Bare to be beautiful

This past weekend I took some impromptu pictures of the kids playing in the fall leaves in our yard. Impromptu meaning -" Hey I have ten minutes.  Get out of your pajamas, get dressed, and come jump in these leaves." 

They managed to get out there and play in less than three minutes - so it is quite possible that they rivaled Usain Bolt speeds and that I should now start formal training for their Olympic career.  Unlike previous seasonal pictures that have included climbing through brambles and teetering on the edge of a cliff, the kids didn't argue. Who wouldn't want to jump in a leaf pile? Not planned, and barely staged. The pictures are beautiful. My children looked like cherubs.  Even my dogs looked what could properly be termed as "adorbs." 

I wanted in on the fun. Hesitation and doubt set in. I hadn't brushed my hair or teeth and was wearing the same clothes I had slept in from the day before. No make up.  No covering up the red skin, acne, wrinkles and flaws that I imagine.  I was quickly running out of time, as that there are deadlines involved when you share a vehicle, so I could not go and remedy a single one of those issues.  I absolutely positively didn't have enough time to suddenly loose the extra weight and neck rolls, so that I would appear stunning and gorgeous...wait...stunning and gorgeous - while rolling around in damp leaves?

My children see me every day.  They see me in the morning when I have drool on my pillow (yes I drool, and I snore) and my hair is frayed in a clown-like fashion.  They see frantic and frenzied while trying to get more accomplished than is possible (or necessary).  They see me sleepy and exhausted in the evening as I kiss them and send them up to bed.  They see me, and think I am beautiful.  They see me bare, raw, and who I am (like, for reals).  They deserve to have pictures to remember me as they have seen me.  Not me as I want the world to see me.  The dress-up pretend me.    So even though my hair hung in my face like a sheep dog, and we did not catch a single picture where everyone looked at the camera, and my lovely Songbird refused flat to join in, they are beautiful.

Requiescat in pace

The stupid green dot next to her name makes it seem like she is still here, and I hate it because I know she isn't, and it hurts so much.  I remember what she was wearing and where she sat in my house the first time we met, over ten years ago.  I remember how she made me laugh, this stranger who was full of fun and laughter, as we got to know each other through the common bond of our faith, and then through our friendship. I remember everything, including how I didn't call her back the last time we talked and my phone died, because she would understand and there would always be a "next time we talk."

Why wouldn't there be?

If I sit still, I cry.  If I don't remember to swallow hard and breathe deep, the tears come hot and fast and drown me.   She would hate that, if she saw, and be cracking jokes that were wildly inappropriate to make me laugh. 

I am so incredibly thankful to have had her in my life.  She taught me so many lessons, in her own sweet and amazing way.

 #1 Laugh.  Laugh hard, and often.  Laugh so much that your face crinkles, your eyes water, and you maybe even pee a little.  Laughing is even better when it is with friends.

# 2 Fight hard and unceasingly for those you love and what matters to you.  But do it with a smile.  It confuses people.  Which is funny.  Funny = laughter.  See # 1

# 3 Always be supportive of others.  Even when you don't agree.  Even if you think it is entirely whackadoodle, believe in them anyways.  Support them anyways.

# 4 Forgive.  People say things and do things that cause pain and hurt and frustration and sometimes very real consequences.  Forgive them anyway.

# 5  Love.  Love without barriers or bars or foolish guards.  Put yourself out open and out there and love with all your heart.  You may get hurt occasionally, but you will be loved back so much in return.  Everyone needs love.  It's all that really matters.

She always put herself out there, without barriers, hiding parts of her, or being ashamed of who she was.  She had no need to be.  She also had an unrelenting love for Clay Aiken, but I know that when this song plays, it is really her singing it to all of us that she touched and left behind, because she said it with her words and actions, with everything she did.

 

I Will Carry You

Yeah, I know it hurts, yeah, I know you're scared
Walking down the road that leads to who knows where
Don't you hang your head, don't you give up yet
When courage starts to disappear I will be right here

When your world breaks down
And the voices tell you turn around
When your dreams give up
I will carry you, carry you

When the stars go blind
And the darkness starts to flood your eyes
When you're falling behind
I will carry you

Everybody cries, everybody bleeds
No one ever said that life's an easy thing
That's the beauty of it, when you lose your way
Close your eyes and go to sleep
And wake up to another day

When your world breaks down
And the voices tell you turn around
When your dreams give up
I will carry you, carry you

When the stars go blind
And the darkness starts to flood your eyes
When you're falling behind
I will carry you

You should know now that you're not alone
Take my heart and we will find
You will find your way home

When your dreams give up
I will carry you, carry you

When the stars go blind
And the darkness starts to flood your eyes
When you're falling behind
I will carry you, carry you
I will carry you, carry you
I will carry you, carry you
I will carry you

                                                                                                         - Clay Aiken

Whirlwinds....Just Breathe In

Today is one of those days that from the very moment I open my eyes until I go to sleep tonight at a yet to be determined time, I am going to be unfathomably busy, and undoubtedly behind.  There is so much to get done that I haven't even had time to make a To Do List to check off and am slightly afraid to try.  The reality of how much I am doing/need to get done staring me in the face may be my complete undoing, causing me to grab the bowl of the Halloween candy that remains and curling up under a blankie with a chic lit book in an appropriate shade of pink - occasionally peeking out to see if the day is over yet, and then going back into hiding.

