provision

Since surgery last week, I have been a bit in the dumps. I'm craving sugar and looking at my pathetic wardrobe thinking it really needs a shot of adrenaline. February get so depressing in MN because it seems winter will never be over. This time of year I'm always sick of everything in my closet and find myself wanting to shop for something new, something fun, something colorful and spring-like. I also always get that way after being PG and nothing fits right anymore.

So, the thought in the back of my mind was something green or orange would be nice as I surfed the net and ate half a bag of black licorice. Somehow, I ended up on a site that sells vintage saris transformed into double-sided wrap dresses. They were $30 each - within my budget. They were very different from anything I've ever owned and both very colorful and fun. I looked at two possibilities and then hemmed and hawed like I usually do when faced with the prospect of spending money. I have the typical Mom problem of being too practical and thinking the money could be better spent on diapers or flour.

That was yesterday. Today, I received a package in the mail from one of my aunts. Inside I found three books on miscarriage, a tin of three dozen homemade chocolate chip cookies (which I immediately sampled) and a small envelope with my name on it. Inside was a handwritten letter and a post-it note that said, "Kara - go pick out a new SPRING shirt or outfit or get a manicure or back massage. Just do something cheerful for yourself when you are ready!" Along with the note was $60.

I immediately started bawling - but in a good way. That God could reach out to meet two desires of mine, neither necessary and both quite frivolous, simply amazes and thrills me. He gave me sweets and clothing and I didn't even ask for them. He just knew that I needed a pick-me-up and he provided it.

Today was a fabulous reminder that God does indeed know the desires of our hearts, the depths of our needs and that he is willing and able to provide them.

I didn't question the providence - I went online and bought the two dresses immediately. And I had another cookie.

learning to share

I learned something this past week. Something I should have figured out years ago, but then, I’m not that quick anymore. Brain cells don’t multiply after age 25. (At least that’s my theory.) I should have known this, but I didn’t until my sister-in-law took all four boys yesterday for the entire day.

I need to share.

Well, let’s clarify that a bit more, because Lord knows there are things that I will never share, like my favorite size 10.5 wooden knitting needles, or my pillow or slobber with a dog.

That being said, there are a few things in my life that I should be sharing - like my kids. Especially my kids.

I need to share them with friends, neighbors, random elderly in nursing homes, grandparents, aunts, cousins and even the lady from church who likes to occasionally take the oldest to musical concerts.

I never quite realized how good it is to share with others the wonderful gift of my kids. (I’m writing that with a not-so-hidden smile, just so you know.) But, I’m also being a little bit serious.

Our youngest child, even though a climber, is simply a delight. He is smiley and as cute as can be since he talks in a language that only his brothers can translate and he will hug anyone. I should be sharing him, and his hugs.

The oldest is responsible and appears in dire need to being shared with his older cousin, because he isn’t getting enough “alone” time with him away from his brothers. He loves to cook and will chop any sort of vegetable needed for supper or brown ground beef. I should be sharing him with his cousin and with anyone who likes to cook with an apprentice.

The next child is tough and tender and an animal lover. He loves just about everyone, even if he’s frowning. He freely gives hugs and “I love yous” and likes to do nice things for people. I should be sharing him with some random stray cat or with Grandma and Grandpa when they need someone to take care of their chickens.

The third boy is the one that I will share the most gladly. He has a certain quality about him that allows him to figure out exactly what it is that will drive his brothers crazy, and then he does it. I would love to share that part of him, especially with his father, whom I’m convinced the genes are coming from anyway. He is a great gopher and fetcher - I should be sharing him with his uncle as he works on finishing off his basement. He can fetch screws, nails, a hammer and just about anything else you ask him to. I could share him with just about anyone who needs a little help around the house because he also likes to scrub floors, wash walls and spray window cleaner. (Any takers?)

Of course, the best part of sharing the best parts of my boys is that I get peace and quiet in the house. And a chance to work uninterrupted on things like pulling out the 85 percent of things in their closet that they’ve outgrown. Or to finally get around to dusting. Or even make bread without random hands trying to punch dough because they think it looks fun.

