Happy 11th Anniversary to my wonderful husband! Here's a repost from our anniversary in 2010. Almost 2 kids later and I wouldn't change a single word (except to maybe add a few).
---------
It is a big church. The most grandiose in stature in the entirety of our small town. The dramatic roof lines and towering steeple sit perfectly atop rock and brick walls adorned with stained glass windows, all situated on the precisely manicured lawn.
It's a beautiful church. And every time I drive by I think about what happened inside.
I stand behind two huge wooden doors, stained to a perfect deep brown, waiting to walk down a burgundy-carpeted aisle. So much awaits me on the other side of those doors. Love. Commitment. Beauty.
The wedding coordinator adjusts my veil and the train of my dress.
Deep breath.
The organ begins to play the non-traditional melody of an Scottish tune, reminiscent of our college Alma Mater. The doors swing open, everyone stands up.
I blink.
It's 8 years later. And here I sit, mother to 6, wife to a man who loves me in spite of who I am. A husband who loves wholly, sacrificially and beyond my understanding.
In our counseling session at Candidate Week we reviewed the many statistics associated with our personality inventories, marriage surveys and some other psychological profiles that we sent in ahead of us.
"You have an over-idealized view of your marriage," the gray haired counselor told me, over the rim of her glasses.
I sat back in my chair, turning her words over in my mind, trying not to be defensive.
Really? Because I'm pretty much a realist in every other area of my life.
At the end of the session, she agreed, my marriage is not over-idealized in my very matter-of-fact head. Rather, I understand that I am blessed. Beyond what I deserve.
Blessed with a man who guards the purity of our marriage so fervently that he refuses to be alone with other women, even in the context of work, where such a conscience is often considered ridiculous.
Blessed with a leader who fears the Lord and seeks, with his whole being, to serve him, even if it makes our family uncomfortable and unconventional.
Blessed with a confidant, someone I can pour my soul out to, the nasty, dirty, raw and often ugly parts and he draws me close and prays over me.
Blessed with a protector, a guardian of our home and our children and someone who takes that role so seriously, he is willing to risk it all for the glory of the Lord.
I smell the familiar smell of the church and take in the pews, full of people. I look to the opening in front of me and see him, standing at the end of a flower strewn aisle. He smiles at me. My heart flutters in my chest. I reach the altar unsure of how I'm standing there since it seems as though my feet hardly moved.
We exchange vows and rings and we both cry. I wipe his tears. More sniffles echo through the rafters of the magnificent sanctuary.
We turn and face our family and friends. We are Mr. & Mrs.
We celebrate. It's glorious. Even 8 years later. It's glorious.
It's no fairy tale and my days are certainly mixed with their fair share of meltdowns and tears. And some days the kids cry too. :)
But we've come through so much. We've endured hardships and know that more are coming. We laugh together often. We love much. He still dates me. He still stops, through the bustle of our home, to wrap his arms around me and let me bury my face in his chest.
We argue, annoy the crap out of each other and forget things that are important to the each other. But we chose love above all else. We chose to bind our hearts together with God as the glue.
We walk out the front doors of the church, and the cold air hits us like needles. We climb inside the magnificent limousine and the driver shuts the door. I look at my husband.
It's over. Man, that went fast, I think to myself.
I adjust my dress. He grabs my hand. We kiss.
The driver starts the engine.
And then, the journey begins.
Saturday, December 28, 2013
Wednesday, December 18, 2013
The photographer's apprentice
A while back, as sort of a half-hobby, half-distraction from grief and life, I started a photography business. I still have LOTS to learn but I've enjoyed getting to know more about light, editing and learning more about my style.
For her 8th birthday, we got Elizabeth a little point-and-shoot camera. Since I bought my new camera a few months ago, Elizabeth has been saying that she wants to learn to be a photographer, like me. It's cute but I tell her over and over and over again that the best way to become a better photographer is to take lots and lots and lots of pictures.
Then, a few weeks ago, Luke had the idea for me to take Elizabeth, and let her have a maternity photoshoot with me. So, today, while the littles napped, Ashlee was at a friend's house and the boys were at karate, we did just that. I showed her the basics of working my camera, made sure the camera strap was nice and secure around her neck then handed it to her, gave her a few instructions about shadows and direct sunlight then told her to take over.
I'll admit, being 38+ weeks pregnant I don't enjoy being on this side of the camera. But, I also know that 25 years from now, when Baby #8 is likely starting her own family, she'll like seeing photos of her Momma's large belly with her tiny self squished inside. Here's my little photographer's apprentice's debut photos. I did the editing, but the photos are all hers. During my wardrobe change (read: I got cold and changed shirts) she took a photo of our school table,
She really got into telling me to look at my belly, where to put my hands and which side my hair needed to be on.
She told me that I'm not good at doing a real smile, because all my smiles looked fake. Ha!
For her 8th birthday, we got Elizabeth a little point-and-shoot camera. Since I bought my new camera a few months ago, Elizabeth has been saying that she wants to learn to be a photographer, like me. It's cute but I tell her over and over and over again that the best way to become a better photographer is to take lots and lots and lots of pictures.
Then, a few weeks ago, Luke had the idea for me to take Elizabeth, and let her have a maternity photoshoot with me. So, today, while the littles napped, Ashlee was at a friend's house and the boys were at karate, we did just that. I showed her the basics of working my camera, made sure the camera strap was nice and secure around her neck then handed it to her, gave her a few instructions about shadows and direct sunlight then told her to take over.
I'll admit, being 38+ weeks pregnant I don't enjoy being on this side of the camera. But, I also know that 25 years from now, when Baby #8 is likely starting her own family, she'll like seeing photos of her Momma's large belly with her tiny self squished inside. Here's my little photographer's apprentice's debut photos. I did the editing, but the photos are all hers. During my wardrobe change (read: I got cold and changed shirts) she took a photo of our school table,
and our pet bird, Alex.
She really got into telling me to look at my belly, where to put my hands and which side my hair needed to be on.
She told me that I'm not good at doing a real smile, because all my smiles looked fake. Ha!
Overall, for a 9.5 year old, I think she did pretty well! And, it really was fun spending time with my oldest girl, allowing her to feel the weight of the camera in her hand and having some creative freedom.
So there I am, in all my 38+ week glory. Y'all have a great Christmas! Hopefully, the next post will be one of a baby on the outside.
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
Simply Remember
I feel like I've spent a lot of the last 9 years of my life trying to remember things.
Return those library books, don't forget to get a gallon of milk on the way home, so-and-so's birthday is tomorrow, send a follow up email about such-and-such, don't forget to ask so-and-so about that thing, take the trash to the curb, take a meal to this family, etc, etc.
But then there are the important things. Don't forget the way Elizabeth said the word "juice" the first 5 years of her life. Don't forget the way Lucas and Ashlee liked to trade plates when they were still chubby-faced toddlers. Or the way Ashlee hid food under her leg and would eat it all at the end of her meal. Or the way Olivia would dance to any beat from the age of 6 months on. Or the way Aaron held his pacci in the side of his mouth like a cigar when he was learning to crawl. Or how an 18 month old Ella could be pitching an epic fit one minute and belly laughing the next.
That's the thing when you add 1 or 2 babies every two or so years, you tend to be caught up in the busyness of the day to day and you forget a lot of things. Luke says the first six months of the twins' life is a complete blur to him. I say the first three months. I remember getting up one morning a few days after the twins were born. I walked into the living room and my Mom had swaddled two of Elizabeth's babies up. She was pretending to nurse them, sitting there in just her underwear. All of the sudden she seemed SO BIG. And I just started crying.
I'll never forget this though, the twins were tiny, less than a couple months old. I was getting Elizabeth ready for bed and I stripped off her shirt, pants and undies. The stench that came from her small, 2 year old body was enough to make me recoil. I looked at Luke, shocked, and asked, "When was the last time we bathed Elizabeth?" We both thought for several minutes and we could not remember. I'm sure it had been over a week.
I've always taken a lot of pictures. I guess somewhere subconsciously I knew that those pictures would be the lifeline to my memories. But with the purchase of our smartphones and the conception of my photography business, using a real camera on my own kids is something that's sort of slipped onto the back burner.
So yesterday, when Abigail was upstairs "helping" me make lunch while the other kids were happily entertained with the electronic babysitter, I could have gotten swept up in the moment of hungry kids, lunch time, my pelvis begging me to sit down, my bladder beseeching me to empty it's contents. Again. But instead, I noticed my sweet 21 month old, in a princess dress that she INSISTED on wearing, standing on top of our shoe bins, eating a banana and completely captivated by a squirrel doing only-a-squirrel-knows-what in our front yard. The light hit her face and I moved as fast as my feet could waddle me to grab the camera. My real camera.
Because THIS is what I don't want to forget.
This girl, a cheek full of banana, pointing at a squirrel, telling me to "come 'ere," giggling when I say, "That's not a puppy!"
Her dimple on that one side. It's becoming less obvious the bigger she gets. I've seriously prayed it will stay forever even though she'll probably hate it as a teenager,
sticky, slimy banana finger prints all over my window sill,
her amazement at how fast that little squirrel ran away when she knocked on the window,
and how I wouldn't let her stand on the microwave, so she would stretch a tulle covered foot over there, then look at me over her shoulder and grin.
And how after she realized the squirrel wasn't coming back, she spent the rest of her time "helping" me make grilled cheeses by licking the butter when I wasn't looking. For me, it's less about not forgetting and more about remembering the little things. Savoring the details, letting go of the things that are suppose to be these big memory makers and just enjoying my kids exactly where they are. Breathing them in and trying my best to simply remember.
Return those library books, don't forget to get a gallon of milk on the way home, so-and-so's birthday is tomorrow, send a follow up email about such-and-such, don't forget to ask so-and-so about that thing, take the trash to the curb, take a meal to this family, etc, etc.
But then there are the important things. Don't forget the way Elizabeth said the word "juice" the first 5 years of her life. Don't forget the way Lucas and Ashlee liked to trade plates when they were still chubby-faced toddlers. Or the way Ashlee hid food under her leg and would eat it all at the end of her meal. Or the way Olivia would dance to any beat from the age of 6 months on. Or the way Aaron held his pacci in the side of his mouth like a cigar when he was learning to crawl. Or how an 18 month old Ella could be pitching an epic fit one minute and belly laughing the next.
That's the thing when you add 1 or 2 babies every two or so years, you tend to be caught up in the busyness of the day to day and you forget a lot of things. Luke says the first six months of the twins' life is a complete blur to him. I say the first three months. I remember getting up one morning a few days after the twins were born. I walked into the living room and my Mom had swaddled two of Elizabeth's babies up. She was pretending to nurse them, sitting there in just her underwear. All of the sudden she seemed SO BIG. And I just started crying.
I'll never forget this though, the twins were tiny, less than a couple months old. I was getting Elizabeth ready for bed and I stripped off her shirt, pants and undies. The stench that came from her small, 2 year old body was enough to make me recoil. I looked at Luke, shocked, and asked, "When was the last time we bathed Elizabeth?" We both thought for several minutes and we could not remember. I'm sure it had been over a week.
I've always taken a lot of pictures. I guess somewhere subconsciously I knew that those pictures would be the lifeline to my memories. But with the purchase of our smartphones and the conception of my photography business, using a real camera on my own kids is something that's sort of slipped onto the back burner.
So yesterday, when Abigail was upstairs "helping" me make lunch while the other kids were happily entertained with the electronic babysitter, I could have gotten swept up in the moment of hungry kids, lunch time, my pelvis begging me to sit down, my bladder beseeching me to empty it's contents. Again. But instead, I noticed my sweet 21 month old, in a princess dress that she INSISTED on wearing, standing on top of our shoe bins, eating a banana and completely captivated by a squirrel doing only-a-squirrel-knows-what in our front yard. The light hit her face and I moved as fast as my feet could waddle me to grab the camera. My real camera.
