Life's best

The end of October and the sun shines in my window like it did in July. But now the leaves of the Ash tree out my left window lie on the ground and the tree out my right window sways with yellow and red leaves.

Hand me a bottle so I can capture this brilliance. 

If this sun were the one of March or April - filled with hope of much more to come I wouldn't be so nostalgic to see it.  But this is the sun of October meaning this appearance must be one of her last for the season.

Life's best always seem even better when they are about to end.

On Labor Day weekend, we soak and splash in the pool like it was the first time.

In the middle of August, we sleep as long as possible (well I do anyway) and plan hours of nothing before hectic schedules begin.

We stay up late talking on the last night because there will never be another night like this one.

And really isn't the last bite of pie the best one?

I held Asa early this morning before we turned the lights on and felt the weight of his body bearing on my arm. At 18 months, Buddy Boo really can't be called a baby anymore. His legs spilled off of my lap and I could just barely bring back the feeling of holding his teeny tiny body for the first time. We sat while I watched Asher and Amelie scamper back and forth in the hallway between their rooms. Watched Amelie dress herself. Watched Asher actually initiate inviting Amelie into his room. 

There is no end in sight for this busy hands on stage of parenting, but everyday marks the end of one phase or another.

 

 

Thank you for success!

Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!

I am so thankful for everyone who participated in Supply Ziway by donating school supplies for kids in Ethiopian schools. This past week the bags of supplies were passed out to each student in Ziway and Adami Tulu Ethiopia!! 

Looking at their happy faces assures me that the effort to get the supplies there was absolutely worth it.  Who doesn't love a new box of sharp crayons? Just looking at the color choices inspires even me, a professing craft failure to want to draw. For these Ethiopian students, they get to experience this probably for the first time in their lives. What a joy!

And I am thrilled that they get to have those moments of joy and happiness.

But what I really hope the bag of supplies shows to the students is more than excitement over new crayons.

I hope they realize there are people who care about them.  We live far away and can't reach out and physically hug them or change their tough life experiences.  But we care. We pray for them asking most of all that they will feel Jesus' love but also that He will provide for their basic needs.

Within these little bags, I hope the students also understand the value of the education they are receiving.  I can't send enough money to build them all nice homes or feed them nutritious meals, but I want them to know that if they continue persevering in their studies they can find a way to make a better life for themselves and their families through education.  Reading, writing, learning English and math skills, all of these will be their ticket for a good future.

These deeper truths will last long after the pencils and crayons become nubs.

Thank you so much for joining me in expressing love and hope to Ethiopian students!

Mad Letter

"Mom, are you going to write my teacher a mad letter?"

A mad letter? Why yes, I'm sure I have quite a few mad letters in me just waiting to come out!

Most likely he was thinking of my conversation with Walter after picking up a pizza on Sunday.  I will not name the pizza establishment because we love it and will continue going there...and I reserve my right to continue to complain about this one issue every week. But I will say at this particular place, they make the pizza in front of you and you take it home to bake (got it?).

Allow me a chance to vent the frustration we have with this pizza place. 

Our kids only eat pepperoni pizza (maybe cheese, but that would get plenty of grumbles). Asher has been known to refuse to eat a pepperoni pizza because his slice had a half piece of pepperoni from where I had cut the pie in pieces. This is a ridiculous approach to pizza, but we accept it because the idea is for us to have one grumble free meal a week, which is pizza on Sunday evenings while watching a show.

I can tell this post is going to get way long, I apologize, but I'm going to explain my story!

So I call ahead to order our pizza when we leave church so it will be ready for pick up by the time we get across town to run in and get it on our way home. When I call, the kind PM employee will state the special pizza of the day and I will often choose that. But I will ask for half to be pepperoni and half to be the magnificent combo of sausage, deli pepperoni, Parmesan, red onions, mushrooms and whatever else they include in the on sale combination of the week.

Sometimes they state they intend to charge me extra for half to be just pepperoni and the other half to be sausage, deli pepperoni, Parmesan, red onions, mushrooms... In this case, I usually choose to get all pepperoni and forget the sale sausage, deli pepperoni, Parmesan, red onions, and mushrooms.  But sometimes there is no mention of charging me extra so I go ahead with my half pepperoni/half sausage, deli pepperoni, Parmesan, red onions, and mushrooms request.

