When they hurt.

My brother Bubba and his wife Beck need prayers.

Just before school let out Bubba called. I was outside and #1 Son answered. He came out with the cordless and said, "It's Uncle Bubba {yes, they absolutely do call my brother 'Uncle Bubba'}, he says it's 'extremely important.'"  I knew immediately. Beck was pregnant.

She had literally just peed on the stick. Minutes before. I was the first phone call they made. We don't wait to share news like this in our family. When I found out I was pregnant with B.B., I was on the phone with QM when the 3 minute timer went off. How Princess kept her mouth shut until HT's t-shirt came in is beyond me.

Bubba's phone call came the Friday before Mother's Day. I remember because he swore me to silence until Sunday. They were going to tell Beck's parent's first and then tell QM and Daddy on the way home. It was supposed to be a Mother's Day surprise. I agreed to keep still but got a message from QM within 2 hours. They had already been to QM and Daddy's and told everyone they've met since kindergarten. They did manage to keep the secret from Beck's folks until Mother's Day- but they were the only ones in the dark.

Bubba and Beck surprised us Friday when they showed up at the door just before lunch. They were going to family reunion on Sunday and to see Grandma M&M on Saturday. We spent most of the visit chatting about the baby, pregnancy, and doctor's appointments.

Today was their first ultrasound.

Today they found out January won't mean bringing home baby.

There was no heartbeat.

They are crushed. My little brother was over the moon at the thought of being a father. Princess called me with the news and said he couldn't even talk when he called QM.

Please pray for them. For all of us.

Absences followed by begging.

I know I don't come here often. I know I am a fair weather friend. But I also know that if you're still taking the time to check in here you must care for me at least a little bit. The begging will come later.

There are some very deep, very painful, very personal issues in the extended family. Husband has taken a firm stand on something that has the possibility of causing a lot of healing or a lot of hurt. Right now hurt is the frontrunner.

Without going into detail, Husband drew a line in the sand with his extended family on Sunday. One that means, for the moment, we will have little to no contact with members of the family we love the most. Our hearts are breaking. I know theirs are as well. But I deeply believe that this is a step that has been years in coming. And, for us, it is a stand that has everything to do with the physical safety of the FarmHands.

I know that the family we are currently estranged from would never intentionally put our kids in harm's way. I know they love our children almost as much as we do. I also know that their actions are enabling someone else, someone who couldn't care less about our kids, to put them in harm's way. This individual has caused unimaginable hurt in the past and is currently, quite possibly, the most toxic individual I know.

After years of hurt and anger and secrets, on Sunday Husband publicly stated that if the enabling continues, we are out. The family members involved do not see things the way we do.

Not only does this remove us from the center of our family, but it removes us from our church family. When the two are nearly the same, you can't cut one tie without cutting both.

My prayer is that someday we will all come to a place of healing, forgiveness, truth, openness, and strength. I pray that damaged relationships will be mended. I pray that toxic relationships will be ended. I pray that the decision my husband has made for our family is the right one and that it will show our children that no matter the cost, they are what we will fight for. I pray that we all come out of this better in the end.

I am sharing this today to beg you, my friends, to lift us up in prayer. All of us. This is injury that time alone will not heal. Only God can mend these broken places in our lives and in our family. Please, please pray for us.

The time is coming.

Just a brief warning: yesterday was a very hard day for me. I went to visit my grandparents and my grandfather is not doing well. I need an outlet for what is mulling around in my head. This is my outlet. If you are a family member this may not be an easy post to read. It's not been an easy one to write. But it's something I need to do for me. Thank you.

Grandma M&M called me Saturday afternoon. She had called Husband during the week to wish him a happy birthday but was worried that she'd interrupted his nap. She hadn't. It wouldn't have matter if she had. Grandma calls on birthdays. That's just what she does. And we expect her call. We love her call.

While we were chatting she told me that Grandpa was having a really bad day. A few years ago he had a small stroke that made it very difficult for him to swallow. After PT he was able to handle soft foods but he's never been able to tear into a cheeseburger since. This week things got worse and he has been switched over to thickened liquids. His breakfast, lunch, and dinner all come through a straw. He doesn't like that. Who would. He wasn't "eating" as much as he should have and therefore was losing the little bit of strength he had left. Grandma said he'd slept all day Saturday while she sat with him.

I got off the phone with her and cried. There was nothing else to do.

Husband saw me break down and he waited for me to compose myself enough to explain. The next words out of his mouth were, "Do you want to skip church tomorrow and go see them? We can do that."

We arranged for the kids to stay here with his family so we could make the trip in peace. I took them to see Grandma and Grandpa back in July and seeing Grandpa really scared B.B. He was afraid Grandpa was going to die while we were there with him.

