Wool Socks! (And Other Things I Love About Alaska!)

It's been awhile since I spouted off about how much I love Alaska, and well, that's because it's been Summer. Not that I feel differently about Alaska, I just hate Summer. Weird, I know, but still true. Last week we were still having clear 70* days, but this week there is no trace of that Summer weather. It seems like one night I went to bed with the sun still shining and I woke up to changing leaves, rain, and seeing darkness before my bedtime. I am thrilled!
On the drive from Colorado to Alaska last year John said to me, "I've heard that soldiers usually want to stay in Alaska, but their wives hate it". I remember that I purposely didn't respond. We had been trying to come to Alaska for several years and everything that I knew about myself made me think that I would love it, but I didn't want to find that I actually hated it and have him to be able to say "I told you so". I shouldn't have worried. I love Alaska. If it's possible, I think that I'm even more in love with Alaska this year than I was last year. So, in true Chris fashion, here's a short list of things I love about Alaska (I know you didn't think this post was going to close without a list!):

1. Wool Socks! This one must have been pretty obvious from the title, but wool socks are actually what inspired me to write about my Alaska-love. I pulled on my favorite pair this morning (it was about 40* and we have hardwood floors) and realized that there was a hole in the bottom. I love living somewhere that I get to wear comfy wool socks often enough to wear holes in them!
2. The Aurora Borealis. This is a no-brainer. Come see them for yourself!
3. Our life here. This may be one of the big reasons that I love Alaska more this year than last -- I love our house, my friends, our activities, and the comfortable routine that we have settled into. With that being said, I realize that we still move at the will of the Army and could be saying goodbye to that comfy routine sooner than I would like, but for now I'm just going to count it on my daily thankful list.
4. Pro-homeschoolers. This probably overlaps #3, but it's a big deal. Alaska is a pro-homeschool state. Even more, Alaska is a homeschool funding state. Thankful.
5. Un-busy-ness. I despise busy-ness, but it happens. Living in the Interior of Alaska makes it happen a lot less. There are not traffic jams that last for hours and miles (unless there's a moose in the road in the Winter or on the side of the road in the Summer and all of the tourists are stopped taking pictures, but hey, that's manageable), there is not a dress code for anything (not an exaggeration), there are no malls bigger than a hallway. There's cold and snow, there's hot coffee all day long, there's a warm house with my family in it, and a list of things to get done to grow that family. It's simple, and it's perfect for us.

Like most of my lists, this one could go on and on and on, but now that I'm pretty sure that I have you all intrigued by the idea of seeing a mall the size of a hallway (and maybe the Northern Lights), I'll stop so that you can stop reading this and book your tickets to come visit us!!

Our Week in Highlights

Ok, so I know that I've been talking a lot lately about the crazy things that my girl wears and I promise, after this post, that I will try to lay off the topic for awhile, but this one cannot be ignored. It was definitely one of the highlights of my week.

 Yesterday I put my normally dressed children in the car and drove three minutes to the commissary. When we got there this is what I took out of the car...

Okay, no big deal, we can deal with the random flower and swim goggles, but then I get her brother out of the car and I find him looking like this...

 

 

Why yes, that is his fishing vest. No, we had not been fishing nor were we going fishing. Believe it or not, there is no fishing pond in the commissary. Weird, I know.

My deepest apologies to everyone who encouraged us to homeschool, and to homeschool families everywhere, because Fire Team McBean is doing NOTHING to debunk the homeschool stereotype.

 

Moving on...the big kids could not decide what the highlight of their week was. They said it was a tie between the first Autumn story time at the library and doing this project for school...

 

It's paint in a bag. Just some washable fingerpaint in a ziploc bag secured to the kitchen table with some blue painting tape (Have I mentioned that I l.o.v.e Pinterest? I really, really do, but that's another post). They loved it. It kept them occupied for a long time and it was a fun new way (for Patton especially) to practice letter formation. Even Baby R got in on the action...

 

 

(Yes, she is pulling up the tape, and please don't mind the mess that I had not yet taken time to clean up or my 14th cup of coffee on the table next to. I promise it was cold by the time I put it on the table next to him.)

