Health, and Other Adventures after 40

This story begins on March 17.

But no, I've already gotten something wrong, because it really starts a week earlier, on March 10.

On that day, Jeff was scheduled to donate blood, so he took himself to the donation center and proceeded to stretch out his arm and give the gift of life to someone like he does every eight weeks.  Only, this time, he was rejected.

The reason was simple: to be accepted, the donor's pulse needs to be 100 or less.  Jeff's was 102.

That's not that far over the limit, but rules are rules, so Jeff came home with all his blood still inside him and told us what had happened.

We wondered what had caused the fast pulse, something that had never been an issue for him before.  He started paying attention to his blood pressure and realized that was running on the high side.  And about that same time, Benjamin's asthma was acting up, so we got his nebulizer out of the box and proceeded to give him some breathing treatments; and in the process, we found our pulse oximeter in the same box.

Well, that was just too much fun.  ;-)  We all, kids and adults, started using it to see our pulse and oxygen saturation; and lo and behold, Jeff and I both discovered that our heart rates were fast--abnormally so, we thought.

To jump ahead in Jeff's story before I return to my own, this seemed to trigger a wake-up call in Jeff; and he began to pay more attention to his health.  He has the most determination of anyone I know when it comes to losing weight when it's his decision and he's not being coerced into it, and he immediately changed his eating habits and made some radical sacrifices to get healthier.  So far, he's already dropped to 10 pounds lower than he was at his heaviest, and he was able to return to the donation center and give blood two weeks after he was denied.  And that time, his pulse and blood pressure were fantastic.  I'm incredibly proud of him.

But back to March 17...

That was the date of my appointment to give blood for the first time in a very long time--maybe even a decade?  I used to give regularly, but life got busy, I spent a considerable amount of time pregnant or nursing or having little ones at home that made it difficult for me to slip away to give blood, and that particular act of service fell by the wayside for me.  I was very much looking forward to getting back to it.

I felt cautious, however.  Knowing that Jeff was rejected for a fast heart rate, I kept tabs on mine during the week between his appointment and mine; and I realized it was continuing to run fast.  I also had my blood pressure checked and discovered it was high--something that wasn't really even an issue during my pregnancies when high blood pressure can pop up in women that didn't previously struggle with that.  I decided to give up drinking soda and coffee, in an effort to give my heart a break and lower and steady its rate.  I was really hoping and praying that I would be able to have a successful blood donation on the 17th, so I made sure I ate something healthy that day, drank water to bleed faster (I was a notorious slow bleeder back in the day), planned my trip to get to the donation center early so I would have time to just sit and relax--all in an effort to make sure my pulse and blood pressure were low enough to give.

I guess those things worked, because when I got signed in and they checked my heart and blood pressure, they were fine!  Great news!  But then the nurse stuck my finger to check my iron.

"Hmmm," she said.  "Your iron needs to be 12.5 in order to give, but yours is 9.1.  I'm going to have another nurse come in and stick a finger on your other hand and test that."

Which is exactly what happened; and as the new nurse pricked my finger, I asked her if the numbers usually came back the same (I assumed they would!).  "No," she replied, "they are often a little different."

In my head, I thought that was good; and I assumed my next number would surely be higher than 9.1.  

It wasn't.

"8.9," the nurse announced. And then in a concerned tone, she began to ask me about my health and express her thoughts about my anemia.  I had to laugh a little when she queried, "Have you been feeling tired recently?  And sluggish?  And maybe a little dizzy?"

"Well, yes," I told her, "but I thought that was just because I'm a mom of six kids!"  :) 

And then she basically told me that even though she couldn't really tell me that I had to see a doctor, I really needed to see a doctor. 

So out the door I went, wondering what in the world was going on, and eager to talk to my favorite doctor--my dad, of course!

After I had explained the situation to him, he agreed with the second nurse and urged me to be checked out by a doctor, including a thorough blood test.  "We really need to figure out why your iron is so low," was his verdict. And so, I made an appointment for the following Tuesday, March 23, with one of the midwives at the women's health center that has been such a huge part of my physical care ever since 2006.  But to tell you the truth, the only time I've been consistent with doctor's appointments is when I'm pregnant or having a 6-week postpartum visit.  Other than that, I basically avoid the doctor--not an unusual situation for women, since many of us put the needs of our children above our own health needs.  I was convinced though that it was time to start paying attention to my own health, starting with that appointment with the midwife for an annual (cough, cough...not exactly annual in my case) exam, blood work, and my very first mammogram.

I survived the appointment ;-) and eagerly awaited the results, especially of the blood work.  Meanwhile, before I heard anything back from the office, Jeff went in to give blood, two weeks after his initial rejection.  He was relieved when his pulse and blood pressure were great, but shocked when he was told that his iron was too low to give!  That doesn't normally happen with men.  Fortunately, one of the personnel decided to retest his blood, using a different machine, and that time, it came back perfectly fine for iron, leading the staff at the donation center to realize that the first machine was malfunctioning--and had been doing so for quite some time!  He overheard the nurses expressing their frustration that so many people had been tired away for low iron, when in reality, it was an error of the machine!

When he told us that, of course we were excited, thinking that perhaps my iron level was not low at all!  And so my eagerness to hear the results of the blood test grew, along with my expectation of good news.

I got the call on Thursday afternoon, March 25.  A friendly, competent nurse (who rattled off numbers a little more quickly than I could jot them down, so I had to ask her to repeat herself sometimes) told me that the results of the blood test showed that I was very deficient in vitamin D ("30 is good," she said, "but 50 is better; that's what we like to see. Yours is 16.3.") and very anemic ("Your hemoglobin is 7.8; 11 or above is ok. Your hematocrit is 28.4; 34 or above is ok.")  She told me she'd call in a prescription for me for a high dosage of vitamin D, and she told me how much iron I should start taking.  "Great!" I thought, "I'll start taking these supplements, and then start feeling better in no time!"

But then she said that I should wait for a referral from our hospital system for an appointment with a hematologist.  "Ok, no problem," my brain said.

When the referral came the next day, it was for an appointment within our local oncology center; and let me tell you, it is a little disconcerting to see "oncology" mentioned in connection with this!!  My brain says, "It's no big deal; that's just where the hematologist happens to have his (or her...I'm not sure) office, so quit worrying."  :)  But another part of my brain can't ignore the fact that when I did a quick Google search about "causes of anemia," words like "leukemia" showed up then.

That's not to say that I have cancer--not at all.  There are any number of other reasons for anemia, and from what I've heard, some people discover a cause, and some never do, but live with it anyway (as they try to combat it with supplements, etc.).  But like my dad said, "We need to figure out the underlying cause," and the nurse said, "Hematology will help you figure out the underlying cause," so now I'm waiting for the magical appointment on April 27 that will--oh, I hope!--help me figure out the underlying cause.

I go back in my thoughts to the questions of the nurse at the blood donation center.  "Have you been feeling tired? Sluggish? Dizzy?"  Of course, I have!  But I thought the underlying causes were as follows:

~ I'm getting older.

~ I'm out of shape.

~ I'm carrying around more weight than I should.

~ I have a busy life.

~ I don't get enough sleep.

