Hey out there, internets!  Remember me?  It’s the blog that time forgot … or the blogger that forgot time … or something like that.  I’ve been a bit preoccupied - but you knew that.  Thanks for being patient.  During this absence from the blogosphere the Simple household has experienced many a blog-worthy moment.  Let’s begin, shall we?

At this point, everything has been removed from the apartment and re-deposited in our new space.  There were, however; a few days in there where some stuff was here and some was there and some was somewhere in between, a situation that produced confusion, misunderstandings and ultimately a trip to the emergency room.  It seems that if one of two stressed parents is changing a stinky diaper in the car and fuming about how “this could have been much simpler if only….” and the other stressed parent is completely worn out from the demands of the day and one uncooperative three year old mistakes a couple of pennies for dinner then within 20 min everyone will find themselves sitting next to the guy with a bloody cloth wrapped around his hand.  Fun times.  I don’t have the real x-ray (and I’m not sure how to digitize an x-ray even if I did) but here’s a reasonable facsimile. (That red dot is supposed to be a penny… you know red because it’s made of copper… maybe that means it should have been orange.  Oh, well I’m not re-doing it now.  Not even to fix Brother’s clubbed foot look.)

The doctor assured us that Brother would suffer no ill effects from his escapade while, under my breath, I repeated my favorite parenting mantra.

This too shall pass.

Which makes me think of my next topic of interest:  potty training.  (How’s that for a segue?)  Changing Brother’s diapers has become increasingly difficult of late.  He doesn’t want to lay down or still.  He wants “Daddy change me!”, “No, Mommy change me!”, “No, Daddy!” then “I change me byyy mineself.”  I suspected a couple of weeks ago that he was ready to start going potty on his own but really didn’t want to deal with it in the midst of moving (or ever) but last week, finally, out of sheer desperation, I issued an ultimatum. “Listen boy.  You can either get this diaper on right now or march yourself into the bathroom and go potty like a big boy.”  His reponse?  “I go byyy mineself.”  And he did.  I set a timer for 30 minutes and he went again.  For 40 minutes and he went again.  And again and again.  Just after Will came home and I was telling him how well the whole potty thing was going, Brother went again…. in the kitchen.  Day number two was mildly successful until after lunch when Brother decided diapers weren’t so bad after all.  As it stands now, I ask him to go before bedtime and whenever there is resistance to wearing a diaper.  I remember the struggles trying to get Sister to meet my silly expectations and I am not eager to revisit those struggles with Brother.  I figure it will happen when it happens.

On the home front - the fridge, dryer & washer finally arrived on Friday.  Thankfully, the fridge worked perfectly and we were able to end our week long eating out marathon.  Too much fast food does not healthy (or happy) bodies make.  On the upside, we did find some great Chinese and pizza. Both are buffets, which in my mind is the only way to go with small, picky discerning children.  Anyway, so the fridge works and we are once again eating (mostly) at home.  The washer & dryer had a few installation … issues.  The two young men who brought them from Sears were clean, courteous and clueless.  To be fair, both units had to be installed in an extremely tight space and the outlet for the dryer (installed by the previous homeowner) was actually designed for a welding machine.  In case you want to dry your clothes with fire… or do some welding in the laundry room, I guess.  The electrician came on Monday but in the meantime we needed to do some serious wardrobe clean up (see above section on potty training) so we made a family trip to the laundromat.  When I was a child going to the laudromat was a weekly adventure and later as teen a weekly responsibility.  I would take a book and read to the rhythmic whirring of row upon row of washers.  If I didn’t have a book I would leave my garmets sudsing and walk down to the local library to find one.  In those days, in our small town one could actually leave laundry unattended and feel secure it would still be there when you got back.  I remember those days as a lot of work but also as a refreshing time alone.  Flash forward to Saturday at the Jiffy Wash, with Will and the little ones tagging along I wouldn’t say it was a relaxing experience but it was fun anyway.  And where else can you stuff 6 loads of laundry into one washer and two dryers, taking your entire wardrobe from dirty to clean in just under an hour?

I started my first load at home on Tuesday.  The new front load washer started to spin.  So efficient, so quiet, so nice …. kaplunk, kaplunk! … wha?  Wednesday, my Sears boys came back - this time with reinforcements.  It seems that you have to remove the styrofoam and packing braces surrounding the wash drum before it will spin properly.  Who knew? (obviously not the first delivery boys.)

