What's going on? A list of thoughts and happenings

She who has made the most stressful year ever my happiest year ever.
(Sara about 2 months ago at age 9 months.)

My thoughts right now are jumbled.  A mess, really.  But if I put them in a list, they will automatically seem organized!  Right...?

1. Sara is almost 11 months old.  I fully expected her first year to be recorded in excruciating detail here on my blog.  But it's not.  Alas.
2. David and Mary are very happy here in Ohio.  Greg and I are not.
3. My computer slowly died this past fall.  It was sad.  I really liked that computer.  We'd been through a lot together.  But its time had come.  So I reluctantly got a new computer.  This turned out to be a big debacle because Windows 8 and I don't get along very well.  Finally I special ordered (and paid a premium for) a computer with Windows 7 on it.  No more tears.  But the whole thing left me computer-less and digitally disorganized for more than a month.  (In defense of Windows 8, Greg got the new Surface and it's really slick.  I get Windows 8 now.  It just doesn't work for a regular laptop--even if it comes with a touch screen--and regular non-tablet type computing stuff.)
4. Greg is deploying January 3.  He is going to Qatar.  From there he will be traveling around to different bases in Kuwait, the UEA, Pakistan, Afghanistan, and who knows where else.  He will be gone 7 months.
5. Modern life is very complicated.  I think back to Greg's first deployment.  We lived in an apartment in Dover, Delaware.  I had a scratch piece of paper tacked to the wall with a list of the things I needed to take care while he was gone.  This time around I have a binder, its contents growing bigger every day.  I am not very good at house things and technology things.  So Greg and I are desperately trying to find time together so he can show me everything.  Everything.  Like: which light bulbs go in which fixtures, all of our usernames/passwords, how to upload audiobooks to ipods, who to call if the heat pump/garage door/toilet/fuse box breaks, how to reset the wireless router, where he put the batteries.  And so on.  In ten years we went from a quiet 2 bedroom apartment and an old laptop with a dial-up Internet connection ... to... our life now.  It is a good life.  But with cell phones and multiple computers and three printers and five million Internet accounts and a yard and a mortgage and two cars on different maintenance schedules and all sorts of electronic entertainment devices that invariably wig out occasionally and so many more bills (so many!) and hectic schedules ... sometimes I think living on a farm a hundred years ago and doing exactly the same thing every day your whole life is preferable.
6. We have been working on the house, cranking through our to-do list before Greg leaves.  So far we (by "we" I mean Greg or, in some cases, someone Greg hired):  deep cleaned, cleaned the carpets, installed shelving in the laundry room, painted Mary's room, gave the living room a fresh coat of paint, replaced the blinds on every window, painted the master bedroom, painted the second bathroom, painted the master bathroom, replaced the front door, painted the front door, got a new refrigerator, did some plumbing repairs, installed a new water softener, cleaned out the vertical dryer vent, installed a bathroom fan, improved ventilation in the attic, replaced light switch covers, replaced two ceiling fans, touched up floor board paint, replaced all the locks, installed motion sensor lights on the exterior, fixed the banister, removed a medicine cabinet and a weird recessed toilet paper holder and repaired the wall, and fixed the light fixture in the laundry room.  This list does not include unpacking or organizing--and there has been a lot of that too.  Almost every box is unpacked and picture hung.  It's been exhausting.  But it is nice to feel moved in and like the house is ours.  
7. We still have some big ticket house projects, but they are not the fun kind.  Next fall we have to have all the concrete replaced--the driveway, front walk, and front stairs.  It's all sinking into the ground.  We also have a leak in the heat pump--fingers crossed we make it through this winter.
8. Usually when I move I have 2 things that help me:  a sense of adventure and a sense of humor.  This time I have neither.  (Maybe I have mentioned this before?) 
9. "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all."  Maybe that's why I haven't blogged much lately.  Frustratingly, I am rather negative right now.
10. Despite it all, this is where we are supposed to be.  I'm not blind to all the good things about living here.  I just prefer to be cranky, I guess.
11. Blogging. I need to decide what to do about blogging.  First of all, I need to get organized.  You cannot imagine the mess my pictures files have been.  Some on this hard drive, some on that hard drive, some on Dropbox, some on Carbonite, some on this memory card, some on that memory card.  It's crazy.  I enjoy blogging, and it's easy...if I'm organized.  Okay, so once I've established some level of organization, I have to re-evaluate this whole blogging thing.  Is it for me?  You?  My kids?  Greg?  What's out of bounds to talk about now that my kids are older?  Does this question no longer matter in this day and age?  Should I focus on the positive?  What if I let it get too saccharine?  But, then again, what if I let it get too negative?  Also, it helps me organizationally to start a new blog when we move, so do I do that again?  Now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure the blog is now for my kids.  Turns out they love it.  How does that affect what I write?
12. I am very tired.  I think Greg is more tired.  He has a lot going on right now, and a deadline.  January 3.  I guess that whole having a baby/selling a house/finishing a dissertation was good practice...for how stressful life is for him now.  Ha ha--and we thought life was overwhelming then.  Good thing he is a strong man.  (His deployment will probably feel like a vacation!  For him.  Not me.)
13. Sara is so sweet.  She makes me so happy. (She makes everyone happy.)   She is like this bright shining ball of joy and happiness in my life.  
14. So, I am going to start posting all kinds of random stuff.  Stuff from the summer.  Stuff from last week.  Chronological order is going out the window.  A picture here, a picture there.  A link to this video, a link to that video.  Sara now, Sara then.  It will be a mess.  But what fun.  Maybe.

Fear and faith

Yesterday we stopped by the hospital where I will deliver so the kids could see it.  Mary has been feeling nervous about the prospect of coming to visit me there, and we wanted her to feel a little more comfortable.  Well, Mary left feeling at ease.  But not me!

I don't know what happened.  But suddenly I was filled with dread and fear.  Paralyzed with anxiety.  Hospitals don't normally freak me out.  And compared to the hospitals where David and Mary were born, this one is the Ritz-Carlton.  I guess the realization just hit me that THIS IS REALLY GOING TO HAPPEN.  I am going to have a baby. Which scares me, because, in my opinion, there is no good way to get a baby out.  And then once the baby is out, one way or another, there it is.  You have a baby ... and all that goes with that.

