The One That Got Away

Last Saturday, my husband and I went fishing. We left the kids with his folks and hit the lake for about four hours with another friend, each of us enjoying each other's company and quiet time away from our children for a few hours.

We were fishing for bass, so we were fishing pretty close to abandoned docks and patches of weeds. Many of the ones we were catching were only 11 or 12 inches long, and they had to be 14 inches to keep. Drag!

My husband got bored and decided to switch bait and thought it would be fun to try out a new spoon. (For those of you non-fisher folk, it's just a shiny metal lure that's painted on one side and is supposed to mimic an injured fish.) The spoon was three or so inches long, and I teased him that there was nothing big enough in the small in-land lake we were fishing in to catch with that bait.

Boy! Was I wrong!

After his second cast, Aaron said he thought he was stuck. He pulled up on his pole but there was no give. I told him to let the line run, and it started pulling. Oh, there was something on that line. And it was BIG!

Aaron let her run for about ten minutes before he started pulling her in. (If you don't run 'em, they can snap the line.) He was still sitting in our boat, but I stood up to see what he had caught. My eyes literally bugged out. I yelled a few expletives, and she went back underwater. It was a HUGE northern pike!

Once the guys knew what was going on, they were able to catch a glimpse of her too. Yup, she was big.

At one point, she surfaced for a few minutes, her eyes just above the surface of the water, as if she was studying us. What was going to happen now?

At this point, I need to explain the ridiculousness of our situation. The lake we were on does not allow motors, so our boat only had a small electric trolling motor that doesn't cast a wake. Our friend was in a boat beside us, and we were joined up in order to figure out what to do. My husband's boat is a sailboat that he bought without a mast or sail for $50 that he then put two boards and seats in so that he could take it fishing. Our friend has a small row boat with three seats, one of which opens up for storage. Our net was small in comparison to the fish. We were lucky if were going to get her head in it. And just to add to the hilarity of the situation, none of us are "experienced" fishermen. We went pan fishing with our dads as kids and that was about it.

"What do we do?" we asked each other. Aaron wanted to keep it, and we agreed to try to measure her in the water. I locked the measure at 33 inches and held it above her as she was surfaced. Holy mackerel! She was even longer! A good two or three inches longer! The men decided we needed to keep her.

But where were we going to put her? And how were we going to get the lure off that giant fish? And how did we get her out of the water when she was so large and had such big teeth? We were all too scared and inexperienced to really know how to handle the situation.

I suggested hammering her in the head and killing her in the water, but a) we agreed that was inhumane and b) no one had a hammer. (I know hammering a fish in the head sounds terrible, but isn't a slow death of suffocation just as bad?) It was agreed that she couldn't come in my and my husband's boat--she was too big to even put on the floor. And she'd tip us if she thrashed around, which we knew she was going to do if she were left alive. The men decided that she would go in the storage seat of our friend's boat. Our friend would net her tail and the two would lift her by line and net into the seat, cut the line, close the seat, and wait for her to die.

Not a great plan. But it was a plan.

The guys waited until she surfaced again and counted to three. I pulled my hat over my eyes and held my breath. (I didn't like this one bit! I wish we'd never caught that stupid fish because now we had to kill her and I just felt sick!) I heard the guys yelling, thrashing of water, an expletive, and then silence. I peeked out from under my cap, and the guys were just staring into the water with mouths and eyes wide. Aaron was holding a broken line between his fingers.

I sighed in relief and both men cursed and laughed a little. That was quite a fish that got away!

Aaron has been sulking for the past three days about "The One that got Away." He bought a bigger net and some new spoons. He's planning to go back for her.

I don't tell my husband, but I really am glad she got away. I worried about her the first night, picturing her swimming the lake with this huge lure stuck in her mouth, but Aaron assured me it would work its way out. Her eyes have been haunting my dreams, and it would have hurt me to see such a magnificent creature killed, even if we were going to eat her.

"I beat you!"

Recently, everything has become a race for my Little Shaver.

I overheard this conversation while nursing Scout. Aaron and Little Shaver were in the bathroom.

Aaron: Ready, set, go!
(sound of urination)
Little Shaver: Haha! I BEAT you!
Aaron: Not fair. You had less than me.
Little Shaver: (loud laughing)

Well.... whatever motivates him to go in the toilet, I guess....

