7 Quick Takes-- Long Over Due Pictures and other things

One--pictures from the hospital

This baby is so big that she fits the baby bunny already. It took several--many many many--weeks for Marigold to fit it. Here she is all ready to go home from the hospital. Amazing.

 Marigold was VERY SURPRISED by her visit to the hospital and not terribly delighted. She's been tantruming pretty regularly the last two weeks and by regularly, I mean several times a day. Never had a baby seriously fling herself down in anger and hysteria this young. I feel terrible because she was so Happy before (I know, I know, happiness is totally overrated) and sweet, at least as compared to Gladys who started her tough girl act so early in life.

I know we'll all recover and eventually she will enjoy Baby as much as the rest of us, but I reserve the right to cry about it as much as I want to until then.

Two--The night before going to the hospital

Look!!! The children are wearing their Christmas PJs. It might be Christmas!
Coming Soon--the children in their Christmas clothes. 

 Having had extra days waiting for Baby to turn, I baked three batches of cinnamon rolls, made a vat of oatmeal and turned half of it into breakfasty scones, and made two trays of rice krispyish treats (fancied up--peanut butter, raisins, peanuts, and whatever else I had in the cupboard).

 Three--A Snow Day

We've had many many chances to be in the snow. I need a good way to hang snow suits. Right now they get piled in a corner of the playroom in between snows. Here's Elphine and Alouicious.

 Gladys

Marigold trying to stand before going in the snow. She was very surprised by the whole activity--the clothes, the cold, everything.

Marigold in the snow really for the first time without screaming.

 Picture taken through the window.

 Cat from the inside.

Four--This last week

If you're on facebook you'll know that I got sick on Monday--well, I don't know if you can call it 'getting sick'. I wasn't paying careful attention to the fact that this huge baby doesn't really eat ever 2 hours like a newborn should. She really eats every 4 to 6 hours. I thought this was great until Monday night when I began to be in such massive pain that I figured I was going to die. So we went to the walk in Tuesday and I came home with a nice ten day antiobiotic, some more motrin and the dreaded and bovine breast pump which I still refuse to use when there's not an actual emergency. I actually spent Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday in bed and then yesterday hobbling feebly around moaning and whining.

Five--A Sweeping Generalization

It is true that if men had to breast feed they just wouldn't do it. Matt looks wonderingly at me every time I grit my teeth and attach this massive mewling infant to the most sensitive part of my body. It is nuts. Men are just more rational than women, besides having a lower tolerance for pain. How is that for a couple of broad sweeping over generalizations?

Six--Another Snow Day

I'm sitting here in my warm office watching cars trying to pull into the church lot. Three have slipped and fallen back into the road with cars coming surprisingly fast behind them, but so far no accidents. The snow is plunging from the sky and yet everyone is driving along as if there is no weather. Crazy north-easterners.

Seven--I am reading books but I'm not having a good time

I HAVE to catch up on Treasure Island today. Managed never to read it as a child and am having to read it now with my class. Of course is a wonderfully written adventure story that every child should read. I just so dislike adventures--both in books, in movies and in real life. Having managed to get through the Hobbit this year my cup of adventure is virtually full and yet after this I still face Robin Hood, King Arthur, and The Shadow of the Bull (maybe, maybe I'll weasel out of that one). Jessica wrote an excellent post about what we're paying the writer of fiction for, what is it that we want? As I reach the midpoint of Treasure Island I've discovered that I'm willing to pay for brilliantly funny writing. That's why I'm always reading at least one Wodehouse book and sometimes nothing else at all. For me, Wodehouse is the Last Word in Funny.

Have a great weekend and go check out Jen!

Christmas in my heart the whole year long, blast it all

The baby is quietly waddling around the house undoing things--taking all the bottles out of the bottle basket, all the gray square mats out of the workout corner, all the toilet paper off the roll, all the clothes out of the laundry basket, all the kitchen towels out of the drawer, all the parts of the kitchen aid out of the cupboard, all the low lying ornaments off the tree.

