Strangers in my home

Not everyone knows that I grew up with complete strangers staying the night or even living in my home.   Sometimes they spoke English,  sometimes they were from a different country,  sometimes they were a friend of a friend.  Sometimes we would know ahead a time that a certain number of people would be descending upon our home and sometimes we even knew their names and where they came from.  All we ever had to go on is that they were some how associated with one of our sister churches somewhere in the world.  That is it! And definitely not a lot to go on with young kids in the house.  But my folks did it. 

In 3rd grade on one of the nights we had strangers in our home we were all sitting around the dinning room table and my dad was explaining to them Salvation.  None of them had ever accepted Jesus as their personal savior.  None of them accepted it that night either.  But when everyone went off to their bedrooms I went to my mom and dad to tell them I wanted to accept Jesus into my heart.  Having strangers in my home is what brought me to my salvation.

I have met dozens of people who said "I stayed with your family once (and they were strangers when they stayed with us).  I will never forget
*how your mother just welcomed me... And those pancakes she made?  I still remember those
*I was in such a dark,  dark place but your folks let me live in your basement

The stories go on.  And I am sure my parents and my siblings have their own stories to share about welcoming in strangers.

I met a woman at Costco during the flood.  A week or two later her kids were staying at our house.  That experience had its challenges but it opened up my mind and heart in a new way.  My kids learned what it meant to open our home.  They also started to see the world in a different way.

Two weeks ago at MOPS I talked about my journey to making friends as a mom.  I joined every mom group I could on meetup.com  And then I just started inviting strangers into my home,  while my husband was away,  to hang out with me and my kids.  All I had to go on was a profile picture and random facts, and I just hoped they were who they said they were when they arrives at my doorstep. So on scheduled playdates at my home women would show up:
" Who are you?   Welcome! Come on in, can I get you some coffee?" 

Some of these strangers have become my best friends. So when I told the women at MOPS "just invite strangers into your home,  that is the best way to make friends," they laughed. I get it.  This is way out of people's comfort zones.  That is OK.  But it isn't for me. 

All of this is really weird and terrifying to a lot of people.  Maybe it isn't so odd to me because this is how I grew up.  But like I said in each of those circumstances someone benefited.

There are always exceptions and bad outcomes, I know.  Those are usually the stories we hear about.  But I wanted to share my experiences growing up in a household where strangers were welcome.

I want to hear other stories like this!  There is plenty of fear out there,  so please respect me and honor my request for positive stories of you inviting in strangers or you being the stranger.

When our words are cheap

I have a dear friend who has walked the walk when it comes to helping, serving, and advocating for others.  In her spare time she finds ways to advocate for others.  Professionally, she is also trained to serve and care for others.  She also is a mother to a child with cancer.  So she has added that to her plate, not that she or anyone would ever choose cancer.  Daily, she advocates for her own child. But she also makes calls and writes letters to politicians on behalf of all families dealing with cancer. She educates her friends on cancer, treatment, and funding.  Did I mention that while she is fighting for her daughter she also volunteered as a social worker at Celtic during the Great Flood?  She is compassionate, passionate and reasonable. She will take the time to educate and explain. 

Last week, as my friend was speaking up on behalf of an injustice, as she often does, a friend of hers said: "why don't you spend your time on something more important, like kids with cancer?"

Yes, read that again.  You read it correctly.  Sit with that for a moment. 

It goes without saying that is likely the most ignorant and careless thing a person could say to my friend. 

I am going to let you sit with all of that again.  Still in disbelief? I am.

Remember I told you that my friend takes time to educate other people?  Or that she provides comfort to other mothers whose kids have cancer? 

Childhood cancer, its funding and its treatment is a huge injustice.  She is in the trenches fighting.  She is extraordinary.  If there were ever a quota we needed to fill on fighting injustice I don't think there would ever be a doubt that my friend (or any parent in her situation) had not far exceeded her responsibility.

Except my friend does more.  She cared for strangers during the flood.  She is educating people on health care.  She is speaking out on behalf of the unloved locally and overseas. 

As if the original comment to my friend weren't horrible enough; this person hasn't done anything to support my friend whose child has cancer.  So she rebuked her for speaking out against social injustice. She told her to care about kids with cancer. Yet she, herself, has not done anything.

Yes, you read that correctly.  Yes, I agree, it is insane.

But I think that is where we are now.  We rebuke people for taking on a cause or a fight they find worthy.  We tell them there are more worthy causes. Yet when it comes to putting our words into action about those "more worthy causes" nothing happens. 

I had many friends blast the women who marched last week.  The people and the causes were not worthy, in their eyes. Fine.  Then they listed more worthy causes, like women in the Middle East. Fine.  Now, women in the Middle East are fleeing a war with their children.  So, if this is a cause someone feels is more worthy of our attention and energy then I want to challenge those individuals: what are you doing? 

We cannot use the injustice of someone else as a reason not to help someone else and then do nothing about anything! 

For the record, there isn't an injustice competition. An injustice is an injustice. And it is OK to care about and take action for more than one thing.

Uncovering my heart

Not everyone will agree with me, that is ok, and my views and beliefs are shaped by how I was uniquely created by God and by my personal faith. Also, this will likely lack some cohesion. Just go with it.

Over the past few months I participated in a small group at my church in which we read and discussed unity and diversity in the Church. God has made each of us unique. He made us different colors, gave us different personailities, passions, gifts, talents and He Loves and needs each and everyone of us JUST AS WE ARE. He made me with a passion for advocacy, a gift of hospitality, a mom with a particular temperment, and so on. To ignore or minimize how I was made or how you were made is to minimize God's creation. If He wanted us all the same He would have done so. So God has been challenging me to see people as He made them, not how I think they should be. I have been saying a lot to my closest friends lately, "We need to listen to what others have to say. We need to hear their stories so that we can understand them, not so we can judge them." This is not easy and my heart and soul this past year (especially) has been so heavy.

I don't want to listen and understand others with varying perspectives; I just want to retreat to my safe space. I am not willing to do it on my own, at least not with the right motives and heart. Yet I feel to stay right where I am at I would not be honoring what God is asking me to do. I would not allow myself to grow more into who He has created me to be. Whew, not easy. I am thinking of ways to faciliate a space where I can hear the stories of others, stories that are different and maybe stories that would make me uncomfortable but stories that would allow me to begin to see others as people, as unique creations who are also immensely loved, treasured, and useful to God.

I read in a text from our small group at church that as long as there is sin there will be racism. Racism/prejudice/bigotry/etc are sin. We all have sin. Some of my sin is glaringly obvious to me and some is more subtle. Some of my sin I am not ashamed of...I laugh about it with friends. Some of my sin I want to keep hidden from everyone, even from myself. God has been teaching me lately that keeping sin or even just negative things hidden and in darkness doesn't allow for growth, for the sin to be addressed, for my heart or my actions to change. And it is not so that I can be good, I think it's bigger than that. I think it is so I can become a better version of who God has made me because that allows Him to do more through me.

I recently listened to Harper Lee's Go Set a Watchman. In the text Scout's Uncle talks to her about how she is a bigot, eventhough she and even the readers would think she isn't because she is progressive in her thinking. When I heard those words it was like God was piercing my heart. My heart and my person, the person God made me to be, is for justice, compassion, and mercy. However, in so many ways I am closed off and unwilling to extend compassion or even get to know people who see the world very differently from me. So, in my own way and because I have sin, I am a bigot. Whew.

