Beginning the New Year

On our way in



Ian with his beginning pile

We spent the day on an easy hike in a place called Sun Valley. The temperature ranged from zero to five degrees, the sun was shining (but not hot at all!), and the sky was bright blue ~ my favorite looking day. I had a new day pack to try out (Thanks, Ken) and the boys had new fire starter metal thingies to try out (Thanks, Dad). After walking for a few hours, we arrived at a lake, dropped our backpacks, and gathered material for a fire: first moss, then twigs, sticks, branches, and finally logs. It took longer than I like to get it to catch with the scrapings, but it worked!

Success!

Hard to capture just how high he was.

Happy Joseph

 Not much feels as good as a fire in the woods when it's zero degrees! We kept them going for about an hour and had some snacks. Ian thought it would be a good idea to climb trees and question my mothering rules. Some of us (Clare and I, actually) stayed by the heat and toasted ourselves front to back. Luke, Joseph, and Addie took it upon themselves to rove about and pick up sticks to toss on the fire. Good job. It began to darken on the hike out and the temp dropped to a few degrees below zero but we felt good from the fire and food.

Facebook tells me that we hiked on New Year's Day last year as well. I guess it's a tradition now. Excellent. No phone service; no internet; no toys. Just us in Alaska. Perfect.



She walked the whole thing.

Then, just as we were settling down and getting cozy at home, I received a text from Rees: Hey Mom, do you, Clare, and Ian want to meet me at the theater to see Rogue 1? So I put my smoky-smelling hair into a bun (Hey, it's Alaska) and out we went again. What a perfect day. The only dark spot was missing John, but he told us that he's doing fine and enjoying Christmas and New Year's pretty well with USO organized field trips (Field trip isn't the correct term, but that's what it sounds like to me). So it's OK.


Big breaths into 2017 and love from the Howells.



P.S. ~ I feel that I should share what happened to a baby of ours. It took me a long time to write.

My John

 18th birthday, almost a year ago.

I folded a few of John's T shirts early this morning -- Joe Cool, Colonel Sanders, and Iron Man. He won't be needing them for two months because he left in the middle of the night for Lackland Air Force Base in Texas for basic training. I cried while folding of course. I'll add them to Rees' pile and hope he puts them away nicely for his brother. Both of the big boys and Ken don't really like it when I fold their clothes. Don't do that, Mom; we can. Don't do that, Honey; they should. And I know; I know. But folding clothes in the very early morning with a cup of (now) decaf is an odd pleasure of mine. It gets something tangible done while I'm able to think about whatever my mind wants. The only interruptions are from my own brain's thoughts flitting here and there and I like it.

About 18 months, always with Rees

This morning I thought about John. About how cute he was and how handsome he is. About how ready he is for this tough adventure and good plan. About how old and strong he looked last night saying goodbye to his little brothers and sisters and about how I noticed a flicker of nervousness while he explained to Ken about how the airport in San Antonio has an Air Force desk because there are so many recruits passing through and he'll just need to get to that desk and they'll put him on a bus.

When I hugged him goodbye, I told him that I wasn't worried about his "making it" ~ he's been itching to go since February ~ but that I would miss him terribly. We gave him a replica of a WW1 Rosary, the kind handed out to Catholics by the US government back then (Imagine that!), and the Combat Prayer Book, a tiny book, easily slipped into one of the many arm pockets. But not during boot camp, he tells me. That's OK. Someday he'll want it and he'll have it.

About 12; shot a grouse.

It's bearable because he'll be back in mid-July (Until they send him away again for Tech school, but I won't think about that yet.). Ken warns me that he will be changed when he returns. Just typing that sentence makes me drip tears on my keyboard. It's good, though. I'm happy for him. He needs to do something that is Just John. He has always been with Rees, making what breaks he could. Doesn't like hiking; doesn't like country music; doesn't like to read. I imagine they will miss each other terribly, anyway.


.
 He tells me to wait two weeks, then call a number on a paper he gave me (Good Lord, I'm awful about keeping track of papers.) and they will tell me where to send letters. He also tells me that he may not get to read them or write back if he gets in trouble. Lovely. So I will busy myself with writing to him and helping Clare pick out a Million Degrees Hot Texas wardrobe, for she and Ken will fly to San Antonio for his graduation. She's never been out of Alaska; never even been on an airplane. It's a trip of a lifetime and I will love picking out clothes with her!

So my John is gone. But he's all right. And I suppose I am.
St. Michael, the archangel, pray for him please.

Kids' Expo Cuteness

Our homeschool charter school had a student expo last week. Students could display any project they wanted.



