real life

An Eagle Scout and Singlets

/ amylynw / 1 Comment

Life is a constant heart-beat, which drums all around me.  Sometimes in the thundering noises of many little elephants coming down the stairs, and sometimes in the aftermath of many mouths having been filled and satisfied.  Tonight, I have two hours of quiet.  The heartbeat of life still hums in the background, even though there is silence.  There is a crudely drawn circle on the mirror in the kitchen.  It appears to  be etched in maple syrup.  The stairs have more dust bunnies making themselves at home on each step.  Paper airplanes have crash landed under pieces of furniture.  A small pretzel has been stepped on more than once, looking like a little mountain which has been leveled to a mess of crumbs in the middle of the floor.  The once-caught up laundry smirks at me from a huge pile, now ready to go through the cycle again.  Our fridge is still in self-emptying mode, as dozens of eggs and bushels of apples and clementines disappear into thin air… or hungry bellies.  The clock is ticking, and life is still drumming.  There have been a few poignant moments in the past week.  

It was an honor to attend Matthew’s little brother’s Eagle Scout Court of Honors.  I have known Jacob since he was Betty’s age, and am so proud of the young man he has become!DSC_8710 DSC_8686 DSC_8706DSC_8724 DSC_8729 DSC_8740 DSC_8745 DSC_8756 DSC_8817 Eagle Scout Court of HonorDSC_8828DSC_8860DSC_8865DSC_8883

The other night I came across Nadine trying to give Jack a shoulder massage.  He was backing away from her and exclaiming: I’m not a woman!  I laughed, so thankful he isn’t!  Then Friday night he was peeling potatoes for me.  The aftermath of his help was a scattering of sweet potato skins all over the kitchen floor.  He gazed at the mess, shook his head and said, If I was a woman, none of this would have happened.  I guess his impression of women is as follows: They are neat potato peelers who love shoulder massages.  I think I qualify.

The boys are both in the middle of wrestling season.  I finally got to watch them on Saturday, and it brought back many memories of watching their daddy, donned in his singlet, oh so long ago!

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I’m so proud of the boys in my life.  Whether they’re wearing singlets, an Eagle Scout uniform, or a wrestling coach’s shirt… they all make me so very proud.  Their hearts all march to the beat of their own drum, and make my heart beat a little faster.

Patchwork Tea

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I crave two things almost equally every day: quality time with people and… chocolate.  When an afternoon of tea with a friend is complimented with chocolate, it is pretty close to perfection. I am convinced if we spent less time stalking people from the comfort of our computer screens and more time actually getting to know them, we would be a much happier people.  Because if you just read my definition of a perfect afternoon and thought how pristine, calm and cozy that sounded, you may have gotten the wrong impression.  If you were here, you would have known how messy, loud and chilly it actually was… what with the mud, glitter, snacks, questions and the constantly opening door to the outside, all going on between sips and words.  My definition of perfect rarely, if ever, equals calm, quiet, neat or tidy.

Not one moment after I poured the tea, hungry child number one came into the kitchen:
Mom?  I’m hungry.
Ok.  Go outside and play for a while, then you can have a snack.  
We sat down, took one sip of tea, and began our conversation.  No sooner has someone heard us swallow before coming in to ask:
Mom?  Can I eat something?
No, go outside with your sibling and play first.  Don’t forget to shut the door!
We continued our conversation, seamlessly blending our last sentence into our next.  The interruption is merely like a breath between words.  Another breath:
Mom?  What can I eat?  I’m hungry!  
Another child walked into the kitchen.  I’m hungry too!
Go outside!  And shut the door behind you!
We entered back into the conversation.  It’s okay if we can’t remember where we left off, because mommy brains are used to forgetting.
Another poor unsuspecting child asks for food.  To me, it’s as if the same child has asked for a snack five times, when in reality it is a different child with the same song, fifth verse.  Mom?  I’m so hungry!  
Go outside!  And shut the door behind you!
A few minutes later, three children were eating apples and yogurt.

