A Dinner Gathering

My husband told me our 4 year old said, "Shoot a damn monkey" tonight.  "I'll let you deal with that one, babe" with a smirk and a chuckle is all he said as we sat under stitches of a quilt wandering through the halls of the day.

With my firstborn I would of freaked out or felt tremendous guilt & vowed to never say it again, these words first patched together by my own mom and now come tumbling from my lips as I slice my finger in the kitchen, can't find a pencil for the millionth time or am just feeling lost in this world and the walls are closing in on me.  Please tell me you have some of those moments.

But tonight, I chuckled and owned it.  Her.  And all the ways she soaks me up that blue eyed Walters girl who lives at a decible above us all.  She is a mirror of me.  It only took birthing 5 children to get one that looks just.  like. me.  All but the blue eyes.  Those are from her Mama Jo.

At first I grinned and said thank you and ahhh, isn't that sweet as people commented on her resembling me.  Slowly tho, I have awakened unto the glory of this sacred thing called mothering and imprinting souls, having little shadows that look to me...are watching, modeling.

And just today as I gave her and her sister beaded little purses fit for evening gowns my mom just passed on to me for them, this pistol pot of a girly girl said, "Bye kids, I'm going on a date, be good for Miss Johannah."  Her purse swinging down by her feet.  I grinned and played along talking into the story.  Then I whispered, "I think I remember Nana putting this long chain in the purse and then tucking it under her armpit like this."  Smiling large and loud the way my own Mom does espically around my Dad I walked out of the house, blew kisses.

She carried that purse under her arm all. day. long.  To the dentist as well as the grocery for a few forgotten ingredients for the crazy dinner party of 12 ladies I was hosting tonight and feeling unprepared for yet that I needed like I need water & sleep & air.  A penny, dime, lipgloss and an old camera tucked inside her purse.  Though she is playing at being grown up today, I know all too soon she will be.

I called my Dad this past Sunday at the kitchen sink over a broken garbage disposal with tons of dirty dishes to wash and a trundle bed of the boys that broke that morning.  Tears weren't far behind my eyes as I asked if there was any way he could pop up the mountain to help with some projects.  Servant that he is, he was being the passenger while my 15 year old nephew got some driving time in.  "Isn't being all grown up fun!?!"  My Dad chuckled and I could see his grin and feel his love so tight around me the tears squirted out. "You wanted to be all grown up so bad."

And I did.  And now she does, this precious little girl child who has me all on my left foot in my parenting grooves.  Keeps me humbled, this fourth Walters blessing.  And when she does grow up, you know what?  I think she will be like me in ways that will both humble and heal her.

Tonight I hosted a dinner party of women who mostly didn't know each other.  Women whose eyeballs I get to look into now and then, some more than others and who have been a part of Abbas wooing me to sink my teeth into things that are tangible tho they don't know it.  A creshendo of sorts of the 4 month journey I've been on of being mostly unplugged, off facebook.  Women that I admire deeply, who lead my kids godly play sunday school class telling the stories of old, breaking bread and letting the little ones pray for their cats & friends & boo-boo's.  Women who said yes to my wild idea of a monthly Mom Heart group where we read through a book together, pray for one another once a month.  Women who lead magical childhood memory camps, finish Acupuncture school, fight cancer, home educate 5 kids while supporting the family, live simply and happily with 3 kids & a husband in a 2 bedroom house.  Women who I see around my little town, but barely "know"and who I'd like to know more.

Yes, brave souls gathered around my table tonight and I was deeply nourished.  I cooked from Bread & Wine 'a love letter to life around the table with recipes' by Shauna Niequist.  Bacon-Wrapped Dates, Mango Chicken Curry and Blueberry Crisp my 11 year old son made as I chopped, set out & gathered all the dishes.  It was holy work, brave work walking into new waters with food prep.  I walk around my life feeling stupid more than I'd like to admit.  Seeing more of what I can't do than what I can.  The wounds of failure in the classroom as a child follow me everywhere.  And even tonight as Sherri offered to stay & wash up the last dishes with me I confessed I wonder if I'll ever be a professional.  More feel like and be professional at anything.  Just because I have a degree and a Health Coach Certification hasn't made me feel grown up or competent or given me legs to stand in the world and offer something.  Like have a real salary.  Maybe that comes at 40???  I still have a few years, right?

