Let's try this again . . .

Whoa, life sure has gotten away from me. Our life is 180 degrees . . . well, perhaps maybe just 90 degrees, different from the last time I posted an entry.

So, let's see . . . last entry I was in the middle of my first Washington winter, we were settling into our new house, Jason was away at OBC, Caitlyn was attending preschool at the Olympia Waldorf School, Lorelei was enjoying her days at home, we had a dog and I was a stay at home mom who wrote in my spare time. Oh, and we were busy planning an all-girls Alaskan Disney cruise with my mom.

Huh. Kind of a lot has changed since then.

Now, we are in the middle of our first Texas fall, we are settling into another new house, Jason is still away, Caitlyn in in kindergarten, Lorelei is in preschool at a Montessori school, we no longer have our sweet mutt due to Lorelei's skin sensitivities, and I am once-again a secondary school English teacher who no longer has any spare time.

But, we did go on our Disney cruise, and we are now in the midst of planning a June trip to Disney World--at least some things stay the same!

Our move was sparked by a certain fed-upness with the Army. Despite the fact that we were supposed to stay in Washington for at least 4 years, we were told that was no longer a possibility. Jason was still obligated to a hardship tour in Korea, and we decided to make one final move to be close to family and actually put down roots. Yes, Jason still has a military obligation. However, we will no longer be moving around. For the duration of whatever time he has left, we will be stabilized in Texas, and he will do what he can to have a 4 day work week, then be home on weekends. It is not ideal, but it is better than hauling the girls all over the country. We can't wait to all be together permanently, and until then, Skype is our best friend.

So, we moved to Houston. Never thought I would willingly do that since I've professed hate for Houston for a long time--the weather mostly sucks, it isn't pretty and I'm not really a midwestern, Bible belt kinda girl. HOWEVER, being close to family and longtime friends is priceless and absolutely precious. I may miss the beauty of a towering, old growth forest on my way to the grocery store, but the sight of my girls running into the arms of multiple grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins takes my breath away. Recently, I took them to the dentist, and it turns out, I went to high school with the guy. My daughter is attending a dance school owned by another Pearland alum. I get to see friends I've known since birth, and I watch my daughters play with their kids. I have a dozen people--A DOZEN-- on the emergency contact list for the girls. There is beauty in that not even matched by the fall colors in Williamsburg.

And we have a house, that for the first time in my adult life, feels like a real, lasting, permanent home. It is beautiful, and we are slowly making it our own. How serious are we about staying here? We put a growth chart in permanent marker inside the linen closet. I realize that can easily be painted over, but any military family can relate to the permanence of such a gesture.

And really? Houston may not be gorgeous, but there are some gorgeous moments, some beautiful sunsets, some rich cultural experiences, and some wonderful friends--did I mention the friends?

So . . . other changes. Caitlyn is in full day kindergarten. And she likes it, but it wears her out. She grows weary of coloring and work sheets, but she is doing it all with her own flair, and she loves her friends, her teacher and her school. Her teacher is kind and wonderful, but she is no Miss Candy. While we knew we were lucky to have the Waldorf School in WA, it took moving away from it to realize how incredible of an education it was. They treasured our girl, they didn't just teach her. Miss Candy (and Miss Kim, too) was a rare, special breed, and I can only hope to know her for all eternity. She was *and is* that amazing.

Lorelei made the adjustment to school reluctantly, and it took a week or more for her to stop crying to stay home when she woke up and realized it was a school day. Most days, she happily runs into school, anxious to play and learn. And learn she does! She comes home with songs, knowledge, and stories from her day, and it is a joy to listen to her share. Just the other day, she brought home a world map and told me all about Europe and Asia. Really. I'm not crazy about everything in her school, and I think Montessori schools fail to grasp that these are *children*, but she likes it, and I like the staff. Still . . .

The best part of my day is when those girls skip into my arms, screaming, "MAMA!!!" when I arrive to pick them up.

As for the rest of my day, it is spent teaching kids from low-income families how to care about something other than themselves and survival. I have days that make me want to run screaming from the classroom and do ANYTHING but teach. Some of the kids are surly, rude, indifferent, and hostile. Most days, I like what I am doing, and the fact that the vast majority of the kids are generally sweet and semi-interested in what I am teaching is enough to put a smile on my face and make me happy to prepare a new, engaging lesson for the next day. The best days? Those are the ones that make me feel privileged to be an educator--the days where a kid confides in me, races into the room to share an interesting book with me, or just gives me a genuine smile and a hug. Those are the days that make me feel good about sharing myself with kids other than my own.

