The Lab

I had to take a glucose test at the lab a few days before Halloween.  Luckily, I had my four youngest with me to cheer me on.  They were fascinated by the whole procedure.  Briellen saved the moment so beautifully that I couldn't keep it to myself.

We tried minimalism, but it's not for us . . .

 So, when we sent our furniture and etceteras towards the States in June, I tried very hard to keep the absolute minimum needed for clothing, feeding, cleaning, and entertaining the family.  We did pretty well--except the one kid who grew out of all of her clothes within two weeks.  And the other kid who grew out of all of his shoes.  And let's not mention the Stomach that went from fitting-in-regular-jeans at 20 weeks, to gargantuan at 21 weeks, which of course called for all new clothes or endless embarrassment (Lucky me, I went for both options, since none of my maternity jeans will stay up.)

Entertainment-wise, I let each child keep One Toy (which generously expanded to about three each), and we went through three reams of paper and six boxes of crayons.  It was a good summer, full of walking in Prague and Paris, and playing in Colorado Springs.  But two days ago, it got cold.  Really cold.  We had light summer jackets and fleeces, but no hats, scarves, or gloves.   And sleeping on a borrowed mattress on the floor for six weeks is not all that it's cracked up to be.

 So imagine the joy when our Stuff got here yesterday.  Sleeping in my own bed--pure delight! (Not to mention, we retired the thrift store quilt with the awesome car-airplane-helicopter design.  It will eventually go on the wall of Brigham's room, but yeah, I sort of felt like a five-year old every night.  Which is not the worst thing ever.)  

Seriously, if you have a family of almost-10, there's probably some little bit of you that hoards things.  Or wishes that you had when the inevitable needs for random things come up.  All of our hoarded stuff is back-books, art supplies, extra clothes.  And our children are zealously breaking open boxes in search of More Stuff.  So, I like the Idea of minimalism, but from now on, we'll pass.  Except when I get those Mom Urges to Purge everybody's junk.  Those are fun, even if they're a little terrifying (for the everybody else, anyway.) 

Na shledanou

Is this really the end?  Praha, we will miss you.  We will miss rohliky, children's parks with climbing towers made out of rope and zip-lines, cobblestone streets, young men who give up their seat on the tram for older women and children, castles around every corner, and good friends.

Every time we move, we find that we are faced with many new things.  Prague has been full of many intimidating new things.  A different culture and a different language have been a challenge, as has the fact that every time our family goes into public, we are a miniature version of the Macey's Thanksgiving Parade.  We are an Event.  

The great joy for me, however, with each move is that we have been able to meet such amazing people.    With each new home, we have had the opportunity to come into the orbit of people who have touched our lives through their faith.  Some have had great trials, some have been an example of how to find beauty in everyday life. 

Prague has been no different.  The people who we have met here have been wonderful.  There are those who have shared their time and talents with us--just because!--and have been an answer to prayers.  And our Prague family, our brothers and sisters in the gospel?  Oh, what faith!  Some of the older members joined during the dark days of communism.  They were baptized in a pond at midnight, to escape the eyes of the secret police.  If discovered they faced extreme hardship and possible imprisonment.  In the current rein of atheism and promiscuity, the younger members have come one and two of a family, standing against the popular culture with faith and joy.  There are myriad struggles, too, but they only make the joy more profound.

Praha, we love you.  Until another day.

Eight is a magic number!

Vilate Update

Vilate was a little warm when she went to bed a week ago Sunday night, but she was a raging inferno by the time she crawled into bed with us sometime in the middle of the night.  She was also hallucinating/ talking in her sleep in a rather hilarious way.  (Ammon, stop biting me!  Brigham, move over!  Both of these fellows were in their own beds, of course).  After both children's ibuprofen-like stuff and children's tylenol, she calmed down and went to sleep.  After that, the morning seemed fine until we noticed that our resident albino had lost all the residual color in her face.  From there, it was a few short steps to the hospital and the rest of our week-long ordeal.

She was admitted to the hospital solely on the results of a finger-prick test.  She was, in fact, so lively during that time, that the nurses indicated that it was just a precaution and she would shortly be sent home.  Unfortunately, her CR-P levels (these indicate levels of infection in the blood) were sky-high, and she was immediately put on an IV and the wild goose chase for the cause of the infection began.  The first course of antibiotics was ineffective, and her CR-P levels rocketed up to even more horrifying levels.  She was put on full-time monitors and her organs were in danger of failing.  

