I took 20 shots of the kids together like this yesterday.
In 9 of them, Sterling did this:
Dude! If I hadn’t gotten this one, without the shrug
he’d have been in trouble. Or I’d have kept it for that so-fun wedding slide show he’ll have 20 or so years from now. I think I should start a file of those for each kid. You know, blackmail so it’ll be easier later.
Pierce did not appreciate his introduction to grass.
Charlotte: she’ll cry if she wants to.
If Ruby can almost pull off sultry at the age of three, what’s next?
Sterling’s fake frowny face. As opposed to his real frowny face. It’s much, much crabbier.
The worst one I could find of Eden. She’s getting pretty good at this pictures business.
Fun, but Liberty’s resembling an opossum these days…
In the last eight years since I became a mother, I’ve learned just a few hopefully a lot of things. I’ve relaxed about a few things, come to conclusions about a few things, and ran into lots of brick walls in my venture towards what really is (and isn’t) important. In no particular order, a few things:
Shoes can be mismatches if you like. You can even wear them on the wrong feet. Knock yourself out. If we’re headed to the store, I might try to find two that match. Or not. Unless Daddy’s taking you. Mismatches cannot happen if Daddy’s around. He’s not too tired to care yet. Give it time.
Outfits worn at home do not have to match. If we’re headed out, I reserve the right to change any article of clothing on any of my children.
Hair must be combed. Every day. This is not an option. Neither are teeth; they must be brushed.
Princess dress up shoes, affectionately called “clip clop shoes” in Ruby’s world, can also be worn to the store.
If clip clop shoes are worn, bring extra shoes for Ruby. She, like most girls I know, can only tolerate heels for so many miles. If you forget the comfy shoes for her for when blisters begin to form, you will be carrying her.
Muttering at me in an unclear and quiet voice when I ask a question is disrespect. I will tolerate it no more.
Putting on my earrings constitutes dressing up. My kids always know we’re headed somewhere on the days I put earrings in.
Pajamas are completely acceptable anywhere – if you’re under the age of one. Otherwise, we dress to shoes. And yet, my kids giggle when I don’t get Pierce dressed all day.
Children get less work from Momma on teaching them colors, numbers, letters, and the like the more children I have. Yet my younger children know far more than my older ones did at their ages. Turns out, the work the older ones require rubs off on the youngers ones. Thus, the reason my three and four year olds are driving me nuts with the states and capitals song.
The wood trim in my house needs to be painted a dark color. No matter how often I wash it, the area four feet tall and lower is always dirty. Always. I’m not convinced I want dark colored trim. And yet…
I’ve had the same ficus tree since I was in college. It’s nearly as tall as me. It’s moved ten times. I thought it was just because I was really good at growing houseplants. Turns out, all the dead plants I’ve killed through the years are mocking me. I just read ficus trees are really hard to kill. Ruined my pride.
Charlotte likes to eat the dirt out of the ficus tree. She shakes her head at herself as she does it. Does that constitute as self-discipline?
My writing typically gets funnier as I get more tired. I should be pretty well on my way to hilarious from where I sit.
I forgot Pierce the other day. A friend held him for me, and I was ready to go on my merry way, forgetting I have an infant. Just when I think I’ve got it together, that I really can do this, something like that happens. Turns out, pride cometh. And falls cometh. Feeling a bruised tush right about now. And always.
Speaking of Pierce, he weighed 11 lbs. 4 oz. today. At one month old, baby’s grown. So glad that pregnancy wasn’t 45 weeks long. Baby’s looking round.
The van: the battery was dead! Crazy. Still don’t know why, since it’s run well ever since Blaine jumped it with the pickup. Counting blessings upon blessings with that one.
Monday, I got my van inspected and relicensed for another year. Friday, I went to take the kids to the zoo and my van won’t start.
Bummer. Who knows what that means. (Hopefully dear husband Blaine does... and it’s not expensive.) But really, the timing of this is interesting at best. We weren’t headed anywhere terribly important. And we aren’t down to the wire, inspection due, van not starting.
