the tiger and the eagle

As I wrote about on Instagram, after 10 years of scouting, thousands of hours of service, hundreds of nights of camping - including the past four weeks which were spent solely in a tent - William earned his Eagle Scout rank earlier this month.   

He had his Board of Review call via Zoom, in his new bedroom, which is devoid of anything except an inflatable backpacking pad and his sleeping bag.  

Since he didn't have a bed yet, he was still sleeping on the floor.  The Board was gobsmacked to think that he was so cheerful, despite having started school from a tent, and not sleeping in a bed for 14 weeks - with another several to go before the remainder of his belongings arrive from Texas.  

When William stepped outside for the Board to deliberate, I overheard the District Representative say, "I've never heard anything like this, before - and do not know of many teenagers that would have as good of an attitude as he does with all of this change happening.  Have you ever heard of something like this before?!  I'd say he genuinely embodies the characteristics of what it means to be an Eagle Scout!"  

Yep, I agree!

It was exactly 10 years ago Charlie promised him that even if he'd have to wear the uniform (which he proudly did!) he'd see him all the way to Eagle. 

This seems like just yesterday, wow ... the days are short! 

This past weekend, we met a little Tiger that was out selling popcorn.  When he heard that William was an Eagle Scout, he asked if his mom could take his picture with him.  So of course, I snapped one, too. 

I'm so excited to see the little Tiger's reaction when he spots William at his Pack meeting, next month, and realizes that he is one of his new leaders.  William has committed to remaining involved with the program as a Junior Assistant Scoutmaster and will continue supporting both the Troop and the Pack. 

On my honor... I could not be more proud of him.  And, I'm hopeful he'll help encourage and support his three siblings to the same awesome achievement!

soiled coats and dirt rolling experiments

Even with all the bouts of anxiety, I remain rooted in the fact that this was the best move that we've ever taken and eventually, it will all come together.   

The job, the community, the house, the furniture - which unfortunately, we learned this week, will not be here until almost four weeks after we expected it to arrive. Eventually, it will be here. And in the grand scheme of things, it's just a few more days that we'll have to do without, which adds to the adventure and will make us appreciate, that much more, the luxuries of life.  

Luxuries like ... a real dining room table.  

And our bed. 

And our linens. 

Because we are selling their twin over full bunk bed in Texas,  I actually bought the boys new XL twin beds last week.  William is 6'3" and still growing, and with Henry's shoe size of 12 at 14, I suspect he's going to be at least as tall as his brother, if not taller.  The sheets that I ordered won't arrive for another few days - so they're still in sleeping bags, but at least they're no longer on the floor.  

Since we aren't sure what our final house configuration will be (possibly a 3 bedroom?) and because at least one of the girls beds will be shipped up, I didn't want to rush out and buy another bed for them - so they told me that they were content to stay on their sleeping pads for a few more weeks.  But then, our landlord loaned us a cot, and the next door neighbor, loaned us a brand new twin bed that she had purchased for donation to a local synagogue ... and just like that, the girls were off the floor, too. 

It's really awesome to see the kindness in people. 

Sometimes, you're on the giving end of that kindness and sometimes you're on the receiving end.  At this juncture, it's more of the latter for us.  But it's actually a privilege to be in both situations, if you can be graciously generous enough to extend help when you're able ... and gratefully humble enough to accept help when it is needed.  

As I'm sure I've written many times before,  I've always prided myself on being entirely self-sufficient and in control of just about everything. It turns out, that control can be pretty fragile. There are no guarantees that who or what we expected would be here today or tomorrow, will actually be there.  And, in those times, you may need support. Maybe it's a place to say. Or a bed.  Maybe it's a wonderful friend (Hi Mom! Hi Janet! Hi Margaret!) that consistently keeps checking in to listen, walk beside you, and gently remind you for the fourth or four hundredth time, "I'm so proud of you. You've got this. Everything will be great."

Maybe in that moment, you need that reminder that yes ...  everything is great and if it's not - perhaps you need to stop what you're doing, take a walk, and count your blessings.

I've been doing a lot of that, lately: walking and blessing counting.  Along the way, I am meeting wonderful neighbors and soaking in the natural beauty of northern Vermont. The days are still warm, the nights are beginning to cool, and the leaves are just starting to change.  We have beautiful fields, ripe orchards, and lush forests surrounding our house and the walks have been epic.   

 

I'm contemplating so much about life right now, and am trying to embrace this growth experience in all of it's entirety.  As we emerge through this transition, I'm hopeful that we are being transformed in to kinder, gentler, more observant people that are more effectively squeezing (and savoring!) the juice out of each day. 

