Legacy Kids Volume III

“See you later alligator ...”

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LETTER FROM THE EDITORS:

W

e’ve been there—in the moment when we see our service members off, and when that day comes to move to a new duty station. We are familiar with piles of clothing on the bed to be packed, gear in the garage, lists to be checked, re-checked, and checked again. There is no getting away from the atmosphere that leaving creates. It surrounds us. Sometimes gently, and sometimes like a hard wave. And, after the “see you soons” have been said, we still live in the feeling that something, or someone, is missing.

come together and experience a brighter perspective. As wives, husbands, children, families, and a community.

We’ve understood the grief that settles in the absence. We’ve used the phrase “it doesn’t get easier,” more times than we can count. But we know the cycle. We are familiar with the weather this season brings us. So, we trudge forward with aching hearts, racing minds, and tired eyes. And yet, just as well as we know the angst, we know the sun that shines in on moments.

Volume III’s contributors highlight their experiences within the season of leaving through honest words and beautiful imagery. In “Connected: A Path We Choose Together, sisters Bethany Hoffman and Lindsay Swoboda show how to grow as a family, while apart and together. Learn about ways for kids to manage big emotions in “Emotional Goodbyes, Happy Returns” by son and mom team, Mason and Kelli Baker.

Allow poems by the community and colorful activities to guide you through the ebb and flow of departure and arrival.

We hope you can take comfort in knowing that, while leaving and grieving is difficult, our experiences as a community can offer insight, hope, and growth.

In Volume III of Legacy Kids, you will experience just that, which is why we want the whole family to explore this volume.

Kids will be able to see how leaving can cause an array of emotions, how we can create our own definition of home, and how when we pack our whole life, it isn’t just home goods in those boxes—it’s emotions, memories, and future adventures.

We can say that with every deployment, training, and move we’ve experienced, we’ve felt growth. Whether that was personal growth, children’s growth in sports and academics, growth in understanding, or just watching the kids get taller. We’ve seen the positive change that discomfort can provide. And by connecting in the truth behind leaving, grieving, and growing, it allows us to

Abi and Daena |2|

The Legacy Kids Team

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF & CO-FOUNDER

EXECUTIVE EDITOR & CO-FOUNDER

Abi Ray

Daena Vandre

MANAGING EDITOR

MARKETING DIRECTOR

Kimberly Bacso

Jessica Fountain

GUEST EDITOR

COMMUNITY MANAGER

Lindsay Swoboda

Courtnie Williams

LEAD DESIGNER

DESIGNERS

Kimberly Mortson

Kylie Loesch

Haley Shockley Eileen Diaz

WRITERS Kelli Baker Mason Baker Carter Bayer Jeramiah Bayer Nicholas Bayer Marissa Cina Becky Collins Michelle Conklin Amber Cook Jessica Fountain Taryn Rose Frazier Julie Geletzke Bethany Hoffman Stephanie Roose Sarah Sandifer Alika Schwartz Lindsay Swoboda Julie Tully Autumn Vernon Courtnie Williams

PHOTOGRAPHERS Reinna Cruz

Melissa Sheridan

ARTISTS + ILLUSTRATORS Aubrey Boyer Jane Randall Cleek Chelsea Colden Becky Collins Eileen Diaz Melissa Lyons Kimberly Mortson Victoria Reyes Haley Shockley

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CONTRIBUTOR DIRECTORY Kelli Baker Kelli Baker, M.S., M.A. LinkedIn Chelsea Colden www.hellocoastalkind.com I: @hellocoastalkind F: www.facebook.com/chelsea.colden

Melissa Lyons of Grins & Grace® www.grinsandgrace.com I: @grinsandgrace F: @grinsandgrace

Kiley Loesch Stromberg www.kileyloesch.com I: @loeschstudio F: @loeschstudio

Kimberly Mortson www.smallmoments.bigcartel.com I: @small_moments

Lindsay Swoboda I: @upliftinganchor

Amber Cook www.amberrosecook.com I: @cook.amberrose

Sarah Sandifer www.sarahsandifer.com I: @sarahsandifer

Eileen Diaz I: @diazanddesign F: @diazanddesign

Alika Schwartz www.sincerelyschwartz.com I: @sincerely.schwartz F: @sincerelyschwartz

Jessica Fountain I: @warmly_jessieann

Melissa Sheridan www.melissasheridanphotography.com I: @MelissaSheridanPhotography F: @MelissaSheridanPhotography

Julie Tully www.julietullywriter.com I: @dispatchesfromthecowgirl F: @julietullywriter Courtney Woodruff www.courtneywoodruff.com I: @courtneylwoodruff

CONNECT AND SUBSCRIBE FOLLOW

SUBSCRIBE

CONTACT

Instagram: @legacymag.kids

www.legacymagazine.org

info@legacymagazine.org

Facebook: @legacymag.kids

submissions@legacymagazine.org

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CONTENTS 6

What Does Home Mean? by Julie Tully

10

Be Where Your Feet Are by Amber Cook

12

Not So Neat Boxes by Autumn Vernon

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Connected: A Path We Choose Together by Bethany Hoffman and Lindsay Swoboda

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Foundation by Marissa Cina

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Making Memories by Sarah Sandifer

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Make Room at the Table interview with Courtney Woodruff by Lindsay Swoboda

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Moving Word Search by Becky Collins and Kimberly Mortson

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Emotional Goodbyes, Happy Returns by Mason Baker and Kelli Baker

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Moving Day Crossword by Becky Collins and Kimberly Mortson

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Scavenger Hunt by Courtnie Williams

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Recipe: Making Something Sweet Together by Jessica Fountain

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New Roots by Taryn Rose Frazier

36

Family Campout by Alika Schwartz

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Amy’s Move by Julie Geletzke

40

Empty Rooms and Bare Walls by Michelle Conklin, Carter Bayer, Jeramiah Bayer and Nicholas Bayer

43

Moving Day Maze by Becky Collins and Kimberly Mortson

44

Dreamtrack and Strings by Stephanie Roose

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What Does Home Mean?

W R I T T E N B Y J U L I E T U L LY • D E S I G N E D B Y K I L E Y L O E S C H S T R O M B E R G

The movers come in a month’s time. Soon this apartment will no longer be home. Our pictures will come down from the walls. Our furniture wrapped in thick, industrial paper. Our life placed into boxes—everything that makes the space ours will be crated up for yet one more transoceanic move. Off to our next home.

Awaiting the move, our family has been reflecting on what the word home really means.

Especially this move.

For our little military family, the word home is complicated and far more nuanced than what the dictionary says. When your life is dictated by duty, home can mean many things.

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tied to his dad’s jobs, when we had representational duties and their size and appearance mattered. He’d forgotten the even smaller apartment we had in Germany, four moves prior. And he can’t remember the incredibly tiny house we had in Connecticut when he was born.

home

[hohm], noun a house, apartment, or other shelter that is the usual residence of a person, family, or household

“We’ll fit just fine,” I tried to reassure him, all the while mentally noting the size of the closets, wondering which items would need to go into the storage closet.

