"I Don't Like it That People Have to Die"

Last Saturday, my husband received a phone call asking if he could drive an hour to a hospital where a member of our local church, Susan, was ill. She was in need of a visit, of prayers and support. Could he help? Saturdays are valuable for Josh when it comes to spending time with the kids. He works long hours during the week, and cherishes his weekends when we can all be together. Not wanting to leave us all at home, we piled the kids in the car and went to the hospital together. 

Ivy wasn't feeling well. We decided it was better not to overwhelm a very small hospital room with a lot of people, one of which was potentially contagious. Instead, I opted to stay in the car with the younger children while Josh went up to visit. After all, I had plans to return just a couple of days later and visit myself, when in town for a doctor's appointment. Josh stayed with Susan for nearly an hour. They talked. They prayed. Before leaving, he kissed her on the forehead and told her he loved her. 

The next morning she passed away. 

I don't write about it because all of you knew my friend Susan. I write because somehow, it feels wrong not to--not to mention her in someway. She was a remarkable woman - funny and spunky, gentle and so very loving. There was an ease about her that made her easy to talk to, easy to enjoy. Widowed early in life, Susan didn't have any children, or any family close by. In many ways, her friends and fellow church members were her family.

I've spent a lot of the past few days wondering if we did enough, and feeling sadness over the what if's and the whys that flood our hearts after sadness. Why didn't I just run up to see her while we were there? Did she know that we loved her? Did we do enough to show her how much we all cared? Susan was alone when she died - a thought that plagues me most of all. I have to remind myself that while I don't have a lot of experience with death, I've experienced enough to know that the veil is so very thin between this life and the next. Susan was surely surrounded and supported by heaven's angels. 

When I tucked Lucy into bed last night, she said to me, "Mom, I don't like it that people have to die." I don't really like it either, but I'm grateful for the knowledge that I have that makes it easier to understand. 

I know that Susan will be missed. Those of us she left behind are better for having known her. But I also know that heaven got a little brighter when she arrived. And that's the thought I'll carry with me.

The Rest of the Photo Shoot

So, I live in a pretty small town with limited options available for health care. For this reason, I drive an hour to a bigger town to see my OB-GYN. I know, an hour is sort of a long way to travel, but it's always been worth it for me. It's closer to where all of my family lives, which helps when it's baby time, and my doctor is absolutely fantastic. And, since I don't really EVER go into labor, there is little risk of baby coming before we actually arrive at the hospital. 

One of the perks of making the trip is that my lovely friend Destinee lives just five short minutes away from my doctor's office. She is always willing to keep Henry and Ivy while I run up for my appointments. It's so convenient to leave them with her, and an absolute treat that I get to spend a few hours with her afterwards before making the trip back home. Last time I was there, I emailed her before hand and asked if she would snap a few quick photos to document my pregnancy. I have very few pictures of myself, pregnant. This being the last time around, I wanted to make sure I had a few good pictures - a way to remember that, WOW, my body can do hard stuff.

After my appointment that day, we talked and talked until suddenly, I was supposed to leave in just twenty minutes. Destinee hurriedly moved her kitchen table into the living room so we could take advantage of the light in her kitchen, then she took a few pictures. It was fast, it was easy, and then I was out the door to race back home in time to pick my kids up from school. 

With so little prep time, working in the corner of her own kitchen, I'm amazed at what Destinee was able to do. I've already shared a couple of pictures from the shoot, but for posterity's sake, here they are, all together. 

I'm just over 30 weeks in these pictures. I've grown a much bigger belly in the four weeks since then. I'll share another current update sometime soon. Five weeks from Tuesday is the big day... April 10th. (I know, I know. It's sort of cheating that it's planned, but if my body is going to insist on c-sections, then I should at least get the convenience of a nice and tidy schedule, yes?)

Thanks Destinee, for these beautiful photos. I would love you as a cherished friend even if you never picked up a camera, but oh, how wonderful for you to have a talent that you so readily share with others. 

Nothing Much, and some Music I Love

Some days, I have tons of energy. I am ready to conquer the world, write a novel, clean the entire house... and other days I feel like sitting. And so I do. Today is one of those sitting days. My gestating baby is BREAKING my ribs, expanding ever upward and making it hurt to do even simple tasks. You know, like breathing. It isn't bad all the time, even every day. But when it's bad, boy howdy, IT IS BAD.

