This GIRL, you guys. She is changing so much!
Do you remember being in awe of nature as a child? Did you ever sit beneathe a black-blue sky dotted with a milliion stars and gasp at the wonder of it all? Did you marvel at a sunset or watch the clouds float by in an array of shapes.
An alligator! An elephant! A one-legged dog!
I remember specifically being around nine or ten years old and we had gone on a camping trip to some Jellystone Park in somewhere Wisconsin. While my parents worked hard to crank open the pop up camper, my brother and I romped in the wooded fields around us as the sun sank lower beyond the trees. And then we both stopped and gasped.
The glow of the moon lifted above the treeline before the moon itself appeared. It was huge and orange and seemed to hover just above the ground, willing us to reach out and touch. I remember standing breathless for several moments. I wanted to step forward and cross the expanse of sky to enter the golden, shimmery world that seemed to be just steps away.
As a roaring fire cackled and we prepared to bunk down for the night, I stole continual glances at the moon, which continued to rise up above the Earth, the orange hue fading and morphing into a brilliant white. A diamond in the sky.
I remember the magic of that moment, and it’s not the only time the moon’s nearness has stopped me in my tracks. There is something so glorious about the moon and it’s nearness and proximity.
Saturday night, we were in Clearwater with the boys while Tia spent the night at a friend’s house. The boys played football outside while Lee and I enjoyed a few rare moments of adult conversation. As the sky faded to a dusky grey, both boys came tumbling into the condo, screeching and motioning us to come.
I had a glass of wine in my hand, my feet were propped up and I was enjoying the grown up conversation. But something in their eyes beckoned me to set the glass down and follow them out.
“You halfta see this!” they cried, motioning wildly. Lee and I followed them out and we stopped and gasped. The moon hung low over the Earth, bright and orange and filled with a golden magic.
“Isn’t it amazing?” Sloan asked and I remembered that night in the campground, when I felt it entirely possible to step off of Earth and run amongst the stars.
This month, I believe in living life with childlike wonder.
This month, I am participating in The Nester’s 31 Day challenge, in which over 1,000 participants have chosen to write about one topic for 31 days. I choose to spend 31 Days Believing I Can. If you are stopping by from Nester’s site, welcome! Let me know in the comments so I can visit your site in return.
This pregnancy is peppered with hour long phone calls to the Board of Medicine for an obscure letter, mountains of paper work and nights spent wondering…how long will this take?
It’s a different kind of pregnancy, but the end result is the same – a child, a daughter, waiting for us. She was ordained for us from the beginning of time.
Yesterday we met with our home study agent. I sent my husband and children off to church without me and I spent the morning scouring the house from top to bottom. I cleaned window sills and baseboards. I mopped floors (even the laundry room!) and cleaned tubs. I swept and vaccuumed and placed cinnamon brooms strategically throughout the house.
Because a house that smells of cinnamon is clearly owned by a family fit to adopt.
I overdid it. I knew that as I prepared, but still it felt good to clean. It felt good to know that I was doing this for her – the little girl who is as much a Stuart as the rest of our children. It felt good to pour my energy into the process knowing that it was one more step forward.
A collage of all my pretties.
One of the most stressful parts of this journey was choosing the agency that would walk us through the process. I can say with certainty that we chose the right agency and I am so thankful for all their help. I send them roughly 57 emails a week and I get a response to every email almost immediately. I’m like that pregnant Mom who calls her OB every time she sits down to a meal to ask if the Cobb salad is good for her or if the steak needs to be well done and is it true blue cheese will make my baby grow a third ear on the back of his head?
That’s me - the crazy adoptive Mama.
In addition to our agency, I kind of fell in love with our home study agent yesterday…despite the fact that she didn’t bring her white gloves and run them along my sparkling baseboards and window sills. I briefly considered asking if she would like to eat her chocolate chip cookies off the freshly scrubbed floors, but thought better of it in the end.
I love how calm she is, how well she knows this process, how forthcoming she was with the information she felt we needed to gather. I’m just so thankful for how this is all coming together.
We’ve set up a specific page here on the blog to keep up with all that’s happening with the adoption. Do you see it? It’s right up top in the middle of the navigation bar and it says, oddly enough, Adoption. Because I am fraught with creativity.
There’s nothing on the page, yet, but it’s coming. We’ve got some things rolling around and coming together for fundraisers and I’m so excited to share them with you! Hopefully in the next week.
