The day before Thanksgiving, our Christmas tree arrived. We'd pre-ordered one, the first time in several years we've had a real tree, and not a fake one. It has been waiting in the corner, my boys asking every day when they can decorate it.
Tonight was finally the night. The science fair project that has taken so much time was finally finished, and with a solid two days off from work, my house was at a decent stage of clean.
I opened the first box of ornaments and stared in surprise. A set of beautiful red and deep burgundy ornaments lay neatly across the top of the box, and it took me a minute to remember where they had come from. When I realized what they were, I almost began weeping.
Three Christmases ago, my husband's business was falling apart. In a two week span, he'd lost 80% of his client work. We had a very meager Christmas, and we had no way of knowing that it was just the beginning of a very long journey. A couple weeks after Christmas, I happened into Target, and stumbled across the 80% off Post-Christmas-Sale. I spent $18. I bought the beautiful set of designer ornaments, with two more packs of gold ornaments to match. I bought designer wrapping paper and designer gift tags. I bought a couple of garlands. I also bought a small fake Christmas Tree and a box of tiny ornaments to decorate it with. I couldn't really afford the $18. But it was like a hail-marry, a desperate bravado, a symbolic plea for hope.
I'd already seen the writing on the wall, we were desperate. I didn't have a job, my husband had almost no work. If some how everything turned around, then in a year I could decorate a designer tree and toast to overcoming tough times. If things continued to spiral down, well then at least the little tree was small enough to mount in the front window of my van next Christmas, because the way things were going, that was were we were probably going to be living.
On May 1st, 2009, our lives pretty much went the way of option #2. Except for living in our van, we were living with my parents. I'd found what I thought was a temporary job. B was still looking everywhere and anywhere. I'd only be for the summer, I'd told my self. At the end of summer, I decided it'd only be for 6 months. Christmas '09 came, and found us even less able to finance our own living situation than the year before. And somewhere, in a box, at the back of a storage unit, my tiny tree and it's tiny ornaments were packed away. To be honest, I don't remember that Christmas at all. There is about a year and a half that is just void in my memory. Despair and grief and exhaustion will do that to your mind, I suppose.
December '10 came; I remember that year- we were beginning to pick up traction. My part-time, temporary job had turned into a full time job. B had found a job that worked around my hours, and he had a trickle of new work. We had no way of knowing it then, but we were just beginning to pick up traction.
April came, and with it came a leap of faith, as we found a tiny house with a giant back yard to call our own. My kids kept saying things like, "Mommy, it doesn't make any sense why Grandma and Grandpa live in a huge house with lots of room and two people, and we live in a tiny house with 6 people." I was, and am still, grateful to have something to call our own, regardless of its modest size.
Tonight I opened a box. Tonight I opened a tidal wave of memories. Of loss. Of hope, of despair, of joy, and of deep gratitude for all that the Lord has carefully lead us through. Tonight I saw a gleaming box of ornaments, and the reality of finally having a designer tree, instead of the usual hodge-podge of ornaments collected and made over the years. Tonight I watched my little boys' faces drop as I told them not to worry about the old ornaments they were already diving into and looking for names on the bottom, trying to remember Christmases more than three years past. Tonight I put the lid back on my gorgeous red and burgundy and gold ornaments, burring them in a box with empty ornament boxes, as memories flooded our home and tree. It is a small tree, in our tiny house. It is brightly lit and covered with a patchwork of ornaments that span the globe and our memories. Nothing really matches at all, and I wasn't responsible for hanging more than two ornaments on the whole tree. And yet, it is the most beautiful tree I have ever had, a tree that will forever live in my memory symbolically as hope differed, and fulfilled. It is a gorgeous testament to a humble re-beginning, rich in love and joy.
For all of the uncertainty you face in this holiday season, know you are not the first to walk it's streets, or fall prey to its all consuming fear. But please know, that while darkness lasts for the night, eventually morning has to dawn again. And should you find yourself walking a road darkening with shifting shadows, know you are certainly not on that voyage alone. From one who has suffered the darkest nights, may the joy of dawn be not far from your weary feet.
