How Is It Supposed to Feel?

We have a high school graduate. She's currently in the French Riviera celebrating her freedom. Jokingly, one of my husband's co-workers said to her, "Don't get kidnapped!" Really, moron? Really? This will be her second time to Europe without me since we've been back in the States. I'm completely jealous and yet totally happy for her solo adventures.

People keep asking us the same question; "How does it feel?"

How did it feel having four kids under five? How did it feel moving my family to Russia? How did it feel when my kids fired me as their home school teacher? Exhausting? Terrifying? Incredible? All these things and more.

Today my husband and I took an American Heart Association First Aid/CPR class which is a requirement for our foster journey. I was required to watch a brief video of this in order to take Number 2 home from the NICU 15 years ago, but other than that, I've never gotten certified. I sure am glad none of my kids have needed it because I wasn't equipped. Sheesh, my house is safer now than it has ever been!

"Are you ok? Are you ok?"
Begin 30 strong chest compressions to the tune of "Stayin' Alive."
Two breaths.
Listen.
Use the AED.
Repeat as needed.

It feels like that. It feels like I have to keep breathing. Keep counting. Keep living.

In the Blood

I like John Mayer. I'm not ashamed. He's one of the great modern day poets. Listen. Really. Here's a song that's got me choked up lately:

How much of my mother has my mother left in me?
How much of my love will be insane to some degree?
And what about this feeling that I'm never good enough?
Will it wash out in the water, or is it always in the blood?

How much of my father am I destined to become?
Will I dim the lights inside me just to satisfy someone?
Will I let this woman kill me, or do away with jealous love?
Will it wash out in the water, or is it always in the blood?

I can feel love the I want, I can feel the love I need
But it's never gonna come the way I am
Could I change it if I wanted, can I rise above the flood?
Will it wash out in the water, or is it always in the blood?

How much like my brothers, do my brothers wanna be?
Does a broken home become another broken family?
Or will we be there for each other, like nobody ever could?
Will it wash out in the water, or is it always in the blood?

I can feel love the I want, I can feel the love I need
But it's never gonna come the way I am
Could I change it if I wanted, could I rise above the flood?
Will it wash out in the water, or is it always in the blood?

I can feel the love I want, I can feel the love I need
But it's never gonna come the way I am
Could I change it if I wanted, can I rise above the flood?
Will it wash out in the water, or is it always in the blood?

In our parenting class for prospective foster/adoptive parents, we were making a list of positives and negatives about foster/adopted kids. One I hadn't thought of is that a child who isn't biologically your own won't share your worst behaviors, traits, or family tendencies. You know what I'm talking about. When your kid looks at you with a snotty face and says some cutting remark and it seems familiar, because you've said it and done it in the same way.

But it's also scary. Scary to take on a new person who you don't know. Their origins, their history, their perspective. We've always told our kids out loud, "I'm glad God made you a Goudy." If I believe that, if I really do, then I have to believe that God put me in my family, too. And that God put kids who will come to our home in their families. Obviously, it didn't work out for a time, but it doesn't mean they aren't who they are meant to be.

Family's a tricky thing. It can mean everything to some people, it can mean nothing to others. It can be the beginning of pain or it can be rememberances of deep joy. I won't pretend that my family or my kids are perfect. They aren't because we are people. But they're pretty good at loving and welcoming others in. They're good at putting extra beds up and moving things around to make some space.

Loaded with Expectation

I don't really like Mother's Day. I never have. When I was a kid, it meant that we had to behave properly during church to "honor" our mother and that dad would try a little bit harder to make things easy on mom that day. It meant obligatory flowers and lunch. I always thought that requiring kids to make moms feel special was kind of inauthentic.

As a young mother, it meant that any three out of four years, my kids threw up on me. In my bed. "Happy Mother's Day! Blechhhh." I'm not kidding. I actually quit planning to go to church on those mornings. I also hate the expectation that for one perfect day, my kids are supposed to pepper me with sugary compliments and flowers because that's what everyone else is doing. And Hallmark said so.

One year, some friends of mine were comparing what they were getting for the holiday; diamond necklaces, flowers, a day at the spa. One of my friends said to my kids, "What are you doing for Mother's Day? What does your mom want?" Number 1 said calmly, "All my mom wants, all she's ever wanted, is a quiet day alone."

She's right. I don't want the flowers, the brunch, or the plastered on smiles of small children. I want peace and quiet. A day to ponder.

I'm in Boston as I write this. My husband and I came up here for the weekend to catch a Red Sox game and since I work remotely, for me to visit my office to meet some colleagues face to face for the first time. I forgot it was Mother's Day until I looked at the calendar. When we lived overseas, we didn't really celebrate Mother's Day. They have instead, International Women's Day. I like this much more and here's why.

I know a lot of incredible females. Some of them will never have children. Some have lost children. Some are in custody battles and won't see their kids today. Some are insecure about their parenting and aren't really sure they should have had kids. When I got on the bus in Boston today, the driver asked every female rider if she was a mother. I wondered about their stories. Do they have a child who has died? Maybe one in prison or lives far away? Maybe their kids were placed in Foster Care and they never got them back. I'm not unbiased about this holiday situation. I think Father's Day is equally difficult.

