From the Couch

Our baby turned one yesterday. He hit a major milestone just two days before his birthday with his first wobbly, adorable steps! It is a very fun time to be mom of this little, ornery, happy boy. His personality is shining bright, and he fits right in with this group of monkeys!

We've had so much sickness going on in our house this week that I'm not surprised that it finally knocked Mommy down too. I got a toned-down version after the party last night and throughout the night and day with body aches and a sensitive, but resilient, stomach. I spent most of the day on the couch, devouring Heaven is For Real, and being climbed about like a jungle gym. It was actually a pretty good day.

I can tell you with certainty that I am blessed. I am tired and feeling quiet, but I wanted to touch base. I am looking forward to a February full of love, a little bit of snow and more craziness with this busy baby and his energetic band of siblings. Life is good.

Can't Wait

My mind is a melting pot. I have so many random thoughts right now that there is no way I'll nail this post. It's Christmas, mild weather, sick babies and contacts that feel as though they have been glued to my eyeballs. It's a house that's clean enough, gifts that are ready enough and laundry that is done enough.

I'm elfed out, I think.

It is kind of neat to sit back and relax for so many days ahead of Christmas. Not months ahead, mind you, but just days. That's a good, happy medium. And I'm so glad I created that cushion of time because I spent most of today nursing and carrying Luke, who is feeling quite crummy with a fever virus of some kind. From the looks of it, Colby has a touch of it too.

So my last day of work for 2011 that was supposed to be tomorrow might instead turn into yesterday. The fresh pine swag I still wanted to create for my banister may just have its day next year. And there's no reason why I can't tuck tissue paper into those stockings to help fill them out.

Oh, and the weather? I'm still hoping for those snow flurries. But whatever the weather, the state of this family's health, the true filling of those stockings, in less than four short days, we'll celebrate Christ's birth. I'll be a hot mess trying to get all six of us in church finery on Christmas eve. I will be throwing ingredients into my basket for the family party. I'll be up late with the hubby getting the place just so for Santa's arrival after helping the kids set out cookies and milk for the big man and carrots for his eight reindeer.

And then, short hours later, I'll be scrambling to ready the cameras, turn on the Christmas morning music and, maybe, even get a creamy cup of coffe in my hands before the magic begins.

And I can't wait.

Joyful, Joyful

This photo of Colby on the Santa Train in Nelsonville sums up the Christmas joy we all felt this past weekend. It was busy busy busy! Lucas is doing so well after getting his tubes. I am very happy to report we have seen more smiles, better balance and MUCH longer stretches of sleep. Thank you, baby Jesus!!!

But my throat is raw, eyes are bloodshot, body yearning for bed. So this quick picture of Colby and brief update are all you get! Maybe, if we're lucky, "Parenthood" will be on tomorrow night, and I can catch up then.

And visions of sugarplums danced in their heads....

Weekend Kickoff

Aww, little man!! This photo was taken this morn after a very fitful night. Poor Lukey's face was wet with tears, slobber, snot, what have you. He is not well. And wow, are we tired!

Alas, this night threatens to be worse, and I must hit the sheets. Tubes are scheduled, thank goodness. I only hope little man is well enough to actually get them. No nursing after midnight per the doctor's orders. So the whole house just might be up for a rockin' party later.

Once we get through this tube business, we're going to have the best Christmas-y weekend: gingerbread party, tree hunting, tree decorating, church, family choir practice, "kitty-chasm" (Max's pronunciation of Catechism), and the Santa Train! I feel like a kid again.

Now, if I could just get this Elf on the Shelf to actually help out...

Ebb and Flow

I had a marathon day yesterday, which seems to be par for the course lately. After getting Lily on the bus, dropping Max at preschool and doing some much-needed housework, laundry and cleaning of the van in the morning, I was a bit exhausted. I think sweeping out the van at 31 weeks pregnant in 22-degree temps might have been the kicker.

At any rate, I had time for lunch and a quick rest (no nap though) before picking up Lily early from school and shuttling all three kids to "well-child" check-ups. Colby, though, wasn't well. He's had a runny nose for months and started fevering up in the waiting room. Turns out he had another ear infection, but what better place to peak than in the doctor's office waiting room? (Good timing, little man!)

All three kids also had flu shots, which was NOT fun. But it's done now, and I'm glad!

Luckily, my aunt Karen met me after we finally got done at the pediatrician's office. I had an OB appointment (the one I had to reschedule upon arrival last week). She took the kids for ice cream and snacks while I consumed two whole magazines in that doctor's waiting room and finally got in to see my favorite doctor in the practice. (Thanks, Aunt K!)

With that out of the way, I returned to my spot as driver of the Mommy Express and drove out to my mom's for dinner. By the time I left there, I was seriously exhausted. When we got home, I was annoyed Shrek didn't seem to hear us come up the driveway and so didn't come help carry in.

Upon entering the house and dropping the fussy baby and the 645,643 other things in my arms, I said, "Next time, I'm going to lay on the horn so you'll come out and help me!"

