Manly Baby....

8 of 8 is manly.  Yes, he's only 14 months old.  Yes, he still looks younger than that due to his semi-still-bald-kinda pate.  Yes, he is taking his time with the walking thing.  Yes, he still babbles in baby talk.



Still, he is manly.



Guess how I know.



Anyone?



Bueller?



Well, I'll tell ya...because last night at dinner he wanted to nurse....with bits of bar-b-que chicken in his mouth.

Breast milk and bar-b-que....nectar of the warriors.



It don't get more manly than that, now does it?

I'll Take the One With the Guilt Sprinkles, Please....

Whatever genetic deficits M and I might bring to the table, we did bring some pretty kickin' dental heritage.  Neither one of us needed braces as kids, M has a blazing white Chicklet smile, we have very few cavities or any other enamel issues between the two of us.  M has actually been turned down for tooth bleaching--they told him his couldn't get any whiter.

My dad used to laugh and tell me that when I was in the market for a husband, I should find one with an oil well and perfect teeth.  I decided to ignore the first requirement in lieu of the second.  And you would think that all this denticle forethought would have counted for something when it comes to the kid crew.  You would think wrong.

It looks like most of the our crew will be participating in our local orthodontist's 'Put Me In A Big Outboard Motor Mini-Yacht' campaign--you know, that feel-good, for-profit event.  While M and I trafficked personally in bicuspids that lined up and faced forward, most of the kids' dental accessories have chosen their own paths, as in, crooked.  We've already invested in head gear, five sets of varying degrees of brackets and braces, two palater expanders, spacers and one Morro device.  And that's just finishing off treatments for the first 2 and a half kids (3 of 8 is still in process).  But thankfully, most of the kids got titanium enamel.  We have a zero cavity count in several of the heads...except for two.

2 of 8 and 5 of 8 apparently have teeth made of plaster.  We don't do soda pop.  We limit candy.  Their teeth have big holes in them anyway.  Saturday night, stoic, quirky 5 of 8 made his way downstairs and said, "Mom, my tooth kinda hurts."  I looked at his foremost molar and saw a tiny dark spot....uh oh.  I told him, "Buddy, I think I see a little cavity.  We'll need to call the dentist office on Monday, okay?"  He shrugged his shoulders, nonchalantly nodded and wandered off.

Twelve hours later his right cheek looked like it had been to a squirrel convention on how to stuff maximum acorns in your cheek.  His little face was swollen and slightly red, which I'm pretty sure is not a good sign.  We got quickly into the dentist, got referred on to the pediatric guy and Surprise!  BIG HONKING CAVITY WITH ABSCESS--with me doing the whole Mommy protest of explaining how 5 of 8 only started complaining Saturday night and how I'm related to a dentist and hardly any of the other kids have cavities and how we hardly ever drink soda and I give to charitable organizations and I even recycle a lot....The pediatric guy then shows me x-rays of 5 of 8's mouth.  It's funny how teeth can resemble Swiss cheese.  That would be 5 of 8's teeth.  Little rectangles with dark holes cast on them.  Oh great.  Did I mention that I recylce....a lot?

All this dental devastation has occurred since 5 of 8's last appointment in the fall.  He will be having a Dental Spa Day next week to extract and fill and seal and whatnot.  I would continue to protest to ease my Mommy Guilt, but I learned something with 2 of 8 years ago when her x-rays came back looking like Swiss cheese.  As I made my speech about no pop and no candy, she corrected me.  It seems that after brushing her teeth every night, 2 of 8 would go into her closet, dig in her secret stash and gently place a Tootsie Roll between her teeth and gums.  Read it again.  Yea.  Every night.  Unbeknownst  to me.

So, I may be back to assuage some more guilt, but right now I'm on a hunt.  A Tootsie Roll hunt.  Now if I were a seven year old boy, where would I hide my stash?.....

We Got Culture, Yes We Do!!!

So we're doing our weekly therapy/Skype thingy with 4 of 8's auditory verbal therapist yesterday morning.  We've been focusing on developing language surrounding current events.  With the upcoming Olympics, Wendy Our Amazing Therapist began talking 4 of 8 through what the Olympics are, when the Olympics occur, where it is going to take place this year.  Wendy Our Amazing Therapist began explaining the variety of sports that would be taking place, how the athletes would compete, the running, the jumping, the vault, the beam...to which 4 of 8 responded, "Oh, like Wipeout?!?"

(for those of you who are avoiding the amazing cultural experiences modern television has to offer, Wipeout is a 'gameshow' of sorts on ABC that is based on the premise that people are willing to make complete fools of themselves on a ridiculous, mud spattered, water spraying obstacle course, all for the opportunity to win 50K.)

I was so proud....

I Got An Award...

from my sweet bloggin' buddy Toni at www.itisnaptime.com.  Check this out!

 

Now to go figure out who to share the love with---thanks again! 

Monday Musings...and a Question For Ya...

"Childhood is that wonderful time of life when all you need to do to lose weight is take a bath."  Richard Zera

Seriously, y'all, you should see what lays at the bottom of the bathtub once I hose off the twins.  I wipe them down, scrape off the sticky stuff, brush off the crumbs, all before we make our way to the tub--but then they seem to have a superpower that allows more food stuff to hide in their armpits and behind their knees.  And the net result is bathtub debris.  (Note to self--what about bathtubs with disposals?  Oh, wait, was that a Seinfeld episode?)

