For Love of Our Daughter

To the young man who seems to have captured the attention of our daughter, and maybe a small portion of her heart~

Looking at our beautiful daughter objectively, (*smile*) this should come as no surprise to us. It was wholly inevitable, and yet, it still has caught us completely off-guard.

Before we begin, let me make something very clear to you.  Let there be no mistake here.
We already like you.

You have recognized the beauty and the joy that is our daughter, and you have responded. She has touched you in some way , and we think you have impeccable taste.

Let me speak now to some specifics.

I've been watching this all unfold.  And you have been so patient and persistent in your pursuit, it's admirable.

I would pick my daughter up from school, and she'd flop into the passenger seat rolling her eyes and throwing up her hands at your latest antics and jokes, recounting your absurdity, shaking her head and laughing.  Her emphatic "so annoying!" becoming heard less and less after your name, and her eyes lighting up more and more as the weeks went by.

I watched you.  You drifted around the periphery of her life, weaving to and fro to find your place, eventually planting yourself firmly by her side.  Cracking jokes, making her laugh, listening intently.  A true gentleman, you waited patiently for the day she would suddenly, and quite surprisingly, realize that she wanted you by her side.

Know that you are both very young.  And even though we are impressed by the maturity each of you has exhibited thus far, we do have some reservations.

Our wish for you both is that this time in your lives be filled with joy and laughter.   That your time together be an abundance of true friendship and fun.  Above all, that you both handle the other with gentleness. That your hearts remain whole and unblemished if and when this season comes to a close.

And that, in ten years, you are able to look back on this time with sweet remembrance... and no regrets.

:)

When I danced along the Milky Way

Now that she's back in the atmosphere 

With drops of Jupiter in her hair, (hey, hey, hey)

She acts like summer and walks like rain 

Reminds me that there's a time to change, (hey, hey, hey)

Since the return from her stay on the moon 

She listens like spring and she talks like June, (hey, hey, hey, hey...)

~Train Drops of Jupiter

This Spring, I had the privilege to labor and create amongst the stars.

But it wasn't all roses and rainbows. No.  It was far from it.  The heartache and pain that surrounded this work, and the dedication and teeth-gritting determination I experienced from all who labored with me, was inspiring.  It was other-worldly, supernatural. And it took a village to accomplish.

You see, an entire constellation plummeted from the sky on February 2nd. 

And how can just one or two people save a situation like that?

A beloved homeschooling mom of 14 children... a woman who was looked up to by ALL who met her... one who walks into a room or situation, or a LIFE... and just takes over... just makes you feel at ease and loved and encouraged and empowered... THAT kind of amazing woman...  was suddenly killed in a car accident.

An entire ray of light... just gone.

I'm pretty sure we are all still trying to wrap our minds around that.

Her oldest daughter, newly married, about to have dear Helen's grandchild... rightly stepped down from directing the St. Paul Institute's Spring Shakespeare production of Much Ado About Nothing. She canceled the play.  And held onto to her devastated family...most especially her two youngest siblings, just two and three years old.

The whole community was shaken to the core.  Friends of Helen's kids were especially hard hit.  It was simply unimaginable.  

In the chaos of trying to process what just happened, I mumbled to my dear friend Lisa that I'd be willing to TRY to help the kids carry on with the play... if they somehow wanted to...

I couldn't imagine they WOULD want to.
I couldn't even think HOW it would continue.
Nor did I spend much time worrying about it.
Because I doubted anyone would want to move on.

But the answers trickled in... small yeses... tentative confirmations... a lot of maybe's...

My friend Lisa was determined.  Death will not win. These kids need this, they need their friendships, they need to know that we are an Easter people.  Death will not win.  Our kids need to see this and live it.

Her words:
I am so grateful to the two of you for standing in the breach made by Helen's death to stop death from continuing its destruction. This will be blessed by God in all of its difficulties and will allow these great kids to learn part of what it means to be Christian and to believe in the resurrection.

The play was to be after all...

My partner in crime? A wonderful mom, my polar opposite, and just an exquisite human being.  Jen describes herself as Hobbit-like; she delves into details, and pulls out nuances and hidden meanings in the most minute phrases.  She is a master of Shakespeare, not because of extensive study, but because of her love for it.

Here we are... me, on my phone, desperately searching for a certain type of mood music 

while she pontificates on historical context and heavens knows what else. 

She kept us true to the time period and Shakespeare's renditions.

Here's our texts the night before tech week.

See? Dedicated, and crazy.  We made an awesome team.

(And she brought coffee. Every day of tech week) ;)

I could never put into words what she meant to this play...

On to these amazing teens.  

I had really NO IDEA what I was getting myself into.  I'd seen the kids act. They are easily on par with professional Shakespearean actors, no doubt about that. But I wasn't sure how they'd react to ME.  Would they trust me? Would they listen to me? Would they be bitter, or angry, or resentful?

In my mind, they had every right to be.  I'd have to tread a fine line.... not only with regards to emotions and feelings, but with regard to Shakespeare. It was simply astounding how much they knew and understood... and how much they WANTED to know and understand further!!

