Little Sister's Wedding Day...Part 2

Well....I look back down the aisle as I threw the offending wad of brown paper into the front pew...sorry, Dad....and 3 of my kiddos are carting down a garland to tie across the top of the kneeler that Chris and Steve will kneel on. My main job is to take some ribbon and tie it around the garland so it will not fall. I mean, how hard can it be to tie a ribbon?
Hehe....
Well, it turned into me staring at 4 or 5 ribbons thinking, "Oh, great! Which ribbons am I supposed to use?" Of course, I am fumbling around with all the ribbons and trying to "test" them to see if one is an emergency pull on it, or something. AND everyone is watching me, the woman (who has six children and is fully competent) try to tie a simple ribbon around a slab of evergreen so that the bride can come down the aisle. What I ended up creating was a stiff ribbon that would give Alfalfa a run for his money. There is this pretty garland and a stiff white ribbon standing at attention. Oh, well!
Yeah...that's why they pay me the big bucks!
Well, Chris sweeps down the aisle all beautiful in her dress. My main job is to make sure my sister is not strangled, eaten, swallowed, or injured by the train on her dress. Let me tell you...this train was beautiful, but it ran one quarter of the way down the church.
Okay, I tell myself, go straighten her train.
I do the 50 yard dash and have to actually run on the train because the aisle is narrow and my own dress is so full. Of course, when I get the dress straightened, I have to run on the dress again to get to my position and....smile!
This process was repeated many many times. Once, I actually was standing on the dress and my sister went to walk and was jerked back. (I can only imagine that what she was wishing me could not be repeated in the church).
So, the readings are done and I look back to see my two sons so decked out in their tuxes...completely asleep. One of the boys is actually hanging over the pew into the aisle. Then, Katie let out a loud toot of gas that only a baby can get away with. I overhear my brother-in-law say, "Good job!" ...awesome.
The vows were soon repeated and the church burst out to welcome my sis and her new husband. Everyone commented on how nice everyone looked and....."weren't you busy".....
It wasn't till we were on the way to the reception that I realize that I have written no matron of honor speech for the reception. GULP! I beg my husband and Becca and Arthur to help me come up with something because even though my husband and I worked for hours on coming up with something nice, all we had was....
"TO THE BRIDE AND GROOM!"
...awesome...
So, we are all frantically coming up with everything from Michael Jackson song lyrics to Dr. Seuss rhymes. I quickly scribble a few words from the heart on the back of a sheet of stickers because, of course, this is all I can find to write on while in a van and breastfeeding. So, the time comes and the Best man gives a long, involved, and so engaging speech. Like five minutes worth...
Then it's my turn.
I pull out my sheet of Strawberry Shortcake stickers and take the mike, all the while wondering how my 30 second speech is even going to be close to that speech.
Gulp!!
"TO THE BRIDE AND GROOM!"
(smile)

