Just Another Day in Paradise

One last, last post...

2008-08-22T19:03:00.000-07:00

I don't have a problem. I can quit any time.....

But this one is funny! I will forget it, if I don't post it now. **Scroll down for an updated pic of the babe**

We've packed up all of Marina's baby dolls but one. She is quite bereft. And she isn't letting Lucy out of her sight, I can tell you. She managed to pilfer one baby bottle from being packed away, as well. She was giving Lucy her bottle while I sorted items on the couch.

Marina: Lucy is hungry. I'm feeding her.
Me: Yes, you take such good care of your babies.
Marina: She is drinking milk from her bottle.

[Now, as I continue, I just want to go on record that I am not a breastfeeding freak. I didn't nurse any of my kids past a year (though I don't see anything wrong with that). Marina never had a drop of breastmilk herself and she is healthy as a horse. But I do firmly feel that breastmilk is the best food for babies, and I want to do everything I can to make sure my grandchildren have the best chance at getting the best. I've always encouraged the girls to "nurse" their babies when it comes up. Does that make me wierd??!! It is not like we talk about it all the time. We've actually only discussed it twice since Cara came home. The conversation I noted earlier and this one. When Ian and Randy were infants, first Abby and then Marina could regurlarly be seen lifting their shirts to give a dolly a little snack. Too cute!! Lately though, all they've been getting is the old plastic nipple (like Cara)]

I'm always curious to know--her play is a good inidicator of where we are with processing the whole birth and adopted thing--so I asked, "Did Lucy come out of your tummy, or did you adopt her?"

Marina: pausing a moment to consider She came out of my tummy.
Me: Oh, then you should give her milk from your breast. That is the kind of milk babies like best.
Marina: lifting her shirt and studying her teensies, then looking up at me doubtfully Mommy. pounting now with her finger at my chest. You have big milks. I only have little milks.

Just Can't Resist...

2008-08-22T18:52:00.000-07:00

Posting a picture of Cara. Her looks are changing so fast, if I don't post until we are moved into our new home, you won't even recognize her. She is rounding out very well. Even her little stick arms and legs are getting chunkier. She can focus on our faces now, as you can see, and today she started grasping her baby keys. Yes, she is awake more, but oh, so cute! I think I would already be done packing if I didn't take so many Cara breaks.

Over and Out

2008-08-19T16:52:00.000-07:00

This will be my final post on this blog, except to give you my new address. *Sniff, sniff* We are moving. As this chapter of our lives comes to a close and we relocate, I think it appropriate to "relocate" in blogland.
I referenced this before, but right after the master's amputation, he felt conviction to return to the pastorate. Maybe he feared God would take the other leg? One was enough. He sent out four resumes, and after a LOOOONG process, he was called on Sunday to a congregation in East Texas. On Sunday morning, when we were explaining to the children what to expect from the day, I told Abby that Daddy would preach and the church would vote to make them their pastor or not.
"So, they will listen to Daddy and then make a decision?"
"Yep"
"I hope they are not too picky."
But despite Abby's lack of confidence, the church voted (93 for, 2 against) to call him.
The master is on cloud nine. He would be if the church was in Zimbabwe, but added to his bliss of being in the pulpit, is a return to his home turf--his best friend since childhood and his family. The transition will be made easier for the older children, as we will be close to our old home town, and they already have special friends there. I have a few friends I will enjoy being closer to, as well. I'm sad to be moving further away from my parents, but three hours is much better than Zimbabwe, huh, Mom? I think we are going to a good church, and a good fit for our family.
I have SO much to get done. I started packing last week. A little presumptuous, perhaps, but I'm glad I did. It's still a massive task, even a week into it. I have no self control when it comes to blogging, so I'm going to have to go cold turkey for the next two weeks. I'm going to miss all of you!!! Be good, and I'll see you two (maybe three) weeks!

Enquiring Minds?

2008-08-06T12:42:00.001-07:00

I have come to the decision that my blog buddies are the most uncurious folks on the planet. It might be that you just have alot more tact than I do. Hey, ya'll are a classy bunch of ladies! Perhaps you are simply tired of hearing about this adoption already. Or, it could be that most of you have HUGE, life-changing stuff you are dealing with at present. As a matter of fact, I have some of that going on, too. But since, at the moment, we are stuck in limbo, with no idea IF or WHEN those events may occur, there is no sense blogging about it. So in the interest of keeping this blog going, I will address some questions that have been posed to us in the past few weeks by people in the real world.

1. Closed or Open? or Have you heard from the (birth) mom?

As it stands now, I guess you would say that our adoption is closed. C.C. walked out of the hospital the next day after we arrived. She went right back out on the streets and back to her former lifestyle, despite our urging and our agency's offer to relocate and enter a rehab program. She talked as though she wanted that as well, but in the end the pull of her addictions were too strong. It breaks my heart. Even now, I am crying over her life. I do not--and she does not--believe she will live much longer. I don't look for her to contact our agency again, but if she should, the door will be open on our end. I serve a miracle working God. That has never been more evident to me than in this adoption process. C.C. herself described her life as being in a deep, dark, pit that she could not climb out of. If Christ should work a miracle in her and rescue her out of that pit, no one on earth will rejoice more than the master and I.
P.S. on this question: I am the mom!

2. On the lighter side, here is one that has been posed to us each time we have added a child since Abby: Are you done?

We are done....for now. I look around and our family seems pretty complete to me. Three boys, three girls. But it has felt that way five times before. We've always answered this question--and we hear it frequently--with, "We want eight. Because eight is enough." And from those folks old enough to remember the t.v. show, we get a chuckle, and the conversation moves on. We don't know what the Lord has in store for us. Maybe six. Maybe seven (but I'm not too keen on odd numbers). Maybe eight. We'll see. But for now, we're good.
K often asks us if we will be like the family in Arkansas--with 15 (or is it 16? 17?) kids. I feel I can answer that with a confident, blanket, unqualified, "NO!"

3. What about the (birth) father?

The birth father is unknown. In compliance with Texas law, the agency will run an add in the local paper where Cara was born, but it is almost unheard of that anyone steps forward to be tested in these cases. We are not in the least bit worried that the adoption is at risk.

4. Why not international? and How did you/why did you get this baby?

In and of itself, this question tickles me, because when we were adopting Marina, we got: Why not domestic? I've already posted about why we pursued domestic, and how we were matched with Cara, so I won't go into that. I'm adding these questions because of the way in which they have been asked. This question has been posed to me twice since we brought Cara home and both times in a tone of disapproval. In both instances, the person knew of someone (either friend or family member) who had been trying for years to get pregnant and/or adopt domestically with no success. Most people have no clue as to how complicated, expensive, and difficult an international adoption is. They've seen the news broadcasts showing rows and rows of babies in cribs, and they think you just fly over there and pick one up. They perceive that there is a "shortage" of babies available for adoption in the U.S. What they may not know is that there are not near as many white, healthy infants available for adoption as there are people wanting to adopt them. What they definitely do not know (because we are not willing to disclose it to them) is that Cara did not fall into that category. I'm sure that, had any of the other families at our agency been open to a baby with Cara's history, we would never have received that wonderful call. All they see is a beautiful, perfect baby being placed with a couple who have FIVE other children. I'm sure it doesn't seem "fair" to them. Both times, I've answered this question with, "God did it." It is what I believe beyond a shadow of a doubt. She was meant to be in our family. But I'm sure that is cold comfort for someone who has grieved over an empty cradle for years. Since you all are the most gracious, tactful people I know, maybe you have some suggestions for me on this one?

The Big 3-0

2008-07-31T12:40:00.000-07:00

This is my first post as a trigenarian. My mom and dad came on Saturday and prepared a YUM-EE meal. To top off Mom's brownies, the master brought Blue Bell into my home. Sinfull stuff. And I ate WAY too much. Around our bowls that night, Abby asked, "So, mom, how old are you?"

"Until Tuesday, I'll be 29. Then I will be 30."

"Thirrrrrr-teeeee! WOW!" Coming around the table, she put her hand on my shoulder sympathetically, "You better enjoy these last few days."

Old Posts

2008-07-28T10:33:00.000-07:00

This is one of those promised posts from the time Cara was in the neonatal ICU.

July 1, 2008
What an emotional day! Full of highs and lows. I'm exhausted, but want to make a record of our journey, before too much of it slips away in forgetfulness. I feel as though I've slipped back into the dark ages by using this pen. It might as well be a feather, and this jar of spinach dip at my elbow, an ink pot.
My first tears of the the day hit at 11:00, when the speech therapist cane in to give Cara her bottle. She is taking two bottle feeds every 24 hours, with the day feed supervised by the speech therapist. Don't ask me why she is called a 'speech' therapist when her sole occupation is feeding infants who are totally inarticulate. Be that as it may, she is very good at what she does. This morning she wanted me to try to give Cara the bottle, while she watched. She was gentle in her suggestions and tips, but there is so much to remember. It is nothing like nursing or even bottle feeding a full term baby. Finally, I asked the speech therapist to take over. I didn't want Cara to miss out on her feeding because I couldn't get it together. As we transferred Cara and she took over the bottle, the tears began to gather. I'm not used to feeling inadequate when it comes to mothering. I'm usually the "experienced mom" who everyone else comes to with their questions and concerns. All of my confidence deserted me as I watched a stranger expertly nourishing that tiny, teeny baby--my baby--while I sat by, useless. The tears dripped down and I dabbed them with a burp rag.
The nurses were very supportive, and assured me that I will improve with time, but is a humbling, frustrating experience, all the same.

*I did get it, too. I feed her now with all the techniques, and don't even think about it. Of course, she is able to take the bottle more normally, as well.

The second round of tears were tears of joy and relief. I had just about given up hope that we would hear the test results today. The neonatalogist was late for rounds and when he finally arrived, went through his whole spill on lipids, and CC's and brain sonograms, etc., and I'm wondering how I will be able to stand another night of this agony? He finally comes to the end and says, "Any questions?"
"Do you think we will get the results from the PCR tomorrow?"
"Oh...." he's checking on his laptop, "We already have that..."
Umm....that was important! Life and death important! What part of, "Please notify us immediately of the test results," was confusing for you? In that split second, I'm sure the world stood still.
"Negative."
"Praise God."
And praise Him and praise Him.

July 2, 2008

Some ground gained today and some lost. Cara came off of isolation. That means that I do not have to suit up in a surgical drape and wear gloves when touching her. She is so soft! Cara was moved from a warmer to a crib. I can now dress her. The only problem is, I didn't bring any of her already substantial wardrobe. What was I thinking? The nurses put her in a terribly ugly wrap--complete with hospital stamp. It did nothing for her. So I walked over to the resale shop (run by the hospital volunteer auxiliary) and bought the only preemie onesie they had. It may not like much, but it is a huge improvement.
And the bad news: Cara is still losing weight. It is very discouraging. Tomorrow, I'm not going to hold her at all, in case the movement from bed to arms and back again is causing her to expend more calories.

* I wasn't able to follow through with that. I just couldn't help picking her up! She needed her Mommy snuggles. The next day, the doctors finally listened to reason and switched her to breast milk, and she did wonderfully after that.

New Cara Pic and Water Park

2008-07-25T14:10:00.000-07:00

O.K., I know you are all dying for some updated picture of the babe...so here you go. She weighed in yesterday at six pounds five ounces. Still sleeping for most of the day. I've been laying in wait with my camera all afternoon, so that I could catch her with her eyes open. I'm anxious for the point when we can really interact with her, but I know when it comes, a part (the harried mother of six part) of me will miss this sleep-around-the-clock stage.

And since this blog has been rather Cara heavy of late, I've included some snapshots of our trip to the water playground this morning. Big fun!

A Good Call Afterall

2008-07-20T19:53:00.000-07:00

As many of you may remember, we started looking into our second adoption about a year and half ago. We began with contacting our old agency. They were anything but encouraging about proceeding with another adoption. In our dialogue, they indicated that they believed adding to our family--and thereby displacing Marina--would only be a detriment to the stability of our home and a serious setback for Marina. Once again, thinking back on that exchange, I have to wonder, what did they expected us to do with Randy? Sell him to the down river gypsies? Lock him in a closet for eighteen years? Make an adoption plan for our one year old? Ha. Ha. With B____ serving as the placement agency, no doubt. I mean, really people, that ship had sailed.

We moved adoption to the back burner. Not because of their ludicrous objection, but since we would obviously not be using them again, there was no need to rush. Any psychological damage to Marina by her "displacement" had already been done by the birth of her of little brother. And both the master and I were convinced that having another child join our family through adoption would actually benefit Marina.

The preliminary findings are in: we were right. Cara joining our family has already been the impetus for many positive adoption conversations. Marina is making connections to her adoption story as never before. She is able to compare and contrast her story with Cara's. And this is a child for whom connections do not come easy! If she were a cartoon character, we could pencil in a light bulb right over her head. Marina has been able to see for herself our complete joy, excitement, and acceptance for a baby sister that, "did not grow in Mommy's belly."

Tuesday morning, I was letting Cara "nurse," while her bottle warmed. Abby and Marina came in.

Marina: Mom, what are you doing?

Abby: as though highly knowledgeable on this subject She is feeding Baby Cara. Don't you remember? That is how she fed Randy. Babies drink their mommy's milk.

Me: Actually, Cara is not drinking any milk.

Abby: Why?

Marina: She is not hungry?

Me: No, she is hungry. In just a minute, I will feed her a bottle. I can't give her milk from my breasts, because I did not give birth to her.

Abby: Did I drink breastmilk? *Not sure why she asked this, because she knows that she did. *

Me: Yes

Marina: Did I?

Me: No, you were much older when you came home, and you drank milk from a bottle. Like Cara.

Marina: putting her hand, oh, so softly, on Cara's belly, and sighing contentedly Like me. Cara is adopted. Like me.

And, looking up into my eyes, she smiled.

I think we did the right thing.

Cara Comes Home

2008-07-15T13:46:00.000-07:00

*UPDATE* Dinner arrived fifteen minutes later from the church. Pot roast and potatoes and carrots. Fresh from the garden green beans. Hot rolls and rice and gravy. I do not know how people survive in this world without a church family.
Cari, Ian is not displeased with his new sister. In this picture, he was just getting over being severely scolded. I was bent over the baby's diaper bag when he crouched down right behind me and when I turned, I fell over him. I almost couldn't right myself and would have fallen flat on my face with the baby. It was a near miss.

After a VERY long day yesterday, Cara came home. I was so anxious all morning at the children's hospital--fearful that something was going to fall through at the last minute. Her temperature would rise (the medical angle), or some form would need a certain stamp (the legal angle), but things fell into place and our plane arrived right on schedule. One neonatalogist (who had not seen Cara until yesterday) tried to give me a hard time about remaining in the hospital "a few more days to a week" for them to switch her off of breast milk and make sure she could tolerate the new formula.

"But she has a prescription for donor milk from the state milk bank."

"But in my experience those arrangements rarely work out. There is much red tape, and then, the parents must consistently defrost and prepare the milk. And since she is strong and gaining weight, one could say she does not need the breastmilk."

Well, his experience must not include any headstrong cajuns. And by this point, I was about ready to throttle the next doctor who told me that, "babies do not need breastmilk." Have these men not read the American Journal of Pediatric Medicine? Where have they had their heads buried for the last twenty years of medical research? Could it be that she is strong and gaining weight BECAUSE she is getting breastmilk?

Ugh. I told him clearly and firmly that the last two neonatalogists who had been on rounds--and had treated Cara for the last three weeks--did not share his concern and had both assured me that we could be discharged on Monday. I had already purchased our tickets home. She was maintaining her temperature and taking her feeds. I had every intention of continuing the breastmilk--was already having a case FedExed to my home--for as long as the milk bank would issue it to her. And even if the ground opened up and swallowed Austin tomorrow (which really wouldn't surprise me), I was certain my pediatrician could make recommendations for a substitute formula and monitor her tolerance of it. WE WERE GOING HOME.

He acquiesced.

Cara loved riding in the sling all warm and cozy on the flight home. The master and all the kids and Nana and Papa were waiting for us. It felt so good to hug them all. We drove over to our agency to sign our placement papers. Denise took our first family photograph that you see here. Then it was home again, home again, jiggety jig.

We have had a rather laid back first day. Cara is in her bouncy seat, sucking on her binky, and the older kids are outside in the backyard playing. If only I could tell you dinner was cooked!

Thank You Ronald McDonald

2008-07-09T10:45:00.000-07:00

Praise be! The Ronald McDonald House does not block blogger. Now you will be able to get up to the minute updates on Cara. Wish I had figured that out three days ago when I took up residence here. Unfortunately, my words will have to paint a picture, because I'm not able to load pictures.
Cara is doing well. I finally convinced the doctors to use donor breast milk, so she is now sucking down liquid gold every three hours. She is taking five out of her eight feedings in a bottle and they are putting the rest down the tube. I'm really hoping for six out of eight tomorrow....that will put us at 8 of 8 for Friday or Saturday and then 24 hours of making sure that she can maintain that, then the tube comes out, and we come home on Monday? Hoping, hoping, hoping for that. Is my desperation coming across?
I'm ready to get her (and me too) home. I miss the master and my babies, and want to get them all under one roof.

Some Cara Cuteness

2008-07-07T07:31:00.001-07:00

And now for a little shot of sweetness.

Part Two-The Call

2008-07-07T05:56:00.000-07:00

The rest of that day passed in a fog. I hope all the daycare children were properly cared for. That evening we went to VBS. I taught the 3-4 year olds. Again, I pray whatever instruction proceeded from my mouth was sound and Biblical. I have no recollection. We didn't say anything to anyone about our big news. We knew it could all fall apart in a moment, and we didn't want to have to face a hundred questions of, "I thought you two were getting a baby!" The one exception was our pastor. Since the master was VBS director, we thought we should give him the heads up that we may be called away for the rest of the week. Ironically, he tried to talk the master out of the adoption. If he had been concerned about our ability to offer her a good life, I might have been o.k. with it. But he didn't seem to have any hesitations on that score. His main argument was that having a baby would be an inconvenience to us and may have health problems. She could cost money. ALL of his advice was worldly in nature. I'm glad I was not there. My alter ego--Sister Ethyl--may have jumped down his throat with a hundred different verses. But that wouldn't have been respectful to my under-shepperd. It is my hope that the Holy Spirit will change his heart when he sees that we do not approach parenthood as a burden or a cross that we must bear. We are both filled with joy and feel so blessed to be her mommy and daddy. We feel as though we have won the lottery.
After VBS, we came home and sent the children immediately to bed. Then we get a call from Denise. The birthmom (I'm going to refer to her as C.C.) wants to speak with us. Whaaa.......I was not ready for that, and extremely nervous, but, "Sure. Put her on." She was pretty out of it--a combination of being on pain meds and off crack--but she asked us questions like where we were from, and what kind of things we liked to do on the weekend, and why we wanted another kid. I was confused because all of that information was in the book right there in front of her. Later, Denise admitted that she didn't think that C.C. could focus on the book long enough to read it. A few minutes into the conversation, C.C. fell asleep mid-sentence.
Denise came back on and said that C.C. liked our profile, but she still wanted to meet with the other agency and we needed to support her in that decision. And we did. Even more than we wanted that baby (and we wanted her a whole, whole bunch), we wanted her to have peace that she was doing the right thing for her baby. The other agency would be there at 10:00. She should know by eleven if C.C. was going to choose us or go with the other agency.
As you can imagine, I didn't sleep much that night. And I went through the motions of daycare the next morning. After fielding a few jump-the-gun calls from Mom and the master (that probably shaved a good five years off my life expectancy--thanks alot you two), I got THE call at noon. She picked us!
I whispered a, "Thank you, God" and started shouting to the kids that they had a baby sister. Anyone who thinks that children in large families resent the introduction of a new member or in some way become bored or calloused to the event, should have been in my living room. There were squeals and shouts, hand-stands and back springs, and about a million questions.
"When can we see her?!"
"When will she come home?!"
"What will we name her?!"
The noise was so deafening that Denise had to hold the phone away from her ear. Which turned out to be a good thing. Later, we learned that when she pulled the phone away, C.C. was able to hear our celebration. She still had doubts about her decision, thinking that we were adopting Cara because we felt sorry for her. She didn't want her baby to be adopted out of pity. Our jubilation at the news went a long way toward giving her peace. She asked Denise for the phone. I thanked her over and over again. She seemed at a loss for words. She wanted to thank me. She said she thought we would give her baby a good Christian home.
I promised her we would be there as soon as possible, and when I hung up the phone, I called the master and started throwing clothes in the suitcase.

