Breast, Back and Free

This year, we joined the local Elk's Lodge. Like many of its members, we did it for one reason: the pool. Prior to this summer, our kids were basic swimmers at best. We joined the YWCA this past winter in order for Jay to teach them how to at least tread water and swim across the pool using any means necessary. Clearly, Jay was not an expert swimming instructor, but he was making attempts to teach our children how not to drown. It has been an intense parenting goal for Jay that our children become strong swimmers, with me sort of lagging along behind in support.

It is no surprise then, to know that when Jay heard about a swim team for the kids at the Elk's, he insisted that our children join. It wasn't that I was opposed, it was that I knew it meant more work and shuttling than I had planned on this summer. Ethan wasn't particularly enthralled with the idea either and I knew that meant much encouragement and cajoling on my part. And so, swim practice began. Every. Day. Sometimes twice a day. Swim meets happen once or twice a week. Meets last at least 4 hours, longer if you count in the warm-up time. For the novice swimmer and parent, these meets are a bit overwhelming, chaotic, exciting and tiring. Overall, it is a hefty time commitment for what are to the be the "lazy days" of summer. I was completely not prepared for this entire venture, but probably not in a way you think. I was completely unprepared for how swimming has changed our lives.

For Sadie, my little crazy wild cat, swimming has become "her thing." Never have I seen her so completely delighted with any activity she has tried. And, we have tried quite a few. She always becomes bored before the season ends, particularly at practices. Not with swimming. At the first meet, Sadie realized that someone was chosen to swim the American flag across the pool while the national anthem was played. Setting her sights on this lofty goal, she set to work at the very next practice. She was very determined and after showing her newly, self-instructed "flag holding while swimming" skills to her coach, Laura, she was allowed to bear the flag at the next meet. She was thrilled.

At times (well, a lot of the time) I have difficulty embracing the confidence, the assertiveness and the zaniness that is Sadie. It was during this flag ordeal that I realized that she is who God created her to be, for a purpose. I doubt her purpose is small in nature because that just doesn't seem to fit her very large personality. Therefore, I realize that I need to sit back and just watch it happen instead of worrying over the details and constantly trying to restrain her.

My best guess as to why swimming appeals to Sadie is that it combines a lot of physical activity, competition and socializing - all essential components to her happiness. After the last meet, I asked her, very casually, if she wanted to continue swimming. Her response, "I want to swim, forever and ever and ever." Therefore, I now find myself inquiring about year-round swimming programs.

For Ethan swimming has not come as easily. His first foray on the swim team comes at a time when most kids have been swimming a couple of years. At the 9-10 age level, you are required, for the first time, to swim the lane down and back, not just down once as in the 8 and under. He barely knew how to do free style, let alone any other strokes. Ethan is also my child who is fiercely afraid of how he looks to others, afraid if someone will laugh at him and or of failing. He resisted the entire idea of the swim team and after the first practice declared that it was too tough. He asked if he could quit. I said no. After the first meet, when he came in last place in the last heat, he was nearly in tears and begged me to take him home. I said no. That was a tough one, but I held firm. During his next event, my heart was in my stomach as he battled out of last place. Again, he came to me trying to be brave though tears welled in his eyes. I mustered every single "word of encouragement" and "rising to the challenge" verbiage I could during the ride home. It was a tough night to be a parent. Later that week, he came down with sickness and then went to Weeblo/scout camp leading him to miss a meet and several practices. Once he returned, he asked to just practice with the team and not have to do the meets. I said no, again. I did opt to invest in a couple of private lessons with one of the coaches in hopes of improving his strokes a tad, thus building his confidence for the next meet.

And so, the stage was set for our meet this past Tuesday. I told him all he had to do was improve on his time. Actually, that has been our mantra for this entire season. I ask, "Who are you swimming against?" The answer is "me." Or, "What are you swimming for?" The answer is, "To improve my time." To add to the incentive, I offered up the prize of beef jerky for any improved time. And here is where I must give kudos to his coach, Taylor. He heard of this little prize and gave the challenge to Ethan...shave off 2 seconds of his time and Taylor would get him the beef jerky. The time came. Ethan dove in. He gave it his all while Taylor cheered for him down the entire lane. He touched the wall...and had shaved 8 seconds off his time. He was beaming. I was elated. Several of the coaches, including Taylor, were there to pat him on the back. Did he win the race? No, not by a long shot. But, what I saw in Ethan's eyes and in his heart was worth more than that. He didn't care that he hadn't won the race. He was thrilled knowing he had accomplished more than he thought capable. He had learned a fantastic life lesson about perseverance and commitment. And, as we left the meet, Ethan said to me, "Actually, I can't wait to do it again." Yes, I had tears.

It would seem a bit strange that an activity that is geared toward my children would have an impact on me, personally. However, if you have read my blog for any length of time, you know I have been in a bit of a funk. Actually, a 2-year vastly fluctuating, emotional funk. My pleasure in socializing pretty much vanished after Ansley died. Grief, sorrow and bit too much introspection led me to isolate myself. Unfortunately, a little isolation snowballs into more isolation. Before you know it, you are nearly a hermit. Thrust into the swim crowd on a daily basis has reminded me how enjoyable other people can be. It is amazing, really, that I am sad the season is nearly over.

Not to leave Lily out of the mix...she was able to join the Jr. Elk's team. She has evolved from not wanting to get her head wet to diving into the water and swimming a crude little freestyle for about 15 yards. She loves going to the pool and I can see how this has improved her social skills just in time for kindergarten.

Finally, this post about the swim team would not be complete without mention of the young adults that are employed as the swim coaches. They have restored my faith in this next generation. Sure, I know I am not privy to all the behind the scenes. However, I do see dedication, organization, leadership, instruction, compassion, concern and a genuine desire for these young swimmers to succeed. One example is in Ethan's coach, Taylor, who had me write down his mobile number. Taylor will be out of town during the next swim meet and he asked me to have Ethan call him right before his free-style event. Ethan just beamed upon hearing the request. The head coach, Laura, is just beyond her years in her leadership, organizational skills and enthusiasm. And, the other coaches, Chris and Brooke among others, call my children by name, ask about them, request hugs, dole out compliments and encouragement. I doubt they understand, fully, what positive influences they have been on the Dumoulin clan.

In regards to next summer...well, I'll just quote Ethan, "Actually, I can't wait to do it again."

My absence

It is nearly the end of June and have I really only posted one entry? Lots of reasons why and here they are:

1. The A/C Adapter for my laptop broke. Unfortunately two attempts to get a new one have failed thus leading me to believe it has something to do with the laptop. We still have a plethora of other computers to use at the house, but nothing beats writing in my bed on the laptop. I have discovered that is where I get my best writing done.

2. School ended. I know, it sounds pathetic, but seriously, it has rocked my world. The little straw that broke the camel's back was the decision that the kids should be on the swim team this summer. Being novice aquatic parents we had no idea at the time what this little endeavor would involve. I thought I was being smart by planning all camps, vbs stuff, etc. in June, but didn't know that adding swimming would mean swim practice every day and meets that last a minimum of 4 hours! It has been a "good thing" as Martha would say, but good gravy what a time commitment!

3. Jay has been traveling what is a ridiculous amount for us and for him. He has been home about 7 days in the last 21 it seems. We are out of sorts without him. I am not geared to be a single parent for so long and neither are my kids. We have all suffered with the snippy and snappy and backtalk from a frazzled me. Without him, there is no uninterrupted time to ponder through blog entries, let along type them. I spent the better part of church this morning praying to God to give me more strength and patience with the children during a sermon about trust.

4. Sick kids. Step invaded our house. First, Ethan, then Sadie. Ethan's was never diagnosed, but Sadie's was. Talk about tough on scheduling when 2 have swim practice and VBS and one needs sleep and rest.

5. Funerals...death of a friend's mother. This will be a blog entry in itself, but in an overview, I have relieved a lot of those first weeks after Ansley's death in order to impart what little wisdom I have to my dear friend. My heart hurts for what she is going through and what is to come. But, I praise God for allowing me to use my circumstances to possibly bring comfort to someone else.

6. Wedding of my (step) sister at which I was the matron of honor. A flurry of pre-wedding activities (including that age-defining weekend in Boone) made for a very hectic 2 weeks prior. However, it will go down as the best wedding I have ever attended. Maybe it is age, the music (the band rocked), the food, the family? I don't know, but it was just great!

