My Joy

Tonight I went in to check on the kids before turning in to bed.  What an age of innocence reigns right now.  I push Maddie's mess of curls off her forehead and press my cheek against her skin.  "I love you," I whisper.  "You are a good, good girl, and I love you so much."  She doesn't stir.

I flip off the bathroom light on the way to the boys' room.  Tripping on cars, I make my way to Parker's bed.  His face is buried in pillows.  Just a hint of cheeks peeks at me.  Enough to kiss and nuzzle.  "Your mommy loves you," I whisper, moving away as he turns his head on the pillow.

Jack is mumbling something from the top bunk, and a smile spreads over my face.  There is something about checking on the kids at night...Sometimes I just need to peek in and see the tops of their heads above their blankets.  Other nights I want to hear them breathing.  At times, I will kiss their sleeping faces until they squirm.  But Jack, just hearing that adorable, small, strong voice is enough for tonight.  I won't interrupt.  Keep dreaming those big dreams, son.  Tell me all about it in the morning. 

I step over Caleb, stretched out on the trundle, his head dappled in silvery moonlight.  I'm drawn to the window, my eyes peering through the branches of the tree just outside.  How is it that the moon can be so timid and distant some nights and so bold others?  Tonight the light is practically blasting through the leaves, bathing everything in an ethereal glow.  Amazing.  Try as I might, no smartphone picture will do justice to this beauty.  No matter, there are other beauties awaiting my attention.

I make my way back to the blond haired boy lying low and bend to kiss his face, my hand resting on his tiny chest.  With one thumb tucked in his mouth, his other hand finds mine, tiny fingers curling around my thumb.  My heart squeezes, and I stand still, bent, savoring.  Untangling myself, I stumble through the toys and sit at the desk, anxious to capture the sweet moments my camera cannot.

My joy is full tonight.  These recordings are only a fraction of the blessings of the day.  Aaron's safe journey to Malaysia, good news from the doctor, finding my car in the parking garage, having great girlfriends over for tea after the kids were put to bed - all good things.

There is a also a sink full of dishes, two racks of laundry to fold, homework folders to sign.  All waiting for me.  Also, all good things.  I am writing tonight to remember.  How easily I can overlook these daily joys - big and small, obvious and obscure.  But not tonight.  Tonight I will record and remember and be thankful.

Good.night.

1 Thessalonians 5:18  In every thing give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.

Ko Samui

We visited Ko Samui (which is Thailand's second largest island) in August of 2015.

Arriving at the airport

Tongsai Bay entrance (looking out)

 When we arrived, the first thing the kids noticed was the fleet of golf carts.  After looking at the map of the property, we understood why there were so many...

The Tongsai Bay is a collection of properties, mostly separate, villa-type structures, built into the mountainside rainforest.  While there were many lovely footpaths, the quickest way to travel was via the golf carts.  The kids were immediately in love with the place.

We hopped onto a cart and travelled up, up, up for what seemed like ages, arriving at the base of a steep staircase.  The steps branched off to the left and to the right, zig zagging back toward the center.    We had two villas separated by a wall.  Again, the kids loved it because they felt like they had their own place (the older ones anyway - Caleb stayed with us).  When it was nighttime, Aaron and I split up to make sure an adult was in each room, but during a day, when we were taking a break from the sun, the kids were allowed to stay in their own space and watch movies.  What a life!

I'm not kidding when I say there were a lot of steep stairs leading to our room!  Someone got a little tired.

View of the bay from our front porch/balcony

The very, very best things about the rooms were the outdoor bathtubs.  They sat on the front porches facing the ocean.  "Porch" might be the wrong word.  It was more like a room missing the wall that faced the ocean, and because we were so high up the mountain, we couldn't be seen from the road.  We filled them with warm water and sprinkled flowers on top.  There were also huge clay jars containing bubble bath on the ledge by the towels.  Can you say paradise??

We settled in and journeyed down the mountain all the way to the bay.

The "beach" consisted of small, very smooth pebbles (somewhere between the size of a pea and a bb pellet - can you tell I'm from Kentucky?).  It was an amazing sensory experience just to walk through the tiny balls and hear the click, click as they moved around our toes.  There was a two-seater sea kayak pulled ashore, and Aaron and I took turns paddling the kids around the bay.

On one side of the bay, there was a really neat rock structure we explored, looking for fossils and pirate caves.

