Almost there.

I wanted to write a quick entry so I don’t forget this C.R.A.Z.Y. time.  Crazy is a complete understatement. We are traveling as a team – so that adds up to 11 kids and 6 adults. Almost half of those kids are mine – that really freaks me out, so I try not to think about it. 11 Kids under the age of 9. We cause a scene. 

We are in Lima now – we fly out tomorrow for Arequipa.

We fly out tomorrow. For Arequipa. Cannot believe it.

Everything still seems very surreal to me. On one hand, the last year flew by so fast and now seems very blurry, but on the other hand I can’t believe we’re finally getting to our long term destination  – it has seemed like forever that we have been talking, planning and preparing, praying and tomorrow we will land in Arequipa.

Surreal.

These last two weeks, we have been living in small, temporary spaces. It has been really difficult for us to be patient with the kids – who seem to continuously bounce off the walls. I tried to keep homeschooling, but it was very hit and miss. I made an announcement today that it is the last homeschool day until after Christmas. I don’t know if the kids are more relieved or me.

My parents will arrive in Arequipa on Saturday to spend Christmas with us. We are beyond thrilled and can’t wait to see them, in person anyway. We see them on the computer screen almost every day.

When we arrived in Lima last week, Jak saw a Christmas tree and immediately asked if we could decorate our house for Christmas. Two problems – first, we don’t have a house. And second – all of our Christmas decorations are on the crate that won’t arrive until February. We will have to figure out how to make our first Christmas in Arequipa memorable without all of the stuff.

Another funny thing happened – Jak saw Santa Clause at the mall in Lima and said, “Hey, Mom, Look! It’s that Christmas man!” I have no idea how that one happened. I seem to forget to explain things to the poor middle child. He doesn’t even know who the “Christmas man” is. Hopefully he’ll always know that the real Christmas man is Jesus.

I hope I can blog about some fun for our first Christmas in Arequipa! Really excited about it!

Please pray for us as we board another plane with 17 people. Also pray for everyone’s health. Carter came down with the croup – so we’ve quarantined him from the team for the last day or so, hoping that we don’t start passing around an ugly virus!

Feliz Navidad Errbody!

Catch ya on the flip side!

Remembering

Josh has the flu. Again.

So, since we’re on lock down, I decided to give a recap of the last year.

Everything seems really surreal right now because, we’re sort of working in reverse. We started out in temporary housing that we will be going back to in 2 weeks, until December 11, when we fly to Peru. We are selling most of our furniture now, so I’m watching it go out just like it came in a year ago. Next week, we will be eating on the floor, with plastic bins as our table. Just like in the beginning.

As we are going through the process of packing and selling our things, I’ve been thinking so much about the early days when we were just getting here. Honestly, I was so scared and sad then. And scared. And sad. And scared.

We arrived late one night after pretty traumatizing goodbyes at the airport and the next morning we left the kids with a nanny so we could start the long process of getting all of the documents we needed to live here.

Yes, we arrived in a foreign country one night and the next day we left our kids with a woman we didn’t know.

But we had been praying for her for over a year.

Nury didn’t speak any English and, of course, I didn’t speak any Spanish. I have no doubt the Lord hand picked her just for us. Leaving my kids while I learned Spanish over the last year was, by far, one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. There were many, many times I didn’t handle the transition well. At all.

Nury and I became friends. She loved my kids and she taught them Spanish. I felt confident that they were being cared for when I was in class. One year ago, if you had told me that my kids would be nearly fluent in Spanish, I wouldn’t have believed you. Now, I never leave the house without one of the girls – I might need a translator!!

When we got to Bogota that first night, I was 13 weeks pregnant with numero cinco. I was very scared and worried about the birth. Last time was almost too fast to get to the hospital and it would be even more difficult here. Plus, you know, the language barrier and all. But Carter arrived just in time and perfect.

 

 

He fills our home with so much joy. 

