Our Place of Refuge

I've written about our lake before.  And you all know how much we love to whip out there and spend some time in the sun...

But yesterday,  we had some introductions to make.

But Mom, Little Dude has been to the lake....

What a difference 3 months makes. Now he walks, and explores.
Back then, he nursed and slept.

He had not made a real friendship with our peaceful haven, yet.

But yesterday... he ventured out.  We even took off his shoes and let him feel the water and the mud. (yes, it's Texas... icky mud) He wasn't thrilled, preferring to stay on the pebbly sand.

He watched his siblings as they wound their way along the water's edge.

The lake level was low.  Very low. Nothing like getting back to nature to witness how bad the drought is, firsthand.

The kids examined the newly exposed sand, and what emerges when the layers of water are peeled back. A sobering experience, to be sure. But nature is always beautiful, and they came back jubilant with their treasures.

Fall in Texas is a time of brown colors and long shadows. Even in the height of the afternoon, the light is slanted and the sun has whitened.

This old Mama is learning, though. I'm learning to enjoy the seasons as they come.
I'm learning that we don't pass this way again.

We need to pause. We need to breathe it all in with everything we have.

:)

Guess Who Turns ONE Today...

I know. It's amazing.

Simply amazing how time flies...

:)

Autumn Babymoons

Autumn is babymoon time for me. All of my children were born in late summer, early autumn. (And so, by default, Spring is morning-sickness time.  Unfortunately, I feel inexplicably ill on certain spring mornings... my body's way of remembering, I guess...lol)

 
There is a slight crispness to the air as I recline in bed, nursing Little Dude to sleep.  The curtains dance in our bedroom... and the evening is quiet.

I hold Little Dude close, smell his babyness, and sigh, remembering....

I remember how fragile I feel, just home from the hospital.  That first evening home I made it as far as the chair in the front living room. It was Halloween, and I wanted to see the comings and goings in the neighborhood, wanted to see my own peanuts as they waltzed out the door, and their excited faces as they came racing back in with their Dad and Grandpa, spreading their bounty on the floor, eager to share....

I remember not realizing that by parking myself in the front living room, I'd made myself available to the sweaty, make-up laden teenagers from down the street eager to see and (eek!) touch my precious 3 day old babe.... their wonder and excitement was contagious, though. And I discreetly wiped the.. erm... fake blood from Little Dude's cheek. 

And later that night, piling pillows all around, laying in my own bed... struggling to care for this littlest life, I remember the hot tears. The recovery is always difficult for me, and caring for such a helpless one while feeling so helpless myself compounds my hopelessness. The hot tears are cooled in the night breeze, the strong arms around me calm my heart, and the babe's wails are quieted. The soft sheets on the bed are a welcome respite from the rough hospital linens.  My legs gingerly explore the cooler spots on the surface, every movement reminding me of my frailty.


I remember the slow descents from my upstairs bedroom to the living room. Eventually I was able to do it without help.  Then I was able to do it while carrying Little Dude.  Every day I made that descent, unwilling to remain isolated in my bedroom.  I joined in the family life, parking myself in the corner of the longest couch, able to see and hear all.  And when I would fall asleep, the kids would tiptoe around me, or snug in while I nursed Little Dude, holding him in my arms while he slept, not wanting to put him down.

(my "corner spot"... notice the sweats? comfort is a must!)

I remember how everyone rallied. How the kids did laundry and dishes. How my DH would come home from work and start on dinner. He would clean the kitchen, sweeping and mopping, and then he would take a wailing babe for a walk outside while I attempted a shower. Everything centered on our family life.  There were little to no outside distractions... (well, except the occasional soccer game, of course)

Now Little Dude is walking.

What a difference 11 months makes.  I knew it would come.  But I honestly didn't think it would come this quickly.  He squirms out of my arms and I set him down.  On his sturdy little legs he toddles off, eager to see and do, just like everyone else. Put a soccer ball in front of him and he moves double-time.  It's quite a sight to see... the ball is as tall as his legs are long.  But he moves it, first one foot, then the other.

