That's a wrap.

I try to tell myself that this is just a nice way for me to keep record of what's happening in our family's life, as I am the worst parent in the world about taking pictures of things (honestly, as the blonde puts it, it's much better to watch things in person than on a video, so I like to think I'm just enjoying the moments rather than trying to "capture" them, but it would be nice to have more than two pictures of the last birthday...), but as it turns out, I start feeling guilty about not posting anything, or, my mom starts asking me about it, so... here ma, enjoy.
We are finally, FINALLY wrapping up school.  Thank goodness.  Towards the end, it is like trudging through mud trying to get anyone, myself included, motivated to get going anywhere, let alone back and forth across town a thousand times to do the drop off blonde drop off brunette pick up brunette pick up blonde cycle that I have grown to loathe so much this school year.  And beyond that, I have been really itching to finish it up so we can tuck it away and move on to what I feel will really make our family thrive - homeschooling.  Yep, we are doing it.  It is something that has been pressing on me since the blonde became preschool age, and while for a few years I tried to put it out of my mind as a mother's paranoia over the innocence of my darling children being ripped away from them by "the man", it gradually grew into more of a desire for something...different.  Their schooling became a smaller part of it, while our family's lifestyle became a much larger reason for my interest, and the education of my girls as people with needs both intellectual and spiritual and whole.  I wanted to be able to offer them something I knew they wouldn't get in a traditional school setting - exposure to the world, to life, to living, to exploring, to learning at your own pace in your way about what you are interested, not an education designed to accommodate "most" children, given to them by teachers who have to divide their time and attention between 20 other students and the school district's demands.  I didn't want them to be limited by what was in the curriculum, and I didn't want them to feel pressured to move on to keep up when they might need extra time, or when they just enjoy and want to know more, I didn't want them to feel pressured socially to be anyone but themselves, and I wanted the freedom to take advantage of opportunities that would otherwise be missed because of the constraints of a school calendar.  Idealistic?  Maybe, but after having done public school for a year, I can say it's not what I want for my family, and, as I am in a position to offer something different, I feel like I 'd be doing my kids a disservice if I didn't at least put in a solid effort to homeschool.  Maybe it sucks and we fail miserably, but is it really a failure if we can say that we tried, we learned that it sucks, and we can move forward from there?  Obviously, I'm hoping it definitely does not suck, and while I totally get that it will be challenging (um, did I share we're having a baby in November?) I am sure that by the grace of God alone, we can make it work, and that it will be completely worthwhile.  Kindergarten was great, the teacher was a lovely woman, and the blonde met some great little friends and really did learn a lot (she reads ya'll!), and the brunette had just as great of a time in preschool, but it's time for something else, and thankfully, as we talk about it with the kids, they are all eager to make the change, too (we can have field trips any time we want!).  This time last year I was still wrestling with this choice, feeling like I wasn't ready to take it on, like I wasn't qualified to be quite so responsible for my children's education, but I found a statement made by Pope John Paul II turned a light on in my heart - "Parents are the first and the most important educators of their own children, and they also possess a fundamental competence in this area; they are educators because they are parents."   Who better to teach our children, whether through homeschool or just in treasured time spent with them, than those who love them the most.  And I sure do love them.

What a mother.

