T.O.T.E.

We all get to that point. The point where a pregnant lady feels like she might just be pregnant forever. Every twinge and ache brings on a nervous, “Is this it? Should I time that? Why is there a basketball hiding under my shirt!?” Hello due date, and eating ALL THE FEELINGS.

As a service to all those big-baby-belly-mamas out there, I thought I might document all the things we tried this time to get Baby to self-evict, and then the one thing that actually succeeded.

1. Finish all the projects related to your previous baby. Case in point above: Dom’s quilt. Monica’s was done before she was born. Lucia’s was done a week before Dominic was born, and Dominic’s was finished 5 days before Genevieve’s arrival. At this rate, Baby G’s should be done right before she heads to college.
2. Do a maternity shoot! But put it off until you are so giant that getting up off the ground looks more like a turtle on its shell trying to right itself. But the opposite…?Oh, make sure to wear a dress so that you can worry about everyone seeing your undies as you thrash about, and refuse everyone’s offer of a hand to help you up, despite their increasingly panicked looks as you rock back and forth, building momentum. If you’re lucky, you’ll have a very skilled friend taking your pictures so that instead of awkward and horrible, they turn out adorable and perfect. (Let me know if you want Sam’s number!).
3. Don’t actually consider this one, but I can’t help but notice a pattern in my life: almost injuries. When I was very pregnant with Dominic, I tripped in the middle of a Panera restaurant, coming down hard on my knees. Like almost broke my kneecaps hard. He was born a week-ish later. This time round, even with the utmost care, I managed to almost break the toes of my left foot. Get this: on the way to a pedicure. Pedicure dreams completely trashed by the bleeding toes, I quickly dissolved into sobs that sounded an awful lot like labor breathing. This nearly gave my husband a heart attack thinking I was having the baby in the middle of the garage. No, just feeling infinitely sorry for myself. Since I have wonderful friends, they brought the pedicure to me instead, and with the most gentle of hands, washed my feet and painted my toes. I know. They’re seriously the best. 
4. Move furniture. Lots of furniture. Decide that all the couches are in the wrong place. Your china hutch would suit someone else better and that you need a coffee bar in its place. I mean, you are prepping for months if not years of no sleep, right? Coffee makes sense. China does not. (And, by move furniture, I of course mean give a cursory push or two, but mostly sit and watch your husband and his muscles.) Also, apparently even Mo knows how important coffee is. She titled this piece: How to make Daddy Feel Better. 
5. Freak out that there’s no possible way to afford ALL THE CHILDREN. Then learn a new skill that will save you money, like cutting your husband’s hair. And your son’s hair. There will be way more thrashing and crying involved with one of the two, but both haircuts will turn out ok-good, and food mollifies any trimming errors for either dude.
6. Schedule elective surgery for a child about 3 weeks before your due date! (Also one I don’t actually suggest). The stress of Lulu’s tonsillectomy actually almost did bring on labor. We had good contractions going for the whole week of her recovery, which I chose to simply ignore. Mostly because it would have been terribly inconvenient to deliver at that point, but also because I like to pretend that I have control over when my babies will be delivered. It did, however, set up a nice example of how to not exert myself, which I followed for the remaining 3 weeks of pregnancy. Go for a walk? Nah. Let’s see how many more Sophia the First episodes we can binge watch before my brain explodes. Anyone want a popsicle or six? Perhaps some Chuggington? That little ear worm should only be stuck in my head for approximately FOREVER.

So, none of those things worked. I submit them to you as options, perhaps one of them is the magic eject button for you. Here’s what works for me.

A milkshake.

Not just any milkshake.

A milkshake at the Stardust Diner.

Me on July 6th, 2012:

Me on July 7th, 2012.

Me on March 31st, 2014:

Me on April 1st, 2014.

Me on September 20th, 2016:

Me on September 21st, 2016.

Seriously guys (gals?), I’m a scientist. I believe in the scientific method. I believe in repeatable results. And here are my results in triplicate. Have a milkshake at this diner, preferably share it with your existing progeny, and you will have a baby the next day! Science? Magic? Doesn’t matter, it works!

Speaking of having a baby, isn’t she delicious?

