A Long Year

It's hard to believe it, but my baby is going to have his first birthday at the end of the month. It has been a joyful, wild, and at times difficult year. He has been a source of constant delight to our whole family. The darling of his brothers and sisters, he is full of smiles at almost all times. He seems days away from starting to walk, although I suspect like his older brother he will wait as long as possible to actually take his steps without a walker. My baby, if I can still call him that, spends most of his day getting into mischief and tearing around the main level with the help of a variety of walking devices and anything he can stand upright with and push for a distance. Just the other day he stood up and pushed the kids' little table clear across the room. We're constantly having to pull things up out of his long reach. A delightful conundrum to see him so mobile and curious.

During the first year of his sweet life, the greater life of our family has been turned on its ear. Our usual routine has changed dramatically and certain things, like our housework, have fallen completely apart. Our once moderately untidy home seems almost beyond reprieve. We're still co-sleeping (a first for us for this length of time) so his nursery has become the de facto storage room (that and every other closet, empty corner and flat surface). Our project will be to re-claim that, hopefully before his first birthday. Already this week we've re-organized the girls' room, adding back in the dressers we left out when we moved into our townhouse. We did that primarily to keep the kids from tossing all their clothes on the floor. With their bunk bed and newer laminate flooring their room looks brand new. All it needs is a coat of paint and baseboards to complete the effect. Next on our list is to re-organize baby boy's room so we can slowly get him in his crib. We want him used to sleeping in the crib before we move it down the hall to his brothers' room. That'll happen once we lay the new laminate in there and set up their bunk bed. Another year of big changes ahead.

Not to say that all the changes are due to our wee baby boy. Although his birth caused the usually fog of exhaustion, that wore off somewhere around the 4 month mark. While we were dealing with new baby love, my husband has been doing battle with his chronic illnesses (diabetes and gastroparesis). Of late he's been fighting the most persistent and long lasting case of cellulitis in his leg. Poor man works so blessed hard for us, and despite all the setbacks his health causes, he can't be kept down. God continues to bless us and we're fighting hard to keep our joy. The other reason for our topsy turvy year has been my Mom's terminal cancer diagnosis. She is daily doing battle for her health and despite an early prognosis of only a few months, she has been steadily improving her health and her prognosis. It has reminded our little family how precious every day is with our loved ones. We have been trying to spend two or more days a week visiting her, providing as much entertainment as exhaustion I suspect. The bonus has been of course more time with my Dad and brother (beloved and doting Uncle). The kids are being blessed with lots of fond memories they can treasure for their whole life.

What should have brought our family down has been a season of miracles, both big and small. God only knows what the second year of our baby's life will bring, but I trust in His mercy. He is good, and while circumstances may not always seem bright, I feel His loving care surrounds our family, protecting us.

Chronic Lifestyle

We are living what I would call the Chronic Lifestyle. Basically, many of our daily choices revolve around the limitations and requirements of the chronic illnesses of my husband. We are trying to live this lifestyle with joy, with varying success. Outings, finances, meals, daily schedule revolve around his needs as much as around our five beautiful children.

So how does our day typically look? We get up at the crack of dawn so he can do all his tests and take all his medications. While he's out walking the dog, I make a simple breakfast of peanut butter on toast that I pray he can digest and a drink with a special kind of laxative stirred in. The laxative isn't meant for daily use, but the alternative is a rock hard stomach full of food that won't digest. Then he takes a sandwich and a few snacks (nothing fibre dense as it binds, which rules out pretty much all fruit) for lunch and heads to work for the day. He checks to make sure he has change for some kind of liquid sugar in case his blood sugar plummets (a rare but vicious reality as he spends most of his time with high blood sugars). At work, he always makes sure to station himself close to a bathroom in case his stomach can't handle the sandwich he had for lunch and he has to vomit. For a man who loves to eat, I suspect this must be the most brutal part. Every bite of food he eats is a calculated risk. Will this stay down? Will his stomach bloat so much it presses on other organs, causing shooting pain? While he is at work, we maintain our usually routine, having protein dense meals (which he can't eat) in his absence. I try to devise a meal that everyone can eat, but lately I've been serving the kids a meal before he gets home so they can have more of the protein and fibre he simply can't digest. After they've gone to bed, he has his own supper of soup, usually from a can. I negotiate labels for lower sodium, no whole grains, no chunks of meat, no cruciferous vegetables. Usually a pureed soup or the rare soup with rice. We go to bed as early as we can so he has the energy to face the next day.

Every month he has a myriad of specialist appointments. There's the doctor who is treating his diabetic retinopathy, his endochrinologist, his gastrointestinal specialist, the diabetic clinic, not to mention the frequent visits to our family doctor for refills of the panoply of medications that keep him barely functioning. There are all the blood requisitions, scopes, EKGs, eye tests, and more. Scarcely a week goes by when he isn't rushing back and forth to another appointment. Even at his appointments, he's answering work emails and fielding calls to make sure his absence doesn't cause problems. Waiting rooms become a satellite office so as little time as possible is lost. Every extra dollar is counted not just to pay all our regular bills, but to make sure we have enough for the co-pay on the various prescriptions he needs to survive.

For all the daily suffering he endures, he maintains a rich spiritual life. I find his devotion and prayer life inspiring. My own St. Joseph, enduring whatever must be endured so I can concentrate on the business of mothering our gifts from God. I know there are days when it's all too much, but still he picks himself up and keeps going. He doesn't have much energy, but what he has he devotes to our kids. When he is with them, he does his best to be their loving, silly, playful Daddy. He tucks them in at night, reads to them, sings to them. Even though I can see the lines of pain and exhaustion straining his face, he covers over all of it with a genuine smile as he soaks in their exuberance and love. Even if the rest of his life is spent just like it is right now, I know his legacy with our kids with be one of love and fun. He may never be "better", but to them he will always be Daddy. Not "my Daddy, who is very sick" or "my Daddy, who is too tired to play", just... Daddy.

Family Ties

I come from a crazy sort of family. Don't we all? We have our inside stories, our tall tales (that everyone remembers differently), our larger than life characters, and a healthy dose of food and fighting. Over the years we've grown together and apart in many ways, both geographically and emotionally. The 5 of us have been through thick and thin, and while there have been times each of us has been tempted to hang up the phone and never call back, we keep coming back because, in the end, family is family. No one else has such an important part in our story as our family, be it the one we're given as a child or the one we build in a lifetime of vows, knotting us together. I say knot instead of weave because you can easily cut something woven so it frays and falls apart, but with a knot you can cut all around it and still the knot will remain, fighting attempts to untie it.

In that way, I'm a knot tied into my parents' lives, like a Hail Mary on one of my Mom's favourite rope rosaries, part of a circle of knots, leading up to the Cross. They chose to make the knot that is my life, against the better judgements of doctors. They chose to keep the knot of my life, holding it fast as it nearly untied several times. They did the same with both of my brothers. As the world pulled against us, each knot got tighter, stronger, and harder to untie. Our parents fought for us, protected us, and rejoice to let us stand alone when we were ready.

Now here I am with my own husband, tying our own chain of knots, each a little Hail Mary, their own decade in a litany of answered prayers. As our whole family takes our turn coming to the Cross, we are united and clinging fast to each other.  We are not coming unravelled, but each growing stronger as the tension tries and fails to untie our chain of knots. We hold fast to our family ties. Our lives become a prayer of trust and devotion, so ordinary and extraordinary that we get lost in rhythm. One knot after another. One day after another. Each life, each moment precious.

