Stages

This is a post from October.  Some things have changed. But I'll save the updates for a different post.
Each stage has its own challenges and blessings. Each mommy has different skills and coping devices and stamina.

For me, my most productive and organized time was 4 and 5 kids. I don't know what happened in there, but I finally "got the hang of" the whole homemaking/ mothering organization.

But then I lost that after the two moves in 16 months that happened between babies 5 and 6. I never "got my groove back." I've gotten some parts back at some times, had new challenges thrown at me, totally lost any efficacy at other times, and then eventually sunk into a several years long depressive episode.

But now I'm back. I'm off antidepressants, feeling good, still struggling with concentration and motivation, but I really think that, too will improve with time and quiet.

Sometimes I see everything I've let slide over the last, say, ten or twelve years, and feel, .... overwhelmed. But I try very hard to not "go there," in that it's not productive and for me, I know now, might trigger the horrible depression into which I lapsed.
And now I find myself at a new stage, a new season. I have this fall, for the first time in 22 years, no children at home. People have asked what I'll do with myself. "Will you be bored or lonely?" "Are you going to look for a job?"

These are all valid questions. And things I've wondered myself. Joe has suggested I look for part time work. It would certainly help the budget. But for right now, I think there is plenty to do around the house. Plenty of organizing, plenty of cleaning. And of the making of lists there is no end.

I'm focusing on small steps. I'm trying to exercise. I'm trying to have after school snacks and meals ready at appropriate times. Healthy ones even! I try to not buy much prepared foods, or processed food, convenience foods, or whatever you want to use for a description of that stuff that you buy pre-made and just have to open a can or take something from freezer to oven. But this last six or eight months, after a move to a new house and having big kids home for the summer and people needing meals to go and meals at strange times, etc, .... And me having my kitchen kind of totally non-operational. I confess I've slipped a little bit. I've bought canned beans rather than cooking my own. I've used frozen pizza more times than I like to admit. I've used way more pasta than meat and potatoes. Even a quick pot of rice sometimes has seemed like too much work.

So meals, yes. It takes much out of me. And I need to get more organized, plan ahead, learn to shop at my new home, and finish tweaking the kitchen function.

I need to get the family office space or desk or file cabinet or whatever into a functional order. I need to know where the bills get put when they come in. I need to know where all the mail goes, and where to put the church mail for Joe. I need to have a good workable place for the kids to put the reams of paper they bring home from school. I need to research and be ready to discuss with Joe different option for debt reduction, since yes, over the last 15 years the level of our consumer debt has crept up and up and up. Something we were never, ever going to let happen. But it did. Gradually. Little by little. Month by month.

I want to create a smoothly enough running home so that when the kids are home, I like them. Say what?!?!

Of course I like my kids. I love them, in fact. But when the household is chaos, and all those bodies come tumbling in from the school bus, and they all want to tell me about their day. Some want snack and some like to do homework first and then snack and nobody wants to pick up their coats and jackets or put their shoes away right. Some can't find pencils, others need the computer, and there's always a line for something or other I need to sign, or something for which to write a check.

When all of this comes at me at about 4:30 in the afternoon, if supper is not already in the oven and laundry for the day done and folded, and other other daytime tasks I'm focusing on finished up, ... if I'm not up and running and ready for the afternoon commotion, ... sometimes by 5:00 I do not like my kids very much. And sadly, they do not like each other or me very much either. When the mom's not on top of things, the dynamic of everyone is adversely affected. It's one of those times of day that really can benefit from a mom with all her brain and a goodly part of her energy accessible.

That's what I hope to establish for my family in the next few months. There are signs that things are getting better.

I have been exercising. I have been brave enough to tackle some financial things. I have been about 70% on target with meals. I'm still only at about 50% of the time up-and-running kind of ready for the kids when they come home from school. The kitchen and living area tweaks continue, each one bringing a bit more order and therefore a bit more stability.

And we've started having read aloud again. At first it was only maybe once a week or so. But we're up to maybe two or three times a week that our evenings are smooth enough to manage it. I love being able to do that for and with the kids again. Some of my older kids' happiest memories involve something about the stories we read together when they were young. Either playing pretend with the story line, drawing scenes from it, repeating our favorite phrases at appropriately humorous times. It is something I cherish. So far I have not had much success in managing to work it in with the younger kids.

And so life goes one, the stages run, one into the next. Each with its own blessings and challenges. I praise God that I've been able to kick the prozac. I am so thankful for the gradually returning of my "old self." I thank God for each of my kids and each of the many joys they bring me. I am thankful for my Joe, who has sustained me, and put up with me, and loved me, just as I have him through all his stages and seasons.

And I pray God's blessings on this new and different stage of our lives, that of having no kids home during the day. When the time is right, I know God will present me with just the right "outside the home" job. I know until that time there is plenty to do here. I pray that I am able to continue to improve with focus and energy to get it all done.

Enjoying an Old Favorite

I'm reading again!  What bliss!  What comfort!  (What temptation to read too often!)

Some of you may know that with this stupid depression thing through which I've been floundering this several years, I have had little or no concentration to read.  And some of you may remember the days when I was a two-or-three-book-a-week kind of gal.  When I was a reader of both fiction and nonfiction.  When I liked to learn things from reading about something new, or a new take on old knowledge.

Those of you especially who remember those days will rejoice with me, and totally understand my deep, deep joy, when I say I can read again.  Nothing very heavy.  Nothing scary or intense.  Still not much nonfiction.  But I read.  Read.  Read!  I love it!

I've been picking up cheapo books at my second hand stores.  I whip through them and then send them back where I got them.  Or at least that's the plan.  Mostly they just sit in stacks on my dressers because I forget to put them in the second hand bins.

I've read three Zane Gray novels in the last month or so.  Although those white covers with the red spines and the Texas Longhorn imprint were a staple of just about every home when I grew up out west, I had never read any Zane Gray.  I find them appealing.  Not great writing, but somehow, appealing.  I love the descriptions of the colors and light and sounds of the wide open spaces.   I  love the cowboy type settings and characters.  The West.  And I like that there's always a little love story.  A clean love story, too—something that's not found in much of today's fiction.

I've read some fantasy by Raymond Feist, Magician: Apprentice, the first book of the Riftwar Saga.  It was an average book, or perhaps a little above average, but it brought me a disappointment.  The Ranger's Apprentice series of children's novels is a favorite of our family's.  It saddened me to find that the plot of the first book in the Ranger's Apprentice series, The Ruins of Gorlon, is very similar to this other title written for adults some twenty years earlier.  In general, the bigger plot of the fantasy world is not identical, but the character histories and sketches and much of the interpersonal relationships are very like.  

I recently picked up a copy of A Room with a View by E.M. Forster.  Ahhh, this book remains one of my all-time favorites.  Like Jane Austen, I love how Forster plays on the societal foibles of the time.  The book is a love story, full of passion, discontent, confusion, deceit.  But it so well portrays some of the silly things we all do as we navigate our lives.

The time setting of A Room with a View, being early Edwardian, gives Forster fertile ground to set up fun scenarios involving the clash between the prim and proper tail of the Victorian sensibilities and the free-thinking modern ideals.  The Honeychurches are the normal family, stable, proper, loving, and real. Aunt Charlotte, or Miss Bartlett, is the poorer spinster aunt who is prudish; prim to the point of judgmental; and proper to the point of perpetual martyrdom.  Mr. Beebe is the perfect universalist parson who sees the good in everyone.  Cecil is über prim and proper, and vacuous.  The Misses Alan are two elderly spinsters, also prim and proper, but disposed to think well of those who are not altogether so.  Eleanor Lavish is the daring modern woman.  An author.  And of course the counter-culture Emersons are kind-hearted. Mr. Emerson, the father, is portrayed as a kindly socialist buffoon; while his son, George is the brooding introvert, fixated on the meaning of "it all."