Yes, we still have the Christmas tree up. I hate looking at it. I lie on the couch every evening and imagine taking the ornaments off, one by one, and wrapping them carefully and placing them in their bin. I can see, in my mind, where each of ornament will go and how they will fit together. But then, when I stand up, it all fades away and I forget that we have a living room or that Christmas was a month ago or whatever.

So I thought perhaps today, being a snow day, I might take a stab at coping with the tree. However, I've already made pancakes (does anyone else experience abject rage when, after serving up an entire meal at great personal expense of energy and time, 3 out of five children come back TEN MINUTES LATER to say they are "hungry" and what else is there to eat?), bread dough and done a load of laundry. That's probably enough for the whole day, given that shoving all the children in and out of snow pants, boots, hats, mittens and scarves will take about three hours, and then it will be time for supper or lunch or something. But maybe I could start by just getting the bin out to stare out for a few more days.

It might be really nice to have it down by Valentine's Day. Or the Super Bowl. Or the time my mom arrives (next Tuesday, PRAISE THE LORD). On the other hand, maybe we could leave it up "so she could see it" and then I could actually stage that now totally false picture of all the children in their Christmas clothes in front of the tree, followed by the equally false picture of all the children in their Christmas pj's in front of the tree.

Either way, when it all comes down to it, its not about the tree still being up or the baby wrecking the entire house or the children eating all day long, its about the fact that I am probably NEVER GOING TO GIVE BIRTH EVER.

Baby Obsession--I'm sorry, I'm 37 weeks, I simply have nothing else on my mind

Matt appears to have the flu or something horrible which is in direct conflict with the baby who loves him SO MUCH that she wants to bounce up and down on his stomach and pinch him and be the center of his life.

I am delightedly watching the ice fall from the sky and humming songs of gratitude for a day off from school. I am exactly one day away from being totally on top of my laundry--including new baby things. I'm going to make the kids do puzzles (clean clean clean puzzles) all day and read books while I launder order back into our lives.

I spent nearly the whole morning at the Dr. yesterday--down to weekly visits now which is such a pain. This wretched baby is so seriously head grinning, waving, yawning and generally flitting away her time that I nearly had a temper tantrum. I'm not really prepared to try the ironing board thing, but I am going to try the music thing today, which I've heard first hand does work. I am really agonizingly afraid of a C-Section, just the whole idea of it makes me burst into tears. On the other hand, I've been very blessed to have five healthy normal deliveries with no complications and no trouble who have turned into five healthy stubborn messy children. So, having been commanded by the doctor not to go into labor this week because "the baby is going to turn, stop freaking out Anne" I am going to go merrily along my way and try to trust God.

Anyway, what with the flu and the laundry  and whatever else we have going on, the Tooth Fairy AGAIN neglected to visit our house last night. That makes twice for Elphine and once for Alouicious. His tooth has been hanging out of his mouth in the most foul looking way for weeks, but he wouldn't let anyone lay a hand on it or aid him in anyway. I finally convinced him to take a bite of a big juicy apple and out it came. However the Tooth Fairy apparently got stuck in the ice (just like an airplane) besides being so old and decrepit she can't keep a thought in her head, much to the disappointment of us all, and so we're going to have to write her a letter today and hope that she will pull things together.

Will Six Babies Be Any More, Really, Than Five?

It hasn't really sunk in that we're going to have a sixth baby in a bit. Besides initially forgetting to call the doctor and then almost forgetting to go, we've been flying along at such a chaotic pace that I haven't given it any real thought.

'So, you're half way there' said my doctor this last Tuesday.

'Really? Are you sure,' I said, 'it can't be as bad as that.' 

And also, I had my due date marked on my calendar, just circled actually, with no explanation or anything. 'Why is that circled?' I inquired of myself and other others. That's not a quarterly report date, nor Ash Wednesday, nor any grading period. What is it!? 

But yesterday, as I stood leading the Nicaean Creed, it did occur to me that I was, in fact, more pregnant even than last week. And last week, after the creed, I knelt for the Confession, along with everyone else, and felt myself turning vaguely green and very light headed. So yesterday I stood for the confession, which felt really prideful and wrong. Its like standing for the Prayer of Humble Access, which I also did (stand, I mean)--so impious. 

