Just A Quick Thought....

So, I've managed to pack most of the kids' toys away into storage finally. All that's left now are the Legos (cos life isn't worth the living without a lego),

the Matchbox cars, and a small 18 gallon tub of various "must haves".

And here's what I've noticed:

My kids are more content! Less toys, less mess (relative term), and less stress ( except when we're talking bare feet meeting plastic corners in the middle of the night). My boys are learning to be content with less before we even hit the road.  

I would love to delve into this topic even deeper, but Buster (4) is crashing dishes and dropping eggs on the kitchen floor. Gotta go pretend to do that Mom thing..

Saturday we launch into our new Full Time RV Life!!!!

Nine Days Till Launch

I needed to give myself a new post, mainly because that last one was too depressing and kept starting me in the face every time I made a visit to my blog. (Which I do often cos I'm obsessed with watching my stats) Anyhoo.

Nine days to go and I'm still overwhelmed with the amount of unpacked crap belongings that we each have!

In all honesty, I wish I could tell you that these books are going into storage. But I'd be a liar. I have a slight addiction...
I'm a bibliophile.
I can't help myself. The printed page and the smell and the feel of the paper... it's all too much for me to pass by!  So these books are going with us.

....and these are all school supplies. We can't go without my school supplies. And school books!

So I have to spend a week sorting it all and finding the best home possible. This is one of the reasons that I plan on spending our first month close to home. It will be a time of fixing our new lives all together and fitting the unfitable in a space smaller than most folk's living rooms.

The boys are enjoying their new space together. 

It will all be dealt with. It will all get packed. It will all come together. Maybe not as quickly as some would like, but we are working on this whole new life together. We are defining it on our own new terms and making things fit is a part of it all.

Sometimes....

Sometimes, when I'm stressed,
 or lonely,
or alone,
... I miss the Him I thought he was.
 Sometimes,
when I'm afraid,
I call friends who cleaned up his mess to make sure that he's really dead.
Sometimes,
not very often,
only a few times actually,
 sometimes, I wish I could see him one more time.

I've opened boxes that I found buried deep in a closet this weekend. Inside were pictures and his hand writing and his clothes  and his glasses and more photos and memories boxed and hidden for over a year.........

Memories of mine that never really existed  in his heart. Memories of a life together that was a lie.  Why can't people ever be what you hope them to be?

Sometimes, I look at the life I'm living now and wonder why he couldn't ever let us live as we do now?

Sometimes I wonder why I have to be so alone in the world.

Why could I never make him happy?

Sometimes, when I'm feeling overwhelmed with the world at all of it's decisions and directions and paths, I wish he had been the man I wanted him to be.

Motorhome Envy And Other Confessions

Tethering. Boosting with a system. Boondocking.  Nationwide hotspot coverage. Composting toilets. Black water. Dumping stations. No closet space. No freezer. No ice cream. Full hook up. Workamping. Seasonal site hosting.

What have I gotten myself into?

Can we do this? Indeed, I know that we can! However...

I really am quite frightened about all of this new change in our lives.  How can I teach them to have a strong relationship with God all by myself? How can we fit mission work into our travels? Am I dragging my kids (albeit they are wiling and adventurous) into some new form of torture that will result in years of adult psychiatric visits? What if my motorhome isn't up to snuff? How can I fit all of out "must have" books into the RV? What kind of long term damage will all this travel have on the shape of my butt? Seriously- will this be more difficult for them than I wish it to be?

As I stand on the threshold of something so new and scary, I hesitate.

I hesitate out of fear. Fear of the unknown and more fear of public opinion.

The question "What if I fail?" continues to speak itself in my mind. Indeed, what if I   do  fail? What does my- our- failure even looks like? How am I supposed to know when I've arrived at Failure?

There continues to be a list of bills and sundries that won't go away. I continue to make cancelation calls and sign similar forms.  We box up things for storage and the Salvation Army (side note: look at the amount of $$ Good Will pays it's top execs ya'll) and we have a growing pile of Give To Friends. (..and yes, Mr. & Mrs. Crankie, you're welcome for the 10 thousand house plants and your cleaner air) In order to make the transition into a small space easier, the boys are now camping out on my bedroom floor each night.

I think, I thought, at the beginning of this idea, that we would be free from so many of life's pressures. I was wrong. The bills are still there, they've just shifted.  Gone is the $160/mo electric bill, hello to the bill for nomadic internet. The responsibility to teach my kids has only increased as we are now becoming more reliable on one another for fellowship.

So, at this point, the only picture I can draw of my failure in all of this crazy new life would look like this:

...and quitting would only teach my kids to do the same.

