One of Those Phone Calls...

I met “Cousin Daniel” for the first time at our wedding. I knew about him. Ed asked him to be one of his groomsmen. For that matter, I even knew his suit size since I ordered the suits (although, don’t ask me what it was now). Having not met anyone in Ed’s family outside this parents, brother and brother’s wife and kids; I’m not sure what I expected. Besides, I was getting married that weekend. I had a lot on my mind.

But I liked Daniel. A year younger than me, he had been married for maybe ten years and had two kids – Chase and Molly. Although not real tall, he was real big. I mean really broad shoulders and chest and just…big. Like a football player. And really nice. You could just tell. Funny, with an easy smile. Joked with Ed and Ed’s brother David about “inside” things. Gentle and sweet. And sweaty. At least, that’s the way we last saw him. But that will happen when you Saran wrap a person’s car on a warm June day. (Namely, mine.)

A few months later, we made the promised long-weekend trip down to North Carolina to meet Ed’s family. Namely, his aunts Sandy and Carol and Carol’s kids...and their kids. By this time, I had been around Ed’s family a bit more and had expectations…rather low ones. In fact, I’ve never been more nervous about a trip. Or wanted to avoid one more. But I was happily surprised. And learned the lesson that you do not base your spouse’s extended family on your direct in-laws. At least, not in my case.

Daniel was there with his wife and kids, teasing his two sisters and playing with his niece and nephews. Asked how I liked being married to his cousin. Just a fun, sweet, all-around nice guy. Not very long after that, we found out they were pregnant with number three – a happy surprise all around when little Noah arrived. But then life happened.

Actually, that’s a simplification of the terrible things Daniel has been through over the past two or three years of his life. Things no one should have to figure out how to respond to. Honestly, things beyond the reach of one’s imagination. At least, in the world in which I live. I often wondered how he was maneuvering it all and prayed for him and his kids. For suffice to say, his wife left him. But not for another man.

And then today. Ed called me just after the kids got up this morning. He was stammering things that didn’t make a lot of sense at first. He was crying. I had concluded his Aunt Sandy had died and was ready for that news…but, no. It was Daniel. He and little three-year-old Noah had been killed in a car accident just the night before. And, yes, I cried.

Ed leaves for North Carolina first thing Sunday morning to mourn the loss of not just a cousin but a dear friend. And a little boy we never met. I’d like to be there to show support to that family, to show that I really liked Daniel even though I hardly knew him. But some people are like that. Because we’re family. Not by our own blood. Not even by marriage. But by Christ’s blood. So, there is hope. And there is victory. This sin-cursed world has thrown some awful things at Daniel and little Noah. But not anymore. They have triumphed. They are with their Savior. They will suffer no more. And that is true joy.

Art Class

I always wanted to be crafty. But I have to confess that the only reason I liked the art teacher visiting in school was because it was a change in pace. I honestly can’t remember any piece of art or craft I did in school that I really loved. Fast forward several years into my teens and our short time spent in Massachusetts. My sister Katey had a whole corner of the attic full of more arts and craft stuff than you could shake a stick at. She even sold candles (among other things)! And I sat in my room scribbling stories like a mad person, wishing with all my heart I could freeze (or die of heat exhaustion) in an attic making beautiful things people wanted to buy. All I could do was scribble stories I’m still not sure anyone really wants to read.

But I’m just not crafty. Pinterest was invented for people like me who have to stare at a picture of something crafty and then make a prayerfully vain attempt at trying to re-create that picture. While I haven’t failed miserably at any of my attempts, I also don’t post pictures of my re-creations. And, I admit, I keep my attempts on a very low level. No use aiming for what I know I can’t hope to obtain.

Still, I am hoping my kids prove to be a little more crafty than I. If coloring is any indication, Emry is a hopeless cause but Ethan shows some promise. Thankfully, I have learned one thing as a mom: cut up some pieces of colored paper, provide some glue and a large sheet of paper and voila! Instant art project.