I’ll count my blessings. The kids really enjoyed their picnic on our front sidewalk. The promise of a walk this afternoon alleviated the disappointment of the loss of an afternoon with friends at the zoo. Breaking down on the side of the interstate (Driving older vehicles… it’s not happened yet, but it’s bound to.) with six kids in the car is on my list of what constitutes as a very bad day. The driveway was a very good place to be when breaking down occurs.
But that code that my Service Engine Soon light is flashing -if it knows what’s wrong, it could just self correct as well. Wouldn’t that be great? Yeah, I know. Wishful thinking.
After a new baby is born around here, for a little while, everyone is enamored with the baby and jealousy waits. And then, it all falls apart for a little while.
We’ve fallen apart.
Charlotte doesn’t want Momma to hold the baby, Ruby’s the most obstinate three year old I’ve met, and tears abound from the older three. Life’s so interesting right now. You just never know if there’s going to be a meltdown when you say it’s time for supper, or if a shirt won’t stay tucked in, chores need to be done, or if it’s time to change a diaper. Or, or, or…
Hold on. It’s a bumpy ride and Momma’s low on sleep. Aren’t you glad you don’t live in this house right now?
Yesterday, I went to the DMV. And it was fastest, easiest stop of my day. How backward is that? After a dentist appointment for four kids and waiting in the waiting room with the two babies for two hours, going to get the van inspected, only to find out the inspector went to lunch, going back at the appropriate time and finding out he still wasn’t back from lunch, then finally waiting for the inspection… it was a very long day. I’m not sure if it’s really the sheer number of us or the blond hair/blue eyes the majority of my children sport, but next time we head to the store, I’m counting the comments. We were a good 3 dozen or more in yesterday. I got called crazy, a saint, and numerous other (mostly pleasant) comments in our ventures. Even Ruby finally asked why everyone kept talking to us. I’ve (quite briefly) considered sewing Amish cape dresses for the girls and I and putting the boys in pants with suspenders… everyone seems to leave them alone. But when I show up for vehicle inspection and then the DMV, my disguise might be blown…
Ah, the DMV. While our DMV does not have the one in western SD beat for courtesy and efficiency, it was a close second. We were in (with all the necessary papers – first try!) and out with stickers for another year in hand in about 5 minutes. After I had to answer the “Are they all yours?” question and give names and ages. Followed by an insanity test to be sure I really should be driving… it was inconclusive.
The littlest man around here
is three weeks old today.
(And drooling milk on his vest.)
He’s a super focused sleeper,
not so sure he likes his picture taken (or maybe it’s just my flash),
and his pre-sneeze face could have so many different funny captions.
Baby’s growing.
Life around here is starting to settle into a new normal. Sleep is more plentiful than it has been with most of my others as newborns – something I’m so thankful for. I’d forgotten how hard it is to get anything done with a newborn – and how often I am forced to sit down and feed the baby. My very clean house from my endeavors during pregnancy is slowly falling apart – or not so slowly. Laundry is full steam ahead at a whopping 17 loads so far this week – but it’s caught up. Diapers account for three of those loads, and my checking account is thankful that those diapers we went through were cloth and didn’t require immediate replacement. Wow. I haven’t had two in diapers at the same time since Sterling and Ruby.
Charlotte loves Pierce, but she’s vigorous in her affection. She tried to eat his ear yesterday. I caught her before she chomped down with her 8-plus-an-emerging-molar teeth. He wouldn’t have appreciated her affection right then, I’m thinking. She’s been in the shower more mornings this week than not and seems to be thoroughly enjoying her “momma time” without any others around – unless Pierce sleeping on the bathroom rug counts. It’s the only way I’m getting a shower these days.
Sterling is in love. He’s plotting and planning for the things he’ll teach Pierce – and the ages he’ll need to be when each thing can be taught. The latest plan: teaching Pierce to pee outside, as soon as he can walk. Oh, joy. It’s a good thing we live in the country.
Charlotte is crawling well these days and cruising along furniture. It’ll be a great day when she learns to walk. Carrying two babies wears me out.
Pierce does not like sudden loud noises. He didn’t when I was pregnant with him either. He jumps and startles and more often than not, he cries. There are a lot of sudden loud noises in this house. You would think he’d had something/someone land on him from his reaction – but I’m quite certain nothing (yet) has flown in his direction to invoke such a reaction. It’s a preemptive reaction, knowing what life is like around here, I’m thinking.