Over spring break, we were delighted to find out baby number four would be joining the ranks this fall.  Okay, we are definitely delighted, but there was a variety of other emotions that surged through first - I was a bawling mess.  Not because I am having a baby (well, I was looking forward to all of the delicious summer cocktails around the corner, and now I suppose lemonade will suffice), but because I am having a baby in Florida.  We have lived here for two years now, and have nicely settled in and gotten used to traveling back and forth between here and Denver, and the heat is...well, it sucks, but I know now not to go outside from May until September, and we have (finally!) made some great friends to get us out now and then, but...news of a baby coming tossed out any good vibrations I had been getting from living in Florida.  When a woman is pregnant she needs her tribe - or, in other words, her mother.  My mom is 1900 miles away!  How will she babysit for doctor's appointments?!  How will she come over in the middle of the night when my water breaks?!  How will she whisk the other children away and change a diaper or two so I can take a nap?!  All of these things she was able to help me with for our three girls, and it was a huge blessing that we all both loved and appreciated, and that I maybe hadn't realized was so special until now that it's not available.  Of course, I sobbed all of these things to my mom over the phone, and because she is awesome, she came out for a couple of days to put me at ease.  We always love when Meemaw comes - the girls adore her - but I was especially glad to just have her around for a few days to let go of my anxiety over the whole thing.  We lunched, we planted tomatoes, we shopped, we talked about how fast the girls are growing and how sweet my husband is and how silly my brothers were (and are) and how everything is going to be fine.  And how maybe someday we'll be back in Denver, but for now, this is our life, and it's great.  I am so thankful that my mom is willing and able to come visit - I know when we were kids we lived out of state for a while, and my mom's mother was not able to do the same.  They got a call on Sundays, and a visit for Christmas, which was a happy and precious time.  It makes me extra grateful for free long distance and video chats (even with a bad connection), and healthy, travel-savvy parents.  And still, even if all I got was a letter delivered by stagecoach twice a year, I'm always grateful for my ma.

This little light of mine.

My first child, the blonde, turned six last weekend.  She, of course, had big plans, and turned six with style - got her ears pierced and everything (sob).  Fancy shopping, fancy dinner, and even skipped a birthday cake so she could order fancy dessert at the restaurant.  She's a fancy girl, what can I say.  The blonde is our walking experiment.  As the first child, all disciplinary action, privileges, and milestones are tried out on her before we run them on the other girls.  She's how we discovered that if you want a baby to sleep in it's bed, you cannot let her sleep only on your lap for the first six months of her life.  She's how we learned that it's ok to throw away a onesie.  Not all poop explosions are worth cleaning up after (in a public restroom).  She's how we learned potty training is not a race, and not all kids work for stickers.  She's how we learned that if you spell the same secret word in front of your kids all the time, they'll figure it out and ask to go to the P-A-R-K.  She's how we learned that children cannot always be reasoned with.  Sometimes they just need a little hug and some candy to forget the trouble they've gotten into.  She's how we learned that the dark is scary, and everyone needs a night light.   She's how we learned that they grow too fast.  We spent so much of her little time counting down to milestones, and wondering how she'd change, that suddenly, she has, more than we had thought.   She is teaching us that she won't be a kid for long, and now is the time to let her just be one.  Let her like princesses for as long as she wants to.  Let her snuggle whenever there's a lap available.  Let her brush her own teeth, but still zip up her jacket for her.  Let her be silly, but be serious when she wants to be.  Let her imagine she is any wonderful thing she dreams up, and let her continue to teach you how to be a good parent.  Mistakes will be made, but fortunately, all I see in her are things we did right - she is loving and kind, she is honest, she is compassionate - she is a gem, and she shines not because of us, but because God has made her a wonderful child.

My baby you'll be.

It's a strange thing to see your children grow.  You look at them every single day, but somehow, one day, they seem to have changed overnight without you noticing.  And without giving you a warning so you could take one last look at the way they were before they suddenly changed.  The baby changed.  She was telling me about something in great detail, and in the moment between searching her pocket and turning back to me, it left - her babyhood took up on the breeze and faded away.  She is forever my baby, but it is apparent now that I'm the only one who sees her this way anymore.  It took me by surprise, her not being a baby any more, as she herself tends to take people by surprise.  She has always been petite - not even six pounds when she was born - and her stature often belies both her wit and her volume.  My grandmother always comments on "what a loud child she is", and not in a way that would suggest she is obnoxious (which honestly, what toddler isn't obnoxious now and then), but only because her elfish face doesn't lead on to the bellowing voice inside.  She is silly, but observant and thoughtful, retelling intricate stories of her sisters' shenanigans, and offering well thought out plans for excursions and activities (her most common opening line is "I have an idea, how 'bout we...").  She likes things that are weird and unusual, and when given opportunities to choose for herself, she rarely chooses what you would have thought she'd like.  Her sisters both baby her, which she allows, and now that they see she has value as a contributing playmate and isn't just an elephant in their china shop of imagination, they seek her out to play.  The baby is the most neutral of the girls - she'll happily hop from one sister's game to the next, whereas the older two take a bit more mediation to play nicely.  She is just so sweet.  Or dramatic, but I feel the spells of distress and injustice she plays out now are mostly just to keep pace with the sisters (it's not fair!).  I'll admit, I baby her too.  But she is the baby!  She's too little.  Be careful with her.  Let me help you.  Sigh.  Of course, this has only been met with fierce independence on her part, and an occasional reprimand for my husband - "just let her do it".  She is very capable, and is a fine example of how little all of those books for first time parents matter in raising a child.  By the third child, you find a breast and a bed are all a baby needs to be happy.  And she is.  My little baby, my tiniest one, my sweet fuzzy peach, my precious child.  She is three now, and as exciting as it is to see our family grow and change and put one phase behind us (no diaper bags, yeah!), I'll always be thankful I caught the moment before she checked her pocket.