Long, Long Post--Part One

2008-07-05T20:49:00.000-07:00

I am so sorry to have kept all of you in the dark for the past week and a half. I attempted to fill you in last week, but the children's hospital where Baby Cara is, does not allow social/networking websites on their complementary parent-use computers (which begs the question--What good are they?!) Oh, how I longed for a lap top! A few nights, I tried to scribble a log, and will eventually load those posts here, but life is super crazy right now. I'm going to have to play catch-up.
Debbie mentioned that our announcement was a surprise because she thought we were on hold with our agency. Well, we were. We never called our agency and told them to start showing our profile again. First, we were waiting for the master's prosthesis. Then, we were waiting for our tax return and stimulus check. Then the master comes home one evening and says that he is ready to go back in to the pastorate. OooooKaaaaaay....he sends out resumes to different churches all over the state. Now we may be moving? Everything in our life was catty-wumpus, and I couldn't see how an adoption would fit into it. How could I look a birthmother in the eye and say we wanted a fully open adoption, and then take her baby to live hours and hours away? Where we live now is very multi-cultural. Would our next town be? Since we fully expected to adopt an African-American infant, these were important considerations. Would our son or daughter be the only black child in the church? In the neighborhood? In their kindergarten class? I couldn't do that to a kid.
At some point, I resigned to the fact that the adoption was not going to happen even though it hurt (see Worthless post below), and I still felt like someone was missing from our family. We took the money we had been saving for the adoption and paid off our credit cards. I postponed posting that decision, telling the kids, or notifying my agency. Calling them would be admitting to myself that the adoption was really over. I figured they would be sitting around the office one day and someone would say, "Hey, whatever happened to the Su____'s?" and then they would phone, and I would have to be honest with them and ask them to close our file indefinitely.
When the phone rang on Tuesday morning (June 24th) and I heard the voice answer,
"Hi, Jessica, this is Denise from ________," I thought the dreaded call had arrived. My heart sunk to my stomach. But her next words made it go straight through the floor, "We have a baby for you!"
I started to cry. "But we don't...."
"No. Don't start crying. It is going to be all right. We know you were supposed to be on hold, and we know that you do not have the money right now, but this is a God thing. We will work the financial part out later. This is your baby. Now, do you want to hear about her?"
A baby girl born the day before. Caucasian. *Though we now think there is a good probability she is part Hispanic. Just look at that beautiful head full of black hair!* 34 weeks gestation. 4 lbs. 5 0z......
As she went on, I felt transported in time to Marina's referral meeting. Except that one baby was born in Russia, and the other born right here in our home state, it was the same history, exposure, and diagnosis. The hair on my arms stood up. This was our daughter. She couldn't be anyone elses. Nothing about what Denise had to say (and believe me, alot of it wasn't pretty) frightened us, because we had heard it all before.

Later, we would find out that the ladies at the agency had a similar reaction. When they got the call from our birthmother, they had it on speaker phone. Denise talked with the birthmother and Anne jotted down notes. As soon as the phone clicked, they looked at each other, and with the same breath exclaimed, "The Su______!"

Just as we were wrapping up the conversation, she got a call from the birthmother. Now she said that she wanted to interview with another agency in addition to ____. Denise was on her way down there, with our book alone, but the other agency (if they would accept her as a client) would likely bring a prospective family's profile as well. We would be left in the agony of suspense for another 24-hours (read: an eternity). But deep down, it felt so right. A perfect fit. How could she not be ours?
Debbie, if you thought you were surprised, imagine how the master felt, when I called him at work and told him he had a brand-new baby girl!

Introducing Cara Grace!

2008-06-27T20:47:00.000-07:00

The long, long post is still coming, but it is late and we've had the most overwhelming 48-hours of our lives. I have just enough energy to post some pictures of our new daughter. Who I'm feeling very lonesome for right now.

WE HAVE A BABY!!!!

2008-06-25T12:21:00.001-07:00

Long, long post later....throwing things in the suitcase....we have a baby girl....God is so good!

PLEASE HELP!

2008-06-12T19:29:00.000-07:00

O.K., as you can see, I'm trying to get a new blog skin. As in the past, I've begged for help. I've offered to pay, to no avail. I got a great lead on a group that was offering blog templates for donations to orphans in Taiwan and China, but just as I e-mailed them, they closed up shop. AGGHH!!!
So now, I'm trying a new approach. Trying to go it alone. The old saying is, "if you want something done right, do it yourself." But I just want something done, period. I'm not a digital scrapbooker, but I ordered a "By the Sea" e-kit from scrapbook.com, with the graphics I want to use, but I don't know how to layer them. I can only get one at a time up on the blog (seen above the torn paper graphic). Am I missing some software? Or is there a standard program on my computer where I can move, arrange, and drop my graphics, until I get the look I want? If I can possibly avoid HTML, I need to, but if that is the only way to get this done, can someone please direct me to a website that can teach me? I need HTML for dummies.
This is me..on my knees, ready to kiss your little bloggy feet.

Worthless

2008-06-10T15:25:00.000-07:00

Growing up, my sisters and I were given many fun, silly nicknames by our dad. We rarely heard from his lips our formal names, but answered instead to, "Jessy-Poosey," "Jenny-Gwen-Gwen," and "KK." Over the years, one specific title emerged which referenced all three: "toot." Different adjectives generally proceeded this appellation--"lazy," "good-for-nothin'," and most frequently, "worthless." Not exactly what most would consider a term of endearment, but for us it was. Always spoken with love. Usually accompanied by a hug, or pat, or a stroke of my head. Delivered by the man who provided for all of my needs and most of my wants. In blatant disregard for the definition of terms, I felt cherished, prized, priceless.
And, strictly speaking, Daddy's choice of nomenclature was dead on. We were a pretty worthless lot. Living alone with four women is not for the faint of heart. He had no partner for jobs that involved plumping, or auto-mechanics, or lawn maintenance. Actually, no help with any chore that might possibly lead to sweat, odor, or residue. A high school athlete himself, he tried repeatedly to interest us in competitive sports, but we liked twirling batons and playing horns. He loved to deer hunt and would have happily included his daughters in his passion. And while he was successful in teaching both me and Jen how to handle a pistol, revolver, and a 22, he ran out of luck when it came to buck rifles. Ouch. Besides, hunting meant sitting in either a sweltering or frigid deer stand dressed in unappealing camo and bathed in Deep Woods Off and fox pee. Count us out.
But no man was more adored. If we declined to traipse out to the berry patch on a hot summer afternoon, we dropped whatever we were doing to bake his favorite cobbler from the dewberries he brought in. Straining the berries and using the juice, just the way he liked it. If Daddy had to brave an early Sunday morning trip to the Dollar Store for panty hose, hairspray, or sanitary napkins, he got to chuckle over the jostling and scrapping over who would sit next to him in the pew. And though he never cheered his own daughter on to victory, he and I didn't miss a single girl's basketball game that spring they went to state. There I was at sixteen--an age when most of my friends loathed, disdained, and/or barely tolerated their fathers--proud as punch to walk in on his arm.
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These past few months have been very difficult for me. In addition to what you have read here, there have been other struggles, both inward and outward that I haven't felt I could post about. Rarely in my life have I experienced such self-doubt, worry, and stress. For the first time in my life, I feel worthless. Of no use to anyone. Not to my friends, my family, my husband, my children, my daycare kids, and most of all to God. I know the thoughts I've been having are not from the Lord, but from the Evil One. I know all the scriptures (but feel free to leave me some in comments as encouragement), and have been saying them over and over to myself when these thoughts come over me; but as I said, this has been an extremely trying time, and I'm still struggling. This feeling of worthlessness settles in my heart like a heavy stone.
I'm so thankful for my silly nickname, "Worthless Toot." I'm thankful for an earthly father who daily reminded me that I was loved immeasurably and independently of anything I could do for him. When the deceiver and condemner hurls his darts at me, and I am absolutely convinced that it is true. I have no value. I am good-for-nothing. I am worthless. I seem to hear the Holy Spirit whisper, "Yes, but you are MY worthless toot," with the familiar tone of love and acceptance. Satan cannot call me anything more than what I've heard my whole life from a loving earthly father. And he cannot dissuade me from the faith that my Father's love must be even greater, stronger, deeper, and more steadfast than my daddy's. His love is not based on what I do. He has chosen to love me:

You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you that you should go and bear fruit. John 15:16

See how great a love the father has bestowed on us that we should be called children of God, and such we are. I John 3:1

For all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God, being justified as a gift by His grace, through the redemption which is in Christ Jesus. Romans 3:23-24

How can I not respond with adoration? Isn't my love what He desires the most?

Three Cheers

2008-05-31T08:52:00.000-07:00

New leg! New leg! New leg! The master came home from his appointment in Houston yesterday with a brand spankin' new appendage. Woohoo! He will wear this leg for three months and then he will be fitted for his final prosthesis. He is not supposed to bear full weight on it for a week, so that is why he is still on the crutches in the picture. He is standing straighter than he ever has. After he took it off last night, we put it on the coffee table and just stared at it in wonder. It is a beautiful sight, let me tell you. With only the limited time he is allowed to wear the leg (he slowly has to build up time wearing it, so as not to cause blisters/soars), he can tell he will be able to walk better and with no pain. Whew! Sure am glad this whole ordeal is going to be worth it.

Wedding Pics

2008-05-22T18:40:00.001-07:00

The lovely couple! They should be holding hands in this picture. You know, make people think they like each other. ;0) Wasn't her dress BEAUTIFUL??!!

We have here a junior bridesmaid and two precious flower girls. The one on the far left is my niece. You may notice that Marina is missing her hair. That post, my friends, will have to wait for another day. I'm finding my happy place....

These two boys will melt your heart. I love the way they are standing in this picture because the body language says it all. K is such a sweetheart and gentleman. In many ways, a grown man in a boy-size body. Ian is a lover boy and more than a little naughty. Seriously. Ladies, lock up your daughters.

And the other lovely couple. Now you see what I meant about the mamaw forearms. I gotta start lifting weights. I so wish we had these pictures for our profile book. The ones I used for the page of just me and the master were pretty old.

Goin' to the Chapel...

2008-05-13T10:32:00.000-07:00

Yep. On Saturday my little sister is getting hitched. She will be joined in holy matrimony by her illustrious brother-in-law (you know him as "the master"), and will be preceded down the aisle by her nieces and myself. I think the two older boys have a job, too, because they have been fitted for tuxes. I'm a little sketchy on the details. What with daycare and vending machines, I haven't been able to play the part of your typical sister of the bride/matron of honor. I do know that I will be wearing a green sleeveless dress that will show off my mamaw upper arms, but will thankfully conceal my permanent post-partem pooch. This wedding will mark the end of my bridesmaid career. I've been a bridesmaid five times and a maid/matron of honor twice. I'm turning in the flowers and hanging up the satin.
Jen will tie the knot in the same week that the master and I mark our ten year anniversary. That seems strange to me. She and I are separated by only 16 months. After a seven year struggle with secondary infertility, my mother gave birth to me. Then--surprise!--six months after, she was pregnant again without even trying. We were each others best playmate, rival, enemy, and friend. For the first 10 years of our lives we were regularly mistaken as twins by outsiders and referred to collectively as "the little girls" by family and friends. When I learned to swim, she learned to swim. When I started piano lessons, she did, too. Mom and Dad bought us both cameros when we turned 16, mine was red, hers was blue. I left for home for college, and two falls later, she followed me to the same university. We've been--more or less--a package deal from the start. So it still strikes me as odd that I beat her down the aisle by a decade. I'm sure there have been moments when she wanted what I have: a home with a loving husband and adorable kiddos (though perhaps not so many). And at times, I've envied her peaceful evenings, single girl wardrobe, and--by virtue of her manlessness--keeping Daddy at her beck and call. They've been good years for both of us, but I'm glad we will soon share the title, "happily married."

Welcome to the club, Sis. 'Bout time you showed up!

Feliz Cinco De Mayo!

2008-05-05T15:52:00.000-07:00

Ay caramba! Es muy mono, no?

On Hold

2008-04-24T10:49:00.000-07:00

The master's stump still has not healed to the point where he can be fitted for a prostheses--and instead of weeks behind schedule, it looks as though we might be months away. There is one small spot at the side of his stump that will not stop bleeding, and until it does, we are stuck. We have days of discouragement and frustration, but things are becoming more bearable. I definitely don't have any less to do, so it must be everyone's prayers. I'm getting used to the pace and sleeplessness, but I wouldn't say I'm a particularly fun person to be around at present. And just let me find out that you are praying for patience for me!!! I will hunt you down. I don't want patience, I want a prostheses.
We've spoken with our agency and told them to not show our book to any birthmothers until they get the go ahead from us. At this point, I wouldn't even be able to take time out of my week to drive to Houston and pick up a newborn, much less parent one! Though perhaps my current level of sleep deprivation is the Lord's way of preparing me for night time feedings?

Accentuate the Positive

2008-04-20T19:23:00.000-07:00

I think the Negative Nelly post has been up on top of my blog for long enough. On to better and brighter things. Like how breathtakingly beautiful my children are!

Setbacks and Breakdowns

2008-04-07T15:42:00.000-07:00

The master has had some setbacks in healing, but he had a doctor's appointment today that has hopefully rectified the problem. Within a week he should be able to put on the "shrinker" as they call it in the prosthetic world. Something like an industrial strength pantyhose. He still is experiencing a lot of pain and the meds do not seem to help much. Plus, he doesn't like taking them.
Some of you have asked how I am holding up. Not good. I wish I could say otherwise, but honestly, I've never worked harder or put in longer days in my life. Including the two semesters in college when I held two work/study jobs, took 17 hours, and worked the night shift at a motel.
I think I've found my limit. I've wondered how much I could pull off. Well, I've arrived. Officially pulled into the Too Much station. Running a home, a daycare, and a vending machine business is TOO MUCH. Please pray that the master heals quickly from this point on. This is so horribly selfish, but I need him back on his foot. :0)

Four Easter Sweeties and One Terd

2008-03-25T16:18:00.000-07:00

Did you spot the terd? Randy played the starring role as this year's picture spoiler. It is something about that age. Marina didn't even make it in the shot two years ago. And two years before that it was Ian, and two years...
Ah, toddlerhood. Gotta love it. Or do we?

Foot Loose and Fancy Free

2008-03-16T19:07:00.000-07:00

I know my title is completely off-color, but I promise, the master would have it no other way. He says he is going to have that phrase etched into his prosthesis. The master came through the surgery fine and is in good spirits. THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU for your prayers!! Here is how we've spent the last few days:
Thursday night, I had trouble sleeping. The master, on the other hand, slept like a baby--only better.
Friday morning we went to be fingerprinted for the adoption, then headed to the hospital. We were joined by twenty friends and family who came to pray and sit with the master and wait with me while he was in surgery. What a blessing! I was able to stay with him right up until the time they wheeled him into the surgical suite. I was teary eyed. He comforted me. The amputation took one hour and thirty minutes. The surgeon came out and said that everything had gone well, that they were able to take it below the knee, and he thought [the master] would be pleased with the outcome.
I go to weight watchers with the recovery nurse, so she let me come back to be with him. Coming out of anesthesia, he was cracking jokes, "L____, I'm starting to get cold foot about this operation." (Notice that he has already learned her name and managed to retain that information though barely cognizant.) I thought she was going to fall off her stool. Just before leaving recovery, the nurse drew the covers back, and I wasn't ready. I think if it had just been the sight of it it, I would have been o.k. But there was an odor, too. A medical, fleshy, fluid smell wafted up at the same time, and for a moment, I thought I might faint dead away. I managed to make it into the nearest bathroom and after a few deep breaths with my head between my knees I was able to return to his side. I hate that about myself. I hate that I'm such a weenie.
A steady stream of visitors came to his bedside Friday night and Saturday. Then Saturday evening the children came to see him. We had said goodbye to them on Friday morning, so they hadn't seen Daddy. The older three did very well. Ian's matter-of-fact comment was, "Daddy. Your leg is gone." Thanks for the update, son. Marina seemed the most troubled by it. Of course, she probably understood little of our prior explanations of what was about to transpire. She did much better today, offering me this synopsis:
"Daddy is in the hospital. The doctors took off his leg. But it is o.k., 'cause it is his bad leg. Now he will get a NEW leg. And he will run fast, fast, fast. And he will chase us. But he will not catch us. 'Cause we will run FASTER."
He is having some phantom pain, which he finds not only physically uncomfortable, but mentally unsettling as well. It is a strange thing for "toes" to itch and an "ankle" to ache that are gone. The physical therapist gave him a long paper tube and told him to gently tap his stump whenever he feels those sensations. He has to retrain his body to recognize where his leg ends now. Truly, we are fearfully and wonderfully made. Anyway, I heard--several times in the night--light thumping and mutterings, "It's not there. It's not there."
Today, I've been in and out of the hospital. They changed his dressing and removed his drain tube. NOT FUN. But necessary for him to come home--which we hope will be tomorrow. I'm spending the night at the house with the babies and Sunnyside Kids re-opens early in the morning, so goodnight all.

Whew!

2008-03-10T12:41:00.000-07:00

Homestudy visit is over!!! Overall, things went well. She arrived thirty minutes early and the problem with that was that we had saved the kitchen floor for the very last, so that it would be sparkling when she arrived at 9:30. At 9:00, when she rang the bell, it was gross. Two of the kids weren't dressed yet, but otherwise, it came off without a hitch. The master's surgery will be on Friday and once he is awake and stable, I think I will be able to breath again.

Leg, Adoption, and Daycare Update

2008-02-29T19:05:00.000-08:00

The master will have his amputation the third or fourth week of March. Assuming we don't have to change surgeons. If we do, who knows? There are only two hospitals that we will consider going to in our immediate area. The master likes his surgeon, but if he does not operate in either of those two facilities, we will have to find a new one in Houston. Family and friends are wanting us to go to Houston, regardless. They have little faith in our local hospitals. My way of thinking is that this actually is not a complicated procedure. Drastic? Yes. Complicated? No. Maybe my thinking is skewed by one too many Civil War movies, but seems to me like limbs have been removed for hundreds of years in far worse conditions by far less skilled hands.
We went to our adoption seminar yesterday. Since I am posting this, you know that I told my parents. I wasn't really ready to do that, but she called the house yesterday and found that we had both gone to Houston. She knew we weren't there for the master's leg, so it was either fess up or out and out lie, which I'm not willing to do. You can scroll down to see our adoption journey, so far. I've been saving updates as drafts for months now. Mom took it better than I thought....Dad will probably want to have a porch swing talk when next we meet, but I'll survive. Anyway, seminar went great! Very enlightening interviews with birthmoms, adult adoptees, adoptive parents, etc. There is always the uncomfortable part about dealing with the grief of infertility--when I feel as though our presence in the room must be terribly offensive to everyone else. Our worker will come on March 10th for the final part of our homestudy, and for a few exceptions such as the minor detail of having the master's leg amputated and not being at all certain of where the money will come from....we're good to go.
The last part of my updates brings us to a dark day at Sunnyside. On days like yesterday, when I have to be away, I have a sitter that I pay to come and run the daycare. I've only been gone four times since starting in September. Twice for a few hours in the afternoon for doctor's appointments. Once for the master's appointments in Houston. And yesterday. Guess who showed up? Did you guess: your state inspector? You're very good. She wasn't supposed to come until mid March. I was so sure of it. Oh, it wasn't pretty. Were the children being well taken care of? Yes. Were they safe, clean, and supervised? Yes. Geez, my own kids were here. They were in VERY good hands. But that doesn't matter!!!! Because I have an anal retentive ex-IRS auditor for my inspector. She was rude and ugly (her standard manner) to my substitute and had her so rattled that she couldn't remember anything that I've told her such as:
1)where the first aid kit is
2)the four step sanitation process (which in real life is completely unrealistic to perform, but you have to be able to spout it off to her)
3)the location of my files
She quizzed her on stupid stuff that is not even in the state minimum standards like how old each of the children were. She was supposed to call back today with a list of my "deficiencies," but didn't. But she will. I shudder to think of it. I'm not sure how much longer I can keep sucking up to this woman when what I really want is to tell her where I think she should stick her standards.

Don't Freak Out

2008-02-22T15:24:00.000-08:00

Please don't. Take a deep breath....

The master is having his lower left leg amputated.

I couldn't think of a fun way to break that news. Sorry. As many of you know, the master was born with an extremely rare bone disease. For most of his childhood and adolescence, the doctor's at Shriner's Hospital in Shreveport LA did everything they could so that the master could walk. Sixteen surgeries later, he could walk, but his left leg was 1 1/2" shorter, and his ankle was fused--making it impossible to walk without a pronounced limp. Nevertheless, he was done. He walked out of that hospital at 16 and didn't look back.
Five minutes after meeting him, you don't notice the limp. I haven't. I remember our first Thanksgiving in Illinois. The master's grandmother approached me and started talking about how proud they were of their little crippled grandson...about how they never thought he would have any life...and how it was amazing that he was now able to walk. Honestly, I started to scan the community center for who in the world she was talking about. It was only after I followed her gaze to my husband that it clicked. She was talking about him. I just don't think of him as crippled or handicapped.
But lately, I've noticed the limp. Because it is much worse. The master realized that the shin bone of his affected limb was bowing out like never before. And he hurts. How badly he hurts, is hard to say. Because he has always hurt and has an extremely high tolerance for the pain. I'm quite certain the pain he describes as a level three would have me writhing in the bed, praying to die. Finally, he agreed to see an orthopedic surgeon. But that was easier said than done. It took months for Shriner's to dig up his old records...weeks for the surgeon to agree to take the master as a patient and a few more weeks before he could get his appointment.
The surgeon gave him three options:
1)Live with the pain for as long as you can bear it
2) Look into a procedure known as Lizeroff.
3) Amputate
Number three was actually what the master was hoping for. I know that sounds strange, but all of his childhood he watched children (his own roommates) have amputations and get prosthesis, and he couldn't help noticing that what they were left with worked a lot better than what he had. He's tired of hurting.
Monday we went to Houston for two appointments: one with the leading Lizeroff expert and one with a prosthetic company. The Lizeroff doctor definitely did not sell us on the procedure. It is an agonizing, drawn out process in which the bone is broken and then a halo is set on the outside of the bone to prevent healing. Infection rates are high. Success rates low. And the expert didn't seem to think that he was a good candidate for success. He told us he would not be able to gain any length (even if the procedure was successful). He couldn't do anything about the ankle. In another 10 to 15 years, the bone might be right back where it is now: horribly twisted and bowed. But if we wanted to give it a try, we should get a MRI and schedule surgery. Uh, thanks, but no thanks.
The master is actually excited. He will be able to run for the first time in his life. He will be able to walk into a Payless and buy a pair of shoes. A pair of tennis shoes! He will be able to sit down at a table without looking to see if he has clearance to swing his leg in and out.
At first, I jumped on the giddy wagon, too. I'm coming down from that. Something of the reality of that word--amputation--is sinking in now. They are going to cut off my husband's leg. I guess that is a heavy thing. But it's our best option. So please pray for us.

