Topsail 2021

My sister Grace has brought it to my attention that I have not yet written the annual beach vacation post. Silly me. I replied to her text which included a Giphy skeleton checking its phone again and again, saying that it's strange how uninspired that I am to blog anymore; but I still do enjoy looking at all my old stuff and I'm so glad I was motivated to do it all those other times!

I think this one will be mostly pictures, but we'll see how it goes.

We pin so many hopes and dreams on this one little week in June. It always feels kind of unreal at first, when we all make it down there. Above is Grace with her "golden envelope" and key, the attainment of which is always the first obstacle we must surmount before beginning our week at the beach. 

We were on our way back over the bridge after Mass that night, and "Alone" by Heart came on. And when that happens, you've got to put all the windows down and blast it. Or at least you do if you're Tim. I laughed until my cheeks hurt. It was kind of a "you had to be there" moment, but fortunately I have this little video snippet. 

Our first night there started with a bang. My brother-in-law Joey brought this gummy bear and got Timmy and Robert (Anna's husband) to try a piece of it. What followed was... a very rough half hour for both of them. I thought, how ironic -- we get here all in good health, and then go and sabotage ourselves! But the good news is it went through their systems fairly quickly, and now everyone knows better about hot gummy bears. (Honestly, I knew better just looking at the box. Nope!)

The kids always love to go crab hunting when it gets dark. 

We were so happy to have Anna and her family with us again.

The weather was so changeable, which resulted in dramatic seascapes and unusual cloud formations.

Due to a miscommunication, Scotty and Faith did not end up in the beach house they usually rent that's close to ours. Instead they were a few miles away on the sound side. They invited us over one night, and we had margaritas and watched a beautiful sunset on their balcony. They still would have rather been closer to us and on the beach, but I think they really did like their soundside house. It had a little trail leading to the ocean too.

We had Maggie filling in for Sophie in this picture.

The cousins are growing up so fast!

We had plenty of sun usual for the first half of our days there, with some sprinkles more likely as the day went on. I think we had an actual downpour maybe once, but I could be wrong. The wind would start to pick up every afternoon around 3 or so, and eventually we would all head back in because it would just keep increasing. So the one thing we didn't do that we normally do, is take sunset walks on the beach, and I think we all missed that. We also didn't take any family pictures on the beach because the conditions were never good for that in the evening when everyone's done swimming and the light is best. We couldn't bear to spend the whole night inside the air conditioning though, so if we sat on Grace and Joey's side of the deck with the door closed to our side, we were OK. The wind was always coming from the same direction.

Most of the men went out on a fishing boat Wednesday. They didn't catch much, but I guess they had fun.

Tim and Delaney decided spur-of-the-moment to walk to the pier three and a half miles away. They were like, "See you in a few minutes!" and were gone for over two hours. I was more than a little annoyed. I didn't think they'd left prepared for a walk that long. I would have liked for Tim to have on a hat and shirt for a seven-mile hike, but that was just me being a nag, I guess. He didn't even bring his phone. He had a stranger take this cruddy photo and text it to me. 

Scotty and Faith took a bunch of the kids to the sound for a change of pace on the last day. As Faith put it, "We're driving the fun bus!" No one could do it better.

The last night found most of us sitting on Grace and Joey's deck saying a rosary and staying up too late talking. As was fitting, because we know once we all say goodnight it is all over. I do miss them so, but am so grateful as always that we made it happen yet again.

One Year(ish) Housiversary

 Earlier today in the course of a conversation, Tim reminded me that last winter when we were house-hunting, he'd been the one who liked this house right away, and I was the one who was like, "Nah." I didn't disagree. "It's because we kept coming back to the same thing being wrong with it, and we'd talk ourselves out of it, go look at other houses, and then you'd be like, 'Let's go back to that house.'" There were lots of good things about it, and I could see, at least sort of see, the potential to change what we didn't like. But I had been hoping for something more turnkey. I'd wanted everything perfect as is, but really almost nothing we were looking at would have fit that bill. I came around because he had a vision, and I trusted that.

I told him that recently it occurred to me that I've really settled into this house, and am really glad we live here. There were some hurdles to me liking it, but we're over those now, and it is definitely feeling like our home. It reflects us. 

