The CHILDREN

Do you guys miss my kids?  Because I do.  I really do.  In THREE WEEKS, I will be done teaching and I will have ALL THE TIME to spend with them.  But until then, I get them in little bursts, bedtime routines, and pictures from Olli.

So, the AMAZING thing is that through Olli’s amazing hospitality, our house has become the neighborhood hotspot.  Brilliantly, Olli has managed to keep the chaos OUT of our actual house, confined to the driveway and front street.  The kids play street hockey, floor ball, and have driveway picnics out front.  They ride bikes and build tracks from sticks.  They have fights (our boys were grounded from the neighborhood kids last week) and make up.  It’s awesome.

The boys have started playing lacrosse through city sports.  Benjy scores goals.  Henry doesn’t (yet) but enthusiastically cheers for his team with all sorts of vim and vigor.  They love the helmets and pads.  I love that they can play a stick sport that doesn’t involve ice time in America.

Adelaide is PRECIOUS.   Once again.  I say once again, because she hit a rough patch earlier this spring.  Direct quote from her preschool teacher: “I have never seen such rage in a four year old.”  It was Olli to the rescue (again!) spending time in her daycare class and rewarding good behavior by spending lunchtime with her.  But now she is great.

She’s so great.  She does this thing where she asks if she’ll have things when she’s older and then immediately thanks God for it.  Like, “Mama, am I going to get married when I’m big like you?”  “Do you want to get married?”  “Yes. ”  “Okay, then.”  “God, thank you so much for giving me a husband!”  Lately, it’s been, “Thank you, God, for giving me a husband with long hair!”  And she thanks God for the kids he’s given her and all sorts of other things. Really, it’s inspiring.  Name it and claim it.

The boys are in piano lessons.   They’re also continuing in chess lessons.  Henry’s also taking drawing lessons.  Adelaide is in… no lessons.  Poor third child.  She’ll get something someday…  When we get back from holiday in Finland. We leave in a month tomorrow.

The end.

My own State of the Union

Okay, guys.  Real talk.

2017 has been kicking my ass.  KICKING IT.  Without remorse. Without hesitation.  Without mercy.  Just relentlessly kicking my ass.

From all sides.

It’s honestly hard to know where to start, so I’ll start big and work my way inwards.

Let’s talk about the election. And the unexpected toll his first weeks in office have taken on my psyche.

As soon as he got elected, people started panicking, right?  I remember hearing the news, standing in my bathroom that morning and crying.  I remember thinking, “What am I going to tell my children?”  It was a terrible feeling.

But I also remember all the insanity that happened afterwards.  The speculation.  The rumors.  And I thought, “Hey.  It’s going to be BAD, but it won’t be ALL BAD.”  Because, truthfully, I held out hope that the electoral college would pull a fast one and actually elect Clinton.  I sincerely believed that was possible.  Far more possible than this person becoming the leader of the free world.

Anyway, so I poopoo-ed all the “what-ifs” only to find upon his inauguration that it would be WORSE.  That he would put the WORST PEOPLE EVER in power.  That he would silence scientists with gag orders.  He would declare internationally renowned news sources as fake.  He would consolidate his power with so many executive orders that we couldn’t keep up.  So many orders that affect the weakest members of our society.

And let’s be clear- I’m pretty much personally unaffected by any of his orders or him as a human being.  I’m white, super educated, middle class.  Yes, my husband is an immigrant, but he’s not the sort of immigrant people are yammering on about.  Just the way that although I was an immigrant in Finland, people didn’t mean ME when they made those xenophobic comments- even though I wasn’t earning enough of an income to pay taxes, lived off the state raising my children for years, and didn’t properly speak the language…  WHITE PRIVILEGE IS REAL, people!

So, okay- yes, I’m white, educated, middle-class AND I’ll be dead before all the bees die off, leaving our world with no way to regenerate itself.  So, I’m going to be just fine.

But I’m devastated thinking about those that aren’t okay.  Thinking about those who don’t have parents to fight for their education.  Those who don’t have access to a safe place for the night.  Those who are in the middle of a war they didn’t ask for.  Those who WILL be alive long enough to see the effects of our completely unsustainable lifestyle.

And because 90% of my Facebook feed are wonderful liberals, I saw that I wasn’t alone. We were all devastated. And angry.  And empowered.  We were all reading the news and calling our Senators and Representatives.  Of our own states and of other states.  We were marching and rallying and singing “We shall overcome!”  And it was beautiful!

And overwhelming.

Because I also have my own real life.  On top of this mess.

