The In-Betweens

The change of season, though not official, seemed to sweep in rather abruptly this year. From hot sweltering air to cool and decidedly crisp breezes. I confess I'm loving it. I know many are feeling ripped off by the rather short summer season we had, but this early fall seems rather appropriate to me. Each morning I wake up, the sun is a little more hidden. It's hard to tell if it will be hot or if it will be cold. I inevitably dress in the wrong clothes and end up pulling on a hoody or ripping it off. It's the in betweens around here. Definitely not summer but not fully fall.






I can so relate to the in-betweens right now. Hasn't this been where I've been for the past six months? That just makes me cringe. Half a year of this. One foot in our home of eight years, another foot dangling somewhere close to our new home, but not quite grounded yet. Hanging.





For 77 days I'd wake up every day and wonder- is this the day? Will someone come look at our house and want to buy it? Will we be moving soon? It was a very short sale time considering the market we are in, yet the dangling continued with the wait for closing. Hurricane Irene threatened to be my worst nightmare. My friends all laughed at me, but I spent some serious time praying that a tree wouldn't fall on my house and jeopardize its sale(I take credit for the downgrade of the storm's rating- LOL). The relocation company we have been working with created more red tape and headaches than it did actual help. The person we are buying our new home from doesn't seem altogether trustworthy. One day before closing, no one can find our appraisal. Until both feet are planted somewhere, and all deals are final, I remain in-between.





I'm not worried about any of this. I've had my share of frustration. But deep inside I've had an overwhelming sense of peace. It's been my compass through these past six months. As difficult as waiting is, as hard as it is to say goodbye (though I don't say goodbye- I avoid it like the plague), as wide open as the next six months seem, peace is guarding my heart.





Our home has been sold and in the meantime we have been staying with my parents. It's a great novelty to the kids though I think we are all getting anxious to set both feet in our new house. Last week we went out with our best friends to celebrate the sale of our house and a birthday among us. Sara and I hopped into the smelly lotions store and I bought some smelly house stuff. The cashier asked for my home phone number. It occurred to me- I didn't have a home phone number anymore. I didn't have a home. I'm in-between homes.





I'm learning more and more how much I love having a home. Though it's certainly not all about the place, for a homebody like me it is a big part of it. I've never been nomadic. I love settling down. I love having a daily routine, my own bedroom to run to for a moment of quiet and a place to decompress. As frustrating as crayon on the floor can be, if we are home, at least the kids aren't coloring on my mother's floor! And I really miss preparing dinner for my family every night and maybe even the dishes it creates. I miss that safe place where I can shut the world out. I'm tired of living out of a suitcase and rotating the same four tee shirts through my wardrobe! When I packed our bags for this in-between time, it was still warm and summer-like. Consequently, we are all missing jackets, I have no socks, only two pair of jeans, no sweaters, no long sleeves.




Emotionally, I'm in-between sadness and sheer excitement for the future! It's difficult to leave behind eight years of friends and my parents and our church and our town. I hate seeing my kids say goodbye to their friends and none of them really understand it. I do and I'm the one who starts to cry. When I think of the things that really can't be the same, I grieve. But when I think of all the blessings that are ahead of us, I am elated. When I think of Josh coming home to us every night, I get that sense that all will be right with the world again. After all, he and the kids are my home.

Sara pointed out to me that the day the movers come to bring our belongings to our new house, it's the first day of fall. A new season. How fitting. How perfectly fitting.

"To everything there is a season; A time for every purpose under heaven." Ecclesiastes 3:1

The in-betweens will be officially over.

I'll Keep Asking

Each night when I put the kids to bed, I pray for the family that will buy our house. I pray that they'll take good care of it and have lots of love in it... and that they will come quickly! Brown-Eyed Girl asked me, in an overly tired and grumpy sort of way, "Why do you pray about someone buying our house every night?"





"God tells us to pray without stopping. And to ask and keep asking. And to seek and keep seeking. And to knock and keep knocking," was my reply.




Prayer doesn't have to be any more complicated than that. Lord, this is what we ask for. We seek your face for the answers. We'll keep knocking til we get them. It's that last part that I struggle with.

