Reminders why we left.

 Gretty got up this morning with some spunk and we put pigtails in her hair for the first time this year. You will not get pigtails into her hair, ever, by way of coaxing, but on a morning she decides it is a pigtail day, then it is big energy.

Speaking of energy, I attended FC's basketball practice night last night because Joe was sick and couldn't be there. (I think we are definitely pushing thru the so-called "Delta variant". Looking back, it's probably what had me down a couple weeks ago. Joe has sore legs and major congestion, I was mostly a huge, lethargic grouch.) 
Well, turns out I have lots of pent-up enthusiasm for second grade boy basketball. How fun! How novel, to be with other people, in a gym, together, while our kids play ball?!
I realize this might sound crazy that I love it so much, but I'm coming hot off Colorado where high schoolers were required to wear masks while they played basketball, volleyball, and every indoor sport.  Insanity. I can truly say they were losing their minds out there. And yet...I have an aunt who vacationed out there in Durango this past week and she posted photos, and I am completely heartbroken at the same time that I don't live there anymore. It was incredibly beautiful, an enviable life. Many wonderful friends.
So it's hard to explain why we left Colorado in those instances. I need to temper my answers (to PTO ladies and school board members, who are the only school people I've met, for the most part--so far, anyway). I need to bring up the point that kids were being masked while they had to sprint up and down the court. Madness.
No one was pursuing health--it was completely about exuding control over people. Who has ever healthily sucked fabric in against their teeth, each breath, heart racing, lungs burning? Whoever has forced it on a child?

Plus I get to see Grandma Terri and PopPop whenever I want out here. And my sister's baby, who is my favorite thing in the world. And Jube and Lu play music. And my barn is looking slightly more promising when it comes to future barn dances and jams. We have a peaceable life compared to the stress we were feeling in Colorado.

FC is crazy over this new basketball team. I realize he's never been on a team before, and so he's the most eager, earnest little dribbler. He has almost zero coordination, his arms and legs flailing like spaghetti, his head bobbing around. I mean, he's always been the heaviest-footed kid we have, bumbling around the house, tripping onto and into everything. "Slow down!" is our common refrain. It's comical to watch him, because he wants so much and tries so hard, but nothing is natural to him. So we are practicing in the evenings. Body control, hand-eye coordination. He's the kid that if you ask him to hop on one foot he can do it maybe once before he topples over.
But he also really wants to be the best teammate ever, so he holds his hand out to high-five everyone which is 100% ignored 100% of the time. Forever the optimist.
He is also a kid that is easily crushed so I'm crossing my fingers this season is a real team-building experience.
He's told me he gets teased at school for sneezing so much. I don't think it is mean teasing, but he is utterly aware of how people are feeling and how people make him feel. He also really is a faucet, so I'm hoping when we go for a checkup at the doctor they refer us to an allergist so he can rely on something a little stronger than Claritin.

love languages

 The weather is turning magic. I cannot believe I am back in my home state, living through my favorite fall season. I love how there's a very slight chill in the mornings and by the time the kids get off the bus it is summery again. Yesterday a rain cloud rolled in right at six o'clock and the sky went dark. This is what I really missed--a good, soaking rain. It gives me superpowers. I pulled out my chicken thighs with renewed inspiration and stuffed them with spinach and feta and rolled them in crushed Ritz crackers. Then I made some tomato sauce from my garden tomatoes. Then I regretted all the dirty dishes.
Why? Why do I make more dishes because of rain? I have no idea. Something about rain makes me busy inside. I think I could get anything done with a thunderstorm to keep me company.
Kids came home with a cruddy cold and passed it to me this week, so I kept them home the last couple days and we were puny together. I always feel like a terrible mom when I'm sick, super short-tempered with everybody.  Everyone looked great this morning, so I sent them off to school and came back home and rested. It was glorious to just lay in bed and feel bad by myself. Ha!

Over the weekend I took J and L to a Patriot parade (9/11) while the littles stayed home with Daddy and snotty noses. We ended up checking out a little boardgame cafe while we were out and about. Can I just reemphasize how I hate learning new board games? I have a very specific aversion to reading the rules. Jubal sort of loves it. So I sat there and let him try to teach us how to play some weird Disney game where the bad guys are the heroes and each player has their own individual playing board. We wasted a good hour and a half (my parking meter steadily running out of money) but I kept telling myself it's J and L's love language. I can't get over how much they love trying to learn a new board game (even if they end up playing it totally wrong). 

Later we were talking about love languages and Joe was sincerely trying to explain it to the boys. I know it shouldn't, but it made me roll my eyes. First of all, he's trying to explain how people feel loved to little boys who don't care, but secondly, I signed off that love language thing a long time ago when I realized in life it is very possible one might have to just take what they can get when it comes to feeling loved. How miserable could a person get if they kept waiting for someone to speak their love language? How sad if we kept longing for something to fulfill us simply because we've taken a personality test and continually judge how we are loved with a weird measuring stick? How awful to not be satisfied.
I think this is why I eventually tired of the enneagram thing, too. It's helpful to a point, but it never gets to the heart of things, only skirts the surface and treats the superficial emotions. I like those blanket verses, like "in humility, consider others better than yourselves" and "be content with what you have, for God has said 'never will I leave you nor forsake you'". 
The Golden Rule and all that. It really is wise, much wiser and simpler to live this way than constantly evaluating my feelings. I know my boys love board games, therefore I give them opportunities to play, because if I were in their shoes, that would make me feel loved. (Or maybe I'm just spoiling them and calling it love. Oops.)

Anyway, Joe noticed my mild derision. This always makes me think it is a thing worth writing about. Why (except for being the daughter of Roger) do I roll my eyes? I can't always explain why I think things need to be written down, but it helps me to consider things thoughtfully. I don't mean to scoff at what Joe or anyone else might think is valuable (love languages or anything else)--after all, this is what my dad always did, my whole life. He basically had a very out-of-the-box opinion on everything, and it seemed to me like he mocked the whole world, calling out their stupidity. Oftentimes he was very correct in the points he made, but he was really too harsh. He did not cushion his words with love. There is a place for Gary Chapman and his love languages, just like there's a place for Dr. Dobson and parenting, Beth Moore and Baptists, Enneagram and Ian Crohn. These are all people with valid life experience and a unique worldview.

Whew, that took a turn. Joe asked me what my love language was, and I was like, "I think it might be being left alone." (Acts of service?? Definitely not words of affirmation. Thunderstorms and being quiet.) Whereas I'm pretty sure his is physical touch. 
Which might be exactly why I've reasoned my way into blowing off love languages. LOL. Neither one of us has much to offer the other. Love truly is the opposite of selfishness, because we have to definitely deny ourselves in a major way to love one another well on a daily basis.

Okay, now I'm letting kids watch Clifford in the dark because there's about a half hour before bedtime. I'm back in the public school swing of things, and screen time is a viable downtime option. 

Life Changes!

 Wow, it really is incredible how much things keep changing for us here at Honey Creek. I can't believe Gretty has begun KINDERGARTEN, what.
So I've sent my baby out into the world and she's doing great. Except for the day she embarrassed Luke and called him "stupid" on the playground. And then again on the bus. And she also threw his glasses off his face. Wooh, boy. We had to have a talkin' to after that one. (I imagine all the attention was on her and she was embarrassed enough to make a fool out of the situation. Maybe I've been there, done that. It feels familiar in my memories, anyway--embarrassment that skyrockets into stupidity.)
The kids were so excited to start, and I was so excited to send them. Zero tears, people, zero. I've been jogging at the track behind the school as soon as I drop them off in the morning. It feels amazing. This last year and a half I was definitely losing some healthy habits simply because I was at the end of my rope. We are wrapping up 12 years of straight up stay at home mom business, and I honestly don't know how women multitask that sort of job. I basically can do nothing but mom and sort of cleaning stuff (but not even that really). I think I have a mindset of if my children are in the vicinity I must be a really good mom. Like, read to littles. Play music with them. Listen to them one-on-one. Perch them on the counter as I bake cookies. Tell stories. Color. Draw. Give out chores. Supervise chores. Limit screen time (I'm realizing I'm the queen of limited screen time).
I think it has made them smart and well-adjusted, but it's also really exhausting. 
So I kind of thought I would relax a little when they went to school, but guess what?! Joe works from home now! Ha, ha, ha. He doesn't get up in the mornings and make coffee and then leave before I've rolled out of bed. Nope. I get up and make coffee and wake up kids and he supervises. The whole day is completely different than I'd ever imagined it being when I eventually sent all the kids off to school.
It's very weird, because now I feel like there are eyes on me and I ought to be even more productive than ever. He promises me he's not on my case, but when he takes a break from his computer/phone duties, he inevitably comes down to check out what I'm up to, which is not something I love. 
He's been with me most of the time when I drop kids off at school, and he'll walk the track while I jog. This is ok, and I do think exercise is a must for the work from home sort of folk. But what if I want to run longer? What if I want to run a whole hour or do sprints or stretch or run hills? See, I can't have a Joe tagging along all the time. He hates that sort of dragging-it-out exercise.
He's been a boss at work so long and now he's home and it's just me and I feel a little bossed. That is all.

