It All Changes So Fast

What a whirlwind two weeks. Three weeks ago I felt the tug to put my kids in school. All of them. I prayed and pondered for about a minute before I knew it was right. Of course it was the middle of the night. Just see my last post if you need clarification.  

I got on my phone and Googled my options. Slim, I tell ya. I asked around. I stopped a woman in the grocery store whose child appeared to be wearing uniforms. (I wasn't searching for a uniform promoting school. I am anti-uniforms for what I feel are very good reasons, but that post is still in draft mode. Be patient). Anyway. Her girls go to a magnet school in their neighborhood. Nowhere near me. I called two charter schools. Full. One offered to give us a tour and put us on the waiting list. There are four people on the list and their names are all my children. We missed it by four kids. 

We discussed. Argued some. Prayed. Welled up over the implications of sending my babies to school. Had a couple conversations with some truth speaking, wise parents/besties. 

Then we got a call last Tuesday saying kid number four could start ASAP. I left work and purchased her uniforms. Bah. 

We waited three more days and signed my number two and three up for their local zoned middle school. I cried. Threw an inter-tantrum. And rallied in my mind before handi

ng over their file and registration. 

Now? Now I homeschool kid five and work and drive 17 places a day. Why didn't someone tell me there was so much driving? Why didn't someone say how time consuming it is to send your kids to school. I promise you homeschooling takes less time and coordination, but so much good is coming from the kids in school. 

My favorite so far is my time with Sam. That kid is more than hilarious. I don't even know what word comes after hilarious, but that is Sam. 

As we were driving downtown Addie was reading a casino sign. "We've loosened our slots". Sam laughed hysterically and yelled "DISGUSTING"

Now that's funny stuff. 

Meanwhile. I would like to tip my hat to large families in school. That takes an amazing mamma. I'm working on it. 

I have five kids in four different schools. So I started drinking. HA. Ok. I simply added a cup of joe to my daily grind. 

I am also hoping to add a chiropractor, massages, and the gym. And yes. I am still considering a house keeper. More than ever actually. Try and stop me Napoleon. 

I'm Finding

When your kids start to grow up, I mean really grow up, and they leave and discover and experience new things, people always say things like, "It's going to be great! You need to let go," or "She's going to be moving away soon anyway; this is good practice. She needs to fly."



 #flashbackfriday

In addition to deciding people tend to repeat phrases they have heard others say (no matter how meaningless and unhelpful they are), I also realized loosening my grip isn't the same as letting go.

Letting go means I suddenly button my lips when they ask for advice or even when they don't, and they sorely need some input.  It means they go from fully depending on me to getting nothing from me in return.

Letting go means I have decided my job as parent is finished.

There's no finish.

I know this part to be true because of the many times I call my own mother for advice and vent sessions, and because I know she will redirect me back to truth and away from what my fickle emotions are trying to convince me.

I have also decided parents tend to be extremists. Because on the opposite side of letting go is enabling. Did you know there are naughty 8 letter words? Well, this one comes across as a swear in parenting circles. Letting go means I swoop in and make up for what they have done. I apologize, I talk to bosses, I argue with teachers even when they are right, I clean my kids' rooms because they keep "forgetting", or I take out loans I can't afford because of their debt. 

So, I've come to the conclusion that I won't do it. I won't let go; I will loosen my grip a little at a time until they can stand on their own. Or fly or whatever else cliche there is. Loosening my grip means I allow my kids to reap the benefits as well as the consequences of their choices. Loosening means their boundaries are bigger, but there are still boundaries. Loosening means there will be options I don't agree with, but rather than taking away that option, I will stand by my kid when they unwisely choose it. Then I will work with them through the consequences, so they choose differently next time. Loosening means that, when they argue with their spouse and come home at midnight, I hug them and send them home. Loosening means something different than letting go.

I have three (mostly) teens. One is almost 12, another almost 13, and the big one is almost 16. I sense my time is limited with them, so I intend to be purposeful. And, my little ones, seven and nine, I have already begun loosening with them. I have no idea what I am doing with any them from day to day, but so far they are likeable creatures, so I am going to keep chugging in this direction. After all, 18 Christmases. That's it. From start to finish that's all I get.

