Pump the brakes.

"I'm mom-ed out."

"I understand. What can I do?" (Seriously, my husband is a saint.)

"I don't know. Nothing! Nothing really. Nothing is going to help."

"Okay, I'll take the girls downstairs and make lunch." (SAINT, Y'ALL.)

And there I sat, alone, pouting, and feeling uneasy. Uneasy because I immediately felt that nudge.

Hey, ya know...

Nope. I know nothing. It's the kids, it's not me. E is really clingy, and the bigs are just....

but...

NOPE.

...

...

...okay, I guess maybe they really aren't doing anything. And E is the same little E she is every day. I am tired from making sure the big tree in the back yard didn't fall on the house through the storm (because I have superpowers, obviously), I am missing home on this holiday, and I am just in a mood. OKAY FINE, I'm a cranky mess who is behaving like a brat towards the people I love the most. Now what?

Now I fix it, that's what.

I come downstairs, I ease up. I "pump the brakes," as we say a lot here. We go to the beach, I play in the sand and the water with all three of my amazing kids. Jo on my back, we alternate between jumping the waves and diving under them. E grabs my hand and takes me for a walk to the dunes. She lays flat in the sand and tells me, "I crazy." Branden and I have a heart-to-heart with Bay about the middle school years while he buries his entire arm and the water crashes on our feet. I look at these beautiful blessings and can't remember what was so wrong two hours ago.

I would have missed it all if I hadn't listened to that nudging- I may have been there, but not really. My mood would have been the lens through which I saw everything, so it all would have been crummy. I know with every fiber of being that nudge is God, saving me from myself. Inviting me back into the fold when I get too far from my center, telling me to look at what I'm missing. It can be hard and humbling to admit that my attitude makes up so much of my bad days, but I need to. The sooner I admit it, the sooner I can change it. The sooner I can get back to the fleeting moment in front of me.

Will I ever feel "Mom-ed out" again? Probably. Definitely. But I pray next time I remember to check my heart as soon as I realize what's happening. After all, as 1 Corinthians 13:5 says, love is not irritable or resentful, and I love these kiddos with my whole heart.

Where did you two meet?

Something I like to do when I meet a couple for the first time is ask them how they met. Why? Because A: it's a great ice breaker, B: It's usually a fun story and a real glimpse into who are they are, and C: it almost always gets them looking all lovey at each other, which is fun. I myself love remembering why I fell for Branden, and sometimes going back to those early moments is like hitting the "refresh" button on my attitude when I need it.

So.

Christians, how did you meet Christ?

I'm going to go out on a limb and say that your answer will probably not be "Oh well, ya know, I was arguing with a Christian one day, and their aggressive insistence that my life did not line up with their long list of rules backed up with a barrage of bible verses proving me wrong just made Christ sound SO enticing that I had to learn more about him!"

...no?

Don't misunderstand me, I know that my journey began with me recognizing and repenting for my own wrongs, but that's just it: MY OWN. We all know the ugly parts of ourselves, I promise we do, believers or not. But Christ to me wasn't going to be a manual on how to do life better, and when I counted on Him being that, I missed so much. I floundered. I fell. I was looking so much at the rules that I became exhausted, I gave up. Thank God for a Redeemer that comes looking for the one when He only counts 99. He used the softening my firstborn did to my heart to help me make my way back to Him, and there I learned how endless His love, how humbling His mercy, and how deep His grace and patience for me. 

We've all heard the phrase "You may be the only Christ someone ever meets." What kind of Christ are you showing people every day? Do you only bring up your beliefs when it's debate time? Or maybe just when you get some shiny new thing and you remind people that "He is so good!", reducing him to an all-powerful Daddy Warbucks that rewards your "good" behavior? Do you use bible verses to make your points, or to point our your own struggles? Are you honest about your own life, your need for grace and mercy, or do you hide behind a veil of being "good"? 

Jesus didn't die for more rules. He didn't. He died for people: broken, beautiful, imperfectly human, messy, people. To not present that as Christ first and foremost, I believe, is to do a disservice to the excruciating price He paid for us. The cross was not a post to which we pin our self-help lists. Does sanctification happen? All the time, more than is comfortable on occasion. Do we need to encourage one another and build other believers up, as Paul wrote to the church? Absolutely. The older I get, the more I see that God's laws are much like parents' rules: they are for my protection, not just rules for the sake of rules. But I do not believe that when we see someone hurting, someone desperate for something more, that we lead with laws. God's love should always come first, like a healing balm over wounds, applied gently and as many times as necessary until that wound is healed. 

Church, we have to stop living like God didn't meet us in a broken place- He did. We cannot forget the grace we've been given in our darkest, ugliest moments, and we cannot, cannot, keep it to ourselves. 

Remember where you met Him. 

To my girls: You don't need a man.

You two. Little princesses. Oh my gosh, how your daddy and I adore you.  This is exactly why I want you to know something:

You don't have to wait for a prince to start your adventure. I know you both. I know you down to your core, and I know that core has fire. I felt the fight in both of you even from the womb. So I say: Slay your own dragons! Find out who you are, walk your walk with God; feel that love. Let it cast away all fear. Live boldly, leap without looking, come out a little scuffed up. LIVE!

