Why not . . .

put toy cars in the microwave?

push the couch up to the bookcase in a dastardly plot to steal the Hamster?

dump out the dual purpose stool/garbage cans in order to open any door handle that isn't quite reachable?

cover the baby's head with green I-foam?

Hurricane Vilate and I hold hands a lot these days, since she goes everywhere that I go. It's sweet to be able to hold hands and do things together. And it's safer for the baby if Vilate never leaves my sight. But I think she's on to me . . .

A Few More Details

Star date, March 2010: I visit Prague with my husband, a romantic trip with just the two of us (and the currently non-hurricane Vilate). It's idyllic. I eat something called cabbage with three meats at a restaurant (note: I do not recommend this.) and begin to feel like my insides are being turned inside out. I become intimately familiar with every public WC in Prague center. After three days of this, my nausea begins to have a familiar feel to it. I am in denial.


Star date, May 2010: We cruise from New York to Southampton. Pregnant people are not supposed to cruise without a note from their doctors. I have no such note, since my insurance has conspired against me. I could only see a doctor in the DC region, but I haven't been there since March. The nausea remains unconfirmed as anything specific, and I am happy to leave it that way for the present. There are too many other things to stress about.

Star date, June 2010: What do you know, we ARE pregnant! 17 weeks--and it's a boy! This news, for some reason, is very poignant to me.



Star date, September 2010: I become an enormous slug-like creature. Walking is difficult, since my hips are all out of joint. The only place I can comfortably move around is in the pool.



Star date, October 2010: I am enormous. The size of my stomach makes my rear end look small. Which it's not.





Star date, November 14 2010: I am resigned to being overdue by two weeks, although my due date is three days in the future. I wake up in the middle of the night with extreme heartburn and nausea, and realize that my underwear are mysteriously wet. I alert my husband, and we both go back to sleep. When I get out of bed at a decent time, water gushes all over the floor. I shower, wash my hair, finish packing, and we take the kids to church where they can participate in the primary program and meet up with their assigned families.



The branch president gives us a ride to the hospital in his Mercedes. I nicely arrange my towel on the front seat, and pray not to make a mess. At the hospital, everyone speaks Czech, so they all speak to my husband (slugs don't speak Czech) and after I am monitored (in a room with several other women, who are all dressed in skimpy long t-shirts) I am put in my own room. The contractions still haven't really started, but they're coming . . .

I note that all of the uniforms for the hospital are thin white cotton. I am not sure whether or not the dark thong that everyone seems to be wearing is part of the uniform or not.


I take a long shower, and now the contractions have started. I use some Hypnobabies techniques to get myself under control, but I have a charlie horse of some sort in the bottom right-hand part of my uterus. This is not fun.

I finally get a light epidural (I can still feel the charlie horse), take a short nap, and then it's time to push. The baby comes out with his hand over his face, screaming and hollering. His shoulders are stuck, and his feet are running back and forth under my skin. I push again, Alan cuts the cord, and at some point the newborn grabs the scissors, and we have to take them away.


He is measured metrically, but I'll translate: 8 lbs, 14 oz; 20 inches long.

His name is Ammon Matthias. He has a dimple, and I have caught a hint of a mischievous little smile that promises interesting things for the future. He is absolutely precious.

What I did last weekend . . .

There is too much. Let me sum up.

Westley: Who are you? Are we enemies? Why am I on this wall? Where is Buttercup?
Inigo Montoya: Let me 'splain.
[pause]
Inigo Montoya: No, there is too much. Let me sum up. Buttercup is marry' Humperdinck in a little less than half an hour. So all we have to do is get in, break up the wedding, steal the princess, make our escape... after I kill Count Rugen.
Westley: That doesn't leave much time for dilly-dallying.

So:

1. From Kirtland, Ohio we went to New York. We ate hot dogs, saw the Statue of Liberty, and rode in the Ferris Wheel at Toys R Us. I did not see my aunt--which I regret deeply.

2. We cruised from New York to Southampton. No one fell off the boat and drowned. We did empty our supply of Children's Tylenol as everyone took turns with a mysterious fever. I wore two formal dresses and two different pairs of formal shoes. The black ones hurt--the brown ones looked fabulous. (Darn Ann Klein!)

