Worn out and stretched

November 7, 2016 / Stacie / 1 Comment

I have this sweater that hangs in the back of my closet. To be honest it’s not very flattering these days. But before it was worn and stretched and washed and dried incorrectly only to be washed and stretched again, it was a delightful sweater.

I bought the sweater back during my junior year of college. I had been invited to spend a weekend with a friend in Boston. Dad and I went shopping a few weeks before my trip. I saw the sweater and fell instantly in love. Never having been one for style, I tended to gravitate toward comfort. And this sweater just breathed comfort. But unlike most of my fashion choices, this sweater was beautiful. It was charcoal gray with flecks of color splashed about. It zipped up and had a hood. I grabbed it from the rack and Dad agreed that it had a Boston look to it. Very New Englandy.

The sweater and I in Boston during my visit in October 1999.

The sweater and I in Boston during my visit in October 2000.

The sweater traveled to Boston with me that fall. And then to New York in the winter. Philly the following winter. Alaska in the spring. Raleigh the following Christmas. The more I wore it, the more it stretched. The more it stretched, ironically, the more I loved it. It had character and despite its misshapen identity, it still breathed comfort. It lost a little of its beauty on the outside, but to me it remained beautiful. A treasure that withstood the passing of time.

I pulled it out this morning, this first morning that has had a taste of fall. The temperature is comfortable but the breeze is giving me shivers. I just needed a little added layer to take the chill off. Wrapping the worn and loved sweater around me and zipping it up, I relished its comfort, its history, its trek through life with me.

This sweater and me? We actually share more than just travel and cold days. You see, my body isn’t so perfect anymore either. Back before it was worn and stretched and tired, it was a delightful body. Time and babies have taken their toll. Bits of it have stretched beyond repair and bits of it sag thanks to the law of gravity. But this body? The one Daxson reaches for in the middle of the night? The one my babies snuggle up to when they’re scared? I’d like to think it’s still comfortable. It’s beautiful in a way it hasn’t always been. It has nurtured life within its womb and stretched and given way to miracles. Tiny little miracles. Four of them here on Earth. Two more securely tucked away in Heaven. It has nursed my babies into healthy toddlers. It has lifted those children and rocked them and held them close on the nights when their dreams weren’t so sweet. It has spoken of love and pleasure to a devoted husband. It has been pushed to its limits with my obsession of diets and working out. It carries on despite its lack of good sleep, a rest from stress and access to a perfect diet. It is faithful despite my nonacceptance, my constant criticism.

This morning, I snuggle a little deeper into my sweater and I look down at the stomach that is no longer flat. Instead of criticizing, I praise the stretch marks, the sagging skin, the abs that will never boast of themselves in a bikini and I accept it all for what it is. A vessel for love. And my sweater? I praise it, too. For teaching me the beauty of a body well used.

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Making Scents of a South Texas fall…

November 1, 2016 / Stacie / 1 Comment

If there is one thing I could obsessively collect (aside from books) it would be scents. I’d bottle up all those amazing scents that have the power to transport me across time and place and I’d sniff them as needed.

You know the scents I’m talking about, right? The ones that make you think of summer afternoons baking apple pie in Grandma’s kitchen. Or the scent of lemony chlorine that reminds you of your elementary school hallway. One sniff and you’re suddenly 8 years old again with knobby knees and Lisa Frank stickers decorating your binder.

It’s amazing how the brain works. Smells enter the nose and pass along the cranial nerve through the olfactory bulb where the brain then processes the smell. The olfactory bulb is part of the limbic system, which is closely associated with memory and feelings.

Pop on over to Corpus Christi Moms Blog to continue reading and to get a great recipe for homemade autumn play dough.

A note to my younger self

October 10, 2016 / Stacie / 1 Comment

Dear Stacie (the younger version),

I went to a restaurant tonight where once upon a time you went. You were 17 years old, fresh with hope and full of life. I walked past the booth where you sat and I could see the ghost of your seventeen year old self, laughing with friends, sitting thigh to thigh with your boyfriend. I saw you throw your head back as you laughed, your eyes bright with delight yet hesitant at the moment. I saw the way you looked at that boy as if the world danced just at the sight of his presence, your mind thinking of a million ways to save his soul, as if you actually possessed the power to save him from himself. I saw the way you pushed your hair behind your ear, insecure at your own presence, wondering what you’d say next. I saw you hesitate after you spoke, wondering if maybe that was the wrong thing to say. I saw how you chewed on your lower lip, leaning in to listen to your friend across the table. A nervous habit, one bred from years of being different, unable to relate to the conversations that teenagers typically indulge in. Yet there you were…trying. Not quite ready to accept who you were, but not quite ready to conform either.

I want to pull you aside and offer you the wisdom that I have now with age. There are so many things I wish I had known then that I know now.

I want to tell you (you, the people pleaser, the eternal optimist about broken people) that you can’t fix it all. It isn’t your job.

I want to tell you that YOU are defined not by what others think, but by what you think.