Just beyond the beach was a paved area with a bridge separating two pools.  In the shallow pool, a tall, hut-like structure sat in the middle of the water, providing shade from the white-hot sun.  I sat under there watching Caleb paddle around in his flotation vest while the big kids made friends, hanging from the bridge and venturing into the deeper waters.

In the morning, the kids got a big kick out of calling for our ride and zipping down the hill to the main cabin for breakfast.  My what a spread!  Every food imaginable: pancakes and eggs, and rice and noodles, and vegetables and exotic fruits, smoothies and soups, you name it, they had it.  We ate and ate and ate!

Aaron had a chance to take a Thai cooking class.  He gathered the ingredients from the on-site gardens and created some absolutely delicious dishes.  

Meanwhile the kids and I hung out at the pool providing a public service announcement for any passers-by about the long-term effects of intimacy. We built forts out of lounge chair cushions, swam,  ran and ran and ran, and finally had lunch.

Our trip was not very long, but we did manage a few outings.  We visited the Big Buddha Temple (Wat Phra Yai) which is a 39 foot-tall, gold-painted Buddha.  It was surrounded by a marketplace (where Maddie purchased her favorite "rainbow" dress).  I think the most interesting feature was the staircase leading up the the statue.  The rails were giant colorful snakes!  I don't know how to describe this place except to say that it was vibrant.  The statues, if not painted gold, were painted other bright, bold colors.  We saw tiles of every hue, smelled fragrant incense floating in the air, and of course, the kids couldn't wait to leave.  Why do we have to visit another temple?

Oh great, mom, more steps!

Snake rails

One evening we had dinner at an Italian place called Pepenero (because when in Thailand...)  I was wondering about the selection.  Silly me!  Of course, Aaron had done his homework, and this place was incredible.  The building itself was tiny (we sat out on the porch at the only table big enough to seat our family), but the food was to die for.  We chatted with the Italian owner while his son and Parker headed down the road to an empty lot to play soccer.  I swear that kid's never met a stranger.

We spent most of our time on the beach or at the pool or in the tub.  It was an all-around fabulous trip, and we were blessed to have gone there.  So long, Ko Samui!

Unrecorded travels 2015-2016

It's time I get caught up on recording our Asian travels.  It's something I have put off for various reasons, and now, as this year draws to a close, I feel the unwritten posts looming over my head.  Aaron has gone to great lengths to plan amazing adventures.  He researches, tracks pricing trends, reads countless hotel reviews, organizes reliable transportation, hires travel guides, and secures safe, clean, beautiful accommodations.  And we have a great time!  So why haven't I written about it already?

Time certainly plays a factor.  My free time has definitely become more scarce in the last six months, since we decided to let our domestic helper go.  Live-in domestic helpers are very common in Asia, and when we moved here 2+ years ago, in the throws of my nervous breakdown (um, I mean seamless transition into overseas living), I decided I needed one.  And to be honest, I think I did...for a time.  As months turned into years, I learned the ropes, made friends, and had an emergency support system (a necessity when your husband travels a lot).  It soon became clear to me that my own laziness was the primary reason for our helper's employment.  Uh-oh.  Good-bye help, hello laundry, my old friend.

But that's not the whole story.  I didn't have a helper in the States and managed to blog there.  (Granted, living in the States is easier on many levels, but still...)  I think part of my writer's block regarding travel is that I can't wrap my head around our lives here.  It still feels surreal, especially when we take exotic trips.  I like to have neat little blog posts with tidy little endings, pretending my life makes sense sometimes.  Here, not so much.  And then there's that little nagging voice in my head that says, Who do you think you are, writing about all these trips?  No one cares, show-off.  Meet my inner-critic.  She's a peach.

But I am going to write about the trips.  Not for benefit of some big audience.  I am going to record these special events in the life of my kids, in the hopes that if they read it one day, it will spark a fond memory.  I am going to record the details to honor Aaron's hard work and sacrifice that makes the trips possible.  I am going to accept this undeserved gift God has chosen to bestow on us for this season and enjoy this crazy life, zig-zagging across a foreign land, and exploring its wonders.  So buckle, up...Here we go!