Other highlights:

Two year old gets a visit from the tooth fairy!

Right before we left for Bogota, Matthew fell and injured his front tooth. We were told to watch it because it might need to come out.

We started to see infection a few weeks ago and the dentist here had to remove it. This is the before.

And the after:

He totally pulls it off.

Our team grew. And grew. And grew.

We, very unexpectedly, met our new teammates. 

The Bonhams adopted Luis and Alicia gave birth to Simeon.

We started as a team of 10. We’re leaving as a team of 17.

We started leading worship in Spanish!

Nathaniel was super excited about it.

This is during practice before the service, lest you think I hold babies while I sing. 

Josh preached his first sermon in Spanish!

We chose our long term destination!

Now we are moving to Arequipa – that place we have been praying about for years. We have tickets. And a date.

And it’s in 3 weeks.

Looking back on the last year – I see God’s faithfulness written all over my life. I feel it to my bones. There were times when I felt I wouldn’t make it and He was there. He never left. He was there in the darkness and He’s here in the light. 

So, today, when Josh has the flu – again – while we’re trying to pack and prepare to leave. I want to remember. I want to remember and see His faithfulness. As I hold my sweet, fifth, precious baby and type with one hand, I want to remember and never forget.

He goes before us.

He walks beside us.

He gently leads us.

He is faithful to 1,000 generations. 

“The One who calls you is faithful, and He will do it.”

The LORD’S lovingkindnesses indeed never cease, For His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; Great is Your faithfulness!

Not as those without hope

In my last post I talked about how I have grieved since I’ve been on the mission field. I grieve the loss of lots of different things in my life, but mostly I grieve the loss of the idols of my heart. The idols of safety and security, materialism and greed, comfort…I could go on and on. The idolotry of focusing on the sacrifice and not the blessing,” the mess and not the miracle”  (I totally stole that quote from somebody) sometimes can almost consume me.

There’s so much beauty in the sacrifice. But it is still A Sacrifice.

Sanctification hurts. Dying to self hurts. Being a living sacrifice hurts. And I’m going to tell you I climb off of that altar Every. Single. Day and I grieve the loss when I lay my idols down.

But I don’t grieve as one without hope. (I Thessalonians 4:13)

It’s not just for missionaries or the military or pastors and evangelists. It’s for every single person purchased by the blood of the Lamb.

The grief is ours, but the hope is ours too.

After my last post, I had a dear friend send me a message saying that she was happy to hear that it wasn’t easy for me. It wasn’t because she was happy to see me struggle, but because she just didn’t understand why it was so hard for her when she wasn’t even living on the mission field. And she thought it was easy for us. You know, us “spiritual folk”…

And it made her feel…normal.

Nope, DYING to yourself isn’t going to be sunshine and roses. I would dare say that if you aren’t feeling the pain of taking up your cross DAILY then there just might be something wrong…

Because death just shouldn’t feel good.

Some days I struggle to lay my life down again because I keep crawling right off of that altar.  And I’m not doing anybody any favors by pretending like that isn’t the ugly truth. Those idols are near and dear to my heart and to unclench my tight fists takes a miracle from the Holy Spirit.

A straight miracle.

And sometimes I grieve the loss.

But do you know what all of that does for me? It makes me run to Him.

Sometimes I even run to Him with idols tightly in my hands.

Why?

Because His burden is light, y’all. (You can take the girl out of Mississippi, but…)

Because….And I am sure of this, that He who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ.

Because the LORD your God goes with you; He will never leave you nor forsake you.

Because the One who calls you is faithful, and He will do it.

Because the Father is greater than all; and no one is able to snatch you out of the Father’s hand.

Because His love reaches to the heavens, His faithfulness to the skies.

And because whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.

Because He covers you with his feathers, and under his wings you find refuge.

Because His faithfulness is  your shield and rampart.

And you can say “He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.”

Say it. Say it out loud with hope.

