Marshmallow Musings

          I am polishing off a bag of half-eaten marshmallows while reflecting back on this day (yes, unbeknownst to most people I cannot leave marshmallows sit in their bag...they call to me to rescue them). I am so full of gratitude. Moving from our last home was challenging. I was totally open to moving, but I was still suprised that we actually did move. It was like I was somehow waiting for God to step in and to stop us. It all felt rather surreal; and when we did move and close on our old house on that end and close on our new house on this end, I was a little perplexed.
            Today was my birthday; and although I have often had my mom around for it (since she only lived an hour and a half away from me), I cannot remember the last time I had my brother's family over as well. My brother's oldest daughter has a birthday on the same day. When my brother asked if I wanted to get together on our birthday,  my hubby came up with the idea of a having a bonfire up here and even putting hay in the cart our lawn tractor pulls for "hayrides". It was pretty awesome for me (plus my sister-in-law left half a bag of marshmallows to inspire my musings and temporarily bloat me...thanks, Sis!).
           I miss my old friends and old town, but I love being able to be apart of my extended family's life. This past week I was able to spend a couple of days with my neices and nephew while my brother and sister-in-law got to remember why they really like each other on a trip in Mexico. I loved hanging out with them and being an aunt again. I always felt like I barely got to see them when they visited.  I was too busy making meals or taking care of the baby to really get to know them. I've already seen my neice play in a couple of softball games and watched my nephew score two touchdowns in football. Today, when my youngest neice spent all of her money on a present for me, I felt overwhelmed with gratitude to get to know her sweetness firsthand. 
           This would've never been possible without my hubby's decision to move for this job or to move to this house (that he picked for us). Had we stayed in our old town, I would've never experienced a birthday like this. Had our septic system been ok and our original buyer bought our house, we would've moved to the first house we had our bid accepted on  (which would've been an hour away from my brother)...so my birthday still probably wouldn't have been this way. It's funny how God always makes my hubby's choices benefit me. God knew just how much He would be giving me when we moved.
          My mom wrote this verse from the Message translation on my birthday card today, and it seems so fitting: "God's angel sets up a circle of protection around us while we pray." (Psalm 34:7) I can't remember a day I haven't talked to God about this whole situation for the past few months. I can feel His protection and His provision.  I can feel the smile on His face as I am beginning to realize what a gift this is for me. I can't help but say thank you to Him for blessing me with a hubby to take me just where I need to be.

The Escape Artist

             We have one chicken who is a master escape artist. Her name is Sunny, and she goes rogue almost every afternoon. She brilliantly flies off or climbs through a fence hole (there are some perks to being the runt and smaller than everyone else) to free-range without her sisters. She eats first from our compost. Then, she tastes the choicest grass on the hilltop. The world is her oyster or buffet (however you want to look at it). She loses the safety of her flock; but since she is the bottom of the pecking order anyhow, she also frees herself of the heirachy and pain. 