~ And as far as the dizziness, I remember my mother getting dizzy spells as she got older.  She kept a cute little tin of high-powered ginger drops in her desk drawer and would, if I remember correctly, put one of those under her tongue when she was feeling dizzy.  I don't have any ginger drops, but when I feel dizzy, I just stay still for a moment or two until it passes; and, most of all, I'm not shocked by the dizziness.  If it happened to my mom, there's a pretty good chance it will happen to me, too, right?  ;-)

Now that I know I'm anemic and have an appointment coming up to try to determine why that is the case, I find the battle is two-fold: first, not giving in to worry about all the "what-ifs," of which there are an infinite number of troubling possibilities that my mind can imagine if I let it.  And second, fighting the mental battle between the part of me that says, "You're tired. There's a reason for it. It's called anemia and vitamin D deficiency. You should rest. Just stop what you're doing.  Go lie down. You don't need to work so hard. You're exhausted, after all." and the other part that says, "Mind over matter. You're just as capable of accomplishing as much as you used to before you knew about this. Don't let anemia be an excuse! You come from a line of strong women who didn't give in to physical hardships. Be tough. Stay on your feet. Get going." Frankly, I don't know which side to listen to!

Meanwhile, I got the results from my mammogram, and they were excellent (my dad wasn't worried about that because as he reminds me, I breastfed six children, and the incidence of breast cancer goes down in women who breastfeed).  I'm choking down iron pills, taking a once-a-week high-dose vitamin D supplement, eating more spinach and red meat and raisins (preferably with chocolate covering them) ;-), trying to carve out more time to be out in the sun, going to bed earlier at night (well, not tonight, but other nights I have been!), and waiting.

Waiting on April 27, and whatever the next chapter in this health-after-40 adventure will be!

44

We interrupt the regularly scheduled broadcast of coverage of the Fisher family's activities during the COVID-19 pandemic to bring you a pleasant change of topic...

I had a birthday!!!  :)

I will write in more detail about the birthday when I get to Day 21 (April 1, my actual birthday) of my quarantine journal; but for tonight, let me share some pictures of the cake...

...the cake which got made a day late...

...but who cares because for once, we're not in a hurry to go anywhere!  So if we have cake on April 2nd instead of the 1st, nobody is bothered in the least.  :)

My earliest and most unchanging favorite ice cream flavor is mint chocolate chip; and if that ice cream could be a cake, it would be this one.  :)  We call it Shank cake (the reason is told here), and it's loved by everyone in our family--unlike some of my other favorite cakes, like coconut cake or German chocolate cake.  How someone could NOT like homemade German chocolate cake is beyond my comprehension, but there are actually some people sleeping under my roof tonight who claim that it is true!!  ;-)  Goodness!  Just because it has coconut in it!  ;-)

Well, since we're all sort of stuck with each other now, I wanted to have my birthday cake this year be something that all the family would enjoy, so Thursday late afternoon, Moriah and I got to work, mixing up the batter for this bit of deliciousness.  Later that night, after Jeff and I finished our online d-time with our good friends Ben and Melanie, I whipped up the icing and assembled the cake; and when the younger kids finished watching their episode of Redwall, we all gathered in the dining room for one last part of my official birthday celebration.

When Benjamin saw the cake, he exclaimed, "IT LOOKS BEAUTIFUL!!"  :)  He's good for my ego.  :)

Moriah asked if she could put the candles in place; and because we only have one numeral 4, she had to use four individual candles for the second digit of my age.  Tobin and Shav got the honor of lighting them.

I think here, Jeff was pointing out that the wax from the red candle was dripping down onto the icing because it was taking so long for them to sing "Happy Birthday" to me.  :)

Oh well, it's not really birthday cake unless it has a little wax on the icing, right?  ;-)

Benjamin was pretty excited.

Pretty adorable, too.  ;-)

If I had a way to do so, I would share a piece of Shank cake with each of you who is reading, so imagine that you're eating a slice of cake while you read on to find out...

Eight Random Facts about Me!  :)

1. I love the sight of a house sitting catty corner on a lot.  Since 99% of houses are built squarely on their piece of land, the rare ones that sit diagonally always catch my eye--and my admiration.

2. I'm not doing any of this nowadays; but when life is normal and I am able to prepare a meal to take to someone (that has, for example, had a new baby, or is sick), I have discovered that it is certifiably impossible for me to make the meal, get out the door on time to deliver it to them, and keep a clean kitchen.  One of the last two items has to go!  It seems in such situations, I am ALWAYS in a rush, and I end up leaving the kitchen looking like a whirlwind has swept through it.  At least the people receiving the meal don't know (or care!) what the appearance of my kitchen is at that moment!  (But if I ever bring you a meal at some point in the future, you already know the secret: that when I appear at your door, my kitchen is A MESS!).  ;-)

3. During the past 12 months, I finally made peace with my nose.  ;-)  That has always been the physical feature of myself that I liked the least, but this past year as I looked at other people's noses, I realized that I would actually rather have my nose than some of theirs.  Shocking, I know.  ;-)  I do consider it a sign that I am advancing in wisdom and maturity that I have, by the grand old age of 44, reached this stage of actually being grateful for my own nose!  ;-)

4. And speaking of appearances...  It was no surprise when I started to go gray; with the genetics that I have, there was no way around it!  I remember my mother with brown hair...but that was because she had it colored...until one day she stopped doing that, and we were happy.  I loved her gray hair--still do.  Going back another generation or two, I only ever remember my grandmother and my great-grandmother having beautiful gray/white hair, although of course in their younger years, they had brown hair (I guess it was brown; I'm honestly not sure!).  So I completely expected to turn gray myself, but what I DIDN'T expect was to like it so much!  I really like my hair--and not just because of the haircut Jeff gave me recently (although I like that quite a bit, too!), but because of the color, this mixture of diminishing-brown and increasing-gray.  My one hesitation about gray hair was that I didn't want to be completely gray while I was still bearing children; but since Benjamin is four years old now, I guess I don't mind if it all goes gray at this point!  But meanwhile, I'm liking the highlights of color that my head naturally produces (and to think that some women pay a lot of money in a salon to get highlights--hahaha!!).  ;-)

5. Speaking of getting older...  :)  In general, life is getting a whole lot easier (current pandemic notwithstanding).  Why?  Because having kids who are old enough (and mature enough) to babysit is a GAME-CHANGER!!  My vivid memories of being a mother of young children who had to take them all everywhere I went are an ever-present reminder of just how tough it is to be a mother of young children--whether you have one or two or half-a-dozen.  Now that Josiah and David are old enough to watch their younger siblings, it's A WHOLE NEW WORLD, folks.  I can go have lunch with a friend, go to a Bible study, go to Aldi for groceries, go to the dentist for a root canal, and other assorted fun(?) activities ALL BY MYSELF.  (Of course, not at the current time with our self-quarantine, but when life is normal.)  I am so grateful for my old-enough, mature-enough, competent-enough, loving-enough big kids!!  Jeff and I never want them to feel taken for granted as built-in babysitters; but at the same time, it IS a way they can help the family.  Our plan at this point to try to strike the right balance is to pay $2 an hour for babysitting of younger siblings.  If Josiah is away, for example, and David is in charge by himself, he gets $2 an hour.  If both Josiah and David are here and are involved, they each get $1 per hour.  It's not a lot of money, but it gives them some pocket change (or gas money, if you're a teen driver who is learning firsthand how quickly gas tanks get empty in cars!).  And it is a HUGE help for me.  Seriously life-changing.