As wonderful as that sounds, it is not going to help accomplish anything on my list.  I will invariably feel even more negative about it later, and may not even let myself feel accomplished.  I plan on letting myself feel accomplished tonight - but what about this morning?

Before 8 am I had the chickens watered and fed, the kids dressed, had showered, loaded the van with another load of school supplies to take to the office, searched the dilapidated shed RV for missing boxes and cookie cutters, rinsed the dishes and put them in the dishwasher, and delegated about six chores to each child.  I called Sunshine out to take Ares, I took Zeus, and off we headed on a walk.

It is a warm but blustery day in these parts, and the dogs were too excited walking on their leashes to behave properly. Zeus weighs over 80 lbs, and Ares is almost 100 with both as tall as me when they stand up on their hind legs, so when they are misbehaving and pulling on their leashes, they are truly pulling.  I called out to have Sunshine head in a different direction and hoped for a  somewhat more mild walk with just Zeus and I taking turns pulling each other along.  I knew that I had exactly 10 minutes and 27 seconds or so to give him a walk, which is not what either of us would prefer. 

The phrase "Stop and smell the roses" has been analyzed and fragmented ad infinitum.  SO I am not going to say it, but I am going to say this.  Breathe.  As I half ran behind Zeus, tripping in wet flip flops along the muddy dirt road, I took a big breath in.  In that breath I caught the whiff of all things that make fall smell wonderful - leaves (technically the mold and decay of the leaves), earth, wood smoke.  I smelled the smells of rainy days and living by the river.  I breathed out and tugged Zeus to come along as he explored the ditch and smells on his own.

 Then I realized that breath felt really good, so I did it again.

I could only take one more breath before Zeus and I had to pick up speed so we wouldn't fall behind on the day, but those three short breaths that I was able to take and focus just on what was around me, not ahead or behind, made it better.

So breathe.  Breathe the smell of baby lotion, crayons, and play doh (sometimes all in one diaper!).  Breathe the fabric softener, the chicken soup, the dish soap bubbles.  Breathe the muddy shoes, the peanut butter and jelly, the fresh brushed teeth.

Breathe.

And if at the end of the day, you have breathed, you have done enough

Well then

Choosing to homeschool is not as simple as just not sending your children to school anymore. 

There are forms, and more forms, to be filled out in front of official people with titles in their name at intimidating district office buildings. 

 

There is the returning of all things labeled "property of the school" and the retrieving of everything your child (ren) have created, writing their name deliberately, marking it as their property.

 

Despite knowing what it right, what it best, and the future path to take, there is still doubt, pain, questioning, and a fair amount of tears.

Which why, when the official administrator with the official title in their name, told me that given the circumstances and situation, that they too would homeschool; and that they were glad I was withdrawing my children from the environment they have been in, I was surprised.  There was no condemnation, just support and encouragement.  Really?  You, who are in charge of the schools in the district and of all people would want my children in the public school system, you agree?

Thank you

 

 

The to do list is never done....

Every week we have tragedies and triumphs, and somehow it just evens out in the end. And at the end of the night, at the end of the week, after terrifyingly falling and flailing then trampolining (which my dictionary tells me is not a word) high and buoyant back up, there is a calmness. A stillness and a breath. You did what you could.  It may not have been everything, and the remaining list and next weeks list may seem insurmountable, but for an hour, an evening, or if you are very lucky, a blissful sleep filled night, you are allowed to feel accomplished.

After a particularly exhaustive day a few weeks I went to whine to my uncle.  I had geared up for a full scale whine, complete bottle accompanied with cheese and crackers.  Though he usually humors me, instead he asked me

"What went right?"

After listing off a handful of things, he commented "Well, there you go." 

What went right...how easy it is to focus on the negative, especially when it is busy smacking you in the face.  I think in a way we are taught, in a backwards manner of teaching humility, that it is not okay to feel good about what we have gotten done, or about our blessings in our life.  What would happen if parents looked at the paper a child brings home after struggling in math, and instead of seeing all the red marks for problems wrong, commented " Hey, look at this problem you got right! You remembered to bring down the negative sign - I know that is sometimes tricky.  Way to go!"

