That ever continuous struggle between Darkness and Light...

Things preggo wants to get done today:
-All dishes clean and put away
-Make apple dessert (use up not so delicious apples)
-Make nice dinner for husband
-Vacuum living room
-Finish loads of laundry
-Look nice with nice hair and makeup
-Make bed
-Knit squares for baby blanket
-clean off dining room table, set nicely
-read Womanly Art of Breastfeeding
-go for walk outside
Things preggo has done today:
-written emails
-written blog post
-eaten too many chips
Things preggo remembers in the GNoM world:
-eating too many chips can be countered by NOT eating Little Debbie snack cake later
-writing emails is a good and necessary thing for preggos who live far from family and friends
-tomorrow is Saturday and hubster will be home all day and can be easily dragooned into helping with cleaning
-preggo is preggo, which is usually a somewhat viable excuse for not getting things done
-it is only 2pm, probably if preggo just hops in the shower now, she can magically wash away all her lazy tendencies and conquer her to-do list with impunity!!! Go preggo, charge forward in the fight for a Light and Lovely home - you can do it!!!

... and if not, there is always tomorrow, right?

Guilt no more housework

Here are a few things that the children can do so that you can eat bon-bons:

sweep
fold napkins
read to the toddler
unload the dishwasher
pick up books off floor
fetch and carry
answer the phone
wipe the table

Here are a few things you shouldn't stress about:
everything else the kids didn't know how to do

Autumn in the Land of Origin

Just thought that you guys from other barbarian lands might want a few more pictures from the Land of Origin. Below, you see Honeybee with Superguy. Messy Bessy on the messy porch with little sweet Honeybee.
Gorgeous maple trees as seen from messy porch.
Not a great shot, but the front yard with pretty trees behind it.
And is this a country lane? Will Jane Austen characters come traipsing daintily down it, swinging their little parasols and talking in elevated language about noble love, duty, and virtuous living? Or is it, rather, a dirty filthy unpaved alley that the city has never paved once in the whole of its existence and will not do now unless we and our neighbors agree to a special levy on our properties? Well, whichever, it's still nice to look at, from afar, and right at this time.

Remember, the Land of Origin: It's more than just mosquitoes, high taxes, road construction, and Obama posters in every yard!

Welcome, Honeybee, to GNoM!

As you all probably know by now, we have a new Guilt No More Community member, whom we shall call Honeybee, on account of being so dang sweet! Here are the cute pics of the other kids and Superguy modeling possibly the cutest baby ever!



I couldn't fit all the individual pictures in one post, so scroll down for more.

We are so happy!

God is good!

Why it is nine rather than eight

God knew, when he was working out the logistics for human life (not that it took him all that long), how -- ahem -- challenging childbirth could be for Eve after the fall. And so, as he does with all things, he gave her a little silver lining.

That lining being, that he increased the time of human gestation by ONE MONTH. Originally, I am convinced, human gestation was to have been eight joy-filled and increasingly thrilling months, but after the whole apple thing Eve was not going to get off all that easily. The pain of childbirth becoming a real issue (whereas before human birth was actually kind of like a really long and relaxing massage), God decided to increase ordinary pregnancy to nine months. This gift makes up for the -- ahem -- challenge of childbirth because God knows that being pregnant that last month is SO INCREDIBLY TIRESOME that anyone at all would prefer the pain to any more pregnancy.

Just thought all five of my readers would want to know.

New website ideas for the GNoM Community

As is generally known, Messy Bessy does not have, nor does she plan to acquire, much web knowledge. And even the Blogger guidance site, which is probably written at a level that would allow Sweetums to move forward technologically speaking, has not been overly clear as to how I would add a favorite website sidebar. (As soon as Superguy has some free time and can bear to answer my ridiculous questions, I'll ask him.)

Thus, I am just going to type the addresses in here and you all can go look on your lunch hour. These are sites that I find interesting, enlightening, or just fun to look at.

