It was a normal Thursday at 2:00. My three-year-old was finished with her rest time (where once again she didn't fall asleep despite my intense prayer) and we were looking to fill the hour before we would have to wake her two brothers and put them in the car for our daily exercise in patience they call the "car-pool line."
I was particularly exhausted, fighting off a migraine and trying to caffeinate myself into coherence after 2 nights of very little sleep. I asked my daughter what she would like to do (hoping she'd say she wants to lie down and watch me sleep) and she asks if we can make cookies.
"Sure," I say, I figure that will fill the hour nicely enough and then we can hand out cookies in the carpool line (because if we keep them in the house I will eat them all and I am already almost out of points for the day even though all I have eaten is twigs and berries, oh and I somehow gained 3lbs this morning even though I have been adhering strictly to my diet and exercising 5 days a week for almost a month....but I digress, this post is not about my post partum woes of untangible weight loss) and she will have a lovely memory of making cookies all by herself with mommy.
So we get the mixer out and start filling it with ingredients and as always I have to suppress my tendency to want everything done perfectly and allow my little girl to measure inaccurately and make a mess while doing it (this is when the eye-twitching usually starts). I also decide I should go ahead and get dinner started so I am browning meat for Shepherd's Pie while monitoring the cookie-making. Everything is going fine and we just have one ingredient to add to the dough. The mixer is mixing for us and Sophia is on a stool watching in delight as it spins sugar and butter and flour around and around. She asks if she can please have a taste now. I am not exactly sure what happened next. I am about 3 feet away at the stove-top stirring the meat, I can see her out of the corner of my eye, but the next thing I know I hear blood-curdling screams coming from my baby girl and before I can even figure out what is happening her head is flush with the mixer and her sweet little pig-tail (that I forced her to let me put in that morning) is completely wrapped in the gear above the attachment.
As quickly as I can I unplug the machine, but it's too late, her head is forced tightly against the attachment and she cannot move. She is, of course, terrified, and I am attempting to soothe her and tell her it's okay but very quickly she and I both realize that it is NOT okay. I put a towel under her cheek and tell her to rest her head on the counter saying "whatever you do don't try to get off of the stool, and try to stay very still for mommy." I say this in the calmest voice possible as I try to ignore the flashes of horror I see in my mind's eye: her jumping off the stool and scalping herself, or falling off of the stool and the heavy heavy mixer falling on top of her.
Then I just start talking to Jesus "Okay Lord, what do I do....I don't know what to do..." and I start running through my options in my mind "I could call the police...no that's ridiculous this is not that kind of emergency. I could call the fire department, they're good in weird emergencies, is this an emergency? What would they do...they would cut her out of it...NO I can't cut her hair there has to be another way....I wish Adam was here, why did we decide to make cookies! I should have just let her watch TV, this never would have happened if we were watching TV." I keep trying to figure out a way to just get the darn attachment off but it won't budge because it's too close to her scalp and I have no room to turn it to get if off. Meanwhile every time I move her head even a little she just screams and cries and says Mommy-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow, and my heart is physically hurting and I want to go back two minutes and be standing right next to her and prevent the whole stupid thing from ever happening. "Jesus, what do I do, I don't know what to do..." Then out of the mouths of babes, my sweet, terrified little three-year-old girl says "Mommy, find some scissors, gramma has scissors, get the scissors!" (my mother lives with us and cuts the kids' hair) I hadn't said anything about scissors, although of course it had occurred to me and I knew that's where we were headed but I was trying to find any other way, so the Holy Spirit had to resort to using my little girl, stuck under the iron grip of the Kitchen Aid mixer to wake me up to the fact that it's only hair and it will grow back. Thankfully there was a pair of scissors where they belong (miracle of miracles because no one ever puts them back where they belong) in the drawer in front of her. I grabbed them reluctantly and with my eyes half closed started cutting her sweet little pig tail out of the mixer. Chunks of fine, blonde hair started falling onto the ground, chunks of hair started coming out in my hand and it felt like an eternity, but finally she pulled her head free from the heavy, white monster.
I picked her up and we sat on the floor together and cried and cried. All I could do was kiss her head and tell her I was so sorry. She calmed down quickly and I brought her to the bath where we washed the cookie dough out of her hair and watched more hair fall out in the tub. Next thing I know she is calm and bathed and eating ice cream on the couch, at 2:45 in the afternoon while watching a movie...because she got her hair cut out of a mixer and she can have anything she wants. I called my husband, and as soon as I heard his voice I became somewhat hysterical, reliving the whole maddening event, and I inform him that he is going to have to please get the kids from school because we have been through too much here, and I cannot possibly get in the car and sit in that dreaded carpool line.