I am not talking about boosting a false sense of confidence, but instead just allowing there to be a moment when you can see that getting three of the ten things on the "to do" list done is still something getting done. 

Feel accomplished.

It's okay to feel that you have completed something 

Remember to see the things that go right.  The car started each day.  The kids made it to the school bus on time. Dinner was served before bed time.  Everyone's teeth got brushed...

Back in the Game Part B

It is often a challenge for me to reconcile the school experiences I had as a child (some almost 30 years ago - YIKES!!) with what my children have experienced in school.  Granted, I attended most of my schooling pre No Child Left Behind travesty, in a country with a stronger economic outlook in a middle and upper class community.  MEAP was not prepared and studied for, and barely recognized as a blip on the radar.  Kindergarten was half day and still had naptime.  We had Art AND Music And Gym and Science.   They weren't electives that occur once every four weeks.  The lunch aides were friends moms who volunteered, and knew your parents.  You didn't back talk teachers - ever.  Internet sources weren't recognized as valid and I think we went to a petting zoo with real dinosaurs...anyways...

So this year I enrolled my children in public school.  They wanted friends and I needed to breathe.  Full day kindergarten with no rest time is a challenge, but not insurmountable.  One field trip a year is not ideal but tolerable, along with the rotating schedule of GAMS (gym, art, music, science) which is not a cute acronym and does not make it any less annoying.  I knew we could supplement, because I am well trained and have paid a lot of money to learn how to make every experience a teaching experience...

Then Snickers came home having wet his pants at school because the teacher ignored his hand and had told the students they couldn't go to the bathroom in their classroom without asking first.

He then came home with black eyes from boys at school who persistently bullied him, including on the bus.  On various occasions he was punched, thrown to the ground and kicked, dragged to the rock wall on the play equipment and thrown off, as well as other more minor things. He refused to eat his lunch at school, bringing it home where he could eat in peace, until Sunshine stepped in and gave up her recess to sit with him and watch him eat. He woke up every day begging to be homeschooled and terrified of the mean boys.  Meetings with the principal and school counselor resulted in us being told that "kids will be kids"  Sunshine figured out who the boys older cousins were, made friends with them, and informed them about the situation.  The older cousins handled it.  Mostly.

Sunshine has been spit on, tripped purposely, punched repeatedly.  She is picked on for still enjoying playing with Barbies, and liking American Girl movies.  She is 10.  She is laughed at for not wearing make up, shorter skirts, and tight clothes.  She has been bullied about not knowing what porn or rape was.  Most of this she attempted to hide from us, because she truly enjoys school.

Then Starlet came home with a black eye, bruised and puffy.  The hesitation was over, and the battle line drawn.

Tomorrow I withdrawal my children from public school and begin the homeschooling adventure again.

I have learned something about it from our adventures with it over the last 9 years.  I know what mistakes that should not be repeated again but probably will be.  I know that I need to work on follow through and not just have good intentions.  But I also know that I will fight to preserve my children as children.  That I will fight to ensure they have a quality education that is balanced. That I will not allow children who are reacting to their environment and responding how they have been taught is appropriate to hurt or instill fear in my children. 

So here we go again on our own....

Back in the game (Part A)

Originally I started this blog, last year, as part of an insane fantasy a grand idea that with homeschooling the kids we would have blog focused on what we did each day, or week, that was linked with my personal blog about being a homeschooling mum, and the older children's blogs about their experiences/feelings/assignments/resentment.  All interconnected and web like.  It would be grand and wonderful, and eventually I would get the hang of web design.  Then life rocked the boat and mocked the plans in the most amazing of ways.  More like I had a boat made out of newspaper, and it was hit with a tsunami.  Yet here I stand on the shore, with the waves still angrily lashing, thunder rumbling, and grey clouds, but the waves are falling back.  I am still standing, and laughing.

In the past year's time

Songbird had two severe mental breakdowns

My husband moved out

Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas

We decided to move back to Michigan

Smash had oral surgery to get baby root canals and caps on his teeth

We made the great trek across the country through blizzards in an ancient RV with no heat. They were literally closing down the highway behind us as we drove. And made it.

When the job my husband had didn't transfer and the lined up housing didn't pan out, we stayed with my in laws for four months.  FOUR MONTHS with people I had seen less than ten times in my life and not talked to in three years. 

We bought a house, and land, and more land

We got chickens and ducks, in duckling and chick form, and commenced several learning experiments.

Sunshine got to finish out the school year in regular school.  The rest were left to me. 

I started school again myself

My husband got a new job

My closest friend for the past 9 years quit being my friend.  And I was okay with this.  And my family and other friends threw a party to celebrate. 

