an ending

This week marked an ending for me.  I nursed my last baby for the last time.

She is 17 months old and though not everyone subscribes to extended nursing (I can respect that), she has weaned the youngest of all of them.  I've seen it coming for a while now, particularly when I enforced night weaning a few months ago.  She immediately went to mornings and bedtime, then just mornings because daddy sings at bedtime and that is clearly more enjoyable.  Those mornings were very early mornings, I might add.  Usually between six and seven.  Sadly, it was too early for me to be awake enough to enjoy the moments with her, half dozing in discomfort, occasionally peeling back a gritty eye to peer at her beauty.  Then I noticed when her daddy was home on the weekend mornings and got her out of the crib she typically didn't think to whimper for mommy, so she started skipping some mornings with me (quickly becoming annoyed by the three swallows available on the lesser side....we've been right-weaned for weeks now I suppose).

And suddenly that momentary whimper would be so fleeting she forgot what it was for.  As the sun filtered through the sides of my windows Sunday morning I nursed her for the last time. Her face was curious at the familiarity of the experience, disappointed in the sparseness of what was available, content to be with mommy in other ways.  I knew it was over.

She has not asked since and I decided that if she should indicate an interest tomorrow I will distract her.  She won't really notice and she will be happier with her full sippy of coconut milk and extra hugs and tickles.

I feel ready and bittersweet.  I have spent 83 months of my life nursing babies.  I have been pregnant for a day shy of 159 weeks of my life (no one really counts months of pregnancy, let's be honest).  I am ready to have my body back, to wear dresses and even night gowns (if I like them still...) instead of nursing-ready shirts.  I will mourn the voluptuous cleavage of this era that is ending, and work to embrace the wrinkled, saggy A's that are my fate for a lifetime.

And so I bid goodbye to a time that I will never return to again, and embrace the coming of growth and independence that lies ahead.

charmed

I believe I've spoken before of the feeling that those around me lead a charmed life while I struggle to stay afloat in the midst of the chaos that surrounds me.  Then again, I don't feel like digging through archives so I may have simply thought those things and not voiced them.  (Either way, I bring you today's post...."charmed".)

I do feel that way at times.  I have often looked around me at the homes in better order, the moms with more energy, the children without unusual needs, the spiritual lives apparently driving on the right side of the road, and wondered how it was I always end up feeling like a clumsy fool in the face of real life.

And so life would wend its way onward, one small moment at time, me working intensely to be thankful for the amazingness I know is mine -- a marriage I believe to be among the best of what I've ever seen (so very far from perfect -- just wonderful where it is), kids full of forgiveness for my shortcomings, opportunities to follow the path I feel led in so many ways (homeschool to name just one).  That's me working not to feel that everyone's life is better than mine.

Then occasionally I see a little peak into someone else's world and I know with sudden clarity that their world is not charmed, either.  Or the next person.  Or the next.

I had a month full of insights like this.  Like dominoes falling, my perceptions of the charmed life went down.  Mine is not charmed, yours is not charmed.  It's just life in many colors, with many struggles, and many opportunities for the grace of God to be sought and received.

land of living migraines

There is this one blue and white (with a bit of sickly yellow) multi-purpose store that can change the most beautiful day into a low-price living migraine for me.  I am rarely to be found at one of these stores for this reason, but once in a while it just has what I need and it kills me to admit it.  A half hour in the confines of this fluorescent pit and the nausea begins, the head pressure builds, the knots in my neck and shoulder begin to cramp, my eyes begin to lose focus and all decision making flies out the window.  I hit a wall.  Those walls double the time it takes me to finish my errand and everyone who was forced to go with me is miserable.  High-functioning mama becomes frantic, crabby, exasperated, low-functioning mama.

(I do, however, love my better-lit, nicely-staffed, more warmly decorated (think: red) multi-purpose store.  It is logical, higher quality, still kindly-priced and most importantly: migraine-free.)

hope for things not yet seen

I took Miss C to a new allergist today. . .

I love:
the time he took
the answers he gave
the questions he asked
the open-minded attitude he had
the appreciation for our holistic efforts he showed

We did the traditional allergy skin test.  And yes, she still has her allergies.  But I came away with a new understanding and insights of some recent changes in her reactions.  It's possible she is developing a tolerance to milk baked into products and some of her tree nut allergies didn't show up.  That said, there is at least one new nut, but he said those can cycle a bit, so we're just biding our time with it.  We have to avoid them all still anyway.  The milk one we can test further some day, but she didn't want to do that yet.  I decided that since it's her body and her blood we'd have to draw, she got to make the call.  She didn't want to be messed with any more than she had been - roughly 60 skin pricks on her arms.

We did discover a multitude of seasonal allergies, which the previous doctor never took the time to ask about or test for, passing them off as not bad enough to check.  Knowing this will help me to stay on top of her sniffly, red nose and the circles under her eyes.

Her saddest moment came when they told her she is allergic to horses.  On the way home she suddenly blurted out that she was so sad because she wanted to have horses when she grows up.  Then she promptly burst into tears.  I almost pulled off the highway to hug on her, but traffic was pretty heavy.  I made up for it later.

