3 Months

My babies are three months old, and Spencer is already picking on Kade:

One:

Two:

Three:

Too funny!!!

Spencer actually rolled over on Saturday. I fed him first, put him down on a blanket in the middle of the room, and picked up Kade to feed him. I watched Spencer the entire time, and after much struggle, he finally did it. For several minutes, he rolled his entire body over, and if he didn't have that darn left arm, he would have accomplished this task much more quickly. He couldn't quite figure out how to free that arm from under his belly. After much kicking and squirming, he would tire and roll onto his back for a little breather. After a deep breath and new resolution, his legs would flip over again and he would kick and squirm some more so determined to get all the way over - left arm and all!

After about ten minutes, he did it! Finally, that arm popped right out and he lay there high-centered on his round belly. Now what?!? He achieved his goal, but after a couple of seconds, he started crying. I guess it wasn't all he hoped for. How typical. The fallacy of "The grass is always greener on the other side" catches all of us in its grip - even innocent little three-month-olds.

I continually feel so blessed for these babies. They are really dynamic right now, and they smile and respond when we talk to them. They are actually doing great at night. Spencer usually skips his middle-of-the-night feeding, and Kade does occasionally. So, there are a few days a week that they'll go about six hours between feedings. Heaven! They LOVE their swings, bouncers, and binkies. Like most babies, they both love to be held as well. I've started taking them out - on walks and to the store (occasionally). I put one in the stroller with Paige and one in the sling. It seems to work and I don't feel like the walls are caving in on me. It's nice.

Earlier this month, Greg blessed both of the babies. He was so nervous about making them different, but I think he did a very good job. He blessed Kade first. He said that Kade with be second his entire life, so he wanted to give him a chance to be first. He blessed both boys with the desire to achieve righteousness in this life: baptism, priesthood, mission, marriage in the temple, and eventually the blessing of being fathers themselves. He talked to Kade about his middle name, and how it is the name of his grandfather. He blessed him with traits like his grandfather - determination, industrious, and a very generous heart.

When the blessing was over, everyone stayed up in the circle, Greg walked down, handed Kade off, picked up Spencer, and started all over again. (Sometimes I don't realize that I have twins. I simply take care of them. One feeding - another feeding. One diaper change - another diaper change. One bath - a second bath. but then there are moments like this where I realize that there are two of them. It's very strange.) Spencer's blessing was just as beautiful. Greg very sweetly talked about me and everything that a mother sacrifices for a baby. He blessed Spencer that he will feel of our overwhelming love and gratitude for him. Then, he spoke about how Spencer was also named after a "great man" (my dad). He talked about my dad's traits of selflessness and dedication to our family. He blessed him to acquire those traits.

Afterward, we had everyone over to our house for some breakfast casserole and breakfast rolls. It was a beautiful day. I thought back to those first days of their lives, when we spent nearly two weeks in the hospital, eagerly arriving at the nursery every three hours on the dot, passing clearance by the nurses, washing our hands obsessively, and finally visiting our tiny babies. I remember one night when it was decided that Kade was simply not progressing and they put a feeding tube in. This made it so that I could only hold him for about 20 minutes every six hours. He needed to eat and sleep under the heat as much as possible so he could start to grow.

I had just fed Kade his measly 18 cc's of well-intended breast milk. After burping, he gagged and spit up the entire bottle. It was everywhere - all over him, all over me, and all over the floor. I was exhausted and started to cry. I knew that this was the last straw and that they would put the tube down his throat. I knew everything would eventually be okay, but it was so hard to see his little three-an-a-half pound body hooked up to all these tubes and monitors and feel so completely helpless. Our nurse was a blessing that night. She had extensive experience with preemie babies, both professionally and personally. The smallest baby she ever cared for was just under a pound, and he lived! She and her husband had adopted all four of their children. Her second child was born early and weighed in at about two-and-a-half pounds. They spent nearly three months in the hospital with him. She sweetly put her arm around me and said, "You know, the ones that struggle the most often turn out to be the strongest."

