Our Second Family

It's weird how that kind of worked out.
It was another evening with a bunch of little boys piled on the couch tucked in and around their dad watching *sporting event*.
i glanced at the TV... "Football's over... i thought it was football you guys were into?"
"It's not football, it's just sports. Sports never ends. It's always in season."
"Oh."
My college girl looked at me, "I'm confused... i still thought we were a fiddle/jamming family..."
"Nope," my husband replied cooly, "That was our last family. Our new family is a sports family."
This week, my littlest girl is on a road trip with her grandma and my bigger girls are all out interfacing with the world. My little homeschool is overrun with testosterone and little wrestling boys who are constantly needing snacks and reminders to shut down the wii.
i used to feel bad for Neil being so desperately outnumbered by girlies. He patiently listened to squeaking fiddles and watched fashion shows. He tenderly combed long hair and endured countless hours of girl talk...
But i see him now, with a satisfied smirk on his face as his boys grow like weeds around him. The seasons brought about a surprising change, and now i am the one who is outnumbered. Even my tiniest boy climbs out of my arms to tear off his shirt and pound his chest as he jumps into the fray to wrestle with his boys.
And so i'm learning how to mama my boys as they grow - even though it feels so very different to me than it did with my girls, and i'm finding my footing loving these boys *and* girls in the order and timing they were given... and it's all joy.

the most important part of motherhood

If i was asked by a new mama what the most important quality is for a mother to possess in this life-long journey of motherhood (parenthood), i don't think i'd hesitate.
"Humility." i'd offer. Simply, plainly - there is no other quality that has saved relationship, opened doors of communication or allowed for thoughtful discipline and discipleship.
We exercise it during our pregnancies - allowing our bodies to grow and stretch to accommodate the life of another precious human being. Stretch marks, exhaustion, a gentler pace, appointments and care make it a good time to lay down ego and see ourselves in a new context - one where we become "a part of" rather than the whole.
Humility grows during childbirth. Our bodies each break in unique ways. It's empowering - but also humbling - to be brought to that place of surrender as we birth and are born ourselves as mothers. In post partum - we heal at different rates, some struggle to breast-feed, some are plagued with depression. There is joy, euphoria, satisfaction and goodness - but it's all better when it's accompanied by humility - the willingness to forego hubris and instead connect to those around us, acknowledging need and allowing ourselves to be fed as we learn to feed another.
But these are only the sweet beginnings of the blessing that humility brings. Maybe your tiny one will melt down in public, call someone fat or tell you they don't like you. Pride demands a red-faced reaction, "No child of mine!"... Humility tends to their heart. Later, when they're the last one to learn to read, humility brings patience - the ability to compassionately teach those letters again and again and again... consciously blind to deficiencies - always aware of our own insecurities and struggles, humility lets us keep their heart when pride would have lost it. Our children learn that it's safe to talk to a parent who is humble. Whispered shame-filled confessions aren't met with shock and revulsion. This can be a tough one... We can get so used to white-washing our kids' behaviour that when we see something put before us so black and white - something that we can't explain away - we want to distance ourselves from it... from them.
Humility closes that distance.
Humility breaks down boundaries, it binds the broken-hearted, it is the kindness that leads to repentance. It allows us to keep our eyes off of the judgemental glare of the world and instead gives us eyes to see roots in our lives and our children's lives that need to be either plucked or tended. It allows us to close our ears to the cacophony of advice and instead, we can learn to hear the heart-cry of the tiny human we were given to shepherd. Humility makes us worry less about what others think of our parenting, and instead helps us to become better parents.
Let's make every effort to respond without shock to each and every indiscretion our children bring to our lives. Let's keep the horror from our faces - so that they're not afraid of us - and so that the older ones don't cynically label us a self-righteous hypocrite. Our reactions matter - and they're not something that is beyond the scope of our control.
Humility sees past the awkwardness of the pre-teen, the acne, the grammatical errors, the outbursts. Humility refrains from reacting in anger, vengeful pride or embarrassment and instead extends a gentleness that is resilient in the face assault; a kindness that is more stubborn than selfishness, a compassion that is bigger than self-consciousness.
Humility has single-handedly shaped me as a wife and mother - taking away my need to explain the actions of my husband or children and instead giving me a greater capacity to understand, empathize, to love.
So, if i was asked by a new mama what the most important quality is for a mother to possess in this life-long journey of motherhood, i don't think i'd hesitate.
"Humility." i'd offer. Simply, plainly. It'll come whether you want it to or not - and wisdom would suggest that you welcome it as a friend.

Mini blogs...

I feel like every once in awhile I clear my throat & realize that I haven't been using my voice very much... There's a little sting in that because I want to heed that little whisper that reminds me, "let everything that has breath praise the Lord..." & my praise seems to come in mulling over his fingers swirling the colours in my life... So I'll breathe in some grace & breathe out some praise, & share a couple little 'Facebook status' style updates with my people. Here you go... 

1. Lemme tell you, after a dozen years of homeschooling, it's a queer little ache that comes to you in waves as your oldest moves beyond the walls that hold you still... But there's this strange euphoria that chases that ache too. Our little team mate is out in the world, pursuing her education. She's sobbing in classes that are stretching her capacity to empathize, care for and nurse... She's working hard, learning and growing. She's going to be amazing. 

So I pick up that little grade 2 reader & watch a stubby little finger trip over the bold font... I correct math tests, fold laundry and read. We pray, we eat, we school, we live... conscious of both the ache and the euphoria that are inevitable parts of this wonderous wandering.. 

2. (An *actual* Facebook status...)

 Fine. 

I'll admit it. 

Doctor Who wrecks me. 

Sloanie & I started watching the series on netflix months ago - & it's not the cheesy science fiction veneer that cuts to my core & exposes my vulnerability... 

It's the little hints sprinkled like faery dust through the lines that linger long after they're spoken. They burrow like seeds into my mind and as this silly show unveils aspects of life and humanity that we're not to speak of, shouldn't even know of, must pretend never happened.. those little seeds start to grow into full fledged ideas. Who am I becoming? What matters? Why does it matter? 

"How long should we wait?"

"The rest of our lives."

"Agreed." 

Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. (Philippians 4:5 NIV)

Aaaaaand... Now you all know what a nerd I am. 

3. Neil is at a trade show this weekend. I guess he has a "booth" there... I try to picture these trade shows, but all that comes to mind are science fairs. Are there other adults there with better booths than Neil? Did some guy's boss have an unlimited budget & he has a cooler booth than everyone else? Does one person have the equivalent of the volcano booth that erupts every once in while while the guy looks cocky, but the judges are unimpressed cause they see it every year? Did one guy light up his booth with lights powered by a potato? What on earth does Neil's booth look like? I asked him all these questions and more... But he just looked at me sternly and said, "yes. It's like a science fair." 

It's probably not nearly as interesting as I'm imagining. 

(The picture is just a bonus...)

artsy fartsy

    It's amazing how much of music is intuitive. i don't remember being as blown away by a distinction in any of my babe's musical tastes as i have been with Elmer. We play a game where we'll take turns choosing a piece of music to play over the speakers while he's playing at our feet. His response is usually immediate and definitive. He either likes it and starts to move and react, clapping, bobbing his head and dancing - or he'll ignore it completely and continue what he's doing. His tastes are sometimes different than mine, he'll fling out his arms and turn his face to the sky during a song that doesn't move me or he'll start his wiggly dance while i'm changing a diaper and i hadn't even noticed the song had changed. Sometimes he'll dance and shout happy baby sounds while i play and sing and sometimes he'll just pull on my clothes asking me to stop so that he can have my full attention.

    And then there's Gage. He's six and can sing with more emotion than Barbara Streisand. He was in my room the other day and i stopped outside the door to listen to him sing to himself in my big full length mirror. He was making up a song about going to Kelowna to visit his grandparents and i couldn't help but get caught up in his lyrics. He drew me in with the complex conflict between his desire for the road trip and wondering if he will miss and be missed at home. His little voice trembled as it rose higher and higher, louder and louder.... conflicted and more conflicted. He repeated little melodic phrases, he used syncopation and rhythmical riffs, he repeated lyrical themes and used every dynamic and vocal inflection he could think of. He changed the rhythm as it suited him, some of it rubato, some of it following a stricter meter... He embellished with long anguished notes or quick staccato; haphazardly creating little phrases as he worked his way through his song... and i kind of sat there thinking - he's just experimenting with musical ideas he couldn't even name - to *create* something. It's so similar to a child taking up a paint brush, dancing, making a craft or forming something out of clay... Like, 'what can you do, voice, to express what i'm experiencing in my little six-year-old boy existence?'

