Homesick

Homesickness is a serious illness. This may sound silly but homesickness is actually very tragic and quite complicated. It’s difficult to diagnose since there are no outward telltale signs, like a revealing rash or contagious cough. Unless you have a deep personal relationship with a person (or else read their blog) you would never know that they are suffering from it. The symptoms can range from mild- a few weepy spells and long distance phone calls home- to severe. In the most serious cases, homesickness can cloud a person’s judgment, alter their perception, and lead to illogical actions. But ultimately the worst thing about homesickness is that there is no known cure.

I am so homesick. Rapidly, in the course of a few days, the illness penetrated my body and overtook my entire system. The causes are no mystery to me; a combination of factors all came together at once. First, fall made its appearance in Hampton Roads, which was a painful reminder of what I am missing. You see, fall is the season that made me first fall in love with New York- the cool weather that calls for cute knit hats and scarves, the beautiful changing leaves in all their exquisite colors, the picturesque pumpkin patches and apple orchards around every corner beckoning you to stop and enjoy the bountiful fruits of the season. I miss those things. And I yearn for my friends. Fall always seems to be a time of reconnecting with friends. After the crazy summer schedules die down and everyone settles back into a routine, that’s when the playgroups and the ladies’ nights find their way onto the calendar. But not for me, not this year. My loneliness hasn’t been much of a problem the past few months since James has been home and we’ve been enjoying time together, but this week his work load onboard the ship increased tenfold. He was barely home at all and when he was it was just enough time to exchange a few hugs and stories from the day and for him to give me the dreaded news of upcoming underways and deployments, which brought me face to face with the reality that come December I will not only want some friends to rely on, I will need friends to rely on. So in the long, cold, dark nights I have been forced to face the fact that I am very sick; homesick.

I took my self-diagnosis and attempted to self-medicate. I figured that since I can’t be in New York, I might as well try to find traces of New York in Virginia. My online search for local apple orchards turned up empty but one of my aunts, who used to live near Richmond, steered me towards a farm in Chesterfield that bragged of a pumpkin patch, corn maze, pony rides, hay rides, etc. My sister, Julie, and I made plans for our families to meet there on Saturday and enjoy a full day of fall fun together. I WAS SO EXCITED! I mean, more excited than I’ve been about anything since James’ homecoming. Yes, that excited. Here was my chance to pretend I was up north enjoying New York-like activities with the added bonus of having the companionship of a life-long friend, my sister, for a full day.

Saturday finally arrived and everything was perfect…for about an hour. We paid our $35 admission and the kids ran straight for the farm animals.

We were saving all the good stuff, like the corn maze and the pumpkin patch, for the day ahead. The kids all hovered around the rabbit pen and then made their way to the chickens, where Jamie put his hand through the fence and received a shocking peck from the dominating rooster.

We continued down the line to the goats and James purchased some food so that the kids could feed the animals.

Johnny was eager to take a handful of pellets but then wanted to keep them all to himself.

When I shook his hand and threw his stash to the chickens he screamed in angry protest.

I found it funny. After our cup of food was gone we caught a ride on the tractor train. At first we were just going to watch the kids ride around but the tractor driver insisted we ride along, and I’m glad he did. It was the highlight of my day. The kids were all so happy as we drove in one big circle around the fruit fields. These were the best pictures I took the whole day.

When we came to a stop my sister and her family had arrived. Josie had been talking about seeing her cousin Angie for days- in fact, I think it was the only thing that got her through school on Thursday and Friday.

After some hugs and a few pictures we all went to find some lunch.

But no sooner had we finished our concession stand hot dogs and nachos than the skies opened up and it began to rain. Word quickly spread that the farm was closing due to weather. My spirits sank.

Under ordinary circumstances the disappointment might not have been so unbearable, except that I was relying on this outing to act as a healing remedy for my homesickness. Now that it had been taken away, I was heartbroken. We harassed the reluctant farm attendant for a full refund and then decided to drive to Richmond to go to the Children’s Museum there. It was a nice museum but I was too sad to see it. Everywhere I looked there was a reminder of what I was missing. Specifically, Johnny’s favorite exhibit was a large imitation apple tree.

