Photo Shoot

It's been nine months since we became a family of seven. In my mind, we are way overdue for a family portrait. I'm the only one out of seven who feels that way. Sad, but true.

I convinced Seth to relent on his 'no formal portrait' policy. That seemed like the biggest hurdle. I began dreaming about the amazing family photos we would have. The more I thought about it, the bigger and better it became. Pictures of Sally and Josiah in their traditional Ethiopian outfits, pictures of just the boys, just the girls, changes of clothes, outside, inside...on and on it goes. Then I realized that to have the beautiful portraits means taking the family into a studio. Taking five children into a portrait studio and asking them to sit still, smile, change your clothes, don't touch anything, and please stop making that ridiculous face.

My dreams dissolved. Sort of.

I decided that I may not be capable of braving the studio, but I am courageous enough to yell at correct my children in the privacy of my own home. So I offered them a deal: do what I want, when I ask and then you dress up in whatever you want and I'll take those pictures too. Oddly enough, it worked.

I can't say that we got a lot of gems. I can't say that the entire time was full of laughter and giggles. But, I do feel better about getting a few cute pictures of my children.



Those are the cute ones. Letting you believe that all the photos turned out cute would be a fib. These next few are the reality of what was happening off to the side.

This photo best represents my children. Everett wanted me to be sure to mention that he is, "Christian from Pilgrim's Progress before he gets his armor." Just to clarify for those of you who were wondering. I think everyone else is self-explanatory. We still don't have a true family portrait, unless I get some talent and paste Seth and I into the picture below. Maybe we can dress up like a lion tamer and a ringmaster.

One Year Ago...

It's strange to think that just one year ago we didn't know our youngest children. We waited (for what seemed like forever) until we got the calls from the agency. So much was unknown, but we were immediately enamored with our newest family members. Nervous, but in love. This is the story of our first referral call. This is the official referral call. It's amazing to go back and read what we were feeling and thinking. All we had were a few dates, limited information, and some pictures. These faces are so familiar to me now.

A year isn't very long, but so much has changed.

Talking Tomatoes

I am sitting here to write a wonderful, beautiful, engaging post about the anniversary of our referrals. I'm a week late at it, but sure it will be worth waiting for...except all I can hear is Ella.

She's trying to finish her phonics. It's been hours. She's hung up on the word "crack" and continues to write "grack" though I erase and correct it over and over. Since her mind is melted, she is singing. It's a familiar tune with the words just so Ellaesque.

"I need to talk to tomatoes...I need to talk to tomatoes..."

I can't type. I can't think. The post will have to wait. I'm about to join her singing, because maybe tomatoes have the phonics help she needs. I'm spent.

Ouch!

The gravitational pull in the basement was extraordinarily strong yesterday.

We also had two inmates escape for an incredibly short period of time. I think the bonk to his head shook something loose...

Almanzo

Our new puppy is here. He's literally right here, sleeping on my feet as I type. I've enjoyed him most when he's keeping my toes warm. If he's not accounted for he's probably off peeing or chewing on a chair leg. Warming my feet is very nice.

All five of the kids have loved this puppy to exhaustion every day. I keep wondering how adults manage puppies. I would be so busy playing with the puppy that I wouldn't be able to get anything done. If he's tired then he's being good. Even when he's being bad, he's so cute it's hard to be too mad at him. Kind of like Josiah.

Josiah was wearing his bathrobe around today and it was all I could do to muster a weak "no" when he clobbered the dog with a car. Then he found the water bowl. He dumped it out and looked at me saying, "Wawa." Too cute to be trouble.

The Puppy isn't his name. We had much deliberation over the name of this guy. It went down one night after dinner a few weeks ago. I told everyone to give me their top two names and we would make a list. It looked like this:
Aslan (Everett just read all of the Narnia books that week)
Caspian
Doodah (that was Sally voting for what Josiah was yelling at the time)
Anakin (also Sally, I don't think she know's who Anakin is, but hears her brothers talk about him)
Toenus (Everett said Mr. Tumnus but changed his mind. Ella repeated what she thought he said as her choice. I had to make up the spelling on that one)
Wolfie (from Eli)
Sludge (also from Eli, we've been reading Nate the Great)
Jim and Spock (from Seth, who said that if we didn't choose his names we wouldn't be getting a puppy anyway so why bother with the whole voting thing?)

