Turning My Tent Upside-Down: A Lesson in Camping with Kids

Some families do Disney. Some do Hilton Head or Daytona Beach. Others jet across an ocean because they have the funds (bless them, oh Lord, for I am jealous). Then there are families that camp.

Camping is not for everyone. Sometimes it's a harrowing experience with more dirt and bugs than you can shake a stick at. Other times you walk into a deluge meant only for Noah. Laying on the ground isn't for everyone. But for some, it is the piece de resistance. My childhood was full of that resistance. 

There were multiple summers where we packed our Honda Civic wagon to the ceiling and drove across the country, camping the whole way. A cooler wedged in the middle of the back seat was the only thing separating my sister from myself. But the cooler was narrower than my arm, so it was useless in stopping any fights that involved hitting, poking, or pinching.

Most mornings we would pack up camp and drive for 8-10 hours, only to stop by dinner time and set up camp again. Everything in the car had a place, that had a smaller place in which the place would be set in order to make room for the next place. There was order to the order and it was beautiful. I credit it all to my dad, but I'm sure mom helped. (I love you mom. You make great sandwiches.) We rolled our clothing into tiny cylinders so that we could squeeze as many outfits as possible into the small duffle bags that held our lives for more than a month. Dinners were cooked over a Coleman stove, and lunches were always packed in the morning for quick an easy disbursement at noon. A well-oiled machine people. Clockwork.

It may not sound super appealing to you, but the memory of these trips has reached sainthood in my mind. And so, with that tucked away in my adolescent brain, I grew up and had children of my own. And what better thing to do with five children than go camping? Stay home, you say? Not a chance.

Planning- a.k.a. the part where you are blissfully unaware of reality

Seeing as how I was a child when I was little, I didn't really have an insiders view of the preparations for camping. I saw the results, but not the process that led up to it. With that skewed vision in mind, I began to plan our Grand Memorial Day Camping Adventure. I made lists. I love them, and they make me inexplicably happy. Kind of like straight lines in mown grass. Lists of food. Lists of things to do. Lists of super important, don't you dare forget this because this is the most essential item when camping, kinds of things. 

                           

Packing- a.k.a. the part where you realize just how much your lists have on them

There are seven people in our family. That is a lot of sleeping bags. Two tents. A lot of pillows. It is a lot of shirts, shorts, towels, underwear, teddy-bears, toothbrushes and diapers. When we bought our wonderful mini-van, we did not think ahead like smart people do, and got a not-so-grand caravan. That means that the packing space in the trunk is deep enough for a grocery bag. Maybe a couple of raisins. 

---

Once we were squeezed into our spaces like toothpaste, we made the trek across the state to the campground. Our site was directly across from the playground. Thank you, Lord, and Amen. The kids played in the sandy Michigan dirt while Adam set up camp. Dinner was late and crazy. Ramen with veggies. And all of a sudden it was dark, so off to sleep we went. 

Just kidding. Adam in one tent with four children, and me in the other with the one that cries and wakes up an average of 5 times a night. No sleep.

Breakfast- a.k.a. the meal that should inspire a camper to climb mountains, or at least trade legos

Bacon. Eggs. Poptarts.

Two parts iconic, one part reality.

Oh, and coffee. (See, "no sleep" above)

We spent the next two days boating, fishing, swimming. All on whims. No plans, just wake up and be. 

It. Messed. With. My. Head.

What about my lists?

What about the meal planning that I did?

How is this going to be EPIC if it doesn't go like I planned?

The moment of truth came our third night there. I had packed our super awesome ice cream making balls, and all the pre-measured ingredients in little zip-loc baggies to make some deliciousness. While the kids were boating/playing/fishing, I got them set up. Salt and ice in one end, and cream and sugar in the other. The time comes to roll the balls and there is not a child to be found. I spy one across the playground. Even before he's in earshot he starts yelling a question about going to play a game. He can clearly see the big red ice cream balls under my arms. He does not want to do the quintessential camp thing that I planned. He wants to play. 

No.

But mom, can't I just go play and then come back when it's ready?

No.

Seriously?

No. If you go play now, you will come back and watch us eat ice cream. And I will eat it slowly and make lots of good food noises so that you are certain to regret your decision to go have fun and leave me with all the work. Shake. A. Ball.

(Somewhere in my planning, I forgot to check how long the process takes. Fatal mistake.) 

Mom, is the ice cream ready yet?

No.

How long does it take?

It takes...as long...as it takes!

How long is that?

*flames...on the side of my face*

In the end, I sent them all off to play while I finished making what ended up being sweet cream shakes. When they came back to enjoy the fruit of my labor, the baby was eating dirt, the mosquitoes were attacking, and the mountain of camping dishes to be done before bed was literally falling off the picnic table. At some point, Adam disappeared into the van for three minutes...just to sit...away from the insanity. 

Darkness could not fall soon enough.

As I lay in my sleeping bag, cursing myself and regretting the crazy rabid mama that I had become that evening, I began to think a bit more about the perfection that I had failed to achieve. My memories of camping as a child are so gilded and perfect. I don't know what work went into creating those memories. I don't know if my parents were stressed out trying to do that with us. I don't even know if the memories that I have are fully accurate. I may have created things just to match the emotional euphoria that is etched in my heart from those trips. 

But looking back, it wasn't the meals or the detailed planning that made me love those trips. It was the moments. Snapshots in time. Family intimacy in God's great big beautiful creation. Bugs and all. 

My kids had spent the weekend wallowing in each of those delicious snapshots. Writing those memories into their little souls as beautiful, fun and good. They were seizing the day while I was worrying about planning for the next great memory. 