After dealing with a moving company that was a complete scam and paying almost $10,000, we were able to get almost all our stuff back.  Almost, plus or minus 20 odd boxes of books, several boxes of holiday décor, lawn equipment, power tools.  Of course only half the boxes we actually did receive had items not broken, so....

We purchased two young Alaskan Malamutes.  They are awesome and amazing "fur babies" but we went from never having a dog to having two big dogs.  Still learning.

We (meaning the kids and I) informally left the church I have attended over half my life and the entirety of theirs for various reasons.  Each day is a new step.

We bought a used van.

Everyone except the baby enrolled in public school.

My husband moved out on his own again

Smash knocked out one of his teeth and needed emergency dental surgery

Zeus hurt his paw and needed stitches

The van developed an electrical short causing me to debate calling a priest and having an elaborate ritual done to ride it of demons

Which brings me to part B

Unconditional love

My five year old son's spirit is beautiful. He is kind, gentle, caring, nurturing, and a bit of a diva.    I have more than one shot of him photo bombing his siblings wearing skinny jeans and a bright sequined vest.  He loves to style my hair, or even better yet - his hair.  He has impeccable fashion sense when it is called for, which I would blame on his three older sisters, but their fashion sense is, well, unique...or eclectic.  But I could be wrong and purple fringed cowboy boots might just be the new "black." He also was more excited about his sister's tea party set she got for her birthday than she was.  But this could be due to self preservation. She is about twice his weight and she has been known to be firm when suggesting what they play. 

His is also a high need snuggler.  I have literally held him for hours cuddled so close and tight that he might as well have climbed back inside, and when I finally shoo him off my lap have him say "But I wanted cuddles."This week he was lectured at school repeatedly for hugging, kissing, and snuggling other students.  The boys in particular.

And so, in our minds, though not allowed the question came up.  Is my son merely displaying behaviors typical of being a victim playmate to his three older sisters diabolical torture schemes imaginative play or is he....?

Five years old is really too little to be wondering these things.  Especially about a boy who is at the tail end of three princesses and who loves to be with his Mommy.  But as I thought about it, I thought less about whether or not he, or any of my children, were gay, and more about what I wanted my children to know, and what I wanted our family to be like.

I never want the terms "coming out" to be used in my family.  Coming out of the closet means that for a while, at some point, they were hidden.  They hid who they were, and hid their feelings.  People hide when they are afraid.  I don't want my children to be afraid, especially of me or members of our family.  I don't want them to feel that they have to hide away a part of them, or who they are.  In my family I want it to be simple - that they are known and that they are loved.  All, meaning the whole, of them.  Unquestionably.

*******************************************************
November 3, 2013

So much has happened since I first started writing the last post, as is prone to happening in a busy family with dogs, chickens, children, toads and so on.

I went for a ladies night out with members of a parenting group I am part of.  One of the mom's spoke about the challenges she was facing with her teenager, who is the same age as my oldest.  She commented that they had gone through a "scare" last year when their daughter thought she might be gay, and that it "was the last thing you ever wanted to hear" and one of the worst things to happen to a family.  I smiled politely, and finished eating my strawberry cheesecake as the other moms continued to pick at their salads, removing the croutons and toppings, and ultimately not finishing theirs for fear of the extra calories.  Two things struck me. 

One = perhaps this isn't the right group for me.  I enjoy food, and am comfortable with where I am at.  I am not thin, and I am never going to be.  Being healthy is important, and so is setting an example for good physical fitness for my children.  But after that, give me the cheesecake and the flavored coffee creamer.  And their croutons.

Two = how could a child being gay be the worst thing? Why is it so terrible?  Why is it worse than addiction, cancer, incurable disease? As I currently am dealing with challenges of watching extended family members struggle with mental illnesses and addictions, I say those are worse.

I am not naïve.  I know that children, teens, and adults still struggle immensely with prejudice against homosexuality.  It does not escape me that Corretta Scott King died campaigning for "gay rights" as the next civil rights movement.  Despite the wildly popular "It Gets Better" campaign and landmark legislation across the country, there is still so much progress to be made.  But it is hardly the worst thing that a child could say or that could happen in a family.

The worst thing that could happen is for a parent to stop loving their child.

This Halloween.....

I  wrote the beginning of this post last year at Halloween time.

It is time...for my annual Halloween rant.

Autumn is my favoritist favorite time of the year.  Always has been.  Wood smoke, golden leaves glowing in the sunlight and standing out vibrant against the grey, the crackle crunch of crisp walks in cheek brightening breezes. 

I am not one for the scare, the gore, the darkness of Halloween.  Instead I relish the sweet scarecrows, classic jack o lanterns, adorable animal costumes,  and candy corn crafts. Basically if your 3-5 year old enjoys it, so will I.  Otherwise I will pass.

