November 2018

So much has happened since I've last visited this site. About a week after my last post, we attempted to close on our house in Michigan. My parents watched the children in Syracuse and Matt and I made the drive through Canada so I could meet our new home. It was not to be. Our walkthrough of the house was amazing. I was so proud of Matt for picking out such a perfect little home for our family. 

We went to closing, met the previous owners, started signing papers, and quickly realized something was VERY,VERY wrong. The money we had wired for closing the previous week had never been received. In fact, the wire instructions that we followed were fake. We were victims of wire fraud. $68,027.11 vanished, in the blink of an eye. We ran from our failed closing to the bank...and then to the police station...only to drive back to Syracuse in the middle of the night, homeless and robbed of our hard-earned savings. 

The next week was a blur, since we were packing up our SOLD home in Syracuse. The movers came, boxed up our belongings and put them on a truck destined for a storage facility in Michigan. My heart broke over a dozen times that week. The children were confused. Matt and I were on the phone almost 12 hours a day with banks, real-estate agents, police, relocation, work, concerned family and friends, news reporters, etc. It was a whirlwind, trying to say goodbye to our neighbors and friends in Syracuse and make sure we hadn't neglected to remember something. 

My parents graciously offered their home to us. My dear friend Whitney started a GoFundMe for our family. People brought over food. People donated money. People prayed for us day and night. In one week, we received over $22,000, from friends and strangers. Our real estate agent worked hard to reschedule a closing, with us now having enough of a downpayment to make the house a reality. It was such a blessing that the sellers were willing to wait for us.

We left my parents in grateful anticipation.

The week of Thanksgiving, we moved in. The final bed was assembled by the moving company the night before Thanksgiving. We were together again. All Nine. Under one roof. We have never felt so blessed or loved. 

Motherhood

Recently, my brother-in-law Nick sent a cool historical fact to the family about Annie Edson Taylor. In 1901, Mrs. Taylor was the first barrel ride down Niagara Falls. 

The 63-year-old school teacher survived. 

The moment I read his note, I laughed aloud. Gosh! That feels A LOT like parenthood today. 

I quickly wrote my own fun fact for our current day:

"Annie Pernot, a 35-year-old mother attempted to homeschool her 7 children one cold day in October of 2018. She survived."

Matt's mother reminded us that if a barrel ride is attempted now, the survivor will be arrested.

Nick sent a picture of the brave Mrs. Taylor and Matt's brother Mike said, "...she is completely wild. Look at those eyes. No fear. Niagara Falls was probably afraid of her!"

We all laughed, miles apart. 

The fierce reality of being a pioneer is that no one will ever completely understand you...sometimes YOU won't even understand you. 

Yes, mothers are pioneers.

 *Some* days truly do feel like you are careening over one of the Seven Natural Wonders of the World...in a barrel...alone...and the only friend you will meet at the bottom of this feat actually turns out to be a police preparing to arrest you.

Yet, every morning I prep my proverbial barrel. I don't pad it with a mattress, but with prayer and a strong cup of coffee. My barrel gets pumped with the air of kind words and support from a few friends. And off I go! The waves that batter and the actual fall could be likened to the struggles we have during the day with our offspring, unkind words from complete strangers, and even judgement from our own family members. 

I believe the most radical difference between Mrs. Taylor's stunt and a modern day mother is the calling behind it all. Annie Taylor, doing it for the money, successfully made the Falls barrel ride and immediately told reporters after that she would rather walk up to the mouth of a cannon than attempt again. Mothers, feeling the desire from a power outside themselves, will attempt this ride as many times as needed...for the remainder of their lives.

Following your vocation, heeding that voice, and pioneering through this beautiful mess of motherhood has rewards beyond worldly comprehension.

MOST days do not feel at all like a trip down the Falls. MOST days are filled with laughter and joy and much learning. MOST days feel beautiful and blessed, regardless of struggles. MOST days we overflow with gratitude for the ability to live another day and the opportunity to raise these amazing souls. 