    It's kind of weird to me, how much of what i think of as being something you need training for is really just open to everyone to enjoy. How much expression do i shy away from because i think i'm not good enough, that i might make a fool of myself, that the end product trumps the experience of creation?

night feeds

At over 15 months, he's getting a little long in the tooth for night feeds. i've wished so many times over the course of the past year that he would sleep longer stretches, but last night i couldn't fall asleep, and i wished he were up to keep me company. i groaned as the clock slipped past 11 then 12... i kept winking at it, willing myself to sleep, begging my eyes to stay shut. Instead i watched as the numbers on the clock crept past one.. then 1:30. He rarely sleeps that long and i had wasted it.
i didn't let myself look at that mocking clock again until i finally heard his cries at 2:30 in the morning.
He can't possibly need a night feed. He's a nice solid little boy - a far cry from the hungry baby who couldn't get his mama's milk with his funny little tongue tied down. He sits in a high chair at meal times and points to whatever table food he thinks looks like it might have sugar in it.
He is definitely big enough to get through the night without a night feed, but we never do.
No... we never do. And this night is no exception...  his perfect legs curl up against my body and my legs curl underneath him, almost like a yin and yang... he signs to me with his pudgy hand that he wants to nurse and with a contented sigh relaxes into my arms. And it's at times like this where i cannot decide which of us feeds and which of us is fed.
i slept peacefully after that, you know... Soul kind of nourished, doubts quieted for night... comforted by nothing more than a little feed in the night...

Life in Transition

First there was her grade 12 registration.

i remember her grinning over my shoulder as i exclaimed in chagrin that this was my last time registering her for school...
Then, as soon as she was able, she applied for college. They conditionally accepted her. She wrote exams at the end of her first term. She was halfway done. She studied. i encouraged... i cheered. Sometimes i annoyingly reminded, pushed, prodded... i tried to be a good mama - all fumbling like a parent in the passenger side as their child hurtles down the highway for the first time, shouting instructions and pounding that imaginary brake as their child adeptly makes lane changes, weaving capably in and out of traffic.
We planned grad together.
She showed me what colours she liked and she let me put my fingerprints throughout it too. Sometimes she says that in the kitchen, we are like Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire, and it`s true... we work well together - cooking for ten most nights and days. i guess our experience paid off cause her grad was amazing. Over 80 people showed up to honour her... There were thoughtful speeches, yummy desserts, a song, grandparents and a special cousin who travelled, friends who helped and cried and hugged and brought presents, a soft blue dress that fit like a glove. There was also one clear, sweet voice using the humorous guise of, "valedictorian speech" to give her testimony to a room of people she admires.
It was perfect, really.
Neil's cousin's wife took grad pictures, my friend did Cai's hair...
She looked so pretty... So poised and confident. So Cairo.
After two and a half years of working at Dairy Queen and putting her cheques diligently in the bank... After countless babysitting jobs, loving each little one in each family and giving her dad the majority of the money she made over all those hours and hours of toil to put in the bank for her, she scrawled out a budget for her college education. She had more than enough.
"But i get to buy you new boots..." i added unnecessarily.
She doesn't really need me...
Her diploma grades arrived, and i rudely ripped open the envelope while she was at work. i really did. i'm ashamed to admit it, but it's the truth... i justified it by saying i wouldn't want to rush to her work with the envelope if it were bad news, but the news was good. Really good. So i grabbed her sister and my keys and with an idiotic grin on my face, i rushed in and shoved the envelope in her face.
She forgave me.
Her acceptance letter followed, and her diploma followed that.
Summer was in full swing.
She bought herself a new computer.
i tried to find her the kind of backpack she wanted.
She got her course schedule, and spent some time trying to figure out how the public transit was going to work for her 8am classes.
And this week, she works her final shifts at Dairy Queen. Her little apron is worn now... The sticky ice cream spray has been washed off of it a million times... those strings are weary from being wrapped around her tiny waist shift after shift as those blue eyes met the next customer, "What can i get you?"
Another childhood, please. A little girl with platinum cotton candy hair and electric blue eyes. Chicklet teeth that were worn almost in half from chewing on her dollies fingers by the time they came loose. i'll take one of those... please.
i wasn't ready to become a mama when she came.
i couldn't fathom what it was to first make room in your body and then to be the one who woke in the night, cleaned up the vomit, wiped away tears, prayed agonized prayers over feverish bodies, teen angst and exhaustion... i couldn't imagine the next 18 years when i was only 19 when i found out she was coming. i couldn't dream of weighing it all in my head, constantly second guessing myself, 'Is she healthy? Are her eyes ok? Will she be safe on those roads? Should i have put her in more lessons? What gaps did i leave in her education? Is she wrestling out her character flaws? Does she know they're there? Does she love me? Did too much of my own baggage wash over and soil her sweet, tender heart? Does she know i did my best?'
And my "word" for this year... or phrase, i guess, has been learning to "surrender - changing my heart of stone for a heart of flesh".. i have been learning to strive less and surrender more - and how many beautiful opportunities has my Saviour given me during this transitional season to learn that tender lesson? He's such a gentle shepherd... he knows the striving is futile... and breaking me of this futile habit, while painful, will be for my own good...

First there was her grade 12 registration. The beginning of the ending.
But, by tender mercies out of my hands, she's still here for awhile. She'll live at home while she takes her classes at a community college. We'll still traipse and dance around that kitchen as adeptly as we ever have. The donuts will still be made on the first day of snow and the little brothers will still get more time to make some memories as she continues to transition and strengthens her wings to fly...

motherhood - it's not what you think

It's almost mother's day.
I've been sitting here thinking of some of the moms that I know - or even the ones that I don't know. Moms who aren't in the thick of the curly toddler locks, the teething babies, the laboriously printed block letters...
No...
Motherhood goes beyond all the things that are physically hard and sweet and poignant. All the things that the internet highlights as motherhood?  They're our very best side.
The side that we hardly dare to speak of - let alone post it on the internet... that's the side that has been on my mind. The gut churning days where adolescent lives are wept over. The adult child who is full of seething hatred. The families struggling with mental illness and begging social services for a hand.

Oh, and I love me some baby love.

Who has loved motherhood like I have? Blogging the precious night wakings and the nursling, juggling the sweet elementary homeschoolers with gap toothed grins and scraped up knees... oh, I love it, I love it, I love it...
But mercy...
There are mothers who are spending their lives humbling themselves yet again in the face of extraordinary circumstances beyond anything that a sane human being would willingly sign up for. Loving beyond broken relationships, physical ability, beyond the gates of heaven that welcomed children before the parents who never stop longing for them.
I was thinking that maybe we should just scrap this whole divisive mother's day thing... So many women pained by infertility, singleness - and a callous culture that undervalues women in almost any life circumstance and pits us against each other in the most unfathomable ways.
But then I couldn't help but think of the women who are mothering through the darkest of days. The ones who reject any honour that might try to land on them on mother's day. The ones who grimace through the airy compliments from others who know nothing of their struggle - because the story isn't theirs to tell, it belongs to their suffering children - and amazing mother that she is... she'd cut off her own arm before she'd spill the howling pain she's in as she goes about her days praying for respite.
So this mother's day, I want to honour *that* mother.
The mother walking in the dark.
The mother trying to find an empty room so she can scream into a pillow.
The mother who looks like she has it all.
The mother who is being faithful.
The mother who is a lifeline to the human souls entrusted to her.
The mother who personifies hope.
The mother who needs some herself...

Happy mother's day.

Keep on, precious woman... one foot in front of the other...
You are doing Kingdom work - and it is not in vain.