When Forster right at the beginning of the story, places these characters in the Pension Bertolini, in Florance, Italy, he shows his mastery of the art of satire in the behavior and dialog of the diverse personalities.  Before the end of the first chapter Forster has readers first chuckling, and then even hooting in mirth, as we get to know the characters.  And although I've read the book numerous times, I still laugh.  I still find new insights into the humor.  And I enjoy once more the old favorite dialogs and mannerisms.

Here are a few of my favorites.

Miss Bartlett is telling Mr. Beebe about their unfortunate beginning, without really want to gossip, of course.

     "The first evening means so much. When you arrived, we were in for a perculiarly mauvais quart d'heure."
     He expressed his regret.
     "Do you, by any chance, know the name of an old man who sat opposite us at dinner."
     "Emerson."
     "Is he a friend of yours?"
     "We are friendly, as one is in pensions."
     "Then I will say no more."
     He pressed her very slightly, and she said more.

Mr. Beebe continues a few minutes later with a more in depth sketch of Mr. Emerson's character.

     "I think he is [nice]; nice and tiresome.  I differ from him on almost every point of any importance, and so, I expect—I may say I rather hope—you will differ.  But his is a type one disagrees with rather than deplores.  When he first came here he not unnaturally put people's backs up.  He has no tact and no manners—I don't mean by that that he has bad manners—and he will not keep his opinions to himself.  We nearly complained about him to our depressing Signora, but I am glad to say we thought better of it.
     "Am I to conclude," said Miss Bartlett, "that he is a Socialist?"
     Mr. Beebe accepted the convenient word, not without a slight twitching of the lips.

And finally, as young George Emerson agrees to offer once more, his and his father's rooms with a view in exchange for those of Miss Bartlett and Miss Lucy Honeychurch, who have no view.  He scores a great coup that leaves us cheering and laughing.

     The young man gazed down on the three ladies, who felt seated on the floor, so low were their chairs.   "My father," he said, "is in his bath, so you cannot thank him personally.  But any message given by you to me will be given by me to him as soon as he comes out."
     Miss Bartlett was unequal to the bath.  All her barbed civilities came out wrong end first.  Young Mr. Emerson scored a notable triumph to the delight of Mr. Beebe and to the secret delight of Lucy.

But these little snippets, as much as they are enjoyed by those familiar with all the personalities, barely scratch the surface of the pleasure of this book.  You must read it yourself.  

Enjoy.

My OODA loop is broken

I finally have it figured out!  Just exactly what part of my psyche is flawed.  It's my OODA loop.

So yesterday I was in the room as Matt was working on some of his MCIs, ie, mandatory homework/continuing education for the Marines.  I suddenly heard something that made sense.  The normal process of getting things done, staying on top of things, that everyone does, has name and even a lesson for it when you're in the Marines. 

I wasn't sure if this was classified or if it would be disrespectful to write about it, so I did some checking and apparently it's a term that's used widely in the military and even in the civilian commercial and corporate world.  So I guess it's OK to talk about it. 

What's this big super secret discovery?

The OODA Loop

Observe, Orient, Decide, Act and then, Do it again.

We all do it all day long to accomplish our various tasks and responsibilities.  Except I don't anymore. 

My OODA loop is broken.

I can sometimes observe, orient, and decide.  Every once in awhile I can even act. 

More often, though, things get plugged up in my brain between the orient and decide steps.  Especially since this, call it what you will, depression/burnout/adrenal fatigue thing I struggle with started, I just get all muddled. 

I've always had trouble with easily feeling overwhelmed.  I used to be a perfectionist.  So in kind of a spirit of fear, I'd get everything all planned out and then never act on it, because I just knew I'd never get it right. 

But God cured me of perfectionism long ago.  He gave me my first child and then another and another and another.  Kind of a PN loop.  Pregnant, Nursing, and then Do it again thing.  He blessed us so richly with so many children, that simply the busyness of family life cured me of any residual perfectionist tendencies. 

And I survived and even at times thrived during that time. 

But somewhere along the line, the thriving kind of went by the wayside and eventually even the surviving was questionable. 

Obviously we're still here, so apparently we've survived.  But I'm very sure we've not thrived.  But that's where, as I've written many times before, the reliance upon God and His promises, the most important of which is His eternal Grace for our broken natures, comes into play most vividly.  Simply put, we don't thrive in this world without God's grace.  But His power is shown perfect because of our weaknesses.

But I digress.  OODA loop.  I get stuck.  Muddled.  Clogged. 

I can see everything that needs to be done.  But most of the time I can no longer arrange things in my head to know how to tackle anything. 

The orient and decide part of my OODA loop quit working somewhere along the line. 

I can grab a quick job and get it done.  I can do the immediate things pressing on me.  I can do the things my kids or husband ask me to do.  (At least most of the time.)  I can even put in a good day's work if I'm with a group of people, such as down at church working for something.

But for me to maintain my focus, mental acuity, and physical stamina on my own, for any length of time, ... that's what gets me at this point in my life. 

Some days are worse than others.  Some days I have to coax myself out of bed and to just put in an appearance as a Mom. 

Other days I can set a few easy goals that I may or may not accomplish. 

Sometimes I can make long term plans and goals, but they are never suitable.  There's always something else of the more immediate that pops up and changes things.  And in a properly working OODA loop, that's OK.  Because of the loop feature.  The constantly reevaluating and readjusting all the plans.  And doing it quickly enough to still decide and act.

I used to have the flexibility, the mental agility, to continue the loop.  But not any more. 

I simply react to the things that come at me with no forethought or planning. 

And it leaves my family and sometimes others in the community, in the lurch.

At least now I have a quantifiable way of describing the difficulty.  Somehow it seems comforting to know that it's just my OODA loop.  Drat.

My "y" coordinate axis is lower!

Please note the improvement on the above chart ... Yippee!

It shows a total of five pounds lost in seven weeks.  Truth be told, it doesn't seem very much.  But the direction is right and the exercise ticker is moving forward.  I'm up and moving.  My eating is less compulsive.  And my general outlook is improved.  All good things. 

Too many minutes, too little time!

I like that title.  Makes very little sense, but it fits. 

I rejoiced today to see that I'd passed the one third of the way done mark on my exercise minutes ticker.  But alas!  I then realized that it was already May.  My goal was to have been met by next Friday.  That means I have eight days to exercise 480 minutes.  That's, ... let's see, ... well, ... eight days of sixty minutes a day, or six days or eighty minutes a day.

I have been pretty good to do my "usual" three days a week of sixty minute per day.  My original goal was for four days a week at sixty minutes each.  But since I hadn't even been about doing my "usual" three days a week for many months, even that "usual" was hard at first.  By about halfway through the goal, my necessary daily average had gone up to five days a week at sixty minutes a day.

Still manageable, but tougher.  I've managed a couple of weeks with five days, but not always a full hour each time.  I've done a couple of weeks of four day weeks, being very diligent to get in my minutes.  But now here we are, a week before the deadline, and many minutes left to go.

Hence, "Too many minutes, too little time."

If you notice the other goal app I have on my blog, the chart that is supposed to be showing my weight loss, that one is not going too well, either.  And it's really not nearly as fun a title were I to have written, "Too many pounds, too little time." 

