Westward, HO!

"Where did you go," you might be wondering. A lot of nowhere, a lot of busy beeing around the house. But not all nowhere. A few very big somewheres starting with California.

We have lovely friends in California, stationed there through the Air Force. When they began making plans to see each other, they invited us along. With the Ellis clan, we boasted 9 children {the oldest was 5 yo} and 6 excited, tired parents for a week of hiking, playing, biking, and touristing:

Wandering down the Monterrey Wharf in borrowed clothes

Beautiful girls searching for sea lions and otters

Sunset on the bay

What?! An Ellis family photo - only because we were reminded to take one

The redwoods at Big Sur

The best part - these wonderful ladies

Bubba on the beach

 

I might have taught this warrior girl to shoot at seagulls. She shot one!

Expectant faces watch for the wave to fall at the Monterrey Aquarium

Ecstasy with every wave

Our trip to California was one of the most rejuvenating experiences of my life, right up there with our honeymoon. We got away from daily pressures without any true agenda other than to spend time with people we love.

The trip out was a comedy of airline errors to be certain: cancelled flights, long delays with restless children in overcrowded airports with no gluten free food, lost bags, stomach virus (appropriately discharged on the airline kiosk). 24 hours round trip. If so many people didn’t experience the same thing every time they flew, I might think we were special. I haven’t sworn off flying, but I’m not jumping to get on another plane either.

But once we were there, seeing Emily and Keith and Mollie and Jeff and all their sweet little ones that I love like nieces and nephews... What a blessing! Even now, I can close my eyes and find myself standing in that open white kitchen with the windows and door flung wide to allow the cool breeze to flow through the house, taking my tension and frustrations with it. The yard with its rusty sand and spiny plants, all harboring their precious water against the long dry season. The living room couch covered with bare legs and open picture books and plastic dinosaurs.

The trip to Big Sur, driving along the sharp coast with breakers spraying above the rocks, the wind whipping hair and clothes. Red woods towering impossibly tall overhead, imposing and sheltering. Kids circling around us like a pack, excited, whining, bounding, all looking for lunch and bugs and the one perfect stick or rock or pinecone. All crouched down at the water’s edge, staring into the stream life below them. All filing over the fallen log bridge, holding momma’s hand and shuffling tiny tennis shoes to jump proudly at the end and stand tall while momma heads back across to help the next one in line. 

The hike with my besties. Getting to be free, strong mommas, skipping up the trail without the added weight of a child or two wrapped on and dragging against our hands. That conversation started the long, tearful talk over delicious food two nights later. The talk where we bore our souls and our fears and our frustrations with two of the only people alive that could hear all those deep ugly things we hate admitting to ourselves. They are those friends. Who know how angry I get, how messy my house is, how much I love and struggle with my husband, my God, my position, my life. And they are those friends who don’t let me wallow in the struggle, but pray for me, encourage me, and point me back to the will of God. Any plane ticket, any long day of flying, any hauling sick children across country was worth that conversation.

Afton thanks God for our trip to California and the plane ride and all of our friends every day still. What a blessing!

Mustache cake

This glorious day that The Lord gave. It started rough but took a turn for the much better.

The unpacking you might expect...

The momma-ing you might expect...

Does anyone else get a tad protective of their Lego building projects? I was none to happy when an errant stroller went crashing through the carefully crafted bedroom. 

Trying to make headway with the mountain of laundry

when the forecast looks like this...

I'm not psychotically protective of the ozone layer. We don't have a dryer. We own one. We don't have an outlet (and maybe not even the breaker box) to power such a machine.

And finally the piece de resistance, Tim's birthday cake, 

I'm a week late. What can I say? I only found the cake plate last night.

This was the first year I proposed a grown up birthday cake for Tim. By grown up cake, I don't mean over 21; I mean the kind of cake that children declare yummy but not a birthday cake. No sprinkles, no frosting,  not 9" round. Only a grown up would request such a cake.

At least that's how my girls reacted.

G: We need to put Frozen characters on it!

M: For daddy?? (The poor man has endured that movie enough without it bedecking his cake)

G: Well, we don't have to put Hans on there.

M: This is for Daddy. Can we think of something more boy?