Here's the list, and I'll be adding more detailed posts, as I go:

August 2015:  Ko Samui, Thailand
Novermber 2015: Boracay, Philippines
December 2015: Hong Kong & Louisville

March 2016: Phuket, Thailand
April 2016: Kathmandu, Nepal
June 2016: Las Vegas & Louisville
July 2016: Cambodia mission trip
September 2016: New Delhi & Agra, India

Lessons learned from strollers and blankets

I think there is a very good reason we are called "children of God."  I see so many parallels in my relationship with God and my relationship with my kids.  I want to record a few, just as a reminder to myself the importance of staying in my role...

Several months ago, Caleb, Jack and I were walking to church.  (Parker and Maddie were in school.)  We brought the small, lightweight umbrella stroller in case Caleb got tired.  I was pushing it along, as the boys ran ahead of me.  They were looking forward their class.  We'd walked this way many times, so they were familiar with the twists and turns.  At one point, Caleb asked if he may push the stroller. Though he was not yet tall enough to reach the handles or see over the top, I allowed him to get behind it and push.

He bumped into curbs.  He walked into walls.  It turned in directions he did not intend.  He began to get frustrated.  I explained that he wasn't big enough to steer yet and offered to help him.  He declined and continued to shove it himself, making little progress toward his goal.  Finally he agreed I could hold the handles above his head to help steer.  Eventually his legs grew tired, and he agree to climb inside and allow me to steer and carry him, and we quickly arrived at our desitnation.

My, how this makes me think of me and God!  How often do I demand control over things only to realize I have run into a brick wall?  When I insist on doing things "my way" I end up losing so much time and wasting so much energy.  I can't see the path ahead, but God can.  When I allow God to not only lead but also to carry me, we get to great places, and I enjoy the ride!

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Today at lunchtime, Caleb asked for a blanket.  I noticed a chill in the air and his hair ruffling in the breeze of the air conditioner.

"Are you cold?" I asked (knowing the answer).  This is where I will pause the story.  This scenario could have gone south very quickly.  Caleb (like his momma) has a tendency to be impatient.  When he makes a request, he doesn't necessarily want to answer a bunch of questions.  He wants what he wants when he wants it.  He might have scowled and insisted, "I jus want a bwanket!"

Thankfully, today, he simply answered my question: "Yeah."

"I can take care of that," I responded and pressed the button to turn off the air conditioning unit.

"Fanks, mom."

I see myself in that strong-willed little guy.  How many times have I asked God for something specific, expecting an immediate, positive response?  Am I willing to listen to His questions?  If I am, and if I trust Him to provide, He can effectively remove the source of my troubles instead of just covering them up.

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Lord, today I thank You so much for using my kids to teach me.  Let me never forget these lessons to trust in You, that You will provide, and that You are in complete control.


And this same God who takes care of me will supply all your needs from his glorious riches, which have been given to us in Christ Jesus. Philippians 4:19


In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight. Proverbs 3:6

Silver Lining

If you had told me years ago, when Maddie had croup, that it was a blessing, I might have punched you in the throat (or at least, fantasized about it).  But the truth is, it was a blessing.

It was a blessing that I was in the States, in my comfort zone.  It was a blessing that I had access to a 24 hour pediatric nurse and lived just minutes from an urgent care center.  It was a blessing Aaron was at home and could care for the other kids.  It was within this very safe, comforting environment, I was given a taste of a crisis.  My baby couldn't breathe.  While it was scary, I learned that if I took the proper steps, I could care for her at home.

Fast forward to last night.  We live in a foreign country.  Aaron is traveling.  There is a hospital down the road, but a trip there means loading up four sleepy kids for a super-fun, germy field trip.  I hear the familiar barking cough in the middle of the night.  The gasping.  The hoarse cries for mommy.  My baby can't breathe.

"I'm coming."  I pad down the stairs, flipping on the hot water heater switch as I go.  Scooping Caleb into my arms, I whisper, "It's okay.  It's okay."  We step into the shower.  As steam fills the room, Caleb is sweaty and disoriented, but it moments, his head is resting on my shoulder.  The coughs subside, and I settle him in the living room with the air-conditioning off.  I know we'll be up again in a few hours, but it's okay.  It's okay.  

The truth is, it is okay.  All of it.  The crisis from yesterday and the one I'll face tomorrow.  God equips us along the way, never once leaving our sides.  Each new crisis is just training for the next.

Thank you Lord, for letting me see the silver lining today.  Please help me to view all my situations, past and present though the filter of Your love.

