Weird...

Tomorrow is the anniversary of the day we lost the twins. It doesn't feel like it was a year ago already,  kind of expected my post partum depression to be twice as bad, because I was lost the twins in October, and was pregnant again by December. I am thankful that it really hasn't materialized yet. I have been weepy today, but that doesn't surprise me. I get weepy at the thought of those little boys, even a year out. It's just sort of a weird place to be. I am so, so thrilled that I have my Priscilla Grace, and and thankful for her healthy pregnancy and successful VBAC. At the same time, I think that if we had had our twins, I wouldn't even be pregnant with her. I wouldn't have her at all. Maybe not ever. I know God wasn't asking me to choose, and that I don't have to choose. I have my babies in heaven, and I have my sweet Priscilla Grace, here, in my arms.

We've never even gone to see where the boys are buried. I want to, but I kind of know that will bring on a firestorm. I just don't have the energy to deal with that. I love them, and I want to think of them as the sweet babies they are, at Christ's feet, listening to the angels sing. So, tomorrow, instead of going to the cemetary, I will take my baby over to church for a while, and buy some flowers to lay at Our Lady's feet. I'll pray that George and Gabriel are watching over us, and being our own little intercessors, and that they are happy that we have Priscilla Grace. I'll tell them how much I love them, and all our babies in heaven. We have six in heaven, what a crowd to welcome me when it is my turn. God knows perhaps, that I will need babies even in heaven.

Twizzlers, Processed Meats and Lemonade...

At nearly 19 weeks I am in full swing with all my weird cravings. My sweet husband puts up with them, indulges them a little,  and discourages them when necessary. It's often necessary.

Meg was caramel apples and spaghetti. When I say spaghetti, I mean, three times a week, spaghetti. My mom was very patient with this, and obliged me. The rest of the family still has a hard time choking down spaghetti, over 20 years later, and a family dinner of spaghetti and meatballs never occurs where someone doesn't mention my obsession.

 Kenzie was this peanut butter ice cream that was so good, it made you wanna slap your mama (I have never used that phrase in my life, but that's how good that stuff was!)  and canned Chef Boyardee (gross - but my Grandma Karcher had just died, and it so reminded me of her).

Jonah was all about lemon pie, but my usual need for some sort of pasta left me instead with a severe aversion to anything with red sauce. Jenna was maraschino cherries and barbecued pork ribs. As I have mentioned, we live in an area where there are no stores open late. This meant that any late night cravings, such as the cherries would have to be taken care of by someone who had access to a grocery store. I actually made my sister go buy me maraschino cherries and take them to my husband's work so he could bring them home to me at the end of the night.  I have no idea why.

Ah Kolbe - the Mexican restaurants probably quivered with a mixture of fear and anticipation of a big check when I frequented them... and the cole slaw - still makes me crave it when I think about it.

Luke Christopher wanted raw green peppers and Taco Bell. Prior to this I had never eaten a raw green pepper in my life - didn't like them cooked, either. I still totally love them, though. Thanks, Lukey!

Benjamin, the little darling, had me running to Dairy Queen on a nearly daily basis for a banana cream pie blizzard. I decided that was okay because I also couldn't get enough salad. Caleb - oh my. The bridge mix addiction was BAD. Then I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes and no longer cared what I was craving. I ate mostly salads, with enough protein to keep me from being nauseous, and BANANAS like crazy. Often accompanied by sugar free jello and peanut butter, which usually is one of my aversions.

My sweet little twins, I don't remember if I craved anything with them. I am not sure I was even paying attention to that - I was so nervous and nauseous the whole time, I don't think I had cravings. This baby however, has made his or her preferences loud and clear. This child wants meat. Not lean turkey or anything healthy. He/she wants pepperoni. And pastrami. And capicola. Kielbasa!And any other spicy processed meat you can think of. I was watching Diners, Drive Ins and Dives last night. Guy was eating an all beef hot dog topped with pastrami, sour crout, and swiss cheese. I was salivating. I had to make Doug change the channel before I sent him out (which, here would mean to a whole other town where stores stay open past 9pm) and get me the stuff to make that sandwich. Oh my...I am still thinking about it. How twisted is that, though? Processed meats? I mean, I have nothing against them ordinarily. I certainly would not say I have ever been hungry for any of them before, though.

The other very horrible craving has been apple fritters. Our grocery store makes the BEST APPLE FRITTERS IN THE WORLD. And I am in there almost daily. To my credit (ahem), I have only allowed myself to purchase them twice in nearly 19 weeks of pregnancy. And I can't eat the whole thing - they are huge. But so, so delicious. They have loads of apples and plenty of cinnamon. The outside is all crispy and the inside is all soft and wonderful. You want one now, don't you? They are so good, and I have always loved them, but I have never had dreams about them before.

I just wrote an entire post about food. I am not sure that even pregnancy is enough cause to write and entire post about food, but you will have to forgive me.

Because I like to drive myself crazy...

