my face when. . . we have a family conference

I am folding laundry in our bedroom (laundry is my nemesis) when I hear a weeping Eli climbing the stairs.

He has inherited my flair for the dramatic, my love of the English language, and his dad's intelligence which is a hysterically funny combination in a two year old.

"Mom,"  he wails, "the kids locked me in the house."  He is wearing his most insulted and injured expression, tears rolling one right after the other down his little face.

I find it hard to believe that the children locked him into the house, and tell him so. 

"No, Mom, they did, and they locked the front door and the back door and now they are out on the trampoline jumping!"  New, fresh round of bitter tears.

My blood pressure is elevated at this injustice and I leave the laundry for another moment day year and go downstairs to investigate. The front doors are bolted, latched and locked. Eli is telling the truth.  The little stinkers!

I call them inside and tell them they are in trouble. They are to march to the living room immediately for a family conference.

Jacob chooses the love seat, Cambria the couch, and Eli perches on the arm of the big chair, next to me, his ally. 

I begin:

Number one: I cannot even believe you would lock your little brother in the house.

blah blah blah ad infinitum, ad nauseum

Now would any of you like to add something?

Eli raises his hand.  "I have something to say.  Jacob, you locked me in the house." 

Jacob asks his forgiveness and I try not to smile. 

Cambria contributes:  "Well, Mom, I just want to say that we try to include Eli and he fusses so much that it's not fun.  So that's why we try to sneak outside when he's not looking."

Jacob:  "Mom, the last time we were on the trampoline with the neighbor kids, he begged to get up and I helped him and then he yelled at us the whole time and told us to get off."

[I googled my face when to see if there were any photos of expressions that did Eli's face justice. Found one that nailed it. Also, I have no clue who this dude is. ]

Eli's face when he knows JD and Cambria are telling on him

Eli raises his hand again.  And not even kidding, this is what he says:

"I have something to say.  Number three {theatrically holds up fingers}, Jacob is costing us a lot of money.  And he just costed us money.  And he keeps costing us money."

I want to die laughing but I'm the adult who just called this conference, so I have to finish it.  I pull my face together and ask Eli what he has to say about the screaming on the trampoline.

He hops down off of his perch next to me and says:

"I will show you how it is. Jacob, you jump with me.  I will be Cambria.  We are the big kids jumping." ///proceeds to jump up and down with an obliging Jacob on the hardwood floor///  Still jumping, he looks at Cambria.  "Now, Cambria, you be Eli David on the trampoline."

Cambria leaps off of the couch, between the boys, falls to the floor and begins (fake) wailing. 

Eli stops jumping, climbs back up next to me and looks at me. 

I look back at him. "Well, is that how it is?"

He nods.

"Eli, you need to quit screaming like that when the big kids let you jump on the trampoline."

He blinks dramatically, pointing to where the scene was just reenacted. "That was not me screaming, that was Cambria Faith."

Where do you even begin?

Yeah, I just parent for the comedy.

After working that issue out he trots off.

I ask if anyone else has any more concerns to bring to the family conference. Both kids join me on either arm of the big chair.

Cambria lowers her voice and shares that she feels Eli has been swearing a lot.  She believes he's learning it from Jacob.  I disagree and defend Jacob.  Jacob is about the most legalistic child to walk the earth; swearing just isn't his jam.  I ask what she means by swearing.

"Mo-oom.  Like Eli says poopoo and peepee.  All. the.time."

I point out that those words aren't swear words and maybe it's because he has the world's smallest bladder and goes to the bathroom about 427 times a day.

I kid you not, the words are not out of my mouth and we hear Eli swing the bathroom door open and the toilet in use. 

The family conference has pretty much lost all seriousness at this point, but I try to rein it in with a short comment about calling bodily functions and parts by their medical names and not cutesy made up ones that invite jokes, like winky and peepee.

Jacob throws out his hands, annoyed.  "Why do people even say that stuff?  It's so dumb."

Cambria's eyes twinkle:  "Like. . . the family jewels?!"  Jacob and I are shocked into utter silence and Cambria dissolves into giggles.

Then I start laughing and I can't stop.  The whole meeting is just a comedy of errors. I need to leave family conferences to Daniel and just get my normal show on the road before I lose complete control.

Late that night, tucking Cambria in, as usual, we discuss the best and worst parts of our day. 

"Mom," she whispers, "I know we were really in trouble, but the best part of my day was when we were all piled on the chair with you having a family conference."

Mine too.

Tiger Woods & Duck Towels

"Mom, can I google something?"

I am in the bathroom with a towel swathed Eli, struggling to clip his tiny toenails while he's perched on the counter. 

Granted permission, Jacob proceeds to google: pictures of Tiger Woods' house.

Huh.

You just never know what your kid is going to be interested in next.

"Mom, look at this. . ." his voice is full of awe as he holds out the phone, scrolling through photo after photo of the golf idol's little massive mecca.  He finds an aerial image with explanations and arrows pointing to the indoor pool, putting green and massive excess of amenities. 

"Mommy, is this the ducky towel?" Eli asks, peering suspiciously at his white wrap.

"Yes," I say absently, thinking that Tiger Woods is not someone I want my son to view as successful.

We discuss golf and success and cheating and faithfulness and what's really important and I think that we connected some loose threads and then Eli's offended little voice interrupts:

"Mom this is NOT the ducky towel!  There are no ducks on this towel! You said it was the ducky towel but it isn't!"

Sorry, bud, not the ducky towel.

Behind me Jacob voice-googles: pictures of the INSIDE of Tiger Woods' house.

Maybe I didn't connect.

Maybe I didn't listen at the right time to duck towel question, maybe I over criticized the golf hero, maybe I undervalued what was really going on: a normal curiosity about public figures. 

It's a wild crazy world out there; a scary one to raise kids in, and I am stretched as  I try to meet the intellectual needs of my nine year old, the social needs of my seven year old and the 157 wide and varied needs of my two year old.

Tonight Daniel took us out for pizza and after finishing and driving away, Eli heaved a huge sigh:  "It was a busy day. . ."  You betcha son, glad you noticed.

