I Just Want You to Know (11 page)

A lot of firsts occurred in the Elizabethtown house, and many of them had to do with the kids learning to be independent and growing up. Whether it was potty training or sending the girls off to school, my job was to help them take on the world outside of our home. They were learning to help around the house to contribute to the family. Sometimes the results of their independence were hilarious as they learned to do things on their own. Sometimes they were bittersweet. And sometimes they were downright right messy! While I couldn’t wait for their independence and did all I could to encourage it, sometimes it was still hard to see them letting go.

From my perspective, home is a model of the world. It’s the testing ground before releasing children to be on their own someday. We need to keep sight of these long-term goals, and two years old is not too early to start.

We organized the basement in such a way that all the kids could
help clean up their toys. We made sure they could also follow simple instructions: Can you take this to the laundry room? Can you throw the diapers out? They also had to learn early how to respect each others’ property. Their beds were their only personal space, so they were not allowed to touch anyone else’s things that were in their respective beds. Their other toys were shared.

I enjoyed the milestones of them getting older. Each milestone meant one less thing we needed to do eight times. Put on your shoes and Velcro them. Put on your jacket. Make your bed. Pick up your toys. Clean up your own mess. It’s not that I minded doing things for them; it’s just that it was easier when they could do some themselves.

Because Mady and Cara were the big sisters, they learned to help care for the younger ones at an early age. They were helpful and kind, from helping put groceries away to handing out juice cups. They taught themselves how to read at the age of four, and now have an entire class to play with—and absolutely love being the teachers. They love to pass out spelling tests, grade them, and provide report cards.

One of the first times I started realizing our kids were growing up was when we attended the NICU reunion at the Milton S. Hersey Medical Center, which they hold every other year. I was looking forward to it. The day itself was stressful because I was supposed to work in the afternoon—though thankfully a colleague covered my first shift so I could attend. Six two-year-olds and two six-year-olds were hard enough to handle in an open public area, but we were also filming the reunion for our show, which added to the mix. It was great to see the doctors and nurses who took care of us during my pregnancy and their birth.

What I never realized before was how much joy it brings the medical staff to see the kids they took care of as tiny babies. Once babies are healthy, they leave the NICU, and those who were so
important to their survival and health may never see them again. I enjoyed seeing how happy these doctors and nurses were seeing their patients again. They have a difficult, stressful job. It was very satisfying to celebrate this milestone with them and to remember how far we’ve come.

Birthdays in our house are huge events as we celebrated their growing up together. On October 22, 2006, we threw Cara and Mady a surprise sixth birthday party. We set up a pizza parlor in the garage, so the girls and their friends could make their own pizzas, and we even had a pizza cake. They were surprised and loved their party. Cara said it was better than she could have hoped for. Mady said, “Mom, you’re the best!” That’s the best thing a mom can hear from her growing kids.

Many may remember the little kids’ third birthday carnival. It was an infamous episode on our show and was one of my favorite birthday parties to date. The games, decorations, vivid primary colors, activities (remember the pony rides?), and the guests together made for the perfect party to celebrate six perfect lives. I have always
felt it necessary and very warranted to host one humongous bash because after all, we were partying times six.

Turning a year older meant school was just around the corner. The night before the girls’ first day in kindergarten, we had their outfits picked out and had a quick shoe-tying lesson. When the girls woke up the next morning, they wanted to know “how much hours” until school. They were so excited. After lunch, Janet came over, and the girls went out to the garage to put their sneakers on. When I came out to join them a few minutes later, Cara’s shoes were tied! She had tied them after only one lesson. She had grown up so much in only one day—she started kindergarten and learned to tie her shoes.

When I pulled up to the school, Cara barely hugged me and hopped out. Mady lingered a bit and hugged long before running off.

