Dappled Diapers

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Diaperrack0001On the first sunny day of spring, I carried my drying rack outside. This was a bit of an act of rebellion, as I live in a neighborhood which prohibits clotheslines. If I hadn't been very pregnant and in desperate need of a house near my hubby's new job all those many years ago, the prohibition would have been a deal-breaker. Now, it's just a thorn in my side.

Anyway, I took the drying rack outside to hang the diapers to dry in the sunshine.  A neighbor wandered by.

"You use cloth diapers?" she asked, with a look that said she thought I was truly bonkers.

"I do!" I enthused, gushing a bit in my self defense. "I love the way they feel, and smell, and--honestly-- the way they look, hanging there in the sunshine." I stopped myself just short of the full gush, as her eyes were glazing over.

So...you get the full gush.

I love to change diapers. I love to lay Karoline on a soft, pink changing table, with a beautiful picture  of the Blessed Mother and her Child hanging there for us to ponder. I love to make her feel good. I love to take away the wet diaper and to wash her bottom with warmed cotton wipes that smell faintly of peppermint castille soap. I love to rub a bit of homemade herbal salve on any tender spots. I love the occasional times when I rub her bottom and legs with a powder of cornstarch and crushed rose petals. And I love to wrap those fat, delicious buns in softness. I love it--the whole sensory experience of it. I love to coo at her and make funny faces. I love it when she coos and smiles and even giggles in return. The drudgery of diapers? Not here.

I'm not so sure that cloth diapers are less expensive economically or ecologically. I've seen compelling arguments in both directions. All that washing does cost something, in terms of time, money, and resources. And it certainly takes longer to hang clean, sweet smelling diapers to dry.On the other hand... Call me crazy, but I  like the look of those nappies all in a row on the drying rack. It sings, "Baby lives here! Thank God!"

It also takes time to take the diapers from the rack and stack them neatly in a handcrafted picnic basket that sits beside the changing table.They look beautiful there in that basket, waiting to swaddle my little cherub.Time. These diapers slow me down a bit. Yes, they do. That's not a bad thing at all, slowing down to make something that could be a negative into something altogether pleasant and happy. I could not get all that with a plastic bag of Pampers, and they definitely wouldn't be soft and pink.

And that's what the whole diaper experience is for us: soft and pink and dappled with sunshine.

April the Twenty-ninth

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The sun rose brightly this morning, shining sparkling hope over a fresh spring day. We survived yesterday. In all, seven children were quite sick within a 48 hour period. Many cups of ginger ale were poured and ignored and many, many loads of laundry were washed and dried.I can't begin to count the number of times I ran up and down the stairs, heart pumping, lungs working overtime.  The awake hours of the day numbered 20. Still, it was a relatively good day. And today? Today is relatively great. Sure beats April 29, 1990.

On that day, a remember kneeling to kiss my one-year-old goodbye before getting into the car. I remember arriving at the hospital in the early morning just as all the pink tulips were opening to greet the day. I remember squeezing my husband's hand before surgery, trying to ignore the fear in his formerly fearless face. I remember the pathologist, one of my father's dearest friends. "Hodgkin's Disease. It's going to be a very tough year, but then, you'll live."

Indeed. A tough year. It was a chrysalis year. Together, my husband and I lived a life dictated by doctors and hospitals and IV pushes of nasty chemotherapy. As the tulips began to wilt and drop their petals, huge handfuls of brown curls fell from my head. Life looked so very different at every turn. We lost our innocence and found our faith. We learned we'd never have another baby and prayed for children we had never wanted so much. I grew to hate the sight of tulips and to gag at the smell of latex--whether it was surgical gloves or birthday balloons.  We huddled, dark and tired, inside the shell of our experience, partly to avoid the germs of the outside world, partly because everything that really mattered was inside our four walls and we were living as much life together as we could.

I was twenty-four. That's not very old. And the next year, I think I was about 50, though I'm not quite sure. I definitely wasn't 25.  People who are 25 are usually blissfully unaware of their mortality.

Together, my husband and I had grown in this strange new world of surviving cancer .  We would find ourselves telling people over and over that we never wanted to learn those lessons that way again, but that we were so grateful for the grace of God in allowing us to learn them when we did.

I live a life that is rooted in the reality of a finite time on earth. I live a life that sparkles with the hope of heaven. To be quite honest, I live a life that is tinged with fear, my constant adversary.Though I'm not the superstitious type, for a long time, I was afraid to plant tulips, afraid to tempt fate. But I live a life of great blessing.Time and faith have taught me so much. And so, yesterday, God reminded me with emphasis just how many sweet young souls are in my care and how He is bigger than any prognosis. He reminded me that I am still young and strong and able to care for many needy people, singlehandedly, at once. He reminded me that my heart pumps and my lungs fill with air.  And He reminded me that it's okay--even hopeful and beautiful-- to plant pink  tulips in the fall and watch them bloom on April the Twenty-ninth.

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Half

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Half of my children are throwing up this morning. That makes four. My husband is on a plane somewhere between New Jersey and Houston. He's not landing here. I'm spraying Mrs. Meyers mixed with tea tree oil everywhere and flushing toilets like mad. I'm washing hands so much they're chapped and it's not quite 9 A.M.