To give you a taste: I went into rehearsal one day and heard Jen in the midst of a heated discussion with Leonato and I walked over to find out what the problem was.  This young man was insistent that Shakespeare placed a particular comma in his lines for a reason, and he wanted to know why.
A comma, my dear friends. 

And that is the very reason I prayed to the Holy Spirit every day before I entered that rehearsal room. 

He never let me down.

(I always added a quick "Help me, Helen" for good measure, too.)

Leonato photo bomb

Claudio and Don Pedro

Beatrice and Benedick

Beatrice and Hero

A friend with our Gemma, Virges, spotlight crew, Conrade and Ursula

I agonized over the set.  Me, Miss "Non-crafty-in-the-least-mama" had to come up with a versatile set, easily moved, easily stored, easily used again.  ME.
Andrew built the frames, and a lovely young woman who needed to create beauty in her world that was falling apart, worked in the hot sun painting alongside me.  Side by side, we worked in silence.  She, creating a gorgeous backdrop of orange groves and sun with brush and color... me, taping grout lines on fake stone walls.  The bitterness of why we were there hung all around.  When working alone, the lines blurred and I turned up my headphones and grieved.

Those silent times are what sustained me and gave me balance and perspective whenever the panic set in.

Friar Francis

There weren't many moments of panic, thank goodness.  And here is where that village took over.

Moms were constantly asking me to let them help.  Sewing moms, theater moms, cooking moms, organized moms.... it was astounding.  Even more astounding? I let them help. I knew there was just no way I could pull this together by myself.  At every turn, I gathered my troops.  A theater mom helped with set pieces, and organized the costumes. Another two moms took over the meal prep for performance nights. Yet another mom sewed some costumes for me, and provided the pattern for all of those tail coats for the young men.  The result was magnificence.  We pushed our (teenaged!!) costume designer to her limit. And she delivered. My friend Lisa hosted the rehearsals at her home.  And when I called for extra rehearsals, moms drove the kids (sometimes for hours!) just to get them to my house on time. It was humbling and inspiring.

Me (I think my brain was hurting) and some cast members backstage, 

along with our amazing theater mom who was such a saving grace for us!

And truthfully, we pushed everyone.

I felt a kind of madness take over me when it came to this play.  When I signed on, I was content with, "let's just make it presentable." I thought I would be happy if everyone knew their lines and could execute them with some semblance of drama.  But as we got going, I saw the importance of making it excellent.  These kids were hungering for it. Because, in fact, that's what they were used to! Furthermore, that's what they deserved. Their emotions had been ripped apart and they were fighting their way back to the light. Holding on to friendships and love and hope and everything good, they were fighting for joy and happiness. And damn it if I wouldn't work myself to the bone to make sure this play was worthy of that.

Borachio, Leonato and Don John

The great thing was, ALL the kids wanted this excellence. After our dress rehearsal, Jen got up and just started praising them. She really hammered it in about how amazing and talented they all were. We knew they were working hard, and we were so proud of them all. Such an inspiring pep talk, and very much deserved!! But all eyes were on me, and the extensive notes I had taken during the performance. And finally one of the kids remarked to another sitting next to him, "wait until Mrs. Smillie starts talking!" and they both laughed. But they wanted it.  They wanted the corrections, they begged for my notes rather than go home and hear them the next day. (It was after 10pm and parents had been waiting in the parking lot for over an hour!) And so we pushed on.  And we pushed and pushed. And even the last night of the performance, the young men were coming to me... "What else? What more can we work on?" and I had to beg them to relax and simply enjoy it.

 Don Pedro and Claudio... the two perfectionists.

This last night was the reward, I told them.  Enjoy it.

It was bittersweet to see it end.  Though I didn't have much time to ponder it.  We had a major hiccup that last night.  Our amazing stage manager was very sick.  She had been up all night with a severe stomach bug that had been making its way through her family.  I must admit, I was pretty panicked.

Annie and half of our fabulous stage crew.

Annie (in the blue shirt) knew every detail of this play.  She knew props and entrances as well as exits and call times.  She knew lights and sound cues and also all the set changes for every scene.  She had 8 people working under her. And while we had talked about all of these things, she had the notes, and most importantly, she had it all in her brain.  Luckily, she had also talked it all out with Kate, (the gal on the far left) so she was able to take over for Annie.  I was given the last headset and deposited in the back of the audience to man that entrance and keep my panicked self occupied.  It went off without a hitch.

My last email to the cast and crew came around 2am after the last performance.  I was so spent, so proud, so intensely grateful.  Helen's 14 year old son had chosen to remain in the play.  And his thank you that night made it all worthwhile.  My God, dear young man, what I wouldn't do for your wonderful family, for this amazing community, and what I would have missed had I walked the other way.

I returned to my daily life changed. Walking among excellence does that to a person.

Drops of Jupiter.

I'll never be the same. Thank God for that.

;)

Loving LIFE...and very grateful.

