Thursday, March 7, 2013

Spring fever

If you've wondered, yes, we are still alive and I haven't completely abandoned blogging.
I just turn into a vague, discombobulated, sleepy hermit during early pregnancy.
But this too shall pass.

It's finally March, the snow outside is mixing with mud. I'm finally in the second trimester of pregnancy, and the fog of exhaustion and nausea are lifting a bit.  (Sorry I haven't blogged regularly; every time I sit down, I tend to fall asleep...)  January and February were mostly about hunkering down and surviving school, the cold, and early pregnancy.  The days are finally feeling a bit longer; there are garden plans in my head.  We can see the end of some schoolbooks coming in just a few months.
Hope.  Freshness.  Newness.  We can feel it.


Cold.  But fresh.

Saturday started early.  The boys were playing with battery powered bugs.  The three year old watched nonchalantly as his wiggled itself under the fridge.  He was calm until he realized this was a one way trip.  All four boys and I crouched around, trying to free it with the yard stick.  Fail.  The bug vibrated mindlessly in the dark recesses of the dust bunny/lost magnet realm for an hour.  Thank God its battery wasn't bigger.  We'll rescue him.  When daddy is home to move the fridge.  Someday.

The boys went out to stomp in slushy puddles for a bit; but it was cold and drizzly; they didn't stay long.  The puddles came inside with them and Ben dragged his pant legs unconsciously through them. The idea of Ben's wheelchair out in that muck isn't pleasant, but I'm sure he'll crave the mud experience like any other warm-blooded male two year old.  I'm avoiding it as long as possible.  I don't relish the thought of mopping tire tracks in my dining room.
We just got handicap parking plates for the van.  With the new baby coming, Ben's going to have to become more independent by necessity.  That boy's gonna have some great arm muscles by the time he's in preschool.  And probably beat everyone at arm wrestling by the time he's in kindergarten.  I think he's so cute.

I vacuumed.  The boys spent time drawing up blueprints (in Crayola orange) for their dream houses.  Gavin thoughtfully included a clean-up robot in his.  I said I'd definitely come visit.  Henry discovered, to his delight, that if you rub a marker repeatedly in the same spot, it will soon break through the paper.  He made lots of holes through to the table before I made him move on to a new project.  Ben skipped the paper entirely and just decorated his ear.  So glad they invented washable color.  There is brilliance in the world.

The two oldest did the dishes after lunch.  They aren't ecstatic about this new development.  It took a while for me to work up the gumption to make them do it too.  Their laundry-folding, dishwashing, general cleaning skills are not up to the par yet that allow me to do less.  I still pre-scrub the tougher pots and have to clean up soapy puddles after.  But perched on stools, shirts off, the two of them make my heart swell proudly.  The sponge fights are worth it.  How cute is a man who does dishes and vacuums, after all?  I hope these efforts result in happy daughters-in-law and grandchildren for me in about 20 years.  

The three year old turns four in April.  That means he's getting close to a sad milestone: giving up naps.  It won't be an overnight transition (or over-afternoon), but they all seem to need it less at this age, and have trouble getting to sleep at night if they nap too much after lunch.  It is sad; I need it more!  Am I always pregnant and exhausted when another one gives up naptime?!?  (Yes.)

We got to see the baby via ultrasound a few weeks ago.  They'd already checked out his DNA and ruled out a few possible disabilities, but Spina Bifida, the one to which we are apparently more prone, isn't a chromosomal abnormality they could check.  So it was nice to see his spine in grainy black and white video.  It looked fine (though we could easily miss something in the early days, so it ain't over till the fat lady, uh, goes through labor.)  He's due in August.
I think I can feel him moving this week.

The minions were hungry by mid-afternoon.  A nameless five year old poked through the pantry on a cracker search.  When I walked into the kitchen, every single drawer and cupboard below four feet was wide open.  He did find crackers though.  He generously shared the nearly-empty box with the two year old, who dumped it to see just how full it was.  I wondered what had possessed me to vacuum before bedtime.  Absolutely illogical.

What started out as an innocent sword fight quickly escalated.  The pirate got clobbered by Luke Skywalker, so he took his light saber and wouldn't give it back.  The six year old, who'd been minding his own business, pulled out a semi-automatic nerf gun and decided he would settle the dispute.  Boys literally started climbing the walls as all out war broke out.  A nerf bullet stuck to the ceiling fan.  I tripped over a pirate hook on my way to kiss a battle wound.  I wondered what it was like to have girls.

It seemed like a good night to grill something for supper.  There were only a few problems.  It was half snowing, half raining on the grill.  My husband wasn't home to man it, which is of course half the beauty of grilling, in my opinion.  And the back-up plan was chicken soup, which is challenge to barbeque.  Leftover chicken and some stock went in a pot with a bunch of vegetables, then a bunch of volunteers came to help make some muffins.  They always appear out of nowhere when it's time to mix up muffins.  On the floor, Ben sat on the muffin tin proudly and waited for me to try to fill it.  Henry snuck frozen blueberries out of the batter.  Shiloh stole the ladle for a drumstick before I could use it.
Supper was a little late.

 I cleared the table, with moderate help, but decided to ignore the 2.4 smashed muffins underneath it until later.  Blueberry smeared cheeks indicated the need for baths that night.  Most pajamas were stuck in the laundry mountain downstairs, I realized as the first two wet boys filed into their room clad in towels.  I raced down and dug out mostly matching sets for each kid as the two youngest hollered that the bath was getting cold.  Minor scuffles over who was wearing whose underwear finally subsided.  We went back downstairs for story time just as Daddy came through the door.

I've been reading Deuteronomy recently and my husband has just started reading The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe aloud to the boys in the evenings.  (He's been waiting years for them to be old enough to appreciate The Chronicles of Narnia.  I'm dubious we're quite there yet...)  As these stories swirl through my head daily, they resonate with me.  Moses led a young nation though desert wilderness for forty years.  And I think our winters are long...?!  That is a long wait for the hope of spring.  In the Narnia books, the land is currently under a cold cruel curse.  It's always winter there; always winter, but never Christmas.  I can sort of commiserate.  The last couple months have seemed endless.

Peek a boo

Books, brushing teeth, prayer and bedtime.  I bid them good night and took a deep breath as the door glided closed.  Quiet ensued.  Well, sort of quiet.  Ben continued to chatter, hoping someone from the bunkbeds would engage with him.  Henry, who'd had a bit of a nap, obliged for a while.  I heard them playing peek-a-boo through the crib slats for the next twenty minutes.  But I was busy chasing down vagrant markers under the desk, sweeping muffin crumbs, and resisting the urge to just sit down near my husband while he ate his late dinner.  
The hushed babble over the monitor calmed as I finished the dishes.  I scooped a bowl of ice cream and settled next to my husband.  He was looking at weather reports.  Snow, rain, snow and rain.  Mud.  I swirled chocolate and vanilla on my spoon as I thought about it.  But mud means that Spring is coming.
Something tickled in my tummy as the sugar hit my bloodstream.  I smiled.
Newness is coming.
Soon.




    

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