’ve had a little trouble with gas in recent days, but gas drops seem to work wonders for him. And he seems to be pretty laid back, so he doesn’t cry much (except when he’s “starving” of course) – so nice for me!

So far, we’ve noticed that he sneezes a lot (especially did this the first week) and twitches randomly. Apparently, he already knows to “duck” when his siblings run by, though one time he made a loud noise while eating and startled himself. That one made me laugh. He also makes a particular face that closely resembles my grandfather (though the lack of hair and teeth might contribute to that perception somewhat). But he’s got a really sweet little smile which I can’t wait to see when he can do it on purpose!

Generally, the other three really like him. Alex is his protector, Erin his second mommy. Megan is interested and likes showing him off to people. I’m just glad we haven’t seen much jealousy at this point. So far, having a new baby is just a lot of fun for them, and that makes it a lot easier on me. 

Erin

Earlier today, Erin was singing, “I may never march in the infantry, ride in the cavalry, shoot the artillery. I may never fly over the enemy, but I am the Lord of me!” Made me laugh out loud (and yes, we did correct her)

Erin’s very creative these days – she loves crafts, coloring, playing dress up, making up songs, etc. She is also quite the helper when it comes to her new little brother, bringing diapers or whatever is needed (sometimes before it’s actually needed). And she keeps asking if he knows who she is. She’s got such a sweet heart. 

Megan

Meg is adjusting to Timmy as well as I could have hoped for. She asks to hold him occasionally and stops to pat his head as she wanders by his bouncy seat. And the other day, when we were putting up the baby swing for the first time, Eric glanced over just as Megan picked Timmy up and started carrying him to us to put in the swing. And yes, he rescued the baby as quickly as possible. 

Megan also had her first bloody nose the other day. Frankly, I’m surprised it didn’t happen before now, but finally we have managed it. She was running outside with Erin and Alex chasing her. Erin grabbed her hood. She tripped forward, pulling Erin on top of her (Alex fell on the pile, too), and Meg came up with dark blood just running down her face. It took a couple of minutes to get it to stop bleeding (which, by the way, is very hard to do on a crying 2-year old), but we managed. And now she’s just got a lovely scuff on her nose to show for it. Ah…life with Megan!

Alex

Alex is not as interested in holding/cuddling with Timmy (though he does ask every so often), but he does like to get in the baby’s face and talk to him when Timmy is on the floor or in his bouncy seat. He tells me if the baby is crying, and he does like to watch us take care of him. He is definitely going to be a fantastic big brother…at least until Timmy starts wanting to play with “his” toys. 

And other than Timmy, Alex is pretty much just doing his thing. He loves the I Spy book and magnetic shape toy that he got for Christmas. He wants to climb on and wrestle his dad every chance he gets. And he loved getting to run outside a couple of days this week, too. 

And Us

Eric and I are also adjusting to life with 4 kids. Eric has been an absolute rock star the last two weeks (okay, longer than that really), helping me with every little detail, covering the kids and chores while I’m feeding Timmy, taking care of all of us in uncountable ways. I cannot imagine doing this crazy life without him, and I’m so grateful for his commitment to our family and his totally uncomplaining spirit. 

And me…well, I’m doing pretty well overall. Physically, I’m starting to feel mostly normal again. I’m pretty exhausted, of course, but that is to be expected. And while I’m probably not as calm and in control yet as I can be, I’m doing a lot better than I was the last few weeks I was pregnant. For that, I am more than grateful. We had a few days this week without any help and we’re starting to find our new normal. The kids have been pretty needy some days, hardly wanting to be out of my sight, and there has been a lot of whining and a few “displays” that are, I’m sure, just them testing the waters to see whether the world still functions as they remember. I’m trying to find the balance between giving grace for the newness of it all and holding the boundaries firmly, which is, obviously, a difficult balance to achieve. But we’re getting there. We’re all learning. I’m messed up and apologized to them all. They’ve messed up and had to apologize to me. And we are slowly learning how to do this whole thing of life together, all six of us. 

And that…I guess…is where we are. At least for today. 

So I thought I’d better capture our weekend before I forget all the details in the fog of Newborn Land. Because it really was quite the eventful weekend…

I had my first contractions, irregular and mild, about 6 am on Saturday morning. In fact, they felt a lot like the “false labor” I had with Megan. (That time, I had contractions from 2-6 am before they petered out, starting again for real about 6 pm that evening and ending in Meg’s birth about noon the next day.) So I figured my body was just working the baby into position and it could be hours or even another day or two. We’d just have to see where things went. And they didn’t go far. At least it didn’t seem so. The contractions were not comfortable, but they stayed 15 minutes apart for most of the day. And as it was Saturday, Eric was home to manage things whenever I needed to get through one. So far, so good.