Then we had to take a break and watch a video on youtube of Star Trek so our kids knew that they didn't want a dog named Spock who Spock was.

After that charade was over, I called out a name and we all just raised our hands if we liked it okay. Oddly enough, when I said Toenus, no one raised their hands. All eyes turned to Ella and Seth said, "Uh, Ella, that was your pick. You should at least vote for it." Then she half-heartedly put her hand up and said, "I didn't pick that name." Huh?

I picked the top three from that vote and told everyone that they could only vote once this go around. Then tears and sobbing began from Sally because Anakin didn't make the cut. Both of Everett's names did and that caused some contention. Neither Jim nor Spock were on the list...it got ugly.

The next day, we were reading Farmer Boy. I mentioned that Almanzo would be a funny dog name because we could call him Manny. All four voices chirped out, "Yeah, Manny!" So...here's the newest member of the clan..."Almanzo 'Manny' Puppy Stop Chasing Her Drop It NO!"

I think it's a delightful name. He looks more like an Aslan to me, but don't tell my kids I said that.

Tada!

I've been sitting here for at least 10 minutes trying to figure out what I want to write. My week has been hectic, to say the least, and I think my brain just gave up. Monday, Seth left for the week. My basement began flooding before he left, but we both thought it was all the snow melting. That blasted snow, feet of it, heaped all over the place, melting and coming into my basement. Though, the hubby left, the snow left, and the water was still there. Being sucked up with a wet vac and dumped by yours truly every few hours. That sentence doesn't even do it justice. Six gallon vacuum times three trips up the stairs equals eighteen gallons emptied every couple hours. Exhaustion. By the way, water doesn't know when you need sleep. But that isn't what I'm supposed to be writing about.

I can't end there. Honestly, it gets better. I finally threw a hissy fit and called Seth during his conference to leave a hissy message about me being alone with water, puppy, and five children. He called me back and told me to call a plumber since obviously something else was going on with the basement. It was a huge detergent cap stuck in the pipe leaving the house. Added to it were a few socks, a ball, a Lightening McQueen car, and (get this) on the very top was a keycard to the Addis Ababa Hilton. We were there in MAY! So that drain has been clogged since before May. My washing machine has been draining into the nether-regions under my house since May. I'd be hard pressed to think of a more ridiculous situation...if I hadn't already experienced the shut-off-valve-shooting-off-causing-dining-room-ceiling-to-collapse scenario. That (hopefully) will top all other 'stupid house stories' for the rest of my life.

With all of that said, today was the highlight of the week. I woke up with a fear that we would get to the doctor's office and they would tell Sally that she couldn't take the cast off. That didn't happen though! I'm pretty fried, but managed to throw my camera into the diaper bag this morning. It was still there when we got to our appointment after lunch so I documented our visit.

Sally's terrified of The Saw. She only started to ask about it a few days ago, but knew that was the only way out of the cast. A few tears escaped before The Saw Man arrived, then she let loose with a complete meltdown. As I held her down I heard myself saying, "Well, do you wanna just live the rest of your life in this thing?" I'm so compassionate. Meanwhile, Josiah's screaming bloody murder from the stroller because he, also, is so compassionate. Who wants to cry alone?

She's mustering a smile for me, but still pretty nervous. This time around there wasn't an odd collection tucked into her cast. No rotting dimes, no barrettes, just lots and lots of glitter (due to her glitter and gloss make-up kit).

Sally strutted her stuff right out of that office. To my (and everyone else's) amazement, she refused to put the cast back on and wanted just her old brace. She's got a 'little' belly and we had to squeeze her into that thing. I think, if given the option, she'd rather stop breathing and fit into the brace than wear the cast. At home, the Bigs were so thrilled. Everett looked at Sally and said, "You just look SO cute!" Eli told her that when she gets to church she'll walk into her class and they will say, "Hi, who are you? You don't look like the Sally that we know."

It's been four months since she's soaked in the tub. I had to drain the bathwater once just so she wasn't sitting in filth. Even after that, the water was brown the second time and had (skip this if you have a weak stomach) bits of flesh floating around in it. You may opt to skip the last picture if that made you cringe.


