Ms. Cathy

A couple of years ago, God dropped an angel in my lap by the name of Cathy.  I needed someone to keep Sam and Wren for only five hours a day two days a month, manage Wren’s Celiac and make sure she did not get contaminated, and help Sammy transition to staying with someone who was not his mom or dad when he had never done that before.  Plus, they could not cost me the kids’ college tuition.

 

Easy to find, right?

 

Not so much, but after much searching Ms. Cathy emerged.  She met all the requirements and even taught my kids Spanish and letters, created art with them, became an expert Barbie dresser while also knowing how to throw in a pirate for Sammy so he could terrorize Barbie.  She even submitted curriculum plans to me every month so I would know what her ten hours with the kids was going to look like.  We struck gold.

 

Then I told her I would raise her pay ever so slightly if she would juggle four kids when I gave birth to the twins.  She said okay, brought me food and all the kids gifts while I was on maternity leave, and refused to work for her other employer on the Fridays she came to our house even though I’m 100% sure she could have made more money. 

 

When my Nanny was visiting a few months ago, she witnessed Cathy in action.  Since that day, anytime Nanny sees me with the kids she starts her sentences, “Well, Cathy holds them this way” or “Cathy got them down for naps without as much fuss” or “Do not EVER lose Cathy.” 

 

My last day as a part-time library employee for the City of Plano is next Friday.  Today is Cathy’s last day with the kids.  We have vowed to stay in touch, have playdates (her two sons are close to Wren and Sam’s age), and not ever completely lose contact.  She’s too important to our kids, too important to all of us.  Still we know we won’t see her as frequently.  Wren has a complete breakdown when Cathy leaves the house and is coming back in two weeks.  I dread her leaving today more than I can put into words.  My guess is Wren will still be weeping on Monday. 

 

We made her a gift to pay tribute to all the arts and crafts she has done with the kids through the years.  I won’t lie, we did not do as great of a job as she would have.  Still, we tried.

 

The transition to being at home full-time is welcome in many ways, but there are hard parts and this will be one of the hardest. 

 

So, to Ms. Cathy for all the love she’s shown my kids and for being someone I could trust them with when trusting was not the easiest thing for me after the shell shock of what we call “the Celiac trauma”.  I couldn’t have asked for anyone better and received so much more than I expected.  You’re a blessing.

How You Know You or Someone You Love Has Celiac

Somehow Celiac Awareness Month scooted by in May, and I didn't post anything Celiac related.  That's a good thing; Celiac doesn't dominate our lives the way it did right after D and Wren were diagnosed.  Of course, we still have to be just as diligent, but that diligence is now second nature, habit.  It feels less like a nuisance and more like just living our lives.

Still, there are moments when you know what you're experiencing is Celiac specific.  I'd like to share a few:

You Know You or Someone You Love Has Celiac When:

1.  You are hungry for toast, but by the time you defrost your bread, broil it so it's not soggy and let it cool so you don't burn your tongue, you don't remember why the bread sounded good in the first place.

2.  You dread people cooking food and bringing it to your house because you have to politely smile and then find another family without 26 food allergies or sensitivies to eat it.

3.  Your grocery budget rivals your mortgage payment.

4.  No matter where you go, you bring your own cooler.

5.  When someone says "animal crackers" or "goldfish crackers", you immediately go on alert as if someone screamed "shark" or "zombie attack."

6.  Your pantry is full of essential oils, homeopathic remedies and vitamins because if the person with Celiac gets sick and needs an antibiotic, that means you have to call the companies who make antibiotics and experience red rage because they have no idea what is in their products.

7.  Everyone in your house is way too comfortable talking about farts.

8.  The people at the very few restaurants you can eat at scream, "Celiac on the floor" and start changing gloves before you even put in your order.

9.  Most restaurant managers in the area hate you because of all the questions you call and ask before you eat at their place.  They really hate that you call back four times using different accents to make sure you get the same answers from each person who touches the food.

10.  When someone who has just had their hands on Wonder Bread attempts to touch your gluten-free food, you slap them, explain basic food manners, then explain Celiac food etiquette including the words, "Your crumbs kill people." 

Happy Celiac Awareness month two months late!

One Year, Four Kids

The twins turned one on June 19th. I really imagined on that day I would cry and reflect and just be overwhelmed by my youngest kids turning one. It’s true that the days are long but the years are short, and this year flew by. However, I was saved weeping for 24 hours by hand, foot, and mouth disease. Actually, I still wept but it was delayed for five days and then mainly because I hadn’t slept in a week, couldn’t remember the last time I showered, and felt like the personal Jersey cow for two breastmilk-crazed zombie babies. And I had watched my sweet girls suffer for days. That was the worst.

