Cluster Feeding and Flustered Pleading

I think I'm regressing. I dreamed last night about building a really awesome GeoTrax layout. I guess creativity can strike anywhere. What the hay, I went ahead and gave it a shot and it actually was pretty cool.  I barely got it finished before I had to get back to my cluster-feeder.

Elijah surprised me by sleeping all night, two nights in a row and then began his rampage for milk. For the last 3 days and two nights I've rained milk hourly upon that boy. Somebody please send out the dove! If he's not nursing he's crying from exhaustion - no, wait, that's me.  Meanwhile, the house has collapsed and I think I will too. The "big" boys are bouncing off the walls and employing some desperate attention-getting tactics. All the toys are spilled and all the noises are shrill. Gotta love those growth spurts.

Brian made a funny office joke today and I ran with it.

The Cube-liette (The Cubicle Dungeon): Improving productivity through misery.

Two weekends ago we were trying to decide what we wanted to do. We ended up driving to the theater to see the Disney Oceans movie, but by the time we got there, the boys were asleep so we went to Ikea instead. That night Ian was very disappointed to return home without having seen the movie. This weekend we asked Ian what he wanted to do and he said he wanted to go see the fish movie. We were surprised he remembered it (I don't know why we would be surprised - he remembers everything). We took them to the movie Sunday afternoon and it was pretty good. I think Discovery had better narration and cinematography in their Earth and Life programs. What most amused me was listening to Ian's narration. It was an hour and a half of comments like:

That's a sad song. He's lonely for his mommy.
Ian got distracted with some popcorn and I pointed to the screen, saying, "Manatee." "Yes you may," he replied.
That's Nemo! That's lots of Nemos!
That's loud! Then quiet. Then loud. That's scary loud.
Mom, I can't burp real loud.
Two crabbies! That's a happy crabbie.
I want to leave the movie. I'm done now.




Isaac has better diction than Ian, but then again, Isaac is our little Mockingbird. I was changing Isaac and Ian comes up and says, "Hi Igick." Isaac replies, "I-zick. Can you say 'I-zick?'" Isaac enjoys discovering sound effects and thinking of words to say. He will be puttering with a toy and say, "Say 'pillow'." Ian repeats, "piwow." "Say 'pil-LOW.'" "Piwow." "Say, 'business.'" "Igick, I'm building a dangerous house." He babbles so much, it's unfortunately easy to tune out, so Isaac has turned to saying something, waiting a split second and following up with "I tode-ju...!" Sometimes he even talks over himself to say it. For instance, a 1-minute period may go like this: Fire truck fire truck fire truck. Good night ladies. Good night ladies. I'm go'n leave you now. Ring roun da rosie. Pop goes Isaac! Dinosaur is eating man. I'm going to jump. May I jum - I TODE-JU MAY I JUMP?!


Ian is our Thinker-Builder. He makes curtains for his trolley cars.

He makes toilet-paper capes for his cars. He uses his blocks to build houses with couches and TVs and lamps and slides for his little block "people". He is the boy that sits and pats his friend's back while his friend is being disciplined. Instead of talking about what he will do when he grows up, he says, "When I grow down, I will be a little baby and you will 'nuggle me and hold me and I will laugh and cry, 'wahhh' and nurse you and do all the fings I can do. He went to "check" on "Bebe 'Lijah" lying in his Kickin' Coaster (an AWESOME baby seat, by the way) and inspected his toes and said, "This piggy went to market, this piggy stayed with Dad, this piggy laughed, 'ooh hoo ha ha,' [skipping a toe] an' dis piggy runned away."

I've been loving my crazy new birthday shoes.

I actually exchanged these for ones with more foot coverage, but you get the idea. They are called Vibram Five Fingers. I won't go into all the foot-health benefits they claim, but they are fun and about as close to painless barefooting one can get without years of rigorous callous-building. I run around with the boys in the backyard with them and feel a little giddy. I glide (at least in my mind) across the bumps and dips of the terrain and feel agile and sure-footed, unlike the guesswork of running in regular shoes. We went to Line Creek last weekend and I tromped seamlessly from rocky-rooty trail to slipery-cool streambed. I couldn't resist sneaking out of the water for a moment to hit a creek-side trail like a swift ninja. Nevermind the 32-year-old mommy-body bounding down the path with more undulation than typically present in a ninja. That was somebody else.