Christmastime is here.

The last few years I have been a real scrooge about the holidays, which is unfortunate, because now is the time I have the pleasure of sharing Christmas with my small children, and it should be magical and wondrous as I see them see Christmas.  While there have been moments of warm fuzzies and yuletide glow, I have certainly not been the best at seeking them out, or maybe even noticing them when they are in my midst.  I don't handle stress well, ask my husband - I cried the other day because we had to change our dinner plans - and while I know it is irritating most of the year, it becomes a real stumbling block during Christmastime.  Especially after we left Colorado.  Organizing travel, scheduling when we would be where, who we would be seeing for what part of the day, how to ship gifts from here to there, and there to here, shopping for gifts (my LEAST favorite - I don't like the pressure of the expectation of gifts), it all was way too much, so I was crabby, and definitely not in the Christmas spirit.  Even when we still lived in Colorado, I got so wound up over having to split a holiday and try to make sure each set of family got their time with the girls, and whatever other special holiday thing they wanted to be done.  This year has had it's share of stress - two moves, new schools for the kids, a couple of big exciting trips, a couple of heavy hearted trips that no one had planned for - and I was sure, especially since going home for Christmas was not an option this year, that scrooge would rule my attitude.  I was planning on having a crappy Christmas.  I was going to be sad, miss my mom, hate shopping for gifts, not make Christmas treats because what's the point, and just try to hurry through it and get it over with.  How could I enjoy Christmas?  My kids would miss out on opening presents with their cousins, we'd miss out on dinners downtown, my husband would miss out on his mom's traditional Christmas foods, there were so many things that would be missing from our Christmas.  The girls started bringing home the usual "winter" activities from school, and started talking about Christmas coming up.  They asked if we would be going to Colorado, and I told them that this year, we'll be having Christmas in Florida by ourselves.  "Just us?" they asked.  "Yep.  Just a quiet Christmas at home."  A quiet Christmas.  There it is.  It dawned on me that we have never had a quiet Christmas, and never at our home.  As much as Colorado is home to us, the holidays we spend there are at someone else's home, doing the things they have done Christmas after Christmas, and they lovingly invited us to be a part of it.  My thinking changed as I realized that all of the things we'd be "missing out on" would still be there - for the people who celebrated them.  We would be here, and we would not be missing out on what's here.  We would have our own, quiet, happy Christmas at home.  Thankfully, this change of heart came with plenty of time to enjoy it, and while I am still aching to spend time with our family and be a part of their Christmases, it is easier to be present here.  To be hanging paper snowflakes, to be baking those one cookies, to be thoughtful in our preparations for Christmas rather than rushing through them to get to the modest stack of packages under the tree.  I regret any bah hum bugs that may have gotten between myself and the quiet miracle of Christmas in the past, but I know this year, it will be treasured and savored, and stored away for days when clouds roll in. 

Giving thanks.

