Tracks

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We’d just finished a “Containers of Leftovers” buffet and were amid the kayos of trying to do the morning chores (that were abandoned for leaving for church early), unloading the groceries, cleaning up the lunch, finding the coat room, and as always putting those sneaky toys back where they belong. When Sam popped in from outside and asked, “you guys wanna go to Claymine?”

Aka snow wheeling through a pass near our place.

Somehow, like a puzzle- beginning in grand disorder but piece by piece transforming into a picture- the house returned (mostly) to the home we all know and love. The kids all had two mitts, matching boots and snow gear relatively fastened, and were loaded into the Toyota. I had time to grab a mug of tea, and joined them.

Turns out we had beat the family we were meeting, so we drove out to meet them at the pass itself. Parked at the start, we were just in time to see the golden sun sinking behind the horizon. I hopped out into the foot deep snow, tried to catch a couple shots of it’s disappearing glory with my canon, and breathed in the sharp winter air. The sun’s glow lit up the trees just right, and with the little snow drifts tucked near their feet- the forest looked friendly.

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I climbed back in the cab. The old rattle trap truck hummed and shook two kids asleep. Sam’s travel mug that rested in the curve of his steering wheel spun from the trucks vibrations, and the stick shifts numbers and letters blurred as they danced about in idle. My three year old breathed softly, asleep, cuddled against me.

And all 6 of us just sat. Together.

Our friends ended up coming and we enjoyed venturing (further than planned) with them. Even got out and rolled about in the snow with all the kids.

Back in the truck, we laughed at the chattering coming from our youngest

“There’s baby bearses in the fields”,

“I’ll tell you when I see the horses tiny feets in the snow, OK Dad?”

We kept a look out for tracks. We tried to guess the animals from their unique prints left in the perfect canvas of fresh snow. And laughed when the “probably a cow” tracks clearly WEREN’T- As they had started bounding.

As we bumped along together through a tangle of forest on a white fluffy carpet rolled out before us. I felt so wonderfully content. I reached over and squeezed Sam’s hand.

Then suddenly I found myself reflecting on something profound I had heard earlier that morning. That I had never heard before. From someone wise and has 43 some-odd-years of marriage under her belt.

That quality couple time for some couples can just be

Time together. Without even talking.

I realized sometimes I try to fit our relationship in with what I hear your supposed to do to have a great marriage. With what works for other marriages.

But what this lady said was SO true for us. But I’d never heard was ok. Cause were not that “long walks and heart to heart talks” couple.

And I got thinking. Just as every person is different, so is every marriage. And so are the ways we show our love. Looking for love in a way it isn’t shown is frustrating and leaves hurt. But looking for loves footsteps, finding its tracks, recognizing its patterns- takes

time

and isn’t going to look like other people’s…

But it’s there. So beautifully there. And when not bombarded by the worlds comparisons-

You wouldn’t choose it any other way.

It can be easy to slip into wondering why your spouse doesn’t do what so and so’s does, and allow the question “does that mean they don’t love me as much?” slide to mind.

But ACK! Don’t.

Instead search for loves tracks, they’re probably in places you haven’t been looking. They might not be words, but actions. Or choices, or helps. Perhaps a look or touch. Maybe even a correction or a shove in a tricky direction. Sometimes maybe you hear it, sometimes maybe you see it, sometimes maybe you feel it, and other times you just need to know it. Remind yourself.

And while your looking for loves tracks on the canvas of a life together- leave some behind.

Small Town Rednecks

We were invited by friends to go see some fireworks Saturday night. There was an add with a little picture of stacked unlit firecrackers in a row, and a small blurb about the MacLeese fire department putting it on.

NOTHING led on to what we were about to see.

As we drove what turned out to be an hour out of town, I even wondered if these little town fireworks would be worth the drive.

Then from the dark stretch of highway we saw a line of vehicles pulling off onto a little dirt road. We followed. The road literally took us into what felt like the middle of no where. When the dust of all the cars we followed cleared, we saw what looked like a snake of vehicles heading to a lit bridge. Or so we thought. As we drew near we saw it was no bridge, but a road made of beacons, torches with flames leaping from them set out in a field. A firefighter with a boot for donations told us to be sure to park and get out to the fire pits “for the full experience.”

