Knitting

My friend, Sue, is a masterful knitter. She makes beautiful things. My friend, Anne, picked up the handicraft in like a nanosecond. I figured, "how hard can it be?" I bought myself some pretty yarn and some needles. Now my hands are cramped up and I want to cuss. It's harder than it looks people, and I'm not sure why anyone says it relaxing.

because i need to post some pictures of 2010

I am SOOOOOOOOOOO bad at documenting our existence through photography. Horrid. But we were all present for 2010. We went on summer vacation. We did stuff. We went places. Honest. More to come..


Going on a ride
yep...those are chaps; every good cowboy needs em.


We have yet to convince Emma that the dog is not her on personal baby.


Moab
CA coast
Sexy bald man hauling darling 3 year old on a hike in Moab
Pebble Beach
Davenport CA - amazingly gorgeous place
Obligatory picture at the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco
Lake Tahoe
San Francisco

Breckenridge - we answered the question, "what happen if you add shampoo to a jetted bath tub and then turn it on?"

Bloggified version of a Christmas Card

· The Wood house is currently home to 3 adults, 6 children, and 3 puppies. . Steph’s longtime friend and her 2 sons moved into the basement apartment this June.

· This summer the Wood’s family friend and pastor announced he, and his family would move to Chicago and plant a church. Thus began a virtual avalanche of event ending in both Eddie and Stephanie stepping into leadership roles at the church. Eddie currently serves on Leadership Team of our small church and also serves in the role of executive pastor. (We like to call him “Pastor Ed” ). He does all this while he continues his full time employment with Legacy Partners.

· Stephanie is providing leadership to the small group ministry at Jacob’s Well Community Church. She is also homeschooiing the kid’s again, thus verifying that one should be very careful about what one says one will “never do again”. Actually, both mother and children have been pleasantly surprised by the experience.

· Ethan ,10, played his first regular season of tackle football, and now watches the Broncos with the zeal of a kid with real football smarts.

· Emma,8, has become quite a little cook. She can be sent into the kitchen by herself, recipe in hand, and emerge with something really yummy created all by herself.

· Caleb, 7, has started to learn the piano and we are discovering he has quite an ear. It’ll we be fun to this talent emerge in years to come.

· Abby, 3, has much to say—about EVERYTHING. She loves the color pink and likes to play school with her big sister. She might, quite accidentally, learn to read here soon.

· This fall the children, all 6 of them , successfully campaigned for the acquisition of puppies. Longtime pet hater, Stephanie Wood, has been converted. The puppies are trouble, but the cute factor weighs heavily to their advantage.

· Kota (short Lakota Pumpkin—naturally), is the Wood family pet, she is darling, smart, and a bit spoiled.

· The Wood family did not even attempt to attain a Christmas picture wherein all member were nicely dressed, smiling, and looking in the same direction. Apparently, doctors will not prescribe Valium for such events and the adult were unwilling to attempt such a feat without being properly medicated.

THE DIGITAL STORY OF THE NATIVITY

Generational poverty and aging out of foster care

Last year I hardly ever blogged. I was too busy. So I missed the opportunity to process what I was learning, what I was seeing played out in front of me. I think it's time.

Our basement is a one bedroom apartment with an separate entrance. Last year a teen mom lived there. She was 19 and had 2 kids. She had also aged-out of foster care. Before she came to us she was homeless. The majority of kids who age-out of foster care end up on the streets or in correctional facilities. That's how it rolls.

Our friend was pretty, and smart, a fiercely protective momma. She was up against incredible odds. A chance to live in our basement, to partner with a mentor from the Hope House, and get accepted into college (with grants) should have been what she needed to make a "go" of life. And she did, for awhile. But my guess is that she is either on the streets again, or very nearly so.

People rallied around this teen mom to pull her out of her circumstances, but ultimately the weight of her past pulled her back into the life she knew. Because, while our friend didn't want to be hungry and homeless and helpless, she was much more comfortable in a life operated around those things than in a life of relative security. She was used to chaos, and the cortisol buzz from crisis was her drug of choice. She literally did not know what to do in a world where someone didn't need to be bailed out of jail, or didn't have to scrounge up change for a bus ride to the food pantry. She didn't know how to feel safe.

