Molly Piper

Recently, Orison has been asking to watch “that movie where the man jumps into the water and swims around.”

WHAT?!?!?

I tried to get the name out of him, but he couldn’t remember. I started going through his movie-watching history (a very short list), and remembered that one time he saw a portion of the A&E Pride & Prejudice.

“Do you mean ‘Pride & Prejudice?’”

“Yeah! The man jumps into the water and swims around!”

Anyone know what part he’s talking about? That’s right, Mr. Darcy is trying to cool his jets over Miss Elizabeth Bennett and dives into the pond at Pemberley, only to meet with her face-to-face as he’s walking back up to the house, soaked to the bone.

Ahhh, “Private Predges”–one of my favorite movies (and books).

So last week, when his Aunt Talitha was babysitting for the afternoon, he suggested they watch Private Predges. (She doesn’t take too much convincing to watch a Jane Austen flick.)

Later that night, this is what he told me:

“Private Predges” was way before cars.

Why did they ride horses all the time? And why didn’t they say giddyup? They just said “Drive on.”

Then, yesterday, he convinced our regular babysitter that they should watch some of it! Here’s what she told me in an email:

He asked for Pride and Prejudice. I laughed. I assumed it would be okay for him to watch, since he relayed the whole story to me. I said if he was a good boy, we could watch a little bit but not the whole thing. He was okay with that.

With an affinity for Jane Austen at 5, I think he’s going to make some lady very happy someday!

So, one of my minor goals for raising sons is being achieved! Perhaps someday he’ll be a man who happily sits through multiple screenings of Jane Austen movies throughout his marriage! He’s supposed to live with his wife in an understanding way, right?

Or maybe he’ll be Darcy-like: strong, level-headed, generous, kind…a mother can dream.

Remember me, months ago, already stressing a bit about how/where we were going to educate Orison for Kindergarten?

Well friends, we have an answer: Seven Hills Classical Academy.

I was getting really nervous in the past couple weeks while waiting for the schools I applied to to do their lotteries. I don’t think I’ve ever trusted the US Postal Service less–I found myself wanting to call the charter schools multiple times a day and frantically ask, “Did you get our application?!?!? Are you SURE?!?!?”

I was so nervous that I started filling out private school applications like crazy, and when I wasn’t doing that, I was mentally planning how I would be able to homeschool with a 2-year-old and a newborn in tow (which was something I really didn’t want to do).

But we got our answer on Sunday evening when I finally checked the mail from Saturday! HA!

I saw the envelope in the stack of junk mail as I was coming up the stairs, and instantly couldn’t breathe. I got to the dining room table and was praying out loud, “Please God, please God, please God…”. When I got the envelope open I was so nervous I couldn’t even read the letter–all I could do was scan it for the important words.

Due to overwhelming interest in our school… (oh no)

lottery was held… (yeah, yeah… get on with it)

(not breathing at this point, folks)

pleased to inform you…

PLEASED TO INFORM YOU?!?!? PLEASED TO INFORM YOU?!?!? Then I was finally able to read the rest of the letter!

To make this even sweeter…

• Orison’s best friend also got in! (They’ve been each other’s favorite since about 1 year old.)
• Orison’s best friend lives a block away!
• Orison’s best friend’s mommy is one of my best friends!
• Orison’s best friend’s mommy & I already have our car pool!
• Another one of Orison’s friends also got in for Kindergarten, so he’ll know at least 2 other kids in his grade!

I’m absolutely THRILLED if you couldn’t tell!

Every year around major holidays, there’s a particular sting for a mom missing her only daughter. It comes when I set out to find a decent-looking set of clothes for my sons to wear.

Here’s the criteria I’m usually looking for:

• Nothing with cartoon characters on them (or skulls & crossbones, thank you very much).
• Something affordable (I don’t want to spend more than $20-25 per kid), but still made nicely.
• Something handsome, usually with a tie and collared dress shirt (Orison loves a good clip-on).

You’d be surprised how difficult this quest can be. I try department stores, and then the lesser-expensive department stores (Target, Kohl’s), and then move onto stores like Marshall’s.