We moved into our current home 5 years ago. It was a move brought about with much drama and agonizing, nail-biting, suspense. The selling of our little sweet 3 bedroom house and the need for more space, within our budget, and a certain time frame...was sometimes too much for this Mama.
We ended up selling our home with the closing date fast-approaching and not a single prospect for a future abode. I was a wreck.
The conclusion to this real life thriller is two-fold.
First, it entailed me laying down my pride and asking EVERYONE on my local email list for help in finding us a home.
Second, it required our lovely across-the-street neighbors to lovingly pick up my fragile ego and point us to the house of our dreams.
That whole story is here.

This neighbor family has four beautiful children. Their oldest are twin girls, and they are the constant companions of Littles Love and Boo. Their friendship has been a slow-cultivated one. But lately, they are rarely apart. Boo rushes through her homework so she can run across the street, and Love counts down the HOURS until school is over... very very cute.

 

Anne and Jason have been amazing neighbors. The kind you can call on for... anything. We've swapped kids, treats, movie nights, and the occasional drink on the back patio or front lawn. It's a lovely arrangement. :)

In light of all that we know of them, I am honored to share their story that they have lived and re-lived every year on the girls' birthday. We've seen the slideshow and heard the tale...but to have it all written out, every detail...brings tears to my eyes every time.

We thank God for the gift they are, and especially the gift of their precious girls and the special friendship they share with our daughters...

:)

The "Others"

Who else misses LOST??? (sorry, but with that title, I couldn't help myself...)

Since I've updated y'all about the top half of our family, it's time for the bottom half.

I promise it's the cuter half.

See?

But that's cheating... we really need to start with Little Boo.

Little Boo is 10. 10 going on... approximately... 83. She continues her streak of being bossy and OCD about cleanliness. She still hauls Little Dude around, giving him tubs and changing his diaper like a pro. She is, by turns, the most maddening and hilarious child I have ever met.

She is, in short, a roller-coaster ride.

Her soccer playing continues with a vengeance. Action Man wondered aloud the other day if her season has ended at all for the past 3 years. Um.... no. No, it has not. She plays her last season of Academy this Spring and then moves on to Select. Yeah, I wasn't sure what that meant either until recently. Seems like I'm always whipping out my checkbook these days for her. (sigh)

Apparently it's worth it though...

(Her team got 2nd place in a tourney this year, and hope to go two seasons as reigning champs in indoor)




Little Love is now 8.

8 is still a "mama's girl"....with a small sprouting of wings. :)  Little Love is coming into her own, but protests loudly if I'm too far away. She desperately wants to keep up with her sisters...but snuggles close when Little Dude has vacated his rightful spot. It's a transition year for 8.

Little Love's latest adventure is... soccer!  So now we have two little soccer players in the family. Although, for Love, it's more of a social hour, much to the chagrin of the other parents on the team. Little Love just doesn't "get it" and I sit on the sideline, grinning behind my sweatshirt as she floats around the ball. I find myself in the rare position of being "that parent"...the one with the clueless gal, who is simply thrilled to be there and could care less who wins.  Boy, does God have a sense of humor, or what?

She sure is cute, though. :)



Then there is Little Dude.

Little Dude it by far the cutest of them all. Of course. At 2 and 1/2 (I know, can you believe it??) he is talking up a storm. And his words are ADORABLE.  My favorite? FUNSING. As in:
"Mama, I vant funsing ober dere."  And you all know what that means, right? It means I'm up getting him whatever he wants, whenever he wants. He woke up this morning (in our bed... ahem) and immediately asked for chocolate ice cream in a cone. (Ok, I did NOT agree to that one. There ARE limits.)

He also loves riding his trike. It's the indoor/outdoor model. Something my other children never had. :P

Yes, he is hopelessly spoiled. But it's truly not my fault. If I say no, someone else will grant his wish.  He's guaranteed to be tyrant.

And a pretty cute one, at that.
:)


So, to wrap up my little series (who knew I was writing a series? two posts? series?...Yes, my series on my kiddos. Split between two posts because I can't commit to anything more than 2 posts in a month.)

Here we ALL are:

Taken this last September...first family photo in 9 years!
(That actually makes me feel better about my blogging hiccups...)

:)

Growing Pains

So, the blog has been a little quiet lately, but my brain has been spinning. Time to sit and compose.

Lucky you.

;P

If you've glanced at my sidebar lately, you'll see we now have TWO TEENAGERS in the house...with one more coming dangerously close. I've always vowed that the dreaded teenage years would NOT be that. That we would somehow bypass it all and grow side-by-side in perfect harmony.

I wrote about some of my learned wisdom here.   And, luckily, we've pretty much stayed the course. But here's the kicker.  EVERYONE is growing up. RAPIDLY. So.... that "one teenager" thing? Has now MULTIPLIED... and we are SO TOTALLY OUT-NUMBERED.

(sorry. I think my caps-lock button got stuck.)

Action Man is now 15. 15 is huge.... well, ok, maybe it's just him. HE IS HUGE. Taller than I am, he can barely take me seriously when I issue my proclamations about when he will be home and why he must grace us with his presence for this or that outing. Yes, he smiles and obliges... but it's maddening how I have to look UP to make my demands.

(this is the picture of him I prefer...)

