How am I Raising a California Valley Girl in Iowa?

I was talking with my oldest daughter the other day--one of my favorites, because every day when our family of seven is together is a favorite day. She was telling me a story about her work. These are the best.  

I digress here a moment. Mommas of young kids, you have something so fun coming! When your kids get jobs, they are going to tell you stories about their days.  Coworkers, bosses, clients... It's endlessly entertaining to listen to them talk about incidents, personalities, and their own reactions and responses. Both my grown kids have always worked in fields where they are caring for others, which seems inevitably to earn some riotous stories about outlandish behavior and/or bodily fluids. Best shows in town!

Back on track. So, we are listening to a story. She was not at the end of the story, but paused after quoting a request made by a coworker. A younger sister was in the room with us, seemingly engrossed playing with a stuffy in her lap. She took the pause to mean it was her turn to help end the story. So she did with this:

"And you were like, 'no!'" 

The tone and inflection was spot on with an 80s Valley Girl. Where'd she pick that up? 

Instant Attitude Adjustment--oof!

Spring break is over and it's time to get back to life (I still can't say that without singing Into the Woods). I know that first day back is always challenging. I know this. It is. Knowing doesn't make it easier, but it helps to know why things are hard. It's just the law.

And boy, we followed the law! Second day back wasn't any better. I knew that the next step is my own attitude. I get ugly in my heart after repeated poor treatment. Like I deserve better. It's gross and difficult for me to manage. So, there I was at dinner after two super hard days with the girls, wrestling and forcing myself to be pleasant.

Then it happened. The humbling gut-punch. My girl gushed her multiple thank-yous for a basic dinner of meatloaf and baked potatoes with corn (I was done being sad that we were out of broccoli). Another was pretending to be on a baking show and kept calling the meatloaf meat cake. Other girl was happily smashing everything on her plate and being sure that each person had napkin, utensils, and drinks--repeatedly.

Then a girl said, "I feel like crying because I am so happy to eat this. When we were with (first father), we didn't eat this kind of food. We sometimes had peanut butter sandwiches or nothing. Thank you, Mommy, for making this. Thank you! It is so delicious!"

If I were reading this, I would assume the writer was paraphrasing and exaggerating. Let me tell you, I am toning it down.

My DRA (dirty rotten attitude, doncha know) evaporated, leaving behind humble gratitude tinged with some shame. This life is so much bigger than me and my fragile ego.

You Can Say No, But...

When you go through the foster licensing process, there is a special form you have to fill in. It is just a long, long, long checklist of diagnoses and descriptions. You have to say yes or no to each on that list.  My husband and I have filled it in three separate times. 

It is a little like a game. We sit staring at one another as the social worker reads each item on the list. The game is trying to answer the same as your partner.  Not really, our rule is that if one says no, then the answer is no, but still. 

It isn't actually a game, but trying to be playful takes the ick off the process. It feels so wrong rejecting unknown kids based on the things that oughtn't define them. At the same time, it is an important step in the process. First, it compels careful consideration (Accidental alliteration! score!) by the prospective family. You have to talk about what you're willing and able to do. 

When we lived in a teeny apartment, a wheelchair was not an option, so we needed to say no. My husband and I have taken ASL classes and love the language, so we said yes to children who were deaf or hard of hearing. We had two aging dogs, so cruelty to animals was a no-go for us. ADHD and dyslexia are in the water we drink, so those were easy yeses for us, too. If you don't think you can do it, you should say no, because these kids coming from hard places need to be welcomed.

So, you do the icky list. It's rough, but get through it and take it seriously (while you're having fun) and say your no. It matters...until it doesn't.

Yep, that's the catch. Just like with biological kids, there is a lot out of our control with foster and adopted kids. Life happens. And people living in dinky apartments sometimes end up needing to use wheelchairs.

We made our list this time around, too. There are things we said no to that are now part of our lives. The difference is that we aren't talking about abstract experiences or diagnoses. They are our little girls and there is no backing out now--and we wouldn't dream of it.

The Ultimate Girl Brother

I spent some time with my adult kids. I was shifting toys, clothes, and bedding between rooms, and the place was a mess.  I asked my kids to help me find a top sheet and described it as sparkly. My son said sparkly in a weird baby voice. Then they looked at each other and knowingly chuckled. Ok, I clearly missed something.