There is a culture of addiction, and a culture of generational poverty that is drastically different than middle-class America. Asking a girl who grew up in generational poverty to leave it for middle class America is like asking me to up and move to China. I wouldn't know the language. I wouldn't be familiar with the food. I would operate under a different value system. I would feel like a "foreigner", and I would have to leave my family behind. Even the clothes would be different. Culture shock and assimilation would be huge issues. Assimilation might very well feel like I was betraying my home country.

Our friend's choices made no sense until I understood this.

The first few months our friend was here were a honeymoon for her. She had food, a job, a safe place for her kids. Her relief was palpable. But then there came a point where her continued progress, her healing, depended upon her making the hard choice to leave her old life behind. She could not stay friends with people in her old life and embrace her new life. She could not have a relationship with her birth mom (a felon, addict, liar), or her boyfriend (same goes) and break the patterns of co-dependence.

The Bible says, "A double minded man is unstable in all his (or her ) ways". This was exactly the case for our friend. She wanted all of the benefits from life in our basement apartment, but in the end she was not willing to pay the cost of HOPE." It was her undoing.

I learned a weird thing about addiction while our friend was a part of our life. Addiction is not only about the addict. It's about the people in the addict's life who make the addiction possible. It's the wife who buys doughnuts for her morbidly obese husband. Or the spouse who calls in sick for their partner when the hangover from last night's binge is too much. Codependents become addicted to "feeling needed" by addicts. We would not have allowed a chemically addicted person to take up residence in our basement. Our friend wasn't; but she was terribly codependent. We learned that codependents are addicted too. They are addicted feeling needed, to solving a crisis, to smoothing over. Ultimately our friend couldn't give up her habit.

She returned to her abusive and addicted boyfriend. She returned to her birthmom. She returned to squalor. And she took her young children with her.

I knew from our adoption training that a bed, clothes, food and education can't heal brokeness. A heart healed is a product of unconditional love, the hand of God, and ultimately the broken persons choice to heal. We show up willing to give. We love. We tell the truth. And we understand that our value is independent of another person's choice to heal or not heal.

Laughed so hard I nearly...

I hate to laugh at other peoples expense, but really when they make it so easy...what's a girl to do. And you thought your 7th grade year book picture was awkward. It ain't got nuthin' on this.

I'd like to write a novel someday

I'd like to write a novel someday. But it sounds like a lot of work.

I am not opposed to work per se, even hard work. But the thing is I've got a bunch of other stuff that needs doin'. Boogers to wipe - for one. Also, I'm the resident guru of 1st, 3rd, and 5th grade math 'round these parts. And it comes with responsibility - who will teach long division if I will not?

"Here am I, send me."

Then there is the laundry. It. Must. Be. Handled.

"Here am I, send me."

And the therapy to attend.

"Here am I, send me."

Dinner doesn't cook itself, now does it?

"Here am I, send me"

Sometimes I can say it with grace, with abandon. "Here am I, send me."

Those words, those 5 one-syllable words, they basically hand over my right to dictate my own life. Self actualization is traded in for servanthood. And the greatest shall be the least. On the good days...

I am happy to be a stay-at-home momma.

Happyish. (For it was never my dream.)

But I'd like to write a novel.

Or go to grad school.

Or travel.

However...

My life is not my own.

So Lord, let me find joy in the ordinary, and the day to day. Get my head out of the clouds and my feet on the ground. Help me to find satisfaction as I wiggle my toes down into the dirt of life. Remind me that the endless dishes, and the mundane tasks have a purpose. Help me to be faithful. Help me to be joyful. Help me to be generous.

I'd like to write a novel some day.

If I don't do it before I die, I'll just write it in heaven.

Busy bags and homeschool tricks

This morning I spent an hour and a half putting together "busy bags". Other people have cuter names for these contraption - but it's all the same. We homeschool moms are working to keep our "littles" busy while we school our "bigs". So we pull out ziploc bags, or shoeboxes and fill them with activities to keep our preschoolers occupied. Play-dough. Lacing Beads. Puzzles. Audio Books. And the trick, the imperative, is that these things do not come out unless mom hands them out. They are not for everyday use. They are special, and must remain novel in order to work.

