-In Which Our Family Goes To The Race Track-

If you ever start feeling like you have the goofiest, craziest, most dysfunctional family in the world, all you have to do is go to a state fair. Because five minutes at the fair, you'll be going, 'you know, we're alright. We are dang near royalty.'

~Jeff Foxworthy

So here's how it all went down.

Mike's company sponsors a car that races at the Evergreen Speedway out in Monroe. It's basically amateur NASCAR wannabes who drive beat up cars around different track configurations. We could get tickets for half price and since half of our family is five years old and under, they would be free. So....awesomeness. I mean, it's not like I have a better way to spend a Saturday night, like, you know, READING or something.

"It will be fun," Mike said. "The kids will love it." 
Sure it will. What's not to love?

So we loaded up our crew into our giant, really cool 15 passenger van and made the trek out to Monroe.

As we emerged from our van, and got into the line of people waiting to buy tickets, instantly one thing was made very clear.  We were hands down the best dressed people in town. And if you know us, and have seen what we look like collectively on any given day, that's saying a LOT.  We don't exactly dress with an air of sophistication.

The air was filled with a sweet aroma of excitement and anticipation. Wait...WAIT...
No, no it was not. The aroma was grilled onions, beer and BO.

Shorty-shorts exposed massive amounts of cellulite, and butt-cracks  and cleavage tattoos abounded in nearly every visable direction. And yes, I can speak on this as I have some of my own postpartum flab that I don't believe I should subject the general public to. You're welcome. And butt cracks aren't exactly scarce around here either. At any point in time a child can come traipsing by, over-sized diaper proudly hanging half off, pulling the wearer's pants far below a level deemed socially acceptable. 

One woman breast fed her baby while standing up, without a cover. Okay, so that's not so bad, and I have to say: If you're gonna whip it out in public and leave it hanging out the top of your wife-beater, nursing  is the ONLY acceptable reason to do so. Unless your child is old enough to be drinking milk out of a glass. In which case, you may want to consider not nursing while standing in a line to buy tickets.

So we took our place to wait between an old man who was decked out with camouflage in the shape of miniature deer, and a very loud woman who had only 3 teeth, whose grown daughter, Billy Sue, proceeded to pop pimples on her exposed, tattooed shoulders, then have her fiancé help her get the ones she missed. Their excited cursing informed me that this might just be a regular pastime. Mike looked at me with a smile, completely oblivious, and I snorted. And laughed silently. Hysterically.  How could I not laugh?!?

Imagine.


Us.


Actually appearing REFINED in comparison. (Snicker)

Eventually we made it to the ticket booth where we forked over our dollars and had the word ENJOY cattle-branded into the backs of our hands. Even now, days later, I still bear the scar from this. We presented our freshly purchased tickets to a young woman who had bangs that LITERALLY stood up 4.5 inches off her head, and made our way past the now growing crowd of excited yokels and up to a section of bleachers that was slightly removed from the rest of the group so our little boys would have some room to move around if they got antsy.

And the first-round cars drove out.

The first races were qualifying races, which were interesting to watch, and "our" car, number 22, qualified easily. The boys loved it! This would be great!

At one point they pulled all the cars onto the track and let all the patrons come down and meet the drivers and see the cars. Mike took the kids down onto the track to meet the mascot, a skinny dude in an over-sized raccoon head who answered to the name "Racey Raccoon" (clever!) and sit in a few race cars while I stayed up in the bleachers with the baby and watched a Kettle Corn vendor pop very large amounts of corn in a giant vat, and tried not to see a very large, tattooed couple making-out a few rows ahead of me. I chatted with a few people who were nearby. Everyone seemed friendly and kind. These folks were completely genuine. This was a group of down-to-earth, loving patriots who would give you the very shirt off their backs should the need arise. (If they had been wearing shirts, that is.)

Mike bought a giant bag of Kettle Corn for all of us to stick our germy hands in, (Mmmmm,....Delicious!) and everyone returned to their seats so the blessed event could ensue. We watched a man in front of us who could barely walk, spend 20 minutes to climb up 800 stairs to sit up at the tipy-top top of the grandstands. The whole time we yelled inside our heads "Good GOD man! Sit down right where you are! DO it! Stop the insanity!"  And just when my cynicism and snark was reaching a whole new level, a man came out, grabbed the microphone from the announcer, and prayed. OUT LOUD! GLORY BE! He asked God to protect the drivers and keep everyone safe. Well, Amen to that.

