Nothing is the same after you move away

This house is ours for 4 more days. In 3 days, it will be filled from floor to ceiling with boxes, ready for the moving truck. In 3 days, it will be filled with packers invading our space. In two days, the cabinet specialist is coming to measure the kitchen for the new cabinets that will be put in after we leave. In fact, not much will be the same after we leave. The hospital tile will go, to be replaced with new wood floors and carpet in the bedrooms. The gold flecked counter tops will be torn out and replaced by something probably not so colorful. I think our wonderful kitchen that takes up 1/3 of the house will be partitioned off so there's room for a new laundry room. They're even doing away with the detachable dishwasher.
Nothing is the same after you move away.
Even the neighbors are moving, almost all of them, this summer. Soon there won't be anyone on the block who really knows us, who can tell the new people who move in to our old place stories about roasting marshmallows over our backyard fireplace, or how TJ used to terrorize the younger kids, or how all the kids would come over to our house to make cookies.
Nothing is the same after you move away.
I wonder who will wind up with the swingset? The wooden one that the people who lived here before us bought, and gave to their neighbors 3 years ago, who gave it to the neighbors on the other side of us when they left, who gave it to us. We'll pass it along to the neighbors as we leave, but they aren't far behind us.
Nothing is the same after you move away.
I wonder if there will be any trace of us left here after we leave. Seems funny to just move on without putting down roots of any kind, without leaving any hint that we were here (I mean besides the broken bits of frisbee buried in the mud in the backyard). I've scrubbed the walls pretty well, so I don't think there will be handprints left. This has been an important place for us. We survived a deployment here. We got stronger here. Emma and Nathan call this place home. Now we are just supposed to clear out of here and take everything with us?
Are home and family really so separate and distinct?
Maybe there will be a few footprints left, footnotes left of our life here. Clues that anyone with a hankering for archeology could figure out. A bead here (from Emma's famous beaded socks), a lego there...
Maybe the new occupants will wander down the hall and hear the tinkling of the piano or mandolin not knowing where it was coming from.
Or maybe they will step through the door and love the place, from the new wooden floorboards to the ceiling - just really love it, and say, "Now this is a place my family can call home." because we have.

The value of things

Ok, so the new Legos catalogue arrived just a few days ago, along with shouts from our middle child - "Mom, can you buy me something?" One would think that the Christmas toy satiation would still be in effect not two weeks past the blessed day. No. Apparently not. In attempts to teach our children the value of money and work, our standard reply to the "buy me something" question is "why don't you earn the money and buy it yourself". So, naturally, his next question to me is, "Mom, can I earn some money?" This is a loaded question. The boys know that in response to this question I will generate a list of jobs they can do around the house. (Housework, ugh!) They like to try other ideas before faced with the terrible prospect of any kind of cleaning. One favorite potential money making activity is an art sale. When they sit down at the art table to draw or write, they draw all kinds of weapons, animals, homes, etc. Normal boy stuff. But they seem to be convinced that art sales requires them to show their ethnic sensitivities, and so they draw calveras. Never heard of them? The kids got the idea from the pbs show Maya and Miguel - where there is a whole episode about a calavera (sugar mask painted in bright colors to celebrate Dia de los Muertes). And here is the standard process: Nathan draws a couple of calaveras and comes to me "Mom, I'm going to sell the big one for 10 dollars and the little one for 5 dollars." He still believes in easy money. It's always crushing to walk them through more realistic pricing. TJ has actually held an art sale before. He took an old wire shoe rack and used bent paper clips to pin the art to the shoe rack, which he then took outside and propped up against a telephone pole in our front yard. Any neighbor who happened to be out walking dogs or playing with their children was accosted (he's not a shy child) and asked if they wanted to purchase any of his drawings. He usually finds one or two compassionate neighbors who are willing to give him a dollar in exchange for two of his 3 minute masterpieces.
Anyway, Nathan must have been desperate because he totally skipped from the art sale idea to housework. "Make me a list, mama." I did - added as many jobs as I thought my 6 year old would be able to do reasonably quickly and easily. Things like wiping off the kitchen table, picking up all the toys and shoes in the living room, sorting the recycling, etc. I offered to pay him what I thought was a generous 50 cents per job. Any of the jobs could be completed in a couple of minutes. Fair is fair, and I'm not made of money. Nathan was outraged. "Mom! NO WAY! Three dollars and 50 cents for 8 jobs (there were actually only 7)?!?!" I upped the ante a bit, and offered 5 dollars if he completed all the jobs on the list, but he was still totally offended. "I am not doing these!" he yelled, and stormed off to the art table.
Maybe I should have talked with him more about standard hourly wages, so he'll know what to expect once he gets a job as a teenager (and makes 6 bucks an hour folding tacos). But all I could think of was hey, I do all those things for free.....
Ahh, the value of motherhood!

