My All Star

As any one with a child on the spectrum knows, there are good days.  There are bad days.  There are bad days.  And then there are great days.  This baseball season has had a little bit of all of those days. 

This was David's second season playing baseball.   Last year was a very big learning year for him, but this year he really developed into a good player.  The season was rough, however.  

The year started with him playing second base.  One day he was complaining about his leg.  He thought maybe he hurt it on the trampoline.  Rest, ice, more rest, and the next day the pain is still there.  Several tests, several doctor's appointments, and a huge scare later we found out that yes, there is a tumor.  No, it is not cancer.  He also has Osgood Schlatter's Disease, which is the pain in his leg.  He had to miss several games and practices.  He was moved to the outfield while he was in physical therapy.

Just as we were getting things under control, we find out that David's seizures are not under control.  Medication needs adjusted, and that can be rough.  Most days are fine.  Until a seizure in the outfield. 

Good days.  Bad days.  Sometimes both.

Autism. Sensory issues.  Tumor. Osgood Schlatter's. Seizures. Medication Adjustment.  

Perseverance.  Determination. Passion. 

With incredible coaches, a team that works together, and team parents that cheer him on, David had an incredible season.  He was moved back to second base.  He had a catch that we will all remember for ever.  It was amazing.  Incredible.  A beautiful play in a close game.  That catch put the game into extra innings.  Base hits in every game.  Great plays in the infield and outfield.  He made friends.  He improved his game.  He developed character.  

Every day he overcomes.  The good days.  The bad days.  Every day my heart swells with pride.  So many challenges.  So much determination.  

The baseball season ended.  He was selected to play in the All Star game.  I cried.  He just nodded and asked when that would be.  

The last game in the playoffs was last night.  His team placed third.  The All Star game is next week.  This season will come to a close, like so many seasons in our lives.  It was made up of good days.  Bad days.  Great days.  Really bad days.  There were moments in those days that took my breath away.  Moments that filled my heart with pride. Moments that will last forever but are over too quickly.  I hold all of these moments in my heart.  The good and the bad.  

It's Been a While

For a very long time writing this blog was a life line for me.  Through homeschooling, small children, diagnoses, job changes, loss, and a growing family, this blog connected me to the outside world in a way that nothing else could.
Then, slowly, and a little bit at a time, those small children became big kids.  Then teens.  The amount of sharing I was doing seemed to possibly invade their privacy a little. Or, at times, a lot.
And then busyness of life changed.  New jobs.  New home.  New struggles.
It was hard to get back into blogging because I was not sure how much to share.  How to share. What to share.
And my journey took me far.  I no longer needed a blog to connect me to life outside of our family.  I now no longer needed a way to process and share the events of our days.
At one time I wrote from a place of desperation.  Of loneliness.  Of feeling lost.  It may not have seemed like it in my writing, but that was why I was writing.
Some many things have changed in so many ways.  And so many things that remained the same.
Now, I am realizing that as much as I needed to write before, that need is still there.  It just comes from a different source.
So, I will pick up writing.  My focus is still the journey of our family.  I never set out to write a homeschooling blog, but we home school.  I never set out to write a blog about autism, but we have two precious children on the spectrum.  I never set out to write about raising children because I have no answers there, but that is our life right now.  I never set out to write about marriage, but have been married for about half my life.  I never set out to write about specific struggles, but we face them daily.
I am setting out to share what life is like for us.  Our struggles.  Our triumphs.  Our tears.  Our joy.

My name is Jennifer.  I am Christian.  A wife.  A mother of five beautiful children on this earth and one in heaven.  We home school.  We cyber school.  We have children with special needs.  I live with anxiety and depression.  I work at a job I love.
We laugh.  We cry.  We love.  We live.
Welcome.

If I could time travel

Every year on each of my children's birthdays I look through the baby book or scrapbook.  Or pile of pictures that are going to become a scrapbook.  Or pictures that someday I am going to actually print so I can pile them up and someday scrapbook them.  And I am struck by how tiny they are.  How much they have grown.

However, this year I was struck by a different thought while looking at pictures of my now ten year-old.  I looked from his face, probably for the first time, to the face of the one holding him.  The ten year-ago version of me.  I noticed how young I looked.  I turned back more pages.  Yep.  Even younger.  More pages, same story.  The whole way back to the first picture of a new, glowing, excited, exhausted mommy.  And this time, instead of writing my sweet baby a letter for their birthday, I wished to reach out to her.

If I could, I would go back and tell her so much.  I would tell her to relax.  To enjoy.  Oh, I know she knows that.  I know that she made the most of everyday.  She played.  Laughed.  Grasped each moment as best and as tightly as she could.  But there was always more.  Fear.  Disappointment in herself.  A struggle to know she was making the right choices.  And there are so many, many choices.   Everyday.  Every child.   Every minute.  Sometimes she will feel like she is drowning in a sea of uncertainty.

Mostly, though, I would tell her that she is going to survive, because I know that she will not always feel like it or believe it.

There will be bumps and bruises.  I know that she is going to drop her brand new baby at just a few days old from the couch in her exhaustion.  She judges herself because she doesn't know how many mothers do that.

She will have to hold down a baby for testing.  And a toddler.  And a preschooler.  And she will cry longer than they will.  And she will remember it forever, even when they forget.

There will come a day that she is tired of being pregnant.  And there will come a day that she wishes that she still was.  And feeling either feeling is fine.  And normal.  And so are the tears.  And one day, they will stop falling as hard. But they will still fall.

She is going to pace for hours overnight.  She is going to pray in quite a few hospital rooms.  She is going to meet more doctors than she can remember.  She is going to stand in a hospital hallway while her heart is rolled away for surgery.  More than once.  And it will bring her to her knees.  Literally.  But she will breathe again.

She is going to hold more than one grubby hand while there are x-rays, stitches, staples, concussions, broken bones and close calls.  And while it makes her queasy, she will not be sick.

There will be psychologists.  Neurologists.  Diagnoses. Autism.  ADHD.  But she will always know that she has the best children in the world.

Her husband will work away.  At times far away.  But he will be her rock.  And she will need him so very much.  And he will be there.  And she may need to tell him why they fall, but he will dry her tears.

She will try to hold herself together through depression.  And she will struggle to use her hand after a stroke.  And she will get very angry when she misspeaks or stutters.  But she will talk again.  And she will use that hand again.

She will homeschool.  And it will be fun.  And exciting.  And scary.  And hard.  And she will want to quit, but she won't.  And it will be rewarding again.  And even fun again.  She is making the correct choice, but she won't always feel like it.