It truly seems like a win-win situation for everyone involved. There is biblical instruction for this as well. Paul tells us in 1 Timothy 6:17-18 that those who are rich in this world (I’m interpreting that to mean rich in boys) to do good, be rich in good deeds and to be generous and willing to share. (See where I’m going with this?)

I should share my boys because they might actually bring delight to someone’s day, but at the same time someone like my sister-in-law is doing a good deed by sharing her talent of entertaining children. (This is one skill I am ALWAYS in awe of, because I so completely lack it.)

It seemed like she enjoyed having the kids - especially the youngest, who is usually a riot. The kids couldn’t stop talking about spending the day at Auntie Lisa’s and all the cool stuff they got to do and eat and see (Playstation, Jell-O, ice cream at Culver’s and a girls’ basketball game). I had a very enjoyable and quiet day resting on the couch, knitting the entire time. I don’t think I’m exaggerating when I say that everyone was a winner.

I need to share these boys more often.

another boy

Yesterday we birthed our sixth son - he was approximately four inches long and other than his size, appeared to be completely normal. Ten fingers, ten toes and his nose and ears were just starting to form. We named him Leevi Henri, using up the last Finnish name that we've ever liked. Does this mean we're done?

It was a long day and I made some pharmaceutical companies a lot of money with all the drugs I took. Something to induce, something for the resulting nausea and diarrhea, an epidural, then more drugs to prep me for surgery (D&C), then an antibiotic to prevent infection from surgery. One thing leads to another. It took four hours for the epidural to wear off and then I could finally get home.

Amazing how exhausting this has all been, not even taking into consideration the emotional part. But, it feels good to be home. The boys were sad about the whole thing, but more sad that the baby was another boy. Number Two, especially, was feeling bad about the whole thing. Number Three wanted to know why the baby died, which of course no one can answer. But, it was good to tell them about it and even better to see that even at their young ages, they understand sadness and losing something.

Number Two told Hubby later, "It's too bad that the baby in mommy's tummy had to die, because now we'll have to wait two years to get another brother!"

Maybe it's time for a science lesson.

in the wash today...

headphones to a mp3 player
someone's favorite matchbox car (Dale Earnhardt Jr.)

who your friends are

There's a country song about finding out who your real friends are in times when you really need them. Tracy Lawrence's voice is smooth, deep and comforting as he sings a truth that I have relearned the past couple days. (Parts of the lyrics are below).

FIND OUT WHO YOUR FRIENDS ARE
Run your car off the side of the road
Get stuck in a ditch way out in the middle of nowhere
Or get yourself in a bind lose the shirt off your back
Need a floor, need a couch, need a bus fare

This is where the rubber meets the road
This is where the cream is gonna rise
This is what you really didn't know
This is where the truth don't lie

You find out who your friends are
Somebody's gonna drop everything
Run out and crank up their car
Hit the gas, get there fast
Never stop to think 'what's in it for me?' or 'it's way too far'
They just show on up with their big old heart
You find out who your friends are
----
When the water's high
When the weather's not so fair
When the well runs dry
Who's gonna be there?

You find out who your friends are
Somebody's gonna drop everything
Run out and crank up their car
Hit the gas, get there fast
Never stop to think 'what's in it for me?' or 'it's way too far'
They just show on up with their big old heart
You find out who your friends are

It's interesting to see who responds. I've had some major surprises - friends and relatives whom I thought would offer words of comfort through email or phone calls haven't even so much as picked up the phone or made an Internet connection. Friends who I don't consider all that close have reached out, offered meals, to watch the kids, you name it. Some of it one can probably chalk to not being equipped to deal with pain, but most I think is just plain sad. There are those people whom it really would have meant a lot to hear from, those people who I expected to hear from (after all - they're family) and those people who really had no obligation to comfort me, but did anyway - and many did in a BIG way.