For now, I have a question for those of you who have been through this process, or perhaps know someone who’s been through the process. I need suggestions of good books we should read on adoption and the challenges and benefits of raising an adopted child. I don’t want horror stories! I want information. I want to be prepared.
Now, I am off to pick kids up from school and headed home to eat lunch. Off the floor. Because danggit, the floor is clean AND my house smells like cinnamon AND I can see out the windows because I cleaned them.
It’s kind of awesome…
I took the boys with me, a Mama and son date. Tia spent the weekend having her girly tank filled with her cousins. They did hair and played dolls and giggled and laughed. And so it was that I was alone with the boys for three days and errands were an unwanted necessity.
The kid’s school requires uniforms so I’ve been on a quest for the cheapest shirts possible however, the color shirt they’re required to wear is not very common, which lead us to the uniform shop in a rougher part of town to pick up several shirts specific to their school.
We rolled to a stop after exiting the highway and Sloan saw him first. He was standing back from the road a bit, his thin slice of carboard offering a two word plea.
Had I been alone, shamefully, I would have ignored him. I would have stared straight ahead so as not to make eye contact and avoid the awkward. I would have said no to the least of these.
But I wasn’t alone. I was in the car with a nine year old who is determined to change the world – a nine year old who just might do that someday if I don’t mess him up.
“Mom, give him some money! He needs help!” He said this as he rooted for loose change and reached for my purse. But I didn’t have any money. I never have cash on me. Cash means Starbucks to me so I rarely carry it to avoid the temptation.
“I don’t have money, babe,” I said, regret lacing my words.
“Yes you do,” he cried, holding up a handful of coins triumphantly. One quarter, one dime, one nickel and one penny. Every coin represented.
“Honey, that’s not really much money. It won’t help him. You can’t do anything with .41¢.”
“Well, he can save it, then, until he gets a little more,” Sloan replied and really, how could I say no? My child was asking me to do good. Like I said, here’s to hoping I don’t mess him up…
I rolled down the window and motioned the man near. He walked with a limp to the car window. “I’m sorry it’s not more,” I said, my face flushing a bit. Why was I embarrassed? Why do I still feel like I must do something big for it to hold any lasting impact? “It’s all we had and we wanted to help.”
The man took the four coins with dusty hands and his eyes filled with tears. “Ma’am,” he said as he separated the penny from the rest of the group and held it up in the sunlight. “If you had just given me this one penny, it would have been enough but you chose to give more. I can’t tell you what this means to me.”
I smiled and blinked back my own tears. The stoplight was soon to change, I knew this, so I turned quickly and pointed to my freckle-faced boy. “It was his big heart who wanted you to know that we see you and we love you and we will be praying for you.”
Sloan leaned forward so he could see out the window and the man looked at him deep. “You’re a good young man,” he said. “Listen to your Mama and stay in school, you hear me? And don’t ever let anyone tell you you’re not good enough, because you are.”
The light turned green and we moved forward. The man stepped back from the road and as we made our left turn, I looked back to see his face buried in his hands, his shoulders heaving. In his clutched fist, he held tight to .41¢.
We pulled into the uniform store a few minutes later and Sloan looked at me with heavy eyes. “We should do more for him,” he said and I nodded. I felt it, too. “Like, can we buy him a house or something?” he asked. Just like his Mama, he thinks big.
I smiled and ruffled his thick hair. “We can’t buy him a house, but we could buy him a meal,” I said and he smiled. So that’s exactly what we did. After picking up shirts for the next school year, we swung through a local restaurant and ordered a meal and a bottle of water then rushed back around to the spot where we first met him.
He was gone.
Sloan’s face fell as he clutched the bag of fries and burgers. “Where did he go?” he asked, his face scanning left and right. “Oh I see him!” Landon screeched from the back seat, excited to be a part of this moment with his brother. Our friend sat under a bridge with another man. He was smoking and speaking animatedly.
“How are we going to get to him, Mom?” Sloan asked and just then the man stood up and started walking back toward our corner. We didn’t have long. I grabbed the food, jumped out of the car and waved at him, setting the food on the curb then rushing back to the car. He hurried over, his face registering shock.
“I was just telling my friend Peter about how much you blessed me and now this?” He looked genuinely surprised. The light turned green and I pulled forward. “God Bless you!” he called as we rounded the corner and he disappeared. A few minutes later, as we merged on the highway, Sloan spoke up again. “Will we see him again, Mom?” he asked.
“Probably not,” I said.