Because THIS is what I don't want to forget.
This girl, a cheek full of banana, pointing at a squirrel, telling me to "come 'ere," giggling when I say, "That's not a puppy!"
Her dimple on that one side. It's becoming less obvious the bigger she gets. I've seriously prayed it will stay forever even though she'll probably hate it as a teenager,
sticky, slimy banana finger prints all over my window sill,
her amazement at how fast that little squirrel ran away when she knocked on the window,
and how I wouldn't let her stand on the microwave, so she would stretch a tulle covered foot over there, then look at me over her shoulder and grin.
And how after she realized the squirrel wasn't coming back, she spent the rest of her time "helping" me make grilled cheeses by licking the butter when I wasn't looking. For me, it's less about not forgetting and more about remembering the little things. Savoring the details, letting go of the things that are suppose to be these big memory makers and just enjoying my kids exactly where they are. Breathing them in and trying my best to simply remember.
Monday, December 2, 2013
6 things and a Jesus question
1. It would happen that as soon as I did a two part post on our chore system, Olivia would proceed to lose all but one of her chore button things. Naturally. Because my life is nothing if not ironic.
2. I found this in my fridge last week. I really need to blog about a certainly blue-eyed, curly headed, girl in our house who is on a kick of raiding our fridge like a person who hasn't seen food in the last 24 hours. If it weren't so insanely hilarious it might drive me crazy.
3. This homeschooling thing, it's a balance. On Monday, our kids watched WAY TOO MUCH TV while I laid on the couch nursing a headache. I also rocked Abigail three times before she decided to stop protesting a nap and also dealt with a 7 stage meltdown from one of our other children. So, at 2:00, instead of being mad and forcing our kids and myself to pretend like school was going to happen, I gave up. It was Thanksgiving week, right?
4. Our kids are obsessed with Woody Woodpecker. I'd rather him take a battering ram to my skull than watch one more episode. But, Ella now tells me that her favorite to watch is Woody the Pecker and that alone makes me laugh out loud.
5. For the third year in a row, I had a stomach virus on Thanksgiving. 36 weeks pregnant plus a stomach virus is no fun. Ever. It was short lived and seemed to only hit 2 other kids in a super mild way (I'll let your imagination do the work there) so I really can't complain. And, on Saturday and Sunday I gorged myself on Thanksgiving leftovers.
6. I was in the dollar store on Saturday getting some last minute craft stuff for our Jesse Tree. (I'll blog about that later, I hope.) It was packed. There were some crosses and other Christmas items on display and a young boy (maybe 5 or 6?) was eyeballing them. He turned to the woman with him (his Mom or grandma, I'm guessing) and said, "What's that?" and pointed to the cross. The lady said, "Oh. That's a cross. That's what Jesus died on." to which the little boy asked, "Who is Jesus?"
I lingered and listened as I looked at some stickers. She said, "Oh, Jesus is VERY important. We need to talk about him sometime," and then she casually went on down the aisle as they talked about the other things on display.
I have my own thoughts about this conversation, but I'd like to hear yours.
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
A little catching up
I've been wanting to sit down and actually blog for a long time. But, I felt pressured that my posts needed to be something of substance. And well, I don't have that right now.
But, before this was a place for me to share about missions, it was a place for me to document my family's life. It makes me sad that I've allowed that to slip away in the wake of my grief. So, my plan now is just to blog a little each week and if it gets deep in here, then it gets deep. If it stays superficial and sticks to updates on our life and our kids, that's fine too.
So, the last time I really blogged about the ongoings of our family was May. That's pathetic. SO MUCH has happened since May.
For starters, we moved in July. We bought a house, we painted, we expanded the amount of bedrooms in our house and I think we are settled. I still have stuff to hang on the walls but now it's less about the emotions behind it and more about the fact that the main level of this house was done in the 50s and the walls are plaster, y'all. PLASTER.
It's not easy to hang anything up. So if you know how to hang up pictures on plaster walls without having to drill a hole and add one of those plastic anchors, I'd love to know.
In August, we found out that Baby #8 is a(nother) GIRL! The boys weren't quite so thrilled at first, but now everyone is eager Beavers to meet this chick. Including me. Because she clearly doesn't understand that this isn't my first rodeo and it's not fun for her to lay sideways/diagonal/all on one side and rhythmically kick me in the cervix.
Around that same time, Amanda found out that they are expecting their second child. Here's a photo of us at the baby shower she threw for me in October. My first baby shower I've had since the twins, by the way. Which, A) I didn't realize there was so much new crap that was necessary for a baby. And B) It's weird having a baby shower when you've already got 7 kids. Even when I really did NEED all of the things I received because my stuff is worn slap out, but still. It's weird.
At the end of October Amanda and Nick loaded up all their possessions and their adorable daughter and moved to the other side of theworld country to follow God's call for Nick to be in full time military service. We had a small 1st birthday party for their daughter (a month or so early) where I tried my best not to ugly cry. I held it together until the night before they drove out of town. Then, it was snot city y'all. Poor Luke. His pregnant, emotional wife lost it on him. He may or may not have cried a little too. We miss them just about every other second. But who's counting? Oh wait, all 9 of us are.
I was blessed with a half sister who is 13 years younger than me. She was 5 when I went off to college and I never moved back home. So we aren't as close as I wish we were. But, somehow God allowed Amanda to become just like a sister to me. Seriously. I probably annoy the crap out of her texting her all day long, telling her about the weird things my pregnant body is doing and telling her how she should live her life. And I don't really care because sisters can be annoying and bossy like that. And also, she loves it. I think.
We are homeschooling again this year. I bought this new, elaborate, beautifully designed curriculum over the summer at our state's homeschool convention. I went a whole new route and just knew it would be the perfect thing for our family. We moved, and about a month before I had planned to start school I opened the perfectly packaged boxes of curriculum, got high off the new-school fumes and sat down to plan out our days.
I stared at it blankly for two days while my planning book sat empty, called other veteran homeschool moms, debated joining a local co-op that meets once a week, panicked, tried to find all the books at the library, failed, then promptly boxed that beautiful curriculum right back up and sent it back to the company for a refund. I shed not one single tear.
We are doing our own thing this year with a compilation of resources. It might be the best year we've had so far. Which, of course, means that I'm already scheming what I want to change for next year. Because clearly I appreciate torturing myself.
The baby is due at the end of December. I'm hoping she holds on until January because it's hard to compete with the Savior of the World for your birthday and also our anniversary is December 28th and I'd like to not feel guilty when our 20th anniversary rolls around and I want to take a european cruise vacation like Jen Hatmaker is doing right now and be gone on her birthday.
Which now that I think about it, maybe coming between Christmas and our anniversary would be ideal because then if we leave on our anniversary trip I don't have to worry about being back in time for a January birthday. But if she's born early January we could just go after her birthday.
Also, Amanda will be in town through the first week in January and I'd like to have her here for the baby's birth since I'm pretty sure I don't remember how to bring a baby home from the hospital without her. Decisions, decisions.
Like I have any control over it anyway. But still. Remember Ella? Lord help me.
But, before this was a place for me to share about missions, it was a place for me to document my family's life. It makes me sad that I've allowed that to slip away in the wake of my grief. So, my plan now is just to blog a little each week and if it gets deep in here, then it gets deep. If it stays superficial and sticks to updates on our life and our kids, that's fine too.
So, the last time I really blogged about the ongoings of our family was May. That's pathetic. SO MUCH has happened since May.
For starters, we moved in July. We bought a house, we painted, we expanded the amount of bedrooms in our house and I think we are settled. I still have stuff to hang on the walls but now it's less about the emotions behind it and more about the fact that the main level of this house was done in the 50s and the walls are plaster, y'all. PLASTER.
It's not easy to hang anything up. So if you know how to hang up pictures on plaster walls without having to drill a hole and add one of those plastic anchors, I'd love to know.
In August, we found out that Baby #8 is a(nother) GIRL! The boys weren't quite so thrilled at first, but now everyone is eager Beavers to meet this chick. Including me. Because she clearly doesn't understand that this isn't my first rodeo and it's not fun for her to lay sideways/diagonal/all on one side and rhythmically kick me in the cervix.
Around that same time, Amanda found out that they are expecting their second child. Here's a photo of us at the baby shower she threw for me in October. My first baby shower I've had since the twins, by the way. Which, A) I didn't realize there was so much new crap that was necessary for a baby. And B) It's weird having a baby shower when you've already got 7 kids. Even when I really did NEED all of the things I received because my stuff is worn slap out, but still. It's weird.
 |
| I'm 28 weeks. She's 16. No comments please. Yes, she's pregnant. I promise. |
At the end of October Amanda and Nick loaded up all their possessions and their adorable daughter and moved to the other side of the
I was blessed with a half sister who is 13 years younger than me. She was 5 when I went off to college and I never moved back home. So we aren't as close as I wish we were. But, somehow God allowed Amanda to become just like a sister to me. Seriously. I probably annoy the crap out of her texting her all day long, telling her about the weird things my pregnant body is doing and telling her how she should live her life. And I don't really care because sisters can be annoying and bossy like that. And also, she loves it. I think.
We are homeschooling again this year. I bought this new, elaborate, beautifully designed curriculum over the summer at our state's homeschool convention. I went a whole new route and just knew it would be the perfect thing for our family. We moved, and about a month before I had planned to start school I opened the perfectly packaged boxes of curriculum, got high off the new-school fumes and sat down to plan out our days.
I stared at it blankly for two days while my planning book sat empty, called other veteran homeschool moms, debated joining a local co-op that meets once a week, panicked, tried to find all the books at the library, failed, then promptly boxed that beautiful curriculum right back up and sent it back to the company for a refund. I shed not one single tear.
We are doing our own thing this year with a compilation of resources. It might be the best year we've had so far. Which, of course, means that I'm already scheming what I want to change for next year. Because clearly I appreciate torturing myself.
The baby is due at the end of December. I'm hoping she holds on until January because it's hard to compete with the Savior of the World for your birthday and also our anniversary is December 28th and I'd like to not feel guilty when our 20th anniversary rolls around and I want to take a european cruise vacation like Jen Hatmaker is doing right now and be gone on her birthday.
Which now that I think about it, maybe coming between Christmas and our anniversary would be ideal because then if we leave on our anniversary trip I don't have to worry about being back in time for a January birthday. But if she's born early January we could just go after her birthday.
Also, Amanda will be in town through the first week in January and I'd like to have her here for the baby's birth since I'm pretty sure I don't remember how to bring a baby home from the hospital without her. Decisions, decisions.
Like I have any control over it anyway. But still. Remember Ella? Lord help me.
Thursday, November 14, 2013
Chores and Kids: Putting it into practice (Part 2)
If you've not read Part 1 on Chores and Kids, do that first. You can click on this link.
Now that you have a foundation of why you want your kids to do chores, you have to implement the how. This part is, by far, the most taxing on you as a parent because these first few weeks of your new system will require lots of teaching, correcting and side-by-side cleaning with your kids.
But I promise, I promise, if you put in the hard work in the beginning, it's worth it and your children are more likely to do their work correctly, efficiently and even, dare I say, joyfully. (Or at least with minimal complaining.)
Again, as I am teaching our children how to do their chores, we talk about why we do what we do. Why do we keep our room clean? Because if it's clean, you know where all the pieces are to your toys. And, it's a blessing to your Mom and Dad and we will enjoy your room with you. Your room is your place of refuge, the calm away from the chaos of the house. Keep it tidy and you will enjoy spending time there!
Same is true for the bathroom. No one enjoys using a dirty bathroom, one that has trash overflowing, clutter all around the sink, hair all over the floor and a disgusting toilet! And, if one day, you're sick and spending more time than usual in the bathroom, TRUST ME, you'll be glad it's been cleaned recently.
Always putting the why behind what we are doing seems to help our children grasp the purpose behind good work ethic, putting in your very best and being really efficient (after all, the faster you can do your job, the sooner it's over with usually, right?).