Husband and I took Grandma to lunch when we got there then came back to her apartment to sit down for a bit. When she thought the time was right we headed over to visit with Grandpa. Every time I've been to see him I've prepared myself for the worst. It's never been as bad as I imagined. He's always known who I was. He's always responded to me as much as he could. He's spoken a few words. He's turned his head to see me. He's been happy that we were there.

Yesterday was different.

We have no idea what is going on in his mind because he doesn't say more than a few words at a time but yesterday I felt as though he didn't know me. It breaks my heart to admit that but I truly didn't see any recognition when he looked at me. I had to put myself in his line of sight and talk to him but I didn't get any sort of response from him. I know that's happened to others in our family but this was my first experience with it. It was hard.

I held his hand. I patted his knee. I adjusted his elbow pads. Husband told him about our new goats. We told him about the kids. We talked to him about things he would find interesting. Mostly he slept.

He did kiss Grandma hello at her request and he told her he loved her after she said it to him. When the time came for us to leave I hugged him, kissed his cheek, and whispered, "I love you, Grandpa," in his ear. As I was standing back up I heard him whisper back, "I love you." I'm afraid they may be the last words I hear from my grandfather.

Dementia has many shades. I know that day to day things can be drastically different. I know that tomorrow may be a much better day for Grandpa. I know that he may be communicative. I know he may know exactly who everyone around him is. I know he may say a few words at a time. But I also know that the chances of that happening while I'm there are slim to none.

My Grandpa is fading away. It's a terribly difficult thing to watch. It's painful. It's ugly. It's sad. It wish it wasn't this way, but it is. All I can do is pray. Pray for comfort and peace and that Grandpa would be as comfortable as he can be in what will be his last days, weeks, or months. I'd appreciate it if you would pray too.

Struggling

When 9/11 happened I was scared.  I went to my grandma's and eventually I turned off the news and just played with BabyGirl who was only a few months old.

This time around things are different.

This time my heart is broken in a totally different way.  This has scared me like no other incident.

I'm having a much harder time wrapping my mind around what happened on Friday than I did when those planes crashed 11 years ago.  That was an attack, an act of war, of terrorism.  I can grasp a militant Muslim group hating our country so much that they would attack civilians by the thousands.  I cannot grasp what would drive a young man to shoot 20 small children in cold blood.  I cannot grasp the loss and heart ache the parents and siblings and grandparents of those babies are feeling.

I cannot seem to step away from this.  I cannot distance myself.

Is it because I work in a school building?  Is it because the children are similar in ages to mine?  Is it because one of the little girls looks eerily like Bitsy?  Is it simply because I am a mother?

I told BabyGirl about it tonight.  I didn't want her to learn about it at school and be totally unprepared.  She knew there had been a shooting but didn't know any details.  A few minutes later she said, "Why would people do something like that?"  I hate giving her an answer that sounds like a cop-out.  "I don't know, Honey.  I really don't."  I'd like to tell her he was sick.  I don't know that.  I'd like to tell her he didn't know what he was doing.  The evidence seems to point elsewhere.

When I started work this year we were all given a hand book of sorts telling us the procedures for emergencies.  What to do in case of a fire.  What to do in case of a tornado.  What to do in case of ice, earthquake, storms, etc.  When I turned a page and began reading what to do in case of a terrorist incident or in case of an intruder, my stomach flipped and I went ice cold.  I know we have to have such procedures in place, but the idea that they're necessary breaks my heart.

Oddly instead of being more lenient with the FarmHands in light of the tragedy, I find myself much more short tempered and out of sorts.  I feel guilty when I'm angry at them.  I feel guilty disciplining them. I feel guilty because I didn't hug them all tight as soon as they stormed the doors on Friday.  I feel guilty because all I want to do is climb into bed and not get out any time soon.

When suicide and depression rates sky rocketed after 9/11, I didn't understand.  The attack upset us all, but how many were actually affected in their every day lives?  How many actually lost loved ones?  How many lived through those horrors first hand?  But now I understand.  I understand how a tragedy that in no way figures into your daily life can break you into little pieces.  I'm not saying I'm suicidal or even depressed.  I'm just saying I'm struggling.

But in my struggles I'm also praying.  I'm praying protection down upon our children and our schools.  I'm praying for comfort for families that will never again be whole.  I'm praying peace on the minds of children who've witnessed horrors no one should ever witness.  I'm praying God will draw us closer to Him in the wake of the unspeakable.