The command to ask and keep asking, seek and keep seeking, knock and keep knocking implies that we are not going to get what we ask for right away. It tells us that God is not a genie in a bottle that we rub. We don't make a wish and- POOF!- there it is.

Do I like that? Of course I don't. I have a finite mind that thinks it knows what is best for me. I can't see the future and all that God has in store for me. I just see today and what I need and want today. I tend to ask once or twice for something, then grow weary of the seeking and knocking. Cause if God was going to give it to me, and he's able to give it to me, why wouldn't he? So what's the point of continuing to ask? If he was going to answer my prayer, he would have by now, right?


Those are real thoughts I think sometimes. I'm a human, not a giant- especially in the area of faith. I walk one day at a time sifting through what I think and what I know to be true. The only truth I know is God's Word. But much of it must be taken on faith.

As I struggle with the continuous knocking, the Lord sends little reminders of truth my way, typically in the form of my children. Last night we had a bit of a lightening and thunder storm. One of my kiddos was very anxious about it and asked me to pray that it would stop. So I did. But the storm didn't stop.

"I think you prayed the wrong thing!" he exclaimed when another clap of thunder came quickly on the heels of my "Amen."

"I prayed that it would stop, buddy, but sometimes our prayers don't get answered right away. But the storm will stop."

I paused mentally and took note of my own words. I know the truth and I have no problem sharing it with my children, but I often struggle to speak the truth to myself. Is my storm any different than my child's storm? It, too, has an appointed end.

Until then, I hope to continue in prayer and live these words of truth:

"So I say to you: Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; he who seeks finds; and to him who knocks, the door will be opened. Which of you fathers, if your son asks for a fish, will give him a snake instead? Or if he asks for an egg, will give him a scorpion? If you then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!"

Luke 11:10-13

Uprooting

We're in somewhat uncharted territory, Josh and I. We're selling our home. I pretty much don't count the first time we sold a house. That was a house we only lived in for a few months, in the very early days of our marriage. It's a lot different this time.





I love this house. It's the only home my children have ever known. Mister was six weeks old when we bought it. He was a bit colicky in the evenings as a wee one, but the day we moved in to this house, he stopped crying. When we walked him through for the first time, he looked around so intently. He's always been a very intuitive child. He knew it was home.





I love how safe I feel in this house. It doesn't rattle in the wind. It doesn't let in the draft. My neighbors are kind and trustworthy. When I close the doors, I sigh with contentment. I'm home.





I love the memories in this house. A church began in our living room. A German exchange student met Jesus as her Savior in my kitchen. We've had birthday parties, Christmas parties, and countless guests in this house. Fifteen guys showed up of their own accord to put on a roof on this house for us. I've brought two babies home from the hospital to this house.





I love that I know this house. I know how much it costs to heat it. I know that in order to shut the pantry door I have to twist and pull up on the knob to get it to latch. I know how to get to the bathroom in the dark without running into walls. I know how it smells.





I love what I still don't know about this house. I still use the wrong light switch to turn on the hall light. I turn on the stairway light instead. I do the same thing in the garage breezeway.





Eight years isn't really a long time to live in one place. Josh grew up in the same house until he went to college. His parents still live there. I was from a more nomadic military family, but once my dad became a "civilian" and settled down, I spread my roots and bloomed. I've grown a lot of roots in the past eight years and figured I'd grow a lot more here. I chuckle a little and think that I'm glad one of the terms for moving is "being uprooted" and not "chopped down". It's a reminder that the only thing I'm really losing is the soil I'm in. The transplant may be a shock at first, but I will get used to it. And I will blossom again.

Act Your Age (or) The Golden Girls Go to the Mall

There’s nothing like going to the mall to make you feel old. Particularly if you are, well, getting old. Especially if you are still a teenager, trapped in the body of a thirty-something.

Let me explain.

Sara and I went shopping yesterday in hopes of hitting some President’s Day sales. We wanted to go to the stores we rarely go to with kids in tow. TJ Maxx was our first stop. Borders and the mall were also on the radar.