I hate busyness for the sake of busyness; my cover photo on facebook is a quote to remind me: stop the glorification of busy. I try so hard to have time for people and carve out moments that really matter, but the truth is life is beyond crazy right now and I am struggling to wrap my fingers around the minutes. 

Deep inside there is this huge fear of missing the most important conversations with my kids or failing to connect with my husband.  I feel:

weary

 

spread thin

 

full

 

exhausted

 

spent

 

happy

 

bone-tired

 

 Almost every mom I know feels this way; relief at the end of each day tempered by the awareness that sweet sleep may be interrupted by

 

a) vomit

b) nightmare

c) need for a drink at 1 am

d) all of the above

 

But underneath the exhaustion I am so thrilled  to get to be the one to watch them grow and develop and become little people with thoughts and dreams and interests and personalities.  It is a privilege. . .

weary, yes, absolutely. 

 

More coffee please.

 

Also, advice on how to handle celebrity sports figures and their dichotomous lives.

what they didn't say: on teaching at home

It'll be fun, they said.

You'll get to be with them all day long, they said.

Shape their little minds, they said.

It'll be so rewarding, they said.



I field so many questions from my friends about homeschooling, mostly because we married and had kids really young and I have about five more years of parenting under my proverbial belt than most of my peers. 

How does it work? (It works as hard as you work)

What do you use? (every brain cell I possess)

When should I start? (you started teaching your child the day you birthed him)

Do you distrust public education? (um, no, I envy that option many days and admire people who pour their lives out, underpaid and overworked)

It is a privilege to teach our children and we love this opportunity.  For our family, the rewards and benefits far outweigh  the work load, the burden, the difficulties.  But shame on me if I sugar coat the reality of hanging out the school shingle on the front door of your little house.

It's a good thing I counted the cost before I started because if I were counting on the glowing promises of what they said I would have quit teaching on Jacob's third day of kindergarten.

Homeschooling proponents raise visions of cozy library corners, energizing, engaging science experiments over the kitchen counter, throwing some laundry in while your kids do math tests (ah! multitasking at its finest!), the freedom to instill character and values.  They tout flexibility and movement and room to breathe and time for the individual attention so necessary for a child to achieve success. 

With reviews like that, who wouldn't be interested?

And people are interested.  Dissatisfied with a mass production approach to education, many are intrigued by the success and seeming ease of choosing a curriculum and following an educational path at home.  With Monday-Friday, 9-5 workforce demographics rapidly changing as employers grow more flexible and employees work unconventional hours (and from home), homeschooling can seem like an apple ripe for the picking.

Count the cost before you pick the apple. 

It's not a light decision to take your children's education into your trembling hands. 

Teach them character?  That's a nice idea:  the main teacher of that will be you.  With your life.  You just signed up to be the major influence on their value system.  How's your value system?

Are you grumpy?

They will be crabby.

Are you unmotivated?

They'll be lazy.

Do you dislike and avoid art?

They'll never know what it is to create beauty with their own hands.

Who you are will be mirrored in your students.

What you love is what you'll emphasize.

When you teach those little people, their eyes see who you are on Saturday and Sunday, too, and after 3 pm, and before you start teaching in the morning.  They see all of you. 

That kind of transparency can be good. It can be bad.  It can be ugly and beautiful all in the space of an hour. 


So here's a little list of what they don't say.

They don't say:

You'll wake up every morning with the burden of your children's education resting in your hands.

You'll have to spend as much time sorting out disputes and arguments and attitudes as you do teaching.

You'll find any shred of flexibility you had stretched far beyond what you thought your limits were.

You won't be able to finish a sentence because your toddler will have a catastrophe or your washing machine starts overflowing: though you're teaching, you aren't in school.

When you hang up your teaching hat, exhausted, your mom hat is right there waiting and sometimes you feel utterly spent and too tired to put it on.

They don't tell you:

You'll be teaching about respiration and lungs and airways and the diaphragm and then you'll be interrupted with a howl because the two year old pulled the unsuspecting six year old's hair.  You'll hypothetically discipline the two year old, who will then proceed to throw his crayola marker, bright pink inky side down, into the cream colored carpet.  Then you'll deal with that and turn back to the diaphragm. But by then you'll feel like your own airway might be blocked.

You have to be okay with your home littered with crayons, paper shreds, art supplies, pencils, piles of books, in a constant treadmill of shelving and unshelving your little ones' education. 

They don't tell you how inadequate you'll feel, how little actual support you'll get, how lonely you can be as a woman: it's sometimes difficult to explain why you're working a full time job that generates zero dollars.

They don't tell you about the sheer work volume, how self motivated you need to be: you are the boss of you.  You decide your hours, you're as free as a breeze with one massive caveat:  your children's educational success or failure is your employee evaluation and that's a stunning burden to carry.  No one tells you how heavy that burden is.

Why would they?

The truth, the agony, the loneliness, the monotony- why would anyone want to sign up for that? No one would.

And as with many choices in life, the rewards outweigh the pain.

So we choose to remember sweaty hands grasping first pencils and warm little bodies snuggled up against us on the couch, lisping first words and then sentences and then books, the math reward lunches, the lack of homework in the evenings since we've already accomplished it, the joy of watching the lightbulb moments of our own children, the stretching of our own minds as we teach theirs.

But if you're considering reaping the rewards, it's important to count the cost.

It is not easy.

It is 3% fun and 97% labor.

It is surely the hardest and most demanding task of my life.

I am absolutely giving it my all.

Wherever you are, be all there.

Jim Elliot

 

 

. . .and while He gives me breath, I will tell only the truth.

Job 27: 3-4

 

Jesus said,

No procrastination.

No backward looks.

You can't put God's kingdom off till tomorrow.

Seize the day.

Luke 9:62 The Message

on savoring and sequins (in the bathroom)

What?

You too?

I'm not the only one who drives a letter to the post office so it can go out in today's mail so I can have ten minutes of peace?

[okay, peace is a nebulous concept, hard to put your arms around, but in my book, it's children restrained by the law of seatbelt usage and Matt Maher and Audrey Assad with Hayley on the background vocals belting out Lord, I Need You]

You don't?

