44 houses
22 cities
6 states
4 countries
We've been in our current home for just over six years. It won't be our last. But we still have a little longer here. I'm okay with that.
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Nomad no more...
Cleaning out the desk this morning I came across a list I'd made of everywhere I've lived.
44 houses
22 cities
6 states
4 countries
We've been in our current home for just over six years. It won't be our last. But we still have a little longer here. I'm okay with that.
44 houses
22 cities
6 states
4 countries
We've been in our current home for just over six years. It won't be our last. But we still have a little longer here. I'm okay with that.
Friday, June 29, 2012
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
Takes a beating...
So...yesterday we had a storm blow through. A short storm. No more than 20 minutes or so. And a tornado. And 80 mph winds. And hail.
Once again, our little home got off lucky. Our neighbors? Not so much. Their massive oak tree took down our power line, but missed their house and everyone else's. Our power was restored within 24 hours. Internet finally came back up this evening.
And my husband? He went out for a run and got caught in the middle of it. I may, or may not have been a wee bit hysterical by the time he staggered in the back door...dripping, beat up but up right.
New house rule: Check weather forecast before heading for a run.
Once again, our little home got off lucky. Our neighbors? Not so much. Their massive oak tree took down our power line, but missed their house and everyone else's. Our power was restored within 24 hours. Internet finally came back up this evening.
And my husband? He went out for a run and got caught in the middle of it. I may, or may not have been a wee bit hysterical by the time he staggered in the back door...dripping, beat up but up right.
New house rule: Check weather forecast before heading for a run.
Sunday, June 24, 2012
Thursday, June 21, 2012
For the new folks...why a blog?
A few years back I found myself home alone with a newborn and a 2-year-old. My husband was still working the midnight shift so it really did feel like I was going about this whole parenting/survival thing single handedly.
The loneliness and the overwhelmingness of it all was excruciating. So I did what I had always done. I started writing. But instead of pen to paper as a means of clearing the mind clutter I took to the internet. And that's how this blog came about. I made it public because I knew I wasn't the only one out there going through the same issues. I figured if even one other mother, one other law enforcement wife found comfort in the fact that I was making a complete mess of it then putting all of my fears and failures into words was worth it.
Some of my greatest pain has been poured out in this space. But so has some of my greatest joy and peace. Through it all I have met an amazing group of people. Some come and go, some stick around longer than others, some left in huffs when they realized I neither needed nor wanted their prolific advice, others left when they realized that I stood up for my beliefs and opinions just as strongly as they did, and then...then there are a few who have my back no matter what. And I will never be able to express how very grateful I am to have them in my life!
I write for myself. I share stories and pictures for family living far away. And now, writing down my stories from childhood, I write for my children. They'll read all of this one day. I'm sure they'll take to their therapist as evidence against me and their dad. I'm fine with that--as long as I get a share of royalties from their own tell-all book.
Over the past several days something amazing has happened. When I wrote the first piece about my memories growing up in Africa I shared it with my fellow TCKs/Global Nomads/MKs. The response, not just from them but from everyone else who discovered this little blog from those posts, has been overwhelmingly supportive.
I always get a little nervous when my dad shares my blog link...he does it every now and then for various reasons, the last time being the epic chocolate cake I made him for his birthday. But I figure when I link to it, the people who see the link have a pretty good idea as to what they're in for. I'm not the perfect missionary/preacher's kiddo. I cuss when the occasion calls for it...and it often does. Sometimes the post is little more than a goofy discussion I had with either one of my children or my husband. There's a link on my sidebar to my husband's blog. He deals with the shifty underbelly of humanity on a routine basis. His means of coping are much like mine--write it down, preferably with either a glass of IPA or a shiraz...or, on a truly bad day, a couple fingers of Glenmorangie. We're both human. We're also both each other's strongest supporter.
So here's the blanket disclaimer: I do not ever intentionally mean to be offensive. If, at any point, you are offended, then I apologize. But I'm most likely not going to take back whatever it was I said that set you off in the first place. Neither do I tolerate inflammatory, racial or personal attacks in the comments. I don't have a problem at all if someone disagrees with me...but keep it respectful and I'll do the same. As I tell my children, as soon as the argument/discussion crosses the line of attacks and disrespect--I automatically win by default.
With all of that said...Karibu sana! Stick around and chew the news for a bit.
The loneliness and the overwhelmingness of it all was excruciating. So I did what I had always done. I started writing. But instead of pen to paper as a means of clearing the mind clutter I took to the internet. And that's how this blog came about. I made it public because I knew I wasn't the only one out there going through the same issues. I figured if even one other mother, one other law enforcement wife found comfort in the fact that I was making a complete mess of it then putting all of my fears and failures into words was worth it.
Some of my greatest pain has been poured out in this space. But so has some of my greatest joy and peace. Through it all I have met an amazing group of people. Some come and go, some stick around longer than others, some left in huffs when they realized I neither needed nor wanted their prolific advice, others left when they realized that I stood up for my beliefs and opinions just as strongly as they did, and then...then there are a few who have my back no matter what. And I will never be able to express how very grateful I am to have them in my life!
I write for myself. I share stories and pictures for family living far away. And now, writing down my stories from childhood, I write for my children. They'll read all of this one day. I'm sure they'll take to their therapist as evidence against me and their dad. I'm fine with that--as long as I get a share of royalties from their own tell-all book.
Over the past several days something amazing has happened. When I wrote the first piece about my memories growing up in Africa I shared it with my fellow TCKs/Global Nomads/MKs. The response, not just from them but from everyone else who discovered this little blog from those posts, has been overwhelmingly supportive.