My not gestating but still feels like a baby almost two year old? I think she knows something is up. She follows me around all day, begging to be held. She isn't whining or complaining about it, just sticking to me like glue. Every passing day makes it harder to lug her 26 lbs. around. So instead, I sit and let her crawl on me like a jungle gym. See? More sitting.

So, I pretty much live under a blog rock and have no idea what all this talk of Google friend connect disappearing is about. All I know is, Google is doing away with the service so if it's the one you use to stay connected with the blogging world, you might want to find another way to hang onto the ones you love? I don't know. I know that you can follow my blog through a variety of ways, all of which are described over in the sidebar. You can like Mommy Snark on Facebook, or subscribe via email updates, or add Mommy Snark to whatever feed reader you use, should you happen to use one at all. And that's all I know. Do you know more? Please tell me if you do.

(Heh. Ivy is sitting next to me, coloring in her coloring book, and I guess she just decided she needed a new one. She hopped out of her chair, patted me on the back, and said, "Mom. Be back back." I'm pretty sure this means "Mom, I'll be right back." Oh, how I love her little words.)

Want to know what album I just bought? This one:

William Joseph's New Album: Be Still

I'm pretty much in love with all of William Joseph's music. Josh and I went to see him in concert and, holy cow, was he fabulous. Do you know who he is? He's a pianist and composer that is so very gifted. Most of his music is original, but this album is a little different. It's a collection of sacred hymns simply arranged, but beautifully executed. The album includes a couple of his original compositions that I'm excited to hear as well. If you click on the above link, you can, in addition to buying the entire album, download a free song. It's an incredibly beautiful rendition of Come Thou Fount. The first time I heard it, I was feeling tired and a little worn down and it absolutely spoke peace and love directly into my soul. I'm not a big crier, but oh, how I cried as I listened to that song. So go listen, would you?

(And just for the record, I didn't get anything for telling you about the new album. Sometimes I just want to share things that I love. Nothing more.)

Grace in Parenting - Even When it Isn't Easy

My oldest? He's almost 11. I think that makes him officially pre-pubescent, which I gotta tell you, scares me a little more than I expected it would. Last week was rough in more ways than one. I was feeling myself inch into a pretty bad place with Jordan. We weren't getting along, were spending a good deal of time bickering at one another, and I was spending a good deal of time venting over the things I simply couldn't believe my darling sweet boy had said.

Out loud! To my face!

Because that's the thing. He really is a darling sweet boy. This is a kid with a kind and generous heart, with a sensitive spirit and an honest, heartfelt desire to do good, to BE good. I know this about him. Which is why it has been so frustrating to stand and wonder what on earth actually happened to that kid - to the kid I thought I knew so well.

I called my mother this morning because if there is anyone in this world that knows a little something about the pre-pubescent/pubescent crowd, it's my Mom. She'll tell you she loved having teenagers - that raising her older children was a fabulous experience. As one of those older children, with a very clear memory of what I was like at times (I'll now accept my award for being the queen of sarcastic eye rolling) I know it wasn't because her children were always sunshine and roses.

So I vented and expressed frustration and finally sighed. "Is it just the age?" I asked wearily?

"Of course it is," she responded.

Through the course of our conversation, I realized there isn't a quick fix, because really, my kid isn't broken. He's a normal, growing boy that is dealing with hormones and impulse control and an entire raft of emotions that come when children start to grow up.

(And yes, I realize I'm standing at the beginning of a very long road, and that there are likely even more difficult times ahead. But you have to start somewhere, yes? Hopefully I'll be able to keep my perspective in check from the beginning.)

One of my parenting mantras when it comes to raising my little children is that it isn't personal. Kids don't make messes or crack laptop computer screens (happened this week, thank you so much my darling Ivy who thinks the power cord to my laptop is a jump rope) or whine when they are hungry because they like to make our lives difficult. They are simply little people with limited impulse control and a complete lack of perspective. It isn't a personal attack on our sanity or on our efforts to keep our houses clean or our lives in perfect order. It's simply a reflection of their limited understanding. Sometimes, they really don't know better. They really couldn't help it. They really don't understand. They are children. 


What my mother reminded me this morning is that just because Jordan is old enough that the attacks feel a little more personal, a little more targeted, and a little more capable of hurting my feelings, he is no less deserving of the grace I so readily offer my little ones.

