The singles' scene at Childcare

It's been a particularly horrendous day. Temper tantrums every time I turn around. After 24 hours without any sort of potty-mishap, T peed and pooped in her pants within 10 minutes of each other. While I cleaned her up, Charlie found the vat of vaseline and started eating it.

Whine, whine.

But it hasn't all been bad. First of all, I rocked Zumba today. I picked the two best people in the class to follow and just tried to keep up with them. It was really fun, even though I'm sure I looked like an idiot. (Given my pathetic lack of rhythm, I try to only Zumba at classes where I don't know anyone else.)

Then, I went to pick the kids up at childcare. The teacher handed me Simon's stack of papers and I flipped through them, pulling out one that said "Josephine" and set it on the counter. Next thing I knew, a little girl snatched it up and handed it back to Simon. IT HAS HER PHONE NUMBER ON IT.

Oh my. I hope Josephine's not waiting by the phone because my five-year-old will not be calling her any time soon.

PS, I planned on "retiring" Simon from my blog when he turned five, but I just couldn't keep this story to myself. Sorry.

It's Time

Your sister has become obsessed with her baby book - what she looked like as a baby, how she dressed for her first halloween, what Mommy looked like with her growing in my belly. She sleeps with the book, wants it read to her as a story. So, Simon dug his book out too, searching out the matching bracelets we wore in the hospital. Taly doesn't understand why her picture isn't in his book, doesn't understand the concept of "before I was here."

So, it's time. Time for me to sort through mental pictures and digital ones. Time for me to make my way through the beginning - your beginnings. I know so little, and some of what I do know isn't to be put in a book, but to be guarded over in my heart until you ask for it. I'm blessed, and you are so blessed little one, that I have nothing wretched to tell you someday. I have no knowledge of darkness or evil that was once a part of your world.

But in about a year or less, probably less, maybe even now - you'll want your book. You'll want me to read it to you a million times and remind you how much we wanted you. You'll scour those early pictures, sent across the ocean from your auntie's phone, for traces of truth about your home - before you were here.

Oh for God to give me the grace to write it well. Your story, our story. Oh for words that speak to your heart and answer your questions. Oh that you would know how beautiful this story is, that you would see God's creative grace weaving across oceans and through the land of a thousand hills.

Indian Summer

At the beginning of the week, the temps nudged into the 60s. People started calling for an Indian Summer and I went off to Ben about how 60s do not equal "summer." Indian or otherwise. (By the way, Indian Summer was one of my most favorite movies in High School. I watched it a lot when home sick from school. Oh, and it has nothing to do with India).

But now it's two weeks before Thanksgiving and so warm that my kids are balking at clothing, so Indian Summer it is.

Today, because snow is but a breath away, I let them eat lunch outside for the second time this week, even though they end up eating more dirt and grass than food.

Because ice will soon turn the ground hard as rock, I let Simon plant carrots and sunflowers in the backyard even though I know they won't grow.

Because I know these days are fleeting, I let Talya dump her lunch off her plate and pile it high with mulch and dirt. I pretended not to care that she took her shoes off.

Because he won't feel it again for months, I let Charlie roll around in the dirt, pile it onto his head, heap it onto his tight coarse curls from which it will never be free, and even eat some.

I let them soak it all up because the winter is too, too long and the next time it's picnic weather, I'll be able to understand everything Talya says and Simon will be able to pump and I'll have one less kid to push higher and higher.

Because I've been trying to let the joy of God's gifts seep into my heart and out my pores, I figured I should let them do it too.

Charlie claimed victory over the slide today. He climbed, determined, up the slide until he reached the top. Then, he focused on the ladder and conquered that too. Then, he perched precariously at the top and laughed at my attempts to get him safely away from the edge. He tried to walk right down that slide instead of sitting on his butt.

And for that reason only, I will welcome winter (a tiny bit less begrudgingly) - because as nice as this is, if Indian Summer goes on for another week, my youngest will end up with something in a cast.

PS - whoever calls this pleasant weather "Indian Summer" has never spent a summer in India.

Obligatory Pictures

Simon: Alright guys, stare into the sun and get this over with.

Talya: I am not holding this thing.  Charlie: Me either.

Simon: I know you're new here Charlie, but try to cooperate so we can go back to playing.

Talya: It's time to paint my nails.  Charlie: whoops, there it goes.

Simon: This is what moms with blogs do in the Fall - make you sit on hay and smile so they can show their friends.

Charlie: Like this?

When Daddy's Away, it's Easy to Ruin a Good Day

Today was Simon's first day of school. He's doing another year of pre-K, which seems like the best choice given his September birthday, he's a boy, and I'm sorry but when did Kindergarten get so intense? Simon and I both need another year to prep for homework and what I'm sure is an increase in parental commitment to volunteer, understand vague homework assignments, bring snacks, send $5 in for this and that, remember which day is wear-your-pajamas day, etc.

Ben's gone but we skyped with him this morning and Simon was showing no signs of nerves. The weather is beautiful, my kids have been pretty cooperative, and I've gotten to catch up on a year's worth of chick-flicks in the past 4 days. All in all, a great start to what was sure to be a great day.