First, a modesty website, from our orthodox Jewish friends: www.tznius.com, which has so many really cool headscarves. If I could get away with it, I'd totally do the headscarf thing, since that would be the answer to genetically dumb hair.

Next, www.houseartjournal.com, which is a Catholic mother who occasionally takes really gorgeous photos of ordinary things.

My source of wry Catholic commentary on politics and culture is www.markshea.blogspot.com, as it also is for really funny YouTube selections.

For those who are able to stomach a little bit of crudity with their humor, you should check out www.junecleaverafterasix-pack.blogspot.com, an especially good one for military wives.

And finally, our very own www.martinpease.blogspot.com -- a lovely blog by a great person!

Apple picking today

One of the many many reasons I married Superguy is that he is totally into the idea of family togetherness. As many in the Guilt No More Community at large know, the general term for family togetherness when outside the four walls of one's (incredibly disorderly) house is FFO: Fun Family Outing. And Superguy not only buys the concept, he really comes up with the best ideas for FFO's.

However, one thing I am happy to contribute to this marriage is the longstanding tradition of apple-picking as an FFO. For years now, we have gone to some sort of orchard each fall, and stocked up on apples that taste like apples, pumpkins that have personality, and generally an assortment of jars filled with honey, jam, salsa, etc. not made in Chinese sweatshops.

The kids are filled with glee. I am slightly apprehensive (underneath the glee) because there are not that many more days before I am due to have this latest little baby, and would not like to go into labor whilst picking apples in a faraway section of orchard far to the west of the hospital. However, I've never been a quick labor gal, and at this point it might be preferable to just stimulate labor even at the expense of an FFO.

Will report after our trip!

Guilt no more Indian summer

We here in the Land of Origin have been having Indian summer, and here is a little sample of what we have been doing: The pretend library you see below provided more than an hour of quiet occupation, which is worth really really a lot to some of us. When in doubt about your fashion options on Possibly The Most Beautiful Day of September, go with the cowboy hat/diaper ensemble.
The future Cy Young winner, practicing. We knew him when.

Please, all of you from Squeaky Clean Manicured Lawn Fabulous Chandelier-Containing House Land, note the existence of the Guilt No More yard: Mainly mud, but with the mandatory plastic chair, jumbled toys, and embarrassing dirty wading pool. We ordered it special, and as with all Guilt No More products, this lawn has given satisfaction. No matter what the children decide to play, including paleontology, motocross, rugby, or Pa Ingalls Digs a Well, this lawn provides a pleasing cover.

The house next door is still for sale! Who wants to be neighbors????

Iowa

Where John Wayne was born. The kids wondered who he was. I guess Netflix will help.
A medieval tower, strategically positioned on a hill in rural Iowa.
A birthday in progress in beautiful Iowa corn palace.
Superguy, taunted sufficiently into this rare smile.

We had fun! Thanks, Martin and Carolyn!

Five

Can you believe this boy is five? It doesn't seem possible.
The five-year-old cousins are soaking up the rays of Iowan sun. When asked, they said, "We're having a slice of the good life!" (They really did say that.)
Birthday boys.

If I could, I would see to it that the happy innocence of this age stayed with them always. It's so beautiful to see.

Five to go

We're at thirty-five weeks of pregnancy here. I am at the "wow am I going to actually get any bigger?" stage, soon to move into the "dear lord please let it be today" stage. Which will be followed by "I can't stand it where's the acupuncturist - heck where's the voodoo lady -- anything is better than one more day of pregnancy."

God's designs are always so effective, I think. The worse the end of pregnancy, the happier you will be when you're in the middle of steamroller-sized contractions.

And for those who require the gory details, our little Gilbert/a is head-down and apparently the exact right size for how old he/she is.

Anyone have name suggestions for us?