Of course, Saturday was also McKenna’s birthday. She turned 2 and the family was gathering to celebrate. To be honest, I almost didn’t go, but the kids were really looking forward to it, and I still hadn’t seen much change. So I figured I had time and could manage for a couple of hours while we celebrated McKenna. We headed out to Karen’s about 5:00. And it was also right about 5:00 that something did change. Out of nowhere, my contractions dropped to 10 minutes apart. Still bearable, though not fun, but much closer together. No problem, right? We hung through the party, and then just as we were leaving, things changed again, and I dropped to 6 1/2 minutes apart.

After 9 hours of random contractions, suddenly, between 5 and 8 pm, it became clear we might be marching toward a baby after all. Thankfully, my parents had come prepared with an overnight bag, so they joined us at our house after the party. We put our kids to bed, and I kept working through contractions. And then…my contractions started going the other direction. Suddenly, they were 7 minutes, 8 minutes, 10 minutes apart again. And I had no idea what to think. They still hurt. A LOT. And I have very, very long contractions (normal for me is at least 1-2 minutes). But they were getting farther apart. So should I call the doctor or not?  

I didn’t. Instead, I sent Eric to bed for a bit, determined to keep dealing with them at home as long as possible (we had walked the hospital halls for 2+ hours with Meg before being admitted, and I was not doing that again.) My parents went to bed, too, and I just walked my bedroom, breathing and trying different techniques to get through what were becoming increasingly painful contractions. Finally, I could not bear it. They were still averaging 8 minutes apart, but they just plain HURT. I wanted to cry. I wanted some help. But I still had no idea what to do or where exactly I was in the process. So I called the on-call doctor.

I explained my situation. I was running 7-9 minutes between contractions but they were hurting so bad I could barely get through them. She said, “Normally, we’d tell you to wait for them to be 5 minutes apart. But you are a VBAC, so in this case, it’s probably better if you go and get checked.” Okay. We hung up.

Eric got the bags in the car, and we let my mom know we were off. Another contraction hit me while we talked to her. 6 minutes from the prior one. The next one hit before I could even get in the car. 5 minutes. We pulled out the driveway onto wet, snowy roads and another one started. 3 minutes later. I told Eric, “I just want to get there and get an epidural so it stops hurting like this.” For the entire drive to the hospital, they were every 3 minutes, lasted 2 minutes long, and “hurt” doesn’t even begin to cover how they felt. I could barely breathe. Surviving them was taking every technique I had and a couple of new ones I invented. And by the time we got to the hospital, I was just praying not to throw up in the car. 

More contractions came just outside the car and in the hallway to the elevators. At the check-in window, I simply announced, “Hi, I am in labor.” She took my basic information and buzzed us in. I was only halfway out of my clothes before the next contraction hit, and the triage nurse said, “As soon as this one is done, we’ll check you.” Fine by me. She checked. I was at 10. “No time for an epidural,” she announced and pushed the bed towards the door. 

I’m sorry…what?!?

The only thing that kept me from pursuing that comment further was that the next contraction hit me on the way out the door. They left Eric to gather my things, promising to get him to where I was. I was pushed into the first room in the hallway where the OB resident met us, introduced herself (I cannot for the life of me remember her name now), and proceeded to work with about 4 nurses to get me and the room ready as fast as humanly possible. I had just gotten from the gurney to the bed when the next contraction hit, and I knew. I needed to push. They were still putting in IV’s and gathering stuff and asking me the most necessary questions, but he was ready to come. Right then. 

I, however, was not. This was not what I was prepared for. Precipitous birth? No epidural? Breathing through pushing out a baby in that kind of pain? WHOSE INSANE IDEA WAS THIS? Thankfully, the nurses gave me directions and Eric held my hand, and I did my best to breathe like they were asking. My contractions were so long I could get three pushes in before each one ended, but I was struggling to get enough air to do that kind of pushing. Someone gave me an oxygen mask which made a world of difference and cleared my head a bit, but I have never in my life done anything so hard. Ever. 

But somehow we did it. He arrived on the fourth pushing contraction. He was healthy. He was crying. He was perfect. 7 lbs, 12 oz of perfect. Timothy Jack Hogue. They took him over to clean him up and weigh him, and I glanced up at the clock.

It wasn’t even midnight. Eric had parked the car at 11:25 pm. He made his arrival at 11:49 pm. On December 29 – McKenna’s birthday. So much for his instructions to wait until January. 

I will spare you all the details of the next few minutes. One nurse asked me all the pre-admission questions we hadn’t had time to cover before. The on-call doctor had arrived just after he was born, so she and the resident took care of the after-birth activities.  Eric called our parents to let them know. And I laid on the bed with my son on my chest trying to fathom what had just transpired.

