Because I will forget...

My children – the men – the students. They say a million hilarious things each day. And I swear I won't forget. But I will. I do. And I don't take time to write them down. Our lives are so full of material for a book or a sit-com or random reality TV. I never watch TV because my life is better. But sometimes I stare at my kids and think, “Were you really smaller than this?” I don't remember.

Yesterday Jude ran into his “wiggles” teacher from our life before. Before Honduras, when he was two, and we went to Hays Rec center twice a week – just he and I. And he said, “at first I didn't remember her... but then I remembered that balance beam. I LOVED the balance beam.” He did? Good to know.

And then after dropping Maysyn and Lucy off at ballet at Hays Rec I took Jude to Aikido just a few blocks from our house. When getting out of the car he said, “I'll just walk home.” And he did. By himself. And I went home. By myself. Turned on some music and finished the laundry and started dinner, and thought, “Soon they won't need me.”

Well, what do you know? That 8 years went quick.

Soon I won't be giving them rushed baths 1 hour after bedtime with naked Lucy singing in my exhausted face, “Two children are a BL-E-SS-IINNNGGGG.” An out-of-no-where reminder that she apparently saw I needed.

Soon the three of them won't be serenading us before dinner with Martin Luther King's “Free at last” - complete with harmonic solo. And Lucy will move past her after-dinner international concerts and “ballon Korean dance.” They won't do “gungnam style” 50 times a day. At random. In the grocery store.

Soon they will realize that EVERYONE in the olympic swimming pool is starting at them as the waddle from one end to the other in the flippers, goggles, and foam weights they just scored in the supply closet. It took 3 whole minutes for the oblivious parade to finally get in the water. And we will have to teach Lucy that she doesn't need to “wiggle her booty” with every jump off the diving board.

They probably won't be as fascinated with the grass-hair they planted in a head-pot with Grammee. Meaning they will only check it twice a day like I do – instead of 15.

Lucy will someday develop tact and stop telling her Grammee that her face skin, “is just so shriveled” - unless of course these Chinese girls rub off on her too much... then she'll say such lovely things into her 30's.

And of course, how could I forget (But I am sure I will) that when Jude received 5 semester-end awards and we sheepishly complimented him asking, “Did you get every award available?” His reply was that, “No, everyone received at least one award.” Puzzled, we asked what they were. Half-embarrassed he tilted his head and said, “Honestly – I think they just look at some kids and think, 'What can they do?' - then they make that award.... 'Like, best smile.'” YIKES. He figured it out. When I told his teacher that perhaps, we were dealing with a bit of a strange kid – who might be too perceptive and blunt for his own good – she just stared at me and said, “Oh – I know. Yesterday when we were counting money he said, “Oh good – counting money. I'm so good at that. Someday I am going to be a banker, get rich and - ALL the POWER will go to my head.” Really? What do I do with these comments? And what do we do when he is old enough to know he should say them but still harbors them in his heart?

Someday it won't be impressive when Jude read's us 10 minutes from his Bible and I won't get excited when Lucy can actually open her school door by herself. (Right now I am still clapping for both.)

Yesterday, I got a good chuckle when I noticed that in 7 days of laundry Lucy managed to only have 3 pairs of underwear. Maybe we aren't ready to be dressing ourselves yet. Which I also should have picked up on by the eternally wrong-footed shoes, backwards shirts, and pants that still have store tags on them. All of which walk into school each day bouncing below the disheveled hair... me thinking, “bless her heart.. she just can't pull herself together... and I OBVIOUSLY have NOTHING to offer in this area.”

Someday soon they will quit acting out every movie they see – distributing lines and practicing accents. In the meantime I will try to hide my amusement as they say such lovely things as, “I'll give you to the count of ten to get your yellow-bellied Kester off my property...” followed by machine gun noises. My parenting just didn't turn out how I thought it would. Honestly.

And as I come to the realization that my “mother of preschoolers” 8 year season will come to an end in less than 8 months I find myself giggling over something John said yesterday in a meeting...

After his months of fits, tantrums, being fired for NEVER doing what he is told, regressing in drooling and table manners since my mom left the dinner table, 10 times a day telling Jarod and I that he is “going to report us,” falling down intentionally to try to get bruises that he can report, calling us bad names, walking off, and being a general pain in the neck for months on end – he was asked by his caseworker:

“How much do you like where you live and work?”

Very much

much

some

a little

or not at all

He wanted to just circle “VERY MUCH” and be done with it. SERIOUSLY???? VERY MUCH, John? Since when? Why don't you act like it??!! At least 10 minute a day - act like you like this place VERY MUCH!!!

And then he smiles and his teeth fall out and he says, “Weeeellllll, you're all right.”

And I giggle inside as I think, “Very much.” I like where I live and where I work OH SO VERY MUCH. These last eight years that are coming to an end... as my kids walk off on there own to school, library, Aikido, and pool. I liked them very much. I circle “very much.”