The door going outside opened and closed at least fifty-three times over the course of tea.  Thankfully, there is always hot water and good conversation in abundance.  Skinned knees, glitter, and more quests for food rounded out the afternoon.  Not quite like how “tea” is pictured in my head when I say it, but it’s better somehow.  There is no show, just a lot of love.  Conversation is pieced together like a patchwork quilt, all mismatched yet perfect.  Beauty is not in decor but in the person sharing that moment.  There is nothing expensive, but time is priceless.

Hospitality is not something we must perfect before we do it.  Have you ever tried to become perfect at playing the piano without ever practicing first?  The Bible says we are to practice hospitality.  No where does that mean your house has to be of a certain size, status of clean, or must you have matching dishes in order to be hospitable.  It simply means you exude a welcoming spirit into your home and your life.  We have sat on buckets as chairs, yet felt like kings and queens, because of love.  We have also sat on the finest couches and eaten off matching dishes and felt as if we were intruders.  Love opens the china closet and serves the finest wine.  Love makes time and never looks at its watch.  Love is measured not in what you give, so much as in what you hold back.  Until my breath is gone, or the city water supply runs dry, I can always offer a cup of water… preferably hot, poured over a tea bag. DSC_9320

Life At Three

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Sometimes when I say our house needs cleaning, what I really mean is that I think we should move some gigantic pieces of furniture.  I look at our home like an ever-changing puzzle, the pieces of which fit in different places at different times.  This week, a harmless conversation about the little girls’ room staying clean, turned into a gargantuan project.  A job requiring paint, a drill, and hours of Matthew’s already full days.  I painted over the pink, and he cheerfully took apart bunk-beds, unscrewed shelves and heaved heavy mattresses from one room to the next.  The finished product: the girls switched rooms!  Nadine now has the slightly larger of the two, with a closet, and the little girls have the smaller one which limits how it can be arranged, but which suits their needs perfectly.  In addition, for Betty’s birthday we were able to acquire a fabulous Craigslist deal and get the girls a wooden play kitchen complete with fun wooden food.  All week there have been restaurant, pizza shop, and birthday party games going on for hours on end.

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Since Betty is now three, we told her she was too big for the pack n’ play.  Now she sleeps on the bottom bunk.  She also has kept her panties dry at night for almost two weeks!  We quit diapers at night, cold turkey, and she rose to the challenge.  It is so fabulous not having any diapers in our house, except the few her baby dolls wear.  I do believe it’s the first time in eleven years.  So far, being three years old is pretty awesome!

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Yesterday I had the joy of watching a baby boy come into the world.  I drove home as the sun rose, and was once again awed and amazed by the beauty of new life.
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Playing Lost and Found

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Tap, tap, tap.  I dislike being woken up by tapping.  One particular child is often the first person awake and is like a lost puppy until one of his siblings wakes up.  I also make the cut, apparently.  I shove my rice-bag out from under the covers and sleepily ask him to warm it up for me before I venture out of my warm cocoon.  He’s good about things like that.  Bringing me my hot tea to ease the blow of morning.  Just like his daddy.

Yesterday morning we got into the project of cleaning the attic.  It culminated when I looked at their artificial tree, one-third-lit-up, and decided it was time to get it out to the garbage before the trash men came.  Elsie & Jack ran ahead of us to stop the trash truck if they were there.  They were.  It was a pretty funny sight: running outside and yelling, “Wait!  Wait!” in my hot pink pajama pants, funky sweater and socks.  My feet were a muddy mess.  But we made it.

This morning started a bit abruptly when I woke up remembering we had no milk or eggs in the house.  A farm and grocery store trip later, we were set.  That’s when I thought it was a good idea to probably get our transmission checked out by some professionals. I’ve been describing the sounds our van has been making to various people, but it needed an actual diagnosis.  Five kids in a two-chair waiting room was made much more bearable with a small amount of prep and a bag of books.  We left with no absolute answers, but the knowledge it  needs some further tests.  Fun stuff.

