2015: The Year I Got My Reading Groove Back

(I've been itching to write up a post about all the books I read in 2015 for a while. But goodness! Writing is a skill that requires constant practice and considering that I only wrote six posts in the past year, I am definitely out of practice. So while I read many wonderful books this year, my writing about them will probably be lacking. But if you love reading about books as much as you love the actual reading of books like I do, then hopefully you'll be able to forgive the rusty writing.)

It occurred to me at the end of 2014, while reading everyone's yearly reading wrap up posts, that I hadn't read a single work of fiction that year. I used to love reading. As a child and teenager I regularly read for the sheer pleasure of it. But in college I started reading the texts for my child development and speech therapy courses. I dove into theology books as I was making the Faith my own and relishing the information about the Church. Grad school was more of the same. After college and during our first years of marriage I was consuming every single book on fertility and healthy eating I could get my hands on. Then it was (God be praised!) onto books about pregnancy and childbirth and infant care and how to survive on subhuman levels of sleep. And at the end of last year I found that my reading still consisted of almost entirely non-fiction books about parenting.

But one way to be a really good parent is to be a really good person. And one way to be a really good person is to read really good books. Because, as Carol Joy Seid assured me on the Read Aloud Revival podcast, "When we read great books, we spend time with great minds." And our lives, and therefor our parenting, can only be enriched by spending time with great minds.

So I set a goal to read 15 books in 2015, tracked my progress on Goodreads, and got to work. And, with a few days left in the year, I just finished my 16th book! I wish I could impart some wisdom on how I managed to read 5,376 pages while having a baby, raising three kids, and working part time, but the truth is that it was managed by sheer neglect of laundry, forcing the kids to play outside, and sneaking in a few pages when I should have been stirring the pot on the stove. Eh, we all survived. And somehow still have enough clothes to wear.

Let's get the non-fiction out of the way first, shall we? Because I couldn't completely quit the habit of devouring books with hopes that their promise of completely transforming my life would ring true. Seven of my 16 reads were non-fiction.

The 5 Love Languages of Children by Gary Chapman and Ross Campbell

This one was ok. I had a vague idea of the five love languages already and was hoping to find some new information about applying it to my children individually. I think this book would be more helpful to parents with older kids, as the authors suggest that children under five really need all five of the loves languages and don't start preferring one over the others until after age five. So I'm definitely holding onto it and will refer back to it in the future. 

A Twaddle-Free Education by Deborah Taylor-Hough

I picked this up as a Kindle freebie and blew through it in an evening back in January. I don't remember the exact takeaways from the book and I'm not sure if I'd even recommend it, but I am incredibly grateful I found it because it opened my eyes to world of Charlotte Mason. And since this short introduction I have continued to seek out more information about her methods of education like a shark seeking it's prey. It's led me to numerous blogs and websites, Facebook groups, and podcasts. The Mason Jar episodes from CiRCE are my favorite. I also enjoy A Delectable Education. To say I'm a Charlotte Mason junkie would be an understatement. I'm sold. Hook, line, and sinker. (Two fish analogies in the same paragraph? Sorry, blame my husband.) Along with the Read Aloud Revival podcast, these podcasts and online resources have shaped the way I look at literature, both for myself and my children. So if you're curious about Charlotte Mason or like reading about educational theory, you can likely find this ebook on sale for a dollar or less.

Siblings Without Rivalry by Adele Faber and Elaine Mazlish

Meh. Maybe if your kids are older? I didn't like the hokey format.

Saint John Paul the Great: His Five Loves by Jason Evert

Read this book! Now, go get it. I already loved Papa JPII but after this, he's just my favorite favorite favorite. I had to wait weeks for interlibrary loan to get this book for me. When I finally got it I devoured the introduction late into the night right after Luke was born and I should have been sleeping. Then I lost it! We couldn't find it anywhere and I had to admit defeat and fess up to the library. After graciously giving me months to look for it, they waved the hefty fine. A JPII miracle. And then, just like that, the book appeared inside the lining of a baby swing on the back porch. Covered in mildew and ballooned to twice its size with moisture, it still read just fine.

