Football Update

If I weren't already a proud football mom, this win over our cross-town rivals (and other school we looked at for The Boy) sealed the deal!

Where Were You Last Night?

Were you outside?

Right through the dinner hour?

With six hungry children? (one of whom spied a distant concession stand)

During a rain shower that quickly progressed to a thunderstorm that went all monsoon?

To watch The Boy compete in the All-City Junior High Track Meet?

Only to have the meet delayed BEFORE The Boy competed in any of his events?

While the Captain was out of town on business?

Were you there?

Hopefully, you were somewhere considerably drier.

But the mountain of soggy clothes in our laundry this morning evidence a truth as Mother's Day approaches: We mothers will do almost anything for our babies. Even when they're not such babies anymore.

Hospital Bound

I guess I didn't get to those Easter pictures. Bad blogger, I am. But real life prevailed.

We're leaving this morning for Baby Girl's first procedure--the MRI with sedation. Pray for a successful procedure, for wise and caring staff and, of course, for good results!

I'll update later.

Shoot Me Now

Or please, for the love of all that is good, help me hide Baby Girl's new favorite toy.

Another Birthday! And a First One, Too

This marks Hannah's third birthday with us.

Wow! Has a lot changed since then. She came home unable to speak barely a lick of English and now is reading everything she can get her hands on!

She was only about 50 pounds and a hair over 4'6" then, but today at her check up weighed in at a healthy 85 pounds and 5'2", telling me in no uncertain terms that my daughter inherited her birthmother's BMI gene...which was a good thing considering the gourmet menu of sloppy joes, tater tots and carrot sticks (yes, she really asked for these) and cake she chose for her birthday meal.
No kidding, there were carrot sticks.

And little sisters to help with the present unwrapping

A side note about the cake. The first year she arrived home, her tastes (and her language) were very limited. So, rather than a lengthy explanation, I simply took her to the bakery and allowed her to select whichever cake she wished. She, in her typically unassuming fashion, selected a simple cake with--what she called--the most beautiful pink and yellow flowers gracing the top.

And she was happy.

The next year, for her Almost Sleepover Party, her cake-making diva of a Godmother created the 10 in a Bed cake to absolute perfection.

And she was happy.

This year, with a big grin she said to me, "Mom, can you just make my cake this year? You know, the kind not from a store.
And can you use the heart-shaped pan?
And can I have white cake?
And chocolate frosting? "

And, it probably goes without saying, but boy--- was I happy.


After the family party, she decided to have a few of her closest girl friend's over (and, of course, the sister contingent) for a wonderful beading party done by a lovely woman who came to my house to do the party, while Mr. T and Baby Girl snoozed happily upstairs. If you live in the Fox Valley, you should absolutely check her out! She even does parties for those of us grown-up girls who still like to get fancy and play with beads!

Since (according to the birthdate assigned to us), we technically missed Baby Girl's first birthday. So, we decided to pick a day and celebrate with her. But between holidays and hospitals, we never could find just the right day. But with Hannah's birthday on the horizon and a lone Valentines' Day cupcake sitting sadly on the counter, we decided it was now or never.

Unsure how she would feel about this novel idea, we proceeded with caution.

Turns out, we had nothing to worry about. She warmed up to her new BFF, Cupcake, right away. Now that she definitely inherited from me.

Yeah! Birthday! Yeah! Cupcake! Let's do this again real soon, okay?

How Rude!

Someone I know has a child with significant issues.

I'm leaving the particular details out of this post because in the end, they don't matter. The issues could be medical, behavioral, emotional, educational, physical, mental...the list goes on and on, but you're smart people, you bloggy friends, and you get the picture.

It's not even important to qualify the child in question with specifics. He (or she) could be any age, any religion or any race. It is sufficient to say that this child's story (or parent's story--depending on which side of the table you're reading from) is any child's story. Most likely you know a child who has struggled somewhere along their way, and many of you have probably parented one.

And if you aren't, let your knees hit the floor...quickly.

