Can I get a Witness?

"For as long as I shall live, I will testify to love. I'll be a witness in the silences when words are not enough. With every breath I take, I will give thanks to God above."

The day the reporter came from CNN to conduct our interview, Danny and I both questioned afterwards why it seemed we had both muted our faith in our responses to the interviewer. "Why do we homeschool?" I answered that it was because I felt it was best for our family. Necessarily succinct, yet the answer falls short of the truth. We homeschool because we believe as parents, God has assigned to us the responsibility of our children's education, and that we can give them a better education than any other school. Ultimately, I am accountable to the Lord. But perhaps I didn't find that answer suitably palatable when the camera was rolling. Even in private conversation with the crew later on, when opportunity came up to praise God, even simply to acknowledge his leading and provision in our lives, I just clammed up.

A week later at the homeschool moms park playgroup, there was a woman present who, since I had last seen her a year prior, had gotten divorced and remarried. She had a miserable way about her, lamenting her ex-husband's lack of support, dwelling on her organizational shortcomings, anxious about, well, everything. The thought crossed my mind that her mind and her life would be so different if she knew the Lord- peace that passeth understanding, joy of the Lord and strength that follows, shoulders to cast our burdens upon... not that I walk in this freedom all the time myself, but the Word of God promises that we have only to seize those blessings that have already been secured for us."How do you have it all together?" she asked. Hah! "Couldn't do it without my husband's support," I replied. I think I was a little bit tired that day. Ultimately, I guess I was feeling a little bit selfish. I gave an answer where no further explanation was required. And though it's true that Danny is instrumental, he's only as instrumental as he is available for God to use him. I totally left out the most important factor: the impetus, the motivator, the enabler... God.

Then last night, at our church's Thanksgiving Praise service, of all places, I did it again. I failed to give credit where credit is due. One after another, our church family members got up to thank God for miracles- emotional healing, lives spared in a near-fatal collision, financial provision, being placed on the list for kidney transplant.... but I couldn't think of anything so spectacular. I was just thankful that Danny came home from work safely every workday. And that my children were in good health. That I had a roof over my head. I felt compelled to speak on behalf of those that were grateful for 'normal.' So I stood at the mic with Noemie in my arms and my spasmodic dysphonia ( I HATE public speaking) and thanked God for the miracles he had done in our lives that we maybe didn't know about, and certainly, for the "normal" that we did know about. I felt kind of silly about it when I sat down, and got progressively more and more uncomfortable as the service went on and God brought to mind the great things he had done over the year that I forgot. Most significantly, Giannina's home birth where, not only was it a miracle that I was home at the time it happened, that people everywhere were praying at that moment because God had laid me on a friend's heart, and that the midwife arrived in time....but that God seemed to flag each miracle because he knew someday I'd shrug it off as coincidence, luck, or aligning planets. And just like the Israelites are so famously chided for forgetting God's miraculous provisions during their desert wanderings, here was I forgetting what God had done for me. Thousands of years later, human nature is still the same.

It's as if these recent failings of mine to acknowledge God's hand in my life is a facet on the gem that is "speaking the truth in love," but a facet that was turned away from the light while I was busy polishing another. At a homeschool parent support group recently, a speaker was encouraging parents to "speak Life" to their kids. What he meant by this was to use the Bible intentionally in our conversation, instruction, and discipline of our kids. Which carries more weight... mom saying, "You are so pretty!" or God saying, "You are fearfully and wonderfully made!"? Using the Bible for correction is wonderful because one, it excuses you from having to justify rules, assuming the rules you implement are the ones that are biblical. It also is a good check to make sure your rules aren't overbearing, or too lenient. Our list of house rules includes: Don't let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouth (Ex. 20:16; Eph 4:29), Honor your father and mother (Ex. 20:12; Eph 6:2) and the often cited, BE KIND (Lev. 19:18; Mark 12:28-31; Eph 4:32). Dominic's even quoted it to me on occasion when he's gotten in trouble. My personal favorite is "Do everything decently and in order" (1 Cor. 14:40), which includes making the sofa a no-fly-zone and requiring that boogers go in tissues. Again, which carries more weight...mom saying, "...Because I said so!" or mom saying, "...Because we love the Lord!"? Another couple major advantages are accountability (you have to be reading God's Word if you're going to use it), and that it stresses to your family that God's Word is as important as you say it is. It's a lamp unto our feet! That's what I've been working on lately. I win some, I lose some.

We've had a lot more victories in school lately. Dominic's taken on cursive; and he has his mother's knack for it. I always thought the modern school standard D'Nealian script was kind of ugly, so I'm teaching him a cross between D'Nealian and Spencerian penmanship, which was the American standard in the 1920s. I can do that because I'm the teacher! Noemie's chugging along in her reader- more than halfway done! She's also working on manuscript writing, her arpeggios on the piano, and in her leisure time likes to do research on porcupines. She might be less interested in porcupines if she actually saw one.

 And Toby's actually beginning to speak intelligibly. Word has it, he even said the letters of his name in Sunday School last weekend! When I say intelligibly, what I mean is, that I can understand him sometimes. "Cannuhaf?" means "can I have it?" It's his favorite phrase, and usually follows a kitchen break-in. His name for "Papi" is Paaaaah! Predictably, Mami is Maaaaah! Noemie is Nnnnn, and Dominic is Kai, and Giannina is Jah!
 

 

Our homeschool group wrapped up the unit on sound and music. During the course of study, we visited a pediatric audiologist, a music store, a marching band practice, and an orchestra. The group also met one day to perform sound experiments. On Dominic's birthday, Tio Diego brought over his saxophone and Tio Jonny brought over his clarinet. Both Dominic and Noemie were able to make appreciable melodic sounds! They also had some success with a French horn a few weeks later after the orchestra performance. Dominic wants to learn the trumpet someday. Have him perform his Malagueña trumpet routine sometime. Just don't ask him to do it in front of me. I've had enough WAH WAH WAAAAAAH to last me until I must suffer through the real thing!

