A Conversation with Isaac

This evening we went to the bowling alley.  At one point, Isaac had to go to the bathroom.  This was the conversation we had while he was using the facilities:

Isaac:  "Mom, this is the ladies room.  You're not a lady.  You can't come in here."
Me:  "Yes, I can.  I'm a lady."
Isaac:  "No, you're not.  Ladies wear glasses. You don't have glasses."
Me:  "Sometimes I wear glasses to drive.  Does that count?"
Isaac:  "Um, y-eah.  Maybe.  But you don't drive, Mom."
Me:  "Yes, I do."
Isaac:  "You don't drive Daddy's Buick."
Me:  "I know.  I drive the Suburban."
Isaac:  "Does it have a name?"
Me:  "Yep.  The Beast."

(At this point it's good to know that Isaac is convinced the Buick Rendezvous is a Transformer.  We play mind games with the four-year old.  It's fun.)

Isaac:  "He's not a Transformer like Rendezvous."
Me:  "Yes, he is.  He transforms every night."
Isaac:  "Into what?"
Me:  "The Abominable Snowman."
Isaac:  "That's not real, Mom."
Me:  "Yes, he is."
Isaac:  "What do they do?"
Me:  "They transform and have snowball fights every night."
Isaac:  "Hmph.  I'm done.  You can wipe my butt now."

Belated Birthdays

Yeah ... just a little delinquent here on two birthday posts.  Doh!

Riley turned 12 on October 28th.  I can't believe our oldest is twelve already!  One more year to go before we enter TeenHood.

And Isaac turned four on December 1st.  Where has the time gone?!

Favorite Holiday Guessing Game

This was a conversation I just had with my Brookie:

Brooke:  "Mom, Mom?!  Guess which holiday is my favorite."

Me:  "Ok.  Hmmm.  Your birthday?"

Brooke:  "Nope.  Try again."

Me:  "Christmas?"

Brooke:  "No."

Me:  "St. Patrick's Day?"

Brooke:  [Blank stare.  Thinking face.]  "What's that?"

Me:  "Never mind.  How about April Fool's Day?"

Brooke:  "No, no, no."

Me:  [Sighing.]  "Uh, Halloween?"

Brooke:  "Mom, no.  Listen.  You know that time we went to Grandma's house and got cookies?  That holiday."

Me:  "You're going to have to give me a little more detail."

Brooke:  [Throws her hands up in the air.]  "Ok, it's something like ... it has to do with Jesus.  Rooster? or something like that?"

Me:  "You mean Easter?  The day we celebrate Jesus coming back to life?"

Brooke:  "Yep!  That's it!"

Me:  "Ok, what about Easter?"

Brooke:  "Oh, nothing.  I just like it."

Happy 10th Birthday!

On October 20th, our Savvy-girl turned 10 years old!  Happy Birthday to my sweet and sassy Savannah!

Happy 6th to our Brooke!

Allergies Suck

Yes, yes they do.  Our poor Savannah can tell you all about it.

Yesterday she had an appointment in Duluth with her allergy doctor to test for a milk and nut allergy.  She's had some pretty bad reactions lately to almonds, and she has had signs of a milk allergy as well.

The good news is that she is NOT allergic to milk or dairy.  Praise God for that!  Doc thinks a lactose intolerance is causing those problems.  She does, however, have an allergy to peanuts and tree nuts; mainly almonds, pecans, cashews, and walnuts.  In addition, Dr. Munson tested her for soy, and she's allergic to that as well.

You may be wondering why I'm putting this on the blog.  The answer is simple:  this was an answered prayer.  And I love to praise God in times like these!

Not that we wanted her to have food allergies.  Heavens, no!  I'd prefer that she not have any; but, unfortunately, that's just how she's made.  Fearfully and wonderfully made, I might add.

Lately, Savvy has been praying at night for a better appetite and that she would want to eat.  She hasn't felt good at all for a very long time, and I will admit to not believing it to be genuine and thinking she was just avoiding foods she didn't want to eat.  But I think all along she's been feeling pretty yucky, and I am in line for Worse Mother of the Year Decade.