When I jokingly tell my mom stories about some of my more *special* (read: high-maintenance) children, she wisely tells me, "Aren't we all a little *special* in our own ways." Evidencing yet another cosmic truth: My mother is always right. Granted, some *special* needs may not seem as challenging to the casual onlooker, but to the parent dealing with the child who has tried on every pair of pants she owns and deemed them all "too scratchy" it can challenge the most patient parent. Trust me.

Which is why I was shocked at the implication, appalled by the audacity and saddened by the notion that someone should pose this question to my friend regarding her situation:

"Why did you even do this?"

You see, there is one important fact that must be a part of this story.

The child in question, who has struggled so mightily, was adopted.

So the question to the not-so-silent observer was obvious. Why would you have ever taken on a child who would cause you such pain, force you to make such sacrifices, and occasionally remove any sense of control you had from your life?

Horrified, I thought to myself, "Would anyone dare ask such a question to a mother whose biological child was such a burden?" On first thought, it would seem unlikely. The implication of the question my friend was subjected to bespeaks one of the tragic misconceptions of adoption:

Children raised by their birth parents never struggle, while adopted children always do.

But, as we who have parented the children we have birthed we know the fallacy of that argument. We understand the role God's grace plays in the lives of all our children--birth or adopted. Sadly, however, as I thought a little longer, it dawned on me that birth mothers are all too often asked this question as well. The only difference is in the timing. Mothers who are given a frightening prenatal diagnosis hear that same question when they decide to continue a pregnancy with a child whom the world deems less-than-perfect.

What would you have said to such an intrusive (and by intrusive, I mean rude) question? I'm finishing my thoughts on this but I'd like to hear what you all have to say.

Was the Suspense Killing You?

Hopefully, it kept no one awake at night, tossing and turning wondering which of my little darlings was spouting off these phrases.

For the good of all those who couldn't stand the suspense...the aforementioned quips were brought to you by...

"Sure, Mom"

"No problem, Mom."

and my personal favorite...

"You're my best friend, Mom!"

I am in so much trouble, aren't I?

Every Joke is Half Truth

Apparently I have angered the Tylenol gods.

I made the mistake of suggesting that everyone I know buy stock in Infant Tylenol for a certain Baby Girl who is in the process of cutting not one or two but EIGHT teeth at warp speed. This will bring her pearly white count up to 16 total, and no one will be happier than her drool-covered momma when it is finished.

However, my oh-so-funny joke has come back around to bite me in the, well, you know.

Making such a bold assumption that Tylenol is only good for teeth will get you nothing but a big fat virus with bonus fever for the aforementioned baby, which, incidentally, needs Tylenol.

In large quantities.

Unless you want to carry around 24-and-a-half pounds of crabby, drooling, lethargic baby until your arms ache and burn like the last time ( somewhere in the late 80s) you worked them out that hard.

Not me. So this afternoon, to appease the Tylenol gods, I'm loving me all the many uses for their magic purple (purple is a flavor) sugar syrup.

She's Home!

Thank you all for the prayers! We are celebrating tonight ( with what I'm calling) her re-birthday on this most beautiful of all feast days. I will update more soon, but tonight my house (and my heart) are blessedly full.

Doesn't It Always Figure?

When I wake early needing the stillness and absolute quiet of the Ark before dawn, my children are all awake by 6:00 am?

Yet...

When we have an important appointment to be at and I need everyone awake, fed and dressed early, they all sleep in until 8:00am?