I don't expect anyone who hasn't been through a miscarriage to truly understand this, but it should be obvious to most anyone that this is still a tragedy and that I still need God with skin on - human beings who only need to offer a few words of encouragement or to say they're praying or sorry or just say something.

screaming at God

I am sick to death of crying. My eyes burn. My head aches. My kids are wondering why my eyebrows are red. (I'm one of those criers whose face turns blotchy, beet red from the nose up - it's very attractive. Not that I really care how I look right now.)

My friend asked me today if I was more angry or more sad at losing a baby. I didn't quite know what to say, then decided to be honest. I'm more angry. I'm angry that I've now lost a third child. I'm angry that I have conceived seven children, but only know four. I'm angry that I just ran a marathon for the past three months with morning sickness and fatigue, all for nothing. I'm angry that God allowed a miracle to happen (conceiving in spite of condoms) and then allowed it to fade. I'm angry at the irony of it all - that I wasn't exactly thrilled to be pregnant again, but when I finally had come to peace with it and was getting excited about it - then it was taken away. I am just plain pissed and angry. I'm angry that I got used to the idea of having five children, and now don't quite know what to do about that.

Someone once told me that God is big enough to handle my anger, even if it's directed at him. I know the Bible tells us that it's okay to be angry, but that we shouldn't sin as a result of our anger. I'm not sure what the step from anger to sin would be in this case - maybe bitterness, loss of faith, checking out altogether - time will tell on that one. I'm too raw to even think beyond Tuesday.

There are no words that anyone can say to truly comfort a person like me during something like this. People have said anything from "My heart is breaking for you" to "I'm so sorry for your loss" to even admitting they have no idea what to say (that kind of honesty is somewhat refreshing.) The only response I got that even came close to letting me know that the person really understood was when someone told me that I'm walking through fire and it will hurt.

I have little tears left in me anymore - instead my tears are of the silent, screaming kind, bursting out in waves in my head: Why? Why again? I don't get it! This doesn't make any sense? Why do you give things only to take them away? Why did I get pregnant in the first place? Isn't one miscarriage enough? Why won't you answer my questions?

I scream at God as I still feel pregnant and still feel nauseous. I scream at God when my belly still looks swollen and pregnant. I scream because there's a dead baby inside me and I want it out now. I even scream that life sucks and there aren't enough swear words to truly describe how horrible this situation is and how miserable I am.

I hope he can hear me.

losing number three

Yesterday I went in for my first ob appointment and left with a delivery date for my dead baby. At 14 weeks, there was no heartbeat and the baby wasn't moving. I remember looking at the baby during the ultrasound, knowing something was wrong, but not allowing myself to admit it, until it was obvious there was no heartbeat when a flat, green line raced across the screen. The doctor said that most likely the baby had just died because it was measuring exactly the size that it should have been for this far along.

So, my husband and I face the pleasant task of showing up at the hospital next Tuesday morning for an induction procedure that will start labor se we can deliver our fifth child. I don’t anticipate it to be pleasant for anyone involved, including the hospital staff. I also am not looking forward to waiting six days with a dead child inside me. It's morbid even on paper.

I don’t imagine, if you’re a doctor, that it gets any easier to tell a patient that you can’t find a heartbeat than it is for me to face my third miscarriage. You’d think because you know what to expect that the reality would be that much more real. Or that the whole process would be somehow less emotional.

It’s not. In fact, in some ways it’s a bit worse because you tend to look at the injustice a bit more closely and question why this could be happening again. Along with the pain of loss (that is severe and overwhelming itself), you also feel even more punished than you did with the first or second even.

You tend to think, “How many more times can this happen to me?” It’s not just a matter of losing a baby, but now of losing three babies. And, losing two of those babies under situations where miscarriage is so rare that you have to be making some sort of record that of course no one wants to make. Miscarriage occurs very rarely after 12 weeks – after that milestone there’s only a five percent chance of losing the baby.