Throughout the last week, she has been pricked, had blood taken every day, had countless ultrasounds and x-rays, contracted a bonus cold from her original roommate, been on an IV non-stop, been constipated most painfully, had to use her little potty in front of strangers, and been poked and prodded by what seems like legions of doctors and nurses (to whom she has been completely rude).  There has still been no Actual Diagnosis of something-or-other-its.

She's beginning to seem more like herself.  Yesterday she scurried under her bed every time a nurse came into the room.  She also turned into a kitten, a tiger, a dog, a dinosaur, and a rat.  I was the littlest bit scared of the rat.  She's also learned how to use the laptop fairly well--also scary.  (Funny little story--the first night we were there, we settled down to watch a movie on the laptop, only the sleeve full of DVDs had disappeared.  We were limited to the two movies downloaded onto the laptop--What's Up Doc and Nacho Libre.  So she chose the wrestling movie.  We got a lot of strange looks from the family sharing her room.)

Alan and I have traded off 24-hour shifts at the hospital, one of us coming home to man the fort, the other one promoted to Head Waterboy for Her Imperial Highness.  (Also, I have memorized much of Barbie and the Diamond Castle.  Although I can't think of an exact scenario when this may come in useful in the future, you never know).  I've come across many deep and teary stories that take place in emergency rooms, etc (OK, so my parents had a subscription to Readers' Digest), and the hospital seems to be ripe ground for spiritual experiences, for A-ha! moments, for changing into a better you.  I'm afraid that in my experience, I was mostly just exhausted. And hungry. (They don't feed the parents at the hospital.  You have to scout out your own food.)  And after a while I caught Vilate's cold, so I was exhausted, hungry, and miserable.   

But tomorrow, maybe (if all the new bloodwork and tests come back negative), just maybe, Vilate will put away her Pet Machine (the IV thingie) and come home.  I'll see my husband for longer than the 15 minutes a day it took us to trade places.  I will get to hold all of my children at once, and feel at peace for the first time in 9 days. 

Tangentially, having been immersed in a Czech-only environment for much of the last week, my Czech is WAY better!  I've had several long conversations where everyone has understood each other.  (Also a couple of notable lapses--I totally didn't get the whole sterile container thing.)

In which no one is locked in a castle

Back in 1945, you may recall that the Czechs were involved in a little kerfluffle that started with a depression in Germany and ended with a madman and WorldWideWar.com.  One particular battle included a heavy American bombing run over a weapons factory in Plzen.  Several US planes were shot down over the town which was later liberated by Americans.  (Luckies--when the Russians liberated towns, they just stole stuff.  Especially watches.)  Every April Plzen hosts several Thank You America ceremonies.

We had the chance to attend one of those ceremonies today (as VIP Super Duper Special People, no less).  It was an incredible experience.  There are three different monuments that commemorate the men who died, and it was very moving to see the people of this small town turn out en masse for something that happened 67 years ago.  There was a small choir from the grade school that sang songs in English--I am certain that I will never hear "My Bonny Lies Over the Ocean" quite the same way again.

The most interesting part of the day, though, was when an older woman invited the children and me to walk through the park.  The park was attached to a small castle.  I learned that she and her husband owned the park and the castle (which is not open to the public, but we did get a private tour).  The woman was warm and gracious, and her story was Fascinating.  The castle had been in the family since the 1200s.  She told us that her husband (who was born in the castle) had a grandfather with 12 children.  You could easily imagine 12 children laughing and running around the estate, hanging out windows, climbing walls and trees.  I have never seen a more perfect layout for a family!

In the 1940s, the family refused to collaborate with the Nazis, and lost many privileges and most of their servants (they had 20 servants, most of whom fed the giant wood stoves that heated the castle).  The Nazis cut down the woods that belonged to the castle and left the family poor and freezing, but not homeless.  The communists one-upped the Nazis, and kicked the family out of the house, turning it into worker dormitories for the Skoda factory (they vandalized it, destroyed it, and painted everything on the inside the most unpleasant {probably with leaded paint, too} color of green that you can imagine).

Mr. Lobkowicz became the lowest of the low.  As a former aristocrat, he wasn't allowed to attend college or to receive career advancements of any kind.  He became a television repairman and a private in the communist army.  After Prague Spring (Russians invaded Czechoslovakia with 500,000 troops due to a bureaucratic misunderstanding involving free elections and the Communist party), life became unbearable in Czechoslovakia.  Mr. Lobkowicz emigrated to Germany, which welcomed him with open arms, and there he went to university, met a lovely French lady, had three children, and settled down to a nice, fairly middle class life.