That moral compass in your heart? It’s guiding you. Listen to it.

Don’t sell yourself short. You are amazing just as you are and anyone who wants to change that should be ashamed.

The way you can carry on a conversation about literature and ideas? That’s not weird. It’s beautiful. Too bad for the people you meet that are too shallow to converse that way.

Your insecurities? They are rooted in deception. You are light, dear girl, shine.

This path that is paved with peer pressure? Sadly it will follow you your whole life. Right now it’s drugs, partying, drinking (Don’t give in! Hold firm to whatever it is you hold dear!) but later it will be careers, money, child-rearing. There will always be some fad, some trend. Hold steady…it’s not about them…it’s about you. It’s you that you have to lie down with each night. Only do the things that bring you peace.

Your soul isn’t to be gambled. Hold tight to your beliefs.

Have no regrets. Allow your mistakes to change you, to refine you, to guide you, but never allow them to dominate you. To drive you. To lead you to regret. There are no shoulds in life…only the promise of a better tomorrow.

Trust in yourself. Stop questioning your every move as if you don’t have an ounce of intelligence. You do. Trust it.

Be grateful. Every day. Find five things you are so grateful for and wax poetic about them.

Stick close to your family. They know you now and they’ll know you twenty years from now and they’ll know you forty years from now. And the amazing thing is…they’ll love you the whole way, so don’t push them away. Let their love lift you up when you feel lost.

Keep a journal. Always. You’ll want to look back and see how much you’ve changed and grown. You’ll want to see the big picture.

Choose wisely. Choose prudently. Choose carefully. But for the love of all that’s good, choose. Just choose something. And then stop second guessing yourself.

Fashion trends change. Inner beauty does not. Spend more time worrying about cultivating your core, not worrying about your hair, your clothes and your make-up.

Make your bed. Every day. Trust me, a well-made bed makes any day look brighter.

Stay busy. Productive busy. Playful busy. Relaxing busy. Just stay busy.

One day you might find yourself in a position that requires self-less love. Give it freely. Don’t hold back. But remember you need nurturing, too. And I don’t mean you need to be nurtured (although that certainly won’t hurt). YOU need to nurture you. Give yourself a break. Cut yourself some slack.

That perfectionism that is driving you today? Yeah, years from now, it’s going to cause some major upheaval in your life. Let it go. Take Voltaire’s advice: Don’t let the perfect be the enemy of the good. The world will still spin despite your imperfect attempts. Plus, no one is really paying attention. So LET IT GO.

That book you want to read? Read it. That movie you want to watch? Watch it. That place you want to visit? Visit it. That dream you’ve been keeping close to your heart? Live it. Carpe diem. Really.

There are moments you’ll want to relive. And there are moments you will not want to relive. Savor the good memories, release the bad. It’s okay. You are not defined by your moments. You are defined by the essence you emanate.

Your kindness, your creativity, your thoughtfulness. Let those be your allies. Let them stay close by. Even when someone down the road mocks your goodness, hold tight. The world needs more kindness, more creativity, more thoughtfulness.

Your worrying? Some days it is what drives you. But just remember that what you’re spending hours worrying over right now will be replaced by some other worry next week, so is it really worth losing sleep over?

That desire to control? It’s elusive. Learn to go with the flow.

Your heart needs to be guarded. It’s not meant to be given lightly. And it’s only meant to be given to someone who truly deserves it. So stop breaking off chunks of it to hand out randomly. Save it for that someone who will, one day, earn it.

18 years from now your life will look very different than what it does now. You will have grown up, gone off to see the world through idealistic eyes, had your heart broken, experienced college life, fallen in love with a man who actually earned your heart, had babies of your own that make your world seem a million times brighter than you ever imagined. You’ll have changed your mind, questioned your beliefs, doubted yourself, believed in yourself and ignored yourself.

The question is will you find yourself?

Sweet girl, you are the essence of naivety, the spirit of hope, the eternal fountain of believing in good. Don’t lose that. Just learn to be smart about it.

Hold steady to your values, your beliefs, your dreams. Even when you give away your heart and your soul to a man who adores you and children who call you mommy, tuck a little piece of the old you in that newly transformed woman. Because that girl that was once seventeen years old? She was pretty amazing just as she was. Let her light shine. The world will be a better place.

Love, Stacie (the older but wiser version)

The Story of Us

October 3, 2016 / Stacie / 1 Comment

I knew, before I’d ever even spoken to him, that one day he’d be my husband.

I can’t exactly explain it. I just knew. I watched him walk into Dr. Tillinger’s Tax II accounting class one day and I just knew. I’d never even directly spoken to him, but I knew. He was written in my heart long before I even knew him.

I had a class with him the previous semester and somehow our paths never converged. In fact, I completely misread him. I thought he was a foreign tennis player. I guess because he sat next to a foreign tennis player. So much for assumptions.

