The Loftus addition and more - theloftusadditionandmore

I have taken a long time to write my thoughts about the wedding.  In many ways, I am still processing the changes that marrying off one of your children brings. 

The story of the wedding wouldn't be complete without starting a couple of weeks before the wedding when the five youngest kids started breaking out with the chicken pox.  Yes, chicken pox!  With the advent of a vaccine for such maladies, who, you might ask, gets the chicken pox these days?  Well, people who don't take the vaccine and desire to let their kids get the chicken pox the old fashioned way, complete with life-long immunity just NOT TWO WEEKS BEFORE THE WEDDING, THANK YOU VERY MUCH.  Like we didn't have enough to do.  Actually, the story of the wedding started back in the summer when Matthew first proposed to Maggie.  No, strike that, you can read that story here:  http://www.theknot.com/ourwedding/MaggieBurns&MatthewLoftus in their own words.  Maybe the story of the wedding starts back last fall and winter sometime when Emma and I were talking about how many things we thought Matthew and Maggie had in common.  Our joint brain power started working and cooking..... Or maybe it was last school (or was it year before last?) year when Maggie announced that she had decided to serve our family one day every week and come over and help with the little ones so I could get schoolwork done with the older kids or run errands or whatever.  Now that I think of it, the story of the wedding would most appropriately be told starting maybe four or so years ago, when I remember snapping at Emma, "Maggie, Maggie, Maggie!  That's all I ever hear about these days from you!  Who is this Maggie and why is she so special?"  "Oh, mom" was her answer, "Maggie is so cool.  You'd love her."  A few days later, there she was in the flesh, in my basement, admiring, dare I say ADMIRING old photo albums of our family.  While bouncing a small child on her lap. Making other young children laugh.  Making older children smile.  Yeah, so where should I start, exactly, to accurately tell how a friend became an addition became a girlfriend who then became a daughter in law?

About a week and a half ago, Phillip came home from school with red, glassy eyes complaining that he had a headache.  Three days of raging fever followed, and a few more days of malingering illness and cough.  Then Hope started with a fever, followed by seven days of perfect dishrag-ed-ness, with Jessie, Peter, Lydia, me, and Noah sick for a day or two (or five) in between.  Asher and Julia have a different flavor of illness, just a rotten, stinking headcold.  Hope actually was diagnosed with a pneumonia today, and will take antibiotics for a while.  To say that we are exhausted is an understatement.  I usually tell people that a large family is absolutely awesome most all of the time.  Except when everyone is sick, very sick, at the same time, for a long period of time.  Like now. 

Some new pictures are up of us just fooling around the house.  Hope is talking more and more every day, and Julia is lighting up the house with her infectious smile.  She has even been known to giggle some.  In the sleeping department, (I almost hate to write it down) Julia is a doll-baby.  Get this:  She gets tired.  I put her in bed.  She falls asleep.  HELLO!  I have never had a baby do that before!  Ever!  Asher is developing a bit of an undesirable streak-- read that acting like a brat some days. 

I was pretty convinced that last year was going to be a great school year.  I was well-prepared and energetic, with everything I needed written out in precise detail weeks before we were going to start.  Hope was old enough to be in a solid routine, and young enough to nap a fair amount and stay in one place when awake.  Then I got pregnant with Julia and experienced months of exhaustion coupled with weeks of nausea.  We looked around the house and realized that we actually didn't have any place to put another person, so thus began the expansion project.  Although the builders were polite and as quiet as they could possibly be while removing walls and other permanent structure, it was impossible to complete a day's work with a backhoe begging for attention in the back yard.  Or two incredibly sweet guys painting and nailing stuff, looking for all the world like they just needed someone to talk to-- and were dying for a 5, 6, 7, and 10 year old to fill that need.  Hence the school year took a dive and we finished with the minimal amount of work accomplished-- enough to pass but nothing exciting.  This year, I was sure was going to be different.  I didn't sign up for anything so we could stay home and work.  I used the extra five days I spent in the hospital to, again, write down pretty much the whole year-- day by day for each child! But, we are experiencing increasing interruptions.  I leave for an hour or so every Monday to get my regular blood drawn.  Well baby checks, ankle injury, and --oh goodness!  Faith hasn't had a check up since 2006?  By all means, lets bring her in.  We only see the dentist (well, the orthodontist once a month) once a year:  I would have to give up homeschooling in order to accommodate my hygenist if we went twice a year!  That's um, 15 cleanings and they will only take two kids at a time per day-- so for the month we go two or three times a week until we get everyone their yearly cleaning.  Six week post-partum check up, cardiac work-up-- and hold the phone if someone gets sick!  A day to go shopping for wedding stuff, a day here and there to do something fun, and I have done the extremely decadent and taken at least one day to go to a book sale in the middle of the day!  We are still getting our 'normal' school work done, but are, once again, back to the basics of instruction and with no time for the extra, interesting things that make it 'homeschooling' for me.  We did paint all day one day last week, and produced so many masterpieces in the style of Durher that I had to throw some away.  We tried to build a model of an ear, but I couldn't remember how we got the last one to work exactly (when Hannah and Noah were in third grade), and we had to settle for what it looks like and how it would work if it actually worked.  An example of how only God can make an ear, we can only wonder at His handiwork.  Hm.

The pictures are a hodge-podge of whatever was on my mom's camera because we forgot to bring one to the shower.  Oh, I found a dress!  I actually found four, bought two, and must somehow pick one to actually wear to the wedding!  Matthew moves into 'their place' next week.  My friend Susanne tells me that the Proverbs 31 woman smiles at the future:  I am definitely smiling.

Finally, my blood level has reached 'therapeutic' and I can stop taking Lovenox injections.  For now.  I have read a lot about Coumadin and its effects; I swear it is making me a little light-headed and loopy.  The most suprising thing I have read (you may already know this, but it was news to me) is that Coumadin's 'other name' is RAT POISON!  The article announced that the only difference between humans and rats is that humans get their blood tested every few weeks and rats just nibble away until they bleed to death internally!  Not too scary(sarcasm), actually reminds me why I am NOT A MEDICINE-TAKING person. 

I have lost 15 pounds since I left the hospital, and without the injections the bruising and swelling is leaving my abdomen-- and I have hope that I may be able to look like something other than the Michelin tire woman for the wedding.  We are off on a field trip to David's Bridal to try on dresses today.

I put some new pictures up, and included a few of the 'out-takes' of the attempts at getting a good picture of all of us.  It is not easy.  I will try and be better about editing the bad-quality pictures, but mostly I just highlight a file and upload.

The baby has had a cold for about three of the seven weeks she has been alive.  I think my right shoulder will be permanently damaged from holding her in that 'just right' position so that she can breathe while she sleeps.  The winter cycle goes something like this from here until April:  baby gets cold that lasts at least two, maybe three weeks.   Just as she starts to get better and sleeps for one night NOT in your arms, someone comes in or one of the kids brings home or take her somewhere and she gets a new cold.  Fast forward two (maybe three) weeks and it is time for one of the twenty seven well baby check ups at the pediatrician's office.  You take your HEALTHY baby for a WELL baby check up in the dead of winter into an office filled with SICK kids (most of whom have an air-borne illness) and BINGO, two days later she is coming down with another cold.  Top that off with the abundance of vaccinations that cause fever, grumpiness and the like you are receiving during these well baby visits, add an occasional stomach virus or two, throw in a strep throat for good measure, and, well, just call me in April and if I can pick the bags that hang down from my eyes up off my lips, I may be able to speak to you in a coherent sentence.