None of this is comforting because ultimately there are no answers. There is no lesson. There is only a cold, hard fact with no explanation behind it - we lost our third baby - simply, tragic and true.

whole lot of screaming

Every year in February i go a little nuts. Mainly because my kids are going nuts. Three out of four have been crying about something this morning - and it's not even 9:30 a.m.!

Number Three got beat up by Number Two so he's crying and now has a nice red slap mark on his cheek. He's also upset because he put good clothes on this morning and now has to change into play clothes, which of course is the end of the world at 4. (In our house, we HAVE to have play clothes, or the boys would destroy every shred of socks, jeans and tshirts in their closet and I'd have to drag them to activities, Walmart or anywhere else public in rags. I'm too proud to allow them in public looking like the ragamuffins they really are.)

Number Two can't believe that "ocean" sounds like "oshun" and not "o-keen." So, he's crying that words are stupid. He's supposed to be learning about whales and can't pronounce spout either. So, a little exercise on adding the right word to a sentence has been very successful this morning.

Number Four is upset because I won't let him open the tub of "baby" toys. They are only in the house for when we get company with babies (or at least younger than 2), which honestly has yet to happen once since I bought the rubbermaid container to pack away chew toys, rattles and blocks.

The oldest is the only happy one in the bunch and that's just because he found out he doesn't have to go to the nursing home this afternoon to recite his poem. They were supposed to go with friends, but their mom called this morning with 102-degree fever. We passed on the outing.

This is the time of year that I always question homeschooling and wonder why we live in such a dreadful climate. The boys haven't been outside for weeks and I think they're going crazy from either the lack of fresh air or exercise. or maybe from being in close quarters with too much male testosterone present.

My only salvation is that I was smart enough not to let them open all their christmas presents. This afternoon (after they get the lunch put away and all their junk picked up in the living room), I get to be the cool mom again when I let them open a "new" toy. We'll see if that won't dry some tears and keep some fights from happening. I call it my snowy-day, freezing-weather, sanity-saving container.

That way, it won't be my voice added to all the screaming around here.

long john blues

I'm getting tired of wearing long underwear. They bunch up. They twist around. They make your pants tight. And they're not very sexy.

I'm also getting tired of having to wear long underwear. I am not one of those heat box types - I freeze in Minnesota from September to March. Constantly have cold finger and cold toes. These below zero weather is getting very tiresome. I think hubby's getting tired of me coming to bed dressed in - you guessed it - long underwear and a sweatshirt. Poor guy.

I tried to convince him to move to South Carolina, but he just said he couldn't handle the heat. I figure if us Minnesotans can acclimate to temperatures that would make a polar bear hibernate, it shouldn't be too hard to adjust to heat and humidity five months out of the year. He's maybe get to see some skin now and again.

Maybe I'd start shaving my legs again. But, that's a whole 'nother story and is not a pretty sight. Maybe we'll get an early thaw this year. One can always hope.

in the wash today...

a black and white rock
half an army guy (the gun was missing)
a sucker stick

bedtime battles

Tonight, after I got Number Four's diaper changed and jammies on, he looked up at me and said, "My bed time!"

I just about danced a jig, or would have, had I known how. Getting him to recognize bedtime is certainly a good step. He has been our most impossible going-to-bed, staying-in-bed, not-turning-lights-on child. It doesn't help that he figured out how to climb out of his crib at 18 months, or that Dad decided to do away with the crib to make a pint-sized bunk bed for him and his next-oldest brother.

Now, he can simply slip right off his mattress, where before he at least had to climb up a rail and slide down the other side to escape. It probably doesn't help that we have four boys in one bedroom either. Number two and three are usually tired enough that they would fall asleep quickly if baby brother would turn the lights on, dig through Legos and move the kid-sized chairs around. By the time oldest brother's bedtime approaches at 9 p.m., all three are still awake, giggling or yelling at the baby (sometimes both simultaneously).

