Emilia's Birth Story: Part 1

"Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don't be afraid.” 

---Frederick Buechner

Emilia Mae Ewald was born at 10:54 AM on Thursday, April 10th 2014. She weighed in at 9 lbs 1 oz and was 20.75 inches long. Like her siblings, she came out sporting a head full of black hair. Unlike her siblings, she has a tiny little head and absolutely enormous cheeks that were made to be kissed.

Five, almost six, weeks later, and I still can't believe I finally have this little love in my arms and off my bladder. She is healthy, she is strong, she is beautiful, and we adore her. Here's how she came into our lives.

Sweet Emi entered the world via a very odd labor and delivery, and it was both lovely and awful and I was so so happy when it was over and also incredibly sad, lest I never do this again. I think birth is inherently crazy and terrifying and exalting and life changing and it can be really hard to tell the story of it afterwards because nothing happens for long stretches and then all of a sudden everything happens so quickly that you can't really recall it properly.

Emilia's labor really started about three weeks before it actually started. Confusing, but I"ll explain.

I know, I can't ever really do a short post. Words. I like them.

Three weeks earlier...no, just kidding,, this is the birthing tub in the labor suite.  It only felt like three weeks.

At 37 weeks, I went into my regularly scheduled appointment hoping that I might be in early labor. I was spotting, sick to my stomach, and contracting every six or seven minutes. That was not the case, but I was "3 to 4" cm dilated and about 80% effaced at that point. This same pattern of labor-like symptoms continued every two to three days for the next three weeks and I was, of course, the picture of grace and serenity as I waited for my baby to choose its own time to be born.

Or not.

People, I was done. Just...done. I'm a fan of letting the baby gestate for as long as he/she needs, in theory, but in practice,  I was ready to evict this child. At 39 weeks they stripped my membranes. Consequently, I was up until 2 AM with painful contractions about 6 to 8 minutes apart, lots of spotting, chills alternating with hot flashes, and puking/upset stomach. But no baby resulted from all that discomfort. Just a very long day today and a touch of irritability on my part. A mere soupcon.

I was trying to explain my state of depression to my husband and I made the admittedly foolish mistake of saying "I don't know, my nerves are shredded right now, I feel like a shell of myself" and he made the admittedly much more foolish mistake of saying "Well, I wouldn't say THAT" as he laughed fondly.

Note to everyone not uber pregnant: things like "logic" and "humor" have no place in conversations with those great with child.

By 40 weeks, I was a wreck, frankly. Late pregnancy is truly awful in a way you can only appreciate if you've been there. You're tired of not being able to sleep for more than two hours straight, tired of peeing approximately 114 times a day, tired of lumbering around with all the speed and grace of a Panzer division, tired of your aching pelvis, your aching back., your aching feet. tired of the heartburn, tired of the nausea when your child shifts its weight to your stomach, tired of the various substances welling out of  your body, and you sort of know in theory that you're going to produce a child at some point, but it feels like that is a big fat cosmic joke and that you may be the first person in history to never ever EVER stop being pregnant. 

And that's why God is smart, because the last few weeks of pregnancy are so miserable that you actually look forward to labor. Now, that's ingenuity.

I know this is the end. I know it might possibly be THE END of my childbearing days for the rest of time, and given that, I wish I was appreciative of the good, the bad, and the ugly. I was not.  I did jumping jacks. I ran (lumbered) up and down our stairs. I ate spicy food. I tried to bribe the baby into appearing by promising it milk and cuddles and cute outfits. I prayed. I cursed. I tried to cry. I tried to meditate.

Which brings me to April 9th and my state of mind was admittedly poor. My state of body was large. The same ole pattern of symptoms started up and I thought "oh yes, good, let's do THIS again" but this time the symptoms persisted from roughly 4 PM until about 11 PM and things seemed to be getting more intense and more rhythmic as time went on. I dithered a bit about what to do, and then decided I was going to lie down. Tim immediately vetoed this idea and said we were walking around the block for as long as it took. This tiny factoid should tell you that I was totally awesome to live with during this time period, because Tim is not normally one to veto a nap in favor of a walk, particularly at 11 PM. One lap around our block later and I was ready to head in to the hospital.

We got the kiddos out of bed and loaded them into our (extremely sexy) minivan for their last ride as the the only two Ewald kids. I was mentally willing my contractions to continue the entire time. We'd called my in-laws down from the Cities, we dropped the kids off at Kristen Yuan's at midnight (now THERE is a friend) and I was really upset that it was all going to be for naught, as we could very easily be sent home yet again. Tim offered to drop me off at the hospital but I insisted on parking the car with him and walking from the employee lot to the hospital to magically open up my cervix in the last 500 yards.