When it was time for them to come home, Janet helped get the six up from their nap, and we all hustled out to the porch to see the girls get off the yellow bus. They were all excited to see their big sisters on their big day. I taped the bus coming into the neighborhood and ran to the stop to see them getting off. I snapped pictures and kept saying, “You only get this chance once!” I’m sure the other moms all thought I was nuts.

When Jon came home, the girls got a kick out of him saying,
“Hello, my kindergarteners.” The girls loved school and were so proud to be “big school kids.”

The girls starting school meant potty training for the little kids. Potty training is one of the more challenging aspects for parents. My mantra has always been that if I’m changing a diaper and their toes hit my nose, they need to be potty trained. It’s plain ridiculous to be inadvertently kicked in the face when changing diapers.

When the little girls were ready, I started potty training them before worrying about the boys. This is already a messy time between accidents and purposely pouring the potties on the floor, that I didn’t need to keep track of six at a time. Three was enough.

When one of the girls pooped in the potty, I took a picture of her next to the potty so she could show Daddy when he got home. After about a month the three girls started wearing big girl underwear—or “unna wears,” as Leah called them.

One Sunday in the middle of potty training, we picked up the kids after church, and the teacher was telling me that Hannah pooped in her Pull-Up and that he changed her. I couldn’t hear him over the hallway commotion. As we were all walking down the hall together, Hannah said, “Mommy, I told Jesus that I had to go potty.” Jon and I both laughed hard.

Later in the car we started laughing again about it, and Jon asked, “Hannah, what is your teacher’s name?”

She replied, “Jesus.”

Mystery solved.

Then came the boys, which definitely did not go as smoothly. They were always more focused on playing in the moment than on planning for the future. I am always amazed that the girls were potty trained a full six months before the boys. Even so, they were all growing up, regardless of whether or not they chose to be potty trained.

One Sunday, I was sitting on the sofa in the playroom with everybody. Hannah climbed up next to me, and I asked her if she would sit on my lap.

She said, “No, I wanna sit.”

“But you are my baby, and I want to hold you.”

“I not a baby. I girl.”

I almost cried. These are the youngest kids I’ll ever have. They are two, and they sometimes don’t want to sit on my lap anymore. But I suppose this is all a part of the mixed emotions I’ll experience at each of their milestones.

One phone call, one sick child, one exhausted mom. Any one of these could throw off an otherwise good day. While at the time I couldn’t always laugh in the moment, I’ve learned the importance of keeping a healthy perspective and remembering to laugh later. One of my most memorable bad days happened one summer in 2006.

In July our church had a Vacation Bible School (VBS) program in the evenings for a week. Jon had to come home from work early, and the plan was that I would have the kids ready to go so we could all just hop into the van to make it to church on time. While the little kids were taking a nap on that Monday afternoon, I was making dinner and getting ready to go that night. When it was time to get them from their nap, I headed upstairs and opened their bedroom door.

“OH! OH MY!” There were shards of glass everywhere, and the
kids were walking all around them. For a split second, I thought a burglar had broken in, but I quickly realized they had gotten into a locked bin that held diapers and lotions, and had smeared butt paste all over the room. “Let me check your feet,” I frantically said. The broken glass around the room was my main concern.

I picked each kid up and brought them one by one to the bathroom to clean them up. But what was that sticky stuff everywhere? “Where are your diapers? Is that poop on—?”

As if getting into the clean diapers wasn’t enough, they had ripped off their own diapers, along with the accompanying poop.

Breathe, Kate, breathe,
I had to remind myself.

With the kids finally cleaned up and a fresh diaper on each one, I left them in the bathroom while I ran down to my bedroom to grab the camera. When I walked back into the war zone—their bedroom—I surveyed the damage and took photos. I still couldn’t believe it: Dressers were knocked over with drawers spilling out their contents. Light bulbs and lamps were broken, which is where the glass came from. It was nothing short of a miracle that no one was hurt or cut.

Why hadn’t I heard anything? I had been downstairs the entire time! How could this have happened without me knowing?

