We Like to Move It

It's that time of year: the time when my favorite neighbors have already packed up and moved out and I proceed to start freaking out about our own move. The time when the Man goes into planning hyperdrive, and I start purging everything in sight. The time when the kids decide to immediately trash whatever it is that I've just cleaned and I proceed to lose my ever-loving-mind. The time when I realize that somehow, even though we live in an RV, we have amassed a ridiculous amount of stuff (most of it hiding in Bee's bed) including but not limited to four (count them: four) coolers, dozens of books, a slab of marble (why?), at least ten pairs of shoes that no longer fit anyone (at least right now), an outdoor table with four mismatched chairs (one of them missing an arm), a self-made paver patio, and a garden (no clue how we're getting rid of that).

These are the children I'm driving crazy.
Or they're driving me crazy.
One of those things.

These days people like to ask me questions about how our move plans are going, and I laugh and I laugh and I laugh...until they start to back away slowly while surreptitiously calling 911 so that the cops can come get me and hand me over to someone capable of putting me in a straight jacket and a room with white padded walls. I thought we couldn't top the logistical challenges of moving during Christmas and birthday week--I was wrong. I thought doing a move while the Man finished out his last TDY was upping my game sufficiently--it was merely preparing me for this. I thought many things that were probably wrong, but I will say this (and pray I'm not jinxing us): at least I'm not pregnant this time.

Potentially enough children already this move.

Why, you ask (or don't--if you've already talked to me lately), is this move so logistically complicated? One: Corona. Moving on. Two: we don't have a house lined up yet because pet policies no longer work in our favor evidently (someone call PETA) and finding housing so near DC during a pandemic is a pain in the tush. Three: we're still trying to off load the RV on some unsuspecting adventurer (again, this is harder to do during "these uncertain times"). Four: we have a storage unit will 75% of our crap (it was 90% of our crap before we started accumulating the aforementioned items) that is two hours away from us, a storage unit that my husband can't take stuff to because it's out of county and coughCOVID-19travelbancoughcough.

I'm sensing a theme.

Guess who's not bothered by coronavirus or moving?
That's right: the bears.

Anyway, as I've pointed out to those who have asked, yes, logistically, this move has not been my favorite, BUT, all joking aside, we are doing alright. One of the good things about this being our seventh(ish) move is that I know from previous experience a few things.

I look at Trigger's happy face, and it makes me happy too.
He's not happy right now though because
the Man is forcing pills down him for an upset stomach.
I've cleaned up enough dog barf this week.

The first thing I know is that God has always provided a home for us. Sometimes it is a very nice house with a lovely view. Sometimes it is a well worn older house with permanent spider webs between the storm windows. This last time it was an RV. Still a roof over our heads, beds to sleep in, and more than enough for which to say thank you.

This child is never bothered by anything.
Except by me throwing away any paper she has ever touched
with a pen or pencil. Ever. Even as a scribble.

The second thing I know is that all the move details will come together and everything will get done. It may not get done my way, and it may not get done on my time line, but it will (emphasis: WILL) get done. So I can stress out about it or I can do what I can do, take deep breaths where I need to take breaths, drink the coffee, eat the chocolate, and wait it out.

Did I mention we were also given a porch for the RV?
Which I love, but definitely one more thing that will have to vacate the premises.

Third, these last few weeks are precious time to make those last memories, enjoy friends who have blessed us, and make sure we say goodbye well--and if I let the freak out run the show, I miss out on that. And that hurts more people than just myself.

This, right here, I'm going to miss.

So, with those three things in mind, I'm sleeping just fine at night. And trying not to spend the next five and a half weeks driving everyone around me nuts. And continuing to enjoy where we are now for as long as we are here. But if anyone needs a well-loved fifth wheel, I know someone who's selling. And the sooner you buy it from us, the saner I'll be.

Books on Quarantine

This week, finally succumbing to the insanity that is social isolation, I accidentally lit my hair on fire.

First off, I'm fine, the kids are fine, the RV didn't burn to the ground (which, unfortunately, now means that we actually have to sell it), and I'm not bald. Yet. It took me a couple days of hysterical laughter before I realized that those options were all things I should've been legitimately worried about.

Second, yes, I am now in rather desperate need of a hair cut, so if you know any rule breaking, bandit hair stylists willing to wield a pair of scissors and risk their lives to COVID-19, let me know.

