Adventure Among the Trees

"Families are the compass that guide us. They are the inspiration to reach great heights, and our comfort when we occasionally falter." -Brad Henry

It was with great anticipation that Samuel and I climbed into "Mammy's" (my mom's) car on the sunny Saturday morning of October 5th. I felt lucky to be going along as that wasn't the original plan. We headed to Northwest Trek Wildlife Refuge to meet up with three of my nephews, my brother, Jordan, and my brother-in-law, Mike. I don't know about everyone else, but Sam and I were giddy with excitement at the thought of soaring 33 feet per second through the adventure course that zig-zagged high above the forest floor.

The original plan was for my mom to take Samuel, Thomas and Dominic on the course for their eleventh birthdays, which all took place within three months of each other last Spring. The event kept getting delayed as we found it difficult to coordinate our summer schedules. Then at some point in September, my mother (whose ideal outdoor experience is sitting on the deck of a semi-secluded cabin looking out over a misty lake while wearing fluffy slippers and a warm robe with a cup of coffee in hand) decided to take some of her co-workers on a team building experience to NW Trek. With a great sense of accomplishment she completed the difficult course, but now felt like she didn't "need" to do it again. Still wanting to pay for the kids to go, she volunteered the parents to go with the boys instead of her.  We were thrilled!

Our reservation for the course was at 11 am. We met up with everybody and filled out papers promising that we wouldn't sue NW Trek if we were to break a limb or say....die. Then we climbed into our harnesses and payed close attention to the instructions. We learned to never double un-clip yourself lest you fall over backward and tumble off the platform, we learned to wait for the verifying, "CLEAR!" from the person in front of you before beginning the next heart pounding action, and we learned how to clip on to the cables before plunging yourself hundreds of feet down to the next wooden platform cleverly built high into the tall Douglas fir trees.

After a brief practice course we were ready to go. One by one we watched the other climb a 30 foot wall with grips for our hands and feet. The cousins wanted to stick together but with only three allowed on a platform at a time, Mike decided to go after his boys, then I would follow after Dominic and Samuel with Jordan bringing up the rear for our group. I had no concern with Sam climbing the wall. He has been climbing the walls at our house, literally and without grips, for years. I've always called him my monkey boy. My worry came when he was ready to jump off the platform before I got to the top. It was time for me to trust. Trust that he paid attention to the instructor about clipping on properly, trust that he wasn't fooling around, trust his Guardian Angel would see him to the other side.

Just as I reached the top of the giant wall, Sam began his speedy zip-line ascent to the other side over 200 feet away. That would be the shortest of six "zips" or zip lines. I laughed as he hollered with excitement while he flew through the air and I paused to make sure he made it to the other side. I then waited to hear, "Clear!" The boys' best laid plans of sticking together fell apart as us parents somehow, and I think mostly subconsciously, inserted ourselves among them. After I heard Samuel yell I got in position for my own 22 mile-per-hour surge through the air. The hardest part was the initial jump, but once that was accomplished it was smooth sailing through the forest. I delighted as the wind whirled around me and trees zoomed by in my peripheral vision, I think I even remember seeing my mom smiling many feet below, but my eyes were on that platform and making sure I didn't miss the part of the cable I needed to grab onto at the end. Samuel was waiting on the other side and we high-fived each other as we set out to attempt the next challenge.

The rest of the course consisted of a series of exciting and interesting challenges that tie six sections of "zips" together. There were swinging bridges with spaced-apart slats to step across; loosely suspended cargo nets to climb; a tight rope to walk; and a series of fixed and swinging planks to balance on. We cheered one another on took courage in knowing that "if they can do it so can I".

One of my favorites moments was when I was making my way across the first swinging bridge and as I looked down I saw a doe and her fawn wandering around on the forest floor directly beneath me. I could literally look below my feet and see the tops of their backs and soft brown heads. Another memorable moment was when I reached a point on the course where, Samuel in front of me and Dominic behind me, were at least 300 feet away on either end of two zip lines, it felt as though I were the only one in the forest. I stopped 45 feet above the ground and took in the scenery around me. The sun shone through the trees and its rays penetrated the forest in varying directions. All around me bright golden leaves fell silently; a slow steady descent to the earth. I felt lucky to be alive, to be able to save that moment in my memory bank to withdraw when the stress of life seems overbearing.

After completing the course we enjoyed the 50-minute tram ride through the 450-acre free roaming area populated by bison, elk, moose, bighorn sheep, mountain goats, deer and a variety of other animals. The adventure course and the sight of the animals made me aware of several things:

My children will always be my little 'kids', and oftentimes because of our own fallen human nature, we will inevitably butt heads, I love them will all my heart, I will support them in the challenges that come their way and I will trust that as they grow, having been given a good example, they will make the right choices.

 

Various pictures of the day. Many of the challenges were very high up. The pictures of us actually zip lining were fantastic views of blurry trees. For more info visit: http://www.nwtrek.org/zipwild/

 

 

It's all His Fault

“No matter how calmly you try to referee, parenting will eventually produce bizarre behavior, and I'm not talking about the kids. Their behavior is always normal.”  ― Bill Cosby

  

 "Their behavior is always normal." I wondered about that yesterday as I felt like I was losing control over a situation involving one of my children...who just so happens to be one of my students. I mentioned previously that my youngest child, Cecelia, is in my Kindergarten class this year. I worried about how that would work out. When I taught Isabelle last year we had our run-ins. She, however, is a people pleaser and although she tested the boundaries for awhile we ended the school year on good terms and with great memories.

Cecelia is not a people pleaser. In fact, being the baby of the family, she pretty much thinks the world revolves around her.  It doesn't help that she has a sense of humor that mirrors my own and I can't help but crack a smile many times when I am trying to discipline her.

When we were growing up, my younger sister, who is ten years younger than I, could get away with murder by producing insta-tears and crying out, "I'M JUST A LITTLE GIRL!" She was situated in the family after three boys with a boy right after her. Yes, she had our dad wrapped pretty securely around her finger. Cecelia, however, has my dad wrapped even tighter around her tiny little finger. It was her that brought my father out of diaper duty retirement. He would volunteer to change her. She would lunge into his arms as a little baby and sit with him for hours. Yes, she was his little girl, and he her knight in shining armor.

They have spent a lot of time together as he watched her while I worked and the others were in school. She actually thinks she is his boss. It's pretty cute....and disgusting. Even before the previous school year ended my dad began to get mild depression as he realized she would soon be in school, she was growing up.

Then came the move. Her and my dad under one roof. Him trying unsuccessfully to stifle laughs as her haughty little ways would get her into trouble with her siblings (who, by the way, most of the time also treat her like she is a little princess). She would go to him and vent and he would feed her ego with sympathy. This was all very repugnant and nauseating really.

But then there were those moments when I'd catch them deep in conversation, both taking each other very seriously. Sometimes I'd find them sound asleep on the couch hand in hand, and oftentimes when Cecelia would get excited about something or other she'd say, "I can't wait to tell Papa!" The love these two have for one another is palpable.

And so it is, without animosity, that I blame my dad for days like yesterday.