Six year old Joseph collected some of his favorite artwork, named them all, and glued them to a board ~

 Nine year old Luke is obsessed with the Titanic, so he gathered up pictures he'd drawn, put together a few paragraphs, made a small diorama, and built the famous ship out of old-fashioned legos (no kit) ~

Eleven year old Ian is currently into the Civil War (or the War for Southern Independence, as he informs me is more accurate). He wrote biographies, made a diorama of Little Round Top and baked real hard-tack~

Fourteen year old Clare is a bona fide Potter-head and has drawn some fan-art. I insisted on an essay and she popped one out in half an hour ~

Here's her essay, as a clue to how our homeschooling looks in the dreary grayness here. Just add their mathematics, and they're good.


HOGWARTS

Lately I have invented a fun game for my younger siblings. I teach them and then test their knowledge on five different subjects. It's called Hogwarts. Yup, I set up our living room to look like the legendary school and I teach Addie, Joseph, Luke, and Ian what the kids in the books learn. I am the teacher: Professor Lyra Burke, pureblood head of Slytherin house.

The five subjects are all from the Harry Potter books and I teach them all. There's Defence [She has adopted British spelling.] Against the Dark Arts, where I teach the kids all about the evil Wizarding things and how to defeat them. Herbology is the study of magical plants such as Mimbulus Mimbletonia, Bubotubers, and Mandrakes. Almost everyone likes Care of Magical Creatures, and I'm sure you can guess what I teach in this class! Potions, however, is hard of most of the students because they have to memorize the ingredients, the way to make it, and how to use it. For the fifth class I choose either Quidditch or Astronomy, as an extra.

I have sorted each of my siblings into separate houses. Eleven year old Ian is a proud Gryffindor who is very good at taking notes during class. Nine year old Luke and four year Addie are studious Ravenclaws who often achieve high marks during exams. Last but not least, six year old Joseph is a happy-go-lucky Hufflepuff who goofs around a lot but like Herbology. They're all good students for the most part.

But they are naughty sometimes. I have a notebook where I keep records of the classes, and also a tally of points. The students' achievements will earn their house points. Any rule-breaking or not listening to the teacher and their house will lose points. When exams (which are going on now) are over, I will figure out which house has the most points and I will give its members a prize. The looming threat of defeat helps the students work harder to gain points and sit still in my classes.

Right now we are in the middle of exams, and Gryffindor is in the lead with 80 points. However, it is closely followed by Ravenclaw, which is boasting an impressive 72 points. Poor Hufflepuff, however, is still trailing a the bottom with 25 points. Still, it's a fun game and everybody involved loves it.

(Especially this mother!)

Hurry up, Spring!

Bears, Boys, and Fathers

Yesterday Ken shot a bear alongside our 8 year old son. Luke helped to field dress the thing; without, he reported gravely, throwing up or even feeling weird in his stomach. I did not think he was strong enough to partake in this formidable day, climbing up a mountain, trudging through tundra, scrambling over shale fields, and hiding from bears and wolves, only to turn around and return along the same path. But Ken thought he could do it, having just taken the boy on a three-day backcountry hike deep in Denali National Park. He does this every year around Labor Day, taking a different child each year. The kid is usually nine years old, but Luke won't be nine until November. To top off that error in judgment (according to the other children), he is very thin and doesn't like to eat much more than packaged breakfast food like pop tarts or frozen waffles. Almost every night, he opts to make his own PB&J rather than eat the real meal. But off they went. And home they came. With a butchered bear in the trunk. Ken was right.

Comfortably cuddled on the couch with me in the late afternoon, mug of hot chocolate in hand, he relayed all the day's adventures and I realized once again that this boy-child of mine is growing into a man. Aside from the obvious lessons on survival hiking, reading nature, animal tracking, bear behavior, and field dressing that Alaska is so generous to share, he learned deep in his knower that although it was very hard, he lived. He will stand a little taller, just like his brothers before him and within him is forged a stronger hinge between body and mind, welded by arduous, thrilling experiences and a strong, loving father who both prods and walks with his children. Luke will be fine.

The following pictures are from the Denali trip 2 weeks ago:

Checking in at the ranger station before heading out.

Somewhere in the tundra heading toward Cathedral Mountain.

Cool fossil by the Teklanika River.

After 3 days, he completed an activity book and received a Junior Ranger pin.

Here's to more adventures and meat. And more years of kids hunting so that I won't have to field dress anything for a long, long time!

