Confessions Before the Contribution

 Today I posted this also at Half-Baked Beauties.

When Half-Baked Beauties evolved, I was a new mom for the third time. My baby was just a few weeks old, born in September 2009 in San Diego. At the time, I longed for old friends, the walking kind of friends to be present in my life, as I had with my eldest in Virginia, and my middle son in Hawaii. But while I had family in California, I did not really have friends with whom Dr. Romance and I had a Together History. I was lamenting this just before B. dropped me an email to join this blog.

I could not keep up with every formula in the book. I was potty training a toddler, breastfeeding a newborn, settling into a new home after a move, and my eldest started Kindergarten. For the times I felt constrained to my house because of all of my mommy duties, I never missed any of your posts. I knew many of you in real life, and some of you I just knew as friends of friends. But during the months that people contributed here, I felt like I was connecting with old friends. And to be real, I was not constrained to my house. I had just started attending two small groups through church, in addition to the breastfeeding, potty training, house adjusting, and starting kindergarten.

And now our family is yet again in a time of transition. In the summer of 2010 we drove cross country to Massachusetts. My Dr. Romance has a one year assignment here. We anticipate our next move, yet to be announced, in the summer of 2011 to a new city, and a new home.

I have died little deaths with our moves. My attitude has always been, and will always be, I will go where you go, I will live in a hut in Africa. Still, I die little deaths of things that will never be. I keep them to myself. I dare not share them with my children, because I know my attitude sets the tone for our home. So I struggle with this whole concept of "home" and what my children will remember about "home." I die the death that they will not live in "the house they grew up in," that they will not have a neighborhood kid that has been their best friend since they were five, and on and on the list goes in my head. You can imagine.

I cannot say I do not like to move. I cannot say I love it. But I cannot say I mind. We have lived in amazing places over the course of our marriage. My kids have had some amazing life experiences, for their small ages of 6, 3, and 1. I could tell you all about them, but it might sound a a bit puffed up. Just know I am telling the truth.

So how then, do I build a home, when this whole idea of home is so transient and somewhat unpredictable for us? This book has gotten me to ponder such thoughts.

When I reflect on my own childhood, on the moments that were celebrated, on the memories I conjure up when I remember "home," I do not think back to a specific friend. I do not think of the house I grew up in, or that I lived in the same town from birth until I left for college. I remember long dinner discussions about days at school. I remember several side dishes to a rich meal. I remember my parents making albondiga soup. I remember burn marks on wooden spoons that stirred the avocado green skillet and vegetables chopped on the built-into-the-counter wooden cutting board. I remember my mother's moist chocolate cakes and oatmeal raisin cookies. I remember spring coming, and my dad in the back yard shaping our trees with his shears, and my mom sending me out to announce dinner was ready. I remember brownies made from scratch, and lasagna layered with love.

My kids are struggling with this concept of "home." Yes, we still own our home in San Diego. Yes it is ours but people are renting it, and yes, they are paying us to borrow it. No, we cannot swim in the pool in the backyard when we are home for Christmas vacation. Yes, it is still ours. Yes, when I say we are going "home" from Costco I mean the house we are renting in Massachusetts. No, you cannot jump on the couches because this is not our "home."

So how then, do I build a home for them?

Our now rented home in San Diego is large with multiple eating areas. Often my kids ate meals at the over sized island, longer than most dinner tables. This was mostly for my own need to multitask while they ate. But when we moved to Massachusetts, our 1928 Craftsman home only has one area for dining. This house is not even half the square feet of my home in California. But this new dining area has forced us to eat with one and only one option. We must all eat together staring into each other's eyeballs. It is a beautiful thing. I will never let my kids eat at a granite over sized island again. Well, so I say...

Building our family "home" when home is transient

This book I am reading now talks about Jesus and his thanksgiving at the Last Supper. But what strikes me is that there was a Last "Supper." There was a meal. Jesus knew time was short before he was betrayed. The next day he would go to the cross. He did not sit the disciples at an over sized center island, multitasking his last 24 hours. He sat with his friends intimately, around a table. He looked into their eyes. He dined with them. He spoke with them. He encouraged them. He shared his concerns, his heart, his expectations. There was safety around that meal.

This was my childhood "home." We sat around a dinner table many nights up until I left for college. It is the home I want for my sons. It is what I can give them right now. Together, Dr. Romance and I are demonstrating love, of listening to narratives of the day's events, and breathing safety around a dinner table. We talk about days gone by of babies, now years ago, of bite sized miracles and fountains of blessings in our every days. Everyone is there, all five of us, doing the very same things together. We are talking, laughing, giving thanks, and identifying blessings. We speak of important decisions, we ask questions, we make plans. We raise eyebrows, speak our minds, and offer apologies.  

Our "home," with meals here as the back drop for what is not transient, what is constant, what I will carry with me from this edifice into the next. Because those edifices are not "homes" on their own.


These thoughts motivated me to rise early yesterday and bake Banana Macadamia Nut muffins. I was remembering life on Oahu. I remembered how much I felt at home there. I was so caught up in the muffins, I had not even thought what else I would serve for breakfast. So in a rush job before church, I threw together mushroom and shrimp omelets after baking the muffins, and preparing my sugar cookie dough (another project). I had pre-sliced the mushrooms a few nights before, and the cilantro lime shrimp was from Costco. I served the plates and I shook my head because I had not thought through the pairing of my banana nut muffins and cilantro lime shrimp omelets. It was not exactly right. It was not perfect. But I am imperfect. And maybe my family knows that all too well. Regardless, my family was blessed. They loved it all around the breakfast table.

So now that I have confessed how I could not keep up as a contributor here, come back anyway and I will post my Banana Macadamia Nut muffin experience. I hope other contributors come back, too with their own recipes.

Why I Can't Pick Just One

Sometimes being the new mommy on the block seems more frightening than being the new kid on the block. The new kid just wonders when they will have a friend. The new mommy on the block has actually been around the block. I know what it is to be new. I know what it is to make deep friendships. I know what it means to click with a mommy but not with her kids. I know what it is to click with nice kids, and wish their parents were different. And then sometimes I click with someone and our kids click.