Living your life for others is beautiful and the greatest gift a human can give.

HANG ON TIGHT, MOTHERS! You are pioneers! You have the capability to inspire others. You are doing incredible work. God's work. 

School Days

The normalcy of school brings so much peace to our family. That sounds almost silly, but it is plain truth. In a really challenging time for our kids, the consistency of a schedule and keeping their brains busy has been a lifesaver. The summer was difficult, as we missed out on a lot of time with Matt, but I wonder if it was even more painful because our brains had too much time to wander and worry.

Trying to kick this cold to the curb, we have been in isolation. It has been a time of growth and anticipation of the big move. Some of us are taking it in stride. 

This is how a "normal" school day breaks down for us:

4:00-5:00a- Anne wakes up with Charles. Anne has high hopes and dreams of hot coffee, a shower, and a couple minutes of quiet before...

5:15a- Every other human in the house wakes up. They are singing/yelling/laughing/attending morning meeting/telling me about aches and pains they now feel.

5:20a- Anne has warmed up her coffee twice and it now tastes like burnt toast. She begins dreaming of bedtime.

5:30a-7:00a- Kids eat breakfast, make 50 paper airplanes, put on three separate productions of the Nutcracker ballet, and pretend to brush their teeth and get dressed.

7:15a- Anne announces it is time for the rosary and school to start. 3/7 children respond by crying that they never ate breakfast.

7:45a- Anne announces, again, that it is time to begin the day. The 4/7 who had already eaten before are now hungry again. Anne announces that the day is beginning anyway and all second breakfasts can be eaten after prayer time.

8:30-11:30- We attempt to do schoolwork. It is mostly loud and unruly...and we learn a lot. There are lots of laughs and some tears.

11:30- Anne lays Charlie down for a nap while the cafeteria starts humming with the sounds of dropped plates and children arguing over the smell of peanut butter.

12noon- LUNCH and an impromptu wrestling match/football game/whatever else the kids need to do to tell me they need to be sent outside for some energy release.

1-3p- Finish school day and breathe.

It's really a beautiful season in my life. I love having the kids home and I know it won't be like this forever. Someday I will be standing in the shower alone, without having to dispense punishments with shampoo in my eyes. I will drink hot coffee. I will have free time and days without needing to nag a single soul. 

And I will look back at this time and miss it fiercely.

Scary Stuff

This is a very real picture of our entire family at the doctor's office

It's almost Halloween, so let's talk about the scariest thing I can think of. 

Sick kids.

Here are some actual words that I have said in the past.

Anne, circa 2007, mother of one: "Sarah is sick today. Can we plan a playdate for next WEEK sometime?"

This was me being cautious at the time. I took into account that Sarah had a fever and would probably be healthy in a day or two. She would need a couple days to get back into the swing of things and I would want to be certain that before I introduced her back into society and the high life of a one-year-old that she was ABSOLUTELY NOT contagious.

fast forward 11 years

Anne, current day, mother of seven: "Joseph is sick. We won't be able to attend that party we've been planning for months. And we won't see you until next year. April, at the verrrrrrrry earliest. It's been nice knowing you. Throw me a text when you think of it and I will try to respond during my 3am wake up with the baby, who is currently not sick but will be any second now..."

Because

Because

Because

BECAUSE WHEN ONE CHILD GETS SICK IN A LARGE FAMILY, YOU CAN COUNT ON EVERY SINGLE CHILD GETTING SICK.

This is a guarantee and should come stamped on every babe's rear at birth. Every child after child number two should come with a WARNING sign.

Here's how it happens.

Picture this:

Our very sweet and healthy, unassuming family of nine has just made it through another Sunday mass. I feel victorious. Everyone is eating donuts in the car and smearing sprinkles into their nice slacks. We are laughing and joyful and making plans for the upcoming week. The sun is shining and I am on top of the world. I am humming "We Are The Champions" and I look at Matt, completely smitten that we have created this Heaven on Earth with the help of our good God.