I looked around the room. This was the Level II Nursery (still considered a NICU, but not as life-threatening as the Level III Nursery). I saw all these babies that were struggling with their start in life. Most babies stayed a couple of days as they overcame jaundice or breathing issues. One little baby was born addicted to morphine, and began his life desperately struggling to overcome this inherited addiction. Every day was a fight as he screamed to the point that my milk came in. We saw two babies life flighted to Primary Children's during our stay. Overall, I was amazed at the strength and resilience of these tiny bodies. I wondered about their spirits. These bodies all around me were only a couple of pounds, but their spirits are eternal. I wondered about the strength of their souls.

Then, I thought about that statement in relation to life. As I stood there and rubbed Kade's little forehead, I thought about those people in my life that have suffered more than what seems like their fair share. I know so many good people that, through very little fault of their own, have had to struggle through health issues, money issues, emotional issues, etc. I thought about the strength of their souls as well. I thought about the Plan of Salvation and how we learn about it over and over again. I think that we skip over the part where we say "We came to earth to get a body and be tried and tested" much too quickly. This is the reason we are here. This was not meant to be easy. Trite, perhaps, but true. Like the nurse said, we need to struggle in order to become strong.

I suddenly became one of those people who is extremely grateful for my trials. I don't have too look very hard, even when times are tough, to realize that the grass is quite green on my side of the fence. It is green enough, at least.

My Prayer

As I lay me down to sleep...I have a plea tonight:

This boy:

This one right here:

This boy confuses me beyond belief, frustrates me more than I thought possible, and tugs at my heartstrings like no other. He requires more energy than my other four children - combined. And yet, when I think of him, I admire him almost more than any other person I've met. His spirit...his soul...is so fascinating to me. He's like my own little Spiritual Science Experiment. I am constantly trying to figure him out.

Right now, I need (desperately need) for people to see past his bouncy-ness, his volume (which is very, very loud), his passion (translation: tears/temper/lack of impulse control) through his young, innocent eyes into his pure, good heart. (And by "people" I mean his teachers, his friends, our neighbors, his church leaders, and most of all - myself.)

People always describe him as "so smart." He does have an amazing ability to learn easily, grasp concepts quickly, observe, think deeply, create and build, and remember (oh to have his memory). Even though I firmly believe that this is a talent, or gift that was given to him by a loving Heavenly Father, it is not one of the things that I most admire in my son. I wish it did not define him because there are more layers if you take the time to find them.

Just some of his exceptional qualities (in my humble opinion):

• He instantly accepts people as a friend. Since he was a toddler, we would take him to the park or the zoo and he would immediately have a friend. Wherever he went, he could make friends - instantly. He has never spoken badly about a neighbor child or a friend at school (even those that he tends to "clash" with on occasion). If someone is ready and willing, he is eager to befriend them.
• He does not "see" people physically. He has never once commented on or asked about a physical disability, mental disability, weight, skin color, age, etc. You know how little kids innocently ask about these things (both of my girls have). This is something that Austin simply does not notice. He accepts people - no strings attached.
• His desire to do good. I wish you could be a fly on the wall some nights as he says a heartfelt prayer that he will be able to control his body and his emotions. He knows his limitations, and he really does desire to follow the rules and obey. Breaks my heart as he pleads with the Savior for help.
• His innate spirituality. To some it may seem that he doesn't stop moving until he is asleep, but he is also very still during priesthood blessings. He listens intently. He strives to take it all in. He ponders the things he learns, reads, and hears. It may not seem like he's listening (as he is constantly in motion), but it sinks in somehow.
• He loves his family. Today as I was going through his bag of "stuff" from 2nd Grade, trying to decide what to keep, I came across a paper that was shaped and colored to look like a large gem (they studied maps and read a book about a buried treasure). It had the names of "Macy, Paige, Spencer, and Kade" written on it. I opened it up and it read, "My greatest treasure is my siblings." He continued to write about each one of them and why he treasures them. I hope, with all my heart, that my children have a life-long friendship with each other.
• His ability to forgive. He does not hold grudges. Sometimes I laugh when he and his friends get into it (screaming, hitting, tears - the whole nine yards) and five minutes later there is a knock on the door. These boys act like nothing happened when just moments earlier they were willing to fight to the death. (I realize this may be a "Boy Thing," but it impresses the pants off me!) Last week, I was terribly frustrated and threw a terrible temper tantrum. After getting everyone ready for bed, I announced that I was leaving and taking Kade with me. Macy asked if I was moving out (insert eye roll); I ran to the store. But Austin (who got the worst of my fury, as usual) simply walked over to me, put his arms around my waist, and held on for a few seconds: "I love you, Mom." Honestly...He is my greatest example sometimes.