Grade 1: First Day of School

As is our tradition we spent our first day of school on a field trip. My husband took the day off and we headed to the zoo. It was also Big Girl's 6th birthday so it was nice to celebrate as a family. Because there had been a storm the day before the animals were anxious to dry out and stretch their legs, so we got to see all of them. The highlights included seeing a lion very close up (for my husband and I), petting the llamas (baby girl), the koi pond (middle boy), the white monkeys and tigers (big girl) and the meerkats (biggest boy). Big girl made her first school project journaling about her trip. She drew some great pictures (I shared two of them below) and wrote about her experience.  It was a nice way to see what she really thought of the day. All in all it was a great start to the year.

A Few Months Older

Baby boy is almost 2 months old, so it feels like time for an update. I've started this post a million times but each time I have been predictably distracted. The baby has cried, big sister has tripped, or the three oldest have wanted stories or snacks or just attention. I can honestly say I'm happy for all the distractions. I was only able to blog so much near the end of pregnancy because I felt too big to move, or too exhausted to do anything of substance. We had the TV on almost constantly to entertain the kids, but I wasn't engaging with them as much as I would have liked to.

So where are we almost two months later? The first thing to note is that we didn't just turn off the TV. We took it out of the room completely. We disassembled the TV stand and put the whole mess of stuff in the basement. It has not been put together yet. We never go in the basement but our plan is to fix it up and make it more kid friendly as a cool retreat on this hot summers days. Along with the business of taking the TV out of our living room we took the leap to finally redecorate the living room. We painted over the dark orange (that I truly hated, beyond words) with an inviting blue that made the whole room feel bigger and brighter. We bought some new photo frames and put them up on the wall and hung on the opposite wall beautiful frames with all five kids' names, birth weight and length, birthdays and times. The room really feels like it's ours. We also got an ottoman and need toy bins for storage. We no longer have piles of toys all over the floor (well, when they're put away anyway!). Since we're spending a lot of time in the living room while I feed the baby it feels good to have it feel like our own. It has inspired us to get to work on the other rooms. We can't wait to tear up the wretched reeking carpet upstairs.

As for baby boy, he is doing beautifully. He's still growing well from what I can tell. He's feeding like a champ, sleeping at night, and just generally being a joy. He started to smile a week or so ago and I can confirm that no matter how many babies we have, there's something about those toothless grins that make my heart grow another size or two. I could spend my whole day staring at the little man trying to make him laugh and smile. The big kids are completely in love with him too, and when he's asleep in his playpen I often find a little collection of kids craning to watch his sweet, slow breaths. This, of course, tends to have the affect of waking him up, but I don't have the heart to be upset (most days) as I know they are all SO in love with him. Seeing how much they treasure him makes me love all of them even more. I adore seeing my kids together.

Speaking of the big kids, we've had a rough couple of weeks. One after another the kids have gotten sick. First the biggest girl. We discovered she was sick when she suddenly had a fever at Church, followed by her getting sick on the beach the same day. After that came biggest boy a few days later, who only got sick the one time (of course in his bed). Next was middle boy who never actually upset his stomach, but has looked pale and slightly green for the better part of a week. Lastly was baby girl, who had the good sense to wait for a visit with her grandparents to projectile vomit several times in the course of a half hour. So glad we had blueberry smoothies for dessert. It all seemed more festive and colourful. Today we're having what I hope is a recovery day. Middle child still seems out of sorts, but overall they're all feeling much better. I can't wait to get out of the house to smell some fresh air. I have a little bit of catch-up to do with the housework, but I don't mind as I'd do all the housework in the world to have my babes all better. Sweet Hubby is battling the flu now, but like the trooper I know him to be he's toughing it out at work. Saintliness in all things.

As for myself, I'm finally feeling much more myself. I have my energy back and I love that I can spend the better part of the day reading, playing, and generally experiencing my kids' day without the cloud of exhaustion. I've lost more weight than I thought possible in such a short time, which is giving me back my old stamina. I feel blessed, joyful, energetic and, most of all, grateful. If I had known how easy and beautiful 5 kids would be, I would have run full tilt towards it.

And Baby Makes 7

We're slowly adjusting to our life with a new baby. Really it hasn't been all that difficult as the little man has been nothing less than calm and composed. Unless he's hungry, then make sure you have a good set of earplugs. In the past three and a half weeks, each of us as a family has had to find a new rhythm for our daily life. While the first week was pretty hectic, I must say I was surprised with how seamlessly we slipped into our new routine, tucking our baby into our life without too much disruption. I can easily credit this to a few very fortunate circumstances.

First of all, meals. We were given so many meals by loving an well-meaning friends. I had tucked a few meals away for these days, but most of them had been eaten in the last week of pregnancy. From day one with the new baby we had friends dropping by every couple of days with meals that I only had to reheat and serve. We had stews, soups, chilis, pasta dishes, egg bakes, not to mention the array of sweets that found their way almost directly into the mouths of our happy children. I still can't get over the tremendous blessing these meals have been for us. My gratitude is so incredibly deep, and if you're one of the beautiful souls who dropped off a meal, know that you helped this Mama survive those early days and helped usher our family with joy into our new life.

Besides the meals, there's the kids. I realize that for the older three this is nothing new. Babies come. They need a lot of my time. They are tiny, noisy, squishy, slightly smelly, and overall not just loads of fun. For the first time in our many years of overlapping babies, I saw a change in their interest level. When I'm feeding the baby they are curious, helpful, and gentle. There is no jealousy, unless you count a few fights over whose turn it is to kiss the baby. When I lay him on the floor for tummy time, I can rely on the fact that the brand new big sister will immediately lay down with him and smile, chat, and laugh with him. As overwhelming as I'm sure it is for the baby, he seems to be taking it all in stride. He's peaceful and equally curious about this brood of noisy, loving people who consume his waking hours.

And there's himself, our cute baby boy. Not unlike his older siblings, he is the ideal baby. He only cries when he's dirty or hungry. He nurses almost all day (he does sleep sometimes!) and sleeps at night, with only one or two wakings. Because we choose to co-sleep, when he wakes up through the night to sleep, I wake up when he stirs, before he even cries. I turn over to feed him and then we all doze back to sleep peacefully. It sounds silly, but anyone who has followed our struggles with nursing over the years will know this is a big deal, but he's growing. He's actually growing. And at a fairly good pace too. Last we checked he was already above his birth weight and then some. While he is not the chunkster his eldest brother was, he is himself, perfectly. With all this growing and exactly himself perfection, I couldn't be more pleased. He is a bright-eyed little boy who is already fascinated by the world and so entirely in love with his family. There really is nothing more beautiful than recognizing the look of love and devotion that crosses your child's face when he stares up at his Daddy and big siblings.

I see the proof again and again that every child is unique and beautiful and that adding another child doesn't divide my capacity for love and patience, it multiplies it exponentially. I am so blessed and rich beyond compare. That's why when people ask me if we're "done" having kids or if we want more, I can't help but say that more would be wonderful. My children are my greatest blessing and who am I to say no to those blessings as I stare into the eyes of my fifth child?

Baby 5: Delivered

I was getting a little worried I was going to end up writing another pregnancy update, but after some hard work, we're on the other side of pregnancy. Baby boy is a mere 4 days old, but we're already falling into a nice routine. I'm still a little worn around the edges from his delivery, but overall I feel really great. He was worth all the work and stress. For those of you who had asked, I figured I should share a little glimpse into his birth as best as I could. We weren't as prolific about tweeting this birth (primarily because I couldn't get onto the hospital wifi until after he was born), so while there are a few tweets from my husband and I, most of this will be from my memory. I figured I should write it out now before it got too hazy!

