Here we go...again?

Tomorrow, Wednesday, is the Big Day. Elizabeth gets born one way or another. If she is head-down or willing to get that way, it'll be the same old, same old. I'll get 600mg ibuprofen and ice packs, home on Friday, Mass on Sunday, etc.

If she won't comply, she'll be surgically removed. [Yes, I'm trying to be lighthearted.] I'll get stitches and Vicodin, still home on Friday. After that I have no idea how I'll recover. I've been reassured that it's not the end of the world but I'm only human. I fear the unknown, same as I was afraid before Madeleine's delivery.

My biggest fear is, as with any mother, complications that could endanger my child. Regardless of how she exits the womb and enters the world, I would really appreciate the prayers.

Disappointed but hopeful

So I was supposed to have a baby yesterday. And didn't.

Tuesday we got word that I'm Group Beta Strep positive this time around; I was for Madeleine too, and my doc just treated me for Dale and Rachel. The consequences for that are two doses of IV antibiotics before my water is broken and staying 48 hours after birth to make sure the baby is okay.

Well, before they started the IV, a scan was done on Elizabeth where we got an unpleasant surprise. She'd flipped herself into a breech position, where two weeks before she'd been head-down. I managed not to burst into tears but everyone in the room could tell I was disappointed and upset. The only one who knew I was scared too was my beloved husband.
My OB called and we talked about it. I spent the night at the hospital, got the antibiotics, and we hoped she'd flip back. She didn't so I came back home. Doc would have given me a C if I'd insisted, she might have tried to flip her first, but her opinion was to give Elizabeth a week to turn back on her own. I don't have blood pressure or diabetes issues, Elizabeth has been small throughout, it's my fifth delivery so I have four other kids at home to take care of, I'm only 38 weeks and change. There really wasn't a medically necessitating reason for a Caesarean.
I so wanted to deliver yesterday. My husband in his wisdom pointed out, "We agreed to an induction today. We didn't agree to a c-section today, with all that entails."

So I'm back home, still pregnant. I'm a touch nervous about going into labor before next Wednesday, which is Delivery Day For Sure. If she's flipped, it will be a regular induction. If not, we'll try to flip her but I may well be looking at a c-section. While I admit, I find that scary, I know others who have had one, two, three... even five. At least this way I've got time to prepare myself for it, where Tuesday night is was a dismaying surprise.

Ch-ch-ch-changes...

Seasonal wardrobe changes are happening here, which is really the most laborious and least important task. Figuring out what might fit next summer, what should be packed away for the next child, what can be donated, what should be thrown away, for four different wardrobes.
Sometimes I question the practicality and ease of hand-me-downs, despite the financial savings.

Anyway, it has come to light that Rachel has at least a dozen different winter dresses for church. No exaggeration. That doesn't include sleeveless summer ones that she says she could layer; that bumps the number up to something like 18. Neither does that include play clothes--jeans and sweatshirts, etc. The good point is that leaves more room in Santa's sack for toys come Christmas.
Lou's wardrobe is the same way, though he doesn't have dresses. He wants for nothing clothing-wise except maybe socks or shoes. It's quite stunning, the embarrassment of abundance these kids deal with.

Madeleine and Dale, though, probably could use a few things--her more than him, too. He needs his drawers cleaned out more than to receive anything. That does need to happen first, as well. At least the girls are done, Lou's done.

I've got the kitchen table covered with pink baby stuff; Elizabeth should be equipped when she makes her debut. That's a post all its own.

On skinned knees and wing clipping

In a strange convergence of circumstances, we've had some pretty profound discussions. Maybe I'm the only one who sees the parallels. I've been brewing this post for a couple weeks now.

