Monday Musings

Our house guests took off over the weekend, S for a business trip in the southwest and J and the boys to more northern climes to visit extended family.

S is one of my favorite people for a variety of reasons, but the one that really stands out is his ability to deliver a profound one-liner in the perfect Southern accent without cracking a smile. His one-liners are usually composed of some ironic truth and I thought it appropriate to share one of his offerings here today for your consideration, Dear Reader.



"It just doesn't get weirder than people."





I know. Think about it, right? Wow. Funny and true......

Sunday Selah

"The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands. Day after day they pour forth speech; night after night they display knowledge." Psalm 19:1-2

In this creation, even silence is not silent. Everywhere one looks is a signature, a song, a poem. Ocean waves drum in percussion, trees wave with shimmering staccato. Birds have their songs as do the whales. We live in a musical, singing universe, our Maker the Grand Conductor.

When Jesus said in Luke 19:40 that even the stones would cry out in proclamation of his identity, He was not bantering in ironic language. Scientific theorists are now delving in a new idea of 'everything', trying to quantify how this universe is held together. A branch of quantum mechanics, 'string theory' is now being defined, a explanation of the ties that bind the particles that make up our reality. And what string theory promotes is remarkable, that the bits of atoms that attract and repel each other to define our cosmic address seemingly are held in their respective organizations by a kind of harmonics, a silent sound wave that creates an atomic musical structure. These tiny 'strings' can vibrate in ways that allow for electrons, photons and the like. Celestial music, astrophysical symphonies. The music of the spheres. A mighty chorus that we join in as well when we lift our voices and hands to Him.

Selah.

JPEG of the Week

Here's this week's selection, entitled "Why 11 year old brothers shouldn't be in charge of feeding you chocolate pudding..."

Table for 16, Please....

We've got a houseful and it's great! Our dear friends S & J from Colorado arrived yesterday with their four boys and a German shepherd--which would seem overwhelming unless you yourself have eight kids and two dogs--so then your ratios are only running at a 50% increase and they didn't bring any toddlers or babies, so---no harm, no foul.

S & J have been in our lives a long time. We all became fast friends in college, some of the few students who had GASP gotten married while still attending classes (we were thought of as a very exotic breed, something you didn't often see in nature...). We had our first babies within a couple of months of each other. We have seen each other through multiple moves, job changes, career changes, health issues, J's birth parent search (quite a wild adventure), kid issues and the like. The irony is that, while we only lived in the same college town for a handful of months, our collective scrapbooks make it look like we have lived next door to each other for the past two decades. J and I talk almost daily, big topics, little topics. She's the friend who will tell me I need to use a better eye cream and that one of my kids needs speech therapy. She's also the friend who, though only weighing about 97 pounds dripping wet, would throw down with the biggest of 'em should I need help in a ninja fight. She stands beside me, behind me, between me and any enemy. She lifts my hands when I'm tired, lifts her own in prayer for me.

As far as we can tell, J doesn't have a sister (some of the details of her biological pedigree are a little...murky). I am fairly certain I don't have a sister, unless there is some pesky detail my parents have failed to inform me on. But God places the lonely in families, and that place in me that always longed for a sister in a household of brothers found its footing in the sisterhood of J.

I love the rhythms of sisterhood I see between my girls, that celebration of their similarities and their delight at their differences. I love to hear the banter as they help each other choose outfits, critique each others' hairstyles, lovingly tease each other over some hilarity. They have this incredible bond as young women who have navigated childhood together, who have experienced so much of life together. I am so grateful they have each other. And yet, equally sweet are the sisters God gives us in a different way, not sisters through birth, but sisters through the infancy of adulthood. J and I have become wives, mothers, women together, out of a generation that was so conflicted over the role and value of women. We are sisters through a different kind of 'growing up', a shared experience of faith and journey. And what a sweet thing it is to have this amazing woman to call my sister, in life, experience, and the Lord.

Sunscreen and Sudafed

A few of us are sniffling our way through a little summer cold. Thankfully, it seems to be a short-lived batch and it mainly is making its presence known through sneezy noses, achy sinuses and molars and a little fatigue. But it still makes me grumpy.