I got checked in and the midwife examined me and said "OK, you're 7 cm dilated, we'll get a suite set up for you".

I'm pretty sure my jaw hit the floor. Seven centimeters? I wasn't even in pain. I could have eaten a BLT and watched the Real Housewives, which does not square with my previous experience of "seven centimeters" at all.  I was not about to complain about this, mind you.

We got checked in and I got super excited and nervous because we were finally going to meet our little one. I confidently predicted a baby by 4:30 AM.

Waiting for Baby E3

At about 6:30 AM I woke up from my nap in a labor that had basically halted. They checked me out and I was 9 cm dilated on one side and 7 on the other, which was more than a little bit odd. No big deal though, they would break my water and deliver this kiddo before the shift change at 7. Except that I balked at that, because I did not want to get caught in the shift change in the midst of pushing out an Ewald baby (read: huge).



So Tim and I wandered around for a while, then met the new nurses and the midwife, Tracy (who was amazing!) and we talked about our options. We could either 1) continue to wait 2) start some Pitocin or 3) break my water. Tracy explained that I was going to get uncomfortable at some point to have this baby and while it was fine to wait, it was basically delaying the inevitable. I had mixed feelings about intervening in the process, but finally agreed to let them break my water since I was already 9 cm dilated anyway and just wanted to meet my little person.

So they broke my water. 

And now I have to break my birth story into two pieces because Emilia is up and typing whilst breastfeeding is quite difficult...believe me, I've tried....but I'll give you a hint about Part 2. We had the baby!

A Low Bar is Key

I'm kind of drunk* right now, but what the hell, I'll take a stab at this anyway.

(*Fatigue drunk, just to be clear, not alcohol drunk. Sadly.)
 
In the aeons since I last posted, we have produced a beautiful and beloved baby girl. We named her Emilia Mae, brought her home with pride and love, and then promptly proceeded to lose our minds over the next weeks. And I will very definitely post her birth story, hopefully soon, but for now, I can't even process anything more complicated than the alphabet. And I might miss some letters there, if given a pop quiz.

Baby love

So there's the usual newborn fatigue and sibling processing going on, but Emilia also has reflux and is possibly colicky, possibly just high maintenance, but either way is attached to me 24/7. Like for real, for real, I'm either nursing baby girl, wearing her, or sleeping with her.

Also it's finally spring in MN, which means it's time for the Ewalds to contract a killer death plague and disappear into the sick locker for a while. Which we have done, and 2014's plague consists of some sort of mild and yet still soul shrivelingly awful influenza complete with fevers, chills, and muscle aches that actually made me cry on Friday morning.

Sick Locker 2014: Fevers of 104, aka Life Sucks

Though to be fair, I was attempting to get three small children to the doctor's by 8 AM in order to start our medical clearance for the military, and that might have brought me to tears on a good morning. The fever and chills just made it more fun.

Allow me to share my life with you.

Scene 1: Hallmark Moment

Emi is crying, because I'm not holding her. Addie is crying because I gave her water in an orange cup instead of a blue one. Addie pushes her cup away in a tantrum, and of course, knocks it over. Water is everywhere. Graydon is crying because his hands are dirty. Wait, his hands really are dirty. Is that...yes. Yes, his hands are covered in poop. He has diarrhea, probably from "Advil tummy" and went excavating in his diaper. In his distress, he is trying to clean them on anything and everything he can reach. 

Scene 2: Motherhood: NAILING IT

My mom goes back to NC on a Tuesday, right as Emilia's colic is hitting full force. Emilia has a screaming fit that lasts for two hours. She cries. I cry because I can't soothe her and because my Mom left. Tim comes home and my eyes are swollen shut from sobbing, I'm topless because I accidentally soaked my shirt with breastmilk after forgetting breast pads, and my hair is matted with spit up from Emilia's reflux issues. 

Scene 3: Feel the Burn

I attempt to hustle the two bigger kids into the shower with me. Emi is grunting and working herself up into a crying fit in her bouncy chair. I have approximately 4 minutes to get myself and the bigs cleaned before she blows. I herd my two eldest into the spray and hurriedly rip off my own clothes. In my hurry, I accidentally also rip a dangling thread "down there" assuming it's part of a my admittedly crappy underwear. (I am not wasting good undies on post partum, y'all). It is not. It is my episiotomy stitches...which I have just ripped out.  That smarts.