Now here's the Question For Ya.  Our gender lineup of the kids is girl, girl, boy, girl, boy, girl, girl, boy.  We have usually dumped whichever baby and toddler kids are closest in age into the community tub at night in the interest of water preservation and time.  Now, it may be because I'm birthing parts of memory along with placentas, but I'm having a hard time remembering when we have typically called a halt to the mixed gender hot tubbin'.  Obviously since the twins shared a womb and are only 14 months old, they're going to be bath buddies for a while longer. But sometimes, some of the just older population still wants to hit the tub or the shower together.

So what do you think?  How old is too old?  Is it okay for same gender sibs to co-bathe a little longer?  Or should everybody have an expiration date, regardless of sort?  What does your fam do?  A little help here please....

If you like, post something on your blog about this, then copy the url and your name in the Mr. Linky box below.  Otherwise, just leave me the gems of your wisdom in a comment!

Sunday Selah

"...One of them, an expert in the Law, tested Him with this question: "Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?" Jesus replied, "'Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.'  This is the first and greatest commandment.  And the second is like it: 'Love your neighbor as yourself.'  All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments."  Matthew 22:35-40

The further we go in 7 of 8's therapy experience, the more we are learning.  I've been reflecting this week in particular on the impact the neonatal stroke has had on the structure and function of her left shoulder, arm and hand.  Her scapula (shoulder blade) is too loose because the muscles designed to hold it in place are rigid and pulling it from position.  Her hand is weak because the scapula is compromised.

We work on awakening her brain to rewire her arm by working from distal to proximal, meaning that I run my fingers up her arm. I take different texture objects and move them from her hand to her shoulder so that her brain can begin to sense the different consistencies.  Conversely, while working on releasing the tightness on the muscles near her shoulder, we work proximal to distal, massaging and stretching the muscles in a motion from her shoulder down, all the while holding her scapula in place.

The structure around my faith can get bunched up.  I can lose sensitivity and function in the way I am reaching out to others when rigidity and rules and regulations begin to take the place of simply loving God.   I get bunched up when the discomfort of His efforts to stretch me are met with resistance and howling on my part.  The bones of my faith, the very structure of belief, is dragged into wrong postures when I allow what should be a motion of faith to instead become a rigid ligament. 

How do I get down so many bunny trails on the journey?  Perhaps it is because I lose sight of the greatest commandment and then the second.  Am I loving God with all my heart, soul and mind?  Stretch, reach, grasp.  Am I loving my neighbor, taking a moment to smile, to say hello, to offer help, to be willing to feel the different textures of their lives, to awaken my mind to the needs and compositions of the lives around me?  What if I just focused on these things for a while, loving God, loving my neighbor?  What if I didn't worry about getting everyone else straightened out until I had mastered these two commands?  What if I simply allow God to stretch what is tense, remind me of where the structure is to be, to allow Him to show me again that faith is received with an open hand, not a clenched fist.  What if?

Selah.

JPEG of the Week

Naptime.....

Here's how we roll.......

My Week in Pictures....

How did my week go, you ask?

Well, it started with a little of this....

and then it quickly degraded to this....

and this....

 

and then there was some of this....

  

and some people tried to get away with this....

  

We had a couple of late nights having to do this....

  

... but thankfully we didn't have to use this....

  

...because we have this....

  

Oh, and did I mention there was a little of this?....

  

And it all coincided with this....

  

Yea.

So how was your week, dear? 

Subscribing...

Dear Readers, I think I've had a little FeedBurner problem and have had to update the feed address.  If you are a subscriber and are having trouble getting this feed or email notification, please click on the subscription buttons on the right side bar to make sure you have the latest info.  Sorry for the inconvenience!
Blessings!

Rewiring the Wires

Physical and occupational therapy have become the new black around here as we work with 7 of 8's neonatal stroke diagnosis. We are blessed to have quickly found a therapy group that 7 of 8 has bonded nicely with and who have been very supportive of the family being involved in the process.

We are focusing at this point on a few key areas for 7 of 8. The first is weight-bearing activities for her left hand, arm and shoulder. The residual weakness on that side has created a dichotomy of a situation; some muscles are very weak, while others are very tight. We alternate a series of strengthening and stretching exercises.





Some of these exercises are very subtle but are showing big results for 7 of 8.  She is keeping her left hand open more consistently and is not engaging in cortical thumbing (where an older baby keeps their thumb tucked inside their closed fist) much at all any more.  She has been willing to let Miss L., her physical therapist, keep her in weight-bearing positions for the better part of that therapy hour and has remained pretty pleasant about it all.

 

After an hour of physical therapy, 7 of 8 moves on to occupational therapy.  Some days she cooperates, some days she doesn't as she is tired from the previous hour.  Thankfully, Miss P., her occupational therapist, has come up with some fun ways to distract her and keep her working.

 

The swing has been a great therapy tool.  7 of 8 is willing to use her left hand to hang on the the rope.  Miss P. will patiently remove her hand from the rope and 7 of 8 will put it back in a correct grasp--huge improvement!

7 of 8 also likes to play 'peek-a-boo' with the swing guard, pushing down the yellow t-bar with her left hand, all to get a glimpse of Miss P.'s smile!

 7 of 8 just got her new splint.  It gently helps keep her hand open and holds her thumb in a better position.  Miss M. has also been helping with massage techniques to release the tension in some of her muscles around her shoulder while getting her oh-so-loose scapula into a better position--all part of occupational therapy techniques.

We learned this a long time ago when we began 4 of 8's Auditory Verbal Therapy and it's been confirmed again through 7 of 8's experience:  therapists who love your child, lavish them with encouragement and affection mixed with equal parts of tough love and high expectations, are a powerful, potent mix in habilitation.   I say 'habilitation' because both of these little girls are having to learn things for the first time with the hurdles of hearing loss in 4 of 8's case and neonatal stroke in 7 of 8's case.  They are not re-learning, they are neo-learning, if you will.  