Regarding the bloggy world...I have about 5 good posts that have been swirling around in my head for weeks now and I have promised myself to get them out this week. I need to clear out the clutter in my brain as it appears these thoughts have infiltrated the part of my brain that holds short-term memory causing quite a bit of damage. It makes me feel very congested with emotions when I don't write, too. It is good for my soul.

The Numbers Game, part 1

We live in a society that defines us by numbers. Social security numbers, driver's license numbers, passport numbers, bank account numbers...all assigned to us, giving us a set of unique identifiers. But, there are two number groups that for women stand out above the rest. They define our roles, they place limits on us, attempt to tell us how we should behave. They even try to control our self-worth and definitely impact our self-confidence.

This weekend, the reality of these two sets of numbers smacked me in the face. One number tells me how many years I have lived on this earth, otherwise known as my age. The other number that tells me how well I have been treating or not treating my body, otherwise known as my weight.

Age and weight. At any point in my life I could tell you these numbers without hesitation. My guess the same is true for most women. Age is obvious, although I did have a friend once whose husband convinced her that she was actually a year old than she was. But in my mind, the two were and continue to be inexplicably linked. I always know exactly what they are. Precisely. In fact, my life and all its experiences are wrapped up in those numbers. It is crushing to recognize now how many times my major moments in life have been impacted by what those numbers were whispering to me. And, more poignantly how they continue to weave themselves into how I view myself, what I am allowed to do and how I present myself to the world.


I have been particularly reflective on the large presence of these digits in my life because of how I spent my weekend. I took my stepsister, 15 years my junior and another bridesmaid to the mountains for a pre-wedding girls' getaway. Not quite a bachelorette party, but still a weekend of bonding and sisterhood. Let me extol upon you a little nugget of wisdom I gleaned over the past couple of days...nothing brings the reality of your age more to the forefront than spending a weekend with "girls" who are a generation younger, recently graduated from college with their whole lives in front of them.


What occured on this weekend to have me suddenly face with the fact that the grim reaper's visit might be closer than I think? Well...I spent a good portion of my weekend trying to figure out my new cell phone, only to have to solicit help from the younglings. Just trying to find the ring tone seemed more perplexing than figuring out the shoes selections on the show, "What Not to Wear." Or, if I really want to date myself, more perplexing than solving a Rubik's Cube (pre-solution publishing). After years of being somewhat technical, I realized that technology sped past me a few years ago, leaving me in the dust. I vowed when I was younger to a) never have this happen to me and b) if it did, to know that it was time to move into a rest home which also dates me as they are known now as "long-term care" facilities.


The girls had a conversation about when they received their first cell phone, as in they got their first one when they were 16, though their brother was able to get one at age 10. Hello? They didn't even have cell phones, the internet on a wide-reaching level, laptops, etc. until I was in my mid-20s.


Continuing on the technology junket, I experienced and survived high school and college without the internet, specifically without myspace, facebook and no cell phone. To complete research on a paper, I actually had to step my foot into a building called the library. I learned how to use a card catalogue rather than a search engine on a computer. Did they ever sift through reams of microfiche for back issues of Newsweek or the WSJ? Nope. None of my weekend companions endured that - do they even know what microfiche is?


Later, we went out on the town and the one semi-bright moment was when I was asked for my I.D.. Yes, I know it was out of pity and more of a pack mentality that led to this request, but it was an official "carding." At another night spot, the waiter asked for the id's of the group, but didn't ask for mine. Instead, he actually said out loud, I don't need to see yours, you look old enough. Fine. No tip for you, my friend.


However, the icing on the cake was the discovery that the father of one of the girls in my group was just ONE year old than ME. I could have dated her father...I could have been in classes with him...heck, I could even be her mother! When we were out, did people think I could be their mother?!?! Smacked, slapped and stunned.

Can my perception be that totally skewed to think I have not actually aged in 15 years or so? Well, actually, yes. Of course, I knew that I had aged, but did I consider myself mother hen or a den mother to the college class of 2009? Ummmm, no.

We have all read the articles surmising how your age is all a state of mind. How many gift shops have, "You are only as young as you feel," painted on a piece of chintzy home decor? Not very inspirational. So, for now, I think I'll just continue to flirt with the number 29 while I try to figure out the blue tooth wireless headset my husband gave me tonight.

Why are transitions so incredibly difficult for me? We are on day 5 of summer break and yesterday I thought I was going to go crazy.If I were really honest in my writing each of you would question your friendship with me. That is a bit extreme, but you would at least reconsider any parenting posts I have written. The bottom line is that the transition to summer and three kids at home as not been smooth.

May 2009

The craziness that is the end of the school year will come to a close today with the celebration of Ethan's birthday party at the Greensboro Grasshopper's. The month of May is strongly competeing with December for the busiest time of year for our family. Actually, this year, I might say it superceded it on the stress meter. Here are a few highlights as well as some updates on where the kids are at this stage of their lives. Alert...blog post documenting my children therefore, parental bragging is inevitable. Proceed with caution.

Henry, my (step)brother, was married two weeks ago. I love his wife, Alana, and am thrilled she is a member of our family. My other (step)borther, John and his family arrived from East Asia for a two-month sabbatical from their lives as missionaries. It is awesome to have the family together agian after two years.

Each of my children had parts in the wedding. Ethan helped to distribute programs while Sadie and Lily were flower girls. All performed their duties well, but there were some very frustrating moments during the wedding ceremony. I was sitting on the front row with the girls waiting for my time as a reader. My girls just couldn't sit still and not talk. Right before I was to stand to read, Lily decided she needed to lay down on my lap and refused to sit up. I began to become frantic, but at the right moment she sat up so I could complete my role. However, as I was standing, Sadie decided to start crawling around on the floor, looking for a crayon. So, I did what every mom would do, start gently kicking her child to get her back up on the pew, all while reading the bible without a pause. After I finished, I sat down, turned to look at Jay who was a pew behind me. He saw the stress on my face and mouthed the words, "I am so sorry. I love you." At least he commiserated with me and my frustration. Thankfully, only those in the very fornt pew, containing family only, could see their constant state of movement and my "satanic-death-mean mommy" looks in their direction. I was the poster mom of how NOT to exhibit love in your facial expressions.

School ended on the 28th, also Ethan's 9th birthday. All the kids had great school years. I know that sentence doesn't really say much, but without a doubt we have been blessed with wonderful teachers every year.

Ethan: We struggled at bit, again, with responsibility this year. The year began with a long lecture about keeping up with his belongings. After the second day of school, Ethan lost his jacket. He did find it a few days later hanging over the stair railing at school. I did see a bit of growth in this area throughout the year, thank goodness. Yet, my little space cadet did lose his lunch box with a week left of school. He found it, however, as he walked by the humongous pile of lost and found on the last day of school. Seriously, that pile of clothing, bags, etc. could outfit another school. Incredible. This summer we will work on controlling our sensitivity and emotions, along with finding our self-confidence in who we are in Christ, rather than how the world defines us.

Academically, Ethan excelled. We never struggled with studying for tests or in homework and I am truly, truly thankful for that. He ended up with all As, and one B throughout the year. Ethan was particularly disappointed with the one B. He missed the A by one point and that one point prevented him from being on all A honor roll for the year. He is motivated for next year. He had a very detail-oriented teacher this year so I know he is very prepared for 4th grade.

At the end of the year, every child at HPCA is given an award. Ethan received the bible award which I assume had something to do with his 100 average in this subject. Maybe he is spouting off some sort of biblical interpretation and encouragment at school, too, I don't know. After receiving his award he announced to me that maybe he will be a preacher, too while serving as our nation's President. You go, Buddy! Ethan is learning how to discern good and bad situations, friends that are making good and not-so-good choices. His teacher told me that Ethan is very funny, sweet and a joy to have in her class.

When asked what he likes to do, Ethan answered playing with legos, playing the playstation and playing with his airsoft gun. He also enjoys reading and playing basketball. That last one is news to me.

Sadie: We saw a lot of progress in Sadie's behavior this year. There were times when she was 3 and 4 that I truly wondered if she would be able to actually exist in a classroom setting. Her choices in relationship to others and herself at those ages sometimes defied logic and were very concerning. Now, I sit here seeing a maturing little girl who still struggles with self-control and self-discipline at times, but more often than not is making good choices. One area in which Sadie seems to have no problems is responsibility. I never have to remind her to do her homework, or get her bags for the car in the morning. She just does it. We will continue to work on self-control this summer - in blurting out mean statements due to her own hurt emotions and in obedience to requests made of her.

