Beautiful and Precious

There is something beautiful and precious about life.  It's so fragile yet so unstoppable.  Against all odds, the seeds of spring survive, buried deep in what seems like a kind of death.  But the sun warms.  The rains fall.  And the idea of what could be, comes alive in a small, hard cocoon of forgotten possibility.

And so it is with the lives of my precious children.  In some ways I feel unworthy of the life they have awoken in my being.  Like I was never meant to feel this deeply or this wildly.  It's a strange and wonderfully scary place to be.  The seed of forgotten possibility suddenly wants to put down deep roots and send tentative tendrils up, reaching for the sun.

We went this last week to have an ultrasound to see what to expect with this baby.  My faithless heart and I went wearing black, just in case I would begin mourning in that moment.  My expectant heart and I dressed up a bit, hoping that moment would be a celebration.  And God knew which one it would be before that baby's form ever flashed on the screen, while I yelled, "I see it!"  and my tender-hearted husband cried beside me, and a weight lifted off of us.

I am tempted to write that God is faithful.  He is.  But for every mourning heart of a parent out there, those words sting.  Why was He not faithful to heal the lost children?  The hurting ones?  The children of this world who haven't made it to their 2 month birthdays, like sweet Pearl has?  I don't know the answer.  He is faithful, but it all is beyond my understanding.   Why do I get these three children when dear friends try again and again for a second baby?  A first baby.  It's not fair.  My joy seems gaudy in the face of their sorrow.

And yet it grows.  God has a plan.  In time I won't be able to hide that He is working in my body and this baby's body.  It is the unstoppable force of dust that has had breath breathed into it by the Creator.  His plan for this little one may be big or small, but it is part of God's story.  I can't even write my own chapter.  If I could, I would have skipped all of the sad parts.

I don't know why my friends can't have children right now, but I know that God binds up the wounds of the broken hearted.  He did mine.  He will yours.  The wildly and deeply will come.  And though the seeds may have not awakened yet, they lie sleeping in your heart and He knows.  And He holds the pieces of you in His hands to keep you from falling apart when everything threatens to break.  And here's what I want you to know; it is you who are beautiful and precious. 

For MQ, JD, KC, and BN.   And for every other mother out there who has lost their baby. 

Little knits for little girls

 Nearly four years in the world entitles this girl to some opinions.  Namely what she wears and what she likes.  So when I asked her if I could knit something for her, she told me what, picked out the yarn and monitored my knitting progress every day.  Unfortunately she also decided to use my scissors on them so these exact arm warmers, after some repairs, were given away as a birthday gift to Cora's BFF, as a consequence for messing with mama's knitting stuff (her choice of consequence, by the way).  Little does she know I made her another pair just like them for her birthday in a month.  Shhhh!  Keep it on the down low.

As for the pattern, it's a simple tube knitted in a rib pattern and when I got within 3/4 of an inch of the end, I knitted 8 stitches onto some scrap yarn, re-knitted the stitches with the real yarn and carried on until the end.  Then I came back and pulled those scrap yarn stitches, picking up the 8 stitches on each side plus 2 more on the ends and knitted a tube for the thumb.  Make 2 of these, then bind off and weave in ends and watch your little fashionista light up!

Messy Monday - laundry mountain

My family likes to have a big breakfast.  They pick at lunch, they graze at dinner, but at breakfast they feast!  I'll give you three guesses as to how eggs and a newly pregnant mama mix in the mornings. 

Actually most mornings are like this lately, not just eggy mornings.  Mornings used to be my most productive time, but not so much right now.  So in honor of Messy Monday, here is a view of my heap of laundry waiting to be folded.  It happens to be clean, and for that I am grateful.  I will get there, but not right now.

Here is the window seat and book corner, post Kid-Apocalypse.  They are fans of dumping baskets and boxes of things out.

I feel like I could take a picture like this in every room right now.  But before I depress myself about the state of my uncared for home, I will say this:

I may not have a clean house, but the kids and I baked an apple pie together today.  (read, they ate peels, ate pie dough, ate apple slices, and ran around squealing and wearing aprons while I chopped apples, but we were together and had fun!)

I may not have a clean house, but on Friday we went apple picking and I made an entire farm full of roosters crow with my rooster impression, inspiring awe in my kids.  We also slid down a giant pipe slide together.  All three of us.  Lots.

I may not have a clean house, but my daughter whispers in my ear, "Guess how much I love you?"  

I may not have a clean house, but I have a good and loving husband who just this morning promised to make breakfast until the morning sickness passes.  What a fella! 

I may not have a clean house, but I am a fun mama.  And that is enough.  I'll have a clean house when they leave for college.

Happy Rainy/Messy Monday!

Messy Mondays was inspired by Flo Paris Oaks when she wrote this blog post/article and subsequently started this blog.

Letters to Pearl: We shall see God

Dear friend,

  This post is part of a collective of letters to Pearl Joy Brown.  I've written about her before in this space, but since then her life has touched so many people.  This is a bit about how she has touched mine.

Dear Pearl,

   Your mama and I found out we were pregnant with our little girls around the same time.  My baby did not live longer than a few weeks in my belly, but every day you grew, I rejoiced.  When your papa sent word of what experts thought was your fatal illness, my heart failed me. I lost faith.  I could not grieve my own baby and you at the same time, so I retreated back into myself.  With every letter your papa sent out, I rode the roller coaster from afar of hope and fear for what your life could be.  I remember reading these paragraphs and just crying.

"We truly feel privileged to have been given the opportunity to care for Pearl. People all over the world get the same type of devastating news every day, so it’s not as if we are unique or special. The amazing part is that God chose two of the most normal, unimpressive people that we know of and has given us the privilege of partnering with him in unfolding a story about a baby girl with only half of a brain and no nose, and a God who numbers days, makes people out of dirt, and rides in to town on a donkey, unlike any other king has ever done. He has used us to display himself. He has pulled us in close, because he knows that if he doesn’t, we will rebel and fall off the deep end. We have peace that passes all understanding, even while in the midst of something that should otherwise crush us. It’s not as if we’ve already gone through the fire and are able to look back at how he sustained us. We are in it, and he is good."

and this:

"Pearl bears the image of the same God that Brennan and Abbey do. We do not need to hide image bearers from other image bearers. God knit Pearl together in Ruth’s womb exactly as he saw fit. He didn’t make a mistake. Things didn’t go wrong. He brought her form into being with the same intentionality that he has created everyone. " 

This was faith beyond measure in your family and I wondered where mine was.  When your mama asked for scriptures for your blanket, even my choice of God's word reflected my faithless heart.  I embroidered, "Blessed are the pure in heart for they shall see God" Matthew 5:8.  My fear was that you and your innocent heart would make a brief appearance here and then you would be in the presence of our Father and I dared not choose a verse that was about hope, for I had none for myself.

And then you were born.  And then you lived!  People said the word, "Miracle" and my faithless heart turned away.  I still feared.  It took me a long time to come visit you.  I held your sweet, tiny body and then I prayed for you.  For your family, for your very breath.  And the word "miracle" went past my head where the fears and doubts lived and hit my heart.  You are a miracle.  I said that word as I breathed thanks to the God who created you.  Who knew you.  Who knew exactly what your story would be.

Nearly 6 weeks later and you are still here.  Not just alive, but thriving, growing, and changing the world.  And here I am, nearly 6 weeks pregnant.  God did a work in your body, in your family, and through your story, the world.  He is also doing a work in my body and in my family.  I don't know the answers.  I don't know if my baby will live.  I don't know the outcomes for any of us, but I know that right here and right now, God is good.  