3. From Southampton to London to Prague. A two-hour plane ride. In which we are convinced that the cruise was not a luxury. (You know what's fun? To be in the only row of seats on the plane where everyone is cheering for the take-off. The enthusiasm and excitement just put a smile on your face. It's just when all that enthusiasm and greased lightning-speed start trying to explore the rest of the plane . . .)

4. Prague. In which we buy a $250 lamp from the Marriott, (In all fairness, they provided the pens and left them out in an accessible place), move into our home, and attempt shopping for eight. On public transportation.

5. More Prague. In which I discover the beauty of Ordering Groceries Online, and my children discover the fun water fountain in the bathroom. (Who knew a bidet could be so versatile?)

6. Adjustments, discovery, myriads of small trips, and lots of swimming. (It's nice to have a pool. There, there, little luxury . . .)

7. A trip to Kyiv, Ukraine. Good times. (Did you know that nine people can fit in a small sedan taxi if most of them are quite small? Did you know a taxi driver's face could freeze in the exact same expression your grandma warned you about?)

8. And school starts. The three oldest started at Czech school today. After all of my anxiety and worry, it was amazingly restful and peaceful to play with the three little ones and read stories.

And maybe, eventually, there will be more detail. Let me know if there's anything you are particularly interested in knowing more about (Czech hospitals for example, don't seem to have the same hygienic or professional dress standards as US hospitals. That might be an interesting story . . .)

Adventures Part 3: Easterly

Maybe you have been to/through Vernal, Utah, and its wonderful promises of Dinosaurland and tabernacle-turned-temple—but I had never found a reason to meander that way before. It’s a beautiful little town (although we hit more snow on the way there, of course), but the drive out of town toward Wyoming is probably one of the prettiest I have seen. We stopped at a lookout that promised dinosaur footprints, and discovered that we were there during the wrong season—the reservoir was too high during the late spring. The stop wasn’t wasted however—everyone clambered out of the car and went for a hike in some tempting sand and rocks. (Meanwhile I kept reminding myself that rattlesnakes are cold-blooded, and so if we met any, they would be slow.)

In Wyoming we met with the obligatory blizzard (it’s part of the Wyoming welcome packet. Here’s your room key, a map of the town, and a blizzard. Enjoy!) and accompanying freeway closures. We soldiered on to Nebraska with ice frozen on our windshield wipers and radio antennae, and made it to Winter Quarters, one of the highlights of our trip. Winter Quarters was the stopping place for the Latter-Day Saints on their migration west from Nauvoo to Salt Lake City. Although they knew they would only be there for a short season, they built homes (mostly rude log cabins and soddies) and planted crops. The trek from Nauvoo had been one long mud puddle, and the people were exhausted. In the Visitors’ Center, the children had the chance to fill toy wagons with small blocks that represented flour, beans, and other essentials. They had the chance to dress up as pioneers and to push and pull a handcart. Excellent fun.

After a walk around the temple, we had a sobering walk through the adjacent cemetery. Our oldest was particularly struck by a monument that listed all of those who had died at Winter Quarters. There were several infants on the list—many who had not lived for more than a few days. There was a sacred feeling in that place, as though it had been sanctified by the sacrifice and devotion of a people who loved and trusted in Christ above all.

And from there . . .

Adventures Part 2: on to Utah

(This is part 2 of a very long series of posts. Part 1. Part 0.)

We crossed the mountain pass that divides Western and Eastern Washington and entered a different world. Western Washington is wet and green, and you sometimes get the feeling that the vine maples and other creeping greenery are engaged in a guerilla war to wipe out all signs of civilization. Eastern Washington is made of open sky and rolling hills, and sunshine—a nice escape from the constant drizzle (Washingtonians have as many names for rain as Eskimos have for snow. {OK, as a linguist, I know that the Eskimo-names for snow thing isn’t entirely accurate, but the point remains!}) The freeway through Oregon includes the Blue Mountains, which curve and descend at a terrifying rate, (unless you choose to sleep through that part of the trip while your brother drives. Wise). The freeway also has my favorite rest stop of all time—it’s named Deadman’s Pass. Encouraging, né? Idaho was beautiful—a perfect sunset over the Snake River gave the whole state a golden glow. (I have to say, ANY sunshine at this point of the trip was appreciated.)

