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Big Foot, Roman Soldiers and the Voices in my Head

September 27, 2011 by Kelli

It is quiet and I am alone. Three children sleep in their beds, the first time all three have slept in their beds since we moved in.

A new house is scary. There are sounds to fear. And other things…

“Mom, I can’t sleep,” he said, coming out for the four-frillionth time. “I’m too scared!”

“What are you scared of?” I ask…also for the four-frillionth time.

“I was just starting to close my eyes and I imagined I was a Roman soldier being killed…”

That is scary.

After assuring him that he would, indeed, not die the violent death of a Roman solider, and also reiterating once again the fact that Big Foot does not indeed exist, we headed back to his room.

“Big Foot is real!” he protested. “I saw it on TV.”

Yet another reason we did not hook up cable.

“Honey, even if Big Foot were real, he wouldn’t live in Florida. It’s too hot here. And there are no mountains or tall trees for him to hide in. Big Foot lives in Oregon…if he exists…which I don’t think he does.”

Silence.

“But you said bears live in Oregon.” God help the poor child if he ever has to live in Oregon. Don’t worry Oregonians (right?), I didn’t pin monsters on you. I told the kids monsters live in Canada.

S’all good.

“Lay down, babe,” I said, brushing my hand across his silky smooth cheek. Would that I could bottle his skin up…

“Let’s find something you can hold on to while you go to sleep so you don’t have to be scared,” I said, looking around his room.

“I can hold on to you,” he replied grabbing hold of my hand and looking up with ocean blue eyes. And I melted…fast. Knees buckled, a mass of goo, I slid under the covers and held his hand. Five minutes later, he slept. All the lights are still on in his room. Because Big Foot doesn’t like light. If he did, we’d have caught him and there would be no need for a TV show.

And now I sit in an empty, quiet, semi-organized room. I believe I have found my writing zone in this new house. I love this front room. It’s peaceful and happy and I feel inspired here. Last night I stayed up, much too late, writing, for the first time focused on my book. The voices of my characters are swirling and moving again.

I’m going to finish it, friends. It may mean I have to spend a little less time with you and a little more time with the people I want to introduce you to. Bear with me as I find my stride. And in the meantime, if you could all be on the lookout for Big Foot and let me know when and if you find him.

I, on the other hand, will continue to keep the air bed inflated on the floor next to my bed.

Something tells me we’re going to need it for awhile.

Image Credit

Filed Under: Family, Florida, Kids do the darndest things, Novel, Sloan, writing Tagged With: Big Foot, Motherhood, moving, New House Fears, writing

Buried Alive

September 25, 2011 by Kelli

I’m writing this from beneath a mountain of boxes. I managed to carve a path from the kids’ rooms to my own where I have prepared a bed on the floor for the first to wake up scared and hightail it this way.

I thought packing boxes was overwhelming, but unpacking them raising the bar of crazy to a whole new level. I think I made a dent today. I can see the kitchen counter and I found the table top later this afternoon. It was a glorious sight.

In lieu of the fact that I have nothing remotely interesting or witty to say, I’m going to send you over to my friend Wendy. You might remember her as the woman who gave me the greatest writer’s getaway ever earlier this year. Now it’s time I gave you all a proper introduction.

Wendy is a mother of three rough and tumble boys and she just may have the best Mom of Boys blog on the world wide web. Wendy is always an inspiration to me not only because she’s talented and filled with a depth of wisdom and grace that constantly challenges me to dig deeper. Wendy is also an inspiration because she’s real. She doesn’t pretend to have it all together. She’s just…authentic. And I love that about her.

This blog post on Family Values inspired me to think about our own core values as a family and how we instill those in our kids. Part two challenged me to make the establishment of our Family Values as something special and fun for the kids.

After reading those posts, I guarantee you’ll want to add Wendy to your blog roll.

So while you head off to be encouraged and blessed, I’m going to start digging out from under a few more boxes. It appears that our possessions multiplied inside the PODS.