    Or am overtly morbid, or just like to cry, I am not sure which; I decided to take a drive through the cemetery where our little twins are buried at the  Memorial to the Unborn. It's a big, old cemetery right next to the hospital. I didn't realize quite how big it was, because I thought I could just drive right up and see the place where the hospital buried our little boys. As I drove through, I realized it was almost dusk and I wouldn't have a whole lot of time to look. I drove around and around, sure I would be able to spot the Monument to the Unborn. The place is so huge, and it was getting darker and darker, so I, being me, started to panic.

Perfectly reasonable response, right? Well, for me it is. It's sort of a learned response. When I am pregnant, I often have nightmares that I can't find my baby. When Caleb was born, they whisked him away to another hospital and I wasn't allowed to go with him. I had the same nightmare/feeling all the time I was away from him.  When we found out we had lost our twins, I had that same nightmare over and over.  It actually just stopped a couple (mostly) a couple of weeks ago. Driving through that cemetery and not finding where the babies were buried just brought all that scary/sad/traumatized feeling back. I often say I like to torture myself. I cannot imagine any other reason I had to go traipsing through a cemetery that was about to close, trying to find something when I hadn't the first clue where it might be.

 I left because I was afraid they would close the gate with me still in there. I just wanted to sit where they were for a minute. They would have been born by now. The doctor told us they would take mono/mono twins by 35 weeks - get them out where they would be safer. I just wanted to be with them for a few minutes. I know they are not really here. I know where they are, but that doesn't stop the feeling, in the middle of the night, or afternoon, or anytime, from sneaking up on me and making me feel desperate to get to them. I know I am dwelling. I don't let myself, very often. I haven't even looked at their pictures in weeks, because I don't want to cry. I just stopped. I don't want to stir it all up. But, knowing they were recently buried, and that had they lived, they would be in my arms by now...I just wound up at the cemetery on my way home one day.

Someone said something to me the other day, I can't even remember what it was now, but it made me think, "Well, if that hadn't happened, we would never have had the twins." It made me realize, that even with losing them, even with all the sadness, I am still so very grateful they were ours. Even though it was brief. Even though the Lord had other plans for them. They are a blessing. Our family was blessed by their presence. We were even blessed with their loss. A friend told me they were a different kind of blessing, and at the time, though I believed her, I didn't feel it yet. All I felt was loss. Now I feel it. They were beautiful. They were here, they are our very special intercessors in heaven, whom we ask for prayers every single night.

Thank you, Lord, for the gifts our sweet George and Gabriel. Hold them close for me, Blessed Mother, until I can hold them myself. Amen.

What I Want For All the Mommas

Today was a weird day. It was the March For Life in Washington DC. The March remembers the 1973 Roe vs. Wade Supreme Court decision that effectively made abortion legal. My 14 year old daughter was at the March. She was our family representative this year. So, I spent the day watching the March, tweeting and texting her, and trying to get the media to pay attention, or forgoing the media altogether, get the word out via social media.


Interspersed with all of this was my usual day of schooling and mothering. I was privileged to spend most of the day with my five sons, aged 13 all the way down to 2. Here are a couple of the conversations I had with them today:

Benny, age 4: "Momma, Does God laughs because you and I are in true love and He is happy about all us kids?"
Yes, my Benny, I believe He does...

Later, when we were doing our teeth-stories-prayers-bedtime snuggling Benny says; "Mom, are you snuggling my brain?"
"I sure am. I love your brain." says I.
"Well, that's horrible! Stop it! I am trying to focus!" (he was telling me stories).
"Mom, know what I am gonna do when I grow up? I am going to be a race car driver and win lots of money, and buy a sucker!" I love a boy who knows the value of a dollar.

All this time, Yebbi was rolling all over us, intermittently barking and counting "one, two, fee, four!" or yelling "ninjago!" Ah Yeb, when will you learn to talk? Or at least do more than bark?

Luke, age 6, was at his lego table, building away. He brought one of his hero factory/ninjago creations over to me and says, "Mom, this is a girl. Know how you can tell?" he says to me with a sly, conspiritorial look on his face. "No, how?" I feel compelled to ask, even though I am a little afraid of the answer - this boy likes women, ya'll, and he's observant. Or so I thought: Luke grins and points to the two round, but up and down shapes on the front of the figure. "Bra!" he whispers to me so the babies don't hear him. A minute later he is back with a boy hero factory/ninjago creation, and the two figures are held together in what looks like a pretty risque embrace. Luke says to me, again in that conspiritorial whisper, "Look Mom, they're kissing. Isn't that romantic?"  He had me laughing as I remembered days of Barbie and Ken, and all the "romantic" situations we had imagined them in, however his tone was actually trying to find out whether his little lego creations were being romantic. He was on a fact finding mission! My beautiful, sweet, ding dong, woman loving boy. He is going to get his heart broken plenty, that is for sure.