“Can I pray for him now?” Sloan asked and I nodded my head yes. And with eyes swimming, I drove us home while my nine year old demonstrated a faith that moves mountains. The faith of a child.
Did you know that .41¢ could change the world?
Yeah, I didn’t realize it either…
Girls go to college, to get more knowledge.
Boys go to Jupiter to get more stupider.
On any given day you will hear this lovely little ditty sung through the house. Depending on who’s doing the singing, the words will be a little switched around. It’s not my favorite so I’ve started requiring that they change it to the far less offensive:
Boys go to college to get more knowledge.
Girls go to Mars to get more candy bars.
When the balance of girl power was shifted last week thanks to our visiting cousins, I got a full on sampling of the different ways boys and girls fight. There’s a statistic floating around somewhere that says women use roughly 2,464,782 words/day on average…
Okay – I totally made that number up. I have no idea what the statistic is, but it’s much higher than the amount of words boys need to use to feel satisfied on any given day. When the balance of male-female is two to one in our house, fights tend to go something like this.
Tia: “Sloan, I WANT you to play Pretty, Pretty Princess with me.” Hands on hip, head shaking with full-on sass.
Tia: “Sloan, you have to play with me, I don’t have anyone to play with.” This is said through false tears and sometimes it can be accompanied by a foot stomp.
Sloan: “I don’t want to.”
Tia: “You’re not a good brother.”
Sloan: WHACK! Hits her.
She fought with words, he fought with action, both end up in trouble. Landon bobbles somewhere in the middle of all this since he is closer in age to Tia but possesses the Y-Chromosome. He’s a nice balance of words and action. It’s super duper.
(It should also be noted that because Tia is bookended by boys, she has no problem with physical fighting either, which kind of makes her a double threat…)
Imagine how it was, then, when there were THREE girls in the house and an argument broke out. It was all tears and talking and I, for one, found it completely hysterical. The boys, however, watched it all go down completely baffled. Every once in awhile Sloan would try and interject to play peace maker, at which point I calmly and wisely advised him to stay out of it.
“Don’t jump into fights that aren’t yours,” was my mantra for the week.
The girls fought with hands on hips (or crossed over their chests), heads wagging and lots of tears. Then they seperated from one another, pouted and BAM, it was over…until one of them remembered she was angry and asked the offender why she did what she did and thus it began again…
In general, all of the kids did superb given the circumstances and when there were squabbles they ended fairly quickly, but toward the end of the week as fatigue set in, emotions ran high and the weariness of a lack of routine began to kick everyone’s tail, the bickering gathered a little steam.
On the final day, all five kids were arguing – the boys with one another and the girls with one another and I stood in the middle, the amused referee trying to decide how to best break it all up. Sloan and Landon were hitting one another and I’m pretty sure there were a few good shoves thrown around.
The girls were talking endlessly and tears started to pour. So I sent them all to their individual corners. We had been together eight days and it was the first time a total seperation was needed. I’d say that’s pretty good, wouldn’t you?
The boys retreated where I could hear each of them playing in boy land, the swooshing of invisible light sabers and the melodic beat of a ball against a wall signs that they had already forgotten why they were fighting.
The girls were each in a seperate room and they all wimpered quietly. I leaned my head against Tia’s door to hear what she was saying as I she talked to herself. She was replaying the entire argument in the bitter sing songy voice that only a female knows.
Ten minutes later they all emerged. The boys went their seperate ways, having long forgotten their fight. The girls pow wowed on the couch, going over every detail of what went wrong earlier. Finally they hugged, giggled and skipped along their merry way, hands held tight.
Before I left for Tanzania, I reached out to several bloggers who had travelled with Compassion in the past. I needed to talk with someone who knew what I was about to walk into, who could tell me it was all going to be okay.
I was scared.
I wasn’t scared for the noble reasons you may think, of course. The travel part thrilled me. There’s nothing I love more than a good adventure. Remember, I was raised by a woman who was placed on a small airplane with strangers when she was ten so she could fly back to the States for boarding school. Neither one of my parents have ever shied away from traveling adventures and they have always encouraged me to explore the world.
That part didn’t scare me.
No, my fears in going on this trip were laced with insecurity – what if I failed? What if I let Compassion down? What if nobody sponsored a child through my blog? What if I was just too small, too insignificant, to make any kind of impact on this ministry?
