Wednesday, April 29, 2015

Spring and Transitions

Well!  So.  Apparently I may be having a baby in the next few weeks.  But time is a funny, slippery, elusive thing in pregnancy:  35, 36 weeks sounds pretty darn far along when you're 5 or 6 months.  But now?  A week feels like a month, a day like a week, an hour in the afternoon like a very tedious decade.  I'm pretty sure I'm going to be pregnant forever, despite these bullies called Braxton Hicks.

And I'm a bit emotional:  while the baby seems to be doing fabulously, and is heartily kicking my rib at this very moment, I am pondering a friend's stillbirth. And other far lesser horrors like cleft palates, or the NICU, or jaundice, or the possibility of a hysterectomy (which my doctor is prepared to do if things go wonky with this C-section #6).  I'm a real barrel of laughs to be around, obviously.

But I am trying my best to have faith that, despite not deserving the gift of another child - hopefully another healthy child - God will still give one to me, ignoring my monstrous, selfish ways.

In the meantime, there's been all sort of shenanigans around here:
Oh Easter!  A long time ago!

Most of us had a Happy Easter

32 weeks, back when I was relatively svelte

Of course they got these for Easter.  Isn't that the norm?

Mucho de Soccer Tournaments

We are VERY excited for the upcoming dance recital.  

Well we females anyway.

Already hijacking the baby stuff
So that, more or less, is what we've been up to.


Playing dress up "Mom."  I guess their Mom was a pole-dancing extra on the set of Flashdance.
If you bother with my little blog, you've noticed it ain't much of a blog lately.  There are many reasons for my neglect:  a little less time; quite a bit more writing for other little publications; the difficulty in writing about older children, who can be huge buttheads; and the niggling feeling that I would like to do something a little...different.  I'm not sure what that looks like yet.  But you will be the first to know.

In the meantime:  please say a little prayer that we will have some good news with which to update you soon!

Wednesday, April 1, 2015

This Must Be A Joke! A Blog Post!

Welp, it's official.

A whole 'nother month went by?  Life is cruelly passing me by.

And not in the "times goes so fast" wretched horrible cliche way that I detest  (anyone who has ever said that does not remember being, or has never been, hugely pregnant and sleepy on a Tuesday afternoon at 2 pm with wild little girls to entertain for many many more hours), but as in I Am Drowning in Details and Exhaustion and Not Making Time for Fun Stuff.

Like blogging here and there!

March was wild:  it started out with several stranded snow days (no pictures!), a bout of strep throat running through the house, a quick mama getaway to the Canebrake for some "research" for my next article, and then culminated in a much-awaited trip home to Seattle.

Look at all the pictures I took in Seattle:

Well of course THAT happened

Our view from the Westin Bellevue


Yep, that's a picture of cranes.  PVT and I snuck - sneaked? - away to our favoritest hotel in the world, the Bellevue Westin, for a night, and I wanted to show the boys how close the cranes were to our room (the construction in downtown Bellevue is breathtaking).  But these are the extent of my pictures.  (Alas, our little overnight was cut a bit short when Memere called in the morning telling us that Keane had woken up with a rash, probably measles.  But since I am as pro-vax as they come, I suspected it was not measles.  It was a reaction to the antibiotic he was taking for strep.)

So here, then, are some pictures of pictures (oh my inexplicable lameness) that my Dad took (thank goodness he goes overboard, else my children's lives might go undocumented for years on end):
Um...hunting for dog poop

Sur la beach

The baby...for not too much longer

Huge me, 30 weeks

Brothers playing basketball
 It was a good, fast, exhausting trip.  Thanks Mom and Dad!

And now here we are, gearing up for bonkers time:  spring, soccer, end of school stuff, recitals, et cetera...oh, and hopefully a baby.

Who seems to be doing fabulously.  Although I don't want to take anything for granted.  I just can't wait for her to be here, safe and sound.

Here is hoping your spring has sprung beautifully.

And if you want more, here's my latest article on my Facebook pet peeves.

Enjoy.  Or ignore!