Still, I am trying to stretch myself. And I’m also trying to entertain not just my kids but my nephew on these very cold days in order to prevent them (and me) from going crazy. So, last week for Thanksgiving we made turkeys. And this week we made Christmas trees and Christmas count-down chains. Cut up paper, glue, sequins, a stapler. Not exactly Pinterest worthy…but, boy, am I exhausted! Being an artist is strenuous work. No wonder I never got excited about it…

Paper turkeys…

Christmas trees with sequins – everywhere!

Five Minutes of Thanks

Looking back, I have taken five minutes to type things I have thankful for in 2013, 2015 and 2017. Although my form of OCD is a little off by messing with the odd-year flow, I think I want to make a yearly thing. Especially these days when I barely have five seconds to ponder, let alone five minutes!

My Savior. My husband Ed. My kids Emry and Ethan. My parents. That my mom’s knee surgery went well and successfully. My siblings – Katey, Daniel, Sally, Grace, Jenny, Abby and Caleb. My nephews – Jay, Curtis and Beto. ALLYSON!!!! My friends, especially Andrea and Tirzah. My job and the people I work with who appreciate me so much I get to set up an office all the way in Indiana! The body of Christ. The Plattes. A new little place to live for the next couple of years. Snow! Fall colors (even if they are now blown away). New Hampshire. Books to read. Books I want to read. Books to just look at. Libraries. Prayer. My Bible. Music. Color. Clothes to wear. Hope. Joy. Grace. God’s sovereignty. God’s unchangeableness. God’s greatness. The moon and stars. Watching my kids learn, and grow, and play, and making me laugh. Good food. Living near family. Exercise. Running. Warm blankets. Warm fires. Cold nights. Frost. Lilacs. Hot showers. Washers, dryers, vacuums, ovens – all the appliances that make my life easier! Memories. Paper. Pencils. Pictures. Light…

And these brief five minutes to write it all down!

1,000 Words

Just some pictures since our arrival in Indiana:

The Three Stooges? The Three Musketeers? Depends on the moment! Emry, Ethan and Beto.

Emry and Aunt Grace’s old Golden, Keats.

Ethan loves this lawn mower!

Ready for church!

We're Here!

Well, this post is a bit overdue. For, yes, we have arrived in Indiana. A week ago. But it’s been one busy week to jump start what will, doubtlessly, be a series of  busy weeks.

The trip out here was uneventful. Long, but uneventful. What is typically a seven hour drive took us ten. But the kids were good. Both slept a bit in the morning and both took afternoon naps. They read their books, played with their toys, listened to the Frozensoundtrack I don’t know how many times and generally let me drive. We arrived exhausted but in one piece and not at each other’s throats. So, yes, it was a good trip.

The following day Ed, my dad and my sister Sally unloaded the truck at the storage place. That went well, so nearly everything we own is locked away and we hope we don’t need to get to any of it. Because, honestly, we can’t.

Sunday we went to church with my parents and Monday Ed started his new job. Which has gone well thus far. Working for a general contractor is new for him. He has some skills in that area, but a lot of it will be stretching. Which is good. And tiring. But that’s good, too.

The kids and I are trying to keep on some form of schedule, which is hard when their little cousin (two-year-old Beto) is around so much and isn’t on the same schedule. However, he and Emry are the very best of buds while Ethan tags along about five steps behind (or completely run over). Going “house hunting” doesn’t do much for the kids either. I’m not sure who’s more exhausted after it all: my mom and I or the three kids in the back who will no longer be satisfied with fruit snacks and lollipops. Still, I’ve been somewhat faithful in getting Emry’s school in twice this week (although we practice reading every day) and they’ve been taking good naps so I can get in two hours of work in the afternoon and another hour or two at night when they go to bed.

So, while life is not exactly settled, you take what it is and run with it. And pray everyday for grace!

Emry-isms and Ethan-isms

Sometimes I have to remember to stop and write a blog post about the most recent things my growing kids are doing. I’m not sure my readers are always interested, but my blog allows the perfect spot to record these things so I can go back years from now, laugh and remember the little things that are so quickly forgotten.