This inconsistency in sometimes charging me for the substitution and sometimes not charging me drives me crazy in itself. Not to mention that they want to charge me more for actually taking less toppings (rather than having a whole pizza of sausage, deli pepperoni, Parmesan, red onions, and mushrooms, I am asking for them to only give me half of those yummy toppings and half just plain pepperoni).

But this week, I ordered the pizza with half sausage, deli pepperoni, Parmesan, red onions, and mushrooms, and half pepperoni and there was no mention of extra charge.  When I arrived to pay for the pizza, the PM employee informed me she was going to charge me extra because I had an extra topping.  We both looked at my pizza and I saw half of it with sausage, deli pepperoni, Parmesan, red onions, and mushrooms, and the other half with sad looking plain pepperoni and I laughed at the idea that the side with just pepperoni was going to cost me more because it was an "extra" ingredient.

She must have understood the ridiculousness and without further argument took off the extra charge.

Still! I arrived back to my family in the van ranting about the crazy logic and inconsistency of sometimes wanting to charge me for this "extra topping" and sometimes not. And how crazy they are for wanting to charge me more for taking less ingredients!  I proclaimed that I was going to write a letter to the company describing my problem.  My only hold back was explaining this all on paper in a respectful succinct way.  (And you might agree I do need some work on explaining this problem after reading this post.)

Asher heard all of my expressions to Walter and obviously internalized this idea of writing a "mad letter."

So when I began getting frustrated over not understanding why he urgently needed headphones for school which he has not yet used, he suggested I write a letter to his teacher wondering why she was "wanting all of the moms to go out and waste money."

In fact, he finished his meal, asked to be dismissed, and immediately went to work writing this mad letter for me.

So now all we need to do is get a stamp on that envelope and send it on its way.

And all I need to do is copy and paste this pizza frustration into a new mad letter document and send it on its way too!

staying for now

Seriously? It's the end of September and I am just returning to you, oh faithful blog friend?  I think about you all of the time and what I want to say on you, but somehow those ideas remain ideas and I wonder if I should give up this whole blogging and writing thing for this season or if once I stop I'll never return?

I've stopped before and when I come back I can't believe I ever stopped writing. There's an energy that comes out in this process that my brain forgets when it's not experiencing it.

Like running. I haven't ran in over a year, really? that long! In fact I don't even have good running shoes right now. I fondly remember that feeling of release when I get out there for a good run. Once I start I think I'll never stop again.  But I do. I have.

I believe someday something will click. Maybe my love of being yelled at during bootcamp will end. I might pick out some expensive new running shoes or maybe the lure of fresh air and alone time will entice me to get out there again.

Something like that could happen with writing. That super cute bird journal in my newest favorite color might persuade me to pick up a pen again. One of the kids could say something adorable that I must remember, or God might fill my heart with an insight I would be a fool to allow myself to forget.

Or I might simply have to force myself to do it. When it becomes work does that mean I need a break? Should I let it go when I have to force make myself to sit down and not get up until something productive happens (productive does not equal browsing recipes I hope to make or finding craft projects I only dream of doing).

What do you do when there is not enough time to be creative? Is it worth forcing through the block or would it be better just to take a break?

Not sure, but I think I will miss you if I let you go...so for now you will stay.


 

Preschool here and there

Amelie hung up her bag on her hook and enthusiastically talked about playing at the sand table. Wearing her new bubble skirt and coordinating striped shirt with flowers, her headband matched one of those blue flowers. Adorable and so excited she didn't look back for a second.

Because she attends preschool at our church the classrooms are ones she frequents on Sundays.  The same yet different. Different kids, different teachers, activities reserved just for preschool fill the room. Asher met one of his best friends his first year of preschool and I wonder which of the five classmates will be that special friend for Amelie.

Nerves and excitement are running high here, but one thing we aren't nervous about is the opportunity for her education. 

My mind boggles considering the number of preschools in town.  With classtimes available to fit any schedule and meet whatever religious or secular choice I want, there are many many possibilities to choose from.

My mom told me today of the preschool registration she participated in this week.