So. Back to school. We have Covid situations popping up in classrooms. Of course we have no idea what this entails here at our little country school. In Denver schools, it was a huge deal. As in, I was getting many an email from the district there (mind you, I was homeschooling at the time) that was a very strong you-better-not-be-running-around-outside-of-school-and-then-bringing-your-germs-here sort of deal. Everyone was already masked, all the time. High schoolers didn't even make it into in-seat schooling till the last eight weeks of school, and only four days of the week when they did start. If you were even in close contact, you were sent straight home to quarantine.
Here, I got a text that said my child was in close contact. Gretty came home and when she hopped off the bus she pulled a mask out of her backpack. She said the teacher (actually the sub, since her normal teacher is on day 8 of her own quarantine since her daughter tested positive) said they all needed to walk down to the nurse's office and the nurse passed masks out to everyone and also put a buzzy thing in each kid's ear (thermometer?). They have to wear masks for the next couple weeks. 
Good luck, I say! I can barely get a mask to stay on that chica, her forward-facing ears refuse to pin back the straps.

I'm bummed for the kids, because they are all so ready and excited about school, and every sniffly nose (and Foy has a million sniffles all the time) raises a red flag.

Speaking of FC, he has begin basketball. His arms and legs are jumbles of energy, none in harmony with the others, but his energy and ambition is commendable, so basketball it is, of the second grade variety. Thursday nights. None of the others have any extracurriculars as of yet, and I am glad. I am overwhelmed by the thought of committing more time outside of school...I do realize this is public school--how did my mom do it? She let us participate in everything we wanted. I can barely remember it's picture day tomorrow and to send the sixth grader's solar oven. I'm really depending on Joe to pull through with some amazing dad skills, but this is another odd quirk of our family: he is the homeschooled dad still learning what public school is all about. Hence, he doesn't grasp the idea of me going to a PTO meeting just for the sake of feeling out the school and the people. He's thinking we will run around the farm and shoot guns for fun, not go to basketball practice every Thursday.

Jubal has a trombone and has joined band class. I asked him what he thought of sixth grade and he said it wasn't hard, but it is long, and it tests his endurance ("a good thing, since I'm going to have to get a real job someday and I'll need it," he reassures). 

Luke is blazing through all the books fourth grade has to offer and asking to switch desks so he doesn't have to "listen to so-and-so talk while I try to get my work done." He's begging me to take a cold lunch, but his cold hearted mother will not hear of it, since school lunch is completely free this year and he needs to work on being less picky. Good thing, chicken patty Wednesdays are delicious (he was pleasantly surprised) and the BBQ sandwich, though drenched in sauce, can be salvaged with some napkins.

They are learning plenty, I think. Jubal is reading Huckleberry Finn and thumping the upright bass in the evenings. Very little homework, which isn't a bad thing at all. I don't know where academia ranks here in the middle of nowhere, but I'm confident my kids are going to be okay, and it's mostly because they are growing up, doing normal kid things.

I went to a sort of swanky meetup last Thursday. I'd come across a local magazine (I think it was being sent to me courtesy of the city, since I'm a new resident) and there was an advertisement for a party to celebrate the latest issue (September/October). I took FC and my mom and (very bravely) struck up conversation with the editor and publishers of the magazine. Well, I'm trying to write a few articles for them. So it feels very new and exciting but still too soon to know if I have a real thing going or if I'm fooling myself. In the meanwhile, I have a huge barn sorting project (I've already cleaned much of the garage) and unpacking remnants from our move. Everything is wonderful and busy and I am crossing my fingers that the virus doesn't force me to homeschool again. 

Married!

 My baby brother got married today!

I'd say I can't believe it, but I actually can. The rest of us siblings took a hot minute to get married. Basically we got married before we knew what happened...But Hugh took his sweet time. He probably could've gotten married a couple years ago but he and his new wifey waited till they were done with school. What smarties! Ha. They seem like they know what they want in life. They are patient and driven, in all the best ways. I think in my twenty-twos I was deciding on a third career of becoming a personal trainer. Boy has that ship sailed!
The ceremony was in St. Louis. I can't believe I'm at a point in my life where I have four kids that can go somewhere with very little car crying or eating or fussing in general. They even kept their shirts clean. A modern miracle.
Luke was a little squirrely but I probably shouldn't have brought my fancy camera and then let him play photographer. It turned annoying fast. He also stole my cute little white fedora and disappeared right when the real photographer asked for "all the nephews and nieces" to pose with the new couple. Ugh!
Still, at the end of the day he sighed a very satisfied sigh and said, "Finally! I've gotten to see someone get married."
(I reminded him he has been to a couple other weddings in his life, but he shrugged--like they weren't the ones that mattered.)

Foy grabbed my arm in the middle of the ceremony and whispered, "Aren't you just so embarrassed?!" 
"No," I whispered back, "why should I be?"
"Your BROTHER is GETTING MARRIED!" he hissed.

But it feels significant that we can handle weddings. And not to brag (because that's how folks maybe end up with surprise late in life babies) but I was actually able to sit down and talk to adults while Jordan's wife chased their two year old and Beth chased her one-year old. I tried not to feel smug when she told me how poorly she slept with the baby in their VRBO last night. I'm not gloating, I just know 100 percent how miserable it can be (she's also pregnant) and yet...I made it! Muahaha!

Anyway, the whole thing happened at kind of a weird little venue. It was just off the highway and we all sat outside a "lodge" in these white chairs. The highway noise was so loud we couldn't hear the preacher (It was Dad. He had to fill in last minute because the original guy got covid) and we were sitting on concrete in the full sun. Then we passed back in and thru the "lodge"--quotes needed because it was less than impressive (me, coming from Colorado, land of swanky lodges)--the ladies' bathroom was decorated with purses nailed to the wall (purses sewn from jean pants, purses that looked liked animals, ect. Nothing like a purse-themed bathroom to settle the wedding nerves)--and we walked a long parking walk to the eating part of the venue. There was a shuttle bus, but we like to make little five year old girls tottle around in heels. The parking lot was also shared with Saturday bicyclers of the joy-riding and also serious-athlete variety.
So then we ate little bruschettas and fruit and waited for...well, who knows what. We waited while the wedding party sat out in the waiting room. Then eventually they came in, cut the cake, and did some toasting. Hugh's was the first open bar wedding in Keene history. He probably didn't even know it was going to happen, so little did he care about the ins and outs of the wedding details. We had a boring but good meal served directly off of Sternos, boring because it was steamed herbed potatoes and green beans and sliced turkey, but good because my kids ate it and it was free. The perfect combination! Then we snuck over to the cake table and tried to taste all three layers. Fortunately we were sitting very close to the table and it wasn't well protected.

I'm so glad it is over for him, and that he got to have a wedding, because this whole covid situation continues. I don't know if it'll ever get back to a real normal, but this wedding felt suuuper normal. Almost everyone was there, and it was great. (My favorite aunt Karen was not there, though, so I sent her pictures and video clips so she wouldn't miss out.)

Last Saturday was our anniversary date (17!) so maybe I'll be able to remember Hugh's. Probably not, though. August wedding anniversaries are asking a lot to be remembered. Seventeen! I can't believe it.

