Evelyn at 1 month

My baby is a month old already. How in the world did that happen?!

I really wanted to take some of those cute photos of her every month, like you see on Pinterest and stuff. Pinterest is a joke. Clearly anyone who posts photos and crafty recipes there has nothing else to do with their life.

I've decided that taking photos of your own baby (as a photographer) is MUCH harder than taking photos of someone else's baby. This girl gives me a run for my money any time the camera comes out. (I just remembered I didn't share any newborn photos I took of her. I'll do that next post. She was by far the HARDEST newborn session I've ever had.)

At one month old here statistics are; 10 pounds, 2 ounces and 22.5 inches. Yes, she gained nearly 2 pounds and grew an inch and a half in a month. Holy moly, right? I'm not surprised since she likes to eat. A lot. Last night she gave me the longest stretch of sleep yet, 4 hours and 15 minutes! Yipee!

I gave up having her pose with Raggedy Ann after she insisted on being swaddled and having her pacci in her mouth. Oh well, there's always her 2 month photos, right?

Domestic Domestic

Way back when, before the days of children and when I actually wore single digit pant sizes, I played Junior Olympic Volleyball. It's not as hoity toity as it sounds. I sat the bench. A lot.

Anyway, during my 5 years of JO Volleyball and traveling to weekend tournaments, I spent countless nights in hotel rooms packed with my teenage teammates. These were the days before smart phones and laptops so we literally had no choice but to build relationships and act like teenage girls. That included swimming in clearly closed hotel pools after business hours, spitting over balcony railings, guzzling caffeine laden drinks until the wee hours of the morning, winning some tough matches, losing some that we should have won, making huge plays, missing crucial serves and just growing into adulthood together. You will never hear me say that I miss high school, because I do not. But those days of JO Volleyball, I miss those. A lot.

I miss the sport and I miss the people.

JOVB Summer of 1997 (?)
I'm the 3rd from the left. My friend Heather is last on the right.
Our hair. I blame humidity. And the 90's.

In a day where facebook reeks of political agendas and controversy, especially following the Grammy Awards, State of the Union addresses and the latest celebrity soapbox, I'm often annoyed by what I find on there. Several times I've wanted to just shut down my entire account because I am so over people talking about who said what and what they did and how it was so outside of what they should have done and blah blah blah. But, I don't. And the reason I don't just shut it down and walk away is because:

1) I like showing off my kids. And today was the first shower I've had since Sunday so leaving the house to show them off isn't really an option every day because their adorableness would be overshadowed by my smell and the length of my armpit hair.

2) I get to keep in touch with some people that I treasure deeply, even though I've not seen them in, say, 13 years. Some of those my former teammates from my JO Volleyball days. Heather is one of those people.

Heather drove her tan, chrysler mini-van to practices. Practices that she attended wearing argyle socks and cut off khaki shorts, and sometimes, a polo shirt. I remember being slightly enamored with her because she is one of those people that you just truly enjoy being around. Thoughtful, honest, genuine.

I graduated high school and kissed my semi-small town goodbye, loaded up my car and moved to an even smaller town to play college volleyball. I knew most of the players on my college team from my JO Volleyball days. Heather played volleyball with me in college for a year (maybe 2?). When she hung up the argyle socks and khakis (wait, no, that never happened), she stuck around our small, liberal arts college and for the next 3 years we shared our college campus and a few friends. She was forever making stuff. I remember her making a table top entirely from bottle caps for her apartment. From scratch. The only thing I'd ever made from scratch was Ramen.

Some people have a gift to see beyond the immediate potential of an object (or business) and cast forth a vision of their own. To see beyond what something is in the present and create with it something outside it's normal function. I mean, do you know how long she had to save bottle caps? I'd have quit after buying my first 6-pack of bottled fanta. But that's not Heather.

Through the miracle of the internet (yes, miracle) I've watched her grow into an entrepreneur who sees what is lacking in a community and fills that void in local commerce with tenacity. All while maintaining those same qualities I admired so many, many, many, many years ago while we wore unsightly spandex (you can't play in a game in argyle and khakis) and knee socks. Honestly, integrity, authenticity.

Her latest endeavor is a company called Domestic Domestic. While most Americans disagree on everything from breastfeeding and cosleeping to more serious social issues, I'm sure there's one thing we can all agree on: Buying American made products. Buying WELL MADE American made products, at that.

That's what Domestic Domestic is all about. I asked Heather why she started the company. Here's what she said,

"So many friends do amazing things. Adopt babies, save lives, drs, lawyers, missionaries. I sell things. I just wanted to sell things with a purpose. Make my own difference. The selection of Domestic Domestic is carefully curated. Each item comes from a great company that depends on consumers to be aware of the quality. I love being the connection between these companies and craftsmen and a consumer who gives a damn."

I think that is amazing. Knowing your natural bent in life and pursuing it with a passion to make this crazy world a better place.

Domestic Domestic sells everything from whiffle balls to taco plates (which would make taco night at our house immeasurably easier. Dear God, SPILLED SHREDDED CHEESE. *shudder*) to this little gem that would surely make me smile more when I'm in my kitchen.