To do this right, I'll have to take us back to Friday, May 24th. A just shy of a week overdue I started feeling some cramping. At first they were all over the map, but by the time the evening hit, they were starting to be quite regular, at around 10 minutes apart. I lost my mucous plug, and while they stayed at 10 minutes apart, they gradually picked up in intensity. After a full weekend of contractions holding steady at 10 minutes apart, we decided to check in at the hospital on Monday to make sure baby was okay and that my water wasn't leaking. By chance our family doctor (aka Baby Catcher Supreme!) was on rotation that day and talked us through everything. I was clearly in early labour, but my water was intact and I wasn't dilating quickly at all. Because baby was sending some pretty clear signals that he was done cooking, we decided we should book an appointment with the post-dates clinic to see how favourable things looked for an induction. On Wednesday we went in for that appointment and were told that my cervix was favourable for having my water broken, but that it still wasn't much more dilated. We also discovered that what I by this point had figured was Braxton-Hicks (aka practice contractions) were indeed real contractions. They just weren't intense enough to do more than just efface my cervix. I had maxed out at around 3cm and %70 effaced on those contractions, which was great, but not enough. So they put us on the list for inductions, and told us we were on the list for the next day, Thursday. We were told to wait by the phone for our call to come in. Stressful! On the way home we stocked up on a few extra groceries and made the best of our afternoon with the kids, getting in all the extra cuddles we could. I then somewhat frantically went about setting our house in slightly better order, finishing up the last of the lingering chores.

Thursday came. The day of our induction. We got up ridiculously early (who can sleep with dreams of labour and newborns dancing in their heads?) and waited for the call. And waited. And waited. After a while I decided to call ahead and see what the state of the Birth Unit was. Inductions are always bumped by how many emergencies and deliveries come through. As it turns out, I was third on the inductions list, and by lunch time the first Mama hadn't even been taken in. It turns out that there were no less than 4 emergency C-sections (a rarity at our hospital) and that they'd had to call in extra nurses to fill all the gaps as what was apparently a higher than normal number of women went into labour at the same time. As we called to check in (which we were advised to do) our hopes of a Thursday induction or even a May baby dwindled. Finally at around 10pm we were told they might call us through the night, but not to count on it.

Friday morning came. Another sleepless night. We were woken suddenly by the phone's insistent ringing at around 5:15am. We were being called in. A spot had finally opened! After calling our kind and awesome babysitters we rushed to the hospital. They quickly broke my water and after some discussion we decided to hold off on hooking me up to an IV drip of Pitocin to get some productive contractions going. Once my water was broken which was done in what I figure must have been the most painful way possible because baby was so low the on call Doc had to shuffle him away so she wouldn't scratch him with the little plastic hook they use to break the bag. At first the water was clear, but then as it kept spilling there was a tinge of very pale yellow. Meconium staining. Not exactly ideal.

Not too long in there was a shift change and you can't imagine my joy when the same nurse we'd had for our third child walked through the door all full of smiles and happiness. She is for sure the best nurse at our hospital (a hospital blessed with lost of incredible nurses). We knew as soon as she walked in the door that no matter what happened, our delivery experience was going to be a positive one. She's Catholic and comes from the same part of town as my husband, and shares a lot of our parenting views. The whole first part of our delivery felt like catching up with an old friend, even if it was punctuated by contractions. Speaking of contractions, after my water broke I kind of expect things to go gangbusters, but, well... they didn't. They got a little stronger, and definitely painful, but never enough that I couldn't talk through them. I didn't show any progress at all, even after 2 hours of walking, rocking, lunging and standing. Nothing. So after talking it through with our lovely nurse and doctor, we decided together that it was time to start the Pitocin drip. As I alluded to before, I'm not a big fan of Pitocin. It's synthetic chemical that causes contractions. But not regular old contractions, but big, intense, incredibly painful contractions. At first the contractions weren't too bad. They were intense for sure, but with a little calm thinking and breathing it was no big deal. For the first two hours of the Pitocin I was convinced that maybe I had imagined how bad the contractions could get. Then, it really started ramping up. Almost before I knew what was happening I suddenly felt I couldn't take the pain. I had been relaxing on the bed and then I jumped out of the bed and had my husband putting counter-pressure on my back. That lasted for about 10 contractions before even that wasn't helping. After talking options, the nurse hooked up the gas (laughing gas like at the dentist) and using that and still more counter-pressure on my back I worked through quite a few more contractions. I was even laughing and joking between the contractions. Although in retrospect most of the jokes I was making weren't particularly funny, and surely hilarious only to me as I was really digging that laughing gas. The contractions were coming in pairs, and then only with about a minute of break between the pairs. In my head I could practically see the ticking time clock set in motion by the meconium staining in my water. Around then my Doc showed up (rejoice!) and she could see I was working through the contractions with great effort and lots of prayers from my husband (who doesn't love a man who will chant the Hail Mary in your ear as many times as it takes to last a contraction while rubbing your back and holding your hand?). She figured we had some time before I was fully dilated since I had been at 4cm about an hour and a half before, so after a short chat she went about some business she had around the hospital.

While my nurse was on a short break I felt things starting to escalate beyond my control again, even with the gas. I remember asking the relief nurse to check my dilation and what I remember so strongly was that I heard her say I was at 4cm or maybe 5cm in the midst of my pain. My husband and I both cried in somewhat hilarious unison: "You've got to be kidding me!!!". The nurse smiled like an angel and then clarified that she said I definitely WASN'T 4 or 5cm, but had in fact hit closer to 7 or 8cm. Even though I was in agony I couldn't help but laugh at our reaction. I was so excited we were on our way as I usually hit transition at 7cm and knew we were in the home stretch. Within a few moments of that little ray of hope, the pain went off the charts. Even the gas couldn't distract me from the pain. I started clutching in desperation onto the side rails of the bed and moaning and crying out. Somewhere in my mind I knew that the pain was good, but I was fighting with all my will to see the good in it in those moments. I kept trying to direct my thoughts towards the prayer intentions I had brought with me. One particular intention for a family in deep mourning kept coming to mind and giving me glimpses of purpose and peace. While I was still sitting at around 8cm I could feel myself losing control of my body and I started to push. My Doc was still on another floor and they started calling for her to come quickly. My nurse had just come back from her break (just in time!) and asked me to hold off on pushing so I didn't bruise my cervix. I held off for one more contraction and then just gave in to the undeniable need to push. While I was already pushing my Doc came in and got her gown on in haste and got there just in time to see baby getting ready to crown. While she was still getting her gown on I cried out to my husband I thought for sure I was tearing and stopped pushing for a few seconds before the urge to push overcame my instinct to protect my own body. With my Doc, nurse, and beloved husband all with me, I pushed through a few more contractions and almost before I knew it he was out. I can't even begin to express the level of relief that washed over me when I felt his little shoulders pass as baby girl had had shoulder dystocia. The Doc told us after he had come out face up, which explains why I thought I was tearing. Once I pushed out the placenta the Doc announced with a note of surprise I didn't have any tearing at all and everything was in good order.

As for baby, there was a tense second for us, as we were scared about the results of the meconium staining. Against their best efforts he'd let out a gorgeous and hearty cry before they had the chance to suction him, which mean any meconium in his mouth would have been sucked into his lungs. He was whisked away to the other end of the room and the neo-natal team got to work on him. As it turns out, he hadn't breathed in any meconium! Considering he had been in the meconium stained water for about 12 hours, I'm convinced this was nothing short of a miracle. He did had a little bruising on his forehead from the brief moment I had held back from pushing when I thought I was tearing, but that's already resolved at a mere four days later.