What I hoped would be a fun way to buy some cute clothes for my kids usually turns into frustration and anger, though. I spend five minutes just trying to find the boys’ dress clothes amidst the sea of girl dress clothes. Eventually I might find a rack or two, and I’ll think from looking at the front, “Oh, this one looks nice…” and then I turn it over and there’s a HUGE applique on the back that says something like “Little Devil” with a demon face on it. What?!?! Do people buy this stuff???

I’m sure the equivalent for little girls would say something like “Perfect Angel” or something sweet like that. Because we all know that girls are just so sweet and perfect, and boys so…not???

I’m sorry, I know it probably sounds like I’m bitter. I’ll admit it, I get angry. It really sucks to go in the kids’ clothes section at all sometimes. And then to be so poignantly reminded that I have no business shopping on 90% of the racks hurts even more. It’s like there’s a big sign slapped on all those racks:

“You Don’t Belong Here.”

I know there are other women like me, living without their only daughter. There’s a particular hole for a mom, a woman, who loses her chance to raise her little girl. So many hopes and dreams die with that little girl.

One thing I’ve learned on my journey is that if I take the time to listen to what’s going on in my heart, all this anger and frustration, and let God pull me deeper, past the self-protectiveness of the anger, I get down to the pain of it. If I will get honest with God there in my anger, he always shows me just how much I’m hurting. Somehow the wall of anger crumbles and I’m left in the rubble, weeping.

Because underneath the anger is always the pain. I can stay there in the anger and grow bitter and hard (trust me, the temptation is there), but God has helped me see that it’s always better to let myself feel all of the emotions (first the anger) and then search for what’s really going on in my heart. Pretty much 100% of the time, under the anger is pain. More pain to feel, more tears to cry, more aspects of the loss that I need to grieve.

Sometimes I don’t want to go there. Sometimes I just want to rant and rail against my situation. Sometimes I just want to buy clothes for my sons. It’s hard and frustrating. Sometimes it feels like there’s nowhere to go from the pain–it can rise up anytime or anywhere. Grief is not just for grieving places, like the cemetery. It happens in other stranger places–you know, places like Kohl’s.

I suppose the other option would be to pretend like I don’t feel the anger. “No, no, no…it’s bad to be angry. God took Felicity away and I have to be happy and content with that.” If I decide on this option, I also miss the chance to grieve, just like I would have if I would’ve stayed hard and angry and bitter.

But Jesus doesn’t turn away the grievers. “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.” I am called blessed. And I’m promised His comfort.

This is blessed assurance. It’s like a great big sign at the foot of the Cross that say:

“You Belong Here.”

I am now 14 weeks pregnant. I had a check-up Tuesday morning, and things seem to be progressing normally. I say that with utter uncertainty and trepidation, and sometimes feel like I’m jinxing myself simply by saying it.

When I told you all about this pregnancy, I told you also about having a condition called gastritis. It’s an inflammation of the stomach lining, and it’s very painful. Bad news: I still have gastritis. I take medication to manage some of the symptoms, but I still deal with more than my fair share of gassiness and general nastiness. I’ll spare you more details than that, unless you’re curious. But suffice it to say, it’s really miserable. I had this condition during my pregnancy with Felicity as well.

This time around, however, I think I’ve been able to nail down a major trigger for my stomach pain. I used to think it was acidic or spicy foods. I’m still avoiding those, but I think the bigger trigger for me is fat. When I eat a lean diet, I don’t have pain. When I eat something fattening (even a very small amount), I’m curled into the fetal position, gripping my stomach and crying.

So, I’m eating a very reduced-fat diet. See, it’s not that we eat unhealthy at our house, but I’ve never had to deal with this dietary restriction. I feel like I’m learning to grocery shop and cook all over again. It’s really difficult to avoid fat!

I haven’t nailed down what kinds of fat are okay and not okay. I don’t know if it’s just hydrogenated oil fats that hurt, or all fats, including good fats in peanut butter & olive oil. I’m just taking it easy across the board.