It started out well, so well, in fact, that I marvelled several times at how cooperative this year's students behaved. They were helping one another, quickly falling into routine, using complete sentences and being very respectful.

Just before we needed to leave for Mass, though, Cecelia somehow managed to jab the inside of her mouth with her pencil. She opened up and cried and cried for all the other classes to hear. From that point on she was weepy, tired and melancholic, she was simply "too tired" to behave well in church, even with the warning that she would have to take a nap during recess if she didn't stop whining.

And so, there she was. While all the other kids were joyfully playing outside during a lucky moment when the sun broke through the unpredictable dark clouds that come with our indecisive fall weather (which earlier in the day produced a very uncommon-for-this-area tornado) Cecelia lie bundled up on our classroom's bean bag chair with a blanket tucked up to her ears, sound asleep.

After recess, she woke up to the sound of the other children returning from the fresh air. She seemed like she was in a good mood and so I looked forward to the rest of the afternoon. It wasn't long, however, that her own personal gray cloud began to hover once again above her head. When our priest entered the classroom to visit the children, the other students stood up right on cue and greeted him with, "Good afternoon, Father!" Cecelia sat there without batting an eye and continued with what she was doing. To make a long, irritating story short, she had to receive a consequence for her bad behavior when we got home.

In my conversation with her before her "early" bedtime I asked her why she acted the way she did today. The truth came out. She was upset because during our Math meeting (one of the first things of the day) she was called on to identify the triangle instead of the coveted parallelogram. Yep! That was all it took. When I heard this I wanted to both pull my hair out and die laughing all at the same time. Tears actually built up in my eyes as I tried my hardest to show absolutely no sign of amusement. Who would have known a four sided geometrical figure could be the cause of such distress!

Now, I have to decide by tomorrow if I should avoid possible future meltdowns by calling on her to tell the class that the blue shape is a parallelogram, or let her know she doesn't always get what she wants and force her to name one of the less phonetically enjoyable shapes. Oh, the dilemmas of teaching your own children!

A Prayer Forgotten But Fulfilled

 “God will answer your prayers better than you think. Of course, one will not always get exactly what he has asked for....We all have sorrows and disappointments, but one must never forget that, if commended to God, they will issue in good....His own solution is far better than any we could conceive.”  ― Fanny J. Crosby

 When I had my first child, Samuel, it was a mutual decision between my husband and I that I would be a stay-at-home mother and that together we would make the sacrifices that it took to make that happen. He worked hard to provide for the family and I worked hard to live frugally in order for our children to have their mother at home with them to tend to their needs. Although, stressful and sometimes lonely, as the majority of my day was spoken in baby talk, I was content.

When the kids and I moved back to WA at the beginning of the "end" of my marriage I was still able to stay at home with them, although it was more of a struggle. But when I stood before the judge at our divorce hearings I heard the words of the judge telling me I needed a job...yesterday. However, in her "kindness" she would give me 30 days to find work if I wanted the custody arrangements to stay the way they were. I left there in a daze. I hadn't worked in eight years and thinking back at my previous jobs, I couldn't imagine how any of them would fit into my life of raising five children on my own.

I got busy applying for school at Tacoma Community College and decided to pursue Paralegal Studies. I had no idea what to do for work in the mean time. I took on a few summer babysitting jobs for friends. Through one of these friends I found out about a home health care company that was hiring. I applied, got the job, and worked for that company for nearly two years. Holding a job and going to college part time was difficult in the fact that I truly felt I was missing out on raising my own kids. They were here and there with family members (of whom I am eternally grateful) oftentimes until long after bedtime. When school began for my kids, I was able to waive tuition by helping teach Kindergartners two of the three days a week that they went to school. I found great fulfillment in this not only from the students I taught but for the fact that I got to see my own children throughout the day.

To make a long story short; I quit attending college because I realized I would not find happiness in that line of work, the year after my volunteering at the kids' school I was hired on as the full time Kindergarten teacher, I had the summer off to enjoy with my children and am now again loving every minute teaching my students which includes my youngest and most headstrong child, Cecelia.

I know I have mentioned many of these points in other posts but the point of this entry goes back to the Fanny Crosby quote in the beginning of this story. Many times throughout my life, my grandmother, Nana, would urge us to write notes to Jesus, Mary or St. Joseph, whose images in statues have graced her kitchen for as long as I can remember. She would tell us, "If you need a prayer answered, write a note and leave it under one of their statues." I don't even remember having done so, but she recently showed me one she found, as she was clearing out old notes, that I had written several years ago. Here it is:

 

It reads:

St. Joseph, Please grant me, by your intercession, a job with the Franklin Pierce School Distric(t).

A job that will give me enough hours to support my family but that I will still be able to be with the kids

when they are out of school. God's will be done, Gina.

 

 

I don't work for the Franklin Pierce School District, and am happy that I do not. Geographically, however, St. Mary's is in the district. I can't speak enough of the power of prayer. St. Joseph, thank you!

"Why Haven't You Done Another Blog Post?"

I want to begin by stating I am truly humbled at the requests I've had to post more to this blog.

I thought this site was kind of like when you try to tell someone a long disconnected dream that you had and, while you find it absolutely fascinating, as you retell it you start to notice the blank stares and courtesy laughs of those who were fortunate enough NOT to experience your nocturnal imagination in full swing. In fact, it is one of the most difficult things I've tried to do, as a mother, to feign interest in one of my childs' dreams, especially when they want me to hear about it before my brain has been treated to its morning 'cup o joe'.

However, I digress. I was once asked why I stopped writing and as I responded, "Yeah, it has been awhile hasn't it?" A quick response shot back, "June 16th, that was the last entry." I was taken by surprise to learn that there was someone out there awaiting to hear more from me. So I vowed I'd write another post, that night. That was two months ago.

I tried to reason with myself why I hadn't written for so long. I love doing it, so I certainly don't look at it like it's a chore. I came up with a long list of excuses:

1. Since we moved in April I've been so busy....
2. By the time I get the kids to bed I'm exhausted....
3. Maybe my life just isn't that interesting anymore...

But then I realized:

1. I'm less busy than I was before I moved.
2. I'm a night owl, I usually don't get to bed until after 12 am.
3. My life never was interesting, I was just able to make people think it was.

I am only half-way joking about the last one. I think it boils down to two actual reasons, both of which I am ashamed. One, I haven't looked for the fascinating among the mundane and therefore have fooled myself into thinking I have a serious case of writer's block; and two, when we moved we got cable T.V. Enough said.

So here I am writing an entire post about why I haven't written. Let the entertainment begin!!

Blips of my life in the past three months and therefore possible future posts:

 

Charity Begins At Home

"And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity."
1 Corinthians 13:13

When I got the idea to spend my summer immersed in teaching my children the practice of virtue, I assumed, I would merely be reaffirming what they already knew and ensuring that is was practiced more regularly. The reality is: children are selfish human beings. They are born with original sin and struggle against its effects from the time they begin talking, sometimes earlier. It is nothing rare to find a toddler whose favorite word is "No!"