¹² Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already arrived at my goal, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. ¹³ Brothers and sisters, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, ¹⁴ I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus. (phil 3)

River Baby

At the end of my pregnancy with Elmer, when I would pray for him - for God's glory to be revealed through the life of my little son, for protection, for anointing, for Abba's hand to claim my little one as His...
I had a picture in my head for Elmer.
I still remember - being painfully swollen, but dropping to my knees - acknowledging the sovereignty of God in every area of my life- including as mother of Elmer, precious life in my womb. So much had been stripped away. My body was tender in those very last weeks. My joints were loose, preparing early for birth, my husband travelled more than usual, I relied heavily (without shame) on the kindnesses of friends - who carried me daily in prayer and in practical ways by feeding us, helping us and loving us.
So often when we're stripped bare, it's our best opportunity for communion with our Father... and I took that opportunity - with every dip of my eyelids, I found Him there - and I could agree with the Holy Spirit that the tiny son in my womb was created by God - knit together, fearfully and wonderfully made. All of his days ordained for the purposes of a Holy God, before one of them even came to be. Even though his form was hidden from me, he wasn't hidden from God. He wasn't created by the will of an earthly father - no... there was a bigger purpose even than that...
And then, I had that picture in my head.
The picture was a river.
The story of Moses' mother sending her son - surrendering him - down the river - would wreck me. And it was all I could do to imagine my fingers pried one by one off my precious one, understanding that His ways are better than mine.

***

There was another little life, 18 years ago growing in my womb. I was 19 and scared. My love for her was a gift from God and I would have fought to the death for her fragile life... I still would.
Last night, a pastor picked her out of a crowded room and spoke words of truth and blessing over her life. He asked those around her to lay their hands on her and he prayed for her life - for her influence... He spoke Matthew 5:14-16* over her, my precious girl - a light in this world... He spoke of her entering a new era of leadership as she becomes an adult in this next year -

and there's that river again...

And maybe most mothers understand that picture that I have in my head of a river. Maybe all of us choose to surrender our own will to God's in a mighty way when He sends these little ones to reside in our bodies, and we raise them to live their lives as living sacrifices (all of Romans 12) - holy and pleasing to God...

Sometimes I feel like my heart will burst with the magnitude of this holy work that He has given me in being wife to Neil and mama to these children...
And I send my own self down the river too - surrendering my all to Him.



*“You are the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. ¹⁵ Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. ¹⁶ In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven."

joy - 5 minute friday

Sloan is participating in 5 minute Fridays, hosted by Lisa-Jo Baker, so I decided to join her today. 5 minutes is just a teeny tiny snippet of time.  Today's word was *joy*.

Go

As soon as I saw that the word of the week was joy, I knew I wanted to write about her.
We gave her the middle name Joy after her Gammie, and it suits her.
Her lips are always twitching with some sort of unrepentant naughty hilarity... her eyes - the ones that are the closest to her daddy's magical hazel colour are constantly dancing...
I'm glad we gave her the name joy - as I've watched her wrestle with the cares beyond her understanding... it has seemed a providential gift to my third born...

Daughter, your Father anointed you with joy.

She's thirteen and I know that she's on the cusp of those years I'm not supposed to blog about. Her legs are longer than mine - and if she lets me hold her, she can rest her chin on the top of my head. And I've seen her at her loveliest. I've seen her throw her long arms in the air. She opens that perfect, sweet mouth and words of praise burst forth unrestrained. Oh, and in her woman-child way, she waffles and wavers - torn between empathy and a wild desire to protect herself with a borrowed hardness. But I've seen her at peace. I've seen her at peace.
Her eyes tease, at times even mock. She sometimes uses those arms to hold me away from her. She tests and pushes and my whispered prayer - one that is more unrelenting than she can ever know or imagine - is for His hand to sweep away anything that would hinder...
And let the joy linger on...

Stop.

unbloggable

i read a blogpost that someone had posted to facebook about it being harder (impossible) to blog the teen years as intensely as you can blog the baby/toddler years. That comforts me a bit as these last couple of years have seen a lot more quiet in this place that has brought me so much joy over my journey through motherhood.
It's true that circumstances are sometimes completely unbloggable... sometimes unsharable or unspeakable. That's when you just exhale - surrender - and trust that He is shaping you in the midst of the desert time.

That said, every so often, I realize that I do want to raise my hand in the crowded room and offer a small piece to record here - as my children seem to grow before my eyes and time mercilessly marches ever forward... So here's a small breath of praise to the One who continues to draw me "further up and further in!"*

At the beginning of this year, I kept seeing people post their "word for the year" - and I searched my mind and heart for a word that might fit for me to meditate on and grow from, but instead of a word, there were two phrases that have kept coming back to me these first two months into 2014.
The first is that I am learning to see the value, less in 'trying harder' and more in surrendering.
It has been spoken aloud in a million different ways - almost on a daily basis as I've been listening for His still small voice in conversations with other believers, in my bible reading, in my quiet time with Him. Surrender is a whole different ache than "trying hard". And I've loved the picture that He has given me - that surrender makes it His - and He will faithfully take, and make beautiful, what no amount of my own effort ever could...
i guess an example of this type of surrender would be in the area of self control. i know sometimes my little ones will have a burst of fury and as i try to talk them down, "Chill out, relax...", i get the standard indignant response, "I'm TRYING!!"
What a funny little twist in our own thinking to think of surrendering our fury, our sadness, our broken relationships, our lack of self control - instead of constantly "trying harder..."  I've had to laugh at myself too as I'm the queen of over thinking - and sometimes i find myself, "trying harder to surrender..." That's when I've missed the point  - and i need to take a step back and take my mind out of the situation completely...
The second is more of an image - another trading of one thing for something better - but it's the daily decision to (by the miracle of grace) trade my heart of stone for a heart of flesh. **
What a scary decision that can seem to be when flesh seems so vulnerably unprotected; we experience flesh's suffering rather than a stone's coldness, tenderness rather than hardness, painful growth rather than deadness... It's His precious gift to me - to strip away my stony humanness - and give me a gift of a heart that beats for Him.
And I think that these two ideas are connected for me. I've run up against so many situations that are out of my control - He's allowing me to see, that I can try and try and try... until I'm exhausted and spent - but if I could just surrender - it might be painful, but through surrender, He'll take me places i could never get to on my own. A heart of flesh that is living and beating can do things that a dead heart could never do. A heart of stone can't soften itself, it can't warm itself, it can't make itself come alive...
But through surrender, the stone can be made flesh - all things are possible.

* a little Narnia love... ;)
** check out Spurgeon's sermon The Stony Heart Removed.

i won't regret this

i'm sure i've written this post before. Somewhere in the archives of this blog, similar words will have been tapped into my computer and saved as they poured warm and fresh from my fingers...
And so, i hesitated to write this post yet again...
But i did... and it sat a couple of weeks marinating... like most posts do these days.


It's 3am.
Elmer, at six and a half months, still rises frequently in the night - maybe a little remnant of his early nursing problems that he still needs to eat often... and it takes him quite a long time to finish. He was up at midnight, and i know i'll be up again before the other children rise from their beds. His weight is familiar in my arms - his sombre eyes meeting mine... softening into a smile as we connect in the semi-darkness.
"You won't regret this..." my voice rumbles audibly in the quietness of the very early morning as i hold him tenderly - and, as has become my habit, i kiss his forehead gently three times as he begins to nurse.
i won't regret treating this tiny son kindly - i won't regret waking to his call and tending to his needs. i won't regret smiling with bleary eyes half opened and shushing and patting that sweet raised bum as he drifts off again. i won't regret the days and nights i was a patient mama and i let myself soak in his babyhood.
There are plenty of things i regret about motherhood. i was so young and entitled as a young bride and mother... and it's a habit that is hard ended. i want to sleep, i want my house tidy, i want to eat my own food off my own plate...
But over these sweet decades, rising in the night... i've been forced to hand over sleep, my house and my food... so to learn to give it, freely, unbegrudgingly - even happily - for Elmer's sake - seems like some kind of miracle. Each one of these eight kids taught me to surrender - just a little bit more.
Elmer. Is it strange that when i say his name, my mind is drawn to my almighty God, El Shaddai... The One who saw fit to weave his little form together, The One who saw fit to sustain his little life when i was sure i was having another miscarriage... El Shaddai, the all sufficient God, is The One who continues to give and to take and whose plan for my tiny son was formed before Elmer's little life even began.
i was sitting in a pew in a church holding Elmer in my arms. Music swelled around me as i grappled with God over another child -the small woman - who earlier in the day, refused to let me hold her. Tears spilled over cheeks as i surrendered it all to my Father. My mind reached for scripture to pray over her in these tempestuous years and inwardly i sighed, "But what does God know of motherhood anyway?"
Immediately the scripture sprang to mind, "how often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, and you were not willing."
He knew.
He knew exactly how i felt - and how i longed for her to find solace in the safety of my arms. And He knows... my Shepherd - my all sufficient El Shaddai... the heart of a mother- the sleepless nights, the tending of needs, the comforting, cradling hold...
And - oh, could there be a more delicious relief than the knowledge i carry; that  i can surrender each one of my little ones to be sheltered under His wings as i myself find my refuge there as well.
And i shush and i pat... i nurse and i grow and stretch to meet another little set of needs.
i'm seen by God - as He croons to me in the night.
And i won't regret this.

