Improving Home: The Girls' Room, Corner Four

I thought this day would never come.

The girls' room is crossed off my list so I can begin the boys' room. Would you like to see what we put on the walls?

The cross-stitch was done by little young me when I was ten or eleven. I nailed it up there with straight pins. My seven-year-old daughter painted the rainbow (but I think she was six when she did it) with a little artistic advice from my sister and me. Originally I was going to paint a rainbow, but I have very little talent for painting. It was my best friend's idea to have my daughter do it.

Best. Idea. Ever.

I can't remember if I told you the story about finding flower posters that match the wallpaper trim on AllPosters.com. Oh yes...I did. Here. Anyway, the frame on the left carries a few more of the flowers painted by Anthony Morrow. The butterfly on the right was painted by my oldest daughter when she was in kindergarten.

My daughter would not let me get rid of the huge kitty poster, so I cut them out individually to make a collage above her bed, which I like much better.

Okay, now for what we put on the beds:

I'm sorry, but this is my favorite stuffed animal/bug. I don't know which makes me happier, his face or all those feet!

These bears look like a big sister and a little sister who love each other, don't they?









I bought two black travel pillows like this at a yard sale for a buck a piece.

Then I took the leftover material from the dress I stole the valance bow from and hand-sewed it onto the front of one.

For the other one, I sewed on a couple of old iron-on flowers I've had in my craft box for ten years and some rick-rack I've had for almost as long.




I have never claimed to be good with a camera.

And lastly, the under-the-bed part was bothering me because it looked like this:

So I did this:

I know it's wrinkled, but it still looks better than the pajama crates (that's what we call them). Hemming all of those strips of material (left over from the bed skirt material I used to make the valance) and then tacking them to the bottom of the bed was a lot more work than you might think, but I'm glad I did it.

And I'm glad it's done.



The tally? I don't remember the exact prices of everything, but I'll give you close estimates:

The blanket and stuffed animals were gifts.
$10 art posters
$2 for 2 foam poster boards from Dollar Tree (just so you know, this curled when we painted it)
$4 paints
$200 bunk beds
$100 mattress (the other one is the mattress my husband slept on when he was a kid!)
$1 frame from a yard sale (spray-painted black)
$2 travel pillows
$36 for two bedspreads on clearance at K-mart
$1 yellow afghan from D.I. (second-hand store)
$40 for ten plastic crates from Family Dollar
$500 to replace the stinky carpet with vinyl...but now I can't remember if that was for both rooms or just one. I'll get back to you.

Add that to the $187 from the rest of the room and you get $1,083. I don't think I added the cost of paint anywhere, so I'll say the room cost about eleven hundred dollars. I'm looking forward to seeing if I can spend much less in the boys' room!

Quoting the Cute: Page Twelve

My seven-year-old came sobbing to me after visiting with the neighbor kids outside. "Those boys called my cats FAT!" Trying to keep my face serious, I said, "They did?" And with a wail she answered, "Yes, and it hurt my feelings! I care about my cats!" She cried for fifteen minutes on my lap while I silently laughed into my shoulder.

Our baby boy has two baby girl cousins that are only a few weeks younger than him. Grandmother is losing her memory a little, so she asked my three-year-old to tell her which baby was which (they were lined up in carseats in her front room). My three-year-old pointed to her baby brother in the middle and said, "Well, that one's mine," and then shrugging with both arms out to indicate the babies on each side of him, "and then there's these."

My two-year-old son must like the letter G: For example, "Go gelcome" is "You're welcome," "guwink" is "drink," and "goggy" is "doggy."

Seven-year-old: "[My friend] said I shouldn't use my middle finger." Mom: "Yes, that's kind of like saying a bad word." Seven-year-old: "Why do we even have a middle finger if we're not supposed to use it?!"

Three-year-old: "Now look whatchyou done!"

Two-year-old: "Passurd." This means "password," which means he wants me to unlock the computer. He just started learning how to use the mouse & it makes me dizzy when I watch.

The baby has been laughing since last month. It's contagious.

Birth Stories: Fourth Child

I usually think of these women before I share any of my birth stories.

As the due date approached, my husband begged me to consider induction on the Friday after the due date. He was hoping to not have to miss work unexpectedly. Reluctantly, I agreed. My doctor said it was a good idea because my last baby was so big (nine pounds, three ounces).

It was weird knowing my baby would be here by a certain date. I had never had that nicety in planning before. My sister came to stay for a week and I loved knowing that this time around (unlike the first time around), she would still be here when the baby came. Having my sister with us was a blessing for so many reasons, but one thing that stands out is that I didn't have to take my three children anywhere. They could wait for the baby in the comfort of their own home.

I saw the doctor the Monday before the due date. No change (no surprise). We reaffirmed my Friday induction appointment. I strongly hoped I'd go into labor naturally before then. But Friday came without a single contraction until the oxytocin was flowing. I was scared to tears at check in because I worried I might not be able to cope as I had with my natural births.

The doctor had high hopes that I would have the baby by the afternoon. Afternoon came and I was still progressing very slowly, even though the oxytocin was being given at its full strength. A few hours later, when I began to transition, I was overcome with pain during each contraction. I kept asking to be checked, only to find out that I was still only at an eight. In my mind, eight was so far from being there, especially since I had been eight centimeters dilated when I checked in to the hospital with my second child, and then she had still taken more than three hours after that to come.