I have biases. I lack understanding and sometimes that manifests into misguided fear, judgement, and even prejudice. I make sweeping generalizations about individuals and groups of people. I am quite certain that I am a racist. I don't think (and I hope) it is not overt or intentional. I certainly do not want to be any of these things. But I do not think I would be honest with myself if I denied that these sinful ways of thinking, feeling, and seeing the world did not exist in some way in my being. I am not sure it is harmful to at least consider that I am in some way prejudiced or a bigot.  I also don't think I can say "Ok, today I will no longer be/think/act as a bigot or a racist. I wish that were the case. I need to be willing, and I am, to allow God to uncover all the thoughts, motivations, and actions that are not of Him or from Him. He began this process with me years ago. My year in graduate school had a profound impact on me and opened my eyes to all these really ugly thoughts I had NO clue were within me (the good, thoughtful, progressive, Christian woman). But by bringing some of these thoughts out of the darkness I have been able to look at their origin, challenge them, and begin to see others and things in a new way, a Holy way (for lack of a better term). It helped me begin to see others as God does, without judgement.

Recently, I was reminded of the adulterous woman and that all of these people were going to stone her for her sin. Jesus didn't command the people not to stone her. He just simply said, if you don't have sin then by all means cast the first stone. Eventually, no one was left except Jesus. No stones were thrown. Each person had sin.

Like I said when I began, not everyone will agree with me or even be able to relate. I wanted to keep this focused on me because I have insight into my heart and my actions. Plus, these are such personal issues, how could I even say what anyone else needs to do. I am pretty certain telling other people what to do, believe, and value is a contributing factor to our issues today. So, I hope in some way you have seen a bit of the desires (and struggles) of my heart and what I want for my life and even what I hope to teach my girls.

Do I see and accept the open door?

In preparation for my life group next week I am looking at verses about intentionality and then how it plays out in my own life.  I am referring to intentionality in our relationship with God which in turn affects our intentionality with others, and for diversity and unity within the church and our community.

So if I am thinking about and practicing intentionality then I think I need to actively stay off facebook.  In the midst of all these tragedies it feels as though I am abandoning the issue, staying silent, and privileged because I can just “turn it off.”  i regularly think of the mothers of the black boys in my girls’ classes. They can turn off social media, turn off the news, but they are still black and so are their boys. What kind of fear do they have? What conversations are they having? Do they have hope?  So I want to stay engaged with this FOR them. I have a strong sense of security in the lives of my kids because they are white girls.  Tomorrow the moms of my girls’ friends could easily be burying their child.  

Of course we cant protect our kids from everything.  For quite some time I have been thankful that I have girls (although rape culture is also frightening) and that they are white. We have dodged a bullet, literally and figuratively, that my girls will not become a hashtag representing the latest death of a black boy/man.  Letting that sink in for just a brief second has brought me to tears...of relief and injustice.  And then we had a 2 and 4 year old, a brother and sister both black come into our home.  Taylor and I talked about if we needed to if we should foster, offer temporary custody, and even adoption. We also had a very sobering conversation about what it may be like raising a black boy.  We could help educate him, advocate for him, love him but that at the end of the day it wouldnt likely be enough.   There was a lot we would leave up to fate and injustice.  it did not take long for me to recognize I could protect the little girl more than her brother, and I could protect my girls even more than the sister.  

I miss those two little kids. (that is another topic for another day and also one that comes with guilt and doubt) Everyday I worry about them. I have lost a lot of sleep thinking and worrying about them. Just last night I was awoken from my sleep several times with fear and concern. I woke angry because people won’t acknowledge or can’t understand our system is broken, it is not just, and lives are being lost. Young lives.

So I post on facebook so the moms of my girls friends and the women who are not yet moms know I stand with them.  

However, facebook and other media outlets can be gross. To see one person want to seek death for another is tragic and horrifying. To see the vitirol used toward another person is sad and maddening.  It affects how I interact with my family and not always in a positive way.  It interferes with how I care for my kids.  When I see my behavior and demeanor change then I begin to rethink my time on facebook. But then simultaneously I have guilt that I can walk away.

Tonight, a little voice said “there is more than facebook for addressing these very big issues.  You have been asking for a way while you are knee deep in diapers, dishes, pooped stained clothes, and carpool.  Do you see it?”  I am co-leading/facilitating a life group at our church (with our two pastors, one black and one white) about how the Church can become diverse and unified.  Not diverse for the sake of being diverse. But diverse because that is how the Church began and how it should be (Acts 13:1).  God called all the believers to be one (John 17:20-23).  

While I taught I had a decent size platform, a room full of high school kids. With facebook my platform grew exponentially.  I prefer the classroom. It was a safer space.  I could challenge their ideas and misconceptions, not in a way that shut them down but that allowed for digging deeper and asking more questions. I could also better understand their perspective and how those ideas came to be.  It wasnt filled with hate or fear.  Well, I don’t have my classroom at Seoul Foreign, Dunham, or EBR Lab Academy. I have facebook and instagram.  But I am not sure that is my best avenue for addressing all of this,or even any of it.  I have six little girls, the life group at my church, and a MOPS group that I co-lead.  If I am honest, I am not content with only having my kids be my audience and within my sphere of influence.  I went to my pastor this summer hungry for a space  to do something to address this division in our community, especially in a season where I am mom to little ones.  

My challenge now is can I be OK with no big platform?  Will I waste these opportunities wishing for other circumstances or a different audience?  Can I be present and intentional so I see and hear what is God’s desire for my time, energy, and words and ultimately for His plan? Do I see what He has presented to me? Can I be obedient? Am I OK that my role is different from so many of my friends?  Can I accept that I am not in charge of the hearts of the masses?

Darkness, light, and motherhood

I co-lead a MOPS (moms of pre-schoolers) at my church,  the Baton Rouge Vineyard.  Last week was our first meeting and I spoke about darkness,  light, and motherhood. Here is what I shared.

I have been mulling over ideas about our first meeting and the idea of darkness, light, and motherhood since July.  I have story after story of darkness in my motherhood experience.  Then the flood came and my home remained dry.  I started second guessing if I was qualified to talk about darkness.  Several times I thought I would just pass the buck onto someone else.  However, I wasn’t able to follow through with that.  

So here I am...I am a mother to 6 girls ages 6, 5, 3, and 2 year old triplets.  That piece of information alone usually results in comments or conversations like:

*I shouldn’t complain to you

*I thought I had it hard

I am from Ohio, all my family lives 15-18 hours away.  My husband’s family is also hours away.  Again I hear:

*I shouldn’t complain

*I thought i had it hard

I have had traumatic births, peaceful ones, births at home and in a hospital.  I had babies that took to the breast like a fish takes to water and then I had babies that cried when I brought them close to my breast.  My kids goes days without seeing their dad because of his hours but then the next week he is at all their school functions in the middle of the day.  Chances are in this small glimpse of my motherhood you have 1) been able to identify with one or more of my experiences 2) had a reaction of “I shouldn’t complain, I couldn’t handle that” 3) thought that is nothing.  All we know are our own experiences and our own reality.  We all have our own “darkness” in motherhood.  We all have things in our lives that we struggle with that others wouldn’t bat an eye at and the same is true in reverse.  It is not about who has more darkness.  We all have darkness.  Don’t have guilt that your darkness is different.  Name it.  Call it out.  Even own it.