A glimpse

I love my job.  I love seeing the kids (mine and others) walk past my line.  I like laughing with them, teasing them, hearing about their days, lives, and adventures.  I love being around them.  I should point out that I am exposed to them in rather brief intervals, unlike their teachers.  That is perfect for me.

But then there are days, and there are children, who make my job really hard.  Actually more sad than hard. There are kids you want to wrap up and take home with you because you know no one at their house pays them any attention.   Kids with potential but no one to encourage them. There are kids you know are living in households that couldn't care less about them or their education.  There are kids who aren't being parented at all and crave that adult interaction.

Then there are the kids who've given up at the ripe age of 12 or 13.  Kids who not only have issues with authority, but have no use for it at all. Kids who would shock me if they graduate high school.  Kids who think discipline in any form is a joke and doesn't apply to them.  Kids who will look you in the eye and do exactly what they know they should not.

It makes me wish my children knew just how blessed they are but at the same time, I'm glad they're oblivious to it.  That means they have no idea that life doesn't always take care of kids their age.

Mama says to keep praying for the kids at school.  I am and I'd be happy if I knew you were, too.  It's an unpleasant eye opener.  I want to learn to deal with it without becoming hardened to it.

This Summer needs a name.

A name that denotes all manner of evil.  A name that tags it every more as a summer not worth repeating.  A name that leaves no doubt as to the horribleness of it.  I'll open up the comments to suggestions.

We started off good.  I had a new job to look forward to.  We had our first 4-H fairs to attend.  We had a swimming pool, heat, and sunshine.  And then things started going south...and not in the I-get-to-go-south-to-visit-friends-and-family kind of way.

First Grandma M&M discovered the colon cancer she battled 36 years ago was back.  Waiting and waiting and waiting finally gave way to a date for her to have surgery.  May 29th she went in.  Things went well.  Recovery was going to take a long time, but she was going to be fine.

The next morning found me in the doctor's office in pain.  That afternoon I was on the operating table.  It wasn't the appendicitis nor the appendectomy that was the hard part.  It was the 6 weeks of recovery after abdominal surgery that knocked me down.

In the meantime, Grandma didn't recover as quickly nor as well as we thought she would.  She went to a nursing home to recover.  Mama shuttled back & forth between the two of us and in the process hurt her foot.

Then I ended up in the hospital for a longer stay and still don't quite know the cause.  Colitis is not something I'd wish on my worst enemy and something I hope and pray is not recurring in my case.

Just over a week ago #1 Son began complaining about his under arms itching.  When I looked at them I discovered he had brown, scaly patches under his arms.  He's very prone to skin issues so I told him to use the cream our doctor has prescribed many times in the past.  After a few days they turned red & raw. I told him to leave the cream alone and we'd show the dermatologist when he goes on the 17th.

Monday showed we couldn't wait for the 17th.  He was in so much pain he couldn't lower his arms.  Thank the Lord the dermatologist had a cancellation that afternoon.

I willingly admit I didn't want to go.  I hate the drive.  I hate dragging all 4 kids that far to spend 3 minutes in an office with a nurse practitioner (nothing against the NP- she's really good).  But I was beyond unprepared when she suggested his skin issues might be caused by diabetes.

Yesterday we went to the hospital for a fasting blood draw.  The tech took an extra vial of blood in case the doctor decided to have an A1C done later.  I'm glad she did.  His blood sugar was 105- only slightly elevated.  The doctor's office wanted to wait 3-4 weeks and do another draw.  I told them to order the A1C.  They did.

Today we got the call that his A1C was 5.7.   Normal is below 6.  Now doc wants a finger stick every morning for 30 days to see what we're looking at.

To be entirely honest, I am not handling this well.  I can be sick.  I can have surgery.  I can spend my summer recovering from what ever.  But not my son.  He cannot go through this.  He cannot spend time worrying and fretting.  He cannot be scared and uncertain.  These things are not OK with me.

I know he will be fine no matter how the test come out.  I know that the changes that may be necessary will not be the end of us.  I know that we can deal with this.  But right now I'm done.  I'm over it all.  I'm sick to death of worry and fright and sickness.

I am ready for this summer to end.

Introspection

I have very recently discovered in myself the capacity for hate. I'm talking about blinding hatred that makes you wish someone not only dead but burning in hell. I've never felt this before & I do not like it. I've felt anger. I've felt disgust with people. But I have never wished the torments of hell on someone before. Never.

I'm being starkly honest here in a way I am not normally. I vent frustrations here. I get aggravated & rant, but I rarely unleash my inner darkness.

Someone is threatening a person I love. I cannot be more specific than that, so please do not ask.