Academically, Sadie ended up with all O+'s for the entire year - perfect marks. She received the National Fitness Award which was something I always wanted to receive, but never did achieve while I was in school. And, her end of the year award was for Art. I would say a very well-rounded child.

We went to the library this week. Sadie had ventured over to the paperback books. After a few minutes I checked to make sure she was alright. I was tickled to see her sitting in a chair, engrossed in a book. I so want my children to adore reading. Two down, one to go!

For the second year, Sadie had the same teacher. This teacher moved up from kindergarten to first grade and there were 4 kids who were blessed to have her for a second year. I give most of the credit for Sadie's growth to this amazing teacher. We have been simply blessed. After we left school on the last day, Sadie just cried and cried and cried because Mrs. Newell would no longer be her teacher. The rumor is that she is moving back to kindergarten and my prayer is that Lily will be assigned to her classroom next year!

When asked what she likes to do, Sadie answered playing in the pool, playing with mom, going to the creek to find crayfish and salamanders, drawing pretty pictures.

Lily: She remains the most loving child...constantly asking for snuggle, telling me how much she loves me, asking me to rub her leg, foot, arm, back, etc. Yesterday, after her gymnastics recital, she plopped in my lap and announced, "Mommy, I just can't stop loving you."

Lily has shown a lot of progress, particularly in the last couple of months in her fine motor skills. Her writing skills are now up to par for kindergarten and her coloring is much neater and in the lines. She loves school and was the only one of my children to respond with a "YAY!" when I announced I had purchased summer workbooks. The other two groaned, of course. She just loves school and that was one reason we decided to push her onto kindergarten next year, despite an August birthday. Speaking of birthdays, Lily has been discussing hers since last year. It has been heightened by the advent of Ethan's birthday this week. She has it planned to the last detail, including what she is going to wear.

Lily is working on her response to the word, "no" when stated by anyone other than herself. Right now, we are in a crying loudly phase. I have no doubt that we have indulged her a bit as the baby of the family. Even Ethan shares in the blame for this one as he will do anything to not hear her cry or have her rebuff him. Regardless, it is time to push her to grow up a bit this summer.

When asked what she likes to do, Lily answered doing crafts, go outside to play and swim.

Me: I will begin a new bible study this summer after nearly a two year absence from a formal study. It will be good to be back into the word, consistently after such an absence. The kids are signed up for several camps - soccer, scouts, dance, music camp and lessons, swim team, etc. And, we are all helping to serve at vbs that our church is hosting for a specific disadvantaged neighborhood. Ethan will have his first overnight camps this summer. First is weeblo/scout camp for three nights. In July, he will attend Lurecrest Camp for 5 nights. It makes me nervous for him, but there are two counselors from our church working there and I trust they will keep an eye out for him.

We joined the Elk's pool, finally, and I was thrilled to learn last night that they have wifi by the pool. Is it ridiculous to think I might get some writing done by the pool this summer? I am hoping to reconnect to my love of reading, too.

As far as my main writing project...it is still that, a project. Writing took a back seat for the most part of May. I have four ideas floating around that I want to explore this summer, I am sure none to completion, but I am going to plow forth. 1) Jay's story for our children. From arriving in the U.S. with nothing, working fast-food jobs, to owning his own company 2) Writing about my mixed heritage background. This will require some investigation and interviewing, but there is a definite story here. 3) Ansley's journey from a sister's perspective. This is the one most likely to be completed in a timely manner as much is already written in the form of email updates. 4) Most compelling to me and the most difficult to write - my own journey in the search for authenticity and transparency.

Jay asked me last week, "So, what are you going to do in the fall when all the kids are in school?" That is a great question. I guess I have two months to figure it out!

For My Lily...

"My Wish"

by Rascall Flatts

I hope that the days come easy and the moments pass slow,

And each road leads you where you want to go,

And if you're faced with a choice, and you have to choose,

I hope you choose the one that means the most to you.

And if one door opens to another door closed,

I hope you keep on walkin' till you find the window,

If it's cold outside, show the world the warmth of your smile,

But more than anything, more than anything,

My wish, for you, is that this life becomes all that you want it to,

Your dreams stay big, and your worries stay small,

You never need to carry more than you can hold,

And while you're out there getting where you're getting to, I hope you know somebody loves you, and wants the same things too, Yeah, this, is my wish.

I hope you never look back, but ya never forget,

All the ones who love you, in the place you left,

I hope you always forgive, and you never regret,

And you help somebody every chance you get,

Oh, you find God's grace, in every mistake,

And you always give more than you take.

But more than anything, yeah, and more than anything,

My wish, for you, is that this life becomes all that you want it to,

Your dreams stay big, and your worries stay small,

You never need to carry more than you can hold,

And while you're out there getting where you're getting to,

I hope you know somebody loves you, and wants the same things too, Yeah, this, is my wish.

My wish, for you, is that this life becomes all that you want it to,

Your dreams stay big, and your worries stay small,

You never need to carry more than you can hold,

And while you're out there getting where you're getting to,

I hope you know somebody loves you, and wants the same things too,

Yeah, this, is my wish.

This is my wish

I hope you know somebody loves you

May all your dreams stay big.

Lily, you are growing too fast for me. Please slow down for just a second and let me breath in all of what you are at this moment. Our days of paling around, you as my little tag along buddy are nearing an end. Did I enjoy every second with you? Did I suck all the kisses and hugs I could manage to wrangle? Did I give you everything you needed? I tried, little Lovey. I did.

Be Still My Beating Heart...

I have been listening to some long ago forgotten CDs which I discovered while cleaning out for market. One is Field's of Gold, a great one by Sting. I have the warmest, in a literal and figurative sense, memories of this CD, driving in my '87 Honda Civic to Myrtle Beach over Spring Break during my senior year of high school. There is a stretch of back logging roads along that route that during April and May is simply stunning. Both sides of the road are covered with the most ultra bright and fresh green grass fields and wild flowers. There was a heightened sense of freedom during this particular drive and I assume it was youth, the end of high school and unlimited possibilities all coming to a head. Years have passed, 20 to be exact, and I have driven that street to the point where I could nearly do it blindfolded. Everytime though, I think of that one specific trip and my friend, Debi, whenever I hear the CD or drive that route.

As I busied myself around the house this morning trying to recover from the tornado of activity that accompanied a family wedding weekend, one particular song stood out - "Be Still My Beating Heart." As I listened and sang along to the lyrics, a line, much familiar to me, stood out: "And, I wriggle like a fish caught on dry land." I found myself sinking into a bit of a melancholy place. The song continues further..."I sink like a stone that's been thrown in the ocean. My logic has drowned in a sea of emotion." I can't say what Sting meant by those words, but I inserted it into my own life and well, just didn't like the outcome.

Maybe it is mid-life. Maybe it is that my youngest child is leaving for kindergarten in August. Maybe it is that life doesn't seem to hold to have as much...what is the word I am looking for - purpose, meaning, fulfillment? Possibly? Not sure that is it. It does have meaning and purpose, it just lacks focus, lacks a clear path at the moment. My brain holds years of biblical study that gives me the answer to all of this. Yet, I am tired of trying to keep it at the forefront. My emotions are simply drowning me and I think that the life preserver with my name on it lingers just out of sight. If I could only see it, touch it, and thrive because of it.


Maybe this is what happens when you decide to stop working for perfection and give it all up to simply live freely. I mean, while running on that comfortable and well-worn performance treadmill, I was solidly focused. Albeit it was a terribly never-ending and unreachable focus, but a focus nevertheless. Now, I am in limbo between two worlds, not feeling at home in either and certainly not where I currently reside. In fact, I feel a little lost in my freedom. Isn't that interesting. If none of this daily grind (you know, the mundane) really matters, then what in the world am I doing every day? My life seems to be nothing but mundane. Sigh. Not a good day for me and it was particularly punctuated by cleaning the kitchen, folding laundry, dealing with a landscaper, taking a trip to Costco, the dry cleaners, picking the dog up from the vet, taking Jay his suit to work, taking Lily to gymnastics, picking up kids from school while listening to music that makes my skin crawl, checking homework, listening to reading, preparing for scouts, fixing and cleaning up after dinner, hauling kids to scouts, teaching 7 girls about geology (as if), and getting kids baths/ready for bed with a book and snack. When will this discontentment stop?

Lord, be still my anxiously beating heart...

