Deep Thoughts With Jessica

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

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

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...

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

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

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

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!

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

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

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!

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

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

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....

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

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

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

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

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!

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

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...

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

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

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

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_________

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

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

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

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...

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

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

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

"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....

Be careful what you comment

So, Friday we were going to take a little overnight trip to Longview and see the master's new nephew be born. He wanted me to go get an oil change for the van before we hit the road. I was reluctant. I have to be HIGHLY motivated to take all five children ANYWHERE by myself. And besides, car maintenance, in my opinion, falls squarely under the heading of "MAN RESPONSIBILITY."
"Look, you won't even have to get them out of the car, you just pull right in, they change your oil, and you pull out. It will take all of 10 minutes and will give us a big head start."
"Yes, Master" At least, that's how I remember responding...
After I picked up the kids from the bus stop I dutifully drove over to the Mojo's Oil and Lube (names have been changed to protect the NOT-SO-INNOCENT.) The two barely post pubescent boys, got under the hood, took my money, gave me a receipt, slapped the side of the van and shouted, "You're good to go, ma'm." Well, the master was right after all, this oil change business isn't so difficult to manage...
Now, earlier in the week I had commented on Kim's blog that in a large family, every little crisis becomes a big crisis, simply because of the sheer number of people involved. Unfortunately, I was about to encounter the perfect example of this not many days hence...
I hadn't gone two miles when I noticed that the van wasn't driving right. I checked my gauges--gas fine, temperature fine, battery fine, oil pressure...oil pressure...mmm...something must be wrong with my gauge...there is NO oil pressure. And then my engine seized up. I didn't even have time to get it off on the shoulder. Not that there was much of a shoulder on the ON-RAMP TO THE HIGHWAY. So it is rush hour on the on-ramp and I'm a huge sitting duck in the middle of it with my five babies in the back seat. Folks barreling up on my backside are looking to merge with traffic not the GMC Savanna dead ahead. A few idiots are honking their horns. AS IF I AM STOPPED THERE FOR MY OWN AMUSEMENT?! What is wrong with people?
We sit there for about 20 minutes (read: an eternity). My drama queen has begun to sob, "What will become of us?" It is tea time for Randy and he is screaming bloody murder...but no way am I going to unbuckle him and remove the only shred of protection for his tiny fragile skeleton. Marina is making her guttural noise and sucking her lips back to her tonsils. Ian is coming up with a game plan that would have made the master proud, "What we need to do is unbuckle and walk--or we could roll--down this hill. C'mon mom, we could make it. Well, you could carry Randy--oh, look there is a bird--and I see a werewolf--no that is a dog...." K is reading a book. I'm watching the rear view mirror so I will have a mental image of the person who starts the 15 car pile-up that I know is coming any second. I see a police officer. I flag him down. Did you ever wonder what happened to the Marlboro Man? He is working as a cop in southeast Texas. (Now the master DOES read my blog, but I can say this any way, because after it was all over, even he remarked, "That guy didn't look like your typical cop did he?" "Um, no, no, he certainly didn't." "Kinda buff--like he works out" "Uh, yeah, you could say that..." "I doubt many guys want' to take him on.." "Mmmm, well, maybe not very many GUYS....") But even if he'd had the face of Ian's werewolf, he would have seemed beautiful to me at that moment. "What seems to be the trouble, ma'm?" "I don't know officer, I just got my oil changed and my van just stopped." He checks my oil. "Well, m'am there's no oil in there." THEY DRAINED MY OIL AND DIDN'T PUT ANY OIL BACK IN MY VAN!!!! My engine is toast. Burnt toast.
He gets the police tow truck there, but we can't get off the highway, because we won't all fit in the cab of the tow truck. We wait for the master to arrive. GRRRR! On some level, I know it is not his fault; but I am tired, I am coming off of a major adrenaline rush, and I NEVER WANTED TO HAVE THE OIL CHANGED IN THE FIRST PLACE. Let's just say that directly following his arrival, Officer Hottie thought he was going to have to break up a domestic dispute. We finally get towed back to Mojo's. We have to wait there for an hour because no one has a vehicle large enough to tote all of us. Now we are without transportation because no rental places will rent you a 15 passenger van if--get this--YOU ARE GOING TO CARRY CHILDREN IN IT. Why ELSE would any one drive a vehicle the length of a city block?
See--car breaks down on the highway and needs a new engine--it's a crisis, yes. But enormous van breaks down on the highway and needs a new engine and you have no other option but to stay holed up in your house until engine is replaced because no other vehicle will carry your family--BIG crisis. So, be careful what you comment.
Stay tuned for, "Silver Lining on the Oiless Van Mishap," which I pray will be airing very soon.

New Scam

Let me warn you about the newest scam...or at least the most recent one to jump up and bite MY butt. You order some cute things from Lillian Vernon for your daughters' bedroom for Christmas and when it is time to check out, they ask you if you want to become a member of their travel NEWSLETTER. It means $10.00 off your purchase. There is some fine print about "by checking this box, you are allowing us to share your information" yada, yada, yada. Of course, you never dream that they are talking about your DEBIT CARD information and not your E-MAIL address. You just delete the travel newsletter that pops up in your inbox every two weeks without opening it and go on with your life. Long story short, some stupid "Reservation Rewards Program" scam has been taking $10.00 out of my account every month since December, and I just figured it out. GRRRR! O.K. I know that is only three months, but have I mentioned I'm a penny pincher? I could buy a whole sack of clothes at Goodwill for $30.00 bucks. Buy groceries for a week. Put gas in my van for....wait a second, bad example...
Any way--just say, "NO!" to $10.00 off your next purchase.

Art Day

Here are some pictures from Saturday's expedition to the local art museum for family art day. They have them once a quarter and the kids really enjoy it.
And it's FREE! You can't beat that with a stick. They made hats, marbled paper, personalized puzzles and fabric collages.