Head over to Domestic Domestic yourself and check it out. Because they have stuff I don't even know what you do with it. And a murse that I'm pretty sure Luke is gonna pee his pants over when I show it to him. (He's been looking for one for months. Just pick one already, right?)

Point is, there's variety. American made variety. And some pretty fun stuff that if I'd known about in college, would have made me feel better about making my ramen from scratch.

Evelyn's birth story

My Evelyn's birth was, by far, the most dramatic of all our children's births. 

I was 40 weeks and 5 days pregnant at my Friday afternoon appointment. Earlier that day I posted a semi-snarky status on facebook about people NOT asking me if I have "had that baby yet" because clearly, I was still pregnant and there wasn't photos of a cute, newborn baby blowing up their newsfeeds.

My OB had told me the week before that, unlike Ella (who I carried 42 weeks 2 (3?) days), he wouldn't be in favor of letting me go much past 41 weeks gestation because of my gestational diabetes. I blew his comment off at my 39 week appointment because my OB is very laid back about due dates and birth and very much in favor of letting a woman's body gestate for as long as is healthy for the mother and baby.

However, when my blood pressure showed to be up just a little bit, he began talking inductions. Abigail is the ONLY baby I have not be induced with. And she came 5 days before her due date in a glorious, pitocin free labor and birth. Remember?

Anyway, my OB, who is a pretty laid back kind of guy started strongly suggesting that I get induced THAT AFTERNOON. I just sat and looked at him, stone faced. Certain that if I said nothing he'd send me on my merry way and I'd have another natural labor and birth. Right? He wasn't catching my drift. "I get the feeling you aren't a fan of being induced," he said. I explained to him my loathing of pitocin and how I'm sure it's extracted from the veins of the devil before it's placed into the IV's of large, desperate, pregnant women who just want to meet their babies already. Ahem.

My OB typed some things onto his computer and said, "Well, let's check your cervix and see what our options are." I was 3cm dilated.

I tried to coax my OB into letting me wait a little longer but at the end of our appointment he had convinced me that inducing was our best option with the elevated blood pressure and all. He is really very kind and very much takes into account the desires of his patients. So when he didn't back down about the induction, I knew he was serious.

I immediately began feeling anxiety well up within me. This would be my 4th induction. I knew what pitocin did to my body and I really wanted to try to avoid an epidural again. I texted a few friends asking them to pray for my anxious heart and I drove myself to the chiropractor for one more adjustment before calling labor and delivery to see what time they wanted me to show up.

I'd been having contractions on and off for about a week but they were never consistent and they weren't terribly painful. More of a nuisance, really. Especially when I was trying to sleep or lay down. I called L&D and they told me to show up about 4:00-4:30pm. I called Luke to come home from work and went home to tell the kids.

I got to the hospital and checked into L&D by 5:30pm. They did all my paperwork, started a saline lock IV, asked me a bazillion questions. Then, the midwife came in for us to talk about our induction options. (The OB went off-call at 5:00pm and the midwife was on call for the weekend.) I had discussed with the OB having the midwife just break my water and try to start labor that way. But after talking with the midwife, and Luke (who knows my laboring body almost as well as I do) we decided that the lowest, slowest IV of pitocin would be the best approach. So at 7:00pm we began the drip of pitocin. It immediately made my sporadic contractions consistent, even though the intensity and pain of them didn't increase much. We bumped up the pitocin every hour (compared to every half hour for a normal induction).

The nursed checked me at about 1:30am and I was 5-6cm dilated. We bumped up the pitocin one final time and that's when the intense contractions began. I was finally in transition! Luke and I have a "dance" we do when I'm in transition. I simply CANNOT sit or lay down during transition contractions because the pain is just too intense. He knows, once my hands go from low to up around his neck, it's serious.

For about an hour, from 1:45am until 2:45am my contractions were hard, consistent and every 3 or so minutes apart. My disposition changed and I told Amanda, who was in the room with us, along with my Mom and Dad, to text a couple friends and tell them that I was certainly in transition, because I knew they'd know how to pray me through. Luke and I did our "dance" that full hour. The contractions got harder, but I knew that they were bringing forth our daughter. And y'all, Luke is an AMAZING laboring partner. He knows when to hold me up, when to whisper encouragements, when to pray over me, when to get me water and when to be my advocate. I don't know how I'd make it through childbirth without him by my side. He's my prophet, provider, protector and priest in every sense of the word during those hours.

I don't think I'll ever forget opening the door to the bathroom (after changing into that sexy hospital gown and before all the induction business got started) and seeing my husband, kneeling on the labor room floor, his hands outstretched to cover the hospital bed, and him praying over it. That is why it's so easy to submit to him and why it's so easy to be his wife.

Anyway, back to birth. At 2:45am the nurse called the midwife. I labored those last 15 minutes literally hanging from Luke's neck. I'm pretty sure the last 3 contractions I had standing up, he was literally holding me up. The pressure was so intense, I just knew that the midwife would come in and simply catch our baby. I was that close to delivery. Or so I thought.