"Your ability to take it," my mother said, "is far greater than his ability to control himself."

And there it was--the truth that I needed to hear. (Thanks Mom.)

I don't have to let Jordan railroad me into the ground. He must be taught and reminded (over and over again) to be respectful, to work on managing his anger, to treat others (especially his Mamma) with kindness and love. (Fortunately for me, this is a subject my husband takes very, very seriously.) But I do have to remember that he is still a kid, with the unbelievably large task of growing up laid out before him. He still has so much to learn, so much growing up to do.

And so I must be patient. I must remember to give him grace, to love him in spite of the idiocy that often accompanies his age, and to see the boy on the inside - the kind, good, gentle boy that he is.

The Rules of Inheritance - A Book Review

*This is a paid review for the Blogher Book Club, but the opinions expressed are completely my own.

There isn't really a road map for how we experience grief. We all come from different backgrounds, have different views and perspectives, different value systems, sets of beliefs. How could there be just one prescribed way a person might expect to deal with tragedy?

In her memoir, The Rules of Inheritance, Claire Bidwell Smith explores the journey that she went through in dealing with and finally accepting the loss of both of her parents to cancer when she was just 18, and then 25 years old.

This wasn't an easy book to read. Smith's writing is raw and compelling - her story agonizingly painful. And yet, I'm glad she had the courage to tell it. Though she does not hesitate to fully immerse her words in the struggles and pain that she dealt with for years, glimpses of hope, even joy filter through when you realize that Smith is now writing from the other side of her grief - as someone that has moved past anger and resentment to acceptance and peace.

This is not a "how-to" book. It's a memoir - a very personal, very real account of one individual's struggle with grief. But as the author notes in her concluding chapter, "Just saying the words "it's okay to feel sad" can elicit an enormous release of emotions from a grieving person, and with that release comes a touch of peace."

And that is what this book is really about - a statement that indeed, it is okay to feel sad, a willingness to accept the grief for what it is, and know that it is possible to move past it - even if it takes a decade of struggling to do so.

What you ought to know before reading this book:

 - There is language that may, if you are sensitive to such things, assault your sensibilities. It is very authentic, and I feel a true reflection of the place the author found herself emotionally. But it's there, nonetheless, and is frequent enough there may be some that choose not to read because of it.

- There is alcohol, and there is sex. Nothing graphic, and nothing gratuitous, but a real and raw part of the narrative just the same.

 - There is no mention of faith or religion, which, in a book that deals so heavily with death, may leave you feeling a bit hollow. For me, my faith is such an intricate part of who and what I am. It was hard to truly relate to a perspective that is void of those elements.

If you'd like to learn more about The Rules of Inheritance, click on the links below to join the BlogHer Book Discussion.

Blogher Book Club - The Rules of Inheritance

A (Really Long) Snapshot

Life is busy, isn't it? Some days I feel as if I have loads to say and not a moment to say it, and others I feel as if I stare at a blank screen and simply think, "Well there ought to be something worth writing about..." Either way, the thing I love most about this blog is the opportunity it creates for me to read back and remember where we were a few years ago. And so, more for my benefit than anything else, a snapshot of life, as it is in January, 2012. (Pictures scattered through the post, so at least scroll through if you don't feel like reading a novel. Because this post? It sort of is one.)

So, here's the thing about this picture...

I felt pretty silly standing in my friend's

kitchen, posing with what feels like an

enormous belly. 32 weeks pregnant, one 

doesn't necessarily feel like smiling for a 

camera. But...it's amazing what a woman's body 

can do. I wanted to capture that. And since my 

friend Destinee is such an incredible photographer, 

she managed, if even for just one afternoon, to 

make me feel beautiful. I'd say every pregnant

woman deserves that. Funny though... Lucy just

came up to me, and said, "Mommy, you don't

really look like that." "Like what?!" I asked 

defensively, as I readjusted my yoga pants and 

straightened my frizzy ponytail. Heh.

