Our first and hopefully last accident

I wanted to share what happened to my oldest son A and I yesterday. Not so much so everyone can read it, although, I'm happy if you do, but more so for my own personal memory.

We were driving home from General Conference in Salt Lake City. It was such a sweet experience to be present for one of the sessions with A who was old enough to go. In order to get home we have to come off the freeway and then drive another hour through a canyon. It was raining in the canyon and at some points visibility got pretty bad. Being the cocky Oregonian that I am, I pressed on passed the other cars. When the torrential rain hit us, I slowed. It's hard to remember, but I think I was initially going 70, I think I slowed to 60 as the visibility out my window all but disappeared. I could still see it though.

I could see the massive puddle of standing water about a hundred yards in front of us. I tried to slow even further, but as you're traveling at those speeds, a hundred yards is a blink. The rain had blessedly stopped dumping on us by this point and I shouted, "Hold on, A!"

We hit the water and floated straight for a second. Then the back fishtailed to the left. We hung there, sliding sideways down the freeway for what felt like ages. I turned the wheel to try and keep us in some sort of control. The cars' back spun around the opposite side and completed the circle. The median flashed before my eyes and I steered as best I could while we careened 60 mph down the highway in circles. I don't know how many turns we achieved. Maybe two, before we hit the gravel on the side of the road. Spun another time, I think halfway on the freeway and on the gravel. It was here that I thought our car was going to flip. I could feel it tilted dangerous on my side. I was still gripping the steering wheel, determined to control the situation as best I could. I just wanted to keep A safe. I didn't care what happened to me, so long as A was not on the side that got hit. He was the only thing I could think of. Just keep him safe. Drive this car and keep him safe.

I wanted so bad to let go of the wheel and run to him. Cocoon him in my arms so when we crashed, I took the damage he was going to take.

As we hit the dirt. I was able to get us out of our last spin-- I think that was me that did it-- but we were still going painfully fast. The next thing I saw was a 10ft fence. We smashed into it, along with a small post and maybe a few bushes. I later found out, there was a boulder involved as well. Our ride came to a halt as the fence caught us and absorbed most of our energy.

We were face down in a ravine. But we weren't at the bottom of it. The wire fence was holding us up. The front window was smashed. Maybe more was smashed. I couldn't tell.

I immediately turned around and looked at A, "Are you ok bud. Don't move. Don't move. It's going to be ok." My voice was shaking. My hands were shaking. I was terrified that if we moved we would go down the rest of the way into the ravine. It wasn't far I don't think, but it was hard to tell maybe 10 to 15 more feet down. Our car was tilted so that if A were to unbuckle his seat belt, he'd come flying down at me.I was so scared that if he came to me, the car would flip over on itself down into this ravine.

My phone was still under my leg, I never put it there when I drive. The battery had only 4% and I called 911. A was crying. He was so terrified when I looked at him. My voice was barely doing me any good. I could see a man running up to us. Our real life guardian angel. I don't remember what he said to me, but I told him he had to get my son. He ripped open the back of our car and pulled him out, carrying him and running to his car where his children sat.

It was raining.

His wife ran up to me. I couldn't open the driver's side door. Maybe the giant fence post and gnarled metal tangled around it had something to do with it. I tried to climb out the window, but wasn't having a good go by myself. This amazing woman helped me pull myself out the window and then she lifted me off the fence post to the ground. I was still on the phone with 911. With no shoes, I ran... or did I walk?

....

I found myself sitting in this family's car as I spoke to the dispatcher. They asked me if they should send an ambulance. This felt like a really stupid question to me, even in my shocked state. I kind of thought that was what you sent when the person on the line tells you they were in a car accident. I told her there was no visible damage to our bodies, but I wanted to make sure my son was ok. Two minutes after I called them an ambulance arrived. Then another. Followed by 3 state troopers. Then for good measure, two fire trucks, another ambulance I think? And three more cop cars.

My wonderful hubby was called sometime during this point. I couldn't stay on the phone with him for long, I think this may have scared him more by hanging up so quick.

I will never forget the kindness this family and another offered me at this time. They ran back to the car to get our shoes. A didn't have his on either. They stayed with us and offered their phones since mine was now at 3%. I asked for some baby wipes to wash my hands and face with and one of the gentlemen there ran to his car and gave me an entire pack to keep. :)

They were our guardian angels that night. I felt such relief I felt when I saw A being carried away from the accident and that he was not hurt.

After the ambulance came, they whisked us to the back of their vehicle pretty quick. We checked out by their standards. Which worked for me. I was still trying to get my voice under control and talk like a normal person again at this point.

Then came the questions. First from the medics. Then from the state trooper who responded first. Then again from the medics and the state trooper.

A tow truck was called.

We sat in the State Troopers car. A opted for the front seat, while I sat in the back in the cage. ;) He thought this was pretty funny. Apparently his shock of what happened had worn off rather quickly. Mine was still clinging to me like a bad cologne.

We sat in the state troopers car for a long time. He explained a lot of things to me and even spilled some of his Pepsi on A's white sunday shirt. A found this to be hilarious. :)  I bet you, 10 years from now, that will be what he remembers most. Or at least I hope.

I had no way to get home.... naturally, but my hubby had no way of getting to me either. In the end, one of the other state troopers took us home. He was so kind and amazing with us.


Heavenly Father was looking out for my son and I that night. As we were spinning on the road I felt that our car was in a very controlled and guided path as we moved. I don't know how to explain it other than these angels knew we were going to crash, so they directed it. As I was steering, I felt completely calm. I knew without a doubt what I had to do with my hands. I knew which direction to steer. It felt like I was driving with another persons' hands on the wheel with me. I guess tonight I was fortunate enough to be reminded that I am still needed on this earth.



A few days later: A and I were checked out by some doctors. A is experiencing some PTSD. He had a nightmare that night that he was in the crash again, but this time his seat belt was not on and he flew through the windshield and broke his head. He told my mother as we skyped my family that night, that he was scared that he would never see me again. And then his behavior has changed. The doctor said that A's way of coping might be to act extremely silly and spastic. I really hate that he has to go through all this. His knee has been pretty sore as well. And then my injuries are mostly bodily soreness. Back, shoulders, hips, neck. Oh... and I have a concussion. So hopefully all this makes sense!  

A loving Heavenly Father helped my family this night. These pictures could have and should have been so much worse. I am so grateful that this moment was so much less serious than it could have been.

I will never have enough thank you's to say to those first people that pulled us out of our car, to the officers and paramedics that cared for us. For my hubby's sister and her family's sacrifice to come up and help us as we work to get back on track. Thank you from the bottom of my heart and for the rest of my life.

Yeah, that happened

Two year olds are the best. They're crazy, silly, irrational, loving, retarded, hyper, always hungry (or at least mine is), sassy, creative and on and on. They have so much life in them and have no control over it. With that being said. My cute little two-year-old has been extra cute lately.

Tonight I decided to pull my blankets up to nearly over my head. I was in the mood to feel the extra love of my blankets. Hubby was sitting in a chair at his desk by our bed and decided to go downstairs. I could hear him moving around in the kitchen getting a late night snack.

By all appearances, our room was empty.

It was at this moment that I heard some little footsteps slowly sneak in to my room. They tiptoed around, the best way a two-year-old can, and then they stopped.