In the past I've felt serious dislike for people. I've wanted nothing to do with certain individuals. I've wanted people to drop off the face of the earth. But never have I wished the things I wish on this person before. Yes, I know this is completely hypocritical. I know that I blogged about God's grace & forgiveness when Bin Laden was killed. I know that I've preached love for people who hate me. I've written about mercy & kindness quite a few times. But none of that changes what I'm feeling in my gut at this minute.

Part of the issue is that this is deeply personal. Bin Laden didn't touch my life in a daily manner. This person does. I know that doesn't make this right, but at the moment, I'm not going for right. I'm going for honest & raw. God knows I feel this way. He's the only thing that's going to get me through this. There's no point in lying about it & trying to cover it up. He knows my innermost being. He knows when I'm mad enough to stab someone. I might as well lay it out on the table & let Him go to work on me. I'm also hoping that my feeling this horrible turmoil may help someone else who's struggling. I would never want anyone to think that you have to be perfect and think good things all the time to be a Christan. God knows we're flawed. He accepts & loves us as we are. That is the truly amazing thing about grace.

I am struggling. I understand that the damage that I inflict will only be on myself & that my hatred will in no way bind the person it's directed towards.

As I was writing this post, I popped over to Facebook to check out the happenings & this was one of the first things in my feed:

Now, I do not believe in coincidence. I also know I'm light years away from forgiving this individual for the harm they are inflicting, but deep down, I hope & pray that someday the peace that passes understanding will heal this hurt & allow forgiveness to begin. Until then, I can only do my best to try to keep my head above water & not drown in hatred.

Give the kid a break, please.

B.B. is very tender hearted. He cries at the drop of a hat, so I'm sure you can imagine what he was like when we told him Grandma-great passed away.

When Grandma B. died he sobbed for about 15 minutes while I talked to him & rocked him. Eventually he calmed down & went to get ready for school. As he walked away, he turned around & asked, "Which one was Grandma B. again?" That's what happens when your mother collects grandparents & you're born into a big, long lived family.

At Grandma-great's funeral Thursday, he really struggled. He really wanted to see her body to say goodbye, but couldn't stop sobbing long enough to speak to her. It didn't help that Husband and I fell apart, too.

Death is hard on him. Much harder than it is on the other FarmHands. So Saturday morning when he found Emmett (our parakeet) dead on the floor of his cage, I wasn't sure he'd be able to handle it at all.

B.B. fell apart. Husband suggested we go get a new bird that afternoon. B.B. said no, not yet. Instead he wanted to take Emmett outside & bury him by Andrew (our dog). I dug the grave while B.B., Bitsy, and #1 Son took turns holding (read: fighting over) Emmett's body. We buried him, made a cross from sticks in the yard, and picked bunches of flowers to decorate the grave. On our way up the drive from getting flowers B.B. wanted to call everyone who's ever met Emmett to come over so we could have a big funeral for him.

Yesterday we had to go to a small graveside ceremony for a woman who went to our church when Husband was a boy. B.B. didn't know her, but being just a few feet away from Grandma-great's grave, I was worried how he'd handle it. He did just fine (aside for some crying that it was too hot & he needed to sit down & why were we even there if we didn't even know her).

I think he needs a break. A few months with no more death. Is that too much to ask?

Letting Go.

This is probably the strangest thing I've ever asked you all, but I ask it in all seriousness. Will you please pray that God would take Grandma in Country soon? It's not that we don't love her or that we don't want her with us. It's that we don't want her to suffer any longer.

She has been unable to eat for quite a while. The last food she had, that I know of, was 2 bites of gravy last Tuesday. She cannot drink because she's aspirating everything into her lungs. She has been unconscious (with the exception of a brief amount of time on Friday) for at least 5 days. A catheter had to be used to drain her bladder on Saturday because it was distended. She doesn't have the strength to talk, hold a hand, or open her eyes more than a tiny bit every few days. She's on morphine for pain and oxygen to aid her rapid breathing. Husband's aunts are keeping constant vigil at her bedside to swab out her mouth, dress her bedsore, check her diaper, and try to keep her as comfortable as possible. I know they would keep vigil as long as necessary if it meant keeping their mother with them, but I also know Grandma would be much better off in Heaven.

We haven't had the kids in to see her at all because I would much rather they remember Grandma-great (as they call her) the way she was in church giving them their gum & Sunday School money every week. And to be honest, she looks horrible. It's a terrible feeling to see someone laying in a hospital bed just a shell of their former self & I don't want my kids to have that memory. With Grandma, the change has been gradual, but it's dramatic none the less. When Husband and I were married she was a very large woman. My estimate for her weight would be upwards of 250 pounds. Currently she's probably around 70 pounds. She is so frail & wasted that I fear it would frighten the FarmHands more than comfort them.