The man is a Saint for a reason. He's called Great for a reason. He lived an extraordinary life long before ever becoming Pope. We can learn so much from him. I really need to return this one to the library but I'm taking my sweet time because I just can't let it go.

Everyday Sacrament by Laura Kelly Fanuci

Oh, how I loved this book. It was a gift and I loved it so much that I gave it away to a friend and ordered myself a new copy before I even finished it. I will admit that I'm a bit leery of books written by bloggers. I'm a hard sell. But Laura is not a blogger who writes. She is a writer who is gracious enough to bless the world with her wisdom via her blog. Her blog is beautiful and this book is stunning. Too strong a word? No, I think not. It's really stunning. Read it with a tissue and a pencil in hand.

Stages of the Road by Sigrid Undset
This one doesn't technically count toward my goal because I haven't read the entire thing. But since it's a collection of writings about the various saints, it doesn't need to be read all at once. It's written by the author of Kristin Lavransdatter, which I will rave about when I get to it. (I'll try not to gush.) This book introduced me to St. Robert Southwell and upon reading about his life I immediately decided that this was the patron Saint to go with Luke's middle name (Robert, after my dad) because I never really identified with St. Robert Bellarmine and I didn't know there were any others.

The Temperament God Gave You by Art and Laraine Bennett

How could I possibly fit my thoughts on this book into a single blogpost? In a word: indispensable. 

But I'm not an "in a word" kinda girl so allow me to elaborate. This book changed my life. And therefor changed the lives of my husband and children and friends and family because it changed the way I deal with people. I'm convinced that studying and knowing the temperaments is absolutely vital to our ability to mature into the people God wants us to be. This is not "new age" nor does it contradict anything the Church teaches about free will and human dignity. Knowing the strengths and weaknesses of your own temperament gives you the ability to zero in on the areas of yourself that need the most improvement. Knowing the strengths and weakness of the temperaments of those around you helps you to give them a bit more grace when they let you down (or drive you crazy) and gives you a framework for how better to interact with them in order to have an authentic relationship.

This book doesn't just give you a description of yourself and of others. It helps guide you to know how to better yourself. It's not ok to say, "well that's just the way I was made," when confronted with certain vices. It's far, far better to recognize those vices and takes steps immediately to change them.

I'm getting preachy, aren't I?

But dangit I want everyone to know the freedom that understanding this can be!

And because I know those reading who already know and love the temperaments are wondering, I'm choleric-melancholic. To. A. Tee.  And my good and patient husband is phlegmatic-melancholic. We're a match made in temperament heaven.

For the Children's Sake by Susan Schaeffer Macaulay

I came across this book everywhere this past year! It was recommended over and over again in the podcasts I listened to and blog posts I read. And while it is really, really good, I don't think it hit me quite as hard as it hits most since I had already come across many of the ideas in said podcasts and blogposts. But I underlined the heck out of it and will refer back to it again and again. It makes you confront big questions like What is education for? What does an educated person look like? What is it that I truly want my children to get out of their education? And it provides, what I believe, are beautiful, logical, and worthy answers to these questions.

Ok, this is long and has taken me three days to write. The fiction will have to come in a separate post. Stay tuned!

And please share your favorite non-fictions books from 2015! I'm all ears!

Welcoming Luke (Part 2)

The amount of time that has lapsed since publishing Part 1 of Luke's birth story clearly indicates I won't be returning to blogging any time soon. I had it all written weeks ago but had trouble cropping the pictures. And they NEEDED to be cropped. So enjoy part 2 with its many decent and non scandalous pictures.