I received an email from a good friend in regards to my post, Forever Young. My friend wrote very clearly what I have been feeling:


Been there, done that, felt the same abandonment - back here, keeping all the plates spinning, making everything "look right" on the outside, being everything to everyone. Can I possibly be the same person now that I was then? Is the same me still inside? There are days when that voice of wanderlust is still and quiet, but many days when she is screaming at me to get up and go. But I remember that I'm the responsible one now, the one with commitments and schedules, the one with too many people dependent on me.


Do I miss that life? - yes. Am I happy with my life now? - yes. But above all, I'm grateful God gave me those years to wander and roam His fabulous world. It gives me depth and perspective now which hopefully makes me a better wife, mom, sister, person, etc ...


I have done a bit of thinking about what I am teaching my kids. Are we enjoying life, amidst the routine and jobs. Or, am I so focused on performance and responsibility that it is completely overshadowed. I mean, does it really matter if the laundry sits on the table for one more day or if their rooms are messy more days than clean? What are we doing every day to enjoy what God has given us?I agree that voice is louder on some days than others. I guess it is screaming at the top of my lungs at the moment. Now, what to do with it....

Forever Young

Continuing with the age of innocence theme...I started thinking about a time in my life when I had no cares, no worries, no stress. Did I ever just take off, not worry about plans, tasks undone and responsibilities?

My memories of such a time in my life have been jolted in the last day or so. My dearest friend Niels has shown up on facebook and along with him are the memories of the best trip I have ever taken. Without him, my first trip to Africa would not have happened. I had no business, no rational reasoning to go there. I was 22, had no job, very little money, no concrete plans for the future, and now that I think about it...no home to even call my own. Yet, I took what little money I had, wrapped up my year of living in the Netherlands, packed a suitcase and headed out to Zimbabwe with him and another friend for a month of ridiculous abandonment, choices that would shock even the wild at heart, and enjoyed life in all its hilarity, love, and adventure.


At the beginning of the trip we stayed with Niels' parents who were living in Harare, Zimbabwe. Then we took off, backpacking our way through South Africa, Botswana, Zambia, returning to Zimbabwe. We began the journey on a train still emblazoned with its Rhodesian logos from the colonial days. There were no concrete plans, no reservations made, no tickets purchased. Therefore, the trip included walking, hitchhiking (yes, hitchhiking in the middle of nowhere), school bus-type transportation, a plane (Air Botswana) and the back of a pick-up truck for 7 hours. We mostly tent camped with a brief reprieve at some friends of Niels' parents. We ran out of local currency, yes, money. We opted to eat only a pack of mints in order to drink a Zambezi, saw elephants from 100 feet, got chased by monkeys, saw the "last Eden on earth," ate impala schnitzel, had some digestive issues, took outdoor showers, went to a few discos, held snakes, drove on the "wrong" side of the road, met a real mercenary, made a missing persons report to the police, saw one of the 7 wonders of the world, visited a country in the midst of enormous change and hope, got lost, laughed, cried (maybe that was just me) and LIVED.

It was during this part of the trip when my eyes were opened to how most of the world lives. It was during this part of the trip that I felt I was truly living, sucking every ounce of emotions and experiences from every day. It was during this trip that I felt the most confidence in my abilities to handle anything that came my way. I am forever indebted to Niels for inviting me to tag along on such a life-altering trip.

My heart sinks when I read about the calamity that has befallen Zimbabwe. A country of such promise in the early 90s, now racked with scandals, political destruction and the AIDS epidemic. I wonder what the slums of South Africa have become since the fall of apartheid, as we saw the hope in the eyes of the people of that country only 6 months after it was abolished. I don't know anyone who has ever been to Africa who wasn't deeply moved by the tension between beauty and despair. It is a continent that quickly creates passion and carves a lasting mark in the hearts of every visitor. A place that exists, defying the odds on so many levels. I know there is a little hole in my heart created by the piece I left in Africa over 14 years ago and made larger by a second trip 6 years ago.

My second trip was much different - a missions trip to Ghana. I loved every minute I was there and I long for more of it. I dream of once again holding the little orphan girl in Ghana in my arms while the harmonic sounds of the orphan choir sing praises. I never think about those places without believing one day I might return on a more lengthy basis. How, where and why, I do not know.

Until then, I will think about how life has propelled me to lose some of that spontaneity and become the uber responsible, somewhat fearful, worried, self-doubting mom and wife. I think it is time to reclaim that independent and adventurous girl from 1994. Today, it is never too late to be...Forever Young.

The Blue Hour

The term "blue hour" comes from a French expression l'heure bleue, which refers to twilight, the period each morning and evening where there is neither full daylight nor complete darkness. The time is considered special because of the quality of the light at this time of day and because this is often when the smell of the flowers is at their strongest. In literature, this term often symbolizes a period of innocence.

My vision of the blue hour is the very first light of the morning which creeps its way through the windows, the trees outlined starkly in contrast to the cool and yet, comforting blue hues in the sky. I saw the blue hour this morning as my youngest crawled into bed with me. It was a rare night of musical beds. Though everyone began in their own beds, in the morning I found myself in Sadie's bed, Sadie was on her trundle bed and Lily was in my bed, until she sought me out once again this time in Sadie's bed. I remember when the musical beds game was routine for us, over 2 years ago. That is one rite of passage I am glad is pretty much behind us.

As Lily crawled in behind me in Sadie's white sleigh bed, I gazed through the white wooden blinds. I thought about that "period of innocence" so perfectly on display by the azure sky this morning. My Lily will graduate in a couple of weeks from preschool, marking the end of one title I have held for 7 years, "Mom of a Preschooler." But, in the last couple of weeks she has met the world in all of its rudeness head on. Another child laughed at her, remarking that she has crisscrossed eyes, giggling at her glasses. Lily ran to me, crying at the hurt she just experienced. It was her first insight into being different. It was her first introduction that something might be wrong with her. It was her first experience that others can simply be mean. My heart rushed to comfort her. I was stunned at the cruelty of another child at such a young age. But, I remained fixed and focused on healing her hurts. As I wiped away the tears, I wanted to wipe this encounter away from her memory as well. The impact of this moment did not escape me. It was the dwindling of her innocence, the end of the blue hour.

The days go by slowly, but the years are flying by. More times this year than ever, I have had older mothers and grandmothers tell me to cherish these times, each and every day. Their advice is given at random in the grocery store, at the park, at school. Sometimes it seems I am scrambling, a day late in capturing and holding onto those moments. School work comes home in droves, showing the progression with the ages. Lily can now write several words and seems to amble around, paper and pen always toted along with her. Sadie is completely immersed in some serious chapter books, but still devotes energy to catch lizards along the driveway and crayfish in the creek. Ethan is plotting his 9th birthday party and prospective gifts. We spent time today putting together the Mouse Trap contraption in the game with the same name. He never fails to be appreciative of the undivided time I give to him.

Similar to the incident with Lily on the playground, I see the bits of innocence being chipped away from all three of my children. As they age, their exposure to the world increases, and their sense of security will inevitably decrease. I hope and pray that their hearts will remain full of optimism, courage, creativity, confidence, self-assurance; in the light of l'heure bleue.

Every Day

A family I am very loosely connected with has had the unthinkable happen...the loss of a child, age 7. To me this is cruelest of circumstances. My own feeble mind cannot wrap itself around this devastation. My own grief at the loss of my sister seems to pale in comparison to what it would be like to lose one of my own brood.

Life was pretty darn easy for me prior to Ansley's illness and passing. Then, very suddenly, everything was turned upside down and I found myself in self-preservation mode. I might add that I failed miserably living in that mode, too. We weren't created to self-preserve.

As a result, I have lived through extreme grief and continue to exist in a milder form of it. I believe that it will be my companion, albeit a little one, for the rest of my life. The ebbs and flows of grief are like the tides. Somewhat rhythmic and predictable like the calendar, yet are not even in their size or timing. Sometimes you feel as if you have just recovered from the last wave only to be blindsided by the next one. To know that this family is at the beginning of this new way of existing, this new family dynamic and to know what suffering is before them brings me to my knees. I am not yet to the point of being able to comfort someone freshly grieving as it is still too fresh in my own heart.

And yet, there is hope. Hope that is infinite and eternal. A hope that never changes, that never fades. In the perfect storm of pain, anguish, grief, evil, God is all we have to cling to. Nothing, I mean nothing in this world is more solid, reliable, comforting, and loving than our God.

I have mentioned in a previous post my dislike for the phrase, "God only gives us what we can handle." It is not biblical scripture and though I understand the intent, it is opposite of one of my favorite verses. "I can do all things through Christ which strengthens me." My belief is that God does bring more to us than we, on our own, can handle because it is Him that gives us the strength to do it. His purpose at all times is to grow us in unbelievable places. It is to pull us and stretch our faith. It is to bring us to a point where they only solution is to turn to Him. It is at that point of complete surrender that we hear His loving words, His wooing us to Him. It is that gentle nudge that leads us to want more of Him and less of this world.

