Moving TWICE!!!
I moved to wordpress!!! If I am not showing up in your Reader go here and subscribe!!! Please delete the blogger feed and subscribe to the wordpress feed in your reader. I don't live here any more.
And secondly, I will be in Tokyo next week.
I love you guys. Be sure and write!
Xoxoxo
Friday, August 5, 2011
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Road Fatigue from Driving Cross Country
This morning we are leaving New Mexico driving to Arizona. The weight of this move is starting to sink in but I am happily ignoring the road fatigue.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Why I Just Couldn't Kill The Bunny
Moving so often hurts. So many days I am a teary mess. It is not the goodbyes, it is not the making of new friends. It is not the settling down. I am glad that God allows those things to come easier to me than most people that move.
The heartbreak comes in doses of things left behind, of sounds I will no longer hear, and sights that will too fast fade from my memory.
I waited until the last minute to donate the tiny size four shoes. The toes are worn thin from the places that my very last baby stomped and tripped on his first steps. I had no good reason to pack them and take them with us. They were too old to pass along to a friend and too worn for a keepsake. But to this mama they were a visible meter of my very last baby's "first" steps. I threw them into a donation bag like hot coals and cinched it up fast.
My Son1 is very creative and constructs things for me all of the time. One dull and gray day he brought me a fighter pilot made from modeling clay. He donned a vintage fighter pilot cap. Son1 also molded the pilot a set of dumb bells and weights so the fighter pilot could work out. And on a frigid winter day in Boston I stuck that little splashy pilot on my kitchen window sill. On ugly gray days I stared at the little pilot and thought of the little six year old that might not make things just for me, for too many more days. On the last day in the house, I pulled the little clay trio off the sill like a band aid. No matter how fast I pulled I knew it would sting for a second. And I clenched it and shoved it into a trash bag without looking. Tossing that little fighter pilot was like tossing moments in time for me...moments that I cannot get back.
On the last days as we moved things down and out the service door of our 1928 Craftsman, I found myself standing still, listening to the sounds of the boys pounding down the hollow wooden steps. The old flimsy door snapped shut and the small glass window in it rattled. I had heard that sequence, pounding stairs, snapping door, and rattling window a thousand times this year. It was the sound of boys rushing to school, of boys barreling out to build an igloo fort, and boys flying out the door to chase turkeys, rabbits, and chipmunks.
These days of backyard adventures are gone. I will not hear them in a city apartment in Tokyo for some years.
The day before we left Massachusetts I knew I had to deal with the paper mâché bunny. I put off tossing him. In art class, Son1 crafted the bunny like the other kids. But he was the only kid who gave his bunny an umbrella, like Peter Rabbit.
How many more days will fairy tales matter to him?
I stuffed the bunny in a toss bag, but Son1 discovered him before he made it to the can. He begged me not to toss the bunny. So when he was in school, I drove the bunny to a trash can away from my house. I stuffed the plastic bag into a dome lid trash can. But that umbrella just would not slip into the can. So with conviction I grabbed that umbrella handle and rescued the bunny.
I just could not kill the bunny.
Today we are driving in a packed vehicle from Oklahoma to New Mexico. We are driving with bags squished between legs. Our quarters are tight. But between Dr. Romance and me sits a paper mâché bunny. He is so much more to me than dried painted newspaper. He reminds how brief time is with my boys.
The heartbreak comes in doses of things left behind, of sounds I will no longer hear, and sights that will too fast fade from my memory.
I waited until the last minute to donate the tiny size four shoes. The toes are worn thin from the places that my very last baby stomped and tripped on his first steps. I had no good reason to pack them and take them with us. They were too old to pass along to a friend and too worn for a keepsake. But to this mama they were a visible meter of my very last baby's "first" steps. I threw them into a donation bag like hot coals and cinched it up fast.
My Son1 is very creative and constructs things for me all of the time. One dull and gray day he brought me a fighter pilot made from modeling clay. He donned a vintage fighter pilot cap. Son1 also molded the pilot a set of dumb bells and weights so the fighter pilot could work out. And on a frigid winter day in Boston I stuck that little splashy pilot on my kitchen window sill. On ugly gray days I stared at the little pilot and thought of the little six year old that might not make things just for me, for too many more days. On the last day in the house, I pulled the little clay trio off the sill like a band aid. No matter how fast I pulled I knew it would sting for a second. And I clenched it and shoved it into a trash bag without looking. Tossing that little fighter pilot was like tossing moments in time for me...moments that I cannot get back.