G: Then turtles! (TMNT, that is)

I'm not sure who shouted "mustache," (it sounds like Afton). It seemed like a more doable suggestion; thus the cake was baked and decorated. And my delightful day will come to a delicious end.

In case you are interested, the cake is based on a wonderful grown up lemon pound cake from Smitten Kitchen.

Progress report

All of you waiting on house news have been very patient. Thank you! (Or you follow me on Instagram and already know).

As you might imagine, we are living in madness. Amazing church framily members stepped up to get us scraped, plastered, painted, and moved in less than two weeks. I'm still puzzling out this timeline, and how everything happened so quickly. It's a blur!

The main living spaces are set up (please don't even walk upstairs to the spare bedrooms. Yikes!). For the paragraph's form, I feel like I should now list all the other accomplishments, but that's it. The main living spaces are set up. Everything else is in a state of partial doneness or complete denial.

Truly, I'm nervous to post pics, because everything is still a disaster. We don't have doors on cabinets or toy storage set up or even all the clean clothes put away. I tried to take pictures, and was a bit horrified. But it will come together. Eventually. At least one room at a time. Because about the time I finish setting up shop, I'll start into something else and mess it all up again. Such is life with a projectee.

Fortunately, the girls are finding plenty of ways to entertain themselves...

Little Man

The first tooth popped through this morning. Another step toward manhood. Tomorrow his voice will be cracking.

The first tooth is always exciting. We found it at the breakfast table, and everyone cheered. But it brought another gift.

Ding, ding, ding. Tell him what else he's won... a wake you screaming diaper rash!

Which is what led to this humiliating moment...

I couldn't stop the hashtags forming in my brain during this bath. Nibble, nibble like a mouse - Who is nibbling on my house?

Why am I washing my son in a roasting pan?!! Dirty dishes. Oatmeal soak. One time, I tried an oatmeal bath in the tub. One time. and decided never again. What a mess. Hence the roasting pan soak and why I'm not winning the parent of the year award.

P.S. ~ Don't you love how he decided to flex his muscle and guard his modesty at the same time?

Weeks ago now, I promised a post for Brother Bear. And I started it. Right after his belated 6 month check up. The check up that looked something like this:

Pediatrician perusing the front page of the growth chart, "25th percentile height, okay. 25th percentile weight." Flip the chart over, "Whoa!! Head's in the 95th! What's with your kids being very smart elves?"

So... How go things for the little man?

Although I haven't posted as many pics of him, he's not the forgotten third child. At least not as much as I feared. I envisioned Mowgli scrounging through cabinets for baby food samples. Or me so distracted that I missed all his big moments - hey, when did you teach yourself to read? Fortunately, it's nothing like that. We have sweet time together. We just don't have extra time or hands to recreate the scene for a photograph.

His childhood is slightly less documented, but not less rich. Instead, he has been worn along and exposed to all sorts of wonderful stuff... photography exhibit and lecture, glass blowing display, pony hunt on Shackleford Island, the body exhibit. The girls did none of this stuff. His wedding slide show might be shorter, but it won't reflect neglect.

What is Carrick up to? 

All the usual 6, almost 7 month stuff. He babbles and grabs and sits for short periods before his oversized noggin overpowers his balance. And teethes. on. everything. He's started the backwards inchworm, the precursor to crawling. The girls have no idea what they're in for when he starts crawling. Come to think of it, their momma is pretty spoiled by kids old enough to recognize that a pin shouldn't be eaten.

Blue Steel

Watching the sisters play

He's the happiest critter you'll ever meet. Smiles for everyone all the time. He guffaws and snorts and yuks, especially at Afton {they share an understanding beyond the rest of the family}. He flirts with everyone at church. He delights in hearing other people laugh and keeps up the clowning as long as we laugh with him. In short, the only other person I know who is this friendly and smiles so easily is his G'pa {Tim's dad}, which I suppose is where he got it {my side tends to produce Eeyores.}

How is life with three?

Wonderful. and hectic. and overwhelming. and hysterical. More than ever, T and I sit back and shake our heads that we should be so blessed. And more than ever, we bang our heads against a wall. I didn't comprehend how much more organized I must be. Slowly, I'm trying to implement routine to my duties, so I make time for intentional school {we've resembled an unschooling family, which isn't my style}, to create, and to write. The hardest part is recognizing my time limitations. With three, I'm interrupted that much more. My windows of free time have significantly shrunk unless I use Disney to babysit while I sew. In short, we're still transitioning. Probably will be for a while yet. But it is a blessed transforming.