They explained that they were quoting a Barbie sidekick. But--plot twist! They didn't name the same sidekick or same movie. They stared at one another in consternation. And then I sat back for the best show ever. I can't actually replicate it because I am just a mom of four girls.

My 25-year-old son proceeded to school my 23-year-old daughter on the polar bear and other cutie sidekick from some Barbie and Mariposa. He gave detail after detail until light dawned on my daughter's face. Ah, yes! Of course! The cutie little thing is the one who said sparkly in a weird baby voice!

If there is another scenario that better exemplifies the ultimate girl brother, I don't know what it is. Although, seeing as how he IS the ultimate girl brother, these scenes happen on the regular.

Guest Blogger

When I started blogging again, I asked the girls' permission to share about this life of ours. They were all on board. The oldest gave me a few forbidden topics with her blessing.

I was chatting with a friend on Marco Polo about topics I would like to cover on this blog. My girl was listening. She asked if I had convinced anyone to adopt. Actually, she asked if my blog is helping 'adoption people' know what might happen. She has ambition for this little project.

I said I think the readers are the people who love us already. She was aghast!

"That's bad. We want to be good. I feel like your blog will make everybody feel safe adopting and adopt children who need adoption and help the world be a better place."

I wasn't sure what to say. She smiled and continued.

"I have a sentence. Obey God and everything will nice." Blog that!

My sweet girl.

"Everyone's Always Asking Me..."

I spend too much time on Facebook.  I can get sucked into watching reels for an embarrassing amount of time. Something I notice is that many say something along the lines of, "So, in answer to your question..." or "Everyone has been asking about this..." Then they demonstrate a skill or share details about their lives.

I have to laugh when I hear it.  They live different lives; no one asks ME anything like that! I am asked if we can have second breakfast. I am asked to come see poop more times than should be permissible. I often field requests from my gaggle of extroverts to go somewhere or see people. Or if we HAVE to clean up. I am also asked if someone can stop brushing her teeth even though all she has done is suck the toothpaste off of the toothbrush. My question is what's for dinner. Please pick up the heavy dose of sarcasm there.

But questions on which I might expound as an expert? Crickets!

Dual Lives: Trauma and Handwriting

Raising kids from hard places is complicated.  Raising kids is complicated. It is more than a 24/7 job. Somehow, we manage to fit more than the allotted time because there is just so much to do, so much to worry about, so much to pray about.

The thing that makes raising kids who have been exposed to trauma different is that the two don't--or shouldn't--go together. Kids are kids. They are wiggly, curious, excited, inexperienced, naive, naughty little sponges. Trauma is traumatic. It breaks and twists. It changes brains and scars personalities. It brings out fearfulness. It brings intimate knowledge of hard things, things no one needs to know. It causes people to exist in the flight/fight realm even when everything should be calm and safe.

Again, the two oughtn't go together. Kids and trauma shouldn't mix. But they do, and all too often.

Raising kids exposed to trauma means embracing the whole unwieldy mess. It means teaching kids about hygiene, handwriting, and how to greet people, but being ready to stop the world when a memory unravels them. 

When it is possible, you have to keep going with normal life. And normal life is engrossing. Brush your teeth already! Please make your lips touch when you have food in your mouth. Julius Caesar had gained popularity with the general public by winning distant wars. But the Roman governing officials didn't want a king. You may play with that after you clean up the toys you were playing with. Suddenly normal life is set aside because something is wrong. What?

It's even more complex when the memories are so buried that the child can't articulate what they are responding to. Triggers are everywhere and every-day life can feel like a mine field. When a sound, a temperature, a texture, a taste, a gas station, an atmosphere, or a smell can remind a child's body of a time when they felt threatened or unsafe, the child doesn't always understand what is happening. They fight to figure things out, when everyone around that continues to act normally, like the world isn't on fire. It is confusing and scary. And their behavior can also become confusing and scary.

As parents, we become detectives. But we must move delicately, like studying a most rare and fragile flower, or navigating a snakes'-den of wires on a bomb. Or both. 

To do it well, you have to walk the tight-rope. You need to press on with normal life, ever vigilant for triggers.  You need to continually strengthen attachment, so that when things get hard, they trust you to see them through. They can't do it alone. And neither can you.