Good times…

Filed Under: faith, Florida, Moving, Random Tagged With: Love Covers Blog, moving, Unpacking, Wendy

Home

September 22, 2011 by Kelli

“Love begins at home, and it is not how much we do…but how much love we put in that action.” Mother Teresa

“The ache for home lives in all of us, the safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned.” Maya Angelou

This laundry room kind of makes doing laundry sound exciting!

“Nothing can bring a real sense of security into the home except true love.” Billy Graham

Yes that's all our yard. Yes it's that big. Yes Lee is frantically saving money for a riding lawn mower. Yes he has to use the push mower for awhile.

“There’s no place like home.” Dorothy

“Like Dorothy, we all long for home. I think God places this longing in our hearts to remind us of the glory that awaits.” A wise friend

“Home interprets heaven. Home is heaven for beginners.” Charles H. Parkhurst

“One may make their house a palace of sham, or they can make it a home, a refuge.” Mark Twain

The hedges kind of make me feel like I have a secret garden. This makes me happy.

“Where thou art, that is home.” Emily Dickinson

“We’re Home.” Some Mom with a minivan and keys in her hand.

Filed Under: faith, Family, Florida, Moving Tagged With: Home, moving, Quotes on Home

Like welcoming an old friend

September 18, 2011 by Kelli

I got my good camera back from the shop the other day.

It was like welcoming an old friend back home again.

I immediately pulled it out of the box and ushered the kids outside for an impromptu photo shoot. They were thrilled…can’t you tell?

I’ve been in a funk these last few days. Sad. Discouraged. Frustrated at everything and nothing. Unsettled and just altogether irritable. This phase of life we’re in has left me vulnerable. Doubts start creeping in like the waters of the beach. They slide up and over my heart and then quickly retreat leaving me unsure of myself.

I doubt my ability to parent well.

I doubt my ability to pen anything worth reading.

I doubt my ability to love well.

I doubt my ability to exhibit grace.

So much doubt.

I know these are lies. I really do. I can see it and feel it and call it out by name. The frequency with which I’m having to identify and put behind me the lies, however, has begun to wear me down.

And I started to believe the doubts.

Do you know what happens when you start to believe the doubts? You compare. I’ve compared myself to everyone these past couple of weeks.

No good can come of that. I know this and I’m constantly fighting against it. Sometimes I just get battle weary.

So when I got my camera and took the time to slow down and observe life happening through the lens, I found myself suddenly encouraged.

I am not a great photographer. I know this very well.

But there is something about snapping a picture that fully encapsulates a brief moment in time.

It’s Grace. Grace. Remember how I told I’m learning about Grace? It’s a daily walk.

A sunset. A giggle. My toes buried in the cool sand.

A house awaits us. This week we will finally begin to set our stake in the sand. After two and a half months of transition, we will begin to start anew. Forward motion.

Our beach side transition is coming to a close. It has been a true blessing to be able to stay here. It hasn’t been easy…on anybody. My parents have given up their space and their peace and their privacy for two and a half months as well.

They’ve never complained. Never made us feel unwelcome or unwanted.

Grace.

Thank you to all of you for supporting us and loving us.

For loving me.

Thank you for the emails and the phone calls. I’ve had communication from perfect strangers, from friends I haven’t spoken with in many years, from friends so dear to my heart that I sometimes physically ache for their presence.

Your love and support have carried us through the moments of funk – the moments of doubt when we questioned every decision, and every ability.

Grace.

Thank you all, my friends both online and off, for showing that to me unfailingly. I am deeply, deeply grateful.

One more...just for fun. Dang, he's cute.

Filed Under: faith, Family, Florida, Life, Moving

Me them then…or is it them me now?

September 15, 2011 by Kelli

I engaged in a bit of retail therapy yesterday. After a day on the battleground called motherhood, I escaped for a few hours into the Mecca of all home furnishing stores. Did you know the power that four simple little letters can wield?

IKEA.

Say it slow. Let it roll off the tongue.

I-K-E-A.

I rolled a cart through the golden aisles, little fairies giggling and blowing pixie dust on me as I danced past. When I entered the showroom, a beam of light appeared from nowhere casting an ethereal glow across the cheap, yet terribly stylish, furnishings.

I actually think walking through there made a few of my wrinkles disappear.