Maybe I am being a bit ambigious.  Here are some things that may be darkness in your motherhood

*inability to breastfeed

*traumatic birth

*a spouse who won’t help

*no spouse

*no home

*exhaustion

*quick temper

*endless hours on the TV

*you don’t play with your kids “enough”

*depression

*anger

*no friends

*sickness

*no attachment to your kids

*quick tongue

Whatever your darkness is name it.  If light never shines in a dark place it always stays dark.  Calling attention to something allows just the tiniest bit of light in.  The smallest bit of light can bring the smallest bit of hope, an out, some reprieve.  Sometimes all we need is a morsel to get out of bed or to take the next step.

So I have a little story to share, given the events of this summer it seems insignificant.  And the darkness didn’t remain too long.  Yet I have to remind myself all I know are my own experiences.

    When the triplets were just a few months old I had one of many countless breakdowns.  I left the house sobbing, I had no idea where I would go, what I would do, or when I would return home.  I just stormed out of the house, ignored my older kids’ pleas not to go and told my husband “I am leaving.”    The babies wouldn’t nurse, I didn’t want to pump, and I didn’t want to give them formula.  I was too exhausted to feed them.  I was mad that they wouldn’t do what I wanted.  I was mad I couldn’t do what I wanted.  I found myself in the parking lot of a bank crying and screaming.  Eventually I returned home because I realized I couldn’t not feed my babies.  I told my husband: “ I need to power pump.  That means I need 30-40 minutes with no interruptions.”  I found snacks, took several minutes to find a show I wanted to watch and I hooked those bad boys up to the pump.  I cried while I pumped.  I cursed.  I was mad.  No one bothered me.  I did it again the next day.  And I was alone then too.  Then I realized this thing I despised so much, but not enough to give up because I was probably crazy, could actually bring me a little reprieve… a few minutes alone, with snacks, and TV.  Pumping was like my darkness.  Eventually it became a mix of dark and light because I got a 20 minute break away from all 6 of my kids!  I still hated it most of the time.  But it offered a little break.

This darkness had an end.  But not all darknesses will.  Some will be harder to penetrate.  I am not talking about a quick or easy fix.  However I really do believe that if we are willing to name our darkness it allows us and God to slowly allow some light in.

What’s light?

*a piece of chocolate after a hard day

*glass of wine

*someone paying your bill

*your starbucks order paid for

*a 20 minute break away from the kids while you pump

*a friend who will listen

*quiet time

*a nap

*counseling session

*time to play life with your kid

*someone else doing the dishes

*a job

*remission

*being debt free

So, we all have darkness.  Don’t compare.  Name it.  Be willing to  bring and even allow a bit of light into your darkness.        

    

Social Justice and Being a Mom

I grew up in a relatively conservative Christian family in Cleveland, on West Blvd just 5 houses from Madison Ave, to be exact.  The city rec center where I learned to swim, played on volleyball, soccer and basketball teams, attended summer camps is the same rec center where Tamir Rice was shot.  On more than one occasion members of a local gang sat on our front stoop. I had sleepovers at friends in which they told me not to wear certain colors because of rivaling gangs. Our next door neighbors were a same sex couple that taught my mom about gardening and who came into our home for dinner.  Around the corner from our house was a union hall.  I have vivid memories of men standing outside in the bitter cold around a burning garbage can.  In my young, naive, and idealistic mind I wanted to stand with them in what I perceived to be a fight against injustice.  I also attended a very small private school that created a sort of bubble.

 My community was quite different than my family.  It would have been very easy for my parents to subtly or even directly name the different behaviors and people as "wrong" or "unsavory."  Instead, as I mentioned, those people that were different than us were invited into our home, I was taken to theirs.  There was no judgement to these different people and how they lived their lives.

 It just was. Period.  My parents demonstrated how to be with others that were not like us whether it was in their beliefs, sexual orientation, race, ethnicity, religion, and class.  They demonstrated kindness and compassion.  Yet they instilled in us their values and beliefs.  I don't think they lived a life of contradiction or hypocrisy, at least not as I remember it.  But then again, when you value kindness, human life, when you acknowledge that every person was created by God, the natural outflow of that is a life that loves every type of man, woman and child, regardless of how different they may appear.

Fast forward to college where I attended Case Western Reserve University and majored in History and Education.  I sought out courses that would allow me to understand "other," and had a social justice component: African American history, Women's history, and a concentration in African Studies, The primary text in my US History intro course was Zinn's History of America. I read texts like Live from Death Row: Mumia Abu Jamal, about multicultural feminism and white privilege, My Education courses required us to look critically at the textbooks to see who was left out of the history, how certain histories were written, how a map could teach us so much about ethnocentricity, and so on.

 then I spent two years working abroad in South Korea and had the amazing opportunity to travel throughout Southeast Asia where I was exposed to poverty in a way I had never seen in America.  Yet, I experienced amazing acts of generosity from these very people.  It was striking, to say the least.

After living abroad I spent a year getting my masters at Teachers College in Manhattan.  The program, Literacy Specialist, was founded on challenging our concepts of what it means to learn and be literate.  Daily we were challenged in class, in our writing, and our work with students to get rid of preconceived notions and to "name" our own experiences and how that influenced our talk, our actions, our everything.  In one class I wrote a paper on how I "read the world."  I documented pretty much every thought that came to my mind as I rode the bus, subway, went out to eat. I considered myself to be open and non-judgemental. That was a very humbling and eye opening experience because I had my own set of preconceived ideas about people.  It's an exercise everyone should try just for a day or even a few hours.

As a teacher in an international school in Korea, private and public schools in Baton Rouge I found ways to have discussions about privilege, to challenge how history has been presented.  My students had social justice journals where they were asked to pay attention to their surroundings, movies they saw, comics they read, conversations they overheard and where they shopped.  They responded to questions like: who is there, what do they look like, why are we here and not somewhere else, how is this different/similar, how does it make me feel, etc.  I had students to be able to come to a realization that the child who lives in poverty was no more/less deserving than they who lived a life of wealth and material privilege.  What an amazing thing to witness! in 2008 while teaching at EBR Lab at Istrouma High School I took my kids out on Saturday's to register voters and tasked them to volunteer with political campaigns. Then councilman Torvald Smith talked to my class about civic responsibility, the law, and their rights.

And then I got pregnant and I kept getting pregnant, even pregnant with triplets.  I constantly struggled with "what am I doing to make a difference?  How am I contributing to the greater good."  When I would hear people say "action is better than dialogue" my immediate response was "my kids need to hurry and grow-up so I can get out and teach again because in the classroom is where I can make a difference and working in the classroom is admirable and acknowledged."  I saw friends and family doing really important work and here I was wiping butts, sweeping up the upteenth spill of the day, and washing dishes.  I was resentful of my stage of life.  Even as I am writing this I am having to push down feelings of resentment, missing out, and not doing enough.

Last year SCOTUS voted in favor of same sex marriages.  One of my close friends was/is in a same sex relationship and we were regularly in each others homes and our girls played together.  My girls never asked any questions or made comments but they were years younger at the time.  Everyone seemed to be talking about it and not always in the nicest of ways.   All I felt I could say, if the topic was ever mentioned was, "God made everyone and He loves everyone.  He wants us to do the same.  Love others and show kindness"

Last year my eldest daughters began school.  Evelyn attended the Polk campus of FLAIM on Thomas Delpit and Lucy was in gifted pre-k at University Terrace.  (I mention the programs they are in because I know in some ways they are in a unique setting and it is not the same as sending my kids to a traditional EBR school) That said, my girls are not among the majority.  These schools are across town in a neighborhood very different than ours.  Their friends were diverse ethnically, religiously, and socio-economically. I still was not content about being home, it didn't feel like I was doing enough to "fight" injustice.  Then one day, a day no different than the days before, it dawned on me that neither of my girls ever mentioned anything about how the neighborhoods and kids looked different.  It reminded me of my childhood.  I was exposed to different people and places as simply being a part of life.  Then I became more intentional, everytime we went to the library we travelled across town to the Carver branch to further expose them and to live more aspects of our life outside of our little neighnorhood.  I looked into activities at the Baranco YMCA, however what they offered didn't meet our unique family needs.