Obviously, I still have some hair and many children attached.

I also accidentally ate cat food, but that's another story, and completely unnecessary at this time (and at all times). But speaking of stories, let's talk books! (Bonus points for that segue.)

I have--naturally--been doing a lot of reading during this time, thanks, in large part, to our online library (whoever came up with the idea of online libraries has my eternal gratitude) and the fact that I stocked up on books the literal day that our library closed for the pandemic. Our library has currently reopened for at the door pick ups of hold items, which has brought additional joy and reading material (that was redundant) into our home.

One of the great things about not being able to browse through the library is that I get to be more purposeful in what books I bring home for the kids. I am systematically working through lists of "greatest picture books for kids" or "what books should you read before twelve" and ensuring that there are no huge gaps of classic literature that the kids haven't been exposed to. The other great thing about not being able to browse through the library is that my kids come home with fewer junk books. Hurray for that.

At any rate, (drum roll, please), some books that you too can request from your library, if you are lucky enough to have a library that still lets you pick up happiness in the form of a book! (If not, online book stores would love your business, and your book shelves will thank you even if your bank account does not. Your therapist may thank you too because reading makes people happy and reading children are less likely to drive you insane.)

First up, the kids and I just finished the audiobooks of the Gregor the Overlander series by Suzanne Collins read by Paul Boehmer. I'll be honest and say that I didn't think I was going to love them as much as I did. But, oh, I did. There was laughter, yelling at the car stereo, and even tears as we drove and listened. My husband thinks I'm insane. The kids love me forever for picking this series. My eldest son got banned from the internet after googling the ending halfway through book five. All these things are true. The story begins when a young boy falls through a grate in his laundry room and discovers an entire underground world full of strange people, huge animals, and imminent death. Mad props to Paul Boehmer for his reading. It's up there with my favorite audiobooks of all time, Bud, Not Buddy (read by James Avery) and The Saturdays (read by Pamela Dillman). Any time I think that I couldn't have read it out loud better myself, it's a win for us.

Speaking of books that I read out loud, the kids and I just finished the six book series The Incorrigible Children of Ashton Place. When a book can combine literature, geography, and Latin references (and even more) with a handful of snark, a good dash of quirk, and a mixed bag of ridiculous characters, my children are all on board. Now to get them to stop howling like wolves. I loved these books on their own, but they were fantastic for how often they underscored what we were learning in school. I cannot count the number of times the kids or I would say, "That's just like what we learned today!" And they also got the kids to sit and listen to me read aloud "Rime of the Ancient Mariner", "The Wreck of the Hesperus", and several other epic poems. If you'd like to read about children raised by wolves, ancient family curses, and a governess just as plucky but definitely funnier than Jane Eyre, pick these up. If you read them with your kids, they may start bellowing "DO SVIDANIYA" at opportune times, and strangers will think you are awesome for teaching your kids Russian.

Carpet burn bindis happen when you trip on your sister.

On the "teaching the twins to read" front, Bruiser and Bee are making some real progress tackling books of their own. Millions of Cats was a huge hit with Bee--she loved the repeated refrain of "hundreds of cats, thousands of cats, millions and billions and trillions of cats"--and Bruiser had a great time reading about his literary doppelgänger in No, David (which I think may have visited the blog back when Littles was, well, little). I regretted reading No, David with Bruiser as he quite emphatically informed me that the mom sounded just like me, but if the shoe fits, let us, by all means, wear it. Especially as some of us have large feet and can't fit in just any shoe.

The resemblance is only marred by all Bruiser's Corona-hair.

Twinkle, meanwhile, is determined that she too is reading and will pick books at random and make up whatever she wants them to say while forming the words very slowly so as to imitate the twins. Yesterday she read the acknowledgements page in The Jesus Storybook Bible which evidently says, "The people are going to sleep where they are going to say something." I finally kicked her out of the living room as her "reading" was distracting Bruiser, who was actually trying to read for real, and she returned twenty minutes later, informing me that she had read "every word" in her Storybook Bible. Child has no limits.

Reading is for everyone. Reading is for everywhere.

