A note of gratitude

Last week at Mass, my seventh grader leaned over and whispered, "Is it marriage day or something?" Not that I know of, why? I respond. "There are so many young people here," she pointed out.

I looked around. There were a quite a few young couples in the pews. In front of us was a tall couple, stylishly attired, probably in their mid-twenties. The wife had a very cute, very prominent pregnancy belly. Another young couple behind us had a tiny newborn with lots of hair. Scattered around church were a number of young families, young couples, college kids home on break.  My heart swelled with happiness.

These young people are a sign of hope. The faith lives and flourishes despite scandal and all the distractions of modern life. I was asked to be a confirmation sponsor by one of the young moms in our co-op. My husband was asked by my nephew to be his sponsor for confirmation.  I invited my friend over for a playdate and conversation yesterday, and we sat on the floor and talked about how she first felt at home in a Catholic church when she went inside a random church after a disagreement with her mom a couple years ago. Her husband is Catholic, and in the Navy, and she didn't think much about agreeing to raise their kids Catholic until they had a little girl. Now, with her husband frequently gone, she realized she better learn about the Church in which she agreed to live. She grew up nominally Unitarian but rarely went to services. She is not yet sure she will be confirmed this Easter, but I am so flattered to be asked by her to be her sponsor. I sent her home with George Weigel'ss Letters to a Young Catholic. 

Hearing her story and seeing all these pretty young faces at Mass is cause for Thanksgiving.  We celebrated the holiday with my husband's brothers' family in Ventura, where burned hills still testify to the raging fires last year at this time, but normal life seems to have resumed around town.  My brother-in-law surprised us by flying home our 18-year-old for dinner, so although we were a smaller group around the table, our hearts were full.

I am also thankful that in just a couple weeks two of our three college kids will be home. I bought the plane tickets for Christmas break last week. I am grateful they can travel home and spend time with us, especially after hearing the stories about the poor students who can't return home after the Thousand Oaks shooting.

Our third son will stay in Rome for the year.  I am extra thankful we are going to see him in February - just in time for his 21st birthday! We are taking all the kids because I found such a good deal on plane tickets and because my husband convinced me that this will be their religious education program since they go to public school.  Almost my entire income for teaching this semester - maybe more - will go toward the trip, but I am thankful we are able to do something like this. My younger kids may not realize what a privilege it is to take a trip to Europe since they live in a community where people fly around on vacation everywhere all year around, but I hope they will remember something about it. (I need to remember my plan to get some videos about Rome and Italy from the library and to rewatch the Italian sections of Bishop Barron's Catholicism series over Christmas break)

We have many so many reasons to be thankful, yet of course, I am usually preoccupied with how I can never get done what I want to do, or irritated by the small inconvenience (traffic!), or nagging at the kids to do homework, read, get off the computer, clean up, help out, straighten up and fly right and all that.

I started writing this shortly after Thanksgiving, and now two weeks have gone by. Yesterday the bridge was closed for several hours while emergency response teams tried to convince a man not to jump. This time they succeeded, thanks be to God. Many people were sharing stories of their traffic nightmares, but there also was a general sigh of relief that a life was saved.

Last night we had the biggest downpour we've had since living in California - a verifiable storm. The power went out just before dinner. We lit candles and ate homemade chicken noodle soup with Reames egg noodles, my favorite comfort food, although not as good as my mom's. The kids laughed, told ghost stories with candles under their faces, and read by candlelight. We all went to bed early. It was great. And it reminded me this morning, as I'm up early, to give thanks for the little blessings of these moments, and for the unbelievable gift to have these blessed souls and bodies in my care, when I'm tempted to bothered by petty concerns.  God is good.

June ends too soon

 I can't believe the end of June is right around the corner. Since I haven't managed to sit down and update this all month, I'm again throwing up some photos to represent the events of the month.

June was a month of parties. It began with our twenty-second wedding anniversary. We celebrated by helping friends from the east coast host a west coast retirement party. They used to live here and came out for a visit and to organize the Wear Blue: Run to Remember mile at the Rock and Roll Marathon. So the beach bonfire was followed up with a very early morning of volunteering to hold flags during the marathon.  We also were hosting our oldest son's girlfriend, who came out a couple days after her return from a semester in Ireland to cheer him up from his recovery from ACL surgery.