 

Today, I'm pondering this passage by Ralph Waldo Emerson: 

"Do not be too timid and squeamish about your actions. All life is an experiment. The more experiments you make, the better.  What if they are a little coarse and you may get your coat soiled or torn? What if you do fail, and get fairly rolled in the dirt once or twice? Up again, you shall never be so afraid of a tumble." 

These words were surely written for anyone who has the courage to venture off the beaten path and this morning, that literal kind of venturing was done by our Golden Retriever, Ollie, and our neighbor's Golden Retriever, Sadie. Our neighbor, who I can already tell is going to be one of my closest friends, has also just moved in and hadn't explored this particular field across the street from our homes, yet.  

We no sooner took our dogs off leash to run, and they bolted off the path and jumped headfirst in to a bog.  Little did we know what was in that tall grass, it was only when we heard the splashing and saw the mud flipping through the air, that my neighbor and I looked at each other and groaned.  

 

Hidden in the grass, just off the path, was a deep, mucky, stinky bog and in my life, I've never seen two happier dogs jumping around, their coats soiled through to their skin.   

As I walked home with a putrid, mud-soaked dog, my landlord who was doing work in the yard gave a deep belly laugh and said that the bath tub would surely work much better than the hose.  It took almost ninety minutes, four baths, and a half bottle of shampoo to get the mud and stench off Ollie.   

So, what's the moral of this story?  

There are some pretty amazing lessons in life that we can learn from others.  May we all be as lucky as our dogs, to have friends that will join us on our experimental adventures and may we not be afraid to get absolutely filthy in the process. 

 

While I'm sure they would go headlong in to that bog, again, may I remember to keep Ollie on a leash the next time we walk through that field.  Or, be sure that I've got plenty of time - and shampoo - on hand.

the security breach

I'm extracting a segment of an email that I wrote to my sister, Janet, early this morning in response to her question of, "How are we doing?"  I think this sums it up pretty well.  It's raw, it's honest. It will hopefully be something I look back on one day soon and say, "Yep, that was a really rough time, but wow - this grind was worth it, thank you GOD."  

**********************************

It's really incredible how much change we have intentionally subjected ourselves to and how HARD everything feels. If I'd known then, what I know now, I think I would have gone back to Texas and said, "Let's take this in baby steps, instead of ... you know ... let's flip our entire world upside down the triplet's junior year of high school, and beat it with a broom for months on end."  

The kids are actually phenomenal, hanging in there and persevering like nothing I could have imagined.  William earned his Eagle Scout, and is excelling on the rock climbing team.  Elizabeth will be earning her Eagle Scout, soon, and is running cross-country and making a load of new friends. Carolyn is still working on her Eagle Scout, running cross-country with her sister, and recently landed an elected spot on student council.  Henry is remaining involved in scouting, has increased his friend count 10 fold, and goes rock climbing with William, when he is not playing video games. I don't like the games, he does. It's a compromise.   

As for me, I've been hanging on by a thread and it is fraying fast.  My courage has been replaced with a debilitating fear and every so often, I get a glimpse of myself and say out loud, "STOP IT. It's time to RISE." I've been terrified that something bad is going to happen to Charlie and/or the kids, and the vulnerability I feel at this point is unlike anything I've ever experienced. For someone who craves order and control, this is the exact opposite reality. 

It doesn't help that we've had Elizabeth to the urgent care for what we thought was a broken foot (thankfully not); Henry now thinks he broke his finger (hopefully not), and their school went in to a 2-hour lock down last week because of a gun threat.   My heart is constantly in my throat. 

That courage of conviction I possessed, has been replaced by a trembling anxiety that finds me clutching a tea cup, hugging my knees, and crying, "Why did we do this?? HOW COULD I DO THIS TO MY FAMILY?  How could I be so reckless?" 

We owned our nicely furnished house. I had a good job.  We had a community. We gave it all up because... why again?  That reality was at least tangible. This one is not. 

It would help if we had friends or family in the area to reassure us. It would help if we had several definitive jobs lined up. It would be good to know that benefits for our family will continue next year. It would definitely ease my mind to know that we could buy a great house, at a reasonable price, any time we want.  But we don't really know anyone here. The job market feels extremely difficult to crack in to and takes time.  Real estate is dismal in this area (low inventory and ridiculous prices) and we've been in an expensive, extremely "tired" rental for a week - with another three weeks to go - before our furniture even arrives.  After camping for 12 weeks, we are still in sleeping bags for another 4 weeks until our beds are unpacked. Our couch is being conveyed with the Texas house, so we'll continue to sit in camp chairs until we have a better line of sight on where we'll ultimately be.  I suppose.  