In the last week I’ve packed and unpacked stacks and stacks of boxes, visited Lowe’s more times than I care to count and dealt with issues regarding plumbing, electric, cable, networking, yard maintenance and carpentry.  Oh the joys of home ownership.  At the end of it all Will & I decided we deserved a break so we put the kids to bed and settled into the den to watch a movie - “The Pursuit of Happyness.”  Have you seen it?  If you have then you know every little difficulty or “issue” written above is exactly that - little - miniscule, even.  I am blessed beyond measure.  There is nothing in my life worth complaining about.  In fact there is much in my life to celebrate.  Besides now having a yard to play in the kids now also have a room to sleep in…. and they do.  For the first time in almost 6 years Will and I have a room entirely to ourselves.  Oh sure, they come in for early morning snuggles but for the most part it’s just us.  Alone.  [Insert Hallelujah chorus here.]  We almost don’t know what to do with all the privacy… almost.

Brother’s birth began on August 10, 2004. That morning I lost some of my mucous plug which seemed to initiate a series of contractions throughout the day. Despite the fact that it was already 16 days past Brother’s due date (yes, 16 - that’s not a typo)I didn’t put much hope in these contractions because they were extremely light and irregular. However, around 7:30pm the rushes settled into a steady pattern occurring every 15 minutes and lasting about 40 seconds. My expectations began to rise. It was difficult to go to sleep but I tried my best knowing I would need rest for the labor ahead. The last contraction I remember feeling occurred at 2:30am.

For the better part of the 11th my body resumed it’s normal 9+ months pregnant state sans contractions. Then at 7pm a familiar tightening in my belly caught my attention. Easily 10 minutes apart and lasting only 20 seconds or so there was no need to get excited though it was hard not too. By 11:30 the contractions had increased in length to 40 seconds and though light were coming regularly every 5 minutes. As before I knew better than to stay awake, so to bed we went. Sleep was sporadic until 5am when the contractions stopped.

August 12th came … and went. Apparently, Brother was taking a little break.

The morning of August 13th, Will treated me to breakfast at the Cracker Barrel then at 11 my midwife treated me to a special blend of Herbal Chinese Tea (guaranteed to produce a baby within 24 hours… HA!) That evening, just after we’d put Sister down to sleep, again with the contractions. Light and short but a regular 5 min apart. We went to bed but awoke around midnight to discover that number had shortened to only 3 min between each one. This was surely “it.” At 4am my full bladder begged to be emptied and a slight bit of bloody show would have convinced me this was the “real thing” except … all contractions had ceased, again.

The next morning all my convictions about the evils of induction had unceremoniously left the building. My breakfast consisted of milk, a dohnut, a round of the noxious Herbal Chinese Tea and several drops of cohosh. Despite my efforts nothing happened until 7pm on the dot (Can you see a pattern here?) They were puny little contractions 30 seconds or so every 15 minutes. I threw up my hands in disgust and went to bed.

My body woke me at 10:13 with a tightening that lasted at least 60 sec (This was new.) and then another 8 minutes later, just as long, and another, and another. Finally! These required some  concentration. Now we were getting somewhere. Sometime in the night, Will recorded that I ate some toast and took a warm bath. We tried to sleep but were up at least once every hour as the contractions remained strong and steady throughout the night. By 6:30am there was no point in staying in bed. My body needed to move. I got up and wandered about the house stopping every 6 min or so to relax and allow my body to work. Will brought me some honey toast and kept me supplied with water.

Sister woke a little after 7. I wish I could remember what she did during this time but labor requires focus so all I have to go on are the notes that Will faithfully scrawled in between taking care of me and taking care of her. I imagine since Sprout was very popular with Sister during that period that she probably cuddled up with her cat and a sippy cup of milk in front of the television and allowed the haze of slumber to slowly fade to the tune of “Dddd-ora. Dddd - ora. Dora, Dora, Dora the Explorer!…” 

Around 8:30am, I returned to bed.  The rushes were starting to wear and I needed to be in a place where I could completely relax.  I remember thinking how very nice that I didn’t have to deal with any wires or monitors or getting the doctor’s “permission” for this or that.  Instead I listened and responded as my body told me what to do.  “Move… sit… rock… sway… kneel … stand very still…”

 As I scan down through the record Will kept, it is interesting to see the pattern.  Not every contraction is the same length.  In some cases there is a variance of some 30 seconds but I notice that after several long clustered rushes there was often a break.  Four to six short ones with more time in between.  Then a long one with a long break, then a couple of short ones closer together.  Labor would be impossible if it ran at full intensity for the duration so like waves that bring in the tide it advances in a steady but delightfully varied way.