6. I do not understand the allure of Disney World.  I like amusement parks as much as anyone, but Disney, with its exorbitant prices??  I just don't get it.  Besides the outrageous cost, the thought of standing in a long line for somebody dressed up like a character from a Disney movie to sign my kid's autograph book makes me break out in hives.  YOU'RE NOT REALLY CINDERELLA, YOU KNOW.  There are about a thousand other places I'd rather be.  But I know there are plenty of other wise, wonderful people who absolutely love Disney, so it must be that I'm just missing something about how great it is.  ;-)

7. When it comes to how much sleep I get, I have three voices in my head.  One tells me that I should stay up late and talk to my kids who are night owls because teens especially tend to stay awake later and be available for conversation at that point in the day (partially because earlier in the day, younger siblings are prone to interrupt or be so noisy we can't even hear ourselves think!).  Another voice says you need to go to bed early so you can wake up early to have your quiet time with God.  And the third voice incessantly reminds me that for my health--especially my brain health, because insufficient sleep can raise the risk of Alzheimer's, which is a concern anyway because of my family history--I need to make getting enough sleep a priority!  Which one do I listen to?

8. I started this list of random things with a comment about houses, so I'll circle back around and end with the same theme.  Undoubtedly, my absolute, all-time favorite feature of a house is a front porch--a nice wide one with enough room for a couple of rocking chairs, a swing hanging from the ceiling, and a stand to hold a pitcher of lemonade and a mancala board in the summertime.  Oh, and flower boxes of geraniums along the front of the porch.  :)  The ironic thing is that I have actually never lived in a house with a front porch--visited, yes; lived, no.  Ridiculous, isn't it?  ;-)  My deep abiding admiration for front porches must come entirely from my maternal grandparents' old farmhouse with a--you guessed it--wonderful wide front porch.  Some of the sweetest memories of my childhood come from that farm and that house and that porch.  My love of front porches is so strong that I honestly don't understand why builders build any houses without a front porch--haha!  But all kidding aside, it is so strong that I literally have to guard my heart against front porch envy.  In fact, every time I confess sin, front porch envy could be on the list!  I have high hopes that when I get to heaven, the home Jesus is preparing for me will have a front porch.  It would be fine if it's small (I really love the idea of tiny houses), but I sure do hope it has a front porch.  :)

And maybe a pitcher of lemonade.  :)

And maybe a Shank cake.  :)

Recognizing the Treasure

Some nights--like tonight--the treasure is having the time and energy to do all the dishes and make the kitchen nice and neat before going to bed.  Ah, what a good feeling.

Some nights--like last night--the treasure is staying up late on the couch with a son, talking about everything and everyone until you're practically falling asleep sitting up, but knowing that this time together is speaking LOVE loud and clear to one of your very dearest ones...and he doesn't care that the dishes aren't done.

Sometimes, the treasure is taking the time to write a long, detailed blog post with plenty of pictures to record a special event--or an ordinary day--in the life of your family.

Sometimes, the treasure is just LIVING the days.  No blog needed.

Sometimes, the treasure is the satisfaction of doing the job yourself, especially the bringing-order-out-of-chaos job that is such a big, fulfilling part of being a mom.

Sometimes, the treasure is telling the kids, "I'm going to Grandpa's for a while; and while I'm gone, I want you to see how much of this mess you can get cleaned up."--then walking in the door half an hour later and seeing that a transformation has taken place, all without you.

By nature, I tend to notice and put more value on some of those treasures than others, but I'm trying to keep my eyes wide open more often so that I can see all sizes and shapes of treasures...even when they come packaged differently--or are delivered at different times!--than I'm expecting!  ;-)

What Homeschooling Is Really Like {Keeping the Airplanes Moving}

At this phase of my life, homeschooling my six children feels a lot less like what a "regular" school teacher does and a lot more like the work of an air traffic controller.

On an ideal day, in an ideal world, we all sit down together to participate in an exciting lesson of some sort, then branch off from there to each work at grade level on some kind of fun but challenging assignment that's related to the lesson.  And I float around like some sort of joyful and compassionate fairy, waving my wand if any of my young scholars look confused and otherwise nodding encouragement to all of them.

On the other hand, here's how today really went...

Josiah: "Mom, my math CD isn't working again."  Me:  "OK, remind me to ask Dad if he can fix it."

Me: "Tobin and Shav, you need to empty your laundry bins."

David, after taking an online personality test:  "I'm an 84% extrovert!"  (Or maybe 91%.  Or some number that was extremely high.  I don't remember what it was exactly, but I do know that yes, David is definitely an extrovert.)

David:  "Wow, Mom, your introvert score is really high!"  (Hahahahahahahahaha.  Why, yes.  Yes, it is.)

Moriah: wailing.  Me:  "I'm sorry you bumped your elbow on the rocking chair.  Do you need the ice pack?"

Tobin:  "Mom, Moriah's on the computer without time!!"  (Each of the kids has a certain amount of time they can play on the computer, and Moriah wasn't using a timer, prompting Tobin to worry that she would get too much computer time.)

Me: "David, please go and read your science now."

Me:  "Tobin, it's time to do your listening for choir."

Josiah and David:  "Can Tobin turn down his music?"

Moriah:  "Can I have some hot tea?"

Me:  "Here, Shav, come do your choir homework.  If sol is in a space, what's the name of a note in the space below it?"  Shav:  "Do?"  Me:  "No, mi."  Shav:  "Oh, yeah!"

Me:  "David, could you please play with Benjamin so I can send a couple of messages?"

Me:  "Shav, time for a bath."  

Moriah:  "Don't look at me, Mom!!"  (as she was "secretly" coloring a picture)

Me:  "Here, Benjamin, do you want to play with these clothes pins?"  (He did, and was happily entertained by putting them in and out of an old basin--a hand-me-down from my mom--I have in my laundry room.)

Me:  "Josiah, I think you need to do some biology today."  Josiah:  "Could I do it tomorrow?  I really don't have time today."  (He had a good point.)

Shav:  "Mom, come look at my LEGO guys!  They're watching a movie!"

Me:  "David, could you do your math now please?"

David, a little later:  "Quiz 9, 100%!"

Moriah:  "I can't wait until I'm in choir!"

Me:  "Josiah, are you doing debate in Black Mountain?"

Phone ringing, a lady from church on the other line:  "Are you coming today to pick up these tables?"

Me:  "Shav, could you please put away this clean silverware?"

Moriah:  "Mom, what should I do?"

Me: "Tobin, you need to take a shower today; but don't take it yet because I don't want you to get dressed in your choir uniform yet because we still need to eat lunch and I don't want you to spill on it."  Tobin:  "I'd rather take my shower now anyway, and wear something else."  Me:  "Fine, go for it."

Me:  "Josiah, did you tell Mrs. Hostetter that you can beatbox?"

Me:  "I haven't had enough Shav hugs today."  (a surefire way to get a big one)  :)

David:  "Mom, are we going swimming tomorrow with VHE?"

Me:  "Moriah, could you please put your scissors away?"

Me:  "Hey, look!  The Piano Guys are performing at the inauguration because they want to bring joy and good will and unity to their audience."  Kids:  "That's great!!"

Tobin:  "Mom, could you give me a piano lesson?"  (I literally told him, "Yes. IN THE SUMMER!")  :)

Everybody:  "Mom, what's for lunch?"

Shav:  "Chicken nuggets?  YES!  Give me as many as I can have!"

Josiah:  "Mom, we have to register right now for the Black Mountain tournament!"  (as he frantically hits the "refresh" button on the computer every half-second as he waits for the link to go live)

Me:  "Tobin, it's your turn for math."

Tobin, a little later:  "Does 73 + 71 = 144?"

Tobin, even later:  "Lesson 47, 109%!"  (Gotta love bonus rounds.)  :)

Josiah:  "Mom, listen to this new beatbox sound I'm learning."

