Instead of a Brain Dump

The problem with being a slow processor is that when life happens at too great a pace, things pile up before I get the brain space to write about them. Then I feel overwhelmed and decide to never update the blog again. Or I consider doing a brain dump, which no one would actually enjoy reading, or just writing about something completely unrelated to everything that's happened, which feels untruthful. This is my attempt at a happy medium, I guess. Blogging on a regular basis might be the best happy medium, but actually accomplishing that appears to be beyond me these days.

The Man and I have spent the last couple months rearranging plans, digging through our post-hurricane moldy possessions, juggling separations and short visits, trying to maintain a semblance of normalcy and RV shopping. We were able to save far more than most, and the RV we have purchased (and just moved into) is far nicer than most of the homes in the neighborhood where I grew up...even if we will be cramming 7 humans and 3 pets into less than 400 square feet. I've learned a few things during the last few weeks. I hope you won't mind if I share a few of them with you.

• If a man voluntarily trades in a quiet hotel room to cram into an RV with you and your five kids (and three pets) so that you don't have to be separated for 9 months to a year, he really does love you. Stay married to that dude. Also, if he pauses in the middle of speed packing what's left of your moldy belongings to let you cry over the now moldy Indonesian chest your parents gave you on graduating high school--even while you're trying to be tough and keep packing--hold onto that moment. Doing hard things together is ten times better than doing easy things by yourself. Especially because together with the Man frequently means Indian food.
• If your parents voluntarily allow you and your five kids (and three pets) to move in with them for an open ended amount of time, you have it made in the parent department. If they also do hours of art and millions of games of Go Fish and Crazy Eights with your emotionally fragile kids, and lovingly tolerate the scribbles added to the cabinets and the new dents in the walls, just say thank you. Maybe say thank you more than one time and possibly pay for a house cleaner to come.
• Kids are resilient. That doesn't make what they are going through not hard. Being together is a strong motivator for resiliency though. Having a plan and an end date makes resiliency easier to come by.
• Close quarters mean fewer toys which means faster cleaning sessions. Win.
• RV designers underestimate how much a normal person would prefer a smaller bed which would provide the space to actually walk to the bathroom without tripping on a wall.
• Happy pets make easy travelers. Heading to Josh makes for happy pets. Now we know which one of us they really like.
• Living five minutes away from cousins/aunt/uncle is awesome. Sometimes when bad things happen (like hurricanes and family separations), we get to experience joy bringing opportunities (like getting to see some of my favorite people every day).
• It's okay to cry. It's also okay to laugh about the fact that you cry about everything.
• Just because our normal doesn't look like everyone else's normal doesn't mean that our normal isn't good.

I'm sure I'll be back with more later. Although considering the fact that there is evidently a YouTube family who do RV life with nine kids, I realize that my blog is not going to provide the novelty factor everyone else expects. But self care and all that. For now: I'm off to buy a litter scoop, mosquito spray, and butter...because priorities make self care easier to come by.

Seasonal Achievements

I wake up every morning and I think about all the stuff I can get done during the day if I just work smarter, time manage more effectively, and don't waste any time. Then by the end of the day, I can see just how little I've accomplished and just how exhausted I am, and I realize why I don't finish more of the items on my list. And the why might be connected to the five kids I finally managed to tuck in bed. But by the next morning, I'm sure that I'll be able to fit in just 20 minutes of flute practice or finish an actual blog (without having to stop two paragraphs in and then never completing the rest) or make actual headway on the book that I'm editing for a friend. Because surely I will handle things better today. Surely I will figure out a way to do All the Things!

But lately I've been thinking of a different time in my life. The summer before my senior year  of high school I discovered that I was short two years of PE. I signed up for a weight lifting class (which I used to take long walks off campus with my best friend instead of actually lifting weights) but that only covered half of the necessary credits. The powers-that-be agreed to a self directed summer program to count for the other credit. That summer my goal was to be able to run 5 miles in 40 minutes. By the end of the summer, I could run 5 miles in 40 minutes and 22 seconds, but I never managed to cut those 22 seconds off, and it drove me nuts. Fast forward fifteen years, and suddenly my body can knock out 5 miles in less than 40 minutes, and I don't even feel like I'm about to die at the end.

What I'm learning from this is that there are seasons (wow, it's like I've never had to learn this lesson before...). There are years when some goals are met and others are not. There is ebb and flow. But we are rarely in a season when everything works together seamlessly and our strengths are playing out on all fronts. Probably because then we would find ourselves drifting off on the wind, held aloft by our over-inflated heads...

This season has been a good one in many ways, if a hard one in many others. I can get frustrated about the personal goals that are not being met, or I can rejoice in the ones that (miraculously) are and in the other ways our family is learning and growing--even if those ways are not as tangible as published blog posts or a package in the mail to my friend with her (fully edited) book that I luckily evacuated with.

Yesterday instead of practicing flute, I helped my daughter work through a tantrum. Instead of blogging, I taught my sons how to look for hope in dark places. Instead of plowing through my work that I deem important, I got to serve dinner to my grandmother. Maybe tomorrow there will be editing or music or completed phone calls or new car tags. But for today, there is still so much.