I love this little corner next to the garage. I had no idea that the catnip would get these gorgeous purple blossoms in spring. 

You've seen most of the changes we made inside; we've also done quite a bit to the yard, front and back. It is so much more of a welcoming sight. Tim took down the chunky railings off the porch, and we invested in some good landscaping to just catapult us to where we could maintain it from there ourselves. Many new things were planted; some of them such as Japanese maples and hydrangeas, were on my wishlist, and some were suggested to us to add all the color and texture we were looking for. We cut down some big ugly dead trees both front and back. A few things remain from before: a crape myrtle, the holly tree right in front of our garage, and some boxwoods and gardenias.

Maybe next year this little tree will get leaves on the top branches.

I was remembering today how one of the biggest things I didn't like about this house was how when I would sit outside, I didn't see anything that was pleasing to the eye. We have fixed that. It was hard for me to imagine how nice it could be; as I've said before, being able to visualize things is not my strong suit. Fortunately for Tim that is much easier. He and the landscaper put their heads together in the backyard, and I'm pretty blown away with what they came up with. 

The picture above is right outside our bedroom window, to the right of the screened-in porch. It's a row of azaleas flanked by two little lime hydrangeas. The azaleas will bloom in spring and fall, and the hydrangeas in summer; so with the exception of the dead of winter, something will almost always be in bloom.

The fence line used to be just a lot of dirt and weeds, overgrown trees and shrubs, and other assorted vegetation. Now we have five of those arbor vitae trees, a cherry blossom tree in the corner, and more grasses, verbena, more azaleas, camellias, and drift roses sprinkled throughout. Our neighbor directly behind us saw what was happening on our side of the fence, and it lit some kind of fire under him. He cut down all the wild vines and stuff that were on his side. We see a whole lot more of each other now.😃

The patio and fire pit are new. You can see how new and still small all those new plants are against the fence. I'm really going to enjoy watching them grow in the next couple years.

There are a couple patches of sod, one of which you can see behind the dark blue chair on the right. That was the site of one of the big old trees. In the picture below, the sod had just been put down, and it still looked brown. Tim has big dreams for the lawn, though. Big northern dreams of velvety green golf course grass. He's not sure how he's going to get there. Honestly, I'm just happy to see it all being green, even if I wouldn't want to run barefoot through it.

And this porch, which I am constantly taking pictures of, is my haven. We gave it a refresh a month or two ago, just in time for spring. It has all new cushions, a new ceiling fan and light fixture, and string lights, which make any other lighting unnecessary as far as I'm concerned. They're the best. You'll find me on that porch every night at sunset, watching the kids and dog run around, and the sky change colors. You'll find me there when it rains, especially when it storms. You'll find me there whenever there's time to spare -- reading, praying, trying to take the PERFECT picture of my view.😆

I found it comical as I was looking through photos for this post, how many frames I found Willow posing proudly in. "Everything the light touches" is her kingdom. 🤣

We found the right house in the right neighborhood in the right town. It's a dream come true.

This Was Us

A few weeks ago, Tim and I were watching a Tivo'd episode of This is Us, and although we've kind of had a love/hate (or love to hate it) relationship with the show these last couple seasons, we keep coming back. It has its moments, notwithstanding all the melodrama and this season's emphasis on COVID precautions obviously intended for the benefit of us dummies. What I've always found compelling about the show is the way they take kind of ordinary moments in the life of the family and make a whole episode out of it, between the two generations and among the three siblings. I like thinking about what's changed over time. This most recent episode was about the first time going home with a new baby/babies, then and now. It alternated among four couples as they began their day in a hospital room and then embarked on a long, angsty trip home that would last most of the hour-long episode.

As we watched we had a nice trip down memory lane, remembering the day we left the hospital with Delaney in 2007. When the nurse told Jack and Rebecca (in 1980) with a wink that she would be leaving the room for a minute and they might want to help themselves to all the diapers, I recalled that we were told we were welcome to all the diapers in the room, but with no winks. They were included with the cost of the hospital stay. I said I also didn't think nurses wore scrubs in 1980; here's a picture of my Aunt Liz in her starchy white nurse's uniform (in 1979) in my baby photo album. A quick Google search tells me that nurses switched over to wearing scrubs in the '80s. Maybe they started phasing out the white uniform in the late '70s -- it wouldn't surprise me at all if Liz had been one of the last holdouts. I should ask her sometime.