"For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways," declares the LORD. Isaiah 55:8

God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Psalm 46:1

What was I thinking?

I arrived at school at 1:45.  Perfect!  Plenty of time to find parking, go to the office, collect the kids, and be on our way.  Our dentist appointment wasn't until 2:40.  Caleb woke up happily from his nap in the backseat and sat right in the stroller.  (Will wonders never cease?)

We wheeled into the office by 1:50 and were watching the fish in the tank in the waiting room when we suddenly heard a harsh alarm and a robotic voice announcing: "Attention!  Attention!  The school is now on lockdown mode.  The school is now on lockdown mode.  Please proceed to..." Are you kidding me?  We were ushered up some stairs and locked into a darkened office where we were told to be quiet and silence our cellphones.  Why yes, yes, of course.  Asking a 3 year old to be silent is completely reasonable.

I sat there holding a squirming Caleb, while trying to text the dentist office that we would now be late.  It saddened me to think that this was now a drill as common as a tornado drill had been in my day.  Thanks to lunatics with guns, our kids were now adept at hiding in the dark, waiting for the signal that it was safe to emerge again.

After about 10 minutes we were back in the main office, waiting for the kids.  By the time we all ran to the van, it was clear we would be nearly half an hour late to our appointment.  The best laid plans...

When we arrived, the kids immediately found a partially glassed-in play area.  Apparently this semi-enclosed area triggered some sort of animal instinct in them because over the course of the next hour, they transformed into wild [possibly rabid] beastly creatures who did not appear to comprehend the English language.

I am no stranger to this bizarre, wait-room phenomenon.  In fact, a few short weeks ago, when I had some extra time in my schedule, I had actually visited this very office to fill out the pages of paperwork required for each child.  Of course, when I reminded the staff of this, the forms were nowhere to be found.  Grrrrr.

As the dentist took the children back, one by one, I accompanied the patient, leaving the eldest child in charge of the rest, and briefly explained my concerns/observations, before hearing the first inevitable screams from the waiting room.  Then I would dash back and deal with whatever crisis had arisen within the 1.5 minutes I had been gone.

Fill out a box on the form.  "We don't stand on furniture." Look up a policy number.  "Do not poke your brother with the keys." Check the box. "I said, 'Get down.'" Sign. "Do not put your feet on the wall." Flip form.  "I don't  care who started it.  I saw you push him down." Fill out another line.  "He had that first.  Give it back." Enter dentist.  "So-and-so's teeth look fine.  Do you happen to know when he last had x-" "Mommy!  I'm hungry!" "The dentist is speaking to me.  Please don't interrupt.  Please go on..."

Repeat.  Over and over and over and over.

Meanwhile, I found myself grumbling aloud about having to fill out the forms again.  Apparently I was loud enough for Parker to ask "What's 'a waste of time?'"  Which meant I was loud enough for the staff just on the other side of the partition to hear.  Ugh.  Me and my big, fat, complaining mouth.

By the time I sank into the receptionist's chair to present the insurance cards, I was toast.  I had been pulled in so many directions at once, I thought I might literally explode.  At least then everyone could have a piece of me simultaneously.  I had tears in my eyes as I looked up at the three women behind the desk.

"I'm sorry I was so grumpy about the lost paperwork."  They nodded.  There was a long pause [during which there was plenty of background noise provided by my kids].  "What were we thinking?" I asked quietly.

I find I ask this question of strangers a lot.  I usually do it to break the tension when things are particularly chaotic.  I'm saying what they are thinking, poking fun at our decision to have such a large family.  I'm usually grinning.  Tonight, I was not.  I'm certain I looked just as overwhelmed as I felt.  And when the kids began to incessantly push the button that opened the door between the wait area and the treatment rooms, one of the women jumped up and said curtly, "I'll take care of it."

She was clearly annoyed, and I was mortified.  I had lost all control over my brood.  And I was at a loss.  The creative tools in my parenting kit were so far buried under distractions and exhaustion, one might assumed I never had any at all.  I barely made it to the elevator before the tears started to flow.  I had just played the longest, most pointless game of whack-a-mole in history.

Tonight I am trying to make sense of it all.  I'm trying to tease apart the emotions wrapped around my heart that are strangling the love I usually feel for the kids.  Of course I love them, I just don't feel loving right now.  I find myself glaring at them.  And that is a problem.