The Man and I standing on the site where our new home will be parked.
Totally upgraded for a water view.

{Thank you for still taking the time to read when I post. I know it doesn't happen often these days. Thank you for continuing to pray for us as well. We have plans in the works to get our family back together by the middle of January. The Man is continuing to fight the good fight on our recovering base while the kids and I redefine home for a while at my parents'. Next step will involve a very large RV, not a whole lot of personal space, and boundless opportunities to learn patience and look for beauty.}

Patient Grief

In May, the Man accidentally scraped a chair over my toenail, leaving a blackish purple bruise that slowly crept closer and closer to the tip of my toe for weeks. Just a week earlier, Oswald had bitten a hole straight through the thumb nail of my right hand while trying to avoid getting his vaccinations updated. That thumb nail turned funny colors and parts of it flaked off as the hole ever so slowly moved upward. Just two weeks ago, I finally got to the point where both nails look normal again. All signs of damage have grown out. My thumb and toe no longer look completely disgusting. It took almost five months.

Five months for the outward signs of what was fairly minimal damage to disappear.

I am writing this to remind myself to have grace for myself during times of healing--and I guess also to remind you too. If something like a smashed toenail can take five months to repair itself, how long will it take to heal emotional damage done to something much more delicate and much more necessary to life, like a heart?

When we undergo emotional trauma, whether on a large scale or a small, we expect ourselves to get over it quickly. We try, even, to rush ourselves through the stages of grief. Quickly! Denial! Anger! Bargaining! Depression! Acceptance! And done! Or we think that we can grieve on a timeline. A year has gone by since we lost a loved one and we expect our hearts to be over it. Six weeks have gone by since we moved and we should be feeling settled again. We've had another child after the loss of a pregnancy, and we expect ourselves to be completely happy without any lingering sense of loss. But if you had asked me how long it would take for my toenail to get better (my toenail!), I would have said two months. Tops. It took five months. For a freaking toenail. (Don't ask me what I thought about my fingernail--I was pretty sure the whole nail was going to fall off and I was going to be having lots of super awkward hand shakes while meeting new people after our move.)

If you are in a season of grief, no matter how insignificant a grief it seems in this moment, please: be patient with yourself. And remember that there is One who is near to the broken hearted, who binds up our wounds (no matter how trivial they may seem to others), one who has offered to be the strength of our hearts and our portion forever (not just for a socially acceptable period of grieving). He saves those who are crushed in spirit, without rushing us to get over it, without demanding that we get it together, without pushing us to Be Happy (so help me). He asks only that we look up and see him, the one who took our pain and bore our suffering, who was pierced for our sins and crushed for our wickedness...and he offers us himself. He offers us peace. Peace that does not pretend away the grief but that takes the grief and understands that from this too He can bring good. He can bring healing, but only in his timing. And he kept the scars on his hands and feet for eternity.

May we be patient with ourselves. And may we look up.

Get After It

post-run coffee and inspiration

This morning, after my run, I sat down with one of the Man's motivational coffee mugs that informed me that I needed to "Get After It". I tried to convince the coffee cup that Getting Up in the morning and Getting Out for a run was enough Getting for one day. But no, the coffee cup informed me, my loyal readers needed me to step up my game and try for what has now become my once monthly blog posting. Said coffee cup also informed me that I should probably answer a couple dozen text messages I've been avoiding, finish the laundry, and homeschool my children (like a boss). Luckily for me, the aforementioned coffee cup was almost large enough to hold an entire French Press worth of coffee so at least it provided back up for its inspiration.

This kid needs no help motivating her way to crazy

Tiny showing the rest of us how to get it done
(also like a boss).

Here's the problem with motivational coffee mugs, though. They don't take into account actual real life circumstances. Like when you spend all day telling your kids to do the same things they have to do every day...and still have to repeat yourself five trillion times. Or when actually answering text messages just causes people to respond to your answers so that you then have to answer more text messages. Or when you're so tired that you have to take a cat nap in the trunk of the car between unloading groceries. Not that I've ever done that...

Bruiser's wild and wonderful imaginings.
Can't imagine what he would create if I gave him coffee...
Or a motivational mug...

It's in those moments that we chuck the motivational coffee mugs and give ourselves a little grace. Just make sure you drink the coffee first. Because then, after you have extended yourself some grace, you have the energy to try again to rise to the occasion. And take on the world. Or just, you know, Get After It. Side note: I'm no longer completely sure what that phrase means but it seems like something I should tell myself on repeat (in between repeating "Nothing should be in your mouth but food or your toothbrush" and "If you're done with that, put it away").

Littles was inspired to create pizzadillas last week.
Best stroke of genius ever.

Not sure what motivated me more to change this kid's diaper:
her absolutely adorable smile,
the fact that she brought me a diaper and the wipes unasked,
or the terrifying reek emanating from her hind quarters.

Today, though, I thought you'd like to help me create our own list of motivational coffee mugs, ones that are more grounded in real life and less in sounding cool. I'll get us started. Here are a few ideas that could help someone you know get through their day with more success:

• Just Say "No" To Socializing
• Read More Books. Ignore More People.
• Hide in the Bathroom
• Naps Are For Winners
• Coffee Gets Cold. To Do Lists Don't.

