Taking flight (again)

This has been a whirlwind week. Just as I was unpacking from the trip to Miami, I was repacking for a trip to San Diego, with a short daytrip to Williamsburg and back thrown in for extra points. Long about Tuesday, I was sarting to panic. All the details of lesson plans and carpools and meals in the freezer buzzed in my ears and fueled the doubt that leaving again was even a little bit of a good idea.

The San Diego trip was planned long before all the others. The man who is my husband’s best friend, the best man in our wedding, and Nicholas’ godfather got married for the first time last year. There wasn’t a lot of fanfare and we didn’t really get to celebrate at all. Indeed, within days of his wedding, Brian and his new bride flew east for Mike’s dad’s funeral.  Life marched on. But Brian’s wife Katy promised that there would, indeed, be a party to celebrate their marriage.

In April, we all were super excited to learn that Brian had been selected to be promoted to the rank of admiral. Slowly, the party began to take shape. There’d be a wedding celebration and a wetting down party. The last weekend in September was inked on the calendar. April didn’t know that Mike would be gone all summer. April didn’t know that we’d be traveling so much in early September. April didn't know that I'd fight hard against that old nemesis depression all summer. April didn’t know that Stephen would injure his Achilles. April didn’t know that the Nutcracker would be three weeks earlier this year and so the costume and rehearsal schedule would be daunting at the end of September. April did know—and has long known-- that birthday week begins at the end of September and we would land at home on the first of four birthdays in six days.

That just meant I had to plan for birthdays before taking off. While planning for everything else.

So on that Tuesday, when Bobby texted, “I think we’ll come visit from Thursday to Tuesday. What are you guys doing?”  I responded “Perfect. Sort of. Call me.”

He did, right away, and I explained that Mike and I would be gone, but if he and Sloane and Grey wanted to come visit, well, that would about like having a fairy godmother drop in my lap.

It’s not the first time I’ve unexpectedly left six kids with Bobby. When he was 18, I went off for a routine prenatal appointment and left him in charge. Ten hours later, he loaded six kids into our giant fullsize van and drove them to the hospital to visit baby Katie after an emergency c-section.  That was exactly 12 years ago.

Now, he’s a dad, with a wonderful wife, and a baby I got to welcome into the world four months ago.  They’re going to be just fine at home. And yes, by golly, there are lots of lesson plans, a full tank of gas, and meals in the freezer.

I can’t really believe that I sat down to sew yesterday morning, but before I left, I did want to finally finish that baby sling I’d promised Sloane at the beginning of the summer. I used some Amy Butler fabric and then fussy cut from another Amy Butler print to put a bright applique on the tail. I used the pattern in Growing Up Sew Liberated. I’m thrilled with the result. I have a major crush on this sling.

I haven’t really read much this week. I finished up last week’s books and did some kid lit reading to stay as current as possible with “school” assignments. Oh, and I read Run Like a Mother on the plane. I have fully loaded the book basket with St. Francis goodies in anticipation of next week's feast. I have loaded the audio version of North and South onto my phone. I’m looking forward to a nice long listening investment as the leaves turn colors.

What about you? Reading? Sewing? It’s really time to make a list of Christmas gift sewing, isn’t it? I’m thinking about those corn-filled flannel cozies for teachers. They’re a little heavy and I’m not quite sure how we’d package them, but I think they might be just right. We use one almost every day. Do you think they’d be well-received?

Let me know what you’re up to—reading, sewing, traveling? If you’d like, you could tell me how you left your kids and went away even though every bone in your body was telling you to stay home and how you were really glad you did it.

I’ll be back soon with pictures of Coronado.

Figuring it Out Between Flights

I wrote this last night and meant to post this morning, but then, well, there was life. Good luck keeping track of time herein;-).

Outside my window::

::another gorgeous sunset in the over the soccer field house. It never fails—every night is more spectacular than the next. I just jumped out of the car to take a picture and several people turned to look and ooh and ahh. They looked as if the sunset were a complete surprise. Makes me wonder how they’d missed it until I thought it camera-worthy.

(All the rest of today's pictures were taken last week in Miami:-)

Listening to::

::the bass of the car stereo next to me. Not a teenage driver. Soccer dad. He’s going to go deaf…

Clothing myself in::

::long sleeves and jeans. There’s a crispness and a chill in the air. Very welcome, indeed.

