McKay's birth story

 It was mid September and my nesting urge was in full swing. Since we moved in two months ago, the room intended for the baby had become a dumping ground for just about everything, it seemed. I sat all day working to organize the baby's room. By evening, I could barely move because my back was in so much pain. I took a hot pad to bed and expected to sleep it off. I don't know if I slept at all that night, and that was the beginning of some of the most excruciating pain I've ever been in. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't walk, I couldn't sit. It was harrowing to brush my teeth. It didn't go away, in fact, it kept getting worse.

My Mom got very distressed by this situation and so my parents decided they would come here and help me. They were three hours down the road before they asked me if that was OK. They stayed for nearly three weeks. Through frequent chiropractic care, massage, acupuncture, cupping, and lots of ice packs, I gradually gained back some decent mobility. I never really found out exactly what was happening, due to the fact that I couldn't have any imaging done. I had a pinched nerve for sure, making it impossible for me to move my left leg or lay on that side. Which gave me only my right side as an option for sleeping. I could only lay on that side for small amounts of time because it was so much strain and weight in the same spot. The nights were long and miserable. I had to literally lift the baby with my hands while walking because I had so much pelvic pain that I could barely put one foot in front of the other by the time I'd been doing life for a few hours. It was a delicate balance of constantly changing positions, resting-but not too much rest- keeping ice on all the right places, and going to the chiropractor every 2 days. 

Needless to say all this physical turmoil had not allowed me to prepare my house to have a baby in a way that my instincts and brain found acceptable. On Monday, November 2, I had an appointment with my midwife. Levi and I spent the few hours before runnings errands in the area in an attempt to keep tying up loose ends I wanted done. By the time I saw my midwife in the afternoon, I was hobbling and in a lot of pain. During this appointment she told me that the baby seemed to be in a posterior position. This news was just so disheartening to me. I had literally barely slept at all the night before, I didn't have things together like I wanted, my body was in high amounts of constant pain, and I hated knowing that I would be laboring against a malpositioned baby. She suggested I go home and do the Miles circuit- a set of movements designed to encourage the baby into a more favorable position. I am familiar with it and have been trained in it. However, I also know that doing these exercises can tip you into labor if you are on the edge. In talking with Braden at the end of the day, I decided that as much as I wanted to change his position, I just couldn't risk going into labor in the state I was in. I had been bustling around the house, fighting through the pain in order to get things done. Braden was baffled and couldn't understand my rush. He assured me we had weeks to get things done and that he could help me on another day. I wanted him to understand how much I needed everything done NOW, but I could tell that he could not wrap his brain around my urgency and emotions. He told me not to worry about it and just to go to bed because I could barely move and what I was doing was crazy. I went to lay down, dissatisfied at everything left undone, but physically completely in shambles. My bedtime prayer was a plea that I please, please, please not go into labor.

I woke up three hours later to an absolutely raucous contraction. It startled me awake and soon I had another one. In the next moment I realized I was completely soaked. My first thought was that my water had broken. Upon making it to the bathroom, I saw that my clothes were completely saturated in blood. I sat in the bathroom, my mind trying to take in the situation that I knew had drastically changed from what I was hoping, praying, and planning for. I immediately knew two things: 1) Birth was imminent, 2) It would not be the experience I was longing for. I had experienced a placental abruption with Levi, so I felt sure that was happening again. In an instant a wave of adrenaline coursed through me. I woke Braden up and told him I was bleeding and that I needed to call my midwife. 

I described to her the situation and after listening for a minute, she said, "I'm sorry, Julie. But you'll have to go to the hospital". I told her I understood, of course, but I was crushed. I had spent the better part of that year in utter misery, but all the while dreaming about this peaceful home birth at the end of it all. I had envisioned this beautiful and sacred moment of bringing this baby to the earth, surrounded by his family and so much love. In an instant I knew all of that was gone and I was walking into a hospital where nobody knew me, I had a previous C-section, and a previous abruption. 

I told Braden that we had to go to the hospital. He was also disheartened, mostly for me I think. He started to gather things for me because I was unprepared for this possibility. I gave him instructions as I worked to clean myself up, but contractions were coming strong and fast. It quickly became difficult to do anything besides get through the contractions. I saw Braden slip into Anabelle's room and tell her that things had changed, and that we were headed to the hospital. He told her that she was in charge of the kids. She came out and watched me as I walked in circles around the living room. I was progressing fast became consumed with the rigors of labor. 

I asked Braden for his headphones so I could more fully embrace where I needed to be mentally. I told him I only wanted to hear Come Unto Jesus, by Madilyn Paige. This would be my labor mantra for this birth. 

Come Unto Jesus

Plead for His love

And know that angels are near you up above

Come Unto Jesus

Careworn and fainting

He'll safely guide you

Unto that haven

Where all who trust in Him

Shall rest

I found deep respite in those words. They were more than words to me. They were promises. Promises that I believed and was clinging to and grasping after, with every bit of my faith. As the strength of the contractions grew and began to completely wash over me, I matched it with my belief in those promises that angels surrounded me. My heart and soul were open and I was silently pleading for Jesus to help guide me through this. 

I knew from the last abruption I had that contractions do not stop. They peak in intensity but there is no break. I wanted a blessing but didn't know how we could do that. I told Braden just after a peak to do it fast. I sat briefly on the edge of the rocking chair. It was short but comforting. He told me that I would have help from the other side of the veil.

I quickly resumed my slow walking, deep breathing, and leaning into the promises of my song. I had Braden hook me up to my tens unit. I walked, slowly, groaning low and rythmically as I went. Braden had given Anabelle charge over his phone so she could keep my song on repeat. I was hot and threw my shirt on the couch. I asked her for a cold rag for my head. And then a few minutes later for ice chips. At about this time, Braden said we were ready to go. He opened the front door and waited for me to follow him. But I just stopped. I knew that I was close to having this baby. Aside from wondering how I could survive the throes of labor in the car, I knew I was probably walking into a c-section if I went to the hospital. I paused and said aloud that I did not want to leave. I told Braden I just had to call my midwife one more time and ask if she would come. 

Once she answered, I explained to her that if she would be willing to come, I was sure I could have the baby in half an hour if she would just break my water. She was silent for a minute and then asked if this is what I really wanted. I assured her that it was. She slowly agreed to come, and told me that she would be there in 20 minutes, along with a nurse. A wave of emotional relief rolled through me. 