Fear.  It filled my soul.  I feared every little thing that will happen in the hospital.  I feared potential complications.  I feared that dang incision.  I feared pain and discomfort.  I feared mean nurses.  I feared how big this baby will be.  I feared her learning curve with nursing.  I feared missing David and Mary.  I feared how they will hold up while I am in the hospital so long. I feared not being able to meet their emotional needs.  For a long time.  I feared how drugged up I will be.  For a long time.  I feared not being able to let go of control while I am recovering.  I feared caring about the laundry and the kitchen counters and teeth getting brushed and what my kids wear to school and lunches and dinner and screen time.  Things I should not care about for a while.  I feared David and Mary will feel sad.  I feared they will not be able to settle into their normal routines.  I feared they will remember this as a stressful, dark time for our family  I feared I will lose my temper in moments when they most need tenderness.  I feared Greg might break under all the additional responsibility.  I feared being too hard on myself.

Some of the fear I could not even articulate.  It was simply a dark feeling.  A feeling of dread.  Definitely not a feeling from God.  (Does anybody else end up in a dark place at the end of pregnancy?  I sure do.)

I didn't sleep last night.  (I broke out in hives everywhere!!  What the heck?!  Needless to say, it was a miserable night.)  I didn't think I would be able to get myself to church this morning.  But I so wanted to go.  I needed to feel something to counteract the darkness I felt inside.  I was a little delirious and itchy, but I made it.  And I'm so glad I did.

I loved singing the Christmas hymns.  The messages that were shared were insightful and inspiring.  David and Mary sang with the Primary children, and it was so sweet.  I adore my children.  Absolutely adore them.  And I remembered what an act of faith it had been to bring them into the world.

For me, there is no greater act of faith than that of bringing a child into our family.

Anytime we act in great faith, there is the possibility, even the inevitability, of great fear.  But I do not want to feel the fear.  I want to be filled with the hope and love that are intertwined with acts of faith.

"For God hath not given us a spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind."  --2 Timothy 1:7

I may feel fear, but God has given me power.  And love.  And a sound mind.

"Behold, I am Jesus Christ, the Son of God ... I am the light which shineth in darkness, and the darkness comprehendeth it not."  --D&C 6:21 (John 1:5)

I choose the light that will chase away the darkness and the fear.  Sure, I still worry (about many of the things I listed above).  But the peace I felt today chased away the darkness that comes from fear.  Instead, I feel empowered with the Lord on my side as we take this step of faith.

Of course, the whole bringing another human being into the world is kind of scary.  Any act of faith is.  But it will be okay.  And even if it's not okay, because of the Saviors' Atonement, it will still be okay.

I have felt this fear before.  I have taken the leap of faith.  I have experienced the blessings.

And they are blessings beyond measure.

The wait

One month.

That's how much longer the wait is to meet this baby girl of ours.  Although, right now it doesn't feel like waiting.  It feels more like a mad rush to get ready for both the holidays and a new little member of the family.

(Fortunately, we're in the swing of things for Christmas.  Greg, despite a nasty cold, got up the Christmas decorations over Thanksgiving weekend.  The house is appropriately festive.  We're enjoying the advent calendar--with its song, scripture, and chocolates--each evening with the kids.  Christmas music is being played and Christmas books are being read.  While we have simplified some things and cut back on a few other things this year, it's definitely Christmastime in the H household!  Hooray!

Less fortunate is our readiness for this baby.  As you may recall, I reorganized the house, purposely leaving no room for a baby.  Obviously, babies don't take up much room.  But their stuff sure does.  Not that we have any of that stuff.  It's still packed away in the basement or waiting to be purchased.  One month, people.  I've got one month.)

Just one month!  After all this time, it is just one month.

It was almost exactly four years ago that I had a miscarriage.  It was very early in the pregnancy, but  devastating nonetheless (something that somewhat surprised me).  Despite the disappointment, it seemed as if it would be but a small set-back.  A "small set-back" that turned into four years.  Life got in the way.

We realized Greg would be deploying for a year.  Then he did.  Then life continued to be complicated.  We knew (or thought we knew) it was time for another baby, but it didn't feel right--which was baffling and confusing and unexpected.  Fits and starts.  Hoping and wondering, doubting and questioning.  Begging to know the future. Pleading to know why.

Finally, there was a feeling of "Yes, it's time to be serious about having a baby."  Soon thereafter, Greg and I were able to visit the temple together.  And in the quiet peace of the temple, this thought came into my head:  "Your baby's name will be ..."  It was a girl's name.  We were going to have a girl!  And I even knew her name.  It was so precious, so sacred, that I didn't even tell Greg.  It was knowledge for my heart alone.

Of course, I assumed I would get pregnant immediately.  That very month!  But I didn't.  Or the next month. Or the next. Or the next.  Month after month passed.  The confusion returned. And the doubt and the begging and pleading to know.  I hated, resented, the calendar and the thermometer.  I wondered about other measures.  There had been a lot of unsuccessful months, almost a year.  And if I counted all of the other unsuccessful, but nonconsecutive months, it amounted to more like two years.  Was that a lot?  Was I justified in my frustration and disappointment?  Where was my patience?  What was wrong with me?  What was God trying to teach me?  Because I was obviously failing!  I was obviously unworthy in some way.  Such were my unhappy thoughts.

One day I had a regular old check-up with my doctor.  I mentioned the trying to get pregnant and not.  I sounded wishy-washy on my desire to have a baby.  My doctor immediately set me straight:  "Alisa, you will be 35 this year.  It is only going to get harder to get pregnant.  If you want to have a baby, you need to accept that and DO IT NOW.  I'm giving you two months, and then I'm referring you to a fertility clinic.  The sooner you do this, the more likely success will be.  NOW is the time."  Generally, I do not like to be bossed around.  (I prefer to do the bossing.)  But I needed to hear her blunt words.  It was time to make a decision.  I wasn't even quite sure what the question was, but I felt like there was an answer out there.

Soon it became clear in my heart what the decision was.  We were not going to pursue any fertility treatments.  The decision was surprising.  But it brought me peace.  In fact, I found great peace.  I was able to let all the confusion and doubt and resentment go.  I was able to let go of my expectations.  Meaning, I came to peace with not having a baby.  I came to peace with not being pregnant again, with not giving birth again, with not nursing again.  I mourned.  I cried.  But I found a sense of peace.  Even though it didn't necessarily make sense, I found an answer.  We would not pursue fertility treatments, and I happily trashed the calendar and thermometer.

