Arriving in Suburbia

It's nearly Christmas. We've been back in the US for a year. We've passed another round of birthdays and made new friends. But big things are still happening.

Number 1 got braces. After years of recommendations and months of consults, we paid the fees, got the x-rays, and took the jump. For my almost 13 year-old it means monthly visits, no more popcorn, and a common bond among middle-schoolers.

Number 2 is turning 12 on Christmas. Our small-ish apartment is in boxes so having several of his robust buddies over to celebrate isn't really appealing. Which leads me to another first; Laser Tag birthday party. I don't throw my kids parties. It's just a thing. That's something "other" moms do. With one kid born near Thanksgiving, one on Christmas, and one after the New Year, the timing never seemed appropriate. But, for goodness sake, he's 12...in America. Laser Tag it is. Pizza, soda, games, the works. I just show up and pay.

Number 3 is the first kid in our family to be involved with the Christmas Eve Service at church. The whole month of December has been filled with rehearsals, costume preparation, and reminder emails. She is an innkeeper. She sweeps, shakes her head at the Holy Family, then points and directs them to another inn. My total commitment; 10 hours. Total payout; 2 minutes on stage and the knowledge that for just a moment, she was doing something really special all by herself.

Number 4 has been frolicking in tutus her whole life. In a flurry of events, she is finally in a proper ballet class. Each week she tip-toes away to class while I sit in the waiting room with other moms. It's all new for me.

When we move in a couple of weeks, we will live in a neighborhood, a distance away from the fourth floor of an apartment complex with a parking garage. We will utilize the backyard, the sidewalks, and the super-close commute to church and activities. For years when I was overseas, my state-side friends would groan about their duties as chauffeurs. I'm not doing too much of that, but I'm starting to realize why life in America is good. We can do anything.

Or equally...not do anything, which is sometimes good for me as well.

Moving in the Right Direction

We are on the move again. In April we will celebrate our 14th wedding anniversary. We will also move for the 8th time. As Granny puts it, "At least you won't become hoarders!" I know some of you may be asking, "Why do they do this to themselves?" Allow me to explain.

As parents, we are constantly analyzing whether we are the reason for future therapy for our kids. We wonder if we're wrecking them or if we are ever doing enough to help them succeed. Every time I sell a bed, discard an old toy, or repaint a wall back to builder beige, I wonder if I am causing my kids irreparable damage. I think not. Through our nomad lifestyle, our kids are always allowed to save their own special belongings, but they truly aren't that attached to their stuff.

We've tried to impress upon our family that household goods are just things. Memories with loved ones, vacations to exotic places, and enriching experiences can't be wrapped in paper and saved in a box anyway. The truth is, nothing REALLY belongs to us anyway --- except underwear. Underwear is definitely yours.

I've asked myself many times what lies in the future for our gypsy family. I've asked my kids about their future goals. Their top answers; mission work, the Marines, a flight attendant, a teacher, and any number of other professions that aren't limited by a specific location. Was this all part of the plan? Are these moves about my ambitions, career goals, or desires...or is it something bigger?

So why do we keep moving?

The honest answer? The truest thing I can tell you...God only knows. No, really, I'm sure he does. When I'm looking back at my life, I'm confident I'll have a better answer, but for now, I just wait patiently for the itinerary. When he lets me in on the next location, I'll be sure to let you know.