Our family lives by the belief that home is wherever the three of us are. But that’s not entirely accurate. Home is actually the combination of our family unit and the space we inhabit at the time. The physical dwelling plays a huge role.

Having lived in places where our quality of life has been tied to what personal items we brought with us, we know the value of making a house a home.

Having lived in places where our quality of life has been tied to what personal items we brought with us, we know the value of making a house a home. Our current place isn’t perfect, however it’s what we’ve called home for four years. There’s a lot to be said for that.

“But it’s so small,” our son said when we first walked through the space on a muggy summer’s day. “How will we fit?” He looked around. It was half the size of the house we’d just moved from.

He was doubtful, grieving for what we’d left behind. But then again, he was only recalling the sprawling homes we’d inhabited in recent years. Houses

Over the years, we’ve managed to “fit” into every house we’ve called home. We mold and adapt to each space. When the boxes are unpacked, a type of magic occurs and the house becomes home.

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Germany. Nothing out of the ordinary, but to our son it made no sense at all.

This apartment may have been cramped at times, but it’s also been what we needed.

Within its walls our life continued—the milestones, the obstacles. It sheltered us through the worst of the pandemic.

It embraced our son through the roller coaster of high school. It’s held us together and been our landing pad. And oh, how it twinkled when covered with lights during the holidays. I know we’ll miss it.

“Why do we have to move to Germany?” he asked. “England is our home.”

home

[hohm], adjective of, relating to, or connected with one’s home or country This time we are moving back to the States.

A seemingly normal military occurrence— from stateside to overseas and back again.

But for us, this will be our first return stateside since 2004, the year our son was born. While my husband and I casually throw around the statement, “We’re moving home” when we’re discussing the move, it isn’t that simple.

When our son was three and a half, we got orders to move from England—where we had lived since he was ten months old—to

That was the moment we realized we’d never really discussed the life he was born into. Yes, he knew his dad was in the military, but at that time it meant serving as an exchange officer with the British navy. He’d visited America. He knew that’s where we were all born and where his grandparents lived, but he hadn’t put together in his mind that it made us Americans.

“Honey, we are Americans,” I repeated for the umpteenth time. “Your dad’s in the United States Navy, he’s only working with the British for a short time. We go wherever our navy, the American one, tells us. This time that’s Germany.”

He answered in his crystal clear British accent, “Well, you and Dad are Americans, but I’m British.”

He wasn’t entirely incorrect. England was the only home remembered. We had become part of the local community.

We will hold our other homes |8|

home—and he knows better than most that visiting somewhere is far different than living there.

He was no different than his British contemporaries, apart from his passport and birth certificate. It took weeks of repeated explanation and many, many tears to convince him otherwise.

Honestly, I didn’t know how to answer him. He was wondering about how he’ll adapt but I was wondering how I’ll fit in again. I haven’t lived there in twentytwo years. I remind him of things I’ve rhapsodized about over the years—the food, the climate. His dad and I tell him about the actual town where we’ll be living because it was our first duty station as a married couple. But a lot can change in two decades.

Over the years, as we’ve moved from one overseas tour to another, all three of us have morphed and changed. Americans, but not the ones we once were. We’ve absorbed bits and pieces of our other homes. Our son has since lost the British accent but has picked up others. After almost two decades of homes away from home, what type of Americans does that make us?

I also know his “there” means the United States—his home in passport only for nearly his entire life. Again, I’m at a loss.

His dad’s at a loss. The America we left is not the one we’re returning to. Nor are we the Americans who nervously moved overseas eighteen years ago.

home

[hohm], verb to go or return home

“Well, all I know is what I remember,” I tell our son. “But it will be great.”

“What’s it like there?” Our son asked when the latest orders arrived, as if we were moving to another foreign country.

And it will. We will hold our other homes in our hearts while moving forward.

We’re moving to California. My home state. Where my family still lives. Our son knows it as a happy place, but not

A return. An adventure. A new home.

in our hearts while moving forward. |9|

YOUR FEET AREY

R BE WHERE II YOUR FEETY ARE BE WHEREA OURFEETARO EWHEREYOE BE WHERE YOUR FEET ARE “Be where your feet are,” is a phrase that I often turn to in the messiness of life. I easily get caught up in the coming and the going—especially the going. Waiting for the next thing. I’m learning the only constant is change.

I’m learning the power of being where my feet are. We’re in this transient phase right now and it leaves me dreaming of home.

Home is where my boys are. My heart is at ease when I’m able to rest my head on my husband’s chest at night, and when my son rests his head on mine.

Home is all the places where anchors have been secured along the way.

Home is green lush grass poking between your toes, cool earth meeting the soles of your feet.

Home is the pale blue Midwest skies fading to light golden as the sun sets, deep pinks and soft purples painting the sky as the sun says good morning.

Home is cornfields spanning for miles, the sweet smell of manure filling the air.

Home is a big yellow house on an old dirt road, purple feet, hands, and mouths after a warm summer day playing in the mulberry tree.

Home is a private sandy beach, with tall grass and poles that mark the perimeter of the base.

Home is the rhythmic sound of the ocean coming in and going back out.

Home is the cool breeze off the Atlantic, the taste of salt in the air.

Home is sand covered toes and skin soaked in sunscreen and sweat.

FEET ARE

BER

WHEREYOW Home is a hotel room, a place where I find refuge from the world, at least temporarily.

Plastic key giving entrance to a room that we call home, for now.

White walls, and weirdly patterned carpet, yet it becomes home.

Home is where sleep is had, meals are consumed. My son rolls freely over the floor.

FEET AREBEF Home is a little park just down the way, where people walk their dogs and moms do yoga.

Home is sitting by the river, breathing in the fresh air.

T YOUR FEET ARE I | 10 |

EYOUR FEET ARE

II BE WHERE E

TYOUR FEET Home is a dirt path along the river, passing by a bed of roses.

Home is a cactus-filled front yard.

Home is clear blue skies, no cloud in sight, and blindingly bright sun.

Home is tall mountains as you turn a corner.

Home is hot sand and concrete beneath your feet.

Home is walks with grandma and homemade bread with dinner each night.

EARE BE WHERE

ROURFEETAR Home is cold earth—firm yet soft-beneath your feet.

Home is cute boots and wool socks.

Home is a strong wind blowing across your face reminding you how powerful the air can be.

Home is a little coffee shop where the owners greet you with a smile and always genuinely ask how you are.

Home is big bridges connecting land over water. the rhythmic sound of the ocean coming in and going back out.

Home is the smell of salt and seaweed filling the air.

Home is rosy cheeks and pink-tipped noses.

Home is where my son first tries solid foods—bananas and avocados.

OEWHEREYO

ER FEET ARE BE

OWHEREYO Home is a steaming hot cup of coffee and freshly baked chocolate chip cookies.

Home is a cozy sweater, your favorite pjs, and a soft blanket.

Be where your feet are and you’ll find a sense of home.

It might look different than you anticipate.