On the last days as we moved things down and out the service door of our 1928 Craftsman, I found myself standing still, listening to the sounds of the boys pounding down the hollow wooden steps. The old flimsy door snapped shut and the small glass window in it rattled. I had heard that sequence, pounding stairs, snapping door, and rattling window a thousand times this year. It was the sound of boys rushing to school, of boys barreling out to build an igloo fort, and boys flying out the door to chase turkeys, rabbits, and chipmunks.
These days of backyard adventures are gone. I will not hear them in a city apartment in Tokyo for some years.
The day before we left Massachusetts I knew I had to deal with the paper mâché bunny. I put off tossing him. In art class, Son1 crafted the bunny like the other kids. But he was the only kid who gave his bunny an umbrella, like Peter Rabbit.
How many more days will fairy tales matter to him?
I stuffed the bunny in a toss bag, but Son1 discovered him before he made it to the can. He begged me not to toss the bunny. So when he was in school, I drove the bunny to a trash can away from my house. I stuffed the plastic bag into a dome lid trash can. But that umbrella just would not slip into the can. So with conviction I grabbed that umbrella handle and rescued the bunny.
I just could not kill the bunny.
Today we are driving in a packed vehicle from Oklahoma to New Mexico. We are driving with bags squished between legs. Our quarters are tight. But between Dr. Romance and me sits a paper mâché bunny. He is so much more to me than dried painted newspaper. He reminds how brief time is with my boys.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Check Out Our New Ride
My treasured Honda Odyssey that trucked home my three newborns from hospitals in three states is now sold. The family that rents this home after us is moving from the UK with four kids. And now they own my van. And when we arrive in California, Dr. Romance is selling his wheels. We knew a new ride was in our future.
One morning, I opened my eyes, grabbed my phone, and opened my email. My eyes popped open when I read Dr. Romance "bought us a van." He described it as "small and cute and will fit our family just fine." The only issue was that going to Costco might be tight with our family, but it seats 6 to 7 people.
I had no time to click the links to the pictures. I scrambled to get my kids to different schools. Later that morning, I opened the pictures and LAUGHED. How in the world are to 6 to 7 people going to fit in a van made to fit circus clowns??!?!?? Well, I am just going to have to let you know.
Tomorrow I am answering your questions about our move. So if you have dreamed any more up, leave them in the comments. But between now and then, what do you think of our new wheels???
One morning, I opened my eyes, grabbed my phone, and opened my email. My eyes popped open when I read Dr. Romance "bought us a van." He described it as "small and cute and will fit our family just fine." The only issue was that going to Costco might be tight with our family, but it seats 6 to 7 people.
I had no time to click the links to the pictures. I scrambled to get my kids to different schools. Later that morning, I opened the pictures and LAUGHED. How in the world are to 6 to 7 people going to fit in a van made to fit circus clowns??!?!?? Well, I am just going to have to let you know.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
The BIG Reveal...We are Moving...AGAIN!
Once again, I am moving addresses for the 10th time in nearly 13 years of marriage. Watch this and see why my boys are thrilled:
Dr. Romance swooped into town last night, and we headed straight for dinner at a surprise restaurant!
The boys were thrilled. They love chopsticks. But there is still a learning curve.
Once we got home, the boys unpacked a few gifts from their future home, and Dr. Romance showed them pictures of their future schools.
The boys are beyond excited.
They asked me this morning if it is still true. YES!!!
If you have any questions about our move across the world, leave them in the comments and I will try and answer them soon. Come back tomorrow and see the car Dr. Romance has already purchased for us!
Dr. Romance swooped into town last night, and we headed straight for dinner at a surprise restaurant!
The boys were thrilled. They love chopsticks. But there is still a learning curve.
Once we got home, the boys unpacked a few gifts from their future home, and Dr. Romance showed them pictures of their future schools.
The boys are beyond excited.
They asked me this morning if it is still true. YES!!!
If you have any questions about our move across the world, leave them in the comments and I will try and answer them soon. Come back tomorrow and see the car Dr. Romance has already purchased for us!