He has a plan and He is working all things together for Good.  I still find fear in my heart when I think about your future and my baby's future, but more and more, I find faith, hope, and peace.  And though I chose that scripture from a place of no faith, it has come true.  Through your precious, tiny, and pure heart, we have seen God.  Thank you Pearl, for the gift that is your very life and breath.

You can read more about Pearl's story on her blog.  http://pearljoybrown.wordpress.com/

If Pearl has touched your life, you can write her a letter too.  Here's how:

There are three ways to share your Letter to Pearl:

1. Publish your letter on your blog or web site. Link your post to Life.Edited via the “Click here to enter” link at the bottom. *Please link directly to the post with your letter in it (not to your blog’s homepage). The link-up will remain open until Friday, Sept 14, at 11:59PM.

2. Publish your letter as a note on Facebook. Post the note on your own Wall/Timeline, then copy/paste the note as a Wall post on the Letters to Pearl event page HERE.

3. Mail your letter to Pearl. Send your handwritten letter or a copy of your published letter to:
Letters to Pearl
c/o Eric or Ruth Brown
PO Box 160083
Nashville, TN 37216
Thank you for sharing your part of Pearl’s story.
Click here to enter your link and view the Letters to Pearl link-up list…

If you would like to support the Browns in a tangible way, I have something for you too.  They need a van!   Here's how to help make that happen.

The Adventures of...

Super Sister and Potty Training Boy!!! (aka Super Brother!)

So Cora emerged from her rest time as this:  

SUPER SISTER!! (she dubbed herself - see her ring of power, see her super tights (with matching pink undies, shirt and cape? The girl has style!)  

With the Power to Fly! (off of the furniture) And not to be outdone by his sister, and at her insisting that Judah also be Super...

  

Potty Training Boy was born! (She calls him Super Brother, but I think my name is more appropriate) 

 

 

And so the daring duo lept from furniture, shared, and in general got along for an hour! Hurrah! Triumph! Humanity was saved by kindness! (and underwear worn over tights!)

Cloth Diapering - from the other side of the trenches

 

When I wrote my previous cloth diapering posts, I was still a mama of one kid.  One kid who had not yet finished potty training and got all of my attention.  Now I am the mama of two (and a third on the way).  One kid out of diapers and the other one on his way out.  My lovely pile of cloth diapers has been through the wringer.  Literally.

Some thoughts from the other side of this adventure.
1. Diapers suck.  Paper, cloth, whatever.  Having to be responsible for the poop of another human being is just gross.  Especially after they start eating solid food and even more so when they are toddlers.  We did as much Elimination Communication with both children as we could and still, there was poop in diapers and sometimes on the floor during the potty training phase.  (And that is why we pulled up the carpets.)  I still stand by my 'shake what you can shake and leave the rest to the washing machine' mantra.  The less contact one has with that stuff, the better.

2. High Efficiency washing machines don't actually clean diapers very well, or clothes for that matter.  And the ones with the short agitator just shred the heck out of my diapers.  I am serious!  They are quickly going to tatters.  Very frustrating, especially when I had planned for them to see me through all of our children, not just the first two.  We saved up and bought our HE washer in September 2011 and I am over it.  It was made for people who gently wear their clothes, not for kids who think it is their job to coat themselves in mud or who pee their pants and then stash the offending undies at the bottom of the laundry basket to be found later when the stench has infiltrated the entire load of clothes.  When you can't get the smell out after 2 hot wash cycles and extra laundry boosters thrown in, the washer is just not doing a good job.  I'm on the hunt for a used washer that actually fills with water, warranty be danged!

 

3. Cloth diapering loses it's 'fun' aspect after one kid and just becomes work.  This is the reason our mother's generation gleefully dove headlong into the paper diaper movement!  Who needed the extra work?  I'm sure glad these kids are cute!  Don't get me wrong, we still cloth diaper and I'm still grateful for the savings, but it's not fun anymore.  I don't get asked about it much anymore since most of my friends CD as well or have potty trained their kids.  So I rarely get a chance to enthuse about CDing to strangers, educating them in the ways of the cloth.  In hindsight, that was one of the things I loved about CDing...talking about it.  Because who in their right mind really loves a pee and poo soaked piece of cloth?  Am I right?

4. The overnight diaper dilemma.  I'm sure there is a cloth diaper solution for a kid who is a nighttime super-soaker, but I have not done the research on it, apparently.  I've tried inserts and doublers and still, it's not enough.  And without being able to get them really clean (see HE washer paragraph above), the nightime diapers sit on my little guy's bottom so long and have the tendency to burn his skin. (Pee reacts with laundry soap residue left by that stupid HE washer and can cause problems for sensitive skin. Super awesome.) So for now, Judah wears a paper overnight diaper and often still pees through it.  He has a bladder of a cow, I tell ya!  If you have any good ideas for a super-soaker kiddo, let me know. I'm guessing I won't solve this one until we get a new washer.

5. Lest I sound like a complete ingrate, I still would and do choose cloth over paper any day.  We have saved our family thousands of dollars this way and that is no small feat.  We have it down to a science now, with the diaper pail kept only in the laundry room.  Yes, it adds an extra step to the change, but getting rid of the stink from our main rooms was so worth it.  Judah looks cute as all heck when he runs around in those little cloth diaper covers with trees on them (Thirsties).  He is out of the full time diaper phase and into the running around naked and practicing going potty phase so we use a lot less diapers.  We have even introduced undies but at this point, but he uses them like diapers and it's just more for me to wash. We are working on it.  He does loose shorts much better.

All in all, cloth diapers serve a purpose, save some money, look cute and are a great step for reducing waste, but don't feel guilty if it's not for you.  I encourage parents to try it and like everything else we do as parents, give yourself some grace if it isn't perfect. 

Please, oh please...

I've never greeted happy news with such fear and trembling.  I had my fifth positive pregnancy test today.  Fifth ever.  That means, for those of you who might be confused about the importance of that, I have two living babies, two babies in heaven and now...this one, who is living, as far as I know.  I am equal parts ecstatic about his/her arrival and terrified that I will miscarry again.  Each loss has pulled loose a chunk of my heart, and for a time, a chunk of my sanity.  I am grateful for the love and support of our families and wonderful community as well as deeply sensible of how blessed I am to have our two living children.  But since this is a place for me to be honest I have to say I don't think I can keep it together very well if this pregnancy is not viable.  

Conventional wisdom might dictate that we keep this under our hats until we know for sure, but wisdom seems to be more about not showing grief if something is wrong and I just can't do that either.  I am going to find joy where there is joy and hold on to hope.  We had planned to have this third baby, but I realize now that I've been putting it off, almost hoping it would take longer.  But no, true to form, one month of trying equals pregnant.  Thanks, Mama, for those genes.  (Really. I mean it.  I am kinda impatient.) And now, there is nothing to do but wait, take my prenatal vitamins, and pray that this baby stays.  Please, oh please, stay.

Join us in our joy and won't you say a prayer for me and this little one?

Give up, give in, rest

"Stop fighting me!  I'm trying to keep you from getting hurt."

I said that to my son this morning as he attempted to dive off of the back of a chair and through a window.  The words left my mouth and I was suddenly flooded with all of the words my parents said to me over and over while I was growing up.  In spite of how I believed they felt about me as a teenager, they were, in truth, trying to keep me from hurting.  How I fought them.  I sneaked around, I lied, I did what I wanted in covert ways that kept me from trouble, but did damage to my heart.

I see the sneakiness in my daughter and it terrifies me.  Granted, it's three year old sneakiness of coloring on walls, raiding my closet for clothes to dress up in when I ask her not to and in general doing what she wants as long as she thinks I can't see her.  I see the fight in my son and it frightens me, even though it is only the fight of an eighteen month old.   Oh, that stubborn face when he gets determined to do something.  Even after I've just caught him in mid-air or pulled his hand from the flame (sometimes literally).  I didn't think I was a worrier, but it seems this is my first instinct as a parent.

