On Sunday night I laid down next to him and cried. It was such a small thing, really, but to me it was the world shifting. Life as I know it, my life, mother-of-babies life, is over. Tomorrow, I thought, tomorrow will be a new one, and I never even mastered the old one.

He was on his side and I was on mine, and I tried whispering I love you one last time before the baby left and boy began, but I got no reply. And I cried saying goodbye to this era, to the babies, to the rocking chairs and the nursing hours.

It was easy to make the decision we were done when there were still baby years left, when he still toddled and babbled, carrying a sippy-cup everywhere and falling asleep to my songs. Today he runs, speaking words faster than I can understand them, lunching in his barn and telling me as I unbuckle him at the school gate, "No, Mom, I walk in by myself." Now, we are done done.

Two days later, I carry his sorry self across village lanes and over the canal, up a tall narrow staircase and into the waiting room. His brief illness has returned the baby to me, for a couple of days, at least. I feel silly thinking of crying in his bed on Sunday night when yesterday he is curled in my lap for hours. 

I try not be a Helicopter Mom, but I am his. And he is our baby. And the school days won't change that. And at four, we've still got time. And today, and tomorrow, and the next day I have three hours alone in the house with all the babies gone. It's a brave new world and I, mercifully, start over again.

***

I can't promise this will be the last baby-being-done-and-growing-up post. I'm clearly still processing. And he is wearing his Jayhawk blues to represent Kansas, embodying so much of our old life while we live this new one. Does yours look different today, this month, this year, too?

Five Friday Favourites

1) We're back to school! Ah! This is obviously my favourite thing about this week, but really, it's the picture that will last a lifetime:



2) Jen Hatmaker's "Spicy Families" blog post. I so prefer her way of looking at families like hers and mine, as opposed to my way of looking at us: crazy, weird, improper or out-of-control.

Me: THERE COULD BE VIOLENCE IN THESE STREETS – we’re near the end times! We need to figure out how to be more precious. I don’t even think our kids know any hymns! How are we supposed to break out in spontaneous family worship?? WWAVD?? (What would Ann Voskamp do?) Remy told me Jesus rode into Jerusalem on a donkey “because he was so rich.” We are raising dullards. Let’s just throw in the towel.

3) Stephen Colbert's Daft Punk segment. Yes, this is like three weeks old, but I was in Germany and I've got three kids and it was SUMMER, remember? We don't get Hulu or other such free streaming tomfoolery here, so I actually had to buy the episode. Best $1.99 I've ever spent.

4) Guys with Fancy Lady Hair. Just click, please. You won't regret it. Ever.

5) This week was filled with friends. A birthday party, a playdate, a coffee. And there is really nothing else that makes this place feel more like home than when I laugh hard with a kitchen table full of people or have someone to share a latte with or can shove five kiddos into the back of their car because it's raining and the five minute walk home would just not be as fun. Life with people... Ok, so this is my favourite.

What are your Friday Favourites?

The naive optimism of summer "holidays"

Ok, "summer" break. We've got a bit of a discrepancy.

My calendar says you are blissfully 2 weeks away. I have counted on your fashionably late arrival, chuckling on the inside as my friends welcome their wee children home in the middle of May. I, too, love my children and look with naive optimism to the lazy, long days of summer, wherein bedtime routines are not as frantic, early morning brushing of teeth not as important. 

But this is not the point.

The point is, you are coming between us, my children and I. Because they think - told by their classmates and confirmed by exhausted teachers - you arrive Friday next. As in one week. As in seven days. Nay, four-and-a-half days (not counting the weekend, obvs) as the twelve noon bell rings the summer in. This is not what my calendar says, not what the woefully outdated school website says, not what my mother-heart says. And the eldest and I are at an empasse.

So I say I'll ring in to the school, confirm it with the nice secretary who knows me by name, or at least by sight. The American Mom, belonging to one American Jack(son). I'm sure she'll tell me the truth, so kind as she gently lets me down. But I'm afraid and I'd rather just wait and see. I'm really very good at purposefully living in ignorance.

The thing is, summer, the flipside of the relaxed bedtimes and fluid schedules is one kid asking for food all day long. Or the ice cream truck coming through at 3:56 every afternoon. Or Netflix streaming one terribly awful Power Rangers episode after another. Or the sun coming up at 4am, bringing little children to my bed before the most punctual bird ever nabs that first worm.