 

We're doing a quick Thanksgiving unit this week. Today I asked everyone what they were thankful for. Dominic was thankful for his Legos, his [Nerf] guns, and his skateboard. Noemie listed every individual member of our family, then added that she was also thankful that so many people know her name. "I'm kinda famous," she adds. Toby, when asked, responded with Ca-'na-Ha (Cat in the Hat). Where will we go next with our units?

Giannina started sitting up, eating solid foods, and getting up on her hands and knees. She's on the fast track! Not sure what the hurry is... Toby believes with his whole heart that she belongs to him. She accepts his generous, robust affection with great patience. Sometimes with amusement, sometimes with a sigh. She seems to be ok with this for now.

The house search was put on hold because of some logistical interruptions. And that exercise routine Danny and I started a few months ago? That was over in like 2 days. Oh well.

Showtime

I lost my lip gloss a few weeks ago. Bad timing!

For your amusement, as I don't have time to write just yet:
Fame! 2 minutes down, 13 to go.

God Save the Queen! (What is He saving her from?)

I pride myself in knowing the birthdays of my closest friends (and past highschool crushes...Taylor Hanson, March 14. BAM! ) So it was a little embarrassing when I wished one friend of mine a happy birthday a month ahead of schedule. But the embarrassing thing wasn't so much that I got the date wrong, because I didn't, but that for at least one whole day, I thought we were in October. Whoa.

I haven't updated lately because these past two months have been a world of busy. Dominic and Noemie quit kung fu and started gymnastics classes in its place. Danny and I started the P90X work out videos. Giannina went from being a cute blob to being a wriggly, vocalizing, chunky-bottomed baby. (Still cute.) And Cristovan, well, he's still trying to figure out that potty. He bears no ill will toward the commode but doesn't seem to understand the signs that a bowel movement is imminent. Until today, anyway. He caught some tummy bug (perhaps from those coins we caught him sucking on?) and he definitely knows now. Additionally, we began the home buying process. We don’t have the money for the down payment at the moment, but I’ve got the will. Four kids in a two bedroom apartment that smells like a potty training child? I’ve got a heck of a lot of will. But the most significant update for us is that the school year has started again. (I mean, it never really stopped, but let's pretend). We joined a support group, bought new boxes of crayons,  took first-day-of-school pictures, and dove into our first unit: Attentiveness.

Attentiveness is a handy character trait. Attentiveness means asking, "What's going on around me?" I expect it will encourage Dominic to hold the door open for me when I'm pushing the stroller into the elevator room. I expect it will keep Noemie from accidentally riding her tricycle down the stairs again. When she recovers from the initial shock of the descent, attentiveness will allow her to keep her mind in order instead of shrieking up the stair well, "My knee's gonna bleed and I'm afraid of it!!!" Am I expecting too much? Always. But, I must be doing a better job at this mothering thing. This week nobody commented that I had my hands full. Instead, there were two separate instances where I was asked, "Are they all yours?" I've gone from object of pity to peculiarity.

In our lessons, we've been talking about the ear and its parts, about the physics of sound, about concentrating. Toby sits in on brief spurts of our lessons. His two year old brain is not engaged in biographies of Helen Keller, Beethoven, or Alexander Graham Bell. He'd rather sit with his brother's geography computer-toy listening to national anthems. Toby does tend to be my most attentive one, but really, language is not his forte. He does say a few words. Twenty at most. I got excited the other day when he pointed to a black car in a book and said, "black car." I cheered him for this demonstration of great progress. Then he pointed at Clifford (the big red dog) and said "black car." I just stared blankly at him.

The decision to put the kids in gymnastics was an easy one. They were hiding from us when it was time to go to kung fu, the novelty clearly faded. Yet, from time to time, I would walk in on Noemie running in tight circles as fast as she could, saying, "Mami, this means I want to do something with you. It's sign language with my foots." Close the door. Clearly, energy release was an issue. So we put them in gymnastics. Now, Dominic does bear crawls and dashes, headstands galore, swings on the parallel bars once a week. Noemie jumps on a balance beam, flips on the uneven bars, bounces on the trampoline, calling out to her instructor, "Hey Mr. Monkey Head!" and landing every single move with her hands elegantly posed over her head. In her mind, she is an Olympian. Our Thursdays are exhausting. Unfortunately this doesn't mean they don't run out of crazies. I had to conduct an emergency diaper change for Giannina on the floor of the van after the last class. When I finished, I found that Dominic had run around the outside of the car and pushed in all the side view mirrors. Having accomplished that objective, he was standing in front of some flower bushes spraying them with mouth-fulls of water from an old Chick-Fil-A cup he'd found inside the van. His shirt, soaked.

As for my exercise program, I have nothing nice to say. The first day was amusing. My legs were so out of shape that I couldn't hold myself up about halfway through. I did much better on the second day of cardio- this time my leg muscles got through it; they caught up to my heart. I was very out of breath. I hate that feeling. I like exercise about as much as I like going to the dentist. And when do I have time to exercise? We put the kids to bed at 8 pm, and spend the next 40 minutes chasing them back in their rooms between jumping jack-squats, swing-kicks, lunges, and jumping in and out of invisible tires. Jump-twist, jump-twist, jump-twist, take the chicken pot pie out of the oven, jump-twist, jump-twist, take Toby to the potty.... Last night, Giannina was in a bad mood so Danny had to do his routine with Giannina strapped to his belly in a baby backpack. We had dinner at 10. I mean, 9. (If I say 10, I'm going to have relatives calling me to warn me about the dangers of late-night digestion. Sh.)

Giannina is 5 months old. Almost 6, come to think of it. Ack! It happens so fast. I'm totally in love with her. She's the cutest human being I know at the moment.

Oh, and my last surviving grandparent passed away. Abuelo Nilo, quite possibly, the world's greatest contractor, if for no other reason than he loved what he did, and he did it well. He thought his family was pretty awesome too. I agree.

Nilo Garcia

1924-2012

Countdown to London

"Do you want to be in gymnastics? Because gymnastics costs MONEY. And I won't have any MONEY to spend on GYMNASTICS, if I have to use it all to buy TOILETPAPER!!!" 