Scene 4:  The Future

Tim comes home and all three kids are crying while I am swigging cooking sherry and singing "Jesus Take the Wheel" at the top of my lungs.


OK, #4 hasn't happened yet, but give it time.

 So all of that is hard and I've cried more in the last three weeks than I did in the last year, but it's totally worth it for this.

Gang of three

How did I get three beautiful, smart, healthy kids? We are truly blessed and it's that long term view that gets me through the short term chaos of transition. It's always hard to add a child to your family, even when everything is "perfect" and it hardly ever goes perfectly, am I right? Still, we have not yet visited Intensive Care so this worlds, galaxies, universes even, better than our transition with Graydon.

And during those moments that everyone is crying, I just try to find one grace note, and hang on to it for dear life. Like the following: it might be noon and Addie might not be dressed yet and Emi might need a diaper change and yet another feeding and the beds aren't made but just look at their darling faces and how much they already love each other.

Sister Love: this one melts me.

So while we've kind of lost the plot here, I know it will get better in the coming weeks. We don't have much to focus on besides our family. Just Tim finishing his thesis and defending it. And saying goodbye to our friends and family here. And moving out of our house. And moving to Tokyo. Total cakewalk.

It reminds me of something my friend Danielle says that always cracks me up: like the old MadTV skit, it's all about "Lowered Expectations" for the next few ...um....years?

Brother Love

Me and E3

*This is a post that I wrote somewhere in my fourth or fifth month of pregnancy. I didn't publish it at the time, but it's a good reminder to me NOW, as I officially enter my last few days (?) weeks (?) of pregnancy that the timing of almost everything is out of my control. And that's actually just fine. 

As soon as Sue, my midwife, placed the transducer on my belly,  we heard an immediate THUNK. "That's a kick" she said with a smile. The various muffled thumps continued while she searched for the heartbeat and then, there it was...the steady beat that promises a new person in waiting, a new little bundle of possibilities to nurture, a new life journey to cherish.

It's still surreal to me that this is actually happening.

We've never been able to add a child to our family without first experiencing a loss. This is my fifth pregnancy, but I have two children. They're amazing and totally worth everything we went through to hold them, but at some point, you learn to guard yourself. You expect disappointment in the vain hope of avoiding grief if the worst happens again.

The main problem with this strategy is that you can't really shut out pain. It's there every time you experience a loss. It is, however, very easy to shut out joy. Fear is the ultimate joy killer and I was living in fear.

Like anyone else,  I just wanted to be overjoyed to be a mother to a new life again. And I'd say I succeeded in that for about four days, until I started bleeding. And then I immediately shut down and thought "Well, OK, another miscarriage, at least it's early" and prepared myself for more loss. I stayed in that bunker mentality for the next few months, through another incidence of spotting and the various genetic tests and ultrasounds. But inside I was convinced that all the illness and suffering were ultimately going to be nothing, that I would have to lose before I could gain.

When everything came back negative (meaning no syndromes, no major issues thus far), I was shocked. And Tim was too. We both agreed that we totally expected something terrible to happen and that if the baby survived the first trimester we thought there would be some sort of health issue to deal with or some sort of deformity. It wasn't something that we ever talked about, but we both had the same fears.

A few weeks ago we were watching the Vikings game, and I told Tim, abruptly and apropos of absolutely nothing, that I wanted to find out the sex of this baby. As most of you know, Ads and G Man were "surprises", in that we had no idea what gender we were having. So this was a bit of a departure for me. He questioned me about it, and I realized that I felt like I needed to know what we were having so that I could be happy. I guess I felt like if I picked out a name and knew the gender, that I would fall in love with THIS baby on its merits and that I wouldn't be so locked up in this totally self created prison of fear anymore. I wanted to be happy.

We didn't really resolve the "find out or not" issue that night...I think we got distracted by an intense battle over some blocks (between Addie and Graydon, NOT Tim and I, just to be clear) ...and that night as I went to bed, I decided to turn it over to God. Shocking plan, right? But honestly, I hadn't been praying much in recent weeks. It's really hard to talk to God, or listen to God, without feeling something, and my whole goal was to feel nothing. Nothing good, and certainly nothing bad, because if you let your armor show some chinks, it all comes rushing in.

I didn't pray about whether or not to find out the sex of the baby. Frankly, I doubt God really has a strong opinion on couples knowing beforehand. I just asked God to tear down my walls because I had done such a good job building them that I wasn't sure I could do it myself. I asked God to let me be happy about this sweet child and to let me love him or her even before I truly knew them.

