One Mother's Reflections

Last week was a crazy, on the go, never-ending week. Nine soccer games, six doctor's appointments, one minor dental surgery, all on top of the normal running around, laundry, cleaning, meal preparation and such that comes with a large family. Thankfully we made it through it all relatively unscathed, although poor Joseph may disagree with me now that he has five new crowns on his teeth.

Managing all the hustle and bustle of appointments and games is hectic, it means making sure some kids have matching socks and appropriate shoes on the right feet. Did they brush their teeth? Comb their hair? Is there someone here to watch the other ones not going? Have they all been fed since we are so out of our routine? Not to mention soccer gear and the constant search for enough pony tail elastics, despite the 10 million that must be hiding in the walls of this home.

 Once we are settled, whether in a waiting room or the sidelines of a soccer field, I breathe a sigh of relief. We've made it. Then the small talk begins. Last week alone I answered so many questions about our large family. So many looks of disbelief, so many stares that make me feel as though my face has turned purple with green spots. Hands down, though, what I kept hearing was, "I don't know how you do it. I can barely handle the 2 (or maybe 3) that I have." Sometimes this was followed up with, "You must be more (patient, kind, organized, etc) than me."

I started thinking about that comment. How should I respond? The truth is I could barely handle the 2 or 3 I had and the thought of each new child met me with more fear and apprehension about how I would have enough energy and mental (and physical) fortitude to love and raise another child. Yet, with each new addition, grace was given us and we learned to function as a family with one more. Each child brought a new dimension to our family that made it more complete. God doesn't waste his graces and I found each new child brought new graces to our family and to me as a mother.

Thirteen years ago, I was childless. I had recently suffered a miscarriage. Despite months of trying, I just wasn't getting pregnant. This was perhaps the most difficult cross I have ever had to bear. I wondered if I would ever hold my own child. The deep sadness was at times overwhelming.When I think now of how difficult raising eight children is, how tired I am, how there never seems to be enough of me to go around, how I fall into bed exhausted each night, it still doesn't compare to that sadness. I am frazzled, tired, often overwhelmed. I pray for patience, for fortitude, for grace; still I am happy. I pray often for those who bear the heavy cross of infertility and miscarriage I know how heavily it weighed on my heart.

Then my Banana was born and my world changed forever. With the joy of this beautiful child came overwhelming responsibility and I immediately felt so incredibly inadequate. I had lovely visions of what motherhood would be. None of those included the intense lack of sleep, the physical demands of nursing, or the inability to create my own schedule. Suddenly my life seemed at the whim of this little creature who demanded more than I thought I could give. How could it be so difficult to get one little baby to sleep? The books all said they should sleep more than they were awake... Oh how the books, and I attempted to read them all,  failed me.

Even after Banana's birth, our infertility haunted me. I was thrilled when I learned little Bear was on the way. Her arrival though came at a crazy time for our family. I was very sick before and after her birth and we moved into a new home when she was barely two weeks old. Even after recovering, I found myself wondering how I would meet the needs of two little ones when I had struggled so much with one. Still God's grace was given. I managed, and I marveled at the joy these girls brought me.

Then I had two more miscarriages to grieve. Difficult, gut-wrenching losses. It was during this time we first seriously considered adoption. It was not the first time we had discussed it, but our experiences with miscarriage made it more of a reality. We began the paperwork for our first adoption, only to find a few weeks later we were expecting little Bophie.

Bophie's pregnancy came quickly after two consecutive miscarriages and being told to wait at least six months before trying again. It turns out the doctor's orders came too late and were given when little Bophie was hidden within me. I'm not sure I have ever cried more tears of joy as I did seeing her heartbeat on that ultrasound monitor. I was so certain I was going to lose another child. Despite this joy the reality was there were now three little girls who I wanted to give more than I felt I was capable of giving. The doctor commented in the delivery room that now we had moved from man-to-man defense to zone defense and that was precisely how I felt, on the defense.

Three children was when the comments began. It seemed uncanny that at the time I felt most vulnerable as a mother, wondering if I could indeed do a good job raising these children, that people started making me feel as though it were a truly impossible task. Bophie was by far my most difficult baby. She had colic, reflux, baby acne, and it seemed every other newborn ailment the first two had not prepared me to handle. I felt as though I needed more hands and more hours in the day. I was most unsure of my mothering skills and the comments of others made me question them even more. Still, those newborn days passed and she became the sweet, quiet, easy-going Bophie I love so dearly.

