But somehow. 

Somehow. 

When the labor is over and you are finally holding your dear little baby, you forget.  You completely forget and quite often wind up right back there again. 

It’s the same with tenting in the rain.  Only there isn’t a sweet little baby at the end of it all.  But there are some pretty great memories made along the way. 

And somehow. 

Somehow. 

Those moments of anger and frustration and torture fade away and you only remember the fun.  And you keep going back for more.

Last week we went on our annual “tenting at the beach” vacation.  We bought a tent when Connor was 5 months old and we’ve been going every summer since.  He is now 8.  We have some of our BEST times together on these little excursions. 

(Except for the first year when our van broke down on the way, with 4 boys under age 6, and we had to pay $3200 on the spot for a new transmission.) 

(And except for the year when it reached a low of 98 degrees in our tent at night.) 

(And except for the times that it has rained and our tent has leaked and all our stuff has gotten wet and smelly and I am cold and laying NEXT to the air mattress because the air mattress has a huge puddle of water on it.)  

Except for those minor occurrences, we just have the BEST times.  And this year was no different.  It was awesome.

For the past three years, we have had some company.  Not just anyone would come along with your family to pitch a tent near the beach, when rain and hail and gail-force winds are always a possibility if you’re with the Roseman’s.  Not just any family thinks it is fun to use state park restrooms for 3-4 days.  Not just any family would call this a vacation.  But we found a family that makes the best of it and we so appreciate them.  Misery loves company.  Just kidding, of course.  The moments of misery are quickly forgotten.

This year we camped at Henlopen State Park in Lewes, Delaware.  We loved everything about this place except for the bathrooms. 

On a scale of a 1 to 100 with 1 being a bathroom where pigs roam freely and are considered pleasant smelling compared to their surroundings and 100 being a brand new bathroom.  These bathrooms were a negative 174 or a negative 175.  (I’m still deciding which) 

I used them as little as possible which is why after Day One, there were no more pictures taken of the mom. 

The shower stall had clumps of hair everywhere. Ev. Ry. Where.  And the water was cool.  Maybe not freezing, but still. 

And my favorite part – you had to push in the nozzle for the water to come out. 

The entire length of your stay. 

My shoulders hurt by the time I had managed to wash my hair one-handed with one arm behind my back pushing the nozzle in and then shaving my legs without touching any of the creepy crawly things that lingered around me and sometimes moved like they were alive because they probably were. 

I showered once.  And really – if you could see this place – you would agree that once was more than enough. 

The second, and only other time, that I attempted to clean myself up, I used the sink in the handicap stall.  These are the moments when you wonder if you are even sane.  I have a nice home with two semi-clean bathrooms.  And yet I paid actual American dollars to put myself in this dirty, disgusting, creepy situation.

And from the descriptions my boys shared, the men’s bathrooms were no better.  And maybe even worse.  Which isn’t surprising, because boys are just kind of gross in general.

But other than the bathrooms, we loved it and would highly recommend it to any person looking for a good time without the luxury of bathing or ridding themselves of waste.

But we love the great outdoors.  And we love the beach.  And we love the Boardwalk.  And we love Thrashers Fries and Grotto’s Pizza and Dairy Queen and cute little coffee shops in charming little towns.  And we love campfires.  And we love the sunset on the beach and watching porpoises and ships and boats.  We love catching sand crabs and playing games on the sand.  We love burying each other and digging holes to China.  We love the sand dunes.  We love seeing 18 deer in the field next to Lewes Beach.  We love exploring.  We love roasting marshmallows and making mountain pies around a cozy campfire.  We love hearing the waves crashing while we are falling asleep in our tent.  We love listening to our kids giggling in their sleeping bags while we talk around the fire at night.  We love vacation. 

So even though our vacation ended early because of the rain and we had to pack up all our stuff in the rain which now made not just the tent and chairs wet, but everything wet because of the rain.  And even though we had to deflate our air mattress in the rain, and fold up our sleeping bags in the rain, and stuff every wet thing into our wet van in the rain.  Even though all that.  We still look back and remember a truly lovely time together at the beach, in our tent, in the rain.

There is something about having everything that really matters, which is your family and a flashlight and a can of bug spray, under your little tent roof that reminds you of how sweet life is.  All that other “stuff” isn’t that important at all, when you can listen to the waves and the wind with your entire family tucked under a tree in the woods near the ocean. 