I knew I had progressed well and that I was nearing transition. Short of the usual cervical reports that accompany labor, I knew with my whole being, with a knowing that belongs only to birth, that this baby was close. Everything is heightened- pain, awareness, strength, emotions. I like to think of myself as a literal portal, connecting heaven and earth for a brief moment. I find it interesting to note that "transition", the last part of labor before the baby is born, where the physical body is in its final stage of becoming completely open, where the last parts of tissue must "get out of the way", is the most difficult. It is just so very intense. Our language does not have a word that fully captures that process. But we use the word transition. I feel that it is not just a miniscule movement of skin, tissue, and bone-although it is- but also a transition of spirit. The body must change to receive this new spirit, and to become the bridge to life. It is harrowing work, but wholly necessary to make room for what is coming.

I continued my slow walk in the circle of our kitchen and living room. Anabelle and Braden were around, but I was focused so intently on what I was doing that I had only a loose awareness of their presence. Braden asked if he should fill up the birth pool but I didn't think we had time. My sense of time is obscured by the intensity of the experience. It doesn't even feel possible to attach a time table to this experience from my perspective. But in hindsight it had been a little over an hour since I had awoken. 

Soon the nurse arrived and then the midwife. Upon seeing me, the midwife recognized immediately how far along I was and told me to get to wherever I wanted to be to deliver. I painfully made my way up the stairs and out the balcony to my room. I was so hot and the cold, November air was a solid relief. The midwife didn't want the room to be cold for the baby so she was hoping I would stop going out. The nurse and midwife quickly made several requests of Anabelle- rags, a bowl of warm water, towels, blankets- they went to work setting up for the birth. It was just like my favorite show, Call the Midwife. They used her as a birth assistant and her eyes were wide with excitement. 

She took some vitals and saw that all was well with baby. This felt good for all of us to hear. I agreed to a cervical check and we learned that I was dilated to 9 cm. That was amazing and great to hear. It had been an absolutely wild hour and it was incredibly gratifying to know how truly productive it had been. 

Soon my body began to heave involuntarily as I was leaning on a stool. When that happens I know it's go time. I decided, for the first time ever to adopt a standing position for pushing. I had been taught all the benefits of upright pushing and was so grateful to be in my bedroom and have the autonomy to do this. Anabelle was sitting on the floor to the side of me. I asked her if she wanted to catch the baby- something I was not at all previously planning on. She said no, she was good with taking pictures. 

I stood and waited, expecting this baby to come rocketing out of me and follow the pattern of the ferocious labor. But there was a lull. I also knew that this could happen but I didn't expect it. When the contractions came, it just didn't feel like it usually did. I was pushing but without the feeling of descent I was used to. It felt like wasted effort. It felt ineffective. After a few minutes of this I was a little confused because I never have trouble pushing. The midwife listened to his heart and reported that it was low with contractions but came back up after it was over. That is normal and I maintained my focus of trying to get him out. After a few more, she said his heart rate was not coming back up and that it was too low. Her voice became serious and she said he needed to be born. I took it in but did not feel panic. One more and she said he needed to get out. She urged me to get on my back, even though she knew I didn't want to deliver that way. Once I was on the bed Anabelle felt safer to catch the baby and said she had changed her mind. I pushed with all the might and strength I could possibly summon. Still it felt that he was stuck. She listened again to his heart- 40 bpm. Her voice became urgent and her words were sharp and deliberate, "Julie! Get him out! Now!" I looked up to see Braden's face full of terror, then over to Anabelle to see the same. The nurse was in the corner of the room, praying. The midwife told her to prepare for resuscitation. The nurse seemed frozen. The midwife said it again, loud and with urgency. I was aware of the climate in the room. It was this way for ten minutes. I knew the situation was dire. But somehow, I was insulated from the fear. I never felt the panic. I knew the baby was okay, but it was clear that I was the only one. The blessing had assured me of that. I also felt the weight of being the only one in the room who could actually get him out, and I knew with all of my being that I was going to do whatever I had to do for that happen. With the next contraction I pushed in a way that felt like my body was very literally ripping apart. 

Anabelle caught him and handed him to me. I instantly laid him on my chest and kissed his wet head full of squiggles of dark hair. In an absolutely overwhelming moment of pain, relief, joy, elation, and more pain, I breathed in the fact that I had done it. His heart rate and color were good, his apgar was an 8. He was here, in my arms, and everything was okay. It is next level mental relief to be on the other side of a birth.  To know that you expended yourself in an indescribable way, in partnership with Heaven is truly breathtaking. 

Holding his warm, wet little body as he snuggled into me was a feeling of gratitude I just cannot describe. 

A few days later, the nurse came back to check on me. She said she wanted to talk to me about something now that things were settled. She talked about those minutes when she didn't know if the baby was going to make it, and how scared she was. She prayed for me and she prayed for the baby, as she stood, paralyzed with fear in the corner of my room. She said she looked around the room and could see the unanimous terror on everyone's face. Except mine. She said I seemed peaceful. She wondered how, in the face of these dire circumstances, I could have remained calm. She said she had been thinking about it and wanted to know how. I thought about it briefly and wondered how I could convey to her the experience of the priesthood blessing I had received. I explained to her that my husband had said a prayer with me and I was given the knowledge and felt strongly through this prayer that the baby was safe. She seemed to like that, and further shared that she prays for God to send her only to the births that she is really supposed to attend. She said "you could really feel the presence of the Lord in your home. I could feel your worship of Him through your labor". That is perhaps one of the best things someone has ever said to me. She asked about the song that Anabelle kept playing for me. I sent her the link so she could listen to it later, along with a little prayer that perhaps this might open up the door to share the gospel with her. 

In the hours after his birth I was in a different state than I'm used to. I didn't feel that chemical oxytocin high that I have come to love. I felt pretty low, emotionally and physically. The birth was so fast and so furious. The pushing so body-shattering. I felt some disappointment at not having the peaceful water birth that I had dreamt of. I wanted it to be spiritual. I wanted to feel the thinning of the veil. After my conversation with the nurse, it helped me to realize that although it didn't look like what I had envisioned, my prayers had indeed been answered. I came to understand that I had received help from the other side of the veil. I had been given peace in a moment where I should have felt panic. I had been given knowledge and assurance and confidence. I am sure that I was attended by family on the other side. 

McKay's birth stands as a solid reminder that prayers are answered, help will come, and peace is always possible-even in the darkest times. 

I learned through a series of blessings throughout my pregnancy that Mckay's coming to our family was no mistake. It was happenstance and it wasn't an accident. He has always been mine. I suffered mightily to bring him here. The pregnancy was and birth was difficult in so many ways. To have this baby in my arms, safely cradled on my chest, was a feeling more meaningful than I can possibly describe.