In that moment, in that snap shot of her young life, she is full of innocence.  She does not know what the future holds.  She does not know what is in store.  And that is a good thing.  Because it is overwhelming.  At times it is unbearable.  But it will make her strong.  Stronger than she has ever been.  Sometimes she won't even know it, but it is happening, everyday.  Even this one.

Top Ten Reasons...

that I am the biggest meanie weenie ever.  According to the children in my house.

10.  I will not let Micah walk to Grandma's house.  He is almost two.  It is several blocks away.  She is not home.  I am a jerk.

9.  I do not agree that a long sleeve shirt would make a person feel cooler than a short sleeve shirt.  In the summer.  I know nothing about fashion.  I may be ruining a young life as we speak.

8.  I will not let my children carry around a dying baby bird and try to feed it crunched up worms mixed with spit.  They already started collecting the spit.  And the worms.  And the dying baby bird.

7.  Breakfast is not cookies.  Or ice cream.  Or cake.  And we have no cookies.  Or cake.

6.  I will not let Micah eat a play dough pizza.  Or play dough cookies. Or play dough cake. Or even play dough lumpy thing.

5.  I make the kids read, play, go outside, and get creative before turning on any electronics.  Even in the summer. Even on rainy days. Even when they just charged an iPod.

4.  I do not want a pet snake.  I will not allow my children to have a pet snake.  As a matter of fact, I have placed a hold on any new pets until we have quite a few less pets than we do now.  Be that by rehoming, death, or escape. And even then, probably no snake.  I just don't want to have to feed it like I do with all the other pets my kids (and husband) have.

3.  No one is allowed to have soda for breakfast.  I have no soda in the house.  We have juice.  Water. Milk. Tea. Kool aid.  Hot chocolate.  Those are all gross.  I must not have taste buds.  At all.

2.  I toss broken toys.  All of them.  Even if Dad can do magic, preform surgery, or has enough super glue.  They will break again.  Kids will cry again.  Like a band aid, the quicker the better, just toss it and get it over with.  Especially when it is in five or more pieces, is missing a wheel, and only has one handlebar. And used to be a finger bicycle.

1.  I will not let the size five and six kids wear size two costumes to go jump on the trampoline. Even if it is the only ninja costumes they can find.  No, black pants and black shirts will not work the same.  Even though they would cover more skin because they fit.

And that is all just from today.  Before lunch.  I should have a much larger list by bedtime.

Advice

A few days ago I noticed something on Facebook.  At least three of my friends posted something about their children that was either humorous or as a way of “venting”.  None of those posts were things that should make the children feel bad, or reflect on the parents in any way.  It was just a fact of life of parenting.  I may not even need to mention that each post was about a son.  And something that said son did that was amazing.  Not a good kind of amazing. 

The thing that I noticed was that on each post someone felt the need to either provide parenting advice or tell the poster why the behavior was wrong.  And that is common on the internet.  We assume that anyone and everyone is just waiting for us to spout out our advice as if it were the answer that they have been waiting for so long to hear.  We assume that if we did not post our thoughts about reducing caffeine, or sugar, or red dye this poor child is destined to suffer.  Or feel the need to give advice on how to discipline an unruly child.  That we have never met.  In a situation we have only heard two sentences about. 

I am not saying that any of these are necessarily bad suggestions. Or that I have never done this.  Because I am sure that I totally must have.  And I am glad that the internet was not all that old when I knew everything.  You know, before having children.  Because I would have looked like a jerk back then on some of the posts that people exactly like me make today. 

 I just think that dispensing this kind of advice over the internet shows that we do not understand the intent of the person sometimes.  There are places online I go to find out more about parenting.  There are places I go to ask advice on specific situations.  I have people in real life to talk to, and several online friends from around the world that can help me out when I need it.

Other times I am not looking for advice.  These times I am just looking for a parent-to-parent connection.  And maybe some hope.  Or a parent that has lived through raising children and will throw back their head and life when I say things that my children have done.  So I feel less alone.  Less insane. 

Sometimes, Internet, all I want are comfort words.  No actual answers.  I want to hear things like:

“Yes, cat whiskers grow back.”

“No, that missing eyebrow is hardly noticeable.”

“No one has ever died from eating a glow stick.”

“Poison control knows my child too.”

“Yes, I have laughed at my child throwing a fit.  No regrets.”

“My child has also done that.  And lived.”

And that, Internet, is why I post on Facebook about the time my son ate three Adrenaline Rush packets which caused him to bounce around our house like a ping pong ball and then crash for hours.  Not to hear that I am negligent by hiding them on the top shelf of the pantry behind other boxes without ever thinking he could climb up there and get them while I was in the bathroom.  Or how harmful it is for my child to jump onto a trampoline from the garage roof.  Or how I should have assumed that he would stick dice, or an Orbee, or a napkin, or a piece of cheese, or Kool Aid powder up his nose.   Because I know all that.  And Have learned to never go to the bathroom.  Now.  I just want to know that I am not alone.  And that he will survive to adulthood.  And that I will too.  And that sometimes, it is completely alright to laugh at your child. 

Today was a win.

Today was one of those days that a homeschool mom wishes for.  No, there was no house cleaning fairy that slipped in and magically turned the house into a spotless wonder.  The food did not magically jump into the crock pot.  The kids did not refrain from fighting all day.  Or even most of it.  They did not remember to clean up after themselves.  Actually, school work is still on the table.  There are Legos on the floor. Squinkies and Zinkies are too.  And some cracker crumbs.  I did not wash the supper dishes.  There was an argument before breakfast.  None of those seemingly magical things occurred here today, but what did occur was just as awesome. 

Two huge awesome things, actually.  On the same day.  Isaac has been struggling to read for years.  We tried a traditional approach.  We tried creative approaches.  We wrote words in sand or shaving cream.  We played word games.  We fished for words from our word wall.  We used flash cards, rewards, incentives, whatever we could.  We tried it all.  Twice.  Nothing made it click.  Until today.  He picked up his reader and read a story.  No crying, no hesitation, no sounding out words even.  It clicked.  He did it.  There were even new words.  Then he turned the page and did it again.  Oh, I cannot say there were no tears, because I could not help myself.  He finished flawlessly reading his story, turned those big brown eyes to me and I could see his pride.  Satisfaction of a job well done.  The labor was difficult, but the instant those big, brown, joyous eyes locked onto my tear-filled ones was worth every second. 

I have no idea why it was today.  There was nothing special.  Nothing different.  Nothing new.  We did the same thing for the thousandth time.  It just clicked, and like a rusty flood gate opening for the first time the result was a deluge. It was one of those moments that takes my breath away, where the ah-ha look in their eyes overshadows any difficulties getting there.  But the day was not over yet.  I got another of those moments!