Teenagers part 3

This is the next (final?) installment on this little series on parenting teens. If there is a desire for discussion, please feel free to leave comments in the comments section and i'll do my best to facilitate it!
One the most humbling, difficult thing I've done for my teens is to prayerfully find mentors for each one. Each of the three mentors is in a different decade of her life - each has different strengths and opinions and life experiences... each was open to welcoming one of my girls into their lives and hearts in the midst of their neediness.
I've found that sometimes teens want or need to expand their circle of trust. I want them to be able to find safe places to grow. Sometimes teens will be tempted to unload to another vulnerable (young)  friend - rather than in a safe, stable place. I want to be intentional about facilitating relationships with adults who they can relate to - who will consistently point them back to Jesus... and hopefully to us (her parents) too.
I've spoken to these women about my girls too - I want them to understand that they're not stepping on my toes. I want them to know that I see my own brokenness and I want my kids to have support and love and good, godly women in their lives. I want them to know that I'm grateful for their input.
My prayer is that these mentors would give similar advice to me - & also that they would say things like, "hey... maybe you should talk to your mom or ask your dad___" I know that when I've been so blessed to have the opportunity to build into other younger women's lives, that's the kind of advice I've tried to give - as well as turning consistently and persistently to my Father's word.
I've asked one of my best friends, Fawne, to guest post this blog because she has a passion for women and relationship - and also has been a beautiful shining example of discipleship in our church and every circle that she has ever been a part of.
I hope you love her thoughts as much as I do!!

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The first mentor I remember in my life was a beautiful young woman (our pastor's wife) and I adored her. I was twelve when she came into my life and at the time I had never even heard the word mentor or discipleship and throughout the years she spoke truth into my life I didn't even realize I was being mentored. It wasn't until I was twenty-one and went away to a Bible college whose very core and foundation was discipleship relationships that I began to understand the importance and absolute need not only for being mentored but for mentoring as well. In fact, I learned that God's word does not suggest that we do this but actually commands it. Jesus' final words on earth were . . . "Go, and make disciples" (Matthew 28:19).

While I was at college I had a mentor who changed my entire worldview on discipleship and suddenly I knew that it was something I needed -- always and forever -- and I knew that if I needed it so badly that other young women would need it too. 

A discipleship relationship is not complicated, it's simple. It's one person helping another person to know Jesus better and to walk in light of the truth of God's word. Sometimes it's very practical . . . an older woman teaching a younger woman the tricks she's learned over the years in time management, childcare, and loving unconditionally, etc. Sometimes it's deeply personal and hopefully God's word is always central. 

That first mentor I was telling you about (our pastor's wife) left my life while I was still in my early teens and how I wish there had been another woman to take her place. I didn't know it yet while she was in my life but I was teetering on the brink of a tremendously painful season and as I look back on myself during those extremely difficult years my heart aches over my own loneliness, my need for someone to be there . . . speaking truth into me . . . my need for someone to listen. It's not that I didn't have great parents but a parent isn't a superstar and there's only so much they can do in each child's life. 

If you're a parent of teens I can't emphasize how important it is to have other godly women speaking into your daughters and other godly men speaking into your sons. Already I have begun to pray for God to raise up men and women who are strong in the faith to speak into my own children, especially as they hit those teen years. Don't be afraid to help direct your children (especially young teens) toward godly men and women although often enough I believe they're drawn toward people who love the Lord all on their own.

Is this risky? Yes. Yes. Yes. Your child will probably spill your dirty secrets and even if they don't their mentor will see things you would rather keep hidden but in reality (in most cases) your pride is the only thing that will receive a solid blow.

Could it go wrong? It could. You could end up with someone who uses what is shared against you and makes you the object of gossip and slander. It's possible. Not likely, but possible. It's a risk you have to be willing to take. When we obey God's commands there is risk involved . . . not a risk of losing our security and significance . . . because that is wrapped up in what God says about us and no one can ever take it away. But there is a risk of pain. Sometimes it hurts to obey God but in the long run it's never as painful as disobedience.

Although I have had some difficult circumstances come out of discipleship relationships the good that has come out of them far outweighs the negative. I echo what Ann Voskamp said on her blog today:

I am the woman who needs saving from herself again, again, everyday —  the dirty that needs to be wiped clean everyday, the hands that need a cross to wrap a life right around so she won’t get lost.

As a woman who is filthy, who needs constant saving, this is one of the tools that God has used mightily in my own life -- discipleship. Women who are wiser than me speaking truth, asking me questions that lead me to see my own wrong, helping me see my brokenness, and teaching me what it means to walk under the umbrella of God's ruthless love.

I dare not even begin to assume that I would be half the woman I am today without so many godly women in my life who were willing to pour time and energy and prayer and love into me. I am convinced that when Jesus commanded us to "make disciples" it's for a very good reason . . . we were not meant to go it alone. We need each other. 

Practical Tips For What Discipleship Looks Like:

1. Does it have to be face to face?  I'm a busy mom and I don't always have time to meet with someone for an hour so I do discipleship over facebook; some people do it via texting, others by phone

2. What do you do during discipleship? My favorite way -- which I learned from my mentor -- is to allow the person I'm mentoring to talk about whatever is going on in their heart and life . . . their struggles, fears, what they're thinking about, questions they have about God or His word, etc. and then to bring truth into that situation using God's word as the foundation. Ask lots of questions.

3. How long is discipleship and how frequent? It can be however long you want. Ten minutes. An hour. However long you need it to be to talk about what you need to talk about. You may have to set a time limit though. I like to "meet" once a week but again, there are no set rules.

4. What if I try it and it doesn't go well? It happens. I've had it happen in my own life. Don't force it. Some mentor relationships were not meant to be. If either of you feels that it's not going well than you are free to walk away at any time. It's not a contract. Don't be too quick to walk away though, sometimes it just needs a bit of time. Both of you are learning. But if it's not going well don't be afraid to be honest about it and to ask someone else or as the mentor to quit mentoring that person. My discipler use to say that if the person she was mentoring was only in the mentor relationship because she wanted to be a "good" girl but wasn't serious about learning that she would say, "We're done for now. If you ever change your mind and want to get serious about following Jesus than I will be here for you." Don't feel as though you have to continue mentoring someone who doesn't want to learn, being mindful that some people take time to soften. 

teenagers part 2

It was something I've longed for from the beginnings of motherhood; and it grew as Cai learned words and how to string them together to make sentences, and put her thoughts out for the world to see.
(You can read Cai's incredibly thoughtful and insightful blog HERE.)

Talk to me.

Please, babies... talk to me. I wanted to know everything. I wanted to know what they did when they were out of my sight. I wanted to know what they thought of their childhood as it was in progress. I wanted to know their opinions about events, circumstances, experiences - what did music do to them... and how are they growing?
It's in my nature to talk (& often... to talk too much...)
But I genuinely find my kids to be very interesting people.
Sloanie recently wrote a poem and I loved it so much because it painted such a vivid picture of how she sees herself growing into someone different than the shy little girl we see in pictures of her at age seven.

