Be careful of what you say..

I was just saying to Matt last night that we have been so fortunate this flu season to dodge our usual routine of sickness. I said this as we were winding down for the night. The kids were all in bed. The "spring ahead" time change still not allowing me to be as sleepy as I usually am this time of night. Matt has been working alot of overtime so he fell asleep on the couch almost instantly. This is okay by me as some of my "junky" shows are coming on. You know, the ones where other people have problems so profound that it makes my life look like a walk through Disney. I stayed up much later than I should have. Tuesdays are incredibly busy around here with after school activities at various places and I have class at night. I know better than to be sleep deprived on Tuesdays. Still, I cannot stop watching the shows I am forbidden to watch when my saner half is awake. I feel like a kid again. I managed to drag my still not sleepy body up the stairs to bed somewhere around midnight. After all, I could stay up late...I hadn't a care in the world.
Sometime between four and five a.m. I was awakened by a sound. I couldn't tell you in type written words how that sound goes but it is a familiar sound in the parenthood world. It is the sound that illicits jumping out of bed while scanning around looking for some sort of container that will serve the remainder of the day as the "puke bucket". It is the sound of one's stomach turning with the sole purpose of emptying its contents. It is the sound that announces 'the stomach flu has arrived'.
I run (no container to be found btw) to the bathroom where my sweet Hannah is standing over the sink submitting to her stomach's request to empty itself. I go through several emotions all at once. The typical "ewww" and of course pity for this little girl who was rudely awaken to her body's violent way of ejecting sickness. I also venture into emotions that typically are not part of this show playing out in front of me (that I am now an unwilling character in). Pride. I am so proud of her for getting to the bathroom in time. Not bad for a 7 year old. I wish that she would have chosen the toilet but hey, it's not her bed ...or worse, the carpet. I also feel pity for myself..."why couldn't this have happened last week when I was on spring break? I have school so late tonight and I am going to be sooo tired. I am going to have to cancel our sewing lesson...etc" It is in those times of sleep deprivation that we are truly our sourest selves. Unfortunately the pride fades a bit and the self pity increases when I see that the front of her brand new white (of course) tshirt that she insisted on wearing last night did not fare as well as I initially thought. BTW...we had pizza for dinner. So there I am in the wee morning hours wiping puke off her arms due to having to somehow manuever this shirt strategically off of her, washing out a white tshirt, scooping puke out of the sink, using Clorox wipes by the dozens, and providing comfort to a strangely calm Hannah. She in turn has a calming effect on me. We go downstairs to face the rest of the day together. We both know it's going to be a crummy day but are reassured that whatever comes our way (or out our mouths) we will get through it.
I can't wait to see what is in store for us the rest of the week.

UPDATE: It hit Jack and the next day, I fell to the sickness. Matt had a variation of it. Now let's see if it strikes the other two.....

Work out roller coaster...

This is day four of our workout. Matt and I are trying a popular exercise program. It is hard but I am glad we are doing it. Needless to say, we are feeling pretty sore. I went to bed last night around 9pm. The alarm rang around 5:30am. I didn't want to get out of bed but I do want to wear a bathing suit in a few months without feeling too self conscious. I got up and put in the next DVD. Yoga. I despise Yoga. I cannot stand all of the "clear your mind and feel the positive energy" blather. So I put it on mute and held most of the poses. I didn't finish the video but what I did feel was a nice stretching of my incredibly sore muscles. After my half-assed-half-hour workout I brewed my coffee and sat with a steaming mug warming my hands. I was feeling pretty good. Nice and stretched, no worries. Just felt really good.
Then it was time to wake the children. My four angels were dreaming away as I quietly went to each bed rubbing warm little backs. "Time to get up.". Two of my girls came down and started their morning rituals. My son was in the shower. I thought it would be funny to run my fingernails along the door each time I passed the bathroom. I started helping my youngest get her clothes for the day as I heard the shower shut off. I walked past the bathroom door one last time and couldn't help myself to one more round of nails on the bathroom door. The door opened abruptly and my preadolescent precious boy had a nasty look on his face. He expressed how incredibly annoying my little game was and punctuated his sentence with "Seriously". Still, I walked around my chipper self. All three girls were in the middle of their breakfast when Jack came down. I smiled at him. It didn't get returned. Well, he is a preteen after all so what do I expect.
Then the picking on his sisters starts. Nothing will kill my mood more than the sound of one of my girls squealing "Stop it!" because a sibling (in this case brother dear) is messing with them. It is like a vacuum but instead of sucking up dirt, it sucks up any good mood I have going. It is in these times that I wish I had my husbands super power to block out all annoying sounds. I have not been blessed with this though so I react. They both spent time in their rooms. One for irritating (because he was irritated with me) and one for squealing instead of telling him calmly. So as I finish typing this I am coming down off of my drill sergeant mode. I just shout orders and my little soldiers follow them. I have trained them so well in fact, that they cannot function without these orders. I have to come up with a different way. I also am praying that I get my chipper feeling back. Maybe Yoga isn't so bad after all.