Feel free to add your own in the comments section. Remember: we want to inspire other people but not forget that they are actual human beings whose supply of chocolate and sanity may be running low. So go on now: get creative or just...get after it.

Another motivation mug message:
Kiss a Crabby Baby

Books for Me, Books for You

It's been a reading summer for us, lots of afternoons curled up on the couch with the Bigs enjoying books out loud...at least until Bruiser starts to interrupt more than every other paragraph, which is when I throw in the towel and make them go play legos. As of last week, we've started back to school, but it didn't even put a dent in our read aloud time because--this is the joy of homeschooling. Also, I'm not going to lie, reading out loud is one of the few things that I really feel like I do well as a parent and teacher, so I'm doing my best to capitalize on that and hope it evens out my other deficiencies.

How my crazy kids do their first day of school picture.
The fact that Twinkles has a pen in her hand and is about to draw
on herself should've been a sign of things to come.

Some of the following books are suggestions. Some are reflections. And some are cautionary tales. You can determine which books belong in which categories.

The Chronicles of Narnia by C. S. Lewis :: The kids and I had just started The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe when we left Texas. We systematically read through the whole series, the kids picking their favorite characters as they went and adding lots of book references to our family lexicon of jokes. Finally, we blew threw The Last Battle in record time, the week before school started--thank you, Twinkle, for taking really excellent afternoon naps two days in a row. Hands down my favorite part of this whole experience? Seeing the kids' faces light up every time Aslan appeared in the story. May I model for them that same joy for Jesus, our real live Aslan.

Water to Wine by Brian Zahnd :: I bought this book in order to make use of the prayer liturgy he includes--which was just as soul encouraging as I thought it would be. The rest of the book was thought provoking, challenging, and prayer inducing. Do not read if you want someone who will agree with you on everything. Do read if you want your soul to stretch and your heart to be pointed back to Jesus while your mind is simultaneously challenged past the status quo.

Teaching from a Place of Rest by Sarah Mackenzie :: Earlier in the summer, I enjoyed Mackenzie's latest book The Read-Aloud Family. Then a new neighborhood/homeschool friend asked me if I'd be willing to "book club" through Teaching from a Place of Rest, and of course I said yes (our version of book clubbing--the only kind of clubbing I do--is walking around the block in the pitch black dark, talking as loudly as possible about our homeschooling perils in order to hopefully scare away the black bears. They should be scared by both the noise and the topic of conversation: if we can survive homeschooling, we can survive anything). I'm going slowly through the book, but it is giving me a lot of much needed encouragement as we tackle yet another year of home schooling, this time with four kids studying and one very attention hungry one year old doing her best to distract us. At this point, I would give it a highly recommend, but I promise to update the book blog if next chapter she suggests duct taping my kids to their chairs and playing Baby Einstein videos for them while I nap.

Water My Soul by Luci Shaw :: I'm not writing much about this now because this book deserves its own, personal, all-by-itself post, but Shaw's meditation on soul growth in connection with nature has made my early morning quiet so much richer. I try to squeeze in just a couple paragraphs a day after I read my Bible (and hopefully before the hordes descend upon me), and every time I come away with some small nugget of truth to hold onto throughout the day. Highly recommend. Side informational tidbit for you: Luci Shaw was one of Madeleine L'Engle's best friends.

The kids and I have been on an audiobook kick since July. Honestly, I'm kind of mad that it took me so long to jump on the audiobook band wagon. The Man tried to tell me, but I was so convinced that it wouldn't work for us that I didn't listen. How wrong I was. How much crow I have eaten.

Here's the Man graciously reading to Twinkle
instead of saying "I told you so."

Bud, Not Buddy by Christopher Paul Curtis :: What an incredible introduction to audiobooks this was.  The kids and I plowed through most of Bud, Not Buddy driving home from TN last month, and cheerfully ran errands for the next week in our attempt to finish it. The reading by James Avery was...amazing. He did all the voices better than I could've imagined possible--and my imagination is not one to be kept down. I'm not going to lie: the whole way through Bud, Not Buddy I kept waiting for something to happen that would turn me off to the book. But the something never came. Also, all the jazz made my heart happy. The story is about an orphan boy who escapes his foster home and goes looking for his father, but it's so much better than that makes it sound.

The Wizard of Oz by Frank L. Baum :: Our next pick was The Wizard of Oz, and honestly, I really think audiobooks are saving us from a sense of frustration regarding the commute time here. Coming from San Antonio, I thought that all the people who warned us about commute time in our small city here were just complaining unnecessarily. But the truth is: it takes forever to get anywhere here, and I still can't really figure out why. But at least we had Dorothy, Toto, the Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the Cowardly Lion to keep us company this month. We're watching the movie on Friday, and the kids are so excited, although I warned them that Dorothy's slippers are ruby red in the movie, not silver. As an insight into my children's souls though, yesterday I overheard the twins pretending to be the Wicked Witch of the West (Bee) and the winged monkeys (Bruiser--he is a whole pack of winged monkeys rolled into one).