The midwife came in about 3:00am. She checked me to see how dilated I was. I was 6 cm. SIX CENTIMETERS. I felt defeated. And confused. I looked at Luke and the look on his face was exactly how I felt. It simply wasn't possible I was only 6cm because we'd just done our transition dance for the last hour. I think we were both completely thrown off our game. I remember telling Luke and the midwife that it was time to call for an epidural because I knew I could not make it another hour (my usual transition from 6-7cm to fully dilated) with the pain I was in. For whatever reason, it was decided that I wouldn't get an epidural but instead they'd give me some stadol and turn off the pitocin. I remember asking the midwife if I could push because I felt so much pressure. She told me I could not and that if I did, I would risk tearing my cervix. She did say that if it helped with the pain, I could bear down.

So here I am, in the bed, laying on my side and the contractions are not getting any easier to manage. It was the most intense, painful thing I've ever felt in my life. It felt nothing like my labor with Abigail, where it just felt like my pelvis would snap in half. It was an all consuming pain. My entire body hurt with each contraction. It was horrible. I began begging and pleading with Luke to find the midwife (who had left the room at that point) and to demand for her to call the anesthesiologist. I begged and pleaded and told him that it was just too painful and I simply could not bear it. It was too much. This went on for I think 3 or so contractions (remember - 3 or so minutes apart - so by now it's 3:09ish). The nurse put on another sterile glove to check me since I was obviously in major pain. Then, the next contraction came. I remembered what the midwife had said about bearing down. I knew I had to do something to help with the pain because, y'all, I HAVE NEVER.

So, I just decided to bear down a teeny, tiny bit. Apparently that was the only cue my body needed. Natural instinct took over and my body began to all out push. I was still laying on my side and I said, out loud, "She's coming now!" The nurse pulled back the cover and apparently got the clue that I was NOT at 6cm any longer. She walked to the door to get the midwife and I remember my Mom saying, "Her head is out!"

The nurse walked back around the foot of the bed just as my body pushed one last time. She caught Evelyn with one hand, the one that had the glove, thankfully. I have photos of her holding Evelyn with one hand trying to pull up my gown for skin to skin while the midwife is still putting on her gloves. I'd post one here but this is a co-ed blog (I think?) and while it doesn't show any "areas" of me (because the bed wasn't broken down and I wasn't even in stirrups!) it is a little, um, special. But if you know me in real life and come over, I'll show you.

At 3:12am our Evelyn Love was born. (At about 3:00am I was still 6cm. It was crazy fast.)

My poor husband y'all. I remember about the time this picture was taken. I was looking at my baby and something was dripping on my arm. IT WAS MY HUSBAND'S TEARS. Later, he told me that he's never seen me in that much pain and it was torture to know that he could do nothing about it.

Look at his hand on my face. I can't even look at these without tearing up. In that top photo, he hasn't even looked at his daughter yet. He was so concerned for me.

I nursed her for that first hour and she latched on like a champ. Also, THE STADOL FINALLY KICKED IN and my husband, my parents and Amanda were laughing at me hysterically. Apparently, I was slurring my speech and totally blitzed, as is evidenced by the photo below. I didn't feel loopy but I do remember thinking that it was really hard to blink.

Once our Love had finished nursing, Luke escorted her to the newborn nursery. And I did what any drunk person who hasn't eaten in 12 hours would do, I sent my dad to IHOP. No longer a diabetic, I wanted the LARGEST stack of pancakes he could carry back to the hospital. With syrup. An IV of syrup, please. And some juice.

Our girl weighed in as the biggest baby we've ever had. A whopping 8 pounds, 4 ounces and 21 inches long. The cheeks. I'm sure there's a pound of baby in each one.

The next morning (read: 5 hours later) our kids came to the hospital to meet their newest sibling.

They were all SO excited. Elizabeth was so thrilled that she couldn't contain her tears of joy. (Take a hard look at that photo above.) I was so worried that she was upset. But when she finally made it over to the bed all she could tell me was, "I'm just so, so happy she's here!"

Elizabeth has been the first to hold every baby in our family, as is expected since she's the oldest. But Ashlee is, in fact, a baby addict. I think she gets high off baby head sniffs. Luke and I decided that this time, Ashlee would be the first to hold the baby. Her face when I put Evelyn in her arms was priceless.

Even Abigail was smitten and totally thrilled with her new sister.

Our first family of TEN photo. Please ignore the face of Lucas. He hadn't held Evelyn yet and wasn't too happy about it.

The entire experience was unlike any other birth I've experienced. Which is true for our precious, baby girl - she's her own person. She's a delight to us all. We all take turns kissing her big, chubby cheeks and doting on her. I have a feeling she will be spoiled by all 9 of us. Just you wait.

Welcome to the world Evelyn!

Well, I guess better late than never, huh?

Earlier this month, we welcomed our precious Baby #8.

Evelyn Love

8lb 4oz, 21 inches long

born at 3:12am 

(middle of the night births are HARD to recover from, y'alll)

I'll post her birth story and more photos soon, or when she decides to stop nursing for stretches longer than 20 minutes.

She is a delight to us all and the main topics of conversations in our house now include whose turn it is to hold her, how often she needs to drink Mommy's milk and how totally cute and adorable her (insert any random feature) is.