The end is in sight

I am up at an unusual hour because Matt was called out at something like 5 this morning for a pastoral emergency. He wildly made tea and found his phone and collar and was out the door in a matter of minutes. I've been trying to stay awake since then because Romulus has been up singing 'Pharaoh, Pharaoh OH BABY LET MY people go' loudly in my ear as well as 'AND ONE WAS A DOCTOR and one was a QUEEN and one was a Spiderman and one was a bad guy and I WANT TO BE ONE TOO'.

I've been contracting regularly and irregularly since Tuesday, thinking all the time that I'm about to go into full blown labor but never actually doing it. I have another ultra sound tomorrow, and if this baby isn't any bigger, the doctor intends that I go in on Monday or Tuesday and be helped along a little. In other words, the baby isn't really packing on weight the way we would all like and I'm beginning to loose weight, and all these contractions are doing something. So for everybody's health and safety, she would like this baby to be here with us now rather than waiting till Nov. 2. I'm really grateful to have such a wonderful doctor, even after whining at the beginning of the week. And I'm longing to meet this baby who, in every ultrasound picture, has the most amazing pouty flower like lips, rivaled only by her big sister, Gladys.

So, today and through the weekend, I am going to try to be 'restful' as instructed (whatever that means). I'd like to finish up some math lessons with Elphine, organize all the school work into some kind order so they can keep busy next week, and maybe make a pie. And hopefully Matt will help me rearrange some more furniture to make room for the cradle which is currently made up beautifully, covered with a sheet and then a board so as to keep cats and children out. But I have to figure out where to put it.

Meanwhile, I hope you will pray for the people Matt is with now. My impression, as he ran out the door, is that some lives have been turned upside down during the night and that Good Shepherd will be called upon to rally around in the next few days. And prayer is the best place to start.

Why Confinement is a Good Idea; or a blog post of complaint and woe

In a few minutes I have to dash around and try to get myself out the door for yet another doctor's appointment. At this stage of the game, the more pregnant you are, the more your doctor likes to see you (or at least me), Which, it has occurred to me more than once, is Entirely Backwards.

In the beginning weeks of expecting a baby, sitting in a doctor's office is comfortable, comforting and relaxing. For one thing, its possible to sit in a chair. And for another, its really nice to know that everything is ok and that the baby is growing charmingly and healthily. But towards the last weeks of a pregnancy, going every three minutes to the doctor and being asked 'is the baby moving?' as you have your breath kicked out of you makes it hard to respond in Christian charity.

OF COURSE, I say that as someone who is pathetically grateful that everything is healthy and on track, and that week by week there is a good strong galloping heartbeat on this baby and that I am being kicked and kicked.

But with the measure of gratitude is the equal measure of weariness and hope that Maybe I'll miss Something by having this baby--another doctor's appointment? the Harvest Dinner? another day freaking out that apparently we are no longer allowed to receive mail at this address?

But this is the nature of human inconsistency and fickleness. The second I'm in the hospital having this baby, I will begin to fret about all the things I'm missing at home, and start hassling the nurses to let me out as soon as is reasonably possible.

Happy Birthday (updated)

I've started three or four posts over the last week, wandered away from them and on return discovered that I had No Idea what I was talking about. Every moment that I haven't been doing something else I've been imploring God to send me into labor. The trouble is, I think, is that I'm praying without belief. I don't really expect ever to have this baby...Ever.

Anyway, today is Gladys' birthday.
She is Two Years Old.
And totally delightful. When asked by tricky and irritating adults where the 'New Baby' is she purses her lips and says 'I can't find her!'
When you open the door for her she says 'Pank you berry buch'.
When Matt is heading out the door in the morning without her she wails 'I NEED TO GO TO Church WITH DADDY!'
And when she's in trouble, she categorically blames it on Romulus regardless of whatever it is, without fail.