As the evening progressed things started getting a little slow. The midwife suggested getting on all fours to help the baby get into a better position and hopefully speed things up a bit. I tried it but hated it. I immediately had flashbacks of Paul’s labor and started to get upset. I avoided any position that I was in during Paul’s labor, even if someone thought it would be helpful. Despite my appearance as a calm and collected birthing woman, I was in turmoil on the inside. The fear of Paul’s birth replaying itself would not subside. I didn’t voice it in the hopes that it would just go ok (which is never a good idea!) so no one really knew how much I was struggling.

In the weeks leading up to labor, I couldn't get Paul's birth out of my mind. I re-read his birth story and then read Hannah's after that to try to remember the more positive birth experience over the negative one. I talked a lot about Paul's birth but Ted didn't pick up on my anxiety. I knew going into labor that I was on thin ice mentally and kept trying to get the memories from Paul's birth out of my head.

I got checked at 9:00pm and was 8 cm. Then again at 10:30 and was a 9. The midwife wanted to break my water but I declined. After she announced I was 9cm I went to the bathroom alone for a few minutes and wrestled with the emotions I had been trying to hide from. I still hadn’t said anything to Ted or AC, but the farther along I got into labor the more terrified I was becoming of things ending up the way they did for Paul’s birth. I tried to push the fears and feelings down deeper and deeper in the hopes that they would just go away. I wanted to be healed from Paul’s birth, but I knew I wasn’t. I tried to pretend I was and it wasn’t working. Rather than being excited about being 9 cm, I was overwhelmed and anxious. All I could think about what the hours and hours of pain that I still had to endure after I made it to 9cm with Paul.

I came out and tried to find the words to explain all of this. At first I said, “I’m bored,” and AC gave a few suggestions for lifting my spirits. But I wasn't bored. Finally I was able to admit that I wanted an epidural because I was scared. I told them I was mentally not allowing the labor to progress and that physically I was holding back from what I knew my body needed to do. I knew I need to walk more, squat deeper, but when the contractions came I froze and hoped like hell I wouldn’t progress, just trying to keep this baby inside. Ted tried talking me down and reminded me that I was in transition but I knew it was bigger than that. He told not to write this labor off just yet, to give this baby a chance to have his own birth, and to take one contraction at a time. But all I could think of was getting back up on that bed to push and having a panic attack. I felt like my sanity was holding on by a thread that was about to snap at any moment. If it snapped, I at least wanted the epidural to catch me when I crashed.

It took a while to convince the nurse I meant it. She tried a few tricks to deter me because she knew my goal was to have a natural birth. I thought she was sweet but I saw right through it. I had checked out and wouldn’t rest until I got some relief. The anesthesiologist came in and we immediately recognized him from Paul’s birth. I told him that he pissed me off last time and told him the story. He said, “Yeah, that sounds like me,” and looked up in my chart whether he was the one who gave me the epidural for Paul. Sure enough, same guy. This time was a little different and I didn’t yell at him.

The medicine started around 10:45 pm and I sadly realized this baby might not come on the 11^th and would miss the Feast of Our Lady of Lourdes. I still held out a shred of hope as the pain of contractions lessened as the drugs took over. I got checked again and was 9 with a "tiny bit of lip." That damn phrase! I immediately started to worry I would get stuck again. The midwife brought in the peanut ball to try to finish the dilation and flashbacks of Paul’s birth got worse. I just wanted to be pushing and yet, here I was, laying in a bed with my leg up on a giant peanut shaped ball with a body that just won’t finish dilating in order to push my baby out. Again. Since I had to be on my side, the epidural stopped working on whichever side was on top. My back started to hurt intensely and I asked for a heating pad. I continued to labor like this, in the bed with all the pain on one side, for more than two hours. I hated laying down but I knew I did this to myself when I chose to get the epidural. I wanted to take it back and try again. I wanted to get out of bed and find the courage somehow to meet the end of this birth head on. But I was still so scared and deeply scarred.

Finally, at 12:50am on the 12^th, my midwife checked me and said I could start pushing. I was disappointed that I would be pushing with the epidural but incredibly happy this was all coming to an end. I asked for the mirror (I know I’m in the minority, but I LOVE being able to see my baby being born!) and started to push with all my might. 