Julia obviously did not get the memo of proposed sleeping times for the household.  If I had sent it, I don't think I would have slotted 2 a.m. for 'wakeful playing', or worse yet for 'being carried through the house screaming like a tasmanian devil just off the leash'.  Most nights (mornings?) find her slightly off-schedule and awake till 2.  Couple that with the fact that Phillip wakes up (angry) between 6:30 and 7 NO MATTER HOW LATE WE LET HIM STAY UP and I am tired.  I am grateful that Shawn takes care of Phillip in the morning, but Phillip always sees the need to come and tell me something that is not right for him downstairs. Whether I am sleeping or not.

Julia is plump, and beautiful.  She smiled a big, happy smile at all of us tonight, and we melted in our collective joy.   She has a positively rotten cold, though, and struggles to breathe through her nose right now.

I would say that my blood level is eluding 'therapeutic levels' of appropriate 'thinness' on Coumadin, but that would not be truthful.  My blood is flat out refusing to cooperate on obscence doses of Coumadin.  I am getting used to two shots a day.

And the bazillion pictures....we all got haircuts today in anticipation of The Wedding.  I got a little color.  I asked for something that would make me look young and thin.  Hmmmm.

There are several things about being a 'mom of many' that I have gotten used to, even, I dare say, good at.  I am used to the noise, the work, the chaos.  I have gotten rather proficient at cooking for a crowd, and can whip up dinner for twenty on less than you might be able to imagine.  I can brush my my teeth while mentally making a grocery list, and occasionally even write the list down.  Next week I will work on actually taking the list to the store with me.  If involved in a deep conversation with one of the kids, I always invite them into the (new) laundry room.  It is more private, and they can help me fold while we talk.  I am completely inept, however, at organizing, caring for and every other minute detail of cataloging clothing for our brood.  I have read books by moms of large families that have countless rubbermaid containers under the bed, and, if some child walks into the room with their size 8 jeans hovering close to their ankles-- well the organized mom just whips out a bin and VOILA! size 10 jeans appear.  I have a bountiful collection of large, plastic containers.  They mostly contain whatever I crudely shoved into them the last time I thought I was going to organize our clothes.  I have tried every labeling system I can think of, only to still end up with bins of clothing with little rhyme or reason to why they are together.  So, I sooooo dislike the change of seasons.  My kids have been in tank tops and shorts through most of the last two weeks of 50 degree weather.  To complicate matters more this fall, most of our off season clothes were in the attic, since the things that were formerly in everyone's closets were removed because of the construction of the addition.  Friday, we got every last bin out of the attic and sorted the clothes by size and season in piles throughout my bedroom.  We moved around drawers and labeled bins and folded and washed.  We kept too much but did actually get rid of a lot of stained, ripped and otherwise unwearable clothing. (Why did we store said clothing in the first place? Hmmm.)  What was left, I shoved in the bins for Shawn to toss them back into the attic.  I can't find my favorite skirt.  Hannah says it went back to the 70's where it belonged.

Somehow we managed not to come unglued in the face of seven feverish, barfing, maligned children.  All have recovered and are attempting to start another year of school.  I do, however, lose my cool at the barrage of little things that are thrown at me all day long.  I can deal with crying baby/whining toddler/defiant three year old but throw an absolute temper meltdown when someone tosses my newly made cup of ice water after dinner.  I give myself two shots a day into my already purple and bruised belly, go to the doctor twice a week for blood work and all the other responsibilities of this life, but break out the ballistics because someone MOVED (as in I couldn't find them and thought they were lost) my two coupons for $5 off diapers.  Go figure.  It must be something post-partum because I am at a loss at my inability to completely cope with the little things life brings me.

Evidently I must have blood the consistency of molasses, because despite multiple doses of multiple strengths and multiple compounds of anti-coagulant capabilities, my ability to clot remains, um, normal.  So normal, in fact, that the clot that was just about all gone away has started to come back, prompting more shots, pills, check ups etc.  From what I read on the internet, which we all know is gospel, this is normal.  It will just take time.

Sometime during my extended hospital stay Shawn called one night and told me poor Faith wasn't feeling well.  She had been sick a couple of times in the night, and was just resting during the day.  Afternoon found her up and around, and a few more doses of ibuprofen had her good as new.  I came home with tiny, new baby, to have the gates burst open on the "feeling badly" scale and everyone under the age of 10 violently stricken with fever, aches, vomiting-- you name it.  We have a running list on the counter of who received what analgesic when, although watching the eyelids droop is a tell-tale sign of having one's tylenol expire, confirmed by a brief glance at the medication list to see that you are due again for another dose.  We are holding, comforting, dosing and hydrating at a frantic pace, and Joel came home the day after he moved into school to help and brought a friend.  A brave friend.  I am worried the baby will get said virus, and be doomed to days in the hospital because that is what a new baby must do if they get a fever.  We keep thinking the worst is over.  Then it seems not.  Three of the older kids just came downstairs to tell me they don't feel well.  Grab a bowl.  Have some ibuprofen.  See you in the middle of the night.

After thinking for many months that Julia would be at least two weeks early because of her size, she arrived one day past her due date.  Labor (and I) tried to start as early as four days earlier, only to be left exhausted (contractions a lot at night, few during the day) and wondering if she was ever actually going to be born.  Finally, my membranes ruptured late Saturday night, mandating a 24 window for her to arrive.  Laboring was both putzy and painful throughout Sunday, and an application of pitocin ended the process rather efficiently around 4:30 Sunday afternoon.  After constant fretting about her size (read that actually nightmares), she weighed in at 9 lbs 7 oz and 20 inches.  Certainly no peanut, but not the gorilla (or calf as I predicted) she was anticipated to be.  Later that day (or was it Monday?  I don't remember) the vein that usually just aches and swells was acutely painful and swollen to a large, red mass.  Doppler confirmed a clot, high enough to be close to main vein junction, important enough to be treated aggressively, and here I sit being de-clotted as I write.  A steady stream of heparin to thin me out, followed by a few shots of lovenox, rounding out with weeks of coumadin.  My lacross career (and any other contact sport I thought of playing) is over, and a close shave will have to wait.  Weeks.  But Julia is a beautifully sweet, dark-haired version of Hope, and has been pleasant company this extra week in the hospital.   I have gotten a fair amount of school work planned for the coming school year, and have rested past what anyone would consider decadent.  Shawn is carrying the entire load at home, and deserves both combat and valor medals.  I had planned last year's school rather carefully, but discovered Julia's impending arrival sometime in December-- and the school year got rather complicated.   Add a full house addition to that, and the school year pretty much ended.  I have high hopes for this school year, but am presently committed to once a week visits to the anti-coagulation clinic (oh, boy, that sounds like a happenin' place :)) and regular visits to the vascular surgeon.  Its complicated, I guess we'll just have to be flexible.