Just home from the hospital; Mom was taking care of me and Liz was taking care of Mom. I love it. I also love Mom's blouse and Liz's perfect posture.

On the show, Jack (then) and Kevin (present day) bumbled haplessly as they tried to install car seats. Tim chuckled, remembering how he had his police officer friend Brian install our car seat base. He watched, hoping to learn a thing or two. "That's it?" he asked once he was done. He'd expected it to be complicated. "That's it," Brian said. I remember Tim telling me that Brian had also said that when we put her in the seat, we should cinch the straps down as tight as they'd go, maybe being able to fit one finger underneath.

Tim and I, miles away from and blissfully ignorant of, the challenges and the humbling messiness of raising actual children, approached impending parenthood like Marines with a checklist. If you'll excuse a bit of campiness here, preparing for a baby was like preparing for a deployment, an operation, exercise or PCS (permanent change of station). The flesh-and-blood baby still gestating inside me was an abstract concept, impossible to imagine as reality, even with all the kicks and rolls I was feeling. Unable to fathom what was really about to unfold, we still thought of her more as an event to be ready for than a child. The months ticked by, my belly grew, and we did all the things one does to get ready for a baby (probably not limited to this list): go to appointments, get maternity clothes, set up the nursery, get all the gear, attend childbirth classes, attend breastfeeding classes, have the car seat base installed by a certified technician, and make the most of the freedom we had left. By the end of my pregnancy, there was only one item left uncrossed, and that was the hospital tour. As we checked into Labor and Delivery the morning of July 8, my water having broken hours earlier, Tim joked, "I guess this is the tour."

Two days later, having completed another checklist -- the one for discharge -- I was told someone would be there shortly with a wheelchair. Earlier that morning, I had wheeled Delaney in her little bassinet to the nursery so that I could have a shower and make myself feel human again. I'd shampooed and conditioned. I'd brushed my hair and applied some makeup -- foundation for my blotchy skin, a generous amount of concealer underneath my bloodshot eyes, a little mascara for what it was worth. I put on one of my stretchy maternity tops, and if I had to guess what I wore on bottom, it would have been my boot-cut yoga pants from Victoria's Secret. They were the comfiest. Our new daughter, having been fed and changed, was bundled into the infant car seat that she had been deemed that morning just big enough to go home in. A nurse had made two attempts at strapping her in while I watched with bated breath. If she wouldn't fit, what then? We had watched the Shaken Baby Syndrome video, and I'd dutifully recorded all her feedings in the log they'd made me keep for the past 48 hours. We'd been visited by my OB and her pediatrician that morning, and both of us had been pronounced fit to be released out into the world. Tim was loading up the car with everything we'd brought, along with all my hospital swag which included Similac samples, a diaper bag, my sitz bath that fit in the toilet seat, peri bottle, witch hazel pads, Dermoplast, little donut pillow, and of course all the free diapers.

"Shortly" ended up being around two hours. There was a knock at the door and someone with a wheelchair. I lowered myself gingerly onto the seat, and the car seat containing Delaney was placed in my lap. We were wheeled out the door and out of Labor and Delivery, down a hallway, through a lobby, to an elevator, and then out the automatic doors that led to the parking level of St. Vincent Hospital in Worcester, Massachusetts. I remember being a little dazed as I was pushed out the door and into the rest of our life. The sun was so hot on my face after the climate controlled environment of the hospital. We waited for a minute or two at the curb, and it was just like waiting to be picked up at the airport.

Tim drove up in our Jeep Liberty and got out. He took the car seat from me and clipped it into its expertly installed base. I was transferred without incident from the wheelchair to the car. I got in the backseat next to her, because I'd watched shows like A Baby Story and Bringing Home Baby for years, and it just seemed like the thing to do. Delaney would not be alone in the backseat for her maiden voyage. Then we were off. 