I eat as I am hungry - a banana, ramen noodles, more toast - with plenty of water.  All this water, of course, means many visits to the restroom.  Sitting on the toilet seems to intensify the contractions but rather than dreading that consequence I look forward to it knowing that intensity often equals progress.

Sister leaves with Aunt P. around 10:30 to go to church and I think to myself how wonderful it would be for Brother to be born on the Sabbath.  Apparently, some part of me was still aware of and monitoring her presence because as soon as she leaves everything begins to happen much more quickly.  I roam the living room searching for a comfortable spot.  I use the opportunity between each contraction to move to a new place or change to a new position.  It is not written on Will’s notes but I remember talking and laughing between rushes then stopping at the first twinge of tightness, drawing into myself as the contraction grew, washed over me then subsided to nothingness.  I remember easily picking up the conversation until the next wave. 

Having read extensively of Dr. Odent’s success with water births, we had rented a birth pool and set it up many, many days before in our guest room.  I never knew for sure whether I would use it or not but I wanted it there… just in case.  A little after 1pm, it was no longer a question.  I needed to be in the water.  But first, I asked my midwife for an exam.  I knew that sometimes getting in the water prior to 4 or 5cm could slow or even stall labor altogether.  Having waited so long I wanted to avoid that at all costs.  I waited fearfully.  In my head, I heard, “3cm.”  With my ears, “7 - a very stretchy 7.  You can get in if you want.”   Yes!  I went to the restroom one last time and was on my way to the pool when with a slight pop my water broke.  (Hmm, how do you suppose one gets amniotic fluid out of the carpet?)

2:10 found me (finally!) in the glorious water.  It was as if my body had whispered its needs before but now spoke them clearly.  The water made it so easy to move this way or that - so easy to reach just the right position.

Transition occurred at 2:15.  I remember it clearly.  It enveloped me in one overwhelming contraction.  It was the one moment of the whole labor that I thought, “I want to go home.”  I grasped the side of the pool, looked up helplessly into Will’s eyes and realized, “I am home.”  At the very next contraction, I could actually feel Brother begin to descend.  It was an incredible sensation.  No one told me the moment his head emerged, I knew and I reached instinctively to touch my son for the first time.  One last push and the midwife gently brought him to the surface of the water and placed him in my arms.  His eyes were bright, taking in this new world around him.  He did not cry.  We sat that way for many minutes and not until Will lifted him out did he utter a sound which is, I think, a testament to how he felt about being born in the water.

Brother’s official birth time is 2:38pm, August 15, 2004 which technically means I was in labor for about 115hrs or almost 5 days.  It does make measurements seem silly, doesn’t it?

(You can click on each picture for a larger image.  Thought I’d give you a choice on that one since not everyone wants to be flashed with picks of a necked lady in a birth pool.)

There’s another picture here.

Click this if you’d like to read more Birth Day posts.

(Yes, I really did post this in the wee hours of the morn for those of you paying attention.  Hopefully, I’ll be back soon to post more of your regularly scheduled randomness.)

This weekend Will’s little sis, K was in a play.  She is attending local performing arts classes and they finish each semester with a performance.  We hadn’t intended to go, as the going would involve a good bit of driving, but late Thursday night Sister turned her puppy dog eyes to Daddy and suddenly our plans changed.  It was decided that Will would take off early Friday so we could arrive in time but by then there were only Saturday night tickets available and our plans changed again.  Saturday found us traveling the turnpike west toward OKC (that’s Oklahoma City for you non-Okies).  This particular stretch of road is divided neatly into thirds by the quintessential American road stop… McDonald’s.  I would love to say McDonald’s is an establishment we avoid. Indeed before I had children I swore I would never take them there but … plans change. (It’s a running theme in my life.)  We had deftly avoided two of the golden arch stops and were almost past the third when Brother declares he needs his diaper changed.  A sudden odor in car confirms his statement and initiates a not so golden detour.