After coming home, I thought I should get a few more groceries now that I was more awake and had remembered the rest of my list.  I did a quick check for my wallet, only to find it missing.  I sort of started to freak out a bit.  I called the transmission shop to see if I left it there.  Then I called them again, because two of the kids thought they remembered I did in fact have it there.  Nope.  The man was sweet enough to even check inside the Christmas tree and decorative plant in their waiting room.  Nothing.

Next, I drove all the way back to the small grocery store.  Maybe I left it on the counter in my foggy morning state.  The store was closed.  I cried.  Two small Amish boys were playing in the parking lot, so I asked them if whoever worked there was home.  Yep.  So, I knocked on their door and talked to a few sweet people who obligingly opened the store for me to double-check for my lost wallet.  Nope.  Nothing.

I was pretty discouraged, but know God’s not about discouragement, rather hope and salvation.  We all were praying for it to be found.  I thought I had looked everywhere.  With a weary self, I started to finish tidying the kitchen for supper.  The tablecloth was covered in crumbs and yogurt.  As I began to fold it up, my hand fell on something lumpy.  Underneath one of the folds… which had been folded up since early that morning so I could write out my “list” for the day on the wooden surface of the table… underneath was my wallet.  It almost seemed to smile at me.  I held it up for the kids to see, and we all laughed.  They are so patient with me.

You know who else is patient?  My wonderful heavenly Father.  He LOVES to find lost things.  He is the relentless searcher of the lost.  He is the gracious rescuer of the lost.  He is the all-knowing God, who waits and is patient for us… because sometimes we’re not ready to accept His gift.  Sometimes He has more work to do before He gives us what He already knows we need.  In the meantime, He tells us: Do not be afraid; Do not be dismayed, for I am your God.  I will help you.  I will strengthen you.  I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.  (Isaiah 41:10)

It reminds me of a current real-time situation we are praying about right now:  Find Jerry.   If you have time, please read his story and pray along with us that God will open the eyes of the right people to find him.

You’ve Gotta Take Care of Those Kids

/ amylynw / 1 Comment

This was the other day in Target:
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I was pushing that train of a cart, gently bumping into the corners of aisles as it turned its wide arch.  I smiled brightly at the mom with one baby in her cart, sitting quietly on a clean cart-cover.  Betty held a receipt, which doubles as a “tag” in a pinch, so she can suck her fingers.  Elijah likes to hide under the cart.  Sometimes even the extra nearly hundred pounds I’m trying to push doesn’t clue me in on where he’s gone, so I start calling his name and he laughs from his hiding spot.  Switching seats, spotting sparkly boots, and constant chatter makes our trip the usual exhausting but profitable excursion.

Last night, armed with four very large containers of popcorn and Christmas jammies, we drove to nearby neighborhood to watch a local light show.  The lights were choreographed to a radio station, and it was pretty impressive.

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Tonight little miss Betty must have gotten bit by the giggle bug.  When the boys got home from grocery shopping with Matthew, it was close to 10 o’clock.  The little girls were still giggling up in their beds.  Jack looked at Matthew and said very seriously: You’ve gotta go take care of those kids.  I’m not joking.

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Betty keeps us laughing.  The other day she was playing with her little baby.  She had been tucked into bed for about five seconds before Betty leaned gently over her ear and made a soft rooster sound.  Time to wake up, baby!  She would say, after cock-a-doodle-doo-ing into her ear.
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Once when Betty was trying to get out of the kitchen, Elsie asked, What’s the magic word?  Right away she replied: Betty!
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Today, Matthew and I were trying to have a little bit of snuggle time on the couch.  We literally had five pairs of eyes glued on our every move.  There is a small sensor that goes off when we start talking or kissing.  Immediately, all bodies are within touching distance of ours, or there is some urgent sentence that must be uttered.  In the middle of our hug, Jack came over, put his arms around us and said, Group hug!  Which in turn led Betty to pile on some more love.  As Elsie would say: There’s room for more in this hug!  Once we started to kiss, however, Betty squealed, Let’s get out of here!  They’re kissing!
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The other day, Elsie was discussing age order.  Apparently, Elijah was of a “medium” age.  She then told Nadine: I remember you sucking your fingers!  When, in actuality, she wasn’t even born yet.
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This is the face I get when it’s time for bed.
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It is also the face I am giving, because I am not one who loves going to bed.  I’ve been enjoying the sewing machine and crochet hooks this month.  Super secretive things have been in the works.  There is much more on my mind to write… but it will have to wait.  Right now I’ve gotta take care of this mama, who needs some serious rest.

