End Goals

Three months ago, I had the honor of getting to watch my brother-in-law graduate from high school. My in-laws have molded and taught him, shepherded him and sacrificed for him, and now, as he heads off to college, they can do so knowing that--while they may wish they had more time--they have prepared him well.

As he walked across the stage to receive his diploma, I thought nine years ahead to my own son, eight if he keeps going at the rate he's attempting these days (but don't worry, I can intentionally fail him in a few classes to keep him home longer--joys of homeschooling). And suddenly I got the blessing of a bird's eye view of what's coming next, like I was using binoculars to view the finish line.

Photo cred to other amazing brother-in-law

It's so easy to get for all of us to get bogged down by the day to day. To make the next easy choice because we're tired or distracted or overwhelmed by other things. We've all been there. We all get that. But the truth is that in our relationships (whether that be with God, our spouse, our children, or our friends... or even ourselves), we have to keep the long term goals in mind. In an argument between spouses, perhaps the question shouldn't be who is right or what is fair but whether or not we want our marriages to succeed. In our friendship with the neighbor next door, perhaps we need to worry less about being inconvenienced and more about how we can be community. In our parenting, perhaps we need to focus our energies not on perfect behavior but rather on modeling for them the heart attitudes that we hope to see in them as adults.

I think often the problem is that I want my days to be easy. I want school to finish up quickly. I want my kids to behave appropriately. I want my neighbor to like me, my husband and I never to fight, my mother to still think I'm the apple of her eye (except she ruins it by persistently not playing favorites--thanks for nothing, Mom). And none of those things are bad. But they don't keep the end goals in sight.

To put it another way, if I want to be a fast runner, I don't just run sprints. I run distance as well. I do tempo runs, I do intervals, I do yoga, I stretch. I take days off to rest. I take weeks off when I'm injured. And I get up on the mornings that I have to and get those runs in even when I don't want to. Because I have a long term end goal in sight. My goals change my actions but most importantly, they change my attitude.

Still, sometimes we forget what this looks like for our relationships. We begin to trick ourselves into thinking that self care is all bubble baths and eating chocolate, and forget that it is the hard work of putting ourselves to bed on time and prioritizing healthy eating and making space for the things that help us to breathe. We think that if our marriage is happy, we no longer have to put the time in to grow and learn together. We change diapers and run through spelling lists and throw food towards the gaping mouths of our hungry children without keeping at the forefront of our mind that these are not just future adults but also eternal souls.

May I just ask you to pause for a few minutes and look at your relationships and ask yourselves: what is the end goal?

The relationships that define your life matter.  So fight for your marriage. Prioritize your children. Make time for your friendships. Remind yourself over and over again what matters and why you are doing what you are doing (and if what you're doing isn't helping you meet those relational goals, change what you're doing). When you catch yourself just going through the motions (or slacking off completely), stop yourself and remember that you have a purpose--not just for yourself but for your relationships.

You want to not just celebrate that anniversary, but do so knowing that you love your spouse more in that moment than you did when you married them, and vice versa. You want to not just watch your child graduate and achieve big things, but to do so knowing that he or she is someone you can trust and be proud of. You don't want to just small talk across the fence with your neighbor, neatly avoiding stepping on each other's toes, but be true community for each other.

You want to not just get a spiritual check mark, eternal fire insurance, or moral superiority--you want to know God intimately, if such a thing is even possible. You don't want to just skate through each day, surviving by doing the bare minimum. Remember who you are. Remember what your end goal is. And work towards it so that one day you can walk away knowing that, no matter what happened, you gave your best. Not because you had to, but because you wanted to.

Frizz Family Homeschool: RV Edition

Our first week of school happened to coincide with a lovely head cold, but you know what they say about homeschool moms: can't stop, won't stop! Except I totally have stopped more than a couple times and pretended that the kids were at a real school instead of just rampaging on the other side of the RV while I took a cat nap. Still, it's Thursday, and by tomorrow we will have completed our first week of Frizz Family Homeschool: RV Edition! during which time we will be teaching 5th grade (ish), 3rd grade (ish), and kindergarten (times two!).

I bribed them with first day of school cinnamon rolls so
they would think I was a cool homeschool mom.
It only partially worked.

I don't have any cutesy first day of school pictures with All the Information on personalized chalk boards (or white boards or maps, like we've done in the past). Mostly because since we started RVing it, our fridge is the whiteboard, and that doesn't show up super well in pictures. Also, there's just something about saying, "Let's go pose with the fridge for first day of school pictures!" to get your kids really excited about the school year.

Not sure what subject this was, but
obviously, it was enthralling.
Never mind. I just remembered that this was the picture the Man
took while he was letting the kids watch a movie to recover from
their first day of school while I went to a meeting.