We took a little detour through some unexpected parts of Idaho (which are not so charming in the middle of the night. Not uncharming, either. Just dark.) and explored a new route to Utah. Once there, we found more grandparents, more cousins, more aunts and uncles—more romping, more love. And although I could say a lot about Utah (sleepovers, more snow—was it following us?, adored baby cousins, homemade bread in batches of 16 loaves, a phenomenal geode hunt, Sarai getting a book signed by her hero, cinnamon bears, endless good times) the crucial thing was the sense of family and the feeling of belonging. We don’t attend family reunions often, and our kids really miss out on having cousins around, but they have two sets of grandparents and endless aunts and uncles who have made a place in their hearts that my children call home.

And from there . . .

Adventures Part 1: Washington

There is no better way to start a two-year European adventure than a farewell tour of the purple mountains majesty and the for-spacious plains. We started off in Washington, where we breathed in the salty ocean air in Seattle and crossed over the mighty Columbia (roll on). Our scenic plans were thwarted by rain, snow, and seasonal roads that were still closed, but many magical moments were spent on the farm, running through meadows, hiking cow trails in the woods, and destroying Grandma’s flowerbeds. The Old House, repository of who-knows-what, both repelled (me) and attracted (others of a certain adventurous spirit.) The Boy played with boy-cousins (well, mostly with their toys) and enjoyed having more “sisters,” as he called them (the poor guy doesn't know that there are any other kind of short relatives, after all). The children gathered eggs from the chickens; chased the guinea hens; rounded up pigs; sat on Leroy, the three-legged dog; petted a cow; cuddled with the cat (or chased the cat, depending on the child); learned to avoid Roxy, the one-woman min-pin, and had a fabulous time. And then . . . (this is a cliff-hanger, obviously, so you'll be waiting on pins and needles for part two.)

And I’m alive!

We are moved in, unpacked, and ready to go (more or less!) We have all of the necessities, including toilet paper (no Charmin extra-soft here, though, or anything like unto it) and finally, Internet (and with Internet comes Skype, which means contact with family again). I’ve brushed off my trusty iMac, which has weathered upheaval fantastically well, and am ready to blog our Adventure, the mini-series. With any luck, it will rival the Pride and Prejudice mini-series. (Probably not the writing, though. Or the plot. Or the romance. Or the excellent morals. But maybe length. Maybe.)

Coming to healthcare near you

Today, I learned some very important facts about our insurance. Mostly, I learned that no matter how long you spend on the phone with various offices, none of them can do anything to help you. I also learned that if you happen to be doing a lot of traveling out of your coverage area, that you should probably just settle for ER visits, because there is no way that anyone can approve any other sort of a doctor's visit. But wait, what if . . . your daughter breaks out in hives and appears to be allergic to the cat, or the sun, or maybe just the whole state of Utah? That's just unfortunate, and hopefully, somebody somewhere else can fix it. But they can't, because with government-run healthcare, the approach to cost-cutting seems to involve placing a wall of bureaucrats between you and your doctor. Which would be awesome if it were a penalty kick or a game of dodge ball with those hard rubber balls.

Ahem.

So, I changed my blog.  It's a work in progress, since I'm on a sloooooooow PC, but it will come together--maybe.  It's still not really a mommy blog, and it's not a scrapbook paradise, and I will probably never give away cool free stuff that I make in my free time (1.  because my cool stuff is pretty rudimentary--hey, look!  a piece of paper glued to a popsicle stick!, and 2.  I have no free time.)

We leave for Europe in ONE month, so it's time to step up and share a little more. 

Today I'd  like to share that after a month in Washington state, and a week in Utah, I am tired of living out of suitcases.  That is all.

We're leaving!

We are pulling out of the campground and heading out. It's been a great experience--we all learned a lot about unselfishness, love, and seizing the day. Next item on the agenda--pulling a camper trailer from one coast to the other. It's going to be a great week!

(Is starting the trip with a speeding ticket a bad omen? Naah.)

Georgetown

A rainy weekday afternoon in Georgetown

The street is full of well-dressed women

clip-clopping to and fro.
I am a thrown-together woman
with no particular place to go.

I have a few hours free

from children's quarrels and ABCs,
And find myself in the enchanted halls
where merchants serve liberal proclivity.

