There's a pirate

down my toilet, and I don't think he is looking for treasure.


Evie, Nono and Mason were having a quick scrub before bed when Evie tossed several small bath toys* into the toilet.

Yes, the tub is quite full with three squirmy children in it. But when you have a large family and ordinary water heater, it works.

Bathing Evelyn is like bathing an octopus.  She loves the water and starts disrobing at the first mention of a bath.  Once she is in the tub...woo eee! She is busier than a one-armed paper hanger (to quote Grandma Dowdel*).

In about 14 seconds, she had dumped bubbles over both her brothers' heads, pitched the pirate and his buddy into the toilet, given herself a bubble beard, drank a cup of soapy water and climbed out of the tub twice.

For the record, I was fishing for pirate #1 when she made her escapes. I was never more than 18" from the little miscreant.

I was just deciding that the pirate's buddy was already too far gone when Madelyn handed me my cell phone.  Poor timing, poor Mara. She got an earful.

"Hi, Mommy.  Did you get my text?"

"No.  I'm a bit busy.  Up to my elbow in the toilet fishing for pirates, while supervising a bath, if you want the truth!"

"Gross. Ummmmm, okay.  I need a ride.  J____ is sick and can't drive me home.  Can you pick me up?"

"I think there's another pirate down the toilet that I can't reach; the kids are going bonkers in the tub, and, besides, I am already in my jammies!"

The rest of the earful is best forgotten. I got the details regarding the pick up location and time, hung up and pried the children, dripping bubbles, from the tub.

I wrapped the octopus in a towel and handed her to Madelyn, ordered Gavin to fetch, dry and get Nolan into bed.  Mason was wordlessly handed a towel, and Mommy took herself to time out.

I may have shouted something towards my husband about the need to snake the toilet, but I didn't check to see if he heard me.  I turned in my mommy card and didn't look back...until...

Sarah came flying out of the bathroom to announce that the toilet was overflowing.  The sound of cascading water always has a galvanizing affect on me.  Bryan and I arrived on scene at about the same time.

"Didn't you hear me when I asked you to snake this thing?"I asked in what was not the friendliest tone of voice I have ever used as we grabbed dirty towels to sop up the pool of dirty water.

"Nope.  Didn't hear that," he looked at the floor, me, his watch , my jammies and grabbed his car keys to go get Mara.

After sopping up the water and ordering Sirena to start a load of towels, I gave myself another short time out.

Coming to my senses, I went in search of the snake. Yes, I do know how to use one.  I am a brave girl and have unplugged many a porcelain throne, albeit reluctantly.

Clenching my jaw, I worked it into the depths. Further and further, deeper and deeper.  Finally, I tried to pull the thing out hoping that Mr. Pirate would come along for the ride.  Nothing doing.  The snake was all the way extended and stuck.  Nothing was visible except flakes of rust.

Being in no mood to concede to a toilet, I gave it a mighty effort. Triumph! Over the snake, anyhow.  I was able to pull the nasty thing back out from around all those bends.

As for Mr. Pirate, he has gone to his final resting place.  Our septic tank.  Come to think of it, it might not be such a final resting place after all!  We are scheduled to have the tanks pumped soon so his chance of making to Davy Jones' Locker* is not entirely out of the question.

Blogging is therapeutic; my sense of humor is restored. Good night.

(*Affiliate links help support my story-telling habit and buy diapers.  Thank you.)

midnight reflections & crying babies

I stand in hallway listening to the teething baby cry.   Everything in my power to comfort has been done, but I am not willing to stay up all night and entertain her to distract her from her discomfort.  Into bed she went- for the 4th time?  or was it the 5th?  Leaning wearily against the wall, I wrestled with the situation.

Under consideration:

(1) My husband's alarm is set to go off in 4.5 hours.  Since that alarm will mark the beginning of his sixth 10-hour work day this week, he obviously needs his sleep.

(2) Teething makes babies cranky.  Erupting molars are NOT our friends. Miss Evie is not normally prone to tantrums, but this week has been spent perfecting the art.

(3) Crying babies make it difficult for anyone and everyone to sleep.