As with any challenge, it's the amazing people you meet, the incredible love and compassion people have for helping others, the discipline, the patience, the progress, that make these situations radiate their own beauty.  How blessed we are to be entrusted with these precious girls and to experience this incredible process. 

I'm a First-Timer...

being tagged, that is.  Judy over at apronstringsandothertiesthatbind got me with one called 5 Things.  So here we go!
What are 5 things on your to-do list for today?
1.  Shovel out the house.
2.  Nurse a baby.
3.  Nurse another baby.
4.  Change a baby's diaper.
5.  Change the other baby's diaper.  Rinse.  Repeat.

What are 5 snacks you enjoy?
1. Chocolate
2.  Dark Chocolate
3.  Milk Chocolate
4.  Hot Chocolate
5.  Beets --okay, just kidding---chocolate

What are 5 things you would do if you were a billionaire?
1.  Hire Donald Trump.
2.  Fire Donald Trump.
3.  Buy an island.
4.  Buy hearing aids for newly identified children with hearing loss in my community (insurance typically does not pay for hearing aids for children).
5.  Enjoy dropping blessings on the unsuspecting.

What are 5 of your bad habits?
1.  Thinking I don't have any.
2.  Thinking I have too many.
3.  Procrastinating about unloading the dishwasher.
4.  Getting irritated hypocritically when the kids don't unload the dishwasher.
5.  Getting distracted by a new project when I haven't fully completed the.....

Where are 5 places you have lived?
1.  Alabama
2.  California
3.  in my own self-absorption
4.  Utah
5.  an island

What are 5 jobs you've had?
1.  at a record store
2.  at a hardware store (where I was known as the Hardware Honey, how enlightened, I know)
3.  as a voice-over artist
4.  as a television news reporter and anchor
5.  as a photographer

What 5 people do you want to tag?
1.  Bethany @ happytobecalledmommy
2.  Kelsey @ mysweetlife
3.  Rebecca @ scrapbooksuperstars
4.  Angie @ thedaysofmylife
5.  Homeskoolmommy @ livinonaprayer

Coloring Conundrum

Well this is an unexpected turn.  Hmmm.

I've always messed with my hair color.  Growing up in Southern California, every time I played outside in the intense high desert sunshine, my hair color lightened by a shade.  By the time we moved to the Washington DC area, I was a California blond.  It was through a winter there that I discovered that my roots did not agree with my personal perception of my hair color self--I was definitely more of a reddish light brown than a golden blond.  A couple of seasons in Utah did nothing to improve the color situation, and by the time I hit college, I was regularly 'adjusting' my roots to the titan blond I thought I was.

Pregnancies further darkened my hair and in my late twenties and early thirties, I bit the bottle and went red.  Fast foward to another move to America's third coast and I re-entered the golden blond highlights of my youth.  My photographic record looks like an ode to all the hair color mentioned in the Nancy Drew mysteries; titan blond, red, brunette.  Nancy, Bess and George.

Fast forward to the hormone-rendering effects of carrying both a boy baby and a girl baby in utero at the same time--I was officially seeing dark brunette roots.  After the twins were born, I dinked around with a few more highlights, then threw in the L'oreal towel.  It was official--it was time to go brunette and leave it alone.

But guess what?

All those blond highlights through the years had disguised a little follicle phenomenon--I was sprouting some white, and I mean white, little hair visitors.  I had dodged the gray bullet for a long time--my mom and dad both went gray very early and my younger brothers have sported a distinguished salt and pepper for a while now.   I assumed I was protected from those pesky white bristles, that it was all those pregnancy hormones, one side benefit.

Guess I was wrong.

So I do the whole brunette thing, only to find little white post-it note reminders of time's ongoing march.  No biggy, I think.  I'll just keep coloring the little guys. I've made my peace.  I'm a brunette now, remember?

Except for this.

My white hairs do not accept color.  They apparently are segregationists.  They do not want a wash of Light Reddish Brown 4R tarnishing their lily roots.  They are standing out in firm defiance against all things dye.  They have also decided that they will be a completely different texture than the rest of their sister tresses.  White, frizzy and defiant--that's the new state of my head.

So what's a girl to do?  I think I've hit upon the answer.  It was always so obvious, something I've known since childhood.  It's the one camouflage for these melanin-challenged follicles.  It's the one fix for diminishing gray's distinguishing marks.  And it takes me back to my roots...well, okay, my 'roots'....

I simply will return to what I always knew deep down I was.

Golden Titan Blond.  I get it from my Aunt L'oreal's side.....

Mr. Linky

Got the application appropriately applied this time--so now when you leave your quote, it will show up! I'm loving the quotes you are sharing! And again, you can leave them either in the Mr. Linky spot, which will take readers to your blog to see what inspires you, or you can simply leave them in the comment box, which will then post them on the right side bar.
Blessings!

10 Links A Day

While surfing and perusing ye 'ol Web, I found a great site that has commanded some serious clicking time on my part.  10 Links A Day is a blog that takes a category a day and provides 10 outside links of excellent material pertaining to that category. Everything from books to movies to photo sites to cooking links are succinctly covered in a wide variety of cateogories.

Imagine my delight when I was asked to guest blog over at 10 Links a Day and provide links to some parenting resources all new parents should have.  I tried to come up with links that go beyond the scope of the basics.  Visit by clicking here to see my top 10--and be sure and let me know any of your favorites!

Blessings!

Monday Musings

"Every quotation contributes something to the stability or enlargement of the language..."