          Sometimes, I wish I were Sunny. I just want to fly off and have my own space. I feel a pang of guilt in admitting that; but this past week, I realized that even Jesus got tired and took naps. I can't tell you how many times I've been exhorted to get up early before everyone else and spend time praying, just like Jesus did...and I'm not saying they're wrong. It is biblical, but I can't remember anyone preaching about how even Jesus took naps. It's in the Bible too (Luke 8:23). Remember the story about Him falling asleep in the boat and being woken up because of the disciple's fear over the storm. (Can you relate to people, albeit little people, waking you up because they're scared?)
          At one time, I questioned why anyone would seriously not feel like going back to their family after getting a break. I remember hearing a good friend express this to me, and wondering what was wrong with her. How could she even consider this? This was all before I had more than two children, so that might explain part of it.
          This past week has brought me many moments that are funny now, but I desperately wanted to escape from at the time. Half-Pint incubated some duck eggs that Puddles (our female mallard duck) is refusing to sit on. After a few hours, the porous eggs began to ooze their rotting contents. The smell that hit me when coming into the house was horrendous. I would suggest checking what your nine year old has researched on the internet concerning fertile eggs...yes, they should have shadows...but also veins...and only AFTER incubation, not before. We had to dump the eggs, but thankfully, Puddles has begun laying more fresh eggs. This meant cleaning the incubator. I carried the base (that was too heavy for Half-Pint) filled with some putrid water accross our carpet, never realizing there were some holes in the base until some of the nasty water spilled on my clothes and the carpet. It was enough to make me want to hide in room and take a nap, but that didn't work out so well for me this past Saturday either.
           I laid down to rest my eyes for half an hour. When I got up, I went down to the basement to start some laundry. My jaw dropped open in suprise at the concentrated laundry soap that covered a good 3 square foot area of tile. While I was resting, the container had been knocked over onto the floor and the lid that I had loosened so the detergent freely flowed out the other side came off. I began sopping up the soap with some dirty laundry while I wondered what the point of my nap was. I no longer felt rested.
            Then there is the awesome change of season which brought the sudden realization that Mary has one outfit for fall...and Half-Pint has zero warm shirts. We headed off to Kohls last Friday for a lesson on Economics and Art (creating and combining outfits for the tween crowd at our house should count for something,right?) We were only there for ten minutes when little Carrie declares that she has to pee NOW. I race to the nearest associate to find out where the bathroom is. As I'm shoving the stroller at break-neck speed (the amount of accidents I have cleaned up in the past month are beyond counting, and I don't want another one now), Carrie stops in front of the stroller to talk to me. I run into her causing her to complain about her ankle getting scraped, but I rush past her goading her on toward the bathroom. I'm convinced she is exaggerating the pain, but she promptly drops to the ground in agony, holds her breathe, passes out, and looses control of her bladder in front of the Vera Wang pajamas display. We proceed to the bathroom and problem solve how to get a five year old to the van where clean clothes (intended for my potty-training three year old are). Carrie refuses to put her wet clothes back on. I end up giving her my Blush as a makeshift skirt. We did exit the store again 3 hours later with a couple pants and tops for both girls. Mission accomplished. I won't even go into detail about the escapade of yet another accident on Tuesday this time at the park by Grace. She rode home in a diaper and jacket, since I hadn't remembered to replace the clothes for the accident bag.
        The reason for wanting to escape from my work isn't really so much about exhaustion or feeling underappreciated like I've heard many moms talk about. I think it might be because I don't really value the moment I'm in. I hate it when the unpredictable happens. I don't like my schedule being messed with. I love what Jill Savage says in "No More Perfect Moms" that "The moment we are in is just as important as the moment we planned." I need that as a daily reminder because my planning is constantly hijacked. My attitude can make the difference between it feeling like a vacation or prison (laundry anyone?).
          So for now, I will relish the fifteen minutes of holding my new eight week old kitten in the sunlight (Harley, the dog, has already been sternly told that they are not chew toys, and he no longer drools while staring at them). I will open my heart to the words I read in the Bible when the house is quiet in the morning. I will stop and smile when my day is derailed...and know that every moment is a gift and an opportunity for growth.

          

Making Lemonade

          This past weekend,  we welcomed a new member into our family. I now have another sister!! As excited as I am about my brother-in-law taking the plunge, I was so frustrated with Amtrak. What started out as a ten minute delay in boarding the train translated into a 2 1/2 late arrival at our final destination. I really, really wanted to be there to see my sister's grand entrance (not to mention my adorable Carrie and Grace, who were her flower girls). My hubby, who was a groomsman, had droven out the day before with all four girls. It was so nice to play and snuggle Mr. Blue Eyes on the train. At eight months old, he doesn't really enjoy or understand long car rides...so I'm extremely grateful that Charles agreed to let me take the train out.
          My mom had vacationed in Arizona last week, and took her return trip so that we met up in Missouri for the remainder of the trip. It was awesome to see my mom and chat for hours, literally. What a present! When we realized we'd be late, it was nice to discuss it with someone...and tell each other that getting upset would do no one any good. My mom had left her van and keys at a church for the week she was on vacation,  and the pastor had promised to have a member drive it to the station so it'd be waiting for us.  When we got off the trian, we both groaned to find the van missing. Thankfully,  a friend of her's was being picked up at the same train station by her son, and he happily ferried us to the church. This made us even later, but we made it to the ceremony in time to hear them exchange rings, kiss and walk down the aisle together.
          Although I wasn't there for the entire wedding ceremony, I got to stay for the entire reception. The wedding was beautiful,  and I loved the fall theme with green yellow, orange, and purple dresses accented by brown sashes. No one seemed to mind that I showed up late. Clearly, there was much more to talk about than my presence or absence. The next morning we all slept in, which rarely happens with a little one and pets that need tending. I actually felt a little rested when I woke up.
           When I checked my phone, I saw a message from my mom. She decided to pick up the unused keys that day and hang out with me while I waited a few hours for the train. I know that you are thinking,  why didn't you ride back with Charles? Well, I still don't relish long car trips with Blue Eyes. Also if he sleeps a lot during the day (which is what he did when we moved), he is up a bunch at night (which is what he did after our move...leaving me with a bad case of red eye, which is still better than pink eye). After months of spending the weekdays flying solo, an afternoon and evening with just one was something to savor. Anyhow,  it all made perfect sense at the time I booked the return ticket.
          So maybe you're thinking, why didn't she just ask for the keys to be mailed to her instead of driving thirty minutes to pick them up? She told me that she decided to make lemonade out of the lemons we had been served. The afternoon we spent shopping and giggling sure tasted sweet to me. She even brought pears and tomatoes from her home. What a treat! It has been a long time since I've been able to spend time with my mom without the distraction of kids. Maybe it was even sweeter because I live so much farther from her than I used to.
          At the end of the trip, I did feel a little tired from the late nights and early mornings; but my soul felt nourished from the companionship. It took me almost a day to feel grumpy about the mounds of laundry awaiting me; and even then , it was easier to correct my thoughts than the week before. Like a tall glass of lemonade, this past weekend refreshed my thirsty heart.