Have you ever just met someone and thought, hmmm, I can tell we click? Have you ever anticipated a "next time" meeting? Have you ever thought of the questions you might ask that person ahed of time, just to be prepared? Well, I met her in the last couple of weeks. Then, we were on the same email distribution list for an upcoming event. And then, I googled her last night.

Last night. Last night I was in a different place before I googled her. I struggled to choose whom to send a Dayspring card for the National Day of Encouragement. A card pack was given to me by the folks at Dayspring and the (in)courage blog. I was asked to write just one card. The cards are absolutely gorgeous. I juggled a list of names in my mind. Who really needed to be encouraged? Whose "story" could I share? I had no answers. I asked God to tug on my heart and bring one person to mind. And then I got distracted. And my mind wandered. And I googled her.

I already had my questions ready for our next meeting. And then I googled her. Suddenly I had no more questions. She lost her husband, and has three small children. The eldest is my six year old son's age. My heart nearly fell out of my chest. My stomach was somewhere around my ankles. I realized my idea of who she is, is just an idea. My heart filled with compassion for her and for her kids.

God answered. My heart was tugged. There is no time like the present. This life is so brief with no guarantees, no warranties, no return policies. I am sending every single card that I received out to every single woman that has crossed my mind that needs to be encouraged this week.

And as for her, I am keeping what I know to myself. I am making an effort to know her. I will move out of my comfort zone, out of the new mom on the block insecurity, into plain sight. I just may make a friendship.

A Bed of Roses

Everyone remembers their wedding day, but how many can say they remember the days following? The days leading to The Big Day are BIG. But the days following shrink in comparison. I don't remember too much about the days immediately following our wedding, and before our honeymoon. I remember falling asleep a lot. I was so tired, and our honeymoon was still days away. But I remember one late July afternoon just days after we were married. My mom invited my new groom and me to a furniture store. She had a surprise for me. She paraded us through the store and led us right to a cherry bedroom set. I love cherry wood, and I grew up with a cherry bedroom set. My parents still use it in their guest bedroom. But for some (not too logical) reason, I did not have a Va Va Voom! reaction to the cherry bedroom set. My mother quickly spoke up. I could apply the money from this set to any set I wanted in the store. Now, the next time you see the Hubs in person, ask him to show you just how I reacted. He will nearly skip out of his skin and squeal in delight all starry eyed, just like I had twelve years before. I scoured the store for a very long time, until I finally picked a bedroom set I loved. I picked a California King oak set, with a sleigh bed, with detailed rose carvings. I had no idea it was the most expensive set in the showroom. Let's just say it was practically the cost of a family vacation for four to Hawaii, including food and hotel stay.
But furniture fashionistas, tell me I am right. Supposedly, bedroom sets are a thing of the past. I read that it is all about the bed frame these days, and other non-matching pieces to outfit a room. Tell me that is the truth. That is the Farmer master bedroom furniture plan in a year. So since we are cleaning house these days, we wanted to let the set go, and acquire something new.

Needless to say bedroom sets lose their value. We posted our whole set for 15% of what we paid for it on Craigslist, and we additionally included the fancy shmacy pillow top mattress. And, since I am telling you all of our secrets these days, I will even tell you a juicy secret. Hubs and I bought that mattress off an old man who had just lost his wife. I am NOT kidding. They had other vacation homes and had only slept on the mattress in their California home a handful of times before she became ill, and no longer had a use for it. YES, we bought a dead woman's mattress. It was nearly brand spanking new and we were strapped and newly married.

I was practically giving away the cedar lined bedroom set and mattress. So when the Hubs wanted to post it on Craigslist, I just groaned. Ugh. I did not want to field phone calls from wheeling and dealing bargain hunters. But then I got a phone call from Wynn. I just wanted to jump through the phone and hug her. She was just the sweetest lady, the kind you instantly know would be a great neighbor or a great friend. She told me about her kids, about where she lived, and she was so flexible with my time. I never tell Craigslist people anything, but somehow we got to chatting about my kids and husband. I know! Totally unnecessary.

She arrived and the Hubs did the talking. You know where I was? I was seriously sitting outside watching my kids swim in the pool. I was almost afraid to meet her because I did not want to hurt her feelings if she tried to wheel and deal with me. You know, our friendship was on the line. But Hubs came out to find me and tell me that she was taking the bedroom set, for our asking price. They needed to return in an hour with a couple of trucks.

She returned, and I came out to meet her. We talked for a long, long time while the men loaded the trucks. This retired lady and I had so much in common! Our lives were similar in many ways! And then my friend Wynn confessed that when she saw the set on Craigslist she nearly cried. She could not believe it. She had eyed the set years ago at the very same furniture store, and could not afford it. She has always wanted this very set and could not believe I had "her" set for sale. My heart just leapt. I am so thrilled that our "old" set has found a new home.

Here's to Tomorrow!

My parents, sister, and nephew were all at our home tonight. We popped in Julie & Julia. I laughed to myself when Julie was so excited to get a single blog comment early in the movie. I wondered if I might get just one comment if I posted to my blog. It has been so long.

I fell asleep before the end of the movie. I said goodnight to the company and climbed the stairs. I was the only one awake. I slipped through our bedroom door and scooped up Son1 in my arms. He had fallen asleep in our bed. He didn't exactly end up in my arms. He was more dangling to my ankles. I nearly lost my balance as I took a step backward. I am only 13 inches taller and he is only five! How long had it been since I last carried him like this? Probably several months, probably before I had the baby, probably before I hit my last trimester. Wow. Images from the book I Love You Forever rushed through my mind. My baby he will always be. Sigh. Lord, please tell me he might remember the good things from today. Could he remember playing trains with his brother, or that his daddy rushed to the grocery store this morning so he could make him a special breakfast, or that we let him stay up late with his cousin? Could he remember spouting train whistle sounds and sirens, or the balloon he got tonight at church, or a baby brother that was truly amused by his antics?

Could he just forget a mama screeching over Christmas breakables? Could he forget that I was grouchy and sleep deprived with a touch of holiday stress thrown in for good measure? Those are not the Christmas memories I want for him this year.