Shrek's response? "Get over it!"

Oh man! Was I ever mad!!! This has got to be one of my least favorite things to hear him say. It's annoying as ^%$#, and I've decided I won't speak to him if and when he utters it. So I resolved last night that he wouldn't hear my voice again, at least not in deference to him. I huffed around, straightened the ever-in-need of straightening first level of the house, and then realized Colby needed meds and quick, before he fell asleep.

So I dosed him up with both ibuprofen and Omnicef as he sat on Shrek's lap. As I was headed back to the kitchen, I heard "Oh no! We've got a puker!" I rushed back in with the biggest cup I could grab, and sure enough! Colby was puking, a lot, on himself and on his daddy.

Karma bites! Poor daddy isn't as hardy as momma, and I could tell he was really wanting to flip out, but he couldn't. The two of us, faced the SECOND time in one week, with a predicament: puke all over the place and no one to help us but ourselves.

And then, just like the magic that it is, we were allies. His rude snap at me forgotten, my calm his only hope.

And that's marriage, or what marriage should be. It's being able to be mad without striking like a snake. It's being able to be civil, when civility is the last thing on your mind. And it's completely deserting your red-hot anger when you must: when one of your kids is puking, and there's no "i" in team. It's the ebb and flow.

And sometimes that ebb and flow is a long one: weeks or months of lukewarm, or even downright cold, relations and then - wham! - the love is back and better than ever. But sometimes that ebb and flow proves itself in seconds, as it did for us last night.

I'm happy to report the night wasn't as bad as it could have been. Colby is much better! I spent most of today taking care of the boys and doing a fair amount of lounging. Let me tell you something. I'm exhausted. Really. I'm so low-energy and short-of-breath today that I just might have a touch of that bug myself. But I think, more than anything, I'm just trying to catch my breath because I almost always push myself too far. I'm a hard-headed, busy-bodied perfectionist with the world to do. I will never be bored.

I am so glad it's the weekend. I'm ready to regroup.

But, more than that, I'm glad for my husband. He may not be perfect, and sometimes he's just a pain in the ass. But he's mine. And I am not letting go.

I'm So Crafty...

I just saw this graphic on the Internet and couldn't help it. I had to use it!

I really am so crafty that I make people! All of my little people I've made so far are doing all right. Poor Max, I'm assuming with a weakened immune system from his recent surgery and fast, picked up that nasty stomach virus. It hit him at about 2:30 a.m. and was so bad that both he and daddy ended up taking showers! Meanwhile, I was on the floor with Clorox wipes and then a scalding hot bucket of bleach water. Unfortunately, I'd been up late creating a 2010 family photo book for Christmas (see, told you I was crafty!), so I'd had only a couple hours sleep. It was a long night. Luckily, I got one more burst of sleep between 5 and 7 a.m.: just enough for a nearly 8-month pregnant lady to function, I guess.

Alas, the emissions have stopped now, and, so far, there are no signs of other crafty little people (or big people) picking them back up. I really hope we're done with it.

And so, while there is more I'd like to write and do and even though I got a decent nap today, I must close. I must NOT continue to waste time on the Internet, try to catch up on my work, think of Christmas projects I just have to do tonight, familiarize myself with my new vidcam or even prepare for morning rush. Forget it! I'm going to bed.

(Dear Lord, please let me stay in it. Please keep those ickies away!)

On a Prayer

My big boy giving thumbs-up pre-surgery.

My little man Max had his tonsils and adenoids taken out yesterday. I wanted, selfishly, for the doctor to confirm it was the right decision after the surgery, and he did. He said Max's tonsils were, indeed, very large. In fact, they were larger than those of the nine-year-old he worked on after Max. And his adenoids were blocking 50 to 60 percent of his nose, so we should see improvement on many fronts. He may even spike a growth spurt!

So, that's the good news. The bad news is that he's having a very rough time. He is in a lot of pain, and he doesn't want to drink much. Couple that with a fever and Momma Warrior is battling his dehydration big-time.

Trying to sleep off the anesthesia after surgery

Just to mix things up even more, Lily started puking with the stomach virus about 20 minutes after we finally arrived home from the hospital with Max. And then, Colby's diaper exploded. Oh, Universe, you are so funny...

Shrek and I shipped Colby off to mammaw's, took turns comforting our other babies and held on tight to the knot at the end of the rope. Last night was extremely difficult. Luckily, Lily's vomiting had subsided by then, but Max was not well at all. Dave took the first shift with him, and I relieved him around 1:45 in the morning. Around 2 a.m., I felt a sense of panic. Max was crying incessantly, drooling everywhere, and his fever was rising fast. There was no one to call, and I was on my own.

It brought to mind a Sugarland song. I wanna be the one you run to first. Well, I've certainly been the one Max runs to first his whole life and especially in the last 24 hours. And that's a big job. Especially at 2 a.m. when you're the only one around with a very sick kid who dehydrates easily and hallucinates with fevers and also has a history of febrile seizures. (Oh, and he does, in fact, have a fever, won't drink, and won't stop crying.)