This week has been a blast

Spring is here and the diapers haven't even melted yet. Every morning I've been playing Waffle House with my new cast iron two-burner griddle. The item apparently on the boys' menu is pancakes. I mixed it up one day and made them SpongeBob Eggs.

Isaac ate his right up, but Ian only wanted to talk to his. I finally cut it into pieces and said it was a Sponge Bob puzzle for his belly to do.


Elijah had his PET/CT scans last Tuesday. They looked quite clear and he will start his maintenance course of chemo on next Tuesday - yay!  That means we have to go up only once every 3 weeks.


I'm a million years behind on my documentation, so here is a quick run-down of items for the personal archives - no story line, no fancy transitions - nothing.


One day, I hear from the shower, "Bong! Bong!" "Ouch, Ian! That's not a bell!!"  I'll let your imagination fill in the details.


Ian has the most adorable new word.  I'll use it in a sentence.  "Ian, where are your shoes?" "I don't underknow." He does have a way of phrasing things quite effectively. We've had the pleasure of entertaining a stomach virus at our house this week. Ian told me his tummy hurt. I asked him if it hurt like he had to poop. He laid on the floor and said, "It hurts like I want to lay right here until I get up." That's pretty much exactly my sentiment.


I taught Ian about Elijah's soft spot on his head. I described that it is a place on his head that has no bone yet. When Brian came home,  Ian said, "Elijah doesn't have any bones there. I gived him one of my bones so he could be safe."


While playing outside one evening, Isaac looked up at the crescent in the sky and exclaimed, "The moon is chomped!"


Ian likes to make random announcements to invisible spectators. One time while playing blocks with him, Ian stood up and faced his audience saying, "Hi, my name is Ian. I'm building a tower and this (motioning) is my best friend, Mom."


While on a walk, we acknowledged Ian's friendly gesture of waving to a passing car. He said, "I was a gentleman!"


Actual Seuss line: This one I think is called a Yink. He likes to wink. He likes to drink. Ian's version: ...he likes to drink and have fun with the guys.


Ian coughed & said. "I'm ok." He coughed again and said, "I'm ok again." He coughed a third time & said, "I'm ok a six time."


I'm really anxious for Isaac to decide to potty train. Every so often I bring up the subject. During a really messy change, I asked Isaac, "Would you like to try using the potty? Having poop in your diaper must feel so uncomfortable." "No." "What if I got you a little potty just your size?" "No." "We have a little green potty and a little white potty with stickers!" "(pointing to the supplies) Get mine clean diaper!"


One time Ian inspected Elijah's toes and kissed his head and hugged his belly and said "I'm just right for him." And, he sure is! He adores his baby brother and takes the best care of him.


I think that about covers it.


Brian's dad has had the enjoyment of rolling into town during our "potty relay" week. We're probably loads of fun, but I'm sure glad he's here! He's keeping the boys alive while I lie curled up in bed, trying to contain my innards. When the big boys woke up yesterday, I told Ian to go find Grandpa and he'd make them breakfast. Ian replied, "No, I'll find you and you'll make me breakfast."  I tried to remind him that Grandpa loves cooking and, "he'll make it just like you like it." "No, he won't!" Ian protested. "He'll make it too spicy!" Later in the kitchen, Ian was still not convinced, as Grandpa started some pancakes. "Look, Grandpa is making you tasty pancakes!" "No! He'll make them crunchy!" I'm not sure why that would be a problem. As I mentioned in a previous post, he seems to have a taste for blackened pancakes.


The three oldest men in the house have gone off in search of Pedialyte and Preggie Pops, two delicacies for our nauseous, dehydrated selves to enjoy. I was going to nap with Isaac and Elijah, but Elijah decided I would stay up. Ahh, the best-laid plans. 

Can I put in my request for a weekend now?

Three For Me

Wowee Kazowee, I think I've nearly survived my first day solo with my three munchkins. To go back a bit, we brought Elijah home on Friday, March 26, with his NG tube, his apnea monitor and an overwhelming list of care-taking instructions. A home health nurse met us that evening to set us up with our tube-feeding pump and to make sure we were comfortable with flushing his CVL and changing his dressing and fortifying breast milk and giving his meds. What a strange first night.

