Friendship Lessons at the Football Field

This year, we have four kids playing flag football. Because the family that plays football together...stays together. Or something like that. Really, I think it's about a) minimizing drive time (no, Bee, you cannot go to gymnastic classes like a normal girl child--here! learn how to play football!) and b) making sure all the kids get their energy out so that we don't kill each other in the RV.

My favorite thing about football: thing one and thing two
fortuitously being their jersey numbers.

On the whole, this has worked out fairly well for us, but occasionally, we run into scheduling snags. Like Saturday, when Littles' team played at the same time as the team the other kids are on. Thankfully, the teams played at fields that were side by side, and the Man and I sat in between the games, trying to watch all four kids play at the same time (while also keeping an eye on Twinkle who likes to challenge our parenting skills by trying to join her siblings on the field). It was kind of like watching the ball at a tennis match. But worse. Also, it was cold. And my legs and hands froze into icicles and then splintered off. But that's not the point.

The point is that halfway through the game, I heard two of my new football mom friends yelling my name from across the field. I turned to look and see them making the touch down sign and pointing excitedly at Tiny. He had just scored the only touch down of the game (for our team--we were slaughtered), and we had missed it. But those two women made sure that I turned... just in time to cheer for Tiny with everyone else.

Tiny makes that football look good.

Good grief. I'm crying about it right now, just writing this.

I'm not crying because I missed my kid's touchdown. There will be other touchdowns. I'm crying because...oh, I want to be a friend like that. And I am so grateful for those two women who have gone out of their way to welcome me and talk to me for the three hours a week that we are together, and who know what friendship looks like.

Twinkle's favorite part of football is the snacks.
My child, right there...
Also, stealing her sister's jersey.

Friendship is not always going to be someone having your back or knowing the depths of your heart. Friendship is not always going to be about being physically there or even staying in great contact once you move. Thank God for that when it happens. We need friends like that too. But sometimes, being a friend is just looking for those small opportunities to help someone else celebrate. It's calling out someone's name from across a field so they don't miss the moment because you know they've got twenty gazillion things on their plate and you want to make sure that they get the joy too.

Somehow this is the only picture I got of Littles.
He is the far left, looking too cool for school. Or football, rather.

Today I'm thanking God for two women who barely know me who taught me that being a friend is sometimes just about being willing to do one small thing. I'm praying that I get to go do one small thing for someone else to bring them joy too.

Of RV Life

Telling people that you're living in an RV...with five kids...while homeschooling...is almost as much fun as telling people that your husband is deploying...and you're pregnant again...with twins. I keep getting the "You should write a book about that!" line from people who forget that I have five kids and am not naturally self motivated. Basically, if I don't have at least three kids whining at me for breakfast, why would I even get out of bed in the mornings? And at what point are they going to stop whining for yogurt and start whining at me to go write?

But the five kids in an RV thing is actually going really well. There's just something about going outside to dump the coffee grounds out of my French press and seeing the smooth, silver grey back of a dolphin slipping through the water in front of me, reappearing and disappearing while I hold my breath.

Littles making use of our really expensive whiteboard

Marine life aside, the lack of cleaning time from living here is the real selling point for me. If I need to vacuum, I vacuum. There's no need to put it off until I have a thirty minute window. It takes literally five minutes and the whole "house" is done. Sometimes I even get Twinkle to do it. One year olds think vacuums are amazing. I think any time a one year old is occupied with anything that is productive instead of destructive is amazing. I don't have endless bathrooms to clean up. I don't have endless shelves to dust. I don't have endless dishes to wash. We wash them immediately or we use a paper towel. It doesn't pile up because there's no where to pile up.

I've moved the picture frame since I took this picture,
but look at how clean that counter is.

Our washing machine has been a source of endless pleasure for me. Having a washing machine in the RV was kind of a deal breaker for me because I do a lot of laundry. This one keeps me motivated to stay up with laundry because it takes forever to churn out a load, and if you leave the laundry in the dryer for more than three seconds after it finishes, the wrinkles set in. You have to pull out the clean clothes while they are still steaming, risk burning your hands off permanently, and do a quick shake and fold or resign yourself to looking like you've returned to the 90s and the days of crinkle broom skirts. Bonus for our washing machine, when it's running, it gently shakes the whole RV so that you can pretend you are on a boat, floating somewhere warm and beautiful where your children can climb coconut trees that haven't been snapped in half like matchsticks and you can eat fresh pineapple while blatantly abandoning all plans to homeschool.

Photo courtesy of Littles. Wobbly table putting in an appearance on the right.

I did tell the kids though that I won't miss these wobbly RV tables. We have a long U shaped couch with two small tables that can be packed away when not in use. They are always in use for us because our family has ongoing school work and insatiable appetites. They are useful (the tables, but also occasionally the kids) but they would never be termed as sturdy. Friday, in the middle of school, Tiny's Wordly Wise book got a nice coffee bath when he accidentally bumped the underside of the table with his knee and sent my coffee sloshing all over the table. Unluckily for Tiny, his book was still completely legible and he then had to be taught by a mother who was missing out on half a cup of coffee.