Faith has had difficulties at school for, well, always.  We have succeeded with some, and not quite yet with others.  Something we have been working on is correctly forming letters and numbers.  She has quite a high rate of backwards or malformed letters and numbers.  If she is directly copying something it looks great.  Left to form them on her own and it is hard to read at best.  One thing that we noticed, actually that Angel noticed, is that she writes numbers correctly in the units and hundreds place consistently, but the tens place is always backwards.  Even in number with the same digits.  She would add things like 32 + 23 and have a backwards 5 and a normal 5.  I have been marking her answers as right but making her practice forming the number correctly.  I have written over the backwards ones in red.  We have used sand, pudding, chalk, finger paint and a variety of other media to practice.  Same results- backwards numbers in the tens place.  Ever single time.  Despite me pointing it out she never noticed it before.  It was like she could not see the backwards numbers.  She would lament that they all looked the same to her.

Today she was practicing before a test.  She wrote the multiplication facts on the dining room mirror for several sets of numbers from memory.  Then she stepped back and looked at the mirror.  She moved closer, nose almost touching the mirror.  She stepped back again.  She turned around and said, "Hey, does anybody notice something wrong here?"  I looked up to check her facts.  They were correct.  She said, "No, I mean all these numbers.  I think they are backwards!"  She erased them and wrote them correctly.  On her test not one number was written backwards.  For the first time ever. 

A second ah-ha moment.  Only a few minutes after the first.  Two of our toughest problems.  In one day.  Years of blood, sweat, and tears came before.  Literally.  With an Aspie who has ADD and another ADHD one there were literal blood, sweat and tears.  For long stretches at a time it would occur daily.  On my part.  On their parts. 

But today, today was a good day.  Today was a win.  We never gave up.  We never quit.  And finally, after so much struggle, there was the fruit of our labor.  And it was sweet.  I know that tomorrow we may be back to struggles, maybe even the same struggles.  That is the way life is.  That is the way homeschooling is.  That is the way life with special needs students is.  But days like today, moments like these, the looks of pride, of wonder, of understanding, they stay with you.  Those are the moments I hide in my heart.  The moments I cherish and ponder.  The moments that I take out on days that are not good.  On the days where we have head banging, scratching and biting oneself.  On the days where the tears are not the good kind. 

Days like today linger.  Days like today allow hope to fester.  They allow us to hold onto the idea of success when it seems so far away.  They are gifts from God, miracles that show us to keep fighting the good fight.  Testaments to hard work, prayer, and God's mercy and grace.  And as I head off to sleep tonight, our success still fresh in my mind and heart, I will rest well.  And that rest is the kind much needed during this battle.  A rest filled with joy, with hope, with anticipation, with the promise of another win on the horizon. 

A Year End Review

Every year I take a look back at all that the year brought and share a few highlights.  Sometimes I focus on just the good, sometimes I focus on the most memorable, and other times I focus on the things that I have pictures of on Facebook.  That is my life in a nutshell.  Sometimes good, sometimes simply memorable, and other times I can't remember it all unless I am reminded.  On Facebook.  This year i will try to do a little of each.

We started the year with a family party that lasted until 6 AM.  For most of us.  Like me, and the big kids.  January also brought snow, and David's third birthday.  We had many days off in the first half of the school year and tried to buckle down and get things done in the second half.  But I had extreme morning sickness often, so it was hard.

February rolled around, and we were still trying to push through school.  We had a a nice visit from Uncle Dave, however I spend some of it in the hospital.  More morning sickness.  But the rest of the time was movies, games, the Science Center, and Chick Fil A. 

March was another long month of morning sickness and school work.  My school work, school work with the kids, and observation hours.  We started up our homeschool co-op classes again, and the CLP play held auditions and began practices.  We did community service, and lots of it!  The days were getting much nicer as we prepared to have our Easter cantata and celebrate Easter.

April brought Easter, Honk Jr., a cantata, Remembering Adam show, and more co-op classes.  April for us is always a time of performing!  Andy had a few shows, too.  My morning sickness was easing up and I was headed into a nice spring and beginning of summer without any problems other than being busy and tired. 

May started with Honk Jr at CLP, the end of co-op, shows for Andy, and yet another behavior specialist for Faith.  We had a huge yard sale and took a trip to the Creation Museum.    We also got to catch a movie at Sarah and Anna's outside.  School was finishing up for the kids and we were scrambling to complete things before the end of the month.

June was a fun month, and quite busy!  Andy had shows, we finished school, and took a few mini vacations.  First up, though, was a fun family day at my dad's power plant learning more about what he does and what the plant does to generate power.  Contrary to my high school belief, he is not a spy.  Or is that what he wants us to think??  We got to see Tony in Cats, we did community service, and we celebrated Father's Day early because Andy and Isaac went to Sandbox Camp. We had our year end evaluations. That was only half the month!  After Sandbox Camp we took the kids camping for 11 days!   We also got to see a Curve game.  During camp my nice trouble free time of pregnancy wrapped up and I was taken by ambulance to the ER with heat exhaustion and the beginnings of my high blood pressure problems.

We came home from camp on July first only to turn around and take the girls back to Pony and Swim Camp.  The boys and I had some fun while hey were gone.  The week after picking the girls up my blood pressure became enough of a problem that I was on bed rest.  for most of the month.  Missing birthday parties, VBS, and summer.  I did sneak to Spirit Fest, and one day of VBS to ward off the unending, mind numbing boredom of bed rest.  And the messy house that I could do nothing about.  We spend some time doing school early to keep the kids occupied, and Angel became the head chef of the Raehl household.  I had an overnight hospital stay, and we did not get to have a birthday party for Faith.

August brought more hospital trips, and I finally had enough bed rest.  We had a birthday party for Faith the first weekend, and on our anniversary we had our sweet Micah!  I was finally feeling better, and got an awesome gift, my sweet son!  The SC Raehl family came to meet Micah, and I began to dig our house out from under about five weeks of bed rest.  We enjoyed the rest of summer with a trip to Lakemont, a family reunion, and began to look towards the new school year. 

September came so fast!  We celebrated the month's birthdays, including a trip to Slinky for Isaac's birthday.  I began the kids school in full force, and my observation hours, too.  We had a few field trips, and Andy had several shows.  the girls began taking baton lessons.  We were still trying to catch up from my bed rest. 

October was just as busy with baton, co-op, classes at IUP, choir in preparation for Christmas, and youth group meetings.  I had more observation hours, and the countdown to my student teaching is on!  Angel had her birthday party and then we went bowling.

November rolled around with more of the same activities, plus Thanksgiving!  And of course, Black Friday!  Although my crew was thinned a bit this year we had a blast, as usual.  Angel really enjoyed her second year, and I still had to call Josh for directions.

