I really ought to be educating my children right now, but their bedroom floor is covered in biscuit crumbs and thousands of partially-sorted legos, and Elisha is trapped in his high chair in the middle of it all with a runny nose and sticky fingers...really, would you want to interfere with that kind of childhood utopia? Oh, and Gabe is bleeding from the knee.
I woke up with a sore throat this morning and so slept in for a bit and let the children do their own thing for awhile, and the resulting, uhm, harmony? is just a little more than I think I can tackle for the moment. So I'm escaping for a bit and writing down some random things for no particular reason. Isn't it good to know that these five precious lives are in such capable, responsible hands this morning?
Anyway, we have just about 8 weeks left of what is looking like our very last pregnancy. I imagine I'll always have conflicting feelings about ceasing to be a baby mill, but I've talked through it with my psychologically-astute husband and we've determined that 1)we're creatures of habit and have been in the baby-making business for so long that it's just going to take some adjusting to changing our pattern, 2) we're really good at this job (especially this morning, obviously!) and it's hard to mess with a good thing, like Oprah canceling her show after all this time, and 3) having kids has given us a false feeling of eternal youth, and making this our last kid is a stark admission that we're not spring chickens anymore. It's a lot to take in all at once, particularly with the wash of maternal hormones I've been high on for the last 11 years.
On the other hand, there are some strong motivations for not having any more kids, things like imagining having to spend our days in front of tv cameras on a reality show, the fear of being mistakenly called 'Mrs. Duggar' in the grocery store, and actually having been called a 'brood mare' in public at full volume. neigh. sigh. Oh, and the strongest motivator of all, of course, is the horrifying prospect of having to drive a white 10-passenger van (because white is the only color they come in, you know) for the next decade. That single thought is enough for me to line up 10 interviews with urologists for my husband this week! At least with six kids we can still cram ourselves into a Toyota Sienna, try not to breathe or fart on one another, and get ourselves from point A to point B legally.
So maybe it's denial, and maybe it's just my nature, but I've managed to completely over-commit myself for the next 8 weeks. None of this sitting-around-and-nesting-with-my-unborn-child business for me! Nope, before this is all said and done, I've managed to schedule:
*teaching a weekly childbirth education class for my kids plus 3 others
*hosting a weekly marriage class in our home every Wednesday night until Asa is at least a month old
*making a wedding cake for 200 people--in Pueblo
*helping my husband get ready to officiate that same wedding
*making Bonnie her annual dress for the father/daughter dance
*finishing the baby's quilt
*helping my local doula association with marketing materials and other such interestingness
*making a white chocolate castle for this year's chocolate contest (because I'm not going to let a little thing like 8 months of pregnant belly keep me from getting my dang ribbon this year!)
*Attending a post-secondary trauma workshop for birth professionals (hey, this could come in handy with all the post-secondary trauma I'm putting myself through with all the other stuff I have to do!)
*Oh, and somewhere in there, I expect to go into labor at just the wrong moment and have 10 or 11 pounds of baby to aid me in my adventures.
What is wrong with me?! And the worst part of it might be the fact that I just want to sit on the couch and bore my friends and relatives with incessant yammering on about all this! Well, the upshot, I guess, is that I've managed to inhale a few times now and might can trudge upstairs now and deal with what lies in the kids' bedroom.
Blood and crumbs, here I come!
--Teri.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
on fear.
"...yeah, but what is it, really, that's keeping me
From living a life that's true?
When the worries speak louder than wisdom,
It drowns out all the answers I knew.
So I'm tossed on the waves of that surface;
Still, the mystery's dark and deep,
With a much more frightening stillness...
Underneath."
--David Wilcox, Underneath
I've been ruminating again on the purposes of pain and fear in our souls, what roles they play and how to master them. I came to the conclusion years ago as I prepared to give birth to my fourth child that pain has a powerful effect on us when we let it; it makes us immeasurably stronger when faced with all of our courage, or it breaks us down and shows us how weak we can be when it's not. It has been a powerful lesson for me and remains incredibly important for me, especially as I prepare to birth my sixth child.
But what of fear?
It seems that fear is a different animal entirely, more elusive, more difficult to control, and more threatening, whether real or imagined. It takes bravery to stare down pain, but it takes something different, I think, to master fear.
I've always been intrigued by the apostle John's take on the subject: "Perfect love banishes fear".