The next semester I walked into Tax II and noticed him again. You have to imagine that Tax II wasn’t exactly a sought after class. In fact, I’d be lying if I said there were more than 15 people in there. There were three u-shaped rows, each a little higher than the previous one. Daxson sat center front row, our mutual acquaintance, Regina, sat center middle row and I sat center back row. He answered a question in clear English without the hint of an accent. So much for being foreign.

One day I was cramming to finish an assignment before class began and I looked up just as he walked in and I knew. I knew. And I thought I was just crazy. I hadn’t even spoken to him. But it was as if time froze for that moment and something whispered in my soul. He’s the one.

I ignored the whisper.

Time passed and I forgot all about that moment. Then one afternoon there was a bit of a panic before class over an assignment. Regina asked for clarification and while the exact issue eludes me, I just remember Daxson replying, “No silly.”

Hearts flashed before my eyes. Over the word silly. Who knew I was so easy to win over? So I leaned over to the guy next to me and whispered, “You know who I think is groovy? That Daxson in the front row.” And my quest became clear. Tax class now had a double challenge…pass the class and find an excuse to talk to the guy who casually used the word silly in a sentence.

My opportunity soon presented itself. Daxson and I had another class we were both taking, although at different times. Auditing. I had it at 8 in the morning while he had it at a decent hour in the afternoon. I ate a taco while trying my best to stay awake each class and eventually giving in to a nodding doze while he sat enraptured by the topic, highlighting all the key points. I passed the assignments while he set the curve. Word gets around. He was super smart. I had an excuse to finally talk to him…I needed a tutor….or at least I could pretend that was what I needed (what I really needed was to stay awake and stay focused but the premise of needing a tutor seemed opportune).

After being thrown into a group assignment together in Tax, I gathered my courage and told him that I’d heard he was doing well in auditing and I asked if he’d be willing to help me out. He agreed and bless him, he pulled out a tiny yellow dictionary to write my phone number in. My heart seriously went pitter patter. A dictionary. How divine.

He called. We met at the library. He tutored me. I stared dreamily into his lovely hazel eyes.

I invited him out to a dinner with a group of friends. He invited me to join him and his friends in Concan. He made a bet with me that if I passed my auditing exam, he’d treat me to dinner and if I didn’t, I’d treat him to dinner (sneaky wasn’t it, the way he was guaranteed dinner with me with a bet like that).

Before I knew it, I was head over heels in love, unable to imagine my life without him. 4 months later he proposed. Exactly one year and two days after our official first date, we were married.

Honestly I can’t remember every detail that led us to our vows at the chapel. But I do remember thinking of that moment when I heard that whisper in my soul and knowing that it wasn’t so crazy after all. Like I said, he was written in my heart long before I knew him.

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~Priority~

September 26, 2016 / Stacie / 1 Comment

If you asked me my priorities, I’d easily spout off a healthy list of the things I rate higher than others: my faith, my husband, my kids, homeschooling, reading, journaling. Oh, but wait, I could go on. Extended family, friendships, exercise, herb studies… When I start making a list like that, it’s easy to see why I constantly feel pulled in a million different directions.

I’ve been listening to Greg McKeown’s book Essentialism and he talks about the definition and history of the word priority.

Priority: (n) something given special attention; (adj) highest in importance

“As I have written before, the word “priority” came into the English language in the 1400s and it was singular. It meant the very first thing. It stayed singular, very sensibly, for the next 500 years! Only in the 1900s did we pluralize the term and start speaking of “priorities.” So while we can find ourselves feeling that everything is a priority, literally by definition, it can’t be.”

That gives me pause. One priority. Not a list of priorities. That changes things. A lot.

“So while we can find ourselves feeling that everything is a priority, literally by definition, it can’t be.”

So I get one choice. One priority. This one has got me stumped. I spent yesterday seeing if I could come up with a word or idea that would allow me to lump all my “priorities” into one main idea. Pretty sure that defeated the purpose of the exercise.

“By creating the space to think and listen we can discern the first or prior thing among many other good and worthy tasks.” Greg McKeown

I woke up early this morning before the chaos of the day sets in to toss around some ideas. I wanted to sort out all the good and worthy tasks of my day to determine the priority amongst them. First I tossed around the idea that obviously my kids are my priority. But that’s not right, because Daxson and my relationship with him is just as important. I tried to put it in perspective that without my faith, I cannot function so I considered that as my priority. But how does that include my responsibility to care for the people in my lives. Perhaps it does naturally. If I make my vocation, my calling as a wife and mother, my priority, it shifts the priority from one of caregiving to one of being called to care. There’s a big difference between caregiving out of duty and being called to care out of love and service for the Lord. I think I might be onto something but I’m still not quite there yet.

I remember attending a funeral for a sweet little 6 year old a few years ago. The priest gave a homily that seemed to inspire every mom within those church walls (and probably hundreds more as we all rushed forth to share the message). His homily posed the idea that the things we spend time with here on Earth should only be the things that help lead us on our path to Heaven. In terms of parenting, we should be selective about the activities we sign our kids up for and the ways we allow them to fill the gaps of time in their days. Violent video games? Not so much. Books filled with heroic stories? Yes, please. Days spent with neighborhood kids that don’t share the same values just so we have social opportunities? Skip. Days spent in nature glorifying the magnificent handiwork of our Savior? Definitely. Time spent idly watching TV? Of course not. Time spent in the company of like-minded people? Obviously.