A different lesson than I wanted to write about

June 25, 2019

One of my goals this year was to attend the temple once a week. It's pretty much the only goal I've executed well, besides trying every flavor of Smith's house brand of ice cream. Braden and I planned to go to Amsterdam to celebrate our 15 year anniversary. We had to leave for the airport at 8am on a Tuesday. We wouldn't return until the following Tuesday, so if I wanted to maintain my 100% attendance, I needed to go that morning. The trouble is that I also had to have the house stocked with groceries for the week, every room in the house cleaned, all the laundry done, my bags and toiletries packed, and get the kids off to school. The thought "care about what God cares about" went through my head as it often does in Mary or Martha moments, and I resolved that I would be at the temple at 5am.

*The above is all I wrote. I never finished writing the story. This is me, two years later, looking over a list of half finished blog posts from the last several years. I want to finish this story because I can recall that when I drove to the temple, they were closed, and I didn't get to go inside. But I did have a really neat experience with the Spirit. I just can't for the life of me remember what it was. I really wanted to record it so I said a prayer in my mind to help me recall the special events that took place. Immediately Martin Harris came to mind along with a gentle rebuke to take better care of sacred things, accompanied with the feeling that this particular opportunity is now gone. 

So I'll recommit and try again to be a better steward of the light and experiences He gives me. Something that I constantly struggle to be successful with.

2019. A year in review

Well, it's a new year. I currently have one published post in 2019. That's more painful than I can describe. Just three posts ago it was my New Year's hopes from 2017. I found myself fighting the same battles then that I now struggle daily with. I guess I'll be trying not to be distracted and learning how to balance my time for the next 20 years.

Last night Anabelle and I ended the year on the couch, listening to the last chapters of the Book of Mormon. We made a goal that we would read it together. We may have gotten distracted so we had some serious time to put in at the end, right up to the final minutes of the year. She is sick and we both ended up falling asleep in this endeavor. I woke up and saw a beautiful moment before my eyes-my teenage daughter snuggled up on the couch, who had been completely determined to finish her goal even though she was in pain. The magic of Christmas was all around us and she was illuminated by the various Christmas lights around the room, despite the fact that all the lights were turned off. I sat and looked at her for a few minutes. As I said my prayers a bit later, I recalled briefly the blessings of our year. It was overwhelming.

-Braden's opportunity at BYU to do something he loves and is good at.
-His performing so well in school despite the fact that he had two surgeries and was also teaching.
-Our trip to Amsterdam.
-Our family trip to California and the precious time spent together.
-Health! To have six kids in good health is never lost on me.
-The kids being at a good school and thriving there.
-I completed my doula certification and was able to attend childbirth ed training.
-Levi got tubes in his ears and it really helped me feel better and be happy.
-Living so near the temple and getting to attend often.

And so much more.

I really feel specifically grateful for the many times I felt Heaven's guiding hand directly influence me.

Like when I had that experience with Irma in the temple.

When Paula died I felt so sad to lose her. In the month following her death I had a few experiences in the temple-one in particular doing initiatories- where I gained an assurance that her work on the earth was done. Things become so much easier to absorb when you know that it was Heavenly Father's will. My trust in Him is such that knowing He purposefully had His hand in something makes living with the consequences a totally different experience. I've dreamt about Paula twice, and both times she was SO completely joyful and seemed happier than anything this life affords us. These experiences have been a tender mercy to me and have been so healing.

Our next door neighbors are inactive members. A few years ago she used to be the primary president. And then they lost a six year old son to the flu. We know this from older ward members. Although nice, they keep to themselves and try to fly under the radar in our neighborhood, especially Keli, the Mom. I was sitting in the adult session of Stake Conference in August and she kept coming to my mind. I've only had one real conversation with her and certainly have no relationship with her whatsoever. All throughout the meeting my mind was turning to her and by the end I had determined that I was being prompted to invite her to Stake Conference the next day. We were invited to go get ice cream with other ward members but I felt strongly that I had better get home so I could talk to her. By the time we ran to the grocery store and got home, it was 9:30 and I felt rude knocking on her door. But I did. And no one answered. So I walked away feeling for a slight second relief that I had done what I was told but that I didn't actually have to have that awkward conversation. That relief lasted about 3 seconds and I knew my job was not over. I went home and looked up her number in the ward directory, and sent her a text asking if she was home. Almost two hours later, close to 11, she replied that she had just got home. She asked if everything was okay and I could tell that she was alarmed at the message because we don't really know each other. I told her yes, everything is fine, but could she step outside to talk to me for a minute. She said yes. Braden and Anabelle were awake and I asked them to quickly kneel with me and pray that I would know what to say because this felt very unnatural and uncomfortable. When I walked out my door I could see her waiting for me and she looked anxious. As I walked slowly to her I was comforting myself with the scripture that promises that "you will be given in the very moment" what you should say. I was on the Lord's errand and I was wholeheartedly banking on that. I reached her and stood in front of her, smiling nervously and waiting for the words to come. Nothing. So I said hi and waited again. Still nothing. It felt thick with awkwardness and since there were literally no words in my brain- I decided to tell her what I knew. That I was sitting in Stake Conference and no matter what the talks were about, her name kept coming to my mind. I explained that I had been thinking about her throughout the day and I didn't know why, but that she was heavily on my heart. I told her I had no idea why, I just wanted her to know. During this explanation, I did have a distinct impression from the Holy Ghost that this is not about inviting her to church and I knew that I should not bring it up. It felt like I had that idea in my head because He knew I needed to have something to say to get me out the door, something that made sense to my logical brain to give me just the amount of courage to go on, but once I was there I got different instructions. She immediately started to cry and said, "I know why". She went on to tell me that they had been all day at a family reunion out in the middle of nowhere. A family member who she didn't know at all choked on food and ended up dying. While they waited for half an hour for an ambulance, she watched as someone gave him CPR. She said it took her right back to watching her son receive CPR for several minutes before he died and it had been really traumatic for her. She said it transported her right back to the minutes of watching her son die and she had been an absolute mess all day. I hugged her and told her that God was aware of her and that I was so sorry for her heartache. Walking back home I was overcome with the humbling feeling that He had used me to do His work. Which is to bring love and peace to His children. To ease suffering and bind up wounds. And he allowed me to be a little part of that.