What doesn't kill you.....

You know the saying, "what doesn't kill you will make you stronger."? I hate that saying. These kids are going to be the death of me and the more that goes on...the less strong I feel. No, I don't feel empowered at all.
We are in the preteen stage with our son. He is an easy going kid for the most part. Perhaps this is why I am so shocked when he spouts off. His issue is computer time. We think he is on the computer too much. He plays a certain game that is pretty harmless. It's age appropriate. I would much rather he be on this website vs others. We are pretty strict with what he watches and other facets of his life as well. Last card marking Jack's grades were lower in two classes than we felt they should be. So we limited him on the computer. He brought those two grades up and his report card reflected a hard working student. So we relaxed a bit on the computer rule. My husband in the meantime has felt we all have been spending too much time in front of screens. Being that it's winter time, it's not uncommon for all of us to resort to some sort of electronic entertainment. (BTW, we wouldn't have a tv at all if it were up to him). When my husband feels compelled to do something about the behaviors of this family, I tend to let him go with it. He is the head of the household after all. Needless to say, this didn't go over well with Jack. Instead of handling it the adult way (which why would he, he is only 12) he started saying smart remarks such as, We were ruining his childhood, sulking, pouting etc. Even though we have discussed how he should handle this in the future as this behavior is not OK, I have to admit I see his point. He is a good kid, he gets good grades, and he is responsible, what's the big deal if he is on the computer??? We worked it out and all parties came to the table with feeling and good solutions. This didn't happen though without stress. Mostly because I react emotionally when I should be acting more like a courtroom...no emotion allowed. This simple struggle we had with the computer had more to do with letting bit by bit my "baby" grow up and less to do with a disrespectful mouth. It stresses me out.
The other issue is Hannah and her asthma. She missed all week last week. She wasn't sick, just coughing her head off and not sleeping. She has been back for four days and I get a call from the school secretary that Hannah doesn't feel like she is breathing well again. She just finished a round of steriods. So what is going on? It will make you pull your hair out. I don't understand how this condition is non-existant most of the year and one little cold (no flu this year even) will take her out of school for a week.
On top of all of this, Olivia has been an emotional wreck. Even though I know this is perfectly normal for 3rd grade, it still is hard to go thru. She isn't a crier. So when those little things cause her to melt down, I find the whole thing unnerving. It's so out of character for her.
Emma is going thru a phase too that has made me parent differently than I am used to. Again, no emotion works best. The pathways of discipline that I have perfected after raising three have been thrown out the window with number four. I have at last found what works for her so at least I have that small triumph. It is not a natural way for me but I am at least capable of doing it.
These kids are going to be the death of me. I always thought that having four kids 7 and under was hard with all of it's demands. I didn't realize that one day I would long for those days. All of those parents who have gone thru the teen years and lived to tell the tale all smile a knowing smile at me.
Heaven help me.

Long time no posts...This and that...