A new member of the Guilt No More Community (TM)

Gabby and Joe with Madeline Mary, all of them looking impossibly young and sweet. Especially Madeline...
A beautiful grandmother with a tiny baby who will, no doubt, contribute much to this blog.
New mama, new baby.
You already saw this one, but I couldn't resist posting it.
OK, I'm a tech toddler, so I didn't know how to turn this around. But tilt your head to the left and feast your eyes -- the quintessential daddy pic.

the size of an infant's stomach...

Although I fully realize that I am preaching to the choir, here are a few notes of amazement from a newly minted father:

My child crash landed into the great commonwealth of Massachusetts a mere 7lbs. 2.9 oz. When one factors in the amount of fluid in her lungs, meconium and various other artifacts of the "in womb" state she was really around 6 lbs. 15 oz. pure certified Madeline M. Doran weight. Which brings me to my point.

According to the laws of physics, mass is conserved. Therefore how is it possible for a 6 lbs 15 oz beautiful and little human being to a) continuously eat 17 hours a day and b) on her first day in the house, before she had even had a full meal from mama, destroy her onesie, nightgown, recieving blanket and blast certain portions of daddy's arm with a gigantic BM. If mass is conserved, how is such a terrific mass a) stored and b) expended? Simply umbelievable.

What are parents doing?

So, Superguy has a thing for the FoxNews website. I would link to it, but I don't know how. Anyway, as it was just sitting on the computer screen, I read an article about "special needs" twin sisters who have gone missing. The headline was horrifying -- twin girls, both gone? I pictured three year olds in pink frilly dresses and an estranged relative who had decided to simply take them off so he/she could be in charge of the little sweeties...

But no. These girls are 16, and the picture shows them to be beautiful and ordinarily dressed teens; their father describes them as "mentally slow" and that they both still play with dolls but want to "meet boys."

It turns out they have been using their computer(s?) a lot lately. The father was unaware that they had seven MySpace sites -- he thought they were using the computer for homework.

Then it also turns out that they have "run away" before, but had always been back within a day. But on the day they went missing, they went out near the road, clearly hanging around, waiting for someone. Sure enough, someone drove up, the girls got into the car, and that was the last anyone has seen of them.

There are SO MANY THINGS wrong with this situation, even aside from the fact that vulnerable young women have disappeared. Here are my questions:

1. These girls are mentally slow, so much so that they were in the special program at their high school, yet their relatives were not at all alert to their frightening habit of "running away"? When they went out toward the road and stood there, looking for somebody apparently, why didn't someone go out and ask them what in the world they were doing? Why didn't someone make them wait in the house, and tell them their "ride" could just jolly well come on in and meet the parents?

2. Since when could young women with mental challenges be expected to be safe on the Internet? Having an Internet connection is like having a miniature Mall of America right in your own home, except without the security guards. Anyone could be there, anyone could persuade a vulnerable youth to reveal information she shouldn't.

3. What are parents today thinking? How trustworthy is our culture? Every other magazine, billboard, and pop song reveals our cultural attitude toward young girls. They are to be sexually desired, displayed, egged on toward immodesty and lack of restraint, given "freedom." In other words, young women are basically beautiful animals, to be cultivated for the purposes of the use and pleasure of others. They are to be taught that this is normal and that they will enjoy it a lot -- after all, look at all the young beautiful female rock stars and movie actresses and how much they end up enjoying what they become (B. Spears, the Olsen twins, etc etc etc). Parents who attempt to take their teenage girls out of this altogether deserve, according to popular thinking, the scorn and contempt of almost everybody but definitely of the girls, who are to have the "freedom" to go out and suck up the poison and lick their lips while they do.

So many times when I get into conversations about this topic, I invariably hear from people that "you can't make a girl live in a bubble" and that "you can't protect them from everything." That's true. And certainly even mentally challenged girls have free will and consciences, to the degree that they have understanding. But let's just put it this way -- my children aren't going to face the culture without their parents right by their side. We are not going to just put them on the rowboat and wave goodbye while the sharks swarm around, just because that's what somebody who has written a book says is best. When, God willing, my girls (and boys) are teens, they are going to have to work a hell of a lot harder than these missing young women did to get that "free."