Grumpy because colds are for wintertime. A blustery, wet winter day is perfectly accented by a mild cold. Firesides are so much cozier with a slathering of Vicks on the chest. A cold carefully scheduled to take place post-Christmas and during a snow storm is absolutely glorious. A perfect snowy evening appertif is Ny-Quil followed by a cup of hot tea. Warm socks, soft afghans, a box of tissues and a chill in the air--ah, perfect setup for legitimately working my way through that thick novel with no guilt.

Summer colds, however, are anathema. How can you tell if you're feverish when it's close to 100 degrees outside? Clammy could just be sweaty and inability to draw a full breath is probably due more to the ridiculous humidity than to any physical side effect. Colds just don't feel the same sipping iced tea. Some things just weren't meant to go together, kind of like Matt and Meredith or Katie and CBS. When you've got a winning combo, you don't mess with it. Each has aspects which compliment the other.

So I suppose the only thing to do is reframe this summer cold experience: from this point forward, it's allergies. Yep, allergies, which for some reason feels more like a cold and yields a slight fever and will probably be over in the next day or two. But allergies it is...there, I think I'm feeling better already...

Okay, They're Actually the 13 1/2 Month Portraits....

...but who's counting? Finally got the 'Year' portraits for the twins shot and edited and submit the result here. Had some great lighting last week and took advantage of it while the laundry piled higher and higher....

7 of 8 was fairly portrait friendly while 8 of 8 was decidedly not in the mood--which, however, yielded some really fun shots of him pouting.

Are You Even a Widdle Bit Sweepy?

Yes, I've mothered a fair number of children in my day and one would hope that I have a little knowledge, wisdom, or at least some tips to pass along. But there is one area that would come up empty should you choose to ask my advice. That would be in the area of sleep.

I've just never been able to figure it out, the 'turning baby into a good sleeper' thing. We've had some pretty good sleepers and we've had some bad ones and my contributions and manipulations to the process seem to have yielded little impact on the slumber habits of my offspring. Perhaps it is that the kids are part gerbil (see their father's lifestyle habits and brain waves for further explanation). I've done the 'dinner, bath, bottle, book' routine with them all--for some, it seems to take, for others, it's just the pre-show warm-up, kind of an appetizers and cocktails thing before the stage show. I always suspected it was something more nature than nurture and now I feel I have the lab rats to prove it.

These twins. They are simply so...different. Genders, dispositions, appetites, cries, giggles, hair color, eye color, skin tone, all of it. They represent the genetic bookends of the family; put them in the family line-up, it makes sense, but riding in the grocery cart without any of the sibs around, they look more neighbors than womb mates. And this even plays out in their sleep habits.

7 of 8 decided pretty early on that she would rather call it a night than hang around for last call. Her younger brother, on the other hand, is quite concerned that he might miss a good part of the party should he doze off before, say, midnight. Around 9 p.m. we begin the nightly ritual of stuffing them with all things Gerber, giving them a warm bath, tucking them into his and her feety jammies and dosing them with alternate helping of breast milk and bottles. For 7 of 8, it's a knockout, out on the mat within a few minutes. For 8 of 8, this is all kind and good, and he appreciates our efforts, but, really, he's just not tired, at least not the kind of tired it's going to take to get him to head for some REM. He wrestles and plays and lurches himself awake. He crawls, laughs, entertains his siblings and whines with abandon. And finally, at about the point I consider brewing the third pot of coffee for the day, he gives it up...for a couple of hours.

His twin sister has already enjoyed multiple hours of sleep by this point, her full tummy and warm toes apparently signal enough that it is sleepy time. She generally snoozes through the better part of the night, usually rousing about 5-6 am, ready to nurse a little and then snuggle down for another couple hour nap.

By 5 or 6 am, 8 of 8 and I have been doing the nursing/napping/nursing/napping dance for many hours. We have welcomed many a sunrise while watching Star Trek Original Series (although I can now kick anyone's hiney on Star Trek trivia). We have walked laps through the house. We have slept in all kinds of spots on the bed, moving away from the Daddy Person as we try to preserve some level of sleep for him. 8 of 8 is simply not as tired, not as dedicated to the art of sleep as his sister. He doesn't traffic as fluently in the beauty of a good night's sleep. He got the gerbil gene.