He fits right in.

Perfectly.

:)

My New Kitchen "Help"

:)

True Love

The eyes... they are huge.  They sparkle and glisten, overflowing with love....

... and trust.

This little man, how he trusts.  All babies do, I know.  The Papa stands on the sidelines, tossing him high as the nearby mothers gasp.  Little Dude laughs.  Big belly laughs.  The mamas smile and continue their chatting.

Big sisters perch him on the couch, talking and talking to him.  He smiles, adoring. Listening to everything they say, laughing at their inflections.  I pass by and pause.  Then implore... hold him tight.
Please, do not let him fall.
He is too close to the edge... put your hand out....

And they do. 

Papa holds him at dinner.  And those eyes, they search.  Each member of the family, seeking... seeking...

And then, those beautiful eyes find mine, and the lopsided grin grows wide.  Wider than possible for a little man so small.

His eyes sparkle and mine glisten. 

True love.

:)

Important Discovery

Apparently, when Little Dude was processed through the parts department, specifically the ear wing, the angel on duty was sleeping on the job. 

His two little ears are totally different.
 
The left one sticks out hopelessly, while the right one is completely normal.
It's truly the cutest thing ever.

And yes, we are a little bit ashamed that it took us 3 months to notice. 

But, only a little.  Our excuse is valid.  We were totally enamored with his gargantuan blue eyes.
:)

MIA

That's me.  The completely uncommitted blogger.  Not that anyone's noticed, of course.  Oh, wait.  Lil Sis said something to me the other day about getting tired of opening my blog and seeing "Gemma These Days" all the time...  and I did get a lovely Facebook note from this wonderful gal.  (We met through blogging and she knows my younger sisters...hence the FB friendship)  So nice to know that someone misses me!

LOL

It's been a whirlwind of a time over here, folks.  I don't blame anyone for not noticing... in fact, I hardly have time to notice myself.  And judging by the way I look these days, it's high time someone took notice.  Good heavens.

;P

Ok, so on to updates.

My biggest excuse for my lack of communication these days I can blame completely on the smallest member of the Nut House... Little Dude.  Just as he was starting to pull out of his unsleepy-neediness, he went and contracted RSV.  And then, just for kicks, decided to wake up Valentine's Day morning unable to breathe very well.  Nothing says I love you like a frantic trip to the ER with the man you pledged to spend the rest of your life with and sohelpmeifwegetintoanaccidentIwillkillyou... love and cherish forever.
Yes, it was scary.  No, Little Dude did not require any interventions once we got there, thank goodness.  By the time we saw the ER doc, he was smiling and cooing up a storm.  But DH and I?  We acquired a ton of gray hair.  And I don't think my complexion has returned to normal yet.

So, Little Dude and I have been getting to know the wonders of nasal spray, aspirators, and nebulizers.  3 months old seems a little young for this knowledge in my humble opinion, but with this blasted weather and the pollen count skyrocketing, it's necessary... Besides, I'm not up for any more romantic ER trips any time soon.

:P

On a completely different note... I've been gainfully re-employed to spin my tiny tales of fiction for a state testing website.  It's so much fun, but also pretty stressful, to try to make happy tales at the 11th grade level under 525 words and ask questions regarding hyperbole and theme.  No sarcasm allowed, no religion either.  So I'll have to use the blog as therapy.  (Who doesn't, I'd like to know?)


Little Boo started her insane soccer schedule this week.  3 evenings of practice, games on Sundays, soon to be Saturday's too.  I'm happy to report that she is like a brick wall on defense and totally made her mark at her very first game.  Since playing club soccer is much more competitive, I fully expected her to sit out at least part of the game, but no... her new coaches are just as appreciative of her skill at this level.  And I am hopelessly proud.  I couldn't go to her first game, so I shared my feeling of being tortured by texting DH every other second asking how she was doing.