I miss the old days, where you could roam the streets with a pillow case and come home with bunches of candy.  Actual candy - with the occasional spider ring.  I was never actually allowed to use a pillow case, and my parents kept a fairly close eye on me (something I begrudged as my friends ran  freely about with reckless abandon ) My parents also carefully screened my candy, never allowing gum, popcorn balls, unwrapped candy, apples, and other such things to be consumed. 

Truthfully we live in a nice town.  People leave bowls of candy out on their porches and trust people to take the designated amount - and for the most part it is followed.  This blows my mind after living years in city of pillage and plunder.  But there aren't that many bowls, or that many lights.

Trunk or treats are a nice concept.  Adults can visit instead of being isolated and it creates a safe environment for the children to score their sugar highs.  But they shouldn't be the only option.

I do not want my daughters dressed in cheaply made hooker costumes.  Manufactures need to remember clothing size does not correspond with age, and even if my daughter was that age, she still wouldn't be dressed like that. A rant for another day on why are teen girls now sold as sex...another time.

I do not want my son in a flimsy costume so that when he inevitably brushes against something sharp - twig, branch, porch railing, Halloween decoration, sibling - his much desired costume will be reduced to shreds forcing us to say when people ask what he is " Oh, this is after the apocalypse super dude" or "this is zombie revenge super dude" or "this is post battle with ultimate villian x super dude, where super dude was a little worse for ware but victorious"

I despise that in either gender the costumes are so thin that I have to pray for a miracle on Halloween.  It snows on Halloween people, in more states than one.  This year we almost let Snickers wear his pajama replica of super dude so that he could be warm.

It wouldn't be quite so bad if the prices weren't so high.  $52.99 for a child's Halloween costume? Are you kidding me?  You know that Christmas décor that you have displayed right next to the costume, along with the aisles you are already stocking with cheaply made plastic toys? If I am going to buy any of that, I need to NOT spend $52.99 on a costume that due to previous mentioned events, may not make it past that night.  Even if it did, two of my children grew almost three inches over the summer, and all but one has grown over five inches in the past six months.  No one is going to fit it afterwards.

So next year I will make the costumes.  If I hammer out who is being what in July, and start in August, I should be done by the last hour of trick or treating.

Now it is the afore mentioned August where I should theoretically be sewing like an animated fairy tale mouse in order to get five costumes done before the time that they must be worn.  Yeah, nope.  I have 3 storage tube - large ones where more than one child fits inside when they empty them onto the floor and use them as train cars - of costumes and dress up.  They can find something suitable in there I am fairly certain.  Or fake it.  We actually do have one costume completed, chosen by Starlet, to go as Little Red Riding Hood, due to that the role of the wolf will be played by the dog.  That is only four more costumes to go.  Though Songbird is trying to goad me into making 7 costumes for the Renaissance Festival and then 4 additional costumes for Halloween, it is not going to happen.  Unless they all want to go as skeletons.  I am pretty sure I have enough energy to cut out all the white felt bones and hot glue them to black sweat sets.  Better yet, they can cut out the bones.  Think about all those gross motor skills they will sharpen.  I will just bribe them with glow in the dark puffy paint stitch marks.  That they will also do....this just might work.

Get the picture - follow up

So how is my camera avoidance going?

I am doing better. It is always shocking to see myself in pictures, because somehow in my mind - despite daily mirror checks - I am still a size 12, have cheek bones, and a discernible waistline. Then I see the picture on the digital display and am like "whuck?" But I am trying anyway. I have not mastered the art of the selfie. I take them, but always end up looking like on of Spock's long lost descendants. (Though chronologically I would be one of his ancestors - who knows - maybe Spock's mom is one of my great great granddaughters...anyways...)

Though the theme of the "get the picture" was similar to what many other bloggers were posting around the same time - the moments we mommies are missing being included in, though we were there, because we are the behind the scenes operators, I have learned that "getting in the picture" is also about "getting" me. 

Being a teenager is harder than it was when I was a teenager.  I agree.  And parenting a teenager is harder as well.  But you know what has gotten really hard?  Being a mom.

Being a mom used to mean that you got relegated to the ranks of frumpiness.  That after you had birthed x amount of children in y amount of years, you were free to have a standard hair cut, elastic waist jeans, and a variety of t shirt and sweat shirts with cute animals on the front.  You could be softer, with a poochy tummy, grey hairs, and lines at the corners of your eyes and lips.  You smelled like baby powder and baking. 

You also got to spend time indoors while the children sweated and sweltered outside, keeping a watchful eye on the children from a window while you "baked dinner" or "did chores" whilst you took lovely moments to breath deep and maintain your sanity.  Children were free to roam the neighborhood within a given set of boundaries, and your mind could be at reasonable ease. 

