the first baby I ever watched be born

This is the first baby I ever watched be born. I was seventeen. I remember a lot of things that are not really that important about the labor. Like Stan finally having the good sense to stop complaining about how much his thumb hurt when things started getting a little intense. I remember CMT (Country Music Television) on TV. I confessed my lack of enthusiasm for Dwight Yoakam...which somehow led to us singing lines from all of his songs we could think of. Not that Vanita participated in that. I was the coach. I took the classes with her and I had my coaching bag and instructions. I had a tennis ball in a sock to help with her back labor. I remember my sister, who was without good drugs, literally saying in the same breath, "I can't do this anymore!! Hello, Precious." And there was the first baby I ever watched be born. Everyone was so relieved and excited that it was over.

I abandoned my sister at that point to get acquainted with my nephew. Mom and I were watching him through the nursery window. I remember the hospital staff started surrounding Lance's little bed. I could barely see him because of all the hands covering him. I realized they were working on him and he was starting to look blue. Vanita was calling family and friends from her room to tell them the good news of his birth. She was talking about weight and length and the nurse was coming over to close the window blind so we could not see them working on the baby anymore. We went to get Stan. In the hallway, Mom told Stan they were working on our baby in the nursery. It did not register at first. He said, "Oh, they are working on a baby in there?" I can see her placing a hand on his arm, as she told him, again, "They are working on our baby." And he was gone to find out what was going on. We went back to Vanita's room. She felt like moms feel after giving birth. Exhausted. Sore. Relieved. Happy. Content. We did not say a word until Stan came back to let us know what was happening. He was the one who had to break the news. How do you say to a mother that her baby is fighting for his life down the hall?

Lance was diagnosed with spinal meningitis. They said a small percentage of babies with this condition survive. They said of the survivors, most children have learning and physical disabilities. And then they put him in a helicopter and he flew away, leaving a trail of tears behind him. Vanita went straight from the delivery room to a two-hour car ride to Columbia. His recovery was a difficult time for his parents. There was the NICU and the Ronald McDonald house and home health nurses when he got to come home. But God had big plans for Lance. He did survive. He has survived spinal meningitis and asthma and multiple injuries to date (he seems to be excessively accident prone). He gets good grades and he loves sports. He is the reason doctors should not bombard terrified families with sad statistics. He is the reason I learned that family matters more than state championships. And he is an eighth grade graduate. I am glad he is the kind of guy that beats the odds.

Dear Madison,

Madison wrote a letter to me for Mother's Day.

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Dear Mom,

Happy Mother's Day. I pledge to make Mother's Day special. Thank you for taking care of me. Thank you for feeding me. Thank you for loving me. I love you. You are always standing up for me. Thank you for cheering me up when I am sad. You are the best mom in the world. You are the best mom a child could have. I love you more than anything.

Love,

Madison

What more could I possibly need from life beyond letters like this one? Today is the anniversary of the day I became a mother. Not that long ago, I was snuggling this beautiful, tiny baby with lots of curly, black hair. And now she is eight years old. She loves baking, fishing, iCarly, and Big Time Rush. She is trying to decide if she wants to be an artist or a chef when she grows up. She loves to read and play outside. She loves her brother and sister with a loyalty that I treasure. I watch her developing her own tastes and opinions and interests and friendships. My excitement soars with hers and my feelings get hurt right along with hers. She clings to her daddy and I until the next moment inspires her to demonstrate her independence. The journey from one birthday to the next is bittersweet for a mom. At bedtime last night, Madison said, "Mom, you better say goodbye to seven-year-old Madison!" So I did. I asked her what she thought about being seven. She said, "It was pretty good, but you have to grow up sometime." I have always felt like this kid was wise beyond her years.

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Dear Madison,

Happy Birthday. I pledge to make your birthday special. Thank you for helping me around the house and for keeping your room clean. Thank you for being such a kind and devoted big sister. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for cheering me up when I am sad. Thank you for always standing up for me. Thank you for always believing the best of me. You are a beautiful little girl, inside and out. You bring lots of love, caring, and spunk to our family. We all love you very much. I look forward to hearing what you have to say about being eight.