Already I've gotten into hot water by trying to engage the older children in a lie. They, of course, know that they are not to lie--NOT EVER. God hates lying.
'Yes, but', I said this morning, 'she doesn't know that its her birthday and it will confuse her if we celebrate it tomorrow, which we are going to do, and tell her that its her birthday today.'
'But tomorrow's not her birthday,' pointed out Elphine.
'I know, I know. I'll try to explain again in a few minutes!' But of course, there is no good way to explain breaking the ten commandments which they have all finally mastered from CC week One.

Today, besides school, and not telling Gladys its her birthday, we're going to finish rearranging the furniture. The floors in the living, dining and hallway have been REDONE. They are beautiful, clean, echoing, golden.

update: Is it possible that Gladys shares a birthday with the estimable and brilliant PG Wodehouse? Yes! Indeed it is!!!!!. Seriously considering changing her blog name to 'Honoria'. Hmmmmmm.

The topics of conversation are lessening in number

This is the part of fall that I really enjoy--the part where, at 7am, the light is only beginning to emerge and so all the children are still asleep thinking that its still night. There's such a vast difference between being covered with children at 4 in the morning and being covered with them at 7:30.

Yesterday, without any nagging or whining or any other miserable tactics so often resorted to by women (that would be me), Matt measured the crib, went to Lowes, bought a board, sawed it into the right shape, rummaged around and found a mattress that fit perfectly (I have No Idea from whence this mattress originated. I've never seen it before. It is the perfect mattress), took the rockers off the cradle so finally, after four babies of whacking my ankles over and over and over for the fifth baby I will be basically bruise free, moved bins of clothes out of the way so I can finish sorting, And brought several more boxes of books upstairs. I watched his boundless energy hunched over on my stool like an old women, sorting through endless piles of baby and children's clothes, thinking on one hand that the baby ought to be born RIGHT NOW and on the other hand that I will NEVER BE READY and that I need several more months.

So you see, life is narrowing down into one main thought for me. Even though all the world is going gently on around me, I am going into some kind of mental confinement and wishing that I could send my body there too--to some place in the country only to emerge magically with baby in hand.

Its Thursday and...well, that's all really

I was rather hoping the children Woudn't be up this early.

I know its 7am, but its still dark out, and, well, I don't know, I just hoped. We're going to try to start work an hour earlier this morning. We're going to try to get all our studying out of the way before 1pm when I start to fall asleep. On the little scrap of paper I have fluttering next to me, it all adds up and makes sense.

Of course, so many things could easily send this plan off track. Like, the fact that the color of this blog and the picture is irritating me no end and I'd like to fuss until I get it right. And, I'm behind on email--seriously behind. And, I don't really want to get out of bed at all because its chilly and dark. And my oldest child is sneezing wildly and has her chin out in an argumentative manner, which means she's coming down with a cold. Which means everyone will be sneezing by the end of the day.

I had really intended today to write about the difference between being pregnant with baby number 1 and baby number 5. In the small recesses of my mind, I thought the subject might be interesting, but I'm reconsidering. Probably the biggest difference is that with baby number five there's no time to notice, there's other more important things to think about than what Exactly you're feeling at any particular moment. And, though I'm not feeling it this precise moment because I'm not awake, the best thing about subsequent babies is that you, or rather me, that is I, I look forward to them more. To put it a better way, I'm really excited about this next baby. Ridiculously so. Which is probably the biggest distraction of all. So if we haven't finished all our work by 1pm, That will probably be why.

Did I mention we're having another baby?

I really don't have time to blog. Surprise!
Yesterday I hassled my husband and father into moving a heavy and deeply ugly cabinet up into the sun room in what is, for everyone else, an irritating organizing and cleaning frenzy.
The new floor for the living, dining and hallway is sitting in the dining room becoming used to the climate of this house.
I've been trying to de-clutter my own bedroom and go through bins and bins of clothes getting winter things out, new baby things out and all the bins into better organization over all.
I've got two foul eggs in jars of vinegar for science. They're sitting there, fat and gleaming and gross, engorged. Everybody wants to throw them away, and rightfully so.
And in another fit, I took the door off the basement stairs in the hopes that the kitty would more easily find his way down there, only to discover (thank you Mommy) that he's AFRAID of the basement because Elphine's cat is so mean to him. So now I'm trying to figure out where to put a private lou for him so that he will feel welcome to go in the right place rather than EveryWhere Else. We've known that Frances, Elphine's cat, is horrid. She was always pushing my cat around. For those of you who were wondering why we bless animals, its precisely for this reason. Although, year after year we we lay hands on her and year after year she continues to be very much part of God's fallen creation. I need a cat whisperer for both cats.

