A Series of Catastrophes

It may look like we've been gallivanting around the beach and Disneyland and posing babies in teacups around here but the truth is we got off to a rough start in our new home.

It all started back on move-in day. We were told that there would be an outlet to plug our electric dryer into, but we learned immediately that there was a gas-only hook-up. We had bedding to wash, dirty clothes from spending a week in limbo, and carseat covers that desperately needed to be cleaned after Nash threw up in the car while en route. A functioning laundry room was our top priority.

Troy stayed with 3/4 of the boys at the hotel on move-in day since we knew they would be in the way and have no where to sleep. The minute the movers crammed the last box into our new home, I loaded up Finn and left on a frantic search for a functional gas dryer. A trip that began at Home Depot somehow ended at a storage unit in a city I had never been to, late in the evening, for a used dryer that I could pick up on the spot. It probably wasn't the safest course of action but I was desperate. Troy and I made plans to rent a dolly first thing in the morning to get it up the stairs.

We soon learned that nothing was going to be accomplished for the next 24 hours. Finn kept me up the entire night with a fever. He screamed like I had never heard any baby scream and only slept in occasional 10 minute increments. I constantly rocked him in my arms on our bedding-less mattress and on sections of the couch that were crammed in between boxes. Troy had the bottle of infant Tylenol at the hotel so I just kept hoping Finn would eventually fall asleep. I finally gave up around 5am and attempted to find an open pharmacy. I had no idea where I was going and I felt so delirious from getting no sleep. Thank goodness for my navigation system that led me to a beloved tiny bottle of medicine.

After finally getting Finn cooled down, I found out that Troy had been up with a screaming Crew the entire night at the hotel as well. He didn't know that he had the infant Tylenol that could have saved them both hours of misery. We knew we had to get them to the doctor as soon as possible, but we ran into a health insurance nightmare. 

We still had coverage for the rest of the month from Troy's former company, but we were out-of-state with no primary care providers. I circled around and around on the phone with the insurance company and local providers to find out what our options were. Nobody could give me concrete answers because it was a Saturday and they couldn't access all of our information. Blake was complaining of terrible ear pain as well and we didn't exactly want to check three kids into the ER. After looping around for hours, we finally pinpointed a local minute clinic that would accept our insurance. Hallelujah!

By the time all of our boys were examined and diagnosed with ear infections (no surprise), it was late afternoon. We had intended to spend the entire day getting at least our kitchen and bedrooms in functioning order. Instead, we came home utterly exhausted to an empty refrigerator, a non-functioning laundry room and boxes piled so high in every room we could hardly move around. Did I mention it was Valentine's Day? We don't have the best track record for that holiday considering we spent last year in the ER for Troy's fractured leg.

The next few weeks became a blur of slowly putting our new home together. I had no idea it would take so long to get settled. Everything took about triple the amount of time I thought it would. Taking care of four little boys, especially a baby who needed to be fed every few hours, really impacted the amount of work that was able to be accomplished each day.

I sent a picture of half-opened boxes strewn across our entire kitchen to a few of my friends with the caption, "This is my personal hell. Nothing has a place!" I typically take pride in an organized home where everything we own has a place. The chaos put me over the edge.

I felt like a gerbil running on a wheel. I kept going and going every minute of every day, but I sunk into bed each night with this feeling that I didn't get anywhere. 

It didn't help that sickness kept looming over us. Five days after moving in, I spent a day with Finn at Urgent Care to receive breathing treatments for his poor lungs. He was coughing and wheezing so much that it was getting scary. A couple of weeks later, I came down with strep. That led to another round of insurance ordeals because we didn't have our new policy cards yet and pretty much killed an entire week's worth of unpacking plans.

And then we had a few days where it seemed like everything was breaking. I took down the curtains to wash them and they shrunk over a foot. I sanded the wooden bars on the hammock so the boys wouldn't get splinters and I accidentally caught and broke one of the ropes in the power sander. I mistakenly left the cap off my pen while journaling on our bed and a few drops of ink ruined the quilt. Crew got into our neighbor's potted palm tree, spreading dirt across himself and their entire patio. He dropped my phone off the top of the stairs and it busted when it hit the hardwood. Troy went through three Kindles in a matter of days that were also dropped on the hard floors. What made all of the mishaps so frustrating is that they could have easily been prevented if we weren't making such silly, expensive mistakes.

It seemed like every day was just a catastrophe waiting to happen. Unplanned disasters kept popping up. One morning after getting Blake off to school, I loaded up the rest of the boys to go to the windshield repair shop. A rock hit our windshield while driving from Utah to California and the crack really needed to be filled before it spread. On the way there, Nash announced, "I don't feel so good." I pulled over and handed him an airplane barf bag that was still in my purse from pregnancy days. We made it to the parking lot and then he lost it. I held the bag under his mouth but it was useless. His shirt and our car were covered in throw up. We eventually made our way into the waiting area of the windshield repair shop, completely disheveled. Nash was shirtless and Crew somehow made it out the door shoeless. We headed to the bathroom where as I was rinsing out Nash's shirt, Crew was happily splashing in the toilet water. I don't think I could make this stuff up if I tried.

While I'm learning to roll with the punches a bit more and laugh at the quirky situations that are bound to occur with four boys, I have never felt so overwhelmed, so exhausted and so inadequate in my entire life. My days of early morning seminary and all-nighters to cram for college exams don't hold a candle to the level of exhaustion I have felt over the last six weeks. 

To top it all off, one morning I walked out to the parking lot with a cart full of boys and groceries and found this note on my car:

That was my breaking point. 

Yes, my car was parked crooked. However, it wasn't overlapping any lines and a vehicle could have easily fit on either side of mine.

But those four hurtful words pulled the trigger for what was probably a long overdue breakdown. I had been holding it together for so long and suddenly I was keenly aware of every area I was falling short. Our world had been turned upside down and I finally let the weight of it all sink in. 

I sat in my car in the parking lot and sobbed while simultaneously feeding my baby and handing snacks to my starving toddler and discouraging my preschooler from stuffing mini cookies into the air conditioning vents.

I tried to give her (I'm assuming it was a "her" by the handwriting) the benefit of the doubt.

She couldn't have known that parking my vehicle perfectly straight was about the last thing I was worried about.

She couldn't have known that I had just packed up our entire life and relocated to a new place that was foreign to me.

She couldn't have known that I was barely holding it together while trying to find our new "normal."

She couldn't have known how hard it was to release my grip on everything that was familiar to me; our dear house, our close friends, nearby family, our old life and any sense of control.

She couldn't have known that a simple task like picking up groceries was a major ordeal to achieve.

She couldn't have known how much effort it took to get everyone out the door in between nap times and navigate through the store with young, needy children.

She couldn't have known that I had been up multiple times a night with a baby for the last six months, leaving me in a permanent state of exhaustion.

She couldn't have known that I dreaded any public outing with my boys because I was guaranteed multiple questions from strangers, asking, "Were you hoping for a girl?" "Are you going to try for a girl?" "Are you going to give all those boys a sister?" 

She couldn't have known that I was sick with worry about my oldest son starting over at a new school mid-year while still dealing with some serious bladder issues.

She couldn't have known that the day before she left the note, I had forgotten about school getting out early and my frightened son showed up on our doorstep because I wasn't at our meeting spot on the walk home.

She couldn't have known that what probably seemed like an easy opportunity to point out someone else's flaws spiraled into feelings of not being enough in every aspect of my life.