Yet we knew our family wasn't complete.  Here is where there narrative makes an inexplicable tangent.  Insert two intense of months of researching and pursuing adoption.  This is not the time and post to go into great detail.  Because this is about waiting for the baby girl in my womb.  But it is true that near the end of the waiting, we talked adoption.  And decided. I spent hours and hours every day researching options.  Together Greg and I narrowed down potential agencies and started figuring out the finances.

I'm sure you can see where this is going--it's so cliche.  Once I let go of my hopes and dreams of getting pregnant, and once we started pursuing adoption, I ... drum roll ... got pregnant!  (Seriously, you can roll your eyes.  I know it's cliche ... but it's also what really happened.)

I was late.  But I'd been late before.  That's the worst--when you go through half a dozen pregnancy tests convinced you must be pregnant because you're still late.  I wasn't playing that game again.  I was NOT pregnant, and I wasn't going to harbor any hope.  Besides, I was up to my ears in adoption stuff.  I was arranging to meet with a mom up the street who had adopted.  I had figured out who should do our home study.  We were registered for a seminar with the state.  And I was on the verge of arranging a meeting with an agency in Chicago.

I woke up one day, and I knew the first thing on my list was calling the agency in Chicago.  I was pretty sure this would be the one.  And arranging to go meet with them was not something I took lightly.  I realized I just needed to know for sure, that morning, that I wasn't pregnant.  I didn't think I was.  But I needed to know for sure.  There were no pregnancy tests in the house.  So I sent Greg to Walgreen's at six in the morning.

I took the test.  It was positive.  I couldn't believe it.  I just stared.  And stared.  Then I rushed out into the hallway.  Everyone was busy getting ready for the day.  The kids were jumping up on Greg needing this and that.  I caught his eye.  "It's positive.  I'm pregnant," I mouthed, in wonder.  Greg smiled.  It was the sweetest, most genuine, spontaneous, straight from the heart smile.  I will never forget it.  And then he took the kids to school.  I stared at the test and thought of his smile.  That's how I felt too.

In case you're wondering, we did continue the adoption route for a while longer.  There was the fear of miscarrying, of course.  Also, we weren't quite ready to abandon the whole idea.  The process takes so long, after all, and we were already quite invested emotionally.  But once I got quite sick, I was ready to let go.  It was time to focus on this particular precious child who was coming to our family.  (I have no idea if adoption if something we would consider again.  Right now, if I were to guess, I would say no.  But I trust that the Lord will let us know.)

So here we are.  Near the end of (what seemed to me) a long wait.  I will admit, the wait has made the experience even sweeter.  I am overwhelmed with the feeling that this child is a blessing.  There is something about being just a little bit older and having had to wait a little bit longer that makes the gratitude in my heart more poignant.  With my first, fear was co-mingled with excitement.  He was my first!  With my second, again fear was co-mingled with the anticipation.  Could I handle two??  But this time, I feel happiness.  No fear.  Just gratitude.  And joy.

One more month!

Chaotic reflections, or reflections on chaos

When we reached the middle of January, I didn't think my life could get more disorganized.  I had bottomed out, and I'd been there, as a bottom dweller, for quite some time.  Little did I know...

I don't mean to be one of those people who's all like, "I'm so busy, I'm so busy."  But I certainly feel that way.  Probably because it doesn't take much to send me off the edge of balance, spinning out of control.  Really, I'm not a person who can have too much on her metaphorical plate. What can I say?  I have a small plate.

The last few weeks my problem has been priorities.  I mean, when it's Christmas, you know you drop everything and do Christmas.  Or when you have a blood drive in three days, you drop everything and do the blood drive.  But right now we're flailing around with a number of pretty important but not super important things.  Like

• What to do about our kids.  Our kids can't stay in their chairs at dinner.  What should we do about it?  We have been busy every Monday night for the last forever.  Should we worry that we haven't had a formal FHE in forever?  Are pull-ups or wet sheets preferable?  What do you do when your kids really aren't friends with each other?  How much Phineas and Ferb can one child watch?  Will my son set the record for tons of snot produced by a single human being?  The usual...

• Buying a new car.  I was resistant.  But it was clearly time.  Greg ran some fancy Nate Silver-esque statistical models and predicted that we could expect to put enough money into our beloved Forester in the next few years that it would make more sense to buy a new car.  You can't fight Nate Silver-esque predictions.  (Does anybody else think he's taken the fun out of elections?  No more surprises! Ever!)  After seriously considering quite a few cars (including a number of Toyotas, of course--because Greg's brother is a big shot at Lexus and can get us a sweeeeet deal), we settled on another Forester.  (But I have to put a plug in for the new Subaru Impreza!!  I was so impressed with this car!  Very well-designed.  Feels roomy for its size.  Great price.  Great gas mileage--with the fabulous Subaru AWD.  Worth checking out if you're looking for a new, safe, reliable commuter car.)  It is a new car.  Like, brand new.  This is our first brand new car.  I don't like it.  I'm too nervous about it.  I'm not driving it until Greg puts a dent or scratch in it.

• Selling an old car.  We're selling our Forester.  I'm so sad.  But I know it's time.  We found just the right buyer.  It was meant to be.  But I'm still sad.  (By the way, David loves the Forester.  He knows we know he loves the Forester.  And we're selling it anyway.  Now he's worried we're going to sell his teddy bear.) 

• Room mom.  I'm a room mom!  Did you remember that?  I didn't.  (Oops.)

• New semester.  It always takes a little while to settle into a new semester...even if it's your husband's new semester and not your own.

• Reorganizing the basement.  Need I say more?

• The Science Fair.  Why did I think this would be easy?

• Being a friend.  I love friends. I love being a friend.  I love having friends  And being with friends.  And helping friends  And being helped by friends.  And thanking friends. And loving friends.  But sometimes I kind of stink at it.  I'm sorry...

• Having painters in my house for two weeks.  It didn't help that I kept changing my mind.  (Fortunately, I have an opinionated friend with good taste who is good about answering my SOS texts.  In a moment of desperation she came over and spent three hours with me carefully choosing a paint color.  You all need a Hillary.)  Also, just so you know, having your walls re-textured makes a huge mess.

• Greg's promotion.  Okay, so not very time-consuming. But I did have to get myself and the kids there.  With our hair combed.  Plus, we're having a party next week.  I can't imagine being ready.

• Repainting and reorganizing bedrooms.  I'm 85% finished with the rooms.  Will I ever finish the last 15%?

