Good Friday

"When I survey the wondrous cross On which the Prince of Glory died, My richest gain I count but loss, And pour contempt on all my pride."

And pour contempt on all my pride.

On Good Friday, this is what I did.  In my heart, all day long, over and over again, I poured contempt on all my pride.

It was a glorious day; chilly in the morning, bright with sunshine, full of promise.  But in my heart is was a solemn day.  I considered the cross on Good Friday, and it was painful.  It wasn't painful because I felt bad for Jesus, or because of the injustices he suffered, or because gore turns my stomach.  It was painful because it is the most powerful reminder of exactly how badly I needed - I need - saving.

The injustice and brutality of the cross is a direct reflection of the gravity and atrocity of my sin.  Oh, my sin was costly - and it is paid for.

If you ever doubt God's justice, look to the cross.   Indeed God is just. If you ever doubt God's mercy, look to the cross.  Indeed God is merciful.

He absorbed his own wrath with his own love.  He paid the debt that was owed him out of his own pocket.  That would be like the CEO of Sallie Mae paying my student loan - times a billion - in blood.

If you ever start feeling entitled to things because you are a good person, just look to the cross.  It will take your breath away; it will slice you.  You will pour contempt on all your pride.

On this Good Friday I was sliced and humbled.  I was so grateful that it felt heavy - carrying around all that gratitude.  I am grateful for a God who is so huge and great and just and loving that he came to ransom me, literally.  To pay the penalty for my sin.  To buy me back.  To save me.  He saved me.

He saved me.

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This Good Friday, Madeline had an egg hunt at school.  Her vision teacher tricked out some eggs (extra large, with big, bold "M's" and polka dots on them), and we had planned to show up and help her hunt.  Yesterday morning I asked Dan to double check with the school and let me know what time to be there.  He returned at 7:45 to find me still in bed, bleary-eyed from nursing all night, and said,

"It's at nine."

"As in an hour from now?"

"Yes."

"Crap."

 I put on my wings (coffee, not Redbull), and flew.  My mom and I had both boys fed, dressed, and out the door in time. We were ON TIME.  WITH A NEWBORN.  Granted, Sam ate his peanut butter toast in the car, but we remembered a bib!  And wipes!  WITH A NEWBORN.  And as if that weren't magical enough, just when I thought Sam would never, ever, ever talk, he told me that he was happy.

[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X39qNm9txOA[/youtube]

Happy, happy, happy.  Peanut butter toast will do that a boy.

The egg hunt was a smashing success.

High on fresh air and productivity, we got home and hung some floating shelves in our bedroom that have been sitting around since we moved here in AUGUST.    Because power drills and hammers are ALWAYS a great idea with a newborn in a bouncy seat next to you.  We made up for this questionable parenting move by making an Easter Tree with the kids.

Henry's job was to sit around looking beautiful and to break our hearts with his sweet, milk-and-honey baby breath - and he did it perfectly.

It was perfect.  It was grace on top of grace.

So that is what we did on Good Friday, while I poured contempt on my pride.

Here's the Deal

Here's the deal, friends. The last of my three manuscripts is due to my publisher on the first of November.

PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT:  NOVEMBER IS ONLY 8 MONTHS AWAY.

If that sounds like a long time to you, well then, we have nothing in common.  As you might imagine, for the next 8 months, all of my best and favorite writing is going to the books.  All of my cheekiness, wittiness, insight, and heart is going to the books.  At least 80% of my sarcasm is going to the books.  Why?  Because the books are going to be fan-freaking-tastic, that's why.

In light of the fact that November is ONLY EIGHT MONTHS AWAY, here is what you can expect around the blog between now and then:

1.

Hard truth: it will be a little bit quieter.  I am not a robot.  I function on sleep, coffee, and cake (like all normal human beings), and until we find a way to multiply sleep, and/or a way to make cake as nutritionally sound as spinach, I will have to take a step back around here.

2.

Better truth: IT WILL NOT BE SILENT!  Don't get mopey and go anywhere, now, because quiet doesn't mean silent.  I'll post anecdotes, stories, quotes, and bunny trails that stem from all of my good thinking & book-writing.  That means that if you hang around you'll catch some glimpses into the content and into my trains of thought!  I have 7 or 8 drafts in queue right now that I LOVE, and they're certainly not waiting around until November.  There will also be a resurgence of fantastic Happy Friday images.