God's providence provided for a much longer than anticipated adoption process and little Juju joined our family two years later than expected. Again, though, there was so much apprehension. I had begun homeschooling and felt more stretched than ever. On top of that, I had so many concerns about adoption. Would I know how to bond with this child already 10 months old? Would I be able to meet her needs adequately? I had read so much about labor and delivery and caring for newborns, but with three little ones I had not researched thoroughly adoption bonding. I was nervous and so worried I wasn't going to be able to do it all. Again, we did. We just managed with God's grace.

After Juju, I was ready for a break. I knew I wanted to adopt again, I just wasn't ready. I still hadn't mastered the four girls and I felt I needed to get that under control before considering adding another. We waited so long for Juju that dh convinced me we should just get in line for another adoption. We thought that by the time we were ready, we'd still be waiting for a match. God's showed his sense of humor when we were matched with little Joseph less than 24 hours after filling out just a pre-application. Once we saw his picture though, there was no turning back.

The next surprise came when less than a month after our match with Joseph, we found we were expecting our Gabe. As timing would have it, two boys were to join our brood of girls less than a week apart.

It is hard to describe the months that followed the arrival of our boys. I have never been so overwhelmed, inpatient, utterly exhausted, and busy. To add to all of the normal new baby and new adoption adjustments (if one could call this situation normal), I was battling post partum depression. I was not myself. Not at all. It was a very dark time for me. I holed up. I was unable to tell those who wanted so much to help even what I needed. I didn't know what I needed. I was tempted to give into the overwhelming feeling I had failed.

Those feelings were so strong that I was thankful we could no longer adopt from China and in some ways thankful for my infertility. When we learned that we could indeed adopt again, I still thought there was no way I could handle it. We put off all discussions of that possibility for a few months. Still God tugged on my heart strings. He showed me time and again that the stresses in my life needed perspective and each child brought me a brand new perspective. It was a remarkable leap of faith, but we decided it was just one more child and with God's grace we could do it.

Again, God laughed at us. I bought a pregnancy test right before we accepted Peter's referral. Not because I thought I was pregnant, but because I wanted to be sure I was not! I did not think I could handle two at once again. My hands were too full already. That test was negative and we went full throttle for Peter's adoption. Two months later at Thanksgiving I dug into the bottom of my bathroom cabinet to find the extra test that came free in the previously purchased package and there were the two lines. Our certainty in the increasing spacing between our biological children left us amazed and in many ways frightened and overwhelmed at the result of that test.

Could we really do this again? I still ask myself that question. Some days I think I'll never make it through the week. Some days I think I'm failing them all miserably. Some days I'm even too tired to care if I am failing them. No, I probably can't raise eight children successfully in the eyes of those in our current society, but I believe God gave me eight children because he believes I can raise them successfully in his eyes. So I pray, I beg for fortitude, I beg for patience, I plead for his mercy knowing that I am called to plod ahead in this vocation as wife and mother. I try to be a successful mother in the eyes of my creator knowing that he is the one to whom I owe an account of my mothering skills. I'm no more patient, I'm no more equipped with supermom skills, I'm just each moment trying to be the best mom to these precious children who, for some reason I can't fathom, have been entrusted to my care. I hope they are bringing about my salvation.

Peter's Baptism!

DH here as guest blogger again.

On Saturday we baptized our dear little Peter! Nikki and I are so happy to welcome Peter into the Church. The sacrament of baptism is such a beautiful, wonderful gift. Our family is blessed to have this little boy become a Christian.

He said to them, “Go into the whole world and proclaim the gospel to every creature. Whoever believes and is baptized will be saved; whoever does not believe will be condemned." (Mark 16:18)

In light of our adoptions from China, Mark 16:18 has always struck me as rather apropos. How wonderful it is to be able to bring a child from such a distant country into the family of God.

If you look closely at the photo below, you will see Peter grabbing at the water as he is about to be baptized. Father Gregory remarked that he has never seen a child want to be baptized as much as our little Peter. :)

Here is Peter with his favorite person. For some reason after we returned from China, I have become chopped liver and Nikki reigns supreme.

God patiently waited in the days of Noah during the building of the ark, in which a few persons, eight in all, were saved through water. This prefigured baptism, which saves you now. (1 Peter 3:20)

Confirmation!

DH, guest blogger extraordinaire, here.

Last Tuesday evening Banana was confirmed by Bishop Campbell! Banana was well-prepared for reception of the sacrament and I am very proud of her work in learning the faith. The priest who conducted her confirmation interview said her definition of the virtues was the best he had ever heard from a confirmand (person being confirmed).