Whew, okay. So, first, let's talk logistics.
CHORE CHARTS. This has been a source of wailing and gnashing of teeth for Luke and I since the beginning. Some of our first chore charts were so complex that it required lots of work on the part of us, the parents, to keep up with who had done what, when they'd done it, etc. We'd ask the kids to do chores and if we hadn't putting up a clean chart, marked off the list the things they'd already completed, rotated them for today, blah, blah, blah, then basically chore time was an epic fail. Finally, I realized...
K.I.S.S.
Keep
It
Simple
Stupid
So, we simplified it as simply as we could. I scoured Pinterest to find an easy chore chart. One that didn't require me checking boxes or flipping cards or spinning wheels or erasing or standing on my head while playing the tin whistle or ANYTHING because really, this thing should be self sustaining mostly, with minimal work for you, the parent. I found this link to make my own magnetic charts and adapted it just a bit for our family. I skimmed her post on the actual chores themselves and basically just stole her idea for the charts themselves.
Here's what ours look like:
(I painted them that color before we moved into our new house. The kitchen paint just-so-happened to be the same color as our chore charts. I don't really love yellow that much.)
Once you are 3 years old in our house, you get your own chore chart. Before that, you just help with keeping toys picked up, throwing things in the trash (any 18-24 month olds dream) and basic odds and ends. I keep our charts hung in the kitchen area of our house because that's the most central room where I can see what has and has not been done for the day.
Those are just pizza tins I found at the Dollar General and spray painted them yellow because, well, that was the cheapest color they had. See, here's the back of one:
Now that you have a foundation of why you want your kids to do chores, you have to implement the how. This part is, by far, the most taxing on you as a parent because these first few weeks of your new system will require lots of teaching, correcting and side-by-side cleaning with your kids.
But I promise, I promise, if you put in the hard work in the beginning, it's worth it and your children are more likely to do their work correctly, efficiently and even, dare I say, joyfully. (Or at least with minimal complaining.)
Again, as I am teaching our children how to do their chores, we talk about why we do what we do. Why do we keep our room clean? Because if it's clean, you know where all the pieces are to your toys. And, it's a blessing to your Mom and Dad and we will enjoy your room with you. Your room is your place of refuge, the calm away from the chaos of the house. Keep it tidy and you will enjoy spending time there!
Same is true for the bathroom. No one enjoys using a dirty bathroom, one that has trash overflowing, clutter all around the sink, hair all over the floor and a disgusting toilet! And, if one day, you're sick and spending more time than usual in the bathroom, TRUST ME, you'll be glad it's been cleaned recently.
Always putting the why behind what we are doing seems to help our children grasp the purpose behind good work ethic, putting in your very best and being really efficient (after all, the faster you can do your job, the sooner it's over with usually, right?).
Whew, okay. So, first, let's talk logistics.
CHORE CHARTS. This has been a source of wailing and gnashing of teeth for Luke and I since the beginning. Some of our first chore charts were so complex that it required lots of work on the part of us, the parents, to keep up with who had done what, when they'd done it, etc. We'd ask the kids to do chores and if we hadn't putting up a clean chart, marked off the list the things they'd already completed, rotated them for today, blah, blah, blah, then basically chore time was an epic fail. Finally, I realized...
K.I.S.S.
Keep
It
Simple
Stupid
So, we simplified it as simply as we could. I scoured Pinterest to find an easy chore chart. One that didn't require me checking boxes or flipping cards or spinning wheels or erasing or standing on my head while playing the tin whistle or ANYTHING because really, this thing should be self sustaining mostly, with minimal work for you, the parent. I found this link to make my own magnetic charts and adapted it just a bit for our family. I skimmed her post on the actual chores themselves and basically just stole her idea for the charts themselves.
Here's what ours look like:
(I painted them that color before we moved into our new house. The kitchen paint just-so-happened to be the same color as our chore charts. I don't really love yellow that much.)
Once you are 3 years old in our house, you get your own chore chart. Before that, you just help with keeping toys picked up, throwing things in the trash (any 18-24 month olds dream) and basic odds and ends. I keep our charts hung in the kitchen area of our house because that's the most central room where I can see what has and has not been done for the day.
Those are just pizza tins I found at the Dollar General and spray painted them yellow because, well, that was the cheapest color they had. See, here's the back of one:
I gave the kids creative control of their wooden discs and we took advantage of some paint supplies we already had and they painted their discs to their heart's content. Then I glued their chores to the front with clear modge podge. I think it helped them take a little bit more ownership over their chore charts. Maybe not, but I like to tell myself that.
For the older 3 kids, their chores are written out on their charts in words.
Elizabeth and Lucas decided to swap a chore permanently, thus the odd ball looking disc on her chart. For the younger four kids, I used clip art to show them what their chores are.
Their names as well as "To Do" and "Done" are simply some scrapbooking stickers I had laying around and I covered them with a thin layer of modge podge so the letters wouldn't pop off. Last, I bought round magnets and hot glued them onto the backs of the wooden discs. (I tried the peel and stick magnets and the magnets kept coming off the discs. Just fyi.)
Every morning that we are home, sometimes while I'm cooking breakfast or sometimes immediately after breakfast (if we have cereal or something from the crockpot) is chore time. Pick a chore time that can be relatively consistent. Before school, as soon as they are home from school, just before bed, etc. I've found that if we do it around the same general time every day, they see it coming and the complaining is minimal. Now, all I have to do is announce it's chore time. They all go to their charts, slide their magnets back over to the "To Do" side and begin. It's glorious, most days.
Now for the harder part of making charts: deciding what chores you want your kids to do. (I did a quick search on Pinterest of "chores by age" and got a gazillion results so if you're at a loss, try that.)
Here's what our kids do, but of course, you can decide which chores work best for YOUR family. I read somewhere that it takes about 3-4 weeks for your kids to master a chore, I think that's true. I think it's also important to keep in mind that some kids will be naturally gifted in doing some things rather than others. I also read somewhere (or someone told me?) that they had one of their sons on laundry duty. After several months, he politely and quietly went to his mom and told her, "Mom, can I have another chore other than laundry? When I have to fold your underwear and my sister's underwear it embarrasses me. Can I switch chores with someone who isn't embarrassed by stuff like that?" I was super impressed. Not only because he was able to articulate that it wasn't a chore he enjoyed, but he could say WHY he didn't enjoy it and he understood that just because he might not have that chore, he would certainly have one to replace it. It gave me hope that my kids would be able to do the same and it showed me that I need to respect their feelings if something like that should arise with our kids.
Lucas was in charge of sweeping for a long time. And honestly, he sucked at it. He was just BAD no matter how many times I showed him. I don't think it was lack of effort, it just isn't something he's good at. So he and Elizabeth switched. Now, Lucas does dishes and Elizabeth sweeps the floors. I'm not quick to allow kids to swap out chores because I want them to master their job so they can do it quickly and effectively. But like I said in my last post, some families have rotating charts and it works for them.
We do our chores EVERY DAY, except Sundays (and usually, if we have a busy Saturday we ditch them then, too). Soon, the older 3 will probably get one additional item on their list as will Ella, Olivia and Aaron. After all, just like in the real world, the more responsible you prove yourself to be, the more you are responsible for doing.
Everyone does these chores:
Make their bed
Clean their room
Pick up Toys
The older 3 also have this one in common:
Put away clothes (Luke or I will fold and sort them by kid. The older 3 must put theirs away.)
Our 3 and 4 year olds only have 4 chores total. So in addition to the 3 listed above, our 3 year old, Ella, also feeds the dog and our 4 year old, Olivia, (who just turned 5) cleans off and wipes off the table.
Aaron, our other 5 year old, has 5 chores. The three listed above plus he cleans up the outside toys that have been left out and he also cleans up the living room (our hot spot for toys and clutter). He also puts his clothes away and I can't seem to remember to give him another disc for that.
Finally, the older 3 kids have 6 chores each. Lucas and Ashlee are 7 years old and Elizabeth is 9. Elizabeth does the above 4 chores plus she sweeps the floor (one zone per day) and starts a load of laundry (or folds a load if there is none to start). I divided our house into 3 zones for sweeping: the kitchen, the dining room/foyer/sitting room, and the school room/hallway outside their bedrooms. She rotates each sweeping zone every day.
Lucas has the above listed 4 chores and also does the dishes once per day (unloads and loads the dishwasher) and takes out all the trash - which also includes him hauling the trash to the curb on Monday nights since pick up day is Tuesday.
Ashlee has the above listed 4 chores plus she also cleans one bathroom every day (we have 2) and she vacuums every, single day.
The hard work comes in when you, Mom, have to teach your children how do do each of these things. If you simply tell them what to do and release them, then not only will you be dissatisfied with their work but they will be frustrated with their lack of knowing what your expectation is for them. Therefore, when I taught Ashlee how to clean the bathroom I walked her through every step. We alternate between using sanitizing wipes and a spray solution with paper towels. I showed her how I want the bathroom cleaned, step by tedious step. At first, it was just the basics like wiping off the countertops, mirror, toilet, putting away stray toothbrushes and rinsing out the sink. Now, we are about to move her into scrubbing the inside of the toilet.
I talked with Ashlee about making the bathroom counter a place free of clutter and that it's important to make it hospitable for when we have guests, because they use our bathroom too. A few weeks ago Ashlee did her chores and later I entered the bathroom to find it like this:
It made me laugh all day long. And I think that's the thing about watching your children do work. You should take joy in it and laugh along with them when they do funny things, cheer with them when they do a great job and when necessary, gently correct or redirect them when they don't do it just how you've shown them. Sometimes, we have to have retraining sessions and that's okay. Sometimes, Mommy completely loses her junk because her daughters' room is a black hole of death that looks like a wild pack of wolves have taken up residence. Later, Mommy has to apologize for being someone who is rude and belligerent and talk to them nicely about her expectations.
The first time I helped the older 2 girls clean their room to my standard it took FOUR HOURS. FOUR HOURS y'all. And we had just moved and I had already purged a ton of crap. Somehow, a liquified banana made it through the move. Ew.
Now, we do random checks of their chores. We don't tell them when we will come behind them and inspect their jobs. But once they are fully trained, we will.
The bottom line is, have grace with your kids. Teach them and expect high standards because I truly think, as adults, we don't give kids enough credit for what they are capable of doing. But also do your best to be merciful with them when they don't meet those high standards each and every time. Because one day, you'll walk into a room, it will look very unswept, you will realize it wasn't done, lose yourself on your child who SWEARS SHE SWEPT, you'll both be on the verge of tears, you'll retreat to your room for a breather and realize that your darling daughter DID sweep. She swept your bedroom. And made your bed. And turned down your sheets. And organized your nightstand. And left your nightstand light on so that your room looks oh-so-very inviting. And you'll feel about this big.
We tell our kids all the time that when they do their part around the house they are helping our home run smoothly, but when they go above and beyond they overwhelm us with blessings. They do a lot of the latter. Especially when I don't expect it.
Oh, one last thing! We DO NOT PAY our kids for their chores. The way we see it, Luke and I do things around our house because we live here and we love each other and our kids. They can do stuff around here because, you know, THEY LIVE HERE TOO and they love us and their siblings. So I guess I'll drag this out to a third post and tell you about how we plan to implement a new system called "Jobs for Hire" where we pay our kids for helping out around the house, above and beyond their actual chores. Because y'all, we've got some money hungry kids and, honestly, we want to teach our kids how to handle money. So, until next time....
***Edited to add***
I should include that there are other things that our kids do just because they live here. Like putting their dirty clothes in the hamper, taking their plate to the sink after meals, keeping their shoes in their shoe bins, you know, normal stuff that people do when they live with other people. Just so y'all know. That's why those are NOT included on the chore charts. In my opinion, those are part of just being a human who lives with other humans.