At first I was mad right back. It surprised me that someone would spend the time and energy to write a note to a complete stranger full of hatred. But then I realized that my list of challenges wasn't really what mattered. I was reminded that I should think about what was on her plate. Maybe she was under some serious pressure at work. Maybe her marriage was falling apart. Maybe someone died. Or maybe she was just having a rough day.

I instantly thought of one of my favorite quotes:

 

Even though the words were hurtful, I learned something from that anonymous note leaver. Since that day of tears in the grocery store parking lot, I have rededicated my efforts to be kind to others, no matter how consumed I am in our own family's catastrophes. Catastrophes are becoming our new normal, after all.

At any given time, every person has something difficult going on. Our family's moving woes seem a little silly to even mention since this phase will soon pass and we'll move on to the next difficult challenge. But hard is hard, regardless of the scale on which the trial can be ranked.

Lately, I have been surrounded on all sides with people who are going through their own sorrows. One of my friends from book club just lost her newborn baby girl after only a week of life. Another friend is constantly battling her child's extreme allergies. Another is desperately longing for a child. Another is spending the last few days of life with her grandmother. Another is going through chemotherapy and experiencing miserable side effects. Another has lost a job. Another is struggling with anxiety and depression.

I'm willing to bet that more of us are struggling in private than any of us will ever know. We can't share everything, we don't want to share everything, but wouldn't that make the world a little kinder, easier place if we just knew when gentleness was needed? I think the key is that there is never a time when gentleness isn't needed. Everyone needs an extra dose of compassion, because everyone is going through something. 

In the end, Troy and I were able to laugh at being judged on something so insignificant as my parking abilities. Our days have been full of messes and tantrums and things breaking and sickness and endless worries. But as long as I'm parking my vehicle straight, all is right is the world! 

Moving On

We're moving! Next week, we're packing up and heading westward. 

Troy was recruited to a new company that just so happens to be in one of our favorite places in America.

Every single time we've visited Southern California, we've said to each other, "Why don't we live here?" We can hardly believe that one of our dreams is becoming a reality.

Change is always bittersweet. It’s hard for us to think about leaving our great friends that have become our family. I'm sure that many tears will be shed in the upcoming days as we say goodbye to the only home our four boys have ever known. We're leaving loads of memories behind as we close the door on this chapter of our lives.

But we're also thrilled for what lies ahead. Throughout the entire interview and relocation process that has spanned over the last four months, I kept referencing these insightful words:

This move is our "packet of sunlight" in so many ways. Too many things have fallen into place and we feel calm and peaceful about going forward. 

It has come as an answer to prayers after some pretty intense trials, not the least of which was Troy's unsustainable long work hours. We're looking forward to a better work/life balance and feel incredibly blessed to have been given such an amazing opportunity.

We are happy and excited about the way our lives are headed. It’s a little crazy and we're okay with that.

Sunny SoCal, here we come.

Snapshot 2014

It's time once again for our annual family snapshot. The little details of our lives that I haven't documented elsewhere. 

Here are some snippets from our lives (and a few pictures) to document the here and now:

I was recently looking at some photos from our trip to Hawaii last year, and was shocked when I realized that there was a point in 2013 where we only had two kids, and now we have four kids in 2014. That really put it into perspective for me how quickly our family has grown. 

Before Finn was born, I had a lot of people ask me if I wondered what he'd look like. I responded that I had a pretty good idea. We seem to have a mold for blue-eyed, blond-haired boys.

Now that he's here, the question is, "How is life with four?" Some days I feel like I'm drowning, but thankfully that is rare. I think we reached a level of chaos when we added a third child, so what's one more?

And since I spent the first half of this year with debilitating, all-day morning sickness, nothing is as hard in comparison. The best way I can describe the feeling to someone who has never experienced nausea and vomiting during pregnancy is that it is like having food poisoning all the time for months on end. Each day was foggy. Every smell and taste was repulsive. I was unable to walk without crippling dizziness and nausea. I wondered how I would make it through. But eventually the long days turned into weeks and months and here I am with four miserable pregnancies under my belt.

I found out at delivery that I was severely anemic. I didn't have my labs drawn throughout pregnancy so there was no way to know for certain, but I had a pretty good idea that anemia might be within the realm of possibility. I lived on crushed ice during the last trimester which is usually a tell tale sign of iron deficiency. My midwife said she didn't know how I wasn't completely miserable with levels as low as mine, but my body must have adjusted. I attributed any fatigue to being nine months pregnant and besides the ice cravings, didn't notice any other symptoms. Except that my hair wouldn't hold curl, which my hairdresser told me was also an indicator of low iron. I'm now taking an iron supplement to help with the anemia because I just can't stomach a lot of red meat.

Speaking of hair, all the hair that I lost in masses after I had Crew has finally grown back. It is almost long enough to tuck behind my ears. Just in time to start the hair loss and awkward regrowth cycle all over again. 

In our church, we fast every first Sunday of the month. We skip two meals and pray for specific needs and search for needed answers. But when you are pregnant or breastfeeding, you abstain from fasting. I've been either pregnant or breastfeeding for six combined years of my life which means that in the eight years we've been married, I've only fasted for a total of about two of them. 

We only added one person to our family but I swear the laundry has quadrupled. I only wash clothes one day a week. I'd rather pound out seven or eight loads on one day instead of dragging it out. But sometimes the folding and putting away of clothes lingers for a few days now that my snuggling newborn takes priority over all chores.

Troy reads The Count of Monte Cristo every year. It's a whopper of a novel and it is his favorite. He wants to start a charity someday named "Sinbad the Sailor" based on one of the characters from the book.

Troy decided not to do any physical therapy after his knee surgery and recovery. It was partly a time issue and partly because the surgeon was bit anti physical therapy. His knee still hurts though when he runs around with the boys.

The best perk of Troy being down for months was the handicap parking pass we were given. It was a sad day when it expired at the end of August and we had to park far away at the movie theater, restaurants, and the school parking lot again.

Troy paces when he talks on the phone. That made things tricky when he was in a wheelchair and on crutches. He said his words didn't flow as freely. Now that he is mobile again, Crew follows him back and forth when he paces.

Troy is still serving as a counselor to the Bishop at church and I was called to teach the Young Women after four years as the Primary secretary.

Troy gets together with his childhood friends from Boston every spring for a fantasy baseball draft. They usually meet up in NYC or Washington, DC and spend the whole weekend drafting their picks for the season.

In that same vein, we started doing a fantasy draft for the television show "The Bachelor" with our good friends from college. It's completely ridiculous but it's actually a lot of fun. We pick our candidates before the show airs and then receive points for all sorts of things like crying, retelling a tragic backstory, taking a flight, promoting a career, receiving a rose, etc. We plug in the data to a shared Google document and the winning team takes the losing team out to dinner. It keeps us connected to our friends who now live states away from us and keeps our guilty pleasure show more interesting as well.

I have a staging area for my clothes. The key to getting ready efficiently in the mornings (especially since I have five people to get out the door) is being prepared. I like to pick out several outfits in advance and hang them in my staging area. That way, when it’s Tuesday morning and we’re in a hurry, I don’t have to ask myself that all important question, “What am I going to wear today?” I just go right to my staging area and there are options waiting for me. I am far from a fashionista, but I like to utilize the clothes I have in my closet and I like to look somewhat put together. If I don't plan outfits in advance, I end up resorting to the same five shirts that don't need ironing or layering. We don't have a ton of extra space in our closet so I have a rack that hangs on the back of our bedroom door that is my staging area (insert annoyed eye rolls from Troy who often bumps into the staging area). 