Talking with my children about these books::

:: Nick is reading The Red Pyramid. Mary Beth is reading The Last of the Mohicans. Stephen is reading The Iliad. Honestly, my head is spinning and I’m wondering how to balance all of this with my newly reignited appreciation for lighter fiction. Adam Andrews, in Teaching the Classics, is taunting me with his assertion that I can’t teach it if I haven’t read it. Really? It’s three-on-one and I’m a voracious reader, but still…

In my own reading::

::well, yeah, I admit, there’s been some of that. I read Kathrine Switzer’s Walking and Running for Women Over 40 on the airplane on the way home from Miami Friday. It was fine, but nothing to light a fire. I do want to amend my thoughts on Running Like a Girl. In hindsight, I did learn a lot and actually, as the words run around in my head almost a week later, I am inspired.

In my own reading::

::well, yeah, I admit, there’s been some of that. I read Kathrine Switzer’s Walking and Running Over 40 on the airplane on the way home from Miami Friday. It was fine, but nothing to light a fire. I do want to amend my thoughts on Running Like a Girl. In hindsight, I did learn a lot and actually, as the words run around in my head almost a week later, I am inspired.

Thinking and thinking::

:: about the direction of this blog and the direction of my life.  When I started blogging, I was pregnant with my eighth baby. And then I had another baby. I was a mom with a full house and I could write about anything from the college admission process to morning sickness on any given day. Things have changed since then. Life has changed since then. I find myself wanting to hold things closer, to share less generously.  Some of that is because sharing has stung at times. But that’s not all of it, or even most of it. With every year comes the clearer recognition that all of life is about finding one’s way. It’s all about figuring it out. Do I want to keep writing about figuring it out forever? I really do not know. And so I’m thinking and thinking, which is actually another way of saying “finding one’s way” or “figuring it out”-- so I guess I just did write about it again.

Pondering::

::”It’s in your broken places where you are most often used by God.” Christine Caine

Carefully cultivating rhythm::

:: I’m actually earnestly craving rhythm. We spent four days in Charlottesville, then came home for a day. Then we left for Miami for two nights. Then stayed home for a day. Then I drove to Williamsburg and back for a day. In two days, we leave again, for San Diego, this time. I’m a total homebody. But I have my eye on the day after we return and I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to sit still and I’ll want to return to Charlottesville. So… Sometime in early October, my life will have rhythm. In the meantime, my children are following carefully written plans. They are adhering to a very fine-tuned color-coded list of places to go and people to take them. They are reheating and putting finishing touches on meals from the freezer that I cooked and for which I left detailed directions. And they are (more or less) following a chore chart. And yes, this level of organization rivals anything I ever did before having a baby. And such June Cleaver efficiency makes me tired. But generally satisfied.

Creating by hand::

:: first up tomorrow is finishing a sling for Sloane. She’s coming with Bobby and baby Grey to hang with my kids in my absence. I think Grey deserves a cozy place to put his feet up.

Learning lessons in::

:: packing. Air travel. Car travel. Travel with children. Travel without children. Running while traveling.

Encouraging lessons in::

:: independence within limits.

Begging prayers::

:: for safe travels. And for people left at home.

Keeping house::

:: this is the one part of the plan that needs major fine tuning in the next couple days. And not a little elbow grease.

Crafting in the kitchen::

::I’m telling you, Fix, Freeze, Feast has been the book of blessing these days. Good stuff here—lots of two thumbs up kinds of things.

To bit fit and happy::

:: Last night, I had a super fun chat with my friend Chrystal about the Couch to 5K, among other things. We laughed a lot and I shared my heart a bit about how I’m running into myself at midlife. Do listen in—it’s a gift. (At this current moment, her blog is down. I'm trying not to entertain the idea that everything I touch on the internet, breaks.)

Giving thanks::

::Mike’s project in South Beach was a huge success. I went with him to the grand unveiling of the studio and I was blessed to hear how much all the people he works with down there genuinely respect and love him. We spent two nights in a cozy old inn and we ate like royalty. I attempted a pathetic run on the beach and returned again the next day to at least get endurance points in and walk a good 8+ miles. I may never be much on speed, but I can keep going and going and going. Mike worked most of the days we were there and our evenings were filled with official functions, but it was still good to be together after so much being apart. 