I have been telling myself "being a mom is enough."  I don't completely believe it yet.  But I realized that my childhood environment, what was said and not said by my parents, and how they lived their lives were so influential on how I viewed others and the world.  I can have conversations with my kids about always being kind, I can read them stories about people overcoming adversity and showing compassion, I can instill in them the knowledge that we do things differently than other families but that doesn't make other families wrong or bad.  I can teach them that God made every living person so unique, He loves each person just as they are, and all God wants us to do is one simple thing: Love others.

This whole blog entry came into being because I wanted to share a pinterest board I started last Spring: "social justice for kids."  For whatever reason, I felt I needed explain that I had not just hopped on this band wagon of social justice.  Kind of silly, I know.  I want to raise daughters with strong character, a desire to question and know more, to be those who stand up for others, to see things that are different as just that: different with no judgement or value, and above all to love.  I need moms who want the same. I want to learn about the books you are reading, the conversations you are having, the activities you are engaging them in.  Let's face it, I will always be a mom.

They say "don't blink."

This is my motherhood...more than I can handle, more than I can hold, more than I can tend to, someone on the fray, someone not quite getting enough.  Of course it's also lots of smiles, lots of hugs and kisses, copious amounts of random pictures drawn just for me that must find their way onto the fridge (thankfully we have several), and many laughs. 

My motherhood is 3 at a time getting into trouble because it's monkey see monkey do all darn day.  Bonnie finished her food so she wants more, Betsy sees Bonnie is asking for more, Betsy is not done but she still dumps all her food so she can copy Bonnie. Abby isn't hungry and hasn't touched her food in 10 minutes so I try and cheat the system and take ONE thing off her plate to save me yet another trip to the kitchen. Abby shrieks because I dared touch her food, food that she hasn't touched herself. I try to passify her but only the original food on her plate will work, even though she doesn't intend to eat it.

My motherhood is 3 toddlers playing independently and peacefully until I finally get to sit down after cooking breakfast, serving ot, cleaning it, and getting everyone dressed for school, and all 3 want to climb on me.  They are no longer playing peacefully because they are getting kicked, their favorite spot on my lap is taken, and crying because my hot coffee that I was holding spilled.  So I move across the room to an uncomfortable chair hoping the lack ofspace will deter them. It doesnt.  So I lock myself in a room to cry because all I want to do is sit long enough to drink my coffee. I don't even taste it anymore because it's guzzled. On the other side of the door are 3 toddlers banging on it and crying because they can't see me.  They get over it quickly when they discover the air vent next to the door. It then becomes 3 toddlers running their toy up and down the vent. 

My motherhood has made me quite intolerant of phrases such as "don't blink," "enjoy these moments," "they grow up so fast." I mean, I get what they are saying. But I'm not sure I've ever heard a mom of multiples say these phrases or if they have they are likely suffering from dimensia brought on by this season and they are in denial. 

I try really hard not to draw comparisons. It's not a race or a competition.  But I have a unique perspective of singletons and multiples. So I can make a comparison in my own life. Each kid was hard. Each time my family grew it was hard. Each time I had to adapt.  But each time the new baby did not have to share each stage of their life with 2 other people.  With my big girls it was "easy" to not let them cry because i had enough hands and enough boobs for 1 baby. I didn't have to choose which baby/toddler got held.  Its 3 of everything all the time: 3 diapers to change and they all wiggle, kick, and try to run away, 3 sets of clothes to change and they all wiggle, kick, and try to run away, it's 3 little people getting into their own box of tissues or wipes so it's 3x the clean up, it's 3 crying, it's 3 whinning.  its 3 insisting that i read their book and only their book right now.  Y'all I'm not even discussing the big Kids and their needs, or my marriage, or my own mental health, or maintaining friendships, or getting crap done around the house.  So not only does my blood boil when I hear these well meaning remarks but I also think "LIAR!!!!!"  Somedays I blink so hard and often my eyeballs should fall out and still nothing.  Still 3 of everything at the same time and not any older or more capable. 

Anyone who knows me knows I love my kids, love to spend time with them, run myself ragged for them. I try to teach and nurture them. They know I am thankful for them and wouldn't trade them for the world. However, that doesn't change the fact that I am often wishing away the days, blinking so hard and fast because my motherhood is HARD! It is mundane.  Of course I then carry copious amounts of guilt because of all the blinking and wishing away.  Motherhood is hard. 

Light in My Darkness

So much to say, I hope you can stay with me.  I don't have an eloquent way to begin, so I'm just jumping in. And i had super cute photos but I couldn't make it work.

Disclaimer: Please know that I don't believe my experience is worse or harder. All we know is our own reality.

Raising 6 girls, born within 4.5 years of each other has been the most difficult, trying and exposing experience in my 34 years.  I have screamed, shouted profanities, threw food (among countless other things), asked Taylor if I could leave and not come back.  I've been mad at the Lord for giving me all these kids and feeling like he hadnt equipped me to care for them.  If He knows I have a temper, little patience (just to name a few), which He does, why give me all these kids?  Why subject them to a mother like me? I'm not kidding. I struggled with this for several months and it still shows its head from time to time.  For the record, I never physically harmed them.  But I shed so many tears because I am not equipped, others could be more loving and have a softer tongue, and because He did this to them.  Didn't He love my children?  These are lies.  But they are powerful lies, crippling lies.  LIES!

Through all of the garbage, when I couldn't be the mom they needed my girls had each other. Then more lies came: your children are kinder than you; your children are more forgiving than you. Actually these things are probably true. The issue is what I said to myself after that: they are better off without me; I cause more harm.  That is a LIE. 

Do you know what brought me to my knees asking for forgiveness time after time, both to the Lord but also to my girls?  It was their kindness to one another.   Giving a hug to a crying sister because they were compassionate.  It was Evie comforting Lucy after she was yelled at then coming to me as Lucy's advocate and defender.  It was Lucy being the bigger person after she and I got into an argument and she offered me forgiveness and she apologized. 

Whatever the reason or the examples they are shown (good and bad)  my girls already know how to help, they know how to comfort, how to forgive, how to say sorry. 

Without being asked, Josie will fill up the little girls' water bottles and hand then out.  Evelyn will grab a book so she can read to the babies.  Lucy will give her beloved pillow to Josie.  Evelyn will find a snack for everyone when I have locked myself in a room because I just can't anymore. 

Some days I have guilt because my girls do these kinds of things and are there for each other in a way that I am unable to be.  But then sometimes I am thankful that there are so many of them to lean on one another when I'm not present, when my tongue is sharp, when I am not caring for them the way I should.  They astound me with their compassion and care for each other.  Yes they fight and they compete for who is the "best sister."  But holy cow, do they love each other something fierce. Even the triplets will cry, repeating "baby, baby, baby," and bang on a door if they are separated from each other. 

In my dark moments it is often my children that the Lord uses to shine light. 

2016 check-in

Taylor and i talked on tbe phone tonight for a long time while he was at work. We both remarked that we haven't done that in a long time.  In fact, long and meaningful conversations are a rare thing these days.  After our conversation i came across this blog post that was shared in my triplet group.  That inspired me to write this post tonight, the first post in nearly 9 months.

