Hear me roar

Thank you to my kindred heart, Suzanne, who really did call me and remind me to write this. It's especially encouraging to know that such an innately talented writer wants to read what little I write. Thanks friend.

Yesterday, my family and I made it to a very large Superbowl Party at a very large home. As I walked up to the door, I pushed away the jealousy. The talkative yet sneaky voice in my head said, "Wow... what could our family do with this home? Why haven't we ever had a home like this? Maybe if we had made better choices in life, we'd have a home like this and then all the boys would be happy and have the most friends, and so would we."  Why do I listen to this voice, ever?

So, we took off all of our shoes, as we were told to do by a sign on the door and made it into the home. Now, don't get me wrong. The people who own this home are gracious people who I have just begun to get to know. So, I can't comment on their intentions.

It's a gorgeous, new home in a very expensive little city, on the outskirts of DC. The kitchen which could actually fit all of our big boys when they stand around me asking what's for dinner; the huge playroom which could keep them all active on these cold winter days; the adequate insulation which doesn't allow for cold breezes to come wafting intermittently onto already cold feet. These are a few of my favorite things about the home. Not to mention the library---always wanted a library.

As the party went on, we made the normal chit-chat,"Five boys.....yes, all boys.....yeah, we don't really know the statistics of that happening.....we've lived everywhere....no, we really have lived there.....we haven't lived anywhere more than 2 1/2 years... we do hope to stay here, God willing." Even though our lives are crazy enough to dominate conversations, I do try to steer the conversations toward the other person. I do try.

So, I get to a couple of young moms who have young kids and are commiserating over the difficulty of the full-time job of motherhood. One has two little guys, 3 and 4, that are 15 months apart. The other has four under 6. I commiserated with them trying to hold back the comments that I hated when I was in their place, "Oh, I know it's hard, but those years go so fast!" (They do!)... or, "You think it's hard now, just wait until they're fifteen and you become a stupid person!" (You do!)  So I mainly just agreed and oo-ed and ah-ed as they recounted their difficulties.

But then they both at different times said this, "I know I have time to myself when the nanny comes, but you know, that's not much." And that voice in my head said, "WHAT?!"

And so here's my ode to the voice: sometimes she's right on the money and needs to be heard.

I was married and, planning on a master's degree, found myself pregnant one month into marriage. I had my first strong-willed, "When-Can-I-Be-the-Boss", Matthew, 10 months after the wedding.

When my cutest little sweetheart baby was 5 months old, I found out I was pregnant again. I did cry all day long. So, when Matt was 13 months old, I had RJ. My RJ who has been my right hand guy ever since.

But, while in the hospital just starting the labor with RJ, we had to call Aaron back from law school in another city so he could make it back for the birth. Then, after being released from the hospital, I had to recover at my in-law's home, while trying to watch my 13-month-old. That's when Matt spilled a paint can in the garage and ran through the house, getting little paint footprints all over their carpet.

We then moved to a series of little townhomes and apartments (getting progressively smaller) while Aaron was in law school full time. In fact, we kept our tiny married-student-housing apartment warm in the winter by turning on the oven and keeping the oven door open.  And I stayed in that apartment nearly 24/7 with two toddlers and toward the end of law school, two toddlers and largely pregnant with my third, David.

Then, my husband decided to join the Marine Corps, which required him to leave for an entire summer, with no contact with home. I found places for our little family to stay with relatives, which was no easy task to be the source of irritation for extended family members for two months.

But even then, I took care of my boys 24/7, with very little to no help. And no housecleaning service.

After law school, we moved several times around the East coast to get Aaron set up in the USMC. During that time, I became pregnant with number four, Benjamin. We moved to the base at Albany, GA knowing almost no one, and I continued with my job. By that time, I was homeschooling my oldest two. Still no housecleaning service. Only the daily grind of all the same tasks from the previous day, over and over again.

And on one heart-breaking day, my world turned upside down. Reality ran over me. And I was left broken while my son, Benjamin, was made truly whole in Heaven.

And all of my insides came out and God had to help me sort them through and put them back in place. And that process is still not done.

But as God healed me, we moved again and I had another boy, Daniel. I homeschooled three by then as I tried to become accustomed to yet a new place and no support again. We had a bigger home then, and no housecleaning and no nannies. Just me and my four under eight.

But as God was healing the brokenness, I loved my boys. And they helped heal me so I'm glad no nanny was there instead.