Our culture says YOLO! (you only live once)  Our culture encourages us to live and love recklessly.  There seems to be some mysterious beauty and allure in the untamed heart.  I have felt that.  "'Tis better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all" they say, but somehow that mostly applies to sleeping around.  We aren't there yet.  My kids are small.  But seeing their resistance to the wisdom of my years even now brings that worry.

I see the willingness in myself to still have those sneaky, stubborn, rebellious traits in spite of the fact that they do damage to my health, my relationships...everything!  I can hear God saying the words I say to my children.  Granted they are more gentle, but there are those words in my heart. Give up, Give in, Rest.

Give up the stubborn need to be right.  Give up the worry about these kiddos, give up the secret desires of my dark heart that threaten everything around me.  The fear, the anger, the selfishness, the shame, the covetousness. 

Give up the insanity.  Give in to my Grace.  Rest.

 

Sounds like a plan.

No more 3x5's...at least not on this hike.

The kids and I went to Beaman Park this morning and I didn't take my camera. I didn't even take my phone.  And I wonder if I saw them more and a little better.  Of course I won't have an image to look back on of our hike, but I have others.  It made me sing John Mayor's "No more 3x5's" as we walked. 

Judah ran ahead of us, as sure footed as a little (cherubic) mountain goat over roots and rocks.  Uphill and downhill, faster than I was comfortable with, especially on the steeper parts of the trails.  His little chubby legs took him quickly down the path while he enjoyed a rare freedom.  It's hard to let them run ahead on city sidewalks when a few steps off of the sidewalk equals death by cars, but here, in the woods, a few steps off the path, while it may have poison ivy in places, is less of a risk.  Granted there were some tumbles, but nothing a quick brush off couldn't fix.

Cora walked more slowly behind me, searching for treasures on the trail.  Her favorite find was a blue-jay feather.  Rocks and leaves and roots and bugs, she saw them all.  She wanted to climb on the rock wall at the start of the trail and was so proud of herself.  I am too.  In all my mothering ways when it was just me and her, I somehow taught her to be afraid.  I'm sad that I did.  Now I spend time teaching her to not be afraid.  To be brave.  To try.  To practice.  To not give up.  To brush it off when she falls.  She's getting better at it every day.

Then we crossed the road to where the creek runs quickly over flat rocks (less bugs) and we explored the deeper pools of water and rocks until we spotted a snake in the water.  Unsure of what kind it was, we retreated to the shallows just to be safe.*

And me?  I soaked in the green, the blue, the earth, the sound of the creek running, the sound of my feet on the trail, the cold water on my feet.  I taught, I watched, I remembered to look up and enjoy the canopy of leaves above us and the glory around us, and not just down at little ones.

We returned home gloriously grubby and quite content. And now they sleep.  The perfect morning.

*Upon researching when we got home, I'm pretty sure it was a Northern Water Snake and therefore harmless, but there is nothing like thinking through worst case scenarios to get a mama to be more cautious!  We were a long way from help and with questionable cell phone coverage if any of us had gotten hurt.

Pouring out

This is the way of my vain heart: My journal gets the bad/hard and the blog gets the good/fun and so when I fall silent here, it's because my heart is full of things that I wish weren't there and I'm afraid they'd come spilling out here and that would be ugly.  Not that you folks haven't seen me in my ugly state in person, but here, I still like to think I am fooling someone into thinking I have it together.  I don't, by the way.  This is one of the things I have been silent about:

Halfway through her pregnancy, my friend Ruth and her family found out that the baby girl, Pearl Joy had alobar holoprosencephaly (HPE), a neural disease with low chances of survival.  Literally her diagnosis was 'not compatible with life'.  I read each email from their family as the pregnancy progressed with hope and anger all balled up in one.  I prayed, I cried, I fought back doubt, I wished for all things to be made new again, I embroidered God's promises on a square of a quilt for Pearl.  And then she came.  And then she lived.  She lives still!  She was born on July 27th at 12:07am.

Written before her birth, Pearl's father's words about her life, even if it was only in the womb, struck a deep chord in my heart.
 "There is a weighty joy surrounding all of her life, but to deny the joy and only focus on the sadness would be doing her a terrible disservice. Like all of us, there is so much more to her than her weakness."

I am continually being amazed by the work of God in the lives of those He loves. (Even when we don't love Him back).  I am in awe of the love and help and community poured out on this family.  I am rejoicing in the reminder of who God is.  In the midst of politics, controversy, trouble, strife and madness, there is a baby girl born to a family and in her birth, there is the boundless love of God poured out on not only their family, but the community where I live and on every person who has read her story.   I pray my life may be poured out in such a way.

Phillipians 2:17 But even if I am being poured out as a drink offering upon the sacrifice and service of your faith, I rejoice and share my joy with you all. 18 You too, I urge you, rejoice in the same way and share your joy with me. 

You can read more about Pearl in the following places:

A letter from her mother at my friend Amanda's website.

On her website where her father posts 

You can help support their family financially through this time here or here.

 

How my phone spent a week in a bag of rice and I learned a lesson in parenting

I don't have an i-phone.  I just have a palm phone which even my cell phone provider does not call a 'smart phone'.  It's only mildly knowledgeable, and yet, I'm on that thing a lot.  Recently, it nearly met its doom in a puddle of water on the counter when the portable dishwasher emptied on the space between the two sink basins and ran back over the entire counter.  I found it in the morning.  I took it apart immediately and per online advice, stuck it in a bag of rice.  Lest I be without a phone for half a millisecond, I called my provider to have my number switched over to my old phone.  And by old, I mean 2 phones back.  It's a flip phone.  This one, to be exact.  Straight out of the junk drawer.  I need to let go of thing!  Sheesh.

When I switched, the customer service guy mentioned how hard it would be for me to send texts and I merely scoffed.  I mean, this had been my phone before, right?  I know how to send text messages on those numeric keys!  How bad could it be?  Then I realized how often I send text messages that would take 5 minutes to send on a standard keypad.  Then I realized how much time I spent checking facebook status comments and photos on my very slow phone since I wasn't able to even access the web on this one.  Then I realized how often my kids are were vying for my attention while I took much, much longer to communicate on this new/old phone.  So I gave up.  If someone wanted to talk to me via long texts, I just called them for a moment or I didn't respond until I had some kid free time.   Don't get me wrong, this wasn't by choice!  I felt frustrated and cut off from friends.  I felt annoyed and spent my evenings perusing my phone carrier's website, looking at stats of smarter phones that I could get for free or cheap if I activated my upgrade.

But how many times per day are my kids asking me for something or talking to me and I am too busy.  How often am I engaged in a conversation with an unseen person via text and I just don't answer my children when they are talking to me because I want to finish my sentence?  They don't recognize that device as another person, merely some gadget I'm playing with.  All day.  They can't see what is going on on that screen and as a result, they feel ignored.  When we are with other people and I tell them I'm having a conversation with another adult, they can gauge that.  They can sit and wait until I'm done talking and then talk with me.  My phone offers no such cues.  I have it with me all the time. In the park, at home, in the car, in the store.  There is never a time when they can clearly see that it is their turn to talk to me if I have that thing in my hand.

With my little flip phone in hand it became again what it was mean to be.  Just a phone.  Remember the days when you called someone and left a message?  Or if they didn't have an answering machine you just called back.  I'm not calling for a personal return to phones tied to the wall by any means, but I am recognizing that being present applies to my phone too.  I can have mom breaks.  I have have a time out, but when I am present, I need to BE present.  Not wishing I were somewhere else, with someone else. 