Maybe home isn’t so much a place as it is a feeling?

EFEET AREBE WRITTEN BY AMBER COOK ILLUSTRATED BY EILEEN DIAZ

I YOUR FEET ARE E | 11 |

Not So Neat BoxeS W R I T T E N BY A U T U M N V E R N O N • I L L U S T R AT E D BY C H E L S E A C O L D E N

We take a sense of adventure as we make our plans to visit new and unknown places.

And we can even carry grief, as we feel a piece of ourselves may be being left behind, like the hardware to some of our furniture will probably be.

What do we pack when we move?

We have countless items in our living spaces—plates, clothes, towels, and toys.

All neatly—or sometimes not so neatly— placed into boxes, ready to ship to our new home.

So, as we pack up the tangible items of our lives and homes, we mustn’t neglect the parts that can’t be placed into a cardboard box and loaded into a truck.

But what else do we take?

We often take things that can’t be neatly arranged in boxes. We take excitement— anticipating the new experiences and relationships to be had.

We must look ahead, knowing that as we travel on to new experiences and opportunities, allowing ourselves to feel the weight of our packed-down minds and hearts will lend to a happier, healthier home.

We carry sadness, as we say “see ya laters” to friends and neighbors who helped carry the military burden.

It may be new and a mystery, but wherever those boxes end up, it’s home.

We carry nerves, as we rehearse how we must start afresh at a new school, club, or neighborhood. We carry questions of how this will change our life as a family. Will there be deployments and trainings?

What’s in your mind that can’t be boxed up? How can these ideas allow you to embrace home? | 12 |

M AT E R I A L I T E M S EMOTIONAL ITEMS

Organize the material and emotional items by drawing a line from each image to the above word bubbles.

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WRITTEN BY BETHANY HOFFMAN AND LINDSAY SWOBODA ILLUSTRATED BY MELISSA LYONS

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Lindsay: My brother-in-law John and I traded off pushing the stroller with my toddler nephew in it up the paved paths of Hot Springs National Park in Arkansas. In mid-July, the heat index was climbing with us, teetering to ninety-six degrees Fahrenheit. I could feel sweat rolling down my face, wrists, and even the back of my knees. I looked ahead of me and spotted the rest of our crew—my sister Bethany, her three girls, and my daughter.

promotions, mourning loved ones together, and more. We have had years in between visits and I have grieved that we have not been able to gather consistently.

On the trail, I wiped the sweat from my brow with my shirt and watched as Bethany passed out snacks and water bottles to the kids, urging them to fuel up. My daughter leaned into her cousins and chattered with my sister. I realized she knows her aunt and uncle. She knows her cousins. She loves them and they love her.

“I think we’re going to have to make a choice up here,” Bethany called back. John and I came up behind her and discovered the dilemma— the paved path was gone.

While the kids rested, we formed a plan. “I’ll stay back with all the stuff,” John offered. “You two take the kids and go on.” We nodded.

“What do we want to do?” Bethany asked. She surveyed the children, who were starting to resemble puddles. But they looked like hopeful puddles, so we had a chance. “It’s not much farther, I know we can do it. We’ve come all this way,” she said.

Bethany: We ventured onward, and as the trail took a more rugged approach, I was reminded of how often life throws stones and divots into each of our paths. It takes a certain amount of grit and determination that is unique to each individual climbing through their trial.

I smiled, marveling at how she can still command action and gain enthusiasm. That same attitude had me swinging from a wagon attached to the back of her bicycle, flying down hills on sleds, and attempting to inline skate. Bethany was my first friend, and it was easy to maintain that relationship when we both were growing and living under the same roof. However, once we set sail onto our adult life paths, we have had to choose one another as a friend.

As the older sister, I was accustomed to creating the games, leading the way, figuring out the uncertainties throughout our childhood. Once we moved into adulthood, I had to separate from that and become a mountaineer of my own vocations. I had to learn to value and respect each of us on our different paths. Lindsay and I have listened and learned together in ways we might never have done if we had been similar.

Military life has added another dimension to our family dynamic as well.

We rounded yet another upward curve. I thought we would be at the top, but instead, a road appeared, revealing that we had to cross and continue on another route to keep going. I had the sinking feeling that maybe I had bitten off more than we could all chew. I glanced at Lindsay, both of us sweating, soaking our shirts, and trying to remain motivated for the girls.

My family has moved across the world. We’ve spent tours in South Korea, Hawaii, Morocco, and Ecuador. I have enjoyed every part of our adventure, but it has come with different costs. We’ve missed holidays, birthdays, soccer games, dance recitals,

“Look how brave we are, look how strong!” she said. This became our mantra. The promise of a view at the top and of accomplishing something | 15 |

bigger than they thought possible empowered us to keep climbing. As parents, we don’t always feel strong or brave, but we have some practice tapping into bravery.

The forest was beginning to thin and small rays of sunlight broke through in tiny rivulets of hope. A man and his two daughters passed us, cheering everyone on, “You guys can do this! You are almost there!” And just like that, the kids were reenergized. They began to skip, dance, and race up the path, giggling with glee that they had owned and conquered this adventure.

My family has only made one move across the country, early in the infancy of our family. At that time it was just me, my husband, and one boisterous two-year-old. I thought leaving all that I knew behind to forge a life somewhere new would break me. It was one of the hardest things I had to do. At the same time, my sister was starting her life as a military-connected spouse.

Lindsay: We saw the overlook up ahead and we raced toward it. Soon we stood at the edge, hugging and cheering. Bethany and I high-fived and pulled everyone in for a victory picture.

On the way back down the mountain, I thought about how we’re constantly climbing the mountain of keeping our family connected, but the view is always worth it. My mom used to tell us that when you have a sister, you have a friend for life. I believe that is true of all siblings. But, we have to work at it once we leave home. It isn’t enough to just be kids together anymore.

You have to learn to be adult friends.

We were on two different paths, struggling onward and upward, trying our best to be brave in the face of the unknown. As she traveled around the globe, I traveled around a much smaller civilian sphere as a classroom school teacher and mother, adding three more children to our family. I marveled at Lindsay’s adventures and lived vicariously through her. I did this while I learned to deal with missing out on opportunities to visit abroad due to the constraints of a busy, working, young-family life.

Bethany: We trekked out of the woods, and I noticed that one of the trail placards held a quote by John Muir: “Of all the paths in life, make sure a few of them are dirt.”

Over long-distance phone calls and video chats, we built a bridge between our lives, one that many years later would allow us to reunite physically, as sisters and friends.

Our life journeys are messy. At the end of our little adventure, we were tired, bruised, scraped up, sweaty, and dusty with trail dirt. But we had done it. We had done it together.

The sun beat down on us through the trees, and the kid’s little legs were beginning to fatigue.

We made a chain, linking sweaty fingers and pulling ourselves together. They were grumbling now and calling on their last reserves. Much like Lindsay and I had throughout the years, they were reaching out to each other, stretching themselves, growing despite the rocks and divots. They were supporting each other in a shared battle, leading when they could, and being led when they got overwhelmed.