So I'm not going to write about my own motherhood. As I think about new kids coming into my home, I want to minimize my successes and instead cherish what other people teach me. So on that note, I'm going to share a few life lessons that I've learned from my non-mother friends about life and humanity.

One has taught me enthusiasm for the unknown. One has taught me that diving in head first to social justice requires more than 40 hours a week. That having hobbies isn't a crime. That your closet needs well selected quality items to look your best. That traveling alone can be an invigorating experience. That being an aunt/neighbor/mentor is really fun and has great benefits.

Hello, Can You Hear Me?

It's been awhile. A long while.

Since my last post in November of 2015, we moved within the Northern Virginia area, then moved to the greater Atlanta area, quit homeschooling, took new jobs, and settled down. We've been in the same house, same school district, same jobs for two years. Which is when we start to get an itch. The kind of itch that causes complete uprooting, shifting, boxing, and changing everything.

But we made a promise to our kids that they could all (ALL) finish High School in this district. That gives us six more years.

So we are starting a new adventure. One that made me dust off the ole' keyboard and get up at 6am on a Saturday to deliver the news to you. Who am I kidding? I get up every Saturday at 6am. It's quiet and I can sip my coffee in silence.

Foster Care.

When I said that, did your heart skip a beat? Did you start cold sweating? When we mentioned this idea to our kids, they were unanimously supportive. One child said, "Hey, at least we aren't moving!" But wait, let me go back. There's more to the story.

When we moved to Georgia, I asked my husband to buy us a house. He and I have moved together 11 times. He knows what I like. He also knows that most of our houses are temporary and I'm not too fussy if it's not going to last forever. But this time, wow, he nailed it! Each person got to pick one thing they might like in a home. Here's the list:

Husband: An unfinished basement so he could have an eternal project for weekends that adds value to the house.
1: A fireplace where she can curl up, read a book, and drink her tea. Her spirit animal is a cat.
2: The same distance or less than we were to the school in Virginia (2.6 miles) for easy activity participation. His spirit animal is a dog.
3: Her own room. The only TRUE introvert in our whole family. Trust me, we did the Myers Briggs and tested everyone!
4: A flat driveway where she could roller blade with EVERYONE in the neighborhood.
Me: A Gas stove. I've lived in enough places to know that electric is a pain in the butt, and frankly, I spend a majority of my life in that location.

He found all this and more. He built me a library. The house had four bedrooms, but he built a fifth and a sixth. At Thanksgiving, when 20 people are here for the week, it feels right. But most of the time, the house is just too big. As you are reading this to yourself, please do not think, "What a complainer! Who thinks a house is too big?! What's her problem?" The thing is, I know our capacity. The six of us have cozied up in a three bedroom apartment, in tiny townhouses, and shared a single family home. We know how much space we need and this house has an excess.

Also, if you know us well, you know that we rarely collect "stuff" and instead collect people from our various homes. Which brings me back to our greedy house. In the quiet of six people living here, it groans. It whines and complains that spaces aren't getting used and noises aren't being made. Please understand, I'm not pining for babies or wishing for the old days. I just like to see happy faces gathered around a kitchen table playing games, eating food, and sharing laughter.

So we're doing it. Foster Care. We've been wanting to for a very long time, but didn't have the stability. But it's finally happening. We have completed background checks, submitted applications and references, and finished 28 hours of training. We are rearranging rooms and beds and making things safe and welcoming for some new kids. Not kid. Kids. Actually, we're on the list for teen sibling groups. Because nobody else is. And they're people who need support. So, I'm back. To update, to share, and to invite you along our journey just like I did so many years ago when we moved to Russia. Hang on tight. This is going to be a wild ride!

A Bouquet of Freshly Sharpened Pencils

I've seen your pictures on Facebook. Your kids are back in school. Mine too. Or at least they are lying around in their pajamas reading banned books like Call of the Wild and Uncle Tom's Cabin while I dutifully categorize our personal library and straighten up the glue sticks.

They have entered 3rd, 5th, 7th, and 9th grades. I am the teacher of all subjects. And the secretary, the principal, and athletic director. My salary is unprecedented because it is zero.

As we dive into our sixth year of homeschool, I am often asking myself, "What am I doing?" Usually the curriculum is purchased in June, ignored in July, and begun in August so we can take a vacation in September. This year is entirely different. I forgot to buy curriculum. Or maybe I meant to forget. Whichever it was, there aren't any math books on the shelf with labeled names. Today I bought folders. Not sure yet what they're for but I bought them. I may need them.

I've got four very different kids. Some love math and science and others loathe it. Some are found sneaking books to church, in their beds late at night, or at friends' houses. Some think books make great coasters. Some are dyslexic and good with their hands. Others have soaring vocabularies and brilliant reasoning skills. They are all dangerous. And beautiful in their own way.

