Over and Out

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!

Part Two-The Call

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.

Foot Loose and Fancy Free

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.

On the way to Baby #6

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.

Sunnyside Kid #5 and Wallpaper Worries

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....

Surprise! It's a Hurricane!

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.

Cooking For a What?

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

1. 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.
2. 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.
3. 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

1. 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?
2. 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.
3. 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:

1. The old fashioned way of cooking truly is the cheapest way of cooking and it still works.
2. The old fashioned way of cooking is the hard way of cooking.
3. My family consumes on average 5 gallons of marinara a month. That boggles my mind.
4. 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.

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.