I desperately want to settle in, but I can't. 

Is Vermont even where we want to be?  The breathtaking beauty of this area that I experienced in July, has given way to seeing a lot more trash on the streets.  Rundown homes. Homelessness. What seems like a lot of people teetering on the brink of poverty.   I've heard living in "The Woodlands" is like living in a bubble and it's true.  It's only when you're outside of the bubble that you realize how nice it actually is.  The things I didn't like about it, are now the things I miss.  Why must I be so fickle? 

Winter is coming soon, and we're nervous about it - despite having just bought season ski passes.  I found a new dentist last week, that gave me the worst cleaning I've ever had. Now, I need to find a new dentist.  The smallest things, like this, shoot me in a to a pit of despair.   

Why am I not looking for the positive?  Where is my faith? 

Why are we HERE?  I was thinking that God put us here, the universe unraveling as it should and all, but now I'm wondering if it was the devil? 

OMG. Was the direct line that I thought I had to the Holy Spirit hacked?! 

Like Andy Dufresne who climbed through 500 yards of raw sewage on his belly to reach freedom in The Shawshank Redemption, I'm furiously hoping / praying that we will soon be gloriously holding our hands above our heads on the other side of this mountain.  We've wanted this "simple" life for at least 20 years. Now we're almost here, and I'm thinking retreating back to the prison through the sewer pipe would be easier because the known is a lot more comforting and easier than the unknown.  But then I remember:  To achieve something extraordinary, we must be willing to wait and grind longer than anyone else.  Lord knows I have endurance, but this has been one hell of a grind.  I'm ready for a vista.

Do me a solid, God.  Please do me a solid.

PS: Today or anytime this week would be super.  Until then, a huge dose of patience would be great. 

PSS: One of the greatest gifts about this belly climbing experience through the sewer, is how close our family is growing and how we are truly in the trenches on all of this, together.  We grasp the critical need for one another, and the children's compassion and faith, is blooming before my eyes.  No sooner did I write that PS above, William said to me, "Mom, don't forget that good things come to all who wait. Today is all we have, which is why the prayer tells us, "Give us this day, our Daily Bread. Patience is a virtue." 

Wow. Out of the mouths of babes. 

... and so I clean

You know what's funny? 

Whenever we go out of town for an extended period of time, I always insist on cleaning the house from top to bottom before we leave. Not just a little clean, but a deep clean - the kind that typically involves dumping out cabinets Marie-Kondo style and scrubbing toilets like the Pope is coming to dinner.  Once everyone is packed, they are always the first out the door and in the car, while I'm always last out, dragging a mop / broom / vacuum behind me.  My pattern of cleaning before we take off on a trip, is as predictable as the sun that rises in the east and sets in the west each day.   

Charlie has tried more than once to psycho-analyze this behavior and the only plausible explanation we can derive is that I really like coming back to a clean house.  But also, somewhere in the back of my mind, I've thought, "What if we never come back?"  While it's definitely a dark notion that the entire family would perish while we were away on vacation ... it could happen.  And once I stifle the horror of that scenario and suppress the tears of this imagined event, my mind reverts to our extended family and neighbors that would need to come in to our house and help sort out our affairs.  

The absolute last thing I'd want them to think after, the requisite "Oh my gosh! How terribly sad that they're all gone!" is "WOW, who knew that they were total slobs?!"  

The one scenario that had certainly never crossed my mind is that while we would be traveling in an area where we have always wanted to live, we would receive news that would take me to my knees so hard and so fast, that I would immediately look to the heavens and ask if God had a hand in this? And then after seeking counsel with my husband and children, we would make the unanimous decision that we would stay right where we are, and never return.   These are the kinds of things that happen in fantasies .. or movies.  Most certainly never in real life.

Alas, that exact scenario played out for us on week five of what was supposed to be a six week road trip, touring the eastern seaboard with the kids. The goal of our summer trip was two-fold: 1. To continue our quest of visiting the top National Parks, and 2. Since the triplets were entering their junior year of high school, tour colleges in areas that we might not otherwise have a chance to visit. 

We'd just wrapped up a tour of the most northeastern national park in the United States, Acadia, and were starting to make our way back west - through Vermont - before dropping south to Texas. We'd also visited almost a dozen schools, the last on the list was the University of Vermont in Burlington.  We were only supposed to be in town for three days, beginning our drive back to Texas on Monday, July 26th so that the kids could have a few days at home before school began on August 11th.   