A Late Valentine's Post

2008-02-15T17:45:00.000-08:00

The Sunnyside Kids did a coloring sheet and on the back I wrote their responses to two questions: 1) Why do you love Daddy? 2) Why do you love Mommy?
Here are Marina's too cute responses

Why do you love Daddy?

"Because he fights with us." (She means he 'wrestles' with them)
"Because he goes to work."
"Because he comes back home."

Excellent reasons, baby girl! Especially the last two. They're tops on my list, as well. I held my breath for the next one. But she came through for me. She really does love me.

Why do you love Mommy?

"Because you cook us dinner."
"Because you take care of babies."
"Because you take me outside."

First Grandbaby

2008-02-06T19:16:00.000-08:00

Introducing my first grandchild--K's 'Mike' (AKA 'Floppy Sock') His class is studying measurement and as part of the unit, they each brought bags of rice equal to their own birthweight--in K's case a whopping 9 lbs. 4 0z. The rice was funneled into socks to create rice "babies." They have to care for the rice babies all week, and will receive a grade on Friday based on how clean and well kept their baby is. We did a similar assignment with sacks of flour when I was in school--only it was home economics in the 11th grade. I'm not sure what the social implications are for giving this assignment to eight and nine year olds, or what child care has to do with mastering measurement concepts, but....
At first, K was so proud to have the largest baby of third grade. Later, he decided it was a dubious distinction. He came dragging up the walk, the baby cradled in his arms:
K: Hey, Mom. My arms hurt from carrying Mike-Floppy-Sock. You have no idea how heavy he is.
Oh, no. I wouldn't know anything about that.
I offered to enroll Mike in my daycare. Provided K pay the $85 tuition for infants under 18 months. He decided to pass. It is just as well. I'm already at my maximum capacity. Of course, if the state licensing rep came by, I could stick Mike in the closet. All kidding aside, K takes very good care of his rice baby....thinking of things that I'm sure I would have had no clue about at his age. He retold this conversation from school:
Classmate: Why do you call your baby, "Floppy Sock?"
K: Um. Because it's a sock.
Classmate: Still, you should give it a real baby name. Then it would be like a real baby.
K: Uh, no, it wouldn't. Real babies cry. And poop. And you have to feed them every four hours. A sock is NOTHING like that.
Classmate: You should call him, 'Mike.'
K: O.K., if it makes you happy.
At home, though, he got more into it--asking to dress Mike from the newborn clothes in the shed. And strapping him into a bouncy seat. At one point, he shouted to me from the living room:
K: exasperated MOM! I've got baby trouble in here. M______[8 month old Sunnyside Kid] is trying to eat the CD's and Randy is playing with the radio knobs and I can't do anything about it, because I've got Mike in my arms...." It was his first Calgon-take-me-away moment.
He let Abby babysit for a few minutes while he looked for newborn clothes. She was holding him (properly, with head supported) and cooing at him, saying, "Hello, Mike. I'm your Nana."
Me: No. I'm his nana.
Abby: Then what am I? Oh! I'm his Aunt.
Me: Yes, you are his dad's sister, so you are his aunt.
Abby: Then who is the birthmom?
At this point, I don't really care if K completely flunks the assignment. The comic relief the rice filled sock has brought to our home is priceless. If you have the winter doldrums, you should buy a 10 pound sack of rice and fill an extra large sport sock, call it a baby, and give it to your kids. Talk about some cheap fun!
But the best of them all, was when K came in to the kitchen and with all seriousness stated, "There is just one thing that really dissappoints me." Wondering what on earth could have upset him, the master and I asked, "What's that?"
"That you weren't there for the birth."
That kid kills me.

On the way to Baby #6

2008-01-31T18:47:00.000-08:00

Our Ukranian adoption was over before it began. When the 2008 quotas were released in December stating that only 300 children under the age of six years would be made available for adoption by American families (and 100+ dossiers were already waiting in line), we decided to halt all homestudy preparations.
Last April (during the flair up with our first agency), we had attended an orientation for a domestic adoption agency, and were very impressed. We were there, more or less, to see
1) if it was a reputable agency (my sister was looking into a private adoption at the time and I thought that if nothing else, we would get a good or bad feel about this particular agency)
2) whether any agency would speak with us (our old agency rejected us based on our size)
3) and to see if domestic adoption would be a good fit for us.
Even the master was excited--and that is saying something. We decided that at some point, we definitely wanted to complete an adoption with them. BUT....a part (o.k. a big part) of me was still hoping for one more Eastern Europe adoption. I would have liked for Marina to have someone else in the family who shared a similar birth culture. And our hearts--mine and the master's--are always with children who are waiting in institutions around the world. As the list of agencies with Russian accreditation continued to grow, I sent off for many application packets, but the financial and emotional costs for a Russian adoption seemed even greater now that I knew the obligations and requirements for a domestic adoption.
It is so much cheaper! It is so much easier. One document--the homestudy. One time. That's it. And it is in English. I don't need a translator. The U.S. isn't going to shut down. I won't have to hold my breath for two years. And we will meet and know our child's birthmom. I think I am more excited about that than anything else.
The Ukranian adoption would have been significantly less money (about half) than a Russian adoption, but there was little hope that we would be able to get in under the new quotas. It might even be difficult for 2009. It just seemed stupid to invest thousands of dollars, blood, sweat and tears, "competing" for a "spot" sometime in this decade, when there were children right here in the U.S. needing homes NOW!
After the first of the year, I got back in touch with the Houston agency. On Monday we went for our individual meeting. We will have seminar on February 28th and our homestudy will be March 10th. Doesn't sound like very far away, does it? We will take our birthmom letter and picture book with us to the February seminar. Our homestudy should be written up within a week of the visit, and we could get a call at any time thereafter. I want so badly to post on our adoption, but we haven't told our family--nor do we intend to.

Dinner Conversation

2008-01-23T19:25:00.000-08:00

Unison: "Fader, God. Tank you for dis food. Dat you have been given' us in the name of JESUS CHRIST. Amen!"

Sunnyside Kid #1: What is this?

Me: Frito Pie

Sunnyside Kid #1: I have a puppy.

Me: Oh? Is his name Frito?

Sunnyside Kid #1: His name Bob.

Me: O....K...?

Sunnyside Kid #2: Miss Jessca, frito pie hurt my bo-bo.

Me: Use your spoon and it won't get in your bo-bo.

Sunnyside Kid #3: We sing song about stars?

Me: No, we didn't sing a song about stars this morning. Would you like to sing a song about stars?

Sunnyside Kid #3: "Twinkle, Twinkle, little star...."

Unison: "how I wonder what you are--"

Me: Well, I meant later. We can sing about stars later. Right now we need to eat. It is bad manners to sing at the table.

Sunnyside Kid #4: loud belch, "Pease may I be 'scused?"

Me: Yes, you may.

Not sure if I am amused or merely going NUTS.

Sunnyside Kid #5 and Wallpaper Worries

2008-01-10T17:40:00.000-08:00

It feels like forever since I posted...though I guess Christmas wasn't too far away, really. It just seems so.

The kids FINALLY went back to school on Tuesday. Not that I don't love 'em, but 10-11 children in my tiny kitchen every day for breakfast, lunch, and snack was a little much. If we stay in this house we are going to HAVE to add on a dining room. Soon. Because I'm thinking I'll go crazy over the summer. Of course, three of my daycare children are teacher's kids, so enrollment may fall off for June and July.

That brings me to another item: You have to help me decide what to do with the boys' room. One of my daycare kids ate the border off my boy's bedroom wall. Yes, ATE. This is the same child who eats pine cones, sand, dirt clods, sticks, dog poo, rocks, and as of Tuesday....a huge hole in Marina's curtains. He is the one who broke the Fisher Price barn, tore up a whole bunch of books (so he could eat the paper), and destroyed two brand new Christmas gifts (so he could chew the plastic coated wires within). I can't count the number of finger sweeps I've performed on that baby. Being the early childhood development specialist I am, I recognize that this is NOT normal behavior. I'm strongly leaning toward a mild form of autism (his social behaviors are off, too). Being the country girl that I am, I can tell you that, "Sumthin' ain't right with that young'un."

As of Tuesday, I gave his mom two weeks notice that she will need to find another place for him to spend his days. Don't worry--I used the professional language, not the country girl equivalent. It is not that he is special needs. It is just that I cannot afford to keep financing his special needs. The curtains were the last straw. Those were nice curtains. Also, I cannot sufficiently serve his special need. This is home care. That means that, while I must take adequate safety precautions (adequate for MOST children), I am not expected to--nor could I possibly--maintain visual surveillance of all children at all times. I'm it. I'm the whole show. So, if it's twenty minutes till lunch, I'm in the kitchen getting the food on the table. I'm NOT in the boys' room. Where Sunnyside Kid #5 is eating wallpaper. I do not know that Sunnyside Kid #5 is chomping down, and therefor, if Sunnyside Kids #1-4 are not in the immediate vicinity, I may not become aware of Sunnyside Kid #5's appetizer of choice. I'm picturing finding Sunnyside Kid #5 dead on my floor with a huge wad of wallpaper (or curtains) lodged in his throat. I'm CPR and first aide certified, but not itching to try my skill any time soon--or ever! I can't have that on my conscience. Having to replace wall paper border is a nuisance. A child is irreplacable and losing one--that was placed in my care--unthinkable. I personally find the number of children crammed into a class in most daycare centers appalling. But, at least it is ONE room. Where the teachers can monitor him minute by minute.

Back to my decorating dilemma. What should I do? I've already checked e-bay for this border and I haven't found any auctions. All of my extra rolls were destroyed in the hurricane. I'm going to have to soak off and remove what remains of the border. Read that last sentence with a pronounced whine. I really loved that border. It went so well with all of our boy furniture. "Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth. Do not store up for yourselves....." I did find some cute borders that may work (though not nearly as perfectly!!!) with the exsisting wall color, but then I wonder if I should replace it with something so juvenile since K is nine now (he was 6 and Ian was 2 when we originally papered the bedroom)... But then again, I do run a daycare, and that is where the daycare children play. But they won't always play there. We are hoping to move. Maybe I should just break out the KILZ (it's gonna take buckets to cover the royal blue. Ugh. And double UGH), and repaint with something neutral for the sake of resale? With my luck, if I do that, we'll be stuck in this house for the next twenty years.

And then I wonder if I should replace it with border at all, because what if I get another Sunnyside Kid #5? But, seriously, how often do children that eat wallpaper come along? Some help here? My brain is tired. I'm sorry the picture is so dim. I didn't think to give you a visual until after the sun set. Those are trucks, fire engines, helicopters, cars, taxis and road signs on a perfectly coordinated backgound of light blue with royal blue outlining. Trying to cope with a profound loss here....

Very Merry, Indeed

2007-12-26T10:45:00.000-08:00

Ah yes, Christmas morning at our house. Most of the pictures are of the kids getting their "Santa" presents. We must have missed the big moment with Abby. She got a Nintendo DS. This was one of her three under the tree gifts--three presents because the Christ child only received three gifts and they sure do not need/deserve more than He got. Anyway I digress...Abby is holding a dress pattern and fabric for her to use with her new sewing machine (birthday present). All I've heard since her birthday is, "When can you teach me to sew, Mom?" So a good learner pattern was a must have for Christmas. Randy got a Fisher Price Barn. An absolute necessity for toddler hood, in my opinion. We had one, but I believe it was on the recall list. It lasted through the first four kids just fine, but one of the daycare kids (read hooligans) managed to find the flaw and completely destroyed it, so Santa had to bring us the new, improved model. For Marina we went with a mini-trampoline. Several of my parenting books on sensory integration/RAD/and prenatal drug exposure recommend small trampolines with handles. I didn't get why the handle was stressed until I watched her play on it. She can really put a lot of force behind her jumps with a handle for leverage. It should prove to be a great way for her to relieve anxiety, anger, aggression, etc. I thought at first that is was going to be a dud present. You can see that she doesn't look particularly thrilled in the picture. But after the others climbed on and showed her how to use it, she loved it. She is so put out with me today, because I've moved it to its storage spot in the shed. I suppose she thought it was going to stay in our kitchen? The two older boys followed a blood trail (cut up red styrofoam plate) from their stockings, out of the house and into the garage to find two beginner bows. Yes, I know, we're sick. But what can I say? This is Texas.

I have a few kids in care today, but I just got them down for a nap. Everyone had said they would probably just stay home with their kids, but then it started to rain. And I'm guessing they started to get a little stir crazy, because along about 10:00 a.m. three mommy's showed up at my door toting toddlers. Part of me (the professional) is fine with it because this is what I do, and I am being paid for it. But part of me (the fellow mommy side) wants to tell these women, "Look, you don't have to go to work today. You need to parent your children. Sunny days and rainy days. It can be done! Get a sheet, a chair, and a clothespin....sit down and play one of the dozens of new Christmas games with them....mix up some shaving cream and food coloring....The possibilities are endless. Buck up. YOU CAN DO THIS!" But I guess that would put me out of a job, right?

Rewards

2007-12-13T11:50:00.000-08:00

Last night, the master's office celebrated there annual Xmas party. And yes, I have replaced "Christ" because--trust me--He would not want His name associated with it. But, every year, the boss buys some really nice gifts for a round of Chinese Presents at the close of the party. The master learned that for the last several years, the most sought after gift was a big screen t.v. We were hoping he would win it. Our 16 inch RCA my aunt gave us ten years ago when we were married, is on its last legs. Sometimes the on button works and sometimes it doesn't. We're not big t.v. people (we don't even have channels), but we all enjoy the occasional movie, and the kids would love the movie-theater feel of a big screen.
The original date for the party was Thursday. Then, they decided to move it to Wednesday. Um...we teach the children's group on Wednesday. But the party was supposed to be from 4:30 to 5:30. So, he could make it to the party, win the tube, and still make it on time. BUT at 5:00 he called on the cell. He was leaving the party. Everyone had started to hit the liqueur and the boss hadn't even brought out the gifts for the game. No new t.v. for us.
On the way to church, the master used it as a teachable moment for the kids. He told them about how he could have stayed and maybe won the new television or some other neat thing, but he had made a commitment to the church body, so he had to leave. They talked about how doing the right thing isn't always easy. Everyone agreed that a new t.v. would have been great. Then he said that when you've done the right thing, but it seems you don't have anything to show for it, just remember that God sees and knows and He will store up for you rewards.
He was finishing up his lecture as they arrived at the church building. No sooner had he come in the door than another church member made a bee-line for him. The first words out of her mouth: "Bro. _____, I have something at my house that is taking up too much space and I need to give it away. Would you like a big screen t.v.?"
No fooling. All the master could do was laugh. The kids' mouths dropped open. I think the lesson on rewards is LEARNED.

Truth Hurts Follow Up

2007-12-11T10:51:00.000-08:00

I had a lot of response from the last post. Some in the form of phone calls and some in comments. Thank you all for your concern and encouragement. It is a difficult thing for both of us--but especially for Marina--and I am trying to handle it in the best way possible. You will be happy to know that she has not brought up our conversation again. Doesn't mean she won't. Could be next week, or next year, or next decade, but themes of abandonment/grief/adoption are issues we will need to approach and process for a lifetime. To answer some of the suggestions and insights:
Cari--I'm sure it comes as no surprise to you that we often tell Marina God planned for her to be in our family. There have been times that well meaning, but misguided persons have asked, "How did you choose her?" or "Did you pick her?" To which we always say, "We didn't. God did." The difficulty with saying, "We were together in the mind of God," lies in the fact that a three year old child cannot grasp, "in the mind of God." Nor can any of us, come to think of it! Yes, it sounds nifty, but I'm afraid all that Marina would hear is, "We were together." It might make her feel better for the moment, but it is not true (our being physically together, which is certainly what she meant), and ultimately would not soothe her hurt. I've mentioned before that Marina adores Randy. She has always been a very loving big sister to him. However, in his infancy, Marina had moments when she absolutely loathed me. At times when I would nurse him, or tickle him, or stare lovingly into his eyes and coo at him, she would regard me with a degree of hatred and sorrow that I would never before have believed were possible of a two year old. Somehow, someway, buried in her heart, is the knowledge that those things were not done for her when she was a tiny baby. She knows. If/when it comes up again, I will assure her that God was watching over her during that time. That is a promise and cannot mislead her. He is father to the fatherless.
Mom, sisters, and non-bloggy friends--As painful as our conversation was last week, I am grateful that she is now beginning to express with words her confusion and sadness. At least she can begin to match up her heart ache with the truth. It is sad for her to know that she was alone. Hell, I cry every time I think about it, and I'm a grown person. Every baby should have a parent who bounces them in the seat, replaces their binky, tickles their feet and pats their back until they fall asleep. But wouldn't it be sadder still to think that your mommy had been there all along, but did not do those things for you? That she did them for all your brothers and sisters--and does them for every other baby that arrives on her doorstep--but not you?
Kim--I think you are right. Last week's comment confirmed a suspicion I had for some time. Marina can tell you that she is, "a-dop-ed," and that she was born in "Wussia." But 'adopted' is a meaningless adjective and 'Russia' is a place that we (Mommy, Daddy, and Marina) went to on a plane and had an extended vacation. It is just beginning to dawn on her that living in an orphanage means that you do not have a family. She is confused and frightened by this new idea--that is why she followed me into the kitchen and restated her assertion about my being with her.
I want to keep posting our adoption moments. Not because I get off on making you wonderful ladies cry, but because I need to emote and also for Marina. So that she can read a record of her journey one day. It helps to remember that Marina's story--unlike millions of others--has a happy ending even if there are some pages missing.

When the truth hurts

2007-12-05T15:12:00.000-08:00

I am keeping a tiny baby here at Sunnyside Kids. She is only three months old and on the small side. Sweet. Like holding a loaf of bread. She has quickly become the daycare mascot, and we all dote on her. The last few days she has been unimpressed with the Randy's state of the art light-em up bubbling aquarium bouncy seat. It wasn't doing anything for her. Luckily a few months ago, I had rescued a bouncy seat from my neighbor and squirreled it away in the garage knowing I would soon be opening my own daycare. It was the old kind with no fancy toy rod or interactive screen. Just a seat. With a Disney Dalmatians print--so you know its got a few years on it. But it held her up at a better angle for watching the other kids, and she was delighted. The others gathered round as I gently bounced her and she smiled. I happen to keep the youngest child of the very same neighbor who gave me the bouncy seat, so I remarked, "Luke, this was the seat you played in when you were a baby."
Luke: I not a baby.
Me: No, you are a big boy now, but you were a little baby like this at one time.
Sunnyside Kid: And I was a baby!
Sunnyside Kid: And me!
Marina: And I was a baby, too!
Me: Yes, everyone starts life as a baby.
Marina: And you were with me.

I just let it go and didn't make a comment but replaced the the baby's binky and started to get lunch ready. Marina followed me into the kitchen.

Marina: And you were with me.

Clearly she was wanting some validation for her statement. Sigh. This is when the truth hurts.

Me: No, sweetheart. I wasn't with you. But Mommy came just as soon as she could.
Marina: angry NO! You were with me!
Me: No. When you were a tiny baby like _________, you were in the orphanage in Russia. The caregivers took care of you. Mommy and Daddy came when you were a little smaller than Randy. And we adopted you, and brought you to our home to be our little girl forever. Maybe they had a bouncy seat like that one in the orphanage.

Because not having something is a huge trauma trigger for her. We had a hard time over items for babies when Randy was born. As each new item was introduced, (baby tub, crib, pacifier, mobile, etc.), she would just dissolve into hysterics. We had to explain to her that it was for a baby, and why. We had to go over and over that she was not a baby and she did not need those things. She has better things--things for a big girl. But the grief was there in her eyes. We found that telling her that she had played/used that when she was a baby helped. Some of the things we know for sure because we had them for her in those first few months after she came home (like teethers and play yards). And some of the things we know she had in the orphanage (like a crib). And yes, for others we have said, "Maybe you played with one like that in the orphanage," even if we are quite sure that they did not have any such thing. I thought she may be having an issue with the baby obviously enjoying a baby seat that she could not. But I don't think that was all this time.
Because after a few moments she said again, quietly and with pleading in her voice, "And you were with me?" Of course, I could no longer trust my own voice, so I just shook my head 'no,' and hugged her. Afterwards, she went into the living room and sat down on the couch for a while, subdued. I heard her say, "Maybe in orf-nage, I have one." And then she went off to play. What I wouldn't give to be able to tell her, "Yes, I was with you every day." To be the keeper of her story from the beginning--with no pages missing.

Home again, home again, jiggity jig

2007-11-26T17:33:00.000-08:00

Our trip up north was an overall success. No breakdowns (vehicular or mental) and no illness/accidents to report. Marina gave us one scare at a rest stop-- when the automatic toilets triggered her fight or flight reflex and she ran pell-mell out of the john and into the parking lot--but other than that, we were good. The extended family embraced us all with warm affection. And I am glad we went. Grandma kept saying with conviction, "It is so good to have you here," and I felt ashamed that we have not visited more often. The kids reveled in having cousins to the infinite power and the food was wonderful.

Here are some pics of the famous Grandma Z and the kids down (or is it up?)on the farm.

Happy Thanksgiving

2007-11-18T21:48:00.000-08:00

It is almost midnight and I am waiting up for the master to come home from a frenzied evening of stocking vending machines. We are trying to get them stuffed full and in tip-top shape before leaving for Illinois.
That's right. We're headed to Illinois for Thanksgiving. We leave Tuesday night. No offense intended to any extended in-law relations who might be reading this blog, but I'm not looking forward to this trip. Do you realize it is stinking COLD in Illinois? We are still wearing shorts down here. My kids do not own coats. We have wind-breakers for the two days each year that temperatures drop below 50. The master is estimating the cost of fuel for our voyage in 'ye olde 15 passenger will run around $400. Yikes!
I keep telling myself, "It's for Grandma Z____. It's for Grandma Z_____." Grandma Z______ is an amazing woman. She raised 10 children, has untold number of grand and great grand children. And she never forgets a birthday! Every year, for every child a birthday card arrives right on time. Even one for me. The interloping spouse. K met her first as a toddler. Then on our last trip, the kids were five, three, and one, respectively. Yet, a week does not pass that the children do not make fond mention of her or wonder aloud when we will see her again. Marina is excited that she is finally going to behold the famous "Grandma Z_______."
The only question is: will seeing Grandma Z________ be enough to keep them pleasant for 14 hours of driving?