Absurd, the things I catch myself yelling when I'm tired. Sopping wet toilet paper is not play-doh. Noemie. 

I'm happy to report that things are finally normalizing. Giannina is doing her part by maturing at an alarming rate. Alarming, I tell you! By 10 weeks she was sleeping through the night. By week 12, she was flipping over onto her backside when we'd lay her down for tummy time. In fact, now we can't keep her on her tummy at all.

She's so stinkin cute. She sucks her thumb...always seems surprised when she finds it, but she loves that thing. And already growing out of her 3-6 month sized onesies, not yet 4 months old. At church, she's known as Gia, Nina, and "little girl Dominic." She does look a lot like her brother! 

Dominic and Noemie finished their three month trial of Kung Fu. They liked it at first, but only a few weeks in, Noemie was hiding in the bathroom during practice. Making little toilet paper villages no doubt. By the end of the third month, it took all our creative parenting powers to get her to the class without a breakdown. The instructors never did take kindly to her charms. The class would be doing high kicks and she was chasing imaginary butterflies. I guess she's just not the kung-fu type. But she can count in Chinese now. And that's gotta be worth something. Dominic did much better. 

I organized the playgroups for our church this summer. God has been protecting me with that for sure! I set a date at a local bowling alley at 10 am, and when the group showed up, we were told that they would have no free lanes till 3 pm. We spent the next 5 minutes debating our options. Then the manager showed up and told us there were a couple of lanes they could give us at the far end. Free of charge. And just enough lanes for our group, but we could only use them for an hour and a half. After an hour and a half our kids were crazy-loopy, celebrating every throw with a dog pile of preschoolers.... Perfect timing! On the day we planned an afternoon shaving cream fight, the storms clouds rolled away right before go-time. When we planned a morning at the YMCA pool, the storm clouds held off till lunch. That particular day was a lot of fun for the kids who've really improved on their swimming. Unfortunately, Toby spied an unattended pizza box nearby. I caught him walking around with half a pizza pie, chewing on one end, the other end touching his toes, oil dripping down his face and chest. Yikes! The owner of the pizza returned shortly and was not nearly as amused as I'd hoped she'd be. Toby! Before bedtime that night (a mere 4 hours later) Toby had also emptied his bedroom bookcase (complete with shelves), broken my only hair comb, pantsed Dominic, smacked Noemie square in the face, and finger-painted on my dining room chairs with chocolate milk. Toby keeps me very busy.

Here comes trouble... and it's wearing a speedo!

What else have I missed? Ho dee hum hum. Oh yes. I turned... well... I had a big birthday. A really big one. I'm on top of the hill and I'm scared to look down. However, I had a fabulous birthday party and my fabulous husband recruited my dear friends and family to pitch in on a most fabulous gift. I have my first, very own portable, internet-accessing device. And it's big. And the screen resolution is incredible. And I can draw on it using my finger. It's so COOL! Danny bought it one of those military-grade looking cases because children can and will break anything. (They're like those little bombs with feet on the Super Mario 3 death ships.) So how have I put this technological marvel to work in my life? Playing lots of "Draw Something" with my sister-in-law. But more importantly, I used it to show the kids Whitney Houston's performance of the Star Spangled Banner when we learned about the national anthem in preparation for Independence Day. And I showed them digital brochures of our national parks when we covered America's major geological features: the Rocky Mountains, Appalachian mountains, Mississippi River, and southwestern deserts. These days we are preparing for the Olympics, studying a different sport every day. We've spent the last two days reading elementary-level biographies of track and field medal winners like Alice Coachman, Jesse Owens, and Wilma Rudolph. I downloaded the London 2012 App (LOCOG) that sends me results as they happen; and NBC Olympics Live Extra (NBC) that allows me to see all the events...live if I want to... and not just the edited versions of NBC's preference. (Sailing, for instance, is never broadcast. And if I want to watch the table tennis recap, I'd have to wait till midnight.) I also downloaded an application called Flags and Capitals (Xcentric) which shows flags from all the world's countries, as well as Canadian territories, U.S. States, and the Olympic flag. It also gives the capital of each and the geographic coordinates that correspond. It will even locate the country on a world map. So when Jamaica or Russia or whoever wins a medal, we can find that country instantly and look at its flag. (This last app is not very clean-cut. Their Florida flag, for instance, looks like they stole the image at a very tiny resolution and blew it up, then shrunk it again, then blew it up again, so that the State Seal is a big blob rather than a discernible image. I think it may be the worst flag sample, though.) All those apps were free! So was The Old Schoolhouse Magazine. This is a fabulous, incredibly encouraging and inspiring magazine for moms who like to teach their kids cool stuff. (Which is essentially what homeschooling is, according to some educational philosophies.) Being able to comb issues past and present, free of charge and on command is just... brilliant. This incredible new toy of mine... just brilliant.

So that's what we've been up to these days. Sometime next week we'll be heading out to some abandoned public school P.E. track to time ourselves on 100 and 400 meter dashes. We'll be keeping track of the medal winners for our top 50 favorite events. (Gotta get my hands on some butcher paper to make the chart.  Add that to my list.)

For the record, Noemie does not like shaving cream.

Quote of the week: "Save me, George Washington!" 

I love that 18th century patriots have joined the ranks of imaginary characters in Noemie's head

Obladi Oblada

My mom bought me a piano a couple years ago.
I finished my 8th (and last) year of study 12 years ago and had not attempted to learn a piece since, nor had I ever attempted to learn a piece without my teacher's tutelage. But being the over-achiever that I am, I celebrated the receipt of this new piano by immediately writing up a list of classical pieces I endeavored to teach myself to play. And for a whole year I looked up wooden pendulum metronomes on ebay and dropped hints that such an antique would make me happier than Anne of Green Gables wearing puffed sleeves. I finally got such a metronome for Christmas this year. I ran home, pulled out my copy of one of Chopin's posthumous waltzes and slid the marker to alegretto. I released the pendulum, fingers in position and....my heart froze. For the past year I'd been playing the piece at half its intended tempo. And so, for the first time in over a decade, I experienced the old familiar sensation of trying to play a piece twice as fast as I am able. I start off ok, but as the measures tick by, a note is missed here, a rest must be abandoned there, and next thing I know my fingers are tripping over one another. A quarter of the way through the page, my eyes are nearly crossed, I finds I'm holding my breath, my shoulders so tensed they're up to my ears and... I fall off the piano bench. And truth be told, life feels a lot like that these days.