While driving down to the big city for our shopping excursion, we actually discussed how we are perpetual teenagers deep inside. We still secretly care too much about what people think, want to look young and stylish, want to fit in, and just want to have a good time with our girlfriends. We get pretty silly when we’re with them.

Every shopping quest seems to come down to one particular thing for me: the hunt for the perfect pair of jeans. Even though I didn’t leave the house with this in mind, it quickly became my goal. I tried on a pair of Seven jeans at TJ Maxx that were a bit destructed, something I have been wanting and something Sara is “ethically opposed to”. She won’t pay for ripped jeans (Sara, you’re sounding like a mom!). The jeans were too big and too long, but it was okay cause I didn’t like the signature 7’s on the pockets (Sara did). I got that taste for finding the perfect pair of jeans and couldn’t let it go.

Here’s the thing: I knew where to find them. I had tried on the perfect pair of jeans back in September. As I recall, my shopping day went very similar to this most recent one. I went to TJ Maxx. I bought a pair of jeans that were okay. I liked them well enough, but they were kind of … matronly. Like I said, the quest is for the perfect pair of jeans. I got that taste and decided to do something I had never done, go somewhere I had never gone….

I went into … gasp…. I can’t even say it. I can’t even tell you which store I went in. I’m so ashamed. I said I’d never go in there, and I did….

The sales girl was so cute. I could barely look her in the eye when she asked if I needed any help. “I’m looking for a pair of destructed jeans. NOT skinny jeans!” I laughed nervously.

She laughed like a giggly fifteen-year-old. “I totally know what you mean!” And she graciously showed me the flare and boot leg pants.

They didn’t fit. Thankfully. I can’t admit to you how much they cost. But I can tell you that if they had been the perfect pair of jeans, I would have paid for them.

I moved on to the next store, with little hope of finding what I wanted. But amazingly, I did! When these jeans came on, I knew they were it. The ones. Perfect. Comfortable. Flattering. Very flattering. Destructed. Hip.

But, they seemed a little big (I was worried the stretch in them would stretch too much) so I had the store order the next size down for me. When they came a week later, it was like I had gained 10 pounds and they looked ridiculously tight. I sadly returned them to the store and didn’t bother to order the next size up, the ones I had tried on in the store. But for the past five months I’ve been thinking of those jeans. They looked great. No weird pockets. No gap in the back. They made my legs look longer. They were fabulous.

So yesterday I decided I wanted them. No more dreaming about them. We had to go to the mall to get them. We had planned to go there anyway, but to the smelly lotions store. Veering off course into one of the preppy teenage clothing meccas wasn’t part of the plan. My goal was to get in there and get out before someone assumed I was buying the jeans for my teenage daughter.

I was thrilled that they had the jeans in my size and even tried them on to show Sara, just to make sure I still thought they were perfect. She agreed they were fabulous. And they were on sale for a deep discount - $5 off. What’s with these preppy clothing meccas? Don’t they know moms want things for like 80% off? Oh right, moms don’t shop here. Not for themselves anyway.

I was on a shopping high once I had my little brown bag with my jeans folded inside. I had the perfect pair of jeans! Woo-hoo! Life is good! I feel like I’m seventeen! I can’t wait to wear my new jeans!

But then it happens.

Sara needs a Dairy Queen fix. The mall is close to closing down so there’s no one in the food court. This adorable girl is working the counter at DQ. She’s skinny, turbo-tanned, a frequent user of Crest Whitestrips, and looks fabulous in a yellow Dairy Queen/Orange Julius T-shirt. If I wasn’t nice, I’d hate her. I never looked good in any kind of t-shirt. And her jeans? The same ones I just bought, only 19 sizes smaller.

You think I’m kidding.

Sara makes friends with everyone. In fact, before we left town for the day, I had to stop and get gas. Sara goes in the store to get coffee and takes forever. Why? The girl at the counter loved her earrings. So they end up talking at length about jewelry. I think they even exchanged numbers. Sara plans to go back daily to visit her new friend and show off other cute earrings shw owns.