So, I took a step back.  I took Facebook off my phone, so I couldn’t have access to all the horrors.  I meet with a political group once a month and send postcards there.  I’ve taught my students about fake news and biased news.  And I need to think/pray about more real, concrete actions I can take that won’t send me down the rabbit hole to depression and anxiety.

I feel comfortable airing out my political frustration on the internet, but the rest of my frustration won’t be written here.  My blog isn’t my diary.  If you’re the praying kind, please pray for my school, my fellow teachers, my students.  Please pray for my family.  Please pray for my church life and my spiritual development.  Please pray for fulfilling employment for Olli and me.  Please pray for peace and health and love and sanity.

If you’re not the praying kind, I also accept massage gift cards.  🙂

Until next time, friends…

 

 

 

She’s FOUR, you guys.

Adelaide Grace is the greatest Adelaide who ever lived ever in the history of the United States and beyond.  Period.  The end.

Her little voice.  HER LITTLE VOICE.  I just want to bottle it up and save it forever.

I want to bottle her sweetness.  The way she fiercely hugs me in the morning.

I want to bottle her strength.  That girl can climb those monkey bars like no one’s business.

I want to bottle her snuggles.  She starts or ends most nights in our bed, sharing a pillow with Olli, pushing her feet against me.

I want to bottle the way she says “Mmm… Mmm… Mmm…” when she eats.  I’m torn, because I really do think she needs to stop it.  I can’t imagine her as a kid in elementary school getting teased for making eating noises while she eats it.  But I also think it’s the CUTEST THING EVER and I’ll beat up any kid who teases her anyway.

Nah, she’ll take care of them herself.

Anyway, so I just ask Ade, “Does that taste good?” So at least she’s aware of it.

I want her to stay this age FOREVER.  Even though she has nonsense tantrums. Especially in the morning when she doesn’t want to pee.  But because she’s the youngest, I’m like, “Do you need me to carry you to the toilet?”  With poor Benjy, I was like, “You’re four now.  BE A MAN.”

Oh my gosh this girl.  THIS GIRL.

She’s unstoppable.  She’s my soulmate.

Last Giving Post… Kinda

Have you ever said, “Ouch!” before something actually hurt?  Like, have you ever shouted, “Ouch!” anticipating pain, but then the pain never actually came?

This morning, in a Motel 6 in Amarillo, I was using their itty bitty bar soap and I- unsurprisingly- dropped it.  I just knew it was going to hit my foot and break a bone or two, so I cried out, “OUCH!” Only, it didn’t hit my foot.  It landed in the tub, nowhere near me, and didn’t hurt at all.

In some ways, that’s what I’ve learned about my year of giving- especially financially.  We’ve been hit some big financial blows this year- my Finnish credit card was stolen and we still haven’t recouped that money. We had our own version of Watergate- the leak in our rental property that wasn’t our fault followed by a leak that was.  We’re still out LOTSA money there.

And yet, here we are!  We’re housed and clothed and fed!  And not only that- we’ve had amazing, epic vacations.  We’ve got more and more and more!

It’s funny, then, that my first reaction when giving FINANCIALLY is still OUCH.  When leaving money for the maid, I had to literally say to myself, “Give!” in order to give the tip that woman deserved.  I have to push myself to be extra generous to good wait staff.  I do it, but it’s not second nature yet.  I’m still worried about tomorrow, even though I’ve never really had cause to be.

Luckily, I’ve already gotten my word for 2017.  And it’s “again.”  That’s right- AGAIN.

And when I got this word, I was like, “No.  No.  God, no.  I can’t do this.  I can’t do this AGAIN.”  Because I’m so tired and depleted by “give,” I’ve been crawling, hobbling towards 2017 with the promise of it being over.  Only to be told, “NOPE!  Not over!  Again!”

I got my word right around Thanksgiving, so I’ve had some time to think about what this word means.  My words have always meant more than I thought they would, and it’s exciting to discover their nuances as the year progresses.  But so far, here’s what I’m thinking.

Give AGAIN.  I’ve already had some conversations with God about how I’ve been exhausted with this word.  And I’ve already shared with you about how I’ve felt a little underappreciated and sorry for myself.  But recently, God let me know that I have two very specific mission fields- my students and my children.  And I need to focus my efforts on them.  I don’t need to give to every person and cause that comes my way- I need to give effectively and purposefully.