All is quiet and I hear the shuffle of little feet. Clearly, it's Noemie, who never just walks into a room. She's always creeping. Noemie creeps slowly up to my face at 7 in the morning and whispers, "Where's Dominic?" It appears a game of hide and seek is afoot. I whisper back, "You find him. You're the secret agent." She retorts, "Well this secret agent needs breakfast." Sigh. Time to get up. The morning is going alright. The kids are all fed, the house is acceptably messy, the kids are playing nicely. I plop on the couch and pause to admire my recently upholstered chairs for the third time that day and as I sit there I notice, to my slight annoyance, that the polite game of matchbox cars having a tea party has been exchanged for an exercise in pointing out the naked people cartoons in a book of Shel Silverstein poems. I suggest they find something else to do and I go to my room to nurse Giannina. On my return I find puddles of spilled drinks in random places, the linen closets have been emptied in the name of building fortifications, Toby has knocked over our halogen lamp, and Dominic is swinging from the draw string of his window blinds telling me he doesn't know what to dooooo. And I fall off my metaphorical piano bench.

But practice makes perfect, right? It gets better everyday, I think. I hope. Speaking of my piano, Toby peed on it today. I thought to myself, this child is 2 years old. Surely, if the boy can use a CD player, ride a tricycle, and claim every toy in the house with a mighty "MINE!" all day, the boy can use a potty. I used the 3 day method that I used on the older two but I think he's confused. He and I both. As of today, day five, we still haven't gotten a successful poop-in-the-potty. Every time he walks by the potty (which is often, as the bathroom is located just outside his bedroom door), he flushes it. Every time I hear it run, I come running, praying there wasn't anything in it. Like shoes. Or dollar bills. You never know. The few times he does sit on the potty, he just does a wee little tinkle, then sits there scratching off teeny tiny bits of paper from the toilet paper rolls and dropping it between his legs. And he smiles and cheers himself. His preferred place to relieve himself, we have found, is on top of his bedroom armoire. That's a 5 ft tall piece of furniture! Noemie walks in. "Do you need help? I'm helpful! Did you know I'm helpful? Because I like to help. Even if you say no, I will still help." Danny and I are, needless to say, pooped. Ha.

It's a hug. I swear.

This parenting stuff is tough! I have to pray everyday for more fruit of the Spirit. The fruit of the spirit is that proof that God is in charge of your heart. The fruit of an apple tree proves that it is in fact a healthy apple tree and not a mango tree. Or a pineapple. (The more time in the Word and in prayer, the more fruit!) More love, more joy, more peace, more kindness, goodness, and gentleness, and, Heaven help me, for self-control. You have to pray. Pray without ceasing. And remind yourself constantly that this too will pass. And when it does, you'll cry and cry that they're all grown up! I'm tearing up right now just thinking about it. I'm storing up treasures in heaven.

“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moths and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moths and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also."  Matt 6:19


Now I know Jesus was perfect...but moths? rust? I can't figure out why he left out "children" from that list. I've never seen anything so destructive as children. Take a look at my metronome.

I only had it for two weeks. 

One last Noemie soundbyte for the road:
N: Let's talk about all the animals I don't know, and all the countries I don't know.
Me: There are a lot of animals you don't know and a lot of countries you don't know. There are a lot of animals I don't know and a lot of countries I don't know.
N: Ok, well, then I'll tell you about one of the ones you don't know. One of them is Ba'in. Where everyone speaks in rhyme. [Proceeds to give me a sample conversation]. Here's a map! [Pulls out an old camera and slides finger along the screen as if it was an iPod. I'd like to point out that neither Danny nor I have any device that works that way.] Here's a picture of me wearing Prima Meli's glasses. She told me to stand there so the camel could lick my nose. [She laughs at herself.] I'm just being jokey!

Giannina's colick has finally subsided. She still sleeps most of the day, and, when I'm not wiping down peed-on furniture, you can find me kissing all her little rolls. I call her Danny's twin. And I love her!!!

I'd tell you, little Giannina, to run for your life. But sadly, you can't do that yet, can you?

Soon, my dear, soon.

Survivor. I hope.

Danny worked a detail last night to pay for some Kung Fu classes for Dominic and Noemie. Surely, I thought, surely, I could spare 15 minutes between 10 pm (when the kids finally went down to bed) and 12:15 am (the time that I expected Danny home) to catch up on the blog. But no. I think I got as far as signing in before I had to jump up to take care of Giannina, my gorgeous, charming, COLICKY baby. My fourth baby had to be the one with colic. I haven't checked email in a week. I'm thinking of giving up the internet entirely. I may not get to read a book for the next 18 years. 

Week one was tough. Danny got hit by a poop torpedo. He was 3 feet away! 

(Peanut Gallery)

Cristovan took instantly to Giannina. In fact, he would say "mine" and push Noemie away if he felt she was being too smothering, which Noemie does have a tendency to be. This is surprising because Toby loves to tackle and wrestle. Give him a brand new board book and he'll shred it to pieces. I take my eye off of him for a moment and there is crayon on my piano keys and my homeschool materials cabinet has been raided. There are bingo chips and bent playing cards scattered everywhere. Leave the kitchen gate open and he'll tear through a box of Cheez-its in a heartbeat. And scarf down a bag of goldfish crackers. A loaf of bread. And Rice Krispies. (He's a carboholic with an appetite.) But with Giannina, he's so gentle!

Week 2 was survival. I had read a National Geographic article sometime last year on the effect of sleep deprivation on mice. They died. And I would wonder, as we muddled through our second week, how close I was to death myself. We tried to keep the nervous breakdowns in public spaces to a minimum. Even when Giannina would give us those precious 4 hour sleep stretches at night, Noemie would come in half way through asking for a glass of water. Oh how we prayed for good humor!