Crossing through harvested corn we reached a large crowd of people. The night was cat black and held a suspenseful slight breeze. I grew excited as I saw the size of the fire pits groups of people were standing around. This is crazy! I thought. But boy oh boy- I hadn’t seen anything yet.

With some loud cracks the fireworks began.

But then the cracks came from behind us. I whirled around as more came from my other side. Fireworks lit the sky in explosions- they were flying over head! We were surrounded! Through burst of light we could see people circling us in the field. We roared with excitement.

Then shouts and cheers alert us of a guy on the hill. He’s dousing a burning trail with gasoline. Big circles of golden flames burn in the grass… but he keeps walking closer. Not to us, but to a boat parked ontop of the hill. It’s filled with cardboard boxes. Like Santa’s water sleigh. The flames reach the boat, billowing and swelling, reaching for the trees. Everyone around us is simply ecstatic. I feel like a kid that sees their first crash- to- pass. I can’t stop saying what I’m seeing, “did you see that!?” As though everyone around me wasn’t watching the same thing. Then fireworks exploded from the boat and people behind it start having a war with Roman candles.

It’s pure madness.

How is this even allowed? My cheeks ached with all their grinning. And every time we thought it was over

it would start up again.

Then it grew quiet. But it was like that grand moment of suspense before the crescendo of the finale. Fingers began to point. “Look!”

Like the Trojan horse of the Romans there stood a massive towering statue of boxes. He was the height of a two story building looming in the darkness.

The BOX MAN.

“He’s like a robot!” One of my kids breathed.

“They’re lighting him on fire!”

Burning boxes broke off the statue and fell to the ground like chunks of a volcano.

The kids giggled as it looked like he was left in only his underwear.

With a sudden BANG! The Box Mans hands shot forth spears of light.

“He’s shooting lasers!” The boys shouted over the roaring crowds.

Then it was done. The Box Man’s head still burned and the boxes at his feet. We all talked at once. Awed and thrilled by the spectacular experience.

Like the short circuits in a real robot, random fireworks wizzed sporadically from the box mans can head, and we could only guess there were some crackers buried in the tin of wax. The crowds began to pull away. With a few last glances, we headed towards the vehicles, where a snaking train of lights formed from vehicles winding their way back out.

Out from this place,

where guys dreams are a reality,

And somehow allowed to take place.

The kids excitedly talked in the back seat claiming the could have watched the show till morning and never even feel the least bit tired. “Box Man” and “boat” rolled off their lips… and then only the sound of tires on pavement could be heard.

I squeezed Sams hand, “guess they’re all asleep.” And we drove home.

When the Well Ain’t so Well

I don’t think we even realize how much water we use in a day. I know I didn’t. And I didn’t find out by going on some Save-the-earth, Think-of-the-water, Minimalistic, “What would it be like??” kick.

Our property’s Well stopped working.

I was pleasantly surprised when our plummer friend, Rob, pulled up in the driveway shortly after I’d phoned Sam at work explaining the situation. That was fast…

Sadly though, it wasn’t gonna be a quick fix. He had to give me the report that nothing INSIDE was broken… meaning something deep down in the Well was.

A nearly 300 feet deep Well.

So while we waited for the Well guys to call us back, the kids and I carried water from the neighbors. The first few days. Till my kind neighbor suggested hooking our garden hoses together and basically saved my poor body from elongated arms.

Before said idea, however, (when we were still carrying/ pulling in the wagon buckets of water… ) I’d managed to carry two 5 gallon buckets down the road in one go and help the kids with theirs in the wagons. Then lifted all 5 pails and a Rubbermaid bin of water up onto the porch.

The kids had left a doozy in the toilet, so I slugged one pail through the house and into the washroom. I began pouring it quickly into the back of the toilet as my arms were really done. The satisfaction from a job well done however, drained from my face as I watched the water drain away…

the toilet handle was stuck down.

Really??

I dropped the pail to the floor and groaned… It’s bad enough ONE flush is half a bucket, but there goes a good two.

I instantly felt for people in less fortunate countries who carry water daily as a way of everyday life.

