Valentine's Day

It's been so long I can hardly remember how to log in and blog...I did notice the other day that people actually still check here, so thought I'd send out a pulse, especially in honor of one of my favorite days of the year (and this blog's 7th anniversary!).

Thanks to everyone who still visits here, sending lots of l-o-v-e.

Recital weekend!

This weekend we had back to back recitals for yes, the oldest child. I tried my hardest to get Elsa enrolled in ballet with Heidi the moment she was officially housebroken, but it was too late in the season and they would not allow it.  However, I did order two costumes, and on recital day Elsa also enjoyed receiving a tutu and wearing it to watch her sister.  Next year, Elsa, next year!

Why are we doing this?  I often ask myself this when we look at the time, money, and effort we are putting into these activities.  She is young.  She is supposed to be outside playing, entertaining herself, analyzing the movements of roly-polies and blowing bubbles. She does plenty of that. My original parenting dream was to have my kid involved in one music and one sport for at least 5 years to develop discipline and expertise in on area over a sustained period.  I didn't expect us to start so early, but Heidi sort of led the way when she showed so much interest in ballet at age 2...we started violin because even with all the play, I needed more for her.  She is inquisitive and needs projects and challenges; she has an ear for music, and I like to try new things, so this is where we seem to be.  I don't really know where it will take us or if it will actually last, but it's a lot of fun so far. 

Thanks to husband for filming these, for encouraging and believing in this, and for the hard hours he puts in to give our children the blessing of music and dance.  None of this would be possible without him.  And thanks to my folks and precious Grandma Mil for coming out and supporting us!

The kids are still winding down.  And next will be wedding week!

Elsa Turns 3

Just dashing off to worship God, but couldn't help sharing one of His best gifts to me:  Elsa Joy who turned 3 this week!  Suddenly she is all grown up, using words like "impessed!"  and dashing us all with her quirky cuteness and fighting spirit.  A consistent theme of her life has been a strong (not always gentle, but very strong) love for little creatures and animals of every kind.  Since seeing Toy Story 3, she has been all about the cowgirl, maybe because it's probably the anti-thesis of princess and being a little sister is all about finding your own identity....we went out to a pony farm yesterday to celebrate her birthday--all props go to Nana on that, I promise to get a picture of the cake!

Ever Striving:Repentance

I've had trouble this year sitting down to blog. It's not that I don't want to, it's just that I have forgotten what else to say besides admitting to being constantly exhausted and overwhelmed, in short, complaining. I feel like I don't deserve to blog, don't deserve to have thoughts other than what needs to be done and feeling shame for what hasn't been done. I've said here before that this past year has been hard, I think every blog post has touched on that and I know that this time of life is just plain hard, in very physical ways.

But the truth is that often it is just my sin that makes it hard. It is my own refusal to accept the Gospel, that I am free from the inner chorus of condemnation, that my song is to be one of praise and thanksgiving rather than guilt that I don't have it all together and never, ever will. That's right, I never will.

Lent for me began with good intentions, giving up certain things to focus more on Christ, and for the first two weeks, it worked great. Then, I failed. The spirit was willing, the flesh always weak. Then I think, I am not alone. Perhaps that's what lent reminds us of--that we will probably fail, and that if we do not fail, the failure will be found in our pride that we did not "fail." And when I failed, the Gospel set in, reminding me that we will never keep the law perfectly, and that there, in my failure, is where the reality of Christ's victory becomes true For Me. That is what lent teaches me, and that is why, as Easter approaches, I am more ready than ever to shout "He is Risen!"

But this year in particular I received a special gift: our computer memory was getting too full, and so we had to go into emergency filmmaking mode, so over the past few days I've been looking at our cinematic records. I'm stunned at how much time has past since we crossed the threshold into parenting. I have gone from being the expert at marriage and family to knowing full well and shamelessly that I have failed at both, repeatedly. And that I will continue to do so.