Of course, it's all a roller coaster. Here's how it went today.

Yea! Everyone is up, fed, dressed, mostly clean, and I even remembered to take first day of school pictures.

Crap! It's garbage day. If there's any reason to be married, it's garbage day.

Yea! We're on time anyway.

Crap! We're actually early. Time to cruise around the parking lot so we don't get any new-to-school jitters while we wait around.

Yea! Off without a hitch. I only teared up a little bit. Time to get Charlie new shoes since of the two pairs he has, I can only locate the right feet.

Crap! I have no idea what size he is, what kind of shoe I need, and I don't have time to double back to Target, which is of course the authority on cheap baby-turning-toddler shoes.

Crap! Charlie fell asleep in the car which means the afternoon naptime is not going to be what I need it to be.

Yea! Made it back to school on time. Simon loved it. Plus, the lady at the metropark gave me 3 coupons for kids meals at Bob Evans, so we're taking Simon out to celebrate.

Crap! This idea kind of stinks because Talya is throwing silverware and she knows better and every time I stand up to deal with my hooligans, Charlie pulls my shorts down in the middle of the restaurant.

Crap! The waitress is somehow annoyed with me for eating here with my kids.

Crap! When I told the waitress about my coupons, she decided not to tell me that I could only use one of them at a time and let me order three kids meals anyway, even though I normally let them share since Charlie likes to throw more food than he eats.

Crap! I have to dig into my sacred "Susie" envelope to pay for the food I thought I was getting for free. Crap! I'm crying about it - why do I always do that? It's just like 6 extra dollars?!

Five craps and no yeas.... obviously things are going downhill. Bob Evans was a bust.

And crap - nap time is going as feared and is already over.

But yea! Bachelor Pad is on tonight which is stupid and trashy but I'm going to watch it with friends and eat the leftovers of the birthday treats that I'm making for Simon to take to school tomorrow.

Things are looking up. Only 5 hours til prime time.

Super Simon's Party

My baby is turning five. I know - sniff, sniff. He's started rolling his eyes at me and after he's spent a lot of time playing with his friends, he starts talking in this weird deep know-it-all voice, like he is way too cool for me. He also recently told me "yuck" when I kissed him.

He is a great kid and this is probably the last year that I had any manipulative power in helping him choose his birthday party. You know my rule - no licensed characters. So, I'm sorry, sweet sweet Simon, I know how much you love Buzz Lightyear, but you don't get a Buzz Lightyear party. Obviously, I couldn't say that, so I just had to set out to find a better idea and then make him think it was the best idea ever.

I had recently seen this cape project for a super-hero party, and fell in love with the cute-yet-ratty-hand-me-down mix. Perfect. Then, Simon really inspired me with his own Super-ness. He told me he was saving the money in his piggy bank to send to Rwanda to help them get clean water. (Ok, obviously that idea didn't self-generate in his sweet little brain. As a family, we've all been learning about disease around the world and what we can do to help.)

So, I thought, maybe a super-hero party would be perfect. Instead of saving the city from villains (Simon has no idea what a villain is), we could have our little heroes help other people. So, we invited our friends to bring some spare change to send to a great organization that brings clean water to the country that's been knitted into our family tapestry - Rwanda.

And then I set out to make 18 capes. Secretly, I love stuff like this. I know that to some it seems way too over-the-top and sort of self-obsessed to do stuff like this for kids' parties, but really, when else am I going to get to make super-hero capes? And who better to craft for then a group of kiddos who don't really give a crap if you got the letter straight? So, judge if you want to, but I got to have fun with my felt and tacky glue. (Oh, and I won't judge you for judging - I judge people who buy this stuff for their kids' parties. speck in your eye/log in mine, and all that.)

Next, I had to think of something for the cake. Hmmmm.... I have all these rules about cake decorating. Seriously, they always turn out terrible, but I just love home-decorated cakes in all of their adorable imperfection.  But, trying to decorate a cake with actual super-heroes would probably stretch even my very flexible limits on imperfection. I don't draw or frost things with faces - that is way too hard, and turns out way too ugly. I saw adorable rainbow cakes and cupcakes popping up all over the web, and I really wanted to get out the food coloring and go crazy. So, I decided to do rainbow cupcakes (but obviously we're calling them Crazy Cupcakes, not rainbow cupcakes because it's a boy's party) with white icing and Super-Hero-esque toppers.

I'm proud of the toppers because they are actually my own idea - as in, I did not steal it from the internet. I designed and printed super-hero-ish designs on paper, covered it with wax paper, and piped melted candy coating over it. Then, I just popped them off the wax paper and onto the frosted cupcakes. I thought they were pretty adorable, even with my sloppy piping skills.

At the party, we had a super-hero station where the kids could get their photos of themselves flying through the "sky." I ran out of time and this was executed terribly, but thank goodness five--year-olds don't care. I also piled up all the excess sleeves from our capes and let the kids "decorate" their "masks." It was a mess of paint and foam shapes, and just precious.