That's the long version of how our 5th baby and our 3rd son came into the world. On Friday, May 31st, 2013, at 5:56pm our beautiful boy came to meet us. At 8lbs3oz he was medium size for our family, and has already filled a gap in our lives. He is the source and recipient of so much love, and the answer to many prayers. We have thanked God for him every day since the pregnancy test let us know of our joy, and for the past four days, we have tasted the deepening of joy in holding him, seeing him, and sharing him.

Love Letter: Baby Boy

Baby boy, I want you to be able to look back after you're born and all grown up and know how loved you were before we'd ever seen your face. You haven't had the chance to make us love you with your sweet face, beautiful eyes, and new baby smells. But we already love you. We've loved you since the second we knew you were going to join our family. When we told your brothers and sisters they were really excited too. Ever since they've been asking how much longer until you will be born. They want so badly to meet you, baby boy. Don't let their impatience (or mine) sway you, precious child. I know that whether you come tomorrow or two weeks after you're due, you will have been worth the wait.

I want you to know how wanted you are. Before you took up residence in my ever expanding belly, your Daddy and I weren't sure we'd ever have another baby. We wanted another baby. We prayed hard that God would bless us more if that was His will. We already have your amazing brothers and sisters, but still felt there was something missing. That something was obviously you. We weren't sure last summer if we'd ever be lucky enough to hold another baby in our arms, but God surprised us again. You see, Daddy had to have a special surgery to help his stomach work better (the jury's out on if it actually worked) and the Doctor told us there was a chance that it would mean we wouldn't be able to have more babies. When we decided to check if we were pregnant (on a whim) and saw those two pink lines on the test, we were absolutely overjoyed. We told your brothers and sisters and they started to clap and jump around because they were so happy that you were coming. Mere seconds after the test was positive we called everyone we could think of to tell them the good news that you were coming. I remember that night after I got home (I had a date with some of my Mommy friends) I cried because I was so happy that God was giving you to us. I had wanted you so badly, with my whole heart. You were a wish I was almost too afraid to make out loud. Who was I to ask for more blessings when God had already given me 4 beautiful babies? But I knew and trusted that you belonged in my heart.

I still remember the first time I saw your beautiful face. Daddy and I watched together as you jumped around, showing off how vivacious and truly alive you already were at a mere twelve and a half weeks old. When you slowed down for a few seconds and we finally saw your little face I wanted to kiss the screen on the ultrasound, because you were so perfect and beautiful. You were jumping and waving and mugging for the ultrasound wand. Just what I'd expect from one of my little ones.

Here we are about 25 weeks later. You've been so busy growing this last little while. You went from barely making a bump on me to feeling crammed tightly in my belly. I love feeling your little knees and feet rolling across my belly. You're so big now even Daddy and your brothers and sisters can feel you pushing and kicking. Every day your big brothers and sisters run up to me to hug and kiss my belly, sing you songs, and cuddle with you. I find myself singing little songs to you all day too, because I can tell you like to dance in what little room you have left. When we have a quiet moment together it's almost like I can feel your heart beating, your own special rhythm that makes you so unique while being so much still a part of me right now. I dream of the little drummer beat of your heart moving closer and closer to me as we get closer to seeing each other face to face. I also keep trying to imagine your face, to flesh out the cute little black and white picture from your ultrasound. You've had a lot of time to grow since we saw you at 20 weeks. I wonder if you're a chunky monkey like your oldest brother, or long and lean like your biggest sister. I wonder too about your personality. Each of your siblings is so unique, and were since birth. I wonder what new twist you'll bring to our family.

Whoever you are, whatever you look like, I know that you've already changed our family forever. You are a precious gift, the answer to a whispered prayer and many tears. I know when you come you're going to make our hearts a little bigger and show us a little more about what true love looks like. You're going to pour your own special brand of love and wildness into our overflowing house and we'll all know that you belong because you'll fit in from the moment we bring you through the door. You'll share our name and our arms and our hearts. And we'll keep loving you and growing with you and rejoicing in you. And we'll spend every day adding your name to our prayers because we feel like the luckiest family in the world for each moment we've had to spend with you.

I love you, baby boy. I can't wait to meet you and introduce you to your family in person. For now, I'm so happy I get to enjoy just a little bit long holding you close, cuddling with you all day, and feeling your heart beat so strong and wild.

Love Letter: Big Girl

I've decided that with a new baby coming, it would be a good idea to write a little letter to my older kids so that they can look back and know that regardless how many kids we have, each of them is precious and beloved.

Dear Big Girl,

You and I, we have a long history. It all started around 8 years ago. I know you're only 5 right now, but I promise this will make sense. Before your Daddy and I were married or even dating, you were already a part of my heart. You see, one day in an uncommonly warm October, I was praying in a little chapel in a convent. I was sitting in front of Jesus, doing my best to give my heart to Him. For the first time in my life, God put a perfect picture in my head. I could see this vision with such abundant clarity and I still remember it today. What I saw was you, little girl. You were about 9 or 10 months old, sitting up on my lap. Your hair had that beautiful orangey-red tint it had when you were very little (I still see it in the summer light). I was sitting in our brown wooden rocking chair Nana and Granddad loaned to us and your Daddy was standing behind me smiling. We weren't sitting still, we were reacting to things around us. At the time, your Daddy didn't know, but ever since I told him I know it's given him lots of joy to know that God planned you before He had brought Daddy and I together. It took God another few years before that moment came to be, but I remember the day we were sitting together just like my vision, and I was so grateful. That's how, when I found out you were growing in my tummy, I knew you were a girl without any doctor having to tell me. Daddy and I even picked out your name before you were in my tummy because we both trusted God was going to bring you, our little dream girl, to us once we were married.

Since you've been born, you've given me so much joy. You have been the source of so many firsts for me. You made me a Mommy and through you I've learned so much more about love, caring, and compassion that I could ever have dreamed of knowing. You have always been a joyful, thoughtful and loving little lady. When I feel like I'm failing you as your Mum, you find a new way to show me that even though I'm not perfect, you keep turning out beautifully despite me. I love everything about you, from head to toe and all the in-betweens. If I had to pick one thing about you to say was my favourite part, I'd probably say how loving you are. You love your little brothers and your sister, your Daddy and I with a love I can only hope to emulate. You love yourself in a way that is completely unselfish and not at all vain. You demand of others the same unselfish love and respect. I also love how fierce you are in the face of injustice. When something doesn't make sense to you, or when someone is trying to hurt you, your gentle exterior melts away and you are so brave. You don't scream or hit, you use your words and stand your ground. Sometimes you even do this with your Daddy and I if you feel so strongly that we're being too hard on you. In the moment that may be difficult to deal with, but in the end I love so much how much you respect yourself that you won't face what you see as an injustice with quietude. As you get older, please don't lose this part of yourself. I promise I will nurture it as best as I can. I also love your faith. Jesus isn't just an idea to you, He's your comfort and friend. When you're sad or afraid, I often hear you alone in your room, turning to God to give you strength. Your faith is so natural, so unassuming. It's part of who you are at your core.

I could spend the rest of my life telling you everything about you that I love, but for today just let me say that I love you. I love you for everything you are to me and our family and our friends. I love you for the way you love others. I love you for the way you love yourself. As you get older, I can only hope that these beautiful parts of you that shine through even at the age of 5 keep getting brighter and stronger. I can already tell you're going to be an incredible woman. The kind of woman who takes the whole world on and challenges everyone around you to be a little better than just good enough.

Thank you for making me a Mummy. Thank you for teaching me what motherhood really means. Thank you for being my precious daughter, my collaborator, my co-conspirator, and my friend. Thank you for loving me, even through my worst days.

I love you, little lady. Always and forever.