And I mean that in only the way a mother can. More along the lines of Eucharist than cannibalism… There is just something so good and pure and holy and tasty about a tiny newborn.

Hope these tips help some of you along. Her story of coming into this world up next!

After 40 weeks plus 1 day of gestation,

5 hours of labor,

30 mins of pushing…

She’s here!

Introducing Genevieve Marie 

She came in at 9lbs 6oz and 22 1/4″ long. That makes her our longest and second heaviest baby.

There were many things different about her pregnancy and labor, but that’s a different post. Also, I think I’ve figured out the secret to bringing on labor. It involves milkshakes. Once again, a post for another time…

This one is for all the cute pictures!!

We decided on her name while driving to the hospital this time. Andy’s the planner, I’m the procrastinator, I must be rubbing off on him a bit…

Her nickname is still undecided. So far she’s been called Baby G, Viv, and Baby Sissy. Gen is a good option and sticks with our Mo, Lu and Dom theme… Sissy might be sticking around though. That’s what the kiddos called her during their wait and is what they continue to call her now.

Whatever we call her, she is so welcome and so loved. And we are now officially:

Elder, Party of Six

PS This grainy, backlit photo was one in about a thousand attempts at a family photo. This family of six thing is going to be interesting… and will certainly test our photography skills.

“Hey Cait, who’s throwing you a baby shower this time round? Or maybe a baby sprinkle?” asked a dear friend.

“I’m not sure. But I think what I could really use is a Blessingway…” I replied, a little hesitantly. It seems a kind of selfish, now that I think about it. A party that’s really more about Mom than baby…I rubbed my belly and whispered, Baby Girl, it’s not that I don’t want to celebrate you and your imminent arrival, I just really need some love right now. Some support. Some empowerment as a mother.

The last several months have been hard. Hard in a PPD kind of way. I didn’t know that pregnancy depression was a thing, but apparently it is. Ante-natal depression, they call it. Well, whatever it’s called, I’ve been living it. And it. is. hard.

So, after weeks of lethargy, big angry tears, too much yelling and not enough hugging, let’s just say I was needing a little encouragement as I add another person to my daily circus.

What I got was more than I could have imagined. Or perhaps, it was exactly what I had in mind, but only in my most wild and far-fetched imaginings. In a, that seems so awesome, but there’s no way it would ever happen to me, kind of way.

Let the record show, I have never felt more empowered in my role as mother, nor humbled in my role as sister and friend.

I spent several hours listening to women love me. Women, who are each people I admire and look up to for innumerable reasons, affirm me.

Words have power.

Words of affirmation can heal a soul.

Through tears I tried to stutter my thanks for such a gift. Those words, and compliments, and stories and heart-songs will sustain this broken Mama through many a grey day to come. Because at my worst (or rather, at depression’s worst) I have myself thoroughly convinced that I am the worst mother, worst wife, worst sister and friend and daughter than anyone could have.

Worse than being un-loved, I am un-lovable.

And that night, that Blessingway, shattered all those thoughts. Shattered all those doubts. I can now confidently point to those memories (somehow stored in the same brain that’s trying to sabotage my life) and realize that the Caitlin my family and friends see is not the Caitlin depression would have me believe in. They can’t both exist.

They don’t both exist.

Only I exist.

Caitlin.

The beloved.

…

While I know this kind of hippie party is not everyone’s preference, I was giddy when the girls said we were doing belly henna. I have always wanted henna on a big, giant preggo belly, and even better than having it done at the Fair, it was done with love by those that I love.

Whether they knew it or not, they were writing their love and support and prayers for me and baby girl on that big ol’ belly of mine.

And she danced.

Oh she danced and kicked and moved and made everyone laugh as they tried not to smear the love-mud.

People ate ice cream and smiled and laughed and cried and prayed and sang and lit candles and placed a flower wreath and destroyed fear. Lit it on fire. That is the power of women. That is the power of community. To destroy fear.

It was just enough to swell the tiny pagan part of this thoroughly Catholic woman’s heart to near bursting.

Thank you ladies. Thank you from a deep, deep part of my heart.

I am loved. I am lovable.

And I am not afraid.

I swear she was just four months old…

Four years?

