Just Keep Swimming, Swimming, Swimming...

 I have decided that until I am blogging somewhat regularly again, I need to think less and type more.


(Man, can I think too much.)


So for a now the point is not necessarily what I write, just that I write  SOMETHING.  This brings me to Seven Quick Takes Friday.

Or at least it was Friday when I started-That makes it still count.

(And if you dare to get all technical on me, I will just play with Time/Date thing and make it whatever time I want. So there. )

1. I was looking for pictures to accompany my post and realized that most of our quick real-life snap shots involve us eating. I  will be the first to attest that these five kids think they need to be fed regularly (unrealistic, entitled children), but isn't there anything else we do that might be considered photo-worthy? Anyone willing to tell me I am not the only one who will be prefacing all of her photos with 'This is so-and-so eating a such-in-such' when it comes time to humiliate her children in front of the opposite sex? Someone?

2.  And speaking of photos. I can not get over how much Eilidh and Silas look like they could be twins in the one of them enjoying their first-frozen-yogurt-ever (See! I followed the formula! This is so-and-so...)! They would hate for me to say that, but even with three years difference, they are so much alike; Best enemies, you know the sort.

3. And speaking of Silas.  He will be having his first over-nighter tomorrow. Going to Grandmas...wants me to go with him.

Swoon.

His sisters always get to go, so this time is just for him. In addition to seeing Yogi Bear, he has high hopes of being able to cross off 'own and master harmonica' from his bucket-list. Grandma, just for the record, I warned you not to mention the T-O-Y store.

4. My youngest daughter can not both eat and sit down at the same time; Primal urge to always be ready to flee from those who might steal her food, perhaps. At any rate, I am not sure if said child has figured out which is worse yet: Her food being lifted from her when she is not paying attention or her head meeting the tile below the chair that she is suppose to be sitting on. 

5. Someone around here will be turning TWO this week! This certain someone can have birthday cake to her heart's content too... but only if she sits down.


6. I find February to be a loverly month for a birthday because 'February' is just so stinking cute. I think this is due to Valentine's Day and to pink doilies and felt/paper hearts in particular. 


7. Is it odd that the last thing I associate with Valentine's Day is romance? No PG or R rating here, just cuteness and cupcakes, that is what I'm about. 


There I go again about food.

7 Quick Takes (For a Buck, Buck, Buck!)

Look at me! How many blog posts is this in one week? I simply don't know what has come over me. Sure, I did cheat a little with the entire video thing, but still, this is me we are talking about here. I don't want to get too ahead of myself so I thought a list of sorts might be in order. With out further ado (about nothing, really), I present 'Seven Quick Takes Friday'... Please don't tell anyone that it is really still only Thursday night, okay? Thanks.


1. I kicked my husband out of the house tonight so that he could do some photo-study at Barnes & Noble and so that I could clean the living room while he was away. The first part of that plan happened, the second did not. I have at least ten minutes until the store closes but I am only at number one on this list so the living room's odds aren't looking so good.


2. I want some cookies. (Did I mention that Barnes & Noble is right next door to McDonald's and that they sell cookies 3 for a buck?)


3. I happen to know there is a dollar in my husband's pocket.


4. I want a blog face-lift.


5. I want a new camera.


6. I am just going to be darn content with my cookies.


7. And milk!

Tuesdays Unwrapped: Incomplete

I remember the day that I began this mural on my daughter's wall. I can still feel the warmth and wetness of the paint covering my hands. It was imbedded in my finger nails in the same manner that the vision of unfolding possibilities filled and overflowed my heart; I was excited that I was being invited to participate in the actualization of a dream. Growing up my father and I had always lived in an apartment, which was never a bad thing really, but I was always aware that whenever I tried to make the place seem more like mine, what I was really doing was just putting holes into other people's walls.  

This was the first house that I would ever consider my own. It was the first place that I would live where there would be both a father and a mother raising their children; it was a chance to do things

differently than I had seen them done in my own childhood.  

 

God gave us seven years in this house and now that we are in the final days with it (yes, we moved out in June, but for many months I could not get myself to go back to gather the loose ends) I have been thinking about what the hardest part of saying 'good-bye' to it has been. 

Was it the actual move?

The entirely new relationship we were taking on with the bank; failure at holding up our end of the deal?

Was it that the house was so perfect for us that I could not stand to let it go?

The truth is it was none of these things.

When we moved into that home we had a two year-old and a baby due in weeks- It was perfect for who we were then. Before we moved out though it was very apparent that we were too big for our britches. Five kids and (at one time) a mother-in-law (and her five cats!) living with us made that clear. You would have thought that we would have rejoiced at the chance to find a better fit, right?

If it wasn't any of those things then, what was the most difficult part?

The answer to the question is hidden within these pictures, and in the numerous other hopes we held for our home and lives that never came to be.

We were left incomplete. 

Like the mural on this wall we surrounded ourselves with enough things until our flaws were camouflaged to the first glances of those who did not know what to look for. We settled for the 'just getting-by' of daily life and forgot about the true excitement that overflows from God's vision for our family. 