Husband went to see her Friday when I was in town & his aunts tell me Grandma opened her eyes and spoke for the first time in days shortly after he arrived. She told everyone she loved them (out loud as opposed to just mouthing the way she'd been doing for weeks before she took her turn for the worst) and hugged everyone there. SIL took her kids by to see her Friday and Grandma hugged them, too. She must've been somewhat lucid on & off that afternoon. But that was the last time.

I know asking for prayers for someone to die may not seem like the kindest or most loving thing to do, but I know that Grandma knows and loves Jesus. I know that when she dies, it will only be an ending here on Earth and that she will be hole and healthy in Heaven. I know that Grandpa is waiting for her having gone ahead of her about 5 years ago. I know that the Lord will be waiting for her with open arms. What I'm asking is for her, not for us.

You can go, Grandma. We love you and we'll see you again someday. When you get there, could you give my love to Grandma B.? I'm sure you two will have a nice long chat.

Updated at 6:15 pm- Husband's cousin just posted this on Facebook:

my grandma is still hanging on..but only very little. Heart is working twice as hard, labored breathing. Respirations are low and pulse is around 115-120. This has taken its toll on all the family emotionally, mentally, and physically.

Such a time as this.

"As I live, declares the Lord God, I take no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but rather That the wicked turn from his way and live." Ezekiel 33:11

"I mourn the loss of thousands of precious lives, but I will not rejoice in the death of one, not even an enemy. Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that." --Martin Luther King, Jr

At the expense of sounding rather unpatriotic, I have to comment on the death of Bin Laden.

I am not rejoicing. I am not glad that (as a man on the radio said) he's burning in hell. In fact, that makes me very sad.

Don't get me wrong, Bin Laden was a horrible individual. He committed unspeakable crimes. He spread hate like a virus. He killed indiscriminately. He did not deserve to live. I am thankful that he can no longer inflict his evil on others.

But then, neither do I. I've lied. I've stolen. I've hated. I've gossiped. I've turned my back on the Lord. I've sinned. And in the eyes of Lord, there's no difference between the evil I've done and the evil done by Bin Laden. We are both created children of God. It must break His heart to have one of His children die outside of His presence and grace.

Knowing that a child of the Lord is now lost for eternity is not something to celebrate no matter the crimes of that child.

And on top of that, I know that the death of Bin Laden will not end our problem with terrorists. He was one of many men. He was one of a group of men who will not be dissuaded. Westerners (especially Americans) do not comprehend the idea of Jihad. This war will never end on the side of the militant Islamics. Never. To believe this is now over is naive.

Sad News

Grandma B passed away early this morning. Please pray for her family. We know she is with Jesus. We're missing her here at home.

And life comes to a screeching halt.

I no more than hit publish on my last post when things went to Hades around here. Well, it did for Bitsy, anyway.

She had just finished her chocolate chip cookie when she proudly brought me another. "Dis one for Moomah!" She was so happy to have gotten a cookie for her imaginary friend. I said, "No. Moomah can't have a cookie. I have to put it up." Most things gotten for Moomah become Bitsy's possessions.

This must have caused some kind of catastrophe that I know nothing of because Bitsy collapsed on the floor in a heap of sobs and tears. Her poor little heart was absolutely shattered because Moomah was not allowed a cookie.

Being a mother, I picked up the sobbing pile and sat it on my lap. Between gasps and sobs she told me she wanted to take a shower. "You've already had your bath tonight, Baby." I thought the crying couldn't get worse.

I was wrong.

She must have had a few tenuous strands of self control still in her grasp & when I denied her a shower the snapped. Screams, sobs, wails of misery erupted from her tiny form. "Me not say me want a bath. Me say me want a shower. Why me never get a take a shower? Why #1 Son take a shower? Me want a bath!"

She was so upset she slid off my lap and hollered, "Don't touch me!" Unfortunately, she's only three and really needs to be held when her world falls apart. It took her about 7 seconds to realize I was the only parental unit available for comfort and she returned to my lap to sob out the remainder of the moisture left in her body.

It is so hard being three.

Why do I do these things to myself?

It's quiet time at our house. Bitsy is sitting on my lap watching Nick Junior and "texting" on an old cell phone her Uncle Little B-I-L gave her last night. She's letting me hug her and smell her hair all I want....well, she was until I typed that, then she hopped down and ran to the TV because the best show of all time just started: Olivia.

Kork posted something on Facebook today about getting her oldest signed up for Kindergarten. Next fall, Bitsy will start Preschool. I'm not sure I'm OK with this. She's my baby. I'd keep her that way indefinitely if I could. I fear what the next few years will bring. I don't do well with change.