He's had a few...erm...experiences. Harmless and innocent, yes. But totally unexpected and a wee bit... alarming. (When you answer the phone and the voice on the other end says "This is the ..name of city we reside in... POLICE department..." Yeah. I'm earning my gray hairs.)
And when his good friend from school shows up to DRIVE HIM AWAY somewhere??? Well, that's a whole other level of growing-up-trusting-God and Did-that-boy-just-drive-off-with-MY-BABY??? kind of hysteria.

(he prefers this one... Ugh)

 And that's what 15 looks like around here.



What about 13? Well, we've done 13 before. But it looked a lot different. THIS 13 is unique to Sports Fan. First off, it's much more aloof.  It's suspicious and unsure. 13 is still helpful and willing, but definitely just as intolerant this time around. We are surviving it, though.  As an 8th grader, Sports Fan earned himself a spot on the High School Basketball Team at his school. He wore his uniform proudly on game days... and sat the bench patiently. He needed this. To be included, but shown his place. Coach loves him and sees the promise there. They have an understanding, and it worked out beautifully.

(picture for the Mama....)

Sports Fan also has an understanding with our Little Dude. I stand firmly behind my opinion that there's nothing even close in efficiently erasing teenage angst like a toddler. All Dude has to do is say one thing, and the older ones chuckle, all stress gone. Magical to witness. And Sports Fan goes out of his way to cultivate this older brother mentoring.

(See? 13 all the way...)



Then there's 12. Oy. 12 is likely the single most difficult age EVER. It's the nobody understands me, everyone is out to get me, why doesn't anyone listen to me, and why are you all STARING at me!!! ...age.  Fortunately for 12, she is simply adorable. She helps out TREMENDOUSLY. Little (TALL) Dear bakes up a storm and plays with Little Dude. She is, quite literally, my right hand. I leave to go to a sports event, giving vague instructions for mashed potatoes, and when I come home...they're ready to go. It's awesome. Like cloning myself. :)

 (here she is with her mini-Me, Little Love)



Having teenagers is a lot harder than I had imagined, but not in an ALL IS BAD kind of way.  Funny, in all of my "figuring" I just never pondered the reality that my own children would actually be their own person. Have their own personality, complete with likes and dislikes. I've had to be flexible in my mothering....my expectations, and meet them where they're at. Being open and engaging with my kids, keeping the lines of communication open (and praying like mad)...stacks the deck in my favor.

And remembering to SMILE....the passing of time has officially reached warp speed.

Some days it's all I can do to hang on.

:)

Barefoot in Winter

The winds are blowing from the South today, strong and sure.

Winter is not over. Not by a long shot. But these winds are making themselves known.  It won't be long now.... High of 83 today is certainly no joke. Little Dude is wearing shorts, and a t-shirt rummaged out of a recently acquired nephew-hand-me-down box. And bare feet.

Little Dude's feet are always bare.

For months I've pulled on long socks and boots, covering my too-white legs and un-polished toes. I've piled on sweaters and long-sleeve shirts, armoring myself against the relative cold and windy Texas winter. Cozy fires, hot coffee, chats with kindred spirits. Comforting food with friends.

Everyday, my sharp-angled cowboy boots cut through the bitter air, give me a sense of Conqueror. I accomplish, I go forth, I do.  There is no time for softness and vulnerability here. I am too busy, too driven. For myself, my family, my loved ones. I will not be laid bare.

Hidden, I stay warm and secure.

Little Dude fights to keep his feet free of constraint. For each outing this winter, the hard shoes had to be cajoled on. Threats of "no park today" or "stay home instead" were issued in abundance. As soon as he was buckled secure in his car-seat, the offending shoes were off and his window rolled down with the use of his feet laid bare.

This littlest one, open to the wind and the air for all to see.

He teaches me, my Little Dude.

Today, I donned shorts and a t-shirt, throw my hair back in a bandana. Meet the world with my wrinkles, squinting in the too-bright sun. Chatting...not to be vulnerable, but to know.

And now writing....because it's been way too long.

Besides, the sun is not so slanted anymore.

It's time for feet to be bare.

:)

Election Thoughts

You won't find any deep philosophical thoughts or compelling arguments here.  At this stage of the game, I'm pretty sure everyone has their minds made up and most likely, already cast their vote.  So, no, I'm not out convince anyone or dazzle with some stunning arguments.

I'm here to speak what's been brewing in my heart.

I'm a Catholic. I'm a lot of other things too. But first and foremost I am a cradle-Catholic. True to Rome, in line with ALL of the teachings of our beloved Church.

I'm also meek. I understand fully that in ANY circumstance I encounter, but for the grace of God go I. There is no guarantee that I will never be homeless, never be raped, never be persecuted, never lose a child, never (insert unimaginable horrors here)..... and the list goes on.

I don't like to make waves. Like most Americans, I want to be left alone to live my life the way I see is right. I choose as my guiding light the Catholic Church. Not everyone does, and that is totally fine with me. I won't try to convince people that my way is the only way. It is pointless and only breeds contempt. I am convinced that this path I have chosen is fruitful on so many levels. Else, why would I have chosen it and continue to choose it?

So, I'd like to be left alone to continue down my path. To do and act in my lawful-abiding way.  And  I am grateful that we live in a country that guarantees and protects my right to practice my religion and live in the way I see fit.