I just picked up Hannah from school. She wasn't breathing very well. It dawned on me it has been one year to the day since she has been hospitalized with pneumonia. My sweet girl kept apologizing for making me come all the way out to get her (the school is about 20 minutes away). What an angel to think of me as she was dealing with not feeling well.
Everything else has been going normal for us. Hopefully this latest episode with Hannah will just phase itself out. I would whisk her away to Florida but it's not much warmer there!
Lent started on Feb. 17th this year. The weekend prior to that was Valentine's Day. I thought it would be a good idea to invite a few families over for a pre-Lenten feast. I cooked chicken cacciatori, spaghetti and meatballs and a cheese lasagna. It really turned out to be a nice gathering. Between four families there were 19 kids! As always, there is wonderful conversation among us adults. We dine frequently with the one couple. It is almost like watching your favorite symphony unfold. We all start out with catching up with what is going on in each other's lives since last we gathered. Then as dinner is being prepared, everyone offers help and takes on a job. We let the children eat first. When they are finished, we adults are able to gather around one table to break bread together. After the food is put away and dishes are mostly done, we sit around and talk about faith. We all share this same love for the Lord. We talk openly about how hard it can be to raise a family in this world...what works, what doesn't. We aren't afraid to have differing opinions on certain wordly issues. All views are accepted and no hurt feelings if refuted. I think it has to do with the fact that we can look at each other as brothers and sisters in Christ. We speak about God and being Catholic with such passion. It inspires me. It is fellowship at its best mostly because it takes place in the confines of a home. One couple is a bit older than my husband and I. They have walked down some roads that still lay before us. It is nice to take in what they have to say about their experiences and their struggles. They are kind enough to share that part of themselves. After everyone leaves...and it is usually quite late in the evening...I find myself looking forward already to the next gathering. We are blessed to have such nice friends.

Happy Birthday to Jack!

My sweet boy has turned into a young man right before my eyes. Long gone are the days of mispronouncing words and scootching across the floor...despite the fact that it feels like yesterday to me. We wanted a baby so badly. Twelve years later, I am amazed every time Jack comes down the stairs in the morning. He has surpassed me in shoe size by two sizes. He is an inch taller...and growing. His voice is changing and so is his attitude! I have so much I still want to teach him before he goes out on his own. He is kind,intelligent, FUNNY, and contemplative. He is passive, can be lazy (don't know where he gets that from!), and has his head in the clouds. Perfect don't you think?
I am blessed to be his mother. I have had to change the way I parent him these past few months. It is a very hard transition for me. I feel like I have given him good roots (for the most part) and now it's time to let him flap his wings a bit. It is hard because I still want to hold him close. It is hard letting him grow up. If I don't, he will not have the skills he needs to fly out on his own.
Happy Birthday to my young man!

Last Monday I went to see Dr. A. He was very thourough in his explanation of what was to happen during the surgery and most importantly, he let me do alot of talking. He mentioned that he had personally spoken with my regular OB. He also mentioned that after having 5 boys, he and his wife adopted from China. Red Thread and a confirmation from God I think. I was surprised how calm I was. I almost felt like I was in business mode and would deal with any feelings on what was about to happen later. Tuesday morning came and I went into labor right as we were leaving for the hospital. I was whisked off to the Pre-op area where the nurses started an IV right away and gave me some pretty good drugs so that the pain was mostly gone and another drug so that I didn't care. The dr. said he barely had to do anything because the baby was right there (no D&C). I go to see him for a follow up visit later next week.
When the dr. came out to inform Matt how the surgery went, Matt asked if the doctor could tell what sex the baby was. I already knew...a little boy. We have decided to name him Stephen after the first martyr of the Church. The baby's remains will be sent to a cemetary not too far away.
I have recovered better than I thought I would physically. Emotionally I feel like I am doing better on the whole...but not so good during certain periods. I have my moments and the sadness can be incredibly profound. I have not experienced anything like it so far. I go from just sadness at the loss of what might have been to actually wanting this baby back so bad it hurts. I feel like I am missing a part of myself. My body is starting to return to its regular shape just as I was starting to feel beautiful (which is why I thought it must be a boy). My milk came in and that bothered me alot. I had to force myself to focus on the positive part of it...that my body realized I was no longer pregnant. I have been trying to keep myself busy (which is easy to do with four kids). I try not to let my mind wander too much into that dark area. My boy is in Heaven with his Father. I try to rejoice for him and I pray to him that he watches over our family. We miss him.
That's where most of the pain comes from...missing him. In my selfishness in wanting him here, I wallow in that sorrow. It is part of the normal grieving process I am told. I just never wanted this to be part of my "normal". I accept that these things happen. All of our children are on loan for they never truly belong to us. We are powerless to stop these things from happening. But I cannot ignore the ache in my arms that long to hold that child. I cannot ignore the hollowness in my heart for that sweet baby boy. I cannot pretend that I am all better. However, there are things I do know...that I cannot get through all of this without the grace of God. I cannot begin to sift through my feelings without pleading to Him daily for healing and acceptance. I cannot function without the small ways He shows me He is near. It is faith that will get me through.