I would also like to drop in a note here that Gretel is indeed scheduled for kindergarten. We dragged her, kicking and screaming to get her shots. She didn't kick and scream till after the shots appeared because I did my due diligence and invited Grandma Terri to come to the health department with us. God bless her! After we dragged out our limp Gretty Kay and our braver Jubal, we treated ourselves to ice cream. 
Gretel has had some thoughtful things to say about kindergarten shots, but over all I think she is pleased the experience is over and there's nothing holding her back from school anymore. We did her kindergarten screening last week and they said she was ready. 
Jubal and Gma Terri and I drove down to Willow Springs for a gig he had with his little bluegrass group from camp this summer--Fresh Cut Bluegrass. The nice lady who coached them at camp invited the group to her hometown where she runs a little monthly theatre bluegrass show. And she even paid the kids real money. Twenty bucks! Jubal is over the moon with this gigging business (I should've reminded him it only scratched the surface when it comes to paying for a hotel room, but I'm not mean) and he's ready to make more money. So let me know if you're looking for a guitar picker to hire. 

 I think the curse of the first born must be that your parents re-live childhood first again through you. 
It's not necessarily a curse to the first born, but to the kids who follow and aren't as closely watched. At least, that's what I'm thinking. When Jubal rode the bus as a kindergartner, I fretted every morning that he was probably upset because I'd yelled at him to eat his oatmeal faster. Or that he was lonely. Or being taught nasty things by older kids. But last week I called the bus coordinator out here and signed up all four of my kids, sight unseen. (Time will still tell if GK even goes to kinder, but I think she'd do great on a bus.) I really cared when Jubal got into the latter half of Harry Potter. Was it too soon, too mature? With Luke I'm like, have at it! 

Jubal is turning out fine, I might say (pre-sixth grade). Ha. Sixth thru eighth grade scares the baloney out of me but I try not to let anyone notice. I hate how everyone has cell phones and is on tik tok losing their minds and wasting hours of time.
I can waste an hour or two (easy) on random internet places, just researching junk. So can my kids. I hate that we're feeding an addiction by handing them a cell phone. I've held out for a long while and now I'm hoping I can do it a bit longer. Jubal and Luke basically have no self-control when it comes to browsing the internet (neither do I, which is why I keep it out of hand).
But, sixth grade. Pray.

We are so happy and bug-bitten here at Honey Creek. I don't even know where to catch up to date. We did the local Lutheran church VBS and it was such an interesting experience. Obviously we've been out of the rural MO culture for longer than we thought. Everyone here knows of us since it's big news to get new neighbors. The Lutherans here have a long two hundred year history of intermarrying (and sometimes bringing in new Catholic blood from Mary's Home, a village south of here). I discovered the men's group at the church happens to do bluegrass music, so I snooped and found they had a fundraiser for the youth group at the grocery store parking lot last Saturday. Then I surreptitiously went shopping there and spied till I got the nerve to go introduce myself. I met a guy by the last name Sommerer--which is the maiden name of the woman whose husband built this old house we are in. I asked the fellow what his mother's maiden name was, thinking it might be one I recognized from the deed records in my house...Well, his mom's maiden name was Sommerer, too.

Eesh. It was a little awkward. I need to keep my questions to myself. So, here we are, bringing even fresher, Protestant blood to Honey Creek.

We've set up the badminton court near a small patch of poison ivy just to tempt fate, I guess.  We're watching Olympics and you know how you get inspired. The boys and I are destined for greatness, we can feel it.

Jubal plays guitar, mandolin, upright bass--probably four hours out of the day. The cello sits lonely in his corner, falling more and more out of tune. 
Luke picks up his violin a couple times a week. They both have really good ears and I don't feel too guilty not having them in lessons. We can actually play together and not be too fussy because they know what they are doing. Remember when it was so dang hard to get Jubal to practice his cello because he was a little six year old punk? I was fighting the babies while I was trying to get him to sit in an actual chair instead of leaning back on the sofa. I wanted him to watch his bowings and he blew me off, trying to play each piece as fast as possible. Those were years of frustration.
When we get out the instruments, Foy wants to beat on the cajon, and we remind him that bluegrass generally doesn't use cajons and he reminds us everytime that he doesn't really like bluegrass. We've tried to set up the cello as a mini bass for him but the strings won't hold the note and it feels weird, not like a bass at all. Foy is so patient with me. He really wants to take drum lessons or piano lessons and I keep putting him off. I don't think we wasted time with starting Jubal and Luke early, but I do think we wasted a little money starting Luke with the teacher we did, and I think third grade is perfect for beginning piano. Plus, Foy is an awesome drummer. This morning I had a sore throat and Joe's out of town, so we just sang some songs here in the living room and did our own church thing. Jubal played guitar, Foy beat on the cajon, Luke did a little violin and sang with me and GK. It is perfect. 

I'm counting the days till school but then when I count I berate myself for counting down. School isn't always easy, and I forget that while it hasn't been my favorite year being home with kids round the clock, I have had it super easy. I controlled everything--the tech, the time, the routine, the interaction. I wasn't such a controller before Covid was forced upon us, and I don't do a great job of it now, but I can see how a mom gets into a loop thinking she's got everything under her thumb and, what could go wrong?! So I counter my excitement for school with dread.
Like, I really don't like selling things to earn stupid prizes at school. I don't like forking out money for school lunch. I really like avoiding annoying people. There, I said it. School is full of annoying kids, and I've spared all of us the trouble of dealing with them. Even typing that out is a good kick in the pants, because we cannot hide out any longer. The mini homeschooler inside me cringes at the waste of time that is sixth grade. The mini public schooler in me cheers.

Well, this post has been a nice warm up. I need to get a good Honey Creek and Average Pearl post in this week while Joe is gone. If those darn Olympics weren't so fun to watch!

On To Honey Creek

 My kids are still putting library books on hold, so obviously they aren't convinced we will be moving in under a week.

We're down to the last scrappy days. You know, the ones were you pack and clean and then sit at the table and drink a kombucha while staring blankly at the to-do list. Maybe it was simpler days to load up the old covered wagon with tack and vittles and make the big kids jog alongside. I am such a scattered person. Basically I stand around and get almost nothing done, then I make the kids write and sing songs with me, or I start a new creative project, or pick flowers and paint them. Or mow the yard. I really don't understand how people in life can do two things at once, like watch kids and (fill in the blank). Which explains why I am a stay at home mom, actually. The idea of having a job and being a mom is incomprehensible. There: this is my truth.

My plan is to drive a couple kids and sedated dog (please give us a few good pills, Dr. Bob) to Missouri this weekend with the random household stuff that ought not fit into a moving truck with a sectional couch and lawnmower.
I'm not looking forward to it, driving back and forth, but I think it's the only thing to do.

Joe's new job title will be something along the lines as a "nationwide purchaser" (probably got that very wrong), so we are trying to drum up some good internet out in the country. I'm trying to envision him working from home in the middle of nowhere. Like, getting up and sending kids off to school and then it's just me and him at home? Yeah, I can't even imagine it.

Gretty zooms her "motorcycle" around in the driveway and stops to hug her giant poppies and sunflowers. She has a pretend dog friend she calls Invisibee. She chats and chats with him. And sometimes she informs me her name is not Gretel, but Karen, so we play a game where I'm Ellen and she's Karen and we are introducing ourselves as new friends.
"Oh, hi, Karen! Nice to meet you. Would you like a popsicle?"
"No thanks, Ellen. Gretel likes popsicles, but I'm Karen. Karen is allergic to popsicles."

She's had a terrible cold the last week, so we've put off saying goodbye to friends until now. She's on the fence about kindergarten because she doesn't want to get a shot at the dr's office. Jubal is also due for his eleven year old booster, so I'm trying to squeeze that in before we leave.

I'm so excited to be headed back to school in the fall. Out here in Colorado, the news about vaccine for covid is making me begin to despise the leaders and people in authority. Polis, the governor, has decided he'll dole out several million dollar lotteries (5) and I don't know how many $50k scholarships (for the under 18 vaxxed crowd). I can't believe this is happening in our world. Public schools and teachers are scrounging for funding--hey, lets make kids sell cookie dough and wrapping paper door to door and we'll give them a free junky keychain!--and here is Polis with deep, deep pockets (apparently), taking our tax money and using it as a carrot to get people vaxxed.

It's not cool.

