Remembering

This morning I've been thinking back and reflecting. My mind is going back four years to the time we spent with our tiny, sick babies in the NICU. On one hand, it seems like so long ago that it takes on a dream-like quality. It's nearly impossible to reconcile the loud, boisterous, hurricane-like forces of nature they are today, with the helpless little beings they were back then. It almost seems like it happened to someone else. But even though I have a hard time seeing the boys as they were then, all I have to do to remember the place, and the feeling of being in those rooms, is close my eyes and be still.

The NICU at St. Mary's hospital is a place unlike any other. The lights are dim, and it's quiet, broken only by the occasional cry of a tiny baby. The rhythmic beeping of SAT monitors and the sometimes shrilling alarms are a constant reminder that things can change here in an instant, but over time they become background noise that's easily tuned out. I remember the sounds, and the quiet bustling of nurses who are kind beyond measure. But the thing I remember most is the presence of God.

I have never been in a church, or ceremony where I felt His presence, love and comfort more clearly and constantly. In our time there, we saw joy and miracles, and we saw sorrow beyond comprehension, but we also saw God in every single moment. Through every bit of fear and every bit of hope, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that God was with us, holding us tight as we struggled through the hardest days of our life.

And today I remember all of that clearly. Today is the fourth anniversary of the passing of Zach Kirk. He was our NICU next door neighbor, and his parents became our friends and guides through the sometimes treacherous waters of hospital life. Despite spending months in the NICU with their sweet boy, they never lost their faith. Not only did they stay strong day after day, they shared their hope and strength and encouragement with others. To this day, they are one of the most amazing examples of faith and grace that I have ever seen.

I am thinking of them today, and reflecting on a the time that we shared. I am sad that we didn't get the chance to see Zach become a wild, rambunctious little boy. Based on the tales his mama tells about his adorable little brother, Samuel, I have no doubts Zach would have been a pistol. But I will always be grateful for the example that his family set. The way that his parents showed that you just keep going, day after day, no matter how hard it gets. That you keep your faith and your hope, and you just keep loving each other through the darkest days. Faith, hope and love- and the greatest of these is love.

Spring Breakdown

I had to wait until it was official, but I can now proudly proclaim- We survived spring break!!!!!! I know that may not seem proclamation-worthy to everyone, but it is here. In fact, I thought about renting confetti cannons to fire this morning in celebration of the glorious return to school, but I thought that might be going too far.

The best part is, we didn't just survive our week of non-stop togetherness, I'd dare say we thrived. I wanted to do everything I could to make sure that I didn't spend every minute of the break yelling at bored, whiny, fighting children, and simultaneously developing a fairly worrisome drinking problem. The only way to avoid this was to keep them busy. And keep them busy I did. We started small. Monday was declared "Muck out the Mommyvan" day. It looked like homeless people had been squatting in it, and hadn't been washed in far too long. Before we could even consider any spring break adventures, that disaster had to be reckoned with. And if you don't think cleaning out and washing car could fill the better part of a day, well you haven't seen my car. Or tried to accomplish anything with my children's "help."

Once I could see out the windshield, and we could feel fairly certain that you couldn't catch any communicable diseases from the upholstery, we were ready for fun. Luckily, my mom had taken the week off work to lend a hand with spring break-o-rama, and an extra helping of adult supervision opened up a world of possibilities. So we headed out to the Yellow River Game Ranch on Tuesday. I love that place. You can pet the deer that roam freely, chase the chickens, feed bears- it's cool. Totally lives up to its motto, "Like a zoo, only better." The kids had a great time racing down the paths with me and Yaya sprinting behind, yelling, "Slow down!! Wait!!!" But no one got lost or eaten by a bear, so I consider it a total success. And I would like to say, with all sincerity, thank you, Yellow River Game Ranch, for making your gift shop affordable. I was able to let all three boys choose a small souvenir for $10. That NEVER happens. I always have to be the mean mommy that denies them the $40 stuffed animal at the end of every absurdly expensive adventure. But this time I got to be the nice mommy, and say, "Sure, have a stuffed chipmunk. You want a plastic eagle? It's yours." And I gotta tell you, that's a darn good feeling.

Will feeding a deer

Gimme that carrot, kid!

What are you lookin' at??

Please just sit still long enough for one picture!!!

Haysie and a bunny

Wednesday was my project day. So I drug the boys to Lowes, then attempted an ill-fated trip to TJ Maxx to get a few things to revamp our pitiful excuse for a master bathroom. They played outside and watched Power Rangers, and I painted and gussied things up. By the time Matt got home, we had a whole new bathroom. Go, me!