As to the Bigs, Tiny has finally admitted that I choose good books for him (took him eight years before he realized that I pick better than he does). He plowed through The Hobbit at the end of the school year and is now tackling The Lord of the Rings and talking me into movie nights on week days. Since we are done with school (other than the twins who are destined to do math and reading with me until I die or they are reading fluently) and since his freckles are the most beautiful thing in my world, last night we watched the first half of The Two Towers, and I didn't even feel guilty about it. He also blew through Alice's Adventures in Wonderland in two hours and is begging me to get Through the Looking Glass for him next.

I'm sorry for two pictures of Twinkle, but she's so darn cute.
Also, the Bigs don't like me to take pictures of them any more.

Littles, meanwhile, has reached the apex of nerdiness and is reading The Silmarillion--something I have never even done (don't revoke my nerd card, please, I need it or I'll have an identity crisis). My favorite book he's read lately though has to be The Faithful Spy by John Hendrix, a graphic novel about Dietrich Bonhoeffer. Beautifully done, there is so much to learn and so much to challenge thinking, I'd strongly suggest it for any history or theology lovers. I'm so glad Littles read it--and glad I did too.

Reading makes you smart, creative, AND strong.

Other than The Faithful Spy--and a bunch of fluff novels that I won't recommend but that keep me entertained while the kids are doing things I don't want to know about--my favorite novel from the last month or so was What the Night Sings by Vesper Stamper. Also set during WWII, it is beautiful, poignant, and full of hope. It might have also made me want to adopt certain Jewish traditions in our home like the lighting of Shabbat candles--but candles and I haven't been on good terms lately, so I may wait on that one.

I also really appreciated Nancy DeMoss Wolgemuth's Adorned. If you're looking for a nonfiction read that will challenge you to think through the little choices you are making in your day-to-day as well as how you can encourage and learn from other women, this might be it for you. I wrote down so many quotes, and I'm still pondering what I learned.

Keep an eye out for Twinkle who likes to steal the very
expensive bookmark you were using (your phone) and
replace it with a leaky water bottle.

One more, my favorite fantasy novel from the last few weeks would have to be The Forgotten Beasts of Eld by Patricia A. McKillip. I feel like I should've read this one a long time ago, but didn't, but I loved reading it as an adult. The language is so rich, and McKillip doesn't take short cuts or weaken the power of the story but taking easy outs. I'd put it on my list of classic fantasy books that every fantasy lover should read.

There are so many wonderful books out there, so I hope you are getting to enjoy at least a few of them while you're home a little bit more. One of the best ways to enjoy our current season of social isolation is to surround ourselves with fictional (and sometimes historical) characters who get to live lives that we could never experience for ourselves (especially while we're staying home). Often, this helps us see our own life circumstances in completely new ways or just helps us to use our time wisely to learn and grow so that when we go back into the world, we come with something new to share. And picking up a book is always a better choice than, say, lighting one's hair on fire or eating cat food...so there's that.

If our family isn't reading, this is a perfectly acceptable reality.

Pier Pilings

The beach has been such a wonderful haven for us this year as we have occasionally needed to escape the confines of the RV to find beauty and breathing room, and never more so than these last few weeks of social isolation. I have always loved the ocean--really, any form of water, even when it's falling out of the sky--and it has always helped me keep my sanity and perspective. Well, as much as that's possible.

This last week, we've been parking ourselves down along the shoreline where an old pier juts out. I used to take the kids to this pier before the hurricane. It was about half a mile from our neighborhood beach, so we'd walk along the shore and then out along its creaking beams until the kids could sit at the end with their legs hanging free over the water while I tried not to have a heart attack that one of them was going to fall off or be eaten by a shark that decided to unexpectedly lunge out of the water. Sometimes while we were there (in between the heart palpitations and panic), I would read out loud to them from whatever book we were enjoying at the time, mostly Prince Caspian and The Just So Stories, if I'm remembering right.

Now, there is no way to walk out on the pier as all the boards were torn loose and flung to kingdom come in a Cat 5 storm. But the bones of the structure still stand and have turned a beautiful sea green that I'm noticing for the first time, now that I'm not so busy walking on it (and trying to keep the kids from falling off of it). The pilings weathered the storm, and it softened and strengthened and stained them a deep and vibrant hue. And they are beautiful, if I can slow down long enough to look at them, and the truth of what they show me is beautiful.