In his article on confirmation, Msgr. Charles Pope remarks that “Evil triumphs when the good remain silent.” How true this is! How important is it for all the confirmed to speak the truth in season and out of season; when it is convenient and when it is inconvenient.

 

Banana chose St. Therese of Lisieux as her patroness. At St. Patrick Church (our parish), there is a quote by St. Therese that reads: "If you are willing to bear serenely the trial of being displeasing to yourself then you will be for Jesus a pleasant place of shelter." How I pray that Jesus *always* finds Banana a pleasant place of shelter!

He is Risen!

He is risen indeed, alleluia, alleluia!

I honestly don't think that in our earthly life we will experience anything closer to heaven than Easter Sunday morning Mass celebrating the Resurrection of Our Lord. Maybe it's the pregnancy hormones, or the lack of sleep from basket and dinner preparations, or the joy of having made it through Lent, but I was moved to tears. 

It is simply heavenly to see the little ones decked out in their Easter finest. Little girls in pastel dresses and white patent leather mary-janes, and little boys in vests and ties.To see the altar dressed in gold linens, the statues and art unveiled, the fragrance of hundreds of flowers adorning the altar and church. When the opening hymn began with the triumphant sounds of the brass quartet, and the congregation began to sing Jesus Christ is Risen Today, I was overwhelmed with the notion that this was a glimpse of heaven. There must have been angels all through that sanctuary.

Of course, we are still dwellers of this earth and our Easter Mass experience brought with us ample reminders of the work we are called to do while still here.

 Little Peter fussed till he finally gave in and fell asleep, after twice letting his dad know in no uncertain terms that he was to be held by Mom.

We have a cardinal rule of Mass survival that states that the feet of children under three never touch the floor in order to avoid the inevitable fall from the kneeler and accompanying head bump. We foolishly broke that rule and of course little Gabe took a good spill. 

Then there was Joseph, who looks so angelic in this photo, he was calmer than normal because he wasn't feeling well. We thought he had done fairly well until we heard after Mass that when we weren't looking he was poking the backsides of those waiting in line to kneel at the communion rail, particularly the women (we also have another rule of Mass that we sit in the front row whenever possible). Yes, that's my son.

After Mass we enjoyed a wonderful family dinner, Grandma's much too generous Easter egg hunt, and homemade carrot cake. The weather was beautiful, the food delicious, and it was another memorable family celebration. Of course at the end I fell into bed exhausted, but so incredibly thankful for such a beautiful day.

I could've written this post about Easter... I too need the full fifty days of Easter to unravel the mystery of the Resurrection! How wonderful the Church in her wisdom gave us so much time to celebrate. I think any mom who tries to pull off a holiday celebration knows that it is hard to contemplate or ponder the meaning of anything when you're so busy trying to coordinate baskets, and dresses, and meals, and somehow clean a house when seven little ones are so bent on it's destruction. I even remarked at our soccer games on Saturday morning (yes, as if this weekend weren't busy enough, we had our first spring soccer games too) that it was a good thing we had an octave of Easter because that was the only way we were going to have time to dye eggs. I just couldn't fit it in earlier. 

Good Friday

On Holy Thursday my mom came over and watched four of our youngest children so that we would be able to attend Mass. It was a beautiful liturgy and I was thankful to have the opportunity to make it through the whole service without feeling battle fatigued and beat up from four little ones crawling over me. At one point I thought to myself that it was nice to meditate on the music of our amazing parish choir instead of just feeling thankful that the singing was drowning out the babbling of whichever kid was making noise at the moment. On the way home though, I also thought that, as much as I enjoyed that Mass, I do think there are amazing graces poured out to us even when we can't concentrate on the liturgy because we are too caught up in trying to keep our little ones from becoming too much of a distraction... Little did I know the next day would prove that all too much.

We took advantage of dh having a day off (his vacation is extremely limited with the trip to China and a delivery coming in early August) and scheduled Peter's first appointment with the International Adoption Clinic on Good Friday. We took the earliest appointment so that I could be home in time for dh and the older girls to make it to our parish meditations on the seven last words. The plan was that I would meet him later for the communion service. That appointment turned into a four and a half hour ordeal. It was crazy. This is our third adoption, our seventh child, all I wanted was a thorough once over to know he was healthy. Instead it was psychologists, therapists, nutritionists, and the works. At one point I was advised to let little Peter hold a spoon while I fed him with another spoon. I nodded and smiled politely at this pretty 20-something with no children while in my head my stream of consciousness is shouting, "I have seven children, a college degree, a brain, I've clearly figured this out.... How much am I paying for this advice?... This is why I dragged myself, a one year old and a two year old out all morning?"