And so just like labor, I’ve forgotten the bad moments, and can’t wait to do it again.  

(Except I’m talking about tenting and not about another child.)

setting up our new home

a late night campfire with marshmallows and mountain pies

my forever baby

the only family photo we got – so much for the Christmas Card :/

Coby made a new friend at the beach. Literally

games on the beach as the sun sets…my favorite.

our “Redneck Water Park”. The kids played in the giant rain puddles when we were thrown off the beach due to lightening

more “Redneck Water Park” fun. The kids lined up and then Murray would drive by in the van and splash them. Here we come!!!

the puddles were a little cold.

a deer on Lewes beach. Is this not the most precious picture ever???

looking for crabs at “The Point” in Lewes.

more crab catching

such good sports

so. much. fun.

and this is how we had to dry everything out when we got back home. Loveliness. Our neighbors love us.

My four boys and I got in the car to drive home where they all proceeded to tell me how “STARVING” they were.  One of them could eat a “horse” even.  They started naming all the restaurants we should go to for lunch and then where to go for ice cream after that and then began making lists of everything I needed to buy them at the grocery store.  I felt broke.

I ignored them all and drove home and started warming up leftovers for them to eat.  I made a pan of brownies because sometimes you just need chocolate.  In less than 11 minutes they devoured the entire 9 by 13 pan of Betty Crocker Fudge Brownies made with one egg and not two.  I felt scared.

Then I hopped on facebook (it’s my last day on there) to post some pictures and I read all these touching status updates about the last day of school and graduation and how fast time is flying for everyone.  I felt sad.

Then I called a campground and made reservations for tenting at the beach next week.  I felt happy.

But while I was on hold with the state park, there was a tv blaring, a stereo blaring, and two kids singing AT THE TOP OF THEIR LUNGS in girly voices.  I felt mad.

Then I watched 17 ants march around my sunroom.  Some in the windows, the floor, the couch, and then up my arm.  This does not please me, as I have 3 different traps out.  I felt disgusted.

Then I went upstairs and saw the mess.  I felt overwhelmed.

Then I came downstairs and found all 4 of them watching the movie “FireProof” together.  It is raining and they are home and they are here and they are getting along and so I decided to blog about it.  I felt thankful.

My facebook vacation begins tonight, so if facebook is how you got here - feel free to follow along with our story by entering your email address over at the right.  You can “unsubscribe” at any time or never subscribe at all – I will never know the difference

When the shoulders shrug, a mama’s heart hurts. 

So I put on my happy-happy voice (as if that will solve all the world’s problems like starvation and earthquakes and boys who won’t tell you what is wrong) and say, “Well, it’s such a hot day, I’m sure you are just ready to be done with school, right?”  And another little shrug of the shoulders and one of those half-smiles that they give you when they are trying to convince you that they are big and tough and nothing bothers them and all you see is the other half of the smile that they just can’t produce and the glassy eyes that are holding back an ocean full of hurt.

He never did tell me what was bothering him.  However, he did say that his afternoon was better.

Better?? 

Better???

Better implies that his morning was not as good. 

Why is it so much easier to handle my ups-and-downs in a day? (and believe me, I can go up and down more than the elevator at the hospital) Why is it so hard knowing my kids have “downs” in their day too?  Why is that so hard to hear about?  Or, in this case, not hear about?

He is reaching the age where I am not going to hear about every boo-boo and every mean word and every hurt.  I suppose we all reach that age where we just can’t bear it all.  Good heavens, if I beared it all, my family would lock me out of the house on a dark and stormy night and change the locks and the phone number.

So today.  Again.  I’m counting on this.  This must be my prayer for the boy who now stays strong in front of his mama, the boy who is finding out all too soon that this world is not perfect, the boy who is becoming a man right before my very non-blinking eyes. 

Because none of us, not a one, can keep it all inside.  And so when he can’t tell his mama, I pray that he can tell the ONE who will listen and hear him and know him inside and out and love him the same no matter what.  I pray he will go to the ONE who can forgive him and cleanse him and help him and make him strong and brave and clothe him in HIS armor. 