Last Tuesday we had our homeschooling Catholic moms' Bible study. The girls--there are three eight-year-olds--donned helmets and went riding bikes around the block. It's a small block, maybe four or five houses per side, and they've walked it before in a large group (six kids or so?). Nonetheless I was a touch nervous as Madeleine hasn't done much turning on her bike. Of course, she returned with a skinned knee.
I had thought of this before. Knees covered in Band-aids are a staple of childhood, like splinters and mosquito bites. To attempt to prevent them, protect them completely from those things.... Down that road lay madness.
She didn't cry as I washed it, dabbed it with ointment, and bandaged it though there were some deep shuddering sighs and pinkish around the eyes. She did inform me later that it hurt some as we knelt for bedtime prayers; I figured some bruising on impact made sense and gave her a pass for a few days. Life goes on.

I've since finished reading E. B. White's Trumpet of the Swan during quiet time (Lou's naptime) as well. There is a chapter entitled "Freedom" near the end, where Louis (the main swan) and his love are offered perfect--and permanent--safety at a zoo. They will always have enough to eat, no danger of otter, fox, or other predators. The cost is Serena is pinioned--she gets a wing clipped and can no longer fly. Louis chooses freedom, the ability to go from the pond in Canada to the lake in Montana as the seasons dictate. He recognizes and accepts the risk of being hunted or not having enough food. It seems a simple enough choice. I pointed that dilemma out to the kids; they seemed thoughtful.

Also a couple weeks ago, as some readers already know, Dale's and my 11-year-old nephew was set upon by a dozen thugs who did enough damage to send him to the hospital. This is not a boy who shoots his mouth off or goes looking for trouble; he wasn't out after dark or in what would be recognized as a troubled area. He was walking around his neighborhood on a Sunday afternoon with his 9-year-old sister.
I was asked, "Where were any adults?" My guess is at home though their father may have been at work; perhaps one was grocery shopping. I'm not sure exactly where they should have been; to me, it seems a bit extreme to escort an 11-year-old and a 9-year-old around their own neighborhood.

Or is it? Since her birthday, coincidentally the same day as the assault, Madeleine has been permitted to walk the quarter mile to the party store on the corner alone. She's gone twice to get a gallon of milk. Yes, both times I watched the clock for the 20 minutes she was gone, keeping an ear cocked for her return while getting Lou down for his nap.
Am I leaving her vulnerable to such an attack? Should I be accompanying her still, an 8-year-old and me at over 8 months pregnant? When does "protective" become "paranoid"? Where is the line between clipping her wings and responsible parenting, and how many skinned knees will we have before she can fly?

She's growing up, and it's official.

Madeleine's birthday was yesterday. She's now 8 years old.

She's tall for her age--in the 75th percentile, at last check with the doc. She changes diapers because sometimes, Lou wants her to do it and nobody else. She will make lunch for her siblings of peanut butter sandwiches, or breakfast of toast and fruit. She's getting too big to cuddle in my lap anymore, though Elizabeth is contributing to that too.

And today, she got her ears pierced.

She's wanted it for a while, but we said "Twelve." My sister had my niece's done when she was a baby; I don't know about her younger daughter. I dated a guy who said you get it done then because they don't feel it. (I think that's nonsense, myself.) I told him if we had daughters, he could do it in the garage with an ice pick but the girl had to be old enough to ask.

The cuddles at bedtime are getting harder and harder. I'm not getting any bigger (well, except the belly) and she's certainly not getting smaller. I don't know how much longer I'm going to be able to do it. With her growing, though, I didn't want "growing up" to be all about losing things. So, I brought it up to Daddy yesterday evening and he did a gut-check for the "ick" factor, then gave his approval.