The next weekend we hosted a twelfth birthday party with a cooking competition theme that was inspired by our daughter's love for the Great British Baking show.  It also made buying gifts easy: a big mixing bowl (a good size for making bread that I have always wanted), a new pyrex measuring cup (oh, mine just shattered not too long ago!), an apple slicer (I've always desired one but couldn't justify the drawer space), and wait are those new measuring cups and silicone spatulas in cute colors! Perfect! Just what she wanted/I needed!

It was nice to give the newly minted twelve-year-old some attention because the following week was devoted to promotion/graduation activities.  We've attended a variety of end of the year awards ceremonies and celebrations, but the actual end of the school year was until June 14th. My parents arrived on the 12th, and celebrated our son's promotion from middle school to high school the next day, which happened to be the warmest of the year.  That event had a lot of pomp and circumstance, but the ceremoniousness was interrupted first by the fainting of a middle school student cameraman, and then by watching two or three light-headed choir members being led retching from the risers on the football field to the sidelines. Then during a long, predictable speech about working hard and having a good attitude by the superintendent, a couple seagulls swooped down to the field to clean up the mess. It was good entertainment.

The next night was the high school graduation for our third son. The emotion wasn't quite as high this time, but I still caught myself feeling sentimental and nostalgic for the years that went by so quickly, especially as I pulled out old photos from albums (which also made me miss prints).  The high school graduation, even though it is an hour longer than the middle school one, was much more fun. The speeches were better, the students threw beach balls and blew bubbles and cheered anytime someone said "Class of 2018," and some random kids were mock kung fu fighting on the far side of the track for added entertainment.  The final perk: the ceremony was held at 7 pm, so we got to watch a glorious sunset over the football field. 

Both of these celebrations were followed with dessert fests. We hosted a graduation open house for my son's friends and dropped in on a couple of other students' parties, but having my parents here made the events feel more like celebrations, too.  It always helps to have family to celebrate with.

In addition to these momentous occasions, we've had a half a dozen going away parties (we only hosted one last weekend, aloha themed, for about 30 people). It is PCS season, and again this year, we are staying put instead of leaving. This year it seems like my whole group of good friends is  leaving - four families from our friend group, the family we've been stationed with three times, friends down the street we have over to dinner, my daughter's best friend, the women I have coffee with to talk about teenagers, my one other friend with a big family who was my partner in organizing our pre-school co-op. . . . It's a sad time for me. It's easier to be the one going sometimes.  My daughter was crying big, gulping sobs the morning her best friend left - which happened to be from our driveway where they had spent the night in their RV.  I know we'll see them, and probably some of the other families, too, again, but it means readjusting what next year will look like --- which will happen anyway as we send another kid off to college.

More decisions and celebrations to come...

  

The almost 9th-grader (in the jacket he picked out).

High school sunset 

Almost graduate with grandparents

Celebrating!

Concert in the park

The cap illustration - future home

A much needed familiy getaway to Mount Palomar for some vitamin N

The baby betta fish are growing! 

New hand-me-down bike trailer

Midsummer sunset

Stuffed

Our garage is looking a little overstuffed.  Boxes line the walls, full of unshelved, unread books, old certificates and artwork, mementos packed in tissues, binders from past jobs, and clothes that don't fit anyone. Bikes hang from the ceiling and lie across the floor, entangled with scooters, roller blades, and ripsticks. Wetsuits drip-dry from a line suspended from hooks hanging down from the ceiling. Suitcases are stacked haphazardly on top of placeless dining chairs. Three old coffee makers await the ewaste pickup day, missed three times.  A "rescued" road sign one of the college kids picked up one night gives me grief because it has no place, and I don't know how to get rid of it and the teen who picked it up is off at college and can't toss it in a dumpster himself.

Six tennis rackets, a box of model trains, dive gear, bike repair tools, a shelf full of offsize cleats, a bin of balls and wooden swords, three sets of golf clubs, 8 folding camp chairs, 2 bins of camping supplies, an overflowing box of sleeping bags. Old blankets, a pack n play, a stroller, a car seat. An old desk, an unused rocking chair, a cupboard full of VHS tapes and CDs. And then a workbench cluttered with tools and hardware and paint and oil and broken things to be fixed. Bags of t-shirts to make into a t-shirt quilt for a graduation present for the kid who graduated three years ago, or throw away.  Three coolers and a water jug. Unnecessary lamps. Bins full of decor for Easter, Halloween and Christmas times four.

