Corona Life Snapshots

I am not sure how long we have been under the "stay at home" order, but it has changed our lives significantly. In all honesty, I am thankful to have this slower paced life, full of rich, meaningful time with my family. It is unclear how, or when, we will "re-enter" normalcy so until then, I will take the time to chronicle our Corona Life via occasional snapshots. A sort of a "not so perfect" photo journal through our time sheltering at home.

Toys. We took this bike to the dump this past weekend. We saw no one, except the employees who instructed us through a closed window. This bike has a story like most of our possessions. It starts about 16.5 years ago when our oldest turned 1. It used to have a taller handle that I held onto while I pushed her down the road. She was "riding!" Then the second child used it, then the third. The handle broke, the tires started to skid on the pavement. The older children started pushing the younger children on it. The fourth child used it, then the fifth. The youngest outgrew it over a year ago, but I found it hard to part with it. I even considered saving it for any grandchildren that might come in the far off future. In the end, I knew it was time. It was old and broken in many ways. Still so loved and appreciated. It felt right this past weekend to say goodbye. I couldn't say goodbye without taking a picture. The years of memories from one toy. It was a good one.

Goat milk. My husband and one dear daughter have an allergy to the protein in milk. We have always had easy access to goat milk, but Corona has taken out the goat milk. For the past few weeks anyway. The shelves have been empty. My daughter has tolerated almond milk, vocal in her distaste. But, in her words, "I have to do it Mom, there is no goat milk. And that is okay." Until Saturday when my husband went to the grocery store and found the precious milk. Helping unload groceries, she squeals with delight, "YOU GOT GOAT MILK!!!!" And before I knew it, I had my tall but very petite 10 year old jumping into my arms, squeezing me with her arms and legs, squeaking with delight. I embraced this outburst of joy. I felt a small pang of guilt because I did not go into the grocery store (one family member at a time). I confessed that it was Daddy who found the milk. With matched gusto, she ran and bounced into his arms shouting, "Thank you Daddy, Thank you, Thank you!" No need to promise a trip to Disney World in this house....we just need to buy goat milk.

Seedlings. It has been at least five years since I have started seeds inside. I did this every year with the older three when they were little. They became teens and life sped up. We have been moving so quickly that sometimes it is hard to keep up. This time of slowing down is a perfect time for seeds. Mostly flowers because those make me happy, but some vegetables too. These two are perfect gardening partners.

Books on CD. Need I say more.

Outside togetherness. We have always made outside time together a priority, but it still feels oh so nice during Corona time.

Masks. Sewing is not a gift of mine, but when people need masks for protection, we all step up and help.

What are some simple ways you are finding beauty and hope during this crazy time? Share some of your Corona Life Snapshots. 

Out My Back Door

I walk out my back door into this Winter Wonderland.

I spend an hour or more in the woods.

 Alone or with the kids.

Today it was alone.

It was peaceful, white, and beautiful.

A time of prayer, a time of reflection, a time of stillness.

I feel intense gratitude for the beauty that surrounds me.

The gift of this unmatched scenery.

The winter is long and cold, but this makes it worth it. This is priceless.

I take some time to snap photos of the kids' favorites along the trail.

The Hugging Tree

Entrance To Narnia

Big Rock

Winter has begun. 

Happy Thanksgiving

 For as long as I can remember, Thanksgiving has been my favorite holiday. A full day set aside to celebrate thankfulness. A day set aside for spending time with family and friends. A day that is all about looking outside of ourselves and reminding our hearts to be overflowing with gratitude. Sometimes I feel sorry for Thanksgiving....sandwiched between Halloween and Christmas, barely getting a few weeks of prep and focus. It often feels like Thanksgiving is the underdog of holidays. We have even pushed Black Friday shopping so much that families can no longer enjoy the full day.  Not that I am against shopping or Christmas prep...I love Christmas as well. I just want to give Thanksgiving its time. We tend to speed through our lives so quickly; we often forget to pause, take a deep breath, and simply be in the moment. On Thanksgiving, we have the opportunity to be in the moment with a heart posture of gratitude.

