Mom: “Hey, Abigail, I think I did a good job making the tea this time!” (Lately we’ve had some mishaps with the sweet tea.)
Abigail (after tasting it): “Mom, this tea is baddish-good. That means that it’s part good, but part not good.”
Don’t bother coating the truth to save my feelings, child. I’ll be alright. I’m a mommy. I can handle all sorts of criticism.
I know that people, us included, were kind of bummed that we didn’t get to come home for Easter again this year. So I bit the bullet and actually used Stacey’s digital camera so that you could see the girls sooner. Enjoy.
It sure was a shame to cover up those pretty dresses with our heavy winter coats, but since it actually snowed a little this afternoon (!), we had no choice. We came home from church, changed into pj’s, and after a family rest time, we made brownies and then hid eggs in the living room. We missed our family very much, but we had a nice, if low-key, day at home. We love you all and can’t wait to see you soon.
I’ve decided that I know the gender of the current “new baby.” We’ll have to wait until September to see if I’m right, because no, we’re not going to find out ahead of time what we’re having. But I’m fairly certain it will be a girl, and I’m not basing that on any intuition or physical clues or how I’m carrying. Stick with me for a few minutes through the following seemingly unrelated paragraphs, and I’m sure you’ll eventually see my logic.
My oldest daughter, Abigail, has a talent that you may or may not be aware of. She can belch. She does not do it on purpose. She does not do it to be rude. It just comes naturally to her. She has a skill that most boys would pay for. It most often happens while she’s talking, so she ends up belching words, which I think high school boys practice for hours in their rooms. We’re not talking just little polite lady-like burps, either. She’s loud. She rivals her daddy, and believe me, that’s an accomplishment. She’s this petite, beautiful, dainty, prissy little child, but watch out if she’s talking at the dinner table because you’re likely to get blown away.
My middle daughter, Catherine, has a skill all her own, and I’m at a loss to name it. I’ve alluded to it in earlier posts. Basically, she has the know-how and passion to annoy the heck out of her sister. She knows exactly what buttons to push and how to push them to get the greatest reaction possible from Abigail. She finds great pleasure in knocking over the toys that Abigail set up, or pretending to choose the baby that she doesn’t even like but she knows Abigail wants it, or arguing with Abigail just for the sake of making her mad. Clay pointed out one day that she must have gone to little brother school instead of little sister school, because she does the little brother job quite well. (He should know.)
Finally, there’s my youngest daughter, Elisabeth. Elisabeth is a mess. I don’t mean emotionally or mentally or anything like that. I mean, she’s messy. That child can get out of the bathtub and look like an orphan an hour later, even without eating. But when she does eat, you can guarantee that anyone who sees her later will be able to correctly guess what meal she had, because she’ll still be wearing most of it. She sweats while she sleeps, so when she wakes up, her soft, fine baby hair has turned into this straw-like substance that is matted to her head. My other babies could go on a couple of baths a week, but not Elisabeth. She almost needs a bath a meal. Her clothes bear the marks of this too. She’s not old enough yet to go outside and play much, but I’m sure when summer comes, I’ll be hosing her off quite frequently. I’ve always called my girls “Messy Bessy” and I think I cursed her by naming her Elisabeth, which could actually be shortened to Bess, because she truly is a Messy Bessy.
Okay, so what does all this have to do with the gender of “New Baby?” Simply this: New Baby is a girl, too. How do I know? Because I think that God took all the parts of a little boy, and then split them up among my children, giving each girl just a little bit of boy. I’m not sure what New Baby will add to the picture, but there will be some little boyish characteristic there. So wait with me for September and we’ll see how my theory holds up.
By the way, Clay says that I’m just trying a strange self-defense method here, telling myself it’s a girl so that I won’t be disappointed when it’s not a boy again. Maybe so.
I am currently on day seven of my “sick streak.” I am slowly, slowly starting to feel better. Being pregnant has apparently messed with my immune system, making fighting off this virus or whatever next to impossible. It’s been very interesting, feeling like garbage while being the primary caretaker for three young girls. My wonderful husband stayed home from work the first day, last Wednesday when it was the stomach bug that was attacking me, but even getting that one day off was like pulling teeth with his boss, and so the other days (except Saturday afternoon and Sunday) I’ve been on my own, at least until he gets home from work and swoops in as my knight in shining armor and completely does all childcare duties for the rest of the evening. (My husband is awesome.) My kids are faring well, but I’m sure they’d love to get dressed one of these days! In the meantime, while waiting for a full recovery, there are a few things I’ve learned not to take for granted, and I thought I’d share those with you.
Never take for granted…
…being able to breathe with your mouth closed. Anyone who’s ever had a cold should know this, but somehow when we’re healthy we forget how nice it is.
…the joy of eating food and enjoying it, and never once even stopping to hope and pray that your food stays where it belongs once you’re finished.
…being able to get up when you need to without having to sit there first and give yourself a pep talk just to be able to move from your current position.
…being able to travel farther than 20 feet from your Kleenex box.
…the ability to entertain your kids without the TV on.
…being able to hear your kid say, Can I have…Can you get me…Can I do…, and then you saying “Yes,” instead of “When Mommy feels better.”
…the joy of a clean house.
…being almost out of milk, and then being able to just go to the store and get some without wondering if you’ll survive being upright for that long.
…being able to make it through the day without falling asleep even though you know that your kids are still quite wide awake around you as you’re passed out on the couch.
…how good it feels just to feel good.
I know that in a couple of weeks I’ll forget some, maybe all, of what I just said. We all tend to still complain even when we’re healthy, don’t we? But I hope that this week of sickness will help me remember the magnitude of the blessing of good health, once mine returns. May I have less complaining to confess as I recover this time.
Thanks for your prayers. Keep ‘em coming…I still can’t breathe through my nose.
Sick, sick, sick. Blah, blah, blah. Nasty bout of stomach ick on Wednesday, general rottenness on Thursday, whammy of a cold on Friday….I’ll let you know when I rejoin life again. Until then, pray that my girls don’t suffer from not getting dressed or having their hair brushed for three days, and basically running free for those same three days.