I looked over the kids and us with pride and gratitude. We had been given the gift of a day to be both family and friends. We will keep walking through the big and little adventures of life, choosing each other.

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FOUNDATION

WRITTEN BY MARISSA CINA ILLUSTRATED BY EILEEN DIAZ

I take a deep breath of gold.

Fire gold.

Sometimes, it glints in the sunshine.

Sometimes, it waves like beach grass on a windy day in the dunes.

A tiny tassel off the top of her head.

A mind of its own.

Lavender baby soap, Some sweat, Some . . . chocolate?

All intermingled in the elixir of her hair.

The fineness of it tickles my nose.

It brings a smile to my aching face.

“Mama is sad!”

She looks up at me, deep brown reservoirs of inquiry, Impossibly dark eyelashes for such red hair.

“I make it better.”

She pulls the binky out, very deliberately And leans close—I smell the source of the hair-chocolate.

The source of the best “I wuv Mama” you’ve ever heard.

I feel the wet stamp of tiny lips on my cheek, leaving a little slug trail.

Mirrored in a trickle from my eyes.

“Mama feel better?” she asks me.

Her world of if this, then that, crumbling a bit at the edges At the sound of my muffled sob.

She lays her head on my chest, snuggling.

Searching for the security of her life.

The weight of her intermingling with The weight of first motherhood when their Whole world is the crevice of your sweaty clavicle.

It soothes me as it once did her.

I strengthen.

He left, But he left me the best part of us.

A tiny ray of sticky, wild, sweet, lavender-soaked sunshine.

I steel myself while gently holding her impossibly soft skin in her Deliberately soft clothes, feeling that spiderweb hair Tickling my nose, in and out. In. Out. A firm place for her to grow. Not sand.

A foundation. God help me, I’ve got it.

And I’ve got us.

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Making Memories W R I T T E N BY S A R A H S A N D I F E R • I L L U S T R AT E D BY A U B R E Y B OY E R

We travel each weekend, as often as we can, making those memories, making sure we are actually living, actually healing, actually spending time together as a family. We walk the cities, go to the Alps, eat the ice cream, and meander through the villages.

I remember telling my husband how good it felt to be making memories as a family.

We had started a new assignment in Europe, designed to help us breathe, help us heal, help us remember how to be a family—together, under one roof. Whole.

We have a thing about memories in our family. It’s part of our core values—to create good memories by living a good life. These memories built the framework of a relationship and now a family. Are we climbing the mountains, are we getting to the beach, are we eating the ice cream?

Are we doing things—together?

We were in Prague one weekend and I was hand in hand with our six-year-old as we crossed a bridge. As casually as could be, she looked up at me and asked, “Know what I like most about living in Germany?”

“What is that, kiddo?”

We even have a memory jar for this very purpose. It’s a glass jar filled with pieces of paper designed to remind us of our life.

The memory jar is for our top moments— the things that we want to remember each year that were important or special for whatever reason. We fill the jar through the whole year, then on December 31st, we have a ceremony of sorts as we go through the jar, remembering the moments. Dessert is involved!

“I like that Daddy doesn’t have to deploy.”

She doesn’t even know it, but I can hardly hold it together as I watch her then scamper up to him, beg, and win the argument for him to swoop her up on his shoulders—her favorite way to see a city.

Silly me, thinking her answer would be about castles or lakes or ice cream. | 18 |

How to Make a Memory Jar

paper you use becomes a part of the memory as well, like a napkin or the back of a business card.

1. Choose a jar. Pick any jar you

4. Fill with memories. Go outside.

know will hold and represent your memories the best!

2. Decorate. You can involve the

whole family. Include names, cute stickers, chalkboard paint, or bubbly paint. We love the idea of adding fairy lights to the jar to make the memories look like the magic they are!

Plan a date. Go on a trip. Play in the backyard. Make memories. Fill up the jar so that when you look back over the course of a year, you can see just how much you’ve done— whether you’re together or apart.

3. Choose paper. Use any

paper you can find to write the memories on. Sometimes the

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their new post-active duty chapter as a family of five.

While the family was accustomed to change and challenge due to their military experience, Courtney says, “Closing the chapter of active duty service for our family was a bit like leaving the safety and security of my parents’ house when I moved away for college. On one hand, it felt thrilling and freeing to leave all of the rules and regulations behind. On the other hand, there were so many fears, unknowns, and questions. Suddenly, having so many choices felt overwhelming, but leaning into our faith, learning from others who had made it through the transition before us, and taking it one step at a time helped us find our way.”

As the Woodruffs head to Texas to begin again, Courtney reflects on the process of leaving, grieving, and growing. She says, “We have found ourselves in the thick of the grieving process once more, feeling awkward, out of place, and homesick. This time around, I believe I’m more aware of the different stages of grief we’re experiencing because we’ve been through it so many times before. As much as I would love to skip to the good part of feeling settled and comfortable, I’m understanding this is a good part of our story too. It’s our turn to be the new kids in town who need a seat at the table, and this experience will only help us to better understand and love others in our new community.”

INTERVIEW WITH COURTNEY WOODRUFF

BY LINDSAY SWOBODA ILLUSTRATED BY JANE RANDALL CLEEK

Courtney Woodruff ’s story began in the Piney Woods of East Texas. She was adopted as an infant, and she has fond memories of beating the southern summer heat by reading in the public library. Her love of reading prompted a love of writing. Courtney fell in love again when she met her husband, Daniel, at the University of North Texas. She shares, “Before we got married, I’d only moved once in my life (not counting the journey to college), and it was just across town. The military was never part of our plan, but it became a chapter in our story just before our first son was born.”

The Woodruffs moved every couple of years while Daniel served in the Army. They moved to Washington State for one last tour of duty before Daniel transitioned to the National Guard. It was there that the Woodruffs became a foster family and adopted their third son.

Now, they are headed to back to Texas to start

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Finding a seat at the table, or building one to welcome others, is an important part of Woodruff family life. They are a foster family, which Courtney explains was a decision that goes back to the first chapter of her story. “I was adopted as an infant, and while I dealt with my own challenges growing up, I grew a heart for children who need stable families and loving homes. When I met my husband, I shared that foster care and adoption were on my heart, and he agreed that we would follow that calling and see where it would take us someday. Fourteen years later, we began the

paperwork to become a licensed foster family.

Shortly after, my second-born son brought me a pair of shoes he’d outgrown and asked, ‘Mom, can you save these for the next baby you have?’ We knew it was time to take the next step.”

Courtney took another brave step forward in starting her own publishing imprint, Foster Hollow Press. Courtney says, “My hope for Foster Hollow Press is to share stories that help build relationships, understanding, and support for families and children—specifically those that are a part of the foster care, adoption, and military communities. Over the years, I hope we are able to address tough topics, share inspiring stories, and support those who are doing the hard work of loving and building families.”

little ones in her home for the last forty-plus years. Watching her share her life with others is seeing love in action.”