The catalog could continue, but you get the idea.  We have a lot of stuff that is used rarely, if ever.  Every so often, once every couple of years usually, we go through things and shred some papers, cull some belongings for the giveaway truck in an attempt to half our belongings, so we don't go over the weight limit when we move. Since we already have more beds, mattresses, chairs, and dressers than the average family because we have a larger than average family, I always feel somewhat concerned about our worldly possessions adding up to more poundage than the average family is allowed.

Since we didn't move this summer (my husband just started a new job for the Navy in an office across the bay and a few miles down the road), I feel out of sorts.  The St. Vincent de Paul truck came to church last weekend, so we loaded up the Suburban with some unused shelves, several bags of cargo shorts and other unstylish clothes, the old crib, extra tennis rackets, and a kid-sized rolling suitcase (because we still have three others), and I meant to throw in an extra scooter no one rides. I even gave away some books.

I would like to keep shedding, to go through boxes of documents and mementos, to get rid of stuff and move on to a new place, despite the glorious weather, pristine gardens, and friendly neighbors at our current location. I would like to move someplace where the rent is less, the yard is more, and the local Catholic school is Catholic and affordable, where the church has an active youth group for teenagers, where we meet with some people who are less concerned about temporal things and more concerned with eternity. I would like to someday be able to paint the walls the color I like and plant a tree that I will see fruit.  I would also like to quit some volunteer duties gracefully - by moving.

But the Navy still has the upper hand for a few more years, and here we stay for at least two of those.

In my mind and heart, I know that we are lucky to get to stay. A lot of people would be thrilled to stay put for a few more years, especially with a senior in high school.

But I feel the weight of the stuff. It accumulates with time, and fear keeps it around - a fear of needing it the next time around, of getting rid of it and then wishing we had it. Or maybe it is a fear of forgetting, of not having a history without it.  The longer something stays around, even if it is something silly like an old paper, the harder it is to part with it.

All the natural disasters the past few weeks are a reminder of how quickly stuff can be lost. And of how unnecessary it is to survival.  Carrying the weight of having to stay in a place long enough to get tired of the responsibilities, the duties, the frustrations with schools, the disappointment with the okay youth program, the potential for what could be good, but just doesn't quite measure up,  the burdens of friendship and not-friendships, of fees and uniforms, and teams is tiring. This is my lament for the week.  Tomorrow I'll feel grateful again, and I'll move on to the next thing, and try not to think about everything in the garage basement for a few more months.

Instead of quitting it all, finding a dumpster, and moving away, I will stay put and keep at it, or say I'm sorry, I can't, or find someone else.  I will be grateful for the chance to stay with something for a change. At least I know a few someones now.

What am I thinking?!

It's Wednesday afternoon before Thanksgiving and here I am sitting at the computer. Woman, what are you thinking!  Shhh... the baby is sleeping, the kids and husband are off at the aunt and uncle's.  They are cooking the first of three turkeys (the balutan turkey), cleaning, and surfing in between all that.  So I have some stolen moments for contemplation...

Dinner tomorrow will be at the cousins' house with some sailors who aren't going to their own homes and some friends.  We are bringing sides, which are started, and pies, and a second turkey, which will be cooked in the morning.  I've baked some sweet potatoes, made the cranberry relish and sauce, and will make Gonga's yeast rolls in the morning.  I might be making corn pudding, but I think my sister-in-law wants to do it, and I'm happy to oblige.  Tonight, after we serve Thanksgiving dinner for homeless and old people at church, we'll make pumpkin, apple, and one other pie - maybe Jefferson Davis, maybe Shoofly, maybe sugar cream... something different.

The day after Thanksgiving, we're going to Fresno for the state cross country meet.  My oldest son's team is now one of the top 25 Division 5 CC teams in the large state of California.  That is a good place to be - no stress for the championship race Saturday morning, other than my son really wants a PR.

He also PR'd on his latest SAT. He took it once back in January, and did well, but the idea was that that was his practice test.  This time he scored an 800 in the reading section and a 700 in math, even though he did little in the way of preparation. I'm tickled pink for him. Where else can I brag but on my own little blog?

