Seven sisters for seven brothers?

Of course, no one knows what will happen. This baby could be my last. But if things keep up for us the way they've been going, we could end up on what I consider the VERY large end of the big family spectrum. Not Duggar-worthy, but possibly Stuckwisch- or even Preus-worthy. I turn 29 this week, which means I could still have a lot of good years in me before I dry up. This seems very funny to me, because when we first tossed our pills and told our families that the number of grandkids was now up to God (my husband's in-church-twice-a-year family shrugged; my extremely pious LCMS relations sucked in their breath sharply and haven't let it out yet), we joked that we were going to have seven kids. Impossible, right? Who has seven kids? Well, me, maybe. Or even a lot more.

The "seven kids" thing has stuck so much with some of my confounded family members that I'm regretting ever saying it. I should have told them 25 so that they wouldn't be fretfully counting down my years of earthly purgatory on their fingers every time I have another one, or advising me to pray for twins so that I'll be done sooner. There is no upper limit here, get it?

My sister (CSPP but not married yet, and my only family member breathing freely since our big announcement) has an explanation I like for when people ask her how many kids she wants: she tells them she'll take as many as God gives her. When the frowning begins immediately thereafter, she says that everyone knows you shouldn't give God a minimum (as if he owes every couple at least one or two kids), so she doesn't see why it would be ok to impose a maximum on him either. So: four, seven, twelve--whatev, man. Time will tell.

Studies in Gender Identity, Part 2

A few observations from our church's recent Beef Supper.

Our 19-month old (boy) was at a highchair opposite a 21-month old (girl).

She: Had food on a large plate on her tray. Food stayed on plate or was consumed, plate stayed on tray. Was not wearing a bib, and finished the meal with nary a spot on her pink-striped sweater.

He: Was, with trepidation, allowed to have a small paper plate, which was promptly dumped, used as a hat, and waved about wildly until confiscated. Was wearing a huge bib, and finished the meal with spots not only on himself but on everything and everyone within throwing radius.

Just different personalities? Or is there some other factor at work here too?

The Things That Are Not

"But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong. He chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things--and the things that are not--to nullify the things that are, so that no one may boast before him" (1 Cor. 1:27-29).

Anyone else here ever think these words are about us?

The world deems us foolish indeed for using our advanced degrees to spend our days dealing with poop emergencies, negotiating with 3-foot-tall tyrants, and reading "Frog and Toad" books ad nauseum.

Hard to think of many things that seem lowlier, at times, than the relentless daily requirements of perpetual motherhood.

What could be weaker than our helpless newborns?

And I'd venture to say that the vocation of parenthood, and yes, even children themselves (or more than 2.5 of them) are despised in our culture--in deed if not in word.

Not to mention that there are quite a few days when I personally feel like a thing that is not.

All excellent reminders of how God designed this great adventure to "Let him [her!] who boasts boast in the Lord." In Christ alone is "our righteousness, holiness and redemption" (v.31, 30). This foolish, lowly, despised path daily--hourly--humbles me, strips me of my silly pretensions to self-sufficiencey, reminds me that my life is quite simply not about me.

A sigh of relief from Unstructured Play Central

As someone who is too cheap to fork over the cash for a LeapPad and incurably nonplussed whenever someone tells me how well their three-year-old reads/figures/parses/welds/etc., I find this vindicating.

Well?

So where's that World Relief and Human Care study on contraception we've all been so eagerly awaiting? Not that I hold out any hope for it, but I'm still curious. Is it really just taking them this long to say the same smarmy thing they always say ("As for catholic precedent: hey, I think I hear your mom calling. Who's the bioethicist here, mortal? Oh, and Christian Freedom!")? RM, weren't you pestering some of these people for a while? I thought it was supposed to be out by now.

Nomenclature

I've always thought that the Jews and the Amish are onto something in having a term that means "everybody but us" (goy/Gentile and English, respectively). I've often wanted one a little less cumbersome than "non-Lutheran," for example. And for our specific purposes, "contraceptor" or some other less savory options I've heard don't really strike me as something I want in my regular vocabulary.

