It just gets louder…

In today’s society, those of us with “large” families kind of stick out.  We have seven children.  A few years ago, I would ahve considered this a large family, and I suppose I still do a little bit.  But the truth is, you get used to it.  It’s not like we sit around on a daily basis and think to ourselves, “Wow…  how’d this happen?  (um, and yes, we do what causes it, thank you very much for asking…).  We go on with our lives like everyone else does and we play the hand we’ve been dealt and we adjust.  

It’s kind of interesting how the perception of “what we can handle” changes as time goes on.  Back when we had two kids, having four or five seemed like a remarkably difficult thing.   When we had three, five or six seemed insane.   When we had four, six or seven seemed ridiculous to imagine.  This continued on merrily until we’re here today with seven kids and now the thought of nine or ten seems like it’s too much too handle.   We’re now to the point where if a couple of our kids visit Granpa and Grandma for a weekend and we “only” have five, we’re like “This isn’t even parenting!  What a piece of cake!”

Anyway, back to the culture we live in, where having four kids is considered insurmountable odds.   I can’t complain, in general, about the response I receive when I am asked about my family.  Oh, I hear all those “tongue-in-cheek” comments about getting fixed or what-not from the occasional person, but all in all people react with a mix of appreciation and astonishment.  The conversation inevitably has some variation of the phrase “That’s great that you can do it.   I never could.”

When asked how I can handle all of them, my general answer is that because the oldest kids actually grow and are taught to assist and be responsible and stuff, you kind of reach this critical mass of work around the four or five kid mark.   After that, it just gets louder.

I don’t think people really believe me, but it’s true.   I think what people can’t get past is that I am not saying the work ends or alleviates any time soon.  I’m not saying it’s not a sacrifice.  I’m not saying that I will be saddened the last day I ever put on a diaper.  I’m not saying that my wife isn’t tied down in many ways to a nursing baby.  What I am saying is you reach a point where there’s only so much you can do, and you make determinations about what is really important for you, your family, and your children.  And in the end, I really believe the whole group is all the happier for it. 

We don’t buy in to certain cultural norms that seem to think it’s cute or OK for the kids to fight with or not like each other.  The kids need special permission to exclude their family members from activities they are engaging in.  The norm is that we don’t do that.  I can honestly say that all of our kids like all their brothers and sisters (not that there aren’t certain times where they get mad at each other.  That would be crazy talk.)  All in all, we have really tried to strike a balance between letting them be kids and giving them responsibility.

I think it also actually helps that we homeschool.  People can’t seem to grasp that homeschooling may be a huge commitment, but it’s probably less stressful overall than running around to all the different school activities and teachers conferences while holding a job and trying to worry about daycare and all those things.  For as many questions as I get about “How do you do it?” I look at what other people are doing, which is the accepted norm, and I ask, “How do you do it?”  You can say whatever you want about the reasons for or against homeschooling, but what i can tell you is that we have plenty of friends who have otherwise good kids, and the parents are becoming frustrated at the attitude these kids pick up from their peers.  It doesn’t have to be big stuff, but it pretty much comes down to “I’m the center of the Universe, you and the rest of the family should cater to my needs, and by the way, you’re really kind of dumb and don’t understand me.”   Obviously, it’s not every kid, but there are enough stories of that where I look at my own family and think “Thanks God.”

Now, I’m not an idiot, even though I play one on the internet.   I realize that these young skulls do think on their own and at some point may well think I’m dumb, or too strict, or whatever.  But I think we can work with that and teach them that they have a right to opinions, but there is an expectation of respect.   That will be enough to deal with without them getting fed all sorts of garbage from their peer group.

But I digress a bit, as I often do.  

I guess I just want to present reality to people from someone who has been there.  If you think my wife and I went into our marriage thinking “Wouldn’t it be great to have 7 kids?” then you’re wrong.  We were caught up in things like many others and placed ourselves and our own plans and goals ahead of such frivolous foolishness like actually bringing more life into the world.  And while our attitude on that changed markedly over time, with every step along the way we admittedly did not necessarily think to ourselves that this is the greatest thing since sliced bread.  Announcements of newly expected kids were met with a combination of joy, anxiety, questioning, nervousness, fear, excitement, and a general hope that we would be able to keep our sanity.    But as with most things, once you accept it and move on, you realize that not only can you handle it, but it’s a huge blessing.