I can't wear anything with wool in it. It makes my skin break out in hives. Anything with the word "acrylic" on the tag is off-limits. This is unfortunate during the season of chunky scarves and pea coats.

I could probably write a whole post about this, but the Pepperplate app has changed my life. All of my recipes are now together in one place with no clutter. They are accessible to me from anywhere and I can create instant shopping lists. Here is a great outline of the simple process.

I am a terrible gift buyer. Gift-giving is not my love language. I think I'm too practical to buy things that I deem useless and clutter-promoting. I'm having some serious anxiety about the upcoming holidays and gift-buying expectations.

My boppy makes the best laptop pillow ever. It fits snug around my waist and it's the perfect balance of cushion and firmness. In fact, I never even packed it up in between babies (not that I had much of an intermission).

When Troy and I kiss in front of the boys, Blake exclaims in a sly voice, "Awkward!"

For some unknown reason, the boys think they must take their shirts off when they jump on the trampoline. I really have no idea why they do this. Even Crew joins in the shirtless jumping. We had a gorgeous October this year and they were out there every single night with no shirts on.

The boys love to come up with riddles while we eat lunch. We take turns giving three clues and guessing what is being described. Nash has a habit of looking directly at the item he has chosen, but Blake and I try to humor him by pretending we have no idea what he is depicting.

Blake and Nash also started a random rhyming game at dinner recently that has become a tradition. They go back and forth forever with words that rhyme and morph into other words that rhyme. It's especially entertaining when they are sitting at opposite ends of the dining room table and we have company. Trying to have a conversation over all that rhyming is a challenge.

Troy loves to take the boys out to breakfast on Saturdays. It's kind of their "thing." Sometimes he sends me blurry pictures of the boys' food choices.

The boys have learned that the key to getting me to read to them longer and delay bedtime is to play with my hair.

We play the version of war where you only go through the deck of cards once and then compare your piles to see whose is taller.

Blake and Nash are obsessed with Pokemon cards. I'm still trying to figure out what the hype is all about. They don't even know how to play the game. But they bring their card collections to school and trade them with their buddies and think it is the best activity in the world.

Blake eats apples right down to the core. There is not a morsel of fruit to be seen after he is finished.

The pace has really picked up in first grade. Blake has homework every single night. He attempts to focus on his math and spelling homework while his brothers are climbing onto the dining room table and clamouring for his attention. Whether he completes it efficiently or not is hit or miss. But we always wait until Nash and Crew are in bed to read. He stays up later than the others so he can have my undivided attention while he reads.

I wish I could volunteer in Blake's classroom more but I can't exactly commit with two babies in tow. I was able to go in a few times while my mom was in town and I had so much fun being a fly on the wall in first grade.

Blake mostly takes homemade lunches to school but he usually has hot lunch once a week. I'm already completely burned out from making lunches and I'm only three months in to the first year of school with my first child. Anything involving prep time in the kitchen is not my favorite.

It's ironic that Nash was the cop and Blake was the robber for Halloween, because Blake is our ultimate rule enforcer which unfortunately leads to a whole lot of tattling. It was a big problem when the boys were playing conference bingo during General Conference and Nash kept sneaking Skittles before topics were mentioned. 

Nash checks the front porch for visitors or packages multiple times a day. He always thinks he hears knocking.

The second Troy walks in from work (on the rare days he makes it home before the boys are in bed), Nash runs to him at full speed and declares, "FIGHT!" He sure loves to wrestle and roughhouse his dad.

Nash is particular about his clothing. He hates wearing jeans and shirts with buttons. If I lay them out for him to put on, he always chooses something else. I'm still trying to get through to him that he can't wear sweatpants to school. 

If it were up to Nash, he would wear his "Tough Guy 36" shirt every day. He loves that shirt almost as much as he loves his nie-night.

I usually lay out Blake's clothes out for him to wear to school. But when I let him pick out his own clothes, he puts on his Superman shirt without fail. It's getting much too small on him, but it has a cape which means he may never pass it on to his younger siblings.

Nash is still a serious hoarder. I have a love/hate relationship with his favorite hobby. His collectibles keep him entertained for hours, but I despise putting all those little toys back in their homes.

Nash puts up a fight about going to school. He always has a huge smile on his face when I pick him up, but I think he just really likes being home.

I have become more of a homebody as well. I feel so frazzled on the rare days when we are running from one thing to the next with no down time in between. Thankfully, I've had seven years of afternoon naps that have ensured we spend some time at home each day. And I have at least three more years to go. I really don't know what I'll do when I'm not tied to afternoon nap time anymore.

Crew can easily out-eat his older brothers.

Between Crew and Finn, there are binkies everywhere in our house. I mean, everywhere. We tried to keep them separate for each boy but gave up after about a day of Crew confiscating and sharing all the binkies. 

The boys have a habit of losing one of their shoes. Sometimes those lost shoes resurface and sometimes they don't. I found one of Crew's missing shoes in our neighbor's front yard last week after being lost for a few days. And my dad found one of Nash's missing shoes on a bike path in Michigan at least a week after he had lost it. That was pretty miraculous.

Finn and I have been co-sleeping in the guest room/nursery since he was born. I can't bear to put him in the crib that is a few feet away so he sleeps right next to me. We all get the most sleep out of this situation since I can roll over and feed him. I stay up much too late soaking in those quiet moments where his profile is illuminated by the lamp and I watch him drift into sleep. Nothing gets better than that. Life is good.

Just Add It to the List

A couple of months ago, right after Troy was finally able to walk again and the worst months of pregnancy were behind me, we woke up to no power one morning.

Troy had to get to work but was unable to open the garage door with the power outage. His parents had spent the night after just returning from Hawaii, so he woke up his dad at 5:30am to help him open the door manually. His dad fell off the chair he was standing on and broke several toes in the process.

That was just the beginning. 

To make a long story short, our circuit breaker kept tripping and the problem was narrowed down to several issues with our air conditioning unit. Why it never tripped before in the six years we've lived in our house is still unknown. But what we did learn is that if we wanted to run our A/C this summer in the daily 100° heat, we would need to replace the circuit panel, compressor motor and a series of other parts. Not surprisingly, the compressor is the most expensive part to replace in an A/C unit.

In addition, the wire that ran to the circuit breaker was discovered to be the wrong amperage. Which meant that it was wired wrong in the first place and presented a serious fire hazard. It wouldn't have been an issue to swap out the wire a year ago, but 8 large holes had to be cut in our newly finished basement walls and ceiling for access to the wiring.

We're still in the process of having the patchworked pieces mudded, sanded and refinished again.

When the HVAC repairman came over to collect the deposit and I begrudgingly handed over the cash, he made the comment, "Well, they say these things usually come in threes." I had to laugh as I considered our growing list of unexpected challenges and expenses this year, which totaled much more than three. 

There wasn't much we could do about the timing of these repairs except add them to the list.

Hope and Heartbreak

Disclaimer: I’ve hesitated to publish this very long and most personal story. But in order to represent reality on this platform, which is a record of my family’s life, I strive to document an accurate picture of the sorrow that is amidst all of the happy and lovely in our lives. I hope that this post can be a bit of healing for me and hope to reach others who may be silently struggling. I am very aware of the blessings and beauties around me as well as the intense hardships of others. I am not attempting to complain or pity myself. I am only attempting to share my narrow experiences with hope and heartbreak.

Life is beautiful but extraordinarily hard.