But that all probably seems obvious, right? Clearly, we want to fill our children’s lives with the good, the beauty, and the truth. But then I stop and think about myself and all the meaningless tasks I fill my moments with and suddenly it can feel as if I am a terrible steward of the gift of time I have been given. It seems so easy to set a priority for my children (get to Heaven) but it certainly seems more complicated to do the same for myself.

But isn’t our priority all the same? If we are Christians then I’m afraid dear friends, that we cannot be too original in stating our priority (although I’m sure some of you with the gift of wise words could easily come up with various ways to say it). Our priority is to get to Heaven. The means of accomplishing that priority differ for each of us. Some of us are called to marriage and parenthood. Others are called to serve the Lord in the church. Still others are called to remain single.

It seems that once that priority is established firmly in our minds, it should make it a little easier to set forth with making our to-do list. There’s only so much time in the day. It’s important to keep focused on our priority.

So that list you’ve got going…the gardening and the blogging and the social media time and the cooking and the laundry and the schooling and the reading and the…well, you get it. That list? There’s only so much time. Choose wisely.

“When we put God first, all other things fall into their proper place or drop out of our lives.” Ezra Taft Benson

40 reasons ’cause, well, you’re 40

September 21, 2016 / Stacie / 2 Comments

Dear Les,

You’re 40. 40. 40. (I can’t type with echoing effect, but that was meant to echo in your head as it settled in your brain that yes, indeed, you are 40).

And to think we used to dissolve in a puddle of disbelieving giggles when the show Thirtysomething would come on. We’d look at each other and exclaim, “30! That’s so old!” Well, dear sister, according to that logic, you must be ancient.

Except that you’re totally not. Except maybe in the wise advice you give me because sometimes your advice seems to channel a very wise old being inside of you because surely someone as young as you could not possibly be so wise! (Yet you are.)

Other than that (and the few gray hairs I lovingly pointed out to you a few weeks ago), you don’t seem a day over 16 (or 20 or 25 or whatever your magic age was) cause you’re still my sister. And I still adore you. And I still want to be just like you when I grow up.

I remember being little and thinking that if there was one thing in the world I wanted to be it was a big sister. Not so much because I’d really thought it through and thought about what all that might entail. Like having a shadow follow me around day and night. Or having someone beg to borrow my clothes or fix my hair. Or having someone in my life that I’d have to drive around til she could get her own license. I definitely didn’t think about having to share a phone or shampoo with a younger person. I surely didn’t think about having someone younger than me make silly mistakes and having to try to save her from herself on many a near occasion. And good gracious, I never considered the prospect of having a younger sibling only for it to turn out to be (gasp) a boy! Nope, none of those things crossed my mind. I just wanted to be a big sister because you made the job look so cool.

You shared your toys. You shared your friends. You shared the phone. You shared your car. You shared advice. You shared your life. You invited me in and held me close. For all those years. For all these years.

Our relationship evolved over time. We were always friends. Best friends. There’s hardly a memory in my mind that doesn’t involve you. But life changes and sometimes life changes people. Yet our relationship, though changed, has only gotten better.

You got married. And still you kept me close.

You had a baby and you lost a baby. And you held me closer still. You let me share in your grief. Your pain was my pain. Your emotions have always been my emotions.

I got married and you stood beside me. You sang joy when I sang joy.

I had a baby and you were there, welcoming him into the world, sharing my moment.

Then we journeyed the path of pregnancy together. What joy to have you beside me, wailing about morning sickness together, giggling over round belly bumps together, delighting to feel life inside of ourselves together. We brought babies into this world 7 weeks apart and we journey that trail together every day. We share our triumphs, our struggles, our joys, our frustrations. There is no one I’d rather share it with.

But I still haven’t shared with you my 40 reasons. My 40 reasons why I LOVE the chance to celebrate YOU on this special day…