These days, Ethan is learning to talk. He seems a little ahead of most kids his age, but I think that’s because Emry is constantly talking to him and so he has learned to respond. Naturally, a lot of the “stories” he tells have little meaning to anyone outside of himself (and Emry who seems to understand most of what he says). But quite often I pick up on what he’s trying to convey.

His slippers are his “beepers”. He is quite proud of them for two reasons: 1) Emry also has “beepers” and 2) he loves shoes.

Pumpkins are “boppies”. I’m not sure how that came about. He can very proudly count to 3. He’s pretty good with the ABC song (which is Emry’s favorite so he hears it a lot). He can start, “A, B, C, D, E….M, N, O, P…X, Y, Z.” Skipping letters, I know, is what all kids do. I just find it a bit ironic that he knows “M, N, O, P” which most kids mumble together because the song picks up speed on those letters. He likes to “make” which means “cooking” something in the play kitchen. And when reading one of his favorite books about the Little Blue Truck he assumes the city in book is “Pizbur”. His favorite thing to do since moving in with my parents is moving the magnets from one refrigerator to the other.

Emry is doing very good with her phonics lessons and learning to read. Somedays I wonder, but just last week she got out her reading book and was teaching her doll to read. She wasn’t pretending, either. She went through the sounds of each letter and put them together in words. (I hope her doll was a good student.) This week she put her jacket on by herself and her tennis shoes. She can swing by herself as well. With all this maturing, though, comes being a big particular about the outfits she is wearing. We’ve had a breakdown two days in a row now trying to get dressed. One day she wanted to wear something in the wash and the next she wanted to put on an outfit that wasn’t mean to go together, although we made it work. I was simply too tired to argue about it.

But even with all this growing up, sometimes she is awfully funny.

A few weeks ago, she was sitting in my lap as I looked through pictures of a house the real estate agent in Indiana sent over as a possibility. It was an older house and had not been updated since the 70s, when the present owners must have bought it and never, ever updated anything – from wood paneling to green sinks to floral couches and toilet covers. I commented, “There’s carpet in the bathroom! Who puts carpet in the bathroom?”

“And look, Mama,” Emry said, “the potty is carpeted, too!”

Or the other day when I was putting her down for a nap in Aunt Grace’s room where she is staying. Grace’s favorite animal is the zebra and she has a whole shelf of stuffed zebras. Emry asked if she could have one to nap with.

“Which one do you want, Emry?” I asked.

Her answer? “The one with the stripes.”

The Surreal-ity of Moving

Moving is surreal. It’s a reality, but it feels like a dream. I’m not sure why. Perhaps is the change that is so huge. Perhaps its how much work it takes. Or perhaps it’s simply because you live on four hours of sleep for about at least a week as you try to get everything-and-then-some done.

The earliest memory I have of moving is when I was a few weeks after I turned five. We moved from Corinth, Texas to my parents hometown of Lewisburg, Tennessee. The one memory I have is turning cartwheels in the living room of our home in Corinth because there was no furniture (aside from a couple of mattresses resting against the wall) to get in the way. Funny how the rules change when there’s nothing left in the house to run over. (Or, more accurately, when your exhausted parents are too tired to care about the rules anymore.) 

Today we moved. Or, at least, we loaded just about everything we own in a huge moving truck which we will drive out to Indiana tomorrow. Except for suitcases, a few boxes of last minutes things and bedding, our little duplex where we have spent the past 20 months of our lives is empty. And just this evening, Emry and Ethan were running about the living room in pure ecstasy of empty space.

It’s surreal.

It’s surreal to think the day we are leaving Pittsburgh has finally come. It’s surreal to think that I am not the child running about the empty house but that I am now the exhausted parent. It’s surreal to think that tomorrow we will be in Indiana, beginning a very new and, right now, foggy chapter of our lives. 

But it’s also exciting. It’s new. It’s a change we need. So, I will rest in that. And go to bed so tomorrow I can begin yet another surreal day.