Friday, February 27, 2015

This is Long and Dull, But So is February



1

Oh my Lord I have to post SOMETHING in February, don't I?  I have slouching towards the end of this month like I'm crawling through a long dark tunnel, the light at the end of which is MARCH.  And really, winter in Tulsa?  It's been sort of the usual:  Oklahoma, I think, is the garbage disposal for the rest of the USA's weather; all the leftovers are deposited right here, brutally and unceremoniously, with very little warning.  So we've had a few snow days, and lots of very cold, gray days, but they've been interspersed with the occasional balmy tease of spring.  And STILL I cannot get through this winter fast enough.  Can you imagine how the likes of me would have fared in Boston this year?  Clearly God knew my meteorological limits.

But really we're all doing OK:  everyone has been relatively healthy, and I am feeling good.  I have a friend from church who is also pregnant with her seventh, due AFTER me,and she has been on bed rest for a month, and will likely be for the duration of her pregnancy.  I have never been so thankful to do my own Sisyphean housework than when I think of her.

2

A couple of weeks ago, one son who shall remain unnamed kicked a hole (a hole!) in the wall after I told him I would not advance him allowance to buy some more Madden points on the XBox.  This rather brutal act of violence stunned me; I started revisiting every parenting decision I'd made since he was born:  did I wean him too early?  Did those days of daycare when I was working scar him for life?  What have I done WRONG?  WHAT WILL HIS FATHER SAY?

Well, when PVT got home, I told him the sordid tale, and to my surprise PVT was not horrified or shocked.  In fact, PVT looked a bit sheepish:  "Oh, I did that when I was his age."  Well, phew.  I know my husband is not a sociopathic maniac, so this revelation was a bit of relief - maybe we still might get this kid right.
There's a hole in the wall!
However, we're hoping the talking to he received will prevent him from taking out his frustration with our odious rules on the plasterboard again any time soon.


3


In a mere 19 days, we are finally going to Seattle - I have not been home in 20 months, the longest period ever in my 41 years.  First the trip was postponed due to barforama, the second due to my eldest's "National History Day" project (my hatred of National History Day is visceral and very very ugly, so I won't talk about it here):

Nomeward Bound, Baby

But surely we will be able to board the plane this time!  Right? 

Woo hoo!

4

Brother versus brother in a cold soccer tournament a couple of weeks ago:


 Big brother won, but we're all still friends.



5
Gratuitous shots of Thelma and Louise here:

Just another school day ensemble

And with my other two daughters Anna and Elsa

Sylvie and Margaux have become inseparable.  Colette fancies herself much too sophisticated for their antics, so they pretty much eat, sleep and breath every moment together.  This is a good thing.  And a very loud, messy thing too.

6

Our eldest was also inducted into the National Junior Honor Society:


The best picture I got:  I had just waddled down a whole thing of bleachers and was nervous I would keel over

With his homies

I am really not sure how he snuck in, since he seems to spend 90% of his free time watching YouTube videos and playing some geography game on his laptop, but we'll go with it!

6

At my last doctor's appointment, I got a rather stern lecture on having more children - this will be C-section #6.  I was a bit surprised, since he had never seemed too concerned about all my surgeries, but he had just told a woman who was a surrogate mother and had also had 6 C-sections (which to me is a whole 'nother animal) that he would not take her on as a patient should she she hire herself out again.  He told me he would still take me because he likes me (oh phew!), but he would not be thrilled about doing so.

At my age, I know I'm more likely to be facing menopause after this child than another baby.  But I suppose there is a slim chance I could get pregnant again.  So what, exactly, are the risks?  I know that all scar tissue is problematic, and there are higher chances of placenta previa or uterine...um, disaster, but I am still rather vague on HOW risky another pregnancy would be.  I am willing to accept a bit of risk (especially since the thought of assiduously charting during the remainder of my fertile years makes me grouchy), but I also don't want to leave behind a pile of orphans.

Any thoughts?  And did Ethel Kennedy really have 11 C-sections?

7

Are you reading anything fabulous lately?  I have become addicted to this author's summer sagas on Nantucket - they are fairly well written, engrossing....and admittedly a bit smutty.  So I am also reading this book about this fabulous guy, and learning so much I didn't know about his philosophies, particularly Theology of the Body.  I keep trying to get into this monster - I have heard wonderful things about it - but this tired brain of mine cannot get past the long Norwegian names late in the evening.  Sad, I know.   Are you reading anything fabulous?