That's a lot of changes for a bit less than a year. It has been a bit rough, but what has stayed the same is really more important than anything that changed. Our family is still the most important thing to each of us, we still live to play and spend time together and we are still walking this journey of life in the best way we know how---together.

A Hammer, A Gift

Steve's birthday is today. It is hard to believe that it has been over a year since my stepdad passed away. Our family was forever changed when he came into our lives, and our family has been forever changed by his sudden departure. In that time, I've learned so much about what it really means to be a family, how priceless memories can be, how the smallest thing can trigger a flood of tears or a warm smile and, most of all, how there is, and always will be, a hole in our lives that Steve used to fill.

Not a day passes that I don't think of how much I would give to have one more late night conversation with Steve, both of us night owls who discussed so many different things during my visits home. Not a week passes that Caitlyn doesn't remind me how much she misses him. Just last week she got angry with me because I never asked Steve how many planet Earths could fit inside Jupiter, a pressing question for her, and she reminded me that now I never can before she just said quietly, "I miss him."

One of my most treasured items this past year has been a hammer that belonged to Steve. Steve, like my mom, was a handy DIYer who rarely met a project he couldn't tackle. He worried about my generation--a generation of lazy pencil pushers who were just as likely to hire out their painting projects as to pick up a brush, exert a little effort and get the job done themselves. He enjoyed showing others how to do things, and he was patient and careful in both his teaching and his tasks. I learned a lot from him, and some of my most treasured memories now are the times I spent working on a project with him and my mom. I remember a lot of painting--our Cunningham house, the hot tub surround, my first house (which we actually painted TWICE because the color I picked the first time was so awful), the lake house (sweet freaking jesus--that place was a never-ending stream of projects!). I remember a lot of flooring. I remember fencing, picture hanging, drapery hanging, power washing, door installation and on and on.

Of course, I also had another teacher in my mom, and she and Steve differed a bit in their execution of projects. Steve was careful and deliberate, making detailed notes, lists and plans. He measured twice and cut once (usually). He made sure walls were square, nails went into a stud and things were level. He liked to put as few holes as possible in drywall.

My mom and I could (and did!) lay nearly an entire room full of flooring before Steve had even decided which wall we should start on. My mom taught me to be creative in tool selection (did you know a hair dryer can be used to hammer a nail into a wall when you need to hang a picture RIGHT.NOW. to see if it looks good?). My mom also cared nothing for preserving the drywall--if the picture is off, just move the nail a couple inches, rehang the picture and repeat until you get it in the right spot.

Sometimes his methods drove her crazy, and sometimes her methods drove him crazy, but they loved to work on projects together. I know he admired her energy and "get it done" attitude, and I know she admired his attention to detail and patience with even the most fiddly projects. And I think of both of them every time I work on a project, drawing on specific knowledge each of them shared with me.

Back to his old hammer. After Steve died and my mom sold their beloved lake house, she asked all of the kids if there was anything that we wanted from the lake. I tried to think about what would best capture Steve's love of the lake and any one of a hundred happy memories from all the time we spent there. When my mom asked if we needed any tools (since the lakehouse garage was fully stocked), I knew that tools were exactly what most embodied what I loved about Steve, as a teacher, as a dad, as a partner to my mom and as a friend.

Steve's hammer is old, the wood worn smooth by his warm hands. It is unremarkable to look at, but I cannot do so without feeling the prick of tears in my eyes. Holding that hammer makes me feel like Steve is right here, helping me with projects, reminding me to go slow and do things right the first time. When Caitlyn helped me hang pictures in her room, I let her use the hammer, delighting her in the knowledge that it was PawPaw's. Her tiny hands grasped the same hammer his hands used to hold, and she gritted her teeth, anxious to get it just right. I remember feeling a wave of sadness and gratitude for all of the lessons he taught me that I will be able to pass on to her. But, I had to laugh when we realized the picture would look better slightly to the left. Caitlyn told me, "Well, just move it over and make another hole." We girls have a lot of Grammie in us, after all.

Steve's hammer, now my hammer, is priceless, and every time I use it, I remember him. Those who work with their hands may understand the connection that this simple tool gives me to Steve, that it is as if he imparted some bit of himself into it during those countless projects, and now I get to hold onto that energy as I add to its legacy.

Those closest to us know that this year brought some hardships in regards to settling Steve's estate, and I've learned some very hard lessons about human nature, family and finances. The things that happened have been so contrary to who Steve was as a person that I genuinely hope that my beliefs are correct, and there is no way for him to know or see what has gone on because I think he would find it disappointing, although I don't know that for certain.

What I do know for certain is that Steve's hammer far surpasses the value of any home, any account and any asset he left behind. And I am grateful I learned enough from him (and my mom) to know that.