 

Little Seven Year Old Me

 

The music I listen to would terrify little seven year old me,
The jokes I make now would horrify little eleven year old me,
The books I read now would bore little nine year old me,
And the clothes that I wear aren’t the frilly dresses I swore I would wear,
When I was little five year old me.
 
But fifteen year old me,
Looks back with love,
at the girl I used to be.
I’m older,
Wiser,
Dumber,
Taller,
Louder.

Maybe little seven year old me would be proud
Of the girl that I am now.
Instead of staying up in my cloud,
I grew up a little, I’m not sure how.

We still have lots of time to go,
Her life’s a part of mine like a silky soft sigh,
Just watch us as we change and grow,
Little seven year old me, and I


And so... a huge piece of my 'parenting teens philosophy' has been to talk to them. I kept talking to them when they were seven, 8, 10, 13, 17... and I sure hope I never stop. I talk to them about everything. We talk about prayer, gay marriage, poverty, racism, social justice and current events. We talk about boys, dating, hairstyles, 'fandoms' and clothes. We talk about friendships and family, rejection and divorce. We talk. We talk. And we talk.
And they have things to say. I try not to give my opinion as much, but I try to say things like, "but what about_?" if I think they might be missing something big. They are forming ideas and opinions - and I know that my teens aren't abnormally smart or socially aware - so i'll venture this fairly broad statement: teenagers are captivating. It's not going to be long till they're grown - and gone... and their teen years become a part of their accompanying, "silky soft sigh..."
I want to be friends with that piece of them too...
I want these to be years where they can bounce their newly forming thoughts off of someone who loves them. I want our conversations to be safe places to explore ideas and ideologies. I want to give them opposing arguments so that they can figure out their own heart as they wrestle (and sometimes struggle) through issues that are deserving of sincere contemplation.
I'm eager to see my little ones grow in 'wisdom and stature and favour with God and man'. And part of making sure that as a mama, I'm facilitating it happening - is by having conversations.
And here's where I tell you what happened today and maybe make myself look a little strange...
It was one of those one sided conversations that sometimes occur with teens. It was a crucial conversation that needed to be had, but it was uncomfortable - and hard. And so I spoke until my words ran out...
And then on impulse, I layed hands on the little woman who was  only murmuring in response. Instead of words of instruction - or forcing conversation (which incidentally works a whole lot better when there are two people taking part) - I just lifted her up to God. I prayed for her like I don't remember ever praying for another human being in my life ever. It was my best parenting moment of the day... (week? Year?)... Not heavy, just love. The words flowed as I prayed blessing over her life and our relationship.
Prayer? Is bringing someone bigger than yourselves into the conversation.
It was an instant reminder that this child is the workmanship of a Holy God who created her with a purpose and a plan in mind - and because it pleased Him to do so.

For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.

(ephesians 2:10)

 

“You are worthy, O Lord our God,
    to receive glory and honor and power.
For you created all things,
    and they exist because you created what you pleased.”

(revelation 4:11)

 

And so, even in those moments - I gave her back - and I continue to give them back again and again and to trust the One who loves them a seemingly impossible amount when I acknowledge that He loves them even more than I do...

siblings

I love my little ones... like, I crazy love them.
I walked past my son in the kitchen tonight. He was getting advil because his teeth were hurting pretty bad from his braces. He is almost my height now - and as I pass him, he seems like a man.
He's more like me than like his dad. His hair is fair - and he talks too much and feels so deeply.
I stall him... I ask him about school, about his friends, about his faith... but in moments, his little sister is hissing up the stairs, "Charter! What's taking you so long?"
I should have known she wouldn't be asleep yet...
She peeks up the stairs and sees me. She smiles and climbs into my arms.
Her hair is like silk except for the tiny piece where best friend's mom sewed a feather in it. She still fits under my chin - even though she's tall for nine.
And I know they're tired... they need to go to bed... but I wrap one arm around my boy... and one around his littlest sister. They pull in close - and awkwardly tuck their other arms around their own body.
"No." I whisper insistently... "Each other too..."
And they do.
We're wrapped in a little huddle - just the three of us - and I can't help but burst into prayer.
I get one line in - and we hear a whimpering wail from downstairs... the little brothers have discovered their big siblings are missing.
They laugh - and they break our sacred huddle and tiptoe down the stairs whispering reassurances in sleepy tones.
And I?
I feel the emptiness of arms that want to grab hold of those two siblings and make them see the precious thing that they sometimes treat with scorn...
Oh babies... can you see how each of you has been gifted to the others? Do you understand how much these relationships mean? Will you throw them away like trash? Or could it be... that when my arms are laid to rest... it will be in the arms of your brothers and sisters that you will find comfort?
And this mama wants to absorb each hurt that you inflict on each other, because, my precious babies? They're not as big as you imagine them to be.
And this mama wants to reinvent bad habits - I want to make you smile at the one who drives you nuts, compliment the one who makes you jealous, be generous to the one who always seems to take...
But I can't do any of that. Because these relationships aren't mine to orchestrate or manipulate or force... no, these relationships are YOUR gifts.
And so I watch - smiling when you work together, laughing when you play together... crying when I see you making music together... cheering when you stand up for each other, weeping when I see you dancing, worshipping, praying together ... drenched in hope when I see your secret friendships forged with laughter... but then begging mercy for the one who shouldn't have done it - pleading grace for the one who doesn't deserve it...
I know i'm a hot mess as a mama (and wife - and human being)... but the one thing... *the one thing* that I have going for me - is that I don't think it would be possible for any other mama to love you all more than I do - and the best thing that I know to give you - the ones that I love so desperately...
Is each other.
Treat each other well.

darling babies - later-post

i picked up my computer a dozen times in this last couple of months to blog - and a dozen times I haven't been able to follow through.
Even now, I hear Elmer stirring upstairs and I doubt i'll get more than a line or so down before he calls with his gentle cry and i'll have to run to him. He's tiny and soft now - his baby rolls are just starting to form - and the feeding of his little frame has consumed us both these last weeks.
(True enough, this post had to sit half finished while I filled the needs of my tiny one who cries to be held - and rewards my efforts with giant gummy smiles.)
We're in some years that feel like a giant rollercoaster ride - or maybe it's something less civilized yet - this season that rocks and sways, brings us to terrifying heights and plummets us towards earth while our hearts pound and we wonder if we'll survive at all.
We have you, daughter entering your last year of highschool, and you, tiny son, just born - and six of you in between, all at various stages of growth and life. We have a daddy who travels  (who by the time I post this will have come and gone again maybe a dozen times...) and a mama who clings to Jesus - a family that is held together by love and grit... And a Saviour who holds us all.

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I can tell it's him - arriving home after a late night flight - because the door shuts softly. My sprite daughter won't be home from work for another half hour, and my tiny baby won't wake for his first night feed for another hour after that. He pads up the stairs, and I rub my eyes and struggle to sit up in bed.
He always looks so good to me when he gets home from the road. His shoulders are so broad and his skin so brown. He smiles that smile that melts me and starts to unload his suitcase. His voice is low and full of warmth - and mine answers his in sleepy-we-have-a-newborn-again tones. Our conversations wind gently around you children that we made together.
And the one thing that I feel like I did right is to love your daddy. We've fought and made each other mad and sad before... I made him want to pull out his hair, and he made me cry... but I know without a shadow of a doubt that I love this man who has borne the weight of this growing family all these years.
Cause it all comes down to relationships, little ones.
It never stops being about relationships.
You can try to do and you can try to be and you can give and cry and rage...
Or you can just love and open yourself up to real relationship.  The kind that bends without breaking, stretches without tearing and grows you stronger with the joy and the pain...
So I let him see me.. like... really see me. When he's gone, I text him my vulnerability.
"Be soft with me when you get home."
Because he's a big exhausted man who might miss the subtle nuances of a tender wife who has missed him desperately.
"I will. I promise." He responds.
And i'm heard.
And he does.
Babies... I love your daddy.
And together... we love you.
And this family - is a gift that none of us choose to take for granted.