Though her back is healed and strong, it doesn't look like a completely healthy back. She'll probably never look like you or I, but as time passes and she gets older, it will change. We are hopeful that she will gain some weight once she isn't taking so many medications. Then hardware along her spine won't be so evident. She's standing up straight without assistance, to me, that's a beautiful sight.

7 Days

Next week is highly anticipated around our house. On Tuesday our furry new family member will actually come home with us. He's adorable. He's very adorable because I'm not responsible for his messes right now. As exciting as that may be we are all eagerly awaiting next Thursday.

The cast is coming off. Are you jumping out of your skin with excitiment?! I am. I'm sick of the cast on so many levels. Sally has a hard time: bathing, sleeping, using the toilet, dressing, buckling into the carseat, putting on socks, picking anything up, eating, reading, and, last but definitely not least, keeping her pants up. The pants up thing is the irritation of my days. Five minutes won't pass before someone mentions Sally's 'buns are showing'. She's destined to be a plumber. I get the delightful job of yanking her clothes back up to the proper position and scraping my knuckles on her cast. Every. Single. Time. My hands are already raw, but the cast really does me in. Small price to pay for a nice strong back, though.

A few weeks ago I went back and re-read posts from this summer. Just reading about everything stirred up those emotions again and I found myself crying. I'm still in disbelief that we are on the other side of this mountain. I can't praise God enough for his care and for answering prayers on Sally's behalf. I still can't understand the entire situation. Why did she contract TB...why did she live while others died? I do know that she's a special girl and we are so blessed to have her in our family. I should be satisfied with that, and thankful that we are almost done with medication (6 more months) and orthopaedic doctors (3-6 months in a brace)!

Dinner Time

It's basically organized chaos around our house. Except for a few hours in the afternoon while everyone naps or has quiet time. Then the noise descends, the pleading ensues and I start making dinner. Josiah is the worst during dinner preparations. He's hungry 24/7. If I'm busy in the kitchen he's hounding me. I'll do anything to keep my sanity during this part of the day. I let him empty tupperware, pots, lids, anything. Yesterday he was exceptionally cute. He pulled out bowls and then a big pot (that I never use). Then he promptly sat in it.

Tonight, I gave him my old cell phone. I thought it was dead. He turned it on. I thought it wouldn't make calls. He called 911. I couldn't believe it. It's almost cheesy. But I freaked out hearing "911 operator..." coming from my cell phone. She kindly told me that even phones that aren't active can call 911. Good to know...

The big kids are busy with my latest hated activity. Webkinz. Hate it. Eli 'needed' one for his birthday. It's quickly turned into an obsession. I allow webkinz while I'm making dinner on M, W, F for about 30 minutes. Seth thinks I'm crazy (being so stingy with their time), but I don't care. While I'm on the topic, if you have webkinz tips, leave me a comment. Eli really wants to make a friend but doesn't know how.

Makeovers by Toys-R-Us

I got suckered into buying my girls a make-up set for Christmas. My friend was with me. She has three boys (with a fourth on the way). She was so excited by the set (trimmed in a pink boa) that I forgot I would be the one living with the makeup. So I bought it. It was on sale and I'm a sucker for a good price. Deep down I know I'm raising at least one prissy, girlie girl. Shall I fight it or just let her wear nail polish and sticker earrings?

The girls were (of course) thrilled with the present. It's gaudy, complete with purple lipstick and matching nail polish. Big. Sigh. I was actually pretty pleased once I opened the package because all of the glossy things are...get this...clear. Whoopee for the gal who thought that up!

The big rule is that I have to be the makeup artist. These two can do some damage with a single tube of chap stick. We don't even need to think about what they could do with a case of lip glosses. From the look of it I should probably exercise more caution and care while applying makeup to the small children. I don't think it's supposed to hurt.

The pain was well worth it, "You look fabulous, dharling! That clear gloss was a great choice. It really complements your headband. I love that headband by the way, looks just like mine..."