Barring any unforeseen circumstances, 7 weeks from tomorrow, I'll deliver my sixth baby. My pregnancy has been normal, and much like the others. I'm growing more uncomfortable by the day, but feel blessed to be complication free. I'm willing to endure a few more weeks of wretched heartburn and cracking ribs if it means a baby at the end of it. We're still working on the logistics of where a sixth baby is going to sleep... he'll room in with Josh and I for as long as we can manage it, and then? We've already got three boys in one bedroom and two girls in the other. We've plans to finish out the basement and move the two oldest boys down there, but don't know exactly when the plan will actually become reality. But then, I'm not sure it actually matters. I have no idea how a baby will actually sleep with the noise and chaos of five other children surrounding him in the first place.

I'm still writing. I just turned over 90 pages of novel #2 to my sister and dear friend. The good news is they both like the story, said it has merit and would be well worth the effort to finish. It still needs work though. I haven't quite connected with my characters as well as I'd like and think I'm rushing their story a bit. My plan now is to back track, flesh out the story line and get to know my characters even more so that telling the rest of their story will be easier. The truth is, when you're deeply involved in the writing of a novel, you tend to think about your characters all the time. You dream conversations, you hear their voices in your head, you wonder how they would handle different circumstances, even if those circumstances don't have anything to do with your plot line. Your characters become your friends. I'm not there yet with this book. Growing an actual physical person, in real life, rather than just making them up in my head, is zapping a lot of my mental energy, I guess. I'm pressing forward though, and feel good about where I'm headed. My goal is to have something else to my publisher before book #1 hits the shelves.

To date, this is my favorite picture of my husband... 

(another one of Destinee's) It makes me feel all gooey inside 

and so excited to see him loving on another newborn in 

the not so distant future.

Josh is working hard to support us all, something I am grateful for on a daily basis. I realize it's a tremendous blessing to have the opportunity to stay home with my kids. I hope he knows how much I value how hard he works. I can tell when he's had a hard day because he comes home and his ears are red. I assume it's his blood pressure from a high stress day, which just makes me even more grateful that he's able to hang up his work brain and dive into an often chaotic couple of hours with the kids before bedtime. He's planning for another triathlon this summer and has started training again. I'm jealous. A little. A couple of weeks after baby, we'll celebrate our 12th anniversary. I entertained us a great deal the other night by reading out loud some of my journal entries from our first year or two of marriage. Heh. We've come a long way in 12 years. I do not discount the sentiments expressed. They were real and sincere at the time. But on the other side of a decade, it's nice to look back and see how much we've learned and grown together. I hope it's an even richer experience to look back ten years from now.

The kids? Jordan is nearly 11, and thoroughly enjoying the fifth grade. This year, he is part of a pilot program at his school that selected 25 students and grouped them together for a classroom environment centered around project based, independent learning. He's definitely thriving and loves his teachers and classmates.

He and Sam are both playing community league basketball this season, which has Josh and I scratching our heads and wondering if community sports are actually worth the effort. Nearly five nights a week we are getting one or both boys to practices or games. The season is intense, but gratefully, it's not quite two months long and we're nearly to the end of it. Honestly though, I'm not sure we'll do it again. I could go into how I feel about America's fascination with organized sports for young children, but I'll save it for another post. For now, suffice it to say I'm not so sure playing basketball in the driveway with Dad isn't an acceptable alternative. Let's discuss this another time, shall we? I'd love to know your thoughts.

Sam... ha. What can I say about Sam? He's the most entertaining 8 year old I've ever met. He is witty and smart and so fun to be around. The kid never meets a stranger, and has been known to entertain basketball players on the opposing team with his stories... as they're running down the court. His mind is a constant flurry of activity - questions escaping his mouth quicker than you can find an answer for them. He is a constant delight - a never ending source of entertainment.

And then there is Lucy - daughter of my heart. I don't know where I'd be without her. Lucy is a workhorse. When she puts her mind to something, there is no way she won't accomplish it. She is spunky and tough, with enough confidence to join in on a basketball game in the driveway with her older brother and two of his middle school aged friends. Ivy looks to Lucy as a second Mom and Lucy eats it up. She happily volunteers, for a mere 50 cents an evening, to get Ivy and Henry ready for bed, bath time, pajamas, teeth brushed, she does it all. She is a born nurturer, and has a way of making the little ones feel comfortable and safe.

Lucy and Sam have been in the same school class this year for the first time. In a rare moment when Sam and I were riding in the car together, just the two of us, I asked him if he got to choose, if he would like to be in the same class with Lucy next year, or if he would enjoy it more if they were separated.