Life on this terra firma is brief, a blink of an eye in relationship to eternity, ending often without warning. Yet, even in times like these, where the worst fears of a parent are realized, I find comfort in knowing God is completely in control of it. He has a plan for each of us, a job if you will. That job is involves both our internal - our spiritual growth and our external - the impact we have on others. For some, that plan is complete in just a few short years. For others, it will continue until we are old and gray. Until that work is completed in us, we remain here as workers for Him.

For this family and their friends...life will go continue forward. It will be painful to watch the lives of others continue, appearing to be unaffected by the the loss they are experiencing. My heart wants to tell them...Don't ever discount your grief. Don't ever compare your grief to others. Don't begin to think that you are not normal in your grief cycle. God knows our sorrows, our tears, our pains, our hurts. He is big enough to carry those burdens and He is big enough to take our anger. Give it to Him. Every day.

Count your blessings...once again.

I have been very removed from the blog as shown by the lack of any posts in the previous 3 weeks. I have been writing, but it has been more for the project than the blog. In returning to my normal rhythm of life after market, it seems very appropriate that I begin again with what I should do more often than not - count my blessings! Here we go:

1. First Anniversary of the company! Exciting because a) we are still in business and b) we have employees, good employees and c) I have been able to step away from the company and focus my attention on the children, house and all the comes with it.

2. As I type this, I am sitting on my deck, in the warmth of the sun, with a breeze that is delightful. I can hear my littlest one giggling with a friend with not a care in the world. In 3 short months, she will enter kindergarten. My time is short, so I will soak up every minute with her.

3. My entire family will be together in two weeks. It has been over 2 years since this last occurred. Weddings tend to force these visits. I can't wait to meet my nephew for the first time.

4. The ability to cook meals again. We ate out a lot while living in the basement. Not only is it not healthy, it gets very old, very quickly. It is great to pour over my cookbooks, plan, calculate, and make lists of love for my family.

Home Sweet Home

This is a blog primarily to document and thus provide evidence for my claim that I reside in "Crazytown." Really, though, I know most of what I experience in life is no different that the rest of you. It is just life. Yet, there are times when I think surely this is not "normal." And so, begins another post...

We rent our house to a group of people who are attending the furniture market in our town. It is good, free money for 10 days, 2x a year, yet, I always wonder after it is all said and done if it is truly worth it. Sure, you are forced to get your house completely in order, totally clean. You are displaced for a short period of time and get a very nice check for your trouble. But for us, it is never that simple.

Currently, it is furniture market time which signals chaos in our house. Never have we had an "uneventful" market. Something always goes awry. There was the one year we decided to "camp" in our camper at the local campground. Lily found Jay's heart medication while I was tending to the others in the bathtub. That resulted in 3 days at Brenner's Children's Hospital. In the end, Lily was fine. Ok, so that probably deserves its own post. There is so much fodder in just those 4 sentences. Not all markets have been that potentially catastrophic, but I have come to the conclusion that if something is going to happen, it will usually occur during the two weeks of April and the two weeks in October during which this blessed event takes place.

This year, has been no exception. The two weeks prior to market, I had two sick children. Sadie was first with the stomach virus that lasted 5 days, missing 4 days of school. I had 3 days of reprieve before Ethan started up, lasting 4 days of which 3 were missed school days. Very insignificantly, but still a bump in the road, was the complete breakdown of my beloved mop, only a few short hours prior to my renters' arrival.

Learning the campground was not ideal for our family, we now reside in our basement for the 11 days the renters are here. This is extremely convenient. Quite happily, I can say this is the first maket during which the basement is complete, meaning there are no construction projects being completed while we are down here. One market we did a LOT of painting. Another, we put stone around the gas fireplace and finished the wood flooring. Last market, we installed the hanging ceiling, continuously sending a shower of white specks and dust over the entire area and our belongings.

Sadly, apart from market, we really don't utilize this space as much as we should. Therefore, market tends to justify its existence. However, space that is not used is inviting. Inviting for creatures and varmints. Within the first 24 hours we killed a little field mouse and a ...baby snake. By "we," I mean Jay. I simply stood there and screamed like I was going down with the Titanic. I deplore snakes. And, yes, I know that where there is one, there are others. I can only continue to reside in these living conditions with the idea that it slithered in here when the kids left the basement door open for a couple of hours. Slithered. I am shivering just writing that word.

But, so far the pièce de résistance of April Market 2009 can be summed up with two words - "sprinkler malfunction." I am not at liberty to go into details, so let's just leave it at that. And, there appears to be a silver lining to what could have been a terrible situation.

It is a bit of a déjà vu story for me. When I was very, very young, my father began a furniture company. I only learned of this fact in the last couple of years, which I find interesting. Anyway, he and his partner had multiple orders placed and manufacturing was running smoothly. It was the early stages of the business. The future was very bright. However, next door to their building, construction was occurring. There was some sort of heavy rain/flooding. A deluge of mud and water came crashing down an poorly graded embankment, tearing into the wall of their building and thus destroying the entire operation. In order to cut costs in their initial phase, they had not purchased insurance. They were over. Finished. My dad, realizing the catastrophic impact of losing everything, went back to work doing what he was educated to do - furniture design. He has had quite successful career, but I know he must have always wondered, "what if."
I think I could deal with market being over pretty soon. Enough is enough.

Question for the Day

I am knee-deep this week in market preparations for our renters. For those with no connections to my town that follow this blog, we rent our house for 10 days, twice a year to a group of people attending the very large trade show held here. I know it sounds a bit strange...complete strangers in your house, sleeping in your bed. But, we have done it for awhile and now those "stranger" are more like family. It is a fantastic way to force getting your house in order twice a year. It is always a bit stressful, yet this year seems to be eerily relaxed. I am sure I am forgetting some key element.

I haven't had much time to craft a decent post. I am working on some pieces, but haven't gotten them tweaked exactly where I want them to be. Instead of stressing about it, I am letting this rest for a bit.

The other "going-on" in my life is my recently acquired mp3 player. I am walking down memory lane, ala youtube. Fun stuff. But, what I want from you is your top 5 must-have downloads. Well, you can give me how many you want - new, old, secular, christian. Whatever! If you have particular songs for running, let me know. I am trying to get back into that zone. Comment away, dear readers, and help me fill this up!

I Dream a Dream with Susan Boyle

If you haven't seen her, maybe you have heard her. She is the latest viral video sensation on youtube thanks to the television show, "Britain's Got Talent." Last I checked videos of her had been viewed some 16 million times worldwide in less than some 3 days. That alone could make you curious to watch her, right? What is so special about this lady? Well, watch this and see: Susan Boyle. Seriously, if you don't watch the video you will not come close to understanding this post. Well, ok, that is a bit of an exaggeration, but I really want you to experience it all the way to the end as the judges comments are quite compelling.

You learn from the video that she lives alone with her cat, Peebles. She is unemployed, never been married, never been kissed and is 47. Yes, 47, and the quintessential frumpy, single, cat lady. The video does not begin to tell her whole story.

What you don't know, but I do, because of the magic of google, is that she found the courage to go on such a show because it was her dying mother's wish, whom she nursed until her death. She has a learning disability that made her the subject of cruel teasing and taunting as a child. This learning disability was caused by a lack of oxygen to her brain which occurred because of abuse she endured when she was young.

Yet, here she is. And, I love her. Why?

Yeah, ok, we all love the underdog. In economic times such as these we all need a little boost to our day, a little smile. But, I think it goes much deeper than this. At least it does for me.

I love her because she has beaten the odds. Yes, I know that defines her as an "underdog", but keep reading. She rose above the circumstances, the abuse, the bullying, and if I may go so far to say this...most likely loneliness, heartbreak, emotional turmoil that goes far beyond where I have been.

I relate to her because I have been on the nasty receiving end of taunting and teasing. And, no doubt, sadly and with much remorse, I doled out some verbal vomit and was dismissive to others. Watching Ms. Boyle created in me this ball of compassion and conviction that erupted into the such overflow of tears and exuberance that I nearly stood up and clapped and cheered for her while in my own study. My smile was large and wide and very uncontrollable. While watching her, it was like I was breaking free of some childhood pain and vowing to create a new legacy for my own children. My heart wants never to make a snap judgment of someone's worth, because every single person has worth, immeasurable worth. I know we often say that, but don't our actions often betray this sentiment?