This day had it's challenges, not the least of them the lack of coverage of the March by the media. One of the goals of Catholic social media this weekend was to try and get people to understand why the abortion issue is so important. This, these silly moments in my day, the thrill of realizing how funny, sweet, loving, and hilarious my children are...the absolute joy that zings through my body when they say something funny, or declare that we are in "true love", or even step on my head when I am trying to listen to brother's stories...this. This is what I want for every momma. This is simple, basic mothering. It doesn't cost a thing. This loss of it, though. The loss of these moments is something you can never get back if you throw it all away. No one's life is perfect, but every life is worth living. Every little moment of that little life is a treasure. Abortion robs a mother, a child, a father, a family of all of these little moments. It can even make the moments that come after so bittersweet. Please, if you are considering abortion, or know someone who is, email me, or someone else, or contact a local pregnancy center for help. There are all kinds of choices. The best choices will never rob you of the joy of your child.

What Do You Mean By "Choice"?

I always cringe a little when I hear the word "choice". I'm sure you can guess why. It's been hijacked by the pro-abortion crowd. They toss it around like so much laundry, thinking it will change or somehow make okay what they are really talking about. They talk about a woman's right to "choose". Choose what? Life for their child, and the joy in knowing you brought a life into the world and gave him or her the best shot you could, whether by parenting the child, or finding parents. Or, choosing to kill the baby, and living forever with the knowledge that you are responsible for your child's death. That you made the choice to end your baby's life.

We live in a country where choices are abundant. Options are overflowing. We are blessed beyond any other nation on Earth. So, why does the word "choice" rankle my nerves so much? It's because I know that women here have so very, very many choices. There are so many options for an unexpected pregnancy. Killing the baby shouldn't be an option. There are people who will help the mother raise her child, there are people who will adopt the baby, the mother has resources. She need only call the closest Crisis Pregnancy Support Center to find all the answers she needs, including help with a place to stay, prenatal care, maternity and baby clothes, and so much more. In most states, a mother can even drop a newborn off at a police station, hospital or fire station with no consequences. Choices...

I'm a mom. I've been one since I was 19 years old, and found myself unexpectedly pregnant. I was a freshman in college, and I was supposed to be the "good, Catholic girl". I hid my pregnancy from my family for five months. We were going to tell everyone as soon as we had a "plan". We never considered abortion, but we had a really hard time coming up with this "plan". We were going to elope, get an apartment, go to college. We just couldn't quite figure out how to do all that with no money. So, once my pregnancy started getting further along, I called our local Crisis Pregnancy Support Center. The women in the office were amazing. They didn't lecture, they didn't act shocked or disapproving. All they wanted was to help. They were amazing. The counselor I had offered to come with me to tell my parents. They offered us free childbirth classes and anything else we needed. They offered me a variety of choices, including helping me find adoptive parents if that was what we wanted, helping us find a place if we needed it. They were willing to do whatever it took to help us have a healthy, safe pregnancy and baby, and LIFE. They actually called me every few weeks for YEARS to make sure we were doing okay and that we didn't need anything. I was very lucky. After the initial shock, my whole family rallied around us with so much love and support. We never needed the services provided by the Crisis Pregnancy Support Center, but to this day I am grateful to know they were there, and that the counselors there truly love and care for the families they serve.

I get so tired of the argument that pro-lifers just want you to have the baby, and once you say you will, they move on to the next pregnant person. The pro-life community is all about choices... making good choices so you can provide a good life for you and your baby. There is help for any situation. All you need to do is ask for it.

I have said this in past posts, and I truly mean it. We would care for a child until the mother was ready. We would help a mom and her baby anyway we could. We would help a mother find what options work for her and her baby, so that she need never have to live with knowing that she took every choice away from her child.

Tucking Them In...

     I know I already posted today, but I still have so much rolling around in my heart and in my mind. If you have been here before, you know that we lost our little twins back in October. One of the blessings I have found in this has been that I have spent the time since treasuring these little ones even more than before. More cuddling, more savoring. More sniffing of necks slathered in baby lotion. More hugging the teenagers, more patience with the tweens. Kolbe has even been letting me hug him. He probably knows I need to.

     I was  frustrated with nearly everyone in my household today, most of all myself. I was anxious, and irritable, and just needed a little time to escape. Once I did that, I was able to come in, make dinner, sing with Kenzie,  play with babies. I know, my 2 year old, 4 year old and 6 year old aren't really babies. But, they are my babies. The tail end of this tribe of mine. I watched my big boys eat us out of house and home, and my Jenna quietly reading, her nose ever in a book. Eventually we went upstairs for our bath-lotion-jammies-teeth-stories-prayers-bed routine.

     I took a minute, as I was tucking in those wee small bodies, after listening to their sweet little voices praying the Angel of God prayer, asking God for blessings on those they love, with their teeth all shiny, their hair combed just so, and smelling like heaven itself - the goat smell briefly held at bay (thank you, Johnson&Johnson), and I felt that  gratitude. That sheer wave of gratefulness that spreads over you when you know they are here, they are happy, they are safe in your arms, and that for the time we have on this earth, they are yours. Thank you Lord, for the blessings of my children. Please let me always remember this moment, when they are still small. Thank you also for the sweet little saints awaiting us in heaven. My George and Gabriel, Matthew, Jordan and my other tiny ones. I love you all so much.