“Is that a hole in the wall?” I realized they had even peeled a section of paint and dry wall off the wall. I started to freak out, but consoled myself by remembering that no one was hurt or trapped under the dresser. This could have been disastrous.

I knew we really should have been downstairs eating dinner already in order to be ready by the time Jon got home, but this was going to take hours to clean. Exhausted and overwhelmed, I called my dear friend. “Carla, you’re not going to believe this…” Carla has rescued me more times than I can count and offered to come over to help.

I picked my way over to the dressers and pulled out clothes for church and shut the door on my way out. I didn’t see the room in that shape again. Carla and her husband cleaned the entire room by the time we got home, and it was as good as new—with only the patch of missing drywall to remind me.

One night, when the little kids were two and a half, we were all upstairs in the nursery playing before bed. I was exhausted as usual and was laying on the floor while they were playing on top of me. The girls would play with my hair while the boys drove their trucks on my back and arms and legs, like I was a highway—a toddler massage. Hannah came over with a heavy plastic piggy bank and dropped it on the corner of my eye and eyebrow. I felt pain shoot through me as I gripped my head.

Blood was everywhere, and I thought I needed stitches. I figured we couldn’t go to the hospital. Who would we get to watch the kids so Jon could take me? The cut ended up not being as bad as I thought, so I just put pressure on it and then a pressure bandage. I was okay, though I have a nice scar. Hannah felt sad that she gave me an accidental “boo boo” and offered me “cake.”

Between injuries and bloody noses, I have to do some kind of first aid or get out the Band-Aids every single day. Blood and injuries no longer cause panic. They are as normal as mealtime!

Another time after we put the little kids to bed, Jon and I were in the garage opening and organizing fan mail and packages. Cara and Mady came down and said someone was crying. We asked if they could go see what was wrong; but after ten minutes went by, they didn’t come back to tell us what happened. So we went upstairs to check it out, thinking the girls just settled whoever it was back to sleep.

They were near Leah’s toddler bed, trying to calm her. I don’t know why they didn’t come back and tell us what was wrong. When I asked them, they said, “Mommy, we felt something wet on her forehead when we were putting her back into bed, and thought it was just tears.” We figured Leah had thrown up so Jon grabbed a flashlight and went in to investigate. He quickly realized it was blood, so he grabbed Leah while I went in and started cleaning up.

The blood was everywhere! I thought she had had a bloody nose, until Jon realized when he was bathing her that Leah had a huge gash on her forehead! It was about a half inch long, and while not deep, it was gaping open. I put a pressure bandage on it, gave her Tylenol for the pain, and let her sleep in our room that night so we could keep an eye on it.

In the morning, the wound was still weeping blood a little bit, so I called a neighbor who was an emergency room nurse to come
over and take a look. I didn’t want to subject Leah to stitches on her head unless it was absolutely necessary as it would cause her more pain and agony. My neighbor said Leah could probably use a stitch, she wasn’t sure, so she got some Steri-Strips and we bandaged her together. We kept the wound clean and covered it in antibiotic cream.

I still don’t know what happened to Leah, and that left me a bit
unsettled. But God knew exactly what happened, and I knew he loved Leah more than we did—which was mind-boggling, because I love her a lot. I prayed that he would protect her little head and help it to heal without a scar and without infection. Mostly I was thankful he did not let something worse to happen to her. She healed beautifully.

During the first winter in the Elizabethtown house, the flu was going around in our family. One afternoon all the kids were settled into their beds for a nap, and Jon was out doing errands with Cara and Mady. Alexis, who was the last one to get the flu, was resting in a makeshift bed on the floor of our bedroom while I was at the computer. Sitting with my back toward her, I began to hear alarming sounds. I turned to see her attempting to cry with each cry being interrupted by a strange jerking movement. Each lurch would cause her to cry louder and harder. As I rushed to her side, I saw fear in her eyes. After feeling her burning hot forehead, I realized she was having a febrile seizure—something I had walked through with parents many times on the phone when I worked as a nurse in the pediatric office.