I am so proud of him. He has grown so much in Kindergarten. He is thriving in school, in AWANAs, and as a big brother. His heart has grown by leaps and bounds for his two little brothers. He is so loved by his parents, particularly by an imperfect mother who needs tomorrow to come, so I can start again.

The First Stake Out Births the Marshmallow Roast Ten Years Later

Ten and a half years ago, we were very newlyweds. I was the first of my friends to marry and then I moved an hour and a half away to a quiet suburb in the next county. Our new town was small and a family oriented community, different than when we lived on the west side of Los Angeles, in YUPpyville (young, urban, professionals). In our new town, Hubs and I wanted married friends, but it didn't happen. He was traveling over 50% of the year, and it was hard to make couple friends as half a couple. One Sunday we visited a church, and right in the bulletin there was an announcement for a marriage study that Wednesday night.

We pulled in front of the house, just a few minutes late, and noticed three cars parked in front. All three were minivans. Uh oh. At this point in life, Hubs and I both drove sports cars. Two doors, that was our limit. I will cut the story short and tell you how it was a very painful evening for us. The three couples were old enough to be our parents. One couple had grown children our age, and let us know that. But at prayer time, they were so thankful that God finally brought another couple to their study. Their exuberance and thankfulness was enough to make us squirm. Maybe we were just unthankful. Still resolved to make married friends, the next week we attempted the study again. Well, not really. We parked on the cross street, and waited and watched for 15 minutes past the start time. The same three minivans were parked in front of the house. Yep, we drove away. Newly married, we did not want to hang out with people old enough to be our folks. We have often laughed about that night, and dubbed it "The Stake Out."

Two years later, Hubs landed a job inside the D.C. Beltway. I had never lived anywhere except three cities in Southern California. This was no small move for me. This was a coast to coast move for a California girl. And I did not want my life to change. I was used to Hubby traveling 50% of the year. I still wished for married friends, though I had none. I was used to life. I loved my workplace. I loved our rental house a few blocks from the beach. On the weekends we drove to see family in San Diego, Phoenix, Las Vegas, and San Luis Obispo areas. I traveled every now and then on business trips with Hubby. I had no desire for change. None. But it was inevitable. When the final news came that our move was definite, we had four months to prepare for our move. At night for nearly four months we prayed for our new life. And one consistent prayer request was to make married couple friends in our new place to call home, Northern Virginia.

Well, the story is a long one. I shared some of the story before. But the short story is that we found ourselves at a church with a class called Teammates, and first were greeted by LL and her husband. Yes, we knew them B.K., before kids. However, the majority of the class was moving out of the transient Northern Virginia area. New couples were moving in. The people that attended this class were other DINKs (double income, no kids) like ourselves. And these people were active! In February 2001, Hubs dreamed up the idea of a Hearts Tournament. We sponsored an event for the Teammates class, without really knowing anyone, except our friends, J and K. I was SO NERVOUS no one would show up. Ha ha, an answer to our four months of praying, our house was full of card players! We made so many great married couple friends from Teammates that continue to be our friends, no matter that almost none of us live in the Northern Virginia area anymore.

An hour before the tournament, Rebekah called for directions. We had never met. I told her there was no way I could give directions to our house "because I am from San Diego," which became my excuse for everything unfamiliar in Virginia. We lived not too far from the "Mixing Bowl" where the highways split into seven directions. Some go clockwise, and some go counter clockwise, and some are inner loops and outer loops. This was totally different than San Diego, where signs north point toward Los Angeles, south point toward Mexico, east point toward the mountains and dessert, and west point toward the ocean. Freeways did not make loops or circles, they were straight shots. She laughed. I couldn't tell if she was laughing at me or if she was laughing with me. Later I learned she too grew up in San Diego! So that was the start of the friendship between the Eekhoffs and the Farmers. A desire in our hearts from nearly eleven years ago to make married peers, that ended in "The Stake Out," remained with us two years later, when we moved. When we met the Eekhoffs back in 2001 we never dreamt we would live in San Diego in 2009, and our eldest children, just seven days apart, would pretend to roast marshmallows in our pool room. And if you know our mutual friend, Michelle, then you know that those marshmallow skewers are actually bamboo sticks she once gave me. And those marshmallows are actually cotton balls.

The Eekhoffs stopped by for just a few hours while in town. We had not seen them since they visited us in Hawaii a few years ago. But this time, they pulled up in a minivan alongside ours. Gone are the days of sports cars, and full are our days of loud little voices and unfinished adult sentences.

No Longer "A Place to Call Home"

Our house in Virginia is no longer "ours!" Last week, the sale was final. This is such a humongous praise and quite a heavy burden lifted! We kept the escrow quiet because we wanted to make sure the deal was done. Several contracts came through in the seven months the house was on the market, but none led to a final sale. And in the last month or two no contracts came through at all. We had to sell the house by a certain date, and God came through just before with a full asking price offer! To Him be the glory!

Hubs made some last repairs in November. He called me in Hawaii and I asked a huge favor. Now before I even tell, I am warning you it may seem silly. But it shouldn't sound too silly if you remember the goodbye to my Hawaii house.

I asked him in a cracking voice to stand specifically in Son1's room and say goodbye for me. For emphasis, I told him to say it out loud. NO cheating and thinking a goodbye in his head. Oh that man! He loves me. He performed twice for me. Right after we hung up, he said goodbye to Son1's room, and then once again before he left the house for the very last time.

I am sentimental. I am a sap, and overly sensitive. We had a lot of special memories in that house. But what meant the very, very most to me was that room where my first born child slept. It wasn't so much that it was his room. No. It was in that place that I felt so very much, feelings I never ever felt until 2004. Watching my newborn sleep, watching his chest rise and fall, wondering whom he would become, and praying for his future all happened there. It was in that room that I cried tears of frustration, of exhaustion, and of immense love. That room was where I started to get my bearings as a mother, a new and permanent phase in my life.

I am honestly glad the house is sold. No matter where we live, those memories no longer live in that room. They live in my heart.