My Little Monkey {pretty, happy, funny, real}

Yes, I have a monkey boy!

Little Shaver was a monkey last Halloween, and recently he's been asking to dress up.

I don't know how well you can see his eyes but he has very {pretty} eyes. And this might sound kind of vain, but I think in general he is a {pretty} child. I get compliments on how cute and sweet he is from teachers, therapists, friends, and even strangers in stores.

Look how {happy} this boy is! He makes me {happy} to see him so smiley!

The tail shaking is {funny} and cute! Little Shaver loves to play along!

This is a {real} moment of life in my house--my toddler acts cute and goofy on an hourly basis!

A Difficult Situation

I have some free time and so many topics to blog about!

I think in light of our past weekend the topic today is Discipline.

Background: we were invited to a 7 year-old's birthday party on Saturday. We only stayed two hours and it was a bit painful for us to stay that long. There were only three sets of parents who were actually supervising their kids, including us. Now I don't care that there was beer for the adults there or if a parent would step away for a cigarette, but this was a free-for-all. The parents had rented a bounce house, there was a full size trampoline and a swimming pool. The oldest child attending was 10 but there were a handful of 3 to 5 year olds. My friend's five year old was purposely hit by another child with a pool toy, kids were turning off the bounce house and letting it deflate while other children were still inside, some children were violently wrestling inside the bounce house and at one point the older kids dumped about 50 worms into the swimming pool. Where were the parents?

I've been noticing for some time that I'm pulling away from parents who don't have well-behaved children. However, it's only been in the last few weeks that Aaron and I have really started to discuss the importance of discipline and have become frustrated with our friends who don't discipline their children.

I'll be the first to admit that I made a lot of mistakes when Little Shaver and I were living on our own and his dad and I had just split up. I was a single mom in college working two jobs, and I was working desperately to finish my degree while raising a 15 month old alone. I had $10 a week for groceries, was poor, worried about money and grades, exhausted, and guilt-stricken over not only leaving Little Shaver's dad but not spending enough time with him. Little Shaver was a terror. Aaron and I got into so many arguments when we were first dating over discipling Shaver. He backed off when I made it abundantly clear that I was the parent and Aaron was not.

After some time, Aaron gently approached the subject again with me, hinted, pointed out situations in which I was letting Little Shaver get away with misbehaving and was making problems worse for myself. It took some time, but I'm proud to say that now that Shaver is 4, he is fairly well-behaved. He has his moments--refusing to brush his teeth in the morning, sometimes hitting Aaron or I to get attention--which warrants an immediate 3 minute time out--, or general mischief. But I know that when I bring my child to a store, I don't have to chase him through the aisles. He doesn't trash other peoples' homes, asks permission for everything from a snack to going into another room when visiting family, and doesn't steal toys from other children. I actually get compliments from friends and family members on how well-behaved he is.

We have friends who really don't discipline their children. The children have never been put on time out, think threats are hilarious, and are accustomed to being cussed out. I don't know about you, but I've never told my four year old to "shut the f*** up!"

Some of you are reading this thinking, "Why would you even let these adults by your child?" I wish the answer was simple. I wish I could say that I would simply stop answering their phone calls and deal with the consequences, but things are never that easy. My husband is the godfather of their four year old. The husband and Aaron have been very good friends since high school. Only recently have Aaron and I realized the degree of inappropriateness of what's going on in that house.

These aren't the kind of people that we can just call out. Their seven year old is autistic, which, of course, I am certainly understanding of. Autism is so difficult to deal with and their child's severity is worse than Little Shaver's. However, autism is not an excuse to not discipline a child. Their child should not be playing in my dresser drawers or pulling everything out of my cupboards when they visit. At the very least, the parents should be redirecting him. But how do you say that to someone who is extremely guarded and opinionated and sensitive?

For now, we are avoiding this couple. We really don't know what else to do. We're hoping that slowly but surely they will see the difference between their kids and our's and our friends' children.

Happy Mid-August! {pretty, happy, funny, real}

I'm holding a two week old and trying to get this up before my toddler wakes up, so we're letting the pictures do the talking this week!

{pretty}

I'm not a gardener, but I try. Notice the broken mirror at the back of the bed?

Scout looks so pretty while she sleeps!

I don't know what my thing is about this brand of canned peas, but I really like them. And I think the can is pretty.

