Making home

Our lives are in boxes. Small boxes, big boxes. Sealed cardboard containers full of both the important (baby books) and mundane (cheese grater). The things that make a life a life.

Our days are currently spent opening boxes and finding homes for the essentials. We've purposed to keep some boxes sealed-- the idea being that at the end of our stay here, we may find ourselves less inclined to label these unopened time capsules "must haves" and be more likely to part with them as we book plane tickets to Nepal. Still, the supply of boxes that must be opened and sorted seems endless. 

Even pared down, even after ruthlessly purging, even after having sent bags upon bags to Goodwill, friends, and neighbors ...

We have a lot of stuff.

So we open boxes. Put towels in drawers. Hang photos on walls.  Stack puzzles on shelves.

We make home.

The first few days here, in this cavernous, mid-century home, I felt like an intruder. A visitor comes and goes. But an intruder takes away from the space, violates it. Seeing my sewing machine claim real estate, sitting at my humble kitchen table ... all of it was wrong and unknown and somehow seemed an affront to this house, in this neighborhood, in this city. 

This is not a place we would have chosen to land. The house is more than double the size of our previous one. The style of it is all wrong for us. Our neighbors are all elderly. No one gardens anything but flowers. Well-manicured flowers. The kind that bloom with the sole purpose of being immediately cut and plunked in a vase on a coffee table.

Have I ever mentioned that we don't actually own a coffee table?

But I digress. 

Here I am, adding bits of me--of us-- to this place. Claiming it, one step at a time. Finding my footing. Embracing the here and now. Letting the foreign, unsettledness of it fade and a new ease with my norm seat itself.

This morning, as we sat at breakfast, eagle-eyed Logan peered out the open French doors. In a shot, he was up, pushing the littles along with him, shouting for Seven to grab her magnifying glass. I admit that I was irritated. There is so much to get done today, I grinched. Can't we just get through breakfast so that you guys can go off and play and I can maybe, just maybe, get this kitchen totally set right?

But the kids were too fast for me, and before I could open my mouth to berate them ("You didn't ask to be excused!") I was hearing squeals of delight. Mani came racing back in, face already flushed, voice high and thin in his excitement.

"Spiders! Four spiders making webs right out there!"

I handed Reuven off to Jo (whose interest in spiders falls somewhere between "pour bleach in my eyes" and "I could vomit right now") and followed Mani out to the deck. As advertised, four small spiders were working industriously to fill in the frames of perfect, empty webs. Each went about his or her work, oblivious to all of the eyes observing, not to mention the exclamations.

"Look at how fast they work!"

"I can see his spinnerets!"

"How do they measure it all so perfectly?"

It was Seven who finally tugged me down to peer through her oversized magnifying glass and fully appreciate the beauty of the find. She waxed poetic on the sheer joy the spider must have in making something so fabulous. Then, thoughtfully, she puckered her sweet little lips and asked the most obvious question, as only an almost-three year-old can.

"Why do the spiders make the webs, Momma?"

And I had to answer her with the only truth I know, the only thing I have to cling to right now amidst these boxes and upturned schedules.

"It's their home, baby. They make them because it's their home."

"Oh!" she clapped, going up on her tip toes and shivering with that contagious, little girl joy. "They make them for their families!"

And this is how God used four spiders, an interrupted breakfast, and a precocious preschooler to remind me that while my eyes are cast ahead, following a greater, long-term goal, I must do this thing here, before me with as much enthusiasm. Why? Because it is my home. And it is for my family.

Yes, we're in

Things have been a little ....


chaotic

unexpected

unsettled

crazy.

But we're here, in our new home-for-now. Welcome to Whale House!

A decade, give or take

Packing up, moving on.

I remember the first time I walked over the threshold of this house. 

It was a rainy, grey November afternoon. Newcomers to western Washington, we still hadn't figured out that rainboots are not just a fashion statement, but a requirement to make it through the cooler months in this climate. My feet were just beginning to feel damp in my tennis shoes, and Jo was already complaining about her squishy socks, which would not have been wet had she been able to resist the growing puddles at the curb. Logan was a six month-old nursling (younger than Reuven is now!) tucked into a ridiculously uncomfortable front-pack baby carrier that I had zipped into my fashionably large winter coat. Atticus was holding my hand, just 2 and a half years old and entirely unsure what this whole cross-country relocation had done to his life.