We exit at the last moment and park in a somewhat shady spot near a tree.  While I take care of Brother, Sister and Will go inside to get some drinks.  Interestingly, Brother does not need changed.  He’s not even wet.  I let him get out of the car and play in the shade while we wait.  Will and Sister return.  We are ready to get in the car when suddenly I feel sick to my stomach.  I go inside to use the restroom while the three of them sip on ice tea and take their turn at waiting.  When I get to the restroom I no longer feel sick - not even a little.  I puzzle over this as I wash my hands.  I am almost to the exit when I see Will and the children coming back inside.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting a refill.”

“You already drank that all of that?!”  (He got the largest size they had.)

“No.  I used it to put out the fire.”

“The fire?!”

“Yep and I think I deserve a free refill.”

A series of questions reveals that while my family was waiting for their not sick mother.  Sister spied a fire just beginning to grow in a bush near the building.  She alerted Will.

“Look dad, there’s a fire.”

Will scans the horizon looking for a grass fire.  “Where?” 

“There.”  Sister points.

“Oh, there!”

Using only his quick wits and beverage, Will calms the flames long enough for a volunteer fireman (who just happened to be out dining with his family) to come and finish the job.

We thought about it later.  In all the time we’ve ever lived in Oklahoma, in all the times (too many to count) we’ve ever traveled that road, we have never stopped at that particular place.  We wouldn’t have stopped that day except to change a boy that didn’t need changed and we wouldn’t have stuck around long enough for Sister to spot the flames except to wait for a mom who wasn’t sick.

“How can we understand the road we travel? It is the LORD who directs our steps.”

Proverbs 20:24 (New Living Translation)

The incident quickly became a memory when we arrived in OKC and were introduced to the grandparent’s new hot tub.  A quick bit of splashing and a simple steak dinner ( simple steak dinner - seems like an oxymoron doesn’t it?) were followed by one of the best junior productions of anything I’ve ever seen.  The children were enthralled and I found myself wishing my friend Leslie and her sweet daughter could have joined us for if anyone would appreciate Suessical it would be they.

After the curtain call and congratulations were over, Will and I packed up Brother in the car and headed back to Tulsa for the night.  Sister stayed for a slumber party and the promise of a visit to Sam Noble’s Museum of Natural HIstory. 

A good time was had by all.

I came across this pic while cleaning out my folders.  The night this little guy was created we had gone to Hobby Lobby for … something and came out with … many somethings.  Somehow that’s always the way with me and Hobby Lobby.  One of our somethings was modeling clay which kept us up way past bedtime and resulted in a number of lovely creations.  This guy in particular reminds me of this story which has always been one of my favorites about my dad.

When you are a teen, don’t agree to go out with a boy that your best friend likes.  Even if he does not share her affection and even if you have never had a boyfriend before and you are completely overwhelmed by the fact that a guy… any guy would like you over her.  Just don’t do it, because chances are that the guy will totally not be worth it and you will wish that he would just leave and that you could have your best friend back again.  IF you are lucky, maybe… maybe… she will agree to be your friend again but things will never be quite the same and sometime later like when your thirty-something you might be in the shower and you might think of that time and know that even though ultimately the friendship survived; you cut off a branch of that relationship that never quite grew back.  And that might make you sad.

Those of you who know about the effect of a Brown Recluse (AKA Fiddleback Spider) bite are wide-eyed at this moment thinking, “Good grief woman! Get yourself to the hospital… NOW!”  Let me clarify.  I was bitten by a brown recluse … when I was 18.  And I didn’t even notice!  It was my mother who first took note of an unusual bruise on my thigh.  That I couldn’t remember where it came from was not out of the ordinary.  I frequently had bruises I couldn’t account for.  Any slight bump seemed to make them appear so after a while I just stopped keeping track.  Anyway, neither of us were particularly concerned until a few days later when we realized that unlike normal bruises this one was not shrinking.  Instead it grew at a tremendous rate.  What started the size of a 50 cent piece was now larger than both my hands … with fingers outstretched.  And it developed an intriguing black hole (about the size of a pinhead) in the center.  Then it stopped.  Erring on the side of caution (HA!) we made a doctor appointment for the following week.  I didn’t have a regular physician at that time but my old pediatrician agreed to see me.  I remember sitting in the waiting room - the only child present without her mommy.  Typical doctor tests and questions then, “You’ve been bitten by a spider.  A fiddleback.”