Loving the moments::

::when my little girls come running to the door to greet me. And then the moments when I wrap them into myself and inhale their sweet heads. And then sleep in my own bed with no alarm set for the morning.

Living the liturgy::

:: I’ve got some feast day planning to do this week, beginning with Padre Pio today (ideas here). Adding the plans for the rest of the week to the list…

Planning for the week ahead::

:: Seriously, I’m in planning overdrive. We will begin birthday week the day I return. Y'all, Birthday Week gets me every single time. I must provision for the marathon that is the celebration of 4 children's births in 6 days. But first, I must provision for the days I will be gone. The most important part of that plan? To persuade Mary Beth that really, she does need to consult the plan. Or at least remember where she put it;-). In all seriousness, she is pretty much running a household of six children these days and she’s doing an admirable job. Even if she does fly by the seat of her pants a bit more than I would… (This must be amended to note the fact that I saw her making a list of her own, even though I was making a detailed list. When Sloane gets here, her most formidable challenge might be finding time to read all the lists.)

Climbing Mountains and Conquering Fear

Let me take you back a few years. It was Christmas 1989. Mike was working at George Mason University in sports information and the basketball team was playing a Christmas tournament in Hawaii. Baby Michael was 14 months old.. The three of us flew with the team from Atlanta to Honolulu, non-stop. It was a miserable flight. Michael was perfectly well-behaved. Alternating between playing with the few things I'd brought along and nursing and sleeping, he was so content that people went out of their ways to tell us how good he was. But I was miserable. As we flew, I felt more and more swollen and my chest felt leaden, as if something were bearing down and suffocating me. I was glad to land, collect my floral lei, and put air travel behind me until the return trip a week later. 

Mike worked a lot that week and Michael and I toddled around explored the island on our own as best as we could. We saved a hike up Diamondhead for Christmas day when Mike could join us. The hike is an impressive one, up the volcano at a decent incline, until nearly the top and then up a steep flight of stairs the last 1/10 of the way. I struggled almost from the beginning. Early on, we transferred Michael from my back to Mike's. Still, I felt heavy. I tried to keep up and I tried not to let on how hard it was, but when we got to the base of the stairs, I told Mike to leave Michael with me and go up alone--I just could not do it. I absolutely could not climb those stairs. He was rather incredulous. He didn't go up to the top either. There was a bit of a stony silence coming down.

We had hiked together before--during college in the Blue Ridge mountains of Virginia--and I loved to hike. A one car family, I was home with a baby and Michael and I walked all over the place all the time. What was this and why couldn't I just muscle through?

Three months later, we discovered a formidable tumor in my chest. I had cancer. Mystery solved.  I didn't fly again for 15 years. And I didn't climb mountains, either. The memory of that feeling of suffocating kept me from trails with inclines for a very long time.

Last summer, when I was doing my marathon walking, I stumbled upon a picture of a friend of Patrick's on Instagram. Aimee had just hiked Humpback Rocks, a perfectly gorgeous and very steep trail on the Blue Ridge, between University of Virginia and James Madison University. Seeing her picture brought back flood of memories--not the Diamondback memories, but the ones that precede it. I remembered climbing to Humpback Rocks with Mike when he was at JMU and and I was at UVa. It was before we were engaged and I remembered him telling me we would bring our kids on that hike one day. I texted Aimee right there on the spot and asked her if she'd want to hike to Humpback Rocks with me in the fall. She agreed, and that hike became my fitness goal for 450 miles of summer walking.

Our first visit in August, Aimee wasn't able to make it. I was disappointed, but my stepmother, Barbara, suggested that when we returned three weeks later, we all make a trip of it. I remembered that the Humpback Rocks hike was harder than the Diamondhead hike, assuming one was healthy. It's just a mile to the top, but it's very steep and there's a good bit of scrambling over rocks--it's not a pristine trail all the way. Barbara said she'd done it a few years earlier and she'd seen kids handling it fine. So, we set a date.