Anyway, enjoy the pictures. The reason this party was fun is that I got to do lots of ridiculous projects, and Simon is old enough to enjoy it and young enough to not be too cool for it all. Perfect. Next year, who knows?

Good Night

Dear Simon,
You're getting too big. Memories of babyhood are being replaced with glimpses of future teenage attitude. You sneak behind me while I'm cooking and knock my knees so they buckle. It makes me laugh every time, so we both melt in hysterics. Laughing with you has become one of my new favorite ways to chase away a bad day.

Tonight you yelled at me. That's not unusual, by the way. Usually you grunt, but sometimes, you full-on yell at me when I make you mad. Tonight, though, it was cute. It had been a long day of trying to stay out of the house while it was being painted. You'd hung in there pretty well, but just as bedtime was nearing, something came up and 6:55 turned into 7:45 and three tired kids turned into three cranky kids with only one parent to put you all to bed.

I got impatient. Charlie was climbing on the book while I was trying to read you your story. Talya was telling me she had to "go poppy," and I didn't exactly yell at you, but my voice got all loud and fast like it does when I'm only technically holding it together. You, my tender-hearted first-born, are no dummy and don't fall for my only-technically-loving facade. You climbed into bed and flopped down with a scowl. I scolded you (does that sound better than I yelled at you?) for grunting at me - I really hate that - and you gave me the coldest look ever and yelled right back at me: "You ALWAYS whine when we whine."

You were so mad at me for being mad at you guys. It was like you KNEW that I'm supposed to be able to behave a little better than my little kids. Just one of the things that makes you brilliant. We moved on, and you went to bed giggling about one of your books

I love you. Good night, my son.


Dear Talya,
You've taken to screaming "NO!" at me when you don't want to do what I've asked you to do. It never really pisses me off that much, because you are just the sweetest thing in the whole wide world. It seems less disobedient than it does feisty. I know I need to get a handle on that, and we're working on that, but usually while Daddy punishes you, Simon and I sneak secret giggles because really, how can you not?

Tonight a friend came over to help me move some furniture. He's a handsome, funny guy with a great Boston accent that probably any single woman would be falling all over. You brought him book after book, and when he was leaving (though you're not normally one to profess your love to our guests), you yelled out "Lye Lo Lu!" Over and over again. I know I need to get a handle on that too.

You thrilled me all day, but you positively melted me as you quietly sang along to that annoying kids cd you guys make me play in the car. Deep & Wide is my new favorite song, thanks to you.

Lye Lo Lu. Good night, sweet daughter.


Dear Charlie,
For the first six months of your life - you know, those formative months that are so critical to a baby's development - you only heard a smattering of English. And yet, here you are, barely one year old chattering Mama and Dada and All Done and Baba when Taly hands you her baby doll. Your brother and sister were stubborn in their senseless babbling well past this age, but you are my little English student, imitating tone and nuance even when you can't get the consonants right.

You run through the house on those little legs, about six steps at a sprint until you're flat on your face, and then you try again. You've been a total pill in the afternoons, screaming and whining for food and then throwing on the floor whatever I give you. If you could spend the whole day tackling Simon and Talya without them getting furious with you, I think you would be the happiest kid in the whole wide world. Already, even in the midst of your implacable protesting, I think you're pretty close.

You've been picking a fight with us at bedtime. We rock you, just as we've always done, and instead of settling in, you sing and hit and pinch my arms. Your daddy and your babysitter give up and put you to bed. But not me, I refuse to let you win this one. It's just you and me and I have nowhere else I have to be, nothing else as urgent as being Mama to my baby. I rock you into submission, clamping you down with my arms. I am not angry, but I am firm in my resolve to not let you take this from us.

Finally, the stressful moments of you thrashing and me clamping subside. You relax and your cries turn to the sounds of you sighing the day away. We rock for a while after your eyes close. I catch up on some reading and silently thank you for one more night of this.

I love you. Good night, my son.

photo by Locke Innovations

An anniversary, a "new" computer, and a graduation

I've been a married woman for nine years. Well, actually, I've probably been a married woman for about 7 years. I'm not sure the word "woman" completely applies to a 22-year-old girl, which is what I was when I got married. I didn't clean (I mean, like anything. Not like now, where I just don't clean everything - does that make sense?). Cooking was hamburger helper. Our furniture was part-cardboard from Target.

I think actual adulthood came gradually down the road, later, when I began to experience the pain and uncertainty of trying to get pregnant, the responsibility of home ownership, the sentimental journey of watching baby brothers get married, the heartache of being hurt by people who were supposed to love you, and the hard work of trying to forgive those people when you don't have it in you at all.

I guess if I'm going to look at it that way, I still have some growing up to do.

I married my man when we were but babies, and I'm loving growing up with him.

**********

My "other" baby is my macbook. Oh, how I love it. It's not a baby anymore though - it's a senior citizen in computer years. And, you know how IT guys are most of the time not that helpful? You know how they just tell you to reboot? You know how they like to sit in the dark and invent new ways to confuse you?

Not our IT guys. We have two where we work. They're great, and helpful. One of them is less an IT guy, and more of my senior citizen macbook's fountain of youth.

