**Special Category**

Titled:
Things I would change if I was in charge

I don't know how this goes around the rest of the world, but it often (typically? always?) in Ethiopia, the children in orphanages refer to their caregivers as enat, mama. They may have had several enats during their time in an institution. I wish they would call these ladies who play a vital, priceless role in the lives of the children they care for something else. Like Ms. Molly, or Auntie, or any other number of suitable terms of endearment.

Here is why. Let's look at how this breaks down from the child's perspective.

I had my mama.
I was happy.
She took care of me.
Then, she died or could not feed me.
One day, she was gone.
My heart was broken.
I moved to a new place where I didn't know anyone.
I was scared.
There were other mamas there.
They took care of me.
They fed me and bathed me.
My heart started to heal.
I became a little bit happy again.
Then, one day another mama came to pick me up and take me home.
My other mamas were gone.
I moved to a new place.
I was scared.
My new mama took care of me.
She fed me and bathed me.
My heart started to heal.

I wondered who would be next......

Mama = temporary.

And the burden lies with the adoptive parent to teach a child who has only known temporary mommys that Mama = forever. Alone.

With some children, this is no easy task.

Far from Arrived

It's been an interesting couple of weeks. Not busy with a full calendar - busy with the hard work that must be done Post Adoption. Some new revelations were made, some old trauma and negative experiences exposed, some buried memories resurfaced. As the language barrier begins to drop away piece by piece, and communication becomes clearer, more and more is known and shared. Although I'm thankful for the opportunities to connect, it was actually a lot simpler before we could talk. Ignorance can be bliss! This has been a lot for me to take in. And just when I think we've made huge, breakthrough progress, I see that despite all the effort I'm exerting, all the time I'm spending trying to understand and nurture and assist and bond, I don't think the attachment is exclusive - they may just as easily go home with any number of people if given the chance. And it stings. And makes me really angry. Even though I know it shouldn't. It is extremely difficult to not grow discouraged, and quite honestly, bitter.

Life keeps moving along at a quick click - we go forward - again - we step back - again - we cry - we laugh - we feel sad and happy and hopeful and disheartened and close and far away - on and on it goes....

I suppose we have a long way to go. I need endurance and strength and wisdom. I need mercy. I need to be merciful. God is faithful and will provide. I'm counting on that.

I didn't mean never...

that I would not ever blog again. Sometimes I like to free myself from feelings of compulsion when I find them subtly, or blatantly creeping in. I need to. Slavery is not a good time. And, don't for one second try to tell me that our computers cannot enslave us! A useful tool and a wasteful, consuming distraction - all in the same alluring box. There is a time and place and a purpose they can serve, but too much is too much. When I ignore what is my priority to engage in what should be peripheral, too often, for too long and it becomes too absorbing, it's a prime opportunity to back off and refocus.

This is a challenge to our generation, right? To be a stay at home mom with access to all that is available online, utilizing it to our advantage, without letting it occupy the sacred spaces of time that should be spent with our little ones.

I never saw the back of my mom's head as she typed away at her desk, wishing she was reading me a book or playing a game with me, or letting me tell her a story, something critically important in my world. It just didn't happen. I don't want to not be listening, shooing them away so that I can chat with my friends online, when my treasures are waiting - open to talking to me, wanting my attention and input, hoping to see my face smile with wonder and delight at their presence - and miss my chance to really connect with them......I've only got one shot at this.

Turns out

I can not blog afterall. Once the magnetic force pulling me toward the computer is finally broken. I am free! I ♥ liberation.

It is not always easy

Being the eldest of 7 children.

And, how many 8 year olds hold that title?

I am so, so proud of this girl, sweet Jayla.

I can honestly say that she has taught me about as much as I've taught her.

She is an example to me in countless ways.

Helpful, kind, thoughtful, considerate, and hard working

she is fantastic at taking initiative to pitch in.

She is generous with her time and talent.

She is gracious to younger children.

Never bored, she remains easily occupied, always busy,

plotting the next grand scheme, including every sibling.

These days, her plans often involve doing something for me around the house.

And the way she welcomed Meadow.....

which was a bit of an encroachment on her space and territory.