Indeed, we are in love. Pun totally intended.

Also, have you ever seen a belly button like that? It totally freaked me out. Look how long the skin is! Stay tuned for her birth story. It's unlike any of my previous births. She entered the world in her own, special way. And I'm so thrilled to hold her on the outside. You just have no idea.

Mr & Mrs: A(nother) repost

Happy 11th Anniversary to my wonderful husband! Here's a repost from our anniversary in 2010. Almost 2 kids later and I wouldn't change a single word (except to maybe add a few).

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It is a big church. The most grandiose in stature in the entirety of our small town. The dramatic roof lines and towering steeple sit perfectly atop rock and brick walls adorned with stained glass windows, all situated on the precisely manicured lawn.

It's a beautiful church. And every time I drive by I think about what happened inside.

I stand behind two huge wooden doors, stained to a perfect deep brown, waiting to walk down a burgundy-carpeted aisle. So much awaits me on the other side of those doors. Love. Commitment. Beauty.

The wedding coordinator adjusts my veil and the train of my dress.

Deep breath.

The organ begins to play the non-traditional melody of an Scottish tune, reminiscent of our college Alma Mater. The doors swing open, everyone stands up.

I blink.

It's 8 years later. And here I sit, mother to 6, wife to a man who loves me in spite of who I am. A husband who loves wholly, sacrificially and beyond my understanding.

In our counseling session at Candidate Week we reviewed the many statistics associated with our personality inventories, marriage surveys and some other psychological profiles that we sent in ahead of us.

"You have an over-idealized view of your marriage," the gray haired counselor told me, over the rim of her glasses.

I sat back in my chair, turning her words over in my mind, trying not to be defensive.

Really? Because I'm pretty much a realist in every other area of my life.

At the end of the session, she agreed, my marriage is not over-idealized in my very matter-of-fact head. Rather, I understand that I am blessed. Beyond what I deserve.

Blessed with a man who guards the purity of our marriage so fervently that he refuses to be alone with other women, even in the context of work, where such a conscience is often considered ridiculous.

Blessed with a leader who fears the Lord and seeks, with his whole being, to serve him, even if it makes our family uncomfortable and unconventional.

Blessed with a confidant, someone I can pour my soul out to, the nasty, dirty, raw and often ugly parts and he draws me close and prays over me.

Blessed with a protector, a guardian of our home and our children and someone who takes that role so seriously, he is willing to risk it all for the glory of the Lord.

I smell the familiar smell of the church and take in the pews, full of people. I look to the opening in front of me and see him, standing at the end of a flower strewn aisle. He smiles at me. My heart flutters in my chest. I reach the altar unsure of how I'm standing there since it seems as though my feet hardly moved.

We exchange vows and rings and we both cry. I wipe his tears. More sniffles echo through the rafters of the magnificent sanctuary.

We turn and face our family and friends. We are Mr. & Mrs.

We celebrate. It's glorious. Even 8 years later. It's glorious.

It's no fairy tale and my days are certainly mixed with their fair share of meltdowns and tears. And some days the kids cry too. :)

But we've come through so much. We've endured hardships and know that more are coming. We laugh together often. We love much. He still dates me. He still stops, through the bustle of our home, to wrap his arms around me and let me bury my face in his chest.

We argue, annoy the crap out of each other and forget things that are important to the each other. But we chose love above all else. We chose to bind our hearts together with God as the glue.

We walk out the front doors of the church, and the cold air hits us like needles. We climb inside the magnificent limousine and the driver shuts the door. I look at my husband.

It's over. Man, that went fast, I think to myself.

I adjust my dress. He grabs my hand. We kiss.

The driver starts the engine.

And then, the journey begins.

The photographer's apprentice

A while back, as sort of a half-hobby, half-distraction from grief and life, I started a photography business. I still have LOTS to learn but I've enjoyed getting to know more about light, editing and learning more about my style.

For her 8th birthday, we got Elizabeth a little point-and-shoot camera. Since I bought my new camera a few months ago, Elizabeth has been saying that she wants to learn to be a photographer, like me. It's cute but I tell her over and over and over again that the best way to become a better photographer is to take lots and lots and lots of pictures.

Then, a few weeks ago, Luke had the idea for me to take Elizabeth, and let her have a maternity photoshoot with me. So, today, while the littles napped, Ashlee was at a friend's house and the boys were at karate, we did just that. I showed her the basics of working my camera, made sure the camera strap was nice and secure around her neck then handed it to her, gave her a few instructions about shadows and direct sunlight then told her to take over.

I'll admit, being 38+ weeks pregnant I don't enjoy being on this side of the camera. But, I also know that 25 years from now, when Baby #8 is likely starting her own family, she'll like seeing photos of her Momma's large belly with her tiny self squished inside. Here's my little photographer's apprentice's debut photos. I did the editing, but the photos are all hers. During my wardrobe change (read: I got cold and changed shirts) she took a photo of our school table,

and our pet bird, Alex.

She really got into telling me to look at my belly, where to put my hands and which side my hair needed to be on.

She told me that I'm not good at doing a real smile, because all my smiles looked fake. Ha!