Ruby thinks she’s the only one who can hear Pierce crying. I get a frantic “Momma! The new baby is crying!” anytime he fusses. She loves him. She cannot, however, remember than the “new baby” has a known gender and name these days.
We are done with meals from friends in church, I think. Two weeks off from cooking was wonderful – and it limited grocery shopping needs as well. It was almost fun to get back to planning/cooking after the break. Our church blessed us so much in that way. Now, to start writing thank-you cards…
“Your belly looks squished, Momma.”
“Is it so much smaller?”
“Yep. Lots.”
I think Sterling was trying to compliment my recent rapid weight loss. I’m taking it as such, anyhow.
I set my bigger girls to peeling 20 potatoes for a dish for potluck tomorrow. Half an hour later, one dear daughter asked the question of the day.
“Momma, do you need the peelings, or the potatoes?”
Maybe I need to have them peel potatoes more often. Around here, skin stays on more often than not. Maybe that’s it. Just when I think we’re getting somewhere in this ‘How to Run a Household’ instruction, a doozy like that comes out.
Just in case anyone was wondering, Ruby has gotten over the arrival of Pierce instead of Quincy.
She’s just going to dress up Pierce instead.
He’s slightly skeptical though.
Really, can you blame him?
I took all of the kids to the grocery store by myself yesterday. We went to a small-town small store. How hard could this be?
Setting myself up for failure, I know.
Right about the time I thought I was doing all right, I heard a voice. Loud and getting louder, Ruby was in a panic. Two aisles over. Perfect. I’d lost a kid and didn’t even know she was missing.
I thought maybe it would cure her of her new habit of wandering off. It didn’t. But at least it cured me of not watching her every second. We didn’t get very many groceries after that.
My kids love playing with old gift cards, etc. Sterling has a Subway card – and fond memories of the pepperoni sandwich he ate, purchased with said card. He brought it to me yesterday and asked if we could use it again and go to Subway. I told him we could not; there wasn’t any money on it anymore.
Today he brought me the Subway card. His thumb was holding a penny on the top of it. “Now can we go to Subway? There’s money on the card now.”
Oh, my dear, literal boy.
As I’m apologizing to my children for this morning’s lumpy cream of wheat after trying to make it while nursing Pierce and finding the inability to stir and pour at the same time produced some massive lumps, I was met with a strange chorus.
They love the lumps.
Well, then. I did that on purpose, children. Enjoy.
We went to the farm show today. An older gentleman and younger gentleman stood looking at me for several seconds. Pierce was in the sling, I was pushing a stroller with three kids in it, and two more were walking beside it. Blaine had headed off to look at a tool booth.
“Look at that.” – Older gentleman
“Wow. Okay, it’s time to go.” – Younger gentleman
The older gentleman turned to me. “He’s afraid it’s contagious.”
Ruby was waiting for her lunch, playing with her fork.
“Just don’t comb your hair with your fork after you put it in your food,” I told her.
Blaine started laughing. “What some people would assume was a given…”
“Nothing can be assumed with Ruby,” I said.
“The funny part of that statement is that you didn’t tell her not to comb her hair with her fork. Just not to comb her hair with her fork after it was dirty. We’re so civilized.”
Yup.
a big sister.
I wish I had an exciting “It’s a _____! Named ___________ __________! Weighing ___lbs. and ___oz.. (I can only imagine those will be big numbers. Because while my belly has seen better days, hosted many babies at this point, it’s not usually this large.) If I didn’t still look (and feel, I assure you) this miserable:
I’d have some news for you. But… Baby #6 is now later than all but one of it’s siblings, due 3 days ago and giving me little indication to say when it will decide to grace us with it’s presence.
But I’m told this can’t last forever.
“Would you stop asking so many questions, Ruby?” says Sterling during her typical Ruby-style the-same-questions-asked-20-different-ways interrogation during lunch today.
Sterling has a similar style.
It’s a pot and kettle situation. You just never realize how annoying you can be… until someone else does it to you. Huh.
When trying to teach your almost-one-year-old to blow out a flame with a lighter, use the utmost care. When they dive, watch the hair. Singed blond baby hair smells really, really bad.