So I reached out to several past bloggers and they reached back with prayers, scriptures, encouragement and grace. They told me not to worry, not to fear, that God was going to write a story bigger than anything I could imagine. Do you know how true that is? I went back to my posts from Tanzania the other day and I honestly don’t even remember writing some of them. It’s all such a blur.
One of the bloggers who reached out to me was Kristen from We are THAT Family. I have long admired her, I appreciated her words of encouragement and now, after watching the following video, I am in awe of her. Not because of what she’s done, but what she has been willing to allow God to do through her. If you haven’t seen the recent video on the organization Kristen and her husband started called The Mercy House, you should watch it.
It’s the very first lines of that video that have clanged through my head, reverberating off the inner walls of my heart the last couple of days. “I asked God, ‘How can you allow so muh suffering?’ And I really felt like He said to me, “How can you allow it? What are you doing?”
Last night, as we made our way to church, Lee and I began to discuss heaven. “Do you think we’ll be free of the constraints of procrastination in heaven?” I asked Lee. “Because we’ll no longer be bound by time, will we finally be able to accomplish all the tasks before us without dropping the ball?”
Because I feel like I am always one step behind in life. There are one or five tasks that I cannot seem to keep up with on this Earth. Part of that is my fault – I put things off until they build to the point of being too much, then I lose sleep for a week and finally spend an entire day trying to catch up only to fall behind on something else.
We discussed our ideas and thoughts and dreams for all that heaven will be and they are, of course, nothing more than suppositions made on the very little information we have but it left me wishing and hoping for the day when there will be no more strain – no more stress – no more unattainable tasks.
We continued the conversation this morning as I shared with Lee the above video. The idea that heaven will also be free of the horrors of human suffering is hard to wrap my mind around. I believe it and I long for it, but I am here, on this Earth, bound by time and suffering.
And what am I doing about any of it?
“What kind of Christianity are we modeling for the kids?” Lee asked me this morning as we navigated our way through the rainy streets of Tampa to grab some breakfast. “When they’re grown, what will faith look like to them? What are they learning from us that’s going to free them to impact the world?”
It’s overwhelming and frightening if you think about it. Who do they think God is?
Who do I think God is?
There are things to be done, needs to be met, lives to change – and none of it comes without a price. How much am I willing to sacrifice? What am I doing? What am I teaching my kids, because rest assured, they are watching, they are learning and they will live out the faith that was modeled to them in some way or another.
There will never be enough time to do everything here on Earth. So where do I choose to focus my time and my efforts and what sacrifices am I willing to make to meet the important needs around me?
Someday I will be free from the constraints of this world, but until that time there are tasks to accomplish if I have the courage and the will to go after them. Today, I just want to keep up…
Every year since Landon was a wee baern, I have taken him to the same section of beach for photos – usually around the same time of year – June/July. Last year was a little different with the move, but I did manage to grab at least one shot of him on “our” beach.
This morning, I took him back while the rest of the kids enjoyed VBS. Landon was supposed to be at VBS, but he decided it was too “babyish” for him, because my four year old has no concept for how to socialize with children his own age.
And he happens to be a big Mama’s boy. When I look at him, I find myself wanting to quote Monica Gellar – “I’m gonna love you so much that no woman will ever be good enough for you!” I don’t say that, but I think it.
Preschool will be good for him…as long as he meets another little boy who lives, eats and breathes baseball, basketball and football. If he’s stuck with a bunch of kids that love The Wiggles and Cars we’re in for a long year.
I present you: Landon through the years:
Happy Friday to you all!
I fought the urge to laugh and covered my hysteria with a short cough. “Um…no,” I replied as I steered my (smokin’ hot) minivan onto the highway.
“Oh. Well, when I’m ten? Eleven? Twelve? THIRTEEN?”
With each age his eyes grew wider and more horrified. It was like he saw a future of torture before him. And me? I grew more amused. Why the obsession with a cell phone? The child has no one to call…
“Honey, I don’t really know when we will get you your first cell phone, but it won’t be for a long time. Maybe when you turn sixteen and start driving, but before then you just don’t need one.”
“What?! No! But, Mom, all my friends have cell phones and it’s embarassing that I don’t. It’s cool to have a cell phone.”
*sigh* I had no idea that this argument would crop up so early. I thought I had a few more years before I had to answer the all-my-friends-have-something-so-why-can’t-I battle. So I took a deep breath and glanced in the rear view mirror at the child who is just being a child. A normal child who sees and wants and desires and has to reconcile those desires with a wisdom that hasn’t yet developed.
