A Little Bit of the Crazies of the Week

As I mentioned in the last post, this week has been a bit nutty. I have finally received permission to discuss with you the scene of our FHE this week, which, sadly has set the tone a bit for the whole week and its success thereof.

To set the stage:
Things were a "bit" crazy (as usual) Monday afternoon into evening as we battled the great homework battle and the eating-food-that-is-not-processed-and-might-contain-a- (horrors!)vegetable battle and hunkered down to prepare for the daily return of the daddy and to experience an actual family home evening lesson with all (or most) members present. Since M had skimped on her nap earlier in the day, upon DH's return, we made the executive decision for me to put her down while he supervised dinner clean up and then we would have FHE. While I was changing and nursing M, I began to hear suspicious sounds. These suspicious sounds erupted into actual screams of pain and trauma sufficient that I abandoned the "put the baby to bed" plan in favor of the "run down the stairs and see what on Earth is happening" plan.

What happened:
CE had been sweeping the kitchen floor and had somehow knocked over one of our kitchen benches. Onto her big toe. There was weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth. And blood and hopping around the family room in pain, because CE didn't realize she was bleeding, only that she had hurt her toe and in a traditional toe-stubbing dance, she hopped all over the family room floor, leaving a trail of blood drops and spatters to memorialize the injury and the dance on the carpet. DH had halted the dance and moved her to the tiled floor with a cloth to apply direct pressure to the wound. She was very upset, to put it mildly. I set M down to play and began spot-cleaning the blood trail, thinking that CE was able to sit calmly and apply her direct pressure. Unfortunately, the pain, the blood and the fact that the integrity of her skin had been breached caused a great panic to well up in her and CE began to wail uncontrollably. So, I abandoned floor clean-up and began panic control and more detailed wound assessment. It was ugly. Since this is a G-rated blog, I will not post a picture. But the nail will most likely be lost. At the time, blood was oozing quite freely from beneath CE's toenail and it was slowly turning black and the toe was bruising and beginning to swell. I have never lost a toe nail, but my baby sister has lost several, so I called her in an attempt to distract CE with a conversation with beloved aunt BT. Perhaps that was a bad idea. CE first got to talk to her uncle Shawn, who has also lost a toenail and his "reassurances" that she would still be able to have a pretty toenail with polish and everything even if they had to "drill through the nail to release the pressure" somehow neither distracted nor soothed the maimed CE. BT tried to rehabilitate the conversation, but it didn't go all that well and was marred by more mayhem in the background, the noise of which was such that we had to cut the conversation short.
See, DH was trying to clean up the family room and maintain order with the rest of the family. Someone had crushed and spilled many crackers on the carpet, so DH was trying to vacuum. That may seem reasonable to you and I, but we are not Bam. Bam is apparently cultivating a fear of vacuums for his collection and this wasn't helping. Things were made worse by the fact that M was enchanted by the vacuum and was trying to pull at hoses and poke at things while DH vacuumed, thus leading Bam to scream "don't suck up my baby, don't suck up M" at the top of his lungs, easily audible over the sound of the vacuum.
So, vacuuming was curtailed, more direct pressure was applied and the toe was dressed and elevated. I put M to bed and we had a somewhat subdued, and whimpery (on the parts of CE) FHE.

Now several days later, we are still dressing and splinting the offending toe (in case it's sprained or broken and just because it seems to feel better when we do). CE no longer needs to sleep elevated and it is no longer oozing blood to the same degree (but only in the last day). But she can't wear actual shoes or walk without limping and it is almost certain that the toenail will eventually be lost since it is exceedingly black and ugly. And the boys have been interested in all the authorized use of bandaids, gauze, tape and other first aid supplies from which CE has benefitted. I'm so glad I actually squirrel the stuff away to keep it away from more recreational uses in the event of just such an actual need.

So, my question is, how long until the toenail actually goes? And is the unprotected skin impervious enough to withstand a coat or two of polish as a distracting measure? (once we actually get to that point, of course)

M is One

My darling baby is now one year old. It's been a whirlwind year, to say the least. This week alone was filled with commitments and logistics that left me feeling suffocated. Usually, on Thursday mornings, I drop Bam off at his joyschool class and run errands with M, grateful to do so with a minimum number of children. I had errands that I could have run yesterday morning, but after the suffocating week of "have-tos", I just didn't want to rush or race at all. So, I dropped Bam off and returned home to hang out with Miss M.



Being the fifth of five children, and because she is still so little, I don't get much alone time with my baby that doesn't involve nursing, bathing, changing--all with someone larger and more demanding yelling in the background. But things were different for her birthday. I fed her some bananas and cheerios and played with her a bit before cuddling her down for her oft-short-changed morning nap. I was repeatedly struck by the gift that she is in our family. She isn't a miracle child any more than all children are miracles and she has always enjoyed health safety and general well-being. Maybe because she may very well be the caboose. Maybe because she is a baby girl after 3 rough and tumble boys. Maybe just because it was quiet on a sunny November morning in the desert, but I was filled with such gratitude for this spirit that has been entrusted to me as my daughter.