{happy}

My dad and his first granddaughter

Hops playing in the pool, soaking up Mom's attention

{funny}

This guy's been hanging out all summer on our porch. Now he's found a home in my son's outdoor toy bin.

Hops is simultaneously drinking apple juice and chocolate milk while wearing one of Scout's bibs. Silly boy!

Hops took a picture of my dad, and Grampa D posed for it! What a sport!

{real}

I think this is the moment when Hops realized that the baby in mom's tummy we'd been talking about for months was not a joke.

Hops took a picture of my beagle. Pretty good for a four year-old, eh?

At least the children are as exhausted as I am.

Hops' foot\prints after playing in the sprinkler



For more {pretty, happy, funny, real}, click here!

Juggling Children

It's been two weeks since Ellie's birth, and I'm realizing why my parents seemed completely insane when I was growing up!

For years I've been resentful that my parents weren't there when I competed in band, theatre, forensics, poms, cheer, and volleyball. I mean, all of my teammates' parents were there; where were mine? Parents of friends would "adopt" me, cheering me on, chauffering me around, and encouraging me on the sidelines. I remember being so angry that my own parents weren't there, weren't proud of me.

That said, I need to disclose that I had three younger siblings at home, one of whom has Cerebral Palsey. The age difference between the youngest child and me is nearly six years. My brother with CP needs constant care. To be fair, they really had their hands full!

Now that I have two children, I'm starting to understand everything a lot differently.

It's hard to keep up with multiple children. And maybe having children so far apart in age is actually more difficult than having children close together in age. Hops is potty-trained, wanting to play outside, wanting to interact, and go, go, go! Scout, on the other hand, is pretty content to eat and sleep. It's difficult to bring her outside, and I certainly wouldn't dare a trip to the beach this summer with her.

If Hops was 1 or 2, he might be more content to just play on the living room floor with me while Scout naps. Then again, he might not be sleeping through the night or may be less patient when demanding my attention. Still, I can't help but feel that it might be easier if the two were closer in age.

My parents were there for the important stuff. I think. They missed the year I was on prom court, the year my poms team competed at State, the year I was crowned Snow Queen, and various other events. But they were at graduation! (Still a bit of bitterness, I guess.)

(Prom the year I was invited as a freshman. I'm the blonde in the silver dress, fourth from the right. A friend's parent took this photo.)

Hops is so much more aware of the changes in our household than he might otherwise be. I can't help but wonder if he'll remember this time of transition and feel resentful. I just hope I can be there for him when he wants me to be.

Eliana at One Week

Wow! I actually have a little bit of time to blog today...

My mind has been either flying or nearly comatose with sleep deprivation, so I guess I'll just talk about how life is changing around here now that our daughter is a week old.

We named the baby Eliana, which is Hebrew and means "the Lord has answered our prayers". Aaron and I thought it was so appropriate given the many fears we had and how we had prayed and listened to postpone her induction.

Evan is... adjusting. I think given his autism, he's doing amazing! He gets frustrated that we can't just go to the park or swimming whenever he wants, but we do set aside special time just for him each day. It's not always a lot, but we are maintaining bed time routines, trying to get him out on the lake to go fishing, and giving him special tasks to help with Ellie. He's a fabulous diaper assistant and this morning he helped me give her a bath by washing her legs for me. I give him lots of praise, telling him what a great helper and super big brother he is. I also make sure to tell him how much I love him, ask him for hugs, and praise him for good behavior unrelated to brotherhood.

Aaron, my husband, is simply in love. He loves to snuggle her. When he isn't holding her, I often catch him simply staring at her. I think he's fascinated and infatuated.

It's safe to say little Eliana has us all wrapped around her tiny little pinky!

Baby Girl's Birth Story

Warning: There's about to be a whole lot of cervix talk. Still want to read on????


Last Friday, the 29th, I saw my doctor and he dropped the "i" word: Induction. This baby was not coming out on its own.

At first, I was relieved! My doctor was leaving for South America, so I would get to pick who would take over my case. I could pick my baby's birthday, arrange for care for my little fella, and even make sure the house was clean and everything was exactly as I wanted it before I left.

Then, I started thinking. And I got this terrible knot in my stomach. I was very uncomfortable with the thought of an induction. So what did I do? I prayed. A LOT! And God kept saying, "Wait." That's all I heard. No, "Hey, no worries!" or "This baby's going to be here by such-and-such day." Simply, "Wait."