You rock the words “big sister”.
You listen.
You have incredible hair.
You make delicious cupcakes.
You always know just the right thing to say.
You treat my kids as if they’re your own.
You ask me how my day has been and really want to know.
You drove an electric blue car and looked cute doing it.
You get me.
You always invited me to tag along with you and your friends.
You watched Anne of Green Gables with me millions of times but told me our life wasn’t complete unless we read the books, too (you were right).
You shared your Barbie house with the elevator with me.
You logically convinced me that I needed to push the wagon while you sat all comfy so you could steer.
You invited me to stay at your apartment time after time after time during my college years.
You made wedding favors with me without a single complaint.
You respect my fears.
You encouraged me to put my arms up when we went down the big hills on the roller coasters.
You never told on me when I ate more mini-candy bars out of Grandma’s candy bar stash than I was supposed to.
You convinced me (or did I convince you?) that duct taping my bra cups to myself for prom was a good idea (which, in theory, it was…nothing popped out that night; the removal, however, well, that was a painful story). And you were kind enough to help me rip it off after.
You call me just to hear my voice (you know I do the same thing, too, right?)
You support me no matter what insane idea I come up with (or what dorky outfit I wear).
You didn’t hold a grudge for long when I shut the trunk on your head (I promise it was an accident…like a natural reflex).
You shared Marley with me.
You visit us even though the humidity makes you want to scream.
You aren’t afraid to get out in the Texas heat and work up a sweat while we get the kids out in nature.
You are willing to drive 4 hours just to surprise my kid on his birthday.
You like my cooking.
You knew me before I was wife, before I was mother. That makes it feel a bit like we knew each other in another lifetime.
You are privy to my secrets which essentially means you are my secret keeper.
You actually chose to hang out with me when you could have been doing way more exciting things. All throughout your life.
You were the shoulder I cried on. Whether it was when I fell off my bike or fell in a trash can (oh wait, I think I only cried then because we laughed so hard) or got my heart broken, you were there. To listen. To hug me. To be my friend.
You strapped me to the back of your bike in the days before you had a car so that I could tag along with you (now that’s love).
You snuggled with me when I was little and we were at Grandma’s and I was scared.
You climbed in my crib with me when I was a baby to comfort me when I cried.
You infuse my life with hope, reason, and gratitude when I feel down.
You are incredibly fashionable (and extremely forgiving that I am not).
You encourage me.
You talk reason when I talk crazy.
You like pink. And purple. And boots.
You make me want to be a better person.

I’d like to think that your life was empty for the 4 years before I arrived, but the truth is, my life would be empty without a sister like you…”I thank my God always when I remember you in my prayers.” Philemon 1:4

I love you,

Stace

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Puzzled?

September 19, 2016 / Stacie / 1 Comment

I am an addict. I’m addicted to the finer things in life…books, chocolate, pretty journals, puzzles.

I inherited my puzzle addiction from Mom. Few things from my teen years stand out clearly in my mind but puzzles on the dining room table? Those mark the years for me.

Mom would open up a new puzzle and spread the pieces out on the dining room table. It was an ideal place for a puzzle as the puzzle only took up a small space (our dining room table could easily have been considered for The Last Supper) on a table we only occasionally used (we had both a kitchen and dining room table) so we didn’t have to move it at the end of the day. The dining room table was always in the center of the house, a passing point for wherever I was going or wherever I’d been (and I have never been able to pass by a puzzle without trying to put in at least one piece).

The puzzle just sat, inviting each of us to join in. Friends would come over and pitch in. It was a meeting point that allowed us to chat with Mom without feeling the pressure of a formal conversation. Talk was easy, the puzzle was challenging. It’s not easy being a teen. Somehow the symbolism of the puzzle made life seem less confusing. As if all the things I was working out in my head just needed to be twisted and turned until it all fit just right. Having a place to sit and chat made life feel less stressful. Sometimes just being present with one another, even if in silence, made the world seem just right…even if only for a moment.

I remember one Christmas Mom and Dad rented a cabin in Burnet for us all to meet at. Bet you can’t guess what was set up in the middle of the room? A puzzle, of course. And we all sat around it, jostling pieces from side to side, chatting, laughing, sometimes just enjoying the silence of the company around us. It’s not the cabin I remember. Or the delicious food served. Or even the presents waiting under the tree that I remember. It’s that puzzle. And the time we all spent in front of it.

I want to breed that some atmosphere in my house, so the dining room table is now home to a puzzle. Let’s hope the boys get sucked in just as I did.

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A road less traveled…

September 12, 2016 / Stacie / 1 Comment

Homeschooling can sometimes feel a bit lonely. While surrounded by bright little minds all day long, with never a lack for conversation, I’m clearly not pining away for human contact. No, I’m talking about lonely in a bigger sense. There’s a big world out there and going against contemporary culture can easily leave one feeling lonely and like an outcast.

Add to that the idea to school according to Charlotte Mason’s principles and the world gets a bit lonelier mostly because people don’t understand what you’re doing. They can’t fathom why you are obsessing about living books (what’s wrong with the latest contemporary fad in twaddle-like reading, they wonder) or habit training (aww, let up on them a little, they implore) or nature study (isn’t it a bit hot to send your kids outside in this deep Texas heat, they question). They don’t understand that your home is a domestic church where contemporary culture attacks on all fronts. They don’t understand that it’s not just about the hours of official schooling that matter because, as you know, Education is an Atmosphere, a Discipline, a Life. But they don’t know that. So it’s lonely because, despite the conviction in your heart, you’re on a road less traveled.

Until that blessed moment when you manage to find a person who is like-minded. Then suddenly your little corner of the world brightens and the road doesn’t seem nearly so lonely. Now you’ve got support. Encouragement. Accountability. Understanding.