The Differences We See: Tale of Two States

My husband and I were born and raised in California. Just three and a half years ago we moved to Iowa. For funzies, I'd like to share some of the differences between the two states.

NUMBER ONE. I hear it is because there are no professional teams in the area, but college pride is off the charts around here. The two colleges can be seen everywhere. Vanity plates and frames, sweatshirts, hats, and mugs. When I was teaching preschool, my little students wore one or the other and were being well-trained in their particular fandom.  Outside a hotel we stayed at, the two flags hung off opposite ends of the entrance. We have a neighbor with a special split flag and the words, "A House Divided." When we bought our own home, it took a load of paint to get that Hawkeye off our office wall. Iowans care about their alma maters, baby!

NUMBER TWO.  Iowan drivers vs. Californian drivers. I have heard the jokes about Californian drivers, and I think many are well-earned. Californians speed and the California stop is a real thing. But I will take California drivers every time over Iowan drivers.  Forgive the pun, but it's time to buckle up, because here comes my rant!  

Iowans tailgate. Like, they get right up on you and just stay there.  There is room to pass, but they are content to drive mere feet from the car in front of them.  And it isn't just private drivers.  Semis do it! It is horrifying to have one of those killers get so close that the grill fills your rearview mirrors.  I much prefer someone weaving through traffic at 90 mph over a road full of tailgaters at 55.

Speaking of truckers, they drive like they are cars.  Aside from tailgating, they change lanes on a whim and drive in the left lane for miles on end.  In California, most truckers were pretty awesome.  They stuck to the slow lanes unless something was up. Then they would coordinate to help protect drivers from hazards. In Iowa truckers vie for position, repeatedly passing one another while paying no attention to other motorists.  Drives me nuts!

NUMBER THREE. Coat racks are everywhere in Iowa. I think a combination of climate and a more trusting culture contribute to this phenomenon. Churches, schools, and businesses have huge coat racks in them.  Restaurants have these cool flippy ones at the end of each booth. Some buildings architecturally have designated space for them. Others have huge racks on wheels that come out every winter.  It is cool...and weird to me. In California, we lived both in the central valley where snow was rare and in the mountains with snow and below freezing temps for at least three months out of the year. But we were expected to hang on to our own coats wherever we went.

NUMBER FOUR. Accents. So, there isn't a massive difference between the way people speak between these two states. But the transplants to Iowa tend to be from directly north or south, so there are more 'y'alls' and 'donchaknows' than we encountered in California, which has a broader reach in their diversity.  Iowans are also more likely to say eye-talian instead of Italian and that makes me giggle.

While the pronunciations of words are similar, there are some distinctions to the words chosen. Californians drink soda while Iowans drink pop. Californians get splinters, but Iowans get slivers. Californians eat breakfast, lunch, then dinner. Iowans tend toward breakfast, lunch, and supper. (I know some places eat breakfast, dinner, and supper.) I used to keep track of the different terminology because I find it fascinating. Now I think I am acclimating because I notice it less.

NUMBER FIVE. The neighborly neighbors. When we were house hunting in Iowa, we still had one of our sweet Beagle babies and a fully fenced yard was a must--and nearly impossible to find.  Iowans don't do fences as a regular thing. Our realtor was vexed by our own vexation over the absence of fences.  We explained that a new build in California wouldn't have any landscaping, but that six-foot privacy fences were standard. I don't think she believed us.

We did manage to find a fully fenced yard, but it's a three-foot chain linked affair. The wind in Iowa is fierce and year-round, so I can see the unpractical side of fences here. But there is another aspect. Iowans are neighborly! Like, SUPER neighborly. We live in a wonderful old neighborhood where the residents have already raised their children together.  At the last block party, the former owners of our home attended because they are still rooted here. 

It's so weird to this Californian who thought she was neighborly because she smiled, said hello, AND even knew a few of the neighbors' names! This is a whole new level of neighborly, and I cognitively appreciate it. I have come to love the people on either side of us and the family behind us.  I love having kids my kids love playing with.  There is nothing so cool as seeing them climb that chain-link to play together. But I also feel like I don't have a back yard to call my own. It's just so public!