So call it conservative or whatever you want, but I'm glad to be moving to Missouri where hard work is still appreciated and no bull is taken. Go back to work, people! Leaders, quit pretending the money is yours!

Enough of dreaded politics.
Jubal is amazing me with his guitar skills--actually it is more his repertoire of guitar chords up in his head that impresses me. Yesterday we recorded an Alison Krauss song together. I'm trying to record things so we can see how much we improve. My mandolin is improving but still very beginner-ish. I wish I could've started when I was ten. I think the piano lessons were great but I was no piano player. It's like following board game rules: too many do this, don't do thats and not enough free play.

Luke is drawing a million dragons and taping the pictures to his walls. I keep reminding him we're going to have to scrape them off before we leave, but his goal is to fill the whole room.
They've been listening to Hank the Cowdog outside on the porch. When they get tired of it, they turn the sprinkler on under the trampoline and pretend they're cage fighters.
Foy is begging to take piano lessons and practice his cajon. I need to make that a priority once we get settled into Jeff City. He loves drumming along on his cajon when we jam with our instruments, but he needs some direction. 
Foy is currently the underrated brother in our household, a math whiz, sweet as can be, the best eater (and biggest eater), the kindest neighbor, the most helpful (usually). Man, whatever teacher gets him for second grade is going to be lucky (and she'll also have her hands full trying to correct his terrible penmanship). He is pretty sneezy and snotty and allergic to basically everything, so pray for him as we adjust to Missouri.

Also... drum roll. I might regret this, but I started another blog because I'm thinking it would be so fun to record our move to Honey Creek and our forthcoming shenanigans. I need to work on the logo and web design, but I honestly need to pack and clean my house more. Ugh. 
Check it out and tell me I'm crazy: www.onhoneycreek.wordpress.com

We are moving!

 I probably should read that last post I wrote before I go on ahead and write a new one, because things are moving at such an alarming rate, and I can't remember what I've said.
We drove to Missouri and bought a farm--that's the long and short of it. 
We closed on our house here in Denver and then drove out east because we had not a clue what to do or where to move. Joe has been up and down. back and forth more than me because his job is going to be up in the air over this whole shebang, and that is pretty scary, I think.
Without getting into the nitty gritty, diary-worthy details, I can vouch that the enneagram is pretty spot on when it comes to numbers and the direction one moves in stress. What I mean by that is this: I turn flighty and can't settle down and need a thousand distractions (Marvel movies) and Joe goes all 6 on me, which is to say he becomes a Debbie Downer who thinks of every potential problem and cannot be assuaged.

(I can follow a wormhole till it ends, and I try not to do that with enneagram anymore. Still, it is apparent to me we have very normal tendencies that hamstring just about all of our decisions, if we let them.)

Anyway, the house, the house! We got to Kansas City, spent the night in a hotel, then drove two days straight through the soggy hills of southern Missouri, looking for everything and stopping for nothing. I was ready to turn around and come home because Joe was the worst kind of silent. I spent lots of time in the passenger seat refreshing my realtor.com homepage on my phone. Siri took us to the middle of nowhere north of Springfield and we parked and got out at a little state park where I called my mom. I'd found a place in Centralia and told her we were just going to drive towards her house, and if she could watch the kids, pretty please?--we'd go look at the place.

Well, that place was cool, but not up Joe's alley. So we spent another day sort of sulking, and when I was about to give up (Sunday evening), I was scrolling on realtor.com and found a farm house near Mom and Dad's little cabin south of Jeff City. I thought there was no way Joe would be interested in looking at it because it's so close to relatives, and plus it's 96 years old, but it was 40 acres, and we didn't have a better plan. I called the realtor and set up an appointment for Monday morning. 
Mom met us there and it was just too good to be true. The house was completely renovated in 2004. It still has all the wacky closets in the upstairs and is completely charming, but outfitted with heating and a/c. There's a jetted tub and sweet pocket sliding doors...It's adorable and my kids can't destroy it because it's old.

Remind me I said that in about a month when I am spending 8 hours a week mowing the lawn and fighting ticks and poison ivy. I mean, remind me how I said it was too good to be true.
The night after we checked it out, I spent an hour under the covers looking at old genealogy records of the man that built the place. The farm has been in the family for four or five generations.
I was so hopeful we might buy it. I could see my next blog/book: The Stegners on Honey Creek. And then, the next morning, Joe told me he didn't think it was the right place. So then I was upset. But by noon he had changed his mind. So we made an offer. Which was pretty much accepted. And then again by supper he was pissed off because he was sure he'd lose his job because of the move. 
I'm telling you, too much drama for this girl. The thing is, we need a big change. And big changes are painful and hard, especially for us. I can't think of a single life change that wasn't massively stressful. Even having babies was definitely tainted by unmet expectations and a major lack of emotional support. I'm really looking forward to at least having my mom nearby, because she's a helpful friend to both of us when it comes to voicing our frustrations or talking out problems.
I am thinking this will be a really great move for us since we will finally have extended family for our kids. And school, and extracurriculars. 
I'm dreaming about a strawberry farm or a bluegrass venue or a barn bakery. Ahh.
I'm trying not to think about potential in-law problems, eek.

 I'm calling homeschool over, y'all! May 17th--I quit! Whoop!

I turned in the last learning log tonight, and Jubal and Luke had their violin and cello recital yesterday. In the morning, we are going in to sign the papers for our house closing. And then I think we might have a day before driving to Missouri to look at potential places to live.
So this is what has happened, and it probably sounds crazy when you compare it to the last post I made:
Joe is giving up his position as the manager. This is a big, honking deal. It comes at a great cost to him--basically, he did it for me. He gave up his managerial spot for me and the kids, and because he wants out of the city bad enough. He's still trying to figure out if he has regrets or not (say a prayer for him). Good news/bad news? They won't let him resign completely (I think a bit of a relief to him), so instead he will be working remotely, whatever that means in the future. Basically, it means to me we can move anywhere we want and settle down.
I keep trying to explain to myself and others that we are not city people--like, we really, really are not comfortable living in the city, even though it's got every convenience.

Are we mountain people, then? Maybe, because I'm as scared as heck to think about actually living in Missouri. But it's affordable. And grandmas are there. This is why I was gunning for that little ranch house on 40 acres. But maybe we are flip-flopping (as we do), trying to see all the good angles of potential homes. Joe talks a big talk about fishing and hunting and messing around on four-wheelers. (This is a vote for Missouri.) These are all things we haven't done much of, ever (not on our own property, that is), and not likely something we could afford to do in Colorado. 
But the deeper truth is, I 'm scared of bringing up Missouri as a potential place to land. I do want to be near grandmas, but I am scared of living near my in-laws. They have some major problems I don't want to be involved in. And I don't want their eyes on us, or them guilting me for raising my kids as I see fit. It makes my guts hurt to think about it, but I'm trying not to indulge in doom-dreams.

We are mountain flowers, unaccustomed to real summer or mud. Bugs, snakes, you name it. Will we adapt? As a girl growing up there, I would get hives from mosquito bites. What are we thinking?!
But we haven't even committed to Missouri, so I shouldn't be so worried. And Missouri has lots of people I love, so it will be okay if we go there, too. But I keep looking at the realtor listings in western Colorado, because I love it over there. Mountains, a little desert-y, secluded... 

These are the things I go back and forth on, because I'm a back and forth person. I lived up on that mountain for a long time and it was almost unbearable to do it on my own. But I did it, and I could do it again. I've had many hard conversations with Joe about needing to make a change. I mean, I pretty much swore I'd never homeschool again and then this year happened and it threw me for a big loop. We've talked and I've tried to explain how important it is for me to have public school plus a daddy for my kids who doesn't love work more than us. Our kids need friends. We don't even have a church at this point.
We've discussed our neighbor situation and the kid that lives across the street and does dumb things we don't want our kids to be around. (For the record, our other neighbors are amazing. Glenn and Julie are the new ones to the south and they're adorable--they carry their chickens around like babies.) 
We love having all sorts of friends. I just ran into Fumiko (Ethan's mom) today. She's the funniest person in the world. My friend Dat was the first to text me a Happy Mother's Day. Lilly will probably clean my house when we move out.
These aren't terribly close friends of mine, but the point is, I love them. I love knowing people who have super different life experiences than my own. I wish we could live in a place where we'd see the same people on the regular and it might serve as encouragement to us (and us to them).