One of our main concerns with moving into the RV was where to put the pet's stuff. We found a spot for the dog bed and bowls immediately under the fire place. The dog water only gets splashed on the floor a couple times a day, so I'm taking it as a win. The cats get fed in the kitchen sink. As soon as they're done, we have to wipe down the entire kitchen because Blythe insists on eating with her paws and flinging wet cat food to the heavens, but at least it encourages me to wipe things down more regularly. Anything that forces me to clean more regularly is a positive. Similarly, the litter box has been placed underneath the girl's bed, the only place it wouldn't get stepped on, which motivates me to scoop waste 2 to 3 times a day in order to make sure the bunk house doesn't smell like moldy cat pee.

Don't be fooled.
RV life isn't always this idyllic.

All these silver linings. I really enjoy getting to pretend to be a good house keeper for once. I'm never letting the Man move us back into a regular house. Except for the tables. That keep spilling my coffee. And possibly the lack of bookshelf space.

But for the duration of our time here, I will put our library to good use, never set down my coffee mug while the kids are up and about, and revel in my upgraded house keeping skills. Luckily for my lack of bookshelf space, the Books-a-Million is still closed. And there are dolphins to keep me distracted from Amazon Prime which could very quickly ship whole boxes of paperbacks straight to our RV. Although now that I think of it, my chocolate drawer is almost empty so I could probably put five to six books in there...

As It Should

On Halloween this year, I saw an unforgettable photograph of a young girl trick-or-treating on streets clogged with Michael's wreckage. She walked towards the sunset, her bag over her shoulder, with broken shingles and chunks of brick on either side of the street and a row of blue tarped houses in front of her. And part of me thought: that's so great that she gets to go do something totally normal right now when everything else is so not normal. And another part of me thought: how can we even think about something like trick-or-treating with everything that's going on?

But the truth is that life doesn't stop when we are grieving. The children still have to be fed. The dog still needs to be walked. The baby still has to have a nap at a relatively regular time. This is true whether we are walking through a wide spread community grief (like a hurricane) or an intimate personal grief (like a miscarriage). At least when it's the former, we are not the only ones walking around in a daze wondering how this normalcy can exist when the fabric of our lives has just been shredded.

Part of us wants life to stop, as if that would validate our pain. We ask ourselves how someone else can be laughing, when we feel that all the joy has been stripped from the world, how someone else can be falling in love, when we're pretty sure that love has been lost forever because of what we have been through. We are too numb to be cynical, but that is, of course, the next place we will land once our grief begins to fade.

Except that life goes on...as it should. We realize that while we may be in a season of loss, there is still hope that it is not forever. While we are in a season of grief, there are still joys worth celebrating. While our hearts are broken, they still function, at least in part. We make the next meal. We take the next walk. We prioritize the next nap time. And we wake up the next morning and do it over again, and maybe--just maybe--it's not quite as hard as it was the day before.

We find ourselves taking in the muted fire of sunrise, awestruck at the beauty. We remember how much comfort there is when given a hug that squeezes us just the right amount. We are served a meal that suddenly tastes like life instead of sawdust.

And we may not stay in that moment for very long, that moment where we felt fully whole again, but it happened and it may happened again. If we wait for it. If we grieve honestly but keep hope in our hearts. If we keep waking up day after day and putting one foot in front of the other.

We want life to stop in the face of our loss, but we don't get what we want. Thankfully. Instead, we get a chance to learn that his mercies are new every morning. And his faithfulness is great. Even when it doesn't look that way. Even when it doesn't feel that way. And sometimes especially when it doesn't look or feel that way.

Priorities

I had coffee with a friend this week who told me about moving into her new rental after her old rental had a tree dropped through the middle of it, effectively destroying 80% of their household goods. She said her first day in the new rental she looked around her home, empty except for a set of bar stools and a hutch she had managed to salvage, and knew that the first thing she needed to buy was, not couches or a bed, but a coffee pot. Priorities.

In crisis situations, we discover what really matters to us. As the kids and I drove towards base our first day, they exclaimed that the Little Caesars appeared to have survived. I laughed with them, responding with, "Well, then, we'll be just fine, won't we?!" only to drive closer and realize that while the building was still there, what was left of it was definitely boarded up and empty. We laughed again and said, "And we'll still be fine! Even without five dollar pizza!"

Blythe...not capable of surviving without five dollar pizza.

When the Man and I went through the house after the hurricane, trying to decide what we should put in the storage unit versus what we would need at the RV, it was hard to know what should go where. The rice cooker stayed behind; the instant pot came (because I can make rice in that too). The waffle maker was stored; the griddle was a necessity. The shoe stand stayed; over the door hooks had to come. Every item was a decision. And most of them haven't been second guessed.