I tried to go to the accupressure shop in the mall,  hoping they knew the 'secret spot' that would start labor, but they were hesitant to do anything between the language barrier (my Chinese is rusty at best :) and the fact that they were convinced there were TWO BABIES.  For several days I had been cheerful and energetic, but presently am dull and grumpy.  When I struck out at accupressure we bought some fishing stuff at Walmart and went fishing with the little guys.  Since it was about 106 degrees outside with 90% humidity, we practically had the whole park to ourselves.  We worked a lot yesterday to clean up the house, and at this moment the youngest six children are playing a combination of power rangers/moving out.  This involves a) everyone changing their clothes into the power ranger costumes they got for Christmas and b) packing their worldly possessions into plastic bags and carrying them around the house.  Said possessions will most likely drop where they lay sometime later today.  Everything was half off at the Goodwill last night until midnight, so instead of my habitual marathon walk, I waited in line to pay for a ton of stuff we probably don't really need.  My new friends that were behind me in line for an hour thought it was cute the way I would be due with twins and still come to the Goodwill to shop.  The girls brought me some clothes to approve (and pay for) and I told them they obviously missed my crazed rant from the night before about how I was not buying another stitch of clothing until their room was clean, clothes off the bathroom floor etc etc, but had not the energy to repeat the rant.  They did clean up.  A lot.  And it is hard to turn down designer clothes for a buck.   Still waiting. 

After weeks and weeks of non-stop monitoring, checking, testing and worrying, the midwife practice agreed to induce labor.  But after thinking it over for a few days, I, well, um, yeah, refused.  I decided to wait it out.  For a while at least.  Until Wednesday. Maybe. Still a big baby.  We will see.

The dogs are shedding.  Shedding so much that every morning when I come downstairs I expect to see them both looking like one of those hairless rat-dog Chihuahua things.  Naked.  Hairless.  But they continue to have hair and continue to leave it in huge clumps all around the house.  It increases my distaste for labs.  So here is my true story:  When I was in high school, I had a friend who had a black lab named Major.  Since my parents had always had miniature poodles, I thought Major was a real DOG.  He did this cool cowering thing when you sucked in your breath loudly, as if you were going to hit if for hurting you.  Even if you were kidding, you could stop him dead in his tracks just by sucking in your breath.  Probably had something to do with the fact that my friend and his dad regularly took out their earthly frustrations on the dog.  Says something about my choice of friends when I was sixteen, but that is another story for another day.  About this time my parents were in the market for a new dog.  Despite my urging to get a lab, they chose another miniature poodle.  As a consolation prize, they let me name the dog since I didn't get the breed I wanted.   I was sixteen.  I was angry.  For the next, oh, almost twenty years, my parents lived with a dog named Icecube Chainsaw Casca.  Mostly they called him Cubie, but like all parents, when they really wanted to get his attention they called, loudly, ICECUBE!  Fast forward ten years, and the first dog I ever actually purchase in my life is an 8th generation obedience champion Doberman Pinscher.  I get him for a bargain because his breeder is suddenly called to France for his work and has just had a new litter of puppies and needs to get rid of them.  Quick.  We do not realize that he is the most well behaved, wonderful, obedient dog on the face of the earth until he is gone.  Gone, which is soon for big dogs but even sooner for big dogs that accidentally get hit by panel trucks while chasing a ball.  The next doberman's parents were father and daughter, and it showed.  Congestive heart failure at seven.  When a friend had a litter of puppies that were mostly lab with a little collie, we thought they were cute as anything and that old lab-envy kicked in and, heck, we took two.  Is this going somewhere?  Essie and Leya are gentle and eager to please us.  They shed like crazy and would run away in a heartbeat if they were not wired in by an electric fence.  They let the kids jump on them and bark like bejezzies at the slightest distrubance of outside air.  The conclusion:  being pregnant and large for a long time tends to make one's mind wander and think about old things you haven't thought about for a long time.  Castor oil makes you wish you could disappear for a few hours but makes you hopeful that you might actually go into labor sometime soon.

I think I have officially had just about one of every test a pregnant woman can have.  I had my very first fetal echocardiogram a few weeks ago, and my bazillionth ultrasound yesterday.  The ultrasound I had last week enumerated several 'red flags' (re: gross abnormalities, possible life threatening conditions, the list goes on and on), but lucky for us two hours downtown with a technician who actually KNEW WHAT SHE WAS DOING proved that the baby actually is structurally sound, allbeit excruciatingly large.  The current estimate is 9 lbs 6 ounces with an 'official' two and a half weeks to go (at a weight gain of a pound per week--you do the math).  If I hear someone tell me a c-section would be easier one more time, I am going to scream and run away to Australia.  I think this will all be wrapped up by next week, one way or another.

I am feeling somewhat over-managed.  Like that old, unreliable oven that tends to cook things unevenly sometimes but once you understand how it works you can get what you need from it.  If you are unfamiliar with it, the tendency is to OPEN the oven door every five minutes to check on what's inside.  Like having a new test every week, just to check.  Check for what?  Problems.  Frankly, if you look hard enough, you will eventually find some problems.  Then you can have more tests to show that the problems really aren't problems at all, here you were worried for nothing.  Bread looks pretty darned uneven as it bakes along, especially if you open the door a thousand times.  Well I am sealing the door and no one is opening it again until this loaf is done.  Really.  I mean it.

We just finished a visit with Uncle Claude (or Tink-a-wad or Uncle Clunk, depending on what age you are in the mix) and Kallisti.  Since even before we were married, Uncle Claude has been such fun to visit with, and such encouragement to be around.  When we still dating, we went to see him and he tried to set us straight: "Are you sure you know what you are doing?" "Duh, we are in love" Well, ok-- he dropped it and proceeded to show us the rest of San Antonio.  We constantly receive, um, helpful hints from everyone and anyone, from the closest relative to the furthest stranger.  Visits with Uncle Claude begin, proceed and end with, "How can I help?"   He noticed that, in spite of a newly built laundry room, I was still folding clothes on the dining room table (because we are out of room in the laundry room).  He promptly set about building a folding table and two rows of shelves in the laundry room!

More pictures of swimming and playing.  Twists and turns in the baby-delivering department, but I will visit the midwife today and probably know more later.  Trying to juggle between possibly being induced early to avoid a too-big baby and waiting delivery out to its natural end because that just always seems to work better.  Trying not to let CONSTANT pain cloud my judgement on what is the best thing to do, but am feeling rather punk these days.

Lastly, Hope seems to have been stricken with an oddity of physical condition.  Sometimes, when she gets hurt and starts crying forcefully, she passes out.  Scads of research, hours on the phone with the pediatrician, and multiple times of watching this phenomenon assure me that THIS IS PERFECTLY NORMAL, but I fail to see how holding my completely unconcious child counting the seconds until she breathes and comes back around can EVER BE NORMAL!  I picture the dropped jaw looks from the ladies in the church nursery as I drop her off for Sunday morning, "Oh, and if she passes out, just ring for me and I"ll come down and give her a little mouth to mouth.  No hurry, she usually starts breathing on her own within a minute."  Connecting some very far-reaching dots of internet fueled research and papers, written by physicians for other physicians to read, the 'ah ha!' of relating back to the same autonomic nervous system malfunction that caused Emma and Noah's heart to spontaniously stop beating seems to be presenting itself again, only in a slightly different form.  Just when I thought I was on cruise control in the whole parenting thing.......  yeah, right.