Back in January, I had a week where I felt really off. I was snapping at everyone in my family for no reason. I couldn’t figure out why I suddenly felt so tired and nauseous.

And then it dawned on me to take a pregnancy test. Sure enough, two pink lines appeared instantly.

I’m pretty sure Troy turned white as a sheet as I spilled out the news. We were both shocked. I mean, we were still soaking up our baby who was only eight months old. And trying to meet the demanding needs of our four and six year old children. We were about as far away as you can get from the ready-for-another-baby stage.

How could we possibly be ready for another one so soon? We were scared. We hadn’t budgeted for the unexpected health care costs and the necessity for a bigger vehicle. Troy was working a gazillion hours and because of his church responsibilities, I was wrestling three active boys by myself on the church bench each Sunday. Adding another baby to that mix seemed unfathomable.

But I instantly also felt comforted that even though the timing was crazy, this meant that our daughter was finally on her way. Ever since our third boy was born, I had a strong feeling that if we were ever going to blessed with a girl, it would have to be in God’s time, not ours. If having babies 17 months apart, enduring endless nausea and throwing up while still breastfeeding another baby, and being primarily in charge of the responsibilities at home and at church was what I had to do to finally meet our daughter, then I thought, Bring it on. Sign me up. If this is how I have to pay the price, I’m willing.

I had a good attitude about our unexpected turn of events from the get go. I found myself so excited to experience the newborn stage again. I never feel more alive than when I have my own newborn nuzzling tightly against me. I felt so blessed that I would get to experience that again. I have a friend that had a difficult time getting and staying pregnant, and, as a result, has children spaced far apart. She always says, “You take them when you can get them.” That’s how I felt about this baby. The timing was just nuts, but it didn’t matter. I’d take her when and how and I could get her.

Plus, I wasn’t sure if Troy would agree to have more children at all. And I didn’t know if physically, I could go through it again. Most of the time we avoided the topic altogether. But it came up in January when we were talking about life plans. Shortly after our conversation, Troy came home from work and announced that he had good news; he thought we should have another baby. Not as in, ‘Let’s have a baby right now,’ but, ‘I’m on board with another baby in the future.’

Within a week, we found out we were pregnant. So, this “surprise” baby was already in the works when Troy came to that realization, which we took comfort in knowing was part of a divine plan.

And then we started getting hit with trials from all directions. Our old porcelain kitchen sink fell during replacement. It missed Troy’s head by an inch and tore out the plumbing pipes from our walls. We had endless bouts of strep passed from family member to family member. Every technology item we owned seemed to be breaking down. Then, of course, it all culminated in Troy breaking his leg three weeks after finding out we were pregnant.

I probably seemed a little melodramatic back when it all started. It would have been a challenge for anyone to take on the extra work of an incapable husband fresh out of surgery plus the demands of three small children.

But I was pregnant.

I could hardly take care of myself, let alone two children who needed to be carted back and forth from their schools three cities over, plus a baby who was very needy at mealtime and always at risk for falling down stairs, plus a husband who needed help with basically everything, plus a growing baby within me. I felt the weight of the world on my shoulders. I was at my worst, and I had so many people within my stewardship who were relying on me.

Usually during the first few months of pregnancy, I rely on Troy to pick up the slack until I feel human again. He makes dinner whenever possible and puts the boys to bed to give me some relief. When I was driving to the only open pharmacy to pick up Troy’s meds late on Valentine’s Day night, after spending all day in the ER and learning that he would be off his leg for close to three months, the tears started flowing. My nausea was at its worst. My hormones were at their peak. I had a little breakdown when I realized that not only was I losing any help I was going to get during those first few difficult months of pregnancy, but I was also gaining an additional person to take care of who couldn’t even dress himself.

We decided early on that we weren’t going to announce the pregnancy until we were certain about the gender. It was just way too hard last time having the pressure of so many people “hoping for a girl,” and then feeling like I was disappointing them when it wasn’t a girl. We told our parents and a few close friends that we couldn’t hide the sickness from and that was it.

I felt guilty asking for much help because no one knew that I was pregnant in addition to Troy being disabled. I figured that everyone probably thought I was completely capable of taking care of my family. And had I felt human, Troy’s post-surgery care would have been an adjustment, but it would have been manageable.

Nevertheless, life pressed forward and we settled into a new routine. It wasn’t easy. Troy hobbled across the house on his crutches in attempt to help me when I was throwing up. I did my best just to survive and meet the basic needs of everyone in my family. I dreaded the dinner and bedtime routines that completely fell on me, at the time of day when I felt the worst. We weren’t much of a parenting duo.

However, once again, I felt the sweet peace that all of these challenges that were flying our way were necessary in order to finally be blessed with our daughter. She would be the silver lining in it all. I did a lot of studying and praying about trials and blessings.

I’ve found that when you begin to pray for something that really matters, many times things get worse, not better…That ought to be a signal to a man or woman of faith: “I’m on the right track. I’m doing something that’s making a difference and I will now double my faith.” Gene R. Cook

There were a myriad of other personal experiences that led me to believe only one thing. After years of feeling so certain of our daughter’s existence, that had only led to confusion each time a boy was declared, she was finally growing within me. And I wasn’t the only one who felt that way.

Out of the blue, about a month after I found out I was pregnant, our six year old started praying for our family to have a baby girl. We didn’t tell the boys about the pregnancy because we didn’t want them to share the news with everyone. But Blake has always been very spiritually in tune. Over the course of several weeks, he came up to me a handful of times, patted my belly, and declared, “Mom, I think there’s a baby in there!” or, “I can feel a baby kicking in there!” Obviously, he couldn’t feel any kicking; I wasn’t even showing. But he was spot on about the baby. And I did not prompt him in any way to start praying for a girl. In every single prayer, mealtime or bedtime, he stated, “We really want one girl baby.” I think it got to the point of annoyance for Troy, because Blake never, ever forgot.

Of course, my biggest fear was setting Blake, and myself, up for disappointment. I went through some of my darkest days after learning that our third baby was a boy. Regardless of how much I absolutely adored him when he was born, I didn’t ever want to experience those difficult months again. But hope is a funny thing. No matter how defeated I felt when I found out I was carrying a third son, I couldn’t accept that I would never have a daughter. I still had a glimmer of hope that our baby girl was on the horizon. 

The way that everything was falling into place this time felt so inspired and gave me so much hope. But I was scared. to. death. that my hope was going to turn out to be foolish. I tried the best I could to have faith in the countless experiences I had that led me to believe that we were going to be blessed with a daughter. Yet, the wounds from the last time, when I was “so sure” it was a girl, were still raw, and I feared what was completely out of my control.

The weeks passed until I was far enough along to go in for an early ultrasound. I was so nervous. After scheduling the date, I almost canceled three times. There was so much pressure riding on a result that would only last a moment. On one hand, it was easier not knowing, because I was sparing myself grief if the result didn’t turn out as I was hoping. On the other hand, I had to find out sooner or later, and I needed to rip off the Band-Aid and get it over with. Plus, I wanted to start celebrating!

Two of my best friends came with me on the big day. I went to an elective ultrasound clinic because I just couldn’t wait any longer. I told the ultrasound tech, who claimed to be a retired OB from Europe, to please not tell me the gender unless he was 100% sure.

Within minutes, my biggest fear came true. 

The tech hardly glanced my way as he typed, “It’s a boy” on the screen. 

There were no sirens or loud screams.

There was no rushing or comforting.

In one instant, my dream was just over.

