True, North, Strong and Free

True to my word and in accordance with my 2008 goals, this eve of Canada day I completed my application for my American Citizenship. It is done. The hardest part of the application was documenting all of the dates I have left the country in the past five years. Thanks to brilliant journaling and keeping all of my yearly planners, I did it. In the past five years I have taken 10 trips out of the country totalling 148 days (one trip included an entire summer). I'm sure you can guess where I went for these travels, as I don't have a single stamp in my passport! For those of you who have known me since I first entered this country, you know what a big step this is for me (KAI!), but I have also come to love this country and its rich history and the people within it. However, we will still be celebrating Canada day in our home tomorrow!

Aaaaaaand we've started swim lessons again....

No Longer Patient

I’m going to vent a bit. Because I can; it’s my blog, and because I want to; I’m good at complaining remember?! The venting of the day is focused on doctors. My apologies to any of you good doctors or doctor’s wives out there. We have had our share of good doctor moments, don’t get me wrong, but at the moment I feel like I am being completely discriminated against by the medical community, and so I’m shifting my anger towards doctors.

To make a long vent short, Mr. T has had his monthly fever again, however we had run out of his magic happy pills that take it away. So after several attempts at getting his specialist to refill his prescription, it all came down to the fact that we would have to drive (aka spend lots of money on gas) to her far-away office so that she could verify that he does, still indeed have all the exact same symptoms he’s had his entire life and THEN prescribe the medication. (If Mr. Man were writing this, he would now inform you of how this doctor has just recently graduated at the age of 22 or so and is completely incompetent and has no clue how to help our son whatsoever, but I’m going to leave all of that out for now.) I finally convinced her nurse to call in a refill and then scheduled an appointment for next week. A day later I called back to cancel said appointment, however somehow they had me marked and I was back talking to the nurse whom I swore I would make an appointment with. So then I told her that it would be much easier for us to come to the far-away children’s hospital on the date that we have to see another specialist there, in about 6 months. Somehow she agreed to that (probably because she knows I’m going to run out of his medicine again before that time). However this specialist doesn’t work on Mondays and so I made it for the day after, hoping I could change our appointment with our surgeon to the following day as well. When I called to change that appointment I was told that our surgeon only has appointments on Mondays. Hello? What is a patient to do when she runs out of patience?

I long for the day when I can call up with my calendar in front of me and inform a doctor when I will be coming in, so he or she can try to schedule it into their calendar. Then, I will inevitably have to keep them waiting in a large waiting room as I show up 20-40 minutes late. At which time they will be directed to a smaller waiting room (the room of death) where they will wait with my four children and zero forms of entertainment or nourishment of any kind for another unspecified amount of time. When I finally enter, I will give the doctor exactly 15 seconds worth of information with which to make a diagnosis (since it sometimes seems that’s how much time they take to make it with hours of my compiled research and observations). After the diagnosis has been made I will leave the room again for numerous minutes of my own leisure before returning for a prescription and then gathering my children and leaving, telling the doctor the exact date and time I will return (full-well knowing that I already have another doctor scheduled for that exact same time – they call it “double-booked”.) But no, I’m no doctor, but I am losing my patience!

You know it's been a long summer day when...

Camping according to the Kids' Journals

Miss J: We went camping Friday and Saterday. A racon named arjay was there. I left chips and [Mr. T] left a stering (string) with a stik stuk in the grand (ground). Wile we wher asleep I herd munch munch. And He ate the chips and he undid the trap! It was so grose. (referring to her picture of the bathroom with all the flies in it) The end.

Mr. T: This is a lantern. Cause we got one from going camping. I was looking at the light so I could see. RJ ate the chips last night. I love camping and I like to see raccoons. I don't like poison ivy.
Little E: This is poison ivy. I like the fire. I like camping.

Fire vs. Poison Ivy... hmmmm...

The bold raccoon Mr. Man lovingly named RJ (from "Over the Hedge")

RJ up the tree after we spied on him eating our "neighbor's" snacks and dog food.

Oh, the yummy camping food!
Cooking our dinner. Steak, carrotts and potatoes. Yum. And no clean up either.

Yummy tin foil dinner - she made hers fries!
Stick gathering for the fire was a constant chore.

Intent on setting a trap with some string they found on our campsite.
Working on the trap.
Trapping. And yes, all of that behind him is poison ivy. We brought a bit home with us!

Lazy Parenting?