I always get a little nervous when my dad shares my blog link...he does it every now and then for various reasons, the last time being the epic chocolate cake I made him for his birthday. But I figure when I link to it, the people who see the link have a pretty good idea as to what they're in for. I'm not the perfect missionary/preacher's kiddo. I cuss when the occasion calls for it...and it often does. Sometimes the post is little more than a goofy discussion I had with either one of my children or my husband. There's a link on my sidebar to my husband's blog. He deals with the shifty underbelly of humanity on a routine basis. His means of coping are much like mine--write it down, preferably with either a glass of IPA or a shiraz...or, on a truly bad day, a couple fingers of Glenmorangie. We're both human. We're also both each other's strongest supporter.
So here's the blanket disclaimer: I do not ever intentionally mean to be offensive. If, at any point, you are offended, then I apologize. But I'm most likely not going to take back whatever it was I said that set you off in the first place. Neither do I tolerate inflammatory, racial or personal attacks in the comments. I don't have a problem at all if someone disagrees with me...but keep it respectful and I'll do the same. As I tell my children, as soon as the argument/discussion crosses the line of attacks and disrespect--I automatically win by default.
With all of that said...Karibu sana! Stick around and chew the news for a bit.
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Africa Storytelling...chapter 2
Nomads...
How does one pack up one's life, one's family and move over the ocean and across the world?
Moving was nothing new to our little family. By the time we were preparing for the Big Move, we were already on my 5th house. I was only four years old. But this time was different. The furniture was staying. The psyco cat who would attack our feet for no reason was going to a new, child free home. Our family of four was moving out of a two story house into 50 foot motor home for the next year (my dad just informed me that it was only half that long...to my 4-year-old self it was massive!)
Over the years, when I've been asked about my best Christmas memory, I always go back to that first Christmas morning in Mwanza in our own home. Opening up toys we already owned and the simple joy of having them back. I know my parents worried over whether or not my sister and I had enough. We had enough.
How does one pack up one's life, one's family and move over the ocean and across the world?
Moving was nothing new to our little family. By the time we were preparing for the Big Move, we were already on my 5th house. I was only four years old. But this time was different. The furniture was staying. The psyco cat who would attack our feet for no reason was going to a new, child free home. Our family of four was moving out of a two story house into 50 foot motor home for the next year (my dad just informed me that it was only half that long...to my 4-year-old self it was massive!)
Everything we chose to keep was going into 50 gallon drums. Some were going to be stored in my aunt's garage. Others filled with clothing, toys we couldn't live without and small household items were going to be shipped to Tanzania...to be kept in storage until we arrived to collect them.
Safe and sound in a 3rd world warehouse. There was no way for that to go wrong. By the time we caught up with them it was evident someone else had gotten to them first. Our own lists of contents had gotten mixed up so it was unclear until they had all been unpacked as to what was left alone and what was taken. It's funny what some people place value on. And it's also true that God looks out for mad men and fools. The items that were irreplaceable, mementos to remind my mother of home, were untouched.
After time spent in Kenya whilst my parents attended language school and my sister and I attended the local missionary day school, we packed up again and flew to Tanzania.
It was to be my first of many, many flights on one of these tiny aircrafts. It was also the first time we learned I get horrifically air sick. The planes are loaded with the heaviest in front to balance out the luggage in the rear. Which meant the smallest passengers also sat in the rear seats. One of the greatest days of my life was the day I was the only passenger and I sat up front with the pilot. Not only did he let me take the stick for a while but when he noticed me getting a little green he leaned over and opened up my window. Instant cure!
We had been led to believe there was a house ready for us to move into when we finally arrived in Mwanza, Tanzania. Their intel was inaccurate. For our first eight months we house sat for various other missionaries when they were out of town. One of the local Bible colleges allowed us a small guest house when nothing else was available.
My parents found a man who ran out of money whilst in the process of building a house. They took over the project with the promise we could live there until our own house was built. It was poorly built, not a single bare cement floor was level and there was an entire room that was simply a shower...with an in-floor toilet. But it was ours. We moved in a week before our second Christmas in Africa.
My mother was busy that week. After three years of being on the move, we finally had a place to settle into for a while. As they were unpacking barrels they came across personal items of mine and my sister's they had assumed stolen and lost forever. Seeing as it was so close to Christmas, they chose to wrap them up and put them under our tiny little three foot artificial Christmas tree.
Maturity...
The Boy's birthday falls on a week day this year. His dad is working. All of his cousins will be out of town. His grandparents will be out of town.
*sigh*
He's been planning his party since before we even cleaned up after last year's.
I sat down and talked the whole situation out with him this morning. Explaining why a big party is kinda out of the question.
I could actually see his little heart breaking.
I told him he could pick where he wanted to go eat for his birthday and that we'd have a family party on July 4th when the whole family will be back together (minus the eldest cousin who is off performing with Spirit of Atlanta this summer...yeah, he's that awesome.)
But will I still get presents?
Yes, sweetheart. Not only will you still get presents--but you will get two days of presents!
So can we go to Cracker Barrel?
*sigh*
He's been planning his party since before we even cleaned up after last year's.
I sat down and talked the whole situation out with him this morning. Explaining why a big party is kinda out of the question.
I could actually see his little heart breaking.
I told him he could pick where he wanted to go eat for his birthday and that we'd have a family party on July 4th when the whole family will be back together (minus the eldest cousin who is off performing with Spirit of Atlanta this summer...yeah, he's that awesome.)
But will I still get presents?
Yes, sweetheart. Not only will you still get presents--but you will get two days of presents!
So can we go to Cracker Barrel?
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