On the other side of the world, hundreds of moms lined up in the muddy rain hoping to secure a spot for their child to attend preschool.  For them, preschool isn't about sandtables, gym time, and snacks.  Instead it marks the beginning of a child's opportunity...or not.  Being registered and having a spot in a quality school where fees are affordable and two nutritious meals a day are served means their child has opportunity and hope that others don't have. 

Hearts are broken, tears are shed, parents get angry.
The stakes are high.
The number of available chairs simply can't match the number of kids who want to come.

I wish I could fill the extra spots in Amelie's preschool with Ethiopian boys and girls.  I wish the opportunities could spread around just like that. 

I wish everyone had access to a first day of preschool.

Thankful today for the gift of education for my children.
 

Walking now!

Asa ran away from me at the library today and I was so excited!

After months of cruising and even taking a couple of steps in between people he is finally walking all over and seems to have forgotten how to crawl. This happened on his 16 month birthday as if to say, "You prayed for me to not learn to walk while you were in Ethiopia, so I held off for 4 extra months, but now it is time to do it." Just a week ago, I felt embarrassed to leave him in the "walking well" Sunday school room of my sister's church knowing he wouldn't take a single step for them. And now you couldn't stop him.

He walks around so much, he wore himself out to the point of sleeping on Daddy.

As a parent I want to decide when my kids will do something. They should walk before they are one, be done with the pacifier and move into a big kid bed before turning two, and potty train by the time they are three. This is what the books and the parents who have well adjusted children have told me and I like to keep life on a schedule.

But really it is not about my schedule and as sad as I am to admit it, the control has never been in my hands. In fact God regularly reminds me that the plans I write on the calendar are erasable.

His schedule is written in black permanent marker that never fades. Nothing will happen a minute earlier or later than the scheduled moment and I love that Someone who cares for my best has that all figured out.

And because I do not need to plan out the events of the world, I have more time to chase after my Buddy Boo, something I would a million times more rather do.

 

School starts

School starts next week.

I'm feeling the bittersweet passage of time thinking about Asher going back to school as a 1st grader.
Summer felt like summer this year. We spent lazy days sleeping in, large chunks of mornings in pajamas, and generally did not have a lot on our "to do," "to go," or "to be" list.

That turned out to be good.

When Asher was born I made a rule that I needed to get out of the house at least once everyday. In part I didn't want to feel trapped by these four walls but I also like to be reminded that there are people and busyness going on out there somewhere. 

This summer we regularly broke that rule. Maybe because leaving the house with three kids is more of a challenge than it was to leave a house with a baby in a carrier or because our window of time between waking up, lunchtime, and naptime is small. We learned to love to be here and the side bonus is that Asher and Amelie learned to play together.

They built forts, played with legos, initiated secret clubs, but the favorite game has become the one of battling Asa. Hmm... did I just admit to the world that my older children delight in stalking and attacking my sweet one year old?  The truth is when they ask me to send Asa down to the basement to play, they aren't wanting to cuddle or play his favorite game of catch.  When I peek down the stairs, I see Asher waving a sword above an oblivious toddler dancing and perfecting tae kwon do "hi-ya" shrieks. Amelie stands guard in the background holding her sword and ready to follow the moment Asher yells the signal to retreat. 

They retreat back to the couch forts.  These lie behind the barricade wall of toys they regularly reinforce to keep Asa from wandering into their portion of the basement.

Meanwhile my sweet Asa sits unfazed and happily goes about his business of throwing balls and generally exploring among the toys.  Really he just giggles over the thrill of being in the middle of what the bigger kids are doing.

These battles have been the mainstay of our summer.

And so how did this nostalgic post about school starting turn into the one that reveals the battles in our basement?

Maybe this oddity that has become normal represents what I will miss about this summer. I will miss overhearing their interactions and the time they spend together.  Watching them create the bonds and memories that make them brothers and sister gives me hope that their relationships will be the kind that support each other through life, just like those I cherish with my own sister and brother.

Play will change. With Asher back in school and Amelie the one dictating our play, we will return to her being the mommy and me being the sister who always carries the brother (Asa) around.

School starts next week and we will soon move on from this summer of homebodiness. The time has been good and the lazy days exactly as a summer should be.