The other struggle I was faced with was when I reminded the kids to not flush for just pee as they’d head into the bathroom.
“I won’t!” They call as they pass you, crazed by your ridiculous reminding.

Then WOOSHhhhhhh!!!!!!

and a head pops out the door.
I squint- eyes narrowing.

“Oooopppppps! Sorry Mom! I didn’t mean too!”

And I slug in another bucket.
(It’s the years of drilling “did you flush?” into their little minds- it’s like an animal instinct now; right up there with migrating. Except for the youngest, of course, pretty much still just working on general AIM with that one.)

If my career as a Homeschool Mom doesn’t pan out- I could always take up Pun-comics right?

I recently came back from a 5 day camping trip, which I felt had prepared me for this situation. You know- stinking and living unhygienic.
No actually, for washing dishes in minimal amounts of water, using paper towels for grease, leaving things in the rain, and capitalizing on baby wipes (what? I told you it wasn’t a save-the-earth kick).

Things camping didn’t prepare me for, was cooking meals like homemade pizza and the insane amounts of dishes that dinner requires . Or two kids puking, a bed wetting, and having to see actual CLEAN people in my “camp” state.

Let me assure you though- things really didn’t go so bad. In fact, I never got to feeling “crazed”or “desperate”. My kind neighbors beside us we so compassionate, they graciously lent us buckets, hoses, a hand, and their water whenever we wanted. A friend a street over let me use her shower one night, while other friends prayed. And running water really wasn’t too life changing, where as electricity, or heat, would have been so much harder. SOooo thankful it didn’t happen in the winter too.

Also, 3 of our off-road friends came over Friday and Saturday to help Sam yard up the cables and pipe with his truck, winch, and engine hoist. Because those well guys Sam kept calling?- never had time. And as fun as camping is and not doing laundry for a week, the time had come.

Getting the pump above ground and back into it was stressful with just Sam and I. But actually pretty fun with friends. At one point Sams magnetic beer holder fell in the well and Sam’s head came up drinking the last of it. His friend Alex was also flung over the well when the hoist took a lunge from some tape getting wedged into the spinning spool. And when we reached really inconvenient knots in the rope being winched up, before we knew it Robs volunteered. He’s the tie-down supporting the whole works with his body while Sam un-clips, switches, ties new knots, and loops. Our friend Teela worked and rewound the winch, and her and I both drove the truck.

Of course the very best was the purr of that new motor,

and water reaching me “un-carried”.

And knowing God takes REALLY good care of us. Not just blessing us with running water, but with awesome friends and neighbors. And per usual

So many things to be thankful for.

Sometimes we just need to be reminded of just how good we’ve got it.

Butter

With all the fire evacuation alerts going on in Quesnel area right now, I figured I better sus out some of my valuables.

Ok so your looking at it.

Have I ever told u about my butter dish?

Besides the given gem (it holds BUTTER) this baby holds a whole 1lb brick of BUTTER. Please don’t rob me- but I basically found (at winners) the lost ark from Indiana Jones… in a dainty blue kinda way.

I even have strict kid handling rules. “TWO HANDS!” and they know to not even mess with the lid. The lid NEVER leaves the counter.

I’ve cut chunks of butter into all shapes and squished and squeezed it into all kinds of containers in my long life. But this one here. Unwrap. Drop. Place on the lid.

There are disadvantages to so much beautiful butter being poised and vulnerable before a world of small people though.

1. Random Eating/ licking

2. They never start at one end and work their way to the other- it’s an all out bloody skewer death.

3. While they skewer the poor brick they leave large deposits of their eatings for the next user to navigate around. Contamination! All in all p-r-e-t-t-y serious. Who wants P.B. and J chillin with their boild potatoes and fish? Or vice versa 😫

4. They take bigger helpings of butter. Then scrape the excess ON THE RIM. Oh why oh why? I go through tutorials on how to avoid this… and yet like our toilets, the rim is abused.

5. Cob spinners. 👐🏻 ok ok I see both sides of the coin on this one. I actually had a good discussion on this with a group of people at camp the other week. On one side, fresh steaming hot peaches and cream corn on the cob is dressed perfectly when spun through a brick of butter. It caresses the cob on both sides as it slowly melts and well, it’s practically a match made in heaven.