I asked Oliver recently what my biggest issue is and he said it perfectly, exactly what I know in my heart: I have these ideals, these perfect pictures of how I want things to be and when reality doesn't match I go off into the dark side. I need to start going to the Cross instead.

But when I look at what I have been given, the greater reality is that He continues to give, continues to pour out blessing after blessing, regardless of the state of my heart or even my awareness of what is going on.

I'm so thankful for these videos. Because of the nature of my line of work, there is very little that I can remember or ponder deeply from day to day, it's hard to think clearly during those few moments I might have with the Lord or my own heart, or even with a dear friend. But as I view the footage, I can see His good gifts, so many of them, and even more, I can see that I saw them. I'm so thankful for every moment that I was compelled to pick up the camera and celebrate my family, my precious community. I don't remember deciding to take most of these videos, but somehow as things were happening, I knew it was a precious moment, a moment worth living for because He found me worth dying for.

And I want to take hold of it all even closer, love harder, laugh more, and give more thanks. Here is another old video, one I've posted before, but as I watched it again, celebrating my sweet middle child, it seems symbolic of the things I am thankful for, what has been given, and also where I feel so often that I am. Tottering onward and upward, ever striving, ever more thankful for what has already been Won.

He is Risen.

He Crawls

Well, sort of...

Waking Up.

Last night I got six hours of sleep. Like in a row. I did wake up at 2:30. I heard no baby crying. A two year old joined us, as she has been since her brother was born. She has a certain way of coming into our bed, stepping right up over the foot of the bed in the center, like she is stepping onto a platform, marching through us and flopping down on her back with a contented sigh. Last night in particular she was whispering. Fervently. Not too loud, but present. I tuned into what she was saying: "And please help Mommy, and Daddy, and Peetah, and Heidi....and Una, and Nana, and Gamps."

Little soul was praying.

On my bed I remember You, I think of you through the watches of the night.--Psalm 63

It's nice that my little one is on a prayer watch.

I digress. So I got six hours of sleep. Peter has moved into his own room, telling me loud and clear that he was ready. It was so easy, but I miss him already. I know a lot of people don't sleep with their babies. I know it's each to his own, etc. I know that probably much of the reason I fell into the habit was because of my firstborns' surgical birth and the difficulty of moving the weeks after.

But really, a major reason that I sleep with my babies? I don't want to miss a minute. The rest of their lives I know I will be daydreaming about those silent (oh, yes, silent) moments when all we could hear was our breathing, when my hand rose and fell on your back, when we spent whole nights with you just there under my chin, just breathing. When feeding and sleeping were part of each other and our own tiny universe that lasted all night long. I love waking up to a little smiling face instead of a distant cry, I love this time. I miss it already.

But wow, those six hours of sleep felt like a week of vacation. I had no idea how sleep-deprived I was. Because really, when I thought about it, pregnancy doesn't allow for great sleep either--so really last night was the best night I've had, maybe in about a year. This explains so much.

Once again, I actually have some energy to blog.

We'll see.

Christmas Cheer

A gift to our most dedicated readers. The usual disclaimer goes here about way too long video length and minimal editing. Just a few moments in our daily life. Merry Christmas!

Peter Max's Perfect Birth

Setting up the family bassinet. Can you catch the dad worship happening here?

On our way out!

Feel the Zeel baby. Flowers cut from home, homemade baby doll from Aunt Boo.

So happy to see his beautiful eyes!






You can read about Elsa's birth here. Or Heidi's birth here.

Both of my first two births were so different. As precious as Heidi's birth was, I knew more than anything (other than wanting a perfect, healthy baby), that I wanted another Elsa birth. I felt so good after Elsa was born and ready to take on anything. It was a challenge going from one to two babies, but whenever I got discouraged while muscling the bucket seat and other baggage through various 100 degree parking lots while trying to keep Heidi from getting run over I would always think: "the C-section felt worse than this," and that thought would make me so thankful that I could move around without pain I would get a whole nother surge of energy...