Here they are, in a brief moment of Christian charity.

But in a few minutes I'm going to put all that aside and cozy up with my whole hoard of children for some 'study at home'.

Rearranging the Furniture

I seriously overdid it yesterday and ended up in a rocking chair, at the end of the dining room table, grimacing and closing my eyes every few seconds while everyone else ate supper and asked repeatedly, 'what's wrong, Mommy?'
'I didn't drink enough' I said over and over, chewing on ice cubes, 'and now the baby thinks it should be born right now.'
'Ew' said Alouicious.

I never can get used to this last stage of pregnancy. After this many babies, or so my doctor tells me, your body knows how to give birth and sets itself up to be ready to every moment of the day and night. So you feel, for weeks and weeks, like you're about to kick into labor, but you never do. That's the key. You Never Do. You just go on being pregnant until Jesus comes back. And of course, God is patient and merciful, abounding in steadfast love, not wanting any to perish but all to gain eternal life and so He Doesn't Come Back. Day after day he waits.

I exaggerate, only a little. This pregnancy has been the best, probably, of all five (except for being seriously nauseated for 6 months). Matt pointed out yesterday, when I was whining, that usually by this point and I am affixed to the couch eating lime popsicles and moaning. Instead, for reasons I cannot fathom, I am vacuuming almost every day, maintaining an organized and orderly house, cooking immense pots of soup and getting in full days of school. And This Week (I can barely contain my excitement) I'm hoping to move all the contents of two atria into two beautifully constructed rooms built for this vary purpose in the parish hall. I have Never Had three separate rooms for all three levels of Catechesis. The rooms are going to be painted a cheerful and holy yellow and then I'm going to putter and move furniture and make lists.

It was a great comfort to me, then, to discover this post this morning. I know Matt (and probably the whole vestry) wonders why I am always in the atrium, rearranging stuff and fussing. And I know my own children wonder why, when we arrive at CC on Wednesdays, the first thing I do is rearrange All the tables and chairs even though there's no real practical reason to do so. Obviously, its because I'm such a godly person (ahem). It couldn't be any other reason, like being overly perfectionist and hung up about inconsequentials.

But this morning, still being sore and shattered by my own stupidity, I am going to lie here and continue to eat ice.

The Lord giveth...

Its very quiet now, and a twilight 'grey dark' as A might say. Everyone has gone home and I am propped up in some hospital contraption bed with new baby G. So far she is not a delicate wilting rose flower. She has kind of a thick neck and lots of dark hair and an expression of entitlement. I can see why. Rowan, when visiting this afternoon, climbed on the bed and tried first to sit on her, and then to kick her, and then to poke her, each time thwarted, each time enraged.

Its going to be a loud week, I can tell, when I get home. Everyone shouting and trying to get a word in and be noticed AND assimilate this new interesting creature into our lives.

As for me, I'm very tired. But that's ok. Its something I'm used to.
Matt is very tired too. He has been busy all afternoon trying to arrange a funeral for someone we never got to meet. He called the funeral home,

'hello, Yes, I need to speak with a gentleman who passed away this morning, I can't remember his name.'
Silence on the other end of the phone. I shout the name quietly in Matt's ear.
'Oh yes, with ________________.'
Silence on the other end of the phone.
'Oh no, I mean, I need to speak with someone about ________ who passed away this morning.'

He, Matt, tried then to tell me he would sleep in this uncomfortable chair next to my bed tonight, but I told him he was ridiculous and sent him home. We all need a quiet night in a proper bed. Tomorrow there will be plenty of time to get to know this interesting little person.