Hair

I've started a post like this about 3 times over the past 6 months. Finally, I decided that if you don't know what to do with your child's hair; there are better people out there to give you a hand. I can tell you this, doing Sally's hair has humbled me. I read the books, watched youtube videos late into the night, and asked loads of questions. All of that for the day that my little girl actually grew some hair that would need to be tamed. The day came and went and we are still bumbling around. My latest idea was to spend an arm and a leg on hair products from Carol's Daughter hoping for a miracle. The much anticipated package arrived and we used everything with excitement hoping for something wonderful. She smells good, her hair is pretty cute (not too different than before), but I still have to 'do' it.

She isn't the big issue around here lately. It's this little guy. He woke up one day and was a cross between Kramer and Don King. It should be easy to see why.

Yes, he is indeed licking a screwdriver with a flowered handle. It's his favorite thing in the world (I've removed the pokey screwdriver end). He's cute but his hair is OOC. Even after meticulous application of aforementioned expensive hair products, he's still Don Kramer. Does this mean (cue foreboding music) we need to give him his first haircut?

Another Addition to Our Family

Does this give our announcement away? This photo wasn't posed, she actually grabbed that book and sat down with it. Only because the other two were hogging this one...

This addition to our family will be a furry, four legged variety. Don't ask me why, because I have no logical explanation. We are crazy. If you've been here before that shouldn't be news to you.

My girls are pretty cute together. After years of harassment from two brothers, Ella finally has someone on her side. Unless she and Sally aren't getting along then the sisterhood is ditched.

Today was a good day for the two sisters. They were busy making a huge mess in their room with fake food and baby clothes. I was nearby in the kitchen cleaning up lunch, but could hear their chattering. I smiled to myself after hearing Sally say, "I'm Mommy. Ella you be my dog."

Of course, Ella is perfectly happy with that arrangement. She's always the dog. Doesn't matter what else is being played, she'll be the dog. Her doggie career has included "Princess Dog", "Jungle Dog" and even once "Dinosaur-eating Dog".

It dawned on me that Sally just gave me the biggest compliment she could. She wasn't 'a mommy' or 'the mommy' she was "Mommy." I feel a little middle school saying this, but adopting an older child makes you feel a insecure. When we first came home I wondered if Sally wished she was back at the transitional home. She could run around and do what she pleased. I tried to ease her into the routine of our family. I still couldn't help but wonder if the first time she emptied the trashcan she wasn't thinking, "Back in Ethiopia they didn't make me take out the garbage."

It's been eight months since we came home. It seems like we've always been a family of seven. I get all the hugs and kisses, but it's nice to hear a completely innocent exchange that lets me know Salomae is pleased that I'm her mommy.

Happy Birthday Eli!

Happy Birthday to Eli, our silly, solemn, six year old, Happy Birthday to you!


Mayhem reigned while 10 kids ran screaming through the house to celebrate with Eli. After two exhausting hours the kid count dropped by half and the decibels dropped drastically. We were left with chocolate cake littering the carpet, four empty pizza boxes, a smashed pinata, and one very happy six year old.

Our big boy shed some tears this morning upon realizing that he is indeed still shorter than Ella (by barely an inch!). They are both six now (for two more months, then Ella trumps him again and turns seven) and for obvious reasons should be the same height. Discussions of growth, gender, and genetics followed but nothing seemed to stop the tears. I finally just told him to get a grip and enjoy his birthday.

His "wow" gift was my old camera. I'll go into hiding after typing that, because I have several friends who may hunt me down and strangle me since I gave a camera that they envied to my six year old. It's really a sad story. Last year we went to a water park for his birthday (January partiesare so hard). It was just the family, we all brought him gifts to enjoy there. He was thrilled with the disposable underwater camera until we had to drop it off to develop the pictures. Ever tell your kid the tale of how they get the film out of a disposable camera? Just expect tears.

So, we owed him big time. We bought a new charger on ebay (recall the 'oops, I just blew up the battery charger' in Ethiopia?) for $10 and have a very pleased little guy on our hands. Here's some of his handiwork...

There's definitely loads more where that came from (approximately 100 more pictures I think).

By Request

"What does this guy look like?" Here you go.... My urine drinking knight in shining work garb busy tiling the bathroom.

Once I took that picture I realized that many of you probably think my house is normal. Not so. Here's the proof. Our toilet doesn't usually sit in the hallway. Neither do the power tools and garbage. It's getting better though. Really.

This is what was going on shortly before I typed this post. Seth (you can see his face in this photo) takes a well deserved break after dinner. Honestly, a break doesn't mean that the kids just run wild. Right?