I found something I loved in every room. I bought Christmas presents for Tia and resisted the urge to grab the arm of the woman in yellow beside me and shake it in excited glee. Oh the organizational wonderment to behold!

I ate Swedish meatballs in the silence of my reverie, all while visually digesting the wonderment that stood before me. It was like being at the spa, only no strangers were touching me and it didn’t require the sacrifice of my first born to afford it.

I left with a few treasures in my basket and a considerable amount of satisfaction at how much I got for the amount. I piled my treasures in the back of my (smokin’ hot) minivan and off we drive toward the glowing orange orb in the sky.

It was as beautiful an evening as one 30-something could possibly experience.

As I made my way down the road, I slowed to a stop at a red light (always a good idea). I glanced in my side mirror to see a truck in the lane to my left stopping next to the car that was directly behind me. Inside the rusted truck were two girls who didn’t look old enough to be wearing makeup, much less operating a vehicle. They motioned wildly at the older gentleman in the car next to them so he rolled down his window.

“Hey there, Grandpa,” the girl in the passenger seat yelled, smacking her gum with the force of a perturbed cow. “You’re pretty cute.” Head thrown back. *giggle, giggle, giggle*

The poor old man shook his head and rolled his window back up. The girls drove forward and pulled up alongside me. I had my window down and the radio blasted all the current Christian hits of today. I bobbed my head up and down to the beat and drummed my fingers on the side of the car. I rarely drive with the windows down these days, but last night was so perfect I couldn’t resist.

Giggle tweeny bopper looked my way and I tried to ignore.

“Hey,” she called, still giggling uncontrollably. It was the silly giggle that reveals complete and total immaturity. I turned her way and smiled.

“Hey,” I said back with a grin. “How are you guys doing tonight?”

The driver laughed. I briefly contemplated asking her to give me proof that she was indeed old enough to drive. “We are, like, so. great.” She said. Her words were emphasized with two smacks of her Hubba Bubba. Whoa…they were doing great.

“So what are you up to?” Giggly asked. And just then the light turned green and the line of cars began to slowly move. I waved as the Silly Mobile pulled forward with a squeal – was it the tires or the girls?

And then I laughed. It was the knowing laugh that completely solidifies you as a full blown grown up.

The total lack of respect for others aside, those girls reminded me a little bit of myself. I remembered the day that my best friend Lindsey and I, also both barely legal to drive, made the trek from our house to a friend’s out in the sticks of St. Louis. We had the windows down and our music blaring and we hung our heads and arms out the windows laughing uncontrollably and altogether reveling in our youth.

Life was a joyride. It was a wind in your hair, laugh at the world adventure. We were silly and crazy and completely free of the responsibility of adulthood. There weren’t children or husbands or mortgages or bills.

I can honestly say that at that moment in my life, the very last thing I wanted to spend my hard earned money on was a kitchen scrub brush and a watering can.

Home furnishings weren’t exciting. Freedom was exciting. The wind whipping by as we headed to the Lake was exciting. Life was a grand adventure just at the tip of our fingers. And as those girls peeled out, shrieking with laughter at…um, nothing…I shook my head. They are me back then.

And as I glanced at the IKEA bag glimmering in the evening sun next to me, I let out another laugh. I am them now…or not long from now. The wind still whips through my hair and my music is still loud. Only, more often than not, the music is sung by talking vegetables and my minivan is loaded with practical things like kitchen scrub brushes and watering cans…and place mats. Really, really cute place mats.

Life is still an adventure, isn’t it? I think it might even be a little more grand.

Someday those silly little girls will understand.

Filed Under: Florida, funny stuff that happens, Life, Minivans, Motherhood, Random Tagged With: Growing up, IKEA, Life, Youth

A Party for all Eternity

September 7, 2011 by Kelli

We laid the Bible on the table and she sat silent for a moment, the weight of God’s Word sinking deep.

“God thinks I’m important?” she asked.

We just finished reading from Genesis when Abraham, obeying God’s command, took Isaac to the mountain and lay him on an altar. He raised the knife high, willing to sacrifice his son yet heartbroken to do it.