I weight in tomorrow morning, and I'll have a new coordinate on the chart.  Hopefully I move it down a little bit.  And then just one more week of the Spring Biggest Loser Challenge.  As much as the "minutes of exercise" I need to do for that ticker seems unlikely, I'm thinking that the weight goal is pretty much not going to happen.

But the bigger goal is better health and better habits.  And simply getting up and moving again.  Having something tangible on which to focus, to help boost me out of the slump of depression into which I was gradually sliding.

And all those things are moving in the right direction. 

Some of the members of the Spring BL Challenge are asking about interest in starting a summer one.  I may just do that.  So far I've not won any weekly prizes and it's pretty doubtful I'll win anything at all.  But it was fun.  Fun to get to know some new people who are all working toward a common goal.  Fun to have my own quantified goals, and others to share them with. 

We'll see. 

We'll also see how tomorrow goes on the scale.

A little Lorna Doone with my workout

Just to update a little bit here, on my goals for the Biggest Loser contest. 

• As of last Friday, I had lost almost five pounds. 
• As of Monday, I started my free two week sample of GNC's Body Fit from their Femme Factor line.  I'm a bit skeptical, but it was free.  We'll see.  If I understand it correctly, it's supposed to boost energy and aid one's body in metabolizing fat.  (Insert eyeroll).  Active ingredients, aka, the miracle combo: green coffee bean extract,raspberry ketones, saffron extract, and garcinia combogia extract.
• As far as energy levels and mood for other things around the house, meh, not so great.  I'm still a slug.  We did have a busy weekend, starting Thursday night with hauling everything out of the living room for new carpet on Friday morning; kids' school program Friday afternoon; and prom on Saturday, including having a group of the girls' friends gather here for beauty parlor, pictures, and snacks before they went into town.  So, really, I've done much, just not the regular getting a handle on everything around the house.  I did, however, have a really good day Saturday.  I had lists for chores for the kids and kept everyone moving.  I had the snacks ready for the older kids on time, and even got out the punch bowl for them, to "fancy things up."  It was a great day, about which I hope to write more one day this week.
• Exercise, at least on that front, I'm pretty much successful.  But only thanks to the ticker.   Some days I feel like that's what gets me out of bed, just knowing I want to move my little person. 

When I made my ticker, I figured I'd have to do four days a week with 60 minutes a day.  Usually faithful means three days a week.  But I figured, just for the sake of the Biggest Loser challenge, I'd bump up my goals a bit.  But I wasn't very good about sneaking in that extra day of exercise the first few weeks.  So now I need to do about five days a week of about 60 minutes a day.  Sigh.  I'm still going to give it my best shot.  I'll get that little marker as far as I can along her row of trees. 

If tickerfactory itself cooperates.  I've had to make a new ticker two days in a row now, because it won't recognize my password.  I have a feeling it's something to do with the cookies on my computer, so I'm having Joe clear them for me.  Either way, I will plug along with my exercise as faithfully as I can. 

Some days it's been nice enough to walk outside, and that's always a treat.  The wind is still brisk, and Lana's yard is still soft, so it varies from day to day where and if we can be outside.

When it's too windy outside, we use the inside equipment.  Today, I walked inside.  Lana is ill today, so I knew I'd be alone.  I took along my mp3 player and Lorna Doone, a Romance of Old Exmoor.  While I listened to John Ridd telling about the atrocities of Doones, I walked and ran for 1/2 hour.  I did ten minutes of warm-up at 3.5 mph and after that, I alternated 2 minutes of jogging at 4 mph, with 3 minutes of walking at 3.5 mph. 

I felt nearly done in at that point, but I was determined to get my sixty minutes.  After a pretty slow first couple of chapters, John Ridd's tale was finally getting interesting, so that helped, too.  I did five minutes on the Cardio-Glide, just a slow and steady clip, with a few brief pauses here and there. 

Then on to the Gazelle.  I did five minute just plain gazelling, and continued on with ten minutes of doing the special positions: squatting, tip-toes, leaning forward, leaning backward and giant steps.  I did 30 seconds of each position, alternating with thirty seconds in the normal fashion. 

I finished up with a last ten minute segment on the tread mill, mostly walking at 3.5 mph, but with one two minutes interval of jogging at 4.0 mph.

That was sixty minutes of exercise.  And as I walked to the car, the narrator in my ear finished up chapter five of Lorna Doone, "An Illegal Settlement," which explains how it came to be that the Doones were allowed to terrorize the countryside around Exmoor. 

Morning musings on Satan's temptations, sinful nature and depression

I rejoice this morning.  But it was not without worry.

Worry that I was once again slipping into the dark void of depression.

It's been a hard winter in that regard.  I'm nowhere near as low as I was two years ago.  Uffda, that was a bad time.  As I've said before, I didn't even realize I was there.  At that spot.  I just kept plugging along, doing my thing, which at the time wasn't much.  But once I started to feel better, Oh, my!  I couldn't believe the fullness of life that I had been missing. 

And I don't ever want to go back to that place. 

This morning I got up.  I had three goals:  finish the final set of bootcuffs for Allie's order, so I could send them with Joe to deliver to Cheryl at Nazareth; switch the wash load so I had some clean unders for church; make hot breakfast. 

For a couple of years or more I've had my alarm clock set for 5:30 and 6:00.  It's an old second hand one, and the buttons are stiff and very hard to reset.  So I mostly leave the settings as is, even if I don't want to get up at those times.  It's easy enough to just hit the button and go back to sleep right?  Sometimes I set my kitchen timer to go off at the time I really want to get up.  Sometimes I use Joe's little battery operated travel alarms.  

I try to get up by the 6:00 alarm most days, but this winter I've found myself more often opting for the kitchen alarm at 6:30.  I knew this morning I had to be up by 6:00 if I wanted to get the bootcuffs done to send with Joe at 7:00. 

So I sat on the edge of my bed.  And had a great. Big. Argument.  With myself.

One of those in which you can almost hear the temptation in one ear, and what little bit of strength of conscience you can summon in the other.

"You can send the boot cuffs with Joe later, after the Oak Park service.  You don't have to have it done first thing."  "Cold cereal is fine."  "The clothes will be dry by church time even if you go back to sleep for awhile."

And so on. 

And I was close.  So, so close to going back to bed. 

But I didn't. 

After I got up, I realized that the reason it was so hard to get up was that it hard for me to care.  I found it hard to find any real reason that the above things were really important. 

And I realized that most of this winter I haven't cared.  I've simply gone back to bed with no further thought. 

And so I worried.  "Is this the beginning?"  "Am I slipping again?"  "I do really care, but why is it so hard to feel?"

But what I finally realized is that I DID GET UP! 

I said to Joe, "I don't know whether I should be worried that took so much argument, or rejoice that I actually realized there ought to be an argument."

We both agreed to go with the second.  There are times when just realizing one ought to argue against the lack of caring is progress.  When even the pang of conscience is laudable. 

And this morning, I rejoice in that fact!  I thank God for it.  And I thank Him even more for the Salvation through Jesus, which washes me clean of all the times that even the pang of conscience is missing.

Spring Cleaning 2014

Sometimes I'm organized with my own chores. 

Sometimes I'm organized with my kids' chores.

Sometimes I'm not organized at all.

Sometimes I can't think past each afternoon.

This winter has been one of those times.