Overall, for a 9.5 year old, I think she did pretty well! And, it really was fun spending time with my oldest girl, allowing her to feel the weight of the camera in her hand and having some creative freedom.

So there I am, in all my 38+ week glory. Y'all have a great Christmas! Hopefully, the next post will be one of a baby on the outside.

Simply Remember

I feel like I've spent a lot of the last 9 years of my life trying to remember things.

Return those library books, don't forget to get a gallon of milk on the way home, so-and-so's birthday is tomorrow, send a follow up email about such-and-such, don't forget to ask so-and-so about that thing, take the trash to the curb, take a meal to this family, etc, etc.

But then there are the important things. Don't forget the way Elizabeth said the word "juice" the first 5 years of her life. Don't forget the way Lucas and Ashlee liked to trade plates when they were still chubby-faced toddlers. Or the way Ashlee hid food under her leg and would eat it all at the end of her meal. Or the way Olivia would dance to any beat from the age of 6 months on. Or the way Aaron held his pacci in the side of his mouth like a cigar when he was learning to crawl. Or how an 18 month old Ella could be pitching an epic fit one minute and belly laughing the next.

That's the thing when you add 1 or 2 babies every two or so years, you tend to be caught up in the busyness of the day to day and you forget a lot of things. Luke says the first six months of the twins' life is a complete blur to him. I say the first three months. I remember getting up one morning a few days after the twins were born. I walked into the living room and my Mom had swaddled two of Elizabeth's babies up. She was pretending to nurse them, sitting there in just her underwear. All of the sudden she seemed SO BIG. And I just started crying.

I'll never forget this though, the twins were tiny, less than a couple months old. I was getting Elizabeth ready for bed and I stripped off her shirt, pants and undies. The stench that came from her small, 2 year old body was enough to make me recoil. I looked at Luke, shocked, and asked, "When was the last time we bathed Elizabeth?" We both thought for several minutes and we could not remember. I'm sure it had been over a week.

I've always taken a lot of pictures. I guess somewhere subconsciously I knew that those pictures would be the lifeline to my memories. But with the purchase of our smartphones and the conception of my photography business, using a real camera on my own kids is something that's sort of slipped onto the back burner.

So yesterday, when Abigail was upstairs "helping" me make lunch while the other kids were happily entertained with the electronic babysitter, I could have gotten swept up in the moment of hungry kids, lunch time, my pelvis begging me to sit down, my bladder beseeching me to empty it's contents. Again. But instead, I noticed my sweet 21 month old, in a princess dress that she INSISTED on wearing, standing on top of our shoe bins, eating a banana and completely captivated by a squirrel doing only-a-squirrel-knows-what in our front yard. The light hit her face and I moved as fast as my feet could waddle me to grab the camera. My real camera.

Because THIS is what I don't want to forget.

This girl, a cheek full of banana, pointing at a squirrel, telling me to "come 'ere," giggling when I say, "That's not a puppy!"

Her dimple on that one side. It's becoming less obvious the bigger she gets. I've seriously prayed it will stay forever even though she'll probably hate it as a teenager,

sticky, slimy banana finger prints all over my window sill,

her amazement at how fast that little squirrel ran away when she knocked on the window,

and how I wouldn't let her stand on the microwave, so she would stretch a tulle covered foot over there, then look at me over her shoulder and grin.

And how after she realized the squirrel wasn't coming back, she spent the rest of her time "helping" me make grilled cheeses by licking the butter when I wasn't looking. For me, it's less about not forgetting and more about remembering the little things. Savoring the details, letting go of the things that are suppose to be these big memory makers and just enjoying my kids exactly where they are. Breathing them in and trying my best to simply remember.

6 things and a Jesus question

1. It would happen that as soon as I did a two part post on our chore system, Olivia would proceed to lose all but one of her chore button things. Naturally. Because my life is nothing if not ironic.

2. I found this in my fridge last week. I really need to blog about a certainly blue-eyed, curly headed, girl in our house who is on a kick of raiding our fridge like a person who hasn't seen food in the last 24 hours. If it weren't so insanely hilarious it might drive me crazy.

3. This homeschooling thing, it's a balance. On Monday, our kids watched WAY TOO MUCH TV while I laid on the couch nursing a headache. I also rocked Abigail three times before she decided to stop protesting a nap and also dealt with a 7 stage meltdown from one of our other children. So, at 2:00, instead of being mad and forcing our kids and myself to pretend like school was going to happen, I gave up. It was Thanksgiving week, right?

4. Our kids are obsessed with Woody Woodpecker. I'd rather him take a battering ram to my skull than watch one more episode. But, Ella now tells me that her favorite to watch is Woody the Pecker and that alone makes me laugh out loud.

5. For the third year in a row, I had a stomach virus on Thanksgiving. 36 weeks pregnant plus a stomach virus is no fun. Ever. It was short lived and seemed to only hit 2 other kids in a super mild way (I'll let your imagination do the work there) so I really can't complain. And, on Saturday and Sunday I gorged myself on Thanksgiving leftovers.