Then God presented to us the idea of moving to India and working for an NGO there. So we left all and sold all and went. Because we knew we weren't living for a house with beautiful blue morning glories on the front porch. We needed to comfort others with the comfort we received. So we moved our whole family to India, and labored to make a life there for nearly three years. And Nathanael was born there and I had housecleaning and childcare help there. But I regret the time I didn't spend with my boys there.

And that time there almost tore us apart....starting with me. Many have blamed me and many have blamed Aaron and many have blamed other unnamed people. But, besides me, I blame a messed-up world that we got very close to and tried to help. I believe we were privileged to help many. But, the numbers didn't add up, so we were brought home, unexpectedly. And I almost didn't make it through. It all finally caught up to me and nearly strangled me. It was only God's real lovingkindness that brought me through.

Aaron finally got a job after 7 months of our family slowly falling deeper into debt. And all of the boys and I stayed in the two-bedroom townhome in Columbus, Ohio, while he left for Iraq, the only job offer we had. I had few friends and support. But God knew that I needed that time alone. But I was afraid I might become a hermit and be unable to relate to other people anymore.

After a year and a half of being both parents, Aaron secured a federal job and we moved here, to the only home that seemed right to us. We were elated because God had provided the job and home we had been dreaming of in recent years. But one day, Aaron brought home the paycheck, and we realized we had not known how much the net income would be. And once again, we struggled to pull by month to month.

Now, life hasn't relented and the daily strain to shoot our arrows in the right direction continues. But as I heard those women lamenting, my voice and I decided that we've had enough and we needed to roar: I have done it. I have seen hell and touched it, even. God's eternal mercy wrapped around me and let me live. But it was a ton of hard work to pull through. I may not be able to put myself on display as Mom-of-the-Year and my kids aren't the ones every mother in the neighborhood wishes her sons could be. But I'm here. He's made me strong and no one can take that from me.

And even though my voice gets it a little wrong at times, this time it's right: I am here. I have done it. I have done it. And no one will take that from me.

Blog guilt?

I started this fully intending to write everyday. Then, I skipped days, then months.

Then I joined the ranks of millions of parked blog pages sitting there unused and unread--like millions of beautifully landscaped homes intending to be used and shown off, but the people are too busy to actually live there.  So, there we go. Thankfully with all my readership, I know I will be easily forgiven. It's easy to forgive yourself....of some things.

You know I saw Julie and Julia too and I had daydreams of my blog turning into some cult favorite. After all, as a neighbor told me, who has five boys to write about? Well, turns out there's a lady in California who is a published author who has an extremely well-read blog about her four sons, called, Testosterhome. I swear the name came from my 15-year-old, Matthew. Oh well, I don't think she'll be too jealous of the attention I'm getting.

I do want to keep this up, if just for the fact of trying to keep a record of these days that pass so quickly and don't allow me to savor them as long as I want to.

So now, with a small measure of discipline, I intend to try again. If you know my number, call and tell me to write my daily blog. Please.

So now all of the boys are back to school and I'm sad. I was the greatest mom yesterday and we watched an episode of The Office and two episodes of Everybody Loves Raymond. I had thoughts of taking them on an educational excursion, but we just wrapped up in blankets, had grilled pb&j sandwiches and laughed at how much Marie reminds me of my mother. And how Debra reminds them of me. Very easy and warm fun. I'll miss easy days like this more than anything, I think.

Heaven

So today, we're getting ready to leave for NY to visit my brother. Just for a short time. I needed to water the plants and flowers so they wouldn't be keeled over when we return. Nathanael (that's what we've decided on for now--not James anymore!) loves to water the flowers. He does a pretty good job for a little guy who's destroyed these same flowers he now wants to care for.
I decided to cut the red gerbera daisies on the front porch and bring them in because they don't last too long without water. In fact, they look like me at the end of the day, wilted and bent over, if they aren't watered enough. It's interesting how God has made all of his creation the same...we all bend over when we can't go on without refreshment. hmmmmm
So, we brought the daisies in and put them in some nice cool water and placed the vase on the mantle. Nathanael excitedly jumped up on the couch and invited me, "Good! Now let's sit here together and watch them grow!" That sounded like the nicest invitation I had received in a while.
As we sat there cuddling and looking at the five slightly wilted daisies, I thought, if this is so satisfying here on Earth, to cuddle with my floppy, blond-haired, doe-eyed three-year-old watching wilted daisies "grow", how much more satisfying could heaven be? Where things don't die, but grow, and boys like to spend time just sitting with their moms? Where we have the time to just be and watch flowers grow and listen to the breath of our loved ones?
This was a small taste of heaven. And I hope I can slow down enough to watch more flowers grow.