Week 3 kicked off with Easter Sunday. Terrible, terrible family photos. 

For all the trouble to look that good... what a pity. Danny and I were not at our optimal parenting capacities, and Dominic and Noemie were noticeably frustrated. Our prayers for good humor were falling short.


We put the oldest two in Kung Fu to give them something to do three times a week. Maybe there they could get some extra attention... accomplish something to be proud of. Get a little extra discipline. Unfortunately, that also meant Danny and I had something more to do three times a week. We all caught the flu (our second time in a month!) But flu or no flu, Dominic had to have a cool pine derby car for the Awana Grand Prix.

I won... I mean, Dominic won a trophy for third best design.

Week 4, my fever got up near 104. I laid there in my four layers of pajamas one night, shivering, thinking that perhaps we'd taken on more than we could handle. Then Giannina got a fever. Suspicions confirmed. 

When Giannina's fever hit 102, I followed doctor's orders and made my way at 2 am to the emergency room. They gave the poor thing a chest ray (to check for pneumonia), a catheter (to check for urinary tract infection), a blood test (to check her white blood cell count), even a spinal tap to check for meningitis. At about 5 am, with all tests negative and her body now surging with useless antibiotics, they sent us home. Apparently she just had the flu. We were thankful not to have to stay in the hospital, but of the 44 hours that preceded our hospital release, we'd slept five. The prospect of taking on three preschoolers for another 16 was terrifying.

How are we surviving? Besides my mom and sister, who have cleaned my bathroom on more than one occasion, we had church families bring us meals every night for a week and a half. When we had to take Giannina in for her doctor's visit, a church friend watched the boys. And when we had to run off to the hospital in the middle of the night, our Sunday School teachers came over to stay with the other kids and slept upright on our couch. We've had friends pick up the older kids for playdates or to take them to Chick-Fil-A for a lunch date. We could not have survived without our church family. I know they're praying for us- they text and call us to check in. They have loved us so well. Being part of a church is more than gathering for worship (which is a much needed recharge), for prayer ( who doesn't need intercession?), and for deepening our understanding of God's Word (it's our sword!), but it's also one of the ways God provides for us- emotionally, spiritually, and materially. We are so, so blessed by our church. I hope you have found that family too.

We've made it to week 5. I am pleased to report that Giannina's fever has subsided, and that we are taking things a little easier. Giannina sleeps in 5 and a half hour stretches at night- from midnight to 5 am, which is about what Danny sleeps anyway. Dominic and Noemie continue in their Kung Fu classes, and Toby continues to destroy EVERYTHING. Danny bought me long-stemmed roses in celebration of the 156th month-iversary of our first date. It's going to be ok, I tell myself. It's going to be ok!

Baby!

It could have been Key Biscayne.
For Noemie's birthday present, we had decided we were going to take the family to the Miami Seaquarium. For weeks we were going back and forth about it. Would they go without me? I was nervous about being in Miami less than a week before my due date. And then there were a few days there where my hip bones hurt so much I could barely walk. But when I woke up on March 23, I felt pretty good, and it broke my heart to think I'd have to miss her birthday present. Despite the danger, we loaded the van and headed south.

The kids got splashed by Lolita, enjoyed some snowcones, and ogled some water-mammals. Prima Meli went with us; a great time was had by all. We arrived home safely. And... no baby. Phew!

It could have been in a college auditorium.

Saturday was the Ars Flores Symphony performance for children at Nova University. Again, I didn't feel particularly birthy so I figured I'd go as well. I'd forgotten how much I loved listening to live music. In particular, live orchestral music. After the performance, one of the musicians asked Dominic what his favorite instrument is. He responded, "hip-hop drums." She looked thoughtfully at him and replied that, while she didn't have any hip-hop drums for him, she could give him a tour of the percussion section. He seemed to be "down" with that, so he climbed on stage and tried his hand at the marimba and a kettle drum.

Afterwards, the kids ran around a nearby field on campus. Dominic flew a kite; Toby threw tantrums. The weather was nice. And... no baby.

It could have been in a pew!

Sunday morning came along. No baby. But... every now and then a contraction. They were light, few and far between. Duds. I started having contractions like these a month before Cristovan was born. Could it be I was still a month out??? Danny did some math and decided that it was in fact possible. In defiance, I marched off to church. During Sunday School and then during service, I made little signals to Danny with every contraction so he could mark the time. Church got out, and we headed home. No baby.

The week before, plans had kept falling apart for the abuelas to take the kids to the Youth Fair. We were going to give it one last shot this Monday, so we arranged to take Dominic and Noemie down to Miami Sunday night and celebrate Noemie's birthday with a small family get-together while we were there. We packed their bags after church and set off down I-75.

As we drove along, past Miramar, past Hialeah, I couldn't help feeling that with every mile we drove, I was getting further and further away from a safe delivery. This was a monstrously bad idea. I called my midwife that evening and gave her the heads up about the contractions. But I would not dare tell her where we were.

Cousins, aunts and uncles, brothers and sisters, grandparents, and even my abuela Angela's brother Gonzalo showed up to sing Happy Birthday and eat cake. Noemie was over-joyed. She gave a genuine, beaming smile and thank you to each person before opening her presents. Family members were visibly nervous. I was starting to get nervous too as my contractions started to settle into a pattern, one every 10 minutes. I was starting to think this baby might be arriving that night (though I was praying that Noemie wouldn't have to share her birthday.)

We wrested ourselves from the festivities while family was still there, and high-tailed it for home. It could've happened at my mom's house...but it didn't. Naturally, as we were arriving, the contractions started to subside. And then... the womb became silent. Dang it. No baby.

Danny and I seized the opportunity to do some much needed cleaning. The nesting instinct hit me a little late in the game. And it manifested itself in obsessing about how desperately my dining chairs needed to be reupholstered. There I was at 11 pm, texting furiously, in search of a staple gun. Danny meanwhile,rearranged the furniture in our bedroom, cleared the bedroom and bathroom counter spaces, and put away the kids winter clothes bin. He probably did some other important things too but I was too concerned about the disorganization in my shoe organizer. My priorities were, admittedly, a little off. We went to bed sometime after 2 am. I woke up without contractions.