I heard some clacking and snapping noises and then the little footprints scuttled out of my room as fast as they could and back in to his bed. I could hear his little diaper swishing as he ran.

I knew right away what he had grabbed.

We are making a Lego table and I cut some strips off the Lego bases so it would fit on our table better. He has been obsessed with those little strips all day and couldn't handle not having them.

So he waited. Until he thought our room was good and empty and snatched them.

A few minutes later. After I'm sure his little man adrenaline slowed down, I could hear him snapping the strips together happily in his bed.

It's the simple pleasures.

Proof of thievery! 

Diapers and a Cape

I wish I had a picture of this, but a short little story will have to do, especially since it was just a little moment I want to share. A perfect little moment.

We live at the end of a row of townhouses and our mailbox just happens to be at the opposite end of this row. It's a good 2-300 yard walk to then end. I'm not good with estimating distance. I just know it's a long walk.

I took baby girl with me today to get the mail. It was a bit windy and fairly brisk, so by the time I'd gotten the mail and was heading back, I walked with the serious purpose of getting back into the house.

I made it about halfway home when at the end of the walk I see and hear a little person asking, "Wah, you dooeeeng Ma?" This little person just happened to be cutie number 3 in our family. He was standing there at our porch with only a diaper and a black breast cover converted cape, blowing in the wind from his shoulders.

"Go back inside D*****. It's cold!" I called at him since we were still a good 15 houses away. He smiled big at me and stepped further out of the house.

I increased my pace with the intent of getting his little booty back inside before he got too cold. Although, he seemed unphased by the cold wind that was giving me serious goosebumps (And I was fully clothed!). He stepped off our front porch and stood fully on the sidewalk, facing me, "I ge' you Ma!!"

Then with those two-year-old little feet, he began to run at me, his breast cover cape blowing perfectly in the wind. His toddler belly sticking out nice and round, the scar from his surgery apparent to me; my constant reminder that I am blessed to have him here with me today. His smile spread from ear to ear, and he yelled with joy as he got closer to baby girl and I.

And then I knelt down, opened my free arm and braced for collision, because this boy does not have a slow down button. He collided with my body, squealing with joy and hugged me tight.

I wrapped the cape around his back and held him, baby girl, and the mail close to my body. He kept his arms wrapped around my neck and rested his head against my shoulder. It was perfect. This little moment. Perfect.

And cold.

It's a funk.

I get in these funks sometimes. Don't get me wrong. I'm really happy with where we are in life right now. I love that I feel like we are moving forward. But I would really like it if we could move a little faster. I have to say, I don't entirely agree with that country song that says something like, "You're gonna miss this" referring to parts of your life. I think it's ok to have some moments that you really don't miss. I won't miss renting. I won't miss living in a house that I can't paint, because, remember-- I don't own it. I won't miss not having a backyard and getting told I have to move things on my "property". I won't miss not being able to go to the store to buy a pair of shoes that I would like because we can't afford it. I would like to say, "Hey, I want to paint my kids' bed." And then proceed to do that without knowing that I can't afford it.

Can you tell what kind of funk I'm in? I'd like the wonderful, amazing hubs to be done with school and working! I would like to be IN school and finishing my own education. I would like to own my own house and decorate the crap out of it!

In 3 years we are planning on moving to San Antonio, Texas. I'm currently looking at houses there and getting crazy giddy about the whole thing. You should check out the houses there. They're CUTE!!! And decorate-able. That's a word now. I want one SO bad!!!

Do you know what all this hyper-ness means? I'm going to have to go tomorrow and get some stuff so I can make something and get all this energy out of my body and into something creative. This is dangerous-- because I already have plans for what I want to make.


I'll have to show you the project once I finish.

On another note, since no one likes a post without pictures. Here's some cute little rugrats. Baby girl was helping me put Christmas lights away and of course made the process take much longer. Worth it.

 And then of course we have the famous box that kids love to play in. These two sat in there for a good while before baby girl decided that she was no longer interested in the box.

Good Things Come in Small Packages

I need to be better about writing on here. I'm thinking that maybe I'll try to do a post every Sunday. We'll see how this works. I make no promises. Since it HAS been a while since I've shared anything about us on here, we'll start there.

Biggest boy of ours is loving 2nd grade! He is a pretty talented little bugger, but with that comes this oober desire of his to best all of his peers. Honestly, this is fine by me. Competition is what drives our world. He just doesn't quite know how to be competitive and kind just yet, but some adults have yet to figure that one out yet, so we're working on it. He's made a new friend here where we live now and it feels like a walk down my own childhood memories when I watch the two of them play together. I'm really glad he's found some friends here that are good kids. We had some incidences with the not so good kids too, but it was exciting to see A realize that the behavior of these kids was not ok and that he didn't want to surround himself with that kind of behavior. Proud Mamma over here!

My little E man started Kindergarten this year and he has done really well! He's such a great listener with his teacher. He's engaged in learning and he's is always so happy about school and learning. He's learning how to read right now and it's exciting to see his eyes light up when he gets words right. He still has a bit of a lisp, words like CORN come out sounding like Keeww-rrn. Hoping he'll grow out of it really soon. I just really don't want kids to bug him about it. E has also made a new friend up here. I mean, each of my older kids have made tons of friends up here. But they have at least one that they call their 'best friend'. These two little rugrats together like to play dress up. I have their old Halloween costumes out to play with, so there's lots of days when Spiderman/Ironman comes out. Or Hulk/batman makes and appearance. Pretty cute. He lost first two teeth about a month ago and let me tell you, it must be really hard for the tooth fairy to sneakily get a minuscule tooth out from underneath a pillow and put money under in it's place without waking the sleeper on the pillow. BUT, the tooth fairy is awesome and her job and has yet to wake a child in this house.

Littlest Brother boy loves his brothers so much. He wishes so much that he was bigger so he could be like them. If they are sitting at the table doing their homework, littlest man is doing his "homework" too. If one of his big bros is laying on his tummy watching a show. Little man is laying next to them, doing the same thing. He is learning right now that he can't just eat candy and have a fulfilling life. He disagrees with this statement vehemently though. I gave him 3 baby carrots with his dinner a few days ago and he refused to eat them for dinner. Then he refused to eat them for breakfast and I swear it was the worst day in the world for both of us. He was a nasty terror because he was hungry and I was just sick of listening to him whine. He is really starting to catch up on saying new words and stringing them together to make sentences. So I am hoping this means that he is understanding me a lot better if he is able to get full sentences out. Regardless, however, of this new-found ability to talk to me, he is still determined to do things his way and his way only. You'd think I would remember what an awful little two-year-old is like, BUT I didn't and now everything little awful thing he does surprises me. ....Well, no so much anymore, because he's been acting like this for several months now. But my mind still likes to say to me, "Did he just really do that. I can't believe this is happening. He's crying over what??? " and so on.... His birthday was fun though! Look at how great his scar looks! If you're not looking for it, you don't see it. I love this little guy so much and I'm so glad he's in our family.

