May Flowers

Last week was really hard: kids around 24/7, rain and snow, and the deployment slump when it feels like it has always been this way, and always will. The thing that made it the hardest, though, is that I continually felt like I was failing this deployment. I have so many goals and things I think I should get done during this time--I should lose weight, exercise every day, save money, pay off bills, keep a spotless house, be both parents for the kids, write to W and send him packages every week, read my scriptures, figure out what I'm going to do in two years when Sara starts school full-time, write my novel, do my adoption work, practice the piano, schedule playdates, supervise homework, bathe the kids more than twice a week, feed them, love them, and on and on and on. It all came crashing down last week, when I realized how hard I was failing this gig.

So I was really knocking myself down and repeating all of my faults and how awful and lazy I was and how I was wasting this time, probably disappointing God and W and everyone in between when I felt a voice in my soul say "You can't fail this." And it stopped me in my tracks. I all of a sudden had a flood of memories of me consoling friends, telling them that there was no right way to do a deployment (or a NICU stay, or an illness), but that any way you get through it is the right way for you. I told that to people, and I believed it when I told them. I still do.

But that's for other people, not me. Just like comparing myself to others is instructional, not akin to self-immolation. And how I don't need any grace, because I can work hard and save myself.

And all of these things flashed through my brain and I just had this moment of clarity--There. Is. No. Failing. This. Deployment. Even if all I do is the bare minimum, the time will still pass. Even if I don't save all my money, I still will have paid down some debts by simply paying bills. Even if I don't go every day to the gym, I'm still going more than I was before. There. Is. No. Failing.

I can't tell you how much peace this gave me, and I don't know why it has taken me so long to internalize this. We will survive this, there will be times that we thrive and exceed expectations, and there will be times that we make garbage angels on the kitchen floor. But we will not fail.

Wherein we are Still Alive

This face is always in my face. Always. 

That last post certainly was optimistic and cheery, wasn't it? Welp.

It's been almost three months since our W deployed and we are still alive. We have made it through two different school breaks (seven and ten days) and Ninth Winter. It was snowing this morning.

It's not just the lack of Spring weather that is making this difficult, though--we all really miss our W. The kids cry for him multiple times a day, and when someone falls down or is afraid they immediately sob for their father. I mean, it's huge props to him that he is so beloved, but it makes it really hard to replace him for the time being. I feel like if I hear the kids ask for him one more time I'm going to flip out.

Speaking of flipping out, I have been doing some stellar parenting. I'm a massive introvert with anxiety disorder and (legitimately diagnosed, not Buzzfeed quiz) OCD. And it is really, really hard to not get a break. I mean, I have two and a half hours to myself Monday through Friday, when Sara is at school, but that's it. There is always--ALWAYS--someone touching me or yelling for me or touching and yelling. And the second I sneak away for some decompression they find me. I guess I'm beloved, too. But it's going to kill me.

I feel guilty being honest about the struggles of deployment. We are supposed to put on this "Army Wife Love It Or Leave It Murica" brave face, but the truth of the matter is--it stinks on ice. A friend of mine recently reminded me that I need to "Choose My Choice" and it really hit me: I love my husband and he loves his job. I chose him. He chose this. And I'd choose him one million times over again, so I'd better stop whinging and get on with this life.

And the kids are screaming for me again.

Week Two, Wherein I Get Philosophical

I seriously hate when they want to sleep on the floor. And they seriously love when I let them. Sigh.

Week two is done and gone, and we are getting into a routine: kids to school, go to the gym, pick up Sally, pretend to clean but actually play Merge Dragons, pick up kids, do dinner, pretend to clean some more, go to bed. Things seem less scary and the kids are holding up like champs—they don’t even care when their dad calls, just like normal. Poor Buster has been sick for the past few days and even slept through an entire snow day. One of the things I have been worried about was if the kids got sick—I am so used to having W here to administer a priesthood blessing for healing and (mostly) my peace of mind. But I am realizing that the things I most dread, the things I most worry about are really a trick of the mind combined with my anxiety. We get through. That’s what we do.

 In the past, in fits of anxiety and panic I have railed against the notion of “that’s what we do.”  Why, I would sob, does God ask us to do this? We have the strongest marriage, and love each other the most—why do we of all people, have to be separated so regularly? Doesn’t God know how much it hurts? Surely there are other families who are more independent, who love each other less, who like each other less—can’t they be called to this? But more and more I realize that the military life is for us a calling. It’s what God wants W to do, and what he is exceptional at doing. And so is our family. My kids are so good at this life, the moving and making friends everywhere. Even Buster, who is the most like me, introverted and better at one-on-one interaction, is good at this life. And so, little by little, I am coming to accept that maybe that is why we are asked to do this: the fact that our family can do this is why we are asked to endure through separations. Maybe our sacrifice means that another family that isn’t as strong of a unit gets a chance to be together and strengthen those bonds.  (And maybe that family wants to send us a million dollars and some chocolates as a THANKYOUVERYMUCH.)