One of the most important and powerful lines in Juniper is, “In Foster Hollow, there’s always room at the table.” Courtney works to embody that in her everyday life. She shares, “To me, ‘there’s always room at the table’ is about realizing we all have something to offer someone else—whether it’s as simple as a warm meal and a seat in a crowded room or as complicated as emotional support or wisdom gleaned from a personal experience. Our family works to make sure this line plays out in our lives by doing our best to pay attention to what we have—finances, home, experiences, time, energy—and being willing to share those resources with others, while also being aware of our own limitations and maintaining healthy boundaries. We understand our resources change and shift over time, but it’s important to me that we are always reflecting on how we can use what we have to help the people right in front of us.”

The first book released by Foster Hollow Press, Juniper Spark and the Dagger of Mirren, is already carrying the mission forward. Juniper is a squirrel, and from the book description, she is “good at ignoring the burning questions and conflicting emotions she has about being left in her foster mother’s care,” but on Juniper’s fourteenth birthday a mysterious gift leads to a shocking discovery that changes everything.

The character Juniper Spark is based on a reallife squirrel that Courtney watched befriend her father when she was a little girl.

“My dad kept a box of pecans on the floor of his backyard workshop. This spunky little squirrel would come in and help herself to a snack every day, appearing to be totally unfazed by the flying sparks that surrounded Dad while he cut and formed golf club shafts. Eventually, she would even climb up his leg, sit on his shoulder, and eat from his hand while he was working. The image of that brave little squirrel stuck with me. Juniper’s personality is also inspired by my little sister, Cassy, who has a fierce spirit and lives a life of service to others.

She’s a firefighter and a first responder.” Sorrel, another one of the characters in Juniper, is “based on a foster mother I know who has had

Courtney believes and encourages others that “you can live life with a ‘there’s always room at the table’ mindset by taking a look at the people around you and asking what needs they have that you can fill. Another way of thinking through this line and how you can apply it to your life is by saying, “I see you, you matter,” and by simply asking, “How can I help?”

| 22 |

May we all discover ways to make room at the table.

Toys + Books

MOVING Word Search CREATED BY BECKY COLLINS

Search up, down, forward, backward, and on the diagonal to find the hidden words. How many can you find in one minute?

O O R I C T OYS M I L K K I F N D F PA C K O E S G S E E DAC H HTLVS NYVF E M O H O I LS E Y G A R R I V E O F E L R T S E I C L E C L R H I E I L L E T Y R A T I L I M CMSNBEKSSEXOB HOKDWOGIGNFUN AKOSOBOADDARY NOOTRUCKMSAOE G B BYGYEYS E FE M E F I L M I A O L S S S R MOVE GROW CHANGE CITY TRUCK HOME FRIENDS GOODBYE

HELLO ARRIVE LEAVE BOXES PACK TOYS BOOKS GAMES

FRIENDS FAMILY LEGACY MILITARY LIFE CHOICES STRESS FUN

| 23 |

KIDS SCHOOL READ BOOKS LEARN

Emotional Goodbyes,

Happy

Returns WRITTEN BY MASON BAKER (8) & KELLY BAKER

Deployments and temporary duty travel (TDY) are inevitable for most military members. The family is affected by their absence as well—almost as if a part of their heart is leaving when those boots step out of the house. Absence can cause many emotions, but grief yells the loudest in our home. When I learned my dad had to go TDY, sadness overcame me.

PHOTOGRAPHED BY REINNA CRUZ

It had been a long time since he had left for a work trip, so I hadn’t really been used to him being away. So many emotions flooded my body. It became difficult for me to process such strong feelings. My sorrow and grief caused me to overreact and get angry quickly. Mom gave me some time to process and helped me work through these emotions, but there was still something missing while my dad was gone.

| 24 |

Each day, my dad would call on our way to school. Hearing his voice every morning brought me joy. We’d also say our bedtime prayers together on FaceTime each night.

It helped being able to talk to him every day.

About three weeks after he left, we got to visit him over a long weekend. I was so excited to see my dad!

| 25 |

While it was difficult with my dad away, I know he was working and wouldn’t choose to go if he didn’t have to. Strong emotions sometimes accompany the absence of a parent and I’ve learned that it’s okay. What’s most important is how we react when those feelings seem to take over. It’s never easy, but I’m thankful he’s home. Searching for those moments to connect helped me cope, and there’s no better joy then when my dad returns. I never look forward to him leaving, but I’m always excited when he comes home.

Here are some tips I’ve learned to cope with strong emotions when a loved one leaves:

1 2 3 4

If you’re feeling frustrated, stop and take three deep breaths. Try to focus on the good in the situation rather than what may be causing you to get frustrated.

If you’re feeling sad, talk to someone you trust. A parent or a trusted teacher is always a good resource.

When it’s hard to talk about your emotions, try writing or drawing how you feel.

Don’t get caught in the negative thought. Be mindful of when you start to focus on one negative thought and instead try focusing on what you know to be true.

Sometimes it can be as simple as: the sky is blue.

It’s okay to have strong feelings, but it’s not okay to misbehave or act out when those feelings seem to take over. You are in control of your emotions–don’t let them be in control of you.

| 26 |

Day Moving Day Moving Crossword Becky Collins Read the clues and write in the word for each by the number and down or across.

BY BECKY COLLINS ILLUSTRATED BY KIMBERLY MORTSON

Read the clues and write in the word for each by the number and down or across.

1

2 3 4 5 6

7

8

9 10

11

Toys + Books

Across Down 3 To develop 1 To leave a city and 4Across To put items in aDOWN live in a new city box 2 and The place 3 To develop 1 To leave a city live in a new city where 84 To put People items in a boxwith 2 The place where youyou live live 8 People with common interests 5 To come to 5 a new place common To come to a new 10 A difference 6 To go away from a place interests place 11 FunA items to play with 7 To get used 6 to changes 10 difference To go away from a 9 People related to youplace 11 Fun items to play with 7 To get used to | 27 | changes

1 MOVE 2 HOME 3 GROW 4 PACK 5 ARRIVE 6 LEAVE 7 ADJUST 8 FRIENDS 9 FAMILY 10 CHANGES 11 TOYS

answers

Choose Your

ScavEngER

Adventure

Our Family’s New Home Scavenger Hunt Let’s be honest, moving can be a little daunting whether you’re an adult, teenager, or a kid. So many new places, new faces, and new things to learn. But what if you had an adventure mapped out for your new home, a little fun to look forward to?

Use this scavenger hunt to explore your new city as a family! If you’re a teen or tween, research the hidden gems of your new home to help guide the family adventure. Get creative with it too—a place of water can be a pool, river, splash pad, waterfall, creek, or the beach. The adventure is up to you!