That night, I had the sweetest dream that I truly believe was an answer to my prayer. I dreamed I held a new daughter in my arms. I remember every detail of her face, and that she had no hair, unlike my other two that were born with tons of black hair. I remember her sweet newborn smell and the surprising heft of her in my arms and the gentle pursing of her lips and the movement of her eyes under her delicate eyelids as she slept.

I'm not claiming this was a prophecy of some sort, mind you. I will be totally unsurprised if I have a little boy with a full head of black hair. But I don't need to know what I'm having anymore. God reminded me, through my dream, of the impending joy that will be ours so soon. I'm more than happy about this precious person now, I'm joyful.

It isn't that I feel like I'm guaranteed to experience no pain with this baby, no heartache, or that I'm assured everything will go according to my plan, it's just that I've surrendered the anxiety about it. Attempting to shut out pain isn't worth the loss of joy. The only way to truly love your children is to dive in, to accept that they're human, with all the bodily frailties and failings that brings, and to cherish each day of health and togetherness as a gift.  I could lose this baby at any time, through some accident or misfortune, but for now, this little one is kicking the heck out of a heart monitor. And for now, every ultrasound reveals that precious heartbeat...a twinkling star, a flashing coin, a blinking light...that promises one more day. This is good. And I'm happy about it.

Hiatus OVER

"To everything (turn, turn, turn), there is a season (turn, turn, turn)" ...and now that is going to be stuck in all our heads for the rest of the day. You're welcome.

It appears that this is the season to wait, at least for our family. Waiting to sell the house. Waiting to have a baby. Waiting to hear where our new home will be. Surprisingly, and very uncharacteristically, I'm not bothered by any of this. I'm sure that will change as time goes on, but for now I'm all Zen and Buddha-like, and not just because I'm rotund. I'm just not wasting a lot of mental or emotional energy on what is totally out of my control.

So I totally yanked these off the MLS site for our house, thinking there was no way the house will look as good again. This is our dear sweet house for about four months a year.

Of course this is what it actually looks like right now and for the other eight months of the year. Tim is going to quibble about this but so far I have experienced heavy snow in every single month except for June through September. I'm sticking to my numbers. 

More propaganda.

More reality

Let's just be real here for a minute. Putting a house on the market is really hard work. I feel like I've already given birth, in fact, to one ginormous and somewhat awkwardly shaped infant. Same elation, same exhaustion, same sense of "Well, now what does our normal life look like?" Less stitching involved though, glory hallelujah.

We started this process immediately after Christmas and yet somehow, we were still running around at 2 AM the night before the photographer and the realtor showed up to formally list the house, doing things like frantically scrubbing baseboards and shoving last piles of papers under the bed (which reminds me, I should get those out) and arranging flowers in vases because you know, of course we live with fresh flowers in bud vases atop the toilet all year round and so will you, should you buy this perfect and spotless home.

Our room

Miss Adelaide's room. Is she really this old?

The G Man's room

We also had many man and woman hours of labor dedicated by my in-laws, without whom we would never have gotten this done. Thank God for family, and for the END of endless "To Do" lists. Or at least a break from them.

The end result has been great and I love our newer, simplified version of life. How did we accumulate so much stuff anyway?

Living Room

The kitchen/living room. Just in case you were confused.

The sunroom. Snowroom. Whatever.

 Oh, and we sold our house since I started writing this post. That was fast, right? We had four showings in 24 hours and those showings yielded two offers. We accepted the "best" one naturally, and are very pleased with our end of the deal. Now we just cross our fingers for the inspection. If all goes well, we should close June 26th, which means no dreaded "double move" for us. 

As you can see from the pictures, winter continues to be an evil terrorist of a season here. Lately we've had a few warm days in the 40s, but I'm not buying it yet. Spring is approximately three days long in MN, and I just can't believe we're there. We were walking into the grocery store during our recent thaw, and we were actually, you know, walking...not scurrying with our shoulders hunched up around our ears in a desperate search for shelter...and Addie said "Oh Mom, thank goodness summer is finally here!" It was 36 degrees outside. I fear our children are permanently warped and will never be able to believe in Santa Claus, religion, or the existence of seasons ever again.

Tim out snow blowing after a winter storm. I see your "Winter Weather" NC, and raise you three feet.

A typical February snowfall.