So it's just me.  That's okay.

Savor the moments and slow down everyone says, you know, your mom, your grandma, Ann Voskamp's facebook posts, Jesus Calling (I read Jesus Calling and then I can't remember what I read five minutes later, but I'm pretty sure it was slow down and don't hurry).

I savor about one moment per week.

I showed Eli what sunshine patches on the floor were this week.  We sat on the floor in a huge square of sunlight and I made his little hand feel the temperature difference between the sun and the shadow.  It was very sweet to sit there and wiggle our toes together.  I should probably do it more often.

It should be more often.

Like wayyyy more often.

Instead I am annoyed by noise and irritated by the child reading the news over my shoulder while loudly crunching on a carrot stick and impatient with childish arguments.

Stop. Savor.  Yeah.  Sometimes.

I teach - it's a full-time job.  I get done teaching and all of the home stuff is waiting for me, patiently, it hasn't gone anywhere at all.  Some weeks teaching our children is glorious and heady and just such a privilege and other weeks you wonder if everyone is getting the short end of the stick.  We have a life outside all this and sometimes that life is super rewarding and other times it's just plain a ton of work.

I was driving home from AWANA tonight, stopping to check on a house issue that Daniel + tenant were working on, going home to dishes piled and laundry spread on the living room floor.  God. . . I just need a little bit of encouragement.  Please.  Just a little something pouring in.

I put Eli to bed and we read about the 9 little "bunkeys" that were Curious George's previous family- before the Man With The Yellow Hat- the things you learn.  I didn't even know. 

And then the kids were in our bedroom, breathless.  They had hot coffee and my Philip Yancey book that I am almost done with and book marks made from their looper loom. 

Mom, just stay here, please.  Ok? Don't come out.

I know it's  a shameless ploy to stay up a bit later but I'm too tired to care and oh coffee and Yancey sound too good to be true.

A little bit later they're back with careful notes and instructions: go to the pumkins.

I tiptoe down to the coffee table in the living room.  The laundry is gone (probably behind the couch, but who cares) and all the toys and library books are picked up.  The note next to the pumkins says: go to the appels and pumkins.

The dining room table is clean and dinner dishes left in the pre-church scramble are all cleared away.  The only thing on the table is my silver tiered cupcake platter filled with apples and mini pumpkins.  The note next to it reads: go to where your shoes are.

Oh my kitchen is so clean! The dishwasher is running and their faces are beaming.  The shoes are straightened and neat and my last instruction reads: go to the toilet

Um okay.

So my elaborate treasure hunt ends at the clean toilet, with a note on the lid declaring how much fun of a mom I am,  signed by "Jake" and "Cambria". . . . and the best part. . . . a whole scattering of sparkly sequins sprinkled around the toilet. . . for pizazz, I suppose, the hurrah of the treasure hunt.

I want to die laughing.  It's all so funny.  The toilet, the sequins, my request to God for encouragement, my children's happiness, that God answered with my kids. . .

My heart is warmed from the inside out and we sit at the dining room table and eat microwave s'mores and microwaved cookie dough-turned-cookies in the glow of our clean house and our pumkins and appels.

Thanks, God, for my sequined toilet surprise.  You're pretty creative. 

 Yeah, I'm savoring.

letting my 8 year old go. . . (for ten minutes)

He wants to buy worms, this little son of mine, and I don't have time.

I know, worms are a need, he's going fishing.  I calculate the bread in the oven still and Eli needing a bath and the distance out of my way to stop to buy worms and suddenly I have a great idea.

Three, no four, no five? blocks down the street, on our side, in the oddest place, is a little gas station that may or may not sell gas anymore, but they definitely sell bait. 

I think for a moment.  Jacob rides his bike all over the place, he's just never gone there.  I think about how easy it would be for him and me and know he's completely capable of buying a container of nightcrawlers on his own. 

I hatch out this little plan with him.  He is one hundred percent on board with running his own errand and with many assurances that he'll be fine, he trucks off on his own with my BlackBerry in his pocket. 

Call 911 if you need to! I trail after him and sound like a crazy person.  He is 8 going on 28 and savvy and smart and an all around great kid.  He will be just fine and I am turning into the clinging mother I vowed I wouldn't be.

My bread bakes and I kneel next to the tub, bathing Eli, strangely bereft of that constantly behind feeling that I carry. 

He's old enough and fine.

He's gonna be so proud paying for those worms and putting them in his HyVee sack.

I'm so scared he'll . . . like. . . veer out into the street in front of a car.

Truth, woman, tell yourself truth. 

#1 Jacob has never veered anywhere.  He was born on purpose.  He purposefully, dutifully, stubbornly marches through life according to plan.  He doesn't veer. 

#2 Refer to #1.

With the time I saved not stopping to pick up bait, I worried.

It is hard for me to imagine a more stressful state of being than raising babies and toddlers.  You pray for them to go to sleep, and in my case, pray for them to wake up too.  This leaves me in a strange tension of inadequacy and exhaustion. 

In my head, all of my mothering problems will go away once everyone is potty trained, sleeping through the night, not biting fellow tots, reading, mastering beginning addition and independently able to cater a snack to oneself. 

In another wiser corner of my head, I tell myself that this is an illusion, a mirage that only mothers of toddlers believe.

My friends with kids older than mine assure me that motherhood is still quite wearing even though they aren't buying Pampers anymore.

And now I'm experiencing it all on my very own.  I have coached this child on manners, his dad has drilled financial sense into him, we have quizzed and requizzed him on bike safety and let him out on his own numerous times. He even has a phone with him!  I have raised him to the point that he is totally capable of what he is doing and now I'm worrying and scared when I should be triumphant and happy.

Like I tell Deeann I'm gonna be at my kids high school graduations.  No sniffling here! I say bravely.  I am gonna be rejoicing and planning a vaca with my man!  Triumphant and happy, that's me.

Or not. 

What if?

Is he okay?

It's been all of five minutes.

Ok, that's it, I'm getting Eli out of the tub and driving down to see if he's okay. 

**noise in the driveway

"Mom, I'm back, it went fine, Mom, the worms are $3.20, but Mom I'm so embarrassed, I went all the way there and I forgot my wallet. I remembered everything else!  I have it now, I'll be right back."