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Question for you: Do you already do chores? If so, what chores do your kids do at your house?
Questions for me? Ask!
Thursday, October 31, 2013
Chores and Kids: Setting a foundation (Part 1)
After I posted this video on Instagram I got several inquiries about our chore system. I figured this was the best place to post about what works for us with chores.
We've tried AT LEAST 5 or 6 different chore systems since our oldest kids were old enough to comprehend chores and offer some help around the house. Elizabeth is 9 and the twins are 7, so we've been at this chore thing for about 4-5 years. Just when I'd think we'd found the holy grail of chores, life would happen, Luke and I would forget to implement it and it would flop like a dead fish. My point is, we've failed, a lot.
But finally, FINALLY we have a system that works. For now.
I've decided to break this into two parts because I REALLY BELIEVE that this first part is a big reason why our system has worked so well and lasted. So, bear with me. Part 2 will follow soon. But, first, read this:
Here's where I think we messed up a lot in the beginning, you (and your spouse) need to decide WHY you want your kids to do chores. Aside from the fact that you desire a clean house and your children can provide free child labor, what are your hopes with a well executed chore system?
For us, these were the big ones:
* There's a lot of us. We make a lot of (big) messes. Luke and I were ragged from doing all the cooking/cleaning/housekeeping/laundry/parenting and our house was a perpetual wreck (like, not just toys strung amuck or dishes in the sink - DIRTY). We needed help. Plus, our kids live here too. The last thing we want is to raise entitled kids who think that everyone should serve them all of the time. Responsibility is learned by having things you are responsible for.
* We want our children to know and understand the value of hard work.
* We wanted to be able to take pride in our home. It may not be the most immaculately decorated house in the world, but a clean house is one to be proud of, in our opinion. When our chore chart doesn't flow smoothly, our home is habitually a wreck. Our family (even our kids) enjoy having company and friends over. When the house is messy we are all embarrassed by our home. It's not fun to have company over, often on short notice on our part, when your house is always messy.
* Luke and I can more readily enjoy our children, spend time doing things they enjoy and feel like our home is a place of refuge, not stress, when our home is tidy and everyone does their part. Luke comes home from work less stressed, I yell a lot less, we can do fun projects together or play football in the yard, or roast marshmallows, whatever, when the inside of the home has been cleaned that day.
* Luke and I set appropriate expectations for what our home should look like. After all, we have almost 8 children ages 9 years and younger. Our house shouldn't look like it belongs in a magazine. It should look like children live here! Messes are to be expected. When our children help clean up, it won't be perfect. But it will be better than it was before and we can gradually help them get better and faster at their chores which results in one step closer to "perfect" than before.
So what are your goals for chores?
When our children were really young, our main goal was to teach our children to help out, take responsibility, and see that even as a child they can do something to help their family and be proud of themselves when they accomplish a task. Now that some of ours are older, we expect more.
For example, when Ella's chore is to make her bed, we are perfectly fine with it looking like this:
We've shown Ella (3 years) how to make her bed and this is her very best effort. And her best effort is good enough for now.
But for Ashlee (7 years), when her chore says to make her bed, we expect much more. Her bed should look more like this:
When it doesn't, we remind her that she didn't do her best and ask her to try again. Our expectations and even our goals change as our children get older.
A few weeks ago our children were grumbling and complaining about doing their chores. Nearly every time I announced it was chore time, wailing and gnashing of teeth ensued. So, I had a quick family meeting off the cuff. I had already tried yelling, getting angry, making threats and none of those things worked (shocking, isn't it?). I realized I hadn't sat the kids down in a while and reminded them why we need them to do their chores.
I told them all very simply, "When you do your part around the house, our home runs more smoothly. When the laundry is put away, the floors are swept, the dishes are not piled high in the sink and your bedrooms are clean, it gives us more time to spend as a family. Daddy comes home and enjoys his house rather than having to start another job after he's worked all day.
When you don't help out, then it makes life more stressful for myself and your Dad. And right now, our lives are stressful enough. We can't do it all, so we need help. If you are not willing to cheerfully help us around the house then we will have to hire someone to help us. But Daddy only makes a certain amount of money. So, if we hire help, we would have to take that money from another area. The only area that money can come from right now is your extra activities. So, if you decide you cannot help cheerfully, then we will use the money from horse riding lessons, karate, ballet and gymnastics to hire someone to help clean our house. It's really your choice."
We've not had much grumbling and complaining since that day. And I didn't tell our kids that as a threat. I was totally serious. I explained it to the kids calmly and matter-of-factly because it's true. Luke and I cannot do it all and we do need help. (And if you think you can do it all, Momma, you're kidding yourself. And doing an injustice to your children.) They can choose to bless their family by helping and in return receive blessings or they can choose to not bless and reap the consequences from that choice. (One child did lose the privilege of their extra activity one week for having a T-total meltdown when asked to redo a chore that was only half-way done. Life lessons, friends. It was hard on Momma, too.)
Kids have the ability to understand much more than we give them credit for.
Second, we used to have a more complex system where people rotated chores each week. And maybe one day we will try that again. But for now, and with our children, we've found that giving each of our kids a set list of chores that stays the same each week makes it easier for them to accomplish their jobs more quickly and with more efficiency. After all, how you feel if each week you went to work and you had to learn your job all over again? What if your job changed each week, yet your boss expected proficiency upon demand? That seemed stressful to me, especially for our children at the ages they are. Yet, I do know families who have a rotating chore chart and it works beautifully. For them. Not so much for us. Plus, when our kids do a chore week in and week out they get good at it. Ashlee can clean a bathroom in 5 minutes flat. As it gets easier for her, I add one tiny thing to make the bathroom sparkle just a little bit more. It's not so overwhelming for her and in turn, the bathroom is one step closer to the kind of clean I really desire. Win-win!
Finally, (for this post) choose age appropriate chores for your children. I'll go into this in further detail in the next post, but this was key for us. It's a balancing act to figure out when a child's chore is too easy or too hard. For a long, long time Elizabeth's chore (she's 9 years) was feeding the dog. She enjoyed it so it stayed her chore for much longer than it probably should have. But finally, she passed that chore off to Ella and, GET THIS, she was the one who got to show Ella how to correctly feed the dog! Elizabeth enjoyed the time of teaching and Ella enjoyed the thrill of being in charge of something a "big kid" used to do. Ella aspires to do it well because it was a big kid job and Elizabeth is proud be a teacher.
It boils down to setting a foundation for your family, a tone, of what the purpose of chores are in your home. We want our kids to feel empowered by accomplishing a job all on their own and doing it well! We want them to see that they are able to bless us just by doing simple things. We want them to know that when we all work together, we can accomplish big goals (like having the house clean in under an hour)!
What are your goals for your family with your children doing chores? I'd love to hear your reasons and ideas!
We've tried AT LEAST 5 or 6 different chore systems since our oldest kids were old enough to comprehend chores and offer some help around the house. Elizabeth is 9 and the twins are 7, so we've been at this chore thing for about 4-5 years. Just when I'd think we'd found the holy grail of chores, life would happen, Luke and I would forget to implement it and it would flop like a dead fish. My point is, we've failed, a lot.
But finally, FINALLY we have a system that works. For now.
I've decided to break this into two parts because I REALLY BELIEVE that this first part is a big reason why our system has worked so well and lasted. So, bear with me. Part 2 will follow soon. But, first, read this:
Here's where I think we messed up a lot in the beginning, you (and your spouse) need to decide WHY you want your kids to do chores. Aside from the fact that you desire a clean house and your children can provide free child labor, what are your hopes with a well executed chore system?
For us, these were the big ones:
* There's a lot of us. We make a lot of (big) messes. Luke and I were ragged from doing all the cooking/cleaning/housekeeping/laundry/parenting and our house was a perpetual wreck (like, not just toys strung amuck or dishes in the sink - DIRTY). We needed help. Plus, our kids live here too. The last thing we want is to raise entitled kids who think that everyone should serve them all of the time. Responsibility is learned by having things you are responsible for.
* We want our children to know and understand the value of hard work.
* We wanted to be able to take pride in our home. It may not be the most immaculately decorated house in the world, but a clean house is one to be proud of, in our opinion. When our chore chart doesn't flow smoothly, our home is habitually a wreck. Our family (even our kids) enjoy having company and friends over. When the house is messy we are all embarrassed by our home. It's not fun to have company over, often on short notice on our part, when your house is always messy.
* Luke and I can more readily enjoy our children, spend time doing things they enjoy and feel like our home is a place of refuge, not stress, when our home is tidy and everyone does their part. Luke comes home from work less stressed, I yell a lot less, we can do fun projects together or play football in the yard, or roast marshmallows, whatever, when the inside of the home has been cleaned that day.
* Luke and I set appropriate expectations for what our home should look like. After all, we have almost 8 children ages 9 years and younger. Our house shouldn't look like it belongs in a magazine. It should look like children live here! Messes are to be expected. When our children help clean up, it won't be perfect. But it will be better than it was before and we can gradually help them get better and faster at their chores which results in one step closer to "perfect" than before.
So what are your goals for chores?
When our children were really young, our main goal was to teach our children to help out, take responsibility, and see that even as a child they can do something to help their family and be proud of themselves when they accomplish a task. Now that some of ours are older, we expect more.
For example, when Ella's chore is to make her bed, we are perfectly fine with it looking like this:
We've shown Ella (3 years) how to make her bed and this is her very best effort. And her best effort is good enough for now.
But for Ashlee (7 years), when her chore says to make her bed, we expect much more. Her bed should look more like this:
When it doesn't, we remind her that she didn't do her best and ask her to try again. Our expectations and even our goals change as our children get older.
A few weeks ago our children were grumbling and complaining about doing their chores. Nearly every time I announced it was chore time, wailing and gnashing of teeth ensued. So, I had a quick family meeting off the cuff. I had already tried yelling, getting angry, making threats and none of those things worked (shocking, isn't it?). I realized I hadn't sat the kids down in a while and reminded them why we need them to do their chores.
I told them all very simply, "When you do your part around the house, our home runs more smoothly. When the laundry is put away, the floors are swept, the dishes are not piled high in the sink and your bedrooms are clean, it gives us more time to spend as a family. Daddy comes home and enjoys his house rather than having to start another job after he's worked all day.
When you don't help out, then it makes life more stressful for myself and your Dad. And right now, our lives are stressful enough. We can't do it all, so we need help. If you are not willing to cheerfully help us around the house then we will have to hire someone to help us. But Daddy only makes a certain amount of money. So, if we hire help, we would have to take that money from another area. The only area that money can come from right now is your extra activities. So, if you decide you cannot help cheerfully, then we will use the money from horse riding lessons, karate, ballet and gymnastics to hire someone to help clean our house. It's really your choice."
We've not had much grumbling and complaining since that day. And I didn't tell our kids that as a threat. I was totally serious. I explained it to the kids calmly and matter-of-factly because it's true. Luke and I cannot do it all and we do need help. (And if you think you can do it all, Momma, you're kidding yourself. And doing an injustice to your children.) They can choose to bless their family by helping and in return receive blessings or they can choose to not bless and reap the consequences from that choice. (One child did lose the privilege of their extra activity one week for having a T-total meltdown when asked to redo a chore that was only half-way done. Life lessons, friends. It was hard on Momma, too.)
Kids have the ability to understand much more than we give them credit for.
Second, we used to have a more complex system where people rotated chores each week. And maybe one day we will try that again. But for now, and with our children, we've found that giving each of our kids a set list of chores that stays the same each week makes it easier for them to accomplish their jobs more quickly and with more efficiency. After all, how you feel if each week you went to work and you had to learn your job all over again? What if your job changed each week, yet your boss expected proficiency upon demand? That seemed stressful to me, especially for our children at the ages they are. Yet, I do know families who have a rotating chore chart and it works beautifully. For them. Not so much for us. Plus, when our kids do a chore week in and week out they get good at it. Ashlee can clean a bathroom in 5 minutes flat. As it gets easier for her, I add one tiny thing to make the bathroom sparkle just a little bit more. It's not so overwhelming for her and in turn, the bathroom is one step closer to the kind of clean I really desire. Win-win!
