Day Ten: Rolling Change

The family we have now, is not the family we left Oklahoma with. This is the nature of change. To state the obvious: it changes you.

Bee loves sand and sandals.

Some of the changes are more obvious than others. All four of the kids hit growth spurts, so some of the clothes Littles was wearing when we left are now being worn by Tiny, and the twins have jumped whole sizes.

Putting their creativity to work.

Then there's also the matter of baby milestones. When we left, Bruiser was sporting two teeth. Now the twins are rocking a total of nine. Bee was just starting to sit up. Now they're both champion sitters. Bruiser was rolling everywhere he wanted to go. Now he's army crawling. Formerly immobile Bee has figured out how to scootch herself around on her bum (to each their own). Bee is also talking (ish) now, "Dada" and "yay" and "no" and, it may have been my desperate imagination but I'm pretty sure she said "Mama". Bruiser is thinking hard about saying "Mama". Or "coffee". Or "book". I can tell.

Bruiser likes to sing to the seagulls.

The Little Man's handwriting and coloring is getting better. Tiny is learning how to build with legos.

Trigs is shedding less and obeying more. Oswald…never mind. He's still the same.

Showing off their creation:
a mound of sand!

My cop is now a professional student, and he's having to rein in his military-cowboy persona for business casual and three ring binders. (I really wanted to get a first day of school picture for posterity, but he refused to play along.)

And I'm doing what I do with every move: taking the next step to who I want to be in Christ.

That's the great thing about moving. The areas of my life that need a little work? I can start over in them. So I've been thinking a lot lately about the song "Rolling River God" by Nichole Nordeman. Singing it a lot, if we're being honest, until Tiny pipes up with, "Stop singing, Mommy!"

I thought I'd share the words with you, and then go make rolls. Because you've heard enough from me this week and the Man is currently driving my parents to our home from the airport. And that makes me very happy. So…may we allow the changes of life, no matter how difficult, to smooth our rough edges a little bit. And may we remember that no matter how cold life may feel, we are always surrounded by the love of Christ.

Rolling River God, little stones are smooth

Only once the water passes through

So I am a stone, rough and grainy still

Trying to reconcile this river's chill

But when I close my eyes and feel you rushing by

I know that time brings change and change takes time

And when the sunset come, my prayer would be this one

That you might pick me up and notice that I am

Just a little smoother in your hand

Sometimes raging wild, sometimes swollen high

And never have I known this river dry

The deepest part of you is where I want to stay

And feel the sharpest edges wash away

And when I close my eyes and feel you rushing by

I know that time brings change and change takes time

And when the sunset comes, my prayer would be just one

That you might pick me up and notice that I am

Just a little smoother in your hand

Rolling River God, little stones are smooth

Only once the water passes through

-Nichole Nordeman

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Day Nine: Let the Little Children

{Warning: lots of pictures of cute and partially insane children to follow}

The last time we moved, it was me, the Man, the cat, and the Little Man. The Man drove the moving truck and towed our sedan, while I drove his pick-up with Littles and Oswald competing to see who could meow the most pitifully. This time, things were a little different.

One thing has changed:
I've hired some underaged help around the house.
Here Littles is supervising as Tiny takes his turn with the vacuum.

For one, we quadrupled our children and added a dog. For two, because we quadrupled our children (less so because of the dog), we got the movers to do the work (and a minivan to tow the rest of us). For three, moving with a one year old is evidently vastly different from moving with a four year old (and a two year old and two eight month olds).

Teething the healthy way.
Get that apple, girl!

The differences extend far beyond the logistics of travel. Sure that was challenging, but the emotional transition of our children has been even more complex.

With the twins, obviously, emotional transition wasn't much of an issue. They teethed. That was tiring. In between, they were their friendly, happy selves. The Man and I worked hard to get them decent meals while we lived off fast food. Tomato slices made up a large part of their non-breast milk diet. The end.

That. Kid.
He slays me.

Then there were the boys.

Sometimes I wonder if a lot of what Tiny is going through is just the fact that he's two. But I'm pretty sure we can blame the move for the fact that Tiny still wakes up from every other nap crying hysterically until he finds me wherever I am in the house. I'm also crediting the move for the daily shrieks of "Mommy, don't leave me!" He especially likes to bust that move when we're in public and someone is sure to think that I routinely abandon my child, causing him deep emotional scarring.

Does it make me a mean mom to post this?
His cranky face just cracks me up.
I promise that I took this picture surreptitiously
while having a straight-faced talk with Tiny about his attitude.