I was left with a cocky foreign man who was completely insensitive to the fact that he had just destroyed all of my hope. He declared, “I not going to lie to you. I 300% sure. You come back in 10 days, I 500% sure. Four healthy boys, you should be happy.”

I turned my head away from the screen as my heart completely sank. I couldn’t even find any tears at first. The hope and faith I had mustered up through all of our trials was indeed, foolish. It didn’t matter how many miserable pregnancies I had endured, how hard I had tried to be a good person, or how many boys I had born before. I was still not going to be blessed with a daughter. I feared that I would never meet her, though she felt like a real person to me. Now, I would only see her in my recurring dreams.

My whole body felt numb. I didn’t want to move. I wanted a do-over. I had gone through the ultrasound a thousand times in my head, and it never ended in heartbreak. I was geared up to celebrate after a long couple of months full of challenges. Really, a long year and a half. She even had a name. I was not prepared for this. Not again.

After coming to terms with the fact that I had lost the battle, the next several weeks were almost unbearable. I felt every range of emotion. Denial. Heartbreak. Doubt. Hopelessness. Devastation. Entrapment. Anger. Loss. Grief. Pain. So much pain. I felt completely forgotten.

My heart was ripped open because it literally felt like I had lost a child. Even if she didn’t have a body yet, I had to bury her. She was gone.

The English language lacks the words to mourn an absence. For the loss of a parent, grandparent, spouse, child or friend, we have all manner of words and phrases, some helpful, some not. Still, we are conditioned to say something, even if it is only “I’m sorry for your loss.” But for an absence, for someone who was never there at all, we are wordless to capture that particular emptiness. For those who deeply want children and are denied them, those missing babies hover like silent ephemeral shadows over their lives. Who can describe the feel of a tiny hand that is never held? Laura Bush, Spoken from the Heart

I spent every moment I had to myself sobbing. Not crying, but sobbing. Weeping, blubbering, heaving while standing with buckling knees in the shower. The boys asked me day after day why I was so sad. But I couldn’t let this be their burden too. I didn’t want to tell anyone anymore. 

I woke up most mornings with swollen eyes and a heavy harrowing ache in the center of my chest, a weight that took blistering effort to carry myself out of bed. There were occasions where I truly felt I could not stand up because my physical frame could not sustain such crushing pain. Sometimes I went to bed feeling like I made peace and progress throughout the day only to wake up the next morning feeling like I was back at square one. 

What made the emotional turmoil worse was that I was still so physically sick. The constant nausea combined with intense headaches from crying so hard were a crippling combination. More reminders of what I would most likely never have.

I was ashamed. My body had failed me in producing a daughter once again. I felt like less of a mother because I would never have certain experiences that to me, defined motherhood. I didn’t know how I could ever feel complete as a person when I would always have a longing for our missing daughter.

I was tempted to feel jealous and envious. Why was it seemingly effortless for everyone else I knew to see those three parallel lines on their ultrasounds, when it was impossible for me? I was pleading for a righteous desire, after all. The envy hit me hard when a week after learning the result, I watched our church’s satellite broadcast intended for women, young and old. Daughters and mothers and grandmothers were gathered together for a single cause. I felt nothing but immense pain as I noticed mothers holding the hands of their daughters. I longed for the love they shared and the special relationship they were nurturing. Bonds that I would probably never experience.

It was one thing for my prayers not to be answered, but to explain that concept to our six year old, who had all the faith in the world, broke my heart. He kept on praying for our girl baby, every single day, until we finally mustered up the courage to tell him the truth. We sat him down and told him how excited this baby brother was to join our family, but his reaction was just as we anticipated. Lots of tears and confusion because he had prayed so many times for a sister. He said, “Maybe I should have prayed for a boy so we would have had a girl.” It was another dagger in my heart to see that trusting boy’s faith shattered.

I knew I should be asking questions such as, What am I to learn from this experience? What am I to change? How can I remember my many blessings in times of trial? But I couldn't help but consider the questions that led me into blind alleys. What have I done to cause this? Why does our family have to suffer this? I know that trials are a part of life, but why does it have to be this? I thought we had suffered enough the last time around. I never fully recovered from the sorrow back then, and that was when I still had a glimmer of hope. Now, my hope was diminished.

My great-great-grandmother had a daughter. My great-grandmother had a daughter. My grandmother had a daughter. My mother had a daughter. I can't bear the thought of generations of motherhood, going further back than I even know, stopping with me. Not being able to pass on the divine gift of strength that comes from strong, smart, faith-filled women who have a common purpose.

The world tells you that it is desirable to have children of both genders. That you are more blessed when you get to experience both. Both strangers and acquaintances alike ask you when you’re going to try for the other gender. And when the more desirable outcome doesn’t come to fruition, you should “just be happy” that you have healthy children. 

What a conflicting message.

Let me make this very clear. My disappointment has nothing to do with the baby boy growing within me. A healthy child is the greatest miracle of all. I know that I will love a fourth baby boy with as much vigor as I do our other three. But I feel immeasurable grief for burying the dream of our daughter all over again, when I have always felt her presence.

I have a part of my personality that wants everything to be fair. It’s not fair that some families lose their babies. It’s not fair that I have friends that have a hard time getting pregnant, or can’t get pregnant at all. And it’s not fair that I can get pregnant easily, but I endure miserable pregnancies that never result in a daughter. I’m well aware of those struggling with infertility. It’s an invisible disease that many keep to themselves for years. I’m not in any way saying that our trials are the same, because a newborn is still going to be placed in my arms at the end of all of this. I’m wary of coming off as insensitive. But I, too, silently suffer. I feel a profound sense of loss for what I may never have, even though I am told I should feel grateful my blessings. Pain is pain, regardless if I can find someone who is worse off.

I wish I was one of those women who could be completely happy with a houseful of boys, I really do. It would be much easier. And hopefully someday, I’ll get there. I’ve read countless accounts of women with all boys who are actually offended when they get the inevitable comments from strangers about trying for a “pink one,” as if they are unfulfilled with their lives. But that isn’t me. I have a deep hole in my heart for the daughter I may never meet.

I’ve learned, through study and my own experiences, that the death of a dream can be just as heartbreaking and life changing as the death of a loved one. You have to deal with the death of a dream with the same steps of recovery, and then be ready to move on to your “new” life and accept the change. While I believe that God knows better than me what our family needs, it doesn’t discount the fact that I still need to deal with the dream dying and move through the stages of grief. Especially since I have been fighting for this dream for such a long, long time. I am having a hard time letting go and thinking of a new dream to step into.

I wish I could end this post differently. I wish I could explain the meaning of all of these trials and heartbreak and why this dream was lost after I put so much faith in it. I wish I knew why I was being stretched in ways I never anticipated.

I don’t know when I’ll reach a point where I will be able to “give up” and hand my dream of a having a daughter over to God. Oh, how it hurts. I still have that nagging feeling of inadequacy that somehow I failed. But I hope to make peace with succumbing. 

Heartbreak is oh so real. It has to be worked through. No amount of hope can kill the emotions that must be processed in a broken heart. Yet, hope is enabling. It is a belief that someday, not today and probably not for many days, but someday, it will be okay.

I hope I’ll eventually lose the sharp pain I feel when I see other mothers and their daughters interacting, or walk past the “off limits” side of the children’s clothing store. I hope I’ll start believing the long list of reasons why a family of all boys can be a blessing. I hope that this heartache, though intense beyond what I could ever imagine, is not final. I hope that Heavenly Father can help me feel whole again. I hope that the greatest pleasures in life have yet to unfold.