We all clustered under the long covered walkway leading toward the front door: five of us Blandings', and one very OCD realtor. From the outside, the townhouse was nondescript. Just another bit of new construction tucked into yet another Seattle suburb. When the door swung open and we all walked in, though, we knew.

This was our house. This one. This one right here.

I could see myself standing at that stove, making breakfast in my wool socks. I could see Jo twirling in the family room. I could see Atticus stacking blocks on the steps. I could see Logan taking his first halting, army crawl explorations through the dining room. I could see Mr. Blandings leading Bible study under the cherry tree out back.

The funny thing is that we went back and forth on this place versus another for a full 24 hours. Second-guessing our first impression, we wanted to be sure. We planned on living in this house a full two years, after all. It had to be just right.

A decade later (give or take) I can tell you that it was just right. This place has been all I dreamed of, and more. Not only did Jo twirl her way around this family room countless times, but now I have watched Seven do it, too. Atticus built fabulous Lincoln Log houses on the landing, and eventually taught Oli and Mani to do the same. And not only did Logan learn to crawl here, but a whole line of other babies have, too. Right on down to little Reuven.

I canned my first blackberry jam in this kitchen. Learned to sew in this dining room. Cried through the beginning cramps of impending loss in the upstairs bathroom. Laughed over our first broken-by-a-kid window in the family room. Opened the front door and saw Mani for the first time. Stood at the opened sliding glass door and listened to my husband pray with his grandfather one last time before that wonderful old gentleman passed.

It has been a good house. No, it has been a great house. At times it has felt like less than I wanted (sadly, I can covet as well as the next girl), at times it has felt too small or too simple, too urban, too far from the good stuff ... but it has never stopped feeling like home. Even right now, just three days before a truck pulls up to take our earthly belongings to a new space, a new place to grown and live and laugh. 

I am glad I did not know what abundant life would be lived inside these walls when I first felt my soggy tennis shoes hit the brand-new, blue grey carpet. I am glad that I did not know the joys or the pains that awaited me. Life truly is better lived in the moment, and I am grateful that I got to spend those moments here, in this place that my older children will always recall as their growing up place. 

(Preschool) Box Day

Let the adventure begin.

Girls' room {big family, small house}

After showing off the boys' room (the master bedroom), a couple of folks actually emailed asking to see what the room Jo and Seven share looks like. Since there are only two people sharing it, it hadn't occurred to me that it was worth showcasing-- not much to learn for big families here!

But, to satisfy curiosity (and disprove that cordwood stacking theory) I present: The Girls' Room.

This shot is looking into the girls' room from the hall. This room, as you can tell, is actually painted colors. Because they are girls. And they care. And there are only two of them, so personalizing is much easier.

That's Jo's bed on the left. Yes, she keeps her bed that neat always. She's actually training Seven to do the same. I kind of love it. 

The sliding closet doors drove us all nuts, so we took them down and covered the closet with a curtain made of a full-sized sheet. Jo has two that she rotates. This one is short and bugs me, but hey, it's not my room.

The ribbons over the closet are Jo's from her 4H days. 

And this is Seven's little space. It's still in transition from her crib days, but since we're moving, I have just let it slide. 

So there you go. Two girls in one room. Easy Peasey.

American Lit made easy

One of my degrees is in English. One of Mr. Blandings' degrees is in English. Together, we have endured many an hour of sometimes fascinating, sometimes shamefully dull instruction in the name of understanding literature.

Which is, of course, why we swore that when it came to introducing our children to those works considered classics (deservedly or not), we'd find a better way.

For the most part, in our home, this has looked like some event or conversation reminding either Mr. Blandings or me of a character, an author, a nearly-forgotten line of a poem. From there comes an impromptu synopsis of the work, a discussion on theme, a library hold, and plenty of dialogue.

It's messy, but it works. In this manner, Atticus has tackled titles ranging from Animal Farm to Ender's Game, and Jo has found herself smitten with everything from Agatha Christie mysteries to A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.

Last summer, sensing that a bit of organization might not be remiss in light of a new baby on the way, I took a different spin on our normal slapdash romp through the catalog of Books You Really Ought to Have Read and assembled a list. The criteria? All American literature. All in chronological order. And all written by authors whose lives and works lent themselves to interesting character study.