My social bug of an eldest son, on the other hand, has struggled the most with leaving his group of friends. On Monday we went to the playground, and he and Tiny played with a couple of older children while I pushed the twins back and forth in the stroller. While I carried on a brief conversation with the dad, I didn't think to get their names and build the relationship because the kids were several years senior. Naturally, Littles hasn't stopped talking about them since, and I am really kicking myself. Live and learn.

Littles beat me to Bruiser after nap time.
They're having too much fun together.

Tuesday we went to the playground with our neighbor and her five year old daughter. That night at dinner, Littles asked to say the blessing and thanked God for the food and his new friend. Sustenance and socializing: evidently his two primary needs.

Bee: "Go ahead, big bro,
put your head in my lap
and I will laugh hysterically
and pull your hair."

With those things said: the best part of this move has been the family time. The kids were good company along the way. And as I hang tight and wait for friendships to develop, I'm glad I have them to keep me company during the day.

I'm trying to slow down and enjoy this time with them. To notice when Bee tries to share her blocks with Bruiser. To really pay attention when the boys are making the twins crack up laughing. To do more than briefly acknowledge the train tracks and lego creations but to celebrate them.

Their latest masterpiece.
They've since added tunnels.

Because I need the reminder of how important they are, but also because they need to know that no matter where we are, they matter to me and I have time for them.

In our family we really stress that home is where we are together. It's not our house, and it's not our stuff, and it's not our community. It's our family.

We stopped in the mountains on the way here
and enjoyed some s'mores and a fire.

So really, we've been at home this whole time that we've been moving, because we've been together.

Another cabin shot.
Here they were either watching football
or American Ninja Warrior.
What could feel more like home?

At least that's what we tell the kids. The problem with that idea is that at some point, our family is not together. The Man leaves on TDY or deployment, and what then? Are we then not home?

So perhaps what we should really be teaching our children is that, of course, home is where we are together, but perhaps even more importantly, home is where we are with Christ, the one who never leaves us or forsakes us, the one who says, "Let the little children come to me."

But until they're old enough to understand that concept, I'm just going to keep loving them and snuggling them and not making fun of them when they have very public meltdowns over really ridiculous things. You know, basic mom stuff.

More of the series here!

Day Eight: Picking My View

It's been one of those days.

Correction. It is one of those days.

Bed time is a scream fest (it's still in progress while I'm writing this--don't ask). The Man is downstairs cleaning up dinner and lunch dishes. He's been home a grand total of half an hour, and I've already managed to snap at him.

I've spent more time with other people's bodily fluids than any person should ever have to. There was poop on the carpet. There was barf in the bed. There was pee on at least one kid's pants. And of course it was also my day to clean the bathrooms.

No one liked what I cooked for dinner except for me. One of the kids got sent to bed halfway through lunch. One of the other kids managed to flip the mattress off the top bunk.

And if I didn't live in Monterey, I think I'd move to Australia.

It's on days like this that I'm taking a deep breath, looking at the ocean, and asking myself, "But how can I be grumpy when I can see that?" (Trust me, today, ocean or no ocean, I managed to achieve maximum grumpiness.)

I mean, look at that:

I drove the Man nuts our first week here by
continually taking pictures out the car window while he drove.

And that:

Doesn't that make you happy too?

And that:

This is the view out our guest room window.
No lie.

How can I be grouchy when I get to see that?

Admittedly, I also get to see this:

Little Man is showing off our gourd hoard.

And this:

Tiny may be crazy but he does make me smile.

And these:

Bruiser and the Bee know how to get their play time on.

But sometimes they're the source instead of the solution. Just being honest.

And I already hear the Man asking, "So what are you writing about tonight?" And when I answer, "Bad days, perspective, and the kids," he'll respond with, "Is that what you're supposed to be writing about?" (We've had this conversation almost every night this month.)

Here is my point. This move, I have been blessed with a beautiful view of the ocean. Last move, I was blessed with the beautiful view of an open field, sometimes populated with rabbits and skunks. Next move, who knows? And I'm so grateful for those views that bring me joy on the hard days and remind me to take a deep breath and keep perspective.

I know that with every transition, if I look hard enough, I'll find something beautiful to encourage my heart. But regardless, I know that my eyes have to be fixed on the most beautiful view of all: Jesus.

Our next move may find us in the middle of concrete and asphalt or looking out the window into someone else's house. And that's why I want my go to question to be: "How can I be grouchy when I can see Jesus?"

Because no matter where I am, I can always see him.

And let us run with endurance the race God has set before us. We do this by keeping our eyes on Jesus, the champion who initiates and perfects our faith.