Big red balls, a.k.a. “apples,” were propelled through various tubes that wound throughout the tree top and the children collected the balls in baskets when they popped out through the holes near the bottom.

I watched the kids with delight but in the pit of my stomach there was a nagging sickness. Oh, how I miss apple picking. The other thing that was missing at the museum was that adult interaction I’d been craving. Our five kids had a marvelous time, but the four adults had to run in all different directions to watch over them so we barely had time to visit. The two and a half hour drive home was miserable. I endured the trip with a splitting headache, bouts of car sickness, and Johnny screaming in my ear the whole way. So much for this weekend making me feel better.

So what do I do now? The same thing that anyone does who is suffering from an illness to which there is no cure. Endure it and pray that time will heal. And, whenever possible, manage the pain. Phone conversations with loving friends is a great way to ease the discomfort. Christine, Kelly, and Joy- talking with you this week did wonders for my emotional health! Baking that apple pie on Friday afternoon brought me some warm, sugary comfort as well. But more than anything these are the three best doses of pain reliever available: Josie, Jamie, and Johnny.

They constantly remind me that no matter how homesick I may feel, home is always here with them.

Josie's First Week of School

I want my kids to love school. It’s not just about being good at math, science, and history. Good grades are important, but just every parent wants their child to excel. I want my children to love learning.

Josie and Jamie at preschool orientation last year, Sept. '10

I want them to know all the pleasures of academic excellence: the happiness that comes from reading a good book, the satisfaction that stems from earning a well deserved ‘A’, the pride that bubbles up inside while holding a certificate of recognition. I want them to be presidents of the math clubs and captains of the debate teams and not care what anyone else has to say about it because no amount of peer pressure could keep them from doing what they love. I want them to get out of bed every morning….okay, maybe not EVERY morning but at least most mornings….and look forward to learning something new. I want them to love going to school.

Josie, jumping for joy, on her first day of preschool. Sept. '09

Two years ago when Josie first started preschool I had many doubts and reservations. I didn’t think that preschool was necessary and I couldn’t believe it would have much of an impact on my three-year-old. But Josie quickly put all those issues to rest. She loved her school, she loved her teachers, she loved her classmates, and most importantly, she loved learning. We saw her flourish in preschool and so I anticipated that kindergarten was sure to be even better.

So you can be sure that when Josie started school last week I had high hopes and great expectations.

That being said, this is how Josie’s first week of school actually unfolded:

Day 1: We stood in front of the house in the scorching sun and unbearable humidity for over half an hour, waiting for a bus that never came. Josie was eager and excited at first but then she was just tired and frustrated and started to whine. Five minutes before school was supposed to start I loaded all the kids into the car in a hurry and we rushed Josie to school. Once we had gotten Josie to where she needed to be I talked to the bus driver and clarified that we were supposed to have met the bus on the corner of the street and not in our driveway (although no one from the school ever passed that information along to us. Thanks for nothing, Deep Creek Central.) When Josie got home from school and I asked her about her day she told me, “I don’t know. I don’t remember.” The most information I was able to pry from her stubborn lips was that they learned about the color red and her teacher gave her a candy.

Day 2: We got Josie to school on the bus successfully! I was feeling good. I was watching the clock like a hawk when it neared time to pick her up at the bus stop. We were never given an official drop-off time so I estimated that the bus would arrive around the same time it had the day before. Both the boys were asleep in their bedroom so I was trying to stay at home for as long as possible. Then, about ten minutes ahead of my assumed schedule, I heard the unmistakable sound of releasing bus breaks. I jumped out of my chair, threw open the front door, ran around the corner and sprinted down the street, chasing after the bus. Oh, and I did it barefoot. I caught up with her bus at the next stop. When the doors opened the bus driver pointed at her watch and then shook her finger at me. I know that she expressed some scolding words to go along with her gestures, but I was too distracted by the traumatized look on Josie’s tear soaked face to listen. I scooped her into my arms and carried my big 55 lbs girl all the way back to the house, huffing and puffing and apologizing with ever short breath I had left. It was awful.