Josiah's latest feat is climbing. It takes him some maneuvering to lift his chunkiness onto a surface. Once the mountain has been defeated he starts yelling because he's stuck. It actually works out pretty well to keep him busy. As evidenced by the photo.

He was licking the tops of paint tubes and then chucking them around the room. I can't let you believe that I wasn't standing by watching this happen. He was well supervised during this dangerous activity (except for the millisecond it took for me to grab the camera). This is the table that the ceiling landed on a few months ago. Still in use, trashed, but still stable enough to allow 7 people to feast on it three times daily (and then support an overweight toddler).

I'm not kissing that mouth

I've known Seth for nearly 14 years and he still surprises me. You might think I'm about to get mushy on you, but I'm not. I guess I could tell you about the wonderful dad that he is and how he went out on Christmas Eve (after picking up on my ridiculous hints) to get the gift I wanted. Nah, I'm going to give you a glimpse of the real Seth. He doesn't get much airtime on the blog and this is too good to pass up.

This morning I came downstairs and found his travel mug full of yummy coffee. Score for me, but too bad for him. He usually doesn't notice that he left it until he reaches over to grab a sip and gets nothing but air. This morning was a little different. He was rushing to work yesterday and needed to make a pit stop. But he didn't have time. What's a guy to do? Duh, use the now empty travel mug, of course.

This, by the way, is not an activity condoned by me. Or my mom. Or any gal I know. We are far too proper to do any sort of disgusting thing like that.

So he does his business and LEAVES THE MUG IN THE CAR. I don't know if he usually brings me mugs that he's urinated in, but using a travel mug is news to me. I'm looking at the travel mugs in the cupboard in a new light after today. Thinking that we should buy some disposable ones...

This fateful morning, my warnings of, "You really shouldn't do that" finally come to fruition. He reached over to find his coffee and only after taking a big 'ol sip realizes that it's his urine from yesterday. Gag.

Chalk one up for the big momma who knows it all!

Merry Christmas!

If you have been eagerly anticipating a Christmas greeting from us...wait no more. I decided that I would send out cards after Sally's cast came off. It would be a great way to show her post-cast and give me a little more time before undertaking the huge mailing. History dictates that I'm lying to myself and the rest of you. Lets not kid ourselves into thinking I will make time to collate and mail cards next month. So prepare yourselves...this is our Christmas greeting.

Merry Christmas from our family to yours! We hope that you read this after a wonderful day spent with family and friends. We have been blessed beyond belief in the past year. God has answered our prayers in ways we never would have imagined. It has been awe inspiring for me to remember what I was hoping for last year. Anticipating the arrival of two more children and wondering what our family would be like once we became seven. From the outside it would seem that our lives have unravelled in the past six months, but don't be fooled. What seems like turmoil is nothing when we have the understanding that God is working in our lives to make us stronger. Perhaps we can help others through our adversity. Please revisit our Christmas greeting from last year to get a better understanding of having real hope.

Here's the best we could do as far as a Christmas photo. This was an impromptu picture taken on our way to church. I think they did pretty well, considering there are five kids (one of them a squirmy toddler) and an impossible number of things that could happen to ruin a picture.

Blue?

Sally told the doctor before she conked out that she wanted a blue cast. I double and triple checked with her that she really wants a blue cast. This is the first one that won't be "white until the first accident then dingy brown". I love that color, though blue sounds promising too.

In the recovery room Sally was eating an orange Popsicle and said, "I like this blue Popsicle. It's so good."

My first thought: Oh my, did you say blue? Does this mean you wanted an orange cast? At least you can't move your head to see that your cast is what everyone else calls blue.

What she heard: "Yeah, that's a good lookin' Popsicle. That's what we call orange, honey."

Aside from the color issues, she's doing well. The sore on her back looked like it was healing nicely and should be completely gone by the time the cast comes off.

Casting for a Third Time

I'm sitting in a familiar chair. Early this morning Sally and I braved the cold (4 degrees) and wind to come to the hospital. She was tired, cold, and hungry. I spent the time in the car trying to melt my body into the heated car seat. And, thanking God that I home school the kids so we leave the house on a voluntary basis. I wish I could just curl up and sleep right through winter. Alas, I find myself at the hospital at 6 am so Sally can get a new cast.