As soon as we embarked on our mission to practice a greater level of charity at home it seemed almost as if we got worse!! Isn't that how it always is? They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Well, I wasn't about to give up. I almost got discouraged thinking, what is it going to take to get my children to treat one another with true charity? I did realize, however, that it was the start of summer break, and a rainy start at that. We were together much more than ever and stuck in the house.

The first day of summer break, I was still in teacher mode and found myself planning a family meeting, white board, schedule and all. We said certain prayers focusing on charity and then began discussing ways we can practice charity toward: God, others, and ourselves. I let them come up with the answers and they did great. It was cute seeing Cecelia get into the spirit, raising her hand when she had something to say....and boy did they have something to say! They were completely involved and excited about our new venture.

The end of the next day we gathered together before bedtime and discussed how we did that day. Each one of them volunteered an apology to someone else, before I even suggested it. We ended the day singing Ubi Caritas, meaning Where There is Love. How idyllic that first week was! We kept up with the prayers, but the evening meetings have dwindled with the later summer bedtimes.

My children still fight, argue and insult. I would be a fool if I thought that would end completely. However, I do notice a slight shift toward a sense of camaraderie. Constant reminders throughout the day and forced apologies are a daily occurrence.

The biggest difference is that the thought is there. Am I being charitable? This question is amongst us in every interaction. Sometimes we are fortunate to think it before we act, sometimes after. But the idea is to strive to do better tomorrow than we did today, to do better in the next hour than we are doing right now. I have seen my children turn their bad attitudes around in seconds by deciding to "start over" from this moment on. I am happy with how things are going. It's not a goal with an end, at least not in this world, it's an ideal to strive for. 

The biggest factor that helps us improve is prayer. God will help us if we ask Him. He is bigger than any difficulty, and stronger than any weakness.

Cheers!

Gina.

Mission: Possible

"Shoot For the Moon, Even If You Miss You'll Land Among the Stars." 

- Les Brown

There have been times when I've used this blog as tool of self-motivation. I've written about goals that I set forth to accomplish with hopes that, in fear of appearing a failure, I'd accomplish them. I've written about getting healthier by giving up sugar, about my goal to live a contented life by starting the Happiness Project and about all the things I planned on doing the summer of 2012. To be honest, I eat sweets like it's no body's business, I followed through with 3 or 4 months of the given outlines of the Happiness Project and I only went on 1 of 6 adventures I planned last year.

The outcome? I still want to eat healthier, I am happy, last summer was great and another one is just around the corner with new adventures waiting. Do I consider myself a failure because I didn't accomplish all my goals? Absolutely not. I consider myself better off for having made them in the first place because had I not made them, I never would have done the things I did end up doing.

There is one mission, however, that has been given to me that is non-negotiable. It began nearly eleven years ago this June. This mission, which I chose whole-heartily to accept, is where I find my entire purpose in life. The details of this mission weren't entirely clear to me when I accepted it and as I took it on its level of difficulty became clear.  At times, throughout this mission, I felt fear, fear that it was beyond me, that I was far from qualified. I felt inadequate to perform the tasks involved. I felt I was a failure already with so many goals still to accomplish. Then, I realized, I was inadequate, I wasn't meant to fulfill this mission alone.

It is the mission of raising my five children. Not just raising them, for people raise chickens all the time, no problem. They are born small, you feed them and they become full grown. Anybody can raise a chicken or a child for that matter. My mission is to form the souls of my children to "do justice, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with their God." (Micheas 6:8) so that they will grow into like-minded adults.

I have a long way to go. When I had one child run in crying because her brother 'hit her on her back' and another child angry that her sister 'wouldn't play with her,' I thought to myself, 'do my children love kindness?' And again, the only thoughts towards justice I've heard lately are along the lines of, "Finder's Keepers!" and "That isn't FAIR!" And do they seem to be walking humbly with God? HA! Is any child truly humble?

But the truth is, where my inadequacies come into play, God's grace suffices to fill in the gaps.  In this I am entirely confident that my children will grow to retain the same great loves I am teaching them now: love for God, love for family, love for life itself, and love for truth. I believe that they will become what Christ called all of us to be, "wise as serpents, and innocent as doves." Are these lofty goals? Impossible? Not if my expectations of them remain high. I have seen first-hand that children will either grow up to our expectations or down to them, and so I plan on keeping them high.

The next 14 weeks we will be undertaking an intensive immersion of learning about and practicing the following virtues: faith, hope, charity, prudence, justice, fortitude and temperance. I will spend approximately two weeks on each virtue until they become part of the makeup of who we are as a family and as individuals. This will be our summer's spiritual adventure that will accompany all of the physical ones we will have together.

I plan on documenting our goals, and the means by which we put the virtues into practice. I am still fine-tuning the details so we will begin this Monday, May 13th. I pray for God's guidance in this mission, because in and of myself, I can do nothing.

I wish I wrote this on Saturday, National Star Wars day, so I could end by saying May the 4th be with you, but I will stick with gist of today's post and say simply, 'May the grace of God be with us all.' Good Night.

Gina.

A Life Worth Living

"What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes." - St. James 4:15

Lately, I have been lost in this adventure I call life. My mind and body have been so occupied by the tasks of daily living that I have neglected to take time for quiet reflection. I haven't even had the time to worry or stress, which, I guess, is a good thing. The truth is, I haven't given myself time to think.

I don't stress or worry about much, because that requires thinking. It's almost as though I've been on auto-pilot just going through the motions of life. If there is ever a free moment to relax, I quickly drift off into sleep to recharge for the next busy hours of the day. I've decided enough is enough. Although I am enjoying life; our new house perfectly suits our needs, I frequently enjoy the company of good friends and family, I love my job as a Kindergarten teacher, I find a desire to live my life with more intention and more attention.

That desire, no doubt, comes from God. As soon as He wants something of us, He sends us help. Today, I received that help in a book I was reading called, Anchor: God's Promises of Hope to Parents by James B. Stenson. The sentences I read in the first five minutes felt like they had the power to change my life. Now, interestingly, I have read this book before. I have even highlighted in yellow highlighter pen certain paragraphs that I wanted to remember. When I read those paragraphs now, however, they didn't mean a whole lot. I believe God gives us certain insight or inspirations exactly when we need them and what I needed years ago was different from what I need now. I wish to copy what it was I read and what I got from it so it will stick with me and help me to live a life worth living, because, as Socrates put it, "The unexamined life is not worth living."

"As we lift our eyes to the heavens on a clear, cloudless night, we see the swirl of stars God flung across the endless expanse of the universe. And if we have eyes illumined by faith, we can look on this divine array the way our Christian forebears have done for centuries: With faith's insight, we know that God set these sparkling gems against the black velvet of night to delight each of us, His beloved children, and to show us His splendid might and mystery.
You, with the eyes of a Christian parent, can perceive even deeper meaning. As you sweep your gaze across the heavens, let your mind thrill with this wondrous idea: Countless ages ago, before those stars took fire, God placed you - you, personally, by name - within His eternal plan. It was then that He called you to your divine life's mission.
God knew then, and knows now, everything about you: all the great and small events of your life, your childhood and upbringing, your gifts and flaws and sins, the destiny of your whole life throughout this slip of human history in which he placed you. He knew all those souls whose lives intertwine with your own, including your parents and friends, spouse and children, from the moment of your conception to the appointed hour of your passage to eternity.
St. James wondered at this mystery with these words to the early Christians: "...what is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes" (4:14) Every life, though brief and fleeting, has a destined part in God's eternal will."
 