I have a list of qualities I want to instill in my children. A visual image of the grown-ups I am trying to create. Fully aware that these spirits come into my home with minds of their own, I am also a big believer in a mother’s molding ability; nature and nurture. I won’t bore you with my list, but “work” is definitely on it. I used to word it as “love to work” but now I’ll settle for “hard-working” whether they love it or not. I’ve used a multitude of methods for this specific molding and have found that this will take constant never-ceasing effort, in effect, a lot of WORK. But I also think that in the sole fact that I have this expectation, I am raising the likelihood that this value will stick (also, Mr. Man is the hardest worker I know, so genetically they have to have a bit of a pre-disposition for it).

Today, as I sat in the van with a crew of sleeping kids (camping is still killing us)while Mr. Man ran into the grocery store real quick for a couple of items I saw something shocking. I watched as a mother of a pre-teen spent forever re-loading her groceries from her cart into her car. She was also removing all of the cold/frozen items and maneuvering them into a cooler. Her son spent the time sitting in the hot vehicle looking bored. I was appalled that he wasn’t helping with what was apparently going to be his nourishment for the next week or so. I wondered if I was the only parent whose kids not only put the groceries in the van, but carry them in the house and put them away as well. Am I mean? Are my kids slaves? (Obviously.) Or am I teaching them? I then watched as this woman lazily left her cart in the middle of two parking spots (when she was only 10 feet away from a car corale) and drove away (while I secretly wished she had backed into her own cart). Lazy. My awake child noticed and was as disgusted as I was. At least I know I’m passing on my type A.

I have no point to these ramblings, just some thinking I’ve been doing. Right now my kids have their expected daily job, they help clear the table after meals if they expect to eat the next one, and I have a slew of jobs hanging that they can do if they expect to make any money this summer. I expect them to help me as I parent them, the more they do, the lazier I can be, right? What are your expectations?

(This is what I call "cheap" labor - don't tell them!)

Why I will never camp with a 10 month old again

Whaaaaaaaaaaaaa! Translation: I WANT TO EAT THAT STICK!
WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! Translation: I WANT TO PLAY IN THE FIRE!

Whhhaaaaaaaaaaaaa! Translation: Don't take those rocks OUT of my mouth!
Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! Translation: I DON’T WANT TO SLEEP! EVER.

Whaaaaa! Translation: I want that marshmallow!

Whaaaaaaaaaa! Translation: I want the whole bag of marshmallows now! Why won't you give them to me?
Whaaaaa Whaaaaaa! Translation: I want to hold your fingers and walk across gravel, sharp rocks and broken beer bottles!
Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! Translation: I don’t want to go in the front carrier on our hike. Let me crawl. Now.

WHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! Translation: I don’t want to sleep in my bed in a tent. I want to go HOME!
Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! Translation: I don’t want to sleep in the van either. Let me out!
Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! Translation: Why is nobody listening to me?

We are all happy to be home again. The three older kids napped for hours upon our return (check out their filthy feet!), while the ten month old unhappy camper couldn’t stop smiling and going around the house loving everything that symbolizes home to him.

I will blog about the moments of family fun and post more pictures when the time doesn't seem so insanely horrible to me anymore. One day....

Unbelievable

I was amazed and inspired by this family. Not inspired as in I'm going to have 18 children, but inspired in some of the ways they run their household and simplify their home all while making Christ the center of it. Amazing.

Herbie

Since summer break always brings back all sorts of memories of summers past, we've decided to culture our children with some of the movies we grew up watching (plus I'm a little sick of "Star Wars" over here). Last week it was "The Love Bug" a Walt Disney classic! The kids were rolling with laughter and it was fun to watch scenes I hadn't seen in years. Baby's J's little car has now been named Herbie of course, and here's a little scene of my love bug:

What movies did you grow up with?

Sign of the Jayhawk

I should have known.

Our two boys, Mr. T and Little E were born while we were at KU, and so have been raised knowing that they are Jayhawks. A few weeks ago, Mr. T started getting really obsessed with this fact. Wanting the Jayhawk sheets on his bed, talking and asking about Jayhawks, wanting to get one for a pet, and then doing this silly thing with his hands that he called “the Jayhawk.”

So I guess I shouldn’t have been too shocked when he came down last Saturday, which was haircut day for everyone, and showed me his new do. Not a Mohawk, but a Jayhawk. He had cut the hair down to his scalp (you may recall he did this before right in time for our family picture) all the way down the middle. It was appalling. The only thing more so, was that he liked it and wanted to keep it that way. There was only one cure: shaving his head. He cried and cried when we wouldn’t let him leave his hair that way, and even with pressure from Mr. Man's sister (who was visiting with us for a fun week), we just couldn’t let him do it. He was so sad to be “bald” certain that “nobody will know that it’s me”.



He looks as handsome as ever, though I’m thinking of getting him a Jayhawk hat for the future!