Then, a child sneezes. Once. One solitary sneeze.

I feel the reverberation up my spine. 

No. Way.

I look at Matt again. He senses my panic and tells me to calm down. My eyes fire daggers at him as I turn quickly to the back seat to identify the offender. 

"WHO WAS THAT?!?!?!" I yell.

A hand goes up in the third seat.

"I'm fine, Mom!" Joseph shouts over laughter.

Famous Last Words, dude.

I quickly calculate in my head how many places we have been and how many people we have seen in the past 5-7 days. How many church pews could Joseph have touched/licked in that time? I am going through medicine cabinet inventory in my superhero mind. Holy Water, Tylenol, Motrin, Oils, VapoRub, nebulizer meds, wine, cough drops, etc.

12 seconds have passed since the sneeze and I am in 

DEFCON 3.

We pull in the driveway and I am practicing my labor breathing. 

I am doing relaxation techniques. 

As the kids pile out of the van, I remind them, in the most gentle voice (read: drill sergeant pitch and tone) I can muster, to wash their ever-loving hands. 

I know this would seem like overkill to most parents. "Hahahahahah!"they chortle. "Kids get sick. No big deal."

Wellllllllllll, before you judge me and my disposition and fears, walk a mile in my Hazmat suit.

We were literally sick from October to May of last year. Non-stop. Someone either barfing or coughing or fevering or itching or rashing or all of the above at the same time. We have missed family reunions, weddings, church, playdates, football games, doctor's appointments, and school deadlines. 

Here's how it happens.

Let's continue with this particular Joseph example. We walk inside from our Sunday Mass trip home and let's say ALL seven kids actually wash their hands. Like, for real. Scrubbing and soaping and the whole bit for 20 seconds or until they've speed-sung the ABC's three times. Then, I go around Lysoling everything. 

EV-ER-Y-THING.

Then I bleach the bathrooms. 

Then I change the sheets, pillowcases, blankets and remove all stuffed animals from the would-be sick child's bed. I wash those in hot water. I've actually been known to do this twice. 

I wash all dishes for the next 3 days on Sanitary and Hotter-than-Mordor settings. Some of our dishes melt. I don't care. 

After three days of absolute psychosis and disinfecting, I take a small breath. On Day 2, the child started with runny eyes and had a dry cough. Day 3 looks much the same. Maybe we avoided it? The early morning hours of Day 4 bring the child into my bedroom. Between 2-3am is the most probable time for me to see a face about 3 inches from my own, in the dark, waking me out of a sound sleep. And what does this child have to say to me? Is he ok? Bad dream? Sore throat? Wet the bed? As I open my mouth to ask him, he leans forward and...

SNEEZES.

IN MY OPEN MOUTH.

And I die.

And a minute later, still in shock, I die again.

After I die seven deaths, I rouse myself and cry get the child back to bed with a drink of water and a box of tissues. 20 minutes after this, I put said child in the shower for the hot steam treatment, because his small cold has magically morphed into a full-blown respiratory battle. I am up for the remainder of the night because now, I realize, three more children are sneezing in their beds and struggling to sleep. 

Ok ok ok

Even just typing this is giving me the heebie jeebies.

I will spare all the gory details, but this particular sickness lasts about 9 days, per child. Lets say 2-3 children get sick every 6 days. I can't actually do math right now, but if I could I am CERTAIN  I would die again thinking about my life.

At the end of a month, the people at church have now figured that we switched parishes or moved out of town. I don't know what sleep feels like and I haven't actually been prone in my bed for more than 20 anxiety-stricken minutes at a time. 

And then, in an instant, there is a reprieve.

I am certain this is because I have friends who are close to God and begging Him, for me, for just a little break.

I take my break as I often do, LYSOLING THE HOUSE AGAIN AND PANICKING ABOUT THE NEXT SICKNESS THAT WILL HIT OUR HOME AT ANY MOMENT WE MUST NOT REST WE DO NOT QUIT!!!!!!