Here are some tidbits I want to remember about the first year now that I have time to remember:

Asher and Eowyn are both standing on their own. Neither is walking yet (update:  Asher took her first steps on June 27th.) They just like to balance on their chubby little legs and prepare to lung. I’m not sure if they are preparing to walk or fly.

Both say “da-da” and “mama” and Asher says her own name. Eowyn says “hi there.”

They weigh 16 pounds each, which puts them both in the less than 1 percentile for weight. Whatever. That’s 32 pounds worth of baby for me to carry, so I think God knew what he was doing when he made them tiny. They are healthy!

What We’ve Learned During the First Year of Twins

 

Eowyn, Mommy, and Asher

 

People think we are super parents because we have twins and a large family. We're not. On a daily basis D and I have a lot more opportunities to do it right or screw it up, and having tons of people in close proximity all the time teaches the true definition of grace.

They can fight, which I've read is good because it means they aren't too dependent on each other and see themselves as worthy individuals. They also are okay with being together or in different rooms.

They can love. They still cuddle and hold hands. They twin chatter every morning. They crack each other up.

They are hugely attached to me. I know, aren't all kids attached to mom? But I do have to admit that when I was pregnant, I wondered if they would need me as much or attach to me as thoroughly as Wren and Sam did because they have each other. They attached. They are securely attached!

They are very identical and very much their own people. It's weird because they are generally described as "the most identical twins" anyone has ever seen. Appearance aside, they have some commonalities, some differences, and I view them as distinctly themselves, even though it's hard to tell them apart.

Wren and Sammy were born to be older siblings. I'm not exaggerating when I say I do not know how I would have survived without the older two through this transition. They've retrieved diapers, entertained babies so I could shower, made me laugh when I was sleep deprived, and taken care of each other. Daily I wonder if I'm homeschooling them or if they are schooling me. I think I'm probably learning more, healthier habits from them.

People are still fascinated with twins/big families. I think after this year, I know what it must be like to be tailed by paparazzi. We can't go many places that people don't comment on the size of our family and that we have twins. Most comments are very kind. Some folks take offense to us trying to be fruitful.  But seriously, when you look at all this preciousness, how can you not understand why we have a herd?

 

Asher, Eowyn, Wren, and Sammy

 

 

Based on Circumstance

The twins will be one next month. I have said repeatedly to many people many times that they will be weaned by one for the following reasons:
 

I’ve been breastfeeding for almost six years;

There’s two of them, so it is a bit more work;

I will get more sleep not nursing;

I have had mastitis no less than six times while nursing them, with the most recent bout being last week;

It will increase mobility for the rest of the family.
 

The thing is, Wren and Sam nursed well over the year mark. Still, I thought once I hit one with Asher and Eowyn, we’d move the boobs back into the push up bras and label them “For Recreational Use Only.”

 

 

Then we night weaned. It was a 21 night roller coaster ride of staying up with them, holding them, patting them, kissing them, giving them baby massages, playing the Mozart Lullaby Station on Pandora, but we convinced them to allow me to sleep from 11pm-5am without having to nurse them. That’s six consecutive hours my friends, in a bed, not a recliner, with no one grabbing for my ta-tas. That’s forever in sleep-deprived-parent years. And it’s the first time I have had that much sleep in 11 months.

Apparently, I will give you anything if you let me sleep. I will continue to wear unflattering nursing bras, nurse two kids through naptime, change my whole life plan for sleep. I am a completely different being with a completely different threshold when allowed rest. Without sleep, I am subhuman. Ask any member of my family, or don’t because they have awful stories and in none of them am I awesome.

It makes me think of how much of my behavior is based on circumstance. This is where I wish I was D, because he is solid. He can wake up with a head cold, step on a Lego, and then have a child poo explode through her diaper on his arm and he is the same person as he would be if he woke up and was told he won a million dollars and would live to be 115 years old. He knows where his joy comes from, where his contentment is based, and he doesn’t let earthly circumstances change him.

Me, not so much. I know my joy comes from Christ, but I tend to try to remind Christ that I am more joyful when I am well rested. I am better at serving my family if my eyes are not swollen shut. I am less likely to lose my patience when Wren passively aggressively asks, “So, breakfast, when is that happening?” if I actually feel like standing on my feet to cook it.

I know it’s okay to need rest, but I hate that I display different behavior when I’m tired, because it’s nobody’s fault. D and I have made our choices on how we want to parent, and I wouldn’t take any of them back. We did choose the less sleep option, and knowing we made that choice means I need to take responsibility when less sleep happens. Everyone in my house still deserves my patience, my time, my consideration. I am still a child of Christ, and because He is unchanging, I should cling to Him for my rest, the important soul-filling kind, even when the earthly rest escapes me.