(4) Baby needs to JUST GO TO SLEEP.  Heaven help me, I want to have a snooze button installed in her navel. At the same time, I want to sit all night with her fuzzy head nestled under my chin.

(5) This isn't my first go around with this issue, why don't I have "the answer" yet? An answer of complete confidence as an experienced mother. For some unknown reason, my accumulated mama wisdom doesn't include a decisive, perfect answer for tonight.

While I stand listening to her half-hearted cries grow fainter and further apart, I still can't decide if I want to snatch her from her bed for a snuggle or creep quietly by her room towards my bed.  It is all too clear to me that babies grow up and eventually neither need or want to snuggle their mamas in the night. The seven other children lying in their beds no longer call for me in the night. While I prize the sleep, and tonight I desperately need it, my heart is achingly aware that she is my last wee one.

Silence reigns at long last.  How long?  Minutes not hours, although every minute feels like an hour when you are listening to a tired baby fight sleep.

I crept down the hallway, oh-so-carefully so as not to make the boards squeak, and eased my door open, making for bed.  It's after midnight and, weekend or not, she'll be awake long before I want to be.

a portrait by mara

Mommy with Evie

Mara drew this picture from a memory of me during my pregnancy with Evelyn.  It is a sweet thing to be able to share the mysterious wonders of pregnancy with older daughters and sweeter still when you realize that all the disruption and change pregnancy and new babies bring has not blinded her eyes to the beauty of it all.

Having no drawing ability, I am amazed at the ability of artists, 

Mara included, to capture so much with so little.

That's MY girl!

I found this fabulous frame 50% off at Michael's and ordered a custom matte (the drawing is not a standard size).  The matte won't be ready for another couple of weeks but I couldn't wait that long to see it framed. Acid free photo corners will do the trick until I have the chance to pick up the matte, hinge tape and foam core backing. With this much talent in the family, I might to learn how to cut my own mattes!

a timeline of my motherhood

1993 pregnant-
1994 pregnant: MARA, nursing
1995 pregnant: GAVIN, nursing-
1996 nursing
1997 pregnant: SIRENA, nursing-
1998 nursing, pregnant-
1999 pregnant: MADELYN, nursing-
2000 nursing
2001 neither nursing nor pregnant
2002 pregnant
2003 pregnant: SARAH, nursing-
2004 nursing, pregnant-
2005 pregnant: MASON, nursing-
2006 nursing
2007 pregnant
2008 pregnant: NOLAN, nursing-
2009 nursing, pregnant-
2010 pregnant: EVELYN, nursing
2011 nursing

Yes, you are reading this correctly.  I have been nursing or pregnant for at least part of every year (except 2001) since 1993- the year Bryan and I married.  Since Evelyn is our last, my mind is a bit baffled about what comes next.  Personally, I am hoping that it is sleep.

Please, understand that I wouldn't have had it any other way; I love my kids and our large family lifestyle.  I am simply reflecting on a stage of life that is ending for me.

sprinkles

In the deep, dark archives of my "My Documents" folder, I found this piece from September 1999.

_________________________________________________________________

I lingered too long in bed today. While I was quietly contemplating the day’s hectic schedule and trying to summon the courage to face the many chores awaiting me, my three older children managed to scatter half a gallon of cookie sprinkles throughout the living room, dining room and kitchen. When I say older I am speaking relatively; my oldest is five, next is the three and a half-year-old. The youngest of the three miscreants is almost two. I am thankful that the baby, only six months old, is too young to escape her crib.

The shrieks of laughter drew me, reluctantly, from my room. Though I had only dillydallied a few minutes, approximately 400 square feet of floor was now covered with pink, yellow, orange, green and white sprinkles. It looked as if there had been a very festive snowstorm. I paused, so many words to regret just on the tip of my tongue. I swallowed them all and reached for the vacuum.

We have had a trying week, and today is only Thursday. This is only the latest in a series of brilliantly staged attempts to sabotage my sanity. On Monday, the three year old found a pair of scissors and cut holes in one of my favorite sweaters and one of the two pairs of jeans that actually fit post-baby me. Tuesday, this very busy three-year-old drew a smiley face on his father’s white truck in red, permanent marker.

