Fall

Hi, remember me? I'm still here. I was going to blame my long hiatus on going back to work, but since I didn't write at all during July, that wouldn't be completely honest.

We're doing okay here. Really, really busy. I thought I was busy before, now it is just nuts. Hope is a good baby, almost all the time. She likes people to pay attention to her. If she realizes she is alone in the room, she throws a fit until someone entertains her. After a couple rough months, nursing is going very smoothly. She's growing like a weed, rolling and sitting for very short periods of time. She is on her 4th cold since starting daycare in August. That's getting all sorts of old, but what cha gonna do?

The guys are doing well. Jon in 3rd grade and Joe in 1st. Jon has become a true reader. He read all 5 of the Percy Jackson books in just a couple weeks. I love catching him in a corner, devouring a book. And since Jon is spending more time reading, Joey has decided he should too. Love it when peer pressure works to my advantage!

Jim taught more a small private college in the biggish city to the south. His title change to "visiting instructor" and his pay was increased, woo hoo! But still no benies, boo! I think he enjoys what he's doing, all freshman English. I think he misses the English as a Second Language learners. They tend to be much more excited about learning than your typical Midwestern nineteen year old. But he feels appreciated there, and that helps.

And me you ask? I'm aright, I guess, most the time. I love teaching 8th grade English, much more than I'd anticipated. Love the books, the discussion, and even some of the attitudes. I rarely have to wonder what they are thinking for long. I really do love it.

But.... you knew that was coming right? I am so insanely busy. I know I started the post with that, but seriously I feel like that old chicken without it's head most the time. I work my tail off at work, and spend a some time chit chatting with adults, is that so bad? But I'm constantly behind on my grading and often my planning. And as for my house, sigh... I currently have two laundry rooms, the dirty one and the clean one, formally known as the family room. Every morning I send the guys downstairs to find clean socks and undies and often pants. They are not fans of said running.

A couple pics to sum up the last couple months.

In their Cowboy gear, although Joe has decided he is a Chiefs fan.
We still love him.

The Mario Brothers and a little monster.
The only picture I have of them on my camera was taken at the mall a couple days before the big day. I forgot to charge my camera battery for Halloween.

Me and my favorite God daughter, my only God daughter: )
My sister Jill's little girl the day after her baptism.
Again, I'd forgotten my camera on the big day: (

Hopester in her cousin's jumping thingy mabob.
You can't tell from this pic, but she loved it

The kids at the 2nd annual Friends' retreat at a near by state park.
The cabins are way nicer than my house.
Friday night was our friends and their kiddos.
Saturday was my book club.
Very different evenings, but both were great.
Forgot to take the camera out Saturday night, are you noticing a trend?

The BIG day.
The day my sister's foster children became her son and daughter.

My daughter and my niece, sleeping after Thanksgiving dinner.
Hallelujah and Amen

Take me to the water

I'm doing okay. Really I am, until I'm not. Sometimes it can feel just that sudden. Yesterday was one of those suddenly I'm not. My MIL and I were discussing Hope's baptism. I won't go into details, but we had different ideas on the ceremony. When I explained my thoughts, she looked crestfallen.

Okay, maybe I need a little detail. Children at our church are often baptised by more than just the pastor. When Joe was baptised, the pastor, deacon, Jim, I and even 3 year old Jon sprinkled water on him. MIL made a comment alluding to the fact that the aunts and uncles would be baptising Hope as well as the grandparents. Umm.... no. First of all, do you know how long that would take? My 5 siblings (Cali won't be making the trip back) plus their spouses. Then what about the 18 yr old nephew and the 16 yr old niece and at what age do you stop? Or just have a couple aunties and piss everyone else off? No, Jim and I had briefly discussed having his mom and my dad do it, but decided against it. We decide just the immediate family and the church personal would be sprinkling water. I don't think my dad would be comfortable doing it. Partly because he is a traditionalist and I think he believes only the minister should baptise and partly because he is not one to get up in front of a group of people.