*face palm*

It really was an absolutely, fantastic weekend. And in spite of my obsessive tendencies, the kids deemed it the best. weekend. ever. Adam and I came out alive, and know for certain that we'll do it again.

 In fact, we've already started planning... 

Singin' in the Rain

There's been a good amount of rain lately. Not so much to make things flood, but enough to give the grass that beautiful deep green that only comes from binge drinking. It means we have to mow again, but I'll take walking perpetual lines in my yard over brown and dreary any day.

Late last week, after driving home through a torrential downpour, we parked the van in the garage and the kids literally refused to go inside. When they were younger, they would inch their way into a situation like this. At first they would beg to watch the rain, then they would ask to get an umbrella and walk around the yard, then they would tentatively stretch their hands out to catch a few drops (watching me to see if I noticed their deviance). Finally, they would look at me with their puppy dog eyes and beg to run around. The umbrella would be relegated to the grass and they would test the water, so to speak.

This day was different. Maybe they've changed...grown a bit. Maybe they've just begun to understand my parenting style a little more and know that sometimes it's best just to ask for the whole cake, instead of one piece at a time. Not sure, honestly. But they leapt out of that van and surrounded me, jittery in their excitement. 

"Mom, can we?"

They dove right in. 

No small steps, just a plunge. 

Outright, into the glory of the weather.

Soaking the rain down into their little souls

Dancing without abandon as cars drove by...

Thunder and lightening drove them inside for a while. One pile of wet clothing in the laundry room, three dry children with fresh digs. 

And then the thunder stopped.

Round 2.

Less water, more earth, but whatever.

I suppose you can't be picky when you're that awesome...

Like I said.  Awesome.

If I were one to write memes, this one would say:

"We don't always get this messy. But when we do, we make sure mom will have to wash our clothing three times to get all the mud out. And we'll leave it all by the back door, because we couldn't possibly carry it any further after having so much fun."

But I'll take it. Because someday -when their children are begging them to play in the rain- they'll remember that I let them do it. In that moment of nostalgic weakness, they'll say yes to their precious kids...and that pile of wet clothing will be their reward. *maniacal laugh*

Anger Mis-management

My mind has been very preoccupied lately. So many different parts of my life are flying in as many directions, and I often find it difficult to be "in the moment". This is a dangerous place to be when five small children are constantly running circles around my ankles and asking questions about life and their pursuit of a mid-morning snack.

Needless to say, it hasn't gone very well.

Take today, for instance. All day I was sitting on pins waiting for a call from our loan officer. The appraisal for our hopeful house was supposed to come back today, and it was ALL I COULD THINK ABOUT. The kids would come up, be completely in my face, and I wouldn't even see them there. I would hear my name being called, as if from far far away in a distant Narnia land, only to realize that their nose was touching mine and they were screaming. Bloody, evil screaming.

So I screamed back.

Bloody, evil, Mommy screaming. Ugh.

Case in Point:

While trying to explain a math problem to one of the older boys today, the younger one piped up with the answer. I asked him to wait so that I could finish my sentence. And he kept talking. No pause, nothing...just kept going. As if the words coming out of his mouth had to be expelled before he could breathe. It was infuriating. After shushing him three times to no avail, I lost it. I started to make this terrible noise. Like the one they teach you to do when you're being attacked. Not a high pitch scream, but a guttural, loud, annoying air horn type of sound. One that might just make you pee your pants if you're 6 years old and sitting at the dining room table trying to do your math.

And this was not a singular sensation today. Granted, I didn't pull out my victim scream again...but seriously, every time that I felt crossed or disrespected or ignored or inconvenienced, the volume of my voice would jump. IMMEDIATELY. No questions asked, just yell.

By 4pm I was certain that all was lost. I just knew that the appraisal would come in low and that we would have to walk away from the house we wanted...that my children would grow up knowing only one form of communication defined by its excessive volume, and that they would need therapy in order to survive...I knew that I couldn't do any of this well enough, not school, not child rearing, not wifery, not housekeeping, nothing. And it was only 4pm, so I just couldn't justify that glass of wine.

*sigh*

There are some days that are just like that. ^

Sometimes things are beautiful, and my children listen and I can just feel God working through me to raise my children. Then there are others where it's lost before 8am and the desire to hide in my bathroom behind locked doors is so intense that I can not resist the fleeting respite, and I sit on the pot with my face in my hands and choose to breathe through the din of the banging on the door.

It's on days like today that I am so thankful for tomorrow.

When my 6 year old wakes up tomorrow, he will look at me with fresh eyes. He will see his mama. His strong, beautiful, morning coffee breath mama, and he will curl up in my arms as if there was never an evil bloody screaming match over a math answer. He will reach up and twist my pony tail and tell me he loves me because, like the God that made him, his mercy for me is new every morning.

hallelujah.

All Grown Up

The other day, I had to take one of the boys in to have a tooth pulled. He's a brave fellow. Always. As my little guy settled down in the chair, knowing exactly what was coming, the dentist looked over at me and handed me the papers to sign so that he could go ahead with his work. Then he said, "Mom, do I have your permission to go ahead and do this?"

In that split second, I felt like the world around me was moving in fast forward. Life in motion, me sitting still. Moments like these bring to the forefront of my mind the glaring reality that I am a grown-up. Some educated dude I had just met was asking me if it was okay to poke and prod and yank at a child's mouth, removing a tooth and cutting up some gums. Asking me! How in the world did I get here? How is it that I hold the weight of that decision -and so many others- in my hands?

Times like these (which happen more often than I should probably admit) make me feel emotionally naked. I fear that the person I'm talking with can see into my soul and is chuckling to themselves, "Look at her, a kid pretending to be an adult! Who let her in?"

