I was going to write about needing a haircut. But honestly, do you care? I didn't think so. SO I will go all alone and get my haircut and then I will probably tell you about it. What cut I decided on, and if I went to Great Clips and just took a chance, or went WAY cheaper and spent 5 hours at the beauty college letting a student destroy my hair and then the instructor could fix it with a really good cut. You may or may not see that financial constraints are the issue here.
Well, kind of. Really, though, even if I was a gazillionaire, I don't know if I could handle paying the big bucks at a salon. Anyways.

There is a good possibility I will be fasting le blog next week, so here's a shot at a Smartypants column.

Ms. Smartypants is eager to answer your romance, political, socio-economical, or etiquette questions! Submit your questions today, and if the muse strikes, she will answer at least one tomorrow

(some Smartypants archives here and here)

Over the weekend, we went to a new church. Revival historians may remember the Smithton Revival back in 199?. Well, that church relocated to KC after they outgrew their old space.

So I'm reading an article about a church having a real outpouring of the Holy Spirit and miracles and such... I google the address and it's about 4 miles away. Doh!

So off we go to World Revival Church. It was a Saturday night, and we arrived about 30 minutes early to try to get a decent seat.
When we walked in the door, an enthusiastic greeter in a suit held the door for us and had our names and a synopsis of our life stories before we made it to the foyer. This guy was fast.

We then sort of wandered through the lobby trying to pick up clues as to where childcare was. Another greeter snagged us, and another and another. If we were in a movie, it would be like when they sweep the camera around you really fast in a circle.

Before we knew it, we had given out our address and phone number. Then an enthusiastic youth worker walked us out to the children's building.

This 2 year old class makes ChuckECheese look lame. I mean, slides, ball pits, cave of wonders, whatever. The worker explained to us, "We have three hour services. We like to keep them busy." Toby (usually a bit of a leg-clinger) didn't even say goodbye. The baby class had a line... probably 10-15 walkers and Exersaucers, plus a sort of giant padded room/pen in which the diapered variety were cavorting with blocks and drool and so on. Bean was a little nervous but she stayed.

Kids 6 and up stay in the service, so we took R2 with us... The sanctuary is not huge in the number of people it seats, but it has about 40 foot ceilings, and just super cool design, as well as a crazy cool hanging screen... I can't explain it. It's a giant rectangular video screen that appears to be floating above the stage.

Worship services can be difficult for us sometimes, since that's what we do and all, and it's kind of like speaking someone else's language at first, especially since their worship leader was doing all original songs. Over to the side there is a lineup of maybe 10 backup singers, all beaming and doing wildly expressive arm movements. And then the big screen and it gets a little overstimulating... but these girls could walk out of there and do Broadway, easy.

I'm being quite snarky, but it was good... really sweet, friendly people, and genuine worship.

When the pastor got up, he talked just for a minute and then said "If you need healing, come NOW!"
People took off running... seriously, it was so compelling I almost tucked R2 and bolted up there. Really gave us an understanding of the Pool of Bethseda in the Bible. So we got Richy and moved up there pretty swiftly, and the pastor, Steve Gray came by and laid his hands on Richy, and held my hand.

Folks... I was shaking. I don't know if I've ever felt the presence of God like that. It was intense. He stayed with Richy and Richy for a while, asked his name and such. It was pretty wild up there with people falling out and healings happening, so we cleared out and went back to our chairs. R2 was poking his forehead for about 10 minutes afterwards... maybe he felt something in his brain, we don't know.

We were able to stay for a little of the message before baby church paged us... the Princess had had enough.

I went back Sunday morning. Richy was playing guitar at the HOP, so it was just me and R2 in the service. We had to leave again before they prayed for healing, but we are definitely going back. It was VERY cool.

The continuing historical series about our journey together as a family. The first two archives can be located over on the sidebar, under "The Story of Us".  I am skipping some chronology here, we actually went to Bible school next... but  I haven't finished that one yet. 

---

Our plan was to wait 5 years and then decide if we wanted to have kids. We were so happy doing ministry and so very busy with the youth, we really didn’t see how we could give any attention to a child.

Fortunately for us, I was too scatterbrained to remember to take a pill every day. We started suspecting I might be pregnant in January. I failed a home pregnancy test and I was so sad. That was when we knew we wanted to have a baby. Which was a good thing, because I was pregnant. I have learned since then that I don’t get a positive with an HPT until I am further along.