3.

A REBRAND!  This is my favorite, most exciting announcement.  By the time my manuscripts are turned in, this space on the internet will look totally different and awesome!  You'll notice some changes and freshening up over the coming weeks and months, but mostly you'll want to keep your eyes peeled for the big blog makeover reveal, which will include updated photography, fonts, logos, navigation, features, and more!  YAY!

In the meantime, the best way to keep up is by following me on my social media accounts!

All the quippy thoughts that don't make it into blog posts will be all over my Facebook page. This is a brand, shiny, new BLOG & AUTHOR Facebook page, so if we are personal friends on FB, you'll want to give this new page a "like" and "follow," too.  On my Facebook page there will be lots of updates, comments, pictures, links, and other fun what-not that makes me smile.  I will not shy away from corny.  Or memes.  Or internet cats.

Follow me on Facebook here.

I'm also on Twitter.  The way is use Twitter is, in a word, poorly.  Every three or four days I will RT everything I see that is hilarious, link to my favorite posts, reply to some folks, follow some folks, and then disappear for a little bit.  I sometimes start to post something on Twitter, but then think, no - that's not funny enough.  So you know that if I tweet it, I love it.  My twitter feed is the upper echelon of my thoughts.

Follow me on Twitter here.

Pinterest will be getting all kinds of action from me in the coming months, because you know what I can do mindlessly and with one hand at midnight (and 2am, and 4am, and 6am) feeding an infant?  PIN.   I have all kinds of boards, including one for each chapter of "Ten Things I Want To Tell Teenage Girls."

Follow me on Pinterest here.

I'm on Instagram too, because this is the 21st century and three social media outlets were not enough.  I will be launching an Instagram series/campaign/hashtag/whatever this month inspired by fun tradition between me and my BFF, and of course I'm BOUND to run into Honey Boo Boo at Wal-Mart one of these day, and believe me - when I do, I'm Instagrammin' that business.

Follow me on Instagram here.

So in sum:

-GET PUMPED ABOUT THE BOOKS!

-FOLLOW ME ON YOUR SOCIAL MEDIA ACCOUNTS!

-And subscribe so that you won't miss a post when I put one up over the next few months!

And that's what's up. Much love! Kate

Evasion

This afternoon I heard Sam crying in the living room and had the following conversation with my 5-year-old.

Me:  Madeline, why is Sam crying?

Madeline:  I don't know.

Me:  (in mom voice) Madeline...

Madeline:  He fell.

Me:  How did he fall?

Madeline:  Something hit him.

Me:  What hit him?

Madeline:  ...  Me.

A Survival Story

In a couple of years, this week will be a story we tell. It will be like my, "Remember when, during my first month as an RA of an entirely freshman floor, our dorm flooded with sewage water?  In the middle of the night?  And the ceiling tiles were bulging with sewage and it was running down the walls?  During parents weekend?  And the power went out?  And the fire alarms went off all night long?  And it was pouring rain outside?  And a news crew showed up while our angry, smelly, sleep deprived girls were standing outside in the rain in their pajamas at dawn?  And then we had to go to class?"

This week will be a story like that one.

Except for this weeks story will sound more like, "Remember the time we had three kids, and THE DAY WE CAME HOME FROM THE HOSPITAL the 18 month-old started throwing up?  And then the 5 year-old started throwing up? And then came the diarrhea?  And then I got sick?  While nursing every two hours and sleeping in 1 hour intervals? In a house with a newborn and two vomiting children?  And two weeks later the 18-month-old got sick again?  Because apparently we got the plague that NEVER GOES AWAY?"

Yes, in a couple of years this will be a great survival story.  "The week Henry was born" will be Conner family legend.  But it's not a survival story yet; right now we're still surviving.

Dan and I keep encouraging each other as we go through these long days:  "This is not what having 3 kids is like; this is what having a newborn is like.  This is what a house full of norovirus is like.  This too shall pass."

This will pass when the kids get well. This will pass when Madeline can go back to school. This will pass when Henry (and I) are able to sleep for longer.

This will pass.  Our mantra.

The last two weeks have brought us sweetness too, and it isn't lost on us.

Hazy early mornings with a newborn on my chest. Watching Sam learn what a baby is, and grow to love one. Watching Madeline's unflappable spirit; such a bright bubble that not even a stomach bug can get her down.