Stiletto shoes with Italian names,
Parfum from France, and lace from Spain:
A patina of gorgeous from each arcade.
No rinky-dink bargains. Nothing mundane.

The well-dressed women race in the streets:
They have no dilly-dally time today.
They have careers and social obligations:
Theirs is not to seize the day.

I find a treasure for my beloved
and touch and smell and look my all.

I imagine myself a well-dressed woman

-pleasant, but fruitless after all.

I seize the day and seize some more
when I return from my afternoon stroll.
Children caper at the door:
Miraculous. Glorious. Wonderful.

I am a thrown-together woman.
Yells and smells of moppet and mite,

pose my hows and compose my whys.
Carpe diem, joyful soul, grasp the day while there's yet light.

Kristin H. Kent
March 2010

Olympics

This appears to be a slightly different kind of biathlon.

Today was a good day

Today was a good day. Oh, sure nothing went as planned and some things went wildly wrong, but it was still a joyful day. I woke up with a glad heart and kept it all day, despite:

~calling for a doctor's appointment at 6:00 am.
~walking into the doctor's office at 10:00 am (with six kids) to find out why no one had called back about my "urgent" condition.
~discovering that the appointment line had not yet passed on any urgent care notes.
~walking back to the car to discover that it wouldn't start.
~discovering that the essential battery ($4.95 for two) in the key fob was dead, thereby setting off the silent alarm in the van, and keeping me from starting the car.
~after a friend in the area took off from work and helped us out (including a jaunt to the BX which was out of batteries and another jaunt to Walmart, which was not close) discovering that the silent alarm had drained the car battery--so now we also needed a jump start.
~having six kids crowd the doctor during my appointment (true fact: even very professional people have a hard time thinking on their feet when confronted by so many little people)
~the computer system was down, so I had to return to the doctor's office and get a paper prescription (they were very fast and kind.)
~grocery shopping with six kids who were, by this time, starving and stir crazy
~and last, but not least, standing on the doctor's scale and staring at the ugly (but truthful) numbers.

also today:
~I held Briellen and Brigham's little hands as we walked down a snowy hill in the stillness of an early morning.
~I carried Vilate in a pack and could feel her warming my back.
~Mirielle's fears of turning into a personage of "bones, skin, and spirit" (her words) never materialized (she's afraid of starving to death. But not afraid enough to actually eat the food I cook. True quote from Tuesday night: "Mom, that's the first thing you ever cooked that I liked!")
~Sarai got her very first pocket knife. (But she hasn't yet earned her tote and chip card, so she doesn't yet have actual possession of the knife.)
~Analise's cat and Sarai's fox got married, in a very elaborate ceremony (complete with a rabbit throwing real rose petals, Mendelssohn's Wedding March, and a ring bearer holding two tiny hair elastics) . They also had a child. (Q: Analise, how long have they been married? (since time is flexible in these sorts of situations, y'know) A: About an hour. Q: Then how do they have a child? A: Mirielle gave it to them as a wedding present.) Excellent.

It has been a great day.

Blizzarding and Milestones

So, we've had a lot of blizzardish type weather, and with it has come a realization of several advantages to our living situation (only four weeks left, by the way! Hurray!)

1. We have a backup generator, which kicks in if the power goes out--so while 200,000 people lost heat and power, we continued to be cozy and warm and play Rat-a-Tat Cat. We, alas, did not have enough power to watch the Super Bowl. Wait, that's a lie. We lacked the desire to watch or care about the Super Bowl.

2. We have great neighbors, who shoveled out our van in the midst of a blizzard for an ER trip. (Because there's no better time than the middle of the worst snowstorm in 100 years to run a 105 degree temperature).

3. There's not enough room in our fridge for more than one gallon of milk, but we can leave a gallon or two right outside the front door, and the snow insulates it perfectly. It stays the perfect temperature without freezing. (I did have to dig it out under ten inches of snow, though.)

One milestone that we reached this week was that The Boy became our second child to (sorry for the indelicacy) pee standing up (but only the first one to be encouraged to do so.) Exciting times!

Celebrity endorsements

So, I am offering a new feature on my blog, where I will share with you my endorsement of whatever random oddities that I stumbled upon. My promise to you--I will only endorse products that are pure awesomeness. I don't promise that you, too will love the products--after all, they may be a bit odd. But you may . . .



