Random

Random thoughts for today. 

• I'm tired (what mom isn't?)
• Why is it a pair of underwear? Last time I knew, it was all one piece.
• Would John Boy Walton be considered a blogger? What about Laura Ingalls Wilder?
• What is the definition of blogger? (I'll have to Google that later)
• When did Google become a verb?
• How do other families keep their house clean?
• Could I have survived in the 19th century, or am I too much of a wuss?
• My daughter is nearing puberty. How did I get this old?
• Why am I embarrassed to say I hate Mother's day?

Because I'm tired (see the first random thought above) I will only take the time to elaborate on the fact that I despise Mother's day. I love my mom and I love my kids. I have wanted to be a mother all my life and I am living the dream of many women because at this point, I am able to stay home with my children. So why this grumpiness? Pressure. It's too much pressure to have a 'nice' Mother's day. I have to come up with a genuine complement for every little piece of artwork, trinket or mangled dandelion that the kids bring me or I would crush their egos therefore setting them up for a lifetime of seeking out approval from the wrong sources resulting in a downward spiral and them moving to the other side of the planet and never speaking to me again.  Then I have to say thank you 62 times a day when they all tell me 'Happy Mother's Day.' And after all this exhausting work (which is all occurring on the day set aside for me) I have to answer the question " Did you have a nice Mother's day?" from miscellaneous friends, families, or store clerks. I have a hard time lying and so I will rarely say I'm 'fine' or 'good.' The truth is, this Mother's Day was a complete wreck. Not wanting the children to fret over me not having a special gift to open, I suggested the only gift I wanted was to go camping. It sounded like a relaxing weekend and since my parents were camping in the site next ours, it covered a 'gift' for my mom, too! So what went wrong? Our two oldest children went missing from our camp site for more than three hours. Missing. As in we could not find them with seven people looking for them and we finally had to enlist the park rangers for assistance. Having to give a description of your children and what they were wearing and who the last person to see them was and which way they were headed does not a Mother's day gift make. Amazingly we found them and they were uninjured physically, but shaken up. Our son does seem to think of it as an adventure he can tell his friends about, but our daughter is not so optimistic and was honestly afraid they would never find their way back. As the old saying goes ,you need to get right back on the horse, so the next day we took our oldest and our youngest daughters back up the trail they were found on to retrieve a bicycle seat that was lost by their companion. How a bicycle seat gets lost in the middle of the forest is beyond me. We found the missing seat about a mile up the muddy trail and start to head back and almost immediately it thundered and begins to rain. Then it downpoured. Then the wind blew with enormous force. The lightning bolt was so close I nearly peed my pants (after three kids and one c-section I have minimal bladder control. It's not fun). Then we realized we were in pain and the precipitation was not just raindrops, but hail as well. Pea size hail causes more discomfort than I thought it would. Long story short: we made it down off the mountain sopping wet and traumatized, but uninjured. I wish the same could be said for our camper, and several around us. Although we didn't hear of anyone being hurt, there was a very high number of damaged or destroyed awnings as well as a fallen tree. It seemed almost like a war zone as I carried my sobbing little girl back to the camper with her very disgusted sister who kept saying "Do you see now why I didn't want to go back up on the trail?"
Borrowing the attitude from her, do you see now why I don't like Mother's Day?

~Children are a heritage from the Lord, offspring a reward from him.~ Psalm 127:3