After all of the turmoil from last week, her doctor wants her in another cast for a few more weeks. She's just not strong enough to be in the brace, and the old cast is...disgusting. A few more weeks in a cast is a fine alternative to a serious injury caused by jumping into the brace too soon. That whole bed-sore-from-the-metal-objects-in-her-back thing is a worry also. Though Sally's doc assures us that she will be fine once the pressure has been relieved from her back. So here I sit, again, waiting to meet Sally in post-op. Thankful that this could possibly be our last time in this situation.

Curse the Medications

The impossible has happened, Seth and I are alone. We. Are. Without. Children. For five more days we will be alone. It wasn’t supposed to work out like this. I arranged for Josiah to come with us. My Mom offered to watch him and I haven’t had peace since. Better to keep him with me, but have a late flight across the country only to deal with time changes, flights of stairs, and dogs upon our arrival at my sisters’? Or should we trust that he will be fine and leave him safely with my Mom? Back and forth for the past two weeks.

I lay in bed yesterday morning, wondering if I should really leave Josiah. I wasn’t out of bed and I was praying for some clarity when I finally got up. As I stumbled past the girls’ room, I smelled something…yucky. Nah, putrid...fetid, rotten…you get the idea. Something reeked and I feared that it was coming from the sweet girls’ room.

Sally’s gained a little weight, as a result her TB meds have been upped. Last night was her first dose, eight teaspoons of medication. I guess it made her sick. From both ends. The story gets even worse, she not only vomited and had diarrhea, but she didn’t wake up to call out for help. A domino effect could get started here on what her life was like before we got her that she managed to sleep in such disgusting filth for a few hours. Nevertheless, we’ve got a revolting story to tell so I will press on.

I was at a complete loss. I’ve seen and managed some nasty things, even blogged about a few buggers. This one took the cake. Sally woke up, climbed down from her bunk and excrement trickled out onto the floor. Not knowing whether her meds made her sick, or she had a stomach bug, I immediately sent everyone else upstairs and shut them into the boys’ bedroom. Then, I shut Sally into the bathroom and got a BIG black garbage bag. I wadded up her pillow, jammies, sheet saver (which did an amazing job of saving the sheets) and threw them away. I heard the garbage men outside and ran, in my jammies, to stop them with my vomit covered junk in the bag.

Then, I called the doctor’s office. In a frantic tone, trying to keep from totally freaking out I explained that Sally had puke down the neck of her cast, feces up the back of her cast. I wasn’t speaking with a familiar voice, but tried to relay my urgency without screaming into the phone. She, matter-of-factly (as if she deals with this all of the time) told me to get a warm washcloth and clean her up as best I could. Then, take that washcloth and using my hand try to clean inside the cast, as best I could. Then, lay Sally on the counter and wash her hair (which was crusted with vomit). I’m thinking laying a diarrhea laden child on the KITCHEN COUNTER is probably not a good idea. Especially when you have four more kids who may be susceptible to whatever caused the...bodily explosion. So I started with the de-pooping of Sally’s legs and cast, with a lame wet washcloth. I promptly threw every washcloth into a new trash bag. My next job was to remove feces from floors and the exterior of the cast. I’ll share a little secret here, I used bleach. Lots of it. I know, it’s bad for you, but did you miss out on what I was up against? Possible infection of 4 more children, then fleeing the scene to visit my sister in Colorado? Horrible. So I bleached the floor, the bunk stairs… and the cast. I tried to bleach the cast, but was sadly unsuccessful.

Then, I let the four maniacs out of their prison upstairs and put Sally onto the counter for the vomit removal. Much easier than the other end, I still proved myself a flop in the ‘Can you remove filth from inside a cast?’ motherhood test.

I slathered Sally in smelly lotion, coated her hair in smelly goo, and put tights on her. The smell was still there. Really strong. I called the office again and got a voice mail, but warned them that I would continue calling until I spoke with them.

I looked at the clock and two hours had passed since the charade began. I’m frantically doing laundry, trying to get everyone packed, and calling the doctor’s office again. Calling the cell phone of the doctor’s assistant, until, finally, she calls me back. In an oh-so-nonchalant manner, “Apryl, what’s going on?”