Baby girl is almost 8 months old. This makes me SO sad!!! I love my little baby. I just wish they'd stay in a state of baby-ness forever. She is just SOOO dang CUTE and I want to freeze every moment I have with her. She has been a masterful crawler since she was about 5 months old and now we're waiting to see if she'll figure out walking early as well. Baby girl is so petite that if she started walking any time soon, it would look sooo weird. I also have to say, it is pretty fun to have a baby girl in this house. All of her brothers love her to death. They sing and dance with her, give her treats she shouldn't have (Mostly her 2-year-old brother), talk to her when she is sad, and do almost anything I ask them to do, if it's for her benefit. Baby girl gets layed on by her 2-year-old brother a lot. She will be crawling across the floor, stop for a toy and he will see this as a moment to lie down with his head on her back, his arms stretched out above his head and just chill there. She's actually pretty cool with it. Silly girl. She is also the biggest lover of water in this family. I stick her in the bath and her feet and arms start kicking like crazy, then she'll look up at me and squeal in delight. I can't get enough of it. I'll bathe her just so I can get this reaction out of her.

Here's a few more pictures of my littlest cuties. I apologize for the unorganized post, hopefully more will be coming each week!

These two are pals. She sat there for a good 2 minutes until she got bored.

Look at that face! How can you not smile seeing those baby blues! 

Let Me Tell You About My Day

My days are always nuts. Lets just get that out of the way straight away. But today. Today was like my day on crack. Ecstasy. LSD? That's a drug right? Haha.

We started out normal enough. Baby girl was up at 6:30 to eat. Then my E man gets up at 7:15 and sings for about 10 minutes straight while hanging out in the bathroom. It mostly sounds a little something like this in a high-pitched screech, "dah!! Woooop!! Oouuup!!"

His music wakes everyone else up. Baby A cries. Big brother A yells at E to, "Be quiet!!" And I'm mostly interested in just staying in bed, so I hide for about 5 more minutes.

Breakfast is only interesting because of baby A. I pour his cereal. He screams at me because.... I had the nerve to pour his cereal for him. Put some milk in. More screaming. So, I take his food away, which quickly turns his protests into screams of, "No! No! No!" as he's decided to eat his cereal now that he can't have it. And then we settled in happily for breakfast.

And then of course after we all managed to get dressed and out the door, the real fun began.

We went to a few stores to get some stuff for our new house. By the end I had my two oldest boys lying on the floor of the last store, stretched out like starfish right where people were walking their carts. A store employee came over and told them to get out of the way. Annoying; but I was a little busy dealing with my other two kids.

Baby girl was crying and baby boy was trying to climb out of the cart whenever I turned my back from him. I swiped my card and tried to leave. The cashier let me get about three feet, before she told me I had to approve the amount and sign. If you've ever been in my place, its at about this moment that you just want to leave the store as fast as you can.


Next, we went to a doctors appointment for Mr. E. I had snacks. So I was hoping we were good. Nope. No. Nada. Baby girl was fine, but I had to hold her the whole time. So of course baby A boy took advantage. He was climbing all over the place. Up on the back of their chairs. All over the sofas. Opening drawers. Rummaging through my purse. Throwing whatever he finds in my purse all over the floor. Then E sees what he throws, this time goldfish crackers, and runs over to stomp on them, and then join his brother in climbing all over everything,

... so how the heck am I supposed to control- heck- corral them!? Let me answer this quickly for you. I don't. I can't. That's wishful thinking. So I leave, spouting off a million, "I'm sorry's" as I shuffle everyone out the door.

It was time to take my kids somewhere to run off their energy. We went to meet daddy and eat lunch at this cute little pond\man-made waterfall at BYU. Seemed like a good idea. We settled down in the grass. I got ready to feed baby girl who was starving and watched my 3 other kids run off in 3 different directions. Baby A decided to take his drink and wade into the pond. Just as daddy sat down to eat his lunch and I've pulled half a breastie out to feed little girl, baby A takes a dive in the water. Full on dunked himself into this pond. Stands up screeching in shock and takes another dive. Daddy was trying to coax him out of the water since he had shoes on and couldn't get to him. The water was really shallow, so baby A wasn't sinking, but he was dripping wet and freaking out. My first instinct was to stand up. Make sure booby was covered by the hooter-hider I had on, hold said hooters-hider over exposed booby, so as not to scare any EFY or young college students and run into the pond to get my sopping wet little boy out of the water.

And the crazy didn't end there. We decided to go to a relatives house to rest and recover from the trauma of the day. I sent my boys downstairs to the basement and daddy and I rested upstairs with sleeping little girl. About 20 minutes later baby A comes upstairs. His hair had white fuzzier all over it. I knew something stupid was happening, but being sleepy makes you stupid. So I ignored the white fuzzies that looked a lot like goose feathers and closed my eyes to rest again. About 10 minutes later, after he'd gone back downstairs and up again to say hi to me. I see now that baby A has a lot of white fuzzies un his hair.

Uuuuuuuugh! Why did I have to be the first person to see this mess! Why?????

I went downstairs to inspect. My oldest was huddled up on the couch underneath a blanket, with his head tucked down. He was a frosty vision of white from head to toe. The red couch he was on was now mostly white. The green rug on the floor was now under a sea of goose feathers AND the culprit was lying on the other couch, looking utterly exhausted from his escapade, feathers floating all around him, settling between his legs and around his body like a fluffy little clouds. Mr. E was quickly AND carefully escorted outside so I could shake him off like a dirty rug. A followed, with little boy A behind him. All covered in various levels of feathers. Outside on the patio seemed the safest place to stick these 3.

I asked E, "When you saw the feathers flying out of the goose feather comforter, why didn't you stop making a mess?" He thought for a minute, looked at me and said, "Cause it looked like Christmas!"

Can't really argue with him there. Plus, tell me you're not jealous that he got to make it snow feathers like they do in the movies.

Soooo, I went downstairs to vacuum a vast ocean of goose down feathers from the entire basement. Which is really hard to do. Just FYI.

 I had my kids outside. They were good. Daddy was awake now and helping me. Everything was good. Until he realized we had to leave for a family dinner. We rushed upstairs to get everyone out the door and find dirt spread all over the back porch,

Whyyyyyyyyyy??????!!!

Seriously.

So, to end my night of crazy, we stripped the baby boy naked outside since he was the dirt spreader, and showered him off. Shook the other two kids off again to get the feathers off them and left for family dinner, praying that the crazy ended right there....

If We Can Do It, So Can You

Daddy M graduated today. It didn't really feel like a big deal though, probably because we have another 4 years of schooling to go through while he gets his doctorate of Audiology. We didn't make graduation announcements. We barely told anyone. Heck, we told his grandpa the day before that if he wanted to come he could, but no big deal if he couldn't. We didn't plan a huge party. It was just another step in our lives.

But then, as I was sitting in the stands with my 4 beautiful children, ggpa, grammie and papa, and I see my awesome husband walk out with his gown and hat on, it hit me.

I realized how much we had gone through; triumphed, and suffered to get here. To this moment. This very much NOT small moment. A little overwhelmed by this realization. I cried.

I cried for joy. For relief. For the pride I felt for my husband and what he's gone through. And a little out of sadness that we will be leaving what has become our home over the past 7 years.

M and I have created a story worth hearing. A story worth sharing. Maybe some day I'll write it in depth. But for now. I'll tell you shortly why I think it's worth hearing. And why this moment of watching him receive his degree meant so much to me.

In 2006 a few very important things happened. The first of which would be that M and I graduated from high school. Then we both went to college that fall. I got pregnant. And we got married. I'm not sure how many of you know that, but it's a piece of our history, so please, keep any rude thoughts to yourself. Anyway- if you missed it in the second sentence, we were both VERY young.