Merry Christmas

Whew! For all my worrying, we really did have a nice Christmas! It was a bit surprising, but we managed to pull out a nice Christmas eve evening, as well. Christmas eve day started a bit rocky - the kids were fighting, got in trouble with daddy, etc. Somehow, I organized them to do a bit of cleaning in the afternoon, using lots of "this is your last opportunity to show Santa what great helpers you are" for prompting. And when that didn't work, "Santa still has time to turn the sleigh around...". I forget how well it works. Usually I use "Santa motivation" for a good 2-3 weeks before Christmas, but I forgot this year. Anyway, the kids grumbled at first, but soon got into the cleaning. We stayed busy after that - TJ helped me make dinner, then we went caroling to all the neighbors. The caroling is an important family tradition for me, and I wanted the kids to learn to love it too. We came home, read the Christmas story from the bible, opened one present, and then the kids went to bed, where they actually stayed. Amazing.
I wrapped the last 5 or 6 presents, and started putting Emma's doll bed together. It needed a canopy, pillow, and quilt. A couple who lives in the area made both the bed, and a doll wardrobe - perfect for the clothes my mom made for my doll (which is now Emma's). The bed is large enough for 2 dolls, probably about 24 inches long and tall (the canopy part). Painted white with lavendar and green flower detailing (handpainted!). The wardrobe is similar. I was so tickled by how well it turned out! I used 4 long strips of lavendar sheer material, doubled and tied together at the top and gathered at each post. Found some cute purple fleece with ballerinas on it for a pillow and blanket (just added some satin blanket trim around the edges). It was quick! I was in bed shortly after midnight - has to be a Christmas record! The kids slept in until shortly after 8am, and loved their gifts. No one cried because they didn't get what they wanted. It didn't feel like there was too much or too little. And best of all, no plastic toys with the wire twist ties holding them securely to the packaging. (Well, ok, there was one game with those (*&^ ties, but we didn't open it until the day after Christmas). My neighbor, Diane, came over and borrowed our oven as hers went kaput on Christmas eve (right before baking cookies for Santa). It was nice to see her and chat a bit. I relaxed in the bean bag and read a couple of books sent to TJ and I, while Tracy and the kids played outside and built a fire. Everthing felt peaceful. We remembered the people we loved who were struggling with illness or other problems (in fact one of these good friends visited Christmas evening), but it didn't shake that feeling that all was good and right with the world. What a blessing.
Wishing you and your families the same peace, and a blessed new year!

Religion and Politics

OK, new territory for me. I am generally not good at political dialogues, but here you go. Politics and Religion - separate and distinct? Or impossible to separate?

So, I'm religiously inclined, Mormon by birth and practice. I've been following Mitt's campaign with some interest. I've heard many comments about how, no matter his qualifications, or his personal morality, people won't vote for him because he is Mormon. In fact, last week he "reinvented" a JFK speech about religion and politics that sounded quite good from the sound bites I caught on the radio. Romney's message was this - he wasn't taking orders from the LDS Church, he would work for the good of the nation as a whole. Yet, some of the media were upset that he didn't delve into Mormon theology. Why would he? He's not running for president of BYU. He's not bidding for apostleship.
Granted, our faith is often misunderstood, and has some fantastic claims and practices. One columnist I read noted that all faiths do. Politics is not the place to lay out your most private and personal ideas about faith and God for public scrutiny. But is it possible to truly separate religion and politics? If so, is it advisable?

Separately but related - the Golden Compass, and the turmoil surrounding the movie release. This book is the first in a trilogy of books written by a self-described athiest. Per my sister, they were first released in the UK as books for adults. They were then given new child-friendly covers and some new titles, and marketed in the US for kids. My sister has read all three books, I have read the first. I've also received many different e-mails warning me that the reading of this book or the viewing of this movie will ultimately corrupt my children, as it is the author's intent to turn children away from a belief in God.