Phone ringing, our neighbor on the other line:  "Do you want me to come and clean today?"  Me:  "YES!!  If it suits you, of course."  ;-)  (One of our neighbor girls comes once a week or every two weeks to clean the bathrooms and mop the kitchen floor.  It's a HUGE help.)

Moriah:  "Can we go shopping today so we can get some bandaids for me?"  Me:  "Yes, we're going shopping anyway, so we can get the bandaids, if you pay for them with your own money."  Moriah:  "Yay!"

Josiah: "Mom, can you listen to my interp for the speech & debate tournament?"  Me:  "I'm sorry, Josiah; I can't do that right now.  Maybe David can do it."

Moriah:  "Mom, come look at this puzzle I did."

Josiah:  "Where's my choir vest?"

Tobin:  "Where's my belt?"

David:  "Where's my belt?"

Me:  "Tobin, if you don't have black socks, see if there are some in David's drawer you can borrow."

Tobin:  "What should I do about my hair?"  (Josiah fixed it for him.  Hooray for big brothers.)

Me:  "Does everybody have their choir bag?"  

Me:  "Josiah, I put the check in your bag.  Make sure you give it to Mrs. Hicks."

Me:  "We're doing Plan A tonight.  Shav, I'll drop you off at the barber shop, then Dad will take you to choir..."

And so it went...

Besides all of that, in my head, these thoughts were flying around...

~ "I need to fill out the order forms for the choir pictures and write the check for that.  I need to contact my niece to see if I can bring dinner to her tomorrow and get the breast pump back from her.  I need to contact Elizabeth and see if someone has set up a meal schedule for her.  We need to do our group school stuff.  I need to make sure Benjamin doesn't get into the LEGO drawers and eat the little pieces.  I really should change the sheets on Benjamin's bed.  Josiah would love it if I tucked in the blankets and quilt on his bed (he must be a restless sleeper because he manages to pull out his sheets, blanket, quilt, etc. ALL THE TIME).  When am I ever going to have time to help Tobin, Shav, and Moriah organize and clean up their room?  I need to check the boys' closets and make sure Josiah, David, and Tobin have their choir pants, shirts, vests, and ties all ready for tonight.  How many tables was I supposed to provide for the NCFCA tournament anyway?  Where is Benjamin? Could Josiah get a ride with someone to Black Mountain?   Who could be a chaperone for him?  We still need to do our group school stuff.  What do I need to add to the grocery list for later today?  I wonder where that package is that I was expecting.  It's still in Washington state?!  I need to call Cook Out about iced tea.  I wish I had time to do a blog post about Tobin's birthday.  Oh, look, here's the cookbook we used for his birthday cake; I need to write a note in it, documenting which cake he chose.  We still need to do our group school stuff.  I need to send some emails about judges for the tournament.  Thank goodness for leftovers we can have for supper tonight, but what should we have tomorrow?  Do we have enough tortillas?  I think in all the areas of my life, I'm the worst at being a friend.  There are so many people that I should write/call/get with.  I feel bad about that and hope I haven't hurt their feelings, although I'm pretty sure I have in some cases.  How long ago did I wash the clothes that are sitting in the washing machine right now?  Maybe we'll just wait and do group school stuff tomorrow..."

And on it goes, with my six beloved children flying about, like airplanes zooming across the sky and occasionally needing input and direction from the air traffic controller.  So much for the idea of sitting in nice, neat rows and calmly learning a well-balanced blend of knowledge!!  ;-)

Disclaimer:  Things aren't always this way.  But Mondays, with the hours spent away from home because of choir, tend to be more this way than, say, Tuesdays; and this week, with its thrilling but demanding (read: EXHAUSTING) speech and debate tournament, tends to be more this way than, say, next week, which doesn't have a tournament in it.  This too shall pass.  Meanwhile, I try to laugh often.  :)

P.S.  I really, really, really, really, really, really, really love my life.  Craziness and all.  :)

Tallying the 2016 Harvest

I'm going to interrupt my streak of Christmas posts to squeeze one in here that I always like to get done before the end of a calendar year: a record of our harvest for this past year.  :)

As always, I am astonished at the abundance of this good earth we are blessed to live on, and my heart wells up with gratitude for the produce that springs forth from it.  Growing things never lose their hint of the miraculous in my mind.  Putting old dry seeds in dirt, then seeing delicious food spring forth from that?  Amazing, every single time!  :)

I never claim perfection in these lists, as it is possible I made a mistake and didn't record something accurately during the course of this year; but to the best of my knowledge, this was our harvest for 2016.

Fresh
1. Onions
2. Green onions
3. Lettuce (several kinds)
4. Cilantro
5. Strawberries
6. Spinach
7. Peas
8. Broccoli
9. Cabbage
10. Cucumbers
11. Zucchini
12. Tomatoes
13. Potatoes
14. Bell peppers
15. Jalapeno peppers
16. Basil
17. Cantaloupe
18. Watermelon
19. Green beans
20. Grapes

Frozen
1. Strawberry jam - 7 pints (we never grow enough strawberries for all we want to do with them, so we always buy some additional ones from a local Old Order Mennonite farm so we can have plenty to eat fresh, eat in pies, eat in strawberry shortcake, etc...and yes, to even make jam with some) :)
2. Strawberries - 3 pints
3. Peas - 40 pints
4. Broccoli - 7 pints (I think this is the first time we've frozen broccoli)
5. Blueberries - 35 pints (we picked these at a local blueberry farm)
6. Creamed corn - 36 pints (for my own records, I want to note that the first 20 pints were from 92 ears of corn, and the second 16 were from 70 ears)
7. Apple butter - 4 pints (a first! I made this in my crockpot)
8. Grapes for pie - 20 pints (a time-consuming project, but so worth it!)
9. Applesauce - 43 pints and 4 quarts
10. Pumpkin - 5 pints (Jeff's mom cooked a couple of pumpkins during her November visit with us; she used some of it for pumpkin pies for Thanksgiving, but we had quite a bit left over so we froze it)

Canned
1. Dill beans - 20 quarts (I canned 21, but one jar broke)
2. Green beans - 12 quarts
3. Salsa - 43 quarts
4. Applesauce - 75 quarts (we made more applesauce than usual this year, in part because our local orchard did not have any peaches because of a late frost, so the money and time that would have normally gone to putting up peaches went towards applesauce...hopefully next year, the peach harvest will be good!)
5. Grape juice - 8 quarts (it would have been higher, except I used most of the grapes for pie filling this year)

One new thing I did this year was drying apples; and oh my stars, they were good!  We did this in November while Jeff's mom was here, and she helped peel the apples for drying.  She and I both felt like the apples were even tastier dried than they had been fresh!  It was so easy, too: I didn't do anything but core, peel, and slice the apples--didn't dip them in anything to keep them from turning brown (although I did sprinkle cinnamon on some of them just for fun).  I was very pleased with how they turned out and am eager to do more next year.  I've been rationing the dried apples because we could have eaten them all up very quickly; I still have this jar in the cellar (although as soon as I post this, I'm going to go get a few slices from it, so by the time you read this, the picture won't be entirely accurate).  ;-)

Jeff experimented with two new things in the garden: okra and artichokes.  Neither did well.  I'm not sure what happened with the okra, but the artichokes got choked (ironic, right?) ;-) out by several ENORMOUS zucchini plants that took over about an acre (more or less) of our land!!  ;-)  I expect Jeff might want to try again with them next year.  :)

One thing that's been unique this fall is that the guy who normally shoots a deer (or two) and trades the meat for haircuts hasn't gotten a deer yet.  I normally can that venison, but haven't had to do that task this year.  We still have quite a bit from last year, so we aren't likely to run out.  Although if he still ends up getting a deer, I won't complain.  ;-)