In the Morning

          In the morning,  there is a lot of activity in our house. The baby is babbling in his crib, waking up his siblings.  The dog is begging to be let out, usually only waking up me (the two older ones are able to sleep through it). If I go outside,  there are ducks quacking in their box, waiting to splash and play in their water. The hens are clucking,  waiting to taste the delicious fresh dew on the grass (always on the other side of the fence). The sounds and activity of the morning are soothing to me. It's like slipping on a soft, fur-lined, leather glove in the crisp autumn air...it's comfy. A friend told me that the top three stressful life events are 1) death of a loved one, 2) divorce, and 3) moving. This time around, I would have to agree. Our move last year didn't stress me out in the least bit. Our move this year has been a much different story. Of these three "stressors", I have personal experience with two. Watching another good friend deal with some custody issues, definitely helps me appreciate that moving is not nearly as stressful. There is the obvious thing they have in common: major change. However, they are all, in my mind, mournable as well. This past Friday, we closed on our house in Illinois.  Charles, my hubby, asked if I was relieved; and I am to an extent...but I wasn't thinking about that in that sense this past Friday.  I was in mourning.  I was sad about the loss of a house that had just started to feel like home. I had other dreams that were never realized there.
           In the mourning, I have slammed my hand down in anger, breaking my mascara wand (poor wand...what did it ever do to deserve such treatment). I hollered several times last week that I missed our old house, and I just about lost it when I still couldn't find our toilet plunger after two days of searching and finding a plugged stink bomb in the basement. Charles has been a safe place to confide my frustration,  and I'm really glad for that.  Crying and expressing my sadness really helps me process things and move on. We have both been frustrated with how challenging this has been to close on this house. We are still renting,  but a new bank is now promising to finance it (one that is cool with crazy people wanting a cozy house with lots of land). The relocation package offered by Charlle's work was sweet, but it still doesn't quite cover all this unforseen drama. Sometimes it feels a little like money poured down the drain. Last Friday (when I was tempted to dress in black and sit in the closet with a "do not disturb" sign posted), I read Mark 14 (I'm in the NT in the Amplified Version). It relates the story of the woman who "wastes" a years salary on pouring perfume on Jesus' feet. Jesus didn't see it as a waste, but as a beautiful offering. It struck me that nothing is wasted on God. I'm not Catholic,  but I really enjoyed a series of talks given on "suffering" last summer by a priest. He repeated over and over the thought of "offering up" our suffering so that it is not wasted. Last Friday,  I struggled,  but I gave up my disappointments and frustrations. I told God I didn't understand,  but that I chose to trust Him. I asked Him to accept this as an offering to Him.
              It's been a week. It's morning again; and instead of feeling waves of sorrow,  I'm feeling some waves of gratitude roll over me. It's been awesome to be around my brother and sister-in-law.  They've made me feel so welcome and already had the kids over for a couple of overnighters. They've helped us plug into an Awana club for the kids to go to and a church (we'll be getting out at least bi-weekly). Also, the people here have been very friendly and kind (except the sherrif department),  and I'm getting used to driving 30 minutes to just about everything.  I found Target this past week, and I was so grateful to find the store where I buy phthalate-free, paraben-free mascara in the same strip mall. The friendly clerk/consultant even introduced me to even better mascara for only a dollar more (it's free of mineral oil, triclosan, sodium lauryl sulfate and synthetic fragrances with a cute little bunny sign on it to denote it is also cruelty free...plus it's made in the USA).
      My mom gave me part of my name based on this verse she read on the day I was born, "...weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning." (Ps. 30:5) I think it's becoming a bit of a reoccurring theme verse for me.
       I don't know if you are suffering or stressed,  but know that nothing is wasted on God. Mourning is tough, but morning is coming.