Finally, (for this post) choose age appropriate chores for your children. I'll go into this in further detail in the next post, but this was key for us. It's a balancing act to figure out when a child's chore is too easy or too hard. For a long, long time Elizabeth's chore (she's 9 years) was feeding the dog. She enjoyed it so it stayed her chore for much longer than it probably should have. But finally, she passed that chore off to Ella and, GET THIS, she was the one who got to show Ella how to correctly feed the dog! Elizabeth enjoyed the time of teaching and Ella enjoyed the thrill of being in charge of something a "big kid" used to do. Ella aspires to do it well because it was a big kid job and Elizabeth is proud be a teacher.
It boils down to setting a foundation for your family, a tone, of what the purpose of chores are in your home. We want our kids to feel empowered by accomplishing a job all on their own and doing it well! We want them to see that they are able to bless us just by doing simple things. We want them to know that when we all work together, we can accomplish big goals (like having the house clean in under an hour)!
What are your goals for your family with your children doing chores? I'd love to hear your reasons and ideas!
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
Very Slowly
Pictures are slowly being hung on the walls. The kids' rooms are starting to feel like their own, including art and photos on the walls and toys organized and put in a place.
We've acquired some new-to-us furniture, decorated some rooms, gotten some new, funky lamps. We turned the dining room of this house into a sitting room, and the upstairs living room became our dining room (seating for 12+ isn't possible in most traditional sized dining rooms).
Just last night we moved in a new chair, accent cabinet and lamp into our sitting room. After my Mom and Grandma left, and the kids were in bed, Luke and I sat in the dim light of our new lamp in our gussied up sitting room. He rubbed my feet, we talked about the day, I asked him for the 10th time if he liked the new things I'd picked out.
"Yes. I do. It's nice to have new things. And I've always wanted a sitting room."
And it's true. We've been in a season of minimal living, purging, ridding our lives of tangible objects for so long now that carrying new things into our house feels, well, weird.
And refreshing.
We climbed into bed, I breathed deeply and pulled the covers up. "This house. Slowly we are making it more like our own, huh? It's slowly starting to feel like ours, isn't it?" I said.
"Yep," Luke replied. "Slowly. Very slowly."
We've acquired some new-to-us furniture, decorated some rooms, gotten some new, funky lamps. We turned the dining room of this house into a sitting room, and the upstairs living room became our dining room (seating for 12+ isn't possible in most traditional sized dining rooms).
Just last night we moved in a new chair, accent cabinet and lamp into our sitting room. After my Mom and Grandma left, and the kids were in bed, Luke and I sat in the dim light of our new lamp in our gussied up sitting room. He rubbed my feet, we talked about the day, I asked him for the 10th time if he liked the new things I'd picked out.
"Yes. I do. It's nice to have new things. And I've always wanted a sitting room."
And it's true. We've been in a season of minimal living, purging, ridding our lives of tangible objects for so long now that carrying new things into our house feels, well, weird.
And refreshing.
We climbed into bed, I breathed deeply and pulled the covers up. "This house. Slowly we are making it more like our own, huh? It's slowly starting to feel like ours, isn't it?" I said.
"Yep," Luke replied. "Slowly. Very slowly."
Saturday, July 20, 2013
I manage
I never thought I'd see the day that I'd go nearly 2 months without blogging. I just knew I wouldn't be one of those bloggers who just doesn't update their blog and it drifts off into cyber space forever.
I have a lot to say. I have tons to post. Birthdays have been celebrated, kids are growing like summer weeds, I've started a small photography business and it's a nice, deliberate distraction from the every day.
But honestly, when I sit to write, none of that pours from me. I lay in bed at night and think about the abundance of blog worthy material and somehow, I never make it to the computer in time to document any of it. I've had moments of clarity where I thought I'd figured out really trusting the Lord. Then moments of such anger and frustration that I've vowed to share them because surely, someone else has felt the same.
In general, life is okay. Somedays, it's even good. I've had more days of energy and patience than days feeling like I'll puke at any moment and being done with my children by 8:15am. I get the joy of feeling sweet baby flutters deep within me that remind me daily that God's grace abounds even when mine is all dried up. We've moved into our new house and we are settled, even though boxes still line the halls and pile in corners of every room.
People keep saying, "Does it feel like home?" or, "Oh! It's just perfect. It feels so homey."
I'm glad they feel that way. I want our home to be warm and inviting, a place people feel comfortable.
I just wish I felt the same way.
For the last 3.5 years we've been in a rental house that we knew, from the day we moved in, would be temporary. We didn't know where we'd be going or how long we'd be staying. But we knew God led us to that season of our lives for a purpose, to prepare us and lead us to wherever He wanted us to be. We were ready. We were eager. While we waited on directions, and began stepping out in faith, we welcomed two more daughters to our family, still set on going somewhere.
And then, July 24th happened.
And now, I sit here unpacking boxes that have been sitting packed, in our attic, for nearly 4 years. Boxes that I never intended to unpack anytime soon. Photos that bring me joy and sorrow all in the same breath.
Chubby photos of my Lucas when he was just a roly-poly little baby and Ashlee with her huge eyes and kissable lips. Photos of Elizabeth with baby front teeth and chubby, little fingers. Prints of Aaron's huge, blue eyes and Olivia's round, bald head. I take them out, look at them, smile at the nostalgia.
Then I box them right back up.
I don't really know how to explain it. I want them out. I want to see them. I want our house to be our home. I want our kids to see photos of themselves as babies and toddlers and take pride in knowing that we have treasured them their entire life.
But I just can't. Not yet. I've asked a few people to come and help me hang photos and things on the walls. But plans fall through, or kids get in bed too late and I don't push the issue because I know that when the time comes, I'm probably going to fall apart. And how do you explain that to people?
"Well, you see, I'm sobbing because I thought our life plan was to be in Africa right about now. We weren't going to be unpacking photos of our babies, instead, we'd be taping a few treasured photos onto our fridge and calling it a day."
This isn't the life I had us pictured living. And it's hard to convey that to people when, from all outside appearances, it looks like we've moved on with our life. And while we have moved, I haven't necessarily moved on. Does that make sense?
Our pastor, his daughter and a team went to Uganda earlier this month. Honestly, I've not kept up with anything to do with missions because, well, I can't. But I was actually excited for them and for this young girl to set her feet on African soil for the second time in her young life.
But then, the Sunday after they returned, they showed a video summarizing their trip. Their 2 week experience in Uganda was nothing like what our day-to-day life would have been like in Kenya. NOTHING. And yet, Luke nor I could keep it together. We both just sat and sobbed silently in our seats. Both of us shedding tears faster than we could wipe them. I resisted the urge to flee the service, hide and weep openly. I didn't want to be that girl.
I'm not pretending to know the depth and breadth of the pain that a woman who is infertile, yet longs for children, endures. I have no doubt that is a pain unlike any other pain. Yet, when missions and Africa and blog links to awesome ministry blogs are sent to me, I recoil in pain. I recoil and fight the urge to run and hide. I fight the urge to look at them in disbelief and whisper through the pain, "This is more than I can take."
I miss a land, a people, a village, a house I never knew. We never visited Kenya. We never even knew the names of all of our team members. But the grief of losing what we never had must be some sort of a hint of what barren women long for, and grieve themselves.
I want Africa. And yet, it seems not oceans away, but galaxies. An impossibility to access. Something I will live the rest of my days longing for but never attain.
And yet, I know that now is not the time for us to go. I know that because of so many factors and reasons and the state of my own heart. So while things appear okay on the surface, while I go through the motions, try to love my children and my husband with everything I have left in me, I manage.
I manage to make it feel like normal life. I manage to not allow myself to dwell on the fact that I'm angry, I'm hurt and I'm not settled. I manage to make our children's rooms feel like home. I step back, regroup and move on with the next thing. Because most days, that's about all I can manage.
I have a lot to say. I have tons to post. Birthdays have been celebrated, kids are growing like summer weeds, I've started a small photography business and it's a nice, deliberate distraction from the every day.
But honestly, when I sit to write, none of that pours from me. I lay in bed at night and think about the abundance of blog worthy material and somehow, I never make it to the computer in time to document any of it. I've had moments of clarity where I thought I'd figured out really trusting the Lord. Then moments of such anger and frustration that I've vowed to share them because surely, someone else has felt the same.
In general, life is okay. Somedays, it's even good. I've had more days of energy and patience than days feeling like I'll puke at any moment and being done with my children by 8:15am. I get the joy of feeling sweet baby flutters deep within me that remind me daily that God's grace abounds even when mine is all dried up. We've moved into our new house and we are settled, even though boxes still line the halls and pile in corners of every room.
People keep saying, "Does it feel like home?" or, "Oh! It's just perfect. It feels so homey."
I'm glad they feel that way. I want our home to be warm and inviting, a place people feel comfortable.
I just wish I felt the same way.
For the last 3.5 years we've been in a rental house that we knew, from the day we moved in, would be temporary. We didn't know where we'd be going or how long we'd be staying. But we knew God led us to that season of our lives for a purpose, to prepare us and lead us to wherever He wanted us to be. We were ready. We were eager. While we waited on directions, and began stepping out in faith, we welcomed two more daughters to our family, still set on going somewhere.
And then, July 24th happened.
And now, I sit here unpacking boxes that have been sitting packed, in our attic, for nearly 4 years. Boxes that I never intended to unpack anytime soon. Photos that bring me joy and sorrow all in the same breath.
Chubby photos of my Lucas when he was just a roly-poly little baby and Ashlee with her huge eyes and kissable lips. Photos of Elizabeth with baby front teeth and chubby, little fingers. Prints of Aaron's huge, blue eyes and Olivia's round, bald head. I take them out, look at them, smile at the nostalgia.
Then I box them right back up.
I don't really know how to explain it. I want them out. I want to see them. I want our house to be our home. I want our kids to see photos of themselves as babies and toddlers and take pride in knowing that we have treasured them their entire life.
But I just can't. Not yet. I've asked a few people to come and help me hang photos and things on the walls. But plans fall through, or kids get in bed too late and I don't push the issue because I know that when the time comes, I'm probably going to fall apart. And how do you explain that to people?
"Well, you see, I'm sobbing because I thought our life plan was to be in Africa right about now. We weren't going to be unpacking photos of our babies, instead, we'd be taping a few treasured photos onto our fridge and calling it a day."
This isn't the life I had us pictured living. And it's hard to convey that to people when, from all outside appearances, it looks like we've moved on with our life. And while we have moved, I haven't necessarily moved on. Does that make sense?
Our pastor, his daughter and a team went to Uganda earlier this month. Honestly, I've not kept up with anything to do with missions because, well, I can't. But I was actually excited for them and for this young girl to set her feet on African soil for the second time in her young life.
But then, the Sunday after they returned, they showed a video summarizing their trip. Their 2 week experience in Uganda was nothing like what our day-to-day life would have been like in Kenya. NOTHING. And yet, Luke nor I could keep it together. We both just sat and sobbed silently in our seats. Both of us shedding tears faster than we could wipe them. I resisted the urge to flee the service, hide and weep openly. I didn't want to be that girl.
I'm not pretending to know the depth and breadth of the pain that a woman who is infertile, yet longs for children, endures. I have no doubt that is a pain unlike any other pain. Yet, when missions and Africa and blog links to awesome ministry blogs are sent to me, I recoil in pain. I recoil and fight the urge to run and hide. I fight the urge to look at them in disbelief and whisper through the pain, "This is more than I can take."
I miss a land, a people, a village, a house I never knew. We never visited Kenya. We never even knew the names of all of our team members. But the grief of losing what we never had must be some sort of a hint of what barren women long for, and grieve themselves.