But then!  After communism fell, all of the properties that had been confiscated were restored to their original owners.  This nice man and his wife became the owners of several large but barely functioning properties, and suddenly faced the prospect of restoring heaps of rubble to something approaching their former glory.  The 12-acre park that we walked through?  She and her husband cleared it by hand.  He did eventually get a machine, she said, but to begin with, it was the two of them, pulling up seedlings and clearing brush.

And contrary to our fears, the missing Brigham was not locked in the crumbling bell tower.  He was down at the pub, using the WC.  (The castle, with two wings, and numerous bedrooms, originally was home to two bathrooms.  That number has been reduced to zero).  

A little linguistic confusion

Vilate: I have two bodies.
Mom: Really?
Vilate: Yes. Right here. (points to her bum)

I wonder what she thought about the nursery lesson on Sunday. The subject? Heavenly Father and Jesus have bodies.

Things That Make You Cry

So there I was in the kitchen yesterday, making a last minute treat for FHE, when my son comes up to me crying. (It is, unfortunately, not unusual for my children to cry about the food I make, but that's life. Have some more mushrooms.) I was, however, making something decidedly un-disgusting. A little concerned about the tears from nowhere, I asked him, "What's wrong, honey?"

"I'm just so happy, Mom! I'm just so happy that you're making cake!"

My son. Brought to tears of joy by cake.

Exciting stuff!

We have our new assignment! We will be leaving Prague with its castles, clean and convenient public transport, endless Nutella and Nutella-substitutes, $10-gallon gas for . . . .

. . . Colorado Springs! Hurray for the west! Hurray for mountains! Hurray for keeping our cold-weather gear and skis! Hurray for transcontinental airplane trips with seven kids (oh, wait . . . )

BYOTP

Let's just pretend that I haven't been around for, oh, like 9 months. (Which coincidentally, is just enough time to bring a li'l human baby into the world, which I DID NOT do.)


We had a broken arm happen at our house this week, due to misuse and abuse of the trampoline. Briellen broke both bones in her forearm, and I took control of the situation . . . like one of the Keystone Kops. I couldn't do anything right, and my poor little girl sat in a chair howling, holding her arm with it's new improved S-bend, while I tried to get my dead phone charged and get a babysitter for the other children.

We finally got everyone in the car with their wide variety of odd clothes (they had all been dressed normally to start the day, but had dressed down before the Calamity). As they all got out of the car, the broken-arm girl started howling again. "I want to go play! Why can't I go play? It's not fair!"

After x-rays, the doctor explained our options. She could have her bone set right away, with no pain relief, or we could wait several hours for surgery with anesthesia. After explaining, he said "I think, the second is better, yes?" I thought so.

She ended up having surgery on her arm and staying overnight at the hospital for two nights. During that time, she was 1. traumatized by waking up from surgery with no underwear on ("Why, why, why would they take my panties?" she sobbed), 2. discovered that jumping in the hall was painful, 3. tightrope-walked on the back of her bed, the couch in the play area, etc., 4. ran up and down the hall repeatedly, 5. learned to draw with her left hand 5. ate "yucky" food (soup, goulash, and rye bread seem to be the mainstays), 6. watched too many movies, 7. read her favorite book on Insects, 8. made friends with her roommate, an eight-year old with a broken leg, 9. played with her toy spider, Janie, 10. listened to her Dad read The Secret Garden (the whole book.)

My husband was incredibly noble in staying overnight at the hospital with her, taking on the nurses and the cultural differences in level of expectations. Our cultural expectations, for example, were that the hospital would provide toilet paper while the nurses expected us to bring our own. (They also expected us to bring our own hospital clothes, combs, etc. I guess most hospitals expect you to bring your own comb--I just couldn't remember to bring one, and Briellen ended up with a notable case of bedhead.)

Meanwhile, I held and comforted everybody at home, but unfortunately let them out of my sight twice. The first time, two people tracked green food coloring out of the pantry and throughout the house (the culprits were pretty easy to spot, though). The second time, I found the bathroom door locked, and discovered that the three-year old was cutting the one-year old's hair. (He didn't scream at all, though. And she really did a very good job, despite the fact that she had somehow gotten SCISSORS.)

I did not win Mother-of-the-Week honors this week, but we all survived. And it was something to feel what a hole Briellen leaves when she's not in her rightful place at the center of our family. When we picked her up from the hospital, Ammon kept reaching out to touch her and chuckling. We all pretty much felt the same way--so glad to have her back home.