On the road again...

I almost don't know where to start. With the update? And then: the short version or the long one?

 

The short one, I think.

  

• We are moving.

Far. Far back to the place from whence we came. In 18 days. For an undetermined amount of time. But this is getting to sound like the long version, so I'll stop there, unless anyone asks. I don't mind telling, it's just ... wordy.

   

• Last week, we took a trip to Oregon.

It was an extended "business"/vacation trip, as Ethan's presbytery meeting was in Corvallis. Our first two nights were spent in our camper at the fairgrounds just outside of Corvallis.

    

Somebody told me it was frightening how much topsoil we are losing each year, but I told that story around the campfire and nobody got scared.  ~Jack Handey

  

I was easily grumpified. The bathrooms were too far. The camping was in little more than a parking spot. The neighbor dogs were unfriendly and noisy. The Internet was spotty (I know, I know...). Because of the check-out time, we would have to have everything packed and pulled out before Ethan's morning presbytery meeting.

  

But the children looked beyond ... or perhaps deeper, closer. When all I could see was a sign warning not to disturb the fragile oak roots, when all I could hear was the sound of acorns being plunked unceremoniously and LOUDLY on the roof of our camper by a pesky squirrel or the persistent wind, the children found TREASURES.

      

     

      

    

   

(Do oak leaves shoved in a watergun count as treasures? You betcha.)

   

I struggled with a fifteen-month old during his father's ETERNAL shower and then raced off to oh-so-quickly take mine (ahem...don't ask my husband's take on this). When I came back, this is what I saw:

  

    

   

Confirming, once again, that Papa is Just. So. Cool. and Mama is ... NOT.

   

I was irritated with myself. I always enjoy the journey more than the destination. Why is this? Why do I insist on being upset at the amount of laundry to do, even on "vacation," by the mental prowess it takes to figure out how to do normal things like take showers and take kids to the bathroom and brush teeth at a campground? Why can't I just RELAX?

  

Methinks, quite honestly, it is that pesky sinful nature grasping at *some* legitimate reason to complain. "I'm pregnant...with twins...I have to crawl over kids to get into bed...I have to find my way out at 3 AM to walk forever away to the bathroom...how am I supposed to do anything and watch a wandering 15-mo. old (and 2-yr. old and 4 yr. old and 4 yr. old and...). Yes, this scenario is quite wretched. I should surely be upset."

  

BUT. By the end of our short 2 1/2 day stay, even I was relaxing and finding wonder.

  

   

It was in the river...

  

    

   

in the trees...

 

    

   

in the colorful leaves...

  

    

in the way tendrils frame too-old-for-this "sucker summer" faces (as Miriam calls it when her twin sucks his thumb - "sucker thumber" is what she's going for)...

  

    

I even found it in the campground, when I allowed myself to look.

  

    

   

       

    

1-2-3-4-5-6-counting-the-dog...Who's missing? Oh, yeah...

    

   

And then, post-presbytery-meeting, we headed for the coast.

  

But THAT will have to wait for another post. Because this short update is getting suspiciously long.