And so I humbly submit, to all those 'schedulers' and 'let 'em scream it out-ers' and 'did you try the bath, bottle, book thing?' that, yeah, been there, done that, got the research to back me up--there are just some offspring out there, that for some reason, are the most charming at 3 am. And, yeah, I happen to be madly mommy in love with one of them. But I respect his sleepy sister....

Ballet Portraits

2 of 8 begins a summer intensive today with a prestigious ballet company. It's hard to believe that our little chubby baby ballerina is becoming such a swan.

While I don't miss cranky toddler photo shoots and camera equipment repair bills, I do still love to take the time to create a beautiful image. Before the girls outgrow the latest dance recital costumes, it seemed prudent to capture the moment. Enjoy!

Sunday Selah

"Fear of man will prove to be a snare, but whoever trusts in the Lord is kept safe." Prov. 29:25

Approval. Popularity. Respect. We drive toward the esteem of our peers, our co-workers, our neighbors, our fellow church-goers. We seek their nods, their smiles, their friendship. But what happens when we must follow a course that takes us in direct collision with the opinions of others? What will happen if we cut ourselves off from their positive positions on our personhoods?

M and I struggle with the people-pleasing gene. We are achievers, M having originally worked in politics, me in television and radio. The opinion of the 'people', the pundits and the viewers, marked the success or failure of our endeavors. It's been a hard habit to break, this desire to please our peers. What to do when the client is unhappy, when the co-worker wants participation in a large project, when the acquaintance doesn't understand the time constraints of running a large family, when the church committee wants more involvement from us? How do we retain hearts that are open to encouragement, input and instruction from others and yet avoid the trap of caring too much what they think?

Perhaps the boundary line must be set when we cross over into a zone which considers more strongly the possible response of others instead of the leading of the Lord. When I take on one more friendship responsibility so as 'not to hurt so-and-so's feelings' instead of maintaining a reasonable schedule, I'm into fear. When the commitment I made to spend extra time serving my family is compromised by an outside project, I've substituted the good for the great. When I seek outside endorsement instead of internal peace, I've crossed into a currency of 'what others think'. And yet, shouldn't the opinion of the Most High, the rating of the Creator, be the one source I seek? There I am kept safe, safe from the whims, the pettiness, and yes, sometimes the selfishness, of those around me. I can stay the course because the course is protected, protected from fears, foibles and fancies. And I take from this verse this treasure, to love my neighbor, to love my fellow man, but to not fear his displeasure, to not fear his opinion, to not be swayed by his personality when I know I am fulfilling a task the Lord has for me. Let us not be trapped by the forum of public opinion.

Selah.

JPEG of the Week

Thought I'd throw in a new little feature each Saturday--JPEG of the Week. This week's featured digital image:

Beauty and Brains!!!!

Octamom's Rules of the Road

It was never my intention to become a Road Warrior. I didn't harbor childhood fantasies of driving a big rig, even though BJ and the Bear did have its attractions. I don't mind traveling, but I can be pretty happy in my own backyard, provided there are good running trails nearby. Voyages, destinations, estimated times of arrival, well, okay, but, to quote Mrs. Bird, "My nest is best."

Until four years ago. That marked the end of the nest season and began the season of Let's Move Often and With Great Challenge. M took a job many, many hundreds of miles away and I stayed behind to sell the house... which ended up taking a LONG time. We would travel frequently to see M and stay with him for a couple of weeks before packing up and going back to the original home turf, all in an effort to keep the house 'staged' and ready for showing. After many months and miles, we ditched the original plan, cleared out the house and moved into a lease house. We then learned the fun tradition of traveling on major holidays, trying to secret gifts in the same vehicle as small children without them gaining knowledge of said presents. We undertook another move five weeks before the twins were born and added more miles to our collective backsides.

An expert of small child travels I did not set out to be, and yet here I am. I've learned some things along the way, perhaps some nuggets of wisdom that could help you, Dear Reader, should you lose your mind and decide that you want to travel with your kids in a confined vehicle on $4 a gallon gas this summer. What follows are some bits of knowledge gleaned while behind the wheel of my non-eco-friendly SUV, driving the highways and byways of this great nation.