He began the work. He will complete it. He doesn’t use us because we’re somehow “worthy”. No, He uses us in spite of ourselves.

Its okay to grieve the loss, but grieve with hope that only comes from the One who can trade beauty for ashes.

Because He is faithful.

 

When she’s not the good missionary

The other day I was on facebook and saw a missionary friend’s status. It had a picture of her two little children being dropped off for their first day of preschool. The caption said “First day of Preschool. It was rough.” The part that struck me was a comment on the status that said something like, “Why was it rough? They will learn Spanish faster than you!” I haven’t been able to get this off my mind. This comment really bothered me and I’ve been trying to figure out exactly why.

I’m sure this person really meant to encourage or didn’t mean anything at all, but sometimes I think people just don’t get it.

I wanted to comment back to her and say, “It was rough because she has uprooted her children from everyone and everything that they have ever known. It was rough because they had to wave goodbye to their grandparents in the airport and now when anyone says the word “Bye” they burst into tears and she has to ask the person to please wave and say goodbye to them one more time. Or ten. And they still continue to sob. Even if it’s the pizza delivery man. It was rough because they had to say goodbye to their best friends that they will probably, literally, never see again. It was rough because she had to leave all of her friends, support systems, relatives, memories.

It was rough because, more than likely, she wouldn’t have chosen this life. It was chosen for her and everyday she has to submit herself to it.

It was rough because now she is taking her kids to a school where the children and teachers don’t speak English, where she’s afraid that her children might not be able to communicate their needs. And she has to leave them there even if everything inside of her screams to just take them home because she has to go to language school herself. Its rough because she realizes her kids will say painful goodbyes for the rest of their lives. It was rough because she knows they will struggle to fit into the culture in which they live and the culture in which they were born. It was rough because she realizes that they will see their grandparents faces on a computer screen more than they will feel their kisses on their cheeks. It was rough because she, herself, takes away her parents’ only grandchildren. It. Is. Rough.

It’s not a super cool adventure and she doesn’t really care that her children will learn Spanish more quickly than she will.”

Lets just say this post is not from the good missionary. But she’s honest.

Sometimes I don’t want people to tell me that I’m going on a great adventure or that I’m so lucky or brave. Sometimes it just doesn’t feel that way.  Sometimes I feel like I was dragged into this kicking and screaming, with big alligator tears, feeling like everything I have ever known or loved is being stripped away from me and my children.

Sometimes the thought of cheddar cheese can bring me to tears.

If you’ve ever had any love for me in your heart or cared for me at all, please don’t complain on facebook about the grocery cart at your walmart or post pictures of your girl scout cookies or mention chic-fil-a. Please. Ever.

If I’m just going to put it all out there. I grieve. Missionaries are grieving. When we say it’s rough, that’s because it is.  Missionaries grieve the loss of the life they had. Friendships. Family. Safety. Familiarity. English. Yes, even chic-fil-a and cheddar cheese.

I grieve, but mostly I grieve the loss of my idols. I’m not asking for a different life. I am convinced that right now, this is the life that I was called to. Usually it’s a really good life, especially when I think of other, harder fields. I have friends that are in such dangerous places that they can’t say that they’re missionaries. They risk their lives everyday for the sake of the Gospel. They rarely or never see their family. Then I realized how spoiled we are in Colombia.

I’m reminded of a letter that Adonirum Judson wrote to his fiance’s father. 

Then I feel a little spoiled, but right after that I get on pinterest or I see something on facebook and I grieve the losses all over.

Can you grieve the loss of food coloring? Why, yes, yes you can.

So, when you see her on facebook putting it all out there, just tell her you’re praying for her. Tell her you’re praying for her children. Be sure not to mention chic-fil-a…

…And when she’s not the good missionary you think she should be, give her grace…because today, maybe she got on pinterest.

Today it might just be a rough day.

Follow up post here.