My Mom is a deeply professional woman.  She invites respect and a listening ear.  She loves deeply, she prays for us, her 3 daughters, our husbands, her 8 grandchildren as she swims an ungodly amount of laps in her Master Swim class.  She has survived much in her lifetime.  Conquered fears, walked into new territory and figured it out starting with just a VW bus and a bit of pocket money her and my Dad. Living in Canada in a tent.  Getting both of them through graduate school.  Hosting parties, celebrating us and those we love along the way in a warm, loving home.

She is the one I watched.  And she is the one that I find myself immulating in these days of healing from what I do not know, of seeking to find footing in this fastly changing internet, screen relationship world. Invite others in.  Give a big hug at the door.  Smile.  Food.  Put on music.  Clean the house.  Wine, beer and water.  Explain the flow of the meal, pray and let go.  Talk & guide but not too much.

I fell asleep whispering thank you, father...thank you.

For in him we live and move and have our being.  In him we are being made whole.  In him, I am gaining confidence to live my one life well.  In him I am coming alive again as I ask a friend for help with my clothes in my room that are in piles and eating me up, as I raise my hand and ask.  invite.  seek a different way.  not perfect, just more whole.  More real, tangible like figs stuffed with goat cheese and wrapped in bacon and baked to a crisp.

I pray that you too, today will sink your teeth into something real, something yummy.  And sit down when you do.  And if you feel even more courageous, invite someone to share it with you.  Who knows, you may be a part of their healing journey to wholeness as well???

Shalom,

Amanda 

The Day I Raised the Flag

Fall was coming.  A decision loomed.  Do I try again to home school this my 7 year old boy, my second son?  Or do I hand him over to the so called, 'experts'? 

 The year before, his 1st grade year, I enrolled him in a charter school half way through the year with a heap of guilt and sadness.  Teaching this bright, quiet, inquisitive, nature loving child to read was leaving me in a schizophrenic panic.  24 hours after one reading lesson I would seek to build upon it a new concept.  A novel idea, huh?  Yet, this precious child  sitting there at the table truly could not remember the lesson from the previous day.  I was baffled.  Patient at first, yes.  Then pure frustrated and eventually a puddle of a mess with both he and I in tears.  

So, I bought the school uniform of green shirts and khaki pants and off he went to experience a classroom with a loving teacher. And he better come home reading dag nab it because I felt a bit of a failure for not being able to lead him to a love of reading as I had my first child so easily.  

Yet, two months into it, his teacher told me that he would need to be held back next year.  That he was making progress, but struggled too much with seat work.  A kind friend sitting beside him often read his directions for him to help him prod along doing quiet work at his desk.  Yet, yet, he was lost in the masses.  And even as she spoke it, my mama heart knew that something deeper was going on and holding him back a year was not the answer.  Yet, I was intimidated by 'the system' as well as all the onlookers in our world- parents, friends ect.  So, I asked for him to be tested for any learning issues but was told it was too close to the end of the year to do the paper work and start that process.  This left me exploring private options and looking to summer reading plans to slowly keep building.

Summer time reminded me why we ever started this crazy journey of home education in the first place.  Organic learning.  Time to 'ignite a fire' instead of 'fill the bucket.'  Slow pace.  Rhythms of daily life that anchor us to the land and to each other do not have a price tag.  Nourishing food.  

Yet, Walmart was putting out their school supplies.  My blood pressure was rising.  A school decision needed to be made.  We chose not to hold him back and send him back to the institution.  We chose instead to keep him learning at 'The Walters' Greenhouse.' 

There is something to be said for a Mama's intuition.  Like 'knowing' when it is time to go to the doctor, or go cuddle, read and put that child down for a nap before a massive melt down occurs.  And my Mamas intuition was cluing into something that was blocking this child from soaring.  And so I did the hard thing.