Dear God, when he won’t tell me what’s wrong, I pray that he will tell you.  Because while all I can do is listen to my dear boy, YOU have the power to also DO something about it.  I am counting on you because I put my trust in you.  Amen.

PS:  one more week until my “facebook vacation” – so if you got here through facebook, you may want to consider subscribing through email over to the right of this post   Or not.   Either way, I will keep writing for my dad and that one other girl I met once in Biology class at college   Have a great weekend!!

We slice up our watermelons, hull the berries, toss the salad, and shape the burgers. We pack up our coolers, and our lawn chairs, our frisbees and wiffle balls.  We put on our red, white, and blue t-shirts and sunscreen and sunglasses. We stick flags in our flower beds and decorate cool whip cakes with blueberry stars and strawberry stripes.

It almost seems unfair and cold-hearted and even mean, doesn’t it?

We gather and celebrate and play while the day is for remembering the ones who gave – all those that gave some and especially the some who gave all. I have a friend whose 33-year-old son gave all and won’t be home this summer. I have a great-uncle who even after 60+ years still could not escape his nightmares from the war. I have a cousin who brought her first-born baby into the world while her husband fought for you and me. I have friends whose husbands and sons and brothers are fighting still.  What.  Price.  Freedom.

And yet, I think if we could ask those who died while fighting for our freedom – those who gave so that we might live free in this great land.  I think they would tell us to pause and remember, yes. 

Most definitely, yes. 

And then to go and enjoy our families, play with them, laugh with them, grill hotdogs and eat pie with them. Live to the fullest and enjoy now what some day we will only be able to remember.

What.  Price.  Freedom.

Some people pull over on a very busy interstate to vomit.  Or maybe change drivers.  Or because there are sirens blaring and flashing lights behind them.  Not me.  I pull over on very busy highways to attempt to pull my childs leg from a seatbelt knot. 

Now.   I’m sure you’ve all gotten your foot stuck in the seatbelt before. (she says with great sarcasm and her eyes rolling) But have you managed to wrap the belt around your ankle not once, not twice, but THREE times and with a giant knot.  No.  Indeed you have not.  Because one could not possibly do that if they tried.

These are the moments.  These moments when I am getting out of my car while semi-trucks are speeding 80 mph past me.  These are the moments when I look up into the heavens and wonder why.  Why all boys, my Lord?  For I do not know what I am doing.  (and clearly, neither do they.)

The 10-year-old had been saying things like, “mom, my foot is purple.” And “mom, I’m really stuck” and “mom, I can’t get out of here” for about 10 minutes when I decided his position was just not safe and I guessed his brothers weren’t capable of fixing his problem.

Picture it.  Three boys squished in the backseat of our little car, (I didn’t want to drive the van.  I’ve damaged that vehicle enough) with one leg up in the air about ear-level, strapped as tight as could be to the seat.  In a knot.  (Had I known he was going to live through this, I would have taken a picture.  But I just wasn’t sure.)

It wasn’t coming loose.  I grabbed the car manual and searched the index for “how to remove the seatbelt when your sons foot is wrapped in it and turning purple and you are on a busy highway and you have no idea where to go for help”.  Nothing.  (note to self:  write a letter to Honda).  All I did was manage to pull it tighter.  I called the husband.  He basically just wished me well and told me to try and find a car dealership.  And call him later with my results.

I got back in the drivers seat with all four boys now yelling for me to “HURRY UP because he hasn’t got much time!”  Caleb was panicking and crying and snorting and not doing well.  Connor told me in great despair, “Mom, I think I’m going to pass out.”  And Coby warned me several times that if I don’t find somewhere to stop soon that he’s going to lose his foot.  Forever.

They were all so dramatic.  I, for the life of me, do NOT know where they get this trait.

I will never drive down 581 again without images of a purple foot and boys shouting at me all at once, “JUST DO SOMETHING!!”  and “HE ONLY HAS A FEW MINUTES LEFT”.

Well.

When I heard he might only have a few minutes left I did what any good mother would do.  I told Cameron to dig through my purse and find the Venus Razor.  (I had thrown it in my purse a few weeks back so that I could shave my legs on the way to church) (sometimes I miss spots on my knees) (is that too much information?)

The razor didn’t do a thing.  That belt wasn’t budging. 

