I want to forget this book and read it all over again for the first time. Never has a middle-grade book made me feel so much. My heart flip-flopped with every chapter and I often caught myself holding my breath as I turned the pages. Each revelation was more dramatic than the last. Having an “Astrid” of my own, each outburst and tantrum were both endearing and familiar. The relationships were unique and heartwarming. I didn’t know I could love fictional characters this much. Each chapter evoked tears and laughter. Astrid is a modern day Heidi, full of charm and tenacity. She made me laugh out loud, champion for her causes, and love her more each page. She tackles problems with a ferocity that I admire and envy. The author paints a picture of breathtaking scenery, beautiful vistas, and imposing, snow capped mountains. You can vividly imagine the roar of the river and feel the snow crunch beneath your feet. Warm spring air fills your nostrils as you breathe in the heady scent of new grass and spruce. Everything about this story was magnificent. It is not a story that can be rushed, but must be thoroughly digested, thought about, reflected upon. It’s written age appropriately with themes that an adult can enjoy and appreciate. I would love to see this made into a film or a written series. I want more of the little thunderbolt of Glimmerdal.
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“You have your hands full!” “Are they all yours?” “You do know how that happens, right?” “Are you starting a daycare?” “Are you done?” These and many other questions have been asked of me and other mothers who have been blessed with more than the national average of 2.5 kids. While many people are genuinely curious, there are enough people out there that ask with the intent to shame, or their words are laced with bitterness. They sneer or chuckle at us, ask inappropriate questions in front of our children, and why do they think this is OK? Why, because we have more than they think they could handle, do they believe that we can’t handle our children? WHY, because we have almost outgrown a normal minivan, do people believe they can talk about our intimate lives as if it’s a joke? No, really, what is it about having three or more children that baffles people into believing we are open for ridicule or speculation as to how we could even fathom caring for so many children?
My husband and I have four children when so many of our peers are just now having their first or considering a second child. So often, when I’m out and about with just the baby, I’m asked if she’s my first. When I clarify she’s my fourth, the looks range from amusement to horror. Many of my friends are stopping at two as my husband and I are still on the fence about number five. I tell you this with the risk of backlash and snide comments about how I have enough, but how is it anyone’s business but God’s on how many children he gives one family? So maybe you make one comment to one family, one mother, a mother that has probably heard that comment in some form or another every time she goes to the grocery store. What if someone commented on your hairstyle, whether it was a compliment or critical remark, EVERY TIME they saw you, don’t you think that would wear you down a bit? It’s exhausting to have to explain to everyone, while trying to show God’s grace and be respectful, kind, and polite, when what you really want to do is scream, “How is this any of your business?!” Some women are better at it than others, I’m not one of those women. I try and just smile and walk away because I don’t trust what may come out of my mouth. “But aren’t you tired?” Yes, of course I’m tired, but that makes me no less of a mother and no less able to handle my brood. If I wasn’t tired, I probably wouldn’t be doing my job correctly. Being a mother is HARD WORK! Does your job make you tired? Is anyone asking you to quit because it might be challenging? If your job was harmful to your health, yes, then you can expect people would be concerned with your continuing to work in said field, but just because a job wears you out, wouldn’t you continue to work in that field and overcome obstacles only to become better at that job? Motherhood is the same way! If my innards were falling out and my children were born with multiple problems and the pregnancies were fraught with complications, I would probably pause and consider why and decide to shut down the baby factory. However, if I’m enjoying my children, they are thriving, they are loved, housed, fed, clothed, and being cared for, heck, what’s one more to add to the fun?! “Isn’t it expensive?” It can be, yes, but we believe God provides. No, not in the, “We’re going to live off the system and handouts and become a burden on everyone we know,” type of provision, but we work, we save, we are frugal, we provide what our children need. Our children are not deprived BY ANY MEANS. There are many times when money is tight, especially since my husband is currently unemployed due to a circumstance completely out of his control. We are praying and seeking God’s guidance, we are looking for work for him, he is doing freelance jobs, he is making plans to go back to school, we do receive unemployment, we have other sources of income, and yet, we are often surprised by unsolicited gifts that help make our lives THAT MUCH easier. Just this week I was reading a post by a fellow large family mother that detailed the friendliness of a stranger by slipping her $20. That story was followed by many more comments and stories of blessings from strangers. That is God’s provision. Psalm 127:3-5 is a popular verse for those with large families, it is also used for a movement that I don’t myself align, but I will post it here because it is God’s Word, no matter how you interpret it, and it does spell out exactly how we should feel about our children. 3 Children are a heritage from the Lord, offspring a reward from him. 4 Like arrows in the hands of a warrior are children born in one’s youth. 5 Blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them. They will not be put to shame when they contend with their opponents in court. (NIV) “They will not be put to shame when they contend to their opponents in court,” is a particularly interesting part to me, considering how often those with large families receive such shame, even from those who claim to be Christ’s followers. We can’t expect those who don’t know the scriptures to understand the Word and how it details numerous times God’s love for children, and so often how he blessed so many families with not riches, but children. Then why so often am I seeing Christian family members of large families exasperated at baby announcements, or mothers hesitant and scared to share their joyous news of pregnancy because of what their family or friends might say? Maybe you don’t feel that God’s plan for your family is to have a lot of children, that is TOTALLY FINE! Maybe you don’t feel you don’t want ANY children, again, that’s between YOU and GOD. So just as a single person gets tired of being asked if they’re dating someone, or a dating couple when they’re getting engaged, or a married couple gets questioned about when they’re planning to have children, so do large families get tired of being asked if they're done having children, or if they're all theirs, or if they know how babies are made. Personally, I look at my children and I think they're gorgeous and awesome and smart and adorable and how could I just stop producing such wonderful human beings? Plus, have y'all seen my handsome husband? It's a wonder we don't already have more! Just a quick update about what's going on over here in my world.