..and that's just not something that I can do.

When It Gets A Bit Too Hot:

Sometimes, we each need a break.

Today was one of those days. We packed all of the big furniture out of the house, got some boxing done (in the 97 degree heat) and then went a little crazy with the photo shooting.

For your amusement, I submit the following:

.... a fun way to spend a few minutes with the Professor.

Triggers

trigger

 verb

trig·geredtrig·ger·ing 

Definition of TRIGGER

transitive verb

1

a : to release or activate by means of a trigger; especially :to fire by pulling a mechanical trigger <trigger a rifle>

b : to cause the explosion of <trigger a missile with a proximity fuse>

2

: to initiate, actuate, or set off by a trigger <an indiscreet remark that triggered a fight> <a stimulus that triggered a reflex>

So today I'm talking of trigger as a transitive verb. (Now don't we all feel just a bit smarter?) 

I often talk about how great we are each doing. How wonderfully my kids have adapted, grasped, and grown into their new lives. How much joy we have now. 

It's not always so. Of course, for most of us, social media only shows us the bright side of everyone's life. So it goes without saying that we all have off days and bad moments. 

For me, the trigger isn't always evident at first. At first, I'm going about my day and making decisions and having conversations. Then, the trigger is introduced. I don't always redilly identify the trigger as such. But it remains a trigger and the fear/anger/loathing/desperation grows inside of me until it explodes all over my life and those around me. 

Side note but related: I must apologize to all of those late night Walmart shoppers- specifically in the automotive section; sub section: epoxy. I didn't know it was a trigger at the time and I'm sure that the mess was cleaned up before the next shift started. Really.

This morning was different only in that I discovered and labeled it as a trigger early into the episode.

So by trigger, I obviously mean fishing poles.

Those damn fishing poles. I hate them. I hate everything about them. I want to chop them into tiny pieces with a machete, douse them in a flammable liquid, and burn them. I'm not even exaggerating with this one, folks. I loathe those fiberglass composite rods! 

Backstory.

I used to love to fish. I was raised with a john boat, small pond, and lots of bass fishing. Then I met Andrew. Up until then, I never knew that I'd been fishing wrong all those years!! Who knew? Yup, I didn't know how to fish and he said I was too poor of a student to teach. Flash forward some years and now we have numerous children and they want to fish. Only, Daddy says that it's too much work and that "they" take all of his time and he "can't have any fun" if "they" go with him. 

I do what any wise mother ought. I spend time training them. We learn how to load the truck and get things ready and care for the poles. When we do get to the lake, I spend my time between kids, making sure that each is cared for so that Daddy gets his precious time alone.  Want a fire kids? Let's make one together (Dad says I do it wrong but won't help). Want to swim kids? Let's walk to the other side of the lake to leave Dad alone. (Still they make too much noise.) Want to eat? Let's all get the food I spent all yesterday preparing.   But here's the rub- it's not enough for him. He doesn't want to deal with anyone's fish or line or anything. In the meantime, I've been run ragged so that he gets a day off and we get to be with him. 

Finally comes the day when I complain to him that the fishing is just too much work for me. His only response? "Now you know how I feel and why I don't like them to go with me."

Fast forward to yesterday. Yesterday the poles were unpacked in the garage. I allowed the boys to practice casting them in the back yard. After all, it's what my Dad did for me. But it wasn't until this morning that the trigger was fully identified. It's not the fishing at all. It's those damn poles.  So I'm throwing them out. I don't want them. I don't care how much he spent on them. I don't want them. 

I'm giving those damn poles away and buying new ones. 

The Professor Turned 8!

OK, I've spent the day packing, filling out forms, packing, driving around town, packing,  cycling, and packing. These little piggies have gone to market, ya'll.

So I'm laid back getting ready to watch some Once. (Soooooo hooked on that show!) And tonight I get to be lazy. Tonight, it's a photo post.

The Professor turned 8 this past week. (Cos you couldn't tell that from the title) He was moved to tears over the Betta fish, and jumped up and down over the cake that Gusto (heretofore called Princess, but that's another blog post) designed and baked for him.

Enjoy the pictures, guys. I'm off to sleep.

Gusto made the cake- it's a black widow. It's her present to him.

            Birthday boy sportin' the crown.

Despite what your eyes are telling you, we are not a family of birthday nudists. We live in the South. It gets hot here. Nuff said.

(See, he's wearing pants!)

Attacking the Black Widow with zeal!

My friends' dog. He loves my kids.


Well, that is that.
A photo post.
Goodnight.