So much for 8 o'clock bedtime being enforced. I've been so tired lately from painting that I don't have energy to remedy the situation. I can barely suck in enough air to yell "GET TO BED!" There's a mad scramble, jumping into beds and then six minutes later I hear feet moving, toys being chucked around and more giggling.

Apparently it does not matter that the baby recognizes that it's his bedtime. That only means more time to play and dig in his brother's things.

Maybe tomorrow night I'll actually get up from the TV to do something about it. Will keep you posted.

are you lonely tonight?

We Americans are lonely. Or lonesome. Or both. Smart as I usually think I am, I had to pause a minute to figure out the different between the two, then check my dictionary to make sure I was right. (I wasn’t. Not quite.)

Lonely is being alone. Lonesome is a feeling of being lonely. I always equated lonesome with missing someone, but, apparently the two words can be used interchangeably.

What’s my point? Well, other than the English lesson, I recently read an editorial online about how more and more Americans are starving for significant relationships. (Friendship, not romance.)

It almost seems improbable, given that most people have work relationships and plenty of social contacts. However, according to statistics, the average American has just two close friends, down from three 20 years ago. The statistics come from the American Sociological Review, which published a study on social isolation in America. The researchers reported a “remarkable drop” in our confidants - the people with whom we can talk about important matters. Nearly 25 percent of us have no confidants at all and only 15 percent of us have a healthy circle of four or five friends.

So, apparently we’re lonely.

I’ve been there. Now before you question how I can be lonely in a full house...let me just tell you that it is possible. Mainly because little boys are not friends to mothers who desire clean, germ-free, dirt-free homes at least one day out of the year. Little boys bring lots of noise and activity, but not the social interaction craved by this mom.

But seriously...feeling isolated and alone can be a problem, putting us at higher risk for many ailments - physical, social and psychological. It’s no wonder I start to get paranoid if I haven’t heard from my friends via the telephone for some time. Or that I get cranky if I haven’t got out of the house to do more than buy milk and cereal.

I don’t always feel lonely, but it does happen. I sometimes play the victim role, replaying scenarios in my head and feeling like I’m the only one who’s reaching out to my friends. Most of it is hogwash, of course, but it does happen. I can get dependant on feeling needed or wanted by someone (other than my children.)

What’s causing this loneliness and lack of friendships? Part of it could be our inability or unwillingness to commit to relationships. They are after all, work. We need friendships that require something of us - sacrifice, accountability...perhaps even forgiveness now and then. But sometimes we don’t want to give that much. We want the other
person to give and we’ll receive.

Unfortunately, true friendships don’t work that way. It has to be a two-way street. My cousin often tells me, “You have to be a friend to have a friend.” In other words, give before you’ll receive.

Sometimes, we’re afraid to reach out to find a new friend. We might get rejected. There is no real cure for that, other than to rely on God as your ultimate friend, and trust that he can provide you with the human being friends that you need - a Jesus with skin on, so to speak.

Sometimes, we just think of ourselves more than all the other lonely people.

"One wonders what it would take for the church, the new community, the friends of Jesus (John 15), to hold equal fascination for our lonely culture. To draw our culture to Christ, evangelical churches spend enormous amounts of money on slick marketing materials, enormous amounts of creative energy crafting “authentic” worship, and enormous amounts of intellectual capital on postmodernizing the faith. We’re not convinced these strategies get to the heart of our cultural malaise.
Perhaps another “strategy” is in order. What if church leaders mounted a campaign to encourage each of their members to become friends, good friends, with one unchurched person this year?
Oh, but that would require so much commitment, sacrifice and humility!
Exactly."

Sounds like a good challenge to me. I’m pretty sure we all know at least one person who doesn’t attend church whom we can befriend.

It might end up being just the friendship your (or my) lonely heart desires.


–Excerpt from a November 14, 2006 Christianity Today Daily Newsletter Editorial, “Look at All the Lonely People.” Used by permission of Christianity Today International, Carol Stream, IL 60188.”

in the wash today...

KLEENEX!! grr.
need I say more?