My Happy

“But, what about my happy?”

My first-born is a typical first born if you follow conventional birth order wisdom. He has a heart for justice where every problem is only answered in black and white/right and wrong. He is wound tightly, stubborn at times, and enjoys solitude.  Yet can lead his friends into a make believe game of Daniel Boone fighting the “Indians” like he was made to lead the pioneers westward. These are fabulous traits that if channeled correctly will create an adult that most likely will resemble my husband: a hardworking, righteous man who follows through on every word he says.

But, what happens when your next child is born and grows into the most sociable, lovable companion? Conflict, that’s what. “He’s in my room.” “He’s touching my things.” You know, that perfectly position make believe rescue station that involves every truck in our home. He destroys the Lego tower, he jumps enthusiastically into the fort of cushions, and he can’t sit still during big brother’s chance to watch a video because he’s so excited that he’s being included. He’s a “with” person. His older brother is a “without.” It’s really fun, let me tell you.

For a while, I indulged the introvert in Henry. I let him go to his room when guests overwhelmed him. I let him put toys away that he worried about being ruined by playmates or siblings. I made his room his safe place that he alone decided who could enter. And, it helped keep the peace for a while. But, after some wise council, I realized that “keeping the peace” should not be my upmost priority. The twins were older, habits were being formed and I needed to think about how what I was teaching my children today would shape them into the person they would become. Gulp. Big gulp. Talk about responsibility.

Callaway desperately wanted to spend the night in Henry’s room. He would really like the share a room with Henry but the idea of that sends Henry off his rocker. When they worked together one afternoon, they built an incredible fort in our playroom that left enough space for them both to sleep. Callaway would have loved for that plan to actually happen. All set to spend the night with his big brother in the fort they had built together, Callaway might have been the happiest kid at dinner. But, as I imagined, Henry started to doubt sleeping somewhere other than his bed, his room, and his routine. Thinking quickly, as to prevent Callaway’s tender heart from breaking, I suggested that the sleepover happen in Henry’s room. Callaway could bring his mattress into Henry’s room. Callaway was still thrilled. He loves his big brother and really loves being able to go spend as much time as possible with him. I knew Henry wasn’t so sure. I knew this was hard for him. Taking a step outside of routine would be hard. I understood this because I’m the same. I thrive on routine and when routine is broken, I’m shaken.

So here I was with the perfect opportunity to pursue my slow nudge of Henry to step outside of his “normal” and embrace a “new normal.” I was warned that it wouldn’t be easy for him or for me but that it would be worth it for the family. I kept the words of wisdom in my ear… “Value Henry for who God has made him to be but don’t like your entire family revolve around his particularities and what makes him comfortable. We weren’t made to be comfortable. We were made to glorify God by loving others and that certainly isn’t always easy.”

This was a crucial moment. I didn’t want Henry to grow into a person who can’t enjoy the moment because the schedule is altered. Something wonderful is before you and yet the routine of normal overshadows whatever life has suddenly presented you.  I see it in my husband. I see it in me. I see it in Henry. The routine wins. The schedule wins. Relationships can lose out.

I heard crying from upstairs. Like I suspected, Henry was frustrated with Callaway’s zealous desire to tell Henry his every thought as they lay in the dark room as if they hadn’t spent the last 8 hours together. I went up to check and remind Henry how much this will mean to Callaway. Returning downtowns, thinking I had resolved the issue, I went back to watching a show with my husband. Less than 5 minutes, later, hysteric cries rained from the top of the stairs. I head back upstairs. I pray I as I walk that this will be a teachable moment, not just simply, obey mama and go to bed. This was Henry’s heart at stake. I could see it in his eyes. This wasn’t about Callaway. This was all about Henry. And, that was precisely the problem. As Henry complained about Callaway’s talking and moving and adjusting the blinds, Henry’s crying turned into a full on temper tantrum. I told him to stop crying and listen. I explained to him how happy Callaway would be to just spend one night on the floor of his room. It was so easy to make his little brother extremely happy.