So as I contemplated moving from 2 to 3 children, the one thing I hoped for (besides the perfect, healthy baby) was another natural, incision free birth. However, in Holland, MI this proved to be easier said than done.

I loved my midwife care at UNM hospital in Albuquerque, NM. I knew they shared my goals and understood my desire to have a natural birth. They valued my desire to have a VBAC and gave me plenty of time to accomplish that goal (30 hours!). I realize now that if I had not been in their care during Elsa's birth, I probably would have been sent to the OR for failure to progress even though my body knew perfectly well what it was doing.

So when I found out shortly after moving to MI that I was pregnant, I began searching for a good hospital that offered midwife care--only to discover that midwives are not allowed to oversee VBACS anywhere within a 60 mile radius of where I live. Great. And on top of that, hardly any Doctors in my area support or oversee VBACS, and only one hospital is even allowed to support them. Hello, smalltown U.S.A. I usually like the fact that this place is so Norman Rockwell, but not when it comes to childbirth.

Thankfully one of my Godsent new friends referred me to her Dr., who is awesome. Not only did he support the VBAC (his own wife had 3), but he promised that he would be the guy on call when I delivered and he wasn't afraid to get Machiavellian when it came to dealing with hospital policies.

Because of said hospital policies, my birth plan was pretty wacky this time around. I had to labor at home as long as possible before checking into the hospital. I couldn't register at the hospital we wanted because they wouldn't take me as a VBAC patient. But if I showed up progressed enough, the hospital would legally have to treat me, thus bypassing their no VBAC policy. Apparently all this is going to change in a few years when the truth about VBAC reaches rural America, but in Peter's birth it was all about strategy.

So I had a few concerns. I was concerned that this birth would be like Elsa's (really, really long and confusing). It was. I was concerned about not having the safe-haven of understanding midwives who believed in my abilities as a human mother to safely give birth. And when my wonderful Dr. told me five days before Peter's birth that my body didn't know what it was doing, my concerns seemed pretty valid. I was concerned that I would show up at a hospital and get rejected as a VBAC patient and wheeled off for another crash C-section--because I hadn't worked with this Dr. before, I wasn't completely there with trusting him yet. These were the thoughts that filled my head in the days before Peter's arrival.

The actual start of labor is pretty hazy in my mind. It was very similar to Elsa's birth except that I had some ideas of what to expect, so didn't get keyed up. I had Braxtons for days so didn't even think about them anymore. It was about midnight on Monday, August 15 that I started wondering if we were getting close. Contractions were fairly regular, about 10 minutes apart, growing in intensity, keeping me from sleeping, but not enough to get out of bed. All night I labored, and by 7 the next morning I thought we should call my mom. Becca was there as my doula, which I have to say was a huge factor in Peter's awesome birth.

Nana arrived around 9 and took Heidi and Elsa to Dutch Village. Yep, Holland. Unfortunately at that time the contractions basically stopped. Great, I sounded the alarm for nothing. I tried to sleep, but couldn't, was able to eat breakfast, and enjoyed hanging out with my sister all day. Because that's basically what we did. I have decided that my labors will always be very weird. All day I couldn't figure out if this was really even it or not. I would have strong contractions, but lots of time would go by in between. Becca and I took lots of walks around my house observing all our beautiful flowers and tomatoes, enjoying the sunshine, we watched movies on netflix, started her wedding registry (even though she wasn't engaged yet), compiled a music labor list for Peter's birth, and read over my previous birth plans, all of which are saved on the computer and are good for a laugh.

I was becoming aware that certain movements were becoming very painful, so whenever something hurt I would just yell and do something else. I think if I was less afraid of pain, maybe my labor would have progressed more quickly.

My favorite example of this was when I decided we better do some prenatal yoga while I was still prenatal. My sister Kendall had given me a prenatal yoga DVD, which I loved, but somehow it angered my children whenever I tried doing it. Well, since I had some help, it seemed like the perfect time to get a pose on. So we turned on the DVD and I sat down on the floor in the crosslegged pose, whatever that's called. It hurt so bad I couldn't even stand back up, just yelled for like 2 minutes and then rolled over laughing.