Sloppy Joes

          I loved sloppy joes as a kid, and I still love them as an adult. My children loved them too until the third or fourth time I made them. I think it has to do with me making them on the stove instead of the crock pot and talking to the neighbor for a little too long. I served dry joes that night with a bit of burnt flavoring.
          Nothing has been more discouraging to me in this whole moving process than the sloppiness of several "Joes".  One "sloppy joe" mover neglected to put a cover on our baby's crib mattress or take the crib sheet off and now there is a permanent black mark on them (was that mark from the asphalt as it was drug along or the bike chain it it laid against in the moving trailer). They forgot to pack our dehumidifier,  Pump In Style (don't ask if you don't know what that is), and an old picture of my grandma, along with several other boxes. However, they made absolute sure to pack our half-used rolls of toilet paper and wet shower curtain (along with books that got a just bit soggy). Thankfully, a good friend went and rescued our stuff.
          We are still renting at a lovely rate per day due to the assessment on our property.  One bank termed it as a bit "sloppy", but the general consensus is that there aren't any other comps to use, and the mark-up's are too high for a conventional loan. Oh the drama!  I just want to own our home.
            Last night before going to bed, I was feeling angry about the whole thing. These things are out of my hubby's control,  as well as mine. What's done is done. Can I be honest that I was a little upset with God? I know nothing is out of His control. The chapter I read last night from Mark 11 gave me some insight into what to do in this situation. I need to let go and forgive. Starting in verse 23, it contains the infamous "telling the mountain to move" phrase.  What comes directly after that is what caught my attention.  It says, " I tell you, you can pray for anything, and if you believe that you’ve received it, it will be yours. But when you are praying, first forgive anyone you are holding a grudge against, so that your Father in heaven will forgive your sins, too."
            Holding a grudge? Yup, I'm guilty as charged. I'm fed up with every obstacles we have been facing. It is exhausting and wearing. I think I have been given the opportunity to practice forgiveness. I need to do this not just because I might have my prayers heard again, but also because I am forgetting how much I have been forgiven by God.
            I know I'm not the only one with drama. Does anyone live in a drama-free
zone? Jen Hatmaker certainly doesn't. (This post made me laugh so hard that I couldn't breathe.) Nope. We are all daily struggling with something.  It's part of life.  Here's your chance to hold onto your happiness...forgive your "sloppy joes".