 The highlighted sentences are what I find myself reflecting on tonight. Through every trial of my life, as well as every moment of true happiness, God was there. He gave me those moments, both good and bad, to shape the life He wanted me to live. From before the creation of the world, He knew what my faults would be and what gifts He wanted to give me. He knew exactly what people He would send into my life and at which moments, to influence me and I them in just the way He planned. There are no coincidences. I pray that I can approach each moment of my life with the awareness that whatever is going on, God destined for that event to occur...He destined that event before the creation of the stars!

 

Life's Lessons in Action

There are times in life that I can look back and remember a very distinct moment where a very valuable lesson was learned. Other times, I believe lessons are learned gradually with the help of mistakes and age. This week two opportunities to came up for me to put into practice one lesson I learned from my mother in one instant many years ago.

When I was in my early teenage years, I was sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter talking on the phone. I leaned back and knocked one of my mother's wedding glasses off of a shelf on the wall. They were the glasses her and my dad gave their first toast with, crystal, probably one-of-a-kind from Ireland or something like that. I knew they were special to her because they were arranged on a shelf in front of a picture of her and my dad, arms entwined, drinking champagne on their wedding day (it might have been sparkling cider since neither of  them were of age ;) The picture was a pencil drawing of my dad's.

When the glass fell and shattered, my heart sank. I felt horrible about doing it and feared the wrath of my mother. She was present when it happened and as soon as our eyes met, she said, "It's okay." Two simple words spoken over twenty years ago that have changed the way I deal with similar situations now. I tried to tell her how sorry I was and that I knew the glass was special to her and so on and so on. But she said this, "It's only a thing, don't worry about it." Her calm attitude left such an impression, that for someone who admittedly doesn't have a great memory, I can remember that moment like it was yesterday.

This week, in my household, I discovered two things that were meaningful to me, broken. In my last post, I mentioned how I am not a very sentimental person and I don't have many things that I consider precious to me. Well, I guess I did have a few things. One was my wooden St. Francis statue that we picked up in Assisi on our honeymoon, and another was an oval wooden box that locked/unlocked in a secret way. I got the box from the original carver when spending two weeks in New Mexico while on a fire assignment with the Department of Natural Resources. The things themselves weren't valuable, but the memories attached were priceless.

St. Francis, (almost) as good as new.

While dusting, St. Francis' head fell off because it had been balanced there mysteriously well like I'd never notice it. Samuel was standing nearby and he heard the disappointment in my voice upon the discovery. I felt his guilt like sticky humidity on a hot August day. My first instinct was to separately interrogate each child until the guilty party tearfully announced his shame and begged my forgiveness on hands and knees. But that memory of my own mother sprang instantly to mind. I put it aside and figured I could glue it back together.

Today, while cleaning the girls room, I discovered the box, also put nicely back together as though I'd never discover it (my kids must think I am quite the idiot). I did announce my disappointment and instantly Benjamin announced his guilt (kudos to him for his honesty). It was harder to bite my tongue this time, since it was the second time in two days, but I managed. (By the way, Ben's excuse was..."Well I couldn't open it!", I wanted to smack my head on a wall).

My dad always told me that if something can be destroyed, kids will find a way to do it. He was right. But my mom taught me that people are more precious than any worldly possession and the words we choose to use can make a difference in the lives of others. She was right too.

Side Note: The move I mentioned in my last post....it's going to happen, wish us luck :)

Greener Grass??

It has been so long since I logged in to write a post that I had forgotten my password and had to go through the ever so annoying process of setting up a new one. The truth is, I haven't written in so long because living hasn't left me room in my life to contemplate or reflect. I have missed that. However, with the Lenten time upon us, due to activities I have given up for the next 30 days, I have some time to "catch up".

I guess I thought that I no longer had an audience since my blog had become stagnant, but according to Blogger, people are still checking in, so I thank you for that.

I feel like my life is on the brink of change. My family is on the fence about something that would change our lives dramatically. Actually, my family, is not on the fence...I am. Everybody else has hopped the fence and is running free where the grass appears greener. I am standing there, sceptically looking at that green grass and wondering if it was sprayed with green chemicals to make it look luscious and inviting.

A few months back, my mom brought to mind the idea of finding a multi-family house to rent that would be big enough for the kids and I and her and my dad. I thought it over and the more I looked online at available houses, the more it seemed this was a plausible possibility. Those houses included; two kitchens, multi-levels, separate entrances, many bathrooms and a nice big fenced-in back yard with puppy possibilities.

Then my mother found a house, fell in love, and all but packed the moving vans! The only thing is...we haven't been in this house yet, and some of the things I thought would be necessary for it to work, aren't there.

There are so many concrete pros to moving into this house (at least if it is laid out exactly as it was described to me) that it almost doesn't make sense not to do it. The kids and I would have four bedrooms instead of three allowing for Samuel to finally have his own room, the backyard is HUGE with get this: a tree fort and a playhouse (boys vs. girls), the kitchen, though not separate, is supposedly large and newly remodeled, it's just as close to school/work as we are now, and I would be saving quite a bit of money a month. Seems like a no-brainer, right?

So why is it weighing so heavily on my heart? The answer is two part, and it lies within my past.

When I moved out to be on my own at 19, I discovered my love of anonymity, liberty and independence. Nobody had to know where I was at all times, I had the liberty to come and go as I pleased...wherever that was, and I had the independence to chose whether or not I would do the dishes at night, what color curtains I put up and how loud and frequently I listened to the soundtrack of O Brother Where Art Thou.

When I got married, I gladly gave up some of that in exchange for the duties of my chosen vocation.

When I was on my own again, I rediscovered that love of freedom, though it was a different kind of freedom. "Popcorn for dinner?" "YAY!!", "We are going camping today!", "YAY!" "Go outside and play so I can have some peace and quiet." "YAY!" "We're going to Mass in 30 minutes." "But it's Saturday, why do we have to go to Mass today?" "BECAUSE I SAID SO".

The choices that need to be made are mine to make and I haven't had to share that responsibility for almost 5 years. That, although sometimes burdensome, is freedom to me.

The second part of the answer has to do with the house we live in now. I had no idea about this part until I spoke to my mother about my reservations about moving and in one sentence she almost had me in tears. She spoke about how it might be difficult to move on account of my sentimental attachment to our house. Every fiber of my being wanted to refute this idea. I never considered myself a very sentimental person. I love getting rid of stuff and there isn't much that I own that I would be sorry to lose. I have no desire to own my own house because I never want to be so attached to anything or anyplace.

I left that conversation with a heaviness on my heart. When I got home that day, I walked through my front door and suddenly my house seemed to give me one of those big understanding sympathetic hugs that break down the floodgates and force the waterworks to flow freely. I sat down and so many memories came pouring into my conscience mind, memories that I didn't realize I associated with our home.