I am Not Clicking My Ruby Red Slippers

My car is fine. The transmission slipping was a fluke. The service representative never charged me, either. I am counting all of this a blessing.

I really started a Hawaii post. You do believe me, don't you?

I hemmed and hawed on my In N Out order at the drive through. The teenager taking my order (yes a person stands at the drive through) was overly helpful with changing my mind. I was not as hungry as I wanted to be. Finally, out of the corner of my eye the lady in the Lexus behind me grew impatient.

I pulled forward to pay. "I am SO sorry. I am going to be THAT customer in the drive through that does not have her wallet. I grabbed my diaper back pack and tossed out diapers, a banana, and some markers. No wallet. "It is probably in the back. The lady behind me HATES me already. I took forever to order." I threw my car in park, jumped out, and opened the back van door. I jumped in and tossed a few toys. No wallet. Stink eye from the Lexus behind.

I jumped back in and told the cashier to hold my order. The food window waved me on, and I pulled into a parking spot. "But I want my chocolate shake. You said I could have a chocolate shake. Mommy, are you going to get my chocolate shake?!?!?"

And I will not confess how many drive through meals we have had in the last 6 weeks. But just know my 22 month old was crowing, "Shake? Shake!!?!?" too. Wherever did he learn that?

No wallet. No shakes. Whiny children. This now qualifies as an emergency and a crisis. Must call Hubs, who has not had lunch. It is well after 4pm. He assures me it must be at my parents' house or in my car. I high tail it back to their house, all 8 minutes of a drive. I call twice. No wallet. I pull up anyway, and ransack their house. No wallet. Still in crisis. Must call Hubs again. "Why don't you come over to the (new) house and I will help you look for it. It has to be in your car." Still trying to quiet the cries for shakes all the way to our house. I pull up and Hubs, my Superhero, is waiting outside for me when I drive up.

He methodically and cautiously inspects my now harried van. No wallet. He meticulously plucks apart my diaper back pack. No wallet. He is still optimisitc. That is his job, his answer to my dramatic tendencies. He hands me $100 and tells me to go buy the shakes. But my gut aches. "Can you please call American Express and see what the last charge was to my card?" Calmly he dials. His eyes pop wide. "N0rdstrom online?!? We need all of these cards canceled immediately!" He hangs up, and assures me he will take care of this mess. And then he plucks the $100 from my hand, and hands me a $20 bill. I am not offended.

I drive off to In N Out, considering the contents of my wallet. The credit cards Hubs would handle. What else of value was in there? MY LEGOLAND PASSES. Argggh. Dial mom. Tell her to look up the number for Legoland. Light bulb clicks. "FORGET IT MOM! I am going to get you a shake. Stop whining! GET ME THE NUMBER TO N0RDSTROM."

"You are not using your very nice manners," says a very hurt, very sincere, teeny tiny voice. I feel awful. He means it. And he is very right.

Call Nordstrom. They are very helpful. I say choice words...not foul language. I contain myself to....choice words. I tell the woman she is my best friend. This will get resolved. I feel relieved.

Arrive at In N Out. Teenagers can be very sympathetic at the drive through and at the cashier. I want nice teenagers like them. I deliver In N Out to Hubs. Two thousand dollars we will not be responsible for, charged at TM0bile, Veriz0n, Sears, Home Dep0t,Neiman Marcus, and N0rdstrom. Ouch. I feel so guilty because now my husband is dragged into this mess. And he is solving this for me with all of the credit cards.

He concludes I should head back to the hotel with the children. Driving back, I have a thought. Maybe life would be easier if we stayed in Hawaii. But I am not Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz. I will not click my ruby red slippers and call Hawaii "home" anymore. I remember the Israelites that complained and wished they were back in Egypt, and they wandered the desert for 40 years. I don't want to wander until I am in my 70s, figuratively speaking. I shake off the thought. Hawaii is not home right now.

And the little voice apologizes for wanting a shake. And I feel like a monster. Later in the hotel, I spend LOTS and LOTS of time with him. Little brother is asleep. We talk about the bad choice this person made. I apologize for my behavior, and for becoming so upset. He forgives me too instantly. There is a lesson there. I still feel badly. I question the depths of this move for a four year old. First car trouble, then wallet trouble. So much for providing security for him. But every day is a new day and today I will try harder.

Hubs and I have a late night talk. He is the best. He tells me I need to be more careful, and this was just an accident. He forgives me too instantly. I am sure there is a lesson there. ;)

If These Walls Could Talk

Moving was quite a process. Our pack out from Hawaii was much different than our pack out from Virginia. We were assigned two movers that wrapped our furniture, packed our boxes, and loaded our crates. These two wonder workers did it all. In Virginia we had a crew of people for each step: an entire crew wrapped larger furniture, an entire crew packed our household goods, and an entire crew loaded all of our crates. It took three full days and fifteen people to move all of our things. Not in Hawaii. Our two movers finished our entire pack out in two days.
We loaded eighteen wooden crates full of furniture and boxes. Each crate averaged about 900 pounds. The wooden crates were metal sealed and tagged with a number. Hubby's name was scrawled on the exterior of each crate, along with a number. Those of us that move like this, with particularly large shipments, know the unspoken "rules." If you want your stuff taken care of, you buy your movers whatever they want for lunch when they pack you up, and when they unload you at your destination. This time was easy; the larger guy shocked us with a salad order both days, and the smaller guy wanted plate lunch.

We were left with an empty house, just a shell of the memories that once held our home. I sat quietly, (very unlike me) reflecting on our time in Hawaii. In a few more days our keys would belong to someone else. It was their turn to call our house their home. I was not heartbroken. We bought this house knowing it would "work." We knew from the beginning that our time in Hawaii was ticking, and we could not stay forever. But I sat there, trying to memorize all that our house had meant, in all the ways it had become our home, in all of the ways we were able to share it with others. I will share them with you. They are not the most significant memories,nor the most private, nor the most public. They are simply memories that came to mind.