Unfortunately, the past four years have shown that whatever anyone else in this country may do, Catholics will not be able to simply go about their business, blissful and free. When the President issued the HHS mandate, he awakened a sleeping giant. Most Catholics are like me. They want to be left alone. We're not looking for a fight. (Those who are, will vote third party and strut around saying "I told you so" when all Hell breaks loose. The Apocolypse they've been dreading, yet hoping for, and were instrumental in attaining, knocking at our doors.) But when we were called out. When the Bishops had to respond, the wall was strong, the keep unbreachable. And the strong emerged.

I am not among those strong. I am one of the vulnerable. I feel that so keenly now. I cannot go through my days without worry plainly written on my face. The coming paycheck, the full tank of gas... will that still be a given next month, next week, tomorrow?

Living in the present moment and trusting has never been my forte. It is a mixed blessing that I find myself doing so now. I vote not because I want to return to that blissful, trusting innocence. But because I love my country. I love deeply all that it stands for. LIFE, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness.

I love that we are all different.

And I love that we have that right to be.

Eleven Years Ago

Who writes a post on the 11th Anniversary of something?

5 years, 10, or even 15 years... Yes.  But 11?

Yet... this Anniversary. The Anniversary of Sept 11th, 2001... there is no protocol for this one.

The tears that spring unbidden whenever I sit and try to find the words to recapture the horror, the loss, the pride, the determination....

It's too big.

Too big to define the details. Because it was the details of that day that does a person in, takes the breath away and arrests the soul.

The individual stories of loss and heroism, of love and bravery... of being human.... that breaks us open.

It's those tales, both tender and gruesome, that drive us to our knees and cause us to remain there in quiet contemplation.

It's the LOVE that reduces us to tears.

We were laid bare that day. Our trust was shattered and our humanity exposed. We encountered an enemy we didn't know we had. The intensity of  hate that spewed from this enemy... it caught us unawares. And our lives would never be the same. Did we realize that?

Did we see the paradigm shift that was to come in the world we thought we knew?

My kids are too young to remember. Even while watching the documentaries, there is something lost.
It's the personal association... "the remembering where you were when you heard".... "the knowing".... "the fearing"


Then Action Man says it. Wait...was that the day you ran out to the backyard and screamed at us to come inside? You were so scared Mom.

Yes, the F-18's were patrolling so so close... and I thought it was an airliner bearing down. So silly now... to think that Dallas would be a target. But that day? Anything could happen.

Because the unimaginable already had.

Thousands of lives were lost that day. Hundreds of thousands more were changed forever.

May our tears and prayers never run dry.




(Photo credits)

When You've Got a Foot in Both Worlds

This isn't a homeschooling post.  It isn't a "Yay, my kids are going back to school" post either.

It's both.

Today I spent eighty-bajillion dollars at St@ples for the going-to-school kids, and I most certainly did not exclaim, "Well! THAT was easy!" Because it was painful. Extremely painful. And any mother who has stood in the aisle of a mega-office-supply store, trying to find pocket folders with brads in 8 different colors and single subject notebooks to match... will know exactly what I am talking about.
Pain-FUL.

Next week, while three of my kids are tucked away at school, I will haul the other three to St@ples again and buy all of their school supplies... for homeschooling. Luckily, it won't be as painful, except that the kids will be present, and the lure of snazzy backpacks and lunchboxes (which they won't use... hello! you are HOMEschooled!) will drive them to distraction and I will be forced to buy 8 of them... to match their notebooks, of course.

:P

Clearly, I am coming undone.

Moms who homeschool are saints. We all know this. Moms who send their kids to school and work themselves are also saints.  Moms who send some kids to school and homeschool the others are certifiable.  I am living proof.

Having a foot in each world is confusing, conflicting, and exhausting. It's to take that yearly "re-evaluation" of one's philosophical principles of education to an entire new dizzying level.  Putting each child under a microscope and pondering just how their (seeming) microscopic brains will BEST be formed and nurtured and cultivated... school or home? Given THIS child's propensity for THAT type of behavior.... home, or school?  THIS guy needs a wake-up in the reality dep't.... home or school? What scenario is BEST for THAT child in the BIG picture... home or school? And excuse me, can I have another margarita? 

Last year, with 3 of the kids going to a "brick and mortar" school for the first time, it was definitely a nail-biting time for me. Especially with Little Boo's last-minute entrance. Craziness.

This year, the beginning of the school year won't be quite as dramatic. At least I hope not.  We're maintaining the status quo... the boys and Little Boo will go. Little Dear, Love and Dude will stay home. We're fine with that.  There is a difference though, this year.

This year, I know what I'm getting myself into.