It was our intention to actually use the apnea monitor - not as frequently as suggested, but maybe for some peace of mind at night. Well, we never left a tube feeding unsupervised, so we didn't use it then. We thought he might sleep well, since he was used to crib sleeping in the hospital, but he was apparently done with that, and with the amount of breast feeding that he and I both wanted to do, I ended up leaving him at my breast all night, just as I had done with my first two. Even two feet away in the cradle, I couldn't hear him breathe (yes, yes, that's what the monitor was for), so I had much more peace of mind with him snuggled up close.

As I had  hoped, within a week, my milk supply was up 'n at 'em and we decided to "risk" removing the NG tube. It would be time to change it out soon anyway. He did fine with exclusively breast feeding. He had no spit ups and seemed to only need the tummy medicine during and shortly after his chemo medicine days.

It was SUCH a lifesaver having Brian's mom here. She provided the stability for the boys that we couldn't have given them, and she kept the house together too - and she made it all look so easy!  She even graciously stayed an extra "extra" week so we could feel more comfortable that Elijah was going to do well. Sadly, but understandably, she drove home today with Brian's dad.

The first thing the older boys did this morning was try to run upstairs to see Grandma, even after I reminded them that she had gone home. Later, Ian heard a noise and asked who made that noise and said, "Maybe it was Grandma." Maybe it'll sink in after a couple days.

The boys were used to Grandma's tasty Jiffy pancakes and wanted them again this morning. I got them going on my new 20" cast iron early birthday present. With impeccable timing, Elijah decided to need an immediate diaper change. I don't know if I felt relief or dismay when Ian requested more "black pancakes."

While nearing the end of the drive home, Grandma called and talked on the answering machine for Ian and Isaac.  Ian picked up the phone and started trying to talk to her, so I helped him turn the phone on and he took off on quite a conversation. I'm not sure what all was said on the other side but I was hearing something like, "Oh! Did you call me one the phone? Oh! I'm doing fine. I'm not crying. I played with Miss Emily and Luke [yeah right], two cars over here, 6 cars over 'ere and all 'ese fings. Elijah is good. Igick is good. Are you 'ere, Gramma? Oh. Elijah is drinking mommy's milk. Mommy is a fweet girl. She is feeding Elijah. He is so hungry and so firsty. [picks up toy phone] I can talk with two phones. Laaaaaa la laaaaaaaaaa laaaaaaaaa laaaaaaaaaaaaa. [forgets about real phone and starts playing with toy phone]" "Ian, is Grandma still talking to you?" "Hello are you there, Gramma? She's not there." I take the phone and say hi. Grandpa answers. O.K., I guess technically Grandma wasn't there.

Speaking of Grandpa, the other night Ian was enjoying a Juicy Juice soda. He took it around to everyone to offer a sip. When he got to Grandpa, Grandpa politely declined, saying it had too much sugar and he can't drink sugar. Ian slurps a sip of soda and hands the can back saying, "Here you go. I drank off the sugar for you." I'd say that's a very marketable talent he has.

So, congrats to me. I actually managed to feed my older boys twice today, and the youngest multiple times, and it all happened without anyone screaming or wounding themselves. I even got the two youngest to sleep at the same time, thanks to my use of Grandma's jaw-dropping method of simply telling Isaac to go take his nap (who woulda' thunk that would actually work?!). I never feel great about the quality of time I spend with the walking, talking children until the baby can at least sit or crawl or otherwise become less time and effort intensive. My tactic for now was corralling everyone in a room with strategic use of the television when I had to tend to baby. I'm sure in no time I'll be back to my old self, storming the town with my barely-controlled posse of pre-schoolers...and their new "Baby 'Liijah."

Wait Lifting

As I wait again in the family waiting area for a NICU surgery to wrap up, I'm reminded of the difficult lessons I'm learning. The first is patience. I'm learning that God has a timeline and I'm better off letting go of mine and embracing His. I have a matryoshka doll of "waits" bobbling in my mind. I have the big waits of wondering when my baby will be healed and when he will be home. I have littler waits nested within of when will the chest tube come out? and when will the doctors trust our breastfeeding to grow his body? There are surrounding waits of when will the NICU let us back in so I can see my baby? and when will the doctor tell me about the last scan?