Tiny but improved bathroom

Thursday was by far my most impressive day. I was helping a friend with an ill father by watching her kids that day, so I had a total of five kids- four boys, one girl. In a move that would make home-schooling sister-wives proud, I teamed up with a friend that was watching a little boy in addition to her daughter, and we took all 7 kids to pick strawberries on a farm, then to lunch at McDonalds. AND EVERYONE SURVIVED!!!! (Disclaimer: My mom and one of her best friends came along for the strawberry picking. I'm not sure we would have had complete success without them.) The sister-wives might not have so proud to hear we spent the better part of the afternoon drinking wine while the kids played, but only I after I made a casserole and pie for my friend with the ailing dad. Good deed cancels out questionable behavior, right?

Seven crazy kids

Sweet Mason

Annalise and Jack

My sister-wife, Miriam, with Lainey and the other Jack

The kids were exhausted by Friday. Mason went to a friend's house to play, but the twins and I stayed home and did as little as possible. Well, I tried to get my house back into reasonable shape after its week of neglect while the twins vegged out on Power Rangers. But I knew that I was in the home stretch. That gave me enough strength to give Matt a pass on bathtime/bedtime for the twins so he and Mason could go hit balls at the driving range. Yes, it's true, I'm the nicest mommy ever. (riiiiight)

We made it through the weekend, and we were even fairly productive. A hall bath make-over is in the works, and we've waged war on the public urinal smell that plagues us thanks to the boys' less than accurate aim (but that's a whole different post). And now Mason is back at school, we're back on schedule, and spring break can officially be called a success. The secret seems to be a near-constant stream of fun outings and adventures, so I'm going to need a sizable entertainment budget for summer. Would anyone care to sponsor that? Anyone??

Probably Not Our Best Week

In the past week, Hays gave himself a concussion bad enough to need a CT scan, Will rode a bike down a set of brick steps, the twins were determined to be almost, but not quite, special ed, and Mason proved to be too lazy for the gifted program. Not exactly a banner week.

Let's start with the injuries. Those are common around here, but this was the first time one has sent us to the ER. Not that we're not familiar with the ER. Will's respiratory issues guarantee that we'll visit at least once a winter, and there was that time that we thought Hays might have swallowed a battery (http://theamazingtwinadventure.blogspot.com/2010/12/after-midnight.html). But this was the first time one of them had gotten hurt badly enough to require a hospital trip.

It happened in typical backyard fashion. He and Will were outside swinging with my sister, Paige, while Mason and I were inside baking a cake for his class. All of a sudden, Paige comes in carrying a crying Hays and looking terrified. She explained that he had let go of the chains while he was swinging, and we all know that gravity is an unforgiving force, and he wound up bearing the full brunt of that force on the back of his little head. He was already sporting a sizable goose egg, but it was his odd-sounding cry that was worrying me. When he started losing consciousness and throwing up, off we went to St. Mary's.

That was the most harrowing drive of my life. Traffic was bad, and I kept talking to him to try to keep him awake, shaking his foot every time he didn't respond. Once we finally got to the ER, we had to wait through a line of people (that didn't even look sick, much less like they were in the midst of an emergency) just to check it. They finally took him back after 30 minutes or so, and he was already starting to perk up. He sat through a CT like a champ, and once they determined he had neither a skull fracture or a brain bleed, they finally released him. 4 1/2 hours after arriving, we were on our way home, and you would never know he'd been hurt.

I thought we might be on our way back yesterday with Will. We were at a friend's house, and he was riding her son's bike on their very wide front porch. Even though we were sitting 15 feet away, we weren't close enough to stop him when he decided to coast down the front steps. Luckily, there are only a couple of steps, and he hurt his pride more than anything else. He's got a couple of scrapes, but nothing bad enough to keep him from climbing back on the bike two minutes later (Though we did block the stairs. I'm not convinced he wouldn't have given it another shot.)

The bike incident occurred just hours after my meeting with the school psychologist and speech therapist. Testing had shown that while the boys both have some mild to moderate developmental delays, especially in the area of fine motor skills, they weren't quite severe enough to qualify for services. They did stress that they had just missed the cutoff. Ummm, yay? But they did qualify for speech services, which was our main concern, so they'll be getting 30 minutes of speech therapy twice a week next year at preschool. And they'll monitor their progress in other areas, and if they're not coming along like they need to, they'll reassess later in the year.