One area that I failed in this fall was bagging up leaves.  We only managed to collect a dismal amount of 8 bags which is NOTHING compared with the amount we really could use on the garden as mulch next summer.  I don't know why I did so poorly with this.  It seemed like the leaves maybe clung to the trees longer than usual this year.  I do know the colors weren't as brilliant as we get sometimes.  When they did fall, we had quite a bit of wind, and that sent them scurrying across the land, rather than settling into nice tall layers of leaves under the trees which are relatively easy to rake up.  Besides those factors, maybe I just got lazy.  ;-)  Next year, I'll do better!  Which is the battle cry of optimistic gardeners everywhere.  ;-)

One more tidbit about the garden: I confess that we didn't really do a great job at keeping up with the garden this year, and weeds nearly took over the whole thing.  It sure didn't look pretty!  But in spite of that, we kept getting an abundance of yummy, healthy produce from it, almost to the point of surprising us with how much good stuff we could get from such a mess!  Jeff and I both had feelings of discouragement about it at various times; and one evening in particular, Jeff was telling me how down he felt about it all.  Just then, a friend of mine named Tarah (a homeschooling mom whose paths have crossed with mine through various homeschooling venues through the years) came to our door to drop by a biology book for Josiah; and as we stood there chatting, the subject of gardens came up.  She began telling me how discouraged she was about her garden because the weeds had gotten so high and she felt so behind, but amazingly, they kept getting lots of food from it...the exact same thoughts that Jeff had expressed just moments earlier.  We sort of laughed about it all, but inwardly my heart was encouraged.  "We're not the only ones!" I rejoiced!  :)

And anyway, there's always next year...  ;-)

From previous years... 2012, 2013, 2014, and 2015

An Unusual Trip to the Waterpark

Our schedule recently has been a little busier than I would like* (which has led me to search for the nearest cave so I can crawl into it and disappear for a while); but when we were given five free expiring-very-soon passes to our favorite waterpark, we decided that we couldn't pass that up, even if it meant cramming one more thing into our over-packed life!  

* It always is, at this point in the fall semester.  I know things will taper off relatively soon, and before long we'll be gliding into Christmas break.

As it turned out, Jeff and his mom stayed home, and Jeff took care of Benjamin, so I could be free to take the five older kids and focus on them.  We decided to take a selfie when we got there.

 I am notoriously bad at taking selfies.  I need help.  ;-)

 We had a great time!

Now, let me tell you the not-so-great parts.

~ For the first time in my life, I saw a deer being hit by a car.  It wasn't us that hit it; but as we drove up the road into Massanutten, a deer jumped out into the road in front of us.  I had enough time to slow down, but it jumped into the other lane and was hit by an oncoming medium-sized blue car who didn't seem to slow down at all.  I suppose it happened so fast that the driver maybe didn't even see it until impact.  The deer bounced off the car and went flying head over heels through the air, and we didn't see what happened to it after that, but when we were leaving four and a half hours later, there was no sign of it along the road.  Not all of the kids saw what had happened, but the one who saw it the best happened to be Tobin, who has the softest heart toward animals.  :(  He got a little tearful, and so did I--I'm not one to let others cry alone when they're in my presence!  ;-)  I guess it was sort of silly, because we're country folk, after all.  We eat venison.  We understand how hunting actually benefits the herd.  It's not uncommon for us to see dead deer along the road, and I've never shed a tear for that.  But this time was different, and it did make me sad.  (I want to add, however, that I'm very glad that the driver of the blue car seemed to be just fine, because I know sometimes crashes with deer can cause injury or loss of life to humans, and OF COURSE human life is more important.)

~ It was surprisingly crowded in the waterpark--certainly not the most crowded we've ever seen it, but more than we expected.  Partially because of that, it took us a little bit (some of us, longer than others!) to "hit our stride" and sort of figure out where we were going and what we were doing and who was going to stick together and so forth.  There was some lingering stress on some of us (OK, I'll admit that it was the older ones of the group!) that took a little while to shed.  Once it was gone, we had a lot more fun.  :)

~ At one point, I had Shav and Moriah in the warm pool, while the oldest three boys were off together; and Shav wanted to practice floating so I was holding him up as he floated on his back.  Another boy, maybe around Shav's age, came into the warm pool, saw Shav floating, and exclaimed, "How is he doing that?  He's a witch!  HE'S A WITCH!"  My first response was most definitely NOT one of kindness towards the boy, but I calmed myself and tried to speak in an even tone as I said, "Anyone can learn to float."  Eventually the boy went away, and after that Shav stood up and asked, "What was he saying?"  I sort of brushed off his question, and he hasn't brought it up since.  My consolation is that, with his ears under water, Shav couldn't hear the unkind words the other boy was saying.  My mama-bear instinct to respond forcefully made me grateful--again--that my children aren't in schools where they have to deal with bullies.  Add that to my list of reasons I'm glad we homeschool!  :)

~ I was SO COLD all evening long.  I know that it's completely natural to feel a little chilly after coming out of the warm pool and noticing the contrast with the air (that is heated to something like 84 degrees), but I felt unnaturally cool and uncomfortable.  I could hardly wait to towel off and change into dry clothes, then get in the van and crank up the heat.  It wasn't until later that I realized my discomfort was likely coming from a bout with mastitis (later that night, when I was nursing Benjamin, I sat in my rocking chair, and my teeth chattered and chattered and chattered the whole time I was holding him...I COULD NOT make them stop).

Well, other than those four things, everything was wonderful!  :)

~ Josiah did a great job looking out for Shav (they often rode a raft together).

~ David and Tobin hung out together a lot (and the four boys were all together a lot, too).

~ After initially being a little timid to go down the frog slide and wanting me to stand at the bottom to catch her, Moriah got used to it, and then went down the slide over and over and over again.  She was so lively and animated and was just having a blast.  I loved seeing her joy!

~ All six of us went around the lazy river quite a few times together, and that was great fun.  Without even knowing she was doing it, Moriah did almost a perfect imitation of Shav's sit-in-the-raft-and-put-his-head-down-trustingly routine that was so meaningful to me as I prepared for Moriah's birth (written about here).  And then, after she got used to it, she had a ball holding her breath as we went through the tunnel...which then became a cave...which then housed a bear that we had to escape from...and then the bear was David, and he would growl at us...and it was all very playful and joyful.

~ I appreciated the thoughtfulness of one of the lifeguards who, seeing Moriah sitting on a plastic grate that was sort of behind me as I sat in the warm pool, told us she wasn't allowed to sit there...but instead of simply giving that correction, went on to explain why.  "It could break, and she could fall in," he said.  Of course I was making sure that she got down right away and was obeying his instructions--I would have done that without any additional explanation from him!  But it was kind of him to explain the reason behind the (mild) rebuke.

~ After we had been there a while, the crowd dwindled so much that the boys didn't have to wait at all for the big slides.  They could race back up the steps and be ready to slide again in no time.  (I should mention that earlier, the big inner tube slides had been closed for a little while because someone had gotten injured on one of them, and the lifeguards had put the person on a water stretcher.  I didn't see it, but the boys told me about it.)  There was plenty of time for the kids to do everything they wanted to do; and as we departed, we didn't feel like we had missed out on any fun.