We stood up patriotically, hands over our hearts, watching the emblem of our great nation flap in the breeze, and a woman in a very sparkly silver tank top crooned out her (loosely melodious) interpretation  of "The Star Spangled Banner." Aaahhhh.  America. 

The green flag waved, and the LOUDEST MOVING VEHICLES ON THE FACE OF THIS GREEN EARTH took off  driving in a circular motion, over and over and over.  And if you know me at all, you KNOW how much I LOVE  really. loud. noises. It's right up there on the top of my list. Right above "eating food made by young children with runny noses" and "licking the shopping-cart-handle germs."

Amidst the cacophany, the announcer blurted out incoherent words of some sort, that couldn't possibly be understood by any human person. The kids plugged their ears and I wrapped Milo's head in a burp cloth and prayed he wouldn't have everlasting hearing damage. I held my hands over his ears, put my head down next to his and prayed. The entire time. "Dear sweet Jesus, just get me through this."
Mike looked over at me and said something while grinning. Who the heck knows what it was. I can't read lips that well. Especially when my eyes are squinted from grimacing. So I smiled sweetly and nodded and told myself, "You're not really in Hell."

And that's how it was.

For several hours. Good Lord.

People laughed and drank, and enjoyed the revelry, and small children danced and played right up next to the fence that lined the speedway. Cars lost their bumpers and limped off the track. 


My boys ate Kettle Corn off the dirty bleachers with their mouths (because their hands were being held over their ears) and I watched as our 22 car, which had a clear lead with only five laps to go, stalled out and wouldn't start after a red flag stopped every vehicle on the track. A bummer for sure. We left shortly after that. Because God heard my prayers.

After one more race of cars (that could rival several jet engines in decibels) drove around in a "circle eight" and very nearly t-boned one another at every pass, we finally headed home.

I will spare you the details about how we are so classy that we ate our dinner at a small, crudely painted burger shack, located in the middle of nowhere, right next to the highway. I'll also spare you the details about how the picnic tables we used were covered in highway dust and bird droppings. You're welcome for that too.

And that, my friends is how we spent our Red-Neck, low-budget, Saturday night family time.
So Mike read this and said "Fine. I'll go to the races again, without YOU."


Now that's a deal. Where do I sign?
I'll use that time to go to the local WALMART.

Because it's guaranteed to be empty.

I'm just joking around about all of this, by the way. It was some of the best memories we've ever made. We are going again next year. But I'm bringing earplugs. And some camo. 


And about a gallon of Purell.

Granola Cereal Recipe

My kids love cereal. They could eat it every day at every meal and be perfectly content.

But I don't buy cereal.

Because I'm mean like that.

Cereal is WAY too expensive, for one thing. And it's also filled with awful ingredients and far too much sugar. So, on a quest to make my mornings as simple and convenient as possible, I've taken up the art of making my OWN granola cereal. Don't be impressed. It's really simple. And it's healthy.  Just another one of the ways I prepare breakfast for my large brood. Saves a wad of cash too. It's like money in the bank. CHA-CHING!! Did you hear that?  Yup. That's the sound of  saved moolah. 

I found a recipe a year or so ago that I really liked and modified it to work for me. I wanted to keep it very simple and easy to make. And it IS very simple. And flexible. You can use gluten free oats. You can add dried fruits or chopped nuts or omit them all if you have allergies.

Since I buy organic rolled oats in 25 lb bags from Bob's Red Mill, and I keep a fairly stocked pantry, it's almost guaranteed that I have all these ingredients on hand at all times. I double this recipe to feed my small army.

GRANOLA CEREAL

Preheat your oven to 325 degrees

10 CUPS ROLLED OATS

1 CUP SUNFLOWER SEEDS

1 CUP CHOPPED NUTS OF YOUR CHOICE (I used sliced almonds in this recipe)

1/2 CUP BROWN SUGAR (I use less)

1 CUP COCONUT OIL

1/4 CUP MAPLE SYRUP (I use less and add more if needed)

1/2-1 CUP HONEY

1 TBSP CINNAMON (I love cinnamon, so I dump a whole bunch in there)

1 TBSP VANILLA EXTRACT 

Line your baking sheets with aluminum foil. This will help you later on when you want to pour your granola into a container.