He immediately replied, "Definitely together."

I was surprised by his quick response. When I asked him why, he said, "I just like knowing that there is someone around that understand me, that knows how I think. It just feels better having her around."

Indeed. She has that affect on everyone.

Out for dinner for Sam and Lucy's eighth birthday. That's whipped cream all over their face...  part of the special birthday treatment at the twins' favorite restaurant.

This boy? He knows how to do Sundays... though I'm pretty

sure we started the day with his shirt tucked in. Maybe we

made it through the first meeting before it was loose?

Probably not.

Henry? (I know! I have a lot of kids! I promise. Update almost done.)

Henry will be five a few weeks after baby is born. He is just as charming as ever, an easy going kid, with the sweetest nature. He makes my heart melt every time I look in his big brown eyes. He is the best Super Mario Galaxy player in our house, loves to play with his friends, and could survive on Nutella alone. If it didn't cost seven dollars a jar. He's starting school this fall, and more than all the others, I worry about how he'll handle it. He's always been a Momma's boy - and deals with a little bit of anxiety when it comes to new situations that don't readily involve me. He'll be okay though. He's a smart kid, already reading and will adapt well to the structure and routine of school. Or so I tell myself whenever I start to worry a little too much.

I realize she looks a little subdued here, while my 

description of her is all sunshine and smiles... but it's 

too pretty of a picture not to share. Of course...

another one by Destinee.

Ivy is the funniest, most entertaining baby I've ever met. She is talking like crazy, loves to eat oranges, and lives for the moment her father walks in the door everyday. She looks ups, greats him with a "Hi, Daddy!" that sounds like it ought to be coming from a kid much older than one who is not quite 2 years old. She loves the dog, though is quick to express outrage when he tries to lick her hands while she's eating. She is fiercely independent, wanting to do everything her own way and requires a kiss from every single member of our family, even the dog, before she goes to bed at night. When I change her diaper, and in a sing-song southern voice say, "Shoo-eey!" She responds with a just as southern "Weee - shoo!" And then I die a little from the cuteness.

The dog? He's my boyfriend. I let him sleep on my bed during the day. He guards the kids and eats the crumbs on the floor and generally brings joy and happiness to my life.

And that's where we're at, yo. I kinda feel like I just wrote you a really long Christmas letter. I love you extra if you made it all the way through.

Just for good measure, another picture only worth sharing because Sam's hair is totally awesome.

Mom - 100, Kids - ZERO

Monday night, my kids were crowded together on the couch watching Phineas and Ferb on Netflix. I was in the kitchen getting dinner ready when I noticed the dishwasher was full and clean, and needed to be emptied. This is not my job. The kids unload the dishwasher. I don't really care which kid - usually they all work together, but sometimes they split their chores and two will do the dishwasher while the others will do something else. I don't much care about the how or who as long as they are all happy and the work is done.

So, wanting to get dishes out of the sink and off the counter to make my dinner prep easier, I called in to the kids and asked them to pause their show and come and unload the dishwasher. There are five of them (even Ivy helps) so we're talking a five minute break, IF they go slow. Not too much to ask, is it? 

Apparently, it WAS too much to ask. My request was met with sarcasm and disdain as my sweet darling children reminded me that they'd already unloaded the dishwasher once earlier in the day. Did I really expect them to do it AGAIN?! Then, they turned back to their show and didn't move a muscle. 

A little shocked, but mostly just annoyed, I didn't say another word. Ivy came to help me unload the dishwasher and we took care of it on our own.

Fifteen minutes later, the show was over and my kids crowded around the island in the kitchen and asked me what was for dinner. To their question, I smiled sweetly and replied, 

"I'm sorry, I already fed you once today. Did you really expect me to feed you AGAIN?!"

And then I left the kitchen. 

I wish I'd had a camera to capture the looks on their faces. They wanted to be mad, to scream and yell and wallow in the injustice of not being fed. But they knew they deserved it. They couldn't say a word. 

I told the kids they were welcome to make themselves a sandwich and have a piece of fruit. Which they did. 

I know I could have harped and urged and demanded they get up and unload the dishwasher when I asked. But what would that have taught them? That they only have to listen after Mom asks three times? I'm never one to turn down the opportunity for a good object lesson...

(cue evil, maniacal mother laughter here...)