Just Can't Resist...

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

Old Posts

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

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

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

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

July 2, 2008

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

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

A Good Call Afterall

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

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

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

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

Marina: Mom, what are you doing?

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

Me: Actually, Cara is not drinking any milk.

Abby: Why?

Marina: She is not hungry?

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

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

Me: Yes

Marina: Did I?

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

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

And, looking up into my eyes, she smiled.

I think we did the right thing.

Cara Comes Home

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

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


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


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


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


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


He acquiesced.


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


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

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.

Long, Long Post--Part One

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

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

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

Introducing Cara Grace!

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

Three Cheers

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

Wedding Pics

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

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

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

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

Accentuate the Positive

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

Four Easter Sweeties and One Terd

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

Foot Loose and Fancy Free

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.

A Late Valentine's Post

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

Why do you love Daddy?

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

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

Why do you love Mommy?

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

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.

Very Merry, Indeed

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

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

Fall Scene

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

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

Where We Are

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

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.

Crocodile Smiles

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

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

Happy Birthday Ian!

Love Note

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

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

Five reasons I love my husband:

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

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