I can't go to bed...

Do you ever have those nights where you just can't go to bed?  It's like I have gotten my second wind, and finished what I wanted to, but just can't get into bed... So I have been going through all the blogs I follow, and even peering into new ones.  It really is ridiculous, because I know I only have about 4 more hours before a baby will want to eat. I mean, he has already been sleeping for four hours... 

Usually this is not my dilemma. Normally I fall into bed and manage to be sound asleep in seconds, literally.

And when it is late, and the music is playing, I find myself enjoying the rare moment of being alone.  I am smitten with our Christmas tree.  The one that the boys so dutifully helped trim this evening.  Ev saying, "I'm tired of hanging things..."  Only to get a quick reply from Dad, "I get sick of it at the end too."  And then followed by, "Ev, you need to get that on the tree.  You're going to bend it if you lay on it like that.  One - Two" 

* silent chuckles as I think about it *

I love it.  I just look at our tree and am filled with thankfulness for the four little hands that hung the ornaments, a daddy who helped unwrap and hand out the ornaments, a warm living room for it to sit in... And most of all for a savior, came down to earth as a tiny babe, born in an unsuspecting place, to save us all, to save - me, a sinner. I am thankful to celebrate this most mysterious and glorious event.  The event that changed the world, but more importantly the event, the God that still changes hearts, mine included.

With a grateful heart, a quiet house, and a cat still sleeping in the exact same spot as the above photo :)

a hop! and a scotch? make two boys in motion

Admittedly, these were taken a while ago - look at the last pic, and you will know it was a while ago by the baby bump, but I wanted to link up to "Boys in Motion" over at Erin's blog today. 

Please excuse the fact that they are only wearing t-shirts. That is all I will say about that.

Who says boys can't have a little fun playing hop-scotch!?



It starts with the chalk!






Gotta love the shadow!

A child's perspective, in pictures

A fun little post today...
O-dog didn't have any room left on his little fisher price camera that he received for a birthday gift when he turned 3.  I usually just went through the photos, deleted all the ones taken of walls, feet and the floor, and he was good to go again. However, he didn't want me to delete ANY this time, so they are now saved on our computer, YEA - not so enthusiastically.  However, I have enjoyed finding some of them, because they are of moments that I would never have had my camera out. I'm not saying I always love the condition of the house when some of these photos were taken, but I do like the randomness and realness that they depict. There are also several pictures taken at our little rental house in Franklin and some of me pregnant with Amelia, which I don't have very many of.  So without further ado, here is a child's perspective... in some not-so-focused, not-so-centered, from a low vantage point - fisher price pictures!

Did I mention our Franklin house doubled as a hunting lodge?



I hope I was pregnant in this pic :) no head, no feet, just what is at their eye level.



Franklin house dining room.




View from Daddy's lap.




Franklin kitchen




Franklin again. "Mom, but we did put the puzzle together... once."



?



Taking pictures of eachother!




Train bin, with some overspill.



Dad and the cat



supper

Aunt Rebekah, who has gotten more than one "Are you my mom?" from my sons at family gatherings.  Too funny.

Another of Aunt Rebekah

I love this one... it is in the porch in Franklin.



pregnant with Amelia




"A perfect set-up. My favorite chair as close to the tv as possible."



Oh, brother.

Oh, brother.  Oh, mom.

Finding that a lot of what he sees all day ----- is me.



Ev figured out how to work the camera.




Ev figured out how to work the camera, again.




Here's my face.

 

Here's my foot.



"I don't know who took all the books off the shelf, Mom?"

Railing. Eye level.



Daddy working in the yard for Mom.



Mom watching Daddy work in the yard for Mom.



"Come on, you can make it."



"Wouldn't it be cool to take a picture of the movie we are watching?"

Dad holding the cat again.



huh...



"I don't climb on things. Only when I really need something." - Ev
"She's going to know it was you - because I'm taking a picture of it." - O



our cat's eat-in kitchen



"What does focus mean?"



Improvement.




Archer and Ev



I hope you have a great thursday!