Now, before I get to that... for years Charlie and I have wanted to live in Vermont.  

 

It's very curious how our souls have always been pulled to this beautiful little New England state.  In 1996, just after we'd wrapped up graduate school and before we bought our first home in San Diego, Charlie interviewed with a company in Burlington, and I interviewed with a company in Montpelier.  Charlie's interview last 15 minutes and he felt incredibly discouraged.  My interview lasted four hours and included lunch. I felt incredibly optimistic.  He was offered a job, I wasn't.  It still cracks me up to this day.   We turned down his opportunity and stayed in San Diego, where we'd welcome our triplets eight years later and Henry 33 months after that. 

Three years ago, we brought the kids to Vermont for the triplet's 14th birthday in October. 

I'd found a quaint bed and breakfast in Chester and over a cup of coffee in the kitchen, Charlie told the owners that he loved to entertain and cook, and could really see himself owning a B&B at some point in his life. The owners exchanged a look and then told us that they had just made the decision to sell their place.  Charlie and I exchanged a look and said, "It's a sign!" The Henry Farm Inn near the William River. 

 

It seemed like it was meant to be and my husband's dream of channeling Bob Newhart might actually come to fruition.   My organization was going through a restructure, and there was a chance that our family would be relocated to the northeast.  Perhaps this might actually work out?  But over the next few months, we discussed the specifics with the owners, before ultimately deciding that the timing just wasn't right for our family.  My job would still remain in Texas for at least the foreseeable future.

So here we were, once again, in Vermont - sitting on the banks of the spectacular Lake Champlain that Sunday evening, toying with the idea of what it would be like if we actually lived here?  

What if...? 

What if ... I just resigned and we did something completely different?    

How often have we said, "Live your life with NO regrets!"?  Are we really living our best lives with no regrets? Will we ever leave the Lone Star state?  The chance of our family getting out, intact, was growing more and more slim as the kids graduate from high school, and likely attend college "in-state." 

And oh, Burlington is just so beautiful.  We loved the lake and the town and all the awesome shops along Church Street that had "Help Wanted" signs in the windows; perfect for 16-year olds who are excited for part-time work.  The kids liked the university, the outdoorsy vibe of the area, and the prospect of four seasons - which we've all desperately missed since we've lived in Texas.  Extra points for the proximity to UVM Medical Center, the Burlington International airport, the awe-inspiring mountains every where we looked, the epic bike trails that zig-zagged all the way to Canada, the environmentally conscious community, the arts - the crafts - the breweries - the Ben & Jerry's.   

So when the course-altering news came on Monday morning at 10:05 that my 20-year career with ExxonMobil could possibly be over by the end of the year, with a probable move to New Jersey within 2022, it certainly felt like it was a miracle that we were here.  The universe was forcing our hand. 

If it was just me and Charlie, the answer would probably have been easy - we'd go back to Texas and do what needed to be done, despite the fact the oil and gas industry is anything but dependable these days and is expected to continue contracting 10% a year for the next three to five years.  Charlie and I, alone, could weather that uncertainty.  But, as I've done every moment since they've been on the earth - I looked at our children and I prayed for guidance.  

Do we drive all the way back to Texas and put the kids in to a school that they'd never have attended if not for my job in the area, and take a chance that I'd be employed in four months, or make the move to a place that's been on our hearts for 25 years?  The COVID case numbers are ramping up yet again in Texas, and the triplets are entering their critical junior year of high school.  After 18 long months of remote learning, more than anything, they need stability and in-person instruction.  What they definitely don't need is the prospect of quarantine, more remote learning, and a possible move in the middle of their junior or senior year, if and when my tenure at ExxonMobil comes to a grinding halt.

Although the answer was rather immediate for all six of us, it has not been an easy decision. To be blunt, it's been one of the hardest and most soul shaping decisions of my life.  I was at a significant crossroad, and ultimately, decided to cross the bridge and resign from the company so we could fulfill our dream of living in this beautiful little state. 

 

On the downside, the anxiety, worry, and second-guessing has been intense.  But on the upside, the excitement and anticipation of this new chapter is absolutely thrilling; as is the exhilaration and incredible validation of removing myself from a situation where I was significantly under-valued.  Another upside is that the house was spotless, and ready to be listed for sale within the month.

And that, children, is why it's always a good idea to clean your house before you leave on vacation.