And often, I am not wrong or disappointed. 

I sat in the playroom watching the kids just yesterday. I wondered what their little brains were thinking and how in the world I am going to get them healthy again in time for the move to Michigan. 

I realized something. I won't be able to get them healthy. I can't. I try as hard as I can but truly have no control. As long as they continue living with one another, in the very tiny personal boundary space they have established amongst themselves, we will always share our sicknesses. It will never stop at 1 or 2.

 It's a family affair.

And It will always terrify me.

 Maybe I can just get them to dress up as germs for Halloween...

Boys and Bugs

When I allow myself to get swept up in Charlie's little world, I cannot help but laugh. He is a delicious little Heat Miser and he gets excited about the tiniest things. His words and noises make us all swoon. 

Charles Francis, may your love and curiosity for the world around you never grow old. We are crazy about you.

Showing Up

There are just so many sad things in our world today. We have friends and family fighting cancer, burying children, and being tested in their faith. The greater world seems dark and heavy most days. I get swept up in the devastation and have trouble sleeping at night. Our own summer was plagued with sickness (oh.my.heck. SO MUCH SICKNESS) and the constant adjustments needed to keep our family of nine afloat while Matt lived in another state. 

And selling a house.

 And house hunting.

With all the challenges, I neglected the joy. Faith and trusting in God is so much easier when LIFE isn't being a two-year-old asking for a lollipop juuuuuuuust out of reach.

Mom

Mom

Mom

Mom

MOM

MOMMOMMOMMOMMOMMOMMOMMOMMOMMOMMOMMOM

ENOUGH!

Can't think. Can hardly breathe. Already up to my eyeballs in diapers and realtors. There should have been awards for the nights when the children ate oatmeal instead of cold cereal for dinner. Honorable mention goes to the days when I got to shower alone in a bathroom AND remembered to wash my hair.

But what I forgot, and was sometimes just too blind to recognize, was all the ways God came to me during these past few months. A visit from a neighbor, bringing a meal for our family. A kind word from someone at Church. An e-mail or text from a friend, letting me know I wasn't alone. One of the babes, complimenting the consistency of the oatmeal I made (again...). You know? I just forgot. I was too deep in my own self to look up and see the grace. 

But, Man! There was grace!

So Much Grace.

God isn't keeping track of all the times I looked down. God doesn't need me to solve all the world's problems. God isn't even disappointed that I struggled badly with this time of transition. God just wants me to keep showing up. To continue trying. To dust myself off. To show these precious babes that it is okay to falter and question and cry and hide for a little bit...

and then start SHOWING UP again. 

Lotion Lieutenants

Esther and Daniel are quite the duo.

 

"We are the Lotion Lieutenants. You're gonna feel better in no time!"

 

They truly lotion everything. Floors. Walls. Counters.

They've got it covered.

Literally.

 

 

 

Cruzin' At The Park

 

 

 

 

 

Charlie's Birth Story

It is 4:15am, and Charles is laying in his pack n' play next to me, grunting and begging me to write his birth story down before I forget.

I will happily oblige.

 

On January 3, 2017, I had an appointment scheduled with my OB's office for early morning. It was a very rainy day and I was not eager to drag all the kids out...just for the doctor to send me home again with instructions to "Lay low, coast to the finish line, keep the stress at a minimum, sleep, drink lots of water and come back in two days so we can tell you your blood pressure is AWFUL AND WE CAN'T DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT!"

 

ok. I may have added on that last piece.

 

Whatever.

 

I had been waiting to be induced for over a month at this point. We really thought that Charles would be coming early because my health has been in danger for such a long time. But, at every appointment, they would tell me to go home and rest and come back again in a couple days. Even Saint Matt of Belleholm was getting upset. "Why are we gathering data if we aren't utilizing it?!?"

 

I did NOT make that quote up.

