Death of a Dyson Box

I have been thinking about writing again for awhile, and so I am setting myself up to start from here. Let's just pretend that almost 2 years have not passed and that we are headed in a whole new direction. More on that soon.

Last year, during this time, I was mad at my vacuum. The bristle suction thingy was playing tug of war with me and my long curly red hair, and the hair won. We needed a replacement. I somehow convinced my husband that if he plunked down the 400 bucks or so for the new Dyson, that not only would our house be freshly vacuumed on a daily basis, but he would be investing in the wave of the future. The best technology in Vacuums. What I didn't plan for was the affect it would have on my children.

Now, if you are thinking that they wanted to do the vacuuming, you are wrong. If you think that they are scared of the loud and roaring sounds that said vacuum produced, wrong again. If you own a Dyson, you know that besides being an obnoxious yellow, they come in a sleek black box with detailed instructions in multiple languages. If you are a Troutman kid, the box is always the hit. Any box. Tiny jewelry box, cereal box, refrigerator box, moving box. My kids dig boxes. Maybe they don't have enough toys. Maybe they have great imaginations. Probably both.

Child number three, male, red haired like mama, and also known as "Charles Wallace" by a select few, is kind of macabre. Upon opening the new Vacuum and after the oohs and ahhhs subsided, we carefully placed the black box in the garage near the trash cans to go out the following day. The following day came and went and the black box was nowhere to be found. Not thinking much of it, and assuming the trash collectors had taken the box, we went about our lives eating, drinking, sleeping, vacuuming as normal. Child number three, age 4 at the time, began inquiring about the dead, mummification, embalming methods, etc. While we were slightly alarmed, we realized that Halloween was upon us and perhaps the Spiderman costume was played out. When he asked me to roll him in toilet paper before bed that night, I was skeptical, but I humored him, and lightly "mummified" my son.

The following night when he asked me again to mummify him, I decided to try and figure out what was going on in the noggin. I followed him into his room and everything looked normal. I sat on his bed and talked to him about ancient Egypt, and looked through a book about it. I turned off the light and walked out of the room. A couple of hours later, I went in to check on him and lo and behold, the black vacuum box had reappeared looking like a long sleek coffin, and lying on my sons bunk bed. When I peered inside, I found my little boy, sleeping in a stiff straight position. What is a mom to do? Do I freak out and wake him up and seek counseling for all of us? Do I cast out weird Vacuum box demons, and return the beloved Dyson? Do I wait until morning and sneak into the room and discard the box?

I opted to wait until the "stage" had passed and then quietly remove the cardboard coffin from my son's room. The way I see it, my children want to learn, know, become wise, and experience what they are hearing. When you read about fast sports cars, don't you want to drive one? When I read about a delicious chocolate cake recipe, you can bet that I will be making it. When we learned about the majesty of the Grand Canyon...we had to see it for ourselves. When little boys read about Ancient Egypt, they may see a "mummy box" in your vacuum packaging. I am proud of my little guy for using his resources to experience something new, and although I was mildly disturbed by his obsession with the dead for a few weeks, I came to realize that imagination is the mark of all the greatest authors, inventors, painters, and thinkers. Even the macabre ones.

Inspiration /wooden spoons /Motherhood

I took a break from blogging for awhile because if there is one thing that I am, it is inconsistent. I am constantly switching my passions- that is why I began to blog in the first place. I wanted to have a space to relay my dreams and desires with others and give myself a platform to write about my ideas. So since my last post in late October I have begun writing a book, making jewelry, painted some canvases, taken a fabulous trip with my kids and husband and started a hunt for the perfect vanagon. Yes- I am a little busy. Today is my first day back at home since the trip to Virginia with dear friends and I have washed the curtains, started post-vacation laundry, done quite a bit of Christmas decorating, made roll out Christmas cookies with the kids and iced them, did a decoupage project with 3 of the 4 kids, and it is only 2:30- at this rate maybe I will actually complete a project for myself.

I am mostly not very excited about domestic tasks such as cleaning, cooking, and child rearing. I prefer to work alone painting, writing, day dreaming etc...but hey, God gave me 4 children and a desire to homeschool that currently outweighs the desire to put them in school, so here I am fighting against the clock and trying desperately to carve out time to do what I want to do instead of what I HAVE to do. It is a losing battle. I love my kids and love to have them home with me, but I do get frustrated with the constant messes and the endless wants and needs and whining. I love Teddy Roosevelt's quote: "speak softly and carry a big stick" but I find myself often yelling loudly and carrying a big wooden spoon. Just being honest here...