Husband really wants me to return to work in some form after Bitsy starts full time Kindergarten. The thought boggles my mind. Sure, we could use the money....with four kids how could we not? But I wouldn't even know where to begin looking. I'm not the Mary Kay, Longaberger, Tupperware type. I don't have the flexibility to go into peoples homes and hawk my wares. I'd love to try my hand a Etsy, but doubt that would be enough to put marshmallows on the table much less bacon. I really have no marketable skills.

I dropped out at the end of my second year of college. I had no real desire to finish school. I have no real desire to go back now. I have no clue what I'd even want to do given the opportunity. It's kind of a horrifying thought.

I'm not the type of mother who wants to spend 24 hours a day 7 days a week in the company of her children. I have serious guilt about this. I'd love to be a homeschooling mama with a line of ducks following me about on nature walks and learning adventures after we finished our vocabulary lesson at the breakfast table....but I know myself. Homeschooling around here would turn into serious headbutting and an eventual spiral into hours in front of PBS kids hoping they learn something...anything.

I have a tendency to feel like a lousy mother because I so desperately wanted to stay home with my kids but on the same hand so desperately want them to leave the house and go to school every day. And now the thought of leaving the house to pursue the almighty dollar is even more daunting.

I realize I'm worrying about something that is a good year and a half in my future. Worry does no good. I cannot change anything about my future by worrying. So I'm hoping to dump all this here in the blog ether and hope it stays here.

Pbth.

I'm angry.

I'm tired.

I'm getting sick.

The ugly beast has reared it's head yet again......in a big way.

I think I may need to take an extended break from blogging until I get a handle on myself & my emotions. There are certain things I don't feel like sharing on line.

I doubt I'll be "gone" long. Please bear with me.

Meh.

If you want to read about something other than my current mental state, skip to the post just below this one & read about our painting project. I'm not promising it's interesting, but it is about something other than my mental issues.

The Ugly Beast has reared it's head yet again. No, I'm not delusional enough to think that depression will simply disappear. But it is easy to get lulled into a false sense of security. I've felt pretty decent the past few weeks. There have been a few tough days scattered here & there, but in all, things haven't been too bad.

Keeping busy has helped. I had a jewelry party & that meant some serious house cleaning and a bit of baking. Then we went to TN to visit QM & Daddy. Came home from that to nice weather & the opportunity to be out of doors more than normal.

Then last Thursday came a fabulous surprise: Diana came to see me. She was in TN visiting her family & has to pass my neck of the woods on the way home. She called me a little after lunch to let me know she was passing by. It was so nice to not only have some grown up company, but to have someone here who's known me nearly half my life & loves me anyway. Her arrival helped break up my mid-week cramp/headache/back ache fest and truly brightened my day.

Husband took the day off work Friday so we could belatedly celebrate B.B.'s 6th birthday. Saturday things started to fall apart. I was tired. I was cranky. I was done. And have been since then. Tossing paint (see post below) into the mix hasn't really helped.

I'm not thrilled with this revisit to funk town but part of me feel a bit vindicated because now I know it's not just something I had convinced myself of. Is that odd? I talk myself in & out of things far too easily. I convince myself that nothing is wrong or that something horrific is happening. I feared I had done the same thing with depression...and until I get to talk to the doctor I'm going to see I will probably teeter-totter on this issue more than once.

Until then, I shall play with Tagxedo and wait. And try to keep motivated & moving to stave off this Ugly Beast as much as possible.

At ten-thirty last night, the phone rang. That always scares me, but usually it's foundless. Last night it wasn't.

Inkling was on the other end of the line & she was fighting to talk. My heart dropped like a rock.

Her youngest brother & his wife were expecting their fourth child. She had passed her due date by a few days. Something went wrong. The baby didn't survive.

They found this out last night & Inkling's sister-in-law was in the hospital having her labor induced.

Inkling said, "I don't know how they aren't dying." At the time I was numb. I was so shocked I didn't know how to react. I mumbled & stuttered & kept saying, "Oh...oh no...oh my." Inkling said it on her blog: There's nothing to say.

After I hung up the phone, I went in to tell Husband. I barely choked out the words before I called QM to tell her. Even with tears, I was oddly numb.

Eventually I crawled into bed & my mind went into overdrive. How do you carry a baby for 9 months only to say good bye before it's even drawn breath? How do you deliver a baby you know is already gone? How do you explain it to the three small children waiting at home for their new baby? My heart ached desperately for my cousins. My mind continued to drift back to Bitsy. How would we have survived without her? I sobbed into Husband's chest for a few minutes until I realized I needed to process this alone.