We’ll try again when she turns two. That was a dismal failure.
Charlotte is one year old. How crazy is that? The year has flown. She’s been one of my easiest babies – once we got past not nursing (because #6 was on it’s way) and what to do about that. She’s happy, smiling, and always excited to see her daddy. She’s learned, in the last year, to sit up, roll over, sit herself up, do the splits, (Pretty sure this is due to my expanding waistline that she loves to sit on!) do the funniest belly-crawl I’ve seen, and now, just this week, she’s pulling herself up on things to stand up. She loves to eat – dirt included – and hates conflict. I can’t scold another child in her presence or I have to comfort the baby. Tender-hearted baby girl, she’s the most popular one in the house for all the other kids. She has constant entertainment and getting her belly laugh going is everyone’s goal. I’m amazed how she’s just fit into the crew of kids – including taking Liberty “Bitty” as her second momma – a fully acceptable substitute when Momma is busy.
She’s a love. I can’t wait to see who she becomes as she grows. Happy birthday, Charlotte Serenity.
Yes, folks, I’m still here. Still pregnant. Still quite miserable, thank you very much. I’m assured this cannot last much longer. A week seems like an eternity right now, but each day has to be one less before I meet this baby. At least that is what I keep trying to remind myself.
And with that, I’m off to hibernate some more. Because the questions I get from perfect strangers assure me that I’m really as huge as I feel. One lovely little child asked me what the baby is doing. I told her the truth. Baby’s growing. I spared her any of the uncomfortable details of how I know this. She’d be scarred for life and I’m certain her mother would love to be a grandmother some day and wouldn’t thank me for ruining any chance of that.
I’ve started a new thing lately – making oatmeal/cream of wheat and then getting the kids up to breakfast already made. They get up faster than ever before and we’re well on our way, right away. This morning, though…
Ruby’s usually the first one up. She’s usually “helping” me make the oatmeal most mornings. But today, she slept. When I hollered that breakfast was ready, she slept. Only Liberty and Eden came down to eat, and ten minutes later when Ruby woke up to Liberty on her favorite chair (the turn-y chair - thanks Wendell and Bunny!) she was irate. She announced that Liberty would not be getting any oatmeal if she didn’t move… and was informed that the bowl in front of said chair was Liberty’s. That Ruby’s was still in the pan. That she was at Liberty’s mercy if she wanted her cereal dished up… That was a moment.
Ten minutes back in her bed resolved that attitude. Let’s try this again.
“Ruby! Don’t color on the baby!” – Liberty
“Momma, why do you have boobs?” After explaining about feeding babies and broken record syndrome, compliments to the age of three, had her asking three more times, I turned the question on her.
“Why do you have boobs, Ruby?”
“I don’t yet. I just have freckles.”
“I don’t like the new baby very much. It’s taking a long time to come.” – Sterling
“Ruby, what is that smell I keep smelling on you?”
“My toot.”
(I found out it was my conditioner in her hair that I kept smelling. But it was nice to get a warning about the air condition in her vicinity.)
Monday I did five loads of laundry. That caught me up. When I mentioned this to my sister, mother of three, she commented, “So that means you’re caught up until tomorrow, right?”
Um, yeah. Of course. There’ll be at least two more loads by tomorrow.
I didn’t do those two loads yesterday. Today, I’ve done four loads. I have one left. Apparently that’s not normal. It hadn’t occurred to me. Then, of course, I started thinking. Pretty sure I was more content before I started thinking. Less than 15 laundry loads a week? I cannot imagine.
But then I looked at the baby… Charlotte was laying on the floor. She’d gagged herself with a toy and lost her toast. Everywhere. Pity party over… throw the baby in the tub, and her pj’s in the laundry. And know I wouldn’t have it any other way. (Ok, I could have done without the regurgitated toast. But it comes with the territory.)
When I’m pregnant, I wake up in the middle of the night. A lot. Things that don’t matter and certainly cannot/should not be changed before morning suddenly become front and center in my overactive brain that apparently has nothing bigger to worry about than whether I remembered to get stewed tomatoes at the store or if I mailed something or where on earth one grey croc shoe could have possibly landed. You know, important stuff. Certainly stuff to lose sleep over. For sure.