The school year gives us such a nice little rhythm, a schedule to abide by. It makes sure we're out the door by 8:40am. It keeps the children reading and gives Asher some independence. For a family that is so haphazard, we need those bits of routine. They make us feel like everyday we accomplish one more thing, keeping us sane and moving forward. 

I do love you, summer, really I do. I do think we may manage a day trip or two, the occasional walk to the park, the forts and the sea. I know we'll survive, like we do every summer. And I know it could be worse, the temps could be hellish and humid like last year, it could be Kansas in July.

But... but... I was counting on that extra week of solitude, of routine, of my own independence... even if heavily involved in the one-on-one game of potty training, with a heavy dose of laundry on the side. With all the children home, all day, every day... I may never do laundry again.

Oh, look at that! I found a silver lining. We'll just make it the Summer of No Laundry and call it even.

CODA: Verdict is two more weeks! That was a close one.

I can't be the only one with a summer holidays aversion. How do you cope with the loooooong days of summer?

Lazy summer into autumn

Oddly enough, my lazy summer days have made way for even lazier school days! It's just the wee lad and me most of the time, and we are walking in the park and window shopping and meeting for coffee and just hanging around being best pals. So here are some images from our current season of life, keepin' it real, keepin' it lazy.

 

first day of school

the offspring and me

and this happened... she's a kindergartener

work day (ok, a quick coffee break). look how fancy!

just the wee lad and me

splash park smiles

goodbye summer days

Today autumn is supposed to arrive, with afternoon rains and cooling temps. And we are welcoming a visitor from a place we used to call home. Big day. 

How's your Friday, your Autumn, shaping up?

On not knowing, but believing

We've got a schooling situation on our hands. As in, we have none.

Our support account says we're at 82%, which means we can see the finish line. The 90% which allows us to buy plane tickets.

We wait for God to work.

And it is summer, and the girl is ready for elementary school, and the boy is ready for Irish school, and we've not yet enrolled them in the fall. Anywhere.

I'm not sure what this means, except I feel ready. But our apartment is still full and we still have work to do. I tell people this summer and they say, "Really? So soon?" I ask myself that, too, and think "Oh, maybe... I hope so? But maybe not...?" They tell me I should enroll them anyway, better safe than sorry.

But I tell them I don't yet have peace.

Even if I were to enroll them, I don't where they would go, don't know if we'll still be in this apartment (let alone this country), don't know if we'd need to transition somewhere else to finish the fundraising.

I don't know so many things.

"In August, God will tell us," I tell them, "He always has." And this is true. When it comes to our kids and schools, He's always shown us the way. He's always put us in the right place (even when we didn't want to be there), always opened up a spot (even when they said it was full), always been patient with us (even when we haven't been patient with Him).

We have friends in a similar situation, in a similar season of life (this waiting and going). When I share these thoughts with her she looks me straight in the eyes and says, "Don't enroll them." There is no hesitation, no pause at the timing, no gasp at the numbers. She believes.

It's misty and dark outside now... a rare reprieve from the heat and sun, dampening our thirsty grass.

I believe, too.

Dear Woman, It's Celebration Day

Dear Woman,

Yeah, you in the back row, crying your eyes out like it's a rescreening of Titanic. This is celebration day! Last day of school! Pull it together!

Cuz your kid? That's a sweet, happy smile on his face, standing alongside his friends. He can multiply, read 300-page books (much thanks to Ms. Rowling), create businesses and play kickball. He knows the planets and sings the presidents. Every year he experiences, learns and grows more, and today you get to cheer him on as he advances to the next round. He is alive and becoming a better human being every day. Rejoice!

Sure, there will be tears eventually (or in an hour), when he realizes not all teachers are adorable 20-or-30-somethings. He will sigh at the exasperation enrollment and doctor's forms and learning names will cause. There will be gritting of teeth and forgotten homework, and eventually, yes, puberty. You can cry then.

But today? Smile for your boy... because he is on a fantastic adventure and he knows it. And so are you... because you gave birth to him and God said, "Show him the world."

So what are you waiting for? Dry your eyes. Let's do this thing.

Yours,
You

This is the best day, in five...

Perspective... It's all in how you look at it.

She's not so different than she was then. I mean, apart from the bangs. And Fluffo (the dog). Really, the only discernable size difference is in how the backpack fits her a bit better. Her hair is a bit darker. She's taken to wearing belts, too. But she's still her.