Yoo-googlies

My parents left.

My mom was here for an entire month after Carter was born and my dad was here this last week. We are very sad to see them go. When we told Matthew that they had to go, he said, “No! Matthew’s house!”

We had such a good time with them and it’s not because my mom is Mary Poppins. It’s not just because she does all of our laundry (which is a full time job for a family of 7) or because she gets up with the kids and feeds them breakfast while we sleep in, or because she paints the girl’s fingernails and reads to them and rocks the baby or because she spends the afternoons with them while I take a nap or because she keeps them while Josh and I go on a date to see G.I. Joe with Spanish subtitles – which is not the same as the Transformers, but if you’re a good wife, you already knew that.

Nope. It’s for lots of other reasons like the fact that she and my dad love our kids in a way I only hope I can when we have grandchildren of our own. We all feel loved. Not to be morbid or anything, but one day when Josh preaches at my mom’s funeral I want him to say, “We knew how much she loved us”. Why don’t we say these things before people die, like when they can actually hear us?? I think we should all have our eulogy (pronounced Yoo-goo-glee) before we die, you know, so we can hear it and all. But I’m post – partum and sleep deprived, so it may be wise to take what I say with a grain of salt. Maybe.

But since I am post-partum and a little cray-cray, I’ll tell you that at my Dad’s funeral, I want Josh to say, “He made us laugh and laugh and laugh”. He taught me to be so funny – I know y’all know what I’m talking about. I know you have been wondering where I got my stellar sense of humor… Now you know. It’s in my genes. I mean, I can’t even help it sometimes… For reals.

He also gave me a love for music. And animals – although I’ve temporarily abandoned this love, since I have 5 little people at the moment. It kind of trumps other hobbies and stuff.  He made me think I could do anything I wanted to do. He made me believe in myself. I hope to give this gift to my children.

I think we should all give each other eulogies yoo – googlies whenever we can. We should tell people how we feel. We may not always have the chance.

Mom and Dad, we are so thankful to have you in our lives. You love us so well. You support and respect our decisions as parents (and missionaries). You love our children. They miss you everyday. I don’t discount the sacrifice you have made  and are making for us to follow the Lord’s calling on our lives – a calling that takes your children and grandchildren very far away. You have submitted to His will with grace and a great trust in His plan – even when you don’t understand. We see it. Our children see it.

Don’t worry, I’ll say all this at your Yoo-googlies.

 

We love you,

Emily, Josh, Anne Elise, Ava, Jak, Matthew and Carter

5 Kids, Hoarding, and the Day I Delivered My Own Baby

Can you hoard kids?

I’m thinking of having my own show called “Hoarders: Babies edition”

I already want another one. Or two. 

The fifth time is just  as amazing as the first. It never gets old.

So, for the highlight.

I know you’re all dying for the story…

Who remembers what happened last time? Yeah, that made us a little worried that we might not make it to the hospital. Here in Bogota, the hospital is about a 45 minute drive. There was even a time that it took us an hour and a half to get to an appointment. It all depends on the time of day. And an ambulance may or may not come…in two hours. Or not.

So, our prayer for the last 6 months of living here has been that the Lord would allow me to get to the hospital BEFORE I delivered the baby.

He did. With 9 hours to spare…

So, Josh and I had decided that we would rather be sent home with a false alarm than have the baby in a taxi. I know. We’re very particular like that. So, at the first twinge I had of thinking I might feel something different, we left.  Immediately.  For the hospital. Did I mention that until that night,  the shortest amount of time it had ever taken us to get to the hospital was 45 minutes?

That night it took us 19. 

Apparently, if you yell out the window “Embarazada!” (the Spanish word for pregnant)  and wave your arms like a crazy person, people will move out of your way. Like the parting of the Red Sea.