Thankful for the Joy...

Losing our sweet little babies took me to a dark place. I was so, so very sad. Heartbroken. Far more heartbroken than I have ever experienced. I have lost babies before, ended relationships. But never before have I been this heartbroken. I felt so much anger. I felt like no one was hearing my prayers.

It has been a little over a month now. I am still sad, still cry so easily. Any emotion at all brings the tears to my eyes. My husband. Oh my. He and I have come through all of this so very much in love. It's weird, how something so painful can bring about a level of love and closeness that is astonishing in it's strength. I don't quite know how to describe it, but I have been marveling at it, and reveling in it. I am so grateful for it, because it has brought so much joy back into my heart. I am so grateful for him. Thank you Lord, for the gift of my husband.

The kids are sweet. They were sweet the whole time, but I was having to really dig to feel the joy they usually bring me. It's back. Some of it is a little bittersweet. My Yebbi - the babies really looked like him. The shape of his head, his legs, they will allow me glimpses of what our little George and Gabriel would have looked like. My Ben has been sick this whole time. Usually this would have made him extra grumpy, but I don't know if he is picking up on the warm, sweet vibe running through our house, but he has been pure joy. Sweet, kind, huggable. Wanting to snuggle and be held. He, Yeb and Luke have been full of funny things to say and I have been savoring each and every one. I am so glad to be "back"! I love being in love with all these kids. I love tucking a little boy under each arm to read stories and say prayers at night. I love how smart and funny Kolbe is. I love how much Jonah loves his brothers and spends so much time playing with them. I love how he likes to stand close to me, to prove how tall he is, and that he is gaining on me rapidly. I love how my Jenna is such a help to me, and loves to chase after Yebbi and grab him up for a snuggle. My Kenzie Rose, she is like my right arm. We sing in the kitchen, in the car, doing laundry. It is so good to want to sing with her again. Thank you, Lord, for the gifts of my sweet children.

Our little house. I was mad at it. I can't really tell you why. I think, perhaps, I have always looked at it with those rose colored glasses. We moved here 10 years ago. It was the first house we purchased together. I loved it. I mean, really, really loved it. It's an 80 year old foursquare with some arts and crafts influences. It needs plumbing work, wiring, paint, and lots more. But to me, it was this little haven where we were safe. Where we were raising all these sweet little babies. Somehow, when this happened, my house bubble burst. I felt like the house let me down somehow. I know it doesn't make sense, but I didn't care if we moved, if I never saw this house again. But, my love for this place, the joy I feel here is starting to come back. I know a house can't keep you safe from life, but up until this point, I really felt like it had. I love our house again, and I am so glad. I don't love the stickiness, or the mess, or the plumbing, but I love the arches, and the french doors, the solid cherry woodwork, the huge windows that I cannot bear to cover completely, as they let in so much light. I am happy we live here, again. Thank you, Lord, for the gift of a safe and happy home.

I am so thankful to be able to feel joy again. I know I will never get over losing my little babies, but I will be happy, feel joy. Even feel joy in knowing that I have completed the mission of getting my children to heaven. I have six children in heaven, waiting for me. I will do everything I humanly can to make sure the rest of us get there, too. I love you, my little ones. I will meet you someday. Thank you for the joy you brought me, so very briefly, while you were here. I am grateful for the joy you feel at the feet of Jesus, for all eternity.

A New Way of Thinking...

When I was pregnant, my mind constantly revolved around how we were going to move bedrooms around for our twins, how many nursing bras I would need, whether we would be painting the bedroom that would be the nursery (for girls) or just dress it up a bit for boys. Doug and I had a constant but friendly battle over names going, and I would have to say that a good 70% of my thinking revolved around babies, doctors, pregnancy, nursing, or some other baby related topic.

Actually, I have been either pregnant or nursing or both for the last nearly 16 years. All of it. No breaks in between. To suddenly have only me physically dependent on my body is weird. I feel like I am having a bit of an identity crisis. If I go to take a pain reliever, I stop and think first, and then realize, I can do whatever I need to, without consideration for how it will affect a wee one. To some this might be welcome, but it just makes me sad.

I need a new way of thinking about my life, my own body, and the way the future is stretching out in front of me. We've had so many miscarriages, and this last one is beyond anything we have gone through before. My husband is staunchly in the "no more babies" camp. I wish I were. Six months ago, I would have told you I was in that camp too, and meant it. But, six months ago, I was still nursing our baby, Yeb. Six months ago I was tired. Six months ago, I hadn't just lost my twin boys. I know that another pregnancy would not bring back my boys, but it might fill some of the ache. It might (I have long since learned that a pregnancy does not necessarily mean a living babe in arms) fill my aching arms, and it might help the tears stop. I know that this is a knee jerk reaction to loss. I have had this same reaction every time we have lost a baby. The urge to be pregnant, hold a baby, nurse a baby comes on so strong. I think I am driving my poor husband crazy. I know he understands, and I am also aware that he considers it a normal, though irrational reaction to loss. He is waiting for me to get over it, patiently. He gently reminds me of why it's not a good idea to have any more babies (aside from the fact that he turned 49 yesterday). But, BUT, BUTTTTTT. I am full of "buts". But I want a baby. But Yeb is still so small that it won't be that big a difference, but I have wanted a little girl for so long. But I am so selfish.