That said, the hives and itchy throat reaction to milk and to almonds is what spurred us to have her further tested.  And the test indicated that she is allergic to soy and peanuts, two things that she has a lot of in her diet.  She ate peanut butter every single day, and I know soy is in a lot of processed snacks, cereals and breads.

Could it be possible that her chronic headaches and sore throat are directly related to food allergies?  Her doctor said, emphatically, "YES!"  Prayer answered.  Could it be that eating peanut butter every day is making her sick and not want to eat.  Pretty sure that's a yes too.  And maybe, just maybe, knowing this new information will allow her to eat the foods that are good for her and make her feel well will increase her appetite and desire to eat more.

God does answer prayer, but not always in the way we think it should happen.  I wasn't looking for allergies, but now that we know about them, we'll deal with them and help our little girl eat healthier and get better.

Summer is a Memory

Summer is grass scratching the soles of my feet

as I fly down the hill to the tree swing.

It’s dipping my toes in Papa Jim’s swimming pool

and watching the water bugs skate across the green water,

the sun bleaching my hair and browning my skin

as watermelon juice slides down my chin,

my sister and my cousins’ laughter drowning out Material Girl on the radio.

Summer is an umbrella in hand and water beneath my feet

as I splash and stomp in puddles in the pockmarked road.

It’s the wind in my hair and my hands in the air

as I ride my bicycle to the store just down from Nana’s house,

then coming back and laying on blistering concrete

with candy cigarettes hanging out of my mouth, an Etch-a-Sketch in hand,

and my cousins beside me peeling stickers off the Rubik’s Cube.

Summer is a lemonade stand at the end of the driveway,

drinking more than we sell, ten cents a cup.

It’s my sister picking okra out of the garden

and eating it raw, not even bothering to wash off the fuzz.

Summer is a blanket-tent city in the living room

while thunder roars and lightning flashes outside the big picture window.

It’s running though the sprinkler,

blades of cut grass glued to the soles of my feet

and my cousins’ laughter chasing me into the house.

It’s Nana toweling us off and Spaghettios for lunch

and singing Thriller at the top of our lungs.

It’s a Spoonful of Sugar to the help the medicine go down,

and pallets on the floor,

a sleepover with cousins,

telling stories and scratching each other’s backs until we all fall asleep.

The Palm of His Hand

Some time ago, a friend posted a graphic on Facebook that had the phrase "God has you in the palm of His hand", or something similar.  I've heard this my whole life, but that day I actually cupped my hand and looked at it, studied it, and this is what I saw.

My hands are rough things.  They are scarred and textured, rough and calloused from use.  My hands shovel dirt, rake yards, paint walls, hang drywall. They cook meals and wash the dishes that multiply in the sink.  These hands sew clothing, wash cloth diapers and mountains of laundry, sweep floors, scrub tubs and dust furniture.  They bandage scraped knees, wipe away tears, rub backs and hold story books.  My hands love.

Looking at my cupped hand, I realized that despite how little it is in comparison to the Creator’s, it overflowed with immeasurable love. 

I imagined God's enormous hands, how incredibly big they are, so vast that they hold the universe with room to spare.  And despite how small I am in comparison, He loves me and shelters me in the palm of His hand.

Being in God's hands is a great place to be.  There I can find shelter and love, protection and security.  For those of us that love the Lord and know His Son, Jesus is clear, saying, "I give them eternal life, and they shall never perish; no one will snatch them out of my hand.  My Father, who has given them to me, is greater than all; no one can snatch them out of my Father's hand.  I and the Father are one."  (John 10: 28-30 NIV)

I observed that a cupped hand is actually a bowl, but it's not a smooth-sided vessel.  There are bumps and ridges, hills and valleys, dips and heights.  In places it looked to me that my hand held plateaus and canyons, and just like in life, there were very few straightaways. 