I want to record the tiny details of the day--how the cashier at Sears directed us right to Claire's. How we sat on the bench outside the store because it hadn't opened for business yet. How the manager (I'll call her Claire, because I don't know her name) radiated patience and understanding, even through her lip piercing. How she actually looked at my photo ID before any paperwork, how she didn't even bother with the disposable gloves until I'd filled it out. How Maddie and I found a perfect compromise on starter earrings (she wanted the rainbow daisies, I leaned toward sapphire studs; the sapphire daisies made us both happy). How Claire checked and re-marked her lobes and got my approval. How Madeleine squeezed my hands as the girl counted, "One, two, three"--thunk, then opened her eyes and said, "That's it?" How her eyes dried up before her second ear was done. How her voice sounded on the phone to her daddy when she told him it was done. How many times she said, "I got my ears pierced" to nobody in particular today.

I knew it wouldn't mean she's completely grown up, a fact brought home by the rest of the day. Her enthusiasm for her Littlest Pet Shop themed plates, her delight in putting the sprinkles on her cake, her gratitude for the two American Girl outfits (soccer and gymnastics) she received, her joy at her friend coming over for an extended playdate/party. Those are things little girls still like. For now, those are enough.

The Birthday Girl, on her birthday, with our first harvested pumpkin. I'm so proud of you.

Busier than a one-legged cat...

...trying to bury turds on a frozen pond.

Questions I've Answered in the Past Week:
1. Is Rudolph real?
2. But how did the baby get in there?
3. Why does poop come out your butt? (This by far was the easiest and most fun to answer, even at the lunch table.)
4. What is gold made of? (This one wasn't bad either, especially since the asker had already read a bit about atoms and elements.)

We have started up to school now for a couple weeks, and Rachel is officially in kindergarten. Well, for reading she's in first grade, but she's only doing four subjects a day and is done in about an hour.

Dale's math "problem" has been kind of resolved. I'm looking ahead in the math book to avoid redundant pages, for one. Only doing one page a day as well. Those new habits have helped. We also found and bought a Soma cube and a tangram puzzle set, which Madeleine is also intrigued by. Won't do her any harm, either.

We had Madeleine take the CAT test this past June; her first time taking a fill-in-the-oval test. She did typical of homeschoolers--her lowest score was still a grade above. She was counted as second grade, ninth month and her "worst" score was third grade, eighth month. A couple things she topped out the meter---word analysis, spelling, social studies, and launguage expression. As to her composite for the total battery, her grade equivalent was 5.7. Yeah, this is the child who needed two years of kindergarten. And yes, I still laugh at that.

Elizabeth is fine, though carrying her around all the time is starting to take its toll. In church, I can sing or stand--not both or I get too short of breath. My next appointment is scheduled for Sept. 11. Then I'll go in on a Wednesday morning for a final check ultrasound and to schedule induction. Given this is my fifth delivery with this doc, I'm predicting a date of October 7. Five weeks to go, folks.

Last note: my "book club" partner, for those who don't know already via Facebook, is my beloved husband. We see each other regularly, we both love to read, neither of us fear big or impressive books. Last summer we both read the Harry Potter series, so why not? I brought it up to him at dinner and he seemed positive. When I told him my idea for a reading list (Kolbe's curriculum), he liked that idea too. I even went so far as to say he could choose the first book and we could alternate after that. He had ordered us each Fagle's translation of The Iliad before we got the kids in the bath that evening. Since I can gauge his enthusiasm for an idea by how quickly he acts on it, I'm thinking he really likes it.

I've squeezed in that much blogging today; let's try to get some sheets taken care of and dishes washed. A woman's work is never done...

Does this count as a "book club?"