We had bought the Sanford and Son house on the block. It was so bad that the neighbors thanked us for buying it. A family with ten children and two rabbits had lived here before us. The then three year old home looked much older. So we fixed up the home, inside and out.

If the exterior walls could talk they would tell tales of two little boys that sat on that step and waited for their daddy to come home. On hot afternoons we hunted lizards and dragonflies. We took Son2's birth announcement photo on the front lawn, along with Mother's Day and birthday pictures. It was on the lanai that I found sweet packages sent from the mainland that at times brought me to tears. And this lawn is where giant poisonous toads would taunt me during rainy season nights. It was also on the front lanai where I learned to love people from the door to door religions and not just shut the door on them.
In the living room (not pictured) there was the time our 20 foot ceilings looked like they had been graffitied. Hubs used a paint sprayer and it got stuck. It was in this living room that I taught Son1 how to greet guests and then walk them to the door at the end of the night. This was the room where we first replaced the flooring, and Hubs and I had quite a time! Well, honestly I was terrible help to him. We said goodbye to our pool table in this room, and led our couples Bible study in this room.
These kitchen walls could tell you how my children loved to hide in cupboards, how we learned to cook new local food, and how the best of our guests helped us with meals. We spent so much time around that center island, eating as a family, preparing meals, spreading out maps of the island, and helping guests plan their itineraries.
Both of my children learned to walk in this family room, the room where Son2 once rocked peacefully in a swing. In this room Hubby replayed my LOST debut in super slow motion several times just so I could revel in myself.
If these outside walls could talk they would whisper the sounds of the melodic wind chimes we bought in Hawaii in 1999, long before we lived here. This is where I said goodbye to my dog of 6 1/2 years, where both of our children screamed delightfully as their daddy pushed them on the swing after work.Ahh how I wish this wall would let me forget the trip to the emergency room, but I will not forget the apple banana and papaya trees.If the dining area could talk it would tell you of the late night hours Hubby spent at the laptop, after work, after family time, after dinner, and after wife time. They would tell you about a man who puts his family first. Ahhh and you would know about the little boy who threw food from his high chair to his trusty dog, just to watch his mama flip, and then giggle, giggle, giggle. OVER AND OVER.
Goodbye bathroom walls, where I tossed my pregnant cookies during that big earthquake in 2006! This is where I started potty training, where I sang songs, read books, and made happy faces out of lotion to keep a child on the potty. Ahhh and where our guests worried the neighbors could see them while taking a shower. Hee hee. (We did put a curtain up!)

The walls of the guest room (not pictured) greeted so many visitors! How the walls may have giggled at overpacked and overweight suitcases, and even more as they watched many guests repack!The laundry room knew the joy of preschool art hung from each wall.
The hallway heard the cheers from wheelbarrow races with daddy after dinner, and games of Ready! Set! Go! races.Aahh and the walls would tell you how I relinquished our hall storage closet to an entire toy closet.
How we would tiptoe quietly in just the right places on these steps! And when we hit the wrong boards the kids surely woke up. In this little office I posted so much on this blog about our life in Hawaii.And some days I watched mountain sunsets and arching rainbows from the windows.And how those walls could tell you how frustrated I was when a child locked me in his room when he was 2 years old, and how I have retold that story, laughing with tears in my eyes so many times. They could tell you how Hubby and I have the sweetest memories of listening to our child pray at night, playing bedtime games with him, and his pretending to "clean" his room (shoving anything not nailed down into the closet).
And I know those walls laughed when I broke the toilet seat. But they knew the joy of watching two little boys share a tubby.

Our master bedroom (not pictured) WELL I AM GLAD THOSE WALLS DON'T TALK.Aahh the walls of the master bathroom could tell you stories of hair cuts for two little squirmy boys, and how one flushed a deodorant stick down the toilet, and we had to call a plumber. And of a mommy that relished in long, hot hot hot showers after a day at the beach.

And if these walls could talk, they would tell you how I told the new owner I could not turn over the house to him until my baby woke up from his very last nap in the very first bedroom I called "his."

Every Story Has a Beginning

It is hard to tell you how our move happened so fast without starting from the very beginning.
Remember the story of the red vetted bulbul in our backyard? Sure enough, in an instant, BAM! We had a buyer. But the buyer's offer was contingent upon the sale of their home, which was not a done deal. They had a shaky buyer for their place. So we kept the contingent offer quiet, fully expecting it might fall through. We knew comparable homes to ours had just fallen out of escrow. We did not have our hopes up. We scheduled our home to close two days after their home closed. If our house fell out of escrow, at least my worldly possessions would not be on a boat to California with us still in Hawaii. I mentioned we were doubtful, right?But then Son1's name was drawn at Awanas to keep Cubbie Bear for the week. And I thought...hmmm....could it just be possible that we might be moving? Out of all the kids, what a great time for our child to host Cubbie! It seems silly now that I took Cubbie Bear's visit as a sign that we were moving, but I did.

Time started to tick, and the new buyers opened escrow. They could still walk away from the contract after the home inspection. Within days of opening escrow, prices of homes similar to ours plummeted in a blink. POOF! The potential buyers could have backed out, and bought a similar, less expensive home in our same subdivision. By the grace of God, they did not.
Just a few days later, Hubs left for a two week business trip. That left barely any time when he returned before our packers arrived. So he suggested I call my mom. On a Thursday we invited her to come that Sunday for over two weeks. She helped me with the kids so I could get the house in order to move. I explained that we really could be moving, maybe, possibly, hopefully?!?!? The days were long and I was exhausted. Blogging did not happen. But we managed to squeeze in some last Hawaii fun for my mom....

Take My Pulse

I am still here. I am sitting in a gorgeous hotel room at 427 AM. Son1 had a nightmare and now I cannot get back to bed.

We turn over our house keys to the new owners later today. We are going to finish cleaning the house. It is pretty clean. We gave a cleaning credit, anyway. So I am not too worried about passing the white glove test. 'Cause we are good and generous people.

It has not been relaxing thus far. But I have some good news for your little eyeballs.

I have many half finished posts, and much more of Hawaii yet to come. Just wait.

We do not permanently leave the island until January 17!!!!