He gave it a new hard drive, and an upgraded operating system, and just like that, my macbook is a baby again, running like new. Maybe someday we'll have a nine year anniversary together?

**********

My first baby graduated from pre-school yesterday. Everyone was all "oooh!" and "ahhhh!", and I was all, "It's kind of lame. I mean he's going to pre-K next year, and I'm sure they'll do a graduation, and then there's Kindergarten graduation. And then he'll have had three graduations and he'll still be 6."

But, it wasn't lame. It was adorable. His amazing teachers spent countless hours putting together scrapbooks for each kid, and a slideshow, and it's a real tear-jerker to reflect on how much your baby boy has grown up in 9 months.

Today, though, was the end-of-year picnic. I'm going to be honest - I usually hate picnics. It's either rainy or 100 degrees. Today's picnic was of the HOT variety. Just me and three kids, and buckets of sweat, (surprisingly delicious) hot dogs, and a bouncy house.

Of course, the only kid I have who WANTS to get in a bouncy house is my little girl. The teacher told me I would have to get in with her. I tried to explain that I was more likely to get hurt in that thing than Taly. I didn't try to explain that those things make me pee my pants. I just found someone to hold my baby while I scrambled into an inflatable oven with a bunch of kids and bounced my heart out.

After that, it was hard to contain my misery. I tried to psych Simon up for going home, but he was having none of it, so we (I) suffered. I kept looking at all the other parents, trying to identify someone who would stand in the shade with me and complain, but everyone else looked so happy. I was confused and lonely - maybe I just smelled and people were trying to stay away.  Or, there's a small chance I have an attitude problem, but I doubt it.

*********
All in all, it's been a week of celebration. Next week, we pick it back up again with birthday celebrations for two of my kids, and I plan to eat a lot of cake. (Thanks for all the help with girl-party suggestions!)

Two Conversations

This morning
Simon: Mom, we need to wear sunscreen.
Me: Who told you about sunscreen?
Simon: We need to wear some today because it's very hot outside.
Me: I don't have any, so we'll have to go buy some at the store.
Simon: You don't have any? You're a bad mom.


Has this kid been watching Dr. Oz or something? Oh, right, I know it makes me a bad mom. But, here's why I don't buy sunscreen:
1) My kids are the most beautiful shades of brown I could ever imagine, and it only gets more stunning when they run around in the sun.
2) I'm pasty-fair, but even I don't really burn that much, and if I do, I kind of like it, like I like the feeling of being sore after a work-out.
3) It costs like $10, and that's for the non-natural, standard brands. (This is also the reason I don't often buy/use moisturizer - a friend recently pointed out that sun exposure and dry skin are the leading causes of wrinkles, so check back and see the damage that my cheapness has caused to my face in about 10 years.)
4) As if I needed one more reason, this study came out, and it turns out that almost every brand of sunscreen is PHOTOCARCINOGENIC. Do you know what that means? Um, causes/accelerates cancer when exposed to the sun. Great.
5) God made the sun, he didn't make the sunscreen.

I know that there are about 8,000 ways to combat my logic. But cheapness and vanity trump logic; I hate spending money, and I love being a darker shade of pale for 3 months out of the year.

Oh, but do you know what trumps cheapness, vanity, and a study on photocarcinogenesis? Being told you're a bad mom by your own kid. So, we are now the proud owners of a giant can of (chemical-laden, generic, not-too-expensive) SPF 45.

This Afternoon
Me: Talya, don't throw your food.
Simon (in awe): Wow, mom you sure know a lot about food!
Me: I do? Like what?
Simon: Like how not to throw it. You should go to school and teach kids how to not throw their food.

So, you see, I didn't even need to buy the sunscreen. In my son's eyes, I redeemed myself just by asking my 2 year old not to throw her food. I'm a genius.

(Also, along with my $8 sunscreen, I purchased for myself an $8 moisturizer with sunscreen. Not sure much can be done about the past 31 years of damage, but we'll see.)

Playing House

Goodness Gracious, it started.

Simon and his sweet neighbor friend, let's call her "Sue," (protecting the innocent and all) have been playing house.

Yesterday, I was spying on them out the window while they played. Wait, hold on - it felt like spying, but he's four, so I think supervising play time is "parenting." Anyway, I came to the window mid-way through their game, but this is what I heard:

Simon: "I want to sleep with you."
Sue: "Fine, but then you have to kiss my belly."

Um.... okay? To be fair, I do don't think it was as bad as it sounded. I think the Mommy was making the Daddy sleep outside, and the Daddy was requesting that he be allowed to sleep in the house. Wait, maybe that's just as bad.

Then, today, in another game of "House," Sue had a doll stuffed up her shirt, and instructed Simon that he needed to get it out.

Not really sure if I'm supposed to intervene, or just sit back, enjoy the show and blog about it.

Housekeeping

Today marks the beginning of a new indulgent lifestyle I'm leading. I have some help cleaning the house. And by "help," I mean someone else is doing it. "Help" kind of implies they are assisting me do the work, but here I am - macbook on my lap. Before she started, I manipulated her into lying to tell me she's cleaned grosser houses than mine.

