Revisiting some of my blog posts (made elsewhere) lately, this one made me laugh. In honor of the birthday girl, turning three this weekend – but 7 months old at the time of this post… Originally Published 4/14/09.
My Dearest Ruby,
Yes, you've slept much better these last three nights. But pooping on my sheets twice in one week isn't exactly fair payback. Check the rules. If they must bend, aim for your own sheets. They're smaller.
Love,
Momma
Due in four weeks, I’m feverishly cleaning the house. Planning a homebirth puts a whole new spin on nesting. Pretty sure it’s more panic cleaning than nesting – but either way, my house is benefitting. Baby now has a dresser, a bed, and it shouldn’t sneeze the moment it enters the world for the dust that formally resided in our bedroom.
I pulled out a handful of tiny outfits and pj’s in both gender’s colors out of the shed and washed them so I have some clean clothes for the baby without having to haul them out right away after baby’s born. They were strung across the clothesline in my traditional excited pre-baby washing when the clothesline broke. I can remember hanging up the freshly washed baby clothes of each of my children save Eden – hers hit the dryer since it was January – but the vision of tiny cloths hanging to dry is one of my favorites. It was short lived though. My clothesline broke. My string of teeny clothes was apparently the straw that broke the camel’s back. Talk of a new clothesline rope had been in the works for weeks, but I’m pretty sure the vision of baby clothes, pinned to a clothesline and strung across the yard on the ground is not going to escape memory anytime soon. I’m sure it’ll be funny -next week.
None of my kids have walked early. Ruby was on time when she took her first steps on her first birthday, but she set a new record in doing so.
My latest walker walked at 19 months. Another walked at 17 months, another at 14 months.
Charlotte is 11 months old today. She wants to move. But she hasn’t figured a reliable method of movement yet. She can scoot a little bit on her belly or behind – but she doesn’t get anywhere purposeful this way. She can hold onto something (for dear life) and stand there, but she doesn’t trust herself to move her feet.
She hates to fall. Hates to bump her head. Not the “Ow, that hurt” kind of hates, but the “I am never, ever, ever doing that again, because that scared the living daylights out of me and I learned my lesson,” kind of cry. She’s kind of like her brother. The 19-month old walker.
Sterling and Ruby are 15 months apart. I carried them both for four months until Sterling found his feet and decided to trust them. Now Charlotte, with another baby following close behind, is following in big brother’s oh-so-carefully-placed footsteps.
Usually, I try to switch which arm I choose the carry the baby car seat with so that I don’t end up with one arm stronger than the other. Strange, but true. This time around, I’ll be switching arms so I don’t end up with one arm stronger than the other. But in the opposite way. 20lb baby… 10 pound car seat + 9 pound baby. Never mind. They’ll even themselves out.
I’ll be the one with Brawny’s muscle man’s arms. I’ll be so cute.
Tried something new last night.* I went grocery shopping at night. With only Eden.
It was amazing.
7pm on a Tuesday = a great time to be at Aldi. Only one kid = a great time to be at Aldi.
We were in and out in less than an hour with the better part of two week’s worth of food, spent more than I usually do with 5 kids with me – still trying to figure that one out. I think prices are just climbing. A lot.
Not one time did I have to tell anyone to stop touching or that no, we cannot buy that or to get out of someone else’s path. It was pretty incredible. And groceries fit in my not-the Grand-version caravan a whole lot easier with four less kids in it.
The best part = Blaine was home to help me carry in the groceries.
I’ve always taken all the kids with me. Adamantly. They need to experience what it takes, in what we do, how to compare prices, and what’s beyond the confines of our 5 acres, after all. But lately, with school and pregnancy and trying to keep up with the house, errands take far too long and something falls behind. Usually it’s the house. Nothing fell behind this way. I didn’t spend two hours at the grocery store. I wasn’t crabby and tired when we got home.
Amazing. Going to have to try that one more often.
*I’m laughing at the irony of this post following this post. But sometimes, that’s just how life goes. And not once did I get the hands full comment. In fact, people ignored me. It was like I was normal. Or something.
I never realized having (a lot of) kids (in a short period of time) required a thick skin.
Turns out, a thick skin – and the ability to bite your tongue - is quite useful.
We get lots of comments. Always. There is no such thing as anonymity anymore. But when people act disgusted - then what do you do? And why do people care how many kids anyone else has?
At my ripe old age, they assume I’m hard of hearing. I haven’t broke the news that I’m not to anyone yet. But today, when I heard (and certainly not for the first time),
“Did you see all those kids? And she’s pregnant! Oh. My. Gosh! That’s insane! She must be crazy! Doesn’t she know what causes that?" I was sorely tempted to speak up.