When I made it clear to MIL that we were not planning on having anyone else baptise Hope, she looked very disappointed. She had assumed she would be. I want to mention, she did not baptise the guys and her other two grandchildren are not baptised (not that there's anything wrong with that). I'm just saying there was no precedent for her to assume she would be baptising Hope. I said I didn't think my dad would be comfortable baptising and she suggested I ask him. I know that is a very obvious suggestion, it just isn't a conversation I can imagine with my dad. I know I should be able to talk to him about it, but faith conversations were so Mom conversations. Hell, there were very few Dad conversations, buying a car, or other fiscal decisions, or yard work those were the limits of Dad conversations six months ago.

Then MIL suggested we have two baptisms, one public and one private. Hell to the no, that is not happening. I don't want a private baptism, the church and community has been so supportive, I want to share her special day with them. And it seems pointless to have two baptisms. At one point, having a private baptism had occurred to me. That Friday, when Dad called to tell me they had exhausted all treatment options for Mom, that Mom only had a couple weeks to live. I was 36 weeks pregnant at the time, off bedrest and cleared to give birth rather than try to stop it. I considered doing all I could to go into labor and then having Steve (my pastor) baptise her in Mom's hospice room. I'd even thought I would ask Sister Jill if she wanted Steve to baptise her daughter as well. But Sister Lu convinced me to "keep the baby cooking" as long as possible. And then I went to see Mom the next day and I knew even if I went into labor that day, Mom would not be there for her baptism. I didn't think she had a couple weeks (I was right, she died less than a week later) and Mom was so weak the baptism would have been more taxing on her than a blessing.

So when MIL suggested a private baptism, I was immediately back in those dark days of waiting and watching, both my belly and my mom. It went from a slightly uncomfortable conversation to me being engulfed by the grief again.

Reading over this post, I feel the need to defend MIL a little. She is a wonderful, sweet women who adores my children. She paid for the guys' summer actives and loves to spend time with them. For goodness sake, she took me the hour drive to my parents' small town twice when I was too close to giving birth to drive alone so I could help plan the funeral. And tries to help in anyway she can. You should see the beautiful blanket she made for Hope.

But I'm struggling to be appropriately appreciative lately. The MIL/DIL relationship is always challenging. But I think part of it for me is I can't be mad at my mother for dying, but I can be made at this sweet woman who is in front of me.

Back to reality

For the last couple months, I felt like I was existing in some sort of alternate reality. My hubby and the guys were in the "real world" interacting with real people and I was home, on my couch. People dropped by and I left the house for doctor appointments and such, but I felt outside of it all. I was, as a friend wrote in a card, sitting on my egg and talking to people on the phone (as evidenced by my huge phone bill.) This was especially true in regards to my classroom, I felt completely detached from my students although the sub was updating me. Now I feel like I am re-entering society. It's going okay, although bumpy at times.

The guys adore their little sister. The other day, Hope was on blanket on the floor and they were laying on their tummy's by her. Every time she would look from one brother to the other, they would say, "See she's looking at me, she loves me more." Joey is quick to want to hold her. Jon is willing to, but is more apt to interact with her while she is in a seat or my arms. It is amazing how much they have matured in the last couple months, especially Jon. He will be nine next month and is starting to feel like a mini adult. When I ask him to help, he often does so immediately and cheerfully. Notice I said "often" not "always," he is still an eight year old boy. He'll often make little noises with his mouth or body parts that can drive me insane. But apparently that is very common in prepubescent boys. Crazy that I have a child who could be considered prepubescent.

Joey often has problems with changes in his routine. Even going on vacation can be traumatic for us both. I was really nervous about his reaction to no longer being the youngest and finishing kindergarten in the same month. Adding his first funeral to the mix seemed like disaster waiting to happen. But he's done pretty well. Adores Hope, I know I already said that, but he really just loves her. He has had a couple tantrums including a notable one during a haircut from Uncle Duff, that was fun. But all in all he is doing well, as long as I cuddle him up regularly, which I am usually thrilled to do.