NUMBER SIX. Cuisine, or lack thereof. You can find a Mexican restaurant on every other corner. Korean places don't stay in business long, which is lamentable to this invisible Korean girl. On the Fast-Food side of things, there is no Jack in the Box or In'n'Out Burger. No Habit Burger. And Carl's Jr is called Hardy's. 

There is a BeBops, which serves retro diner food. It is fast a cheap and has decent fish sandwiches. There is also a locally loved place called Culvers. I don't get it. Every time we have tried it, they get our order wrong, and the food is soggy and cold. I don't get Culvers.  There is also Ornery Chicken, a dine-out-only place that is delicious and pricey.

But the biggest disparity is the pizza. Oh, my word, the pizza. Iowan mouths don't tend toward spices. The overwhelmingly favorite is from Casey's, the gas station. Oh, my non-Iowan readers, I kid you not. Gas station pizza is everyone's favorite. I'm just gonna stop there.

Thanks for reading. These comparisons are fun. We love living in Iowa, though I might have chosen a littler Norther, had I known about the fake snow and too-common tornadoes. But we are so thankful to be right where we are, to adopt our girls, to love our neighbors and friends, and be thankful that we only have to shovel snow once a year.

I Did Something Right

I had a rough day coming off a hard week. I screwed up multiple times. I missed good teaching opportunities. I was impatient. I missed out on connection. I resorted to lazy parenting with the most basic strategies of bribes and lame threats.

But I did some things right. I made a healthy-ish lunch and had a plan for dinner.  I finished the week of school.  I made doctor and vision appointments.  I kept trying.

And I did one thing really well.  We were at the doctor for one girl, who was scared, with the two others, who were slightly giddy that we weren't there for them. The two were wiggly and chatty, suddenly happy to get the doctor's attention.  The other had all four limbs wrapped around my body and would only speak by whispering in my ear.

I was able to successfully activate the two sisters' compassion and redirect their behavior to reflect how they would want to be treated. Win!

The one being seen said she was scared. Great words! Let's talk about the worst thing that could happen. What's the big scary thing? She said she just wanted to be happy to hear that the test results were negative. Well, of course! It would be easy to be happy about that.  But that is not the only way we can be happy. We can choose our happy, even when we have to hunt a little bit. How could we be happy if the test is positive? She managed with minimal help to come up with five things! Victory!

The day was a mixed bag. But in order to get out of bed the next day, we need to take the wins and celebrate them.  We need evidence that we can do this well. So, we learn from the mistakes and dump 'em. And we celebrate the victories for what they are. Yay!

Pivot!

We bought the girls bunk beds with a trundle! So exciting! Our littlest broke her crib months ago and her mattress has been on the floor since then.  Not ideal. In fact, it's not allowed if we were still licensed to foster.

We finally resolved it by purchasing a bed.  My husband and I had fun--well, I did, anyway--moving the beds between two rooms to see if we could get all three into one space to open up the other room for play. The obvious solution? Bunks!

Off we went in search of the perfect space-saving sleepers. And we found one with a trundle, no less. Marvelous! Everyone was so excited!

But reality. Predictably unpredictable, the girls were triggered. It took about 24 hours for one to come talk with us. Another hasn't said anything, but she is acting oddly enough that even this dope-of-a-mom figured out she has things going on, too.

Well, poop. Time to pivot. 

I let the girls know that we will keep all the new beds separate and where their old beds were--no designated playroom or group sleeps--for now.  OH! They were all so sad. I worked to explain that Daddy and I wanted this as badly as they did. But the Bible teaches us that we make our plans, and the Lord directs our steps. It is so important to move forward with our plans in a way that we are interruptible and redirectable. 

This is the life. It is true for everyone, really. But it is pronounced when raising children exposed to trauma. We can and should plan. But, as a precious friend always says, we must hold those plans loosely. It would be foolhardy to press on with a plan God doesn't endorse. He knows so much more and loves so much better than we do. It's ridiculous to not lean on His understanding and welcome His will.

When we do stack the beds, it will be at the right time, and it is going to be a party!