I hope, in months or years to come, that there will be a sequel to this post. I hope I will be able to look back and understand why everything happened this way, and appreciate how much it made me grow.

I still hope, even though hope seems lost.

Photographs of the dance art of Martha Graham

Our New Temporary Life

We are slowly but surely adjusting to our new temporary life around here.

Troy is mostly off pain meds and rotating between his wheelchair, the couch and hobbling on crutches. In about six more weeks, he may be able to start putting 25% weight back on his leg, depending on how his X-ray looks. It will be a slow process for him to be able to fully walk again. The surgeon said he couldn't run for a year, so I'm thinking that wakeboarding, skiing and basketball are also off the table for a while.

Troy has been working from home which has worked out really well. We borrowed an extra monitor so he could have his two screen setup like he does at the office. Sometimes he has to take breaks to rest his leg from sitting in that wheelchair for hours on end, but overall, it is a great temporary arrangement. We are grateful that he has a job that he can perform from home. 

We're all actually loving having him around. The boys ask all the time if dad is going to be home again tomorrow. We always laugh and respond that he's going to be home for a looooong time. He enjoys seeing the boys in the mornings before school and having interactions with them other than that one stressful hour before bedtime. The relationship they've been building simply out of quality time spent together has been so endearing. And I am absolutely loving having him home all day. It is so nice to be able to talk to him whenever I want, even if he can't help me with any responsibilities. Just spending dinner together as a family every single night makes me so happy - it's a luxury that hasn't been apart of our lives for a very long time.

Troy has definitely had a little cabin fever. He's been out to church a few times, I took him to get his haircut, he's been to a few doctor's appointments, and we went to a movie, living it up in the handicap seating section. That's about it. I think he's ready for a change of scenery. We're trying to convince him to come down to Arizona with us for spring break. He can't really fend for himself for a week, and since he's working from home anyway, he could just bring his setup there. It's a choice between a week full of meals vs. living on toast and pancakes and dishes piling up everywhere. Plus, he is allowed to go in the pool since it's not weight bearing, so it seems like a no brainer to me. He's just worried about the drive.

We've hit a few bumps in the road. I came down with a painful bout of Strep again after 10 days of antibiotics not doing the trick the first time around. I couldn't bear another round of pills (I hate pills) so I opted for a massive shot in the rear to get it taken care of once and for all. I really don't know what I was thinking because I hate shots more than pills, and that shot was no joke. We made quite the duo at the lab. Troy, in a wheelchair, holding my hand while I breathed screamed my way through the longest injection I've ever had. I'm pretty sure we were the laughing stock of the day. I was sore for a week but at least it finally took care of the infection.

And then there was the week of technology issues. Troy's laptop got a virus that made it impossible for him to login to work. He had to completely wipe the laptop clean in order for it to function again. Which not only erased all of his files, but all of his software as well. And then the letter "z" stopped working on my laptop. It's not the end of the world to have to copy and paste a "z" when I need it, but not being able to use the keyboard shortcut to undo anything in my design work is driving me crazy. That issue was followed by my laptop not turning on altogether for an evening. Thankfully, I resolved that problem, but unless I replace my entire keyboard, I will be z-less from here on out. 

We also discovered that our hard drive that contained all of our kids' movies fried the same night a power outage corrupted our satellite box, despite being on a surge protector. We lost our entire collection of movies. All of these things are trivial first-world problems, I know, but on top of our growing list of challenges in 2014, we couldn't help but let the frustrations emerge. Technology issues sure can get your blood boiling.

All complaints aside, we continue to be amazed by the outpouring of love and service from those who surround us. My mom spent eight days with us and she was a Godsend. I desperately needed help that only a mom can give as we went went through an adjustment period. Friends from our neighborhood, friends from Michigan, and friends from our church congregation have checked in on us repeatedly, always always offering meals and help. We never expected anyone to care so much about our little family's hurdles in life. I keep being told that we need to allow others the opportunity to serve us, despite how guilty I feel that I can't pay anyone back. We feel so blessed to have amazingly thoughtful, caring, Christlike people in our lives.

I guess the only thing left to do is see who will walk first; Troy or Crew.

The race is on.

It All Started With the Kitchen Sink

2014 has been nuts for us so far.

You know that phrase, "everything but the kitchen sink?" Well, in our case, the chaos began with the kitchen sink.

A few weeks ago, our kitchen sink faucet snapped off, out of nowhere. It left us a constant stream of running water, which needed to be taken care of pronto. We instantly made a trip to the hardware store and discovered that it didn't cost much more to get a sink+faucet combo than a faucet by itself. Replacing the sink wasn't our highest priority, but it had definitely been on our home renovation list, so we decided to go for it.

Troy got to work that evening with the sink replacement. He had the whole plumbing process under control and got everything disconnected with ease. He slid underneath the sink to figure out how it was going to lift up, but in the process, the old 100+ pound porcelain sink came crashing down with no warning. It missed Troy's skull by less than an inch. What it did not miss was the drainage pipe. The impact cracked the pipe in half and yanked it out of the wall.

That left us no choice but to call a plumber. And once the plumber fit us into his schedule a few days later, he had to cut into the wall and rebuild the whole piping system. But, in the end, we had a new kitchen sink. Despite the added cost and the hassle of washing our dishes in the bathroom sink for a few days, we counted our blessings that Troy didn't end up in the hospital with a very serious injury.

Last week kicked off with half of us being diagnosed with strep, which meant visits to doctors and antibiotics and missed school. Normal dead-of-winter challenges.

And then, in one instant, the challenges vastly intensified.

Troy played a late night church basketball game on Thursday night. In the last six seconds of the game, his team was down by 12 so nothing mattered at that point. But he had a breakaway and went up for a layup. He was hit from behind and landed flat footed, his knee bending inward. 

He was in an excruciating amount of pain but tried to brush it off as a sprain. He drove himself home (I still don't know how) and planned on going to work the next day. But the pain got increasingly worse throughout the night, and by morning, we knew it was time to head straight to the ER. 

Thankfully, there was no school on Friday, so we called the sitter we had lined up for our Valentine's Day date that evening and asked if she could come during the day. She rushed over to watch the boys (who were crushed that we could no longer make our traditional jello hearts) and we took off for the hospital.

We spent six hours in the ER in what can only be described as a prison cell. We were placed in one of the rooms they save for "difficult patients;" no windows, locked cabinets, plastic chairs, used bedding, and strap tie downs bolted to the floor. I can't think of a more romantic way to spend Valentine's Day. We actually got quite a kick out of it.

Troy was diagnosed with a fractured tibial plateau. When he landed flat-footed, his upper bone crushed his lower bone. The break was just below his knee with a lot of cartilage damage as well.

After waiting all day to talk to the Orthopedic Surgeon, we finally learned that surgery would be necessary unless Troy wanted to have a permanent limp or arthritis. It was too late in the day for immediate surgery, and since it was a holiday weekend, the surgery was scheduled for first thing Tuesday morning.

I was getting really anxious about the boys back home at that point. The sitter had been there all day and I didn't leave anything out for dinner and I needed to feed Crew. I left Troy at the hospital to get his CT scan while I rushed home to feed the boys dinner and get them ready for bed. I had about a 45 minute window to accomplish those things and load everyone in the car twice to bring the sitter home for a break and pick her back up again.

We had reservations with friends for dinner that night and despite everything, we didn't want to back out. It was Valentine's Day after all and Troy still had to eat, injury or not. We swung by the ER and picked him up on the way to dinner. He hobbled into the nice restaurant on crutches, drugged on pain meds and still in his sweatpants. It doesn't get much classier than that.