Well, there you go.  February.  I am hoping for temperatures over 50 degrees, light in the evenings, and hopefully hopefully another healthy baby here in 10 weeks.  Pretty please?

Friday, January 16, 2015

Where Boring Ruminations About the Weather Lead Me to More Boring Ruminations on Having a Big-ish Family

(I am going to force this into a Seven Quick Takes Post, and hope it works, OK?)

1

Ah hello there dear friends.  I have been suffering a severe case of January-itis that has left me feeling sad, lethargic, anxious and generally morose as soon as the alarm goes off each morning at pitch-black thirty.

2

But today:  the little bug Margaux and I are sharing seems readily controlled by Tylenol, the sun is shining, and the temperature promises to break 40 degrees, which makes me want to blubber tears of pure joy.

I don't know when I became so affected by the weather (although I suppose my whacky hormones might contribute a bit to the shenanigans).  I grew up in the Pacific Northwest, where the term "sunbreak" was coined.  When I lived in New York, I trudged through the city streets with alacrity through Nor'easters, snow storms and all kinds of awful muck (in high heels, no less, because I could not abide the sneakers/skirt commuter look).

But maybe since I've had kids, or maybe since we've lived here (I can still hear a friend, a native Tulsan, intoning when we told him we were moving here:  "Say goodbye to temperate weather," a phrase I promptly poo-pooed but which has haunted my brain ever since), both the extremes of summer and winter make me wring my hands in despair like a little old lady.

It's fairly pathetic, really.

Too, the past many winters have corresponded with the middle, boring part of pregnancy.  A boring pregnancy, of course, is a wonderful thing; I don't think anyone yearns for an "exciting" pregnancy.  But the mid-pregnancy blahs, coupled with the mid-winter blahs, make me snappish, grumpy, and unable to handle the little things with any sort of resigned cheerfulness.

3

The only picture I've managed recently:  waiting at bassoon lessons
But a little cheerfulness is something I've discovered is desperately needed when you have a big-ish family:  because there is always a little problem, a little SOMETHING, going on.  Way back when I had one or two kids, I always viewed mothers of large families with awe, a bit of envy, and a dash of self-righteous disdain:  how could they possibly love ALL of their children as much as I loved my two perfect little boys?  Well hahaha: now that I have my own large-ish brood, I can assure my past self that I love each and every one of my (perfect-ish) children just as much as I loved the first two.  That isn't the hard part.  What is hard is all the little things, all the time:  this one has a huge project that requires nagging every single night.  This one lost his new hoodie.  AGAIN. Why does this one have a little fever?  What is going on with that one's finger?  Why did that one just randomly puke on the couch that I JUST HAD PROFESSIONALLY CLEANED last week (sob)?  That one NEVER STOPS TALKING.  This one needs to talk SLOWER.  This one had better adjust his attitude.  This one is always hanging out in his room solo, playing on his Kindle.  This, that, the other thing...none of these are big problems, of course.  But all of the little little things add up sometimes to where I feel like I can't keep up, despite the fact that I try to be fairly laid-back, for sanity's sake.

4


And the FOOD!  Back when I had three little boys, I usually could get by with one large grocery store on the weekend.  A few years later, I had to add in a mid-week run for things that disappeared quickly, like fresh produce.  Or chocolate.  And now?  It seems like I am at a grocery store every.single.day because we've run out of something.  And I have at least 5 grocery stores in the rotation:  one store has the best toast, the other the best produce, the other the best whip cream (this is very, very important) and deli meats, the other my special French Vanilla "coffee," the other the Sriracha mayonnaise that is helping me survive this pregnancy (which is why, perhaps, I've gained 20 pounds and the baby supposedly weighs 13 ounces).  It's like I'm a Frenchwoman who goes to the farmers' market every day, without the charm, the farm, and the French.  And with a big big van.

5

Where did she come from?
But of course all the little things and problems are, in the long run, more than offset by all the daily victories, the daily laughs, the daily jokes, the very loud and hazardous games of indoor tag, and the milestones.  There is this one who finally got the project turned in, and while no one will think Mama did it (a point of pride in this family:  homework is done by children. I am not sure all the parents in our school district always agree), it is a lovely piece of work.  This one's fever is gone, and she is back to chatting up a storm about carnival rides and French toast.  This one looks so very PRETTY in her ballet tutu.  This one scored 5 goals last night.  So much to keep track of, but so many joys, big and little.