6. I was in the dollar store on Saturday getting some last minute craft stuff for our Jesse Tree. (I'll blog about that later, I hope.) It was packed. There were some crosses and other Christmas items on display and a young boy (maybe 5 or 6?) was eyeballing them. He turned to the woman with him (his Mom or grandma, I'm guessing) and said, "What's that?" and pointed to the cross. The lady said, "Oh. That's a cross. That's what Jesus died on." to which the little boy asked, "Who is Jesus?"

I lingered and listened as I looked at some stickers. She said, "Oh, Jesus is VERY important. We need to talk about him sometime," and then she casually went on down the aisle as they talked about the other things on display.

I have my own thoughts about this conversation, but I'd like to hear yours.

A little catching up

I've been wanting to sit down and actually blog for a long time. But, I felt pressured that my posts needed to be something of substance. And well, I don't have that right now.

But, before this was a place for me to share about missions, it was a place for me to document my family's life. It makes me sad that I've allowed that to slip away in the wake of my grief. So, my plan now is just to blog a little each week and if it gets deep in here, then it gets deep. If it stays superficial and sticks to updates on our life and our kids, that's fine too.

So, the last time I really blogged about the ongoings of our family was May. That's pathetic. SO MUCH has happened since May.

For starters, we moved in July. We bought a house, we painted, we expanded the amount of bedrooms in our house and I think we are settled. I still have stuff to hang on the walls but now it's less about the emotions behind it and more about the fact that the main level of this house was done in the 50s and the walls are plaster, y'all. PLASTER.

It's not easy to hang anything up. So if you know how to hang up pictures on plaster walls without having to drill a hole and add one of those plastic anchors, I'd love to know.

In August, we found out that Baby #8 is a(nother) GIRL! The boys weren't quite so thrilled at first, but now everyone is eager Beavers to meet this chick. Including me. Because she clearly doesn't understand that this isn't my first rodeo and it's not fun for her to lay sideways/diagonal/all on one side and rhythmically kick me in the cervix.

Around that same time, Amanda found out that they are expecting their second child. Here's a photo of us at the baby shower she threw for me in October. My first baby shower I've had since the twins, by the way. Which, A) I didn't realize there was so much new crap that was necessary for a baby. And B) It's weird having a baby shower when you've already got 7 kids. Even when I really did NEED all of the things I received because my stuff is worn slap out, but still. It's weird.

I'm 28 weeks. She's 16. No comments please. Yes, she's pregnant. I promise.

At the end of October Amanda and Nick loaded up all their possessions and their adorable daughter and moved to the other side of the world country to follow God's call for Nick to be in full time military service. We had a small 1st birthday party for their daughter (a month or so early) where I tried my best not to ugly cry. I held it together until the night before they drove out of town. Then, it was snot city y'all. Poor Luke. His pregnant, emotional wife lost it on him. He may or may not have cried a little too. We miss them just about every other second. But who's counting? Oh wait, all 9 of us are.

I was blessed with a half sister who is 13 years younger than me. She was 5 when I went off to college and I never moved back home. So we aren't as close as I wish we were. But, somehow God allowed Amanda to become just like a sister to me. Seriously. I probably annoy the crap out of her texting her all day long, telling her about the weird things my pregnant body is doing and telling her how she should live her life. And I don't really care because sisters can be annoying and bossy like that. And also, she loves it. I think.

We are homeschooling again this year. I bought this new, elaborate, beautifully designed curriculum over the summer at our state's homeschool convention. I went a whole new route and just knew it would be the perfect thing for our family. We moved, and about a month before I had planned to start school I opened the perfectly packaged boxes of curriculum, got high off the new-school fumes and sat down to plan out our days.

I stared at it blankly for two days while my planning book sat empty, called other veteran homeschool moms, debated joining a local co-op that meets once a week, panicked, tried to find all the books at the library, failed, then promptly boxed that beautiful curriculum right back up and sent it back to the company for a refund. I shed not one single tear.

We are doing our own thing this year with a compilation of resources. It might be the best year we've had so far. Which, of course, means that I'm already scheming what I want to change for next year. Because clearly I appreciate torturing myself.

The baby is due at the end of December. I'm hoping she holds on until January because it's hard to compete with the Savior of the World for your birthday and also our anniversary is December 28th and I'd like to not feel guilty when our 20th anniversary rolls around and I want to take a european cruise vacation like Jen Hatmaker is doing right now and be gone on her birthday.

Which now that I think about it, maybe coming between Christmas and our anniversary would be ideal because then if we leave on our anniversary trip I don't have to worry about being back in time for a January birthday. But if she's born early January we could just go after her birthday.

Also, Amanda will be in town through the first week in January and I'd like to have her here for the baby's birth since I'm pretty sure I don't remember how to bring a baby home from the hospital without her. Decisions, decisions.

Like I have any control over it anyway. But still. Remember Ella? Lord help me.

Chores and Kids: Putting it into practice (Part 2)

If you've not read Part 1 on Chores and Kids, do that first. You can click on this link.

Now that you have a foundation of why you want your kids to do chores, you have to implement the how. This part is, by far, the most taxing on you as a parent because these first few weeks of your new system will require lots of teaching, correcting and side-by-side cleaning with your kids.