And to my friends who still haven't pottied in private or slept through a night, or finished a meal without climbing under the table to wipe up something for what seems like YOUR WHOLE LIFE. Someday you will probably circle VERY MUCH. Thank you for doing this season with me.

And to my husband who has allowed me to live these 8 years at home (babe, I really was at home some) – thank you for giving me this season. I liked it VERY MUCH. (I know, sometimes it WAS hard to tell.)

And to you Jesus, I'm sorry about the way John and I behave... we are a bit handicapped you know. We really do like this life VERY MUCH.

… but I MIGHT forget...

... also, there are no photos because my I-phone, I-photo, and other "I things" do not like me "VERY MUCH" - but you really can't blame them... I'm an idiot.  And Jarod is too busy and important to be bothered with this :).  

Editor's Commentary

Jarod is posting our “2012” year video to facebook. 1 minute for every month. We have been doing this for 8 years. I dreaded doing it this year because – to be honest – it hasn't been my favorite year. I was NOT the director – nor am I ever (which can seriously get me bummed sometimes). Just the editor. And as the editor - I have a few comments as you watch our life unfold.

1. The first picture in the video is a photo I took years ago of my cousin Nic planting a flower with his mom. The song I chose is one that I have looped in my van and my brain since Jan. 2nd when He died. We read this quote last night and it reminded us of our inner dealings as we sat and stared at the year on a timeline,“Optimism and Hope are radically different attitudes. Optimism is the expectation that things – weather, human relationships, the economy, the political situation, and so on – will get better. Hope is the trust that God will fulfill God's promises to us in a way that leads us to true freedom. The optimist speaks about concrete changes in the future. The person of Hope lives in the moment with the knowledge and trust that all of life is in good hands.” - Henri Nouwen
2. As Jarod and I failed so many times and ways in our lives with international students, our family, and Bethesda this year, it was easy to feel overwhelmed. But as I looked at the fullness of our lives, I was reminded of what my cousin Jeff always said when I was learning to water ski “like a man.” He said, “When you stop falling you know you are done learning.” At 30 my goal in water skiing is now NOT to fall – not to improve. I hope we never get to that point in life. In Christ we are righteous, therefore Prov 24: 16 applies, “for though the righteous fall seven times, they rise again.” We have fallen SO MUCH this year... we have to have learned a TON.
3. International friends take more pictures than our American friends. Our white friends matter – and 2013 will contain a photo shoot of them. Also, my mom is getting crazy good with her I-pad so I think I'm covered.
4. Jude's imaginative obsession moved from Star Wars to Indian Jones to The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings this year. Praise be to God and Jude's father that we are finally into some literature that we can parent from. (Not to say we didn't have a million 'dark side' conversations.)
5. Finally, I am a little bit of a legalist which means: I will do this video thing every year – no matter what. 2. Because it is so beneficial to us to sit and contemplate our year I think every set of parents should be forced to make one. :) I'd love to see yours.
   
   
   So, “here is to Hope in 2013”... but mostly - here's to the Lord Jesus Christ who makes hope possible... 
   
   
   P.S.  I HATE "Gungnam style" but it is sadly a huge part of our lives right now.

Monday blogs

I miss doing my Monday blogs. Scratch that. I miss having DONE my Monday blogs. They may be lame - but consider it my first draft. Anne Lamott says they get to be - so there.
I am going to fix my face this year. All Asian women who have ever lived in my house will be Relieved! Apparently it has kept them up at night- trying to fix my complexion. It's totally acceptable in Asian culture to make NASTY comments about one's face. Think of it as constructive criticism. It is also advisable to comment on weight gain every .5 lbs. I know - LOVELY. But hey, they are thinner than us and with better complexion. I swear though it is just genetics - so here's to a year's investment to see if I can fix this white girl face.

Other note I would like to make today: the best thing I do as a mom is have bags. I have this one bag by the back door that alternates between swim wear and snow suits- sand toys and craft supplies. It's always there. And then there is the snack bag and the grocery bags and the bags of egg cartons and the things that need to go back to mom. By the front door there are the Maysyn bags and the stuff to Joan bags. The food for friends bags and the bags of packages and letters that go to students and students cousins and sometimes students-cousins-friends. And I use to hate all these bags. But not this year - this year I'm gonna learn to love my bags- just not the ones under my eyes ... Those apparently - have got to GO. I wonder if they make an invisible cream that I could spread on all my other bags? Probably not because then I'd use it on my piles of laundry... And invisible clothing would NOT be good...

See why they don't recommend making stream-of-conscience writing public?