Giving Thanks for Twenty-Seven, Road Trips and Scavenger Hunts

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Thanksgiving weekend began with our Weldon family gathering.  Turkey vegetable tray, dangly earrings, a crackling fire, and games highlighted our time together.  We even managed to pull off a paleo thanksgiving breakfast, complete with monkey bread!
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Next, we took off for New York.  With new tires on the van and every inch packed to the gills, sipping joy tea, we listened to a Thanksgiving history audio book from my dad and enjoyed an almost completely argument-free drive up North.  It was delightful!
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We were welcomed by a happy sign:
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The highlight of our time together was the Mall Scavenger Hunt we did one day.  We divided into four teams, according to birth.  Various items on the list to find were: “something that smells good, the largest bug, and someone doing the best karate move.”  We also had to “plank” as a team and find Grandma and Grandpa who were wandering around the mall.  The team who found them first got… the honor of finding them first.  As leader of the 3rd-borns, I’d like to acknowledge we found them first.  We had one hour to scavenge the mall.  The creativity started flowing.
There were the firstborns:
Aaron's pictures
The second-borns:
Beck's pictures
The third-borns:
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The fourth-borns (and Betty):
Sherry's pictures
Besides the fun of the scavenger hunt, the daddies took almost all the kids ice-skating, and we enjoyed snow, games, and many delicious meals together.
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Our entire family:
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At the beginning of November, my dad reminded us of the news we received as a family twenty-two years ago: Get one small bag packed with all that you treasure the most.  Get ready to evacuate Nyankunde tomorrow!  As a girl of almost twelve, this was an exciting adventure.  It didn’t turn out how I imagined, however.  Our “quick” trip back to the United States turned into permanent.  It’s hard to imagine how twenty-two years later, our family of six has grown into a family of twenty-seven, with another on the way!  (My sister, not me!)  God has richly blessed us with a family who loves each other, drives great distances to be with each other, and children who think their other cousins are the absolute bomb-diggity!  I couldn’t be more thankful.

Where Opossums Sleep and Cars Melt

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I love to write.  Today, however, is best left unwritten.  This Veteran’s Day, I fought my own battles and waged my own war, along with my small army of five.  We came out victorious in the end, but sometimes the process is painful at best.  The past weekend was rough.  I woke up with a blazing fever on Saturday morning, tried my best to mother from bed, while the kids brought me water, cool cloths, and warm rice bags for my freezing cold feet.  Matthew was gone, and it was a sad and strange weekend.  Both sets of grandparents were gracious to lend their hands to help with the kids so I could sweat and sleep in quiet.  Thank you, guys… words aren’t enough.

Sickness, an opossum in the trashcan, and ornery computers all fall into my “No thank you” category of life.  
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When I focus on the misspellings, the bickering, the grime, and the general imperfectness of life… I end up just like a little wet rain cloud.  It’s not cute.  This is why I must write, because when I write, I remember.  I remember: I love you, Mom, scrawled across the chalkboard… when it felt like the opposite was true.  Someone finally nailing multiplication tables.  Five wild munchkins voluntarily starting a game of hide-and-go-seek at the magic hour of hunger, while I finish cooking supper.  A surprise cleaning of the bathroom without being asked.  An entire day of clean bedrooms.  Supper altogether.
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In our one-room-school-house, learning doesn’t always involve the books.  After the boys presented a reasonable-sounding argument as to why I should allow them to melt a few “useless” cars with the heat gun, I obliged.  They showed care and it kept them busy for almost an hour.
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While the boys melted cars, the girls enjoyed playing with shapes.  I love what a dollar can buy in a thrift store!