Salud, H.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Monday, July 18, 2011
Sunday, July 3, 2011
Dream House
Three months ago we moved into a 1,000 square foot, 3 bed, 2 bath house we are renting. It is tiny. The yard is huge, and is currently owned by our new dog. It sits on a busy street corner, were if the Frisbee goes over the fence, it will either get run over or cause a car accident when it flys past someones wind shield. I clean up old beer bottles along the side of our fence every week. Last week someone left their shirt behind as well. It is the smallest house we've lived in since our 900 sq foot condo, were we only had one child and a cute balcony.
I lay in bed, the golden light is pressing through the curtains. It is early, maybe 6:30, and it is the one morning this week that my husband isn't already gone for work. Most of his days start at 2 a.m. Most of mine end at 11pm. I relish feeling him next to me.
Princess Lilly and the Captain have already woken up to come snuggle us. My eye lids will not open more than a crack to acknowledge the golden, pre-rain light that is struggling to press through the clouds and into the dawn. My mind is thick with exhaustion, and it to will not open more than a crack, letting in a thought that is doused in even more gold than the light pressing through my windows: This is my dream house.
I have owned larger homes than this, lived in much more modern homes, closer to parks, further from busy streets.
But I have never in all my life had to work so hard for something. Never have we had to struggle so hard to make something our own. And though I am very tired most days, I am happy in our tiny house with our huge back yard. I am happy eating on our screened porch, where the white curtains billow in the breeze, where the washing machine hums and the dryer whirls as as we eat, adding to the heat of the summer. Our tiny kitchen and living room are to small to house a modest table and six chairs. Really, the living room is to small to host a proper sized couch, but the walls are filled with shelves of books, and a soft black rug that I vacuum 10 times a day is just right for stretching out on while we read or play a game.
There are not a lot of minutes for resting. Not now. Not at this busy juncture of life. Some days I have to force myself to put down the business that comes with running a home and keeping up with a busy job. I have to force myself to remember that all the busyness is for the four little faces who depend on my husband and I for more than just food and clothes. I'll admit I don't do it often enough- putting down the business. When you've fought off loosing everything for so long it is hard to let up the business, even for a moment.
But here, now, next to my husband and my sleepy-eyed children who are longer and taller every morning, here as the golden light presses in, here where I realize that this is my dream house, because my family fills it, I am grateful for the moment of rest. I am grateful for the moment of realization, pressing in all around me.
I lay in bed, the golden light is pressing through the curtains. It is early, maybe 6:30, and it is the one morning this week that my husband isn't already gone for work. Most of his days start at 2 a.m. Most of mine end at 11pm. I relish feeling him next to me.
Princess Lilly and the Captain have already woken up to come snuggle us. My eye lids will not open more than a crack to acknowledge the golden, pre-rain light that is struggling to press through the clouds and into the dawn. My mind is thick with exhaustion, and it to will not open more than a crack, letting in a thought that is doused in even more gold than the light pressing through my windows: This is my dream house.
I have owned larger homes than this, lived in much more modern homes, closer to parks, further from busy streets.
But I have never in all my life had to work so hard for something. Never have we had to struggle so hard to make something our own. And though I am very tired most days, I am happy in our tiny house with our huge back yard. I am happy eating on our screened porch, where the white curtains billow in the breeze, where the washing machine hums and the dryer whirls as as we eat, adding to the heat of the summer. Our tiny kitchen and living room are to small to house a modest table and six chairs. Really, the living room is to small to host a proper sized couch, but the walls are filled with shelves of books, and a soft black rug that I vacuum 10 times a day is just right for stretching out on while we read or play a game.
There are not a lot of minutes for resting. Not now. Not at this busy juncture of life. Some days I have to force myself to put down the business that comes with running a home and keeping up with a busy job. I have to force myself to remember that all the busyness is for the four little faces who depend on my husband and I for more than just food and clothes. I'll admit I don't do it often enough- putting down the business. When you've fought off loosing everything for so long it is hard to let up the business, even for a moment.