The Little Man's solo chapter book reading is exploding right now too. Although I did bribe him to read something new the other day (one cannot continuously reread even Harry Potter and the Chronicles of Narnia without eventually having one's mind turn to mush). The promise of two chocolate chips introduced him to:

A Barrel of Laughs, A Vale of Tears by Jules Feiffer :: Roger makes people laugh, not by being funny but just by being. Everything in Roger's life is hilarious--except for the fact that no one around him can stop laughing. Littles also could not stop laughing. I counted introducing him to this book as my parenting win for the year. Now I can rest on my laurels until 2019.

Mr Lemoncello's Library Series by Chris Grabenstein :: One of the joys of loving children's literature and having actual children of your very own is getting to read children's books with impunity and then introduce the ones that you really like to the kids that you really like. I blew threw the Mr Lemoncello's Library series and have now gotten Littles sucked into them (when he comes up for air in between Redwall books). In fact, I even got the Man's super old kindle working so that Littles could read the ones our library doesn't have but Army MWR Library does. Thank you, online library of a different military branch for being awesome. And for letting me bum off you forever and ever. And ever.

The Incorrigible Children of Ashton Place by Maryrose Wood :: Oh so quirky. Oh so fun. I'm three books in on this six book series and waiting for the sequels is killing me. I'm considering just buying all six of them for the kids to read (because they have managed to make learning fun as well as just being fun), but it bothers me that they don't come in a box set, which I realize is unbelievably petty. If you want to know what it would be like to be a fifteen year old prim, British governess to three children who were, presumably, raised by wolves, you too could enjoy these books. Personally, I'm enjoying them for all the wonderfully abstract sayings of Agatha Swanburne. This series is next on my list of books to bribe Littles to read.

Wonder by R. J. Palacio :: As for the other kids, they are reading a smattering of everything (we are still finishing up Noel Streatfield's Ballet Shoes) but our main enjoyment right now has been Palacio's Wonder. It's my second time reading it, but it's still making my heart so happy. Also, it's making it cry a little, but the kids just think I'm doing a really good job reading all the voices and don't get that I'm actually choked up.

Last but not least, a few words on board books (let us not forget Twinkle in all these Big People Books).

Where's Spot? by Eric Hill :: Seriously, why is this book even a thing? I get that it's super fun to open all the little flaps (or, in Bruiser's case, to rip off all the little flaps with impunity--Twinkle's copy was a post-twin gift), but why do we feel it necessary to solidify in our one year old's vocabulary the word, "No"? Couldn't Eric Hill have worked in a different word? Twinkle already knows how to express her "no"s perfectly well without his help. Thanks, but no thanks, Eric Hill.

Goodnight, Moon by Margaret Wise Brown :: Does it bother anyone else that the bowl full of mush is just going to sit there all night, not getting eaten, completely wasted, and congealing to the bowl? It will be a concrete block of mush by morning. Good luck cleaning that out. I have to know: does this bother anyone else? Anyone?!

At any rate, these are just a few of our latest reads because books are happiness, and happiness should be shared. Consider this my "Just Because I Love You" book blog. Because I do. Also, I realize that the littlest Friz was unfairly represented in this blog, but it was not purposeful. She's just the only one who tolerates photo shoots right now. It's not because she's cuter than the rest of them or I love her more. In fact, she was neither cuter nor more lovable when she opened a new box of raisins this morning while I was in the middle of the twins' reading lesson and dumped half of them onto the carpet which badly needed to be vacuumed thereby covering aforementioned raisins with a thick coating of pet fur. She also wasn't cute nor terribly lovable when she dumped water in the play dough that I was using to keep the twins happy so I could finish Spanish with the Boys. But you know, that's neither here nor there. Books are happy! That's the take away. Happy Wednesday-almost-Thursday!

Summer Meet Ups

We start school this week, which means that our summer days of frantically trying to get settled in but still be as lazy as possible are now drawing to a close. Sure, we smacked a couple of weeks of school in there post move, but most of it has been beach trips and unpacking and hanging pictures and bopping in to see the Man at work while simultaneously scarring the entire squadron with the sight of our children. It's fun for the whole family! But the highlight of the summer, at least for me, has been meeting up with a whole truck load of old friends.

A friend from college and her son got to play with the clan at a splash pad while we were in TN (and they drove 2 hours in order to do so). I did a last minute drop in on some friends from our time in Oklahoma, who now live in Alabama and graciously fed us lunch before we finished our drive home. I had a friend from Monterey who moved to Seattle come down for a beach day with our kids. On Saturday, we got to rendezvous with a friend from my time in Virginia who now lives in the Netherlands with her family. And tomorrow a friend from childhood is stopping for the night as her family moves to South Carolina. Now if only someone from my time in DC would decide to swing by, my summer of old friends would be complete. I'm not naming names, but you should know that our guest bed is super comfy. And the beach is seriously a two minute walk from the house. Also, if you come after Wednesday you get to help homeschool the kids. And you know you desperately want to do that.

And I just realized that I'm wearing the same shirt
on three out of four of those days...