Monday, June 13, 2011
Moving: The Mommy Jitters
We have kept the whereabouts of our move this August a secret for a long, long time. We moved from San Diego this time last year. We left a home that we designed specifically for our family of five just 18 months before. My parents lived less than 3 miles away. My in-laws visited from Arizona every month. Our eldest walked to his school. And my kids, for the first time ever, lived less than 2,500 miles from family. And, we were living in my hometown, where I had not lived for 15 years.
The move to the Boston area has been a bit free-swinging. We have taken weekend roadtrips all over New England and other East Coast states. The boys have made prized friends, and Dr. Romance had an amazing time at Harvard. However, the boys have always known we would return to San Diego this summer. They have counted on it. We will be on the West Coast through the first week in August, true to our word.
Tonight, Dr. Romance flies home. He has been gone awhile. And tonight, we finally tell our children where that "somewhere else" will be after San Diego. They have known we most likely will not move back into our home in San Diego. They have known that we might have to move away again. My stomach is full of butterflies.
I am not so much concerned with how they will take the news that we will not move back to San Diego. I am more aware that our move will evacuate from my safe place of logistical planning, of making phone calls, of setting up appointments, and arranging dates. The whole concept of our move shifts from a checklist of adult To-Dos, to invading and intertwining into the mission of our family. It will now permeate every single person's thoughts and goals. We will speak of it every day until we get there. I know it.
This sharing of the news with the kids is a game changer.
But let me tell you this one thing.
I am super excited for this move. I think they will be, too.
Come back tomorrow, and I will tell you where on earth we are moving.
The move to the Boston area has been a bit free-swinging. We have taken weekend roadtrips all over New England and other East Coast states. The boys have made prized friends, and Dr. Romance had an amazing time at Harvard. However, the boys have always known we would return to San Diego this summer. They have counted on it. We will be on the West Coast through the first week in August, true to our word.
Tonight, Dr. Romance flies home. He has been gone awhile. And tonight, we finally tell our children where that "somewhere else" will be after San Diego. They have known we most likely will not move back into our home in San Diego. They have known that we might have to move away again. My stomach is full of butterflies.
I am not so much concerned with how they will take the news that we will not move back to San Diego. I am more aware that our move will evacuate from my safe place of logistical planning, of making phone calls, of setting up appointments, and arranging dates. The whole concept of our move shifts from a checklist of adult To-Dos, to invading and intertwining into the mission of our family. It will now permeate every single person's thoughts and goals. We will speak of it every day until we get there. I know it.
This sharing of the news with the kids is a game changer.
But let me tell you this one thing.
I am super excited for this move. I think they will be, too.
Come back tomorrow, and I will tell you where on earth we are moving.
Friday, June 10, 2011
Backward
Today's topic: Backward
In two weeks our family of five is driving backward. We shove things as tight as we can, pack up all that will fit, and drive cross country from Boston to San Diego. We are backward of just one year, when we shoved and packed our lives and three little boys into two cars and a teeny 5x8 trailer.
Driving backward floods backward emotions. I toss out all the things I would not otherwise toss: refrigerator art, crafts, and toys. We pick up what matters. We pick up limbs, hearts, and our family bond. I can't toss those.
I pick up, I pack up. I can't toss what we gained this year. The tightness between my husband and me, our children learning that family stability is more important than our house in San Diego. More importantly, we grew this year in faith, in the ways we have trusted God about where we live, and how he provides.
STOP.
Go ahead, you try. Here are the rules:
1. Write for 5 minutes flat for pure unedited love of the written word.
2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
3. Get a little crazy with encouragement for the five minuter who linked up before you.
In two weeks our family of five is driving backward. We shove things as tight as we can, pack up all that will fit, and drive cross country from Boston to San Diego. We are backward of just one year, when we shoved and packed our lives and three little boys into two cars and a teeny 5x8 trailer.
Driving backward floods backward emotions. I toss out all the things I would not otherwise toss: refrigerator art, crafts, and toys. We pick up what matters. We pick up limbs, hearts, and our family bond. I can't toss those.
I pick up, I pack up. I can't toss what we gained this year. The tightness between my husband and me, our children learning that family stability is more important than our house in San Diego. More importantly, we grew this year in faith, in the ways we have trusted God about where we live, and how he provides.
STOP.
Go ahead, you try. Here are the rules:
1. Write for 5 minutes flat for pure unedited love of the written word.
2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
3. Get a little crazy with encouragement for the five minuter who linked up before you.
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