I knew, for instnce, in the back of my mind, that in the last month or so,I had two soup suppers for Lent, a baptism church dinner to which I had to bring a GF dessert, and cole slaw to mix up for the electrical co-op annual dinner.  Of those things I've mostly kept the plates spinning, except for the cole slaw which I forgot to mix up and the ladies down at church had to do it for me at the last minute.  Thanks to whoever had to do the extra work.  And my apologies.

I also know in the back of my mind that I have one more soup supper to do; prom coming up, for which Louisa and Elsie have asked me to host the group of friends for lunch and pictures before they go into Oklee.  Within one week in May, I have Clara's confirmation, winkel at Oak Park, and Louisa's graduation. 

The parish board is getting us new carpeting in the living room sometimes soon, so will have the ensuing busyness with that.  And Lana has offered to help with some more painting this spring, if we can work it in. 

I know these things are coming, but when I am at a point at which I can barely handle meals and laundry for the family, ... the extra things get squeezed to the back of my brain.  I know they are there.  And I try to throw everything together at the last minute to accomplish such things.  But I don't always make it.

Today, I took some time to get my head on straight for the coming busyness.  I wrote down all the extra and bigger cleaning type things I want the kids and I to work on in the next several weeks, along with some of the regular-keeping-up-with type things that sometimes get set aside when I'm in one of my low energy states that leave us all flying by the seats of our pants.

For the sake of accountability, I'm going to post it here.

Looks kind of funny squished out long and thin, but it gets the point across.  The kids will be asked to initial those things they accomplish. 

Mudroom bathroom	Main bathroom	kitchen	Dining room	Living room
pick up	pick up	Pick up, sweep, mop	Pick up, sweep, mop	Pick up, vacuum
sweep	sweep	Wipe outside bottom cupboards	Clean and dust inside glass cupboard	dust
Wash counter	Wash counter	Wipe outside top cupboards	window	Wash walls, and hallway walls, front door
Wash toilet	Wash toilet	Clean inside lazy Susan	Scrub walls	Wash windows
Wash walls	Wash shower	Straighten coffee cup and water bottle cupboard	Wipe map	Fix wall behind wooden couch
Mop	mop	Wash and arrange inside silverware drawer	Scrub table legs	Paint wooden couch
Mirror	mirror	Wash and arrange inside utensil drawers- label	Repaint benches	Put pads on back of wooden couch
Toilet paper supply	Toilet paper supply	Sort utensil baskets	Scrub chairs	Order new cushions for wooden couch
Clean towels	Clean towels	Clean /arrange inside upper cupboards	Glue chair	New cushion covers for new cushions for wooden couch
Towel supply	Towel supply	Wipe outside upper cupboards		Move TV to family room
Wash outside of cupboard	Wash outside of cupboard	Scrub wall above counter		Paint shelf
Wash both sides of door	Wash both sides of door	Scrub counter	hallway
	Wash walls	Wash behind oven	Wash walls
		window	Wash front door
		Clean oven	Paint dresser
		counter
		Sort arrange tupperware cupboard
		Sort arrange baking dish cupboard

Wish us well, friends. 

New goals for a new season

The kids recently celebrated Dr. Suess's birthday at school.  So they've been reciting various parts of the different books.  One of them said yestereday, "No ups, I'm sleeping in today."

I've been needing a boost this winter.  I feel like every day is No Ups with me. 

But thanks to my friend, Dana, I'm taking on something new.  Dana is also a Lutheran pastor's wife.  She and her husband are much younger than Joe and I, but they have a growing family with very busy and imaginative children.  Very often her stories remind me of where Joe and I were ten or fifteen years ago.  Dana's posted various times about a Biggest Loser contest she participates in through a facebook group.  Different times I've been tempted. 

This time, too.  I was tempted.  But the way I frantically search my cupboards lately, and buy pop, and sweets, and whatever I can get my hands on, ... The way I sit around and can hardly make myself get off my chair, ... I just wasn't sure I wanted to commit. 

But something has to be done.  That fat little rabbit has been sitting on my ticker for way to long without moving.  And in fact, truth be told, he'd have to move backwards about ten or fifteen pounds if I wanted to still use that ticker.



So I've decided.  I've decided to join the Spring Biggest Loser challenge with my friend, Dana.  She was so excited for me last night when I was chatting with her about it.  She almost even got me excited for it, too.  See, that's how bad it is around here, even a new plan and an excited supporter, ... even that barely gets my energy going. ...  "She almost even got me excited."  Pathetic, Mary. 

In the next few days, maybe even today, I'll be changing my ticker.  A new ticker for a new goal.  My goals don't have so much to do with a specific amount of weight loss.  Just a little bit more control.  Of my eating.  Of my sitting around.  Of the procrastination.  And other less than constructive habits.  I don't think I can quantify those things for a ticker, so the ticker will represent weight loss. 

For the Biggest Loser Challenge, I have to send in before and after pictures.  Some of the others posting their pictures are so brave, ... doing the clingy, exercise clothing shots.  I'm just not able to do this.  The first photos I had Joe take, ... Well, at least I know I'm disguising somewhat the rolls and droops and sags.  I look pretty good actually.  But I think for the sake of integrity, ... I need to find something a little more form fitting to send in.

If I could capture the fat roll I see when I'm sitting here at my laptop.  I'm slouched down in my chair with my feet up on the piano bench. I look down and see that roll.  It just rolls, ... We're not talking muffin top here, we're talking ... mushroom top.  Or weeping willow even.

I think I'll post the ones Joe took, just to have a public reference.  But trust me and rest at ease, you'll not be subject to photos with anything clingy.  And you're also not getting the one with my feet on the scale. ...

But yes, I'll try to post here periodically.  My readers here are another source of support and knowing that you'll see my progress or lack thereof, ... It might help. 

My walking ladies and I have not walked much since last summer.  But two of us are committed to starting again regularly on Monday.  Connie been suffering with chronic tendonitis in her Achilles tendon.  Jan has had hip/ knee pain.  So it's just Lana and I.  But we ARE going to start in again, right Lana? 

It's time.  Time for a change. 

Oops, I did it again!

This is the first day I feel normal in about two months.  I think I finally kicked that stupid bug that had been wearing me out.  Last week was crazy with snow days and car troubles, but we made it through, and I even made some progress on the longer term deeper organizing and cleaning. 

Weekend was busy with residual car junk, ... the kids were asking about one obligation or another that's coming up in the next weeks, and all I could say was, "My brain is full of car junk.  Ask me next week after I've recovered."  (Regular readers will recall my difficulties these days maintaining my mental acuity during times of stress.)

Sunday morning I needed to do some prep for the busy Christmas program prep day we had planned for the Sunday School kids, with drawing names, and assigning parts, etc.  It gets a little wild with the kids filing past the teachers,  at each station picking up a note to parents, lyrics sheet, drawn name, and part, or then getting it all stapled together at the last stop.  I wanted to be good and ready, so I got there early (at least for me.)

Imagine my chagrin when I realized the church ladies were also there early, prepping for the meal for which I was supposed to bring a hotdish.  Since I'm assigned the gluten free one, it's pretty noticeable if I forget, right?  Not to mention our GF eaters might be a little dissappointed having to leave a church dinner still hungry.

Shoot!  Oh, and that reminded me of something else later in the day I also forgot.  Ladies' Aid Christmas party for which I didn't yet have a gift!  Way to go, Mary.

So I got through School with the help of the teacher, helpers and some of the older kids.  We had opening prayers.  We did the December birthday pennies and gift.  Got all the info handed out to all the kids.  And then quickly.practiced through the Hallelujah Chorus.