Other points of pride - school conferences went well. I have been worried about the academic achievements of my 3 youngers, but their teachers all assert that they are doing fine, and all three were complemented for being kind to children who are...not as easy to get along with as others.  My youngest (save the baby), who did awful on her Iowa tests, was praised by her teacher for being a friend to all in a class that has a few cliques already in third grade.  So as long as she continues to be a compassionate little person, I will gladly overlook her not scoring highly on her quantitative assessments.

I am also pleased to report that my oldest daughter did great in volleyball - her team pulled together to get 2nd in their tournament.  Her science fair project is coming along, and she has been a great babysitter lately - other than the night she let Baby gnaw a carrot.  A piece of carrot lodged in Baby's throat and she scared everyone with her gagging, but she hacked it up.  So babysitting class is in order.  Our fourth son, who also doesn't love academics, has a starring role in the upcoming Christmas play. Apparently, he can sing and dance - gifts he didn't receive from his parents.  And one of the pre-school moms came up to me the other day to tell me how kind he was to her little boy - the fifth graders buddy up with Pre-K for activities like a Thanksgiving program.  My kid apparently helped serve and take care of this little 4 year old. So even though I'm constantly after him to clean up after himself, to stay off the computer, and to settle down and do his homework, some lessons are sticking with him.

Sons number 2 and 3 also have earned praises - they are class presidents, their grades are good, and they both stuck with sports that they didn't love, but participated in because they love being a part of something.  And they have integrated well into their school in this second year.  All three high school boys - all three very different in personality - were invited to a birthday party last weekend with a 40's theme. They had to dress up and use good manners. The birthday girls' parents hired a dance instructor to teach swing dancing.  It sounded like so much fun, I wish I could have gone.

So this is my thankfulness post.  The kids are doing great, praise the Lord.  Not that I don't still lie awake at night worrying - about them going away to college, about the "girlfriend," about their progress, about their happiness, especially as we anticipate moving again in the summer.  One of the kids was complaining that we have favorites because someone received some special treatment, and I reminded him that love doesn't divide - it only multiples. But as love multiplies, so do the potential swords that can pierce your heart.   Last night we watched "Into the Wild," and I lay away thinking about how I would feel if one of my kids wanted to run off into the wilderness and live alone.  We need each other, I would plead. I need you.  I want all my chicks around me.

I worry that this itinerant life will teach them to resent staying anywhere for any length of time. We used to go to see family for holidays like Thanksgiving, but the longer we live far away, the less I even consider it as a possibility.  My aunt just sent 10 copies of the book she wrote about my grandfather (one for each of us and an extra).  It's a beautiful book, and an interesting read, I think. I read bits about our ancestors in the Revolutionary and Civil Wars aloud to the kids last weekend in the car, hoping to inspire them to feel connected to their extended family and their own family history.   Perhaps if they feel connected to a bigger family picture, they will make the effort in their grown -up years to come back to visit often.

And so even though I am taking a little break in preparations for tomorrow right now, I'm hopeful that our small celebrations will help the kids feel like they belong somewhere together.  On Sunday we'll revive more traditions when we'll pull out our Advent wreath and Jesse tree and set shoes out next week for St. Nicholas.  I'm looking forward to Advent this year - everything - house and soul  - seems to be crying out for a good clean sweep and a renewed focus on essentials after a very busy fall winds down.  I'm grateful I have time to take a moment to refocus on gratitude:  the kids are doing fine, I'm doing fine, my husband is fine, we've got plenty to eat and drink and wear and plenty to be proud of.  We live in a beautiful place, we have friends and family who love us, we have abundant opportunities for learning and admiring beautiful things.  It's a good life.

Memorial Day Weekend

We keep meaning to travel to the northern part of California to see the giant trees and the beautiful mountains, but our plans keep being rearranged. We thought we could take advantage of the three day weekend to do so, even though Memorial Day weekend is typically a busy weekend for everyone: a holiday, high school graduations, end of the school year. We have the additional event of my birthday, so in celebration I thought could plan a family outing.

But our plans for the weekend were rearranged after my son's 4x400 team qualified for the next level of high school track competition.  We cancelled our plans to camp in Sequoia National Park and to see some friends in Fresno in order to head to LA again.