Start by mixing your oats, seeds and nuts in a large bowl. Add wheat germ or oat bran if desired. (I did not use these this time.)


Scoop out about 1 cup of coconut oil into a sauce pan. Turn the burner to a medium heat.  It will melt as it heats up. Add the sugar, honey, maple syrup, vanilla, cinnamon and salt (if you are adding salt). Bring it to a boil, stirring intermittently. The beauty of this recipe is that nothing has to be exact. Needs more sweetness? Add a bit more honey. Needs some salt? Go ahead and add a pinch. Now is the time to taste it to see if you want to add anything. 

Slowly pour the sauce mixture over the dry oat mix. Stir it up.

Spread the mixture onto your foil lined baking sheets.

Bake at 325 for about 12-13 minutes. Take the pan out, stir it well and bake again for 10 minutes. If your granola still looks uncooked, stir it and add another minute or two as needed. BUT BE CAREFUL. Granola will burn if left unattended. How do I know? Let's just say I'm The Queen at burning things due to distractions. Yes. That's me. All hail the Queen.


After your timer goes off and your granola is cooked, set it aside to cool down, stirring every so often. Don't worry if your granola looks or feels soft. It will crisp up as it cools.

Add any raisins, dried cranberries or any other dried fruit.

Finally, pour it into an air tight container.

THAT'S IT. 

See? That was simple.


As I mentioned before, I double this recipe, and it makes enough to fill this 4 pound container. 

So, can you guess what I fed my kids for lunch today?

It's That Time Again

"Mother's Day" is upon us once again.

I've been blessed beyond measure to be a mother to (now) six children.

Ever since I was a young girl playing with dolls, I dreamed of becoming a mother. It was truly my highest goal next to becoming a wife.

But on this day, I recognize that there are countless women who, for whatever reason, were called by God to walk a different road. A hard road.

A road worthy of honor.

So on this day as I celebrate the six loves of my life, YOU, my friends, are in my prayers and my highest esteem. My words are few, but I pray they convey my highest regard.

To the pregnant teenagers who are choosing LIFE over abortion, walking a very narrow road and are often times walking that road alone, you bring tears of  deepest respect to my eyes. I honor you.

To the birth moms who have given the most selfless gift of all time; putting their children up for adoption, I honor you.

To the women who have walked the bitter road of infertility and heartbrokenness, I honor you.

To the single mothers and widows who daily face challenges that I can't even imagine, I honor you. You have more of my respect than you will ever know.

To the women who have endured miscarriages and various tragedies that have left you without your child,  my heart breaks, and I honor you.

To the women who are yet waiting for the miracle of adoption, I honor you.

To the women who are living out the incredibly high calling of being a foster parent, I pray for you and I honor you.

To the women who desperately want children and are waiting for their husband's approval, I honor you.

To the single women who devote their time to mentoring, serving, blessing and volunteering  for children they care about, I honor you.

To the older women whose children are grown and gone, living far away, leaving a hole in your heart, I honor you.

To the young girls who are just beginning to dream of a future with a husband and children, I honor you.

Whatever your path, whether God has charged you with the daily care of children or not,  you've been created with a "mothering" heart. You have the heart of Christ; a heart that loves, endures, mentors, encourages, teaches and blesses others. You do what is often overlooked, unrecognized, thankless.

Today I thank you for what you do.

On this day,  I honor you.

~Michelle

Life: Special, With Needs

I met a woman last week while shopping at Target. She noticed my new baby and we began talking. She asked if he was my first baby and I told her he was actually my sixth child. She asked to peek at him and It struck up a very sweet conversation! I showed her a photo of my other children and she was amazed. And then she excitedly said she had photos of her children. 

Her eldest was in her early twenties and in college, and her youngest was an eleven year old boy with Down Syndrome. He was absolutely precious! 

While talking about how children are a gift from God, she said that God loved her SO much that He gave her a boy with Down's so she could be Mommy forever. It was one of the best statements I've ever heard in referral to a priceless child with different needs. 

Sadly, so many unborn babies who are diagnosed with Down Syndrome are aborted before they even have a chance to enrich the lives of others. It's a deep, horrific tragedy. May God forgive our nation. 