Surreal couldn’t even begin to cover how that day had gone. I had meant to stay home until I was at 7 cm so I could be admitted and get an epidural. Instead because of my crazy contractions and irregular labor pattern, we almost didn’t make it. The on-call doctor laughed that it was a good thing she hadn’t told me to wait for my contractions to be 5 minutes apart. I agreed. But at the moment we hung up, everything seemed fine. Everything was fine. And just that fast it all changed. 

Which is why the only reaction I could muster, as I laid there being sewn up and holding my new son, was “Thank you, Jesus.” I had been praying for hours that Jesus would help me. That I could not manage this one on my own. And He showed up in an unfathomable number of ways. My parents were ready to stay. The on-call doctor didn’t tell me to stay home. The roads were wet but not icy because it hadn’t quite dropped below freezing. Eric made that drive in 15 minutes and there was almost no traffic. I did not throw up. My lack of preparation for an unmedicated delivery did not cause serious problems. We did not have a baby in the car (and it was very clear to everyone in the room that night that had anything gone differently that is precisely what would have happened). Someone put an oxygen mask on me just when I needed it, but didn’t know how to ask for it. There were four nurses, ready to go. Almost as soon as he was born, they had a shift change and I didn’t see any of them again. But they were there and ready. And so was He. 

And all I could do was to thank Him. It was not my plan. I will never, willingly, do that ever again. But He provided. He sustained. He was there. And I am grateful. 

Oh, and on Monday morning, we got to bring home this little bundle of adorable, christened Baby Timmy by his siblings:

Welcome to the family, Little One. We’re so glad you are here. 

So it’s been a busy December. Good, but busy. 

We had multiple Christmas extravaganzas with family and at home. We were at my parents’ house on Christmas eve, at home on Christmas morning, and spent the rest of Christmas at the farm. The kids had a blast, though they were exhausted, overstimulated and spent two days getting to open presents that they were then not allowed to open and play with. But they did great and we all survived. 

Eric and I made the kids a present each. Erin got the blanket I’ve been working on for the last four years (no kidding, I started knitting it before I was pregnant with the twins and finally finished it right before Christmas!). She had asked for it to be hers a while back, so I wrapped it up for her. Megan got a felt board, and Alex got a beanbag toss game (I made beanbags, Eric made the board). They seemed to really like them. 

As for the rest of life, Eric has been off work since the Friday before Christmas. It has been really great having him home, especially since my excessively-pregnant self has not been the model of patience and thoughtful parenting. And all four of them have loved, loved, loved playing out in the snow. There have been snowmen and snow angels and our first lessons in how to make/throw snowballs. All great fun until someone gets it in the kisser. But still, totally worth the fun!

But the most fun seems to be had when Daddy pulls the sled train. He’s such a great daddy!

Really it’s been a good time together. Megan and Erin got up early (and before either of us) yesterday, and apparently, it was too dark for Megan. She started to cry and call for Eric: “Da-ddy! Da-ddy! I’m lost!” So we all snuggled in bed for a while. Nice!

We have played with new toys and puzzles. Alex has spent a good bit of time wrestling with Dad and reading books with anyone who would willingly do it. His favorite these days is anything I Spy or seek and find. We even did a craft or two together. One morning we made/ate sugar cone Christmas trees. They kids loved it, though after it was all done, we realized we’d left Megan unattended for too long and she was “drinking” the sanding sugar out of one of the cups while we weren’t looking. And yes, we took pictures!

As for us, Eric has made bread and worked on his computers and read books. And me, well, I’m just waiting out the last days until #4 makes his appearance, trying not to overdo. Without Christmas to distract me, I don’t have much to think about other than his appearance. I’m pretty sure he’ll come before my due date, though of course, the timing is all up to him. Still, clearly, we are days away from being a family of 6, which is kind of cool, too. 

And that, I think, is the basics. I’m sure there are lots of other things I could say, but this will have to do for now. Happy Saturday!

You know those people who seem to be SuperMom. I am so not one of them. For every single SuperMom you think you know, you just have to find the one place that she cannot manage. For me, that place is breakfast. I know, that sounds ridiculous. I can generally keep up with laundry. I can handle lunch and dinner and snacks mostly without a hitch. I can get to church, on time, with all of my kids dressed and no one crying (even me). But breakfast…just about throws me for a loop, nearly every day.

Thankfully it’s not my breakfast that is the problem (though I do try hard to be done before anyone else wants something because I abhor cold toast). It’s managing my children’s breakfasts. Truly, I probably should just schedule it better or something. Maybe have a set time for it. Or a “eat this on this day” approach. Either idea might go a long way to reducing the stress of breakfast time, but then again…it may just make me more crazy. One more thing to be “on top of” like laundry. 