I have been thinking of God's goodness in letting some of these friendships continue. Some of these friends I had not seen in years. Some of these friends I hadn't kept up with terribly well. These friends have changed jobs, moved, married, had kids, suffered terrible griefs... We'd missed major life events, but still, for just an hour or two we got to enjoy each other, listen to each other, hug one another. And I was grateful. I am grateful.

It is hard to keep up with friends the way that I would like. We have moved (on average) every two years over the last decade. That means that every two years, I am making new friends who I will then want to keep up with the next time we move (while still making more new friends). Sometimes this is a logistical challenge. Often, people that I love and enjoy slip through the cracks. But we have grace for each other, and we take the moments (and the facebook messages) when we can get them.

I had a friend message me only last week, just to tell me that she had been thinking of me and she was trying to be more intentional in her relationships so she messaged when she had a moment. We haven't seen each other in a decade. But I so love that she did that. I'm hoping to squeeze in a phone call to her this week in between finalizing homeschool plans and changing six sets of sheets, not because I have to but because if I can, I want to. And no, we probably will not start weekly phone dates but I will love that fifteen minute phone call just like I loved that five sentence "I'm thinking of you" note.

We all get it: we are busy. No matter how much I pare down and say no to, I think the nature of adulting is busyness. But there are things that take so little time and effort. I want to be the friend who sends that text message to say, "You were on my mind today." I want to be the kind of person who says, "I'm driving through your town today; want to meet up?" I want to pick up the phone and listen well. To the best of my ability. And I am so grateful for the friends who have grace for me when my best ability falls short.

Fish or Snake?

"What father among you, if his son asks for a fish, will instead of a fish give him a serpent; or if he asks for an egg, will give him a scorpion?" Luke 11:11-12

I was recently thinking back on my husband's decade in the military (our family's decade as a military family). Ten years, two deployments, five kids, five moves, more short term separations than I can count... Looking back, I see things so differently now than I did then, in large part because I now have a different perspective on so many of the things that happened.

This morning I read the above verse and it reminded me of a scene in one of our favorite family movies, Father Goose. In the movie, Leslie Caron's character, Catherine, believes herself to be bitten by a snake which turns out to be only a stick with thorns. When one of the young girls goes to kill the "snake" and discovers the truth, she brings it back to Walter (played by Cary Grant) who believes Catherine to have died from the poisonous snake bite. The following conversation ensues:

Anne, holding out stick: It wasn't a snake. It was this.
Walter: Well, that's not a snake.
Anne: It looks like a snake.
Walter: Well, that's not a snake.
Anne, hands Walter the stick: Here, watch out for the thorns.
Walter, takes stick: Thank you. [pause] It's not a snake.
Anne: It looks like a snake.
Walter, considering: No... it doesn't... This looks like a snake!

I think sometimes I'm a lot like Anne, trying to defend the way I see things wrongly with "But it looks like a snake." I think back to my first pregnancy. I was so angry at God for disrupting my plans for grad school and a career that it took me several months to see my transition into motherhood as a fish to nourish me instead of a snake to harm me. Similarly, the two deployments we have gone through (which is so few compared to many others) looked like scorpions attacking our marriage instead of precious eggs that fed us on the yolk of community and dependence on Christ. The many separations appeared to be stones to beat us down instead of bread to strengthen us (Matt 7). I can look back now and know that what God gave me was not a snake to bite me but a fish to feed me...but what I want is to recognize--in the moment--that I have a God worth trusting even when sticks look like snakes.

One of the ways that we are able to do this more effectively is to consistently put truth into our minds. I have to remind myself over and over again that no matter what things may look like on the surface, God is good and does good. If that is my truth then I can act out of that truth, no matter the circumstances. One of the quotes I have been meditating on this year is from Julian of Norwich who said, "All shall be well and all shall be well and all manner of things shall be well." Although--in the spirit of honesty--I memorized it wrong and have it in my head as "All is well, all shall be well." The mindset is the same: all is well because we know that Jesus has already won the battle against sin. All shall be well because we know we have hope for the future. But we have to remind ourselves of these truths because on the surface, things don't always look so good.

So we say to ourselves, over and over again: all is well, all shall be well. God is good and does good. It looks like a snake...but it's not one. And we ask God to give us more of his Spirit so that when we look at the world we can see it the way he does, so that we can see the gifts he gives for the gifts they really are. And we know that He wants to give us his Spirit because he tells us so. And he's worth trusting.

"If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!" Luke 11:13

Pre-Waffle Blurbage

It seems that it's time for a blurb blog, which basically means that there were too many little stories that I'm too lazy to post about separately and actually develop into real stories. I'd apologize but, let's be honest, this is not a surprise to anyone. I've been doing this for years now. On that note, here we go!

The Man finally bullied me into buying a GPS watch for my runs. He says it's so he and the kids can keep track of me during my long runs, but I know the truth. The truth is that if I get eaten by a bear or alligator, he wants to be able to hunt down and shoot the beast that left him to raise 5 kids on his own. Incidentally, said GPS watch likes to beep at me at various times during the day and tell me to "Move!" Communist. YOU CAN'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO! (I totally got up and moved, which tells you a lot about how susceptible to suggestion I am.)