We stopped at the Subway on 122A in Millbury for lunch to go. This would never happen today. In the intervening years, Tim has become a complete snob when it comes to fast food. Fortunately he's also a great cook! Nowadays he'd just take me home and whip up a feast. If sandwiches were what I was in the mood for, they'd be done right, with a foil-wrapped brick as a makeshift panini maker. But 13 years ago, Subway was still good enough for us. 

The rest of the ride home was quick and uneventful. I watched our baby's face a lot. It was so crazy that she was actually here! Her brows sometimes knitted in her sleep as if with worry, and her face was framed by all that dark hair. The hospital-issue snot bulb was tucked into the fabric of the seat, ready for me to grab if it was needed.

Things had gone according to plan, albeit a couple weeks earlier than expected. My labor and birth had been routine, even though I certainly didn't think of it as such; and we returned home the same three souls that had had left for the hospital two days earlier. On the show, Rebecca had gone through something way more traumatic and earth-shattering than I had, what with the birth of triplets, the death of one of them, and then adoption of another; still, when she said upon arriving home, "I feel like a different person than I was the last time I got in this car," I couldn't have agreed more.

The Enemy at the Base Pool

 The baby pool was a generous three feet deep at one end, and the two of us sat up to our necks in water just cool enough to be a relief from the brutal North Carolina heat. Her youngest child was Timmy's age and had passed his swim test, so she didn't need to be here with Joey and me -- she wanted to. Sometimes she'd playfully grab Joey's ankle has he swam away squealing and laughing, like she was some kind of swamp monster. We had just met that day, and we were talking about all kinds of things -- school, Okinawa (we'd both been stationed there), England (she was from there), having kids when young (her), having kids when not so young, jobs we've had, of course COVID, and our families. That morning I had posted in a local Marine officers spouse Facebook group, looking for ideas for how to keep a bored nine-year-old occupied. We had just moved to this new neighborhood and were going through a rough time with Timmy, and a rough time in general with all the upheaval that 2020 had to offer. She commented on the post saying she had a son that age and that they were always looking for things to do. We messaged back and forth a few times and arranged to meet at the base pool that afternoon. 

Before I knew it, two-and-a-half hours had gone by, and I'd sailed painlessly through the doldrums of a summer afternoon. Our kids had played together for hours, had had frozen treats from the concession stand, and were now exhausted, but not in a cranky, melting-down kind of way. I felt like this new person and I had shared a burden, and in doing so, had lightened it for us both. It had been so effortless. Just two people in a pool, sharing life for a little while. 

That evening sitting on the couch I opened up the Facebook profile of my new friend. Then I sat there nonplussed, staring at the screen like "Uhhhhhhh..." Her cover photo was a meme I think most of us have seen a bunch of times. It was a cartoon about Bob voting Republican, Sally voting Democrat, but then the words saying that they are still friends because they're adults were crossed out. The gist of it was that if you are a Trump voter, you're a terrible person, we have nothing in common, and can never be friends. I showed it to Tim, having already filled him in on my day. He shook his head, sighed, and said, "Nothing good is going to come out of this. Someone like this will not be forgiving." What he was really getting at was, "I just don't want you to get hurt." I clicked away without friending her. But then we saw each other a few more times that summer at the pool, and another time in the fall, when I swung by her house to pick up a golden pothos that she had propagated. It is one of my favorite plants, and I remember her every time I see it. I am not looking for a deep friendship, but I like having a friendly face out there. As long as our paths continue to cross, I'm always going to want to wave and smile at the very least; and if time allows, and ask her how things are going.

I, too, am a person who sees things in black and white. I've given up social media for Lent, but my Facebook newsfeed is an echo chamber, in which I like and agree with those who are pro everything I'm pro, and anti everything I'm anti. I admit to unfollowing those who are outspoken in opinions I don't agree with. Close family members get a pass on being wrong, as well as a few dear friends. If they don't fall under either of those categories, I can know usually by a quick glance at their profile whether they're "my people" or not. Sometimes an article will pop up with a title like, "OK, Lazy Mom at the Playground, I'll Watch My Child AND Yours," and I usually resist clicking on it or the comments because I know I'll only see people destroying one another. Everything is us or them, and I have no use for them. I admitted as much to Tim a few months ago, saying that I know I'm part of the problem, but I can't help it. Tim had to give up Facebook for while as well, because he was tired of going down rabbit holes and being outraged all the time.