Then I had my second school-system meeting this morning to see if Mason qualified for gifted. Nothing like the irony of testing on both ends of the spectrum, right? In a decision that really came as no surprise, he did not qualify based on low motivation. He's plenty smart, and the test scores for skill and intelligence were high, but motivation was abysmal. That's my Mason- smart as a whip, but always looking to do as little as possible to get by. On one hand, we're bummed because we think he would have enjoyed the PACE program. They do some really interesting things, and Mason always does better when he's interested and engaged. On the other hand, we're not wailing and gnashing our teeth because he didn't get in. We know this doesn't indicate that he's not smart or capable. He's both, and we know he has what he needs in those areas to be successful. Our concern is finding a way to make him WANT to work to the level of his ability, rather than just sliding by. The same thing we've been struggling with since kindergarten. The same thing my parents struggled with every day of my educational life. Oh, Karma......

But next week is spring break, and I'm hoping that it will be uneventful and relaxing. Yeah, right, relaxing. Like that's gonna happen. Maybe if I send the kids somewhere and just stay home by myself! But since that's not likely, I'm just aiming for a week with no trips to the ER.

Watch Your Step

Today's tale from the parenting dark side is gross. So gross, in fact, that I feel the need to post a picture of them being cute first, so you can remember than they're not always disgusting, uncivilized cavemen. But this happens to be a story about them being disgusting, so if you're eating while reading this, you might want to head on over to another page. I suggest People magazine- did you hear that Tori Spelling is pregnant AGAIN???

Okay, for those of you who are brave/crazy enough to proceed despite my warning, here's how it all went down. Yesterday, Hays had been happily playing in the backyard, but he suddenly ran in crying. I didn't see any blood or visible evidence of tragedy, so I asked him what was wrong. I was not prepared for the answer. "I pooped in the yard, and now the flies are on it and they're scaring me!" Ummm, wait, what? You did what?? YOU DID WHAT?!!? I thought (hoped, prayed) that he meant dog poop. Surely he meant dog poop, right? There's plenty of that in the backyard.

But further investigation proved that he did not, in fact, mean dog poop. There, lying in the dirt by the swingset, was a decidedly human deposit. And pretty much every fly in the general area was inspecting this exciting new offering. (Hey, I warned you it was going to be gross.) I, of course, lost it. "Oh my GOD! Are you crazy? We don't poop in the yard! You never, ever, EVER poop in the yard. That is NOT okay!" But that didn't change the fact that there was a human turd lying in the dirt, and someone was going to have to deal with it.

And I've got to tell you, I had never really thought about the best way to deal with such a situation. I mean, really, what to you do with it? I decided to go the route of the responsible dog owner- double bag that crap (ha, crap, I'm punny) and toss it in the outdoor trashcan. But while I was fetching plastic bags, Will decided to get rid of those bad flies that were scaring his brother. I came out to find him hitting the poop with a plastic rake, yelling, "Go away, flies! Go Away!" Sigh......

I gotta tell you, this was just one of those gross parenting scenarios that I swear is limited to boys. I don't know a single friend with girls that has had to deal with yard poop. I'm sure there are some, but all the moms I know have lovely, civilized daughters. (Or they're just not admitting to it if they don't!) But I know for a fact that I'm not the only boy mom that has experienced this particular act of grossness. I just may be the only one shameless enough to share it with the world. Yeah, you're welcome....

If I'm Running, Something Really Scary is Chasing Me

I am not a runner. Never have been. And I now know, without question, that I never will be. Lots of my friends are, and they love it. They track their miles, and increase their endurance, and all that kind of runner-y crap. Heck, some of my friends have run (and finished!) actual marathons. I've always admired them, but have never been particularly inclined to join them.

But something about spring makes you want to get out there and pursue some honest-to-goodness physical fitness. (probably the knowledge that you will soon have to wear a bathing suit in public. If that doesn't encourage you to move your ass, nothing will.). Despite the insanely high pollen count, it was a beautiful morning, so I decided to forgo my usual climate-controlled elliptical session in front of the TV in favor of some outdoor exercise. After dropping the twins off at school, I headed to the park to walk the trails. I was just planning to do a couple of power-walking laps around the trail. It's a big trail, and I knew that would count as decent exercise. But something about the cool spring morning, and seeing all those other people happily jogging, made me decide to see what all this running craziness is about. After all, I foolishly thought to myself, it's not like I've actually tried jogging. I might discover that I love it.