No Clean Breaks

Thursday night my sister called me on her way home from meeting with her attorney. She humbly asked if I would post something asking y'all to pray for her on Friday. And if you know my sister, you know she doesn't air her dirty laundry. Actually, she doesn't air her good laundry either. It wasn't a request I ever expected. I agreed, and ran a couple of things past her I might write. So here are some very, very personal thoughts.

Last night she said it was like a death in the family. She's right. In some ways it feels like death's end without understanding for those left behind. Tomorrow she will testify across from someone she once called her best friend, someone who shared her hopes, who shared her dreams, and shared the birth of her son. In some ways it is the end of something that began in 1996. In some ways, but not all ways. There is no such thing as a clean break.

The last fourteen months have been an intense roller coaster of emotions for our family. We have known tremendous shock, disbelief, absolute horror, helplessness, grief, and sorrow. There have been glimmers of hope mixed in there, too. Some of those glimmers of hope were shattered, some were not. And I do mean fourteen months. Once the reality of the situation came to light, it was far from the end. It was just the beginning. The pain and dark spot where my sister found herself was not pretty. My husband watched the way I felt intense pain for the three of them, 2,500 miles away. Some nights I slept little. Some nights I kept my phone close. Some nights he talked to her when I could not. My parents felt the intensity in a way I pray I will never know for my own children. And in a quiet place in my soul, I know this is a tragedy for my sister's in-laws as well. There is no such thing as a clean break.


Friday no one will emerge a winner. Emotional loss started fourteen months ago. Now it is the legal stuff, the paper stuff, the money stuff, the testimony stuff, the privacy stuff. Please pray for her. There is no such thing as a clean break.

I know divorces are a dime a dozen these days. They happen. So what? But have we really allowed ourselves to become so removed, so casual, so indifferent? My sister spoke with her husband earlier this week, and she laid it on the line. She is not supposed to be thinking of finding someone else or starting another life. This was not the way it was supposed to happen. She holds to the Christian belief of monogamy until parting at death. This divorce was not in the plan. But her heart was torn open. She tried reconciliation to no avail. Life took her in a new direction. She pulled herself up by her bootstraps. She sought God fervently. She immersed herself in a community of support at church. Her firm extended her understanding. Her family and friends rallied around her. Things were looking up. But the reality of the situation had not changed. There is no such thing as a clean break.


My sister has an amazing career opportunity before her, with a conditional offer of employment, outside of her current firm. My family is in awe of her confidence, her belief in God's protection and provision, and her ability to stand alone. Still there is the looming thought. There is no such thing as a clean break.


A bitty three year old boy is involved. There is no such thing as a clean break.


Saturdays my sister takes her little boy to McDonald's, and she has the same thoughts time and again. She looks around, and it is apparent her family looks different from the others. She thinks they look happy. Someone is missing from her table, though. There is no such thing as a clean break.


On Sundays my sister joined a family class at church. She looks forward to the Sundays when the families gather with their children for social events. She feels like she fits. Then there are the Sundays she does not have her son. Sometimes she doesn't go. There is no such thing as a clean break.


Friday marks the end, a new beginning, sort of, kind of, in a way. In some ways my sister feels it could mark the end of a living, endless nightmare. In a few ways it might. Please, please pray for her. There is no such thing as a clean break.

The 8s of the Birth D8. (Get it, birth date?)

The Farmer Files was born on August 8, 2007, on the date 08/08. I planned a little celebration for The Farmer Files in my head for the special day. But plans in my head don't always play out in real life. Instead we had a teeny celebration at home, just three of us. Hubby was somewhere on the Big Rock. The kids and I celebrated with a guava cake just before bed time. We at least had to choose some type of tropical cake.

To commemorate our special birthday, I am going to share with you in 8s!

Eight Things We Our Whole Family Loves to Eat in Hawaii:

1. Hawaiian Plate Lunch (more about this later)

2. Kalua Pork- served everywhere

3. Apple Bananas-from our trees

4. Pineapple-fresh

5. Hawaiian fried rice (includes the island popular SPAM) at Sandy's Cafe

6. Terikayi cheese fries from the Grass Skirt Grill in Haleiwa

7. Flavormania exotic homemade ice cream on the North Shore

8. Fresh local catch (fish)


Eight Things about our Blog:

1. Mama blogs like she talks and not really how she writes.

2. We love to show local Hawaiian culture beyond the common tourist experience.

3. We love to take you out and about, and bring Hawaii to you as much as we can.

4. We try not to embarrass anyone, including the Farmer Four.

5. Our first and foremost reason for blogging is to keep up with family and friends separated by time difference and distance.

6. What is true in real life is true online: A friend of the Farmers is a friend forever.

7. We love comments and we love to make new online friends!

8. We don't use our online names for a reason. That means y'all refrain, too!


Eight More things about our Blog:

1. We have Google Analytics embedded on our blog.

2. That means you can't see us looking at you.

3. So just leave a comment and make The Farmer Files happy, m'kay?

4. If you don't comment that's ok. We love seeing that you stopped by, and we're still happy.

5. We will start giving away some Hawaiian love from Hawaii (when I get it together, don't expect it really soon) for our commenters.

6. When we move to San Diego we will NOT be LOST on Oahu.

7. Only Heather knows what our new theme will be, and yup, she's designing it.

8. You're gonna have to wait until we move to see the new theme.

Too Much Flour, Anyway!

Can you tell where this is going?




Right on my hips by way of my lips. The Queen B posted a chocolate chip cocounut cookie recipe that howled BAKE ME. Back in the days when I didn't care what size pants I wore (when I was in the single digits in my pant size, before children) I baked cookies all of the time. I LOVE COOKIES. I love baking them, I love smelling them, and I love, love, love eating them!!!

I had just one little problem. There were no eggs in our house. Maybe it was for the best, I told Hubby. He reminded me about the 20 pounds of flour sitting in our pantry. Now that is a little exaggeration. It was probably only 19 pounds now since I used just a little bit before the SB diet. But hello, I truly did buy the flour at Costco. It was once 20 pounds. And since we may be moving if someone buys these four walls are moving in the near future, he was right. I should make a dent in the flour.