Honestly, she is not an attractive woman, physically. Yet, she comes onto that stage with such confidence (note the swagger). She rolls her hips around with flair. She is real, albeit a bit raw. How does she do this? Because she is utterly who she is, without a doubt she knows who she is. And, she allows me to see who she is, not just the persona of who she strains to be. I want that for myself.

She has been singing since she was 12. Her dream is to be a professional singer, singing in front of a large audience and to be as successful as Elaine Page. Boyles' outlay of her aspirations made me think about my own dreams and goals. To equate her goal to something in my life means that my dream would be to have a NY Times best seller. I wouldn't dare think about anything like that. It has never even crossed my mind. Being on Oprah, well, that is another story, made long before writing ever entered the picture. But really, I would be happy just to see something in actual print. The question is...why don't I dream big? Why don't I allow myself to even think about such lofty ideas?

Most importantly, however, is this: Despite what has been a lifetime of rejection, Susan Boyle appears to be quite authentic and transparent. Her own life is an open book, not shuffled under the rug and or hidden behind the door, nor attempted to be anything it is not. How did she arrive to this point in her life? Well, she learned to sing in church and it is there that she practiced her amazing gift. I would imagine that her relationship with God is what is really on display here. It is only through Him that we can be comfortable, that we can be free to be who we really are.

Today's bottom line: It is world's most erroneous standard and we have bought into it. The lie is that only the beautiful, rich and fabulous have something to offer this world. The lesson of Susan Boyle is that every single being matters - who they are, what they are and how they dream. And, if she couldn't hold a tune, she should be loved just as much.

Clarification and Research

Alright, I clearly confused a few people with the "Chapter 2" title of my post yesterday. My writing project is not about Sadie. Although clearly she warrants such consideration. It was, however, in reference to my post here entitled "Just a Little Crabby" where I mentioned a chapter I should write entitled, "The Enigma that is Sadie."

I still need MANY more questionnaires completed and returned. I have about 30-35 of them and was hoping over time to get about 100. Maybe that is unrealistic, but that is my goal.

Oh great. The dog, Dixie, just walked into the room and guess what...she has a strand of chewing gum hanging out of her mouth. Wonder where that came from and what kind of mess awaits me in another room. Obviously, I need to wrap this up.

Here are the questions, again. I ask that you answer with honesty, what you really feel, NOT what you think is the correct answer or what you think society says it should be.

1. What do you fear people, particularly other women, will know about you? What do you try to hide?
2. What do you avoid at all costs in your interaction with other women ?
3. When did you start hiding parts of yourself from the world? Can you remember an age or circumstance that led to this?
4. What 3 goals/desires do you have for your children?
5. How did your childhood impact these goals?
6. In what ways do you feel you fail as a mother? Or, as a wife?
7. Who, in this world, do you model?
8. What do they have that you don't?
9. Do you think (scale of 1-10) you are successful at modeling them?
10. Name 3 things you routinely do out of "peer pressure", because all the other wives and mothers are doing it.
11. Describe what "having it all" really means to you.

If you would like to email me your responses, here is mine, with some spaces: kelsey @ dumoulin.us THANKS!

Chapter 2, The Physical Prowess of Sadie

Let's see. She must have been three and a half. Shockingly, what I found in her room, could have killed her, easily. Now, I can be amazed at how her determination, creativity, dexterity, imagination and keen skills of manipulation converged together in this single event.

Sadie had a strong affinity for the Flintstone vitamins we kept on the highest shelf of our tall kitchen cabinets. She was a tiny little thing for her age, but with amazing fine motor skills and physical flexibility.

I entered her bedroom to clean up what was always the Sadie-tornado-induced disaster. I approached the little round play kitchen and saw a white piece of plastic with jagged edges sitting in the play microwave. I picked it up, it was clearly a lid with some of the surrounding pieces of plastic intact. I began to search around for other clues to this mystery. It didn't take long to find it. Hidden underneath her freshly painted white desk was the remainder of the large plastic bottle of vitamins and a very sharp kitchen knife.

Here is what she accomplished sometime in the previous day or so. She had scrambled onto the kitchen counter, stood on tip toes to retrieve the "child-proof" bottle of vitamins (which by the way are chocked full of iron). She then scrambled to another counter to procure a sharp kitchen knife from the butcher block holder. At some point she took both items up the long stairway to her room. Then, she proceeded to use the sharp kitchen knife to completely cut through the very thick plastic bottle and ultimately cut the entire lid off, creating two pieces. She achieved this without a single cut or injury to herself.

In my panicked discovery, I quickly grabbed the phone and dialed poison control. The overdose of iron could be deadly. Because this was the "Costco" version of the bottle, there was no way to tell exactly how many had been ingested. I was instructed to quiz Sadie on how many she took. Sadie calmly answered me, "Mommy, I just took 1/2 pill a day, just like I 'posed to. I used the knife to cut them into two." Of course. The child who goes to all the trouble to obtain the vitamins, breaking every rule in our house, will at least follow the instructions on the bottle.

The operator was very kind and after discussing the time frame of the incident we gathered that she was most likely ok. However, I was instructed to watch her like a hawk, which clearly I had not been doing, and to go to the emergency room if a slew of reactions began to present themselves.

And, where was I when all of this was happening? Who knows, really. I mean, it is not like I left her alone for long periods of time. I best surmise it happened while I was in the shower and getting ready one morning. I am sure there are a few "new" mothers freaking out about now, but seriously, what is the likelihood this entire scenario would play out? We are talking a 3-1/2 year old.

Which leads me to another point...what does this say about my child? That she is persistent, determined and has an amazing ability to not only know what she wants, but can work through the steps on how to achieve it. Granted, this skill was not channeled in a direction I would have chosen, but I am trying to find the positive in what easily could have been disaster.

I have seen this same skill set played out over and over in her brief life. At age 18 months, not yet potty-trained, she took her diaper off. Picked up the poo contained within, and crammed it into the little toy potty in her dollhouse that Santa had dropped off just 5 months previous. At least she understood where is was supposed to go, right?

Sometime when Sadie was around 17 months old, I was cleaning out winter clothes, switching in summer ones. There were a few bathing suits in a box. While I was putting clothes in the drawers, Sadie completely undressed herself and adorned herself, correctly I will add, with a bathing suit. She even reached down and put her own socks back on her feet. At 17 months.

When she was 4, she could shimmy across the monkey bars, the big kid monkey bars, all by herself. She taught herself how to swing her legs left and right to propel her body forward. I recall in the spring of 2007, we visited friends in D.C. and rode the metro. Not content to sit in the chairs, my child held on to the poles that help you remain steady when standing, you know, when all the seats are full. Quickly, she began to "work" that pole, skimming up and down, slinging around, twirling. All I wished at that moment was that it was not an indication of her future profession.

When she was barely 5, she came running into the house shouting, "Mommy, I just rode Ethan's bike!" I grabbed the camera and went outside. Yep, she taught herself how to ride a big kid's bike without training wheels...all by herself.

Recently, at age 6, she attempted to climb a rock climbing wall. Never having participated in such a feat, she was immediately infatuated with giving it a go. She quickly scrambled to the top, almost reaching the bell, and then became stuck. Instead of whimpering and panicking like most of the people before her, she simply lowered herself back down to the mid-way point. She reassessed the entire wall, calculated her new route and headed right back up in a newly determined path to ring that bell.

And, I watched her yesterday at the Great Wolf Lodge, tackling some plastic lily pads floating in the water. There were ropes above you to help you maneuver across the pool on the pads. Picture an obstacle course on water. Many failed before her, and some were challenged. Not Sadie. Quickly, with skill and agility, she made it look very easy. Her mother was not so lucky.

I am sure I could comb through her baby book and add many other stories. I am also positive that many reading this could, too. It is that confidence, that complete lack of fear that scares me, yet allows me to probably give her a bit more freedom than most children her age. I laugh, but with some seriousness say to people...Sadie has the ability to set the world on fire, literally or figuratively. My prayer is for the latter!

10 Things I Learned at the Beach

Things I learned on my trip to the beach with my three kids:

1. Old school is best. We have been blessed with a DVD player in our car. On previous trips, we have turned on the movie of choice before we even made it out of the driveway. This time, I decided to wait until it was requested. Guess what? They never asked for it. Shocking, really. This may stem from the fact that the kids had just finished up a week's worth of grounding which included no "screens" (television, computers, wii, psp, etc.) But I think it really was the result of letting the kids pick out a coloring book and markers of choice as well as pack hefty amounts of books. They were focused on the books the entire way. Not one squabble, not one screeching, not one issue. Clearly, old school is the way.