I want Africa. And yet, it seems not oceans away, but galaxies. An impossibility to access. Something I will live the rest of my days longing for but never attain.
And yet, I know that now is not the time for us to go. I know that because of so many factors and reasons and the state of my own heart. So while things appear okay on the surface, while I go through the motions, try to love my children and my husband with everything I have left in me, I manage.
I manage to make it feel like normal life. I manage to not allow myself to dwell on the fact that I'm angry, I'm hurt and I'm not settled. I manage to make our children's rooms feel like home. I step back, regroup and move on with the next thing. Because most days, that's about all I can manage.
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
It's been 10 months since your funeral. 10 months and 6 days since we texted late into the night and made plans for you to come over for dinner the next day. So much has changed in the last 10 months and I've fought most of those changes on the battlefield of my heart.
We aren't in Africa. That's grief we still deal with every day, too. The Daraja choir came last week and I hid my face behind Ella's head when they showed the video of the children's village in Uganda, as tears slipped down my cheeks. I ache to be there. I know you'd understand that.
We are moving. Not anywhere far, just across the train tracks to the other side of main street. It's a bigger house with 5 bedrooms. It reminds me a lot of our old house. I can almost see us sitting in our new basement, your stinky shoes on the floor, a huge bag of peanut M&Ms between us while we discuss your Junior year of college. I miss those days more than anyone could know.
I'm pregnant. Baby #8 is due on December 28th. That's our 11th anniversary and your Mom's birthday. Which means, you'd have finally been home from school for the birth of one of our kids! You'd have loved that since you'd missed the last 2. I know you'd want to be at the hospital right away but then you'd turn red and feel awkward as you thought about what I'd just done with my body. Birth always half intrigued, half grossed you out. I'm sad that this will be our first baby to have never met you.
Lucas and Ashlee turn 7 tomorrow. Then, a week later, Aaron will be 5. Those are the last, first birthdays without you here. We are doing a double sleep over again. This year you won't be here to help me do pedicures with a house full of squealing, indecisive little girls. I'm waiting on Lucas to realize it's his first birthday without you. He still cries often because he misses you. I know that would break your heart.
I signed our older 3 up for Summer with the Arts last night. Bile rose in the back of my throat and dread immediately consumed me. They all want to go again this year. And I want them to go. But I'm already dreading the end of July so much, I can't imagine how hard that week will be for all of us. I don't know how they'll do without you bouncing into each room to check on them.
A few weeks ago I saw a dark headed girl with a backpack on going into the old college trailer at church. In truth, she probably didn't look a whole lot like you, except the brown hair and backpack. But it rattled me.
Abigail is nearly walking and she's realized she's funny. You always enjoyed our kids so much at this age. I can picture you walking in, stepping on the squeaky part of the floor in our kitchen, offering to shake my hand (like I ever let you not hug me), scooping her up and making her giggle. She's such a fun baby.
Grace and I are getting really good at Olivia's hair. Like, I'm getting compliments from strangers, good. It makes me proud. By now, you and Olivia would have made up a dance about shaking her beans. And she'd sing it obnoxiously for days after you'd come over. It would annoy me. Now, I'd do just about anything for that.
We miss you so much. Some days, your absence hits us all over again, almost like it's fresh. Other days, we think about the funny things you've said or done and we laugh, then we all get quiet and wish like hell you were still here.
I love you. I miss you. I wish you were here.
We aren't in Africa. That's grief we still deal with every day, too. The Daraja choir came last week and I hid my face behind Ella's head when they showed the video of the children's village in Uganda, as tears slipped down my cheeks. I ache to be there. I know you'd understand that.
We are moving. Not anywhere far, just across the train tracks to the other side of main street. It's a bigger house with 5 bedrooms. It reminds me a lot of our old house. I can almost see us sitting in our new basement, your stinky shoes on the floor, a huge bag of peanut M&Ms between us while we discuss your Junior year of college. I miss those days more than anyone could know.
I'm pregnant. Baby #8 is due on December 28th. That's our 11th anniversary and your Mom's birthday. Which means, you'd have finally been home from school for the birth of one of our kids! You'd have loved that since you'd missed the last 2. I know you'd want to be at the hospital right away but then you'd turn red and feel awkward as you thought about what I'd just done with my body. Birth always half intrigued, half grossed you out. I'm sad that this will be our first baby to have never met you.
Lucas and Ashlee turn 7 tomorrow. Then, a week later, Aaron will be 5. Those are the last, first birthdays without you here. We are doing a double sleep over again. This year you won't be here to help me do pedicures with a house full of squealing, indecisive little girls. I'm waiting on Lucas to realize it's his first birthday without you. He still cries often because he misses you. I know that would break your heart.
I signed our older 3 up for Summer with the Arts last night. Bile rose in the back of my throat and dread immediately consumed me. They all want to go again this year. And I want them to go. But I'm already dreading the end of July so much, I can't imagine how hard that week will be for all of us. I don't know how they'll do without you bouncing into each room to check on them.
A few weeks ago I saw a dark headed girl with a backpack on going into the old college trailer at church. In truth, she probably didn't look a whole lot like you, except the brown hair and backpack. But it rattled me.
Abigail is nearly walking and she's realized she's funny. You always enjoyed our kids so much at this age. I can picture you walking in, stepping on the squeaky part of the floor in our kitchen, offering to shake my hand (like I ever let you not hug me), scooping her up and making her giggle. She's such a fun baby.
Grace and I are getting really good at Olivia's hair. Like, I'm getting compliments from strangers, good. It makes me proud. By now, you and Olivia would have made up a dance about shaking her beans. And she'd sing it obnoxiously for days after you'd come over. It would annoy me. Now, I'd do just about anything for that.
We miss you so much. Some days, your absence hits us all over again, almost like it's fresh. Other days, we think about the funny things you've said or done and we laugh, then we all get quiet and wish like hell you were still here.
I love you. I miss you. I wish you were here.
Monday, May 20, 2013
Coming this winter....
The countdown to Christmas has begun in our house! Baby #8 due this holiday season! Oh the JOY!
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
Ella is THREE!
Somehow it happened.
This baby girl grew into a big, beautiful three year old.
And girl, is she a mess. Independent, determined, full of know-how (or so she thinks), nothing stands in her way if she's decided to do something. And as much as that drives me crazy, on some level, I totally understand. After all, she's the 6th of 7 kids ages 8 years and younger, she needs some fight in her!
Luke and Grace both say I let her get away with may more than anyone else has. It's true. Not because she's my favorite. Or even because because of her incredibly cute self (okay, maybe that is true just a bit). But I think I've learned some things over the years of motherhood. Yes, it's important to win the big battles with your kids. It's important for them to know who is in charge. But you know what? I don't have to prove that with EVERY battle. And with my determined little girl, I'd be fighting A LOT of battles if I did.
She's lively. Hilarious. Energetic. Full of personality. Affectionate. Head strong.
And now. She's THREE. That's so hard for me to wrap my head around. I think somewhere in my mind I have frozen her at about the same age as Abigail. That'll be healthy when she has her own kids, I'm sure. (That's a joke. Laugh people.)
The girl loves animals. So for her birthday we went to an animal park where you can drive through and feed animals. She was beside herself with joy.
But don't be fooled by those stunning blue eyes and gorgeous blond locks of hair. This girl was born to live in the country (despite the fact that we live well within city limits). On Sunday, God provided a miracle and we had all the children up and dressed well before it was time to load up for church. So we sent them outside for a few minutes. Ella is notorious for peeing in the yard. I saw her squatting from the window and I flew outside to tell her sternly that we DO NOT PEE IN THE YARD! (Especially since our yard is visible from a pretty major roadway through town - particularly driven by many members of our church on Sunday morning - Ahem).
With equal determination she said right back to me, "I DID NOT PEE! I pooped!"
Yes. In the yard. And she executed well, I might add. Not a trace of evidence of her, um, performance was on her or her clothes.
Crazy determined and Olivia's "bes fran." She's one of a kind. A total comedian and always in the mix of whatever is going on (which was exactly what she wanted to do when she was just a baby too).
At three years old, Ella loves her morning sippy of coffee juice, to watch Go Diego Go! or Dora the Explorer. Recently, she's be on a Team Umizoomi kick, too.
She loves to dress up, ride her stick horse "Pepper" and she can swing like a crazy lady. She loves sweets and just this morning I had to stop her from squeezing (another) helping of chocolate syrup into her gaped open mouth.
She can sort of spell her name outloud "E-L-A. Ella!" and she can count to ten with ease. She and Olivia share a room and Ella sleeps on the bottom bunk. Well, sometimes. Okay, really they switch about every night.
She LOVES shoes and just recently retired a pair of "flashlights boots" (the ones that light up on the toes when she walks) for a brand new pair of PINK cowgirl boots that MeMe and PawPaw got her for her birthday. She adores pink and every.single.meal she wants a pink cup, pink fork, pink plate. OR ELSE.
I have no doubt that God will use this daughter of ours to teach us a thing or thousand about patience, grace, mercy and perseverance. In fact, he already has.
Happy Belated Birthday my sweet Ella Joy! I love you so very much.
Click here to read about Ella's birth
To see Ella's first birthday
To see Ella's second birthday
This baby girl grew into a big, beautiful three year old.
And girl, is she a mess. Independent, determined, full of know-how (or so she thinks), nothing stands in her way if she's decided to do something. And as much as that drives me crazy, on some level, I totally understand. After all, she's the 6th of 7 kids ages 8 years and younger, she needs some fight in her!
Luke and Grace both say I let her get away with may more than anyone else has. It's true. Not because she's my favorite. Or even because because of her incredibly cute self (okay, maybe that is true just a bit). But I think I've learned some things over the years of motherhood. Yes, it's important to win the big battles with your kids. It's important for them to know who is in charge. But you know what? I don't have to prove that with EVERY battle. And with my determined little girl, I'd be fighting A LOT of battles if I did.
She's lively. Hilarious. Energetic. Full of personality. Affectionate. Head strong.
And now. She's THREE. That's so hard for me to wrap my head around. I think somewhere in my mind I have frozen her at about the same age as Abigail. That'll be healthy when she has her own kids, I'm sure. (That's a joke. Laugh people.)
The girl loves animals. So for her birthday we went to an animal park where you can drive through and feed animals. She was beside herself with joy.
But don't be fooled by those stunning blue eyes and gorgeous blond locks of hair. This girl was born to live in the country (despite the fact that we live well within city limits). On Sunday, God provided a miracle and we had all the children up and dressed well before it was time to load up for church. So we sent them outside for a few minutes. Ella is notorious for peeing in the yard. I saw her squatting from the window and I flew outside to tell her sternly that we DO NOT PEE IN THE YARD! (Especially since our yard is visible from a pretty major roadway through town - particularly driven by many members of our church on Sunday morning - Ahem).
With equal determination she said right back to me, "I DID NOT PEE! I pooped!"
Yes. In the yard. And she executed well, I might add. Not a trace of evidence of her, um, performance was on her or her clothes.
Crazy determined and Olivia's "bes fran." She's one of a kind. A total comedian and always in the mix of whatever is going on (which was exactly what she wanted to do when she was just a baby too).
At three years old, Ella loves her morning sippy of coffee juice, to watch Go Diego Go! or Dora the Explorer. Recently, she's be on a Team Umizoomi kick, too.
She loves to dress up, ride her stick horse "Pepper" and she can swing like a crazy lady. She loves sweets and just this morning I had to stop her from squeezing (another) helping of chocolate syrup into her gaped open mouth.
She can sort of spell her name outloud "E-L-A. Ella!" and she can count to ten with ease. She and Olivia share a room and Ella sleeps on the bottom bunk. Well, sometimes. Okay, really they switch about every night.