After 5 moves, I've finally figured out my decorating style: just add more books to it. Fixes every decorating problem known to man. Also, I had someone tell me that they had a friend who might actually have more books than I do. My internal response: challenge accepted. Sounds like it's time to take the kids book shopping again...

I gave the Little Man his first sewing lesson this week. He seems highly motivated--and may that so continue. Life skills for the win.

I overheard the twins playing a game of pretend with Twinkle yesterday. In it, Bee pronounced loudly that marriage was prison. While her dad may be happy that his brainwashing skills are working and he will never be replaced in her life, I'm wondering what subconscious messages she is picking up...

The funny thing about losing stuff that had been placed in large boxes is that you don't realize just what all got lost at the off set. So, as you unpack and set up house, you keep having realizations of "Oh, and that was in that box too..." You also find yourself unpacking and putting away at least three dozen different things that you wish the movers had lost instead. Seriously, movers, you couldn't have lost the pancake griddle that was on its last legs instead of the heirloom family art?

Some of my children, who shall remain nameless, spend their days toting around enough attitude for a whole bevy of teenage girls. It has not escaped my attention that we are still two years from double digits for child number one, much less the rest of them. The sarcasm, the eye rolls, the drama: I'd be impressed if I weren't supposed to be helping discipline these little sinners.

My children are also in possession of a lot of Opinions (capital O necessary) about how to hang pictures and put together furniture and serve meals. I maintain the right to ignore all Opinions except my own (and possibly the Man's) and to respond, "Nobody asked you, Patrice!" even though none of my kids will get that reference.

Twinkle's favorite part of hanging family pictures: getting to see Dada whenever she wants.

Blueberry war paint is the in thing right now. I'm trying to decide whether the purposeful face painting is worse than the kid who ate neatly but is still left with startlingly blue teeth.

Toddler nursing: when they pause periodically to pull pieces of chewed up apple out of their chipmunk cheeks and gift them to you. Also, when they get out of bed at 230am, walk downstairs, and scare the crap out of you by waiting right next to your face so that you'll nurse them and put them back in bed. Also, when they signal that they are so over library time by flopping into your lap like a dead fish and proclaiming, "Nur." Thankfully she was momentarily distracted by a bouncy house so that I could get out of there without public indecency (kid has no appreciation for my attempts at modesty...or scheduling...or weaning).

Lego sword fighting: explosions of legos at every sword strike. Some ideas were meant to die early deaths, preferably before one's parents die early deaths by killing themselves stepping on legos that one left everywhere post lego sword fight. And no, lego shields do not fix this problem.

On that note, it's Saturday morning, and I should probably go make breakfast a reality for the hordes before they revolt. And yes, before one of you helpful people points it out, there are no pictures of Bruiser in this post. I have a lot of kids. There will not be equal representation at all times. Life is not fair. But at least there are waffles on Saturday mornings and the hope of a beach trip.

Showing Up

I had big plans to post a blog Thursday night, but then the boys' bookshelves got in and I spent the evening obsessively assembling them and unboxing books. Part of this was that I was sick of the boys' books taking over the floor of our guest room (which has been the dump room for the last month) but most of it was that in my mind I was playing out the part in The Little Princess when Ram Dass transforms Sara Crewe's room while she sleeps. I imagined the boys waking up the next morning and expressing a fervor of excitement. Naturally, expectations didn't line up with reality, and the boys (while grateful) didn't descend into rapturous thrills of joy. Evidently bookshelves are run of the mill where they come from.

Then I was going to post a blog last night--and my furniture assembling plans even conspired alongside me so that I could be done setting up the TV stand before pizza and a movie night and be free to spend the whole evening writing. Except that Twinkles woke up while I was still assembling and I got flustered and rushed and somehow managed to slide a piece of molding on backwards (probably in between telling the twins and Tiny to stop fighting and yelling for Littles to come save me from the Toddler of Terror) and didn't realize until I was almost done with the entire assembly...and couldn't finish due to my mistake. At that point, I decided to take the kids for a walk on the beach and regain my sanity. Once the kids were in bed, the Man graciously helped me take apart the TV stand so that I could fix the molding, reassemble it, and finish the job. Let me tell you what a saint he is: he only once reminded me that he'd asked me to wait and do the assembly together.

Anyway, my Saturday morning disappeared while I unboxed DVDs and alphabetized them (let's place bets now on how long it'll take before Twinkles messes them up). Then my early afternoon disappeared while I meticulously hung a bunch of lined up picture frames on the wall (I'm pretty sure they're all crooked). But here we are now. You're welcome.

All that to say: things rarely go as planned but, at least in my experience, we do tend to get there eventually. Maybe it doesn't look the way we think it should, but that doesn't negate the hard work it took to get there or the possible joys along the way. Maybe instead of the 3-4 mile solitary run you had planned, you end up eking out just two miles while pushing the baby in the stroller. It's still forward progress. Maybe instead of the curtains staying up, they fall back down for the fourth time and you finally fill in the holes with putty and go back to trouble shooting a different option. It still counts. Maybe instead of making a great impression at your husband's squadron BBQ you trip and nearly fall flat on your face. You still showed up.