So I am begging...pleading with all of my heart...for people to please, please, please try to see past the annoyances and into his core. I think you will find good stuff in there. I worry incessantly about this child. I am beginning to realize that some of his struggles are going to be trials for a good part of his life (if not all of it), and that I cannot fix them. (As a mother, it kills me to write that - to admit it out loud. I...can't...fix...it. I can do all I can to help, but ultimately these are his battles - his limitations.)

Life isn't like the movies. People aren't completely good (Superman) or completely bad (Lex Luther). We are complex beings with mortal, human limitations. On the whole, I truly believe that most people are doing the best with what they've been given. Please know that my little guy is no exception. He's doing his best (and he has good days and not-so-good days just like everybody else), and he needs love and acceptance and not criticism.

(Sniffle...sniffle) Amen.

Day 2

On the way to school today, Macy asked how long she would have to go to school. I tried explaining high school and college. She asked what was after college, and I told her that she could actually go to school her entire life if she wanted - it is up to her. Her reply: "I don't want to. All you do at school is learn, and I already learned."

Listen

Listen to the MUSTN'TS, child,

Listen to the DON'TS

Listen to the SHOULDN'TS

The IMPOSSIBLES, the WON'TS

Listen to the NEVER HAVES

then listen close to me-

Anything can happen, child,

ANYTHING can be.

- Shel Silverstein

The past few weeks, I have been looking forward to this day. I felt like my kids definitely needed the opportunity to miss each other again (the Summer bickering got a little too much for me). But now, I am looking at these pictures with tears running down my face wondering when this happened? How is it possible to have a third-grader (by the way, that isn't a gang sign he's flashing - I asked him to hold up three fingers so we would know what grade he's in)? When did my little blond bombshell decide to be a fiercely independent Kindergartner? When did time speed up? What have I given them? Why haven't I let more go and just loved them and enjoyed them? Why haven't I laughed more? What happened to those chubby cheeks, and why didn't I kiss them more when I had them? How much time do I have left? How will I use that time? How can I enjoy them more?

I want three things for my kids:

1. I want them to have a love of learning. I want this desire to be almost unquenchable. Whatever their interest, whatever their passion, they will find joy in learning.
2. I want them to be happy. I want them to enjoy their childhood and have enough time to just "be kids". I want them to pretend, explore, and discover...daily. I want them to smile and laugh. "Men are that they might have joy." Today, after I dropped Macy off, Paige tried to convince me that she was 5 and not 2 (she wanted to go to school too). All I could think was "Don't be in such a hurry to grow up, little girl. Enjoy this time."
3. Most importantly: I want them to live a good life. I want them to be good friends, good brothers, good sisters, good neighbors. I want them to find the joy in living selflessly. I want them to get to know their Savior on a personal basis. I want them to be actively involved in good causes. I want to see their individual talents used in a way to lift others and bring joy to their lives and the lives of others.

I want one thing for myself: To have enough patience and energy to treat my kids with all the love and respect that they deserve. To truly "listen" to the Spirit to help me know what's best for them, and to truly "listen" to my children (not only their words, but their emotions and needs as well). (I guess that's more than one. Oh well, I'm having a guilt-ridden day. I just need to do better - No excuses!)

How did your first day/week go, and what do you want for your children?

Multiple Personalities

So, Macy was playing with her friend Gracie the other day. Macy's favorite thing to play is pretend - mostly involving a family of some sort. She creates these grandiose scenarios and she and her friends tell each other what to say and how to act. They just boss each other around - happily (most of the time). It is hilarious to observe.

Anne, Gracie's mother overheard Macy saying over and over again:

"I'm going to be Stilla...My name is Stilla...I am Stilla."

Anne assumed that she was trying to say the name "Stella" but was getting it wrong.