Overheard

Mr. T: "What's in your heart?"
Miss J: "Blood, valves and a pump."
Little E: "aaaaaaand hiccups!"

Bathroom Meditations

I have a sign that hangs in my downstairs bathroom that reads: "Make time for the quiet moments as God whispers and the world is loud". Ironically it is often only in the bathroom that I have any quiet moments whatsoever. This morning, in a brief moment of solitude as I was, well, relieving myself, I pulled out one of the little books that occupy the back of the toilet. The book I picked was given to me from one of my heroes, it is entitled "Meditations for Parents Who Do Too Much" by Jonathon and Wendy Lazear. I turned to today's date, and it felt quite fitting after Mr. Man and I have been conversing on the topic of angels recently and my desire to be one:

Be aware that a halo has to fall only a few inches to be a noose. -Dan McKinnon

Being a parent does not make us angels. We don't have wings or a halo because we do too much. Doing too much is more reckless than selfless.

When we are overcommitted, we may tend to think of ourselves as larger than life, capable of everything and anything. But perfection is not the same as courage. Trying too hard and too much and too long is a trap, a noose around our necks. Suddenly, we are bound by our need for perfection. We can no longer forgive ourselves, or allow ourselves to rest.

If we are really interested in flights of mercy, we must begin with ourselves. By alloweing ourselves the freedom to make mistakes, to come to the end of the line and begin again - this is how we earn our wings.

Mistakes are opportunities. Today I will learn from my mistakes and go forward without self-punishment.

Just some thoughts.

Confession

I have an obsession with new books. But I’m also cheap. I scour book sales and mostly half.com for all my and my children’s book purchases. My husband does the same, and there are but few books on our shelves of which we are the first time owners. Some have outdated library barcodes, others carry lingering smells of strange shops or homes. You know the ones, the scary ones you borrow from the library where the story behind the last patron seems to steam the pages with a more interesting scent than the plot itself. Anyways, my point is that there is something so perfectly pleasant about a fresh, crisp, never been opened book that just makes me melt. It is the reason behind my infatuation with the glitzy new books stores, even though another part of me prefers the comfort and quaintness of the second-hand bookstores, the new ones carry the new books and thus my fascination.

I love to read and have tried desperately to pass on that love to my children. You may know that I have read them poetry and novels since before they could sit up, and more often than not I will purchase the books we will read. Used copies, of course, which usually come by mail straight to my door. A couple of summers ago, I had this romantic notion that it would be a forever memorable experience for me to take my children to a bookstore and pick out a new book for us to read together. I anticipated that somehow buying the book brand new would make a huge difference and make a big impact on my children’s desire to devour our story. My children were two, three and five at the time, and we left the bookstore with tantrums, beggings and me threatening never to enter another bookstore in my life, all while trying to nonchalantly purchase “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory” as if buying a new book for full price was something I did every day. The experience was indeed memorable, at least for me.

So when Grandma recently sent some money for the children soon after making our summer book lists and after the baby lost his absolutely most favourite book, I insisted that we try our luck again at purchasing some new books. It was, for the most part, a delightful experience. I chose a book for each of the children and they each got to choose one for themselves. The boys, of course, chose Star Wars (but at least it wasn’t another Star Wars toy) and their love of reading those books over and over and over is definitely formed. I chose a book for myself as well, and the baby couldn’t let go of his new book thrilled to pieces and saying “dog” over and over again! The checkout devastated me when I learned the price, and still the cashier tried to convince me I needed to join some sort of club that (for a small annual fee) would give me a 10% discount. I swallowed hard and explained that I could never for the life of me spend this much money on books, that it was a gift from Grandma, and truly it was a special gift. We all loved the experience, and my new book smells so nice and clean as I turn each new page thinking only of what the book may hold in store for me. And I have to try very hard to refrain from going to half.com to see what a bargain I could have gotten. For now I will revel in my new novel, and hope that someday my kids will remember their two brand-new book shopping experiences, but mostly remember the old books that came in the mail, and that they were read to.

Hello

There is a girl here in town that I keep on meeting. I first met her shortly after I had Baby J and our families were hiking on the same trail. We conversed briefly, but I felt an immediate connection, like – you know – I’d like to be friends with this person and family. No introductions were made and we went our ways. Within the next couple of months I saw her everywhere. The grocery store, the library, the local museum… our paths kept crossing, sometimes long enough to have our polite “I’ve seen you before, you’re a Mom like me, chit chat”, but not always. I remember thinking one time that I wish I had a little business card with my name and phone number on it to give her, maybe something cute like “I’m so and so’s Mom and would love to get together for a playdate at the park, call me!” I’ve done pretty bold introductions before, but it just never seemed to come up, it was almost like we knew each other too well at this point, and yet not well enough. Am I starting to sound like a freak to any of you, or do you have any idea what I’m talking about? It’s sort of like those other parents of the kids on your child’s sports team who you have sat beside all season, cheered on each others kids and had your little sideline conversations with and then the season is over and you just might miss one of them. Anyways, crazy or not, whatever you may think, I thought this girl (mother of three) and I seemed to have a lot in common and may have the potential to be good friends.