It won't be like this forever.  My kids will grow up.  I can be here, or I can miss it.  Funny that while this phone in rice thing was happening, some very interesting blog posts circulated on facebook.  They came up when I had a hour at night to waste.  They struck a chord in me and I realized that I have been guilty of missing my children's childhood.  How much this time when they are young is a precious gift and while I have served on the mission field in foreign countries, there was never a mission so important and precious as this one.   The blog post that talked about motherhood as a mission field is no longer up.  It's as if it was up just long enough to speak to my heart.

A week in rice and my phone made a miraculous recovery.  And so did I, just a bit.  Oh, I'm still guilty of picking up that thing to entertain myself when the kid madness is turning the house upside down and we are housebound with a week's worth of stomach virus, but I am much more aware of it and I tend to put it down.  Texts can wait.  Voicemails can be heard later.  Phone calls can be returned.  I've got little hearts to tend and, sometimes, it's good to not be available to anyone else.

Rain for Roots: Alice's Story (and a giveaway!)

Y'all who know me, know I'm all about relationships, so I'd like to introduce you to some friends of mine.  They are dreamers, they are makers of beautiful things, they are lovely women whose heart's desire is to teach young children the Good News.  They have come together to create a wonderful album full of music that does just that, called Rain for Roots.  

 

photo credit: Wendy Twit

They are pictured above with their children and/or husbands and if you look closely, you just might see some familiar faces.  The group is composed of Sandra McCracken, pictured with her hubs Derek Webb and their kids (yes, that Derek Webb, for those of you who know me from my 'covering songs by Caedmon's Call' era, long, long ago.), Katy Bowser (of Coaltrain Railroad fame and other fabulous projects) pictured with her hubs Kenny Hutson and their daughter, Flo Paris, pictured with her hubs Josh Oaks an their girls, Ellie Holcomb and her hubs Drew, and Alice Smith and her hubs Matthew Smith with their boys.  Such a collection of wonderfully supported women making beautiful things and this is Alice's part of the story.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I recently got a chance to sit down with Alice Smith, who is the type A gal behind the scenes making it all happen, ie, project manager, publicity, and so much more, to hear about the growing of this garden of songs from her perspective.  Alice brings an amazing level of organization to things that makes my head spin!

First, tell us a little about the idea behind Rain for Roots, how it was born and how you became involved.

"The idea was God's idea. Truly, multiple women separately approached those involved and encouraged them to make scripture songs for children.  Katy began sharing the idea and found that the same idea was on the hearts of others.  Last spring and summer, every time we were together, the idea came up and then in mid-July (a few days after Flo very sweetly had a dinner gathering as a belated birthday celebration for Sandra and me) Sandra sent this email: 

"What should we name our girl-kids-music band? 
Should we do just hymns and psalms? 
Scripture readings in between songs (by the kiddos)? 
Let's brainstorm a list of songs we love... This could be super lo fi. And super fun. :)"

That sparked more brainstorming and kept the seed of the idea growing. Katy reached out to Sally during Hutchmoot and the 6 of us shared lunch at Marché to get Sally's thoughts on her own involvement.  At the time, we were thinking of writing out of her Jesus Storybook Bible but, the day before, Katy had seen and bought Sally's Baby's Hug-A-Bible. At that meal, Katy pulled it out of her bag and we started imagining what a 10 song album based on those 10 poems would be like.  This project, Rain for Roots' first release, is hopefully the first of many."

You and the other women who created the album -- Katy, Ellie, Flo, and Sandra  -- are neighbors in a very real sense. What role did the East Nashville community play in your collective hopes for the record and its audience?

"Relationally, a long history of knowing one another and being close both in proximity and in heart made collaboration an much more natural and easy process.  There is a lot of unity and trust among us and that foundation led to freedom in throwing out ideas, challenging one another with hard questions and working through various shifts in the make up of the project.

I'd be remiss if I didn't mention the strong support of all the husbands involved.  They did double duty as fathers and supporters and contributed their own expertise musically."

How did it feel to project manage who are also dear friends?

"I've loved them all as songwriters and though I don't know Ellie as well, it was a great joy to watch and help. Getting to know Sandra as a producer (her first time in this role) was amazing.  Her insight, wisdom, boldness, careful thought and musical sensibilities were easy to support.  Ellie dove in with both feet and her enthusiasm and encouragement along the way kept everyone engaged.  And, Flo too is a great part of this team of women, looking for ways to engage the neighborhood, adding to the resources we have to get the music out there and offering her heart at every turn along the way. I've worked with Katy, consulting on Coal Train Railroad, and within the Indelible Grace projects, so it was a natural mode for us to find. I still feel like we are at the very beginning of what I hope will be a long, multifaceted working relationship."

I have been thinking about your piece in Art House America and how you said, in part, that your art was creating relationships and connections and reveling in the beauty to be found around you (my own summation).  I know you to be a creative person in your own right and although you didn't sing on this album, I want to hear about the creative process for you in approaching this project.

"For me, this project has been a welcomed gift. It is a place, among friends, to contribute some of my own skills and passion while working to create something I deeply believe in. That, in itself, is something I've longed for for years. The process has been full of opportunities to trust God and to not let insecurity and fear get me down. 

In early October, only a few weeks after we got the go ahead from Sally to write to her poems, I was with Katy in Minnesota  when she wrote God Helps Baby Moses. It was a great joy to be part of the first hearings of that and the other demos and work tapes that were circulating via email. Each time Ellie, Sandra, Flo and Katy sent through a song, I was struck by how immediately memorable each was.  Their talent and heart for the gospel of Jesus shone through in such beautiful ways.

Later, in the studio with Sandra and Flo as they recorded Flo's God Rescues Noah From The Storm, they invited me to give input as they worked out the form of the song.  We experimented with a few ways of asking and answering the questions posed in the lyrics. We tried repeating a few of the sections to let the heavy truths sink in and linger; that God is the one who keeps his promises and does "just what he says he'll do". I loved the editing process; feeling the changes with each new form the song took, even with the same words and melody, so many options were there. This opened up to me a greater understanding of the work of songwriters.

Also, I observed Sally as she came in to listen to her words set to these melodies and, at some point, referred to her as a songwriter...which was a new title for her to add to author, speaker and poet. I LOVE seeing souls find their way into new roles.  

That same day, when we gave Sally the best seat in the studio to listen, I (somewhat shyly and concerned it may be out of turn) mentioned that I was missing the voice of the men on the project because, at that point, it was only women and kiddos singing.  Everyone agreed and a few days later Sandra sent out a sweet email to the husbands with the simple subject line "low notes?". 

I approached it as work I'm called to and am offering means of order and looking for relational connections that make sense to follow for sharing the work.  I'm incredibly proud of the songs and am enjoying the work so very much."

What has been the most meaningful experience to come out of this album for you?

"The most meaningful experiences have been the way God uses the songs themselves.  On Easter morning, after our church's sunrise service, our family came back home, groggy and bundled in sweaters from the cool morning.  Sitting in our living room, still trying to wake up, we sang Jesus Is Alive over and over again.  The boys lept and danced and I sat deeply encouraged that this batch of songs (and others to come in the future from Rain for Roots) are part of the soundtrack of our family.

Other times, I've woken up in the middle of the night with these songs on my mind.  God's spirit gently but strongly imparts that I am the little one being addressed and that I need to hear the promises for me and not just for my children and other little ones."

I personally love your ability to encourage and bring out the best in your artistic friends, me included, who may be a bit more disorganized that you are.  You have a way of not only perceiving a seed of an idea in others but then you help to awaken those ideas and teach others to discover hidden beauty in themselves.  I find that amazing.  What seeds did you see grow or help to grow in this project?  