We go to the sea because it is bigger than us. It reminds us that we are small and insignificant and a good storm sweeping down off its surface can do away with us in a moment. And we go to the sea because it is beautiful, and we need the beauty to give us hope and perspective and joy when the struggle threatens to hold us below the surface until we drown. And we go to the sea for air, for deep breaths that fill our lungs and rush out of them full of the tang of salt and water and life.

But now I also ask myself, are my pilings sunk deep into what is solid so that, no matter the storms that come, I can be softened and strengthened and stained with vivid shades of light and water? I want my foundation to be sturdy enough that I'm not blown off by the slightest breeze or even by a category five hurricane, by a cough and a cold or by a global pandemic, by a change in my schedule or a cross country move. And only then do I have the opportunity to be changed for the better by the wind and the waves that wash over me.

Easter Meditation

Easter morning I went for a prayer walk/jog, just trying to catch the sunrise. The half moon held court, fully visible high above my head, but the sun persistently hid behind a thick fleece of clouds that hovered low on the horizon. I pointed my face resolutely towards the east and waited, taking in the slow splash of the surf on the shore, thinking and praying.

Many times we go through life feeling as if the face of Jesus is shrouded in clouds. He feels distant and obscured, and sometimes we despair of seeing his face and begin to doubt his presence. So as I waited for the sunrise, I thought about the obvious similarities, especially with the significance of the day.

As I waited on the sun to rise into my line of sight, I was reminded that the Son has risen even though sometimes it seems the clouds are hiding his face from me. In those moments, what do I choose? To give up and go home? I hope not. I want to choose to wait, pointing my face in the right direction even when all I see are smudges of light that filter through thick clouds. I want to wait and not give up.

And when, while in the fog, I feel discouragement, I look at those of you who, much like the moon, are still reflecting his light. That encourages me. It helps me to keep going. You are a reminder that though my present circumstantial atmosphere may block my view of Christ, his reality is no more dependent on my blue skies than the sun's. And while I wait for the clouds to clear, I can see his presence in your faces. I can hear his truth in your words. I can sense his warmth in your actions. This is one of the reasons we need the church, because while Jesus never leaves or forsakes, there are seasons when it is harder to see his face than others, and if we surround ourselves with others who are looking to him, often we get glimpses of his radiance reflected in their lives, glimpses that we so desperately need.

Easter morning, the clouds cleared for a moment and the sun peaked through. I said thank you for the clouds that made the sun's rays even more brilliant and breath taking, but I also tried to remind myself that, while sometimes the clouds seem to last forever, they will always--eventually--be burned away by the heat of the sun. And while we wait for that day, we point ourselves in the right direction, remind ourselves of what is true, look around at the lovely moons that reflect his radiance, and wait for a break in the clouds.

Love in the Time of Corona

Love is patient; love is kind... but all the togetherness of social isolation has some of us losing our minds. So let me give you a picture of what love can look like when you're trapped with your spouse in a small space for weeks on end:

• Love tracks the shipping on your spouse's coffee order to make sure she doesn't run out at an inopportune moment when she really needs said coffee to get through those last few weeks of homeschooling.
• Love brings home Clorox wipes.
• Alternately, love shares what's left of the bleach with the squadron in an attempt to keep germs from decimating base security, so it's really lucky that he was able to bring Clorox wipes home.
• Love washes hands, washes hands, and washes hands again. And then puts lotion on them because those suckers are dry now.
• Love prioritizes a last minute slap-dash dinner and fitting in a family walk before bed over sticking to the original plan that involved actual adult cooking. This is how sanity is maintained.
• Love uncomplainingly helps you drain the kiddie pool for the fifth day in a row even though said kiddie pool really put the nail in your new identity as trailer trash.
• Love fully supports the purchase of a pair of noise cancelling headphones for telework days because five kids socially isolated in an RV are loud and ain't nobody you're conference calling want to hear that.
• Love trades off who goes grocery shopping so that we both get to take the risk of infection in addition to the reward of getting out of the RV and away from the kids.
• Love orders a surprise lunch for your trapped at home wife so she at least gets to see the delivery driver and eat her feelings in Massaman curry.
• Love brings home Cadbury caramel eggs and a pair of clippers so that military hair can stay in regs even while certain seasonal cravings are being indulged.
• Love takes the whole family on long drives looking for deer so everyone gets a break from the RV for a while and the dog reaches maximum fulfillment.
• Love doesn't mind texting each other from the next room so that whoever is currently getting a break from the kids can enjoy that break to the best of their ability.
• Love celebrates with you when you finally find a bag of Jasmine rice at the grocery store and your inner Asian can stop panicking about running out of rice.
• Love brings home Ben&Jerry's and doesn't even ask to share.