Now that our house is actually sold, I find myself taking stock of our life here and our home itself and wondering what I'll miss. It's hard to know for sure because we have no idea where we're going. I'm not going to spend a lot of time mourning the sight of hoarfrost on the trees if we're moving to Alaska, if you know what I mean.

Speaking of where we're moving, no, we really still have no clue and we may not find out until as late as mid May, according to the latest rumors. When we do know we will shout it from the rooftops and there is no way you will  miss the information. Especially if you are an immediate family member. I can't tell you how many times people like our MOTHERS have asked us if we've heard and it's like "Oh yeah, Mom, I just totally forgot to tell you where we're moving, sorry, my bad". We sort of laugh and rip out our hair simultaneously because of course we will announce the news about 30 seconds after we have it.It's natural and I know we'll do the same thing to our children some day in the time honored tradition of parents driving their children nuts with their loving concern. Not that we're short tempered about it or anything.

Speaking of short tempered, holy smokes, E3 is amazing and wonderfully beautiful according to the ultrasound we saw today, and oh my heavens, I want to meet this baby. Said baby is also tormenting the fool out of me with painful (false) back labor that upsets my tummy and keeps me awake and causes me untold amounts of "Could this be it"?!!? exactly like his/her brother did. And we all know how pleasant I was at the end of my pregnancy with Graydon. :-) I actually went in to be checked today because I was contracting every five minutes with back pain, was unable to keep down food, and was spotting. Obviously I was NOT in active labor..given that I am blogging instead of eating a bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit whilst marveling at our newest creation... but I am 3 cm dilated. So, yes, let's do this, E3. Any time you like, I'm ready.

So that's what has happened during the hiatus. A house was sold, our next destination remains mysterious, and our third baby is eminently imminent. And lest I sound cranky, we are actually really blissfully happy right now. I will expound more on that later. For now, I need some chocolate and a bath in no particular order.

Hiatus

While I would love to finish my retroblog, I thought I would take a few minutes to update the blog on what is happening now, and to announce a hiatus.

What's happening now is that it's winter and the weather sucks. It's cold enough to freeze the booty off a baboon. Cold enough that the highs are routinely in the single digits and that Ads has gone to school about four times this month at her twice-a-week preschool. The crazy part is that it is also snowing a ton, and they don't cancel school for snow around here, only for intense, Yukon-territory- like cold. Look, people might as well homeschool if they called off school for snow around here. HOWEVER...this means that the days that Addie does have school feature me driving my minivan in an impromptu filming of Ice Road Truckers and watching as cars skid helplessly into the median or friendly roadside ditches. While on the days that school is canceled, the roads and skies are crystal clear and it's perfectly safe to drive around...because everyone knows that snow and cloud cover actually make it warmer. It's completely bizarre and the only sensible option is to leave, which is why the elderly and/or affluent do so on a regular basis.

Winter also brings with it winter ailments, and yes, we are experiencing all that joy and wonder as well. Just this week Graydon had an ear infection, strep throat, and the beginnings of pneumonia. At the same time. He's fine now, thank the good Lord, but I am hoping and praying for a warm placement in the Air Force so that his scarred lungs can continue to heal. A warmer winter would do wonders for him and for my nerves. I watch him like a hawk every time he has the sniffles because I know how quickly it can turn into a big problem. Breathing is one of those things you don't like to trifle with, you know?

Apart from that, we are getting the house ready to show and hopefully sell. So all the time that I would normally spend cleaning, cooking, reading, blogging, and generally enjoying is now spent trying to decide which pieces of obnoxious plastic should continue to live with our family and which should be inflicted upon the poor via Goodwill. Or sorting through four years of back issues of orthopedic journals, presentations, research, and the protocols for every surgical procedure known to ortho, which is an occupational hazard of Tim's. Or packing yet another box of books, which is an occupational hazard of mine. It's always how the process goes, and I don't actually mind it. It's cleansing, both literally and mentally, to de-clutter life and I don't have high levels of stress about the house selling...yet. Though I'm sure it will come.

But it means that I am not going to blog until the house hits the market on February 24th...not because I don't want to, but I just know it isn't realistic. So this is a little heads up to my friends and family. We are still here, we are still living, and we are still mostly happy with life, although I am slightly depressed that I talk to the guys at UHaul more than my best friends these days. But this, too, shall pass and we shall resume our regularly scheduled lives in a few weeks. And then we'll have a baby! And then we'll move! And both of those processes are sure to leave me with ample free time to ponder life, take pictures, and blog. Right? :-)

And So It Continued (Christmas Season Retroblog Part 2)

I left off my last blog with the cliffhanger of two birthday parties looming approaching and that was a small lie fib stretching of the truth, for reasons I will get into momentarily.