"I helped oil what was already in motion and looked for ways to support the girls to help them accomplish the project.  That included everything from drafting a budget, to navigating complicated touring schedules to working out the license for the words.  The seeds for this project were given by God and we scattered them around but the growth has been His doing.  Right when we began tossing around the name Rain for Roots, our neighborhood group studied this passage from Mark:

Mark 4:26-28

²⁶ He also said, “This is what the kingdom of God is like. A man scatters seed on the ground. ²⁷ Night and day, whether he sleeps or gets up, the seed sprouts and grows, though he does not know how. ²⁸ All by itself the soil produces grain—first the stalk, then the head, then the full kernel in the head. 

I am reminded that prayer and waiting are part of helping to make good things grow."

So we've heard from Alice the neighbor, the friend, the artist and manager. This question is for Alice the mom. How have your children responded to Rain for Roots? Any favorite moments during or after production that you'd like to share with us?

"I mentioned Easter morning above. I laugh looking back at the favorite moments as a mom.  Evan sang some background vocals on Jesus Is Alive and, for some reason, being in the studio and on a mic caused him to act in a sillier manner than I'd ever seen.  Derek and Sandra commented that he was almost singing harmonies (trans: he's so off key, I'm not sure this will fit). We continue to realize that Asher would have been a much better studio contributor as he dances around the house signing Jesus Is Alive along with God Makes Everything (our current household favorites).

Jesus Stops A Storm was the last song to be written and, early on, I wondered if perhaps I could give it a whirl alongside Evan who loves to make up songs.  One night, I asked him to sing the lyrics with me.  Within a few minutes, Evan was writing his own song on the same topic, singing "Jesus, Jesus! Lord of all...Lord of the baby, Lord of the talls, Lord of the building, Lord of the mom, Lord of the eyeballs, Lord of the toys, Lord of the bulls, Lord of the animals!"  I recorded the very sweet, somewhat theological dialog that followed came out of this singing time.

Sharing treasured conversations like these and watching the boys come to believe the truth in these songs gives new meaning to Jesus' words of "Let the little children come to me..."  Sally, Ellie, Flo, Katy and Sandra are not just letting them come, they have created a way for them to run in and to savor being there, at Jesus' feet, cared for and lavished with love."

 

And finally, hat are your hopes for the continuation of this project?  What is the next step for Rain for Roots?http://rainforroots.com/

"I hope for these songs to reach the hearts of as many of God's little ones as possible.  

Rain for Roots plans to continue recording, perhaps an album of Psalm Songs for Little Ones or Genesis Songs for Little Ones.  We imagine future projects drawing more directly from the words of scripture so that as they are learned and sung, the word of God is being memorized."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So friends, now is your chance to win a free download of this entire wonderful new album!  Are you ready?  All you have to do is go and post the free sampler download link (saying that you downloaded it) on your blog, your facebook page, or where ever you are online, and link back here in the comments.  The sampler download is on the bottom right hand corner of RfR's webpage. (Just put a link to your FB page or blog and be sure to leave your email or twitter handle so I can get ahold of you.) On Sunday afternoon, I will post the winner, so check back here for updates!

When you decide you love this album and can't live without it, head on over to Rain for Roots to by it (for only $8!) and enter 'truelove' for a 10% discount on the album (that makes it $7.20!), available to all my readers!

P.S. Exclusive interviews with the rest of the gals from Rain for Roots are available on the blogs of my fellow East Nashville Mom bloggers!
Read Flo's Story at Nala's Photography
Read Ellie's Story at Designs by Stephie
Read Sandra's Story at Life: Edited
Read Katy's Story at If Stones Could Talk

Update - Sunday May 20th!!
 I just got back from a long weekend of camping with my children and some other families and am not ready to finish the drawing up.  I'm extending until Wed. the 23rd to allow myself some time to finish a heap of smoky laundry.   See you Wednesday!
P.S.  Leave a way to contact you in the comments!  You can't win if I can't reach you! :)
Update - Wed. May 23rd.  Comments Closed!

And the random number chosen winner is Happy Wife!  Congrats, Kim!  Look for an email from me soon with your download code.
Ariana

Mama's Day

 

I'll admit to you, dear reader, that I have been a selfish person.  I have approached Mother's Day with expectations, mostly from my hubs, and when greeted with my expectations and ultimately disappointment because he can't fulfill them, he just gave up.  Who could blame him?  I'm pretty hard to please, sometimes.

This year when Mother's Day approached I went to my journal to read what I wrote last year, and I shamefully admit I was hoping to find a little ammunition to aim at my sweet Geek to guilt him into making this Mother's Day awesome, since last year had been a bust (aren't I the sweetest?  Ahem...).  But I must have been having a good day that day because I found this.

Sunday, May 7, 2011
Mother's Day

"I'm realizing that I have a choice about how to see my special days.  Matt is not going to get up early, think ahead much, or even get me a card, and I can either be sour about it or I can celebrate with my two beautiful children who are the real gift of the day.  I am so grateful to have happy, healthy children. I pray they grow up in knowledge and wisdom and that they may know God at a young age.  May the defects and trouble we create in them with our mistakes only serve to drive them closer to God."

So this morning when I woke up to heavy rain, a leaking roof, cranky everybody, and an entitled feeling in my heart, I made an effort to choose a different path for myself.  I wasn't perfect and I did sulk just a smidge, but all to myself, and I enjoyed the day so very much!  I read books to my littles when they woke up at dawn rather than wondering where my breakfast in bed was.  We had breakfast together. We went to church with friends and had a great time.  We all (excluding Cora, of course) took naps.  Glorious long afternoon naps while the rain poured outside.  It was just sweet.  And then at the end of the day, Matt returned a redbox movie and came home with a card, just for me.  And I love it.  Happy Mother's Day!

On love and loss - my four children

I am the mother of 4 children.  You may not know that.  You may only see the two I get the privilege of raising, but my love for each of them is no less.  Our second and fourth children were too small to know their gender, but we have decided that they are a boy (the 2nd) and a girl (the 4th).  It helps me think of them and love them and I even have potential names chosen that I kind of call them in my head when I think of them.  It is real to me, my love for them.  And yet, it is a secret.

Part of motherhood is sometimes the loss of a child.  When that baby or child is big enough to have a funeral and be mourned, there is a validation to the sadness.  A place to give it focus and hone the emotions into words, tears, recognition of a life, and to receive comfort from a community.  But when the baby is unborn and so small that they never passed the cellular level, the loss of them is faceless and formless.  There is no focus for the grief.  And so it gets set aside.  "You can try again.", some well meaning person says and while it is true, there will never be another baby just like the baby I lost.  Even naming them is complicated.  I have these few names that I love.  Names that I would like to say out loud to my son or daughter for the rest of their lives.  And should we have another child I may want to give them this name.  So I hold back from giving a true and final name to my lost children.  And they remain nameless, faceless, formless and lost.

The first time I lost a baby, Valentines Day 2010, it seemed I was welcomed into a quiet and yet disconnected group of women who had also lost a baby.  A club that no one wanted to be a part of and so kept secret.  The other members were not known, but there we all were, unwilling initiates whose grief had been the dues we paid.  I would say I had miscarried and a friend would gently say, "Me too."  Friends that I had know for years or family members and I would sit there in quiet anguish that I had not been able to help them through that sorrow and could not now, lost as I was in my own. 

This time, Valentines Day 2012, I lost my girl and immediately reached for help.  I knew I would need it.  I knew I was lost without other moms and friends to come around me and love me and my family.  I needed help to sort through the heap of baby girl clothes I had been saving, I just couldn't face them, so I sent out the call for help.  What I got in response (in addition to help) was emails from mamas who had also lost a baby, but didn't feel like they could talk about it at our MOMS Club events with all of the pregnant mothers around.  It's too painful or too awkward or would worry the pregnant mothers and I remembered that the silence is the pain. 