I'm trying hard to strike the right balance of busy and downtime for the summer. Last week, the guys attended Vacation Bible School at our church. I usually help at VBS, but Steve (our minister) absolved me of all duties at church for awhile. The sad thing is, I had to remind myself of that multiple times over the week to shut the Guilt Monster up. GM has a lot to say in my head, but I'm working hard at silencing it! VBS was studing the Psalms, they made multiple instruments, drums, harps and such, and sang some of the Psalms. It helped my soul to hear Joey singing, off tune of course, "Be still and know that I am God, Sala, Sala, Shalom." I cried during the service when we sang Psalm 23, the chapter had been read at the family service for my mom. But I laughed when watching kiddos sing.

Jon is playing baseball every Tuesday and Thursday and Joey is playing T-ball every Monday and Wednesday night. They are both in the community theater production of Oklahoma, practice is Sunday and Wednesday evening. So that keeps our evenings full. MIL is taking them to play practice which is a blessing. During the day, we have some weeks with activities, VBS, Art camp and such, and some quiet weeks. This week was suppose to be a quiet week.

Hope continues to be a good baby, for the most part. I am really trying to savor this time with her and not wish it away for a time when she sleeps through the night. All plans are for her to be my last child and I want to be as fully present as I can be for her babyhood. I know how quickly it will be gone.

But honestly, a part of me is waiting for the other shoe to drop. For so long, our lives have been a bad thing followed by a good thing, rinse and repeat. Mom died, bad thing, Hope was born, good thing. To a degree, I've been waiting for the next bad thing, because it has to happen. Another part of me, says no, the Big Bad Thing came with Mom's death and now it's time for things to settle. For normal tragedies like a skinned knee or a missed bill or such to replace the real tragedies we've been encountering. We need to eventually go back to a normal life, things can't keep up this soap opera drama month after month. Can it?

Dancing on the Edge

I got an e-mail from my college friend Monica last night. We were very close in college, but unfortunately don't keep close contact anymore. Monica is not addicted to Facebook like I am. We send Christmas letters and the occasional e-mail with big news. I'd sent one when I found out I was pregnant and a couple about Mom. It it feels strange, giving big bad news via mass e-mails or Facebook, but it really is easier. You can give the facts, making sure everyone gets the same details and it is much less emotionally wearing than calling or talking to everyone in person. Monica's responses to my e-mails were short, but heartfelt. She sent me a box of chocolates the week of Mom's funeral and Hope's birth. Monica lost her mom to cancer a couple years after we were out of college, maybe 10 years ago. She was married, but had no children. She now has a three year old boy and is due to have a little girl in August.

Monica sent a big e-mail yesterday. Her dad has prostate cancer. It does not appear to be curable, but she doesn't know how long. I wish I could go and sit with her. I wish I could clean her house and make her meals. I wish this yoke could be lifted from her shoulders, although I don't want more add more to my yoke! I did send her a supportive e-mail, telling her I would pray for her and her family and to take care of herself.

When I was in the midst of everything, I had several long talk with my minister, Steve. I adore him. He told me more than once that we are all living on the precipice between life and death, we just don't usually realize it. But it was out in the open with me, carrying Hope and losing my mother.

I saw an author on Oprah once, I think it was Isabel Allende. She talked about how closely related birth and death are to each other. The author had been in a room when a child was born and when her daughter died, and she said there was the same sacred stillness. That was a small part of why I so badly wanted to be with my mother when she left us. I clearly remember that sudden focus soon after my children were born, even in a busy ob room. I wanted to be there with my mom.

Hope is awake for more of the day now. I commented to Jim, it is the opposite of Mom. The last couple weeks, Mom spent more and more of the day asleep. I treasure that one of the last times she opened her eyes the day before she left us she gazed on my boys and they told her they loved her. I know Cali's husband was very frustrated that he was sleeping so much in his last days. He thought it was the morphine making him sleep so much, but the hospice nurse told him sleeping was part of the process.

I haven't told anyone about Monica's father. I handed the laptop to Jim so he could read her e-mail. I simply could not say the words aloud. I talk to a couple of my sisters daily and normally I would mention something like this to them. They've met Monica, but didn't really know her. I would tell myself I was telling them so they could pray for the family, which they would. But really it would be verbal rubber necking, sharing with them just so we could say wow! But I haven't told them, it is just too close.