And quite frankly, I don't care if it makes them despise me for a while. My children aren't animals. They aren't objects. They are enfleshed souls -- shining, awe-inspiring, immortal, and deserving only the purest and highest that we can offer them. I won't allow someone to hand them a snake when they're asking for bread. And if, as children, they reach for the snake, I am going to grab their hands and hold them, really tightly if necessary.

Summer

For those of you in the Diaspora, I offer these photos to keep you updated on life here in the Land of Origin.

I would post a Guilt No More photo of my kitchen in its current state, but no one needs that sort of discouragement.

Guilt no more childbirth

In honor of youngest sister Gabs, who is due to have her first baby ("Shim" thus far) any day now, I post the following items for having a guilt-no-more childbirth experience.

1. There is no reason to make life more difficult than it has to be. THINK ABOUT SOMETHING ELSE for as many of your waking hours as possible. Here are some possible topics: the pathetic nature of the Olympics today; US foreign policy in regard to North Korea; the cider vinegar-as-health-supplement debate; interesting wallpaper ideas for the bedroom; the unusual linguistic patterns of that one region of Africa where they click; whether and to what extent classical music is a thing of the past.

2. You will know they are real contractions, just as you know for sure when you sneeze. There's really no mistaking the sensation, after a certain point.

3. Eat, Mama, eat. Get those energy drinks and have them cold, so that during early labor you can keep up your strength even if your stomach is saying, "No way! No way! Major bodily disruption occurring! No time to digest!"

4. Do not pack your hospital bag until your due date. If you go into labor early, there is nothing that you would really lack, not living five hours from the hospital and having a husband who will be more than happy to run home to get you your special bathrobe. However, if you should not have been delivered of your child BY that date, it will be TORTURE to sit there looking at it as it lurks smugly in the corner, taunting your increasingly impossible physical condition.

5. What to pack: a toothbrush and toothpaste. Very very very important. Also, one really cute unisex outfit for the baby. Also, your favorite cute maternity outfit that you can wear home -- choose something almost dressy. You want to feel human as you go out in public. And finally, many and various fun, light, pretty magazines. Nix to Catholic World Report, First Things, the Economist, or anything relating to politics or world events. Think Country Living, Faith and Family, Real Simple, etc. Oh, and the car seat.

6. What not to pack: four shirts, two skirts, six pairs of socks, games, videos, writing paper, receiving blankets or diapers (the hospital has these), a laptop, curling iron, stuffed animals, etc. The books might say that these are helpful. In reality, by the time you need to be in the hospital, none of this stuff is going to be helpful.

7. Your poor husband. Give him permission to eat junk food throughout the entire hospital stay, since that is what will probably be most comforting and easy for him. Do not require him to eat fruit. Don't yell at him -- he's more scared of this than you are. Also, give him things to do -- fetching ice water, calling relatives, making the hospital staff be PERFECTLY SILENT during your hardest contractions.

8. Childbirth is not meant to be done all at once. If you start to feel overwhelmed, remember that you only have to get through each moment on an individual basis. Do NOT start asking yourself, "If it's this hard now, how hard will it be when yada yada yada..." God will give you the grace to meet each contraction and each push with the strength it requires. And if there are unforeseen complications, realize that He will guide you through them as well.

9. The ordinary healthy woman, in a low risk healthy childbirth situation, can give birth completely without fear. If something weird or unusual should arise, that is why you are in the hospital with trained staff. Trust that your body can do this.

10. You know that saying, "the light at the end of the tunnel"? Well, at the end of this particular tunnel, there is A BABY! And he or she will be a creation unlike any other! So if the unforeseen does occur, you can remember it was just that particular tunnel, and the important part of the journey is the BABY!

11. Nurses are human beings too; let them help you, but don't let their faults depress you. Here are some things nurses are experts on: labor aids, postpartum care, dosing medicine, checking vitals, caring for your comfort and safety, monitoring your progress. Here are some things that nurses are not NECESSARILY experts on: breastfeeding frequency, childrearing, sleep styles, infant calming techniques, US foreign policy in relation to North Korea.

