sweetheart bars

I keep meaning to email this recipe out, and can no longer remember who all to put in the address bar, so I'm sharing it with y'all.  Here's to a little heart-healthy snackin' for those I love.

These are basically granola bars, in the spirit of "larabars" or similar cookie-style protein snacks.  I did not really invent the recipe; variations are widely available on the wide internet. I just tried a few of the options, then figured out the ratios I like best and put together my own version. However, it is awards season, and I find these get me rave reviews every time I share them with my family and others.  So, I offer a little "dedication" speech to those who want to bestow high honors upon these treats:

I dedicate these bars in honor of my friend who got me hooked on the big money pit otherwise known as Costco, where I was stocking up on such snacks to the detriment of my checkbook. These are about 30% of the cost, little to no wasteful packaging, and do not require a hike through the land of samples. In honor of my friend who demonstrated that going gluten-free is easy if you have somebody cooking for you and buying your groceries, I offer a delicious GF snack.  In honor of my friends who have given up most comforts in life and travel the world to help end human trafficking, this includes fair trade (aka "slave free") chocolate.  In honor of my husband, who ate all of my cashews before I could make a batch of these last week, I made these and got you extra cashews. And finally, in honor of a slender, beautiful friend who bikes everywhere yet still worries about caloric balance, well... eat another, darling.  

Sweetheart Bars
2 C cashews (or other nuts)
2 C pitted dates
2 Tblsp peanut (or almonnd) butter
2 Tblsp (or more) chopped dark chocolate

In a food processor, chop the cashews into fine bits.  Empty into a bowl and set aside.
In the same food processor (!), chop the dates into fine bits.  They will start to mash together.  Add the peanut butter and process together.
Slowly pour the nuts back into the dates mixture, and process until well combined.  Add the chocolate and process well.
The mixture will likely be warm.  Press into a wax-paper lined baking pan (I use 9x13").  Set in the refrigerator and cool until firm.
Cut into bars of desired size, and enjoy.

*These store well in baggies or sealed containers.  I keep mine in the fridge, but it's not neccessary.

Happy Day!

bloom

It's not gas.  It's not the stomach flu.  It's not reflux.  What Baby M has been experiencing is likely called infantile spasm.  And if you google it, which I don't recommend, you will most likely find these words: cataclysmic seizure disorder.

I know because it's what I read after googling the term a neurologist used to describe the worst case scenario (and very unlikely, so meant to ease my fears).  It came after a long two weeks of trying to get answers and reassure myself that it was, as I was told, just gas or reflux, and facing that gnawing sensation that it was something else.  I made that now predictable error of using google and youtube for research.  Will I ever learn?!

So there I sat, desperate and terrified, staring at a screen, hardly able to breathe.  I tried to fight back tears, to quiet the voice that wanted to scream, "It's just not fair!!!" and managed a prayer-demand: please, God, just one good thing.  Can't you give me just one good thing?!?


And then there was a knock at the door.  Literally.  At that exact moment, somebody knocked on my door and tore me from my selfishness and blindness.  I stumbled downstairs, scrambling to assemble myself and push the dog back and listen to the boys at the front window describe a woman who'd gotten out of a minivan.  The door opened to my friend, whose name means the same as my daughter - bitterly wanted - standing on the porch with a giant vase of hydrangea blooms.  I stammered, and choked, and could feel a rush of heat to my tear ducts, which could no longer hold back the pain, frustration, and exhaustion.

"I am so sorry," she mumbled.  There were other words, but I could only shake my head.  One Good Thing.  When she asked, I stammered out something about the new possibility of a terrifying disorder.  My fear.  My dread.  My anger.  My prayer moments earlier. I clumsily fumbled when she said she just didn't know what to say: "just be thankful it's not your child."  My internal tantrum against the unfairness and injustice of life raged behind my tears, but I bowed my head when she asked to pray for me.  When she was done, I felt a glimmer of calm.  Perhaps I'd be able to cope.  It would be only the first of several times a friend would stop that day and pray for me, giving my thirsty soul and heart relief - if only for a bit longer - and helping me face forward.

I put the flowers on the table, and thought to myself how they reminded me of myself.  Blooming, in spite of the winter months.  It's possible, even if they are more naturally suited to a sunnier climate.  They were beautiful, and they reminded me of the many gifts - the many good things - in my life.  This diagnosis would be scary, but not insurmountable.  I pointed out the flowers to the boys; we admired them as we ate cold cereal for dinner and waited for Daddy to get home.  Exhausted, I let them watch a movie while another friend came over and processed with me, letting me cry.  When Mr. Kenobi came home, things settled for a bit, but when our baby had another "spasm," it did me in.  I burst into uncontrollable sobs, wailing to a God I wasn't sure was listening, "Please!  Please make it stop!  Please fix this!  Please!  IT'S JUST NOT FAIR!"


Mr. Kenobi took the baby from my grasp.  I hadn't been this way since we heard the words, "chromosomal abnormalities."  It's finally happening.  It's finally too much.  Everyone has her limits, and I've just crossed mine.

The night was long.  Every sound she made, sleeping within an arm's reach of me, made me jump to check on her.  I slept in scattered 15-minute naps, mostly laying awake in worry.  When I woke in the morning, it was more like conceding a battle lost.  I would not have rest, nor perspective, to start this day.  So I went downstairs.

Soon joined by the little feet of Obi-1, I sat quietly in the living room, snuggling him and trying to reassure him that Mama wouldn't cry all day.  I willed myself to hold back tears, and then he noticed something.

"Oh, no, Mama!  The flowers - they're dead!"

Sure enough, my beautiful blue blooms had wilted.  I nearly laughed out loud at the absurdity.  There they sat, poised on a dining room table, and wilted within a day. The heat from our fireplace, which I'd worked so hard to keep going the day before, had likely proven too much for them  Yup.  Just like me.  Couldn't stand the heat. Nice message from God.


Obi-2 came down soon after and noticed the arrangement with grief.  "Mama!  Your flowers died!"

Sarcastic prayers filled my mind, but somewhere - somewhere much deeper in me - words came from my mouth.  The teacher spoke.  "Actually, they died when they were cut from the plant, sweetie.  They just wilted because the air got too dry around them."

Died when they were separated from the roots.  Oh.  My ears didn't listen to my own words until later.

Obi-1 stirred oatmeal, I zombied my way through morning routine.  The phone rang - an EEG appointment was available today.  I began calling friends, trying to find help for the boys so they wouldn't have to come with us.  Cripled, wilting, I called a friend.  The friend who lovingly burped my gassy baby last week.  The friend who hosted my soul and my son in her home.

She's a little like my mother, this friend.  No pitty-parties.  Sympathy, but no wallowing allowed.  She began to point out the good things.  The reasons for gratitude.  She quoted this book - ironically one I gave her when I left her home - reminding me that miracles follow thanksgiving. With grace and compassion and steely resolve, she turned the lenses on my heart's kaleidoscopic and pointed to the colors.  And when she had heard enough of my, "yes, but..." whining, she asked if she could pray for me, and thanked our common Father for the long lists of blessings in my life.

Because sometimes, that's what friends do.  They write the thank you note while you're still staring at the ripped wrapping paper.  Or, as I realized after the call, she watered my roots.

From that moment on, I could see things - the very same things - in my day with a different perspective. We didn't have to get an EEG. We had to gift of the premier facility in the area putting us on the schedule today.  We had a neurologist calling into the head of pediatric epilepsy, urging a quick review of our case. Friends' messages streamed in, gifts of hope and kindness in thought and prayer.  Dear friend "Auntie V" rescheduled a client so she could stay with the boys, and arrived declaring how wonderful it was that she got to spend part of her day with them (with no indication that it was an immense favor for me).  Another friend penned me sweet words of encouragement, birthed from a heart that walks a similar path to mine.

Searching to satisfy my hunger for tangible reasons to be grateful, I remembered a friend who'd walked through an EEG with her son, and called for insight on our appointment.  No sooner did she hear what we faced than she said, "that's what my son had."  Reassurance.  Her bright, capable, beautiful (non-DS) son had come through this.  So had she.  So could we.