But I prayed, I soothed, I cajoled. I forced the medicine down, turned on James Taylor, and actually got to sleep with Max for about an hour and a half before the crying started again. We watched the sun rise, and I had faith things would get better. They have gotten better. Not much, but a little.



And I don't know how, but several people have told me they have fond memories of having their tonsils out. It has not been easy for either of my kids who have gone through it so far and many of the kids I know. I hope Max does NOT have memories of this, at least not the parts where we force the meds down his throat every four hours and how, already, we have gotten Tylenol with codeine in his eyes not once, not twice, but three times.

I pray, if he remembers anything at all, that he remembers my touch and how he didn't feel alone because his momma, seven months pregnant, was a warrior who helped the yuckies go away.

Please get better, little man. I am so proud of you!

We're Back!

Lily is taking first grade right in stride, just as I knew she would. This little fashionista is her mother's daughter, though, I promise you, I didn't have NEARLY the fashion sense she does at age six.

Anyway, she jumped out of bed yesterday and rushed off to meet the rest of her life. These cute little brothers tagged along to the bus stop. WARNING: Possibly the sweetest photo in the world ahead!



We waited forever for the bus to come, but the kids were good!

I'm also back to life. I was down for four days with such a killer headache! I've been diagnosed with sinusitis, and the sinuses still don't seem to be draining. I'm not complaining though, because the headache has finally died down.

I'm 16 weeks pregnant today. Here's a photo to show you all that Baby #4 might just show a bit earlier and larger than you might expect!



I still look a little rough around the eyes, but I, for one, am just amazed that I managed a full day of work and then, of course, a full evening of dealing with the kids all by myself. I think I'll stop there, 'cause remember? I'm trying not to complain!

"In spite of all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world."
From my favorite poem, "Desiderata"

To Have and To Hold

Wow. I sure am glad I have this handsome man to have and to hold the rest of my life.

As predicted, it was a big weekend full of emotion. Saw some meteors, went to a fantastic wedding, saw old friends and family... and had some tense and sad moments as well. But I'm through it a better person, with more perspective than I had before.

I'm also suffering from a summer cold. So instead of regaling you with my words, I'm going to feed you some fun photos and sign out.

Congratulations to Mr. and Mrs. Frank Eich! What a party!


My girl, Roberta, and I looking sassy in black!


Looking for a party crowd? Here ya go!


The blushing bride and her super fun sisters on the dance floor!


My baby and I with the sheen and breathlessness that comes with a good, old-fashioned dance party on an August evening!

To the Eichs and all young, married couples awaiting life and its blessings: My wish for you is that you come to know, appreciate and accept the ebb and flow that is marriage. May you know the blessings of true love, healthy children and amazing friends and family. May you grow older, wiser and more grateful together.

And, for heaven's sake! Go to bed mad if you want! Everything looks better in the morning anyway.

Ode to My Sweet Little Fever Boy

Maxwell is my fever kid. His big sis, Lil, cranks one out every now and then, but Max? This little man has us up and worrying and hemming and hawing at least every couple of months.

Last night, around 2 a.m., we swear, his fever was nearly 105 degrees. One-oh-four-point-nine, to be exact. We medicated, we soothed, we sponge bathed him first in the middle of our king-size bed, and, finally, after an hour of getting nowhere, in the tub. There were popsicles, sippy cups of ice-cold apple juice. And hallucinations. Lots of them.

Like waterslides! and race cars about to plow us down. There were colors: "Oh, it's just a color. Red, very red." There were crazy talks with little cousins who weren't there. Fights in his sleep about wanting to try something I can only imagine must have been a bubble-blower of some sort, since his little lips pursed and blew hot air on me repeatedly.

Now, mind you, we had taken the little guy to the doctor yesterday. We didn't quite get the antibiotic started early enough, evidently, because man! Did that fever ever skyrocket!

But high fevers? That's not all Max can do. Oh, no, he does febrile seizures too! Luckily, we didn't witness one last night, but this little man has earned himself two very speedy trips to the local ER in the back of an ambulance. Luckily, this hasn't happened since 2008, but who's counting? There's always the possibility of it happening again. And, to be honest, the seizures aren't as terrifying as you might imagine. Especially once the antibiotic kicks in.

So, today, thank you for making me a mother in this day and age. Thank you, Lord, for not making me a mother in pioneer times who has to send Father off on the horse and wagon to fetch the doctor to practice his questionable apothecary that may or may not help my son, who feels like he is burning from the inside out.

Oh, and thanks for helping us finally start to break that fever around 4 a.m.; for the 102.9 degrees that popped up on our digital thermometer. (Hey! It was an improvement.)

Thanks, most of all, for letting Sweet Little Fever Boy wake up fever- and hallucination-free. Until next time...