However, Macy did clarify:

"My name is Steala because I steal things."

Gracie said:

"Okay. My name is Tinkerbell because I don't."

...

I just found Macy and Paige in my bedroom closet. Both were wearing their swimsuits (Paige's is on backward which looks comfy) with high heels and sweaters. Macy had a huge bow in her hair and was carrying her purse. Macy said, "I just wanted to look like a mom."

...

Macy was looking at a toy magazine today instead of cleaning up the toy room while I was on the phone with Jen. I thought that maybe if Jen told her to do her chores, she might listen. I handed Macy the phone and heard: "Yeah. I'm just looking at the pictures and circling everything that I love!"

...

These pictures have nothing to do with these stories. I just love them with all my heart. Not only is she fishing on the cement in the rain, but it looks like she's going commando under the raincoat. And the hot pink cowboy boots just make me smile whenever she puts them on. She cracks me up...daily!!!

Not Me! Monday

I'm borrowing this idea from my friend Mindi who borrowed from the blog mycharmingkids.net. Every Monday, they reveal something that she would never do, but has somehow done. It is hilarious and I eagerly look forward to every Monday to see how Mindi will spin it for yet another week. I don't think I'm ready for a weekly commitment, but I did have one for this week. Let's see if I can get it right.

...

Wash Day. Every Monday begins the same: sorting, sorting, and even more sorting. Since I am not the type of mother who believes in Child Labor Laws (not me), I would never dream of reducing my children to the menial task of sorting not only their own dirty laundry, but the infamous laundry basket that resides in the Master Bedroom Walk-In Closet. And I would never, ever accidentally leave any unmentionables inside that mysterious den of cotton iniquity. (I swear the laundry multiplies on its own!)

I would never leave my darling little Macy in the bedroom to perform such a mundane task while I hobnobbed with the neighborhood's favorite grandma - Sister Reynolds. (This amazing woman DID raise eight children in a house with one bathroom and zero...count them...zero automatic dishwashers. She is sweet as sugar and dons her own halo.) I was not standing approximately a foot away from this lovely lady when my daughter did not march out of the bedroom carrying a pair of large pink undies from Victoria's Secret. (Okay, not that large, jeez! But much, much too large, with much too much lace, for her dainty five-year-old hieny.) She did not proceed to stretch them out to full size, hold them over her head, and demand: "Mom, what are these?"

I did not stumble in my answer. I did not stand there in a dazed stupor. And I certainly did not say a silent prayer begging the God of all things Satin and Lace to magically turn them into bloomers, pajama pants, or anything made of plaid flannel. In the end, I did not state the obvious: "They are panties honey."

She did not add to my humiliation by asking the even more obvious: "Well...Who's are they?"

I definitely did not cave or bury my head in the sand. I did stand up for myself and be proud that this home not only houses a pair of sassy, pink panties, but they do...on occasion...make it out of the back of the Delicate's Drawer. No! I did not put my tail between my legs and swiftly shoo my daughter out of the room.

"Just put them in the pile with the rest of the colors. Thanks sweetie."

To top it all off, I did not turn to Sister Reynolds and pretend like none of that had just happened.

Job Description: Mother

So Austin was over at Jen's house the other day, and she asked him what I did all day. This was his response:

"She feeds babies...and changes diapers...and takes care of babies...(pause)...And on Sunday's, she goes to church."

Eight Short Years

The following is an intensely personal and controversial topic. I apologize. You do not need to read it, but I do want to write down my feelings.

Two weeks ago, I went to my "six-week" postpartum appointment. I went nearly six weeks late, and I knew that I was recovering fine - physically. I knew it would be very routine, and it was. I sat in the waiting room. I tried to get intensely interested in "Newsweek," but the dozen or so articles on the economy bored me. Instead, I passed the time by observing the hustle and bustle of all the adorable pregnant ladies, and I fought back the tears. I was not prepared for this emotional outburst. Perhaps I wasn't quite done healing after all.