1. Determine what kind of traveler you are. There are two types of drivers in this world, the motivated and the mosey-ers (as in 'mosey on down the road'). I think there may be moral issues with being a mosey-er. You frustrate people. You don't care what your mph average is. You have no concept of beating the land speed record from your previous trip on this same path. Therefore, it is obvious--being a motivated road warrior is morally superior...with the exception of my precious in-laws. But only them--the rest of you need to get out of my way.....

2. Restrict fluids. If you give children a 64 ounce container of lemonade, they will need to relieve their bladders every 30 minutes for 400 miles. Yes, that is the official equation for determining bladder thresholds: 64 oz=400mph/1800sec (or something close to that). If allowed, I would have the children insert catheters prior to departure. That's how seriously this bathroom thing can cut into the best laid dossier.

3. Unsupervised Goldfish Cracker consumption is discouraged. I don't know what it is about the molecular structure of Goldfish Crackers, but they are reduced to their basic atomic structure and come to rest in a golden dust which covers every fiber of carpet on the floorboards. Goldfish are simply rendered incapable of holding their form when subjected to the high G-forces of an Octamom Road Trip. Use with caution.

4. Someone working in the 'roadside sign' department in the state of Missouri has a relative in a highly elected position. I am not making this up--there are mileage markers every 2/10ths of a mile in the state of Missouri, again, every 2/10ths of a mile. The roads have potholes the size of impact craters, but I can tell you to few feet exactly where they are....

5. Fast food is not fast if you are in a hurry. I have sat at numerous drive-thrus, drumming my fingers in irritated staccato, while my friendly fast food servers are apparently out in the pasture selecting a ripe cow for the picking of my burger. We have had fast food experiences which have involved a multi-minute search for ketchup packets. We have waited for new to-go bags to be extricated from the high security vault of fast-food paper products. When they see us coming, the gravitational forces around said fast food establishment morph and slow, rendering a time differential that is in direct inverse proportion to the amount of fatigue and patience I have in my mental storeroom.

6. If 4 of 8 says she needs to go to the bathroom, you can probably get another 100 miles out of her.

7. If 5 of 8 says he needs to go to the bathroom, he's not playing. Enough said.

8. We have not done enough to honor the makers of travel DVD players. They are the ambassadors of non-invasive kid distraction, preserving the sanity of traveling parents everywhere, and yet, where is the national holiday honoring these hero engineers? Where are the ticker tape parades? It's a travesty, I tell you....

9. When traveling as a large family, be prepared to be hassled. I've only been stopped a couple of times in all these travels, and once it was so the officer could make sure I wasn't 'trafficking solicitors'. Really? My 15 passenger van is now on the radar of law enforcement officials as the nouveau 'pimp mobile'? Wow. Makes me feel pretty edgy and urban....

10. The 'stuff' you packed in the back of your vehicle at the beginning of the trip will in no way fit back into your vehicle in the same way once you begin the process of repacking to go back home. This is a tried and tested truism that I can't seem to defeat. We are bringing back the same stuff in the same containers and yet, it just won't all go back in. The beautiful packing job I executed originally degrades to 'stuffing and shoving' as we disembark. I always feel a little bad that children have to sit atop their Barbie suitcases, but I do think a booster-seat/suitcase design is long overdue....

11. You get bonus points if you travel with all eight kids AND two incontinent dogs.


12. Car sickness will not be tolerated, except in the case of the driver, who has been a motion-sick sufferer from childhood and now must drive at all times to avoid...upheaval.

13. However, you do get more bonus points for each vomiter...but it's not car sickness--it must just be a tummy bug....

14. Getting home to your own bed feels better than any other spot in the world. Beach, mountains, museums...they got nothin' on my 800 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets and that cute guy I've been living with for almost 19 years....

Okay, you potential Road Warriors of '08, take out that second mortgage for gas money, load your bags, and hit the road. Wear your seat belt, drink your coffee and don't forget to mark where all the potholes are, down to a 2/10th of a mile accuracy. Godspeed!

Frame by Frame

Part of the purpose of our trip last week was to get 4 of 8 into her amazing therapist and audiologist at Hearts for Hearing in Oklahoma City. Hearts for Hearing will soon boast the largest certified Auditory Verbal Therapy group in the world. We have had the privilege of watching the practice grow from a couple of visionaries in Teresa Caraway and Joanna Smith in a small suite of offices to a vibrant, bustling facility and faculty meeting the needs of hearing impaired patients through appropriate technology and individualized therapy.