In that conversation, she mentioned to me that he died on December 6 and his birthday is on December 27th. At this time, they had their house on the market to sell, so I was sure that they wouldn't live by us in the month of December, but I had the thought to write it on my calendar anyway. After four months they ended up taking their house off the market and as December rolled around, her sons important dates came to my mind. I wanted to do something for her as a gesture of love and support, but again not knowing her made this seem difficult. I wanted it to be better than something generic, I wanted her to feel known to the Lord. I was pondering this dilemma while donating plasma and got the idea to give her a puzzle. Which felt like a crazy idea. But knowing that I wouldn't think of something so random on my own, I went with it, I looked on Amazon and almost bought a few different options but none of them felt quite right. I had the idea to go to Deseret Book and look there. Once there I felt drawn to a particular puzzle of the Savior. I bought it, wrote a card telling her that the Savior has helped me piece my life back together when it felt broken, and had the kids deliver it. She sent a message back saying that there was no way for me to know this, but that she loves puzzles. 

Heavenly Father knew. He knew something so simple about her. And He helped me know, so that she could feel His love and know how deeply He cares about the burdens she carries. It was so remarkable to me and such a tender reminder of how much He loves His children and how deeply He desires to bless us. 

I wish that I could have those experiences every day. I wish that my feeling every day was one of being directly useful to the Lord. I hope to be someone He can count on to run his errands. 

My baby turned two. I'm fine though. I'll be fine.

Somehow, Levi turned two.

It's the worst. And the best.

It's particularly painful to think that this (as far as we know) concludes our life with a baby. The thought of not having a baby to hold and tickle and snuggle and kiss a million times a day is physically heartbreaking to me. It overwhelms me with dread and sadness.

And the fact that Levi is two years old right now is the best. Because two year olds rule supremely. I mean, it can at times be inconvenient because they actually think they rule in a real "I'm the actual boss" sort of way, so setting them straight 14 times a day can be tiresome. But I just adore this stage wholeheartedly. Levi, bless his heart, has been perhaps the most challenging to this point in his life. He hasn't been a good sleeper. And there have been a whole lot of months when he was grumpy and cried more than his allotment of toddler tears. I knew he had a susceptibility to ear infections, but I didn't realize to what extent. Finally, this summer he had tubes put in and his adenoids taken out. And since then he's been sleeping at night. He's been a joy all day (unless you're holding his favorite car. Which is all of them. Every color, every model. Seriously, just stay away from every single car. Also tractors. And frequently monster trucks. He's bad at sharing. We're working on it). I feel awful that he has suffered so much in his life to this point, with what I can now tell was almost constant ear infections.

He is so much fun. He talks in full sentences with better manners than half his siblings.
He is BUSY. He is nonstop. He will not be still so don't try to make him (read: good luck in church. If I didn't need Jesus on the way in, I REALLY need Him by the time I've battled my way through sacrament meeting with Levi).
He is all boy. He loves to wrestle. He loves every kind of vehicle. He loves to talk in a scary growly voice. He loves dirt and digging and he loves to slide.
 He is delighted to be a part of his sibling group and takes great pleasure in playing with any one of them. He particularly likes when Anabelles friends come over and considers himself to be an important member of the group. He's been flirting with a few of her cutest friends since he was a fresh one year old. He is social and friendly and doesn't look back when you drop him off at nursery.
He is obsessed with his crocheted "Bapey" and will tote it around if there's any chance you'll let him take it out of his bed.
 He does like to be read to and his favorite books are "Pout Pout Fish" and the puppet Elmo book that has been well loved by every kid.

He insists on hearing "lullabye" before you tuck him in. Except I think he's figured our that I'm a bad singer so he doesn't want me to sing all of it anymore, he just wants me to start singing it, then he waves, permitting my exit, and I must sing it on my way out as I close the door.

Common phrases include:

"No, I'll show you" as he drags you to something he's built/made/ripped/pooped on.

"I have saaa-prise for you!!" as he quickly finds a scrap of paper or picks a blade of grass for me.

His transition to food from breastmilk has been....unorthodox. Let me explain.

When we started trying to give him baby food, he refused. When I tried giving him normal table foods, he was a bit more accepting. As long as it was brazilian black beans or meat. Because those demands are difficult to accommodate on the daily, he fills in with non food items. Dirt, rocks, dust balls- all acceptable options. Just please don't ask him to eat a banana. 

I recently walked into my room to see that he has the eaten the drywall off my windowsill, all the way down to the metal mesh inside the wall. The entire length of both my windows were a series of tiny teeth marks. In frustration, I yelled for the resident beaver to present himself immediately. Upon hearing his name, he toddled into my room asking what I wanted. But I couldn't really understand him because his cheeks were full. I pried open his chubby cheeks to reveal a mouth full of dryer lint. 

I'm mildly obsessed with his ginger, curly hair and his bright blue eyes. He showed up with bucket loads of personality, opinions, and is so much fun. I love this little boy more than I could ever hope to express. 

"

My breast friends

Twelve and a half years ago I brought Anabelle home from the hospital when she didn't know how to nurse. And I didn't know how to nurse her. She had been fed with a syringe her first week in the NICU and wasn't accustomed to working for the milk, I think. We made a freeloader in under seven days, our first parenting act. I tried every contraption, device and method known to anyone who cares about breastfeeding, to no avail. She wouldn't do it. Finally, I resigned myself to pumping and bottle feeding her. My Mom kept commenting on how sad it was that she wouldn't actually nurse because it was a totally different experience. I felt so frustrated at that because I really had tried and I couldn't make it work. And she was getting the benefits of the milk itself, just the same. I didn't understand her mourning (but I did want it to stop). I experienced the first of many bouts of mastitis and experienced the true misery that it is to live through. I pumped for nine months before my milk dried up completely.

I was full of hope that the next breastfeeding experience would be gloriously different. And then Lila spent the first 5 or 6 weeks in the NICU. I did nurse her in that period. But as I recall she had a difficult time eating well and the nurses insisted she eat a certain amount every three hours around the clock and so to comply with these demands, I pumped every three hours, with nursing attempts sometimes thrown in between. I remember exactly where I was when she really nursed for the first time. We were in Seattle for Cody & Jess's wedding. She was 2 months old. I was absolutely thrilled. Lila slept often in a swing, to help with her reflux. I would wake to the faint sound of her smacking her lips. I would nurse her, burp and change her, she would smile HUGE at me, and then go right back to sleep. It was amazing every night. I was so ecstatic to be able to nurse her, especially at having overcome an extended NICU stay and so much time apart. It took so many attempts and trying to make it work. Two months is a lot of feedings for a newborn. She was four months old before my nipples had stopped bleeding, blistering, and pussing. And then I nursed her for four months until she weaned herself. I remember how happy I was at having had that experience with her. It brought healing to me to be able to nurture and nourish her in this way when we had experienced so much separation at the beginning. It still causes me pain to remember how it tore me up to have her lying alone in a plastic bin in the hospital. Those nursing sessions were precious to me.