My whole day is a succession of waits, big and small. I'm not good at waiting, at least not through all these unknowns. If God could just send me a messenger to say, "Elijah will be fine and you will be home together soon," I could wait in peace; If I knew it would all work out, I could endure almost anything in the meanwhile. Over the last 8 weeks, I think I've been decompressing a bit. My 6-week hopeful mental deadline came and went with no homecoming. I've let go of trying to guess when we'll have him back and have relaxed into knowing he is where he should be. He'll leave when the time is right. I'm trying to lift my waits to God and believe that the "whens" don't matter next to God's will. Our world is in His hands.

As I sit here moping, I tear up a bit when I see a father across the room hang up his cell phone and burst into a relieved cry, "She's okay!" The family circles up for hugs and a prayer of thanksgiving. It was his daughter's surgery I was waiting on to get back to see my son. He was waiting for her life. As my waits are put in perspective, I want to jump up and join the group hug to celebrate with them.

My second, and equally-challenging lesson is relinquishing my self-reliance. Floods of offers for help have come in from friends, family and acquaintances. For the first weeks, I couldn't think of what I needed, aside from stability for our boys, which family was providing. I wasn't sure there was anything to need. I felt bad because I could tell people genuinely want to help, but I've been so autonomous I couldn't come up with anything. Finally, someone, not knowing the wisdom of her actions, practically forced help upon us. We, very uncomfortably, accepted lunch for a week from near-strangers.

I felt very humbled, if not a little uneasy, to have meals delivered to the hospital each day by people who spent the time, effort and money to cook or order them. Quickly, though, the blessing manifested itself. The warmth of a tasty meal, delivered in love, nourished our hearts and bellies. We had something wonderful and reliable to look forward to each day. That gave me the courage and humility to ask our devoted church members for a few meals we could keep in our deep freezer for those evenings when we don't have enough juice left to cook. Someone passed out 42 casserole pans in church and from that day we have not had to cook a single dinner!  What a blessing and a relief!

I don't know why I developed my independent nature. It's been too important to me to solve my own problems and meet my own needs. It doesn't make much sense to me, because in the other direction, I'll do just about anything for just about anybody for the sheer joy of helping someone. I like to be a contributor. So, why is it so hard to be a recipient? Why is it so uncomfortable for me to feel so indebted to so many people and to know I could probably never repay each person, and *gulp* could probably not even list each person that has helped us. Why do I feel the need to repay deeds that were done without expectation, and perhaps even causing offense if I tried? If I were to think as a giver, I would want my recipient to feel at peace with my gift - to feel relief from the burden that has been lifted by my gift - and to go about her day, free to focus on what matters.

As I write these words, I'm seeing a big blinking arrow pointing to some important truths. People need people. We weren't meant to handle everything on our own. Sometimes a harder lesson than learning to give is learning to receive - to accept what we need from those who freely give. Most importantly, I'm reminded to daily accept the gift of life that God had freely given. We each need to accept it with gratitude and peace, understanding that we will never deserve it, earn it, or be able to repay it. We owe no debts; we've been freed to focus on loving Him and each other. What a blessing and a relief! 

Pleasantly Bored

Okay, so how many different ways can I document my daily routine? Got up. Pumped. Got dressed. Ate. Stuffed frozen milk in a cooler. Got kisses from the boys. Said goodbye. Said goodbye some more. More kisses. Said goodbye one more time. Drove to hospital. Pumped. Woke up munchkin at 11:45. Changed diaper. Detangled wires. Attempted breastfeeding. Put sleeping munchkin back. Pumped. Went to lunch. Woke up munchkin at 2:45. Changed diaper. Detangled wires. Attempted breastfeeding. Put sleeping munchin back. Pumped. Mildewed (Huh? OK, when I was growing up, every time I asked my dad what he was doing, he said "mildewing". I never "got" it, but I think I'm catching on now). Woke up munchkin at 4:45. Changed diaper. Detangled wires. Attempted breastfeeding. Put sleeping munchkin back. Pumped. Got slightly reprimanding looks for encroaching on shift change. Grabbed drink and snack from caf. Drove home. Ate dinner. Pumped. Crammed in playtime with boys. Got ready for bed. Pumped. Read stories. ZZZzzz.