Digging In

2007-11-13T19:01:00.000-08:00

Today we were supposed to send our first payment to the facilitator in Ukraine. We were going to wire it, and he sent very specific instructions with detailed information, account numbers, etc. that we took down to our bank. Unfortunately, we live in Podunk, USA. They don't send too many of them thar forin money teli-grams.
They thought that maybe they would need some routing numbers. Though he provided the swift account #'s. The master was like, "This man has done this thousands of times! I'm sure he has provided you with all the necessary information." But they wouldn't listen. Humbled, I had to e-mail the facilitator and tell him we failed in our very first mission.
Welcome back to the world of international adoption.
Then this afternoon our homestudy packet arrived. It is a large notebook. I thought I would be excited, but instead I felt a sense of dread as I flipped through the plethora of paperwork that has to be filled out, all the financial information that has to be tracked down and tallied, the medical exams, the copies...I closed the notebook and walked away. I looked around the dinner table and thought, "We are such a nice family. We are happy. Content. Comfortable. Now why did I want to change that? International adoption is such a hassle. So expensive. So draining."
Right now we would only be out $50 bucks. I don't think the church folks will even remember. Oh sure, a year from now, someone may make the off-handed remark, "Hey, weren't ya'll going to get another one?" But we could always drum up some church excuse like, "Well, we prayed some more about it and decided it wasn't what God had for us." Easy. I could just go in and delete a few drafts from the blog and that would be that.
Then tonight I read Tami's blog and she posted this video. **Grab some tissues before you click**
Ukraine here we come!

Moving along

2007-11-05T18:26:00.000-08:00

Today is a big day in the adoption. I found out our home will pass as is. We are within income requirements. Tomorrow we will mail off the application for the homestudy. And our facilitator will e-mail the list of dossier documents. It seems like we are doing this all backwards--dossier BEFORE homestudy? But he is the one who has brought hundreds of orphans home. I've brought one. So I will do whatever he thinks is best.
He is planning to get our file on the list before the "big ones" come through (homestudy and INS). Even so, we will not travel before August. Which is fine with us. That is a good time frame. But we learned with Marina, "time frame" is an oxymoron in the international adoption world. There is no such animal. So we shall see...

First Kill

2007-10-30T18:42:00.000-07:00

So I'm wondering if my son became a man on Saturday? He has slain a wild beast. My dad started taking K out to the lease as soon as he cleared diapers. And I potty train 'em early. At age five, he actually wounded a buck that they never recovered.

This was youth weekend, and Papa and the master had been totally pumping K up that this was THE year. I worried that he would be too nervous to shoot. K cannot bear to let anyone down. Sure enough, the master says that K was trembling. He watched the little doe for a good ten to fifteen minutes, while the master whispered encouragement. K kept saying, "I can't do it, Dad, I can't do it. I'm shaking too bad." The doe disappeared behind an oak. In desperation, the master appealed to K's sense of duty and said sternly, "Now Son, it is getting dark and this is your last chance to shoot. When she comes out from behind that tree, you put a bead on her and pull the trigger.....YOUR FAMILY NEEDS THIS DEER."

When she emerged a few moments later, K dropped her. When he called to announce the big news, I was at first puzzled and tickled by his closing remark, "And now, the family will have meat!" (As if we do not have a freezer full?!!)Later, as the master explained the scene in the stand, I realized how sweet it was. 'Providing for the family' gave him the extra bit of calm and courage he needed.

Of course, our horde will finish off the ground round from that little deer in two sittings, but he doesn't have to know that now, does he? And it sure will be some tender meat.

Fall Scene

2007-10-24T19:15:00.000-07:00

I don't usually post alot of pictures all at once, but I just can't help myself tonight.

I got some really cute pictures of the kids this weekend. As you see, we are doing a StarWars theme. Isn't baby Yoda, too much??!! And no, I didn't make their costumes. We drove to PartyCity this year so that Mom could remain in Saneville.
Cooler temperatures finally arrived this week, and the Sunnyside gang and I stuffed a scarecrow. They named him Mr. Acorn. Afterwards, I gave rides around the backyard in the wheelbarrow. Marina is too funny! She was well bundled, but every time the wind would blow she would suck in her breath and then let out a low moan. And the girl that LOVES to be outside, kept saying, "Mommy, the wind not blow in the house." The good Lord knew what He was doing when He put that baby on a plane to Texas, 'cause no way would she have survived St. Petersburgh winters! She has on her 'cool girl' jeans and jack-o-lantern shirt in the other picture. I had just brushed her hair out from tight french braids, so she was sporting her mock-spiral-perm-do. I thinks she looks entirely too grown up, don't you?

Hard to Miss

2007-10-20T18:46:00.000-07:00

We took the kids to the first fall festival of the season tonight (pictures forthcoming), and afterwards we went out for Mexican food. Not wanting to take the time for a complete wardrobe change, my kids went in their costumes.
My parents were with us and there was no available seating for a party of our size in the regular dining area, so the hostess asked if we didn't mind a table in the lounge. Don't you know the other patrons were overjoyed to see her seating five small children in the bar? I wasn't exactly thrilled with the arrangement myself, but it was getting late, and I didn't want us to have to wait.
We waited, anyway. Our food was taking forever to come out! My dad made a comment about how two other tables who came in after us had already been served, and then my mom said that she was starving, and I finished up with, "We must have been forgotten back here"
K looked around and said, "We're kids....in capes....in a bar. How could they have forgotten us?"
He has a point.

Scary

2007-10-17T05:37:00.000-07:00

This is a great web resource I visit almost daily in my line of business. Take a look at the model in the add at the top of the web page. That is exactly what Marina will look like in 15 years or so. I'm petrified. Anyone know where I can buy a chastity belt?

The Die is Cast

2007-10-15T20:12:00.000-07:00

I have a quirk that drives the master crazy. Whenever we are finishing a room, before we put away the supplies, I grab a brush and in some way, completely screw up the next room on our list to tackle. I look at it as a way of guaranteeing that we won't procrastinate. I grew up in a household where every home-improvement project was placed on the Thirteen Year Plan. Except now that my parents have lived in their home for well over twenty years, we may have to rethink that title. I guess the pendulum swung in the opposite direction for me, because I want it done yesterday. For some things, the pocket book demands that we wait, but we can almost always can afford paint, so brush in hand I grab the KILZ and go at it. The master calls it, "painting the doorways."
And he says I don't just do it with home remodel.
Yesterday we announced to the church that we were hoping to start our second adoption. We asked for them to pray. We don't have a homestudy. We haven't filed with INS. We still owe money on Marina's adoption. But I feel that October 14th marks the beginning of the journey to S_____ #6.

Social Worker's Visit (Past Tense)

2007-10-12T18:02:00.000-07:00

Maggie was asking about times in our home life that we would not want our children's teachers/doctors/social workers to hear. It made me think of our homestudy visit for Marina. I started to post it as a comment, but decided it was in poor blogger form to leave so much in the comment panel.

Oooh, do I have a story for you! One that actually did go straight into the social worker's ears.
Preface: We spank. Always have. Always will (till the youngest one doesn't need it anymore). I know you are probably totally against that, but it works for us, and we do it in love. Our oldest (8) has not been spanked in almost a year.
Anywho--all of our kids have gone through a "spank the baby" stage. Around about three they start playing house and they feed their babies, and rock them and burp them, and take them to the zoo....etc. They do everything with them that they see us do. Well, just before we had our homestudy, Abby hit the "spank the baby" stage. For about a week, her baby dolls were constantly being caught doing something she had told them NOT to do. And she could be heard all through the house giving them spankings. Only my drama queen attended her disciplinary task with much more gusto than she had ever had performed on her own little hiney, AND instead of using the words WE used when spanking her, she preferred the verbiage reserved for the dogs when piddling on my carpet, "BAD, BAD, BABY!!!! You are a VERY BAD BABY"
The master and I did not know what to do! The social worker was coming at the end of the week! Of course, we had been completely open with the agency and social worker about our family practice of spankings, but Abby's whippings were horrific. Should we coach her? Should we not? Would she say to the SW, "Mommy and Daddy told me what to say." Would she "spank" a baby while the SW was there? We tried gently coaxing her during play, "Oh, no, the baby is not bad. Give sugars to the baby." "She is just a baby! She doesn't know any better." "Mommy did not give you spankings when you were a baby." To no avail! She was still beating the stuffing out of the dolls on Friday. Finally, we sat both the kids down and had a heart to heart with them. We told them that a lady was coming to visit with them the next day. She wanted to make sure that our home was a safe and happy place to be. We told Abby that if she kept spanking the dollies, the lady might think that Mommy and Daddy gave them spankings all of the time. And that wouldn't be right, would it? They both agreed. She might think we were not a good Mommy and Daddy and that it would not be a good idea if any more children became part of our family (we didn't mention that she might decide to take the three we already had!) "So, tomorrow, Abby, please do not give your dollies any spankings while the lady is here" Our speech seemed to work. They went back to playing and no dolls needed "discipline" for the rest of the day.
On Saturday, the SW arrived right on time. She visited with us for about and hour and commented often on how well the children behaved and amused themselves while we chatted. Then she asked if she could talk with the children privately. We knew this would be part of the visit (hence our panic at the dolly beatings). She went to where the children were playing quietly in the bedroom. Peeking around the corner, I saw that the children were reading. Good. Not a doll in sight. I listened with bated breath as the SW introduced herself.
Not a bit shy, my oldest piped up. "Hello! I'm K____ and this is my sister Abby, and we don't get beat very much!"

Blog Hi-jacking

2007-10-12T17:40:00.000-07:00

My blog was temporarily hi-jacked today. They hacked into my template and pasted it all over with a frog advertising some website. You couldn't even read a word! I deleted big portions of my template and this was as close as I could get to normal. I lost my light blue background and could not get it back, but at least the obnoxious amphibian is gone. Scary that people can do that. Got no help from blogger either about how to fix the problem. Ugh!

Where We Are

2007-09-27T18:20:00.000-07:00

Well I'm settling into the whole daycare director thing. This is going to work. Sunnyside Kids is off and running. I have a daily schedule with set circle time, where we concentrate on colors, rhymes, vocabulary, names, shapes, counting, calendar, etc.; a themed learning activity (we're on nursery rhymes at present); and of course, STORY TIME with the selected books keeping with our theme. I'm into themes. It is very time consuming, but a meaningful service to provide, and I love working with the children. "To love what you do and to feel that it matters, how can anything be more fun?" That is in quotes, because it is not original to me, but I can't remember who said it. Our rhyme today was "Hickory, Dickory, Dock." We made felt mice and using a dishwasher box disguised as a clock, we acted out the rhyme. We also worked on positional words. "Can you put the mouse in the clock?" "How about under the clock?" "Make the mouse run around the clock!" The kids LOVED it. They played in it all day. Then when the older kids came home from school, it was "AWESOME," "Mom, you know just what kids like," and "How come you never made a giant clock for us?" They all three got in it and recited the rhyme at least once--even the eight and a half year old. Though he tried to be cool about it, walking around the clock and mumbling the words under his breath. Then climbing in "to say hello to the little ones." Yeah, right, uh-huh. He can't fool me.
The sad truth of the matter is I'm a better mom now that I'm keeping other people's children. I'm the kind of mom I used to be when K and baby Abby were home alone with me. When I taught K to read at the ripe old age of three, and how to solve word problems, and write books, and calculate the volume of a cylinder. When I took Abby to Kindermusik class and we spent an hour every day listening, dancing and making music together. When there was 4 loads of laundry that had to be done in a week--not four in a day. When I ran the dishwasher once a day, not once every hour. And also, truthfully, back when I did not have blogs and high-speed internet access. You will be hearing from me much less frequently in the future, for sure.
Marina is in heaven. We've had her on a set schedule from the beginning. It is the only way she can function. Even when I was teaching full time, we had a private nanny that came to the house instead of daycare, all for the sake of maintaining Marina's schedule. But we've stepped up from predictable routine, to a precise, orthodox, down-to-the minute regiment. When you are orchestrating a day for five to six kids under the age of four, it just has to be that way. Marina is plum giddy about it. After breakfast we potty, then we wash our hands, then we have circle time, then we do our table time (themed activity), then we potty, wash hands, go outside....etc. She takes great delight in doing the same things at the same time in the same order, yet...I'm not sure it is a good thing for her. We were trying so hard to reverse her obsessive compulsive tendencies and I wonder if the daycare is a step back for her in that department. Like today, I caught her doing the pee-pee dance:
ME: "Marina, do you need to go potty?"
MARINA: reluctantly "Yes, ma'm"
ME: "Then why are you standing there? GO!"
MARINA: whimpering "But it is not time to go to the potty."
Now this is a kid who has been toileting %100 independently (no reminders, no set bathroom time, no putting her on the potty) for over a year now. She was standing there--in agony--about to urinate on herself, because she didn't want to go before it was "time."
In other respects, this home daycare business is wonderful for her--or perhaps I should say for me. She is surprising me in so many ways every day. I think I had my expectations set too low for her. I don't know how to say this without coming off as sounding like a class A mommy snob, and that is not my intention, but here it goes. When I consider Marina within the subset of our children alone and only see her move within that group from day to day, I am often discouraged. She doesn't speak as well as the others did at that age. She isn't able to relate concepts or predict outcomes. She doesn't obey as well. She is a much more anxious, worried child. She isn't able to regulate her emotions or communicate love--even when she desperately wants to. She often regresses to much earlier stages of development. She can become intensely jealous of her siblings and will often steal or destroy their prized possessions. These are all issues related to either her attachment problems or pre-natal drug exposure, or both.
But what I'm discovering is that Marina is completely normal! No, she is BETTER than normal--she is above average--maybe brilliant! She speaks far and away better with a wider vocabulary than the other children I have in care. She knows how to share, how to take turns, how to problem solve. Compared to her peers she is curious, eager to learn, coordinated, and attentive. And if my daycare kids were dogs--Marina would be Lassie. My child is polite, obedient, and helpful.
And who among them has her excuses for developmental gaps? Anyway, I feel so much better now, about where we are and more hopeful for the future.

Women 101

2007-09-17T12:27:00.000-07:00

In yesterday's mad rush to make it to Sunday school on time, I assigned my oldest son, K, the task of finding socks for Randy. He found the socks in short order, cornered his brother in the bathroom, and made a valiant attempt to put them on his feet. Abby and I were in the bathroom primping at the time and we watched the wrestling match unfold.
K: If you would just be...still....wait a sec' would ya?...no, come back...give me back that sock....RANDY!!
Abby:interject long suffering sigh Would you like my assistance?

(And yes, my kids really do talk that way)

K:sounding doubtful Sure, if you think you can do any better.
Abby: plopping down and shodding Randy in all of two seconds There, that does it!
K: in astonishment How did you.....
Me: not wanting him to feel bad Well, Abby gets lots of practice dressing her baby dolls
Abby: as the angel of encouragement Don't worry Bubba, your wife will help you get your babies dressed. I don't think she will mind as long as you take out the diapers and help feed them, and you're real good at those things. As if to say that otherwise his inability to put socks on a toddler might seriously hamper his matrimony prospects.
K:thinking it over carefully You're probably right. Anyway, when it comes to having a wife, I'm still working on the basics....like remembering to put the toilette seat down.

Hey, even Don Juan had to start somewhere.

Surprise! It's a Hurricane!

2007-09-14T08:00:00.000-07:00

Tuesday afternoon the weatherman said that there was a 30% chance of spotted showers and thunderstorms on Wednesday. This is our standard weather report. Wednesday morning there was a MONSOON. I waded through a foot of water to get to the post office. What is up with this? The weather report said that the rain was a result of a tropical depression that was just forming in the gulf. Wednesday afternoon the kid's school sent home a letter saying that class was canceled for Thursday because of the tropical storm. What tropical storm? Who said anything about a tropical storm? Wednesday night, the master woke me up, saying, "Babe, do you hear that wind? I just checked on-line and we are being hit by a hurricane. Come look at it! Wow! I'm going out to see." I roused long enough to grunt and think, "I hope he doesn't get hit with a cinder block." (In Rita, we had two cinder blocks in our back yard that were blown over the house and into the front yard). I've always wondered, and now I know, I can sleep through a hurricane.

Yesterday we woke up to a huge mess in the back yard. As the kids wandered into the living room and peered out, they exclaimed, "Mom! It looks like a hurricane has been here!" "It looks that way because there has been a hurricane." Now, for them, a hurricane is anathema ultima. Rita took their possessions, wrecked their home, and displaced their family for weeks. They still refer longingly to objects that were "lost in the hurricane." When we pass a house in disrepair, Ian always asks, "Did they have a hurricane here?" Whenever we have a storm, they cry, "Mom! It's not a hurricane is it?"

I told them gently that though there had been a hurricane, it was only a CAT 1 (they know all about levels of windstorms) and other than a big mess in the backyard and no electricity everything was fine. No, we will not have leave our house. No, the storm has already passed over, there won't be anymore Hurricane Humberto (I know better than to promise that there will not be another hurricane).

Working in electrical supply, the master was hard at work at the warehouse, and the kids and I hauled limbs all day at home. There were some that will have to wait for his chain-saw, but for the most part, it now looks less like a hurricane and more like a really bad storm came through. The kids are calling it the "little hurricane." An appellation they decided upon after concluding that there was no such thing as a "good hurricane." I agree. But I'm so thankful it was not a "bad hurricane."

One good thing that happened yesterday (besides the fact that my home and family were spared a second major disaster) was that we found a new piece of playground equipment. We drove over to the Market Basket for a loaf of bread, but our normal route had a tree across the road. On the detour, I spotted a little tikes fort set out on the curb. Upon closer inspection, I found that it was in no way damaged. I asked the guy smoking a cigarette (the cajuns in this area missed the Surgeon General's memo on the effects of tobacco use) on his front porch if he minded if we took it. He said "Go right ahead," and we loaded it up. Randy is ecstatic. It is just the right size for him.

Crocodile Smiles

2007-09-03T17:55:00.000-07:00

For Ian's 5th birthday! I planned a last minute party--as in the day before--for Ian's birthday. This was the weekend closest to the date, which is today, but originally thought that we would not have it until next week because of the holiday. Then something came up for the the next week....and then the next....and finally I just said, "Phooey. If we don't celebrate the kid's birthday this week, it will be October before we get around to it." I decided this on Friday afternoon. I printed some homemade invitations up and rushed down to his school to pass them out as the last bell rang. We had the party on Saturday. I had planned a StarWars party at a Laser Tag place in the morning, and what we had was an Alligator Party at a Gator farm in the afternoon. But the birthday boy had a blast, and that is the important thing! He is my go-with-the-flow kid, so no worries about places or times for him. Several of his new school friends came and he LOVES the Gator Farm. They have several varieties of reptiles--crocodiles, and turtles in addition to alligators--and a very educational, hands-on presentation of the park. The highlight of the day was watching Gwendolyn, their new Nile crocodile, take a snap at a chicken leg. The pop of her jaws sounded like a gun shot. Seeing how fast that crocodile moved, it is hard to believe that Steve Irwin was killed by a sting ray.

It was a fevered few hours trying to pull off an impromptu 3-D alligator cake, but the result was so cute! The general idea I stole from a website but made a few adjustments. I used the Herbie cake pan from K's birthday, my bundt, muffin, and round cake pans, two big marshmallows, fruit slices candy, one rolled out tootsie roll, and lots and lots of green icing. Ian said that I am very 'creatable.'

Happy Birthday Ian!

The Best and Brightest

2007-08-30T15:17:00.001-07:00

It has been the wettest summer I can remember in Southeast Texas--and I grew up here. We have a permanent bog in the backyard and all the neighbors do, too. Toward the end of July, the kid's babysitter brought them a large jar of tadpoles scooped from her puddle. Ian, or resident zoologist, was beside himself. We read our From Tadpole to Frog, and Toads and Frogs books, observed their habits, and kept adding fresh water to their habitat. It would appear that our jar had several different types of frogs, because one grew legs within two weeks and freed himself from the jar in a single bound. 'Jumpy' (as he was appropriately named) was re-captured and released into the wild.
Several nights ago, as we were making preparations for the state rep's follow up visit, the kids became convinced that they had spotted their beloved 'Jumpy' in the yard. I didn't bother to point out the statistical probability of such a reunion. I just smiled and said, "Oh, wow! And does he look well and happy?"
On a second trip out to the yard, I found them clustered around the dachshunds who were evidently toying with some small critter before the final kill. Ian called to me excitedly:
Ian: Mom, Mom! Sally and Gigi are after a frog! They're going to kill it I think! But don't worry, Mom, it is not Jumpy.
Me: Oh?
Ian: No Jumpy, is safe way on the other side of the yard!...He is hiding...He is a smart little jumper...'Cause we don't raise no dumb frogs!

That's right baby, only highly intelligent frogs found here.

First Day Of School

2007-08-29T10:29:00.001-07:00

First day of school for the three oldest Su_______ Children. Oh, to be a fly on the wall in Mrs. Harris's pre-K classroom! I'm not a big proponent of putting your child in pre-K, but since it is offered at their school regardless of income, and because he just missed Kindergarten by three days (and because another year of Marina and Ian constantly at each others' throat would put me in an assylum), Ian is off to school this year. Abby can't wait to display her academic talents in first grade, and K will be the teacher's aide for third.

