Where dreams really do come true

We took our first major family vacation this month, the kind that requires passports and plane tickets (but no shots).

There are two types of vacations. Our honeymoon 14 years ago was spent soaking in a jacuzzi, feeding ducks, making puzzles and sandcastles, and drinking sparkling apple juice while watching "Sleepless in Seattle" in a little cottage in the Whiteshell. That's the restful kind.

A couple weeks ago we got on a jet bound for Disneyworld with our kids, my parents, and my brother. We left the house at 3:45 AM and spent every day from 9 AM till 9 PM on our feet in the Florida sun exploring all Mickey Mouse had to offer, from a 13 story elevator drop, to a white water soaking, to a singing Nemo swinging from the rafters. That's not the restful kind! It was a memory-making, relationship-building, mind and body-stretching kind of vacation.

Here are my highlights:

My return to childhood: Other than the fact that I was responsible 24/7 for making sure my kids didn't get lost in a crowd in a strange country, I got to be a kid again. I screamed on the wild rollercoasters. I got little heart flutters when I saw Cinderella, Goofy and Jiminy Cricket. (K. kept reminding me, "Mom, it's just someone in a suit!") And I got to see G.'s wide eyes when she met the Little Mermaid. ("See K., she is a real mermaid with a tail!")

The garbage can: Our first day at lunch K. came running up, jumping and giggling about a robotic trashcan that thanked him for the fries. G.'s response: "See K., I told you everything at Disney was alive!"

The surprises: I listened to G. scream all the way through Thunder Mountain, a runaway train in a old mine. But when the train came to a stop she yelled, "That was great! Let's do it again!" I was afraid the Haunted Mansion would freak K. out but he loved it! I thought the kids would go batty in all the 20-60 minute lineups, but they were so patient.

The star of the show: We went early to "Storytime with Belle" and got a seat in the front row. When Belle came out she said, "I need someone to help me tell the story. My father Maurice was a great inventor. Who will play my father?" and she pointed at K.! She called him on the stage and asked him, "If you were going to invent something what would it be?" He said, "Actually I have plans to build a Hovermobile, which is part airplane, part helicopter." She was so impressed! He was great on stage, quivering with fear in the dark forest and dancing with Mrs. Potts and Lumiere at the happy ending!

The gratitude: As we were getting out of the boat in "It's a Small World," K. told my mom, "Thanks so much for this trip!" She turned to me and said, "You coached him to say that, right?" And I hadn't.

I'll grow into it

My prayer since Christmas has been "God, stretch me to fit my life." Because what he's called me to do feels way bigger than me. Teaching college for the first time is tough. Teaching college while writing a bi-monthly column, working Wednesday mornings at FLN, and raising 2 needy kids is HUGE. (Did I mention the course was on the Book of Revelation?)

Thankfully I'm growing into it.

I'm learning not to sweat the small stuff. There just isn't time or energy. Instead of freaking out I'm saying things like:

"I'm not mad you accidentally broke the antique coffee table. Go choose a story while I carry the pieces downstairs and then we'll read together."
"I hear you spent the morning in the principal's office. What are you going to do differently next time?"

I did not used to sound like that!

The kids have had a rough winter in school and at home. Everyone seems to be jumping to the conclusion that it's because I'm teaching now. Without asking they "know" I must have less time or less patience for my kids than I used to.

Like I said, nobody asked. But I'll tell you anyway.

As far as time: I started prepping for my course 8-10 hours per week in September. Now I'm doing 25 hours/week but I've cut way down on the time I spend on church meetings, shopping, coffee dates, blogging, and watching TV. Before Christmas I spent my weekends napping/cleaning and then prepped while the kids were at school; now I nap while they're at school and prep for my Monday class on the weekends. So mom's still not available Saturday morning and Sunday afternoon, just for different reasons!

G. and I still read and play for an hour every afternoon and I still help K. with his spelling and piano practice after supper. If I'm studying and they get hurt, I still come running to kiss their boo boos. And if it's the middle of the night before I have to teach and they get growing pains, I still get up to rub their feet.

As far as managing my stress so it doesn't affect the kids: I relax, not study, after I put them to bed and I'm asleep by 11:30. I take Tuesday and Thursday (the days after I work) off to nap, watch stupid TV, and make up teddy bear puppet shows from behind the recliner (but only by request).