I do most of my day dreaming at night now when I can hear myself think. I dream of spotless houses with large organized art studios and shiny new supplies for creating incredible works of art. But then I consider that my inspiration will have had to have flown the coop if those dreams were a reality. No children could live at this dream house and thus my art would be somewhat less fulfilling to me. Empty. And who knows if I could hope to be more inspired when I could day dream during the day- perhaps the silence would then be deafening and I could no longer hear the pure ring of inspiration in my ears.

So for now I must steal away to an art room with a few laundry baskets filled with folded size 4 star wars underpants, a rubber ducky that somehow made it from the tub and onto my sewing machine, a board book with tiny baby teeth marks where love for a story has made them want to literally consume it, and pages of journals of fabulous ideas just wait for the day to be created...

Someday when I actually hear myself think, I can start working on these things, but for now I will embrace the inspiration, all four of them.

Memories of my Earth Mama

One of my earliest memories of my Mother is also one of my favorite memories. She has always been the kind of girl that stops to smell the flowers, literally. She loves to garden and look at birds and squirrels and turtles, knowing each by their proper classification name. I never really took to her intense love of the animal and plant kingdom, but have always cherished this in my Mother.



Some may think that traveling around town with two little girls and a large pair of garden shears in the backseat, could be a dangerous situation. Not my mom. If we were to squeal, "look mom- all those beautiful wildflowers!" the car would come to a halt on the side of a road and she would be out in the field, armed with her shears, gathering a bouquet for our table. My sister and I would watch cautiously from the station wagon windows, hoping simultaneously that she would not get hit by a car, and that she had clipped enough. When she returned to the car, she would take a napkin dipped in water and wrap the cut stems up in them and put the flowers in a plastic bag to keep them fresh and hydrated. We thought she was amazing.



She loved this pair of cut off jeans that were rather holey. They were very short, but due to her Arabic heritage, she has a great year round tan and trim legs so they looked great on her. She always lent a helping hand to those who needed her most and this was one of those days. I remember the car screeching to a stop and the next thing I knew, she was out in the road, in her tiny shorts, carrying a massive turtle out of harms way. Nose pressed to the glass, I looked at her as if she were a heroine. My mom, friend of turtles.



More recently, Christo and I brought home a plant from a sale at someones farm. On our way home, we heard squeaking sounds coming from the car. Were we going to break down? Were the kids choking? We moved the plant around in the backseat and the squeaks ceased. It was definitely the plant. When we got home, I was thoroughly afraid of what was lurking under the green leaves. Could it be a mouse? Was it a snake? Do snakes squeak?



I was frantic and Christo began to try to jimmy the plant out of the pot. As he worked on it, it became evident that it was a bird's nest and there were several baby birds inside. The pot broke because we felt compelled to save the birds and not the plant. So what do we do now? I was not ready to be a mom to baby birds. I did not need a case of "Are You My Mother?" with 3 little humans to care for as well. So I call mom. She rushes over, gives them the appropriate mixture of sugar water in a dropper she brought from home. Then she established the kind of birds that they were. She created a makeshift habitat with the right kind of newsprint and remnants from the destroyed nest. Once again I stared with awe. She is my Mom, Saviour of baby birds. She took them to the bird rescue: Mission Accomplished!



It turns out my Mother is not only looking out for me- She is a true Earth Mother for all.

Genes and Dreams

photo by plecojan

Have you ever wondered whether genetics play a role in your career path or talents? Would Lisa Marie Presley have been a singer if her daddy wasn't The King of rock and roll? Bob Dylan and his son...Miley Cyrus and Billy Ray? The Kennedy's and politics? The Judd's? Would Meredith Grey have pursued a career in surgery if her mom were not a famous Doctor? Okay - the last one is stretching it being that it is fiction- but you get the jist.

I tend to think that the answer is no becuase Billy Ray is Billy Ray and Lisa Marie can't even compare with Elvis. But to be truly excellent at something becasue of a genetic predisposition is a pleasant thought. Can you imagine saying, "I can't help it that I am such an excellent ____."? If this is true, Michaels Phelps' children will probably win 10 gold medals someday.

I love the movie Immortal Beloved about Beethoven. In it, he decides for his nephew, (who ends up being his own child) that he will be a famous pianist and composer just like himself. As his guardian, he makes the child study day and night. Beethoven is of course very deaf and cannot hear how absolutely terrible his son/nephew is at the piano. He has none of the gifting that his father/uncle is blessed with. But he is Beethoven's son/nephew and so much is expected.

Are we inclined by nature to be pretty good at the things that our parents thrive in? Do we share common gifts and goals because of the gene pool and life cicumstances? My aunt was reading my blog and shared with me that my great grandmother was a writer. She woke daily at 5 am to write because she HAD to write. Her children (8 of them I think) would consume the rest of her day and so she carved out a dawn time ritual that let her enjoy her craft, hobby, what have you.