As for me, I thank you all Very Much for your prayers over the last 24 hours. At 7 and some centimeters, as I wimped out and requested an epidural, and then burst into tears and had a good solid cry of fear while a very nice doctor put it in, I was profoundly buoyed by the love and grace and mercy of Jesus, and by my husband and mother who held my hands and told me that I was not, in fact, a wimp, and that I was going to be ok. And I know also that your prayers sustained me. Thank you.

Counting down

This is the famous ME who occasionally comments -- Anne's mom. I'm a few feet away from the end of the birthing bed, and I'm very omfortable thank you, in a rocking chair with my coffee at hand, and Anne's computer for light-hearted entertainment.
Matt is in another soft, pleasant chair, typing fiendishly on his computer. Anne is counting her way through intensifying contractions, and the baby's heartbeat is adding a soft undertone to the quiet hum of this birthing room.
So nice. So different from the day Anne was born to me in "The Shrubbery" (a maternity home in High Wycombe, in Buckinghamshire). So different because then, I could hear another woman wailing down the hall, and the midwife kept stepping out for a cigarette. Here, all is quiet and peaceful. We're only waiting for the wail of a baby.
When I heard the first wail of tiny baby Anne, all other crying stopped, and the August wind stirred the curtains at the windows, and all the roses bloomed brighter in the garden outside. "One lump of sugar, or two?" asked the lady with the teacart.
On the way over to the hospital this morning, I caught the tail end of "The Writer's Almanac". "It's the birthday," said Garrison Keillor, "of P.G. Wodehouse.
Oh! We have moved from four to seven centimeters in a very short space of time!
ME

Normal Life

We're waiting for the rain, and waiting for this baby, and waiting for Jesus to come back. I'm not a betting person, but I did finally bet my mother today-coffee and bagels at Panera that this baby doesn't come until a week from tomorrow, Wednesday the 17th, the day of Good Shepherd's 106th Harvest Dinner, during the dinner. I'm not sure how to work out odds, but I've read The Great Sermon Handicap twice in the last week trying to figure out how it all works.

Meanwhile, A has acquired a Helmet and tunic sort of thing to go with his sword. 'I', he said to me this afternoon, 'am the knight of the world'. The helmet is enormous but very satisfying.

R has been playing the piano.


E bought lunch in the school cafeteria for the first time, to her own immense satisfaction.

So basically we're all fussing along in our own quiet ways.

Jumbles

Well, life continues a hodge podge. I've read through most of 1 Chronicles in an effort to go into labor, wading laboriously through the names and trying not to skip any-surprisingly difficult to do in the middle of some heavy duty contractions.

And I've totally cleaned and reorganized my desk again.

And I've learned from A that babies are 'silly mooses'.
'Are what?'
'Silly mooses.'
'Are you a silly moose?'
'No! Baby is a silly moose.'
'Oh.'

And I watched R, always the problem solver, stand at the top of the stairs and fling a large toy dump truck down, come down carefully after it, proceed to sit in it and try to ride it around the living room. Sensible child, not carrying it down and hurting himself.

Oh, and I've cut everyone's hair, except R. Matt and I are in a battle over the curls on the sides of his head. So far they remain intact, praise be.

OH, and tomorrow is Matt's Birthday. We're all so excited, except him. He has all kinds of gray on his head to show his age and wisdom. In celebration we will be indulging in Nigella's Chocolate Cloud Cake AND Nigella's Chocolate Pots.

Oh, and R has learned to say 'hi'. Its really his one word. If you were to come over, he would say it to you.

OR, the baby could look like this

(Picture taken by my mother in Grand Place, Brussels. Notice the cigarette, amongst other things, like the size of the baby.)

Good Sized Baby Daily Getting Larger

Baby flipped to head down, as ultrasound verified yesterday. Relieved and basically very uncomfortable. So, still waiting and the temperature has gone back up to 80, of all things. Really long to go into confinement. Think it would be better for everyone. Instead of have cleaned Matt's closet, made an apple spice cake, cauliflower soup and read some more of Uncle Fred in the Springtime (that was yesterday). Today I'm going to pay all my bills, make bread and reorganize my spice and baking situation. Basically too hot to think about anything else interesting. Have begun to worry that baby will have bright red hair.