  Taylor asked me tonight on the phone do you think we will be happy again? I said I don't like to think about it because it makes me cry.  And it's not like we are miserable, disatisfied, or any of that.  But everything feels like work and I don't see any sign of that letting up.  When there is a break in the day  my first choice isn't usually so spend time with my kids and it isn't even to spend time with Taylor.  That also makes me want to cry.  None of this means im not thankful ALL THE TIME for each of my kids and my husband or that I don't love them. I do love them.  I find myself regularly wishing the days away, wanting to move onto the next stage. That also makes me cry. 

I post a lot of victories and awesome things because I use Facebook to document my life. It's my scrapbook.  In these days that are so long and hard I need to be able to look at something I posted a few weeks ago or this morning to remind me that it's not as horrible as I am playing over in my head, or to be an encouragement to myself that I can do it.

  My days are really hard, I fly by the seat of my pants, my bed is never made, my nightstand is cluttered with food wrappers, dirty dishes, and empty bottles of wine that have accumulated and not been dealt with. I don't mop my floor. I am not sure I've dusted my house. Ever.  I knowingly wear clothes that are stained.  I yell.  I am addicted to facebook.

I would feel horrible if someone thought I had my act together all the time, that I was a "Pinterest mom," or didn't struggle.  I wouldn't want someone to think I'm disingenuous.  honestly, sometimes I want to look like I have my act together because I don't want to be judged for my family size.  A lot of times i am self conscious about my family size because I want people to not dread us being around or regret inviting us somewhere.  I don't want my family to be a burden to anyone.  I am also keenly aware of the relative uniqueness of the make-up of my family and I don't ever want to overshadow another mom or family.  If i do i promise i am not trying to. My kids, my family, and my circumstances aren't any more special than yours.

And another thing, if I'm lamenting about my circumstances please do not think I that *I think* I have the monopoly on hard circumstances.  We ALL have aspects of our lives that are hard and what is hard to one person is a non issue to someone else. When I share anything, good or bad, it is not done to minimize you or your circumstances.  People tell me all the time: i don't know how you do it, you are amazing, etc. I promise you there are countless things in your life that I could not do. You are also amazing.  You are a bad ass. 

A mom's body

It is hard not to be hard on myself for how I look.  Things are not tight or toned.  There is muscle, but it is hidden but sometimes it makes a brief appearance.  Since weaning the triplets my body has changed even more.  I've gained more weight and things have loosened even more.  But earlier today I shared a photo with other moms of my post baby body.  Six kids in 4.5 years would change ANY woman's body.  And so I have to tell myself that what I accomplished since I first got pregnant is an amazing thing.  What my body has done is no small feat.  It has also taken a beating.

February 2009: Pregnant with Evelyn.  I gained between 35-40#.  I had a 34 hour labor that ended in a cesarean that at the time was not medically necessary.  Within a week of bringing her home I developed mastitis.  So to remedy that I pumped and nursed simultaneously for over 6 months and nursed for 2 years.  We had to buy a full size freezer to store all the milk I made.  Already, my body was working overtime.

July 2010: only 8 months post partum with Evelyn and I got pregnant with Lucy.  I gained between 35-40# again.  I nursed her throughout the pregnancy.  With Lucy I had a 22 hour unmedicated VBAC.  I tandem nursed the two girls until Lucy was 6 months and Evelyn was two.  After Lucy I was bigger than I had ever been.  I was depressed.  From March (when Lucy was born) until about November I managed to lose about 75#.  The number on the scale wasn't my dream weight but I felt fabulous and so I was OK.  I nursed Lucy until she was about 13 months.

July 2011: I discovered I was pregnant with Josie.  This time I started my pregnancy nearly 20# less than the others and I was eating much better.  I still managed to gain the same 35-40#.  She was born at 39w at home with my midwife.  I started exercising about 3m post partum and felt really good.

September 2013: Josie was only 6 months old and I discovered I was pregnant with #4.  In October I discovered #4 was actually the triplets.  I continued to nurse Josie until 3 weeks shy of her first birthday/18 weeks pregnant with the triplets.  My body ached and hurt through most of the pregnancy.  But other than aches I had an uneventful pregnancy. I gained 60# and after the babies were born I put on another 5-7# due to water retention and BP issues.  I carried the babies to 34w2 when I went into spontaneous labor.  I had another cesarean.  Twelve hours after the babies were born I began pumping like my life depended on it.  those first few days I would pump 30 minutes at a time while only producing less than 1 ounce.  yet I pumped on.  I pumped for 6 months.  I nursed exclusively for 6 months.  I weaned the babies completely 2 weeks after they turned 1.  I managed to lose all my baby weight about 6 weeks before they turned one.  And then as I began to wean the weight started to come back. I am now about 1.5 weeks out from not nursing anyone.  My chest has changed dramatically.  My stomach seems to have expanded.  I went to the store to buy bigger clothes, a size that only a few months back I purged and donated to a local charity.  A girlfriend said it's better to be in clothes you don't spill out of. So I followed her advice. I feel good in them.  I just try not to pay attention to the size.

Anyway, so today I posted a photo of my post partum body and in the comment wrote: "6 babies in 4.5 years and I just weaned my triplets who are almost 13 months." Lately I have been feeling pretty down about myself.  It's my own insecurities and no amount of encouraging words from my husband, friends or strangers will change that.  That's ok.  But today as I posted that picture I had a strong sense of pride in my body. My body grew 6 babies and 3 of them at the same time!  My body produced nourishment for 6 babies for more than a year for each of them.  My body, my extra layers of skin and fat, my stretch marks, my scars, my stretched out chest, they all tell a story.  They tell a story of betrayal, trust, worry, fear, pain, joy, nourishment, life, and of blessings.

Just another morning

Two babies are strapped into their high chairs fussing.  They are mad at me because they eat their food at a faster rate than I can have more food cooled down and cut. Simultaneously Evie and Lucy are making their own bowls of cereal which surprisingly isn't making a huge mess. And then there is Josie sitting bare bottom on our dinning room table drinking milk right out of the carton. All the while Taylor is on the phone alternating with our home owners insurance and a hotel working out arrangements for next week.

Hotel? Insurance? What?  Yes, we are packing up and relocating to a hotel next week.  The plumbers are pulling up the floor in the kitchen and jack hammering the slab to get to the issue.  They are estimating it to be a 3 day job but they won't know for sure until it begins. 

Work begins Monday and so Monday we "move in" to a 2 bedroom/2bath suite at Hilton Homewood Suites. It comes with a full kitchen, a "dinning room", living room, 3 TVs, free hot breakfast and dinner, pool, etc.  one down side to this is I'm doing it solo since Taylor will be working his 3 nights.  But I think we will be OK. We have homeschool co-op Monday, Bible Study Tuesday and MOPs on Wednesday, plus the pool, novelty of a hotel, and did I mention 3 TVs?  Call me crazy but I am actually looking forward to it. 

Between now and then it's life as usual.  The big girls and I went to Home Depot for outdoor swings. We were a bit of a hot mess, between the four of us we had mismatched shoes, a leotard, sequin dress, and greasy hair.

(I didn't even realize I had mismatched shoes until we were at the store. I grabbed the first shoes I could find, of course they weren't matched, so I could play in the yard and protect my feet from stinging caterpillars. Then while we were out there I said, "let's go to Home Depot and get swings."  And so, there's the story of my shoes.)