December brought snow, Christmas, and the end of this looong year.  It is the first time that we have reached our halfway point before Christmas, so we celebrate by taking a long school break to prepare for Christmas.  We made tons of cookies, wrapped presents, decorate, and then ended up in the hospital with Angel and a severe stomach virus.  But it is the end of the year, we are beginning to feel better, and soon 2013 will bring more surprises, more joy, and more laughter.  We are ready, bring it on 2013!!

Top Ten Things I Learned this Christmas

With all the excitement of the holidays, the rush of preparation, and the worry over sickness I have found that there are a few things that I learned this Christmas that I was least expecting...

10.  Isaac knows where everything is.  Because he takes it.  This inlcudes things from my purse, like change, gum, and flashlights.

9.  If a kids says that they dropped your purse, take out the compact.  It is most likely broken and will cover everything in a fine powder.

8.  Preschoolers can survive for days on cookies.  And candy.  At least it feels like days.

7.  When your never really sick child says I need to go to the hospital, go.  Immediately.

6.  When wrapping presents with a preschooler do it right before giving the gift.  That way they don't let slip what you got someone.  Repeatedly.  Or ask them if they opened  the 'whatever' yet.

5.  It is a good idea to practice gift giving behavior.  For example, one should never say, "Here I got you this bow tie.  Merry Christmas".

4.  Kids will ALWAYS surprise you in many ways.  When you least expect it.

3.  Multicultural Christmas celebration unit studies will enable your preschooler to shout out equal holiday festivity messages for the parade, including Happy Hannuak, Happy Kwanza, Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and Live Long and Prosper. 

2.  While I can entertain myslef for quite a while with only the things I have in my purse (crayons, pens, small toys, half a deck of cards) there is nothing of actual value in there in case of an emergency (like money, change, a coffee maker, or pizza).

1.  When you least expect it God turns the worst situations into miracles.  You just have to be looking for it.

A Christmas to Remember

Every year I do the same thing.  I begin planning on how to create the best Christmas ever.  Not with gifts or decorations.  Not with expensive items or over the top activities.  But with family.  With friends.  With purpose.  One that allows us to say, "That was the year we..." with fondness.  With joy.  With hearts set on giving.  On sharing. 

We bake and give away cookies.  We ring the bell for the Salvation Army.  We collect hats and gloves, or coats, or toys.  We adopt a family.  We make treats for friends.  We spend time together.  We serve.  We laugh.  We visit grandparents.  Many of those create traditions.  Some of those give us those memories.  All have made our kids, or us as parents, say that it was memorable. 

This year, however, was different.  It will not be those same things that we remember.  Not the cookies we gave away, the service projects we did, the crafts we made, or the fun we had.  It will be in what was given to us, to me, that will tell the story of this Christmas.

We prepared as always.  A busy season with parties, cookies, crafts, more parties, and finding ways to serve.  We shopped, we caroled, we wrapped, we laughed, we made sure to serve others.  We focused on THE gift given, not the gifts we would receive. 

Christmas Eve morning Angel looked pretty rough when she woke up, and complained that she was not feeling well.  She got sicker as the day wore on, and we decided that we could not risk getting others sick.  We decided to stay home from the family parties, meeting with my grandparents later to exchange gifts.  She looked worse and worse, and felt the same.  She could not keep any food down.  Finally she looked at me and said, "I need to go to the hospital."  She was having severe pains in her right side, had not kept food down since lunch the day before, and was shaking. 

I hurried to get ready, thinking that we would go over and they would give her something to stop the vomiting, maybe IV fluids for a few hours, and we would be home.  I was not prepared for CT scans, blood work, and an ambulance ride to a larger hospital to see a surgeon.  They thought for most of the night that it was her appendix.  Three rounds of blood work, two bags of fluids, and one long night later it was evident that the problem was a severe virus, not her appendix.  We were relieved to not have surgery, sad to be in the hospital, and exhausted.

Our Christmas was not ruined, however.  Every time someone came into her hospital room for any reason, they gave her a small gift.  Many of the gifts kept her distracted.  They were donated by local churches.  There were coloring books, puzzle books, paint sets, stuffed animals, and some candy.  During the few hours of sleep I got Santa visited with a sack of toys.  She got a large stuffed bear, a pillow pet, a puzzle, and some craft sets.  She hung onto that bear the rest of her stay, squeezing it during blood work.  She clutched it when the surgeon came in to give us results.  She hugged it when they announced no surgery.  We got to play X Box in the hospital.  The nurses were all wonderful, bringing us anything they could to help us settle in and trying to give us a bit of Christmas.

At home, Andy struggled with the kids who were scared and sad.  Faith did not want to sleep in her room looking at Angel's empty bed.  Isaac was afraid for her and offered his room to Faith.  David missed his best friend Angel and his Mommy who both read to him at bedtime and tuck him in.  Micah missed his Mommy all night like any nursing infant would.  Daddy was there to keep everyone together, even when his heart was with us in the hospital.    And Santa came.  My dear children grabbed their stockings and got ready to head out the door to bring Christmas to Angel.  They grabbed her stocking and headed to see us, not a peep about the presents they past to leave the house. 

This was my Christmas miracle this year.  Strangers seeing our need and meeting it in the form of small gifts.  A stuffed animal.  A tooth brush.  A can of Pepsi.  A cup of coffee.  A puzzle.  The gifts of people who did not even know we were there but wanted anyone stuck in the hospital on Christmas to know love.  The children who past by their own presents in a rush to get to their sister, to their mother. 

You see, for years we have talked about the meaning of Christmas.  We have done projects to serve others.  Form soup kitchens to coat drives.  From park clean up to community events my children have served.  At times they have served instead of participating.  They painted faces instead of attending the party.  They picked up trash in the park instead of play there.  And when it came right down to it, they not only gave of themselves on Christmas, missing their own presents for a while, but they also got to receive the gifts of others.  Angel was ministered to in ways that she usually ministers.  And they got to see that there are others who serve.  Who love.  And in days that seem so very dark at times, this is the best kind of light. 

Top Ten Tuesday- School Break

There are times that I find it is best to stop home school for a few days, or even weeks.  This is for a variety of reasons, and can be a planned or unplanned break.  We are on just such a break this week, and next.  It was not planned.  Here are the top ten reasons to take an unplanned break from school:

10.  I knew the kids had clean laundry.  They just could not find it in their rooms.

9.  During my class I printed the syllabus.  I then began to correct typos and grade it.

8.  I had to dry off after a shower with a hand towel.  Twice.

7.  I lost the baby swing.  In the living room.  Thankfully, I was holding the baby.

6.  I thought my head would explode if I had to hear "What?  We are supposed to be doing school??"  one more time.

5.  I lost my checking basket which contains my red pencils and pens, stickers, index cards for daily reports, and my favorite pen.  It is somewhere on my desk.