This beginning to our lives made things very difficult if you can imagine. We were both barely 19. M was now no longer going to school and instead, was working 3 jobs. So that was about 16+ hours a day. I stayed home and looked for jobs.

Over the next 7 years, to today, we faced challenge after challenge. M felt like he couldn't leave work, because he had to take care of us, so school wasn't an option. Soon after we had our 2nd baby, M got sick with liver disease. And this led to depression. Probably on both our parts, but mostly on his. This put a huge strain on our marriage. And left me for a long while to be the parent by myself. He recovered. And we became stronger as a couple.

It was around this time that we decided to take the plunge, live a few pennies cheaper or several thousand pennies cheaper, and send M to school. I worked full-time, but didn't have a job that paid a whole lot. As in, some months we only spent $50 on groceries for our family of 4. That was at our leanest.

We pressed on and dealt with normal marriage issues. As in, it's not actually as easy as you think to take 1 person from one life and another person from another life and put them in the same existence together to create another entire life together. There are bound to be cultural differences from simply being raised in different families. But we learned from each other and became stronger still as a couple.

Our 3rd child was born and 6 weeks later we were in the hospital with him. That was a pretty awful, scary, emotionally traumatizing week. And then for several months after, as we waited to see if the pathologists could decide if our baby had cancer or not, we stressed, cried more, and worried for our future. But M pressed on with school. Hoping he wouldn't fail his classes with such a huge and important distraction.

We were so blessed and found out our baby boy was going to be ok, a few more scars on his body than before, but he was no worse for wear. And M finished his semester with a 4.0.

It was at this time that we needed a little more help to just live. I wasn't working still from being on maternity leave and I postponed going back longer, so I could take care of my baby at home. He had his Broviac line in still and his chance for infection was very high because of this. So I stayed where I was needed and where I wanted to be. This was during the time that we didn't know if he was going to be ok and I didn't want to be at work; I wanted to spend time with him. If he died, the last place I wanted to remember me spending my time, was at work. This led us to some unfortunate extreme levels of poverty.

We got help. It was extremely humbling. For our entire marriage, up to this point, we were self sufficient. We did it on our own, we lived on $50 worth of groceries sometimes, but we were doing it by ourselves. So this shift in our needs, as our family changed, was hard for us.

M continued school and we could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel! But now with his last few semesters in sight, he decided to go back to work, so I could be at home with our family and we could begin to find our independence again. Working and going to school is hard for M, I know a ton of people do it. But for him, he wants to put 100% of himself into both things and he just can't. So he kills himself trying to. And then on top of working full-time and going to school full-time, he was applying for grad school, schmoozing for grad school, and was also raising our family with me. And we're pretty needy at home, especially me, since I was pregnant with our 4th little baby. :) But he kept on, made a few sacrifices in some places so he didn't go mental just barely before he graduated.

And we had our 4th little baby halfway through Ms last semester of school! Things were finally beginning to feel a little more normal.

We were becoming once again, more independent. We knew where M was going for grad school! (He got in where he wanted!) We were having some very special doors open for us.

It seemed like the path we decided to take; that began something akin to traversing the side of a very steep and actively spewing volcano- think Lord of the Rings; had transformed into a lovely stroll through flower-filled fields with rolling green hills and frolicking cute wildlife.




Which brings us to this place. Graduation. Here, with me standing with our 4 kids watching a pretty amazing man graduate! You'd never know he'd experienced an insurmountable amount of resistance in his young life and still managed to get where he is today. He has shown me what real strength looks like. He's shown me what a good man in a storm does. What a good man is. What strength is. It's quiet. It's ever present. It's enduring. It's finishing the race, no matter what slowed it down. It's not boastful. It's not loud. It doesn't brag. It doesn't put others down to get ahead. True strength is my husband. Through all his ups and downs, our ups and downs. He finished his race and he finished well.

So, I'm really serious when I say, if we can do it. Seriously. So can you.

Bring on the next 4 years of grad school!!

Baby Girl's Birth Story

I've just gotta share the birth story of our 4th child and 1st daughter right? I just love that each birth experience is so different! But then again I actually enjoy all the excitement and energy surrounding labor and delivery.

So, we'll start a few days before.

Had a doctors' appointment on Wednesday, the 26th. I didn't really feel like this cute little baby was ready to come. Probably because out of all the pregnancies I've had, this one had been the easiest on my body. I could still turn around in bed without making a huge effort. I was still sleeping relatively well, unless my heartburn decided to hate me on some nights. I could get up and down from a sitting position with relative ease. As in, it was easier to get up and down as a 9-month pregnant lady THIS pregnancy, compared to the others. I remember being pregnant with my last child and crying a lot more that last two weeks of my pregnancy than I would have preferred. My belly felt smaller. I was sure it wasn't as big as the other bellies I had to deal with. :) This also gave me the suspicion that it could be a baby girl since I was smaller. But I wasn't about to hope too much!

Back on track to the doc appointment. Daddy M wanted me to strip my membranes- if your body is ready and the doctor does this- you'll likely have the baby in the next two days. The downside to getting your membranes stripped, is it feels awful! I can only compare it to a weed-wacker being stuck up your hooo-haw and turned on. The doctor, who's never had to feel this pain, said it felt like a roto-rooter being shoved up there. Either way- it's not pleasant. (If you've never had kids and want this done, ask them to go slow. They don't need to go crazy fast.) AND I promised Daddy M that I'd do it at this appointment.

Bring it on.

We left without me feeling any real contractions. So I was kinda bummed. And angry. And emotional. And hormonal. Basically I was a basket case. We got home and I started to walk around all over to help induce contractions. The only response my body gave me for this was my usual braxton hicks contractions that hurt a little more now. A few hours of this and I hated my body for not doing what it was supposed to do. HELLO-- I got my membranes stripped. It hurt like hell, now go into labor like I've told you too.

It didn't listen. So I went to bed and cried.

Next day. Daddy M was at school all day. Then he came home and went to work for the rest of the day. My body continued to have it's usual contractions throughout the day. They hurt more. So I figured they were real contractions now. They were just ALL over the place. Super inconsistent. I would have one, then five minutes later, have another. Then ten minutes later, have another. Wait a good half hour and have another one and then jump back down to five minutes. I couldn't trust my body for crap. I ended up going to bed that night around nine, and while lying in bed, I would still have these super inconsistent and super strong contractions. I called Daddy M around 11pm and told him what was going on. He came home from work. We called a relative and asked them to come babysit our 3 boys and headed to the hospital. I was in denial that I was in labor. The only indicator I had that may have convinced me I was in labor was the fact that the contractions were extremely strong. I couldn't walk through them-- or at least not well. I had to focus on breathing through them. And it felt oh so wonderful to squeeze out a tear here and there while trying to breath through them.

*Let this be a note to you that have no had babies yet-- the rule of wait for them to last longer than 60-90 seconds and they should be 3-5 minutes apart, might not apply to your body. It sure as heck didn't apply to mine*

We got to the hospital. A 15 minute drive. And I had only 1 contraction during the whole drive. I was pretty convinced I was going to get sent home with my 4th pregnancy. (How embarrassing would THAT be.) We made it upstairs, got put in a room and the nurse's began the monitoring. I didn't have very many contractions at first, they were just extremely strong and lasted about 2 minutes. So about 20 minutes in, a nurse checked me, then asked Daddy M and I how far dilated we thought I was. He said a 6. I said a 4. She said a 5 and told us we were staying and having a baby soon!