This little Dairy Queen is not to be exempt from Sara’s life purpose :“Can you and I be friends?“ Sara starts telling her about how her very first job was working a DQ. “Do you still have those 50 pound buckets of ice milk you pour in the machine? Oh those things were so heavy! My hands would hurt at the end of the day from making Blizzards. The machine vibrates soooo much.” The girl stared at her with a bit of a blank expression, but laughed politely.

“Oh, back then.” She smiled.

Okay, stop. Did you hear that? Cause Sara and I heard that. And at the exact same moment, I’m guffawing at Sara and she’s guffawing at the Dairy Queen.

“Back then?” I snort.

Sara takes her Blizzard from the girl’s hand and says “Yeah, thanks a lot! Have a nice night!”

She was not friends with that girl anymore. I don’t think she even got a chance to turn that Blizzard upside down and show us it wouldn’t fall out of the cup. We were out of there.

We laughed the whole way out of the mall. And we laughed some more on the way to our next stop, the mecca of bargains for middle-aged women. On our way, we made a checklist of all the benefits of our age. Things like bling on the fingers, professional foil jobs versus a $5 box of Clairol, driving your own Honda, not Daddy’s, and having one hot husband to spend your life with. (We’re really not that superficial).


We laughed so hard. Inside, we’re still teenagers. Even though we pretended to be offended by the girl’s innocent comment, we weren’t.

But to shake off any bad feelings, we acted our age. Our age inside, that is. We tried on goofy hats and posed with hideous purses. We sent silly photos and text messages to the boys we love. We played car karaoke on the ride home. Being a 30-something isn’t all that different from “back then”, when we were young little Dairy Queens ourselves.

So the moral of the story is this: Grow old gracefully. And make sure you have someone to laugh about it with.

Really? That’s the moral?

Yep.

And find yourself the perfect pair of jeans. (Hint: They’re probably at the mall.)

The Hazards of Home Education

I'll be among the first to tell you that homeschooling is not for everyone if the argument comes up for debate. In some circles, with some people, when I admit that my children don't go to public school, I get a defensive reaction kind of like "Oh, so you think EVERYONE should homeschool?" Gee, I hope I don't come off that way.

So, for the record, let me reiterate: homeschooling is not for everyone.

I've been making a mental list of what I've deemed "The Hazards of Home Education". I find myself in the most difficult homeschooling year ever, mostly due to having a busy toddler in the house. It's absolutely wonderful, but absolutely crazy at the same time. Most of the precious things in my life are like this- my relationship with God, my husband, my kids, my friends, my family- you get the picture. Wonderful, but crazy.

For home education to accomplish what you desire it to(and for each family that is different) it takes blood, sweat, and tears. It's not for the faint of heart. You give up your career, the paycheck, your "free" time, and the perks of sending your kiddos away for 7 hours a day (admit it homeschool moms- it has its perks!). My desire is not to paint myself as a "homeschooling martyr". Honestly, I gave up my career long before my kiddos came along. I could care less about supplementing the family income, and I really love what I do. But it ain't always easy...

Here are my workplace hazards, the Hazards of Home Education (at the Mathews house anyway)

1. My house is never, ever neat and tidy the way I would like it to be. I greatly dislike stuff being everywhere. I remember with fondness the early days of our marriage and the first two years of Mister's life when things were so organized and neat and somewhat sparse. Now I live in the land of Littlest Pet Shops and Legos everywhere I turn. I step on them, I pull them out of my baby's mouth, I find them in the cupboards, on the piano, in the sink. Which leads me to my next point...

2. Toys are not conducive to getting school done. We generally school at the dining room table, which is inevitably littered with the above mentioned toys plus oodles of others. Picture books too. All a major distraction when I'm trying to teach my children. I can remove them before school begins, but inevitably something shows up to draw their attention away from me and the lesson at hand. One of the delights of homeschooling is the familiarity of your classroom- it is also one of the major annoyances.

3. The telephone. It rings and, even if I intend to ignore it, my children think it must be answered. They've begun answering it for me. My math tutoring is interrupted and all focus is lost.

4. The internet. My greatest asset in homeschooling! What would I do without it????? Last week I used it to get a lapbook on Leonardo DaVinci- for free! But how easily I can find myself on the computer social networking instead of devoting my time to my kids.