When we were expecting our third daughter I again was hopeful that things would be different this time. And it was. Within 24 hours of her being born, we were home. She was nursing right away. I had done so much work to keep my milk up with the previous girls that I decided I would nurse both sides every time. Maisey ate every two and a half hours all through the night as a young baby. Even as a bigger baby I was still nursing in the night far more than I had with the other two. But I had plenty of milk, and the sweetest relationship with her. She would gently tickle my sides while I nursed her, smiling up at me. There aren't words for how sweet our nursing relationship was. I understood why my Mom wanted so much for me to have this experience. There really isn't anything like it.

When Elise came along I was the busy mother of three little girls and Braden was gone for several months of her infanthood. I struggled mightily with milk production. I was exhausted and alone and couldn't recover from a stomach infection. I recall fighting through that to maintain my milk. It caused me epic amounts of stress because Elise was always hungry. She was five or six months old before I rounded that corner and then we nursed until she was 15 months. This too proved to be a magical bonding experience for us.

I never expected to nurse a boy. I never expected to mother a boy. For some reason this was different. Not better or worse. Just different. I knew the back of Emmett's misshapen head like the back of my hand. I would nurse him, and tell him what a good man he was going to be. That I knew he would do powerful things for Heavenly Father, I could just feel it. I walked out of his room every night feeling like my heart might burst with love, and feeling like I just fed a mighty warrior.

Both boys were easier to establish nursing with, although I have always had to be so vigilant in building and protecting my milk supply. I'm sure by that time the experience I had gained decreased my stress and increased my confidence. But it was never easy. I had blisters and blood for months with each one of them. I had mastitis a few times with most of them. I had clogged ducts that I had to remove myself. through so many tears, on more occasions than I can count. I've spent countless midnight hours, completely exhausted, propped up somewhere, nursing a baby. I have cried when they cried, knowing that I had to feed them, and knowing how bad it was going to hurt. 

 I've spent 7 or 8 years of my life in this pattern. It's been a monumental part of my life. Like all hard things that require sacrifice, I wouldn't trade even a single feed. Those quiet moments with each of my babies have been nothing short of amazing. I've loved the feeling of accomplishment the first time you hear them swallowing your milk. I love the "milk drunk" smile after a feeding session. I love nursing them to sleep while I stroke their cheeks and hair and tell them what they mean to me. I love that when they are sick I have the ultimate consolation and medicine.

And now Levi is 15 months old and he wanted to be done. He's too busy and there's not enough milk to justify the stillness it requires. And my heart is just broken. To never hold and feed a baby in this way again is so painful for me. I have suffered so mightily in all of this. There has been more excruciating pain associated with breastfeeding for me than I can adequately describe. But the sweet sweet experiences have been so worth it. I am grateful to every crack and crevice of my soul for the opportunity to bear and feed six children. To have cared for them and loved them in this way has been an honor and a blessing to me.

Closing this door is heavy and emotional and just so very sad. I left Levi's room the other night, just knowing that that had been it, our last feed together. I went back to bed and just cried. Braden woke up to my sniffling and thought someone had died. I told him I had just nursed a baby for the last time and I was heartbroken. He held me and comforted me, and I couldn't help but think of all the times he did this when I was in pain and exhausted from breastfeeding. We had come full circle it seemed. It felt triumphant and also like a giant black hole of loss.

And now I'm left with a body that has borne six children. And nourished six children. And it looks like it. It sags and bears scars and stretch marks. It's compromised in some ways because of the trauma. Things aren't quite where they should be. And sometimes that's hard for me. It's hard to look in the mirror and embrace that. But when I really stop and think about what my body has done, what's it's given me, I don't stay there very long. I stand in awe of womanhood and the incredible gift it is to bear life. To sustain life. In that privilege, yes even in that suffering, is found, I believe, the deepest and purest love. It defies description or comprehension to someone who has not experienced it. I am beyond grateful that I know love in this way.

My week summed up by my Google searches:

DRY HACKING COUGH AT NIGHT: Lila, Elise, Anabelle, and sometimes Emmett and Levi, have all been hacking for weeks now. Mostly Lila. It has kept me up for weeks and it sounds like she's dying and I just keep asking the internet to reassure me that she's not going to die. I'm not sure if our bodies hate Utah's blooms or if we have an eternal virus that took permanent resident in our lungs, but we're going through cough syrup just a little bit slower than we go through milk.

I live in a sleep torture chamber

I've been living under the illusion that once all my children had grown to the point of "sleeping through the night" as they say, that I too would be able to do this. There are not words for how wrong I was. No words, only a look. That look is one of bags the size of peanuts under your eyes, a baseball hat covering unwashed hair, and yoga pants-regardless of whether or not exercise happened.

Levi, at 18 months sleeps through the night only on rare occasions. Sometimes if you get him a "baa", or a bottle of milk, he will go back to sleep. Far too often, he will cry and cry and not snuggle or lay down or be reasonable by any human standards. I think his frequent ear infections are to blame. Also teething. Also, he's really into horses and he knows that if he screams for long enough I will turn on funny YouTube clips of horses dancing.

Emmett, bless his heart, often comes out of his room for a variety of reasons. Sometimes he's not tired anymore-likely because he fell asleep somewhere absolutely ridiculous for 3 hours earlier that day. Sometimes, he wants to sleep by me. Sometimes, it's too dark in his room. Sometimes, his back itches. Sometimes, he needs a drink. Sometimes, he needs to pee. Always when he pees, he slams the toilet lid closed. One night this week he told me there were ants in his bed. There weren't.

Oftentimes, when he does this, it wakes up Levi. Who upon waking, wants to eat black beans and watch dancing horses.

Elise is currently trying to night train. Which means at 2:30 she comes in and tells me she wet the bed. By the time we take care of that, I'm wide awake.

So I lay there and listen to poor Lila hacking and coughing relentlessly. It's been going on at night for weeks and nothing I've given her has made any difference. She coughs and coughs throughout the entire night and then sometimes chatters because she is then wide awake.

Anabelle usually wakes up somewhere in the five o clock hour, always rushing to the bathroom which is next to my room. If I have managed to fall back asleep, this always takes care of it in a jiffy.

Maisey never wakes me up.