Amelia Grace

Why does it mean so much? Why does it touch my heart when someone, a mere acquaintance really, says her name?

The picture below is the marker that is currently at the cemetery. This is the only thing we can have out there until we get her headstone installed (since it has been more than a year). So this is what has been marking her grave since May.

I went there today. I have been meaning to call Sharon, the lady who (with her husband) takes care of the cemetery, because I needed to ask about the installation of a headstone.

And who happened to drive in while I was there?
Her smile was as gentle and as sincere as it was the day we first visited with her. That day we had asked her questions about putting our precious daughter's body in the ground, in the ground she cared for. It was a nice spring day. A little windy. We told her how we were unsure of putting our baby in one of the larger cemeteries in town. She told us of how her teenage son was buried in town, in one of the larger cemeteries... and she wishes he wasn't. You could tell she has had guilt over it. But she now has peace about it, has forgiven herself, resigned to the fact that her mind (as any newly grieved parent) was lost during those first days after he died. At that time she was not involved with the Yankee Hill Cemetery, like she is now. "You do the best you can," she said.  Now... She answers the phone for them, she mows the grass, she meets with people, and SHE is who touched my heart today. Sometimes a touch can break what is fragile at the moment. And sometimes breaking isn't a bad thing.
When I spoke with her and told her we were ordering Amelia's marker, do you know what she said? She smiles, and looks me in the eye, and says, "Amelia Grace is getting her headstone." Then another wide, soft smile and she says, "I think about her when I mow."
- Sigh -
My first thought - awe, she used her name... I love that. My next thought - there are so many people buried here, does she think about everyone?  Not only does she sweat and toil over the ground as she mows with her large straw hat, but she is mentally and emotionally connected as well. That would be me. I would have a thousand day dreams of who these people were and how they came to be in this same square of land. All from different eras and of all ranges of ages. Entire families wiped out within days of eachother - maybe it was an illness or maybe a fire or a flood... A young man in the service who died in a battle... in another country?  A mother who died giving life to a child, leaving others behind.  A baby who lived two days. What happened little one? Do you know my "Millia", as Ev calls her still?

Now the part that I didn't "get" until a mile down the road.

She remembered her middle name.

She said Amelia Grace. Her lone marker has only had "Amelia Heath" on it for 5 months now, for most of the mowing season! I should have thought of this before leaving the cemetery, because now my eyes are filled with tears and I can barely see to drive.
Oh...

the simplest things that touch my heart...

that break it...

in a good way,

again...
Thank you, Sharon.
I'm thankful that my daughter's body lies under the earth in the corner of the world that you take care of.  I'm thankful that you remember her and that you think about her.
Thank you, God, for reminding me that you are so very aware of my aching heart, and that you know what my heart needs to hear - to heal. Thank you for being BIG in the small things.

Remembering your "Grace" today, even more so, because someone remembered ours.

The groom

As a little girl I dreamed of my wedding day.  A day full of flowers and a white dress, a beautiful shimmering white dress.  A man in a black tuxedo, waiting for me at the end of the aisle.  A father on my arm. A warm day.  A day of excitement and love. A day to remember for always. The beginning of a new life.
So every wedding I went to, I watched and waited for her to appear at the back of the church. Waiting... glowing... beginning her "float" down the aisle.  No one actually walks down the aisle on their wedding day - they float.  You didn't know that?  This is common knowledge to young girls :)
I would stare at the back of the church, first a bridesmaid, and then another, and then a glimmer of white from around a corner, or down a hall, through a door or across a ranch's graveled drive, and then she was there. I would gaze at her in awe.  I would imagine myself in the white dress, making my way down the aisle, smiling, glowing, sparkling...  Even after I was married, I still looked for the bride.  What does her dress look like?  What flowers did she choose to carry?  How will her hair be done?