Pause.

"There was one thing a little bad."

My heart stops.

"The guy in there was smokin', Mom, and it stinks, so bad."

Whew.

"I'll be right back!"

Be careful. . . . I trail off like the worrywart mom I never meant to be.



I savor these days with him, and love the conversations we can have now that he's a bit older; tonight he flopped across our bed and chatted endlessly about remote control cars and I know I glazed over but I love that he wants to tell me about it. 

I love the little man he's becoming and I ache for how much he has yet to learn and how hard life will be for him until he's willing to yield and be humble and teachable.  I am scared sometimes that we'll influence him in the wrong direction or that he'll see in us something that will scar him and wound him.

Cambria took down the letters to her name that hung above her bed leaving three: B R I .  She signs her letters Bree and calls me Mother just for something new.  Yesterday she was sporting a rubber band as an ankle bracelet.  She is always on a wild new tangent. (She is so my child.)  She does veer.  (She is not allowed to ride her bike down the street for bait.)  She may "do hair or work in a nursery" when she grows up and she changes her clothes about 52 times a day.  She can be insecure and too much of a people pleaser and a bit lazy.

You can't feed 'em a bottle and rock 'em to sleep.

It's much much more complicated.

I know, too, that I don't think these thoughts about Eli.  His needs are much simpler.  I just need a visceral strength and tons of coffee to deal with him. 

By the way, loved the study Harvard just conducted on coffee-drinking cutting suicide risk in half. Drink some coffee.  Life will look more beautiful.

But these other little growing up children of mine, beautiful and frustrating and moldable and independent-yet-needy -

I need grace and wisdom and I need to let go and rein in all at the same time. 

But when have I not needed grace and wisdom?


Always. 


And I cry out to God, for my marriage, for my children, for my family,

build something beautiful

don't leave until You do
(JJ Heller)

my real actual life

For a tiny breath this morning I felt like a normal adult.

Coffee + Brennan Manning + a house closing at our bank with Daniel before he went into MFD.

{makeup & skinny jeans & black top & cute scarf. . . you almost feel human.  People don't shout at you.  Life doesn't seem to be an emergency.  Well modulated voices.  Good morning. Just a moment. Would you like a pen to sign with?  No rush, we're just waiting on copies. }

After that meeting the real, actual part of my life commenced.  This pretending I can swim in the business world is really quite an illusion.  What I really do is stuff like this:

Eli throwing the jar holding the frog across the cement porch floor.  It breaks, oh yes, it breaks everywhere. Frog, shell shocked, realizes he's still alive, and finally free, hops off through the glass.

Cambria brings me Time magazine:  "Mom, wouldn't this be awesome?" I look down at Flo, the Progressive girl, surrounded by probably 389 white bunnies.  Yes.  Yes.  Just awesome. 

Jacob and I, desperate, dig his fave athletic shorts out of the laundry hamper.  He reasons: "You know, no one ever gets close to you and actually smells your shorts."  This reasoning is . . .flawed. . . but it will work today. 

JD and I work on painting and cleaning out a storage shed.  I forget that there are calendars up on the inside of the shed from the previous occupants. Fortunately the calendar subjects are (sort of) clothed, but he pops out of the shed, scandalized:  "Mom,  there are awful pictures in here!"  I remove them with him.  Well, here's the deal, it's not respectful to women to put up pictures like this.  Keepin' it simple. He thinks those women shouldn't be dressing like that.  True.  That too.  There are so many things wrong with this, I begin and he interrupts Yes, like girls don't even ride motorcycles! Seriously! Sure.  We'll stop there for now. 

I vacuum new carpet at our current rehab with Eli.  I turn my back to take a picture to email a prospective tenant and suddenly my day spins into a panic of how did you get that cleaner in your mouth?!!!  **gagging **coughing  ** spitting 

what if some awful chemical is eating away at his airway??  how did he even get this??

I definitely heart poison control.  I called Daniel, but it is a rule of thumb for firefighter wives everywhere that if you have a panicky question for your husband, he will definitely be tied up with some other panic. 

Anyway, Cheryl from Poison Control sounded just like a grandma and was just the perfect calm to my lil storm. 

forced bath time for Eli David

Daniel calls me back finally and I find that he was on a fire.  So yeah, definitely legitimate reason he couldn't answer my phone call. . . I process this through the lens of oh, yeah, I forgot I have him to worry about too!! Oh my. . . are YOU okay???

WORRY

I gotta kill it.

JD gets invited swimming with friends. I drop him off and chat a bit. I go home and discover my zipper was down. Yes. That's awesome too. 

Awesome like the way I was in the shower last night with Eli eating his supper on a paper plate next to the tub with all the doors locked and our small group meeting in twenty minutes in our living room.  I've got this.  WE CAN DO.  Except. . . I forgot. . . my sweet friends bringing food. . . early. . . bless their patient hearts.   

The two little kids and I finish vacuuming and painting and I get out the camera to dutifully finish my photo-emailing job.  Battery exhausted.  I scroll back with the bit of juice left.  Apparently while I was painting, Cambria was using the camera to video journal Eli's nap.  Well that explains a lot. 

YOU, my prospective tenant, are going to have to be happy with three pictures tonight because it is Friday and I am clocking out  and ordering pizza. 

Oh, weekend, I love you. . . .


and just for the fun of it I'm popping up some before and afters: 

before                                                                                             after

before                                                                                 after

How unfortunate that the real, acutal  part of life and motherhood doesn't show before and after results.  Sometimes only God sees the seeds we sow.  That's okay.  I love 'em anyway. 


Especially on Friday nights when they're all tucked in bed. 


Happy weekend to you!

sometimes i live for saturdays. . .

 

So the other day Pandora was playing Aerosmith's Don't Wanna Miss a Thing:

 

I could stay awake just to hear you breathing

Watch you smile when you are sleeping--

 

and

 

Don't wanna close my eyes

Don't wanna fall asleep

Cuz I miss you babe and I don't wanna miss a thing.