ACTUAL TEXT:
Me: Is she still on?  And playing well?
DH: Yes and yes
Me: You are a plethora of information. Maybe you could do a play by play for me?
DH: Be still woman.  It's so sunny I can barely see my phone.

Aren't you glad you're not married to me?

So, we are plugging away over here.  Little Dude is on the mend.  My foray into the world of fiction has been a nice distraction, and I am unabashedly living vicariously through my 8 year old.  :)

What have y'all been up to?
:)

I Dance

There are roses on my kitchen table... splayed out in hues of pink and red.  Put there haphazardly by my exuberant 8 year old, after my equally exuberant 6 year old plucked them from her Papa's hand with a grateful smile and twirled them in the living room. 
I think she thought they were for her.

He smiles at me over the din and my weary eyes thank him. 

It's been a day.  And he knows it.

Hence the flowers.

And they dance on the kitchen table... brightening my heart.

:)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


The boy whose southern heritage is borrowed by place of birth is being formally instructed in the ways of south.
It has come to this.   
Yes ma'am doesn't roll off his tongue very easily...  and my northern ears cringe to hear it.  But his Canadian Papa has insisted.  A form of respect.  Respect that is wanting.  And the perfect way to capture exactly the tone that is needed.  27 days to form a habit?  We'll see. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Papa is at work tonight, in the cold.  I urged him to stop somewhere and buy insulated work gloves... fretting over his cold fingers in a dim warehouse.  This extra job he took.  How sad I am that he has to work it.  That he cannot be home with light and warmth and chicken soup.  How determined I am that he come home to that, and much more.  To cleanliness and peace.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


How inspiring it is to read these words.  And these.  And most especially these. 

Pausing to take stock.  Stilling the despair, and straining to hear the music. The music of the now...

There is an urge to purge and embrace Ordinary Time once again.  To establish our routine again.  To tuck our new baby into our lives and move on.  Because, after all, he is a little one... and can simply fold into us and be a part of us... another facet so small.

But then the reality of such a little one and all he entails hits hard.  He is beautiful, he is loved.  And he is loud.

3 months postpartum, and I have spent more nights sleeping upright than I have in any other position.  Teething comes early to my poor little ones, and oh how painful it is for them! 

Yes, I am tired.  Yes, our house is as haphazard as the flowers dancing on my kitchen table. And yes, some days the tears come easily.  But I would not change it for anything in the entire world.

The reality of what I am trying to do is comforting.  It may seem crazy to some, this hidden life.  But the reason hangs on every wall of my home.  I pass by this crucified love on display as I walk.... 

I hold our love close and I pace and I bounce and I hum. 

I dance.

P.S.

Brynach These Days is a big fat fuss.

Poor Little Dude will be going to the doctor today, for a possible ear infection.  Or maybe it's teething.  Or maybe he just really likes to nurse all. night. long. for the sheer thrill of it? I dunno.  These little peeps don't come with instructions or light up buttons.  Maybe we should have just settled for an iPhone instead.  And get the "new baby" app?  Surely they must have that by now.

:P

After a 12 hour drive home from my parents yesterday, it's all I can do to gulp down my coffee and be minor-ly civil to my family.

The series of ruminations on my other darlings will continue at a later date.


Happy New Year.


:)


ETA: It's a double ear infection. Poor Little Dude. :(

Brynach These Days

I've never published my kids real names.  Inadvertently, they may have popped up in the comments through family or close friends.  But I've always been vigilant about keeping them anonymous.  Always. But just this once, I'm going to break protocol and talk about each child by name.  Mostly because I want to remember this crazy time.  And also because we have many long distance family members who want to know, and long to see, our growing peanuts.