I did try to get some pictures. For posterity. Of course. And Littles got some really artsy black and whites while I was distracted by blowing my nose. Kid has phone stealing skills. His dad's a cop: figures. But you will see just how energetic and accomplished we were this week. Still: everything got done. For the most part.

Here was my attempt at a first day of school shot.
Everyone squinted.
I gave up.
Story of our school year.
Kidding.

It's been pretty much what you'd expect from a first week of homeschooling my kids. Lots of excitement, lots of books, and lots of unexpected derailments.  Although props to Tiny for not allowing himself to be derailed by Twinkle this morning while making blueberry muffins (pretty sure that counts as a life skills class). She was putting on the full court press to crack the eggs (debate club), but he didn't buy it. Being a smart kid and all. Because he's homeschooled. Those public school kids would've let the two year old crack the eggs. {This is a joke.}

This is me pondering the deep questions of life so that I can teach my children
all the important things.
Kidding: I was thinking about whether or not there was
green snot on my nose ring.

For those of you who are wondering about our schooling plans for the year: we're sticking with Classical Conversations, and I'm upping my game and tutoring this year because if I can live in an RV with five kids, I can do anything! Also, I'm curing cancer and helping the UN achieve world peace. Other than that it's nothing but work, work, work all the time (name that quote!), by which I mean the actual nose-to-the-grindstone nitty gritty of homeschooling which generally means making sure your kids aren't illiterate...among other things.

Artsy shot number one.
See how much we are accomplishing with our school day.

For now, I'll settle for making sure the kids aren't illiterate: we're still trying to get the twins reading. Since they're only five, I feel like the word "still" was unnecessary in the previous sentence, but Twinkle is now joining us for reading lessons and may end up giving them a run for their money because that kid is precocious. And terrifying. But that does kind of make me feel like I should be speeding the twins up, if only to keep from having Twinkle shame them for the rest of their lives. Other than reading, Bruiser has decided that he wants to ask me to teach him all the material he's not ready for yet, so we're totally doing that too, and Bee has decided to follow in her Aki's footsteps and become an artist so...we're doing all the drawing, all the time. With a strong emphasis on butterflies because she's a five year old girl.

He did manage to get his brothers to look like they love each other.
So, I guess that's impressive.

Tiny and Littles, meanwhile, are continuing on their path of world domination and continual sibling rivalry while also attempting to help me forget that we were actually supposed to be doing school work by reading quietly in their beds so as to not attract attention. It's surprisingly successful most days but only because I get sucked into my own books (Ayesha at Last today--nothing like a good novel to make yourself forget that your head wants to explode). On the days I do remember that I have children I'm supposed to be teaching, there is cursive, math, vocabulary, literature, Latin, Spanish, Bible, history, geography, science, music, art--one big giant jumble of learning that will hopefully turn them into legitimate adults capable of cool things.

These girls.
Such cuteness.

So we begin another school year. A bit more minimalist than usual maybe, and always more chaotic than I wish, but hopefully enough for our purposes, which are always to strengthen the kids' minds, souls, hearts, and muscles so that they can more fully love God and their neighbor. And (fingers crossed) at the end of it, still love me and know that I love them. Even if I make them do cursive and long division.

Best first day of school shot.
Plus Bruiser's flower.
Eyes are mostly open and kids are mostly in frame.
We'll take it.
Standards are lowered.
If no boogers are showing, it's a win.

At any rate, happy new school year! May our textbooks smell clean, our pencils stay sharp, and all of our children's dramatic eye rolls be put to good use. Also, may there be coffee. And lots of it.

Trying to post this video clip Littles' took,

that really shows the essence of our schooling.

If it doesn't work, blame my lack of tech savvy.

Still Hot

Those of you who know me, know I love Maurice Sendak's Where the Wild Things Are. So much so that this year I bought a pencil case of Max in his wolf suit with the iconic words "I'll eat you up!" written on it. (Incidentally, the Man, who is not a Sendak fan, asked me, "Who bought this weird pencil case? That kid has something coming out of his butt!")

This morning, I pulled out my pencil case to have my quiet time and found myself thinking about how Sendak's editors had tried (and failed) to get him to change the last line from "And it was still hot" to "And it was still warm." Max, the protagonist, has been sent to bed without any supper for misbehaving. He has gone on an adventure to the land of the wild things (sailing off through night and day and in and out of weeks and over a year) where he can be king. A wild rumpus progresses until he realizes that what he wants more than to be king is to be where someone loves him best of all. He returns home to find his dinner waiting for him...still hot. Not warm, and that is significant.