And so, perhaps it shouldn't shock anyone when I nearly burst into a dance of joy as the doctor - the same pediatric neurologist who had emailed back-and-forth with me and first mentioned the words that sparked my panic - called.  Dance with joy?  I was hearing the words that had only been a worst case scenario the night before. He had patiently consulted me with emails throughout the past few days, and paved the way for our daughter to be reviewed by the best of the hospital's experts.  It was eight at night.  He was likely home, but reviewing her brain waves via remote system.  He had already left a message on my home number, but then called my personal cell phone to try to talk to me in person.

It is likely infantile spasms.  Without missing a beat, he assured me that this will likely be okay.  Children with Down syndrome are a bit more likely to have this, even as rare as it is.  They also tend to do better - responding to more treatment options, responding well, recovering more quickly, with fewer or no long-term affect - than typical children.  If your baby is going to have these, it is to her benefit to have been born with Down Syndrome.  He spent about 15 minutes explaining, educating, encouraging.  We've caught it early, and she's going to recover.

What once felt like one more unfair thing was, divinely, a gift.  Her underlying genetic differences made her stronger.  More able to fight and win, not less.  More able to shine on the other side of this.  Less likely to wilt in the heat.

I'm so grateful.  I'm a little nervous, too, of course.  Treatments and epilepsy are a big deal, even if we're under the care of the best.  This Mama carefully researches everything that goes into her babies' bodies, so the thought of what we're about to do to my youngest makes my stomach tense, but a grateful heart is a good antacid for that.  Armed with more information, but more importantly, new perspective, I'm back.  A living plant loses some of its prized blooms when pruned, but leaves room and nutrients for new growth.

Love,
MamaToo



p.s.  for those wondering the health background...
She started doing little hiccup-like crunches a couple weeks ago, when the rest of the family was falling to a brief-but-vicious stomach bug, but she never got sick.  When we realized it was happening at least once a day, for several days, we called the pediatrician.  I remember using the words, "I'm afraid it could be seizures." The nurse asked many questions, and concluded that it likely wasn't seizures.  More likely was that dratted stomach bug.  We had an appointment already scheduled for a week out, and could check it then.  Unsatisfied, I asked her to review that thought with the doctor and call me back if he'd like to see the video I took.  She called the next morning; they had discussed it more and while she asked a few more questions, it just didn't strike them as something urgent.  It was likely gas or upset tummy.

So I went to visit a dear friend, and when she saw it, she said, "Oh, that baby has gas!  Don't worry!"  I got back to town and took our baby into the pediatrician for her visit.  She happened to have an episode when we walked in, and a nurse observed it, seeming to think it was odd, but not alarming.  Another nurse came in, discussed with me, and watched the video from my phone.  Everyone seemed to conclude it was classic signs of reflux.  Except our baby doesn't spit up (that was Obi-3 - ufdah!) and it doesn't always happen around eating.  It's more likely to happen upon waking up, or shortly after falling asleep, or when she's quite tired.  The pediatrician (not our usual one, but a partner in the practice) came in, asked more questions, and viewed the video.  "Hmmm... yeah, it's probably reflux.  We can get an EEG if it would make you feel better, just to be on the safe side."

Feeling like that mom who was insisting on extra testing for her perfectly well child, I emailed the neurologist we'd seen when we enrolled in a children's hospital program for Down Syndrome.  He mentioned infantile spasms (the first I heard the term) were a very rare thing that would be ruled out by an EEG, and said it wouldn't be an unreasonable precaution or defensive medicine to go ahead with that.  He also offered to take a look at the video I'd shot.  Within hours, we were on the schedule at two hospitals (I cancelled the later appointment as soon as I got into children's hospital).  The EEG went well, and the test results are still in process but the neurologist feels the data supports infantile spasms, which is what he saw in my video.  He does think her spasms are quite mild, which is probably the reason (along with the rarity of these seizures) our pediatrician didn't spot it initially.  He also says we've figured it out early enough to diagnose and treat quickly, hopefully averting any long-term issues with her.  For those of you in my close circle, I'll keep you updated with other information as I know it.

rolling along

The baby rolled over last week.  She was rolling, front to back, teeter-totter, for a couple months.  However, it has been sporadic, like losing her balance when placed "just so" on her elbows.  This time, she actually pushed on her hands and flipped herself over.  Pleased as she was with herself, she continued to do it, and prove that it's no longer a fluke.

Development. Check.

I felt excited, but also a bit nonchalant.  Of course babies roll over.  Why not?  This is only one little milestone in a series of milestones in a lifetime of little things that each human accomplishes, then moves along to her next challenge.

Still, it's probably the final time I'll celebrate this one for my own child.  It's also one of those little surprises and developments for myself.  It sounds obvious, but I'm finding myself taking little steps and achieving little things right beside my roly-poly baby.  I'm learning about babies with expected delays in development.  I'm learning about Down Syndrome.  I'm learning and re-learning and re-learning again that every person (including every soul in my home) is unique and interesting and yet not all that different from one another.

A friend shared a really sweet story with me the other day.  It brought tears to my eyes, partly in widening my mind to hopes and dreams for my daughter.  The tears were also out of guilt - for not having those hopes and dreams before hearing that story.

I don't know what to expect with her, but I'm learning to rethink it all - even to remember that I should have expectations.  Maybe that's something to celebrate in and of itself.  Maybe it's like rolling over on purpose - just engage some new muscles in the right way, at the right time.  It's big, it's small, and it's part of growing toward more mobility.

Perhaps it will cease to surprise me when my baby - this baby - is on or ahead of schedule in development.  Perhaps I'll learn to really celebrate those things.  Perhaps, as another friend advised me, every little development will be a big deal.  I'll get online and blog about it Right. At. That. Moment.  On the other hand, perhaps I'll continue to learn that she's a baby, and babies do these things.  There will be balance and progress, however uncoordinated and imperfect, for us all.

stinkin' ethics

Sometimes life is messy... literally.  I'm getting really, really tired of diapers.  Even though the boys have generally been out of them and using indoor plumbing by their 2nd birthday or so, I still have a baby in diapers and I'm starting to grow weary.  I've heard of "EC" for a couple years, but thought it was basically a bunch of hippie voodoo.  

Then I tried it, just on a whim, and the baby has been really responsive.  She's still in diapers. but a couple times a day she uses the toilet.  Amazing.  Maybe there is a light at the end of this tunnel.

Unfortunately, Obi-3, who is 2 1/2, has decided he's not really interested in being consistent with his use of indoor plumbing.  If he's busy playing, or just otherwise obstinate, he'll go in his underwear.  If there's one thing worse than changing wet or stinky cloth diapers, it's changing wet and stinky underwear on a squirmy kiddo.  Ugh.

I've tried all the bribes, techniques, rewards, and patience we used to get him toilet trained.  Sometimes it works, but he seems uninterested in all of the motivators that were really exciting a few months ago.  A good friend was over recently, and shared that her daughter regressed in the same way.  She figured out a habit-forming bribe that worked, and shared it with me: get a toy, or something the child really (REALLY) wants, have it sitting out and tell the child he must go 5 days with no misses in order to have the reward.  Five. Days.  She figures that makes a habit.  For her daughter, it was a doll house.

My boy wants his own guitar.  He loves musical instruments, and wants a real one to play.  After yet another miss, a bath, and mounting exasperation this morning, I decided to give it a try.  I told him that I would put up a picture of his very own guitar, and he could have it (the guitar) when he had five days of no accidents.  We'd put stickers on the picture to count the days.

He looked thoughtfully as we pulled up pictures of guitars online, and then said, "Obi-3 wants a ukulele."  (He speaks like Elmo - always using his name instead of a pronoun.)  No kidding.  The child who struggles to enunciate "orange" somehow managed "ukulele."  Oh, and he wants a red one.

Okay.  MamaToo can be bought.  I found this red ukulele that I can get here within days.  I showed him the picture, said we'd get it for him in exchange for the desired habit, and promised to put the picture up while he works on earning it.  "If you can keep your underwear dry for 5 days, I'll get this ukulele for you."

He replied, "No.  Obi-3 no want ukulele."

I looked at him, puzzled.

"Obi-3 no want guitar."

I started to get a little worried.

"Obi-3 wants BAN-JO."

Banjos appear to run at least $50.  They do not, from my initial searches, appear to come in red.  They are not commonly stocked at the online retail mega-stores, which means I need to make phone calls to local music shops to see if it's even an option.  A banjo.  Seriously?!?