React AGAIN.  I think- I don’t know, but I suspect- that some uncomfortable conversations and moments are coming my way.  A friend of mine recently gave a talk about wounds that have scabbed over but weren’t properly cleaned.  And about how God will sometimes dig in and clean out an old wound and how that wound is temporarily SUPER PAINFUL but you’re ultimately better for it.  I think God’s going to bring some stuff up that I’d prefer to let alone, but that he knows isn’t finished.  I don’t have specifics yet- I don’t have things in mind, really, and I’m not sure I’ll blog about them when they come because they might involve conversations with other people, and that’s not something I blog about.  But I think it’s going to be a difficult year personally, but ultimately good.

Go back.  I don’t think I’m going to need to reinvent the wheel here.  I think I can return to things that have worked in the past, draw from experiences, and do it AGAIN.  In this case, the word is a comfort.

So, 2017. Here we go AGAIN.  I’m ready.  Bring it.

Christmas

I have a lot of pictures from Christmas. And you’ll see none of them. Because in my last minute quick dash to pack any random items within arms’ length, I didn’t think to include my memory card reader.  So, you’ll have to take my word for it that Christmas this year was MAGICAL.

The magic started with a special flash sale on Frontier airlines.  We cancelled our Mexico plans (yes, we traded MEXICO for WISCONSIN- we’re those sorts of people) and in a jiffy had planned that Olli would drive out with Ade on Wednesday and I’d fly out with the boys when school was over on Saturday.

Except that the boys’ school WASN’T over by Saturday.  And I didn’t know that until I was standing with the boys in the jetway and Benjy looked at me and started talking about the school he was going to miss the next week.  “WHAT?!  You have school next week?”

“Yeah.”

“How many days?”

“I don’t know- two, three?”

MOTHER OF THE YEAR.  Luckily, Olli did know they were going to miss school and had let the office know we were going to be out of town.  Even luckier, it was really just 1.5 days- they got out Tuesday and Tuesday was a half day.

We got to Wisconsin and winter had arrived. We’ve spent the week ice skating and sledding and building snowmen and playing with the neighbors and visiting family and watching TV and opening presents.

Because Christmas.  Holy moly.

And in the midst of the chaos, I took a minute and looked around and thought, “I’ve got three sleepy kids in the backseat, Christmas music is on the radio, my stomach is full of tacos and cookies- life is GOOD.”

Being in Wisconsin has allowed us time to get away from the demands of real life and gel together again.  We’ll leave tomorrow for another road trip home. We’ll stop in two new states, bringing our total state count for the year to SEVENTEEN.

And before I go, random memories from the kids that I will love to revisit in a few years (or months- no telling how soon I’ll get nostalgic).

• Henry looked at me Christmas Eve and said, “Oh!  I forgot to write my Christmas list!” I was like, “Umm… That ship has sailed, kiddo.” And he said, “I thought we wrote our lists on Christmas Eve and then we get the presents Christmas Day.”  “Yeah… not so much.”  Undeterred, he wrote his list anyway.  He drew pictures.  He wanted a hockey stick, a police car, and a set of Lego (any kind).  We were 0-3. Luckily, Grandma K. got him $10 (“I can buy a hockey stick!” he exclaimed), and my cousins got him a Lego set (THANK YOU).  We’re still out a police car, but he’s our contented little kitten anyway.
• All of our kids have been taken off their sleep schedules for DAYS due to our evening shenanigans with all the lovely people in Wisconsin. It hid Ade the worst, though.  She passed out on our way to Christmas Eve service at 4:30, and kept sleeping while I went in to grab our seats with the boys, and kept sleeping as Olli brought her in when the service started, and kept sleeping as she snuggled into my lap, and kept sleeping through all the hymns and the sermon.  That was my greatest Christmas gift- holding my sleeping child. It never happens anymore.
• Benjy and Henry learned the art of building snowmen this year.  They’d built a few in Finland, but this time they were able to build them BY THEMSELVES.  If you’ve never built one, there’s a definite strategy, and it’s a ton of work.
• Benjy and Henry also learned the art of climbing giant sledding hills over and over.  It’s a delicate balance of trudging uphill and resting.
• Benjy is really into “inventing” these days.  Not only is he going to invent the first ever real light saber when he’s grown up, he’s also going to invent a version of Pokemon go where the Pokemon and Pokeballs are projected onto the ground in real life AND a waterbed that can be both heated and cooled with the touch of a button (that last one was brought about by a quick bounce on my uncle’s waterbed- maybe the only one left in the known universe).

MERRY CHRISTMAS, EVERYONE.

Hopeless Wanderer

Dad.  I have something to tell you.

You might want to sit down for this. Okay, are you seated?  Maybe you want to take some deep, calming breaths.  Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth.  Are you feeling good?  Zen?  Alright.

Confession time:  I got a tattoo this week.  On Tuesday.  At 5:05 pm.