I know it didn't happen all at once. Little by little, adulthood grows on you. Some of us start earlier than others, with it thrust upon us when we are yet children through the circumstances of our young lives. Some of us fight it into our 40's. But eventually, whether we like it or not, we grow up.

We pay bills. We stress about committees. We do yard work. We tie the knot. We have kids. We get used to our hands being puked in or pooped on. We have cats. We suck it up and dig the hairballs out of the drains. We deal with the IRS...

Other than the whole cat thing, I've done all of that.

My husband and I have been married for over a decade, and have five children. I would say that we certainly qualify as grown-ups. Yet with the birth of each child, I kept telling myself that I didn't feel grown up. Maybe I'll feel it when we finally buy a house, I surmised. That's what adults do. They buy houses.

So here we are, wading through the paperwork to close on a house.

Do I feel any more grown-up? Nope.
Stressed out? Yep.

Maybe it's synonymous. Stressed Out = Grown Up

I certainly hope not, because if that's the case, hypertension is in my near future, and my fingernails will be a thing of the past. My children will grow up to hate me and eventually refuse to grow up themselves for fear of becoming as stressed as their mother, therefore causing me more stress and creating a vicious cycle and some seriously daunting therapy bills. I can see it all, and it isn't pretty.

Okay, rewind. What I said before, about that feeling in the dentist office...am I the only one? Do you ever get that feeling when you're in the middle of big decisions, or even everyday life? Can you feel your 10 year old self, still tangibly present inside you, and it seems to be more who you are than the grown-up that the world thinks you've become?

I look back at my childhood and wonder if my parents, and parents of friends, and Sunday school teachers, and elementary school teachers, and all those people that seemed so very big and important at that time... Did they feel that way? Did they look in the mirror at the end of the day and wonder what they were doing, and how they ended up being responsible for so much?

I have to assume that the answer is yes. *If you disagree with me here, and have never experienced this phenomenon, you are not allowed to tell me. I do not want to know. Shh. Seriously. Shhh. *

When I wake up in the morning, five small people need me. FIVE. That's still such an unreal, crazy number. Five persons who need me to feed them. Teach them. Discipline and guide them. Every thing that I do is sopped up by their little brains and turned into stock photos of what a grown up looks like. I am their main reference for "functional adult human being".

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

So, yes. Obviously, a grown-up.

I was thinking though, that it's probably good to keep a bit of that 10 year old around. Me, back then -though thoroughly confused by the world- hadn't yet crossed the threshold into a place of false pretenses and self-importance. There was still imagination and wonder, a willingness to receive correction and an understanding that I didn't know much of anything. That's the beauty of being only a decade out of the womb: you're free to be real about knowing so little, and therefore, free to learn faster and ask more questions without fear of reproach.

Imagination - Humility - Fearlessness

None of those qualities seem like a poor lot to keep in your back pocket.  That and maybe some jacks, your lunch money, and a sparkly gel pen...for signing really important documents.

This is my Brain on Blog {a writer's self portrait}

So apparently this "blogger selfie" is making it's rounds in the blogging world. I have been tagged by my wonderful friend, Lydia. I have known her for a little over a year. Though we live in the same town and both attend the same home school co-op, I think I have learned far more about her through her blogging than through actual conversations. Small children running in circles and screaming cut us short every time. But that's okay...she puts her heart right out there in her writing, and I absolutely love what she brings forward with her thoughts. All that, and six kids before her 30th birthday. Amazing.

Okay. Four questions. Ready. Go.

1. What are you working on?

Right now? I'm trying desperately just to keep up with a blog. I have so many grand ideas, like children's books and inspirational books for moms and books to hold up the other books on your shelf. But -to be honest with myself- I can barely keep up with blogging once a week. So, for now, this is as far as it goes. Someday, when I'm no longer teaching all my children how to read books, maybe I could write one. We'll see.

2. What makes your work different from others' work in the same genre?

I'd like to think there's something very distinctive about my writing. But I also realize I'd probably be lying if I tried to sell you my wares on the merit of their uniqueness. Instead I will blame it on my strange combination of personal qualities (an Ohioan, turned Kentucky hillbilly, trained vocalist/conductor, super-stellar wife, mother of the crazy five, homeschooling because she thinks its right -for us, for now, and all that wrapped up in self-deprecating humor). Okay, maybe not that strange, but I certainly feel weird most of the time.

3. Why do you write what you do?

I thought briefly about writing on vampires and other strange things in this blog. Only briefly, mind you, because Edward and Bella have already been done -to the dire sadness of us all. So I left that one alone. Instead I took the advice of Professor Friedrich Bhaer who spoke truth to Jo March when he said: "You must write from life, from the depths of your soul!" (A big shout out to Louisa May Alcott for creating a character that we all wanted to marry. *sigh*) Anyway... I write what I know. Currently I know a heckuvalot about dirty diapers and sibling conflict. A little bit about raising kids so you actually want to keep them, and only a tad bit more about making marriage work for the benefit of both parties. So there's lots of stuff in my blog about falling down and getting back up, about grace and forgiveness and breathing room, and finding joy and contentment in the middle of poop. 'Cause that's where I live.

4. How does your writing process work?

Every night, when the minions go to bed, I tell myself that it is time to write. This is an inspirational lie. Good intentions, bad follow through. Most nights I close the kids doors, change into my Barney purple robe and shuffle downstairs to find the ever-hidden tv remote. If the search is successful, myself and the hubby sit down to at least 22 minutes of childless entertainment. This often also includes the consumption of anything sweet that we can find.