This house was here to greet us on the sunny morning of July 1, 2008. It's doors opened wide like welcoming arms. It was as though it was saying, "I know you are broken and imperfect, but so am I, we will do just fine together." My four kids and I moved in and the house kept us all together at a time when I felt I was falling apart. A month later, I brought Cecelia home from the hospital to this house and the six of us settled into our new life.

The furniture has been rearranged so many times in hopes to find the most space efficient arrangement and the scratches in the hardwood floors have stories to tell. The walls have literally been climbed, and every square inch has been lived in to the fullest. So many times I have cursed this house for its cramped quarters, it's noisy furnace or the persistent moles that have mansions under the lawn. But the truth is, this house has been good to us. It has been good for us.

As of right now, I don't know if we are moving soon or not. It will take some adjustment in my way of thinking, and acceptance of the sacrifices that will have to be made. The grass may be greener on the other side, but at what cost?

 

Not much from the outside...but with the love of a family, it's home.

"How Was Your Christmas?"

"How was your Christmas?"

It must be the most asked question in the days following the beloved holy day. An inquiry so simple, so generic, it is akin to asking, "How are you doing?" But this year, it was a question I wanted to avoid. Telling the truth is more than most people want to hear, and to say what most people expect to hear feels like a betrayal to myself.

Looking back now, I can say in all honesty, "It was good." However, remembering the emotions that I felt this Christmas, the holiday will go down as one of the most difficult of recent days.

This was an even year, 2012. On even years the kids are to be with their dad on Christmas. This, I had no choice in the matter. I never would have dreamed in the years of building my family that in the growing up years, I would spend every other Christmas without my children. It isn't natural....it isn't right.

After two-and-a-half months of not seeing their dad, though, they were ready to go (and with the full moon just around the corner, I'll admit, I was ready to send them). I thought I was doing such a good job of tricking my mind into thinking that our Christmas was just taking place on another day this year, after all, Christmas isn't just a day, it's a season, right? So after their school Christmas program, I cheerfully kissed them goodbye and sent them on their merry way.

The next day, I got out of bed just long enough to take some non-aspirin for a splitting headache and drink some 7-up to help the symptoms of an unexpected stomach flu. My plans to clean the heck out of my house had to be delayed. I had been around sick kids in the classroom for months now and was able to stay healthy, so I wasn't surprised that at its first opportunity, my immune system decided to take a break from all its hard work.

The next day, Saturday, I was privileged to be able to help several others decorate the church for the up-coming holy day. It took most of the day and was a great distraction from my empty messy home. That evening my parents had a Christmas party for the family at their house. With six out of ten of their children present, three in-laws, sixteen grandchildren, and several friends...it was a full house. Surrounded by so many people, especially so many kids, I never felt lonelier. Even being a part of a very close, very large family, nothing could fill the voids that were left by my children's absence. That day I would have felt less alone at home by myself.

I had a good time the next day watching the Seahawks beat the 49ers. My dad was at home by himself with a pot of homemade bean and ham soup. I showed up for dinner just as the game began. Now, my dad isn't even a football fan, but this game had him yelling/cheering at the TV with the rest of us fans watching the game in the dry comfort of our living rooms.

Christmas Eve came quickly and I found myself, as I always do, no matter how earnestly I promise myself I won't ever do it again... at the mall. Maybe it was the fact that I could take my time and didn't have to worry about losing anyone, or maybe it was the distraction aspect, but I actually enjoyed it.

That evening, I had dinner with the priest and nuns of St. Mary's who have become some pretty amazing friends of mine. We enjoyed a homemade meal and watched the musical Scrooge. It was an evening of fun and laughter and before I knew it, it was time to head home and get ready for Midnight Mass. I had tried to reach the kids by phone several times throughout the day but it was to no avail. In fact, it was only after several days of many texts that I heard that they had made it safely over the snowy pass to Spokane where they were spending the holiday at their grandmother's house.

The fact that I couldn't even talk to them before bed that night was like a domino set in motion. I left my quiet house at 11:00 pm on Christmas Eve and three minutes into my nine minute drive to the church, the tears that had been welling up inside let loose. I ugly cried for the next six minutes until I reached the church parking lot. I begged God to help me pull myself together so nobody would ask me if I was okay....once those words are spoken, it's all over from there.

I managed to wipe away the tears and make it to my seat without making eye contact with anybody. First, however, I snuck up to the choir loft and borrowed a huge wad of Kleenex. I sat all the way up front, so nobody could see my face, and, as far as I know, nobody knew that I cried halfway through Mass. Before the carols began, I lit five candles by the Nativity scene, one for each of my children. Seeing those candles lit, I felt as though they were there with me in spirit.

My heart was heaviest after four unanswered calls to the kids Christmas morning. Finally, when I had just about given up, I received a call from them. On hearing that they didn't get to celebrate Christ's birth by being near him at Mass my heart nearly broke. I held back tears until I had wished the last one, Cecelia, a Merry Christmas. With the floodgates near bursting, I asked her what she got, told her I missed her and listened as she asked how many more sleeps until she gets to come home. As the phone call ended, the tears fell uncontrollably and I didn't know how I could make it to breakfast at my parents house without being a complete downer.

The truth is, I couldn't. As soon as I walked in the house all the hurt I tried to hide swelled to the surface and overflowed. I took comfort in the arms of my grandmother and mother who understood the tears without any spoken words.

Through the heartache that accompanied me this Christmas, there were a lot of highlights that couldn't have happened had I had the kids with me, and for those I am truly grateful. The opportunity to see Les Miserables with my sister on Christmas was a memory I will treasure always, as well as an invitation to a couple of games of evening bowling from an intuitive friend who sensed my hidden sorrows. Game Night at my (clean) house was a fun way to carry Christmas through the season that it is meant to be.

My "Christmas" with the kids was held on the evening of the 29th of December. It began by placing Jesus in his manger and singing a few carols. It ended with a once clean living room hidden under a mountain of wrapping paper. I welcomed the kids home with a light heart as I bid farewell to neatness.

As to "How was my Christmas?" Since, in my heart, it is still ongoing, I must say it has been wonderful. It had its 'moments', for sure, but that's life....that's my life, and I am learning little by little to adjust. A Blessed Christmas season to all of you,

With love,


Gina.

Why Is My Lip So Fat!!??

Some tortures are physical
And some are mental,
But the one that is both
Is dental.
~Ogden Nash

Just as any parent, I absolutely hate seeing my child in pain, emotional or physical. It tears me apart and breaks my heart. There have been many times where I wish I could just bear the pain for them so they wouldn't have to....but not this time.

Benjamin and Hunter each had to get one cavity filled at the dentist today. In my opinion, the dentist is perhaps the scariest person on earth, or at least, what the dentist does is the scariest thing I can imagine. Sticking a needle into your gums, propping your mouth open so unnaturally wide, drilling with a metal tool into what feels like a perfectly fine tooth, it's just so wrong. Yet, like eating your vegetables, it's a necessary evil.