Of course, these "busy bags" only work when your child is NOT hell-bent on creating havoc. But they do, generally, buy some time to bust out a little algebra. I know good homeschool moms are supposed to like to put together things like these. I don't. Seriously folks, I nearly flunked home economics. But somethings we do out of necessity. And my survival instinct is strong.


The other day an acquaintance from church came over and was uber impressed with my white board, chunked up into neat little boxed for each child outlining the work that needs to get done. She said, "Are you a really organized person?" Yea -NO! I am a person residing in a home with 9 individuals and three very young canines. 6 kids. 3 puppies. 2 dealing with recent trauma. 1 in therapy for her "quirky" little brain. And I homeschool. That white board and any semblance of organization you see is about me makin' it work. And it does work - at least most days.

But least you think I have it all together I must 'fess up. I don't have a solution for this one: a particular 3 year old is completely obsessed with dog food. She love to play with it. She loves to throw it, and eat it. She loves to gag puppies with it. I think its a weird sensory thing combined with ZERO impulse control, and just a smattering of "I'm pissed at the puppy for stealing the show." Looking for a solution here.

Things that don't work:

-Moving the food.
-Screaming and yelling.
-Requiring the offender to pick-up the mess.
-Gentle reminders

Eric Ludy - Depraved Indifference

Advent, and my dog might die...

I like Jesus better because he was born in a stable. Or a cave. Or whatever. It wasn't the Ritz-Carlton, or St. Josephs Hospital. And I like him better for it.

I can serve a God who can enter into the mess and redeem it. I can love a God who will be with me through the ugliness.

Because, my kid's got special needs.
And my friend 's husband is an alcoholic.
Wellbutrin, and Prozac are close personal friends.
And my puppy might die, despite the vet bills.

There's a kid up the street who's a pothead and breaking his momma's heart.
And there's a guy, a very talented guy, toting so much baggage he is his own worst enemy.
Despite what Hallmark says love cannot heal post-traumatic stress, and malnourishment.
The scars of abuse remain decades after the fact.

I don't need a god of sugarplums and fairies. I'd prefer a little dirt under the nails. Cause that's where I life.

So today, this season, I will worship Emmanuel. GOD WITH US.

Homeschool and Christmas

I tend to blow off the natural rhythms of life, preferring instead to ascribe to the guilt and shame modality of my Baptist heritage. Life SHOULD be full of grace and truth, fun and diligence, training and recovery.

But I am, apparently, above that nonsense. I work, work, work then fall flat on my face in exhaustion. Looking back I can see patterned played out over and over again.

This is how it looks as it applies to homeschool:

By December we are ready for a break in the routine, plus the holiday season brings with it lots of other commitments. One would think that, I would adjust accordingly. Homeschooling provides that kind of flexibility. NOPE. Traditionally, I hunker down and bust out some school, making every one in my path as miserable about education as I am. Then mid-December, my determination fizzles and I say "screw-it" . I then embrace Christmastime in all its cookie making gluttony. Novice homeschoolers take note:

THIS IS DUMB!

DON'T DO IT!

IT IS NOT SMART!

Plan for Christmastime. Enjoy it. Live up the beauty of homeschool. And for goodness sakes, be okay with taking some time off. This would be much smarter. And this is what I am doing this year.

We're making a recipe book of Christmas goodies and calling it handwriting.
We're gonna read "A Family Under the Bridge" and call it Language.
We're gonna double a candy recipe and calculate the cost of ingredients, and that will be Math.
We will probably read some of Luke, which will of course, be Bible.
Maybe we will make some ornaments: ART.
We're gonna make some cookies, and candies, and that will be science. Because there really is a science to cookie and candy making.
Then were gonna go shopping in the World Vision Catalog and buy us a some ducks and a goat, so that a family escape abject poverty. Maybe that's social studies, but even if it's not were doing it.

There are some beautiful things about homeschool. This December I'm determined to relish them.