Brynach is our Little Dude.  Born just 7 short weeks ago.  He is, by far, the noisiest of the bunch... and the most needy.  Especially today.  The mama of the house got a whopping 3 hours of sleep last night thanks to his royal fussiness.  And today has not been promising in the nap department.  Thank goodness DH took the day off.  Too bad he thinks he did it for car repairing projects.

:P

Bryn is our precious gift.  Yes, even after a measly 3 hours of sleep I can still say that and actually mean it.  We didn't think our family would ever reach 6 children, and the fact that it did is such a blessing.  He has already stolen all of our hearts, and now repays our drooling attentiveness with drools of his own.  Cooing and occasionally even smiling, he is constantly the center of attention.

So much a part of the family, he has already been incorporated into the games of Little Love and Little Boo.  The other day as I folded laundry, the girls decided Bryn and I were aliens and they needed to "kidnap" the alien baby.  I was to walk over to his "happy chair" (as they call it) and "discover" he was missing.  As I did so, they ran away from behind the couch, giggling. I walked back to my laundry... only to discover Bryn tucked into one of the laundry baskets, perfectly cozy and content.  An unwitting playmate in their game.

Of course, he is simply beautiful.  I love his tender face, his half-drunk milk-drooly smile as he nurses.  His deep blue eyes seem so serious as he takes in his surroundings and processes what it all must mean.

And I want him to understand... it means you are loved, littlest one. 

So much loved.

It fills us all to the bursting.

:)

A Blessedly Ordinary Birth Story

Looking out of my two eyes, I saw my feet, for, perhaps, the first time in awhile.  I felt the weight that they had to bear, the unyielding gravitational pull.  And I felt my knees weaken at this pressure.  For the first time in my life, my earthly body seemed nothing less than a burden.  A burden to be borne and endured, not adorned and arrayed.  And I could truly whisper to myself that the promise of the Kingdom to come is surely a blessing and a welcome comfort.

~Nutmeg, 2004

I started blogging when Little Love was 8 months old.  The above was written by me in my (handwritten!) journal after a particularly difficult c-section recovery with her.  I had gained a lot of weight that pregnancy, and the after-effects of the pain medication, coupled with an extremely colicky baby was taking it's toll.  Throw in my stair-stepped children (ages 2,4,5 and 7) and I was seriously pushing the limit of my sanity.  Other moms are more resilient, I'm sure.  But #5 drove me to my knees.  Don't get me wrong, I was so thrilled to have my Little Love.  A traumatic miscarriage one month before conceiving her had cured me of any selfish doubts.  But it was by far the most difficult recovery I've ever had.


Naturally, I've been gun shy ever since.  After Little Dude's existence was made known to us, I was thrilled, but cautious.  Ok, who am I kidding... I was scared sh*tless.   I did not want to go through the fear and anxiety I experienced during the surgery... did not want the horrific recovery... did not want the colicky baby with acid reflux.  I wasn't sure that all of my longing for another little one would turn out to be the best thing for us.

*smile*

The morning of Little Dude's scheduled birth, I explained to DH my need for some Mama time.  I needed to shower, to do my hair, to accomplish some detailed grooming... because I knew it would be at least a week before I would be strong enough to give any attention to detail in regards to personal hygiene.  Sorry, (tmi?) but surgery recovery is no picnic.  And I knew it.

Surprisingly, I was calm.  Begging for prayers from all corners of the internet and real world friends, I was amazed at the effects. I had a game plan, and was following it to the letter.  Baby steps, I decided.  Take one thing at a time.  First step, pack.  Next step, get to the hospital.  And so on from there. At each turn, I would take a deep breath and submit.  Hospital gown?  check.  I.V. line?  check.  Scary consult with the Anesthetist? You betcha. Throughout all of this, my mind focused on something I had read that morning.  A poor woman had revealed on the Faith and Family blog that her husband was caught in the throes of a porn addiction.  My heart ached for her, and I was moved to promise her that I would offer up my sufferings that day for her. Oh, to think that maybe my meager sufferings could aid in his release from that bondage!  My resolve was hardened.