Several saturdays ago, as I sat in the church waiting for the ceremony to begin, my eyes wandered not to the back of the church, but to the front.  In the past I would only look at the groom when the panorama of my vision included the groom in addition to the bride.  However, this time was different. Maybe it is due to the fact that my wedding day seems like eons ago, and my focus has changed over the past few years... A focus from girls - to boys.  Maybe it was the addition of our third son, or maybe the absence of a daughter, or that when asked what the "high" of his day was, our second son said, "I got to sit by my girlfriend" (the one with the heart on her backpack), or maybe just because... I'm not sure what had me looking for the groom.  In the past, he has somehow just sprung up from the floor.  I never watched him make his entrance.  For those of you wondering, he actually walked out with the minister.  Maybe this is customary... I honestly don't know, because this is literally the very first time I have looked to the front of the church, and watched for the groom.

I don't typically cry at weddings.  Sometimes a hallmark commercial can get me choked up, so I'm not sure why weddings don't have me weeping into my sleeve, but they don't.  That saturday, I watched a young man, maybe 23 or so, wait for his bride to round the corner with her father by her side. He smiled nervously, he shifted his weight quickly, he fidgeted with his hands, and he fixed his gaze at the end of the aisle.  He was standing tall, and he was handsome, but I could see him for a fleeting moment as his mom may have seen him... I could see him when he was 5, waving goodbye to her as he walked into kindergarten... I could see his face as he turned around after his first strike out in little league... I could see his grin from ear to ear when he opened his favorite Christmas gift... I could hear him ask for one more story at bedtime, and look at her with those eyes... She knows the eyes, the eyes she just can't say no to... the same eyes that are now fixed on his bride... floating down the aisle towards him.  I could see him if only in my mind, as his mother might have seen him a thousand times in a thousand memories prior to that day... And I cried.  I cried because I had never really thought about it before. I had never really thought about all of the moments that led up to that day. I had never really thought about one of my sons, ready for that day. The day that he was mature enough to take someone as his bride, to take care of her, to provide for her... 

Sigh... 

The wildness and silliness of my boys keeps me on my toes, stresses me out and brightens my days.  It is good to be reminded that even though they are young now, I am raising men.  Sooner than I realize, they will need to provide for someone else, they will need to have strength of character and an understanding of how to treat the beautiful white glimmer at the other end of the aisle.  This is a noble calling. I thank God everyday for my boys, and I pray that I would be reminded - in between diaper changes, mud on my carpet, and balls flung at my head, that a noble calling is before me.  I wouldn't have it any other way.

"There is an enduring tenderness in the love of a mother to a son

that transcends all other affections of the heart."

Washington Irving

Be Still My Soul

We arrived at church on Sunday (a couple of sundays ago now), dropped the older boys off at sunday school, and then headed into the service. Which, I might add, had not started yet.  Pretty good for our first trip to church with Archer along.  We sat down, and I flipped through the bulletin as usual.  I noticed right away that the celebration choir was singing a couple of my favorites, and then I turned further and saw one of the later hymns... "Children of the Heavenly Father".  I am sure I had heard it before, but because it was one that we had at Amelia's funeral, it will always evoke strong emotions and memories for me.  I don't think it was something that P would notice, but I didn't point it out.  He may notice that my shoes don't match my outfit very well, or that the wall hanging is a little too high or low, but a specific hymn, not so much. However, as we sang the second hymn, I stopped singing, my mouth couldn't form the words, and I didn't have the air to push them out.  I didn't expect it... Maybe I had never paid attention to the words before - I mean really paid attention. Soaking up the words and their meaning.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Be still, my soul; the Lord is on thy side;

Bear patiently the cross of grief or pain;

Leave to thy God to order and provide;

In every change He faithful will remain.

Be still, my soul; thy best, thy heavenly, Friend
================================================


Through thorny ways leads to a joyful end. 
 