 

Other highlights this week include gorgeous weather with just a bit of Fall in the air, the return of school buses (I don't know why my kids love this, but they do), G completing all of his Summer review math work, and getting new postcards everytime we went to the mailbox (thanks Ms. Teri, Ms. Danielle, and Aunt Yvonne!). The kids love this project and I'm so thankful that so many of our friends have been willing to help us out!

John's highlight of the week was marking something off of his bucket list -- a four day trip to Minto Flats to moose hunt. Even though the hunting part of the trip was a bust it gave him plenty of time to plan our Labor Day weekend camping/caribou hunting trip to Atigun Pass, so he at least made good use of his time.

In addition to all of this, one of the biggest highlights of my week was being able to be with my sweet friend Destiny (and my equally awesome friends Meg and Lindsay!) at Labor and Delivery and getting to meet sweet little Lawson Rage Impson in the first minutes of his life. Nothing provides more profound proof of the existence our Creator than holding new life in your arms and I was so blessed to have been there!

So there you have it, some of the highest highlights from our week.

Oh, and I think that I have failed to mention for the last several weeks that Baby R can WALK, but she refuses to because she still thinks that she can get anywhere she needs to be like this...

 

 

 

As Promised

It did not take long for Princess P to figure out that she was no longer getting objections from me when it comes to her fashion choices, so as promised, here is her outfit for a trip to the commissary, complete with Mossy Oak Real Tree Bogs! Love her.



Oh, I Love Her!

I am in love with this girl! Everyday -- but this week especially I have been enthralled by her crooked lips, odd sense of humor, unique style, and genuine innocence. Where did she come from? She is nothing like me! Or John! Or anyone I know! I think that makes me love her even more! Her unique style often consists of mismatched shoes, winter hats in July, dresses over jeans, and tutus with EVERYTHING (think Frankenstein in 'Big Daddy')! For the last year or so I have tried to tone down her unconventional choices, but I was really convicted this week to give her a little more freedom and let her enjoy this carefree aspect of being a kid! So, I have resolved to let this sweet little girl wear whatever she'd like (within reason, obviously the child doesn't own immodest clothing!) to wherever she'd like (church and formal occasions excluded, most of the time). I know it may sound crazy and it may mean that I tote around a preschooler wearing more costume jewelry than Joan Rivers, or people may drive by me and wonder why my kid is wearing her alligator Halloween costume in August, but oh well.
With that being said, be prepared to be bombarded by cute pictures of her ensembles, like this winner from yesterday. She wore the tiara, tutu and John Deere boots to the library, but said that the boots weren't working so she traded them in for her ladybug rain boots,Tonka truck helmet, and skateboard. Today she wore two different shoes to dinner.

Isn't she just the sweetest?

A Bag of Beans and a Baby

My favorite thing about toddlers is how easily they can be entertained. That being so, yesterday when R and I found ourselves with some one-on-one time, we opened a bag of beans and went to town...

At first, she wasn't quite sure if she should touch them or not, but she got over it pretty quickly

And then, of course, decided that the best course of action was to eat them

Once we had gone through several rounds of "no-no Rogue" and she realized that 1) she could make a noisy mess and 2) I was going to cheer like a mad man every time she picked up even one bean and put it in a container, she came to the reasonable conclusion that beans are the coolest toy on the planet.

Until she noticed that I was taking her picture, and then my camera was the coolest toy on the planet.

So thankful for one-on-one time with this kid.

Memories

Last night we went to Creamers Field for family date night. We were checking out some cranes when I spotted this plaque:

It says "Dedicated to the loving memory of Callie Mae Thomas, Fairbanks resident from 1955-2006, Callie loved the birds and Creamers Field and ice cream, all in one day". I thought that it was such a cute plaque -- the perfect balance between serious and whimsical rememberance of someone passed from this life.
I think a lot about what The Fire Team will remember about me when I've passed from this life. I'm sure that no one else is so obsessive about this, and I concede that the obsession may spawn from my own losses, but I am constantly reminded of the fact that I have no control of my childrens memories. As much as I could that I could erase my short tempered moments, laundry piled up, and cereal for dinner days from their memory and replace it with road trips, belly laughs, and family dates, I can't. All I can do, I suppose, is pray that the good memories outshine the not-so-good memories, and be more mindful to make the memories that I want them to have. And, of course, take them out for ice cream and bird watching more often.