The peace was unbelievable.

There were moments of pain and panic, I will not lie.  I have a slight scoliosis in the base of my spine, and the positioning of the epidural was tricky... and painful.  Having the anesthesiologist ask you which nerves were spazzing out as he pushed the needle one way or the other?  Yeah.  Not pleasant.  Lying down on your side to let the medicine have easier access to that one side that wasn't quite numbing properly? Wondering if they'd have to redo it?  And what about the surgery?  Eeeek.  Yes, there were moments of panic.  DH was not allowed in to the O.R. at that point either.  I had forgotten about that.  He would not be allowed in until I was numbed and the sheet was positioned.  And that added to my anxiety.  To be suffering and in pain and confusion without my stronghold beside me.  That was probably the hardest part. But I remembered my resolve.  I was determined to hang on to my peace.  And the prayers carried me through.

And as the medicine took effect, DH was ushered in.  He took my hand and smiled.

My arms were outstretched and the words of Our Lord took root in me. This is my body... given up for you.  I was fully living this truth at the time that the first incision was recorded.

During the surgery, with all of it's strange sounds and smells, I had my eyes closed.  My doctor asked how I was doing, and the nurse anesthetist said I was smiling.  Strange, huh.  I was thinking about Little Dude, and how we would meet him soon.  And I couldn't wait.

The moment I heard Little Dude... the tears sprang up, unexpectedly.  And as I laughed them away, I remembered that I always cry when I first hear those wails.  They wrapped him up and laid him on my outstretched arm, close enough so I could kiss his face.  My arms still immobile, DH held him in place for me. As my doctors finished their work, I lost all sense of time just gazing at his face.  And during recovery, the protocol at the hospital is for complete skin on skin time.  Having him nurse and snuggling him close made the time go by quickly.  I can barely remember my doctor checking in on me before he headed home.  Something about how it all went well.... and then he was gone.


My doctor.   A few words about him.  He is Catholic, Pro-life and NFP-only.  Knowing that the man who was performing the surgery was most likely in the state of grace gave me a confidence that I hadn't thought of before.  I could almost picture the guardian angels guiding his hands.  He is meticulous.  So much so that he refuses to deliver his own children... afraid that his emotions would cause him to lose focus.  He plays the role of dad then... but for us, he was all business.  And I just love him for that.

After I was home a few days, and reflecting on how God's grace and many prayers carried me through each hurdle of recovery.... (first time up, first shower, removal of bandages, then removal of staples, etc) It dawned on me that it's really all about trust.  Trust in God.  Trust in your caregivers.  Being rolled from the operating table to the recovery bed and then onto my hospital bed.... ever had that done?  They tip you on your side, then lift you by the sheets and plop you on the other bed.  I was completely numb, staring at the floor, as they tipped me one way, and then another.  Totally helpless.  But I had to trust.  If I freaked out just a little, tried to steady myself with my arms... then the IV bag would have gone flying, and in their surprise, the nurses may have lost their grip on me.  And those nurses?  They are good. Protecting my dignity, soothing my fears, all while letting you know that this is routine.  It's done all the time.  And while you are uniquely you... you are also just part of their normal day.  And there is something really comforting in knowing that.

How much more God loves us.  He paralyzes us with his love.  Tips us one way, then another.  Only asking us to trust, not to freak out.

Because his grip on us is secure.

And there is something even more comforting about that.

Telling

We've had to implement a new rule at the Nut House these days. 


#11.  No fighting over the baby.



:P

The Craziness of our Days

I want to remember this time... this blessed time when my entire life is ruled by a little man who is not yet two feet tall.  Who cannot even hold his own head up, and spits up constantly.  Who cuddles and snugs and makes the funniest faces when trying to wake up... and who is the center of our universe these days.


We are in survival mode here in the Nut House.  Those of you with little ones right now know (and are living out!) exactly what I mean.  Other Mamas of littles now grown will nod in remembrance.  It is a crazy time.  But a blessed time of crystal clear priorities...