And really, I think he's probably driving a hard bargain because he won't be bribed. If I find a red banjo, he'll want something else - an accordion or harp, probably. The child is a serious example of political gridlock.  Or, maybe he just has amazing ethics.  Frankly, I'm not sure whether to be impressed or frustrated.  Either way, it appears that the only thing I'm in control of changing is his pants.  Ugh.

trick or treat

Given that I use character names for privacy on this blog, I'm aware that it's ironic for us to introduce our boys to the Star Wars movies.  I never saw the movies until college, when Mr. Kenobi insisted that I must come to know the plots in detail.  Evidently he had friends who would have been deeply concerned for his sanity had they known he was dating a woman who lacked a proper appreciation of the Lucas epics.  Anyway, I watched them and vaguely remember each.  Mr. Kenobi has waited eagerly to watch them with his boys, and I finally relented and checked them out from the library.  (Note: the library is awesome.  Free movies!  And you can take them back!!)  Now the boys know more about the plots of long long ago in a galaxy far, far away than I ever care to know.  I recently saw this spif on youtube and thought it aptly summarized the movies.

but I digress...

Tonight is Halloween, and my kids are enamored with the Star Wars movies, so they are off in characters.  For the record, we have not shown them the "new" episodes, just the original three that came out when I was about their age.  Oy.

Here are a few photos for your amusement.  As I generally try not to post many pictures of them online, I may end up taking these down eventually, but I also know the majority of my readers quite well and the kids are in costume, so I thought you'd enjoy seeing them.

The Boys

Obi-Wan

Luke Skywalker

Ewok

Pumpkin

Happy Halloween.

-MamaToo

almost famous

Tonight, something will happen that almost didn't happen.  At least, it almost didn't happen to include us.  Let me tell you a little story about becoming (almost) famous...

Once upon a time, Mr. Kenobi was a tennis player. A very, very good tennis player.  He played through high school, and then was offered scholarship to play at a couple Division I universities.  He chose the one where we met because of its proximity to premier downhill skiing outstanding athletic and academic programs.  He then set out to meet his future wife become an engineer.

Something few people know about college tennis is that it's a bit unlike other sports, which have one season to compete, and then the pre/off-season training.  At the collegiate level, tennis players compete in the fall, generally as individuals at larger tournaments, and in the spring as a team. Because his program was in the northern Rocky Mountains, they had a lot of travel to play opponents - usually long drives in a crowded, stinky van full of other lanky tennis players. This travel comes at the expense of class time, and requires make-up tests, self-study, and lots of other dedication to academics, even while devoting a lot of time and energy to the sport.

This leads me to a point of pride for my hubby... College athletes, for a variety of reasons, commonly don't finish their degree in four years.  It often takes an extra year to complete the requisite coursework while they balance their obligations to athletics.  It is also a challenge to find a student athlete who graduates in engineering.  I won't speculate (here) why most athletes enroll in other programs, but let's just say that engineering professors aren't used to students like Mr. Kenobi.  Nonetheless, he was a stellar student as well as athlete, and completed his four-year degree in, well, four years.  While unusual, this doesn't make him famous, however.

So nowadays, especially recently, there is a lot of talk about NCAA rules.  If you've read stories like this recent problem at Boise State, you're probably tired of hearing how these programs can't (or don't) seem to abide by their own governing rules.  You may also be tired of the stories of criminal athletes, who are drawing scholarship money, auspiciously to "represent" the university, yet certainly aren't a beacon of inspiring character.  To oversimplify the way the rules work, both a university program (the coaches, athletic department, etc.) and the student-athletes are mutually accountable for following the rules.  If somebody breaks rules, everyone can lose.  When we were part of the college athletic system, NCAA violations didn't seem to make headlines often. I don't know that people were more honest or that the temptations were any less appealing, but there weren't constant news reports on college athletes and programs.  Further, a sport like college tennis rarely makes waves in the world of famous athletic programs at any time.  Yet sometimes, even without fame or tweets or spotlights or espn, there are defining moments in a person's character.

Mr. Kenobi played on the tennis team, and was a leader.  He wasn't the top player, but he always contributed solidly to the team's success.  At the start of his second year, a new coach came into the program.  He was charismatic, athletic, and seemed promising for the team.  He quickly liked Mr. Kenobi and things went well for a time.  Between the second and third year of college, we got engaged and started planning our future.  Things were good.

Unfortunately, Coach began to show cracks in his ethics and NCAA experience.  Coaching college athletics is a dangerous place for those weaknesses, and by midway into Mr. Kenobi's third year of school, there were big problems looming.  Violations, and potential violations, threatened with no apparent accountability in sight, and all of it weighed heavily on Mr. Kenobi.   If things didn't change, both the program and its athletes could face large consequences. He realized it and tried to address things with the coach.  He went directly and privately, and when things didn't change, he went again.  Then, he called together his teammates privately, and together they approached their coach.  And then, when things still weren't changing, he took a big risk.  He went to the athletic director.

Why a risk?  Well, the coach is an authority, and he could choose to cut a player from his team, effectively taking that athlete's chance to compete away (as well as his scholarship money).  The AD is an even higher authority, and could suspend players, even if the coach was at fault.  To keep quiet would have been easier, and Mr. Kenobi realized he was risking his opportunity to play, as well as his scholarship (which paid for an education he couldn't have otherwise afforded). Further, his younger brother played on the team.  Causing waves for himself could hurt his family.  This was a lot for the shoulders of a young man who had always been a tennis player, a guy who simply wanted to become an engineer and begin the next step of his life responsibly.  His identity was wrapped up in being a student athlete.  And in the moments that followed their decision, his world unraveled.

The coach was furious, and suspended him from the team.  An internal investigation of the program ensued.  Mr. Kenobi had to hire an advocate to petition his legal case for scholarship money.  It was unclear if he could remain at the school without winning that appeal, let alone his hopes to continue competing in tennis.  His brother, for reasons that were completely understandable, had to distance himself and try to remain on the team.  The other teammates - his best friends - were effectively cut off from him, and their training limped forward toward a season without their team leader.  Mr. Kenobi enrolled in the spring semester, but wasn't sure he would be able to go to class - his scholarship was not guaranteed and the out of state tuition was too much. It was incredibly stressful and isolating.

There have only been a handful of times I've watched tears form in Mr. Kenobi's eyes.  I remember those days, feeling truly helpless, seeing anger and grief and confusion wrap around his heart, threatening a stranglehold.  I also remember realizing that his entire identity was crashing.  This was a guy who was somebody on the tennis court, on the team, at the campus.  Now, he appeared to be losing it all.  Without athletics, he wasn't sure how to define himself.

Perhaps you can relate.
What happens when that thing that is part of your "definition of me" disappears or changes?
What does it mean when you lose your job, your career, your marriage, your dream, or...?
What is it to realize something you believed to be true and wonderful is fallible?

I'd love to tell you the rest of his personal story, but that is Mr. Kenobi's to share - ask him sometime if you know him.  Suffice it to say that he claims the enormous loss and incredible uncertainty of that time was one of the biggest blessings he's ever encountered.  And I, the beloved bystander, am eternally grateful for how things changed for him.

See, I don't care too much that he won his appeal on the scholarship, although I'm grateful we were able to keep him enrolled and complete his degree.  I'm also grateful we were not saddled with enormous debt from the process.  I was always proud of his athletic achievements, but it didn't change my life when he was reinstated on the team.  I was relieved when the coach left, and the university held to a high standard of ethics, especially because it opened an opportunity for our dear friend to assume the head coaching role.  In the perspective of an outsider, everything came back into place nearly as quickly as it all unraveled.  And yet, none of it was as monumental as the change that took place in those weeks and months of uncertainty.  My husband never returned to the student-athlete he was before things fell apart.  Instead, he became the man he is today, having weathered the storm and embracing a truer identity.

The following year, with a solid man of integrity coaching, Mr. Kenobi was team captain.  They trained, they studied, and they accomplished a lot of goals together.  He, together with his brother and teammates, did something especially remarkable that spring.  Something that had never been done - an accomplishment unmatched and worthy of some small measure of fame: they won the title of Big Sky Conference Champions.  It had never been done in the years of MSU tennis.  It is worthy of recognition, and tonight my husband, his brother, and all of those men who played that day will be inducted into the Montana State Hall of Fame.

"Where's the hall?" our boys have asked.  "The Hall of Fame - can we walk through it and see Daddy's picture or something?"