The most reassuring part of my visit is that I have been praying for a doctor who would dig deeper and help me find ways to help her - not just be passive.  This is that doctor.  He has been pursuing Integrative Medicine with Dr. Andrew Weil.  I am in awe.  We conversed for much longer than any doctor visit I've been to.  His staff and the other doctor in his practice do not yet know, so it's hush-hush for now.  I came away with armed with information on natural supplements to try for my migraines, detoxing my daughter's liver, my husband's chronic hives (as well as an anti-inflammatory diet for the same thing), and more.  I need to dig through the notes and remember which thing is for which family member.  We were cared for.  And given hope.

dreams

I'm feeling ready to stretch my wings and catch a few dreams - a personal stretch in who I am and where I want to go, with dreams of my own secret self, though nothing large or impressive.

I do not profess to have any kind of wonderful writing skills - but I enjoy it anyway.  And I aspire to be better at it.  I love writing more than speaking for a million and one reasons (if you know me in person, you will realize I am quite a babbler in spite of this statement).  Mostly, I love that I can tweak, adjust, change, erase, scratch through, delete, and rewrite until what I am truly thinking is almost correct on the paper (or computer) in front of me.  It gives me time to straighten out the jumble of words that fall over each other in spoken form.  I'm not convinced writing can be completely perfect either, but once in a while something I've written is satisfying enough that I derive a thrill from re-reading it a few more times (until I find that awful hidden typo. . . ), or knowing when I send an email or letter I've carefully worded each part of it to express exactly what I wanted to say.

I will make an effort to ramble here a bit more if for no other reason than a little writing practice in the coming weeks and months.  I have no idea what that might mean for my little bloggy world, but if it gives me an outlet to scritch-scratch, so be it.  I need to drop some inhibitions, push myself out of my comfort zone.

Here is a little secret: I have decided that instead of the running sneakers I have been thinking about, I will spend my hard saved dollars on a small writing class.  If I'm lucky, I'll save enough later for another one.
Just because I want to.
And I always have.
And now I can.
For me.

not a born juggler

There is is a large denomination one mile from our home that has a vast array of community-welcoming activities.  On some of these, I have mixed feelings about how much it meets a spiritual need.  But there are many others that I believe serve a useful purpose for drawing the hearts in this town.

One of these is AWANAS - this is the second year we have had Little B and Miss C in Awanas, and they are blessed by the consistent pursuit of memorizing verses, forming new friendships, and finding leaders who care about them in personal ways.  I am blessed as an indirect result of this.  A few weeks ago, we allowed Baby J to start going to their Cubbies program since he is finally staying in his own class on Sundays and typically staying in his own bed at night (our two requirements for joining Cubbies).  He could seriously pop the proverbial buttons with all that pride!  The one downside to Baby J going now is that we have to stay on campus, unable to go out on a mini-date or make a grocery run.  And that means entertaining Bitsy as well.  But, we're making do.

Another opportunity they offer is Karate.  I have found multiple reasons to like this.  First, the men and women in charge speak English.  I mean absolutely NO disrespect to the amazing instructors in traditional programs - I know they work hard and do a fabulous job.  But I do not do well deciphering heavy accents, which I hear a lot in do jos.  Next, they close in prayer.  They might open in prayer, too, but in our 4 free classes so far, I'm not sure we've actually been there right in the beginning (ahem).  Third, the atmosphere is clearly about character training and good exercise, but there seems to be a slight balance to the strict regimen I've seen elsewhere - they really like the kids in each class and it shows.  I love that this is an opportunity for character training - it makes my day!  I also love the most amazing budget-friendly pricing of their karate school - there is not way we could do this any other way. There are two times available on each of the two nights, which helps make it more convenient as well.
I do not, however, like juggling that many children back and forth three nights a week to various activities.  I am just not that mom.

We told Miss C she could do the karate program.  But when they said we get 6 free classes to make sure she loves it first, well, we took them up on it.  After the first 3, we all got nasty colds, so our pretty faces were not in class for a couple weeks.  I took her back Tuesday night while John took Little B to his basketball practice (just one more thing to juggle this season - oi! - and he gets to do karate when basketball is over).  Tonight, I simply could not get my ducks in a row and asked that she go back next week for her last free classes.  She's upset.  I understand.  But there is this little matter of loving to have her friend from up the street to play in the late afternoon and evening time (said friend was still here eating homemade pizza before we realized we just were running too late).  And after a day of driving and doctors and half naps and not enough night sleep - well, surely you understand....

The thing is - my daughter needs an outlet like this for exercise and structure.  It will be so very good for her.    And I know Little B loves it and wants to do it also.  But Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday are all suddenly nights that make dinner feel impossible (yes, I need to get the crock pot in better rotation), bedtimes get later, and mommy feel like juggling the little ones is maybe not worth it (Miss C is not able to let me leave during karate at this time....think impatient 1 and 4 year olds).  That's pretty much half the week, people!  And I feel passionate about not being the mom who has her kids in so many activities that there is not time for friends on the street or nearby.  (A pet peeve of mine - a big one!)