I miss him

I recently had an 'interaction' on Facebook about a post that I shared. The details of the comments are best left for another entry, but it did help me to realize how judgemental I am. I am constantly thinking to myself critical thoughts about how other moms dress their children, the way most people drive, how cranky some people can be. Most of my (best left) silent critique has to do with parents or children, but I am not naive enough to think that I am not the recipient as well as the distributor of these thoughts. In fact, I'm quite sure I probably received some scolding glances and unfriendly words whispered into the ears of others. For instance, I was talking on my cell phone during my son's Little League game last night. I had no important business matters to discuss as I am just a stay-at-home mom (I am working on a new term, for the mom who is hardly ever home). First I spent a few minutes messaging back and forth during the second inning. I'm sure if I was on the other side, I would be thinking "Seriously, she can't wait a few minutes to send that message?" And then, when my phone rang and I actually answered it during the game, I'm quite sure I felt the hot glares and saw eyes roll. I jabbered on while periodically taking headcount of the girls and yelling "Way to go, Bubba!" When he got a base hit or threw to the cutoff man (or boy, rather). Thankfully I was along the fence in the outfield and not in the stands or near the dugout. This was not just a chat with one of my friends. You see, this was a phone call from my brother. Now, you may think, "so what? Call him back." And, I might counter with the fact that he's my only sibling. Another bit of information that may make my actions seem a little less rude or selfish would be that it has been a decent amount of time since I've heard my brother's voice. Of course, some may counter that I can message him, email him, or text him. All true and valid points. I would like to point out that if anyone had been close enough to hear my conversation, they might have also the glint of tears in my eyes. You see, it did hurt me to take that call during my son's Little League game, but I was also hearing the voice of my nephew I've never met. I was standing next to my mother and having a conversation with her only son and this is as close as she has had to having her family together in 3 1/2 years. My brother is in the Air Force and lives in Guam. His time zone is such that he is 14 hours ahead of us, so as we are having supper, he is going to work for the day. It does make it difficult to find time for phone calls. My brother called me to find out how my son is doing at his game, and to fit in a lot of information in a little time. He will be going to Korea soon and we don't know how difficult it will be for him to contact us from there. I know I look uncaring as I stand at the baseball fields on a sunny spring evening with my cell phone up to my ear. The truth is this: I miss my brother. I miss him in a way that hurts physically. I miss him so much that I am angry at him for not being here when my children were born, when our grandparents passed away, and even when I'm sitting around on a rainy Tuesday afternoon. I regret not loving him more when we were teenagers. I would give nearly anything to be able to watch his son grow up with my children. The hurt I feel inside can hardly be explained with words. I know he is alive and healthy and for this, I do thank God. I know he loves me and our family. I know what he is doing is very important work. But, I also know when my cell phone rings and I see his number on the screen, I will answer that call no matter what I am doing. And, although the conversation regularly ends with me being in tears, it is worth the accusatory glares I may be receiving. I know there is a lot of conversation these days about how bad social media and cell phones are for kids. But for military families and other people with relatives in a far off country, it is hard to imagine our life without them. I have recently been harsh with myself for thinking the worst of people. So next time I hear someone talking too loudly on their phone, I will just imagine they are talking to their brother and counting the days (or years) until they can see him again. 

~Do not judge, or you too will be judged. For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you." Matthew 7:1

He's 9

My son had his 9 year well child checkup today. So, he's 9 1/2 now, but that's how we roll. When I picked him up from school I noticed how tall he looks. Oh my, I should have distracted myself with something else right then and there. We got into the room waiting for the doctor and I literally have a flashback to when he was born and the doctor exclaiming over how big his hands were. Then methodically, it seems each appointment after that begins to flow through my mind. When he was sick and had to have a steroid injection at about 4 months old and my husband was out of town and I was terrified. When the nurse practitioner put the popsicle stick too far down his throat and he vomited. When he had his stitches in the ER, his wasp sting reaction, all the times he was looking at me with a pleading of help in his eyes and I had to hold him down or try to comfort him. How did that baby turn into this little man? I was tearing up at the thought of how fast it has gone. He does still let me snuggle (not in front of his friends) and for that I am grateful. His growing up seems to make me more sappy than my girls. I wonder why that is? He is the only one who looks like me. Poor guy, he got the freckles, red hair, and big feet. Maybe it's because I read something on Pinterest that said that someday he will love another woman. Woman. Love. Married. My baby. I need a tissue.

~For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and they will become one flesh.~ Genesis 2:24

Take me out to the ball game

The song known by nearly everyone in America. Jack Norworth's  "Take Me Out to the Ball Game" invokes undeniable amusement and excitement for an all American sport. We've been to a couple ball games. The Williamsport (PA) Crosscutters,  and the Columbus (OH) Clippers with the kids and they have a blast.