Sometime along the way we forgot that as Christians we are called to participate in the actualization of a dream. But not just our dream; the kingdom vision.

Abundant life.

The hardest part of all this has been seeing how 

we failed.

Miserably,

we failed.

And now God has graciously taken away all

the things that were not bearing fruit; things that we once thought essential.

My husband's job.

A home of our own.

  Predictability.   

The belief that we 

were self-sufficient.

 'Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which so easily ensnares us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, ² looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith, who for the joy that was set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.'

Hebrews 12:1-2

He has done these things because WE are His masterpieces and He always

always completes what He has started.

We're Geeks Like That....

Now that everyone around these parts is coming down from their costume-creating-sugar-induced-high, I feel relatively safe in assuming that the current silence isn't due to the fact that the three year-old and the two year-old have joined forces out of sight to involve themselves in some sort of no-good (most likely involving scissors). I can finally put down both my guard and my heiny long enough to share what we have been up to.

Halloween.

What? Just like you?

In keeping with the theme of all things unemployed, we set out to be very frugal for our costumes this year. We are pretty nerdy around here and so strange movie figures and video game personas are frequent guests in our household (My nine-year-old daughter acting out an Indiana Jones scene as I type). This largely comes from my husband's side of the gene pool, but since I am his girl and all, I usually decide to just roll with all the silliness.

This year's nod to geek-media culture first came about when my oldest informed me that she wished to be Coraline. Despit the fact that she did not own the signature yellow rainboots or coat, it seemed simply enough. She was in need of a haircut anyway, so we figured that a little snip, a can of blue hairspray, and some Raincoat-Yellow Duct Tape would be about all we would need.

Easy-Peasy!

It was the nine year-old's little sister that threw the wrench into my fuss-free groove. Not long after I asked her what she wanted to be, I began to wish I had'nt. While, giving her props for her ability to think outside the box, designing her dream costume was a bit of a stretch for my own imagination.

It was so bad that I struggle with how to even describe for you what she wanted to be, which means I'm left with no other choice. I will have to show you.
Exhibit A



Moms, can you see my dilema here? How does one go about creating a Sackperson and have it actually resemble a Sackperson?

I had visions of my daughter going crazy over the comments she would recieve about her 'scarecrow' costume with each door she knocked on, but I had to at least try.

Bit by bit ideas would come to me for both the girls (can I mention here how thankful I am that my three youngest had no opinion about costumes and such?) and with some duct tape, a $2.00 emergency parka (that we fashioned into a raincoat), a little burlap, and a helmet that the two-year old suddenly "couln't find", we actually did it.  And it was fun. And I was so proud...

OUR CORALINE

THE EVER SO FEISTY SACK GIRL

Isn't being a parent at times like this such a blast?

Marriage By Suess

"One Day, making tracks


In the Prarie of Prax,


Came a North-Going Zax


And a South Going-Zax.


And it happened that both of them came to a place where they bumped..."

My husband LOVES music. In our early days I used to tell him that I married him for his CD collection. His taste in music is so varried that a girl couldn't possibly appreciate everything from his musical library the way he does. On occassion this has caused us to come to a place where we bump. Today was one of those days.



You see, my Steven is such an even-keeled kinda guy emotionaly (Yes, it does amuse me that this is so, and that his name is Steven) that he uses his music as a way to feel. When he listens to music it is never in the background. It truly becomes what you are doing until the song ends thirty minutes from now. He loves to close his eyes and allow the song's story in. He can do this at any moment, no matter what else is going on in his environment.



I, on the other hand, may not act on my emotions or display them all the time for everyone to see, but they are there. I am pensive. You might even say that I am noisy inside. I do not need anything external to create turbulence - it's already there! I have no problem accessing it, and if anything, I have to work very hard to quiet it. On top of this, my surroundings can be so clamorous moment by moment that I CRAVE those rare times of silence.



So what do you do when things are chaotic, your routine is lost because one member of your family or another has been sick every day for weeks AND you have allowed way too much business into your life? What do you do when you feel stuck and behind, and are trying your hardest to become unstuck (with a smile), and your husband picks just that time to saturate the air with music that reminds you of a feverish sleep; a strange dream that goes around and around and that you just can't wake up from? Why, by all means, if you are me, you stand there with him "Foot to foot. Face to face" and you say something like this:

"Look here, now!" the North Going Zax said. "I say! You are blocking my path. You are right in my way. I'm a North-Going Zax and I always go north. Get out of my way, now, and let me go forth!"

And what do you do if you are the husband of said North-Going Zax and are sick on the couch, just trying to escape the fact that after a couple of days now, you still aren't feeling well? You could snap:

"Who's in whose way?"

You could say:

"I always go south, making south-going tracks. So you're in MY way! And I ask you to move and let me go south in my south-going GROOVE."