4.  We had to have noodles for dinner four days in a row because I did not have time to cook or to go shopping.

3.  We ran out of pancake mix.

2.  I still have maternity clothing in laundry baskets in my room.

1.  I have found myself more stressed and distracted than when I was at fire prevention day at the fire hall and forgot that I had a baby.  I walked away from the seat to take a phone call. (Several people were there and watched him).  When I came back I got a good deal of teasing about leaving my baby at a safe haven.  (And I was only gone for not more than two minutes, and was still in sight of the seat, just distracted.)

Sensory Activities- Surfing

I just found a neat site with loads of fun stuff to do, thanks to Facebook.  There was a link to sensory activities, and I am always looking for some good sensory activities for the kids.  I found some new ideas, was reminded of some old, and still have not seen our favorite sensory activity of all time.  In order to share the awesomeness of that activity, I am going to detail that experience here, but with a word of caution.  Many, many people think we are insane, so attempt what we do at your own risk of life, limb, and sanity.

One day, not long after having baby number four, our little David, the kids wanted to go swimming.  This was a problem because we live in PA.  And it was February.  In our last house we had a HUGE bathtub and I would put all the kids, and at times even some cousins, in the tub in swim suits.  No huge tub here, sadly.  And they would not let up about swimming.  Isaac ran to get his suit, and I had an idea.  One born of desperation, the haze that comes after a newborn, and the winter blues.  I sent the kids to get on swim suits as I scrambled around to get ready.

As they were getting dressed I got beach towels and sunscreen.  I found my favorite reggae CD.  I got the baby shampoo, and Mr. Dave as we so fondly called our tiny guy.  I had the kids cover themselves with sunscreen while I swept the kitchen floor and blasted the music to set the stage.  We, well, actually they, were going surfing.  I moved everything out of the kitchen and had the kids stand on the towels on the floor. 

I squirted a whole bunch of baby shampoo on the floor and climbed up on the counter, perching myself by the sink.    I used the sprayer from the sink to squirt the kids and floor.  They were covered with water and bubbles and started slipping and sliding all over the place on their "surf boards".  I sat on the counter all criss cross applesauce nursing a newborn, hosing my kids every time they stopped being slippy until almost time for Andy to get home. 

We made quite a mess.  And had so much fun. 

I carefully climbed down, got some dry towels to mop up any leftover water and tossed the kids in the shower with their swimsuits still on.  As they rinsed off I put David down for a nap and put the towels in the wash. 

By the time Andy came home I had a clean kitchen floor, a napping baby, three squeaky clean, happy, snacking kids, and some freshly laundered towels still warm from the dryer.  It was an epic win for the day. 

We have never done it again, and Isaac does not remember it.  David, while there, did not get to participate. Perhaps we will have a repeat of that day, the one the girls call 'the day we knew Mommy had really lost her mind'.  My floor has not been cleaned in quite a while...

When I grow up...

Someone posted on Facebook asking what children want to be when they grow up. 

When Angel was little, she wanted to be a mermaid, an artist, and then the president.  Now, she wants to be a fashion designer.  Or maybe a teacher.  But definitely a mother. 

Faith usually answers with somethings about animals or creating something.  Today she said a robot builder.  Last week it was a vet.

Isaac wanted to be a ninja, a chef, a police officer, a super hero, one each day of the week, and take off Fridays for a long weekend.  He still wants to be a police officer.  Who uses ninja skills.

David wants to be a magic man who dances, sings, does magic, and fights fires.  And he wants to drive a red motorcycle.  And sometimes play golf.

Me, when I grow up, I want to be, well, I don't really know. 

I used to know.

On the first day of preschool, and everyday of my childhood, I wanted to be a teacher. 

I also wanted to be in charge.  It did not matter what I was in charge of, just as long as I was the decision maker. 

I want to homeschool, but I also want my own preschool.  I love preschool.  I am going to school for education, homeschooling my children, basically teaching all the time. 

I am not sure I want the responsibility of being in charge.  Of anything.  Sometimes I am not sure who decided I could be a grown up, let alone put me in charge of anything.  But I still like being bossy.  ;)

I also want to be debt free.  Yet my students loans alone mean I will have to wait for that.  Not to mention Andy's, and our house.

I want to be that older woman that younger women look to for advice. I just am not sure I want to earn that wisdom through trials and experience.

I want to be that married couple that has made 50 years and still holds hands. Since we were married young, that could happen. Only 36 years to go...

I want to be peaceful, some one whose life and circumstances reflect the love of God and the peace one can have in knowing Him. 


I suppose I still have a lot of growing up to do...

Noise Alert

In a household with children one can expect a certain amount of noise.  Playing, fighting, laughing, crying, banging, crashing, clomping, squealing...  In a household with children with Asperger's there are more noises at times, the constant noises or repeated words and phrases.  A new babies bring their own kinds of noises- crying, cooing, the swing rocking, musical toys.  All of these noises combined together create the symphony of our home, the beat we live by.  And usually that is a great thing.  Usually.

For some reason our summer is fizzling out, dying a slow painful death.  The kids are bickering, dropping trash everywhere, fighting, not wanting to play outside, and screaming.  One, or both, of our toliets overflow everyday.  And the screetching by the one, or at times two, preschoolers has reached a new level of loud. This wakes up the baby, who cries.  And then is over tired and cannot fall back asleep.  Who keeps Mommy awake.  All night long.  And the preschooler is up bright and early.  So Mommy gets no sleep.  And has a headache.  And is very irritated by the noise, good or bad, but mostly bad in the past two days. 

The fun level is crashing quickly, the frustration levels are rising just as fast.  And school is supposed to start on Monday for them, Tuesday for me.  Usually at this point I am excited, energized, and so are the kids.  We have crates full of new supplies, new materials, fun activities, and field trips planned.  I am not organized, but that is nothing new.  The house is cleanish, and the laundry is caught up.  I even have food in the crock pot for supper.

The problem is the noise.  Not the household noise, but the life noise that is blocking out my peace of heart and mind.  My quiet time spent in reflection, digging into the Bible, and covering our home in prayer.  It is the noise that fills my head, not the noise filling my house.  The noise that is blocking my attitude of praise and thanksgiving, keeping me off balance and unfocused.  My heart attitude sets the tone for my whole family.  If I am frustrated, they are fighting.  If I am joyful, we have laughter.  I know this is a fact.  I can see it in our lives. 