I have been avoiding this.  For a few weeks.  I knew it was going to come, but I really didn't want to have to do it.  Even if I needed to.  I do need to.  The problem is, I am having such a hard time formulating how I want this to go, and even now, I only have a vague image in my mind of what will be said.  Raising three girls has been interesting to me, primarily because I was the only girl in my family, so watching sister relationships form is not as terrifying as I am sure some people would presume it to be.  Most days.  In my mind, having brothers was quite unfortunate, but by the grace of God, my cousin, who was only three months older than me, was also unfortunate enough to have a brother.  And so we adopted each other as "sister-cousins", which, as a teen, sounded totally dorky to say, but in all honesty was the best way to describe our relationship.  It was all the best parts of sisterhood - secrets, sleepovers, sharing make up (against my aunt's advice - I just had to try her blue mascara!), and most importantly, an ally and immediate friend - without all of the sisterly drama.  Usually.  When we were little, we lived farther away, so summers were spent trading houses for a week at a time, and any family gathering that would have otherwise been soooo boring became an opportunity to reunite with a treasured friend.  In high school, her family moved literally one neighborhood away, and their house was the first place I drove to when I got my driver's license.  We have always been very different, different enough that I wonder if we would have chosen to be friends had we not been related.  It doesn't matter.  Our differences made our relationship even more like sisters - we shared a deep history, and although there were times as we got older things like college, marriage, jobs, and babies made it hard to see each other often, or even call sometimes, any time I knew I'd see her, I felt just as giddy as I did when I was seven.  Having a sister-cousin was awesome.  Two Februarys ago, our family's heart broke.  She was diagnosed with Leukemia.  And I moved away.  She started chemo three weeks before my husband's job took us 1900 miles away, and it hurt me to the very core to be absent at a time I knew she really needed a sister with her.  Phone calls, texts, emails, became more regular, and I realized that although we were so far apart, I was feeling closer to her than I had before.  Most of our conversations were how you'd imagine two twenty-something gal's conversations to go, but sometimes they were hard, and sometimes they were just quiet.  Being on the phone together and not saying anything was enough.  I have to stop here before I go on and say that I played a very small role in a vast support system she had.  Our family is amazing, her community is amazing, and there were so many people that rallied around this person so precious to so many, that my own impact, although significant to me, was small among the great net of hands that vigilantly held her up.  I feel selfish only telling my own part, but it's the part I know best, the part I can share honestly.  Any time we traveled back to Colorado, I always made sure some bit of time was set aside just for her.  There were good visits, where we went to the movies and she dragged me all around the mall for an iPad charger, and there were quieter visits, when she was too tired to do much more than just sit together, which was fine with me.  Her journey with cancer was a roller coaster.  Things would look great, and then back track, and then look great again, and then another set back, but through all of it, I saw this person I had known my whole life transform before my very eyes - she became a vision of faith and quiet fortitude, even in her own struggle, reaching out a hand to lift those struggling around her.  It was humbling to see God working so clearly through someone I loved so dearly.  Her illness took a turn this past October, and I made the trip home I had hoped so much I wouldn't have to.  I held her hand, kissed her head, and felt privileged to stand alongside her sweet husband and my precious Aunt and Uncle and her dear brother as we gathered to love one who had loved so many.  My Aunt put it beautifully when she said that she found her miracle in Heaven.  I just loved her so much, and wanted to be able to put into words what she meant to me, but it has eluded me.  And then I was reminded, with Thanksgiving coming this week, of something special our family shared that would be just the way to say what I need to.  When we were maybe nine years old, my cousin and I decided to jazz up the Thanksgiving table with fancy name cards for each family member, but of course, we had to make it more interesting, so we gathered the name cards and each person randomly drew a name and anonymously wrote inside the card why they were thankful for that person.  When we sat down to eat, everyone would read their card aloud and try to guess who wrote it.  Some were simple ("you make good mashed potatoes"), some were hilarious ("you're such a bad-ass"), and all were genuine and sincere.  The tradition stuck, and every year, she and I wrote and passed out name cards, and we all looked forward to guessing who had made each of us feel valuable for being ourselves.  Ironically, over all of those years, I don't think I ever once drew her name.  So this year, I cheated.

