Literature Background

Saturday, November 10, 2012

i'm a-workin on the railroad

What a lovely fall afternoon! Everyone worked and played outside, enjoying the sunshine. Josh put a new radiator in his truck, Isaac dug in the dirt with his hammer and wrench, Ronan worked on his fine motor skills and I took pictures of all the cute men in my life.

killer blues

Isaac helping Daddy

sweeties!

he's got the mad skills

how'd I get so lucky? :-)

tools & dirt

sweet Atticus

Josh and I got to enjoy a night off last night, thanks to Duck and Ginny! We went out with some friends, went to bed late, and... slept in!! I always forget how much more we like each other after we have some quality time without the kiddos. We get to be reminded we are friends, and that at one point in our history, we only hung out because we each thought the other was cute and funny.

I hope you are having a good weekend!

Friday, November 9, 2012

Halloween!

Halloween in our house was celebrated three times this year... Trunk or Treat, at the library and, of course, Halloween night. Yay for getting dressed up! I never got any pictures of actual trick or treating, but here are a few of Mr. Rifleman and the Little Lion Man.

Bang!

What a kissable mouth!


The Hernando Library has a children's reading time every Wednesday at 11am. (Join us if you are in the area!) For Halloween, everyone came dressed up and had a parade through the library. I'm not sure any of the children (mostly 3 and younger) had any idea why we were making them follow us around, taking pictures and telling them to be quiet... but they sure were cute!

Miss Mary Esther holding Rone to give my arms a break!

My obligatory orange mom sweater for the occasion.

Isaac & Snow White, aka, Miss Anne Rowen

He loves her! (She's the reason I had to start gentleman classes. "May I please kiss you?" I. am. serious.)

Boo!

Busy Harvey the Dwarf (ALL my pictures of him are blurry!) He loves to love on Ronan! What a sweetie!

I love how we met our new sweet friends you see in these pictures. This is probably the only time I'll be able to start a story: "So, I was running in the park and..." This is, of course, not because this was my second, and final time to run in the park. I run all the time! Oh wait, no I don't.

I was running at the park with Isaac and Ronan one lovely midmorning. When I was done, we stopped to play at the playground, and found we were not the only people with the same great idea.

"Hi! My name is Mary!"
"Hi, I'm Mary Esther!"

"This is my daughter, Anne Rowen."
"Well, this my youngest, Ronan."

"Where does your husband work?"
"A company called Barnhart Crane & Rigging."
"SO DOES MINE!"

We also found out we had about 12 other things in common other than our names and husband's employers. We've had so much fun getting to know this sweet family!!


And, to end, here is a video of my two little dancers. We do a lot of this around here!

Friday, October 26, 2012

Ronan's Exodus

Ronan's birth was not the hellish and exhilarating "I can't believe I did that" ride of his older brother's. After Isaac was born, all the blood vessels around my mouth, on my neck, my chest and shoulders were popped. I looked like I had purple freckles. I think it took me about 3 months to recover enough from the shock and awe I felt over the experience to get that zombie look out of my eyes. My second labor was a planned, fairly calm "okay, I did it" process ended with tears, smiles and quiet wonder.

For Isaac's birth (read about that HERE!), I decided an epidural was not an option for me. I was ill prepared, however, and spent about 8 of the 12 hours of his labor shrieking and writhing in pain. My poor husband. And mom. And sister.

With Ronan, I had an induction date scheduled for 5 days before my due date. I was afraid of the intensity of the contractions from pitocin and kept myself open to an epidural this time around. (Josh was voting yes, please.)

The Pregnancy
my prego glamour shot
My pregnancy with Ronan was very different than my first. I ended up in the hospital at 32 weeks for false labor. They ran all their tests, told me I was dehydrated (being "The Water Nazi", according to my friend Ashley, I was flabbergasted that this was possible), and sent me home without any fluids (I will always wonder, WHY?!). I spent the next two days in bed in some of the worst pain I've ever experienced and continued to have intense contractions on and off through the rest of my pregnancy. My doctor assured me this was all normal (the contractions, not the dehydration, of course).

So, with all the uterine activity, up till the last few days before I was scheduled to be induced, I was wishing and hoping for my body to go into labor all by its lonesome. I danced The Wobble every day with Isaac. I did jumping jacks, squats and all other various activities rumored to get things going. Nada.

The Labor

I had heard that castor oil (yum yum) could help induce labor if your body is ready. So the afternoon before I was supposed to go in to the hospital, I downed a dose and waited to see what would happen.

Here's where it got interesting. Had I done my research, I would have found that while many women OVERDUE have used castor oil with success, it can often (if your body isn't ready) lead to its own oily version of false labor.
First came the obvious effect. (if it's not obvious to you, google it. or don't. i'll just say: it's kinda yuck.)
Then, an hour or two later, came the regular contractions. Keep in mind, at this point, I didn't have hindsight, so for all I knew, this was the real deal! I was pumped! They got closer. And closer. After about four hours, I was having contractions 3 minutes apart and they had been steady for over 45 minutes. My mom had come over to sit with me till Josh got home. He had to work late, so she drove me to the hospital.