2. Once they have completed a "job," learned to behave in a positive way, that should be the only expectation. The kids made a 4 hour journey and the atmosphere was calm, peaceful, delightful. Though the bar has been set high, they will be expected to achieve it each and every time. It is like once your child dresses himself, he has mastered that skill. The expectation is that he will now do this every morning. And, really, if you begin to help him again, then you are not allowing him to become independent in an area that he has already mastered. Now, I know that failure is going to happen, and it will be forgiven, but this is an example of the kind of behavior that I will point to when the going gets rough.

3. It really, really bothers Ethan when Sadie disobeys me. I haven't seen this as clearly as I did this morning at breakfast. Sadie could not leave her silverware alone. First, clinking it against her glass, then beating it loudly on the table, then slightly tapping it on the table, then using them to scrape along the placemats. Each time, I asked that she stop what she was doing and then she would find a way around what I had just requested. It really bothered Ethan and he finally told her so. "Sadie, you are really being disobedient to Mommy and you need to stop." I solved the entire issue by taking her utensils until breakfast arrived.

4. Ethan is keenly aware of what I might do to embarrass him. Alert at all times. Ready to rebuff my advances of a kiss or hug. Always ready to preempt a comment he thinks I am going to make in public with a verbal warning made by him. "Mom, don't think about bringing up..."

5. My children are much more persnickety about the temperature of a body of water than either my sister or me were when we were their age. My family religiously traveled to the beach every Easter. I remember always swimming in the outdoor pool in April, no matter the weather. Purple lip-inducing water was the norm. Yet, my kids complain about the indoor pool water, remaining only in the small hot tub generally reserved for adults.

6. Sadie is my evangelist. She was expounding on the gospel in a very simple, loving way to an Indian girl in the pool. She wasn't forceful, she wasn't ugly, she wasn't condemning. She just asked some questions and then said, "You should think about Jesus. He is real and the bible is real." The girl told her she believed in something else (a king that is their god? or something like that). And Sadie said, "Ok, but think about it. " Later while we were eating breakfast, this same family came into the restaurant and were seated at a table next to us. Sadie broke out in an impromptu prayer.

Note: As the days passed by at the beach, you can tell my tone in this post changes from sweet and peaceful to slightly aggravated and irritated.

7. Hooters t-shirts on men. Ridiculous. I have never been a fan of this establishment. The premise of this restaurant is appalling and for men to tell me they, "go there for the food," begs me to ask them this question, "Do I look like a fool to you?" The particular t-shirt in question said, "Hooter Girls Love Me." Of course they do, you ding dong, they are paid to do that and their tips depend on their ability to lavish this fake attention on you! Why would you a) advertise you have been there and b) show how gullible you are?

8. No matter what system is established, arguments will always abound on who's turn it is to press the elevator buttons or open the hotel room with the room card. I am too old to remember who did it last, too old to referee and too old to care. Trust me, we had several systems to keep this straight. All failed. The only one that worked is when I didn't allow anyone to do it except me.

9. Lily has learned that if she wants to get my attention right away, she must firmly plant her lips on mine for a kiss. It doesn't matter if I am talking to a waitress, my high school friend we met on the way home from the beach, or trying to eat my own food. She will try to force my face in her direction, kiss me (even if slightly more on the cheek) and then say, "Mommy, I need you." It doesn't matter if it is an emergency or if it is just to tell me that her food is good. She has clearly lost the art of patience. And, though it seems really cute at first, after about the 50th time, it gets old. The kisses are not from the heart and she could just be hitting me in the arm to get my attention. It is just mechanical.

10. A trip with your kids is just what you need to remind you how blessed you are. Blessed to have them and blessed that they go to school for several hours each day to give you some "alone" time. Seriously, you often lose sight of how much they are growing and changing during the daily grind. It is when you take these journeys absent of breaks that you see just how quickly time is passing and how the days of these trips are numbered.

Well, I'm off! I am leaving town today with the three kids, sans husband. We are swinging through New Bern and onto Atlantic Beach for a couple of days, then back through Raleigh on our way home. Say a prayer for us, specifically me. I will be without other adults and we have one small hotel room. The weather isn't going to be particularly wonderful, but the NC Aquarium, Fort Fisher and the indoor pool at the hotel will hopefully keep us busy.

Over the next three days, I have invited three friends to guest blog. Meaning, they will author what will appear on my blog. They are talented writers, so be generous with your comments. I know you will enjoy them as much as I do!

While I am gone, I will be working on Chapter 2 of "The Enigma That Is Sadie." There are so many stories from which to choose, it should be pretty easy. And, I want to spend some time on "the book." Oh, who am I kidding? I will be solely in charge of the kids and maintaining my sanity will be work enough! Like I am going to get any writing done.

So, stay tuned!

Just a Little Crabby

A few years ago, it was the high-season of pets in our home. I know it always appears that way to those that know us well, but this particular season we owned two dogs, a cat, two lovebirds and two hermit crabs. The kids were thrilled with all of the living creatures around us, though it seems all I did was clean up after more critters than the three required by law. Sadie was particularly fond of her hermit crab although their lack of activity, their stench and well, boring lifestyle made it a mystery to me.

It was a Sunday morning during this season. Well, actually, it was one of those Sunday mornings. You know the kind - the one where you break every cardinal sin, or at least think of them, before you reach the church doors? From the moment you wake, the kids are fighting, your husband has a headache and the irony of the snipping, snapping, arguing does not escape you on this, "the Lord's day."

Your squalling and fretting continue even when you enter the church parking lot, and as the doors of the van slide open you try to put on that "happy" church face where all appears calm and perfect, and none of the struggles that plagued you just a second ago are visible. Wetting your hand to try to smooth the obvious bed-head still evident on your children. What wetness remains you use to wipe off the last bit of sugary stickiness from the breakfast consumed just a few minutes earlier.

You quickly shove the kids in their age-appropriate classrooms and arrive at the sanctuary doors out of breath realizing that you still have the diaper bag in hand. Back to the children's wing you go.

And this is the set up of today's chapter in, "The Enigma that is Sadie." I had forgotten about it until recently and as I recounted it to several friends, I was told it was definitely blog material.

After the sermon was over, I collected my three children. As we maneuvered down the packed church hallway, I noticed that something dropped to the floor from Sadie's vicinity and subsequently rolled slightly away. I stopped. I peered. I sucked in every bit of breath in the area. It was...a hermit crab. Yes, my dear little Sadie had brought a pet to church unbeknownst to me and against every rule we have on bringing items from home to church. I mistakenly believed that if the rule pertained to inanimate objects, i.e. purses, toys, lip gloss, then surely it was clear that animate, living, breathing pets were as well. I was wrong.

I ran to retrieve the hermit crab before he was stepped on by the stampede of adult and children's feet. Face it, one blow and he would be squashed out of existence. With one quick swoop I clutched him in my fist and turned to face the child responsible. I am sure the look on my face was not a pretty one, possibly the devil incarnate. But then, I realized something more shocking than the fact that our crustacean was a guest that morning. Well, the term "guest" implies that it was somewhat voluntary and clearly, the hermit crab had no say so in the matter.

What dawned on me was that Sadie did not have any pockets on her dress that morning. She did not have a purse in which to store the hermit crab either, because that was against our rule. Here was the quick, ensuing interview:

Me: Sadie, where did you have the hermit crab?
Wait for it...wait for it...

Sadie: In my panties.

Oh, my. Oh, MY! Yes, think about it for a moment. That meant that my child had crabs in a bizarrely and strangely and perplexing way. I was at a complete loss.

Speechless, I thrust the crab into the diaper bag I was still lugging around for Lily's sake and I quickly herded the children to the car. The ride home was quiet, the calm before the storm. At home we silently filed inside. The rest of the day was quite unremarkable, until dinner. It was at that point in time when I realized I had left the diaper bag in the car and the hermit crab contained within. Racing to the car I discovered that the crab had, in fact, escaped the confines of the diaper bag. I spent the next 30 minutes crawling around the floor of the van, flashlight in hand, searching for this "beloved pet." I finally discovered him, clinging to the bottom of the driver's seat. Still living? Yes. Traumatized? Oh, most definitely!

It is no surprise that he met his demise just a few days later. I decided not to tell the children right away, just to see how long it took them to notice he was missing. It took them exactly 16 days. Clearly, we were all over "the crabs."