I know what my husband, who has been by my side for all of the last 16 years of babies, miscarriages, emergencies, sick babies, and so many other things, wants. We've been through a LOT. Not as much as some, but still... a lot. He needs to be able to be his age a little. Not a new dad every 2 years or so. But that isn't even why. He thinks I have been through too much. He thinks we've pushed our luck too far, too many times. 16 years, 12 pregnancies, 7 babies. Three babies very ill at birth. It's been hard, and scary. And incredible. It's been our life. I need a new way of thinking about life that doesn't mean babies... and that's hard for me. I have dreamt of nothing but having babies since I was about 12 years old. I just wanted babies. A couple of times I have gotten to a point where I thought I would be comfortable if we never had another baby. When I got pregnant with Luke, I was so tired, and I was a little dismayed. But, he was Doug's (and God's) idea. He wanted another baby - and so we had our Luke. Then, after Yeb - being born c-section and sick, we thought that would be a good time to be done having babies, but I never really ruled it out in my head. I had dreams of a sweet little pink bundle. Those dreams are hard to give up, even though I know that we have been abundantly blessed. But, I guess it's time. My body has become more of a death trap for a baby than a cozy place to grow. We are getting older, and we could even have grandchildren in the next few years. It's time to close this chapter and move on to the next one. I'm not ready. I still dream of that bundle of sweetness. I still want babies. I guess acceptance of this new phase of life will come in time.

If you are one of my babies reading this, I want you to know this...all the heartache, all the scares, all the hospitals and doctors and losses...every second I got to hold you, nurse you, love you. Each and every single second of that was worth all of this.

A Bit of Normal

When it first happened, everyone wanted to bring food, and tried to surround us with love. I just couldn't handle that. I didn't want anyone to act like anything was really out of place, or really wrong. Our moms brought food, and my sister-in-law (my mother in law fed my kids while we were in the hospital, thank goodness, and my mom brought so much food, it lasted all weekend!). Some sweet friends from far away sent a gift card to a favorite local restaurant (I still can't figure out how she did that so fast), which we used for a bit of  "fun" for the kids. But, when my sisters and friends asked when they could send a meal, I asked them not to. I just hated the feeling that we needed help, or taken care of, or that something so bad had happened that people felt it necessary to bring food. My kids cried for days, and my crying just made it worse. I needed to at least get the kids to a place where they could feel like everything was going to be okay, even though for me and their dad, and for them too, it was going to be a long time to get back to normal. I think my sisters and friends understood my need for normal, or were just willing to give me whatever I wanted. Either way, it helped me feel more normal, to have to fix dinner, or hear my sweet husband moving around in the kitchen creating one of his masterpieces. He cooked so much that week, and took such good care of all of us. I think he needed to be able to cook, do the things he would normally do. When something happens that is so painful, and so not what you were expecting, then you need the routine and schedule, and daily chores of life to keep you sane. At least, we did.

The house is starting to feel more normal, though my bedroom, it's hard to be in there. It's where I would lay at night, with my hands low on my belly, to feel their tiny nudges and pokes. Just a few days before they died, my husband and I lay in that bed for the longest time, him trying to feel them moving, and me giggling and saying "Did you feel that? Oh wait, there is one over here! Did you feel that?" Finally, after some chasing around, and me holding my breath, and him being very still and waiting, he was able to feel the tiny nudges and the roaming around of our wee babies. It was a special moment, one we've shared many times, but always special because of the newness of each little being. This time there were two of them, and we were going to soon know who they were; Priscilla Grace and Suzanna Joy, or George Ellis and Gabriel Akers (It makes me so happy to see their names all typed out, I feel like it makes them more real to people, it certainly makes them more real to me. And of course they are real, even if  we were the only people, outside the doctor and nurse and a sweet nun, who ever saw them. They are real, we have pictures, and we held them. I have a tiny stack of their 'things' in my room.). I was so, so hoping for little girls, but my, oh my, I would give just about anything to have my sweet baby boys here, growing and getting ready for the world. I am starting to accept what a dear friend said to me the other day, this was a different kind of blessing, but a blessing all the same. It just doesn't feel like one yet.

In this house, with noisy boys and bossy girls creating chaos all day long, it has gotten easier to keep the tears at bay, but they are still hitting me at unexpected times. I find something I had bookmarked to buy for the babies, or I smell a smell that doesn't bother anyone else, and think "oh, that pregnant smell aversion!" only to remember that I am not pregnant, though I seem to be left with a few hormones and other symptoms that have not yet gotten the message. Still, I am treasuring the last bits of this and other minor discomforts, as they are the last physical signs that my boys were here.