Now you must be MOM on steroids.  You can no longer be soft, but must be fit and firm and wear the same clothes your teenage daughter does (because that is ever appropriate?) in a seductive and attractive manner that still allows you to breastfeed and maintain your standing at church.  In heels.

You must hover over your children and be involved and stimulating and interesting to them - making sure they are using up every single spare second in some enriching either educationally or spiritually activity, otherwise they will never be able to measure up to Johnny-do-good down the street.

Don't raise your voice or spank.  Be interested in everything they say and do.  Respond with self esteem boosters that aren't generic.

What I see more than the grey hair, the extra 125 lbs, the forced smile, and the Spock eyebrow is such much worry and burden - how can I be that perfect mommy I am always falling short of being? Smash doesn't even know his colors yet! We are behind! Songbird questions everything from gender preference to God's existence - where have I failed?

 Why do I not look fabulous?  How can I let myself look like this? There are grey hairs, hairs on my chin - I am turning into the goat woman! 125 lbs overweight!!!! That is a whole person.

Whole person.

I am a whole person. 

And Jesus loves me.  That whole person.  Not for the parent that I "should be" according to the "experts."  Not for the way I "should" look.  Not for the effort and strides I take at becoming that long list of "should" thrown out there by media, experts, and myself.  But for who I am, this very moment, as I am.  Jesus loves me.

And my kids love me too. 

I am not going to loose anyone's love, or not be good enough to love, because Smash speaks in a variety of caveman grunts and points at the same age that his siblings spoke in sentences.  Or because Starlet doesn't read entire books on her own yet.  Or because Snickers still wets the bed sometimes.  Or because they haven't been enrolled in any extra curricular activities in over a year, and I have liked not having to run around so much I may just keep it that way.

I am not going to loose anyone's love because I am pillow soft.  I run with my children, dance with the dog, and go on walks holding hands with my husband.  I can outwork any of them in an endurance test - except the dog, but that is rather unfair because he is supposed to work.  Sort of like a Clydesdale horse.  And if someone quits loving me because I more apple dumpling than apple bottom jeans, than that wasn't the love I deserve.

And you know what?

The same is true for every mother out there.  Those burdens of not being the perfect mommy.  Of falling short.  Short tempered, short patience, short attention span (is that child still talking??) Of all the things you didn't do.  Of all those things that make you feel that you aren't enough.  That you aren't whole.  Jesus wants you to forget those.  To quit letting yourself think you are lesser because of them, and let His love fill those empty spots, until you are full.  Be whole.

Summer

In the eyes of many people, my children's summer has sucked.  A lot.  Like rotten eggs sucking - whatever that means.  We didn't go on vacation anywhere, we didn't go to any theme parks, we didn't even go to a public pool - which was a regular occurrence several times a week for years in most of the children's cognizant memories. 

So what did we do?

We grilled in our front yard - where they ran from the table to their outdoor toys and back to consume an entire jar of pickles in one sitting.  Because everyone knows when you are eating outside the "Stay at the table until you have finished your food" and "Leave your food at the table" rules are no longer applicable.  So you can run, and dance, and spit watermelon seeds from the top of the slide.

We chased chickens.  A lot.  We never intended to free range the chickens but it is what happened
* - and the chickens are adventurous and sassy and want to EXPLORE the world around them.  So they (the chickens) have been hopping of fences, and climbing through hedges and thorns and subject occasional periods confinement due to lack of willingness to herd them.  The term "chicken chaser" was coined and utilized with great frequency.

They picked blackberries.  And ate them. Then they ate some more, staining their fingers and cheeks purple.  And used them as paint to make pretty pictures.  And used them as body paint to depict their internal organs.  Strangely accurately with realistic coloring.

They weeded gardens

They planted trees

They rode bikes without helmets on a dirt road.  They have helmets - more than one.  They even occasionally wear the helmets without ever even getting near a bike. 

We went to the library for activities and read lots of books - though somehow I missed signing them up for the summer reading program for the first time ever. 

We went to the Children's Museum

They camped outside in a tent with the dog

They got a dog.  Who came to us in dog form, not puppy form, and outweighs three of them put together.  And is the best toy ever.  EVER EVER. 

They colored.  I think I have gone through 2 reams of paper and 8 boxes of crayons.  Not all the art work was saved due to a propensity of throwing it under the table they eat on instead of in a nice folder, but it happened and was joy for the moment of creating

They played in a plastic kiddie pool underneath a lilac bush by herb garden - so that their splashing scents were of lilac and mint

They got covered in dirt.  I am not even sure that it is possible to see their original skin color anymore

They had bonfires and roasted marshmallows and cheap hot dogs.  Some of which they even got to eat before the dog snatched them.