I loved finding out this tid-bit of info because it encouraged me to press on. To write because I love the process. To have time to myself that is actually for just me. I would like to think that I shall have the same gift that Elizabeth Riley did many years ago. She did write a book of poetry and I would love to get my hands on it. I love that perhaps the gene pool will give me a chance at writing because of her. I did get this random head of red hair from someone in my ancestry, perhaps I will flourish because of a little science.

Opinions on this are welcomed.

Scattered

Sometimes I feel scattered. I know that there are so many avenues I can pursue and most likely meet a successful end. I have faith that whatever I want to do, can prosper because one thing always leads to another and good always comes to those who trust in Him.

This is not just about "God's will" and "God's plan"- this is how we must live the Christian life. This is also not an "I can conquer the world and do whatever I want" way of life either.
It is about trusting. It is about "do not be anxious about your life" mantras.

I am anxious. I never thought that I would still be in the same place I have always lived. I thought that I would be gone after high school. Then I would be gone after college. Be gone after we had a baby, two babies, 3,4....and yet here we are.

I fell into love at 16 and never came up out of that ocean. We almost went away from each other at college...but we could not do it. After college, he started working and had to travel...we could not take it...I felt more alone and depressed with 3 small ones and a city full of relatives than I ever thought a person could. All of my friends who had traveling husbands said, "but you don't have to cook or clean when he is away" or "I can do whatever I want when he is gone" or "the kids are on a better schedule" blah blah blah...

I hated seeing him go from the minute he told me that next week he had to go away for a couple of days, until the minute he set foot in the door on his return. We have been married for 7 years, and together for 11. It feels like both a day and an eternity. He truly is my beloved.

So now he seldom travels away, unless like a caravan, we are all together. We have always adored the American road trip. Eating random roadside fare like bison jerky (from Colorado) and peach soda (from Georgia) and crab bisque (from Maryland). We crank up the music and dream together...lyrics to classic rock, grunge, pop, and bluegrass filling up our senses and giving us prospective.

The kids sometime rock out along the way, or whine, or poke at each other, but more often they look out at our beautiful country and join in the wondering and dreaming. Because we homeschool, the traveling life could be a reality for us. Use the whole country as a textbook, right? But man cannot live on gas alone- we need to work and provide for a quality life.

I have at least 6 ideas of how to do this, but when do we take the leap? We want to have a little bit of land to grow some food. We need a little house to lay our heads and wash up. We need a big enough vehicle to seat 6 people. We need to be together all the time. Some do not have these needs, but we do.

We are waiting for the circumstances to present themselves. We are hoping that we will able to sell our house in Florida. We may need to take a jump some day and close our eyes and pray it works out...we need this for us.

Talking About Big Things

My daughter and I have always had bold conversations. I feel like an older version of her, or maybe she is a younger version of me. I am 27 and she is 5. I loved being 5. I wanted to be an artist and she wants to be a veterinarian. I loved noodles and she loves cookies. We both watched Little House on the Prairie and we both wanted to be Laura.

When I was little, people would say "look at that red hair" and "my, what an old soul she is" and my daughter has both red hair and an "old soul"... She likes to ask questions such as "Mother, what is my glorified body going to be like?" and "Mother, did Adam and Eve have belly buttons since they were not actually born?" I have no idea of course, but we must discuss these things and try to figure them out or else I may lose that deep and inquisitive nature in myself and in my child. So, we deal with these things in a 1 part logical and 2 parts fantasy sort of way.

I volunteer each week at a Crisis Pregnancy Center. I talk to scared women about their options. I try and give them hope for a chance for the baby's life whether it be adoption or choosing to parent. I tell them that abortion is also an option, and give them a scientific run down of the procedure. Usually that is enough to make a woman either burst into tears, put on a stone cold face, or feel sick to their stomachs. Some women choose to parent, some abortion, and very few choose adoption. My job is to encourage them to get informed , know their rights and secretly pray that this little one will be born and have a chance to make a difference in this crazy world. Lily wants to know what Abortion is....

So- I tell her, no fantasy or logic- just the cold hard facts. Many may feel that she is too young to know. Some may think that this is wrong on my part and sucking away her innocence. I would argue that she is not innocent (she is a sinner that repents) or too young. She is my child and I know her better than others do.

My other children are too young. She has a history of asking sincere questions and they do not. We talked about Mountaintop removal. She was horrified. "Why are they destroying God's beauty?" she asks. So I tell her that it is so we can watch TV and turn on the light in the bathroom all night long so brother won't be afraid.

Talk to your little ones about BIG THINGS. Start them on a lifetime to critical thinking and wonder. Don't leave them there to figure it out alone and incorrectly. Don't tell them "what to think" teach them "how" to think.