She LOVES shoes and just recently retired a pair of "flashlights boots" (the ones that light up on the toes when she walks) for a brand new pair of PINK cowgirl boots that MeMe and PawPaw got her for her birthday. She adores pink and every.single.meal she wants a pink cup, pink fork, pink plate. OR ELSE.
I have no doubt that God will use this daughter of ours to teach us a thing or thousand about patience, grace, mercy and perseverance. In fact, he already has.
Happy Belated Birthday my sweet Ella Joy! I love you so very much.
Click here to read about Ella's birth
To see Ella's first birthday
To see Ella's second birthday
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
Supermom I am not
Her feet slam against the side of her crib (yes, at almost 3 years old she's still in a crib) and she cries out. I roll over and look at the clock.
2:43am. Awesome.
I shake Luke awake and ask him to go upstairs to calm Ella down.
2 minutes later he is back in bed, his breaths deep. He's back into a REM cycle.
How does he do that?
The slamming begins again so I roll out of bed and trudge to the kitchen, pour a sippy of milk, shuffle through a drawer to find a stopper for the lid and pull myself upstairs.
"Here Ella," I say as I rub wild curls off of her face and forehead, "here's some milk baby." She takes it and settles back in. I cover her up and fumble my way back to bed, reminding myself that I really should clear a path down the hallway for when people wake up at night.
An hour later, Lucas climbs into bed with us. At some point I get an elbow to the face. He gets angry when I ask him to go back to his own bed. But I manage to steal a kiss before he slips back into the darkness outside our bedroom door.
Luke and I raise our voices at each other and a kid because neither of us want to deal with a night time bed wetter and finding all new bedding.
Abigail clings to my ankles as I desperately try to make dinner. It's already 6:00pm and I'm just now getting started. It's a new recipe and that always makes me nervous. What if it flops? Then I've not only wasted food but we have nothing for dinner.
She cries out and I lift her to my hip. "Ashlee! Please come take your baby sister for a few minutes so I can put dinner in the oven!"
"Mooooom!" She yells, "I'm busy!"
"What do you think I'm doing??!! Would you like to eat tonight??!!"
She stomps into the kitchen, grins at Abigail and laughs as I pass her over.
Aaron cries because I ask him to take a bath. He ends up in bed early for the 3rd night in a row because of incessant crying.
Olivia keeps stealing toys from the other kids and then lying about it. The lying infuriates me and I snap at her.
Elizabeth is as dramatic as a 17 year old girl suffering from PMS. I roll my eyes at her and she sees me and runs off to cry in her bedroom.
I fail. Daily I fail. I wonder if I'm ruining these little people when I raise my voice, use too much sarcasm or lock the kids outside because it's the first nice day in weeks and I just need the house to be quiet for FIVE MINUTES.
I hear it often, "Oh! You are SUPERmom!"
"I could never handle that many kids! You must have the patience of Job!" (By the way, Job wasn't particularly patient. Read the book, people.)
I look at people when they say that. I'm bewildered. Because here are two truths that I know to be certain without a shadow of a doubt.
1) MOTHERHOOD IS HARD. It's hard if you have one child. It's hard if you have 10 kids. It's hard if you work outside the home. It's hard if you stay-at-home. It's hard if you homeschool. It's hard if your kids are schooled outside your home.
It's hard. And I'm going to say this as plainly as I know how.
My journey is motherhood isn't any more difficult that any other mother.
Yes, I may have more kids. Yes, they may all be younger. Yes, I'm crazy enough to homeschool. Yes, it may appear that way. But girlfriend, when you call me SuperMom you are downplaying the hardships in your own life so much. And that breaks my heart.
Do people who have fewer children get more time to themselves? Maybe. But not necessarily. Do they have more money to go on vacations and spend money on themselves? Maybe. But not necessarily.
Girls, MOTHERHOOD IS HARD. End of story.
2) And this is a soapbox issue for me.
These little people drive me crazy. They make me cuss under my breath, wonder if I've lost my mind and question if we'll add anymore. But more than any of that, I know this to be true.
Children are a blessing. Such a sweet, irreplaceable blessing. We've never had a child come into our home and thought, "Well, crap. That was a mistake."
These people are gifts. Messy, loud, selfish, totally depraved, unconditionally loving, forever forgiving, smelly, cuddly BLESSINGS.
Yes, they are a lot of work. But they are the best kind of work. They're the kind of work that women pray for every day of their lives because their arms ache. They're the kind of work worth investing in. And I think that if our society recognized this more readily, then SUPERmom wouldn't show up on my radar. Instead, BLESSEDmom would likely be my nickname.
I'm majorly flawed. I'm no where close to being a SUPERmom. I make mistakes every, single day. And then I try so hard to press into His grace, extend more love than harshness. I load up my 15 passenger van, count heads, crank up the radio above the noise and press on. Because that's what Moms do. Regular moms.
And really, that's all I am. A regular mom with a larger than average family, pressing on through the daily grind. Wondering if I've lost my mind and trying to count each blessing along the way. SUPERmom, I am not. BLESSEDmom I am certain.
2:43am. Awesome.
I shake Luke awake and ask him to go upstairs to calm Ella down.
2 minutes later he is back in bed, his breaths deep. He's back into a REM cycle.
How does he do that?
The slamming begins again so I roll out of bed and trudge to the kitchen, pour a sippy of milk, shuffle through a drawer to find a stopper for the lid and pull myself upstairs.
"Here Ella," I say as I rub wild curls off of her face and forehead, "here's some milk baby." She takes it and settles back in. I cover her up and fumble my way back to bed, reminding myself that I really should clear a path down the hallway for when people wake up at night.
An hour later, Lucas climbs into bed with us. At some point I get an elbow to the face. He gets angry when I ask him to go back to his own bed. But I manage to steal a kiss before he slips back into the darkness outside our bedroom door.
Luke and I raise our voices at each other and a kid because neither of us want to deal with a night time bed wetter and finding all new bedding.
Abigail clings to my ankles as I desperately try to make dinner. It's already 6:00pm and I'm just now getting started. It's a new recipe and that always makes me nervous. What if it flops? Then I've not only wasted food but we have nothing for dinner.
She cries out and I lift her to my hip. "Ashlee! Please come take your baby sister for a few minutes so I can put dinner in the oven!"
"Mooooom!" She yells, "I'm busy!"
"What do you think I'm doing??!! Would you like to eat tonight??!!"
She stomps into the kitchen, grins at Abigail and laughs as I pass her over.
Aaron cries because I ask him to take a bath. He ends up in bed early for the 3rd night in a row because of incessant crying.
Olivia keeps stealing toys from the other kids and then lying about it. The lying infuriates me and I snap at her.
Elizabeth is as dramatic as a 17 year old girl suffering from PMS. I roll my eyes at her and she sees me and runs off to cry in her bedroom.
I fail. Daily I fail. I wonder if I'm ruining these little people when I raise my voice, use too much sarcasm or lock the kids outside because it's the first nice day in weeks and I just need the house to be quiet for FIVE MINUTES.
I hear it often, "Oh! You are SUPERmom!"
"I could never handle that many kids! You must have the patience of Job!" (By the way, Job wasn't particularly patient. Read the book, people.)
I look at people when they say that. I'm bewildered. Because here are two truths that I know to be certain without a shadow of a doubt.
1) MOTHERHOOD IS HARD. It's hard if you have one child. It's hard if you have 10 kids. It's hard if you work outside the home. It's hard if you stay-at-home. It's hard if you homeschool. It's hard if your kids are schooled outside your home.
It's hard. And I'm going to say this as plainly as I know how.
My journey is motherhood isn't any more difficult that any other mother.
Yes, I may have more kids. Yes, they may all be younger. Yes, I'm crazy enough to homeschool. Yes, it may appear that way. But girlfriend, when you call me SuperMom you are downplaying the hardships in your own life so much. And that breaks my heart.
Do people who have fewer children get more time to themselves? Maybe. But not necessarily. Do they have more money to go on vacations and spend money on themselves? Maybe. But not necessarily.
Girls, MOTHERHOOD IS HARD. End of story.
2) And this is a soapbox issue for me.
These little people drive me crazy. They make me cuss under my breath, wonder if I've lost my mind and question if we'll add anymore. But more than any of that, I know this to be true.
Children are a blessing. Such a sweet, irreplaceable blessing. We've never had a child come into our home and thought, "Well, crap. That was a mistake."
These people are gifts. Messy, loud, selfish, totally depraved, unconditionally loving, forever forgiving, smelly, cuddly BLESSINGS.
Yes, they are a lot of work. But they are the best kind of work. They're the kind of work that women pray for every day of their lives because their arms ache. They're the kind of work worth investing in. And I think that if our society recognized this more readily, then SUPERmom wouldn't show up on my radar. Instead, BLESSEDmom would likely be my nickname.
I'm majorly flawed. I'm no where close to being a SUPERmom. I make mistakes every, single day. And then I try so hard to press into His grace, extend more love than harshness. I load up my 15 passenger van, count heads, crank up the radio above the noise and press on. Because that's what Moms do. Regular moms.
And really, that's all I am. A regular mom with a larger than average family, pressing on through the daily grind. Wondering if I've lost my mind and trying to count each blessing along the way. SUPERmom, I am not. BLESSEDmom I am certain.
Monday, April 8, 2013
The wrestling
Grace told me I should blog. I told her that I wasn't quite sure what to say that wouldn't be 1) depressing 2) angry 3) heresy.
But here's what's been rolling around in my head and I've been wrestling with in my heart. I hope this all makes sense by the time I'm finished.
-------
I've known it for nearly 9 years now. From the moment that I reached down pulled a 6 pound 13 ounce baby girl onto my chest, I knew it.
Motherhood is the best thing that's ever happened to me.
It's the greatest ministry I've ever been given. One I don't know everything about. One that I'm learning as I go. One that I'm passionate about. Which, in truth, that's every kind of ministry. No one begins ministering to others with all the answers. All they know is that the burning within them drives them to gain more knowledge, love like never before and hope like hell they don't get in the way of God's master plan.
I know all of this cognitively in my head. I know that pouring my everything in to these seven little lives, loving their father well, managing my home and filling myself up with the abundant grace of God is ministry. I KNOW that.
But when I think about what our plans were this time last year. When I remember that there are unreached people in a country on the other side of the world, people we were suppose to be living with as neighbors, my heart breaks.
And some days, this motherhood thing doesn't seem like enough.
Yes, I know we have seven kids. I know my hands are full. I know that loving on seven children ages 8 years and younger is a full time job. I know that.
But somewhere in my heart something seems missing. And that's where my knowledge ends and the wrestling begins. I wrestle between two constant thoughts:
1) I hate feeling like this motherhood gig isn't "ministry enough." That is a lie that the enemy is selling and mothers are buying every.single.day.
I want to refuse to buy it anymore. I believe that there are mothers working their butts off going to work, cleaning up spilled sippy cups of milk, faxing documents while planning dinner in their heads, wiping butts, settling toy disputes, changing 27 diapers a day, homeschooling their kids and coming home to change out the laundry on their lunch breaks. And all the while, these precious mothers are wondering to themselves if they are really making a difference in anyone's life.
Friend, believe me when I say that by loving your children, your husband and your home well you are fulfilling the greatest ministry role on this planet.
I believe that myself. Most days.
Which leads me to my second thought that seems to sit exactly juxtaposed to the first.
2) If this is really it, if this motherhood thing is REALLY my only ministry, then why do hot tears spring instantly to my eyes when I think about unreached people? Why do I feel like I failed? Why does my heart long for more? Why do I nearly ache with the desire to live with my family on hot, dusty soil and watch my children build cross-cultural friendships?
And here is the kicker - even when we were speaking to families and groups trying to raise up a support team, I boldly proclaimed that my role would be nearly identical to what it is here:
Manager of our home, teacher of our children. Wife. Mom. Homeschooler.
So why, if nothing really was to look any different, am I feeling like everything has changed? Because of geography?
That's ridiculous.