I consider myself incredibly blessed. While toeing the line between the world of contemporary culture and a CM inspired culture, and trying to find a balance, I have always had my sister, Leslie, my sister-in-law, Jessica, and a dear friend, Lori, close by who all homeschool and are undeniably supportive. Their children are the threads that are woven into my children’s memories. They encourage me, understand me and support me. They boost me up when I need it and their words are a healing salve on the days when this journey of mine feels impossible.

But one can never have enough support. Especially when traveling a lonely road.

Back in June I was blessed, again, and in abundance, with finding not just one local Charlotte Mason homeschooling family but a whole group of them. How incredibly lucky was that? I imagine luck had nothing to do with it. It was more of an answered prayer.

I joined the group’s Mom’s Study Group that meets once a month (we’re using Brandy Vencel’s Start Here CM guide). I don’t even know how to describe the amazing group of women that I have the privilege to meet with and learn from every month. This is a group of homeschooling moms who aren’t just satisfied with good enough. Following CM is a bit of a challenge for anyone…it involves a whole lot of self-evaluation especially in habit training (it’s hard to train a little person in good habits until you look in the mirror and see where some of those bad habits are forming). I love that these women keep it real and they are all open to learning and growing. I love that I have someone to be accountable to. I love that I have a whole group of moms who understand the trials and tribulations of the road less traveled. I’m lucky to get to grow along with them.

Then during our first week of school, we joined up with the CM group at the park for a book club discussion on the book Babe: The Gallant Pig (which the boys seriously loved!) and then had a grand time playing at the park.

Joey came home inspired by the book and made a Tangram lesson to share with the other kids.

I came home, inspired not by the women this time, but by the children. These were children immersed in the same culture my children are, so there was a connection. An understanding. Like looking in the mirror. They don’t know it yet, as my kids are still so little, but one day in the future, they may feel the sting of social nonacceptance and if that day ever comes, I want them to feel the weight of an army of like-minded people standing at their side. They need to be surrounded by other kids who march to the beat of their own drums. Who read classic stories and find pleasure in doing so. Who can quote Shakespeare because it’s beautiful not because they were forced to memorize it. Who can identify the lark of a bird. Who can sit quietly and draw the beauty that God has set before them. Who can understand that their education is not just about the books, but it’s about the Atmosphere, the Discipline, the Life.

This fall, we managed to snag a spot in the group’s co-op. We attended our first meeting last week. Success in our house is not measured by grades or test results, but rather by the sheer enjoyment and attainment of knowledge. Joey and William have not stopped talking about the co-op. The beauty of the Mona Lisa. The delightful idea that Mozart was 8 when he composed his 1st symphony. The thrill of reciting lines from Hamlet with other Shakespeare lovers. The experience of sitting with friends to draw their found objects in nature. The opportunity they had to relish the beauty. To observe the details. To listen attentively with patience and respect. Success is a beautiful thing. I’m so grateful that we have an entire community of like-minded people to experience it with. Just when I thought my cup could not possibly get any fuller, our CM leader arranged for a world-renowned Charlotte Mason expert to give a series of lectures to our group about Miss Mason and her educational theories and practices. Dr. Benjamin Bernier is an enlightening speaker who clearly knows his subject well. I loved the inside look into Charlotte Mason and the times in which she lived. Dr. Bernier was kind enough to allow us to peek through his personal collection of Charlotte Mason books. To say I was inspired is a bit of an understatement.

Dr. Bernier shared a personal letter of Charlotte Mason’s with us and while inspired by the entire letter, I was mesmerized by this particular quote that she shared from her friend Mr. Huston, “Choose no friends but those whose society you would like to enjoy through Eternity.” I am thankful to be surrounded by so many people, old friends and new, whose society I would thoroughly enjoy through Eternity.

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Letting Go

September 5, 2016 / Stacie / 2 Comments

I used to be a good traveler. At least as far as the actual flying went. I would get on the plane, find my seat and then I’d buckle up and relax. I’d grab my book and immerse myself in a good story. With the plane high above the Earth, soaring through the clouds, I’d often close my eyes and doze off. For a natural born worrier, it was nice to have a few hours worry-free.

It seems almost ironic that something so big could give me relief from a life of worry. The plane could crash at any moment. Terrorists could be on board. The pilot could have a heart attack. But none of those things registered in my mind because THEY WERE OUT OF MY CONTROL. Once I stepped foot on that plane, there wasn’t anything I could control anymore. I was at the mercy of the pilot, the weather, God, whatever being was, at that point, greater than me. I relaxed and let go.

Parenting isn’t so easy.

Often, I offer up a prayer to God and then just as quickly, I snatch it back. Surely, I, as a mother, need to help God out. God often humors me, allowing me to rest in the illusion that I have some control over the fate of my children. But more often than not, God gently reminds me that it’s in His control. Not mine. His children. Not mine. His divine plan. Certainly not mine.