My poor boys had to endure this anguish today, and I had to endure the agony of standing by and trying to comfort them even though I knew my words were empty. "You're doing so good" and "It's almost over" do little to calm a nervous soul, let alone soothe dried out lips and stretched out jaws.

They were each set up at the same time in two rooms right next door to each other. So I had to wander from one to the other to take turns holding their hands and giving them my (probably annoying) sympathetic mother smile.

Hunter was stoic, silent and brave. I could tell he was uncomfortable as they were working in his mouth, but he never uttered a sound. So I spent much time in Ben's room. He did okay, until he felt like he suffering an intense case of lock jaw and thought he was about to drown in his own spit. His arms and legs wriggled with unease and the kind dentist said she would let him take a break. When she took all the stuff out of his mouth and Ben felt his face for the first time, he became very fearful that he looked like this:

I could see the anxiety in his eyes and the confusion in his mind as he kept feeling for the face he once knew. I'm going to risk sounding like a bad parent here, but I had a very hard time hiding my amusement over the whole ordeal. Inwardly, I was cracking up. Having been there myself, I knew exactly what he was experiencing. To witness that first moment of, 'Wait a minute...'WHERE IS MY FACE?!!!' was priceless. Nonetheless, I pitied him and stood at his side, holding his hand and doing my best to keep him calm, reassure him that he still looked the same and it would all return to normal in a little while. I even fished a mirror out of my purse to show him, he was still my handsome boy.

When they were done, the boys received a Popsicle and a coin to place in the toy dispenser as they left the building. By the time we got to the van, my seven year old's Popsicle was dribbling down his chin and he didn't even know it. For the next hour I heard whines and cries of when will it feel normal again, and for my own merriment I got them each a cup of water to drink....with a straw. They are right, I am a mean mom.

The good thing is they don't ever want to do that again and they both brushed their teeth tonight....without me asking them to.

Wishing you all a lifetime of healthy teeth,

Gina.

A Boost From the Ghost of Christmas Present

Two days before the beginning of the third week of Advent I had the opportunity to go shopping for our Christmas tree. I wasn't sure if I wanted a pre-lit artificial tree with is re-use ability and convenience or a real one with it's fresh pine smell and nostalgic memories. After talking with my cousin, however, about the necessity to water, and the constant need to vacuum up the needles of a real tree, I chose to find one I can retrieve with great ease from my garage year after year.

Thanks to our neighbors giant fir tree that hangs over my driveway, I am already sweeping up pine needles several times a day, I didn't need any more. So a trip to a nearby Kmart brought us an unexpected delight. As the kids and I browsed through the Christmas trees that were on display at the store we agreed that one in particular was not only very nice looking, but it fit our budget and the slim style would fit our little home. I looked for the box with the coordinating tree number on it and to our dismay, they were sold out.

I asked the customer service worker if there were any stored in another area and she informed me that the one on display was the only one left. She did say, however, that they would sell me that one, without of the box. I hesitated because it was heavily decorated and I didn't want to wait around as they removed all the beautiful ornaments and ribbons. As I stood there, indecisive, hemming and hawing about what to do, the sales associate simply said, "You can have everything that is on the tree as well." I asked how much they would charge for that, but to my utmost surprise she said, "No extra charge." What?!!! How could this be?

And so, I watched as several employees wrapped the tree, ornaments and all, in Saran wrap and loaded it up to take it to the back of the store until I could get my dad to come and pick it up in his truck. I couldn't really believe what I just did....bought a tree fully decorated. All I would have to do is get it home, unwrap it, and plug it in!

Now, I have always enjoyed taking my time and meticulously deciding where each ornament should go to look perfectly asymmetrical, all the while listening to Christmas music and sipping hot cocoa. But the reality is this: once my kids got old enough to want to 'help', it became an event that brought something close to dread in my heart. The bickering, the broken ornaments, the bickering and the bickering were just something that could put a damper on the best intended plans. So, this was perfect!

I did put Christmas music on, and we gathered around to ceremoniously unwrap the tree. Each kid took a turn holding the plastic wrap and making one lap around the tree, then they passed it off to the next one until our first Christmas present was 'opened'. They were so excited and really felt like they were helping decorate. We straightened out a few branches, cleaned up one shattered bulb that fell off and plugged in it! Waaaaaa-laaaah!!

They even gave us the shiny red tree skirt. It was the most fun I'd had putting up our tree in years, and the kids enjoyed it too. I even had energy to put lights on the house outside and after it was all over, Sam told me, "Thanks for all the hard work you did to make our house Christmassy." That brought a smile to my face.

Then we watched 'The Christmas Story'. Is it just me or does that movie get funnier every year? I was literally laughing so hard I had tears and my kids were like, 'What's so funny, mom?'

I truly sympathized with Ralphy when he had his "Oh Fuuuuuuuuuudge" moment. When I was taking out the porch light to install an outlet adapter for the Christmas lights, in slow motion the light bulb dropped to the concrete stairs and out of my mouth came a very loud "S#!t!!" with Samuel standing right next to me. I'm not one to swear, especially in front of my kids, so I don't know why such a word would  instinctively escape without effort.  It must have been the fear that arose due to the fact that those newfangled energy saving light bulbs that you cant throw away and contain deadly amounts of mercury was falling out of my control to the hard ground below....ya, that must have been it.

Merry Christmas and Happy Decorating.

Gina.

Supermom is out of Reach

"I'd like to be the ideal mother, but I'm too busy raising my kids." - Unknown.

Sitting in the lobby of the chiropractor's office the other day, waiting to be adjusted by Dr. Mike, I took a deep breath and was so happy to just be...waiting. It was so peaceful to have one and only one task to do...sit. I secretly hoped that the doctor would be running late and I would get to wait a really long time. That didn't happen, but I still relished the short reprieve from the break-neck pace that life has been lately. I've realized that I need to make the best use of every spare moment like this. What I actually realized is I need to create more moments like this rather than wait for them to come to me.

I had a crushingly humble moment a few weeks ago. I was feeling satisfied in knowing that all the tasks that had been filling my mind with unease had been accomplished and, finally, I could relax knowing that I had gotten through another year of costume and presentation preparations that accompanied Halloween and All Saints Day. My moment of humility came when I turned on my computer and, seeing pictures posted on Facebook, I realized I had just missed Benjamin's den's tour of the fire department; a requirement for the Wolf year of scouting.

Seeing the pictures of the other scouts' huge smiles as they climbed on the big red truck and getting to 'rescue' a firefighter, I felt like I had let Ben down in a big way. He would have loved that. I also felt an internal temper tantrum begin to rage from deep within me. "How can I do ALL of this by myself??!!" I took a deep breath and before the anger bubbled to the surface, I realized, I simply cannot do it ALL.

I feel like for the past four years, I have been compromising my sanity by trying to keep up with those damned 'Joneses', for my children's sake, so they wouldn't feel the pain of living in a single parent home. But I finally realized that if we don't feel the pain of living then when will we really learn to live? Yes, my kids go without. They go without making it to every fun event, they go without joining every team, without the latest video games, and sometimes they even go a couple days without a bath or shower because I am too tired to deal with the hassle, but they never go without love. They never go to sleep without me tucking them in to bed at night with a blessing and a kiss goodnight.