She gets the tallest wedding cake and the prettiest prom dress.

In between all of this ruckus, there lies next to me a dear and wonderful snoring man who I love. Who snores. So much. And I love him. So much. But the snoring. Is hard. So much hard. I am so tired. Sentences are also hard.

Tell me when. Somebody please tell me when I will sleep again in decent amounts of time. Will I be forty but look sixty when this happens? Because that's just five years away. And if it's just five years, then I can take it, I just need to know so I can schedule my Amazon deliveries of Nutella and Diet Coke appropriately.

course correction

Our lives are so very busy. These are perhaps the busiest days we've known as a family. Braden's school has him gone all day and he doesn't return until around bedtime, and then he has more homework to do. I thought that in the absence of homeschool I would have more time and less frenzy. And it has changed, for sure. There is less mental stress, no doubt about that. But I still feel like I can't keep up with the pace of our lives. I've tried to move into the doula and birth world and that has taken a lot of time. It's stealing peace and time from me that I need to dedicate to the family. I've recently decided that as much as I love it and want to be involved in it, it has to wait for another season. I'm committed to teaching a childbirth class on base in a week and I'll fulfill that and the birth to which I'm already contracted, but then I'm putting it on a shelf.

I feel there are things which require all of me.

I need time to study the Come Follow Me manual in a way that translates to meaningful family discussion.

I need to resurrect this blog. I want to record our growing faith and our growing children.

I need time to do puzzles and read more books and throw tea parties in the afternoons.

I need more quiet in my mind, so that when I pick the kids up from school I'm ready to really listen.

I need to carve out space in my heart to give to the young women and serve to my highest capacity for the time I'm here.

Remembering Irma and doing something about it

I made a goal this year to go to the temple once a week. All of a sudden it was Saturday and I realized I hadn't gone yet and needed to. I left the house around dinner time, telling Braden that I was just going to do initiatories and then pick up some things for our lesson. Once I started driving I returned my Mom's call from earlier that day. In the course of our conversation she asked if I had seen the changes to the temple. I had not and didn't know what they were. She urged me to go and although I told her I didn't bring my temple bag, she repeated a few more times that I should still just do a session, I told her that I planned on going weekly and I would do a session on Tuesday. Once in, I realized that differently from the Oklahoma temple, you have to bring your own clothes, even for iniatories. I went to rent, still sort of tossing around the idea of doing a session, and the matron told me that it would be double the cost for session clothes and that the session was about to start. I paid for just my dress and shoes and went to change. While dressing, my mind could not feel at ease. I was going back and forth about what I should do. As I left the locker room I was thinking about how it wouldn't work because I really needed to use the bathroom and I had just locked my purse up and wouldn't have time to go back and pay for the additional necessary items. All at once I knew I needed to do a session. I quickly made my way back to the rental matron, explained what I was feeling, and asked her if I could pay her after the session for the items I needed. She agreed and I quickly made my way to the name booth. I asked the matron working there if I would make the session she looked at her watch and said, "The Spanish session, right"? I told her that, no, I did not want to go to the Spanish session. She said that they would give me a headset and it would be fine, and sort of ushered me along in the process, even though it was clear that I wasn't interested in doing that. I was doing the session to be able to take in the new changes and I wanted it to be a cool experience, unhindered by the fact that headsets are annoying. When I reached the chapel I was in line and the temple worker turned away people behind me because the session was full. I told him that maybe I would just wait the half hour for the next session, thinking that I could catch up on my scripture reading. He said the next session didn't start for an hour. I resigned myself to the experience of the headset and took a seat. Throughout the session I tried to concentrate on the words in my headset and not be distracted by the Spanish recording playing louder then my headset could. I noticed several changes and loved them, immediately feeling the need to come back soon so I could take them all in. As I sat in this large session and waited for my turn to approach the veil, I had quite a while to think. Being surrounded by Spanish and sitting with a room full of Latina women, combined with the fact that I had just had a conversation with Jess about Irma, got me thinking about her. I sat trying to remember if I had done her endowment. I did her iniatory work the first year we were married and it was a beautiful experience. I felt strongly that she finally had the blessings to her body that she needed in this life but didn't have. This combination of being in the temple, in a Spanish session, and having recently talked about her, created the perfect situation for me to spend a few minutes contemplating her work. I began to feel the tingly feeling I get when I know that the Spirit is directing me to do something. I got excited as I began to know that I should do her temple work. Anabelle came to this earth with genealogy in her heart and we haven't been able to encourage her very much because it seems that both of our sides have experts who have taken our lines farther than we know what to do with. I gained a knowledge that I should pursue her line and try to focus my temple work towards her family. As I neared the veil I began rehearsing in my mind the things I would be required to say, as it has been a while since I've done a session. There was a long row of veil workers, most of them young white returned missionaries I presume. I was directed to the end where I couldn't see the matron who was waiting for me. Once there I briefly took in that she was an older Spanish woman. We immediately began our work there and I was focused on saying my parts. Once I had finished and was being ushered through, I looked over at her, for the first time really, and all I saw was Irma. I looked into her eyes, for the briefest of moments, and I instantly errupted into tears. It hit me so instantly. The only word in my brain was 'Irma', and I was completely overcome. I was so unprepared for that experience. I was directed to the celestial room but I didn't want to go just yet. I wanted to look at her face. I wanted to take her in. I wanted to hug her and tell her that she looks so much like my dear friend, Irma. And then I wondered if she really actually looked like Irma or if the Spirit had helped me to see that image. I sat in the celestial room, catching up on scripture reading, and hoping the matron who helped me would come in. I waited until it seemed that all of the matrons had come through and no one else was entering the room. All the while I had a prayer in my heart that I would see her. I wanted to tell her what she meant to me and thank her for being there. I was very aware that I needed to see her in order to fully receive the message I was being sent. I finally decided to go change as the room emptied out. Back in my clothes and leaving the locker room, in walked my matron. I chased her down and called out to her. When she turned around I suddenly decided I shouldn't tell her the whole story as I had planned to. I simply choked out, "Thank you for being here today. I think you needed to be here just for me". Tears sprang to her eyes as well and she said that she could tell I was a very spiritual person and could feel of my spirit as I stood next to her. I walked out of the temple so grateful. I could see how all those details came together to allow me to gain the direction that I needed to work on Irma's family. My Mom urging me to go repeatedly, the Spanish session being the only one available, even the session being as full as it was and where I was sitting in it. The temple is a place of revelation and a place of peace. And above all, a place of love. 