 

Poor husband. He had been so patient, doing all his work and allllll my work for so long.

 

Back to January 3rd. I packed the sensational six in the van and met Matt at the office parking lot. He climbed in the driver's seat as I waddled into the waiting room. My appointment started off with a weighing in and then a BP check. (WHY OH WHY do they weigh me BEFORE checking my blood pressure?! That is good for an increase of approximately 4mmHg, right there!) My blood pressure at this visit was 192/89. Never had I seen these numbers before while gestating. I started crying. I cried through my urine test. I cried walking down the hallway. I cried while waiting for the doctor.

And then.

A midwife walked in.

And she had pity on my soul.

She promptly told me that my doctor was actually on a cruise and wouldn't be around for another week or so.

But.

But.

 

 

"Let's see if we can get things stirred up a bit!" she said.

 

Right on.

 

She did an internal and saw that I was about 3cm and 50% effaced. She swept my membranes and told me the most amazing thing.

 

"Go home and walk around."

 

YES, M'AM!

 

So I ran out to the car and told Matt to go to work but wait for my call. The baby is coming today! I am going to run a marathon! I am going to do the stairs until I can't breathe! I am going to...go home and teach the six kids in the back of this Express van.

 

I drove home, having an occasional contraction and some spotting. I was getting very excited. About an hour after we got home, the contractions stopped. Stopped.

STOPPED!

I cried.

Then, the doctor's office called. I had run out of the office so fast that they weren't able to get that blood draw that they needed, so would I please come back in, like, right now?

 

"No, I will come in after the school day," I replied. I had to get at least one thing going and under my belt.

 

At 3:30, I packed all the kids back up and met Matt in the parking lot again. It was still raining. The children were being so, so brave. I told him to just swap cars with me, take the kids home and start making pancakes for dinner. I ran in, they drew my blood and I left. Just like that. I got home about 10 minutes after Matt. I texted our friend Sheryl in Cicero to let her know that it would be another baby-less night and not to worry about being on call. No contractions. No signs of labor. I was just miserable. I texted a couple other people to let them know that the doctor changed my due date to January of 2045.

 

 

My brother Matt sent this conversation to me after Charlie was born, to remind me how he knew I was getting close and that Charles got the message.

 

I stood at the counter watching Matt flip pancakes on the griddle. Gosh, I hated EVERYTHING. WHY WAS EVERYONE SO RIDICULOUS? WHY WAS THE WORLD SO UNFAIR?!

And then, a contraction. 

"WHATEVER!" I yelled inside my head at my contraction.

Then three minutes, and another one came.

Then five minutes, and another.

Matt asked if I wanted to eat.

I watched him flip one more pancake and I had the worst contraction yet.

My body was done.

 

Soooooo, I did what any sane pregnant woman would do.

I lied.

I told him I had to use the bathroom and I needed some space. "Please, feed the children," I said, "I'll be right down." 

Except, I went upstairs and had another contraction. And then another. So, I texted Matt from upstairs. Just the word "now" every time I contracted...because I didn't want to keep track. 

Screenshot from Matt’s phone, as he kept close record of every time I texted “now”.

After about three more contractions, he texted me back from downstairs to let me know, in no uncertain terms, that this baby was coming and I needed to text Sheryl back and ask her to come NOW.

 

Sheryl got to the house just after 7p. We live out away from the city, so it takes a while to get anywhere. Twenty minutes, minimum, for everything. I took this into account when I was planning getting to the hospital in time.

 

I had a PLAN.

 

I was going to labor at home. Then, Matt would drive me to the hospital. I would sit on a birthing ball, pace the halls, deep breathe, sit in one of those Jacuzzi tubs, etc. Then, after a few hours of very controlled labor, I would push the baby out.

 

Welp, we got to the hospital around 7:30p. I made Matt drop me off at the front door so he could go park the car. The valet parking guy was confused. But, I let him know that I was having a baby and my husband was going to park the car! GOSH! WHY WAS EVERYONE SO IRRITATING? So, the valet guy backed away very, very slowly.