On the rare evening where my brain hasn't atrophied before 9pm, I sit down with purpose and start writing. I keep a thesaurus tab open all the time. That's right, folks. I'm a cheater/bilk/trickster/diddler/grifter. You pick. But I also really love great words and get really geeked out when I can turn a good phrase. I also have 13 drafts sitting in my blog list right now. Ideas come half formed and stay that way for a month or so until one day, they start to unfold into something real.  That's pretty awesome, too. Something out of nothing.

Usually, about 24 hours later I'm satisfied with my work. Then I read it three more times and wonder if I've offended anyone and worry that people will hate my sense of humor or verbosity. I worry about those things. Some people write for themselves. Yes, I do. But no, not really. If I were writing for myself, I would do it in my journal, not on a blog. So I care what you all think, and I worry about that for at least three minutes before I hit the publish button.

Then it starts all over again.

*Now for the real fun*

First I'd love for you to meet my sister.  She's a seasoned blogger that crafts her words perfectly, and is such a joy to keep up with. She has an amazing sense of style -apparent in her clothing choices, decorative ventures and homemade gifts...all of which she includes in her blog. Go! Be crafty! You know you want to. :)

Second, I want you to meet my best friend from high school, Debby. She is a painter, and the mother of three wonderful little people who run around while she paints. I am amazed at her bravery to keep something oil based in the same house with small, curious hands. And yet, she is able to produce wonderful work and her children appear completely normal and awesome with no paint on them, whatsoever. Go figure. Amazed.

All Things New

There comes a point, after you've owned a vehicle for a while, when you start to get a hankering for a new one. When we bought our van 5 years ago, we had three children. Wonderful, adorable little boys. The fourth was on her way, and we knew that our Ford Focus couldn't handle that much child. We had crossed that threshold into the land of low mileage vehicles, and we were kind of excited about the whole thing. There were two whole extra seats in this midnight blue gem. Enough for grandparents to join us on a field trip. Perfect.

5 years ago. With all the growing and birthing that's happened since then, we have approximately 8 more feet of kid in or family, altogether. Just wanted to put that out there for imagery sake. 'Cause I personally think it's nuts, and the idea of 8 feet of anything in a minivan gives you a good idea of how cramped we are in there nowadays. Add five mouths and a few bad attitudes to that, and cramped turns into trapped.

*eye twitch*

Our minivan was gently used when we got it, but has since made itself the dumping ground for our family of seven. Things live in there for months. Lost gloves find nirvana under the back seat, half eaten granola bars slowly grow mold in the cup holders, and french fries petrify in the crevices of booster seats. It is the grave yard of all things discarded in haste. This last car trip, the van was in such disarray that I was afraid to open the door at the rest stop for fear that the trash would file out with the children. To add insult to injury, our little lady decided that her hamburger patty would best serve its purposes masticated and soaked in water...in her cup holder. *boke*

When we arrived home from that trip, the weather was teasing us with sunshine and warmth. That was my cue. I pulled the van out of its dark den and into the spring day, the vacuum out of its dusty hiding place, and a wad of plastic bags to contain the flotsam and jetsam that I planned to extract from their evil dominion. At first, the kids just ran in circles around the empty garage, a re-discovered play area that they had forgotten over the winter. But eventually they got curious and decided to help. One brought the Windex, another the paper towels, and the third a bucket of soapy water and the ice scraper. Bless him, he tries.

After an hour of tugging at belts and bench seats, while vacuuming and wiping and cursing under my breath at the invention of bubble gum and stickers, it was done. We stood back to admire our work, all of us tired, but completely satisfied. My oldest piped up, "Wow mom, we have a really nice van. Let's not get a new one just yet." I smiled and agreed.

And that's when it hit me.

Before this great cleansing triumph, our van was filthy. And every time I got in it, my only thoughts were of a new one- a bigger one, a better one, a cleaner one- just not THIS one. Every time I had to bend myself in half to buckle in their cute little bottoms, the thoughts that filled my mind were all wistful desires and discontentment. Not once in the last 6 months had I looked at that vehicle and thought to myself, "Wow, we have a really nice van. Let's not get a new one just yet."

But now it was clean, and my mind was starting to do a little internal loop on itself.

If I have this feeling about our van, what else in my life am I dissatisfied with for the very same reason? What else have I allowed to become covered in clutter and dirt, buried under misuse or neglect?

So, I started to list it all in my head, and I thought about writing it down for you here so you could see, but the list was long enough to be cumbersome in blog form. Mainly because it was pretty much EVERYTHING IN MY LIFE. Seriously, everything. In some way or another the dissatisfaction that I found myself feeling about anything could be boiled down to the fact that I wasn't being a good steward of all of these extraordinary blessings.

After this little epiphany, I took a walk through the rooms in our house. What about this room is making me crazy? That mirror? Let's clean it. That bookshelf? Go through it, get rid of the old tattered books, and straighten the ones left behind. The scary linen closet? Stack it up nicely. The "loved" dining room table? A little olive oil and lemon juice will make it shine a bit more.

Now here's the thing. All that ^ up there? I can't live like that every single day. I am not Mary Poppins. If you've been keeping up with my ramblings at all, you know that I'm a big proponent of being okay with your messy house. But friend, there is a time for everything. And we all know that after the continual desolation and bleakness that winter brings, there's something about the advent of spring that makes us desire open windows, a clean house, and a catharsis of all the dust bunnies and bad attitudes that have been building up for five months.

So I cleaned for a day. Even with 98% of the mess still there, I feel much better. You have to be realistic when you have five kids that you teach at home. Grace, even in frantic spring cleaning, is an absolute must.