Miraculously her hair doesn't look that bad. She has a lot of hair so there's a small bald spot and a chunk that's about 2 inches short and then some random strands 4-6 inches long in the back, but if I comb it just right you can't even tell. Of course it wouldn't matter if her hair looked terrible because she is safe and unhurt and nothing worse happened to her...but she is one little girl in the middle of 5 little boys and she refuses to wear dresses, or skirts and wants to play T-ball this season instead of take dance, and the one thing I have is that sweet braid-able hair! ( Just a small caveat: If you are someone experiencing true suffering and sacrifice with your little girl please know that I realize this was not real suffering and her tufts of hair do not represent real loss, and I thank God everyday for the health of my children)
So I suppose there is a moral to this story. Perhaps it is to not be so busy browning meat while making cookies that you do not see the pig-tail on it's way into the monstrous grip of the machine making cookies for you. Perhaps it is to be present to every moment, even the bad ones. Or perhaps when exhausted and in pain and trying to decide between watching a movie with your kid or making cookies you should pick the movie every time. Needless to say, Sophia is a bit terrified of the Kitchen Aid now, and it may take some time and therapy to get her to be mommy's little helper ever again.
Sunday, August 25, 2013
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
The Best Laid Plans
It's been a while since I've written anything on my blog. This is a gross understatement since it's been over a year!
There are myriad of reasons why I stopped, one being that I had a long discussion about blogs one night with some good friends (most or none of whom knew I blogged) and everyone's general opinion of the practice was that it was narcissistic, irresponsible and embarrassing...at least most of the time, ha! So that rang in my head a bit.
However, while I was consistent with the practice I had so many people encourage me and ask me to write more so that wasn't really all it was.
I got pregnant. That's really what happened. After posts about the beauty of the Church's teaching and my gratitude for NFP, even if sometimes it meant hiding naked in my closet I found myself unexpectedly, you've-got-to-be-kidding-me pregnant.
I avoiding writing because I was not in a great place. I was angry, I was sad, I was confused. I wanted more children but there were so many reasons why it was not a good time. It wasn't my time. My health is not great and we had been determined to get things under control before the next baby. My husband is a teacher so needless to say we're not exactly stock piling college funds for the 6 we already have and I was watching my husband work three jobs most of the time still wondering how he could "really" provide for us. Then there's the issue of the six souls I am faced with forming, nurturing, getting to heaven!
It made good sense to wait a while. This was also the consensus of practically everyone we know as well, especially family and those closest to us in our lives.
But there it was, big fat positive test. Big fat lying chart. I won't walk you through the whole grueling experience but let's just say I wasn't really okay about this baby until he got here.
The pregnancy was brutal, as all of them have been in their own way. But some of the wonderfully placed priests and spiritual leaders in my life encouraged me over and over (like once a week as I cried in the confessional!) that God had a plan, that all His plans are good, and that everything was going to be okay. My spiritual director just kept telling me to offer up every part of the suffering, emotional and physical for some intention or intentions; that God cannot ignore the cries of His children, especially when he has called them to suffer, and there is power in sacrificial prayer.
So many good things came out of this season of my life. The best of which is of course the baby that we now cannot even imagine for one second living our lives without. But as always God gives so much more than we deserve. Here are just a few other things he gave me in the process:
Compassion: I love babies. Up to this point I had always gotten pregnant deliberately and convinced myself it was my idea. Finding myself pregnant when I felt I had no resources to handle it: physically, emotionally, financially, made me feel so much compassion for women who find themselves in this situation everyday. It made me realize that I had always been too judgmental about woman who consider or go through with abortion. I did not consider an abortion but I sure as hell understood how a woman alone, afraid and unformed who has not been taught the real value of a life, and the goodness of a forgiving God could convince herself that abortion is the answer. I began to pray for those women in a way I had never been able to before.
Perspective: This one took awhile but eventually I was able to see not only the great gift of this life but the lives of all these little people running around screaming and messing up my house. Not that I had never thought of them as gifts before but the word "gift" began to change for me. With the "planned" babies we felt somehow responsible: "look at us so open to life; we love God's gifts." But this little guy was not our idea. But isn't that what a gift really is? An unexpected, thoughtful, perfect blessing given by someone else. This doesn't mean of course that planning babies is bad, or that spacing babies is bad in fact that can be a beautiful gift in itself as it requires it's own sacrifice, but it does mean that when we say as Catholics that we remain open to life we really mean it. We remain open to the gifts of God whether that be the gift of space and time or the gift of another soul in the kingdom of heaven. This must be the hardest for those who cannot have babies when they want them; something I think must be a much deeper suffering than my own, because it is the constant reminder that life is just that, a gift, not a commodity, not something we pick out for ourselves, something only God can give.