Love Note

2007-08-27T16:21:00.000-07:00

My last entry was the post that broke the master's back. He kidded me about it, but deep down, I think his feelings were hurt. But C'mon? Dishwashing gloves and rug tape? How could I pass that up? He says that I paint him to be a ignorant, neanderthal, sexist pig. Out of the seven people who read this blog, five of you know him personally, so you know that nothing could be farther from the truth! That is what makes it funny. I do poke fun at him on this blog. Too much. I tell him it is payback for all the times I've been used as a sermon illustration (which is more times than I can count). At least he doesn't have to smile and hug your neck as you exit the blog.

I promised him that my next post would be a love note. I don't think he believed me, but here it is. Read quick, because chances are he will beg me to take it down as soon as he finds it.

Five reasons I love my husband:

1. The way he loves children. Not just our children--and he loves them a whole lot. But kids, in general, flock to him. Case in point, I went up to the warehouse one day last week when the kids were with Nana. The first sound I heard was a little girl's bubbly giggle. I followed the sound, knowing it would take me to my husband. Sure enough, I found him. A coworker's granddaughter--down for a visit and stuck at the office for the day--had drawn him into some silly game. She was having a marvelous time, and truth be told, so was he, though he claimed "he hadn't got any work done because of that pesky kid."
When we were dating, we went with his church group one weekend to lead an outreach event at an inner city, HUD housing complex. I remember watching him play with a group of 20-25 kids in a wild and woolly round of chase. When they finally brought him down and dog piled him with their snotty, sweaty, stinky bodies I thought, "Yep, that is the man for me."
2. The second is closely related, but not the same. Alot of guys can play with kids and be the "fun" parent, but not so many pitch in when it comes to the nitty gritty. What I'm talking about here is domestic support. Women ask me all the time, "How do you manage with five?" The answer is, "I don't!" We manage with five. When he is here, we are equal partners in parenting and household work. The mom of my daycare kid tells me, "Oh, my husband hasn't changed a diaper yet. He doesn't know how." And then she laughs, as if that is something to be proud of?! Randy vomits? I bathe the baby and he mops the mess and changes the sheets, or I change the sheets and he bathes the baby. Company is expected to arrive in 30 minutes? I finish putting supper on the table and he scrubs the toilettes. Out of groceries and I have a meeting? He goes shopping (though not for daycare supplies--HE, HE!). It doesn't matter if we need milk...or tampons...or Monistat 7. He's out of clean underwear? He gathers a load and puts it on to wash. My point is that there are few, if any, "Woman's Work" jobs in this house. And these are not rare instances when he decides to lend a hand--it is the way our home functions day in, day out. I know I take it for granted. When I was trying to get a MOPS group started in our old home town, I kept planning meetings for the evenings and the women would say, "I can't come because I don't have childcare," or "let me ask my husband if he can babysit the kids." You're married, but you don't have childcare? Ask your husband if he will babysit? I don't know how many times my friend Cari had to slap me up side the head saying, "But, Jessica, your husband is different." She was right. He is, and I'm SO thankful.
3. I love the fact that he knows everyone by name--the mail-lady, the guy at the hardware store, the drunk that hangs out at the gas station--but only ever calls me "babe."
4. I love the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles. I love that he smiles often.
5. Did you ever play the word association game in school? The teacher would call out a word or phrase and you had to write down the first thing you thought of? Whenever I hear the word 'righteous,' I think about my husband. I love that.

There you have it. For as long as it lasts. And not a trace of sarcasm.

Not Up to Par

2007-08-22T12:56:00.000-07:00

Doesn't that look like a wonderful place for children to learn and grow? The licensing representative just left my lovely little house. I didn't pass. Ugh. Oh, well, I didn't figure I would, but it would have been nice. Here is where my home is "deficient:"

1. Swing arm of Rainbow Play Structure is attached to Tree Fort portion. A $4,000 safety hazard. Now, just look at the picture. Does that look like a deficiency to you?
2. Required postings were not posted. I had them laying out on cubbie shelf, though. I had sent the master to Wal*Mart for a bulletin board and he brought back a teeny tiny version. Um, baby, I've got to tack up 15 ginormous posters. But I set out the posters with the wrong size board right there, so obviously, I knew what had to be posted and where. But apparently a miss is a mile for the DPS.
3. No child locks on bathroom cabinets.
4. I have to keep diaper cremes locked up??!!
5. Tire swing rope "looks worn"??? It didn't to me. Last night four of the kids and two of the dachshunds were swinging on it as high and fast as it could go, and it did just fine, but I didn't bring that up to her. She probably would have cited it as serious safety violation--not to mention the contamination issues associated with children actually touching living creatures. I swear, if the state has their way, pretty soon our children will be taken from us at birth and zipped up in little plastic bubbles. They're safer that way, 'ya know.
6. No adhesive tape in first aid kit. Another one I can blame on hubby. I said, "I need adhesive tape for the first aid kit," and he brought me rug tape. For making sure your throw rugs don't slip. Mixed signals, I suppose. I also needed surgical gloves. He brought home dish washing gloves. The lesson here is never send your husband to the store when purchasing articles for a home daycare.

Instead of dismantling our children's dream backyard, we will stretch a chain link fence across a portion of it. A bare, lifeless, small, but very, very safe corner. I will take the daycare kids to this prison for one half hour every day and they will stand and look over the fence as the Israelites looked over the Jordan, and the state will say, "Well done!" I will go to Wal*Mart and make a few exchanges, and the master will install a few more child locks and we will be good to go.

I'm alive

2007-08-13T18:53:00.000-07:00

Yep, I'm still around. I left the blog so long, friends were starting to e-mail--concerned for my health and well being. Health is o.k. Well being? Iffy. I know I've said this before, but things are crazy here. They're out of control at present. Where shall I begin?
The master (well, the whole family really), has been much involved with getting the vending machine business off and running. It takes alot of snacks to keep 13 vending machines filled!! We've added bi-weekly trips to Sam's and stocking time to our family schedule. The word has gotten out about our new venture and through friends of friends (you know how it goes) we've already added three locations to our business. Only problem is, we either have to buy some more machines or move some of our machines from a weaker location. Our smallest machines weigh 900 pounds! Rich Dad would say, "Expand." But our long held, Poor Dad mentality screams, "Wait and see before getting in any deeper." Fat and Lazy Dad says, "Don't you dare try to move one of those puppies. You could pull something!"
I hate to tell you this, because I promised I would NEVER, EVER do it again, but I'm trying the home childcare thing again. Have I ever told you I don't handle failure well (read "at all")? I decided I went about it all the wrong way. So I took a new tack and instead of registering as a home provider, I went straight to licensed home center. Which means that the state will be coming to do an inspection on my home within a matter of weeks. You think a homestudy is rough? You should see the minimum requirements law book for a state licensed childcare home. Yikes! I also have decided to do the Food Program, which means that the government will pay for all of the meals I serve (even the ones to my own children). The good news is that, because of the school district we are in, we qualify for the maximum amount of reimbursement, the bad news is more mountains of paperwork.
I have already started keeping one nine month old little boy. Guess what? He's a screamer. It' his third week here and he is still screaming the entire time he is not eating, sleeping or being rocked. And when I put him down and leave the room? Freak out city! I'm starting to remember why I said I would never do this again. Come Thursday/Friday, he starts to realize that this is a pretty cool place after all. He finds peace in that--while he isn't held non-stop--there is a predictable schedule to his day, lots of fun people, and cool things to see and explore. Then the parents (or worse, the grandparents) take him for the weekend, and we are right back to square one on Monday. People tell me all the time that they don't know how I do it with five. I don't how they do it with one! When all you do is carry your baby constantly, around the clock, they think they will not survive if they get put down. They can't do the things babies are supposed to do if they are on always on your hip! They need tummy time and crawling time. A chance to pull up and cruise. Opportunity to experience object permanence. Mommy/Caregiver goes away...Mommy/Caregiver comes back. Mothers of America--PUT THAT BABY DOWN!
We joined a church yesterday. The master is already installed as adult Sunday School teacher (they are in the middle of a building program and all of the adult classes are meeting together), and folks are calling him Bro. John. It is good to hear that name again. It sounds right. Of course, the master couldn't care less if the called him "Mud," just so long as they let him teach and preach.
In the midst of all this, we've had a crisis within the family. It is not our immediate household, so I won't post it on the blog, but it has been a gut-wrenching, extremely upsetting ordeal, nevertheless. Please keep us in your prayers.
O.K. ladies, I'm going to bust my all time record on groceries this month. Are you ready? $118.00!!! Is that wild applause I hear? I thought so. How'd I do it? I ordered through Angel Food Ministries. It is a non-denominational (though most of the distribution centers are in churches) grocery relief program. There are no income limits, no stupid classes, no personal questions, no strings at all. You just show up and pay your money and your meal packages arrive two weeks later. $25 dollars buys a grocery package meant to feed a family of four for a week. I ordered four units for my family of seven, so we'll see. I also bought the optional chicken pack. I think by adding our WIC allotment, we'll have enough for the month. Go check it out! It could save you PAPs a few hundred dollars a month. There is probably a distribution center near you. If not, ask your church to become one.

A Little Help Here?

2007-07-26T04:51:00.001-07:00

A few months ago, the master and I read Rich Dad, Poor Dad. I don't say this very often, but that book changed our lives. It basically took most of our beliefs about finances and turned them on their ear. [A few of the book's precepts are NOT Biblical. For instance, Rich Dad says that "it is not the love of money, but the lack of money, that is the root of all evil." Enh. Wrong. But as I've said before, keep what you can, and throw out the rest]. Since reading the book, we've been looking for ways to "grow or assets," and we've brought the kids right along with us on our new journey to entrepreneurship.
Last week, God blessed us with an unbelievable, once in a lifetime, nothing short of miraculous, deal. For the price of what two vending machines cost, we were able to purchase 13 machines (nice, new ones) in already established, prime locations! We're talking about W*lM*rts, DMV's, Post Offices, teacher lounges, etc. L*nce snacks (they make the peanut butter crackers) is phasing out their vending business and are basically giving away their machines. We jumped on it! There were some stressful days of trying to decide how many of the machines to buy, gathering the collateral, and worrying like crazy that somebody else was going beat us to the purchase, but by Thursday, the machines were ours!!
Thursday evening I called the kids to the kitchen just before supper. I told them that they had a choice for dinner. They could have black bean pie (it really is a super scrumptious dish--it just sounds yucky), or they could choose to sit at the table with the rest of the family and sip their milk. Lest you contact CPS: I'd cut them all generous bars of cheerio treats in the late afternoon, knowing that some would choose not to eat. They weren't going to starve. Also I knew that Marina--who has true food scarcity issues--would gratefully wolf her black bean pie down and ask for seconds. I planned it as a sort of reality check for the kids. With these frozen meals, I'd let them slide into a bad habit of requesting what they wanted for dinner. It wasn't that much more trouble to heat up two entrees as it was for one, and they were all starting to feel pretty entitled to dinner menu options. Time to nip it in the bud.
Abby replied rather haughtily that she did NOT like black bean pie and she would NOT eat it, but she was much more subdued when she was called to the table a few minutes later only to find the promised solitary glass of milk at her place. It was a, "guess she really means it" moment, and her eyes filled up with tears. The master being absent from our dinner circle, I called on the drama queen to ask the blessing for the meal.

"Dear Lord, thank you for this.....[significant pause]

food.

And please Lord, let us get those machines soon....

'Cause I don't know how much longer we can hold out!"

Amen.

Sad News

2007-07-25T07:16:00.000-07:00

My dear friend, Suzie, who was such a comfort to me when were adopting Marina, lost her daughter yesterday. Please lift a prayer for healing for her and her family.
Their story is becoming far, far too frequent in the blog roles. They made their first trip, bonded with the child, and even made a second trip to visit her. Now, a year and a half later, the child they love is shown to a Russian couple who decided to adopt her. Why are these children--who already have parents who have spoken for them--being pushed at Russian families? It is not like they don't have more than enough orphans to go around. Something sinister and evil is going on. For me, Suzie's sorrow is the last nail in the coffin for any dreams I held to return to Russia for a second adoption. As much as our hearts break at the thought of children left in the orphanage system, I feel powerless to do anything. At one time I thought, "I can help one. I'll do whatever it takes to help just one." But when that 'one' is ripped away, what can be done? Emotionally and financially we would be devastated--unable to complete the adoption of another child. The Bible says that only a fool begins a building without first carefully counting the costs to see if he has the ability to see it through. (Luke 14:28-30)
If we adopt again, it will be a domestic placement.

Yo Hablo Espanol. And Yes, I Do Know Who The Father Is

2007-07-12T18:03:00.000-07:00

I own a contract with the U.S. Postal service. Let me assure you that the postal system is as inept, backward, and overpriced as it seems. All of the jokes are true. They make the Russian bureaucracy look like a well oiled political machine. They send you a letter that states that they are going to send you a letter that will precede three forms that will stipulate the changes they are making pursuant to your contract. Notice the word CONTRACT. There seems to be a large amount of confusion regarding this word. A contract is a legally binding agreement in which two parties agree to certain terms for a specified length of time. Now the postal systems says that they have changed my contract?! Um, they can't do that.
But anyway, I did not feel like taking the U.S. Postal system to court over $120.00. Which is what it cost me to have the drug screens for myself, the master, and our relief driver. When it comes time to renew the contract, I will simply add the amount--along with ample padding to cover any other new additions--to my bid. Two can play at this little game.
So yesterday, I loaded up the van with the kiddos and hied myself to the workforce drug screening place to pay for the tests and make my deposit. I sternly warned the children that we were going into a place of business that was not used to having kids in it, that I regretted that they would have to wait with me but that I would get done as soon as possible, and they had better remain calm and quiet OR ELSE. When we stepped in to the waiting room, the kids eyed me suspiciously. There was a large banner pinned to the wall featuring children of all ages and races with the words "PARENTAGE TESTING--100% Accuracy." There was a leggo table and two bubblegum machines, and lots of Highlights lying around. I never thought of that particular market for a lab. I grinned sheepishly at the kids. Ooops. My mistake.
We took seats on the front row. There were four men dressed in the plant jumpers and a long line of Mexican laborers along the back. Raucous laughter from this latter sector erupted as soon as we came in to sight.
Mexican 1: in Spanish One, two, three, four, five...It is taking her a while to figure things out, no?
Mexican 2: in Spanish Maybe she just doesn't pay attention.
Mexican 3: in Spanish Someone should get that woman a calendar!
Of course, they never dreamed that I could understand them and they couldn't see my face turn a dull red. Then one of their amigos came out with his test verification and they lost interest in me. (following conversation in Spanish)
Amigo: Hey, Robert, where are you going now?
Robert: To the house.
Amigo: You aren't going to take the paper to the office?
Robert: No, I'm going to fax it.
Amigo: All right then, good by.
Robert: See you tomorrow.
For some reason this exchange attracted Abby's attention and after Robert had made his exit, she asked loudly, "Mommy, what did they say?" I turned to her and with an equally loud voice translated the conversation. Silence from the back row. I almost feel bad for them. Almost, but not quite.

Happy Thanksgiving

2007-07-09T18:01:00.001-07:00

Yum! I just finished two pieces of the best pumpkin pie I ever made. We had turkey and dressing for dinner. I'm in the cooking cycle again and you can get five good meals out of one $13.00 turkey. I brine my turkeys, which makes them juicy and flavorful. We had the "Thanksgiving" dinner tonight. I've never understood why we only eat a meal that tasty once a year. To finish off the bird we'll have turkey casserole (there will be leftovers for lunch the next day), and two meals of turkey soup. But, they are frozen for later in the month. I'm trying to avoid turkey overkill.
Some questions from comments: Esther, we have five kids: 8, 6, 4 (almost five), 3, and 1. I did only spend $250 for all of last month ($200 this month, woohoo!), but to be completely honest we qualify for WIC, and I'll attend all of the demeaning classes necessary to keep it current. I have no pride. That means that all of my cereal, milk, cheese, peanut butter, beans, and juice is free. That's right--0.00 dinero. It makes a big difference in my week to week spending. Especially when you consider that we consume one and a half gallons of milk per day. Jenny, we are not still selling our house. We were sure when we put it on the market that God was going to be moving us out of the area in the imminent future. When the master changed jobs/careers/life situation, we decided we might as well continue to put equity into this house for the next few years instead of throwing it away in rent--which for this size house would probably be as much or more than what we are paying on the mortgage.
Haven't been posting lately, though I'm keeping up with everyone's blog. I'm kind of...bummed? Bored? Busy? All of the above and none of the above. I dunno. So glad to hear for my adopting friends that Russia is granting accreditation--and that Slugger is home with Maggie.

My Weekend

2007-06-24T18:56:00.000-07:00

I survived the weekend. It was pretty uneventful after all. Friday night I stayed up late finishing a good book: Fair is the Rose. I got all the way to the end and discovered that it was one of a set. UGH! Don't you just hate it when that happens? They should put a disclaimer right up front: THIS STORY TO BE CONTINUED. So, I took the kids to the library on Saturday, hoping to find the next book and finish the story. Of course, they do not have any of the other books in the series. The kids got some new books and a couple of DVDs. I left a bag of express mail on the dock Saturday, so I'm probably going to get my butt chewed tomorrow, but I'll get over it. We're eating off the freezer meals now. About five minutes before dinner, I just pop a zip-lock in the microwave and fill up some milk glasses. Yeah, I'm warming up to the once-a-month thing. Except the potatoes in today's pot roast had a disgusting texture. I'm going to have to work on my spud freezing finesse. This morning, I got everyone that was here to church on time. During the sermon the guy mentioned Cinderella, so while I folded clothes this afternoon, I watched Ever After for the hundredth time. I don't remember much else from the sermon--too many stories and anecdotes. Like a recipe from the once-a-month cookbook, I found myself wondering, "Where's the meat?" I miss my old pastor. And I'm getting tired of visiting churches. I thought that by leaving the pastorate, we would be able to explore new churches unobtrusively. Move out of the lime light, so to speak, but so far, it hasn't played out that way. We are simply fawned over wherever we go. It makes me uncomfortable, and I can't help wondering if all visitors would be treated to such an enthusiastic (bordering on desperate) welcome. What if we didn't know the lyrics to the songs, the order of service, carry our Manual, or speak the language? What if we weren't a white, middle class, nuclear family? How would we feel? How would we be treated? I'm sure once we get settled somewhere and join we'll just be part of the family and not a prize to be won, but this visiting is rough. Tomorrow the three oldest head back to swimming lessons at Nana's, and me Rina, and Randy will hang out at the old homestead. It was VERY quiet around here last week. Visions of things to come.

Deer Hunting

2007-06-20T14:04:00.000-07:00

Interesting title for a June post don't you think? But deer hunting is the pressing issue at hand, nonetheless. I briefly considered "Why I Changed My Name and Took a One Way Flight To Aruba," but decided to go with the simpler, less emotionally charged introduction.
My father, the consummate buckmaster, has succeeded in his quest of securing a position for his son-in-law on a lease. Now, a lease is defined by Webster's as a contract by which one conveys real estate, equipment, or facilities for a specified term and for a specified rent. To the deer hunter it means they have been granted permission (for a sizable fee) to attempt the recovery of (often elusive, underpopulated) game from a small tract of (heavily hunted) wooded land. My dad, Lord bless him, has had this dream for many years. He has pursued it, nursed it, and now finally has brought it to fruition. This is HIS baby. The master, for his part, made the mistake of not telling him, firmly, "NO!" The first time it was brought up, and every time thereafter. He allowed his name to be put on the waiting list. He did not wish to disappoint his father-in-law, loves to be outdoors, and "does not mind deer hunting." I knew someday we would have to pay the piper, I just knew it.
So now, we are three weeks into the "great news" that the master has "made it" on to the lease. The master and I have had two fights about deer hunting. "I'm sorry, I must have misheard. You want to spend what on the latest in pop-up blinds?" Master spending money on deer hunting + Me after three weeks of slaving in the kitchen so we could save a few dollars on groceries=marital unrest. Our immediate family has surrendered one entire weekend to the pursuit of a bigger and better deer stand. This coming weekend, Dad "needs" the master for two full days to do some "work" at the lease. I (with two hours of assistance from my mother) will be expected to do the mail run, laundry, feed and care for five children and get them to church on Sunday. The logistics alone of this venture are enough to turn my stomach. And guess who has been left to plan the details? Do you suppose the men have, since it is their absence that is creating the chaos? Oh, no, no, no!
My mom and I began this morning to work out how all of this was going to happen. We had a fight.

ME: (as the voice of reason) This is not going to work.
MOM: I put up with much more when I was your age, yada, yada, yada....you need to let your sons bond, yada, yada....________ needs his time off, too yada, yada.....this is very important to your father....

O.K. mom, some points I would like to make:
1. I honestly did not remember that Dad was away hunting during all those family disasters (gas leak that almost exploded the house, wood burning stove bursting and sending burning logs across the living room, terrible sickness that afflicted us to the point we were praying to die, etc.), but I do recall that you were always mad as hell at him afterwards. AS YOU SHOULD HAVE BEEN! I also cannot pull from my memory files any hobby, pleasure, pursuit or pastime of yours that required substantial funds, time, inconvenience, or sacrifice for the family. Because you have put up with the injustice for thirty years does not mean that I want to. Perhaps the answer here is not that we women suck it up, but that the men do.
2. Why can't the men "bond" while cleaning the gutters? What's wrong with swapping stories over the toilette that needs fixing? When I have woman "bonding" with the girls, we check out a chic-flick (from the library) and I paint their fingernails. Takes two hours--tops--and costs 1.00 for the whole Bon-Bon bottle. Or we bake--and then everyone takes part in sharing the treat.
3. You'd have me on that third point. You really would. John does need his time off. Except for that one little word, and it's the clincher: too.
4. Bingo. I think we have arrived at the root of the issue. It is important to Dad. He loves to hunt. It is his passion. Right now it is something that my husband "does not mind doing." His feelings toward deer hunting are ambivalent. Much the same as a kid feels after his first cigarette, or his first drink of beer. Dad is the hunting equivalent of a chain smoker or alcoholic. I don't really want to see the master develop the same addiction.