So for all of you mamas out there who have lost a baby, this is for you.  Your children are not forgotten.  You can talk about them any time.  Don't worry about the awkward silence from those who don't understand.  I pray they never do.  Know that there are others who do understand, but might not be able to talk about it yet and in their silence lives the pain.  Motherhood does not always equal a baby to hold, but it always means that my love has multiplied and gone out to another in a way I could have never imagined.  And talking about my lost children helps my heart to heal a bit more.  I hope yours will too.

Spring dreaming

I'm very behind on planning the garden (although we are all weeded and prepped) and I've heard rumors of a late frost this coming Tuesday so I'm OK with waiting a little bit longer. In the mean time, I'll settle for playing in the back yard and soaking up the warm with the babe who is quickly no longer a baby and my little dreamer in pink fluffy skirt.  I love to just drink them in, these two.

 

Saved by the chore chart...again!

I've always been kind of an 'all or nothing' kind of gal.  I'm either all in or all out.  Whether it's the creek, a book, playing, working, making music, and of note lately, housework.  I am, admittedly, the WORST housekeeper in the history of this house. I'm including those who have owned it before, starting in 1924, though I do not know them, with the possible exception of the band that rented out our house before we bought it and, with multiple couches on the porch, earning it the name 'The Hippie Mansion' from our neighbors.  Oh, and lets not even mention that they had a secret room in the basement that was ultra-soundproofed and had mystery lighting.  Either a band practice room or secret ganja room.  We never could decide.  But I digress.  Chores.  Yes.  The bane of my existence.

In my defense, my first foray into faux motherhood was as 'the nanny'.  A barrel of fun at someone else's house, on someone else's dime, and it usually came with maid service and a mini-van on loan!  Then I'd come home from their mansion to my little one bedroom hovel apartment and go out with friends.  Because that is what 23 year olds do when they get off of a 12 hr shift with three boy children.  I mostly only slept at that apartment.  Add to that growing up in a tiny trailer with a mob of folks and spending most of my available time out of doors, and you don't get Mad Cleaning Skills as a Girl Scout badge (not that I was one.  They just sold cookies, so I'd steal my brother's Boys Life mags and dream).

So it's just me and the Hippie Mansion now with heaps of laundry, a continually shedding dog, a cat with a laundry basket vendetta (he pees in them if they have Matt's clothes in them), a hubs who also did not earn that Girl Scout badge and two toddlers who think yogurt is for flinging.  Close your eyes and picture this and you will see my house.  My big, beautiful, rambling, fixer-upper of a house.   Then add my all or nothing mentality.  You see my dilemma now?

I've covered this topic before, and then my little chore chart sits there, ignored and useless on the fridge.  I don't know if it's spring or what, but a cleaner house calls to me, so it's back to the chore chart.  A week of following it and not getting ahead of myself gets the joint reasonably clean, keeps me reasonably sane, and I can begin the next week without the heavy scrubbing and just maintain.  It just so happened that the kids were sick this week and we couldn't really go out to infect the world with what they had.  Perfect!  You feel like vomiting and just want to sleep and not eat today?  I'll scrub the bathrooms!  My bedroom is dust free (and it was a thick coating behind things and under the bed) for the first time since...oh...Thanksgiving.  Thanks Chore Chart!  Next week I'll be back to my regularly scheduled slacking, aka "C'mon kids!  We are going to the park/pool/YMCA/friend's house!" and avoiding scrubbing the kitchen floor.  Until then let me enjoy the shine.

The Joys of Chores

Cora and I have been reading my old copies of Laura Ingalls Wilder's "Little House" books and have been simultaneously creating memories, reliving my childhood ones, and challenging both of our ideas about what she is capable of.  In "Little House in the Big Woods" Laura is just 5 years old and already she is doing things that I wouldn't trust a modern teenager to do without complaining or messing up.  Both Laura and her sister, Mary, spend their days helping their Ma first and then having time to themselves, rather than engaging in uninterrupted playtime and/or TV time, like my oldest was doing.  Granted, she is only three and a half, but there is lots I have not thought she was capable of until I pushed her just a little.  Since we began reading the books, we finish breakfast, make sure the baby (who is quickly becoming NOT a baby) is not going to destroy anything or play in the dog or toilet water and the begin our chores.

So far, she can do the following chores with me.  I'm always near to help but she needs it less and less.
 - Unload the silverware and all of the stuff that goes in the low cabinets from the dishwasher.  She pushes up a small chair, pulls out the heavy silverware drawer, sorts and puts away all of them, then pushes in the heavy drawer.
- Help me bake or mix things, dumping all of the ingredients in one at a time while I measure.
- Fold all of the napkins and other square things when we do laundry.
- Sort the laundry by colors.  I told her to choose all of the red, orange, purple and pink things today.
- Load the washer.  She pushes her 'helper stool' (a heavy duty step stool) up to the side of the washer, opens the heavy lid and then climbs up and down, filling it with her sorted pile.  Often Judah empties out the basket 'for her' (really he just likes to empty the basket).  Then she puts in her scoop of soap, asks what setting to put it on, (she knows H is hot, W is warm and C is cold) then closes the lid, climbs on top and pushes the start button.  (It's kind of a new fancy washer with a push button start)
- Push the wet clothes into the dryer as I throw them over from the washer.
- Feed the dog her scoop of food.
- Chop softer veggies. Today I showed her all about sharp knives and stood next to her chopping as she attempted to cut up a slice of zucchini.  She did pretty well and not a single cut on her!
- Set the table and help clear, as long as plates don't have rolly things like leftover grapes.

And the best part of it, she asks to do these things!  She enjoys helping me!  If she is in a funk and whining and crying about toys or a disagreement with Judah, (they don't like to share) I say it's time for chores and everything changes!  She takes pride in her work and I am just amazed at her.  Not to mention it's a pretty sweet deal having company and help with the monotonous rhythm of chores and caring for a house and small children.  For you mamas with older children, just go ahead and say it.  It took me long enough!  I mean, I have given her things to do before, but I never realized how much she could do!  So glad to figure out just a bit more of this parenting stuff.

Thanks, Laura!

Blocks and Cans of Soup

The kiddos are gorgeous.  Gorgeously snotty and sick, but still gorgeous.  Judah is this 'all boy' phase where he stomps around the house, usually carrying something heavy, hollaring about whatever pre-verbal nearly 14 month old boys have to hollar about.  Not mad, not sad, just loud.  He "comes by it honest", as they say where I am from.  He is into everything and his favorite thing lately is to raid my pantry so at night when I am putting things away that were forgotten, I usually find blocks and some Cream of Mushroom soup lurking under a chair.  Unopened cans are, in his opinion, perfect playthings.  They stack, they are heavy, the roll.  What more could a kid ask for? He is at this moment, in fact, siting with a plastic drum on his head, yelling at me about it.  In spite of the flushed cheeks, the rivers of snot, and the general feeling crummy, he still has stuff to do. 

Cora is learning how to skype with her grandparents and is further lost in her imaginative play.  Her daytime 'rest', because she gave up napping long ago, is filled with dressing up Bear and Bunny in her own clothes, cloths, scarves, underwear, whatever.  They have big adventures together.  Her imagination extends to the night when I am sometimes awakened by her crying and half awake telling me her floor is made of goo and she can't get out or other various situations.  No way this kid is getting anywhere near scary movies or shows.  Matt says she has my imagination and I suffer from nightmares if I am exposed to scary movies.  Even Dr. Who makes me have crazy dreams. (but I watch anyway!!)