It Seemed Like Such a Good Idea

 It took days to shake the image from my mind.  My daughter, with safety goggles propped up unsafely on her head, left hand on a piece of wood, right hand aiming a power drill at the same piece of wood, was grinning at me as I entered the area.  To be abundantly clear, her eyes were on ME while her finger was on the trigger of the drill aimed at her hand. Can you see it? I can't STOP seeing it.

The day started so beautifully.  It was a Friday that my husband had off. The girls actually slept in a bit. We had a peaceful breakfast. The weather was nice enough for them to play outside, which they did without a fuss. After a leisurely morning, we thought it would a great idea to spend the afternoon at the science museum.  We had been once before, and it was just the last hour that the place was open.  It went well, so this seemed a great way to fill a few hours.

When we got there, one of our girls was attacked by ADHD FOMO. She couldn't focus on anything because her eyes kept wandering to other areas to see what she was missing. She was totally overwhelmed. 

Next we tried to sit through an astronomy film on the domed screen.  That was just silly, expecting 4, 7, and 9-year-old girls to be still for that long.  Bust.

So we headed for the "Maker" area. Crafting is my girls' idea of heaven. It is the one activity that can occupy the bigs for hours. There were several stations within the area, and I settled into one with the littlest.  The other two wandered around, getting the lay of the land.  They settled in the wood-working area. When the baby followed them, I did, too.

Which is when I got my haunting nightmare image that won't leave me alone.  My husband was setting each up at a different station and had given instructions to the eldest first. Then she apparently ticked every box of instruction and did the opposite. Safety goggles? Certainly not on her eyes. Placement of hands? Certainly right where the drill is going to go. Where do you look when your hand is on the trigger? Well, obviously never at the drill itself. Be still my heart!

Homeschool Curriculum

I am excited about the next homeschool year because I decided to write the curriculum myself. I am a diehard Sonlight fan and used it to school my first two children from first grade to twelfth. I shopped around and landed back at Sonlight for my girls.

When I made the purchase (with no little kicking myself for getting rid of most of it from the first time around), the price hurt a bit. Then I made adjustments to how we were schooling, which led to more purchases. At the time, I was earning a little income from the job I left to homeschool. I knew that would not be the case any other year.

I was browsing at a local bookstore with my husband and we were looking at some of the great deals they offered.  Offhand as we left, I said, "I'm going to just write my own curriculum and get books from there." I took myself by surprise because I hadn't realized how much I'd been thinking about it until it came out of my mouth. My husband protested, knowing how much I love Sonlight.

But once I said it aloud, it took on a solid form and this enthusiasm started bubbling up. I could hardly wait to get home to start planning. Guess what I will be doing over Spring Break? 

Just Be Easy!

My husband and I were talking about parenting the other day. There are times when we feel so successful, and then there are the other times. 

As we shared different stories where we failed to respond well, we saw a pattern. We took turns sharing stories, and they all seemed to go like this. 

A child misbehaves and we handle it with patience, humor, redirection, and calmness. 

That child misbehaves again--repeating the previous action or inventing a new way to be disruptive, disrespectful, or dangerous. And we handle it calmly, the child recovers, and we move on. 

Then that child is downright mean to a sibling, and we facilitate her making it right. 

After two minutes, the child makes eye contact and directly disobeys, "don't-touch-THIS?" style. We take a deep breath and respond like a pro, employing curiosity and remembering that behavior is communication of a need. We discover and meet that need with gentle questions and innovative solutions. 

Then she either does something she can't help, like burps or trips; OR she goes in for a pound and escalates to 11 with no apparent trigger.  Either way, we lose it and blow it. Inside (and sometimes outside) we wail, OH MY WORD, JUST BE EASY!

We keep on keeping on. I think we are improving--every one of us. But we still fall flat on our faces more often than we want. 

Anniversary

We just celebrated our 28th anniversary!

By the way, if you want good babysitters, I know the trick. First, have a couple of great kids who are terrific with kids. Wait 'til they grow up. Then get more kids and have the first kids babysit the second kids.  It's brilliant! That is my cheeky way of thanking our two adult kids for watching our three growing kids.

We went to a hotel two miles from our home and it was magnificent! We napped! We slept 'til we woke up. We talked about kid things and not-kid things. I decided I will start writing my own homeschool curriculum for the girls! (I'm kind of excited about that one!) We remembered the details of our wedding day and the days just before and after. We played games and watched TV. 'Twas marvelous!