Our last “sighting” was several months ago, and I had completely forgotten about my would-be friend until I saw her today at McDonalds. The moment I did, I knew I was going to introduce myself and make our friendship official. Unfortunately there was no room for us to eat near her, so we ate on the complete other side totally out of view with no potential for a run-in. However, once my kids were done eating and the playland devoured, our paths crossed. Not only that, we had several conversations. And, I was right. We hit it right off, we have lots in common and we both liked each other’s company a lot. Our husbands are both PhD students except that hers just finished and they’ll be moving for their first job in August. With that news I decided that I didn’t want to have my friendship heart broken again this summer and decided to sever our almost-friendship right there. We agreed that it would be best that way. If we happen to run into each other in our small town this summer we will be more than happy to spend time together, but we’re not going to “try” to be friends. She has enough friends she’s sad about leaving as it is. So there you have it. We could have had a year together, but now we’ve just had moments and no names to attach them to. Should I meet another kindred spirit in the forest again, I think I may have to go home and make up my cute little business card.

Time Out for ME

Last week was a whirlwind of family life with few moments for selfishness – of which blogging apparently constitutes. Mr. Man had to work up in Canada and since he would be close to my parents, took Mr. T and Little E on a road trip with him. They had a fantastic time with the grandparents and Uncle playing with legos, going to the beach and having a campfire. Mr. Man’s work was a bit disheartening and the ride home was decidedly horrible for everyone. Miss J and I enjoyed some girl time together and celebrated her last day of school and spent Memorial day at a BBQ with some friends. Wednesday was to be our family day together to relax before I departed on a trip (only with baby J) to attend a Time Out for Women conference with my Mom, sister and sister-in-law in Toronto.

The plans were made in January. But when it came right down to it, it was a bad time.

Wednesday was actually spent unpacking and readjusting some tired little boys, shampooing the rental car from all the spills and “accidents” and running little errands, not to mention a down Mr. Man from a bad work experience. The baby was teething horribly and I was still trying to prepare the home with meals, babysitters, and all that being gone for four days would entail. Then came the packing. Those of you who know me know how much I hate the packing. But I did it. And then I started to ponder and weigh the costs and benefits of said trip (I am married to an economist after all). I wasn’t sure that I was going to enjoy travelling with a crabby 9 month old and not only fly, but do a lot of driving too. Would I get anything out of the conference? Would my family survive without me? Would my husband get the work done that he needed to if I weren’t there? Would the kids survive babysitter after babysitter? Would I enjoy repaying those babysitters in kind once I returned from my “time out”? I had spent the money on my plane ticket and conference ticket, and a part of me felt like a wimp for not feeling like I could go. Mr. Man told me the tickets were a sunk cost, and so I shouldn’t let that affect my decision; and then it was easy. (The only reason I felt I should go then, was so I could get a break from Primary!) I made my decision and unpacked my bags. That’s when the peace and relief hit. Calling family and sitters to explain the new plans I felt relieved, though a bit embarrassed until I was praised for my decision to distinguish a time and a season.

As it is, Mr. Man has been more than swamped and is also on his fourth day of some horrible stomach issue (which I thought was appendicitis for a while since my friend’s husband recently had similar symptoms and ended up with an appendectomy). And really it has been divine to wake every morning for four days with nothing scheduled, no to-do’s on my calendar, no obligations whatsoever! The kids and I have relaxed and enjoyed each other so much. We were able to spend time with our good friends swimming at their hotel before they moved away, Mr. Man and I got a babysitter so we could take a walk together, we went out to eat with some friends (though Mr. Man regretted that decision due to his stomach ailment), and mostly we have just laid low and had ourselves a little time out.

My reasons may not sound solid or sane, but it was truly best for our family for me to stay. There were moments when I wondered about what speaker was presenting and what I was missing, but all in all, I have spent these past few days feeling sure of my commitment to being a wife and mother, and that awareness alone was worth the sacrifice.

I highly recommend taking a time out for you.

The "girls" spending their last time together!

Our "cousins". We lived in Kansas together and now spent two years togethere here. I suppose the odds are pretty good that we live near each other again in the future! (I hope so!)

A bunch of neighbors over for a little slip and sliding.
Best friends!
I love these silly boys!