My transient existence involves moving every couple of years, give or take a new baby or two. And I've found it hard to embrace the lifestyle we've been called to live when I don't actually like living in whatever house/apartment/dorm/bedroom we find ourselves in.

A good friend of mine once told me to do what it takes to make it feel like home. Within reason, of course. In the past this has involved collecting autumn leaves to throw in our tree-less back yard, dragging our duvet from one end of the country to the other, or treating myself a new mug even if I'm eating in a kitchen stock-full of them.

Here, in our current home away from home away from home, it has meant turning our tiny little balcony into our backyard, deck, and play-area.



We're on the first floor of an apartment building, facing the parking lot, so it felt weird letting our children play out there unaccompanied and in full view of strangers. I didn't like having our drapes open at night because everyone could see everything on the inside. And we so missed our garden in Ireland and felt parched for green space.

Enter a small investment in some bamboo fencing, a ball of twine, and utility scissors. And still some autumn leaves scattered about for good measure. A small baby slide, a vintage orange patio chair, a plastic storage container filled to the brim with peppers, a thriving basil plant, and some cloth diapers hanging to dry.



We can still see the cars and talk to the people as they pass by, but we do so under hanging firefly lights. Instead of pavement, we now look out our sliding glass doors to see bamboo and greenery and life. It's small, it's cramped, it's never particularly neat, but it's our little space. Our haven. The investment was small, but everyday we live the benefits.

For the time

I leave in tears because I'm so grateful for the time.  

For the sisters who laugh at nothing, yet everything. At the boys who are so different but love with such loyalty. For the baby who learns words every hour of every day and tries out names on his tongue as he looks around the largest dining room table we've all ever seen. For the papa (my dad) who hugs, hugs, and hugs again as we leave, even though we currently live just on the other side of town from him.

{He knows it won't be like this again, and wants to hold onto it for just a second longer.}

For the nana who buys the food and sweeps the floors and keeps us all in check with a smile. For the husbands who cook the food and let us sit and talk and play. For the girl who is no stranger to fear and conquers it at every turn. For the brother who hugs his sisters with big bear arms. For the uncle who comes and joins in the craziness without minding it at all. And for his friend who's willing to endure it all and leaves us with a promise of more visits.

I'm so, so grateful for the time. And for the ocean. And for the dolphins. For creation and for family and for love.

It's been awhile, but I'm back with Gypsy Mama and her Five Minute Fridays, from a rusty old dive outside Charleston, West Virginia, on our way back home. If I can do it after 11 hours in the car, so can you!

Fill me up

After a few exhaustingly busy days, I'm feeling empty emotionally and physically. The wee kiddos are watching cartoons, we're all still in pjs, and I'm mindlessly surfing facebook and blogs while feeling completely devoid of energy, apart from the ability to click a mousepad with my index finger.

I'm amazed at how quickly this happens; mothering and planning and field-tripping, these seemingly natural and mostly normal activities that zap the body and mind.

I'm mildly amused by my ability to press the gas pedal without checking the gas gauge.

I'm frustrated at how quickly I empty myself without noticing the need to fill myself back up again.

I'm realizing that I've got to fill up first, or there will be nothing to give. Only an empty vessel, and empty vessels don't do much good of anything. Until they're filled again and again...

So come on, God. Let's fill 'er up. I want to overflow.

To write about something...

I spend a good portion of every day, looking at this rectangular little blogger post space, trying to fill it with words. There's a lot going on in my head right now, probably even more going on in my heart, and I'm having an extraordinarily difficult time trying to get it out, write it down, let it go. I try to think of a word to start with, or a thought to express... and thinking takes exceptionally long, with nothing appearing or no thought allowing expression. Then, just when I think I'm on the verge of something, just when the jumbled words start coming into focus and I think I almost might be able to form a phrase or a sentence - BOOM - a baby wakes up. Or a kettle is whistling. The phone rings, or a child needs to be fed. And the words turn fuzzy again, and disappear.

It's been awhile since my writing has been so plagued by chaos. Eight years ago now, after the boy was born. Overwhelmed was the feeling of the day/week/month, but there was a story brewing... a story that had a good chance of being published. Published not just online, but in print and with a paycheck to boot. I had had other stories published in print before then - college newspaper, internship at missions magazine - but nothing in a magazine of this caliber, nothing this relevant, (so to speak). The ideas were there, the layout, the outline... there was a purpose behind the article and I knew it and felt it and was so excited to get started. I thought my career might be about to take off, and then...

Nothing. Just nothing.