For now, I am still very much a work in progress. That six hour stretch of sleep guarantees the twins as much breastmilk access as they want during the day for however long they want it. When they start the two am whining I am tempted to say things like, “I have cabbage in the fridge. I can dry these girls up by tomorrow morning!” I’m working on it. God is molding me and shaping me in His time, and I am a very slow learner. I’ll get better because He will help me.

The True Test

As a novice parent, I used to think success meant my kids not having problems, complaints, or unhappiness of any kind. I saw all of the above as signs I was somehow failing as a parent instead of the reality of rearing little people in a big world full of sin and enormous feelings.

Luckily, four wee ones in I think I’ve graduate from novice to at least aware I don’t have a clue and okay with it. It’s a good thing, because one of my favorite people ever has had a hard week: Sammy.

Sammy loves all the girls. He dotes on the twins and plays with Wren, even agreeing to play Barbies as long as he gets the naked ones. And she plays super heroes. They have a grand time. However, this week a realization fell on Sam: he is the lone male sibling. It was strange to watch this awareness take place.

Wren: I can’t wait until Asher and Eowyn are older so we can play dolls.

Sammy: They won’t want to play with me. I’m just a stupid little boy.

Me and Wren: What?!?

I have no idea where the phrase “stupid little boy” came from. I have no idea why Sammy would think anyone wouldn’t want to play with him when Asher and Eowyn smile at the mere sight of him walking in their general direction. I have no idea why suddenly it was the most awful thing on the planet to be surrounded by all that estrogen. I am only certain that he became very sad and started asking when Dad would be home.

This would have leveled me in my previous parenting life. I would be playing back every thing anyone had ever said, done, or implied to make him feel this way. Now, I don’t have to obsess over that. He is loved, told he is loved, shown love. I’m sure of it. I’m also sure he is having some big feelings about where he fits in as a boy, a middle child, never the first to do anything and not the baby. He doesn’t have a built in bestie like the twins and he can’t go to AWANAS like Wren because he’s not old enough. I think he’s having a very stuck in the middle moment. Add to that he’s the only one without ovaries when dad is at work, and I think it got to be too much. This was bound to happen with the immense amount of change we’ve dealt with in the last year, and it’s okay.

In the past, Sammy stood the chance of just fading when he was sad. Sometimes he would tell you, but as someone who does not particularly look for conflict, he’d more than likely just do his own thing and wait until you realized he had a need. I’m proud he said what he did so at least we can work on fixing it. A man date with daddy was ordered stat, tonight in fact.

Now I know that most of our parenting will probably be judged by our children on how well we managed issues, not on never having them in the first place. How do we deal when someone needs some special time? Do we prioritize the needs of everyone as best we can? When conflict or problems arise, how is it handled? Do we follow the principles we say we believe? Do we reflect Christ in our behavior?

This is the hard part, but I think it’s the part where the good stuff can happen. The good stuff tonight includes burgers for the boys (they are grabbing take-home fries for the girls who have teeth to eat them!) and some quality time doing whatever Sammy wants. It won’t fix everything. It won’t mean we never have another issue. But it means Sammy shouldn’t have a doubt that our little boy is precious, that we will stop the world to let him know that. These girls he’s surrounded by will break down walls for that kid. His dad will do the same. And when he needs us, we are always there. I hope that’s something my kids say about me when they are grown. She may have been half-dressed, never wearing make up and generally a mess, but she was there, never a question. One can hope.

Family Illness and the Invention of Hooter Shooters

Five out of six of us are sick.  Sammy is good, so far.  Maybe it's his habit of running in the bathroom while I'm drying my hair and demanding I blow dry his bare butt.  Maybe it's because when you get pneumonia at 10 days old and survive, illness just doesn't mess with you anymore.  Either way, he's holding steady.

No one is in awful shape.  It's a head cold with tons of annoyances like snot, watery eyes, sneezing, coughing, and for Wren, fever.  D and I have the added issue of all these sweet wee ones needing us to care for them when we don't feel like caring for ourselves.  Parenting teaches you what it means to selflessly serve others, and we're lucky to have these sweet peas to serve.

I'm amazed in such a short time how much my reaction to illness has changed.  Here's a quick outline of where it's been in the past:

Pre-children:  Getting sick means a few days off to sleep, read books, drink hot chocolate
After Wren's birth:  The sniffles means crying for days because I'm sure she's going to end up in the hospital.
As Wren ages the first year:  I laugh at my prior self and we just deal with it when she gets sick.
Ten days after Sammy's birth:  CRAP!  All my fears have come true because my kid has RSV and we are in the hospital!
Two days later:  Well, I had no idea what fear was because now my kid has pneumonia, and it had never occurred to me to actually fear that happening to a kid who isn't even two weeks old.
Since then up until maybe a year ago:  Please just don't ever let anyone get sick again!!