Joy: Every time I am pregnant there are those irreplaceable and indescribable moments when you realize a brand new soul is growing inside of you and moving and breathing and he or she (usually he in my case) will have a vocation, a destiny and the ability to participate in the kingdom of God. Now I'd love to paint the picture that my whole pregnancy is full of this perspective but that would be a lie. This pregnancy brought with it morning (afternoon and evening) sickness. a ridiculously weakened immune system that caught 4 colds, 8 stomach viruses and eventually pneumonia that resulted in a chronic labor-inducing cough. So, most of the time "joy" was not the word I would have used to describe how I felt. Still, the mystery of life was present and with it the gratitude and awe that come when we realize what God is allowing us to participate in it and that is pure joy.
Gratitude and the Power of Prayer: This is the big one. This is where I am now. I am so grateful for the precious, perfect life that came out of God's perfect will in spite of my terrible attitude, in spite of my inability to see God's goodness right away. I followed the advice of my spiritual leaders and offered up every moment of the pregnancy for the intentions of others especially some dear to me who are pleading with God to give them a baby, for the souls of all our children that they would find their way to heaven and (somewhat selfishly) for the temperament of the baby I was carrying. I have two very strong-willed boys, one of whom was only 18 months old when this little guy made his debut and I just knew that I couldn't handle another one. I prayed that the baby would be mellow and sleep, and be easy and happy and delightful to be around. This wasn't necessary of course, God didn't have to answer this prayer but he did. He is by far the easiest baby I have ever had. My second son was really easy too but God went a step further on the mellow vibe with this little guy. I never had to bounce him or walk him to get him to stop crying; he has never cried for more than 2 minutes! He is cheerful and happy ALL the time; will let anyone hold him and sleeps, nurses and eats like a pro. I don't say this to make you hate me (although all you dear mothers of colicky children are allowed to!) but to testify to the sweet goodness of God. He transformed my suffering and my anger and my doubt into a beautiful gift, a gift that looks up at me and melts my heart every day, a gift that brings joy and laughter into our home, a gift that can even make the stubborn 2 year old stop what he is doing and selflessly love his baby brother. A gift that has humbled me, transformed our family forever and shown us the goodness of a loving God.
Everyday I thank God for interrupting our best laid plans. This life he has given us is not easy, it's not supposed to be. We've already started using NFP again, this time with even more determination and caution and I do hope that God gives us more time this time. We know we have a responsibility to these souls and we want to be good stewards, the best we can be and we are grateful to the Church and the minds within it that there are resources available to us that can help us do that. I do not see another baby in our immediate or even distant future but I know more than ever that God is really the one in control and that His ways are not my ways, but His ways are always good.
There are myriad of reasons why I stopped, one being that I had a long discussion about blogs one night with some good friends (most or none of whom knew I blogged) and everyone's general opinion of the practice was that it was narcissistic, irresponsible and embarrassing...at least most of the time, ha! So that rang in my head a bit.
However, while I was consistent with the practice I had so many people encourage me and ask me to write more so that wasn't really all it was.
I got pregnant. That's really what happened. After posts about the beauty of the Church's teaching and my gratitude for NFP, even if sometimes it meant hiding naked in my closet I found myself unexpectedly, you've-got-to-be-kidding-me pregnant.
I avoiding writing because I was not in a great place. I was angry, I was sad, I was confused. I wanted more children but there were so many reasons why it was not a good time. It wasn't my time. My health is not great and we had been determined to get things under control before the next baby. My husband is a teacher so needless to say we're not exactly stock piling college funds for the 6 we already have and I was watching my husband work three jobs most of the time still wondering how he could "really" provide for us. Then there's the issue of the six souls I am faced with forming, nurturing, getting to heaven!
It made good sense to wait a while. This was also the consensus of practically everyone we know as well, especially family and those closest to us in our lives.
But there it was, big fat positive test. Big fat lying chart. I won't walk you through the whole grueling experience but let's just say I wasn't really okay about this baby until he got here.
The pregnancy was brutal, as all of them have been in their own way. But some of the wonderfully placed priests and spiritual leaders in my life encouraged me over and over (like once a week as I cried in the confessional!) that God had a plan, that all His plans are good, and that everything was going to be okay. My spiritual director just kept telling me to offer up every part of the suffering, emotional and physical for some intention or intentions; that God cannot ignore the cries of His children, especially when he has called them to suffer, and there is power in sacrificial prayer.