“But, what about my happy?” Henry replied. Wow. Did he just say that? It hit me like a ton of bricks. My happy? Isn’t that what I’m most concerned about if I’m honest. I want my twins to nap because daytime rest is good for them, right? Well, what happens if their nap is not as long as I would have hoped? I’m not happy? I wanted to have a quiet house and clean kitchen for at least on hour. My happy is thinking, when is the next time I can go to Home Goods and buy whatever would make our house happy without thinking of how the purchase might affect our budget. My happy is thinking I can eat whatever I want and it won’t affect my waistline. My happy is all about me. My desires. My wants. My time. My comfort. Let’s certainly not mess that up.

The wisdom of my friend came back to me. We were created by God to care for others, not ourselves. Our existence is not simply to be happy, to be comfortable, to be satisfied with what the world has to offer. No, happiness is not a right that if infringed upon is worthy of my anger or frustration no matter how often I believe that lie. Happiness is fleeting. But, joy is lasting. Joy is the assured confidence that we were created by good God that is in control of our lives. We find that joy when we understand who we are in Christ and how our lives can be a blessing to other. There is no time to pity my lack of happiness if I am focused on being joy to others.

That is what Henry finally realized as we finished our conversation that night. It clicked. I saw it in his eyes. He really got it. He understood that our happiness is secondary to the other members of our family and their needs and desires. Serving others starts within our own walls. It means considering my husbands needs over mine. It means Henry thinking about what would make Callaway happy might mean one night of discomfort for him. The greatest moment though is when we can see past that discomfort and realize there is joy in serving others. Our hearts are softened and we can genuinely rejoice with others in their happiness. I pray God will continue to teach our family the joy in serving this way.

How Many More?

It seems as though the questions never stop. When you are single, people ask, “So are you seeing anyone?” When you are dating, people ask, “so, when are you getting married?” When you are married, people ask “so when are you going to have a baby?” And as soon as you get that baby out, the questions just keep on coming. “So will you try for more?” I thought after having four babies, the last two being twins, that the questions would stop. But, I was wrong. Just in the last two weeks, people, some that I know well, some that I’ve just met or barely know, ask me if I plan on having more children. This has been the case since the twins were born. I assumed it was normal and part of our culture’s extreme desire to know everyone else’s business. My friend assured me that it is not everyone else. We have friends with four children and they are not being asked when they will have another baby.

Then, I thought, well, maybe, it was people’s interest in my philosophy on children, when to stop having them, how to prevent that from happening, etc. I’m involved in birth work as a doula and attributed it to that. But, my friend assured me again it was not just that. She really thought it had to do with the fact that I “seemed traditional.”  And, by that, I guess she meant that because I married young, I stay at home with my children, wanted a large family, and with fairly easy pregnancies and deliveries (relatively speaking) could conceivably keep this thing going.

This is a question my husband and I wrestle with a lot lately. Fortunately, we were able to conceive very quickly. Sometimes even quicker than we “planned.” But that brings up a wide range of emotions too. My first baby was born a few months after I turned 24. By 28, I had four children ages four and under. At that rate, you might as well call me Mrs. Dugger if no preventative measures were taken. Also, I’ve lost babies through pregnancies. I have had three miscarriages, one of them being a twin to my second son. That is a loss that is hard to explain to anyone who hasn’t experienced it and the worst kind of pain that you never want anyone to experience. I am certain that life begins at conception and grieve the loss of the children I never got to hold. And, because I grieve those losses, I am reminded more deeply of the blessing and gift that children are.

So, why then, would I not want to continue welcoming those blessings into my life? Maybe that’s what people really want to know when they ask. And, I usually give them answers that they want to hear. I tell them, I want to spend quality time with the children that I do have. My husband and I plan on sending them to private school and want to be able to afford it. Cost of living is high. Groceries are expensive. Any more children would not fit in my current vehicle. Any and all of those answers are true and usually suffice when asked.

But, if I’m honest, I’m terrified. I’m terrified of feeling like I have before. I’m terrified of sitting on my back porch crying because I feel nothing, want to do nothing, and have nothing to give my family. I’m terrified that my baby will be born and the joy of holding that baby will not rush over me. I’ll know that I’m supposed to be excited and pretend so no one will notice that I’m not. I’m terrified that I’ll be driving and have a panic attack so fierce that my mind and my body do not act in sync. I’m terrified I’ll watch my life go on before me and feel like I’m a passive participant to the life with the ones that I love. The depression that gripped me as a new mom and the same depression that can roar its ugly head at any time, if not managed, is powerful and the single most determining factor at the moment as to how to proceed with the size of our family.