We were giddy. I told my dad, “Daddy, I’m pregnant!” and his response was guarded. “Did you want to be?” I had to reassure him and then he was excited. That night we told the youth group and they celebrated at Taco Bell well into the night. I craved strawberries. I bought a ton of pregnancy books, and a fetal heartbeat monitor. We were giddy.

When I was about 20 weeks, I started noticing a strange cramping feeling. Research in all my books left me unconcerned... I wasn’t having any symptoms of miscarriage. So we went on with our normal lives for another several weeks. We went to the Star Wars prequel opening... and 3 high school graduations.

Yes, we were that cool

On Tuesday, June 1st, my water broke. I was 23 weeks pregnant. We rushed to the ER, where they sent us to Labor and Delivery. Our doctor met us there and told me I was going to have a baby today. I was absolutely in shock. That was the first time I realized my pregnancy was over, but I had no concept of what would happen next.
After a couple of hours, they had me doped up enough that the contractions were pretty stable, and I was transferred to Houston.

I spent 4 days on bedrest there with little amniotic fluid, and then on June 5th I got a fever and went into labor. I was 24 weeks pregnant, just 1 day beyond what the hospital considered a viable baby. In other words, they would not have resuscitated him if he had been born earlier. 

Day 1

He was 1 pound... He was 12 inches long, you really can't imagine how small that is... it's as long as a Barbie doll. He was so skeletal and his skin was really red... his epidermis wasn't very thick yet. The first time I saw him, I panicked. He didn't look human and I was so scared. I had Richy wheel me out into the hallway where I melted down. My mom was waiting out there and gave me a stern talking-to. "That's your baby in there! Now snap out of it and go talk to that baby."

After the infamous "snap out of it" talk

It was good advice. I went back in there and talked to him. Then I sat 

right there by his incubator from about 10 am to 11 pm every day, for 4 

months. I read books, mostly. With all of my babies I haven't had a whole lot to say in their NICU stages, but I felt like my presence was enough, and that I should be right there and hold them as much as possible. Richy was there as much as possible, too, although he had to go back to work 

eventually.

Our first time to get to hold him- 20 days old

I don't know how much to post about his NICU journey. Multiple times, the next thing happened that was supposed to kill him. And it didn't. One night we went back to our hotel and waited for the call to come say goodbye. It never came. He made it through crisis after crisis. He was, and is such a fighter.

We learned quickly not to think too far ahead. We took on that day's crisis, and hoped tomorrow would take care of itself.

After 4 months, we brought him home. He came home on an oxygen cannula and an apnea monitor. His head was huge, swollen from hydrocephalus.
For us, though... he was just our baby. We thought he was cute and sweet... took jillions of pictures and we were so thrilled to finally get to bring him home. I think I'll stop there for now because this is already a very long post.

The NICU journey has TONS more, medical, spiritual, emotional. I'm just condensing for the sake of my readers. If there is something you want me to expound upon, let me know.

Next part here

Kansas City, MO

An area woman is smelling especially ripe these days after offering her shower slot to her three small children. “I’m no hero,” she opines. “I just did what anybody would do if their child was covered in oatmeal.”

Clark originally planned to schedule in shower time after her children were bathed. She was surprised to find that her husband had also not showered, and was in desperate need. “I was all greasy,” claims Richy Clark, a 30 year old singer/songwriter. “I was out on the porch drinking my coffee, to get away from the kids. It’s hot out there, you know?” The shower opportunity was again sacrificed for the sake of a family member. The Clarks are one of the few remaining American families to only have one bathroom.

“It’s becoming an epidemic,” said Helmut Oppelganger, MD of Los Angeles, CA. “These young women are finding themselves between a rock and a hard place.” Oppelganger recommends that mothers wake up earlier, or consider having a second bathroom installed.

The 29 year old mother of three hopes to take a shower in the near future. She talks as she cleans peanut butter off the wall. “Yeah, of course. You know, if it works out, and maybe they nap or watch Sesame Street or something.”

-MSP

Yesterday, we went back to Wal-Mart. Again, you say? Yeah... we go through a lot of food. Anyways.

I like to look at the baby clothes that say stuff.... like Toby's "I still live with my parents" shirt. Or "I do my own stunts". I generally avoid the ones like "Little Devil" or "Junior Flirt"...

So yesterday I'm looking and of course I'm looking over in the pink area and they say things like "2 Cute" and "Sugar and Spice". A black onesie says "This is my little black dress." All of which are fine, in fact I might go back and get the black one.

What has, in the vernacular, got my dander up, was the boy onesies. In green "Genius in Training" and in blue "Future President".