I raised my hand.  I asked for help two months into the school year.  Financial help from family to send him to a Montoursi school down the road.  And as I did this I called the school system to ask for my home educated son who would now going to a private school to be tested for learning differences.  I was told this is called 'flagging' a child.  

Mrs. Brigid was a breath of fresh air and healing balm to my sons school experience.  Her small classroom of 1-3rd graders was a quiet haven of learning and curiosity.  I liked the loving atmosphere, bring your water bottle thing, healthy eating and outside time daily.  There were many parts of Jed's day that seemed to nourish him.  But deep down, I felt like a failure.  The second year in a row I changed schools for him for heavens sake!

Mrs. Rousou was a delight to work with and walked me through the process several times on the phone.  She said the state required we do this testing in a certain time frame from when the child is first flagged.  This meant all the evaluations had to be done, written up and communicated with me by February.  

The chilly, gloomy, winter day I drove to the nearest elementary school to sit in a conference room with 5 school professionals that had all had a hand in testing my son is etched in stone.  My Dad came up to keep my other kids so I could go alone.  His clear eyes looking in mine before I left were enough to pull out the fragility of my reality.  How did he know I needed him there that day? 

 I was about to 'know.'  To really know if my boy had learning issues that were blocking him from success, from reading fluently and being socially confident.  I wanted to know, but I didn't.  The tension was heavy.  It was a mix between, "Dear Lord, please let a little something show up to prove I'm not crazy in switching schools & not being able to teach him to read" and "Oh man, please Lord don't let there be anything wrong with my boy."  I was weary from this 2 year journey.

The School Psychologist went first.  She described the page of numbers she put in front of me, telling me about each line.  I was overwhelmed and seeking to make sense of it all which she must of noticed.   She wrote his IQ in the margins & then the number he is actually performing or able to do and subtracted to get a large discrepancy.  Yes, he qualified as having learning differences.  His IQ as well as his verbal skills were off the charts.  Yet, his working memory was slow as a turtle.  Before I knew they were there the tears fell on the paper with all the numbers.  I wanted to scream and kick and turn the damn table over and run out of the room much like I wanted to the day I was diagnosed with a disease.  Yet, my people pleasing, southern grits self stayed calm & kept breathing and even talked confidently of what we would do with this information to help him be successful.  

The meeting was cut abrupt at the end because of a torrential rain storm which was causing flooding in the area.  School was being let out early and faculty were advised over the loud speaker to go home as well.  

Rain has always been a healing balm to me.  A symbol from my Abba Father of his presence, his nourishing love & grace over me.  Truly, this hard, pelting rain spoke volumes to me as I drove off and wept.

Yet, I barely knew just how deeply this information would effect not only my sons life, but my own.  After all, raising flags is not for sissies.

The Year the Farm Ideal Cocooned

I dream in bold, vibrant colors.   And sometimes my reality scrapes the surface of those pictures, those ideals.  Yet often it falls way short.  Slowly, Josh has lost interest in bee keeping.  Two hives died over the winter and one this summer.  Now there is talk of cleaning up the equipment and selling it?!?  Dad can't work them anymore because of a way too close to antaflatic shock sting.  And me.  Well, I have struggled to make the time to enjoy it with him and it feels more like a chore than a fun hobby.  No one ever told me how smeltering hot those suits are in the heat of summer!

And chickens, well...a neighborhood dog ate one last November and we ran out of feed and the chickens were not laying so I sold them on free cycle.  Harsh?  Maybe, but if you don't produce are you worth keeping around?  Besides, our chicken guy, Jed was selling the eggs we did get which left me buying eggs from the store.  hummm.  So plans began to build a bigger coup so to feed us and have an egg business.  But here it is November again and do we have a bigger coup built?  Nope.

