And then I hear the ice rattling around an empty cup.

Now let me be clear, I do not begrudge the Cotton Husband a drink of his apple juice when he comes out of the fields. It’s either hot and dusty out there or cold and wet and apple juice is a sure-fire cure for either condition.

But sometimes I’m a little busy when I hear those cubes a-rattlin’ in that cup and here is the perfect item for those times.

Red plastic cups that you can etch your name in. Except I plan to use them for sending messages to that comfy spot on the couch in front of the television.

For instance, if I’ve had a good day. Perhaps both babies took a nap at the same time, the UPS man (a country girl’s Santa Claus) brought goodies and maybe my Allure magazine arrived that day.

Or if both babies decided not to take a nap, my pot roast was tough, the washer overflowed, and the girls decided to take every sheet, blanket and towel in the house and make an intricate fort taking up the bottom half of the house.

Then this is what that cup might say.

It’s always a good idea for husbands and wives to communicate, don’t you think?

When I announced the birth of my broad-chested, strapping, beautiful little boy, I mentioned that he would be the last of my babies. I didn’t explain why because well… unless you’re a labor and delivery nurse or a large animal vet, it’s just yucky. More importantly I have been blessed with four kids and I didn’t want to seem as though I were asking for sympathy.

But I’ve been writing these posts about how life sneaks up on you and how the planned gives way to the unplanned and it didn’t seem right to keep not writing about this. Because this is my ultimate “life happens”.

When I met my husband we knew we wanted a large family. My oldest two girls are close in age and we wanted our third daughter to have a “buddy”, so we decided to go ahead and try for another very quickly. We would then wait 2 or 3 years and have another. After that, who knew? We loved each other, were happy and dreamed of a houseful of children.

Everything was fine. Perfect. Textbook. For goodness sake, I was even a study on “how to do an epidural” that morning. A textbook delivery. And then all of a sudden it wasn’t anymore. My delivery decided to go 18th century on me. The look on my doctor’s face changed, my nurses looked panicked. My husband… words cannot describe the look of a man with three children in the waiting room, a robust newborn and a wife in dire straights.

There wasn’t any time. There wasn’t time to tell my husband that he’d been the greatest source of joy in my life – and even if there had been, my blood pressure was so low that I could barely find the strength to speak. And seeing my children… that was out of the question. I was whisked off to the operating room leaving my mama, my husband, my children all behind desperately waiting for any information they could get.

I woke up weak, pale but – thank God for small towns – staring into the face of a nurse I’ve known for most of my life. I’ve never been so glad to see anyone in my life. I vaguely remembered that my dear, sweet doctor had warned me I might need a hysterectomy but he was determined to avoid it if possible. I tried in my croaking post-surgery voice to ask but hardly any words came out. Somehow Courtney knew what I was asking, gently told me that there had been no other option and wiped the tears from my cheeks.

I’m not certain that I’ll ever arrive on a final emotion about what happened that day. Some days I almost run a bulleted list in my head of the bad points and the good. I feel like someone has wrung my heart out when they brightly ask if we plan on having more children. However, when I get mad at my husband these days he can’t blame PMS. So you know… there’s kind of a balance.

We are still so in love that it’s silly, we are still as happy as pigs in mud and we love our children so much that we can’t even breathe sometimes. But when I start to pack away the clothes my baby has outgrown and remember that I can give them away instead, I am reminded that – oh yes – life happens, sometimes quite suddenly and definitely without your permission.

Did I mention that I have drawers for flour and sugar?

I found these great metal scoops online and they’re perfect.

When I want to make pancakes, all I have to do is just open the drawer and scoop.

Life is really so much easier because I insisted on having these drawers.