The desire to have a sibling for my first son is what pushed me to proceed as I became pregnant with my second son and then with the twins. I kept saying, “I know it will be worth it.” I had also learned what worked for me to manage it well. I had great support through my midwives and OBGYN, the extra help through my family and friends, hired help through housecleaners and nannies to assist with daily responsibilities and regimented management through medication, exercise and rest.  

As a family, we invested a lot through expanding our family. And, I can say, it was truly worth all of it. But, that desire, that push to keep going is not there as present as it was before. Because of the lack of desire to grow our family, sometimes I feel like a failure, like depression has won. It’s gripped my ability to keep going, keep pressing through for the sake of such a precious gift. On the other hand, I feel like a success, like depression didn’t keep me from having the family I do have. I did keep going, kept pressing through for the sake of my four precious gifts. They were worth. Every single day, they are worth it.

And because they are worth it, it’s worth it to me to be present with them, to be mentally and emotionally healthy, and enjoy the lives I’ve been given to mother. One of my midwives told me early on that we all deserve joy but we must fight for it at times. I was willing to fight for that joy to create my family and I’m willing to fight now to mother them. But, I have come to realize I cannot do both. This may not always be the case but for now, I’m fighting for joy. Fighting for laughter, for love, for being fully present in the lives of my littles. They are worth every bit of medication I have to take, mile I have to run to get my adrenaline rising, nap I need to take to recharge, and help I have to enlist. My head is rising above water and I am ready to swim with them.

Muddy Heart. Muddy Feet.

You know that Pintrest picture? The one where every item in the person’s mudroom is perfectly labeled, clean, and stored. Their house can’t possibly function like that, right? It’s a mudroom after all. The word mud is in the title. But, in my heart, I envy that organized mudroom. To me, it speaks to how the owner of said mudroom must function all day, every day.  Their children’s shoes are carefully put away as they enter the house, not stepped out of as they race in the house and on to building the next fort. Their bags are hung neatly leaving nothing in the car. “Everything has a place. A place for everything” is their motto and they actually fulfill it.

Well, I don’t. I want to. But obviously not bad enough to enforce the properly located shoe-in-cubby rule or bring all my bags in from the car so I’m not searching for my phone 30 minutes after coming inside. And, then I think. I know! It’s not that they are that organized, it’s that they don’t have as many kids as I do. If I only (now that’s a phrase that will really get you into trouble) had two kids, if my twins were a singleton, if I were older and had more experience, if I were younger and started the right way from the beginning. And, then, it’s on. A full-fledged pity party because I have four children who make my mudroom a mess. Do you hear me? I just typed that sentence. And now I feel shame. Shame for not embracing the blessing of these children that I have, the blessing of the “stuff” that makes my mudroom a mess, and let’s be real, I’m talking about a space in my house that I would have loved to have in my previous home.

But, if I’m honest, and is there really time for anything else, I have realized why this all bothers me so much. I’m not in control and yet still to “blame” for the craziness of caring for my children as if I am being watched and judged on my performance of my clean mudroom. I didn’t ask for four children. I didn’t ask for twins. I didn’t ask for four children 5 years old and under. Because, if I had, it would be my fault that I was in this predicament. I realized my worldview precipitated mostly on “you got yourself into this mess, you get yourself out.” I treated others the same way. I treated myself this way. Ugly, I know. I mean, really ugly. Like, so ugly I can’t believe I’m letting you into my ugly.

And just when I’ve reached the bottom of the ugly barrel, it hits me. I am right. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t plan for this. And, the reality is, I don’t deserve any of it, any of them. They are simply miracles that arrived on God’s timing, not mine. They were His decision. His perfect plan. His perfect child. I should know that better than anyone. I have lost three children through miscarriage, ministered to my friends when they have wept over their lost children, and prayed earnestly for friends to conceive that couldn’t. Christ knew what children I was to parent and exactly how desperate I would be for Him to help me do that joyfully. I need the gospel every day more than anyone I meet.