6

Many many years ago, the partners of the accounting firm I was working for hosted a progressive dinner at their houses for all the newly promoted tax managers.  We got a limo, and there were probably 8 of us managers packed in, drinking champagne; there was flirting; we were young and on fire, and we were having a ball.  Each partners' house seemed to get bigger and grander than the home before.  Finally we got to the last house.  It was a brand new house presiding atop the West Hills in Portland.  We could see all of Portland glinting below, the river and the mountains beyond that.  The house was immaculate, I remember the beautiful virgin wood floors shining like mirrors (in fact, the partner was so obsessed with her floors that she had emailed me specifically to chose my footwear carefully, knowing my penchant for obnoxious heels).  And I kept looking at those floors, knowing I would never have a house like this; I didn't have the fire, the stomach for all the work needed to make partner.  And I missed my two little baby boys - and PVT - at home.  And right then I had a thought that I think has given me the courage to have "just one more," to discard the stern warnings of doctors who mutter darkly about "advanced maternal age:" my children are my wealth.  

Nothing else.  

Well, that and health insurance.

7

That's probably enough mush for one post.  And my "wealth" wants me to come play some weird game with my shoes and a blanket.  Here's to the occasional warm winter day and healthy kids!

Sunday, December 28, 2014

Dispatch from December

I am a bit shocked to write this, knowing how many things can go awry at this time of year (6 kids, winter), but I believe I can put this down in the books:  our Christmas was marvelous.  No one was sick; we made it to church; I made an edible breakfast casserole; and I only wrecked one dish at dinner (I couldn't find my tin foil, so for some reason I covered the spiced squash rings with a plastic lid.  I think I thought that it was some special oven-proof plastic?  Um.  Suffice it to say we did not eat the spiced squash rings laced with melted purple plastic).

And the kids, of course, had a fantabulous time.
That's a lot of blue and green for a bunch of Okies
I think you will probably agree that second to hearing your newborn baby cry for the first time, there is no sweeter, happier sound than waking up to kids squealing with delight over their Christmas loot.  Even if they wake you up from a deep warm sleep and it is still as dark and cold as the dead of night.
Anyone who knows Margaux knows she has worn the same tattered ballet dress EVERY DAY for the past three months.  Santa got her this dress, and it is a miracle that rivals the incarnation of Our Lord that she is wearing it.

I keep seeing these huge dolls lying face down on the floor and  thinking some kid has lapsed into a coma.

A wee bit of snow!  Snowman made by mama, thankyouverymuch

Sno cones on Christmas.  Of course Santa brought a sno cone machine!



It was a happy, exhausting day.  
***

I don't think I have ever been more happy, or surprised, to be pregnant.  Usually by this (relatively early) time I am so tired and over the whole thing, complaining about my gimpy leg, my herculean weight gain, and all the other indignities of pregnancy.  But after my own losses, after hearing too many stories of others' heartbreaking losses and struggles with infertility, I feel like I've won a lottery.  Every time I feel her move I feel a mixture of relief, elation, and dumbfounded gratitude. 

Please remind me of this when I start complaining about heartburn or extreme fatigue or feeling like a one-legged bowling ball, which I'm sure will be all too soon.

And now, we are facing down a lovely week of sleeping in, bickering over screen time, and lots of football and loud random yelling by Sylvie.  I plan to treasure it.

See you in 2015!


Friday, December 5, 2014

Wherein I Finally Exhale...and Advice Please!

Here's a link up with Kelly - 7 Quick Takes!


1.  So I announced this the other day to the World of Facebook:

Week 15, Baby #7.  I am not the grandmother.
To say I am thrilled, after two miscarriages and a long long year, would be a small understatement.  I had been waiting for what seemed like eons for the call with the results of the Harmony test (this is a new-fangled test - new even since I had Margaux - that somehow bifurcates the mother's DNA and the baby's DNA in a blood sample from the mother, and then examines the baby's DNA for chromosomal abnormalities), and finally called the doctor myself this week.  Miraculously, at my ripe old age of 41, the baby is fine.  While I know I would have loved a child with special needs, it is so wonderful not to have that extra worry (I am not so spiritually advanced that I request suffering, alas!).  And...it's another girl!
The gender-reveal party is a great excuse to consume heavily iced cupcakes

Lordy another sister

2.  Seven kids doesn't sound daunting to Phil or me at all.  But four girls in a row...four TEENAGE girls in a row?  Is there enough Pinot Noir in the world?