Love,

Mom

when losers become winners

You may be on the right track, but you are going to get run over if you just sit there. -Unknown

I am just going to say it. Sometimes I do things for purely selfish reasons. I once bought my mom the latest Jodi Picoult novel for her birthday...and I fully intended on reading it as well. When I outgrew all of my pajamas as I carried Jaron, I generously got Kevin two new pairs of pajama pants. He did not actually get custody of them for a few more months. It is with this selfish attitude that I came to the decision to start up a Biggest Loser competition at work.

If you keep thinking about what you want to do or what you hope will happen, you don’t do it, and it won’t happen. -Joe DiMaggio
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When I started planning Megan's first birthday party, it occurred to me that my list of excuses for carrying around extra pounds was getting shorter. I didn't feel right anymore about telling the sales girl in the plus-sized section of Maurice's, "I just had a baby." I knew I needed motivation and competition and team members depending on me. I knew it would not be easy finding time to exercise. I knew it would not be easy to resist taking home pizza so I could spend more time catching up on housework and homework without having to fix dinner. I knew I would not be able to do it on my own, or I would have done it already.
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Do not let what you cannot do interfere with what you can do. -John Wooden
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So we kicked off the Biggest Loser competition. We had 29 participants. There were five teams including the Bootie Busters, the Supa Slim Sistas (+ Eric), the Working Out Women (WOW), the Misfits, and the Meltaways. Everyone paid ten dollars to sign up. The winning team members would each receive $20 gift cards to Subway, and the winning individual would receive the remainder of the entry fee cash. So while being selfish is usually a pretty bad thing, there was some good to come from it this time. And as the competition unfolded, there were some interesting developments to add variety to my workday. And success that I could never have anticipated.

1.) I became a priest in the confessional booth. The only place I have seen this take place is on TV, so I am no expert, but this is the only way I can describe the way people confessed to me on weigh days. People whispered to me about eating too much dessert or eating out on the weekends, whether or not they made time to exercise, drinking high calorie alcoholic drinks, and the stages of their monthly cycles and levels of water retention. In the beginning, I had to read some name badges in order to sign a few people up, but by the end of these ten weeks I got to know people in a very personal way.

2.) Competition got fierce. People ran around the hospital passing out coupons for free Big Macs at McDonald's (to members of other teams, of course). At an employee retirement party, as a team member and I were taking care of the cake table, we may have tried to over serve the competition with big corner pieces with excess frosting. One of the dietary competitors started giving the stink eye to anyone on her team making bad food choices in the dining room.

3.) I did not win the title of The Biggest Loser. The girl with that title lost 34 pounds. I can tell you that my team, which happened to win the Subway cards, by the way, lost 105 pounds. And I can't wait any longer to tell you. In ten weeks, our group of 29 people lost 284 pounds. Two HUNDRED and eighty-four pounds! I expected other people to lose weight along with me, but I never dreamed everyone would be so successful!
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You never really lose until you stop trying. -Mike Ditka

I did lose weight. I lost seventeen pounds. I am officially back to my pre-pregnancy weight(*before Megan...I have more to lose to reach my pre-pregnancy weights before Jaron, and then before Madison;) and those are my next goals). I hated not being able to wear any of my regular clothes. I hated feeling like I had helplessly lost this battle. Plenty of weight has been lifted from me right along with the pounds that I walked away. My fat clothes are too big now, and the smaller sizes are getting more roomy all the time. I do have more weight that I want to lose, but when I compare the beginning of this challenge to right now, I feel better. I feel more energetic and capable. I feel like I matter more. Not because I look better and the number on the tag of my jeans is smaller, but because I am making my health and well-being a priority. I am making the health and well-being of my family a more important priority as well. I am absolutely doing the best that I can. I have watched Jamie Oliver's food revolution and listened to an awesome life coach and a motivating dietitian at a cardiac rehab conference and I am absolutely inspired. I am making almost everything from scratch. I no longer buy frozen pizza for busy weekends or Little Debbie snack cakes for the snack bucket. With only a few exceptions, I have given up pop and artificial sweeteners and caffeine. Yes, I have. Because losers can become winners. And it feels better than even a Diet Mountain Dew could ever taste.