Places/items to find: place that serves milkshakes something that reminds you of your last home a place with water somewhere you can play something new you’ve never seen a statue somewhere everyone in the family loves to be a place up high somewhere animals live something yellow Bonus items: a place that starts with the letter L a place you want to take visitors to | 28 |

HUNT WRIT TEN BY COURTNIE WILLIAMS ILLUSTRATED BY KIMBERLY MORTSON

| 29 |

Making Something Sweet Together W R I T T E N BY J E S S I C A F O U N TA I N & S O N • P H O T O G R A P H E D BY M E L I S S A S H E R I DA N

A thousand tiny cuts. I have heard grief described as crashing waves that ebb and flow. After the loss of my grandfather, I described grief as a deep canyon with rivers etching and chipping away at the rocks.

Today, the impact of leaving and loss is not a canyon or crashing wave. Today the pain is unexpected, barely visible, paper cuts across my heart.

My son’s best friend is moving. Like most military kids, my five-year-old is grappling with the goodbye and the words to name his feelings. I am not ready. I don’t have a plan. The hurt in his eyes stops my breath as I feel a sharp pang of guilt and anger at this lifestyle he did not choose—a thousand tiny cuts.

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We begin to unwrap the stick of butter. As I pop the butter into the saucepan, I instruct him to use the wrapper and press evenly across the cake pan, greasing the edges. As he presses, I press on and try a different tactic.

I pull out an old notebook and flip to the right recipe. Instructing my son to wash his hands, I decide to spend the afternoon together, baking in the kitchen.

“Since it’s called fried ice cream, when are we going to fry it?” my son inquires as he scoots and scrapes our camel leather bar stool to the counter.

“What is one good thing you remember from Colorado?”

Stacking the ingredients on top of one another and just within his reach, I laugh at his emphasis on the ‘are.’ “Nope! We are melting and stirring and layering.”

Disappointment looms on his furrowed brow, and like any five-year-old, he is easily distracted with the small tasks of retrieving the baking bowls and other kitchen essentials.

As he is sorting our measuring cups and ladles, I pour the corn flakes into a baking bowl and move our small saucepan to the stove. I then take his small hand into mine and guide them into the bowl. Together our fingers and palms crunch and crumble the corn flakes. We set a rhythm and it feels good to be using our hands while my mind races to come up with conversation starters to gauge my son’s emotions.

“Do you miss your friend?” I ask tentatively.

“I don’t know,” he mumbles.

“Oh, I can tell you some real good things about Colorado,” he enthusiastically replies.

His wide grin and carefree laugh remind me so much of my grandfather. He would be proud of his grandson’s bold and kind spirit.

I smile and scrape off the excess brown sugar from the measuring cup.

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“When I was in Colorado, sometimes Dad dropped me off at GiGi and Nana’s house to play.”

“That’s right!” I exclaim, pouring the brown sugar over the butter and turning the stove on low. I love that my son got to run down the same hallways and sit on the rickety walnut chairs that claimed my childhood.

This next part of the recipe is slow. There is a lot of waiting and stirring. I inhale the sweet buttery fragrance. I don’t want to rush this part for fear the brown sugar will burn, for fear my son will not be able to come to me.

Gently, I stir and watch the butter melt and be absorbed by the brown sugar. My son washes his hands next to me chattering on about when he was three and four and the good memories he has hung onto from Colorado.

white four-person table, their rickety dark walnut chairs, and hot summer days. And just like it was yesterday, my grandfather’s low and twangy voice greets me, “Yo darlings.”

When I was younger, my sisters and I spent every summer weekday at my grandparents’ house. Folgers coffee was brewing as eggs and potatoes sizzled on their cast iron skillet. We celebrated birthdays and family get-togethers with fried ice cream as we gathered around the table telling longwinded tales. A pang of familiarity, staples of my childhood.

As the brown sugar begins to lightly bubble, I am brought back to my Ohio kitchen and instinctively dash in the vanilla extract. Making sure the brown sugar has completely melted and soaked up the butter, I pour the mixture evenly over the corn flakes.

“Me too,” wondering if he is referring to family or friends. Does it even matter? I watch him depart from the kitchen and make his way downstairs. I am left alone with my thoughts and memories.

I coat the corn flakes in sweetness and call to my son. We’re ready for the next step.

Please, I pray, let us be ready. We come back together to layer the toppings into the cake pan. We pat them down and giggle as they glob onto our fingers. I cave and join him in eating the extra toppings. A collective “yum'' and once again I hear my grandfather’s voice, “Sweets for my sweetie.”

The aroma of light caramel fills the kitchen and sends me back to my grandparents’

Carrying the pan to the freezer, we set a timer and take out the vanilla ice cream to

I listen, wait, and stir. His chatter pauses and I look into his deep brown eyes. “I miss them, Mommy.”

| 32 |

thaw. Thirty minutes should do the trick for the ice cream to be scoopable and the layers to stick to the chilled pan.

I start to clean up our mess while mulling over the tiny and large griefs we experience in life. Today was the first day I made fried ice cream since my grandfather passed. I think about his legacy of love and tenderness he bestowed to his

grandchildren. I think about the friends and family my son has and will say goodbye to.

Leaving is messy, complicated, inevitable, a thousand tiny cuts. Yet, this moment with my son is simple. We make room to remember the moments of joy while pressing through the pain. We choose to make something sweet together.

Summer Fried Ice Cream 3/4 cup brown sugar 1/2 cup (1 stick) butter 1/2 teaspoon vanilla 3 cups plain corn flakes *Optional: 1 cup crushed walnuts or pecans (Stir into crushed corn flakes) 1 gallon vanilla ice cream, softened 1 mixing bowl 1 small saucepan 1 cake pan or disposable baking pan (Recommend 8.5 in. x 11 in. cake pan) Crush corn flakes with clean hands in a mixing bowl. Melt brown sugar and butter in a small saucepan over low heat. Keep the butter wrapper. Stir very slowly, until smooth. Allow mixture to bubble just a little, then add in vanilla. Remove from stove. Pour onto corn flakes, mixing the mixture together until blended.

Grease cake pan lightly using the wrapper from the stick of butter. Spread half of the corn flakes mixture evenly onto the bottom of the greased cake pan. Place in freezer for 30 - 60 minutes, allowing the mixture to stick to the bottom of the pan.

Spread 1 gallon softened vanilla ice cream evenly onto the corn flakes mixture. Layer the remaining corn flakes mixture on top.

Cover the cake pan. Place into the freezer overnight. | 33 |

Rose trudged up the path to the new house and dropped her backpack in the grass with a thud. Behind her, the school bus roared away.

Her dad was digging in the ugly little garden out front, so Rose drifted over.

“I’m home,” she said. But this new house still didn’t feel like home.

Her dad leaned on his shovel. “How was your day, bud?”

Rose swallowed. “I sat alone at lunch again, and no one wanted to be partners for P.E.” She closed her eyes against the tears.

Her dad put an arm around her. “That sounds hard. Will you help me put these new plants in while we make a plan?”

Rose pulled a rose bush out of its pot and settled it in the dry soil. “You look lonely there,” she told the little plant.

Her dad patted earth around some petunias. “Give it a few weeks, then tell me what you think.”

When the pair stepped back to survey their work, Rose made a face. “Our old garden was better.”

Her dad nodded. “A new garden takes time. How about you give yourself a few weeks, too?” Picking up the gardening tools, he headed for the garage.

