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

It Won't Be Like This For Long

So, I've been struggling a bit for the last few days. R has been having some nursing issues, and while I am blessed not to be sleep deprived (twelve hours of sleep with two wake ups consistently, thank you Gary Ezzo), I have been frustrated and taking some measures that I am normally opposed to taking. G has been testing the limits of being an adventurous boy, which results in a lot of screaming by his sister which is immediately followed by his rushing into the room to give me his side of the story and a good bit of time spent mediating (and often doling out punishment). And we've just been busy. I know that probably sounds weird, but we have been. So like I was saying, I've been struggling with enjoying this time and instead focusing on looking forward to the years when my children are all capable of walking, going to the bathroom themselves, and navigating their own differences. Then today there was a moment. I was in the kitchen cleaning the gigantic mess that had grown in there over the last few days, Rogue was sleeping peacefully in her swing, which is a major no-no in the McBean family, and Patton was screaming in the playroom while Gunnar laughed heartily in the background. I closed my eyes and breathed deep. And then, I suppose in showing me that He really can use anyone, Hootie spoke into my life. A Darius Rucker song came on the radio the spoke the moment perfectly..."It Won't Be Like This for Long". It won't. Really. It won't be like this for long. With my eyes still closed, the mechanical sounds of the swing and the screaming and laughing still ringing through the air, I imagined the days that are not very long away...hugging my grown child in an airport as they prepare to board a plane for college, or a mission, or the military...sitting in a pew watching my child become someone's husband or wife...answering the door of my immaculately clean house when my babies bring their babies to visit. Those days are not far away and I know that on each of them I am going to wish for this day...messy house, baby sleeping where she's not supposed to be, feeding my sweet baby in the quiet dark, hours spent reading and cuddling, brother and sister fighting and making up, endless opprotunities to shape the little people I've been entrusted with. It won't be like this for long. Thanks for the reminder Hootie.