Run! Catch them!

Since we had the extra day, at the last minute I decided to pursue a shorter, closer camping trip, but most of the reservable spots across America were reserved. We had some local friends who had mentioned wanting to camp, so I invited them along, thinking we might find a first come, first served site. They didn't want to wing it, so they decided to reserve a couple spots at the beach campground on a nearby Navy base.

My first reaction was not positive. I don't like beach camping. I wanted mountains and trees. I wanted to force my kids to commune with nature. I wanted my original plan, and if not that, my secondary plan.

But I had involved other people. Now I felt like I had to make other people happy, including my kids. They liked the idea of hanging with friends better than communing with nature with their immediate family

The quandary caused me to squint excessively. My husband sighed. He knows how I operate. I don't like shifting directions.  It takes me so long to commit to an idea that changing it is upsetting. I also don't like conflict and I don't like disappointing people.

Sometimes knowing you have a predisposition to a certain personality trait means you can control or at least temper it. Other times it means you have to ask for forgiveness.

I know I can get anxious about making decisions, especially when the decisions involve other people. I also have a hard time not feeling regret when I do make a decision. Usually, the reasons to feel regret are unimportant in comparison to the reasons to be grateful.

In the end we split the decision. We went for hike in the Los Padres National Forest and even checked out the first come, first serve campsites. One was available, but by the time we drove by it, all but one of my kids were threatening to mutiny if we didn't camp with friends, even though these friends' kids are much younger than mine. My husband wanted to camp with just our family because we have so little family camp time available, but we were both willing to compromise to keep the happiness quotient at a midrange rather than letting it fall into the lower end.

It wasn't what I imagined, but the weekend was nice, nonetheless. I'm sorry we didn't fit in a patriotic activity on the actual Memorial Day, other than a prayer for servicemembers who have died before we ate our burgers, but I can usually find a reason to be sorry for something, as well as many reasons to be grateful for another year of life, another discovery of God's grandeur and sense of humor, another collection of happy memories to add to the memory bank.

Hurrah! Birthday coffee cake at a morning celebration.

Wildflowers and hikers in the Los Padres National Forest

The rock climber extraordinaire.

A view of Piedra Blanca, the white sandstone rocks that were our destination.

Rock hopping

The four boys ready to explore.

My less enthusiastic hikers.

The iphone couldn't capture the color in this shrub

A hazard of beach camping: being so close to your neighbors you can hear them snore. 

Another hazard: Breeding seals. Fascinating and funny creatures.

A hazard of letting your husband shop for camp food: SPAM. 

On Charity

One of the perks of having a baby is that people treat you really nicely.  People at the grocery smile and hold the door. People in the neighborhood wave.

The teachers and classmates of my kids still love to peek at the baby when I arrive at pickup.

The neighbors have helped out with the trash and watching my middle kids.

The moms group at church and the Navy wives have been bringing us gourmet meals.

We've received diapers, dolls, books, dresses, and more onesies than I know what to do with.

I feel a little overwhelmed by all these gifts.  Definitely unworthy and undeserving.  I don't even really know most of these people very well - we've only been here 10 months now. I have a husband who cooks and helps with the kids and I have older kids who know how to fix their own lunches and do dishes and laundry.  I've got it pretty good around here, so I'm a little embarrassed to be at the receiving end of so much generosity.  I've told people not to worry when they ask if they can bring a meal. And then they show up with lasagna or pulled pork or spaghetti and meatballs or croissant sandwiches.

It's embarrassing to receive charity, but as my husband has pointed out, people want to help. Just say thank you, he tells me. Stop trying to take away their opportunity to serve.

They don't need to serve me, I want to say. But it's a lesson in humility to me to accept their generosity, to allow them into our messy little house with food and gifts.  I pass around the baby (even though I am still a little nervy about germs); everyone loves to hold a newborn. The kids come in smiling, excited about what's on the menu tonight. (It's all been really good - they only complained about a zucchini gratin that actually was delicious and the fourth lasagna.) Sometimes I send the kids out to pick avocados or lemons to send along. Thank goodness for the bounty of the yard, so that I can give something in return, although I don't need to.