Here are a couple more pictures from our date...

Seriously...Alaska in the Summer...how'd we get lucky enough to live here?

P was really brave about getting up there, but not so sure about getting down. Such is life with this girl! 

A Son

Build me a son, O Lord, who will be strong enough to know when he is weak, and brave enough to face himself when he is afraid; one who will be proud and unbending in honest defeat, and humble and gentle in victory.

Build me a son whose wishbone will not be where his backbone should be; a son who will know Thee and that to know himself is the foundation stone of knowledge. Lead him, I pray, not in the path of ease and comfort, but under the stress and spur of difficulties and challenge. Here let him learn to stand up in the storm; here let him learn compassion for those who fail.

Build me a son whose heart will be clean, whose goal will be high; a son who will master himself before he seeks to master other men; one who will learn to laugh, yet never forget how to weep; one who will reach into the future, yet never forget the past.

And after all these things are his, add, I pray, enough of a sense of humor, so that he may always be serious, yet never take himself too seriously. Give him humility, so that he may always remember the simplicity of greatness, the open mind of true wisdom, the meekness of true strength.

Then I, his father, will dare to whisper, “I have not lived in vain.”

-General Douglas MacArthur

(I found this while I was looking for quotes for a craft project and I just couldn't get over it.)

Boys Club!

Check out these guys...

Seriously, could they get any cuter?

I don't think so either.

No, O people, the Lord has told you what is good,
and this is what he requires of you:
to do what is right, to love mercy,
and to walk humbly with your God.

Micah 6:8

Goodbye Tuff Girl

I got a new car. I needed one. My Jeep (which P lovingly named Tuff Girl) was getting close to the magic mileage number for the best trade-in value and our growing family was getting seriously cramped, and while I loved so many things about Tuff Girl, I knew it was time for us to part ways.
After two days of scouring every major car dealership in the greater Anchorage area we got a great deal on a great car with as much seating and cargo space as you can get without going the minivan route. On a side note, at every dealership I would tell the salesman what my three options were and every time they would try to sell me a minivan -- so frustrating! Anyway, I should be elated, right? And I am. But. But for the fact that in order to get the new car I have to leave Tuff Girl at the dealership. You wouldn't think that would be an emotional moment, but it was. It always is.
One of my dirty little secrets is that I have cried every single time we have gotten rid of a vehicle, from the Delorian-like red car that John and I paid $100 for in Italy when we were still dating to our recent trade-in of the Jeep. Without fail, I have driven away wiping tears from my eyes like I was leaving my child with complete strangers. I know that it seems ridiculous, but here's the thing -- the passing of vehicles is like the seasons of our lives passing, and so I have become emotionally invested in each of them. When we left our car in Italy to move back to the states we were launching full speed ahead into our married life. When we traded in our not-so-trusty 1985 Bronco we were finally becoming grown-ups and tackling a car payment. When we went from a pickup truck to an SUV because I was pregnant with G we were letting go of our kid-free freedom. When we left that SUV at the dealership and drove home the Jeep I cried at the idea of giving up the car that brought G home.
It was no different this time. If anything, it was worse. I'm pretty sure that I was more emotionally invested in Tuff Girl than any other car to date. She moved us from California to Colorado and then from Colorado to Alaska. She was faithful to give me absolutely no problems through two deployments and barely slipped a tire through my first Alaskan winter. Sky and I had matching cars. She brought both of our daughters home. She had backup sensors, which I am positive saved me hundreds of dollars in insurance premiums! But our family has outgrown her. Another season of our lives has passed, and so the Jeep must go (sniffle, sniffle).