The one thing that has been smokin' around here is our Tower Garden.  It fed us the most tasty lettuce I've ever had.  After years of struggling to grow enough lettuce for my crew I am thrilled to be an organic lettuce grower!  Lettuce below took 1/2 the time to get that big compared to my square foot garden.  Yet now the dream is a green house so I can keep producing lettuce throughout the winter.  AND the kids say they will help sell heads at the Farmers Market next spring- heads of lettuce that is along with eggs from our chickens we don't have a home for yet.  And did I mention Abby wants to sell bread that she doesn't know how to make fully on her own yet?  So, plans are in the works of buying 3 more towers and growing even more food.  And dreams are in the blood of all the Walters of making and growing things with our hands that will bless others and deposit some change in these kids bank accounts.  For college, of course.

But as I sit here on a crisp fall Saturday morning, it is hard for me to give myself permission to admit I am tired.  Yet, as I reach for food that doesn't satisfy like I thought or seek out girl time that leaves me insecure and teary this week I wonder what it is I really need.  After all what more could a woman living in America, with food, water, a home,  a husband, who has a job, with four healthy souls to raise, a dab of land, her health, family only hours away and friends within reach be groaping for?

Attached to the fencing for the chickens, 4 fences so to rotate them and allow them to be free range of course, we dream of building a fence for 2 sheep as well.  We have the land, so why not?!?  They don't need milking or tear things up like goats, so what could be that hard about it?

 Our hearts are restless until they rest in You, O Lord.  St. Augustine said.  And ya know what, he was on to something.  It was 3 months ago that I unplugged from social media, started turning off my phone for periods of time.  I woke up to my reality and felt the nudges and followed them.  My reality being I was sitting in my chair in the dark of morning with coffee in hand and my Bible, wheeling my thumb through facebook, then email, then checking the weather.  God felt miles away even though I was supposedly sitting there with him, my day felt weighty upon me and despite responding to & encouraging friends on the internet, I felt alone.  Disconnected from my own heart and unsure of how to re-kindle my once optomistic, loving self.  Not to mention, how to re-connect with Father in a way that didn't feel trite and routine.

So what is a girl who has driven to Alaska in college, around the whole US of A in highschool and from WA to NC with 3 kids under 6 do?  She takes to the road!  I packed the kids up & drove 3 hours to my parents cozy little national park of a haven, fit with bikes, fishing rods, kayaks & canoes for a week unplugged, just the kids and I.  Marvelous.  Deep breath.  Amazing how the kids play and laugh and invite each other to run and explore when other distractions are taken away.  Little to no toys, no other friends, no internet.  And we survived.  We even live to tell about it and are better off for it.  I will say, we actually thrived.  I will write about it more fully at some point I know.  We returned refreshed, more connected to each other, rested and with stronger bonds of loyalty and love to one another.  And a ton of silly stories and brave adventures to tell at highschool granduations & wedding rehersals.

Then, 7 days later, I was loading up again for a 10 hour road trip to FL...by myself with the kids.  Alone until James flew in on Wed. to enjoy with us and then drive back as a family on Sunday.  Nervous to say the least, I went overboard with car games, baggies of carrotts, grapes, cucumbers, goldfish, cookies, new books on cd from lamplighter theater.com (fabulous quality, beautiful, funny, character building) as well as movies for when all my tricks ran out.  Stopping only at rest stops for potty breaks and a lunch picnic & soccer game of course, we arrived safely at dark.  We found our condo, gloried in the beauty, gave high fives, brushed teeth and crawled in bed.

It was here that I had a moment.   A teary one, actually.  It was an, "I love my kids" moment.  A "I'm going to be okay" coupled with, "Damn we smoked that road trip- that was actually restful at times, we laughed even.  Like often.  Amid the occasional, "She touched me!" stuff of course."

So, today, this fall of 2013 I wish the coop was built, the bees were warm & cozy in hives & sheep were grazing so our kids could be caring for them, learning both responsibility and building bonds with living things.  I wish I wasn't soul tired, that I was "all better" after a few months of unplugging and ready to re- enter.  But what I think is that once burnout is reached or surfacy, internet, scrolling addicted reality is confessed, it takes time to re-humanize.  To re-surface fully whole and holy full anew with beauty & the persons in ones eyeball world.  As I journey through this reality and allow myself permission to be a bit tired and raw from the bumps of the year, I am thankful for this space to write and hope afresh of living a one piece life.