Samuel Johnson

For a few weeks now,  I've been posting a couple of quotes on Mondays that bring a smile to my face or an 'aha' to my head--and now I want to hear from you.  I would just love to see one or two of your favorite quotes here, see the things that make you think, laugh or ponder.  You are welcome to post them in the comment section, or, if you'd like to bring the good Octamom readers over to your site, simply post your favorite quote on your blog, copy the url of that page and then paste it in the Mr. Linky box located at the bottom of this page, along with a short comment.  I would just ask that you keep it relatively clean.

Can't wait to see what's inspiring you!

Sunday Selah

"He has showed you, O man, what is good.  And what does the Lord require of you?  To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God."  Micah 6:8

The dichotomies of faith.  I ponder these paradoxes from time to time.  A divine being who came in the flesh.  An omnipotent God who offers us free will.  A chosen people who exercise choice.  A Master outside of time who still governs our days.  The paradoxes of faith.

And what is good, what is required of us?  'To act justly and to love mercy...'  To somehow value and exercise justice in this unjust world and at the same time be merciful.  And this is what the Lord requires.

How?  How to act with equity, with objectivity, to be willing to call right right and wrong wrong...and to be known as a people of tenderness and tolerance, an extension of the mercy extended to us.

We've all been there, the extreme list to one side or the other.  The times we pounded the table, lost our love walk but proved we were right.  We've all been there, the times we loved mercy more, then experienced an abuse of that mercy, watched as someone took our compassion and used it as permission to dig their hole deeper.

But there's that third part to the above Scripture, that tag line that I skim over, but then return to afresh, ponder a bit more deeply...'to walk humbly with your God.'...'to walk humbly'....  And therein lies the balance, the point from which all weight must hang.

'Humbly' in the Hebrew means what you think it would, tsana, meaning humbly or lowly.  It's the 'to walk' where that glimmer of something deeper gently pulses. Halakh, to walk without any suggestion of a definite destination.  Again, to walk without any suggestion of a definite destination.  To walk without agenda, without pretense.  To walk without regard to winning the argument.  To walk without dogma.  To be willing to navigate the situations that need our attention, our response, but to do it without first determining what we want the outcome to be.  To be willing to walk humbly, listening in every situation to where the Lord may guide.

And therein lies that mysterious balance of acting in justice and in loving mercy.  It's got to be a God-directed thing.  It's got to be God-directed to wade into a situation that begs correction.  It's got to be a God-directed thing to let someone off the hook.  To walk humbly without predetermined destination.  And doesn't that just define 'a walk of faith'?

Selah.

Needing code for mobile blogger

JPEG of the Week

Why do I have so many kids, you ask...

...it would be the moments like this....

after which they had a very loud discussion about skateboard ownership and proprietary rights.....

Fairy Princess Cake Caper

6 of 8 recently had a birthday and, of course, it needed to be all things 'Princess' (since she's a princess, you understand...I'm sorry, THE princess...).  I took a religious vow (slightly overstated, but still) a few years ago that I just could not do another child's birthday party at a place with bad pizza and a plushy rat as the mascot.  It puts me into some kind of deep funk to go in that place and spend hundreds of dollars.

So to that end, we've done the majority of kids' birthday parties over the last few years at home and have really dialed back the bling-bling factor.  We usually just host one or two good friends, have a little activity, eat a lot of cake, open a couple of presents and call it good.

But 6 of 8 has more of a pageantry button in her psyche.  She longed for ballgowns and bright lights and a big plushy rat and bad pizza and jewelry.  We compromised.  We had a 'Photo Shoot' where she and her best little buddy would be the models for that upcoming epic novel The Fairy Princess Cake Caper.  The bestseller that follows is the result!

Barfin' Ballerinas, Batman!

2 of 8 is our resident dancer, and not just kinda.  She's a dancer's dancer.  She has that dancer's walk that ironically looks a bit like a duck waddle mixed with all kinds of grace and muscle tone.  She's got LONG dancer's hair that is usually twisted up in an enormous bun.  She routinely sits in the middle of the family room in various ligament and joint-defying positions, stretching her splits into impossible flexibility.  And to see her on stage is just inspiring--and I'm not just saying that 'cuz I'm The Mama.

She set a goal of auditioning for a prestigious dance company this summer.  We moved last year (5 weeks before the twins were born--but that's a whole other adventure...) to a large urban area with a renown professional dance company which hosts a summer intensive each year, bringing in young dancers from across the country.  2 of 8 said that while she wasn't sure she would get in, she thought the experience of auditioning would be good for her (she's wacky mature like that--I don't even like to enter raffles because I might get disappointed.)  She learned within a few weeks that she had been accepted and looked forward to this new experience.

The summer intensive is a 3 week program which culminates in a bevee of three performances by the dancers on the final day.  2 of 8 faithfully went to bed early, got up early and made her way downtown each day, dancing numerous hours, fine tuning her technique, taking instruction and critique.  She made new friends, experienced downtown life, attended lectures and loved it all.

Friday morning dawned, the day of the performances, the last day of the intensive.  2 of 8 woke feeling pretty poorly, but to form, sucked it up, got in the car with 1 of 8 and headed for the studio.  On the way there, she lost her breakfast (classy euphemism for 'puked up her Post cereal), regained her composure, got into the studio, lost the last vestiges of breakfast and dressed out for her first class.  Her classmates noticed that she looked wane.  She let them know that she had been sick but was doing okay and would just take it a little easier during the warm-up prior to the performance shows.  As the class was about to begin, one of her classmates whispered, "Whatever you do, DON'T tell the teacher you threw up! They won't let you dance if they know!"