Recently, although it's been going on for quite some time, I've become aware of something very sinister afoot, a concerted effort to divide everyone on any and every possible line. I watched and then made my kids watch the Netflix documentary The Social Dilemma. I think this is something everyone ought to see because it's affecting everyone regardless of whether they're even on social media themselves. Then I read a book called Them: Why We Hate Each Other - and How to Heal by Ben Sasse, which goes into the history of how for the last couple decades, community has already been breaking down, with people less likely to be rooted to one place, to join clubs, and to get to know the people around them. The resulting loneliness drives them online where they seek connection they lack in real life. They are turning to "anti-tribalism" and political hatred to fill the void of not belonging to any real "tribe." We have outside enemies that are exploiting this situation and they're going to get us Americans to do their dirty work of destroying our own democracy. I think we've all seen some ugly fruits of those efforts in the last couple elections, and it's only the beginning.

An already bad situation became worse when COVID came on the scene. With masks covering half our faces, we're even less likely to see one another as individuals. When everything got canceled and we were discouraged from leaving our houses, we got deprived of whatever real-life connections to other people that we had to begin with. Frightened and suspicious, hunkered down in our own corners, we rage at everyone else.

But it wasn't always like this! I remember the good old days when I set up my own Facebook account after many months of looking over Tim's shoulder as he scrolled through his. I was a little scared to take the plunge, but then I picked the most recent and best post-haircut photo I had for my profile, and went for it. I would take seriously the prompt, "What's on your mind, Rachael?" and I had an audience of family and and a smattering of friends I was sure were hanging on my every word when I shared, "Rachael is so excited, she got both girls to nap at the same time and is going to get all kinds of things done!" For years I would share an album of pictures from every milestone of our life, and every trip we took, and eagerly scroll through those of my friends. My circle grew with every move and new person I met. I relished the feeling of always being connected, no matter where we were. As a shy introvert, I could smooth away any awkwardness by taking the time carefully craft my words, and only share the photos that showed me and my family in the most flattering light.

But I recall that it wasn't long after that I began to see a dark side to all this. I would share something that meant something to me, and when it wouldn't get more than a couple likes, I would think, does anyone care? Comparison reared its ugly head too, because I had some really popular friends whose posts would get a ton of likes. I remember the first time I realized that not everyone was thrilled by what I had to say. The year was 2010, and I took to Facebook hoping to commiserate with other moms of toddlers, saying something like, "This kid won't stop asking me questions!" A person I was well acquainted with in real life commented, "I would give anything to be having conversations like that with my son." Her autistic son. I realized how thoughtless and ungrateful my words had been. It was a good lesson for me -- I would never again complain on social media about a developmentally typical child doing developmentally typical things. And really, if I'm griping about anything besides the weather or the flu, I'm going to offend someone. There is always someone who would love to trade places with me on my worst day, and I would do well to remember that. 

The pictures are still great, and so is being connected with friends and family from afar, but over the years it has just gotten bogged down with so much crap. 

I've become increasingly guarded and filtered as the years go by, almost to the point where I mainly lurk, like the stuff I agree with, and occasionally post the pictures that I think would mean a lot to some others to see. I'm rarely moved to post anymore, or even comment. If I'm being honest with myself, it's maybe in part due to insecurity. It's also that somewhere along the way I realized it's not healthy to always be bouncing things off such a large number of people, and then waiting for their agreement, or admiration, or affirmation, whatever it is I'm looking to get. Instead, sometimes I'll take a photo or I'll find something that strikes me funny or thought-provoking, even the occasional gripe, and I'll share it with the one person, or a handful of people, who will get it. Like Tim, or my mom or siblings, or an old friend from high school. Even if they didn't appreciate it, I would still know that they love me. I can see that the more I've pulled back from social media, the better off I've been. Still, as I told Tim the day I decided to give up social media for Lent, I didn't/don't know if I could give it up forever. That would mean missing out on all the cute pregnancy announcements, family pictures of people I knew way back when our kids crawled around together, and just important life updates. Not to mention some good sales! "Mostly the pictures, though," I lamented. "I'll never see anyone's pictures again, and they mean so much to me. Even the people I knew in real life for two years back in 2005."  He said, "If you had never seen these people's pictures, are you telling me you couldn't have a happy life?" I had to admit that if I had never seen them, I wouldn't know what I was missing, so yeah, I guess I could have a happy life without them.