• Deciding where Mary is going to school next year.  Discussions and meetings and conversations and more discussions. We made our decision Friday.  Exhale.  (For those of you who don't know, February is the month when you decide where your kid is going to school next year.  That means all your research needs to be finished by February.  And your kid might have needed to be on a waiting list for months already.  So, dear readers who are first-time parents with a babe in arms, tuck that little nugget of knowledge away for future reference.)  

Also, weighing on my mind are some heavier matters that I may or may not blog about.  Busy-ness and weighty matters aren't always the best combination.  (But sometimes the busy-ness can be a nice distraction, I suppose.)

Anyway, to temporarily solve our chaos problem, we're fleeing the chaos.  We're escaping together as a family tomorrow--the Shedd Aquarium in Chicago awaits us.  Sometimes when life sends you a killer bunny, there's nothing to do but "Run away!!"

Three thoughts

One

I don't often write these days about how much I desperately, crazily love my children.  I also don't often think about how I want to freeze time and keep them tiny.  Lately I haven't been completely panicked about their growing up.  I think it's simply because I enjoy them more now.  I don't feel desperate, crazy, and panicked.  So I don't feel desperate, crazy, and panicked about them.  No offense to my kids when they were a little (or a lot) shorter, but I like having a first-grader and a four-year-old so much more than having a baby and a toddler or a toddler and a preschooler.  Am I allowed to admit that?  Well, I am.  Because I am who I am.


Two

It's funny how life doesn't always turn out how you would expect.  When I was in my twenties I just assumed there would always be time for life to turn out how I expected/wanted/hoped.  Not that being 34 is old or anything.  But being 34 is old enough to realize that time may actually run out, that mortality isn't infinite.  So if I would like to change the arc of my life, sooner is probably better than later.  Or, if I am at point A and in so many years I would like to be at point H, then it's probably time to figure out what point H is, and what I might need to do to move onto point B.  I also realize that God lets us know what point H is when we're ready.  Age 34 is also old enough to begin accepting that no matter what, no matter how proactive I want to be, aspects of life that I expected/wanted/hoped may not be.  Guess what.  I can't control everything.  But I can put myself in God's arms and trust.


Three

I am affectionate and expressive with my children.  It is very natural for me.  (This is something that surprises me about myself as a mother.  I'm not sure why, but it's a matter I believe best explored with a therapist and not on a blog.  You're welcome.)  But sometimes I lose my patience with my children.  Sometimes I am short with them. I used to think (subconsciously) that if I was very affectionate with them and then at times short-tempered with them that I would confuse them and so I should perhaps hold back on the affection a little until I had mastered patience completely.  Fortunately, one day I consciously realized what my subconscious had been thinking.  And I squashed that stupid thought.  I have not mastered patience--not even close--but I freely and frequently shower my children with affection.  For all of my faults as a mother, I know that my children know that I love them.  That feels good.

Happy Labor Day to me

It's my birthday!  This year it falls on Labor Day.  Which makes it extra special, since I was born on Labor Day.  (It was fitting.  My mom had an unfun, to put it mildly, labor experience...and birth experience...and recovery experience.  But, deciding to go breech and all, it was my fault.  Sorry, Mom.)

Here are some pictures from my birthday.

It was a lovely birthday.  Can you tell?

Here is how it all went down.

 I slept in.  Some.  Right when I was in the glorious depths of sleeping-in sleep, Mary came into my room ringing a cow bell and yelling, "Bacon and eggs!  Bacon and eggs!"  She was so excited it was my birthday!  So excited, in fact, that she thoughtfully informed me that I would want to get up and make bacon and eggs for myself and everyone else on my birthday.  (Which is why the house did not smell like bacon and eggs.)  I ate a bowl of cereal.

And I also realized, as my kids pranced around the house shouting "Happy Birthday!" that my day was not going to be my own.  My dream dream was to have the whole day all to myself.  But it was obvious that would break my children's hearts.  The clock is ticking--it won't be too long until that they want little to do with their dorky, embarrassing old mom.  So I figured I should enjoy their enthusiasm while it lasts.

Greg took them to Target, while I fruitlessly searched the city for an open nail salon.  Apparently, a pedicure on Labor Day is too much to ask...So I came home and took a nap.  A wonderful, desperately needed nap.  And no one woke me up with a cow bell.  I was finally ready to face my day, calloused feet and all.

Greg and the kids were rushing around baking my cake and wrapping my presents.  David and Mary's excitement melted my heart.  David had flowers for me.  Mary showed me the sparkly nail polish she had picked out--before she wrapped it.  David also gave me for my birthday a book he had recently finished reading, his science fair project, and a hug.  Mary upped his hug with a hug and a kiss.  Actually, it's been a hug-fest all day. I love it!

In the afternoon we dragged the kids out for a walk through the prairies at the arboretum.  I was blessed with gorgeous weather today.  GORGEOUS!  The whining was less than average.  And the prairies beautiful.

Afterwards, we headed to the yummiest pizza place in town, Pizza Brutta.  Mmmm.

At home a party was waiting for me, complete with Hello Kitty plates and a pinata. The pinata nearly gave me a heart attack--I was sure we'd end up with a hole in our wall--or Greg's new nose busted!  But I survived...and the kids loved it.  Their enthusiasm was the inspiring!  They acted like my birthday was the best day ever!  The most important day of the year!  Geez, I have great kids.

Now I'm taking a few minutes to post this--while GREG puts the kids to bed (best birthday present yet).

And I might even think about how I am 34 now.  To some of you that seems ancient.  To some of you that seems young.  And some of you are right here along with me.  During my 20's I would reflect on every year that went by, the meaning of those passing years, and what it meant to grow old.  Every year my anxiety and panic would rise.  (Because, of course, nearing 30 was "growing old.")  Since I turned 30, I've never stopped to think much about my age.  Life's been too...busy, too full with the good and bad and even mundane.  Too rich with experience.

So today part of me feels young.  And part of me feels old.

To be perfectly honest, I think I like the part of me that feels old better.  I've been tutored in the value of wisdom.  Life brings experience, and experience brings wisdom.  And I've just begun.

Thoughts for today

As promised, I am temporarily emerging from my blogging hibernation in honor of Mother's Day.  Expect an explosion of posts (which began last night), and then I am returning to my disorganized closets until Memorial Day.

This afternoon I find myself reflecting on my children.  It seems appropriate: I am a mother because of them.

***

First, Mary.

My daughter.