The teacher entered the class to begin the warm-up and 2 of 8 let her know that she would not dance full out, but would be conserving her energy.  The teacher looked at 2 of 8's countenance and asked the question:
"Have you thrown up?"

And 2 of 8....told the truth.

As parents we want to shield our kids from hurt, from bullies, from the bumps and bruises that can accompany friendships, expectations, dreams and the like.  And yet, I find that where I squirm in my mommy skin the most is when my kids are going to experience a disappointment or hurt because they are going to do the right thing.  We know that doing the right thing can result in alienation, expense, loss of face, peer rejection...and yet it still seems to mess with my foot-stomping sense of "It's just not fair!"  when one of the kids makes the right moral choice and in that moment has to pay a price.

2 of 8 told the truth.
And she paid a price.

Her teacher's eyes welling with tears, 2 of 8 was told that according to company policy, 2 of 8 would not be able to perform.  Her classmates looked on in shock that 2 of 8 would have responded so directly to the question, but as 2 of 8 told me, "I wasn't going to lie."  The teacher had asked her directly.  And so she answered in kind.

2 of 8 was sad, of course.  There were a few tears.  We scrambled to get one of us downtown to get her home.  She was told that she could come back to view one of the performances.  She came back to the house, got dressed up and returned to the performance venue, because, quote, she wanted to support her friends.  I sat home and pouted a little more for her.

I would love to claim that my impeccable parenting has resulted in this kind of behavior...but in a moment of ironic honesty, I have to say that had I been in her position, I probably would have lied.  I would have thought of the effort and finances that had gone into preparing for the performance.  I would have decided it wasn't a 'full-out' vomit, just sort of an 'urping'.  I would have decided it was a fluke, a non-contagious situation, a justifiable edit of history.  I would have wanted the performance more.

2 of 8 has chosen the better thing.  I know that her integrity will be rewarded, that there will be blessing that extends beyond a Friday performance of a summer ballet intensive.  She is storing up treasure, one honest vomit at a time.

I think I want to be like 2 of 8 when I grow up.

Question for Ya....

7 of 8's therapist and I were talking today about creative ways to encourage 7 of 8 to let us adjust her crawl, motivate her to cover more distance, ways to induce her to go for the gold. We were throwing around that we don't necessarily want to motivate her with food because it sort of feels like that makes food a reward and given the present food-obsessiveness of our country, that might not be a good thing.

So weigh in (no pun intended). Do you think rewarding kids with food (for what ever reason; chores, therapy goals, good behavior, etc.)is a good idea or a bad one? Would love to hear your thoughts....

A Little Palmolive and Elbow Grease

So my sister-in-law and kids came to visit and I could have taken her to all the historical places in our city, I could have dazzled her with all the natural beauty surrounding our area, I could have taken her to the university and let her wander its hallowed walkways.  I could have done all that--but then I found out that she was still an IKEA virgin.

So I altered our plans because history, natural beauty and tomes of knowledge sort of pale in the busy brightness of a massive IKEA warehouse.  And because we're just kinda crazy like that, we took ten of the kids with us.

So here's the top reason that you should always wash your new IKEA cookware very well when you get it home:

Oh, look, it's a some of those crazy Octamom kids on a field trip!

Now kids, we're going to use that photo for our Medieval Unit Study on Knights of the Round Table...maybe we could come up with a whole IKEA unit study curriculum....

Oh, and you might want to bleach those sheets and linens as well....

Good thing they have those handy carts...

$1 hot dogs, all the soft serve yogurt you can handle, a Newbie IKEA sister-in-law, it was a beautiful day, I tell you....

My Own Private Idaho...in Flames....

"Octamom," you ask, "how does one maintain mental health and wellbeing while surrounded by numerous small children, limit-pushing pre-teens, a real-life prima donna, a zany college girl and two inbred dachshunds, all while doing mountains of laundry?"



"Well, Dear Reader," I reply, "you must learn to create your own pockets of singular existence, places in your mind where you can escape and refresh....



And if that fails, you should get on your computer and zone out....all in the name of mental health...."



The kids got a Sims computer game a few seasons back and I thought it would be medicine to my soul.  I developed my own Sims house for my own slim Sims girl.  My Sims house was a dream;  things stayed where I put them.  The kitchen stayed clean.  I could always find the phone.  The furniture was elegant, the layout picturesque.  It was a thing of beauty.

I would escape every now and then to my little Sims house, where the tables stayed dusted and the bed stayed made.  I would purchase a few trinkets every now and then.  My slim Sims girl would go to her Sims job and then return to her tidy Sims cottage.  It was a simple Sims life, as Sims' lives go.  It was therapy.



But then, it happened.



I logged on to the computer after one particularly hectic day to find my Sims house a smoldering heap of ashes.

My slim Sims girl was nowhere to be found.



"What the heck??!!!" I called out in a gentle (not) voice.  "What happened to my Sims....?"



I looked over the wreckage.  The simulated coals seemed to still be smoldering.  How had this happened?  I was so careful.  I always made sure to log out, always made sure things were current--heck, I even had purchased a fire extinguisher and had never lit the stylish fireplace just out of caution for this type of thing.   What had gone so terribly wrong?



The next morning brought answers.  Over a bowl of cereal, one of my progeny casually mentioned, "Oh, hey, Octamom, I accidentally burned down your Sims house." 

"What?"

"Yeah, I was on my Sims and I went over to your Sims house and had a party and there were candles and we lit the fireplace and then everything went up in smoke because no one could find the phone to call the fire truck..."

"But, but....but how?  I had a separate log-in for my Sims.  I didn't associate with your Sims...."

"Oh, well, I changed your settings."