So that’s why I’m so tired today. Perfect sense. I saved the world – one ridiculous thought at a time – from 12:57 am until 5:23 am. But at 7:26 am, when I needed to be up and going – then I was finally asleep. Perfect.
“Oh, Charlie. Oh, Charlie. Oh, man. Charlie!” – Ruby, as she found the puddle Charlotte was making bigger by the millisecond.
“Mom, just pick her up. I need to mop there.” – Ruby, as she gleefully cleaned up the lake Charlotte had made.
“I am going to be sooo handsome! Daddy won’t even know what to say he’s going to like it so much.” – Sterling
“Is one pickle enough or can I have another one?” – Eden (I said no. We were three pickles away from going through an entire jar - in one lunch. Sometimes, I numbers stagger me. And my grocery budget.)
“I would stay inside and take a nap if you would let me.” – Sterling
“You said the baby would be born after my birthday, Momma. I’m three. How come it isn’t borned yet?” (To which I replied, “It will come any minute hour day week month now, I promise. I’m told it has to end eventually.”)
“Say ‘scuse me, Charlie. You have to say ‘scuse me when you do that.” – Ruby
“I’m done, Momma! I did it al…nevermind. I forgot to do spelling.” – Liberty, at almost the end of her school day.
“Get all the frowning done now, Charlie-girl. Look at me like that in a couple years and you won’t get laughed at. You’ll get into trouble.” – Momma
The only times in my life I’ve wished for pain is the last three weeks of all six of my pregnancies. Contractions are regular and constant for me at the end, more so this time than ever before, and all I can wish for is for them to get harder. More painful. End this adventure. Bring on Baby. I go to bed hoping to wake up to labor – in spite of never having gone into labor in the night before – and every morning, I’m still breathing normally. I. hate. the. end. I rather hate the pain of labor as well, but I love meeting Baby.Can we just get this over with, please?!
Besides, I’m tired of trying to find anything that fits. If you see me in the same outfit for the next how-many-ever-days this drags on for, just assume it’s the only thing that fits. Or the only thing that’s clean, if my belly is sticking out. Sterling really, really enjoys telling me that my belly is sticking out from his underbelly perspective.
Come on, Baby.
I got up early this morning, made oatmeal, and got the kids up – in record time, since oatmeal is a favorite and being told it’s waiting is a huge incentive around here. My plan: getting a lot accomplished today.
Half an hour later, Blaine was leaving for work, and Sterling was crying, unable to find the clothes he was looking for, Ruby was crying over a bug bite she’d scraped open, and I was in the bathroom, losing my I-haven’t-even-eaten-yet when Charlotte’s dirty diaper was too much to handle, while Charlotte was hollering on the changing table because I’d posted Eden (ie. the first child in the vicinity tall enough to do the job) as guard when I ran for fresher air… and a sink.
Oh yeah. These are the days.
I have to admit, I had high hopes that I’d spend Labor Day laboring. And I did. I mowed the yard – that produced nothing but the desperate need for a shower and a lot of inhaled dust from crispy dried-out grass. I cleaned the house. Major bonus there, but no laboring effects. I made cookies… I’m sure those would be beneficial to some poor starving child, but my expanding waistline doesn’t need such a benefit. I set up the crib for Charlotte so she can migrate from the pack ‘n play to the crib. (Compliments of a borrowed mattress – since we already have two –and Sterling and Ruby have them in toddler beds. I refuse to buy another crib mattress.) So Charlotte is a crib now, the pack ‘n play is (very, very briefly) packed away, and Baby will have a bed too… but it seems quite content to remain right where it is for another day - or up to 5 weeks, I try to remind myself. Horrid thought.
Oh well. It was worth a shot. Now, I have to hope I don’t go into labor tonight. I’m exhausted!
Eden learned of horizontal, vertical, and oblique in math today. When asked which way the rug lies, she replied, “vortiblique”. Does that mean an automatic correct answer – all bases covered?