Little Sister's Wedding Day...Part 1

This past weekend, my little sister got married. It was a time of tears, laughter, and joy. I am the eldest of five children. This year has been a wild ride so far....we have had two births, two weddings, and two major trips scheduled this year.
Well, one of the trips occurred on New Year's Day. We drove 21 straight hours to San Antonio, Texas, to see my husband's family....no easy feat being 7 months pregnant with five small children in tow, but that's another blog...
My sister, Becca, had a baby 3 weeks ago and I had my 10 week old baby and, of course, we were blessed to be named co-matrons of honor. Did I mention we were both breastfeeding??
So, picture this scene....I mean do you know the challenges of trying to breastfeed an infant while strapped into a form-fitting-no-easy-access-stuffed-like-a-sausage-with-spandex-God-Bless-
This-Post-Partum-Body- bridesmaid's dress? My sister and I were quite...creative...with the feeding of our little ones, let me tell you!
But, I've gotten too far ahead...
We were to have our hair done at a salon at 9AM. Becca and I promise to juggle and switch babies while the other gets her hair done. So, I am taking care of our little girls and decide to go check out, Chris, my sister that is getting married. She sees me in the salon mirror and asks, "Why isn't your hair done??"
I tell her that I will check on it and of course, you know what happens...no appointment for me was scheduled. My sister is adamant that she scheduled me, but no hairdresser will help. I panic. Finally, I ask that someone...anyone....let me borrow a curling iron. Then, my baby starts screaming to be fed, perfect timing! So, Becca, who has had her hair done comes to my aid and I am breastfeeding while she is curling.
Well, by the time my other two daughters get their hair done, we are LATE! for the wedding. But, of course, we must stop at Walmart for sandwiches that were promised to the bridal party before the wedding. So, there is a near-hysterical bride who, one hour before her wedding is to begin, running...and I mean that...through the store juggling subs and pop in one of our dad's button-down tee shirts and her hair done with veil attached driving a cart like a mad-woman that would cause jealousy in an Indy driver. I mean, it was a site to behold and I was trying to help her as best I could, but I was NOT getting in her way! Did I mention that Becca is in the van now with two screaming newborns and my 7 and 9 year-old daughters.
Well, we get to the van and I open the back of the van. It is full of all the stuff we need for the wedding, so we start throwing all the Walmart stuff on top of that and I had forgotten how to collapse the stroller. My sister was not to be messed with at this point, so I just stuffed the stroller fully opened into the back of the van and we took off, only almost running over a few people. There was bloodthirst for anyone who dared get in Chris's way.
There is probably nothing more frightening than a bride late for her wedding with two sisters breastfeeding (yes, illegally, I know!) driving a WEE BIT over the speed limit to get to the church on time...which was 20 minutes away. GULP! I am just praying and breastfeeding and holding the "Oh, Crud!" bar conveniently placed at the roof near the passenger's door. My sister in the back has no such helper, but she is packed in with groceries, etc.
We tear into the church parking lot and Chris squeals the brakes, slams it into park. Of course, the other two bridesmaids are already there looking cool, calm, and fully dressed. That didn't help matters any.
We all three jump out of the van...all with our dad's button-down shirts on.
I swear...all the doors of the van opened and we literally EXPLODED out of every door. The stroller, pop, kids, us, groceries, subs, and wedding paraphernalia go falling to the ground and roll all over the place. There are the other two bridesmaids, Amanda and Dawn, frozen and staring at us. In fact, they had not moved since the Circus Van careened through the lot. Finally snapping out of their shock, they jumped in all at once to help stop the bleeding.
So, we shovel everything into the church and are throwing on clothes, dresses, makeup, finishing touches on hair...thank you Aunt Glenna (who is a hairdresser) for jumping in to help with "hair repair" for me! Husbands and groomsmen (who were calmly waiting for the food to arrive) are put into action...and we are finishing up just in time and literally running to the church door. The photographer is all about action shots with us at this point.
We finally get to the door and the bridesmaids are starting down the aisle, when I realize the worst....I have no Kleenex! I say this aloud and my dad runs to the bathroom to grab something. 10 seconds to aisle time for me...
9 seconds...
8...
I yelled to him, "It's too late, Dad! Forget it!'
But, he appears with a hand full of the brown rolled cardboard-looking paper and stuffs it into my hands....2 seconds....1 second....showtime!
I desperately attempt to stuff it down the front of my gown which is a strapless low, but not indecent bodice, but there was so much and it stuck out of the top and looked like a terrible wad in the center (try to imagine!-something like a third baby feeder), so I grabbed it back out and stuffed it into my bouquet. All this occurred with the entire church facing back and watching me and all the drama unfold.
Wonderful...
As I start down the aisle, I hear our baby girl start crying loudly...
Wonderful!
Here comes the bride....
Now, what to do with this wad of paper?
(To be continued....)