We're surviving a busy month of VBS, cheer camp and practice, various YMCA activities, and just trying to get through a few gloomy, PNW days. I wanted to write a quick note about some stuff swirling around in my head and what my hopes and dreams are for this blog. If you watch my Instagram account you'll see that we have started some light homeschooling to prevent that summer slide but we'll be amping up more later in August. I'm hoping on here I can share what we're doing and our plans, frustrations, delights, etc. I'm still gathering curriculum, making plans, numerous library visits and reading everything I see on the homeschool FB groups (that's a whole lotta crazy but sooo inspiring!) I've been getting quite the heart makeover, as well. I've been really convicted in a lot of areas and hopefully the change will be seen in my posts and activities. I'm hoping I can write more about journeys that I'm taking and garner support from those who are like-minded. I'm not going to guarantee that people will agree with everything that I say but I've been feeling that I'm being led to make some waves in light of what's going on today's world. Well, I have to make this post quick because I'm typing with kiddos awake and around and I don't know what I was thinking trying to do anything but attending to my many/mini monsters. My hope is to start setting aside writing times to get some stuff out on a regular basis, but until then... STAY CRAZY! Many of us have watched her, she sits down, hair washed and done, makeup on, trendy clothes, sitting in an immaculate kitchen or large, stocked pantry, or at a gorgeous dining set. Or the gals that like to make videos in their car, they like to look “messy” or “undone” but their highlights are flawless, their car is clean. We laugh because they’re “so relatable” as they go on about the trials of motherhood. They’re tired because they’ve been driving their children around to various activities, making them food, cleaning, etc. They talk and laugh about errant husbands, judgey moms, ignorant strangers, disobedient children. Their intent is to give mom’s a lighthearted “atta girl”. “You’ve got this!” “This too shall pass.” They’re on our side. They’re rooting for us. But I’m calling bull. Not at their intent, but their “relatability”. Show me the kitchen floor that hasn’t been properly mopped in weeks, months, okay, years! Show me their IKEA dining set that barely fits in the kitchen, let alone makes their husband look like he’s at a toddler tea party. Show me the piles of laundry, the dirty pile and the clean pile. Show me the rum and Diet Coke at the end of the day, not the classy bottles of wine. Show me the antidepressants, the gross ignored upstairs bathroom because it's hard enough to keep the downstairs clean. Show me the thousands of candids taken on the phone because professional photos aren't in the budget. There's a reason we don't see these pictures, they're embarrassing. I don't want to show those parts of my life as much as the next mom. We want to take pictures of ourselves when we've gotten our hair done and our makeup is on. We don't want to see the bags under our eyes, why would we want to advertise them?! I get caught up in wanting to show only the best of myself and my life, but sometimes I don't feel like there's anything to show. No "squad" pics with all my besties. No selfies with my husband on our many dates. No birthday party pics in Vegas or Cancun. No fancy cocktails in an even fancier glass. Yes, this is a bit of a rant, a bit of a pity party, and a bit of me beating myself up because I know that I should be appreciative of everything I do have, not bitching about what I don't. No, there's a reason we don't see those pictures, because it's embarrassing. Personally, I scroll past these videos. I’m not a fan of any of them, really, or their “truths”. These are not my truths. Wishing to be an example of change, I try and show my happiness with my mess. Smiling children on a dirty floor. Toys EVERYWHERE. Dishes piled in the sink. I wish I saw more moms with no makeup on, wearing the yoga pants and T-shirt that they slept in. More moms with uncleared, little to no counter space in their tiny kitchens. That is my real life and I know I can’t be the only one. Finally, my wish isn’t to say that these moms are irrelevant or doing something wrong, there’s nothing wrong with enjoying the videos. My hope is that I can represent and encourage different moms at different seasons in their life. Moms with dirty hair and dirty floors. Messy houses and maybe messy lives. My goal is to be truthful in my appearance and not gussy it up for the camera. There’s nothing wrong with doing hair and makeup and taking evidence that it actually happened, but don’t feel bad if your selfie is less put together and more a cry for help - for a stylist 😂
Thanksgiving week started with me thinking I had a cold that may have progressed to the flu. Then I felt okay and was able to participate in the festivities. Friday I woke up with one boob tender but I figured it was just bruised. I dragged myself out of the house long enough to give myself a long overdue haircut and color, only to narrowly avoid passing out as the stylist took “after” pics of my hair. That night I came to the conclusion that I had the dreaded mastitis when I started alternating chills and then fever and noticed redness snaking it’s way across my left breast.