I ran up to the parsonage to throw together a hotdish.  Canned sweet potatoes, cooked turkey from the freezer, a bag of corn and some diced green peppers, also from the freezer, a quick white sauce poured over the top.  Shoved it into the oven at 400 and fly out the door.   Not a typical Minesotan hotdish.  But at that point I hadn't much for options.  And I got back to church before the sermon.  I felt a little bit like Martha of Bethany, though, missing the first part of the service.  :-(

After church, I ran up to the house to get the hotdish out of the oven.  Plunged a fork into it to see if it had heated through.  Hmmmm, warm but not hot in the middle.  But the edges are bubbly and even browned.  I quickly stirred the bubbling cauldron-like edges to the middle, noted the steam rising from all parts, put the lid on and raced back down to church.  Arrived looking as though I'd got the world by the tail and was feeling cool as a cucumber, right?

I relaxed to enjoy all the wonderful food and company for which our congregations are kind of reknowned.  Had a nice and quick visit with Kory and Carol and Aaron and Jill.  There was even still a spot open when Joe got done shaking hands and got his food, so I had the rare treat of sitting with my husband at a church dinner.

After finishing the dinner, I took a deep breath for the next rush.  Ran up to the house and crocheted a quick headwrap with flower for the LA gift exchange.  I was running a bit late, (big surprise there?)  so Clara and Sophie helped me with things like tucking in yarn ends and gathering a gift bag.  Flew back down to church, and again, attempted to put on the facade of being all cool and organized and in control!   haha.  Am I good or what?

It was a nice party and a fun afternoon.  Muriel loved her headwrap, and since the church was kind of chilly, she put it on right away and wore it the rest of the afternoon.  It looked very cute on her, if I do say so myself.   I sort of wish I'd had the camera along. 

So today, ... today I'm relaxing and crocheting.  I have several Christmas time orders to fill.  And after such a weekend, I need to rest.  I already took one nap this morning.  Perhaps I'll take another. 

But one thing's for sure.  When this mom says, ""My brain is full of car junk.  Ask me next week after I've recovered,"  she means it.  Don't even bother.  It doesn't matter how important it is, it's pretty likely she'll forget anyway.

On the pursuit of well-being in a sin-filled word

Believe it or not, sometimes, ... yes, even I, ... spout my opinions.  (For those of you who are not frequent readers, that's supposed to be irony.  I'm very, very well-known for spouting.  Loudly.  And when in person, it's often accompanied by wild gesticulations.)

One of the things that sometimes wears on me as a mother is the whole notion of health.  The health of the kids, the health of the mom.  Physical health, Emotional health, Spiritual health, ... I get tired of thinking about health.  

 

There are so many health concerns in the world and so many answers.  To immunize or not?  Which diet is the healthiest?  Which children have which food sensitivities?  Is it chronic fatigue, lyme's disease, depression, hormone imbalance of any number of varieties, insulin resistance, adrenal fatigue, or just what?
 

And after ten kids, and 20 years of parenting, not to mention 40 some years of life in this world, for me, it's all just got to be in God's hands. 

 

I have too much on my plate, and our budget is too constricted to do anything more than what we're doing. 

 

The way I see it, the way the Bible tells us, this is a sinful and broken world. 

 

If it's not one thing, it would be something else. 

 

Way back when, I started researching all this junk for a variety of childhood illness related reasons, (chronic ear problems, ADD type stuff, autism, Aspbergers, skin issues, ...)   And throughout the years different research for myself, ... things like depression, PMS, chronic fatigue, metabolism, etc. 

There are a whole host of ideas out there.  Many good and well researched.  And many cockamamie. Some people have skills and concentration and time and interest to research it all.  I simply do not.  I mean, it's all interesting to me.  And fascinating, too, all the different ways that are outside the mainstream, where people have found relief from one thing or another.

One friend was convinced Jeremy's ear troubles were from yeast (The Yeast Connection). There was the potato/alcohol connection thing someone recommended for dealing with mood swings  (Potatoes not Prozac). 

Treating various illnesses with homeopathy, the science of which claims that the smaller the particle of remedy, the better the result.  And for some things, when combined with about a hundred lifestyle changes, it seems to help.

There's hyper- and hypo- glycemia, glucose intolerance and other metabolic disorders.  Celiac disease, fibro-myalgia, and other auto-immune disorders.  The list goes on and on.  

And at it's core, it's all simply that we live in a sinful and broken world.  Things are WRONG with our bodies.  They are not and will not work right.

And we, as sinful people living in this sinful world, making our way as best we can.  As my friend and mentor Dort P. put it, we muddle through.

By God's grace, our mainstream and alternative medicines sometimes offer solutions that help alleviate the results of this brokenness.  And other times, we suffer along with St. Paul.  We bear the thorns in our flesh.  We must simply live with the problem.  And with St. Paul, God says to us, “My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.”

Given the same situations, each of us must make our own decisions.  Is it time to do more research and try more things.  Or is it time to bear the thorn in our flesh?  Each of us is different.  Each situation, personality, financial situation, location, ...  We're all different people and will make different decisions.

Sometimes, due to new or different information, a new or different perspective in life, the same person will make different choices at different times.

It's all part of the challenge of living under God's grace, but in a broken world.

It's easy to look back with a new and different perspective, and carry regrets about choices we made in the past.  If only I had known ...  or my son or daughter's life could be so much better, ... or I wish I had tried ...,  or what have you.

And yet we know that by God's grace, according to His wisdom and timing, living under His providential care under the grace of Christ's forgiveness, we chose the best we could for that part in our life.  We muddled through. 

We simply are where we are today.  Each day.  Serving our Lord according to the talents and abilities God has given us.

Sinning as we all do.  Failing to do those things we ought and instead doing those things we ought not to do. 

But also clothed in Christ's righteous wedding garment put on us at our baptism and through faithful use of the Word and Sacrament, we serve God.   Doing the work God lays before us each day.   According to our abilities and interests and choices.

All of us.  We all have broken parts.  Emotionally, physically.  Things that simply aren't right.  We sometimes find one solution, other times another.  And we carry on.  We continue, as we're able.  We fulfill our daily vocations, as best we can. 

And we know we will sin.  We know we will fail.  But we keep putting one foot in front of the other, resting assured in God's Grace that He will most importantly, lead us to heaven in the end; and secondarily use us, broken as we are, to His Glory.

I think I've probably mentioned this passage before, but it's so profound to me, especially with regard to life choices and mistakes, I'm going to write about it again.  It offers great hope for me in those times when I have to question and re-evaluate decisions, past and present.

It's just a little passage, really.  Eleven words in the book of Hebrews. "By faith Isaac blessed Jacob and Esau concerning things to come."  (Heb. 11:20)  Just eleven words.  So terse.  But so full of comfort in this world of sin.

The passage itself doesn't show all of the Bible's truth.  But it reflects a particular concrete example of how God sees us through faith in the righteousness of Christ.

If you  haven't read it in awhile, refer back to the account of Jacob and Esau in Genesis.  Their birth and younger years are recorded briefly in chapter 25, starting at verse 19.  The account of Isaac blessing his sons, is recorded in chapter 27.  Read on to the resolution, which doesn't come until chapter 33. 

God, in His Holy Word, has recorded for us both the good and the bad in His people.  He shows us time and time again that we simply cannot make it on our own.  Even the Biblical heroes fall, time and time again.

In the account of Isaac, Jacob and Esau, our human wisdom sees stubborn old Isaac not wanting to bless his sons according to God's will and His prophecy before the boys were born.