It's not a hallway.  There might be a picture, but mostly it's simply a recognition.  An award.  A congratulations and "thank you" from their school.  That's all.  Nothing more, nothing less.

In the recent weeks, I've seen Mr. Kenobi's world rocked in new ways.  I've seen tears pool in his eyes. He doesn't know how everything will turn out in the future, and there's a lot resting in the hands of a higher authority.  Meanwhile, his friends and family face their own upheaval.  Community scattered, marriages struggling, new and old lives facing fragile health and uncertain times.  I've wished for a team of best friends to rally around him, but they can't.  I've wished he and his brother were strong teammates in these struggles, the way they excelled and dominated opponents on the courts, but life isn't a tennis match.

So tonight, some - but not all - of that team from once upon a time will assemble at a football game in Montana.  They will receive the cheers of people, many of whom likely haven't heard of college tennis and most of whom have never heard of my husband.  They will be photographed, filmed, and properly celebrated.  I hope that each gets a moment to soak in the deserved pride and achievement of their days on the team at MSU.  I hope each has family to congratulate them, friends to offer high-fives, and somebody who is genuinely impressed, at least for that moment.

Meanwhile, back on the homestead, Mr. Kenobi will come home from his engineering job.  He will walk into our house, hopefully greeted with a few small smiles and running, leaping hugs.  He won't be in Montana.  After weighing the costs of travel required for our family (including newborn), he decided he didn't want to make the trip.  While he's still a member of that team and awarded into the Hall of Fame, he will not stand in the middle of that football stadium.  He will not be photographed.  If not for a few people who may read this or know it from other sources, he might not be congratulated.

That could make me sad for him.  I do wish we were in Montana tonight, but I can't argue with his logic in the decision.  He's not a guy who tries to get noticed, but he's a leader, through and through.  The world needs more people like him, and that makes me thankful we have three boys who can grow up in his influence.  I'm so proud of him.

I'm also grateful.  For somewhere in that experience of college athletics, Mr. Kenobi realized who he was.  His identity has very little to do with what he accomplishes, what he is paid, and who's in charge of his potential claims to fame.  He's truly the "team captain" around here - and like a solid doubles team, we are helping each other tackle each moment like a well-placed serve, yet also keeping one another's focus on the big picture.  When the band stops playing and the stadium lights dim, he's a man worth a bit of celebration.  He's somebody to remember, even if he's not quite famous.

stepping forward

With a diagnosis like Down Syndrome, there are many "next steps."  We have hardly had time to catch our breath since she was born, let alone return a phone call or update a blog.  Still, I'm thankful for these next steps because each one has reassured, empowered, or  educated us for the road ahead.  Here's a quick recap...

Blood Tests.  The diagnosis requires a full genetic panel of tests.  This came back confirming a Down syndrome, and eliminating some other (more rare and complicated) diagnosis.

More blood tests.  Her bilirubin was high (indicating jaundice), and her platelets were low (indicating her blood's inability to clot).  However, numerous doctors, nurses, and others felt the labs might be wrong, as she didn't show any signs confirming these problems.  More on this later.

More blood tests.  Thyroid tests have come back inconclusive.  In the womb, she received my thyroid hormone and antibodies, which are "wacky" due to my own thyroid disorder.  While mine is well-managed, it is still detectable in blood tests, which means we can't determine if she has a similar thyroid issue or if her levels are simply a reflection of her mother.  Another test in six months will tell us more.

More blood tests. Most other tests have come back wonderfully normal, eliminating (at least for now) worries of leukemia, metabolic disorders, and a range of other things more commonly found in babies like her.   Also, most recently, a third test confirmed that her platelets are in the normal range and the doctor feels no further concern of jaundice.

Do you notice that there have been a lot of blood tests?  This little girl has had quite a lot of blood drawn, sometimes with wonderful technicians, and other times with people who seem unaccustomed to newborns and their mamas.  It started at two days old, then at five days we had the biggest draw.  When some of the original numbers came back and caused concern, we were back again at 9 days, and again at one month.  It looks like the bulk of these tests is behind us at this point - there is one more scheduled at the end of September.

EKG and ECHO tests on her heart, complete with a visit with a Pediatric Cardiologist.  This is because nearly half of babies born with Down syndrome have heart defects, sometimes requiring surgery.  Obviously, nobody is eager for open heart surgery with her infant, and I was anxious for this appointment.  Our baby came out of it with wonderful news of a healthy heart and strong circulation.  We'll have a follow-up in a few more months to confirm that everything develops as expected, but this was a huge relief.

Lactation assistance.  I've breast fed all of my babies, and was determined to do the same with our youngest. She started out well, nursing and latching wonderfully, but days into her first week we realized that she was doing something odd while nursing, because (graphic warning here) it was getting pretty painful for me to nurse her and I began bleeding.  Ouch.  Fortunately, I have nursed babies before, and I knew this was not normal or something to just "deal with."  A quick call to our midwife (she came over right away) and a few simple adjustments later, and we were back on track.  By a week later, it was as if she'd never had any trouble at all and I was completely healed.  Now, she's eating (and growing) like a champ.

New pediatrician search.  Our family doctor, beloved and trusted as he is for us, recommended that we find a new pediatrician for our daughter.  He felt we should have somebody who worked with many other infants and children with Down syndrome, which is not the case for him.   There are wonderful, world-class specialists in our area, and he recommended finding a primary doctor with relationships and knowledge of those specialists, to help us access everything we can for the benefit of our child.  And, in a true sign of caring more about his patient than his bank account, our doctor told us that the cost associated with her healthcare could quickly drown us if we didn't have somebody who knew the "system" of dealing with insurance in these sorts of patients and their specialized care.  Frankly, I had many tears over this, but eventually was able to find a doctor I thought might work for us.  It was the hand of God, I'm convinced.  Not only is the new pediatrician a great fit and very experienced with children like our daughter, but he knows and highly respects our family doctor.  Yay!!

Early Intervention.  There are a variety of resources which can help encourage development, growth, and health in children with special needs.  In our case, these are available via an arm of the local school system and are free.  We have an appointment setup for an assessment, the first step in gaining access to professionals and programs we may need.

Community.  This is a long topic, and deserves its own post.  Hopefully I can do that soon.  Suffice it to say that our church, while disbanded from the local campus, has been connecting with us more lately.  What's more, we have many friends and family loving us well, encouraging us, and showing us incredible understanding.  We are blessed and very grateful.

Overall, our girl is incredibly healthy.  A normal baby, really.  She is eating well.  She's sleeping really well (oh - this is another good story - I'll try to write that soon, too).  She's getting her money's worth from our diaper service.  Life is hectic, full of appointments, but so far, so good.  I've said that each of my boys has a small folder with his medical info and history documents, but she has a three-ring binder.  She may end up with multiple binders.  As one who isn't a big fan of doctors, medical systems, or insurance rigamarole, this is a hard pill to swallow.  However, I'm learning and thankful each time we encounter somebody very kind, knowledgeable, and helpful.  I'm especially grateful that there are professionals out there who will help us navigate all of this.

There's more... much more.  Instead of writing right now, however, I'm going to go enjoy my family.  Love to yours,
MamaToo

beautiful

It was moments, literally, after her birth.  My midwife was on the phone with the birth center.  I had finished a shower and was dressed for our trip there.  Our daughter was snugly wrapped in a blanket on our bed, and my husband closely admired her with his perfect love.  I sat next to him and stared at my first - my only - daughter.

There are things that a somewhat-anonymous blog don't let you know about us.  For example, I try not to have a lot of photos posted, so you might not know that our boys look a lot like my husband.  Once in a while, people who knew me or my brothers as children might say that they resemble my side of the family. Otherwise, everyone seems to think the Obi-boys are little Matryoshka versions of Mr. Kenobi.  Another thing that many people don't know is that I never really hoped to be a mother - at least, not until I fell in love with Mr. Kenobi.  Now, four children later, I still find myself learning how to parent, and often realizing I never had dreams or visions or hopes or plans that many women spend years cultivating. 

So, when we found out we were having a girl this time, I didn't have many specific dreams for her life.  At least, there wasn't anything unusual from my hopes for any of my children. I didn't really want lots of pink, but I wasn't super-picky about clothes.  I didn't start imagining princess play and tea parties, nor dreading the drama or Bieber-crushes.  I may have thought about how sweet it would be to have a ballerina in the household, or looked forward to finally purging all that blue sports & dinosaur-themed clothing, but overall I just felt sort of in shock that I would actually have a girl.  