Independent, wild, sassy, excited, not a tear in her eye. This is the best day, she says. Graduation day. Nothing to be sad about. She's all wide-eyed and fancy-free. It's not the end for her, but the start of the next big adventure, whatever that is.

But for me, I'm weepy. A bit scared. Have not a clue what is next. We've made an executive decision not to enroll her in kindergarten yet. We have hopes, dreams, prayers that she and the boy will enroll on in Irish schools. But really, who's to know? Anxiety eeks up my chest and I'm all ready to seep out worry and doubt, when she says it again.

"This is the best day. Graduation Day. I'm so happy!"

It's all in how you look at it.

Where are you looking?

***

Linking up with Gypsy Mama and her Five Minute Fridays.

Diets, politics, and homeschooling (oh my!)

Found myself back to being a curious bystander to a lot of blogs and articles this week. Here's a round-up:

Simple Mom : Is your "healthy" diet making you sick, tired or fat?

Note: the girl and I suffer from eczema big time (and she seems to have several food intolerances). we're too cheap to do allergy testing, so I've recently started eliminating some suspicious foods, as Camille prescribes... but I'm afraid of cutting out dairy, cuz, you know, i need it!

Her.Meneutics : Why we can all opt out of the "war on women"

Frankly, I’m tired of both sides using violent imagery to describe the difficult decisions that I, and my sisters, make every day, and I’m tired of seeing those decisions reduced to bumper sticker ideologies that can be exploited for political gain.

This Is Our City (Christianity Today) : An Unexpected Choice: Why We Traded the Public School for Homeschooling

My initial reaction to the nudging I sensed in my heart—that God wanted us to give homeschooling a fair evaluation—was unequivocal: "No way, God." But the more I struggled against it, the more I sensed his answer: "Just look into it."

A Deeper Story : Stupid wait time

Tears began to stream down my face as the pastor continue to speak about how it takes only a momentfor God to speak His promise and it takes only a moment for the promise to be fulfilled, but the time that passes in between those two moments – the reversal time – is time immeasurable. It’s always the longest. Agonizing, hand-wringing, soul-stripping waiting.

Matthew Paul Turner : I'm tired of... God?

Tired of being pigeonholed or labeled or categorized or limited because my conversations about God aren’t the same as other people’s conversations about God…

These last two posts hit me deep in my uncomfortable heart. Anything do that for you this week?

Fussy Mummy

I'm not sure when it happened. It totally snuck up on me, caught me by surprise, and brought a tear to my eye. I have become that mother.

You know the one: she paces the living room floor waiting for that glimpse of her child after the first day of school. She frets over him making a friend, eating his lunch, getting on the right bus. She chews her nails thinking of the wrong words he may use (Irish words or phrases that are now second nature and stand out in American contexts). She sees him on the bus, leaving for the day, and her heart breaks at his enthusiasm and vulnerability and joy at going to school, knowing that someday - perhaps someday soon - his naivete will be shattered by reality: school sucks. Kids can be mean. Still ten years to go.

Yep, that was me as the boy experienced his first day of American elementary school yesterday. I was a wreck. But the boy was a trooper. I got a little bit sick to my stomach. He ate breakfast and the school lunch AND his brown bag lunch. I cried a little bit. He laughed and jumped and smiled, telling us about his bus adventure and the one girl who wasn't so keen on him hugging her.

Grade Card
The Boy : A+
Mommy : F

The strange thing is, we've always really promoted independence and resourcefulness and thick skins in our little family. We never really worried much about him as a baby or small child. I don't think it was really till we moved overseas - and I saw that he really was just a wee lad and still vulnerable and innocent and prone to heartbreak - that I started to fret. And now that we're back, we're all having to start over. Back in our homeland, where us adults were born and reared and should recognize and remember everything, we're having to relearn the whole system. And that causes me, a fussy mummy and a stressed wife, to worry just a bit more about how everyone is doing and if we'll all succeed.

So far, the first big test of school and boys, my son is a success. His mom, on the other hand, could use some work. Must study and research and give myself a few pop quizzes over the next semester or two. After all, we'll be doing this all over again back in Ireland next year.

Hard, but good

This has been my motto as of late. Life, love, ministry, kids... all hard, but good. Yesterday was a hard, but good day. And really, it was more good than hard.

The hard part: proof of my baby boy growing up, letting go, continuously giving him up to God and saying "He's Yours".

The good part: a new beginning for Jackson, learning and growing and watching him learn something new every day, Matt saying, "He's becoming Irish!", trusting God more...