posterior tongue tie - part 2

A week after Elmer's revision, his improvements seemed significant to me. I decided to wean him off the supplements. I decided if I just nursed him more - i'd have to pump less - and so I pumped less and less and nursed more and more - till I was nursing almost constantly. Within a couple of days, I realized that he wasn't pooping or peeing like he had been. He quit sleeping any longer chunks and was constantly fussing and rooting. I realized quickly that I needed to start pumping again, but those couple of days wreaked havoc on my supply *again* and I had to build it with constant pumping and nursing yet again. I finally awkwardly managed to figure out pumping and nursing at the same time to save some time - and as my supply returned, I found myself grateful that at least I *had* milk - even with the other trouble, I was grateful that it really could be so much worse.
By this time, I was two weeks past his revision... I went back to the dr. to check on his progress - and she confirmed that he was in no way ready to quit the supplements. She also wanted me to stay on the Domperidone - which honestly? It has a side effect that makes it impossible to lose weight - & unless i'm really careful, my body wants to gain weight... I know, I know... vanity... but I still have 10-15lbs leftover from pregnancy... and i'm used to it falling off at a nice pace... This little piece of my vanity makes me uncomfortable & it's not very fun... but... i'm a stubborn mama sometimes, and so the Domperidone stays - and apparently, so does the baby weight -  until we really feel that I can wean off of it... and I guess I can't just yet.
The dr. wanted me to continue pumping like crazy, building up my supply to the point of oversupply to see if it makes it easier for Elmer to nurse.

I also decided to contact Dr. Jack Newman on his website to see if he had any insight into my situation. When you contact him, you have to limit your question to a certain number of characters - and it was really hard to be detailed and brief at the same time. As a result, his answer wasn't as useful as it could maybe have been, but I did take from it a renewed interest in the idea of breast compression. I had been foregoing the breast compressions in favour of the tandem nursing/pumping. I only have 2 hands after all... and I figured if I nursed, I could pump more - and maybe the reverse was true too... But after reading Dr. Newman's response, I rethought my goal. My ultimate goal isn't to pump more - my ultimate goal is to have Elmer solely on the breast - so I decided to go back to breastfeeding with compressions and then pumping after the feed. This seemed to have an almost immediate impact. He was swallowing more at the breast - it was like I was pumping - and instead of going into a bottle, it could go straight into my babe...
The breast compressions were so successful that even though I was terrified to quit pumping for fear i'd have to rebuild my milk supply yet again, I decided to try again. When Elmer was 5 days shy of 2 months, I quit pumping. I weighed him at the beginning and at the end of the trial and he had gained appropriately, so I felt confident to continue as we were and to continue weaning off the Domperidone too. This is a really slow, laborious process. I was on the lowest dosage of 8 pills per day, but even so, you have to wean down 1 pill every 4-5 days and if you notice a drop in supply you have to go back to the last dosage that was working and stay there for 2 weeks before attempting to wean down any further. Needless to say, i'm still in the process of weaning off of it, but honestly? It looks like at 2 months post partum that there's a light at the end of the tunnel & that we've made enough progress to feel pretty normal (we're down to 3 pills per day). This is a huge step considering our doctor felt at his last appointment that his latch was still unorganized and weak - enough so that she didn't feel sure we would ever be able to wean off the domperidone as long as we wanted to continue nursing.
I know that this journey was one that I chose. Other women would have chosen differently - & that is totally cool. I just knew that *I* needed to listen to my mama heart and do everything in my power to make this work. Yes, it was a ton of work - and yes, I wanted to quit several times... especially in the middle of the night when I hadn't slept. Yes, it hurt. A lot. Yes, I got discouraged and wondered if maybe we just weren't going to be able to do this thing...
But i'm so very glad that we were able...
And i'm looking forward to the next months and years of our breastfeeding relationship with tender hope and awed pleasure.

posterior tongue tie part 1

This was written a few weeks ago... when I was hoping there wouldn't be a part 2... but there will be. We are still struggling now - but I thought I would share part 1.