I don't really like the idea of starting all over, because it is a big deal. I don't like how stress leads me to throwing my hands in the air and forfeiting everything just to get a clean slate. 
But maybe it's how God moves us into a new place.

Just to give an idea on how the homeschooling has been going: 
We taught the kids how to play poker. And spoons. They sometimes play this in the middle of the day. Otherwise, they read and play music and beg me to do minecraft.
I think they're actually going to be fine, it's just their handwriting that gives me the heebie jeebies.

Send help so I stop talking myself in circles. Also, I'm thankful to God for prayers lifted up on our behalf, because for a few weeks there, I wasn't in good shape. I know wherever we end up, it'll be great.

Learning log

 On Mondays my kids have to turn in learning logs for the My Tech High program. It's easy, only a three to five sentence requirement that highlights what they've been working on for the week. Usually I type it for them. Within a week, a "teacher" responds, like "great job, Foy! It sounds like you're taking awesome care of your seedlings. I love your confidence about math. Doing one whole Greg Tang math packet every Monday is super. Keep up the good work!"
I think it would be the perfect job to read kids' weekly reports and answer them. I've even looked on the website for employment opportunities. I have no idea how they hire. I sure can't find it anywhere.

Anyway, in some of the parent groups on Facebook, moms complain about keeping on task to turn in learning logs, which kind of surprises me. You know I love making lists of what I've actually done in a week, so I don't mind one bit. The cumulative report that we've actually been getting stuff done this year is very encouraging. Plus, it's like taking notes for a book, should I ever want to rehash Stay or Bail, the second volume (I don't).

I feel like I should've been keeping a learning log this year for just me. This week, I read Alex Trebek's autobiography (2020) and listened to Hatchet with my kids. Now I'm listening to a Francis Shaeffer book. I go back and forth with Audible subscriptions. I don't want to pay $150/year, but our local library loaning app (Hoopla) isn't great. We had Overdrive in Bayfield, and it had a ton more books to check out.
I watched the entire series of some weird Marvel thing on Disney plus after everyone went to bed at night. What a wormhole. I think I was tired from cleaning and cleaning and cleaning the house.

I digress. I wanted to do a 3-5 sentence on what I'm learning this week.
Let's see. I went and got some straw bales to put over my grass seed in the back yard. I had a little garage sale where I only made $17 because I ended up giving everything away. This is my garage sale style: decide to have a garage sale one Saturday morning at 7am. Beg Joe to help me drag out stuff to the sidewalk (beg because Joe hates garage sales. Hates. He denies it, but he does.)
Make lemonade. Get out chairs for kids. 
Decide I don't want a ton of traffic.
Make a Facebook marketplace post.
10am--make little tags to put on stuff. Put out a sign.
Wonder why we're getting so little traffic (I don't respond to facebook posts and my signs are terrible). 
Chat with people who come by. Try out my Spanish. If anyone hesitates over the price I say, "it's free, just take it. I'm trying to clean out the house."
Meet grandparents who are raising a handful of their grandchildren. Give them the desk for free. Dig out my art supplies and give them to the grandma. 

Get sunburnt.
Set the rest of the stuff on the curb with a free sign. 
The kids ask me how much money we've made. Seventeen dollars, kids.
I'm a really bad salesperson. I realize I might be sad later when we move and I don't have my art supplies, but I'm always pretty convicted I ought to be giving away that which I love, not just the stuff I don't want/need anymore. It's a first fruits challenge, if you know what I mean.

The My Tech High program really encourages entrepreneurship, and I'm pretty much the opposite, because I don't sell. Even sending my kids around the neighborhood to mow lawns or shovel snow kind of terrifies me. You mean they will give money in exchange for a (probably) terrible job of mowing/shoveling? I understand the idea, but I'm wary of the value they are getting for the price they're paying.

Well this learning log is falling apart.
Let's see. I've been practicing my mandolin at night. I can play some hymns and pick out a few tunes. Working on my tremolo--you have to hold the pick very lightly.

We've been putting some seeds and baby plants in the planters. I really hope we get to see some flowers come up before we have to move. Our house went under contract on Monday after we returned from the western slope. Part of the deal is we close at the end of May but we can live in the house till the end of June. We had our inspection on Friday, so we're waiting for all that to look clear before we figure out where to go next. I'm ready to buy a sweet little ranch house on forty acres in southern Missouri for less than $400k. Joe could run a sawmill and I could be the lunch lady at the kids' country school. We could get together with our neighbors on Thursday nights and play bluegrass. Once in awhile we could see grandma and grandpa and cousins. Doesn't it sound quaint?!
We are on two different pages, because Joe wants to move further west, closer to the Utah border. He doesn't want to be near family, wants to be able to play in the mountains on the weekends. I love the mountains and I love the climate, but I am ready to give it up to raise my kids in a community. I  don't want him to have to keep a big, fancy job just so we can afford to live in Colorado, because I want my kids to have a daddy that can come to all their musicals and football games. I truly think Joe would love living in a small town and being a public school daddy, but when he thinks of Missouri I think he's reminded how little his parents cared about his own extracurriculars. He thinks there is nothing to do in Missouri (there is always something to do when you have four kids). So it makes me sadder than I'd like to admit to consider moving west, even though I would do it for Joe. 
I mean, it makes me really, really sad.
I'm praying I can get over myself, but I'm also praying Joe softens up a bit.

Well, now, how's that for a learning log?

I stay up too late and write and then get up in the morning and have more to write. I wish I could be more productive! 
Well. I have had a few days of full-on, clean the entire house and holler at kids who track April mud inside and onto my white kitchen floors. (Sure would be nice if they were in school. Ack.)
Yesterday we had the realtor come over and take pictures at four o'clock, so I was killing myself to get things moved into the garage and polish the toilets.
It had just dropped a fresh five inches of snow and my snow gear is somewhere in a box in the garage, along with most of the kids' toys, board games, and books. Anyway, I wasn't doing myself any favors in the realm of getting things done. 
Joe was home in the morning to do some zoom meetings, and when he came up from the basement around 11am, I was stressed out. My back and neck was still all messed up from the long haul drive I'd made with the kids back from Missouri, and made worse by scrubbing floors. I could barely move, so he made the blessed husband move of calling a chiropractor and forcing me to go.

"Dr. Kyle" at The Joint did not look like much of a doctor, instead he looked like he'd walked over from his shift at Firehouse Subs next door, but I guess I hurt bad enough I didn't really care. 
Chiropractors are a weird bunch. Dr. Kyle didn't fit my stereotype, needless to say. And when they tell you to cross your arms, then they bear hug you from behind and tell you to relax....well, it's very hard to trust such a character that works at a fast-food, drop-by, franchise, strip-mall-style chiropractic business.

I didn't even have to pay for the adjustment because the first visit was free for new patients.

Ladies and gents, I am back in the housecleaning business! Bless those men and women who have the peculiar job of cracking the spine back into alignment, even if they smell like chopped onions and have greasy ponytail hair.

Back to business; I have to clean out closets today and re-clean the floor because the house goes live online tomorrow. We will drop Minnie off at the Bark Club and drive out to the Western Slope for a few days of house hunting.

Last Sunday

 When we last moved nearly three years ago (it will be three years in July), I put my Gild the Lily books out in the craft room. My kids have been reading through them pretty regularly since, even to the point where I've had to hide them so they don't tear up the binding.
They love stories about themselves when they were little. I'm always super embarrassed when they read parts out loud because I was such a whiner of a mom. So tired. All the time.

Anyway, I feel like Gild the Lily has turned another corner, and that into more of a journal. I apologize for it (to those same boys who think it's a fun read). The thing is, if my fingers and hands weren't so slow in writing longhand, this would all fit better into the diary medium. But typing is so much easier and tidier. You won't believe the boxes I've packed with my terrible scrawls on the off chance I'll organize it better someday.

Tomorrow or the next day, the realtor shows up to take pictures. So today I spent cleaning up the yard and getting the boys to clean leaves out of window wells. Gretty worked hard to rid the trampoline of snow--we got a good five, wet inches on Wednesday and it was stretching out the springs. She loves yard work and house work. It's so cute.