I pray that where I fail them, God will pick up the slack and fill in the gaps.

Love and prayers,

Gina.

 

Giving Thanks...Still.

"All whatsoever you do in word or in work, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, giving thanks to God and the Father by him." Colosians 3:17

 

We are right in the thick of the holiday season. Commercially, it may as well of been Christmas for about a month now, but socially, it is perfectly legit to put your Christmas tree up now. After all, the turkey left-overs are in the fridge and the good China has finally been put away. As for us, we will wait at least until the first Sunday of Advent to get a tree this year. Usually, we decorate it on Gaudete Sunday, the third Sunday of Advent, but since the kids will be at their dad's this year for Christmas, I plan on enjoying it with them for as long as I can.

For now, I will linger awhile on the things that I am truly grateful for.

Yesterday, Saturday, (yes, while we were all in our pj's and the house was less than inviting) my Jehovah's Witness friend and one of her companions made a surprise 'pop-in' visit. I figured around three years ago that I would not attempt to improve my appearance when I answered the door, in hopes that I would scare them away...but it didn't work. They have been back nearly every other Saturday for the past four years. I gave her a warm hug and asked if she had a nice Thanksgiving. I said it without thinking, I knew they didn't celebrate holidays. She graciously said she had a nice day, even though they don't celebrate the holiday because they believe in being thankful every day. My temperamental nature wanted to argue: "Of course we are thankful every day, but what is wrong with uniting as a country to give thanks to God as a whole?!" but I knew it was pointless. She showed me the latest Watchtower printout, asked me a question and read me a verse from her Bible to 'prove' her point, as she always does, then we said goodbye until next time.

As she walked back to her car, I felt grateful for her. There have been times in my life where I felt my faith growing stagnant, or rather, my emotional connection to my faith weaken. However, every time she comes, our conversations eventually lead me to my Bible to reassure my faith in the one true Church. I wonder if she would continue to come here if she knew her visits only strengthened my own faith. I also wonder what the conversation will be when she comes next time to see my Christmas tree up and my Nativity scene front and center.

I apologize for the digression. This year, I am thankful for many things; a new job that I couldn't be happier with at  St. Mary's Academy, that practically mirrors my children's schedule, and allows me to be home with them when they are out of school. I am grateful for the surprising and wonderful friendships that have developed as a result of working here.

I am truly grateful for my family who continue to take care of Cecelia, the only one not in school. She is practically as 'at home' with her aunt, her grandpa, and her great-grandmother as she is at her own house!

I am thankful for God's continued guidance in my life. In 2008, when my life turned upside-down, after many temper tantrums, bouts of anger and despair, and the realization that I am not the author of my own life, as I always thought I was, I finally surrendered. I placed my life in God's hands with full confidence that He would take care of everything, and I meant EVERYTHING. My surrender to Him was almost demanding and defiant. I literally told Him, "Fine! You took it all away, You take care of me now!!" And He has...in the most amazing of ways. I am most thankful to my heavenly Father who cares for me like one who has a soft spot in his heart for animals, and seeing one in such a pitiful state of helplessness He has taken me in and snipped off the dingleberries of my life.

Of course, I am thankful for the fabulous five. In good times and bad, they make me who I am. They help me to realize my abilities and my limits, both very valuable.

My hope is that everyone can find something to be thankful for this season, that they will cherish those things and be grateful always, not just on Thanksgiving, but the whole year long.


I am also thankful for YOU!!

love and prayers,

Gina.

Thanksgiving
 

Are You Normal?

My post titled, 'Six Confessions of a Single Mother' has scored more views than any other post. In fact the second most popular post has less than 30% of the audience of my 'Confessions' post. When I discovered this last night, I wondered what about that post draws the most readers, and why would I want to read that post more than any of the others?

I thought of two possible reasons. One, people love gossip, and a 'confession' is a good place to find some. Or two, people are looking to see if some of the things they feel guilty for are included, which would justify in their own mind, that they are at least as normal as me (no comment). Truth be told, I am as nosy as anyone else, and I too, would want to know if someone else out there is guilty of the same 'sins' as myself. After discovering what people are curious about I decided to amass a list of things I consider oddities about myself and my family, that way my loving readers can decide for themselves whether or not they are 'normal' ;) (or rather, whether or not I am).

• Saturday is our family's day to be as lazy as we want. While we try to observe Sunday as a day set aside for God and family, Saturday is a day to sleep in, do laundry in our pajamas....actually, we frequently do everything in our pajamas on this day. However, this is also the day that random people tend to spring surprise visits on us. Picture this: we are all in our pajamas and the house is a wreck because everyone is busy doing their own thing. Our house is too small to have a room that is always clean and ready for visitors, every room in our castle is lived in profusely. A knock is heard on the door. My children are brainwashed trained to be silent, no sudden movements until I decide whether we 'are home' or not. Everyone is huddled in the hallway as I check the peephole in the door. If I do decide to open the door, it is either someone we know, or because my pajamas could double as casual wear and my hairs are all pointing in acceptable directions. If I don't answer the door, we all hunker down in the hallway until they give up and drive away.
• I have to start this paragraph off with a disclaimer: boys are weird, they just are. There are several days of the week when we aren't home from the time we leave for school until long after the sun has gone down. We have one bathroom. Six people. One throne. Oftentimes nature calls all of us at the exact same time, as soon as we get home! That's a problem. In cases of urgency, I give my boys permission to make good use of the thin strip of our property located behind the garage where the tall weeds grow. Shhhhh!!!
• I have a few legs and the smudged remains (not the fat body, that's just gross!) of a spider I killed in my room....over a year ago. It's partial corpse is located on one wall near the ceiling. I seriously believe that it will scare away other spiders who don't want to share in that spider's fate....so far, it's worked :)
• I want to imitate the virtues of Jesus and Mary, but I'm afraid to pray for patience for fear one of my children will come down with ADHD; and I'm afraid to pray for humility for fear that I will grow a goiter. There I've said it. So, I've become very specific...."Please, God, help me to be patient when my child still can't spell 'necessary' no matter how many times I go over it with him, and when so-and-so commits the ultimate crime at the breakfast table and looks at so-and-so, please grant me patience then, as well." Also, "Please grant me humility to NOT say "I told you so" when one of my children falls out of her chair and bumps her elbow right after I told her not to sit on the chair that way."
• This one is really weird. Sometimes, I worry that I don't worry. Did you get that? My grandmother (whom I love with my whole heart), worries when she doesn't have something to worry about, which is the exact opposite. I worry that I never worry because I wonder if that means I don't care.  I don't think it does, so I won't worry about it.
• I sleep very well. So well, in fact, that it seems like a mere second from the time I fall asleep to the time my alarm goes off telling me to rise and shine. Most mornings I wake in the exact same position that I fell asleep in, sore and stiff. Tonight, I am going to set my alarm for the middle of the night so when I wake up and see that I still have three hours until morning, I can roll over with a smile on my face and thank God for the 'extra' sleep.