These new friends give more than just a meal - they give me inspiration to be more generous myself, to be more open to my need for help and friendship, to be more alert to the needs in this community that has welcomed us so kindly.

I just keep wanting to give this baby kisses.

Rejoice!

Me at 40+5 two days before delivery. Beach ball belly

She's here! She's here! Laura Catherine Jane was born April 8th after about 8 hours of oxytocin-augmented labor.  She was 7 pounds, 11 ounces and 20.5 inches long - tiny for a gestational diabetes baby.  All of her siblings and relatives were overjoyed and relieved to finally meet her.

The birth story I'll preface with a comment from my husband: Women like to hear about birth stories because then they have the opportunity to tell their own.  Very true.  This birth story is not very dramatic, other than it is a lesson in saying "fiat." This baby has reminded me time and again that I am not in charge. So after expecting an early and easy delivery, we waited a week postterm to say yes to inducing labor.  I had a lot of qualms about induction; first and foremost because I have always been opposed to birth interventions for normal, healthy pregnancies, so being induced was a wound to my pride. As my mom pointed out, this pregnancy hasn't exactly been incident free: I'm an advanced maternal age, diabetic gravida seven. She supposedly was 6'11 at her 36 week ultrasound, so we thought she might be large, but either that reading was way off or she didn't grow much during her last 5 weeks.  I had a 9lb 11 oz baby the last time I had gestational diabetes.  I've been afraid of going into labor every time I've ventured into Socal traffic.  My oldest kid has a date to prom on Friday night - I need to be there to photograph him! I was already 3-4 cm dilated with a soft cervix.  So okay. Despite misgivings and a lot of fears of ending up with a c-section, I showed up at the hospital Tuesday with my husband and my bag and checked in. My mom and dad came over after taking the kids to school.  My husband and I both commented that the drive to the hospital was a lot different from our previous trips - no endorphins or adrenalin pumping. But I have to admit, I was relieved that an end to pregnancy was in sight.

The next 7 hours were uneventful. The oxytocin drip did very little to change the feel of the contractions I'd been having for a month. They would start to pick up in frequency but not intensity each time the dosage was increased. So my fears of a really painful labor with oxytocin were unfounded.  After 6 hours the doctor came in to check me and I was only a 5, but she could feel the bulging bag of water, so she broke my water. Based on the way some of my labors had gone once my water broke, we all thought everything would move quickly from there. The doctor scrubbed up, donned her hat and covered her shoes. Then everyone sat around looking at me: "Feel anything yet?" "Anything changing?"  I was starving. I had thought I might have delivered by lunch if my body was really ready to give birth. The kids were hoping to get checked out of school to come over to meet the baby.  No luck. For two hours we waited, then the dr. checked me again. Still only a 5. Disappointment crept in. I went to the bathroom to hide my fear that a c-section was looming. This could go on all night. On the one hand, I wasn't uncomfortable. On the other, this baby had to come out eventually somehow.

The doctor was allowed to eat, so she left to go home to have dinner with her husband since nothing seemed to be happening. Half an hour later, the nurses changed shift, so they all got to go eat dinner. Before they left, the nurses told me to be sure to say anything if I felt any changes, so they could call the doctor. Contractions were getting longer, but still not more painful. The new nurse came in to check me to get a feel for what a 5 felt like. She measured me at a seven and decided to call the doctor, but relief was sooner in sight! In the next half hour the baby descended, crowned and was delivered!

Actually, it was a lot more chaotic than that: I suddenly began to get really uncomfortable and a little scared, because I was still thinking I had a long way to go. Then the baby's heart rate dropped. The nurses called the NICU. I was laying on my side and moaning when they asked me to try to turn over. This is the really painful part of labor that you forget.  This is also the moment when I was praising God that my gifted mother was with me.  Throughout the long day, she had been a encouraging presence, but not intrusive. Mostly she kept the mood light during labor with conversation and reassurance.  But when I began to transition, her nursing intuitions kicked into action, and she jumped into assistance, directing the nurses in delivering the baby while I was on my side. She kept me, now in that odd place of disconnection, from losing control by coaching me to blow out, blow out, blow out (which my husband admitted later that he thought she was using some medical jargon to say I was having a blow out because everything was going so fast). And suddenly we were in that incredible moment of searing pain and overwhelming relief when the baby's head emerged, followed quickly by the slippery delivery of the rest of her body.  She was indeed a girl, and despite her rapid birth trauma, she was wiggling vivaciously around on my chest while I, still in a daze, gazed at this little person who had been so close and yet such a stranger.