I don’t accept it when the people say to me “I couldn’t do it.”   No, really, you choose not to do it (unless you have a physical impediment or other major issue to deal with).   Just be honest about it.  If you had to do it, you could.  You may not beleive it, but you may actually like it. 

A larger family forces you into choices that bring about simplicity.  But I see this as a positive.   One of the reasons why parents with two kids can’t imagine having more kids these days is because they have the kids involved in every damn thing that comes along.   Any parent with two or three kids in hockey aroound here puts nearly every weekend on the shelf for about six months.  You want insane?  That’s insane.   Every kid needs to be in music lessons, dance, three sports, on top of daycare and school activities.  Everything is scheduled.   It’s no  wonder the idea of more kids is incomprehensible. 

I’m here to tell you that you are not doing your kids a disservice by saying “You can pick one thing.  When you get older, we’ll talk about whether or not you can do more than one thing.”   Our kids are not being run all over the place.  We tell them to go outside, even if they don’t want to.  Inevitably, they build a fort or ride their bikes, or sled in the snow.  They act like kids unconcerned about a schedule of events.  Video games are severely restricted.  We have a Sony Playstation 1, and about the only games we have are football, scrabble, a racing game, and the old classics like Pac-Man and Centipede and stuff.  They are allowed to play it only on Sundays, and only when it’s raining or severely cold.   In other words, they play it maybe a half-dozen times a year. 

This lack of access to a gameboy and a relatively unscheduled life allows and forces them to do things like read, or play, or pretend, or practice piano, or go camping, or do homework.   What a concept.

But I think I’m digressing again…

I’ll wrap it up now.  But, in the spirit of recognizing that all these little packets of energy can really tap your own energy, I leave you with my personal mantra:   “The years fly by, but the days seem to last forever.”

Momisms, Part 1

I love my mom.  Always have, always will.  But the dear old lady has a penchant for turning phrases around or just getting things wrong in the most humorous of ways.  I, along with my brothers and sisters, have always said that we need to write theses things down.   Tonight, I start.   I expect that I will continue to have revelations as time goes on.  When those occur, I will be sure to throw out a quick post with whatever the new momism of the day is.  Most certainly, new ones are to happen, as well.

I start with a few quick hits, and end with the most embarrassing momism on record.

First, some quotes:

“Well, you know what they say.   You can lead a cow to water, but you can’t make it drink.”   Perhaps this is to be forgiven, since she has spent her entire married life on a dairy farm.

For my non-farm friends, a little explanation is in order for the next momism.  When farmers make the first hay of the season, it is called “first crop.”  Then, the hay will grow back so that later in the season it can be cut again as “second crop.”  In some years, if the growing season is long enough and weather allows, the hay may reach harvest-able height once again, for “third crop.”  Logic dictates that you cannot have third crop until a second crop has occurred.  Logic is not my mom’s strongest suit.  And so the next momism happened in a year where the weather was not cooperating, and the first crop hay was being harvested much later than usual: “Boy, by the time you get the first crop hay in, you’ll have to go straight to third crop!”

This is an adult-oriented story.  I apologize in advance for something that may not be appropriate for all ages.  But the story is a true momism, and one that must be shared.  I trust you will understand.

My mom has a standing hair appointment at 10:00 am on Friday mornings.  This has been a staple of her existence for as long as I can remember.  I long ago stopped trying to figure out what the draw in this is, but I think it has more to do with the fact that the hairdresser in the small town in which I grew up is the hub of all information much more than it actually has to do with getting her hair done.

On one of these many days, my mom had gotten a wash or something.  All I know is that the woman was blow-drying her hair.  My mom apparently thought she was doing a fine job, and said, “Boy, you sure give a good blow job.”

The place erupted into laughter.  My mom, who didn’t have a clue what she had just said, wanted to know what was so funny.  It didn’t take them long to realize that this dear old woman truly didn’t know what a blow job was. 

And, so, my mom came home trying to figure out what it could possibly be.  The first victim was my older brother, who refused to answer her question, and was horrified that she had asked him such a thing, and also that she had said such a thing in public.  Well, I guess that made her figure out that this is probably a bit too sensitive for a mother-son conversation, so she asked my dad.   I did not witness that, but word has it he busted out laughing that she actually made this statement, and then shared with her the embarrassing details of it all, which she was then shocked and appalled at.

But she wasn’t done.  Here I was, probably 13-14 years old at the time.  I remember lying on my back on the kitchen floor tossing a ball up into the air (trying to see how close I could come to the ceiling without touching it.  Man, I was a crazy kid…).  Who would have guessed that my mom, who was standing there with a contemplative look on her face, would utter the question, “Joe…  Do you know what a blow job is?”