Tomorrow is All Hallows Eve, because I have stayed up too late as it is, I will be walking in a zombie-like state after I step out of bed and I will probably look and feel that way all day long....at least I won't have to dress up.

Happy Trick-or-Treating,

Gina

Scrappy Happers

An unexpected reprieve came my way this past weekend. Through the generosity of a good friend and the prompting of my sister, I was gifted with two nights at the Berachah Ministries cabin at Buck Creek, WA. for a weekend of scrapbooking in the company of friends, old and new. It almost didn't happen on account of the difficulty of finding sitters for the fabulous five, but after my brother-in-law offered to take the boys, and my other sister and a friend offered to take the girls, I was good to go.

My limited supplies and pictures were already packed from the last night of scrapbooking at Ben Franklin several months ago. Truth be told, I probably would never get any work on my books done anymore if it weren't for my sister. In days past, I was an avid scrapbooker and have Samuel and Hunter's baby books complete to their first year, in addition to multiple family albums. Benjamin's book is about half-way complete, Isabelle's book had a few pages that I did while at Ben Franklin's, and poor Cecelia's book is completely absent of pictures. Period.

The girls are getting to an age where they'd love to pour over the concrete memories of their babyhood, and seeing the look on their faces when I tell them I haven't started their books yet is enough to prompt me into action. The time came after school on Friday for the kids to leave with their weekend caregivers and for me to take off.

It would take and hour to get there, but I welcomed the solitude. Stopping at a drive-up espresso shop, I ordered a pumpkin chai latte. Coffee in hand, I cranked up a Gaelic Storm song and sang along as the sky darkened with the inevitable sinking of the hidden sun. Humility aside, I am an amazingly good singer when (and only when) I am by myself and the music is really loud. 

The cabin was located at Buck Creek, the same place where we camped this summer. However, a little further up the dirt road, were several hidden buildings that I had never seen before. It was dark by the time I arrived and the rain was coming down in a fury. The ground looked as though it were boiling the water that had just fallen from the sky. I parked near other cars and sat in the van for a few minutes. There was nobody in site and I wasn't exactly sure where to go. In fact, I wasn't exactly sure I wanted to get out of the warmth and shelter of my van. After coming to terms with the fact that I was going to get wet, I got out, left my belongings in the van, and went searching for the others.

What I found inside was a comfort to my soul. Warmth, familiar faces, and a dinner of pasta and garlic bread just about to be served. (This was perfect since it was Friday and, as Catholics, Tina and I wouldn't be eating meat) The atmosphere was upbeat and exciting. Everyone was happy to be away from the doldrums of daily affairs; no dishes, no cooking, no attending to the needs of others. For once there were others, attending to our needs. It was refreshing.

After dinner, I unpacked my van, assisted by my sister and an incredibly caring and generous friend (one of the women who made it possible for me to attend the weekend, free of charge), we carried my suitcase and bedding into the lodge that seven of us would be sharing for the next couple of days. Then they helped me get my scrapbooking supplies into the main building. The scrapbooking room was unlike anything I had ever seen before. A large room with floor-to-ceiling windows facing the forest, was crowded with numerous tables where papers, scissors, ribbons, stickers, letter and shape cutting machines, laptops and printers, and all sorts of tools I had never used before were spread out among treasured pictures, with the intention of capturing memories in a glorified format.

I felt welcomed by all, and was excited to greet old friend and meet new ones. My sister already had a table prepared for me directly across from her and right next to the fire place. Unloading my supplies, I got to work. It was about 7 pm. Around 2 am, we called it a night.

Morning came early, but with a hot breakfast being served at 8:30 we were enticed to get up and get ready. The only problem was we had one bathroom to share with seven women. I'll just say...it was a hat day for me.....

The highlight of the day for me was when we took a break from scrapbooking and walked down to a nearby field to go zip-lining. This has been on my bucket list since I first heard about it! Yes, it was still raining, but with this opportunity getting soaked wasn't an issue... hair dries, and clothes can be changed. We harnessed up, and put on our helmets. It was cold and wet but nobody seemed to mind. Without hesitation, I climbed the stairs that had been carved out of the hillside. On top of the hill was a pole, it looked much like the telephone poles near our house except it had spikes sticking out on both sides. We had to use these to get up the pole to the platform that we would be jumping off. So far, no fear.

Up the pole, I went. It was wet, muddy from the climbers before me, but still no fear. I stood on the platform on top of the pole and my heart began racing. I wasn't sure if it was from the climb or from adrenaline setting in. I came to realize it was adrenaline, mixed with something just short of uncertainty. Uncertainty over whether or not I could make the leap of faith. When you jumped, it was in a downward direction something similar to free falling until the wire caught your weight and carried you off. I've gone skydiving twice before, but both times it was tandem with the instructor. I didn't have a moment to think whether or not to jump, it was; One...Two...Three...and we were out of the plane falling with nothing connecting us to the earth.

With this, it had to be my decision. I even asked the man who was on the platform with me if he would push me, but I guess that is against regulations. It was up to me to make the jump.  My own stubborn temperament and the thought, "If that lady can do it, so can I" was, in the end, what got me off of the platform. Once I took the leap of faith, and I realized that I was flying without the fear of dying, I thoroughly enjoyed speeding through the air as the rain poured down. I let go of the rope with my hands and leaned back actually pretending I was a character from Peter Pan who, with the help of Pixy Dust and Happy Thoughts, was able to fly....who says kids get all the the fun?!

Something about flying in the rain absolutely wore me out. When we got back to the scrapbooking hall, I could barely keep my eyes open. Trying to make a page that was worthwhile was fruitless as I kept zoning out and finally I realized my creative juices were all dried up. I decided to go back to my bed and take a nap.....oh wonderful sleep! My sister, Tina, followed me and we slept for a good hour. Refreshed and rejuvenated, we headed back to the other building for another night of scrapbooking.

Friday, at school, I was having a difficult time with Isabelle. Being her mother and teacher has proven to be trying, both for her and I. While we both love it, we both also find it difficult to separate the relationship of mother/daughter from teacher/student. By the time the end of the school-day came, I wanted to throw my hands up and shout a giant "Hallelujah! See ya Sunday!" But while scrapbooking her baby book, I looked over pictures of her past five years. They brought me back to moments of joy, tenderness, and laughter and reminded me of why I love being her mother. That is where the real worth of creating scrapbook lies, it helps you to treasure the ones you love by remembering the loving moments.

I am grateful to Maribelle who made all the arrangements for me to come, to my sister for prompting me to complete my children's baby books, to Trina for the fleece shirts she brought for each of us, to those who volunteered to take care of my children, and to the crew of Berachah Ministries who made it all special.

Happy Days to all from the Scrappy Happer:

Gina.

On a completely unrelated side note: this creepy, nasty giant was in a pan I pulled out of my cupboard as I was going to start dinner. I just about died....really. Luckily, Samuel has come into manhood and saved the day without a blink of the eye. (he sure doesn't take after his dad in this regards...oops, did I just type that?)