The funny part is my kids. Simon is sitting outside the bathroom with a snack, watching her like it's a show. Talya joins him and they sit there and stare as if they've never seen anyone clean a bathroom before. Oh wait...

Simon wanted to know what was taking her so long. I humbly explained that it takes more than 10 minutes if you actually clean everything you're supposed to clean. I can't even wait to see how sparkly my bathroom is. I may start making everyone in the family do their business in a hole out back just so it doesn't get messed up.

Seriously, I should probably pay her double as a babysitter too, because my kids have never been so entertained, and again, here I sit. I'm telling myself she probably doesn't mind because she seems incredibly sweet, and she's getting married this summer, which means she's possibly thinking of having kids, which means it might be good for her to see how it is to clean a bathroom with kids asking you five thousand questions about what you're doing and why and what's that and what's your middle name and how old are you?

I am so spoiled.

Status Update

I couldn't decide on my facebook status update this afternoon (tragic, I know). Here are a few that would be appropriate, including the one I eventually decided on:

• Just got in way over my head trying to explain Satan to a 4-year-old. Oops.
• Seeing some improvements in sleep, but not enough that the angry blog gods should curse me for posting that.
• Feeling guilty for hoping my son has an ear infection or two. We'll find out this afternoon.
• Puzzled as to why my "enter" button doesn't work.
• Interesting meeting on racial diversity today, which for some reason always makes me sweaty and uncomfortable.
• Robin's Eggs. I carefully put four in each plastic egg for the pre-school party, leaving at least 90 for me. Must go buy more.
• After bragging to my growth group that I don't keep a calendar, I forgot about and slept through our meeting this morning. 
• Since my resolution to only let Charlie be held by me and Ben (and Megan), four people have asked if they could hold him. I managed to tell three of them no, but caved on number four. Then it got awkward because the friend holding him is Black and someone assumed he must be Charlie's father. Newly resolved to not let anyone else hold him.
• Deeply appreciative of everyone who called, commented, emailed, or otherwise checked into see how I'm doing, offer advice, and make sure they weren't the one who made me cry.
• Having people over for dinner tonight who read this blog and will therefore understand why my house is a wreck.

xoxo,
Susie

Round Here

Simon asked me the other day, "Mom, so what are we going to do about our wedding?" When pressed for details, he revealed that he was talking about his wedding where he will marry Talya. I assured him that when he was old enough to get married (in about 35 years), he wouldn't want to marry his sister. He promised me that he would, and anyway, "I can get married when I'm 16. Some people do."
I'm not sure who these "some people" are who marry their sisters when they're 16, but whoever they are have quite an influence on my son.

I settled it by promising him that when he's 16, if he still wants to marry his sister, we could talk about it then. That seemed easier than explaining the ins and outs of in_cest and child marriage.

**********

As gentle as Simon is with his little brother and sister, Talya has yet to appreciate it and learn from it. Her affection for her baby brother comes all rough and tumble. I read other families in our adoptive group describing how their kids are afraid of squirrels and family pets and Sesame Street characters, and they only thing I can think that Charlie is afraid of is his sister, who at any moment might try to carry him across the room or shove a bottle or a plastic french fry in his mouth.

**********

Obviously, race is going to be a topic of discussion that comes up now and again in our house. Just the other day, Simon seemed to notice Charlie's skin for the first time. "Mommy, his skin is different than mine!"
"Yup - how so?"
"I'm brown and Charlie is white!"

We might need a diversity training seminar here at home?

************

My living room looks like this. All the time. Even though I clean it 48 times a day. And by clean, I mean pick up a few things. And by 48, I mean 3 1/2.

***********

Baby-led weaning update: We have successfully taught Talya to have a good relationship with food by letting her feed herself. When she learned how to navigate the step stool around the kitchen, she subtly expanded her skills into helping herself to whatever she wants whenever she wants it. Like an entire box of Cheerios, which her brother was happy to help her eat.

Jiggity-Jig

We're home again.

I'm trying to see the entirety of the sweetness of it all through the haze of jet lag. I am so tired. If my mom wasn't here, life would be rough. As it is, I'm not sure I can envision the day that I'm not wearing these red pajama pants.

But, it is so sweet. Simon and Talya are so excited to have their baby brother home, and Charlie is handling the dramatic increase in affection quite nicely. Watching Talya meet Charlie was hysterical. She simultaneously tried to smother him in kisses while ensuring that he didn't touch her at all. Simon insisted on holding him, feeding him his bottle, and sharing his room with him right away. He continues to be worthy of Big Brother of the Year award.

We can see the jet lag taking a toll on Charlie as well. He just seems a little out of it, except at 3 or 4 in the morning, when he is the life of the party - my thanks to Ben for being willing to attend that party while I try to sleep.

We took Charlie to the International Adoption Clinic at Cincinnati Children's Hospital, and everyone there was fantastic. It was amazing to talk to people who are experts in the health and well-being of children brought home from overseas. Charlie hammed it up for all of them, and convinced them that he is perfect. Tests run on stool samples (um, gross) and blood will let us know if we're dealing with any problems. The only sad part was trying to draw his blood. It took two techs and lots and lots of screaming to determine that they couldn't find any veins. So, we still have to figure that out.