Sometimes, when we have been gone from the one who loves us best of all--pursuing our own power, setting our mark on the world, letting our desires devour those we think we love, attempting to exert control over the wild things about us--we realize that in our escape from discipline, we have left behind what really matters. And we want to return. But we are afraid of what is waiting for us.

I'm here to tell you that I think Sendak got it right (not all the time, some of his work is incredibly macabre, but in this instance). The one who loves you best of all has left dinner waiting for you--and it's not just warm, it's hot.

We think that we have forfeited that. That we will return to another empty room of discipline, or a meal that's been waiting for so long it has grown tepid or slimy. At best, we expect a bowl of warmed over soup and the chance to slip in unnoticed. But no, God has more for us than this. He loves us best of all, and his desire for us doesn't devour, it nourishes.

A hot meal indicates the presence of someone who cares. It is not a sandwich, left to be eaten alone. It is not a meal cooling to warmth that was left some time before by someone who isn't sure if or when we will be ready for it. It is a meal prepared specifically for us by one who knows our going out and our coming in and chooses to bless us with the very best out of his love for us.

Then again, maybe I'm just reading too much into this, and Max's meal was still hot because all of his adventures with the wild things happened only in his head. But I prefer the hope of the former interpretation. And I wondered if you would too.

Five Minutes of Quiet

Is it just me or is there something about parenting that makes you want to hide in your bathroom at the end of a long day and just get to read a good book and possibly poop in peace? Five minutes, that's all I ask of you. Just five minutes to regain my sanity.

But instead there are tacos and realizing that your five year old daughter has the best burp in the bunch (though you refrain from praising her for it) and sunset rummikub and beating the other five year old at tic-tac-toe. Then there are last minute wrestling matches and the inevitable tear filled break down from at least one over tired kid and the realization that, even though you reminded them fifteen different times, someone has forgotten to brush teeth. Then there are bedtime prayers and good night kisses, back scratches and quiet songs sung to half asleep kids. And then the straightening of the house, laundry that needs folded, shoes that got left in the middle of the floor, dishes to be put away, counters to be wiped. And by the time I'm done and make it to the bathroom, my body has completely forgotten what to do in there.

Tonight I chose to come outside and enjoy the blue light of dusk since the Man was stuck at work late. There are bugs crawling all over me, and my laptop screen is fogging up from the Florida humidity, but there's also a breeze blowing towards me from the water, and I think that if I could just stay out here long enough, breathe deeply enough, I can remember why I want to get up in the morning and do this all over again.

I remember:

...the sense of accomplishment on my kid's face when he tackles something hard and succeeds.
...pure mischief in more than one pair of brown eyes.
...that evidently there is such a thing as parent teeth.
...that I'm not doing this alone, no matter how long the days might occasionally be.
...earrings are replaceable, memories are forever--well, at least until Alzheimers sets in--and you never know when your thirteen year old self has your back.
...multiple cat naps are allowed. Sometimes they are even encouraged.
...picnics are always worth the prep time, beach walks are always worth the sand to be vacuumed.
...a little rain makes PE even more fun, but a lot of lightning can ruin your run attempt.
...bears are adorable and fuzzy, but goats get more attention.
...it's never too late to try something new.
...just because a day has some rough patches doesn't mean you can't turn it around and end on a good note. And the Anne books are always a good note.

There is always joy to be found. Sometimes though, I wish I didn't need five minutes of quiet in order to find it. Five minutes of quiet is not always easy to come by these days. But when I get them, I'm putting them to good use.

Delight and Desire

Last night the kids and I were reading a Max Lucado devotional on Psalm 37:4. The translation the devotional book used read, "Enjoy serving the Lord. And he will give you what you want." I made the kids stop and talk about it with me (being such a fun mommy to little people), and I told them why I preferred the wording that says, "Delight yourself in the LORD, and he will give you the desires of your heart."

That translation hits closer to the heart of the matter which tells us that any time we love someone other than ourselves--really love them--then our desires change to reflect that. When we are delighting in Christ, we no longer want the things that we used to want. We see this with our spouses and our kids and, really, any friendship. Because I love the Man, suddenly I want to live in an RV with five kids and three pets--ha!--than endure another separation. Because I love my kids, I'd rather spend money on things they need than things I want, I try to choose their best even if that makes things more complicated for me. Because I love my friends, I rearrange my schedule to accommodate them, ensuring that we see each other, or spend time making phone calls and sending emails.

It made me think of Anne Shirley, honestly, the part at the end of Anne of the Island when Gilbert is proposing to her (again) and he apologizes for the long road ahead of them and that he can't offer her any of the things that she had once dreamed of. She responds, "I don't want sunbursts and marble halls. I just want YOU." This is how we know what love is: when our love for the other person shifts our desires permanently.