Tell Me How You Really Feel

I made the decision (whether wise or foolish only time will tell) to jump right back into school the Monday after Baby Girl was home. If it makes you think I am any less insane (it does for me!) I scaled back on some of the typically robust plans that come from my out-on-parole teacher's mind after its long time in the slammer.
I justified my decision by rationalizing that if we waited too long to start back up we'd become complacent. My home would be full of children whiling away their days lounging around the house while their brains turned to mush faster than an old jack o' lantern. So, we began. And it was fine, I guess. We accomplished all of our work, but it didn't happen at the scheduled times or in the designated areas as is typical of our school day. In fact, many of our lessons took place on the family room floor this week, where I doled out vocabulary for Caddie Woodlawn or read aloud from Hattie Big Sky while trying to keep the baby from orally inspecting ever speck on the floor---of which there seemed many.
One day, out of habit, we found ourselves on the family room floor sans baby. Just Beulah, Hannah and myself along with Mr. (he's no longer the baby) T. As we worked, Mr. T walked around giving a weary eye to the baby's things. He walked from Bumbo seat to excersaucer, from empty bottle to Dr. Boudreaux's you-know-what paste. His scowl grew deeper and deeper as he made his rounds. Finally, little face drawn up in a sullen knot, his circuit completed at my side, he announced, "Mommy, my no like that Baby Girl."
My poor little guy. The stark reality of his situation had finally hit him. No longer the baby of the house, his territory had been usurped by this interloping vomit queen, who didn't smell too good most of the time, and cried more than most of us he felt necessary. I did what any mom would have done and picked him up, cuddling his toddler-sized form in my arms-marveling at how much bigger he suddenly seemed to me--and reassured him that he was still mommy's little boy. Turning his big brown eyes upward, he smiled and asked for a fruit snack. The moment had passed. But for me, it was an important lesson from my littlest man. It was his actions that gave me permission to feel the adjustment. To know that things were--again--changing on the Ark and that we were all trying to figure out our place in this new normal. And it would sometimes be hard...or confusing...or uncertain...but when the dust settles, the important familiar things will be there still. Steady and unchanging. Held by the hand of my most loving Parent.

Not Forever...

Just for now.

Thank you, my dear friends, for your kind words of support. I wanted to assure you all that I haven't completely jumped ship. This adoption is just taking more adjustment time than I had scheduled (Okay, God, I can hear You laughing...).

This particular baby has been--shall we say--not as easy as our last adopted baby PLUS a multitude of minor health issues. (As someone who is pro-life, I should not be surprised to learn that God's way is not always the easy one. But I hadn't considered just how much physical work goes into putting my money where my mouth is.) When I started adding up the time it now takes to do the "usual" laundry, meals, cleaning, chauffeuring (which Pat is doing most of now, but goes back to work next week!), writing my column, homeschooling, bible study, etc...I just had to cut back a little until we get ourselves on an even keel again. Hopefully, that will be sooner rather than later!

I'll be back! Possibly even tomorrow with the link to this week's column...

My Hair's Been Styled, Now the Baby Can Come Home

I joked to a friend yesterday that I've started to make plans based on whether or not I want to do them with baby-in-tow or not.

As many loads of laundry as I've done this week, the sad truth is that half way around the world there are four people exponentially creating piles of laundry faster than you can say "extra large front loader". It makes the to-do list with Baby Girl.

Ditto the dishwasher, vacuuming and grocery store. All must-dos.

Preschool class field trip? To the bowels of the local grocery? Definitely not.

One thing that made the short-list to be done before Baby Girl's arrival was to have my hair cut. This afternoon, during quiet-time for the little ones, I slipped out in my car and headed down for 45 minutes of head massaging, primping and preening. Something I schedule for myself every time a baby comes or every 8 to 12 weeks--whichever comes first. I'd take a picture of my newly styled hair for you all (because I know it will keep you up at night if I don't.) but the digital camera was otherwise occupied today with more important matters.

Today, The Captain and my two big girls (who are both feeling a little homesick again), met our Baby Girl's grandmother. And using a camera no bigger than a pack of post-it notes, captured the moment for me to see. Try as I might to wiggle into that picture when I see it, to experience that hour spent between her first and forever families, I will never truly know what happened there. It is one of the little heartbreaks of our adoptions that I have. Knowing little of digital technology, her grandmother was captivated by the instant picture that appeared on the tiny screen. She insisted (and we promised) that we send copies of the picture to her.

Because someday, she will look at that picture--just as I will--and try to relive that moment. To recapture just one more time the feeling of holding her precious granddaughter in her arms. But the moment will be gone. All that will be left is a picture.

I think you'll probably agree. My haircut picture really isn't that important after all.

Labor Pains

The photos just keep rolling in from across the pond. Here are two more shots from The Captain of the first day in London.


While The Captain reports that everyone did well (read: actually slept) on the flight over, the phone call I had told another story.