--------------------------- and then these words-----------------------
 
Be still, my soul, though dearest friends (my daughter) depart

And all is darkened in the vale of tears;

Then shalt thou better know His love, His heart,

Who comes to soothe thy sorrows and thy fears.
================================================

As much as I hate the pit in my stomach from grieving, and the missing that is so painful at times, I must say that God was tender. He was tender and close.  His love for me evident, despite the hurt I was experiencing.  I don't think I realized it at the time.  I was probably still confused and mad about everything.  I am a little passive aggressive though, even with God (pathetic, I know).  You know - when you say, "no, I'm not mad at you", and then you are quiet and sulky despite 'not being mad'. I prayed to Him, I sobbed and hung my head, I pouted my lips and asked why, but I still said, "no, God, I'm not mad at you."  I didn't understand why us, or why her, and even though I will never know why --- at least I'm not mad anymore.  I will still look at other people and wonder why us and not some other family... but then I will also think of how close He was to me during that time, and I will crave that forever.  I am thankful that He was close to me.  I will know His heart in a way I couldn't have before. I will know His love in a way I was incapable of before. Just as the hymn says, "I better know His love, His heart," AND I DO.  He did, "soothe thy sorrows and thy fears" too. 
It is not my job to understand how He chooses to- as the hymn says, "order and provide" and it is okay that it is a mystery to me, because He is a mystery.  A loving and just God who orders the heavens and earth and knows when a sparrow falls, and yes, is still a mystery.  He is a big, HUGE, almighty God, and He chose to come close to me... as close as my own skin.  I miss my daughter, I always will, but later in the service when I sang "Children of the Heavenly Father" I didn't cry.  I didn't cry for her, or for us who live without her on this earth.  This time it was "Be Still My Soul" that brought the lump in my throat. Because those words were my experience exactly. He was all of those things to me.  He was so very real to me during a time when I wanted to look the other way, when I wanted to ignore Him.  However, it is impossible to ignore your own skin.  It's there, all the time, and you live in it.  I get to live everyday with His spirit in me, but those days when the outside world was foggy and my head and heart were wounded from grief, the Father was close, so very close to me.  I miss only two things about those early days. One - everything about Amelia was more fresh in my mind, and two - God's tenderness and closeness.
And during a time of turmoil and restlessness in my heart, He stilled my soul, as only He can. 

Two babies: one in our hearts, one in our arms...

When I started looking through pictures of Archer, and seeing him welcomed by his brothers and dad, it was such a blessing to see their joy.  Joy that was anticipated a year ago with Amelia, and stopped short when she arrived. I have these two pictures that are similar, and yet so very different.  How we talked about her arrival for weeks and months prior, telling the boys how things would change once she arrived. Not just "the boys" anymore...

Nothing prepares you to try and explain birth, a new sibling - now in heaven, and the realities of death to an almost three and almost four year old.  It is impossible to hide your emotions, nor should you try, I guess...  I remember the tears rolling down my sweet husband's face when he showed Amelia to O-dog.  I'm not sure my heart hurt more than at that moment.  How different it was this time around.  We will never forget, but we can't let that overshadow enjoying every minute with our youngest.

This time around it was such a joy to share Archer with them.  They asked questions and just stared at him. They told strangers about him, whether or not they wanted to know or not.  A man in the elevator gets the full scoop on their new brother. "His name is BABY" says O-dog.  "And his middle name is BABE" adds Ev-babe.  My mother telling me how they just beamed as they told the man about their new brother, who was named "Baby Babe" at that time, apparently. In some ways I feel that the addition of this new sibling, alive and well might be a healing balm for their hearts.  I know that O-dog certainly doesn't hold back from telling Archer how much he loves him.  They both hug and kiss him, and practically smother him with their bodies attention.  He is almost 6 weeks old, and he is still getting oodles of love. 

As for me... There are times when the grief seems to hit me like a ton of bricks.  One minute I am beaming at my new son, and then wham-O.  I never seem to know when it is coming, and I guess that is just the way it always will be.  The other day I was checking for a stinky surprise in Archer's diaper, and I was blown away by the fact that I didn't ever change Amelia's diaper.  I know she had one on. A tiny little pampers swaddler, with a yellow stripe down the butt.  I took it off and put it back on once.  Did she have the same one on the whole time?  Was it the same diaper she wore under the dress she was buried in?  Why didn't I check?  Why would you?  I don't know... There are just things that I never thought about before, but now that I have a newborn in my arms, I think about them.  I forgot about all of the squeaky sounds, the sharpness of their little nails, and how their legs don't seem to unfold even when you pick them up.  It is healing for me to hold our sweet little Archer, to dream about the days ahead with our three sons.  And yet, while he is in this newborn stage, I also can't help but think of our daughter, forever a newborn in our memories.  Forever the child who is very much a part of a family, yet is present only in our hearts. 