But here, now, next to my husband and my sleepy-eyed children who are longer and taller every morning, here as the golden light presses in, here where I realize that this is my dream house, because my family fills it, I am grateful for the moment of rest. I am grateful for the moment of realization, pressing in all around me.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Reflections
5 years ago, I started blogging. I had another blog before this one, with three years worth of entries and contacts with fellow bloggers.
2 years ago I stopped blogging. Our lives were to painfully effected by the economic down turn, and so many things were turned upside down and all around. I wasn't about to share the details with the world, much less bring myself to divulge the details to personal friends. Reading about every one else's happy times and "oh my gosh I had the worst day, the dog escaped and we spent an hour chasing him..." I am the proud owner of a new dog, and yes that would throw a monkey wrench in the day, but that is not the worst day, not by a long shot. I couldn't read their joys and their stress. Not when it all seemed so far away from my reality, not when it seemed so unfair.
But I didn't stop writing. I filled a book with prayers and verses, pleadings and hopes and heart ache. And some funny things too. I wish I would have kept on writing the quirkiness of our family so that I had the record. But life gets tangled. And some parts are so hard, you cannot write the joys without writing the pain. And I suppose tucking the joys away into my own heart were the closest I could get to untangling the painful jumble all around.
Last week I started blogging. Who knows why. Maybe it is sence or just the hope that the hardest part is over, or at least the most painful days have passed. Regardless, it is nice to have a thread of the joys and struggles that unfold each day as my children spring up.
Last night I decided to check on some of my old blogging friends. What I found shocked me. "This blog is private"; "this link is inactive" or there simply were no posts for the last year or two. Of ten different blogs that I used to read every day, only one was active. And most of the recent posts were reposts from a year or two or three ago.
And I began to wonder why? Was life just to busy, or did funny things about toddlers turn into not so funny things when the second grade teacher read about the way you heard her yelling at the kids from the hallway. (that never happened to me, just incase my boy's teachers every find and read my blog, I have NEVER heard them yell. They are all sweet and wonderful and brillant and patient. Seriously. They are!) Did the aninomity just get to tangled with the not-so- anonomous, or was it the struggle of loosing jobs and dwellings that begin to bite to closely to others as well?
I spoke with a friend last week, who knows some of the struggle we've walked. And I was shocked that she knew a little of that same struggle first hand. And I was ashamed that in protecting my pain, I checked out so far from not only blogging, but also real life friends. I withdrew and I forgot that I wasn't the only one with had things going on.
Maybe an open blog isn't the right venue for sharing heart ache and loss; who knows, maybe it's just the thing. But I do know real life friends are definantly the right venue for sharing your sarrow; they are nessasary.
I hope each of those virtual friends who've stepped behind pass-word protected walls, or who have simply turned off their blogs and walked away, I hope each one of them has done it for happy reasons. But for those who find themselves behind one sort of a wall or another because of difficulty and pain, please oh please do not let the walls in your "real" life get to high. You are hardly alone, and I do not know a time in my own life that finds us needing humanity and good friends to lean on, more than these times. There is nothing like a friend who will cry and laugh with you and share your pains and joys. Don't keep those pains to hidden in your own heart, because they are easier to bear with another, and they are so much less sufficating once you let them out. For me the hardest thing about sharing difficulty is the fear that no one else has ever faced it. But I have faced it. I am surviving it. And if you should be finding yourself there as well, you are certainly not alone.
It is imposible to know strength without having struggled. And it is imposible to know joy without first knowing pain.
May a brighter day find us all, strong and joyfull, the bitter night having passed for a glorious dawn.
Hannah
2 years ago I stopped blogging. Our lives were to painfully effected by the economic down turn, and so many things were turned upside down and all around. I wasn't about to share the details with the world, much less bring myself to divulge the details to personal friends. Reading about every one else's happy times and "oh my gosh I had the worst day, the dog escaped and we spent an hour chasing him..." I am the proud owner of a new dog, and yes that would throw a monkey wrench in the day, but that is not the worst day, not by a long shot. I couldn't read their joys and their stress. Not when it all seemed so far away from my reality, not when it seemed so unfair.