On the second day of Lent I got an email notification that a friend of mine wanted to tag herself in some of my photos, and man, I was dying to click over and see what photos those were. I forwarded the email to Tim, saying, "The machine knows me well. It knows I don't like to ignore a friend and I love photos." When I said "the machine," I was referring again to The Social Dilemma. Photo-tagging in particular was discussed, with one of the creators of the technology saying, "Do you ever wonder why the photo isn't in the email?"

I have a feeling that in a few weeks I'm going to be back on Facebook and Instagram, scrolling past a lot of crap and looking at everyone's beautiful photos in their Easter attire. Maybe I'll give myself some new limits. For one thing, I refuse to consume any of the articles. My news is going to have to come from other places (still trying to work out what places those should be. I'm woefully uninformed but don't know what sources to trust), and I'm not going to spend any of my time on there being angry at people, or thinking about how they're wrong or stupid. Another limit would be the amount of time I spend, and that will probably be the hardest to enforce. I need never put the apps back on my phone ever again, that's for sure. Who knows how many minutes of my real life I've traded away in exchange for a few photos, a few good deals, and a lot of negativity.

"When we look around our neighborhoods, we should have eyes to see that we share common interests and goals that are more important than just about any questions of federal policy -- chief among those goals, raising our children to become kind, thoughtful, gritty, respectful adults who use their skills and talents to serve others. I don't want to worry that politics is going to prevent my neighbor from keeping an eye on my kids when they're all playing in the front yard." These words from Senator Ben Sasse's conclusion of Them sum it up best for me. This is what's challenging me to get out of my little bubble, get out from behind a screen, and talk with actual people. So scary! Unfiltered Rachael sometimes says the wrong thing. The (metaphorical) mask could slip, and they'll see the real me, not the edited me with the carefully chosen words. I might even, although I shudder to think it, disagree with someone in person. Following the example of volunteerism set by my husband and our parents, I'm volunteering a few hours a month at our parish and school, and will be encouraging our kids to find their own opportunities to serve. We chose to buy in this neighborhood because we saw families and kids outside interacting and dared to hope that we could become part of a real, physical community. And, oh boy, I hesitate to even type out these words, but I am toying with the idea of attending an HOA meeting. And then I'll have the right to complain about whatever I think could be improved in this neighborhood.

It's an interesting experiment, two suburban moms in the wild who met each other and had a face to face conversation before they'd had the chance to learn from social media that they had every reason to hate each other. I understand Tim's instinct to protect me. He knows me well, and he's seen how much rejection, real or perceived, wounds me. But if and when the rejection happens, I refuse to take it personally. She won't be rejecting me as a person -- just as a symbol for everything she's against. It's a risk I'm willing to take. I will not hide my beliefs if they come up in conversation, but neither will I issue her this disclaimer: "Before we meet at the pool again, you might want to know I'm a registered Republican."

Master bedroom - the perfect paint color

First, a quick update about Delaney and Annie: They had their first day of in-person school yesterday. I dropped them off because they still haven't been assigned to the bus. They both had a little case of jitters when they got out, but when I came back to get them, they were both in a good mood and telling me about their day. Delaney accused Annie of power-walking past her without waving at one point. "Next time you owe me a wave!" Annie claimed not to have seen her. I smiled, thinking Annie sounds like me, with power-walking and tunnel vision in hallways. They'll be going Thursdays and Fridays from here on out.