 We had some stares and some comments, nothing bad "oh too cute" "little princess" and I think the first worker we saw thought we may have walked into the wrong store, lol.  Afterward we walked to the "chicken nugget store" and ate inside. Special treat!!

 Oh, I'm also having a garage sale at my house this weekend. That may be a little crazy but it feels sooo good to get crap out of the house and is even prompting me to clean out the attic. Lol.  There is very rarely a dull moment in our home. We just kind of roll with it and thankfully Taylor is usually on board with supporting my rearranging, organizing, and other such projects.

There are no tricks.

Just minutes ago I was nursing Abby and watched a memorial video for a fellow triplet mom who lost her 3 boys on 3/31/14 just days before viability and exactly 2 weeks before my girls were born.   As I watched the video so many thoughts ran through my mind: that could have very easily been me.  Why did it happen to that mom?  I broke Abby's latch and walked her up the stairs to return her to bed.  Halfway up the stairs  I squeezed her soft bare skin, held her face to mine and just sobbed.  

I cannot even imagine.  Since the Fall of 2013 I have come to know so many mothers of triplets who have lost 1 or all of their babies.  Some moms lost all 3 while still pregnant. Some gave birth to healthy 34w babies only to lose one days later.  While some moms have not lost any of their trio they struggle with chronic health issues, life threatening illnesses, surgery after surgery, months and months in the NICU, and much more.  

Months ago a newly pregnant mom of triplets joined our community of moms expecting in 2014.  In her introduction she said her provider had "tricks up her sleeve" to get her to 35+weeks with the babies.  There are no tricks in a triplet pregnancy.  

My babies and I did not make it to 34w because of anything I did.  The weekly meals of grassfed liver, smoothies with hemp, gallons upon gallons of whole milk, a caring and knowledgeable OB, staying active with my big girls, my previous healthy pregnancies; none of those things are why I carried the girls to 34w.  They are not the reason I had a short NICU stay with feeders and growers.  Did those things hurt?  Probably not.  But I know plenty of women who did all those things too and then some then found themselves praying desperately to stay pregnant until viability because then the babies could be cared for.  So many women had textbook, beautiful pregnancies until one day their placenta abrupted, or pre-e developed, or there was no longer a heartbeat.  There is no trick.  There is no secret.  There is nothing I did or did not do.

34w

Having virtually no control is terrifying and humbling.  I don't know why my pregnancy, the birth, and their first year went the way it did.  I am no more blessed, no more healthy, no more a better mother, no more strong in my faith, no more wise.  I did nothing.  I am nothing.  As I sit here writing this Psalm 139 once again comes to me, just as it did when I was only weeks pregnant with the girls. 

All I know to say to the Lord is Thank You.  

14w

Add caption

10 days old and holding all 3 for the first time

Changes

The changes in my children today hit me like a ton of bricks.  

Big Change 1: This morning Lucy came rushing into our room and exclaimed "Evie has a tooth that is loose."  Evie has been imagining losing tooth forever. She has asked on numerous occasions to go to the dentist so he can pull out her teeth.  On any other day I would have brushed it off as another made up reality but not today.  She is 5.5 a loose tooth is very much a real possibility. I was excited, perhaps not as much as Lucy or Evie.  

Them as the day went on it dawned on me that she actually has a loose tooth, there will very soon be a gap in her mouth.  When she got her first baby tooth i got sad because I knew her smile would never be the same. For the last 4 years or so I have grown to love her little girl smile. But in a matter of days, maybe weeks, her smile will change and it will never be the same. I'm not a huge fan of the few big teeth among baby teeth, it's such an awkward yet unavoidable stage of life.  Fortunately Evie's mouth is easing me into this next phase because it's a bottom tooth.  

Big change #2: Today I started weaning the babies. (Keep your opinions about that to yourself).  I told myself if I could make it to a year of nursing/pumping that I would stop and that would be OK.  This will likely be longest weaning process ever so as to avoid mastitis.  It has been such a long, challenging, draining, exhausting, painful, journey. I am glad I pushed to get the babies to nurse but it was not easy.  I am not sure I would do it all again. But I also don't know what else I would have done instead.  I enjoyed seeing the babies hold hands as they nursed tandem. I giggled when the third baby would try to crawl into my lap and push a baby out of the way. I cried tears of joy when each baby latched.  I also writhe in pain a significant amount of time because I have Raynauds (think sharp, burning pain during the latch and hours following).

  This process is bittersweet.  I have been pregnant or nursing for more than 6 years.  In the early months after the babies were born I was not ready to say our family was complete. Some women just know and I envy that clarity.  But as the babies have grown it has become more clear (although not yet crystal clear) that I am done. My uterus is closed.  So that means no more nursing babies in my future. I likely wouldn't even be entertaining the idea of weaning if #4-6 had only been #4. She likely would have been my longest nursing child. But it's not so simple to keep nursing for sentimentality or even nutritionally when there are THREE wanting it. I know moms who extended breastfed their trio and I think it is wonderful. But it is not the right decision for me, for this season, or even for my whole family. It is time for me to take care of my body, to replenish it from the years of growing babies, of sustaining life, and providing the nourishment for 6 lives in addition to my own.  

Big change 3: the babies are 2 weeks from their first birthday. Ok, so this isn't technically a change. But today we took family and 1 year photos so this has definitely been on my mind. In the midst of taking photos Bonnie clapped for the first time. All 3 babies sat up for a long time like pros.  Yesterday in the tub Bonnie and Abby tried pulling up and Betsy was basically tryin to swim, head under and all.

 Where are my little babies who once fit so easily 3 across in my arms?  It is surreal.

A thank you to my donors!

When I found out baby #4 was actually 4-6 I cried for all kinds of reasons. One reason I cried was over breastfeeding.  With my 3 singletons it wasn't even a question in my mind that I wouldn't breastfeed.  I was fortunate to have an abundant supply, only 1 brief run in with mastitis, 1 milk bleb, and 1 baby who struggled with latch for 5w. Most of the time I enjoyed it. They night weaned themselves around 7 months.  It was convenient and of course had health benefits. So when I heard "you have triplets" I cried out of guilt. I didn't think I could breastfeed 3 babies and I didn't think I wanted to breastfeed 3 babies.  I crie because I thought I would not be able to provide something for my babies because there were 3 of them. It wasn't their fault. It wasn't my fault.  Breastfeeding was an important part of how I mothered my babies. I didn't know how to mother without the boob. So I cried.

A few weeks into my pregnancy I discovered a small world of mothers who pumped and nursed for their triplets. This gave me hope that it was physically possible.  I saw that there were a lot of ways that moms fed their babies: a combo of formula and boob, bottle and boob, donor milk, breastmilk til they came home from the nicu, breastmilk til they reached their due date, and so on.  All these options have me hope and allowed me to think outside the box.  So I set my goal for feeding the triplets.  I wanted them to have breastmilk their first year but it didn't matter as much to me how they got it.  The milk could come to them in the form of a bottle with my pumped milk or donor milk. It could come with them directly at the breast. And I jokingly said, if they have to get it off the floor then so be it.

Weeks before we even made it to viability I had donor milk in my freezer and more donors lined up waiting to fill my needs.  Before these babies were even born I had more than 2 shelves in our large freezer filled with milk from donors.

When I struggled to pump enough or find the time to pump I had names and numbers of moms I could contact. I had moms sending me messages asking about my supply, asking if they could donate.  Sometimes moms would be out and about and have just 3oz and would offer to bring it by the house.  Moms picked up milk from other moms to bring it to me.  These moms, mostly friends, all wanted to help me give these babies breast milk.