I had a vision ages ago that continues to be true today.  We had just gone through some broken friendships that also broke my heart. Then I saw us as if we were on a boat. We had been knocked around, soaked and battered by ferocious winds. As things died down, we managed to stand and look back. There was a maze of whirlpools, monsters, icebergs, and jagged rocks.  I had thought the danger had been from all the weaving the ship had done.  But it was weaving to avoid all those life-threatening dangers. We were being kept safe!

I am so thankful to my hero, living all the stages of life with me. I think there are things that are so far removed from the two people who made vows that it boggles my mind a bit. Being married for life is not a guarantee for anyone these days, but Brian early on decided we would banish the notion of divorce. I think that saved us.

His commitment to our marriage meant that even when things were hard, I knew I had that stability. I could be weak, wrong, and wrecked. But my husband stood strong.  He could screw up, but I wouldn't give up. Knowing we are in this unconditionally means we know it's worth the work that is necessary for any relationship. Not working on it was self-defeating. So, we work, we pivot, we talk, we apologize, and we forgive.

This stability is the biggest gift to our kids. They can do all the things, big and small, good and bad, but this family will always be here for them. 

Please don't mistake this for bragging. I don't deserve the blessings I enjoy. I tell you about this all with big-eyed wonder. I look back and see the dangers we avoided and shake off the goosebumps. We've made it this far. By God's grace, we will keep going.

March: 2025

We made it! It's now! March, 2025. When I started the little series of March posts, I hadn't realized how long ago 2018 is. In my head, 2020 was just last year.  It seemed only smart to back up a couple more years for context. But, I don't know if you know this, 2018 was SEVEN years ago!! How'd that happen?

Where are we now? I am homeschooling! Praise be to God! I have all three at home. I do not need to keep track of three different schedules. I do not have to worry about three different germ sources.  I do not have to undo teaching or decipher what really happened on the playground.  All three girls are learning about Jesus and Biblical literacy. Ah...

My husband and I switched roles to what is more familiar to us both. It was a painful sacrifice to give up retirement and return to full-time work for him.  He was a wonderful homemaker but didn't love the tasks involved with being a stay-at-home dad.  And I loved my job, but I was itching to school all three of my girls myself.  This is good.

The girls are still healing. I am still learning. I need Jesus each day. Therapy is a need that is far away. Diagnoses are sketchy. Homeschooling answers so many of these things. We start the day with Bible and prayer. We incorporate Cognitive Behavioral Therapy and Socioemotional Intelligence Education into the week. We feed their artistic creativity with tons of music. I accommodate and modify lessons to scaffold learning. I use tools like essential oil rubs, Thera-bands, weighted blankets, fidgets, and Starbursts to meet both sensory-seeking and sensory-avoidant behaviors. We have a Cozy Corner for big feelings, and can stop the world when a new memory emerges or we hit a trauma trigger.

What more will this March hold?

My Friend

I was wondering what I could write about, and my friend was helping me brainstorm.  She facetiously suggested herself as the topic and did a little cheeky twirl. Since she knows me well, she quickly followed up with a deep-voiced, "Don't write about me." But she does know me well, so I'm gonna! 

It's a great idea because support is everything. We were made by a triune God Whose very essence is relational. It's no wonder that people are pivotal to our success through various seasons of life. We have been extravagantly blessed with friends. We are astonishingly and undeservedly RICH with people who walk through fire with us! I will tell you about one now.

When you go through the foster parent licensing process, you get asked endlessly about your support system. And for good reason. This oughtn't be done alone. We were blessed this time (our third licensing class) by sitting immediately behind strangers who are now seeing us through some of the most challenging and grace-filled moments of our lives.

This woman is the heart of her family, and what a heart she has! She brought dinner to us when the girls first arrived--then left, knowing we needed to cocoon ourselves to form a new family. She has listened to me for hours that add up to months as I vent, worry, gush, wrestle, and grieve regarding these girls and their stories--plus every other part of my life.

This woman is a whiz in the kitchen and lives to feed others.  She's excellent with kids, empowering them to be brave and try new things.  She is an amazing friend, who expends a tremendous amount of energy searching out ways to bless them. She is so proud of her husband, always bragging about him except when she's baiting him.

