Coffee

"Momma," Jane rests a hand on my shoulder, "maybe Jesus will do something nice and make the splitting headache go away."

I press fingers to forehead, "I hope so," I offer.

"Let's pray. Jesus," she starts, "please make Momma's splitting headache go away. Amen."

I sigh, let the words surround me. "Amen."

In gentle strokes the evening eases in. Headache ebbs by gradual degrees. Through the haze I see Jane's blue eyes blink back at me.

"Do you want me to turn the lights off?" she asks and scurries to pour a glass of milk next to the window's fading light.

I pack a scoop of coffee in the espresso basket, press it down. I feel Jane at my elbow, her curls long down her back.

Black and frothy sweet, espresso pours out the double spout. We watch it fill a tiny metal pitcher, meniscus bulging. Hands like feathers I swoop the mahogany shot into waiting coffee cup, a long foaming stream, perfect aim.

"I'm always amazed you don't spill that," Jane says.

"Yeah?" Our eyes glued the chestnut liquid, I add several sloshes of hot water.

"I love watching," she says. "I think it is so cool." And I hear it, the admiration. Even a simple slosh of coffee is perfection to her.

The weight of influence presses in tight around me.

Gratitude:

1582. Butternut squash fresh from farm cellar.

1583. Jane's whisper in my ear, "Momma, want me to make you eggs?" as I rise for the morning.

1584. How Rosie clamors up on the couch with Jane and Jack, desperate to do flashcards.

1585. Jane's smile, "I'm glad I gave that gum ball machine away."

1586. Jack's hug and nod as I kiss him goodnight before bed, "I know you need to get out to your husband," he says.

1587. Lucy's nose smudged with dirt when she comes in from playing outside.

1588. And how she assures me, "Momma, every year you're just looking more old." Her approving nod.

1589. How Jack unlocks and hold the door for me when I leave to meet some friends.

1590. Jane's description of my cooking, "Usually all your things are spectacular, you know."

1591. "And so they went to Bethlehem..." Lucy's sing-song voice from on the couch as she reads to a dolly perched in her lap.

1592. Jane fresh in from out back calls to the kids, "Wanna sing Rock-A-Bye Baby with me and the dulcimer?"

1593. Myra Rosie's sweet, "Ma-ma," when I go to hush the kids to sleep.

1594. Lucy's determination that grown-ups don't stay up late because, "They're tired, and they're scared they're gonna have a headache."

1595. How she cuddles her baby and follows me around, "Mom, my baby always wants to read Bible stories. You can read on right now if you want."

1596. Jack's exclamation, "Mom, LOOK, I can walk like a penguin!" red rubber band around his

ankles.

1597. Big news: our baby's a BOY.

1598. Lucy's explanation, "Our baby has a part we call a tail."

1599. The six of us circled around the ultrasound screen and my doctor's assessment, "I'm 'bout as sure that that's a BOY as I am that the sun's gonna rise tomorrow."

1600. Dinner at Jesse and Libby's -- the soup, the apples, carrots and cornbread, pear honey and the bond of family that encircles the spread.

1601. Rockie Amelia almost one, all blue eyes, wide smile, and her daddy's adoring gaze.

1602. Sudafed, a cup of coffee, a bowl of cereal, and how my cold's almost invisible for a few hours.

1603. How Jane makes applesauce oatmeal for all the kids, feeds Rosie, and recites Never Tease A Weasel for breakfast entertainment.

1604. A spur of the moment afternoon stroll with a dear friend and her twin boys.

1605. Jane's exhortation to Jack, "You have got to stop whining. I do not help kids that whine."

1606. How she tries to help when I have a headache, "You can just give us stuff already made, and you can have apples and peanut butter for dinner, if you want."

1607. How Jack closes up the chicken coop for the night and confidently adds, "I said, 'Jane, don't bring a flashlight 'cause I'm gonna lead you.'"

1608. Another morning volunteering with the kids.

1609. Learning again that it's easy to give in a public setting, but how it really means the most in the privacy of home when my head is throbbing and my children need me.

1610. The baptism of giving.

The Small Stuff

"I couldn't reach the bucket, 'cause I left it on my bed," Jack warbles, sobs. And then the realization hits: There's puke in the bedroom. The laundry basket caught half, then the leggos and carpet.

Now that I'm an official cleaner upper of both diarrhea in a bed and vomit down my shirt in a public place, you would think Jack's statement would not take us off guard. Indeed. Even so, Craig, bless his heart, managed to procure an new pair of running shoes for me while I hid in the car. The small things, right?

"Jesus," Jane prays, "thank-you for all of us. And help us to be the meek more often."

The meek. Indeed, may it be so.

Gratitude:

822. How Lulie and I sit in the sun on the old navy lawn chair and crunch graham crackers for 20 minutes before we realize our behinds are all wet.