Our last master bedroom had walls that were what I thought was a lovely shade of green that I told Tim I wouldn't mind having in our own house; but he said he was "sick of green." 🤢 He really wanted something new, and had some ideas brewing, so I was happy to let him take the reins, decision-fatigued as I was from painting the rest of the house. I told him I wouldn't even mind if he just picked the same color as the living spaces -- a safe choice.

Fortunately, Tim doesn't see these decisions the same way I do. It ended up being the best surprise. He took my wish for green and mixed it with his idea for something fresh and different, and here's what he got: Benjamin Moore November Rain. I can't believe how much I love it. It inspires me to make the bed every morning, to put all my clothes away, to open all the blinds and let the sun shine in, to twirl around the floor...haha, ok, you get the point. Nothing in this room is new, besides a framed full-length mirror and a few plants, but everything looks new to me with this color.

It's more green or less, depending on the time of day and how much sun is coming in. Late afternoon is when I like it best, and there are a lot of windows letting the setting sun in.

Sometimes I think I must be the only person who gets this excited over a paint color. Then I remember that I'm 41 and we just bought our first house.* Other people our age have had their "starter house," then their, what would you call it, intermediate house? and have probably been in their forever house, maybe even their dream house for a while now. Meanwhile we went from one military base house or rental to another, because we saw it as much more advantageous for our lifestyle than buying. We loved the ease and convenience of living on base, and the houses were more than adequate. The heating and air-conditioning worked, the water ran, the appliances were in good working order; and if any of the above were not true, there was a number to call and people who would fix it. It would have been unfair to expect it to be pretty on top of everything else. Many military wives have the enviable skill of being able to make their base house look like a Pottery Barn catalog (with hand-me-downs and thrift store finds, no less), but that was not me, try as I might. I always thought maybe some new curtains were what we needed, or new furniture, this or that, always something. Tim would tell me just wait, and one day we'll have a house of our own and we can make it everything we want. Did we really want to paint over the beige, only to have to paint back over it before we move? I could see the wisdom of not putting the money and energy into a place that wasn't ours, and I tried to decorate in small ways, but I would still get frustrated waiting for one day. 

Well, the day is here! We have a house of our own that we love, and if there's something about it we don't love, we can change it. I still look around and think these floors are so nice, or I love that crown molding. And the perfect paint color for our bedroom can still make me giddy.

*I don't count the condo he bought and sold before we got married. It did pay for my engagement ring, though.😁

Homeschool Postmortem

One night last week when Tim got home from work, he sat down at the kitchen table with a sigh and said, "Well, America didn't burn down today." I shook my head and said, "I doubt I'd even notice if it had."

I was so consumed with my own problems, I barely noticed our country was headed toward an apocalypse. Disclaimer: I am aware that my problems are not real problems. They are the kind that can only come up in a life with abundance and options. 

By the end of a whopping three months of homeschool, I found myself increasingly worried, anxious, and exhausted. I was taking kind of a triage approach to the areas of learning and well-roundedness that I envisioned for them -- choosing each week a different thing to make my focus, and then letting that thing go to the backburner when something else took precedence. For example, one week I'd be on their case to spend more time reading; the next, I'd be after them to spend more time outdoors because this is what homeschooled kids are supposed to be doing. This was supposed to be the whole point of taking them away from hours of Zoom! I was supposed to be cultivating an environment where learning is happening even when we're not "doing school" -- but the only thing flourishing was laziness and complacency. I never for a minute forgot all the things they should be learning and doing every day, not just sometimes. I just didn't have the mental bandwidth to deal with more than one thing at a time. It took me a long time to admit I was in a crisis, but I think if you were to ask Tim, he started seeing my distress signals early and often.

This post has to have pictures, whether or not they have anything to do with anything.

This is so embarrassing for me to admit, but first I gave up the science curriculum because we weren't liking it, and then I scrambled to come up with something new. I didn't like the history either, so I gave it up for a few weeks and then went back to it because I couldn't come up with anything I liked better. Looking back, it was all hastily chosen, and the only thing that worked out well was the language arts. I was unable myself to keep up with the schedule I created for us, and thought that's OK, I'll ease up. We'll adapt and do what works for us. We all did physical education together in the beginning; then I said they need to do a physical activity on their own; then I forgot about it entirely. Saxon Math gave way to Khan Academy. Everything started to slip through my fingers. I set what I thought were reasonable daily goals, weekly goals, and then wondered why it was so dang hard to meet them. I needed help, but this was my show, and co-ops are not an option where we live. (It would have been yet another place to drive anyway -- lest we forget I have two other children in two other schools.) I would vent my frustration to Tim, who dealt as best he could, backing my efforts when possible, but this wasn't something he was prepared to take on after a day at work. And he did not like coming home to a stressed out Rachael.