“Two nations are in your womb,
Two peoples shall be separated from your body;
One people shall be stronger than the other,
And the older shall serve the younger.”

We see the treachery of Rebekkah and Jacob, trying to force God's will (which happens to also be their will) to be done.  But through human deception, rather that trusting God's promise and providence.

Later we see the pain of Isaac, when he realizes what he has done.  He's crushed and heartbroken, and angry.   His wife and son have betrayed him.

Esau is filled with bitterness that turns to hatred,

So Esau hated Jacob because of the blessing with which his father blessed him, and Esau said in his heart, “The days of mourning for my father are at hand; then I will kill my brother Jacob.”

Jacob has to flee for his life.

Rebekkah and Isaac must still live together as husband and wife after this great betrayal.

It all seems so wrong.  And it is, indeed a story filled with the tragedy of sinful decisions.

And yet, in Hebrews 11, in the list of Biblical heroes, Isaac is listed among them. 

On account of faith.  "By faith Isaac blessed Jacob and Esau concerning things to come."

By faith, through Christ's righteousness, God declares Esau righteous. 

A hero. 

So to with us.  We will always sin.  Our poor decisions will continue to cause pain to ourselves and others.  But we, too are declared heros.  We stand righteous before God, through Christ.

And not only that.  But also, for Christ's sake, God worked it out in the end for Isaac.  Likewise for us.  He manipulates all our human flubs, somehow, and uses them to His glory. 
 
I can't tell you how those eleven words have brought me comfort throughout the years.  "By faith Isaac blessed Jacob and Esau concerning things to come."

Raising children can seem like such a great and consuming responsibility.  Especially in today's world.  We parents and families today are indulged.  We have the luxury of mostly not having to wonder where each meal will come from.  We mostly don't wonder how we'll cloth our children or where we'll find shelter each season. 

We have time and luxury to worry about things like diet and health, emotional and physical.  And even spiritual.  And in so worrying, we often take too much on ourselves.  We think we are the only ones who can do this.  It's all on us.

Are we making the right choices.  Are we  providing the best.  Are we giving enough.  Are we giving too much?  Are we setting a good enough example.  Are we strong enough?  How can we read the Bible enough?  How do we give our children good morals without making them self-righteous? 

It's ALL ON US!

But it's not.  Not really.  And in reality, this temporal world is all vanity anyway.  Here today and tomorrow cast into the fire. 

It's not all on us, but God.  His righteousness on us.  That wedding garment that we simply wear.

But how, we wonder, how to do that in daily life?

Focus on the ONE THING NEEDFUL.  Put as much effort and time into the temporal well-being of our families as we can each day.  To the best of our abilities.  With the wisdom and resources at our disposal.

And rest assured, every hour, every minute, in the eternal promises of God.  The knowledge that like Isaac, we will screw up.  But in the end, we'll be a heroes.  Heroes who's only act of heroism is the righteous covering given us by Christ.  That covering which allows God to see us as a heroes.

Thoughts on Depression, Part II, one year later

Oh, how I hate this depression thing.  See when it was just a little bit, and I could jump back into life after a few days or weeks, I could pretend.  Now that I took the plunge and sought treatment, I'm labeled.  Every time I have a down time, I worry.  "Is it overcoming me again?  Is this just a little funk, or is it the Big Darkenss?  The Abyss.  The Nothingness."

Isn't that a charming way to start a post?  I've been really struggling lately.  Struggling with energy.  I could sleep all day long.  Most days even just standing and putting one foot in front of the other requires supreme effort.

I wrote last fall about the image of withdrawls and deposits I associate with this whole depression thing.  If I  have too many withdrawals in too short a time, or if the withdrawals are only few but big, I need to take time to slow down and refuel.  And with this depression thing, the positive balance slips away more quickly, and replenishes more slowly than it ought.  That's the primary lingering symptom which I still notice.  Or perhaps it's simply the effects of aging, and I'll always have this difficulty.  Who knows?

Either way, it makes me mad.  And sometimes scared.

I have been reminded lately of the Impatient Pot about which I wrote last winter.

I was disappointed last spring that I was not able to go off prozac.  I really, really don't want this to be a lifelong need.  I remember when I first started taking  medication for depression.  I was frustrated that I'd have to be on meds for a whole year.  An entire year of having to add this artificial chemical to my body to help my brain work right.  Or to screw it up.  Who really knows, right?

But when spring came this year, I was still seeing progress being made and and healing coming together.  I didn't want to risk a plateau in that progress and healing, when I still had what felt like miles to go to be well.  And I think that was the right choice.

I had a great summer.  Not 'great' in the sense of having many wonderful times.  Although there were definitely some of those, too.   But 'great' in the sense of catching up.  Making progress.  It was a very, very busy summer.  But throughout all the changes, and running, and obligations, I made progress.  Rather than getting knocked about, being pummeled by all the busy-ness, I moved forward.  I had fewer down days.  The many withdrawals of the busy times, physical labors, and mental overload didn't lay me flat.  I was able to move forward, catching up little by little, on the years' worth of behind-ness that defines my homemaking.

But now it's fall again.  I'm in a funk.  I feel the emotional drain.  Too many withdrawals.  So I rest.  And I try to find ways to refuel.  But the refueling is too slow.  And sometimes, too hard.

I haven't yet felt the darkness and nothingness of a full-blown depression closing over me again.  I'm not yet to the I-can't-remember-what-it-feels-like-to-be-alive state.  But I confess I've been a little bit worried.  A little nervous that it's coming.

Then I remind myself that I felt exactly like this a year ago.

I make myself notice the little things.  Even amidst the low energy days, there's good news.

For one, notice the the date on that fall post I linked above.  The one that talks about the funk I was in last fall.  It was written in mid September.  I made it a month longer this fall before that feeling took over.  I bounced back last fall, and likely I will this fall, too.

I talked to Joe about my symptoms the other day, and the fear I sometimes feel over them.  "Should I call Dr. Winjum and ask him up to my dose?  Has it come to that?"

Then I roll my eyes.  Here's the lady who used to prefer everything the hard way.  "Wallow through it.  God's teaching you something while you're low.  Rely on Him, not on meds."  And now I simply want to take a higher dose just to feel better.  I feel kind of like a junky. 

But I think, just getting the possibility of further medical intervention out on the table helped.  Joe knows I've been struggling.  He knows the dirty laundry is piling up and the dishes are not always finished.  The floors are not swept.  And very often, he has to cook.

Ugh!  Just putting it in writing makes me feel so bad.  "Exactly what have you been doing, Miss Mary?  Doesn't sound like a whole heck-of-a-lot."  And it's true.  It's bad when getting dressed feels like a great feat.  Or putting some left-overs in the oven for supper is almost more than I can manage.

To answer the above question, "I've been sleeping.  And crocheting.  And reading."

About one day in five, I can manage to accomplish something.  But when there are ten mess-makers in the house—ten people dirtying clothes and dishes and floors—one day in five is simply not enough.  And so my family suffers.

"Where's a towel, Mom?  Are there any clean towels around here?"

"Are we having rice and beans for supper again?"

"Did this dish washer run or not?  The dishes look dirty."

And so on.

But I try to hold on to the little things.  There are good things, too, if I can remember to notice them.

We've managed to get all the way through a read-aloud already this fall.  In the few evenings we are organized enough to have the bedtime-and-prepare-for-the-next-morning routine done early enough, we've read Marguerite de Angeli's The Door in the Wall.  It's not a long book, but I chose it that way so that we could actually finish it.  I think we'll do A Cricket in Times Square next.  Or maybe Riding the Pony Express.  Or Twenty-One Balloons.  Something that the littles will be able to get into.  That way there's motivation for them to get their evening responsibilities accomplished in a timely manner.