My arguements are all very good, quite sound, and will be generally ignored. And to think, we still have four months til opening weekend. Heaven help us!

Cooking For a What?

2007-06-13T09:08:00.000-07:00

So for the last two weeks, I've been trying my hand at once-a-month cooking. If your not familiar with the term 'once-a-month cooking', also know as 'cooking for the month' it is an idea that is supposed to "revolutionize" the way you prepare food for your family. The method is heralded as an EASY way to save time, cut cost, and conserve energy. All under the banner of their catchy slogan, "Cook for a day, eat for a month!" Horse hockey.
I've been reading about once-a-month cooking for years, and have tried a few variations of it. I almost always cook several meals on the weekend and have them ready to go in the fridge for weeknights. And cooking double batches and freezing half for dinners down the road, saved my butt and my budget when I was teaching full time. When we went to Russia, I had extreme guilt about leaving my mom to cook and care for the kids (not like she hadn't been doing it for 30+ years, but still...), so I prepared and froze a bunch of yummy dishes that she could just pop in the microwave and serve. But I've never been consistent, and I've never done an entire month. Since the master has taken this new job (which cut our monthly budget by $1,000), and taken over the money management department of our marriage (read--reduced my grocery spending allowance to 500.00), I figured that it was now or never. Or maybe I should say, now or starve. Doing the mail run at four in the afternoon, which was my normal time for supper preparation, is an additional factor. I was having to choose between getting dinner ready and getting my nap. Sweating in the kitchen or lazing in the bed, sweating in the kitchen or lazing in the bed....zzzzzzz
I started out on June first with my $250 determined to buy enough to eat on for a month. Ha! Ha! Give me $500, I'll show you! I'll only use half. But I think the joke is on me. I've put far more than $250 dollars of labor into this project (which has stretched from one day to ten) and I still don't have a month's worth of meals in my freezer. I only have 20. Now they say that you should not make any decisions about continuing the once-a-month method until you have enjoyed your frozen bounty for a few cycles, but this cooking marathon is hell. Brings a whole new meaning to the phrase, "Having my monthly," let me tell you.
For those of you considering taking the once-a-month plunge here are Jessy's Pros and Cons.
PRO

Does save money. Even for someone who never bought prepackaged or prepared foods, this has reduced my grocery costs still further. Because, I bought like a half a pig, 10 pounds of potatoes, vats of tomato sauce. The larger the quantity the cheaper per ounce/pound. Also you go to the grocery store less, so save on gas and eliminates impulse buying.
Able to combine steps. Instead of browning ground meat three times a week, you brown 10 pounds of ground round at once and use it in three different meals. Same with marinara--just cooked up a soup tureen of the stuff and used it in four different suppers.
Those are actually all the pros I can think of at present. But keep in mind I'm still in the trenches of getting this thing accomplished. Perhaps I will feel better about it, when I've spent five minutes defrosting instead of five hours slaving. I'll keep you posted.

CON

Arrrghhhh! The mess! The mess in my kitchen. The mess in my house. The books say you should not clean your kitchen until you are done, but in my case, that would be leaving the filth for 10 days, which is out of the question, and besides where would I continue to cook and what would I cook with? After each cooking session, every utensil/pot/pan/dish is dirty and the counters are spilling over with food and packages, and it's a real nightmare. My house is a wreck too, because all I've been doing is cooking and all the other housework has fallen by the wayside. Guess my savings would be lost if I hired a maid?
Whoever wrote these books do not have real husbands or real children. Because they set the same dinner on the table five times a month with every meal having one ounce of meat and everybody in their fake family says, "YUM! YUM! Thanks, Mom!" If I followed their meal plans, I'd be hearing from my folks something more along the lines of, "We just HAD cheesy potatoes last week." "We're sick of spaghetti!" and "Where's the beef?" At the Su_______ house we are accustomed to greater variety and much more protein than the once-a-monthers generally allow.
You have to plan every teeny, tiny, detail for the whole month. Have I ever mentioned that I'm not much of a planner? I'm more of a free spirit. I liked the, "Hmm....what sounds good tonight?" way of life. Now I have to decide a month in advance what will sound good on any given night. It is really cramping my style.

Some things that I have learned from this experience:

The old fashioned way of cooking truly is the cheapest way of cooking and it still works.
The old fashioned way of cooking is the hard way of cooking.
My family consumes on average 5 gallons of marinara a month. That boggles my mind.
When all of these children are consuming adult size portions, we will have to move to Montana, where we will kill and eat elk and forage for roots all winter long, and till the ground and scavage for berries in the summers.

Kid Swap

2007-06-11T12:56:00.000-07:00

Everyone should have a friend like Abby. Ardyn and Abby have been best friends since, as they like to put it, "the nursery." It doesn't matter that we moved half a state away two years ago. Ardyn is Abby's "bestest" best friend. She has a school best friend and a neighbor best friend, and hopefully one day soon, she will have a church best friend, but the title Best Friend, sans adjectives, belongs to Ardyn alone. They do not see each other above twice a year now, but they just pick up the friendship right where it left off.
Last week, I sent K up to our old hometown and we brought Ardyn here. In a rare stroke of genius, I enrolled them both in theatre camp. They went as students-- not instructors. If you are intimately acquainted with either or both of these ladies, you know why it is necessary to make that stipulation. At camp, they could have all the drama they desired--elsewhere! Seriously though, camp kept them active and provided just enough structure and interaction with others to prevent them from driving each other (and everyone else in the house) crazy. Camp was held from 9:00 to 5:00, every day, with a full production on Friday evening. The play was the Lion King and the kids made their own masks, created the sets, memorized their parts (each kid playing several different roles), and mastered songs with choreography. It was a lot for two Kindergartners going on first grade, and they did an excellent job. We also squeezed in a trip to the beach, the lake, and a tea party. Abby had a wonderful week which she will relive through her artwork, imagination, and speech for many months--until the next kid swap.

Eight Random Things

2007-06-04T11:12:00.000-07:00

I've been tagged for a MeMe by Tami. Haven't done one of these in a while, and haven't done any this open ended. Eight random things about me? Not eight random items under my bed? Not eight random moods for the month? Not eight random people I've been? Just eight things about me....
1) I have six scars. A white patch on my forehead where I scratched off a mole when I eight years old and decided I did not want to go through life with an Islamic dot. Two tiny marks under my mouth where I bit through my lip falling off the monkey bars. A small raised line on the back of my right hand, beneath my thumb where I pinched my skin in my trombone slide one morning in first period band. Large ugly scar across my lower abdomen from four "bikini" C-sections. Now, supposedly this type of C-section got its name from the claim that women could still wear a bikini after the procedure. Further proof that doctors have a sick, twisted, bizarre sense of humor is not needed. Just beneath this gruesome incision are two faint lines from having a Hernia repaired at four years old. I have one tiny scar on the back of my left ankle where I was cut by a glass bottle explosion. The cut was very deep and long, and needed stitches, but the idea going to the hospital kept making me pass out, so a friend of the family told us to bandage it with a cloth dipped in turpentine and heavily sprinkled with sugar. We did and it healed beautifully, you have to look close to see the scar, and if one of the kids ever gets a cut like that, I'm going to try it again. If anyone can explain to me why this crazy home remedy worked, I'd be most appreciative.
2) I'm a two time world champion yodeler. Nah. But that would be a super cool thing to be able to put in my list, don't you think? I really have no remarkable talent. No special skills. No claim to fame. So, I guess that will be number two. I'm just your average girl. I'm good at most things I put my mind to and great at nothing.
3) I don't believe we will know each other in heaven. That is to say, I believe we will know each other, because we will have perfect knowledge, but it won't matter to us, because we will will "know" and love Mr. Harry Whose-a-ma-callit as much as we know and love Great Aunt Sally Sue. In other words, we will have no particular connection to any one person (say our earthly spouse or child) because we will all share perfect union with Christ. This one drives the master WILD. We've had the debate at least a dozen times in the last ten years, but he still hasn't convinced me. I've also never heard of anyone who shares my view, so if you do, or think you can persuade me otherwise, chime in.
4) I cannot abide flies in the house. And this is the time of the year when they come in by the droves. I can't eat without a swatter in my left hand and my fork in my right. The kids live in fear that one will land on their milk glass, or worse--their head. I get tunnel vision, and the fly is all I can see. MUST KILL FLY. I can't sleep if I know one is still alive in the house. I haven't been able to type this post without making two circuit patrols of the kitchen.
5) I love books. I'm addicted to books. Especially children's books. One day, I'm going to count how many children's books are in our home, but there has to be close to a thousand. Each kid has their own large bookshelf (though the books themselves are considered communal property) and each shelf is packed. And there are books on the floor and under the bed, and on the coffee table, in the van, beside the pot....
6) I'm writing a book. The title is: 52 Fabulous, Fun Family Nights: A Year of Loving, Laughing and Learning With Your Kids. Look for it soon (read someday) in a Lifeway store near you.
7) I think Patrick Swayzee and Patrick Stewart are incredibly sexy. Is it the name? I don't think so, but 'Patrick' is what the master has christened the body pillow I sleep with. I can't sleep without Patrick.
8) I don't eat vegetables.

Well, there you go. I tag Lisa and Cari--fellow bloggers. And Jennifer--my space.

Walking!

2007-06-01T09:28:00.000-07:00

Well, it took me to the fifth baby, but I've finally caught THE first step with pictures!!! Every time, when they took those first teetering wobbles, the camera was out of reach, and I've had to settle for scrapbooking pictures of their "early" steps. Randy has been standing up in the middle of the room for days with perfect balance, so I knew it was coming any moment, but unfortunately, I don't have the time to stay with him every second, my finger on the shutter. But for some reason this morning, I just sensed that this was it. He'd been standing up beside the laundry baskets and looking like he wanted to take off and go. I got the camera and sat down a little in front of him. He took the bait. And WALKED to me.

I'm so glad this happened today. I really needed a pick me up.

Deep Thoughts With Jessica

2007-05-30T15:36:00.000-07:00

So, now that the master has had a major career change, I'm back doing the mail run every day. That is four hours in 24, BY MYSELF! Alone. Sola Mia. What do I do with my time? Well, I've picked up some fascinating Spanish language CD's and I've taken up the banner (again) of becoming fluent. But 45 minutes of subjugated verbs in the past, present, and future tense, is about all my brain can handle. I pray. I bust out with some awesome renditions of the songs coming out of my radio (you may very well be reading the blog of the next American Idol star), and I smirk at Big D and Bubba. Those guys crack me up. After a while, though, they get on my nerves. But mostly, I think. One of the few opportunities I've had in three years. Not sure how much grey matter is left after five kids, but I mull over life with the few brain cells still firing up there. Usually, my contemplations lead to another round of prayer.
Today, I was thinking about Esther's post on complaining (bitching, moaning, etc.). I read it just before bed, and though I wanted to find out who she was writing about, it was late and I was tired. I wondered as I went to sleep if she was talking about me, even though I'm not on her blog roll. Do I mope? Do I bitch and moan? Do I complain? Undoubtedly. Do I praise God for His lovingkindeness? Do I revel in the joy of life? Yes, to those, too.
I started to think about perspective. I thought about Esther's sad, sad, struggle to adopt a little girl. That adoption never took place. Their agency took their money, lied to them, and the little girl was "claimed" by a Russian family member (though she still remains in an institution). When I think of it, I am reminded again how blessed we are to have brought Marina home. Indeed, since I came to blogland, there have been many stories that have brought me to the edge of her bed, my tears falling over her as she sleeps. All I can whisper at then is, "Thank you, thank you, thank you..." But that does not nullify the fact that at other times, I kneel beside that same bed, and groan out to God, "Please help me. Please, help me help this child. I don't know what to do..." Now, to Esther, I'm sure my posts describing struggles with Marina, are difficult to swallow, because she would give anything to have her daughter to struggle with. But, Kim may empathize and sympathize, because she too, is parenting post-institutionalized children. Day in, day out.
I thought about my friend, Cari. As long as I've known her, she has grieved for her dad. I did not know him. But the master did and many, many people of my acquaintance loved him and held him in high esteem. He was, by every account, a man worthy of respect who loved his Savior and his family. I have heard the sorrow in her voice whenever she speaks of him--and that is often. I've never thought of remembrances as moaning or complaining. I listen, and I'm sad for her. And I think of my Dad, and how thankful I am that he is still around for me. I think about how much I'll miss him when he is gone. I think about my legacy, and wonder if my children will have as many wonderful memories of me to cherish. But for the first time today, I thought how her words might be viewed by another audience. Let's say someone who had a dirtbag for a father? Someone who never knew their dad? Or say, someone who had a much beloved parent, but who they know they will never see again in eternity?
I thought about a conversation I had with my mom a while back. Her and Dad were having dinner with some very close, life-long friends, I'll call them Pete and Cathy. Both couples got to talking about their children (see, it is the same at 60 as it is at 30). Pete and Cathy gave both of their children a devout Catholic upbringing. Pete was very troubled that his son and daughter-in-law were attending a non-denominational church. Mother joined in quickly. My older sister left her Baptist roots upon marriage and now practices the Episcopal faith. They both wondered why their kids would leave the denominations that were so important to them. Mom said in the midst of this serious conversation, it hit her: How many couples their age have children who are addicts? How many are raising their grandchildren? How many don't even know if their kids are alive or dead? And here we are, griping about what type of church ours worship in.
I thought about highschool. When all of my girlfriends would sit around and make fun of the lame gifts their grandparents gave them for Christmas. They were amazed at how "out of touch" they were and dreaded the few hours a month they had to put up with their company. I always sat in silence, grinding my teeth. By the 11th grade, I was a grandparent orphan. I wanted to yell at them, "You idiots! Don't you know what you have?"
See, it is all in the perspective.
But aren't we supposed to be transparent? Aren't we supposed to be honest and open with our hearts? Aren't we supposed to listen and help? How can we, if we don't even know what's going on? I thought about my neighbor across the street. I've so wanted my life to be a witness to her. But in two years, do you know when she has been the most open to spiritual matters? It has been when I've shared some personal struggle in my own life. That has been something she could IDENTIFY with. She could RELATE to trouble, pain, and confusion. And it was at those times, that I could share the Hope that I have in Christ. Should I have, instead, perpetuated the myth of the super-human Christian with Leave-It-To-Beaver family life? So, by this time, I've thought myself in to a head ache, and I'm back to praying. And I think I've come to this word: balance.

Do everything without complaining or arguing, so that you may become blameless and pure, children of God without fault in a crooked and depraved generation, in which you shine like stars in the universe. Philippians 2:14-15

Carry each other's burdens, and in this way you will full fill the law of Christ. Galatians 6:2

Update

2007-05-30T15:25:00.000-07:00

Well, Ian came through surgery fine. His middle ear was "significantly" displaced. Oye! Why don't you just rub a little more salt in to the wound there, doctor? This morning the master was brushing his teeth in the bathroom while Ian was taking care of his morning constitution. When DH turned on the faucet Ian piped, "Hey, what's that sound?" A whole new world is opening up to him.

What Not to Wear

2007-05-24T20:08:00.000-07:00

I've posted on the joy of boys; it is time to give the ladies their due. With girls, you always have a sista' to offer wardrobe advice. And you don't have to wait years for that privilege because I believe they must come pre-programmed.
Yesterday, I was getting dressed in my white capris and a multicolored top. The top was dark, but it did have a few glimpses of white. I had just thought to myself, "Hmm....I wonder if this looks all right?" When Marina strolled in.

Rina: "Mommy, what you doin'?"
Me: "I'm getting dressed."
Rina: coming close, squinting, and pointing alternately, "Mommy, these two not go together."
Me: "Oh, you don't think so?"
Rina: "Umm..." (read, "How shall I put this, you darling, misguided woman?") then with incredulity at my lack of fashion sense and shaking her head vehemently, "NO!"
Me: "I think you're right, baby. I'll look for another shirt."

Her work done, she walked out, but later as I was buckling her in the carseat she said, "Now, these two....they match!" Thanks, girlfriend.

Some righteous folks...

2007-05-24T19:17:00.000-07:00

Some righteous folks done been prayin'! Cause much hath surely been availethed. And they did find two gallons of fluid...or thereabouts. I am so happy to report that Ian can hear! I mean, he can't hear, but he can hear. And he will hear in a matter of days. Apparently the effectiveness of the first set of tubes was short lived (but long enough to account for Ian's sudden acquisition of the faculty of speech). He has been compensating for a long time--at least many months. Here is my self-nomination for BAD MOTHER OF THE YEAR AWARD: his middle ear is actually sucked in from the prolonged pressure. That should just about make me a shoe in. We didn't know because he never complained of ear ache, or showed any symptoms of infection. But why in heavens name the PEDIATRICIAN hasn't noticed it is beyond me. I did take him to the doctor, honest I did.
Long story short: he is going to have a second set of tubes put in next week and also have his adenoids removed (which hopefully will prevent the need for a third set of tubes.) Thank you all for your prayers.

What Is Up With Ian

2007-05-21T19:41:00.000-07:00

Sorry to have put everyone on red alert. We are concerned, slightly alarmed, but not panicked. Over the last two to three weeks, Ian's sense of hearing has rapidly declined. Way past the point of normal fluid fluctuation. It took me a while to realize it, 'cause the kid ain't known for being what you'd call a careful listener. But Monday, I walked into his room and his back was to me. I started talking to him in a normal voice and there was no response. The house was quite (a rarity) and he was not reading. I stayed very still and began to speak louder and louder. Finally, I was yelling. Loudly. After a few shouts of his name, he turned and said, "Yes, ma'm?" I took him to the pediatrician on Thursday. For the hearing screen, he did not register any sounds in his left ear, and only two (out of five) in his right. She could not see any signs of abnormal fluid, but she would refer us to an Ear, Nose and Throat, whose tests could ascertain if there was fluid in the inner ear. So, this may sound funny, but please pray that there is a gallon of water in my son's inner ear. Make that two gallons--one for each ear.
We have a long history of hearing loss in my family. I don't think my grandfather heard more than 10 of the words I ever spoke to him. My dad is legally deaf and relies on lip reading. To show Ian how to do the hearing screening, I suggested that the nurse "test" me first. She did. I flunked, too. Though not nearly as bad as Ian. We've been concerned--at intervals--about Ian's hearing from the beginning. As a baby, he never cooed or babbled. We had tubes put in at nine months. His hearing was tested at that time, but I was never very confident in the testing. I think the tech was having a bad day. He slammed us in the booth, did two sound bleeps, opened the door and said, "He can hear." Duh. I knew that. What I'm not sure of is, "How much can he hear?" The ENT assured us that, after tubes, his vocalizations would pick up. They didn't. At 16 months, he still had 0 words. Not even, "Mama" or "Dada." No real sounds either. Of course, as a early childhood educator, I was FREAKING OUT!!! We had a battery of ECI screenings, with different therapists saying different things. One speech pathologist (who I knew and highly respected for her work in our district) diagnosed him with apraxia. She said that it might take years for him to master any spoken language, though his receptive language was high. We began sign language courses immediately at a Deaf Action Center. We also had ECI come out twice a week for speech therapy. He picked up on signs quickly, and at the height of our signing, had about 50 signs in his vocabulary. He loves for me to tell about everyone's first word. K's was "dog," Abby's was "doll," Marina's was "shoes." Then he says, with importance, "And my first SIGN was...." And he waits for me to supply the punch line, "cookie!" He digs it that his story is different from everyone else. Then about eight months in to ASL and therapy, he suddenly began to talk. Whew. We felt a huge weight was lifted. Especially since we were in the final stages of the adoption at that time, and needing to concentrate on integrating Marina in to the family, not mastering a new language. Ian began to speak so well and so much that we felt foolish for worrying in the first place. We started to wish that he would be quiet more often.
But now, I've really had to wonder again how much he has been hearing and how much he has been compensating. When he is looking at us, he is able to participate in the conversation. I honestly think he has been reading lips, like his Papa does. Do you think it is possible for a child that young to adapt in such a sophisticated manner? I also feel a huge amount of guilt for the times I've busted his bottom for not listening or paying attention. WHAT IF HE NEVER HEARD ME?
At the Su_____ house, we are brushing up on our ASL, hoping for a ENT appointment in the not-to-distant future, and praying for closure in the deaf/hearing mystery.
Remember: TWO GALLONS.

Beautiful Ballerina

2007-05-21T07:19:00.001-07:00

We have a beautiful ballerina that lives in our home. Beautiful in more ways than one. After a terribly stressful week of last minute rehearsals, doctor's appointments (Ian has lost his hearing. More details forthcoming), ball games, and a couple of cases of stomach virus, Abby performed in her third recital. This year, we placed her in a class with girls slightly older than her, because of schedule conflicts. We worried that she would not be able to keep up, but after a few weeks she seemed to be enjoying her class, and the teacher's bragged about how hard she worked and especially how well she behaved. Still, we were surprised on recital night when she won THE award for best student in her dance school. That has to be at least a hundred other kids. I'm so proud of her!