Meanwhile, Joe went to church to prepare communion for the last time. I didn't want him to go, honestly. I wanted to be on the same page with him, but I was feeling solid in my conviction to not go back to church because of the politics and the bitterness I wanted to avoid towards the preacher who pretty much shut down our Bible study. You see, they sent Joe a text yesterday that said it was imperative he (we) stay after church for an elder meeting regarding our Bible Study group friends. I wanted no part in the politics. If I showed up, it would send the message that I was on the side of the elders, and I definitely am heartbroken over our friends' leaving. I didn't feel good taking communion when a guy a few rows away was getting ready to throw John and Lori under the bus. Plus I didn't want someone announcing we were moving away because we've just taken a few steps in that direction over the last week, and I wasn't ready to be bombarded with questions or sympathy or whatever it entailed. Let it be said that, despite her blogging and desire to be known (sometimes), Pearl is a very private person.

So I stayed home with J, L, and GK and we read Acts 7 (this is my refusal to quit a home Bible Study...I WILL finish Acts with the kids, even if nobody else comes) and did a little stoning project (haha) and yardwork.

Joe took FC, and they came home before the second service began.

I was super curious what happened, but he didn't want to tell me. He was acting super moody, the way he is when something has happened and he needs to sort it out. But I'd already bagged up a ton of old leaves and dog poop, and I needed to sit down to take a break, so I made him tell me what went on at church. So he reluctantly told me.

He said he approached the preacher and let him know he wouldn't be coming to the elder meeting after church, because he wasn't interested in dragging out any sort of condemnation or conspiracy nonsense. He simply didn't want to know the other side of the story. And, by the way, we were leaving the Denver area, he informed him, half joking that this is how our family deals with conflict: we leave.

Well, the preacher didn't like that. "Yes, you leave," he said, "and you don't bother hearing two sides to the story. In fact, this is the worst thing you can do, to not care to listen to both sides, and not care to mend fences." 
Then he went on and said, "Your wife runs the show. She's the same way, she just quits if she doesn't get her way. You do everything she says..." There was more, but I don't need to write it.
Apparently he had a great time slandering me in front of my husband, calling me out for being manipulative and domineering.

I am gutted over this: I can't tell you how sick and upset it made me. It was like a slap in the face. Not only was I slandered, but my value as a wife and believer were called into question. In front of my husband, a man who relies deeply on me, but whom I've never tried to upstage in any way I'm aware of. This man who is the boss at his work, wealthy and well-respected, frequently asked to do important tasks, has no time or energy for kid matters or schooling or extra-curriculars.
I am the problem, the reason we are moving; because it is either I get my way or nothing. 
(It would have been nice to defend myself against these accusations, though I'll admit I would've cried instead, like the baby I am.)

This church man thought it his responsibility to pluck a splinter out of Joe's eye with a big, fat piece of lumber hindering his own view. The thing that hurts the most is that I was the target for the arrows, and it called my integrity into question. And maybe it's my sin nature to be prideful, but integrity is the only thing I've got. No one else pulled out their secret, ugly sins so we could all compare where we've failed in our marriages. It was just me, manipulative, domineering me, the woman staying at home from church to read Acts and pick up dog poop with her kids.

So I'm upset today because what happened is reminiscent of what Jesus said would happen "when men insult you, persecute you, and falsely say all kinds of evil about you".

Folks, it actually happens in real life.

Do you want to know what keeps me from wanting to harm myself in such a situation?
(Don't say I'm being dramatic--I seriously go to that place when I'm told I'm worthless, a disappointment, etc. My first inclination is to eliminate the problem, even if it is me.)

I know that the accuser is a liar. I know Jesus has paid--his blood for mine. I have His Spirit inside of me which assures me of all His promises. I will exalt the Lord of my salvation.
I wouldn't have stood so strong ten years ago.

And so my tears dried up later this afternoon.

Selling

 I realize I should never open a new doc after 10pm but here I am, and I can always close it and begin again tomorrow. I haven’t written anything for such a very long time.

It’s mid April and this is the week we have decided for sure to move away from Denver.
I’m sad and excited.

Everything has me feeling restless, which is why we went to Mexico in January, recovered from Covid in February and welcomed new, wonderful neighbors, drove through Kendall’s new neck of the woods (Rifle) in March to pet her new puppies and then go skiing at Powderhorn, and then I made a spur of the moment trip to Missouri at the beginning of April. We saw my mom, went to Hugh’s church in Kirksville for Easter, saw Kurt Downing and his oldest kid, which was a dream. Love seeing college friends, what a delight! Don’t know how I feel about seeing white whiskers in Kurt’s beard, but I can’t express the joy at seeing and hugging someone who felt formative to my college years. I suspect heaven will be such a wonderful welcome, too.

Then I drove down to Branson and met my grandparents. We ate at Lambert’s in Ozark (Luke’s favorite part of the entire trip) and rented a VRBO in Branson West. Saw the Petersens because the kids have become big fans by watching them on Youtube. Then we went to Sight and Sound to watch Jesus, which was super duper amazing. It was a loooong trip back, something like 13 hours, but look at us! Look at me! One day, four kids and a mom! Four stops and 9 junior bacon cheeseburgers! Lots of Beatles and ukulele and For King and Country and Frozen.

We came home to a fatter, lonely dog, a few more holes in the backyard, and...sigh...homeschool. I sorted out school papers and it made me feel better. Like, actual proof we have done stuff. In the meantime, Jubal is teaching himself to play the guitar and is awesome, Luke is a huge clown and artist that blows me away with his creativity (he’s also hitting the naughty nines and we have had some showdowns where I have to let him know who’s boss). Foy is a sweet, sweet kid with terrible allergies and a knack for piano and drums (cajon, I don’t have patience to work with him on the drum set downstairs), and Gretel is sassy spunk with loads of energy and excitement about all things that grow (flowers, veggies, mushrooms). She’s a craft a holic and has every sort of plan up her sleeves at all times.
I guess they all do. I wander around the house all day, flushing toilets, wiping up messes, picking tape off the carpet...you name it. I’ve been told a better mother would teach her kids to clean up their own messes but only Gretel seems to do a half nice job of picking up. The boys have no standard and so I’d rather do it myself, mostly.

I’ve given up a lot of things this year in the way of What Pearl’s Plans Are. For instance, I have decided staying sane trumps getting things done, so I basically don’t keep up with anything internet-wise, writing-wise, cartoon-drawing-wise, and communicating with people in real life-wise. We are our own planet with our own rhythm that looks a lot like Tang Math worksheets on Monday mornings, music all day, tons of reading, sometimes a writing game, Algebra with Jubal, etc. I thank God for kiwi crates and the genius idea I had at Christmas to order the big boys crates with our MTH money. I would’ve never paid for it with my own cash, but it actually is something they love and is well worth the price because it buys me some quiet time. My kids talk in my ear all day and I’m pretty much at their mercy. Sometimes in the afternoon I’ll go lay down on a heating pad on the couch and close my eyes...which isn’t something I ever did. I never took naps; look at me now!!

At night I pick away at my mandolin. I’m actually getting better, practicing every night. Imagine that!

Maybe it is apathy. I really need my kids in school or I at least need another grown up within our solar system, and I’m desperate and itchy for something to happen. The ol’ patience fruit of the spirit is having a hard time fruiting on the Pearl tree. There just doesn’t seem to be a good place to land and when I’m at home with all the kids everyday (and I am), I’m pretty convinced I’m horrible at being in charge so I panic and plan a getaway.
Bless Joe.
There have been many tears at night after the kids go to bed. My grandma is also married to a similar man, and when I told her of my desperation in needing to get out of Denver, she urged me to “get right up in his face and tell him what you need.” So I did, and I still do. Ha!

To be completely fair, my life is not a hard thing, it’s just me having a hard time reconciling what is going on with what I imagined would be going on right now, and isn’t. Gretel and I were supposed to be spending this year together while the boys were at school. We were supposed to be reading and learning our letters and numbers and baking and doing girl stuff. But we are ALL home having bloody battles on the trampoline instead.

I guess if Jubal learns guitar this year instead of anything fifth grade related, I will take it as a sign that learning actually can happen at home. But I can’t recommend it.