2 weeks of time lost

I can't believe my brush with death was 2 weeks ago.  First of all, one of the side effects of anemia must be short term memory loss because I can't remember a LOT about the last two weeks and second of all...well I forgot what the second thing was, but I'm sure it will come back to me.  Oh yes!  Saying 'my brush with death' seems sorta melodramatic to me even though it was truly that.  I guess some part of myself can't even go there and so I turn to life, as it continues to bubble and flow all around me with beautiful children and wonderful husband and kind and generous family that gave of themselves and came at the drop of a hat when we needed them most. 

I went from surgery/blood transfusion and miscarriage to horrific cold and then a pinched nerve in my back.  All in two weeks.  Needless to say, my state of being has been taxing the limits of my dear family. I am as anxious for myself back as they are.  But time is the only thing that will make that happen and according to the doctors, it could be 6 weeks or 6 months before I'm back to normal.  So no babies in the works until then.  It really is a grace to slow down, sleep when I am able and say no to things.  My children are at wonderful ages and I just want to drink them in.  Judah is on the cusp of words and fills every waking moment stomping around our house on his pudgy baby legs grunting or yelling out half words to us.  He is constantly on the move, pushing cars, rolling things, throwing balls, playing in the dog water. (Sigh) Signing three new signs in a week!  (more, please, all done - they get him what he needs)  Cora is imagination run riot and we have 'conversations' about what she thinks about the world.  I am often astounded at what she comes up with.  I can't remember it all, but in the moment, it is wonderful. 

My sweet hubs continues to work full time as well help me with all of the heavy lifting that comes with housework and kiddos, plus holding me when I am a wreck and tired from an hour long trip to the grocery store.  I may not remember it all, but I know I am loved and cared for.

The day before Valentines Day - to the brink and back with a miscarriage gone wrong

This account is mainly for my record and to give praise to God for healing and help in my time of need.  Just so you know, there will be mention of blood and lots of it.  I don't want to forget.  Often medical professionals forget to tell us what is really going to happen when we miscarry or they sanitize it so we won't be afraid.  In both cases of my 2 miscarriages, they have forgotten to tell me what to watch for in case things go wrong.  This is my story of things going wrong.  Proceed with caution if you are squeamish.

I knew on the 3rd of February that this pregnancy was no longer viable.  I grieved.  I mourned.  I wrote.  I cried.  I felt ready for the miscarriage to begin.  I wanted it over with, but was grateful for the time I had to consider my lost girl without being in the throes of the actual loss.  I still am.  Yesterday would have been much harder if I was also mourning her still in the way I had been.

On Saturday night (the 11th) the miscarriage began with some spotting, but no cramping.  I went to pick up the meds that my Midwife had called in for me on Sunday morning and they had no record of a prescription on file for me right then.  I meant to check the other store nearby, but forgot.  This, in hindsight, was pretty crucial for me.

Sunday night, the cramping began and I was grateful that it was going to be over soon.  I sat in the tub letting the contractions come, but soon the water was deep red.  I emptied the tub and tried to get out, but the blood was running down my legs and I was making a mess of the bathroom.  I grabbed some old towels and one of those giant postpartum pads they gave me in the hospital when my son was born.  The ones that are literally a foot and a half long and 9 inches wide.  I went down to hang out with Matt while he watched Deep Space Nine on Netflix and then got ready for bed.  The pad was already halfway filled in half an hour.  I changed it to the last one I had and went to bed at 10:30pm.  I woke up at 3:45am and the pad was completely full, but not of dark red blood, just of fluid.  I went to the bathroom and a massive blood clot came out of me.  When I say massive, I mean it would have filled more than a pint sized bucket.  I got back in the tub, not realizing that this amount of blood loss was bad.  I had had lots of bleeding with my last miscarriage and though this was considerably more than that, I still felt like I was OK.  In hindsight that was wrong too.  I rinsed off and attempted to go back to sleep.  The only pads I had left were the huge overnight ones that they sell in the grocery store.  I put 4 of these side by side on the old pad to hold them in place and went back to bed.  More gushing.  More giant clots and in 20 minutes the 4 pads were full.  I figured I'd wait it out in the bathtub so I wouldn't make a mess.  It was nearly 5:30am by then and the children and hubs were still all asleep.

I began to get dizzy and I thought, "This can't be right.  I'd better wake up Matt and get him to call the midwife."  I made it to the bed and grabbed his leg and said "I need you." before the first wave of nausea hit me.  Let me just clarify and sat that I am one of those women who vomit easily.  I have a stomach like a rock so for this to happen to me was an unusual symptom.  I made it back to the toilet in time for another gush of blood and clotting and as I heaved into the sink I said, "Call 911!"  The baby woke up.  Hubs called 911.  My girl woke up and found me in the tub, full of questions which I tried to calmly answer.  The nausea and light headedness was passing and by the time the paramedics got there I was feeling better.  I rinsed all the blood away so Cora wouldn't see it and so neither did the paramedics.  I talked with the paramedics and my blood pressure seemed OK so I sent them away, promising to go in first thing to see the midwives.  Also a mistake.

Matt took the kids downstairs to feed them while I sat upstairs in the tub.  He had the baby monitor on so he could hear me.  Not 20 minutes later I found it hard to remain conscious and began to call for Matt.  He never heard me.  He heard a knocking sound on the bathtub that I have no recollection of making.  I'll just say the angel watching over me knocked.  By the time he came I was vomiting again and more clots and blood were coming out.  He called 911 again and the spell passed, again.  This time I went with them.  My 3 yr old girl watched with big eyes as they took her Mama away on a 'rolling bed' in nothing but a bloody nightshirt and Matt's coat thrown hastily on top of me, and into an ambulance while I yelled to Matt which hospital I would be at.  A kind friend came over and picked up the kids as I was being loaded up.

An ambulance ride.  2 bags of fluid.  More gushing bleeding and clots. My blood pressure was 90/50 in the ambulance.  Into the hospital.  More fluids.  More doctors.  More exams.  A huge clot again.  The doctor took a picture of it with her Iphone to send to OB for proof.  Matt found me.  They wanted to see how many pads I went through in an hour and handed me a large obstetric one.  It lasted less than 10 minutes.  Another pelvic exam by a resident that was possibly the most awful thing I've ever experienced.  She will be getting a letter from me about gentleness and talking to a patient.  I'm a person, not a cadaver. They talked to me about my options and  I opted for a D&C even though I had wanted to avoid it.  I knew I couldn't go home still bleeding like that, but I didn't know how bad I was.  I was still talking and not in much pain.  There was not a lot of cramping.  Some, but compared to labor, it was a 2 rather than a 10.  My BP wasn't recovering and they couldn't give me anything in the way of pain killers.

Upstairs to pre-op and I'm chatting with the nurses, asking where they are from and telling them about my family.  A friend came to see Matt for a moment and I chatted and joked with him.  I felt tired, but not in any pain.  I didn't realize that I was in bad shape.  My BP was low and they laid me flat.  I couldn't really lift my head, but I wasn't afraid.  Just tired.  The doctor started to talk to me about how I MIGHT need some blood.  She said they are careful about giving it since there is some risk, but how they only do it to save people's lives.  She then quickly reassured Matt who must have looked shocked at the news his wife was not gonna make it unless they gave me blood.  I told them "I am kinda seeing spots" and the doc rushed off to put in the order.  Within 10 minutes, I was receiving blood from some kind doner who had my universal blood donor type.  We can give to everybody, but only receive from each other.  Thank you, whomever you are!  I intend to donate when I am feeling better in thanks.