Tomorrow Ruby turns three. Oh, the excitement in my house when the kids saw the gifts wrapped and ready to go. On the menu: sticky buns with lots of cinnamon (Ruby really stressed on the cinnamon), pizza with NO macaroni (pepperoni), and chocolate cake with no frosting, just ice cream and hot fudge sauce. And banana bread and banana chocolate chip muffins - just because those are some of her favorite things and she couldn’t commit to which one she wanted.
Ruby fell face first off of the little three-step high plastic slide onto the concrete patio while I was gone two weeks ago. These things always seem to happen when I’m gone… I’m not going to dwell on that one, but still. She landed on her nose (I’ve gotten that phone call once before) and I’m pretty sure she broke it. For the second time. She does not recognize her abilities, or, um, lack thereof, and she really lacks landing skills – but I digress.
Fast forward two weeks of blood in her nose that hurts enough she doesn’t want me to touch it – but she let a pool worker clean up willingly when they didn’t want her in the pool like that – and she finally got it out on her own. She was so proud of herself. Yep, folks, Momma encouraged the girl to pick her nose. Lovely, right? But the conversation afterward was the funny part. “I got it out, Momma! See it? It’s really big, Momma. That is gross and disgusting. It’s stinky and gross. I wouldn’t want to eat it! Nope, that’s gross.” And she got up, walked to the garbage, and threw it away. Thankfully. I’m still a little amazed it didn’t land on the floor. Taking care of her own messes is not exactly her strong suit. We’re working on that one. Expect progress on that – after I re-teach her to keep her fingers out of her nose…
My midwife appointment Wednesday revealed dilation to 3cm and a raging infection in or headed for my kidneys. That back pain last week? Yeah. My only symptom, at least now I know I’m not a total wimp. I’ve never dilated this early or this far before labor. We’ll see what happens. Due date is three weeks way.
Liberty has been working with a dictionary a lot lately for her English. Today she asked me if 1 Corinthians is in the New Testament. When I said it was, she asked why the Bible isn’t listed in alphabetical order.
I made baked oatmeal for breakfast this morning at Sterling’s request. Ruby said she doesn’t liked baked oatmeal and was being just generally crabby at not getting regular oatmeal. I finally got to the bottom of her issue of me adding cinnamon and an entire cup of brown sugar to her oatmeal though.
“I don’t like the salt.”
“What’s wrong with putting the salt in?”
“It’s too spicy for me,” says the girl that wants salt and pepper on everything she eats. Says the girl who wants to try every spice I use – plain. Says the girl who ate a palm full of pepper last night when I was making supper – and then asked for more.
Somehow, though, she managed to choke it down. All of it. And ask for more.
Amazing!
Ruby’s new word – you know how that goes. She picks a word and says it. A lot. Every time she gets even close to in-context, out it comes. This week, it’s “uff'-da”.
And I love it. Because it’s evidence of where I come from and it’s proximity to a whole lot of Norwegians… and the tiny bit that runs in my blood stream and therefore Ruby’s.
Or maybe it’s just evidence that she spends way too much time with me.
Either way, I’m cool with it. And I’m hoping it replaces the “Yeah, but…” that she is also currently stuck on. Because ‘uff-da' is way funnier to hear coming from a 3-days away from 3 years old baby girl.
And that story warrants this one:
Charlotte came fast at the end. I went from 5cm and begging for an epidural to 10cm, ‘baby’s crowning; get away from my back so I can birth this child’ in 20 minutes. It was intense and a lot unbelievable. As the doctor – who got into the delivery room in time to deliver the 2nd half of Charlotte – introduced herself to me, congratulated me, and walked out of the room, apparently, I said “Uff-da”. The situation certainly warranted that – and a lot more. But Blaine burst out laughing, said he’d never heard me say that before, and told me that every once in a while my background – and it being so very different than his East coast upbringing – shines through.
But, whether Blaine has heard me say it before or since then or not, it would seem I say it often enough for Ruby to pick it up as her new favorite word-phrase.
Uff-da.
Originally titled, “Ruby, sometimes I like you better when you are sleeping.” Posted 5/4/09
Dearest Ruby, emotional roller coaster that she is... She'll be smiling,
happy as can be....
and turn into something out of a bad movie all within the same minute. Really, what will puberty be like? Run and hide, my friends, run and hide.
__________________________________________
Huh, imagine that. Not much has changed.
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.