Like I said, most of my donors were my friends. One time or another we had seen each other's boobs while nursing.  With some we shared personal information about our marriages, birth traumas, and other intimate details.  I knew these women.  I knew if their milk was good enough for their baby it was good enough for mine.  But for donors I did not know they always offered up their diet, if they occasionally ate fast food, how many cups of coffee, any medical history that might have been relevant. In the end I had so many women offering to help that I could turn down anything I did not feel comfortable with. But truth be told, there wasn't a single mom's offer to help that raised any red flags.

One evening at LLL with the babies there were 4 women in a room of about 12-15 who at some point had given milk to the babies.  I wonder if the babies could smell the familiar milk on those moms.  

Nursing, pumping, the use of donor milk, and providing formula are all very personal decisions.  It's not for any of us to say how or what a mother should feed her baby. 

 I know some people looked at me sideways when they discovered I gave my babies donor milk. It's not for everyone, I get that.  The babies are 11 months tomorrow and I know now I will be able to reach my goal of 1 year of breastmilk. I also know that without my donors my goal would not have been met.  I am pretty sure I could have pumped enough milk in those first 6 months before the babies latched, but at what cost?  At the cost of not spending anytime with any of my six kids?  At the cost of falling even deeper into depression?  My donors saved what little sanity I had. My donors bought me time with my kids. My donors bought me much needed dates with my husband. My donors gave me a few extra hours of sleep. My donors afforded me bi-monthly fellowship with other moms.  My donors took the pressure off. My donors allowed me to work at latching all my babies. My donors got me to 12 months of breastmilk to my 3 babies.  It took a community to nourish these babies.  

I wish I could do more to show my appreciation for the thousands of ounces of milk offered by the 20-30 moms. 

Thank you!  Thank you for the amazing gift you gave to my girls and to me!!  Thank you!  A thousand times over, thank you!  

And now here are some things to know/ask/expect with donor milk:

* I have been a recipient and a donor of milk so I know first hand what goes into giving and receiving.

1)  I would not pay for donor milk unless It is coming from a milk bank.  I would not trust the milk coming from an individual wanting to make money.

2). When receiving milk offer any of the following: money for gas, milk storage bags, breast pads, ingredients for lactation cookies, supplements, a meal, a Starbucks gift card, shout out on social media, photos of the baby receiving the milk.

3). I asked these questions about the mother before accepting milk: diet, drink, smoke, meds, supplements, date milk was expressed, storage.

4) I have tasted just about every milk donation. I figured if I wasn't willing to taste it then I shouldn't offer it.

Today I made a bottle because I was at my wits end and I'm appreciative for that option!

Evie rescued me.

The girls tricked me, I thought we were out of the woods. We aren't. This evening as babies were crying to be fed and big girls asking for this that and the other Evie came to my rescue. 

She said  "I can help you with the housework."

At first I was annoyed, I wasn't trying to do any housework. I was trying to shut kids up by nursing, with pizza, or a video. The next thing I know she is picking up toys and pillows.

Me: evie, it's ok. Eat some food and watch the video.

Evie: it's ok

She proceeds to pick up dishes from the table and take them to the sink.

Evie: I can wash the dishes

Me: evie, it's ok. You don't have to. I really appreciate it. You are being so kind and helpful to me.

She gathers more dishes, fills the dishwasher, and asks for help to put in the soap.

Me: Evie you don't have to do this. I will do it when you all go to bed. Thank you. You are so helpful.

She is 5 years old.

When Lucy was born I tandem nursed the girls. Several months post partum I started developing PPD.  Through counseling we determined it might be best for me if I weaned Evie.  I knew for a while it's what I should do but couldn't do it. But after a counseling session I just knew it had to be done. So I did it that same day. She sat on my lap and I told her "mommy doesn't feel good. I can't nurse you anymore."  At barely 2 years old she turned around and hugged me. I cried in her arms. I told her I was sorry. She hugged me and she made it ok.

She was 2 years old.

After my Grandma died I read Evie a story before bed, Nana Upstairs, Nana Downstairs. Toward the end my eyes began to tear up and my voice quivered. She was in my lap and could not see me. Yet she asked,"mama sad?"  To which I replied, "yes." She hugged me.

She was 2 years old.

At some point in the last year I lost it, it's happened so many times I can't pinpoint specifics. I went to the stairs and sobbed. Evie said to Lucy, "mama is sad." They both came and sat next to me. I apologized. "I'm sorry I yelled. Mommy is so tired. I'm sorry." They forgave me.

She was 4 years old.

Tonight I yelled at Lucy after she threw up. I yelled at Josie for whinning about who knows what while she was running a 104temp.  I grumbled at the babies because this evening they finally decided to be awake often and be fussy the entire time.  I am definitely not winning compassionate mother after my stellar performance tonight. 

I began this post with the intention of talking about how everyone is still sick, that now vomiting has entered into the equation, that Josie has had two days of a fever of 103, 104, and 105.  I was going to talk about how it's too much, which it is.  But as I started to write about all of this I remembered that Evie rescued me earlier and that I wanted to share.  then the other memories of her caring for me came to mind. 

It is really my prayer that this sensitivity she has toward others would be protected and nurtured.  She is definitely a gift to me.

A little more whole

I have consistently had 6 hours of uninterrupted sleep in the past week.  The babies have been sleeping beautifully (at night).  There have been a few nights that all 3 slept 12 hours. Unfortunately my bedtime is not between 5-6PM or I would get similar sleep!  I have also been consistently taking a low dose of medication to help with PPD. Between the sleep, medicine, and a good diet I have felt like a new person in the last week.  

My PPD often shows itself in a Dr Jekyll/Mr Hyde kind of way.  It's not something I am terribly proud of but it isn't something I can completely control.  The diet we are on helps.  Getting sleep helps.  Getting a break and time for myself helps.  Having all of those things occur within a day is ideal, But not realistic.   I had a few days, in their entirety, where I was able to stay even keeled, even on days that Taylor was working.  I was so proud.  I think the girls could sense it to.  

Evie and Lucy picked these flowers for me today. They smell so delicious!

These pretty significant developments have prompted me to do a few things that make me happy and have the energy to actually follow thorough with those things!!  Earlier in the week I made the girls dresses.

 Tonight I made about a dozen bows. On a side note, I was never a bow person. Then 3 girls turned into 6. I can't justify spending the money buying them but I would and could totally make them.  Once I got started I couldn't stop. Knowing that the girls are excited about them only adds to my desire to keep making more.

When I am exhausted and overwhelmed Taylor often bares the brunt of it.  He works long and crazy hours then he comes home or wakes up from a night of work and jumps right in.  He has been teaching the girls how to play frisbee. He helps around the house. He puts the big girls to bed almost every night he is home.  He is not without his faults but I cannot imagine another man capable and willing to do this with me!  

Sorry, was that totally cheese ball?  Ha!

Father daughter dance last weekend.

Today at MOPS we made these little notebooks to write down things about our spouse that we love, appreciate, etcetera.  I don't really communicate as much as I should with him along the lines of appreciation, affirmations, etc.  I don't always follow through with the crafts. This one I did. During lunch and dinner I decided to include the girls.  We thought of different things we love about daddy, things he does with us, and so on.

Taylor asked "is Father's Day coming soon?"  Maybe that's telling about how little I say to him to show my appreciation, ha!  

