One slice from the life of the big crazy family...

The last week of July was VBS at our church; they hold it in the evenings, which only serves to exacerbate all that I hate about VBS week!! It is a week I dread, a week from which it seems to take another week just to recover.

And that's how this last week or so of our life began...

Monday afternoon I had a counseling session in a city an hour's drive away. Marc and the rest of the crew took me over and went to the store while I sat in session for two hours. We worked hard, the counselor and I, and it was a really good session. I am so much healthier and stronger than the last time I saw him in March, and with no hesitation whatsoever I tackled one difficult subject after the other, head-on. I felt as if poison had been drained from me, I was buoyant, light! Yet I had much on which to ponder as I left to rejoin my family, so much so that I couldn't sleep that night, and, among other things, sent an email inquiry to the principal of the nearest Lutheran school regarding our children's possible enrollment.

Tuesday morning we worked out a ride for Marc to take the big van (yup, that's our one and only family vehicle right now) in to have the oil changed and the brakes checked. Sure enough, the rotors were warped and needed to be replaced. All told, we paid over $300 for work done that day, not quite what we had in mind since over the last few months we have gone to living more "paycheck to paycheck." Tuesday afternoon Marc and I spent some time talking over Monday's session, another stressful and exhausting endeavor.

Wednesday I left early with six of the children to join other homeschoolers on a field trip at the Indy Children's Museum. No surprise here, my brain spaced out and figured a two hour drive, when actually it should be three... plus several stops for lunch supplies, gas, and the bathroom... and we didn't get there till noon. Had a great time chatting with the other folks, short though it was, and the King Tut exhibit WAS fascinating. On the way home, as we stopped for groceries an hour from home, I experienced a sharp, stabbing abdominal pain. It didn't let up, but kept getting worse. Finally, doubled over and feeling close to passing out, my children surrounding me, concerned-- I called Marc and told him to get someone to stay with the littles and give him a ride to meet me at the hospital in the next town, as I figured it was time to go to the ER. (A side note, here, if you know me at ALL, you know I'm not joking if I'm ready to take MYSELF to the ER... that's what I do for others, you know, not me. And fwiw, that's exactly what Marc realized as he quickly made the arrangements and got underway.) By the time I got there, however, I felt much better, and wondered if I shouldn't just drive home after all. I called the gal who was at our house, who was to in turn call the men already on their way to me and tell them to turn around. I started toward home, wondering why I hadn't heard back, and called her again. She couldn't get through! They were still on the way there! So I doubled back (this is interstate, so it's turning around at the next exit, in a construction zone, no less) and just as I got back on to return to the hospital, she called and said they had gone to the hospital, didn't find me there, and were on their way home. For pete's sake!! Off I went yet again on the next ramp to turn myself back toward home as well. When we finally made contact, I found that Marc and his driver were half an hour behind me; after I missed my exit in the dark, we ended up arriving home within minutes of each other, at about 9:30 pm. I was sore from *whatever-it-was* but okay, and totally exhausted.

Thursday was our oldest's 11th birthday. We were so beat from all that had happened the days before, but made the effort to help the other kids decorate and grilled hamburgers. One of the gifts given was a swiss army knife, a larger version of the one we had given him 1 1/2 years ago. And sure enough, as he went to town whittling a stick, the combination of starting a stroke too high-- above the holding hand-- and a distraction from another child.... Marc just happened to look up in time to see the boy fillet his left hand and thumb. As I saw the large, bright red drops of blood falling on the porch, my son moved toward me, his clenched hands extended, his young eyes filled with pain, fear, and questioning. Calm as ever, I grabbed a towel and held it on his hand tightly, leading him into the kitchen. Over the sink, I tried to get a peek at the wound. It wasn't going to happen; the blood flowed too quickly and too profusely, and I looked at Marc. "Are you going to take him in, or am I?"

Several times now have I breathed a prayer of thanks that the doctor's office in town now has someone there seven days a week. Because as any mom knows (especially a mom with boys), these things inevitably happen after hours, or better yet on a Friday evening, with the whole long weekend before there is hope of getting into a regular doctor and avoiding the emergency room charge, not to mention the wait!!

So thankfully he was seen right away. And even more thanks, plus relief, when the doctor told me his tendon appeared to be intact. Still, he had to put four stitches to close up the sheath around the tendon, before finishing up the remaining mess of skin and tissue for a total of 15 sutures. As if we hadn't had anything emotional going on already, they were running high again when we got home and shared the report from that doctor's visit. We were just shy of hand surgery, and we thank the Lord for the angels who were holding the knife back that day. It was a wake-up call for us, and only firmed my resolve to stick to my plan for our family.