Hubby made a special shopping trip just for eggs the next night. I would not hush about the cookies. I just couldn't shake my craving. So at 1030pm I rescued my mixer from the belly of our garage, where all things hidden from open houses live. I washed the parts, grabbed my ingredients, and OK I MUNCHED ON THE BATTER. I probably could have turned the oven off and kept munching. But I restrained myself. I slid a drawer open and hunted for my smallest cookie scoop. I figured a smaller scoop meant more cookies smaller cookies with less calories.
Now I have no pictures of the finished products. Stop right there, don't even let the thought cross your mind. NO I did not eat them ALL. After I ate three, and shared some with Hubby, I saw a number flash before my eyes, a bigger number than today's weight. So I stopped. I pulled out 3 ziplocks. I put two dozen in a bag for my neighbors since they helped us move furniture earlier. (That's a whole other story.) I put another two dozen in the freezer, and the remaining 11 went on the counter for my family, in the third bag.

Now here's the kicker. I got on the scale the very next morning, and I weighed the LEAST I have weighed since I started this diet in June. The Queen B says she's gonna have to change the name to Miracle Cookies. And for all you interested folks (which is all of you) I weigh one pound less than I did when I arrived in VA eight years ago from CA. And yes, I am in a single digit pant size again. I owe it all to the cookies!

Grateful for the Minutes

Are you here to read a Farmer Show and Tell post about Hawaii? Today you're gonna have to wait. Until later. It's coming. Sometime after this one.

I could be one of those moms. You know, the moms that have the clanky key chains clipped around their purse strap with the gazillion photos in the plastic 2x3 frames? Or those moms with colossal round picture buttons, safety pin in back, clipped to their purse?

I almost could be one of them. But my kids aren't in team sports yet. And my purse is usually stuffed deep in my diaper back pack. And I don't have clanky plastic frames or colossal picture buttons.

I never wanted to be them. Those moms were crazy in love with their kids. And I was crazy in love without children at the time.

I'm a different person now. My heart is Gushing With Love for my kids! And I have a blog. And I have readers, all 52 of you that showed up here yesterday, for a total of 70 page hits. That means a lot of you aren't commenting. And that's ok. I see you anyway. Hubs is trying to talk me into doing some favorite Hawaii giveaway stuff. Maybe. But we're not talking about that right now. Unless you leave a comment and make me. Back to my Gushing With Love heart....

About a year ago I was putting Son1 to bed. In his prayer he thanked God "for da minutes." I may have even interrupted him. For the what? "FOR DA MINUTES!" What minutes? Were they learning to tell time in preschool? Had he been in time out? He had a one line, don't you get it, Mommy, answer. "FOR DA MINUTES!" I asked the teacher the next day. She thought and thought. "Well, I do tell the kids, 5 minutes until clean up time, or in ten minutes we are doing this or that." She laughed. Not at me, of course. She laughed at Son1's cuteness.

Here we are, a year later. And I understand his prayer just a little better. I am so grateful for the minutes, because that is just what they are, minutes, tiny blips of time, here so briefly.

Preschool is within walking distance from our house. In the mornings, as long as it's not raining, we walk. Most of it is uphill. Some of the time Son1 thinks the sun is too bright, or he is too tired to walk, or he whines he needs a little rest.

With his little hand in mine, I am grateful for the minutes. His hand won't be little forever. It won't always reach for mine. But it does now. I speak coaxing and encouraging words, telling him we can make it. He throws his arms around me in a huge bear hug, and I am grateful for the minutes in the mornings, even if they involve struggles. He is doing his job, testing the limits. And I'm doing mine, setting the limits.Hubby just chopped down an apple banana tree after an open house because I talked him into the Eye Candy Principle. We have lots of these trees. Some kids tote apples for the teacher. Son1 hauled apple bananas, the sweet tropical bananas. Okay, he didn't haul them. I put them in the stroller basket. He helped his daddy collect the fruit from the tree. What a spectacular opportunity to live in Hawaii and chop down apple bananas from our own back yard!

I am grateful for the minutes. I am grateful that his daddy is his hero, grateful that he finds ways to be a helper. I am grateful for the time we have lived in Hawaii, counting it a privelege, bordering on a miracle.

We walked up a block, down a block, and started on the Big Uphill. Son1 turned and ran down the hill, defiantly, away from me. I started to say something. But he melted my heart.

"Mommy, I have to pick you some flowers!!!"

I am grateful for the minutes. I am grateful for my eldest son. I am grateful for his thoughtful, big heart, and the care he used to pick my flowers.

We arrived at his classroom, and his teachers greeted him eagerly. He proudly produced the bananas. Son2 started to fuss, and we started to walk out the door. Son1 dropped the wilted flowers gently on the stroller shade, and patted them carefully. I hugged and kissed him and promised I would take good care of my flowers. He beamed, relieved I read the thoughts of his heart.

I am grateful for the minutes. We are so blessed on these morning walks. We identify plants and birds, clouds, and different lawn ornaments. We spend uninterrupted time, just the two of us, talking about all we see. For just minutes.

We leave the school, and I start a new conversation with Son2. I pull the stroller shade back, and we find dogs, trees, cars, and more birds. He laughs and points, and utters the words he knows. We walk for an hour. Sometimes we both talk. Or sing. I love his jargon. Sometimes neither of us talk.

I am grateful for the minutes. I know he won't remember Hawaii exactly, but he will remember the things we have seen here when he sees them on the Big Rock. He is so curious, and I love him for that.

I am grateful for quiet minutes on the walk. Those are the minutes when I dream about our future, when I tell God what's on my heart, when I recite paper napkin scratch in my head. Some days I people watch. I dream stories up about other people I see on my walks. Other times I create mental lists. But the minutes today are quiet. I see things differently than the day before. For fun, I examine tree bark and estimate tree heights.