I spoke with my midwife in the morning and she said that, if I wanted to, we could bump up my weekly appointment to that afternoon. I was frustrated, and knew that the numbers wouldn't indicate anything regarding my progress, but Danny thought it might be helpful so I acquiesced and we found ourselves in Hollywood at 3 in the afternoon. My check up revealed that I was 90% effaced and 5 cm dilated, which is where I stood 2 weeks before Toby was born. The baby, she estimated, was about 6 lb. The midwife shrugged her shoulders. Could be tomorrow. Could be 2 weeks. But I had a feeling this baby might come sooner than later so, as we drove home, I texted friends, "I expect the baby will come on Wednesday or Thursday."

It could have happened in the produce aisle. How embarrassing would that have been?

We stopped at Publix on our way into our neighborhood. Picked up food to last us until the kids got back on Tuesday... I considered getting one of those automatic carts as I usually do in the last couple of weeks of pregnancy but I didn't feel I needed one. The baby hadn't dropped that low yet. As I waddled towards my car door, a man approached me. He had a graying beard; he was carrying work boots. He appeared to be in his mid-60's. He was the kind of person whose personal space needs were a hair shy of the norm. But he reminded me of a friend of mine's dad, and he didn't really scare me. I counted on my observant, police-man-husband's watchful eye. The man said, "Oh. Looks like that baby is coming soon. I give you one to two hours." I smiled and nodded. "How many kids do you have?" he asked. "This will be my fourth," I answered. He smiled kindly and said, "You better hurry and get where you're going." As I got in the car I replayed the conversation to Danny. Danny had not seen the man at all.

When we got home, I helped Danny put the groceries away and then went to lie down per my midwife's suggestion. It was 6 pm and the afternoon sun was streaming into our bedroom window and inviting me to take a nap. I laid across the bed on my side... praying for the Supreme Court healthcare hearings or internally debating the sociological implications of the Trayvon Martin fall-out or something equally overwhelming when I head a soft "pop." Oh dear. Oh dear oh dear oh dear oh... "Danny! Dannydannydannymywaterbrokedanny!!!" Danny, who was in the office coordinating a guys-night-out, came in looking startled.

"Danny I think my water broke!"

"I don't know! You're wearing a black skirt!"

"Danny, I know my water broke! Get my phone!" I was frozen in fear... though laughing. Because this was kind of funny. I had never imagined my water would break. It had never broken on its own before...

I called my midwife (who answered the phone for the first time ever) and relayed the news. She said she was coming right over. "Wait...I haven't had any contractions... should we wait till I do?" "NO!" She sounded alarmed. Uh oh. In the fuss, I had missed a text message that had come in. I took this awkward time of being "frozen" to check my missed messages. It was Colleen from the homeschool moms playgroup. At the moment my water broke, she had woken up from her nap abruptly and felt the need to pray for me. She sent out a mass text to the mom's group mentioning that I had had contractions the night before, and calling on the group to pray that, when the time came, the midwife would make it on time as she knew my labors were quick. That was pretty surreal. Then again... it was rush hour. On I-95 and 595... it might take a miracle. I laid there as still as possible. If my body didn't know my water had broken, I didn't want it to find out. But my body figured it out within about 10 minutes. With my first contraction, I got off the bed so Danny could prep the sheets. I got back on the bed on my side, as the midwife had instructed weeks ago, and endured the four excruciating contractions. That's all I got. Just four. They were killer- as if all the pain of a standard-length childbirth was concentrated into those four contractions. Danny, who began frantically putting the bassinet together, out of nervousness I think, was quickly called off his project as I told him he might have to catch the baby himself. He grabbed a towel and stood in position. As the baby crowned, we could hear the midwife pounding down the hallway and Danny ran to receive her. Toby, meanwhile, was blissfully napping.

Five minutes later, a wiggly baby, with its gimpy little 16" umbilical cord, was laid on my tummy. Well, almost. You can't go very far with a little cord like that. The time was 6:45. The midwife waited till the cord stopped pumping (as all good midwives do) and then Danny "cut the cord" for the fourth time in his life. After a few minutes it occurred to me to ask, "So is it a girl or a boy?"

And there she was. A shock to me, a little girl. A little 6 lb 1 oz girl.
It had been about an hour and a half from my chance meeting with the mystery-man at Publix. And my midwife who never answers her phone? She made it from Hollywood to Davie, in rush hour, in 32 minutes. A miracle? I think so! And just in case there was any doubt, a downstairs neighbor handed Danny a cigar that evening. He said a client had given it to him that afternoon for no reason. "I guess it was for you!" he said.

People would ask us why we planned a home-birth. I think I knew I'd be having one whether I planned it or not. And there you have it. Danny gave her the name Giannina Espinosa. (A small Jeanine... a Jeanine-a. And I don't know why he chose the Italian spelling over the French we'd planned on.) Her name means "God is gracious," and there is no doubt that He was. Wishing us a Happy Easter a week later, a friend thoughtfully remarked that we would be experiencing "joyful contemplation of new life for many reasons." So true.

It's been two weeks since Giannina was born. We almost lost our minds the first week. But every day things get better. It was nice to be able to walk outside and breathe fresh air 6 hours after she was born. It was glorious to not have to be poked, prodded, and monitored for three days. Giannina was visibly disappointed in her new world at the start. But she has since come to accept it. Sure, there are children screaming, laughing, singing, or kazoo-ing from sun up to sun down. And I don't let them drink soda. But I think eventually, she'll come to the realization that her family, while not perfect, is pretty awesome, if I do say so myself.

Almost there!

With less than three weeks to go till the anticipated arrival date of our newest addition, I realize this may be my last opportunity to give an Espinosa family update. They've been fewer these days as it occured to me recently that we've been living in our apartment for three years and that, as we keep our computer in a room with no ventilation whatsoever (it's a closet, attached to another closet), this room has collected three years worth of polybrominated diphenylethers (read: toxic dust), and I'm going to die if I spend much more time in here. I've gone from calling it "the interrogation room" to "the poison room." One more bullet point on the ever growing list of reasons not to renew our lease in July.