And I really can’t even explain why breakfast drives me nuts. How hard is getting a quick meal for three small ones who, generally, eat very well. But no. Meg is ready to eat and the other two want to watch TV. So I get Megan started, and she’s then halfway through her chosen breakfast by the time she is joined by the other two. They choose something she didn’t have, and now she will have no more of her option. She wants one of what they’re having. (Now, I don’t just hand it to her. The rule is that you finish what you asked for before you get something else, but still…we go through the drama almost every morning.)

Then there are the twins. Erin is not, apparently, a breakfast eater. She’s not hungry, she’ll say. But if I can get her started on something, say, half a piece of toast, she’s generally ready to eat the entire piece and have a bowl of yogurt to top it off. But she still tells me she doesn’t want anything almost every day. And Alex always knows what he wants. Which is why a “we eat cereal on Mondays” approach may not work for us…he won’t want cereal. He’ll want yogurt. Yellow yogurt (I color regular vanilla yogurt with food coloring – it’s cheaper and they think it’s different every day). And three bowls of it. But not cereal. Even though it’s Monday. Maybe just because it’s Monday. And so, I haven’t braved that approach yet. 

So there you have it. I can barely manage breakfast on a daily basis for my children. By the time they have all finished (and Alex can take a LONG time to finish, mind you), I’m already exhausted for the day (and may have even gotten testy at them). It’s quite sad, really. But then again, it’s real life. 

Of course, real life happens all the time, right? So here’s more of real life…one of us at a time. 

These days, Meg is quite the ornery one. Okay, so that’s been true for ages. She’ll flash you a grin that is so endearing and devious all at the same time, it’s quite frightening. And she’s started apologizing profusely for every misdemeanor, which of course makes me feel horrible about scolding her (not that it gets her out of the scolding or whatever, but I feel worse about doing it). She’s started talking to me with her chin in her hands, which is downright adorable. And her phrase of the moment is “Oh MAN,” said pretty much exactly like Swiper the Fox, when she doesn’t get what she wants. She’s got that great two-year-old way of talking, too. So if you ask her who she is, she’ll say, “I am Megan. I am a todd-el-er.” And if you lose track of her for more than 45 seconds, she’s going to get into something too inviting to resist or hand you a potty accident, a huge mess (like last night’s flour/sugar fiasco), or some other such adventure. Yep…she’s a constant one, that’s for sure!

Erin is all into decorating right now. She arranges her toys all over a room and then calls me in to see her decorations. She loves puzzles. And she’s a coloring machine right now. Every piece of paper too near a pen will be colored on. Every crayon must be used to make lovely little drawings that I don’t have enough room to display (maybe I should ask for more magnets for Christmas). And we have had to, um, refresh our memories a couple of times that we only color on paper; I recently had to relieve a number of walls and the back door of various crayon scribbles. But she also loves building towers and castles with Duplo blocks and “reading” books to Megan. She LOVES crafts. And she’s really a sweet, helpful little thing all around.

And Alex…he is ALL boy. He announced the other day that he was getting a ball and bat for his birthday (on Saturday). Which was totally news to me.  Thankfully, though, I could call on my sister who happily managed that for me, so he will not be disappointed. He also loves the Christmas lights. When we’re driving, he hollers (loudly) every time we see a house lit up – “CHRISTMAS LIGHTS!!” At every house. No matter how many houses in a row there are. He is also getting so much better with taking himself potty before he’s wet, and he can put on his own clothes, though his pants often end up on backwards. The funny part is that, if you mention to him that they’re on wrong, he says, “I like them that way” and goes back to playing. Okay…whatever, Bud!

Eric’s probably got the worst of it these days. He’s kind of bored at work. And he’s got a hormonal, cranky wife to deal with when he’s home. Plus 3 kids who LOVE to jump on or climb him when he gets home. But he doesn’t complain. Actually, I think he really likes it – at least the wrestling with his kids part. And he has taken some time to do some of his fun computer stuff. He got his Linux computer working (it’s been down at least 18 months), updated our backup systems and generally caught up our network to current standards. Which is awesome for me, as well. He’s really pretty great. 

As for me…I am 36 weeks this week, so we are down to weekly appointments. Thankfully, though, he seems to be head-down, so we are looking forward to another VBAC. He has been given strict instructions to wait until January to arrive (due date is Jan. 3), so we’ll have to see whether he’s laid back like his dad or impatient like his mom. And of course, on top of all the Christmas fun, we have a LOT to do to get ready for his arrival. So the longer he waits, the better!

And that, is real life. At least for today. Okay, at least for the next 10 minutes or so. Who knows where real life will go from here!