She is complicated, often a mystery.  Mary is intensely self-aware, and her heart is very tender.  So she has already become adept at building walls to protect her tender soul.  Walls of defiance, walls of screaming or silence, of tears or hysterical laughter.  Walls of apathy or bossing.  Walls of fake giggles and outrageous goofiness.  Walls of perfection and accomplishment. Walls of strict obedience or walls of flagrant disobedience. This makes her complex, and these layers of protection leave me baffled.  She often hides her true feelings, even from herself.  Sometimes I don't know if I am up against one of her walls--or if I am seeing straight into her heart.  I am ever losing my footing, lost in the maze of her protective fortress.  Unsure if I should simply bash it down--because those walls are part of her too--or help make it stronger.

But Mary is not a complete mystery.  I know with certainty that she loves life, that she is eager to learn.  She ever strives for more, and she does not settle.  She is both tender and strong.  I know that Mary is smart.  Her mind is bright and sharp.  I know that her nature is joyful.  And her spirit is wise.  I know that Mary is an amazing human being and a beloved daughter of God.

After she was born, I was a mess.  But still I found quiet moments alone with her.  I would rock her for what seemed like hours and stare into her beautiful, sleeping face.  God would speak to my spirit in these peaceful moments, and I knew my daughter was someone special, someone exceptional.  What a privilege to be her mother.

She sends my heart soaring, and my soul is not complete without her.

***

Next, David.

My little boy, who is not so little.

He is growing, and he is changing...in unexpected ways.  As a toddler and a preschooler, David was a master of coping, of letting things go.  His high energy and impulsive behavior often hid the fact that at his core he was an easy-going little guy.  But no more.  He is sensitive, quick to anger, quick to cry.  He ruminates and broods, he blames and whines.  I suspect that this is part of his process of growing up, of learning to find his way in the world, of maturing.  It's just happening faster than I can keep up with.

With David's deepened sensitivity has come a growing spiritual maturity and a strong desire to do what's right.    He has become more consciously aware of God's love for him, and he is eager to learn of God's plan.  He is thoughtful, happily declaring at Easter time that Judas is really a good guy, explaining it this way:  "Jesus wanted us all to be Resurrected, so He needed to be Resurrected first, so Jesus wanted to die because He had to die, so really he wanted the bad buys to find him, so Judas did a good thing by telling the bad guys where He was. We don't have to say that Judas made a bad choice!"  (What do you say to that?)  David is eager to see the good in everyone.

David is becoming more aware of good and bad, and he is increasingly concerned about making good choices.  He is also realizing that it can be hard to choose the right sometimes.  But he does a pretty good job of it.  I can see in him such goodness.  I am so proud of him.

 I am also happy that he still wants to hold my hand in the parking lot.  And cuddle with me on the couch.

Just when I thought I had him figured out, he grew up.  And I feel like I am starting over, that I am just as lost and overwhelmed as the day we came home from the hospital.  But I knew that day I loved him.  And today I love him even more.  David may have his ups and downs, but my love grows exponentially.

***

When I started this post, I was going to say, "I want to write about the people who made me a mother."  But technically it was Greg who made me a mother, if you know what I mean.  So I'm going to write about him too, my partner in parenting.

I married a very good man.

A while ago I promised you a story about Greg and the Word of Wisdom.  Here it is.

When Greg was but a wee 2nd Lieutenant (read here to see how wee a 2nd Lieutenant is), he was deployed to a super secret location in Jordan.  (The super secret part isn't all that pertinent to the story, but it sounds kind of cool.)  One afternoon he was invited to a meeting with an important officer in the Jordanian Air Force.  Not only was this guy a colonel (if you didn't already, see here), he was also the commander of the base where Greg and his American pals were about to embark on implementing some pretty major plans.  The commander, in a gesture of hospitality, offered Greg some tea.  Problem.  As members of the Church of Jesus  Christ of Latter-day Saints, we don't drink tea.  (Please don't ask me to explain why--just go with it.)  Here is the moment of truth.  Does Greg politely decline the tea and risk offending the colonel?  A man in a position of power, a man who could make Greg's life complicated and miserable?  Does he risk offending the commander of the base where the Americans' presence is secret and tenuous but necessary for upcoming missions?  Or does Greg politely accept the tea...because, really, what's a few sips of tea?  As Greg tells the story, a thousand thoughts were rushing through his mind in that moment.  But then he saw clearly.  He politely declined the tea, explaining that it was forbidden by his religious code of health.  The commander inquired as to what religion, and Greg told him he was Mormon.  The commander's face lit up, and he said, "Oh!  I know about Mormons!  You are much like us.  We, too, have a law of health.  We, too, try to live modestly.  And, like you, family is very important to us.  Mormons and Muslims have many similarities."  Greg breathed a sigh of relief.  He knew he had won the man's respect, and, more importantly, Greg had not compromised his beliefs.  The moral of the story is to be true.  Be true to your beliefs, whatever they are.

The other moral of the story is that I married a good man.

Not surprisingly, this good man is also a very good father.  I would not want to raise children with anyone else.

Here is a picture of that good man of mine, moments after he made the jump from 2nd Lieutenant to 1st Lieutenant.  (Who is that lady with him???)

Yup.  The father of my children.

I wouldn't want it any other way.

***

Thank you, Greg, for our beautiful children.

And a lovely Mother's Day.

Fragmented schedule

I take it back. It's not an illusion caused by a fragmented schedule. I really am stupider.

I was playing Memory with Mary last night, and I am decidedly worse as a 33-year-old than as a child. I have--HAD--a good memory, and I always killed at that game. But last night, no matter how hard I concentrated, I could not remember where the banana was. Or the ball. Or the frog. Or the flower. And just when I was sure I had the umbrella match, I would turn over the card and there was the pizza slice. Arrgg! It was utterly frightening. I really am losing my mind. Already! I guess when my 19-year-old self looked at people in their thirties and thought they were ancient, she was right.

Despite the fact that the deterioration of my mind is real, I still feel like recording a weekly schedule. I did this last year for Greg. I wish I had done it a few times back in these days. And I really wish I had recorded typical days when David was a baby. Don't you wonder what people do every day? Don't you wonder what YOU did every day a few years ago? It's so easy to forget. Or at least it's easy for ME to forget. (My mind ain't what it used to be, remember?)