 

 

 

For real, someone needs to come up with a version of this song for couples who have been married for ten years, because while I definitely felt that way at one point in my life

 

like when I was twenty-one

 

I still don't wanna miss a thing

 

but I would really like to close my eyes. 

 

And I definitely don't stay awake just to hear him breathing. 

 

 

I made myself take the weekend off and just breathe.  

 

Pancakes and some menu planning and book reading 

 

Sent JD off on an afternoon fishing trip with his buddies

 

Ran errands with Daniel

 

Helped Cambria doll up for her daddy/daughter date night event

 

Oh. . . time. . . freeze. . .

She inherited my complete lack of organization skills and came up with two clip on earrings: one blue and one pink.  We got creative which is what organizationally challenged people have to do and colored the pink and blue stones GRAY with a magic marker.  Whew.  Disaster averted.

She was so excited to go off to her little date night.  Daniel signed up to bring potato salad {????} .  I never make potato salad, but apparently he likes it.  I didn't end up having any time so I invented a new recipe:  PotatoSaladAuDeliCounter. 

Does he look like mischief?  Oh yes, he does.

Off at Navy {SEAL- oh yeah, we're proud} boot camp, Daniel's brother Mark can receive mail now so Eli wrote him a letter today:

 Hi Uncle MArk!
I am writing this letter to you through my secretary while I take a nap. I have had a very busy week. I threw a library book in the trash, I got into markers, I escaped the house and went for a walk, I bought some swim diapers so I could go swimming. I also went to the zoo and saw some monkeys and rode on a little train. I threw my sippie cup in the koi pond and the orange fish sure liked that!
Also, while I was at the zoo, I emptied my mom's last water bottle into the pop vending machine when my mom wasn't looking. As you can see, some type of boot camp is in my very near future. I love you very much. eLi DaViD

After that busy week, Eli went to bed early tonight and Jacob and I called dispatch and let them know we were planning to have a little marshmallow roast.

We built a fantastical fire with about 5 matches (go, me) and then it started to rain. 

I told Jacob it didn't even matter so we put a little tent of plastic over our s'more ingredients and sat in our lawn chairs and enjoyed. 

Ahhhhhhh. 

Yes.  I do love Saturdays.

Frosties & Freeeeeeeedom!!!

Well I turned thirty-one on Tuesday and we finished school.

Guess which event made me happier? ? ?

Oh yes I have half of my life back!!!

(Just half.)

I have not been on Pinterest in . . . months?

And my poor blog. . . so neglected. . .

my poor cupboards. . .

my poor flowers. . .

the garden. . .

ahhhhhh I cannot believe the weight lifted off! 

The kids feel a similar joy.

Wednesday morning found Cambria paging through her finished books, I think just so that she could put them down and walk away.  wink wink

I wandered upstairs with my camera to see what Jacob was up to.  He had MercyMe in his little cd player filling the room with This Life  and here is what I found:

 
I am so happy for him to be able to just kick back and relax.  He has worked so stinkin hard this year; he's earned his summer vacation.

Um, hi Mom?!  I was just sitting in the Little People toy basket looking bald and cute. . . is that ok?!


And we had pop-tarts for breakfast. . .  oh the joy.  :) 

I have a whole stack of books to read and my family bought me enough birthday coffee to last until July so my mornings are planned until August.

I'm halfway through

The Wisdom of Tenderness -Brennan Manning

just finished

The Freedom of Self-Forgetfulness -Tim Keller

and ready to go:

The Checklist Manifesto -Atul Gawande

Look Again -Lisa Scottoline

Try Fear  -James Scott Bell

Seven -Jen Hatmaker



This overly cheery post brought to you by an overly cheery me. 

YAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I should probably go to the Y and burn off some of my a) happy energy and b) homemade chocolate ice cream. (made by Daniel, recipe below.)


Wendy's Copycat Chocolate Frosty

1/2 gallon chocolate milk
8 oz Cool Whip
1 can sweetened condensed milk

Mix in large bowl, pour into ice cream freezer and freeze per manufacturer instructions. 

Tastes just like Wendy's!

{I forgot about the terrible twos}

Eli is redefining everything I thought I knew about parenting.

I forgot about the terrible twos. 

Except he's only one.

Yesterday's text to my mom:  If his attitude were reflected in his appearance, he would be flying down the interstate on a Harley in leather with forty-five tattoos, ponytail and beard blowing in the wind singing bad to the bone. . .

but instead he's 2 feet tall, bald and cute. 

On the upside (you see if you think this is an upside), Daniel tried to encourage me that at least Eli wasn't swearing at me.

Obviously we're grasping at straws for upsides.

(And I'm pretty sure if he knew how to swear, he would be adding that to his shrieking tirades.)

Yesterday I was that mom in the grocery store.

I discipline.  I've read (and applied) Tedd Tripp and Ginger Plowman and Tim Kimmel;  I had millions of parenting strategies that I just couldn't wait to try when I was a teenager watching other parents' children.

But then your own moment of truth comes, pushing the big red racecar cart harrumph harrrumph bbubump bbump that your toddler wanted to drive

except that he doesn't want to drive anymore

so you're carrying him

and pushing the cart one-handed and going all the way back to the produce section to grab some forgotten cilantro

and his head is thrown back with a tornado siren wail

his little scalp is so red from crying that I notice little blond hairs that actually exist; hey- he doesn't swear (yet) and he has some hair!  (These are the only positive thoughts I can muster.)

and everyone in the store is looking at us.

You avoid eye contact except for the sympathetic mom types who had the good sense to come alone.

You race through the checkout.

He grips the paper plate package he's holding as if the clerk is trying to steal his birth certificate and she says oh, I can find the bar code while he holds it; I peel his fingers off and grimly tell her that I'm not catering to him and it's not ok for him to act like this while I hand her the paper plates to the soundtrack of renewed shrieks.

Just one kid today? she asks, because they all know me which is proving to be more of a curse than blessing today. Well, just one in the store. 

The other two are sitting in the van watching Alvin and the Chipmunks to avoid grocery shopping with Eli. 

I cannot wait for the day that I can sit in the van and send them in for the cilantro and I can watch Alvin.  Hopefully I will have enough brain cells left that I won't choose Alvin.