My heart is ugly and wishes for tidy mudrooms over 8 muddy feet. But, when I see those 8 muddy feet laughing, spraying each other with water guns, and kissing each other goodnight, my heart is softened. I see what God sees. I see what He wants me to see each day. I didn’t ask for this. I don’t deserve this. And, gratitude should be my attitude no matter many goldfish on are my car floor, how little sleep I get, or how many shoes are all over my back hallway. I am brought to tears with how thankful I really am for them. They are the best blessing I could ever receive. I am honored to be their mama.  I am so glad they are here.

Freezer Meals

Freezer Meals

Before the twins were born, my mother offered me a large, stand-up deep freezer. "You're going to need this," she said. "Really?" I replied. I couldn't imagine needing to fill that huge freezer with food for my family. But, after the twins were born, reality set in. They were one day going to be teenagers...with friends. "That's a lot of tacos!" my mom reminded me. Of course, she was right. I've used the freezer so much. Your home might not be like mine. And by that I mean full. But, no matter what your household situation, one child, 8 children, working mom, staying at home mom, having prepared meals in your freezer can lighten the nightly worry of "what's for dinner?"

Today my dear friend and neighbor, Beth, and I prepared freezer meals for the next few weeks. This is the second time we have had a "batch cooking day." Today, we completed 8 recipes that we quadrupled to allow each person to take home/keep 16 main dishes. Some of the recipes are my mom's recipes and some are ones that I found on the internet.


Bean Burritos
Chicken and Wild Rice
Baked Ziti
Spinach Lasagna Roll Ups
Slow Cooker Beef and Mushroom
Slow Cooker Corn, Salsa, Black Bean Chicken
Kale and White Bean Soup with Sausage

Below is the shopping list quadrupled (highlighted items were purchased at Sam's club):

Canned/Dry Goods

4 (14 oz) cans black beans, drained and rinsed 

8 (14 oz) cans corn, drained
1 cup dried minced onion
 

4 (16 oz) can whole cranberry sauce
 

4 cup barbecue sauce 

4 Can (10.75 oz) cream of mushroom soup 

4 Can (4 oz) mushrooms ( with liquid ) 

2  cup apple juice

4 ounces onion soup mix 

1/2 tsp. crushed red pepper flakes 

24 cups lower-salt chicken broth 

(4) 32 oz jar of spaghetti sauce 

(4) 1 lb. 3 oz. can cannellini or white kidney beans, rinsed and drained, or 2 cups cooked dried beans 

64 ounces Ziti

4 (1 oz) package taco seasoning

4 cup salsa 

4 jar (26 to 30 ounces) spaghetti sauce (about 3 cups) 

4 teaspoon dried oregano

24 oz. Uncle Ben’s Wild Rice Original Long Grain (cooked) 1 tsp. salt

4 cup mushroom soup

4 cup (8 oz. container) sliced water chestnuts

4 (2 oz) jar diced pimentos (drained)

8 cans refried beans) 

2 jar salsa of your choice 

2 package taco seasoning mix (or homemade taco seasoning) 

36 lasagna noodles, cooked 

Meat

22 lb chicken breasts 

12 pounds stew meat ( cubed )

4 lb. sweet Italian sausage 

2 lb. lean ground beef

Frozen

40 oz frozen chopped spinach, thawed and completely drained 

Dairy

60 oz fat free ricotta cheese 

4 egg 

4 cup mayonnaise

8 cup Extra Sharp shredded cheese 

4 containers (15 ounces) Ricotta cheese (or 60 oz total)

10 cups shredded Mozzarella cheese, divided 

4 cup grated Parmesan cheese 

Produce

10 yellow onion

12 medium carrot, cut into small dice 

12 rib celery, cut into small dice 

4 lb. kale, rinsed, stems removed, leaves torn into bite-size pieces (8 cups firmly packed) 

4 Tbs. fresh lemon juice 

2 tsp. finely grated lemon zest (optional) 

8 cloves garlic, minced

4 medium green pepper  

Bread

48 medium flour tortillas 

Grab a friend and get cooking!

 
 
 
 
 

Blessings Upon Blessings - The Birth Story of Lindley and Mills

My two precious babes are 9 weeks old now. Unfortunately I did not follow my own doula advice to all new moms to write out your birth story soon after delivery. Maybe it's because I was still in shock of having two babies, so tired from learning how to feed them, or so overwhelmed at the prospect of caring for my family in the weeks, months and years ahead. But, here I am - sitting in my living room, the house strangely quiet. The babies are sleeping and my husband took the "big boys" out in the snow. Its a sweet moment of solitude that I know will end soon as I keep checking the monitor awaiting a call for mama's milk. With this short time, I wanted to get my birth story compiled as to never forget the blessings that arrive on December 4, 2013.