My dad set up camp at the base of the trail, book in hand, and phone at the the ready should we need anything. Mike, Barbara, Sarah, Karoline, and I headed up the mountain. The girls whined bitterly. I kept telling them that they were strong and they'd be so glad they did this hike because the view at the top was unlike any they'd ever seen. Mike encouraged me to go ahead and said he'd keep the girls moving along. They didn't lag for long at all though and we stayed together the whole way. Once we got past the easier gravel path onto trickier natural "steps" and lots of rocks, the little girls actually perked up. They soaked in the beauty around them and thoroughly enjoyed the challenge of the terrain. It wasn't long before they started whooping and singing as they scrambled. And when they started singing "10,000 Reasons," known around these parts as "Shawn's song," the whole mountain seemed to glow that much brighter in the glory of the day. (To understand Shawn, read this, by "baby" Michael, now all grown up.)

My stepmother was nothing short of amazing. It's not an easy hike and she was right there with us to the top. I'm inspired by her health and vigor and the way she has embraced an active lifestyle in her 70s. She's been such an encouragement to me and it was special to have her with us.

A little more than halfway there, we faced a set of stairs. At first, standing there looking at the flight, I felt a familiar sense of panic. Tears filled my eyes and memories flooded my mind--memories that had been carefully, firmly shoved aside for 24 years. Mike was behind me. He came close enough that I could turn just slightly and tell him softly, "I'm going to run those stairs." 

And I did.

It wasn't even hard. 

I'm pretty sure Mike has video of it.

I was fairly jubilant the rest of the way and the girls were unbounded in their excitement. The top was everything we'd promised them and Sarah didn't want to ever come down. They begged Barbara to let them come every weekend to do the hike again and again. We took lots of pictures and they sent them back to their siblings and tried to convey the sense of accomplishment they felt  and the astonishing beauty of the place. But we all knew that, really, you had to be there in order to understand.

Going down, I fairly skipped the whole way. I had to mind my step, but I didn't feel the descent was hard at all. I  know that lots of people think descending is harder that climbing up, but not me. I floated down that mountain. 

Later that night, we went to Paddy's soccer game and then drove two hours home, arriving just before midnight. After all that fresh air and exercise, I still couldn't sleep. My mind whirred with the memories of the day--the rocks, the trees, the happy little girls, the strong man always walking behind us all, making sure that this time we'd get to the top. I was so grateful that Barbara had kept insisting we could do this hike and that she'd quietly propelled us all towards it (and made sure we had a fabulous picnic to enjoy after it). My dad had nearly stayed home, but I was grateful he'd come along and was waiting to share the afterglow. 

In the dark, well past midnight, I didn't want to let go of the day. 

I am healthy and strong. I ran those stairs.

And this time, I saw the view at the very top. 

Sarah's Sewing and My Reading

My sweet Sarah is the only one with sewing to show for this week. I spent four days in Charlottesville with Mike and our littlest girls. We had a spectacular time! Pictures and a story to follow soon. We arrived home late Monday night and then, we left the little ones home with our big ones and I accompanied Mike to Miami to bask in his glory. His studio project is complete and he invited me to take a quick trip with him to South Beach for the grand unveiling. It's actually Thursday afternoon as I write and the party is tonight, so the details will be forthcoming next week. I have a flight to catch in the morning, though, and I didn't want to miss a needle &thREAD. 

Sarah went along with Mary Beth on Wednesday morning to the most wonderful Montessori school in the universe. Once upon a time, my friend Carmen, fellow soccer mom and Montessori directress extraordinaire, invited five-year-old Mary Beth to come "visit" her at school once a week. Mary Beth has very fond memories of those days. Now, she's teaching there, soaking up all that beautiful early childhood environment has to offer and being mentored by some of the finest teachers I know. Sarah is the happy five-year-old who gets to go to "Miss Carmen's school." Sarah sewed this week at school and she's asked me to present her handiwork for your inspection;-).

I have been reading! I finished The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society. I truly loved this book and I feel like I learned so much. I envy my other friend Carmen (not the Montessori one, the Colorado one) her literary trip to Great Britain. I'd love to go to Guernsey one day. And I'm so grateful to Carmen for encouraging me to get the recorded version. It was so well done and the cast of voices really added to the experience of the story. Five stars, for sure.