We stayed up late giggling, slept in, and watched too much tv. 

And it is okay.

*The chickens are now FINALLY corralled properly in the coopaganza in the property we own across the street.  The property that with any luck, and a lot more skill and patience, will someday be "the orchard" and "the berry patch" and house "the gazebo" with lawn décor making it "the story book land of enchantment." Oh yes, we are dreamers.  But we have planted 6 trees and 8 berry bushes, so we have started.

The marathon I didn't sign up for

I am still nursing my 23 month old son. YAY me and much congratulations on the way I have continued my attachment parenting/granola parenting/increased momentum decent into insanity. 

Confession 1: I was ready to be done nursing about 20 months ago. Maybe 22.
Confession 2: If I have another baby, there is only about a 50/50 shot that I would breastfeed again.

I think that there needs to be a truce in the breast vs bottle war.  Breast milk is the best thing for babies, absolutely beyond a doubt.  However bottle feeding a baby is not selfish or neglectful. 

I have spent almost 6 years of my life nursing babies. Six years of having my bras fit differently all day long, shirts stained in conspicuous places, (shirts that allow nursing access are either decidedly frumpy or make Hooter's waitress tops look modest - also an issue) and six years having sticky hands rip my shirt away and grab out my breast with more eagerness than that boy did during my freshman year.

Six years of awkward moments from running into people from work or church just when the baby has entered the "northern exposure" stage of refusing to be covered while nursing.  Smash was born in that stage and has never ever had the discretion to understand that I might not want to talk to someone in the supermarket about the church __________ with a baby gulping and slurping and everything hanging out.  In fact he seems to especially prefer those times over the ones where I could safely and discreetly nurse without

Those images of quiet, placid babies nursing as the Mommy rocks them comfortably and serenely? Not happening. My current nursling has developed the lovely trick of twisting around while nursing and standing on his head so that his feet pull my hair and his midsection covers my face. This usually results in suffocation of the mommy unit and arm flailing, much to his amusement. Or he puts his feet in my shirt and thwacks my bra strap until I give him a foot massage.  He turns his head to see what is going on around him, and bites down to make sure that his "squishie" stays in his mouth at the same time.

My teeth look like they have been strip mined, and my bones ache.   I am deficient in everything but cholesterol and am beginning to resemble the cushy leather recliner that he likes to be rocked in.  Fashion choices for recliner chairs are very limited.

Because I nurse on demand, not on schedule, when he is teething or needs comfort, or is bored, or senses that I might potentially get something ANYTHING accomplished he demands to nurse. He suckles on and off all night - and doesn't seem to drift off into a good peaceful slumber until three minutes before I have to wake up.

He still nurses over eight times a day, which all the "expert" breastfeeding books said would drop down long long long ago.

I look like I have gone through battle, and not necessarily won.  There are bruises, bite marks, and claw marks (which are what baby nails really are) where, in my personal opinion, there should absolutely never be.  Every time he gets a new tooth we have to relearn how to latch on in a way that doesn't make me screech in pain.

Do I regret making the choice to nurse?  No.  I treasure the sweet moments he and I have shared together, just the two of us.  The milk dribbling down his chin as he sleeps.  The way even at almost two he still looks like a baby occasionally while sleeping.  The way he nuzzles in like a puppy in his sleep....There seems to be a theme.

But I have five kids. To be able to take care of all five, I need

• Someone else to be able to feed the toddler on occasion so that I can do what needs to be done to make sure they all feel special, loved, and important.  (Yes he eats a wide variety of "table food" and drinks milk.  He will eat more than a grown man, drink two glasses of milk, and settle in for a good nurse fest directly afterwards.  Pretty sure that his stomach has magical expansion capabilities)

• To be able do normal bathroom functions without feeling guilty as the toddler's screams of protest echo through the house.

• To be slightly rested on a semi annual occasion

• To not suspect that my toddler is actually practicing to become a dementor sometime in the future

Even with that six years cumulative of breastfeeding, all but one of my children have had formula as well.  Miss Starlet, who may also be called Miss Contrary, only nursed briefly before switching to formula - a fact we now blame on that my breast milk wasn't dark chocolate flavored rather than the allergies we suspected at the time.  All of my children are intelligent, none have grown extra appendages, and the ones who breastfed the least have consistently been the most healthy. 

So instead of disparaging the bottle feeding mother, or forcing breastfeeding on new mothers who may have done all they could just to get through the birth experience as some male legislatures - who have never had to deal with latch on problems and contracting uteruses at the same time - try to enforce, let's just support one another. 

"You're feeding your baby - awesome!"

Because honestly, if the worst thing that every happens to a child is that they were fed formula, that child is a very lucky child indeed.