It was about 12:30am by this time. Poor hubby had been up since 7am yesterday and now had to be up until this little baby was born.

I settled in for the party and got my epidural. I think I was to a 6 by the time the anesthesiologist came in. He was awesome. I had almost full function of my legs and numbness right where you want to be numb. :) Not gonna lie, I was pretty tired. I tried to rest, not successfully.

Around 4am, my nurse came in to check on me, we turned my body since little baby's heart-rate wasn't doing so well on the side I was on. Turning me, for whatever reason, sent my body into high gear. During transition phase I shake like mad. My legs were going crazy, my arms and teeth were on berserk mode and the nurse decided maybe she should check me again. I was a 10!

We got the doctor in and prepped for me to have this baby. She broke my water and my contractions only intensified. I am so thankful for epidurals people. Just saying. I would watch my contractions on the monitor and some of them didn't go away for at least 3-4 minutes.

I pushed for a few minutes, but this baby wasn't descending, and the heart-rate kept dropping. So they slapped some oxygen on me. Doc had me rotate my body a bit to help baby rotate it's head the right way. After a few more minutes of pushing the doctor went and sat down at a computer. Not sure why. So, my awesome nurse kept helping me push while fulfilling her other duties in the room. The doctor continued to just sit at the computer. I'm not sure why she thought she wasn't needed in the pushing process of the delivery, but her level of involvement was a joke. At one point she stood up, halfheartedly checked me and then said something like, "Well, if I walk out of the room, you'll probably progress to where I want you to." And then she left. Leaving the nurse there to do the doctor's job. About 1 minute later the baby was crowning. No doctor in the room. The nurse runs for the door and tells me to stop pushing. As the WIDEST part of the head is working it's way through me. She just wants me to stop and wait for the doctor to get back-- not the nurse's fault. I know she could get in trouble if she delivers the baby and the doctor was outside the room the whole time. I would just like to know why the doctor felt like she had to leave. Seriously. I think I said something stupid like, "You seriously want me to wait?? Right now! At this point!"

The doctor heard the commotion. And casually walks back into the room. Lazily puts her sterile gloves on. Then asks me, "So, do you want an episiotomy or a tear?" My first thoughts, were something like, 'how about we try to get this baby out first and if it doesn't fit, we talk about a little snip or a tear down there.'

I told her to wait on the cutting. Honestly, I was just irritated at this point that I wasn't pushing this head out of me. And then she says, "I think this is a pretty big head here." At this point I was done listening to Ms. Doctor and wanted to just have my baby.

Few more pushes and I hear excited voices tell me, "The heads out!" I had a nurse with me when I was first admitted that was super excited that I had 3 boys and didn't know what the gender of this baby was. She was convinced it was a girl. She was switched to some other patients and I have to admit I was pretty sad she was moved. It was fun to feed off her bubbly energy. I told her if she's still on shift when I have this baby that she should come back and see if she was right.

So here was the big moment, the big reveal! The doctor lifted up my little baby and said, "Do you see what you have?" with a massive grin on her face. I looked and saw my beautiful little girl. Exhausted, and full of emotion I covered my eyes and cried.

I have a daughter.

I looked up to see where she was. They were wiping her off a bit and I had to ask, through tears and laughter, "Could I check again? Maybe I missed something." She was born at 4:30 in the morning and I honestly wasn't sure if I was exhausted from the full day I had just had. Or the hours of labor. OR the pushing I had just gone through, but I wanted to make sure my eyes weren't tricking me and I missed a vital body part that belongs to a boy the first time around.








They showed me her again and still in shock they handed me my baby daughter.

I held her close.


Doc was still cleaning me up and told me I didn't tear at all. Thank goodness I didn't give her the go ahead to snip me. Geez. At this moment though, I didn't really care at all about anyone else in the room but my little girl and my wonderful husband. I held her for a few more minutes and then they took her to her warm little crib to clean her up. It was around this time that my first nurse came in, thrilled out of her mind that I had a girl and had to celebrate a little with me. :)

 (looking like a fabulous messy little angry alien.)

So from start to finish-- this was my shortest labor--4 hours. 4 hours in the hospital at least, I did spend most of the day not sure if I was actually having real contractions. And she's my smallest baby. She weighed in at 6lb 2oz. And a dainty 18 inches long. Now Daddy M and I just had to think of a name for her. I won't say it on here, but I will say, that the first name that came to my mind was what we named her. It just felt like that was who she was. Daddy liked it and I obviously did too. So it was perfect. We were now officially a family of 6!

Couple of extra pictures of cute baby girl!! Daddy M was holding here in these next two photos. She's only minutes old here. And I'm so in love with this little picture! She's still messy, but those cute little eyes looking at her dad-- or at least trying to-- is perfect!


The last section of pictures here is me being bored and hanging out with baby girl. And of course getting a wonderful visit from Great Grandpa!

Baby girl is 3 weeks old now. And still pretty teeny. She now weighs 7lb 6oz. Still smaller than some newborns. I'm hoping, and maybe this is bad, but I'm hoping that she'll stay small. It would be a nice change to have a petite little baby instead of my fat boys. NOT that they were not wonderful and cute and perfect with their fat little cheeks, legs and pot bellies. It just gets tiring to carry little chunkers. haha

Parenting

I've been thinking about something a lot these last few weeks. I'm going to call it a pregnancy craving that won't go away, except it's not a food craving, it's a thought craving.

I was talking to one of my single friends. (Yes, I have some of those still. It happens rarely.) This person was telling me about how they are going to parent. Stating something like, "I watch how you and your husband raise your kids and how some of my other friends and relatives raise their kids and I just know what I am going to do and what I'm not going to do as a parent. I've seen stuff I like and stuff I don't like and by watching all you guys, I know what I'm going to do."

I simmered on this statement for a while. I have a feeling that a lot of individuals without kids, married and single, think like this. Whether or not on purpose, it still happens- even people with kids see things they don't like and think, "shoot, I'd never do that with my kid."

This bugs me a little. Or maybe a lot since I've been thinking about it for weeks now. My initial response in my mind to my single friend is, "You have no idea what you're talking about. You have no idea what kind of parent you'll be until you're faced with actually being a parent and even then, you'll do things you wish you hadn't. You'll do things you said you'd 'never' do. So, please, for the love-- don't try and tell me in a round about way, you're going to be a better parent than me because you've watched how I've parented and have already learned from my mistakes."

Since I have had a while to simmer on this generalized statement, I've had the time to define-- in my own way-- what parenting is really like. And since I'm inclined toward the artistic. This is what I found:

It's art.

It's a beautiful Monet, a Picasso, a Van Gogh, a Warhol, a Banksy, an Ansel Adams and so on.

When I see art, there are some pictures that move me to the core, they're beautiful and inspiring to me. I see them and think to myself, "That is what I want to do. That's what I want to make!" And then there are some pieces of art that make me cringe and wonder why someone would call that art. I'm sure you can think of pieces of art that have the same or similar effect on you.

So.... parenting. It's art. I see some parents with their kids and I think, "That's what I want to do! That's the kind of Mom I want to be." And then there's some parents that I see or listen to and think, "Yeah, I'm not sure what they're thinking. Why would anyone do that as a parent?"