Why I've been quiet....crickets, crickets

Hi, the two people that read this!

I've been quiet because.....my brain is somewhere in a box in the teeny garage/storage space that we have in the home.  When I come across a time that I need it, I'll dig it out of the garage. For now, I've not needed a brain so much as two arms and legs, hands and feet! Taking care of my boys and my home are sucking up the time. And now, I'm doing teacher training for yoga! So, here's an excerpt of what I've been doing in my not-so-free time.

As an arm-balance and inversion acrobat, Kathryn Budig leaves most with the impression that she had to have a background in dance or gymnastics. She has neither. What she does have is joyful fearlessness which allows her to achieve amazing feats in her practice. "You have to get comfortable with falling down and failure," she points out. "You can only balance once you're okay with the fall."




Growing up in Lawrence, KS and Princeton, NJ, Kathryn was in school at the University of Virginia-Charlottesville when she first began practicing Ashtanga yoga. After graduating with a BA in English and Drama, Kathryn left for LA in 2004 to further her acting career. She then began a yoga teacher training course with Chuck Miller and her mentor, Maty Ezraty, at Yogaworks in Santa Monica, CA. Yogaworks soon hired her and she was one of the youngest instructors on their roll.

In recent years, Kathryn has been featured in publications such as Yoga Journal, Yogi Times, LA Metro, E! Entertainment, 'Y Yoga' a documentary film, and is the health expert for Quarterlife.com and Yogamates teacher/writer for Yogamates.com. She is the co-founder with Jesse Schein of 'Poses for Paws', an organization dedicated towards raising money for animal shelters through yoga. Kathryn classes are also available at Yogichocolate.com, Monthlyyogadvd.com, yogavibes.com and through Yoga Journal's DVD Yoga Therapeutics.

Her reputation has grown as a playful instructor who made arm balances and inversions accessible to everyone. Through her light and encouraging teaching style, she emphasizes the importance and ease of laughter. In teaching arm balances, she starts the students off slowly and brings laughter into the class. She points out that once the atmosphere in the class is supportive and lighthearted, the students find the poses ten times easier.

As a fellow fear junkie, I find her teaching style and philosophies inspiring. Fear can stop us from all the good we are meant to do and she uses the small examples of arm balances and inversion poses to push her students past their fears and into great potential. In an article for the Huffington Post, Budig writes:

"The yoga mat serves as a five-star rehabilitation center--with the added benefit of being mobile, personal and paparazzi-free. The yoga postures, or asanas, act as tools to harvest fear, stare it directly in its ugly face and realize you're stronger than the monster you've let grip you.

I often use arm balance and inversion work in my teachings specifically for this reason. These beautiful postures inspire and intimidate students. With an emphasis on the intimidation--at least at first.

'Oh, no. I can't do that pose,' they'll say. 'My body couldn't possibly do that.'

Of course, this is said before the pose is even attempted. The power behind that negative comment is extremely potent. When you tell yourself you can't do something--guess what? You won't. You've immediately weighed yourself down with the mental baggage of disbelief. Fear to attempt in fear that you'll fall. This leaves us stagnant and void of faith.

But yoga teaches us to say:

'You know, I've never tried this pose before. Even the thought challenges me, but the prospect is thrilling. I'm going to give it a go.'"

Failing and falling until you can stand in faith--that sounds like my walk with God. I'm ready to go try some handstands.

Bibliography

http://kathrynbudig.com/press.php

http://www.yogaworks.com/our_programs/instructor_bio.aspx?tid=67

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/kathryn-budig/fearless-flyer-a-lesson-i_b_515658.html?show_comment_id=44185956

http://www.yogajournal.com/podcast/
 
 
Hope to write more soon! Right now, there's an awesome thunderstorm that my boys are begging me to see......awesome.