I miss you, baby girl.  You have a little brother, now... you are a BIG sister...

I know you know.

Archer's story... part 2

So... we went up to the labor and delivery floor after parking in the garage, and found ourselves in an eerily similar position as we were a little over a year ago.  I was in tears, and a little neurotic.  They asked if I would sit down and answer questions, which I promptly answered "no" to and said I would like to be hooked up to a monitor immediately.  Last year, with Amelia, I sat through over 4 pages of questions and information receiving - things like, "when you take your baby home, you will need to... blah, blah, blah..." and "you need to sign this, so that we have the information right for the delivery of your baby... blah, blah, blah..."  I just knew I might punch someone in the face if I had to sit through that again.  So they had a nurse take me into a room to be monitored - the same room as last year.  The same monitor, the same bathroom, the same... almost everything.  Almost everything, because this time, she found his heartbeat, not without some skepticism from me that the heartbeat was indeed his and not mine.  (They found mine last year, and thought it was Amelia's for a little while --- because mine was racing) She also found mine, and said that mine was indeed slower than his, and that there were two heartbeats present.  So everything was not the same, my nightmare, although fresh in my mind, was not going to repeat itself this time.  I still had not felt him move since I had gotten there, but his heartbeat on the monitor was a relief, and his lack of movement was most likely because of the constant contractions which were evident on the monitor as well at that point.
 
The boys were troopers.  After abruptly being awoken from their slumber, they managed to transform themselves into chatty little boys that acted as if they always get up at 3 in the morning.  Ev-babe was full of questions about everything in the room.  O-dog was more reserved, and his memory of that room was probably similar to ours.  Ev was likely too young to remember a lot of the emotion that was in that room last year. 

I was put on some iv fluids to get the contractions to slow down, which they did somewhat.  If I was going to deliver vaginally on my own, they may have sent me home.  But when the called my doctor, he said to plan on keeping me, and delivering in an hour because the OR was open and I was already there, as long as P and I didn't have a problem with it.  Uh... no.  We were more than ready to have this little one in our arms.  My c-section was scheduled for friday morning anyway, and since it was tuesday, and I was contracting regularly, it was a go. 

I didn't feel baby move until almost 4:30 am, and for the peace of mind alone, I am so glad we went in when we did.  I would have been an even more frazzled wreck by that time. 

My friend Julie was able to take the boys.  What a blessing her friendship has been to me.  She was even able to get the chatty boys back to sleep. :)

My nurse last year, the one that was first to try and find Amelia's heartbeat with the doppler, the one that held my hand as I found out there was no heartbeat on the ultrasound, the one that prepped me for surgery, and cried with us - complete strangers... was on duty that morning. She had been busy with a delivery earlier, but stopped by to tell our nurse she was there and wanted to see us. 

That morning was full of so many emotions. Similarities and differences between what we experienced last May.  I can't even describe the roller coaster of feelings I had.  The sounds and smells of the OR, and the routine procedures leading up to the c-section.  I am thankful for the memories of O-dog's birth too.  His birth memories, mingled with Amelia's, and now Archer's.  Everything went well.  He was born at 6:07 am, and his cry was the sweetest sound. Garbled at first, and then escalating - music to my ears.  Praise God, our son was here.

August 3rd... sweet Archer's story... part 1.

I slept for the first couple of hours of this day, in my own bed after supper out with my hubby. The rest of it was an emotional roller coaster, ending with a sweet baby boy nursing in my arms, with a quiet hummm of hospital sounds.