I'm very grateful that, even when I thought a Saturday evening at home sounded mighty nice, God provided those free passes for us and nudged me to go out and have a memory-making time with my children.  True, some of the memories from this particular trip aren't the most pleasant (I'm sure we'll be talking about that deer the next time we drive up that road); but what will linger the most, I think, is the pleasure of being together--of laughter and child-like joy, of silliness and excitement.  I'm so thankful for these things!

Not Many Words

Some nights, when the house quiets down after being filled with energy all day long, I find myself with words left over, ready to spill them out here.

Other nights, I've already poured out as many words as I can; and if I have the strength to stay up late, it's to be filled up with others' words, not put out more of my own.

Tonight is the second kind of night, and the words are flowing into me, not out--this time, they are the words of Jesse Stuart's classic book, The Thread that Runs So True which has sat on my bookshelf for years--a hand-me-down from my mother--but which I've never read.  I'm not sure why I waited so long.  It's inspiring me not only in how I approach education, but in how I approach life.

Before I read another chapter--and likely fall asleep while doing so--let me squeeze out a few thoughts.

********

This evening, on my way to Josiah's speech and debate club meeting, I was half-listening to Moriah's prattle from two seats behind me in the big white van; but when I heard her describing her future, I tuned in more closely.  From her, I found out that she's going to have a cat named Love and is going to defend her home with guns and cannons.  She's also going to put a sign at the end of her driveway that says, "NO BAD GUYS.  But yes, good people allowed."  I'm sure with a sign like that, she'll never need to use those cannons.  ;-)  I don't think she's ever heard Theodore Roosevelt's saying, "Speak softly and carry a big stick," but I think she's got the concept down quite sufficiently.  :)

********

A few days ago, I cleaned off the bathroom counter in preparation for our neighbor girl to come and clean.  She has started coming every week to clean the two bathrooms and the kitchen floor, and I CANNOT TELL YOU WHAT A DIFFERENCE THAT MAKES in the feel of our home and the stress level of my soul.  Life-changing!  :)

As I removed random debris from the counter, I came across this scrap of paper, and paused to smile.

You see, ever since the kids heard how Jeff used to write notes to me in gum wrappers and hand them to me as if they were pieces of gum, they have been inspired to do the same.  This particular gum wrapper was given to me one day as I was in the bathroom, maybe after a shower.  I heard footsteps approaching and tensed a little, not because I expected someone to physically enter the bathroom (our bathroom doors have locks, after all, and I KNOW HOW TO USE THEM), but because I expected some request to be forthcoming from the lips of the child drawing near, or perhaps a complaint about a sibling's treatment of them.

Instead, a slip of paper was pushed by Tobin's hands under the crack at the bottom of the door, and on it he had written this simple message--a short, sweet "I love you," strong enough to melt me.

That might be the best bathroom interruption I've ever had.  :)

Angels Watching Over Her {Moriah's Story}

Sometime around the moment when she sees her first pregnancy test turn positive, a new mental battleground opens up for a mother--the fight to conquer fear and worry--and suddenly, "do not worry" verses like Matthew 6:25-34 and Philippians 4:6-7 become incredibly difficult to obey.  Worrying about our children seems to go hand-in-hand with being a mom, even when we know it shouldn't.  Even when we strive to walk in peace and rest in trust.

At least, that's how it's been for me.  

Not only have there been some real-life, heart-stopping moments of sheer terror when my children have been injured or in danger (at the top of the list is Josiah's near-drowning, told here and here and here; but it also includes Shav's fall when he was a baby; as well as an incident at a water park in Tennessee when Tobin was just a little guy and slipped and went under water, completely unable to pull himself upright against the force of the water flowing over him, until I reached out and pulled him up; and I can't forget Moriah's cracked skull or Shav's perilous ride down the driveway), I've also had my share of terrifying dreams involving the safety of my kids--the kind of dreams that are so vivid that the impression of them lingers far after wakefulness comes.  Besides all of that, I also have a strange occurrence that doesn't happen every night but happens far more often than I would like: when I lie down at night to go to sleep, I regularly have a...I hardly know the word...a thought? a feeling? an impression? of something bad happening to me or my children.  I'm not asleep yet, so it's not a dream.  And I don't lay there and think, "Oh, I wonder what scary thought I'll have tonight," so it's not anything I'm drumming up on my own.  But completely unbidden will come a strange sensation of some tragedy happening--a different one each time.  Maybe I'm falling from a great height.  Maybe one of my children is.  Maybe we're in a car and a speeding truck is fast approaching.  Maybe a storm is coming.  Maybe a person, with intent to do harm.  One second I'm lying there peaceful and oblivious to anything fearful, and the next I'm feeling with such strength a strange sensation of fear related to something horrible happening.  Does that even make sense?  Perhaps not, but it happens quite often to me, and I hate it.

Well, enough about that.  It's time for Moriah's story.

This summer, there have been two times when near-tragedy struck Moriah; and I wonder if she'll remember them as she grows up.  So far, she does, and she brings them up every so often; but I know that as children grow, certain memories fade.  I don't mind if these particular memories are erased from her sweet mind; but if she does remember, I want her to know accurately what happened--and most of all, give glory to God for His hand of protection upon her. 

The first incident occurred maybe a month or so ago.  I had all the children with me, except for Josiah; and we had been in the library.  I hadn't been able to find a spot in the regular area where we park for library trips, so I had ended up parking in a parking garage downtown.  It's not that far to walk from there to the library, but we did have to cross a street to get from the garage to the library; and as we exited the library to return to our van, I was pushing Benjamin in the stroller, and the other four children were walking alongside.  When we got to the street we needed to cross, I stopped the stroller a little way back from the street like I routinely do, one of the younger boys (Shav, I believe) was asking if he could push the button for the crosswalk (to which I said yes), and I specifically remember that I said, "Wait!" with some urgency to make sure the kids knew that it wasn't time yet to cross.

But for some reason that I still don't understand, Moriah darted out in the street.

My heart stopped, and I COULD NOT GET TO HER physically because the stroller was between me and the street, and the other boys were around me.  I remember hoping in a split-second that David or someone else could grab her, but I knew they couldn't, and my words would have to stop her.

"MORIAH! NO!!" I yelled with probably more force than my kids have ever heard me use.

Thanks be to our merciful God, it worked; and she turned and ran back to the sidewalk where we were waiting.  It seemed like it took half of forever for the sound waves to reach her ears, register in her brain, and cause her steps to slow, then reverse; but I guess it wouldn't have seemed quite that long to a casual onlooker!  It sure did to me though.

Moriah was completely unhurt physically, but the aftermath of such an it-could-have-been-so-much-worse episode left me shaken--and Moriah, too, I think.  I still tremble when I remember that day, but it was especially frightening to me the next time I pulled up in front of the library for one of the boys to drop off books or run in and pick some up, and I noticed how many very large vehicles--trucks, buses, construction vehicles, etc.--go right down that street.  Two dump trucks went by while I was sitting there, and the wind thrown off those trucks caused my van to shake...and my knees and heart, too.  If something like that had been going by when Moriah ran out in the road............

After that happened, I kept Moriah's hand firmly in mine as we crossed the street and made our way back to our van, even though I felt confident she had learned her lesson and wouldn't do that again.  And then God comforted my heart.  You see, there is a tiny stream that we had to cross; and every since Josiah and David were my small boys, we would pause on the bridge and look down in the water to see if we could spot any ducks.  Sometimes we did, and we called them Mr. and Mrs. Mallard (from Make Way for Ducklings, of course). :)  On this day, I didn't see any ducks in the stream, but I did notice that the water was muddied and sort of idly thought that something must have done it.  And then I spotted a turtle--a large one, that had an ancient sort of look about him (her?) although I understand full well he could have been young.  What do I know about the age of turtles at the bottom of a creek bed?  :)  I had just enough time to call to all the kids to look in the water at the turtle, and they did, and then he slid down into the muddy water and disappeared from view entirely.  I don't recall ever seeing a turtle there before in all the times we've looked in that water, so that was a meaningful reassurance to me of God's presence and sovereignty--that He would cause me to look in the water at just the right time to spot the turtle.  It might seem silly, but it brought a little comfort to my heart--as did the fact that I was walking along, holding my daughter's hand, and she was safe and whole and unharmed.