The doctor arrived to deliver the placenta, and I compliment her for being so gentle and patient.  In retrospect, and compared to so many others' birth stories, this baby arrived in a very untraumatic way.  Her blood sugars were fine, she is nursing like a star, and her eyes already show recognition of her dad and siblings. Their voices are familiar.

Perhaps the most difficult part of having the baby was deciding a name. Finally, I talked my husband into three names. Laura is a form of my mother's name and there is a Saint Laura, a Spanish nun thrown in a vat a molten tar for standing up to the Moors, but also Saint Lawrence, another great martyr. Etymologically, it's a derivative of the Latin for the laurel flower, the wreath for victorious athletes and poets. And of course, there is Petrarch's Laura - not quite as inspirational as Dante's Beatrice, but still a great muse. I like the English pronunciation "Law-ra" instead of "Loh-ra," which is why my husband wasn't in favor - he doesn't like confusing names.

Catherine is a name I have always liked, dignified and graceful, and meaning "pure." There are many great St. Catherines, but I think my favorite is Catherine of Siena, the 23rd baby of her parents, a philosopher saint, whose feast day is at the end of the month. When I was younger, I had a doll named Catherine I called Katie Jane. She now is in my daughters' closet. My husband's dear grandmother who died last summer was Mildred Catherine, and while I thought Millie was cute, I couldn't harness a baby with Mildred, and my mother-in-law backed me up in confirming that her mother never really liked her name. I also have a cousin who is a nun who is a Catherine, and a wonderful aunt, my godmother, has Catherine as a part of her name.

Jane is my middle name, and my mother's and my great grandmother's, and I always thought I'd use it eventually as a middle name, but my niece who is born the same day as my first daughter, Anne Elizabeth, named for my mother-in-law and sister, great saints, and other beloved Annes, "Grace and favor of God," has Jane as a middle name. And then when our second daughter was born, I had to use a name I'd been loving for years, Claire Sophia, "Light of Wisdom," who shares a name with my husband's grandmother and another great saint.  So Jane, "Gift from God," has been waiting for years to come into our family.

There were other names I was sorry not to use. My paternal grandmother's birthday is the day after this baby's birthday and her name was Margaret Jean. I love the name Margaret, "Pearl," but it wasn't on the short list. Now I'm not sure why. (Am I thinking of changing Baby's name again?) But Jane is a form of Jean and my oldest son, Joseph Walden, has her maiden name as his middle name (as does his grandpa). I was sympathetic to my son's predilection for Beatrice, and I really love the name Sarah also.

So Laura Catherine Jane it is. LauraCatherine Jane? Laura Kate? Katie Jane? Catherine? Elsie Jane for LC? (the boys' pick). Princess Buttercup? (We rewatched Princess Bride while waiting for her.) Her nickname is yet to be determined.

The siblings are all in love with her, whatever her name is. First thing in the morning and as soon as they get home from school they want to hold her. They can't wait for me to come to school to show her off to their friends. She is smothered in attention. The girls can't wait to change her. But this too shall pass, I'm sure.

And now more pictures of someone else's baby than you ever cared to see:

Long, skinny feet

The weight picture

Happy Father

Getting cleaned up to meet her siblings.

My new dollbaby and me, finally getting something to eat. I was ravenous, but all I got was Jello, till the kids brought me leftover pizza. This hospital had a great staff, but poor food service.

Brother #3 got to hold her first. Since the middle kids rarely get to go first,
we worked inside out in the "who gets to hold the baby" order.

This guy was happy to go last so he could have the longest turn.

The grandparents: Nurse Nana extraordinaire.

Now we are 9 (picture Dad behind the lens).

Day 1: her first bunny

And she's home!

To Laura:
Oh blessed be the day, the month, the year,
the season and the time, the hour, the instant,
the gracious countryside, the place where I was
struck by those two lovely eyes that bound me;

and blessed be the first sweet agony
I felt when I found myself bound to Love,
the bow and all the arrows that have pierced me,
the wounds that reach the bottom of my heart.

Bound to Love, Petrarch