I go back to work tomorrow, and I pray and pray that no one says anything to me. They all know what happened, but only my family and a handful of people know me very well. I hate crying in front of people, but if anyone says anything to me, I know the tears will start. I just don't like sympathy. I can't handle it, don't know what to do with it. I haven't been back to church yet, either. Though I know my sisters and friends have told most people, and asked them not to say anything to me.  I hope this doesn't sound whiny, but if it does, so be it. I don't know how to handle it, otherwise. I just need to feel normal, if that makes any sense. I can keep the tears under control, if people just act like it didn't happen. But, at the same time it is this huge thing that is in the front of my heart every minute. One of the bloggers I read explained it in one of her posts. She said she couldn't decide if she wanted people to ask, or not to ask, or ignore her, or just pretend everything was fine. I feel just that way. Ask, or don't, or ignore me. I don't know what I want. I just want some normal. But I have a feeling that "normal" is a long, long way away from here.

My Babies

 I have been waiting. Waiting for understanding, a little lifting of the grieving, or some sign from God that there is a reason and a purpose behind something so hard and painful. I have been waiting for a consolation, or some other little wink or nod from God. I need one, I am a weak and sorry human whose faith has taken a beating. He knows my heart, and I have found some solace in the words of others today.

Quite by accident I have found a post by a Catholic mother, to her Babies in Heaven. It had such insight, and reminded me of my own beliefs. It brought me back, a little to what I have known and held in my heart all these years.

I am very blessed, I have 8 living children, and I am so thankful for each of them. In our 16 years of marriage, I have also miscarried 6 children. Last week, we went in for the "big" ultrasound of our identical twins, only to find out they had died. I was induced and delivered my sweet baby boys the next day. I am so heartbroken, and having a hard time dealing with this loss. I am so mad. I prayed for these little babies everyday. I had a feeling something wasn't going to be right, but it all seemed to be going so well. But now they are gone. We named them George and Gabriel. With my first loss, an ectopic pregnancy, I had a dream, a consolation, of my baby. He told me his name was Matthew, and that he would be our special intercessor, that he would watch over our family, and pray for us.I never saw him, but I love him so.

We lost two more babies before I knew I was pregnant, and when I carried Caleb, we lost his twin. I believe that one of their names is Jordan, after the Jordan river where Christ was baptized. I have asked for the other names to be told to me, or come to me, but I am waiting.  I pray, hope and believe that my babies are together, listening to the angels sing, and waiting for us. We have told our children that they are there, in heaven, waiting and praying for us. And I think God knows us so well, that he knows we would do anything to get to our children, even if it is hard, even if it takes a lifetime. Even when we are human and aren't smart enough to do whatever it takes to get to Him.  I want them so very much, and I am truly struggling now, but I am starting to remember what I have known all along. Our Lord is in charge, He creates for His kingdom. His ways are not the ways of man. My babies are safely in His care. I await the day I will see them again - they are indeed a most precious incentive. As is the love that only the Lord can shine down upon me.

What A Husband Is...

A husband is someone who lets you cry yourself to sleep in his arms night after night.
A husband is the person who cries with you when you need him to, sharing the pain, rather than letting you feel the pain all alone.
A husband is someone who holds your hand, never letting go, for 23 hours of  pain and sadness.
A husband is the man who holds each and every one of your children in his heart, in his arms, and cherishes them as much as you do.
A husband is someone who takes better care of you than you would ever bother to care for yourself.
A husband is the man who feels like half your heart, half your mind, half your body, and half your soul. Being away from him is nearly as hard as anything else you've ever done, especially when your heart is broken, and he is the other half of it.
A husband is the one person who can make you feel like maybe everything will be okay someday, but doesn't expect you to be okay right now.
Sometimes, a husband is the reason you keep breathing...when even holding your babies makes you cry.
A husband is the man who feeds your faith back to you, when you can't find it on your own. He's the person who reminds you that God is there, and that He is in charge. 
A husband is someone who asks for nothing in return, even when he has given so very much, but makes you want to find something you can do for him, just because of his goodness.

Prayer for Miscarriage by Mother Angelica

My Lord, the baby is dead!

 Why, my Lord—dare I ask why? It will not hear the whisper of the wind or see the beauty of its parents’ face—it will not see the beauty of Your creation or the flame of a sunrise. Why, my Lord?

 “Why, My child—do you ask ‘why’? Well, I will tell you why.

 You see, the child lives. Instead of the wind he hears the sound of angels singing before My throne. Instead of the beauty that passes he sees everlasting Beauty—he sees My face. He was created and lived a short time so the image of his parents imprinted on his face may stand before Me as their personal intercessor. He knows secrets of heaven unknown to men on earth. He laughs with a special joy that only the innocent possess. My ways are not the ways of man. I create for My Kingdom and each creature fills a place in that Kingdom that could not be filled by another. He was created for My joy and his parents’ merits. He has never seen pain or sin. He has never felt hunger or pain. I breathed a soul into a seed, made it grow and called it forth.”