“Abraham, Stop!”

A lamb.

A thicket and an altar of thanksgiving.

A promise kept.

To me, it was just another story. But the message she got?

The words whispered to her soul?

God thought Isaac important. So important, he was to be spared.

God thinks her important.

So important, she was to be spared.

A Sacrificial Lamb sent to take her place.

“I think I’m ready,” she said, very matter of fact. No doubt, the voice did not waver.

And later that day, nestled on the bed between us…she answered the knock.

Confident.

Joyful.

Beautiful.

She understood. The acceptance holds weight.

Truth.

The dirt…

Made clean.

Daughter.

A Princess.

And when the prayers were finished, she smiled wide.

“Heaven’s having a party for me now, right?” she asked with a grin.

And they are. I imagine it to be a grand feast with birthday cake, Nutella (naturally) and M&M’s – all her favorites.

We had our own party.

At a restaurant on the beach we celebrated over chicken fingers and shrimp.

An altar of thanksgiving.

As we wrapped up and the low lying clouds began to shine with the rays of the sun breaking through their surface, she turned to me. All eyes. Big and bright.

Crystal Blue.

Redemption.

“Mom, is my heaven party over now?” she asked.

“No, baby. They’ll be celebrating you for all eternity.”

“Yet to those who received Him, to those who believed in His name, He gave the right to become children of God.” John 1:12

*A profession of faith in Christ is really important to us and knowing our children have come to that point brings us to our knees. If you are unsure as to why that’s important to us or you have any questions about why we believe what we believe, please feel free to email me. I would love to chat with you. kellistuart00 (at) hotmail (dot) com.

Filed Under: faith, Family, Florida, Kids, Motherhood, Tia Tagged With: faith, God, Salvation

Utah, A Bomb and a Slithering Sea Snake

September 5, 2011 by Kelli

The first week of school is tucked firmly beneath my belt. This is fancy talk for, I survived. So did the kids, by the way. Landon barely. Apparently I neglected to mention to him when we began that school occurs every. single. day. So on day two, as he toddled into the kitchen, his morning Cup ‘a Joe nestled firmly between his teeth (read: sippy cup of juice), he asked me the same thing he asks me every morning.

“Mommy? What we gonna do today?”

“We have school again today.”

Shock.

Horror.

Face crumbles, juice falls to the floor and a great deal of weeping doth commence. “But we alweady did school yestewday!”

Um…yeah. Apparently school every day isn’t his favorite. By day five he started to come around, though he never met the news that school was about to begin with much glee. You can’t please everyone, right?

Not that school was a wash for him. We worked on learning the States last week. We labeled them on a map and each day learned to identify a few more. By the end of the week, Sloan was able to point to and label 30 States. Tia could label about 15 and then needed a few prompts for the rest. Landon can point to about 6 when asked where they are. But all on his own, he can label one State.

Utah.

For some reason Utah. Not Florida. Not Missouri. Utah.

Why?

There is no way for me to answer that question. I don’t know why. All I know is my three year old can point to Utah when shown a blank map. I am so proud.

We are one with the fish

As a reward for a great first week of school, we finished lessons early on Friday and headed to the The Florida Aquarium in Tampa. We got up close and personal with the sting rays, we growled at the sharks and we made silly faces at the alligators. And we topped it all off with some good old fashioned water play.

Grrrr....

As an impromptu history lesson, we walked next door to the American Victory Ship, one of only four operational World War II ships in the country. It was the end of the day and they were preparing to close, but they let us have the run of the ship before shutting everything down. We rang the bells, visited the captain’s quarters and fought mighty battles against the enemy warships and alien droids.

We won each battle with nary an injury. It was truly a victorious ship.

Just before leaving, one of the sailors aboard the ship took us into the Engine Room and gave us a quick history lesson. The ship was built 70 years ago (not 60 hundred as Landon guessed…by hey – he can identify Utah, right?). And the massive vessel was built in only 55 days. Not 25 years as Sloan guessed. But hey…he can point to 30 States on a map, right?

“Can you take us out on a ride in this ship?” Sloan asked the Sailor-man. I just wish my child wasn’t so shy, ya know?