David's first sermon

David, number three, is ten. He's usually pretty quiet being the middle child. He loves sports more than life itself and will spend most of his waking hours shooting hoops (even on a two-foot tall goal in a basement with seven-foot ceilings), throwing footballs at no one, and now even pretending he's in the middle of an intense lacrosse game in the backyard. This is all mostly on his own because his older brothers have other interests and his younger brothers are still too little. All that to say, he usually keeps himself occupied and doesn't really bother anyone. Usually.
Today, after church, we were in the car and he had been teasing Daniel, our six-year-old, who is pretty fun to tease because he whines loudly. David then began reading a magazine in the car that Daniel had been wanting to read and Daniel had asked to see it. Daniel asked Aaron very nicely if he could see it. Aaron told David to give the magazine to Daniel as a way to honor his little brother, whom he had been teasing earlier. David refused until Aaron, in a moment of slight anger, mumbled something about coming back there to straighten the situation out, opening the car door. David immediately relinquished control of his prize and jumped into a ten-year-old's tirade about how unfair the world is because his little brother "...ALWAYS gets what he wants!"
David's tirade went on for several minutes until Aaron interrupted, announcing that David would be writing a one-page essay when he got home. After writing it, he was required to read his essay to the rest of the family---even his older brothers.

Why We Speak Honorably and Not Foolishly
by David Martinez

"Things that people say might not be foolish, it depends on how you interpret it. I'm here to talk about how not to be foolish.
Kindness--instead of saying foolish things to hurt somebody, be kind and say nice things to encourage each other.
Love--instead of always being mean, we should love each other.
Hope--instead of being foolish and believing that whenever something majorly bad bad happens and you believe that you will lose everything, always have faith and hope and believe that God will take care of you and you will always be safe no matter what happens to you whether it is good or bad. Always have hope and believe that God will take care of you in any circumstance or situation.
Now I'd like to point out some of the foolish things I said in the car.
The first thing I would like to point out is when I said that Daniel gets whatever he wants whenever he wants it. That's not true at all. I realize how when Dad says that I have to give Daniel something, it's not because he wants to punish me, but he wants me to learn that I need to honor my younger brother and not be selfish have what I want."


At this point, David hit a writer's block and brought the essay into Aaron to see if that was enough (even though he only got to one of his foolish things that he had said in the car.) Aaron read the essay and decided that based on what was written up to that point, David had learned his lesson.
And when he read the essay to the rest of us, we all were reminded of these valuable lessons as well.
God used my son to remind me of the truths I've been preaching to him but have not been keeping in the forefront of my own mind and heart.
Thank you, David. It's a good thing Daniel got what he wanted.

David, Daniel and Nathanael playing with our webcam

I knew that I wouldn't do it. I knew it would be a while until I wrote again. All the while that little devil on my shoulder has been saying,"Ha. You knew you wouldn't do this. Yet again, another unfinished venture." Well, if just to shut the devil up, I'm writing.

Socks. Can I just say that I hate them? If I could invent a shoe that would never rub your feet the wrong way, or never get that cheesy smell that could be used as a dirty bomb....I would do away with socks before you could say, "Sock holes."
I pick up socks all day long! I swear they wear more than one pair every day. The socks are everywhere and always in varying states of disrepair; mismatched, holes, stained, crusty and usually at least one pair that's become wet for whatever reason (75% of the time from Nathanael James forgetting to push his pee-pee down and hitting his socks while he's sitting on the toilet.)
Then, after washing, they're even less pleasing to me. I think terrorists should be tortured by putting them in a huge roomful of unmatched socks and telling them, "Spill the beans or you're in here until they're all matched." The task drives me bonkers. And every time I'm doing socks, I'm saying in my brain, "I hate socks. I hate socks." I've thought of so many strategies. I've tried giving each boy their own color. Besides green, blue and red, what other color of sock will a boy's athletic sock be? Not enough color choices for more than three boys. I've tried different styles for each boy. Inevitably ,they will switch socks and all of a sudden one doesn't want that style anymore. No matter what I choose, there's always five or six unmatched socks left over. It's a proverbial dilemma, I know, but I think the reason I can't stand it so much is because it reminds me of what so much of my job is: daily, mindless tasks that are often unsavory and mostly unnerving.
But then, in the middle of my sock-rage, God usually sends me the message in some way--maybe through hearing a belly laugh from a cute three-year-old; or seeing my ten-year-old, David, throw a pretty football pass; or hearing my fourteen-year-old Matthew say, "Wow, Mom. How much laundry do you do every day? You work a lot of hours." (Ahhhh.....the rare, priceless veiled compliment from a teenage boy!) The message that one day, when I'm sitting alone in a quiet, clean house, folding the extra-small load of yesterday's clothes, I'll be nostalgic for a basketful of mismatched socks.
Someday, I'll write on my other favorite subject in a testoster-home -- toilets.