After making it home, seeing dh and my best helpers off to church, I had five minutes to scarf down lunch after being too ambitious in my Friday fasting at breakfast (although pregnant, I try to strike a balance with fasting) before the little ones started waking from their naps. My arms ached from holding a fussy little one for four hours. It was a doctor's office and I really didn't want him crawling on the floor. He, however, is not used to being held for long periods of time and had simply had enough. I tried to feed a few non-nappers a late lunch. By the time I finished cleaning up, settling down fussy babies and toddlers, and maneuvering my ever-growing belly into the back seat of an over-crowded minivan to buckle five kids into car seats, we were half an hour late. Still we pressed on.

We got there and before even entering the church I had to detour to change more diapers. We went in, eventually found dh and girls, and within 10 minutes I was out again. Little Peter liked the feel of the empty baptismal font so for a few minutes peace, I held him up letting him run his hands over the dry concrete. Then I felt something dripping down my arm. He had thrown up in the empty font. The day had been too much for him. I stood there, trying to get little Gabriel to follow me, keep Peter from getting more nastiness on the floor (or me), and make my way to the restroom for some paper towels and such. Thank goodness our parish is such a mecca of large families because a Dad of 11 saved the day for me. Knowing too well I needed a hand, he helped clean that font.

I made it through that service, came home, and crashed. Well, I crashed after making my bed because a little one had an accident after coming into our bed in the middle of the night, folding two loads of laundry, picking up two little kids' bedrooms, and making a grocery list. There were, however, many graces that came from pushing through. Even though there was very little meditation on the via dolorosa, there was a small sharing in the crosses given me. I wish I had carried them more willingly and with less complaining, but I am still a work in progress.

Peter's First Few Days at Home

I think that I am going to need dh to chime in more often if I am ever going to be able to post more regularly on this blog. I certainly enjoyed his posts while he was in China, so maybe I can convince him to pop in every now and then (hint hint)...

Peter's first few weeks home have been pretty non-eventful for us. I, inevitably after the stress of dh's trip, got sick. The early spring has my allergies on overdrive and I had stopped taking my allergy prescriptions for fear of their effect on growing baby girl. That caused a sinus infection and an ear infection. Just another spring in Ohio. While it might have been normal for us, it was filled with firsts for little Peter.

His first experience with an over abundance of toys.

Probably his first experiences learning to share those toys as well. Although I do think the sharing part has been harder on the older boys who have now had to renegotiate who gets what. This is especially true for one Gabe-y Baby who isn't used to not officially being the baby.

His first of many conversations with one of his sisters.

The boy does now have four older sisters, I sometimes call them hens, who cackle and chirp all day long. They also dote on his every need. This little one will no doubt be well versed in female conversation.

His first trip out doors in Ohio spring weather.

He loves the outdoors. He points out the window and follows anyone he can right out the door. He didn't take to the grass, at least not yet. Being outside is a little tough until you can walk.

His first jelly doughnut.

Obviously he loved it! 

His first trip to the park.

Where he spent most of his time just taking it all in, intently watching all his siblings play.

He particularly watched his older brothers, I'm sure taking notes...

Soon enough I am sure he'll brave the slide alone and then before you know it he'll be doing this

A Marital Disagreement and the Reign of Femininity

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, right? So, being apart the last few weeks, dh and I should have no reason to be in disagreement. The trouble is the timing... after all the excitement of last night's safe arrival of our travelers and the excitement of welcoming little Peter, this morning was my ultrasound. This, of course, brought up our perennial disagreement over whether we should find out the gender of our newest baby -- I want to be surprised, dh wants to know.

Four weeks ago when I scheduled this appointment, I thought there was virtually no chance he would be back in time to go with me. I told him this was to be our fifth mid-pregnancy ultrasound, our eighth child, it was time for me to win. Since he wouldn't be there I wasn't finding out.

I never dreamed that in those four short weeks we would have gotten travel dates, booked tickets, had him travel for two and a half weeks, and be home in time for the appointment. That's how it worked out and I thank God for all the graces he granted our family these last few weeks.

So I caved... absence does make the heart grow fonder, and I knew I was happier making him happy.

We are going to have a sweet baby girl...

The boys could have pulled off a tie, but I think God knew four high school boys was more than I could handle. I do love those boys, but am also excited about the return of all things feminine in our home.