823. How I try to tell Craig, I do poo he does puke, but we both help each other anyway.

824. That my parents brave the sick ward to join us for dinner.

825. That Rosie's up and coughing instead of listless.

826. Jane's appeal, "Momma, I have something I really want you to do, but you don't have to. I would just really appreciate it," when she wants me to get her baby bear out of the car.

827. A couple of extra hours with Craig this morning and how he piles the dining table with neat stacks of coupons clipped from the Sunday ads.

828. How Jack sacks out on the bathroom floor in case he gets sick again tonight.

829. A clean tidy laundry station.

830. Mason jars of laundry soap.

831. Children that cuddle like chickies under my wings.

832. That we're the ones to care for these children.

833. How Craig leads without micro-managing.

834. Learning to follow.

A Hernia

"Daddy," Jack eyes a watermelon-sized rock by the old strawberry bed and a dozen more odd shaped boulders, "I don't want you to lift any of the heavy ones because I don't want you to have hernia surgery." Little boy leans down and tries to move them for his Daddy. Together they clear the lawn. Too bad the hernia already happened when Daddy cleared the first dozen bigger ones.

So tomorrow, 8:00 am, Daddy heads in for hernia surgery. How is that for good timing? Now we can recover together. :) Guess you can't plan getting a hernia!

We'd love your prayers.

Poor Baby

Poor baby. Croup blossomed into a drippy soggy wheezing cold. Cough. Fever. Lethargic eyes half open. She laid on the couch for four days until we hauled in to the doctor. Something just didn't seem right.

As it turns out, the human ear can hold an ENORMOUS amount of wax. After a five minute excavation per ear we uncovered double ear infections. (And I mean EXCAVATION. I was seriously FLOORED. One piece was a half inch long!)

In any case, praise the LORD for Motrin and antibiotics. Lulie's like a brand-new girl.


*** Oh, and THANK-YOU for all your name suggestions! I have a feeling we will be taking our list to the hospital, so seriously, keep 'em coming. :)

Croup

Croup stinks. After two LONG nights I think we're finally over the worst of it.

And just to make my sweet mother smile, you'll be glad to know that Lulu successfully used and flushed all the rest of our Kleenex. To her credit she is now holding the box saying, "Bad, bad, BAD. Dat naughty." This is after wetting down her head with the cold air humidifier. Think she's feeling better?

Ok. Another day.
:)

6 Kids, 6 Days - Part 5

Puking is a fine art. Apparently when children sprint to a public toilet they quite likely will barf a second too soon. During the slip-and-slide effect, said child may actually careen completely under the toilet. Remember public toilets are wall mount? Sometimes it takes a few tries. Don't lose heart if at first you have a neat and tidy urp only to napkin it off.

On the way home watch for signs of round two mop-up. Pull over at the slightest groan. Most likely the almost empty wet wipe box can double as a has-mat container. The remaining three wipes will shine away an amazing amount of soggy shrapnel. You may feel like you are on a wet wipe commercial for their valiant effort. Of course, it will be dark and nice drivers will light up the smeary mess for your convenient clean-up.

By the time you reach home everyone will feel a little less barfy and just tired. Whoever hops in the shower first may miss another display when sibling pukes explosion style. Then again that may wait until morning. Of course, you'll have company to share the wild ride. Why keep it boring?!

At this point, a 21 gun salute to the modern disinfectant wipe is in order. And to Craig. THANK-YOU.

Here is our SECOND water park visit. This time I am queasy-green and in denial. Thankfully, I did not puke until we got home. Look what I would have missed!






























Just a little taste of the fun we had.

Special thanks to the boys' chaperon who was also wonderful. Feel free to visit his blog HERE and donate if you want. Enjoy the videos of the boys fishing.

Sick Day

These are the children who doted on their sick puking momma these past two days and then finally coaxed me out into the yard this morning.






















How have I never see Janie's gift to serve? Full-hearted and without expectation she made me the apple of her eye. Between pillows and blankies, tuck-ins and gentle pats, errands and undivided attention, I captured a glimpse of gentleness in this fierce daughter of mine. "Are you sure I can't get you anything else, Momma? Maybe another little pillow for right here?" pointing to a gap in the blanket. She is already puffing another in place. Jack was all hugs. And hugs and hugs.























Lulie ate a boxful of Cheerios and thanked the Lord for Daddy.
Me too!

Little Cup of Goodness

Croup.

Isn't it great how kids blissfully overlook the scary long night - coaxing Lulu to breathe, the juggle from steamy bathroom to cold morning air out on the driveway in rumpled pajamas, all a tangle of baby and blankie and hoarse gasps now not so short and alarming, the slippers tossed on at the last second, a small defense against sharp rocks on the driveway - how they sort of peer over the rim of a new day to spy toes to tickle and cheeks that need a hundred kisses? A little cup of goodness.