I think she was better at adoption than I was.

She showed me what unreserved, unashamed, unabashed, bright, brilliant, light, accepting, enveloping, love looked like with child like purity.

I needed that.

I mean, I really needed that.

Oh my heart.

It swells.

My eyes.

They tear.

My cup.

It overflows.

My girl.

Jayla.

I love you.

You really are my sunshine.

God is so good to me.

Here's a story

of some lovely children
who were living with 2 parents of their own
they were 9 people, living all together
no one was all alone

Here's some stories
of life on Deutschland
where the moments are never ever dull
there is lots of noise and devotion
and yes they're all our own

Till the one day when they try to leave the nest
and their crazy mother will lock all the doors
she'll say no you don't, I don't think so
because my heart is yours

(This jingle is in honor of the new pictures at the top. Doesn't it seem like they should be looking down, up and side to side at each other with blue backgrounds? Yoohoo? Alice? Where are you?)

That Woman

Who put her adopted son on a plane back to Russia with a letter. It's so easy to point the finger. How many people have I heard and seen talking about this. How could she?

I'm not condoning her actions.

But there is something I've learned during the past 2 months.

When a person or family decides to adopt a child internationally, they might have only a couple of paragraphs of information to sum up the entire existence of that young one's life. That little life was probably not at all like the lives of other children they know. One thing is clear - there was great loss. No doubt.

Much more is completely unclear.

They can not be certain about the myriad of other exposures that child could have had that may affect their brain chemistry, behavior, development, mental and emotional health and well being. Their new child, whom they spent themselves fully to prepare for and welcome, may act out and cope and deal with every day situations in ways that are extreme, unmanageable, unfavorable, dangerous, harmful, difficult, outrageous. "Normal" to them may be entirely wrong and inappropriate.

I think it's fairly safe to say this woman did not go into her adoption thinking, "wow, I'm going to sock my son back on an airplane alone and try to return him to the country he came from because I will be at my wits end and have absolutely no clue how to handle this boy."

Under an extended period of duress I'm guessing she probably became a version of herself she had trouble recognizing. The woman she formerly knew herself to be, the one who completed her home study and paperwork and to make the journey of a lifetime would likely never do such a thing.

Make no mistake - adoption can make a family vulnerable. You get what you get and you have to try to deal with it the best way you can. Once they're there, they're yours. Along with whatever issues they may carry home.

I am not going to judge her.
That I know for sure.

Standing

At the computer.
It's my new rule. For a while at least.

I treasure my moments (which can lead to minutes....hours) talking with you and seeing what you're up to and commenting about what you're saying on your blogs and your facebook pages. I love writing about our lives and jotting down a few of the million ridiculous thoughts or events that race through my mind on any given day. It all gets pent up inside, I need a place for it to ((((GO)))) Out there. Here. An outlet. In blogland.

But, my *babies* (oh yes they are. teeny weeny itsy bitsy little little babies) need their mommy to be present. Not only physically, but emotionally, mentally. Present. Looking them in the eye. Cupping their sweet faces in my hands. Laughing heartily at their jokes. Being refreshed by time spent with them, unhurried. Making them feel they are some of the most magnificent blessings God has bestowed upon this poor woman's soul. Because it's true. Looking at the profile of my face as they sit beside me while I'm tapping away on the keyboard isn't getting the job done.

Maybe if I stand at my computer rather than pulling up a comfy chair, I will find I have more time for living my life.

The cutest kids at the Children's Hospital yesterday.

Meadow trying to teach Clover with flashcards. It was hilarious. Kind of like the blind leading the blind since they know about the same number of words. Although I must say, M has come a LONG way in the language dept. which is oh so helpful. OH SO HELPFUL! My goodness. Her speaking a little bit more is helpful. Jayla kindly offered her assistance. (Yes, I wake up every morning and do Dolly's hair. First thing. See how good I am at it?)

My back hurts now from hunching over. It's working. Better scat!

Doggy Dreams

On hold.

I'm sure one day I will have a babydoggie and be one of those ladies. You know the kind.