Now look, I'm not one to get all activist and put my sons in a dress just to make a point. But seriously... is my daughter more than how she looks? I don't like the message. My sons have the world open to them, and their intelligence is assumed. It's not just this one time I've seen this kind of thing. Old Navy has girl onesies "Stripes are Slimming" for... you guessed it. In blue they have "Future Class President".

It's not that I want to dress my kids uni. Obviously I go overboard on the girliness with Brynn. I don't have a problem with flowers on girl clothes and trucks on boy clothes. I just resent that the assumption that is being fed to us is, girls are all about looks, and airheads. I was given more, I knew I could be anything. I picked ministry and motherhood. I love what I do, but I am fully aware I could be whatever I wanted to be, even now.

And I'm not feeding this pablum to my daughter. The sky is the limit for her.

I was reading a book last night about getting published. It's called Writer Mama... looks interesting. It's pretty practical, but it's written by a mom of one... I don't mean to be disrespectful... some people I'm related to had their hands crazy full with just one, not naming any names, or cats.
But she talks about having an off-limits work area, and kid-free time... and I'm like, wait....

Anyway, everything I read suggests pitching ideas to magazines first, and I'm all lame like... man, I don't know non-fiction! And then I think doy, I write non-fiction every day here on the old blog... I don't think it's journalism or anything, but I've been priming the pump for about 3 years... oughta be something to write about.

Do you know, writing for cash would be like a dream...

It's another one of those things, though. Something I dream about and poke at, but never really embrace because I don't really think I could handle it.
Like kids. I have three. And most days I am so overwhelmed and exhausted... I wonder if all moms feel this way or if I am missing something. But even with the insanity, I want more kids someday. (don't hyperventilate, I'm talking about adopting)

I just need to figure out how to be "the joyful mother of children".

So writing is like that. If I sold something, and then I was dealing with pressure and deadlines, would I hate it? I wonder. Definitely thinking about trying it, regardless.

We've been going up to the HOP every day around 10 or 11 with the family. That's a pretty noisy set, and nobody really minds kids being a little wild then. Most days it works pretty well. Today , Toby was demonstrating the reality of a child's sin nature for all the other kids. We did all our usual tricks but nothing worked, so we bailed pretty much right after he screamed as loud as he could on global TV. Thanks, we do our part to contribute.

We'll be coming back to Texas for a couple of days to rehearse for the Call... I am pretty excited about the unscheduled trip. The fast ends the day we get there, and I am planning on sending the old intestines into shock with an OD of Rancho Grande. I would just warn you not to get between me and my fork. People have died for less. Fasting might make me more humble, but it doesn't mean I can't still bust a little Texas on yer rear. I'm just sayin.


 
 

In other news, Brynn's personality is starting to show... and she is funny and sassy and independent. (like me, the MOG says) I am having so much fun getting to know her. Cried my eyes out last night because she didn't really want to nurse, and I know the weaning process has begun. Which in some ways, is great for me. But my mommy heart is hurting... I'll probably write some sappy poetry about it soon.
<<<-----check out my blog list over here... cool. you can see I updated my pix blog yesterday, if you're into seeing cute kids)

Another thing I might write sappy poetry about: the demise of our laptops. Richy's is held together by duct tape, and the trackpad doesn't work anymore, so he carriesaround a mouse. He looks so cool. And me, my baby iBlanca is very sick. She works about once a day, so when she's up I am frantically transferring files. So, if anybody wants to start a fundraising drive to buy us new laptops, I am on board with that. And before you few remaining PC-ites speak up, these are OLD computers. We have driven them into the ground. A PC would have gone up in flames about 3 years ago with what we put our laptops through. So there.

And that is the news of the day. Come on, gimme some comments. :)

Let's talk about the Call DC. For one thing, are you going? Because you should.

The Call is a massive solemn assembly. We gather and fast and pray for 12 hours... there's worship and prayer... that's it. And somehow, they are the most amazing events EVER. Something about thousands of people humbling themselves and seeking God... He is so there. 

So we have played at or before several of the Calls, and we will be playing at this one. You should go to the Call site and find a way to get there... there are buses coming from churches all over the place. Sleep in a tent if you must, but I wouldn't miss it! 

If you can't go, and you're not just a weenie saying that, then watch it, and engage. It will be streamed all 12 hours on god.tv or if you have Dish Network, the God TV channel. Conrovians- Freedom Fellowship might have a watch gathering- they did for the Call Nashville. That would be an awesome way to join in. 

August 16th, 10am-10pm on the Mall in Washington DC.