The thing is, my style of parenting (like art) might look like a beautiful thing to some and like junk to another. But if you step back, really look at the piece of work you're looking at, you have to see that just because someone parents a different way than you would (or if you're single,think you would) , doesn't make it any less beautiful.

A parent who uses cloth diapers. A mother who goes to work full-time. A parent who spanks. Who doesn't allow sleep overs. Who dresses their kids in baby gap. A mother who buys the nicest things. A mother who never gives their child candy. A mother who feeds their kids only organic. All of this-- and I have to clarify this-- all of this makes for a beautiful different style of parenting, so long as the child is loved and cared for.

But this isn't where the parallels ended for me. Some people are not artists. Let's face it. Their stick figures look sad. You get embarrassed for them each time it's their turn in the game pictionary. Some people, also, are not born parents. They put diapers on backwards, give babies food they're not ready to eat, and make disciplinary calls that are embarrassing out in public. These people have to work at being a parent and for the rest of us, it can be messy and painful to watch. Comparatively, they're not good artists-- yet.

But they're trying. It is their greatest desire to be a good parent and they make an effort each and every day. Sometimes every minute of every day. I'm this kind of parent. I have to work at it. Parenting does not come naturally to me. But I want to be a good parent. I want to create a beautiful Seurat. But it's going to take me a long time. I'm no natural.

So let's look at someone who is trying to learn how to draw, someone who wants to create something really and truly beautiful. At first, their pictures are rough. They're stiff. The lines are terrible, the ratio of the items in the picture are way off and you wonder what the heck they're doing. But after many many mistakes and constant practice, things start to look better. The house they're trying to draw starts to look like an actual house OR maybe it doesn't (it happens, haha), so they change their medium (watercolors to charcoal) and then things start to improve. With practice. They start to find their groove and find what works-- this process may take months or years-- and soon the picture that looked like a toddler drew it, begins to look more like something you could call art.

That's me. As a parent. I started out not knowing what I was doing at all and I wasn't getting the hang of it easily. I took my oldest son to the doctor when he was about 15 months old and carried him into the doctor's office still in his car seat because no one told me I shouldn't because he was too big. I cried when he would poop more than twice in one day. I let him lay on the edge of our very low guest bed, left to get a diaper and when I came back he had rolled off the bed and gotten himself stuck between the bed and the dresser. I expected too much from my second child too soon, assuming that he was just like his older sibling. I yell more than I ever wanted to. Making dinner is the biggest chore in the world for me. Cleaning my kids' pee off the toilets, it would seem like-- ALL the time-- makes me want to put the toilet outside so they can pee out there. Putting Blue's Clue's on the TV annoys me, because I don't want to watch it. I have tons of other shortcomings as a parent, but I'm always trying. I want to be a good mom. I want to do right by my kids. I have had to change the way I parent often, and I still don't get it sometimes. But the great thing is, I know I'm going in the right direction. My sad little stick figures and sad little house drawing are becoming something beautiful. It's been 7 years in the works and I'm finally able to be proud of the art I have created.

Some might see the picture I've created and disagree and think they have all the answers about how to do it right. And from my perspective-- especially if they're single-- they have no idea. They haven't even started their drawing yet. And when they do start, maybe their artwork will look beautiful right away, they might have a natural talent for it, or more likely, it won't, and they'll have to work at it, even if just a little bit.

The things that I'd miss

Things I miss because I'm a parent of young children:

*Sleeping when I want to.
*Going out on dates with my hubby whenever we please.
*Going out late to play, because no matter how late you go to bed, your kids will still wake up at 6:30am
*No snowboarding.
*No time for soccer or teams sports on a regular basis.
*Can't wear cute clothes. Forget buying them, your kids will ruin them. Not on purpose of course. But... crap happens often. Almost literally.
*Can't watch the TV shows or movies you want to. Gotta wait until the kids go to bed and then pray you're not too tired.
*Can't forget to make dinner. It's ok when you and your spouse have to fend for yourself, but the baby and the toddler can't really do this. Food has to be made.
*Can't go hang out with my friends...or for that matter.... what friends? hah. (this means WITHOUT kids in tow)

I'm sure there's more. I'm going to count it as a good thing that I don't have a slew of these festering in my mind.


Things I'd miss if I weren't a parent of young children:

*Elaborate stories told by the 4-year-old who is convinced they very well could happen and therefore can make a decent lie to tell.
*Hugs by little bodies that barely make it past your knees or waist.
*Little hands that fit inside your hands that like to poke your nose because they are just learning what a nose is.
*A toddler lisp that makes everything they say seem like you're translating a different language.
*Sentences like, "Mom, only having 5 minutes to eat dinner is mean. I'm not saying you're mean... I'm just saying that 5 minutes is mean." (Consequence of earlier actions.)
*Sweet little souls that turn to you for love after you're the one that caused their sadness, due to having to punish them.
*Little legs that try enthusiastically to climb over a bathtub wall into the water, fully dressed, no matter who is bathing in there.
*Drawings made for me that sit on my nightstand.
*Prayers asking, "Help me not to have bad dreams. Thank you for my house and my home." every single night, verbatim.
*Fridge art.
*Little helpers that help too much and you find an entire box of ritz crackers unopened and thrown away in your trash.
*Bedtime stories.
*Sneaking in after everyone is asleep and seeing how cozy they all look. So tiny in their big beds, covered in fluffy comforters, books they were reading and a flashlight that's still on and tucked in their little hands.
*A sleepy little baby who found a spot right next to you and fell asleep with their bum in the air, legs tucked up underneath themselves, perfectly content, because you are right there.
*Being asked, "Mom, is there anything I can do for you?" Without being prodded by anyone. Usually.
*Giggly cheeks when babies and kids run around the house excited .We see the Northern and Southern Hemisphere cheek giggle often.
*Never knowing where my toothbrush is because the baby loves it so much he could sniff it out anywhere.
*Little toddler bringing me a book to read that he has to hold, and sit on my lap, AND we will be reading it upside-down. But I only get to choose 1 word from each page before he eagerly flips past a few upside-down pages.
*Crazy kid eyes when they're excited, worked up, or angry. Hard not to laugh when you're trying to be serious.
*Telling your 5-year-old at his soccer game, "You have to go for the ball, not the other kids." And his response being, "I am mom, they just get in my way."
*Seeing their perfect faith and innocence as you teach them about the gospel. No questions asked, they believe. They do no doubt. This doesn't mean they don't ask questions- their questions just aren't filled with doubt, they just want to understand better.
*Watching that baby grow up to be a little kid and feeling very proud with who they are becoming as a person.
*Getting stabbed in the back with a miniature fork because for whatever reason this is thrilling to a toddler.
*Snuggles on the couch when you don't feel well and your kids can't stay away from you, so they sit on you and watch your shows with you.
*Taking a bite of their food and humming the entire time they're chewing.


I needed this tonight. I needed to remind myself that there is so much that I love about being a Mom. And yes- there are thousands of other examples I could come up with! But for now, this will have to do-- I'll add more as I come up with them because I like this list.

It can be easy to dwell on all the things you can't do when you become a parent, but I hope, that you find an entire world of happiness that you never knew you were missing out on when you become a parent. Because being a mom is a great thing. It's hard, it's really hard. But it's worth it. It really is.