By the way, last year MY schedule was OUR FAMILY'S schedule. This year Greg is here. And I mean HERE. He has class on campus most days, and he studies a ton, but his schedule is flexible enough to where he can help shuttle kids around or watch them for a few minutes here and there. (It's fabulous!) But I think I'm going to record MY schedule rather than our family's master schedule (which would include lots of Greg).

This isn't a record of everything I do. You'll notice lots of unaccounted for time. I'm only including the things more or less set in stone. Here is the skeleton of my week...

Monday

• Laundry day
• Send out Young Women emails
• Practice reading with David
• Take David to school at 9:15 (Monday is late start day)
• Dynamic Strength class 9:30-10:30
• Pick up Mary at 11:45
• Snack, show, nap for Mary
• No more dance class. (Too bad. But good too--Mary loves her nap.)
• Pick up David at 2:35
• Snack time
• Brick Buddies Lego Club 3:30-4:30 (every other week)
• Make dinner
• Dinner at 5:30
• Family Home Evening
• Bedtime routine 7:30

Tuesday

• Book check-out in David's class 8:40-9:20
• Zumba 9:30-10:30
• Pick up Mary at 11:45
• Snack, show, nap for Mary
• PTO Birthday books at 2:oo OR visiting teachers (depending on the week)
• Pick David up at 2:35
• Snack time
• Practice reading with David
• Make dinner
• Dinner at 5:30
• Bedtime routine 7:30

Wednesday

• Mary to school 8:15
• Gym for an hour
• Clean house
• Pick up Mary at 11:45
• Snack, show, nap for Mary
• School Lego Club 2:35-4:00 (Somehow I ended up in charge of this.)
• Pick up dinner on the way home
• No more 5:30 basketball games!
• Young Women's activity 7:00-8:30

Thursday

• Mary to school 8:15
• Cardio class 8:30-9:30
• Laundry day again
• Pick up Mary at 11:45
• Snack, show, nap for Mary
• A good afternoon for visiting teaching
• Pick up David at 2:35
• Snack time
• Practice reading with David
• Make dinner
• Dinner at 5:30
• Bedtime routine 7:30

Friday

• Mary to school at 8:15
• Cardio and dynamic strength class 8:30-10:00
• Pick up Mary 11:30
• Help in bilingual kindergarten class 12-1
• Grocery store
• Pick up David at 2:35
• Snack time
• David's Friday folder and homework
• Dinner at Culver's or Noodles & Co. or Panera
• Bedtime routine 7:30

Saturday

• ???

Sunday

• Catch up on any Young Women stuff
• Write a letter to my brother Daniel on his mission
• Get everyone's clothes ready for church
• Church 11-2
• Dinner 5:00 or so
• Family meeting (review responsibilities, allowance, calendar) at 6:00 or so
• Bedtime routine 7:30

COMMENTARY

Yes, I do work out almost every day. (Or I intend to. Most weeks it ends up being 3-4 times instead 5 for various reasons, usually sick kids.) I know I don't look like I work out, but I'm battling a bad set of genes and stay-at-home-mom-hood, so, trust me, the situation would be a lot worse if not for my trusty gym membership.

We also fill up our time (and home) with plenty of play dates and friends for dinner. I also have Young Women presidency meetings a couple of times a month (I'm the secretary)--whenever we can manage to get together. And there's the usual errand-running, like Costco, Target, etc. Once a month I have a Relief Society meeting in the evening. I just like being with Greg too much to commit to anything else in the evenings, like a book club or something. Even though we've been reunited for well over six months, I still feel like our time together is immensely precious. (And we do such important things with it--like watching Modern Family and Parks and Rec!)

Afternoon snack time is almost sacred. I cut up some fruit for the kids, give them peanuts or raisins, milk, and a few packaged cookies. (I used to make cookies for them, only to discover they prefer nasty Chips Ahoy.) We all sit at the counter for ten or fifteen minutes and talk. Mary has established a strict system whereby they each take turns saying one thing about school that day. I may pretty much (unintentionally) ignore my kids for the rest of the afternoon while I'm folding laundry, blogging, making dinner, or whatever, but I am totally present for those fifteen minutes. (Yeah, I know my kids deserve more than fifteen minutes, but we have to start somewhere.) I'm good about practicing reading with David. I need to be better about spending one on one time with Mary too.

Evenings I usually spend with Greg, unless he needs several more hours to study. He usually needs at least a half hour or so to finish a homework assignment or something. So I catch up on email or read blogs until he's finished with schoolwork for the day. Then we talk and watch an hour or two of T.V. I also read for a while. Right now I'm reading the New Testament and a biography about T.E. Lawrence. I usually turn off my light by 11pm.

I'm not super crazy busy. Because of our stage of life, I think I have a pretty good balance. We're busy enough that I appreciate with a sigh of relief those mornings or evenings when we don't have to be anywhere. I very rarely wake up with that panicky feeling of "WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO TODAY?!" (like back in the old days). But I also have lots of patches of spare time, and the kids have plenty of down time too. Like I said, it's a pretty good balance.

But even with the good balance, I feel like my time is fragmented. Just when I am focused on and immersed in a task, it's time to pick someone up from school or start dinner or switch a load of laundry. I'm not overwhelmed with the constant crises, sleep deprivation, neediness, and messes of babyhood and toddlerhood. I will admit that I feel freer than when I had a baby on my hip and a toddler on my leg. But I still find that the structure of my life doesn't easily lend itself to long periods of concentrated effort, be it effort on tackling a disorganized basement or writing a thoughtful letter to my baby brother.

It's hard to accomplish anything meaningful.

Correction: It's hard to accomplish anything that FEELS meaningful.

I suppose that's the point. Finding meaning in the rhythm of daily life.

P.S. I realized as I wrote this post that this is one of the very reasons that I like blogging. I can sit down and post something within the time allotted me at that moment, be it five minutes or an hour. I always wish I had more time to be thoughtful. And, I suppose like everyone who blogs, there are a thousand posts in my head that never make it out. But some stuff does make it from my head to the Internet. And it stays there, in its same form. (Unlike the clean laundry and the lasagna and the disinfected toilets.) A single post usually doesn't feel very significant. But after a while they accumulate into something I really like: A record of our family. I guess that counts for something.

Fragmented mind

I have a scientist friend who currently does some heavy-duty technical writing from home ten hours a week. She also has two elementary school age children. We were chatting the other day, and she was telling me how surprisingly hard it is to find ten hours a week to concentrate. In theory it should be easy, just two hours a day. But finding two consecutive and uninterrupted quiet hours for concentration at home every day is quite the challenge. And that's with both of her kids in school. Mind you, she wasn't complaining. She was just stating what she has found to be true in her life.