We drove 6 more miles, which felt like 606, and finally saw a Sunoco off in the distance.  The boys began wishing Caleb well and telling him, “it won’t be long now, Caleb. You’re going to make it.  You’re doing great.” 

We pulled in and I found the cashier outside smoking and explained to her that we’d been traveling for MILES and my sons foot was stuck and turning purple in a seatbelt knot and so do you please have some scissors??  She looked at me like I was growing horns, stepped on her cigarette to put it out, and asked to see the situation.  I opened the door, she took one look at Caleb and his predicament, and ran like Greased Lightening to grab her scissors.  Moments later he was free.

We let him walk around the gas station parking lot a few times, we all thanked Jesus and the Sunoco cashier lady (who will never be the same after performing surgery on a seatbelt), and then we were back on the highway, heading to our picnic.

We had a lovely time.  But I’ll save that for another story.

The car ride home was much less dramatic.  That is, if you don’t mind a 13-year-old sitting in the passenger seat with his paper and pencil attempting to draw a portrait of his mother allllllll the 68 mile distance home.  It was a little dramatic for me, having him analyze my entire face and body.  Just a little.  In fact, I hit the rumble strip when I looked over and saw my nose.

And here is why:

the end.

After ballgames and practices and concerts and appointments and meetings and programs and late nights and early mornings.

After all that stuff and a few things more.

We had a Sunday afternoon with nowhere to go and where the clock could tick and it didn’t matter and the mess waited and we all just slowwwwwed right down…

And we walked.  

We walked right up over the hill and took a right and then another right and eventually we ended up here.

It was magical.  You couldn’t tell where the pond ended and the sky began.  It all reflected into one beautifully exquisite masterpiece.  It made me want to bring an easel and some watercolors and sit at the water’s edge and begin to paint.  (If only I could paint.) 

It was peaceful.  The wind has been whipping all weekend and yet…when we turned the corner of the barn and came upon this display – the wind stopped and it was as if time was actually standing still right there by the water.

We watched a young man fish, tossing his pole in and out of the water, watching the ripples come into shore, and then eventually his line bent and he pulled and he reeled and he brought it on shore just long enough for me to snap a photo and then he sent it right back into its watery home and we watched it swim away to the other side.

We will go back.  I am excited to watch the seasons change around that little place where time stands still on a Sunday afternoon.

Meanwhile, the 2^nd grader of the house is over-the-top, crazy, excited for his sleepover tonight.  Which, as a result, allowed the rest of us to enjoy watching him walk around all morning long with his lunch bag right up on the top of his head. 

Yes, the top of his head. 

He looked like some sort of English Guard that would stand at attention in London.  He packed his bags, ate his breakfast, and brushed his teeth, all with a royal blue lunch bag atop his head with the zipper imprinting his forehead.  This child loves to go, go, go.  I wonder how many nights he could sleep at a friend’s house before missing us?  I probably don’t want to know.

Coby, the oldest in school uniform, checked the front porch twice, in a matter of 20 minutes, to see if the P90X dvd’s had arrived yet.  They are all just a teency-weency bit excited to begin building their dream bodies of hard-core-muscle.  I do hope they all still fit in our family van to go to Maine for a week this summer.  They may have to turn sideways and enter through the trunk.  I’m mostly excited to buy them a tank-top that says, “Can’t ban these guns”.

But the funniest part of the whole morning was this.  As Connor was packing up to go to his sleepover and as Coby was packing to spend the evening at a friend’s, Cameron was all like, “Hey – Wait!  Where’s everybody going this weekend??”  And Connor looks over at me with a big smile, and then with his index finger pushes down his right-eyelid to make it wink at me, and says, “Ohhhh – I’m just going to Cove Valley Camp for a few weeks.”  I thought it was hilarious, especially the wink he gave me so that I wouldn’t ruin his cover.  So cute.

So another school morning just flew out my door.  Two weeks from today and it will be their last.  And instead of rushing out the door to school, I will find them all in the living room when I come down the stairs.  They will all be reading together, books from their “School Summer Reading List”, and they will be solving crossword puzzles together, and Caleb will be teaching them Christmas songs in 4-part-harmony.  And they will work on their latchhook rug kits.  And Connor will have a blue lunch bag on the top of his head.  It will be grand. 

And then I will wake up.

Have a wonderful Memorial Day Weekend – thanks for stopping by