Once again, I felt confident in pushing and was able to push at least three times with each contraction. I pushed for 19 minutes and at 1:14am a little head emerged. The excitement of the head coming out stopped me from pushing and before I could finish my thought of, “I’m about to meet my baby!” the midwife had brought him the rest of the way out and was already clearing his airways. I couldn’t see him but Ted could and for the first time got to announce the sex, which is what we had tried for each time. 

“It’s Lukey!” 

Rather than get exited, I was still just in shock that he was already here. I felt like I needed a second to prepare for his arrival and wasn’t fully realizing that he was already here. I was expecting a moment of recollection before that final push but he snuck up on me. They put him on my chest and wrapped us up in warm blankets and he cried just enough to let us know he was ok but then quickly quieted down. He had dark hair just like the other two and I remember thinking how small he was compared to Paul. (Later when he was weighed and announced to be 8 lbs, 8 ounces I laughed at what I now consider a “small” baby.) 

AC gave Ted a celebratory Dr. Pepper she had been saving for the occasion and I called my parents, who were just a few hours away from town. I tried not to tell them the gender so I could surprise them in person but it slipped out just as I was hanging up the phone. I saved the name for their arrival.

Luke Robert. Luke: my favorite Gospel writer, friend of Mary, and closest companion of Paul. Robert after my dad and St. Robert Southwell.

The days following were some of my fondest memories of motherhood. I stayed in the hospital as long as possible to give myself some time to bond with Luke before heading home to the other kids. And seeing Paul and Hannah meet their baby brother was something I’ll never forget.

It wasn’t the birth I was expecting, but none of them ever are. And that’s how we became a family of five.

Welcoming Luke (Part 1)

Although I naively hoped I would meet baby #3 before the due date, I hit the 40 week mark on Thursday, February 5^th. 

Ted and I had our third “due date night” at a local steakhouse and tried once again not to get too anxious. Friday was uneventful and Saturday was Hannah’ s birthday. We had been keeping the actual day of her birthday a secret (we’re terrible! I know!) because I was worried that she’d be upset if we were away at the hospital on her birthday. Late Friday night Ted proposed that we tell her since it I hadn’t shown any signs that labor was imminent.  At 8:00pm we crept back into her room and told her the exciting news. She was so thrilled and, thankfully, not at all curious as to why she had no idea that the next day was her birthday until that moment. She asked if we could go to the park and make cupcakes. I went to bed Friday night actually excited that I wasn’t in labor and instead looked forward to celebrating my firstborn’s fourth birthday the next day. Seven hours later, around 3:00am, I woke up with contractions.

It was an odd mix of excitement and guilt. I couldn’t believe our bad luck. They were too painful to sleep through so I got up and labored alone in the bathroom for a while.  I contemplated texting my doula but resisted. After three hours of strong contractions that were ten minutes apart, it completely stopped. I was bummed and confused but glad we would all get to celebrate Hannah’s birthday together as planned. 

We had a fun day as a family and I went to bed hoping that the next day would be it.

Sunday morning I awoke at 1:00 am with strong contractions coming every seven to ten minutes. I also had the “bloody show” that was the starting point of labor with both of my other births. This was promising and I was excited. I labored alone all night but, by the time Ted woke up, labor had completely stopped again. I was sure that it would return since it had been so strong and decided that we couldn’t go to Mass (30 minutes away) because I was clearly going to have the baby any minute. This was my third after all! I walked up and down our street all morning and walked over four miles but contractions never returned. It was a terrible day emotionally and I went to bed incredibly sad and anxious.

Monday I had a break from the night labor and then light contractions throughout the day. But around 3:00 am on Tuesday they started up again. Strong and regular and I was unable to sleep through them. They became closer together so I woke Ted up and told him I thought this was finally it. We packed some last minute things for the hospital and went downstairs to eat before leaving. Since we live 40 minutes from the hospital and had to wait at least 30 minutes for our on-call sitter to get to our house, we had planned to leave for the hospital as early as possible. Ted made bacon and eggs and while we were eating, contractions started to fizzle. I’d been in active labor for three hours when, once again, contractions completely stopped. It was starting to feel like a sick joke. We cancelled the sitter and put the bags back in our bedroom.