I was nodding my head in agreement. Vigorously.

Now, I do not have any employment requiring me concentrate at home. But I have often wondered why, since having kids, my mind seems so frazzled and frayed. Right now (for first the first time in five and a half years) I can't blame it on sleep-deprivation. (Hooray! It's true--I'm not sleep-deprived!) But my brain still seems a bit (a lot!) on the mushy side. Why?....I just can't bring myself to believe that motherhood has actually made me stupider....

I think that motherhood has not changed my mind, but it has changed my time. My time is much, much more fragmented now. This fragmentation means that I don't often have long stretching periods of time to really concentrate on a task. I am a slow, methodical person. So not having time (as in several consecutive hours to work on a project, or meditate on and study out a problem, or write something coherent and thoughtful) takes its toll on my life (and my feelings of accomplishment). It also takes its toll on my mind because I get so out of practice concentrating that finally given the opportunity it takes extra long to get the old brain cranking away. (Sometimes when I go to the temple, and have two hours of quiet meditation, I almost start panicking because I can't remember how to be alone with my own mind for two hours straight! It's kind of like meeting an old friend you haven't seen in a while.)

The problem isn't that I don't have time. At this stage of life, we are not frantically busy. I can't pretend that I'm one of those people who is super busy and has to be twelve places at once. I'm not. I have plenty of free time. The problem is that it's fragmented. It's divvied up into little chunks here or there. For me, I'd like to use that "free time" for a million different home organization projects (which are desperately needed), more thoughtful blog posts, or....well, if I ever had more than five minutes to think about it, I'm sure I could come up with something else I'd like to do with huge chucks of unscheduled time. So even though I have a fair amount of free time, it is inefficient time, time frittered away in 20 minutes chunks.

Like the friend I mentioned at the beginning of this post, I'm not complaining. Promise! I'm just stating what seems to be true in my life. I have the fragmented mind of a mother. And I'm not sure I see the situation changing anytime soon.

***

Hmmm. I am suddenly feeling inspired to record my schedule for a typical week. Maybe I'll do that. But not right now. I have 13 important minutes to fritter away uselessly before I have to be somewhere.

Bookshelves

If you look at my blog regularly--or even occasionally--you have might have noticed what a complete random disaster our bookcases were. You can see this mess in the background in some pictures here and here and a million other places too, I'm sure.

There are three reasons why the mess on the bookshelves didn't bother me for so many months.

1. The books were no longer in boxes. So the bookcases were a big improvement. Okay, so maybe the Bible was crammed behind Captain Underpants and the art books were stacked sideways with a 15-year-old road atlas of Britain and I couldn't find anything if my intellectual or spiritual health depended on it. (Wait. Or my physical health! David asked me the other week how you get out of quicksand and it took me half an hour to find the Survival Handbook. Thank goodness we weren't really sinking in quicksand.) BUT AT LEAST THE BOOKS WERE NO LONGER IN BOXES. (Which is where they sat for a long time.)
2. Glass doors. I strongly recommend glass doors for your bookcases. You can shove all kinds of random reading material onto them every which way--and then you close the glass doors. And abracadabra! Suddenly your shelves are artfully disheveled--and look as though they could belong in Gary and Elaine's house. In case you were wondering, our bookshelves are from IKEA. They have held up quite well through two moves (always a concern for military families). This past move one of the knobs broke off, so we had to replace all of them. I'm not sure how many more moves they will survive--but that IKEA particle board is so much more affordable than the alternatives.
3. I'll get to #3 later.

Last weekend I was struck with the overwhelming desire to rearrange furniture. (No matter how hard you try, you can never get it right the first time. Every time we move, I figure that if I am super thoughtful and take careful measurements, I CAN, I WILL get it right the first time. But it's impossible.) So Greg, wonderful Greg, got to remove all of the books before he moved and re-anchored the shelves. I figured the least I could do is return them to the shelves in a somewhat ordered fashion...

Ta-da!

People often comment to me on what you can learn about people from their books.

Hmmm, I wondered, what do people learn about us when they look at our bookcases?

First, there's the Norton anthologies. Ding! Ding! Ding! Dead giveaway: Undergraduate English major in the house!

That indicates that the books on the shelf are the English major's and will reveal more about her than her engineer husband. True, some of the books are Greg's (e.g. pretty much any fantasy minus Harry Potter sure isn't mine). But any books that reveal what Greg does with his mind are in his office, which is too bad because I think a hardbound copy of Disaster Response and Recovery would look quite lovely next to my Romantic poets anthology.

You might also notice the adult fiction to (non-reference) nonfiction ratio.

Looks like somebody values fiction way over nonfiction.

It's kind of unfortunate that the bookcase has so few nonfiction books because, these days, I rarely read fiction. And I guess a lot of the nonfiction I have read lately has been borrowed from friends, family, or the good old-fashioned library. So the bookcase does not reflect my current reading habits. It's a more accurate picture of what I was reading five to ten to fifteen years ago.

This here in the middle is what remains of my middle school class library.

Even though I only taught middle school for one year, I still thought of myself as a middle school teacher while I was teaching high school (for two and a half years)--and I obsessively collected books for my phantom middle school class. I had multiple copies of popular books, books that were trendy in the moment, and books that will always be classics. At its peak, my collection probably would have filled almost two of those bookcases. But over the years, I have gradually, steadily weeded it down. It was more than a little painful, but I deemed it necessary. It was hard to justify the amount of space the books took--many of them mediocre or so trendy that they were losing their relevance. I even gave away many of the very good ones--better to be in someone else's hands than trapped behind those glass doors. What I have left is a rather random assortment. Oh well. I have accepted that I am not going to have a middle school language arts classroom ever again: those measly three shelves of books are the proof of that acceptance. (I've gotten rid of the clothes and the library--if only I could bring myself to go through the boxes of lesson plans and teaching files in my basement.)

I have not, however, let go of the possibility of teaching writing again. Hence, the unusually large assortment of writing handbooks, grammar books, and convention reference manuals:

Okay, so our bookshelves tell you that you're in the home of a former English teacher. What else?

Oh, yes, we're Mormon. Can't escape that:

You never have too many Bibles, hymnals, or copies of the Book of Mormon.

Also, you might notice our travel books. Yes, we like to travel, be it to the flat water of Eastern Maryland or the islands of Greece--and we have been very lucky to have had opportunities to visit various places in our country and abroad.

