I told Kaitlyn what butterfly kisses were the other night. She gave me one. The next night I sat on the couch with Hazel. A little sigh and a breath fluffed the hair on my neck as she laid in my arms. What is a day in my life without Nick catching me in the kitchen for a long sweet hug and a profession of his love for me. Eden's bubbling giggle gives light to my day. They bless me by just being here. Jody and I sometimes moan and groan about parenthood for days on end but then those beautiful moments remind us that we are here in an amazing world with amazing children and everything we have is a gift.
My life is like being a gymnast. I balance, I roll, I jump, I do laundry, I cook for my first grader's Thanksgiving Feast in January. Okay, maybe that doesn't have anything to do with gymnastics. I can't make my life into an olympic event. It's a journey in itself though. I sat holding Hazy while the girls did rock climbing at the Erie Community Center the other day and finally another lady thought she had me pegged. "So, you have three girls and that little boy right?" It was as she asked me, that I connected the dots myself and realized I looked like I had a zoo in tow just like a woman who was there with her kids when I arrived. I had seen a mother there with a passel of kids and spent a few minutes counting before I asked, "Do you have four boys?" "Yes" she replied. I couldn't help the next words (a few people in this world are nodding their heads in sympathy for me right now) "and they're all yours?" "Yes" she replied with a smile (perhaps a little forced). Why? Only the Lord or the devil knows why such things fall off my lips.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Just another poopy Sunday!
Kinda like a "Manic Monday" if you will but more on the poopy side.
I want to preface this story with the reminder that I am the mother of four children, with a total of about 9 years of diapering under my belt give or take. That's probably a few thousand diapers, some disposable, most cloth, which is just to say, I do diapers. I handle poop, pee and the in between from start to finish... Nothing to sniff at if you know what I mean.
We arrived at church early for Rush Hour which Hazy and I skip so I had been chatting with a couple of women exchanging pleasantries that included "is this your first?" and my reply of "no, it's my fourth" to which I got the usual reply of "oh well you've got this all down pat now don't you?" Hazel hadn't pooped in a couple of days. That always worrys me, but it especially worried me this fine sunny Sunday morning as Hazy was arrayed in a bone colored tutu with leg warmers and every other bauble a mother can think of to put on her baby doll. She started to thunder down under. I hoped for the best but you kinda know there's no going back when it hits a certain point on the poo poo richter scale and I knew we were in trouble. I hastily turned her upright and sure enough, yellow was seeping through her onesie above the tutu. We booked it for the ladies room. My first concern was to remove the tulle entirely from the equation. It turns out it was a good move. I jerked it off unscathed, flipped open the diaper and expertly folded it in so she had a relatively clean spot for her bum while I wiped her. Suddenly, the little fountain of youth sprang into action. I had only laid the octopus on top of a long piece of paper towel so we were basically in double trouble. I quickly flipped the diaper back open but we still had a substantial amount of pee being repelled off the outside of the diaper and dribbling onto the tail of the onesie. I was now in "first baby crisis mode" I had no extra onesie and after tossing the defiled diaper in the pail I realized we only had one adorable sock. I glanced all around me and finally with dread at the trash can where I had deposited the diaper. I plunged in and found nothing but did have to make a trip to the sink to wash poo off my hand. It was time to strip the octopus. I stripped her naked as a jaybird with older women coming and going in their unhurried, collected fashion. I cleaned the changing table, redeposited the naked but very smiley octopus, breathing a sigh of relief that the poop hadn't given a final spurt during the complicated process. I got a fresh diaper on her and faced the onesie. It was tricky. I had an octopus on my shoulder and was trying to only get the part under the sink that was actually soiled and pump soap with the same hand but we survived. One old lady gave me a condoling glance and I said "no extra shirt" under my breath to which she replied "well that's a lesson learned now isn't it?" I gave her a droll look and said, "well, you'd think I'd have learned by the fourth kid if I was going to wouldn't you?" She chuckled and carefully dried her hands and left in her unhurried, collected fashion. I wrung the onesie out repeatedly then used about fifty or a hundred paper towels pressing them tightly into the onesie trying to blot as much moisture out as possible and finally redressed the very happy smiley octopus with one sock and went back to the couch. There was the sock. Nice little aha moment. I sat down to nurse her and tucked one of the decorative couch throw pillows under her head. She did that grand little move we all love. Nursed until my milk had a forceful letdown then jerked off coughing and wheezing while I sprayed the silk pillow with bodily fluid. Of course I had no burp cloth... so back we went to the ladies room for some more paper towels. I feel like I owe a little extra for the tithe this week. Anyway, we wiped down the towel as well as we could and left. It seemed like an unlucky place for us. And so it was because the rest of the day has been perfect.