We haven't written in a while but not because things have not been exciting.  Just busy.  Trips to the lake, swimming and playing, a hospitalization for Lydia and refinshing the rest of the hardwood floors (simultaneously, not much fun) and lots of gestating.  If someone had asked me back when we first removed all the carpet from the house what would have been my wildest dream of a project, I would have said refinishing the floors.  Seemed like it was always slightly out of reach in terms of money, time, energy and availability.  When the floors were done in the addition they were so darned beautiful we asked for a quote for the rest of the house.  When the quote seemed actually do-able we made the first available appointment (a month later) and started to plan our couple of days away so the sanders could have access to the whole house without us in the way.  When he writes his memoirs, I am sure dear Jesse the floor guy will have to include the job from hell where he refinished the house for that crazy family with 14 kids.  The day before the work was to start, Lydia woke with her eye swollen shut and no obvious infection.  After the second trip to the doctor that day and an already massive dose of antibiotics, hospitalization for IV antibiotics was declared and Shawn and I left for our separate adventures-- his with the other kids to the lake and hotel, mine to the hospital with Lydia.  48 hours later found us with regular-sized eye, beautiful floors and exhausted parents.  Pictures later.

I have allowed a couple of 'belly pictures' to be included for different reasons.  1) I read a couple of blogs and pregnant moms seem to always include their very pregnant pictures on the blog and I look at them, and think, gee, is that little bump really the product of 35+ weeks of gestation?  I am not ashamed to announce that I have gained almost 40 pounds and have about 30 pounds of baby, fluid and mass to show for it. Even though I may look like Kate right before the birth of the sextuplets, there is only one baby in there, I swear.  2) I think it would be fun for Julia to 'see herself' a few days before she was born a few years from now 3) If there is nothing else to do with the I-can't-sleep-can-barely-eat-feel-like-the-monster-that-ate-Chcago-twice-weekly-trips-to-the-doctor-for-EXTREME-ADVANCED-MATERNAL-AGE-oh-no-there-is-only-one-way-out-of-this feeling than to laugh at it, so be it.  I promised the girls they could henna a picture on my belly, but I am rethinking the promise.  No clothes fit, I can only be three minutes from a bathroom at any given moment and a fair amount of pain and discomfort characterizes my daily being.  We spent our 23rd anniversary Sunday taking a long walk(or hobble, as the case may be), great food and finalizing the middle name for the baby.  Life is good.

Mom's surprise 70th birthday party was a wonderful time!  Somehow, we managed to surprise her, and spend a delightful day catching up.  There was never any question of whether we were going to get her to the restaurant for the surprise, but I was beginning to wonder if she was ever actually going to enter the banquet room for the party!  You see, I had spent most of the day convincing her that if you spun Emma around three times in the house she'd be hard pressed to find the front door.  I had painted her as so incredibly directionally challenged, that I needed to call her every five minutes on my way to lunch to see where she was.  I knew, of course, exactly where she was, but I was giving Emma and all the guests a running tally on where *we* were on our journey to arrive.  Well, I called her last as we pulled into the parking lot to announce that our arrival was eminent, and lied to my mom that I was convinced Emma and the rest of the girls would be joining us soon.  In my mind, the weeks of preparation, hours of planning-- the day that started at with cutting the stems off of hundreds of daisies so they would actually fit into the vases and finding the owner of the stray, wet dog that parked himself on my front porch-- was finally coming to the event as planned.  My dear old friend, Allen, from Stewart's Brewery in Bear, Delaware, met us at the door and eagerly began the walk to the banquet room.  'Table for four?' he asked.  I eagerly answered yes, thinking of nothing else but getting mom into the room for her surprise.  We made it!  She was going to be surprised, we were going to eat a lavish lunch, catch up with friends and relatives...the whole works.  I began to stride into the room, Jessie and Miss Betty off to the side-- but my mom STILL BACK AT THE FRONT DOOR!  "Honey," she says softly, "we have more than four people for lunch, remember you were just talking to Emma." 
Um, right.  We'll be fine. We'll squeeze in. We WILL ALL FIT. JUST GO INTO THE ROOM!
"That room looks crowded," she asserts (from still near the front door) "I don't think we'll be able to fit.  Isn't she bringing at least four more girls?  I think you should tell him we need a bigger table"
I think you should just come into the room, I am thinking.  I am also thinking of swatting her on the behind to get her to move forward into the room, but I resist and somehow she gets the picture and walks into her own party.  She cried.  She turned red.  It was beautiful.  My mom was doted upon in the manner in which she deserves.  A special 'thank you' to all the staff at Stewarts-- they were wonderful and made the day effortless and first class.

I am compiling a mental list of the things we wear out/use up more frequently than the average family.  Toilet paper tops the list, at a shocking rate of 30 rolls every two weeks, give or take a few days or a few rolls-- depending on your point of reference.  Milk, obviously, runs like water here.  We seem to have an uncanny knack to break or destroy most everything of value that enters the house, but caveat that thought with the fact that Dollar Store/Walmart items were considered 'of value' until the process of the addition, when we discovered an entire universe of high-priced, upscale items for the home.  Why, oh why, did it never occur to us before now to buy the $16 set of window blinds that would ACTUALLY LAST MORE THAN A WEEK, as opposed to the $4 set that was good for two, maybe three risings before it crumpled in a heap on the floor never to be lifted again?  Telephones.  I joke that we belong to the 'phone of the month' club, because six months is currently our record for keeping a working telephone.  Just after Christmas, we bought a set that had a stationary base with answering machine and three handsets.  One handset, almost immediately, was dropped in a glass of apple juice, never to work again.  One handset hopelessly lost for many weeks.  Lydia joyfully bounced into the room one morning with her hands behind her back.  "Ta dah!" She chirped, bringing said lost handset from behind her back.  'I found the phone!'  Announcement met with cheerful elation, until she turned the phone upside down, and a steady stream of water ran from every seam. "but, I dropped it in the toilet."  She put the phone on the counter and went about her merry way.  When the last, operable handset was left outside in the rain (I was talking on the phone taking out the mail, said good bye, put the phone on the mailbox post, picked up the mail, left the phone, you get the picture) I lived for a few weeks SHOUTING into the dried handset, then forced myself to buy another set.  The new set came with four handsets, so we just dramatically increased our odds at breaking our phone retention record. 

 Most grudgingly on the list of things we wear out:  toilet seats.  Don't ask me how we do it, but we do seem to actually wear through a toilet seat over the course of, oh, say two years?  Maybe less?  Flatten the foam filler, tears in the plastic coating, broken bolts right out of the base-- you name, we actually do wear them out.  There is more, I will think of them later.  We do have some more pictures, but the camera battery is dead and we just got a new one tonight.