So, in our very free country, is there true freedom of religion? Do we tend to fall for age old thinking that to protect the tender souls of our children we need to aggressively ban anything dissimilar to our own religious ideology? I vote for religious freedom. I am wary of warnings that seem to come without some balance and discussion. Don't vote for Mitt, he's one of those Mormons. Don't read this book, it will corrupt your children.
I guess it's because I don't like people to tell me what or how to think. That is my job - the job of parent, to filter through all the media (books, movies and games, etc.) to find out what is most appropriate for my children. Likewise, it's my job as a citizen to vote for someone who I think is most capable and qualified. Let me do my job. Let me exercise my freedom.

With regard to Mitt, shouldn't the question be more individualized? What does this particular mormon bring to the table? Does he have the integrity and the ability and the appropriate plan for the future? That's where I'd like to see the discussion move.
As to the books/movie - I find the themes are too dark for my taste. My sister loved the books and plans to see the movie, but considers both to be for adults because of the content. But, she's not afraid that her spirituality will be warped upon viewing the movie. She's open to alternative views of religion and spirituality.

So, if you have more e-mails warning me away from Golden Compass, please don't send them. I'm not interested.

Christmas thoughts

It's been a bit blue here today. I'm sure the cloudy, rainy weather may have something to do with it, but for Christmas, it's been a little bit less than cheery. It's been an unusually difficult Autumn among our tight-knit military community. I've already written about the broken arm saga, and the break-ins. I think I've even mentioned our friends' daughter with the aggressive brain tumor. I spoke with her on the phone today, and went by to drop off a basket of lighthearted reading for her boys. Played with Sarah, hairless from the chemo, but walking and talking and doing so well in spite of the horrible tricks her own body is playing. The poor baby can't get a break. There are indications the tumor may be metasticizing. Her parents have been told the prognosis is worse than poor. We have other friends going through severe marital problems; a friend who recently miscarried. Granted, much of this trauma isn't even really ours. Tracy and I love each other and our doing well. Our children have seasonal sniffles but are otherwise healthy and strong. But we feel for our friends. Tracy lost two classmates from Ft. Riley last Christmas Day - killed when their vehicle struck an IED. We wondered how their families might be holding up now, faced with the anniversary of their deaths (coming at what is supposed to be such a joyous time). And on a much less serious note - I've been under the weather too, for about a month now. I'm struggling to recouperate and get appropriate treatment.
So, here we are at Christmas, with all the expectations to make THIS Christmas special - the first one we'll celebrate together since Tracy returned from Iraq. And we are so relieved and grateful. He is home with all his limbs, without the mental anguish of PTSD. The children are doing unbelievably well at school and in their activities. We have wonderful friends and family and are so blessed. But this year it seems like trama and tragedy are walking hand in hand with our gratitude. Is this the way it's supposed to be? Is this what happens once you live so long (and we are getting on in years) - that the beloved holidays serve as reminders of people loved and lost, of the trauma of those who struggle with illness and trials?
I really don't know. Of course, the life of our Savior was no picnic either, not even the circumstances surrounding his birth. Who would better understand our frustration at not being able to get the health care we need than a man whose parents were turned away from every Inn? Who would better understand the pain of our friends struggling in their marriages than a man who was betrayed by his own friend. And who could possibly understand the feelings of those who have lost babies, or spouses, or who are watching their child die - than someone who bled from every pore and gave up His own life for those He loved.
Maybe I'm looking at the whole holiday joy thing backwards. Tracy and I are adults now, and maybe it is not for us to return to the untried, naive wonderment that makes up the joy of Christmases past. I love the passage from Isaiah - Chapter 53: "He is despised and rejected of men, a man of sorrows, and aquainted with grief....Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows: yet we did esteem him stricken, smitten of God and afflicted. But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed." Maybe the hope we cling to at Christmas time is the healing power of Him whose birth we celebrate. So, this season, I pray that He who has endured all and suffered all will be with us, to heal us all.