A daughter.  As the days got closer to her birth, I allowed myself some small daydreams. Maybe she'd like shopping with me.  Maybe she'd even look like me!  Maybe she'd have my curly hair, my oval face, or my long legs.  In the moments after her birth, there had been choruses of "she's beautiful" ringing in our bedroom.  When my husband and I sang the Doxology in breathless joy and he cut her umbilical cord, I had felt excitement to see her and certainty that I loved her.  But here I sat, fresh from birth, staring at my girl.  She didn't look like me.  She didn't look like our other babies.  She... I didn't recognize her.  She slept peacefully, and the newborn checks of heart rate, breathing, everything was "perfect," they said.  Still, I felt... well... something was wrong.  I'm not sure I said anything, but Mr. Kenobi whispered what I was thinking.

Her eyes - she kind of looks like she has Down Syndrome.

The shock hit me like a rip tide.  No.  That can't be it.  The rush of everything,,. a mix of horror and insult and grief and fear and "how could you say that?!?!" ran through my mind. I don't know.  It was overwhelming.  Mostly because I was really thinking, Did somebody just read my mind - out loud?

Mr. Kenobi was hushed, even awe-struck, maybe a tiny concerned, and yet totally and completely in love with her.  He looked at her and looked at me as if it was the happiest moment in his life. I couldn't look at him, for fear I'd burst into tears. I was trying to convince myself that it was all fine.  I felt numb and my mind raced, wondering why she didn't look like I expected.  I tried to tell myself that my mind was clouded from the surge of hormones and adrenalin of birth.  I was still reeling from the unbelievable birth experience, but if we could just get to the birth center, everything would be okay.  I'd have our daughter, she'd be beautiful just like they said she was, and everyone would come visit us and make us dinners and love our family.  If we could just get there...

We walked into the birth center.  We were the only family there, and the place was quiet, warm, and beautiful.  As we were welcomed and settled into the room, the midwife began checking me and our girl for vitals.  I stared at my sleeping girl.  We were at the birth center, but I didn't feel any different.  She had hardly opened her eyes, and I blurted out, "why aren't her eyes open?  Is there something wrong?"  The midwife suggested that the fast birth probably gave her plenty of swelling.  Her advice was meant to reassure - just wait it out today, and we'll surely have lots of time to stare at each other.  It wasn't satisfying for me to hear it, though.  There was something she wasn't discussing with me.  Her smile seemed uncertain.  I was sure of it. I wanted somebody to say those words again - Down Syndrome - or maybe I didn't.  I wanted somebody to say normal.  I also wanted people to stop saying, "beautiful." I couldn't see it.  I could just see, "unexpected."

I felt like a horrible mother.  I wanted to think she was the most beautiful, adorable, lovable human being to ever enter my life.  I wanted so desperately to stop looking for what might be wrong with her and start loving every bit of her.  She nursed, and I was relieved she latched so well, even as my toes curled and uterus contracted with each feeding.  She cuddled up close to me, and I prayed... please God, please... make her healthy... make me love her... what is wrong with us, God?   My head and heart felt like they were on a spin cycle.

I cried, too.  I'm not sure how many tears were just from sheer exhaustion and how much was from fear, uncertainty, and hopes that this was all some sort of dream. It felt like it could be a dream, but I knew it was all real.  I'd try to pray, but there were no words.  I felt completely empty, entirely tired, but I couldn't sleep.  I just stared at my baby.

One of our midwives came to visit us early in the morning.  She has a nurturing spirit and a contagious ease about her.  She listened as we recounted the birth story, laughing out loud as I described bagging blueberries, and sincerely honoring Mr. Kenobi for his care and calm presence during the birth.  She cuddled our girl, and lovingly studied her toes, chubby limbs, puffy cheeks, and full head of hair.  She listened to her heart and watched her tiny, rhythmic breaths.  "Perfect.  Wonderful.  Beautiful."  She left and promised to visit again soon.

Mr. Kenobi kept holding his girl, telling her how much he loved her.  Our boys arrived, eager to meet their sister.  It was love at first sight for all three.  Never have I been so proud of the Kenobi Obi's as when they sat together, clearly enamored with their sister, loving one another, and showering me with adoration. Their love for her was sincere, and incredible. Our family was the way we are supposed to be... for a moment, I forgot my fears and got swept up in the love in that room. With them there, our family felt exactly as I imagined.  In the days to come, my boys would be with their grandma much more than me, and I would long for them to be around - to bring some sense of normal to my topsy-turvy new life.  Through tears of those days, I would reassure my heart with memories of that first morning, before my life changed forever.

Our primary midwife came soon after the boys left.  I came out of the bathroom to see her arranging a lovely bouquet of flowers on the dresser.  "Oh, those are beautiful!"  I exclaimed. "Thank you."  She seemed mildly annoyed with the arrangement, and muttered that one of the center blooms wasn't very fresh once separated from the wrapped arrangement.  It wasn't like her to show anything but perfect calm or optimism around me.  Maybe it was just lack of sleep.  The flowers looked great to me.  I assured her it was still beautiful, but she commented, "It's just not what I expected.  I was hoping it would be perfect."

The words hung in the air heavily as she then smiled at me and asked to hold our daughter.  She cooed and ahhed over her, and asked how were were doing after such an amazing night and birth.  She checked us both for vitals and healing.  She made small talk.  And then, she sighed and looked into my eyes.

"I have to talk to you about something.  After I checked you in here, I left with a hitch in my spirit.  I called A (the other midwife who'd been in earlier) to talk about things.  We're not certain, and A thinks it may be nothing, but I see signs of chromosomal abnormalities...  There are tests to run and things to consider in the days to come, but you should know that she's wonderfully healthy and doing great.  And she's beautiful..."  She said a lot more.  She told us that there were some traits that made her think it could be Down Syndrome, but again she and A were not certain because of the many traits our daughter did not seem to have.  It could be something to diagnose, or nothing at all.  We'd need to consult our pediatrician and do some tests, but there was no need to transfer or do that today.  For now, we were doing well and healthy. 

I was crying.  She told us she knew this wasn't what we expected, but she believed everything happens for a reason.  She went on... Something about our journey and love and our perfect family and blessings... I have no idea.  I'm sure it was lovely and kind.  I was sobbing and couldn't hear a thing. Mr. Kenobi, tears in his eyes, held me close and sat quietly, listening.  My heart was breaking.  My spirit felt crushed.  My exhausted body could no longer take it.  My daughter, yet unnamed by her parents, had received a new identity in my mind.  Chromosomal Abnormalities.

I later told my midwife that the birth center should turn off its wi-fi before delivering news like that.  It was Saturday afternoon, and I'd had about 4 hours sleep since Thursday morning.  I'd birthed a child in a matter of minutes, at home with my husband.  I'd spent hours alone in the hours before dawn, staring at a newborn girl who didn't stare back.  And now, I'd been told she was different at the cellular level. After I calmed down from our midwife's visit, I did the most logical next thing: I googled.

Of course, bleary-eyed me found long lists from my internet search.  Within moments, I'd seen good Down Syndrome links, but there were others, too.  At one of them, I thought I saw something about a mother's hypothyroidism being the cause of genetic disorders.  I have hypothyroidism, and so of course I hastily believed that I was the reason our daughter had a lifetime of health, cognitive, developmental, and identity challenges.  It's all my fault.  I've done this to her! I ran to the shower, and sobbed uncontrollably for what seemed like hours, as the water ran over my head.  Later, much later, I would learn that hypothyroidism is a potential health concern, but not a suspected cause, for children with Down syndrome.

Poor Mr. Kenobi.  And poor baby.  In those hours, where my broken heart and madness nearly took over, he steadily loved her and me.  His compassion and strength were unfailing.  If it were not for my husband, I'm certain somebody would have hauled me into a straight-jacket.  The hours of that day are a blurry, muddled memory.  There were phone calls to parents, there were visits from the boys, and there were tears... many tears.   Between the tears, mostly during the visits, there were forced smiles meant to convince our visitors that I was happy.  We didn't want to tell anyone yet.  I couldn't bring myself to say it out loud. What if our midwife's concerns were wrong?  What if our daughter really was just "swollen from birth?"  What if...