Perfect love.
Banishes!
Fear.
It's a lot to take in, if we're honest. But if we look deep into the underneath, what it is that ultimately motivates us to get past the crippling fear we experience? When all we have is an incomplete equation and we're forced to find the answer or to fail, is it not a deeper love that rises to cast out that fear?
So then the question becomes personal: how do I develop that kind of love? I suppose it's a discipline of the heart and of the mind, one that chooses to say,
"I'm afraid for the people of Haiti...but I love them more and so will not do nothing."
"I'm scared to take this huge, life-altering step and I don't know what lies on the other side, but I love more than I fear, and so I will not be paralyzed."
"Life can be dangerous and painful and even cut short, but to live is to love, and so I will live fully."
And what a strange, beautiful paradox that love leads us to such vulnerability that we can be so affected by fear, and yet is so much stronger than the fear when we cultivate it and take the risk to find out if our love is really strong enough to banish the fear, underneath.
--Teri.
From living a life that's true?
When the worries speak louder than wisdom,
It drowns out all the answers I knew.
So I'm tossed on the waves of that surface;
Still, the mystery's dark and deep,
With a much more frightening stillness...
Underneath."
--David Wilcox, Underneath
I've been ruminating again on the purposes of pain and fear in our souls, what roles they play and how to master them. I came to the conclusion years ago as I prepared to give birth to my fourth child that pain has a powerful effect on us when we let it; it makes us immeasurably stronger when faced with all of our courage, or it breaks us down and shows us how weak we can be when it's not. It has been a powerful lesson for me and remains incredibly important for me, especially as I prepare to birth my sixth child.
But what of fear?
It seems that fear is a different animal entirely, more elusive, more difficult to control, and more threatening, whether real or imagined. It takes bravery to stare down pain, but it takes something different, I think, to master fear.
I've always been intrigued by the apostle John's take on the subject: "Perfect love banishes fear".
Perfect love.
Banishes!
Fear.
It's a lot to take in, if we're honest. But if we look deep into the underneath, what it is that ultimately motivates us to get past the crippling fear we experience? When all we have is an incomplete equation and we're forced to find the answer or to fail, is it not a deeper love that rises to cast out that fear?
So then the question becomes personal: how do I develop that kind of love? I suppose it's a discipline of the heart and of the mind, one that chooses to say,
"I'm afraid for the people of Haiti...but I love them more and so will not do nothing."
"I'm scared to take this huge, life-altering step and I don't know what lies on the other side, but I love more than I fear, and so I will not be paralyzed."
"Life can be dangerous and painful and even cut short, but to live is to love, and so I will live fully."
And what a strange, beautiful paradox that love leads us to such vulnerability that we can be so affected by fear, and yet is so much stronger than the fear when we cultivate it and take the risk to find out if our love is really strong enough to banish the fear, underneath.
--Teri.
Monday, January 11, 2010
my funny micro-date
About a mile from our house is a Pei Wei restaurant, and Christopher and I often take little dates there, leaving the kids at home for a bit so we can spend a little time together. The food is always good and hot, the floor is red, and you can eat as many fortune cookies as you want--and how sweet is that?
On Saturday, we escaped once again for our little micro-date at Pei Wei, and found it to be a super-busy afternoon, so we were scrunched in between 2 other couples at narrow tables along the back wall. No big deal. We had some things we needed to talk about, but nothing so heavy that it needed to be secretive, so we didn't mind it.
The two ladies to my left were talking about how much they loved Pei Wei, when suddenly one of them turned to me and said, "Do you two just LOVE this place?" We answered that yeah, we loved it, because it was so yummy but also close to home, etc etc. It came out that we had 5 kids at home, and then her eyes got wide as they came to rest on my rounded belly; she blurted out jocularly, "You're PREGANANT AGAIN?!?" At that point, half the restaurant turned completely around and stared at me. I waved, Miss America-style, and acknowledged that yes, we're pregnant again.
With the other diners still looking on, this flamboyant lady turned to Christopher now and said, still in an incredulously loud voice, "You IMPLANTED your SPERM in her SIX TIMES?!?" "You TURNED her into a BROOD MARE?!?" Christopher laughed and said something like, "Yup!" in a tone that landed somewhere between embarrassment and pride (mostly pride, as I later found out; when I asked him if he was horrified by that, he said, "Nope, with 6 kids, it's a little hard to deny!")