Speaking of a million dollars, I now owe my neighbors tens of millions. I spent all day Friday snow-blowing and shoveling and when I finished—literally on the last pass—the plow came by and dumped more into the driveway.  I started over again, finished up, and got the car out to drive to the post office because I was expecting a delicious package of chocolate covered cinnamon bears to arrive. And then I somehow slipped in the driveway and the back of the car got stuck in our grass. In about a six inch hole that I made trying to get it out. And so I sat in the car and sobbed. I begged God to just push the car a tiny bit. I got angry. I got despondent. And then I walked to the post office and got my packages*. I knew that later on this week the snow was supposed to melt and I would figure it out then.  And then my sweet neighbor showed up at eight PM with a tow rope and a “hey, did you mean to park like that?” And I sobbed because I had literally just finished asking God to help again. He worked for the better part of an hour and we got the car unstuck and went home and now I have to face the fact that the one thing I need to learn from this deployment is that I need to ask for help from actual living people, not just from God.  Basically I would rather be stuck without a car for nine months than to ask for help—not because I think I can do it all, but because I don’t want to be a burden and  I don’t want to disturb.  Here’s hoping I can just say “I’ve learned this one now!” and never have to put it into practice again. And while we’re hoping, let’s hope for spring to come.

*And as a complete metaphor for my life, my "you made it" present to myself turned out to be not delicious chocolate covered cinnamon bears, but instead I accidentally ordered disgusting chocolate covered gummy bears. (The kids were thrilled.)

Deployment Week One: Our Burdens Made Light

Does this blog even work anymore? I know it's been about forty years since I regularly posted, but have been feeling like I needed to document this deployment we are doing, so here we go.
Short recap: We have a bunch of kids, live in North New York, and my husband is on a nine-month deployment to the Middle East. Also we have a Great Dane who is basically a moronic pony.

And now it came to pass that the burdens which were laid upon Alma and his brethren were made light yea, the Lord did strengthen them that they could bear up their burdens with ease, and they did submit cheerfully and with patience to all the will of the Lord. Mosiah 24:15

We have made it through the longest week--week one of deployment. W left a week before he was originally scheduled, and so his departure date was the first day of the kids' winter break week off of school. We literally did nothing this week. Buster and Jody wore the same clothes from Monday until I bathed them Saturday night. Everyone watched tons of tv and played tons of video games, and guess what? It was fine. We were fine. They are fine. It was like a week of comfort and coziness and nobody melted into hysterics or felt overwhelmed by loneliness, even me.

I have been incredibly conscious of the presence of the Holy Ghost in our home comforting and guiding me. It literally feels like I am surrounded by angels who are making things better. When I need help (for example, when Jojo got a gushing bloody nose and I didn't know how to stem the blood) I prayed and knew immediately how to calm him until the blood stopped. I can't explain it any better than to say that our burdens are actively being made light. Part of me thinks "this can't go on the entire deployment so enjoy it while it lasts" but the other part of me thinks "don't tell God He can't do this for nine months, Galan."

Highlights of the week: Sara learned how to manage the remote control. Buster exclaimed "YES! I love this song! It makes me feel like something is going to explode!" when Zarathustra came on. Jody has had very few tantrums and has been quick to love and cuddle me. Jooj has been a tremendous help, and as a reward I let her spend the night with her friend's family at a casino. She's living the North Country Dream. As for me, I bathed TWICE this week and got through about five MFM podcasts.

Celebrate a Christ-Centered Christmas This Year

Once again, I was favored by the book folk at Shadow Mountain with a new holiday release!  They sent me the book, the review is all mine.

I love Santa. Our holiday decor is Santa-centered.  We purchase a new Santa every year.  The kids leave notes and cookies, they make out their lists...pretty much December 25 right after they open whatever he brought that morning.  I love the spirit of giving and generosity and the whole Santa ethos.  My kids still believe.  When they say "Suzie down the block says Santa doesn't bring her anything because he isn't real" my response is "How sad. Suzie's parents must have told him to skip their house.  Aren't you glad YOUR parents love you more than Suzie's love her?"  I'm SERIOUS about this business, y'all.