One day, and which day in particular it was, I don't remember. Only that it was the last week before area schools were to go on Christmas break. Probably Monday or Tuesday of that week. A lot of things were going through my head, like it's not supposed to be this way...nobody is appreciating my efforts...I'm trying so hard...this is all for them, but they don't even care... All of a sudden, into my mind flashed a quote from The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis: "She's the sort of woman who lives for others -- you can always tell the others by their hunted expression." I sat there stunned, my pity party brought to an abrupt, record-scratching end. I knew I was in real danger of turning into this fearsome specter who "lives for others."

We brought back family game night, starting with the one Santa brought us this year, Ticket to Ride. It's  a winner.

Nobody had asked me to do any of this. Nobody was requiring me now to do any of this. I had brought it all on myself. I sent up a quick prayer and went once more to the girls. They readily agreed that I should enroll them at the middle school to start after the break. Things moved very quickly after that. A few clicks of a keyboard and it was done. When it sank in I let out a body-deflating sigh, put my face in my hands, and allowed the tears to flow. I had had such high hopes for this little venture, and now it was another failed experiment.

It was singularly humbling to face the fact that I could not do this myself. To admit that I was not serving my family well in the capacity of middle school teacher. To realize that all the really great reasons there are to homeschool in the time of COVID or otherwise, just really don't apply to me or my family. While the current situation is not ideal, my girls are capable of keeping track of their own schedules and doing their own work, and they are motivated to do so by their teachers who are somebody besides me. 

It took a while before I came around to this kind of perspective. For several days I just felt like I'd fallen flat on my face. Tim listened, comforted me, and gave me space to go through my mourning process. It was tough. I didn't want to even look at the materials we had, and kept thinking what a waste. I felt so defeated and like, what was the point? Maybe it will make sense one day why I had to go through this. As Olaf said, "This will all make sense when I'm older." 😅 I think that if I had started homeschooling the girls when they were little, this would be a very different story. We are all too set in our ways. 

The week they went back to school, it took a little more doing to get Delaney into the math class she belonged in. The school only wanted her to be in it if she had been in it since August. I hadn't seen this coming, obviously. I don't want to go into the boring details, but as I put it to Tim, "I interfered once and messed things up, and now I've got to interfere one more time to make it right!" I pleaded my case, citing the crazy times we're in. It's funny because I'm usually the parent no one even knows about, but I'm pretty sure the middle school staff know my name now (and are hopefully not cursing it). But they were very gracious and accommodating, the girls are now settled in and back to work, and I can recede to the background again. For those of you I asked to pray for a special intention -- that was it! Thank you and thank God.

I have to say, now that this is all said and done, I am sooo relieved. I am so glad not to be carrying this burden. There is still time and now a little more mental energy to dedicate to teaching them things they won't learn in public school. I can tell they're happier too, and looking forward to being back with their friends next Friday when they go back to, what is it? Plan B, one day a week in person. (That's the plan anyway, we'll see how it actually goes.) They are once again spending many hours in Zooms, but as long as I've got a kitchen stocked with food, I can count on seeing them a few times a day. Earlier this week I got my first robocall in about six months, informing me that Delaney's going to be looking at a high school course catalog and registering for classes soon.😲 Can you believe it? Our naptime Poopcasso is going to high school in a few months. 

I've read this book three or four times, and I've gotten something new out of it every time. The letters are written by a senior devil to a novice one, giving advice on how to secure a soul's damnation. Of course Uncle Screwtape is unwittingly instructing us readers how to live our best lives, avoid temptations, and get to heaven when we die. It is humorous, insightful, sometimes downright chilling, but just. so. good. Not a single wasted word. I love everything CSL.