I had no idea these could be so scary, and I fought to keep my emotions at bay. It didn’t work though, as my mother-mode quickly overtook my nurse-mode. I frantically tried to call Jon back home, and when I couldn’t reach him, I then called a friend who wasn’t available. When panic took over completely, I ended up calling 9-1-1. I knew there was nothing they could do—I could only put her in a lukewarm bath to get her fever down—but I needed reassurance that I was doing everything I could do. Alexis was limp between her intermittent jerking as I sat on the floor rocking her. When I saw the whites of her eyes as they were rolling back into her head, I was completely terrified and started sobbing.

In the end, I was able to cool Alexis down gradually in the bathtub
so her seizure stopped, and I knew it was now safe to give her Motrin to help ensure that her temperature would return to normal. She was much better by the time the emergency crew arrived and Jon got home. This truly was one of the scariest times I’ve experienced as a mom.

I recall another health concern when Hannah started getting headaches when she was two. Every so often she would come down the stairs in the morning complaining of a stomachache and headache. At first I didn’t know what was really happening, but when her headaches persisted, I took her to the pediatrician, who ordered a CAT scan and confirmed Hannah was having migraines. The doctor explained that a migraine could be triggered by getting woken up too early. Hannah has always slept in later than Alexis and Leah, and they would often wake her up in the morning, which sometimes triggered the migraines. When the migraines came, we figured out a routine: I would give her Tylenol, which she promptly threw up; she would then fall asleep for an hour or two and wake up completely better.

Her headaches continue every so often but at least now I know what to do.

I have to confess that I didn’t handle all this chaos well all the time. One infamous Friday in October, we started out with the usual stuff: diaper changes, breakfast, playtime in the basement, and lunch. Then I put the little kids in their cribs for naps, got the girls off to school, cleaned up, and ate my own lunch while watching a cooking show on TV. The awful part came after the nap.

I went up to get the little kids at 3:30 as usual. Hannah and Leah were still sleeping so I let them sleep while I got the other four and we went downstairs to wait for the school bus. The girls were still
asleep when I went back up at 4:30, but I decided to wake them up anyway. I went over to Leah and I couldn’t believe my eyes! She was asleep with poop from head to toe and all over her crib! Poop was mashed into the bottoms of both feet and on her sheet, blankets, a book in her crib—some was even flung to the edge of Alexis’ crib.

I was so mad and woke her up with my angry voice. I put her in the bathtub and stood her in an inch of water to soak her feet and showered her. Poor little Leah was shaking, as I cleaned her up. Then I had to clean up her crib. All this happened after the other four had gotten into the tissue box on Grandma’s desk (again!), and Alexis had gotten into the baby wipes in the bathroom and was trying to flush them down the toilet, which was completely clogged at this point.

As soon as I had Leah’s mess cleaned up, I realized I didn’t know where Alexis was, again. When I called her, she came running into the room, soaking wet. She had made a pool of water on the kitchen floor with the waterspout from the freezer door. I seriously lost it, so I put her in her crib until Jon got home and told him he could get the “monster” and feed her dinner. I was so frustrated! Of course she’s not a monster, but she was surely capable of monster messes and I didn’t know what to do at that point.

I felt so guilty about how I handled everything. After everyone was in bed, I journaled about the events and prayed for patience—again. It was late and I didn’t know quite how cheery I would be in the morning when I greeted them, but I knew all their smiling faces would help. And of course, their “Hi Mommy” voices would make me melt. Thank goodness for their grace!

Every mom knows what it’s like when something unexpected interrupts her day. But with eight kids under six years old, a single event could change my day from calm to chaotic. With two six-year-olds and six two-year-olds in one house, one event would trigger seven
others until the neatly stacked dominoes of the day toppled into a heap.