You do not need a prince, a man, a guy to have joy, peace, satisfaction; to realize all of your beauty, to embrace your flaws and grow your goodness. You really, really do not. I better not ever hear either one of you say any different, or you will get a long lecture from one fired up mommy.

BUT.

BUT.

Listen to me: this part is as important as the first. Sweet and wild and wonderful princesses, if you do find one you really like, and maybe even love, and maybe even join into a covenant with (I just died a little writing that)....then take all that fierceness and fire, and you love him with it. Use your fight to fight for those days when things feel as though it all may fall apart. Be sure of your beauty; I'm sure he will be, too. If he isn't...see above. Be transparent and make sure he is someone that accepts those flaws like I hope you've learned to- we all have them, but it's important to find someone who's okay with yours. Within reason and safety, be okay with his, too. Encourage one another's goodness and watch how it grows.  Be strong enough to compromise: to give and take. Be brave enough to love selflessly. Make sure you let each other know how thankful you are to get to go on this adventure together.

Not because you have to. Not because you need to. But because at some point, you decided to.

Girls, you do not, and never will, need a man. You've got God, you've got you, you've got us.

But, if you choose to to have one in your life, love him with all you have.

The Letter C.

Some people may not appreciate me writing this, but I want to as much as you can want something without needing it.  This is my elephant in the room: the talking elephant that calls me a liar anytime I try to write about anything else without acknowledging it.  And I'm tired of choosing between that nagging feeling of deception and not writing a thing, so...

Here we go.

C,
     You may not know this, but I've always been your second mom- in my own mind. It happened the day you were born and  everyone was concerned about me being jealous. But that was all nonsense, because you cannot be jealous of something that is yours, and you were mine. I spent the next few years just like everyone else, trying to keep you from killing yourself with your crazy daredevil antics- I could write a book on those alone. And then there were the times I wanted to kill you myself...

And then there were the times I wanted to kill someone or something else for trying to hurt you.

And at 28 that is where I stand again. I hate this thing that seems to want nothing but to consume you and destroy you. I want nothing more than to pull you from it, it from you. But I cannot, and it's torture. I've never felt so helpless in my life, C. It's terrifying. I may not show it like everyone else, but I worry about you all the time.

And then I think of how you must feel, and I  could cry for days. Even when you don't seem sorry, even when you seem so angry, it must be so hard, and it must hurt so much when it's not numb. In a way, I understand the desperation to rush back to numb.

But I miss you so much. And I want you to be four again so I can physically keep you away from dangerous things, but I also want to find a way to keep my hands by my side and watch you face this down.

But only if you can promise me you will be okay.

Because we all live in fear of that.

I don't know what else to say other than I see you start fresh with the kind of earnestness that is making tears well up in my eyes. I hope you keep believing in yourself like I believe in you. I hope you know you are capable of overcoming, because I know you are. I hope you know every difficult emotion or conversation or even moments of total anger have all come from a place of fear of losing something too precious to even really speak of: you. I love you and I cannot wait for the day when I see all your light restored to your eyes. Until then, I'm praying all the time.

See you soon.

Those military wives.

Google "Military wives are...." and the first thing that comes up is "annoying."

I hate that, I really do, because it just hasn't been my experience. I am outgoing, probably to the point of being overbearing at times, but I admit that coming to Maryland for our first actual station (at 27, no less)  was terrifying. I was scared to death of these women with all the stereotypes hanging over them and the rank wearing and the gossip and catfights and backstabbing and judging. Scared to the point that I was slightly taken aback when, on our first day coming to homeschool group, I was invited to have lunch with two moms and their kids. There was no gossip, no cattiness. I let myself be a little relieved that day. Every experience from then on I left feeling more than welcome. I connected with at least one fellow wife per "scary" outing. I have met kindred spirits, total opposites, ladies who make me laugh so hard and ladies who make me want to cry with them about the ordeals they've been through. It's been three months, and I can say with complete honesty that I feel as though I've known some of these girls much, much longer. If you by chance read this: thanks for taking me into the fold, it has meant more than you know.

If my love can't be entered as evidence of the character of this group, here's something a little more solid: this week, our base housing was dealt a blow by way of a house fire. It's a disturbing thing to hear sirens on base, because this is a small town folded in half- if you don't know the person for the whom the siren wails, it's certain that you know someone who knows them.

Five families displaced, over a dozen people affected, and before all the details were even out, people were helping. Donating, asking, purchasing, rallying to help in any way they could. I have never seen anything like it, and these wonderful women shrug it off like it's nothing. Well, it's something. It's beautiful to see, and I will always be grateful to know such a community exists. There is of course a tie that binds here, the military "family," but you have to make the choice to be bound. You have to be open to it. Thanks for being so open, ladies, thanks for teaching me. Google is so wrong about you.

My homeschooling truth.

Here is MY homeschooling truth. Mine- it may not be anyone else's. But I suspect it could be. So here's the deal:

Homeschooling is hard.

Oh my goodness, it got said, and the earth didn't split open? Better not say it again, just in case.