In order to bring the house up to 'code' (which changes just about every year, I must think) the electrician installed nifty little smoke detectors that are hard-wired into every, single room.  Zoom ahead to already moved into the new rooms on a sleepy Sunday morning.  Because we spend alllll day at church on Sundays (leave around 9:15 and sometimes don't get home until almost 2), I insist we feed the kids some sort of fatty meat so that they have a bazillion calories to carry them through the day. (Get to the point already, you say?  Hang on, almost there) Shawn gets up much earlier than I on Sunday mornings, so he usually cooks sausages for the kids while I lay in bed and decide if I want to shower first or face the mob and shower later.  Since we have, in recent weeks, spent hundreds of dollars at Home Depot, I have been slightly more thrifty in my grocery shopping, and living more on what we have around rather than what I would like to buy.  So I didn't grocery shop yesterday.  I had one package of sausage left and rummaged a package of bacon that I had frozen for later use.  (getting much closer to the point now)  So, this morning I was lingering in bed, and Shawn was cooking bacon and sausage.  Well, the bacon simply got a little hot.  Not burnt, not even smoky, just hot, I guess.  Hot enough to have that strong smell that cooking bacon has, and strong enough to, you guessed it, set of those nifty, hard-wired, programmed to WAKE THE DEAD smoke alarms!  Oh, there is no describing the obnoxious, not-able-to-be-turned-off noise that these things make.  None of the older kids budged, mind you, they all stayed in bed.  The youngers were already awake, so they just shrieked at the noise.  That really left only me actually disturbed.  We were well on time for Sunday school this morning, all having had the wits scared out of us at 7:30 am.  Shawn is looking for more bacon for next week.

There is such an overwhelming amount of work to do, I am thinking this wasn't such a good idea after all.  Lots still needs to be moved in and around, what is done and moved into needs to be kept clean, and, I believe I mentioned this before, everyone still expects clean clothes and a hot meal (now and again).  I am growing increasingly rotund, as they say; and I measure my energy by the teaspoon these days, nothing larger.  The good news:  grass is beginning to grow.  The bad news:  the likelihood that grass will ever actually be sustained on our property is zero.  The good news:  I love the new bathroom and am pleased as punch with oil-tarnished bronze everything.  The bad news:  the shower doors are clear glass (yes, both completely clear and the kind of glass glass that breaks when you throw something at it) and need to be squeegied after every shower-- and they are clear.  Glass.  Clear as in see through.  Right through.  My kids remind me that during the last three months I regularly sprinted from the shower to some other room in the house in a towel ( I just never really got the hang of remembering to bring ALL my clothes into the bathroom with me in the mornings.  I usually remembered that there were strangers in the house after I stepped out of the shower and heard them.) and that clear glass shouldn't bother me, but I will have to really get used to showering in a fish bowl.  The good news:  the bathroom door actually closes and, if I so choose, locks.  Unlike any other of the older doors in the house.

The addition is technically done.  What is there left to do?  Only a few thousand things to tie up the loose ends.  Some more painting, (obviously) moving in and around (for the rest of our days), a little of this, a little of that.....I still have a long list of things to buy, but other than blinds (the girls are getting dressed in their beds under the covers) I am not going to buy anything else for a while.  I have really never enjoyed retail shopping much, and have definitely never enjoyed spending a lot of money, so I am done for a while.  I thought I *needed* new bedding, but I really don't.  I'll find something.  Later.  I did get a pair of beautiful crystal lamps for our bedroom side tables from the thrift store today-- now, beautiful lamps for less than $10 each, that kind of shopping I enjoy.  Light bulbs included!

We said an anticlimactic goodbye to Zach and John.  We lingered.  We talked.  But they are done, and short of just ONE MORE STUPID JOKE, there really is no reason for them to hang out here anymore.  The kids made them cards, I was hoping to make them cookies, but just ran out of time.

There is literally so much left to do, I just can't imagine ever getting it all done.  I have been trying for the last two days to put shelf liner on the wooden shelf thingy that used to be in the garage for a make-shift pantry that we have now have in the laundry for folding the kids clothes into--we just can't put the clothes on the stubbly wood!  The shelves need to be lined for crying out loud, I just can't seem to finish more than one shelf every other day.  Should be able to fold clothes there sometime next month.

Come by anytime for a tour of the new rooms.  This gift should be shared-- bring your toothbrush and stay the night even!

We are in the very final days of paid workers working on the house.   The work for us will continue for, well, quite some time.  We are a Great Deal moved in, and everyone is enjoying new space, more space, painted space and cleaned up space.  The power is about 90% on in most places, with just a few things left to hook up.  There is, of course, a fair amount of painting yet to do, but doesn't that just figure.

I have learned a few things.  (besides how important it is to pay a painter when attempting home renovation)  For all the times I miserably moaned that 'life would just be better if we had more space', I have learned that life is the same with more space.  I take myself with me everywhere I go.  My children are not better behaved or less interesting even with bigger bedrooms.  There is no magic formula for having it all together-- Paul was singing praises in jail, I was happy with 8 kids in a three bedroom townhouse, I am happy with 6,7 or 8 (depending on how you look at what we have) bedrooms.  I am very happy with a LAUNDRY room, but it would be a wee bit nicer to actually be able to plug the dryer in and have it work.  I am still madly in love with my husband-- I might just miss sharing the bottom bunk with him.  Experiencing difficulty together makes us strong, spreading into an abundance of beautiful space makes us laugh.

I have spent the last week literally swollen (swollen all over, mind you) with gratitude.  I was showing someone the downstairs portion of the addition.  He made the appropriate 'ohhs' and 'ahh's' and an occasional 'wow', timely placed, and started walking toward the living room after leaving the office.  I interrupted his beeline for the couch and asked if he wouldn't like to see the upstairs, too?  'Upstairs?  There's more?'  I was, and have been since then, overwhelmed with the enormity of what we have built.  Tonight my dad walked into our bedroom and remarked just how BIG the room was.  Again. And again.  It is big, and it is beautiful, and I am extremely grateful.

 

I have spent two nights sleeping in my new room.  There is still no power, and the floor is strewn with extension cords to supply light to a night table and bathroom.  I have already swept countless chunks of mud off the floor, and am still perpetually anxiety-ridden with the amount of money we seem to daily spend at Home Depot.  Sleeping in the room feels like a hotel.  It is clean, tidy, and practically empty.  We are slowly moving in.  My goal for the week is to stop crying in public places like Home Depot and Target.  Unsuccessul thus far, but I am a naturally emotional person-- add to that hormones, stress and unmeasurable excitement with the near-completion, and, well, I cry in Home Depot.

 

I haven't written in a while....it turns out I have been very busy.  Painting.  Somehow I have this picture:  I am (Lord willing) 85 years old or so, and Monday thru Friday I sit in my rocking chair on the front porch and watch the grass grow.  The kids play. Whatever.  Some unsuspecting soul will wander by and ask me what I am doing this weekend.  "PAINTING!" I will yet back at them.  Because 40 years from now I still cannot imagine that the painting will be finished!   Seems like the color is on, but then there's the trim.  The trim gets done, but Shawn reminds me we didn't finish the ceiling cut-ins.  The ceilings get done, and they guys show me the quarter round moulding that just came in-- we could paint it before they tack it in, then TOUCH IT UP LATER after we FILL IN THE HOLES from the nails!  Really, it will actually never be done.  Besides, all the new stuff is sitting there looking all...NEW and spiffy, so the old walls look ever so much uglier than before.  What, of course, will fix that?  A quick coat of paint, no doubt.