God promises that he holds me in His hands.  The truth of the matter is that I may be at the top of His hands, standing on a fingertip, or clinging to the cliff of a knuckle.  I might be lounging on the meaty part of the base of His thumb.  Or I may be at the bottom, rock bottom, flat out on the floor of His gracious palm. 

I've found myself rock-bottomed out, huddled and crying, beaten and exhausted.  But then I looked at my hand.  Where is the safest part of a hand when it's cupped?  The bottom.  It's at this place that God shelters us the most, so that we can get up safely, pull ourselves together and start living in His palm. 

I find myself climbing to the top, scaling the bumps and valleys along the way, rising and falling, living and learning.  I continually strive, challenge myself, test my mettle, like a toddler yelling, "I'll do it myself!"  And I get to that high place, where life is good and I can see for miles.

And inevitably, a strong wind will knock me down, and I tumble down the mountainside, hitting every pebble, rock and boulder along the way, until sliding to a rest at the bottom again, bruised and battered, bleeding and torn.  And I ask myself, what's the point?

Maybe the point is that the heights are a dangerous place to be, the most vulnerable for God's children.  Why do I try to climb out of His hand and make it on my own?  The bottom of His caring and loving hand is the safest place to be, when I am at my lowest and totally dependent on His love to get me through.  Maybe rock-bottom is where I need to build my home, sheltered in a hand that protects my soul.

“That is why, for Christ's sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.”  2 Corinthians 12:10

In My Own Skin

Confession:  I weigh thirty-six pounds more than I did when I graduated high school nearly twenty (gasp) years ago, and twenty pounds more than when I got married.  Somewhere in the middle was my "ideal" weight, where I was more than comfortable in my own skin.  And hey, I was in the Marines at the time, so I was pretty much in peak physical condition.

Over the last 14 years of marriage I've added a few pounds and five children to my life.  I bear the scars and varicose veins from growing people, and I harbor more than a few doubts about my self-image.

How can my husband still find me attractive?  (He does, and lets me know it quite frequently.)  Is it even possible to get back down to that "ideal" weight?  Should I even try to get there, or should I just be happy with the way that am?

I have young girls growing into young ladies, and I want them to have a healthy self-image that doesn't focus on weight, but on health.  At eleven, my oldest has already had friends picking on her about her weight.  It's devastating to her to have a friend say that she looks pregnant.  It's devastating to me as her mother to have to console her and try to nurture a health vs. weight attitude when I have a hard time with it on a daily basis.

Many of my friends are on a life-changing journey to change their body image and get healthy.  I applaud them, truly!  They have great willpower and dedication and are an inspiration to many people.

One day I'll get there.  For now, I've arranged a thirty minute slot in the day for exercise, and I'm eating less junk and more good stuff.  I'm trying to eat treats in moderation, but I have a horrible monster of a sweet tooth.

But the questions remain, the ones I mentioned up there at the beginning.  What are the answers?  They may not be correct, but these are the conclusions that I've come to in thinking and praying on this.

I have wrinkles on my face, but it just means that I laugh and smile a lot.

My arms are a little flabbier than I'd like, but they can pick up babies and hug children.  My arms may not be as trim as I'd like, but they snuggle my little ones tight to my chest.

Speaking of chest, my "girls" sag a little.  I don't look like 23-year old me anymore.  But my breasts have suckled five beautiful children for varying amounts of time.

My stomach ... well, it's kind of chubby.  A lot chubby, and it's my least favorite part of my body.  There are scars covering the entire part of my abdomen and then some.  But I got those scars carrying five sweet babies in my body, and I love every line and wrinkle.  They are my battle scars.

The rear end is a little on the wide side.  That's okay.  My husband really likes it.  He tells me so.

I have chicken legs.  Always have and I always will.  But my legs let me chase giggly children around the house, carry me around so that I can do my work and get me where I need to go.

How many times day do I thank the Lord that I have hands and feet, eyes and ears, arms and legs?  Yeah, they're not in perfect condition.  And yes, I know I could put forth the extra effort and in a couple of years get back to prime  physical condition.  But at this point in my life, I need -- NEED -- to be content with what I've got.  It's a spiritual thing for me.  When I get there, I'll work on the physical even more than I am already.