But I didn't stop writing. I filled a book with prayers and verses, pleadings and hopes and heart ache. And some funny things too. I wish I would have kept on writing the quirkiness of our family so that I had the record. But life gets tangled. And some parts are so hard, you cannot write the joys without writing the pain. And I suppose tucking the joys away into my own heart were the closest I could get to untangling the painful jumble all around.
Last week I started blogging. Who knows why. Maybe it is sence or just the hope that the hardest part is over, or at least the most painful days have passed. Regardless, it is nice to have a thread of the joys and struggles that unfold each day as my children spring up.
Last night I decided to check on some of my old blogging friends. What I found shocked me. "This blog is private"; "this link is inactive" or there simply were no posts for the last year or two. Of ten different blogs that I used to read every day, only one was active. And most of the recent posts were reposts from a year or two or three ago.
And I began to wonder why? Was life just to busy, or did funny things about toddlers turn into not so funny things when the second grade teacher read about the way you heard her yelling at the kids from the hallway. (that never happened to me, just incase my boy's teachers every find and read my blog, I have NEVER heard them yell. They are all sweet and wonderful and brillant and patient. Seriously. They are!) Did the aninomity just get to tangled with the not-so- anonomous, or was it the struggle of loosing jobs and dwellings that begin to bite to closely to others as well?
I spoke with a friend last week, who knows some of the struggle we've walked. And I was shocked that she knew a little of that same struggle first hand. And I was ashamed that in protecting my pain, I checked out so far from not only blogging, but also real life friends. I withdrew and I forgot that I wasn't the only one with had things going on.
Maybe an open blog isn't the right venue for sharing heart ache and loss; who knows, maybe it's just the thing. But I do know real life friends are definantly the right venue for sharing your sarrow; they are nessasary.
I hope each of those virtual friends who've stepped behind pass-word protected walls, or who have simply turned off their blogs and walked away, I hope each one of them has done it for happy reasons. But for those who find themselves behind one sort of a wall or another because of difficulty and pain, please oh please do not let the walls in your "real" life get to high. You are hardly alone, and I do not know a time in my own life that finds us needing humanity and good friends to lean on, more than these times. There is nothing like a friend who will cry and laugh with you and share your pains and joys. Don't keep those pains to hidden in your own heart, because they are easier to bear with another, and they are so much less sufficating once you let them out. For me the hardest thing about sharing difficulty is the fear that no one else has ever faced it. But I have faced it. I am surviving it. And if you should be finding yourself there as well, you are certainly not alone.
It is imposible to know strength without having struggled. And it is imposible to know joy without first knowing pain.
May a brighter day find us all, strong and joyfull, the bitter night having passed for a glorious dawn.
Hannah
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Raising Social Retards
One of our favorite places to go in the summer time is the YMCA. I can work out, the kids can go to their classes, and then we can all go swimming. We all go home happy and tired and tan.
It's a genius idea; Mom can run off her stress, or sit quietly in the lounge and read a book (I wont lie, I've done it before!), and she gets the much needed stress relief and quiet that can make all the difference in a day.
Enough background. Here's the main part of my story:
Last week we went the the Y. I took my kids to their classes, full of fun activities and active things for them to do. (FYI, I did the elliptical the whole time we were there. I did not sit in the lobby and read that particular day...) I passed two boys, obviously brothers, sitting in the lounge, playing their DS's.
Here's what struck me:
1. They were completely unengaged with anyone or anything around them; they looked like zombies.
2. They were fat.
My rational thought, "well, it's normal for electronic games to engross kids, and I can see that these two kids must play a lot of games, because active 9 and 10 year-olds are not usually fat..."
BUT WE WERE AT THE GYM... where OBVIOUSLY one of their parents cared about their own fitness and health, otherwise why were they there? (Insert expletive of choice here.) What the heck?!?!?! I realize we all have different body types, I realize kids all have different interests. But REALLY? Shouldn't that count as borderline abuse, and at the very least, serious neglect?