It wasn't until late that night, after finally bringing our kind sitter back home and driving to a faraway 24-hour pharmacy to pick up Troy's meds, that I came to a full realization about what the next 2.5 months would entail. I had a little pity party/meltdown when it occurred to me that not only was I losing any help I ever got around the house or with the boys, but I was also gaining an additional person to take care of. Four boys all of a sudden seemed like so many people to be responsible for, and the weight was completely on my shoulders.

I'm not going to lie - this last week has been a serious trial. Our six year old is now more capable than Troy. He can actually carry the baby, dress himself, make a simple meal, get his own drink and fetch items around the house.

Mealtime is a joke. I run around the table serving everyone, continuously cutting up tiny pieces of food for Crew and giving seconds and drink refills to everyone else. I usually don't eat until everyone else has left the table. And for some reason, the massive kitchen clean-ups three times a day are killing me. I can't even leave the floor unswept because Crew will crawl around and shove every last morsel of food into his mouth.

And then there's bedtime. Troy used to help with the older boys while I fed Crew. Now it's all on me, and once I get everyone down, I want to crash myself. It's a daunting feeling to wake up every morning knowing I have to do it all over again.

But this is all far from being about me, challenging or not. I'm sure that I'll adjust to the new set of responsibilities and thankfully it's only temporary.

Troy has been in so much pain and has to deal with the added pressure of feeling helpless and wondering how in the world he's going to get back to work. He broke his right leg, so even if he feels up to working in a few weeks, he won't be able to drive himself unless he learns to drive with his left foot.

His surgery went well. The surgeon made an eight inch incision into his leg and added a plate and 5 screws. The surgery took three hours and they kept him overnight in the hospital to recover.

He doesn't have to wear a hard cast which is nice (although Blake is devastated that there is no cast to sign) and he'll get a bendable brace in about two weeks. And then he'll spend two months on crutches or in a wheelchair. After two months, he'll be able to put some weight on his leg again and begin physical therapy.

Keeping the boys away from Troy's injury is proving to be difficult. And keeping them away from his wheelchair is even more challenging. Within the first few hours of being home from the hospital, they successfully put a hole through our living room wall with the new set of wheels. Hence the sign.

We have been overwhelmed with the outpouring of love, support and concern that has been shown to us. Meals and treats have been brought, countless prayers have been offered, concerned calls and texts have been made and visitors have stopped by on a regular basis. 

Except for a few siblings that live an hour away, we don't have any nearby family to help us out. Our friends and neighbors have stepped right in and become that family for us. Several different friends watched the boys for long hours while I went back and forth to the hospital for two days. Troy's brother took the older boys out to dinner to give us a break and brought Troy to the hospital at 5:30am on surgery day. Parents from school helped with getting Blake transported after Kindergarten. Visitors came bearing gifts for Troy and gifts for the boys. Not a day has gone by that we haven't been asked from several people, both close friends and mere acquaintances, what they can do to help.

It is sometimes hard for us to accept help but we couldn't have survived this last week without so much support. My mom was already planning a trip here next week because Troy was supposed to be in New York for a business trip (which is obviously no longer happening), and I am so looking forward to the extra set of hands and, quite frankly, extra moral support. I don't think I'm going to let her leave!

2014, we wouldn't mind if you slowed down for us, just a tad.

Venting

I'm taking a little break from the regularly scheduled Hawaii posts to vent.

Lately, my boys are always sick. Like, they have gotten sick at least once a month since the fall, and it's not just sniffles and coughs. It usually lasts over a week.

Which means that they have missed a ton of school. They only went a handful of times in February. And since we are paying for them to be at school, it's even more frustrating for them to miss.

I don't know what to do to prevent them from getting sick all the time. I am a Nazi about handwashing and sanitizing after we've been anywhere, but it doesn't seem to matter. They pick up everything.

So rewind to last Wednesday. We had only been home from our trip for a week and the boys were full-fledged sick again. Begrudgingly, I called into their school to excuse them and hauled them to my doctor's appointment instead. I purposefully schedule my appointments while they are supposed to be at school because it's always a nightmare to bring them with me.

This time was no exception. After walking through the enormous parking lot in the freezing cold where no one would hold my hand, the tantruming and fighting began when we reached the elevator and Blake pushed the button before Nash. 

Then, we waited in the examination room for an hour. After exhausting every book they had available and playing 55 rounds of I Spy, I ran out of ideas on how to distract them from fighting over who got to sit on the bench and complaints of "dying of hunger".

It was all so they could measure me, listen to the baby's heartbeat, and say, "See you in two weeks!" I should have just skipped the appointment altogether. The baby doing constant somersaults is a pretty good indicator to me that everything is fine.

There was no way at that point that I was going to take them grocery shopping and Home Depot-ing which I had planned to do while they were at school. Which meant that I got to do all that at 8 o'clock at night once they were in bed. My favorite (sense the sarcasm). Especially when that is my precious design work time and I'm still playing catch-up.

And then there's our house. Lately, I feel like it takes all day long just to stay somewhat on top of all of the messes that are made and keep everyone looking decent (and give constant "go blow your nose" reminders). By the time all of the toys and clutter and stacks of Blake's drawings and machines are picked up, it's time for another meal and the kitchen is destroyed all over again. Some days I feel like I do nothing except housework and make meals and referee the fights that break out every 10 minutes between the boys.

On top of that, there is our basement that is being finished that we are making decisions left and right about, a few other house projects that we are trying to squeeze in during the next month, and the big Kindergarten dilemma which requires driving around and filling out permits and applications to different schools and weighing in so many factors.

And for some crazy reason I signed up for an Adobe Illustrator class back in December that requires 90 minutes per week of online tutorials and homework assignments throughout the month of March. I haven't even scratched the surface of that task, but I'm pretty sure I can't get a refund at this point.

Add in the fact that I'm 8 months pregnant and have done nothing to prepare for this baby's arrival and some days I feel like I'm drowning. And it really didn't help when Troy called me in the midst of the sickness and house messiness and scheduling appointments to look at tile, carpet, and cabinets to inform me that he has to go to New York next week.

I'm really hoping this baby doesn't come 4 weeks early (Nash was 3 weeks early) while he's gone. 

I am seriously questioning how I'm going to handle three kiddos. But even though I'm feeling swamped, nothing could be worse than those four months of having the equivalent of the stomach flu 24/7. When I remind myself of that, I feel like I can take on anything. Even getting my spring cleaning done next week? Okay, maybe that's too ambitious.

And now that I've vented I can go finish up sorting through my Hawaii pictures and be swept away to the land of palm trees and waves washing along the shore.

Christmas and the New Year

I'm not going to sugar-coat it. This Christmas was a mix of exhaustion and unmet expectations and family drama and sickness (still) and tears and the loss of dreams resurfacing all over again. 

I'm mostly just glad it's all over with, especially now that I have the stomach flu while being 6 months pregnant, not one Christmas decoration has been put away yet, my house is begging to be re-organized, our cupboards and fridge are bare, I'm behind at work, and I have a growing list of things I need to do for the new year in Primary.

I'm grateful for the fresh start that a new year holds, even though I have yet to put concrete goals and new dreams into writing.

It'll all happen eventually, I suppose. I'm trying to not be too hard on myself. Especially since I can't get out of bed even if I wanted to.