Yeah, right. What I discovered is that running SUCKS. I didn't even do that much of it, but I can tell you without a doubt, it suuuuuuuuuuucks. My thighs were already kind of complaining after walking these very same trails last night with my friend, LeAnne. She's this tiny little girl- she's not 5'2 on tiptoe, and I'd be surprised (and happy) if she weighs 110 soaking wet. But damn, can that girl walk! I swear, it's like she's got rocket boosters attached to her feet. So I was already in a little pain from my valiant effort to keep up with Speedy Gonzales, but nothing like the pain I would soon be experiencing.

I had no illusions that I was going to run the entire time- or even most of the time. I just figured I'd give it a shot and quit before it killed me. It took about three steps before I could sense the Grim Reaper jogging beside me. (He was going faster- even carrying that big staff) But I refused to give up that easily. Instead, I focused on a point in the (near) distance, and forced myself to jog at least that far before gratefully slowing to a respectable walking speed. I did that three or four times before finally admitting defeat. Not total defeat- I did a few laps around the trail, but 85% was walking. And in the future, 100% of it will be walking. Quite frankly, I prefer my shins un-splinted, my knees in working condition, and my hip joints where the good lord intended them to be.

And you runners can't change my mind. You can talk all you want about building up and breaking through, and that awesome runner's high. "Runner's High." Ha. You're high, all right, but if it takes running to get there, I'll pass. I've got no problem exercising to the point that I'm panting and pouring sweat, I just prefer to do it where there's air conditioning and cable.

How Many Snakes Does It Take to Make a Sport Coat?

Most days after the sun, and sons, go down. Matt and I can be found on the couch watching tv. And since our favorite scripted network shows either can't be counted on to air every week, or end their season waaay too early (I'm looking at you Grey's Anatomy and Parenthood) we find ourselves watching a lot of the reality television that litters the airwaves.

And when I say reality television, I don't mean stuff like Survivor or The Biggest Loser. We're not watching Real Housewives of anywhere, and we can only stomach The Bachelor in clip form on The Soup. I know America loves that crap, but not us. We go for different, stranger versions of reality. Not that an angry Italian woman, who may or may not be a transvestite, flipping a table isn't strange- it's just not our kind of strange. Nope, we'd rather watch a be-spiked exterminator fight a rat infestation, or salty fisherman battle the Bering sea, or a bunch of buffoons try their hand at gold mining. Basically if it comes on Discovery, Animal Planet, TLC, or the History Channel, we're in. Forget The Amazing Race, we want hoarders, pawn brokers, and freaks! And sometimes watching these slices of a life you know nothing about will raise questions. Luckily, we generally have an ipad or iphone nearby, and dear old Uncle Google can answer our question. But a while back, we came up with one that even stumped Google.

I can't remember exactly what we were watching, but based on the question, it had to be either a taxidermy show, or a snake hunter show. We started to wonder how many pythons it would take to make a jacket, perhaps a reptilian sport coat. Matt thought you could probably do it with one good-size snake. My guess was ten. "To the cloud!" we declared, but alas, our query could not be answered. Google could tell us exactly where to buy a snakeskin sport coat, but not how many snakes would be required to make it. So we did the next best thing- sent this email:

My husband and I were trying to guess how many snakes it would take to make a snakeskin blazer. Oddly enough, that appears to be the one question Google can't answer. So we're hoping you can enlighten us. He guesses one good-size (8 feet or so) python. I think it has to be more- I'm guessing 10. So can you settle our bet? Or at least tell us who is closer? Thanks!

I figured they'd brush us off, or perhaps mutter curses at us for wasting their time, and I pretty much forgot about it. But lo and behold, a couple of weeks later, I found this in my inbox.

Okay we are talking Python not any other snake skin. There is no set answer, but you are closer than your husband. There are many variables. 

Skin Width

Skin Length

Skin Pattern

How good the tailor making it is.

Most importantly what size the jacket needs to be made is.

Awesome!! Not only was I happy that I won the great snake debate, I was totally impressed that they took the time to answer our silly question. I always like a company with a sense of humor. And while I'm not in the market for a python blazer (those things are EXPENSIVE!) if I was, I'd totally buy it from East of Eden Leathers. http://eastofedenleathers.com/ And should you be looking for snakeskin apparel or accessories, I'd highly recommend them. (Buy me those shiny gold loafers on their homepage while you're there, please!)