Happy New Year

After my last post, I gather that no one questioned my absence from the blogosphere. Although you might have wondered if all three children survived 2013. I'm pleased to announce that they did. Maybe even left it better than we found it. 

Truth be told, I didn't abandon writing because I was so busy. I had nothing to say. Life seemed a series of reactions, swinging in the dark. What is there to say about aimlessness?

The holidays, the busyness, the parenting challenges, all distractions from the real problem. I pushed God to a dusty shelf labeled 'things I wish I had time for.'

How did I have time to handcraft Christmas presents or workout or cook or breathe if I had no time for God? I don't have an answer.

After a prolonged spiritual drought (all my fault, not His, mind you), I find myself in major resolution mode.

Driven by self-consciousness over the candy I inhaled last week, I vow to eat nothing but salads and carve out an hour a day to workout. But I've been living on caffeine and refined sugar for a week. My brain wants chocolate while my hand provides a carrot stick. The hardest stretch of any diet change.

At the same time, I've consumed a steady diet of social media. Any free moment, and my hands start itching to check Instagram, putting off prayer or meditation or study. I'm out of practice making Jesus a first thought.

And my everything shows it, even more obvious than my crappy Christmas week binging. How I speak to others, the jokes I make, my general frustration, my posture. My selfishness is a garment, more like an emotional snuggy. Protecting my ability to indulge in further lazy behavior.

That's our family right now. See why I wanted to hide that ugliness? My selfish snuggy wasn't suitable for public viewing.

As it is the season for transformation, we are praying for some of our own. Resolve to put aside distractions and retrain our minds. Yes, to look forward to cauliflower again. But more importantly, to seek his face again.

Ice cream fix

True confession time: I was into the chocolate ice cream before 11:30 today. Yes, 11:30 am. Why would an otherwise healthy person eat chocolate ice cream before lunch? Because we have no vodka in the house. 

It's that sort of morning.

We just returned from our walk around the neighborhood so that Gwennan could deliver her "I'm sorry" card to the babysitter. Brother is bemoaning the time change, by far the most traumatic thing in his life since circumcision. His whole life's schedule has been a wreck since 2 o'clock Sunday morning. When I declined to fix lunch at 10:30, Afton threw a fit involving peeing on our carpeted stairs and using the basil we potted together as a hammer throw.

I earned that ice cream.

The last spoonful hadn't dissolved on my tongue when I glanced out the window to check on my entirely too happy children only to find the little exhibitionists completely naked on top of the fort, well above the privacy fence, playing "go to the beach," the nudist beach apparently. {Anybody else notice that my sentences tend to run on when I'm frustrated? Tim has, I assure you.}

Why even bring this up? Everyone has these days, these "terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day" days. Gwennan, Carrick and Afton would probably tell you that they too deserve ice cream for putting up with their grumpy mother on a 5 day headache streak who insists that the babysitter was right, that daylight savings time is over, and that lunch must wait until closer to noon. Oh, and that you must pretend going to the beach with your clothes on, clearly an impossibility.

I write out this ridiculous day so that on another bad day, yours or mine, we can say, ah yes, we will get through this ludicrous day, might even laugh at it later.

I write it out so that when all you see are cute pictures of my girls playing or catch a gummy smile from my prince charming son or hear me talk about practicing yoga and baking stuff you barely have time to buy, you'll know that this momma is losing her mind plenty.

My momma promises this too shall pass. And I believe her. I even believe the people who tell me I'll miss it. I also think that maybe when my kids are teenagers and still driving me crazy that I might find some courage reading their preschool antics, even the not so cute ones.

Ciao October

Apple week is complete. Golden quarts line shelves.

Halloween is complete. Only one meltdown over costuming.

4 month check up is complete. Brother is long and skinny with a giant noggin. The way an Ellis baby should be.

4(!) year old birthday is complete. Gwenny acted the princess all day, buried in books.

My sister's pregnancy is complete. Baby Margot is anxiosly awaiting the arrival of her Auntie Kate and Uncle Tim.