Love shaved off that mustache so I didn't have to look at it all the time.

Right now, love is not extravagant date nights (or even fitting in a quick date lunch). Love is not encouraging girls' nights out or time at the gym. Love is not even long conversations about how your day went (since most days are being spent together). At present, you may feel like your love for each other could use a little space to breathe, but the truth is that what it may need is actually a little creativity. So, while we're all trapped in a glass cage of emotion and the enclosed spaces of our homes, may we think outside the box a little when it comes to our love life and consider how we can creatively show love for each other as well as being on the lookout for the small ways our spouses are already showing love to us that we may not have noticed.

Here's to Sahabats

Do you ever read a book and find yourself saying, "Yes, exactly!" as you read? And then it feels like every conversation you find yourself in opens right up to discussing it? And it's not that you agree with everything the author is saying, but that you read it at just the right moment when it resonated with you in just the right way?

This week's book was that for me. Kayleen Schaefer's Text Me When You Get Home is an homage to female friendship, and I picked it up at just the right time. We are at the beginning of our final few months in Florida, a place where God has blessed me with the friendship of some incredible women, and preparing to move on to a place where I will start over and make new friends (ideally). Meanwhile, I continue to have the chance to touch base with other women who have hung in there with me during the long years of many moves through occasional phone calls, the rare face to face meeting, emails, FaceTime, and sporadic texting all while continuing to take care of all the other things we have on our plates.

As I read, I couldn't help but be grateful for the amazing friendships I've been a part of. And I also found myself encouraged to keep pursuing these friendships and not let them diminish. It is easy as a military spouse to let old friendships slip through your fingers like sand. We say, "It's not goodbye; it's only see you later!" but what we often mean is "If I see you again, that will be fantastic, but I don't really expect either of us to stay in contact." I told a friend several years ago that I never have expectations about who will maintain long distance relationships with me after we move. I always just wait and see how things pan out after a couple months. This helps me to keep from getting my heart hurt when I find the time stretching longer and longer between phone calls and text messages. It is the way the world turns--we are grown women who are busy, and in some seasons of life, we need friends who are physically with us, and I understand that.

But how grateful I am for the friend who texts out of the blue to say they were thinking of me. Or the friend from college who couldn't wait to tell me a piece of good news on the phone. Or the friend who makes plans to visit me before I've even left for the next base. How grateful I am for girl's weekends away (and for a husband and parents who make things like that happen). For sisters and moms (mine and the Man's) who choose not to take our relationship for granted but to pursue a consistent friendship with me that stays stable no matter how many others drift in and out of my life (or rather how many people's lives I drift in and out of). For a husband who understands that he is not supposed to meet my every emotional need and encourages me to get out of my introvert shell and spend time with people who will nourish my soul. For friends who are different from each other and different from me so that we all have the opportunity to learn and grow. For friends who purposefully choose to walk life with me even though it is at times inconvenient and uncomfortable (and overly full of rambunctious children). For friends who understand that when I tell them they are my sahabat I mean that they are a friend of my heart.

I'm only including this one really fantastic picture with my sisters
so that the rest of you guys don't start a war over who I love most
based on whose photo made it and whose didn't.
Also, because this picture is fabulous.

I'll admit that as we head to this next assignment, knowing that it will be shorter than usual, part of me has wanted to coast on old friendships and not put forth the effort to build new ones when we will be there for only a few months. Schaefer reminded me of something that I already knew but needed to hear again: you never know when you're going to meet a person who could be your new best friend. This doesn't mean the old ones are getting replaced, just that there are so many wonderful people out there in the world, and I don't want to miss out on the blessing of getting to know them just because there's another goodbye right around the corner.