I know that volunteering at their school on any scale will require a herculean effort on my part.  That sometimes life will throw us a huge curveball (case in point, Little Boo's emergency appendectomy the middle-of-the-night before Andrew had to drive the 7th graders to Austin... which he did, on 3 hours of sleep.) and we will have to adapt and adjust because school does not wait, will not alter plans... the "machine" keeps going.  And that is a very good thing, don't get me wrong. It is one of the reasons we put some of the kids in school... so that, no matter what kind of night I have with Little Dude, the kids will still be taught, and will still learn. It matters especially to me that the older kids will still be accountable.... the burden isn't mine alone. :)

I know that sometimes there is a rift, a division in the house. The school kids will feel left out of homeschooler activities.... the home-school kids will feel left out of the fun school-kids' activities.  And sometimes, there is no remedy for that.  Just because the school-kids have class parties does not necessarily mean I have to bring the party to our home, and re-create it here. And when we take a "lake day" for mom's sanity, the school kids will not be staying home that day, to partake in our fun. But sometimes, the at-home schoolers and I can go to the fun "spirit day" at school, and my at-school boys are invited to the homeschool "game nights" in order to re-connect with friends. There is an ebb and flow between the two worlds that works quite nicely, and I am grateful.

I also know that this is where we're meant to be right now. As crazy as it sometimes may get, I am confident that we've looked at each child, evaluated thoroughly, and made the right decision.

Now, please excuse me while I go pour myself another margarita.

:)

Taking Back Our Kids

We're in the midst of Birthday month here.

As the kids get older, the presents get more complex... and much more expensive.

And what is the A #1 request this year?

Electronics.... iPods, mp3 players, cameras, personal video recorders, etc....

Action Man bought himself an iTouch last year. He earned the money and spent it on a brand new 4th generation iTouch.  As soon as he got it, I password-protected the restrictions page and restricted almost everything. He was (and still is) a good sport about those restrictions. Youtube and web-surfing are not allowed. Never have been. He can text and listen to music and play games.

Just recently, we changed the netflix password and refused to allow him access.

He wasn't so thrilled about that.

(It wasn't for the reason you think.)

Action Man is enamored with old tv shows. Hogan's Heroes, MacGyver, and Miami Vice have been staples of his.  Just recently he discovered Flashpoint (eh) and Psych.  None of these shows are objectionable. In fact, Psych has been in our instant queue for quite awhile.

The problem was, Action Man was retiring to his room early, and staying up late watching for hours on end.

Then, Sports Fan started doing the same thing... taking our Kindle Fire, plunking in the ear buds and watching similar shows in his bedroom.

We were not comfortable with this arrangement. I couldn't put my finger on it, but it just didn't seem right.

One evening, Andrew had enough. He changed the Netflix password and refused access to the boys.  Oh, the wailing and grinding of teeth!  The pleads to Mom (since when have I become the softie??) and the muttering...

In sifting through the misery, it dawned on me. It's not that our boys are deprived. We have set up our school room as a game room for the summer. An extra tv with the wii and a dvd player is all set for them to play or watch (as earned by reading... btw) with their friends.  The boys can easily go in there, close the door and watch Psych in the evenings. Here's the kicker, though. They won't be isolated. They won't be in total control. They'll have to agree on the episode... they may have to endure Little Dude for a few moments... or (gasp) Mom might relax next to them and watch.

We would never in a million years place a television in the boys' bedroom. But, sneaky technology, it was exactly what was happening when Action Man brought his iTouch to his room and Sports Fan squirreled up there with the Kindle Fire.

The boys, innocently enough, were slowly disappearing from the family. Relationships were being sacrificed to the screen. And Andrew and I were caught unawares.

It weaseled in through the back door, so to speak.

It's only been about 48 hours since we instituted this new rule.  Last night, I spent the evening watching Psych with the boys. It's a quippy, funny show. I can see why they enjoy it. Mild swearing, yes, but nothing they can't handle. It was fun to enjoy it with them, to hear them laugh and just... share a couch for the evening.

And, judging from our conversations this morning... a different tone has taken hold, for sure... I think we got 'em back just in time.

One more month of summer.

I'm looking forward to evenings with my boys again.

:)

Updates!

We're in the dog days of summer.  The air conditioning whirs non-stop and any forays to the outside world is either extremely brief, or involves thousands of gallons of chlorinated water.

Or, we're at a soccer game.
:P

Life in the Nut House has been pretty much status-quo these days.  Not without our usual minutia of struggles, of course, but really, they are minutia when compared to the goings-on of the outside world.

We were firsthand witnesses to this horrific event.  And yes, Lil Sis' wedding went off without a hitch.  Did I ever mention she was getting married on this blog? Good heavens!
Here's an awesome post about her awesome guy.  (notice that most of the pics were taken at the Nut House... she has a long history with this fellow, my new bro-in-law Paul)

And so, we made yet another insane journey north this summer. A quick (albeit evacuated) stop to see my parents in Colorado Springs... then on to Montana for my niece's wedding.  Then back to Colorado for Lil Sis' wedding. It was fantastic to spend so much time with both sides of the family. To rent a HUGE house in Montana with Andrew's brothers and sisters and their families, and then to come to Colorado and see my family and Aunts and Uncles from NY... just fantastic.

And now... for some cute pics.

Cousins.... from the Montana wedding.  :)

My lovely sis with the flower girls and ring bearers. (Little Dude is top right)

The Newlyweds!
{sigh} So. Beautiful.