However (the other side), your committing the butter to a single life event.

One cannot tell me hairy butter is just fine on toast. Corn hairs are par for the course.

In the morning after your backyard shin-dig you may, (or perhaps not) regret not cutting off a section of butter for spinning corn.

As jaw dropping as my butter dish is though, I suppose I really could live without it. And when I think long and hard about it- same with all my other possessions as well. (Although, my pictures and journals which I hope to pass on, would be very sad to loose).

There is this really neat verse in the neatest book ever written. The Bible.

“Store up for yourselves treasures in heaven. Where moths and rust do not destroy, where thieves do not break in and steal.” Mathew 6:20

My kids are this, my husband, family is this. My friends are this- PEOPLE are this. Building into THESE things- People. Spending time and money on them, investing into them- is storing up the greatest treasure.

Historically Pharos were buried with all their earthly treasures sealed deeply underground in a secure room by their tomb. So that when they died they would carry these things into the after life with them. Sadly, you can ask the archeologists how well this panned out for them.

Those treasures stayed put.

Like my dish (if it even makes it through my children’s childhood).

But souls? Jesus tells us his Father has a house with many many rooms for us, in the kingdom of heaven, and “that if it were not so, I would have told you” (John 13:2)

So me taking time to love on, teach and build character into my babes? Treasures not wasted. Because like all the people I have in my life- I hope to see them in heaven. (I hope you know your valuable to me, and I hope I’ve shown u in some way.)

And as blessed as I am to own so many useful wonderful things, they’re only things after all.

And I ain’t no King Tut.

Hope you know your treasured. Not just by me but by your creator. I also hope you don’t spend your whole life working, saving and storing for things, when your surrounded by true treasures waiting to be noticed.

Ok, so tell me your butter pet peeves. Or am I really the only one who has them?

Good Kids

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I was making dinner and it was almost ready. The baby was in the high chair and the other children were happily building with duplo in the playroom. I needed the table set while I finished up dinner on the stove. I knew if I called Elise or Jonas to come, they would say “OK” and quickly come get the job done. They would also ask before they went back to playing, “Is there anything else?”
Because I got crazy lucky with being given such well mannered children. Right?
Well let me finish my table setting tale.
I’d asked Jonas and Elise a lot lately and I knew all too well it was Sammy’s turn. I’d been putting it off… It’s the truth. I knew exactly what I was getting into.
“Sammy, I’d like you to come set the table tonight.”
I hear loud truck noises but no response.
I repeat, and he says “in a minute”.
I say “Now.” And give a consequence.
He’s in the kitchen.
With a whine so bad he might as well be a distant chainsaw- that just won’t quit.
“I want you to set the table with a good attitude.” I say over the whine.
Then I lay it out. “You can set the table with a good attitude. OR you can have a spank and THEN set the table. Either way your setting the table, you decide.”
The whine gets more desperate. His legs turn to jello. He’s having troubles standing. His legs become like alien tentacles wriggling around the sides of his body. His feet, flop like he’s wearing flippers in the house, with loud sluggish steps. Panting he reaches the table and tries to lift the first plate. But with a sputtering moan gravity pulls the burdensome weight back down on the the stack. He’s gasping. Now there is quick sand! sucking his body downward! his chin hits the table and is being dragged to the edge, he’s…

Made his choice.

The baby is fussing, the dinner needs to be watched or it could burn, and it’s so tempting to just throw my warning on repeat, “remember I said…”.
It’s tempting, and I’ve done it. But it will almost guarantee  a repeat on this kind of help the next time I ask him.
I shut off the stove and discipline him. Enough that he’s not going to choose it a second time (hopefully). And I tell him I love him.
Because I do.
I love him enough to discipline him, to show him right from wrong. To help him to be a good person. To help him to honor authority and to do tasks with a happy heart. To train him in what is right.
My children know as I hug and forgive them for their sin that It’s because I love them that I discipline them.
Because I tell them.
I ask them, “would it be very loving of me to let you get away with [thing they did], and be a naughty child that grows up to be a bad person?”
They always say No. They don’t particularly like being around naughty kids themselves.
“I love you, so I’m going to train you and show you how to be good.” Sometimes I have to say, “I told you how to be good, but you didn’t listen.”
And they say, “but I forgot that’s what you said!”
and I tell them, “I know that’s why I showed you, to help you remember.”