Hebrews 12:1b-2a

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Day Seven: Finding Friendships

Here's the deal with making friends: you kind of have to get involved in things to meet people (which is, incidentally, necessary in order to make friends).

Here's the deal with having four children, 4 and under: getting involved in things has an extra layer of impossibility.

"Why?" you ask.

Because I spend most of my days doing this:

And when I take the kids to the playground they take up the entire swing set, like this:

And that makes other moms hate me.

Kidding.

But seriously. I already wrote about the Bible study the kids and I went to that killed the twins' naps for the rest of the day. I met people, and that was great, but I'm not sure I should do a weekly sabotage of the little bit of sleep the twins are managing to get. Because in the friends versus sleep trade-off, I think sleep wins.

We've made it to church twice since we got here five weeks ago (teething twins, moving, E.R. visits, you know how it is). I know I'm not going to get involved with the music team here, and making it to Sunday School is pretty much impossible. I'm grateful that we get to be at church at all, even if we're juggling kids the whole time.

There's no squadron here for me to jump into. I'm not going to be anyone's key spouse. I can barely swing getting the housework done much less joining a book club in the evenings or going to a weekly work out class.

That's my reality. For right now. It's a season, and I am loving my kids and so glad to be home with them, but the conundrum of making friends without getting involved in things is real, people.

So that's when I find that when making friends, I no longer have any shame.

I walked over to my neighbor's house today, rang the door bell, and asked if she and her daughter wanted to join us at the playground. Guess what? They did.

Yesterday, I struck up a conversation with another woman at the playground. She was fun and friendly. I could've let that be that and hoped we ran into each other again, but I didn't. I told her I wanted to be friends and got her name and number. Guess what? She wasn't weirded out by it (I think). She was looking for friends too.

After Bruiser's E.R. trip, our chaplain's wife offered to bring us dinner. I could've turned her down and told her I had it under control (take out Chinese counts as under control, right?), but I didn't. And guess what? She makes really good lasagna, and it was really fun to see her when she brought our dinner by.

We are only here so long and I don't want to waste time when I could be building friendships that matter. Especially when I'm squeezing in friendships between laundry and lego dates. Sometimes that means looking a little desperate and forward on the front end, but I prefer to think of it as proactive and  friendly.

And friendly is always a good thing.

Hey! Over here!
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Day Six: Nostalgia

Photo stolen from my sister's Facebook without her permission.
And this is another Indonesian tea plantation, not the one I talk about here.
But it was as close as I could get.
Sue me.
But not really because four kids are expensive, and blogging don't pay the bills.

Our not-so-little yellow house on the hill facing the sea is surrounded by its own ocean of mist right now, and I'm sitting with my boots propped up on the coffee table thinking about nostalgia and white space and moving boxes and trying to decide what of the many things floating around my head I really want to write about tonight.

And nostalgia won. Because of the mist, mainly. There is something about the mist, about here because here is somehow defined by the mist, that reminds me of the tea plantation my family used to visit when  I was growing up.

Monterey and Pangalengan are about as different as they come. One has the sand dune beach, the other has hills of glowing green tea bushes. One is dry and arid, the other is humid and rainy. One is in America, the other is in Indonesia. You get the picture.

The point is not how similar they are, or dissimilar, but that something about being here (in this case, the bank of fog that swept in with the sunset) triggered a memory, one that reminded me of a place that felt like home. It took me back to packet hot chocolate and nasi goreng for breakfast, morning hikes and afternoons at the hot springs, quiet evenings with books and card games and my family.

Tonight, when the Man finishes studying and I finish blogging, we're going to curl up in the living room together with mugs of hot tea and a couple slices of spice cake dusted with a liberal amount of powdered sugar. The flicker of the candlelight will mimic the memory of my aunt's house where the Man and I first shared tea and spice cake together before her fire place.

At some point this week, our family will end up back down by the shore, watching the waves crash in, building castles with buckets and shovels, and trying desperately to get at least one handful of sand in our mouths before the kill-joy parents swoop in to steal our fun. And while we're there, I will remember summers at the beach, jaffles at the hotel restaurant, watching the fruit bats come in at sunset, early morning walks along the shore to see what the fishermen have pulled in.

This is home. Not just the here and now, but the collection of places and experiences that we bring with us. Wherever we go after this, we will take with us pieces of Monterey to add to the mess of memories we carry to each new place. And so on and so forth.

The nostalgia is part of the rooting process. It takes us from one place to the next. It presents a sense of the familiar when so much around us still isn't. The nostalgia is a reminder that even when we're between places, there once was a place that felt familiar and safe and so there will be again.