That’s high school.

That’s college.

And somehow, that’s her whole life…

Certainly worth celebrating.Balloon drop!The kids got to chase Andy, the mean dragon, around the house, squirting him with water.

There are so many parts of her personality right now that I want to remember.

With Monica as her example, she often acts far older than her years, and I admit, I often expect more out of her than I should. When push comes to shove, tears and fits and time outs are usually involved. But her favorite and best way of calming down is to just crawl into someone’s lap. She’s been like that for as long as I can remember.

“Remember,” I would tell Andy, holding one year old Lu, “Sometimes she just needs a lap.”

Her care for babies astounds me. Real or fictitious. I’ve probably mentioned this before, but if there is a baby in the room, you cannot pull her away. She stands attentively by the mom, reaching out to stroke baby’s head, wiggle baby’s toes, coo and soothe and pat, pat, pat. Friends often comment on how some day she’ll be a great babysitter. 

I’m tempted to say, she’d be one now!

If you could see the way she cares for her favorite baby doll, I think you’d be shocked. The way she rocks and burps and dresses and feeds and sings…it’s as if she’s holding a real baby. It’s not uncommon for us to be chatting in the kitchen, and she’ll have her feet planted, baby on her shoulder, bouncing gently up and down, all the while discussing lunch or life or siblings. It’s like she’s another Mom in the room.

She talks about her day in terms of her babies: “My baby also loves carrots…She’s one year old and it’s her birthday today…He is going to the pool too…I have one baby in my belly and one that is two…My husband works, so I take care of my baby…She does not like to get dressed…My baby loves her bath…” Anything and everything comes back to her baby.Favorite gift? New clothes for her baby doll.

You can imagine the excitement in her eyes every time we discuss the arrival of her next sibling. Here is a video of both the girls, feeling their baby sister kick from a couple months back. Lulu’s face is my very, very favorite:

I understand that pretending to be a mom is not the same as actually being one (oh, boy, I understand!), and I try not to project into my children’s futures too much. But if she’s blessed to be a mom, and shows her real kiddos half the love, patience and attention she shows babies today, she’ll be a much better mom than I. And I say that in complete honesty, without a drop of exaggeration.

Other things to remember about four-year-old-Lulu:

• She loves to smell things. Flowers. Food. If I have just put gum in my mouth or chewed chocolate chips, she will stop me mid-sentence, “Mama! What do you have in your mouth?” and then she’ll close her eyes, breathe deeply and smile as I gently exhale on her face. “Mmmm.”
• I can’t get anything involving food past this kid. She can hear me opening a snack from the very farthest seat in the back of our van. If I mention the “S” word (snack) in the kitchen, she’ll hear me from her bedroom. Babies and food. Lulu’s motivators.
• She’s a spider smasher. While Mo is a catch and release kinda gal, Lulu will often proudly show me the tissue with the squished remains of her latest find.
• She dresses herself in mostly pinks and purples. And I take it as a genuine compliment when she says, “Mommy, I love your clothes today.” She knows.
• She has a beyond-her-years sense of empathy. If I’m having a bad day, she will notice. She will ask if I’m ok. She will give me a hug. And then she’ll dust her room, because she knows that cleaning up “fills my bucket.” She is concerned when other people are sad, and is the first to bring Dom his blankie or favorite car if he is inconsolable. She delivers them with a gentle pat, pat on his back or runs her fingers through his hair, “It’s ok Dom Dom. You’re ok…”
• Her hair is silky smooth and super soft, a completely different texture than her siblings or parents. And she has a lot of it! She’s always had great hair, and the sun is bleaching parts of it into a naturally beautiful body of highlights.
• At the dinner table, she is always the first to ask how Andy’s day was. I love her understanding of what her favorite engineer does, “Did you do math and talk to people today Daddy?”

LuluBell,
These past four years have flown faster than I thought possible. So much has happened, and there’s still so much more to come. You remain, as always, our fire and ice. A perfect combination of my temper and your daddy’s compassion. You move through this world bringing smiles and laughter to everyone you meet, and the confidence and purposefulness in your stride, says “Look out world! Here I come.” Whoever you are in this life ahead, be it mother, sister, daughter, friend, coworker, boss, caregiver, wife…the limitless list… you will also forever be this lovely, endearing and caring little girl I see today.
Love you,
Today and always,
Mommy

Well, we officially have a first grader:

and a 6 year old:living in our house now.