“Well, babe, a cell phone just isn’t necessary at your age. If you need to call anyone, you can use my phone.”
“But what about an iPhone?” he asked. “Can I get one of those?”
“Honey, I don’t even have an iPhone,” I replied with a laugh.
“Well…” the wheels turn, “how about I get an iPod touch? That way I can play games but it’s not really a phone, but I could pretend it was a phone when I’m around my friends.”
Ah, consumerism. You are a wily beast.
“Well, that’s probably not going to happen for awhile, either, babe. I’m sorry.”
His face fell and he looked down at his hands resting in his lap. “Why?” he asked. “I just don’t understand why?”
“Do you know that most of the children I met in Africa don’t have a television? They don’t have iPads, or iPods, or cell phones or Nintendo Ds’s or even computers. They don’t have LEGO’S or a room full of toys to play with or shelves full of books to read.”
Sloan looked up at me with curious eyes. He has always been so sensitive to the plight of the those who are less fortunate. Currently, he has a piggy bank full of money that he hasn’t yet spent because he wants to give it to the poor. Like all of us who are conscious and aware, he wars with the longing to have more stuff, yet simultaneously knows there are people who don’t have enough.
He’s trying to reconcile at eight what most of us never come to grips with as adults.
“The money that we would spend on a cell phone could be used to feed an entire family in Africa for a long time,” I said and he nodded his head.
“Yeah,” he said with a resigned sigh.
I smiled and looked at him again. “I understand how you feel, buddy. There are things I want that I won’t get for a long time either.”
He grinned back at me. “It’s okay,” he said. “I would rather help poor people anyway.”
And that was the end of the cell phone conversation. For now, anyway. I expect it will crop up again sometime and there will be other wants that pop in here and there, but my prayer for him (for all three kids) and for myself is that we’ll always remember.
I don’t want my children to live under a banner of guilt every time they get a new toy or gadget. I myself don’t want to live under that banner. Coming home, I wondered if I’d be frustrated or annoyed with all the “stuff” around me, but really? I’m not. We live differently here. We live in houses and we drive cars and we watch TV and we eat out.
There’s nothing bad about those things. In fact, they are quite good and enjoyable.
But I don’t want to be consumed by them and by God if I’m not going to work hard to make sure my kids aren’t consumed by them either. Rejoice in privileges, don’t take advantage of them. And yeah…it’s okay to remember from time to time the lessons learned in Africa…
How do you protect your children from the monster that is consumerism?
Ever have one of those days? You know, the kind of day that you text your husband at 3:45 and say something to the effect of, “I’m losing my mind. Tell me you’ll be home soon.” You probably follow up said text with a little yellow emoticon that looks something like this:
I mean, this is a hypothetical example of the kind of text one MIGHT send, of course. *nervous laughter*
On one of those hypothetical days, your husband might reply, “6:00.” That’s it. Just some numbers. No sad faced emoticon to show how deeply he might commiserate with your impending breakdown.
I mean, if we want to take this “hypothetical” exchange of texts a step further, you MIGHT reply with something like, “Ack! Um…okay.” Followed by another grimicing emoticon.
Really, how did any of us ever communicate without emoticons?!
If your husband is valiant and grand, he will likely respond with, “I will try to make it home earlier. I can be there by 5:15.”
To which you will (hypothetically) respond, “We’ll be alright. Don’t rush.” You will send this text while secretly hoping that he does, indeed, rush.
When your hypothetical husband walks through the hypothetical door at 4:45, you will hypothetically find him to be more handsome than ever he was before. He might as well be riding a hypothetical white horse and wearing a shield of valor.
So this may come as a bit of a surprise to you all, but this situation isn’t really hypothetical. That was my day today and my valiant husband actually DID walk through the door at 4:45 and promptly took the children to the park when he saw that desperate deer-caught-in-headlights look of mine that says, Sweet Jesus be near ’cause Mama’s gonna lose her mind.
After he announced the impending trip to the park, one of the children (who shall remain unnamed) (the one bearing the X-Chromosome) replied something to the effect of, “No thanks. I want to stay here with Mom.”
“Nope.” My response was immediate and firm. And maybe a little loud?
“Why?!” she cried, her face falling.
And before I could stop the words from spilling out of my mouth I replied, “Because Mommy needs a break from you guys. I need to be alone and I don’t want to be needed for a minimum of thirty minutes.”