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Day Five: Questions by Blondes (and Other People)

Every transition--whether it's a new town or a new move or a new friendship--comes with questions. And as my husband likes to say, "There are no stupid questions. Only stupid people." So, let me show my blonde side and share a few questions I've had concerning this latest transition of ours.

First off, what are these? Someone tell me. The kids and I are dying to know.

Seriously: what is this fruit?

Second, when we were exploring the house for the first time, I asked the Man if that random button in the garage was for opening the garage door. He answered by informing me that he was going to be writing a list of things to go over with Third Culture Kids before dropping them in the States, including what a garage door opener looks like. Then he laughed for a really long time.

(Incidentally, when I first moved to the States to start college, I had to ask my roommate how to use a photocopier. She was nice and didn't make too much fun of me.)

Third, questions like "Where is the nearest E.R.?" should be asked before your youngest child wakes up at midnight with a 106 degree fever. Follow up questions include, "What is wrong with my child?", "What pharmacy takes my insurance?", and "Why do hospitals not include complimentary coffee because I've been up an obscenely long time at this point and WHERE IS THE CAFFEINE?" These are all acceptable questions to pose and it is okay to wait until you are in the moment for them. But don't wait about the E.R. question. Take my word for it.

Initially Bruiser enjoyed the one-on-one time with me
Then he realized one-on-one time includes shots.
And catheters.

Fourth, how do I get this off my kitchen counter? or camouflage it so that you can't tell it's there? Aside from awkwardly leaving a cutting board or bowl directly over it… Inquiring minds (mine) want to know.

Grey sharpie? Is there such a thing as grey sharpie?

Anyway, the point of this extremely scatter-brained post is that when we're stretching ourselves through transition, it's necessary to ask questions. Including, "What was your name again?" And the trick is to ask all of them as promptly as possible so that after you've been settled for months you don't embarrass yourself by asking things you should know at that point.

Speaking of, what was your name again?

In closing, if you struggle with the idea of making yourself vulnerable by asking potentially dumb questions, Google is your friend. It does a great job finding hospitals at midnight when you don't want to call the only person in town whose phone number you have and potentially jeopardize that friendship.

That was a confusing sentence to close on. But in my defense: all night up with Bruiser. all day at the hospital. no coffee. no. coffee. no… coffee...

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{If you think of it, would you pray for Bruiser with us? He needs rest as he goes through this round of antibiotics, and sleeping is not his forte.}

Day Four: Blurbs for Between

I'm keeping it short today--it's Saturday, let's all be lazy together--and just plan on giving you a few moving blurbs to keep you entertained.

• What I was most looking forward to receiving from the movers: my washer and dryer. Have I become so pragmatic? Perhaps. But here is my reality: four kids, teething snot, random spit ups, blood from toddler scrapes, husband who works out a lot = sweat, bulimic cat, shedding dog, and did I mention four kids?
• What I was dreading unpacking: the onions. Oh, the onions. Do you remember? In my scatterbrained exhaustion, I left a bag of onions in the pantry…and the movers packed them. Of course. They wouldn't pack the bath toys that might have water left in them, but they packed the bag of onions. Anyway, as they carried in the kitchen boxes, there was a faint whiff of something unsavory. I unpacked every single box just to get to those onions and get them out of the house. And here's the thing: they weren't even as bad as I thought they would be. No sprouts. Most of them weren't moldy. I wanted to take a picture for you, but the Man made me throw them away before I could immortalize the traveling onions forever.
• The first thing on the wall: crocheted Peace (see above). Because (again) with four kids in the house, we need a little peace. Or a lot.
• The last thing unpacked: all our books. I saved the best for last. And I had to get all the bookshelves situated and dusted before I could load them down, never to be moved again (well, for fifteen more months). 
• Biggest challenge: fitting our living room furniture into a room half the size of our old living room and figuring out where to put all of our dishes in a kitchen with more counter space (yay!) but less cabinet space (less is more, right?). Incidentally, the recliner is now holding court in our bedroom and works great for single baby nursing--the tandem nursing died an early death when the twins started entertaining themselves while eating by pulling each other's hair and gouging each other's eyes out--and some of our dishes got sent to Goodwill. Who really needs two butter dishes anyway?
• Most fun small change: the toilet paper holder doesn't disintegrate into multiple pieces every time you change the roll. It stays together! Amazing! Changing the toilet paper roll has never been so much fun!
• Most fun big change: did I mention the view? I can see the ocean from almost every single room if our home. And. I. Love. It. More on that later.

Happy Saturday, everyone.

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