Homemade Pea Soup

For some reason I can't entirely explain, we had a spare toupie ham siting in our fridge's freezer. Because it's such an odd shape it takes up more room than it deserves, so I decided to cook it the other day as a treat for my family. They've been smiling their way through more than their fair share of frozen food and Kraft dinner. After a marathon dish washing session I was feeling energetic, so I got to work. I learned from my mother in law that the best way to cook a ham (of any size) is to boil it in a pot of water with a teaspoon of sugar. After I've boiled my ham for at least an hour and a half I put it in a roasting pan with some of the water covering the bottom of the dish and finish it in a 350F oven for about 30 minutes. This produces a juicy, tender ham that's full of flavour. It also helps mellow out the natural saltiness of the pre-cooked hams you can buy at the store. I also save the water that I cooked my ham in to use as a sort of stock!

So, there I was with a reasonable quantity of leftover ham. I am not one of those who enjoys eating the same food for two days in a row. I am also not one of those who can be trusted to remember I have perfectly good food sitting in my fridge before it has spoiled. Quite the dilemma. I wasn't in the mood for a ham casserole (pregnancy belly and brain screamed no!) so I got to planning. We hadn't had my homemade pea soup since our oldest was a baby, and I suddenly had a hankering for it, so it was settled. I needed to have a meal for a family who'd just had a baby and I wanted to have some for my own freezer, so when I was doing my regular grocery shopping yesterday evening I added the few essential ingredients to my list! This is based on my Mom's recipe but I perhaps quintupled it. Feel free to reduce it to a more human amount. Or don't.

Ingredients:

Leftover ham (cut into small cubes)
Ham water (sounds funny, but it's what's going to amp up the ham taste even if you don't have a lot of ham in the actual soup)
Celery (an entire bunch, diced)
8 medium carrots (diced)
2-3 onions (diced. I didn't actually put any in mine as I hate them)
3 450g bags of split green peas (rinsed)
4 cups vegetable or chicken stock
Pepper to taste

You will notice that there's no salt in the recipe, but that's because the ham itself and ham water are salty enough! Prepare all the ingredients as noted and dump them in a large pot. The biggest you have considering how big the recipe is. Once everything is in there, turn it up to medium high and keep an eye on it. Once it's boiling steadily, turn the heat down to low and simmer until the carrots, celery and onion are very soft and the peas have turned into mush. Make sure to stir every so often as the peas will stick to the bottom. That's it! Easy recipe right? I made enough to fill 3 medium size containers plus I have enough for supper tonight. I can't wait to have a big bowl with the family (I may have already had a taste...).

Your Song

When I was a kid, my Mom had a song for all three of her kids. Each was a old folk ballad she'd sing to get through the long nights with babies. I remember one family trip in the car when she sang my oldest brother's song while we drove through the long night. He was 16 years old, but that familiar old lullaby put him right to sleep.

Now I've got my own kids. I tried my hand at the lullabies I grew up on, lots of them local folk ballads and they just didn't feel right. Gradually over the past few years my husband and I have found songs for our children, songs that they love and that we love to sing with and for them. Songs that comfort them in sickness, sleepiness, or just need of us. Much to our delight, four unique songs became their favourites.

Biggest girl, our Princess par excellence, took an immediate liking to this song. Cinderella is her favourite princess, so of course she'd love this song. She likes to sing it to us now, which is a real heart breaker:

Biggest boy gravitated immediately to one of his Daddy's favourites, Beautiful Boy by John Lennon. Although we do love John Lennon's original, the boy prefers the cover from the Amnesty International album Instant Karma, sung by Ben Harper (that's my boy!). Every night, he begs us to sing this at least once, but especially when he's feel low. He's even got little hand gestures for certain parts to illustrate it.

Our almost three year old boy also loves to hear Beautiful Boy, but his favourite song has become the short but sweet "Love you Forever" from the Robert Munsch book (one of his favourite books too). He calls it the dragon song (which he tells us he is) because the first time we heard it sung was on a very old TV special that they have on Netflix. What could be better than being told that you'll be loved forever, liked for always, and my baby as long as I live? So sweet.

Baby girl's song was chosen for her. Maybe as she gets older she'll change her mind, but somehow I doubt it. When I was still pregnant with her there was one song that always made her dance in my womb. Once she was born, that song carried both of us through the early sleepless nights of breastfeeding. Now that she's a year and a half, it's the song I sing to her as we dance our way through the days. It's Bob Dylan's "If Not for You", although the version I'm in love with is the cover by Derek Webb and his wife Sandra McCracken.

And finally we have a song that my husband and I love to listen to over and over again. It's kind of our theme song for this stage of our life as a family. Every time it comes on I want to gather up all my little blessings and give them lots of hugs and kisses.

Baby 5: Week 27

How Far Along: 27 Weeks (13 weeks to go!)

How I'm Feeling: Okay, brace yourself friends, because I'm going to whine for just a second... I'm sick AGAIN. What's up pregnant immune system? Alright, so that's no fun. The kids seem to have caught whatever this is as well (except for oldest boy who has the immune system of a horse!), so they've been taking it easy on me this week. It's good they're being nice to poor ole Mama as my joints are aching, especially my right knee (an old bugbear of mine from a car accident in High School). Pregnancy wise though I feel great. My belly is growing at a fair rate from what I can tell. I've achieved that glorious state of obviously pregnant and not just awkwardly carrying old postpartum baby weight all in front. Annnnnnnnnd baby boy is kicking all the time, night and day. My hubby says he can feel it from the outside, and I can actually see my belly twitch with the wild Chuck Norris style round-house kicks baby is practising in there.

What I'm Thinking: I'm bowled over that we only have 13 (or 15 as I tend to go late) weeks to go before we meet our newest boy. I've starting prepping his little diapers, and am starting to pull out some sweet little clothes we haven't seen since boy 2 was a baby. I'm glad he's so strong and active. I remember thinking our 4th baby was very calm, and it kind of freaked me out, but that's kind of her style now. She's a sweet little mellow lady (most of the time. Just don't take away her toy guys. Seriously. She will take you out). I know that this means our new little man is probably going to come out something of a wild child. Hopefully he'll be a good sleeper. Either way, in 13 weeks, give or take a few weeks, we're going to meet this boy and start getting to know him on the outside. Excuse me while I take a few minutes to totally freak out with both joy and terror that I'm not ready enough. Only 13 weeks left to get ready! Ahhhhh!

What I Hope To Do Next Week: I said last week I'd learn how to crochet, and I did. Kind of. My crocheting is pretty hideous. So I'm going to take my down time being sick and feeling gross to perfect the art so I can spend the next 13 weeks starting and restarting crochet projects for the kids, both the born and the not so born. Our oldest boy also has his birthday on the 28th, so there's a lot of planning to do for that

Lent With Kids

For 5 long years I've struggled with how to do Lent with kids. I didn't want to confuse or overburden them with the idea of fasting when they were so young and didn't fully understand. I felt like I would simply be taking something away, without them being able to gain the spiritual fruits of their sacrifices. After watching them travel through Advent this time I realized I was looking at things all wrong. During Advent we treated that time of preparation as a gift and the kids ate it up. Instead of waking up one day and having it be Christmas, we had some build-up. While presents were a big deal in their minds, it was such a joy to see them make a space in their hearts for the Christ-child. When the congregation rang out the words of the Angels, "Glory to God in the highest!", the kids, after an entire Advent of preparing, were so full of joy I'm sure they out sang (or out shouted??) the choir.