Success is peace of mind in knowing that you did your best to become the best that you are capable of becoming. -John Wooden

Impresty

I use to be a really good aunt. My mom and sister thought it might traumatize me, at fourteen, to be in the delivery room, so I was standing in the hall when my first nephew was born. I listened for his first cry. I will never forget it. As a toddler, when Logan thought something was impressive, he would say it was "impresty." Now he says, "Sweet." When he first started talking, I taught him that when asked who loves Logan, he should answer, "Aunt Val." I was a really good aunt. I remember reading him books, going fishing, playing ball outside, going to his little baseball games, and taking his werewolf picture at his Halloween parade. I fixed him his favorite snacks. I remember calling my sister to bring him over on the weekends and then casting frequent glances out the window as I wondered what in the world could be taking her so long to get there.

As he got older, I got older. I got a job and got married and had kids. My kids started having ball games and programs and Halloween parades. Now Logan fishes, hunts, drives trucks and tractors, and brings us loads of firewood in the winter. And I don't feel like I am such a great aunt anymore. He still hugs me on occasion, but I can't pick him up anymore. He has been taller than me for a long time. I don't think I was paying enough attention. Somehow when I was changing diapers and going on preschool field trips my nephew became a young man. A handsome young man, as you can see from this picture from the grand march. Yes, he is old enough to go to prom. I still get to see him at all of our family gatherings, but not as often as I once did. I hope he always knows his Aunt Val loves him. And I think he is impresty.

Longing

Last week I visited an Amish greenhouse. Twice. I went with Kevin one evening during the week, and we were so impressed I had to share it with some friends and my mom again on Saturday. I got some plants for the garden and some flowers to set out. Then I got some more flowers to set out. When I leave the Amish people, it is always with a longing for a simpler life. I said "simple." I did not say "easy." I am not so naive that I think their lives are easy. I may not know how difficult their lives are with their lack of modern conveniences, but I do know a little bit about some of the things they do. And I am not scared of those things. I mean, while we do have an electric saw and grinder, we butcher our own beef and pork at home. For the past few years we have raised chickens to dress for the freezer. And then there is the garden. I can tomatoes and potatoes and green beans. We make salsa and sour kraut. We freeze corn and peppers. It is a lot of work, but I always feel glad when it is done.
I love working together to be productive. The whole family is involved in planting the garden. When we butcher, Kevin does the jobs involving cutting and causing live things to be dead. I do more of the wrapping and labelling type jobs. Jaron helps me tape packages for the freezer, or hands me things, and Madison has become expert label writer (If a package winds up saying T-bone Stake, you still know what is in there!). I love the warm security that comes from looking into our freezer and pantry and not having to worry about what to feed my family. It is a blessing that counts.

When I think about myself trying to survive in the past, or living as the Amish do, I realize there are things I would definitely miss. I would miss phones. I would miss vehicles and electricity and iPods and Internet. I would miss air conditioning. I would miss birth control options. I am not going to lie about it. And I would miss pants. A lot. I am sure there are many other things I am failing to mention, but regardless of them all, I have to admit there are a few things I long for that I think they are getting right.