By the time we got there, I was pretty sure I wasn’t in labor. I had two more “twinges” on the way and nothing else once we got in a room. I knew this wasn’t labor because the pain of last time is forever seared into my consciousness.  The doctor arrived and told us that he was not going to send us home because of my history of super-lightening fast labors. He told me he wanted to check to see if he needed to break my water.

Let me back up a little. I wanted to go into labor naturally and I wanted to have the baby with no drugs. At the hospital. I did not want to be induced. So, when he told me he thought he needed to break my water, I was very hesitant. At that point, I wasn’t even 38 weeks yet. However, we had seen that the baby’s cord was across his face in the last sonogram. The doctor was concerned that if my water broke spontaneously that the cord could come out first and cause a prolapse.

I agreed to let him break my water. As soon as he did it, I felt like it was a mistake.I was really disappointed in myself for allowing the doctor to do something that I didn’t feel comfortable with. At all.  I knew I wasn’t in labor and I didn’t feel ready. I was really upset because there was no turning back at that point and I was worried that if I didn’t go into labor that I would be pressured to have pitocin. I have had very bad experiences with this particular drug in the past and knew that not only would I have the side effects I have experienced with other deliveries, but it would be more likely that I wouldn’t be able to handle the pain and would need an epidural. Having an epidural in a foreign country is NOT something I wanted to do. I’m not super brave.

That was around 9:30 pm.

Nothing happened. All night.

I waited and pretty much stayed up all night praying that I would go into labor. At 5 o’clock am I felt my first real contraction. I recognized it as a true contraction because THE PAIN OF LAST TIME WAS SEARED INTO MY CONSCIOUSNESS.  I knew this baby was much smaller, so I had believed for this entire pregnancy that it couldn’t possibly be as painful as last time.

Vicious Lies.

At around 6am I could feel that I was getting very close. Josh called the nurse and told him that we needed the doctor because it wouldn’t be long.

They never believe us. THIS IS MY FIFTH BABY! I KNOW WHEN I NEED THE DOCTOR! 

About 6 minutes after 6 am. I told Josh I needed to push. The doctor walked in and said, “Well, let’s get you ready to push.” If you know my past experiences, you know that I don’t get “ready” to push.

I push and then there’s a baby. Pronto. The end.

The doctor was facing away from me, doing who knows what to “get ready for me to push” and I did.

I delivered Carter by myself . The doctor turned around because he heard him crying. True story.

What’s funny about this story is that after having a pretty traumatizing labor with no drugs last time – this entire pregnancy I had been saying, “I just wish I could be left alone and deliver the baby myself.” I know that sounds crazy to most people. And it is. I get it. But that’s really what I wanted. I’m just weird like that.

During the entire labor, I felt so scared and disappointed in how it was happening, but looking back, I truly see the Lord’s hand. I felt the same way about my last delivery. I felt that every singe thing that happened was in His control. There was a real possibility that if I had really gone into labor at home that I wouldn’t have made it to the hospital – since once I truly went into labor, it was about an hour, just like last time. Also, if my water had broken on its own, there was the possibility of the cord prolapsing.

And did I say he was only 7 pounds 4 ounces? After having a 10 pounder, the recovery was a walk in the park. I was able to leave the hospital the same day. Did you know that babies born in high altitudes are 15% smaller? I think we should all have the opportunity, nay the privilege, of having a pregnancy at 8,000 feet. God is good. 

Carter is doing great. He sleeps really well through all the noise of his 4 siblings.

And did I say that the fifth is as amazing as the first?

Maybe I’ll blog before my next birth story. But no promises.

God is here too.

We have been in Bogota, Colombia since Tuesday night and I can wrap my brain around that.

What I can’t quite grasp is that we live here.

When we go back “home” it will be to visit, but this is where we live.

It feels very strange.

What I’ve been surprised at the most is how much I see Him here.

We all know that God is everywhere. We ask our children the catechism question, “Where is God?” and they respond, “God is everywhere!” Mine say it with a lot of emphasis, but I have to admit that I have never really, truly meditated on that thought before.