Tuesday I decided to work from home because dealing with the kids was more than I could handle at this point. I called a babysitter and retreated for a day to myself. I called my midwife and moved my scheduled appointment up from Friday to the next day, Wednesday. I called a friend’s dad who is a chiropractor and made an appointment for Thursday morning in case baby still hadn’t made an appearance. And I texted and complained to just about anyone who would listen. By this point I hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in days and was completely exhausted. But every time I tried to rest contractions would come back and keep me from falling asleep.

I went to bed Tuesday night full of dread, knowing I wasn’t going to get any sleep and that I also wasn’t going to meet my baby. I was right. At 10:00pm on Tuesday the contractions returned. Far apart but strong. I tried to go to sleep anyway and not be fooled for the fourth time. But by midnight I was miserable. We got up, packed the bags again, and made bacon and eggs again. And just like that, they slowed to a halt. We were so frustrated and exhausted at this point that we slept in the living room for the rest of the night. I had to get up every ten minutes to deal with contractions but they never got closer together. At 3:00 am I frantically texted my friend with tears streaming down my cheeks begging her to pull some strings and get me in to see her dad (the chiropractor) for help. She texted back (late night nursing mom to the rescue) and assured me she could get me in. I got absolutely no sleep that night and Ted didn’t get much either.

I asked Ted to stay home from work Wednesday morning because I was completely spent. It’s hard to even put into words how terrible I was doing. Emotionally, mentally, physically drained. I was losing my mind. I had been in labor, on and off, for five straight days and it felt like there was no end in sight. Ted stayed home with the kids while I went to the chiropractor at 10:00am by myself. He told me my pelvis “was twisted up like a pretzel” and said it was no wonder that the baby couldn’t descend. A quick adjustment and a few minutes with a vibrating massager on certain points of my back and he sent me on my way. He was incredibly confident I would have the baby within 24 hours.

That was at 11:00am. At noon on Wednesday I ate lunch then tried to take a nap. Contractions kept coming and didn’t allow me any sleep. They felt a bit different, but I was really trying not to get my hopes up at this point. I drove back into town that afternoon for the appointment with my midwife. We considered having Ted come with me, but I didn’t want to deal with finding a sitter for the kids or bringing them along. Hannah was sleeping but I hugged Paul goodbye and secretly savored the moment just in case it was the last time I saw him before he became a big brother. My doula and friend, AC, offered to come to the appointment with me so I met her there at 3:00. I had several contractions on the drive there, one that was especially difficult. Thankfully, I was at a red light for that one. I started to worry that coming to the appointment alone might have been a bad idea.

Contractions continued in the waiting room and I realized for the first time my contractions weren’t going away during the day. I had had several nights like this but they never carried into the day. I told my midwife about our five day saga and begged to be checked immediately. My jaw hit the floor when she told me I was 4-5 cm! She suggested “sweeping my membranes” and I said “absolutely!” She also asked me to do a non-stress test and hooked me up the monitor for a half hour. I relaxed and breathed through contractions and chatted with AC in between. Halfway through she came in checked the strip, told me I was having contractions every six minutes, and that I would not be driving back home that afternoon.

Finally! It was so good to have some confirmation that yes, these were here to stay and I was actually going to the hospital for real this time. I called Ted and lined up the daytime on-call babysitter and texted my parents to “leave now.” They were driving from Missouri (13 hours) just like they had with Paul’s birth. Only Paul’s was so long that they made it to my room just moments after he was born. Surely this time would be different, right?

My midwife suggested I go get something to eat and then check into the hospital. She sneakily recommended I tell triage I had been 3cm at my appointment to guarantee they’d keep me thinking I had progressed quickly to a 4.