This is What Happens When You Underestimate a Toddler

When the big kids were one I remember thinking how big they seemed to me, mostly because I had no basis for comparison. Now that R is one and I have a five-year-old and a three-going-on-thirty-year-old, she seems much more baby-ish to me. That being said, I often forget about what she is capable of doing physically (like her new habit of just standing up in her high chair when she's done eating). My tendency to forget really backfired yesterday when I bought P a marshallow dream bar (Starbucks name for a Rice Krispy Treat) as a treat while we were out on girls day. While I was loading groceries into the car I put the bar, in the bag, on the back of the cart, presumably out of R's reach, only to turn around and see this:

That's right, her two little front teeth allowed her to chomp off a corner before I could (take this picture and...) get it from her. But oh well, she worked hard for it, lived to tell about it, and gave me this great photo op for her scrapbook!

R is ONE!

And there it is, ladies and gentleman! Just like that our baby girl is ONE!

Here's to the late night feedings, hugs and kisses, lost pacifiers, toothless smiles, messy diapers, countless tears, new discoveries, love, and adventures that have made Rogue Scout's first year all that I prayed for and more!

We love you, Sweet Baby R, and can't wait to see who you are growing in to!

Fire Team Highlights

John went back to work today. When we were putting the big kids to bed last night we were trying to prepare them for not seeing John when they woke up in the morning and they kept asking "so, he's going back to Afghanistan?". I kept telling them no, that he would just be working at his company, the building next to BN, which they are familiar with from FRG meetings, numerous trips to S1, etc. When it finally sunk in that I was talking about a building that she is intimately familiar with, P looked at me with confusion written all over her face and said "Daddy works there?". She had no idea.

Skip forward a few minutes from that conversation and P and I are talking about someone who was poisoned (yes, I know my kids talk about weird things -- do you know their parents?). Here's the play by play.

P: So, he was poisoned, like the Man in Black?
Me: What?
P: You know, like the Man in Black was poisoned on the train car in Pioneer Park?
Me: No, that was not the Man in Black, that was President Harding.
P: Oh, but the Man in Black is still dead, right?
Me: Yes, he's still dead
And then Gunnar pops out of bed and, in his super-sad-almost-in-tears voice, says "the Man in Black is dead?"
Seriously, I could not write this stuff.

In other news, Baby Rogue is one, and I'm not writing a big entry about it because I'm still sort of in denial. How did a year go by so quickly?

As If...

I can remember, vividly, a conversation that John and I had almost exactly two years ago, weighing the possibility of having another baby.

On Friday R will be one! I can't believe we ever debated bringing her sweet little soul into the world!

A Lesson in Humility

I think that if more people had the opprounity to stand in some of the places that I stand the social climate in the United States would soar with support for our military.
I don't mean that in a look-at-all-I-sacrifice way. If you know me, you know that's not who I am.
I mean it in a I-am-so-humbled way.
So humbled.
I know what people think about the Army. I know what they think about the infantry. I see how the young men that we send to war are depicted in popular media. It's no secret that the respect and pride that our nation once felt for our military decreases significantly as decades pass. However, the sense of pride and dedication to one another and to our country that our soldiers have does not.
Tonight I stood in room full of soldiers. A room full of dress blues, class A's, stripes, bars, bow ties, shiny shoes, and fresh haircuts. There was a buzz of energy in the air. Laughter. Cheering. Toasting.
And then the toast came. The one where they said that names of those who were not standing in that room. You could have heard a pin drop. Humility washed over the room. They all stood there, solemn, remembering that it was not long ago that the whole of them were wearing multicams and body armor, five o'clock shadows and the dirt that never goes away, and that for some of them that would be the last thing they would ever wear.
No one standing in the room was untouched. I'm convinced that to have remained untouched was an impossibility.
It's easy to make a snap judgement based on the testimony of the friend of a friend of a friend whose brother was in the Army for two years, or based on the stories you hear in the popular media, but when you see their faces and hear their stories -- when you see their bond and stand them while they remember those that they have lost you cannot keep your heart from swelling with pride and admiration. The sense of humility is overwhelming.
I'm convinced that if more people had the opprotunity to stand in the room where I stood tonight they would be better for it. The long lost sense of pride and admiration would quickly return. That is, in a perfect world. In this world, I was the one standing there, and I am awed. And grateful. And humbled. So humbled.