5. Food is a hazard when you home educate. It is readily available at all hours of the day. Not only is it another distraction during a lesson, but it's easy to eat and eat and eat whenever the mood hits you (for me, most anytime). And when food- and it's companion, drink- end up getting on my homeschool supplies (and they do) I am ready to make a rule that there is no food allowed in the dining room. Because it's also the school room. Do you see what I'm getting at?

And the crumbs... need I remind you of my blog title?

6. Guilt. Guilt for having a messy house, enforcing rules like no toys at the table, and for checking my friends' facebook status when I run downstairs to grab a forgotten book. Guilt for losing my patience while trying to teach a math concept. Guilt for not doing more outside activities. I know all mom's have guilt... you just add more varieties of it when you keep your kids home with you all day.

7. Social deviance. I mention this one kind of tongue-in-cheek. It's the first question my husband always gets when he tells coworkers we homeschool our kids. It's what my dentist's assistant asked me about and what my hygienist asked me about and what the kids' pediatrician asks me about... "What about the social? Do they get to see other kids?" Should I really get started on that one? Oooo, I'd like to.... but I'm not going too. I'll just assure anyone that of course they see other kids. But I also have to admit that they are perhaps not like the "typical" child of their age- which may not be a bad thing entirely. My kiddos have some habits that would probably be "peer pressured" out of them if they were immersed in a classroom all day- things like whining, being a poor sport when losing a game, tantrums, nose picking... Things I get to handle instead.

8. Exhaustion. On every level. Physically, spiritually, emotionally, mentally. And it's not just me. But it's mostly me. One child finishes all their work for the day, but there's still one more. And then there's the toddling baby to play with and read to and keep from climbing on the piano (newest trick) and throwing valuable things into the trash (like Kitchenaid attachments). As soon as I sit down, I heard the shrill cry of "Mama?!" No coffee break. No teacher's lounge. No study hall monitor. No ed techs. Nothing. No one. Nada. Just me.

I could add little things to my list like- nobody raises their hand if they have a question. They just start talking all at once. They decide they need a pee break in the middle of my science lesson instead of going during break time. My red pencils disappear. I really like my red pencils. They make me feel like a real teacher. Please stop using them to color with.

The things I love about home educating are also some of the things that drive me crazy about it. It's wonderful being able to stay in where it's warm, in your jammies if you wish, and snuggle in my bed while reading a great book to the kids. It's excellent to monitor what they eat and be the one to give them a good diet. It does my heart good when they have questions about what we are learning. I love their innocence and their ignorance too. I wouldn't change what I do for the world and I pray I never have to.

I wouldn't mind a roll of bright yellow or orange CAUTION tape though, to rope off the dining room. Just to keep me from getting too serious about all these "hazards" of homeschooling around here.

Be Confident of This...

The house smells like something is burning... something like mistletoe.





Here's what happened.




I was reheating some leftovers in the toaster oven, using the toasting method. Some crumbs in the bottom got a little too toasty and caught on fire. I had read the "In case of flare up, do not open door. Unplug." sign on the cord many times. Well, I opened the door. I did unplug it. Then I just watched it for a second before calling, "Uh, Josh, there's a fire in here. Can you help me."



I'm sure he feels confident in his wife's ability to keep the house from burning down.



The mistletoe part comes from the Yankee candle that was burning at the time. I went to the store, came home and immediately smelled the burning plus the mistletoe. Near the dining room, a little bit of paint too.





What a week.



On Tuesday Josh worked late. It was not a good day for him to work late.



I had been peeling wallpaper for two days and needed a shower badly. While I'm in the shower, the kids are pounding on the door telling me Petite had climbed up in Mister's bed. He has bunk beds with a staircase. I quickly jump out of the shower, grab a towel and run down the hall to Mr.'s room. As I walk in the door, I hear Petite start crying. "She fell through the crack!" Mister yells. I assume she was on the bottom bunk and fell between the wall and bed. Wrong. She was on the top bunk and fell between the wall and bed and her plump little tushy caused her to get stuck between the window and the bed. So she's crying and I'm trying to wedge the poor thing out in nothing but a towel, thanking God that our home is surrounded by trees because the towel isn't staying on. TMI, I know, but that's the story.