I've been reading an advanced copy for Sally Clarkson's new book. You're in for a treat! Truly, this is her best book yet. 

And after I finished The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, I started listening to Running Like a Girl:Notes on Learning to Run. It's fine, but I'd like to find a different running memoir. I like the premise and I could identify with some of her story, but I would love to have been her editor because there are gaps to fill. There are lots of running books out there. Which one(s) to choose?

Next week, there will be a new adventure. I'm going to unpack and repack and go again. Twice actually. This is a very weird stretch of time for me. I'm not one to leave home hardly at all. And here I go. And go. And go again. I'll try to squeeze some sewing in early in the week and I'm certain to have plenty of reading time.

What's happening in your handicrafts and literary worlds?

When in Doubt

When they are little, we read them stories from Bibles with cartoon illustrations. We sing them songs about lights under bushels and Father Abraham and his many sons. God is good and God is great and we’re all friends. We weave Jesus and Mary and God in heaven around them like a warm, soft quilt, and we create for them a childhood where they are snug.

And then, despite our best efforts against such a thing, life comes at them. Sometimes, it comes quietly, and the reality of this fallen world makes itself known a little at a time, awareness of sin and disappointment that it’s not a fairytale seeping in, dampening the edges of the warm, soft quilt.

Sometimes, it comes in a torrent. Life crashes. The growing child, most likely a teenager, learns that his parents aren’t perfect. Maybe he even learns that the people in his church are not perfect either. He is sitting, quite alone, shivering in a wet, cold blanket, Father Abraham nowhere to be found.

And his mother wrings her hands.

How can this be? How can he doubt? How can he be shaken in this faith we’ve so carefully tucked around him? How did this happen?

With his awareness of the world, cynicism comes to hide beneath that blanket. If there is a God, why doesn’t He do something about the suffering? If there is a God, I’m not sure I like Him, what with all those people dying in His name and His seemingly standing by and letting it happen. If there is a God …

There is a God, isn’t there? All those stories, all those songs, all those bedtime prayers (especially the ones for baby brothers and sisters)? Those weren’t just make-believe, were they?

If there is a God, then where is He and why does real life hurt so much?

Because of sin, my child. God didn’t crucify the Christian in Syria. Sin did.

Sin abounds. Doubt creeps in and huddles close to cynicism beneath that blanket, both of them cold and damp and making the man-child colder and damper. And then he wonders, what’s the point? Why? Why am I here? This — this question — is the ultimate rite of passage. He is a grownup now, sitting huddled there with so many others, questioning the fallenness of it all. How did he get from “Jesus loves me, this I know” to being so aware of the magnitude of pain that is this fallen world. And how, how in the world, does he get warm and dry again?

He hums the familiar, faded tune. Jesus loves me. This I know. But, he isn’t sure. He wrestles doubt. He wonders why hope has left him here with these ugly bedfellows under this blanket.

Sing it strong, son! Sing it like you mean it. Call out to God in your doubt and your confusion, and ask Him to breathe warmth and light on your blanket. Or whisper it quietly. Just barely audible, ask Him in to your coldness and your damp sorrow. Invite hope to sit with you and let faith warm in such a way that cynicism and doubt are mightily uncomfortable and vacate the premises.

Go ahead, ask those questions again of the real and present God. Why are you here? What’s the meaning in your life? You are here because you notice. You see the suffering. You understand pain from the perspective of someone who has felt it. You are wonderfully made for just this moment in time. You are here because your blanket, warmed in the sun of His grace, is big enough to throw over your neighbor.

You are a big boy now, and you see, because you know suffering, that God does exist and He didn’t abandon you and He’s not capricious. He’s not some mean tormenter who stands idly by while His people suffer.

Indeed, He created you for a time such as this. He led you here; He let you feel. Because He has plans for you, plans for a future and a hope. He calls you to be His hands and His feet, to heal and to bind the wounds.

The world is broken, son, I know you’ve noticed. Now, let me show you that it is also good and that we can spend a lifetime together being the good, bringing the warmth. You are not here, under my roof. I cannot tuck that blanket around you and trace the round cheeks of your childish face while you sleep. You are miles away, your face lean and angular, and so, instead, I tuck you into my prayers, and I call upon God in His heaven to keep you warm.