Life

I laugh at the title of that last post. Did I really think I was catching up? That I ever could catch up? Life seems to have spun out of control on us somewhere along the way, and I feel like I just grabbed an overhanging tree branch to yank myself out of the current.

Since that last post we have celebrated 4 birthdays, said goodbye to our good friend Livingstone, held our 12th annual Memorial Day bash (unofficial headcount had our numbers over 150 this year), dealt with some ever occurring health issues with Pipo, attended numerous sporting events, concert, school celebrations and special events, finished up the school year, and most recently, hosted a group of Rwandan dancers.

What? What was that last item? Oh yes, it was that broken filter in my mouth... the one that let's that crazy YES word come flying out at any old moment. Standing by the fire after one of our Wednesday night dinners, a good friend casually mentioned a Rwandan dance troupe that was flying in shortly to perform and had nowhere to stay. I swear, sometimes these moments are like an out of body experience. I float somewhere up above, watching myself say "Why of course we don't mind seven strangers moving in indefinitely!" I float up above, shaking my head, wondering when I will ever learn.

What we thought was the offer of a roof over their heads for a few nights became a week and a half of feeding the crowd, driving people here and there, trips into Boston Medical to try and figure out strange ailments... we quickly found out we bit off a bit more that we expected to chew.

But here I am, down on Cape Cod, hanging onto that tree branch for dear life and watching the current storm by me. In retrospect, with all the stress and commotion this latest turn of events caused, I don't know that I would have changed things. Some definite positives came out of it, and it is an experience my kids won't soon forget. 

Raising 7 kids on a teachers salary is no easy feat, and Fitz and I know there are many things we will never be able to do for our kids. Fancy expensive toys, exotic trips, private lessons and activities may all be out of our reach, but life experiences... these are the things we hold on to. Watching Kaleigh drive off with 3 Rwandan teenagers to meet up with a crowd of friends and get a soccer game going. Seeing the pride on Emma's face when she throws herself into her own soccer game, scoring two goals and inpressing the young Rwandan friend who came to watch her. Laughing while E.J. attempts to work out a Bob Marley song on the piano and guitar with another Rwandan friend who speaks not a word of English. Watching the sheer joy on the youngest of the troupe jumps on a trampoline for his first time.

We may not have much, but I am feeling incredibly rich lately. I look at my kids, see them reaching out to strangers from the other side of the world, and I know that I gave them this.

Catching up

Well... Fitz Mountain is finally gone. The winter we thought would never end has finally turned into Spring! And with Spring comes yard work, which Tommy and Emma are glad to help with, as long as it includes a ride in the trailer!




Easter came and went, with lots of aunts, uncles and cousins. Actually... a mid egg hunt snowball fight was the final demise of the mountain!




Then came Fitz's birthday, with so many candles I had to get a permit from the fire department!




Last week, Margaret had 12 inched cut from her hair, which she donated to locks of love.





And last but not least, Emma made her First Communion. The 5th in a row here in Fitzville. We have a brief hiatus this coming year, before Tommy has the grand finale.

Long time, no post

Life in Fitzville has been a little crazier than usual this Spring. Along with the normal school/work/sports schedule, we've had a few big events like First Communion, plays, birthdays etc.

Our most recent change in routine is a nice one though... in the form of an unexpected visitor. Our friend, Livingstone Mpagi from Uganda flew in last week and has been staying with us. We met Livingstone 2 years ago at camp. He was a counselor that the kids fell in love with immediately, especially Pipo, who came up to me soon after camp started telling me "Mom, Livingstone is my best friend!"

We knew Livingstone as the quiet, gentle farmer from Uganda, but didn't know much more. This past week has been an amazing week finding more and more about this amazing person.

I have spent the last hour helping Livingstone set up a blog of his own to promote his school in Uganda. He is brand new to blogging, and still figuring out the whole system. His school is shown on a website here at Building Brighter Futures.


The picture at the top of the post is the initial school Livingstone built in 1996. He had 11 students from the village attending. Now, he serves more than 200, in the school pictured at the bottom of the post. Livingstone's new blog is Bukeka Children's Center . Stop by and send some encouragement!

Why is it...?

The other day we were getting ready to go to church, and I played the nagging wife role perfectly. "Are you really wearing that?" and "But your hair... it's, like um... sticking up everywhere!" I had just spent a frantic half hour making sure the kids did not have gaping holes in the knees of their pants, or stains on their shirts.

Fitz laughs whenever I get like this. He tries to convince me that no one will care if Tommy's shirt matches his pants, or if Emma's pigtails are uneven. But I know the truth. Everyone will be watching.

Why is it that when a family (especially a large family) goes out in public, the husband and wife are viewed so differently? If it's the typical chaos, and someone's shoes are on the wrong feet, someone's hair isn't brushed, someone buttoned their shirt wrong... people look at the dad and thing "Oh, that poor, hardworking guy... just trying to support that big family of his." But when they look at the mom, they are thinking "Man, why can't she get her act together? Those poor kids... she has so many of them she can't possibly care for them properly!"