Austin was handed to us on a silver platter. A little over a year after we were married, Greg traveled to Houston to visit with some friends. While he was gone, I realized that I wanted to start a family. I picked him up from the airport, and on our drive home to our little condo in Bountiful I asked him what he thought. He told me he was just waiting for me to be ready. Three months later, we sat in our bedroom in that little condo taking pictures of the three of us - him, me, and the little stick that I had just peed on. The pregnancy was typical - some exhaustion, some nausea, my first experience with heartburn. The labor and delivery was also typical for a first timer. Three days before his due date, I labored for an entire Sunday. Finally, at 11:30 p.m., when I was crying through every contractions, we went to the hospital. Although I was in active labor, I was not quite dilated to a 2. The tears started to flow freely. After nearly 24 hours of labor and 2 1/2 hours of pushing, I held this angel in my arms. I was changed forever.

Austin was fussy. He had colic. We adored him. We didn't know the difference. I walked the streets with him in the evenings because if we were outside, moving, and he was upright - he didn't cry. At five months, he sat up and cried less. At seven months, he crawled and cried less. At nine and a half months, he ran (he never really walked) and he hardly ever cried. He was happy and on the move. In fact, he's never stopped moving (except that one time they knocked him out to remove his tonsils).

Two years later, I had my first appointment with a doctor that specializes in miscarriage. We were told that he is the best in the country, and we were grateful that he practiced at the UofU. They took so much blood from me that I joked whether or not I would be able to drive home. The nurse did not understand my humor. Very seriously, she told me that the most she has ever taken from someone was 19 viles and he was fine to drive home. She felt confident I would be fine as well. I stopped trying to be funny during these appointments. A couple months later, after a bazillion tests taken at various stages of ovulation, we sat in the office of our doctor who told us that he felt confident that he could get me one - maybe two more babies. I was relieved. Austin would not be an only child. He would have someone to go through this life with.

Eventually, we had yet another positive pregnancy test. Every week, we slept over at my parents house. We would leave early in the morning while my mom watched Austin. We would drive to the University Hospital for a check-up and ultrasound. Those ultrasounds were both a Godsend to my peace of mind and extreme torture. After they juiced up my belly, my heart would skip a beat as the technician prepared the machine. I held my breath as I frantically searched for the dark little circle that blinked. Every week, I exhaled when I found the heartbeat. Two weeks before her due date, and two and a half hours after they induced me, Macy made her entrance into this world in dramatic fashion. In fact, she's never stopped being dramatic. Greg joked that I had the gestational cycle of an elephant. After a few years of fighting, we had our little girl. I felt complete.

Three years later, as I sat in the hospital recovering from Paige's birth, my doctor came into my room and sat on the end of my bed. He had been looking at test results and had some good news. He told me that typically my condition gets worse with the birth of every child. He assured me that while I was not getting better, I was not getting worse either. He told me that if I wanted to do it again, he would go through one more pregnancy with me. All those prayers from years past came back to me. The words of the countless priesthood blessing flooded my mind. We were being blessed with several children after all.

I was six days late last October when Greg left for work and told me that I better take a pregnancy test. Ridiculous. How could I be pregnant? After one positive test, I ran to the store and bought the most expensive, most extravagant, most high-tech pregnancy test on the market, and it was positive too. I guess when the package on the birth control says 98% effective, that 2% is very, very real. We were excited, but busy...preoccupied. This was our fourth child, and we were "experienced."

After we found out it would actually be our fourth and fifth children, Greg looked at me and said, "You are done!" We both fought mixed feelings the entire pregnancy. At one point, Greg confessed that he didn't know if he even wanted another child, and now we were having two. (Of course, now that they are here, we can't imagine our life without them. We wouldn't have it any other way. But feelings are raw and honest, and we were on an emotional roller coaster.) Gradually, the discussion of "permanent" birth control came up. My doctor turned to me one day and said, "So, are we tying your tubes while we're at it?" My initial reaction was "Absolutely not!" But, he calmly explained the why's and how's, and I knew in my mind that it made sense.

I was so confused. I knew...and I mean knew...that I could not have any more children. I was about 10 weeks along, on the couch for the evening, and I just felt it. These pregnancies were simply too much for my body. This was IT. And, if I were being completely honest with myself, I was probably at my emotional limit as well. But permanent is just that - permanent, and I just didn't know if I was ready.