The operation and the first bits of recovery went by like a blur and suddenly it was after noon.  I was talking nonsense to the nurses and I'm pretty sure I started singing Three Little Birds by Bob Marley at one point...."Don't worry about a thing.  Cause every little thing's gonna be alright."   (Cora and I sing it a lot) I talked to Matt out of a drug haze and thought about how much I hate the drug haze and then little by little I am myself again.  My blood count came up.  My blood pressure came up.  I stopped bleeding, mostly.  The nurses were so glad to talk to me and telling me just how bad I had been and how they were pretty worried about me.  Apparently I had been white as a sheet.  By the time the doctor came in to see me, she was shocked!  I had color.  I was just coming back from the bathroom and she thought she had the wrong patent, I looked so good.  Needless to say, they thought my bloodwork and vitals were good enough to go home by 5pm.  So I did.  Grateful.  Alive.  And eager to remember that this day is a gift.  And that though I may not like lots of medical intervention, when it is necessary, it saved my life.  So did the angel who knocked on the tub.  Happy Valentine's Day.  Love well the ones you have.  I know I will be loving on mine extra today.

Remembering the sun

 

Judah may look a bit grumpy here, but I think he was reaching the 'tuckered out' stage our Nature Play adventure.

This has been such an odd winter.  Not really even winter at all, compared with last year when we had no less than 12 snows (unusual for Middle TN).  Just last week, I was sitting on a turquoise bench watching the kids dig in the mud and sand with bare feet.  Yes, bare feet in February.  Scandal!  As I sat there in my jeans and long sleeve shirt (with flip flops) I thought 'It's hot! How strange for February.'  And now the next week it's a little bit more chilly and the sky is grey.   So I'm remembering last weekand making a pumpkin pie.  Not that pie and sunshine have anything in common, I just want some. 

Show up

Sometimes the hardest thing I do every day is to show up. I am a superhero to my littles who think I know every answer and can do anything. I took one of the kid's toys apart and cleaned a little corrosion off and tightened some loose wires and my daughter ran through the house yelling "Mama fixed it, Mama fixed it!" as if I had just lept over the moon.

I'm in the middle of hard things.  I want to lie in my bed and just thing and cry sometimes. The morning dawns and I'm not ready.  The baby stirs beside me and throws his little chubby arm over my face and sometimes it makes me annoyed rather than delighted.  My three year old comes skipping in telling me the sun has come up and it's "Suntime" and I want to yell at her for waking me up.  I did, in fact, this morning. I am so grateful for the forgetful love of children who forgive me for being crazy.


I get caught up in the mess, in the cleaning, in eggs and fruit, and bottles and laundry and I turn on the music to give a flow to the insanity.  Then my little girl puts on her princess dress and paper crown and begins to dance around the room.  She is graceful and not, all at once.  And then she comes to me and says "Can I have you?  Will you dance with me?"  And I think of all the things I have to do and say and write and be and songs that will never get written during naptime because naptime no longer exists for one of my children and the other is in a battle of wills with me to give his up too.  And then I see her.  And I stop.  And we dance in the living room and she thinks my bathrobe spins like a pretty dress.


You don’t have to save the world. All that hero talk is only superficial stuff. If you want to change the world, all you gotta do is show up, show up, just show up.
No great things have I done, no great things have I done, only small things with great love.
Show Up by Jill Philips and Andy Gullahorn

Messy Mondays - pondering the excess

One of several baskets of 'stuff' on the toy shelf

Cora and I have just begun some of my favorite books, the "Little House" books by Laura Ingalls Wilder.  We usually get through one chapter per night but this morning she requested two extra ones!  I agreed and we had a cozy time reading while Judah got his wiggles out. (Walking, yelling, chomping things, crawling through the tunnel etc.)

 

Enough cars for 3 kids.  (there are more)

Then we began our chores for the day, a good portion of which is 'putting things away', and I began to wonder how we got to the state of having so many things.  In her story, Laura Ingalls had one doll, and that she got around her 4th Christmas.  Before that it was a corn cob wrapped in a handkerchief.  Not much for Ma to clean up.  But then again maybe she didn't anyway.  Girls of that era (and boys too) were expected to work, keep their things cleaned up, help their parents with chores, keep their beds made, and selves tidy, as well as schooling.

Of course, I don't envy Ma's regular work,  (We just read the chapter where they butchered the hog and Ma was making sausage by hand and rendering fat on her stove for days!  Pass.) and I can see why things were kept simple.  I know I've got it easy with my washing machine running and my dishwasher drying the dishes for me right now while I blog.  But at the same time, part of our messy life here is just too much stuff, too many clothes, too many things, both of my own and the children.

 

The storage room of shame.  In this room I am more like a hoarder.  People give me children's clothes and baby things and I say yes to all, regardless of need.  In my head it's because I want to pass it on to others who may need it, but reality gets in the way and it just sits here.

Seriously.  When I pack away each outgrown season of clothing, if they haven't even worn them all, there is a problem.  Granted, we have been so blessed by the sharing of friends that I literally have only bought shoes for my children in all their days of life, but we have been given more than we need.  It's time to pare down, to pass on, to give to others what we have been given.  To sort out all the things that are never used or lost in the heap.  To put away or give away.  But not put too much away, because my storage space, it overfloweth. 

 

Least you think it's just part of this giant room that is filled.  Oh no.  The whole room is filled with baby junk.  (And boxes and linens.  Sigh.  No closets in this old house!)

In some ways, losing this baby has given me a chance to get my act together before we really have a 3rd child. (5th child.  I count my angel babies in my heart.)  To make space for him/her in our home, not just in my heart.  To paint, to prepare, to sort, to pare down.  To rid my home of the extra so we can enjoy the gifts we have been blessed with.

(Messy Mondays are inspired by Flo Oaks and her Messy Monday blog)

For my lost girl

For the empty place that would have been filled by you
for the tears that must be cried that won't be put aside
And the dreams of you that I have had that died with you, sweet girl with you
These I mourn this dark morning.

For the sister friend who longs to know you more
For the heart that breaks in her, my lovely little bird
And the way she asks the unanswerable question why, that my heart also cries
These I mourn this dark morning

But the sun will rise in spite of the dark
And we will rise from this place and see you face to face
Someday.  When we see Him face to face.

Sorrow and Joy

Sometimes I wonder the wisdom of telling the world I am pregnant as soon as I find out, only to find out a month later that the baby never grew past cell stage and we've lost another one.  That makes 2 angel babies.  Last time I didn't have to explain to my 3 yr old why we weren't going to have a baby anymore.  A baby that she is convinced was a girl.  My big girl was only 1 then and I cried alone and with my hubs and she was oblivious to my grief.  Now my girl sits in my lap and cries and says "I want my baby sister to stay.  I don't want her to be dead."  She has a way of putting things together even if we avoid the word 'death'.  My little deep soul.  She breaks my heart with her yearning for her sister and I weep even more in my own grief for the loss of that sweet babe and the heartache that I see in her.  I hate death.  I hate pain.  I know they are a part of life, but I hate them.

Last time this happened (2010), I stopped blogging.  For a long long time.  I didn't want to share anything anymore.  I began again, but not the everyday joys and sorrows that I was spilling out into the internet universe.  For the very first time in my life I wanted to be quiet.  I wanted to be still and not talk about what I felt to people I didn't know.  Deep sorrow touched me for the first time.  Not that I had not had grief or death in my life before, but I was young and didn't know how to walk through the grief, so I avoided it. I got angry when anyone brought it up.  I was angry that they made me feel that again.  I wanted to forget it.  I wanted to get past it.

Now grief finds me again and I want to stay in it.  Long enough to remember and mourn.  But living babies call me and need me and are joyful and I find myself in a beautiful blend of sorrow and joy.  Joy for the lives I have been blessed with.  For the sweet boy and sweet girl that stayed and fill my life with wonder and beauty.  And sorrow for the sweet boy and girl that I lost that I will only see again in heaven.  And in this, I can move forward.