As evening fell, I put my baby against my chest and crawled under the covers.  I wanted to bond with her even though all my previous attempts left me in tears and emptiness.  As we laid there, I could feel her little breaths, hear her tiny sighs in rhythm with Mr. Kenobi's deep sleep beside us.  Her body was so fragile, and yet she stirred intently.  I sat up, figuring she wanted to nurse, and looked at her face.  Her eyes were open.  And for the first time since her birth, she stared at me.  With both eyes, steady newborn-grey, she looked at me.  I stared back in silence. There was so much I wanted to be able to tell her.  I wanted to say I love you.  I wanted to tell her about her brothers and family.  I wanted to say she was beautiful.  But I couldn't.  I just stared back, hoping to hear something, to feel something, for this little one.  She seemed to recognize me.

Mama!  Don't you recognize me?  I'm your daughter!  I'm the one who kicked you as you watched Leno late last night.  I'm the one who was still as you picked pounds of blueberries.  I'm the one with the heartbeat that sounds like rushing wild horses - the sound you couldn't ever tire of hearing at prenatal appointments.  I couldn't wait to meet you - I came days early and in record speed.  I am your daughter.  Don't you recognize me?

I stared at her and began to commit her face to my mama-memory. It was the first in many healing, sweet moments. There would be other times of great perspective, peace, and rest in the next couple days at the birth center.  Friends would visit and look at her carefully, then pronounce her, "beautiful."  Some would ask, "does she look like your boys did?" but none would hear our suspicions about her health in those days and none would voice their own in our presence.  We skyped with my parents, sharing what we knew but also holding out hope that it might not be as predicted.  We began to adjust and think hopefully, without really knowing what we hoped for. We even posted a couple photos on facebook.  And then, I got an email...

"... I just have to ask, MamaToo... was your daughter born with Down syndrome?..."

It came from a good friend whose young daughter has Down syndrome.  She had seen our photo online, and wondered.  Her letter was perfect, lovely, supportive, and kind, but it struck dread in my heart.  If she could see it in one photo, it must be true.  If she noticed, than others were probably noticing too.  Maybe that's why so few people were calling... or visiting... Our church services were Sunday, and we figured we'd hear from people as the news broke, but so far we hadn't.

Turns out, ours was not the biggest news for our little church family that weekend.  As our community came together for a worship service and a meeting, they received an announcement.  Our campus, which is one of four locations for our church, was closing.  The reasons made sense, but the timing sent shock waves.  This was the last service.  Everyone was invited to come to other services and campuses in the weeks to come.  There was a time of questions and comments.  They took communion together, sang a song of praise, and hugged one another goodbye.  Meanwhile, we sat in a birth center and stared at our daughter, oblivious to the events unfolding for our church family.  We would not know the news until a couple days later.  When we found out, it was through an email.  The support system, the friends, the community we had one assumed would ride this wave with us.. well, they were all now in the turmoil of their own losses and change.

I often cope with big unknowns by making a list of the things I can do, however small, and taking care of each item. By the time we left Monday morning, we had a pediatrician appointment setup to begin some tests.  We had also named our daughter (a process that took a couple days).  Someday I'll share more about her name, but for now this story has gotten long enough. A friend had arranged for some meals to be delivered to us in the next days.  The diaper service had been called.   We dressed our little girl in her "going home" outfit (also known as her "going to" outfit) and hugged the midwives.  Then we walked out the door.  As I sat in the car while Mr. Kenobi double-checked the latch of the carseat, I felt waves of uncertainty flood over me and spill out my tear ducts.  It just felt like I was taking somebody else's baby home.  Yet at the same time, I knew that she was mine, and I was starting to love her, and even beginning to believe that she was beautiful.  I took a deep breath and held my husband's hand on the drive home.

So, this is the story of how an unattended, unplanned home birth was only the beginning of many unexpected things in our life.  It is the story about how family is precious and health can be uncertain.  It is an unfinished story, and it is already too long in this entry so I will have to wait to share some of the more hopeful and interesting things with you in days to come.  However, because my writing can be notoriously sporadic, I will share a few final details.

First, genetic tests have now confirmed our daughter has Down syndrome.  She also has her mothers' love for deep sleep and my long fingers and toes.  She has the calm demeanor of her dadda, and takes after her brothers in her ability to put on weight quickly in early weeks.  In short, she is doing great, and I'm doing better than I was on that first weekend.  I'm falling in love with my daughter, and catching up to her father's adoration and sweet love of her brothers.

At the advice of pediatricians and others, we have decided not to share much about this diagnosis with her brothers.  To them, and I quote, "she's the cutest, most wonderful-est baby in the whole world."  And to be honest, she really is a pretty remarkably unremarkable baby.  She eats, she sleeps, and she poops.  She's healthy, she's growing, and aside from a lot of doctor check-ins and tests, there's nothing unusual about her at this point.  If you're one of our friends or parents of our kids' friends, we trust you'll respect our choice on this and leave us to navigate the whens & hows of sharing more with our children.

That said,we've started to tell some adult people about her diagnosis, but we're quickly realizing everyone has their own questions, concerns, and even grieving/processing to do as they take in the unexpected reality of our news.  Also, there is the added complications of no regular moms' groups, school activities, or church services to see people in one place.  Our friends and family are spread all over the world, in many time zones, on many cell phone carrier plans.  Add to this the human limitations of talk-time in the midst of our busy family, doctor visits, and the all-elusive sleep, and we've gone a few weeks without sharing our story with many people. So, I'm going to try to write more here, to give updates to more people in one shot, but still offer it somewhat personally.

Truthfully, that is hard for me, because as much as I love the convenience of blogs and facebook for sharing news, I've also had the unfortunate experience of somebody using these technologies as weapons against my heart.  It makes me more cautious, and less eager, to share online.  It's funny.  You can diagnose something like "chromosomal abnormalities."  You cannot, or at least usually do not, get a diagnosis for, "thinks too much about what others think" or "cares how people judge her," nor, "carries the pain of hurtful words."  Yet in the realm of disabilities and problems of this lifetime, these can be far more crippling than Down syndrome.  I should know.  I've struggled to give up worrying about others' opinions for years, and it is often a battle I limp away from with scars and wounds.  In the past three weeks, however, I've felt like God is literally lifting this burden from me.  As a result, I'm sharing in this blog, and will try to continue to do so.

Thanks for reading, praying, loving, and understanding.

Love,
MamaToo

and then there were four

Some of you may remember that having a baby takes time for me... lots, and lots, of time.  So, when I felt a few easy contractions start up this time, I disciplined myself to stay relaxed and try to rest early.  It was a little before midnight on Friday evening and realistically, and I knew we'd be lucky to meet our little girl before the end of the weekend.  Still, I text-messaged my midwife to let her know that maybe, just maybe, this was really the beginning of labor.  She wisely reminded me to get some rest and keep her posted.  I settled next to my slumbering husband and tried to go to sleep.

A bit over an hour later, my mind was filling with "to do's" - things I wanted to make sure were wrapped up around the house before we left have a baby.  In spite of wisdom calling me to stay in bed, I got up, convinced that I could settle my mind in a warm, steamy shower.  Contractions continued, seemingly "organizing" a bit into an evenly spaced, hardly noticeable rhythm of labor.  Still over 15 minutes apart, I knew this was (at best) very early labor, and so I enjoyed a leisurely shower.  Long, hot showers are a bit of a luxury when your "career" is full-time mama of little boys.  So, wee hours of morning or not, I really enjoyed it.

As I left the downstairs bathroom, I noticed a few large containers of blueberries.  We had just picked about 25 lbs the day before, and I had not gotten them into bags (and the freezer).  Realizing that if labor actually progressed overnight, I wouldn't be able to finish that project, I stopped and began bagging blueberries.  (Yes, it was a little before 2 AM.  Yes, this made sense to me at the time.  Rest, schmest.)  As I began organizing ziploc bags, however, I noticed that the contractions felt a little uncomfortable and seemed a little closer together.  

I headed upstairs to time things, and found contractions, though still mild were now around 10 minutes apart and maybe - just maybe - this labor would not take all weekend.  I decided that I should have Mr. Kenobi call his mom, who lives about an hour & a half away, to let her know we could need her to come stay with the boys before they got up in the morning.  When I woke him, I also asked him to send a message to the midwife to let her know I was predicting we'd want to head to the birth center within the next few hours, as I didn't want to labor too long at home and have to get in the car when things were difficult.