My cup overflowith

There are so many thing to post about. The absolute joy I can experience looking at my daughter, even saying the words, "my daughter." I have a daughter. The deep down ache when I remember I'm a motherless daughter. The struggle of learning to nurse again after six years, compounded by my daughter's tongue being tied. (The title of the post was originally a reference to the unbelievably hugeness of my boobies. They were flat out scary big for a couple days there! But then I realized it kinda sums things up.) The irrational anger I felt toward an older couple at the doctor's office, why did they get to grow old together and my parents didn't? Trying to define a new relationship with my dad as an adult without my mom as mediator.

I miss my mom, I wish she could see Hope. I do wonder about heaven. I believe in heaven even though I have no concept of what it looks like or feels like. I do have an idea, I guess. Sometimes, when I'm cuddling with one of my children, or I hear an amazing piece of music or I see a beautiful landscape I feel something inside my chest grow or change. It almost feels like my heart is breaking in a good way. I think it may be my soul changing. I think heaven must feel something like that.

I wonder, though, when does a soul enter a body? The movement I felt inside of me, was that Hope or was that just random body reactions? Hope was born six days after my Mom left this world. Did they meet in heaven? Did my Mom hold my daughter before I did? Or is that just wishful thinking? A year ago, I probably would have thought the soul is within the child before birth. I don't know now. A year ago, I was not even sure if we remain our souls when we enter heaven or if we become part of the collective soul of God. What am I talking about? I'm still not sure. I don't think I believe in reincarnation. Life is hard enough the first time through, I don't think we do it over and over.

I love my daughter's name, but I wonder if it is to big for a little girl. Now I am seeing the word "hope" everywhere. I just read "Joy School" by Elizabeth Berg, one of my favorite authors. The plot was okay, but there were some amazing lines, toward the end, "After despair comes hope." How appropriate is that? And I went back to church Sunday, I only went to church once in April and didn't go at all in May. Bed rest and then I just couldn't go on Mother's Day or the Sunday after we lost Mom. The title of the sermon, "Hope never disappoints." Well then.

Hope has arrived

Wednesday all seven siblings were at Dad's house to go through some of Mom's things. Mom had always been a keeper, and after our house burned down 18 years ago, she really held on to things. Their house was always fuller than Dad wanted it to be. He especially wanted us each to pick one item of Mom's as a remembrance. Some things had already been decided, like her engagement and mother's rings. I struggled with what to choose. JJ wanted the piano. Dad hadn't intended us to choose furniture, but it was such an appropriate choice. Cali and I both have our late father-in-laws' pianos and Lu also has a piano. JJ is a much better piano player than I am and it always seemed wrong that I had a piano and she didn't.

Duff's first item was an old trunk he and Mom had redone together. We opened it up and there were bags labeled for each of us filled with our baby clothes. My daughter will be baptized in one of the dress from my bag.

I finally decided to go with her pearl necklace and earrings. I don't have strong memories of her wearing them, but they are something I will wear and know they were my mother's. Then we took turns choosing pieces of Mom's jewelery. One item I choose was one of her magnetic necklaces that binds to itself. I like the look okay, but I'll never forget her playing with the necklace with my guys.

We went through Mom's clothing, much of it will be donated, but most of us choose an item or two that we could either wear or it reminded us strongly of Mom. Then we went through some other items. Dad will be staying in the house for at least the next year and didn't want it emptied, but there were things he wanted us to go through. The day went pretty well, there were some tears, of course. I didn't cry though which kinda surprised me. We did not argue at all, there may have been some slights, there were a few items more than one of us wanted. But we did not argue. We discussed and relented and I think for the most part we are all satisfied. I am; I made an effort to only take what I would either use or really reminded me of Mom.

I started having some contractions late in the afternoon, harder than I'd had most the day. AJ and Cali lightly poked me in the tummy to try and encourage more contractions. They both had to go home on Thursday and they wanted Little Miss to be born sooner rather than later. Their prodding worked, I had more contractions. The plan had been for Dad to give me a ride home since I could drive the hour myself. As we had gone through stuff, I'd been putting mine in Dad's car. Suddenly, Dad realized that I was walking slower and stopping to take deep breaths. He decided to bring me home immediately! It was like a sitcom with everyone frantically trying to get me out the door. I said I didn't think anything would happen that night. Dad said he had heard my mother say that more than once and it was time to go! He hadn't delivered any of his children and he did not intend to deliver a grandchild. The ride home was quiet. I tried hard not to annoy my dad with idle chit chat. I had a couple contractions in the car, but they weren't too bad.