Wendy DeMoss is 4 of 8's Auditory Verbal Therapist and has been an integral part of our family life for over six years. She and 4 of 8 had several years of weekly one-on-one therapy. One of the most difficult things about our multiple moves over the last few years was that we no longer could meet with Wendy face to face each week. I still drove hundreds of miles every few weeks to get in time for therapy, but it was different than having access to Wendy every week. Thanks to the growth in technology, we now meet once a week via Skype. It is a model that would not work had we not had our initial time with Wendy, but it is a venue that now provides a platform for monitoring 4 of 8's progress and developing new strategies and goals for her.

Jace Wolfe is 4 of 8's audiologist and we can't brag enough on him. He has tirelessly worked with 4 of 8 through the years, always exploring and researching the latest technology and techniques that better facilitate her needs. He compassionately saw us through a major drop in 4 of 8's hearing levels, which coincided with a stressful time during one of our moves. He has troubleshot issues with ear molds, FM systems, and the Accidental Hearing Aid and the Washing Machine Episode of '07 (the happy outcome for which I list Whirlpool Duet as my favorite appliance--but that's another story....) He is a man of integrity and a sincere OU Sooner fan, all of which gives us supreme confidence in his opinions and expertise.

We went through some standardized testing with 4 of 8 on this latest trip and are developing our goals for the year. I am reminded again of what this process of language development is like. I can remember as a child seeing for the first time a film with time lapse photography, the subject a bean which sprouts almost magically as the frames of the film show each stage. I found the process fascinating, how something that seems common and mundane becomes almost magical and miraculous as the effort and process are revealed. So it is with 4 of 8's language. It is almost as if we have taken that invisible process of language acquisition, that development that occurs so easily and seamlessly in most children, and we have slowed it down, frame by frame. We had to work so hard on learning the label for items, learning that the word 'ball' means that round, red object rolling on the floor. We then had to learn that the object ball has attributes and functions, that this particular ball is red, that it is for throwing and rolling. And in this frame by frame experience, the true miracle of language acquisition is revealed. Common rules of syntax, the rhythm of grammar, the techniques you and I picked up in the first five years of our lives, must be broken down and taught in a purposeful, deliberate way to someone who from earliest memory has struggled to receive auditory signal. And in seeing it unfolded at a slower pace, the miracle of it all is revealed.

I have called language acquisition one of our most 'common' miracles. All it takes is living with someone who doesn't have language to begin to realize what power a word has. 4 of 8 couldn't tell us her favorite color, couldn't tell us her fears, couldn't tell us about herself, until language was unlocked within her. The house I am sitting in, the desk I am writing at, the items in the room in which I now sit, all took form first in the container of a word, a word describing an idea, an idea giving way to a prototype, a prototype emerging into an object. Frame by frame. Thoughts, thesis, theologies, all held in the holy vessels of words. Think about it. Watch the time lapse film of language go from mundane to miracle. And two more words from our recent trip, two words which are simple, but for us, mean so much. Wendy and Jace, thank you.

I Stand Corrected....

I have made an error which a Dear Reader has corrected for me concerning my post entitled 'Copy Cat Cousin Celebrations'. I erroneously credited Kramer as the originator of the Festivus holiday model, effectively ignoring the Costanza Family as the actual creators of the pageant. Dear Reader Tony, thank you for clearing up my memory lapse in Seinfeld genealogical history. Let Festivus credit be paid where Festivus credit is due! Viva Costanza! Now on to Feats of Strength!

Copy Cat Cousin Celebrations......

As my siblings' families and mine have grown through the years, the challenge of remembering all the nieces and nephews' birthdays and getting gifts and cards sent has proven a little challenging, as in, I was getting most of those cards and gifts sent, oh, about 68 days late, on average. To that end, we have developed a party plan that has lined up perfectly in theology with Octamom Law #345, which reads, "Multi-task at the highest level, at all times, except when it involves going potty while brushing your teeth..." We celebrate all the kids' birthdays at once during the summer in a big blowout, thereby combining the elements of birthdays, reunions, retention of personal gift bag collections, and, of course, the heavy consumption of pizza.