There are moments when the goodness of motherhood settles upon me just a bit and I feel so tangibly the blessings the Lord has given me and the ones He's trying so tirelessly for me to notice and accept. How lovely for one of those good mother moments to come on my baby's birthday.

Peace preparation and perspiration

I was wandering the halls of an unfamiliar chapel Sunday with a cranky child who had been deprived of her nap in favor of supporting a dear friend on a happy occasion. I looked into the RS room and saw a sign advertising a meeting. This is what I thought it said: Peace through Perspiration. I thought about that for a minute and my brain began to take me on a tour of memories of the peace I have found while running, when I re-read the sign and found that it really said: Peace through Preparation. Okay, far more predictable title, when further on the sign, it seems the meeting was about emergency preparedness. But my mind was off and running. There have been many times in my life as a mother of young children when I have felt specifically counseled by the Spirit to run, to exercise, to be physically active without my children on a regular basis. For me this activity is almost always running. I run regularly with two dear friends (separate friends on different days). I treasure those conversations and the ability we have to vent, gab, brainstorm, counsel and garner/give support. I feel refreshed, renewed and strengthened by these runs, far more than the actual cardiovascular benefits. Oftentimes, especially lately, that run is my only time during the day when I don't have anyone small hanging off me or demanding my time. It is my only purely selfish time of the day. But I have slowly learned (slowly, because sometimes I am not all that smart) that this time feeds my spirit and allows me the ability to be less selfish and more giving to my family and to others--it prepares my spirit, it refills my emotional pitcher as it were with what I need to begin again.
But here's where the preparation part comes in. If I don't lay out my clothes, watch, etc etc the night before and make firm plans with someone else, I am more likely to ditch the run in favor of more sleep (which I will never get because invariably someone wakes up extra early because I didn't). I'm trying to re-work some more exercise time into my day so that I can have a better weight training program because my body needs strength and my self-esteem hates back fat. But I have yet to be able to find the key preparation elements that will help me to make this new activity work into my day and my life. The preparation is off, the peace has no possibility of coming because I am not doing what I need to do.
Amazing what I can get out of a sign read wrong, huh?

On Weaning

For those who are squeamish about breastfeeding, perhaps you should skip this post.

My baby turns one in one week. I have nursed my other children to a year and been ready to wean. Ready to regain my body and a very small degree of autonomy and control over my schedule. The year mark was always important for several reasons: 1) teeth--my babies usually have several at this point and get better at wielding them and I get squeamish about offering up my tender parts to their fledgling incisors and 2) we were always looking forward to subsequent siblings, and weaning a baby at one year, gave me a few months at least before my body would begin growing the next baby (all my kids are 2 years apart).
So, here I sit. M is nearly one. I don't know that there are any more Fears coming down the pike for us, at least none that I can imagine actively planning for at this point. Which means that even though there is definitely the teeth issue, and the desire to burn some nursing bras and regain a bit more control over my body, I don't know that I'm quite ready to wean. And M is not pushing away the mommy milk machine either. I have loved nursing: the ease (for me, I know this is by no means universally true), the portability, the bonding, the specialness that only I can offer my babies. If this is the end of my body filling this miraculous purpose, am I ready to be done? This, of course, gets into the whole question of being done in a more global procreative sense. I haven't yet reached the place where I can shout from the rooftops that we have brought all the children we are bringing to this earth; but I am entertaining the distinct possibility like I have never been able to before. Being done means no new babies, no more nursing, no more creating a new life with God and all the awe and miracles that brings. And I have loved all that.

Admittedly, I am not the best at making proactive transitions; I suppose I have difficulty visualizing dramatic changes in my paradigm. Usually things just happen to me and in hindsight I can wistfully ponder how I could never have imagined then what I would be doing now. But with nursing, I want to know beforehand that the end is the end. For now, I just continue ambivalent about the immediate issue of weaning, unable to even contemplate with any finality the rest of it.

I'm not totally delusional. I know that pregnancy, babies, nursing and everything about getting them here has gone far more effortlessly and mostly according to plan than I have any right to expect. I know how blessed I am, truly I do. I guess I just find myself a bit greedy nonetheless.

Bam turns 3 (unless of course you ask him, in which case he is still 2!)

Bam is his own man. He always has been. If we can keep this up through the troublesome teen years, it will be a good thing. At least that's what I keep telling myself. For now, there are days when it's a good thing to have a strong minded 3 yr old. And then there are the rest of the days . . .
This is him in the midst of his little friend party yesterday. He and his buddies had quite a three year old blowout. There were balloons, and cars and brownies to frost. But, the weather was nice, if a little breezy, and the friends wanted to play outside at some point. Which would have been fine, except that Bam is currently TERRIFIED of wind. That's right. The wind. And breezy counts as wind in his world. Bam's response to wind is to shut any door between him and the out-of-doors. So, not only would he not go outside with his friends, I had to position myself in the door frame to prevent Bam from locking them outside. What a party! But he and they had fun. Because, that is the great thing about 3 year olds: in large part they are so egocentric they fail to even notice anything other than themselves and their own concerns.