I woke up at about 2:20 am and as I frequently did, I had to go to the bathroom, but before I ventured out of bed, I waited to feel little one... a move, a kick, something... nothing.  This had happened before with him, and usually I would talk myself into "everything's okay" you are just being a worry-wart, and eventually I would feel him, or at least have enough peace about it that I would be able to go back to sleep.  I don't know if it was my escalating hormones, or the fact that I was having braxton-hicks so frequently, or maybe it was just my memories of Amelia.  I was beside myself. I have a doppler, but it was not a comfort as I didn't know if I was finding his heartbeat or mine. I knew that mine was fast, and his (if it was his) seemed slower than normal.  Possibly because he was being squeezed by constant contractions.  Paul was awake already, and knew something was bothering me.  I will admit I cry at odd times (I am a woman) and because he is the most perceptive male I have ever met, he knew this was different.  To be honest, I think we were both ready for this little one to be here, and both of our nerves were shot (a few months ago, actually).  He said, "let's go in".  I didn't hesitate, and with boys in tow, cute as bugs in a rug, asking from the backseat "why aren't we sleeping?" we were off.

Okay - back up ten minutes...  This is not only Archer's story, not only the story of our rainbow baby, but it is God's story too.  I had a moment when you just know it's God, because it could ONLY be God.

I would like to say that God knows.  He knows, He always knows.  Before I officially woke up Paul (he was already awake wondering why I wasn't getting back into bed), my phone buzzed - a text message. Seriously? At 2:31 am, at the exact moment I was up and crying and worried sick in the middle of the night, I get a text message from my big sister who lives two states away. This is what it said,
     --------------     "Praying for you:-) and your boys".       -------------------
I know God knows me, I know He knows my story, my every need before I know it, but sometimes He shows me He knows it.  I love it when He does that. I love how He knows each one of us.  When we doubt He does, and when we wonder if He is even real, He knows... and loves us anyway. 

I guess this is the end of part 1, because I haven't figured out how to nurse Archer without using atleast one of my hands, nor do I have the patience to type with only one hand.

To be continued...



 

When your heart beats outside your body...

I am smitten.

Absolutely beside myself,

IN
LOVE...         again. 

It feels so good to look at him, to hold him in my arms, and to see our family holding and loving on him... I almost have guilt.  Why is it that my eyes cannot stop gawking at his goofy faces, wondering why he raises his eyebrows, why he has the biggest pouty lips, why he grimaces with pain, and then smiles all in the same 13 seconds... and all without making a sound and all with his eyes closed. Aaaah... newborns... our newborn... our son.

Born screaming and flailing around at 6:07 am on Tuesday, August 3rd.

We are blessed.

Introducing, our fourth child, our third son:

Archer Samuel Heath

8 lbs.

20 1/2 in.

I will do another post soon which will have birth details, and more pictures.  His first name was something that we liked. His middle name brought tears to my eyes when I read the meaning, knowing I would always think of his life, especially the beginning, being covered by prayer.  Samuel means "God has heard" or "God is listening".  We know that God is always listening, and he always hears our prayers.  We also know that just because He hears our prayers doesn't mean that the answer is yes.  Sometimes it is no, sometimes it is yes, and sometimes it is beyond yes.  We thank Him for his "yes" to our prayers for Archer, and we hope that his life continues to reflect God's love and hope. 

I will never forget when we told my grandma that we were expecting this new little one.  With tears welling in her eyes she told me that she had been asking God to send us a new baby, "unless He had a better idea".  I am in awe of her faithful and disciplined life. Always aware of who calls the shots, and who she is bringing her humble requests to.  I thank God for her witness to me. 

We knew that this new life was covered in prayer and that many people were praying for him before they even knew he existed.  In our opinion, the meaning of Samuel reflected the fact that these particular prayers brought before our God were heard and answered, and to our delight, with a yes.  God always hears our prayers, and even though the answer isn't always a yes, it is good to remind ourselves that the answers are always what is right for our life, and that God always deserves the glory, no matter what the answer is.  May God always get the glory for Archer's life, and my uneventful pregnancy.