When I write it out, I see the Fall is all but complete. Just another baby born, Afton's birthday and Thanksgiving to go (all of which should occur within a 3 day window).

With the 70 degree weather and still green trees, part of me believes the calendar is lying. We can't possibly be 4 weeks from Christmas season. But here it is anyway.

While she didn't get an officials milestone this month, Afton has made the biggest growth of all. She's becoming a little girl, no longer a quick toddler running behind Gwennan. Our little girl is becoming the big sister, a role she claims with pride. Sweet Afton.

Our month in the sun

Howdy!

I knew it had been a while since I last typed out my thoughts, but I didn't realize how long. Life is zipping along, stuffed with Fall fun.

Maybe you expected this disappearing act from me since I seem to pull it whenever the weather cools. We start cramming in end of season of beach days and beginning of season hikes. The garden needs attention again. School starts up.

I owe a catch up post. Here's a bit of where we've been...

We left off at the beach, a beautiful day to celebrate 30 years spinning on planet Earth.

And we end at the beach. And spend part of the middle at the beach.

Basically, we made up for the lost month after Brother was born. Now that October is near, the Ellises finally have freckled noses and sun-kissed hair, a couple pounds of sand and several empty cans of sunscreen in the trunk of the van.

The camera has been the chronologist. Snap shot of fun times when a pen is too cumbersome. So many pictures, and I'm not sure I narrowed it down enough. Oh well. I'm sharing them anyway.

First, a family photo shoot with my awesome SIL. She mostly shoots in Key West, but she's happy to travel to Virginia and stay with her nieces and nephew. Just saying.

courtesy of Megan Ellis Photography

courtesy of Megan Ellis Photography

 Speaking of my SIL, here she is...

courtesy of Megan Ellis Photography

And my bohemian princess. Ensemble compiled completely by herself...

courtesy of Megan Ellis Photography

In our tiny bit of down time, we nap...

and start school...

Then sis is back, with her husband this time, and we head to yet another beach, Kiptopeke State Park. The boys fish the reef while the girls {and Little Man} enjoy the sand.

 Wave goodbye and we're off to, where else, the beach!

 Afton chases seagulls {or flying rats}...

My sweet mommy and daddy...

 Ponies on the dunes...

 seashells that sing the sea...

Wait! Wait! What have you done with your son all this sunny time?

Big chillin' under the umbrella...

This little family needed a break. Carrick is 100% blessing, but the process around his arrival was a huge disruption. It took two months to feel like we were connecting as a family. The last couple weeks were a respite from the daily grind of wrangling disrupted preschoolers. It wasn't all smooth sailing {I left out the pictures of crying girls; there were many}, but it was an encouragement.

But now we're home. Back into the fray.

Keep calm and carry on - a wartime slogan

Thank you, Grammy - Carrick and I have a restful morning, quiet house and a doctor's note to spend the morning with my feet up.

It's been so long since I typed out my thoughts that I've rather forgotten how to start. Always a struggle for me. I write all the time or none at all.

We're living in a strong current. One of those stages when days sweep you on their way. You don't so much steer as react and navigate with the activity around you.

I'm not scared of these stretches like I used to be. I was all white knuckles and fighting, unwilling to "ride it out" the way older and wiser friends, friends who lived through more currents, kept recommending.

Anyone else see irony when a teenager sports the phrase, "Keep calm and carry on."

Who has less understanding of persevering calm than a teenager? Not enough big storms in 14 years {we pray} to understand currents and ride out the rough parts.

So, are things crazy at the Ellis house? Oh yes. Are we hanging in there? Mercifully, yes. God is good!

Hiding my face {or admitting my shame}

On my better days, I remind myself that I don't need to be embarrassed by my children. Not because they're so well behaved or because everyone else has miniature tyrants too.

Because they make their own decisions. The fits and selective hearing and disobedience... all on them. I don't have to take credit.

I remind myself that I only need be embarrassed by my reaction. When I hiss through my teeth or turn a deaf ear or roll my eyes that I have to tell them "one more time not to touch that."

So why did I feel humiliated this weekend as my children ran wild?

I tried to tell myself I was only being humbled, put in my right place. But that's not how I felt. I felt humiliated. Hang your head in shame before the gawking stranger as you waddle after your wayward 3 year old trying to keep the screech out of your voice. Humiliated.

