My Heathens and Church

I frequently refer to my kids as heathens.  All in good jest.  Or in brutal honesty.  Maybe a bit of both?  With a daddy who scorns organized religion and a mama who is a cradle Catholic but feels vomicious at the thought of emotionally and financially supporting a church who does not call the police for child abusers to be arrested, it is easy to say we are not church going people.

However, we have our own brand of spirituality at our house and my "church" is a long lived tradition of listening to Bob Marley at top volume on Sunday mornings.  So when I realized it was 10am and I had been up for hours without listening to Bob Marley I got a bit panicky and made a huge exclamation about missing church.....which led to Henry saying he wanted to go to church.....which led to a very quick explanation that I was actually just talking about blaring Bob Marley.....which led to a confused look on the kid's face......which led to a quick offer to take him to church if he wanted to go.

The child has exclusively worn shorts since the weather has turned chilly.  When I said he had to wear pants for the walk to church he hightailed it to his room and put on the first pair of pants he saw.

Excited is an understatement.

No surprise that Liza was immediately excited about attending church.  Her excitement was visible through her willingness to brush her hair without any drama or postponement.

Right on time we walked one block to the Catholic Church.
The kids dunked their entire arms in the holy water and we took our seats.
End of the pew.
Back row.
We lasted one song and half of a prayer.

On the walk home Liza picked up a yellow ginkgo biloba leaf and proclaimed it her "magic leaf".

"How was church?"

Henry said church was great.
Liza said her magic leaf didn't work because she couldn't fly.
And I said I was glad to be home to finally listen to my Bob Marley.

By The Numbers

12.........hours of sleep for me last night.  That is what happens when you get in bed at 6:45pm.

163.......sad feelings for Ollie's stuffy little baby nose last night.

1...........little baby sniffle I've heard since we got out of bed.

3...........different baby carriers I have used today and it isn't even lunch time.

19.........requests for Henry to stop interrupting the librarian during story time.  His non-sequiters were making me crazy!

3,574.....requests for Liza to stop yelling at me.  I might have even yelled my request a few times.  Ineffective, yes.

63..........thoughts that crossed my mind today about how nice it would be to not worry about money.

63...........thoughts of feeling grateful that we have good food to eat and a healthy family.

27............reminders from Liza that we need to go to the co-op to buy honey as I've been writing this for the past 5 minutes.

10,983.....wishes that I could break my no cartoons during the week rule and veg out to My Little Ponies for the rest of the day.  Too bad, the rule was already broken yesterday at their grandparents' house.

3..............children.

1..............tired mama.

Ollie and Empathy

July.  Mississippi. 36 weeks pregnant.  I was over being pregnant, over feeling hormonal, over my body aching, over my children getting on my nerves, over my abundant desire to eat out every night.  I was over it.  41 weeks?  Oh yeah, I was totally and utterly over it.  

And very understanding of why an elective induction is appealing in late stages of pregnancy.  Let's just get it over with, shall we?  Homebirths and midwives are not conducive to getting the show started before every hormone is perfectly in sync but I day and night dreamed about cranking up the artificial hormones and turning my prodromal labor into some effective, baby bringing contractions.

^ From a woman who has great disdain for elective inductions.  

Then the back labor.  I hear women talking about back labor.  But I didn't get it. Oh yes, now I understand back labor.  And it is a bitch.  As was that raw abrasion on my back from Taylor's counter pressure with his palm.

^ From a woman who has been rather flippant about labor pains in the past.

And with intense emotions and intense back labor marches in Ollie....otherwise known as "high palate and mild posterior tongue tie boy".  I now understand why women give up on breastfeeding -- the pain of a crappy latch, the horrors of recurrent plugged ducts, the internal self doubt of whether or not your baby is getting enough, the googling for answers that just leads to more stress.  Thanks to breastfeeding my first two babies for a total of 3.5 years and having a wide circle of breastfeeding support, Ollie and I pushed through and things are significantly better at this point.  But I think of women crying with their babies at night because their breasts hurt and everyone in their life says just give the baby a bottle.  It is a common story and I feel blessed that it isn't my story.

^ From a woman who might not have reached out for help with her first baby.

Ollie. He is my little empathy giver.  

To TV or not to TV?

Many moons ago I wrote about why we don't have a TV and why I think children's programming is basically the devil incarnate.

Then Liza stopped napping at 18 months.  I had a 3.5 year old and an 18 month old.  Napless.

Then I got pregnant.
First trimester.

Then I miscarried.
Then I fell in the pit of despair.

Then I felt better.

Then I got pregnant again.
First trimester.
Second trimester.
Third trimester.
Immediate postpartum.

Basically, life happened and we watched Netflix.  Lots of Netflix.  The rule was always we only watch from 1-3.  However, my kids can't tell time and there is a pregnancy clause allowing for extra toon time on account of my need to nap on the couch.

My silly little list of 10 things all about me on Facebook mentioned that my kids haven't watched cartoons in a week and it makes me feel like Super Mom.