I am so excited.... plus, being the history geek that I are, DC is much loved by me. 

Part II in a historical series about we the Clarks. You can read Part I here.

We got married in August of 1996. I was 17 and he was 18. My parents went to the courthouse to sign me away, and to the poorhouse to pay for the wedding. Fortunately, they made trips to the poorhouse and back all the time, so within a few months, they were rich again. Until the next round, anyway. RIP Cal Stanley, computer extrordinaire but a little weak on the bookkeeping.

We were doing youth ministry and didn't really have any desire to go to college... to us, it was a stepping stone to a career and we already had the job we wanted, ministering to kids. We have never regretted that decision.

We set off on married life and very quickly landed amazing jobs making lots of money. We were 18 and rich (for teenagers, anyway) and we lived in an apartment by ourselves. We were pretty giddy.

3 months after we got married, we brought home a kitty, and then a 16 year old. Andrew was estranged from his family.. he got invited to our home group (one of our kids invited him to a kegger, little did we know. He said he just kept waiting during the prayer and worship for somebody to break out the beer...) Both Andrew and the kitty (Chopper) lived with us for the next several years. We were working full-time, and doing youth services and home groups and it was crazy and busy but so fun.

We were either the same age or 2-3 years older than the kids we pastored... I got "carded" at more youth pastor functions than I care to remember. The pigtails and knee-high socks probably didn't help with my street cred.

Around this time, kids were just flocking to our youth services. It was a sovereign thing. We did very little promotion and no games. Just worship and preaching... and God showed up week after week and blew us all away. I quickly got an education in dysfunction. These were hurt kids, messed up kids. They were 14, 15 years old and in many ways on their own. My heart expanded and I LOVED them all. Even the ones who only came one time. I would look at them with their smeared eyeliner and scarred arms... and just see hurt little kids. They were beautiful. I miss those kids.

We gave ourselves body and soul to serving those kids for the next 3 years. During that time, Richy started writing songs... we had a hard time finding anything that really expressed our hearts and the movement, so he just started writing. More on that later.

We actually youth-pastored for 7 years, but I will stop here around the 3-year mark, because... 3 years into our 5-year plan, we discovered we were expecting our first mini-Clark!

Part III here

Yesterday was eventful. Sheesh.
So we're strolling through Walmart at a leisurely pace, 'cause that's how we roll. Bean is in the front, and Toby rides in the back with the groceries. R2 jumps alongside.
We make it through, like an hour, because my kids are trained to stay in Walmart forever.
FInally we make it to the checkout line, and Brynn STANDS UP. In the FRONT. I am so alarmed I snatch her out of the basket and am holding her, when I notice (in slow motion) that toby is climbing to get in Brynn's recently vacated seat. And, before you could say "Ohhhh noooooooooooooooooo!" he is smashed on the floor.
I drop Brynn in the back of the cart and grab Toby off the ground. Part of judging child injuries is the gasp:cry ratio. We had probably a minute of silent sucking in before the screaming started. SCREAMING. Panic. And immediately people are surrounding me saying helpful things like, "Is he okay?" And the screaming. Oy. It was like Faust in there. At the time I was, of course, freaked out. So I'm just holding him trying to assess where he hit, and what might be broken. The help keeps coming.
Then some official types come around with clipboards and lots of questions. On the list of things I want to happen after my 2-year old falls out of a basket, officials with clipboards is like, number 7. Million.
So I am trying to comfort Toby, and answer questions, and reassure the general public, Brynn is standing in the back of the cart seeing if she can climb out, and R2 is concernedly pointing at his own head and Toby. Yes, Toby bonked his head.
Finally, Toby stops screaming and I put him back in the cart to sign some papers. Wal-Mart's legal butt is covered. A family stays and talks to me for a while, about how to know if it's a concussion and what to do and so on. They were extremely nice, but man! you just can't take somebody's word for it on stuff like this.

By this point I am internally freaking a little more. I don't externally freak, my kid has emergencies all the time... but internally. And now Toby is just blankly staring off into space, not answering questions. Someone says, "oh he's calm now..." and I'm thinking.... never. He is NEVER like this.
So off we drive, after a Wal-Mart rep walks me to my car. YOUR BUTT IS COVERED. I AM NOT GOING TO SUE.

And he just looked horrible and so pale and wouldn't talk, so we went to the ER. He was still sickly until we were actually back in the room, committed to staying. Then he snaps out of it and starts playing, and schmoozing with the staff, and having a great time.

No concussion... we were at the ER for about 3 hours. Sheesh.