Mmmm. Delicious--not at all bitter, very smooth with a perfect bite, even if it is a PROCESSED cheese (how did I miss that when I bought it?!--at least it's not a processed cheese-food. But seriously, yum.) The kids liked it until they started to feel the heat from the horseradish kick in.

You can buy this at Petco, but it's not just for cats . . .
This size bottle works better than the large gallon size.

A Confession

I substituted in primary today. The teacher called me, I think, because I own one of the squirrels in the class. I had taught the class before, months ago, and ended up with a headache and a sincere desire to check caller id before I answer the phone on a weekend. Today, though, the class was great. The kids were still full of energy, and one particular fairy princess kept dancing around and waving glitter everywhere (OK, that would be mine) but we had a productive and interesting discussion on the plan of salvation. It was fun.

A while ago, I took the kids to the dentist and, upon learning that I had six (!) kids, she picked up her jaw from the floor and commented that I must really like children. I was a little discombobulated. I got the impression that she viewed me as some strange phenomenon who loves to pinch cheeks, fix snacks, and wipe noses. And the the thing about kids is that they're not always likable--either singly or in aggregate. They can be whiny, bratty, rude, rotten, stubborn, spoiled, sloppy, slovenly, ditsy, flaky, too clever, too slow--and on, and on, and on. But if you give them a chance, kids are also pretty easy to love. When you look into a child's eyes, you see the windows of a soul that has not yet learned to close its shutters against such intrusion. Those windows reflect the pure light of Christ, all the more beautiful because it is unearned, unasked for, and that those small souls are unaware of the light within.

So, I don't think I particularly like children, more than any other group. But they are so easy to love.

Go big or go home.

I did this. I made The Boy look like he has mange. It's just been that kind of day.

I had such high hopes for today. I had beautiful plans charted for school, for losing weight, for starting over with the new year. Today was the day I would become a Better Person. And I started off all right--I got out of bed early and made a delicious healthy breakfast for my husband (because that's what Better Persons do). We encouraged all of the children out of bed with soft music and cheery Monday voices and waited patiently as one of the girls stood in the middle of the RV staring at the refrigerator without any shoes on. My husband checked our frozen water pipes and the children slowly poured themselves into the van and even more slowly settled into their car seats and seat belts, and we were suddenly ten minutes late for his commute. And that's when everything started to go terribly wrong.

We ended up at a foreign metro station an hour later. Alan carefully explained how to get home (it was really simple--two rights and a left. Or was that two lefts and a right?) and I carefully listened, filing away the directions in the part of my mind that failed orienteering. I carefully, carefully! followed the directions--and found myself in an unfamiliar part of DC. Three hours later, after a quick jaunt into Virginia and across the Potomac (which is choked with ice, by the way) and back, we were home. Only I had lost my lovely attitude and had stopped at a McDonald's (granted, it was around 10:30--I figured the kids had been in the car for three and a half hours and deserved some sustenance before they started dying of famine all around me. On second thought, that might have alleviated some of the fighting in the back seat. McDonald's is of course, the antithesis to the Whole Food Healthy Eating Lifestyle that we had commenced . . . today). Of course, one kid threw up all over the middle seat. She very thoughtfully moved the books at her feet before throwing up--small mercies.

Back home again, we started Science Month, a month-long foray into the joys of science. Carefully, but flexibly planned, I had found websites, planned experiments, and maybe even some mentors for the kids. I was excited--yesterday. By 11:00 this morning, I was just frustrated. Mandatory math and mandatory clean-up caused contention. Nasty looks and dark thoughts abounded through our small space, slightly alleviated by some computer time for science.

Later, I gave my husband a haircut, trying to be careful (really). His hair now recedes about two inches more on the left side than on the right. Brigham then hopped in the chair and I gave him a haircut--I was all but done (with a really excellent haircut) when the no. 3 attachment popped off the clippers and I shaved a nice chunk of hair right at the top of his head. No hiding it, or getting around it--I had to shave his whole head.

You know the saying "Go big or go home?" Today I just wanted to go home--instead I made spectacular mistake after spectacular mistake. Looking at that poor mangy haircut--I was finally ready to laugh. What a great day to pop in the old memory file!