It’s visible.  Very visible.  On the back of my arm.  It reads “hopeless wanderer” in typewriter font.

I know! I know you’re disappointed.  Why?  Why, after years, decades, of you calmly explaining how you don’t like tattoos do your daughters KEEP INSISTING on marking their bodies with permanent ink (like how I quietly shifted attention to my sister, there?  Classic sibling move).

If it makes you feel any better, Olli’s disappointed, too.  So, you know, you can bond over that.

AND I (yes, even I), after receiving said tattoo, also totally lost my shit.  I mean LOST IT.  I mean woke up in a blind, shaky, gut-wrenching panic at 3:00 am and frantically Googled “tattoo removal” for a straight hour.  So, you’ll be happy to know that I can- at some point, should I want to- remove the tattoo for about a thousand bucks and minimum discomfort.

If I want to.

But, Dad, as of now, I don’t want to.  Because as it turns out, after the adrenaline left my system and after I had a chance to get used to this VERY VISIBLE and VERY PERMANENT writing on my arm, I kind of love it.

It’s me.  I’m a hopeless wanderer.  And it marks (literally) where I am right now in my metaphysical journey (I don’t even know if I used metaphysical correctly).  And, to quote Joe my tattoo artist, “It’s just really f-n’ cool.”

So, Dad.  I just wanted to give you some time to wrap your head around it.  We’ll be back in Arizona in 10 days.  Just practice that deep breathing I suggested earlier and rest in knowing that tattoos these days aren’t really TOTALLY permanent after all…

 

Giving again.

I’ve got six weeks left in my year of “Give.” And *phew* what a journey.

This morning, as I locked myself out of my classroom for a good 20 minutes, the only lone soul in the school awake and on campus before sunrise (I require a few hours to psyche myself up for the day), I had some good time to reflect on this journey and this year and where I started and where I’m at.

Because where I’m at is tired.  And feeling a little sorry for myself.

I mean, I’ve GIVEN this year.  I have given time, money, talent.  I’ve pushed myself and stretched myself.  I’ve depended on God to fill me, because at the rate I was pouring myself out, it wasn’t looking good.  The whole year was like a giant trust exercise.  I’d tell God, “I mean, I don’t really think I can do this, and I don’t particularly WANT to do this, but I’m going to GIVE anyway.”

And it was all going okay.  Because I felt needed and useful and those are two things that I like feeling.  I liked feeling like I could make a difference.

Until I got burned.  Repeatedly.

All of a sudden, people were like ungrateful.  Not just like they weren’t saying thank you- I don’t actually expect a thank you- but they were saying no, thank you.  We don’t want you. We don’t need you.  You weren’t actually doing a good enough job.  You’re not actually important to me.

And I got my feelings hurt.

My dear friend who has been on this journey with me all year said, “Sarah, I think He’s telling you to give up.  Stop taking stuff on.  And release some of it.”

Which helped a bit, because I’m tired and need to let go, and it hurt my feelings less to think that God was the one who was releasing me from duty instead of people asking me to step down…

But still I was hearing God clearly say, “But you need to GIVE.  Keep GIVING.”

And I was like, “Look, God!  I’m giving and they don’t even want it!  I’m not actually filling a need.  What’s up…?”

So, this morning, stuck outside my classroom God was all, “Sarah.  I asked you to give because it was going to change you.  I needed you to respond in kindness and generosity no matter what.  I’m not worried about how people receive you.  I’m worried about how you react.  Don’t be hardened.  Don’t be angry.  Don’t be resentful.”

Then he said, “Just give.”

And so I will.  I gave a student a couple pairs of fun socks (his Secret Santa bailed on him last Christmas, and he was still sad about it).  Today, I’ll give my students their own copies of The Catcher in the Rye (which I’m so excited about, I can’t even tell you).  I’ll give my time and buy more ramen and hot sauce for our school fundraiser.  And I’ll give up my evening to emcee the awards night (my own actual biological kids will come, too!).  And I won’t expect a thank you.  And I won’t be sad when someone complains.  And when some students lose their books or throw them away or whatever, it won’t stop me from buying more books to give to more students.

Because I’m supposed to give to change me.  And that needs to be enough.

 

Boundaries

So the word that I’ve been using a lot lately is “boundaries.”  As in, I apparently have no boundaries.  As in, I repeatedly bite off more than I can chew, over commit myself, over involve myself, and then melt down.  It’s pretty much been a pattern my entire life, but now it’s threatening to derail me.