For True Mother's Day

2007-05-15T18:28:00.001-07:00

Ah, since the glory of our day has passed, and we are, my sisters, back in the trenches, I will post one of my favorite quotes on motherhood:

It is not difficult to see why the female became the emblem of the universal...Nature....surrounded her with very young children, who require to be taught not so much anything as everything. Babies need not to be taught a trade, but to be introduced to a world. To put the matter shortly, woman is generally shut up n a house with a human being a the time when he asks all the questions that there are, and some that there aren't. If would be odd if she retained any of the narrowness of a specialist. Now if anyone says that this duty of general enlightenment...is in itself too exacting and oppressive, I can understand the view. I can only answer that our race has thought it worth while to cast this burden on women in order to keep common-sense in the world. But when people begin to talk about this domestic duty as not merely difficult but trivial and dreary, I simply give up the question. For, I cannot with the utmost energy of imagination conceive what they mean. When domesticity, for instance, is called drudgery, all the difficulty arises from a double meaning in the word If drudgery only means dreadfully hard work, I admit the woman drudges in the home, as a man might drudge at the Cathedral of Amiens or drudge behind a gun at Trafalgar. But if it means that the hard work is more heavy because it is trifling, colorless and of small import to the soul, then as I say, I give it up; I do not know what the words mean....How can it be a large career to tell other people's children about the Rule of Three, and a small career to tell one's own children about the universe? How can it be broad to be the same thing to everyone, and narrow to be everything to someone? No; a woman's function is laborious because it is gigantic, not because it is minute. I will pity Mrs. Jones for the hugeness of her task; I will never pity her for its
smallness.
-G.K. Chesterton

And now to arms!

Hooray, It's Adoption Day!

2007-05-12T04:58:00.000-07:00

On May 11, 2005, the judge said, "Da" to our orphan petition, and Olga Tr_______ became Marina Joy S_______. Last night, we celebrate Adoption Day. We thought our long journey was ending. Hmmm...

This was actually our first time to really mark the day. Marina's first adoption day was three days after baby brother was born via C-section and coincided with Abby's dance recital. I think we said, "Happy Adoption Day, Marina!" But, that was about it. Poor baby.

Our birthday tradition is to have a party on a weekend close to THE day. Then on the birth day itself, we watch the home movies of their birth and first weeks and read their baby book. For Marina, we have modified the custom a little to incorporate adoption. Last month, we had her big party (in her case, parties), then on THE day, we watched her refferal video and clips from trip one, and we read her life book. Last night, we watched her homecoming video, and read some of our adoption books. There is no video of trip two. There are some things in life you do not want to commit to memory. We also read some of our favorite books about adoption. Some of you PAPs might want to look in to these:

Little Miss Spider by David Kirk- This is one of our more recent addition to the adoption issues library. It contains perhaps one of my most favorite quotes on adoption:

For finding your mother,

There is one certain test,

You must look for the creature

Who loves you the best.

Marina's Little Book-This is a book that comes with a personalized cover. My niece--also adopted--has the same book, but her cover says "Skylar's Little Book." The art in this book is somewhat cheesy, but I love the words. Presents a Christian view of adoption in simple terms, emphasizing that they are not a mistake and that God has a plan for them. Most adoption books talk about the adoptive parents waiting so long to have a child. I know this is true for many (maybe most) adoption stories, but we like this one, because it omits that part, fitting our situation more closely. You can send for your own copy at mmoran@syringa.net .

All About Adoption- This book is just what the title implies: a thorough introduction to adoption, the issues that adopted children face, conflicts and feelings. This one is still way over Marina's head--she picks her nose as I read--but, I think it will be a great opener for important discussions as she grows, and it also helps the older kids understand what it means to be adopted.

Seeds of Love: For Brothers and Sisters of International Adoption- This was our standby when we were waiting to bring Marina home. We must have read it a hundred times. It's a must have when there are siblings in the picture. The older kids enjoyed hearing it again. It was the first time we had read it in two years.

The picture for this post is not from Adoption Day, but it just about sums up the adoption for me, and I love it. I think it is from Grandma's camera, because I do not have it on my CD's. The first time I saw it, I caught my breath. Then I cried. That's me standing in front of our nation's flag with her newest citizen in my arms. She is mine, she is home, she is free.

Happy Adoption Day, Marina!

Take Me Out to the Ballgame

2007-05-10T10:20:00.000-07:00

And to think I didn't want boys. I mean I really didn't want boys. I lay on that sonogram table and tried to blink back tears as the tech carefully aimed her cursor directly at the "turtle." I should have been praising Jesus that every single part of the baby was healthy and whole, but such are the thoughts of a shallow, naive, scared-out-of-her-mind nineteen year old. I had little idea what I was going to do with a baby in the first place, and no clue whatsoever for managing a male of the species. I was from a family of all girls, my mother was from a family of two sisters (to this day she still refers to all under clothes as 'panties'), and I had never even considered that I would not also dwell forever in a house of estrogen.

It is funny to think of it now. I have learned that it is so, so true what they always say: Boys are MUCH easier. Can I get an amen? Boys are MUCH, MUCH easier. And every spring they dress up in those cute little outfits, swagger up to the plate, smack the ball, and run the bases. All the while looking over their shoulder until they find me, and catching my eye, burst into a huge grin. They capture my heart all over again.

Perspective

2007-05-08T09:31:00.000-07:00

Well, it has been a week since our upsetting conversation with our old agency. My vent was followed by a few days of quietly stewing, and also the turmoil of, "What now?"
Sunday the master preached for a pastor friend of his that was at a conference (He stayed out of the pulpit exactly six days. I knew he wasn't going to give up preaching, but one Sunday might have been nice) and for the first time in eons, I attended a Sunday School class. There were no classes at our old church between the ages of 6th grade and 60 something, and at the church we were at before that, I was a children's SS teacher. The lesson was on Philippians 4:8-10. Coincidence? I think not.

Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable--if anything is excellent or praiseworthy--think about such things. Whatever you have learned, or received, or heard from me, or seen in me--put in to practice. And the God of peace will be with you.

#1-I am giving up my grievances toward my old agency (from the first time we realized our dossier was being repeatedly shuffled to the end of the line, until last Wednesday's conversation). It is not causing them to lose any sleep, so why should it bother me? When I think of them, I will try to only remember that in the end they helped bring Marina home and that the organization (it has many other branches) aids thousands of orphans and hurting children around the world and right here in the US as well. These are, without a doubt, the excellent and praiseworthy things to consider.

#2-The main reason I contacted our agency was the promise of free therapy. But their response (or lack thereof) did not explain why I was so angry. A small portion of my heart must have been seeking validation. But the opposite occured. What is that about pride going before a fall? Instead of making me feel good about parenting, they exposed and expressed my deepest fears and insecurities about the adoption. The whole time I was trying to contact them for help and making inquiries regarding application, the master kept asking me why I was bothering. He knew that I've certainly done my homework and more than capable of building my own support network of professionals. He also was quite adamant that he did NOT want to use them for a second adoption. I couldn't explain my impulse to him. When we finally received the asinine email (yes, I am going to try think of only positive aspects, but a spade is a spade), it brought to light my own doubts. Secret, dark doubts that I am ashamed of:
Is it our fault Marina still has issues? Are we just really sucky parents? Are we the wrong parents for this child? Are we doing this all wrong? Maybe we will never be able to compensate for the time she lost? Are we going to fight the nature vs. nurture battle our whole life only to discover it was a losing battle? Will therapy help her or label her for life? Am I seeing things that are not there? Will our next child have greater obstacles to overcome? Will I be able to meet the challenge? Do I even want to? Where will the money come from?....and the list goes on and on.
When it was obvious they were avoiding us, my worst fears seemed to be confirmed through them. But I am not going to dwell on my fears anymore. I am praying for courage to do the work I have today, and not worry about tomorrow. "Sufficient unto the day is the trouble thereof." I do not have to be Supermom today. Marina does not have to get in to college today. She does not have to relinquish her trauma and be healed--today. We can take one day at a time, focusing on the loveliness of each tiny step.

#3-We will table our plans for a second adoption. The master felt from the beginning that we should not do anything until Marina's adoption was paid off %100. (He really is a smart man. I should listen to him more often) That will not be until June of 2008, at our current rate of payoff. My argument for moving forward now was that we would still qualify for a price reduction by starting a second adoption within two years (from our old agency). Then when I saw that we did not measure up to their standard, I began to wonder if any agency would place a child in a family of five. I spoke with several other agencies, and we even attended an orientation. There are many agencies who would be more than happy to work with us, and sad to say that there are still many, many children here and abroad who need a home. When we are ready, we will adopt one--or two or three. But when we do, it will not be to prove to anyone that we are "a good enough" family. We must have confidence in the Lord alone, and wait on Him. It is His work to, "place the lonely in families," and it is our joy and privilege to join Him in that work. I have peace.

Randy is the BIG ONE!

2007-05-06T14:53:00.000-07:00

Happy Birthday to Jeremy Randall! We had a big blow out bash for him yesterday, complete with enormous inflatable water slide. Birthdays are the one occasion when I throw my penny pinching ways out the window and go all out. The slide ended up to be well worth the money it cost to rent. The kids--ours, nieces, nephews, and neighbors--had a blast on it ALL AFTERNOON! Rest assured that we did not send the birthday boy down the chute. He just watched and smiled from a lawn chair. He dug in to his cake with fervor, tried to eat the tissue from his gifts, then went to his bed for a nap. It was a full day.

The first picture is from the day before yesterday. At least, it feels that way. How could a whole year have past?

Rant

2007-05-02T17:55:00.000-07:00

WARNING: Rant Ahead

Feel free to skip this post. I myself do not like to read blogs that are always spewing venom and whose author's seem to be angry at the world. But I have some frustration that needs to be vented and I'm sure the master will appreciate my unloading it here for a change.
For several months, I have tried to make contact with our adoption agency regarding the issues we face with Marina on a day to day basis. We went to them because we were ardently assured when we were in the process that they would be, "part of our family for life," and that they would, "always be there for any future issues we might face." Well, guess what? Our "family" took two months to get back with us. They said that we did not qualify for any of the free counseling that we were promised, because Marina was too young (so we shouldn't try to get her issues worked out now when she is 3--we should wait until she is 13?), but that we could write down the behaviors we were concerned about and get back with them. I was a little hesitant. I was reluctant to keep what seemed to me very much like, "a record of wrongs," but hey, I'm just the ignorant parent, they are the EXPERTS. I did exactly as they advised. For a month, I kept a brief running log of life with Marina. I sent it on to them--AS THEY HAD INSTRUCTED! I concluded it with, "Just read over it and let us know what you think. If we don't qualify for therapy through _______, and you think that she needs therapy, just let us know. We will get her whatever help she needs." Note, that the emphasis here is on getting HER needs met, not OURS. FOUR MONTHS, yes it took them FOUR MONTHS to draft a response to us. An answer as simple as, "Yes, we think she needs therapy," or "No, we do not feel therapy is necessary at this time," would have been just hunky dory, but that is NOT what we received. What we got was a two page letter of information on parenting skills and post institutionalized children. Stuff I could spout off in my sleep. Did they think they were enlightening us? This vapid dribble was followed by a thinly veiled accusation. There was the clear insinuation that if we just spent more time with Marina, she would have no troubles at all, we must be under too much stress, and that perhaps we were suffering from Post Adoption Depression. From the adoption. that happened. TWO YEARS AGO! Well, friends, I fired off a rebuttal pretty darn quick. I shouldn't have done that, but GEEZ??!!
I took a month to calm down. Then I tried to smooth things over with our worker. I did not apologize for what I said, because I feel passionately that my response was right and valid given the circumstances, but I did apologize for the heat with which I said it. I wrote to the director (who was party to all that transpired) and explained that one of the reasons we were wanting to make sure that Marina was functioning at her optimum level was that we wanted to start the two year process again. If my mother is reading this, I hope she has her smelling salts handy. That would put a two year break between #6 and Randy and a four year break between #6 and Marina. I asked them if they would work with us for a second adoption. After two weeks passed and I didn't hear anything from them, I knew what the answer was. I knew that they were ignoring us and hoping we would go away. But you know what? They weren't going to get out of it that easy. They were going to face up and TELL us that they would not work with us. We deserve the simple courtesy of an answer. Another two weeks passed before I got any response. Finally, when they saw that we were not going to tuck our tail between our legs and crawl off, a conference call was arranged for this evening.
They called. They gushed on and on about what great parents we were.
Um, no, that is not what you think. So why the heck are you saying that? What you do for a living is find parents for kids who don't have any. And the last time we looked, there were still quite a few kids in the world needing a mom and dad. If you thought there was a set of GREAT parents here wanting them, wouldn't you try to hook us up? It is one of those if A=B and B=C then A=C. Your words and your actions do not compute.
Could we refresh them on Marina's diagnosis? Had we heeded their advice about contacting an international adoption specialist with her referral information?
Grrrr! They ALWAYS bring this up. Whenever we ask questions about Marina, they are so careful to bring out in the conversation that we were fully aware of all of her diagnosis and that we were advised to seek medical council. We have NEVER argued that fact. We were clearly given her diagnosis and worst case scenarios. We did speak with medical professionals, but not with an IA doctor, because we had already made our decision. We were committed to bringing her home and getting her the care she needs. Asking questions of them has been part of that commitment, not a back handed indictment. We have never, ever, for one second, regretted our decision--or indicated to them that we felt we had been deceived (though we were deceived by their claims of after-adoption support). And besides, she has come so far. How about celebrating her success? There is no reason she should even be alive. There is no logical reason why she should be able to walk and talk, run and play, smile and laugh. But she does--she has life abundantly--because God has a plan for her.
They told us they had heard some fascinating stuff at conference regarding prenatal drug exposure. Would we be interested in that information?
Duh. Isn't that why we contacted you in the first place? Because we were looking for HELP with our daughter? Yeah, why don't you just go ahead and send that right on over?
About a second adoption...
O.K., so we are going to arrive at the point after all. They did not feel as if they could subject Marina to being displaced. News Flash: That happened a year ago. His name is Randy. And we're not sending him back. (By the way, Marina ADORES her baby brother). She has already had so much change. News Flash #2--LIFE IS CHANGE. We can't protect her from that. She has to learn to cope. We are trying to teach her to COPE. Say it with me: C-O-P-E!! Well, maybe you are right. Gee, we did rip her out of her home and tore her from her family. Now, she has to share attention with four other siblings. Shame on us all for victimizing her. But wait a sec...it wasn't a home it was an INSTITUTION and she didn't have a family, she was ALONE. And weren't there 132 other babies in her detsky dom? But by all means, gloss over those hard facts for the sake of your argument. You can keep sellin', but I ain't buyin'
Furthermore, ___________ International Adoption Agency will be taking fewer and fewer young child referrals in the future (Hmmm, interesting. I wonder if applicants--hopeful for a baby--are being made aware of this change of policy? Or are they being lured in to the program and then offered an older child referral to consider?). They do not look for any one to travel until next fall at the earliest (once again, how many of their applicants are made aware of this?). There is a long back list of waiting families already in the program, you understand?
Yes, we understand you completely. Click.

Color Me Productive

2007-05-01T10:44:00.000-07:00

It is 12:45, and three meals have been prepared and are in my fridge: Swiss Chicken, Meatloaf, and Crock-Pot Lasagna. I have folded four loads of laundry, which I will put away shortly. The dishwasher has been unloaded and reloaded. Children have been fed, dressed, allowed to explore with playdough and been read to. Then we went outside so that they might enjoy the great outdoors for an hour while I folded clothes (outdoors in the the driveway)and trimmed hedges and palm trees (palm trees are high maintenance--I do not recommend them for lawn foliage). Mail run (6:00 a.m.-8:30 a.m.) was done with speed and accuracy. I am about to lay down for an a short afternoon nap, to be followed with online teaching for an hour, afternoon mail run, ballgame, family dinner (Swiss Chicken, or Crock-Pot Lasagna?), children's baths/bedtime, two more hours online teaching, and then sleep. Whew.

And The Award Goes To....

2007-04-25T13:17:00.000-07:00

Today's Smart Cookie Award goes to Koala Care! They have invented a seat to put your infant in while using the public restroom. Hallelujah! Praise the Lord! How many countless times have I tried to manage the call of nature juggling a 15-30 pound baby? 'Cause no way in h-e-double hockey sticks was I going to put them down on a public john's floor. NO MORE!
This morning I found a nifty little chair with safety straps attached to the wall of the handicapped stall (shopping with three children definitely qualifies as a handicap). Wish I had a camera phone, so I could post a picture. It was a thing of beauty, ladies. Now, Randy can watch me pee in peace and tranquility--while still maintaining a hygienic distance from the floor. You gotta love American ingenuity. But why did they not think of this until baby number 5?
Coming soon (I hope) to a toilette stall near you....

A Perfect Day

2007-04-21T19:43:00.000-07:00

I get kissed by the sun each morning,
put my feet on a hardwood floor,
I get to hear my children laughing,
down the hall through my bedroom door.
I have been blessed...

That's my song for today. Except to precisely reflect my life, we would somehow have to exchange the 'children laughing' with 'groaning for coffee milk.' But, for all intense purposes, it fits. We had a big pancake breakfast this morning, dressed and went out to the YMCA for K's first baseball game of the year. It was sunny with a warm breeze blowing up from the gulf. Afterwards, we took them to a McDonald's with an outdoor playplace, and then drove over to Nana's house. The kids played outside on the trampoline and the four wheeler. They blew bubbles, colored with chalk, climbed trees, and I don't know what all. I stayed in the house and made darling sundresses for the girls using my mom's "sew-here-dummy" wonder machine.
Papa had come for a visit several weeks ago, and as always had read the kids at least a dozen story books. One of them was Stone Soup. Somehow, they managed to extract a promise from him to make stone soup with them "one day". One day came today (I told you, the are really speeding up their turn-around time on those promises). Their version of stone soup had a decidedly Tex-Mex flair (think Taco Soup) and went nicely with the ENORMOUS Mexican meal my mom served us all. I know that will be a special memory for them forever..."You remember the time Papa made stone soup with us, just like in the story?"
After dinner, we drove in to town and visited a friend of the family that has been ill for several years. I'm embarrassed to admit it, but I hadn't yet taken the baby to see her. We had a nice visit. The kids all behaved themselves and remembered their manners. Back at mom's we indulged in a desert of turtle pie. It was sinful. We came home and put some very, very, sleepy children to bed. The master is drawing up plans for our dream home and I am blogging. Yep, it's been a perfect day

Big Changes

2007-04-15T15:32:00.000-07:00

Here is a post that I've been waiting to make for some time. The master resigned today from the church. HE IS NOT QUITING THE MINISTRY. I despise that phrase. If you are a child of God, you're not done with 'ministry' until your dead. He is going to be moving into a new area of bivocational ministry.
This is a decision that was a result of time, prayer, and common sense. This church was not a good fit for us in the first place. They have been the sweetest, most supportive, most loving bunch of folks in the world to us. There is not a contentious soul among them, and after our last church, we needed that time of healing. BUT they are OLD. The music they sing, the way they worship, the structure of the whole church is for OLD people. And they have NO interest whatsoever in changing that. We are not OLD people. We do not want our kids to grow up as the only children in the church. We are not too keen on the Gaither Family Hoe Down every Sunday, either.
Aside from that, we have come to a dividing of the road. We have a lot of mouths to feed, and though we try to be careful managers and good stewards, money is tight. I hope this does not make me sound like a money grubber, but let's talk shop for a moment, shall we? Churches that can afford a pastor the salary that we need don't want a man who does not have his doctorate or at least his masters degree. A degree we have been whittling away on for 6 YEARS, because it takes about a MILLION credit hours to obtain. We could continue to scrape along for three more years for him to finish this degree, but it would be tough. Then, too, he would be trained for one thing and one thing alone: full-time pastorate of a traditional church. Finding and maintaining a position in this ever shrinking career field is what my Daddy always called a crap shoot--excuse my French. So often it is less of an honest and prayerful interview/evaluation process and more of a beauty pageant as you parade yourself before search committees. Frequently, you are judged on criteria that are completely unrelated to Kingdom issues. Who's the snazziest dresser, who has the classiest resume, the catchiest sermons, which translation you study from, the most attractive family (o.k., we definitely have the competition wrapped up on this one), who has the best track record for boosting Sunday School attendance (he's in the toilet here). When you leave your job (which the average tenure for a Baptist pastor is 18 months), you leave your church, town, house, school, friends, etc., to start it all over again somewhere else. We're sick of it. Stop the merry-go-round, we want to get off.
We don't want to be dependent on an income from a church to meet our daily needs. The idea of ministering with no strings attached is very appealing. The problem we have found is that no one wants to hire an ex-pastor. His 7 years of full time experience is a huge black mark on his resume when it comes to the secular field. Employers hold one or both of two misconceptions:
a) Being a pastor is not a 'real' job. Therefore, the applicant
must be lazy, because for seven years, he's been drawing
a salary for nothing.
b) A preacher will try to proselytize my work place.
These are prejudices that in the master's case are grossly in error. The warehouse discovered this through his part time work (where he accomplished more in few hours a day, what some of their full time employees got done in a week and in all that time did not beat anyone over the head with a Bible), and have offered him a salaried position with profit sharing. After a few years, he would be in a position to take over management of his own store.
If the master does not preach, he will shrivel up into a prune and die. Or he will explode. So, he will preach as supply--maybe after a break as interim--and we are scheduled to take part in Walk Thru the Bible orientation in July. We might start a home church. You just never know how God will use him.