When the most wonderful boy turns FOUR

Last night as we were driving home from our St. George trip, I told Emmett that tomorrow is his birthday and asked him what he wanted to do. After thinking about it for a minute, he grinned and shouted, "Put more ornaments on the Christmas tree!". I informed him that I actually planned on taking down the Christmas tree. He asked so sweetly, "Please Mama, Can we leave it up for one more day?".

When asked what he wanted to eat he said Mac n cheese. When asked where he wanted to go he said, "I don't care. You can decide whatever we do". When asked what kind of cake he wanted he said, "Strawberry. Actually Mama, I don't care. Whatever kind of cake is fine with me".

He came down the stairs this morning to find some green ribbon that I had curled and taped to the ceiling, and his birthday banner hung. He ran to me and squeezed me tight, thanking me and declaring me to be THE BEST.

He is so grateful and low maintenance that it tempts me to spoil him. 

When we went around at dinner and had everyone say what they love about the birthday boy:

elise: he is funny

anabelle: he is sweet

lila: 

Maisey: he is brave, for example jumped off the high point at the ball pit.

Dad: so tender hearted

Mom: is such a happy helper with a great attitude and is happy with whatever he gets.

Songs: thunder, eye died the tiger, havana oohh na na

Braden and I took the three youngest to a Lego store (after checking his best friend Elise out of school), where we built legos cars and then raced them down a track.Then we took them to Krispy Kreme to pick out a donut. When the kids got home we took them to Provo Beach and played a wicked game of tag in the tunnels and playland. He had Mac for dinner, along with his favorite beverage-muscle juice. 

I never felt a void in my life when I just had the four girls. I never spent one moment wishing for a son. But Emmett has brought me so much joy in the last four years. I just absolutely adore this sweet sweet boy and his tender loving heart. May it always be so. 

#14

We've been in Utah for almost a month now. I feel like life just sucked that month away from me and I can never get it back. Not that I'd want to- moving is kind of awful. This was our 14th move, which basically makes us patriotic gypsies. So although we're "used to it", this one may have taken the cake for the move that most made me want to eat all the chocolate and cry all the tears. But I didn't do either of those-I didn't have time. I did buy a couple of cases of Coke to see me through. I know, I'm very edgy (or desperate to get through the day). We had our Reynolds reunion two days after we got here and then Braden had to go back to Oklahoma to Air Force for the last week and a half. Now he's back and we're trying to set up shop, which in our book means building and painting in addition to unpacking and organizing. I think I'm somewhat of a taskmaster when it comes to moving because we don't have the luxury of doing it at a normal pace. Also, I do this thing where I can't relax until my house is not only functional, but cute as well. It's exhausting and annoying. I am completely annoyed with myself.
      Another reason we've been consumed with the move-in process is because Utah is full of wonderful people- people we used to know and want to see again, people we don't know yet and want to get to know, people we know and want to see more of, people who are passing through and want to have lunch. It's a really nice problem to have. It's felt a bit chaotic at times but I've been overwhelmed with the volume of truly amazing friends and family we have.
      Thus far the kids have really missed Oklahoma so much and haven't really made any friends that dull that pain. I'm sure that will change but right now their hearts are in transition. The ward has been super friendly and I am loving being so close to so many ways to spend all our money so many stores (Hello again, Costco!).
     Elise attended a kindergarten preview for a few weeks and that really helped her feel ready school. The other kids got to go and check out the school and I could tell it helped them feel excited. The thought of sending them back is a mixed bag for me. I feel so happy for them to have experiences that I could not give them. And I feel anxious for them to have experiences that I would not give them. I feel like they will learn more, and learn it better. I feel like I will have less stress and therefore be a better mom (hopefully). I am excited to have some alone time with the younger half and I welcome a more reasonable pace of life that includes working out at the rec center. But I will really miss being a part of all of their everythings. I'm happy for all that they will learn and do, my heart just aches to be a part of it.
   On the whole, we are so thrilled to be here and I recognize daily what a blessing it is. I have this surreal feeling often where I just look around and marvel that we're not just here on vacation, that we really live here for a bit, and that reminds me of all the prayers that were answered to make it so. Our being here right now for this little season is a miracle. You'll never convince me otherwise. I hope the wonder of that doesn't diminish as time goes by.
   Here's to (yet another) new beginning. I hope in two years that we have spent countless hours in the temple, that we have laughed through dozens of cousins nights, that our relationships with family are deep and dear, that our kids will mourn another group of wonderful friends, and that we will have loved and served with no regrets. I hope Braden finds joy and passion in his work, I hope I will have established myself as a doula, and if we're being honest here, I hope some muscles return to my body.

We're picky people

You know what they say- you can't pick your family, but you can pick raspberries with your family. 

We really like to forage together. We've done this several times over the years and it's always a winning experience. It's just the right amount of togetherness and also space; team work yet competition. Plus anytime you can eat from the earth I think you should. 

Do you know what's missing from these pictures that is in all our picking pictures from Alabama? Adorable ringlets and sweaty noses born of humidity levels only the devil himself could have inspired. In place of these things, you'll notice Braden looking calm and even carrying a baby. He likes it here. We all do. Although the kids can't allow themselves to admit it because they think somehow that means they don't love and miss Oklahoma with all their hearts. 

I want to have a picture at the end of this sequence with stupid amounts of raspberry jam in it. But I don't think we made it home with that many. However, we did make it home with all our kids and that's always a relief. 

Here's to a lifetime of berry picking with the people I would have picked if family picking was a thing. 

gratitude for today

Braden took the girls to Reese's for the twins baptism. I am home with the boys. Levi is sick and is not sleeping well, but nursing frequently. I have to start school again on Tuesday and I don't feel like I've had Christmas break yet. In fact, I don't feel like I had a maternity leave or second to catch my breath. There was so much I planned to accomplish during our two weeks off from school, and so far none of it has happened. I stayed because I think Levi will recover more quickly at home, and I also had great hopes of productivity that's not possible with a full house of kids.

I awoke this morning (after nursing every 2-3 hours in the night), with the plan to get Christmas all put away and the house redecorated and cleaned. Having that done would then allow me the mental clarity to start chalking things off my long list. But the thought made me sad. I realized I'm not done with Christmas. So I asked Emmett to take all the ornaments off the tree because it would be less painful if I didn't actually start myself. The look on his face when I gave him the green light on the very activity I've been busting him all month for-fantastic. I sat and nursed while I watched him do this and it just didn't feel right. I decided we weren't going to take down Christmas. In fact, we were going to stretch it out as long as possible. I put on my favorite Christmas songs and told Emmett to put the ornaments back while I made salt dough for some home made ornaments. I got some Christmas potpourri simmering on the stove and I felt so much better.