There was an empty place in my chest that physically hurt. If I'm hurting like this, how are my cousins still breathing? How are my aunt & uncle able to make the necessary phone calls? How is anyone any closer to this even functioning? I'm only feeling a small fraction of the pain Inkling is in so far from her family.

In front of our fire, my prayers, which had been mumblings & stutterings up to this point, took on more specific questions & pleas. My heart broke not only for them, but for my mother who lost a baby when I was three, my aunts who'd lost babies they'd never met, my cousin who miscarried early on, my grandmothers, my great grandmothers....for all of them.

As I poured out my heart to my God, I knew He heard my cries. I knew He was hearing the cries of my family. I knew He was in the hospital room with my cousin & his wife. And I knew that this precious baby would never feel pain, never suffer, never be broken hearted or hungry or cold or ill. I knew that she* was in the arms of the Lord. I knew that she was meeting her Great-grandma Christmas Gift & our Granny. I knew that my baby brother and her cousin, Grasshopper's older sibling, were there. She is surrounded by people who love her in paradise just as she would have been here on Earth. My heart didn't ache for her any longer, but it still aches for her parents, her siblings, her grandparents, and the rest of us waiting here.

Please pray for my cousins. They need it most of all.

*I really have no idea if the baby was a boy or a girl. In my mind I pictured a girl. It made things a bit easier to process....easier is the wrong word, but I hope you understand.

*****Updated*****
At seven thirty this morning, my cousin gave birth to a baby girl. She has a beautiful name & is well loved. Please continue to pray for our family as her absence will leave a huge hole in all our hearts.

Life continues

I'm pleased to report that Sunday morning came & #1 Son was feeling good again. Yesterday the doctor's office called & said they were calling in a script for antibiotics because he tested positive for parainfluenza. I said he was better, no fever, no sore throat, but they still want him on antibiotics. I'm leaning towards not giving them to him....he's completely symptom free & was within 48 hours of getting sick. I really don't want to give him unnecessary antibiotics.

BabyGirl enjoyed her birthday Saturday. I cannot cope with my baby being 8 years old. It does not seem possible. She got a new fishing pole & a tackle box & was happy as a clam about it. I'm pretty sure she'd spend all day casting & reeling if her daddy was around to take the fish off the hook for her.

As to Andrew's death, the kids are handling it very well. They mention him from time to time. They comment that it's just not fair that he had to die. They tell me they miss him. But there have been no tears recently & they usually go back to what ever they were doing fairly quickly. I think Lilly May & I are taking it the hardest. She sniffs around the place his kennel used to sit & seems confused by his absence. I saw his kennel sitting out in the shed this weekend & it broke my heart a little more.

The kids have tried to convince me that we need a new inside dog, but I disagree. Husband suggested a cat, but I think I'm allergic & I recall the vet bills the last time we brought a farm kitten in the house (YIKES!!!). So for now I'm happy with Lilly & she's plenty.

The day after & the day before

It's been a bit easier today. I'm still sad. I still miss Andrew, but I don't feel as raw & exhausted as I did yesterday. Yesterday all I wanted to do was sleep. BabyGirl had a really hard time going to bed last night. In the end, she & I cuddled in my bed & talked about life, death, God, heaven, and sin for 20 minutes or so. I'm pretty sure she's blaming Adam & Eve for the death of her dog. Today she informed me she wants a chihuahua for our next house dog. I told her I didn't think so.

Today, I keep listening for him to come out of his kennel. I keep waiting for him to start barking when ever Lilly May does. I've glanced under my computer desk a time or two expecting him to be lounging by my feet. There's a big empty space by the kitchen table where his kennel sat. At the store today I kept telling #1 Son we needed to get dog food for Andrew & Lilly. He kept reminding me that Andrew was gone.

Husband painted the cross he & the FarmHands made yesterday. Tomorrow I'll put Andrew's name & dates on it.

This morning, we got up, got dressed, and loaded the FarmHands up to go to the Children's Museum in Effin'bill for BabyGirl's birthday (tomorrow). We made it almost 15 miles from home when #1 Son started moaning & yelling that his stomach hurt. Thinking he was constipated, we stopped at Burger King to use the bathroom. When he came out, I realized he was very pale & covered in goose bumps. It wasn't cold at all, but he was shivering. I asked him what all hurt & he said his belly & his throat. When I told Husband, we opted to make a grocery/birthday present run & head home.

When we got home, his temp was 101.7, so I called Doc's office. They could see him in an hour.