He called both his mom and the midwife.  Everyone would be ready for us within an hour or so, and we could speed up the timeline if I wanted.  At this point, I noticed that stacked in neat piles, around the border of our bedroom, were stacks of clean laundry.  I had spent much of the prior day purging  maternity clothes and larger-sized diapers from their places, making space for the infant-sized diapers in the changing station and (hopefully) smaller-sized, normal clothes for me.  Since it was still over a week to my due date, I had not packed much into the small bag I planned to take to the birth center.  I decided to find the baby's "going home" outfit and a few things for myself.  In the process, contractions actually started to get uncomfortable, a good sign that things were moving along.

Before I had found my shampoo and a couple blankets for the bag, however, I decided that I'd rather get to the birth center than stay around the house much longer.  The contractions seemed closer together and I was certain this was progressing into "real" labor.  I asked Mr. Kenobi to call the midwife back and ask her to meet us earlier, and call our neighbor to stay with the boys until his mom arrived.  While he felt I was probably overly excited, he obliged.  My midwife asked if he'd prefer she come to us, in case we felt labor was really progressing quickly.  He asked me, and we both assured her that we really wanted (and were able) to get to the birth center for the more difficult stages of labor.  Our neighbor said he'd be there within 10 minutes, and Mr. Kenobi told him it would take us at least that long to get the car loaded and ready to leave.  This was around 2:45 am.  Our three Obis slept soundly in their room down the short hallway from our bedroom.

I headed to the bathroom while Mr. Kenobi tried to help finish my bag-packing task.  As I rounded the doorway back into our room, I told him that this was starting to get hard to handle.  Labor was progressing faster than I'd ever experienced - after all, it was only a couple hours from the first sign of contractions, and I was feeling like these were coming quite quickly and getting painful.  He calmly reassured me, and softly advised me to breathe deeply and relax; we'd get to the birth center soon and I'd have a wonderful, beautiful birth.  He also dialed our midwife to give an update.  "Let's go downstairs and get in the car, honey.  We're not far and Mr. L (our neighbor) will be her in a minute."  He took my hand to help steady me and I was reminded how much I can rely on his wise, strong, calm presence at all times, but especially in moments like this.

As he spoke, my heart and mind calmed but my body launched into a massive contraction.  I stood by my bed, and tried to remain focused through it.  Suddenly, I looked at my husband in surprise and said, "I think this baby is coming quickly!  I can't go get in the car!  I don't want to ride anywhere."  

My husband spoke calmly and deliberately: "it's okay, sweetie.  You're doing great and you've got time.  Just take a breath in - nice, deep breath."  He had my cell phone cradled on his shoulder and dialing.

Another contraction followed quickly as I hissed my reply to his "breathe in" advice: "I CANNOT SUCK HER BACK IN!!"

"Oh my gosh!  There's a head!"  Mr. Kenobi, ever calm but obviously shocked, held out his hands to help me as the phone dropped on the ground.  I could faintly hear our midwife's voice from the speaker.  With little more than a single, difficult contraction, our daughter was emerging into this world.  Mr. Kenobi began grabbing from the pile of clean, large cloth diapers behind me, and said something about me being tall and distance to the floor.  I lowered myself a little closer to our bedroom carpet as I felt another contraction, and found my husband "catching" our daughter and quickly (expertly, even) checking her umbilical cord to make sure it wasn't wrapped around her.  A small cry and snarfly breath later from our baby, and we looked at each other in shock.

Our child was beautiful, breathing, and very much here.  Time was spinning fast.  I held her and began trying to rub her skin with blankets and keep her close to me for warmth.  Mr. Kenobi picked up the phone to hear the midwife say she was around the corner and offer some instructions for the next few minutes.  Our neighbor knocked on the door, and my husband let him in, saying, "The baby is here.  Could you stick around and keep the dog downstairs?"  Bless Mr. L, he did stay - even offering to help if we needed anything.  He was an amazing sport, though I'm pretty sure we may have traumatized him forever.  The boys, meanwhile, were still sleeping.

Our midwife arrived within a few minutes, and hustled upstairs to check out me and our little "Princess Leia." The umbilical cord had started to cease pulsing, offering the last surge of oxygen-rich nourishment to our baby.  Mr. Kenobi was offered the chance to "cut the cord."  Since he'd already delivered the baby, I suppose that was a little anti-climatic, but still a special privilege.  The midwifery team helped me complete delivery of the placenta and began newborn checks, and both of us proved healthy and well.  Ever practical, I looked at my midwife and quipped, "I suppose I'm going to have to replace this carpeting."  Birth is, after all, a notoriously messy endeavor, and I'd just had an unplanned home birth in my bedroom.  She laughed and just congratulated us on a "very natural" childbirth.

Within a half hour or so, I went to take a quick shower while the midwives cleaned up my room.  Thanks to my lack of task-completion (leaving piles of cloth diapers on the floor), everything had actually been completely contained on washable linens.  Before I returned to my room they had put everything into the wash.  There was literally no evidence that anything unusual had happened in my room.  My girl is speedy AND tidy.  Sweet!  

While I showered, Mr. Kenobi sat nearby in case I needed anything.  The adrenalin of the past two hours (an endorphin rush that is supposed to help a woman naturally labor through transition and final stages of labor) was beginning to hit me now, and I felt a burst of energy.  "Well," I said, "I guess I can check 'have a baby' off my to-do list for today.  What do I do now?  I'm awake - maybe I could finish those blueberries!  Or, I could put on makeup.  We are going to take some pictures, right?" I think Mr. Kenobi nearly fell off his seat as he laughed out loud. My husband and I are nothing if not a really good team with a common sense of humor.

I returned to my room, held my baby, and looked to the midwives as they laid out the next options.  "Well, you're both doing great.  If you'd like we can keep monitoring everyone and you can get ready to head to the birth center."  YES!  I may have had a home birth, but I was headed to the most wonderful B&B-like experience anyway.  Every mama should get to have a baby in that sort of space and nurturing environment, really.  A complete team of midwives, post-partum doulas, lactation experts, and massage therapists would care for me and our daughter during the next three days.  My husband would hang out with us, our boys and family would get to visit, all in a homey and beautiful sanctuary of baby bliss.  Andaluz Birth Center, I *heart* you and your people.

While incredibly weird to load a newborn into her "going home" outfit and car seat to take her TO the birth center, we went anyway.  And three days later, we put her back in that outfit and car seat to head back to the place of her birth. 

In the end, all that really matters in this long story are these four words: We. Had. A. Baby.  A beautiful baby girl is now part of our family.  Mama and daughter are doing well, older Obi's love her to pieces, and Dada will forever get to tell the story of catching her in his protective, loving arms - the first act in a lifetime of care for his girl.  Two parents, four kids, a dog, a fish, four chickens, awesome neighbors, and incredible extended family.  Our life overflows with blessings. Welcome home, little one.

road tips part 1: packing

So, within the past 24 hours, I've had three people ask me for insight and ideas on traveling with kids.  Instead of responding to each of them separately with way too much information, I'm going to put some thoughts and experience here, in a few sections, and then anyone can take or leave what is useful!

By the way - I love traveling with our family.  We've gone all over the country and even ventured into rural Mexico and urban Canada with the kids.  We've camped, we've flown, we've driven, and we've generally had a great time.  Most of these tips are from experience, tried and refined, or outright stolen from family and friends who are more experienced than I.  Hopefully it's helpful for you!

While most of my tips are centered around preparation and packing, I'm going to break it down a little into the "stuff" vs. "living" portions.  Today, planning, picking, and packing stuff...

ROAD RULES of PACKING:

Rule #1: Less Is More.

Pack what you need, enjoy what is offered, and live within your means.

Rule #2: Be Like Santa.

Make a list and check it twice (at least).

Rule #3: Ziploc is Your Friend.

Really.

Rule #1: Less is more.  Keep this in mind when planning the number and variety of activities per day, how many items to take, or what to bring for each individual.  As you plan, find ways to share and cooperate as a family, and plan to restock if needed along the way.  More than just "getting along," cooperation means that, whenever possible, everyone uses the same items (soap, toothpaste, etc.), does the same things (stops, entertainment, etc), and stays together.