So I know what God's Word says and I have every intention of training up my child in the way he should go but God isn't kidding when He says foolishness is bound up in the heart of a child.

I don't think God elaborates on what to do at the exact moment you're pushing the red race car cart with one hand;  but here's what I'm clinging to as I teach my little son that obedience will bring him and everyone else happiness:

So do not throw away your confidence;  it will be richly rewarded. (Hebrews 10:35)

{Jesus said} You did not choose Me, but I chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit - fruit that will last. Then the Father will give you whatever you ask in My Name. (John 15:16)

Be patient, then. . . see how the farmer waits for the land to yield its valuble crop and how patient he is for the autumn and spring rains.  You too, be patient and stand firm. (from James 5)



* I will write about Africa


* We are almost done with school


* If you see us in Fareway with the red cart and no screaming please understand the magnitude of this accomplishment.

march in pictures

ten reasons i am leaving my children for two weeks: here we come south africa

Daniel and I leave in four weeks to go to South Africa with a team of eight people from our church, serving the least of these at the Restoring Hope Village.

Three million + orphans in SA.  That is a staggering number.  Our tiny offering of time and love to give is a drop in an endless sea of need, but we want to start there, giving our little bit. 

This has been a matter of prayer and in the works for some time and we are so excited to go and follow God's leading. 

The trip was overwhelmingly and promptly funded, confirming that money is rarely an issue if God calls you to do something.  We're so thankful for the people who gave so freely. {you know who you are}

Below are my notes from sharing with our church family the reasons we each chose to go. 



I love top ten lists; some of you know that Daniel even used a top ten list to ask me to marry him.  There are so many reasons I want to go to South Africa, but I decided to put them in my favorite top ten format. 

So here they are.

1.  Thankful for the hope of eternal life that my salvation brings; wanting to share hope, knowing that only Christ brings hope for the pain life brings.  I accepted Christ as a child and knew the talk, walked the walk, but our son's death changed everything I believed into something more real.  You can't just be here, then gone, and that's the end, with just this little shell left of you.  There has to be something more.  There has to be eternity;  because if not, where does your soul go,  the part of you that's you?  Everything I believed about God became startling and clear and real to me.  Eternity = hope.  I want to share that.

2.  I know what hopelessness feels like.  It's crushing, it's demotivating, it's dark, dark, dark.

3.  I know what it means to be given the gift of hope.  That gift- that so many of you have given to us. . . is priceless.

4.  I want to honor and follow my husband's leadership. It can be a little scary to be married to a man who walks with God.  You kinda never know what he's going to do.  Daniel told me over a year ago that he was going to go on a mission trip, and I was like. .  . oooookaaaay!  When Louis and Amber came, during their presentation, Daniel leaned over to me and said, this is it, I'm going there!  I was really happy for him but then I started thinking. . . what if God tells him something big while he's there, like adopt or move to Africa. . .   maybe I should go so that I could know what my future might look like!  But I also want to go just to share in this experience with him, rather than haave him explain it to me when we get home.

5.  I want to say yes to God.  I'm blessed by so many people in our church who say yes to God and lead by example, and I want to be that.  I just don't want to start saying no to Him:  I want to say yes.

6.  I want to listen to wise counsel.  When we first started talking about me going too, we sought counsel from people that we were sure would advise me to stay home with our children.  Our parents floored us by enthusiastically supporting the idea and tripping over themselves to watch the kids during our absence; no, don't go wasn't what we heard.  I then went to my beautiful Mrs. A. . .sure that she would tell me to stay home and take care of my children.  Instead she pointed out that they would be fine, following God was more important than following safety, marriage priority > children priority and she also made me aware of point # 7.

7.  I want to teach three little white kids that the world is bigger than smalltown, USA.  And they are so excited and supportive of us going.  They want to go.  I hope they will eventually.  We aren't fans of children running family direction, but we wouldn't go if they weren't okay with it.  They're okay.  They care about these little people without any mom or dad.

8.  Because there's no substitute for human touch and compassion; $$ can't hug.  Just that.

9.  Seeking a wider perspective of the work God is doing globally. We don't have the corner on ministry here.  I know that zooming out can bring clarity to our vision and I'm so excited to see what God is doing in another part of the world.

10.  Because the world will know we are Christians by our love for one another.  And I think that extends to loving the least of these.

And then there's the many who are called to be faithful at home;  Africa isn't in your future, but lots and lots of endless laundry and Sunday School teaching and feeding hungry neighbor kids and being there when people need you and sharing hope with your coworkers and employees and the list goes on and on. . .

You are important, you are needed, we are not all that and a bag of chips because we're going a little farther than across the street. 

My sister writes about staying home when others go.  Read it, she's awesome.  That's her quote below.

This is my life, Lord,
Help me not to wish it away,
Waste it away
Or, not taste the joy of the people around me.
Lord, help me to be a joyful giver of Me.

salt & pencil sharpeners

Just in case your day included passionate discussions of music The Ants Go Marching Two by Two
(do you think verse two is about tying the shoe?  do you think mom?  do you remember? are you sure?)

navigating disappointing cancellations
the catch 22 about playing in a MFD vs. Special Olympics game while on duty means that. . . you might not show up to the game  *super let-down oldest son*

schoolwork
no, Cambria, you may not use your cash register calculator to help you with subtraction

bible studies
three cheers for some sanity

lunch
and I fed them Cheetos on the side today.  Can you believe it? how the mighty fall

Sequence, States & Capitals x 2
(and I lost both times)

laundry that got folded, then flooded by a bathtub tidal wave
why, why do I fold laundry? tell me again

in case you cleaned your dining room floor once. . . then twice. . .

. . . in case you gave a toddler two baths today

. . .in case you successfully removed three screws and rescued a mangled orange crayon from the pencil sharpener

. . .in case you narrowly missed getting pencil sharpener grease on your new-to-you-jeans- from the Buckle via Goodwill

. . .in case while the pencil sharpener debacle unfolded, the salt shaker got emptied on the chair. (and floor)

. . . then take a breath and enjoy these two great reads.

I loved each one. 