Aaron and I made the decision together, and, against my doctor's advice, we postponed the induction. (For those of you who don't know, the optimal date to deliver is apparently by your due date. The placenta has a shelf life. If the placenta stops doing its job or dies... well.... I'm sure you don't need much elaboration.)

The induction had been scheduled for 12:05am August 3rd. Tuesday, I started to panic. I was incredibly anxious and worried. What if something went wrong with my placenta? Did I make the right decision? What if the baby died and there was something I could have done to prevent it? Not to mention all the "Where's that baby?" questions that were just pushing me over the edge. I asked several people to pray for me that day. Thank you to all of you who did! (Especially Precious, who was able to remind me to trust the Lord and get my head back in the game.) I truly believe the prayers Aaron, our friends and family, and I said helped!

I woke up the morning of August 3 feeling funny. I was crampy. Was this the day? Nah.... I had even started to joke that I was going for a world-record gestational period. This baby was staying in!

I lost my mucous plug and went into early labor around 8am. My contractions were 10 min apart, and I was fairly comfortable folding laundry, talking on the phone, and moving around the house. I even went into the doctor's office around 11:30 and when she checked me, I was exactly where I had been Monday morning. No progress. She said she'd see me tomorrow but if my labor progressed to go right to the hospital, as my son's labor and delivery had been so quick.

Here's where it gets really nice.

Aaron and I went home and were able to rest. My contractions were about seven minutes apart from 2pm to 3pm. Then it started getting serious. The contractions were suddenly two or three minutes apart and my hospital is almost 30 minutes away. It was time to move!

I was in a room by 4pm and was only 3cm dilated but 90% effaced. At 4:30, they checked me again and I was only 4cm dilated and 90% effaced. A new nurse was coming on. (I'm going to go ahead and call her "Hero" for all intents and purposes.) Hero said she was only filling in for about an hour, but the nurse she was taking over for joked that she'd probably still be there for my delivery.

At this point my contractions were hard and fast. I'm wasn't sure I wanted anything for the pain. I'm breathing through it. Hero is telling me that I'm doing great, I'm a pro! A little encouragement helped me to keep going.

About 4:40, I slapped my arm and asked if it was too late for the nurses to hook me up with a little IV assistance. It took about 5 minutes for the nurse to return and hook up an IV. Once the IV was started, I sort of barked that she better check me because I needed to push, now! Keep in mind, my contractions at this point are about a minute apart, I'm fighting the urge to push, and where is my Demerol?!? so my eyes were closed. Aaron says the nurse hit a button, ran out of the room, and suddenly there were four nurses in by us. Hero was dressed in a gown and mask and gloves. I know another nurse grabbed my leg and was giving Aaron directions.

Over the course of a few seconds, I apologized several times. "I know I'm not supposed to but I have to push!" I kept fighting my body but Hero looked me in the eye and said, "The baby's going to be here before the doctor. Don't worry; we've all delivered before."

I stopped fighting my body and just pushed. And in one fluid movement, the baby was out. She literally was out of my body before I even realized what was really going on.

Now, I'm panicking. I look down and there's a baby laying on the bed, and it's dark purple. I'm getting a little hysterical. The nurse explains that they haven't cleaned the baby's airways yet, but then it should be fine! "And Dad? Can you tell her what it is?"

It's a girl. 6 lbs, 10 oz, and 20.5" long. The nurses kept calling her a little dolly and peanut. She's just a tiny little thing!

Now if you know anything about having babies, you know that it's not over just because the baby is out. Mom has to deliver the placenta and then they have to assess the damages. I'm literally just sitting there waiting for my placenta to plop out. They offered to give the baby to me, but I was a bit distracted. All I could think was that I'd given one good push and a baby had just sort of fallen out of me. I'm awake, I feel good, and I want to get up, but I have to wait for this darn placenta and stitches!

Aaron held my hand and Hero kept me distracted until the doctor arrived. She told me how great I'd done and that in her nine years of working here, she'd never seen a delivery as fast as mine. She talked to me about how much better it was for me to have waited to have the baby naturally than to have been induced earlier that day. She said I was a natural--I was born to have babies. I kind of chuckled to myself. Afterall, she doesn't know what a hag I've been for the last 41 weeks!