I sat down at the computer with one word: "He". Nothing came after. Only a pronoun. And that pronoun sat alone for hours, then days, then weeks, followed only by a blinking cursor taunting me. I emailed my editor and said, "I can't do it. Nothing is coming out. I'm sorry. I think it's the baby..." And that was it. The end of my short writing career. I never wrote anything else for that particular publication, online or otherwise.

The boy had invaded every part of me. Not in a terribly bad way, but in the way that babies do, and I literally had no room for anything else. My mind was invaded by ideas and words and fears and doubts, and there they stayed. I could not get them out, on paper or with voice. My mind was trapped by thoughts as much as my body was trapped by a growing, hungry baby who wanted - needed - only me.

This era of postpartum depression laster another nine months or so, till the fuzzy thoughts began to clear and my voice was able to articulate bits and pieces, till the joy of motherhood found me and I stood on two feet again. The writing, too, came back in a way, albeit as a minor player and no longer a viable career option. Slowly, patiently, the cursor began to move.

So I guess today, it's easier to write about the past, about what happened before, as opposed to what's happening now. I'm not sure I really know what's happening now. I think I've actually written about it before, here, but this is different. I'm not sure how, but it feels different this time. Or as the girl says, "super, super strange." Until the strangeness passes... I'm not sure when anything of value will appear.

Keenly aware

We had every ambitious intention of hosting a Thanksgiving gathering for our Irish friends. Really we did. But then Ella was hospitalized for four days and all hell broke loose.

I was doing fine with it. Really, I was. On Friday evening a friend drove me and the boys to the hospital so I could spend a few precious minutes with the girl and collect the car. It became more complicated due to the hospital being closed to visitors, especially children, so we waited in the cold for Matt to trade with me. The boys, so good, spent a good majority of the weekend waiting in the car in the dark and the wind and the rain. For the first 2 1/2 days, I handled that OK. It was lonely, it was stressful, it was exhausting driving back and forth twice a day - a half hour trip each way - carrying the baby to and from the car, nursing him in the front seat, feeding Jackson fast food (when I remembered to feed him, that is). I was handling it. I was super single Mom.

Then Sunday afternoon the doctors told us she'd have to spend one more night in hospital. I was with her all afternoon and early evening while she slept, reading a book in a recliner by her bedside. I thought to myself, for no particular reason, that there was no one. No one to call. No one to come visit her. No one to leave the boys with. No one to bring us food. No one to remind me to feed Jackson. No one to update. We were in the midst of a real health emergency, and I felt as if I had no one.

I cried all this out in the empty children's ward and on the phone with Matt. He reminded me that the boys were fine, Ella was on her way to being fine, and we would all be fine once she was home. "But I'm not fine!" I shouted to him. I'm not fine. I needed my family, I needed a friend, I needed someone to help me put the boys to bed and to stay with them when I was at the hospital. I needed to be in the same room with Matt. I needed Asher to take a bottle. I was in need. And that feeling really sucked.

The truth is, there are people here. We aren't alone. There are people who love us here and who we love. But having been able to rely on my family and close friends for years and years, I have no idea how to ask for help from new friends. I cry help, but only in my head - never out loud. Thankfully, I have Matt, who asks for help on my behalf. He passed the boys into the open arms of our wonderful neighbour, came to the hospital, and held me. The first time in 3 days we had been in the same room. He knew I needed help.

So Ella just came home on Monday, the house is a mess, I am a mess, and our Thanksgiving plans are now a mess. So instead of serving everyone a big dinner, we've invited them over to share in some American football joy, our favourite Thanksgiving tradition. I need the company, I need the companionship. I hope it comes.

Tomorrow, a reprieve

I cannot remember the last time the husband and I were alone for more than 3 hours at a time. I know it was at least 6 months ago, far away from here, in another life. It's more than fair to say that since we have arrived in Ireland, I have been somewhat hesitant to leave my children for long periods of time. Not that we've had many chances to do that (or have conquered that elusive quest to find a child minder (aka babysitter)). But still, the need for uninterrupted togetherness that consists of long conversations and carefreeness, minus nappy changes and demands for sweets, remains.

So tomorrow we are taking full advantage of having a Grandma around (sadly, she departs the day before our first Thanksgiving in a new land) and making her mind her adorably rambunctious grandchildren for 36 hours. We will be heading to the North to partake in some shopping (Ikea) and some sightseeing (Giant's Causeway), and perhaps an American indulgence (the brand-spankin' new Chili's in Belfast).

I'm only slightly nervous about leaving my mom with the kids for a couple of days, but have left notes and suggestions and frozen pizzas to make the task a little easier on her. I will also be secretly suggesting to a few friends that they stop by for a quick chat, just in case...