I was raised to be honest.  But I wanted to lie.  I wanted my words to be, “Why, no mother.  I have never heard of such a thing.  Has it, perchance, anything to do with furnace repair?”  But I did not.  I stammered.  It was obvious that I knew,  I could not hide it.  At this point, I had not heard the story of my mother’s embarrassing appointment.  I did not know where this was going, and didn’t particularly want to get involved in this conversation.   But I finally responded, “Uhhhhhhhh…   yeah…”

What followed was a confusing verbal chastisement about how I shouldn’t know what that is.  She was angry.   I know she wasn’t angry at me for having heard of it, she was angry at society for making me aware of it.  I see that now.  But as a 14 year old, I was freakin’ confused about why I was getting yelled at.  She finally must have felt like she needed to share the story with me as to what brought all this up.  I remember thinking it was funny.  I’m not sure she appreciated that.  But I was also relieved at that point to know why this had suddenly become the Saturday morning post-breakfast subject of choice. 

I am not quite sure I have done justice to the story.  This has lived in infamy.  Despite its adult subject matter, it has been a story long told at Thanksgiving tables or family gatherings (usually just among the adults, of course).  One thing about my mom is she’s a good sport.  She knows she has her moments, and she laughs at herself.

An Update on Dear Old Dad

Originally posted on http://digitaldiatribes.wordpress.com on April 9, 2007.

Well, it’s been a few days again.  For those of you kind enough to have said a few prayers for good old Dad, let me keep you apprised of the situation.

Going back to the day after surgery, and the unsettling visit to ICU, I can happily report that he looked much better less than 24 hours after surgery.  Now, by “much better” this is probably like saying a yellow blotch on my son’s white T-shirt looks much better than a dark brown blotch on a white T-shirt.  It’s all relative.  But keeping in mind the guy just had major surgery, the following was all welcome news: moving out of ICU the following morning, conversing, very short walk, eating a little food.

But I’d like to share with you some of the explanation we received on the whole process that may help those of you out who will someday experience visiting a loved one after heart surgery.  I wish the surgery on nobody, and I wish such a visit on no family, but reality says that it will happen to many of us.

When they start to cut into the chest, the body reacts by going into shock.  This is the body’s natural protection mechanism.  What happens is that the blood pressure lowers dramatically.   Well, we don’t want that during surgery, so this is combated by pumping fluid into the body.  We were told that some people can receive up to 30 pounds of fluid.  On average, 10-15 pounds is required.  Well, this works great for surgery, but there’s this little issue with after the surgery, and where the fluid is going to settle.  The fluid looks for open spots.  The lungs are one such spot.  In order to make sure that the lungs do not fill up, the patient is asked to use this little device where they blow into, to keep the lungs working properly and filled with air.  In addition, the patients are encouraged to cough as much as they can handle it to keep the lungs clear.   What they do to help the fluid get eliminated is they put tubes around the heart.  This creates a larger-than-normal space.  This encourages fluid to settle around the heart as it looks for a place to go.  But the fluid won’t stay there because the tubes are there and so it drains out of the body.  Also, one reason the bandages on the legs look as bad as they do is because fluid is being eliminated through the cuts.  It looks like blood, but while there is blood mixed in, it is actually mostly fluid.   And this is why Dad looked so weird to us after surgery.  We were seeing him all “puffed up” before much fluid had drained.  This also explains why there is a liquid restriction in the day or two afterward.

Dad had a couple long days, and has had a couple of setbacks, unfortunately.  The positive is that he continues to get stronger, but he wasn’t rebounding as they had hoped two days after surgery.  He had a blood transfusion that helped him, though, and all seemed back on track.  We saw him again on Good Friday and he had a pretty good day, and the expectation was that he would go back home on Saturday.

Unfortunately, he had some bleeding on Saturday that may be related to old ulcer problems.  Dad used to have a difficult time with ulcers, but underwent treatment using antibiotics  years ago.  He never had any problems since then, and so the doctors didn’t feel there was a concern with regard to his being on blood thinners.  (Due to the mechanical valve they put in his heart, it requires he take an anticoagulant).  We are still waiting to see if this is a more serious problem or not.  They have taken him off of aspirin, and are only taking him off the blood thinner for one day before he needs to go back on.  