Rose bent close to the rose bush and whispered, “You’re like me.

Someone yanked you up and planted you somewhere you’ve never been.” | 34 |

After dinner the next day, Rose and her dad checked on the new garden.

“Oh no!” She fell to her knees beside a drooping begonia. All the plants in the garden had wilted after the long, hot day, and even the sturdy rose bush looked unhappy in its new home. “They’re dead,” she said.

Squatting beside her, her dad said, “It’s hard to put down new roots.” He held out the hose.

“Nothing water and time won’t fix.”

While he pulled weeds, Rose aimed a shower of water at the garden.

When she was done, she touched a dewy bud on the rose bush.

“I feel wilted too,” she told the plant.

From the porch, her dad called, “Was today any better?”

Rose shrugged. “A girl sat next to me at lunch, so that was good.”

Her shoulders drooped. “But I miss my old friends.”

Her dad came down the steps. “That still sounds hard, but it also sounds like progress.” He snatched up the hose and aimed a blast of water at her. “Will water make you perk up too?”

Rose shrieked, dodging the stream of water as her dad chased her around the yard. When they were both tired out, they collapsed on the cool grass.

Her dad nudged her. “Keep waiting and working, bud. Things will grow.” *** Every day Rose watered and weeded and waited until— “Dad, look!”

Her dad stuck his head out of the back door. “Look at what?”

Rose pointed at the perfect pink rose where a bud had been a few days before. “It’s blooming!”

Her dad came to stand next to her. “And how is the other Rose?”

She smiled up at him. “I’m bringing a friend home this afternoon.” Touching one velvet petal on the rose, she said, “So I’m blooming where I was planted too.”

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FAMILY

CAMPOUT WRITTEN BY ALIKA SCHWARTZ ILLUSTRATED BY EILEEN DIAZ

Growing up, my parents planned big family vacations that always coincided with summer PCS season. After the much-awaited vacation, we arrived at our new home—unfurnished and unfamiliar—a place that we would call home until the next big family vacation. This is something that we also practice in our household. Over the years, we have seen spectacular sites, participated in numerous activities, and traveled paths we would have never gone before.

A family campout is one of our traditions that helps us cultivate balance during a PCS. We combine the excitement of the unknown, the memories we make, and the joy of being together by bringing the fun and excitement of camping inside. This is how we have quality bonding time with our family during a PCS.

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HOW TO

HAVE AN INDOOR CAMPOUT 1. SET UP CAMPSITE WITH MATTRESSES, PILLOWS, ETC. We start the festivities by establishing our campsite. Typically, we start in the bedroom that the youngest child will occupy. Each night, we discuss where our camp will move to the next day.

Next, we set up the area by laying out our blowup mattresses, sleeping bags, and pillows. We put toiletries away in their designated areas. We try to put away as much as we can during our first night in.

3. MAKE IT FESTIVE

Since we don’t have furniture, we gather around on a picnic blanket and eat our dinner on paper plates. One way to make our campout magical is to bring festive plates, napkins, and cups. Sometimes we will have s’mores, ice cream, or another fun dessert.

2. PREPARE SNACKS After a room is set up, we order pizza. While we wait, we play games and eat snacks. We enjoy games like name that tune, charades, and our favorite, UNO.

4. PICK YOUR MOVIE/SHOW After dinner, we gather around a laptop and watch family movies and research all of the activities our new area offers. We make a list of places we’d like to visit and explore.

When it’s time for bed, we all get ready and climb into our sleeping bags. After we get the kids settled down and tucked in, my husband and I take a step back and breathe a sigh of relief that we have finally made it home.

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Amy’s Move WRITTEN BY JULIE GELETZKE ILLUSTRATED BY VICTORIA REYES

Hi! I’m Amy! I’m nine years old, in fourth grade, and I live in Hawaii! My family is getting ready to leave for Japan because my dad is in the military and he just got orders to go there. I’m really sad to be leaving my home, my friends, and my school because I will miss them so much. I have been here practically forever!

The move makes me feel sad and mad. In fact, I feel smad! Just thinking about the move makes me feel sick to my stomach.

My mom and dad say that it will all be okay, but I don’t know. I will have to live in a new home, go to a new school, and make new friends.

I’m really sad to be leaving...

I feel smad!

Oh no! I do not want all that new, new, new!

1 WEEK LATER . . .

I am officially in Japan, and I am so sad. I miss my friends so much! I decided to call my BFF, Emily. But when she picked up the phone, she started raving about a girl, apparently her new BFF, who just moved to where I used to live. The girl’s name is Bella. I imagine Emily and Bella doing all the things Emily and I used to do.

I tried to feel happy for her but then of course there was a hint of ENVY. I said in a mocking tone, “Tell your friend I said hi!”

Emily started to say, “I thought—,” but I hung up on her. I didn’t want to know what she thought!

Then, I decided I should meet the other neighborhood kids, so I went to the playground across the street. But, when I got there, loud shouts and cries in another language filled my ears.

It was too overwhelming! So, I ran back home. I could never make new friends!

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i miss my friends

too overwhelm ing

envy

The next Monday, my parents dropped me off at school. At lunch, I sat at an empty table but I did not start to eat. I was nervous about no one speaking English. Suddenly, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I spun around and recognized the tapper as a neighbor who had brought us dinner the day we moved in. Then to my astonishment, the girl started to speak in English!

After my lunch with Clara, I went home and baked brownies because she was coming over.

Feeling content, I sat down to wait for her. I decided to call Emily and try to make up with her. As soon as she got on, I said, “I’m sorry that I was mean on the phone yesterday. Do you forgive me?” and she answered, “Yes, yes, yes!” We laughed and then we hung up.

After my lunch with Clara, I went home and baked brownies because she was coming over.

She said shyly, “I’m Clara, may I sit here?”

Finding new friends, and cheering on your old ones can be a good way to deal with the grief of moving.

I grinned and nodded. “Yes!” I said. We sat together during lunch for the rest of the year.

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EMPTY ROOMS AND BARE WALLS

W R I T T E N BY M I C H E L L E C O N K L I N A N D S O N S C A RT E R, N I C H O L A S, A N D J E R I M I A H BAY E R I L LU S T R ATO R: K I M B E R LY M O RT S O N “Alright guys come take one last look,” their dad yells out the front door. “We need to get on the road.”

Three boys run into the house. Nothing but empty rooms and bare walls are left in their home of over ten years.

“It looks so empty,” Carter observes.

“The rooms look so big without any furniture,” Nicholas says.

Jeramiah is speechless as he follows behind his brothers. Smiles and excitement have soured, tears fill his eyes. The brothers have seen other military families come and go around them, but it’s their turn to leave their home and move.

Each one of them slowly make their way out the front door.

More tears run down their moms’ face as she watches their dad lock the door behind them.

Wrapping his arms around his mommy’s waist, Carter asks, “Are you okay Mommy?” Jeramiah gives her a light kiss on the cheek.