Down to Weekly Dr.'s Appointments

Baby transverse and stubborn. Only has a few weeks to turn. Please pray.

More from the Home Front

Well, we've all helpfully gotten sick, since Matt is gone. Actually grateful he left in time to escape it or he would be having a miserable week.

Baby is unhappy and looking at us like its our fault, his nose running and his eyes red. Emma insists she is not sick AND, may the Lord be praised, comes home every day from school to write letters on the board (we have a chalk board in the living room, just in case) and tell us what they are. Aedan finally ate his broccoli this morning and then had a banana and some mango cobbler and a cookie and a number of other things. Decided to forgo the broccoli battle this evening and we all had pancakes. Just seemed like the necessary thing in the middle of a cold and the disintegration of the World Wide Anglican Communion.

I've been hitting refresh at Stand Firm and calling Matt trying to get him to tell me stuff. But so far there hasn't been anything to tell. What's the point of being married to someone THERE if you can't get news a few minutes earlier? I imagine they must be frustrated, trying to track down bishops and news and having everything be so managed. Just speculating, though, don't have any inside information At ALL.

Finally stopped hitting refresh and climbed into the attic to seek out baby clothes. Was able to find most all of E's beautiful pristine baby dresses, except the very smallest size, which is what I was looking for, along with a large ugly grey woolen pregnant dress which, unfortunately, I will probably have time to wear before giving birth.

I am surprised by one thing. I'm probably about 3 weeks out from having this baby, and for the first time out of four, I'm not impatient at all. This is not the right moment for a baby, and I'm basically sure I will know the right moment. This is a curious experience for me. All the other times, six weeks out I just wanted the sucker out (I'm not a very tall person, six weeks out there's usually just no more room). This time, I feel pretty good. I'm horribly uncomfortable and large and my feet are swollen, but for whatever reason, I'm also perfectly content. I don't want this baby to arrive before its supposed to. I don't want to rush anything. I am basically happy to keep plugging along until everything is in order.

I wish I could transfer this new calm to my feelings about the Communion and the Church and all that is going on in these coming days. If God is really in charge, which he is, than everything will happen as its supposed to. Its so easy to write that down and so ridiculously impossible to believe it. However, I am trying. We (my mother, me, my kids) have stopped and prayed several times today that God's will will be done.

This morning we also read about Cain and Abel (I have been trying to read about Jesus, but Emma has been wanting to hear about Adam and Eve, so we continued on from yesterday's disastrous events in the Garden of Eden).
'Why didn't Cain bring what God wanted him to?' E wanted to know.
'I'm not sure' I said, 'I think he probably didn't stop to find out what God wanted. But what could Cain have done, when God wasn't happy with his gift, instead of killing his brother?'
'Well,' said E,'He could have brought something else. If Jesus wants to borrow my bunny, I will lend it to him.'
'That's very nice,' said Nonni (my mother), 'I'm glad to hear you'd be willing to share your bunny'.
'Time to go to school,' I said.

And now, its time for me to stop hitting refresh and go to bed. It will all still be here in the morning.

Counting Things Out

One Vat Peanut Sauce for supper
(one jar creamy no addatives peanut butter,
one package chicken,
5 fresh tomatoes,
3 inches tomato paste,
1 inch fresh grated ginger,
one large onion,
2 cloves garlic,
1 tub home made stock,
simmered together for an hour, plus rice)

Seven chocolate covered strawberries

One crying boy not wanting to share the final banana (I wanted the whole banana. I wanted the last bite. I don't E to have any banana-at least he's perfectly honest.)

One wiggly girl twirling and making up poems-long, long, long complicated poems.

One frustrated baby, unable to leave the computers alone, even knowing he will constantly be in trouble, weeping, smacking the keyboard-a poignant and desperate picture of the compulsive sin nature we all fight against, or should be.

One Micah
One Great Aunt Katherine
One blogging husband
One organized and energetic mother
Five computers (4 laptops)
Three large hot cats
One dog
Bed, there will I be, if you need anything.