Wednesday the one-year-old drew in my less-than-one-week-old study Bible. I left my study for only a moment and came back to a crayon rainbow in Revelation 2. I slammed the Bible shut, not wanting to see the desecration of what had been a pristine page. I bit my tongue and stormed into the garage to transfer a load of laundry.

“Lord,’ I piously complained as I slammed the lid of the washer, ‘ all I want is to be able to study my Bible in peace for a few minutes. These kids are driving me crazy!” It was then that He gently, yet firmly, reminded me of 1 Corinthians 13:2, 4-5, 7.

2And if I have the gift of prophecy, and know all mysteries and all knowledge; and if I have all faith, so as to remove all mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. 4Love is patient, love is kind, and love is not jealous and does not brag and is not arrogant, 5does not act unbecomingly; it does not seek its own, is not provoked, does not take into account a wrong suffered…7bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. (NAS)

I was clinging to the offenses of a week, waking each morning with a growing grudge. I would so much rather be like my Heavenly Father, whose mercies are new every morning. Once again, I cast myself upon his mercy and thankfully receive his forgiveness.

Someday, when confronted by crayon on my couch, I will remember that people are more important than possessions. When my study is interrupted, hopefully I will remember that without love it profits me nothing. My children are blessings from the Lord. I truly treasure them, but it is a deliberate decision to love them the way our Lord loves us. We are their first example of God’s love. It is not easy, but I am reminded of another scripture:

And He has said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness.” Most gladly, therefore, I will boast about my weakness, that the power of Christ may dwell in me. 2 Corinthians 12:9 (NAS)

_____________________________________________________________

I wish I could say that crayon on my couch no longer sets me off, but that would be a bald-faced lie. Having eight children doesn't make sacrificial love any easier than having four children did. I still need to fall back on His grace. I still need to be reminded that "without love, it profits me nothing."

So, once again, I hide this truth in my heart and press on.

Chores & Children part 1: A look in the mirror

*This is the first in a series on involving children in our housekeeping. I am teaching a class Feb. 18th and want to test drive my ideas here first.*

Those of you who know me in real life, know that my home isn't a model of perfection. I don't pretend that it is always tidy, uncluttered and clean. Quite the contrary! My house is overflowing with evidence that nine imperfect people LIVE here. We are nowhere near perfected, but we press on. What we do have are some habits that help us keep chaos and filth at bay.

We don't watch much TV, but I have seen those commercials with a person sitting or standing on a large red dot saying something along the lines of "You know that place where a house full of children meets I still have to keep things clean? Yeah. I'm there. I'm so there."

Let's look at some of the attitudes that hang out "there". This field guide to the modern housewife uses just a wee bit of exaggeration to make the illustration clearer. So read with a twinkle in your eye...

The Worker: this mom does most of the work around the house, and is more than a little frustrated that everyone takes her hard work for granted. A variation is the mom who assigns chores to her children only to redo them as soon as the kids are out of the room.

The Delegator: this mom gives plenty of orders and then scratches "housework" of her list with a happy sigh. Later, perhaps when her husband comes home or a neighbor pops in, she sees the mess and sighs sadly. It can't possibly be her fault that the house looks like this; she told the children to do their chores.

The Hostess: this mom becomes singularly focused and cracks her whip when company is coming. She might pull off an amazing stash-n-dash or get things in true apple pie order- finishing just as the guests ring the doorbell. Although she greets them with a smile, it's best not to ask her family about the frantic, harsh atmosphere leading up to the guests arrival.

The Decorator: this mom bemoans her outdated carpet or furniture or her inadequate storage, certain that a large remodeling budget would solve everything. She is completely oblivious to the fact that even pea-green shag looks better after vacuuming.

The Planner: this mom just knows that with a better system, another book, another storage tote- all her housecleaning and organization struggles will be solved. She is endlessly optimistic about each new system but her family is becoming jaded.