“Where shall I go from your Spirit? Where shall I flee from your presence? If I go to the heavens You are there! If I make my bed in the depths, You are there! If I ride on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there Your hand will lead me, Your right hand will hold me fast.”

His presence cannot be escaped.

I have never been more thankful for that truth than I am right now sitting in my bedroom in Colombia.

My missionary friends in India (hi Maggie and Alison) know this. Our friends in Africa (hi Mike and Susan) know this and if you’re a friend of mine reading this in America, He’s there too.

“The whole earth is the Lord’s and the fullness thereof, the world and those who dwell therein…”

His presence cannot be escaped.

What is even more amazing, if that’s possible, is that His mercy and goodness can’t be escaped either.

The day we traveled here from the states, a little more than half of our bags made it with us.

They were all delivered the next day and I thought,” God didn’t have to give us our bags! He is so good!”

The first morning I woke up in Bogota to bright sun blinding me before 6 am and birds chirping right outside my window and my first thought was, “God is so good. He didn’t have to give me a sunny day and birds.”

Then I went downstairs and drank a cup of coffee for the first time in 3 months and it tasted good! (I have a coffee aversion during every pregnancy)

And I thought, “God is so good! He didn’t have to give me amazing Colombian coffee.”

Then we went out and started doing the paperwork required to find housing and guess what? Pregnant people are treated like queens here! We were rushed to the front of the line everywhere we went and got everything done in record time. God is so good!

Our team leader, Gary, did our family devotional for us the first night and he talked to the children (and us) about Psalm 23. He told them that God’s Word says, “Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life.”, but in Hebrew, the word “follow” is better translated, “chase”.

“Surely goodness and mercy shall chase me all the days of my life.

Yes, that’s exactly how I feel right now sitting in my bedroom in Bogota, Colombia.

God has chased me all the way to another continent with His presence and His goodness and His mercy.

Blessed be His name in all the earth.

Leavin’ on a jet plane.

After a wonderful weekend with our family at Madison Heights, I was reminded of something I wrote a while back.

Madison Heights, you are such a significant part of why we are boarding a plane to Bogota, Colombia today.

 

 

During seminary Josh began an internship at a PCA church plant in Madison. When we first began to attend the church, there were about 40 people meeting on Sunday nights. We instantly loved the feel of this church plant. I think it was mainly because our first two years of marriage were spent working in a very similar situation in Nashville. We still miss our friends there. So this little tiny church plant in Madison felt right.

Church plants are very unique in that you really get to see the nitty-gritty. People aren’t involved in a church plant unless they truly want to serve the church. It involves LOTS and LOTS of work. Setting up. Taking down. Starting ministries. Failing and starting over. Just the process pares the church down to a group of people who want to serve.  It’s lovely. We loved it. We still do.

When we first began worshiping there, Anne Elise was only 8 months old. I was just learning how to be a mom. We were living on love with one part-time salary and Josh was going to school full-time. After seminary, Josh became the full-time assistant pastor and by then the church was meeting on Sunday mornings in a school gymnasium. I had had one more baby and was still learning to be a mom. Now I was also learning to be a pastor’s wife.

I can’t say that Madison Heights loved and supported us. It was way beyond that. They accepted us. Wholly. They taught me to be a pastor’s wife. I have so many friends from seminary that come over and cry on my couch telling me all the stories of how hard it is for them to be the wife of someone on staff at their church. How they always feel like they’re in a fish bowl. I’m sure I’ve offended many a friend when I tell them, “I have no idea what you’re talking about. My church loves me and accepts me completely. I never feel judged. Never.” They loved me when I did a good job. They loved me when I did a terrible job. They loved me through all the learning. The good and the bad.

I never felt like I wasn’t adequate in their eyes and that is completely the truth. My church loves me. They pray for me. They accept me as a friend. A sister in Christ. A mother. Even a teacher. They stand up in front of groups of people and say these things. And if they are too nervous to stand in front of big groups then they whisper in my ear how loved I am. And not just loved – I feel like they are for me. 