I should've known I was in transition at this point, since everything was making me so batty. But it didn't actually occur to me that I was close to delivery until I saw the Security Counter in the main lobby and completely bypassed it, waving to the guard angrily and yelling "IM HAVING A BABY!"

 

Her jaw hit the floor and she called back, "You want a wheelchair? Floor 5..."

"NO," I snapped, "I DON'T WANT A WHEELCHAIR! I'M HAVING A BABY!"

 

Good grief! Why was everyone being so dense!?

 

There was a tough-looking teenage boy standing next to the elevator as I tried to push the button. I glared at him.

"I'M HAVING A BABY!" I sneered, letting him know that I didn't like that he was staring at me and that I would totally take him down if he, too, offered me a wheelchair.

 

I had a contraction on my way up to the 5th floor and I remember thinking that I probably shouldn't have told Matt to go park the car because he was going to miss the delivery now.

I felt bad for approximately the length of the contraction. And then I got good and cross again.

 

I stepped off the elevator and the triage nurse met me in the hallway. She told me that they had received BOTH of my phone calls but the on-call doctor couldn't call me back because she was in surgery.

Fine, I thought. But I wasn't waiting for her to call me back.

 

"I'M HAVING A BABY!" I said.

 

She told me they needed to check me to make sure I was in real labor and this wasn't just Braxton-Hicks. She said to me that occasionally they have to send women home when they are in false labor.

 

"I'M HAVING A BABY!" I said.

 

Regardless, she sent me into triage and asked me to give them a urine sample.

I waddled into the bathroom, every single muscle aching, and wondered if I should tell someone that this was my seventh delivery. I tried to get the urine sample, but each time I attempted, I had a contraction that I had to breathe through and grab onto something. Three contractions (also, three minutes) later, I had the sample AND felt something verrrrrrrrrrry familiar: pressure. Insane pressure. And then my body did something that it was created to do.

 

It pushed. In the bathroom. Of triage. With no one around. And I hadn't even been admitted or had my IV placed for antibiotics or even put a gown on yet or or or or

OR

 

OH BOY!

I "ran" out to the stretcher that they had temporarily labeled as my bed, behind a curtain that no one ever closed. I didn't care. I stripped down and threw on a gown and told the nurse that my body was pushing.

I was entering a phase now that was incredibly new. Panic. They weren't ready for me.

Matt ran in, breathless. He had to go through security, unfortunately. (hehehe)

I told him I had forgotten how to breathe through contractions and my body was pushing. They hadn't even checked my dilation yet!

The nurse called for backup and they simultaneously checked that I was 8cm ONLY and tried getting an IV in. They poked me four times before they gained access.

As I was laying on the stretcher, I remember hearing Matt, but I couldn't see him. My eyes were shut tight. I thought I could squint and tighten all the muscles of my body to keep this baby in.

I was wrong.

With the very next contraction, I yelled out: "I'm pushing! I can't stop! I forgot how to breathe! I forgot how to breathe! I forgot how to breathe!"

And the flurry that followed was actually quite comical (well, it is NOW).

They unlocked the stretcher, ran and pushed me down the hallway, laying in the bed calling out "I FORGOT HOW TO BREATHE! I FORGOT HOW TO BREATHE!" And the nurses were yelling back, "DON'T PUSH! DON'T PUSH!"

They wheeled me into a room that wasn't ready. The doctor, fresh out of surgery, came into apologize for not returning my calls. I told her I didn't care and that I was going to push. She checked and said I was still 8cm, to which I responded:

 

"I'M PUSHING!"

And I did.

Once.

 

 

 

 

 



 

 

 

 

 

The nurse looked at me with a crooked smile and said, "Glad you came in when you did. Dad would've been delivering baby boy in the car."

 

Charles Francis Pernot

born at 8:12pm

7lbs 6oz

20in