We are home, now. Our fairytale visits complete. :)

Texas greeted us with oppressive heat and thunderstorms.

Little Boo has already had a soccer tournament. (It was 106. We are nothing if not truly committed... or insane.) 

Little Dear is enjoying her drama practices (They are doing the musical Cinderella in August)

The boys were counselors for a camp they and their buddies host every summer. (Survival Camp... ala Bear Grylls, anyone?)

Little Love's days are punctuated with swimming, playdates, and tons of playtime with Little Boo. (which translates into energetic assertions of will... aHEM.)

Little Dude is a joy. He's grown so much!

~Hope y'all are having a grand summer as well~


:)

We Were Here!

This was taken June 30th at my niece's wedding in Montana.


I'll be back... soon!

 :)

Extremely Loud and Incredibly.....

...Depressing. (A book review)

I got a Kindle for Valentine's day. I so love it. It's an old dinosaur of a Kindle, with push buttons and everything. No touch screen or internet here...exactly what I wanted!

One of my first purchases was the book Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer.   I had seen the movie trailers in December and was excited to learn it was based on a book.

I prefer reading to watching. I'm really nerdy that way. (Except the LOTR series... amazing stuff there.)

Anyway. My expectations were that it was a "feel good" book. That this poor boy had lost his dad in the 9/11 terrorist attacks, had found a key left to him by his dad... and the book would detail his search for the lock and in the meantime draw him closer to his dad and mankind in general.  That somehow this search would help to heal this young man, and show him how connected he is to these people in NYC. 

I couldn't have been more wrong.

*****SPOILER ALERT*****

I'm truly sorry, but in order to prove my point, I have to give away quite a bit. Since I have not seen the movie, I have no idea if I'm spoiling anything there. So, read on with caution!

There are quite a few unknowns at the start of this book. And that makes for good, healthy suspense. You read because you want to find out the answers.

Let me outline a few.

~At the beginning of the book ,we meet Oskar (the 12 year old protagonist) on Sept 11th. He is home early from school, alone in his apartment in NYC. He sees that there are messages on the home answering machine. And then the phone rings... it's his Dad.(chapter ends)

~Later on, we start to read letters. Letters to Oskar... and "Letters to my Unborn Son"...

~Oskar finds a key in an envelope at the bottom of a blue vase. He believes it is important to his Dad somehow, and he is determined to find out what it opens. There is a name on the envelope... Black. He decides to ask everyone in the city whose last name is Black if they know anything about the key or his Dad.

~Oskar is a self-proclaimed atheist. He and his dad even joke about his "belief" (or lack thereof)....

We need answers, right?  So I keep reading.

The problem is that the answers are so very depressing.

The atheist answer? Well, at the end of the story Oskar says he's an atheist BUT!... it's "complicated." Ugh.

The letters. Well, his grandfather left his grandmother before Oskar's Dad was born. So, the "Letters to my Unborn Son" are from him.  Through him we find out that the grandmother is mostly blind. The grandfather had her type out letters (her story) and then he realizes that he had forgotten to put the typewriter ribbon in! Volumes of blank pages outline her life. He pretends to read them, just to make her feel better.

The grandmother writes letters to Oskar. She adores him. Through these letters, we find out how unbearable her relationship with her ex-husband had been. He was in love with her sister who had died. They divided their home into "something" places (places they could acknowledge each other) and "nothing" places (places they could be invisible to each other) and everything was either a something or a nothing. Of course, the bedroom was a nothing.... 
We also find out that the grandmother was actually NOT blind. And she knew about the typewriter ribbon. She kept typing anyway. Pages and pages of her story... of nothing.

Keep in mind this NOTHING theme. It gets worse.

The key. Oh, THE KEY!! (imagine me grabbing my head and busting it through a wall)  Oskar embarks on his journey, meeting all of these interesting people.... for months he does this, every Saturday, working his way down the list of people with the last name of Black. The eccentric old man who lives above them (whose last name is Black) accompanies him for part of it. It all seems so promising!  But then. Then he realizes there is a message on the answering machine from months before. It's from one of the first people he meets. She says she does know something about the key... her ex-husband... (click) it ends. He rushes out to visit her. It turns out that her ex-husband has been looking for this very key. She didn't want to say anything because she was mad at him. Oskar then asks why the message got cut off... did his mom pick up? Turns out, yes, she had, and this woman had explained everything to her. So, whenever Oskar had met anyone, his mom had already called ahead to pave the way for him. Even the company of the old man was rearranged. And that friendship they had? Poof. Gone. The old man moved away with no explanations or good-byes to Oskar.
BUT WHAT ABOUT THE KEY? What does it open??? It opens a safety deposit box that belonged to the father of the ex-husband. Oskar's dad had bought a blue vase at an estate sale and never noticed the envelope at the bottom of it. Period, the end. The key had nothing to do with Oskar or his Dad.

And the real kicker. We meet Oskar the morning of September 11th remember? And the telephone is ringing. He sees it is his Dad. It is 10:22am. The answering machine picks up. His dad says, "Are you there?" And then he repeats it, over and over and over. "Are you there? Are you there? Are you there?" He says that for almost 2 whole minutes.  It cuts off. It is 10:24am. The North Tower collapses.