The Lottery

When Jarod and I were in college. We played the lottery. Not often. Maybe twice. Only when the pot was over two hundred million. Every Saturday night after our shift at the coffee shop (when our week had been too long, night too late, and we were pumped full of coffee and sugar) we would drive by the billboard with our “megabucks” pot info. And we'd talk about it all the way home. And then – when it was over 150 million we would write down a list of what we would do with the money. Because here's my thinking – You don't want to win the lottery UNPREPARED. So when we bought our tickets it was with itemized list in hand (adjusted of course for tax – leaving us with $74 million). Every single dollar was planned out and we could not deviate because there could be nothing worse than letting good fortune ruin a perfectly average life. I'm that practical.

Yesterday, I spent the second day of 2013 cleaning out the 35 year untouched attic of Bethesda Place. I had dirty dusty David by my side and the youth of Bethesda's next door neighbor, Mary, pushing all the way. It was a beautifully productive time and we found literally THOUSANDS of mason jars and THOUSANDS of empty wood boxes. There are parts for 20 broken wooden chairs and enough nails to build another house – and the story – in pieces -of the hundreds of projects the men have tried over the years. And I just kept thinking: What do you do with Mason jars, empty boxes, six handicapped guys and the girl from next door?

What do you do with Mason jars, empty boxes, six handicapped guys and the girl from next door?

We have some trees too. Thousands.
And garden hoses... other hoses too... lots of hoses. And pipe.
We have bows and arrows and BB guns.  Magnetic fishing game poles.

And good health. Other than the 3 weeks of winter illnesses that cycle through. We have unbelievably good health.

We have the collective knowledge of my parents – who survived 42 years of marriage and 32 years at Bethesda against all odds. We have them to draw on.

We have two random (quirky) men who are willing to help us keep the guys happy and healthy.

We have a childhood friend who is in this thing for the long haul.

And the kids. They crack us up. They are always good for a laugh.

And of course the students – we learn something new every day. Some days – more than one thing. But those days can be a bit much.

And we have each other. And the handicapped guys are really the best in the world. Really.

SO... What do you do with A LOT of mason jars, empty boxes, six handicapped guys and the girl from next door?

I won this lottery. It's amazing.

And I am totally unprepared.

But I promise Nic... we are going to do something cool.

 I know you would have. 

Made for January

And He has said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness.” Most gladly, therefore, I will rather boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me. 2 Corinthians 12:9

(contemplations from 5 hours shopping)

I wish I were my mother during the month of December. She was made for December. She thinks and breaths gift giving and sale shopping. She thrives on chaos and her idea of a perfect week has between 3-5 special social gatherings. It is a bonus to her if she has to plan, decorate and cook for each one. The adrenaline rush that comes from tabulating schedules and gifts bathes her brain in fresh oxygen. She has an ongoing mental list of all the people for whom she wants to say and do kind things. She knows who will get a Christmas card and lovely basket of goodies. I want to be that person.

But I'm not. I am made for January (and possibly June). The months AFTER the bigs months. The months where there is nothing to take pictures of and the only events are ones we invent to fill the empty weekends. The months full of reflection – and either warm fires or watching grass grow.

When I was a child I said I HATED Christmas. I didn't. I hated the fact that I wasn't made for Christmas. I thought everything going on was splendid, it was just too much for me and I resented that. I resented the fact that “hubbub” made my skin crawl. This year my skin is crawling but I am learning to embrace that. I am learning to love the fact that I was not made for this month but I have to do it anyway. I don't have to do it well. I will never be the gift giver, card sender, sale shopper, decorate or thoughtful friend that my mom is. And that is ok. I just have to do it with grace. My only goal is to do my best and not threaten to kill anyone. I just have to fill the cart and NOT run over the old lady. I just have to wrap the gift – not prettily – but remember who it goes to. And I have to laugh. A lot.

I have to watch December people enjoy their month, and find joy in their joy. I have to do December – because December people have to do January and June. And they will learn to do it with grace – and I will be able to stand beside them and say, “I know how you feel – we each have our moments.” And I am learning to be glad we all have different moments. Different months. I am glad I don't get out of December – I think it is making me a better person... a person who humbly says, “Yes it was a very nice December – even though: I forgot my husband's birthday twice (don't ask), spent too much on not-thoughtful-enough-gifts, ate foods that I never should have even SEEN and forgot my best friends when sending out Christmas cards.” I did my best – to give the best Christmas experience possible to those around me... and it was good enough because the BEST CHRISTMAS is freely available to whoever so would have Him. Merry Christmas.

In retrospect - I love the busy months.  Like November. I loved it.

Jessie came home for a visit.

Carhendge.  American road trip - for SURE.

And we didn't run out of gas in the badlands.

That's good.

ALMOST running out of gas in the badlands DIDN'T seem awesome at the moment.

Kind of like Christmas shopping.

I wish someone would have taken my picture today.

P.S. Husband - Happy Birthday.  Maybe we should try moving our birthdays again to June.  

I like June.

And I love you... even in December.  