~The baby is screaming, he must be picked up/changed/fed/held/rocked.

The dishes can wait.

~The children need some family time.  Some games/movies/mom-and-dad/special time....

The laundry can wait to be folded.  Need something? Look in the clean basket.

~Mama needs a shower today.  No, really, it has become a priority.  ;)

The vacuuming will be done later.  Please hold Little Dude, and pass him to another older sibling if he fusses.

~Nap time! Which equals tv time!

Yes, I know the children have been watching all morning.  One more hour this afternoon won't rot their brains too much.  I just need them in one place so I can rest and not worry.



And so it goes.  Our housecleaning is haphazard at best.  DH is trying not to do absolutely everything.  He is such a do-er though.  And the kids are being rallied to constantly step up more and more to help him out.  Sat night their reward was a trip to the movies, how DH managed to stay awake after running errands all day is beyond me.

I stayed home and snuggled with Little Dude.  Because that is all I can manage to do these days.

That is my A- #1 Top Priority.

And I'm going to treasure it for as long as I can....

:)

While I Wrestle With The Written Word...

... in composing Little Dude's birth story...

I thought we were overdue for a wee bit of updating.

Here is our little man, as of yesterday....

He absolutely consumes me.  Constantly in my arms, I hardly ever put him down.  Most of this is by choice, of course, but I also anticipate some fussy days ahead.  (actually got a taste of that today.... eeek)

I am walking a tightrope these days...  finding that while I am eager (and sometimes downright impatient) to be fully 100% recovered, I also do not want to wish this first month away.  Because it will pass.. and all too quickly. I love this newborn stage... the snuggles, the smells, the utter dependency... so sweet.


The siblings are, by turns, helpful, joyful and somewhat oblivious in this new chapter of our family life.  The girls cannot stand to hear him cry and go rushing to his side at the slightest peep.  The boys can't stand it either, and they go running outside.  LOL.

Little Boo is most adamant about scooping him up and out of the arms of the failing comforter, especially in the evenings when DH is trying to keep the little man awake for a few hours.  She marches up to her dad, hands on her hips, demanding that he hand over the little guy.  Then she waltzes away with him, singing and snugging her baby brother.

It definitely is nice to have the extra set of arms.  It guarantees that I can get dressed most mornings.
;P

Thanks to our homeschool co-op, the kids are still able to keep up with their schooling, while learning important life lessons here at home.  Pitching in and helping out, or pushing limits and bending rules?  It's been an interesting transition.  But necessary, as we iron out our new roles and make room for this most welcomed little one.

We have amazing friends.  AMAZING.  Our meals are planned out, every weekday, from now until Dec 22nd.  Yes, you read that right.  Little Dude's godmama has been working the phone lines, keeping us well-fed.  We are so truly blessed.

And that's it for now.  The little man awaketh, and I must run.

Thanks for your many e-mails and well-wishes.

Life is full here, and so very very good.

:)

Our New Life...

I simply refuse to believe that it has been two weeks since I last posted.

TWO WEEKS.

Because, that would mean that little Dude would be an ENTIRE WEEK OLD today.

And that?   Is simply not possible.

And so... the starting of life... in pictures:


The clock in the operating room, marking the exact time.... (4:29pm)
















First night with Mama...

A visit from the siblings....

Gosh, there are a lot of them!!

Little Love is needing some extra attention as she rapidly assumes her role as a "big" sister....
:)

And, clearly, someone needs to do some explaining to Ben the Cat.

A longer, more eloquent post to come on how wondrous are the ways of God and how lucky we are to be a part of this communion of saints here on earth.

For now, please know that I am so very grateful for the outpouring of prayers and good wishes. I could feel the many graces carry me through each moment of the surgery and subsequent recovery. Prayer is so powerful!

Much love and prayers of thanksgiving to all~

:)