Before I write about the second incident, let me say that we have been blessed this summer to get to go swimming quite often, especially in the pool of one of the families from our church.  The grandma Janie has the pool at her house, and she adores Benjamin and loves to hang out with him since he doesn't stay in the pool the whole time.  The mom Amanda works right beside the pool, and her kids Hannah and Dean are good friends of my kids, so it's a great situation all the way around, and we have been so grateful to have gotten to spend so much time there this summer.

One night, before we had a pool party there with some of the other kids from church, I had a dream in which Tobin was drowning in that pool, and I was trying to save him.  It didn't really make much sense (do dreams ever?) because Tobin can actually swim, but at that point in the summer, Shav and Moriah always wore life jackets so I didn't really worry about them, and I guess my anxiety manifested itself in the dream related to my newest, most inexperienced swimmer, and that would be Tobin.  It was one of those dreams that doesn't give up its fearful hold immediately, and I lay in bed after waking and tried to imagine what I would do if Tobin really did get in distress.  Could I save him?  I'm not a very strong swimmer, and I just wasn't sure I could lift him out of the water if he started to drown.  I lay there and thought and thought and felt and felt all the fear of such a terrifying experience.  I tried my old trick of rewriting the ending, but it didn't work very well; instead, my thoughts were like a broken record, and I couldn't get past the horrifying part of Tobin sinking down to the bottom of the pool.

It took me so long to get over those strong, strong feelings that I carried some of that anxiety into the pool party and was relieved when everything went fine, and Tobin didn't drown or even come close, and no one else did either.

Little did I know what would happen another time we were swimming there.

It happened on September 14.  We had been having a fantastic time playing in the pool and had taken a break to eat some yummy pizza.  I was sitting at a picnic table not far from the pool and was talking with Amanda when I heard Moriah crying--hard, loud crying.  I instantly got up and went towards the sound and discovered Moriah walking up the steps out of the pool, so I got down on my knees and wrapped her in my arms and held her as she cried.  And then I discovered what had happened.

Moriah had finished her pizza--her pizza that she had been eating right at my table in clear view of me--and without me noticing her departure, she left the table and went back to the pool, not stopping to put on her life jacket that we had taken off when we started eating.  She walked down into the pool and discovered, to her horror, that it was too deep and she couldn't touch the bottom; but thank God, she was holding on to the edge of the pool and could pull herself back up.  Once her head came back above water, she started crying and--here is the terrifying part for me--THAT WAS MY FIRST CLUE THAT SHE WAS IN THE POOL.  I had been COMPLETELY oblivious to her leaving the table and getting into the water.

For the most part, I consider myself an attentive, involved, cautious parent; and even that day, I had been counting heads NUMEROUS times to make sure all my children were safe.  When Moriah went to the bathroom in the porta potty (the cleanest one I've ever seen, by the way!) by the pool, I went with her and kept a hand near her to catch her in case she started to slip in.  I always make sure my children's seatbelts are buckled in the car, I check on them once or twice or more in the night, I didn't even let Benjamin have a single stuffed animal in his crib until he turned a year old, etc.  I think I'm pretty careful.

And yet...

There I was, stuffing pizza in my face, talking with my friend, while my precious little girl walked right into that pool without her life jacket and COULD HAVE DROWNED.  It sickens my heart to think that I WOULDN'T HAVE EVEN KNOWN IT.  I ask myself, "WHEN would I have looked up and noticed her absence?  When would I have done my next head count and come up one short?"  And then my mind starts to race with appalling imaginations of where she might have been, and...  I can't even go there, but it's hard to stop those terrorizing thoughts.

As I held Moriah in my arms, she sobbed, "I just want to go home!" and I was reminded of how Josiah said that exact thing when he nearly drowned so many years ago.  As it turned out, we didn't leave immediately, and Moriah calmed down, and she has enjoyed being in the pool since then (although the next time we went, there were strong warnings about how she was not to go in the pool without her life jacket and was not to go in without me knowing); but my mind has replayed those events a thousand times with equal parts revulsion that I let my daughter get into such danger in the first place and gratitude that even when I was not doing my job of protecting her, GOD WAS.

So many times I battled with the thought of "how could I ever forgive myself if something had happened to her?" and I even emailed Jeff about it with words of apology for what I saw as a monumental failure on my part.  He so kindly reassured me by saying, "There is no other woman on the planet I trust as much as you," and then continued on with words of love and a reminder of God's protection.  That helped my heart immensely.

In the days after these incidents, especially the one in the pool, I looked at Moriah with new eyes--eyes that were refreshed by thankfulness, eyes that had the film of ordinariness swept away by the thought of what life would be like without her.  She is so alive!  And lively!  So vivacious!  Filled with color and movement and light and laughter!  So real, so present, so warm and solid as her little body snuggles against me and her arms reach around my neck.  I watch her frolic, and my heart sings a mighty chorus of thanksgiving.  I tiptoe into her room at night and heave a sigh of relief as I watch her breathe (I especially did that the first night after she went in the pool unannounced; I just HAD to make sure she was OK, so I kept checking on her every little bit).

She's fine, totally fine, but it might not have turned out this way.  But for the grace of God, we could have been enduring our greatest tragedy.

I can't count how many times I've thanked God for His hand of protection on Moriah after these two incidents, but I don't plan to stop anytime soon!  I'm reminded of the old Amy Grant song "Angels Watching Over Me."  When I was at summer camp as a child, my cabin acted out that song in a skit we did for the camp's talent show.  It was great fun, and I appreciated the message of that song even then.  How much more so now, as I've seen so vividly how fragile is the cord of life and how quickly it can be broken.

In years to come, I want Moriah to know about these incidents--and by knowing, to give glory to God as she knows beyond the shadow of a doubt that His hand has been on her life.  He's been the one who has guided her, protected her, and given her life, and He's the one who has a glorious plan for her future.  All praise to Him!!

Having a Teenager...

...is wonderful.

 And late-night talks with him are precious.

 But one side effect of after-bedtime heart-to-hearts with my firstborn is that by the time our conversation finishes and he eventually goes to sleep, I have run out of time and energy and words; and blogging--usually a joyful release for me--feels like hard work.  So another day and night go by with only silence here on the blog.

I'm not attributing all my recent silence to these nightly chats with Josiah, but it's one of the reasons.

It's a pretty good reason, too.  :)

More about Postpartum

So a few days weeks months (cough, cough) ago, I wrote about postpartum life; and I fully intended to follow that post about the physical, practical aspects of postpartum adjustment with this post about the mental, spiritual part of it.  I guess I am following it, but I didn't intend for so many other topics to get written about in between!  ;-)  From that, you should learn--if you haven't already--that just because I say that I'm planning to do this or that on my blog does not necessarily mean it will really happen that way.  Take my intentions with a grain of salt!  ;-)

Despite my delay in writing about it, I still vividly recall the deeper aspects of this particular time of adjustment after adding another child to the family (and the things I jotted down when I first intended to write this post are helping my memory!), so without further delay, let me write out these thoughts before they flit away.  :)

In the sometimes tumultuous days and weeks following Benjamin's birth, I swung like a pendulum, back and forth between two extremes.