So, since I am not born a juggler, I am having to find a method to the madness right now.  I know it will come.  I was hoping Miss C would wait for basketball season to end and just sign up with Little B to keep our lives simple, but that does not seem to be headed in my favor.

Arranging dinner time better - and decent dinners, not throw together dinners - is my first step.  Figuring how to return a neighbor girl to her home in time for us to leave when I have no contact for the non-English speaking mom and the brother is somewhere with the boys down the street and I have 3 kids that have to walk up the hill and back....might not be so simple.  Having John home in time to do karate duty - also not a guarantee.  Somewhere, there must be a way, though.

Hey, at least Baby J can buckle his own seat belt finally.  Definitely a step in the right direction!

sanctify this food we pray

I grew up in a home where praying freely, calling on the Lord's name openly, thanking Him for all things were a commonplace occurrence- as common as washing one's hands when preparing food.

Praying before meals was not a religious or ritualistic experience, rather a time to contact the One we loved the most.  Thanking him for the food was a simple yet pointed matter.  Sanctifying the food was equally so.  I accepted each of these practices as a matter of course and also embraced them with understanding and appreciation for myself.  Except this little matter of sanctifying the food.  That, I did not get.  Yes, I wanted it to nourish my body for His purpose, but. . . uh?  To sanctify something is to set it apart.  Really, it's just food, and while I'm hopeful it's not spoiled, that's rarely a real concern of mine.  And so it went, this not making much of sanctifying the food.

Until very recently when it slowly dawned on me just how serious a matter it really is. . . . . .


If you are at all in tune with things related to healthy eating, organic foods, what animals are fed versus what they should eat, pesticides, antibiotics, living conditions of the animals, genetically modifying our produce. . . . the list goes on and on here - then you will at least begin to understand what I speak of.  I, for one, quite simply do not have the financial means to purchase all foods organic and eat the way I would love to.  I accept the argument that you can spend your money on organic foods or you can spend your money on hospital bills later.  I get that - very much so.  But that still leaves the need for the actual cash flow to get it to your table.

In my years of researching and seeking to understand food allergies better, I have come across more than one article about the connection between genetically modified foods and the dramatic increase in allergies over the past 15 or so years.  I have consistently found this alarming in levels I don't have words for.  And buying groceries for my family has become an extremely stressful task.  Now, not only am I trying to accommodate safety with each food purchase, all the way down to potential cross-contamination for fear of my daughter's life - I am also plagued with the desire and desperation to choose as much organic food as I possibly can to prevent further allergies from flaring up and simply be healthier.  My budget just doesn't cover that much organic food.  It can't feed six of us that way no matter how I've tried.  I do what I can and buy some of it organic and some of it not.  It's the best I can do.  (If you see someone circling the meat department three times before deciding which meat to buy on any given week, that might be me. . .)

Food allergies get in the way of normal life: eating with friends on Sunday afternoons, and homeschool parties, friend's birthdays, .  I have prayed over this matter of my family's allergies more times than I can begin to recount to you. . .  about them, for them, for healing, for safety. . .  And along the way, it occurred to me that I need to pray for the sanctifying of the food.  For He is able to cover all the things I cannot, as well as the things I can.  He is able to set the food apart, help it nourish our bodies, and keep it from further damaging them.  He cares about this even more than I do - and wants my children to grow into men and women of God who can serve Him and love Him.  Will he heal my daughter, son, husband?  I don't know.  I will pray for it, believing.  If He chooses not to, I will accept that and be thankful.  But along the way, I find that I pray about the food while I shop, while I cook, while I serve a meal....


**There are many, many resources relating to food allergies and GMOs and other similar topics.  Choosing just one or two for my posting was difficult and silly in some ways - a simple search on Google popped up more than I wanted to see.  One of them even showed a person allergic to the GMO itself - with symptoms identical to those my husband has had for 15 years (chronic hives).  I have placed a few links here, but further reading is easily available should you desire it. . . .


Seeds of Deception
("The UK is one of the few countries that conducts a yearly evaluation of food allergies. In March 1999, researchers at the York Laboratory were alarmed to discover that reactions to soy had skyrocketed by 50% over the previous year. Genetically modified soy had recently entered the UK from US imports and the soy used in the study was largely GM. John Graham, spokesman for the York laboratory, said, “We believe this raises serious new questions about the safety of GM foods.”")



GMO Food Allergies
("To my surprise, I discovered that my sister was having the same problem of constantly breaking out in hives. After extensive allergy testing, her doctor told her it was from genetically modified corn. It has been proven that the tendency for allergies is inherited. So, anytime she (or I) eat anything with genetically modified corn or corn derivatives in it, we break out in hives.")


Gentically Modified Foods Unsafe
("Another study verified that GM soybeans contain an IgE-binding allergenic protein not found in nonGM soy controls, and that one of eight subjects who showed a skin-prick allergic reaction to GM soy had no reaction to nonGM soy.9 Although the sample size is small, the implication that certain people react only to GM soy is huge.")