How Weekend Renovations Almost Destroyed My Marriage- Tales from the DIY Dark Side

My marriage has survived a lot of things. It has survived being so dirt-poor that I lay awake at night wondering how we would pay the bills. It has survived having a critically ill child hospitalized for months. It has (thus far) survived parenting three of the wildest boys alive. However, it almost didn't survive my latest DIY undertaking.

I have spring project fever, and redecorating Mason's room just wasn't enough to quell it, so I decided to renovate our hideous laundry room. I think it was the only remaining untouched space in our house, and I decided that I was going to make it cute. And Matt, being the loving supportive husband that he is, fully approved of my plan- even though this one would require his help. Well, I'm not sure if it was because he's so loving and supportive or because he hated the laundry room almost as much as I did. But either way, he agreed. So after trolling Pinterest and googling cute laundry rooms, I came up with my brilliant design plan and gathered supplies.

In my haste to get started, I forgot to take before pictures, so you'll just have to imagine it as it was- 6'x3' closet with ugly, water-damaged linoleum, two long shelves on the back wall, and ugly wire shelves on the side. It was ugly. And beige. And messy. And ugly. But I had big plans for this glorified closet. Plans involving stenciled cabinets, a counter over the washer and dryer, and a shiny new floor. And I wanted to get it all done in a weekend for less than $250.

I bought inexpensive unfinished cabinets and started painting them on Friday. I had found an awesome quatrefoil stencil online (http://thecsiproject.com/2010/05/18/jens-quatrefoil-paint-projects-free-printable-stencil/) and I just knew it was going to look fabulous. What I didn't know was that it was going to take HOURS (6 to be precise) It's a simple stencil, but it's very geometric and requires a lot of precision. And a lot of touching up with a tiny artists brush. I was so cramped and achy after hunching over those things for two days, but by Saturday night they were finished and gorgeous.

You're probably wondering where the marriage-destroying part comes in. Well, I guess you could say it started Saturday morning. I needed Matt's help moving the washer and dryer out. No big deal- other than the fact that it turned the kitchen into a disastrous obstacle course. But I could live with that. What killed me was the painting. Matt was going to paint while I took Mason to soccer practice. I figured he'd knock it out in no time. After all, I'd put a first coat on every part of the wall that I could reach before we moved the washer and dryer. I was wrong.

 By the time I got back, he'd painted it (sort of), but it was all patchy and uneven, and he hadn't bothered to cut in at the trim or corners. I was a bit dismayed (after all, I can paint an entire room in a couple of hours!), but I wasn't ready to call the attorney just yet. I even kept a (relatively) cool head every time he said "I've got a great idea!" Even though his ideas were brilliant gems like "let's put a drawer in that inch of space between the counter and the washer!" Ummm, really? A drawer that's less than an inch deep, and can only be pulled out three inches before hitting the wall? That doesn't sound super-useful....

But by Sunday evening, I was thinking about packing my bags. We had soooooo much left to do, and my weekend deadline was closing in fast. I was ready to work like a monkey on speed. Matt was ready to work, but I can tell you, it did not involve anything even resembling speed. I have never seen anyone work more slowly in my entire life. Matt does everything at a tortoise-like pace, and it's always made my jackrabbit self a bit crazy, but this just about put me over the edge. He'd meander over and pick up a hammer, wander back and drive one nail, stand and look at it for a minute, hum a little tune...... HE WAS MAKING ME INSANE!!!!!!

In a single day's time, we had to finish painting, lay the vinyl tile floor, hang the cabinets, secure the counter on the supports he'd installed the night before, put the trim on the counter, and stain it, move the appliances back in and hook them back up, and return the kitchen to a semi-functioning state. That's a lot of stuff to accomplish in one day, especially when one-half of the DIY team is moving at the speed of molasses! But somehow, we got it done. I was clenching my teeth and casting murderous glances his way the entire time, but we got it done.

It wasn't officially finished by the end of the weekend. I didn't finish making the art until Monday, and I didn't get everything hung up until Tuesday. And since we still haven't put the new doors on, I guess we can't call it officially finished. And I probably went over my budget by about $50. So I can't declare this a total DIY win, but pretty darn close. And the best part- Matt and I are still married. Happily now that we're not trying to do a project together!

                                  The laundry room in all its finished glory!!!

Right and left side views

Cute sock art. I totally stole the idea from some girl with an Etsy shop

Clothesline art. Stole the idea for this one off of some Swedish chick's blog!