Fit mom + fat kids is just sick and wrong.
45 minutes later, I picked up my boys from there class, where they were chasing each other on those cool floor scooter things; and the other two brothers were still there, dead to the world around them.
What kind of a generation are we raising? It's going to be one hell of a wake up call when so many kids in this generation graduate high school and mom and dad say, "OK, go get a job!" and they walk into the work world without any communication skills and any since of real responsibility.
So many parents in my generation are raising children who I fear will become socially retarded. Not because they are not bright children, but because their world has shrunk into an isolated virtual reality. These children are not prepared to lead business meetings, they are not prepared to navigate a complex work place with an intricate social structure that is entirely dependant upon the ability to communicate well. Much less trying to maintain any sort of meaningful personal relationships.
And so I drive from errand to errand, from school and to work, from baseball to Judo, not unaware of the fact that if my 4 children each had their own personal gaming system, there would be fewer disputes. They would each be quietly zoned out in their own alternate reality, and they would be quiet. But they wouldn't be telling stories. And they wouldn't be asking questions. And they wouldn't be playing games and taking in the world outside their windows. They wouldn't find a good book to read. They wouldn't be fighting and arguing. They wouldn't be working out the complexities of communication, of listening, of obeying, of consequences.
I would be trading their growth into meaningful humanity for a couple minutes of quiet.
Soon enough they will be grown and busy with their own lives, and then my home and my car will be quiet indeed. And I will be proud of the men and woman they will have become.
It's a genius idea; Mom can run off her stress, or sit quietly in the lounge and read a book (I wont lie, I've done it before!), and she gets the much needed stress relief and quiet that can make all the difference in a day.
Enough background. Here's the main part of my story:
Last week we went the the Y. I took my kids to their classes, full of fun activities and active things for them to do. (FYI, I did the elliptical the whole time we were there. I did not sit in the lobby and read that particular day...) I passed two boys, obviously brothers, sitting in the lounge, playing their DS's.
Here's what struck me:
1. They were completely unengaged with anyone or anything around them; they looked like zombies.
2. They were fat.
My rational thought, "well, it's normal for electronic games to engross kids, and I can see that these two kids must play a lot of games, because active 9 and 10 year-olds are not usually fat..."
BUT WE WERE AT THE GYM... where OBVIOUSLY one of their parents cared about their own fitness and health, otherwise why were they there? (Insert expletive of choice here.) What the heck?!?!?! I realize we all have different body types, I realize kids all have different interests. But REALLY? Shouldn't that count as borderline abuse, and at the very least, serious neglect?
Fit mom + fat kids is just sick and wrong.
45 minutes later, I picked up my boys from there class, where they were chasing each other on those cool floor scooter things; and the other two brothers were still there, dead to the world around them.
What kind of a generation are we raising? It's going to be one hell of a wake up call when so many kids in this generation graduate high school and mom and dad say, "OK, go get a job!" and they walk into the work world without any communication skills and any since of real responsibility.
So many parents in my generation are raising children who I fear will become socially retarded. Not because they are not bright children, but because their world has shrunk into an isolated virtual reality. These children are not prepared to lead business meetings, they are not prepared to navigate a complex work place with an intricate social structure that is entirely dependant upon the ability to communicate well. Much less trying to maintain any sort of meaningful personal relationships.
And so I drive from errand to errand, from school and to work, from baseball to Judo, not unaware of the fact that if my 4 children each had their own personal gaming system, there would be fewer disputes. They would each be quietly zoned out in their own alternate reality, and they would be quiet. But they wouldn't be telling stories. And they wouldn't be asking questions. And they wouldn't be playing games and taking in the world outside their windows. They wouldn't find a good book to read. They wouldn't be fighting and arguing. They wouldn't be working out the complexities of communication, of listening, of obeying, of consequences.
I would be trading their growth into meaningful humanity for a couple minutes of quiet.