Maybe the things not going as planned in your life are bigger than aesthetic annoyances or minor embarrassments or inconvenient mistakes. The truth is still the same. Say it to yourself: this still counts. This is still progress (however slow). I still showed up.

We keep showing up, even though the progress does not appear to be forward. We keep showing up, even though the world tells us that what we do does not count. We give each other hugs. We take walks when we need to. Sometimes we have a good cry. We smile at each other. We give a compliment, no matter how small (because the best way to feel better about ourselves is to encourage someone else). And then we show up again because to be alive is to keep moving forward, even when it feels that we are moving backward, even when we're not sure what forward is any more.

Keep showing up. There is a quiet Voice waiting to tell you, "Well done, good and faithful servant. Come further up. Come further in." Take a breather, but don't quit yet. There are bigger adventures to come.

Bring on the Beach. Bring on the Books.

Florida summer for us is all beaches and books (and setting up the house still but that kills the alliteration--and you don't really want to hear about assembling bookshelves and falling curtain rods, anyway).

Here's the thing about taking five kids to the beach: it takes a solid half an hour just to get everyone's sunscreen on. However, it has proved to be, in the words of my husband, "Not as stressful as we think it will be but also not as restful as we hope it will be," which I thought was a remarkably elegant turn of phrase. Unrelated side note: he also told me the other day that "If we make the hard choices now then life is pretty easy, but if we make the easy choices now then life ends up pretty hard," which was rather annoyingly on point when it comes to many things (especially my inability to correctly hang curtains). But back to the beach...

Beach time with all five kids is pretty exciting. Naturally, we bring home at least two pounds of sand per trip per child (do the math) and enough sea shells to start our own marine museum, but for an hour (or two), everyone is happy--including me. Sure, Twinkle tries to drown herself at least a handful of times, but for the most part, it's surprisingly relaxing. Sure, the twins get in trouble for trying to throw sand. Sure, the Bigs try to race hermit crabs. Sure, the twins try to bring hermit crabs home after taking them for walks on the beach. Sure, the Littles is determined to see how far out he can go on his own and how far he can let the current carry him before the Man and I start freaking out. Sure, Bee tries to make sand angels (which will inevitably get sand in crevices of her body she didn't even know existed). Sure, the Man and I will relax to the soothing sound of children saying, "Mom! Mom! Mom! Dad! Dad! Look at this! Look at that! Mom! Dad!" But: it's all worth it because of Momentary Happiness. And because the water makes my heart smile (which is an anatomically incorrect metaphor).

Beach time aside, the majority of our summer (so far) is being spent reading books together out loud. Before we got in our household goods, we would curl up on our bed and I'd read to the kids while Twinkle napped or after she was in bed for the night. Now we split our time between the living room and the back porch, although today we took a walk down the beach and read half a chapter of Prince Caspian while sitting at the edge of a pier eating pretzels. I tried to concentrate on the book while internally freaking out that one of the twins was going to fall off the end of the pier and I would have to jump in and save them with Twinkle still strapped in the Ergo. Normally though, book reading is accompanied by Mommy snuggles or coloring books or playing with Mommy's hair. Today the kids put an entire basket of bows in my hair. I felt like the Beast after his makeover. I probably looked like the beast after his makeover (clarification that we're talking about the part when he gets bows put all in his mane, not the part when he has lasers coming out of his fingernails).

Anyway, the important part is that we've been plowing through The Chronicles of Narnia since late May. The Horse and His Boy was extremely helpful in teaching my children phrases such as, "Oh my mother and oh the delight of my eyes" and "To hear is to obey." Littles keeps reading ahead and then offering his siblings spoilers and being taken up on his offers because evidently my kids can't stand the suspense. But my favorite part has been the adoration of the kids for Aslan and the depth of theology with which Lewis writes. On the lighter side, we're also reading the My Father's Dragon series again. I read it to the big boys when the twins were babies but thought it was time for a reread now that Bruiser is reaching the height of his dragon obsession (he has asked for another dragon costume that actually breathes fire for Halloween this year). And for my darling daughter, we are reading Ballet Shoes for the first time. And the boys are hanging in there with her just fine because manly men should be well rounded.

Book porch view of our armadillo family

And that, right there, is our summer. Give or take a few bear sightings, a family of armadillos, chasing the escapee dog down the beach in the rain with newly met neighbors, waiting for the new family pictures to arrive in the mail, putting together new chairs, putting together new bookshelves, putting together new living room furniture, hanging curtains, rehanging curtains, re-rehanging curtains, hanging pictures, waiting to hang pictures, checking the mail again to see if those new prints have arrived, etc., etc., etc. but mostly the beach and the books, which, in my humble opinion, is a pretty phenomenal way to spend a summer.

Where We've Been

I find myself wanting to apologize for it being over a full month since the last time I wrote, and then I realize: no, I have five kids and the amount of stuff we've managed to squeeze in over the last month and nine days is pretty impressive. We've traveled through six states. We've moved out of an old home and into a new one. I ran a half marathon and spoke at a women's retreat. We went to a three day homeschool conference. The Man finished an old job and started a new job. We've looked for a church. We've made new friends.