My own private Idaho was gone, gone in the click of a setting change.  It seemed that the kids weren't just out to destroy the real house, undoing closets, cabinets, and dressers.  Now they'd gone and meddled in the one house I was successfully keeping clean.  I was a virtual good housekeeper, but hey, in my world right now, it counts.  But now I was back to my real, dusty house and my embers of a virtual one.



Perhaps that explains my current obsession with blogging.  I post something and it generally stays there.  I put a widget in a certain place and the next time I log in, more often than not, it's right where I left it.  Now if I can just keep hiding my passwords and not mess up my HTML code too badly, I might just have a shot at mental tranquility...while I hide in the bedroom closet and post....

Monday Musings

Of course the man who brought us The Far Side cartoons would have to be clever, off beat, tremendously intelligent and pithy...and philosophical. Check out these quotes from Doug Larson, creator and illustrator of The Far Side cartoons:

"Wisdom is the reward you get for a lifetime of listening when you'd have preferred to talk..."

...or this little gem which I may have to post at the top of all my homeschooling schedule pages:

"Establishing goals is all right if you don't let them deprive you of interesting detours..." 

Now don't you feel just the tiniest bit more cerebral and philosophic?

Sunday Selah

"...David would take his harp and play.  Then relief would come to Saul; he would feel better, and the evil spirit would leave him."  I Samuel 16:23

Come on, let's face it.  There are those mornings when you wake up and the day already seems dark.  The kids are squabbling over the last bit of sugary cereal, the dog had an accident, the baby won't be consoled, and you and your spouse exchanged terse words before heading out the door.  Those kind of mornings happen, and they seem usher in a negative cloud into the home, an odor of discontent and pettiness.  It seems to infect everyone, the mama, the kiddos and the snippy salesperson on the phone. 

Call me metaphysical, but what you may need is some Spiritual Pest Control.  Some of us aren't particularly comfortable with the language of an 'evil spirit' entering our homes, and yet, bickering, jealousy, impatience and the like are simply that--chimeras of the enemy, on a mission to steal our joy.  So what is Holy D-Con to the joy stealers?

The above Scripture would indicate that some praise and worship music could do the trick.  I'm not here to suggest what preferential type it should be, gospel, contemporary, instrumental, a capella, only to encourage you to put on that music, loud, and sing along.  Music that focuses on Him, focuses on His glory, focuses on His goodness.  Music that lifts the heart, fills the spirit--and counters the negativity.  Music that invisibly fills our homes and yet colors every nook and cranny.  Words that quiet the squabbles, change the tone, calm the pace. 

And in that spiritual irony, wields a might weapon fending for joy.

I challenge you, Dear Reader.  Take advantage of those media devices the Lord has provided.  Put on that music the Lord has anointed.  And be refreshed, renewed, and equipped.  Breathe in the fresh air of the Spirit.

Selah.

JPEG of the Week

Just had to share one of my very favorite pictures of M, holding 8 of 8.  This is not an image I took;  it's one of many pictures my precious in-laws took when we arrived home from the hospital with the twins last spring.  This photo is a perfect example of why it is so important to really take a look at your 'snap-shots' and see what could become a 'Moment'.  This is part of a larger image that I cropped, converted to black and white and then softened the edges. 

And in so doing, found something precious. 

Addictive...

'Baby's First Smiles Give Mom's Brain a Buzz'

click here for the story 

I always knew the little critters were seriously addictive stuff!

Road Rage

It had been my intention to write a light-hearted and funny piece today, but something happened yesterday evening that bears posting.



I was heading downtown to pick up 2 of 8 from her ballet intensive with 4 and 7 of 8 in the van with me.  I love my van.  Never thought that a 15 passenger van would become my dream vehicle, but here we are.  But while I love my van, I have no delusions that it's some hip muscle car or sleek luxury sedan.  It's your basic huge kid wagon.

The street I take to get to the arts center is currently under construction.  An avenue that typically provides a wide, beautiful drive has been reduced in width and bordered with large orange construction barrels.  Traffic can get a little tight and I'm always a little more careful driving this pavement in my larger vehicle.



While navigating in the left-hand lane down this street, I began hearing a loud horn honking over and over.  I looked at the oncoming trafffic, thinking the noise was coming from there.  I surveyed my fellow lane sharers; we all seemed to be fine.  Hmmmm.



Then I came to the red light.



And a small car pulled up in the right-hand lane next to me.  Right next to me.  As in, swerved within inches of my passenger door.



The driver proceeded to blow on his horn again, rolled down his window and began SCREAMING at me.



With an R-rating.



He apparently didn't like the way I was driving my explicative  van.  If I was going to drive my explicative van, then he was of the opinion that I needed to explicative learn to drive, stay off the roads, not talk and drive, explicative, explicative, explicative.  He apparently did not appreciate the cramped conditions my wider vehicle created for him with the confines of the road construction.  So he let me know.  Screaming this, at the top of his lungs, in rush hour traffic, along with the accompanying hand signal.  And when I say explicative, I mean the Big One. 



All into the startled face of my nine year old, who was sitting closest to the window where he was yelling at me.



So I blew him a kiss.



I don't recommend this technique if you are trying to diffuse a hostile situation.  It seems to have the opposite effect.



He went apoplectic, I went back to ignoring him, and my nine year old just kept staring into his furious face.  And he kept screaming until the light changed.