As I was scrubbing walls and cabinets I kept thinking about all of this stuff, and I kept coming back to this question: why didn't I just want a clean van? Why did I want a NEW one? Yes, there's the obvious space issue, but this mindset permeates a lot of my life...not just my vehicle. Is something old and a bit worn out? Yes? Get a new one. Go! Go shopping! Take the keys, go walk the aisles and find a replacement. Bigger and better. Yessiree. And while you're at it, see if there's something else that catches your eye, and get that, too!

Where did this voice in my head come from? How did people get from settling the wilderness and making their own clothing and homes, to throwing away a hairbrush because it has too much hair stuck to it? I personally blame the mail order catalog.

But that's not really the point. It's not how we lost something, it's what was lost.

Not so long ago, things were cherished, taken care of, and repaired again and again. This was mostly out of necessity.  Through the labor of a handmade life, people learned the inherent worth of things, and of the people behind those things...even when they didn't make them themselves. I hat wasn't just a hat. It was hours of work, done by a fellow in town who you knew by name. The few products that were actually bought in stores were saved for over long periods of time, and when finally acquired were treated with great consideration and care. Nothing wasted, nothing thrown away.

But that loop in my mind... it kept circling deeper...

What if...when the things we owned stopped being seen as precious and worth maintaining, and started instead to become disposable...what if we let that seep into other parts of our lives?

Friendships. Marriages. Families.

...Disposable...

Parenting your child is hard, so you check out. Your spouse is needy, so you stay at work. Your parents are getting old and cumbersome, so you stop visiting. Your friend doesn't agree with you, so you don't answer calls. To really address any of those issues is hard work, often full of heartache, and always time consuming. But to let those all go, to leave them where they are...that decision makes a statement: 

You are too broken for me. I'll just throw you away. 

---

Which of you can honestly say that you've never been thrown?

Truth be told, I don't believe that any one of us has been spared. So many homes are torn in two by divorce, lives are drowned by addictions, families are plagued by anger and rage, friends are left in the wake of our idle tongues, children are burdened with our criticism and resentment. But with all that said, and all that pain daily dealt and received, I still believe that not one of us is disposable, no matter how broken.

When I was young, a woman stood up in the front of our church and spoke about her journey away from, and then back to God. She compared her life to a bar of soap. Beginning fresh and whole, beautiful and white. Slowly being whittled down, piece by piece, washing by washing until it was merely a sliver of murky brown waste. No one wants that soap. It doesn't make much lather any more and it slips through your fingers too easily. It's the thing that gets thrown away when you scour the shower, and replaced with another- fresh, whole and white. And that's where she had been. Worn down by her life, her decisions, and the wounds given by those around her, until it seemed there was nothing left worth keeping. Disposable.

And then she talked about coming back -- Wandering into church broken and confused, feeling like the prodigal son who'd been eating alongside the pigs, and wondering if someone so far gone could ever be worth saving. She expected to be cast away; by the church and by God. But instead, she experienced the opposite. Grace and forgiveness. The people surrounded her and helped her move forward. And God...He didn't cast her aside. He didn't leave her where she was.

Instead, He took her sliver of soap 

-what was left after she had been worn down to nothing- 

and He made it new.

In many ways, we are all worn down soap. We each have places in our lives that we aren't proud of -whether the fault is our own or not. Yet even the most broken of spirits is not cast aside by God. It's such an amazing thing, the mercy that is offered. But what I find more amazing is that we are asked to do the same.

Not one person in your life is disposable. Say it. Out loud. Not one. That includes you. It includes your spouse. Your best friend. Your parents. Your opinionated mother-in-law. Your insanely disobedient child. The neighbor that doesn't read social cues and drives you nuts. The slow cashier at the grocery. The dude that pulled in front of you in traffic yesterday. Not one person in your life is disposable.

---

Think back to that dirty van. Very few things in life are that easy. More often than not, mending a broken relationship or showing grace and forgiveness take way more than an hour of hard labor. Sometimes these things take years. But after that hard work is done, and mercy abounds, you will have the joy of stepping back to see the repairs that you have encouraged - knowing that what you have is really very nice, and you don't need a new one just yet. 

Now that is some work worth admiring.

things that hurt

I love going to the doctor with all five kids.

It's a monthly highlight in my life...schlepping an infant carrier into the office, small hands leaving little prints all over the sparkling glass doors. I watch my children do laps back and forth in the waiting room, refusing to sit and read, choosing instead to tap incessantly on the fish tank and ride the small inflatable creatures like pogo sticks. I'd love to know which doctor bought those for the waiting room. They have a sick sense of humor and I will punish them by bringing all five of my snotty kids together to see them EVERY TIME.

Today was a four year check up for our little lady. Where those one thousand four hundred sixty days went, I'm not really sure. But there she is: tall, and sassy, and four. I managed to haul all the kids out of the house in time. Wearing shoes, no less. (Feeling super proud of that one.) Their shenanigans in the waiting room were actually a little milder than usual. But despite these positive advances in my children's sophistication, my stomach was in a small knot.

I've had three fellas go through the four year check up, and there's something very special about that year. I use special in a very loose sense here. Words like grievous and bothersome are more accurate. The majority of her check up was fantastic. Her interactions with non-family are a coin toss most of the time, but today landed heads up. She was a charmer and show-off: giggling and giving me thumbs up every time she answered a developmental question correctly.

that look, right there.

I smiled back and my stomach turned, still keenly aware that she didn't know what was coming. All the smoothness of the morning was dependent on her ignorance, so I had decided to wait to tell her until it was almost time. After the vision and hearing tests, I sat her down on my lap and whispered in her ear,

Honey, you know how we've been reading about viruses and germs in science at home? *nod* Well, do you remember those special medicines that help our bodies fight those germs fast so that we don't get sick? *eyebrow goes up* Today is a day when you get some of those medicines. They're going to give you four pokes. *silence*

She looked down at her toes, and quietly agreed to do her best. I warned her that I would have to help hold her nice and still, but that it would be over super fast.