Our Thanksgiving lacks any frills. I don't have any fancy dinnerware (that all broke years ago). I buy Thanksgiving themed paper plates and cups. We buy Sparkling Cider and drink it from paper cups. We set a bouquet of flowers (purchased by my husband on his way home from work Wednesday night) on the table, and it is quickly moved when the children sit down to play "The Great Dalmuti." Everyone arrives at noon. We eat in three different rooms because the 19 of us cannot fit in one room. My in-laws bring a folding table....I throw a paper tablecloth on it. We haul out the folding chairs, and enjoy our time. Thankful for who can be with us, while missing those who live too far away to join us.

We don't see the cell phones out on Thanksgiving, unless they are being used for photos or videos. Not because I have made this a rule, but because we all enjoy being with each other. We want face to face time. We want to make memories and not miss a moment of it. After dinner, we play game after game. Everyone participates from the youngest child to the oldest grandparent. We play Mafia, Family Feud, Charades, and Mad Libs Theater. We laugh until we are crying. We get loud....then louder.

We eat dessert. It takes nearly an hour to finish dessert because we are all visiting. After dessert, we visit some more. Friends start to trickle home at 6:00. At 7:00 we are still visiting with family, laughing and almost sad to see the day end. Then it really is time to go home. Everyone participates in cleaning up the house, and it is done within minutes. The "good-byes" start. In our family it takes at least 30 minutes to say goodbye. There are 16 of us to get through. The younger kiddos carry on the tradition of "good-bye" pick ups, giving hugs and picking each other up in the process. The older kids hug and perform their secret handshakes. Everyone hugs everyone...and by the time we are done, we feel the need to do it all over again. At the end, we shut the door. We sit and talk about the great day we had. We pull out Boggle because we are not quite done. We play for a while then the younger ones are put to bed. The older kids sit to watch a movie, and hubby and I crawl into bed, content and thankful. 

We talk about past Thanksgivings. We talk about my Grandpa John and his Thanksgiving saying, "You better get in there quick before all the food is gone." We laugh some more, remembering all the fun and memories we have made. We wonder what the children will remember. What their favorite Thanksgiving memories will be. Then we fall asleep, already thinking about next year. I hope you all enjoyed celebrating with your family and friends! I miss you all!

Death and Discovery Part 2

My blog has been dormant for four years. Three years worth of posts have built up in my brain, but I have lacked the energy and time to sit down and actually compose anything worth reading. My last post, Death and Discovery, was written right after my grandfather passed away....but that title feels so fitting for this new phase of life I am in so I used it again.

Adoption changed me. Many days I grieve the woman I once was. The woman who died when the adoption process began. The woman who had it together, the woman who was there for everyone, the woman who taught Bible studies, and had an intense faith that felt unshakeable. The woman who kept a clean house and never yelled at her children. That woman is gone. The last three years have changed me. I am a woman shaped by experiences that I never thought I would have. A woman who has had to restrain her son in his fits of rage and violence. A woman who has lost it, and through tears cried, "I give up! I don't want to be a mom anymore; this is too hard!" A woman who is so exhausted at the end of the day that the dishes stay in the sink. A woman who occasionally eats doughnuts for lunch because it is easy. I have cried myself to sleep. I have questioned God, asking for wisdom and strength that I do not have.

Adoption changed me. I am stronger. I understand motherhood, sacrifice, and devotion more than I ever have. I no longer stand in judgement over struggling mothers. I hold them, pray for them, and celebrate small victories with them. I have become a woman who recognizes my deep need for Jesus and His saving grace.My faith has been shaken, and I see and understand God's love for me a little more each day. I am a woman who loves deeply and hurts easily.

Adoption changed me. I have discovered more of myself. I have witnessed the self discovery of a child, and I am eternally changed. I have held his hands while we walk. I have listened to hours of his stories and thoughts. I have held him while he cries, not understanding why he reacts the way he does. I have discovered what love really looks like. Choosing to love when everything feels hopeless and bleak. Loving through the anger and destruction. Holding onto the truth when the truth cannot be seen. Discovery.....of myself....of my child....of who I want to be.