“It’s bad!! It’s very, very bad!! I’ve done all I could and I can’t even sit next to her on the sofa, I just tried to and I felt sick from the smell. I’m leaving tomorrow for Denver, can you help us?”
She said we needed to come in right away. Like ‘right away’ is in my power.

It was 2:00, I had JUST SHOWERED and no one had eaten lunch. We were setting records. I threw together sandwiches, dropped the Bigs off at art lessons and raced to the office. Then we had to sit, in the waiting area, smelling up the whole place with pukey poop smell. It was wretched. They took one look at Sally and got out the big saw (after donning gloves and spraying the room with Lysol). She screamed, Josiah screamed, and we gagged. It came off and revealed a dime embedded in her chest (interesting) and just a wee bit ‘o mess around her bottom (surprisingly did a better job than I thought). They x-rayed—good results, new bone has grown and the rib is grafted in. The tore the old cast apart to just the shell then re-padded it and covered it to hold us out a little longer. Upon getting a look at her back, I was dismayed. She still looks lumpy, but has healed well, the pressure from the rods against the cast has caused a bed sore-like wound at the site of one hook.

Right now, Sally’s in her cast. An ace bandage is holding it together. She has a hole cut in the back exposing her tender spot (though I’ve been assured this is perfectly safe) to allow it to heal.
The foul odor? You’ll have to ask my mother-in-law about it, since I masked it heavily before I left. I have a sneaking suspension that Sally’s cast is still suffering from the episode. Only a few weeks left with it, then just a brace. Time won’t pass quickly enough.

Decorating Madness

This will be known as the Christmas that Daddy hurt his foot. Seth was working in the bathroom today and slipped in the tub while holding a piece of drywall. Something is protruding from his foot, but we are just trying to ignore that and enjoy the day. Except, his injury means that he's stuck on the sofa with his foot raised and I'm dragging the boxes out of the attic. I huffed my way out of the attic then down the stairs with 5 or 6 boxes and the artificial tree. I wondered the entire time WHY I've made my husband do this for 10 years. I'm also incredibly impressed with his stamina and the fact that he has never complained about decorating the tree. When we have to decorate the tree for a second and third time after it's fallen, he complains. The initial decoration is always welcome.

I toyed with the idea of leaving everything in the attic and just pretending that fall decorations would be nice until January. Since my house may be almost normal by then. Sadly, I had an attack of mother guilt. Seeing as two of my children haven't celebrated Christmas I knew that I couldn't leave the tree alone this year. It was grand when I thought Seth would be in charge. I'm usually on the sofa sipping warm beverages and passing out ornaments. He does the grueling work.

The foot thing was only the start of a ridiculous evening. We have a dining room table in our living room. If I haven't mentioned that before, it's because that doesn't hold a candle to the toilet that's hanging out in the hallway. We decided to put the tree ON the table, thus killing two birds with one stone. Josiah can't tip the tree over and we don't have to move anything to put the tree up. The only problem is that I couldn't reach the top of the tree to put in the branches. The kids couldn't reach the tree at ALL. Seth in his pained stupor, came up with the idea to...move the tree to the floor and decorate it there. Wonderful!

I hauled the tree (now fully put together) to the floor and we commence with decorating traditions. Hot chocolate and brownies, hanging ornaments. Josiah's screaming, Seth's worried about spills, and Sally can't seem to keep an ornament on the tree. They all fall off when she walks away. I'm snapping pictures like a madwoman and too soon it's over. Now the real fun begins...It's time for me to PICK UP THE DECORATED TREE and place it gingerly on the table. Right, since I'm secretly the hulk. I managed lift off with a little aid from Seth but then...whoa to the right, then left, then some shattering, and finally I slam it onto the table.

Sigh.

The top of the tree won't fit. Seth and I look at each other and Eli speaks for us all when he says, "It doesn't look like a real Christmas tree." That's true, dear one, it looks like a Christmas bush. I laid the top of the tree horizontally and mounded some lights on it and called it a night. When I plugged in the lights all of the kids cheered, so I would say we've had success.

Some photos from the evening...Seth and the kiddos, Josiah finally stops crying so he can make a phone call on my lens cap, and the girls dropping hanging ornaments on the Christmas bush.