So this is where you health nuts come in! I need some suggestions for what to cook for my family! I have a ton of boneless skinless chicken breasts, I just bought some tilapia (though I have no idea how to prepare it), I’ve got some ground turkey, and I’m open to vegetarian suggestions.

Keep in mind, they can’t be spicy recipes. I would soooo appreciate any guidance here. Like I said, I feel like I’m starting over.

So here are some options for sharing:

1. Post a quick recipe in the comments.
2. Leave a link to a post you’ve done that involves a low-fat recipe.
3. Write a new post and leave your link below.

More than likely, you’ll be helping more people than just me! I’m sure many of us are looking for healthy, easy alternatives.

And…my hungry husband and children will thank you as well! You can only eat so many turkey sandwiches. Morrow now gobbles when he hears the word “turkey”–cute…but sad.

Last week I wrote about the fear that kept me from blogging about being pregnant. This is another post written during my post-Felicity pregnancy, the one that brought the blessed arrival of Morrow. Morrow is now 17-months-old. So this post is old.

The first reason was fear; the second reason I didn’t post about my pregancy was time.

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Aside from the fear of telling people about our upcoming arrival, I also had a deep longing during this unique season to focus on my daughter.

From the time this pregnancy started, I’ve felt this desire to protect her place in my life and heart, not ever wanting to feel like I was trying to replace her.

I’ve also known that these months where I could focus my energies more on her and her memory were limited. Especially as we got closer to having our second son, I kind of wished that I could be pregnant longer, just so I could keep focusing on Felicity.

I knew that the instant he arrived, my affections and heart would be different, because I would have so much love for him. But what would happen to the feelings I still want to have for Felicity? Will there be room enough for all of them? I almost felt like her territory was being encroached upon. Not that this would be the fault of our next child AT ALL; I just felt like her little spot in my life would get even smaller. And as her mother, I dreaded that.

I never, ever want to leave her behind. And in some ways, I know I won’t. But in other ways it’s inevitable that our life will move on. And I’ve wanted to hope so badly that it will be good when it did.

I just finished an excellent book by Jerry Sittser called A Grace Disguised. A dear sister gave it to me. Her full-term daughter Addie died due to complications during birth just over a year ago. Anyway, if you have ever experienced any kind of loss, this is an excellent book. One of the closing statements really shed light on what I just described.

The accident remains now, as it always has been, a horrible experience that did great damage to us and to so many others. It was and will remain a very bad chapter. But the whole of my life is becoming what appears to be a very good book.

Since I’m writing this before the arrival of this child, I don’t know how all that is going to shake out. I suppose you’ll hear more about it in the coming months. I’m thankful for the book that God is writing. I never thought it would include a chapter like Felicity’s, but it has. By no means is the chapter finished, but now there is another chapter called “Morrow.”

*          *          *

Reading this post again after so much time has passed is very interesting. I thought that having another child would be so healing for me. And ultimately, it was. But I was expecting it to be healing in the short run, too, and it wasn’t. In reality, having another child sent me into a new wave of grief after his birth.

It was after his birth that I finally came to terms with my depression and Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). It was after his birth that I got the most counseling (professional and non-professional). His birth didn’t remove me from the pain of losing Felicity, it blew the lid off of it.

I thought I was focusing on Felicity in the year after her death when I was pregnant with Morrow. Looking back on it, what I can remember at least, I was still in shock. I was pregnant (And happy to be!) 3 months after her death, but it caused me to focus on the pregnancy and what was ahead more than focusing on healing from the wounds of the past. So much so that when we got through the pregnancy with the hoped-for result (a living baby), all the pain of the pregnancy with the unhoped-for result forced its way to the top.

And that had to happen. I had to come to terms with the deep pain and loss. And I did that with a new baby at my breast.

In some ways, he saved my life. He ushered me into the darkest, most painful places I’ve ever been, where I wrestled and struggled and thought for sure I would die. He was my constant companion through those dark, dark days—grunting, smiling, filling his diaper. It was like his presence and the regularity of his need for me kept me alive, kept me waking up every morning, forced me to go to my counseling appointments (since I only had a small window until he’d need me again), and gave me a reason to want to get to the other side.