The nurse came back in a few seconds later, her tray overflowing with hypodermic horrors, little bandaids pre-opened and dangling off the sides, and purple gloves at the ready. She suggested that the best way to make this happen was for me to be in charge of stabilizing the top half of little lady's body while she popped as quickly as possible through the shots on her legs.

I laid my trepidatious, darling girl on the table, crossed her arms over her chest and held her hands in mine. Nose to nose, I looked down into her eyes. They were so calm, but only for a moment. The nurse wasted no time, and with each of the four pokes I watched my baby girl's eyes change from surprise to terror, and her face pinch as she dealt with the pain. I made it as far as the letter G in the abc's and it was over.

There are many opinions on vaccinations. As the wife of a handsome fella who got his PhD in immunology, we choose to vaccinate our kids because my husband has done all the reading. Literally, ALL of it, and we believe that the benefits far outweigh the risks. I totally realize that this can be a very volatile topic, and I bring it up only for the illustration. Just wanted to get that out there, because my non-confrontational self is super worried that you're going to block out all the important stuff because I used the "V" word. Moving forward...

As soon as the nurse gave me the go ahead, I scooped my baby girl up in my arms and squeezed her tightly. The tears streaming down her cheeks made their way onto mine, and we were there, just the two of us, slowly working through the pain. "You were so very brave."  I whispered.

"I know." she whispered back...

Like I said, four and sassy.

---

Parenting is hard. Watching your children go through something difficult is one of those hard things. The temptation to come to their aid, to defend them, to remove the assaulting thing from their path, is so often strong...but not always best. We do not learn to walk by means of our parents legs. We learn to walk on our own two feet, falling over and over, causing many bruises and many moments of angst in the hearts of our folks. 

Watching them go through something physically painful is even further up the list. I am a firm believer in the magic of bandaids, and I will put as many on as possible to stop the tears. Sometimes the gashes and bruises are a result of their own foolishness, but even though my mouth may chastise them initially for their lack of brain cells, my heart aches that this was the consequence for their actions. Plus there's all the blood. Blech.

Holding them down while they go through something painful that you've given a green light has been the hardest thing for me thus far. As parents, we have a perspective far above our children's that allows us to make those hard decisions...to know when certain pain is necessary, or even beneficial. When our oldest was four, we sent him into surgery to remove pre-cancerous cells from his arm. My husband would tell you that watching the nurse put that mask over that little face, letting him fall into the murky world of general anesthesia, and allowing his helpless body to be wheeled away behind closed doors...was one of the hardest things he's had to do. But had we left those cells there to do their worst...I dare not speak it.

Wounds must be cleaned, bones must be set.

These things are for their good, their benefit. We as parents know this, but it does not make it any easier to watch our children suffer. It does not make the pain any less real, or the look in their eyes any less harrowing.

---

To a four year old girl, getting four shots is a huge deal. She's still talking about it (now two days out) and reminding me that she's barely living through it. Many parents have had to make the decision to watch their child go through much worse than pokes. I am in awe of their courage, and thankful that I have not yet had to be in their shoes. 

With Easter coming this weekend, and Good Friday here already, the idea of a parent allowing their child to endure great pain for the sake of the healing it will bring...is very real. Whether you celebrate Easter with bunnies or crosses, or not at all...there is a universal truth in the love of a father for his children. He had one son. One that did all he asked. And he let him die for all his other children...those that had turned from him, and walked away. I can't even fathom the strength of that parent's heart.

You may not know the whole story. Or you might, but see it only as a moral tale. You may hold it central to your life as truth. No matter where your heart lies in the matter, it is hard to deny that the father in that story has a love for his children that no earthly father could muster.

I, for one, am certainly left in awe. 

Love in Disagreement

Many moons ago, when Adam and I were dating...before the excitement of our wedding and the joy and exhaustion of five children...we did super exciting things. Namely biking, fishing and hiking.

We were so daring.

The summer before my senior year of college, we decided to go to a large music festival in Pennsylvania. It is often described as Woodstock without the drugs and nudity, and with a whole lot of Jesus. It's a pretty accurate description, and a whole lot of fun. Music is blaring almost all the time from at least one of the many stages, and you're surrounded by people on blankets and in tents. It's friendly to ages zero to "however old you can be and still sleep on the ground."

We packed up Adam's new tent and some sleeping bags and left the fields of Ohio for the fields of Pennsylvania. His parents weren't thrilled about us going. Not because they didn't want us there...but because it was just US there. No parents, no other friends coming along. Just a boy and a girl. In a tent. Do the math.

I totally shrugged it off -something I had gotten really adept at doing during my college years. Seem like what you're doing might be a bad idea? Whatever. I got this covered. Do you think maybe you'll be sending the wrong message to the people around you? Free your mind, people. We're in love and we're planning on getting married sooner than later, so blah. Just let it go. Two decades of life under my belt and I was an expert. Ex-pert.

We arrived in the wonderful chaos and picked a place to pitch our tent. I don't fully remember if the spots around us were empty at the time, or if we were squeezing in between established residents, but by the time we got back from wandering and listening that first day, there wasn't an empty patch of grass anywhere on those 285 acres.

a city of thousands of tents...and blue porta-johns

Our neighbor for those few days was a family from the east coast. Two kids, probably both under 8 years old. We said some polite hellos that first evening. They were very friendly and sweet...asking lots of questions with genuine interest. I remember, as we were talking, watching their kids run circles around the tent. I got that terrible stomach wrenching feeling like maybe I wasn't an expert after all. But I shrugged it off.