Grief

It has been well over a month since my last post. I don't even know where to begin. FIL is doing well with his liver transplant despite a few setbacks. I also satisfied some nursing callings with being in charge of hooking him up to his IV.

Another happening is going to be difficult to write about but important to document. We lost our precious baby. I went in for a routine 16 week check up. Dr.C couldn't find the heartbeat. I wasn't overly concerned until the Ultra sound scan showed no movement. It wasn't a great picture but it didn't take long to know why we weren't hearing it on the doppler. I had Han and Em with me (so they could hear the heartbeat). I just felt so numb. I felt like things were very unreal. Dr. sent me over to the hospital where they could get a better picture. I wanted so bad for the dr. to be wrong. I still had a glimmer of hope. The dr. explained that because I was 16 weeks along that it would be a delivery but they would keep me as comfortable as possible. That part didn't compute right away.
Matt came to pick me up from the dr.'s and we drove off to the hospital. We walked in the room and I laid down on the table. Across the room was a huge monitor where you could see what the technician was scanning. An ultrasound picture came up immediately of the profile of our baby. It was perfectly identifiable. I could see the spine, the hands with little fingers. I could see the skull and the shape of the cheeks. I could see the baby's knees drawn up to itself in true fetal position. I could also see that where a beating heart should be pounding away, there was nothing.
The technician asked if I wanted to monitor turned off. I said no. After all, this would be the only glimpse of my baby that I will ever get. I just kept looking and staring. So peaceful curled up in there. It gave me great comfort to see my baby and know for sure that he/she didn't make it. It is strange to feel that but it left no doubt that my baby was gone. Dr. M came in and explained that the baby was only 13.5 weeks along. He said it could be a genetic thing (which is why most miscarriages occur). He also pointed out some spots of blood near the placenta. Despite the fact that I have not spotted or bled, it could have been the cause. I don't know if we will ever have an answer for that. They were very compassionate there and I am thankful that I had medical staff who had the utmost respect for my feelings. They gave us a moment to gather ourselves together.
My regular OB called and explained why I had to go to someone else. It is risky with bleeding and I also have a bicornuate uterus. My regular OB was wonderfully compassionate. He told me to grieve and mourn the loss of my child. He was such a comfort to me.
The grief of this loss has hit me in waves. It comes at unexpected moments. One minute I will busy myself with something. The next, I am walking through the house and suddenly burst into tears. The pain of this is physical and can be suffocating at times. It literally hurts in my heart and it bends me in half. I have been through some rough times in my life and I know how emotional pain feels. But, this is the first time I have felt grief on this level... I have lost my baby. I know that these things happen. I am not wallowing in self pity. I do not ask myself, "why me?". I understand it is nothing I did or didn't do. I do not think it to be unfair. I do not feel like I am being punished. I am just simply in mourning. My arms ache for this baby that I will never hold. I feel completely blessed to have been this child's mommy for 13.5 short weeks. I have loved this child from the moment I knew he/she existed. As a christian woman, I accept God's plan in all of this even if it is not my plan. I also know that through suffering comes great grace. I have already felt this grace in knowing just how much I am capable of loving another human being. I am that much closer to understanding how precious life is. That these little ones really are just on loan. I have known that with Hannah(and almost losing her with asthma) but I fully realize it with the loss of this little one.
I have been blessed also with a wonderful system of support. My husband has stood right next to me and has held me up even as he deals with his own grief. My sister has known what to distract me with. My friend, who has suffered this grief several times, has been a wonderful comfort to me. She has known exactly what to say and when to say it. All of the family members that have heard have expressed grief. So this baby was truly loved by all. I take comfort in knowing that all who knew about this baby have been touched by him/her.