The quick strep test came back negative, but the longer test won't be back until Monday. Right now we're just treating him with Tylenol & praying this passes before anyone else gets sick. Doc did say #1 Son's tonsils were "impressive." I have rather large tonsils, so I've never paid them much mind. Doc asked if #1 Son snores & I said yes. He wants our ENT to take a look at them when we see him in July. He said they're so large, they could cause sleep apnea. Ugh.

So tonight, he's crashed out on the floor watching Indiana Jones while I bake BabyGirl's birthday cake for tomorrow. I'll be shocked if she sleeps much tonight.

Saying Goodbye

It's all over. Andrew has gone where ever it is good dogs go when they die. It's been a tough morning, but we're doing pretty well.

The kids & I got to say goodbye to Andrew this morning, then we left & went to Uncle E's for a while. I wanted their last memory of him to be a good one. Husband stayed behind to take care of all the hard stuff. The kids & I didn't come home until there was a fresh mound of dirt to put flowers on. Husband took the kids & me up to the hill by our house to pick daisies. The kids & I each made a bouquet while Husband dug up a bunch to plant at the head of Andrew's grave. BabyGirl wanted to plant honeysuckle, but it would cover the grave completely. Instead Husband took some scrap lumber & he & the FarmHands built a cross to mark the grave. We'll paint it later this weekend.

It's not been an easy day, not by a long shot, but it's also not been nearly as bad as it could have been. I'm thankful that we had the opportunity to tell Andrew goodbye & that we loved him. And I'm thankful that he is no longer suffering.

So, FarmWife, what have you been up to today?

Um yeah. Stuff. Too much stuff.

Bucka has been in the hospital since Tuesday. I've been stopping by to take care of the Hounds of the Baskervilles (aka: Busha's toy/teacup poodles, Pete & Pepper) the past few days. It's an adventure. Today Bitsy decided to let them out to play & escape herself while I was washing dishes. That was not fun. Once granted an out, Pepper likes to bolt & where Pepper goes, Pete is sure to follow. Bitsy got a swat on the bottom for leaving the house without Mama & the pups got chased down, snagged, carried in, and washed up...I am no fun at all. Just ask them. They'll tell you.

Then the little ones & I ran in to pick up BabyGirl & #1 Son from school. BabyGirl had to have her stitches taken out at the doctor's at 4 o'clock. Husband goes to work at 2:20 & my other sitter (RL, Uncle E's oldest daughter) had to work, so I took everyone with me.

Today I realized Wednesday is our field trip to the zoo & my sneakers are pathetic (note to self: do not buy Danskins shoes at Wal-Mart & expect good things from them), so it was off to the shoe store with all 4 FarmHands in tow. Yeah, that was fun. Fun like a stomach pump. I hate sneaker shopping to begin with. Anything but sneakers. I know diddly squat about them & they're so frickin' expensive (remember, I just paid $5.95 for a super cute pair of heels last month). And throw 4 bored, small children in the mix & it becomes an exercise in torture. But, I came home with a pair of Nike's that I think I may love. They came with "anatomical arch supports" that I have no clue how to use...but I'll figure it out.

Wal-Mart has 5,000 copies of Twilight, New Moon, and Breaking Dawn, but zero copies of Eclipse. Eclipse is the book I need to read next in the "saga." I'm a bit frustrated. I'm almost finished with my second reading of New Moon since getting it Sunday night. (Blogger needs an underline function on the post page because that much html is irritating.)

While at Wal-Mart I managed to do the grocery shopping (I think...it's hard to tell when most of my time was spent saying, "B.B., please don't touch that. #1 Son, come on, we're done in this aisle. BabyGirl, stop bossing the boys. Bitsy, I cannot hold you, stay in the cart. No, we're not buying toys. OK, yes, we are buying a toy, but it's not for any of you. No, you cannot buy a $48 race track for _________'s birthday party. Because he's a boy in your class, a friend, not a blood relative. Put the candy back on the shelf. Do not put your face on the freezer door! Why would you do that? What? You have to go again? You just went! OK, who else has to go? This is your final chance. I'm not coming back to this bathroom again. No, we're not getting The Incredible Hulk on Blu-ray. Because I have too many other things on my list today. Where is that stinking list? Crap. Oh, a bra for $3! I need a new bra.").

Now I'm tired & oddly sad. I don't know why, but I am. I know why I'm tired...didn't you read that last paragraph? I just don't know why I'm sad. Maybe it all goes back to that two days in a hotel dream I've been harboring. Maybe I need a good cry? Maybe I'll go crawl in the bath & do just that. Or maybe I'll just put on my PJ's and tuck in to see if Eward & Bella are going to live happily ever after.