At one day shy of 38 weeks, my two babes had clearly taken over my body. To say I was huge was an understatment. I had worked hard to gain weight eating lots of protein to hopefully grow healthy twins that made it to full term. Following the wisdom of Dr. Barbara Luke in her book, I gained a 55 pounds.

Although I knew it would be harder once the twins were here, I was ready to meet them. My back hurt so bad, I couldn't pick up my toddler, and I was already losing sleep. So, with an induction looming, I bit the bullet and drank castor oil (mixed with peanut butter and ice cream). To be honest, I couldn't even taste the castor oil and had little faith that it would actually make a difference in starting my labor. 

But, to my surprise, I was wrong. After a few hours of taking the castor oil, a huge spaghetti dinner, and lots of laps around my block, labor kicked in and I knew there was no turing back. Thankfully, Imani stopped by the house to see if I needed any help that day. She watched Henry and Callaway while I took a walk, helped me prepare dinner and actually ended up spending the night in case labor progressed. I'm so glad she showed up that afternoon! After dinner I tried to take a shower, relax, and even sleep. But, the contractions continued to come and by 9pm, I knew that this was real labor and we would meet our babies soon. I continued to labor at home in my room, mostly sitting on an exercise ball leaning over onto my bed, and holding my husband's hand as he laid in bed trying to get some sleep. By midnight our doula arrived at the house and continued to encourage me in the work I was doing. With contractions coming closer together and feeling more intense, we decided to start preparing to move to the hospital. 

 

We arrived at the hospital around 1:30am, got checked in, and settled in our room. The doctor came by around 2am to check me and the babies. We were encouraged to find that I was 7cm dilated. Contractions continued to come very regularly and I worked through sitting on the exercise ball, on hands and knees or just leaning over onto the bed. I was tired though. So very tired. I was ready for labor to be over but I knew that I still had hard work ahead of me. I needed a short break though so we opted for some time in the tub. The water was warm and gave me a chance to relax. 

Once I got out of the tub, I requested to be checked because I was feeling more pressure with each contraction and hoped it would be time to meet my babies. Although I had progressed, I was only at 8cm. Baby A (Lindley) was in great position, though, and very low. The doctor suggested breaking Lindley's water bag with the hopes of moving labor along. I was getting so very tired and agreed. The doctor broke my water and within minutes I knew it was time to push. I was already in the bed but turned around on my knees and held onto the back of the bed. With each contraction, I pushed. Within 15 minutes, I could feel my sweet baby girl coming into this world. She was born at 5:15am. The doctor handed her to me and I was overjoyed! I only held her for a few minutes before contractions started again and I needed to hand her over to the nurse. 

 

I imagined that quickly after Lindley was born, Mills would make his way. However, once Lindley was born, labor slowed down a bit. Mills was doing just fine but still high in station. I needed to "labor him down." I wanted to meet him so bad. I wanted labor to end. I wanted to fall into the bed and just give up. But, my faithful husband and encouraging doula continued to tell me that I could do it, that I was so close and I would meet Mills soon. I had to believe them but it was hard. I could hear Lindley crying and cooing in the background. Jeremiah would run over to see her and then run over to hold my hand during contractions. It felt like eternity for Mills to labor down and decide he was ready to come. He did though and I'm so glad. I continued to labor in the bed on hands and knees but began to get so tired and weak that I needed to change positions. I laid on my back to catch my breath but knew pushing was near. The pressure so intense, the pain and exhaustion seemed to overtake me. But, I also know that with those feelings, the end is near. My baby boy is close. The doctor broke his bag of water and with four pushes, he was here. Mills was born at 6:11am. 

Like all births, it was exhilierating and exhausting. I could not have asked for a more perfect welcome into the world for Lindley and Mills. I was covered in love and support by my husband, my doula, my doula community, my friends, and the hospital staff at VCU. 

Lindley Corrine Winters 5:15am, 6lbs 4 oz

Mills Bryan Winters 6:11am, 6lbs 14oz