I'm humbled when I have to ask for help so that I can stay on the couch.

I'm humbled when I see the dog hair forming a protective second layer of carpet on the stairs.

I'm humbled when I'm gently reminded of my weakness. My Christian-trained mind values humbleness, even if I bawk at first.

But this weekend was no gentle reminder. And I found myself asking The Lord, why aren't we out of this awful phase yet? Why are they still fighting after all the talks and time outs and spankings and appeals and rewards? Haven't I done enough to bounce us out of this funk?

And why do I feel brought low, humiliated? I thought you were the gentle humbler? I don't feel like a bruised reed unbroken. I feel like a child whose been jerked up short. Do you do that? Do you catch me by my wayward ponytail and snatch my attention?

Humiliate 

verb (used with object) hu·mil·i·at·ed,hu·mil·i·at·ing.

1. to cause (a person) a painful loss of pride, self-respect, or dignity; mortify.
   I might have reminded myself not to be embarrassed of their poor choices, but had I repeated that mantra on the good days too?
   No. Absolutely not.
   I wanted full credit for those days, the children who walk calmly by my side, listening for my voice. Those were brought about by my wise counsel, my diligent discipline.
   Pride.
   And there is no room for pride in a heart full of Christ.
   Or rather, there is no room for Christ in a heart full of pride.
   And a gracious father gives what we need. Himself. For I have no good apart from him.
   This mortifying, this humiliating work is painful and public. It has to be. If no one sees, I keep telling myself the lie that I have achieved parental success.
   But what is parental success or failure? What do I give account for? 
   The girls behavior cannot be my witness and proof. That's pride or humiliation. 
   My success in parenting must rest where it lies for everything else... Jesus Christ and him crucified. What else do I have?
   This putting pride to death phase isn't over yet. I wish I could glimpse the lesson and experience the burden immediately lift.  So far, it has never worked that way. I see what I'm being taught, then have it hammered in a few more times. Repetition works for heart memory too.
   So we press on in a mortifying season trusting that his grace is sufficient, that his power is made perfect in weakness.
   Therefore, I will boast all the more gladly in my weaknesses, for when I am weak, then I am strong.
   
   
   
   
   
   

Legal mess

Sometime during the night my sweet girls were replaced by highly destructive monsters. Monsters who feed on messes and wanton demolition.

The proof...

While I read a book about Godly parenting{!} during my quiet time, they stole into the bathroom and emptied a bottle of Castile soap into the carpet then colored over it with bathtub crayons.

While I made their breakfast, they shredded the table bouquet.

While I called Tim to talk me off the ledge, they painted Afton in blueberry yogurt and splattered the dog in milk.

All. before. 7:30.

I really wanted to leave them to be raised by wolves Jungle Book style. The outcome couldn't be significantly different.

What do you do when mess monsters invade your home?

Give them a mess to feast upon.

I pinned a recipe for homemade slime months ago, then promptly forgot about it. 5 minutes, glue, liquid laundry starch and food coloring - that's all it takes to pacify mess monsters {recipe here and here}. For an hour and a half, we made pancakes, cupcakes, popsicles, lollipops. The princess crown and earrings caused some issues {slime and rapunzel hair mix entirely too well}. Glorious, contained monster fun with very little momma mess. Followed up by a long overdue midmorning bubble bath {recipe here}.

I don't share this crazy-turned-fun morning to show that at my wit's end I found great wit, that I solved this problem all by myself. SuperMom to the rescue. Far from it.

By 7:30, I was done. Ready to quit. A desperate animal caged in by my obligation. The gift of mommahood felt like a yoke of lead.

If any of you lacks wisdom...

That became our cry around the breakfast table. Momma bowed and prayed. Afton bowed and prayed. PoppaDaddy bowed and prayed from across town.

Prayer answered with divine prompting to make a mess for my monsters. He doesn't only answer with lofty words and high theology. And this was no who fills the storehouses with snow? morning. The Spirit's voice was completely practical. Distract them with what they want to do. Redirect destructive energy into a legal mess.

Thank you Lord for wisdom, both understanding the deep and recalling the practical. You give to each momma as she has need.