  My husband played as a kid, and our son is currently in Little League in our small northern Pennsylvania town. But, as a mom of three and foster mom to two (at this time) I am here to tell you, it isn't all "peanuts and Cracker Jacks" and root, root, rooting for the home team. I wonder if the mothers of all the professional players secretly dreaded to the start of Little League season. I imagine I'm not the only mom who thought it would be great to have all my children sitting in the stand proudly clapping for Bubba as he hits a home run and wins the game for the team while Daddy stands proudly on the sidelines in his coaches t-shirt. It's the perfect image of a Friday night in rural america, don't you agree? Um. Reality check. It isn't just Friday nights, it happens to be any night of the week and some Saturdays. And, although my husband tries his hardest to make it to the games, he is very often rolling in during the second inning or catching the middle of a game while on his lunch break after receiving my texts about how are son is doing. This means I am alone with four girls and my ball player. My other kids are everywhere, running through the mud with winter coats and hats on. I sit in my pink lawn chair with multiple layers on wrapped in an old comforter trying to clap (with gloves on) sounding cheerful and supportive when what I'm really thinking is how hungry I am and why didn't he swing at that pitch, and oh my word what is that mom wearing? It's the back of our Excursion packed with a cooler, two baseball bags (because the medium girls are in t-ball), four blankets, a stroller to keep the toddler contained, lawn chairs and whatever miscellaneous items didn't get taken in to the house after the last trip to the store. Seriously, I found a bag with a jar of spaghetti sauce in it last night. How long has that been there? It's the endless trips to the portable toilets, the constant begging to go to the concession stand. It's dinners eaten out of the back of the truck and gallons of juice boxes consumed. It requires an entire board on Pinterest dedicated to meals on the go so I can rotate between the portable meals such as pizza rolls, ham & cheese pretzel nuggets, and sandwiches. It's throwing baseball uniforms in the washer with the toddler's muddy clothes at night so he can play in clean clothes the next morning. It's selling an obscene amount of discount cards to friends and family to support the town's Little League 'Complex.' It's pulling in to find no place to park when your team has the late game. It's the worrying over your son's self esteem when he strikes out or misses the catch at third. But...........it's also the look of pure enjoyment your child gets when they make a good play. Hearing them cheer for the smallest kid on their team. A chance to make memories that will last a lifetime. A time to be outside together with no one arguing over what is on the tv. And, let's face it, it's a great excuse to have ice cream after the game!

~But thanks be to God! He gives us victory through our Lord Jesus Christ~ 1 Cor 15:57

I'm hearing things

Making a decision does not mean that we know it is the right way or wrong way. We have made a difficult decision to not adopt these foster children that we have had in our home for over a year now. This was a gut wrenching process which we do not take lightly at all. I may have to look into these angelic faces that I have showered with kisses and washed the chocolate ice cream off of and tell them they have to go somewhere else. The thought of that moment is almost enough to convince me to change my mind. We have our reasons and they are substantial, but I often lay awake wondering if this is the right choice. More importantly, is this God's will? I begin to get frustrated because I do not hear a definite answer, then I wonder if I ever will. What does God sound like? Will it be in a Bible verse I come across? Something written in the clouds, perhaps? A previous adoption case with similar circumstances? Will it come to me in a dream? Frustration abounds and then I turn to the same thought.

 How does anyone know if they are listening to the whispers 

of God or the screaming of their own desires? 

When someone asks me how we decided to open our home to foster children, I tell them it is God's plan, not mine. Now, I could take you back and tell you the way it happened, and there are specific events that all measure up to point to the end result. But I truly believe this is what God wants us to do. I can't explain it. I didn't hear Him whisper, I didn't pour over my Bible looking for a verse to convince me that this was for us. This situation was never on my radar. I don't like people coming in my house. I don't care for other people's children for too long of a time, and I am past the nights of bottle feeding and diapering. Some days I want to agree with the stranger in the grocery store who shakes her head and mutters under her breath when she sees us coming. Yet, I believe in my soul God has led us hear to the bumpy road outside of my comfort zone. 

I continue to pray for guidance and direction, knowing that I may not like the answer I get or the vehicle in which it comes, but knowing He will give me the strength to face whatever comes. Even if I try to make my own decisions (which I do quite often) He will provide. I haven't heard an actual answer from a voice, but I do feel a peace about what we are doing. Please note, I did NOT say what we are doing is peaceful. There is precious little of that in this house. I also realize this may not be what we are supposed to do forever, but for right now, in this moment we will do what we consider "God's work."

"Anyone who welcomes a little child like this on my behalf is welcoming me.” – Matthew 18:5