“Is that bad?”

“Usually.  How long did you say you’ve had this bruise?”

“Two or three weeks.”

The doc shook her head, clearly puzzled, then sent me away with a prescription and instructions to return IMMEDIATELY if there were any more growth.  There never was.  I took the pills down to the last one even though the bruising was gone long before then.

I am telling you about this now because I woke this morning to find one of these solitary spiders in my bed mercilessly smooshed (That’s a scientific term.) beneath one of my pillows and it reminded me.

*To be completely honest - spider bites are inaccurately attributed to the brown recluse at least half the time which means it is quite possible mine was a misdiagnosis but it makes a good story anyway.

Both Will and I rode the school bus as children.  I liked school well enough but to me nothing was quite as wonderful as jumping off the bus after a long day.  Jumping off the bus felt like a leap away from what other people thought I should know and a leap toward my more important childhood discoveries.  It seems my husband shared the same enthusiasm for that moment of freedom.

Did you play?

Leslie over at My Mommy’s Place tagged me for a Real Mom meme.  I’m not tagging anyone else (because I’m lame that way) but feel free to play along if you like.  Here are my thoughts on the subject.

A real mom starts taking her first child to full time daycare after only six months even though she is supposed to be a stay-at-home nurturer of all things small; because she just needs a little time alone to read books without pictures and shower and call up a friend who knows how to form complete sentences.

A real mom struggles to nurse her firstborn because it’s the “right’ thing to do.  They say it’s better for her baby’s health and it will build an unbreakable bond between mother and child.  That same mom realizes after about 7 months that the term “right” is subjective.

A real mom having read Ferber and Ezzo determines that all babies can learn to sleep through the night if only they are left alone to cry long enough.  A real mom eventually feels the tugging in her heart, picks up her child and cries too for those lost moments spent apart.

A real mom takes her second child to part-time daycare because she realizes the refreshing power of taking time to regroup.  She knows it makes her a better mommy especially to her firstborn because the two of them spend their Brother-less days together - cooking and talking and playing and rebuilding the unbreakable fragile bond that nursing started but that Ferber and Ezzo broke.

A real mom nurses her second child for no other reason than she wants too.  She picks up him when he cries, nurses him to sleep each and every time he wakes and finds that when at last he gives up the breast a few days short of his second birthday, she is sad.

A real mom learns to to try unsual solutions.  She creates the mega-bed because she understands her children’s desire for comfort at night but recognizes her own real need for rest.

A real mom allows her children to teach her the power of touch and love and gentleness.  She learns to follow their innocent lead and through them she lives life anew, delighting in the discovery of rain and words, butterflies and toads.

A real mom is not afraid to change.

It’s Thursday again!  Time to share more about birth.  Jump right in if you have something to share.  And if you’ve blogged about pregnancy or birth before send a link to your old post(s).  Oh, and a big congrats to this mommy who recently started another journey to birth.

Sister’s Story

The birth of our first child was easily the most empowering experience in my life up to that point. I knew from almost the beginning that I did not want to have an epidural. I would love to say that it was “for my baby’s health” or that I wanted to give birth “the way God intended” but in fact it was much more mundane than either of those. I was simply afraid of having an epidural. Knowing unmedicated birth is not the norm these days my husband, Will, and I attended independent childbirth classes and I consumed any book on pregnancy and birth I could find. After stumbling across Natural Childbirth the Bradley Way by Susan McCutcheon the idea of “natural childbirth” started to appeal to me in its own rite. I began to desire a birth free of not just an epidural but all unnecessary interventions. At one point we considered the option of a homebirth but we still didn’t trust ourselves or the natural process enough for that. Partly because we didn’t trust ourselves, we decided to engage the help of a doula. This decision proved to be one of the best we made. As our due date of September 21^st came and went knowing she supported our choice to avoid an induction helped us remain firm with our doctor.