In addition, on Easter Sunday his heart went out of rhythm, and now he’s back on IVs.  The good news is that he is feeling OK and is getting stronger – these problems are not affecting his recovery in that regard, but it does mean he can’t go home.  I know he is really looking forward to his recliner!

We are keeping Dad in our prayers, and still anticipate a full recovery.

Reflections of the Heart

Originally posted at http://digitaldiatribes.wordpress.com on April 3, 2007.

Reflecting on yesterday is an important thing.  We all know and understand that it is crucial that we plan for the future.  Preparation, an attitude of “looking ahead, not behind” is a driver of most very sucessful people.

To the extent that looking back means “living in the past” by not being able to get past mistakes out of your head, or living a life of regret for past decisions, etc. then looking back is not always a healthy thing.  

But sometimes I think we dismiss the value of an honest reflection of past events.  We learn from history (or we should learn, anyway) not only on a global scale, or a national scope, but also on a personal level.  What good are mistakes if we don’t learn from them?  We do not always realize we’ve made mistakes until some time passes, and if we never look back to see how we got from Point A to Point B, then we may not like the way Point C looks when we get there.  

But looking back is not just an exercise in learning from mistakes.  It is also a valuable reflection.  There are days that are, in fact, much better understood when you look back at them and put them in context than when you are actually going through them.

I had such a day yesterday.  My dad had four bypasses and a valve replacement.  It was a planned procedure, and we thank God that he did not have a heart attack.  He had felt some pain and pressure lately and also shortness of breath.  We knew he was going in on Monday, and so all the family came up this last weekend.  Between this and other things, this explains my mini-absence from blogging lately.  He is not the first to undergo such a procedure, and he will not be the last.  We often hear that this has become “routine,” and the chances of coming through this with flying colors is much better today than it was even a few years ago.

Of course, perspectives often change when someone you love dearly is going through it.  I have known other people who have had their loved ones go through this, and it’s been easy for me to, in my wisdom, point out how great the chances are of a full recovery.   Now it’s my dad, and while I know this is the case, it was little comfort as I saw him in the ICU with tubes sticking everywhere, a tube down his throat, his leg bandaged where they removed his veins, and looking pale and waxy.   The most troubling thing for the rest of my family is that we were not properly prepared for what we would see in that room.  We knew about the tubes and all, but his coloring and skin texture was not much different from what you see in a casket.

It’s tough seeing “Superman” like that.  And I’d be lying if I said I had no doubt that it was the right thing to do to have surgery.   It probably was, though I have a hard time being completely convinced.  But that is neither here nor there at this point.  It’s done, and that discussion now falls under the category of looking ahead, and not back.

Anyway, the reason I reflect on yesterday now is because moments like this bring to mind any number of emotions which I would qualify as being in the “negative” area:  sadness, doubt, fear, exhaustion, pain, etc.   Those will hang on for a while as dad recovers and will have some rough days ahead of him.  But with a day to look back, there are also some other things that come to mind:  thankfulness for his life;  memories; a reminder of our mortality; lessons (should I change my own habits?  The answer is yes…); family (my sister pointed out that it was the first time in years that the four siblings were together without our spouses or kids.  Waiting out the seven hours definitely allowed for some good conversation and brouoght us closer together.)

I can even look back and laugh a little bit at a couple of things from the day.  After visiting dad in the ICU (he was still out of it at that time) we decided to get out of the hospital for a bit and eat dinner at Perkins Restaurant.  It wasn’t the happiest of meals, but we did OK.  My older sister, Cyndi, took a restroom break, and was crying when she got back to the table.  I hugged her and told her to hang in there.  She responded “I was fine until I saw the pie.”   My dad is known to often finish up his meal and blurt out “Pie!” as his way of expressing that he sure wished he had some pie for dessert.  I told her, “OK, now that’s funny.”

I type this up not even a day removed from the end of his surgery, and the news is great.  He has already been moved out of ICU and has visited with some members of the family.  I have not been to see him yet but will be doing so in a couple hours.

We are praying that all continues to go well.  We welcome any and all prayers.  And from now on, I am sure I will have more empathy for those families going through the same thing.

Valentine’s Day Redux

Originally posted on http://digitaldiatribes.wordpress.com on February 15, 2007.

In the office where I work, there are certain individuals/departments where candy is purchased and offered to the rest of us.  The other day I noticed that the jar was filled with Peanut Butter Easter Eggs.   I guess it shouldn’t surprise me that, in a world where Christmas is advertised prior to Halloween, I would see Easter being promoted before Lent even starts.  But surprised I was as I opened the wrapper and consumed the little treat.  (Hey, I may not understand why it has to be in the shape of an egg, but that won’t stop me from enjoying some chocolate and peanut butter.)