When we first started looking at trailers, the first one I looked at had a bunk house and a kitchen and room for a washer/dryer (all high on my list of priorities). It was small, but in my mind, it was entirely doable. I had seen nothing else and was willing to do just about anything to be back together again, even do all my cooking prep on the dinner table. The Man tried to assure me that there were bigger options--and he was right. He was thinking long term. I was thinking togetherness (and didn't realize that there were options that included togetherness and not being packed in like sardines).

I was really ruthless when picking what should come with us. And it's paid off. We actually still have a little extra storage space, for which I'm grateful. It makes me feel like there is room to breath. And I have even managed an entire drawer just for chocolate, because again: priorities. Chocolate = sanity, of which there is always short supply.

This kid prioritizes getting her way at all times.
It's almost like she's about to turn two...

I've seen my priorities manifested in so many different ways these last few weeks. When you have a washer/dryer that only takes small loads and takes six hours to finish a full load, you suddenly prioritize getting the next load in quickly (preferably before the load that just finished is full of wrinkles). When you only have a certain amount of hot water, doing assembly line speed showers seems the only way to go. When you have no dishwasher and little counter space, the dishes get washed immediately (sometimes while half the family is still eating), dried, and put away instead of making permanent homes in your sink and drying rack. When there is no grassy yard or structurally sound playground or even stairs to run up and down, you have your kids challenge their Tennessee cousins to see who can run a mile faster, and run the gravel loop of Fam Camp together, the one year old bouncing on your back in the Ergo while you try not to look like a complete idiot. You look like a complete idiot anyway--and it doesn't really matter any more.

But the truth is that you don't have to go through a crisis situation or live in a season of scarcity (or smallness) in order to discover your true priorities. You just have to pay attention. The problem is that most of us don't like to pay attention until we really have to. We prefer to keep going through the motions in our comfortable--or sometimes just busy--lives without really reflecting on whether or not the mundanities of our life reflect what we say truly matters to us. Many of us use this time of year to reflect on who we truly are and who we actually want to be. May I suggest that we use a little of our time to actually assess where our priorities lie? Not what we say our priorities are, but what they actually show themselves to be? Let's pay attention to where our time is going, where our money is spent, where our energy gets used up, what items are taking up space in our homes... And if things don't line up with what we really want our priorities to be, maybe we can shake things up a bit. Set that alarm a little earlier (maybe bribe yourself with an illuminated Bible and some quality colored pencils), schedule that babysitter for a date night, pull out those running shoes, take a nap with the toddler, dust off your library card, clean out that junk drawer...and maybe fill it up with chocolate instead.

Some of us also prioritize happy skunk socks..

Resolutions, Reality, and Resilience

It's that time of year where most of us are making some kind of resolution to exercise more, eat more healthily, pursue our personal goals instead of just talking about them, etc. I'm not resolving to exercise more, being completely content to keep running and leave all other kinds of exercise to the cool people (Crossfitters, I'm looking at you). Healthy eating is not on my radar (don't worry, carbs, I ain't quitting you!). And as to personal goals, well... it's hard to set personal goals when your entire way of life has just shifted. And I don't mean that in a bad way, just in a "still getting my feet under me in addition to my usual crazy of five kids so I don't think the next great American novel needs to be in the works at least until I figure out how to empty the poo tanks" kind of way.

The Man and I did sit down and rough out some general directions in which to head our family, but a lot of what I found myself talking about was my desire to pursue hope while we are here. We are one week shy of the hurricane's three month mark, and there has been progress made (probably far more than I even realize), but the devastation is still unimaginable. The kids and I have been driving around the area in awe at the power of the storm and how far we still have to go. And yet: we can see the piles of debris already collected, the mounds of wood chips from trees that have already been mulched, the many buildings and businesses that have already reopened for business. We can take note of the physical measure of how far we have gone.

My goal is to keep my eyes open. I want to see the truth of what happened, of course--and not just slap some happy on it--and I also want to see the progress that is being made--and rejoice in that--but I also want to see the beauty, right here, right now. I want to see the beauty and allow that to propel me towards hope. As we drove around base today, I kept seeing signs that at the top read "I am thankful for..." followed by a blank space and then simply the word "Resilient." Airmen had filled in the blanks. "Family and friends." "Good neighbors." "Hot showers." "Phone service." "A hot meal." "Fresh air." "A dry bed." This is what I am talking about. Looking for the beauty in our immediate circumstances allows us to continue in hope, which is the heart of resilience.

We look around and ask ourselves, "Is this our new reality?" And the only answer is, "Yes, it is." And we can follow that with discouragement and depression or with gratitude and joy. We get to be here. We get to beautify something broken. We get to say thank you in the face of tragedy. We get to look for the little joys (a water view, fewer things to clean, friends who have our backs). We get to step out of our comfort zones (although, I'm not going to lie, this RV is pretty cushy). We get to look for hope when things still seem hopeless. And that is enough of a New Year's resolution for me.

May we open our eyes to marvel at the good God gives, even when, on the surface, life can seem pretty bleak. This is our new reality, and the hope we have makes it beautiful.