But there's more. I hug and console my baby and set her down on the floor.I head to the bathroom to get a towel for my dripping wet hair. Petite shows up about 5 seconds later holding... broken glass. An ornament from the tree. I groan loudly and tell the kids to stay where they are because who knows where all the glass is. I fish the little pieces out of Petite's tightly wadded fist (while trying to keep the towel on) and carry her to my bedroom to keep her from stepping on glass. I set her down and she starts coughing and sputtering. Ug! I swab her mouth and catch a few little pieces of broken ornament. She's gagging. I'm saying "Don't swallow it!" like she can understand me.



If Josh were home, I'm sure I would have said, "Uh, Josh, Petite is gagging on glass. Could you help me in here?". And he would feel confident in his wife's ability to keep his children from killing themselves.



All of that in the span of like 2 minutes.



Those were the high points of the day, but lots of little things piled up. Josh called at 4 to tell me he would be maybe another 15 minutes, maybe another 2 hours (He got home at 7). I think, "Gee, I hate that paper mill sometimes" and the two horrific years he spent working at the other mill come back to mind. But then I make pumpkin pancakes for the kids' supper and everything is better.






So why a picture of a laundry basket? Well, I forgot to take a picture of Josh throwing a glass of water on the fire. And I was too busy trying to keep a towel on to take a picture of Petite wedged between the bed and the window.






And I'd like Josh to feel confident knowing that I haven't misplaced all his Under Armor socks. They are in that basket somewhere.

Lessons From the Father to the Mama

How often I find God using this thing called motherhood to teach me more about Him and more about myself. While he uses each of my children, there is one particularly that seems to teach me the greatest lessons. Perhaps because we are so much alike in our personalities. Introverts, pessimists (oy!), sensitive.

Recently this fall I had promised my children to give them each a dollar or so if they helped to clean up the yard. We have apples and pears that drop off the tree and need to be picked up and composted, sticks that need to go to the brush pile, and leaves to be raked. As one worked, I heard the continuous lament that "I'll work and work and work but I won't get any dollars!". I tried to cheer this kiddo on, promising over and over that yes, I would pay just as I said. Met with continued negativity, I got more and more frustrated. And sad too. "Why don't you believe me when I say I will do something?" my voice quivered even in its annoyance.

Immediately, that still small voice spoke to me. "Why don't you believe Me when I say I will do something?" I was cut to the heart. God had been giving me several promises over and over as of late, and I continued to worry and fret about my situation anyway. He was promising to do exceedingly abundantly above all I could ask or think (Ephesians 3:20 ). He was promising strength if I would be quiet and rest in him- but I would have none of it (Isaiah 30:15).

The most recent teachable moment (my own!) was last night. For some reasons the worries and fears that plagued me this fall came rushing back in. All of the what-ifs and wonderings about what is going to happen. Though we have heard a continuous instruction to "wait" (Isaiah 30:18), I began to worry if waiting was the best thing after all.

I was sad and felt the weight of this worry as we sat down to watch a Christmas movie together. The movie was cute, involved puppies, orphans, and a mean lady (think Mrs. Hannigan from Annie) who destroyed any toys she found amongst the orphan girls. While the movie was easily predictable to Josh and I, my sensitive child had so much difficulty watching the movie. Tears, worry, and angst about the toys being destroyed, the mean lady, and the puppy made the movie less cute and enjoyable for this kiddo. While it seemed silly to Josh and I, again God spoke to my heart. I wrapped this sensitive-one in my arms and said "It's scary when we don't know what's going to happen, isn't it?" Which was my own problem at the moment. And He reminded me that just as this cute little Christmas movie was so predictable to me, so is my own personal situation to Him right now. He knows exactly what is going to happen, he's not worried about it, and it's going to turn out good (Jeremiah 29:11). I loved watching the angst turn to joy in my kiddo's eyes when the movie ended happily ever after.

Learning to have joy before the happily ever after is just a part of the faith-walk I am on right now.

I am so thankful for these children of mine. The Lord uses them so tenderly to teach me more about his amazing love as a Father to me.