Basically, at the moment, I’m having trouble coming to the realization that I’m not actually the real mother to my 100 or so students.  They actually have their own families and their own commitments and their own lives.  And just because I love them completely and would do anything for them doesn’t actually make me their parent.  Their success in life is not actually a direct reflection of me and my fleeting time with them before graduation.  And when they behave like total idiots, it’s not actually on me or directed towards me, and I can’t take it personally.  All these are really hard lessons to learn.

Because what makes me a good teacher is that I love them.  I listen to them.  I try to understand them.  I hold them accountable.  I challenge them.  But then I send them off for 90% of the day and they’re left to their own devices and I worry.

And that, friends, is parenthood, EXCEPT I’M NOT THEIR PARENT.  I’m actually a teacher who is going to have a new set of 100 students in about 4 weeks.  And if I continue to worry like this, I’m going to have a heart attack. Plain and simple.

So, suffice it to say that autumn break has arrived just in time.  A forced break where I get to spend time with my own biological children to whom I actually have a lifelong commitment.

Apparently, autumn break is code for abandoning all social norms concerning hygiene, since I walked around today an unshowered, undeodorized mess.  And my vow to myself is that neither product nor straightener will touch my hair, no tinted moisturizer, eyebrow pencil nor mascara will touch my face.  I will wear flip flops and pony tails and bathing suits and truly take the week off.

And maybe I’ll read a book or two about how to create boundaries.  Because I just don’t have enough room to house all 100 children each school term. And it’d be REALLY expensive to send them all to college.

 

 

Henry the Six Year Old

HENRY IS SIX YEARS OLD.  We spent yesterday ice skating at the nearest rink.  Luckily six year olds are still rather springy when they hit the ice.  It’s been a while since he’s had skates on.

As he was opening his present from my mom, he said, “Whatever it is, I know I’m going to love it!”  It was a basketball shirt, shorts, and jersey.  He insisted he put them on immediately.

We had cookies from Paradise Bakery.

He chose a Lego Garbage Truck as a gift from my sister.

Olli’s parents got him a Finnish ice hockey t-shirt, which he also immediately put on and a Finnish board game.

We got him a Cardinals jersey, but he hasn’t opened it yet, because he’s busy watching TV with his siblings.

We asked him if he wanted to go out to eat tonight for his birthday, but he wanted to stay home.  We asked him what he wanted to eat, so I could pick it up on the way home.  He turned and asked Benjy what we should have.

The greatest thing about Henry is his contentment with small things.  He LOVES whatever he gets and finds great joy in it.  He has this white handled thrift store spoon that he’s been using since our Great American Adventure #1 in 2013.  He loves it so much.  So much.  Benjy insists he gets his OWN thrift store spoon, because he sees the joy Henry has found in his.  But it’s not the spoon.  It’s the joy in the simple things that Henry really has.

After a rough start, Henry is adjusting well to kindergarten.  The rough start wasn’t HIS fault, and it broke my heart, and it inspired a flurry of emails, phone calls, and in person conversations, but I think everyone has a greater understanding now.  His teacher has learned the sort of student that Henry is (an artist and occasional loner).  And I have learned that I need to trust my gut when it comes to Henry and give him some more credit.  I’m sorry if this is horribly cryptic, but I don’t want to go into it on the internet.  It’s just not my place.

He’s in chess club and keyboard lessons.  He’ll start playing basketball next week.

Henry’s exiled himself at bedtime again.  He prefers to sleep by himself on the couch instead of in the bedroom with Ade and Benjy.  He used to sleep in the guest bedroom before the road trip, but then I think the road trip desensitized him and he could sleep with everyone again.  But a few weeks ago, the lone wolf resurfaced, and he’s downstairs.  It’s about 10 degrees cooler downstairs, so maybe we should all join him.

Henry has another love interest.  Her name is Leyla.  And this time she apparently loves him back.  He’s inspired Adelaide to find her own love interest, Art.  And Henry asks Adelaide if Art loves her.  Lord, have mercy.

Henry is still such a complicated figure, but I think it’s because he’s a genius.  I know every parent thinks this, and every parent should think this.  But Henry is like this in his head, sees the world, simple but profound creature.  I can’t explain it.  I just need to be very aware of communicating with Henry as we travel on this journey of life and family, because I think we’re going to end up miscommunicating a lot.  I feel like we’ll be in the same conversation, but he’ll be talking at some other level that I won’t understand.  Again, I’m not explaining myself well, but I feel like I’m going to read this post in ten years and go I UNDERSTAND YOU, PAST SARAH, AND YES! THIS IS IT!

I love you, Henry.  I LOVE YOU.  You are so special, and you make me happy every day.

Happy birthday.