Soon enough they will be grown and busy with their own lives, and then my home and my car will be quiet indeed. And I will be proud of the men and woman they will have become.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
The Princess and The Puppy
Princess Lilly is almost three. And she has had a bit of a hard time getting used to not being the only girl, since Cheyanne joined our family... that is until the day they had a talk.
Cheyanne was out playing in the yard, so Princess Lilly put on one of her new princess dresses (there are about 10 of them, she cycles through them all every day), and went to the back porch.
She addressed Cheyanne through the safety of the screaned porch window.
"Cheyanne, there is a princess in our family. Her name is Lilly. And it's ME!"
Cheyanne smiled and nodded, fist pumped Princess Lilly, and then bowed to her royal majesty.
Not really, she just jumped up and licked the screan. Wich was apparantly good enough for Princess Lilly, because they've been good sisters since that day.
Cheyanne was out playing in the yard, so Princess Lilly put on one of her new princess dresses (there are about 10 of them, she cycles through them all every day), and went to the back porch.
She addressed Cheyanne through the safety of the screaned porch window.
"Cheyanne, there is a princess in our family. Her name is Lilly. And it's ME!"
Cheyanne smiled and nodded, fist pumped Princess Lilly, and then bowed to her royal majesty.
Not really, she just jumped up and licked the screan. Wich was apparantly good enough for Princess Lilly, because they've been good sisters since that day.
New Family!
Last week the Captain turned 9 and a new member joined our family. Her name is Cheyenne, she is 5 months old. She is part husky, part something that is really really big.
The Captain has wanted a dog since he found out what dogs were. So for his ninth birthday, I went to the animal rescue with the Entertainer and Princess Lilly, and picked out the only dog that 1. wasn't a pit bull (which I've heard actually make great pets, but Brandon and I hadn't discussed the bread...) 2. wasn't a "senior" (here buddy, this is Fido, the greatest dog ever! He is going to die before you turn 10...) or 3. wasn't barking like a maniac.
So we got Cheyenne, the sweet little "husky" sad and scared and not barking, who turned into wonder dog the big jumper when they brought her out and scooted her home with us.
I waited by the fence until the Captain and the Adventurer and Brandon came home, with another dad and his two daughters. My son, who has begged me for a dog every day for the last 7.5 years, saw me holding her, and he froze. The girls ran up and petted her. The Adventurer petted her, and the Captain just stood there.
"Happy Birthday! This is Cheyenne! She's your birthday present! You can pick a new name if you want... do you want to pet her?"
"Ya, sure mom. Let me just go put my stuff down." And he saunters away. And I am baffled.
He tells me later, "mom, when I saw her, I was so excited! If those girls hadn't been there, I would have screamed like a little girl and ran up and hugged her. I just didn't want to embarrass myself."
And I breath a sigh of relief.
The Captain has wanted a dog since he found out what dogs were. So for his ninth birthday, I went to the animal rescue with the Entertainer and Princess Lilly, and picked out the only dog that 1. wasn't a pit bull (which I've heard actually make great pets, but Brandon and I hadn't discussed the bread...) 2. wasn't a "senior" (here buddy, this is Fido, the greatest dog ever! He is going to die before you turn 10...) or 3. wasn't barking like a maniac.
So we got Cheyenne, the sweet little "husky" sad and scared and not barking, who turned into wonder dog the big jumper when they brought her out and scooted her home with us.
I waited by the fence until the Captain and the Adventurer and Brandon came home, with another dad and his two daughters. My son, who has begged me for a dog every day for the last 7.5 years, saw me holding her, and he froze. The girls ran up and petted her. The Adventurer petted her, and the Captain just stood there.
"Happy Birthday! This is Cheyenne! She's your birthday present! You can pick a new name if you want... do you want to pet her?"
"Ya, sure mom. Let me just go put my stuff down." And he saunters away. And I am baffled.
He tells me later, "mom, when I saw her, I was so excited! If those girls hadn't been there, I would have screamed like a little girl and ran up and hugged her. I just didn't want to embarrass myself."
And I breath a sigh of relief.
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