We've all seen that trope in movies about the woman falls in love with the man and completely cedes everything about who she is (or has children and loses everything about her personality). This is not what I'm talking about. This is not losing all sense of self or becoming automatons or trying to cram ourselves into spaces we were never intended to fill. This is acknowledging that suddenly someone else's joy matters in new ways, someone else's happiness, someone else's health.

So my questions for myself today have been this: do I still want the same things I wanted before I had children, fell in love, chose Jesus? What has changed? Why? Do my desires reflect what I claim to love? Not every desire is going to change. I love to write. I love to read. I love the ocean and rainy days and coffee. None of those things are bad--in fact, all of those things are ways God made me for his glory.

But if I have to choose between finishing my book and listening to my husband tell me about his rough day at work, which will I choose? If I haven't had my coffee yet and my kids have all tumbled out of bed at an obscenely early hour, how do I respond? If God gives me sunshiny suburbia and a schedule that makes writing a challenge, am I bitter?

I want to make sure that my desires are directly related to the people and things in which I claim to find delight.

{Pictures from our recent family vacation to St Augustine.}

If You Try Hard Enough

Just a quick reminder for your Monday morning that anything can be a bookshelf if you try hard enough (and potentially think outside the box). Even a very large command hook that is supposed to be used to hold your mom's bag.

And if anything can be a bookshelf, then really, your possibilities are endless. Go forth and Monday like a boss.

Garden Add On

I'm enriching the soil of Fam Camp one dumped French press of used coffee grounds at a time. By the time we leave here, it will have been transformed from a sandy wasteland to a rich, tropical paradise. But that's not all (oh, no, that is not all, Dr Seuss). The kids and I have also started a vegetable garden with the help of one of my neighbors who does not immediately blanch at the word "project" and has an enterprising husband who loves her more than I deserve. In fact, the kids and I went up to Tennessee one weekend, and when we came back: Ta-Da! There were two pallet vegetable gardens (in a lovely shade of blue) holding court at the end of our RV, and a tomato plant and bell pepper plant already putting down roots thanks to my husband (who loves me more than I deserve).

This is for those of you asking for a picture of the outside of the RV.
The truck is parked next to it so you can pretend we're pulling it down
the highway, making all the other drivers annoyed.

We've since added a cherry tomato, a jalapeño, another bell pepper, a zucchini, a squash, two strawberries, and a lavender (transplanted from the herb planters but appearing to revive itself once the chocolate mint plant was no longer strangling the life out of it--the cilantro was not so lucky). We've also added two lily plants and a mimosa tree (thanks to our awesome neighbor). The mimosa tree somehow escaped being parked on when we had a dozen friends over for dinner the other night (food inside, people outside), so I'm pretty sure it's a Miracle Mimosa. It can only provide shade for snails and ladybugs at this point, but I hope to come back and visit it in another ten years and see if it's survived living here. Until then, I'm making sure it gets its caffeine fix every morning so that it can grow strong and healthy just like me.

The main attraction has been the vegetable garden though. As I'm writing this, one of the boys just managed to kick the soccer ball and hit the garden, but for the most part, having it behind the RV has been a good place for it. Out of the way of the boys' energetic ball games and close enough to the hose. Sure, Twinkle is managing to start water fights at least every other day with the hose, but what else can be expected?

I've loved adding a bit of beauty to our outdoors, but mostly it's been fun having a neighborhood project. The Man's old boss donated the little tractor light before he left. The pallets came from another neighbor. Strawberries are being shared between four trailers as they're picked off one by one. And best of all, I don't have to worry about the garden being taken care of while I take the kids up north for the summer, because my next door neighbor has my back with the weeding and watering. Also, if it dies, both of us are self professed black thumbs, so we'll take equal blame in the failure (winning!). Although right now, we're looking good since we seem to be only days away from our first official tomato and our squash and zucchini plants have more than doubled in size since these pictures were taken last week.

I know better than to let my momentary gardening success go to my head, but it's been good to keep trying at something that I routinely fail at but which gives me a lot of joy. I'm reminding myself (and the kids) that success isn't about perfection or even production. This garden will have been a success even if we get not a single vegetable out of it, simply because we've learned from the experience and it's encouraged our community. And it's led to a lot of joyous water fights, which in my opinion is always a win, even if it produces extra laundry and a lot of soggy shoes.

{I've been making the kids read a bunch of Victory Garden books the last couple of weeks. I feel like a pallet garden in a trailer park in the middle of a hurricane disaster zone qualifies as a victory garden.  And I'm pretty sure we all need a little victorious fight in our lives.}