More minutes passed this day. Hubby came home early, and Son2 was taking a good afternoon nap. I walked up to school alone, and picked Son1 up after school. We walked a different way home. We found these beautiful blossoms, differently colored on the same vine. He told me God made them that way. I smiled. It started to sprinkle, but neither of us minded.I am grateful for these minutes. All of them. The pretty ones, the frustrated ones, the tiresome ones, and the whiny ones. It's a short season. Soon enough I will be grateful for the minutes, even when they disappear. I love these two little boys so much!! I am so grateful for the minutes with them!

Napkin and No Nos

Selling two homes in a soft market doesn't exactly breed quiet souls. It's a season in our lives, a season that one way or another is going to pass.

Our pastor just finished preaching a six week sermon series on Psalm 23. I was so inspired I wanted to memorize the Psalm completely, committed to memory for good. I memorized it (is it possible to forget something you memorized?) in the fourth grade. I still know the verses today, but I get them mixed up, and forget words here and there. Hubby and I are re-memorizing (he memorized it eons ago, too) it together. I don't commit to anything without Hubby. I like sharing a goal.

In Hubby's lunch I always include a napkin with a note. NO MORE PERSONAL LOVE NOTES until Psalm 23 is memorized. Can you make out my scratch? Here is what I wrote last night for today's lunch:
Do you like the "restores?" Those are Costco and Wal Mart for stores.

"The LORD is my shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul. He guides me on paths of righteousness for His name's sake..." These are the first three verses. I am adding a verse a day.

Ohh, and the dark spot on the napkin is a reflection of my shadow over the white napkin. It's clean! Memorizing truths might prevent us from filling up on these:In an absolute moment of stress, recently, two half gallons of our favorite ice creams grew legs and walked in our house. But they didn't come solo. Noooo. They held the door open for a bag of brownies that crawled in because they were the "good guys." They benefited a fundraiser. These desserts made a negligible difference in our weight loss. So far.

Unexpected Stress

To take full advantage of Hubby's relocation package, this needs to happen immediately, and not in February, as planned. Our home in VA only 11 miles south of the Pentagon is for sale.

A Birthday Has Come and Gone

Our Blog Birthday has come and gone. Poof! We really did celebrate. But I am not going to post the pictures just yet, because I don't have the words to go with our extremely low key, three minute, celebration. When I do get those words in my head, I want to answer some questions you wrote, and share a few thoughts about blogging. But I have to wait until Hubby gets back to include the pictures because, well, it's a downloading issue. It involves hardware. But you don't want to know about that.

I also have awards to give, but I don't want to do that just yet, either. That will all be next week.

But in the meantime, if you want to ask about Hawaii, our family, moving, or San Diego, or something else that is just itching you...leave a comment, m'kay? That way I can weave those questions into the blog birthday post for next week.

Why a Bloggy Birthday and not a Blogoversary? I like the definition of birthday, better, from Webster's: Day of origin. Simple.

Waimea Falls With the Harveys AND Falling Asleep Laughing

We spent some of the second day with the Harveys at Waimea Valley Audubon Center. It is a 3/4 mile trek, one way, to the waterfall where Kate and Sawyer swam, on LOST. Parts of the walk are steep, other parts are flat. Wild peacocks roam the grounds. We usually see male peacocks. This day, we saw a mama peacock hovering over her babies. It was quite a sight, and quite a treat. Later on the walk, we found a large cluster of bamboo. See in the middle picture how tall these sun shelters were?! The bamboo towered over the shelters. See how Son1 and I are walking straight toward the bamboo? The best treat was hearing the wind blow the shoots into one another and hear them knocking hard toward one another. We could hear the hollowness of the shoots.

Parts of the walk the trees rose several feet in the air and created welcome canopies of shade.

Everywhere we turned there were flowers. Some of these pictures on this post are ours, and some are the Harvey's. So eat them all up!! The red flowers are a type of heliconia. They kind of look like flamingos. They cascade down from green palms. The yellow flowers grow up in a rectangular prism shape, and then taper into a cone top, with white flowers. The purple ones were just starting to open.

This banana tree is flowering while producing fruit. I had never seen such a thing! Well, not as pastel as this flower! This banana tree is a totally different variety than the kind we have in our back yard. On the left is another type of heliconia. This type shoots up out of the palms. We have this in our back yard. The last flower is ginger. These are common in the Hawaiian islands, and I wish we would have planted these in our yard, too!!

The middle picture is a flowering hibiscus.

We followed the trail to the waterfall. Now I am not sure how we were absolutely shocked. As we walked along the paved road from the entrance to the waterfall, it was completely apparent there was no water flowing into through the creek beds thirty or more feet below. This was so different than when we were here in March for the tea and with our family. We arrived and found no waterfall. The pool below was nearly empty. Summer heat and less rainfall took their toll on the waterfall, swimming hole, and running creeks. It was a little anticlimactic.

There was still the walk back, though. We experienced more of God's beauty all the way back to the car.
We jumped back in the cars, and traveled farther north to Turtle Bay. Even though this smaller beach is part of the fancy shmancy resort, it is a public beach. The waters are calm because they are protected by a reef, and a perfect entry for our small keiki. Turtle Bay Resort also owns most of the land where LOST is filmed for beach scenes and for trail scenes.

Real dads float with their kids while real moms sit on rented lounge chairs that some nice person let us use for their last 30 minutes!!

It got to be "that time." That time, being the time that if we didn't leave, there were going to be some meltdowns. We drove home around sunset, put the kids to bed, and had some adult time.

During our adult time, we laughed, laughed and laughed. We howled. I made promises that I wouldn't blog about what was said to the three other adults. Now don't worry, we weren't talking about any of y'all. It was all about the people sitting in the room.

Finally, we knew we were fading, and gave into bedtime. We said good night, and Hubby and I headed for our room. He finished brushing his teeth, and found me flopped on my tummy across our bed. He asked if I was sleeping. I sprang up into a sitting position. NOPE! I was sitting there with a grin from ear to ear. I explained to Hubby that my heart just felt very, very full. We hadn't laughed like that in weeks. The Harvey visit was just what we needed, right in the middle of the stress of selling our house, and our crazy, no date in sight, move. Their visit was a welcome distraction. We went to bed, sad that the last Harvey day was coming.