#flashbackfriday

Welcome to Hollywood

If I tell you something, can you keep it a secret? I want to be a writer when I grow up. Some may argue that I am already grown, but I will point my finger back at them and say the fact that I call my self a grown up, and not an adult, proves I am IN FACT a child. I am comfortable with it.

I have given a few tid bits here and there and I have honestly made some headway toward completing this bad boy I call THE BOOK.

Sometimes I get very excited about a project or calling on my life, only to organize and plan, and then I get a fake case of ADHD, and I can be found setting up for a fully different project. I refuse to let this be true of my book. So, in order to be truly welcomed to Hollywood, I am shouting out my dream (this reference should be familiar if you have ever watched Pretty Woman. Everyone who comes to Hollywood has a dream.)

Here is an excerpt. Again. Just so you know I am not going to stop wrestling until I get the blessing I have been promised. This is from chapter one, and I am getting ready to outline how a mother and a missionary are one and the same. (One in the same? Home? Hone? These are the battles that plague me.)

Do you ever feel like you cannot remember your purpose? I mean, maybe you know some of it, but you cannot quite find that big glowing path some of those other joy-filled mothers claim to be following. At the end of the day, you have washed some laundry, dried some dishes, cooked some food for people living in your house, and swept a floor. Still, you are left thinking, “That can’t really be all I am meant to do, right?” Maybe you find yourself pursuing so many paths that between keeping up with your kids’ hectic schedules, your husband’s business dinners, and an ongoing list of ministries, you end each day staring at the wall, mouth agape, wondering what in the world you accomplished. * And, please, do not get me started on giving back to the community, because most days I think showering is about as giving as I can be to others. Unless, of course, you count how many diapers I contribute to the dump each year, the number of children I have added to the earth, or how knowledgeable I am at getting lip gloss out of clothes once they have gone through the dryer. Of course, after I am done with

* Picture Goldie Hawn after her first day of playing ‘mother’ in the movie Overboard. Remember, the kids just kept throwing grapes at her while she mumbled ‘bub buh buub?’

this line of thinking, I start to feel guilty for feeling so useless. (Isn’t our thought process relentless?) One minute I am overwhelmed with my calling and the next I am just confused by it. I do not think God meant it to be so confusing. If you are a mother, your purpose is clear. You may or may not be called to Africa, but you are certainly called to be a missionary. 

I repeat- you ARE called to be a missionary. Take a minute and look around. What do you see? Whom do you see? My friend, you are looking at your mission field. Your mission field is your home, and your mission is to share Jesus with those little (sometimes Aborigines) who call you mommy. 

Please don't plagiarize me. It's considered poor form. Please be blessed. DO IT! Sorry I bossed you. I just really want you to feel blessed and challenged and encouraged that you are not alone in this confusing mess called mothering.

The * is a foot note that (outside of this blog) is located in the foot note department, not the middle of my work.  

 

Sometimes My Parenting Surprises Even Me

We have friends in town. You know the kind: besties that blur the line between family and friend for so long you forget you aren't REALLY related. They live further away these days, but it isn't their fault. We keep moving north. There is a slight chance we will end up right back where we started as their neighbor if we keep up this crazy pattern. At least we can grab a little Canadian chocolate on our way. Do not fret. We will share. I mean, I won't but I have trained my kids to do as I say and not as I do. I will be in the corner shoveling Coffee Crisps. Sorry for that Canadian tangent. I blame Erin Reed for ever introducing me to that sweet delectable goodness.
Our besties- anyhoo, our spring break was last week, and their spring break is this week. The kids have had to wake early and toddle off to school most of the mornings while their cousins vegged out and went exploring. Last night I got the brilliant idea to let them all stay home, and I even planned to ditch work this morning. This morning, I remembered I am getting six new students today. (To my teacher followers- no. I am not kidding.) Kids can stay home. Crud. Izzy has track. OK. The rest of the kids can stay home. CRAP. Elijah and Layla Grace are touring the middle school on a field trip.
We pull up to the school. Click. Click. Seat belts come out. "Addison, you can stay home honey. You two have fun at your field trip, and I will pick you up early."
"WHAT!! WHY WHA!!! THIS IS SO UNFAIR! OH THE INJUSTICE OF IT ALL!!"
"K. Love you."
Addison sits smugly.