And I am glad your mom is around to make German Chocolate cake. :)

Where to even begin...

When I was a child I remember seeing commercials for 18 hour bras. They confused me. I mean - first: what was the big deal about bra comfort? Second, how on earth could someone be in need of a bra for 18 hours straight? And third, do people really grow up and think “I want to model my underwear on national television?”

Most of the time I still feel like I am 12. Mentally, I'm just sitting around waiting for someone to tell me what I should do and how things are gonna go down. In the meantime, I just do whatever hits me in the 18 hour chunks called “a day.” Jarod and I roll over in the morning after the alarm goes off and begin whispering our prayers to one another. You know, the age old, “Dear Jesus, please help us to make it through today. Help us not to permanently damage each other, our children, or anyone we come into contact with in the next 24 period. And please fix anything and anyone we really mess up. And sorry in advance... and we'll touch base again in like 7 minutes. Thanks. Amen.” And then we just hold on. For 18 hours. Denture appointments with the guys, or sorting the 300 sockets that they just dumped out of the back of the four-wheeler, flus and funerals, halloween costuming, women's retreats, trips to Oklahoma, packing 35 years of sentimental junk, logistics for students and staff, scrubbing floors (although apparently not often enough), and …..

I hear this is how your thirties goes. For everyone. It is a great decade. But you don't have time to remember it. And maybe in my sixties I'll review what happened this month. I will search the archives of the internet and find the horrific reports of the hurricane on the east coast, hindsight will be 20/20 on the election, and I will even probably be able to find out what great sales I did NOT coupon.

But only here can I archive the following photos. Glimpses of the beautiful, crazy, 18 hour days that we are living... one after another.

Glimpses of the months when I began to grow up, began to realize it is all about SUPPORT.

In a prayer.

In a friend.

In a husband.

In a bra.

You just need support.

(Well, 3 out of 4 isn't bad.)

And it is all about thankfulness... because however my life is turning out, I still don't have to model bras on national television. And considering how unpredictable life REALLY is ~ I'm glad it didn't head down that road...

Here's the road we were on this month. (In no particular order.)

Some photos of the finished fence (Thank you Andrea for pointing out their absence.)

I live in an Estate. It's pretty flippin'' awesome if you ask me.

This series is from Pumpkin picking... and selling

Here's our "girl's" afternoon while the men were in the desert.

And halloween.

Some people go out.

Like my in-laws apparently... who made the kids the best costume EVER.

Oh and here's some photo's of the international hot dog roast at Bethesda earlier this month. 

(thanks to Allen for the photos since I got 0).

On a side note:  This is what I want from the 150 international students who cameo out and enjoyed an evening of perfect weather on the farm with the men. I want them to go back to whatever corner of the world they came from with a photo or a memory, a feeling of peace and to say to a friend, "Hey, guess what handicapped people can do? Guess what awesome, fun lives they can lead and share with others? Where are our handicapped people?........"

Like these three girls upstairs.  They are awesome.  Thy have determination and beauty and they will change the world.  Their sign is their own commitment NOT to speak anything but English even among themselves.  I wanted to cry I was proud of them.

Oh and here are the photos from the desert trip.

No one died. No one was seriously injured.

And when 2 seven year old boys and 4 handicapped men and three irresponsible men (one of which drank gasoline) are put in the following position... that is more than any mother or wife can hope for.

a long nap...

I am thinking about taking a long nap - like until Jan 1, 2013.  When I wake up please don't tell me what I missed in the remainder of the year. I just don't want to know.  This year has made me tired. And old.  I am tired of saying goodbye, and crying, and crying with people, and saying goodbye to people, and being with people who are tired of saying goodbye.  It is getting old.  

And I am tired of all the changes and readjustments that really probably won't be any better than the set up we had before.  But we were at least USED to before. And frankly I am just not a big fan of this year.  And when I look over the pictures they are pretty happy, pretty wonderful, pretty amazing. But there is this undercurrent of sadness, of uncertainty, of loss, disequilibration from all the sudden changes and unknown futures, that I just can't seem to shake.  And when it starts to shake, starts to loosen, someone else is gone. We practice letting go. Again. Practice asking the hard questions. Again. And learn contentment in faith.  Learning to love the questions and the growth that comes from them.  But babies need a lot of sleep when they grow. Growing pains.  So I think I just need a really long nap. Because I am just wondering... is this just how life goes from here on out?

Psalm 119:25-28

I am laid low in the dust;
    preserve my life according to your word.
²⁶ I gave an account of my ways and you answered me;
    teach me your decrees.
²⁷ Cause me to understand the way of your precepts,
    that I may meditate on your wonderful deeds.
²⁸ My soul is weary with sorrow;
    strengthen me according to your word.

Dear Lloyd,

May you rest in peace ~ may your awakening in Christ be better than any rest found here.