When I got home I decided it was time to have this baby. She would be born sometime in the next 10 days, why not now? So instead of laying down I started cleaning, bending down to load the dishwasher, going up and down the stairs several times. I started having more hard contractions, I kept going. Finally we decided to head to the hospital just before 8 pm. We live less than four blocks away so we walked. I figured that would help things along. The guys walked along, my MIL picked them up from the hospital.

The nurse who checked me first said I was dilated to 5, on Monday my doctor said I was 4-5. I was so worried they would send me home. The nurse said my doctor would make that decision when she got there. I did not want to go home! My doctor got there and checked. She said I was 5-6, 70% effaced and had a bulging bag. I could stay, we would be having a baby! I actually yelled "Yippee" out loud. It was the happiest I'd been in a couple weeks.

My doctor asked if I'd rather her break my water first or have the epidural. I'd been having second thoughts about the epidural, until I had another hard contraction then I decided I should have a contractions. I'd had an epidural with my first, but hadn't thought it had help much until I had my second with nothing. So I had the epidural. Holy crap, it was awesome! I barely noticed when they broke my water. They had to tell me when I was having contractions.

I spent the next hour and a half waiting to dilate. My doctor sat in the rocking chair and we chit chatted. Jim walked home to get the car and my overnight bag. I hadn't wanted to take it in case they sent me home, superstitious I guess. My doctor went to check on a few things. While I was alone, I got a little weepy, which I guess is going to happen.

My doctor checked me again and I was still 6, I stayed a six for an hour and a half. My mom had had really fast deliveries, I knew she would be wondering what was taking me so long. I called AJ to let her know what was happening. Then I asked her to come be with me. I'd never had anyone in the delivery room besides Jim before. But I wanted one of my sister with me, or even two. Jim and I had joked about it before, but I knew he would be okay with it. AJ and JJ decided to come down. Five minutes later I was dilated to 7. Still wasn't feeling a thing, in fact my legs were completely numb by this point. With Jim and my doctor back I was joking and giggling. It could not have been more different from my other deliveries.

25 minutes into my sisters' hour drive, my doctor checked again and it was time to push. I really had no idea, one heck of an epidural! 15 minutes and 3 hard pushes later Hope Athena entered the world. She is so lovely, with the longest fingers I have ever seen. She is 7 pounds and 11 ounces, and 20 inches long. My sisters got her about 15 minutes after she was born. Cali and my dad came on their way to the airport. Cali kept thanking me for having Hope before she left. Peg came in the afternoon as did my mom's only sister. I wish Mom was here, but to quote Anne Lemott, "It isn't nearly enough, but somehow it is."

One day at a time

We buried my mother today. It was a beautiful service, people always say that, but it really was. AJ, the baby of the family gave the eulogy. She did such an amazing job. My sil sang "One Day at a Time", it was lovely. Peg put together a photo montage, it started with "Memories are made of This", sung by Dean Martin showing pictures of my mom and dad. There weren't many dry eyes in the church.

This has been an awful couple months, but one of the few really bright spots of the last couple months (other than impending arrival of Little Miss) has been watching my parents' marriage. I never doubted that my parents loved each other. They had some bad times, I remember some and heard about others, but my parents had a good marriage, I knew that. But watching them over the last couple months has been a priviledge. That last conversation I had with my mother, she started with her concerns about my dad, how would he do without her. Dad had gone home to mow the lawn, his favorite Zen activity. When he returned to the hospital, Dad moved his chair as close as he could to Mom's bed. He put his hand on hers. He has been so gentle and concerned about her. He was at the hospital everyday.

I'm doing okay, really I am, right now. It was a rough day, I've cried on and off, but not as much as I thought I would. And when I did cry, it was at really odd times, I think I cried the hardest this morning when I was ironing Jim's shirt. I know I'm not done greaving or anything, I know it will hit me hard at different times. But tonight I feel okay. I'm so glad I didn't go into labor before the funeral.