“I’m fine, just a little sad. I’m going to miss this house. We have a lot of memories here.” The boys nod. “I want one last picture in front of the house before we leave,” she announces. As she takes the picture, she notices no one is really smiling, but their two-story white house with black shutters, barn red door, and black painted porch stands tall behind them.

| 40 |

“Can I see the picture, Mommy?” Nicholas asks.

Each boy gathers around, looking at the phone screen.

Carter points out, “The flag blew right into the picture.”

“Huh, you’re right! Very observant kid.” Their dad pats him on the head.

“I’m fine, just a

The wind had blown at just the right time to make the American flag show up in the background of their last picture. The flag reminds their dad of the commitment he made 14 years ago when he took the oath to join the Navy and serve their country.

little sad. I’m going to miss

He yells out, “Are we ready to get this show on the road kids?”

this house. We have a lot of

In unison they yell out, “Yeah, let’s go!”

memories here.”

As they climb in their vehicles they realize people on the road are going to see quite the show. Their lives are condensed into a tightly packed XL Yukon, canoe secured to the roof, a transporter trailer attached to the hitch with a car strapped on that will follow a 26-foot U-Haul truck with extra trailer attached.

The boys nod.

“I want one last

Carter picks up their dog Adia and jumps into the Yukon, “You ready for our road trip girl?” Adia settles in her bed on the floor below his feet. Nicholas hops into the other side of the truck, buckles, and situates all his stuffed animals and pillow around himself.

Jeramiah hops up into the U-Haul, “Daddy are you sure you’re going to be able to drive this thing?”

picture in front of the house before we leave,” she announces.

“I got this kid, I’ve driven many U-Hauls over the years.”

“Well, I’ve never driven in a U-Haul before, so I’m excited! Can I follow the map on your phone, while we drive?”

“Yep, you’re in charge of getting us to our first stop.”

And so their trip began. Uneasiness crossed each family

| 41 |

members’ mind as to why they decided to pick up and move.

Mom could feel the tension, and asked, “Carter, Nicholas are you guys getting excited, now that it’s actually happening?

There is no turning back now.”

Carter answered first, “I’m excited about staying in hotels! We never get to go to hotels.”

Nicholas interrupts, “Mommy we get to go swimming in the hotel and get free breakfast!”

“You’re right guys, this is going to be quite the adventure. We are going to have a couple of long days on the road, but it’ll be fun to drive through other states.”

As the road trip progressed, both vehicles continued to focus on conversations of the merits of moving: exploring new places, learning new things, and meeting new people.

state has different rules.”

“I know. I just think that we will be able to catch some big fish there.”

“Mommy, I’m excited to live somewhere new and make new friends,” said Nicholas.

Carter chimed in with, “I can’t wait to play baseball in Florida.

Lots of good baseball players come out of Florida.”

After two days and nineteen hours of driving the family could finally see their destination in sight. Their faces lit up with smiles as they drove into their new community.

Jeramiah pointed to a one story white house with light blue shutters and a light blue door, “That’s the house number Daddy, 120.” The family jumped out to greet their new home.

Mom and Dad looked at each other with a sigh of relief their drive was finally over. Opening the door they saw once again that empty rooms and bare walls were staring back at them.

“Daddy I can’t wait to go hunting and fishing in Florida!”

“Well, Jeramiah we are going to have to research and read about all the guidelines for both hunting and fishing. Every

***

Four months later, white walls are decorated and empty rooms are filled with furniture.

The boys’ bedrooms are designed to fit their personalities. New friends knock on the front door to play and neighbors wave hello from across the street. Their family dinner conversations portray their move as an adventure that has been both hard and exciting.

Through leaving, they realized that making a house a home is not about filling empty rooms and bare walls, but rather embracing their family traditions, like family dinner conversations, that will forever follow them through their lives as a military family. As they all take bites that night, they grin at one another. Together they have embraced their new life.

| 42 |

Moving Day Day Moving MovIng

maze maze

CREATED BY BECKY COLLINS ILLUSTRATED BY KIMBERLY MORTSON

new house

help the famIly move help the family move to theIr new cIty to their new city | 43 |

movers

DREAMTRACK WRITTEN BY STEPHANIE ROOSE

Can you guess what the poet is writing about?

What am I?

Laced together Hoof, scale, and feather.

Wild faces, Hair all places, Frozen in time.

Pulled up, sent down in a dizzy line In counterbalance we dance To the music, in romance.

A framework for dreamers to perch, For fantasy they search.

This race not one can lose, But the dreamer does need to choose.

With deep conviction They choose their addiction.

Twirling atop a ballet With an over-structured sashay.

They float through the clouds Swept up by the wind and the sounds Dipping like waves to the floor of the sea.

No one tells who or what they may be.

They are dreamers afloat On an endless dance floor of hopes.

Floating free, Tethered to me.

STRINGS ILLUSTRATED BY EILEEN DIAZ

Answer: Carousel

| 44 |

Editor's Picks

some of our favorite individuals + organizations

I move a Lot and that’s okay I Move A Lot and That’s Okay by Shermaine Perry-Knights As a military kid, all grown up, I decided to share the experience of moving to Italy in a children’s book. I Move A Lot and That’s Okay

by Shermaine Perry-Knights is for the child who struggles with new environments and rapid change. I’m proud to say that it is the winner of the 2021 International Book Award- Children’s Educational category and was featured on ESPN Radio and NPR. The average military child changes schools nine times between kindergarten and graduation. This book supports socialemotional learning for military children and their peers. This book follows a bright-eyed girl in a military family as she shows the reader that she can embrace a new environment, language, and a different culture in Naples, Italy. Its message of resilience and hope are universal ones that help all children to overcome obstacles more easily.

Grins & Grace® Founded in 2016 by Melissa Lyons, Grins & Grace® is a shop that helps women find joy amongst the chaos of life and supports being gracious with ourselves in the seasons we’re in. When visiting the shop online, you’ll find a wide variety of t-shirts and accessories, as well as nature-inspired coloring books. All Grins & Grace® products have been hand illustrated by Melissa Lyons and all apparel is personally printed in her home studio.

Website: www.grinsandgrace.com Instagram: @GrinsandGrace Email: hello@grinsandgrace.com

Daddy left with Mr. Army Daddy Left with Mr. Army: A Child’s View of Military Deployment by Chandelle Walker Based on Chandelle’s personal experiences as a military spouse, she wrote this book to share her perspective of deployment as it affects military children and their families.

Daddy Left with Mr. Army offers insights into all aspects of deployment from a child’s point of view. This book prepares both parent and child for the process of deployment, teaches families what to expect during this time, and helps parents understand the emotions a child may be feeling as separation occurs.

Through rhyme and illustrations, this picture book shares the challenges of deployment but also the pride of serving the United States as a military family.

Instagram: @KidsBooksbyChandelle Facebook: @KidsBooksByChandelle

Website: amazinglyshermaine.com Instagram: @amazinglyshermaine Facebook: @amazinglyshermaine Clubhouse: amazinglysherm

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“... after a while crocodile.”

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