Labor finally began around 8 am on October 1^st, 2001. The contractions though regular were very light. I was still working at the time but chose not to tell anyone but Will. The contractions continued throughout the day but they were still light and around 6 or 7 o’clock they stopped altogether. (I was very disappointed, thinking “Will this baby ever arrive?”) Later that night – about 11:00pm – I had a contraction strong enough to wake me up. These continued until morning when Will convinced me to stay home. He then called my manager to tell her I wouldn’t be coming in. By this time the contractions were very regular (10-15 minutes apart) and more intense than the day before. We went to see our doctor at his office around 9 am and he said that today was definitely the day but that it still might be a while so we could go home if we wanted. My mother and sister came to the house around lunchtime. Now the contractions were really intense and Will called our doula. (She couldn’t come!!!) But she suggested I get in the shower and she sent her backup, Amy, who arrived about 4:00pm. When the contractions were about 2 minutes apart we left for the hospital. Will called our doctor during the 15 minute drive. At the hospital it seemed that the elevator took an especially long time arriving but it finally did and we (myself, Will, my mother, sister & Amy) took it up to Labor & Delivery. The nurses insisted I ride in a wheelchair to my room when I would have much rather walked. I remember worrying that the interventions were only beginning. But my fears were not to be realized. After checking me (5-6cm), the nurse assigned to us read our birth plan and told us she would support our choices. True to her word, I was only kept on the monitor for about 20 min and during my whole stay never had an IV. The room was kept dim and quiet and no one ever told me to “stay in bed”. In fact, a little after 6 we went to the hospital whirlpool - - - that helped a lot! Our doctor arrived at 6:25 and stopped by to say hello. At 6:40 we returned to the room. At 7:15 the nurse shift changed and we met our new nurse, Robin. (Now at 2-3 min apart – 7cm!) The next hour was a blur of position changes. The back labor became especially intense so Will provided counterpressure and Amy talked me through each contraction. We tried a hands and knees position, we walked, I sat on the birth ball and we took a shower. Around 8:30 I returned to the bed for an exam (9+cm). My doctor agreed that I could push gently to remove the last lip of cervix. It worked and I was complete but still our baby did not seem to be coming. Our doctor ordered an ultrasound to determine her position. She was at 0 station in a “persistent occiput transverse position.” Basically her head was facing to my side rather than the more common face to my back (occiput anterior) or even the less common face to my front (occiput posterior). I now know that the occiput transverse position is an indicator for many sorts of interventions (vacuum extraction, forceps, pitocin, and in some cases cesarean section) and I am extremely thankful that my doctor trusted the natural process. He and Amy felt that a standing squat would be the most helpful given the situation so with each contraction I hooked one arm around my husband’s shoulders and one arm around my doula’s and pushed. At one point, we heard a loud “pop” but disregarded it in the intensity of the moment. We later found out that “pop” was actually my tailbone breaking as Sister made her sideways path down the birth canal. When it became clear that she was in fact descending, I changed to pushing in a sitting squat and at 9:33 Sister began crowning and I touched her for the very first time. Only 4 minutes later she was born. Her eyes were the deepest blue and so alert. My mother cut the cord and she was placed on my chest. Of course the placenta needed to be delivered and I had some tearing which needed stitched but all of that was secondary to the angel in my arms.

Born 9:37pm, October 2^nd, 2001

8lbs 7oz — 20.5 inches

For today’s theme:  a couple of pictures from my childhood.  This is the house I grew up in (mostly).  Looks huge doesn’t it?  I remember driving up to it for the first time and thinking, “We’re going to live here!?  It’s a mansion!” Technically speaking, while it was large, it was not a mansion.  It was an old, rambling, farmhouse … with one, count ‘em it, one bathroom.  But you don’t think about that sort of thing when you’re four.  That’s me, by the way… the short one in the first picture and sporting a way, too short yellow dress in the second. 

I pulled these pictures from some old albums in order to send them to the current owners.  They are making considerable changes to the house (probably adding another bathroom) and were curious about its history.  To be honest I’d like to know a bit more about its history too.  I know my dad grew up there.  He even slept in the same room I did.  My grandfather farmed the land surrounding the house just as we my parents did when we lived there.  And I know it was a great place to grow up.  I guess that’s enough.

Did you play?