I know society thinks this way. So for now I will keep spit-slicking my husbands hair down on the way to church, no matter how many times he smacks my hand away.

Way cool...

Caribbean - July 2008

Fitz and I have talked lately about how thankful we are for what we have... especially these days. Things are always tight, and we scrape by, but we do it with fun and love and purpose. One of the things I am most thankful for is the experiences we have been able to give our kids.

All told, I have had it pretty good my whole life, but if there is one thing I regret, it is the lack of traveling I have done. Fitz has been around the world, and the big joke when he tells his stories is me saying "I've never been anywhere..." He promises me that someday I will be able to venture out of my little New England bubble.

My oldest daughter Kaleigh, however, is fairly well traveled for a 17 year old kid. Last summer, she had the amazing opportunity to spend a month in the Caribbean through the incredibly awesome Summer camp Fitz and I work at... Windsor Mountain International. Today, we officially found out that this summer, Kaleigh will be spending a month in Peru, in a full Spanish immersion program. How cool is that. I fully admit I am living my life vicariously through Kaleigh, and I am incredibly excited for this opportunity for her.

Every summer, Fitz and I must say a hundred times how lucky we are to have camp be such a huge part of our lives. Even before these trips, Kaleigh had such awesome experiences just being part of camp while we worked. And now, all 7 kids are getting so much out of it every summer.

We are just counting down the weeks now... the kids ask me regularly, "how much longer until camp?"

All in a name...

Okay, time to get back to the lightheartedness...

There is nothing I love better than listening to my kids chatting away after they are supposed to be going to sleep. I just can't get mad when I hear them laughing and joking up there. Tonight, I lingered on the stairs a bit to listen to the 4 boys, all in one bedroom. They were discussing names, and why they had their names. Charlie was retelling what I had once told him... that I didn't care what Fitz called the baby if it was a girl, but if it was a boy, it was definitely Charlie. E.J. told the others that he was going to be Sarah if he was a girl (true), and they all cracked up and said they would call him Sarah now. In the middle of all this, Charlie says, "But what about sauce?" "Huh?" said 3 brothers' voices. Charlie went on... "but what about sauce, I mean why do we call it sauce?"

This had me laughing all the way down the stairs, to tell Fitz, where it reminded us of another story from years back. I was driving a van full of young kids, and they were all discussing animals. I was trying to impress upon them what a brilliant mom they had by classifying animals. I was explaining that a dog is actually a canine, a cat is a feline, but they are both mammals... etc. Suddenly, a small voice in the back pipes up, little Emma asking "Yeah, but what about croutons?"

I still haven't been able to answer that one.

Walking the Line

When my blog suddenly got over 500 hits yesterday, I knew something was up. It seems yesterdays post was linked on another blog, and started quite a debate.

While some people understood my anger at the ignorance I witnessed yesterday, many thought I was jumping to conclusions, and being overly sensitive.

I have learned in the past three years that it is a very thin line walk as a parent of a black child. You want to be there to protect them, and to prepare them for the racism they may encounter in life. But you also want to teach them tolerance, acceptance and trust. I certainly don't want Pipo to be expecting people to judge him... and yet I don't want to raise him to be naive either.

It's hard posting things on a blog... so much is left to the interpretation of the reader. There's no good way to convey tone, inflection or attitude. I am sure that the woman yesterday had no idea Emma and Pipo were siblings... I wouldn't expect her to know that. But the tone of her voice, the expression on her face said everything to me when she spoke of the "African American boy."

Even before Pipo arrived, I had seen much ignorance. Having a big family puts us out there, so to speak, and leaves us vulnerable to peoples public (and sometimes very vocal) opinions. But I've learned over the years to listen carefully when people speak... and not just to their words. Two strangers can say the exact same thing to me, and have totally different meanings. When finding out we have 7 kids, I often hear, "Are you going to have more?" Picture these words spoken by someone with open curiosity and a smile on their face. I love talking to people who are genuinely curious as to what its like to raise a crew. Now picture those words spoken with a sneer, and a look of disgust. It's very hard not to read in the implications there... I'm overpopulating the world, I am irresponsible, I am creating tax burdens on those with smaller families, I can't possibly have enough love or attention for that many, and am therefore neglectful.

When we are in public, and Pipo yells "Mom!" to me, I get lots of reactions. I am the first to say that the vast majority of the reactions are positive. But it's the same deal. It's not the words, but how they are said. "He's your son?" with a smile and a curious look can often lead to a cool conversation about adoption. "He's your son?" with a look of disgust makes me wonder what the person is thinking. I actually had one person say straight out to me "do they all have different fathers?"

But I also know this ignorance is the minority, at least from what I have experienced. And even many of the most ignorant comments are from well meaning people. People who have just not been around different types of families, different types of people. (Don't even get me started on the dreadlock comments I have gotten!) But just because it is rare, it doesn't mean I should teach my kids that it is out there. Pipo needs to know, he needs to be aware. By not teaching him this I would be doing him a huge disservice. And so I walk that fine line, and try to teach him to not just hear the words, but the way they are spoken.