No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it.
Hebrew 12:11

God, our Father, out of love gives us consequences for our wrong to train and teach us for our well being. Because the Lord disciplines those he loves, as a father the son he delights in.~ Proverbs 3:12
So we discipline our children as well.
And because we’re Christians we believe Jesus forgives us for our sins when we ask. So we also teach the children that.
It’s dealt with, they don’t need to feel guilty. They are forgiven. This is such a precious moment for both me and the child- the set it right button if you will. (If I hadn’t gone through with disciplining them properly I would still hold annoyed feelings for them and not have this re-set, leaving things unsettled between us).
It’s a long process and a lot of diligence and hard work. I often become frustrated, lazy, and take “shortcuts” that I pay for. But the beauty of having 4 kids, is by the time you hit the third your starting to see the fruit of your labor in the first and second child- and its encouraging.
My husband Sam, and God, with his book of wisdom, are always training, equipping and helping me. So even if I may think it, I’m not doing it alone.

So Sammy did set the table, and did a good job.
He wasn’t angelic and completely reformed.
But slightly sputtering and ever so quietly moaning.
His behavior is still a work in progress.

“So let’s not get tired of doing what is good. At just the right time we will reap a harvest of blessing if we don’t give up. Galatians 6:9

My children may try my patience and sometimes it feels like too much of the same lessons over and over and over again till i want to just hit my head on a wall, and cry for sweet mercy.
But they bless me.
They are SUCH  wonderful blessings.
And
I really enjoy
being around them.

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A Day. Meet Morning.

Morning starts with the creak of Sammy’s bedroom door. “Morn’n time Momma?!”

“Yes Sammy. You can get up.”

And the pounding of his feet as he makes a mad dash to the bathroom.

Next I hear squealing coming from across the hall. It’s Baby Silas. Little chubs wakin up happy. I peel back the covers and throw myself into morning. I open the door and cross the hall, a streaker passes by me- Sammy- on the way back from the bathroom off to go get dressed. Sammy, three, is always first dressed.

I go in to see Silas, His legs THUMP THUMP against his crib mat in excitement at the sight of me. More squeals emanate from his mouth.
“Morning Squeeky!” I raise him up to my lips and satisfy their need to kiss. We head for the change table in the room as the Princess stirs in her bed. My five-year-old pushes her self up in her bed with a halo of wispy blond hairs sticking up all over her head.

“Oh… I just fell asleep! I was awake ALL night…” she always says.

Funny how I retrieved the screaming baby 3 times in the night from her room and her body stayed cocooned in blankets and sleep. Hand dangling from the edge of the bed in a deep slumber.

“Morning Elise.”

She shrugs off her ‘sleepless night’ and pipes up “I can babysit Silas for you while you get dressed!”

Finishing with the baby I deposit him into the depths of the pink and purple sister bed. Where he is fawned over in high pitched squeaky tones and thoroughly entertained. I love having older helpers. Certain things ARE easier with more kids.

I cross back through the hall into my own room, as all the bedrooms are nestled close upstairs.

I don’t have to worry about waking Jonas. Sammy does a thorough job of that each morning as the two share a room. You can hear them chatting to eachother and joking around between the slamming of their dresser drawers.

We tend to all meet at the neck of the stairs and funnel our way down to the kitchen where breakfast commences.

Breakfast is a tad chaotic.

In the center of the storm my six month old sits in his Bumbo on the island pleased with all the busyness, occasionally opening for the spoon of banana that comes his way, but always seeking after everyone else’s food.

I go though spurts of trying to remedy the breakfast crazies. But for the most part it stays unorganized and filled with too many food options.

After breakfast, however, Jonas goes and gets our bible study, and we read the word of the Lord. It brings things back to order, and encourages us for the day. For without Jesus at the center, I fall short. By a long shot. Sometimes I get carried away in the morning with the baby, laundry, messes, breaking up arguments, or diving into projects that need to get done.
And things unravel.
I need the memory verses we learn from the bible to get me through the day, just as much as the kids.

Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.
Ephesians 4:32

Sometimes my FAIL at what were learning IS the lesson of the day.
Me-“I’m sorry, that wasn’t very kind or compassionate what I said… was it? I should have told you how to do that better without saying those hurtful things. Will you forgive me?”

And they always do.

God never called me to homeschool because I got my crap together. If anything it was to show me that I would drowned in my own strength.

From the ends of the earth I call to you, I call as my heart grows faint; lead me to the rock that is higher than I.
Psalm 61:2

Jesus is that rock. I have to daily cling to Him and pray that he uses me, unaccomplished and a bit of a basket case at times, to impart wisdom.
And that’s the crazy cool part.
The kids learn really amazing things. And it’s not from all the mad skills their teacher has. It’s cause Jesus uses that weak teacher to show his glory.

Yep it’s a pretty sweet deal.


****Stay tuned for how our average school day unfolds****

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Mr. Bubbles

Right now my baby is really drooly.

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Silas five months, and baby those teeth are comin.
I’ll be eating dinner, chatting with someone, or teaching one of the kids school and glance downward at my arm. It will be dripping with drool and there gumming my flesh is a cute little sucker fish.
He can be found teething on my finger, my chin, my shoulder or slobbering happily on my neck. I once caught Jonas (my oldest) with his foot in Silas’ mouth.
“What, Mom? He likes it.”

Seriously. Anything.

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The other day I took my daughter to gymnastics wearing a black shirt.
Sitting with all the other parents, I suddenly became aware of my appearance.
I was like a homemade birthday cake iced while still warm. Puke and drool drizzled about my body. Like Eve in the garden of Eden, my eyes were opened and I suddenly became embarrassed. So I made a shot at improvement, and did what any mom with little ones would-
pulled out a baby wipe.
But seriously, generally I really don’t mind the wet gifts.
He’s my fourth baby- I’m way past changing shirts from puke.
Besides, breast milk smells sweet, he’s just senting me sweet kisses!
Oh and he’s so yummy, squishy, and wonderful. So what if he’s also a bit wet?
His bubbles make me laugh.
I was at a ladies book group and my baby blew bubbles through the whole TWO HOURS. Its really hard to pay attention to serious topics when someone keeps making farting noises. He was like the whoopee-cushion that just wouldn’t quit.

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He makes the other children squeal with laughter when he reaches out to them and crams some part of their body into his slobbery little mouth. They all want his kisses, and are more than happy to help wipe away bubbles through out the day off their little brothers face.
Jesus says the Kingdom of Heaven belongs to the little children, and that we should change and be more like them (Matt 19:14, 18:3). Although he’s probably trying to tell Adults to have faith like a child, so trusting, believing, and without doubt….
Who knows. Maybe when we get to heaven their will be a whole lot of people

blowing spit bubbles.

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Seasons of Getting Changed

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There are certain things as an adult you take for granted. As a total given. You might not even realize it… Till you have kids.
Like when you wake up in the heat of summer- you don’t wear a sweater, pants and socks. Or if you wake up and see your breath, shorts and bare feet shouldn’t be your choice for the day.
Why do children struggle with the change of clothing for seasons?!
Or is it just mine?
No, I remember my brother clomping in his winter boots to elementary school with me in May. Wearing his down winter jacket and shorts. It drove me mental and I tried arguing how stupid it was. But he did it anyways. He was even the fastest kid in the school despite the winter wear attachment.
My own kids are just as bad.
Summer heat hits and I’m having a zipper war with my toddler who won’t lose the sweater. Or a  full out melt down about the shorts I wrestled onto his angry body. I find socks like Cheerios- everywhere. The house and yard are littered with them because their feet get hot minuets into the day.
So I have to make a rule that they aren’t allowed to wear socks. And hide all their pants to avoid the morning meltdowns.
Finally the kids basically get it. They flip flop around in bare feet. Sport t-shirts and shorts, and of all the seasons- Summer has the least prep when your headed out the door with four.

And it’s… Fall.

Sweet mercy, why are those hated shorts so special now?
And why is that sweater as much work to get on as it was to get it off?
We go to get in the van and what? Nobody has socks?
“New rule, don’t come down the stairs in the morning without socks on your feet.”
“But MOM you said never to wear socks!”
(I cast my eyes upward to my most compassionate Father.)