I never thought it would last this long. As I am writing this, Number 1 is doing high-school biology in her room. Number 2 is disassembling a bike tire and re-installing a tube. Numbers 3 and 4 are singing the names of the United States while hot-gluing boxes together to make....something. This morning we read poetry and books about early civilizations. Some of the people in the pictures were topless (there wasn't censoring in BC) and nobody seemed to notice.

It's worth it. Beyond the struggle, the planning, the pep-talks. It's worth it.

Confessions of an Introvert

I am an introvert.

I am not ashamed, but I am realistic. I have four kids and I homeschool. Sometimes I secretly long for the early mornings spent shopping at the Russian supermarket where I would drive for thirty minutes, shop for an hour, check out for thirty minutes, and drive back home all in complete silence. Upon arriving home, no one would be up yet so I would grab a cup of coffee and sit. Silently. Alone.

It's different now. The kids have grown out of naps and early bedtime. My son plays baseball and football. There are team meetings and parent planning sessions. My girls have ballet, babysitting jobs, and social calendars. I lead a small group at Bible Study and teach two classes at homeschool co-op. My social sphere has never been so big and I have never done so much talking to so many people in an average week. Sometimes it's exhausting.

My husband is an extrovert. He's everyone's favorite at a party. He's easy to talk to, always asks the right questions, and never tires of new surroundings. I am happy to hang on his arm, nod and smile, and eat my food. But he can't always be there. I have to improvise. For the sake of our family, I have to change my title, even for an evening.

Some of you reading this may be surprised. You may think to yourself, "But she has people over all the time. She is always throwing holiday parties and having get-togethers. What do you mean an introvert!?"

It's true I assure you. I recharge in stillness. I feel energized by total isolation.

I just heard someone say today, "People need people." We do. Even I need people. It's just that I need people in small doses, one-on-one sitting across kitchen tables, at a coffee shop, or in my living room. I need people to volunteer to pick my kids up from youth group, to bring me a coffee now and then, and to ask me for help so I can return the favor. I need people to make me laugh, to play games with, and to tell me I'm not a crazy person to think that wearing heels at eleven isn't ok. I need people to want to be with me and to give me the freedom to say, "not tonight."

I confess, sitting quietly in my room with a book and some chocolates sounds pretty good. But then again, sitting with you and a book and some chocolates sounds even better. Maybe I'm something of a people-person. Maybe I'm just a person and that's half anyway. And no matter what, when you leave my place, I'm always glad you came.

Upstairs, Downstairs

It's been three months since I've written. I did move again so that counts as something, but truth be told, I have felt uninspired. There were baseball playoff games, ballet recitals, Spring Concerts, and other standard American customs which I have been ducking for years. It's not all bad, just demanding of my time, energy, resources, and minivan. So many hours in the minivan. I swore I wouldn't be that lady. But this Spring...I was.

So we are renting a large house for at least the next two years. My priority while searching was four bedrooms and a place for a schoolroom. My husband's priority was a Ping-Pong table in the dining room. We both got what we wanted. The upstairs has four bedrooms and two bathrooms. The main level has a schoolroom, living room, kitchen, half bath, and dining room complete with a Ping-Pong table.

And then there's the downstairs. Some of you may know that when we moved into our temporary place back in January that it came with a 26 year-old itinerant speaker. Now he lives in our basement at the new place.

Ten years ago, If I had made a list of things I would never have imagined doing, it may have looked like this.

1. Move to Russia
2. Homeschool my four kids
3. Encourage my husband to take a job where he travels the world 65% of the time
4. Move to Washington DC
5. Communal Living

There are many more, I'm sure, but I want to land on item number five for a moment. Since I aim to protect his online presence just as I protect my kids', we will simply call him M.

M lives in the basement. He has a bedroom, a bathroom, a living room, an office and a job. There are virtually three separate levels in the house. We live upstairs, he lives downstairs. But when we're all on the main floor, we're just living...together. We share meals, laughs, and assigned laundry days. Number 4 beats M at all board games. Number 2 challenges him to Ping-Pong and beats on him like a brother. He questions Number 1 about hard topics and she is helping him learn how to live with girls. Number 3 tells him everything honestly, especially pertaining to his wardrobe, which she finds appalling.

He's not a Chris Farley motivational speaker. He has real substance and got his Masters at Oxford, which we use to mock him when he makes a mistake. "Did you learn that at OXFERD?"

When my husband is in town, M is his golfing buddy. They talk politics and religion while drinking beers. Together, we all play Settlers of Catan, taking turns gloating about our world domination. He is a fly on the wall observing our parenting, oftentimes in the corner chuckling at some child's indignant behavior. I can't help but laugh too. I think my kids are getting a better mom out of the deal. M to me is like a little brother. I am trying to help him find his way in this big crazy world and avoid some of the unseen pitfalls. He encourages me to keep being myself with my family. He's met our parents, we've Skyped his.

I'm sure some of you have concerns. Some of your concerns may be legit. Honestly, I would wish a 26 year-old Itinerant Speaker on all of you. I can't explain the why. It just works and I am thankful for it.