All I've been able to think about is how gracious God is. He guided me when I was scared and unsure. He gave me a safe and fast delivery. He gave me a healthy daughter. What more could I ask for? (Besides a name...)

It's a Girl!

The {pretty, happy, funny, real} edition of "It's a Girl!" She was just in time for this week's edition!

The baby is {pretty}.

I'm {happy} she's out and healthy.

My labor story is {funny}. Four wonderful nurses delivered my baby! The nurse who actually played the doctor said it was the fastest delivery she's seen in nine years of working here!

The tears in my wonderful husband's face are {real}.



Labor and delivery story to be told when I have time and energy. For now I'll just say that God is most gracious, she's healthy but yet unnamed, and I feel fantastic!

For more {pretty, happy, funny, real}, check out the Like Mother, Like Daughter blog.

To Induce or Not to Induce?

Here I am, four days past my due date. And it seems like everyone and their mother is asking, "So when is that baby coming?" It's getting harder for me to be good-natured with my response. After all, I don't like being pregnant. I'm not particularly good with babies--I'm certified to teach 6th through 12th grade, if that's any indication. And my anxiety level is through the roof! I'm talking insomnia, constant pacing, an unbelievable amount of baking, and clean, clean, clean!

I saw my doctor last Friday, and as far as baby is concerned, everything looks okay. S/he has a nice strong heartbeat, good fetal movement, and no indication of my placenta going bad. My cervix, on the other hand, is being less than cooperative. I really wasn't surprised by that because 1) my son was ten days late and my cervix was just as uncooperative and 2) they measured my cervix and 26 weeks via ultrasound and it's 7 cm long--the longest my doctor says he's ever measured. Then he dropped the "i" bomb. You know... induction.

At first I was relieved! I would get to pick my baby's birthday, arrange ahead of time for care for my son instead of just sending him to one of the three possibilities we had lined up, pack everything I wanted or needed to have instead of the items that I'm not going to miss, and make sure the house is in order before we leave. My doctor, as it happens, is leaving for a mission trip after today and he even said I could pick the doctor I wanted to perform my induction.

Then I started to think, "This doesn't feel right." I have the same doctor for this polka dot that I did with Evan. He let Evan go ten days late and wouldn't even discuss induction. What's changed? I don't like the thought of inducing because, to me, there is a certain amount of shame in it. Induction is not a natural birth. I had Evan naturally, and I'm glad I did. I have this vision of myself strapped to a bed with a Pitocin drip screaming for an epidural because movement is limited with an induction; induction is also said to be a generally harder and longer labor. Everyone I've talked to who has had an induction has had a pretty bad experience. Everyone is going to know I'm being induced which increases that whole friends-and-family-waiting-around-and-sending-texts-or-phone-calls-to-see-how-things-are-going thing. And did I mention I just really don't feel like it's the right thing to do?

Let me try to explain why I don't feel good about the induction. I don't know if you ever read or watch Joyce Meyer, but I love her. (She has a tv and radio program of her Christian ministry called "Enjoying Every Day Life" which has really made a difference in my life.) I've been slowly working my way through her book Enjoying Where You Are on the Way to Where You're Going. I've literally been working on this book since April. (It takes me a long time not because it's difficult but because I journal after every one or two pages about what she's saying or what I'm getting out of the reading.) I'm finally towards the end of the book and suddenly there is a section about waiting, and as it happens, she discusses how each of her four children were late and she felt that God was trying to teach her to be patient while she waited for the birth of each of her children. Coincidence? Or divine intervention? Because I've been a real hag through this whole pregnancy. I've hated my pregnancies more than what I would consider normal. (You all get to read the edited version. =) )

I pray a lot. I usually pray throughout the day. Sometimes it's a quick, "Hey, thanks, God! I really needed that kind comment from that kind person you've put in my life!" Sometimes it's an hour long discussion of me asking for the comfort and uplifting of people I know and love or sometimes even strangers. Well, I've been praying about this all weekend. "Lord, do I have the induction?" And I keep hearing, "Wait."

So. What do I do? The induction is scheduled. I see my doctor one last time today before he leaves for South America. I can ask about my options and hope that he'll discuss them with me. I need to know why we are doing an induction. I want to do what feels right and what God wants me to do.