You think age might help. But then you hit that boy age where just getting CHANGED in general a problem. Or bathing. (But that’s another topic)
Driving home from my sons first soccer night this week; my almost seven-year-old said, “Mom, I think my cleats are too small. My feet are soooo tight.”
“But we just bought you those this spring! Maybe it’s cause they were sinched up from you wearing them with no socks in the back yard this summer.” (cause he was too lazy to put sock on).
“Ya maybe.” He’s quiet for a while, then “Or maybe cause I didn’t bother taking off my regular socks and just put my soccer ones on top.”
“What!? Seriously?! Your wearing two socks in there?” And I went through the “Don’t be lazy speech.”
Then last night I went to tuck him into bed, and he was clearly wearing a bulky shirt crammed under his pajamas.
“Are you wearing your shirt to bed again?” We had had the conversation that at night you change out of your cloths into pj’s. You don’t just wear your dirty shirt to bed and hop down the stairs in the morning “dressed” in it.
“This ones clean!” He quickly announced.
I looked at him like he was crazy, and began to straighten out the bulk around his cuffs to let back the blood flow. “You put on a clean shirt, then your pj’s?”
“Ya. Then I don’t have to change it in the morning.”
Time saver for sure.
??
He’s the kid that went Hunting with bare feet in gumboots, spent the day hiking, and got a billion blisters. Went for a chilly walk with me and had to borrow my finger gloves to hook on his ears so that it looked like I was walking a moose.
He spent the beginning of this Fall wearing shorts and t-shirts, denying being cold, then protesting when I wouldn’t let him stay cocooned in a fleece blanket for the remainder of the day. “Can’t I just bring this blanket outside?”

IMG_2584My daughter? She just struggles with not wearing party dresses and tights to the occasion of it being daylight. Also I understand her predicament that jackets may be warm, but no one will see what I’m wearing!

When you have one kid, or even two, you can still dress them to head out the door to go somewhere. But by the time you hit four kids you basically throw in the towel and let them fend for themselves. You call out helpful reminders from your nursing chair, but the coat rooms around the corner. You just hold on to hope they chose something your not going to hear about in an hour.
Or you grab arm loads of sweaters along with your diaper bag and car-seat.
I should really have a spare pair of socks in my purse.
Why not? I have everything else in there.

We moved somewhere where Winter is the longest season by far. So if you think of me…

with 4 snow suits,
“my feet are wet”,
“I have to pee and you just dressed me”,
“this sock feels weird”,
“my huge dress won’t shove in”,
stubborn zippers,
scratchy toques,
soggy forgotten gloves,
and CLOMP CLOMP SLOSH across the kitchen floor “Momma can you get the snow out of my neck? I have my mitts on….”

Please pray.
But on a thankful note, this year I can bend down and put my own boots on with ease;)

Little Sis

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Youngest to Oldest: Isaac, Ben, Kyle, Me, and Derek

I think we figured the last time we were all together was at my brother Kyle’s wedding.
Somehow we all ended up camping at Chubb lake last weekend for Church camp.
We played and sang around the fire like old times. Even dug up the song Bare Necessities from Jungle book, rattling off the lyrics crammed somewhere in our brains from childhood.
The crazy part? We have some kind of bond siblings do. Past memories. Family jokes. Same long toes, and love for music. The poke- push- Love that you learn to accept as snot nosed kids, and somehow still take as adults.
Best part? We’re all Friends.
From gum chewing in the back on burlap scratchy van benches. To driving our own mini vans and motor bikes.
From being kids to raising them.
Love you guys and miss you already.
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Tempers Past

“Do your kids ever do that?”
I’ve been asked that a lot lately. From parents with kids reaching age 1 and a half or the early two’s. Being in a new town, they didn’t know us a year ago.
Yes, my kids had temper-tantrums. Lots.
Yes they screamed “No!” to everything I said.
Yep, they were stubborn too.
I found this old post of Sammy, exactly one year ago to show you;)
With love, discipline, and perseverance it will pass, friends. Hang in there and enjoy the sweet times when you get them.
Here’s my post:
Date with Sammy