As I finished the book yesterday morning, I found myself thinking about the friends I wanted to check in on, but I also found myself wondering if there were friends who didn't realize how much they meant to me
and what I could do to fix that. It doesn't take long. A phone call or a text message, a quick email when I have a moment or taking the time to go talk face to face if I can. There is not one of us who doesn't need to hear that we are loved, treasured, worth someone else's time and energy. And there is not one of us incapable of passing that message along to the people we love.

And it might be a message that arrives at just the right time.

Almost like a book showing up in my online library account just when I needed to read it.

On a Pufferfish

Deep beneath the surface of the ocean, a small Japanese pufferfish toils away creating a temporal piece of art that, to our eyes, looks like an underwater alien crop circle. It's actually a masterpiece of love. This five inch long fish works relentlessly to create a circle seven feet across in order to attract its mate with a breathtaking display of precision and beauty. As I read about the pufferfish this week (after being introduced to it by one of Littles' classmates), I resonated with this insignificant creature. I saw in the pufferfish lessons about life and lessons about art that I didn't anticipate.

First, the pufferfish reminds me that we affect more than we realize. With its persistent work, the pufferfish creates a work of art 16 times as big as it is. Sixteen times. Sometimes we don't believe that we matter. But if the pufferfish's circle is over a dozen times bigger than itself, who knows how many people we are affecting by just continuing to do our own small jobs. The ripples that bounce off our obedience may be the blessing someone else needs--and we don't even realize it.

Sometimes the art we create is a clean dog...

Second, the pufferfish's work of art doesn't last, but that doesn't mean it's lacking in worth. It takes seven to nine days for the pufferfish to disrupt enough sediment to create the pattern. But how long do you think it would take for the ocean to wash it all away? And yet the pufferfish continues with its purpose. Sometimes we want to give up because the beauty we create in the world (whether a cleaned off counter or a smile on someone else's face) seems so transient. But imagine how much bleaker the sea floor would be without the pufferfish's creation? Surely it is worth it, at least to the female pufferfish, no matter how long it lasts.

Sometimes it's letting your eight year old paint your toenails...

Third, we see that in order to create art, the pufferfish has to be willing to sift through disrupted sediment until it has unearthed the soft sand beneath. Similarly, for the artist, there is no art without first sifting through the grit that has hidden our souls. We must be willing to face the things that are hard, jarring, painful. This is not fun, but it is necessary, or the art we produce only ever occurs at a surface level which ultimately keeps it from being effective.

Sometimes it's making alligator cupcakes
for your now three year old...
that smile is a work of art too...

Interestingly enough, it is while sifting through the gritty sand that the pufferfish excavates shells which he saves to add to his design. We often think that filtering through the uncomfortable stuff is needlessly hard or only something that we ever do because we have to. We forget that it is when we choose to make those difficult choices that we discover incredible beauty that's been hidden all this time just below the surface.

Sometime's it's a big pot of vegetable curry...

Or a row of hot cocoa mugs on a cold morning...

Fourth, once the pufferfish begins, he can't stop or the ocean will immediately begin dispersing the sand back to its usual smooth, shifting flatness, at which point the pufferfish either has to give up or start all over again from scratch. I remember this as an encouragement for myself...to keep going, to persevere, to not make my own work harder by giving up. It's also a reminder to me that if a 5 inch long fish can swim for seven to nine days in a row without a break, then I can get out of bed and do the work God has called me to do.

Sometimes it is the first bloom on your strawberry plants
that you faithfully tended to for the long barren months...

Finally, once the pufferfish is done, he shows it off to his hopeful partner. If she accepts his work of art and they mate, she then uses this labor of love as a nest for their eggs. The disrupted sand patterns protect the eggs by decreasing the speed of water flow to the center of the nest where they nestle in safety. The pufferfish's hard work is not only beautiful but also useful, not only attractive but also a resting place. How many of us can say this about the art we create (whether we create on a small scale with a smile or a large scale with a completed projected)? Are we looking long term to how the beauty that we create can nourish and nurture?

Sometimes it's creative gift wrapping
and making the cat look up at just the right moment...

All around us God's creation points us towards him and shows us who we are more fully...if we are willing to open our souls and look and listen and learn. The pufferfish is one example of how God speaks to us in the small things. No detail is too insignificant--He has written us messages of hope and courage even on the sea floor.

And often it is the choice to keep going,
day in and day out,
with spelling lists and dishes and hugging your small children.