Jo used this framework as something of an outline for her literature study this past year and, can I just say, it was a hit? Not only did she enjoy the books and learning more about the writers, but Mr. Blandings and I were delighted to share some of the truly great bits of past fiction and poetry with our daughter. Conversation-- the key element of this plan-- was plentiful. As a matter of fact, I offer this disclaimer: while this curricula was written specifically to be handed over to a teen, if you cannot participate fully in the discussion of character, morals, themes, allegory, etc., do not pass go. Consider, at the bare minimum, researching the links and familiarizing yourself with what your high schooler will be learning. Even better, read along with your child. After all, great books become even more great when they are shared.

Below you’ll find a timeline of major American authors and movements in the literary world with which you should make yourself familiar this year. Your instructions are to use the iPad to locate the brief biographies noted here, write up a paragraph for your binder summarizing the biography, and to read the works mentioned. No author should take more than two weeks (including reading the book), but if you find that you’d like to dig deeper into the work of a particular author, we can certainly discuss. (Mom and Dad can suggest titles.) You will, in that instance, be given extra time. 

After reading, you will have two follow ups required. The first is a discussion Mom & Dad on the book. Bring at least three questions and a whole lot of knowledge of the book. Prepare for a lively conversation; as you know, we take no prisoners when it comes to literature! 

For the second, you may choose from the following options or, alternately, create a project of your own choosing:

• Write an alternate ending to the story that puts the characters where you would rather see them end up.
• Write a brief summary of the historical time period where the story is taking place (ie, Victorian England, WWII, etc.) noting key events.
• Write a character sketch of your favorite (or least favorite) person in the book, describing how the character grows or progresses.
• Compare the book to another that you’ve read that may be similar in style or just remind you of this one.
• Sum up the plotline in a poem.
• Write a news article about the main climax of the story.
• Write an obituary/eulogy for the main character in the book.
• Put together a book report that hits the high points of the story for someone that may or may not have read it.
• Write an essay persuading someone that this is the best or worst book ever written.

Remember--you have TWO WEEKS to do this unless you have chosen to do extra work and have gotten that cleared by Mom. If you need to read in the evenings or weekends, I expect that you will budget your time to do so. Let me know if you are getting bogged down. Do not wait until it’s critical! And--have FUN! American Literature is amazing, and your dad and I have been waiting to share many of these stories with you since you were old enough to read!

1823: Clement Clarke Moore, (http://www.nightbeforechristmas.biz/moore.htm) "A Visit from St. Nicholas." (http://www.bartleby.com/248/27.html) For an article discussing the controversy over whether Moore really wrote this poem, go to http://www.common-place.org/vol-01/no-02/moore/index.shtml)

1826: James Fenimore Cooper (http://xroads.virginia.edu/~ug02/cooper/cooperbiography.html), “The Last of the Mohicans.”

1827: Edgar Allen Poe (http://poestories.com/biography.php) “Tamerlane” (http://classiclit.about.com/library/bl-etexts/eapoe/bl-eapoe-tamer.htm)

LITERARY MOVEMENT:Transcendental Club (1836-c.1844) (http://transcendentalism.tamu.edu/ideas/club.html)

1836: Ralph Waldo Emerson (http://transcendentalism.tamu.edu/authors/emerson/) Nature 

1850: Nathaniel Hawthorne (http://www.online-literature.com/hawthorne/) The Scarlet Letter

1854: Henry David Thoreau (http://transcendentalism.tamu.edu/authors/thoreau/) Walden

1854: Walt Whitman (http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/126) Leaves of Grass 

1865: Mark Twain (http://www.cmgww.com/historic/twain/about/bio.htm) "The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County" 

1884: The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn

***This author should take three weeks***

1881: Joel Chandler Harris (http://xroads.virginia.edu/~ug97/remus/bio.html) Uncle Remus Stories

1890: Emily Dickinson (http://www.uta.edu/english/tim/poetry/ed/bio.html) Poems 

1904: Jack London (http://www.jacklondons.net/shortbio.html)The Sea-Wolf (Call of the Wild was published in 1903)

**If you would like to read more, this author may take three weeks**

1920: Robert Frost (http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/192)  “The Road Not Taken” (http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/173536#about)

1922: T. S. Eliot (http://www.notablebiographies.com/Du-Fi/Eliot-T-S.html#b), listen to Eliot read one of his best-known works at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JAO3QTU4PzY , The Waste Land