Back we went to the hubbub of excitement. I have to be honest, there's nothing like really loud music about God to help you ignore what God is trying to tell you at the moment. *wink*

In spite of the guilt I was carrying, I know that the weekend was still full of worship and moments of wonderful communion with God. But honestly, most of it was clouded by the fact that -though I wasn't going to admit it with my lips- we were doing something we shouldn't.

Were we doing terrible naughty things in the tent? No. Were we flaunting our unmarried status? Of course not. We were there, doing our best to learn from the guest speakers and worship God with thousands of other people.

But four of these people, in particular, taught me the most about God that weekend.
The final morning, we awoke to the sounds of the neighbor family up and about. We unzipped the tent to find the dad crouched over the fire with a metal coffee pot in his hands. A smile broke across his face, and he waved us over.

"You guys need to see this."
(Rubbing our eyes and yawning. How are these people up so early, and yet so happy?)
"I'm gonna make coffee over the campfire with a dress sock."
(Adam is immediately drawn in.)
"Don't worry. It's a new sock." *wink*

And there it was. We all sat there around the fire and enjoyed great company and some surprisingly delicious joe. Us -two kids escaping for the weekend, striving to meet God somewhere, but falling miserably short. Them - a family of four, choosing to love on these two people they had just met as if there was no falling short, and no cause for judgement. Just love.

Now that I am a parent, this story is so much sweeter to me. My mother bear instincts over my children are pretty fierce. I internally loathe park goers that can't keep their language clean around the playground. I fume when the conversation of college age boys in the grocery turns to objectification of women, even as they pass a cart full of children. The desire to shelter and protect my own children is intense. Looking back, I know those parents had an important choice to make:

Do we smile and nod and avoid interaction so that we don't have to explain the situation to our children when they eventually ask? Or do we go ahead and really love on them, in spite of the behavior we see in them that we feel is wrong?

I am so very glad that they chose love. 

It's almost always the more difficult road to take. It's rarely comfortable. Your hands will get dirty. Your lives will be more complicated. You'll have to explain things to your kids that you didn't want to tell them until they were much older. Each interaction will challenge you to look more closely at the person in front of you...to understand who they really are, instead of making assumptions and throwing stones. It is certainly the road less traveled.

But this road. It is the only road worth taking. 

---

If I speak with human eloquence and angelic ecstasy but don't love I'm nothing but the creaking of 

a rusty gate. If I speak God's word with power, revealing all of His mysteries and making everything as plain as day, and if I have faith to say to a mountain jump and it jumps but I don't love I'm nothing. If I give all I earn to the poor or even go to the stake to be burned as a martyr, but I don't love I've gotten nowhere. So, no matter what I say, no matter what I believe, no matter what I do, I'm bankrupt without love.

{1 Corinthians 13 -The Message}

A Day in the Life

Last night I ate broccoli. Hence little man enjoyed broccoli milk later on. For a guy who has problems with indigestion anyway, I doomed myself with the first bite. Along comes 11pm, and with it, the first wake-up of a very long night. 11:30, 12:15, 1:30, 2:15, 3:30... and that was the last, because the little broccoli monster stayed awake. It's a good thing he's so cute.

So, yeah. My day began at 3:30am with screaming broccoli burps. Coffee is my best friend.
I finally dragged him back into our bed around 5:30 trying desperately to get a few winks. The back of my eyelids are beautiful, and it's too bad we only got to hang out for a little bit, cause I could look at them all. day. long.

Adam woke up and forfeited his warm spot in bed to a sleepy eyed little lady. Within 30 seconds of her arrival, the midnight beast had awoken to play. Squeals abound. Good-bye sweet, sweet eyelids. I miss you so. I rolled off the bed and stepped on a mountain of blanket and a snoring boy that had made himself comfortable on my dirty carpet somewhere around 2am. That kid can sleep anywhere.

In an attempt to take some of my bed with me, I crawled into my robe and slippers. Plodding downstairs with a squeaking baby in my arms, I realize it's Friday. Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. We can do this.

Slowly but surely, all the children appear like prairie dogs. The snuggles are delicious, the halitosis, not so much. But I'll take what I can get. The coffee is ready, and my wonderful man hands me some fried eggs on a plate.  I look over, and he's eating his out of a dirty pyrex measuring cup. He responds to my raised eyebrow with a shrug. Delicious, but a little weird. Bless him.

The euphoria doesn't last, cause we all know he has to go to work. It's Friday, not vacation.
Once he's out the door, I'm bombarded with the daily question: "Can we watch an episode of Clone Wars...pleeeeeeease?" Historically, I can count on one finger the times that a video in the morning has resulted in a good day of school, but I decide to ignore my instincts and say yes. I was up all night, so my problem solving gears are broken. Smashed, like something that's been...smashed, really well.

Yes. Turn it on. Pronto.

Two episodes later, I make them promise me that when I tell them it's actually time for school, they can't argue...and that if they do, I'll take away all their happiness. And their toothbrushes. Grrr.

Where am I during all of this screen time? Amnesia.  I type this line a mere 8 hours later, and I can't tell you what happened while Anakin Skywalker was saving his padawan. Those minutes have been fully erased from my mind. I would love to say that something got done, like laundry, or dishes...but since both those piles are still there, I'm gonna have to go with 'no'. The force is strong with this one.

Around 10, we finally turned it off and opened the blinds to reveal an absolutely breathtaking day. Hallelujah! Spring is a real thing. Something about those sunbeams transformed all of our groggy brains and put us into hyper-drive. Without a word, each boy pulled out their reading book, curled up in a sunny spot, and entered another universe. It was magnificent. Apparently, they really value their happiness...or their toothbrushes. Either way, there is little that pleases a homeschooling mother more than her child devouring a good book.

