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!

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? 

We Got a Van

 I mentioned before that we got a van.

You want to meet her? Here she is!  Her name is Penelope Gabrielle Sage, thank you very much! Her official color is green-brown, according to the manufacturer. Who on earth would think that would be a pretty color?  Green-brown?  That is the color of poo. Why did no one speak up in that meeting?

Anyhow, I don't think she looks green-brown.  I can't actually say what color she is. The repairmen reported the color is tan, and I suppose that's a nice catchall name and as good as any.  It's just car-colored like my hair is hair-colored.  The ultimate non-descript.

I am thankful for this gal. Because of her, we get to GO! We've visited the Omaha Science Center, the local children's museum, and friends. It's so nice! Even being able to pick up groceries is a gift.

We have also enrolled the girls in dance and choir.  Our musical girls are gaining a lot of Good Things because of this.  So, welcome, Penelope Gabrielle Sage! Thank you for the adventures AWAY from home!

Is It Luck?

Sometimes people don’t know what to say when they learn we adopted three girls.  Other times people genuinely mean to say that the girls are lucky we adopted them.  And I cringe every time. 

My oldest daughter has surging feelings whenever she hears it.  Who would call a child born positive for drugs lucky? Or one raised in an abusive or neglectful home?  What is lucky about living in an apartment with an empty fridge or maggots in the corners? And most universal to adoption stories, what child is lucky to lose his or her first family? It’s best not to suggest to our firstborns that their younger siblings are lucky.

My thoughts on it are a little different.  First, I rarely use the term lucky for any situation.  I don’t believe in luck.  Setting it aside and dealing with the actual intent of the statement, I am equally uncomfortable with my littles being called lucky.  While my oldest girl focuses on the circumstances that allowed us to adopt, I am acutely aware of my failings.  I am not a perfect mom.  I am not a perfect anything.  That might seem trite or inspire an eyeroll, but I am being very serious.  These girls have been through enough; they don’t need a lousy mom.  I’m aware of how frequently I mess up and can make myself crazy thinking about the ways I may be messing up without knowing about it!  What’s lucky about being raised by someone like that?

My sister has another perspective.  Her mouth is too colorful to quote, so I will paraphrase. She says we retired and could have followed the American Dream scheme and lived a lifestyle that didn’t include scraping money together or doing without some luxuries we ‘earned.’  Our daily life could have been my pursuing a career in my interests and my husband enjoying well-deserved rest.  We could travel and dance and play.  We could have a disposable income!

Instead, we decided to jump back into the thick of child-rearing at the cusp of empty nesting.  These girls have been through trauma—and so have countless others.  Some of those others won’t be adopted.  They won’t land in a permanent place with people they can call their own.  In her more aggressively-phrased way, my sister says we’re freaking amazing (but she didn’t say freaking).

That makes me so uncomfortable!  I was uncomfortable enough to end the conversation, and very uncomfortable writing it here. The good that comes from it is a determination to make my life agree with her assessment.  I pray, “Let it be, Lord!”  Let me be freaking amazing! Let the girls be blessed with a healthy permanent family to change their statistical trajectory.  And, Lord—Lord—please save those masses of other kids who need the same!

Time—Rich and Poor.

I was talking with a precious friend the other day.  She was struggling with time.  She is in the proverbial sandwich stage of life—caring for an aging parent, parenting her children, and providing care for her youngest grandchild.  You don’t have to add that she has a flourishing home business to imagine why she would struggle with time.  There is never enough.

As I listened, I felt like she’d been peeking into my home and brain. She kept saying the same things I’d been thinking for weeks. We both felt drained and in desperate need of a break that we couldn’t see coming. We needed more hours in the day…and the night. At the same time, she (and I) confessed in frustration over frittered time.  We would realize only after the fact that we had wasted a whole uninterrupted 30 minutes on garbage.

Then, like a flash of lightning illuminating the landscape (that’s a line from a play I did in Junior High that I can’t forget), this allegorical vision came to me. Rich people and poor people spend money differently. There are things one group would not likely purchase that the other would.  Poor people won’t buy a top-of-the-line vehicle. Rich people are not going to buy lottery tickets. Rich people invest in things that would grow their wealth. And the kicker is that the junk poor people purchase wastes what little money they have, actually perpetuating their deficits.

In the same way, a time-rich person might commit to large blocks of time to accomplish a task. They are also free to luxuriate in lengthy leisure activities.  Time-poor people can’t imagine pampering themselves or lingering over coffee with a friend. 

I am in a time-poor season.  I stay up late to talk with that precious friend once a week.  She is important to me.  But I cannot talk with her during the day. I am constantly interrupted and can’t finish a thought during the day. I get so frustrated because I don’t have time to sit, to think, or to finish anything!

But!  Here’s the rub.  I spend my time the way a poor person might spend money.  On those gumball machine toys and lottery tickets.  I buy trash with my time.  I get on social media.  When I realize that I just scrolled for 45 minutes, I am astonished and chagrinned. How did that happen?  I know I get on because there is no commitment.  I can spend 2 minutes checking notifications.  I can stop in an instant when a new demand comes collecting. It feels ‘safer’ than trying to read a book or start a project. But what a waste!

This realization was profound for me.  I told anyone who would listen. I didn’t know quite what to do with it, but I was convinced that the way I spent my time was robbing myself.  I needed to think like a rich person and make wiser purchases that focused on quality even when I can’t have quantity. I needed to invest rather than indulge in trash.

I haven't figured out how to do this exactly, but I am working diligently to cut waste and to treat my time as something I have control over and must steward wisely.

Are you time-rich or time-poor right now? Does the season affect how you spend time? Does this analogy ring true for you?