I don't want to be misunderstood--I love Jesus.  We believe fervently in Jesus.  But Christmas for us has always included Santa.  Some of my friends may have hinted that their families put more emphasis on the Savior and I may have rolled my eyes at them because my precious snowflakes know the difference.  Right? RIGHT?

When I read the opening paragraph to Celebrating a Christ-Centered Christmas I was struck by her line "..Megan said one simple sentence that forever changed the way our family celebrates Christmas. 'Mom,' she began, 'I believe in Santa Claus, and you believe in Jesus Christ.'"

Well crap.  That kind of hit a little too close to home.

Emily Belle Freeman uses the nativity to teach small lessons, perfect for family night, about the Savior.  Each piece of the nativity is brought out and correlates to a lesson to help the family remember that Jesus is the reason we celebrate this holiday.*  While we may not implement all of the lessons this year, for sure we are going to talk about the ideas behind Joseph and Mary--service and faith.  And maybe our traditions will grow to include more of the Savior when we celebrate His birth.  And maybe I will repent of my eye rolling.**





*You thought I was going to make a rhyme.  No.
**Probably not.  Sorry, Jeri Lynn.

Fairy Tale Christmas Giveaway!

I love November so incredibly much.  It signifies I made it through Halloween alive, that there will be pie in my immediate future, and that my two favorite holidays are coming soon!  I know that there are some people who gripe about how Christmas decorations plow over Thanksgiving, but in my heart the two are connected--my family spends November thinking about family and gratitude and pie and service* and what better segue is there for Christmas? 

So in this spirit, I was really excited to be asked to help promote a new book by old holiday favorite Micheal McLean and his son, Scott McLean, Fairy Tale Christmas

In a nutshell, the bad guys of the fairy tale world have unionized and decided that the clearest way to get their hearts' desires is to hold Santa Claus hostage.  This, as you may have guessed, does not turn out quite as they planned.

The story is charming and The Jooj (NOW NINE YEARS OLD STOP GROWING UP) stole the book and read it to herself.  On her own*.  But the big takeaway she got from this was not about Santa or presents--but the theme that everyone deserves love and a chance to shine, even (especially) those on the naughty list.

Shadow Mountain is giving away four hardcover copies of Fairy Tale Christmas right here.  You have eleventy million chances to win, and this is a great multi-night read-aloud for families, especially as you start thinking about ways to serve those around you this holiday season .


a Rafflecopter giveaway

*And Holiday Joe Joes
**There are no cartoon strips or underpants in this book.  So the fact that she voluntarily read it?  Amazing.



As always, I was given a copy of this book but the opinions are my own. 

Mommy Slots

I have a gambling situation.

I'd say problem, except it really isn't problematic. And I could quit any time I wanted, but I don't want to. The odds of me wanting to quit are 1000:1, by the way, if you wanted to bet on me wanting to quit, which I don't want to but I could if I wanted to. Which I don't.

 I used to play slots in Vegas, which was awesome because (no seriously) I never lost. I have a fifth sense wherein I can walk into a casino, sniff the air, and say "That nickel Monopoly machine is paying out within three spins." And then I make $60.  I don't think of this as gambling, I think of this as WINNING $55.85. My dear husband, however, thinks of this as gambling and doesn't like the way my eyes look in Vegas or driving through Vegas or talking about Vegas. WHATEVER.

So I stopped winning in Vegas and have started gambling at home. Want in? It is a rush :

I wake up in the morning and the odds of me getting pants on before the boys punch each other are pretty even. Not much, but if I win I get a little morning bump for the day. 

Odds on me choosing the right breakfast for JodyP: 2:1 against, 4:1 against if I have asked what he wanted and gave him that exact thing.

Odds on there being dishes clean for breakfast: 2:1 because my sweet husband usually does them.  Unless he is watching Netflix.

Odds on me getting Sara a new diaper before she nude-pees 5:1. She is an angel.

Odds on me getting JodyP a new diaper before he runs away yelling "MAKEDBOY!!!" 12:1 against.  That one is thrilling.

WHAMMY.

If I find that the marker he is using to write on the walls is washable, I win eight times my bet; If I find that someone didn't poop in the bath tub I win four. If I spend quality time with Sara before mid-day I have enough in my account to handle losing odds on six tantrums over the wrong kind of fruit snacks OR three Lego mishaps. 

Odds on me washing the same load of laundry that washed thrice the day before. 100% in favor.  Sucker's bet.  There is NO way I am placing that one.  It is more likely I would write a blog post. 


CRAP. Mommy needed a new pair of shoes.