Because Mary Beth asked:

It all started with 2 bratty acting little children at the park.  Not playing, just bothering people.  Big kids.  Little kids.  Parents.  Me.  Each other.  They were bothering everybody.

On the ride home, Henry blamed Alvin and the Chipmunks for the poor choices he made that day.

Fine!  No more cartoons!!!!!  *Tears of disbelief*

I stuck to it....even though day 2 of the detox was the worst....let me say it myself:  Hallelujah!  My kids are playing much more imaginatively, not nearly as much screaming and fighting and everyone is more amenable to helping around the house.

I've always said that their work is to play.  And now they are hard at work 100% of the day.  Including a rest time which is incrementally longer every day.  And it all makes me feel very homeschooly and I like that feeling.

Except, you know, for today.  A rainy Sunday is surely worth two full-length Disney movies?

Yes, we thought so too.

Zephyr. Ollie. Zephyr.

We didn't find out Ollie's sex at our (one and only) ultrasound at 20 weeks and by 40 weeks I was convinced he was a girl.   I was in utter shock when Liza lifted the blanket and announced our baby had a big penis.  In reality, she was looking at his over sized, hormone inflated testicles but still, our girl announced we had a boy.  Because obviously, I gestate long with girls since Liza and our presumed baby girl were both born at 41 weeks and 2 days and Henry was born at 40 weeks and 2 days.  And obviously, my belly had the look of a girl.  And don't forget the woman that witched me and read my palm at the country buffet who also agreed our baby was a girl.

Baby boy was nameless for 48 hours.

During this time:  My body felt like it had been hit by a truck.  My colostrum was transitioning to mature milk in a glorious manner leaving my breasts feeling like bags of wet cement.  The kids were acting crazy.  It was harder than I imagined having a baby boy rather than a baby girl.  We were ready to be home but I was anxious about the 4 hour drive.  Needless to say, things were feeling a bit unsettled.

The baby needed a name.  Everything would feel better if the baby just had a name.

The 2nd night of Ollie's life, I decided his name was either Zephyr or Ollie.  Ollie came out of left field.  I honestly wasn't even thinking about Oliver being a family name.  Ollie just seemed right and I liked it.  Zephyr was my much sought after hippie name for my tie-dyed baby born on a hippie commune.  "Late spring and early summer breezes."

Henry, Liza, Ollie.
Henry, Liza, Zephyr.

Taylor chose Ollie.  Oliver Pace Dearman.  I was confused about why Oliver was my son's name.  I didn't even like the name.  But it was his name.  I couldn't deny it.

But now I get it.

My Aunt Betty died in a horribly tragic way right around Ollie's due date after we been at The Farm for about 2 weeks. We decided not to attend the funeral and I coped with the tragedy by compartmentalizing and focusing on our impending peaceful homebirth.

After we named Ollie, I remembered Betty's dog is named Oliver and I liked that.

Then, just a few weeks ago, my mom told me that Betty named her dog Oliver because she always loved the name Oliver for a baby boy but her husband didnt' like the name for their sons.  So naturally, she named her dog Oliver.

Betty and I were never particularly close.  But I think of her everyday and I absolutely believe she is the reason Ollie is Ollie rather than Zephyr.

And when I am empty nesting and needing a little dog to snug in my lap, I can always name him Zephyr and think of Betty.

Shall I blog again?

Back by popular demand.....me and my opinionated views.

It's been a while.  A long while.  I feel the need to explain....basically, blogs started to annoy me.  Not mine, of course, because I love my view points and vantages but why would I read other people's ramblings when I could read research and lovely anecdotes about birth?  Then my camera crapped out.  Or I say it crapped out but I have put zero effort into making it functional and beautiful.  And who wants to read my opinions without looking at my beautiful children?  Or rather.  Why would I want you to read my opinions if I didn't get at least a few comments about my beautiful children?  More like it.

So.  Here I am.  Blogging again?  It would be appropriate since I get in bed every night at 7:30 with Ollie.  Literally, my children and I all have the same bedtime.  It is a major highlight of my day.  I don't even watch Vampire Diaries in my bed.  I pat Ollie on the back because I love him and I want to touch him 24 hours a day, I BookFace and I read birthy news.  Loads of fun.  Yes.

For the curious.  Family cloth is non-existent.  Pretty sure we just tried out that so I could blog about it.

For the past year I used a squirt of Dr. Bronner's liquid peppermint soap as toothpaste.  Now I am using Ipsab Tooth Powder.  Laurin, that bit of info is just for you.  I know you want to know these things.

And last but not least, I can no longer see and my feet are a half size bigger.  Thank you, children.

Will I be back tomorrow?  If recent history repeats itself, the answer is no.  If distant history repeat itself, I will need to talk about Ollie and talk about how my little free thinkers are firmly convinced they can do whatever the hell they want to do all day long.  And how they are pretty much right.