Five Years

When G was still a tiny babe in arms I remember reading somewhere that parents only truly have the first five years of a childs life to teach them all the things that they will need to navigate the world. Sure, after that point you can teach them the details, but by five, it claimed, they were already who they were going to be.
I remember panicking at the thought that John and I had five short years with this boy to instill the things that he would need to hold in is heart to navigate the rest of his life.
No pressure.
Fast forward two blinks of an eye and our time is up. The first five years with Gunnar are gone.
Every parent knows that every parent who went before them always says "it goes by so quickly, cherish each moment", and we have. I remember the first thought that went through my head the moment I saw him. I know exactly where he was standing when he said his first word. I remember that he still couldn't walk when John took him on his first "boys only" hunting trip. I can remember each of the 13 times he has been the reason we were sitting in the ER. I remember the way he cried when the sonographer told him he was having another sister, and the way his eyes lit up the first time he held her. I remember the dance we did the first time he read the word "bus". I remember the prayer he said faithfully for each year of his life that his dad was in Afghanistan.
I have cherished each moment, snapped every picture possible, memorized each adorably mispronounced word.
But, having just tucked into bed, for the first time, my five year old son, I wonder if I've done enough. Have I taught him enough about the real Jesus? Does he know how far a smile will go? Does he know that the best way to stand out in a crowd is to be honest and selfless and serve others? Have I "trained up a child in the way that he should go" so that "when he is older he will not part from it?"
If I'm honest with myself the answer is that I don't know. I don't know if we have done enough with the first five years. I pray that we have, but even if we haven't, we can't have those five years back. So now we dig into the details and watch the rest unfold.
A few days ago John heard the song "He's Mine" by Rodney Atkins for the first time. We shared a laugh about the line that says "I'll take the blame and claim him everytime". This speaks so truly to Gunnar, we agreed, because our son is always the one doing either the extremely right thing or the extremely wrong thing. Occassionally catching him doing the extremely right thing renews my faith that the unfolding will be a joy because our first five years have been intense and productive, full of lessons in morals and character, regularly opening God's Word and submitting our petition to Him.
The first five years with Gunnar have been such an adventure, such a blessing, that I can't even begin to fathom what the coming years will bring. I would venture to say that the one thing that I know for sure is that the adventure of raising Gunnar will continue to be enough to keep us faithfully entering the throne room of God, usually with petitions for patience :)

A Season of Long Suffering

It may seem odd that I am going to follow up a post about how wonderful this season is with the fire team with a post about how this season is one of suffering, but surely, on the human plane, one season can encompass more than one characteristic.
John has been gone for 45 weeks. 315 days. It's been a loooonnnnngggg time.
Clearly, we have most of this deployment behind us. There is but one more calendar page to turn before we get to the page with the picture of the stick figure wearing ACU's and holding a weapon.
Still, true to form, the days left on the calendar seem to take up as many pages as they did 314 days ago. The days are long. Weeks drag on.
Welcome home signs are plastered on homes, the front gate, barracks. I'm in no hurry. We have plenty of time to make signs. I watch my friends welcome home their love. I don't harbor jealousy, or even envy. Just praise and thanksgiving that men who have spent months planting footprints in sand and mud in defense of our country, in defense of my little fire team, are once again planting them on American soil.
It's a reminder that I am standing on the cusp of welcoming home my own love. I'm thankful for that reminder, otherwise I might never lift my eyes from the ground, from watching one foot being placed in front of the other.
It seems that I will never catch up with the calendar. I check days off, but days are added to the end. I'm drowning in black sharpie across double digit numbers.
I need to find purpose in these days. The days between today and THEE day.
I stay busy.
I keep my mind busy.
I teach special sounds (surely, if waiting doesn't kill me, special sounds will).
I memorize new scripture.
I talk off the ears of my friends.
I laugh. Hard.
I keep my hands busy.
I wash shirts that have sat in unopened draws for months, waiting for the shoulders that fill them.
I shovel snow. I shovel it again. And again.
I change diapers.
I put one foot in front of another and the other in front again. I keep my eyes on the ground.

Surely, there is a lesson here. Surely, there is something to be gained from the waiting.

"The end of a matter is better than it's beginning, and patience is better than pride"
-- Ecclesiastes 7:7-9