I've loved the sweetness, I'm just hoping for the sweetness with a little less Zofran and bleach and carpet cleaner and midnight laundry involved.

So if you're a praying person, you can pray this virus out of my house. (And that tiny Henry stays well!) I'll bleach and you pray. Deal?  Deal.

Henry's Story

The events of Henry's birthday:

10:30 am

I took Madeline on a girl-date for her very first pedicure. She chose silver glitter, I chose hot pink - in shellac because I have a newborn and ain't nobody got time fo' maintaining pretty feet these days.

12:00 pm

We went to Chick-Fil-A, where I met a blog reader.  We stick out, because of the pregnant belly and Madeline's cane, but even so, this doesn't happen often.  In hindsight, I want to find said blog reader and tell her, "Take your first impression with a grain of salt; when we met, I was an hour from going into labor."

1:00 pm

I dropped Madeline off at home and went to Belks to do a little shopping.

 It got real at Belks, y'all.

Apparently, a woman's water breaks spontaneously in only about 8% of pregnancies.   I am the 8%.

I was on the phone with my mom, wandering aimlessly through the layette section, admiring all the pure white baby sleepers and gowns and socks when I felt a little pop, and a little gush.

Don't get excited and picture an embarrassing rush of fluid on the floor; God is merciful, and it was not so.  Instead, imagine me waddling bow-legged to the bathroom - thighs and knees pinned together - trying to act nonchalant while taking frantic little steps like an emperor penguin on speed.

Needless to say, I did not make any purchases at Belks.  I penguin-waddled to my car where I immediately called Dan and my doctor.

1:35 pm

It got real again when I tried to call my doctor.

It rang...and rang...and rang.

No answer. No voicemail. No fax-noise. No nothing.

I tried again.  Endless ringing into eternity.

ARE PEOPLE NOT ALLOWED TO HAVE BABIES ON THE WEEKEND AROUND HERE?

We got creative and called people who knew people, who knew people, who knew people - and got someone who goes to church with us AND works at my OB's office to call the doctor for me.  I had a foot out the door when she told me to go ahead to the hospital.

2:10 pm

I marched into Labor & Delivery with my little black suitcase in tow like I was boarding an airplane.  I passed an anesthesiologist who raised her eyebrows at me and said, "Look at you with your suitcase - pretty sure you're staying?"

I smiled and said, "This is my third and my water just broke.  So yes, I'm staying."

Then we waited.

We waited and waited and waited.  This was by far my longest labor, if you can even call it that.  I was having contractions consistently, and while they were getting stronger, they weren't anything to write home about.

7:00 pm

I requested my epidural around 7:00 pm, while the pain was strong but manageable.  In hindsight I think I was just trying to dull the ravenous hunger.  It is cruel to be in labor at dinner time; it adds insult to injury.  My family kept leaving to go get food while I munched spitefully on ice chips.  I wanted fried pickles and chocolate cupcakes like a...well...like a pregnant woman wants fried pickles and chocolate cupcakes.

We ended up having to do the epidural twice; the first time it didn't take on the right side of my body.  My anesthesiologist was the bomb.  She said, "My philosophy is, if  the whole pro/con, risk/reward of an epidural is for you to be comfortable, then we're going to make you comfortable!  Otherwise, what's the point?  Why even bother if you're going to be hurting anyway?"

As a patient, I dearly appreciated her philosophy.

9:00 pm

I started pitocin.  This was a first for me; my other labors were so fast that it was never even a consideration.

In 30 minutes I flew from 4.5 centimeters to 10, and was ready to push.  My doctor estimated that I received about 3 drops of the pitocin - less than 4 miliunits.

9:45 pm

Henry was a rockstar, and, modesty aside, so was my body.  It miraculously rose to the occasion; I pushed once.  I don't mean through one contraction - I mean one time - and there was Henry's perfect tiny head.  2 more pushes for his shoulders and that was that.

10:03 pm

Henry was born at 10:03 pm, weighing 7.16 lbs and measuring 21 inches long.  A string bean, just like his big sister was 5 years ago.

He breathed his first breath of oxygen, he cried his first cry, and he nursed right away, right there in the delivery room - childbirth is a miracle of miracles.

And then we were five. Woah.