My favorite thing last week in school had to be Jack’s letter he wrote to our friend in basic training.  I knew in his mind he was thinking: Thank you for defending our country, but he wrote: Thank you for saving our city.  I absolutely love it.  He even told me today that he loves to write.
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Those words made my heart soar, because loving to write isn’t forced, it’s born.  Every once in a while, I get to witness the miracle of new discoveries being born in the hearts and minds of our children.  It’s worth all the labor and gives me fresh perspective to press on for another day.

 

Wednesday Painted Blue

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Today is Wednesday.  Which is usually my Monday, as far as feelings, attitudes,and energy, goes.  The sound of temper tantrums filled our home, too many times to count, making its small-ish size feel extra tight.  I never knew sound could fill up space, but apparently it does.  That sent me to pulling things out of clothes bins and into white trash bags.  A word of warning from this mama:  If you have more sweaters than fit into your 13×13 bin, then I will purge them from you.  That goes for your pants, shirts, and shoes too.  I have never once experienced anyone “wishing” they had something I gave away because I never saw them wear or enjoy it.  I have pack-rat tendencies, so when I sense the urge to hoard coming on in me or my kids, I go a little purge-crazy.  We have strict laws here as far as holding onto stuff.  One small filing cabinet drawer easily fits all the papers we need for 7 people for the past 12 years.  I am working very hard at making sure everything has a place, and if that thing doesn’t fit in its place, it goes bye-bye.  I digress.

So, after my crazy clothing rampage, school began in earnest.  There were tears and tantrums twice during one hour.  The bathroom, being the only door that locks around here, is my favorite place to hide when the tears need to flow and I need the sunshine to wash my face.  I also make important phone calls to the principal in there, and tell God how I don’t think I can do this anymore.  Wednesday blues.

Then we had to do errands, complete with tears.  I wonder at the source, and how it never runs dry.  Three hours later, we came home.  I was not met with the delicious smell I anticipated when walking in the door.  My crock-pot dinner, which I worked so hard to be ready so at least ONE thing would go right… was cold.  Some little fingers unplugged it for the toaster’s place, just before we left, and I never was the wiser.

Spills, blood, bites, stabs, falls, bangs and bruises have all been painted a different shade of blue across my day.  But there was also an incredible sky painted today, which I love how Jack noticed all on his own.  Clouds like stretched cotton, with a few three-dimensional puffs thrown in for good measure.  There are also rainbows of trees, some burning, some glowing, some merely pronouncing God’s handiwork.  They touch the blue and instantly cold and warm colors collide into a torrent of glory.

For the first time in fifteen hours, I only hear the clock ticking, with faint sounds of children playing.  I used to have so much quiet in my life.  Now my quiet is usually accompanied by sleep.  Sitting on the sun-streaked bathroom floor, I was reminded not to constantly seek escape from my life, but rather embrace it.  Straight on, hands open, arms wide, head up: embrace the noise, the questions, the messes, the tears.  Take breaks, but don’t run away.  There is one inch of tea left in this glorious break.  My soul, only painted blue, is starting to burn a little bit of warm.  I am starting to feel like those trees on fire, and I’m ready to add some color to Mon-nes-day, and call it Wednesday.