Embracing Me

Inviting someone into your home for the first time is stressful. Right or wrong, our little nest tells others about us whether in its decor, upkeep, or income level. You open your home to someone who previously only knew the "prepared for the world" you, but there is not much you can hide from someone when they are in your home. You open the front door wide open for some one to know the real you and all that goes with it - anxiety, judgments, and internal criticism.

A friend came over to my house yesterday. It was her first visit at my home. As we walked through it, I found myself doing my usual "tour guide script." The same type of chatting I have done whenever anyone comes to my house. In fact, I could tape myself and play it whenever fresh faces enter my domicile because I have repeated it over and over since we moved into it nearly 5 years ago. It is a script riddled with justifications for its contents, as in, "Oh, that mirror, I got that at Costco." My own self-defined shortcomings, as in, "Oh, this room, it is the one that I just can't make work." My own plans for improvements as in, "We have long-range plans to rework the entire laundry room area as it is like a closet where you are beaten by coats and backpacks just to get out the door." And, I usually throw into the mix these carefully selected phrases, "Well, you know it is always a work in progress," or, "You can't take it with you when you die, " or, "We have been blessed. I certainly don't feel deserving of it." Lest anyone think that I spent any money in building or furnishing my house, take any pride in the home I have created, or believe that I actually enjoy my house. Deep down, it would destroy me if I discovered anyone left my house feeling as if my life were defined by material things. Or, if I ever came across with an air of snobbery, unaware of how blessed and appreciative I truly am.

So, after we completed the obligatory tour, my friend and I sat down to talk about my writing project. Interestingly, I could not receive any compliments about my writing. Even in talking about this book project, I was nearly apologetic.

I am not a writer. I mean, history does not support this notion of being defined as a writer. I was not a keeper of volumes of journals throughout my life. A few scattered here and there, but they are mostly filled with teenage angst and my first experiences with puppy love. I have only taken one journalism course and changed majors because I didn't find any pleasure in it. I also did not enjoy the class on journalistic ethics, either, as everything is grey to me - not black and white. I had two papers in college on which were written, "You might want to get some tutoring at the Writing Center." I have never had a job where writing was the main objective. Up until now, I haven't had the time to read a pamphlet, let alone write anything. This whole writing thing is a bit of a shock to me. And yet, it is the most pleasurable outlet I have at the moment.

To admit I am even a writer means that I have to admit that I am good at writing. Admitting that I am "good" or "excel" at anything is admitting that there is something good or excellent within me. And, this is something that I have believed, falsely I might add, is not true. I have believed that I have no part, no role in anything good in my life. Quite similar to what I wrote about my house, I don't want anyone to think that I believe that I am a great writer, blessed with a eloquent vocabulary with professional editing or grammar skills (clearly the latter is NOT the case). Additionally, I am wary of judgments regarding the time spent and effort put forth in my writing. And, I don't want you to think that I might take any pride in the posts I have crafted, or believe that I actually enjoy my writing and its resulting reactions.

On the flip side, denying or dismissing this means that I am saying no to the gifts that God has given me. I am beginning to understand that humility does not mean complete dismissal of self. It means recognizing that God has given me this talent or gift and I have chosen to act upon it. Therefore, I can give God the full credit for the awakening inside of me. Yet, I can have confidence and satisfaction, and gosh do I even say this word - pride - in my choice, knowing that I am walking down the path chosen for me. At least I think I am. (Doubt, always doubt)

A quote was passed to me and I feel very compelled to share it:

“It is in the quiet crucible of our personal private sufferings
that our noblest dreams are born and Gods greatest gifts are given,
and often given in compensation for what we’ve been through.”

- Wintley Phipps

I think there will be further explanation of how timely, relevant and accurate this quote is in the book. But for now, I will leave you to ponder on it, your gifts and your noblest dreams. Oh, and while you are at it, click here to complete my questionnaire. I need you!

One for the Record

Readers, Lurkers, Friends and Strangers:

As most of you who have kept up with me know, I am working on a writing project regarding transparency and authenticity. Here is my desperate plea for help! I have created a questionnaire that I need to be completed by as many women as possible. Responses will be held in the strictest of confidence! I don't expect anyone to actually complete the questionnaire on my blog. Therefore, copy and past the questions in to an email message. Or, if you want complete anonymity, send me a message and I will reply with my address. My email is: kelsey@dumoulin.us . Please type "research" in the subject field.

It isn't a long list of questions, but it does require some thought. I ask that you answer with honesty, what you really feel, NOT what you think is the correct answer or what you think society says it should be. If you can only answer a few of the questions, that is fine. I'll take what I can get! Additionally, feel free to print out the questions and pass to anyone you think would take the time to complete this. Forward on to email groups, send by carrier pigeon, convey through smoke signals...just please help me market this. Statistically, the more women I have see this, the better chance I have of actually having some returned.

1. What do you fear people, particularly other women will know about you?
2. What do you avoid at all costs in your interaction with other women ?
3. When did you start hiding parts of yourself from the world? Can you remember an age or circumstance that led to this?
4. What 3 goals/desires do you have for your children?
5. How did your childhood impact these goals?
6. In what ways do you feel you fail as a mother? Or, as a wife?
7. Who, in this world, do you model?
8. What do they have that you don't?
9. Do you think (scale of 1-10) you are successful at modeling them?
10. Name 3 things you routinely do out of "peer pressure", because all the other wives and mothers are doing it.
11. Describe what "having it all" really means to you.

Again, THANK YOU, to whomever gets this completed and returned. I am indebted to you!

Sometimes, It's Personal

I have no doubt that yesterday's post made some readers uncomfortable. In fact, I am sure within the nearly 80 readers yesterday, someone thought to themselves, "Why would she expose herself to the world like that?" Or, "Why would she want people to know so much about her personally?" Better yet, "It has been two years, shouldn't she be over this now?" "How long is she going to go on about this?"

The fact is, many of us have had similar experiences with death - sudden, sharp, deeply painful and life altering. You can read through my blog in January and February about the painful grief that I was revisiting, two years after the fact. It was a complete shock to me that the tears, crying, loss, loneliness and sense of abandonment rivaled that of the first month after her passing. I believe that other circumstances in my life brought this unfinished business of grieving to the surface at this time. A catalyst, if you will, to force me to toil through it. Grief is a never ending, in my experience. Maybe it goes away for periods of time, but it will always rotate back into play.

It doesn't take much to bring back just how big of a loss it is to my life. A friend was with her sister at a women's retreat and their interaction was bittersweet to me. I have needed a permanent helper with my scout group and realized this week, that she would have been my co-leader. My (step)brother is getting married in May and my (step)sister is getting married in June - celebrations at which she should have been in attendance.

Yet, at times I don't feel like I can share that with anyone. Why? Well, society says suck it up and deal. Life moves on even though we may not be ready to move with it. Even our employers think we should be fully functional after 2 or 3 days. Every one has their own stories, their own grief, their own lives...who has time to sit and listen to my sad song just one more time. Mine is but one of millions. Mine is not that special.

This is also not a call to the pity party, though Lord knows I can throw the best of them, complete with hats, streamers and a big ol' cake I devour on my own. And you can waller along not living life only so long. It will creep up on you and then you will be forced to deal with more than just your grief. Unfortunately, I speak from experience.

However, in my quest for transparency and authenticity, I find that the more I let it all hangout there, the good, the bad, the hilarious and the sad, the more connections and support I receive. People have a chance to know the real me and I am not afraid of that anymore. This means exposing my heart to those that know me intimately as well as complete strangers. People need and desire to know that others have had similar experiences, similar pains, even similar joys. It makes us all feel more normal. It gives us validation. It makes us feel that what we have endured has not been for naught.

It also helps to see how others cope. We must keep the mindset that we have all been created by a Creator with our own set of gifts, skill sets, and experiences. But in celebrating these differences, we can find strength in how God has woven Himself into these events to bring a greater good. We can find strength in knowing there is a bigger picture which we can not see. We can find strength in knowing that a finality of dirt and worms just isn't all there is.

A post like Remember the End, selfishly serves as therapy for me. The million-pound burden on my shoulders was lifted when I wrote it. The story was finally out, no longer at the surface in a constant state of bubbling. Stories like these bring people together, to laugh, to cry, to work through their own life's stories. And, maybe they draw strength to face their own giants.

So, yeah, it might have been a little too close for comfort, full with emotion and transparency. Highs, lows and in between...sometimes, it just needs to be personal.