“Well, no. Not right now. We’re dry docked right now. There are a lot of things that need to be done to get a ship out to sea.”

“Oh,” Sloan said, not masking his disappointment at all. This week’s homeschooling theme is “Tact and How To Use It.”

Seeing his crestfallen face, Sailor-man smiled. “You know,” he said. “Every once in awhile we do take this beautiful ship out for a spin on the water. You have your mom find out when we’re going to do that again and make sure you all come out to take a ride with us, okay?”

Sloan grinned and clasped his hands together at his chest. “Okay!” he cried, his eyes dancing. “When we go out, can you shoot off a bomb? Please?” He did use lovely manners making his Mama brim with pride.

“Well,” Sailor-man said, his own eyes twinkling, “Now I’m afraid that’s frowned upon…”

Pause. Silence.

“What do you mean?” Sloan asked.

And we all laughed. Me with the “Oh I’m so embarrassed I will explain this to him later” Mom laugh, and Sailor-man with the “I used to be a little boy and I had a few little boys of my own so I totally understand what’s going on inside his head” laugh. And off we went.

Sunday night brought beautiful, perfect Florida weather. There was an ocean breeze perfect for fishing and we traipsed down to the dock at sunset where Sloan immediately snagged a beautiful, large blue crab. After a bit of dancing and a whole lot of finagling, we got him in the bucket and gave him a pinfish to play with. Lee pulled in a good sized catfish that we all ooed and aahed over until it came time to take him off the hook, then we all scattered and let Lee handle the honors alone.

We’re a brave bunch.

The night ended early, however, when Sloan’s line bent over and he struggled and fought and pulled up a…friggin’ snake. When we figured out that’s what was on his line, Tia sprouted wings and flew 50 feet in less than a second. I danced and yelped while Lee held his arms straight out and yelled “STOP! Do not pull that thing in.” He grabbed the pole and shook it until the long (too long) sea monster finally fell off. And with our hearts hammering in our throats, we packed it in and marched inside, cooking our crab for a little late night snack.

How was your holiday weekend?

Our bedtime snack, courtesy of Sloan.

Filed Under: Family, Florida, funny stuff that happens, Homeschool, Kids, Kids do the darndest things, Landon, Motherhood, Sloan Tagged With: American Victory Ship Tampa, Fishing, Homeschool, kids say the darndest things, Sea Snakes, The Florida Aquarium

The eyes to see

September 5, 2011 by Kelli

Like a petal dancing on the wind, the theme of Grace has been floating across the internet this past year. Everywhere you look, people are seeing it, feeling it and living it.

Grace.

Grace is not a movement. Grace has simply always been. Grace hasn’t changed or altered or moved. Grace has been dancing for us for all of eternity – we just haven’t always seen it. But it isn’t fair for me to speak of you, for perhaps you have seen it. Perhaps only I have missed it.

Grace.

In the past two months, our life has changed drastically. The known has been replaced with the unknown and the comforts of predictability have been stripped away. Filled with fear and doubt, we’ve moved forward with faltering steps, our eyes truly open for the first time.

Grace.

It’s always been there, just waiting for me to see it. A sunrise over the dark waters, bursting forth the light of day. Grace. A palm tree swaying and bending in the stormy winds, a sign of water coming to renew the ground. Grace. A bird singing, a lizard racing and the pealed laughter of children with eyes wide to Grace. All these things were here.

And I can finally see.

Ann’s book opened my eyes. Her blog moves my heart. And I looked, not only in nature, but at man – God’s most glorious creation. Grace.

I sat on the plane last week, my head and my ears tight. The cabin pressure left me with a headache and I could never quite get my ears cleared. As we descended, the man across the aisle leaned over. “Would you like a piece of gum?” he asked, a kind and understanding smile on his face. I accepted gratefully.

Grace.

Standing up to deplane, I watched the man in front of me help an elderly woman with her bag. He pulled it down and as she reached for it, he shook his head. “I’ll get it off the plane for you, ma’am,” he said.

Grace.