We've had movers lose things (and cried about it). We've had movers break things (and resignedly accepted this to be our lot in life). We've filed impossibly confusing claims with the movers (and ate pints of ice cream to make it tolerable). We've acknowledged that most likely nothing will ever come of said claims (and rolled our eyes at the system). We've done a lot of online shopping to replace the items we will now probably never see again (and given the Amazon delivery guy a lot of extra work).

We celebrated the Man's birthday and Father's Day. We had our first three house guests (before we even had our stuff). We've done beach trips (and time in the mountains). We tracked down mailbox keys, flag-holders, and new doctors. We've had run-ins with bear and deer (but so far no gators). We've put away and thrown away and given away. We've found our new library and joined their summer reading program. We've read good books and watched a few good movies. We've sweated in the sunshine and rested in the breeze. We've cooked all the meals that make home feel like home again.

The kids have gotten tan and happy, and I have hidden in the shade and made close friends with my sunscreen. Trigger has lost half his body weight in fur and discovered that he likes the ocean when it's not freezing. The cats have delighted in giving us heart attacks at every stop by hiding under hotel beds and suitcases--and even now by hiding in the linen closet so that we think they've escaped the house and gotten eaten by a bear. Littles has toured the elementary school and survived his first legit assessment test. Tiny has upgraded to our former guest bed because Bruiser has officially taken the bottom bunk in what is now the "boy room". Bee is glorying in her "girly room" and trying to refuse entry to the boys. And Twinkle, ensconced in aforementioned girly room, has finally started sleeping through the night and learned how to say important things like "ball-ball" (pinecones) and "I wanna snack" (which, miraculously, means exactly what it sounds like).

There have been bike rides around the neighborhood and car rides into town and runs through the base. Most importantly there have been walks along the shore. There have been many nights sitting on the back porch talking but also afternoons snuggling on the couch--in the air conditioning--reading  The Chronicles of Narnia. There have been school mornings to finish out the semester and days of unpacking and figuring out where to hang the few pictures we have left and afternoons of running errands by piling hot and sweaty kids in and out of the car.

There have been short tempers and apologies. There has been yelling. There have been forever memories and sweet moments of family love. There has been whining. There has been growth. There have been meltdowns--and they weren't all by the kids. There has been thanksgiving.  There has been joy. There has been life.

So here I am: same song, second verse...just from a different state. Welcome back. And feel free to put in requests for what you want to hear about this summer, which then increases the chances of me getting back to you before July...

Moving Military Kids

April was the month of the military child, and I planned to put up a post about my military kids at some point, but suddenly it’s May. And we're in the middle of another move. 

I hear a lot this time of year about how amazing our military kids are. And that’s true. They are resilient, courageous, and resourceful. But you know what else? They are also just kids. And we ask a lot of them. This is our eldest’s fourth move, and he is eight. That is fairly normal for military kids, if not on the low side. That means four times, he has said goodbye to his church, his neighborhood, and his friends. Four times, he has watched his entire home be packed up and taken somewhere new. Four times, he has started over again, making new friends, trying out new foods, exploring new places. Four times (more than that, really), his dad’s job has changed dramatically, which causes a marked shift in our family life. This is not unusual for military kids.

The highlight of temporary housing for Twinkles:
joining Trigger in the kennel.

I’ve seen the effects of stress on our kids more than usual this time around. One of my children had two a day accidents for two weeks until we started loading the trailer, at which point things went right back to normal. Two of my children responded to move month by refusing to listen to anything I said (it made for a fun last few weeks—ears seem to be mostly functional again). Early bedtimes have been resumed due to an uptick in meltdowns, tears, and in-fighting. Flexibility is up. Normalcy is down. Last minute changes (and last minute emergencies) are king. This is move month for the military kid.

Road trip stops

Doing it right

Move month is also Littles hanging out with his dad while the movers load the truck. It is teaching the kids how to say goodbye well. It’s having the Bigs help me take pictures off the walls, and Littles informing me that taping nails to the backs of frames is his favorite part of moving. It’s telling Bruiser every day how much longer until we leave to see grandparents. It’s getting in extra snuggles with all the kids and extra family time since the Man isn’t at work. It’s being blessed by neighbors and friends who want to see you one last time or bring you a meal because they remember how tiring it can be to move. It’s taking down bed frames and realizing that your kids are disgusting because no matter how many times you’ve vacuumed their room, they still manage to hoard stickers, old bandaids, and half eaten, pilfered biscotti behind their bunk beds. It is surviving broken dryers, flooded lodging, changed plans, long hours in the car, and each other's sometimes shortened tempers.

Sometimes you make use of deserted parking lots to
get a little scootering in while the baby nurses.

Moving is exhausting

Move month is a chance for these kids to grow and learn and explore…and receive extra cuddles because their hearts are feeling a little tender even if they’re excited about what’s next. I’m thankful for my military children, not because they are super human but because they are mine. They’ve greatly enriched my experience of being married to military, and I hope that they will love the way they’ve gotten to grow up. I know it’s not necessarily normal. But then again, because of it, neither are they.