As for the baby, we still don't know if it's a boy or a girl, though I may treat you to some Coldstone Creamery if you can accurately predict the gender and the name we will pick. I love games, I do. We will be having the baby at home, Lord willing. That is, Lord willing it doesn't come out at Publix or at church. My labor with Noemie was 2 hours, with Toby it was one. The statistics are in my favor for a fast delivery, not so much in my favor for a low-stress one. What if Danny's at work? Or if it's rush hour? (My midwife is coming from Hollywood). Dominic and I drill daily on how to call 911.

There's not much new with Dominic, except for his repository of information about the human body. As we prepare for the arrival of #6, we've been studying about the different organ systems and their functions. This has always been Dominic's favorite subject, and he's been soaking it all in, right down to nerves and axons (and myelin sheaths). We've been covering one system a week: circulatory, respiratory, skeletal, muscular. The muscular system was of particular interest to Dominic who is, in typical five-year old fashion, obsessed with heros, villains, and kung fu. The muscular system is absolutely crucial to kung fu and he was quick to point this out to me in our review session this morning. (So concerned is he with the epic battle for good and evil, that he won't let me clip his toenails because he will need them should a villain bind him with ropes and his only available weapons are his feet. He will use his toenails to "slash the bad guys." Muy importante.) I hope no bad guys present themselves today because Dominic has caught a cold and at last check, had a fever of 102. He said to me, holding back tears, "When I am sick, I don't have my powers." Poor thing. And he knows exactly what he needs. White blood cells.

We share praises and requests before our prayer time when we do school every morning. Dominic's daily requests are the same- for protection for Papi at work, and for a house. A house where Iron Man can turn into a jet. Whatever that means. He built me a model of the house a few days ago.

The house comes complete with rooftop garden and carport so we don't get wet. It's mostly one-story, the second floor has only a bathroom but he made sure to put in stairs. On the reverse side of the house he actually left a gap open which, he explained to me, was for ventilation. I love this child.

Noemie, four years old in just a few weeks, lives in an alternate reality. Her daily prayer requests are for her family, that is, her doll-family, of which she is the proud mommy. But don't call them her dolls; this offends her. They are her FAMILY. Her imagination is so intense, that Danny and I will sometimes just listen in wonder to the songs she invents off the cuff or the stories she tells her FAMILY at bedtime... a steady stream of high-pitched chatter lasting, often, for over an hour. She listens in on our school lessons every day but doesn't answer any of the review questions correctly. Until candy is wagered.

Me: Noemie, can you tell me what the black hole in the center of the eye is called?

Noemie: Nope.

Me: Oh, that's too bad. I had a SweetTart for whoever could remember...

Noemie: It's...a....pupu-lah?!

Caught again! Nap times are a bit of a problem; her brain has no interest in slowing down. A few days ago we found her asleep under her trundle bed. Most days, she looks for trouble with the items we keep on our nightstand. Taking Danny's fancy pen apart... a daily occurrence. I used to do this with my dad's best pens. Danny is way more gracious than my dad ever was!

What am I implying? That my father had a temper? Let me tell you about little Andollo.

There was no question in Cristovan's first year of life that he resembled both his grandfathers. Instead, we would argue over which grandfather he resembled more. The verdict was never conclusively decided, but the tide has shifted in the direction of the Andollos. It doesn't help that, as Toby's second birthday approaches, my father's idiosyncrasies are becoming ever more apparent. Meticulousness... he will immediately pick up every grain of rice that falls from his plate or spoon and return it gingerly to its place of origin. Resourcefulness... every toy is a tool waiting for its qualities of repurposefulness to be discovered. (Is it a book? a paddle? a train? a sword? All of the above.) Cleanliness... Toby doesn't mind getting his hands dirty, but he won't abide by them staying dirty. He will ask for a napkin. (Without words, of course.) And when he has a poopie, he will bring you his diaper and a pack of wipes, no matter where in the house you are. Then he'll go to his changing pad, lay down and wait for you. When you're finished, he'll take the dirty diaper to the kitchen trash, and close all the kitchen cabinets I left open as he exits. But he's most like my dad with his temper. He's always had a reputation for being cheerful and easy going. But if you make him angry, he'll let you know. He'll wrestle Noemie to the ground if she takes something from him. He'll slam an open palm on furniture if you do something he doesn't like. The battle of wills, when taking that first bite of dinner, well, we've mentioned those before. One Sunday morning, he threw a tantrum because Danny dropped us off at church under the carport so we wouldn't get wet in the rain. Toby wanted to stay with Danny. When Danny drove off, Toby threw himself on the floor in a yelling fit, and laid in the middle of a puddle, face to the pavement. In khakis and a collared shirt, I might add. He stayed there patiently, quietly, defiantly, peeking up at me with an evil eye, until Danny finished parking and came around the corner. When his temper flares, even extended family members have taken to calling him "Andollo!" (It's the Basque roots, no doubt.)

Now obviously, I didn't know my dad when he was one-year old, but I don't think you can describe him any better as an adult than meticulous, resourceful, clean, and temperamental. And with that curly hair and the physique of a Spaniard, I'm pretty sure we got Cristovan's genetics pinned.

He still can't say anything but "gracias," "buenos dias," and "get down!" which I assume he learned at church.

So that's the Espinosa family update. I expect I'll have more to say very, very soon!

A dream is a wish...

Have you discovered Pinterest yet? It's a vortex. A vortex fed by idle imaginations, promising the realization of dreams that my generation can't seem to get a hold of because of a failure to grasp the principles of delayed gratification. Of which I am as guilty as the worst. And explains why, instead of dwelling on the good things God has given me and relaying my thoughts and experiences to the friends who care enough to check in on us, I have spent that time amassing a collection of "pins"to use as inspiration for the house that I will not be able to afford until my kids are off and married and I won't want it anymore. [We interrupt this catharsis to marvel at the taste of the new coconut flavored M&Ms! Yum! They're like tiny, crunchy Almond Joys, without the filling and the annoying nut!] So that's where I've been for the past two months. Pinning and pining. And... homeschooling.