But first, I actually forgot that before we had the birthday parties, we had our last Ortho Holiday Party, which is always a great time. Even though I have been pregnant for three of them. I think that speaks to the "fun" aspect of it, because I cheerfully endure the indignity of maternity pantyhose and swollen feet/face/well-everything-really and waddle out to celebrate the holidays with our family-away-from-family.

Me, Tim, and E3 at the pre-party

The 5th Year Women, missing only Ashley and Laura.

The whole year, minus the Swanns and Walkers. In our year we are responsible for 26 children...and counting...so it's always an event when we can all meet up. 

Now back to the birthday "parties" and my confession about the small truth-stretching. For those who don't know, Addie's birthday is December 16th and Graydon's is December 30th. I actually gave Addie and Gray a combination birthday party. I figured I have maybe one more year where I can get away with this, so I made the most of it.

Incidentally, when separate parties are demanded, I foresee years of Addie having decent-ish parties and Graydon having pizza and leftover cupcakes because Christmas is over and New Year's Eve is tomorrow, and listen kid, we're glad you were born but WE ARE ONLY HUMAN and anyway it's your fault, you shouldn't have been SO LATE and impossible to birth, and yes, poor, poor G Man. It's not his fault. Except that it is, Mr. I-Decided-To-Be-Born-The-Night-Before-My-Induction. We wanted a better birthday for him, but I think that horse has already left the barn. In a very leisurely "in my own good time" fashion, which is very Graydon.

Carrying on.

Once I decided to combine the celebrations, the issue then became choosing common ground between my two children. Addie likes princesses, art, and dolls. Graydon likes fighting, wrestling, and rough-housing, in no particular order of preference. After contemplating such possibilities as "Kung Fu Princess" and "Hulk Monet", I finally decided that they both liked balloons, so voila, "Addie and Graydon are Growing UP!" and balloons galore. Sixty, to be exact. You have no idea how many balloons are in a 60 balloon bundle until you're putting them in your minivan.

Sadly, I never got a picture of all the balloons together for two reasons.

1) Because my children kept seizing handfuls of ribbons and dragging them off into their rooms while screaming gleefully.

2) Because my ceiling is an old fashioned "popcorn" ceiling which does not play nicely with balloons. All the aforementioned screaming and dragging pretty quickly decimated the numbers.

We lost about half the balloons that night, but the survivors were surprisingly tough. I recently committed a lot of heli-cide with a pair of scissors on the remaining stubborn stragglers because I was so tired of seeing balloons, but this was about a month after the initial purchase.

It was a good and normal party, and I think the kids were happy, which is all that mattered to me. We had wild rice soup, challah rolls, chips and a delicious variation on seven layer dip, a fruit plate, a cheese plate, and a veggie plate, with cupcakes for dessert. My only disappointment is that I didn't take many pictures because I was too busy running around, but I did get a few with the singing and cake.

Just slightly thrilled with the attention!

Should I succumb to madness/poor memory and do a party again, I am determined to take more pictures. Even if the guests are standing around starving and parched with thirst, roaring for drinks and food. I will just take pictures of that too and it will really give us a feel for the event.

Clapping for himself and/or the amazing singing

The joint party was on the 15th and Tim and Addie's actual birthday is the 16th. We saw Randy and Terri the day before their birthdays, because they were kind enough to keep the kiddos for the entire weekend to give us time to get ready for our various festivities that weekend.

Trains and cars! Jackpot!

It's too bad this is so out of focus, but the expression on his face makes me laugh so hard. "It's like, so totally, ermahgawd, this is to.die.for!' 

The Brogans met us for breakfast. Addie kind of likes Calum, if you can't tell.

On the morning of Addie's birthday, we went out to breakfast at Daube's, our favorite local bakery. Their doughnuts are amazing. Let the record reflect that I will absolutely miss Daube's when we leave. As will my children. All three of them, because E3 insists that we eat there at least once a week. Little tyrant.

Graydon kinda likes doughnuts.

We went out to dinner that night with Mary and Steve and the kiddos at Chester's, a local favorite. I didn't get any pictures because Chester's is always super dark and moody and "We might be in Rochester but we will make it loud and dark and trendy so you can pretend you're elsewhere", which I appreciate, along with the excellent food.