12. Childbirth is exhausting, and not only for you. You may be surprised to see your husband as haggard and incoherent as he may be; although you are the one who went through the delivery from the front lines so to speak, he was your key support staffer, and a large part of his suffering was that he could not do nearly enough to shoulder yours for you. Also, he has just met his first child. He is a father now. That very fact can make a man want to sleep for twenty-four hours straight, just as soon as he has had a good two-three beers.

Living the cliche

Yes indeed. Barefoot, in the kitchen, pregnant.

God is so good to me!

Now if only I could live the one that goes "Early to bed, early to rise ..."

(And yes, I was in fact frying chicken and boiling corn. Can I be real?)

This is not my life!

As you will see from the pictures, I am an organized person. I have a laundry room with a folding counter (being used for folding), shelves that contain various laundry/storage things, clean and working machines, bright light, and bare clean tile on the floor. Furthermore, I have three huge sorting bins, which handle all the ordinary laundry of one day in our household of seven (soon to be eight). If I do one-two loads a day, and have the children carry their folded piles up and put them away once every day (usually after lunch or dinner), my machines never runneth over and my heart sings with joy.

However, be it noted that this is all totally new for me -- and this after eleven plus years of motherhood, almost thirteen of marriage. This same laundry room, just a few weeks ago, more closely resembled one of those garbage houses that they find after some batty old lady dies. I don't even want to post a picture. Just think the exact opposite of the photos here, and you get the idea.

The credit for my changed life laundrywise goes completely to my fearless and loving sister AR who does not, apparently, have enough to do with the four children (toddler twins amongst them) and who has at least fourteen extra calories that have somehow not yet been burned.

Thanks, sis! I can hold my head up once again!

Can you believe it?

How could these children be old enough to play real ball? where has the time gone? When Fifi was three she was three for about five years -- we went for looooooong walks, and spent endless time reading story books, and then she was suddenly this Amazon.

And Buster -- look at him. He actually looks like somebody else's kid, pitching a real ball in some foreign game that I happen to see as I sit at a picnic table eating take-out Thai food with my new husband. Not actually my son, whose uniform I washed and who learned how to pitch without my help whatsoever. (Of course, his father gave him some pointers ...)

I can't get over it. Gotta keep on having children, or they are all going to turn monstrously huge like this and I'll have to resort to those pathetic life-like dolls that have a little battery operated heartbeat and synthetic skin, and real eyelashes. Much better to just keep on having real ones who still throw easy ones that I can catch.

A blog I just found

Since I am still technologically a toddler, I do not know how to link to a website other than just typing out the address of it. Maybe Superguy can show me how, and then I will graduate to technology preschool. (I wonder if there is something the equivalent of learning to hold the scissors properly, except for computers?)

Anyway, in my quest to learn more about the fine art of cooking, housekeeping, and generally being a post- postmodern woman, I came across this neat blog, www.thepioneerwoman.com

What caught my eye is the recipes. All women's blogs contain recipes, except maybe for women who can't stand cooking, in which case I haven't run across them. She shows you with beautiful color photos exactly what she does for each step of the recipe, and the results look delicious.

Plus, her story is too too impossibly romantic. You'll have to read it, AMM.

The day of rest

Can we find a lovelier example of Sunday rest? This truly was not posed -- they were all asleep.

(And the large circular blue thing is the top of a punching bag. Why it was there? don't know.)

Bread -- for a real family

We love homemade bread, and I love to make it. So today, being such a mild summer day, proved the perfect chance to try a recipe called "Batch Bread." It is recommended for a large family, a small restaurant, or a boarding house! I feel that we qualify. Note that the dough -- which weighed more than five pounds, which I know because I added an entire five-pound bag of flour and then some) -- did its main rising in my Ginormous Family Dutch Oven ("heavy enough to kill an intruder!").