Final Intro: The Big Day

As I approached the end of my eighth month, it was time to start Lamaze classes at our local hospital. I had gone to school there, being a registered nurse, and I felt comfortable there and was looking forward to classes. Looking back, I think it was my nurse’s training that made me a tad over-confident in the process. Mike and I made these beautiful plans. They were so detailed, they would have made it into “Auditor's Digest” without a problem. We had two suitcases. One was for my clothes, necessities, and the baby’s outfit. The other was for lotion, music, tennis balls, back rubbing items, the “birth plan”, focal point, stopwatch, …and the kitchen sink.
By the time my due date was close, I felt like someone had tied sandbags around my legs, waist, arms, and chin......I mean, chins. I was awkward and clumsy and so ready to deliver that any thoughts of pain paled in comparison to waiting for that day to come. Every week I went to the doctor, not only did I pack on five more pounds, but I felt as if there was no way that I could make it through another week and return for another visit. I was in full walrus mode. Even the extra-huge comfy shorts were mocking me.
It’s so funny how you wait so long for something. Then, when it finally comes, you want to say, “What? Are you serious? It’s really time?” I laugh when I think of that doctor’s face that night at the hospital when we asked if he was sure. He must have thought we were crazy.
I went from excited to throwing my hair clip across the room during a contraction. Any ideas that this would not be as bad as I thought went down the drain about then. The birth bag full of fun was opened quickly and one by one the “trinkets” were tossed aside. Well, by this time, I and everyone else in hearing distance, knew that I was no saint.
In the end, the entire bag of birthing tools was ditched. The birthing plan was ripped up…by me.
My nurse decided to go on break, and after a while another nurse popped her head in.
“Everything okay?”
The look on Mike face and a woman prying the wood off a table must have clued her in. After the nurse checked me, a flurry of activity like I’d never seen before began to unfold around me. Four nurses appeared from out of nowhere. Stirrups were flying in the air, baby monitors being turned on, bed altering, pans, gowns. It was unbelievable chaos.
Soon after, we had a boy. Then, fourteen months later...a girl. Then, two years later...another girl. Two more years...a boy. Another two...a boy.
Do you see a pattern here?
Then three years later...ha, gotcha...our sixth, a girl, now 10 weeks old.
And it has been quite an adventurous and exciting time since that day almost 11 years ago.

Mars and Venus Go Baby Shopping

The time had come around the sixth month to begin the “big” shopping. Yes, I mean that in two ways. First, all baby supplies must be purchased. Second, those “they-will-fit-all-the-way-through-pregnancy-and-beyond” maternity clothes we bought were already residing with the potpourri and candles somewhere(see Morning Sickness post). Frustrated, I went all the way to the top after that. Everything I touched was as big as I could get it after that. In fact, I found this great pair of comfy shorts that I nearly lived in from then on.
The sad secret.
I still wear them.
And I’m not pregnant.
Then, a second ultrasound was done (See Ultrasound post) and the joy of finding we are expecting a boy was known!
Mike and I rejoiced at his health and growth and I was again amazed at how God blesses us so deeply with the gift of children in our marriage. The wonderful growth of this baby from the little Mr. Peanut Man was now about 11 inches long and weighed over a pound.
My mother and I had been waiting for this moment for months. The restraint we had shown in waiting for an announcement of gender was commendable. Now the barriers were down and we were shopping. Any store that lured excited pre-Grandmas and new first-time-pregnant women toward “must-haves” was visited. Mike, my dear husband, who noted the frenzy and wild-eyed look in our eyes excused himself from the festivities and kept an eye on the checkbook.
I hawked elite baby stores and department stores and sales and second-day stores and chose some things to be purchased regardless of the contemplation of “need” versus “later to be featured in a garage sale”.
Mike, who was now hiding checkbooks and charge cards, was on board with some necessities. There are some areas that I have come to find where men do not fear to tread.
With Mike, it was wood and wheels.
He actually jumped at the opportunity to shop for a crib and a new stroller. This surprised me until we arrived at the baby section of the local department store. Whereas there had been basically women in the stores mom and I visited, there were masses of men to be found in the baby furniture area.
I realize this is where they lure the men in.
Fifty different types of strollers lining two sides of an aisle and at least twenty types of cribs on the showroom floor. I actually saw a dad under a crib looking at the bottom like he was under a car. Others were shaking the cribs like they were wrestling a wild animal. This must be meeting some "must test" requirement within a guy that I am not aware of.
Mike’s eyes gravitated to a navy stroller with ergonomic wheels and seven hundred options. I think we actually spent more time looking at a stroller than we evaluated the purchase of a car. He actually stood on it and men were having races around the store in them to test: balance, shock absorption, braking mechanisms...a world of which I was not aware.
We bought so many things that ended up being "please come to our garage sale" items over time that I marvel at how we ever thought it was a "necessity" at the time. One thing I actually laugh about to this day is a trash can gadget for dirty baby diapers that we picked up that day. We paid about thirty dollars for it and there were these disposable bags in a container that had to be snapped in to the unit…Well, it holds about 10 newborn diapers at a time (okay, that lasts about 2 hours) and maybe 2 toddler diapers...maybe.
Hilarious!
I did not understand at the time, but I know now that there were sage women laughing when they saw the things we were buying.
And scanning the male frenzy in the baby furniture department, I also noticed these experienced women were nowhere near there either. (smile!)