I've long been a bit intimidated by Kolbe's book list and curriculum. I sold my husband on it because it was the education I wish I'd had, but each year we get closer to high school increased my anxiety just a smidge. No, I wasn't losing sleep about it... yet. Madeleine's only in third grade, after all.
To reduce my worries, I have picked up some of the books the kids will be reading. I could read them and understand what was going on, but I felt like I was missing something. I tried joining an online classics reading club, but that... didn't work out. To be perfectly frank, think of the level of comments on newspaper articles. Yup. Only this time on works of literature.
Being the book fiend that I am, and raising more, we hit a bookstore this weekend. The education and workbook section was right next to the children's section so I didn't even need much of my designated "browse alone" time. I found "The Well-Educated Mind: A Guide to the Classical Education You Never Had," by Susan Wise Bauer. I read the back cover and knew it was coming home.
In the first chapter, Bauer points out the study of literature has existed outside of universities for quite a long time. Women's groups would gather in someone's parlor and they'd talk about books; handwritten journals were written about them; no professors were involved (except maybe as guests like anyone else). [As I write that, I remember the salons that Richelieu tried to control back in his time. Yeah, living room lit studies have been around a while.]
She posits that all one needs is the books, an appropriate reading level, the time for the reading, a journal to record one's thoughts about the book, and someone to discuss them with. Five things, some harder than others depending on the day.
Books--library or Amazon. Easy.
Appropriate reading level--I wasn't worried, especially after the simple "paragraph test" she had on pages 25-26.
Journal--does a blog count?
Time--I've kept a list of books finished each year since Christmas arrived once and I felt downtrodden. It's been 18-24 a year.
Now, for someone to discuss them with.... [Facebook friends who already know the answer--sh!]

There's various moms' groups I belong to. Our homeschooling group is wonderful but our interests are so varied, along with our time to give to such a project. We're talking about over 200 families, folks; while there would probably be some interest, setting a time that would be good for enough of us would be trickier than I feel like dealing with. Besides, one of the wonderful aspects is we don't have required or obligatory meetings; to have a book club would kind of throw a monkey wrench into things.
The Catholic homeschooling moms' group already has a book on apologetics. The dozen or so of us has felt a need for that background, so we've already got a book.
The parish moms' group is wonderful for support for motherhood, but homeschooling... not as much. We have a wide variety of reading tastes.

Okay, Gentle Reader. Where could I go for an intelligent person, likes to read, not intimidated by big books, that I could see on a regular basis without twisting anyone's schedules out of whack? I'll keep you in suspense; put your guesses in the combox.

Thoughts on socialization and homeschooling

Recently I've had a couple conversations with non-homeschoolers, two of which touched on that tired old bugaboo of "socialization." In three years and change, I've used up my patience with that topic and I let the Sarcasmotron come on. If I think too much about it, I'll fear what I'll be like in a few more years. Maybe I'll just breathe fire. Or laugh uproariously; fewer lawsuits that way.

To the first, I managed to be somewhat polite. "How many times did you hear at school that you're there to learn, not socialize?" As we were chatting online, I couldn't actually hear him chuckle but he admitted I has a point.

The second time was a touch different, though still chatting online. After asking about the possibility of scholarships--a reasonable and valid concern, after all--I was asked, "How do they learn social skills?"
I was more tired. I started a politely worded reply, but scratched it. Out came, "I'm not sure. I'm so busy running them to two different soccer teams, dance class (well, two are in Musical Theater this year), art class, American Heritage Girls, Vacation Bible School, flag football, park days and play dates that I really don't have time to worry about it."
That dropped the topic but I believe he got my point.

Most recently of all, I was talking with another soccer mom about homeschooling. While her kids attend public school, she's very understanding of the idea of homeschooling. I showed her some of the catalogs of materials available and she was very impressed.
"Most parents don't realize that they need to supplement their kids' education. They aren't getting everything they need at school; you HAVE to supplement," she said.
I'm going to ask her how much she's supplementing and doing homework with her kids. If she's already feeling like she needs to do that, why is she sending her kids to school? At least she's not paying twice for their education by sending them to private school, but still. That's one of the reasons I started down this road--I knew there would be things I wanted my kids to know and they wouldn't learn them at school (religion mostly, but there was more).

I'll let you know how this turns out.

UPDATE 8/25/09: A sincere thank you, Amy, for another response. "So appropriate socialization is spending 8 hours or more a day with children within the same year of age doing exactly the same thing, according to the instructions of a lone adult in the room? Sounds... odd."