And even this evening routine.  That's progress, too.  This is the first time since my kids started in public school four years ago, that I have energy enough left before bedtime to make sure they're prepared for the morning.  "Homework, backpack, coat, shoes, school clothes.  Jammies on, dirty clothes down the chute, teeth brushed."  If they get done soon enough, we get to read.  If not, it's devotion and bed.  But simply to have the routine in place is so much better.  And it's real tangible progress.

I have two kids home for school this year.  Again, that's progress.  Clara and Sophie never wanted to go to school.  But I didn't give them  a choice.  I couldn't.  Now I feel like I've come far enough that I am able to give them that choice.  Progress.

But there have been so many withdrawals lately.

The days are shortening.  The landscape is undergoing it's seasonal fade.  I have fewer reasons to be outside.

Many, many transitions in the last several months.

And more immediately, we took a big trip.  We came home and jumped into school.  That whole vanload of stuff needs to be cleaned up, organized and put away.  Yes, I know, it's been over a month.  Almost two months, in fact.  But imagine having time to air out, or launder and re-roll ten sleeping bags, car pillows, and two tents.  Haul and stack six or eight camping chairs.  A camp stove.  Two coolers.  Wash and re-pack all the camping dishes and cookware.  And so on.  It's a huge job when we're talking about our family.  And with them in school, and involved in various outside the home things, there's not many hours for them to help.  It's mostly done, but not quite.  I still have three bins of bedding stuff to label and a few odds and ends to repack.  Then to carry those last three bins and our big camping supply tote down to the other garage.  Probably only about a 1/2 hour job, but still, ...

The neighbors' garden produce came pouring in.  (Thankyou, thankyou to Joe for being mostly the one to get it preserved for winter use.)  Joe put up many, many jars of tomato sauce and salsa and apple sauce and chutney. 

The kids have been sick.

The washer was broken for several weeks.

Winter coats to dig out.

So many withdrawals.

A few days ago, I was scared.  Scared I was slipping.  Slipping into the fog.

Over the weekend, it was better.  I had a good day Saturday.  And so I feel as though a deposit was made.  Yesterday I had a more positive perspective.  This is just a tide I have to ride.

But today I'm low again.  I just want to crawl back into bed and let the house fall down around me.

I hate that my family has to ride this roller coaster with me. 

Joe, kids, I am so sorry we are going through this.  I love you all.  And I pray for healing.

I rest in the assurance of Jesus' righteousness, cleansing me for all the ways I'm failing you right now.  There's no despair here, since I know in the long run, it's all good, good, good.

But I also know that I am daily letting you down in so many ways.

Just hang on.  Through the storms of life, hang on.  God will never leave us nor forsake us.  Rest in Him.

Mary's Back to School Store, and her thoughts on having so much stuff

It's that time of year.  It's that time of life.  Well, it's just plain time.  Time to go through all the bins and boxes, bags and piles of stuff.  Stuff that built up over time.  Stuff, stuff, stuff.

There was a time I was organized.  I may not have gotten everything done each year during the "turning over of the wardrobes" seasons.  But I was still mostly, somewhat organized.  But now, ... boy, oh, boy. 

Some readers may remember me having written about the somewhat severe depressive episode I finally sought treatment for over a year ago.  I'm very happy to say it's much better now.  Not all the way gone, but so very much better.  I find myself slowly recapturing the little bits of my life that had gradually descended to chaos during that time.  And because my depression came on quite gradually, I hadn't really realized, until I started going through things, how bad it was, and for how long I'd been sliding.  I didn't know how long it had been since I'd been able to keep up in a somewhat, mostly orderly fashion.  And since that time of former order and organization, my lifestyle and family situation has changed quite a bit.

When I started my family, knowing that we were hoping God would bless us with a larger than average number of children, I shopped second-hand faithfully.  I had a system.  I had tote bins and boxes for each size and season, and I kept things well stocked.  When we needed something, I could simply grab the right bin and pull it out.  As my kids started wearing out their clothes, I found myself somewhat compulsively buying and buying, and accepting every offer of hand-me downs. 

Until eventually, I was almost literally drowning in children's clothing. 

When we homeschooled, it didn't really matter what my kids looked like most days.  As long as they were clothed, I was happy.  I'm such a "use every part of it" kind of person, that I'd find myself passing on the better quality things to others with kids in school.  As a homeschool family, we dind't need nice or trendy school clothes.  We were glad to wear out everything to the last thread, even the old 1980s stuff. 

OK, not really.  At least my kids would strongly disagree with me on that one.  I was glad for them to wear such clothes.  But they were not so glad.  One of my oft-repeated mom sayings is, "You won't go naked with me as your mom.  I will always have a selection of clothes for you to wear.  But if you want to be picky about your clothes, you'll have to save your money and buy them yourself."

As our kids gradually entered the public school system, the pressure to have nicer things increased.  And I'm not talking about just the trendiness, although that was surely part of it.  But there is also the simple fact that when my kids went out into the world, I didn't want them wearing the patched and mended-multiple-times, and sometimes unmatched clothing we could wear around home.

It was actually quite a sore subject for me.  I really, truly acutely believe in using what we have, and not getting new if what we have still has wear left.  I know for a fact that much of what my kids wore was not suitable even for second hand giving.  And it made me mad that society's expectations were such that what I considered, "making good or responsible use of our resources," might be by others considered, ... well, ... trashy, or even "being neglectful of my children."

The other thing that has changed for us since my formerly organized days, is that my youngest children are growing up.  I no longer have to have a constant, regenerating supply of clothing in each size.  I'm getting to the end of it.  My older kids mostly buy their own clothes.  I'm getting rid of the smaller things.  I don't need to keep such a large stockpile of the middle sizes anymore.  There is no longer a conceivably infinite number of kids who will need to use those stocked up clothes. 

As I go through everything these days, finding all the bags and boxes, bins and piles of things that had backed up during the years I was mostly non-functional, I'm weeding out. 

I'm getting rid of most of the worn things.  These go to a neighbor's shop for rags if they are really, really worn.  But the folks at Goodwill and our local Northern Lights thrift stores have assured me that they will take anything.  If it's beyond what will sell second hand in America, they can sent it to other countries where people are less spoiled than we are here.  If they can't use something even for that, the cloth can be recycled.  That I can live with much more easily than simply throwing things out.

I'm also getting rid of the out-dated styles.  I mean, really, Mary!  with as many hand-me-downs as we get on a regular basis, do I really need to hang onto that 1980s era dress for a teenager?  Or how about that 1990s pair of high wasted jeans iwth the biggish legs and small ankles?  None of my more recent kids have worn them.  Even the older kids probably only did so under duress.  Why keep them?  If some little girl in a less prosperous country can enjoy them, then wonderful.  And if not, they can always be turned into insulation or mulch, or whatever it is that is made from recycled cloth.  Or maybe someone here will buy it for an 80s day at school or a Halloween costume.  I don't have to keep it.

Over the past year, I've probably stocked three or four Goodwill stores with my donations alone.  I've likely clothed entire towns in developing countries.  Really.  It was crazy.  Whole vanloads of stuff went out my doors. 

And still I find more.  More stuff.  More things to weed out.  More piles and bins and boxes and bags.