Those who think the extra "anxiety" of teaching has created a shocking decrease in my motherly patience obviously didn't notice how anxious I as about teaching before I started! And perhaps you've forgotten: I never was the patron saint of peace and patience to begin with!

Today G. said, "When I grow up I want to be a teacher. What do you want to be when you grow up?" When I told her "I already am a teacher" her gasp of delight rocked my world.

I believe God gave me this teaching contract as a gift because he thinks I can do it - without sacrificing my kids! Yes, it's stretching. But I'm not about to snap - I'm growing into it.

And who wouldn't want a mother with an even bigger heart?

It's a wonderful life

When you're living with disabilities you don't take anything for granted. You assume life will go a little different than planned; that milestones will come in their own time and in their own order.

It means you get to celebrate the little things.

A month into the school year my son's grade 3 teacher said K. was 2 years behind in his understanding of math concepts and didn't seem to be progressing. So you can imagine our excitement this month when K. and his EA greeted us at the door and announced that he had learned to carry the one! Two days later he caught on to borrowing!

All of a sudden we started hearing that math was "fun" and "too easy!" So he moved from adding and subtracting 2 digit numbers to working with thousands! All in one week. What a wonderful Christmas present.

A friend dropped in, and as we shared our good news, she looked around at our Christmas decorations.

"Why does your family of 4 have 5 stockings?"

"Well because one is for the hamster of course!" K. answered. "But he'll have to share it with Hamish X."

"Who is Hamish X?" she asked through her giggles.

Hamish X is our fish, named after a fictional boy-robot who saves orphans from cheese pirates and aliens, I explained. What else would you name a fish?

And as we stood in the doorway laughing about math success, hamster stockings, and fish named Hamish, I realized I have a very interesting life.

And I wouldn't trade it for anything.

Merry Christmas!

lost and found

I went to my friend's wedding last weekend. We had lost touch for about 8 years, but in September I found him through Facebook and we started sending each other messages. Tim and I are actually second cousins (or whatever you call it when your grandparents are siblings) but in high school he was more like my big brother.

We met on the way to a Mennonite Brethren youth convention - Banff '89. He sat down with me and my friends in a food court in Saskatchewan. He had charisma. A month later we were on the same bus from MBCI to a youth conference in Winkler. (I took any opportunity to get out of Niverville!) When we said goodbye he asked for my number but I never expected to hear from him again.

He called me that afternoon. To say the words every girl dreams of hearing: 'My mom says we're related!' We laughed ourselves silly.

He called every week or two from then on (at 11:00 PM to my parents' chagrin). He listened to my sob stories. He offered to go after the boys who hurt me. And he always made me laugh. He called me Angel. I called him "my favorite coincidence." If you define coincidence as something only God could orchestrate.

The summer after my first year of College I moved into the city and got my first job pumping soft ice cream. (It smells better than gasoline.) Tim's house was within biking distance and (on the rare night he didn't have a date) he and I would lie on the basement floor listening to Nirvana or lie on the grassy hill of the Roblin overpass listening to traffic.

I felt weird going to the wedding. After all the church was full of people he'd gone to med school or church with over the past few years - people he saw every day. And there was the long lost "Angel" who had never even met his bride.

When I walked in he saw me across the room and came over, hugged me and said, "Welcome to...my wedding. You look gorgeous!"

That night I woke up crying at 4 AM. Not just about losing touch with Tim for so many years but other friends I've lost. The friends who cared about me for no reason. Not because they had to work with me, not because I was in their Bible study, not because we were related. And definitely not because I had it all together.

Kindred spirits. Like Wanda. Wanda happened to give me a ride to another youth retreat (Man I miss those rock concert-slumber party-getaways) when I was 14. We happened (another "coincidence") to be placed in the same room for night. We both loved writing poetry, talking theology, and her brother. Even though we were 4 years apart we stuck together like glue for the rest of the school year, till she moved away.

Wanda really, really listened to me. She laughed at all my jokes even when I wasn't trying. Wanda doesn't do Facebook or email or letters. I haven't seen her since I went to Calgary 6 years ago and I don't even have her phone number. Now I'm crying again.

As I lay in bed crying after the wedding I savoured the memory of Tim's brotherly welcome - the way his eyes lit up when he saw me again for the first time. And I heard God whisper, "That's how I look at you...but not quite. Remember the way Tim looked at his new wife with tears in his eyes after they said, 'I do'?"

"Now you're closer. That's what you'll see in my eyes when we meet face to face."