He was God’s little catalyst for my healing, ultimately.

So there I was, my whole pregnancy with Morrow, worrying about having enough time to grieve. Turns out, God had hardly begun the mega-process I was in. He gave me just the right time, with just the right people, and one very special baby who remained a mystery to all of you while God knit him together.

Orison is Morrow’s personal speech and language coach. Morrow’s got a pretty good vocab going already, but I’m expecting drastic growth if their regular sessions continue.

Here’s a lesson overheard recently:

Orison: Morrow, say Mama.
Morrow: Ma-ma!

Orison: Morrow, say ball.
Morrow: Bau!

Orison: Morrow, say Daddy.
Morrow: Da-dee!

Orison: Morrow, say baby.
Morrow: Bay-bee!

Orison: Morrow, say international.
Morrow (much more uncertainly): na-na-na.

A couple weeks ago, they had a routine with animal sounds that they did. And you’ll see from the video, Orison’s not the only one quizzing him on his words. (I’m a speech pathologist! And Abraham’s a word freak, alright???)

I love Morrow’s complete lack of self-consciousness. He’ll try almost any word, especially if it’s presented by his beloved brother Orison.

Time for true confessions: I don’t drink coffee.

[insert audible GASP!]

I know, I know, I know. Will you still be my friend? I can drink tea! Or even a chai tea latte (see… SEE? I’m getting closer, right?)

But seriously, all funny business aside, I’m at peace with my distaste for coffee. I can still be a grown-up! I can still do all the things that responsible adults do!

I figure, if I made it through college and graduate school without resorting to coffee, then I will probably do just fine for the rest of my life (with a cup of caffeinated tea from time to time). You know, they say “It’s an acquired taste.” I just chose not to acquire it. I love the way it smells, can’t stand the taste.

So, with that fumbling preamble out of the way, I had to pass on this adorable (yet informative) cartoon about… coffee!

I like this cartoon because:

• It’s so cutely illustrated.
• The points are short enough to keep my attention (that of a non-coffee drinker).
• So much useless information (but could probably be of use in Trivial Pursuit someday)!

So if you actually like the stuff, you’ll probably be doubly entertained.

(via Wesley Hill)

This post was written right after the birth of our third child, Morrow. Today he turns 17 months old. So this post is about that old.

I never published it—not sure why.

For those of you newer to our story, our third child was born 8.22.08, 11 months after the stillbirth of his sister, Felicity. But… I kept my pregnancy a secret from my blogging audience until the day I was going in to deliver.

Here’s the original post, written sometime in late 2008.

*          *          *

Many of you were probably a little bit surprised by the news of our third child’s arrival. I am too.

There are a few reasons I haven’t blogged about it.

1. Fear.

Women who have experienced the death of a child often deal with irrational thoughts. I’ve dealt with so many since Felicity’s death. Many of them have been those “if only” thoughts:

If only I had gone into the hospital the night I was having some painful contractions, maybe they just would have let me stay and I’d have her right now.

Others have been more like:

My baby died inside of me. My womb is a place of death.

So much of me has struggled to believe that the birth of a healthy, living child could ever happen for us again.

Maybe God will never do this for me. I’m going to live with the agony of another stillbirth so that he can keep making an example out of me and my suffering.

I don’t want to be an example. I want to be the mother of more than one living child.

So, though I don’t believe in jinxes, I shied away from announcing my pregnancy for a long time, mostly because I was afraid to actually say the words and then have God snuff it out because I was presumptuous and he was going to teach me a lesson about that.

I know these thoughts don’t reflect a belief in a loving God. And I’ve wept even thinking the thoughts. But they’ve been there.

I didn’t even tell my parents for almost five months that we were expecting. It was as though my mouth went dumb every time I tried to bring it up in a phone conversation with them 900 miles away. It was just easier to talk about weather or Orison or what I was making for dinner.

The fears I dealt with throughout this pregnancy were ones that I wanted to deal with personally, first between me and God, then between me and Abraham, then between me and my family and close friends. These concentric circles of trust and support have been what I needed for the duration of my pregnancy.