On a tangential note, both my older brothers are about as opposite from me on the homeschooling-and-loving-it spectrum as one could get. Jordan actually got a write up in his local paper expounding the benefits of at-home learning. He even was quoted saying something to the effect of, “I didn’t learn anything in public school. Anything I learned worth learning I taught myself, and if you love your kids you will teach them at home.”

Funny, I learned a lot from my childhood--namely, that I had great parents who loved me and loved Jesus. And I’ve learned a lot in adulthood since then--namely, that I have very little to offer in the way of schooling children.

I’m not sure I could veer any farther from my brothers’ path, and look at me now, homeschooling.

Honest to goodness, I could see a future where my kids don’t need to be in school for 6 or 8 hours a day. Like if they only went to school for a few hours to get their core stuff in, then came home and did music or whatever. But I don’t see that option anywhere, and normal school will definitely not harm them in the long run, methinks.

But that leads me to What In the World is Going on With Church, which might clue one in on our questioning life phase.
We’ve been hosting an at-home Bible study on Thursday nights. Our church decided who would come, and for the most part it has been a really great experience. There are some strong voices, some very opinionated folks, and I was pretty ok with it because we still ate good food and sang songs together with the bunch. Plus I have no friends in Denver, and this was a semblance of something, you know?
But coincidentally, our preacher at church began preaching some stuff that was just a bit odd. He said things here and there that were off, or he was super dogmatic about certain theology. And he talked about John MacArthur all the time. He was super reactive when we asked, one week, to clarify a concerning message about Mark 16 (he doesn’t believe verses 9 and on should actually belong in the Bible). His email said, “I preach my convictions from the pulpit. You are welcome to go somewhere else if you don’t share the same conviction.” Fair enough.

Three other elders joined him, and one happens to be the guy who writes books known worldwide about his expertise in Biblical Eldership.
Safe to say, my desire to be a published author has waned and dried up due to knowing this guy. He’s fantastic and charismatic (not in the spiritual sense, just personality--there’s a little John MacArthur humor for ya) but his elder tenure at our church lasted about two years and then he needed to retire the title because he has more books to write and no time for eldering. Apparently he knows everything there is to know about early church stuff, but his secretary will take care of everything he is too busy to do. (I’m still looking for the verse that mentions church secretaries. It’s got to be in there somewhere.)

 This left us with the preacher and two other elders. One is very sweet and reserved. The other is gung-ho.

The dogmatic and gung-ho guys have begun rewriting the rules.
One was that we needed to reform our worship time. There were lots of little rules: no standing with a guitar between yourself and the microphone. Guitar player in the back; cannot be a lead singer. Read from the hymnal, not from the screen. Must be piano-focused. Only songs from the hymnal are church-sanctioned.

Then came the charter for Bible study.

Seriously, a four page charter detailing what is and isn’t allowed. In my own home.
It got weirder--or maybe it started out weird and I just wasn’t paying enough attention. They have a big Thing about women not talking in church and it was nothing new, but under the guise of “protecting the flock” you can make up a ton of rules, or so it seems. And have women church secretaries, even though they better not speak up in church.

I was feeling uncomfortable about all of it, especially when we started getting emails about things an elder was upset about, but it was unclear who or what made him mad.

Then we realized the elders had a problem with someone in our home group on Thursday nights. 

And not only that, but they wanted us to kick them out, and they were ready to give us all the reasons why.
This was the guitar player and his sweet wife, the one who holds Gretty on her lap and leans her cheek on my little girl’s head while they sing praises to Jesus. Gretel, who I’d never heard sing a hymn out loud, belted out songs with Miss Lori next to her.

These are the folks who showed up at my coat drive and signed people up for a free Thanksgiving dinner. This is the same Lori who came to my house to plan the science fair for our local school. The same couple that prayed over Luke’s constipation (LOL) every Thursday night after the rest of the people had left. 

Spirit-filled, God-loving people.

We didn’t want to hear the elders’ reasons for “protecting” us from the people they assigned to our home group. We didn’t want to be put in between our friends and the elders.

So Joe wrote an email explaining we were likely moving away from Denver anyway, and maybe we should go ahead and dissolve our small group. We don’t want to, really, but we felt backed into a corner.

I don’t want to feel bitter, but this was the one time we saw people during the week, the one time my kids felt some affection from grownups other than me.

Judging by the emails going around, the elders are quite satisfied with how this is ending. It’s like they’ve killed two birds with one stone..

Anyway. The church fiasco and the email made it feel more final. I guess we are moving, and maybe this was God’s nudge in that direction.

Luke and I got ticks while we were in Missouri. We even let them hang on till we got home, and that might be the reason I don’t want to move to Missouri--ticks. I’m sorry, Missouri. I want to give you a try, I think, but then when I go back and visit, for some reason it feels tricky. I love it and I don’t love it. My home is with Joe, I guess, and he’s not there. He’s here.

But really I think we’ve adapted quite well to Colorado. Fourteen years we have been here, and Joe would have a hard time convincing his work that he should move elsewhere.
So we are considering the Western Slope, probably not as south as Durango.

And maybe that catches me up for the spring, or at least it will be nice to remember what happened in 2021 and what in the world we were thinking to leave Denver.

I will say, Zillow tells me my house has appreciated in value and the real estate market is begging for inventory, which is a major bonus right now. Word is, I could list it and have it sold in mere days.
Time will tell!

A new backpack

 Today I bought the sparkliest, pinkest, shiniest unicorn backpack in the world. It was on clearance at Kohl’s. A little girl twisted my arm into dropping the eight dollars. She wore it proudly all the way to the checkout line, beaming at everyone we passed.

“I am going to look great at kindergarten,” she announced to the cashier.

The first time it snowed this season was September 8. I know this for a fact, because on September 7th I cut down the front yard wildflowers and filled every vase in my house. When the snow began falling, I took the dog on a walk and snapped photos of my remaining zinnias, their fuschia heads weighted down by frozen white crowns, bowing low over their regal, long-stemmed necks. 

When I returned from my dusky jaunt, the itching began. It has not stopped since. In October, I was diagnosed with chronic urticaria--hives that never go away. I am managing this nightmare with medication, but the symptoms multiply. The season endures.

It is snowing, again this morning, on March 24.

Seven months of this winter.

I have friends who are getting married, having babies; friends who are graduating their kids from high school. New jobs, moving across the country, beginning exciting dreams. My own kids are on the floor, arguing about the Beatles and playing Catan when they ought to be writing papers in school and playing baseball.

Oughtn’t they?

I mean, I realize there isn’t a human right to education and social interaction, but wouldn’t these things be healthy? To my understanding, within my cultural upbringing and mores--

I wonder how I backed myself into this corner. My health situation complicates things. I can’t get over the
But still I marvel at the passing of time, and at the little daily habits that grow into lifestyles. I am learning about what is mine to do within my limitations, what I have to offer even when the seasons refuse to change.

I don’t mean to sound melancholy. The fact is, I am filled with hope. I’ve never been in a weaker spot, never been more helpless, but I’m also more confident than ever that God uses weak things. He must, because I look at my kids (who wear me out) and they are apparently doing fine.

My little girl is old enough to wear a mask and young enough to throw a fit about wearing one. My boys, especially the middle ones, are too outgoing to remain six feet apart in any situation where a potential friend presents the opportunity to chat.

For a while I forced the mask thing in stores and watched with hesitance at the playground.

But not anymore.

 I am still getting over covid, which is a peculiar thing to say and also experience.

I keep thinking it isn't as bad as the flu but it sort of is, because the symptoms (for me) keep dragging on. No taste, no smell, except for the tiniest hint. Salt, I can kind of detect. Sweet--nothing. Much improved from the not being able to sense hunger or fullness in my stomach--now that was weird. Still a head cold, still a wet feeling in my lungs. And then, maybe it's just the whole overwhelm of homeschooling kids added to it. Do I feel good? one might ask herself, and one might never know the answer because there just isn't enough space for feeling things out.

I take the needy dog on a walk out of duty, but also because I need to leave the house, even if it is 20 degrees. Side note: the dog is very needy. "Not an easy dog" Lilly (our friend who house sat this month) said, and she is 100% correct. The dog that needs a five mile run before she can chill out in the mornings.