Day 3: We finally put the bus drama behind us. Pick-up and drop-off went smoothly, but there were tears again when Josie came home. She said that she got in “really big trouble.” The details are fuzzy since the story comes from the mouth of a five-year-old, but apparently Josie wasn’t paying attention and cut a triangle the wrong way. She also said that her teacher asked her to sing and she didn’t want to. And then there was something about her friends playing Goldilocks and the Three Bears and no one wanted to be Goldilocks. The other girls told Josie to be Goldilocks and when she refused they told her to go to her room and when she said ‘no’ they threatened to spank her. This is all unconfirmed, mind you, but it wound Josie into quite a tizzy and was enough to warrant some parental concern on my and James’ part. During bath time that night Josie told me, with sadness on her face and sorrow in her voice, “I don’t want to go to school anymore.” I almost cried.

Day 4: The last day wasn’t as bad as the others. Josie was sad that she wasn’t good enough to get a sticker but at least she wasn’t in tears over it. They learned about the color brown and had gotten to eat a brownie, which must have been enough to make up for the lack of sticker. It seemed at first that the day had been okay. But later in the evening while we were changing into pajamas I noticed a large red welt on Josie’s right collar bone. I ran my hand over it and she cringed. An inquiry into the injury revealed that a boy at school had hit her with a toy sword while play fighting. The mark is surely going to bruise so the boy must have had a strong swing, but it does sound like it was an accident.

So with all the bus drama and the getting in “really big trouble” and the abusive friends, Josie’s first week of school was far from ideal. Nothing like what I hoped her first week would be. I fear that this kind of beginning will ruin any hope I had of Josie ever learning to love school. I thought that maybe I wouldn’t write these stories down in hopes that she might eventually forget and not be permanently scared by these events. But then I changed my mind. It can only get better from here, right? And maybe we’ll want to look back and laugh at this someday when Josie’s a teacher’s pet, an honor roll student, and student body class president. Hey, maybe she’ll even use one of these stories in her valedictorian speech.

Josie waiting for the bus on the second week of school

First things first, though. Let’s just strive for getting Josie through her second week of school.

How To Take a Hint

Do you ever feel like God is trying to tell you something? He gives us little hints, little taps on the shoulder. But we're so thick headed and stubborn that we brush them off and proceed anyways. Inevitably, we leave Him no choice but to hit us over the head with a big, heavy mallet. Thud!

Sound familiar? It's happened to all of us, and probably happened more than once to most of us. That's exactly what happened to me this weekend.

You might remember that we had big plans to make our reemergence into Civil War reenacting this weekend. A lot of time, energy, and money went into the planning and preparation. We dug through countless boxes to find our old gear, I sewed for a week to make the boys' costumes, we bought black powder and paid the pre-registration fee, and even my mom donated her money and labor to send my dress and make Josie's costume just in time for the big weekend. We thought we'd taken care of everything.

Josie in her reenacting costume

But not everything is under our control. About a week ago we found out that James' duty section schedule had been changed and, whereas he was originally going to have the whole weekend off, he now had to work on Sunday. That's okay, we figured we'd just go for one day instead of the whole weekend. Then we mapped out the trip and learned that what we assumed was something like a two hour drive was actually a four hour trip there and a four hour trip back. That's a long drive to make in one day with three kids. Then we found out that the tenant in our New York house hadn't paid rent yet and we wouldn't be seeing the check until the middle of next week. It would cost us every last penny left in our bank account if we chose to go to the reenactment, so that's when we decided, with much sadness and disappointment, to call it off. James emailed the reenacting company that we were going to join to tell them we wouldn't be able to make it. We laughed when we got the reply. Apparently we were the last to bow out and no one else from the company was going to be able to make it either, so if we had gone there wouldn't have been a company for James to fight with. And the final kick came when I woke up on Saturday morning with an awful head cold and Johnny and Josie were both showing symptoms as well. So if we had gone to the reenactment, it would have been completely miserable.

Thud! It was a big knock on the head with a heavy mallet. And it hurt. I was so sad that all that time and money and excitement went to waste on a reenacting adventure that never was. But hey, sometimes you just gotta know how to take a hint.