Life is full of Grace…when you’re watching for it. And in the looking, another miracle takes place. Life slows down. As a mother, this is the greatest miracle of all. Because the passing of time takes with it the sweetness of youth. Newborn cries turn into toddler giggles turn into the lengthening of limbs and deepening sounds of a growing man’s voice. And it all happens in a blink.

But when you’re looking for Grace, the moments last a little longer. The sticky arms flung around your neck hold on tighter. The giggles ring a little louder. The wet kisses are a little sweeter. Life is grander.

Grace.

How are you seeing Grace these days?

Filed Under: books, faith, Family, Florida, Kids, Life, Motherhood Tagged With: All's Grace, Ann Voskamp, faith, Life, Love

And Then We Wept

August 23, 2011 by Kelli

An iron will combined with pure determination make her beauty a little tougher to penetrate. Life ebbs and flows under her watchful eye and she pours forth emotion only when unaware that anyone is watching. Fierce love and sheer delight dance in her eyes, though, and it’s here that her tough exterior shows weakness. The best kind of weakness.

Compassion.

Her white blonde strands dance in the wind and her baby blues swim with concern. Her brother has just been punctured by a catfish – his first fishing wound. As blood seeps and he cries, she makes her move unaware of my observance. She slips an arm around his shoulder and squeezes tight. Concern. Fear. Pain.

She feels it all.

She feels my watchful eye and turns to look at me. I nod, showing as little emotion as I can and for a moment, I see her compassion falter. But a maturity is setting in – one that hasn’t been there before. She is five and a half now. She reminds us every day.

What I see is more than an age, though. It’s God. It’s a given nature settling in, begging to be watered and fed. She is seeking and questioning. Who is God? What is Grace? What did Jesus do for me? She asks and I answer. Then we wait.

“I want to know Jesus,” she says from the backseat. “But I’m not ready yet.” And that is okay. We will let her wait and question and seek, because the time is coming when faith will call and she will make it hers. But it will be in the time that feels right to her. She would have it no other way.

I would have it no other way.

He would have it no other way.

Her younger brother cries. In a fit of laughter he took the corner too fast and head met wall with force. He wails and I look down. Her hand on his ankle and tears in her eyes. She looks entirely surprised by this reaction. Empathy has never been her first reaction. But lately…she’s changing.

“I don’t know why I’m cwying,” she says, her eyes bright.

Compassion.

I say the word to her. Over and over we discuss it. Compassion. I tell her every day now. “You are compassionate. You care. And that’s a good thing.” She needs to know. Because by nature, her independence prefers distance. She likes control and predictability. But compassion…it is unpredictable. You don’t know when it will strike and the tears will flow. Compassion requires surrender.

Late in the evening as a storm meanders off in the distance and the clouds paint the sky in a Master Tapestry of shape and color, she and I walk hand in hand. “Do you want to call her?” I ask. She has been talking about her friend Noelle for several days. I hear the ache in her voice. The tender age of five has not tempered her longing for companionship. She misses her friend.

“No,” she says and shakes her head hard. This is her sign. She doesn’t want to talk. She doesn’t want to process. The tough exterior is up. We return to the condo and I watch her move.

“Tia. Why don’t you want to call Noelle?” I ask, when the bustling movement of masculinity dashes to another room and we two are left alone. She looks at the floor, then at me. Again her eyes are full and bright and sad. She shrugs. She won’t talk because the emotion threatens and wavers and her first reaction is to fight for control.

“Are you afraid that hearing her voice will make you sad?” I ask. And she crumbles. We lay on the bed and weep together. Me for her…and for myself. I miss them too. The friends and loved ones. I miss them. And so does she. She’s only five, but also…she is five.

We spend some time talking about our friends. We remember all the fun we had with them and we rejoice in the blessing of dear, sweet friendships. Then we pray. She clutches to my chest, her hot tears dripping off her nose and together we plead for new friendships to fill the void. For me.

For her.

And one more time before the lights go out we discuss compassion. I stroke her silky soft hair and tell her again. It’s okay to feel. It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to love. She possesses all of these emotions in full but letting them out is the trick. It’s the magic.

It’s what makes her so unique and wonderful.