Making Mama Happy the Day AFTER Mother's Day

A Mother's Day mug and a cup of perfect tea. I'm not much good for anything today.
We watched Dan in Real Life last night. I cried the whole way through and then I stayed up all night listening to the rain pound against the house. I'm still not sure why. I can't figure myself out. I will say we have a long-standing family rule against movies where the mother has died and the family has to go on without her. We've never watched Bambi or  Sleepless in Seattle. Still, I think I really liked this movie. I think.

He's Home

He came home to a good dinner and crisp, sweet-smelling sheets. He came home to adoring little sisters and a whole crew of boys who consider him their hero. He came home to a comfortable, lived-in place that is always the same no matter how much we changed it while he was gone. He came home.

He came home proud of himself. He finished the semester with a 4.0. He played a whole lot of soccer, made some good friends, and lived his faith. He pierced his ears, tried being a vegetarian, and totaled his computer.

He went out and conquered the world. And then, he came home.

We all slept well last night.

New Life as we Know It

Many, many thanks for all your prayers and good wishes for our new baby. You asked about a due date (though some of you caught the ticker in the sidebar;-). Remember that novena my children prayed before the Feast of the Immaculate Conception? The baby is due December 8. Of course, I have had only one baby on my due date. The rest are mostly late. But that one baby was my December baby. And there are oh so very many wonderful December feasts that I'm pretty much assured of festive little bundle.

Hyperemesis Gravidarum has set in with a vengeance. What's that mean? It's Greek and Latin for "Mommy is throwing up all the time. Please be quiet and good." It also means that I obsess about the the perfect food that I'm sure will make me feel perfectly well within minutes. And then I eat it and then--well, I never want to eat it again for the rest of my life. It means I can't eat any sugar or any fruit. If I eat a carb, I need twice as much protein to go with it. It means, in the words of someone who knows, "steak is my friend."  Hyperemesis is getting up at four o'clock every morning because my blood sugar bottoms out and I need to eat. The rest of the day hinges upon whether or not I can go back to sleep. It means that when my husband calls to ask if he can bring me anything on the way home from work, I wish for a fleeting moment that I had Sarah's husband and I ask if he could bring me an IV. I don't even know Sarah's husband; I just know he actually can bring her an IV. Ah...to get hydrated without having to swallow.

Hyperemesis means that my inbox is stuffed to full but it's really hard to put two words together on a consistent basis. I'm much better at reading than writing. So, if you've sent me an email in the last six weeks and I didn't answer, please don't take it personally. I read it, but then I had to leave the computer to throw up;-). And now you know why I didn't get to go see the Pope. I was too afraid of being sick on the Metro or in the crowds.

And what about all those housekeeping resolutions? Well, in all honesty, the major cleaning out was spurred along at break neck speed because I thought we might be looking at major house changes as of  June 1st. We're not. Another long story. For now, let's just say that St. Joseph and I are tight and all heaven had mercy on me. But I'm so glad I put so much effort into cleaning and creating calm. It's stood me in good stead. The house isn't quite what it was a couple of months ago, but it could be if I had, say, a second trimester reprieve. Oh, and the ironing? I haven't touched it in three weeks. The smell of ironing spray makes me gag. But my mom is coming in a couple of weeks and she likes to iron. There's hope.

Patrick has taken over all the cooking. He's a beast in the kitchen. At least that is what he tells me and he tells me that's a good thing. One of his soccer buddies has a chef for a dad. Paddy's taking notes. The kids assure me they're eating well. I'll take their word for it. The kitchen is to be avoided at all costs, save for desperate 4AM runs when I pray all the way down the stairs that the children cleaned up well after dinner and there will be no surprises in the sink.

And what about "school?" We're limping along. Marisa and Colleen are helping to write Serendipity and we are moving oh-so-slowly. Fortunately, it's beautiful outside and we usually spend lots of time outside this time of year anyway.Rebecca continues to keep us supplied with botany lessons. I've planned for it. We will buckle down again in the second trimester when it's 100 degrees outside with 95% humidity.

All in all, I'm grateful for nausea. It's a constant reminder that I'm still pregnant. And really, the view from the couch isn't all that bad.

Not Clutter, Legacy

I gave away an extraordinary amount of clothing during our Great Purge. One of my criteria was to keep no boy clothes smaller than my smallest boy. Since Nicholas is larger than Stephen, my smallest boy is nine years old. I figured that even if we had another baby and that baby was a boy, the clothes would be at least ten years old before the baby wore them. Most of them would be older than that. And little boys aren't particularly gentle on their clothing. So, out it all went.

Except.

Except for the blue blazers. I didn't give away any of those. I like the way they look, hanging there in the closet. They are a family history. They are First Communions, Easters, Christmases, Confirmations, and siblings' baptisms. They are weddings and feast days and funerals. I couldn't bear to part with a single one. And my husband reassures me that blue blazers are classic enough that there's no need to let them go. He says our grandsons can wear them some day. There's something comforting and optimistic in that idea.

Never Too Many Flowers or Children

How can there be too many children? That is like saying there are too many flowers. Mother Teresa

It was another glorious day today! Here's a whole new bunch of pictures, courtesy of Mary Beth. One of the funniest things I've ever seen was Nicholas running across the creek to the "island," carrying Paddy's shoes high in the air. Paddy is notorious for wanting nothing to do with mud or water. He's great at suggesting all sorts of dirty, wet things for Nicky to do and then standing back and having his curiosity sated while he watches Nicky get dirty. Nicky left Paddy barefoot on the banks and took his shoes across the creek. Then, all the other kids stood on the island and taunted "Come get them!" until Paddy was forced to wade into the water.Karoline was much happier today, too, though she still remains firmly opposed to getting wet or dirty, either.