With everything in life though, you're only going to get as much out of it as you put in. And maybe some days that's why I feel like being a mom is a chore and MOST days I feel like I am in the best place in the world. Yeah, so you give up a lot, but you're getting SO much more in return! And then, the best thing-- you get old and instead of being lonely as the people your same age begin to pass away-- you have your kids to visit you! Who, hopefully still love you because you were an invested parent that didn't dwell on the things they couldn't do anymore and instead found happiness in the new things they got to do.

This kid is going to be trouble when he gets bigger

Our youngest little guy is teething right now. And I have to say, that he has been thee WORST kid to deal with so far. I look at him funny and he yells at me. I don't look at him at all and he follows me around the house crying at my feet. He refuses to eat anything that doesn't look like baby food. Although, that might just be him being picky. Either way, he's been rotten and nasty and sensitive the last few days. Today.... our beautiful Sunday, seems to be no exception. Daddy was sitting in the recliner while baby A played all over him. Unfortunately Daddy M is sick and this kind of fun, isn't really all that fun. Imagine having a mini earthquake that rolls all over your body while you are nauseous. No good. So.... Daddy M relocated to the ground so mr. baby could have the recliner. Seeing as baby A is especially sensitive, he was not ok with Daddy getting off the recliner and going to lay on the ground. This was when, in his tiny little fury, he looked around room and found his foam sword. Then found Daddy M's head and smacked him while yelling at him. So, M poked his belly. Standing tall at a threatening 2 feet.... or less, off the ground, A yelled at Daddy and swung his little sword at his head again. And got poked again. Eventually, since his little legs aren't adept at keeping him balanced, he fell over from a well planned poke and stayed sitting while still hitting Daddy M with the sword, still yelling in protest. At some point he was poked hard enough that from his sitting position he toppled over and stayed down. Halfheartedly trying to hit M with his sword still. He fought a good fight and as far as he was concerned this was as far as it needed to go. Although, a few minutes later he did abandon the sword and sat on Daddy Ms head. Perhaps acting as though this was his victory kill.

Either way both baby and Dad were worn out by the "fighting". One took a nap and the other wandered around looking for food. You can decide who was who. :)

All about my cute middle kid

My son E is not lacking for entertainment ever. Most of you that know him and his energetic spirit, know this already. He does things that make me wonder what he was thinking. And usually- I really don't think he's thinking. He's 4.... so in his defense, thinking is not the most important thing to do. Trying new things out and experimenting is how it goes for him. I envy his courage. I am not like this. I am a thinker first and foremost.

For example.

We went on a hike over the summer to a pretty little waterfall. It was small enough that if you wanted you could stand right under it. However- it's glacier water and FREEZING cold. So of course, Daddy thought it would be interesting to see how far our kids would go to be able to play their game-boys. (We rarely let them play, so this offer is like gold to them.) Daddy said that if they could stand completely under the waterfall, they could play when we got back. Our oldest boy, A, was very excited by the idea-- well, both boys were. So, A wandered close to the falls several times. At one point he did get close enough to have some of the water splash on his head. This was good enough for him. Buuut, not good enough to be able to play his game-boy. He was heartbroken, but not willing to get more wet. His brother however-- totally hyped up by watching his older brother make an attempt, ran up to the falls and after a few looks at his challenge, he ran full on under the waterfall.

I was shocked.

At first he was so taken aback by the freezing cold that he couldn't make a sound. He sucked his breath in and frantically began to run away from the water. Rocks are slippery when wet, in case you didn't know, so naturally he slipped at least once. And, just like he was being chased by the Texas Chainsaw murderer himself, he was up again and running. No place in particular. Just away. He finally let out a death wail straight from hell, slightly oriented himself to where we were, and came toward us. This wasn't too difficult since I was already coming to him to rip off his ice cold shirt and get him in the sun. Once in the sun he stopped shaking and found another thing to distract himself with. Not even myself or Dad could go under the falls. I honestly didn't try, I got close enough to feel the icy water on my hands and that was enough for me. What a crazy kid.

So.... some of you people might think this was mean. Let me stop you right there and remind you, he had every bit of freewill to do what he wanted. And he made his choice. He was fine about 30 seconds after I took off his cold, wet shirt. And he was excited to play his game-boy. It was worth it to him.

Example # 2.

This next story, is only funny, because it ended well. This is a shining example of a time that little E tried first to see if something was a good idea. Learned that it was not. And I am certain he will never do it again. (I hope) A and E are the best of buds and they play a lot together. It just so happened that a few days ago they were playing upstairs in their room. Being boys. And after about an hour of playing, Daddy and I hear a shrill scream coming from E, neither of us even batted an eye-- mostly because he screams like this ANY time that is big brother does something he doesn't like or hurts him in some way. But then A came running down the stairs and said frantically, "E is stuck on my bed! He can't get down." So of course, I'm thinking, 'great, he's probably hanging upside-down on the ladder or too scared to get off the top bunk.' Daddy ran up the stairs with A to help E down. Then I hear Daddy tell A, "Go get your mom, quick." That's when I jumped up and ran upstairs to see what the trouble was. I come into the boys' room and see E, hanging there between the wall and the bunk bed. I couldn't see his head, just his body wiggling wildly, trying to get his feet on something for leverage, hollering like a wounded animal. Daddy was under the bed, supporting his weight by this time. This did not mean that the frantic wiggling stopped. My mind went straight to thinking, 'I have to move the bed away from the wall. I need to get his head out of there now.' I tried once with Daddy still on the bed. Couldn't get it to move. I mean.... I'm not very big and he's a guy- he's not exactly small, plus our bunk bed is old and heavy. He told me to wait, he would get off, he just wanted to find something for E to put his feet on. I didn't want to wait that long. So I tried again and pushed the bed away from the wall enough for him to slip his head down. This meant like an inch. I felt like the Hulk. haha

After all the excitement- I couldn't help but laugh a little. Of course of ALL my kids, it would be E that would get his head stuck trying to climb down from a bunk bed the wrong way. Knowing that he was going to be OK, I was able to go back in my memory and relive what I saw initially and see the humor in the situation. Scary yes, but he tried something. Thank heavens he was able to learn from his mistake and it wasn't more serious than some sore ears and a legitimate fear of the bunk bed and the wall. :)

Example # 3.

Last one. A little more light-hearted for everyone. I asked A to take out the garbage for me at night. So, it's dark. And the garbage bin is back in our driveway away from the house and there's no lighting over there. A has a healthy fear of the dark. I'm not sure why or what he's got in his mind that has convinced him the dark is terrifying. It's rather inconvenient when you're trying to get chores done and your helper stands at the door, with it open, letting all the cold in moping because he doesn't want to take the garbage to the dark trashcan. So E who is also deathly afraid of the dark has a moment of bravery and tells A, "it's OK. I'll show you. It's not scary at all." And he bravely grabs the garbage and took it out. I was so proud of him! He took on a scary thing for himself and conquered it! And of course he waltzed back (or rather ran- because he was still scared) and told A, see, "You just go like that. It's not scary."

E constantly reminds me it's ok to do things with a squiggly line instead of a straight one. And I love him for it. And sometimes, I have to admit, it stresses me out to the max. It's not easy to parent someone that really doesn't care for your idea that he needs to be parented. I have a feeling that E and I are going to have to learn a lot over the next decade or two on how to understand each other. Why can't my children just come out thinking just like me????