You could say this but this would simply cause your "North-Going Zax wife to puff her chest up with pride." She would just say something about HER needs-her desire for 'happy music' (if any music at all), and then things would get really ugly with both of you declaring your unwillingness to budge, "Not an inch to the west! Not an inch to the east!"


You could respond this way, but you are a smart Zax husband and you know that this would only threaten to cause "the whole household to stand still."

So instead you really make your wife mad. You build a bridge over her! You just smile at her and put on this:



This too was a repost. I am getting ready to import my old blog over to this site and came across this entry. In light of how much darn time the hubby has had to spend with me during his past ten months of unemployement, I thought it was fitting. Not to mention the fact that it makes me chuckle when I think about it, which we all can admit is way better than the alternative.

We Are (THAT) Family...

Oh Boy! Prizes and blog fodder, two-in-one. I have made it a point to post this week and while searching for inspiration, I came across We Are That Family's Blogoversary. Imediately, I had a vision:

Followed by a memory: I'm pretty sure that when I found those PJ's in the toilet and inquired exactly how this scenario had come about, the then four-year-old-in-question replied by informing me that she 'thought that's where they went!?!"

A special moment had just occured.

A connection made...

Oh Yes, we are THAT family too.

So, in honor of this new fellowship, and to further illustrate the point, I offer you something from the archives.

Please don't hold it against me...




Saturday the girls spent the morning outside bug hunting while my husband tried to get our backyard ready for fertalizing (we had to find it first). An hour before class began, I remembered that the girls had ballet. We thought my youngest daughter might be coming down with something so we opted to have her stay with her daddy, just in case, while I went with Asher to her class. For some reason the attendance was really low and at one point the teacher asked if a couple of the moms wouldn't mind being 'bodies' to provide a reference point for the dance that was being done. It never occured to me that she would even be considering me when making this request. Did the fact that I'm eight months pregnant and look much more like a belly with legs, than a bellerina somehow escape her notice? As I looked around though, I realized that there were only two moms present and that her request had been in the plural. Ha! She did mean me! Was I permitted to say 'no'? It's not something I typically have a hard time doing, but somehow I found myself dutifully standing at my post holding flowers like the rest of the children.

When my daughter smiled over at me from her posistion I relaxed a bit and thought, "Oh, this could be fun,' but then she started correcting my positioning and directing me to hold my flowers 'like so'! I hadn't know how serious she was about her ballet until then. She suddenly seemed very concerned, and it occured to me that I might be wittnessing the first documented moment of my daughter worrying about how bad I was going to embarass her. Could I really have come to that place in life already? I wanted to say, "Hey kid, you have to remember, this was not my idea. I know tutus and pregnant ladies don't mix!", then instruct her to go talk to her teacher, but instead I thought it might be best to just do what I was told.


Some momements later, the need to convince every one of what a poor idea combining uncoordinated pregnant ladies and ballet was,faded. I figured why use words when I can just demonstrate. I am not only pregnant, but I am also short and my pants never do fit me very well length wise. So, even though I was bare foot and should have had traction on the wood floors, I didn't. When the teacher had us skipping around, ring-around-the-rosie style I seized the opportunity to wow them with a few moves of my own. My pants got caught underfoot and I lost my balance. Everything went into slow motion as I saw the horrified looks on the faces of the ladies who had their arms outstretched to steady me. They looked scared and all I could do was laugh. "Oh no, the pregnant lady is going DOWN!"


I never did fall. I have weeble blood in me, I guess. I am almost certain that I won't be invited to dance for sometime, though. It looks like my clever little plan worked wonderfully.

Sometimes.

Sometimes you just have to put the little monster to bed...

Wordless Wed: So Many Mouths to Feed

Quick...A Thesaurus, Please!

I would say that I tend to get bored somewhat easily. I would say it, but can't because of the slim chance that someday my progeny may read this. If that time came, then they would remember (and surely point out) with indignation that 'bored' was not even a word they were permitted to say. They might even hear my voice in a fashion similar to that of Charlie Brown's teacher, stressing how uncreative a word 'bored' is; How it does not really describe what is going on with them, anyway. If they are restless, can't think of anything to do, or just need a change of scenery, then tell me THOSE things. Those things sound fixable, unlike 'Bored' which just seems so... untouchable.



Since I can't be bored, I must stretch my brain a little to describe my current state.



'Wa wa wah wah wahn..' That was Chucks' teacher's voice inside my head again.



I think I've got it now:



I'm AM NOT bored.

I DO just need a change of scenery- that is why I am moving my blogging ambitions from 'Some Assembly Required' at Homeschool Blogger, here. I have not written with any consitency in almost a year and now when I see my old page I think, 'stuck'. There is such a gap between entries and I, fixated as I can be, feel compelled to try and fill it in and that is just crazy. It was one live-in mother (plus her FIVE cats), one lay off, and an entire child ago, afterall. It can't be done.

If you want to consider me a traitor for making the move, I'm okay with that. Just stand still for a minute while I kick you in the knee-cap, then we can make up. You can visit me, I'll visit you-it will be like it never happened.

It never happened.

Never.