 Adoption changed me. The path doesn't look as straight as it once did. There are so many twists in the road that I cannot see ahead. I have learned to stay focused on the here and now. Not fearing the future or what I cannot change. Choosing instead to say "thank you" for the moment. I remain steadfast in the struggle. I look to embrace the difficulties rather than try to fight against them.

There are still many tears. Days I want to give up. Yet I have a vision for the long journey. Death and Discovery along the way. Dying to my old ways of mothering, thinking, toiling. Putting to death expectations and societal pressures. Discovering appreciation and gratitude; discovering my profound need of Jesus who offers a "yoke that is easy and a burden that is light." Discovering how to love even more deeply, understand more freely, listen openly, and run with wholehearted faith, expectant to see God continue to change my heart. To continue to challenge me while holding me close.

Death and Discovery

My grandfather died suddenly last week. It was a shock and rocked my world in way I could never have expected. Part of how I process is writing so I start this post with a disclaimer that it may be sad as I write through my pain in order to begin the healing process.

I received the initial phone call right around midnight. My mom calling to let me know that Grandpa was taken to the hospital because of an intense headache. He fell unconscious as soon as he arrived at the hospital....an anuerysm....he never re-gained consciousness. He passed away peacefully after a day enjoying his favorite hobby: trap shooting with his buddies. He won all his rounds that day. The day after was a blur. I don't remember much except trying to figure out how to get out to Idaho to be with the family to mourn together and to celebrate the best grandfather anyone could ever ask for.

Friday morning, we hopped in the car to drive the nearly 3000 miles out West. We left without a plan, with five kids, and a car stocked full of "car" food. Including peanut butter and Fluff (something my children never get to eat), conventional crackers full of chemicals, candy, gum, an anything else my husband found at the grocery store the night before (I was not capable of shopping). We decided we would drive the whole way without stopping to sleep. We drove through two days and two nights and arrived just a few hours before the funeral services. The first stop: my parents' hotel room. To see my mom and dad and realize the grief they were experiencing brought a whole new sweep of emotions. How can we get through this?

Then on to my grandmother's house.....we pulled in, and I realized that Grandpa wasn't going to meet me at the door with his giant bear hug and a "hiya Sweetie" then a kiss on the cheek. We enter and line up to give Grandma her hugs (7 is a lot to get through). She takes me back into Grandpa's room to show us his belt buckles that he won from various shoots. We cry together.

The funeral is emotional, full of good memories which makes it harder. The memories that we will all hold dear but ache for more of.

We all cry but afterward try to pull ourselves together for the luncheon (put on by a family friend who is dear to all of us). We try to re-gain composure and celebrate Grandpa, but underneath is a mood of sadness. One that tugs at my heart and screams, "Let's just all cry together!" Let's talk and process this out loud. No one really knows what to say so we joke a lot. We laugh together and create new memories. We play with the kids because that helps us cope. We eat a lot. We stand next to each other; we hold hands; we listen and we love. We sit next to each other and look at pictures, remember the funny stories.

 

Then it is time to go. The time is too short. We take our time driving home. I call my mom, my dad, my sister, and my brother. We all talk again. We remind each other that we are here for one another. We are quiet on the phone together or we just talk and talk. We share our love for one another. We express our fondness for one another.

We give ourselves the freedom to take it slow on the way home. What a blessing to experience so much beauty. The terrain in Utah, Fossil Butte in Wyoming, Scott's Bluff and Chimney Rock in Nebraska (the kids were super excited about these because we studied the Oregon Trail in school this year), and Niagra Falls in New York. We cannot escape the mourning, though. It seems that everything reminds us of Grandpa: a postcard in Nebraska, buying batteries in Iowa (because of the distinct way Grandpa used to say "Batt-Ries"). Memories that put a small smile on my face. Memories that keep Grandpa close to my heart. We walk through his death and discover that his jolly face, tight embrace, goofiness, and tenderness will forever remain close. We remind each other and discover more than we ever thought possible. There is comfort in grieving together. There is comfort in remembering together. There is comfort in sharing the small things with one another. We walk towards healing one day at a time.