So why can't we do that with Lent? Why can't we use these 40 days of Lent to make that space in their hearts a little bigger, a little deeper, a little broader? I remember last year on Good Friday we took the kids up to reverence the Cross. The three oldest had so much tenderness for Jesus. They asked me when we got back in the pew if we were kissing Jesus to make His boo-boos all better. My daughter, after I explained the crucifix was an image to remind us of how much Jesus loves us, said she wishes she could hug Jesus and kiss all His boo-boos better for real. They have hearts of such deep compassion and love for Christ, even if they don't understand all the theological realities yet.

After some discussion and prayer with my husband, we came upon an obvious idea for a fast for the kids, and honestly for me too. We decided to propose to the kids that they give up TV Monday to Saturday during Lent. It didn't take long for the three oldest, our real TV fiends, to jump on the idea. We had experimented with keeping the TV off a few weeks ago without anyone getting killed or even maimed. Because of that recent experience they knew that no TV didn't mean no fun. It meant more time to ask Mommy 2 million question, do art projects, lots of music and games, and play using their imagination in freedom instead of being weighed down by suggested concepts from their favourite shows. In addition to having the TV off, I'm going to make sure we take part of each day to pray together and to talk about what Easter is all about so that when we reach Easter Sunday they'll sing with their loudest voice their thanks and praise to Jesus, their friend and saviour. That will be a gift worth every moment of sacrifice and extra preparation I can muster for them. I'm sure there are days when I'm be tempted to let them tune in and tune out, but hopefully I'll be able to pray through it and instead tune them into the Spirit that is whispering mercy and hope in their tiny hearts.

My husband and I, besides giving up some of the usual suspects (fast food being a sore spot for our bodies, souls and budget), will be adding on special time for prayer together as a couple. We hope to join a novena for Pope Benedict XVI as he passes quietly into a life of prayer and contemplation, and for his successor, who will be passing from relative anonymity to become a faithful shepherd to over a billion Catholics. We also hope to complete a dedication to Christ through the Blessed Virgin Mary. My sincere hope is that our meagre efforts will bring us closer as a couple and a family, and that we will find ourselves closer to Christ as we weep at the foot of the Cross, wait in vigil by the tomb, and celebrate again the Resurrection. Tonight, let the imposition of the ashes on our foreheads be a reminder that we owe our life and breath to God, and let it be the beginning of our journey as a family to come closer to the heart of Christ.

Baby 5: Week 23

How Far Along: 23 Weeks and 3 days (16 weeks and 4 days to go! I'm quite behind this week! Oops!)

How I'm Feeling: The cold is really bugging me these days. I'm finding my skin especially dry these days so the frosty chill of a Canadian winter is wreaking havoc on my skin (not to mention my hair, but that's not exactly a crowning glory of mine at the best of times, so mehn). I've also had some itchiness where my stretchmarks are getting their own stretchmarks. Laugh all you want friends, but by the fifth baby the once moderate length and width of my first stretchmarks (which already look like a young Spiderman's elementary school project) have been far eclipsed by the supernova of stretchmarks that come with each new pregnancy. I wonder if Michelle Duggar has any unstretched skin left on her stomach after so many pregnancies... But I digress. On the up side, with only moderate amounts of caffeine, I am much more alert and full of energy. I know the kids are appreciating this upswing of energy. I'm sure the two oldest are very wary by now of this brief spurt of energy, as at least the oldest will remember the down swing brought on by third trimester sleepiness. Enjoy it while you can, kiddos. Daily art projects and monster truck dinky races for all!
 

What I'm Thinking: I've been having lots of wacky and funny pregnancy dreams lately, which have been giving me a laugh during the day. I'm not sure I can even explain half of them as they make no sense to me anyway. Last night I dreamt that I took a pilgrimage to Rome (Rome=Home, as my German friend often reminds me) with my family. We were there to have the Pope baptise this new baby (who was, by the way, born but had neither name nor gender). Apparently in my dreams I have access to the Pope, which is pretty cool and random. For a somewhat normal pretext (especially considering my parish priest is currently in the Holy City, and tweeted some great pictures from St. Peter's square), my dream quickly descended into wacky land. Let's just say it involved one of those wacky British sitcom style chase scenes where people are running out of different rooms in a long hallway (which was, by the way, the Papal Apartments in my dream). Swiss guards, toddlers, a stray donkey. You know, the usual. So yeah, pregnancy brain is hilarious when I'm asleep.
 

What I've Done This Week: This week was our Parish's Stewardship of Talent Fair, so I was pretty busy with getting ready for that. We also celebrated my wonderful husband's 30th birthday. All of this means that it looks like a series of bombs have gone off in my house. It was totally worth it for the sake of all the fun we had! We also got to meet my friend's 2 week old baby boy. He was totally adorable. It's a good thing I'm already pregnant, because for real my ovaries were clenching with new baby love!

What I Hope To Do Next Week: I'm kind of in survival mode right now. If I achieve anything, I will give myself a high five. We have a doctor's appointment on Friday and we'll hear the results of our 20 week ultrasound. That we haven't got an ominous phone call before now means that everything is fine, but I will be relieved when we hear all the details. We also have the chance to find out our baby's gender. We've never had the option to find out for free before, so we will see what we decide!

A Franciscan Heart in a Material World

I am part of the Madonna generation. And know, I don't mean Mary. I mean the once ubiquitous popstar, whose famous song "Material Girl" still gets regular play on the radio. In my mind, her music was synonymous with the excess of materialism and general love of excess that pervaded the 80s and early 90s. We could do what we wanted, have what we wanted, and there was no such thing as too much stuff. I was just a kid during the most of this time, but as a kid I was on the receiving end of a certain amount of vicarious excess. Our parents generation had grown up on simple stuffed toys, Barbies that you could sew clothes for rather than buy, and the reality that the ingenuity of a well fed imagination was more valuable than anything. When we hear songs about Christmas days of the past, there's no talk about Cabbage patch, Polly Pocket, Thomas the Train, or Furbies. Even in the world of claymation, all the kids wanted was a dolly, a train, or a scooter. Pretty plausible stuff for Santa and his hard working elves to make with rudimentary tools. Flash forward to my childhood (and every Christmas since) and you'll have no problem finding video of otherwise reasonable people knocking down strangers for some battery operated monstrosity that they will grow tired of only 24 hours before their kids do. We are in the material age. There's no denying it.

I confess even my family isn't immune to it all. This past Christmas I saw evidence in the strewn wrapping paper on the floor that while the kids didn't expect much (a Barbie or two, some Cars dinkies, and some slippers were the requests), they were inundated with so much stuff they didn't know what to do. Now almost  month later the favourites have emerged, and not surprisingly it's what they asked for. Baby girl is drawn to books and simple wooden toys. Big girl wants to play with the Barbies. The boys spend all day playing with their Cars dinkies. Everything else is background noise and has already fallen to the bottom of the toy pile (and yes, it's a pile). Partly it's because they're the only little kids in the family on both sides (they have a preteen cousin who is well beyond the trendy toy age, and has moved on to music and art. Well done!). This lends itself to a certain amount of spoiling from one particular set of Grandparents *coughmyMomcough* who seem to have 20 years of pent of Christmas shopping they unleash under our tree every year since we've had kids (and let's be fair, any other said Grandmother sees something she thinks would please the kids). It comes from an honest desire to express love and to leave a lasting impression on the kids. My fear is that the impression it's giving isn't of love, but of entitlement and privilege. They are young enough that they don't have an expectation for how many gifts they have, or the financial value they can place on the stack of gifts they receive, but it's only a matter of time before their real needs get crowded around by the wants society teaches them are essential.

So what do we do? Do we roll over and accept the materialism of this world? For myself and my family, I say no. The riches of this world are worthless when I think about what their hearts really needs. I've learned over the years, that what my heart needs is something I can't find on the shelves at Walmart. I need God. The only one who will feed my soul. The same way that pair of shoes will give me only a moment of joy, I know that the pile of presents under the tree will give a momentary thrill before leaving their hearts more empty. If I could give my children any gift at Christmas, their birthdays, and every other day of the year, it would be a Franciscan heart.