And then her face fell and I immediately felt a flood of guilt because what a horrible thing to say. But of course I tried to brush off said guilt under the guise of my firm belief that “God does not operate out of guilt and therefore I will not operate in guilt either.”
But you know what umbrella God does operate under? Conviction. And there is a paper thin line between guilt and conviction that sometimes gets blurred and if we’re not tuned in to what’s happening around us we may get the two confused. I could assume genuine conviction to be nothing more than self-imposed guilt and brush it off since, you know, I REFUSE TO OPERATE IN GUILT. Ah, but I can likewise so often mistake guilt as conviction, thereby indeed OPERATING IN GUILT without even really realizing it.
Today what I experienced was conviction, though I tried with all my might dismiss it as “Mommy Guilt.”
The thing is, the sentiment I expressed to my child was true. I DID need a break and there’s nothing wrong with that. My kids possessed an extra measure of neediness today and on top of my massive to-do list and a house that seemed to have thrown up over night I was feeling wildly overwhelmed and caged. I needed to breathe.
I just wish I wouldn’t have made her feel like she pushed me to that point. Because she didn’t. It’s just the nature of motherhood and I don’t ever want my children to feel as though they are too much for me to handle. I don’t want them thinking I need a break from them so much as maybe every once in awhile I just need some time to clear my head.
When they returned, I fed everyone dinner, then closed myself in my office to continue said alone time. But not for long. Tia walked in shortly after just needing to talk. For as much as I seemed to need some time to myself, she seemed to need time alone with me.
And so we sat and talked and I learned a few things about my daughter in the process. She wants to have six kids, but she only wants to carry three of them in her tummy. The other three she wants to adopt from Africa and Asia. She wants three girls and three boys and she wants the doctor to cut the babies out of her tummy because some time ago I told her how babies are born and she’s been horrified ever since.
We talked for an hour, we snuggled, we read a book and I realized that I didn’t really need that time alone after all. Because honestly? It feels really dang good to be needed.
So to recap:
- My husband is my knight in shining armor.
- Guilt and conviction look an awful lot alike so try not to mix them up.
- And I am apparently raising a tiny Angelina Jolie.
Alternately titled: Proof that I’m getting old because two days later I’m still worn out.
First order of business – I am over at (in)courage today talking about being uncomfortable. I’d love for you to read about the hope that God has placed in my heart despite the unsettled place I am in. Thank you for reading and for your support as I continue to work out the struggles of moving.
And on to my second order of business. Telling you random bits about my life…
We entered into our final ten weeks of curriculum this week and let me just tell you something – home schooling is exhausting. I’m wiped. Some days are jazzy fun. The kids get it. I’m happy.
Birds flit about the house chirping in perfect harmony.
But other days it appears that someone has tied a ten pound stone about all our necks, thrown us into the deep end of a pool and yelled, “Swim!” We stay afloat, but Lawdy we have to work hard.
The only things keeping me
sane motivated are frequent scheduled breaks and Cuban Espresso. I like to call it caffienated sludge. It’s somethin’ potent, but it gets the job done. I feel great once my hands stop trembling. Come to think of it, the cartoon birds only flit about when I drink my sludge. Interesting…
Last week I laid out the kid’s lessons and gave them a great, big goal – finish it all by Friday and we will head to Busch Gardens. I wish I could adequately explain the zeal with which they attacked their Math books. Little tongues stuck out of their mouths in deep concentration as they worked through each lesson mothodically. Then they moved on to spelling and writing and Russian and reading and each time someone would start to complain I’d raise an eyebrow (which, incidentally, I never knew how to raise one eyebrow until I became a mom. It’s like I inherited that magic brow when my first born hit two) and they’d snap their mouths shut and put pencil to paper.
Call it motivation, bribery, reward -what.ev.er. We went to Busch Gardens.
I don’t have great pictures of the picture perfect reward day because who wants to carry a mammth camera around an amusement park?
Well, actually, I kind of do. I am going to bring my good camera next time because there are a lot of great photos to be taken there.
The photos I did get, though, were filled with three grinning, laughing, blond headed children who deserved a break. I am proud of my kids and the hard work they’ve put in this year. I’m not sure if we are going to home school again next year. We are still praying about it and looking at our options, seeking what’s best for them, for me and for our family. But for now, I am cherishing this sweet and challenging year I’ve had with my children. We have all grown and learned in different ways. I wouldn’t trade these months for anything.
Happy weekending everyone! May your days be filled with sun, laughter and maybe even a Wallaby or two!