The next day was Friday. That's the morning on which I had scheduled an appointment with the school principal. I was up very early, did my workout at the gym, and headed over the hour's drive to the little town just north of the city. The appointment went very well. I knew this was the place for our children to be this year, and even with the hour drive, this would be the best thing I could do at this time for our family. The school itself is in danger of closing, a small parochial school in an older parish with a new public school facility close by competing for students. I have no idea what next year will look like, either for us or for the school, but for now it's perfect. Okay, not perfect, but it's what we both needed... they, students; us, quality Lutheran education, structure and accountability, super-small class sizes, and a family atmosphere.

But, yikes! I realized the first day of classes was coming up on the following Wednesday, and we had planned to make a couple-day visit to my grandma's five hours away... not only had it been a long time since we'd seen her, my dad was coming down from the norskie country, and two of my sisters, one with neiphlings were trekking in from the plains. What would I do? Plus there were immunizations, school supplies, clean clothes, AAAAGGGGHHHH!

What did I do? What else? I worked it all out, hour by hour, dollar by dollar, and we did it:

Saturday I took inventory of kids' clothes to see just what bare bones pieces I needed in order to get them through till the next payday. I also took stock of what supplies we already had as compared to the list the school gave me. At the same time, I crunched numbers to see if we could swing a quick trip up to Grandma's and be ready for school. And thought through what we'd need for clothes and food for that trip.

Sunday I took all the kids the hour to the one-stop shopping place, and we bought $500 worth of school supplies, three pairs of shoes, two pairs of shorts, and a couple food items. AAAGGGGHHH! At least that shopping trip went better than the one before, except for 20 minutes or so when I thought we had truly lost the 7 year old (who likes to lag behind when the train moves on). Okay, looking back it was probably only 10 minutes, but when a typically calm and even keel mom (in traumatic/stressful situations, I mean, not all the time) starts freaking out, and the sobs and tears can no longer be held back, and I've got strangers comforting me as I lose it, right there in the middle of the store, because my little boy isn't THERE and they are searching and paging... well, I'm just sayin.' We did find him, of course, it must have been one of those where every time I went around the aisle, so did he, and he was actually right there all the time. But doesn't that take the cake when the poor mother goes through all that, and then the boy is walked over to her, seemingly oblivious? I asked him, "Did you know we couldn't find you? Did you know I had the store workers looking for you?!!" And he looks at me and says simply, "No." (For anyone wondering, yes, you had better believe I hugged the snot out of him. And then I scolded him for not coming with us when I told him we were moving!!)

The adrenaline rush from my fright caused my blood sugar to plummet, so I had a hypoglycemic reaction following our little "episode." Of course it didn't help that I hadn't eaten breakfast. :oP But we got our supplies. Check.

We didn't make it home in time for Marc to use the van to attend an installation service at the other city. (Read: the city that's an hour's drive the other direction from where I was.) He managed a ride there, but I went to pick him up. Yep, that means we came the hour home with 45 minutes before it was time to leave to pick him up. Another two hours on the road, and when we got home again we had to go through school stuff, label, that sort of thing, and pack our things for our brief trip.

Monday morning. We all get gussied up, leave home early to stop by the health department for immunization records (and a few stray shots) on our way to the school. Today the kids get to see the school and meet their teachers! Again, this went really well, and while we all felt like deer in the headlights afterward, I was even more encouraged that I did the right thing and they would all be fine. Left there around noon to head straight up to my grandma's house for supper. I was pleased with how the trip went overall; I was prepared, so the night in the motel went smoothly and I think we all slept well... I only wish my own room and bed could be so comfortable!

Tuesday morning we were to meet up with the relatives for a little while before we had to leave for home again. The communication wasn't perfect, but as it turned out we were able to enjoy a delicious lunch at my FAVORITE pizza place all together before we headed out. We left at 12:16, later than we would have liked for time reasons, but I really enjoyed the time we spent, and I think it was worth it.

We didn't get home till after 6 pm, and I pushed to get folks fed, bathed, and into bed, still making a check of backpacks and outfits for the next day.

Wednesday morning we all drove over to take the kids to school. Other than leaving one literally kicking and screaming, it went well. There is to be a certain amount of anxiety on the first day, and only moreso for a family of children who've never "done" school this way before. All, including the kicking child, were smiling when their day was over. And by golly, so was I. :o)

Oh yeah, and while I didn't write it in the chronology.... since of course this stands in a category all its own... I confirmed on Friday (and double-checked on Sunday) that we have indeed been blessed with yet another little Freiberg, due to be born in flesh and spirit in mid-April 2010. God be praised!