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.

Whew!

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

Leg, Adoption, and Daycare Update

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

Don't Freak Out

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

The master is having his lower left leg amputated.

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

A Late Valentine's Post

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

Why do you love Daddy?

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

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

Why do you love Mommy?

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

First Grandbaby

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

On the way to Baby #6

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

Dinner Conversation

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

Sunnyside Kid #1: What is this?

Me: Frito Pie

Sunnyside Kid #1: I have a puppy.

Me: Oh? Is his name Frito?

Sunnyside Kid #1: His name Bob.

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

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

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

Sunnyside Kid #3: We sing song about stars?

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

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

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

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

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

Me: Yes, you may.


Not sure if I am amused or merely going NUTS.

Sunnyside Kid #5 and Wallpaper Worries

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

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

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

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

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

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

Very Merry, Indeed

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

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

Rewards

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

Truth Hurts Follow Up

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

When the truth hurts

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

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

Marina: And you were with me.

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

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

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

Home again, home again, jiggity jig

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

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

Happy Thanksgiving

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

Digging In

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

Moving along

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

First Kill

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

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

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

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

Fall Scene

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?