Ten years of parenting, four kids, and 43 months of nursing and this is my first go-round with this horrible affliction. I’d heard about it and how it was bad, but now I know the truth. It SUCKS! I rarely ever get sick and I never run a fever, but I will unashamedly admit that mastitis kicked my butt. Of course I googled my symptoms to make sure I was correct in my assumptions and to plan my next course of action. One site mentioned to let it run its course and it would go away, but seek medical attention if it gets worse after 24 hours. Awesome, I had some ibuprofen, I would just ride this out and be fine by Monday. Bahahaha!!! By the next morning it was definitely worse and at my husband’s insistence, I agreed to go to urgent care, but attempting to dress myself wore me out and I never even got on the leggings that I had dug out before I was back on the couch and passed out. Have I mentioned that while this is going on my phone is blowing up with text messages and FB notifications from concerned friends and family because I may have mentioned what I was suffering from on my timeline and then neglected to reply to anyone until a few hours later when I woke up to my husband forcefully putting on my leggings and informing me that my sister-in-law was on her way to take me to urgent care. What?! I was just taking a nap! Don’t they always say to get rest when you’re sick? Fast forward to urgent care waiting room, being shushed by the front desk for talking too loud, confirmation of self diagnosis, and back home to ride out another wave of fever and chills until the antibiotics kicked in. In hindsight, I can see that my early “flu” was only the beginning of the infection and yesterday after a majority of my pain had left I could feel where I did, in fact, have a clogged duct. The source of all this pain. The irony of all of this is that breastfeeding is what we’re naturally supposed to do in order to feed our young, and yet here my body is PUNISHING me for allowing my breasts to do the very purpose for which they were intended! Mother Nature is truly a b!tch. It’s the beginning of football season! Born and raised in Washington State, I have been watching the Seattle Seahawks since as long as I can remember. Being my father’s daughter, I have been watching football for as long as I can remember. Sundays in the fall meant football on the television ALL DAY LONG. Since we didn’t have cable, there really wasn’t anything else to watch anyway. If it wasn’t on the television, it could be heard from the old radio in my dad’s garage while he banged and clanged on any number of cars he owned over the course of my childhood, or the 1931 Ford Model A he has been restoring my entire life. (I speak in past tense because I’m referencing my childhood, but if you go to my dad’s house now, things really haven’t changed.)