As we begin a new school year, a new journey, with so many joys, I have to set aside the past school year with its problems and trials, all the frustration.  I have to set aside myself, my lack of motivation, and my tiredness.  I need instead to create a new attitude in my home, one of peace and joy, love and laughter. 

Having so many things going on, that is difficult.  New baby, new school year, new classes for me, those are all overwhelming when tacked alone, let alone all at once.  So as we begin this new part of our journey, we will have a new commitment.  A commitment of loving each other, of loving God, and of service to Him.  And that new journey does not have to wait until we crack open our math book for the first time, it starts now.  With a family prayer, a new Scripture to memorize, and planning our day to include quiet time and time to play and grow together.  Please join me in praying for our family, our school year, and that I get some extra rest this weekend.

The Evolution of Bed Rest

I have been on bed rest since sometime in the middle of July.  This is pretty much how it has been going...

Week One:
I am so glad to not be in the hospital anymore!  That was horrible.  I am much more comfortable here.  I am so glad to know that our little one is not going to have to come too early, even if that means I am to be on bed rest for now.  Let's pray we make it to our due date so he is big enough and developed enough. Angel is doing a great job cooking and cleaning.

Week Two:
I am happy that Micah is still growing, we got to have an ultrasound and he is head down and super cute!  I am not liking this medicine, it is making me shake so much that I can not even walk to the bathroom.  The trips to the doctor are getting to be a bit much, but it is all for the best.  Angel has been making the best pancakes. 

Week Three: 
Off that medicine, no longer feel like death!  Maybe I can attend VBS even if I can't direct it.  I am getting so much school work done, and stuff with the kids for school.  The house is a wreck and we have no clean clothes.  We have been eating sandwiches and cereal until Andy gets home.  But at least Micah is doing fine and still growing.

Week Four:
I am getting pretty tired of this new medicine.  I am now not shaking, it is a constant headache that never lets up.  We have been to the hospital for tests so much that I am recognized by most of the staff.  the kids have been watching a lot of TV, so at least they are entertained.  I am pretty sure the boys have not had a bath in about a week, and there is now no clean clothing.  And at least one day this week they ate popcorn for lunch, but Angel did make pancakes for breakfast. We are out of ice cream.  Again.  At least they like fruit.  Will this little one ever get here??

Week Five:
(This has not happened yet, but we are starting week five soon.  I am pretty sure this is how it is going to go down...)
I can not take one more episode of a Disney show for the fifteenth time. Even Doctor Who has become irritating.  I know, right?  We have been existing on pop tarts and popcorn.  The boys still have not had a bath.  We have no clean clothing, as you can see by the multitude of pictures of David in his undies.  The same undies.  I can not find the living room floor.  There are no clean towels for any of us to shower.  Not eating real food cuts down on the amount of dirty dishes, and letting them go naked cuts down on the dirty laundry.  Does anyone have any ice cream?  Or chocolate?  Or both?   If they don't do something so I have this baby soon, I am going to die. 

Hugs, not Drugs!

Most of my past weekend was a blur.  Not the "I-just-had-so-much-fun" kind, but the kind that happens after a hazy, sick in bed weekend of pain.  As the fog is slowly lifting, and as I talk to my family, I realize not only how lucky I am, and how blessed that both Micah and I are doing fine, but I also realize why I am a no meds person.

I never take medicine.  I do not like that fuzzy head feeling, the common side effects, or the fact that I am not a normal side effects kind of person.  I am the kind of person that has rare, startling, or bizarre side effects of medicine.  I use more natural remedies because of this.  Upset tummy?  Fresh mint tea.  Headache?  Peppermint essential oil.  Toothache?  Clove oil.  I use a Neti Pot for my sinuses, and have been so stuffy that I have tried inhaling crushed red pepper.  Once.

For this pregnancy I have had to take my vitamins, which I am OK with.  Plus calcium and baby aspirin to help control blood pressure.  And B6 for my morning sickness.  And then medicine for my thyroid.  I seriously could not keep it all straight!  After my hospital adventure last week I added high blood pressure medicine.  Enter the bizarre side effects.  The not your average side effects.  Dizziness, weakness, fatigue, leg cramps, etc.  Then began the chest pain and my second, and then third adventure to the ER.  In the same weekend.  In order to determine if my chest pain was caused by the pulled muscle, instead of having a CT scan while pregnant, I was given a pain pill.  If my muscle relaxed, I would have no pain and be able to catch my breath. 

About 30 minutes after taking the pill I was breathing normally.  My dad, relieved that I was going to be fine and knowing I was going to be released soon, left the hospital.  What transpired over the next couple of hours are only hazy memories and the laughing reflections of my husband.  Not long after my dad left the hospital I began crying because he is such a nice man.  When I was released, I insisted that I needed a hamburger.  Made at Sheetz.  By my brother Josh.  Who, coincidentally does make delicious hamburgers, but not at Sheetz, seeing as how he does not in fact work there.  I was still set on Sheetz, so I insisted that we stop, at which point I could not order my food because the touch screen was confusing me, got a quesadilla, and was confused as to why they were not charging for my cup of ice.  Which made me cry a little bit.  I did not know how to pay no money.

On the way home I ate and was sad because my food was not as good as Josh makes.  I wanted Tony to meet me at the restaurant he works at, now close to midnight, to make me a hamburger.  Then I decided to just stop at Wal Mart to get Josh a quesadilla maker.  And, because I can not get Josh such a lovely present without getting one for Tony too, I was planning on finding him a tiny Eskimo.  A tiny Eskimo that makes ice cream.  Complete with the fur coat.  I could picture it in my mind. 

Needless to say, Andy was driving.  We did not stop at Wal Mart.  I fell asleep on the way home.  I have no recollection of getting from the van to my bed.  I do have a bruise from teh adventure, on my ankle.  I woke up well rested, even with the return of the chest pain, and a lingering feeling that I needed to find an Eskimo.  Or at the very least have some ice cream.

One Thursday Morning

There is not really any pregnancy that has no problems, no uncomfortable days.  I know at the beginning of this pregnancy I was super sick.  That happens.  I had to take the super long glucose test, which turned out exceptional.  And there was that day I had heat exhaustion at camp.  Pregnant in a heat wave, it happens.  So I consider that a relatively normal pregnancy.  I had been feeling great, Micah is moving and squirming around, growing like he is supposed to be doing.  Nesting set in and I was on a cleaning streak.

On Thursday morning I woke up not feeling quite right.  I figured I would switch from mad cleaning to a full day of doing my school work, and maybe treat the kids to a walk for some candy if they let me work in peace.  It was not uncomfortably hot, so when I barely made it to the bathroom with super amounts of swelling I was surprised.  By the time I got to the kitchen I could not make a fist because my hands were so swollen, and my toes were not.  Odd, but so is pregnancy. 