The Pergo floors are absolutly gorgeous.  They assure me that they are 99% kid-proof.  They are new and slick.  At every free moment, at least 6 or 7 kids are sliding across the floors on discarded pieces of flooring (pulled right out of our very own dumpster, thank you very much) pretending to surf.  Or skateboard. Or magic carpet.  Or whatever the game of the moment may be.  Turns out if there is .01% of the flooring that is not kid-proof, we will find it. 

I will miss these guys when they are not here every day, and I have no clue what Lydia and Asher will do all day without Zack and John to bother--oh, I mean talk to.

Much of the work from the past several days has been closing in on the little details.  We shortened the turn at the top of the steps by about six inches, and I think Zach has spent two days matching the floor to repair where the wall went out.  His attention to having the spot be perfect is unbelievable.  It is not acceptable to have the slightest bit of height difference or any millimeters of gap, and I appreciate their work.  The closet floors match the existing floors in a similar manner.  The office gets measured for carpet, and the laundry and bathroom for their vinyl.  We really are closing in, but there still seems like such a long way to go.  Sometime it feels like we just started, and, wow, we're almost finished.  Sometimes it feels like we've been doing this forever and it may never be done.  Well, actually, the painting may never be done.
I filled the staple and nail holes in the office till about midnight last night, then spent a few minutes on babynames.com.  What do you think of Julia?  Just a thought.  Julia what? you ask?  I don't know. Just thinking about Julia.  Our kids usually have one name that we just like, and one name from someone important to us.  Some have two names from someone else.  Frankly, there is no family left to honor.  Fourteen kids and everyone has a name from either a supportive friend or relative.  We have left out my grandfather's side of the family-- southern family where we just couldn't see ourselves with a son named Irwin.  Pop pop Irv had three sisters-- Beulah, Elva and Sudie-- and well, we haven't used those names yet, but probably won't. 

While there still seems to be an awful lot of work to do, we are probably a few weeks away from being finished!  The 'new family room' floor is done and waiting to be finished.  The other rooms' flooring is on order, but will go together in a matter of days once delivered.  Those #%@$ painters are taking their sweet time getting the caulking, hole stuffing and painting done, but what can you expect from amateurs?  So we have this odd way of referring to each of the rooms.  "Where did you leave the light, hon?"  "Oh, its in our old bedroom."  Big bathroom, hall bathroom, and new bathroom are the list for the facilities.  Our old bedroom = Jessie's new bedroom, and Keller's room cannot be mistaken for anything other than the bright blue room.   What is the extra paint in the old family room doing?  That's for Emma and Hannah's room-- TBDL (to be decided later)  I have decided to buy the kids summer clothes rather than stress myself to death trying to find the ones I put in the attic, but cannot spend another dime on this project until I catch my breath from the spending frenzy that was last week.  Lights, ceiling fans, more paint (egads, yes, more paint), and still more lights to go.  Somewhere in the middle of all this work I had these wild-haired fanstasies of 'doing the kitchen next', but could not imagine another upheaval like the present, nor wallpaper removing, cabinet buying, PAINTING extravaganza that would entail!  I think we will have our work cut out for us just to move in.

When we started to think about an addition to the house, we got a couple of estimates.  One of the first had a estimate for the charges to paint the addition.  When we settled on a contract with our present builder, we thought to ourselves, surely we can do the painting.  We paint all the time.  We have lots of hands. Yes, we'll do the painting, strike that charge from the contract right now!  Well, we were missing some information, or were just very poorly educated in the ways of the building world (never having built anything more challenging than and IKEA shelf).  What we didn't know was that every nail and staple that went into holding every door frame, window sill, piece of trim and any other extranious piece of wood (that would one day need to be painted) that was added to a room would leave a teeny, tiny little hole.  Each one of these trillion holes would have to be filled with a teeny tiny little bit of filler *before* the wood could be painted.  In addition to the holes, every single place that wood touches wall, wood touches wood, or wood just plain exists, would have to have a teeny, tiny bead of caulk run along it.  All six million miles of wood.  And door frame.  And window frame. This is the job of the painter.  Or the cheap idiots who thought they would save some money by painting themselves.   After half bending and scoot-scooching along in one and a half rooms with filler and caulk, I began to think that any amount of money in a contract for 'painting' (hah!) would have been a bargain!  We've spent hours in two rooms and haven't painted a single inch of trim yet!  That said, it is encouraging to feel as if I am contributing to the project, even if I can't feel my right leg when I am finished. 

Our beloved friend Mr. Todd the excavator was back today.  Goodbye huge mounds of dirt! Hello dirt everywhere!  Grass seed will be planted around but the liklihood anything will actually grow is very low.  But hey, we'll try.

I have relished the opportunity to choose whatever closet design in the whole world I might choose!  Being the creative, adventurous type that I am, I chose to make them all the same.  I am overwhelmed at the amount of closet space each bedroom will have.  The closet in our new bedroom is about the size of another room!  We have made a special plan for that closet, too.  Exactly like the others, only bigger.  Another weekend of painting-- did you know that when the molding is put in place you have to go back over it and fill in all those teeny, tiny little holes that the nails or staples made?  Yep, look for me on the floor this weekend stuffing the staple holes with white gunk and then going back over them and painting them.  I know, I lead such an exciting life.

On Friday, we got the go-ahead from the drywall crew to paint!  That didn't leave much time to get all the new rooms and some of the old rooms painted!  On Saturday, with the help of Mike, Chris, Liz, Sammy, Stephanie and Anna, we put two coats of primer on every single wall.  Monday we added color.  The guys added doors and trim, and now it is a race to paint ahead of them.  The lovely blue the girls picked out is aptly dubbed 'Little Mermaid Blue', and it will be impossible to ever be sad in that room.  Or likely sleep for that matter.  Hannah affectionately called the base color for my room 'Cannibal Kingdom', since the color bore an eerie resemblance to human flesh.  It looked so much different on the color card.  A little bit of rag rolling over the base color turned the room into a textured masterpiece, and Hannah is 'ok with it'.  Matthew came down one night to help, and Joel and Dan dug in the next.   I think we are all pretty darned tired of painting, but the results are striking.  (Except for Asher, who would paint anything.  That is his handiwork with the medium blue on the BRAND NEW DOOR) Everything looks so much different with color.  For a while now the whole project resembled your worst closet.  You know how when you clean out your worst closet and everything is piled in a bazillion places.  You just can't imagine anything beautiful ever coming out of the gigantic mess you have made.  Slowly, our mess if taking the shape and form of a house, I dare say even our home.  Our colorful home :)

So, it was a mostly uneventful week here, that is until today.  The drywall was hung early in the week, and then we spent the rest of the week waiting for the mud/joint compound/spackle/ whatever you choose to call it-- to dry.  It rained most of the week, so we employed the aid of fans and a roaring fire in the woodstove to help the stuff dry.  The sanding has generated more fine white dust to add to the chunky brown dust that has already permeated the entire house.  And we made more new friends to add to the collection of men the kids affectionately call The Worker Guys.  Mr Bunyon and friends were here today, also, taking down the beloved 'tree fort/zip line' tree.  I was sad for about a minute when Shawn suggested that the entire side of the house would now make a great garden area-- whoo hoo, off to the races went my mind and planning what I could plant there and when!  The center of the tree was definitely in the early stages of rotting, so as much as I was unhappy about spending even more money on an 'extra' of the addition, it was probably just the right time to take the tree down.   Better to pay to take it down than to have it take the new house down.