At this point, I sat at the light until he went on ahead.  I didn't want to drive anywhere close to this maniac and certainly didn't want him to follow me to my destination.  I treated it light-heartedly with 4 of 8, trying to minimize the impact.  Hearing aids and all, she heard clearly the curse word he repeated over and over, telling me she didn't think he should be saying "explicative".  Great.  We've been working so hard to get language into this kid, but not this kind of language.  I explained the basic meaning of the word, explained I didn't want her to repeat it anymore, explained she shouldn't hold up a certain finger and laughingly told her that we now had quite an adventure about which to tell.  But the more I thought about it, the more disconcerting his behavior became.



What was he hoping to accomplish?  Did he think I was going to roll down the window, apologize profusely for some imagined slight, invite him to coffee to talk this out?  Did he really think a mom in a van was some kind of serious threat needing the gutter language to further clarify his position?  And whatever his beef with me, did it justify terrifying a nine year old and exposing her to language that we had successfully shielded her from?



I choose to believe that had he chosen to exit his vehicle, had he chosen to take it up another notch, surely my fellow vehicular neighbors would have stepped in.  I choose to believe that this man does not represent the general attitude and behavior of my community.  I choose to believe that there are members of our society who don't scream  R-rated explicatives at moms with four car seats in their vans and a terrified little girl looking out the window.  And I'm going to forgive this guy~it may just take me a bit...

It's all RocksinMyDryer's Fault

It's all RocksinMyDryer's fault.  I was experiencing a fulfilling television-viewing lifestyle until she came along.  I was content in my Lost-less world.  I had avoided getting caught up.  Until a few weeks ago.  And it's all RocksinMyDryer's fault.



See, here's the thing.  Whenever something goes supernova popular, I feel this uncanny need to be counter-culture.  For example, I do not watch American Idol (collective internet gasp).  I don't care who the Bachelor or Bachlorette is.  I don't do CSI, SITC, or SNL.  I do some old school Star Trek and I watch my share of History Channel and I do think Alton Brown is pretty darn adorable, but all those other shows--yawn.  Writer's strike?  What writer's strike?



Until now.



It wasn't enough that my brother was hooked on Lost.  It wasn't enough that my BFF J was addicted.  I would listen to their proclamations of "The best show ever!" and "I can't believe you're not watching this show!" with a sidelong glance of superiority in my ability to avoid the opiate of the masses.  I had other things to do, thank you, like laundry and laundry and ....laundry.



Until now.



Until RocksinMyDryer.



She was so excited about the Season 4 finale.  She often made Lost references in her posts.  She made it seem so hip, so now, so....noble.  Her blog is funny and cool and current--ergo, if I want to be funny, cool and current, perhaps I should review my viewing habits.



It seemed like Fate (Lost reference) when I saw the entire first season of Lost on my local library's DVD shelf.  I brought it home, eyed it with skepticism and took it back the next week, unwatched.  But then, when I returned to the library again, it was still there, calling to me.  I took it home, viewed the first episode, and well.....what can I say?  I fell Lost in love.



It's all RocksinMyDryer's fault, the undone laundry, the ignored bedtimes, the discovery of free streaming HD episodes on abc.com.  I have gulped Lost in the last few weeks--I've burned through the first three seasons and have emerged bleary-eyed and extremely concerned about Jack.  I'm hoping that Rose has really been cured.  I know they tried to prepare me about Charlie, but still.  I have a whole new universe of people to fret over now and I'm not even through the fourth season.   I'm telling myself that Scripture references make the show almost, um, like a parable of sorts.  I won't even tell my husband what episode I'm really on, kind of like hiding illegal substances in religious iconography (Lost reference).  There's now a little place in my head that rolls over the plots and symbolism and imagery and allegories.  It's the little place in my head that used to hold the week's meal planning and menu details.



It's all RocksinMyDryer's fault.



Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go check on Claire and the baby.

Techie Homework

4 of 8 has quite an extensive vocabulary at this point, but one of the interesting things that her Auditory Verbal Therapist and I have found is that she often struggles if a label has more than one meaning or use. We are working over the next few weeks on really shoring up her understanding of parts of household items that share a similar label. To that end, 4 of 8 and I did a little weekend project which involved a 'secret mission' to find the multiple uses for certain words. We used the fantastic tools over at Scrapblog to produce the following 21st century school report. Thought it might provide some techie inspiration for all you educators out there!

Monday Musings

So I'm dealing with a little bit of blog envy. It happens fairly regularly, as in, every time I go and read someone else's blog, I'm jealous. So many cool templates, so many cool widgets, so many cool thoughts and writings, so many cool photos--so many cool bloggers. Eventually Freud will get to this bit of 21st century Blog Envy, but for the interim, I'm consoling myself with this Monday Musing:

"Everyone wants to be Cary Grant. Even I want to be Cary Grant."

by...Cary Grant

See, even Cary Grant had Cary Grant Envy. And he probably would have had Blog Envy too....

Sunday Selah

"The king's heart is in the hand of the Lord; He directs it like a watercourse wherever He pleases." Proverbs 21:1

With the conventions and the presidential election fast approaching, it has been fascinating to watch the news, to watch the chain of events that have solidified the candidacy of the players, to witness the tides and turbulence of voter opinion. Volleys fly from one side, then the other, questions on character, religion, policy, experience. Questions rise and fall in breathless cadence. Each side predicts doom should the other party's man win. Each side positions around its candidate with the ferocity of a mother bear...or donkey...or elephant...It would be easy in such an environment to come to believe that the future of our nation lies with the election of one man during one year during this generation.