In Defense of the iPhone Mom


Brave Moms Raise Brave Kids

eli = joyful destruction

Sweet boy.

 

You love to sharpen pens in the electric pencil sharpener.

 

You like to pull my earrings out.

 

You love to climb, climb all the way on top of desks.  And game cupboards.  And dressers.

 

You like to open programs that cause serious problems for computers, all with a few pecks of your chubby fingers.

 

You like to open doors, bathroom doors. Nothing is safe from your inquisitive toddler self.

 

You love to unroll toilet paper with astonishing speed and grace.

 

You like to say oh, mannn. . . just like your daddy.

 

You love boots that are too big for you, enthusiastic clomping, joyful destruction, that's you, my son.

 

Oh such joy you bring.  Such a weary happiness.

 

I love your kisses, blown with sticky fingers.

 

I love hearing your feet trot across the floor.

 

I love hearing you say mamamama.

 

I love your whole little self.

 

 

 

You empty me out and fill me up at the very same time and I am so grateful to God for you, my son.

that moment when. . .

that moment when. . .

. . .you ask the homeschool mom next to you what she does. .

then autocorrect your sentence and offer-

but of course- you're a stay at home mom-

and then she smiles and says

no- I work full time as an ER nurse.  I just arrange my shifts so I can still homeschool.

Um. Yeah.  Okay.  You're my hero.

(She probably drinks three pots of coffee per day.)


. . .you hear your pastor's six year old son say to your daughter why do you keep trying to hold my hand, Cambria?  {sigh. parenting a girl is not going to get any easier.} #letsnotchasetheboys

. . .your son tells you he's been reading Focus on The Family's adult parenting magazine and he saw that often children get results if they ask for things three days away, rather than immediately, i. e.  "Mom, could we watch cartoons in three days?" {yes} vs."Mom, can we watch cartoons now?" {no} #thanksDr.Dobson.  NOT.

. . .you notice a suspicious lump in your daughter's jeans pocket and she proceeds to pull out some Kotex.  nooooooo. . . I don't want to talk about the birds and bees. . .

. . .you park in front of the house of someone you really look up to and your foot slips onto the gas pedal and there's a pedal to the metal acceleration sound and you actually wonder who is making that awful noise- and then you realize it's you.  In front of the house of the people you really look up to.

. . . you see those 52 Date Night Ideas and all your mind can do is calculate 52 x $30 to sitter = $1,560.00.  #hushedsilence.

. . .you take off your tennis shoes and blow all your breath out before you step on the scale.

. . .church gets cancelled due to weather and you shriek for joy and jump up and down even though you do love God and worship and fellowship.

. . .you look across your Chili's shrimp tacos and wonder what you ever did to deserve a friend like Deeann!

. . .your lil punkin starts to say "Mamma."

. . .your daughter asks mom, how old is a fifteen year old? Umm. . .

. . .you realize somehow your son has been avoiding and escaping showers. . . for a long. . . time. . . as in dayyyyys. . . #phew #showerschedule #Axe #lil'chat

. . .your five year old confides that she heard a bad word. . . hushes her voice. . . leans over to you. . . "s t u p i d."  #whew

. . .just a few moments over here at my house during the past few days.

Children's Museum {music room}

 

 



Infinity Scarf project with the yarn JD bought me for Christmas- it's almost done!  Just have to go to Wikipedia to figure out how to cast off. ;)



Eli popped his head into the picture- and yes, he has been a huge threat to the knitting project.  Even dropped the needles down the cold air return vent.

 



 

Our Bible Study is working through Jennie Allen's stuck.  This was a project at the end of a study of Romans 8-  contrasting selfish desires with desires filtered through the perspective of God's Word.

 

 

Happy Wednesday!

9 years of Christmas pics

Mmmm. . . I love Christmas pictures.  I remember getting the mail as a child and carefully feeling along the edge hoping for a picture inside. 

Our online-driven society has made real photos you can hold in your hands a thing of the past.  The last time I printed photos was. . . um . . . last Christmas.  Yes.  That's bad.  Anyway, I stubbornly insist on sending real Christmas pictures every year maybe just because I enjoy receiving them so much. 

Today's advent activity for the kids was helping with Christmas cards. 

We have about 220 to do. 

We finished 8. 

I will be up all night. 

I started thinking about all the previous Christmas pictures. . . how life changes. . .

I just snapped pictures of pictures below.  You'll definitely be able to tell when we go digital.  (Seriously, the subtitle of my blog should be you aren't here for the photography.)

 

2003

stars in our eyes. 

 

 

 

 

2004

 

we had just discovered that jd was on the way.

if we look a little shell shocked. . . well, we were shocked.  wow.  obviously he turned out to be the best shock ever. :)

 



 

Mmm.  oh.  I guess this wasn't a Christmas picture.  Well anyway, I'm a sucker for dress blues and he's mine!  Wow, how lucky can a girl get?

2005

 

Aww, it's 3 of us.  It was snowing and we begged our neighbor Jenny to take our picture.  Daniel bought me that coat as a gift, and I loved it.  I also loved the curtains in the window of our little love nest that we were quickly outgrowing.  That was such a happy year.  I remember working together, making Jacob wooden blocks for Christmas.  Oh the sweet joys of being young penniless parents.  :)

 



 

 

This is 2006.

 

The 'year of the boat' as we like to call it.

Grandpa wanted his boat kept in the family;  it was our turn that year. 

I bet he had lots of laughs looking down from Heaven at us and our friends and our boating escapades. 



2007

 

 

This is not the picture we sent out that year, but I can't find the real one.  Here is where our sweet girl joined us.  I love her little bow!  I think JD is sucking on a piece of candy from the parade we had just attended.

 

 



2008

 

I can't find the real 08 picture.  This will do.

 

Apparently I was still into tying green bows on Cambria's head.  :) This was taken at Gettysburg when we were on the East Coast for my friend Lisa's wedding.

 

Here's another one from that time frame, early 2009, in Oregon for Daniel's younger sister's wedding. 

 



Love love love the Pacific Ocean!