But for me, and my daughters, I want to be comfortable in my own skin.  I'm getting there.

Strong Savvy Girl and Divine Intervention

Those close to me on Facebook were able to follow our adventure yesterday.  For those not on there, here's the low down.

Monday night around supper time, while I was embarrassing myself at Zumba for the first (read:  last) time, Savannah was home starting to feel rather yucky.  By the time I got home she was in tears.  But anyone who knows my Savvy knows that she tends to exaggerate her aches and pains.  Just the way she is.  Something about the pain, and the tears, however, seemed legit.

I examined her with my limited knowledge, and determined that a "wait and see" approach was necessary.  She had abdominal pain, nausea and a headache.  And generally felt really bad.  Flash forward to Tuesday morning, and I walked down the stairs to find a crying Savvy laid up on the couch, where she had been since just after 5 a.m.  I sent her to bed to rest, and checked on her periodically.

About 10 a.m., she started with the fever.  Still had the other symptoms, but more pain, and 102° fever.  The fever is what made the call for me.  I've never had any child have a fever with a stomach virus, and she still wasn't vomiting or anything else nasty.

So off we went to the urgent care doctor in the nearby small city of Virginia, and the doctor there did his exam.  He suspected appendicitis, and told me to head on over to the emergency room.  The ER doctor also had the same exam results.  The CT scan she had a few hours later confirmed their suspicions:  appendicitis with a leaking appendix.

Thankfully, the surgical team had been given a heads-up before the CT scan was even performed.  The same surgeon that did my vein surgery back in November was the one on-call for Savvy, and I was thankful that I knew him and knew he'd do a good job.

Savvy's recovering well this morning.  I stayed at home with the kids, since I still have a little booby vampire that likes me close in the bed at night, and Jesse stayed with Savvy.  Her pain this morning was down to a 1 on the chart, after a dose of morphine at 11 p.m. last night and a night's sleep.

Here's the divine intervention part.

Last week we had a little scare with Jed.  Yeah, follow me if you can.  I'll try to keep it simple.

Jed has ear infection.  -->  Jed takes amoxicillin.  -->  Day 8 of antibiotics, Jed breaks out in head to toe rash.  --> Jed is determined to be allergic to the meds, put on different ones.  -->  I come home and research amoxicillin rash, and find out that it can be an indicator of mononucleosis.  -->  Savvy has had all the symptoms of the very contagious virus, mono.  -->  I take her in to get tested because we have a birthday party planned for the weekend and I didn't want to spread germs. -->  She has strep test, monospot test, and a complete blood count workup.  All normal.

Now we're back to yesterday at the ER, where the doctor has done a urinalysis and another CBC to test her white blood cell count.  The reports come back that she did have some white blood cells in her urine, and the blood test showed the levels to be on the upper range of normal.  But it's also normal for kids to have higher wbc counts because of all the stuff their bodies fight on a daily basis.

The doctor wasn't convinced just based on the lab results that she had a serious infection.  BUT (here's the cool part ... ) she had a CBC just last week that was "normal".  And I thought, hey, I'll have the clinic fax over her results from last week so we can compare the two levels a week apart.  Last week, the count was 7.7.  Yesterday in the ER, up to 13.

I'm convinced that last week's motherly paranoia was a God-send.  I'm also thankful for high fevers that got my butt in gear and got her to the hospital before the appendix ruptured.  Because it was already leaking, and five times its normal size.  Rupture was imminent.  God is good.

God is so good that he designed her little body to be able to wall off a leaking infection to keep it from running rampant in her gut.

I'm simply humbled at His great design, and thankful for that little nagging voice in my head that said, no demanded, that I get her to a doctor and soon.

Convicted

I find there is little more in this life more humbling than getting your hand slapped by The Almighty.

A few weeks ago, at my wits' end, I was practically crying in my husband's arms after a long day at home with the heathen horde.  "Why are they so disrespectful?!  Why does it take me saying something ten times to get them to even listen, and why do I have to yell to get results?!  What is wrong with the children?"