Good parenting moments

My oldest child is a bit dramatic. Friday he came home from school totally exhausted and hungry. He quickly became frustrated that his dad was not responding to his continual pleas to take him fishing. "Dad, can we go fishing? Dad, what's your plan for bringing in the big catfish?" Can we get ready and go fishing now?" So, in his tired and hungry state, he started to melt down. "I'm never going to get to go fishing again! Dad will never take me!" etc. If you have kids you may have seen something similar. He wasn't really getting much attention, so he pulled the garbage can out of the corner cupboard in the kitchen and told us since he was so unloved, he was putting himself in with the garbage. He didn't actually try to get in the garbage can (because even the dramatic have their limits, and I'm sure it didn't smell good). He did crawl into the cupboard and shut the door. Normally I would have just let him come out when he was ready. He has ADHD, he doesn't stay anywhere long. But I knew he was hungry and would feel better if he ate something. Anyway, after a few minutes I knocked on the cupboard door and said, "O, prisoner of the darkest dungeon, would'st thou desire a small snack? Alas, all I can offer thee is a mouldy dry crust of bread and stale water, but if thou ist hungry, I will provide thee some food." Pretty good, huh? He knocked three times on the door, which apparently, is knight code for please feed me. I passed him some sugar snap peas (mouldy crust of bread). After a few minutes he came out feeling a bit better. If only I had remembered a cockney accent, it really would have been cool! Anyway, crisis averted.
So, this was a point I wanted to make about deployment (no I am probably never going to leave the deployment topic alone. Sorry). I think it was pretty obvious to me that deployment gives you plenty of opportunities to see your weaknesses as a parent. You are tired, stressed, the kids are stressed, and all they have is you. But deployment sometimes gives you the opportunity to think outside the box - be creative, do things you wouldn't normally do. During baseball season, for example, the boys wanted to get out in the backyard and practice catching and hitting. Normally, I'd turn that responsibility right over to my husband, the high school and college pitcher. Since he wasn't around, I stuck that child sized t-ball glove on my own hand and went out to pitch to the kids. It was great! I have wonderful memories of all my kids (even Emma), and several of the neighbor kids, out hitting the ball and running around our makeshift bases - the big pine trees in the middle of the back yard. The mosqitos were out, sometimes it started to rain, but we played anyway. We kept up the baseball for several weeks. Next we rode bikes in the evening, and even played a few games of dodge ball. I found myself outside more often with the kids than I had been, and I loved it. Now that Tracy is home, he takes the kids out in the evening and I can clean up dinner. I sometimes miss being out and active with them. Those were the good kind of deployment and parenting memories. There are a couple more moments I can think of - usually coming after I'm tired or sick or stressed past capacity. I guess a big parenting challenge that took a lot of effort was starting TJ with piano lessons, and helping him follow through. There were days when I was so angry at him I yelled and threatened to not let him out of his room until his dad came home. But we finally have a routine down, one that works for all of us, and that minimizes complaints from him. He practices in the morning before school, but after his siblings get on the bus. Then I take him to school, giving him a bit of one-on-one time with me (although usually this one on one time includes a lot of "put your shoes on! Where is your back pack? We have to leave now!) He is doing well, and won't admit that he likes being able to play (but I think he does). Ahh! The great parenting moments may be infrequent, but they are sweet.

Emu in our neighborhood

So, I was unloading groceries a few minutes ago, and had just fished our 24 pack of bottled water out of the back of the cruiser, when I turned around and spotted an emu or maybe an ostrich walking down our street. Seriously. One of those enormous birds, just strolling through our neighborhood, 20 yards away from me, with an MP following slowly along behind it in his police cruiser. It was like a little emu parade, but the emu wasn't waving or throwing candy. I must have spooked it when I said something like "Oh my .*&%" as I backed up to my house for my camera. When I ran out the side door breathless for a picture, the MP was at the other end of the street, out of his car, looking over the sloping lawn and large tree filled space before the airstrip. I loped toward him, hoping for another emu sighting, but he pulled by me, on his way out of the neighborhood. "What????" I guestured to him, and he just shook his head.
I thought this was a quiet neighborhood!
I couldn't resist attempting another sighting, so I ran home, jumped in the truck, and trailed the MPs. They were around the corner, 3 or four of them now, driving deep into the strip of grassland between the highway and the airfield. As they drove out of my sight, I gave up my quest, and headed back to the truck in time to see a pick-up truck with a horse-trailer pulling up to follow the MPs. Good luck! There was even a helicopter in on the action, an Apache, with it's menacing guns, circling overhead. Now that's good use of taxpayer money! Wonder if they will catch it before it reaches the highway? I sure hope so. I'm developing a certain interest in that emu. Hey, I'm hearing some sirens, and the helicopter just circled over my house. Maybe it's back. Excuse me, I may head back outside to look for the emu again. Or ostrich. Whatever. I wonder where it came from? Was there a mass outbreak at a near by zoo? What will I see next? A penguin? A tiger?
On second thought, maybe I'll stay inside!