But seriously, why is this taboo? Perhaps I was asking the wrong questions when I talked to homeschooling families. Did I say things in a way that implied I thought the day to day curriculum would be the tedious part? Was that why I was guided to lesson plans as assurance I'd be fine? I'm not sure, but in hindsight I feel like it was meant to be a secret. I just don't see why- something can be hard and still completely worth it. Completely. The torture of getting through that first day of long division was quickly replaced by the high of watching it click, the way Bug then took pride in solving those problems- something akin to letting go of the bike for the first time and watching them go. Telling me how hard it can be wouldn't have deterred me. In fact, the not knowing, the feeling like I was the only one- it was very discouraging. Those first couple of weeks were hard, and I doubted myself a lot. I'm thankful my aunt gave me gentle nudges as she went through it again for the first time in almost a decade, and that my therapist friend kept cheering me on, wanting me to succeed (perhaps as her guinea pig), and that Squid was endlessly patient with my back and forth, playing a very handsome Switzerland. If not for them, I think I may have quit after those first two weeks out of fear I wasn't doing what was best for Bug. Even after all my big talk, my social network declarations against the system, I was scared. The fear that I wasn't doing enough for him, being enough, teaching enough was heavy. I never wanted to stop for my sake. The days I wanted to stop were the days I felt like I was short-changing my child. I was too green to feel confident in anything other than the lessons plans, and he was burning through my carefully charted curriculum so fast I didn't quite know what to do with him. I woke up in the mornings with my stomach in knots about it. I went as far as to call the school he was zoned for. I just wanted. what. was. best. And I did not know what that was.

I'd like to tell you that I now have it all figured out, but I'd be lying. God's grace, time, and a tiny bit of experience now have me in a much more confident place- I do not ask myself anymore if I'm doing the best thing. I am certain that we are doing what's right for Bug in these circumstances. Next year is up in the air- as I said, I just want to give them their best shot, and I'm not too proud to say if that isn't me. But...maybe I also need to be confident enough to say when it is. I'm so sorry that this doesn't wrap up nicely, and I'm sorry if it leaves anyone unsure- that would never be my intention. In fact, I'm hoping that if you happen to be reading this and happen to be homeschooling and happen to have a day where you're tempted to just hide under your comforter and call "in-service", that you may remember someone else has felt that way and survived to teach another day. Here's what I can say: I can say there's not been a second of this school year that hasn't been completely worth it; I can say it is a beautiful thing to behold your child learning in a way that maybe you'd miss if he were in school for eight hours a day; I can say even a quick trip to the commissary can become a lesson, which to me and Bug is just plain fun because we're nerdy like that; I can say he is excelling, and I can say I've been humbled, which I hear is good for you. Oh, and I can also say that I think the teacher should get a Starbucks card for Christmas.

Welcome To Florida

I realize this is coming two months after our arrival, but now is a good time for me to remember, since we got our orders not so long ago, that the chaos does die down, you settle in, and life becomes whatever your new normal will be.

We moved in the middle of Tropical Storm Lee, on Labor Day weekend.

Gorgeous, no?

I would not say we were LIED to about what floor our apartment was on, but perhaps I would say that we were "mislead"- what was made to sound like a few steps maybe up to a porch ended up being an entire level up, over twice the amount of steps we were told about. That is the cost of moving blindly. All in all I love our apartment very much, but I hated it for my father in law and my grandfather, and Squid. Lots of steps, awful winds and tons of rain, and yet everyone was in a pretty great mood. When we first arrived, I left the kiddos with everyone to go "get Squid real quick".

Ha. Right. 

Here's the thing: when your husband has been isolated not just to a military base, but a specific section of that military base save for two or three bus trips out, he is not the person to give you directions to navigate that base. Things he may find distinctive are in fact at every intersection. His base is not a small one. I was almost in tears by the time I finally found him, almost an hour later, only to get lost going back as well. My trusty GPS constantly asserted that the road I was driving on did not exist. Not the best  start! It took little to no time to sort the base out- maybe a week of coming back and forth, but to all who go after me: get a map, get directions from someone who has seen more than 1/5 of the place. You won't regret it. And don't blame your sailor, he honestly doesn't know any better. Try to remember that also when he points you down a road that leads to officer housing and then says over and over "We're not supposed to be over here." Oh my.

We did eventually find our way back, spent the next couple of days getting unpacked and spending time with our families that were so kind to come help us, said our goodbyes to them on Labor Day, and got into the business of truly settling in. The wonderful thing was, it happened really quickly. Once Squid's "Brown Bagger" status- his permission to live at our home and not at the barracks- came through, everything was pretty well as it should be. We spent every single weekend at the beautiful beaches until the water was just too cold to dip a toe in. We saw every kind of animal Bug could dream of, and even had an unfortunate encounter with what his doctor believed to be a man o'war- that part was more of a nightmare...

 All in all though, we've loved our time down here. It's been nice and calm- the opposite of what I imagine our permanent station is going to be- we are heading to the DC area. We are so excited, and I'm ready to embrace whatever comes next. I can always feel secure, wherever we are heading, because after our stint in Florida, I know one thing for sure: home is always- ALWAYS- going to be wherever the four of us are, together.