And I'm blogging about it.

Why? Because someday I'll go back through the archives of this blog and I'll read this entry and I'll think "Oh, I'm so glad not to have days like that any more." And that will make me feel better right after  I've thought, "Oh I miss days like the Farm Day." At least a little better. Maybe.

Life's pretty real here today. Y'all go out and have some fun for me, too, today, okay?

Sing a New Song: Do Something For Yourself

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"Don't you ever do something for yourself?"

People ask me this quite frequently. Usually, they have a day spa in mind or a weekend away without the kids. Truthfully, I'm not the day spa type. I don't know exactly what the day spa type is; I just know it's not me. Any place that requires me to shed my clothes for a dressing gown and lay on  an  adjustable table is a little too much like a hospital  for me to ever relax there.

However, I do think that one way to ease out of that burned out state is to acknowledge that it's nice to be nice to ourselves. When you are nurturing yourself, you have to use the same approach that Momtomom_large you use when nurturing your children. I f I think a child is particularly burdened, I look for ways to help lighten the load. And if I think a special gift--a gift chosen just for that child--might help in some way, I usually endeavor to provide it. So...I provided three gifts for myself recently to help brighten my days and sing a new song.

First up, a good laugh. I re-read Danielle Bean's Mom to Mom, Day to Day. This book is funny. You're guaranteed a laugh. But more than that, it's a place where I can go and find someone who "gets it." It's nice to see in print a family a lot like mine and a mother who is honest about the fact that the struggles inside our homes are different than those of our neighbors with 1.8 kids. Not better, not worse, just different. We are weird. But at least we're in good company. I find comfort in that.

Next, and similarly, I love Marie Bellet. First, a disclaimer: I'm not a music critic. I like the music; it works for me, but I have no idea if it's good music. I'm all about the lyrics. When she sings about a new springtime and invokes John Paul the Great, I'm belting it out at the top of my lungs and the whole day seems sunnier. And when she sings about "nine more months, one more time," I'm grinning from ear to ear and hoping "me, too." Marie Bellet expresses joy in this crazy lifestyle and she is honest about our failings while encouraging us to strive to be something more.Cd4_front

Finally, a present of extraordinary value. I am the delighted and inspired owner of a truly beautiful rosary. I love the rosary.  In his gracious goodness, the Holy Spirit has infused in me a love for this devotion over the past year that has born immeasurable fruit. Mostly, I've prayed the rosary while listening to a CD. Recently, I decided that I wanted a rosary to hold. I wanted the sensory experience of touching the beads (Catholics are like that, I think--we pray with all our senses). And oh, what a sensory experience is mine. I might just have the most beautiful rosary ever! It was named "Vessel of Life, Vessel of Joy" by Kimberlee, who created it for me. There is a large centerpiece of Our Lady of Guadalupe, which reminds me of her words to Juan Diego: Am I not here, I who am your mother? Are you not under my shadow and watch? Am I not the source of your joy? Are you not in the fold of my mantle, in the crossing of my arms? The Ave beads are a deep rose color, my favorite color, and the Church's color of joy. I fall asleep every night holding this rosary, prayerfully considering my joys in life. Everything about my rosary reminds me to take joy in my vocation, my greatest delight.

Tulips00011 This gift--this something I did for myself--is something I do for myself every day and something I do for myself for eternity. With the rosary, comes these promises of Mary to Saint Dominic. I have to think they have more value for me and for my family that a day at a spa.

  1. Whoever shall faithfully serve me by the recitation of the rosary, shall receive signal graces.
  2. I promise my special protection and the greatest graces to all those who shall recite the rosary.
  3. The rosary shall be a powerful armor against hell, it will destroy vice, decrease sin, and defeat heresies.
  4. It will cause virtue and good works to flourish; it will obtain for souls the abundant mercy of God; it will withdraw the hearts of men from the love of the world and its vanities, and will lift them to the desire of eternal things.
  5. Oh, that souls would sanctify themselves by this means.
  6. The soul which recommends itself to me by the recitation of the rosary, shall not perish.
  7. Whoever shall recite the rosary devoutly, applying himself to the consideration of its sacred mysteries shall never be conquered by misfortune.
  8. God will not chastise him in His justice, he shall not perish by an unprovided death; if he be just he shall remain in the grace of God, and become worthy of eternal life.
  9. Whoever shall have a true devotion for the rosary shall not die without the sacraments of the Church.
  10. Those who are faithful to recite the rosary shall have during their life and at their death the light of God and the plenitude of His graces; at the moment of death they shall participate in the merits of the saints in paradise.
  11. I shall deliver from purgatory those who have been devoted to the rosary.
  12. The faithful children of the rosary shall merit a high degree of glory in heaven.
  13. You shall obtain all you ask of me by the recitation of the rosary.
  14. All those who propagate the holy rosary shall be aided by me in their necessities. I have obtained from my Divine Son that all the advocates of the rosary shall have for intercessors the entire celestial court during their life and at the hour of death. All who recite the rosary are my sons, and brothers of my only son Jesus Christ.
  15. Devotion of my rosary is a great sign of predestination.