So I'll start with what I know:  I know I am the mom God chose for the kids.  I know He will equip me for any position He gives me.  I know I have a lot of great parenting skills but I don't always put them to use.  I know there are factors outside of my control that played a part in today's scenario.  I know that pride and worry about others' opinions played no small part in my frayed emotions at the end.  I know I love the kids and always will, regardless of their behavior.  I know that my Savior forgave me before I asked, offered me grace when I didn't deserve it, and treats me tenderly when I act out.

I suspect I'm not the only parent tonight who had a rough day with the kids.  Maybe yours were absolute terrors.  I feel your pain.  Maybe you are shaking your head, wondering where it all went wrong.  Maybe you are questioning your parenting abilities.  May I humbly suggest that you offer your kids and yourself a nice, big, heaping pile of grace?  You don't have to condone their behavior.  You can continue to work on it (and on your own), but don't be discouraged.  Each failure (yours and theirs) is a learning experience.  This was not a wasted day.  This is an opportunity for growth.

I'm off to hug the kids.

Happy birthday...3 months late

Dear Jack,

I hope one day you will read these posts.  I hope you will get past the title of this blog and past the fact that I chose to write it three months after your actual birthday.  There is a method to my madness (and if not a method, then at least a sort of twisted reasoning).

A few months ago, one of your siblings was observing you.  Said sibling pulled me aside and murmured in low tones, "Mom, Parker is special because he was your first baby, and Maddie is special because she is your only pretty princess, and Caleb is special because he's your last baby, but Jack..." the voice trailed off uncertainly, seemingly sad and concerned that you might not be all that special.  HA!  It made me want to laugh and cry in the same instant.

That assessment, the placing of value on birth order or gender above my love for you and your worth as a person, couldn't be more wrong.  If anything, I have put off writing this post because I'm afraid others will read it one day and assume you are my favorite (which is also not true because, God, in His mercy, somehow made me incapable of having a favorite child).

What that sibling didn't realize is that you are oh-so-dear to my heart and very special, indeed.  You are the first newborn baby I was able to hold without fear.  With Parker I feared for his little, infant life when he stopped growing and was considered "failure to thrive" (until we sorted out his feeding issues).  With Maddie, I feared for her safety from her jealous, 18 month old brother.  With you, I sat in the big green chair, nursing you, smelling your hair, relishing the quiet moments, and reveling in motherhood.  I knew what you would bring.  I knew the sleepless nights ahead.  I was already in the habit of changing diapers and constant chaos.  I was welcoming more with open arms.  We were also living in Kentucky for the first time since starting our family.  We had an array of helpful, doting grandparents who offered respite and [perhaps more importantly] food.  You were and are special in your own right because of who you are and because of the mother you allowed me to become.

But babyhood aside, you continue to be my darling little boy.  You are always surprising me with your crazy antics (e.g. your tendency to cover your appendages and head in underwear and announce the arrival of "Underpants man").   You love to be tickled and have a wonderful sense of humor.  You are always trying to play tricks on daddy.  You love to be held and carried, and I will continue to do so until my back gives out.  You are kind to a fault, often genuinely confused if others are mean to you.  You try so hard at everything - pouring milk, writing, even speaking Chinese.

And you are still little.  And sometimes you mess up.  Sometimes you spill the milk (okay, most times).  Sometimes your marker misses the sheet and makes lines on the floor.  You do your best to make it right.  But sometimes, I am not as patient a parent as you deserve.   It is in those dark moments, the best part of you shines through...

I think every mother who has ever yelled at a child or squeezed that tiny hand just a little too hard and cried tears of agony later wants nothing more than for her child to know deep down in his little soul that his momma loves him.  That no amount of marker on the wall, poop smeared on the toilet seat, or milk spilled on the floor will ever change that fact.  And that's what's best about you, Jacky.  You know.  I am not giving myself permission to mistreat you; I will do my best to do better every day.  But when I do mess up (which is way more often than you), you are quick to forgive.  And when I say, "I love you, Jack."  You say the words I long to hear even more than "I love you, too."  

You say, "I know."

I thank the Lord I was chosen to be your momma.  Thank you, sweet five year (and three month) old boy.  Thank you for knowing how much I love you and for loving me right back.

Love,
Mommy