For me, a Franciscan heart is one that relies on Providence. It is a heart that gives everything to God, even our suffering, with joy and trust that even if we can't see it, God is making good of our lives. A Franciscan heart rejoices in the moments of grace, and turns to God for comfort when this world strikes us down. It is a heart that hungers for the love of God and seeks to share that same love with everyone else. If I can have a Franciscan heart, I will not be ashamed to accept charity, but also be compelled to give everything I have to a stranger in need. I will work hard to provide for my family, but trust that when I am struggling to make ends meet, God will teach us to need less, and send those with a heart for the Spirit to answer our prayers before we know to pray them. Even if to others we appear little or poor, if God will teach me how, I want to give my children a Franciscan heart rather than any other material thing the world says they need. That is a gift that they can take with them throughout this life, and into the next.

Praise for Dads

A friend of mine just had her third baby. (Yayyyyyy! Congrats Mama!) Her husband brought their two older kids to Church while she stayed home to rest (since their baby was born 2 days before) and while I was busy trying to congratulate the new Papa, I overhead a comment that made me want to lose my mind. While patting him on the back, an older gentlemen repeated more than once his congratulations, while reminding the new Dad, who was joyfully caring for his two older children solo, that he shouldn't really be congratulated on the birth as he had done NOTHING. I still have steam pouring out of my ears over this comment. I know for a fact that if my friend had been there, she would have sung the praises of her wonderful husband, but as she wasn't there he, cool as a cucumber, smiled very modestly and praised his wife for her excellence in all things.

So why am I, a woman who has personally pushed out 4 children, so upset? This couple's labour experience is %100 not my business, but I find the attitude that men have no job or place in the delivery room (or if you're super cool and do homebirths, in the living room!) so archaic and sexist. Yes, our husbands will never have to push a baby out their business, but that's okay, because they're not built to do that. Although my husband has said more than once that he would gladly take the pain rather than watch me fight through it. But that's not his job during labour. His job during labour is to stand by me, and be my rock. And he is. I have no idea how I would have survived my 4th labour without an epidural if he wasn't next to me, holding my hand, encouraging and empowering me, praying with me, and doing pretty much any reasonable thing I asked him quickly and with joy. The heart of service my husband shows me while I'm giving birth is nothing less than saintly.  Beforehand, he also did every thing he could to learn about my needs and desires for labour, so that when I was in la la land during contractions, he could be my advocate. Nobody touched me let alone gave me an intervention without having to go through him. The doctors would have had a better chance doing something he knew I wouldn't have wanted if they had asked a hungry tiger while wearing bloody zebra steaks for coats.

Gone are the days of men puffing cigars in the waiting room while waiting for doctors to let them know how their wives fared. Fathers of this generation know all the lingo for labour, have educated themselves on what the mothers of their children want, and are there in the delivery room doing all they can to make sure all she has to worry about is getting through the next contraction or push. By the time we're done having kids, my Husband will be able to write a PhD thesis about labour, and give practical courses on massage therapy and how to scare the crap out of medical staff who don't show respect. And let's not forget that in the case of 2nd, 3rd, or 4th siblings, Dads go home after no sleep and an emotional roller coaster wilder than the wildest theme park, and get back to the business of parenting while waiting for Mum and the new baby to be released from the hospital. While some would call that "babysitting" (and if you do in front of me, I apologise for the fact that I may accidentally punch you in the throat), I call that real parenting.

Anyone who knows the real men, the real Dads of this generation and how hard they work for the women they love wouldn't dare say that they don't do anything during labour and delivery or afterwards. These are modest good men not looking for any praise, but that doesn't mean taking a swipe at their dignity and contribution to the life of their family is right. It's absolutely shameful that anyone should assume they have to right to even joke like that with the Dads of our generation. Men who would think to say that men like my husband or my friend's husband did NOTHING during labour, have a lot to learn about what it means to be a real man in this day and age.

Taste of Heaven

I don't mean to brag (well, maybe a little), but I'm pretty sure I'm a member of the best Catholic parish in the world. That's a pretty hefty claim, I realise, but I think I can back it up! For one, we have an amazing, engaging, and brave parish priest. He's willing to do things that he know may not be popular, because he knows it's right. His homilies are engaging, and he has no problem speaking difficult truths from the pulpit. He also has no problem letting us know that he's not the reason our parish is incredible. You can have an actual Saint at your parish, and you still might not be a happening parish filling the pews and drawing new people in. Having a great pastor is only one piece of the puzzle. Our priest recognises his primary job is to bring us the Sacraments, teach us about our Faith from the pulpit, and, very importantly, to nurture parish leaders who can raise up an incredible community outside of our Sunday Mass. Which leads to my real point. Yes, we have an incredible parish priest. He's got a vision for what our parish can become and is working so so so hard to help us make that happen, but in the end he's putting it in the hands of the laity to get the job done.

When we moved to this area and started attending this parish, I was a little nervous. We'd been going to a very lovely parish downtown with a pastor who we consider a very close friend and were liking the parish in principle. We didn't participate in any parish activities because we were already commuting to get there and didn't see anything that really jumped out at us. I was also struggling with the idea of going to the Church that was actually in our area because my Dad is a public figure there, and it's an amalgamation including my childhood parish. Not that I don't love my Dad, but he casts quite a shadow, and is there anything worse than having no one know your name except for as "So and So's daughter"? Despite my misgivings, we thought we'd come for one or two weekends to feel the new place out. If nothing else, it would  be nice to check out the swanky new building! The first impression, which has turned into a lasting one, was that this is a vibrant, welcoming parish. Strangers smiled and welcomed us on the way in. Folks introduced themselves out of nowhere when we sat down. And no, they didn't have that lean and hungry look some people get when they see a young family at Church (quickly! Young people! Start signing them up for stuff!). They didn't recognise us, so they wanted to make us feel at home. Some folks who recognised me from my particular childhood parish (the new parish is an amalgamation of 3 smaller parishes) came over and welcomed us back with no judgements (sometimes when you've moved to a different parish, people kind of assume that they you left the Church altogether... haha). Simply just happy to see us! And boy are they welcoming of kids! Your kids screaming his or her head off? That's okay! That's what kids do. Can I help you at all? What a joy to see your family here!

After a few masses, we were hooked on this new parish. We found the particular mass that worked for us, and actually managed to get ourselves a regular spot. It took another couple of months before we really go involved, but after a while people gently invited us (and in the case of my Dad, much less gently) to join a few activities. I took Alpha last year, and this year I'm helping to run it for Young Families in our parish. (Don't know what Alpha is? You're missing out friend! Run to your local parish and if they're not carrying it, they should be!). Our Alpha class turns into a faith based playgroup when we're not running the course, which means we have year-round fun, support, and growth in our faith. Based on the inspiration of my experience during my 4th pregnancy, I started a little ministry called Food for Families that brings ready to cook meals to young families who are greeting a new baby. I've also joined the Baptism Formation Committee, the Pro-Life Committee, and just this past week the Welcoming Committee (a new committee to help people who are new to the parish feel welcome and comfortable). All stuff that's right up my alley, and none of it so taxing that I'm pulling my hair out. And no one MADE me do any of it. I just feel so energised by our parish that I WANT to do it! And it isn't just me! My husband joined the Knights of Columbus, which has him out and about quite and bit, joined the Pro-Life Committee with me, and started doing a retreat series called Moment by Moment, which is a 30 Day retreat stretched out to be once a week for 30 weeks. I think it's fair to say he's loving it to.