So many good things came out of this season of my life. The best of which is of course the baby that we now cannot even imagine for one second living our lives without. But as always God gives so much more than we deserve. Here are just a few other things he gave me in the process:
Compassion: I love babies. Up to this point I had always gotten pregnant deliberately and convinced myself it was my idea. Finding myself pregnant when I felt I had no resources to handle it: physically, emotionally, financially, made me feel so much compassion for women who find themselves in this situation everyday. It made me realize that I had always been too judgmental about woman who consider or go through with abortion. I did not consider an abortion but I sure as hell understood how a woman alone, afraid and unformed who has not been taught the real value of a life, and the goodness of a forgiving God could convince herself that abortion is the answer. I began to pray for those women in a way I had never been able to before.
Perspective: This one took awhile but eventually I was able to see not only the great gift of this life but the lives of all these little people running around screaming and messing up my house. Not that I had never thought of them as gifts before but the word "gift" began to change for me. With the "planned" babies we felt somehow responsible: "look at us so open to life; we love God's gifts." But this little guy was not our idea. But isn't that what a gift really is? An unexpected, thoughtful, perfect blessing given by someone else. This doesn't mean of course that planning babies is bad, or that spacing babies is bad in fact that can be a beautiful gift in itself as it requires it's own sacrifice, but it does mean that when we say as Catholics that we remain open to life we really mean it. We remain open to the gifts of God whether that be the gift of space and time or the gift of another soul in the kingdom of heaven. This must be the hardest for those who cannot have babies when they want them; something I think must be a much deeper suffering than my own, because it is the constant reminder that life is just that, a gift, not a commodity, not something we pick out for ourselves, something only God can give.
Joy: Every time I am pregnant there are those irreplaceable and indescribable moments when you realize a brand new soul is growing inside of you and moving and breathing and he or she (usually he in my case) will have a vocation, a destiny and the ability to participate in the kingdom of God. Now I'd love to paint the picture that my whole pregnancy is full of this perspective but that would be a lie. This pregnancy brought with it morning (afternoon and evening) sickness. a ridiculously weakened immune system that caught 4 colds, 8 stomach viruses and eventually pneumonia that resulted in a chronic labor-inducing cough. So, most of the time "joy" was not the word I would have used to describe how I felt. Still, the mystery of life was present and with it the gratitude and awe that come when we realize what God is allowing us to participate in it and that is pure joy.
Gratitude and the Power of Prayer: This is the big one. This is where I am now. I am so grateful for the precious, perfect life that came out of God's perfect will in spite of my terrible attitude, in spite of my inability to see God's goodness right away. I followed the advice of my spiritual leaders and offered up every moment of the pregnancy for the intentions of others especially some dear to me who are pleading with God to give them a baby, for the souls of all our children that they would find their way to heaven and (somewhat selfishly) for the temperament of the baby I was carrying. I have two very strong-willed boys, one of whom was only 18 months old when this little guy made his debut and I just knew that I couldn't handle another one. I prayed that the baby would be mellow and sleep, and be easy and happy and delightful to be around. This wasn't necessary of course, God didn't have to answer this prayer but he did. He is by far the easiest baby I have ever had. My second son was really easy too but God went a step further on the mellow vibe with this little guy. I never had to bounce him or walk him to get him to stop crying; he has never cried for more than 2 minutes! He is cheerful and happy ALL the time; will let anyone hold him and sleeps, nurses and eats like a pro. I don't say this to make you hate me (although all you dear mothers of colicky children are allowed to!) but to testify to the sweet goodness of God. He transformed my suffering and my anger and my doubt into a beautiful gift, a gift that looks up at me and melts my heart every day, a gift that brings joy and laughter into our home, a gift that can even make the stubborn 2 year old stop what he is doing and selflessly love his baby brother. A gift that has humbled me, transformed our family forever and shown us the goodness of a loving God.
Everyday I thank God for interrupting our best laid plans. This life he has given us is not easy, it's not supposed to be. We've already started using NFP again, this time with even more determination and caution and I do hope that God gives us more time this time. We know we have a responsibility to these souls and we want to be good stewards, the best we can be and we are grateful to the Church and the minds within it that there are resources available to us that can help us do that. I do not see another baby in our immediate or even distant future but I know more than ever that God is really the one in control and that His ways are not my ways, but His ways are always good.
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