The Great Flood...I mean, Ultrasound

The morning arrives for my first ultrasound. If you have ever endured morning sickness, you know that water is the curse of the ill. Does that paper of instructions the nurse gave me say thirty-two ounces, or two?
Please, oh please, say two…
UGH! It does say thirty-two!
I hesitantly fill a large sports bottle with thirty-two ounces of water. Geesh, I better get going on this thing. I have only so much time to drink it all. I get twelve ounces down and already the room is spinning. I ponder the wisdom of continuing, but I gulp down 12 more ounces before I can think further.
Elevator going up!
So, being naïve and hopeful that I am after a visit to the bathroom, I actually refill the bottle to thirty-two ounces and try again. Again I am dizzy, but determined to get a perfect picture of our womb baby. So, of course, I try again.
And again.
And again.
My husband is unable to leave work to come to this first ultrasound, so I am flying solo. I have finally managed to down twelve ounces before dashing out the door and arriving at the radiology department at the local hospital. Still queasy and uneasy about not meeting all the requirements, I sit. And sit. And sit. And sit.
Though not all the water remained, I suddenly realize something awful. I need to relieve my bladder.
Badly.
I think to look for a bathroom, but realize that I cannot go until after the ultrasound. I attempt to distract myself, but the torture escalates quickly as time passes. I am actually breaking a sweat and my bladder is going into spasms. I realize that there is a good chance I will become incontinent right here in the waiting room. I frantically look around and try to take a head count of who will be going before me. I try to watch the overhead television. I try to read articles, but it’s no use.
My name is FINALLY called, but I cannot stand up. My legs are paralyzed. My bladder has rendered me momentarily unable to walk. I force myself upright and feel like a filled balloon is wedged on my front. Now I really feel pregnant. Time to work those Kegals. I am desperately trying to get a hold on things together when I am led to a room...walking like I've been glued together to my kneecaps...and asked to lay on a table.
Then I see it. A wand.
Oh, NO! She is actually going to press that on my bladder. I’ll never make it. I’ll never make it. I can barely hold it as I confess my water ordeal to the technician. I swear I saw her turn and laugh to herself.
Technicians have a dark side...I know it!
I make it on the table and I cannot talk as she starts her torture on my poor bladder. I am actually starting to make silent promises to it.
Just hold it together and I won’t drink more than four ounces at a time again. I promise.
I wasn't quite prepared for the tech to be pointing out to me the Planter’s peanut man... sans top hat, monocle, and shoes...but there you have it.
It was love at first sight.
Another mother's heart touched.
When the tech was finished, I jumped off the table, forget my pride, and barrel to the adjoining restroom.
I was so happy to see my old friend, la commode, for the first time in a long time.
And, everyone alive within my visual distance...who did not run away from me...got to see the sweet little Peanut Man as I trailed along the ultrasound pictures wherever I went.

On Maternity Clothes...

The days finally came when I could not wait to get those maternity clothes on. I shopped and loved having a reason to go through the baby department stores and pick out all those wonderful items to show that I am carrying a child (first baby, you remember!). I recall almost trying to push my belly out a little more to make myself look more pregnant. It had something to do with a mixture of hormones and bathroom cleaning chemicals. It was a difficult feat at eight weeks, also, but I wanted to look pregnant.
So, there I was, walking in the mall. Testing my waddle and hoping the glow was showing, I perused maternity clothes aisle after aisle. There I am, feeling better...finally...and taking on the maternity clothes section on like a storm.
Being observant, I read the labels carefully.
Buy the size you normally wear. We have adjusted the rest for the growth during your pregnancy.
Oh, the inhumanity!
Wonderful, I think to myself after reading the label! I will gain the twenty to twenty-five recommended pounds and these will fit perfectly even after baby comes. I mean I lost a few pounds from the morning sickness.
Oh, the disillusion of an imbalanced woman!
Well, Mike and I put a good chunk of money down on my complete maternity wardrobe… Why not, we decided, they will last the entire pregnancy and if we have another child we can use them again.
To swiftly conclude this tragedy, I ended up gaining a FEW more pounds than recommended and those maternity clothes were never seen or heard from again after month 6. (Cue "Twilight Zone" music......
An aside: A wise woman once said this: With your first pregnancy, you cannot wait to fit into your maternity clothes. With your second, you wait as long as possible to wear maternity clothes. With your third....what do you mean?
Your maternity clothes ARE your clothes.
Yeah....that's me.

