Raising Magnolias

My Memorial-Labor Day

9 years ago on Memorial Day, I sat with my husband and mid-wife and a variety of nurses and I labored.

It actually started several hours the day before.

And I guess I wasn’t really sitting.

And I labored some more.

And I went through at least 3 nursing shifts. So many in fact, that 3 1/2 years later, when I started laboring with Emma Claire, my nurse said to me, “Cool. You’re using a mid-wife. I never delivered with a midwife.”

I took her by the arm and looked her in the eyes and I said.

“Well, you’re gonna. Because I had like 5 nurses with Coulter and I don’t care what it takes, but Emma Claire is gonna be a one-shift baby.”

One shift.

One nurse.

Anyway.

I won’t bore you with the details because if you have babies, you know that it hurts and if you haven’t had babies yet, I don’t want to scare you, (but you should kinda be scared. Ya know, just a little), but it was long and I was scared of the epidural so it was drug-free and I don’t have too many nice things to say lately and there are seasons when all we can see if gray even when there’s a rainbow right in front of us, and this morning I needed a rainbow so  I sent a text to Coulter’s dad.

Thank you.

Thank you for laboring with me on this day, nine years ago.

Then I went for a walk and saw a dog-walker whose ex-husband is in jail.

Hard to pay child support from jail.

As God’s children we are called to give thinks in all circumstances.

Somedays that means being thankful that your ex-husband didn’t pass out during labor.

Somedays that means recognizing that your ex-husband always, always, always pays his child support.

Somedays that means recognizing that your ex-husband isn’t in jail, even though the kids would probably get to spend more time at home with me if he was.

Ya know, just sayin’.

OK, so the Y was closed this morning. I sent texts out wondering if the weather would hold for outdoor workouts. My dad was struck by lightening as a child and people will tell me all the time that you can’t survive that, but my dad’s 69 so, actually you can survive that, but even still, I don’t mess around with lightening.

I got a text back.

“The sun is trying to shine over the Catholic Church.”

Trying to shine.

That’s what I’m doing. Trying to shine and trying to see and searching for the rainbow..

The kids will be back on Wednesday.

I have 4 nights left before his “exclusive” time in the summer.

4 nights.

It’s possible that if I quit pouting long enough, I would be able to plan a pretty cool stay-cation.

This calls for pinterest.

And a tent.

Yes, I need pinterest and a tent.

And somebody who knows how to pitch a tent.

And your ideas if you have any!

I need jars.

And lightening bugs.

And if y’all could please pray that I can stay up long enough for the lightening bugs to appear.

And I need sun and warmth and water and balls and we are going to have birthday parties and we are going to see friends and I’m giving thanks.

Ann Voskamp says that thanksgiving precedes the miracle.

So I’m giving thanks for my ex-husband. For the gift of our children. For his job and his ability to pay child-support. For the wonderful vacations that they  get to go on (because now that we’re not married, there is all of a sudden a lot of money for travel and vacations and dang it, that didn’t sound very thankful. I told you the sun was trying to shine, I didn’t say it was shining brightly,) and yes, I am thankful for a weekend to rest and rejuvenate and re—

Oh, who am I kidding.

I didn’t sleep at all. My house is eerily quiet and I actually built a pillow barrier so that I could only sleep on 1/8 of my bed, since Emma Claire usually sprawls out over the rest of it and occasionally, I tuned Netflix to some very obnoxious kid shows just so I didn’t feel like a stranger in my own house.

If I could just train the dogs to complain about every piece of food I put in front of them, then I might actually be able to relax.

But what mom can relax when her babies are gone?

God did not create us for that.

Where was I?

Oh yeah.

Thankful.

I need the miracle.

And this summer maybe the miracle is being able to see the rainbow.

And that the sun is really trying to shine.

Mother Math

Did you know that 9 is half of 18?

Half.

What the HALE?

We were on our way to the orthodontist.

Chatter, chatter, chatter and then I hear.

“Emma Claire! I’m almost nine years old!!”

Nine?

Nine!

Holy HALE!

I needed a bag. The kind they give you on airplanes.

The kind I now carry in my car since I’ve now lost 3 car seats to the back winding roads of Southwest Arkansas.

Who am I kidding?

I don’t even carry paper towels in my car.

“What’s wrong, Mom?”

“9,” I stammer.

“Half.”

I feel sick.

No. I am sick.

We arrived at the Orthodontist.

There were pictures of crooked teeth and crowded teeth and cross-bites and under-bites and it’s seriously amazing that the kid can eat anything at all and the Dr. lays out a plan.

The plan for now is to prepare for braces.

My mother taught me it isn’t polite to talk about money, and I’m holding camp later this month on manners and I will teach them that it isn’t polite to talk about money, but today I don’t feel like being polite. Today I’m just gonna tell you that to “prepare” for my son’s braces is going to cost more than 10% of my yearly salary.

10%.

To prepare.

So.

I reached out to Coulter’s dad.

“Do you think we should get a second opinion?”

No response.

Again, I reach out.

Brief response telling me, in short, that braces are expensive.

Uhm, yes, this I knew.

So I reached out for my own second opinion.

And then I went to see my attorney. Not about braces but because I don’t like being ignored.

Their dad owed me a small amount of money.

A very very small amount.

Just sitting in the waiting room at the attorney’s office cost more than what was owed to me.

But do you know what isn’t small?

Being heard!

I have lived through and walked through and  marched around and fallen down and people will ask me how I did this and how I did that and it’s a little like the pain of childbirth in that you sorta forget and I do want to forget.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Last night the littles left with their Dad for a weekend vacation.

I wept uncontrollably.

Their dad has custody for the summer.

The.

Whole.

Flippin’.

Summer.

And I’m super-hot mad.

Nebraska.

No-fault state.

Right. Because divorce just happens? It’s no-one’s fault?

No-fault  my a@#

Wait. What? I don’t swear.

I turned on the shower. For some reason a good cry is better in the shower. Plus these houses are really close together and I figured the water would drown out the sound of me crying. And my neighbors lock the dogs in my garage when they bark too much, so I’m a little worried about what they might do to me.

I couldn’t catch my breath.

Mike called and when I couldn’t talk, he said.

Hang tight.

And then he was here.

My man who doesn’t ignore.

How did I “do that”? How do I “do this?”

Somedays not very well at all.

But I always I re-visit what my  way-too-young-to-be-a-widow-friend says about 40.

It is not old.

Life too short. And life too long.

And when I forget and I when I panic and when I lose my breath, Lord just remind me.

9 is half of 18, so celebrate the 9!

Friday, this momma who swore her children would never play with toy guns will create a nerf-gun battlefield in the backyard, strap on some am0 (is that how you spell that? Y’all know I’m talking about about the little nerf pellets, right?) and yes, we are gonna celebrate NINE.

Forgetting the past, forgetting at last.

Just this.

Gratitude.

For time today .

To love my littles.

And at 9 and 5, they are still little.

(Coulter was born on Memorial Day, 2005. When I look at this picture, I see a competitive  little man who works hard, plays hard and whose mouth is gonna be worth more than my car! ) 🙂 Thank you, Jesus for the gift of this child.