I don't know about you, but I have been each of these women at one point or another. You can probably relate to at least one. Leave a comment and let me know which mom, if any, you are. If you don't fit under one of these titles, feel free to coin a new phrase! No one is as shallow as these descriptions suggest, but acknowledging your tendencies will help you know which habits need your priority attention.

Keep an eye out for Part 2: A new attitude.

Practicing Hospitality

Have you all been over to Passionate Homemaking? She is giving away copies of the book Practicing Hospitality: The Joy of Serving Others for a new study in the book club!

I find that it is too easy to get caught up in our daily doings and forget to practice hospitality. We have several families on our "hospitality wish list", meaning that the kids keep pestering me to call and set a time for those families to come over.

Ladies, take some time to read through the Passionate Homemaking site and I am sure you will find inspiration (and perhaps a little conviction) on your journey as a wife and mother.

Addendum

While I was buttoning my oh-so-comfy denim maternity shirt over my burgeoning belly, Sarah came skidding around the corner into my dressing room (aka walk-in closet).

"The boys are trying to eat me!"

"That's because you are so sweet and tasty," I reassured her.

"I'm not tasty," she stated matter-of-factly. "Sometimes I lick myself, and I'm NOT tasty."

Now what, I ask you, is the appropriate response to that? I only managed a stunned "Oh? Um..." before she ran off to join the fray once again.

Stuck

With six children, I am only surprised it hasn't happened before now. We've had broken bones, good sized lacerations, head wounds- all the normal stuff except the foreign object up the nose. Until last night, that is.

Shortly before 9 o'clock last night, an hour after she had been tucked in, crying commenced in the farthest bedroom. This isn't really an abnormal happening. It can mean that a shadow flickered on the wall, that a precious blanket has fallen off her bed, or that she just realized she didn't get a last drink of water before her nightly imprisonment. In other words, no one jumped to her rescue, poor thing.

Bryan and I sent an older child to recon the situation. The report came back, "Mom, Sadie really needs you." Which I interpreted to mean, "Only Mom can banish the feared shadow, retrieve the lost blanket or deliver the desired drink." Rolling my eyes, as only loving mothers do, I walked down the long hall to play restorer of the peace.

I was surprised, dismayed and just a little bit annoyed to hear, "There's a bead stuck in my nose." Why? Why would anyone at any time stick a hard object into their nasal passage? Aargh.

She climbed out of bed while I mentally prepared for the worst that the evening might offer. Get the child dressed, find my coat, book and checkbook. I hate hanging out in emergency rooms in the middle of the night. Is urgent care still open? Would I be a terrible mother if I waited until morning?

I sent for Daddy and headed for our bathroom, where a small hemostat (clamp) lives. Investigation found a clearly visible yellow bead in the right nostril. Palpating it externally caused pain but no movement. I washed the hemostat, preparatory to trying to grab the blasted thing when Daddy walked in and suggested the farmer napkin trick first.

So I helped her plug the open nostril and instructed her to blow her nose hard...


...and the little yellow bead, lubricated by the effects of an autumn cold, came flying out of that little nose as easy as can be. Whew.

This morning I asked her why she put the bead up her nose. "I wanted to see if it would fit." Gotta love curiosity.

Jumping back in

{Scene 1}

Mommy is in her bathroom, brushing her teeth and getting ready to face the day. She has only had the tiniest amount of sleep because the 13 month old baby is cutting molars and the 10 year old son had a terrible stomachache which was only soothed by the companionship of his mother. Although Mommy has only been out of bed for about 15 mintues, she is halfway into her 2nd cuppa. She is joined by the very cute, blonde toddler who does not stop talking between dawn and dusk.

"Mommy, are you wearing panties?" asked Sadie, the 2 1/2 year old.

Gulping, I replied, "Yes."

"Can I see them?"

"Um, no." More coffee.

{end of scene 1}
{Scene 2}

Same bat time. Same bat channel. We have not left the bathroom and I am still brushing my teeth. In other words, the elapsed time between the last scene and this one is less than 30 seconds.

Hugging my leg, Sadie says, "I just want to be a princess...like you, Mommy."

{end of Scene 2}

Motherhood. Nothing like it. One moment you are snorting your coffee through your nose and the next your heart is melting.