So, his Dad dies asking for his son. And his son stands there, staring at the answering machine.... NOTHING.

*****************************************************

To be completely fair... there are a few gems here.  Oskar is an extremely likable kid. He is clever, not book-smart, but has a vivid imagination and a unique outlook on life, given his age. He likes to "invent" things during the long, sleepless nights. Many of his quirky sayings keep coming to mind... how his "boots are heavy" when he is sad... how he wishes everyone could "see" how you were feeling, like a color on your face... maybe people would be kinder?  And things along those lines. It is endearing.

But what he has lost, and the sense of hopelessness that surrounds him, is unbearable. And the lack of redemption for anyone here, overwhelming.

Some may argue that Oskar has begun to find healing. Knowing that the key has not brought him closer to his Dad, he will find other ways to mend. But I'm not convinced. The only thing I walk away with, is that it all means NOTHING.

This is not the story we want to read when it comes to 9/11. We want to read a different story. We NEED to read a different story. We need a story that shows us the beauty of mankind, if only to help balance the horror of that day. That day showed us how evil man can be.... we need to know irrefutably how precious  and how meaningful each life was that we lost that day. And we need to hear that those of us who remain can find hope and healing amongst the rubble.

The Mediocre Mama

That's me. 

The one who is not an expert at ANYTHING.

Oh sure, I can cook, bake, and clean. I make sure the red shirts stay out of the white sock loads... 
I usually remember to pick my kids up on time, am generally not too late arriving at functions.

Stuck backpack zippers? Stubborn shoelace knots? Untucked bedsheets? My forte, apparently.

This lack of specialization can bring a woman down. What can I do well? Maybe even, dare I say it, especially well?

We all have our gifts, that I know.  And I can give you a laundry list of exactly what my gifts are NOT.
Crafting (in any sense of the word) comes to mind as #1 on that list. Being organized is a close second.

I pondered this question as I stood outside the other day, minding Little Dude while shooting hoops with Action Man.

I thought of it again as I haphazardly stitched together an errant seam in one of Little Dear's skirts.

I was reminded of it while kicking the soccer ball around with Sports Fan at one of Little Boo's games.

And I realized... I have just enough.  Just enough skill and know-how to be the mom to these kids.  These specific children placed in my care...

I may not be able to beat my 14 year old at a game of H-O-R-S-E, but I can make a good showing of it.

I can stop my 12 year old from deking around me with a soccer ball, at least 80% of the time. And probably deke him out just as often, still. (well, at least for now... expecting to see that number dwindle rapidly)

I can stitch a (somewhat) straight line... and years ago actually used a sewing machine to make jedi robes for the boys. (swoon!)

Little Dear defers to me during her baking adventures.

Sports Fan listens to my soccer advice during his games.

Action Man comes to me for Latin difficulties.

Little Boo lets me help her with Math. (That's about it, but I'll take it. :P)

And I'm still pretty much the center of Little Love's universe. (Can you say "baby-girl"?)

As a mom-of-many, I have a lot of hats to don. The personalities and preferences of my children dictate which hats are the most important ones. And while I'll never be that perfect, put-together, uber-organized paragon of expertise...

I'll be me. That mediocre Mama who has just enough wisdom, grace, and soccer-skills to get the job done.
:P

The Hardest Days...

... are not when my calendar is full to the bursting.

When my car is overflowing with water bottles and soccer balls and after-game snacks.
When my gas tank is perpetually emptying and my knuckles are sore from gripping the steering wheel nervously... navigating to far distant fields.
When the littlest nods his head sleepily, yet another nap taken "on the go."
When my house reflects the chaos of 15-minute meals
When we trade school bags for soccer bags, heading out into the muggy Texas twilight...

No, those are not the hardest days.

The hardest days are those I spend at home, catching up and trying to make sense of the rhythm and rhyme of having half of my children in school, and half at home.
Laundry, cleaning, baking... all happen in one fell swoop.
And it's overwhelming.

Especially when I go to make buns for dinner and find that our flour has been seriously depleted due to the over-zealous zuccini-bread-baking of Little Dear.
Or when I realize that showering takes precedence to a quick run-for-flour to the grocery store. (y'all know how *that* goes, right?)
Or the week-long feverish Little Dude... a time where I must sit and rock and sit and rock, while chaos reigns.
When Little Love's  fragile heart has been wounded, once again, by the short-tempered Little Boo's complete intolerance for mess.
When my own heart aches for understanding and grasps for charity.
Sigh.
It's a lesson in patience.


The hardest days are those I will myself through. To banish the thoughts of perfection never reached.
To ignore the whispers of not-good-enough.

These are the days I stand face-to-face with my own self and dig deeper and try harder than it seems possible.

It's the hidden struggle I fear most. The one that assails my thoughts and threatens to shipwreck my heart.

On those days I am so grateful for the companions I have here on earth, who help me along to my heavenly goal.  Andrew, who listens to my frustrations, wipes away my tears, and steadies me.  My dearest friend, who patiently listens, sympathizes, and then reminds me of the bigger picture.

The hardest days are what make me feel the most blessed.