I used to think hanging onto our travel books was kind of tacky. Guide books become outdated almost immediately--so even if we were to return somewhere, we wouldn't take our old guide book with us. So what was the point of keeping them?

The memories, duh!

I love our travel books. Sure, if we were ever to return to Egypt or Cyprus (which is probably going to happen NEVER), we would get our hands on the most recent guide books. But, for now, we love having them to pull off the shelf and remember where we've been. I'm terrible about labeling pictures, so they're a quick reference when we're in search of the name of that restaurant or state park or castle. And they have become kind of a travel history of our family. (I think the only major trip that's not represented on that shelf is our visit to Spain and Portugal. And that's because we simply showed up at the Dover Air Force Base passenger terminal with a big, fat Lonely Planet guide to all of Europe and told ourselves we would get on the first plane no matter where it was going. Well, the first plane was going to Spain. So we ripped out pages to Spain and Portugal and tossed the rest of the book--we were traveling light. And the Spain and Portugal pages eventually got tossed too, after our return. I wish I could see a nice squat Spain book on our shelf! Guess we'll have to go back.)

So that's a tour of my bookcase.

And now I'll get the number 3 of why I didn't mind the bookshelves being a horrendous mess for so long:

Because I didn't want to think about my books.

You see, the books are a more accurate representation of who I WAS than who I AM. It's kind of painful to remember to how much I loved studying literature, how much I used to love reading fiction, how much I loved my one little seventh grade class at Springville Middleschool, how much I loved challenging my mind in graduate school, how much I loved teaching that community college writing course, how much I loved traveling to "exotic" places.

But it wasn't as painful as I thought it was going to be. In fact, as I thoughtfully, even lovingly, placed each book on the shelf, I began to feel my soul fill with a quiet warmth. I liked remembering how I was. Even more, I liked remembering who I am. And who I was is a part of who I am.

The bookshelves may not tell the whole story. But they tell part of the story. A part of the story that I don't want to forget.

Plan A

We are living Plan A.

As I have lamely attempted to explain before, I believe there is a myriad of possibilities for our lives. Good possibilities. God certainly has a will for each of us, and that is to return to live with Him someday. But that doesn't mean He wills every tiny thing that happens to us. We are truly free to make choices, and they are often not between good and evil. Often we choose between several good opportunities, and God allows us to use our own brains and be guided by our own desires (only interfering when necessary--like when what we sincerely believe is a good choice really isn't). When our choices, or the choices of others, lead to disappointment, great good and learning and wisdom can follow. As paradoxical as it may seem, our lives can take many twists and turns as we remain on the straight and narrow path back to God. And now I will stop trying to summarize something I can barely explain to myself.

The point is: I believed Wisconsin was one of many good possibilities. In fact, I believed it was Plan B,* but God was going to bless us as if it were Plan A. In fact, as compensation, He would bless us even more. We feel deeply satisfied living here. I can't imagine a better place for our family right now. It feels good and right to be here. But there was always a deep, nagging mite of a worry that this was a back-up plan. Could things have worked out differently? Should things have worked out differently? And what if they had?

*I am interrupting my train of thought to point out that Wisconsin was more like Plan Z than Plan B. Wasn't a staff job and moving to San Antonio Plan A? I guess that would make graduate school in Atlanta Plan B. Oh, wait. At first, there was all that interest in U.C. Berkeley and Michigan. Going to George Washington in D.C. was probably Plan E. Oh yeah, and then there was the week that Plan K was coming into effect: we would move back to Dayton while Greg commuted to Ohio State. (Did you know that, Ohio Friends? We were really, truly moving back to Dayton. We even had our home search narrowed to two houses in Oakwood, and Greg was super excited to be a part of OSU's program. I was so excited to tell you, Ohio Friends, that I didn't, lest I jinx the whole thing.)

Now, what was I talking about?

Oh, yes... Isn't Wisconsin one of many good paths for our family? God is happy we're here, but it's not like "it's God's one and only will," right? Aren't there other good places we could be living right now in parallel universes?

No.

We are EXACTLY where we are supposed to be. THIS WAS THE PLAN ALL ALONG. This is Plan A, and it always was. We just didn't know it.

Shocking, isn't it? For me, anyway.

(You should know that it's a really big stinkin' deal for me to make such a definitive statement like, "This is God's will." I don't take that phrase lightly.)

Back when we were excitedly implementing Plan K (Ohio), it (Plan K) suddenly felt wrong. It made me sick to my stomach. But it made perfect sense! But it made me sick to my stomach! But we could live in the same house for six years! But it made me sick to my stomach! But we already had friends and family in the area! But it made me sick to my stomach!......It made me sick to my stomach. Period.

And what should bring great peace and happiness to my soul?

Wisconsin.

Wisconsin??!!!??

Wisconsin.

Since the dawn of time, Wisconsin wasn't even an option. It wasn't even the tiniest atom of a possibility. It was nonexistent. NONEXISTENT. I thought about Wisconsin about as often as George Washington thought about the iPad. Then, it kind of seeped into consciousness, and Madison made this list. I almost didn't include it on that list because it seemed so....out of the realm of possibility. (In fact, the only reason I included it is because I like lists of 8 more than 7.)

Yet, suddenly (like in the matter of an hour), Wisconsin moved from the fringes of the Universe right smack dab to the center of ours. We were moving to Madison. And it felt overwhelmingly RIGHT.

But even as things fell into place--a beautiful home, a great elementary school, a loving Montessori Children's House, a friendly church congregation, a lovely landscape, a strong community, a good engineering program--I still doubted deep, deep down in a dark corner about whether we could (should?) be living a different life. Was there a Plan A we would never experience? What was Plan A anyway? And would it have been even better?

The whole point of this post is an official record for our family that THIS IS PLAN A.

Greg and I have had experiences (which are private, sorry) that have confirmed to us without a doubt that this is where we are supposed to be. The Lord led us here. I am a little surprised and a lot humbled that the Lord had a very specific place in mind for us. No other university, town, or house would do. It was a twisty, turny, topsy, turvy path--but it led us exactly where we needed to go. Without Plans B through T, we never would have chosen the real Plan A. It was a long time of muddling through life until we finally knew the question we should ask the Lord, and He was ready and willing to shout the answer, "Yes, Wisconsin!"

So here we are.

With peaceful hearts.

(And at least some definitive answers to this.)