Leading the pack. Reading all the books.

Getting her hair cut (by Mama) so that she suddenly looks 16 instead of 6.

Also, she got a real purse and a real wallet for her birthday. So, her favorite thing to do is walk around the house wearing both saying, “I look like a teenager. I look 18. Teenagers have real purses and real money. I’m a teenager now, Mom.”

Blink, blink.

She doesn’t know how much I already feel that. Feel that time travel. It’s a bizarre sensation, to see your child’s life flash forward. One that is both exhilarating (She’ll be a teenager! She’ll be a grown up! She’ll make her own choices and go her own way!) and depressing (She’ll move away! She’ll tell her friends things instead of me! She’ll make hard choices…).

For now, purse and comments aside, I stick to the present. She’s six. She loves legos and books and giving me hugs. She wants to help me make dinner and pick flowers from the front yard. She encourages Lucia to write her letters and cuddles with Dom. She feels my belly kick and prays for her Baby Sister every day (yes! We’re having another girl! We get to raise Elder girls in triplicate, as Andy happily declared!).

She still doesn’t like intense parts of movies, especially when coupled with dramatic music (“Cover your eyes, Mo. This is scary!” warns Lulu). That’s in large part to her great auditory memory. She can hear a song once and sing it accurately a week later. She’s constantly getting smiles a Mass for her boisterous “Amen!s” and enthusiastic singing.

She’d rather release a spider than smash it, and she’s often overwhelmed by the breadth of knowledge in the world. She was recently brought to tears because she befriended a worm, then placed it next to some ants. The ants started to eat the worm, because, well: nature… and she sat there paralyzed and sobbing, “I didn’t know they would eat the worm! There’s so much I don’t know!” After I washed the worm off and returned it to a (different) dirt patch, I held her, stroking her head. We chatted about the circle of life, and how it’s ok to not know everything. And, yes, sometimes the things we don’t know hurt people or creatures. But that is why it’s important to keep learning and investigating.

She’s always talking about becoming a scientist, or a doctor, or a mom, or a teacher, or a (insert other adult job that touches her life). And I am humbled.

Humbled by her love of discovery, her confidence in the future, and her recognition of those areas of knowledge she lacks… I may be five times her age, but I think sometimes her wisdom (and definitely her compassion) far outrank my own. 

Mo Bug,

Thank you for making me a mother. Thank you for loving me and teaching me how to love. Thank you for your help, for your hugs, for “Mommy, are you ok?” and all your other genuine questions. Five was great; I think six is going to be even better. You’re blazing the trail for the rest of this crazy brood, and I couldn’t be prouder of you.

Love you. So much.

Mommy

In a world sometimes filled with fear and sadness, I have always felt loved and protected. Never once have I doubted that there was a man in my life who would go anywhere, do anything, sacrifice everything for love of me. How lucky am I?

The love from my Heavenly Father has sometimes seemed to wax and wane (my fault, not His), but the love from these corporeal men keep pointing me back to Him in a very tangible way. 

On this Father’s Day, I am eternally grateful to these men. My fervent prayer is that everyone may have an example of this sacrificial love, especially my own children.

I love you guys. Happy Father’s Day.

Our Memorial Day weekend was filled to the brim with love. Mostly loving on friends and babies we hadn’t seen (or met yet!) that all live in the general vicinity of Seattle. It was a beautiful time of reconnection and celebration.

We had a couple hours between seeing the Roppos in Tacoma and celebrating a different family in Kirkland, so I googled a local place to explore.

“I found a lake. Wanna go?” I asked.

“Um…sure,” replied my always patient and good-natured husband. Being spontaneous with two grown ups? Whining and panic are usually kept at a minimum. Being spontaneous with 3 kids 5 and under (plus a hungry, pregnant wife)? I know it just spells D-I-S-A-S-T-E-R to him. But he puts up with my ideas, and even quells the inevitable melt-downs..I think it’s because he loves me…

Or he’s scared of hangry-preggo wife.