First, we updated our picture with one that Maggie took Easter Sunday afternoon.  Yes, that is me looking almost as big as the WHOLE SIDE of the house, and yes, that is Peter completely BAREFOOT in the cool weather that was Sunday.  The idea was to have the new part of the house as the backdrop for the picture, hence that fact that we are all standing awkwardly on an uneven mound of dirt, but sun and the size of our panorama made all that less than possible and you get a very decent picture except for the bare feet and the fat chick down in front.  Now on to the ever-present subject at hand, dirt.  The entire back yard all looks like some form of the above picture, give or take a few blades of grass, so rain, shoes, dogs and children bring that mound into the house in clumps roughly the size of golf balls.  All day long.  Add that to the drywall cutting, sanding and shedding, and we are covered in a thick layer of brown dirt underneath and fine layer of white dirt.  We used to be able to get one or sometimes two (if we didn't go to the snoball stand AFTER dinner for a treat) nights of wear from a pair of pajamas.  Now it is one.  Just one.  As soon as the kids hit the main level in their pj's, the dirt sticks to them like glue and they are a mix of brown and white-- add a little spilled milk or other liquid and the dust solidifies like cement and throwing the darn things away seems like a possibility.  The rooms look like rooms, and although it will be a tremendous amount of work, I can't wait to paint them so they will become a house.

There are a lot of things that are beginning to scare me about this whole addition thing.  Today, as we tried to get out the door to IKEA (towel hooks, not racks, for little hands to get their new towels off the floor) we discovered one of Asher's shoes was missing.  As we searched through the chaos that we have created by moving one third of the house into the basement, I had a chilling thought.  When we have five new rooms, the places that a lost shoe might be will increase exponentially!!  But, unfortunately, that is not my deepest fear about the addition (besides the fact that it will end up costing so much we will sit in the dark and eat pasta out of the box when it is done).  Our builders are doing an exquisite job on every last detail of the house.  'Exquisite' is not a word that comes to mind when I think of my taking care of a house.  In fact, if it weren't for the fact that Lowe's has all the oil-rubbed bronze accessories (see previous journal entry) that one could ever possibly dream of having for one's bathroom, I would never in a million years dream of matching the towel racks to the sink fixtures, much less the #$%@ trash can!  So, my deepest, darkest fear is that we will spend all this money on a beautiful new house, and I will still be in charge of taking care of it.  I can't decorate worth a lick, have no skill when it comes to co-ordinating things, am clueless when it comes to making things look nice, and can think of nothing to do with empty space except fill it with papers.  So there you have it, my deep fear.

Drywall is mostly up, and next week should be marathon painting.  Things are moving very quickly, and it is looking very much like a house these days, albeit an empty house.  There is constant negotiation concerning who will occupy which room when it is finished.  With nine girls and four boys at home, the spread is getting a little lopsided.  The room breakdown is rivaling the name-picking for the 'most talked about dinner conversation'.

There are a few things I could be thinking about late at night:  Where might my older kids want to visit next? (Not this continent, to be sure) Will there be danger involved? (Probably)  Will I be able to keep up with the work of all this extra amount of house? (Probably not) What kind of bathroom vanity have I always dreamed of having? (Never wasted a single minute thinking about it)  We were given the task of choosing a bathroom vanity and accessories this week.  Never would I have guessed there are so many to choose from.  Did you know that you can buy a bathroom sink where the drain/long part is a round tube like a flower stem, and the sink basin is shaped like an opening flower?  Lovely, unique.  Likelihood that such sink would get broken here?  100%.  After hours of internet searching, Lowes shopping, catalog viewing and endless discussing, we will have a cherry vanity with a slightly raised basin.  When we break it we'll switch to bronze.  Just what I've always dreamed of?  Fixtures are oil rubbed bronze.  Catchy.  We considered buying the matching-oil-rubbed-bronze TRASH CAN for $30.  Who pays $30 for a trash can?!  As I creep ever closer to my 50th birthday (at 44 it seems just around the corner) I am thinking the time has come to stop decorating with things from the dollar store. (the origin of every other bathroom trash can I have ever bought)
Friday was pouring rain and the guys busied themselves with finishing odds and ends of framing and such.  Today brought more HVAC, the insulators and final preparations for knocking the family room wall down.  The house will be warmer now, and the birds that try to come in will be saved.  Drywall is supposed to go up on Wednesday!

So the question was, "Where do you want the switches for your rooms?" Hmm, I guess I really haven't thought very much about it. "Where do you want your outlets?"  Again, not sure.  "Recessed lighting, center light in room, ceiling fan?  Ceiling fan with light? Outlets controlled by switches? Phone lines?"  I DON'T KNOW!  I haven't really thought much about how much goes into planning a new room.  I have always just kind of used the rooms that are here.  I never really thought about where the outlets are located, I just think to myself, darn, I wish I didn't put that table here since I have to crawl around it every time I want to plug in the vacuum.  Outlets controlled by switches?  That's a pet peeve around here.  There is an outlet in the family room that needs THREE switches to be in the same position, the moons of Jupiter and Saturn to align with each other, and a 0.04679 mile per hour cross breeze in the room in order to light anything up.  There will be no outlets controlled by switches in our addition.
Electrician and HVAC hard at work.  Regulars putting up siding all around, making frames to close in duct work and the lovely pocket door.  I am constantly in awe of the hard work that goes on here every day.  Saving some room in the laundry room by adding a sliding door.   Running out of places to stuff the junk that no one can work around.  Anything that wouldn't go into the attic was taken downstairs to the Music/Sewing Room.  You know, the room that is the keeper of the entire sewer outflow for the entire house.  The room is stuffed to the gills, and, well, needs to be seriously emptied, you guessed it, in order to tap into the plumbing outflow. 

The house is a little chilly with one whole side mostly exposed and unheated.  There has been lots of activity here today, and with each new burst of happenings come several more HOLES!  The downstairs bathroom took a huge hit today as the go-between for the water and waste to and from the new laundry room.  It is now without a ceiling, mostly, and pouring outside cold air into the main floor.  The upper floor was already freezing, and now several holes connect the upstairs and downstairs with lovely silver duct work.  I am told heat will pour through such ducts one day in the future, but I will believe it when I see it and for now wish I had not put all the fleece sheets in the attic.  The official count in the bathroom department:  one with no heat to speak of and men working inches from the door and wall, one with no ceiling and someone in it all day today putting plumbing in the ceiling, and one that I had the bright idea to completely gut and refinish (while we were working on the house and all) that is usable but, um, in need of cleaning and finishing.
The baby monitor malfunctioned last night, and the girls stumbled out of bed this morning, bleary eyed and complaining that Hope cried for an hour last night.  I was cozy warm in my cave in the basement, and didn't hear a thing. I could maybe get used to this arrangement.
The guys also put a lot of spiffy new siding on the addition part today.  I asked if they could please smear a little mud on it so the new stuff wouldn't make the old siding look so crappy.  They just laughed.  I was serious.