 I am humbled before you, my Lord, for questioning Your wisdom, goodness, and love. I speak as a fool—forgive me. I acknowledge Your sovereign rights over life and death. I thank You for the life that began for so short a time to enjoy so long an Eternity.                                                                                              --  Mother M. Angelica

A Count Down to 40? Day 8 or Whatever

 Count Down to 40 - Day 8

I am getting bored  - it seems so narcissistic. But then, most blogs are fairly narcissistic. It is shortly after 8pm, which is a fevered time in the Jeffery household. We're still cleaning up from dinner, and lunch, and school,  and whatever Yebbi dumped, smeared, licked, climbed or broke throughout the afternoon. The little boys know that bedtime is fast approaching, so they are running around like crazy men, trying to get some last minute activity in before their forced confinement. They are like bees in September. You know how bees get all frantic and aggressive because it will soon be time to hibernate, or whatever bees do all winter long? (What do bees do all winter long? An important question which will drive me nuts until I go google it.) Well, my boys get all frantic and run around and make messes and basically do all in their power to avoid the dreaded procedures of bath, teeth, book (fingers crossed!), prayers and bed. Luke begs for one more game on the Wii, which he has been on all day long today. Which is why I didn't want video games. Ben is begging for food, because he fell asleep in his dinner, and never ate a single bite. And Yebbi. My baby is in constant motion unless he is passed out cold.

Nice pajama bottoms, there Benji. That's not embarrassing at all.

Yeb is always recharged after a meal!

One pretty cool thing happened when I was taping (Couldn't get it to upload! Bummer!)Yeb, he actually signed "all done" for me! I know he knows all the signs I have taught him, because he'll pull one out every once in a while. He doesn't talk much yet, but is a total ham. He can say the word "cheese" clear as can be, but if you want him to sign or say "please",  ya get nothin'. Well, I finally got him on tape signing. I keep telling the kids, if they do everything for him, he won't ever talk! His favorite thing to say is "no!" but, like so many siblings and cousins, I think he means "yes" half the time.
The bigger kids just keep asking me if it is time to put the little guys to bed yet. Should I feel bad that we all count down to bedtime? At the end of the day, I think we have all earned a little bit of calm before the big kids have to go to bed. And my Kenzie Rosie. She is not here, she is at my sister's house because she babysits for her one day a week, and I miss her every minute. I turn to tell her something a hundred times until she comes home again.

As for all my goals, and counting down  - I'm still on it. I just thought I'd like to think of someone else for a change - anyone reading this is bound to get bored. (I do realize that I just spent 3-4 paragraphs talking about my kids, which amounts to the same thing.)
I have been pretty good, but not perfect about the sugar thing. I fell off the wagon on Sunday, but got back Monday. ( I blame my Aunt Sue and her turtle bars which I decided to make for the kids for the Superbowl. Yeah, they were for the kids alright.)
I had a bad day yesterday, and was snappy and cranky. I pointed this out to my husband, and asked him to remind me when I get like that to try and speak nicely to the little monkey heads. His thought was that one person can only take so much and Kolbe's constant leaving earned him a threat or two! Men - they so don't sweat all the guilt stuff women do! I love his perspective. It helps calm me down.
 Sooo, to recap:
Be nice to people - workin' on it.
No sugar - mostly under control
Bring some joy - I'm working on finishing up my Facebook Pay It Forwards this weekend. Does that count?
Embrace the idea of actually turning 40 - still stops me cold and fills me with dread. Gonna mark that one as a work in progress!

So, for my next goal, in addition to no sugar, I am going to take the advice of my very dear friend, whom I have not seen in 25 (yikes!) years, and add some movement to my day. Somewhere. Probably going to be something goofy with the little boys first thing in the morning, so the big kids aren't up to make fun of me. This will be the hardest thing because:
#1. - I HATE MORNINGS
#2. - I HATE EXERCISE more than I hate mornings
 So, that sounds doable, right? I am thinking 20 minutes or so, building up bit by bit, and maybe adding 10 minutes in the afternoon of some yoga or something when I am losing it with Kolbe. Are there any exercise people out there? Will this do any good, or is it not enough to bother? I think anything has to be better than the absolute zip that is going on now. If I could *gasp* actually get my lazy self out of bed before the little boys get up, I could do some yoga  or something and get in a rosary. THAT would be the start of something big, ya'll.

My Last Little Girl

I have always loved little girls, with their pretty clothes, and hair ribbons and patent leather shoes. Okay, I'm totally in it for the clothes! Maybe it is a little like playing baby dolls when I was little. I loved dolls. I actually played with a doll until I was about 13 or so.

We have had four little girls. I missed Elizabeth's babyhood, but totally got my hair fix with that kid. She has amazing hair, and even as a little girl it was so, so thick and dark. I remember pouring water over her head while giving her a bath, and it would just roll right off. I used to love to brush and braid her hair, or put it up in a wreath around her head, or pigtails. So much fun.