The awesome part is sometimes I mix it up a bit and change a diaper after breastfeeding or get a lunch date with a brave and kind soul who stopped by. There are also cool little details I didn't bore you with, like, I took his temperature. Ooh today he gets an Xray. Say, maybe I'll change his clothes.


At the hospital, a boring day is a great day. Today is a really, really great day. The less action this boy can stir up, the sooner he'll be home.

Home. Home. Where my other funny little boys are. I have more fun with these little guys in the sliver of time I get with them during the week. Last night we read The Monster At The End of This Book. That was always one of my favorites as a kid. Last time we had read it was shortly after Christmas, and I think Isaac was a little scared of it. Maybe it was Dad's voices that did it. This time, Brian read it once and Isaac took it and "read" each page, saying "Monter at end of tory. (Looks at Brian) Turn page?" After a few more stories and clicking off the light, snuffly little Ian volunteered to pray. "Dear God. Fank you for God. Please bless everyfing. I want mommy to clean my nose. Bless the trucks. Aaaamen!"

The Bees Knees

I'm pretty stoked today. Elijah has been in a good mood and has breastfed for 20 minutes at every feeding that I've been here for - yay! Brian and I were discussing that we are in dire need of a vacation. We need to scoop our THREE boys up and go somewhere to veg for a bit. Just waiting for Elijah to hatch his escape plan.

There is definitely something lovable about my days; there is plenty to keep me busy. During the majority of it, I have the pleasure of snuggling my little guy in my arms. I can think of nothing better! Otherwise, I'm pacing the cafeteria lines, deciding if it's a mooshy veggie or fried cheese stick day. On the front door of the hospital, there is a warning sign saying there is secret audio and/or video surveillance. Maybe there is a bored security guard keeping tally of how many times I snub the green beans. Sometimes, I wave at random cracks in the ceiling tiles, just in case someone behind a monitor is feeling lonely. 

I miss my bigger boys. Even if they were allowed in here, they'd probably be miserable after the first 15 minutes of trying drive the IV pole around. They're better off at home with Grandma, where Ian is striking up conversations between his cars, and Isaac is learning to say "contaminated pants". They build tents, walk to the park and have all sorts of fun. Brian's mom says the boys even crawl into a bed or tent and fall asleep without protest for their naps. I think I need video proof of that. 

I don't know what I'm going to do when they get bigger. I keep popping out babies, but they won't stay put. I'm not sure whether to keep at it or resign myself to the fact that they are just going to grow. I love their innocence. The perfect image of that is my memory of Ian when he was just settling into toddlerhood. One of his favorite "jobs" was to bobble to the mailbox with me to get the mail. One day, as we were approaching the mailbox, scruffily decorated with annuals, Ian reached out with one little finger and petted a big, fuzzy bumblebee. The bee didn't know, didn't care or didn't think him a threat, but I was immediately tensed, ready to scoop and run. Something about that transaction burned it into my memory, and I admired my son all the more. 

He's a little more "wise" now. I can't say if he'd try to get friendly with any other stinger-laden insects, but he thinks he knows a thing or two.  Brian was reading him a Dr. Seuss book last night and Ian noticed one of the female characters looked mad. Brian asked him what she was mad about. Ian replied, "She's mad about mans". Sometimes I have to wonder just what exactly he picks up on and what is coincidence, but I'm starting to think kids are pretty adept psychologists.

I'm nagged by motherly guilt regarding Isaac, the poor victim of Second Child Syndrome. He is just as hilarious as Ian, but usually in such an indescribable, nuanced way that words wouldn't do it justice. He's making leaps in his verbal skills, but isn't in position to blurt out the quotables yet, like his older brother. Still, it  seems he ought to get some space on the page, too. I have nary a record of most of his milestones. I couldn't tell you when his top-left molar came in. Apparently, I had way too much time on my hands when I had only one child. But, for the record and my conscience, Isaac rocks!   :o)