While we were gone, my kids grew like crazy. Especially Talya. She is huge. Yesterday, she was my baby. Today, I stare at her and think, what the heck is she doing in diapers - she's a giant! More beautiful than ever, but big enough to take my breath away every time I pick her up.

Simon is even smarter than I remember. When I woke him up on Superbowl Sunday, I said, "Today is the day of the biggest football game of the year!" He said, "Really?!? Are there going to be three teams playing?" Now seriously, people, why has no one else thought of that?

Counting Down

Less than a week until I know if he's really, truly mine forever, and if I get to be really, truly, forever his.

Less than three weeks until I hold him and introduce him to his new Mommy and pray like crazy that he likes me.

One month until my kids meet Baby Brother, and we begin to sort out what all that means.

About 15 days of Life As I Know It before we pack up the car again and drive into Something Else to catch a plane to Change to fly back to Home Rearranged.

New Year's Resolution time has come and gone and it's inconveniently coincided with a time in my life that I am working towards personal growth. So, I don't resolve, but I do re-focus and mentally take stock in preparation for the year's first meeting with the women who help me grow.

The last year has been one of piling on the things that make life fun - blogging, working, working out, time with friends, getting out, taking advantage of a babysitter, sewing, learning new things, errands every waking moment. (So, for me that's kind of fun)

This year brings with it Child #3, and the realization that growth might mean shedding some things piled on. I want this year's growth to mean a more focused, present, calm mother for my children. Less stress. Fewer moments with frustrated, frazzled mama, and many more moments of serenity. Maybe we'll watch more movies, but hopefully we'll watch them together. Maybe we'll eat cereal for dinner, but hopefully because I skipped the store to read some stories.

I want to do this year with grace, for the sake of all of my kids who watch me so close. I want to find contentment within the walls of this house. I will still enjoy the museum, the library, the gym, but I don't want to need them for my sanity. I want to see Home through my baby's eyes, and get a kick out of staying there.

And for the next 15 days, I want to remember that this is the easy time.

Yesterday we were at the allergist, which meant another round with my son, pinning him down so he couldn't kick the nurse, while Talya stood on the sideline with nothing left to do but join the screaming. I didn't cry this time. The nurse probably thought I was crazy (even though I totally saved her from a kick to the teeth) to see the smile on my face - but I was playing the mental loop - reminding myself that in another month, I'll have three kids, and I'll look back on this horrid moment and laugh at myself for not knowing how easy I had it.

This is the easy time - when I only have 6 sippy cups to wash at the end of the day, and 4 laundry baskets overflowing, and one set of poopy diapers to step out into the frigid winter to dispose of.

I'm counting down many things, so I can remember to enjoy what I've got while I look forward to what's on its way.

Happy 2010!
(This year, I'm going to have to be okay with being late a lot.)

When God Builds a Family: a letter to all my kids

When God builds a family, He doesn’t always like things to be all matchy-matchy. It’s not like when you’re redecorating a bedroom and you go buy the bed in the bag because that’s the easiest and you know for sure that your comforter will match your shams which will match your valance.

When God builds a family, he doesn’t care much that the shams match the valance.

God doesn’t build a family the way some people shop at JCPenney’s for ensembles. God likes to build families like the seasoned, well-traveled buyer for an exotic boutique, who with an unlimited budget, scours the Earth for the perfect pieces that come together to tell the perfect story at just the right time.

Did you know that when God set out to build our family, He criss-crossed oceans to find us all? It wasn’t easy, let me tell you. You see, for God to build our family, He had to get Mommy and Daddy together in the same place so that we could fall in love.

Well, in many cases, it’s not that big of a deal for God to arrange a meeting between Mommies and Daddies. But, our story was a little trickier – it took a lot of advanced planning to make it work out just right.

You see, before Daddy was born, when He was just God’s Really Good Idea, your Amma & Appa lived far, far away in India – where jackfruit grows rampant and elephants walk the streets. And, before Daddy could be born, God had to bring Amma & Appa together so that they could get married.

That was a tricky case too. Things started of smoothly because Amma & Appa lived in the same town. But, when Appa got to be a little bigger, he had to go fight in the army. He traveled all around India and China and Bangladesh fighting for his country. It was very dangerous, and a long time went by when no one knew where Appa was. Everyone assumed that he had died.

This is what we call a “turning point” - because at this point in the story, Amma’s family was looking for a match for her. They looked at many boys, but they never looked at Appa because they thought that he was dead.

Now, God knew that if He was going to build our family, He was going to have to get Amma & Appa together. So, he saved Appa during that dangerous war, and one day, Appa walked back into that hot Indian village. A match was made, and your Amma & Appa got married.

Well, I’m sure that God was pleased that He’d accomplished that tricky match that almost never was. But, He still had a big job ahead of Him.  God knew that if Mommy & Daddy were going to meet, it sure wasn’t going to happen if Daddy lived all the way over in India with the jackfruit and the elephants.
God knew that Daddy had to be born in America.