Josh met us there as we arrived around 8pm. I felt very calm, cool and ready to get this baby out. I just knew he'd be trying to fall out as soon as we got a room.

Fast forward three hours and we are still in triage. My contractions have slowed down to 7-10 minutes apart and I'm feeling very anxious and irritated. My plan was not working!!

We finally got a room around midnight and I paced for about an hour, hoping to speed things back up. I think I got contractions back to 5-7 minutes apart but they were not regular and slowed down as soon as I stopped moving.

My precious nurse came in and told me that the doctors would not be willing to give me pitocin till at least 8am. Trying to fight off the feeling of defeat creeping over me, I decided to be reasonable and sit down. I knew that I could walk around in circles for the next four hours and very possibly still not have this baby till late morning. It seemed sleep (or at least rest) rather than exhausting myself might be of more use for the work later to come.

My resignation gave Josh permission to pass out on the couch and I stared into space as my 10-12 minute apart contractions got more and more painful. Around 2am, I was having to breath through each contraction. While impressed with my ability to handle the pain (humility is not my strongest character trait), I knew I wasn't going to get any rest or be ready for pushing in what must surely be hours later.

The Epidural

I woke Josh up at 2:30 and announced that I wanted an epidural. He looked like Christmas had come early. I couldn't believe how calm I still felt.
Then the anesthesiologist walked in. She'd obviously been woken up and was not very happy about it. She sauntered in, drolly read through the required documents, and prepared her equipment. I was trying not to freak out, but when she started talking about the needle in my back, the pressure I might feel, I started to shake uncontrollably. My poor, sweet nurse held my shoulders down in what felt like the strongest hug I'd ever been given. I kept seeing images of myself flipping out, IV's flying, trays crashing, hanging lights being smashed into the wall. It took all of my self control (and Angel Nurse) to sit still.

The epidural kicked it quickly and I loved how numb I was! What a relief, time to sleep! Except, of course, I never went to sleep. I was too excited. I flipped channels while Josh snoozed on the couch.

Here We Go!

Four hours later my mom and sister-in-law showed up for the party. I was 7cm at this point and was hoping things would get going soon. The nurses came in to check me and I realized the reason I couldn't move my right side at all was because my leg had swollen to more than twice its size. We spent awhile trying to adjust the epidural and get my body back in balance.

you don't make such sweet calm faces at this point in labor unless you've been drugged!!

What a strange experience to have someone else tell me it was time to push. One minute I was talking and laughing with my family, the next, we were getting in position to get this baby out! I still could not lift my own legs, which irritated me. Not until it was time to push, however, did I find out how much harder it was to push when you can't feel anything!

so thankful to have my momma to hold my hand while I squeeze her's back. there is nothing like having the one that brought you into this world hold your hand while you give birth to your own babies.

Every push felt like it was all I had left. After a few turns, my doctor asked me if I wanted to feel his head, if that would encourage me. I seriously love Dr. Mestemacher. But I remember thinking, why would I want to put my hand down there? She was right though. I felt a tiny, soft, fuzzy head and thought, WOA! he's tiny! This shouldn't take long at all! After that, I just knew every push was almost the last.

What she didn't mention was that I was only feeling about a quarter-sized portion of what was actually a very large head. (Maybe this should have been logical?)

After 18 hours of labor, Ronan plopped out a whopping 9lbs 5oz. Dear Lord, please keep any future unborn children under 8lbs until after birth. Amen.

My next memory, after that of amazing relief, was having my slimy baby placed in my arms. I would love to say the tears started then, but all I could think was, "why is he so slimy?!!"
When they finally placed him in my arms, cleaned and hungry, I wept. He was beautiful and healthy and perfect.


There is such a different beginning to your relationship with a second child. When Isaac was first born, I was tentative, reserved and could only guess how much I would grow to love him. Now knowing the powerful, tender, warrior-mamma love I have for one, giving it to another begins so assuredly. Sweetly. With much less fear. And with much more fear as I struggle to love these two precious gifts without holding on too tight.

Ronan Michael
he has been in love with his daddy from the moment they met
the feeling is mutual


My precious Ronan, you are a gift of joy. I have loved watching you grow, eat, sleep. Learn to smile, laugh, grab your toes. I love how much you adore your big brother and how much he loves you. I pray your little heart is being drawn to Jesus, will be tender and kind, fierce and loyal.

brotherly love


first trip to the lake

handsome, handsome! (he get his photogenic skills from his daddy!)

P.S. I know birth stories aren't for everyone. I love them, both telling mine and hearing others! One day, I would love to give birth in a birthing center. Currently, however, Memphis is not a very friendly environment for people who are a little more "hippie" in their birthing preferences. (unless you are more hippie than I and want to have your baby at home!!) :-) For a really cool blog on a home birth, click HERE (boho baby bump). For a birth in a seriously amazing birthing center, click HERE (my hodgepodge).

P.P.S. I wanted to credit my amazing sister-in-law, Katie Marlier, for the photos taken during and directly after labor. I just found out today a dear friend had her camera with all her labor photos and videos stolen just weeks after her sweet baby was born, and am heartbroken for her. These pictures are priceless and I am very thankful for them. Thank you, Katie!