I bring this up because this is the world we live in, and I am now posting about Valentine’s Day.  By definition, the topic is already stale.  I had intended to post this yesterday, but believe it or not, more important things got in the way.  I know, I know…   Once you start a blog, there is nothing more important than your blog, right?   Well, I’m a rule-breaker.   In any case, here’s my strategy to make this post, um, unstale:  Consider this the opening salvo on preparing for Valentine’s Day 2008.  I’m simply getting a good start on next year.

I thought I’d just share our Valentine’s Day traditions with all of you.

There.  I’m done.

I’m sure by now, you have all determined that I am a sensitive guy.  So, it may surprise you that my wife and I have generally chosen not to celebrate Valentine’s Day.  It may be more accurate to say that I choose not to, and Wendy goes along with it happily.  Or at least pretends to be happy.

Now, lest you think I am a heartless jerk, I assure you that is not the case.   It’s more the forced nature of showing affection that has caused this personal stand of mine.  As I see it, buying a bunch of overpriced flowers and paying more for a card than should be legally allowed all because it’s February 14th means far less than offering the random “let me take you out to/bring home dinner” offer on, say, June 7 (a day which otherwise means nothing in particular).  Or surprising her with flowers (admittedly a very rare occurrence) on a random day.

Allow me to illustrate the frustrations us men go through with an example.  As a general rule, men pretty much lack the creativity gene.  Flowers are a safe bet, and so when the Rotary Club has their annual “a dozen roses for $15″ sale, the males among us believe that we can buy these cheap flowers, check that little item off our list of nice things we should do,  and the wife at home will be none the wiser.   The problem is, wives talk to other wives.  And when everyone gets roses on the same day it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to determine that the odds of this occurring are about as likely as gravity ceasing to exist.  And so, this purchase is looked upon in an almost humorous way and not received in the same way as a simple “I love you” is received.  (It has been reported to me, however, that despite this, certain men fear the consequences of not getting the dozen roses.  Better to be looked upon as a loyal lapdog than one who gives the appearance of not thinking their wife is worth $15.  Fortunately, Wendy is one who, while she appreciates and enjoys flowers, understands that they die and the money I spent is our money.)

In fact, this whole Rotary Club thing really hosed me once.  We were expecting our fifth child, and I thought that instead of waiting until the baby was born to purchase my traditional bouquet of roses, I would surprise her early on in the pregnancy with a beautiful array of a dozen roses from the finest flower shop in town.  It was the day of the delivery (of flowers, that is) and I was at work, anxiously awaiting a phone call from my sobbing wife who was overcome with the joy that came with relishing in the expression of undying love for her I had just sent (an expression that cost well over $50, by the way).  As the day went on, I started thinking that maybe she took the kids somewhere and wasn’t home when the flowers arrived, since I did not receive the call I had so utterly anticipated.  Finally, I called home to “check in.”  Hmmm….  yep, she was there.  After some normal small-talk and no mention of flowers, I finally asked if anything had come that day.  Her answer was, “Oh, yeah.  It must have been Rotary Flower day, huh?”

Nothing against the Rotary Club, but I’ve pretty much hated them ever since.  Talk about killing the moment.  Why not just add “Oh, and you’re a big, fat, bald loser who does math for a living.”

And that brings me back to Valentine’s Day.  To me, it’s like the Roatary Club flower sale, except that it’s a lot more expensive.  And while I do not deny that there is an element of obligation borne of love in celebrating it, there is a larger portion of obligation borne out of marketing, and dare I say outright fear.

Therefore, I have made my stand!  I prefer to think of my stand as that of a hopeless romantic who desires only the element of surprise.  Others may take a more cynical view, I suppose.

I will say that the day is not a complete loss.  Wendy celebrates it with the kids, and they make their cards, and it’s a lot of fun for them.  They learn about St. Valentine and they decorate and they make cookies and they eat candy.  They get cards from Grandma and Grandpas that they open and get all excited about.  So, it’s not like we’ve completely eschewed all things Valentine on any moral principle.  For more detail on their special day, check out http://thebluehouse.wordpress.com/2007/02/15/the-sun-has-set/.

Who knows?  Maybe someday I’ll really surprise my wife by actually getting her flowers on Valentine’s Day.  I just need to make sure it’s clear that they aren’t from the Rotary Club.