Our “backsoon” and back from Branson

So the week before Thanksgiving I was pretty much wallowing in self-disgust. It choked out more than a bit of my thankfulness. Ironically – one of the deepest frustrations which I was allowing to suck my joy was my son. More particularly HIS wallowing, self-disgust and HIS unthankfulness. His bad attitude was giving ME a bad attitude. You know, that makes so much sense and is obviously going to lead to a happy outcome right?
“Kid, be thankful – you've got a house, food, a family that loves you, and such a happy life. - So be happy or I will scream at you.” Oh wait – I already am. "If you don't want to enjoy giving a gift to some poor kid in Africa – I'll guilt you into it. Ok – so maybe you STILL don't want to give a gift – but at least now you are crying." That makes me feel better. Well, not really.
“Kid, all I'm asking you to do is make your bed and brush your teeth. It's not a lot. Quit complaining. You want to hear who has to do A LOT – well I'll tell you who – ME.” And after 20 minutes... he has an epic example of how to REALLY complain. And so the downward spiral goes – bad attitude, begets bad attitude and I'm guessing the chicken came before her egg.
But how to stop it? I'm still not sure – but in a moment of enlightenment brought on by Winnie the Pooh, a 5:00 a.m. Bible Study, and maybe a little guidance from the Holy Spirit – we are going to giving something a try.
The general colors of my issues and my sons are these: negativity, obsessiveness, selfishness, and anxiety. It is not a pretty combo. And the most bizarre part about this general outlook on life is that they are almost entirely figments of our imagination. They are “all in our head” - so to speak. Imaginary problems that pummel us to the ground – so my previous response to them in both he and I has been, “get over it.” But that isn't really work well for either of us. That's where Winnie the Pooh comes in. The new Winnie the Pooh is the tale of the “heffalump” revisited. Only this time the imaginary creature that is hunted and feared is called a “backsoon.” The monster is merely the result of the owl's poor literacy and the fearful imagination of the woodland creatures. Nevertheless they spend their whole day and all of their valuable possessions trying to trap it and save their friend who had simply left a note saying, “He was busy and would be back soon.” In all oft their imagining owl insisted that the worst characteristic of the “backsoon” was that he is “terribly busy.” And I laughed out loud because I thought of Jude and I as we run from place to place - thing to thing always keeping ourselves occupied in search of the next thing... the current is always such a hassle. The present such an inconvenience – always missing the gift – forever seeing the monster. And we are so terribly busy with it all. But of course it is all in our heads. So, we are going to try to bury our backsoons. I get it from my mother – when all else fails – make a chart. A gimmick, as Jarod says.

Mostly – I like to think of it as a reminder.
That the only way to bury a lie is with the truth.
5 Minutes to cuddle and pray after breakfast,
ten things to share in Thankfulness as we walk to school,
a memory verse to recite and speak the truth over the lie,
an incentive to get off the computer,
one thing to give to others... a moment.. a hug.. to remember all we have – and share,
and finally ten minutes just to sit together and laugh before bed.
Just because we are happy to be here – now.
And to do this – I must do less – my backsoon must be less BUSY.
And you know what?
His backsoon is shrinking... slowly, with my slow reminders at every whine and complaint – that we are working against that ugliness. We are a team against the backsoon – we are not at war with one another. We fight the same battle, and we will rejoice together in the small victories. My boy and I against our backsoons.

And I'll take this moment to share a thankfulness – for a trip gone well. Amazing weather, the best of memories – where I saw potential for disaster we only had laughter and excitement. We had the most beautiful of fall breaks.... our van of 10 traveling to the Ozarks and back. We were blessed – and not even the Backsoons got in the way.




We started the trip with a family thanksgiving in Marion... where there was a bathtub in the church yard. With such a wonderful photo op right off ... we knew it was going to be a great trip!


























Happy exhaustion.

There are a million moments from this week that I never want to forget:
The moment that, while running on a dark cold Tuesday morning, Seonjin and I found ourselves, in an instant, flat on the ground, clotheslined at the knee by an unexpected fence. We have bruises this week and I laugh out loud each time I flench in pain. In the moment I thought, “Too bad no one was around to enjoy that view!”
The moment that I realized that Saad, our flying monkey, was dancing a frenzied hop on the front porch while taking a smoke break before the Halloween festivities got into full swing. There he bounced, waving to every single staring car that inched by. In the moment I thought, “If we do stuff like this too often the city may just buy us a fence to keep us IN.”
Our beaming boy as his “Frankenstein's monster” gourd made it into the finalists.
The four hundred moments that I have taken time to enjoy Lucy's speech that is ever so lacking in “s” sounds. One day there will be no more, “'picy” food, “cary 'piders”, “out in the 'treets”, “big 'ticks”, “ “'poons” and “everyone goes to 'chool but ME” . And speaking of pronunciation – Alsi is leaving and I am going to miss all her “t'inking” and “vater” and “vells...”... Oh, I will miss them.
And I never want to forget the moment she asked when we would visit her and when we honestly faced the reality together of our roads parting for good. We made all our plans to Skype in for her wedding – and pick up where we left off, someday,– and knowing we love one another none-the-less for it.
I don't want to forget Sunday morning when I taught 2 Japanese girls to make Sushi. It may have been my proudest culinary moment. Ever.
Looking over the congregation at church and thinking – “We Americans are out numbered. What happened?”
Our entire household in plastic hair nets and aprons – packing food for Somalia... but only after Lucy had sufficiently shaken each package. We were beautiful Saturday.
The moment when Seonjin finally caved and began to enjoy being the “bad witch” even with the dermatologically damaging face paint. And the moment she told me in complete honesty that I was kidding myself if I thought my face only had ONE ugly blemish. Maybe I need daily green face paint.
The moment the Saudi's insisted on buying bag after bag of candy and treats for Halloween – for the “festival”. “We like this festival – for you – happy Haloween – it's ok, it's ok!”
I don't want to forget the moments where Jarod and I actually sat down and talked about how we wouldn't trade this life for anything... but we have got to figure out a way to catch each other with more than a “hi and bye” from one week to the next. I don't want to forget that we are working on a game plan here and that it is important to each of us.
A friend over coffee, reminding me to breath: a friend on the phone laughing at my darkest thoughts – knowing they were fleeting. That grace.
I don't want to forget that Jude finally voiced that he does, “love school – just hate getting up so early!” - we can work with that. Really – not a problem.
Kingson as a Ninja was classic. Next to the American Nome family was even better.
My mom in full Saudi garb... I really thought she was beautiful!
The aimless teenage neighbor boy down the street beginning to catch a vision for the world through our home brings hope.
When the Saudis handed a Korean guest a cup of steaming tea, and she inhaled a thrilled breath and then in her most complimentary voice said, “ah, this smells like a public bathroom!” Yes – that was priceless. Of course she meant that it smelled like an aromatic spa – but still for the moment, I thought, “you did NOT just say that!” But she did. Our house is full of things none of us should ever say – but it works anyway. And that grace – I never want to forget.
Asli as Dorthy in a Kansas field at sunset.
The whole Wizard of Oz crew laughing in my parent's driveway.
Tony's family name carved in a pumpkin, readying it to take a picture to send to his son – us both silently wishing he was at our side... down on the floor with my flying monkey.
Enough Pumpkins on our porch to make the mail man stumble.
Watching the first snow of the year through the door of Jude's class with 20 excited little ones who were “trying to focus” on math.
My husband, at the end of one of the longest weeks ever, standing tall amongst 40 screaming kids on a Wednesday night... smiling - truly happy... when I know he'd rather be anywhere else on earth.
It's been one of those weeks... one of those very good long weeks.