She listens. She prays. She is gentle with my failings and encourages me to stand up again. She is so very funny. She is extravagantly generous yet actively seeks how to be extravagantly generous as if she doesn't already live that way. She does things even when she is scared.

She gets grief. She doesn't try to fix what she cannot. She abides, sitting in the pain and brokenness, making it better by doing nothing. 

She embraces people, just as they are. She embraces differences with delight and curiosity. When I slip with one of my crazy quirks, she laughs and eagerly says, "Oh, tell me more about THAT!"

When she goes to the gym, she prays before entering that God put someone in her path who needs encouragement.  When she encounters a stranger or a dear friend, she lights up either way, because all she sees is someone she can love.

She lives life with us, and we are so thankful and humbled.  Her family is wonderful, and we will never be able to repay all they've given. I pray blessings for her as she continues to find ways to live generously.

We were made for relationships. She gets that, and we are so thankful to get to call her friend! 

Doctor Update

 In case you were wondering, I have an update on our therapy referral. Guess what? We're wait-listed because the therapist is on maternity leave til May.  

So, there we go.

First Choir Recital

We put the girls in choir classes in January. My husband has wanted them in choir for a long while because at least one seems to have perfect pitch, and they all love singing. In fact, our music education has been beefed up in many ways this calendar year.  They are also learning theory, piano, and recorder.

The choir we joined seems really special. It is for homeschoolers and there are two age groups. They have generously allowed our nine-year-old to be in both classes.  She gets to sing with her little sisters (which helps them feel comfortable) and be challenged in the older class where the students already know how to read music and sing harmony.

The girls had their first recital this week and they did so very well! I am exceedingly proud of them. That's not to say I wasn't shaking in my boots a bit after the class just before recital! The littlest went bonkers. She wouldn't sing but was happy to growl the lyrics while doing deep, aggressive lunges at the audience. What?! She kept running around, grabbing friends, jumping, rolling on the floor, or starting games of tag... The whole scene was equal parts hilarious and horrifying.

But there was nothing to fear. The girls did marvelously. They sang well, behaved well, and had loads of fun. The choir is an offshoot of a homeschool band. The girls had heard the band playing during choir, but we didn't do much to prepare them to sit through those performance pieces. My girl who struggles with loud noises struggled minimally, thanks to being wrapped in her Daddy's loving arms. But other than that, they were terrific!

Can you hear this proud momma heart? I could brag for days! 

It's My Sister's Birthday

It's our tenth birthday of hers without her. I am conditioned to look forward to it because she claimed the entire month for her celebration. Of course, now, there are more feelings surrounding the day. I'm just going to tell you about the best woman I've ever known--and I know many, many wonderful women. 

One of the most obvious descriptors of Diane Cherie Porter is that she is intelligent. That is the easy, low-hanging fruit attribute. She was tech-savvy, devoured books in a day, and could teach on any subject. She was so smart that her IQ was still higher than everyone at the office where she had it tested after some of her brain was removed. They fawned over her like she was an A-list celebrity when she was lamenting her diminished skills. 

--You'll have to excuse my verb tenses for this post.  I tend to speak about her in the present tense still because she is a Jesus-lover and thus has eternal life.  But sometimes the past tense slips out as I delve into specific memories.

While her cognitive intelligence defines her and informed everything she did, Diane is so much more than smart. Diane is kind in a tangible way. Her attentiveness, acute memory, and the time she made for people made us feel like we were the most important thing in her life. 

She was the glue in our family. She stayed in touch with all our grands, aunts, uncles, and cousins, as well as all the members of her husband's family. She was the greatest aunt one could want. Those connections mattered to her; the individuals were valuable. I know she prayed for us all regularly and her heart overflowed with love.

Diane had the Spiritual gift of faith. We all have faith in something. And believers are given faith. But Diane had the gift of faith that passes all understanding. She didn't waiver. She was so firmly planted on the Rock that she took on the qualities of a rock. One story I love is that she was late to her own baptism because she was busy bringing a teen soldier to Christ.

Diane could be counted on to speak the truth with love in the face of anything and everything. I benefitted countless times from her talks exhorting me that despite all the evidence that I was drowning, God was bigger than the waves. She encouraged me when I felt like my kids would never overcome their challenges. Or when I thought I would never be good enough for my family.