Pack like items together.  For example: 

• put everyone's night-time toiletries in one bag/container, instead of separating each person's stuff
• pack a first aid kid, for day-to-day needs to emergency supplies (more details below)
• have a binder for all of your documents, receipts, plans and maps

Plan for items to have multiple uses.  For example:

• for road trips, pack clothes in rubbermaid tubs rather than luggage (they're easily more stacked in a car trunk or at a host home)
• take clothing that can be layered, and things that can be worn as easily to a casual dinner with the relatives as on a quick hike or shopping trip
• consider giving each child (especially young ones) a specific "color" to wear on your trip, so that their clothes mix & match, and can be laundered easily (this was also helpful for our kids when we were in Mexico, since the boys were easier for others to tell apart)
• take toys or entertainment that everyone can enjoy, and leave anything that could endanger one of your family at home
• take an extra pillow case for holding dirty laundry; take your own pillow for comfort
• take a couple of towels - for drying off after an impromptu run in the park sprinklers, mopping up spilled coffee in the car, or (heaven forbid) wrapping up a barfy or poopy child
• take a simple, biodegradable soap for quickly washing/stain-treating laundry, bodies, utensils, or general cleanup (i.e. castile soap)
• pack an "overnight" bag or bin for everyone's must-have items (pj's, basic toiletries, change of underwear, etc)  If you're flying, make this a carry-on.

Final thoughts on this all-important Rule:

1. Take nothing that is irreplaceable.  This includes favorite toys, heirloom sweaters, prized sports memorabilia, etc.  I consider library books in this category, so we don't take things we've borrowed.  If you gain something irreplaceable along your way, consider mailing it home instead of packing it for the rest of the journey (and potentially losing/damaging the item). 
2. Use travel size containers for as many items as possible.  I wasn't always a fan of travel-size items, but after several journeys, I'm a believer.  Ask your hosts if you can refill things (i.e. shampoo) or simply take a couple little packs rather than a single larger version.  This will minimize the damage from spills, limit loss if you forget an item, and conserves space (you likely won't need an entire full-size bottle on your trip!)  TIP: you can use small plastic food containers or baby food jars instead of buying travel-size bottles and save $$.
3. If taking a baby, pack enough diapers for your days of actual travel, plus 1 extra day's worth (for a newborn, plan on about 8-10 diapers per day, for older babies, plan on 5-6 diapers a day).  When you arrive at your destination, purchase diapers (or ask your hosts to get them ahead of time) to use for the duration of your stay and travel back home.  Or, if you're taking cloth diapers... um, I dunno.
4. Take sunscreen and bug spray, etc. that is safe for everyone in your family, and use it on everyone.  Nothing says "ruined vacation" like west nile virus or 2nd degree burns.
5. Take only one hat for each person (unless you're attending a wedding in London).  
6. Plan to re-wear (if needed) pants, and maybe socks.  (Or, like my kids, just don't wear socks.)  Pack fewer shoes than you think you'll need, and prioritize comfort.
7. Take an extra shirt and extra underwear in your carry-on or overnight bag.

Rule #2: Be Like Santa - make a list and check it twice (at least)

• Label everything you take.    

Label your luggage or bins, your clothes, your ziploc bags of snacks, your purse, your medicine, your binder (more later), your cell phone, your cell phone charger (to tell apart from somebody else's charger),  your ziploc clothes bags (more later...), your first aid kit categories (more later...), your toys, etc.  Yeah, that too... Label it.

• Have an "inventory" list of what you've packed for each category (i.e. toiletries, toys, clothing, jewelry, books, etc.) so you'll know if something is missing before you depart.  You may want to attach this list to the top of your packing container or luggage.

I know this probably sounds like over-kill on organization.  Trust me, packing up at each destination is much easier if you know what goes where, what you brought, and what you're taking.  In our travels, it's hard to coordinate lots of people, sometimes lacking rest and interest, with varied attention to detail, to pack things up effectively. Don't leave these sorts of tasks to your brain alone!

• Put together a "Trip Binder" to keep important papers in one, protected place.  In this binder, I suggest keeping some or all of these pages:

Include your planned budget and an expense-tracking sheet(s).  Also have a large envelope (or pocket sheet protector) to hold all of your receipts in one place.  If you're driving, keep a mileage log and/or vehicle expenses space in your tracking sheets.

Include a list of emergency contacts from home (your doctor(s) info, medical insurance numbers, bank, credit card company, neighbor, dog-watcher, dog watcher-watcher, etc).  

Include an itinerary, with maps and printed directions to your destinations/accommodations.   Yes, this is even (especially?) if you have GPS!  Also write down your hosts' phone numbers.

Include confirmation numbers and printed copies of receipts if you reserve and/or pre-pay for rooms, events, sites, or other items.   

Include a photocopy of important documents, like passports, insurance cards, front/back of credit cards, prescriptions, etc. in case you must replace something on the road.

Include a copy of any schedules and contact numbers for people or pets you've left behind.  We keep a calendar to track house-sitters, work substitutes, dog-watchers, etc. with the contact info for each person, just in case something has to be communicated or changed while we were gone.

Include a few blank cards, envelopes, and stamps to send thank-you's or other needed notes from the road.  For your kids, you may want to pick up postcard stamps so they can write and send notes to friends back home.

Include something for comic relief.  Sometimes, you need a little something to get you through a challenging stretch of travel - say, an airline delay or road construction slow-downs.  It could be a list of jokes, riddles, or silly song lyrics.  It could be story starters or travel games.  It could be a list of tourist stops you don't plan on using, but might if you have time or need a diversion (Wall Drug, anyone?).

Rule #3: Ziploc is Your Friend.  Really.
At home, we don't use plastic storage much.  When traveling, we use it for everything.  People have laughed at me - outright mocking me with jokes (some were even funny).  Then, they called me later and said, "how do I do this?" as they planned their own journeys.  Laugh on, friends...

1. Pack toiletries together by category in a ziploc bag.  Have a bag per type of use (i.e. bathing, teeth, makeup, hair, etc.)
2. Clothes.  Yes, in ziploc bags.  
1. In a gallon-size ziploc bag, put one complete outfit (easiest in the summer), complete with clean underwear and socks.  As I say, if the underwear is in there, your kids have to make a real choice not to wear clean ones each day!  
2. Pack as many of outfits as you need for each person, each in its own bag.  
3. Put the bags in luggage or a rubbermaid container (see above) for each family member (or share a couple people to each - this method really saves space!) 
4. When you arrive at a destination, you can either take your entire luggage/containers in with you, or just grab one bag per person and your overnight bag, and head inside.  
3. Put each person's pajamas in its own ziploc bag.  Put pajama bags in your overnight luggage, so you don't have to rifle through everything to find jammies.  Also keep your toiletries in the overnight luggage.
4. Label your clothing bags with names, and (especially if flying), put a few outfits for each person in each piece of luggage.  If luggage is lost en route, you'll likely each have something to wear for a few days.
5. Put swimsuits, along with goggles, hats, etc. for each person in their own ziploc bags.  When you get to a pool, simply give each person his/her suit.  Dry clothes are stored in the bag while you swim, and wet suits are stored in the bag afterward (you'll want to dry those later on!)
6. Put toys or entertainment objects of similar type in a ziploc bag, and label the contents.  For example "6 matchbox cars," in one bag, or "barbie and three outfits,""board books,""ipod and charger," or "deck of playing cards" each in its own bag.  Limit kids to only a few types of entertainment items, and put their ziplocs in their own, small bag.

And finally, (at least for this installment)...

The First Aid Kit for Travel:
**Separate "like items" into categories (suggestions below), and place in small, labeled ziploc bags.  Then, pack all of the bags together in a single, easily accessed kit. **

"Bumps and Scrapes" bag

band-aids, neosporin, arnica, disinfecting wipes, instant ice/heat pack, etc.

"Fevers and Pain" bag

tylenol, advil, midol, teething gel, etc.

"Allergies and Medications" bag

hydrocortisone cream, benadryl, eye drops, epi-pens, etc.

"Digestive and Motion" bag

dramamine, antacids, mints, pepto, etc.

other categories as needed...

????

"Distract and Divert" bag

gum, lollipop or hard candy, tiny bubbles bottle, stickers, etc to help distract and divert little people's attention from an injury, drama, or treatment.

Ufdah!  That's a lot for one topic, but hopefully there's something useful here!  In the next installment, I'll talk a bit about ideas for saving money, time, and stress in feeding your family while traveling.  Until then, happy planning!