The doctor predicted I'd make it through transition in a half an hour, so I survived the pain somehow for that long and asked to be checked again. No change (this time I was surprised...and very, very discouraged). This is the point where I gave up on doing this thing without pain meds. The baby's heart rate dropped every time I got into my most comforting positions. Pushing with the contractions also helps me with the pain, but the doctor said I needed to wait to push. I felt like there was nothing I could do--like I was going to lose my mind. After begging my husband to be okay with the epidural (he was silent because he wanted me to choose for myself), I decided I definitely wanted it RIGHT THEN more than anything I had ever wanted in my whole entire life.

I asked the doctor how long it would take, and I didn't want the answer to be measured in minutes, but in contractions. He said three. I said to get the anesthesiologist. I cried and moaned through the next three contractions and when the anesthesiologist had still not arrived I ordered my husband to go and find him. When the doctor came in shortly after, I chastised him, "You said three contractions. WHERE IS HE?"

Uncomfortably, the doctor muttered that he thought he would have been there by now, and said he'd go see where he was. When we talked about it later, my husband and I both agreed that he probably just went out into the hallway to appease me!

Five contractions had passed by the time the anesthesiologist arrived (I found out later that he was already on his way home from work). He quickly asked me some questions, which I answered until the next contraction came. Then I started screaming and my husband had to take over. He was answering questions in fast motion and signing papers while I lost it in the background. When we were almost ready for the big needle, the doctor asked if he could check me one more time. I agreed.

Then he told me I could push. Stunned, I did. Then came the pep talk. He told me if I could give him some really good pushes, I could have the baby very soon and the contractions would stop. I wanted the contractions to stop more than anything and doing it NOW sounded perfect to me. I agreed and everyone in the room prepared for the birth.

Except the anesthesiologist. I'm not sure when he left, but I still feel so embarrassed about making him run to my rescue only to witness me making a fool of myself before he could finally go home to his family. I'll bet it happens to him a lot though.

So, after some not so good pushes, the doctor informed me I was in the "I-don't-want-to-give-birth" position and helped to reposition me. After six or seven pushes, the baby was finally born and I was crying because it still hurt so much and my husband was crying because he was happy and the baby was crying because he was a baby.

He. Another son to perfectly complete our family. I wanted to look at him, but I still had my eyes closed tight from all of the pain. Before long, the sweet boy was in my arms and I was telling him over and over and over how sorry I was. I felt bad that I had wanted to give up. How could I think of giving up when he was getting ready to come to me, my perfect baby son?

Everyone was anxious to see what he weighed because he appeared to be a big baby. The doctor later came into our hospital room to inform us by saying, "Drumroll...TEN POUNDS, FOUR OUNCES."

"Wow," was all I could say.

We called our daughter first to tell her it was a boy and that he was big. She sounded happy (she had always said she wanted it to be another boy). When my husband called his family members to tell them we had the baby and announce if it was a boy or girl, he started each call with, "TEN POUNDS FOUR OUNCES." At that point, the person on the other end of the phone was pretty sure it was a boy.

After awhile, my husband went home to spend some time with the children before bedtime and my sister came to sit with me until she was so tired she could hardly keep her eyes open. She left the next day and I missed her so much after that.

The next day my children came to the hospital to meet their brother. My oldest daughter said when she saw him, "I thought you said he was big." I smiled and agreed that while he was considered a big baby, he was still pretty small when it comes to people.

A few days after the baby was born I looked into his eyes and thought how anything seems possible now, even world peace. Early postpartum always makes me feel that way.

There are no words to capture the gratitude I feel for this baby. From the very beginning, I felt like having him was too good to be true--more than I deserved--so I worried I would lose him. I can't believe how things have turned out for our family. All of those years I spent longing for children and now our table is surrounded by them.

I feel like I know what it means for my cup to run over.





If you like birth stories:
Birth Stories: First Child
Birth Stories: Second Child
Birth Stories: Third Child

Smooth Sale-ing

My scrambled-egg morning brain didn't even know what day it was.

Expecting my fourth (and probably last) baby, I was searching Craigslist for deals on baby items that I didn't have because they had either been worn out by my first three kidlets or had never made it into our household. I had a list. After about an hour of looking for an affordable baby swing, the kind that also swings in the direction of a cradle, I gave up on ever finding one at a price that I was willing to pay (which was $20).

And then I realized that it was FRIDAY.

Friday in the summertime means YARD SALES!!!

In my excitement, I showered myself and dressed my children and got us all strapped in the car in record time. (If only I could be that motivated on Sunday mornings--then we'd be to church ten minutes early like my husband wishes we would be...instead of parading in thirty seconds before the meeting starts.)

The very first yard sale I went to had my baby swing. I couldn't believe it. I had little hope, but in just seconds I was asking her what she was asking. When she said $20, I pounced on it. Maybe some would have offered something less, after all the sale was just getting started. But not me.

I don't dicker.

I found almost everything on my list that weekend. It was like magic. I had been thinking of asking all of my friends to help me find used items instead of having a baby shower. It seemed wasteful to buy new items when they were only going to get used by one baby. I was going to make a game out of it. But the universe came through for me, which turned out to be much less awkward.

The paradox in all of this is that I wish I had had these things for all of my babies--but it was after taking care of three babies that I learned just what things I would like to have!