I like to think it’s the former (this is him digging up generations-old blueberry bushes for me because they were going to be bulldozed for a housing development, if that isn’t love, I don’t know what is).

Lake Tapps it was, a short drive away to our adventure, and only a small fee to get in.

“There’s not much for kids here. No playground or anything…It’s a great place to launch a boat or come on a sunny day for swimming,” said the glum gate keeper as we all looked up at the overcast skies and watched the proud flags whip in the wind.

“Let’s try it anyway! I’m sure we can find something!” I said, in my best chipper/desperate, we’re already here so we’re going to make it work kind of voice.

The kids did like exploring the waterfront a bit,

and an awesome hollowed out tree…

There wasn’t even any whining as noses turned pink and started to water. I “went to go get my phone to google something else to do” in the van, but mostly sat there a minute or five to warm up my cold fingers…

After they were done posing for a super cute album cover

a sheriff drove by and gave the kids Junior Sheriff stickers. Highlight of their day!

We then proceeded to avoid him as we drove the kids around the waterfront, not in their car seats (Gasp!) at 2 miles an hour. Second highlight of their day! That snails-paced 5 minutes reminded us that we didn’t really need to do much to make them giggle and laugh and have a good time.

However, we may have inadvertently taught them to avoid uniformed officers when doing something slightly illegal,

“MOM! I can see the sheriff! Everyone get down! Hide!”- Mo. Hysterical giggling from the back of the van.

Parenting win for the day… not.

I just happened to be looking out the window and spotted a trailhead. In the off chance that the trees would shield us from the cold, and with another hour we needed to kill before a barely acceptable lunch time of 11am, we parked and headed into the woods.

Photo dump time!

We proceeded boldly onto the trail and then stopped every 30 seconds to study all the enthralling wildlife this tiny piece of wilderness had to offer:

Slugs!

Centipedes!

Thimbleberry Flowers!

And lots of lots of green!

The hiking was easy, the kids were entertained, no one fell, got stung or was mauled by anything. The whining only started on our way back. A win in my book!

It does look like a beautiful place to be on a sunny summer day, and I’d say after our hike, picnic lunch and general running around, it wasn’t a bad place to be on a cool spring day either. Thank you Lake Tapps for a fun couple hours.

And thanks Andy, for always agreeing to adventure with me.

Last year I decided for every Mother’s Day from here till forever I wanted pictures with all my kids. Individuals and a group shot. In all but a few of the thousands of photos we take each month (gosh, that seems ridiculous to say out loud…a thousand photos? Really? What in the world am I going to do with all of them?), I’m behind the lens. At least once a year, I make a real effort to get in front of it. Now, I’m not saying I get dressed up fancy or even put make up on, but I intentionally hand Andy the “good” camera (exposure set) and he happily snaps away while I wrestle/cajole/love-on our kiddos.

Since we’ve done it two years in a row now, I officially dub it a tradition!

This feat certainly comes with its own challenges, which I imagine will change from year to year. But, for now, they’re all small enough that I can physically pick them up and/or bribe them.

Although Dom is almost too dense for the first tactic, and Mo is becoming wise to the latter…

Bonus photos this year included all the Elder grandkids (isn’t our Godson just the cutest? And that’s not even half as wide as his smile can go. He’s seriously the smiliest baby I have ever seen!)

plus grandparents

and requisite outtakes (And Lulu takes Dom down with a tackle hug!). 

And all five of us (plus one! Can’t forget I’m 21 weeks preggo in these photos!)

As much work and effort as it takes to get everyone dressed and fed and sitting and looking in one direction and smiling (PLEASE?! Please smile!!! Just one more time and you can have any snack you like! AnytTHING you like! Just hold still…), these pictures make my heart happy.

They are well worth the effort (Andy’s efforts for these shots included jumping around like a crazy person behind me and making noises that should only be emitted by farm animals or equipment. The kiddos loved it).

So it begins. The world of school fundraisers.

I was quite proud of Monica. She made all the phone calls herself. Asked for pledges with a little coaching from Andy. Got the 5 pledges she needed.