Now that we are in the throes of almost everyone being in some state of yuck, I have an odd peace.  I know it's because my spiritual life, my walk with Christ, is in a much better place.  I've matured a little, I really believe God is sovereign no matter what happens in my life.  I'm praying for healing and doing what I can on my end which has included:

>  drinking apple cider vinegar;
>  all of us taking enough vitamin C and D to qualify as drug addicts;
>  amping up on probiotics;
>  obsessive hand washing and giving air hugs, which did not work because we still passed it around;
>  hooter shooters

What are hooter shooters, you ask?  Or maybe you don't because the name alone makes you sure you don't want to know.  Well, stop reading if you don't want to know because I'm about to tell you:  breast milk in a shot glass.  I gave Sammy and Wren hooter shooters this morning because I didn't want to give them a big glass of breast milk in case they freaked out and wouldn't drink it and then no one else could have it because of germs and then breast milk would have been wasted which would have resulted in me completely losing what is left of my mind.  So, hooter shooters.  They were a success.  Wren had two.  Sammy wanted the milk from the actual spout and got straight up rejected because he has been weaned for a year and I don't even have a third boob and the twins are dominating the two I have.  Nursing is all infants with the sniffles want to do.  And apparently it's all almost-three-year-old-weaned-for-a-year-likes-warm-air-on-the-butt-first-thing-in-the-morning toddlers want as well.  Sorry about his luck. 

Anyway, we are good for now.  I'm confident illness has hit us now so we can be completely well during the holidays.  This is like a test for our immune systems.  We will pass; we will prevail.  How could I be wrong?  I'm the genius behind hooter shooters.

Rebirth

My mind is everywhere, and I am reading Blue Like Jazz, the book of Romans, I am trying to absorb so much and plot my thoughts; it's great and heavy and freeing, and I think I understand how people can make a living of reading, writing, thinking.  Not much laundry would get done, but it'd be a good life.  Maybe not getting paid for it would stink, but still.

I have wanted to write, and I probably will still keep up with the blog at some level, but lately I've felt I just needed to absorb and listen and focus on something outside of my own voice.  I tire of my own voice, my own self-centeredness.  I tire of it easily lately.

What made me write today is that Sunday was hugely eventful, and I don't want to forget any of it.  Wren  entered into a relationship with Christ. 

We were home Sunday after church when a song came on the radio talking about lifting up your life to God.  Wren asked what it meant to lift your life up, and I said it meant to have a relationship with God, give Him your life, praise Him.  This wasn't a new concept to her.  She's been asking questions, thinking hard, dissecting and putting back together for months now.  Her response on Sunday surprised me though.  She started bawling and said, "I don't think I can do that."

Me:  Why not?

Wren:  Because of the sin.  I have a lot of sin.  I just keep sinning, and I know Jesus died for my sins, but I keeping killing Him.

If you will remember, miscommunication, or rather adults communicationing something and kids not understanding it, is not new in our house.  Wren previously thought because Jesus died on the cross we were all just waiting to be crucified.  She was surprisingly okay with it.  We are still working that one out since every once in a while she'll still say, "Man, I want to see Jesus, but that cross thing, ugh" and D and I explain that she probably will not be crucified for real, so maybe don't keep telling her little brother that after the nails are hammered into your flesh, you get to see God.  Poor Sammy, he was confused enough last week when he refused to go number two for four days.  We thought he was constipated.  Turns out when D was telling him to "stop holding it or he would get sick" Sammy thought he wasn't supposed to hold onto the toilet while he made number two.  That scared him because he's not a fan of free falling into the toilet having done it a couple times, so he just quit pooping.  Words have power, and I think explaining things you wouldn't imagine you'd ever have to is probably 99% of parenting. 

Anyway, we explained to Wren how Jesus died for our sins once and for all, how Wren's relationship with Jesus wouldn't mean she never sinned again, but she'd have the Holy Spirit within her, she'd always be forgiven, she'd grow more like Christ because of the relationship they would have.  We do die to our old selves when we enter a relationship with God and get a new heart that wants to be more like Him.  She wanted that.  Broken down to its simplest form, the true beauty is beyond appealing, and she understood.  She came to the Lord like a little child. 

Having kids is heavy.  Being a disciple for Christ is huge.  I spend so much time fearing I'll say or do something wrong, misrepresent the Lord.  I'm sure I have many times.  Having kids added to that fear, but Sunday was a change for me too because talking to Wren about God, about what she already knew and what she had questions about, made me see the true simplicity of it, how falling in love with Jesus makes you want to please Him, seek Him, how true love does that.  It's the easiest message, the one about someone else paying the price for me so I could spend my life in a love relationship serving God and others.  Love, pure love.  I hope I never find a way to make it harder than that, and I hope Wren doesn't either.