Mother and Daughters

2007-04-13T07:14:00.000-07:00

I have two daughters. The oldest looks like me. I mean she is an exact replica. People at church, friends of the family, strangers on the street comment on the remarkable resemblance constantly. I've had to correct Abby for interrupting them, "I know, I know, I look just like my mom." Usually accompanied by a slight roll of the eyes--which also looks like yours truly. I even found myself glancing at a picture and thinking, "I don't remember ever seeing that picture of me before." Oh, that would be because it isn't me in the picture--it's Abby. I don't know if the uncanny physical similarity will continue past puberty or not. I do know that of the three daughters in my family, I look the most like my mom. I seem to see her face staring back at me in the mirror more and more these days. So, there is a good probability that Abby and I will always catch attention as a striking mother/daughter pair.
I have often wondered if this would somehow hurt Marina. I've known that at some point we would face questions, but yesterday's slapped me right upside the head.
When I am out with the children, I am usually out with The Children. As en masse, a unit, a bundle. At these times, people can not pick out that Marina is adopted. As a coincidence, K and Marina share many physical similarities. They have the golden blond hair and bright blue eyes. Their facial features are somewhat the same, and they are both thin. But yesterday our "link" was off playing baseball, and I took Abby to ballet with Marina and the baby in tow. John usually takes her, and I thankfully get out of sitting in the waiting room with the dozen or so other Mommies (what is wrong with me, that a gathering of my own sex and social strata makes me so uncomfortable?). Abby skips into ballet. And I sit down with Marina in my lap. I noticed that one of the other mom's was staring. I caught her eye, expected her to compliment Marina's french braids. But what came out stunned me for a moment.
"She [indicating Marina] must look like your husband?"
Uh, um, uh....How foolish I felt! After all the articles, books, and websites on frank adoption talk to be caught off guard, left stuttering, and stupid?
"Actually, Marina is adopted from Russia."
Well, you know that opened a whole can of worms. How long has she been home? How old was she? Where in Russia? A friend of my cousins adopted one from China. (This one always makes me think, "So?") Are any of the others adopted? I've fielded these questions before, but not with complete strangers. We don't keep Marina's adoption a secret, but neither do we make a public service announcement. If it comes up, it comes up, but for the most part, it doesn't. This felt like a press conference. And with Marina sitting there soaking it all in. I hope I did right by her. I'm not sure. On the one hand, I feel like it is important to give people information, demonstrate the beauty of adoption, and encourage others to get involved, maybe even consider adoption themselves. Then again, I don't want her growing up feeling like a charity project, a life size souvenir, an object of curiosity on display.
So what do you think, did I handle this right? Should I have just stated, "She looks like her older brother." Selah. Period. End of conversation--and true as far as it goes. Would this make Marina think we were ashamed of her adoption?

For Passion Week

2007-04-05T07:37:00.000-07:00

From the mouths--and sometimes the no. 2 pencil--of babes comes truth. This time, a powerful representation of Christ's sacrifice. I found this picture Tuesday morning under Abby's chair. See the torrent of tears falling from his followers' eyes?

Marina is THREE!

2007-04-02T05:51:00.000-07:00

Happy Birthday to Marina! Birthday celebrations for her began on Friday at the park and are to be continued. Sunday she left church looking like an overloaded burro. She could barely tote all of her loot. There are some definite perks to being the pastor's daughter in a church of all elderly people. Today Daddy will take her out on her birthday date. My sisters will bring her presents to the family lake house this weekend and we will have cupcakes with the cousins. The following Monday we will celebrate with the master's family in Norteast Texas. More cake, presents, and party. It's turning out to be a birthweek not a birthday.

But this is THE day. Three years ago a young woman in Russia gave birth a few weeks early to a baby girl. The young woman's name was Marina. She was sick. She knew she could not take care of this new little life. This was her fourth pregnancy; her second child born. Within days she would sign over all rights to her daughter. There is no indication that she ever held her. Some faceless hospital staff person named the child Olga.

I did not expect to feel the sorrow I do for this young woman. I am not a romantic person. So feeling a strong connection to some person I've never even met took me by surprise. It has been one of the most amazing facets of becoming an adoptive parent. I have no way of knowing if she is still alive on the planet, and yet, she is here with me always. And on today of all days, I'm so sad for her. Glad and sad. Glad that little Marina is mine. That she is here with us. So thankful that she did not try to parent a child in her life condition. But so sad that she is missing out on knowing this wonderful person. Is she thinking of her? Does she wonder what became of the tiny baby she gave birth to three years ago?

My prayer today is that God will whisper to her, "She is well. She is happy. She is loved."

Back Home

2007-03-30T20:35:00.000-07:00

I'm back. I probably would not have been able to hold out so long for my blog vacation, but circumstances intervened. Monday, Randy spiked a fever. He didn't seem to be that warm, and since I broke my last thermometer during the last wave of sickness, I just started treating it with tylenol every four hours. Then Tuesday afternoon he began to have muscle spasms. We know now that they were febrial seizures. My kids have never had those before. They are so scary to see. We panicked--of course! We rushed him to the emergency room and he was admitted. For two days he had CAT scans, EEG's, IV fluids, antibiotics...not fun. And the cribs in hospitals are cold metal cages. No way was he going to sleep in that prison cell. So me, the baby and the IV slept (shallowly and at intervals) on the hard fold out bed (read: shelf) for two nights. John took last night's shift. I was so exhausted. I was afraid I was heading for a migraine and then I wouldn't be any help to any body. In all that time, all they could tell us was that the CAT scan showed he had a sinus infection. But I've had a sinus infections for--well, for life--and they've never made me run a 104 fever. Then this morning the doctor comes in to check his heart rate and he has a rosy pink rash all over his torso. Ah hah, now we have a plausible diagnosis. He had Roseola. We also now know that he get febrial seizures, so we must watch his fevers closely and be a little more proactive than one baby dose of tylenol every four hours.
But we are all home now and restored to rest and health. Once the fever passes, the child feels fine, just looks bad. The rash does not itch. Roseola is highly contagious, but is not often caught be individuals over four years old (thank you, Web MD, for giving us that ray of hope). That leaves only Marina--who has not, in two years, been sick one single day--and Ian, who I pray will pass for five when he goes to check his I.D. with Mr. Kick Butt Virus.

It is that time again...

2007-03-24T04:45:00.000-07:00

I posted late last summer about the seasonal clothes sort, but I really thought you needed a visual to truly comprehend the magnitude of this task. Gives new meaning to the term, "coming out of the closet." I am readying the children's wardrobes for spring (lasts two weeks here) and summer (lasts nine months). I was almost sickened by the number of garments we have size 6 and under and I only tackled the girls room yesterday. I could hear Matthew 6:19 buzzing in my ear all morning, and I know the time draweth nigh for a purging (aka garage sale).

It always amazes me how we manage to amass so much STUFF. Especially me--I am a certified anti-pack rat. Abashedly, I am feeling the urge to sew (those precious spring fabrics have been calling my name), and despite the obvious lack of need, I most likely will start whipping up sundresses any day now. I'm so bad. But you know, I can sew like anything. I'm not boasting. I really can. And you could say I would be neglecting my gift....

Ahhh...don't you just love justification?

I will be stepping away from this computer for a few days (except to work). It really is starting to eat into my time, and I feel like an addict. Like I can't let any one know how much time I spend blogging. I have to just say no. I'll use my wind down time to sew (he, he, more justification)...catch up on my scrapbooks...heck, I may even find time to shave my legs.

Mom Wizard

2007-03-20T08:28:00.000-07:00

Go check out this site and see what you would be paid for all of your mommy labor-if we were monetarily compensated. Click on 'Mom Wizard.' I don't know how it is figured, but it sure made me feel good. Even at the national low, I would be drawing in over 75K--almost three times what I make teaching full time.
I better get back to the dusting now. That is what they are paying me the big bucks for, after all. :0)

Camping Kicked My Hiney

2007-03-18T08:25:00.000-07:00

It is Sunday morning and I am posting, because I am too sick to go to church. The oldest three kids and the master had a wonderful time tent camping. The fresh air, cooking over the campfire, and all around 'wilderness' living, suited them to a T. Marina, Randy and I tolerated it for exactly 24 hours, then we went to Grandma's house for microwaved food, bathtubs, and climate control. I had a terrible allergy attack just after arrival. My lungs have not been especially strong these past few weeks (don't know what is up with that) and drainage combined with the moist cool night air, sent me huffing and puffing on my inhaler around the clock. Randy never sleeps well away from his own little crib, and he kept the whole campsite awake with screaming every few hours. I would pick him up bring him into the bed with me, but then he would want to play and climb, and I would try to put him back down with some toys in the pack-and- play and that would keep him busy for two minutes, then he would cry and I couldn't let him cry it out because I felt like we were disturbing the entire park, so I would pick him up and try to nurse him...and it was just up, down, wheeze, scream, up, down, huff, puff, play....all night long. And the master, who is a bulwark of strength and highly capable in the day light, is never any help in the dark night hours.

master: groggy with sleep "Why don't you make him stop crying?"

Hmmm...good question there, honey. Why don't I just do that? It would make this evening so much more pleasant....

master: "I'm gonna thump his head, if he doesn't stop crying."

Oh, I'm sure that would quiet him quickly, cheer his little heart, and set him up for an entire night of deep sleep. No, no perhaps we should try another nursing and maybe some graham crackers with a side of baby Tylenol...it is hard to strategize when your oxygen intake is only at 75%. Huff, puff on the old proventil.

master: annoyed "Are you o.k.?"

So, he does get points for noticing that I was not the picture of health.

Marina, completely thrown out of her structured routine and carefully manipulated environment, went in to hyper-stasis. She could not sleep. Her whole body was tense and she couldn't relax for anything. It was midnight (we put her in her sleeping bag at 8:00) before she finally drifted off. They next morning she had fun, but with her lack of sleep (Marina needs a LOT of sleep to function), she was kind of spaced out and couldn't make eye contact. She couldn't relax in the tent for a nap, and by three o'clock she was a basket case. We were headed to Grandma's any way that evening to see the new nephew we had long since planned to visit, and I decided it would be best if we parted ways with the wilderness explorers. They are of heartier stock.

My night in the tent has left me with upper-respiratory infection (at least that is my diagnosis). I'm no PHD, but from a lifetime of sickly lungs, I can pretty much call it. It will take Marina several days to recover. I let her go to church and I'm just praying that she won't spit on any of the nursery workers. Randy is none the worse for wear, but is clearly not ready for "roughing it." The other four are reminiscing about sleeping under the stars, boating on the lake, and making sweet s'mores around the campfire; they can't wait for their next wilderness adventure.

"Promises" Kept

2007-03-13T14:23:00.000-07:00

K and Abby have spring break this week. They have been making big plans since just after Christmas. Abby wanted a tea party. When she was four, I made the mistake of hosting a tea party for her and two of her friends. Ever since, I've had continuous requests for another. Promises of "someday" could only hold her for so long. "Someday" came today. Our tea time guests just departed. I got some really cute pics, but don't know how the other mommies would feel about their little girls photos being posted on the web, so you will just have to take my word for it; they were darling in tutus, tiaras, cupcake crumbs, and fairy wands. K has been wanting a tent camping experience for quite some time. We are reading Swiss Family Robinson, which sparked his interest for wilderness survival. He has added My Side of The Mountain and Hatchet to his library. I'm not sure how two nights in a Coleman at a state park are going to measure up to his imagination, but we'll give it a try. We'll be gone for the next three days. We have tent camped once before, when he was three, Abby was 18 months, and I was seven months pregnant. It was in the mountains of Colorado--when they were on fire. Not one of my fondest memories, to say the least.
My kids are starting to get really good at pinning down particulars for "someday" promises. I'm going to have come up with a new game plan, my stall tactic is no longer working....

The Amazing Transformation of One Miss Marina S_________

2007-03-09T13:02:00.000-08:00

Suzi suggested that I post some progressive photos of Marina's most phenomel growth. I had considered this post before, but thought I might wait until some important marker--birthday, first meeting, adoption day--but lets do it now. You gotta strike while the iron is hot, I always say. My house is clean, the babies are well, and the laundry is done. Who knows when I'll get a better chance? The first picture is Marina a few weeks from coming home. Please do not think I am trashing her baby home. She was in a good orphanage, and I am confident in the care of the doctor there. We would love to go back to that orphanage again. I'm just telling you the facts. At her Dr. visit, she weighed in at 16 pounds. She was of average height (now that we see how tall she is, she was actually way under where she should have been) and below the 5th percentile in weight. Her doctor said she evidenced classic signs of starvation (which I thought was too harsh a word. 'Malnutrition' is what I would have said). That's why she was bald. She had not yet been fitted for her helmet. The second picture shows her just after last year's birthday in the polka-dotted dress from Nana. One year from adoption, she was in the 20% for weight and the 95% for height. The little bench she is sitting on, now comes to her knees. And the last picture is of her yesterday at Daddy's office. I can barely hold her any more. She is about to pass up her "big" brother. Still very skinny. She has a size 18 months waist and a size 4 inseam. I have a feeling her 3 year check-up will show her off the charts for height. If I could only take half of her endocrine and give it to Randy, neither one would be suffering!

A Visit To Daddy's Office

2007-03-09T07:18:00.000-08:00

My kids love a visit to Daddy's office. He keeps a drawer in his desk full of little toys and the kids head straight for the goodies. The master had them in stitches yesterday with this rubber mouse. He would prompt the kids to ask the rat questions and DH would use his fingers to make it shake his head 'yes' or 'no.' Just look at Marina. Her smiles stretch farther than any body I know.

Oh, but it is nice to have these little pleasures again. The house is so quiet and peaceful. I probably wouldn't have described it as such two months ago, but now I am blissfully aware that my children are comparatively calm and pleasant.

St. Jude's Radio-A-Thon

2007-03-08T09:26:00.000-08:00

Why, oh why do they have to put that on the air-waives? I can't see the road from crying. Talk about unsafe driving conditions. They ought to announce it on the morning news. "And in traffic, KMT 95.1 will be broadcasting the St. Jude's Pledge program--expect extreme loss of visibility..." I see the grown man next to me wiping his eyes on his shirt and I know he is listening to the same station I am. I gotta go hug my kids, blow my nose...

Taking Care of Me

2007-03-07T06:18:00.000-08:00

I did it. I told the mom her child was miserable in my home. After three days of saying, "I'm going to do it today, I'm going to tell her today." I told her yesterday. She took it much better than I thought. She said she understood and that he was the same way at home (So, he doesn't just hate me). Her grandparents are going to keep him. They don't have anything else to do but sit around and hold him. If that is the case, I don't know why she was paying me in the first place. Today is his last day, and I'm just letting him decide his own schedule--which means no schedule. Mental health is just around the corner. I think my little venture into the home child care scene was an unprecedented failure, and I will not be trying it again.
I bought clothes. For myself. I don't do that very often. I bought maternity clothes last spring. Then in September, I bought two pairs of jeans and two tops. Directly following I joined Weight Watchers and lost 20 pounds. So that purchase was a complete waist (but I'm not complaining. I LOVE the fact that those jeans are now 2 sizes too big). But last week I purchased a whole new wardrobe (for me): two pairs blue jeans, two sets lounge/exercise wear, new tennis shoes, two tops, two pairs dress shoes, and three new Sunday dresses. You can actually find dresses in the stores right now. Some years you can't. But they really have a great selection out right now. I love the cuts, too. Very feminine. Go stock up on church clothes while you can.
I went to the dentist and had my teeth cleaned. My smile gleams.
I went to a salon and paid top dollar for a beautiful color job to cover last summer's dye-in-a-bottle cofafal. Gone are the calico cat orange patches and the mousy brown stripe right down the middle. I have a new respect for hair stylists. Any one that could fix my hair is a genius in my book.
My miserly soul is reeling from all this pampering, but I feel pretty, so pretty, and gay....

Working 5-9, babysitting demon boy, and selling this house...

2007-02-28T12:11:00.000-08:00

Bet you can guess from the title that this is going to be a long one. I've been storing up, waiting to see how this whole messed up caos that is my life is going to play out. Still not sure, but here are some updates....

1)Workin' five to nine, what a way to make a living... I've waited to post about my new job until my first paycheck arrived. Marvelous how that little slip of paper will change your perspective on matters. I love it. I hate it. I love it because:
a) I have really great students (one signed off with "I never understood that before, but now I do"
b) I have a chance to use my brain daily
c) They pay me
I hate it because:
a) I have students who are completely unmotivated (last week I got called a "dumb b****)
b) I have to use my brain daily
c) They pay me $10.00 an hour. And that five to nine time is precious time. We have completely had to change our evening home life. Managing to have family dinner, as we have always had it, is EXTREMELY difficult. I don't get to interact with K and Abby at all. Just a few minutes in the car on the way home from school and we wolf down a meal, two hours later they come and silently give me a peck on the cheek as I drone on about, synonyms, and antynyms and context clues for persuasive writing...

2) Wouldn't you suppose that a baby--any baby--no matter how spoiled would learn to adjust in two months time? I've been babysitting this child for two months and I have had him on a religious schedule of play, eat, nap, play eat nap from day one. Only this is the way it works scream, eat, nap, scream, eat, nap. We are treated to a good three hours uninterupted, rageful screaming each day. I'm starting to lose it. I hear this child's screams in my dreams--er, nightmares. When the ladies from the church call:
Me-hello?
Mrs. Sweet Old Lady-Hello? Jessica? Honey, is that you? My word!! What is wrong with Randy?
Me-No, that's not Randy you hear. That is the little boy I keep.
Mrs. Sweet Old Lady-Oh, I'm so sorry, he must be hungry?
Me-Nope.
Mrs. Sweet Old Lady-Is he sick?
Me-No. He just screams.
Mrs. Sweet Old Lady- He screams like that? All day?
Me-Yes, ma'm. Pretty much.
Mrs. Sweet Old Lady-Well Sugar, I don't know how you do it. I'll say a prayer for you.....

Please do. I have had that same conversation at least three times this week. I feel terrible. I want to tell the mom (even though she has made him in to the monster he is) I just can't keep him anymore, but I hate, hate, hate to go back on a commitment. I especially hate to leave a fellow mom in the lurch. I don't even know if a daycare would take him. Unless he is being held and entertained around the clock, he screams. Should I,
a) invest in ear plugs?
b) tell the mom that I just have too much on my plate?
c) tell her the truth; that he is a high needs infant whose needs are not being met in our home?

3)We are selling our house. We are finishing our house. We are selling and finishing our house. We are doing our own little segment of, "Flip This House." Man, do I wish for my good friend Cari, now!! The way the market has boomed following the storm and the building of two new plants in the area, property values are up, up, up! We have decided to try to sell now while the market is good for a tidy profit. One of the deacons owns a vacant four bedroom house, which he has offered to rent to us for the almost shameful amount of $300 a month. I kinda feels as though we are stealing from the man, but in the two years we have lived here, he has not had any renters (he is very particular, ya know) and so I guess that it is $300 more dollars than what he is making now.

Reading Up

2007-02-22T09:44:00.000-08:00

O.K., I'm gonna stop with this 'up' business, I promise. But I just couldn't resist one more...and it fits! I've been reading up on attachment. So far: Building the Bonds of Attachment, Awakening Love in Deeply Troubled Children; Handbook of Attachment Interventions; and Attachment, Trauma, and Healing.
Do I think Marina is "deeply troubled?" No. Do I think she has some attachment issues? Yes. A current example:
This week we have major break through! Marina is coming to me in the morning for snuggle time. On her own...not being asked...just curling up beside me and letting me love on her first thing of the day. And it is not her manipulative type of affection either. The kind she does to get something (which she learned long ago does not work with us...but can be used on occasion with Nana, Papa, Grandma and Grandpa, or any other unsuspecting adult who is oh so easily taken in by her big blue eyes and button nose) or because she saw one of her siblings getting a hug, but honest "I love you and I'm glad that you love me" kind of affection. She is also asking me for help. With words. "Mommy, I need help with door." "Mommy please help...this." She isn't grunting. She isn't pointing. She isn't trying over and over until she reaches meltdown stage. She is admitting that she can't handle life on her own. (Do you have a lesson in there for me, Lord?) It may not sound like a big thing to you. After all, don't kid's ask help from their mom's and dad's? I've never had to teach my other kids to ask for my assistance. I've never had to wait for them to figure out that Mommy could be counted on to lend a hand. Usually, it's the opposite, "You can do it. You don't need me any more. Just try...there you go. You did it all by yourself!" But trust me when I say that Marina asking me for help, IS MONUMENTAL! In exchange for progress, there has been a marked increase in defiance. Taking and hiding. Repeating words (which she knows drives......me.........absolutely.......crazy). And there is that thing that she started of holding her hiney when she walks....????
As always, with Marina, it is two steps forward and one step back. And that old country song isn't true,

Two steps forward, one step back
Nobody gets too far like that...

The going may be slow, but we've come a long, long way baby girl.

**Amended-I just realized that I misquoted the lyrics. It is, "One step forward, two steps back." Makes for a more sensible song, but ruins my little pies de resistance, don't you think? Oh well, I don't feel like coming up with a different ending right now, so we'll all just pretend those are the right words...

Standing Up

2007-02-17T04:22:00.000-08:00

Look at my little man standing up. He just started pulling up this week. He is so proud of himself. He stands up and just smiles and giggles at the rest of the family. We all play our part very well. The kids cheer, congratulate and encourage. I go in to a string of over-the-top motherese, "Hims such a cutie wootie, swetie weetie, sugar dumplin, puddin' pop!" and start snapping pictures.

Movin' On Up

2007-02-14T11:10:00.000-08:00

"Movin' on u-up,

to the sky,

to that delux apartment

in the sky-i-i..."

Looky what the master just drove home from Enterprise. Nice, huh? Somewhat classier than my 15-passenger bus to say the least. So will I grow discontent with my former equipage? Doubtful. As nice as it is to drive, it is still a very tight squeeze with five kids and three car seats. But I will enjoy a little respite from always feeling like a traveling side show.

Silver lining update: Mojo's insurance will pay to have a new motor dropped in our van. We figured as much, but are heaving great sighs of relief now that the adjuster has come and made it official. We had ALOT of miles on that old motor, and just the other day I was commenting to the master as I sent out monthly bills, that I didn't think the motor would out last the payments. So, though it is something of a inconvenience and I would not want to relive Friday's Nightmare on the On-Ramp for ANYTHING, we ARE getting a NEW motor and no one was injured,

"So we know that in all things, God works for the good of those who love Him and are called according to His purpose."

Intro from "The Jeffersons" and postscript from The Word. There is something really twisted about that....