But this lady was so proud of her boy, and rightly so! We talked for a few more minutes and I even saw a little video of her son running to his older sister who absolutely adores him. I got a little choked up because it was so beautiful! 

What a gift our children are, no matter how they come to us! And our new little bundle, Milo Valor, is a perfect gift from the Lord. He is healthy and strong. He has been knitted and crafted by God in a perfect way.

  God uses our children to teach us about who He is; how He adores us, no matter our needs, our successes, our failures or flaws, our abilities or disabilities. His love is unconditional. 

So run to Him.

A Measure of Grace

I'm failing in my home.

My report card would read "F."

Nothing in this household is getting done according to "the plan".

Forget the schedule.

And Certainly nothing is done the way I would like, or the way that is ideal.  I should be running a tight ship!

...But this ship is adrift a swift current I cannot control and I don't have the energy  to steer the boat.

Things are not neat, or clean, or organized. And if they are for a brief moment, they sure don't stay that way.

This is survival mode.

Time freezes. And I wait it out.

The days move slowly and I struggle with extreme exhaustion.

Zero energy.

Tired. So tired.

Five weeks until this baby is born. I'm hanging in there.

Waiting.  And praying.

I cry out to God for grace.

And I see God's sweet mercies in small snippets of time.

In my children. 

In my blessings. 

In small measures of grace.

These are precious moments of my week that would slip like sand through my fingers.

 If moments like these aren't captured, they might be missed forever....

A first dentist appointment.

Micah drawing monster trucks and helicopters for Mack.

Mikayla telling Mathias the story of Moses, then rocking him inside a basket like the Nile river would.

Watching a kid eat broccoli dipped in whipped cream.

Spontaneous laughter at lunch for no good reason.

Catching the baby getting his own drink.

Playing with big brother.

Learning how to vacuum, then getting a ride.

Playing "Where's Daddy?"

Dinner with a favorite family that we love and admire and haven't seen for several years. (When we first became friends we only had 2 children each! )

An outpouring of loving cards, notes, gifts and artwork sent from friends, family and even strangers that were given to my sick neighbor who is suffering with cancer.

And God shows me His sweet mercies. 

In small but incredible acts of goodness.

Maybe God is steering the boat in this season of waiting.

Maybe I'm not failing after all.

Maybe this isn't "surviving."

Perhaps, because of grace, this is thriving.

Frequently Asked Questions

Our family is often asked some rude, intrusive, invasive interesting questions. Some are asked politely, but many are spat out like accusations. And yes, most come from complete and total strangers! As if having 5 kids with one on the way is an OUTRAGEOUS number. Insane. OUT OF THIS WORLD. Funny, five (almost 6) kids doesn't even feel like that many!

Sometimes I believe sarcasm and snark are my more prevalent spiritual gifts. So forgive the tongue-in-cheek style of this post while I attempt to dispel some of the "myths" about our incredibly abnormal, superfluous awesome family. (Smiles demurely.)




Q: You MUST be part of some sort of "Quiverfull Movement," right?

This isn't usually posed as a question but as an accusation. And to be honest, it totally cracks me up! I didn't even know what that WAS until recently! No, we are not part of any "quiverfull movement." We just like kids and see them as God's blessings. Simply put, we like and agree with the bible and what it says about the blessing of children.

And just for the record, we don't force our girls to do all the cooking and cleaning while the boys go outside to play and build forts. Not at all. This is an equal opportunity household. I make ALL the children cook and clean, regardless of gender, so I can go out and build a fort.


Q: Are all these kids yours??

Yes. Well, except for that one right there. We picked him up at Costco in aisle 12. 




Q: Do all your kids have the same dad?


Umm, yes. Yes they do. And we were married the whole time. To each-other. And thanks for asking that right in front of my kids. That wasn't tacky at all. And no, we aren't using any government assistance program in order to have all these kids, because I'm sure that's your next question... (covering mouth and praying for grace...)



Q: Why do you have soooo many kids?

Well, we said we'd have children until we got an ugly one and that hasn't happened yet. (...And see above.)




Q: Are you going to have babies FOREVER?


I have no idea how many children the Lord will choose to place in our family, but I'm pretty sure that I won't be having babies  ~ FOREVER~.




Q: Do you ever get tired or overwhelmed?