JENNY
I am thankful for Jenny because she humors me and lets me lead.  She is intelligent, but also spacey enough to be entertaining.  She rarely giggles, and only really laughs if something is very funny, so I'm thankful that she laughs at me.  I am thankful that she doesn't mind when my kids are noisy on the phone, or in person, and I am thankful that she loves them.  I am thankful that Jenny likes mint chocolate like me.  I am thankful that our husbands don't mind when we tease them.  I am thankful that she confides in me.   I am thankful that she always sends me a birthday gift, even though I never remember to send one to her until it's a Christmas gift anyways.  I am thankful that she never lets me mess up her beautiful hair.  I am thankful for the one time that she did.  I am thankful that we never not liked each other.  I am thankful for Jenny's beautiful voice.  I am thankful for Gunther Toody's birthday breakfast.  Any breakfast together, really.  I am thankful that she taught me how to play rummy in the camper while it was raining outside.  I am thankful that I did not ruin Logan's proposal, but that I got to be the first to congratulate them.  I am thankful that we tried that soup.  It was delicious.  I am thankful that she keeps track of things.  Better than I do, anyways.  I am thankful for Caboodle cases full of tiny nail polishes.  I am thankful for sleepovers.  I am thankful we stopped to get candy.  I am thankful for blips.  I am thankful Jenny's dorky Santa purse.  I both anticipate and enjoy it.  I am thankful we remember the same things - basement skating, leaf houses, losing the neighbor kid, the Nutcracker - and we remember them the same way.  I am thankful I was unfortunate enough to have brothers.    If I had a real sister, I might have missed out on a sister-cousin.  I am thankful for every family function she came to.  I am thankful she is honest, both in word and in action.  I am thankful we changed other plans to get a few hours here and there when I visited.  I am thankful you waited for me.  I am thankful you will be waiting for me.

Stuck in the middle (of my heart).

Well what do you know, it's October.  My precious little brunette angel baby turned four last week, and we celebrated with a glittery bow and arrow and my sorry attempt at a purple "ombre cake".  She couldn't have cared less about the cake; it had chocolate frosting and marshmallows on top, so who cares if the innards have been Frankensteined back together because of failure to spray the pan (oops).  She called it a "white forest cake", which doesn't really make sense, but she stuck with it, and so will I.  At four years old, the brunette is as snugly and tender as the tiny little thing she came in to the world as.  Add in some odd vocabulary (remnants of ancient language ingrained in her subconscious???), the most hilarious face contortions, epic tales of shark encounters and miracle third arm growth, and the occasional fish flop in a fit of emotional distress, and there you have my darling daughter.  She is a child of her own, and my husband and I always talk about how there's just something special about the brunette - of course we love all of our children, but if you met this one, you'd say the same thing.  I've tried my hardest throughout her short life to not treat her like a middle child - to not give her special privileges to make up for her lot in the birth order universe, but also not to deny her special privileges and cultivate the very middle child syndrome I dread.  So far, I feel like it stresses me out more than it needs to, and I am feeling like I am way over thinking it all and she is who she is regardless, and simultaneously because of, being a middle child.  She had the benefit as a newborn of having a mother who was not a fretful first time mom, but more comfortable and more likely to follow her lead than go overkill on worrying about milestones, baby food, baby gear, all of that.  She was a happy baby and an easy baby, and I really think it was because she came second.   As she gets older, being second in line has made it easier for me to teach and discipline her, as I have already worked out the kinks with the blonde (sorry baby, it's hard to be the guinea pig), but I know she struggles with seeing her older sister get to do things that she can't yet.  Fortunately, she does get to be bigger than the baby, and it pleases me so much that she is a generous and loving big sister.  She and the baby play so nicely together, and she is patient and gentle (aside from the occasional altercation, i.e. this girl's got a solid right hook), and when she could easily take advantage of being bigger, she doesn't, and I believe it is because she knows what it's like to be on the receiving end of a bossy big sister.  I just love her so much, she is beautiful and silly and a joy to spend time with, and as much as I try to even the playing field for all my girls, there is just no such thing.  They all are different people, with different personalities shaped by different experiences in our family, and the only thing I can guarantee will be the same for all of them is that they will each be loved eternally.  And that is not a bad deal.  But let's not rush eternity, I'd like to hear some more stories about the sharks.