Before I tell you what happened, know that I am certain everyone is fine and dandy and should not return home in need of a good therapist. It's just me realizing with older children that the labor of adoption is full of joy and pain not confined to a pregnant mother. It is a shared process. Friends, family, even a remote part of the blogosphere reads and feels the pangs--of all kinds--alongside me.

I never expected one of the pains of adoption labor, however, would be the separation from my older two girls. The three little ones sought out playmates in the form of Mom, Grandma and Grandpa. Not their first choices, I'm sure. While speaking to the "big girls" on the phone today, Naomi informed them, "It's a little fun without you, but don't worry...it's not too much." And then for emphasis, looking at me, added, "No. Not. At. All."

Which hopefully provided some comic relief to my darling pre-teen daughters who both dissolved into sniffles and gulpy tears when I spoke to them myself. How joyous they had been before departing. How excited to ride an airplane. To visit England and Africa. To watch Kung-Fu Panda. But somewhere along the way, they realized that their journey to our new baby girl was taking them perhaps farther than they thought possible away from home. Pre-adolescent girl hearts are not something to be trifled with, especially not as a pair. But the journey continues and as my heart overflows with joy to hold my newest daughter, it breaks just a little, to see my oldest ones (who will grow in leaps and bounds from this experience) taking their first tentative steps away from home.

How Will I Ever Wait a Week?


Thanks, Anne and Steve, for the pictures!

Deja Vu All Over Again

Late last night as I made a final check of my email, I was alarmed to read that the same childhood illness that affected Baby T at the orphanage has sneaked back into our agency's nursery, where our darling baby girl waits. I can't imagine this little face


marked with the offending pox. And try as I might, my arms can't stretch far enough or fast enough to reach her.

Job's Tears

You probably all know the story of the suffering of poor Job (if you don't, there may not be a more poignant account out there than this one by Regina Doman) but, do you know the story of Job's Tears? I didn't until I read about them while looking at the beautiful rosaries on Barbara's site.

Late last winter, or maybe it was early last spring, I stumbled upon Barbara's rosary quite by accident. My eyes welled with my own tears as I read the name for her rosary and believing I was being given a sign of some sort, I contacted her to purchase the beads.

To be continued...

New Baby Mambo

There's a little dance I've been doing lately. I've dubbed it the "new baby mambo." It's one of those one step forward, two steps back kind of dances with many dizzying twists and turns throughout.

It goes a little like this:

One step forward: Oh my! Oh my! There's a new baby coming to our house. Hooray!

Two steps back: OH MY! OH MY! She'll be here in THREE weeks! How will I ever get ready?

One step forward: I've done this six times before. There's no need to get ready. Babies come when they come and I'll get through this. I have before.

Two steps back: I'VE DONE THIS SIX TIMES BEFORE! Have I lost my mind? I haven't even had time to catch my breath from the last baby. How can I be ready for this one?

One step forward: A brand new life to cherish and care for--is there any gift God gives that is more precious?

Two steps back: A BRAND NEW LIFE TO CHERISH AND CARE FOR--ACK!!! What if I mess up? How can I care for one more soul when I already have so much entrusted to me?

Spin, spin...Twirl, twirl: Sleepless nights and busy days full of planning, waiting, wondering have consumed me for many weeks now. Will it ever stop?

Spin, spin...Twirl, twirl: SLEEPLESS NIGHTS AND BUSY DAYS full of cuddling, nurturing and tending to my new little one will consume my future days. I wonder aloud, "Will it ever stop?"

And knowing all too well the fleeting nature of this time, I pray, Please, Lord, don't let me miss it. And the dance goes on.

Travel Prayer

For Carolyn and her daughter, Yordi, who continue to find roadblocks in their way to travel home.

May God's hand hold them both as they work to find a flight back to the USA. May our Blessed Mother comfort this newly bonded mother and daughter team through the many medical obstacles they are facing. And, finally, that God's grace is showered upon them enabling them to deal with this situation--as frustrating as it is--and place their trust in God's perfect will.

Ladies and Gentlemen...

With great joy on the Ark today, we are pleased to introduce you all to an answer to our prayers.

From our agency:

"Your case was approved in court today! Gail has scheduled your embassy interview for September 24, 2008."