Six years ago, William had a cyst on his eye that had to be removed. The surgery itself was no big deal but, because of his age, it required general anesthesia. I fretted. I prayed for the cyst to just disappear. I worried. God gently led me through that experience and He was kind enough (as He always is) to offer his unending support, a fatherly embrace to fall into when it felt overwhelming. And I clung. Until I could offer prayers of thanksgiving after the surgery, I clung to the reality that God has a will and it is not within my mothering powers to always be in control.

It’s easy to forget that reality.

Now fast forward 6 years. After discovering a bit of an abnormality with William’s, ahem, boy parts, Dax took him into the ER one Saturday afternoon. I didn’t worry (okay, I worried a little). I tried my best to let God handle this one. I prayed. After 4 hours of waiting and testing and waiting some more, they returned home. He had an inguinal hernia with a hydrocele which would need to be repaired and drained.

So now 6 years after his first surgery (to the exact day), William was going to have surgery again. Again, it was a minor surgery, but the thought of general anesthesia is enough to make any parent panic. Plus this surgery presented quite a few more possible complications than his last one did.

After two weeks of setting up appointments, visiting with the surgeon and answering the millions of questions my naturally curious children have, I thought we were ready for the surgery. By this point, I remembered my reality and I wasn’t worried. I knew if I tried hard enough, I could find something to worry about. But then I remembered flying and letting go and how good it felt to just let God handle it. So that’s what I did.

There’s a plan for each of our lives and while it may not always feel easy or right, it’s His plan. He’s the great author and the story is always so much nicer when we allow the author unrestricted access to the storyline.

William, on the other hand, is just beginning down the long, paved path of worry. His mind works overtime trying to explain everything that happens and the reason for it. His heart wants to trust, but his mind wants to understand.

He spent the days playing and the nights worrying. He worried about the possible complications. He worried about the recovery process. He worried about how he got it. He worried about whether he’d get it again. You name it, he worried about it.

The week before his surgery, William requested a visit to confession and a blessing from the priest. He received both. His worries lessened.

The day before September 1st, William was nervous, though. So very nervous. He was worried. I reminded him that if he wanted peace, there was only one place to go…straight to the Prince of Peace. He mulled it over and quietly asked to be taken to Adoration to visit our Lord. He knelt down and quietly prayed, “Dear Jesus, please guide me to have no worries and no complications. Please bless the doctors’ hands. Help me to give it all to You, Jesus. Amen.” And he was filled with peace. No more worries. No more anxiety. We returned home, peaceful, in anticipation of the next day.

That night he asked for his prayer blanket that he had taken into surgery with him 6 years before. I had told him he could take something else soft with him to surgery if he’d like, but he replied that what he really wanted to take wasn’t soft. I asked what it was that he wanted to take. “My rosary,” he replied. Granny offered to sew a pocket onto his blanket and we found a plastic rosary to put inside. He was ready.

Thursday morning came early. William woke up at the touch of my hand, quickly crawling out of bed, eager to get dressed and be on his way. We arrived at day surgery and were quickly processed and put in a room. William changed into his gown and snuggled under his prayer blanket. Chipper, alert and peaceful. I took my cue from him. He was peaceful so I was peaceful. He was trusting so I was trusting. He was relaxed so I was relaxed.

They wheeled him over to the holding area where he was given his happy medicine and we visited with the anesthesiologist. For a minute, as I listened to Dr. Velleman explain the anesthesiology procedure, doubt began to nibble away its way in. Then William pulled out his rosary to show Dr. Velleman and Dr. Velleman, in return, showed William his 4-Way Cross that was hidden beneath his shirt. An inspired moment. My fears faded away.

William’s doctor came in after that. William had written a note to Dr. Cruz-Diaz the night before explaining to him that if he noticed William’s two missing teeth, he should not worry. William was convinced that Dr. Cruz-Diaz would assume he knocked them out and they’d be frantically searching the OR trying to find them. I handed Dr. Cruz-Diaz the letter and in his typical humor, he read it very seriously, making a show to the OR nurses surrounding him that they should all be aware of the tooth situation. William giggled. My heart smiled.

And then, just like that, it was time. As I gave him a kiss, I let go. This wasn’t my deal anymore. From this point on, it was just like being on an airplane again. It was out of my control. Lucky for me, I personally know the man in charge up there and I was more than willing to let go of the control I so naturally crave (I am human to an embarrassing degree).

Surgery went fine. Hydrocele is drained. Hernia is repaired. Recovery is happening day by day. I can’t predict the future. Maybe there will be complications. Maybe there will be other surgeries, more serious ones. Maybe there won’t. Either way, I’m ready to surrender. Turns out flying is good for my soul.