Blessed? I have no words.

We have received gifts that you wouldn’t believe. One summer Josh’s air conditioner in his car stopped working. As soon as the church heard about it, someone took it in and paid to fix it. We have received anonymous gifts from people that we could never thank. We have had friends paint our house TWICE and lay sod in our back yard. And build a play set. And tile our bathroom shower.We have been given COUNTLESS gift certificates for dinner dates including babysitting. We have had friends that have flown back from business trips early to not miss a meeting for cross collaboration. We have received more meals than I can count while I had two more babies and was sick or on bed rest. Madison Heights paid Josh’s full salary for four months so that we could support raise full-time. And they have given. And given. And given.

So, no. I have no idea what those friends of mine are talking about. And I’m so thankful.

And so it was only par for the course when they told us that they were going to have a total of FOUR church wide garage sales that they were going to contribute to and publicize and give us all of the proceeds for.

They raised almost $7000.

Madison Heights, I can never ever thank you enough. You have meant more to our family than I can ever say. You have loved us so well. You have tirelessly and sacrificially served our family the way the body of Christ should. You have been a beautiful reflection of Him. He has used you to sharpen us and mature us. His name is written all over you. We have been so blessed because of you.

We love you dearly.

Josh, Emily, Anne Elise, Ava, Jak, and Matthew

We thought we were moving to Colombia as a family of six…

…we were wrong.

The seventh member of our family, affectionately called #5, arriving in March 2013.

The Kines Heart NYC

So, what’s up?

Lots of you know that we are attending a month long training in New York City.

That’s right. New York Cittaay.

We don’t stick out. We really don’t. There a lots of people that try to get on the subway with 4 children and 2 strollers. Lots.

There are also lots of people who walk into the corner grocery…

with all their chilluns…

and say,

“Jarsh. Look at that there cawfey. You grond it yurself. See. Tole ya. Shore did.”

Lots.

So, we’re lovin’ NYC. Mainly because we blend in.

The first thing I noticed was that New Yorkers are super friendly. I’m not being sarcastic. I can understand why it’s hard to take anything I say seriously. But, New Yorkers are super friendly.

For real.

I have yet to get on the subway (with our entire crew) and not have someone, or groups of people, smile and play with the kids and offer us their seat. Today there were two guys that were soooo too cool. They were trying so hard to stay serious, but could not keep from smiling at Matthew. He can crack the hardest shell. He will beat you at a staring contest. He will.

Trust me.

The first few days were really stressful. First time on the subway and we got separated. Josh had Jak and I had the other three on two separate cars. This would have been fine since we didn’t lose any kids …

Ahem. 

…but I didn’t know where to get off. So the first thing I did was pull out my cellphone to call Josh and find out where to get off. Cell phones don’t work in subways. But I know you knew that.

So, I sat down and started wracking my brain trying to remember the address of the school we were going to. Then I looked up and saw Josh motioning to me through the window into the next car. He was making a square with his hands and pointing to his watch. I just shook my head. I mean, seriously, I had no idea what time it was. Who cares. If we’re late we’re late. He kept waving at me and making motions.

Sounds like….Square….Watch….Square…..Time…..Cube….Time….Square.

Time Square!!!

We’re supposed to get off at Time Square!

Josh told me later that while all this was going on, he was sitting directly across from a man with the word Brooklyn tattooed on one arm and the word Outlaw tattooed on the other.

I didn’t even make that up. That’s really what happened.

Really.

So I was super stressed that first day. Getting around just seemed so hard. But we’ve gradually settled into our routine and getting on the subway is almost like jumping in my minivan. In the garage. Sort of.

Not really.

I was really wanting to subway surf, but I saw this sign. So I won’t.

Really glad I saw it in time.