When I say I watched football, that’s a very loose interpretation. More accurately, I listened. I could never figure out what was going on, and quite honestly, I still have no idea. When I admit this to my husband, I have to stop him before he starts trying to explain. It’s no use. Outside of touchdowns, field goals, and flags, I have no clue what’s happening. I have gotten better over the years, I can at least follow it and get the general idea, but I don’t watch it because of my diehard love for the pigskin. I love the sound. Seahawks fans are known for their loud cheering; the sound of that cheering is what nearly hurtles me down memory lane. That constant roar of screams, clapping, shouting, yelling. The shrill, short bursts of whistle followed by the call of a referee echoing through the stadium. Commentators narrating each play, always sounding like the same person to me, even though there have been innumerable football alumni talking from those chairs. It never failed to make me jump when the startling cry of my dad (who rarely raised his voice) ripped through our 1200 square foot rambler in response to some intense play during the game. Later on, my brothers’ changing voices could be heard right along with his, even if I thought that they really didn’t know what was going on either. High school would add more depth to my football experiences. I went to as many football games as I could manage, usually with my dad and brothers, so I wasn’t scoring any points in the popularity department. Did I dream of dating a football player? Of course I did. Which one? My secret. Plus, it could change depending on the week. My other secret? I wanted to be a cheerleader. It would never happen. I didn’t have the guts, never even attempted to try out. However, I remember cheers. I remember watching my best friend clapping and smiling while chanting, “Be aggressive, B-E aggressive! B-E A-G-G-R-E-S-S-I-V-E!” My youngest brother had the hugest crush on my best friend, and he would go down to the bottom of the bleachers to copy her every move, hips moving in time with hers, and the entire squad. To say that I was embarrassed would be an understatement. My senior year was the best year of my high school career. That year I was in cross country, I could drive myself to the football games, and I would stand with my teammates and cheer along to our best player who always managed to grab the ball and streak down the field to make a touchdown. Our football team wasn’t breaking any records, but we had spirit, YES WE DID! Sometimes I would sit in the stands next to my boyfriend, a trombone player in the band that would play at the football games, then I would drive him home afterwards because he was a sophomore and couldn’t drive. (I could write the BOOK on how NOT to be cool). Through my early adult life, football remained ever present. My ex-husband was always part of at least two fantasy football leagues, for church and work, and would watch all the games to keep up on stats and scores. We lived in Colorado and he was a Broncos fan as well as a Vikings fan, since he grew up in Minnesota. I refused to give up on the Seahawks and had a get together for the 2006 Super Bowl when the Seahawks faced off with the Pittsburgh Steelers. Sadly, we lost, but I was still proud that my team had made it that far. The year his work did a live draft, I was pregnant with our son Donovan. When we were deciding on names for the baby, he asked me what I thought of “Donovan”. I loved it and it was decided. I was recording everyone’s picks during the live draft when someone shouted out the name Donovan McNabb. I looked in the direction of my then husband and a sheepish grin crossed his face. That is how I learned my first child would be (loosely) named after a football player. Regardless of my personal familial situations, or who I was romantically involved with, football was watched. Men in my life must watch football. My daughter’s father was a Seahawks fan and so autumnal Sundays remained the same, the sounds the same, the traditions remained. Super Bowl XLVIII would be a game that reflected my own life a little too closely. It was the Seattle Seahawks versus the Denver Broncos. I had just recently returned to Washington after living in Denver from March to half of December. My brief stint in Denver ended when I was forced to find a new place to live near the end of the year. I decided I would pack everything into storage, spend the holidays in Washington and stay an additional month to save money, find a new place in Denver, and then return. Spending time with family made me homesick and I decided I was going to stay in the northwest. By the time Super Bowl came around, I was still wrestling with this decision. I’m not superstitious and don’t see things as “signs”, but the Seahawks’ extreme demolition of the Broncos that game seemed as clear a sign as any. Seattle was home. Within the last few years, a new family tradition has emerged; games at the Chalet. Originally built to house the American Legion, this aging theatre is rich with history. Legally they can’t charge to watch the games, but we gladly play for concession popcorn, freshly grilled hot dogs, and the occasional candy treat. Two years ago, the first time I introduced my now husband to my dad, we were at the Chalet. Kramer is a huge football fan and when introducing a new guy to my dad, I always try and find something that I know they mutually enjoy. This time it was easy. Soon they were chatting about the game in ways that are impossible for me to follow, but were still familiar in their sound and cadence. Last year I was pregnant the entire football season. When we would manage to get to the Chalet to watch the games, I would watch other couples with newer babies and imagine bringing our baby the following year, wearing his Russell Simmons jersey/onesie. Dante would make his grand entrance during the halftime show of Super Bowl 50. We had the game on during the delivery, a welcome distraction between the uncomfortable contractions. Much of the family that wasn’t in the hospital room with me, was at the Chalet a block away, awaiting the go ahead to come visit the newest addition. The first preseason game this year, Dante was with us at the Chalet for kickoff. Now my dreams include watching Dante play football. I wonder if Nat will become a cheerleader. Poor Donovan is stuck between a football turf war between his mom and dad and when asked what team he likes he says, “Honestly, I don’t even like football.” Haha! My family will always watch football. Someday I will hear Dante yelling along with his Dad and Grandpa at the screen at some bad call by a ref. Maybe Nat will bring home a guy for us to meet and Kramer will ask him if he watched last night’s game, and Natalie will have bet on this and chosen a guy that will be able to hold his own in football talk. Knowing her, she’ll be talking right along with them about how well so-and-so played. Autumn is my favorite season, and one of the reasons why is because of football. The imagery, the sounds, the smells. The memories that it invokes only bring me joy, and I imagine that many more happy memories will be made around our love of football. |
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