I didn’t. But the comebacks? They are still coming to me, hours later.
I could have joined in and pretended I’d seen someone else who had fit their description. That might have been fun.
I could have jumped in and asked them if they knew what was causing it. Because maybe, just maybe, that would have embarrassed them.
But I doubt it.
The first thing that comes to me is “You do know I can hear you, right?” but I never go there.
I have looked people in the eye though. That always invokes an interesting response. They usually look away.
The thing is, about 90% of the time, my kids are not the ones melting down in the checkout line.
That’s usually the kids of the commentators.
But the little old ladies – the 85+ year old ladies – they reminisce about their own 6-10 kids and tell me I’ll never regret this when I’m old. I love them. And the one who said she’d had 6 kids that I met the other day – she was so proud to have beat me out in how fast she’d managed it.
She’d had 6 kids in 5 years.
Now those comments had to have been even more interesting than the ones I get.
If you ever, ever hear me tell any mother of any number of kids that her hands are full, feel free to slap me. No one actually needs to be told that they are busy. It’s usually pretty obvious to them. The reminder that this is a lot of work isn’t necessary.
I got 10 hugs at bedtime. (Because two hugs allows for procrastination, you know.) And that makes it all worthwhile.
“Ow, I don’t like this house. I keep tripping on things!”
Said by Sterling – as he he tripped over toys. His toys.
Poor boy.
Five weeks to due date. Yesterday, I wasn’t sure I was going to live that long. You know that “Never felt so good as when you’re feeling better after feeling bad” feeling? Yeah, I have that today. So thankful to have that – because yesterday, I don’t know what it was, but I could barely walk. Sciatic nerve, ligaments – I don’t know. I spent most of the day sitting with a heat pack in 95 degree weather. But today, stiff and sore that I am, I feel wonderful. I could dance. Except I cannot see my feet. Probably shouldn’t dance. Singing probably isn’t a good option either. I’ll just waddle along, and be glad I can do so with limited pain.
Just a disclaimer. All the posts below were featuring pictures while the well pump was being replaced. Probably not the best time for a photo shoot. Read: very dirty children. No baths for days. No ability to clean laundry. We did, however, find some rainwater to brush teeth with. Because dirty is one thing… but clean teeth are a must.
It’s pretty hard to find
a single photo
of these two
apart.
It just doesn’t happen.
Handsome little boy
loves to see himself in the camera.
But he gets a little shy
and wishes I would go away
when I keep pointing it at him.
So silly.
Ruby’s not shy.
She’s opinionated though.
And if you bother her with the camera
when she is busy
she will tell you
exactly what she thinks.
My sister had a boy this morning! I’ll spare you all the less-than-ideal occurrences that have my blood boiling at hospital staff in her area and just be proud to have another nephew, healthy and doing well.
My kids shared their colds with me. They share colds better than anything else. They seem to have shared with Charlotte as well. Such kind and generous siblings.
Co-op starts in a couple weeks. I’m due at the end of next month. I’m so tired of aching. Scared to see what six kids and two not walking will look like, but it has to be easier than this. I think.
Eden gave me my first “Does one of my kids need the ER/stitches?” scare today. Decided no. Note to self: take out the garbage a.s.a.p. myself when broken glass happens. Or buy really thick garbage bags. Broken glass happened twice in two days. We’ve broken more glass in this house than all other houses (9 if I’ve remembered them all) that we’ve lived in since we’ve been married. It’s gotten so routine that after the crash I asked Ruby if something had broken and she nonchalantly said “Yep, a glass on the coffee table landed on the floor and broke.” No panic. No request for help. I’m not certain she was even planning to tell me had I not asked.
Sleep calls. Nights are rough these days. All of my kids are sleeping through the night – but I’m not.
It’s been a day. Certainly not so difficult as last week, when we had no water, but, well, I have the biggest pot of rice pudding any family of seven ought to have – on accident.
First of all, I’m craving rice pudding. And bread pudding. Not usually a huge fan of either, Blaine’s just glad I’m not stirring in pickles. The first batch of rice pudding had to be baked, (last week – good, but the house gets awful hot when the oven’s on) and today’s version didn’t. I read the recipe three times because it said two cups of rice and two cups of milk made enough for four servings. We make everything in double and triple batches around here, but two cups of rice feeds everyone usually. Oh well, measure out the ingredients and off we go. And then… I read the recipe. Again. And it said 2 cups of cooked rice. I made a triple batch – with 6 cups of uncooked rice. Oh. Dear. I’d almost made a quadruple batch. So glad I didn’t.
Rice triples in volume when cooked. And my pot won’t hold it all. Bring out the stock pot. I already had the rice pudding ingredients simmering with uncooked rice. Way, way too much uncooked rice.