AC and I decided I shouldn’t drive anymore and we transferred my stuff into her car and left my vehicle at the office. Contractions kept getting more and more intense and I remember wondering if I should go to the hospital right away and skip food but I wouldn’t say it out loud. I still had a fear that this would all come screeching to a halt.

AC drove me to Moe’s, my restaurant of choice. It was bizarre laboring in her car. In between contractions we chatted and hung out like we were just two high-schoolers headed to the mall. So very different from the beginning of Hannah and Paul’s labors which started in the middle of the night and so were so intimate between me and Ted. While ordering at Moe’s I had a strong contraction. The girl behind the counter asked what I wanted on my quesadilla and I just turned my back to her and swayed through the contractions for a minute, then turned back around and said “cilantro.” She said, “Are we having a baby today?” and I excitedly said yes. Then a moment later she jokingly asked “For here or to go?” Her face when I said, “For here,” was priceless. But I wanted my food and I wasn’t about to try to eat it in the hospital waiting room!

Contractions kept getting stronger and closer together and I felt antsy to get to the hospital. AC wanted to stop for a toothbrush on the way to the hospital because she forgot hers and was being super considerate of my sensitive nose. But when she started to pull into the pharmacy I kind of freaked out and knew I just couldn’t wait any longer. She consented and took me straight to the hospital.

We got to triage at 5:45pm. Ted was still at home with the kids waiting for our friend, Mary, to get there with her kids. I knew it would be a while before he could join us and I was very grateful AC was already with me. Getting into triage was slow and contractions just kept on coming. I changed into the gown and got checked. 6cm! Very encouraging. They didn’t have any rooms available and told me I would be in triage for a while.

I made the best of laboring in triage and got into a rhythm despite the noise, bright lights, and constant interruptions. I sucked on gummy bears and practiced a lot of non-focused visualization with the purple tulips on the wallpaper.  Ted finally arrived and reported that the kids were super excited that it was baby time but even more excited that their friends came over. He brought in the birth ball and we squeezed it into our tiny triage space, which helped a lot. The nurse messed up on inserting the IV for the heparin lock and called in another nurse. That nurse also had a hard time and suddenly my entire forearm was bruised. The pain from the needles was worse than the pain of labor! It took them four tries to finally get it right and my arm was sore for more than a week after.

After more than hour in triage we were finally taken to a room. We kept the lights dimmed and AC spread white Christmas lights around the room to make it more relaxing. I fell into a rhythm between the birth ball, leaning on the sink, walking around the room, and squatting. I sucked on honey sticks and gummy worms and drank a lot of gatorade. 

Contractions were silent and I didn’t want to be touched. That was hard for Ted. During the last two labors I wanted his physical touch almost constantly and he had a very important role in my relaxation. I think that because labor started without him I had figured out a way to relax by myself and I had a hard time switching it up. He struggled with being passive while I was in so much pain so I tried to hold his hands when I could and asked him to hold the heating pad on my back.

There was still some confusion about who was coming to watch the kids for the night and our texts weren't getting through to the sitter. Ted could have (and was) taken care of it, but it was hard for me to relax not knowing if they were 100% covered. Finally, we connected with the sitter and I ended up with some cute pictures of them playing with their friends and an adorable text from Hannah with lots of heart emojis. 

So far, labor had been progressing quickly and I was handling contractions really well. We kept up with our rhythm and thought it would be just a matter of time until we met our baby....

(stay tuned!)

On Mother's Day

My experience of motherhood has been wrought with irony. It is the thing I desperately longed for and now the thing I run from on a daily basis. Both intensely energizing and incredibly exhausting. It forces me to face my many inadequacies but also reveals strengths I never knew I possessed. I'm so blessed that these children call me their mother, but damn if it isn't also the hardest thing I've ever done!

Happy Mother's Day to all mothers! And to those who are still longing and waiting and hurting on this day, you have my sincerest prayers.