But it is the Lord who ordains. It is the Lord who ordains. Should we vote? Sure. Should we be involved? Absolutely. Should we get out the vote, research the issues, read the news articles, pay attention? Yes, yes, yes and yes. And then should we worry? No. We serve a Lord who stands outside the linear limits of time, a God who has seen the future, who has seen the efforts and failings of His people and who has created a Fail Safe. Our nation is still in its toddlerhood if one looks at the nations of history and the length of their stays on the power map. We may have many more years as a world leader, we may not. But regardless, it is the Lord who has the king's heart in His hand, it is the Lord who directs that heart down the canals of history. It is not democracy that saves us, it is not a nation, it is not votes, it is not a president. It is trust in an Almighty God who holds the final chapter in His hand and who is not surprised by the outcome. It is the Lord who ordains.

Selah.

Moving the Furniture Around

I can't leave well enough alone, so I'm going to try to tweak the blog a little--and I'm feeling a bit HTML challenged. We'll see how I do as I change code, host other backgrounds, add some rounded corners and all other kinds of things that should keep me distracted from doing laundry. I'm trying to play with making my background pattern this (from the amazing Squidfingers site):...but I'm apparently doing it wrong, or haven't learned to type things in exactly or something--sort of like when I attempt to put highlights in my hair and I end up looking like a striped punk rocker.post note: Well, I actually did it! Now, if I can just figure out how to do borders....

JPEG of the Week

That's two teeth down, eighteen primary teeth to go....

Gratitude

As we celebrate our nation's birthday, it seemed appropriate to share here an amazing scrapblog by a friend of mine over at www.scrapblog.com, a fabulous (and free) online scrapbooking site. Several of the photo essays you've seen here were created using the scrapblog site. I've asked my friend Karen to be a 'guest scrapper' today as she has a son serving in the military and created this amazing scrapblog reminding folks what they can do so say 'thanks' to our people in uniform. As the saying goes, 'Freedom isn't free', a good reminder in the midst of red, white, blue, fireworks and bar-b-que.

Making Our Own Fun....

Oh, to be a child again. To have that sense of wonder, to find the world a magical place with possibility and discovery around every corner. To boldly go--oh, wait, that might be plagiarism....

Anyhoooo, thought you all might enjoy seeing what a trip of discovery the Octamom kids made recently. Experience the joy, the wonder, the excitement as......






Yes, they are watching the rotisserie chicken going around on the spit at Costco. They were mesmerized. Disney World ain't got nuttin' on Costco Rotisserie Action.

I also have a great shot of them watching my Whirlpool Duet clothes dryer, but I'll save that for another slow posting day.....

All Growed Up

6 of 8 is a stage show all to herself. Charming, erudite, frilly, that's our girl. She seems to love being part of a big family, but I think she secretly suspects that she is the rock star and we are all staff and audience to her every performance.

6 of 8 has made a startling scientific discovery which I felt only appropriate to share here as we are trying to change the world one post at a time--or at least justify our time on the computer. The science is as follows.

"Mom," 6 of 8 tells me breathlessly. "Mom, I am all growed up!"

"Really? And how do you know that?"

"Well, when I pulled the scab off this owie I kindof cried, but when I pulled the scab off this owie, I was so brave! So now I know I am very big!"

There you have it, the non-flinching ability to remove one's scabs without tears--the true measure of a man (or woman...or 4 year old). But then I got to waxing philosophic---what if our willingness to pull back the layers of life and be willing to stare an emotional wound full on were a measure of our growth? What if there is value in unflinchingly tearing back to that raw place and letting the sun and light get to it and begin the healing? And what if, just maybe, I need to have a whole lot more coffee before I get this deep in the morning?

Iconic Jammies

I've made a purchase for the twins, a very important purchase. Pajamas.

"Pajamas?", you ask. "Really? That's an important purchase?"

Oh, yes, Dear Reader. In the box for each child where I keep their first little Bible and their gorgeous little Feltman Brother's outfit, there is also a faded, stained, seam-stretched little item, one that contains a wealth of memory. And that would be the favorite set of jammies from their toddlerhoods.

1 of 8 had an Esmerelda gown, 2 of 8 had a baby doll gown, 3 of 8 a set of Star Wars, 4 of 8 a pink t-shirt, 5 of 8 a set of Spider Man jammies (with the netting under the arms to look like webs, but which ultimately became tattered and made him look like he had dredlocks of underarm hair), 6 of 8 has been sporting a Princess gown. Pajamas are the first fashion statement of their own choosing. Pajamas become beloved and comforting like a blankie. They celebrate fashion individualism. Around our place, jammies constitute a huge part of the wardrobe--they are school uniforms, early morning trampoline exercise clothing and all-around painting smocks. Coordinated outfits may come and go, but jammies are there for the long haul. Long after pants and tops have been deemed too small, the set of jammies from over two seasons ago is still acceptable in all its wrist-baring, ankle-baring glory. And as the pajama relationship evolves with each child, something remarkable happens; more and more photos show up in the family archives with each child wearing that favorite set of jammies again and again and again. Christmas, Easter, birthdays, vacations, favorite jammies travel and are phototgraphed. Those favorite jammies somehow become that child's brand, the trademark logo for that child and that season of life. Those jammies become iconic. And so when the favorite jammies are finally retired, they go to a well-earned spot in the memory box, elastic sprung, hems ripped, iron-on images flaking. And they become precious.

And so, we now are experimenting with the pajama line-up for the twins. It's a little hard to tell yet which ones will be 'the ones'. 7 of 8 is favoring a pink gown with ballet slippers, while 8 of 8 seems to be leaning strongly toward a green salamander set. I'm already fretting that some fruit stains don't seem to be coming out of 7 of 8's gown. I'm wondering how long the salamander image of 8 of 8's jammies will actually look like a salamander as opposed to a Rorschach blot. They will become stained and stretched, outgrown and faded. And, in time, iconic and precious.