*          *          *

It’s been about 17 months since I wrote those words. And since then I’ve given birth to a healthy, full-term, living baby. That should prove to me that it’s possible, right? That should take care of my fears, right?

God has indeed proven his faithfulness in many ways in my life since September 2007. But… fears remain. This Christmas I was struck over and over and over with how each person responded to the announcement of Christ’s coming. What was the first thing the angel told each of them (Mary, Joseph, the shepherds)?

“Fear not…”

It’s like the angel knew what a human’s knee-jerk reaction would be—fear.

We’re so stinkin’ fearful, every last one of us. But one thing I’ve been clinging to recently is something my mentor told me when I was dealing with something very fearful for me.

“Hell dances when God’s people are afraid.”

So I can either add to their revery and stew in my fears down here, or I can bring them to the Cross, where God is not spurning them, but hearing them and calming them. If the angels know that we will react fearfully, then surely God knows our inclinations. He’s not surprised by my fears. So I can run to him, and he will embrace me.

I just keep telling myself: He is a loving Father, and not my adversary.

I came to my computer relatively late in the day, after dealing with a sick kid this morning and going to a doctor’s appointment. But when I got there, I saw messages on Twitter alluding to the following:

So you’ve probably figured it out. We’re expecting our fourth child.

I’m not angry at all for my father-in-law’s Tweet. He knew we were telling people, and with an excited 5-year-old on the scene, secrets are no longer. There were a couple thoughts that went through my mind in rapid-fire succession though:

• “I haven’t told Danielle. I haven’t told Danielle. I haven’t told Danielle.” Danielle is my best friend in the entire world, but we live 900 miles apart, and I’ve been too tired to call her. First trimester has been kinda brutal with my energy level. So, publicly, I love, love, LOVE you, Danielle. And you’re gonna be an aunt again. Forgive me for being so lame.
• My book club girls are gonna kill me! I was with them last night (before the vomiting 5-year-old episodes) and had a couple opportunities to just say something, but every time my mouth went kinda dumb.

So…

I am currently 10 weeks pregnant. I feel pretty horrible most of the time. I survive on Bisquick biscuits and sometimes some chicken soup. I have the sleeping patterns of an infant. I am experiencing gestational gastritis, which basically means my stomach hates me.

I’m 10 weeks pregnant. Baby will arrive in August. This will be our third pregnancy in a row to end in late summer. I feel like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day, endlessly repeating the same cycle. We’re working on trusting that this is the right time for us. “Are you sure, God?!?!” has gone through my head more than once.

And…I’m 10 weeks pregnant. I held my friend Dorothy’s infant son the other day and just about died in half at how wonderful he felt. Life is a miracle.

So whether I have 10 weeks, 10 months, or 10+ years with this baby, today I heard the little heartbeat and know that it is indeed a blessing and a miracle.

*          *          *

I have some posts that I wrote during my last pregnancy about why I didn’t blog about it, and I’m working on editing those to publish here. It might help some of you understand why I don’t usually share very much about my pregnancies on my blog. Stay tuned.

I have a new website! After a year of intending to switch from wordpress.com to my own self-hosted blog, it’s finally happened! (Not to say that I could explain to any of you what that means, but whatev.)

This couldn’t have happened without the hard work of the following people:

• Josh Sowin of Rainsong Media, the technical brainpower behind pretty much everything.
• Brannon McAllister, the designer of my banner. I love how simple yet pretty it looks. Not to imply that I think I look pretty, but the floral design…
• Abraham Piper, my faithful and devoted husband who knows waaaay more about blogging than I do. He’s seriously a genius.

If you’re already a subscriber then nothing should change for you. If you haven’t subscribed, I’d love it if you did!

If you’re new here, you may want to jump in with my Compassion series from when I went to El Salvador, or my series on How to Help Your Grieving Friend. And of course you can learn more about me on my About page!

Thanks to all of you who’ve read this blog and brought it to this point with your readership and comments. I can’t wait to see where this goes.