While I would love to claim inventor and copyright status on this soiree, I must confess that the idea comes from one of my sister-in-laws, whose family has been following this model for years. They call it 'Cousin Birthday Party', which, no offense, but seems a little bit of a yawn of a title to me. So, we did a little more plagarizing and stole the 'Festivus' moniker from Kramer's family on Seinfeld. So it is that we engaged in a Festivus celebration last week while on the road trip. I've posted the result here so that you too can share in the joy, the tradition, and of course, the rules of engagement. I would try to claim proprietary rights, but seeing that we stole the idea and then borrowed the title....

We're Baaacckkkkk......

Yes, the first Summer Roadtrip of '08 has been completed and cataloged. We traveled up to the hometown so a majority of the kids could go to MiMi and PaPa Camp, an endeavor that involves all kinds of grandchildren descending on their grandparents at the lake cabin, complete with crafts, water play, skiing and, oh yes, chores. Since my sister-in-law and brother-in-law completed their family portrait at a manageable three kids and those three manageable children spent the week up at MiMi and PaPa camp, sis&bro-in-law had four days of quiet mornings, eating out and a real movie at a real movie theater.

My time was a little more, um, how shall we say, multi-layered. We ventured first to 4 of 8's amazing group in Oklahoma City, Hearts for Hearing. We went through some testing, then proceeded on to MiMi and PaPa camp, where five of the kids disembarked with that set of grandparents. I took the twins on to my parents and there learned how much help my big kids are when it comes to wrangling these little guys. Yikes! I basically chased fast moving crawlers, preventing shelf-clearings, electrical plug-play, table pull-overs and toilet splash games. For the most part, I was successful in my efforts, but the challenge with twins is while you are dealing with the potential pranks of one, the other is taking the opportunity to slither into a different room and empty a desk drawer containing your hosts' tax records. While fish and guests may begin to smell after three days, twin guests odoriferously announce their presence immediately with soured bottles and bad diapers and altered sleep patterns. The plan had been for me to work on several writing projects and to up my mileage on my running. The plan altered to trying to get to brush my teeth in some sort of discernible routine. My parents graciously dealt with the noisy invasion and I got the bicep workout of my life.

Whilst I was in the middle of developing my new fitness series, Twin Maintenance Workout, and five of the kids were busy dismantling my in-laws' lake cabin, M and 1 of 8 were going about the business of their lives, running the business for M and learning all things French for 1 of 8. There was also a mid-week jaunt to NYC, M's favorite place in the world, which coincided nicely with his birthday. M and 1 of 8 watched some movies, ate a little dinner, hit the music scene downtown, and all and all, enjoyed the quiet of a house without the little people population running amok. We arrived in after a long day of driving, finding the weather hot, the yard a tad too long, and an enthusiastic M and 1 of 8 ready to see the babies and wrestle the little kids. And it feels great to all be back together again.

Moto Baby

Yes, gas prices are through the roof and we need to evaluate our need for foreign oil, but there are those hot rod guys who don't seem to care....
Moto Baby

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Sunday Selah

"Many are the plans in a man's heart, but it is the Lord's purpose that prevails." Prov. 19:21

We want to teach our children to set high goals and to be willing to do the hard work of achieving those goals. We want them to work with excellence, to work with diligence, to work with focus. And we want to model this example ourselves.

But what to do when the course seems to change, when the path is diverted? How do we teach strong goal setting and vision and then let go of that goal, modify our plans when we have developed such ownership and investment in those dreams? What if, after all the work, all the time, all the effort, the Lord closes a door, opens a new one and beckons us down a new path? How do we make single mindedness and suppleness co-exist?

For our children, for ourselves, the header of any goal sheet, printed or written on the heart, that header must read "The Lord's Purpose Will Prevail". This is not about the challenges, the doldrums we sometimes face in accomplishing a dream. This is about those times where we thought the path was leading this way and then there is an abrupt change, a series of events that change the landscape. And then we must refer to the primary mission of any believer, the top priority of our sojourn here: the Lord's purpose will prevail.

Selah.

Turning 29 Again!