1925: F. Scott Fitzgerald (http://people.brandeis.edu/~teuber/fitzgeraldbio.html), and video at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J2cn0IS_q6E The Great Gatsby

1926: Ernest Hemingway, (http://www.spartacus.schoolnet.co.uk/USAhemingway.htm) **just the main article**, hear him speak at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fE04BmNmgAI The Old Man and the Sea

1927: Willa Cather (http://www.online-literature.com/willa-cather/), Death Comes for the Archbishop 

1945: Tennessee Williams (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tennessee_Williams), The Glass Menagerie

1952: John Steinbeck (http://www.csustan.edu/english/reuben/pal/append/steinbeck_bio_s99.html), accepting the Nobel Prize at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7SKEODtaQUU Tortilla Flat

1960: Harper Lee (http://www.harperlee.com/bio.htm), To Kill a Mockingbird

Transition

We headed home a little later than I anticipated last night. A fun outing to the pool had run longer than expected (who's going to cut that short on an 87 degree day?) and I was racing the clock to get home in time to throw plates on the table and yank dinner from the crock pot. My mind scrolled over the menu ("Pot roast, potatoes, carrots--ready to serve. Salad--needs to be picked from garden.") and stalled out when I realized I had no time to make bread. I briefly considered stopping to buy some and quickly nixed the idea. Reuven and Seven were asleep in their carseats, Mani was grouchy and overtired, and I had neither of my teens with me to either mind the van full of littles or run into the store.

So I headed home and figured, "Eh. No biggie. Pot roast without bread is just as good."

Fast forward an hour later. Oli and Mani had just finished setting the table when Jo and Atticus walked in, tired from their day's labor of volunteering at a CC practicum run by a friend. (And no, we're not enrolling in CC.) Jo found me in the kitchen, hugged me hello, and reached into the darling slouchy bag made for her by one of my dear friends. Out came a huge loaf of that fabulous artisan bread-- the kind that has a thick, crusty exterior and a springy, great-for-dipping interior. She placed it on the counter and explained that the leaders of the practicum had an overabundance of bread at the community lunch that day and had asked if my kids would like to take a loaf home in exchange for their volunteer work that day.

I started laughing so hard that I almost cried, and Jo knew. It was another one of those moments-- those instances where God shows up so clearly, so abundantly, that you have to just smile and say thanks and marvel at what love He has for us, that He should care even about such small things.

We've had those a lot lately. 

Over-the-top blessings. Things that we don't need, necessarily, but that God offers up as a tangible sign that He is listening. He hears us. And He cares.

So much of 2013 has been about loss and limbo and learning to live within new, uncomfortable parameters. So much of our energy has gone into keeping the day to day afloat. And yet, here is God, offering up this small (and large) things, pressing a hand to our weary heads and promising, "Keep on, because the good is coming."

And it is coming. 

I hinted that Mr Blandings had a new job, and he does. God opened a door beyond our expectation that has allowed us to stay here, in our happy little community, among those who believe in us and our crazy calling and love each and every Blanding, no matter how big or small. 

Beyond that, He has shown us, in His amazing grace, that His plan for us is finally coming to fruition. In a few weeks' time, we will be moving to a larger home that will allow us to host friends and acquaintances interested in partnering with us in our work in Nepal. The how and why for this move is nothing but God's providence-- how often does one receive a phone call stating, "Ummmm ... we are moving out of state for a year for work and are leaving our mostly furnished home here empty. We feel like we are supposed to offer it to you ..."

Not often, right?

So we're moving. Our house will go on the market soon. We have been purging belongings both large and small. Books. Furniture. Clothes. Anything doesn't have sentimental value and that won't make the leap with us.

By "the leap" I mean the move to Nepal. Because the whole, big picture of this move is this: we are moving into the Nepal As Reality Phase. We are at 40% of our monthly support. We have approximately six months to a year to secure support for the rest. And when that time comes, we're doing it. We're going. 

The next months will be ones of more transition for our family, but this is the kind of transition our hearts have desired for so long now that it is a turmoil we are actually welcoming. We will be actively seeking families and individuals who feel as passionately as we do about spreading the Gospel to the unreached in Nepal. We will be asking people to pray for those who have never heard the name of Jesus. We will be doing that uncomfortable act of asking people to consider supporting us financially. 

Please, please pray for us as we make this leap. The new theme of this year: Nepal 2014 or bust.