We went on to have a really fun and enlightening conversation with these two ladies and I even shared my shrimp with her. We talked about how she hated her one childbirth experience, how she hated mothering, how she wondered if we had fun with that many kids and whether I ever cry.
In the end, we didn't mind our date being interrupted or having the whole restaurant know that my husband is a stud (uhh, literally?!); it was a fun encounter and an unexpected twist to our day.
--Teri.
On Saturday, we escaped once again for our little micro-date at Pei Wei, and found it to be a super-busy afternoon, so we were scrunched in between 2 other couples at narrow tables along the back wall. No big deal. We had some things we needed to talk about, but nothing so heavy that it needed to be secretive, so we didn't mind it.
The two ladies to my left were talking about how much they loved Pei Wei, when suddenly one of them turned to me and said, "Do you two just LOVE this place?" We answered that yeah, we loved it, because it was so yummy but also close to home, etc etc. It came out that we had 5 kids at home, and then her eyes got wide as they came to rest on my rounded belly; she blurted out jocularly, "You're PREGANANT AGAIN?!?" At that point, half the restaurant turned completely around and stared at me. I waved, Miss America-style, and acknowledged that yes, we're pregnant again.
With the other diners still looking on, this flamboyant lady turned to Christopher now and said, still in an incredulously loud voice, "You IMPLANTED your SPERM in her SIX TIMES?!?" "You TURNED her into a BROOD MARE?!?" Christopher laughed and said something like, "Yup!" in a tone that landed somewhere between embarrassment and pride (mostly pride, as I later found out; when I asked him if he was horrified by that, he said, "Nope, with 6 kids, it's a little hard to deny!")
We went on to have a really fun and enlightening conversation with these two ladies and I even shared my shrimp with her. We talked about how she hated her one childbirth experience, how she hated mothering, how she wondered if we had fun with that many kids and whether I ever cry.
In the end, we didn't mind our date being interrupted or having the whole restaurant know that my husband is a stud (uhh, literally?!); it was a fun encounter and an unexpected twist to our day.
--Teri.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
hearts aflame
I accidently set fire to my children yesterday.
It was really a school day like most others, only I was more grumpy than usual (woe to the children!) and just going through the motions of teaching. On days such as these, I generally sit loftily and moodily in my teacher's chair, coldly barking commands from afar and expecting an atmosphere of silence and contemplation.
What I usually get instead is a reflection of my own inner thoughts: broody, sulky, disinterested kids. Oh, the lessons we teach.
So when the fire broke out yesterday, my first impulse was to extinguish it. It started quietly enough, with an obligatory science lesson about the ocean. Then it turned imperceptibly toward benthos, and a faint flicker was seen. Before I knew what was happening, four children with tongues of fire leaping in their little heads were crowded around a computer screen, hungrily researching the most nefarious-looking bottom sea dwellers, yard stick in hand, ready to measure every specimen for maximum impact.
Somewhere in the back of my persnickety mind, thoughts of moving on to a math lesson loosened their grip and began to fade away, finally and reluctantly surrendering themselves to the flames, and I was able to let the rest of my school day be consumed entirely, a warm glow replacing the coldness of my bad attitude.
Thank God for small miracles.
--Teri.
It was really a school day like most others, only I was more grumpy than usual (woe to the children!) and just going through the motions of teaching. On days such as these, I generally sit loftily and moodily in my teacher's chair, coldly barking commands from afar and expecting an atmosphere of silence and contemplation.
What I usually get instead is a reflection of my own inner thoughts: broody, sulky, disinterested kids. Oh, the lessons we teach.
So when the fire broke out yesterday, my first impulse was to extinguish it. It started quietly enough, with an obligatory science lesson about the ocean. Then it turned imperceptibly toward benthos, and a faint flicker was seen. Before I knew what was happening, four children with tongues of fire leaping in their little heads were crowded around a computer screen, hungrily researching the most nefarious-looking bottom sea dwellers, yard stick in hand, ready to measure every specimen for maximum impact.
Somewhere in the back of my persnickety mind, thoughts of moving on to a math lesson loosened their grip and began to fade away, finally and reluctantly surrendering themselves to the flames, and I was able to let the rest of my school day be consumed entirely, a warm glow replacing the coldness of my bad attitude.
Thank God for small miracles.
--Teri.
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