I want to preface this story with the reminder that I am the mother of four children, with a total of about 9 years of diapering under my belt give or take. That's probably a few thousand diapers, some disposable, most cloth, which is just to say, I do diapers. I handle poop, pee and the in between from start to finish... Nothing to sniff at if you know what I mean.
We arrived at church early for Rush Hour which Hazy and I skip so I had been chatting with a couple of women exchanging pleasantries that included "is this your first?" and my reply of "no, it's my fourth" to which I got the usual reply of "oh well you've got this all down pat now don't you?" Hazel hadn't pooped in a couple of days. That always worrys me, but it especially worried me this fine sunny Sunday morning as Hazy was arrayed in a bone colored tutu with leg warmers and every other bauble a mother can think of to put on her baby doll. She started to thunder down under. I hoped for the best but you kinda know there's no going back when it hits a certain point on the poo poo richter scale and I knew we were in trouble. I hastily turned her upright and sure enough, yellow was seeping through her onesie above the tutu. We booked it for the ladies room. My first concern was to remove the tulle entirely from the equation. It turns out it was a good move. I jerked it off unscathed, flipped open the diaper and expertly folded it in so she had a relatively clean spot for her bum while I wiped her. Suddenly, the little fountain of youth sprang into action. I had only laid the octopus on top of a long piece of paper towel so we were basically in double trouble. I quickly flipped the diaper back open but we still had a substantial amount of pee being repelled off the outside of the diaper and dribbling onto the tail of the onesie. I was now in "first baby crisis mode" I had no extra onesie and after tossing the defiled diaper in the pail I realized we only had one adorable sock. I glanced all around me and finally with dread at the trash can where I had deposited the diaper. I plunged in and found nothing but did have to make a trip to the sink to wash poo off my hand. It was time to strip the octopus. I stripped her naked as a jaybird with older women coming and going in their unhurried, collected fashion. I cleaned the changing table, redeposited the naked but very smiley octopus, breathing a sigh of relief that the poop hadn't given a final spurt during the complicated process. I got a fresh diaper on her and faced the onesie. It was tricky. I had an octopus on my shoulder and was trying to only get the part under the sink that was actually soiled and pump soap with the same hand but we survived. One old lady gave me a condoling glance and I said "no extra shirt" under my breath to which she replied "well that's a lesson learned now isn't it?" I gave her a droll look and said, "well, you'd think I'd have learned by the fourth kid if I was going to wouldn't you?" She chuckled and carefully dried her hands and left in her unhurried, collected fashion. I wrung the onesie out repeatedly then used about fifty or a hundred paper towels pressing them tightly into the onesie trying to blot as much moisture out as possible and finally redressed the very happy smiley octopus with one sock and went back to the couch. There was the sock. Nice little aha moment. I sat down to nurse her and tucked one of the decorative couch throw pillows under her head. She did that grand little move we all love. Nursed until my milk had a forceful letdown then jerked off coughing and wheezing while I sprayed the silk pillow with bodily fluid. Of course I had no burp cloth... so back we went to the ladies room for some more paper towels. I feel like I owe a little extra for the tithe this week. Anyway, we wiped down the towel as well as we could and left. It seemed like an unlucky place for us. And so it was because the rest of the day has been perfect.
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