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So, surely it must nearly be true that I have experienced almost every breastfeeding barrier in the world... Read my post Breastfeeding Anyway HERE to see what i'm talking about :)   Elmer's nursing journey has been no exception - and it has taught me yet another gem of knowledge that I lacked before he came.
If you read Elmer's birth story, you'll know that he was born in a beautiful water birth. I didn't have an epidural - & baby was alert and content when he was born. After I held him in the water for as long as I wanted to - my midwives helped me stand and they wrapped us both in towels as I climbed carefully out of the tub carrying my tiny mite. They didn't want anyone else to take him, as they told me that research supported the claim that me holding him would help to establish our breastfeeding relationship (ha!) - even though I had been unable to get him to latch in the tub like I had with Ephraim when he was born.
As soon as I got out of the tub, I tried again, but we couldn't manage to latch. I honestly didn't think too much of it, as I was drunk on birth hormones - and giddy with my beautiful baby boy. We took our time, and finally it was time for the midwives to come and check him out and weigh and measure him. During their check, they saw that he had a pretty thick anterior tongue tie - his frenulum was stopping his tongue from releasing so that was likely why he hadn't been able to latch. They asked me if I wanted them to clip it. I immediately said yes. Just the day before, we found out that Charter (our 11 year old son) requires braces - and the orthodontist told me that this need was likely because he is tongue tied so his tongue never sat in his mouth correctly - so his palate is narrower and deeper than it should be.
My midwives proceeded to make what they said was a fairly deep frenulum cut - and Elmer miraculously latched.
We were pleased with his latch and it looked like he was sucking well. It was mildly uncomfortable right from the first latch - but breastfeeding has never been easy for me - and Reynauds usually causes quite a bit of pain early on - so again, I didn't think too much about it.
We went home, and Elmer continued to be difficult to latch, but that's not uncommon - & I never find the beginnings of breastfeeding easy - so I just continued doing what I was doing - until Elmer was 24 hours old... and then I couldn't latch him at all. It was evening, and he rooted and fussed for hunger - and I offered him the breast and he couldn't latch at all... I expressed milk into his little birdie mouth - and he swallowed, but couldn't lap it - or get latched on to get the milk himself. Neil went to bed, and I put myself to bed in another room, skin to skin with my newborn and continued to offer the breast every hour of the night - but we made no progress. I held a soother in his mouth to see if he could suck on it - I offered my finger to see what was happening, but his little tongue would just thrust it out. By the wee hours of the morning, I was almost delirious with exhaustion... I hadn't slept in days - with prelabour and then labour and the new tiny baby - and I couldn't figure out why something so hard was suddenly a hundred times harder than it should be.
By 8 am I was genuinely worried. My baby hadn't eaten anything at all in at least 12 hours and I wasn't sure how much he had taken in prior to that - I was sure he hadn't had much in the past 24 hours - as his latch had gotten progressively worse the previous day. I told Neil I was going to have to call the midwife, and as I said this, our doorbell rang - and it was the midwife stopping in!!  I was so relieved to see her - and we immediately set about seeing what we could do about his latch.
She showed me how to put my finger on the roof of his mouth, wait for him to attempt to suck and then turn my finger and press down on his tongue to encourage him to "cup" rather than thrust. My midwife found it very odd that elmer wouldn't even suck a finger that was in his mouth. He would just sit gape mouthed with a finger pressing his tongue. Finally, she encouraged me to "bolus feed" him. I would express tiny precious drops of colostrum into a cup and use a spoon to encourage him to try to "lap" with his tongue. It seemed like he *could* do this - but not well - and very reluctantly. It would take forever for me to get the 2 teaspoons expressed and then slowly get him to take them in, and then try to breastfeed and then start again. This lasted until late afternoon when I finally got him to (painfully) latch on again.
When he would latch, I would do all I could to correct the latch that he had, pulling out his bottom jaw and fixing his upper lip (which had a very obvious tie - but was maneuverable). He would swallow for the initial let down, but then it was like he didn't know what to do - and he would let go - and cry for hunger. So, I would give him the other side and the same thing would happen.
My milk came in with a BANG like it always does - and through the engorgement, I expressed into the bath to try to stay soft enough to be able to feed him (if I would have known what would happen, I would have saved this milk for what came next!!)
Elmer had weighed 8 pounds at birth, by 4 days, he was 7 pounds 4 ounces... by 6 days, he was down another ounce... but it was such a small loss that the midwives felt he must be ready to turn around and we were confident that day 8 would see a gain. I nursed like crazy, doing hand compressions I had watched on a Dr. Newman youtube video. I scoured the internet when I was up all night, trying to find suggestions for babies with "weak suck", "how to fix baby's latch", etc... We nursed every hour of the day... but I didn't feel like we were having much success as his diapers were hardly wet and his poops were frothy with little substance.
Day 8 came and the midwife at first said, "no, there's no gain..." but then she remeasured and said, "Oh, yes there is - he has gained 100 grams!"
I was ecstatic. It had been so much work, but what we were doing must be working! It was worth it, I concluded and steeled myself for some sleepless nights and difficult long days of nursing to see a return to birth weight by the time we would weigh him at 2 weeks (most babies are back at birth weight between 10-14 days after birth).
Over the next 5 days though, I thought my little one looked gaunt. I hoped it was that he was growing, stretching... but I started to worry. His little face looked so thin, and as he was 22 inches at birth - such a long boy - his little legs looked just skeletal. By the time I brought him in a day before 2 weeks, I wasn't very confident that he had gained very well... but I was still shocked when they put him on the scale and he weighed 6 pounds 14 ounces. When I saw him naked, it was even more pitiful. He had good colour, and didn't have a sunken fontanel, but he had no flesh at all on his bones. His loss was 14% of his body weight and the midwives were pretty shocked and dismayed along with me. They let me cry in the back room as I rocked him and cuddled him and tried to nurse him as we talked about options. They told me 14% is just not ok - and we can't continue doing what we're doing... I agreed and told them if I had realized that he was still going down, I would have been more proactive - and borrowed the pump my friend had offered.
They said they felt like he should probably be supplemented with formula - & I balked. Two of my friends had offered their breastmilk - and my mama heart wanted him to have human milk. I told them I would pump and supplement with my own milk - but they were concerned that it was a supply problem. They wrote me a prescription for domperidone and told me that however I did it, he needed to be supplemented 40-60 mls after every feed - and he needed feeding every 2 hours around the clock. Another midwife that wasn't there at the time even phoned me at home and told me she wasn't comfortable with *not* using formula at this point - but I pushed for breastmilk and told her if we saw no gain in 2 days, that I would go out and buy formula immediately. I felt like I needed to follow my heart and give this a fair shot first - and so I did.
I dried my tears and got to work. I borrowed the pump from my friend and with my very first attempt, got the 60 mls he required after I had already fed him. He chomped and chewed, but took the bottle with minimal problems. My friends stepped up with the donor milk and so my routine for the next 5 days around the clock was to nurse my tiny one, then pump that side, then nurse the other side, then pump that side - then I would feed him whatever I had pumped (supplementing with donor milk when necessary). This would sometimes take over an hour - as he would need diaper changes in there too - and so I would have an hour break and then start again... around the clock. I was exhausted. I started the domperidone, fenugreek, blessed thistle and a mother's milk tea - but I couldn't keep up with the supplements - so whenever I couldn't pump anymore, I would give him milk from my mama friends and pray that he would grow.  For 5 days, it was close to 50/50 donor milk to my expressed milk. I nursed him at the beginning of each of these feeds - but over the course of those 5 days, my milk increased and I used less and less donor milk. On the sixth day, he was back only on my milk.
We reweighed him after 2 days and he had gained 6 ounces. We were thrilled with this gain, and scheduled a reweigh for 3 days later. At this weigh in, he had gained another 6 ounces - putting him only 6 ounces from birth weight. I was so happy he was gaining - and his full diapers were soothing my mama heart - but deep down, I wondered what was the root of the problem? Why couldn't my baby eat? My number one goal had to be to get Elmer eating and gaining... but not far behind, I had another set of goals. I was going to get Elmer off donor milk, then I was going to figure out how to get him to get milk from me, not a bottle, and then I was going to get my body off of the domperidone, fenugreek and blessed thistle.
My midwives told me that whatever was going on with Elmer was beyond their scope and they referred me to a breastfeeding clinic here in the south of Calgary. One suggested that my age and number of babies maybe played a part in our problems (even though I knew this wasn't true... it rubbed raw and hurt my already hurting heart)  - they had theories and suspicions, but couldn't nail what it was.
Finally on July 3rd, I went to the lactation clinic. Elmer was 2 weeks 6 days. I told Neil on the way, "if they try to 'fix my latch' I will scream."
"Why are you even going then?" he asked.
"I want help - but I want real help - I want them to figure out what's wrong..."
Early on, a good friend had suggested that Elmer sounded like he had a posterior tongue tie. She had a friend go through the experience of a posterior tongue tie and thought there sounded like there were similarities. My midwives told me it was a possibility but that it wasn't something they were trained to deal with - and that i'd need to ask at the breastfeeding clinic. So, I hoped that there would be an answer - but it didn't seem likely to my midwives since they had already clipped his frenulum at birth and they said his lip tie didn't usually impact breastfeeding.
I got to the clinic and filled out my paper work and they weighed Elmer. I started to get teary when we found he was 8 pounds even - finally at his birth weight! He had amazingly gained 18 ounces over only 1 week! 
The nurse came in and after talking for only 2 minutes with her, I started to get excited. She started explaining to me the symptoms of a posterior tongue tie - how you can't see it, but you feel it. How it's different from a frenulum clip - but can have an enormous impact on the ability to breastfeed. She felt in his mouth and showed me how his tongue wasn't working properly - she pointed out that his palate was deep and narrow - a sign that his tongue hadn't ever been able to move freely even in the womb. She told me that a lip tie is a good indicator of a baby who likely has a posterior tie too. Everything that she said fit - she said with a posterior tongue tie - the mom is feeding the baby, but the baby is never feeding himself. It's too hard - so mom needs pumping, meds and constant feeds to help baby gain - but if baby could move his tongue, he could feed himself and it would be (almost) effortless.
She told me she was going to go get the doctor and see if she confirmed her suspicions.
She swung the door shut behind her and I picked up my baby.
I nuzzled my face right into his neck.
And I started to sob.
It was something real - it wasn't some horrible nightmare where suddenly my body didn't know how to do this... and it was something they could fix... and we could work on... and it would get better... and it was good that I didn't give up - and the nurse told me I was amazing, that she couldn't believe how well we had persevered... and the encouragement was like balm to my hurting, exhausted mama heart - and I couldn't stop the tears as I looked at my tiny son who I know had suffered. I knew that getting this release would hurt him, and I ached to know that he had to suffer more before we could start to get better, but I was so grateful that we had a path to start on...
The nurse returned before I could compose myself with the doctor - and they were both the picture of compassion as they tenderly wrapped my son in a blanket and fixed his tiny mouth. I nursed him right away as soon as they were done - and I could feel the difference as he inexpertly tried to figure out how to move his mouth and tongue.
One day later, he's still a very disorganized nurser. We have been given some exercises to do with him to try to get him to start using his tongue properly. They said it might take some time to relearn how to suck and how to effectively nurse - but I feel full of hope that we're on the road to recovery now.
And - that - is my extremely long story... and believe it or not, this is abbreviated to take out most of my *feelings*.