Love, Allison

This is the Night

We have five sons that play with plastic figures all the time and make boy noises when they play. You know what this is, right? Even when big teens play with little brothers, they, too, make boy noises. Recently, a smaller son had a situation in the wood pile involving army guys and dinosaurs. He was happily moving things around and knocking things down when an older brother popped in and scanned the room. He brightened up when he noticed the wood pile drama and slid into place. “What’s going on?” he asked. 

He needed that knowledge before participating.  He had to ask the one who'd invented the 

Whole Thing.  Once the story was told, he was good. He could jump in. He could play hard. He could, as Saint Paul said, fight the good fight and run the race to completion. Sometimes the bad guys were avoided; sometimes they were engaged. Sometimes the good guys messed up; sometimes they behaved perfectly. They made happy sounds and agonizing sounds. Just like real life. We need to know the story, too. Whom do we ask?  Who created the Whole Thing?

Saturday evening, we will hear at our church's Great Easter Vigil Mass, seven Scripture readings and seven sung psalms chronicling salvation history ~ God's plans for the game. It is the Story of stories and the Feast of feasts; it fills the liturgical year with brilliance. It is ours to celebrate after the preparatory wilderness of Lent and the sorrows of Good Friday and Sad Saturday (our family name). Some highlights:

It begins outside as we gather around a fire to pray and sing.

“Light of Christ; thanks be to God.”
“May the light of Christ rising in glory dispel the darkness of our hearts and minds.”

We light candles from the fire and move into the candle-lit church to proclaim,

“This is the night when once you led our forebears, Israel’s children, from slavery in Egypt and made them pass dry-shod through the Red Sea.

This is the night when Christ broke the prison-bars of death and rose victorious from the underworld.

O wonder of your humble care for us! O love, O charity beyond all telling, to ransom a slave you gave away your Son!

O truly blessed night when things of heaven are wed to those of earth and divine to human.”

We hear the creation story from Genesis 1, “God said it was good” and sing Psalm 104, “Bless the Lord O my soul.”

We hear of Abraham sacrificing Isaac from Genesis 22, “Do not lay your hand upon the boy” and sing Psalm 16, “My heart is glad and my soul rejoices.”

We hear of Moses and the Red Sea, “Stretch out your hand over the sea,” and sing the psalm of Miriam from Exodus 14-15, “I will sing unto the Lord for He has triumphed gloriously.”

We hear Isaiah’s prophesy from chapter 54, “Your redeemer is the Holy One of Israel,” and sing Psalm 30, “Oh Lord, be my helper.”

We hear God’s love for His people from Ezekiel 36, “I will give you a new heart,” and sing Psalm 51, “A clean heart create in me.”

At this point, the bells begin ringing, the lights come back on, and we sing the Gloria, “Glory to God in the highest and on earth peace to people of good will. Lord Jesus Christ, Lamb of God, Son of the Father, You take away the sins of the world.” A usual part of the Mass, it is not sung during Lent. It has been missed and sung loudly now

.

Then we hear passages from the New Testament.

We hear that Jesus dies no more from Romans 6, “Consequently, you too must think of yourselves as being dead to sin and living for God in Christ Jesus and sing Psalm 118, “Give thanks to the Lord for He is good, His mercy endures forever.”

And finally, the point of the Whole Thing, we hear of our Lord’s resurrection from Mark 16, “He is not here!”

Our first priest, when we came into the Catholic Church, timed it so that it was midnight by this resurrection reading and actually Easter morning. We loved it.

Then the baptisms begin, for this is also the night that those who have been preparing to enter the Church receive their sacraments. The huge stone cistern in the sanctuary sees a steady stream of people immersed or sprinkled. When our family came in, the priest had our three children, aged two, six, and nine in the pool together. The oldest boys did fine, under the water three times for the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. But when my feisty girl came up the first time and caught her breath, she hollered, “Get me out of here!” Our solemn priest cracked a smile and waited for the chuckling congregation to quiet down. He continued, “And in the Son, and in the Holy Spirit” by cupping his hands and pouring water on her head.

The Mass continues with Communion and Confirmations for the new Catholics and ends as usual with music and prayers. It is truly the most beautiful liturgy of the year, as it should be.

“Therefore, overcome with paschal joy, every land, every people exults in Your praise!”

Easter vigil, 2004, when the Howells became Catholic.

The happiest of Easter celebrations, friends!

Love, Allison

(Also printed by the Frontiersman.)

Big Girl

Time for an Addie update!