Like how they have work that is conducive to their family life. Next to this wonderful and productive greenhouse, a swing was swaying in the breeze. There was an adjacent sandbox with toys and shovels poking out of it. A little boy ran away and came back with a young chicken to show to Megan, and she patted its little head and squealed with delight, bringing a dimpled smile to the boy's adorably freckled face. I mean, these people don't drop their babies off at a sitter and drive off to work five days a week. I visited with the young mother who lived there. She was fascinated with my children and their ages. Her children were close in age to mine. Although she had seven children, total. She marveled at how "steady on her feet" Megan is. What impressed me was the fact that instead of her being inside pulling her hair out, elbow deep in housework, she was working in the greenhouse on a Saturday with the children scattered about. She had a smile on her face and mud on her shoes. She was the most friendly and talkative Amish woman I have ever met. I wanted to pull her aside and ask her about all of her secrets and challenges. I wanted her to teach me how to be more like her. With regular hot showers. And my favorite shows recorded on my DVR. And snuggle time with my kids at night, which feels like the softest pajamas and smells of lavender baby wash and Gain--Mango Tango laundry detergent. It could happen.

Doing Easter Right

This year still feels relatively new to me. I feel like all the things I wanted to do remain within my reach and I am trying hard to grab them. I am trying hard to live better. Period. Traditions tend to take me to my happy place. I love them. We have an Easter Egg Hunt we always attend, but this year I was feeling more festive than that. Not only did I decide that one Easter egg hunt was not enough, I decided that 3 kids were not enough to take along. So this year, I got my niece, Molly, Madison's friend, Zoe, Madison, Jaron, and Megan, and we started our Saturday at 11:00 with the Church WOW (WithOut Walls). They worked hard to provide us with an age appropriate Easter lesson, a 5000 egg hunt, prizes, and hot dogs for dinner. Let me tell you, there were lots of chattering, squealing, and happy kids over there. My mom came for the festivities as well, and Grandma Time always cranks up the funometer for my guys.

The kids got out their gloves and played some catch at home afterwards while I fed Megan her lunch(as I have yet to feed her hot dogs). The sunshine was beautiful. Soon it was time to load up again and head to Elmer at 2:00. Elmer always has the Easter Bunny. And the other Grandma. Megan slept through it all last year, and while she may not have loved the bunny, she did not miss a moment. We capped off the weekend on Sunday with Sunrise Service at 6:00 am. The kids were sleepy and snuggly and I did not even have to remind them to be still or quiet. We spent the rest of our Sunday playing outside and cooking on the grill...Oh! And we had a wonderful nap! I just had to blog it out before I forgot what an awesome weekend that was. I had many things I needed to be working on around home, but they waited for me. This year I think we did Easter right!

Backslidden

A friend told me the summer that I was baptized that I should journal about the experience. She told me that your relationship with God is like your relationship with all of the important people in your life. Sometimes you are in perfect harmony and sometimes you drift apart. And there are many areas in between. I was all, "Whatever, Crazy Lady! No turning back!" I valued her wisdom, but I was going to be different so it did not apply to me.

Somewhere about mid-pregnancy with Megan I stopped going most places other than work. That included church. I was exhausted and I looked even worse than I felt. The more Sundays you spend at home...the more easily the decision is made to continue doing it. Staying close to home for a few months somehow ended up lasting over a year and a half. I recently decided to stop making excuses and adjust my priorities. Finding a church to attend in a small community is not always easy. I know I shouldn't, but I find myself thinking about what a church can do for me and my growth instead of considering what I might be able to do for a church. So, long story short, I decided to commit to our tiny church. Again. That was about a month and a half ago. The kids are enjoying their classes and they do a memory verse each week. There are puppets. Madison was presented with a Bible for her faithful Sunday School attendance, and Jaron will soon follow. That wise friend I mentioned before? She was right. Making time for God is not always easy. Church attendance is like GPA. It is so much easier to let it slide than take the initiative and bring it back up! Easter's Sunrise service came early. I couldn't help but wonder if my new commitment really counted at 6am when there were three hairdo's to fix. I decided it did.

As Kevin and I sat in the pew with our sleepy children's heads on our shoulders, I let the peace and contentment wash over me. I thought about everything that matters. I was glad I decided my commitment mattered. Again.