Thankfully, our boys were too excited about the magic of Christmas to notice the fragile state our family was in. I'm so grateful for their youthful innocence. I don't think I'll ever tire of their anticipation and excitement for Christmas morning. It's one of the best parts about being a parent. Both a distraction from our trials and a reminder about what matters most.

They remind me over and over that life is about second chances.

I'm excited for a Christmas do-over twelve months from now.

And I'm hopeful about what 2013 will offer.

Combating Morning Sickness (a.k.a. All-Day Sickness)

I'm officially at the half-way point today. 20 weeks down, 20 to go. Although it feels like I have about 50 weeks under my belt at this point.

To celebrate, I thought I'd share 20 of my "tips and tricks" to endure a deep and abiding stomach flu that lasts for three to four months straight. This is also known as morning sickness, or, in my case, all-day sickness.

I was willing to try pretty much anything when most days I didn't know if I could endure another hour. I even researched if it would be safe to be put into a coma while pregnant. But since that didn't prove to be a viable option, I had to resort to other ways of coping.

Nothing I tried was a magical solution. I mostly just had to suffer through it. And some days one thing took the egde off and the next day it didn't work at all. But even though I wanted to lie in the fetal position every second in between my frequent trips to the porcelain bowl, I still had two children to take care of and cart around to various places.

So, to all of my pregnant sisters out there who are lying in bed near a bowl or toilet, here are some tips and tricks that I've discovered over the years that may give you 5 minutes of relief until the next bout hits.

1. Doctor prescribed meds. Some women swear by these, but I didn't find anything to be a "cure." Zofran maybe made me throw up less, but I still felt like I was about to puke my guts out 24/7, which was sometimes worse. Phenergan made me so deliriously sleepy that I couldn't function, and Reglen gave me crazy side effects. At 10 weeks I started having contractions and intestinal cramping because my body completely rejected it.

2. Vitamin B6 and ½ Unisom tablet. Again, this combo didn't prove to do much for me, but I know it works miracles for others. But beware, it might make you sleepy.

3. Sobe Lifewater. Using the B-vitamin logic, I stocked up on Sobe drinks that contained vitamin B. Sometimes they were soothing and I liked drinking something other than plain water, but once I threw them up a few times they weren't ever really the same. I think I still have a few bottles left in our outside fridge.

4. Fountain soda and limeades. I'm not a natural soda drinker. But a fizzy fountain Sprite always helped a little. Even if my two year old is now addicted after sneaking so many sips of my drinks. I also got hooked on Sonic's limeades. There is a Sonic close to the boys' school that I frequented.

5. String cheese. In those moments where I had to grab to eat something immediately, I usually went for string cheese. I bought the nicer varieties - Sargento cheddar and jack to switch things up a bit. I could only live on pretzels and crackers for so long. I still grab string cheese in the evenings when the nausea hits and at this point it's usually (not always) enough to tide me over till bedtime.

6. Avoid things that will not feel good coming back up. I get into a different eating mentality when I'm pregnant. With everything I consume, I consider how bad the repercussions will be when the contents come back up. Salad and spicy food are the worst in my opinion. I once had someone tell me that every time she felt nauseous while she was pregnant, she ate an apple and it made her feel great. Obviously she hadn't thrown up apples 4 times in one day. Just sayin' - think before you eat.

7. While we're at it, avoid talking to anyone who was nauseous for one day and/or threw up once or twice during their pregnancies, and thinks they "know what you're going through." It just makes you want to punch them in the face.

8. Airplane barf bags. I've tried out a variety of barf receptacles, and airplane bags are the best. They fold up enough to put several in your purse, they are thick and hole-free, and they usually have a sealing flap to keep the contents contained until you can find a trash can. We have a good friend that travels a lot and he brought me a huge stack.

9. Plug your nose. I learned the best trick with this pregnancy. Since I get the most sick in the evenings, the up-chuck contents stay in my sinuses all night long and make it impossible to breathe. I wake up multiple times during those nights and have to re-wet the roof of my mouth because it feels like sandpaper. But I learned that if you plug your nose while you are throwing up, it helps the food bits not get stuck in your sinuses. Let me tell you, I'm really good at holding my hair with one hand and plugging my nose with the other.

10. Popsicles. Cold and soothing, even if they don't do much nutritionally.

11. Lemon drops. For about four weeks straight, I popped lemon drops almost constantly to help with the nausea. And then of course I got incredibly sick of that taste being in my mouth. I don't know if I'll ever be able to suck on a lemon drop again, but I swear it helped.

12. Ginger. Some people say ginger helps. Gingerale never did much for me, and if you've ever tasted raw candied ginger even when you're not pregnant - you might as well start running towards the bathroom.

13. Peppermint oil. I tried rubbing this on my feet and belly a few times. I'm not really one for oils but I guess the smell is supposed to be relieving.

14. Gummy vitamins. I cannot for the life of me get those horse prenatal vitamins down, so I go for the chewable gummy ones when I'm pregnant. I get the One-a-Day adult or women's multivitamins, which taste like fruit snacks. They basically have all of the same vitamins as prenatal pills.

15. Sea-sickness wristbands. I wore these religiously for a while thinking they might be helping. Of course it was still 90°+ at that point so they looked awesome with my short sleeves. In that same vein, motion sickness ear patches. I had a few leftover from our cruise, but they made my already heaving mouth so dry that I ripped them off after one day.

16. Mints. Spearmint gum, starlight mints, Altoids, anything that will distract you momentarily.

17. You are in charge. I learned with baby #3 that I could tell my doctor/midwive no. You know those mandatory first trimester blood draws? I said no. I'm pretty sure my blood type hasn't changed and I haven't contracted an STD since my last pregnancy. And the pap? Just say no. I was so nauseous that thinking of doing anything other than checking for the heartbeat at those first few appointments put me over the edge. So, I stuck up for myself. Apparently I can't avoid that 28 week gestational diabetes test though.

...and I just took an intermittent break to go throw up. I guess the half way point isn't looking that optimistic after all. Lately, it just springs on me. I know, TMI.

18. Take naps and go to bed early. This one was hard for me because I feel like naps are such a waste of time. Usually, I go go go all day long. But sleep was the one and only relief, so I tried to take advantage whenever I could (as much as was possible with two small children).

19. Have great friends and a great husband. It is important to accept offers to help when you really need it, as hard as that may be. I don't know what I would have done without friends who brought us meals and took our boys some afternoons. Or a husband who put up with my constant hormonal emotions and did the grocery shopping. And even stood over me with tissues and sanitizing wipes each time I lost it. It doesn't get much more glamorous than that.

20. Find distractions. Even though I wanted to curl up and not leave the house, doing nothing for three months straight would have made me go crazy. I never felt up to it, but I still went to book club and playgroups and church and other outings. The time passed so slowly that any distraction I could find to fill the time was worth the effort. As long as I had my airplane barf bags close at hand. I've felt so thankful for my job the last few months as well. Since I couldn't just sleep all day long, my design work kept my mind distracted even though my body felt terrible. Designing websites on my laptop while laying on the couch filled the time and helped me feel like I was still accomplishing something.

One more: Perspective. Without warning, pregnancy took over my life. And it should (well, if you're lucky, not the sickness part) for anyone who is growing a human being. Even though it seems like it will never end, I have two growing children that prove that it does indeed end. As hard as it is to endure, do the best you can to remember that it won't last forever. You'll have your body back again. You'll reestablish your normal routines and hobbies. You'll set new goals when you feel better. For now, give yourself a break and do what you need to do to survive, one day at a time. This too shall pass. I promise.