At 2 1/2, she remains pretty healthy. Plenty of oral antibiotics (maybe 6 times) and one round of prednisone, but no need for IVs. She's tiny, though, weighing just 23 pounds and growing along the 5th percentile, weight  for height (which I don't ever remember). She is thriving and engaging and hilarious and affectionate. She learns new things every day and due to her constant imitation, I've renewed my efforts to curtail the brothers' potty humor.  It's just not right for a vision of pink sweetness to make those kind of noises. One thing that gives us endless amusement is her penchant for pointing at any man with a white beard and exclaiming, "Dumbledore!" or to a dark-bearded man with, "Thorin!" No, she hasn't seen the movies but the kids point out pictures.

Here's our big girl:

World's littlest braids.

Clare's Art Class (what a good babysitter!)

Pounding bread dough.

Rocks pulmozyme nebs like a boss.

Extra neb picture because of that smile.

Totally ruining someone's book.

Camp out with Clare.

Yes, that is a block of cheese in her mouth.

She's still the star of the family!

Smiles, friends,

Allison

Just Wrestling?

I thought I understood about boys and violence. For the past three months, I've listened raptly to their stories of wrestling club practice. I've smeared lotion on their mat burns and scrapes, clucking sympathetically and proud of their swagger. I've exclaimed over the tough-looking singlets (but I don't tell them how adorable they look; not manly...):

Can you stand the cuteness??? Living room practice.

And then I watched them compete at the end-of-season state-wide tournament.

I was sniveling female mess. I was mad at the opponents for being mean to my sons (They weren't.); I was mad at my sons for being afraid (They weren't.); I was mad at the coaches for being mad at my sons (They weren't.). Due to hundreds of wrestlers and hours of waiting, I watched other boys' matches and was mad at the aggressive ones, mad at the shouting parents, and mad at the referees for pumping the winners' fists in the air (Hey, that makes the other kid feel bad.). Clearly, I'm a softie who wants everyone to get a trophy for trying and doesn't like making a big deal of winning. So far, our family has only been involved in individual endeavors like martial arts, cross-country skiing, hiking, and hunting. I am a bad sports mother. I kind of hope they don't want to wrestle any more.

Yesterday had only my littlest boys competing (Joseph, 4 and Luke, 7). At this very moment, I am skipping today's matches, where Ian, almost 10 and John, 16 are wrestling. They're bigger; they have more muscles; they'll hit the floor harder. I can't handle it.

I told all these feelings to Ken last night and he stared, practically slack-jawed at me and tried very hard not to smile. "Honey, it's just wrestling," he said softly. Clearly, I'm a girl.

I know and believe in all the rough-and-tough stuff for boys. I want them to be protectors, comfortable and proud of their physical strength that mirrors virtuous strength . I just don't want to watch wrestling anymore. I'll make sure to have the correct potions and ointments and snacks and a listening ear for when they're home. I'm the mommy, not the coach!

Here is a link to our club, which has very nice and helpful coaches. Very strong and scary, too, but it's OK if men are a little scary. Go Arctic Warriors! Go boys!

And now I've got to get a good snack ready for the after-tournament debriefing...

Happy weekend!
Allison

Happy Birthday Luke

Luke is seven, our chubby bunny turned skinny minny whom we try to fatten up by allowing CF kid food!

How can he stand that drool drop right on the edge of his chin?

Even though he eats like a bird (with CF, that is), he must be growing, as evidenced by the high-water  jeans.

My favorite thing you've ever said was to your godfather visiting the hospital after Joseph was born: "Come see Baby Jophus; he's all pushed out!"

It was a wonderful birthday, Honey.
We love you!

Dear Young Ladies

Dear Young Ladies that like my sons,

I want you to know that every time Fox News adds another "Stars without makeup" slide show, I call my boys to the computer to watch.

I want you to know that about once a year, I make them all watch this famous piece by Dove.

. . . so they know.

Be real, ladies; there's only one of you and you don't need to paint up to look like someone else. See? Television isn't real anyway.  It's not good for the boys in your life and it's even more not good for you.

Like a gold ring in a pig's snout is a beautiful woman without discretion (Proberbs 11:22).

Charm is deceitful and beauty is vain, but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised (Proverbs 31:30).

Love, A

*Post #4

CF Adventuring Looks Like ...

Reed Lakes trail a few days ago.

... anyone's Alaskan adventuring, with a few extra health chores.  I get a little nervous when they pack up the ropes, metal spike-y things, and D rings and they get a lot of pleasure in telling me how they're not really going to tell me exactly how it went. It probably has something to do with how dangerously close to death they got. Boys.

While I love to hike and my big girl loves adventure, her breathless chattering of awesomeness usually involves animal sightings and scientific discoveries (And while bears, moose, wolves, and dead things are dangerous, we like big guns so she doesn't think it's life-threatening.)



Two days of this backcountry.