3.  We will continue our trend of Frenchy girl names, because we are unabashed Francophiles and like to think we're really sophisticated like that.  Ahem.  So...do you got any good names a la Francais?  We have a Colette, Sylvie and Margaux.

4.  It is so great when they lose those two top teeth at this time of year:

All I want for Christmas...
Fortunately the Tooth Fairy remembered the moola right in time...around 6:55 am.  Phew!

5.  Santa is having a tough time coming up with gifts for two sports-loving, video-game loving (am I allowed to admit that?) boys, ages 8 and 10.  What are YOUR tween boys clamoring for this Christmas?

6.  After baby #6, I gave away all my maternity clothes, thinking I could never endure another pregnancy (my left leg pretty much falls off.  It is super super painful.)  Ha!  Ha!  So I've had to buy a few things, and I have to say I love what I've gotten from my dear standby.  This brand, Lilac, is new to me, not terribly expensive, and flattering enough that I might not even burn it after I have the baby.


7.  I have friends who are waiting for, and wanting, another baby.  Please know I am praying for you.  The cycle I got pregnant, I said a Novena to Saint Jude.  He is my Dude.  Maybe he is yours too?  I have had a glimpse of the vast emptiness - and can I say pathetic envy of pregnant women? - that comes with wanting another child (and I say that fully knowing how ridiculous for a mother who has been as richly blessed as I have been to even harbor such feelings.  But there they were.).  If a child is what your heart desires, do not lose hope!

Have a Happy Advent Week!

Tuesday, December 2, 2014

On Gratitude

Ah, Thanksgiving.  How was yours?  Ours was...well.  Let's just say on Thanksgiving itself, I was thankful for NO BARF.

The Sunday before Thanksgiving, and less than 48 hours before we were supposed to board a plane for Seattle, Colette came down with what appeared to be an acute case of tummy barf-o-rama.  Et cetera.  There is always hope, though, after just one, right?  You think it might just be an isolated, strange bit of awfulness.  So I spent the next day doing laundry and worrying and hoping.

The day we were supposed to leave, Will came into my bedroom at 5:45 in the morning and told me he felt sick.  Ugh.  But there was still hope!  Six to seven hours, he would probably be tired but no longer actively ill.  So:  we kept packing, I tended to Will, I dropped the dog off at the doggie hotel.

By 1 pm, Will was better.  We were leaving at 4.  At 3 pm, Margaux got sick.  Could we get one sick baby through the flights?  Well, maybe.  Phil loaded the car.  And then:  Sylvie got sick.  Could we get TWO kids through....?  And then:  Rory got sick.  Our choice was obvious:  we had no choice.  We would look like a traveling Ebola circus.  So Phil got busy rescheduling our plane tickets, while I tended to three sick kids - it was coming so fast I couldn't even empty the barf bowls.

In the end, I was very very relieved that I was taking care of my miserable kids on the GROUND.

That night, around 1 am, I woke up.  Oh crap.  And Keane, a couple hours later.

The last man standing?  Phil never got sick.  I suspect it was the potent combination of probiotics and gin in his diet that kept the bogeyman away.

So we all spent the next couple of days lolling about, recovering from the evil bug.

By Friday, we were ready to all have a meal; since there was no food in the house, we decided to try a new spot down the street.  Oh my.  The service was strange and grim; the atmosphere was strangely sterile and unwelcoming; the menu was uninspired.  But we stuck it out.  And then the waitress asked:  "Are these all your children....or your GRANDCHILDREN?"

It was then that I felt a little sad about our Thanksgiving weekend.  But in her defense, the server's name was Pebbles, so maybe wherever she's from most people ARE grandparents at age 40.

Well, we had a lovely quiet weekend in the end.  And hopefully we are immune from the awful tummy thing for the next few months.

I hope YOUR Thanksgiving was peaceful, happy, and 100% barf-free.