This is Bam with his cake: my meager attempts to make the "Lightning McQueen cake" he had requested. When each birthday rolls around, we come to a problem: I have slim to no artistic abilities and my children have such extravagent ideas for their birthday cakes. You might say I could buy a cake. Well, that's when my own prejudices come into play: I really don't like storebought/mix cakes all that much, but I LOVE homemade cakes. So, my children must sacrifice for my lack of artistic merit. But at least it's a tasty sacrifice, because, honestly few things are tastier than a Wellesley Fudge Cake with homemade buttercream icing!

And now to tell you a few things about my little buddy, that I have been saving up for just such an opportunity:

He is a very verbal child, which is fun because he still has that little high pitched baby voice. So when he says things like, "I'm miserable sad mom" when I wake him from an impromptu nap in the car, it tugs my heartstrings. But my favorite was this week. He came to me and gave me a hug, saying "you're my very best girl mom!" I wonder how long I can keep that distinction!

Bam has some unique idiosyncracies. One of which is the "stuff" he sleeps with. None of my children before him have had loveys, blankies or any other kinds of security objects. Bam, all on his own, has them ALL. He sleeps with 1)blankie: a somewhat dingy, (despite washings whenever I can) receiving blanket from his baby days 2) grandma blanket: the quilt his Grandma T. made for him 3) Bob (as in the Builder) and 4) any other things which are important at the moment, ranging from a few of his sister's teddy bears, some rescue hero guys (especially Billy see here) and anything else in which he finds comfort or entertainment at the moment. This stuff is portable. We take it with us on all road trips. But Bam also carts it around for catnapping in front of his favorite programs, whenever he needs comfort and for finding other sleeping locations when his bed just isn't suiting his needs, as here:



As I mentioned before, Billy has been, off and on, a very important part of Bam's entourage. I have several photos of different versions of Billy in our possession, because every time I'm taking a picture of something or someone, Bam sees the need to take a picture of Billy too. So, I thought I could share:

That's Bam. We sure love him, whether he is 2 or 3. And he makes sure there are no dull moments at our house. Yeah Bam!

Hannah and Clone Troopers and Fire Fighters, Oh My!

Halloween was a bit drawn out for us this year. The pictures of the actual day with its trick or treating and other festivities are tied up in my sisters' cameras, since I have succumbed and no longer even get out my camera at family functions where I will likely just be chasing small people. But our ward offered up a trunk-or-treat which, I maintain is far preferable to actual trick or treating for the smallish types because there is less ground to cover, the whole experience can be taken care of in under an hour, ie, before the little types tire of the event and demand to be taken home. The only glitch for us this year was that Bam refused to be in the picture with his sibs and M wouldn't stay in her costume at all for more than about 5 minutes. So here we have the big three:

CE, if you can't tell, is Hannah Montana. I'm thinking we are getting into a difficult area of Halloween for her. She no longer wants to be a princess (besides, I think we already own all the princess costumes Disney makes), but still wants to dress up. CW was "Clone Trooper Commander Cody" and Z was a mere unnamed Clone Trooper. This was a compromise worked out between the two of them that I didn't understand (not following more than the regular plots of the 3 Star Wars movies), but could implement with the help of officialstarwarscostumes.com. Yes there is such a place. And I feel gratified that I talked them out of Darth Maul, since the ward and their school has a no mask policy and I'm not ready for my boys to grow into the creepy halloween costumes place.
And then Bam on his own:

Bam's journey to self-identification in the form of what he wanted to be this Halloween was a bit drawn out. For weeks, he told me he wanted to be "Super Why". I had vague notions of this character as a literacy friendly super hero on PBS. I figured I had plenty of time. How on earth could my not quite 3 yr old pick some character that would be in hot demand? And really, how hotly demanded could a literacy friendly super hero from PBS be? Boy howdy was I wrong! Super Why turned out to be the impossible costume to find of this season. I checked all kinds of websites and it was always out of stock. I finally checked ebay and found a few I could bid on, since Bam was unwavering in his desire for this costume. I set my bidding max at $40, which was $15 above list price and, I figured, pretty extravagant for a 2+ year old's costume. Imagine my surprise and utter disgust when the costume went for $102.50! That's right folks, a 2T/3T costume about a PBS character was purchased for over $100. Luckily, about this time, Bam decided that he would much rather be "Billy" for Halloween. Billy is a Rescue Hero whose character Bam carries around with him on a daily basis and who is a firefighter. Firefighter costumes are everywhere and I found one that he loved for 12.99. Halloween crisis averted.

For a Halloween picture of M, I need my sisters to extract one from their cameras and send it to me, since I didn't get one at the trunk or treat. M went as a pumpkin; the same pumpkin that all my children have been for 1-3 years of their early life when I can still choose fore them. I made the pumpkin for CE and it is still in reasonably good shape. But, M hated it, as all her siblings before her have, so it was difficult to capture the moment.
Now, on to Thanksgiving . . .