I did school for a while, still not feeling well.  I decided to lay down on my left side as so commonly told to do in pregnancy.  When my mom stopped over my whole face was swollen.  I took the kids to Giant Eagle for their snack, and checked my blood pressure.  I was high,but the machine was not working correctly so I was not sure.  By the time Andy came home my eyes were almost swollen shut. 

We headed to our chiropractor appointment, figuring I would check my blood pressure at Walmart and sit on the bench while Andy got groceries for supper.  My first reading was cause for concern, and the readings kept creeping up over the time I spent waiting and checking.  When it read 170/99 I knew I had to be seen.  We stopped to grab food at the closest drive through.  By the time we hit Johnstown I was pretty out of it.  My head was hurting very bad, I could see thumping spots, and was super sick to my stomach.  I was not entirely convinced I would be ok, but we had the kids with us so I did not say too much.

Andy had to drop me off at the ER and go park.  I was taken straight up to Labor and Delivery.  Andy sat in the waiting room with the kids, keeping in touch by text, until I saw the doctor.  I was feeling worse by the minute.  The doctor came in, looked at me, and called for a nurse to start the IV.  I told Andy, who came in to get a list of what I would need for short stay.  As soon as he left to drop of the kids and grab my stuff it got interesting. 

The IV nurse came in to do initial blood work and the second the needle hit my arm I been convulsing.  She hit an alarm, and nurses came running.  The doctor came in.  I heard them talking, got a shot, and then was told I had taken a seizure because my blood pressure spiked to 190/110.  I was put on a magnesium drip, which made me hot, itchy, and sick.  Several times I had to get shots for vomiting, they did blood work every few hours. 

After about an hour, the doctor ordered shots to help boost the baby's lungs.  If I was not doing better soon they wanted to induce at 33 weeks.  I began to cry.  Throughout the night my blood pressure was taken every 15 minutes, spiking quite high and then dropping dangerously low.  At one point I was told it dropped as low as 88/50, at which point I had another seizure.  Then more meds. 

I was taken off the magnesium drip after 12 hours.  It felt like 12 days.  They were running constant blood work, and urinalysis for 24 hours.  After coming off the IV I could not walk.  I could not stand without shaking.  For the first time in my life I was on my knees sobbing for help and had to hit the alarm to call for the nurse. 

After a long 24 hours, the tests came back borderline.  I was not diagnosed with pre-eclampsia, but with sudden onset pregnancy induced high blood pressure.  I was sent home feeling only slightly better than when I arrived.  I cried the whole way home.  I was terrified to leave the nurses and the consoling fact that if something happened they knew right away.  It is about a 45 minute drive, an eternity in an emergency.  And yet I so badly wanted to hold my kids.  By the time I got to my mothers to pick them up I could hardly  move.  A splitting headache, swelling beginning, and sick to my stomach.  I was ready to go right back to the ER when I could not walk myself to the van.  Andy and my Dad had to get me there, after I had to ask for help for the second time that day.

I crawled up to my room.  Bed rest until Monday.  We have an ultrasound to check the little man's size, and my check up to know what is going on with my blood pressure.  It needs to be regulated through my medicine or they will have no choice but to induce early.  If today is any indicator, so far the medicine is not working.  I can not stand up at all without my blood pressure spiking high enough to effect my ability to walk.  Trips to the bathroom are quite an ordeal.  There are side effects to both the magnesium and the new medicine I have to take, so hopefully in a few days this will even out.

Please be in prayer for us.  As much as I want to meet my little guy, I need him to be safe more.  He needs more time, and I need to be okay enough to give it to him.  I also need to keep trucking on the cleaning up, my school work, and the fun of preparing for meeting Mr. Micah. 

Nesting; Not Just for the Birds

I walked into our bathroom today, for the millionth time, and decided that I simply could not leave until it was clean.  I scrubbed the shower, the sink, the toilet, rearranged the shelves, wiped the mirror, cleaned the window, and took the curtians to the wash.  I swept and scrubbed the floor. 

As I was busy, Isaac and Faith kept sneaking up on me. I think they wanted to ask me something.  They just stared.  A few minutes later, David pops in.  He asked why I am cleaning the bathroom, thinking that I must have thrown up, and this should tell you how often I scrub down our rooms. 

Soon Angel peeks in, and checks back with the other kids.  The conversation has me cracking up as I am scrubbing the floor on my hands and knees because that is the only way I was convinced it was clean. 

Angel walks back to the living room and this is basically what she said:

"I do not think she is sick guys.  Remember yesterday when she had us put away all the laundry and explained that sometimes pregnant women need to clean?  I am pretty sure that is what is happening.  You see, I have seen her pregnant many times before, and everytime it is different.  It can be scary, but if she is doing something you have a few choices.  Offer to help, but only if you mean it.  Stay far away until she calls for you then hurry it up to get there.  Bring her water and tell her you love her.  Never drink the last Pepsi or eat the last chocolate.  And remember, it is almost August."

So apparently the nesting bug has hit me hard, and for the first time.  I went for me daily after lunch ice cream and cleaned out the freezer.  I was going to make coffee, but never got around to it because I simply had to do the dishes first.  I could not stop at washing the bathroom curtians, I had to fill the load so I put in the living room and den curtians as well.  Which meant that I am now taking a short break from cleaning those rooms as the kids play checkers.  Before I scare them too badly I better send them outside to splash in the yard.  And I have to hang in there, after all, it is almost August.

Defcon 5

The girls have been at camp since Sunday.  I am swimming in a sea of testosterone, surrounded by my boys, my husband, and even carrying a son.  It is interesting around here.  I grew up with no sisters and four brothers, so I should be used to this, but it is not something that females are supposed to get used to, I think.  It is why we tend to travel in packs, for our own protection.

Usually when I have something to gt done my girls bustle around, seeming to instinctively know what I mean when I say something stupid like put your laundry in the trash.  They assume that I mean toss the dryer sheet and put away your clothes, and they do.  My sons, however, follow my directions exactly.  So I find myself repeating what I thought I already said.  A whole bunch. 

If we are doing laundry my girls know that switch the laundry is a multi-step process that involves opening the dryer, removing laundry and placing it into a basket, opening the washer, moving clothing from the washer to the dryer, tossing in a dryer sheet, closing the dryer door and hitting the start button.  They then at times go a step further and add more dirty laundry to the washer, with laundry detergent, and turn it on.  After this, they carry up the clean.  Now, the girls are older, but have been doing this for years.  The boys idea of switching laundry involves moving piles of clothing around so it looks like less dirty laundry, riding dirty laundry down the steps, and playing in the formally full baskets.