Tonight, once the girls were in bed we had an impromptu date.  He made mango margaritas from scratch and we played Rummikub. We played games all the time before kids. We even played Clue and Apples to Apples just the two of us!  The drinks aren't on our diet and neither was the sushi we got for dinner from China Wok. Who cares!  

I started writing all of this to say that today I have felt more like ME than I have in a long time.  Sleeping babies are amazing!  The time I took to make the bows today, even pinning tutorials on Pinterest filled me up a bit.  Drinking the margaritas (thought not necessary) and playing the game with Taylor also helped me feel a bit more whole.  

Is it bedtime yet?

I started to scoop cottage cheeseinto the   vitamix to make a peanut butter and chocolate smoothie for the girls, per Lucy's request. I then moved onto the peanut butter when Lucy exclaimed,"no peanut butter!" As though I had commited the most heinous of crimes. "I only want ice."  Perplexed I asked, "you only want ice or do you want a smoothie?"  "I want a smoothie and ice but no peanut butter."  I made the smoothie and in the process of grabbing mason jars to serve them in I dropped one in the drawer, breaking it. I left it  there as I served the smoothie, grabbed 3 screaming babies, 2 of which had leaked in their bed and on their clothes.  , the drawer was high and deep enough to keep most little hands out, it could wait. 

Fast forward to changed diapers and relative calm.  I am sitting on the toilet when Evie comes bursting into the room, crying, holding out her finger that is dripping, dripping, with blood. Panicked I yell, "what happened?!"  "I fell!"  I heard no crashes, nothing shattered.   It was quiet and calm, well, for a house of six little girls.  I grabbed the nearest towel, wrapped it around her and told her to hold it there. 

"Show me where you fell."  She walked me to a clean area of the dinning room. "I fell here and I cleaned up the blood."  "You did not fall here. Tell me the truth, where did you fall?"  She walked me to the kitchen and pointed to the floor, there was nothing that could have possibly caused the gash. I looked around, the drawer with the broken glass was open. "Did you touch the glass?"

  "I wanted some water."

  "Some water? Are you kidding me? With a broken glass?  That is not safe! Don't ever touch broken glass."  It took 3 band aids to hold the blood and two nosey sisters chirping "I didn't play with glass."

I held Evie for a while, telling her stories about when she and her sisters were babies.  I cooked dinner earlier in the day to get it out of the way but as she sat in my lap I tossed around the idea of ordering take out.  I did not. The girls then turned on a video while I fed the babies, a stir fry of sorts. They gobbled it up and made a mess in the process.

Fast forward an hour or so to dinner time for the girls. I set up a little table, served them their food, and turned on a video for them while I nursed the babies.  Two seconds after placing the food on the table Evie declared, "I don't like it."  "You have to eat 3 bites then you can be done but no more food until morning."  They each took the tiniest of bites.  By this time all 3 babies were crying bloody murder and I was pissed that the big girls refused to eat. I turned off the video and gave them a list of things to tidy in the toy room.  In the midst of barking orders I latched two screaming babies only to leave the third screaming and clawing  at the  others.  Meanwhile Josie was right  next to me "phone. Want it."  "No Josie, you can't have my phone."  She says it over and over and over. Each time I respond I grew increasingly annoyed, after all I still had a hungry baby screaming. I couldn't take it anymore I erupted "NOooooooooo Joooooosieeeeeee! Stoooooopp!!!"  She immediately stayed to cry, Evie swooped in and carried her off to comfort her.

It's 6:05 PM and the countdown is on to bedtime!  the third and final baby is almost done nursing then it's off to bed for the babies. 25 more minutes and I can put Josie to bed, and technically 55 minutes for the older two. But they have very little concept of time so 6:30 bedtime it is for EVERYONE.  

Solids

My older girls began solids between 6-7 months. For some reason I was always so excited to begin this next stage. Each time I was in this beginning solids stage I would tell myself, "next time I won't start so soon. What's the point? It's messy and nothing is convenient as the boob." Yet Everytime 6 months rolled around I was at it again, starting the solids journey, even though they were still getting most of their nourishment from my milk.

Then came the triplets. Other moms said to wait until their adjusted 6 month birthday. So were I to start solids it would need to wait until 7.5 months. At 7.5 months the babies weren't sitting unassisted. So I thought, once they are sitting we will begin. 8 months came and went with no sitting. 9 months came and Abby became our first and only sitter. I fed her once or twice at the table but that was it.  

 

The moms were always talking about the best way to feed the babies: booster seats, high chairs, or feeding table.  I could not wrap my head around the best way to feed the babies.  I was hoping some triplet mom out there could shed light on THE BEST WAY to feed them. We did booster seats and trays in the past with the big girls but I wasnt convinced it was the best way. So I explored making my own triplet feeding table, other families had done it, don't seem too tricky.  But then I had to somehow fit TWO dining room tables in my dining room, spend the money, and make it.  Seemed like a lot considering I wasn't convinced it wa the best way to go. So I continued just to breastfeed. 

 And then there is the mess that comes with solids.  I have always done some variation of baby led weaning.  In some ways it was easier and cheaper.  I didn't buy baby food and I typically fed the baby frm my plate or tossed some easy finger foods on their tray, like sweet potatoes, avocado, blueberries, etc. it was messy but I preferred that to spoon feeding every time a baby are solids.  So I hada frame of reference for the mess of solids and I was not ready to deal with it.  I was not ready to think about and preparing food for THREE more mouths. So I kept nursing the babies.

In the back of my mind I knew there was a slight possibility that introducing solids might help the babies sleep longer. This was never the case with the big girls so I was not completely convinced.  

At their 9 month check out their iron tested a little low. Their ped wrote a script for iron.  I knew I would not remember to give it to them so then I started to think that maybe introducing solids wouldn't be a horrible idea.  

As it became more of a reality that we would begin solids I grew increasingly anxious with each passing day.  I had not yet discovered the perfect way to feed three babies. I could not wrap my head around thinking about food for three more mouths. And the clean up involved was enough to stop me in my tracks.  It was too much. It seems silly, I'm sure. By my plate was already full (no pun intended). I was already barely keeping my head above water.  Last Wednesday night as I was looking on craigslist for tables to make a feeding table I just started balling. I couldn't do it.  I couldn't handle one more thing.  

Thursday, on a whim, I visited my friend Cathy who specializes in PPD.  I needed a symathetic ear.  The first words out of my mouth were "I feel paralyzed."  I then went into everything I played over in my head about feeding the babies.  She echoed my feelings "it's too much for anybody. You are overwhelmed. It's ok."  I left our short time together ready to begin solids. We didnt devise the perfect plan to feed the babies. We didn't really address how to handle the mess. Yet for some reason I felt ok to begin. Some how it freed me from any unspoken expectations I had placed on myself.  If I needed to buy baby food, even though I didn't do that with the others, it was OK. If I needed to give them something frozen rather than cooked it was OK. It was going to be OK!  I ordered replacement straps for the booster seats. I realized there was no need to find the perfect solution, it would never happen. 

So, the babies have been doing solids for about six days. Twice a day, i might add. It hasn't been as bad as I thought.  I have plenty of bibs from all my craft show days.  I bought 24 sturdy wash cloths to be sure I had enough to keep things clean.  I have cleaned their chairs and trays immediately following meals. This was something I rarely did before. But I knew if I didn't deal with it immediately it would become more clutter and more mess that weighed me down and leave me feeling paralyzed. So sometimes the babies are crying as I clean. I reassure them that it is OK and I that mommy is coming. I know that if I don't deal with the mess right then that there would be an emotional breakdown later in the day. That is my reality right now.