 

 

 

 

 

 

2009

 

{this is just a random funny one I pulled from the folder of the Christmas 09)

 

My friend Rebecca started taking our pictures here.  Gabe is a little twinkle in my tummy here. . .

Sweet smiles unaware that our lives would be shattered in the next year with his birth, life and death.

 

 



 

2010

 

Sweet little Gabe. . . he changed our lives forever.  Miss him every.single.day.

 



I will never, as long as I live, forget the darkness of that year.  Christmas was unbearable.  That year has forever changed how I view the holidays and brought an awareness that it's not always the happiest time of the year for everyone.

 

2011

 

Healing

Grace.

Still an empty chair.

Eli David.

Tears.

Gratefulness.

Thankful.

 

 

Next up 2012! 

(be still)

Dark and cold and rainy evening and I am listening to The Fray's Be Still  and trying to formulate thoughts into words

Be still and know that I Am with you

Be still and know that I Am here



I wrote this awesome little quote on my chalkboard wall today:

Stop the glorification of busy.

 

-author unknown

 

It stares down at me as I rush by, this thought that busy isn't always good.

 

I am hiding in the busy, drowning in it, running away from all that I need to slow down and pray through. 

 

I say no to two separate events today, give way and say yes to the third.

 

I try to glorify the stillness, but in the stillness is grief and pain.

 

The stillness and maybe the rain bring thoughts and thoughts bring pain.

 

Being still means that I have a few q's for God, some things I don't understand, and I think being busy I can just ignore what I'm thinking and throw a few God is goods and thankful for graces (protestant Hail Marys) at the doubts and we'll be good to go.



When darkness comes upon you

And covers you with fear and shame

Be still and know that I Am with you

And I will say your name


The quietness always reveals the gaping hole, the void of our son.

Gabe is a shadow of my imagination these days, all the memories and joy and pain so distant.  Apparently two and a half years is a long time frame.  I can't remember things.  This drives me crazy and I can't even allow my mind to remember what it can't remember. 

But my children, they remember with startling clarity and once again I wonder if they're okay.

I sit on the front porch with Jacob and a few of his buddies.  They are crouched on their little haunches, little boy style, talking about nothing and everything. 

Jacob, matter-of fact: "My little brother died in my bedroom and I know where his bed was and I don't like to be there when I sleep."

I am stunned and panicky and the mama bear in me instantly has our house listed with a SOLD sign on it and I am far away from all this pain, wanting to protect this boy from memories, from death, from fear.

If terror falls upon your bed

And sleep no longer comes

Remember all the words I've said

Be still, be still and know.

I wait, wait to be calm, wait to be rational, and that night up in his room,  I sit on his bed and rub his little boy back, feel his bristly short hair that won't grow long the way he wants it to, pray for the words that I should say, pray to listen.

Hey, I heard you say you remember that Gabe died in here.  Can you talk to me about that? Cuz I remember too.

He rolls over. 

Yeah, I just know it, Mom.

I cringe.  Do you want to trade bedrooms? I would do anything, anything to take away a little pain from anyone here; these walls have seen too many tears.

Well. . . I don't know, I like having a big room, you know, with my stuff, and my desk. . . he trails off.  The materialism in him is winning over his memories. Unbelievable.  Maybe this isn't all as deep and crushing as it initially sounded.

I relax a little.  Well, we can always trade around bedrooms.  I don't want you to be scared.  Really.

He sits up a little, his big brown eyes serious.  Well, yes, I am scared because sometimes I do think there are rattlesnakes in here. 

I want to laugh and cry.  He just needs to relay facts, hear truth, be loved, be secure.  He needs to say that his brother died.  He needs to read too many westerns and be scared of rattlesnakes.  He is just a boy and he will be okay.

I think.


When you go through the valley

And shadow comes down from the hill

If morning never comes to be

Be still, be still, be still


My sister Elizabeth and I are sweating and fuming and vowing to never touch peel and stick linoleum squares ever again in a basement bathroom, snapping chalklines and using squares and still having problems and then Mom calls, with Cambria on the other end of the phone for me. 

She has long endless details about the bike ride Mom took her for and Grandma pushed Eli in the stroller and I waited for her at the corners

and then we went to see Gabe, Mom, I showed Grandma where to go cuz I know how to get there and I rode my bike and showed Grandma.  And we were there with Eli and I looked up and Grandma was crying not really loud, just a little.  And then I cried, too, Mom.

I left the linoleum squares.

And then Grandma prayed, Mom, and she asked me if I wanted to pray too and I said yes.  So we both prayed there. 

I bless my mom for loving my daughter and walking her through this moment.  I don't know what to say.  I feel far away even though I'm just across town and the phone between us amplifies the loss because I want to reach out an hug her little warm self and take the pain away.


And in the middle of my busy-running, in the middle of the pain-burying, our precious Eli turns one and I realize the enormous amount of healing and relief he has brought to our home.

In true over-busy style I buy him a cake from the Walmart deli case and we put a little blue candle in it and watch his little face in the glow of the flame;  I'm struck by the fact that I don't have a driving need to make his first birthday perfect, like I did for Gabe. 

Because he's here.  He doesn't care about the perfect cupcakes, and I don't either, because I can kiss his bald little head and pinch his solid little legs and chase him all over the house and out of messes, all day long. 

I thank God for him, this little Eli David constantly.  I try not to hold him too tight.  I teach him "no" and "obey" and Cambria and I roll with laughter when he learns to hokey-pokey.

I think of a paragraph in a book I never finished once I found that the grieving father's young son returns as a ghost;  (I don't need any additional weird thoughts in my head)

Mark sat back down on the stool, his heart beating too fast.  For the second time that day, he wondered how on earth he'd managed to become the person he was: a man who felt like weeping whenever someone he loved left the room.

You Came Back, by Christopher Coake, ch.2, pg.15 



If you forget the way to go

And lose where you came from

If no ones standing beside you

Be still and know I Am



Be still and know that I am God, He says to me.  All the answers are not here, but He is.

The Lord said, “Go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.”

Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind.

After the wind there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake.

After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire.

And after the fire came a gentle whisper. {1 Kings 19:11-13}

He was there, in the stillness.


Be still and know that I Am with you

Be still and know I Am.