She went through a lot, including fighting brain cancer for years. Only at the very end, thanks to institutional neglect, multiple brain surgeries, and mind-addling drugs did depression ever touch her. But for the rest of her life, she navigated the difficult things with this assurance that love wins. Sometimes she yelled it at us. "Love wins, you idiot!"

In fact, Diane epitomized joy. She was generous and playful. She celebrated others' triumphs. She infused heartache with the deep unshakable joy that comes with an eternal point of view. She knew what lasted and what was temporary. She made an event out of anything, celebrating everything.

She loved to sing. Every time we got together, she'd beg me to sing two-part songs with her. "This is the Day," "He Has Shown Thee," "Humble Thyself in the Sight of the Lord." There is an older one that goes, 'Brother, Sister, we are young/ And our lives have just begun/...Sons of God/ Hear His holy Word/ Gather 'round/ the Table of the Lord..." I wish I'd joined in more frequently and with more verve than I did.  Ah, hindsight. I've countless songs ranging from hymns to 80s ballads that make me think of her.

Diane used the moniker Mrs. Quiet. It was funny because she is a TALKER. But she was married to a soft-spoken shy introvert. It was her joke. It was also an expression of her undying love and devotion to her husband. Man, she loves him!  Her marriage was a beautiful thing to behold--they were both forever in love, giving favor to the other while happily bickering over everything. They were different in just about everything.  He was not a gamer, or a singer, or gregarious, or crazy-smart, or a voracious reader. I am not sure I ever saw him in front of the computer. But it didn't matter one whit. They were into each other, God, and their family.  That was enough.

Diane was an excellent cook. She threw together feasts and treats while carrying out a bunch of other tasks plus three conversations. She was skilled in savory and sweet dishes alike. I strive to cook as she does, but I am more hit-and-miss and can be quite a disaster in the kitchen.

There is so much more. 

• She played an integral role in Protestant Women of the Chapel in both California and Texas while her husband served in the army. She loved the women she taught and fellowshipped with. 
• She homeschooled her kids. She homeschooled other kids. 
• She worked as the secretary at various churches--and was the unofficial confidant to several priests and pastors. 
• She would sit on speakerphone with me while I schooled my kids.  We would just spend hours on speakerphone, both of us going about our day with our families.  
• She loved Jesus. Her love for him drew her into depths ever richer. You couldn't know her without hearing about her Friend. She was a prayer warrior, persevering and persisting in praying for the people she loved.
• She asked hard questions. We wrestled together with doctrinal beliefs, politics, and any hot topic for years, always seeking truth over merely winning an argument. She loved to think.
• She loved movies and TV shows. She invested in characters like they were real, applying biblical truths to the worldliest programming, extracting beautiful parables that would shine light for those who would never crack a Bible.
• She was funny.  She came up with all sorts of silly phrases.  I still use them today, like okeydokey smokeybutt.
• She was wise and had all sorts of maxims. One was, 'Cry when it hurts to not cry. When the crying starts to hurt, stop.'

Thank you for reading about this lovely woman. I am deeply honored to call her my big sister. You can't know me without knowing at least a bit about her. She prayed my husband into my life. She kept us married for the first decade. I homeschool because of her. She made me brave. She made me love Jesus. So much of who I am is because of her.

Driving

My adult daughter was in the car with me and mentioned how I point at semi-trucks whenever we get close to one. (I point at them to tell them to stay put.) She said they aren't targeting me; I don't need to drive like everyone is aiming at me. By the way, getting life advice from our young adult children is the best!

The idea shocked me. I don't often feel like all the cars are gunning for mine.  Actually, it's quite the opposite. I feel invisible. I am scared I will get into an accident because someone didn't see me and just tried to be in my space.  

Is this a deeper thing?  Are there people who don't worry about getting into accidents?  It's actually been something that threatens phobia-level fear at different times in my life.  There are seasons when I am a comfortable, confident driver.  Seasons when I have less access to a car, I become timid. The sense that the other drivers won't see me grows, and driving is an exhausting activity.

Even when I am feeling confident, I still point at trucks. I figure they need a little extra help.