As a solution, we've discussed in our household using the term "Sulvan" to designate the folks who just don't want to have babies, God bless 'em, from the third book of CS Lewis' Space Trilogy. Sulva is the name of the moon in the book, and its inhabitants have succeeded in making life almost entirely inorganic (and much more convenient as a result, of course). Later in the book you learn that some characters have botched up the solution to a pressing problem by using contraception and not having the baby who was supposed to fix things (see part of the discussion at the bottom of this post). Someone makes a comment about such behavior being a practice of Sulva. So there you have it: Sulvan. May it be as useful for you as it is for me.

Studies in Gender Identity

So, as the mother of 3 boys (so far) and no girls (yet), I often wonder whether my boys are doing boy things, kid things, or idiosyncratic things. (Boy #3 currently weighs less than a pound, but is no doubt delighted about the recent development of his hearing, so that he can listen in on his two older brothers and come out knowing exactly what to do. Eeeep!)

Today's question:
Living across the block from a grain elevator, we have quite a few trains go by.
Here's how my boys (3 and 1.5) react when they hear the rumble on the tracks or hear the horn:

They freeze.
Their eyes widen.
Their nostrils flare.
Then they drop whatever they're doing and scramble madly to the nearest window with a view of the tracks.
Each of them has done this since shortly after his first birthday.

So:
Does anyone have, or know, girls who do this?
The girls of our acquaintance seem to have only a minor interest in trains, at best, particularly if they're already involved in an interesting activity.

Not for the Squeamish (like motherhood in general, eh?)

So I was terribly excited to receive an invite to this blog. Upon reviewing my currently available mental list of topics and expertise, however, I was rather disturbed to realize just how many of them involve bodily functions (and someone else's, at that).

Is this going to be a problem for anyone?

Full disclosure (***GROSS OUT WARNING--which I imagine this applies to no one reading this, as we're likely all mothers several times over): We recently had to obtain a stool sample from an extremely noncooperative 3-yr-old. 'Nuff said.

Well, with the crisis both literally and figuratively passed, I hope to have more time to pursue other thoughts in the near future.

Kick A where you're planted

One of our church's major fundraisers is today. I have the happy task of sitting comfortably in my house and occasionally throwing dish towels in the dryer for the kitchen crew while they feed lard-fried (no joke) sausages to a million people. But I did have to spend my whole Saturday making pies as everyone is expected to contribute at least 6.

My mom recently had occasion to talk to the mother of someone with whom I went to high school, and my pride winced as I imagined her describing how I'm pregnant with my fourth baby in five years and spending my weekend rolling out pie crusts. I thought of all those academic accomplishments I was so proud of and how people in the little town where I grew up thought I would really go somewhere. Now I live in a town almost ten times smaller than that one and spend most of my mental energy figuring out what I'm going to feed everyone on any given day. And then I thought, if I'm such a genius, why shouldn't I be generating my own army of humans and making the best freakin' pie crust in town? I really thought that. So I guess it does get easier, at least sometimes.

The Feast of St Halloween

I hate Halloween. It goes against my personal piety (not necessarily to say my personal Pietism, although I can't plead entirely not guilty of that). Didn't I renounce the devil and all his works and all his ways a while back? But Grandma makes great costumes for the kids, we live in a town which takes the event very seriously and observes not one but two nights of festivities, and I think sitting out of all this would be the first step toward the pastor's family being just a little too weird.

However, I don't think I'm being over the top when I say that some of the stuff people put in their yards is in incredibly poor taste, if not downright offensive. If the babies and I want to walk to the library, we are obligated to take the sidewalk right next to a yard in which a corpse swings from a gallows, other rotting corpses are struggling to disinter themselves from the lawn, various grotesque figures operate guillotines and similar devices (victims included), etc. It is extremely tacky, and the thingamajigs would definitely get a PG-13 rating for "disturbing images" if the yard were a movie. The kids (4, 3, and 1) STARE the entire time we're in visual range. This charming display has been up for weeks, and I've finally given up on the library until the season is past. WHY, PEOPLE?! Grow up.