egypt

It was my last time leading worship in my home church until the little baby boy arrives... so i got the chance to sit through most of all three services...
Our pastor is working through a series on the life of Moses - and it has been good, meaty stuff. In a breath of his sermon today, he gently offered the challenge, "When the Israelites ran into difficulty, their first impulse was to go back to Egypt... what do you turn to when things get difficult?"  He suggested that for some, it might be a habit of alcohol... pornography... or what he personally struggled with; apathy and laziness.
And as i sat with my swollen belly resting uncomfortably on my lap, i wondered what my Egypt might be...
i wondered if it was my habit to compulsively over think anything and everything, or if it was a weakness that had not yet been revealed to me, but was apparent and obvious to everyone around me...
And then i hit on it...
i was pretty sure that my Egypt was self-pity.
"Unloved" is my heart's petulant cry when met with difficulty, and with a sigh of acceptance, i meekly turn from freedom and accept the 'comfort' of the familiar slavery of self pity. i decided to watch for it - to guard against it - to remember that when difficulty comes, He sees, He hears and He has compassion on me... i'm fed, clothed and so tenderly led - and i truly do want to walk in freedom. Loved.
i didn't have to wait long to be tested in my resolve.
At the end of a long day, i sat down with a flock of young lambs who have no idea the vulnerability that the 39th week of pregnancy brings. My hands ache - a new pregnancy symptom i've never had before - and the end of the day shows my very real weaknesses as my body slows into a gentler, more careful gait. I have had a beautiful, healthy pregnancy - but any pregnancy is hard work. It's physically, emotionally and spiritually demanding... bringing me again and again to depend on others and surrendering my own comfort and vanity for the sake of another tiny person.
I've loved becoming "that house" - full of my own children and the children of others. I love getting to know them, letting them into our lives and getting a peek into theirs. My life has been enriched and my faith has been fed by the extra teens that sneak into my house, laze on my couch and have wormed their way so completely into my heart...
They were playing music... and then the little voice of one of my own lambs chirped, "My friend's dad told me that you and dad should stop having naps together..."
"Yeah, my mom says you guys have too many kids... You should stop."
And i smiled... but tears welled up in my eyes... And i *know*... these are gentle jests... These are my friends - and these little lambs don't know that sometimes i feel tired swimming upstream - so constantly called to a different shore...
And i couldn't respond...
"Yeah," continued one of my own little lambs... "i'm getting tired already of the comments, 'is your mom about ready to be done yet?' or, 'You guys already have such a big family, you must hate it...' It's like, enough already!"
Her eyes followed me as i got up to sweep and i think she guessed what might lie behind the plastic mask of a smile on my face...
i know these comments are idle - and they mean nothing to me - or to the tiny one i carry... and they certainly take nothing away from this marathon journey of pregnancy, and these final aching days as we prepare to cross the finish line... And honestly? People have been so kind... too kind... like, bend over backwards, *over blessed* kind... and i *know that i know that i know*... that there isn't one scrap of malice or cruelty in these words... but in an instant...

i began to turn back to Egypt.

"Hey daughter... want freedom?"
He whispers...
"Yes, Papa..." i pray... i'm sweeping the crumbs from beneath my large family dining table... swallowing the lump in my throat and cursing the hormones that make my emotions run far too close to the surface.
And in that moment, I choose to raise my eyes above the teasing confusion of my fellow Israelite wanderers to the majestic sight of fire and cloud leading us Homeward in the sky... I beg Him to speak truth.
And suddenly i'm filled with a certainty... that this boy that I carry, is God's workmanship... Before he was formed in the womb, God knew him... Abba Father... is knitting him together in the secret place to do good things.  The work i'm doing? It's not in vain... Jehovah-Nissi - my banner -  is using me, His daughter.  My willingness to carry this little one for His sake is not something to be scorned or looked down upon... it is a beautiful work, and one that will carry eternal consequences... and Jehovah-Raah - my shepherd - is so gently leading me...
Out of Egypt...
Out of slavery...
Out of self pity...
Into freedom.

vulnerability in the last month

i'm nearing the end of this pregnancy...
Even if i go late (which i'm anticipating), still... each pregnancy has a beginning and and end, and i know that the end will come.
i've been feeling incredibly healthy and strong (still - at 37 weeks). But some days - it creeps up on me... vulnerability.
It's a certain heaviness... or a feeling almost like i can't breathe... or a fleeting panic at an inability to perform a simple task that was so easy a few months ago... And i feel tears come so easily - not from sadness or frustration - but just from the beauty and aching fragility of the expectant state... i have to explain to Neil... "i'm ok. i just want you."
And i do...
There is warmth and peace that radiates off his back when i press myself too close and he finally has to shrug me away saying, "someone is being too kicky..."
We roll over away from him, giving him some much needed space. My son and i. i'm heavily turning my enormous body away as he twists and turns in his baby home within me... and i feel that subtle communion that happens between mother and child in utero.  It's a strange sightless connection between us. i imagine him all curled up - and i wonder if he imagines me at all... Gently i lay my hand on an outstretched limb that is making a strange lump on my abdomen... He's there.
My hands are thick and veiny from the extra blood flow in my body that sustains and nurtures his little body as it grows. My movements lack their usual quickness, my thoughts are plodding and sluggish...
A friend who is a mother of six phoned. We hadn't talked in a couple of years and as we caught up on my most recent pregnancy, she asked me, "So how do you feel about your big family?"
And i responded, "i'm doing the very best that i can..."
i am satisfied with that answer.
And i welcome the vulnerability that i've found myself in as i prepare myself for what's to come...

countdown to baby

32+ weeks pregnant with my little june baby.
i feel healthy and full and content and peaceful... so far... All my third trimester bloodwork came back with good results - my iron is a little low, but normal, my blood pressure is nice and low, my weight gain predictably around 24 pounds right now, my feet swell when i stand too much and i've lost the ability to sleep in, my fundal height is in the right range... All normal stuff for me in pregnancy. He's also head down - which is a relief after Ephraim stayed breech so late. i know he still has time to turn, but i'm thinking the chances are getting less now that he's getting bigger every day.
i've always found the last 10 weeks of pregnancy feel like living in a state of constant heightened expectation. i hear this countdown in my head - like the amplified voice of the space shuttle launch announcer - as these last weeks count themselves to their close. (Though don't worry, i'm not silly enough to believe that the end of a 40 week countdown = the end of pregnancy, it's always fun to countdown to the final count-up, isn't it? :)
And so i'm planning this little ones birth - as much as you can plan for the birth of a child that will be unique in timing and execution. We want to use Arbour Birthing Center again. Ephraim's birth was my favourite birthing experience - and Neil's too. We liked the freedom that the birthing center brought, and feel like we'd sure like it to work out for us to use their facility again. There's a little cost involved, ($525) but we felt like it was worth it for the experience we got out of it. We'll need to go and put down a deposit sometime in the next 4 weeks.
The other thing that comes to mind as we prepare, is Neil's travel. Neil had a travelling job the last time we had a baby, but in the last year and a half, his travel has kicked into high gear. It will be a little nerve wracking in the last bit i'm sure, as i want so badly for him to be home - but i do feel really sure that i can just let go and trust that God has the timing and arrival all worked out and that no scheming on my part will make anything go any more smoothly. As it stands, we're counting on baby being a little late, and i'm feeling certain that our little one will oblige.
This little boy is an active one. i've only resorted to kick counts once - as he's constantly on the move - moving my entire belly with his jabs and rolls. i love active babies - i've had both active and the gentle quiet ones - (and strangely, it didn't seem to have any measurable impact on what they were like after they were born) - but i sure appreciate my babies who are movers and shakers, easing any anxiety and offering constant reassurance that all is well.
We don't have a name yet.
My inlaws keep calling him, "Neilson" - and when i asked Neil if he liked that name, he gave me a, "you're ridiculous" face and a thumbs down... so i guess that's off the table. :) Neil is famous for only wanting to use his veto power on names and not coming up with any himself. He says it's because i come up with ridiculous names (he thinks "Watchman" is a ridiculous name). i don't know which one of us came up with the only one that he likes a little bit - but we're keeping it to ourselves right now since we're still so unsure. i keep a short list of names that stand out to me though - and i'm sure we'll find something to name baby at some point. It's funny though - i felt absolutely certain about my 'girl' name... so if the ultrasound tech was wrong and we end up with a june girlie instead of a june boy... she'll be all set. ("Saphron Glory" for those of you who are curious - & we would call her "Phronsie" just like in the Five Little Peppers and How They Grew).
i can't decide if 8 weeks left is a long time or a short time. It seems like such a short time to me... but then i second guess myself and say, "Oh, but paige, in the next few weeks - that's when your body will fall apart at the seams as this little boy packs on his chubbins and the exhaustion will threaten to overwhelm...
So i guess - it's both a long and a short time, so i'll just enjoy it while it's relatively easy - and when the tough stuff comes, i'll break out my stash of butterball bath bombs from Lush. (Neil bought me 3 when we were in banff... i might need more...)
So there are the meanderings of my mind - the bits and pieces that are a part of life in this snapshot moment of expecting number 8. Maybe not terribly interesting - but it's a part of the savouring of these tender child bearing years that can't help but count themselves to their close too.