And that was basically it for the birthday celebrations...except for one last thing I want to remember. If you are related to me or Tim, or in any way offended by frank sexual speak, stop reading here.

All the twisted folks are still reading. Don't worry, I totally would too.

Tim and I put the kiddos in bed that night and collapsed beside each other in small heaps, pretty much exhausted after three straight days of celebration and two children cracked out on sugar and lack of sleep. I said "Do you remember when birthdays used to guarantee a new piece of lingerie and really creative and athletic sex?" And I am sure I was not mistaking the look of alarm on his face when he warily said "Yes". I'm not sure if it was the thought of "athletic" with a woman the size of a small whale or just the thought of any effort at all, but he was clearly frightened. I started laughing and said "Yeah, me too. Right now, sleep sounds better than sex. Sleep is my new sex, in fact. My favorite sexual position is officially 'comatose'". And then I knew I was right about the fear on his face, because for the first time, I heard my agnostic husband say "Amen". And that's really the best way to sum up three birthdays and the holidays with three children, all of whom are four and under: "Sleep is the best gift one can give or receive."  

And So It Began (A Christmas Season Retroblog)

Ah, December. My old nemesis, we meet again.

So pretty. So innocent. So calm and bright. SO DECEPTIVE.

Once again, I have been thoroughly defeated by the sheer unrelenting grind of birthday/birthday/holiday/birthday/holiday. Fortunately, it's a battle I don't mind losing because instead of nasty things like wounds and gangrene and post traumatic stress, we get lots of pictures and memories and family time. Oh, and presents. Those are nice too. The end result is much the same though, as January usually finds me locked into a quiet room, hunkered down with chocolates and a fat book, pretending that I do not own a phone or a computer, waving a white flag.

The biggest irony of blogging is that the busier you are, the more you want to record what is happening, and yet the less you have the capacity to do so. I'm quickly coming into acceptance of a new tradition: the January retroblog. We took a few weeks to recover, and here I am, attempting to retroblog no less than 570 pictures and about 571 memories. Don't worry, I won't share all of them. Just, you know, half of them. That seems reasonable.

In all seriousness, I thought I would just cut them up into smaller chunks and dole them out over the next few weeks. No one...by which I mean "me"...has the patience to page through tons of pictures saying things like "Opening Presents" for half an hour.

Without further ado, your first chunk. Sounds appealing, doesn't it? And yes, I did consider becoming a poet, but ultimately decided it would bring me too much fame and notoriety. I didn't want to sell out to the man.

So, it all began with tree decorating. Tim and I wanted to make it an event this year. We didn't do a tree last year, since we were headed to NC and then to Florida for three months. This year, we had hot cider and chocolate, Christmas carols, and a lovely fresh tree. Which I killed pretty quickly by forgetting to water it. But that was later.

Addie really got into everything. She wanted pictures with all her ornaments.

A good example of the "Mom, take a picture of me with THIS ornament" genre

She then proceeded to place all of her ornaments in basically the exact same place on the tree. Right at her eye level on one side. Any tactful suggestion to spread them out was immediately shot down. Every night Tim and I would redistribute only to have her move them back the next day. Sister knows what she likes.

Please notice the short sleeved shirt. I usually lay out a short sleeved shirt to (theoretically) go under a long shirt for layering purposes. The difficulty here is that Addie usually prefers her t shirts to her sweaters, so we end up with a lot of seasonally inappropriate clothing. Nothing says "Christmas" like cherries, I guess.  We've finally wised up and started buying only plain grey, white, and black shirts for layering.

Clustering, for the win!

 Graydon could have cared less about the whole process. He found one glittery train ornament and played with it all night. He did a surprisingly good job not breaking anything, and when I say "surprising", I actually mean downright shocking, because he usually wreaks havoc like a Texas twister.

In this picture, the train has found a sled ornament, which is now his "track". Pretty creative, I thought.

It's unfortunate that he's so shy.

I attempted to take a sibling picture of them in their jammies after it was all done, but yeah, it didn't work out. "Look at me, ok, smile!!! Or, yeah, you could just wrestle, that's fine."

Best shot of the series. All the others are just a blur of flailing limbs.

The very next day Ads had her preschool Christmas program. She'd been diligently practicing her "songs" for several weeks, mainly consisting of bursting into loud "HAAAAA LAY LOOO YAH!"s randomly and with great feeling, since they were singing the "Hallelujah" chorus from Handel's Messiah in part of the program. When I was in preschool I think we might have sung "Jingle Bells", but today's children are just way cooler than we were.