I am a grumpy homeschooler mom. I try not to let it show but it still makes me sad, sad, sad to hear my friends and mom regale me with stories of in school scenarios. I mean, it makes me happy and hopeful for them, but it feels like I'm stuck in a whirlpool with little hope of escape. My boys have too much energy and so does the dog. I'm not enough to go around. I sat with Foy and begged him to work on his terrible handwriting. Then I threatened him. This is a sign it isn't going to work long term.

After two solid days this week, I broke out the watercolors and oil pastels to mix things up. (Now there's a joke for ya...oil and water don't mix.) Jubal finally wandered up from the basement after I'd hollered and hollered at him to get out of bed and he had finished Lord of the Flies. He'd pulled it off my shelf last night (I collect these books to read myself just to keep in the loop) and had it half finished by the time I caught him. I really would've rather him not read it yet, but oh, well. 

The other kids were already done with breakfast and my art plan, so I made Jubal sit down in front of the supplies and I tossed discussion questions at him (Why did the boys treat Piggy so bad? What does the conch shell symbolize?). He covered the paper with a scribble of oil pastel and told me the book basically is a reflection of how nasty people are in real life. When social constructs disappear, people are still ugly to the core.
Am I supposed to feel proud of this revelation? Is it supposed to please me immensely that my eleven year old is so bored he's reading Lord of the Flies in the span of eighteen hours?
Who cares? I can guarantee it's not any sort of life lesson or mind blowing literature experience for him. He has already moved on to making crystals out of citric acid. And jello. And brownies.

I really don't know what to do. I wait and keep waiting for some light to break through. I'm incredibly thankful for our situation and that I can stay home with my kids. I can order more art supplies, I can buy more music books, and I can even turn on Peppa Pig so I can sit and help Jubal with (horrible) pre-algebra. They can make boxes of brownies and no one is sketching sad, gloomy self-portraits like I see on the mental well-being webpage of our local school district.

My kids aren't sad. It's me that gets in a funk. 

What I realize I need is just to write it out, because the emotions of it get caught up in my headspace and I really cannot cope unless I release the pressure via words.

Once I can release it, it lightens the load. I realize I overthink everything, and the surest way to get rid of the overthinking is just to spill it out so there is that much less to handle.
I realize my biggest problem is not homeschooling, but the burdensome lie that I must teach them everything, all day, every day, without stop, without a break. Seriously, they go from dawn till dusk, and past that. When we are in public school, the day is over at 2:30. No one is beginning another project at 3pm like we do all the time at home.
I realize my boundaries get blurred all the time because I don't think of them as boundaries. I let FC and GK sit on the counter and watch me make every little thing. They watch me fry eggs, they watch me shred cheese, cut carrots, pour cereal, boil water, etc. Those used to be little snippets of time where I could get pleasantly lost in thought...And I haven't been able to do it for ten months now. And no one ever pointed out to me the correlation between my grumpiness and the lack of thinking time I get in a day.

So, here is my brain dump. I feel better already.

You know what I never wrote about on this blog? The hives. 
In September we took a week long trip to Lake Powell. I'm pretty sure I'll never go camping again because I loathe it. (Write this down because I guarantee someone will twist my arm and fool me into thinking I love camping)
Anyway, a few nights before it snowed (in September!) and I took the dog on a walk. I came back with the most severe itching, and the following morning I had hives up and down my legs and butt. Well, I went to Urgent care and the jerk doctor basically told me I was a hypochondriac and showed me the door. Fast forward to Lake Powell and I was so miserable I was crying all day long, every day. I mean, the worst itching a person could imagine. Non stop. Head to ankle. Embarrassing places, too. The hives were relentless.
So. Long story short, I ruined the camping trip for everyone and when we came home I found an immunologist who eventually diagnosed me with chronic idiopathic urticaria. Hives.
I think it is probably the beginning of a bigger health issue but we haven't discovered it yet. I take Allegra in big doses and if it gets really bad I've got a stash of prednisone. But isn't that crazy?

Ok. I will do more therapeutic writing, I think.

Joe is home so I'm off to walk the dog.

trip to MX, 2021

 Joy Mot asked me about a month ago if I ever planned on wrapping up this blog. You know, I should. I should print it off and call it quits.
I think the reason I haven't yet is because a) I feel guilty because my kids love reading old Gild the Lily posts (printed off on books) and poor Gretty K just doesn't get hardly a footnote in them. I guess I keep thinking I will write everything down for her, but that ship has sailed, folks. She's a mean four and a half already. Maybe the At Home Ed cartoons are enough to keep her sass alive in print.
B) There's only like fifty pages or so of posts to print off since the last tome, and it seems kind of measly to have the last book only a fraction of the width binding-wise. That seems silly, I bet, but to me it isn't. I like thick books. They matter.

I was about to head out the door on a dog walk but Joe is home early from work and convinced me otherwise. We are both still sick and dragging around. Dog owner guilt says take the dog on a walk; intuition says that's ridiculous. 
I'd guess we are on day 12 or so of coronavirus and it keeps hanging on. Right now the symptoms are nothing more than lethargy and a bit of chest/head cold. Oh, yes, and the super peculiar loss of taste/smell. This has never happened before in my life. Maybe those other two times last year when I felt sick were something else.?!?
We're being careful mostly because all the propaganda (truth? Who knows) about it being a death sentence, though I'm sure I've had worse colds where I felt like I was truly going to die but certainly didn't let my brain register it as a possibility. 
I remember being very pregnant and very congested and sitting up all night, two or three nights in a row, terrified because I couldn't breathe. Ha! Can you even imagine it now? Someone would've taken me to the hospital and given me oxygen, but then it never occurred to me as anything more than another cold to suffer.

Well. The big news is we caught the bug in Mexico--this is something you can't just post on the internet these days. Joe booked the vacation only thirty-six hours before we departed, so I was left scrambling at Target for sunscreen and flip flops and swim necessities on a Monday afternoon. 
I'm all for being spontaneous, but it's a different story when you're taking four kids out of the country during a pandemic.
The thing is, Joe wasn't taking no for an answer since his last vacation (Hawaii, no less) got axed 10 months ago. I was ready to go and get it over with (terrible attitude or great attitude, depending on who you're talking to)(Me, or Joe), so I packed and we went.
It was planned as a ten day getaway but the day before we were to leave we started feeling really terrible. I was getting chills, so I went to bed super early. The next morning we were both burning up.

While we'd been there, Joe had taken Jubal to a cool snorkeling place called Xel-Ha (Joe henceforth calls it Xa-Hell) and got water in his ears. Well, rewind to November or so and he'd had a freak accident in the backyard where he'd stabbed his eardrum with a stick and burst it, infecting it and the whole bit. So after snorkeling he had water in his ears and was a little concerned because he didn't want to get infected.

He texted a local urgent care clinic and in broken Spanish (and cut and pasted google translate) set up a time to be evaluated. 
Now here's where things get shady. He walked through the pouring rain to the clinic at ten o'clock on a Monday morning and ended up at a free clinic one hundred feet west of his intended destination. It was attached to a pharmacy so he thought he was at the right place. The big red flag when he came back to the resort and told me he'd gotten ear drops for free. The pharmacist told him he could leave a donation if he'd like.

He left 50 pesos, which is like two and a half dollars. 
Maybe he didn't pick up covid there, but this is my best guess, judging by the onset date of our symptoms.

I should've known something weird was going to happen. The first night we were there, asleep in bed, the room phone rang at 1am and I rolled over to answer it. 
"Hello?" I croaked.
"Yes, ma'am, we are calling because there's been a report that you threw a banana skin from your balcony. We ask that you please do not throw banana skins."
"Um..." (racking my brain because it still is technically possible my boys would chuck something from a balcony, though most likely not in the middle of the night)
"Um...we...don't have any bananas. I'm sorry."
"Thank you, ma'am. Good night."

We ended up spending 18 days in Mexico. We postponed our flight back twice because we kept waking up delirious and hot. We lost taste and smell just when we realized room service included as much chocolate cake as we wanted. Dang.

We felt like criminals, sneaking around the place, trying to not talk too much to anyone and trying to stay out of common public places (except for the swimming pool). I know, I know.

That is all I am going to write today. Jube is doing algebra online (it's a chatroom-style course which is as terrible as it sounds)--this is why I'm on the computer now, because if I don't write our crazy story down, I never will.