That's what I loved about Peter's birth. I didn't go all drama about every contraction like I did with Elsa. The fact that I had been through it before made such a huge difference--I was able to laugh through a lot of the pain. And seriously, in hindsight, it doesn't hurt that bad. Not as bad as a C-section.

Around 2:30 my sister called the Dr. who said his wife labored like that for weeks before giving birth. Again, this did not encourage me or get me excited about working with him. But he did say we could come in after 5 p.m. and he would check me before sending me to the hospital. I started getting more uncomfortable, it seemed like it was picking up, but again none of us were really ever sure.

Around 5 my mom came home and I told her I was ready for some drugs. We waited for Oliver to get home from work, grabbed some stuff, and headed for the Dr.'s office. I was really hoping by this point that I had at least reached 5 cm so we would be "progressed enough" to avoid getting sent home or cut open. I was also having much stronger contractions 2-3 minutes apart.

We met Dr. at his office, who checked me and said I was at 8! Awesome. From that moment on, I was so happy to be at 8 the rest of labor flew by. We had to walk from his office to the hospital (they are adjacent). It took awhile because I learned this cool trick of pressing my back into a wall for contractions while standing. We walked into the maternity unity and it was kind of fun to know I was already really far along. Made me feel like I owned that place. I was no longer stressed about how far along I was and how much was left so I really got to enjoy the process. I focused on Peter and prepared to meet my son. By the time I was on the bed I was at 9.5 and within 10 minutes I was pushing. I pushed for about 20 minutes with Becca and Oliver holding me. And then he was out!

That is truly the best feeling in the entire world. I was so thankful to be done and so happy to see him! He was pretty blue and his eyes were very swollen from the long journey--the cord was wrapped twice around his neck so it took a minute to get him going. I got him right away and we thanked God for a healthy baby boy. I was so happy to be holding him finally!

I was more worried with Peter than the girls--he seemed to really hate the stuff they put in his eyes (which were already very swollen) and it seemed to make it worse. For the first few days his eyes were hardly open at all compared to what I remembered with my girls. But he has perked up since then and turned out to be my most smiley baby for sure. He is already laughing.

My family all showed up, my Dad and brother both driving in from Chicago. I only missed Kendall and three more small children! The hospital was quiet with a beautiful view of some cornfields and a farm with Paint ponies running in circles. And for all my complaints about small hospitals, I was equally happy with the care I received here. The nurses were amazing and treated me like a princess. Well worth the bill we just received.

Each birth reminds me how precious life and health are, such wonderful gifts, made even better by sharing them with precious loved ones. So thankful for my parents and my sister, who held my hand all the way through, thankful for Oliver's faithful and constant servanthood and for his wonderful parents who came out to love on us for a week. Mutti's quiet care and faithful help with the girls made our transition back so much more smooth and saved me a lot of tears. Our church friends supported us with meals and day by day things have reached the new normal. Thanks to my few readers left who prayed for us. We felt it.

Back to Heidi

It was a good party.

About Elsa

I am painfully aware of how much Elsa seems to get overlooked on this blog. I hope, so much, that the lack of attention is a positive thing. After watching some old family videos today of how microscopically focused we were on Heidi, I definitely feel better for letting Elsa fall through the proverbial cracks.

The thing is, in real life, Elsa has demanded quite a bit of attention. Most of it involves cleaning of some kind. I feel like I owe everyone I know an apology for talking so much about this one thing that has defined my days over the past year--the diaper watch. It hasn't been pretty. The low point might have been when Oliver took Elsa to watch ballet and somehow I had missed washing out the midsized fecal dreadlock in her hair, noticed by him only when the smell started to waft through the parent viewing area.