There are people who will tell you stories that will make you believe that it’s easy for immigrants to come to this country. But, the truth is that your Amma had to work really had to come here, and even after all of her hard work, she still needed some miracles to make it all happen.

But, God was building our family, so He made those miracles happen. And, finally, one day your Amma flew to America with eight dollars and the hope that a letter she had written months before would result in someone picking her up at the airport.

I know it seems like the hard part was over. But Grandma & Pop-Pop weren’t easy to get together either. And, if Grandma & Pop-Pop didn’t get together, there would be no Mommy. And, if there had been no Mommy, then you wouldn’t be here either.

Grandma & Pop-Pop look like they match, which makes it seem like they were easy to put together, but back when Mommy was just God’s Really Good Idea, they didn’t match at all. You’ll have to see pictures to believe me, but basically, the point is that God had to get Pop-Pop into the churchy world if Pop-Pop was going to meet Grandma, and Pop-Pop was nowhere near the churchy world.

Pop-Pop had decided just like Appa to join the army. Like Appa, he didn’t have the opportunity to go to college, and so the army seemed like the next best thing. This was when God saw His opportunity to get Pop-Pop over into the churchy world where Grandma was. God sent a man named Bob to tell Pop-Pop that Jesus loved him. Pop-Pop eventually believed him, but Bob thought that if Pop-Pop didn’t get into the churchy world, he’d probably get himself into some trouble in the army.

So, Bob got Pop-Pop a chance to play basketball and go to college at the very place that every single person in Grandma’s family went to college.

When Grandma met Pop-Pop, he was scraggly and skinny, and a little uncomfortable having just been transplanted into the heart of churchy-ness. The odds were stacked against them, for sure, but Pop-Pop moved fast and married Grandma before she could even finish college.

So, now, the stage had been set and most of God’s preparation work had taken place. Mommy & Daddy were still just Really Good Ideas, but ideas that would at least be born in the same country.

I don’t know how old you’ll be when you realize that Mommy & Daddy don’t look the same. We’re alike in a lot of ways, but we’re different colors. For the most part, no one really notices, but there will always be people who think that’s a big deal. You know what? I actually think it’s a big deal too.

I think it’s a big, cool, amazing deal.

The fact that we don’t look alike is my little reminder that God had to work extra hard to match us together. It reminds me that we are not a bed-in-a-bag family, but that we were hand-selected to coordinate and complement and make each other shine.

You too, kids. You are all amazing, interesting products of an extravagant treasure hunt that has spanned the globe. We are not a matchy-matchy family, but we are a family a built by God.

A Stage Mom's First Pre-School Program

All My Children

All of my kids are killing me right now. Charlie - yes, we've officially named our newest son - is just too dang far away, and I can't even begin to adequately describe the crazy emotions with waiting for him.

The biggest thing right now is reminding myself to trust. I am so thankful for the caretakers in his life. The Sisters, orphanage volunteers, and our POA love him, and they have seen him through his life so far. So far, I have done nothing for him, and he is (I am told) happy and healthy. I remind myself always to trust them, and their concern for his well-being. It is they who have cared for him in his first 6 months of life, and they are eager to get him into a forever family. I cannot wait to meet them and thank them in person.

Simon and Talya kill me too, but mostly in ways that make me alterately crazy-frustrated or all-out-giggly. I'm posting a video of them "Preaching." If you're not interested in spending precious minutes of your life watching my kids, please skip it. I think it's funny though. I'm not sure where Sy gets his material - if you listen carefully to his sermon, he talks a lot about Jesus being Champion (as well as the pizza guy I think). He also has taken on the style of a bossy worship leader that is always ordering you to raise your hands or else.

Taly just wants to keep up with her big brother, and can only do so by trying to match him in volume.



Thanks again to all of you who weighed in with resources on adoptive breastfeeding. I have spent a lot of time on the phone with our hospital's lactaction consultant, and am starting a protocol that should help. We'll see. If not, no big deal - formula's certainly never hurt anyone. (But it does cost a pretty penny.)

Racial recognition: Yesterday, it happened

Baby screaming, screaming on the monitor - not in distress, but in over-tiredness and anger that it is still naptime. So excuse the poor writing about to follow, it's the screaming 3 inches away and my constant almost baby, almost.


Mom? I'm Brown.


Well, yes honey, you are.


Daddy's brown too - he's dark brown. I'm light brown. Why are you guys white?


Well, who's "you guys"? 

You, and I think Talya's white.

Well, Talya's light brown like you are. I'm white because my Mommy & Daddy are both white and white and white make white. You're light brown because your Mommy is white and your Daddy is brown and white and brown make light brown. Your baby brother will be black because the Mommy & Daddy that made him are black.

I thought for a minute of the whole, "God made you light brown" thing, but I thought it would be good to go ahead and explain that our colors are a product of our genes, not God and a paintbrush. Plus, it can't hurt to go ahead and lay the groundwork for Mommies and Daddies making babies, right?

Mom, I like Indian food because I'm brown.