This home, these children, my husband - they are my greatest ministry. My hardest job. My biggest reward. Yet somehow, in the midst of my days I feel anger welling up within me.
"This is IT God? We are stuck here? This is my life? Rural America, the freakshow family with all the kids who homeschool? This is IT?"
I'm just not even sure where to go from here. My desire to do any type of ministry is gone.
I've always said that while our children are by far my first ministry, they should never be the reason we chose not to love on people outside our family. Ministry outside the home should happen together. Teenagers. Elderly. Homeless shelter. Whatever. Let's do this as a family.
Over the last 8 months, we've dabbled our feet in trying out a few things to do as a family and each of them has fallen on my heart with a less than desirable thud.
And I can't shake the thought that maybe, this is IT. This is God's plan for my life. "Just" being a mother. (Oh that sound so horrible out loud, doesn't it?) "Just" managing my home. "Just" loving my husband well.
Somewhere inside me discontent sets in. THIS IS NOT THE LIFE YOU CALLED ME TO, LORD. This is not where I wanted to end up. This is not how I had it all planned out. When I stood before you and offered up to you my life with open hands, this wasn't part of the thing you were allowed to take away. Not Africa. Not what we'd worked for nearly 4 years to set in motion.
And so I wonder. Is this pride? Or is it a hunger the Lord has placed deep within me to yearn for foreign soil? I wrestle with those two things clutched tightly in opposing hands. Pride vs Calling. Or is it neither of those and I'm missing the very thing I'm suppose to be learning?
Just as Jacob did, I'm sure I'll not walk away from all this wrestling without a permanent limp. Maybe that's the point. Maybe that's God's plan all along.
A changed walk.
A new, albeit markedly different, gait.
An encounter with the Most High that not only changes my course in this journey but the time it takes to reach my destination.
But here's what's been rolling around in my head and I've been wrestling with in my heart. I hope this all makes sense by the time I'm finished.
-------
I've known it for nearly 9 years now. From the moment that I reached down pulled a 6 pound 13 ounce baby girl onto my chest, I knew it.
Motherhood is the best thing that's ever happened to me.
It's the greatest ministry I've ever been given. One I don't know everything about. One that I'm learning as I go. One that I'm passionate about. Which, in truth, that's every kind of ministry. No one begins ministering to others with all the answers. All they know is that the burning within them drives them to gain more knowledge, love like never before and hope like hell they don't get in the way of God's master plan.
I know all of this cognitively in my head. I know that pouring my everything in to these seven little lives, loving their father well, managing my home and filling myself up with the abundant grace of God is ministry. I KNOW that.
But when I think about what our plans were this time last year. When I remember that there are unreached people in a country on the other side of the world, people we were suppose to be living with as neighbors, my heart breaks.
And some days, this motherhood thing doesn't seem like enough.
Yes, I know we have seven kids. I know my hands are full. I know that loving on seven children ages 8 years and younger is a full time job. I know that.
But somewhere in my heart something seems missing. And that's where my knowledge ends and the wrestling begins. I wrestle between two constant thoughts:
1) I hate feeling like this motherhood gig isn't "ministry enough." That is a lie that the enemy is selling and mothers are buying every.single.day.
I want to refuse to buy it anymore. I believe that there are mothers working their butts off going to work, cleaning up spilled sippy cups of milk, faxing documents while planning dinner in their heads, wiping butts, settling toy disputes, changing 27 diapers a day, homeschooling their kids and coming home to change out the laundry on their lunch breaks. And all the while, these precious mothers are wondering to themselves if they are really making a difference in anyone's life.
Friend, believe me when I say that by loving your children, your husband and your home well you are fulfilling the greatest ministry role on this planet.
I believe that myself. Most days.
Which leads me to my second thought that seems to sit exactly juxtaposed to the first.
2) If this is really it, if this motherhood thing is REALLY my only ministry, then why do hot tears spring instantly to my eyes when I think about unreached people? Why do I feel like I failed? Why does my heart long for more? Why do I nearly ache with the desire to live with my family on hot, dusty soil and watch my children build cross-cultural friendships?
And here is the kicker - even when we were speaking to families and groups trying to raise up a support team, I boldly proclaimed that my role would be nearly identical to what it is here:
Manager of our home, teacher of our children. Wife. Mom. Homeschooler.
So why, if nothing really was to look any different, am I feeling like everything has changed? Because of geography?
That's ridiculous.
This home, these children, my husband - they are my greatest ministry. My hardest job. My biggest reward. Yet somehow, in the midst of my days I feel anger welling up within me.
"This is IT God? We are stuck here? This is my life? Rural America, the freakshow family with all the kids who homeschool? This is IT?"
I'm just not even sure where to go from here. My desire to do any type of ministry is gone.
I've always said that while our children are by far my first ministry, they should never be the reason we chose not to love on people outside our family. Ministry outside the home should happen together. Teenagers. Elderly. Homeless shelter. Whatever. Let's do this as a family.
Over the last 8 months, we've dabbled our feet in trying out a few things to do as a family and each of them has fallen on my heart with a less than desirable thud.
And I can't shake the thought that maybe, this is IT. This is God's plan for my life. "Just" being a mother. (Oh that sound so horrible out loud, doesn't it?) "Just" managing my home. "Just" loving my husband well.
Somewhere inside me discontent sets in. THIS IS NOT THE LIFE YOU CALLED ME TO, LORD. This is not where I wanted to end up. This is not how I had it all planned out. When I stood before you and offered up to you my life with open hands, this wasn't part of the thing you were allowed to take away. Not Africa. Not what we'd worked for nearly 4 years to set in motion.
And so I wonder. Is this pride? Or is it a hunger the Lord has placed deep within me to yearn for foreign soil? I wrestle with those two things clutched tightly in opposing hands. Pride vs Calling. Or is it neither of those and I'm missing the very thing I'm suppose to be learning?
Just as Jacob did, I'm sure I'll not walk away from all this wrestling without a permanent limp. Maybe that's the point. Maybe that's God's plan all along.
A changed walk.
A new, albeit markedly different, gait.
An encounter with the Most High that not only changes my course in this journey but the time it takes to reach my destination.
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
Abigail is one!
One year ago I sat in a hospital room, sniffing, cuddling and soaking in a brand new baby. Now, that tiny little baby, who was my first baby to be born without an induction, the seventh blessing in our growing family, is ONE.
How is that possible?
Some how that sweet little baby we've all ooohed and ahhhhhed over has grown into a curious, crawling baby that EVERYONE continually dotes over.
Isn't she lovely?
I snapped a few photos of her about a month ago. I've started a small little photography business, even though I've still got LOADS to learn. It's a nice hobby.
Anyway, our sweet baby girl has been a beautiful distraction considering our last year's events. Cuddling with her in the calm of a dark room, nursing her quietly as she falls asleep in my arms, hearing her giggle, laugh and squeal at her siblings has been soothing balm to our hearts.
And, as her little personality emerges, I'm looking forward to learning the quirks, habits and character that God has planted into our tiniest treasure.
Last night we went out to eat Mexican food for her birthday, something that's becoming an unplanned family tradition. Because what else says "Birthday" other than chips, salsa, Mexican food and mediocre cupcakes?
Our sweet girl is ALWAYS smiling.
This girl is curious. Always wondering what is going on and usually breaking out into a crawl-sprint to find out.
"What 'cha doin' there, Dad?"
At first she was so shocked that everyone was singing, to her, in unison.
Then, she decided she liked it. A lot.
Then, it was time to DIVE IN. So delicately, she tasted the icing.
Then, she was all in.
She kept looking at Luke and I as if to ask, "I'm really allowed to eat this? And make a huge mess?"
Our sweet, baby girl. Already a year old.
First birthdays bring so much bittersweetness to my heart. I'm thrilled because I know that the last year has been filled with sleepless nights, countless feedings, lots of baby wearing and diapers galore and soon, most of that will be a thing of the past. But it's also sad that we will quickly watch this young baby turn into a toddler who needs less and less of Momma and is eager to walk, explore and wean.
We made it to a full year of nursing! Something I've not been able to accomplish with any of the other children. My plan is to allow her to self-wean, though with each day she's becoming less and less interested, I'm afraid.
At one year old, Abigail is cruising on furniture, has eight teeth, can sign milk, more, eat, and all done. She loves the dog and shows no interest in wanting to walk. She says Mom, Dad and Dog and can emit the most shrill scream of delight in an older sibling who is trying to make her laugh.
She is thrilled to see Daddy come home at the end of every day and is addicted to her pacifier.
When she was about 4 months old I bought 4 little ducks on the clearance rack at Target. All of our kids have "lovies" we've bought them as we've transitioned them from our room to their own bed and bedrooms. Abigail wasn't having anything to do with any of those ducks. Instead, she adopted her old swaddle blanket as her lovey and she sleeps with it smashed over her face. She loves it and it freaks me out.
She loves to be held, likes to be in the mix with all the other kids and won't shy away from a good cuddle. She has the most delicious dimple on her right cheek and every time she smiles and it comes into view I can't keep from kissing it.
Certainly this sweet baby girl is a delight to us all. Happy first birthday Abigail Mercy. How I love you so very much!
How is that possible?
Some how that sweet little baby we've all ooohed and ahhhhhed over has grown into a curious, crawling baby that EVERYONE continually dotes over.
Isn't she lovely?
I snapped a few photos of her about a month ago. I've started a small little photography business, even though I've still got LOADS to learn. It's a nice hobby.
Anyway, our sweet baby girl has been a beautiful distraction considering our last year's events. Cuddling with her in the calm of a dark room, nursing her quietly as she falls asleep in my arms, hearing her giggle, laugh and squeal at her siblings has been soothing balm to our hearts.
And, as her little personality emerges, I'm looking forward to learning the quirks, habits and character that God has planted into our tiniest treasure.
Last night we went out to eat Mexican food for her birthday, something that's becoming an unplanned family tradition. Because what else says "Birthday" other than chips, salsa, Mexican food and mediocre cupcakes?
Our sweet girl is ALWAYS smiling.
This girl is curious. Always wondering what is going on and usually breaking out into a crawl-sprint to find out.
At first she was so shocked that everyone was singing, to her, in unison.
Then, she decided she liked it. A lot.
Then, it was time to DIVE IN. So delicately, she tasted the icing.
Then, she was all in.
She kept looking at Luke and I as if to ask, "I'm really allowed to eat this? And make a huge mess?"
Our sweet, baby girl. Already a year old.
First birthdays bring so much bittersweetness to my heart. I'm thrilled because I know that the last year has been filled with sleepless nights, countless feedings, lots of baby wearing and diapers galore and soon, most of that will be a thing of the past. But it's also sad that we will quickly watch this young baby turn into a toddler who needs less and less of Momma and is eager to walk, explore and wean.
We made it to a full year of nursing! Something I've not been able to accomplish with any of the other children. My plan is to allow her to self-wean, though with each day she's becoming less and less interested, I'm afraid.
At one year old, Abigail is cruising on furniture, has eight teeth, can sign milk, more, eat, and all done. She loves the dog and shows no interest in wanting to walk. She says Mom, Dad and Dog and can emit the most shrill scream of delight in an older sibling who is trying to make her laugh.
She is thrilled to see Daddy come home at the end of every day and is addicted to her pacifier.
When she was about 4 months old I bought 4 little ducks on the clearance rack at Target. All of our kids have "lovies" we've bought them as we've transitioned them from our room to their own bed and bedrooms. Abigail wasn't having anything to do with any of those ducks. Instead, she adopted her old swaddle blanket as her lovey and she sleeps with it smashed over her face. She loves it and it freaks me out.
She loves to be held, likes to be in the mix with all the other kids and won't shy away from a good cuddle. She has the most delicious dimple on her right cheek and every time she smiles and it comes into view I can't keep from kissing it.
Certainly this sweet baby girl is a delight to us all. Happy first birthday Abigail Mercy. How I love you so very much!
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