This lasted a few minutes, until nap time was over for little man.

Having five kids means that no one lives in silence. One must develop the ability to function and listen in the midst of chaos, or otherwise suffer the defeat of hearing nothing clearly for the entirety of childhood. One child is asking how to carry numbers while subtracting, another spelling out loud, hit, it, bit, sit..., the oldest pacing the kitchen asking for another snack, and someone else yelling from upstairs about needing a wipe. All piled atop of one another, while the smallest continues to squawk and pull my hair and refuse to be put down.

Most days, this cacophony draws me into a very dark place. I have explained borrowing three hundred forty nine times, I already know how to spell, you can NOT have another snack, and wipe your own butt. Today, however, I am amazed at the hope that the sunshine has brought to our dining table. I flit (spelling word!), answering each question without yelling. I wander into the kitchen and clean a counter, come back, answer another question, wipe a poopy behind, glide back downstairs, move on to the next spelling word and repeat the process until they've all finished. I felt like a domestic goddess.

Everything seems better in the light. The rooms are still dirty with the shades wide open, but something about those little dust particles dancing in the sunbeams makes even garbage look beautiful. With the spelling done and the carrying completed, I kicked them outside into the balmy 45 degree day. They chose sandals and sweatshirts (true Michigan-born babies), and rode their bikes back and forth on our block for an hour until lunch.

When they came in, their hair smelled of sunshine.  

That's up there with the smell of newborn babies. Seriously, someone should bottle that stuff and sell it on the black market. So. Intoxicating. And after the snowiest winter in the history of Ann Arbor, I could have parked my nose on one of their heads and left it there for the remainder of the school day. That has great potential for mommy weirdness though...you have to know your boundaries.

So instead I made lunch. --Three boxes of mac and cheese with veggies and meatballs. That snack at 11 didn't make a dent in their appetites. While I'm chopping up the meatballs, one comes in with a joke:

"Knock knock," he says.
Who's There?
"I'm a poopin."
*eye roll* I'm a poopin who?
"No, not I'm a poopin, ihm a poopin"
*still cutting meatballs* Okay, Ihm a poopin who?
"I'm a poopin"
*sideways glance*
"I know mom, I'm just not good at telling a joke."

I love that kid.

All that stuff ^ is now 48 hours gone. There was more, but considering the fact that two days of my life have passed since those memorable moments, I've completely forgotten all of the wonderful and hilarious things they said in the afternoon. Which is sad, 'cause my kids are funny. Currently, two out of those five hilarious kids are throwing up, which isn't nearly as good fodder for blogging...so I'll spare you the details. But it just goes to show that Master Oogway was right:

Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, but today is a gift. That is why it is called the "present."

Escape from Hermitage

We don't get out much.

When my children were smaller, I blamed it on the difficulty of taking little children anywhere. In fact, for the first year we were living in Ann Arbor, I'm pretty sure we did a whole lot of nothing. Not only that, I also avoided interactions with the rest of the universe. Neighbor and child playing outside? Let's stay in. Community event to attend? Um, I'm good, thanks. Moms getting together for coffee? My baby naps during that time. I could come up with off the cuff excuses to stay inside like it was my job.

In-tro-vert.

When the two boys started walking and talking, they made it clear that they didn't share my desire to hide from civilization, so we started venturing out into the unknown. This brought forward another buried fear of mine: city driving. I fully realize that I do not live in a "large city." This does not matter to my unsubstantiated fears. After the country roads of central Ohio, and the winding switchbacks of southeastern Kentucky, the roads here in Michigan seemed crazy busy. Not only that, I had no idea where anything was. Blast it all. The fear of finding myself going the wrong way on a one-way street, finding a parking spot downtown, or trying to navigate interstates, kept us in the northeast corner of town for another year. Thank God for U of M buses. Without them, my children would have remained uncultured swines.

Once we had three children, for some inexplicable reason, it started to get easier. I think I could probably attribute it to the fact that -once you have three kids- you realize that chaos is to be expected. You let go of your preconceived notions of a good day out, and you're willing to accept pretty much anything as a success. Did we cross the threshold into the outer realm? Yes. Did my children learn something/have fun/see something other than our walls? Yes. Did I remember to bring them all home? 

...yes. 

If two out of the three were accomplished, I could chalk it up to a good trip and move on.

Once we started homeschooling, the pressure I felt to get them out was like a gorilla on my back. As one who was both public and private schooled, I understood the value of field trips and group activities. During those months when we would leave home only on Sunday mornings, I feared that I was failing my children...that they would grow up to be introverts like their mother and flounder in the real world. Not to mention the fact that we never got out of our pajamas. Darn it. *Unsocialized homeschoolers.* 

Must...not...support...stereotypes.

Slowly but surely, I've gotten better at integrating these things into our curriculum. It's always nice when it fits in well with what we're studying. But to be completely honest, the best trips have been the ones that have had absolutely nothing to do with a study unit, and everything to do with getting out and having fun.

This last week, we went with some friends to the children's science museum here in town. We arrived just as two buses were unloading 3,000,000 children into the lobby. It was chaos. Orange shirts everywhere, children running in circles, chaperons running after them...bedlam, I tell you, pandemonium at it's finest.

It. Was. Awesome.

math class

music class

balancing chemical equations

no clue...but it's really cool.

...and meteorology. cause it's a science. 

Did we cross the threshold into the outer realm? You betcha. Did my children learn something/have fun/see something other than our walls? Absolutely. Did I remember to bring them all home?

...yes.

Success.