I walked into the house alone tonight, a rarity around here.  Shawn had the kids all out so I could do something and I finished first and come home to an empty house (except for the trash-eating dogs).  I was immediately overcome by the smell of new wood.  It was wonderful!  It also meant that our bedroom door was open and the cold, outside air was circulating around the house:  please refer back to good-for-little dogs.

The bathroom and laundry are 'roughed in'.  We are meeting with the electrician on Wednesday to discuss outlet and switch placement.  I can think of few things less thrilling.  Just kidding.  There is a lot of activity here during the week, and I am grateful for the weekends with no banging.  Life in the basement is getting a little more routine. Shawn is sleeping wonderfully far away from everyone, and I, well, am wishing there was a bathroom closer than a flight of stairs away.

In other news, the new baby is a girl, and since we have used all of our favorite girl names, we are taking suggestions.  Please don't be discouraged if we don't use your suggestion.  We have a strict criteria to pass and then it has to be ok'd by 14 other children.  Small wonder we can't think of a name. 

With the proclamation of:  "you're going to want to have everything out of this room because we are taking this wall down Monday", coupled with the weather forcast of nights in the 30's, we have moved ourselves to the basement.  I tried to convince Shawn it would be like camping, but he just mumbled, "I hate camping" as he carried his pillows downstairs.  The rest of the house is a little chilly, with one whole side mostly exposed, but once the shower arrives they can put that last window in and maybe bring a little 'closure' to things.

It is hard to tell from the pictures, but the frame for the hallway is in place, the closet is ready to become a bathroom, and the two new bedrooms are separated and their closets are set in.  The contents of my bedroom are either in the attic or smashed in one corner of my room.  I tried to explain that the reason we are paying to build this new part is because WE DON'T ALL FIT in the house like it is, and keeping us out of two entire rooms is quite a stretch, but everyone assures me it will all be fine.  For now I climb into the lower bunk in the basement, and when the (brand new) baby monitor squawks in my ear I climb two flights of stairs to pat the baby back to sleep.

On Tuesday, there was a large party of roofers here. I am told, since the roofing/contracting business is slow/non-existent, the roofing company was able to send four or five crews to finish in one short day, as opposed to one crew to work over a long day or more.  It was the synchronized swimming of roofing.  A dozen, more or less, guys on the roof:  some scraping off, some rolling paper, and whatever else they do up there.  Another five or six on the ground, moving tarps, raking debris, anticipating the next rain of tiles, sending up supplies.  Next day, windows all around, and after that a floor for the garage.  Non-stop excitement.

Monday promises to bring a shower (bathroom fixture type) through the upper window opening.  We have been told to be out of our bedroom by then, because one wall is coming down.  Closet pretty much emptied-- when looking at that priceless snifter-shaped fish bowl we saved, thinking, "surely we might want another fighting beta fish someday", and trying to figure out where to store the bowl between the time that the room gets demolished and said fish arrives--we chuck it.  The bowl and several million other priceless articles I barely remember why I saved.

It is refreshing to get rid of so much, but overwhelming to think of how much work is still left to be done.

You might not be able to tell quite from the pictures, but a monumental event occurred today.  They broke through the old part of the upper attic to attach the addition to the existing house.  It may not look like much, but it was quite a tedious process.  In my totally oblivious layman knowledge, it involved carefully meeting the new roof with the old roof, and making little mini-trusses to hold it all together.  I know, my grasp of what is happening is impressive, isn't it?  Today also involved a teeny little mishap with dropping something that kind of crashed through my bedroom ceiling, but what is progress without a little adversity?  While patching it all up, they informed me that all that part was coming out anyway.  I was only kind of listening, since most of me was so totally embarrassed that my bedroom was TRASHED with clothes and junk and here we all were together tossing things on the bed talking about a quick little fix until they rip it all out.  Soon.

Trying to decide what to paint first, trying to find time to empty rooms, get some ready to paint, box up junk from my closet so it can morph into a bathroom and can you believe everyone around here still expects to eat every day? 

The progress continues to be remarkable.  It is fun to watch as things take shape.  Every day after the guys leave, Shawn and the kids climb out the bedroom window and run around upstairs.  They take pictures of each other, pretend to fall out the windows, survey the progess-- all to endless warnings of "DON'T TOUCH THE PINK STUFF!"  We've met a few neighbors, given a few tours.  Funny how the act of turning things upside down brings people from all over to ask what in the blazes are you doing?!

A couple of neat websites:  www.behr.com  Here we have spent a few hours designing multi-colored rooms (all matching, co-ordinating our warm and cool colors, of course) and www.myhomeideas.com, where we can see a bazillion pictures of just about every bedroom in the US. 

Logistical concerns are ever-present with me.  The thought of moving everything around, painting, organizing-- almost overwhelming.  I continue to focus not on the day to day, backbreaking work that will continue to present itself, but look forward to the day that THE BABY SLEEPS IN ANOTHER ROOM AND MAYBE I CAN GET MORE THAN TWO HOURS OF SLEEP AT A TIME!

Fewer pictures and fewer comments.  Well, frankly, its starting to get a little boring.  Come home from the bank and, oh, another second story wall up.  Go outside to call the kids for lunch, and, surprise, a window opening in my new bedroom.  Kind of like pictures of your kids.  Your first child has approximately one album of photos for each hour he is alive his first year of life.  Your fourteenth?  Well, you do have a few pictures that the older kids take of her while they are videoing themselves playing rockstar.  Most of them have her with her finger up her nose though, because that's what they think is funny.

I cannot compliment our builders enough-- polite, neat, listening as we change our minds a dozen times about where we actually do want that closet.....for all who have asked for his phone number, call him.

Roof coming soon, a little more work on the sides.... then BUSTING THROUGH the existing exterior walls.  Will we ever get all of our schoolwork done? 

Whenever I imagined that I would start writing a blog, I always had lots to say. In my imagination, that is.  Now that I occasionally write about life in the land of perpetual mud, I find that there are only so many ways to say, for instance, golly, there sure is a lot of mud out there.  One of the pictures, somewhere in day 5 or 6 I think, shows the path that the guys made for me out of scrap boards so that I could get to the trash cans without sinking forever in the mud.  Thanks guys!

Sweet thoughtful kids that we have, when I asked them the other day to please not play in the mud, they lovingly obliged.  They played on the roof instead.  Bless their little hearts.  It is just a darn good thing that my housekeeping standards were pretty low before we started this project or I might just be losing it by now :)

So the addition continues to progress just swimingly.  People who have done this before tell me that the demolition part goes quickly, then the uprising of new structure, then work seems to come to a dead standstill waiting for plumbers, electricians, and various other specialty workers to come and do their part.  I am just amazed at the skill these men possess to transform a hole in the ground into a 'future office' in a matter of one day.

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