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Oscopy, Ontology, Bananafanafofology

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Today was a great day to be in the city.  I ran back and forth from the medical building to the parking lot to add more money to the meter, as the doctor’s appointment got longer and longer.  A “quick” consult with the ENT surgeon led to seeing yet another specialist at Jefferson hospital in Philly.  The first doctor didn’t like what he saw in the subglottic region of Matthew’s windpipe.  The second doctor videotaped his way down Matthew’s throat and explained what we were looking at:

See here and here?  Those are your vocal chords.  They are supposed to be white, not bright red like that.  Down beyond this area is where you are having swelling, and which makes it hard for you to breathe.  It was fascinating.  Like our friend (who is a speech-language pathologist) described his vocal chords, they looked like a butterfly flapping its wings… except this butterfly shouldn’t be red.  The real problem lies just under the voice box, and we discussed what our next step needs to be.  As the Wegener’s runs its course, it acts somewhat like a roller-coaster: flaring up and then getting back under control.  We are hopeful to be on the downward slope right now.

As long as things don’t flare way back up, he is scheduled for a bronchoscopy in four weeks in order to closely examine the extent of the subglottic stenosis and to perform a balloon dilation of his stenotic area.  Basically, opening up his airway ever so little and hoping this small dilation will remain open… then doing it again a few weeks later if his body handles it well.  He explained it as a two steps forward and one step back operation.  He will also be seeing an otologist about his ears… which have some problems again.

As crazy as it is to keep all the doctors in order, we are so incredibly thankful to have access to these remarkable specialists.  We are thankful his eye tubes have still held up and look good a couple of years after that surgery.  We are thankful for people who have joyfully watched our children so we can go to all these appointments and for kids who come home and report having “the best day ever!”  We are thankful for being forced to slow down and recognize what is truly important.  It isn’t our car, our house, our clothes, or our status.  It is our breath, our relationships, our time and how we use it.  We know we belong to the God of the universe, the God who sees.  We don’t know when our last breath will be, but we know when it ends on this earth, our life truly begins.  Until that day, we want every moment to count.

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Flapper girl with my motorcycle man last night.

Green Spirals and Merciful Days

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Mom, you never get peace, Jack said to me the other day.  Wait!  You had peace once!  And he went on to talk about when they all went to Grandma’s house.  I laughed out loud.  Or if you’re going to use today’s lingo, I “roffled”.  That is what I say in my head when I read ROFL… rolling on the floor laughing.  No, I didn’t actually roll, or roffle, but I did achieve a small release of stress when I laughed out loud.  Or lolled.  (That’s LOL, btw.)

Tonight was no exception.  I had great fun spiralizing my zucchini into fake noodles and tossing them with coconut sauce and blackened chicken.  The kids watched Daniel Boone so I could spin deliciousness into my pots.  But there is always one who doesn’t get the “peace memo”.  She rolled on the floor crying.  It’s always interesting trying to cook while stepping over a crying toddler.  My strategy was to wait until they were so hungry, they would forget that the green zucchini noodles were not actually made from pasta.  It worked for two of them, took convincing for two of them, and downright failed for the fifth one.  This is when I use every ounce in my body not to take a two-year-old’s opinion of my cooking to heart.  In the middle of our green spaghetti supper, a nameless highchair dweller knocked over one of the herb pots on the window sill.  The walls start closing in when things like that happen.
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I’ve been waiting for a really really good excuse to scrub my kitchen floor.  The successful eaters got chocolate ice-cream for dessert.  The last one… did not.  An hour later, I graciously gave her a banana, because she at least touched it to her tongue.  Elijah said, Mom, you were really merciful tonight! when he saw her eating the banana.  Thanks, Buddy.

Then I remembered these verses I just read.

But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope:
The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases,
His mercies never come to an end;
they are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.
“The Lord is my portion,” says my soul,
“therefore I will hope in him.”
The Lord is good to those who wait for him,
to the soul that seeks him.
(Lamentations 3:21-25)

Even when I mess up, spill dirt, and wreck what He has planned…  He still shows steadfast love, unending mercy, and abundant faithfulness.

So the truth is, despite what is outwardly going on, inside I always have peace.  Jesus has wiped my heart of its spills and dirt.  He has left the calm assurance of His forgiveness and faithfulness in place of the mess.  Tomorrow, His mercies are new.

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And tomorrow, maybe my floor will be clean.