This past year has been a crucible for me--I am starting to refer to it as sanctification by crap, literally. My second baby has pushed me further than I was prepared for, and the actual triviality of the trial is what made it even more tragic and lame, and myself even lamer for not keeping it together better. Oh, how I pray it all gets buried in her subconscious.

But thankfully, God doesn't leave us there in the crap. It's been at least a week since that last event. And I am learning to pray through these gross moments and deal with them a little more courageously, and hopefully with the love my Elsa needs.

And each day, as her personality emerges, I celebrate her strengths and gifts. As my mom says, at least it all works right. So it's a gift. She has a deep interest in animals, insects, and babies. Although since she picked up a wasps' nest last week the insect phase might be done....but her little heart is very nurturing. She walks up to stranger's infants and wants to hug them and help with their pacifiers. She has a special baby voice for talking to babies. She uses it for animals too--especially puppies! Her physical skills continue to amaze me: she has nearly gotten pumping a swing down, swims confidently with a noodle (and lots of supervision), and can definitely take her sister down any day.

She is fiercely independent and only wants to cuddle for a minute or two in the morning--unless you are Gramps or Uncle D. She loves to touch, smell, and taste, but hates loud noises. She loves backpacks and camping and carrying large amounts of stuff around. She loves the color blue most of all, especially blue ice cream. And she loves her sister.

I can't wait to see more of who she is and who she will become--so thankful for every day with her. I don't celebrate her enough.

Random Mix

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That means in 11 weeks I will likely be holding my son. Still can't believe it's a boy--even though the "proof shot" from the ultrasound is posted in our kitchen.

I no longer need to remind myself that I am pregnant. The thousand times a day that I bend over to wipe someone, clean something, or pick someone up remind me. Elsa has learned to sit on one side during bedtime reading.

I had so much to say about the first two pregnancies--and it is all still true. The thing that makes Peter's upcoming arrival even more exciting is knowing that the experience will be shared with my first two children who look forward to meeting him so much.

These things are not to be taken for granted. This month we said goodbye to Eric's father, my Uncle Paul. A brain tumor was discovered and within 8 months he was gone. Pain and mercy. In February a friend's sister lost her newborn to a severe brain defect, discovered at the routine 20 week ultrasound. My former pastor lost his son in April. Sixbit just had a birthday and in one week we remember the anniversary of Eric's departure.

I don't mean to throw these things in with pregnancy thoughts and recital pictures--but I can't shake the reality that life is so thin, a blade of grass--so fragile. Yet Eternity is so sure, so solid, so promising--it's about realizing both at once, as much as possible.

Living is definitely superior to blogging. I miss blogging as much as I did before, but wouldn't trade it back--though I do want to keep it up for those we love who are far away. And we do love you.

Spring at Last!!

For those who still check in from time to time--we are still here and so thankful that things are green and warm (er) again. Our yard is exploding with daffodils, tulips, hyacinths, and some unknown blossoming trees, made all the sweeter by the fact that everything was a surprise since we've never been here for a spring. The girls are spending longer and longer stretches of time outside, some days just playing on our deck in the soft sunshine. I've been reading Amy Carmichael's biography (finished after 10 years of starting and restarting--convinced some sort of spiritual warfare kept me away from me so long) and also a fabulous book by Susan Shaeffer McCauley (For the Family's Sake), two great books which are helping with perspective and reminding us to take pleasure in the simple routines of Christian family-ness. Something sacred and eternal is going on, even though it feels far away in the moment.

These kept me up till 1 a.m. all of Holy Week and resulted in a cranky mom. The kids played with them for about 10 minutes. Live and learn.



This child loves her swing. I send them out to try to get something done, but she just stands by the swing and pathetically tries to swing herself, and it's too much torture to watch, so I usually end up pushing her...
And she loves it!
Easter extravagance.
School time.
My dandelion girl--always out picking, examining, running, dancing. We love our field.

Happy dog.

Oh, and we had a perfect mother's day. Probably why I feel rested enough to blog! Beautiful presents and best of all, sweet voices saying "thanks mom!" This is such a precious time.