I've listened to women for years describe their experience with finding "the end" of their families. Over and over again, I heard phrases like, "I held my last baby in my arms and I felt complete." Or, "That yearning just went away." Or, "I don"t mind holding babies, but I love giving them back." Or my personal favorite, "Thank goodness that isn't me!" The problem was that I wasn't feeling any of this. Here I was, pregnant with twins, and my ovaries still ached (to borrow Jen's phrase)! I kept waiting for those feelings of completion or relief, but they just weren't coming. The thought of never experiencing the movement of a baby inside of me, or the overwhelming joy of birth, or cuddling a newborn brought instant tears. Worst of all, the thought of all my children in school in five years brought panic. To never experience the adorable phrases of a toddler learning to talk, or the conversations of preschoolers playing pretend, or the fact that a kiss on an owie makes everything all better in an instant. This was unthinkable, and I did not want to face this reality. I was perfectly content burying my face in the sand.

Then I spoke with a dear friend of mine who had been through quite a bit during her childbearing years. Molly's baby was about 10 months old at the time of our conversation. She had her tubes tied during her last C-Section, and she told me about how she held a newborn just the other day and was surprised by her tears. She told me that her yearning will probably never go away. Then I spoke to my mom about this subject. She said the same thing. She told me that she sobbed for hours when she signed the papers for their permanent birth control solution years ago. She told me about a conversation between her and an old friend of hers. Her friend commented on the joy and blessings of grandchildren. She talked about how these new little ones helped fill a void that she had felt since birthing and raising her own children. Then, my mom put her arms around me and said, "Honey, since you are already having a C-Section, you really should have your tubes tied as well."

I cried again.

My doctor telling me to do it what one thing. My husband jumping on the bandwagon was significant. But in all honesty, they are men and they didn't understand how I felt (believe me, I tried explaining it over and over again ). But my mom...Someone who understood all my fears, anxiety, and sorrow over this decision...She was telling me that I should do it!?! At first I felt betrayed, but eventually found peace. I would do it, but she needed to be there with me...She needed to hold my hand as I crossed this very precarious bridge. I needed another woman there with me. She was my strength that day (and medical situations are typically not her strength), and I will be forever grateful.

When I got into the examination room that day of my postpartum visit, I found myself pouring my heart out to my nurse and doctor. He hugged me as he acknowledged that this journey we had taken is over. He thanked me for letting him be a part of it from the beginning.

So that's it. This chapter of my life is closed. When I was 24 and invincible, naively "planning" my family, I had no idea that it would be over in eight short years. I forgot to cherish every second. The other night, Greg sat on the couch with me as we looked at a picture of all of us holding hands and commented on how these are the most precious years of our life. So true.

As I mourn these endings, I feel ungrateful. But in reality, I am overwhelmed with gratitude. Although some would say that I am "only" a mother in a small Utah town, I am so grateful that I have this opportunity. I am overwhelmed that Heavenly Father entrusted me with these five amazing and unique spirits. I cherish each one of them and marvel in their greatness. I know this is the most important thing I'll ever do, and I am constantly committing myself to doing better. I desperately want to enjoy this journey and foster happiness in my family.

Let the next chapter begin...

5 is a Bipolar Age

This girl has been full of IT lately. The other morning, Sister Reynolds came over to help out for a few hours. I was in bed feeding a baby, and I was listening to my girls totally demand her around. "I want this...Get me that" was all I heard. I couldn't stand it! Hello!!! That would NEVER work with me. I really have taught my children to be polite, but any sign of manners seems to have disappeared ever since these wonderful people have been helping out. She can be such a little brat sometimes.

But she can also melt your heart with her sweetness. The other night, she was telling my dad "Goodnight." She hugged him, kissed him, and told him that she loved him. Then she said, "Papa, do you know why I love you so much?...Because I gotta lotta love."

Or the other day when Spencer had on a new outfit. She came up to him and said, "Oh, I like his new costume. I've never seen it before, but I like it!" She is always so complimentary of people's clothes, earrings, shoes, hair, makeup, etc. You can always count on her to admire your new "costume."

Plus, who can resist a girl who lounges about in this outfit on a Sunday afternoon.