But I promise, I promise, if you put in the hard work in the beginning, it's worth it and your children are more likely to do their work correctly, efficiently and even, dare I say, joyfully. (Or at least with minimal complaining.)

Again, as I am teaching our children how to do their chores, we talk about why we do what we do. Why do we keep our room clean? Because if it's clean, you know where all the pieces are to your toys. And, it's a blessing to your Mom and Dad and we will enjoy your room with you. Your room is your place of refuge, the calm away from the chaos of the house. Keep it tidy and you will enjoy spending time there!

Same is true for the bathroom. No one enjoys using a dirty bathroom, one that has trash overflowing, clutter all around the sink, hair all over the floor and a disgusting toilet! And, if one day, you're sick and spending more time than usual in the bathroom, TRUST ME, you'll be glad it's been cleaned recently.

Always putting the why behind what we are doing seems to help our children grasp the purpose behind good work ethic, putting in your very best and being really efficient (after all, the faster you can do your job, the sooner it's over with usually, right?).

Whew, okay. So, first, let's talk logistics.

CHORE CHARTS. This has been a source of wailing and gnashing of teeth for Luke and I since the beginning. Some of our first chore charts were so complex that it required lots of work on the part of us, the parents, to keep up with who had done what, when they'd done it, etc. We'd ask the kids to do chores and if we hadn't putting up a clean chart, marked off the list the things they'd already completed, rotated them for today, blah, blah, blah, then basically chore time was an epic fail. Finally, I realized...

K.I.S.S.

Keep
It
Simple
Stupid

So, we simplified it as simply as we could. I scoured Pinterest to find an easy chore chart. One that didn't require me checking boxes or flipping cards or spinning wheels or erasing or standing on my head while playing the tin whistle or ANYTHING because really, this thing should be self sustaining mostly, with minimal work for you, the parent. I found this link to make my own magnetic charts and adapted it just a bit for our family. I skimmed her post on the actual chores themselves and basically just stole her idea for the charts themselves.

Here's what ours look like:

(I painted them that color before we moved into our new house. The kitchen paint just-so-happened to be the same color as our chore charts. I don't really love yellow that much.)

Once you are 3 years old in our house, you get your own chore chart. Before that, you just help with keeping toys picked up, throwing things in the trash (any 18-24 month olds dream) and basic odds and ends. I keep our charts hung in the kitchen area of our house because that's the most central room where I can see what has and has not been done for the day.

Those are just pizza tins I found at the Dollar General and spray painted them yellow because, well, that was the cheapest color they had. See, here's the back of one:

I gave the kids creative control of their wooden discs and we took advantage of some paint supplies we already had and they painted their discs to their heart's content. Then I glued their chores to the front with clear modge podge. I think it helped them take a little bit more ownership over their chore charts. Maybe not, but I like to tell myself that.

For the older 3 kids, their chores are written out on their charts in words.

Elizabeth and Lucas decided to swap a chore permanently, thus the odd ball looking disc on her chart. For the younger four kids, I used clip art to show them what their chores are.

Their names as well as "To Do" and "Done" are simply some scrapbooking stickers I had laying around and I covered them with a thin layer of modge podge so the letters wouldn't pop off. Last, I bought round magnets and hot glued them onto the backs of the wooden discs. (I tried the peel and stick magnets and the magnets kept coming off the discs. Just fyi.)

Every morning that we are home, sometimes while I'm cooking breakfast or sometimes immediately after breakfast (if we have cereal or something from the crockpot) is chore time. Pick a chore time that can be relatively consistent. Before school, as soon as they are home from school, just before bed, etc. I've found that if we do it around the same general time every day, they see it coming and the complaining is minimal. Now, all I have to do is announce it's chore time. They all go to their charts, slide their magnets back over to the "To Do" side and begin. It's glorious, most days.

Now for the harder part of making charts: deciding what chores you want your kids to do. (I did a quick search on Pinterest of "chores by age" and got a gazillion results so if you're at a loss, try that.)

Here's what our kids do, but of course, you can decide which chores work best for YOUR family. I read somewhere that it takes about 3-4 weeks for your kids to master a chore, I think that's true. I think it's also important to keep in mind that some kids will be naturally gifted in doing some things rather than others. I also read somewhere (or someone told me?) that they had one of their sons on laundry duty. After several months, he politely and quietly went to his mom and told her, "Mom, can I have another chore other than laundry? When I have to fold your underwear and my sister's underwear it embarrasses me. Can I switch chores with someone who isn't embarrassed by stuff like that?" I was super impressed. Not only because he was able to articulate that it wasn't a chore he enjoyed, but he could say WHY he didn't enjoy it and he understood that just because he might not have that chore, he would certainly have one to replace it. It gave me hope that my kids would be able to do the same and it showed me that I need to respect their feelings if something like that should arise with our kids.

Lucas was in charge of sweeping for a long time. And honestly, he sucked at it. He was just BAD no matter how many times I showed him. I don't think it was lack of effort, it just isn't something he's good at. So he and Elizabeth switched. Now, Lucas does dishes and Elizabeth sweeps the floors. I'm not quick to allow kids to swap out chores because I want them to master their job so they can do it quickly and effectively. But like I said in my last post, some families have rotating charts and it works for them.