When Meg and Liz were just little girls, I loved dressing them up to match - that often meant an exact match, or just coordinating outfits. They loved it at first, but when they found out that they were going to be sisters, they were none too keen on the idea of dressing alike! When Mackenzie came along I would hunt and shop until I had found three outfits that matched or coordinated. I loved showing them off and did whatever I could to enhance the "family unit" feel. Both of the big girls wanted to dress like Kenzie, so I got away with it for a little while longer. The matching thing was also for Elizabeth's benefit. I was worried that since she at that point still spent half of her time with her mom, she would feel left out. I hoped the outfits and the "sister" t-shirts and things helped her feel more apart of what was going on at our house. I never really knew if it made any impact, but I was new to the whole blended family thing.

When my little Jenna came along, after her brother Jonah, I was so excited to have a little girl again. For some silly reason I had thought we weren't going to have anymore babies (I have no idea why!) and gave most of Kenzie's things away. So shopping we went! Oh, the pink! And purple, and polka dots! And ribbons, and pretty little shoes. I really, really love it all so much. Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought that Jenna would be followed by four boys! I never ever imagined I would never get another little girl.

Never fear, I love my boys. They are awesome, and each one seems to have a tad more testosterone than the last. Kolbe is as manly as they get, Luke is a total beef cake, Ben is as hairy as all get out, and little baby Caleb already knows the sound of an engine when he hears one! Nothing delights him more than finding a matchbox car, or one of the ones that makes the engine noises.

So, Jenna is my last little girl. I am so thankful that she seems to really enjoy being a little girl. She loves Littlest Pet Shops, Barbie, her American Girl doll, dresses, getting her hair done, and all of that. She does not seem to be in any hurry to grow up, as Mackenzie was. She lets me braid her hair and loves it when I paint her fingernails any shade of pink she desires! If she is my last girl, she has been a wonderful little girl. She is so eager to please, and has the most tender heart. She prays every night for the unborn babies and all the survivors of whatever natural disaster she has heard of recently. I think she tries very hard to be holy, and I think God must be proud of her efforts. I know I am.

Maybe, someday God will decide that our family needs another little girl, whether by birth or adoption. (I am rooting for adoption - I am getting old!) But if He does, there is no WAY I am naming her Priscilla!

This girl

This girl has me. She has had me from the moment I laid eyes on her. Actually, she had me waaayyy before that night. I knew about her the instant she was. I just knew she was there. I was terrified. I was supposed to be a nice Catholic girl. I waited for 5 months to tell anyone about her. Actually, my mom guessed. She could see what was happening, though I had tried to pretend that my 115 pound self had suddenly ballooned out due to over eating. I pretended to overeat, trying to buy some time. We were going to tell everyone once we had a "plan". We were just having a really hard time coming up with the "plan". We were both in college. Part time jobs, no money. We thought about eloping and telling everyone when we got back. We thought about just telling everyone we were getting married, and then tell them about her. In the end we eloped, he left for the Navy, and then left us.

But, I had this girl. This amazing, perfect little girl. She and I used to sleep together every night. I loved having her cuddled up beside me, or on me. She used to sleep with her neck fitted across my throat. I'd wake up with wispy blond baby hair tickling my nose.

She was my side kick. She went everywhere with me. I transferred to a closer college so the commute would be easier. I found sitters for when I had to be in class, and she went with me to one of my jobs. On the weekends we would do whatever she wanted to do - watch Beauty and The Beast 752 times. Or read her beloved Dr. Suess books.

We fought a lot as she grew. She got sassy, and since she was homeschooled we often butted heads. She was messy and lazy and a smarty pants. She still is all of those things in a lot of ways.

She went to the public high school and sang, and acted and fell in love with choir and  theatre. I went to all of her concerts, musicals, plays, show choir. I loved every minute almost as much as she did. She was growing up to be a beautiful, talented young lady.

I was pregnant with our 9th child when she graduated from high school. It was surreal to be buying newborn items and dorm room stuff in one shopping trip. Thank goodness for Target!

I stared crying right around the time she was graduating. Granted, I had just given birth, but these tears were for her. I was so proud of her. I was mourning the loss of the little girl she used to be. I was dreading her moving out, away from me, even if it was only a short ways away. I was sad that her birth father had decided that this incredible person was not worth his time or interest. He missed a lot. Lucky girl, the man I married made her his daughter, and was there with me through every triumph and failure, every joy and sadness she ever experienced.

I finally quit crying about a month into her first semester. I still called way too often, but I was not crying anymore. Little did I know that she was missing home as much as we were missing her.  She was moving home at the end of the semester and would commute. I was so happy, I hardly knew if I should be so glad. I didn't want her to miss out on anything, but in the end she didn't like the 'antics' of the other girls in the dorm, or the fact that they never let her sleep.

So, she commutes every day, and at night sleeps in her own bed. She is messy, and leaves her trail behind her where ever she goes, which drives me nuts! If she is home she can almost always be found on her corner of the couch, with her pile of cups and plates, asleep, snuggled under the blanket all the kids fight over. I am so glad she is home, almost enough to not mind the mess. Almost. Neither one of us were quite ready for her to leave the nest.