The end of baby A's story with Primary Children's Hospital

After they re-intubated baby boy, we were grateful to find that the staff was more cautious with getting it removed. He had a machine sitting next to his bed that monitored when he was actually breathing on his own and when the machine was breathing for him. Initially the machine was doing most of the work. This was somewhat concerning for us at first. If he needed so much help breathing on his own even after surgery what did that mean? The thought never occurred to me that he might always need help breathing. I'm glad that was never a stress I had. It was mostly concerning for us, because it meant our little boy was struggling. He was still on dilaudid at this time and that had a lot to do with his depressed breathing.

We had made it to Tuesday! I think I finally showered. We finally asked for a razor so I could shave my legs and look less amazonian. Baby boy, by the end of the day was getting much better. He still had not eaten or at least not the way you'd normally eat. He didn't really have a feeding tube though. It was kind of strange to me and a bit upsetting. The one thing I could offer him normally was food. And now I wasn't allowed. I was a pumping machine though. Which, for the first time in my life, pumping wasn't annoying. It was a welcome distraction from everything that was happening.

Wednesday rolled around and I think this was the day they extubated him. He was finally breathing more on his own than not. He still needed an oxygen tube in his nose though. We thought we were close to going home or at least getting out of the PICU! But they were being cautious and he was still struggling a bit. So we stayed.

Being extubated also meant he got to eat!!! It had been 5 days. Poor little boy had gone from eating 4-6 oz of milk to barely being able to tolerate 2 oz of pedialyte. But he was eating! He was eating!

I think I've said it already in past posts, but we were still in the mood to take our victories where we could get them. 

Baby boy, for the first time since we came to Primary's, finally fell asleep in his daddy's arms after his 2 oz's of pedialyte.

Later that night (Wednesday), I got to nurse him! I wish I could explain the connection this offers between mother and child. But I can't do it justice. For those who aren't married, it's like falling in love for the first time and you can feel it; you can feel it in your whole body. It's that moment when the love of your life kneels down and asks you to marry him. It's the moment when you find out you're pregnant and your whole body tingles. This is what nursing is to me. It's a sacred connection I get to have with my perfect little angel and I missed it. It was pretty emotional when I was able to finally nurse him. He was still connected to about a thousand cords and machines, but we made it work. He didn't nurse long, but I was finally able to do something for him!

I remember seeing several of the doctors and other staff come through excited to see baby boy breathing on his own and eating on his own. We had lots of eyes peeking in. It felt like they were almost as excited as us to see him improving.

I started to feel better about his prognosis. I became to feel like he'd be ok. We'd get to go home and he wouldn't have cancer. Sadly, their pathology team would come to us in the PICU and later on med/surg with the news that they still did not know what the tumor was. While in the PICU, we were told that they had sent parts of his tumor all over the country to the "best of the best" to read the stains. So far, we had them all stumped. They sent it further. And we still had no answer.

We were in the PICU until Thursday night. He spiked a fever a little before we left. Tylenol was given and luckily the fever left. But this also meant that once we got to med/surg we had to stay for at least 24 hours. He was still on oxygen at this point and couldn't leave because of that anyway. But he was well enough to make it to the med/surg floor! My mother was flying in on Saturday to help with our other two sweet little boys. And we were finally feeling like we could go home.

last night in the PICU

While we were on med/surg, we were given a little present by our baby. He gave us his first smile! It was perfect and just what I needed! He was happy and ready to go home. We just needed him to get off that oxygen tube. At least he was only on 1 liter by this point. Which meant we were close.

While on med/surg I wasted no time taking advantage of the severely reduced number of cords and held him! As much as I could!

Daddy and I had to share this room with another couple. Kind of weird. But at least we had a curtain separating us. And there wasn't really a place to sleep. But we made it work. We pushed two of the chairs together (Luckily they were the one's that could lie flat sort of like a bed.) and we had our head at each end and our feet together in the middle. Honestly, we barely slept, but neither of us wanted to leave his side. So this was our compromise.

We were glad to finally be getting our baby back. They took his oxygen off. His face was beginning to lose all the water in it and he didn't look so swollen. His beautiful bright eyes were back and we loved it!

We had one last visit on Friday night from the head of the pathology team. He told us that someone found what looked like a spindle cell. Which meant he could have a certain rare type of cancer. We were discharging in the morning on Saturday and my heart just sank. This was the worst news ever. I thought we were done. I thought he was going to be ok and then we had to hear this. The pathologist was very careful to say that it "appeared to look like a spindle cell, BUT there was a lot of blood from the tumor and necrotic tissue that made it very difficult to decipher what they were seeing, so he could not tell us with any certainty yet, that this was cancer."

Saturday at lunch time, we finally left the happiest sad place on earth, and went home. The feeling was surreal. The world was still turning outside. Things still happened without us. Driving home, it was sunny outside. Sun?? What is this sun? People were just walking down the street or cutting us off in traffic having no idea that we just went through the ordeal of a lifetime. And were still not done. It was an odd feeling.

I was scared to leave the hospital. He still had his broviac tube in. You can see it on his shoulder in the picture above. We had to sterilize it and flush it with saline and-- shoot-- I can't remember what else. But it was basically and anticoagulant so that the port wouldn't seal up. We had to do this for 3-4 weeks after we left the hospital in case he did have cancer and would need chemotherapy through this IV. We had a nurse that came once a week to our home to change his bandage. I've worked in home health, so I'm familiar with it, but being on the receiving end was a little strange.

All in all, it was nice to be home. It was nice to have my mom help for a week after we got back. It was nice to give him a baby blessing while my Dad and siblings were in town. They were able to make it for a few days. We got to bless him at my husband's grandpa's house and it was such a sweet blessing. I think the people we had there to support us and more importantly, to support baby A, made it a very special moment for us. Normally, baby blessings aren't done in homes, we do them at church. But because of the special circumstances of baby boy having a broviac tube still in, we were allowed to do it at home. I wasn't ready to bring him to church where sickness in November likes to roam.

It was nice to see our baby become his little self again. He was awake. Happy. A little cuter now with his manly scar. And such a treasure to keep.

Several weeks later, I got a call from the pathologist from Primary's. He had news for us. We were told that baby boy did not have cancer. They still were not 100% sure that it wasn't cancer, but they were more sure now that what they found in the tumor was something else. He told us they thought part of the tissues they could find were parts of his body trying to regrow his teste. And that we would just need to watch for anything unusual. But all in all. Our baby was ok.

He was ok.
:)

P.S.
Many wonderful people had come to help us and visit with us. We were so blessed to have dinner brought to us each night and have pleasant company to chat with. I cannot express how great this was. Cafeteria food. Although- surprisingly delicious- becomes rather boring when the menu doesn't really change. We had homemade food. We had cafe rio! Each time, we had great company. We had a care package given to us with food and toiletries and snacks. The hospital staff let us take pictures for our two little boys at home. They developed them for us and then gave us a little picture book with scrap paper, so we could send a picture book to the boys, so they could see what we were doing. *I still have that book*

They let us bring our children in and they gave them little hospital dolls and showed them all of the stuff that their little brother had attached to him. You can see one of the dolls with my mom and baby A a few pictures up.

A lot of sadness and extreme stress came from this experience. But so did a lot of goodness and love. I am grateful for the love we received from the very beginning when we first started our journey, a week before, when we took our little 6-week-old boy to the ER, not knowing what we were in store for. All the way to when we got home and had a woman from my ward, that I barely know, decide to bring us dinner.

Thank you all from the bottom of my heart.