We do our chores EVERY DAY, except Sundays (and usually, if we have a busy Saturday we ditch them then, too). Soon, the older 3 will probably get one additional item on their list as will Ella, Olivia and Aaron. After all, just like in the real world, the more responsible you prove yourself to be, the more you are responsible for doing.

Everyone does these chores:

Make their bed

Clean their room

Pick up Toys

The older 3 also have this one in common:

Put away clothes (Luke or I will fold and sort them by kid. The older 3 must put theirs away.)

Our 3 and 4 year olds only have 4 chores total. So in addition to the 3 listed above, our 3 year old, Ella, also feeds the dog and our 4 year old, Olivia, (who just turned 5) cleans off and wipes off the table.

Aaron, our other 5 year old, has 5 chores. The three listed above plus he cleans up the outside toys that have been left out and he also cleans up the living room (our hot spot for toys and clutter). He also puts his clothes away and I can't seem to remember to give him another disc for that.

Finally, the older 3 kids have 6 chores each. Lucas and Ashlee are 7 years old and Elizabeth is 9. Elizabeth does the above 4 chores plus she sweeps the floor (one zone per day) and starts a load of laundry (or folds a load if there is none to start). I divided our house into 3 zones for sweeping: the kitchen, the dining room/foyer/sitting room, and the school room/hallway outside their bedrooms. She rotates each sweeping zone every day.

Lucas has the above listed 4 chores and also does the dishes once per day (unloads and loads the dishwasher) and takes out all the trash - which also includes him hauling the trash to the curb on Monday nights since pick up day is Tuesday.

Ashlee has the above listed 4 chores plus she also cleans one bathroom every day (we have 2) and she vacuums every, single day.

The hard work comes in when you, Mom, have to teach your children how do do each of these things. If you simply tell them what to do and release them, then not only will you be dissatisfied with their work but they will be frustrated with their lack of knowing what your expectation is for them. Therefore, when I taught Ashlee how to clean the bathroom I walked her through every step. We alternate between using sanitizing wipes and a spray solution with paper towels. I showed her how I want the bathroom cleaned, step by tedious step. At first, it was just the basics like wiping off the countertops, mirror, toilet, putting away stray toothbrushes and rinsing out the sink. Now, we are about to move her into scrubbing the inside of the toilet.

I talked with Ashlee about making the bathroom counter a place free of clutter and that it's important to make it hospitable for when we have guests, because they use our bathroom too. A few weeks ago Ashlee did her chores and later I entered the bathroom to find it like this:

It made me laugh all day long. And I think that's the thing about watching your children do work. You should take joy in it and laugh along with them when they do funny things, cheer with them when they do a great job and when necessary, gently correct or redirect them when they don't do it just how you've shown them. Sometimes, we have to have retraining sessions and that's okay. Sometimes, Mommy completely loses her junk because her daughters' room is a black hole of death that looks like a wild pack of wolves have taken up residence. Later, Mommy has to apologize for being someone who is rude and belligerent and talk to them nicely about her expectations.

The first time I helped the older 2 girls clean their room to my standard it took FOUR HOURS. FOUR HOURS y'all. And we had just moved and I had already purged a ton of crap. Somehow, a liquified banana made it through the move. Ew.

Now, we do random checks of their chores. We don't tell them when we will come behind them and inspect their jobs. But once they are fully trained, we will.

The bottom line is, have grace with your kids. Teach them and expect high standards because I truly think, as adults, we don't give kids enough credit for what they are capable of doing. But also do your best to be merciful with them when they don't meet those high standards each and every time. Because one day, you'll walk into a room, it will look very unswept, you will realize it wasn't done, lose yourself on your child who SWEARS SHE SWEPT, you'll both be on the verge of tears, you'll retreat to your room for a breather and realize that your darling daughter DID sweep. She swept your bedroom. And made your bed. And turned down your sheets. And organized your nightstand. And left your nightstand light on so that your room looks oh-so-very inviting. And you'll feel about this big.

We tell our kids all the time that when they do their part around the house they are helping our home run smoothly, but when they go above and beyond they overwhelm us with blessings. They do a lot of the latter. Especially when I don't expect it.

Oh, one last thing! We DO NOT PAY our kids for their chores. The way we see it, Luke and I do things around our house because we live here and we love each other and our kids. They can do stuff around here because, you know, THEY LIVE HERE TOO and they love us and their siblings. So I guess I'll drag this out to a third post and tell you about how we plan to implement a new system called "Jobs for Hire" where we pay our kids for helping out around the house, above and beyond their actual chores. Because y'all, we've got some money hungry kids and, honestly, we want to teach our kids how to handle money. So, until next time....

***Edited to add***

I should include that there are other things that our kids do just because they live here. Like putting their dirty clothes in the hamper, taking their plate to the sink after meals, keeping their shoes in their shoe bins, you know, normal stuff that people do when they live with other people. Just so y'all know. That's why those are NOT included on the chore charts. In my opinion, those are part of just being a human who lives with other humans.

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Question for you: Do you already do chores? If so, what chores do your kids do at your house?

Questions for me? Ask!