Of course. I'm quite exhausted fairly often these days. This is a hard job! But God didn't call us to live easy, unchallenged lives. He called us to live joyfully in the challenges He sets before us.




Q: So do you think that skirts magically make you a better Christian and a better mom?


No, skirts don't magically make me a better christian or a better mom. They do, however cover my bottom since I bend over ALL DAY LONG. Ya' know, wiping up vomit and picking up LEGOS off the floor. We didn't burn our pants in a  bonfire ritual or anything, and we've been known to schlep around the house in sweats from time to time. But yes, the ladies in this house do primarily wear skirts or dresses for modesty reasons and because, well, we're  girls, and we like "pretty" things.




Q: So do you, like, live on a farm?

To be honest, here's where I'd like to lie and say "Yup. Sure do!"
People look SOOO disappointed when they find out we live in a rather nice, (slightly yuppie) city.  I guess they really wanted us to be redneck-hick-bumpkins who only thresh our own wheat and sew our own clothing that resembles pilgrims. Well, my husband doesn't seem to be willing to wear the pilgrim tights, so that is now definitely off the table.
While we won't be purchasing all the latest "fashions" we will also not be sewing our own clothing. Because frankly, I hate to sew. (And I admire people who do!)




Q: Are you Mormons?

Nope. We're born again Christians, saved by the grace of God and by the blood of the savior, Jesus Christ.




Q: Do you homeschool?


Yes. Though I prefer to say that we "Privately Educate our Children at Home." What we do is piece together a "private school" for our children. Much of their learning is done through several amazing computer curriculums and programs. And yes we plan to keep this up through high-school.




Q: Do you own a TV?


Yes, we own a television, though we don't watch it often.  We do have movies and videos that we enjoy as a family.




((The next is my personal favorite. Ready?..))



Q: Are you trying to be like the Duggars?


HAHAHAHAHAHA!
I can totally see why people ask us this though, because the number 6 is JUST. SO. CLOSE. to the number 19. (snort.)

We actually love the Duggar family and the witness they have for the Lord, but NO we are only trying to be like our family, and do whatever God desires for us.
And no, I'm NOT aiming for my own reality show. (Pleeeeze, God, no!)



Q: Do you have pets?


Nope. I don't need anything else around here that poops. And I've been saying for years that we'll never own any animal that doesn't produce food. I am hoping to get some chickens in the near future because we can easily go through 6 dozen organic eggs each week.

And I'll just save any other animals for the farm we don't have yet...




I hope this answers a few of the nagging questions you may have. I'm sure there are many more questions that will arise and make another amusing blog-post over time, but these are my personal favorites and most often asked. 
No, I didn't make any of these up! 

Scary, right?

A Mikayla Story: A pregnancy I nearly ended

I had a baby already. Micah was 8 months old. He sat in his little bathtub chair, laughing and smiling as I took a pregnancy test. I took precautions. How could the test possibly come out positive? And the pink line was there immediately.

I really didn't want to be pregnant. I was still trying to get back into shape from my first pregnancy. I laid awake all night, asking God how this could even be possible. My husband was excited. I was not.

"February." He said calmly, "Sounds like a good month to have a baby." He rolled over and went to sleep. I laid awake all night worried and afraid. Of what, in particular, I can't really say. Fear of being criticized, fear of not getting my pre-pregnancy body back, fear of not having enough money.  Fear of not being able to handle two babies. Things weren't great. I was already exhausted. Mike worked long hours on a night shift. Money was very tight. I was so sick with the first pregnancy; how could I possibly handle a second one right now? We were so young. 21 years old and pregnant for the second time.  This was not what I wanted.

Maybe it was all a fluke. Maybe the test was broken. Maybe it was something I ate or a vitamin I took. Yeah, that was it. It was my vitamin supplements. We had taken precautions.

I called the doctor's office. "You're pregnant if the test indicates it," they said. Hmmm. I was 6 weeks along.

The next day I began to bleed. I was horrified. Suddenly, I began to ask God to let me keep this child. I began to want this pregnancy. I wanted it more than anything.

The bleeding continued. Not heavy, just off and on spotting. I went to the OB. "You're going to miscarry. Go home, put your feet up," they said, "try not to worry about it." That's really what they said.