My mother has a little tradition, something that comes around once a year, whether she likes it or not. It's called her 29th Birthday (Again). She's turned 29 a few times now, and I must say, she looks fabulous! To her credit, for a multiple 29 year old, she has one husband, three children, three children-in-law, 14 grandchildren, one tiny little waistline and one huge, gorgeous Southern accent. Here's to you, my beautiful 29-year-old mother--Happy, Happy Birthday!

Microwave Dance Recital

I, Octamom, am so generous and so thoughtful, that while I will make you watch and rave about my darling dancing chilren, I will try to condense the experience so that you will not have to go through 3 1/2 hours (yes, you read that right) of recital piece after recital piece, after recital piece......

Twitter Update--Undates....

Twitter is so much fun and it such a great excuse to use my Palm Centro to look like I am sending important emails and text messages while out in public. However, it seems to be slowing down the blog, so I'm going to remove it as a page element for a while. Once Twitter gets untwisted, I'll put it back up. And, of course, you can still follow me on Twitter at the website, www.twitter.com.

Two Steps Sideways, One Step Forward

We continue 7 of 8's new physical and occupational therapy appointments today as we work to strengthen her left side. She already is beginning to squawk at us as we try to get her into various positions that the pt wants us to use to utilize her left arm. Smart little thing!

One of the maneuvers the therapist has shown us seems so odd and yet it works. As 7 of 8 is engaging in her little lopsided crawl (video), we are to push on her right side along the ribcage. It has the affect of moving her up onto the weaker left arm and propels her to use it. It also changes her intended path, moving her somewhat sideways as she crawls on the floor.

It was in one of these moments, following 7 of 8, pushing her right side, making her stronger, moving her sideways, that the Lord hit me with a thought...there are many times that I am so wanting to make progress in my walk, so wanting to grow stronger in my faith, that it seems that I am moving sideways. I intend to go forward, but it feels as if my circumstances shove me to one side or the other, making me struggle harder to move ahead. And today, following 7 of 8, I realized: sometimes, in order for the Lord to strengthen an area of my life that is weak, that will not serve me well in the future, there will be a season where He gently moves me sideways, forcing me up onto the strut of my weakness, forcing me to use spiritual muscles that run the risk of atrophy. I protest, feeling this 'therapy' is running me off course. But just like 7 of 8, I can still keep my eye on the prize, still experience some forward momentum. And it is all in His effort to take me from lopsided crawl, to hands and knees to walk, to run. Thank you, Lord, for the lopsided crawl.

Nature vs. Nurture

Psychologists have debated it for years, the line between learned behavior and instinctive behavior, the tendencies we engage in toward particular stimuli and circumstances. Back in the '60's, when experimental psychology was a whole lot more fun because it was pretty much unregulated, psychologists would plumb the depths of the human psyche on a number of topics, including whether children learned to play with 'girl' toys or 'boy' toys based on the inborn traits of their gender or based on the learned behavior of parental expectation and advertising. And surprise!--boys still wanted to play with balls and trucks and girls still wanted to nurture dolls. But within the annals of psychological insight, one area of testing still remains untapped, one that needs to be addressed, one that needs explanation. I give you Fear of Bugs.

Last night was a late one, dress rehearsal going much longer than expected, and I staggered back to the house with two exhausted babies and numerous hyper dancers. We began running through bedtime prep, hollering gentle reminders up the stairs ("Get in your bed now!", "No more talking!", "You can tell me about Boba Fete tomorrow!"). Things had finally begun to quiet down when a piercing, and I mean piercing, scream erupted from upstairs. 6 of 8 has many talents and piercing screams are among them. Should the girl need a fall-back career if her chosen path of being an 'Ice Cream Girl' (serving ice cream at a local shop) does not materialize, she could do all the piercing screams for scary movie audio tracks--seriously.

Piercing scream again. M lurched up the stairs, heading toward the source of the piercing scream. More screaming and general hysteria, now 4 of 8 joining the chorus. And the cause for all this? A bug, yes, an eyewitness report of a bug seen scampering along the baseboard in 4 and 6 of 8's room. 2 of 8 (second oldest girl) ran in, heard of the bug report, and hightailed it out of there with numerous shudders. 3 of 8 (oldest boy) strolled over, took description of the bug and announced, "Sounds like a huge cockroach." More piercing screams. After ten minutes or so of bigger screams, lesser screams, search party activities for the said bug and analysis of the relative innocuousness of bugs, things quieted for a bit--until another piercing scream from 6 of 8 that she experienced another sighting.