Expect the unexpected 3/19/13

Expect the unexpected. Hope for the best and prepare for the worst. The ever popular Murphey's Law. The cliches can all find themselves in a rubbish bin and put a lid on it for a while. A long long while.

I have numerable posts typed and will publish them later with the date in the title so there is some form of - no I didn't really abandon my blog - record.

In the mean time, what has been going on with me? If you were to look at my life and personality as a wild thorn bush, I have been enduring some unexpected pruning.

We decided to move to Michigan

We purchased an RV from the Paleolithic age that proceeded to break down repeatedly for the month before we left, ended up not having heat the entire trip, and died just a few hours from our destination

My husband's job was supposed to transfer and when he reported to work on the agreed upon date he was told that they no longer have room. That manager has been fired but there is still no position, leaving us without income

The house we were supposed to be moving into as a "temporary battle station" became unavailable on the second to last day of our trip.

We stayed at a dear friend's house for ten days and have stayed the last month with my in laws basement. In one bedroom in their basement. I had spent a sum total of six hours in my entire life with my in laws prior to this with my in laws with no phone calls, letters, emails. cards, texts....needless to say we weren't close and are getting to know each other better.

We bought a house with an AMAZING yard. Yup. Bought a house. So why are we living in the basement? No power. No water. No floor. But when we are done it will be pretty cool.

The moving company grossly underestimated our weight and thusly is billing us a substantial amount over what was budgeted. Which means they have a our things hostage. Since we packed based on having our things within days of arrival we are now finding things a bit testy as we miss favorite toys, the ability to have more than two changes of clothes or simple day to day things like a high chair.

Due to a misunderstanding that happened a decade ago with the school district we moved into, there have been challenges enrolling the girls and we will be waiting until next school year for them to attend school.

I got to start school! I am taking a full load of online classes, started March 1, and should graduate next year.

Dental disaster 01/16/13

When I was little my dentist and hygienist would tease me about becoming a smile model. I had good, strong healthy teeth that were naturally well aligned and cavity free. My mom would say I had shiny teeth the size of dinner plates.

It was a shock to me to have Songbird have cavities at the tender age of two. Her diet did not consist of sweets and I was diligent about her tooth brushing routine. It turned out that she doesn't naturally have enough enamel on her teeth and there wasn't much I could do - other than what I had already been doing. She has only had a few cavities since and does all right most of the time.

Sunshine, Starlet, and Snickers all have practically perfect teeth. Sunshine got her first cavity just a year ago, and it was so tiny filling it was a precaution on my insistence. The other two remain cavity free.

It is when we get to Smash, whose smile is contagious and almost constant that everything turns horrifically frowny faced. Sunshine noticed a discoloration on one tooth, and when we subsequently took him into the dentist today (the soonest appointment available) we learned he has cavities in every single tooth!! Some of those teeth aren't even a month old! How does this happen?!

He is scheduled for dental surgery tomorrow and I am simultaneously terrified and horrified. I don't want my little guy to go under anesthesia - no matter how safe it is. Though weaning him has been a milestone I have been ecstatic to reach, being forced to wean is a different story all together. My "squishies" are his comfort object, like other toddlers have binkies and blankets. There is going to be so much change over the next few weeks

The wannabe part of me 01/12/13

Yesterday I dared to be selfish. Repeatedly. It was literally a marathon act of endurance which at one point had me almost in tears.

It started by looking in the mirror. Instead of glancing at it to smooth down stray hairs in frustration, I actually looked.  Really looked. My roots were almost 2.5 inches long and there were  too many to count  a few distinguished grey hairs. When did that happen? I know I realized that it was looking a bit rough a while ago, but at that time I was debating a pixie cut and blonde hair. After unsuccessfully dying Songbird's hair blonde, which was much shorter, lighter colored, and manageable than mine the idea of blonde was disposed of and I never got any farther than that.

Now it was time to take action! Though I didn't want to cut my hair at this point, a new color was in order. So I decided to splurge and buy the required two boxes at Walmart. Spending a sum of $17 on me. For something that was none renewable, reusable, or capable of being shared with a preschooler.

The aisle at Walmart was almost overwhelming. So many choice and options. I was literally standing there open mouthed for forty five minutes. I really truly want to do something brave - like the black with purple highlights, or burgundy,or violet or even a dark auburn. But what would they look like with my pink complexion? Would they look trashy? What would others think of me? Would people be not so conspicuously snapping my pic to post on a website of what not to do? So after debating, picking up and putting back boxes, trying to coax a decision from my husband, annoying other customers and concerning the associates that I might try to do something illegal, I chose my own natural color. A nice, safe choice.

I suppose I shouldn't have expected any different - in returning to school I have changed my major from math to biology but either way teachers are not known for their rebellious daring do.