The day is almost over now. I didn't take or make any calls or texts. I didn't check emails or Facebook or deal websites. Emmett didn't watch movies or play with toys. We were just together. We read, we did puzzles, we cleaned and cooked. We smiled at Levi and made him laugh and Emmett asked to hold him about 30 times- for three seconds each. He does what he calls "cheeking Levi" which involves Emmett poking Levi's cheeks and Levi smiling every time. I simply loved my boys. I basked in every minute of our togetherness. Levi looked into my eyes and burst into a smile- the kind that starts with his forehead getting big and then it turns into a full body wiggle. I broke into tears out of pure love and the deepest joy and gratitude. My heart feels like its spreading into other parts of my body because it just can't hold all that love in my chest. Having Emmett by my side all day, chatting, laughing, singing, and playing is medicinal. I wish somehow motherhood could always feel like this.

I also have time weird tingling almost nervous sensation in the pit of my stomach. I think it's because I recognize the gift that today is. I know I won't always have soft squishy baby cheeks to nuzzle and naked tummies to kiss. I won't always have toddlers singing "Glooooooria.....inexcelsisdeeeeeeeeooooo" while they quietly play or use the bathroom. In the recesses of my heart I can't see being happy without these things. Now that I know the profound love of children I can't imagine life without every one of them. And it's going by so fast.

Today was absolutely amazing, and I never got out of my jammies or left the house.The thought came to me from the topical guide on temples, stating that only the home can compare to temples in sacredness. That is exactly how today felt- sacred. My home was filled with a love so pure and joyful I was on the brink of tears all day.

My thought as I approach this new year is that I want to be fully present in all I do- particularly as a wife and mother. I want to give my family my best self. I want to build castles and confidence, share play-doh and simple testimonies. I intend to be conscientious about things that distract me and habits that don't serve me well.

My life is so busy. The pressures on my shoulders are heavy. My responsibilities and demands on my time are consuming. I know that it's not possible for me to accomplish well all that I would like to. The only way I know to handle this is to start each day with a prayer and ask Heavenly Father to show me what is needful- just for today. Because while I'd like to spend all my days like today- absorbing each child and doing nothing but loving them- dishes and dinner and laundry are real. So are callings and yard work and grocery shopping and visiting teaching and scripture study and working out and journaling, and a hundred other worthy endeavors. I have a constant stress-like a cloud hanging over me, that I'm always neglecting at least a handful of very important things. I trust that if I ask Him what He wants me to do with my day, and then listen for that direction, that cloud will disperse. I'm committing to be better at this.

I hope with all my heart I have an untold amount of days like today in my future. I hope I recognize them and take them. I'm sure people all over the world saw amazing things today and had exciting adventures. I wouldn't trade any one of them for the pure and beautiful love I experienced in my home today. 

Last December 12th....

On this day last year I had just found out that my tubes were completely blocked. I felt sad. Deeply sad. I knew it didn't mean that we weren't going to raise another baby, because I felt strongly that we were. But it forced me to wonder if I would ever get to bear another child. I mourned the chance to feel a baby inside me, to have that powerful birthing experience, to enjoy that beautiful bond that only nursing can bring. I won't say I felt hopeless- in fact I recall clinging to hope. But I sat with all those feelings for several weeks and recognized the honor it is to bear children. To love someone so completely, so deeply, so fiercely, so profoundly, and so instantly. 

Today I sat staring at Levi and thinking over what the last year has brought. I spent the entire year in some state of sickness/discomfort/pain/inconvenience in relation to the making of him. I would do it all again in a heartbeat (but please- nobody make me). 

I look at him and I see a miracle. I feel blessed. I feel grateful beyond words. I feel happy and elated and I don't want to miss a moment of it. 

I can't believe three months have gone by. He laughed for the first time two weeks ago. He beams when you make eye contact with him- the kind of smile that involves his whole body. From his content and cheerful disposition to his good sleeping habits and his slightly altered ear, he has my heart. 

I would sleep in fragmented blocks of time and smell like spit up forever if he could just stay my tiny baby. I swear it's true. 

Just about every day I thank him for coming to our family. I don't know if he had a say in that or not. But I want him to know how grateful I am that he's here and that he's mine.  He slid right into our hearts and brings us all a daily chunk of pure joy. 

The First Thanksgiving (with Indians and Pilgrims and the whole shabang)

....that Jason and MaShay ever traveled 20 hours to come to our house. Minus the Pilgrims and Indians. Plus eleven kids, including two nursing infants. Add in a torn LCL for Jason, black friday shopping for the moms, the Ferreiras for dinner, lots of late night grown up talks, and waaaaay too many delicious cheeseburgers from various places, and it equals a truly great holiday. Now that's a math I can get behind. 

Rhone and Emmett are pretty much the best of the besties. Thick as thieves. They broke all kinds of rules together, and got away with a lot of it-partly out of too much chaos, mostly because it was hilarious. Their bond was forged out of their love of potty talk and cemented with Batman, cars, and tractors. 

Nora and Elise were similarly glued together, only brought together by the finer things in life- ie: dresses, the color pink, purses, and princesses. 

As for Levi and Paige, they took naked diaper pictures together against their will so they pretty much have to be tight forever and ever.

Lila toted Kate around and ate up the fact that she had a little person to care for.

Anabelle drifted between groups, eavesdropping on every possible adult conversation and locking away bits of information into the superhuman vault that is her brain.  

Cousin friends are legit as it gets.  

School was a bit of a joke this week. Not in a funny way. More like in a, "Oh snap, make sure we read all the signs at the zoo so they learn something" sort of way. But we just had to soak up all the family time we could. We really had a great time with MaShay and Jason and consider them not only family, but wonderful friends. Hopefully next year we'll be moving closer to them and these get togethers will be without the elements of stress that accompany travel. But the fact that they were willing to endure those factors to party with us naturally bumps them up on our Christmas list. Actually, time bumped them up on our Christmas list and it was a nice thing that they were here while it was our rotation to give to each other. Saved me a trip to the post office and I got to see them open their presents. Just kidding about the post office too. I would never cheat on Amazon with the post office. 

They've been gone for several days and I keep thinking about them. Mostly because we're all still sick as a result of this week-long party, but also because I really loved having them here. And also, they left a lot of stuff here and I keep finding it everywhere. 

This Thanksgiving when we counted our blessings, family landed pretty near the top of our list.