So now, my 12 servings is, um, 36 servings. And tomorrow is not potluck Sunday.
What’s for supper at your house? We’re eating rice pudding. All week. If anyone finds my brain, I’d really like it back. My family would appreciate it as well.
Took me a while to figure this one out. Ruby loves parmesan. But she’s a little confused. She calls it parmidge. And when she wants some, she asks for some “parmidge on.”
Oh, to be two.
Read that Larry the Cable guy has a new movie airing next year. On the History Channel. Does that mean he’s a thing of the past?
I managed to burn my belly with boiling-over malt-o-meal this morning. It’s blistered. That takes talent. Or something.
Tried to take a belly shot from my perspective. It looked like a big round blob. Then again, that is pretty accurate from my perspective.
We’re a good 20 degrees cooler these days than we were two weeks ago. 80 degrees actually feels cold. The kids are begging for their feeted zipper pj’s to be dug out of the tote in the shed. The flowers have decided to bloom again. Liberty announced it must be fall and was disappointed to not have used her free pool pass yet – because 80 degrees is far too cold to swim in. Oh, how strange! Pretty sure I won’t feel cold for a good six months yet. Too much heat reserve.
We went to the zoo today. Last Christmas, we bought a zoo pass for the kids. Best Christmas gift ever – no clutter and year long enjoyment. So today we dropped school for the afternoon (and will likely make up tomorrow, because I’m just not a rule breaker like that. Can’t do it.) So first up, the reptile house. Sterling and Liberty and Eden got into an argument over the name of one particular red frog that Sterling insisted was a “mato frog”. Many “yes it is” “no it isn’t’s” later, I read the sign. “Um, girls, read the sign.”
“Tomato Frog. Oh.”
I love that we’ve been to the zoo so many times – and it’s been lots of times – that Sterling remembers the name of the red frog in the reptile house. That’s awesome.
We got the ”You must homeschool” comment again. It’s become the new “You’ve got your hands full”. That comment directly followed Ruby getting blasted in the face with water by a little boy who unknowingly turned the fountains on while she looked into them. They were apparently impressed at her nonchalant reaction. I was just glad she hadn’t decided it had been intentional. She’s pretty impressive when she’s defending herself. They would have gotten a different view of homeschooling and parenting many small siblings.
Then, we heard the turtles. What on earth? Turns out the giant old turtle still has it and was out to prove himself. And while I never want to be one of those moms who usher their children away rather than answer questions… I ushered them away. As we left, Liberty announced she was pretty sure the larger turtle had been a boy from the anatomy she’d seen, and Sterling was attempting to make noises similar to those he’d heard from the turtles. Oh, dear. I just don’t know. When you don’t know… run!
From there, we saw giraffes. One baby is in their exhibit, and after oohing and ahhing over how tiny he is, the girls began the discussion of the stillborn giraffe of a few weeks ago. I’ve taken to reading the zoo news with the kids – it makes the animals tons more fun. But Sterling was stuck on the word dead. A zoo worker in a golf cart with a one foot square cardboard box drove past later and he asked if that’s where the stillborn calf was. That led to a discussion on dead animal trucks. Then Ruby insisted that it was not a brown and a black bear in that display, but a black bear and a hippopotamus. Then the actual hippo was an alligator, and she named the donkey Wackey. On that note, we headed home. Three hours of walking and answering questions… exhausting.
Or so valuable.
Three hundred fifteen feet of galvanized pipe down, one 33 year old well pump gave up the ghost.
Four days of no water makes the bill to pull it up and replace the pump and pipe so much easier to swallow.
Water’s flowing again, the dishes are on their way to clean, the diaper pail will get washed as soon as I can bring myself to dump it in the machine, and the shower is the most popular place to be in the house.
So. Much. Better.
“I like God. He knew we didn’t have water from our well so he made it rain today so we could catch it.” – Sterling
I sold a Johnny Jump-Up of sorts on craigslist after I bought a Jumperoo, since most of the doorways in our house don’t have trim around them – and those that do are around stairs. Not so good. Anyway, in meeting the woman who bought it, we started talking about goats. They have some too – and four kids. Then she asked if I homeschool, because I fit the “mold”. Oh dear. Certainly not an insult since we choose to parent this way, choose to live this way, but funny nonetheless. I’ve been caught.
Largely pregnant, not barefoot but almost, definitely not in a blue jean jumper, a van full of kids… I’m not sure what tipped her off – except she too homeschooled – but it was a moment. After this kind of morning, I’m not sure I want to know what it was. I’ve gotten that question a few times from people who’ve visited with my kids, but she hadn’t. I’m still curious!