I get asked a lot what my typical day looks like. But they all look different. Here's a random week in my life:

Monday morning we read a kids book about gravity. New concept, new vocabulary words. Dominic practices his handwriting by writing the words on home-made writing practice paper. By 11 am we are off to the Broward Homeschooling Parent Support Group rendez-vous at a park by our house.

Tuesday we write letters to the little girl we support in Haiti through Mission to Haiti. We talk about the fact that not all kids live in houses with floors, or have the money to go to school. Our girl's parents don't read and write so they can't teach her. Noemie wants to visit her. Maybe in two years or so we can work that out.

Wednesday we read the second half of that kids book, which talks about friction. Conduct experiments testing the friction of different surfaces using toy cars. Any excuse to use measuring tape will make Dominic's day. After our experiments, Dominic practices writing vocabulary words, and then practices reading with phonics practice sheets I made to supplement Teach Your Child to Read in 100 Easy Lessons which Dominic finished a month ago. (Great book, but they stopped just short of Hop on Pop-level. Lots of kids book include words like "night" or "light" or "high", but IGH is not covered. Neither is OI or KN or PH.)

Thursday we read a book about the history of the Ringling Brothers' circus and I try to throw in physics related concepts like inertia (juggling) and "defying gravity" by balancing (tight-rope walking... I'm going somewhere with this...literally.)

Friday Dominic wakes me up with a demonstration on "Scissor Land." "Scissor Land is open!" he announces with the scissors opened. "Scissor Land is closed!"he says with the scissors closed. "Are you allowed in the office by yourself?" I growl sleepily at him with one eye cracked open. His face registers that he just incriminated himself. But even if his imaginary office-supply theme park had not revealed his infraction, the chunk of hair missing from his bangs would have. Deja vu.

Toby breaks a mug after breakfast.

While I clean up, Noemie puts on five layers of her most "FAVEoritest" clothes and throws her dolls a birthday party.

Toby gets caught with a box of Rice Krispies in my closet. He moves so fast!

Vacuum.

Two hours after our intended school start-time, read a book on circus animals and crash on the couch. Dominic builds a Lego transformer.

Saturday, we go to the circus! A Christmas present from my cousin Frankie and my mom's friend, Helga.

Sunday, we go to church. And we come home and take naps... and then we go to church again.

Sundays really are mami's day off.

Total time spent teaching:

About 4 hours, circus performance not included

Total cost:

I could put new (much needed) tires on my minivan with what I've spent in library fines. My fault. Otherwise, free!

Where the kids measure up:

-At five years old, Dominic is reading at a second grade level, is at a first grade science level, and somewhere between Kindergarten and first grade for math, without any formal instruction in the latter subject. No surprise there; Florida standards are that low. We will begin a math curriculum next week.

-Noemie, at three years old, is working on first-grade reading skills. Also, she loves to balance on one leg.

-Toby, is working on speaking. His spoken vocabulary is exhausted at "HI!" But his skills in undressing himself are phenomenal. He wakes up every morning, and tears his pants off. And then goes looking for goodies in his diaper. Some mornings, he gets lucky.

My mornings almost always include a bath and a change of sheets for that one.

Sunday evening before bed, I attempt to fix Dominic's hair cut. Fail.

Dominic: "I like it! It looks like a helmet!"

Fail confirmed.

Schedule professional haircut. No photos allowed till then.

Didn't get to report on Amy's wedding (or "ball" as Noemie liked to call it) the last weekend in November...

Dominic and Noemie did a great job as ring bearer and flower girl.

I would like to draw special attention to my hair. It was the first time I'd ever gotten a professional updo. It was a work of art. Held up by 86 bobby pins and half a can of hairspray.

As for Pinterest, like all things that tempt us, it's not the site that is bad, but the response of my heart that makes it dangerous. It's not bad to dream of paint palettes and garden designs, storage solutions and nutella recipes. But when I allow those dreams to upset my sense of peace, or a balanced perspective on life, I am letting my guard down.

Above all else, guard your heart, for it is the wellspring of life. (Proverbs 4:23)

I've found that one of the best ways to ground my feet again is to pray for others. This week, we are praying for a member of our church who will be receiving medical counsel concerning a malignant tumor behind her eye. She is in a lot of pain, and her life is at stake, yet she praises the Lord and trusts His sovereignty. I am also praying that a dear friend from my Monday morning homeschool group is healed of the MS that has ravaged her body for years. She has so much faith and it is a privilege to pray alongside her. In the meanwhile, she is praying that we are able to find a house we can afford, but I can't help thinking her needs are so much greater. We are praying for missionaries around the world who've left the comforts and familiarities of home to serve and preach Christ's redemption and salvation to a dying world. We are also praying for our Mission to Haiti girl, that she is able to do well in school, to begin a relationship with Christ, and to bring her family out of poverty. I am praying for a house with a yard so my kids can run around, while our sponsor child lives in a mud hut. I am dreaming of a Simmons Beautyrest King-sized mattress while our sponsor child sleeps on banana leaves. Having a Beautyrest mattress is a luxury, and the Bible does say that God's favor sometimes reveals itself in material wealth and riches. But I have been greatly, greatly blessed in so many other ways: husband, kids, health, parents, church, citizenship, education, food, vehicular transport, electricity, plumbing, the list goes on and on.

The heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure. Who can understand it? (Jer 17:9)

Pray for the house, pray for the mattress, pray for the garden with the chickens. But if they don't come, it's not because God doesn't love me, or because he doesn't trust me, or because I am not worthy, but simply because God has a different plan. And I really can't complain about His plans so far... I have been blessed. And, because humans are silly things, and our hearts are deceitful little buggars, I have to remind myself of this more often than I care to admit. I will be spending a little less time on that site in the future.

In other news, today's Danny's birthday! Hippee! (As Noemie says)

Also, 10 weeks to go till we meet the new Espinosa!