Wednesday, October 24, 2012

Ole Phyll

Since January, my blog has filled with un-posted musings. Incomplete thoughts. Half-written paragraphs.
Since we moved in December, I've been too preoccupied building flower beds, painting the bathroom, with pregnancy, nursing an infant, to complete a thought outside of my head. To put it on this electronic paper. Really, I very rarely complete a thought inside my head.
There is a large chance this will never make it past the draft phase.

What a process, this here life. (I find my inner voice sounds more and more like a cowboy or maybe Andy Griffith. My 2-year-old has a twang. A TWANG YA'LL. And for reals, I don't know where it come from.)

When we moved to our 1,400 sq. ft. mansion on 1.6 acres with exactly one (1) tree (a willow tree, which barely counts as a tree as it's always falling apart in our backyard), I thought I might die from the lack of vegetation.
Granted, it was the middle of December.
We had left the old East Memphis area where abound 100+ year old oaks, ancient azaleas and three-story high crape myrtles.
The front of our property looks out onto a lovely two-lane highway (busy all day with commercial traffic) and our neighbor's yard. And warehouse. And wood-processing plant. And trucks, boats & a dog run. You may assume, and correctly so, that we would prefer a little more privacy.

my precocious cowboy

my sweet sweet sweet baby love


And now I come to my point. My inner analytic is now constantly mulling over The Process.

The Process of Raising Children & The Process of Motherhood (because I'll one day be a mother that is not raising children ... more on this ...)

and, seemingly off topic, The Process of Cultivating My Own Green Oasis (right here, on the Edwards' Ranch)

Before Isaac was born, I thought being a momma would consist of lots of love, hugs, consistency and discipline till my 18-year lease was up. (Basically, an extended babysitting job with some really cute kids!) From that point on, I'd watch, with a ponder-ful smile, as my now-adult children went off and took on the world in their own way. Then Josh and I would pick up where we left off at 22 & 23, now 40 somethings, to travel the world with maybe an occasional phone call from the kiddos.

I was unaware as they exited my womb, that each one would remove a part of my heart and mind (think sanity) and, as far I can tell, based on the state of the mothers before us, WE DON'T GET THEM BACK!

Now there are currently two children in this place that are separate entities of my heart. Did they ask for this? Are two teenage boys going to want this crazy momma losing her mind over their every escapade? No.

Why am I willing to bare this embarrassing crazy version of myself? Because I know what I want for my boys.
I want them to be just like their daddy. CRINGE. I got cheesy!
Hear me out: I LOVE my husband. Not just because he is beautifully handsome, rugged & ferocious, gentle & kind. Yikes, here it is: he doesn't need his momma.
I don't mean he doesn't need his momma.
I mean, he left and cleft.
He married me and I am his woman. I am so thankful for his momma who raised him this way!

Now, being the beneficiary of this blessing, I want to give it to the women my sons may pick as their future wives. But here I am, holding their sweet faces, listening to my two-year old sing "Nuffing but the blud of JEEEE-SUUUS!" and basking in Ronan's never-ending smiles and thinking, "how can I live with out this?"

Inside this house, I often feel weighed down by my fear of the future.

Then I go outside.
We planted a magnolia tree this spring. Josh named him Phyll, short for Chlorophyll.
We (I) have watered this tree several times a week for several months now. I am surprisingly attached to this tree.

no, this is not Phyll. this is my cutie patootie helper watering our crazy-looking garden this summer. I think he's pretty adorable.

There are now forsythias, weigelas, snowball bushes, Mexican petunias and all sorts of other new flowering things being babied in our blank canvas of a yard. Some days I work outside and I feel excited about all the possibility of the future. I imagine what our yard will look like after ten, fifteen years of planting and tending. Other days I look around and only see puny sprigs, not-so-neat beds and the plethora of poison ivy we have yet to kill. I go back inside and hope tomorrow I'll come out to a more promising visage.

The fun-yard days. They encourage me with this whole child-rearing adventure. One day, I won't have to water ole Phyll. He'll be 30 feet tall and be giving the shade we only dream of right now.
Hello. Will Phyll need his momma? I don't think so. Will I enjoy what he has become since the early days of excessive tending? Absolutely and All the More.
(Please come back in a few years when we've extended our porch out, added a wet-bar and enjoy an icy-cold beverage on our swing in the Shade of Phyll. I'll be glad I am both no longer watering him OR changing several poopy diapers a day.)

"Isaac, make a face." okay, this one then.
always smiling. have I mentioned how sweet he is?

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

Tank

Today I am five months pregnant. 20 weeks. Halfway there. Yay!

I was talking to Josh today about how I am really starting to "feel" pregnant. As this is my second pregnancy, my stomach seemed to know what to do long before there was baby enough to fill it. I was searching for the word to describe how heavy I feel.

"I'm just feeling so big now, like this baby is taking over. It's like I'm a ..." Pause.

"A tank?"

"Yes, a tank." Thank you husband.

This was of course moments after he had told me how great I look. So I mostly forgave him.