On the one side, I felt joyful, energetic, and filled with hope.  "This is the first day of the rest of my life!" was my mantra as I settled into my role as a mom of six.  Since Benjamin is our last baby (as far as we know), I felt like if I could learn how to successfully mother these six while still juggling all the other roles I have, I would be ready to conquer the rest of my life.  As I looked around the house, I sometimes felt dismay at the things that were dropping by the wayside; but on my bright days, I was not overly discouraged.  I felt great hope that, even if I couldn't get to a particular task on that day, before too long the day would come when I would be able to; and the lessons I was learning and the things I was accomplishing each day were setting me up for victories during the second half of my life.  How sweet it was to soar emotionally!

But on the other side loomed a sense of failure.  "The pit is drawing nearer" ran through my head when discouragement rose within me, which doesn't make much sense because technically, a pit can't move; but it felt like one was getting awfully close to me!  It feels a little strange to be writing about this 10 or 11 months down the road because looking at it in the rear-view mirror makes me wonder what in the world was wrong with me.  What pit?  Why such a sense of failure?  We all survived, right?  And nothing too terrible happened during that time.  Why did I get so worked up about it all?

But let me tell you, don't underestimate the power of postpartum hormones.  They can make the world seem upside down and can make an otherwise calm woman feel completely crazy.  And so, you can see why, in the weeks following Benjamin's birth, I at times had this image of a scary pit drawing closer and closer to me until I wasn't sure I was going to be able to avoid falling over the edge.  Stress and lack of sleep were, not surprisingly, big contributors to this, so when I started feeling like I was going to lose it and fall in the pit, I tried to pay attention to things that were specifically adding stress to my life and figure out ways to reduce the pressure on me--plus, find ways to get more sleep.  And that made that nasty ol' pit move further away from me, instead of closer.  :)

I'm thankful that, during that sometimes chaotic period of swinging back and forth between the two extremes of "this is the first day of the rest of my life!" and "the pit is drawing nearer," most of the time was spent in the former mindset.  :)

Another phrase I often heard in my head was this: "Not a word of complaint."  It is so very easy to slip into a complaining spirit, and during times of upheaval like adjusting to a new baby, perhaps we do it more than we realize.  The lack of sleep alone can seem to justify many words of complaint.  And yet, I felt like God impressed upon me more than ever before that I was not to give in to that.

I've known the verse "do everything without complaining or arguing" for quite a long time (and have, in fact, taught it to my children to help nip complaining and arguing in the bud).  But I've never taken it as seriously as I did during this postpartum period.  I felt so overwhelmingly blessed--and so very determined to not let a word of complaint slip through my lips.  I can't say that I succeeded 100%, but making an effort towards this got me closer to the goal at least!

It was interesting though--having this goal of zero complaining brought up a question I've pondered before: what's the difference between simply stating something difficult in life and complaining about it?  If I'm not interested in grumbling, neither am I interested in falsely portraying everything as being perfect and wonderful.  Is it possible to admit to the hardships of life without committing the sin of complaining?

The person that I was most tempted to let down my guard and complain to was Jeff--not because I wanted to complain about him, but just because he's the listening ear that hears more of my junk than anyone else.  But when he would ask me how I was, I would sometimes not know whether to tell him all the things that were challenging in that moment or whether, if I did so, it would be complaining.

Nearly a year later, I still don't have this "honestly talking about hard stuff" v. "sinfully complaining" situation figured out!  If you do, by all means let me know the difference!!  :)

Adjusting to life with Benjamin was a good exercise in the area of giving myself grace.  Sometimes when I would be feeling stressed at all that I wasn't accomplishing, I would ask myself how I would deal with someone else if she were in my situation.  Would I get all upset with her, or extend grace to her?  Would I tell her she should be ashamed of her dirty laundry pile, or would I assure her that snuggling with her baby was much more important in that moment than laundry?  When I started asking myself those types of questions, it became fairly obvious what choice I should make.  :)

At times, I caught myself thinking, "Life will sure be easier when Benjamin is on a more consistent sleep schedule," or "Oh, I am really looking forward to when all the children are potty-trained" or other similar thoughts.  And then a voice in my head (I sure was having lots of voices in my head back then!!) ;-) would pipe up and ask, "What are you in a hurry for?  This time of your life--really, the next five years--are probably going to be the best five years of your life.  Don't rush them!!"  That's not to say that I expect everything to fall apart in the year 2020, but by then Josiah will probably be going off to college, and the years of having all six children here at home together will be coming to an end.  As I write this, that thought makes me want to throw back my head and howl mournfully; it can't possibly be true that these precious ones that I love so dearly will grow up and leave home, right??  But when I think about it, it reminds me to appreciate with extra fervor the next five years.  Well, four years now, since the first year of that five-year period is nearly gone!

Another thing I noticed during the weeks after Benjamin's birth was that, for both Jeff and I, it seemed like the pressure was off.  I, of course, was released from the build-up to a birth and the endless wondering about when labor would start and how things would go and am I really able to do this crazy act of giving birth again??  Having the very high hurdle of the unknown about the birth behind me led to a welcome level of relaxation for me that I had not had in the weeks leading up to the birth.

Jeff's stress, on the other hand, came more from our financial situation; it costs money to have a baby, and we didn't know exactly how much.  After it was over and after we paid all the bills, Jeff's stress level came down significantly.  For both of us, it was as if we were pressure canners and the heat had been turned off, allowing the heightened pressure within us to escape and returning us to a normal relaxed state.  There was a palpable difference I could sense--in myself and in Jeff.

One last impression that stands out strongly in my mind from this newborn phase with my youngest son: I felt such a kinship with Rachel in the Bible.  The fact that Rachel had Benjamin, and we named our baby Benjamin, gave us something in common, of course.  ;-)  But the key difference between her and I is that she died giving birth to her Benjamin and I didn't!  In a strange way, I felt like the love I was lavishing on my Benjamin is what she would have done for hers, had she lived; and the intense delight I felt in the presence of my Benjamin is what she would have experienced in the presence of hers (especially since she had longed for children--and remained barren--much longer than I had).  It probably sounds kind of weird, but I felt like I was honoring her memory by loving my Benjamin well; and I felt SO blessed that I was given the opportunity to live...to be the one to care for Benjamin...to be around for his first smiles and laughs...to soothe his cries...to feed his hungry tummy...to clothe him...to care for his every need.  Somebody else had to do that for Rachel's Benjamin.  How grateful I am that I got to do it for mine.

Even when the adjustment to having a new baby was a roller coaster of intense whiplash-inducing highs and lows, I still made an effort to consciously appreciate each day, knowing all too well that the time goes so fast, and the newborn stage is over in the blink of an eye.  On one day, for example, when Benjamin was 11 days old, I jotted down the following note:  "Thought about putting him in bed for afternoon nap,but held him and napped together on the couch instead - so precious."

Precious indeed.  Those days, those snuggles, that tiny little baby...

Precious beyond words.

In those days of intense first love, it's hard to imagine that he could become even more precious to me; but now that he's nearly a year old, I can testify that it's true.  I love him more now than I did then, and I'll love him more tomorrow than I do today.

That love will never, ever stop...

 ~ photos taken during the early weeks of Benjamin's life...he was wearing a super-soft, cozy sleeper that our friend Elizabeth gave us after his birth...it was perhaps my very favorite sleeper for him :) ~