Ahh, I see where this is going - already with the questions of how race has an impact on what we are supposed to like and what we are supposed to do. I am excited and scared at the opportunity to speak into this - to start to celebrate my kids' colors without letting the world define those colors for them.

This whole color realization thing is kind of a surprise. I've been wondering when it would happen. Simon has seemed decidedly ignorant of the fact that his Mommy is pasty and his Daddy is cocoa-colored.

But, it's not totally a surprise, and it's certainly not an accident. In preparation for our adoption, I've been reading more and more about how kids process race. One thing that's been interesting to note (this Newsweek article addresses it) is that many well-meaning parents specifically do not talk about race, so as not to draw attention to it. Often, however, that ignorance of color is exactly what sends some negative message about race.

I grew up in a home that was absent of racism. I never heard my parents talk disparagingly about ethnic minorities. But, we also didn't really talk about the subject much at all. The result was that I grew into a woman who isn't racist, but who is often afraid of these touchy subjects. My guess is that my experience is shared by many.

So, we've been trying to make race/color/ethnicity/culture a regular part of our dialogue. I want my kids to know that whatever shade their skin, it is a part of them that we love - it is not a secret, it is not shameful, it does not make them better than or worse than anyone else.

I have some throw pillows in my living room that are embroidered with, "I Love India." Simon asked me what they said, and seemed confused.

I love India because I'm brown. You can't love India because you're white.

I love India because I love you and I love your daddy and your Amma & Appa, and you are all Indian. I love India because I've been there and I know people there and it's a part of me too.

Okay, then.

I have a feeling we'll be at this for a while. And, I have a feeling sometimes I'll mess it up. Someday, I'm going to make a joke and it will come out wrong. But, hopefully, if it's okay for us to talk about it here - in our safe, multi-colored home - it will be okay for us to mess up once in a while.

But, we seem to have Lesson One down:
White + White= White
Brown+ Brown= Brown
Brown + White= super cute

3 Hours Later, half-way Vaccinated

My kids haven't really gotten sick. I mean, they've turned into hacking snot-buckets several times, but our house has never really known the feverish-pukey plague. I am so thankful for that, and am trying my best not to tempt the Flu Bug to visit. But all that relative health has lulled me into a comfortable state of denial about the flu - even the dreaded H1N1.

I was't really planning on the vaccination - for a number of stupid reasons. One: seriously, ANOTHER shot?! This is just getting cruel. Two: how bad can the flu be? Three: I don't do lines, especially when it's chilly. Four: I'm getting more and more natural in my old age - trying to subtract chemicals from our life, not add them.

But, I read at Sy's school that our county's H1N1 clinic was happening yesterday, and so I started to wonder if I should brave it. Honestly, I wouldn't have thought twice about it had the weather been cold and rainy, but I knew it would be a nice day.

Not knowing what to do, I posed the question to the all-knowing Facebook. It's kind of like "Ask the Audience" on Millionaire. If you don't know what to do, ask the audience, and they will tell you. I got one no, four yeses, and two votes for Oil of Oregano, which I have never head of before. The Yeses win, especially since one came from a doctor, one came from a nurse, and one came from a mom who recently brought her child home from the hospital.

So, I sucked up all my moans and groans about personal comfort, and piled the kids in the van to head out to the Fairgrounds, where the clinic was being held. First point: The Fairgrounds sounds fun, but when there is no fair, it's just a really big gravel parking lot and some empty barns.

The clinic was scheduled to start at 2:00, and since I Don't! Give! Up! Naps! Ever!, we arrived at 2:15, at which time we got in the back of a line that was probably already two thousand people long. We waited and waited, shuffling forward every two and a half minutes. The first hour of the line was on the side of a road, so I vigilantly protected my one-year-old from dashing into traffic. With all of my energy focused on the traffic, I gave up all pretense of protecting my kids from eating rocks, picking up trash, holding hands with potentially germy kids, etc.

Two hours into the line, as the end started to come faintly into view, the line moved in front of some sort of corrals for cattle. In mass proportions, all the kids dashed over to what looked to be the first thing more entertaining than gravel. I had to rescue my kids twice from getting locked into the corrals, and am now wondering if there is Cattle Flu, which they probably got there.

I will say this - my children were fantastic. I had no idea they were capable of standing for three hours, doing nothing. (I had no idea I was capable of that.)

Simon brought a backpack full of books, and near the end, he got a good little story time going with a bunch of other bored kids. It really was precious.

Eventually, we made it into the building, where I had to make some game-time decisions. Like: is now the time to tell them that when Mommy said, "We're going to get some medicine," Mommy meant, You are getting shots? Thankfully, Sy could get the nasal spray, and both of my kids barely made a peep when they got their injection/mist. They even let me get the vaccine, which I only did because it was a spray and I am wussy about needles - would rather have the flu, thankyouverymuch.

It is then - after the three hours of waiting is over, when you are congratulating yourself for mere survival - that they tell you, "By the way, the kids need to come back in 4 weeks for a booster." Awesome.

But, Ben just called to tell me that Sy's classroom has a large sign announcing that someone in there has H1N1... so I guess half-way vaccination is better than nothing.