Updates will appear on the quality of the bread. For now, Messy Bessy is basking in the Ma Ingalls moment.

Guilt No More Front Porch, Springtime

Superguy pointed out that this is the epitome of white trash front-porch living. Note the plywood across what had been a beautiful plate-glass window. Note the beer, and the peanuts being stored in a recycled bread bag!

The house next door is for sale. Who wants to be neighbors?

Thoughts about my Alma Mater

I have been, since high school, on a "Quote of the Day" e-mailing list from a former teacher. I occasionally read over these quotes, although I don't bother too much about them generally. Today's quote included a postscript from the teacher, noting that he had posted a little essay about the recent Trinity school commencement address on his blog. Interested, in a very slight way, in the happenings of my alma mater, I clicked on the link and read the blog post. It is hard to express my feelings upon reading this post. There was somehow a curious admixture of nostalgic fondness for the good-hearted intellectualism that was fostered at Trinity, as well as irritation and, probably undeserved, scorn for the pretensions of the Trinity Academic. It wasn't so much the substance of the post - I had not heard the Commencement address and so could not really form an opinion - as the, oh, dreaminess of that post and those surrounding it. (I may also be biased by the generally "dreamy" nature of the quotes I receive.) And it isn't just this teacher or this blog. I tend to have this sort of reaction to all things "Trinity". It seems unfair; for the most part, I loved my teachers and my classes and was completely blessed to have a happy, healthy, high-school experience. But, I guess I feel like I have grown up since then. There was something in the air at Trinity that now seems a little to 'rarified'. It isn't the intellectual side of the school; I certainly don't think they are too intellectually snobbish. It isn't the counter-cultural social environment, which I think is probably the best thing going for the school. I think what galls me about the Trinity school philosophy of life is the air of privileged idealism. I wholeheartedly believe in the pursuit of Truth, Beauty, and Goodness, but these things ought to be pursued in the real world, with a sense of perspective and real work and, please, a sense of humor! The Trinity idealism favors philosophy, not history; art, not science (at least not science in its actual workings); poetry, not prose. There is a sense of how important everything is, while missing how funny things can be. I don't know, I feel like I am rambling. I may be wrong and unfair, and maybe I have simply been corrupted by the secular world. But, all I can say is that what I love about the Catholic Church and the Catholic method of pursuing T,B, and G (and what I think is missing in the Trinity idealist philosophy) is that a person can become a saint through obedience. A man doesn't need to study the world to love it and to serve God, he can merely work hard, observe, and be thankful. We can bumble our way through life, and still, relying on God's Mercy!, end up in real, good happiness. I think perhaps some simplicity and humility is lost in the Trinity academic worldview.
Just a thought.

Baby update

Went to the midwife (aka "the coven") and found that our baby is just about perfect. I, on the other hand, am working to give a very good impression of a three-pack-a-day smoker, what with the hacking cough and the slow trudge. Luckily I'm still a few years away from the nasty yellow leathery skin, although I have a brother who is a lot closer to that than I am.

Hard as it is for people pregnant for the first time to comprehend, the length of human gestation is not very long, really. Here it seems we just found out about little "Gilberta" as Superguy likes to call him/her, and now this little miracle of God has a perfect heart, fingers, toes, bladder, kidneys, eyes and ears and every single thing. Slightly bigger than a box of butter.

Each time is more amazing to contemplate -- like trying to imagine a new color, one that no one has ever yet seen. That's what it is to think about who this new little person will be.

So we're just really grateful!

Life around here

IN the interests of keeping the Guilt No More Community fully informed about life in their Land of Origin, I post the following offerings.

This is what happens when Sweetums gets a make-up kit for her birthday.
You know you have a big family when your Dutch oven stretches out farther than your conventional burner. This was my mother's day present, and it can hold enough lentil soup to feed an entire Somali family. Or ours.
Fifi made raisin bread. This lasted less than two hours.
A tornado? High winds? Or incredibly slobby girl children who take after me?
Beware. Warriors live here.