Jesse just patted my back and said that things will be okay and we'll just continue to pray for God to help change the kids' characters.  And it helped, knowing he was here for me.

Flash forward to yesterday, Sunday, at church.  We've been going to a parenting and discipline class in Sunday school.  The discussion was Anger vs. Action.  It was in this class that God smacked me in the head.

Part of the class is watching a video clip from Dr. James Dobson's "Focus on the Family" parenting series.  The scenario in the acted example on the screen hit home.  The mother, issuing empty orders to her child to put away the toys, get ready for bath time, bed time is near, and then going back to whatever she was doing while the child ignored her really hit home for me.  Because it's the same one-act play played out every day, all day in this house. 

Part of the class is watching a video clip from Dr. James Dobson's "Focus on the Family" parenting series.  The scenario in the acted example on the screen hit home.  The mother, issuing empty orders to her child to put away the toys, get ready for bath time, bed time is near, and then going back to whatever she was doing while the child ignored her really hit home for me.  Because it's the same one-act play played out every day, all day in this house. 

I've joked that my instructions to the children are not even considered valid by them until I've said demanded it at least three times.  Each time I tell them something to do (yelled it at them), whether it be put on their shoes to go outside or get busy on chores, I get increasingly agitated that they didn't obey the first time.

And yet, I tell them once again, and then again, to do what I said.

Well, back to the God-smack.

I realized in class that there was ABSOLUTELY NOTHING WRONG WITH MY CHILDREN.

They are behaving exactly as I've trained them.  The problem is ME.  I've conditioned them to not listen to me, even when I get angry, and yell, and YELL and threaten and have my own blow-ups.  

Anger isn't parenting.  Parenting is action.  That's what finally clicked with me.  I can't discipline my children when I am out of control in my own personal realm of irritation and frustration.

James 1:19-20 (NIV) reads:  "My dear brothers and sisters, take note of this:  Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry, because human anger does not produce the righteousness that God desires."

It was easy to think that there was something "wrong" with the character of my children, when in fact, the problem was in my parenting.  I have been angry for a very long time.  And not righteous anger like Jesus dealing with the moneychangers in the temple.  Angry at the nerve of my children to disobey and disrespect ME, and how dare they do this to ME?  

I've been yelling empty demands that only invite disobedience, not saying what I mean with a cool head and thoughtfulness.  And definitely NOT following up my instructions with actions quickly.

So, where are you?  Are you in the same place I find myself?  Feeling out of control with disobedient and defiant children?  I would encourage you to humbly pray and ask God to show you how YOU can change YOUR parenting.  Hey, maybe you're great at this parenting thing.  This tirade probably isn't for you, and thanks for reading.  But it was a soul-changing moment when I realized that I have to parent my children, discipline and train my children, in a thoughtful, on-purpose, and ACTIVE way. 

No more issuing empty orders three to ten times.  It means taking time to not get agitated that they are detracting from the things that I want to accomplish, and instead, focusing on my own action to train them properly.

Less anger, less yelling, and a lot more action.

Oh, and lots of prayer.  That too.

Time Flies ...

... I guess I should say that time flies when you're having fun.  But really, time just flies when you have five kids, homeschool and work on renovating a house.

I can't believe it's been a whole year since my little Jedidiah was born.  Weighing 8 pounds 6 ounces when he was born, our "wee" man is now a whopping 26 pounds!

Don't mind the rash on his face.  He was on a round of antibiotics and the rash tells us that he's allergic to penicillin and can't have it anymore.

I'd like to say that I hope to blog a little more regularly, but I've got a mudroom project going on and very little time to spare between that and raising these five hooligans.  Hopefully, I can work ten minutes of blog time into my day, because I certainly miss doing it.  Here it is June, and this is only my second entry this YEAR!!

Anyway, enjoy the quick pics, and maybe I'll get back over here soon.  Have a good one!

Jen and the fab fam

Life in Pictures

Just to catch up a little on blogging, a few pictures of the last few months.