The irony is that my girls have been raised with a mother who is not bug-phobic. Snake phobic, absolutely (I did grow up in the Mojave Desert, after all). Cellulite phobic, you bet. But bug phobic? That's so, so...girly. My girls have seen me crush, squish, exterminate many an exoskeletal being. They've seen my capture and release program for bugs that don't seem as evil, like ladybugs and crickets. They've seen me closely examine spiders to determine if they are brown recluses (worthy of immediate capital punishment) or if they are the often misidentified, much maligned, harmless wolf spider. And yet, this girly squealing, screaming thing remains.

So as I slurp down my first half-gallon of coffee this morning, trying to erase the effects of last night's buggy broken slumber, I have to wonder: did I miss an essential lesson in the Laws of the Feminine? I don't remember learning Fear of Bugs at my mother's knee. Have I missed an opportunity for my husband to traffic in the role of the Masculine Bug Masher? What if my sons think all women are not bug phobic--is it fair for them to bring that expectation into their marriages? Did I miss an important micro-chip in my DNA sequence? However, my genetic musings will have to wait--we've had another sighting--and it's time for me to go put my squishing shoes on....

Dance Decade...

Some families monitor the change of the seasons through holidays, milestones, school events...for us, it's Dance Recital. Dance Recital is an annual Octamom Household Extravaganza, the culmination of a year of daily drives to the dance school, overpriced costumes, stressed out instructors and loads of parental pride. It's that once a year opportunity to see what all the time and money has gone for in terms of creating an appreciation of the arts and better coordination (hopefully) in our kiddos. It's the performance where we find that 1 of 8 would rather do her own dance while her class members perform the scheduled choreography. It's the event where 4 of 8 works beyond the expectations of her hearing loss and dances along with the rest. It's the night we find that 2 of 8 has developed into a bona fide dancer, elegant and sure. And tonight , 6 of 8 makes her debut.

Several seminal events have coincided with Dance Recital for our family...the Dance Recital year M had an emergency appendectomy, the year we told the kids we were moving, the Dance Recital we missed because we had experienced yet another move, the (multiple) Dance Recitals that I was 'this close' to going into labor...Dance Recitals are like rings on the tree for us, markers of another year of growth, of situational 'weather', of drought and of plenty.

We find ourselves preparing today for yet this year's version of new Dance Recital, prepping for tonight's dress rehersal. It marks a year of new babies, another move, 1 of 8's first year out of dance and completion of her high school academics. And it also gives me pause to reflect back, thinking about this time ten years ago. I was pregnant with 4 of 8, it was the only Dance Recital M and I were out of town for, attending a business meeting in Arizona. My amazing in-laws, brother, and soon-to-be sister-in-law handled all the Recital details, right down to the tights and hairnets. It was the summer that my other sis-in-law, her older sister and myself were all expecting babies. It was the summer the air conditioner played out on July 4th weekend. It was summer right before my youngest brother got married. A decade's worth of memories, brought to mind by that Octamom Family Tradition---Dance Recital.

Thought I would include a look back at that sweet summer of '98:

Sunday Selah

"In repentance and rest is your salvation, in quietness and trust is your strength..." (Isaiah 30:15)

With a crazy, noisy, busy week behind us and an even crazier, noisier, busier one ahead of us, how do we recharge the batteries, reset the clocks, find center again? What if we took a day, or part of a day, or even an hour to sit still, breathe deeply and rest?

Such is the wisdom of a Sunday Selah, selah being the Hebrew word for pause and reflect. It seems almost counter-intuitive, to take a pause, to reflect, when so many tasks and travels loom in the days ahead. We can be tricked into thinking we are being less than responsible if we take the time to stop and take stock. But such wisdom is there in this time of Sunday Selah. We have this day, no more, no less. We have this day to turn from the mistakes of the past week, to recover from its fatigues, to become quiet again in heart, to trust again that there is something bigger out there than our small lives, our temporal worries, our fleeting cares. There is bigger purpose, bigger intelligence, bigger plans. And we can rest our smallness in the bigness of His Hands.

Selah.