Morning Sickness

I don’t know if there was ever a time before becoming pregnant that I ever became a toilet expert. I used to discreetly use the toilet and I had all these potpourri baskets, scented candles, and lovely décor in the restroom. I still don’t know why I was dressing the place like a showroom, but I did nevertheless.
Let me tell you, after two solid weeks of unending morning sickness, I could give you intimate details of the commode. Every nuance of that porcelain beauty was etched into my mind. I knew where all the water spigots were, the amount of time for it to refill after flushing...the whole nine yards.
I had my face in a place where a face was not meant to reside.
My mind was searching and I had a true moment of wonder as I contemplated a new life within me and my mind was scrambling to find a reason why my only celebration of that fact seemed to be in the bathroom facing where only unmentionables should visit. In the end, the potpourri, the scented candles, and the toilet fuzzy cover went to the trash can. A ill woman can become very bitter after spending too much time in a certain small unwelcome place. Not to mention that any flowery scent at all would send me right back to where I began and I wasn’t going down that road again for any candle or bowl of weeds.
Bottles of sweet cherry anti-nausea liquid and cola-flavored syrup replaced potpourri and moist toilettes replaced candles. In fact, it looked like a mini hospital. Instead of joyous dinners and glasses of sparkling juice to celebrate our early married days and impending parenthood, we were drinking a stirred down white soda over saltines.
One of the wonderful ironies of this is the fact that plumbers are super impressed at my knowledge of the stool. (smile)

In the beginning...Part Two

There is that moment when that special someone I was dating turned to me and asked me that special question. No. Not the “on one knee” question. I meant the other question.
“How many children do you want?” he asks.
That is the moment that the sky opened and I felt as if I could hear some choir of angels singing and knew that something very important and critical was going to happen in my life to change it forever. I then verbalized something that I had never thought of saying until that moment. To make things more interesting, it felt as if someone else was speaking for me, because I heard these words come from my mouth.
“As many as God wants.”
Wait.
Who said that?
It was me!
Wow! That was deep.
I looked at the surprised and slight eye-widening expression of my then-boyfriend, now husband, and knew that things were going to be different from that point on.
And they were.
And the wedding bells rang.
We had discussed starting our family right away and so it came to be. One month and two weeks after walking down the aisle to become man and wife, I sat on the commode and stared at the two lines and felt light-headed with multiple emotions. Fear, excitement, and the wonder of creation all swirled within me and I could not wait to tell my best friend and love the wonderful news.
And shortly after that realization came time for the ultimate initiation into early parenthood.
Morning sickness.

In the Beginning...Blog Intro

If there was ever a point to be made, it is this: having a large family is not for the faint of heart. It requires so many things to make it work that humor is what makes things lighten and brings more joy than frustration. The true stories in this blog are meant to be a humorous look at the occurrences that seem to frequent large families. I found that we have found more joy and laughter with each other and our friends and family and doctors and...well, you get my point ...when we cast a positive and humorous light on those times. This is what I hope you will receive from reading this blog. To smile and enjoy a good laugh and knowing that others are out there smiling with you. Large families are a blessing that is bestowed with much humility in this day and age. It is something to be proud of.
The title came when my family was attending a meeting and a friend of mine and I were laughing about the trials of getting each of our five and six children ages ten and under dressed for the event... trust me, with six children, any leaving of the house is an event! During this conversation of a comedy of errors to just reach the minivans, my friend mentioned that her husband had no clothes ready to wear, so she mentioned the laundry room. And his response with a humorous sigh was, “I’m living out of the dryer!”.
Eureka!
The blog title was born.