*An important note: It helped tremendously (with both this surgery and his last) to have an amazing team at Driscoll Children’s Hospital, from the check-in receptionist to the nurses (both the nurses in the OR and the recovery room) to the doctors, at our side, guiding us through the entire ordeal. The team of OR nurses were both kind and considerate, and patient enough to answer my few remaining questions. Dr. Velleman was soft-spoken and reassuring as he explained the entire process, his faith shining through in his regard for the patient as an individual. Dr. Cruz-Diaz had an amazing bedside manner, joking with William, which instantly put him at ease. He was patient and thorough in his explanation and consultation after the surgery, with a respect for privacy. Many of the doctors came straight into the waiting room and explained the surgery in front of whoever was waiting there…I appreciated that Dr. Cruz-Diaz made use of the Patient-Surgeon Consultation Room. William’s Recovery Room nurse, Mindy, was amazing! She was kind and compassionate and so cheerful. She went out of her way to be sure William was comfortable and well taken care of. Her smile lit up the room and made William feel special. No hospital procedure is successful without a team of compassionate caregivers and, lucky for us, ours was bursting with compassion!

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End of Summer (part 5! Yes, Part 5!)

August 31, 2016 / Stacie / 1 Comment

I imagine by now you are thinking “wow, she wasn’t kidding when she said she had an insane amount of summer photos.” You can’t say you weren’t warned ; ) If you missed the first four parts, click here, here, here or here. You can now breathe a sigh of relief…this is it.

In July, we had a delightful dinner with Yaya and Grandpa Larry. The kids used to call her Grandma Nury, but over the summer I listened to the book Home Front on audio and the grandmother was called Yaya (which is Greek for Grandma). If you listen to that book, you’ll know exactly why I began to think of Nury as Yaya…it sounded just like her and the character fit her perfectly. The things Yaya said and did in that book were exactly the things Nury would have said or done. I was telling the kids about it and I asked them if they agreed and thought Grandma Nury seemed more like a yaya than grandma. They agreed and suggested we call her Yaya. So they do. And she loves it. And it seriously fits her. (Don’t bother asking about the strange picture of Larry and Dax…I figure if they want to be silly for the picture then it’s fair game for posting.)

I got a bee in my bonnet in July and decided, just a few weeks before school was set to begin, to rearrange our entire house. I wanted to bring the schoolroom back into the house (it’s been out in Daxson’s office suite for the last few years), move the couch-bed out into the office suite (for guests), and move the majority of the toys somewhere besides the schoolroom. I dragged Jessica into my spontaneous plan and being the good friend that she is, she agreed to help. We started with the couch-bed. Not being professional movers (and apparently having no one wise around), we never thought to tie the bed together. So we got it flipped on its side and managed to get it into the laundry room (which is really a tiny hallway entry from the back door) and dang it if the bed didn’t pop open. I was stuck between the bed and the door when it happened and I panicked. All of a sudden my breathing went shallow and I was trapped trying to imagine how in the world we were going to get out. Suddenly it dawned on me that I wasn’t trapped…I could simply walk out the back door. Whew! With that crisis over in my head, I was able to focus on a plan. I ran to get a rope while Jessica (who may be leading a secret life as Hercules) managed to shove the bed back into place. Jessica did some fancy knot tying, we breathed a sigh of relief and finished the rest of the moving without anymore drama. Oh, except the part where I asked Jessica to help me move all the books off of one of the bookshelves in the old schoolroom. Her face was priceless when she realized that I had all the books double stacked.

After everything was moved, Dax sacrificed a day (although really I think he did it in an effort to save the walls and to make sure everything was hung just so, as I tend to be an eye-baller when it comes to hanging things whereas he is extremely accurate and everything is perfect) to hang all of my millions of things back on the walls. I really tried my best to make the school area look more like just another part of our house (in trying to be more in tune with Charlotte Mason) but it must just be in my blood to make a schoolroom look like a schoolroom. At the end of the moving and hanging, Daxson said (thinking he was being encouraging), “Well, it’s really beginning to look like a schoolroom!” I stifled a scream and accepted the room’s destiny.

So we went from this…To this… Plus a bookshelf in the dining room…It didn’t happen as smoothly as those pictures show. There was a whole lot of mess and stress in between (good grief, I have accumulated a lot of um, stuff, over the years!)…

July included a few well-child check-ups which then led to a false alarm with Andrew. His pediatrician heard a split in his heartbeat when we went in for his check-up and she could hear it in all four chambers, so just to be on the safe side, she sent him on to see the cardiologist. (There may have been a few moments between her recommendation and our visit that I may have needlessly panicked.) After listening to his heart, the cardiologist agreed that there was a split so he did an ultrasound and whew! it came out perfect. Katie visited the dentist for the first time. All of my kids LOVE going to the dentist. They have a friendly, fun dental hygienist (who is also very pretty!), which makes the trip something to look forward to. Katie was no different than the boys. She hopped right up on her seat and opened wide. Her favorite part? Choosing a toy from the toy bin, of course.

We had a surprise visitor in July! Alex came down with Granny and Pappy for a day to surprise the boys. They were thrilled! William had cashed in some allowance on a foam plane so we headed to the park to try it out… There was also some wild splashing in the pool and some serious Lego time… A few last random July events included wild bedhead, watching the Honda get towed (it’s fixed and fine now), fitting Katie’s hair into a ponytail, Andrew learning that 5 might just be too little for a pocketknife, and some cowboy time.