We went to a Mariners game with a couple of friends. It had been on the calendar and I had to go. At one point I remember Mike reaching over to touch my belly lovingly.  I sat up in the bleachers with a blanket and cried my eyes out through the entire game. The people around me looked concerned. I didn't care.  I begged God to let me keep my baby. I was so sad that I had told God that I didn't want to be pregnant. And now I was losing my child. Shame on me. God must know that I didn't deserve to be pregnant. I decided nobody should know about this pregnancy especially if it would just end in miscarriage.

The next day it was back to the OB, this time for an ultrasound. They doctor didn't know why I was still bleeding. A forty-five minute ultrasound had the ultrasound technician baffled.
"I see the egg sac, but no baby," She said.


It was called a "Blighted Ovum." It's a genetic "oopsie-daisy" where things go wrong; a sac develops but contains no fetus. There was no fetus to be seen.
"I do see something in your ovary," she added. "That could mean an ectopic pregnancy, or it could just be nothing." Was that why I was bleeding? I had no idea.

No baby. 

There was no baby in there. No heartbeat, nothing alive. All this time I had been crying my guts out over something that wasn't there! So I wasn't losing a baby after all. There was nothing even there to lose!

Immediately after, we saw the doctor for a follow-up. She said it was possible that I had an ectopic pregnancy with my blighted ovum.  She said I should be careful and get some meds as a precaution.

She prepared to give me a shot to flush out everything and make my cycle start regularly again since there was no fetus in the sac. A "do-over." An abortive shot. I thought it over. It wouldn't be killing anything. There wasn't a heartbeat. There wasn't a baby. An ectopic pregnancy could be dangerous. It could kill me if my ovary ruptured. And there was no real baby in my womb anyway. It was all very reasonable.

I have no idea why, but I heard myself say "No. No, I won't be doing that."

"Well," the doctor paused and replied, "You can come back again in four days and we'll do another ultrasound and check on your uterus and the bump on your ovary."

I agreed to that. I went home not knowing what to do. I was given a list of symptoms to watch for in case there was an ectopic pregnancy.

The bleeding continued through those four days. But on day four we made the long one hour drive back into the obstetrician's office for another ultrasound.  I stared at the monitor.

And there was a blinking light.

Tiny. Blinking repeatedly. Strongly. A heartbeat inside the "empty" egg sack.

A HEARTBEAT!

It was too small to be seen in the first ultrasound but it was there this time! It was in my womb, right where it belonged and my ovary had nothing in it.
I remember the relief and joy that washed over me. And then the sheer terror at the thought that just days earlier I nearly opted to receive medication that would have aborted my baby. I would have never known that I was really carrying a viable fetus. Sometimes medical science is too swift. Some things just need time.

There were more tests as the weeks went by. Blood tests, ultrasounds, and blood work. My HCG levels were monitored regularly. I was still bleeding. In fact, I bled through nearly the first five months of that pregnancy. The chance of miscarriage was real. I bled every day. And it was scary. I pleaded with God each day to let this child live.

I delivered a healthy, gorgeous little girl on a cold January evening. She came 10 days early and was the most precious and perfect gift I've ever received. Perfectly formed. Perfectly beautiful.  Perfectly healthy.  


Mikayla Elizabeth. 

Her names mean "Who is like God? My God is abundance." 

She is the gift I could easily have lost to an abortive procedure. It still scares me to realize how close I was to choosing to end her life.  She is truly one of the greatest gifts the Lord  has ever graciously bestowed upon me. She is my friend, my helper and like a second mommy to her little siblings. Everyone who meets her adores her. She is a little bit of heaven on earth.

She and our first child, Micah, are 17 months apart. The world would say that spacing was way too close, as I would have once claimed. Yet they are truly the best of friends and have always been the perfect playmates for one another.

Mikayka turns 10 next  week. What an incredible 10 years it's been! How blessed I am to serve a God who loves me enough to give me a daughter like her. Not only is she beautiful on the outside, but her heart is beautiful too. She inspires our family with her humor and charm and the way she cares about everyone.

God knitted this child together in a secret place. I live each day with a walking, talking reminder of this. The womb is a mystery and so is God's plan. His timing is always perfect.

"You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body and knit me together in my mother's womb... You watched me as I was being formed in utter seclusion, as I was woven together in the dark of the womb." Psalm 139:13& 15

God perfectly places our children within our families.

And I am eternally grateful.