Sirens With Lights and Bumps in the Night

          Mazes made of corn are fun; however,  I'm not a big fan of the maze of boxes that we have now in practically every room in the house. I've already been down this road of unpacking last year, so I know that slowly but surely the boxes will disappear. I just can't obsess over them. It makes me short-tempered if I dwell on it, which isn't healthy for me or the kids. The first night we slept here, my hubby, Charles, asked if I could bring in the fan when I was done putting the kids to bed. I actually remembered, but he was sleeping soundly already.  I crept in the dark room groping for an outlet to plug the fan into; but the only one I could find was next to his bed with various items strewn on the floor, making it impossible to find a level area to set the fan on. I decided to leave the fan in the room out of the pathway in case he got up in the middle of the night.  I remembered a recessed area where the rocking chair sat between two towers of boxes. I carefully put the fan down, only to have the three-pronged cord flop out into the walkway. I could just picture him tripping over the cord or bruising his foot on the plug. That'd never do. I quickly bent over to pick the cord up out of the way, smacking my lip on the special handle of a stool (it's called a "cat's tail" because the handle resembles the tail of a cat held high in the air) my Amish Uncle made. As my lip began burning and swelling, I began hoping that I wouldn't have a bruise.  I hate explaining stupid stuff I do. That's not the only stupid thing I've done lately though.
           I now live in Missouri,  and the roads where we live are beautiful and hilly.  It is easy to go zooming along, and several times this past week I've had to intentionally slow down. My sweet sister-in-law had kept our three oldest children overnight after Awana, and I was headed to Walmart yesterday with just the younger two. I was entering the interstate when I heard sirens go off. I guessed it was an ambulance and checked my rearview mirror, only to see a sheriff car flashing its lights. I immediately pulled over but was puzzled to see that he pulled over as well. My heart started to race when I remembered that my sticker had expired at the end of July.  At the time, we had thought we were moving to Kansas on July 23. That was before our buyer backed out, and the deal fell through. I hoped the officer would understand my extenuating circumstances.  He calmly told me that he had clocked me going 51mph in a 35mph zone. I was truly suprised that I was speeding. The last time I had seen a speed limit sign, I thought it said 55mph. Unfortunately,  at that particular junction it was indeed 35mph (I went back and checked). He also asked me if I knew that my license sticker was expired.  I tried to quickly explain the situation, while expressing my dismay over not knowing I was breaking the law...as well as my intentions to get new plates...I had no clue where the nearest DMV even was.  He took my new address down after hearing that I had only lived here for 6 days, along with my license and insurance card. He came back with an address for the nearest DMV, and a citation for speeding. My pitiful side wanted to cry out, "Please, I didn't know! I'm new here." My sarcastic side wanted to cry out, "Well, welcome to Missouri! "  The practical side of me wanted to argue that I couldn't possibly afford this. However,  I was guilty; so I found myself quietly saying,  "Ok" when he told me that he had to write me a citation. I confess that the martyr in me insisted on driving slowly the remainder of the day until I could see a speed limit posted (and then I was quick to set my cruise control).
         Why is it that we are so self-centered when it comes to being disciplined?  We cry foul even when we have done wrong. How many times have I been speeding and not been caught?  It's funny, but even now I feel seeds of bitterness trying to take root. Thoughts like, "Well, the police here are jerks," or "It must be because I'm from Illinois" keep coming to mind...its not true though. The fact remains that I broke a law, and I got caught.  He could've ticketed me for my expired sticker, but he gave me mercy on that. I'm choosing to be grateful for the mercy I was shown.
         Tonight, Charles (I'm sticking with my "Little House on the Prairie" theme here) delighted me by fixing both the uber-slow water spigot on our refrigerator and the leaky cold water valve for the washing machine. He told me he could fix our house repairs,  but not my speeding ticket. As I smiled, my lip reminded me of the hit I had taken earlier in the week while my heart ached from the bruise I had taken to my pride.  I'm not above the law, like Steven Seagal. I'm just a gal who's grateful for a new home, with a hubby and kids who love me. My lip's still sore, and my pocketbook is soon to be lighter. Since my smile is still there minus a chip on my shoulder, mark it as just another interesting adventure for Caroline.
   

Little House on the Prarie

           Have you ever walked into a house and felt instantly at home? That was exactly how I felt when I saw our new house for the very first time this past Sunday. It isn't grandiose or majestic...bucolic and rustic come to mind instead. When I was first married, one of my hubby's friends described me as "simple", and it offended me at first. Now that I'm a little older, it doesn't bother me like it did. I now know it meant "uncomplicated", not "boring".  This house suits me perfectly.  It's even yellow, which I've always loved. Plus...wait for it...there is no tile in the showers! Hallelujah!!
           I described our last house as "The Promised Land", and it really had everything we could've ever hoped for.  I remember asking God why in the world He allowed us to simplify and get rid of so much stuff if we were going to move to a huge house. We never really did fill up our old house. Now, it all makes sense. Don't get me wrong,  I loved living there, but I believe I will love living here as well. Our old house feels more to me like one of those awesome vacation houses that you rent to make special memories in since we only lived there a year. We had lots of special things happen there (like the birth of our first son or polor bear event, where my hubby and the girls rolled on the icy pond after going in the sauna), but I never left my mark there. I never even had a chance to paint any walls a beautiful (some may say "obnoxious") shade of green.
          You should see the land that goes with this property.  It is beautiful and rolling with tall grasses and a seasonal stream and pond. Parts of the grass have been cut and huge rolls of hay dot our backyard. There is an enormous screened in porch off the back of the house with large knarled silver maple trees shading it. It is just lovely.
          I used to love the show "Little House on the Prarie", and my mom recently bought the entire set. The girls and I have enjoyed watching it with her when we see her. When she came down to celebrate her birthday, we commented about how our new home would be just like that. I guess that would make me Caroline and my hubby Charles. I'm curious to see if there are any nagging, superficial Mrs. Olsens around here. One of my mom's friends hit the nail on the head saying that we enjoy Mrs. Olsen so much because "we all have a little of her in us".
            We started reading the "Little House" books for school this year; and while debating whether or not to buy them, I saw that the author's daughter has some books about her called "The Rose Years". The author, Laura Ingalls Wilder moved to Missouri with her hubby. It seemed a little more than coincidental when I saw that. It was like God had us  introduce our girls to the "Little House" books and shows right before we moved out.
          Do you know when we first found this house? It was listed for the first time on our 16th anniversary. Sitting on the back porch listening to the cicadas humm and the chickens cluck, I can tell you that this definitely feels like a present.