The good side of it is that I don't really have to school shop.  I only have to find the things we have.  Because of all the weeding out I've done in the last year, that part of it was relatively easy this year.  I did Stella's clothes the other day, just by pulling out the right bin.  And today, Donna got to go through the next smaller size.  It's still a big job, helping a little one stay on task, trying on a gazillion things.  Knowing that I might get interrupted and not be able to finish in one sitting.  But at least I don't have to spend money on gas, time on the road to get to the nearest mall, and energy fighting the crowds.  And I certainly am glad to not spend the money on new clothes for the kids each year. 

Today was also shoe day.

Mary's church shoe store

For over a year, I've been unable to get to my packed away shoes.  Too many things were in the way.  And before that, for several years, everything was getting done only very inadequately.  I've ended up buying the cheapest possible new shoes for the kids several times throughout the last several years.  I hate doing that.  It makes me cringe thinking of it.  I know for a fact that I have shoes here for them to wear.  But I just can't get to them.  And everything is in such disarray it would take forever to find what I need.

Mary's athletic shoe store

But I'm getting there.  Today was the day.  The day to get all the shoes in our house gathered together, sorted out, bagged up if we're never going to use them, and divvied out to those who need them.

The bags for Goodwill, all shoes.

Besides what I have pictured, I also threw away one bag of very worn, hardly anything left of them shoes.  (But only after I took the laces out, of course!)  And I bagged up two grocery sized bags of nicer shoes for consignment.  I used to have two dress shoe bins, one boys' and one girls'; and three athletic shoe bins, small, medium, and large.  Now I'm down to one dress shoes bin and one athletic shoes bin.  I also have a sandals and flip-flop bin, and a slipper bin, too.  Oh, and an unmatched shoe box, too.  Where do all those shoes go anyway?  I keep thinking they've got to be here somewhere. 

It feels so good to be down from eight bins to five.  I may still find more as I continue to organize.  Most of our home library is still stacked up in the room that formerly was the organized store room.  Those boxes of books have been knocked around and dug through, too, so are in as much disarray as everything else around here.  It's possible I may yet find a box or two of unsorted shoes when I get time to go through those.  Any mother of many will know what I mean, ... one of those boxes that gets thrown together during a frantic cleaning session, but then never put away right.  Yep, that's exactly the sort of things I've been trying to find my way through for the last year.  All that kind of box.  Everywhere.  Boxes, bins, piles, bags.  Sheesh, where does it all come from?

Mary's dress store, each part of the rack is a different size or season

Here's one final picture.  This is one of the things I did the other week.  I finally unburied most of my girls' dresses that had been lost in the heaps for way too long.  The girls always had a few things.  My kids never went to church naked.  But it made me a bit sad to think of the sometimes torn or shoddy things they've worn, when we have so many cute things downstairs.  But again, it was inaccessible.

I don't even want to tell you how many bags I got rid of that day.  Ready?  I bagged up nine bags for regular thrift store, plus four for consignment.  That was mostly dress clothes for both sexes, and ages infant through 18 years.  It was terrible how much stuff had built up. 

It feels so good to begin to get organized.  It's wonderful and energizing to begin to be efficient and on top of things. 

It feels good to have so many things for consignment, that I can put many very nice things into the Goodwill bags.  We are so very blessed.  God has used our friends and our neighbors to shower us with their extras.  And He has blessed our country with incredible material largess.

May I ever remember to thank and praise Him for such providence!

Landmarks for Matt

Back: Joe and Matt; Middle: Clara, Elsie, Mary; Front: John, Donna, Inge, Stella, Sophie

Matt

There's a stealth video on here that will start as soon as you go to this page.  I do want the video embedded, but I'd prefer if viewing it and starting it on demand.  But I couldn't figure it out, and neither could Techy-Maestro, Joe.  So, well, sorry if it's annoying. 

I haven't been writing much lately.  I'm busy getting my life together after the many years of behindedness.

Like that word? Behindedness.  Say it loudly and proudly.  Behindedness.

I like it.  It's my life in a nutshell.  But it's getting better.  Slowly but surely.

But we have many things happening around here. 

Matt graduated the other day.  Over a week ago already.  We successfully pulled off a Taco Bar open house, but not without help from many.

Connie and Lana spent many hours helping me clean the garage and house; and plan and orchestrate all the arrangements; and collect needed items such as tables, chairs, garbage bins, coolers, etc; they cooked up taco meat and made bars; and they replaced the worn indoor/outdoor carpet on our garage steps with some new-to-us nicer carpet and also extended it all the way to the outside door.

Louisa's friend, Rachel, one of our "adopted" children, came and helped in the house for a day. Among other things, she braved the kids' rooms.

Joe's mom and dad and all our kids helped with all the last minute setting up on Saturday and Sunday between graduation Friday night, and the open house Sunday afternoon.  Joe's dad mowed lawn and other outdoor and garage things.  Joe's mom did indoor cleaning and organizing; and helped set up the garage.  Joe's mom and Clara cut up all the vegies for the toppings.

My friends, Shirley and Marlene, brought bars; and Clara made a big batch of macaroons.  Joe's mom Marlene kept the bars stocked up, and did various other serving tasks, so I could relax and enjoy my day.

And I did enjoy it.  I had a blast.  I never imagined that hosting something big like that would be so much fun.  But it would never have happened without all the help.  I thank everyone from the bottom of my heart.  And I'm sure there were others who helped, too, to my apologies if I've forgotten anyone by name.

And now Matt is off to join the Marines.  He is in Fargo at this minute, awaiting his flight to San Diego.  Or perhaps he's already in the air.  Marine Corps Recruit Training is 13 weeks long.

The first week is orchestrated chaos.   Meaning the plan exists, the chaos is intentional, but from the descriptions I've read, it is chaos to those coming in.  These kids have no contact with the outside world during that week.  No watches.  No set schedule.  Meetings and paper work; strange sleep hours and locations, and not much of it;  drill, or the beginnings of drill, since the recruits start out with very little understanding of and experience with working together.  By the end of the week, they will be assigned to a platoon, working and learning under a collection of Drill Instructors, who each play a role, from father figure to bad guy, and various points in between.

After that the training consists of three phases, the first three weeks being the most grueling and overwhelming.  They have usually settled into the routine jumping when and how high the instructor demands.  They've mastered or at least gained familiarity with the many terms and rules and methods, and the history and traditions of the Marine Corps.  These are memorized with rote drilling and mnemonic aids.  Recruits also have a week of swim training and a couple of weeks of rifle marksmanship training, during both kinds of training there is alleged to be less yelling. 

The Crucible a 54-hour field exercise, takes place the final week. in which the recruit must put to use all the skills he has learned in training.  Upon completion of The Crucible, the recruits receive their the Eagle, Globe and Anchor pin, and are called a Marine for the first time.


And after that, the last Thursday of Recruit Training is family day, when family members are encouraged to come spend the day with their recruit.  Friday is graduation.  We hope to be able to attend, but we're still working out how exactly that will happen.  In the last few months, I've been forced to admit that our van is probably not up to the trip.  But we're praying God will work something out for us in this regard.

When I left Matt in Fargo yesterday he was excited, and of course nervous and apprehensive of the unknown.  And of those moments the recruiters advised would come.  Those moments when the recruit wonders why on earth he ever wanted to become a Marine, and is tempted to throw in the towel.  Keep Matt in your prayers.  He will need them at those moments. 

Matt's Great-Grandpa, Stanley Kindler, was a Marine in the Pacific Theater during World War II. Matt feels honored to follow in his Grandpa's footsteps.  But also, for that reason, he feels a little extra pressure to succeed, in order to make Grandpa proud.