Today, I declared laundry day. We have a mountain of dirty towels, as always, plus tons of blankets, sleeping bags, and quilts from camp.  Not that in these hot days and nights we will be needing them, but I would like them cleaned and put away to make room for the landfill that is going to arrive when the girls get home from a week at camp. 

I have already done several loads today, and reached the point of washing the sleeping bags.  This is where it gets interesting.  We do not allow the boys to use any heavy machinery, power tools, or even anything more dangerous than a butter knife without supervision.  I do not have them run the washer or dryer, mostly not because they do not know how, but because I can not be sure what they put in, laundry, toys, plastics, crayons, the cat, each other... 

As I was, umm, indisposed, the washer began the spin cycle.  With a heavy sleeping bag inside.  It was off balance.  David started screaming.  Isaac declared that we reached Def con 5 because the whole house was going to shake apart.  He was running around making siren noises and trying to evacuate the house.  From the bathroom I am yelling at them to calm down, which never helps, I know, but it was all I could do at the time. They ran to the washing machine.  I ran out of the bathroom as only an 8 month pregnant woman with a broken toe and sprained ankle can.  (That is a different story altogether, and not as exciting.)  They were already running back up the steps after "fixing" the problem.  They opened the washer, saw that the clothes were still in water, thankfully, because they normally would not have stopped to notice such a small detail, so they figured that the load was not done.  They added much more laundry detergent, and restarted the cycle.  Which is better than flopping the already heavy, now dripping wet sleeping bag on the floor.

So in about 40 minutes, I am sure that we will reach Def con 5.  Again.  This time I plan on intercepting before the sleeping bag disintegrates from an overload of laundry detergent and too much time in the washer.  I may have to go sit in front of the washer in about 35 minutes to head them off.  Or we will have  pre-lunch ice cream to distract them.  I vote ice cream.  And then, maybe a nap.

Things I Learned This Year at Camp

1.  Two three year olds is a lot of three year olds.

2.  At 8 months pregnant, every thing is twice as hard as it should be.  At camp everything is twice as hard as it should be.  That means that 8 months pregnant at camp is ten times harder than it should be.  Just trust me on the math.

3.  Eleven days is a long time to go camping.  A V-E-R-Y long time to go camping.

4.  A pregnant woman can drink 5 to 6 bottles of water and still be dehydrated in 95 degree heat.  And  our family really can not go camping without a trip to the ER.

5.  A little dirt does not hurt.

6.  Five kids at camp will all want to do something at the same time.  About eight different somethings. 

7.  Ice cream is expensive, yet a good moisturizer.

8.  One should never take five kids camping for finals week.

9.  Chopping wood is not a pregnant woman activity.  Or carrying wood.  Or carrying water. 

10.  Little boys can scream like little girls when attacked by flies.

11.  Sometimes sticky kisses and smiling faces are the only thanks I need.  Chocolate is also appreciated.

12.  Craft sticks are the best kid friendly item to take to camp.

13.  Never let your kids make friends with the bait.

14.  The sleeping limit on a camper is only a suggestion.

15.  You are never too old to lay under the stars, catch fireflies, eat a smore, or swing in a hammock.

16.  Playing pranks on the girl's bathroom is not only a little boy activity.

17.  Rocks, sticks, and inch works can fill an afternoon with delight.

18.  You can never have too many bubbles.  Or ice cream.  Or flashlights.  Or salamanders.

19.  There is no way to put the experience into pictures.

20.   There is a reason that we camp once a year.

Don't Sweat the Small Stuff

Several times recently I have seen something that reminds me of my childhood.  A post on Facebook about children going grocery shopping in costumes, a picture of me when I was younger, or even something someone said.  All of these things add up to me thinking about what is important, and what is not, for a child. 

For example, I was in a short online conversation about children in costumes in the store.  The person was encouraging to moms who let their children dress up in public.  Mine do that all the time, and I know the comments that we get are a mix between good and bad.  I say thank you to the good and ignore the bad, but my children hear both and are a bit confused.  This makes me think of my own childhood because I was never discouraged from figuring out who I am, be it a superhero, a costume, huge hair, purple hair, or odd clothing.  I tried it all, and my mother took it with a grain of salt.  I had different colors and lengths of hair in addition to crazy hair styles.  She just would say "Hair grows back."  I would dress in outfits that were more like costumes.  I could go goth, punk, cowgirl, grunge, and girl next door all in the same week.  She would pay no attention.  I finally settled on a style that fit me, and was comfortable because I knew all the others were not me.  I was not only trying to be shocking, as most teens try at some point, but I was figuring out who I was, where I fit, and what was me.  Oh, there was a bit of an attempt at shocking, but that was a bonus side effect, which mostly bothered my father.

Living with four brothers means that a fair amount of things got broken, thrown around, blown up, or destroyed.   If done intentionally, like strapping my favorite Barbie to a firecracker, there was discipline. But accidents were part of life and never a big deal.  I can not count how many times I have heard "Things are not important, people are important," from my mother, from myself, and now echoed by grandchildren.  Spilled drinks, broken dishes, broken windows, ruined clothing, and even a bottle of bluing dumped into the all of the laundry have all been responded to with the phrase.  That does not mean that it was a free pass, you mess it, you clean it, but it was not a big deal. 

Picky eaters were never admonished for eating only PB and J for weeks on end, but were encouraged to try something else.  When that phase was over, it was over.  The same went for clothing, hair styles, and even odd behaviors.  Phases were treated like a phase that would pass, not a line to be drawn in the sand.  It made it less likely for me to dig in my heels over something small because it was not a big deal, like purple hair.  If there is no reaction, there was no fun in it.  And as a phase was over, there was no comment.  It just was over. 

All of these things are the small stuff.  Because we were given freedom in these areas, we became more likely to seek advice, or at least listen to advice, in the bigger areas.  Areas that could impact our future, like friends, class choices, dating, driving, jobs, and life decisions.  I am not saying I always followed the advice, but I heard it.  And I knew that I could go to my mother even when heartbroken after not following her advice. 

I have followed this style of parenting in my own home.  I say no only when yes is not an option.  We blow bubbles in the kitchen.  We finger paint in the dining room.  We have a bin of rice that we bury toys in to find later.  We have a trampoline in the school room and a power wheels in the hallway.  Because it will make a mess is not a reason to say no.  There are limits and times for these activities, but they do happen often.  My children have all heard me say things like "Hair grows back", "Don't cry over spilt milk", and "Things are not important, people are."  We try not to sweat the small stuff, and handle the big stuff as it comes.