So, apparently, this is a big dress up occasion. I did not get this memo.

Here is my child, front and center. In her jeans.

I did think about it, and in fact, texted my friend Jen before the program to ask her if they were supposed to wear a certain color. I thought it was a little weird that they hadn't asked us to dress them all in red or green or whatever the hot color scheme of the moment might be. She said "I'm just dressing Calum in a reddish plaid shirt and his cords" so I thought "OK, yeah, I'll do a red shirt". I guess this is like one of those things that is so obvious they don't explain it, kind of like "Don't wear jeans to your wedding" or suchlike moments. 

To make matters worse, not only was my sweet girl totally underdressed, but I was late. Tim left for a conference in Colorado that day and I just couldn't get out the door in time by myself. So I had to literally RUN Addie into the school, catch the line before they filed in, and shove her into it. While carrying Graydon. And being pregnant. And swaddled in outdoor clothes because it was a balmy 10 out, which meant I then started streaming sweat from the combined effects of the subtropical heat of the school and stress. So I was super relaxed and ready to enjoy the evening ...or not...which wouldn't have mattered except poor Addie was terrified and didn't really understand what we were doing.

This is her filing into the auditorium, biting her nails, because she is nervous and has no idea what is going on.

 This wasn't my absolute nadir as a parent, sadly, but it didn't feel great. I felt like I set Addie up for a bad situation, because I know she needs time to relax and adjust and I didn't give her that. And I felt like an idiot for having the only girl child in jeans in the place. And because we were late, she was last in line, which meant she was front and center. She spent the entire time nervously twisting around to observe other kids. Except for the times she was picking her nose. It was about a 50/50 split, I'd say. I was so proud.

So much more interested in the other kids than in performing. Don't worry, I won't post pictures of her other activity.

Reliving this still makes me cringe, but I thought I would share because this was a milestone of sorts, and also because FYI PARENTS Christmas pageants are dress up occasions. I tried to give myself a pep talk like "Hey, ok, she's underdressed, no big deal! It's not her prom, right? And who are you trying to impress anyway? No one cares! All kids pick their noses sometimes. It will add a note of authenticity to the videos!" Then I just gave up on self pep talk and wished fervently for some red wine ...this was a theme throughout December, by the way.

With her friends and classmates, Calum, Briella, and Halle. I'm pretty sure Addie was upset at me too ;-)

Instead of drinking wine, I went home and made about 6 dozen cookies for the annual "Bone Wives n Hominy" Christmas cookie exchange the next day. Because 1) I'm pregnant and 2) I procrastinate. After a stressful and embarrassing evening, it is always therapeutic to bake enormous amounts of cookies to be given to other people, incidentally all extremely skilled chefs,  whilst simultaneously attempting to put two wild and overstimulated children to bed by yourself. I highly recommend this for your next frazzled state.

A small sample of the deliciousness

The good news is that sugar makes an excellent substitute for alcohol, and I had lots of yummy treats to eat after that gathering. I drowned my embarrassment in cookies and milk, and it was good that we had lots, because I wasn't quite done striking out yet with Addie and school. 

Lots of her friends go to the same preschool. Addie goes to the afternoon session on Tuesday and Thursday and some of her friends came to the cookie exchange in their pajamas because it was "Pajama Day" at preschool. I had NO idea this was happening, but knowing me, that's not really shocking. I mentally shrugged and sent Addie off to school in a pair of zip up footie pajamas with snowflakes and ice skaters on them. Only to see all the other kids in her class in regular clothes and her teacher looking slightly confused upon seeing Addie. I tried explaining "Oh, some of her friends at a playdate said it was Pajama Day..." and trailed off in feeble silence while Mrs. Batterson laughed in sympathy and explained that was only for the 5 year old class. Oh. OK. Well, that's cool. Not only did I send Addie to her pageant in jeans, I also sent her to school the next day in pajamas. At 12:30 in the afternoon. Like I just couldn't quite summon the energy to dress my child that day.

Thank heavens I can laugh about it now, because of course December got so much easier after that. I only had to plan two birthday parties, start finish Christmas preparations, do the holidays with Tim's family, and then host my family's visit. Easy peasy for an organized and efficient person. Like me. I would say those are the top two words that people use to describe me.*

Yeah. I ate a lot of cookies that month. 

*If you don't know me, this is not true at all. Once I was bemoaning my chronic lack of organization and my friend Jen very sweetly and tactfully said "Well, Tara, I would say you're of a more artistic mindset". And there you have it.