The most incredible thing about this parish is that there's really something for everyone! We've got Youth groups, bible studies, faith formation, grief support, playgroups, movie nights, fun activities like knitting or Ukrainian Easter eggs, and just about anything else you can think of! It's so much that we have a person who specifically coordinates all our volunteers! Our parish bulletin is so packed with real activities each month that we're trying to upgrade to a bigger format so we can actually tell folks about everything going on! Our parish is living proof that if you raise up good leaders, they'll go out and raise up more good leaders, and so on! We're all working together, growing together, praying together, and spending a lot of our time laughing. With the strength of God and our desire to come closer to Him individually and as a community, we drawing new people in and helping people find faith, re-learn their faith, and grow in their faith. When you look back across the Church during Mass, it's hard not to notice a lot of shining faces with their eyes fixed on the Cross. Our parish, its staff, parishioners and pastor, are working hard to become a little foretaste of Heaven so compelling that we ignite a fire of Faith so strong we could catch the whole world on fire. Every time I feel the flame of my Baptism growing dim, I can depend that there's someone in the parish who will share their light with me, and help me grow back into a raging inferno of love for Christ.

And that's the kind of parish we could all use.

Baby 5: Week 16

How Far Along: 16 Weeks (24 weeks to go!)

How I'm Feeling: It's blistering cold here, so that's taking some of my energy. Otherwise, I'm feeling really great. All these cookies and pre-Christmas sweets seem rather timely!

What I'm Thinking: I feel like the Church calendar is perfectly expressing my mood these days! Today is the first day of Advent, which kicks off four weeks of joyful anticipation as we await the celebration of Christmas. I'm joining in with greater vigour (as I do every advent when I'm pregnant), trying to re-learn the patient waiting that is the character of both pregnancy and Advent. I'm feeling extra close to Mother Mary, who lived the first Advent in a way so deep and incredible! The whole world waits in Advent again for Christ to enter our lives more deeply here and now, and again when he returns in glory!

What I've Done This Week: We've spent this week trying to get ready for Christmas ahead of Advent. We wanted all our shopping done before we started our real spiritual preparations. Nothing steals the joy of Advent like being stuck in the mall with thousands of desperate shoppers fighting over last minute deals. I wrapped the better part of the gifts we bought. Only a few more to go before we can forget about temporary gifts and get back to focusing on the gift of our family.

What I Hope To Do Next Week: I still haven't got my baking done! I have 8 dozen due this week, and another maybe 5 dozen for next Monday for cookie exchanges. Smartly, I've chosen to do the same recipe for both so that I can really work through them quickly. Between that, wrapping, and making some traditional tourtiere (French meat pies. Yum!), I'm going to have a busy week in the kitchen!

They're Watching

For anyone who's ever tried to sneak a snack or take a bathroom break, this will come as no surprise: Your kids, both big, small, and tiny, they're watching you. All the time. And listening too. Heaven help us. Don't believe me, watch their pretend games. How often have I seen my sons pretend to be cabinetmakers, or my daughters pretend to be cooking, and vice versa. Or less pleasant mimicking like... sitting on their behinds watching TV eating popcorn, repeating less than pleasant phrases, or whatnot.

It's not news that our kids are little sponges. We rely on that when we're trying to teach them new words, how to walk, and how to act. The tricky thing is that they're sponges even when we're not in teaching mode. That time you road raged. Yeah, they saw that. That time you only brushed your teeth for 2 seconds before walking out the door. Their eyes were glued to you. When you wore the same outfit for an entire week because you didn't want to do laundry. They noticed. They may have been grossed out. That book you were reading. They're going to check it out when you're not looking. When you turned on Dr. Phil and stared with rapt attention regardless of what was going on. They watched you. Then they watched him. When you complained about your friend/parent/spouse/in-law/stranger to a friend over coffee while you had that playdate. They stored up those words, that facial expression, and your feelings.

If you're like me, the very thought of this makes you want to run in terror, and go buy your kids some industrial quality earmuffs and blinders. Just a tip, that would be weird looking, and probably still wouldn't work. So, while I'm busy sheltering my kids from all the evils of the world, I'm sitting here pounding my head on the desk remembering that I can't shelter them from me. The truth is that I shouldn't have to shelter them from who I am. They're going to see the cracks in my Momhood if there's a different me for when I'm talking just to them and this other, strange woman I show the rest of the world. Or maybe like me you're nicer out in public than you are behind closed doors. You know what I mean. We all have that super sweet way of dealing with the usual insanity of toddlers when we're out. When we're home, they're right in time out, no nice voice, not much patience, and more than a few heavy sighs.

So what can I do with these thinking, feeling, loving little sponges? I can use them as inspiration to be a better person, when I think no one's looking and when everyone's looking. Because if you have kids, they're always watching, listening and learning. They're the same wherever they are, so maybe I can be too. Maybe I can learn to be a woman I'd be proud to call my friend all the time. I want to give my kids the best model I can so that they don't have to ever hear me say "do as I say, not as I do". Some day they're going to leave my house, and I don't have to just pray they'll be good, responsible people, I can teach them through my daily example.

Husband, Kids and Pregnancy

A busy week here in our house. For one, my husband has started adding, at the request of his boss, an extra hour or hour and a half to every work day for the foreseeable future. That's about ten and a half hours a day, averaging 52.5 hours a week. I know this won't last forever, and that since the whole shop is taking a week and a half off around Christmas, it's a financial boon. With how busy things have been at the shop lately, I'm not entirely surprised everyone at the shop is adding hours to their week. It's part of how they work together to be one of if not the best cabinetmaking shop in our city. They want the extra time to install their kitchens right, so the customer is pleased with the results. It's obviously working well, because they have about as any kitchens scheduled for the next two months as they have all summer, and they're finishing them with the same flawless skill and efficiency. I'm really proud of my husband for working so hard for our family so we can have a little extra. Extra for the kids and extra to share with others as we can.

And then there's the kids. They've been a mix between lovely and mind-boggling. I got my hair cut short last month, so it's a little harder to pull all my hair out, thank God. I love each and every one of my precious little blessings, but there are days, people, there are days. I won't regale you with all the details, but it has involved crayons on wall, potty training mishaps (every night for several weeks), diapers being removed and used for "art" projects, nasty coughs and runny noses, vicious angry (poor baby!), fighting between big and small and just general chaos. The funny thing is that most of the bad stuff only lasts a few minutes, and then we're back to hugging, cuddling, laughing, and general silliness. I have to remind myself that I can't let a few minutes ruin my whole day, but it can be tough when I'm scrubbing the walls and changing sheets while trying to break up fights. Because we had the kids so close together, we get the upside of them being the best of friends, but with that comes the complication of them being toddlers and preschoolers all at the same time. Looking back, I really wouldn't change anything, because I think the benefits outweigh the pee-soaked sheets. That's what I have to remind myself when I'm down in the trenches. The fact is that with one or two kids, I'd probably be just as stressed out by teething, potty training or whatnot, but I wouldn't have each of these beautiful little people to love and to inspire me to keep getting up every day to be everything to them.

With another pregnancy I'm looking forward to adding this new baby to the mix. Yes, it'll be another baby's worth of diapers and sleepless nights, but this baby will be one more reason to fight through my own selfishness and laziness to become a better person for the kids and my husband. Each of them love me so much, I can't help but want to love them right back and then some. I've often joked that life with toddlers must be some kind of purgatory, but every day I get big ole slices of heaven tucked in there to keep me going. I'm trying every day to embrace what I've been given, and to always have gratitude on my heart, no matter what the kids throw at me, or the walls.