Not so boys. I used to think that Rees was so nuts because of the life-shortening aspect of CF ~ that he wanted to compress as much adventure as possible in his life because who knew when that Sweet Chariot would swing low. With five sons now, I know better. They are nuts, period. They are a pile of running, throwing, jumping dirt that hand me dandelion bouquets and hug me goodbye (sweat and dirt and all). They like crazy stories and they like crazy trips. They also really like baby sisters and their mommies because boys are also wonderful. Ken and I want them to test their mettle in the brain AND brawn department (Hunting is particularly good for both.). Half the reason we have a backyard hobby farm is for them to do gross, demanding chores for the family.



 

Some pass between glaciers they traversed (I'd rather not know the details!)



 I'm glad our CF doctor isn't big on machinery for daily care, so that Rees can toss his hand-held devices into a backpack and do scary things. He does occasionally skip nebulizers, hooking it up in the car, using the battery for power as soon as he gets there (Although the new TOBI podhaler is an exciting hand-held discovery for backcountry, as well.). So off he goes, and off they all go, for dangerous adventures. Sometmes I join them; sometimes I stay home to make cinnamon rolls and good coffee for (most) of the near-death stories.

Today they're all home, though, and I'm glad.

Love, A

(Post #3)

About John's Birthday



On June 7, 1997, I gave birth to our second child, another son we named John. It was more momentous than any other birth in human history (!) because it meant that cystic fibrosis had not paralyzed us. It meant that we loved Rees exactly how he was, genes and all. It meant that we could, and happily would, take care of our kids no matter the need. It meant that more children, even with CF, was still a pleasant prospect.

It was my fist-shake at God, whom I blamed; and at Satan, whom I feared, in a mixed-up mess of muddled theology. After our charmed life crashed over the dire diagnosis, we learned a few things about Christianity, stretching, and growing. The adventure of real love in real life is a trifle reckless. It opens you up to pain and loss as well as peace and joy (Just like Mary, but I wasn't Catholic yet so I never gave her an instant of thought except for Christmas Eve.).

I continued to search the Scriptures for answers despite my dabbling with atheism, and Isaiah 54:13 turned my mind's eye ~

"All your children will be blessed by the Lord and great will be the peace of your children."

That would be enough: to have blessed, peaceful children (not necessarily healthy). Then here came John! Because of him, we also have Clare, Ian, Luke, Joseph, and Adah. So take that, CF! Although we're sadder and would give anything for a cure, we're smarter, stronger, sweeter, have a great big family, and the world is a better place with the beauty of true life, blessed and peaceful.


Happy 16th Birthday, John; you're the man! Our cowboy, motorcyclist, farmer who idolizes his big brother and is (usually) nice to his little brothers and sisters ~ we are glad to have you!

 

 

Here's his chosen "birthday cake" recipe ~

*3 boxes of ice cream sandwiches
*1 large tub of Cool Whip (or knock-off brand)
*1 bottle of Magic Shell topping

Layer the sandwiches, then magic shell, then cool whip as many times as the size of the pan allows. Freeze. Thaw for about 10 minutes before serving.

There are many flavors of sandwiches and magic shell so the possibilities are many!

Warmly (Because it's wicked hot here in AK),
Allison

Happy or Not Happy

Eighteen year old dudes with CF that keep active by working part-time for a construction company make their mamas happy, happy, happy.

Eighteen year old dudes with CF that keep active by working part-time for a construction company and spend the day spraying insulation indoors and tell their mamas that their mask was black inside at the end of the day make their mamas . . . not happy, not happy, not happy.

Sure, he's cute and all, but insulation, boy?

I miss the little dude who would do whatever I said. Usually.

The building looks fantastic, though, and we're hoping his lungs still do. Saint Therese, pray for him please.

Still happy and proud,

Allison

Back with Pretty, Funny, Happy, Real

It has been many months since I've contributed to {PHFR} but there is no tragic reason for my absence, save a dead camera battery that I tucked into my tote bag for close keeping, planning on remembering and repurchasing. Which I promptly forgot about every single time I headed out to run errands. Which my exasperated husband finally retrieved one morning and came home with its replacement the very same day. Which I'm reaping the benefits of this very afternoon. I submit:

{Pretty}

This late in February, the sun can peek through the highest branches and actually shine into our yard!

{Happy}

A girl and her peanut butter cup, it's a beautiful thing!



{Funny}

John's geography book held her interest for quite a while (enough  for me to make  cornbread anyway).



{Real}

Yes, that's my son. On a horse. About to gallop out and rope a cow.  (Hail  Mary, full of grace...)



See Our Mother's Daughters for more {PHFR} and maybe make a new friend!
Love,
Allison