She told people, “I think I can do 5 laps!” and that seems like a reasonable goal for someone with such little legs. Thats 1.25 miles, right?

Wrong.

Turns out, K-3rd grade ran on a fabricated course, inside the big track. Meaning, their laps were far shorter than a quarter mile. And they had 45 minutes to complete as many laps as possible.

Meaning, Mo did WAY more than 5 laps.

24 actually.

While I couldn’t help but be proud of my little girl’s determination, I started to count all the dollars that people had pledged with each lap. Oops… I reckon at least a couple of you would have changed your pledge had you known.

Well, we’ll all know better next year. But for this year, I think the school will do well by Monica Elder and the pledgers that love her…

With the DJ playing music and so many teachers and friends giving out high-fives and encouragement, everyone wanted to participate. We didn’t even count the laps Lucia and Dominic did! It made the heart of this (once upon a time) distance runner so very happy.

Afterwards there was a block party, with DJ music, jamba juice and food carts. We danced and danced on tired little legs. Well done PTO! What a fun day.

We’re in the middle of Spring Stomach Bug of 2016 over here at Casa Elder, and it’s about as much fun as you imagine.

(If you’re imagining that being fun, I really need to figure out how to type in *sarcastic*. Is there a font for that?)

Well, I think we’re in the middle…but maybe we’re at the end (*gasp! Don’t even say that out loud! Jinxing is a thing!) or we might be just at the start. Because this dang bug is unpredictable. It comes in, knocks a kiddo off her feet and puts her head in a barf bowl for a day, and then said kid has a great day of feeling better.

And then it comes back.

48 hours later.

There should be some sort of unwritten rule of the Universe: once vomiting stops, it stops. Like, for realz stops.

Because this just seems unfair.

So far the kids have alternated their bad days, so we’ve never had more than one puker a day. Thanks for that Universe, I guess…

However, my days are filled with the most attentive couch-sitting child-watching I think I’ve ever mustered. A second of distraction means barf goes on the couch and not in the bowl. That’s the problem with having sicko kiddos who aren’t old enough to grab a barf-bowl themselves.

This has been a stretch for me, because my parenting style is one I might nicely call: lax. “Helicopter” is not really part of my parenting vocabulary, but “Ignoring” is well established. Go, child. Find something to do. I know you can entertain yourself. Can I call it “Ignoring Parenting”? That doesn’t quite flow, but Ignorance Parenting sounds worse… I’ll stick with IP. Turns out IP and stomach bugs don’t exactly jive if I want to salvage our upholstered furniture. So during the day: I hover.

Nights are spent sleeping next to one of the sick kids, panic-waking with every cough or moan or mumble. I haven’t timed myself yet, but adrenaline does wonders for a parent who needs to go from sleeping to awake-with-the-phone-light-on-holding-a-bucket-at-the-ready. If there’s a record somewhere, I think I may have beaten it. Good and bad though, 90% of these wake ups are false alarms, so: no barf in the bowl, but there’s still adrenaline in my veins. So much for falling back asleep (parents in Newborn Land, I salute you! Many, many nighttime wake ups is really hard…I’m just starting to remember that as I sit here nursing this mocha).

I’ve consulted enough Dr. Google pages to know this sort of delayed return to sickness is common, and you know what? All you Mamas of multiple kids (or even just one!) who’ve already experienced this circle of vomit-hell: I’m sorry. This sucks.

So far Dom, Andy and I have been spared. But instead of making me feel better, it’s just added to the general anxiety of the situation. How in the world do I keep Dom from getting sick? (Baby gate quarantine, and lots of hand washing- I’m really betting on that being the right answer). Did that toy cross the quarantine line? Did Dom stick it in his mouth?! Can I wash his tongue with soap? Was that a burp or an urp? Do I feel sick? I think my stomach hurts. No, it doesn’t. Moms can’t get sick. So, No! I feel fine! I feel fine! I feel…fine? Andy, do you feel fine? You know you’re not allowed to get sick, right? So, you feel fine too!

So Friends, all joking aside, prayers that we’re at the end of this saga, please? Now, I should stop ignoring my sick kids and get back to watching them.

But if I have to be a helicopter much longer, I might just fly away…