I'll sit on the bench at the park during lovely spring afternoons sharing an ice cream cone with my pooch while whispering sweet nothings in my most syrupy voice about how he's the best doggie woggie to ever draw breath on this earth into his cute furry little ear. My darling canine companion will peek out adoringly from its puppypurse perch, savoring every creamy bite, utterly oblivious to his mother's mental instability and possible need for prescription medication as passersby nod politely with sympathy for the poor lady who fell all the way off her ever lovin rocker. A lick for you, my precious ookie pookie pumpkin pie muffin cake snuggalicious, a lick for me. Mmmm. Tasty.

But not now. I'm just not ready yet.

My purse is too small - My afternoons too busy.

I like it!

It doesn't much matter what anyone else thinks or says. If I find it humorous, clever, cute, hilarious, witty, sweet, sentimental, sad, touching, worthwhile, fun.... then I do.

I'm 35 now and that's old enough to know what I like and why I like it and I can like it whether other people like it or not. I have my own taste. It's fine if it's unique.

I love getting older. ☺ And yes, that made perfect sense. To me. Because I like it! Yes I do.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dare I say it? I do believe we've finally found our stride. (Deep cleansing breath) It took a while to adjust. Definitely. More weeks than 'they' told me it would require. There was much to learn about the most basic parts of how we would function as we began walking the long and winding road toward blending together, forming unity. Lots of tiring, confusing work needed to be accomplished. Some heart surgery and soul searching took place. I imagine that will continue to be the case.

And yet, it seems I have grown accustomed to our new normal and can more readily predict what our days will look like and what may trigger negative emotion from any or all of us. There is a rhythm. A method ot the madness. A certain level of organization to the chaos.

Living life as a family of 9 is coming more naturally and feeling much less overwhelming. In fact, 7 children doesn't seem like that many anymore. I don't have to spend nearly as much time counting faces to see if they're all here! ☻

This is cause for joy and celebration in Deutschland.

God's goodness and providence is felt.

He is faithfully providing what we need.

My heart can not contain the gratitude.

The Parents

The kids

The guarding of the goods

The Boys

The girls

April 7, 2009

Was a year ago, wasn't it?

Let me start again.

April 7, 2010.

Today!

They don't call it Costlyco for nothing.

She made these all alone. She had lots of help eating them.

There it is: School Progress!

Off to snuggle up and watch AI with the Deutschlets.

Who is going home? Andrew, Tim, Katie?

I thought I was ready to move on

So I gave my husband the full, green light go ahead for a, ahem, snip clip surgery when Clover was 4 months old. He did not want to do it unless I was certain. I was *sure* it was the *right* thing to do. What kind of person would I be if I wanted to have more children!? People would shake their heads at me, wag their fingers, talk behind my back about what a disservice I was doing to my young offspring to go on having so many that way.

I would not be able to shave my legs, cut my hair, buy sliced bread, listen to blasting rockin music, watch the Bachelor, have my friend Gin over for a drink while I cook dinner, or wear pants any longer.


I have regretted it ever since. Oh how I have regretted it. Every day. I regret it. Even on my worst days at home. I have such regret. I can't seem to get past it. Unable to disolve the desire for a little one, I know what must be done.











I'm getting a dog. Preferably a small dog. This dog will be my baby. It will sleep in a bassinet and go for walks in the bjorn. ☺ It will accept my insanity whole heartedly and welcome the opportunity to be a perpetual baby the way none of these traitor growing children will.


Any recommendations for breed? I'm thinking JOTSCMF would relish the ability to say shitzu without consequence.

Just say No

Or this could happen to you too.

The effects of crack.

Zoo

Zoo 2

The People's Court

Where what you say can and will be used against you ☺

♦♦♦ Rant alert ♦♦♦

I rarely rant, do I? Oh nevermind. Don't answer that.

Darling Easter pictures will come soon enough.

Recently, (yesterday) I was pulled aside for some well intended advice about something I had discussed on this blog (neighbor). "You're letting it get to you too much. You can't let it affect your life.....etc. etc."

Well, ok. I was asked about it when we walked in the door (understandable). So we (briefly) discussed it then. And, I wrote about it on the blog.

Hmmm. Golly.

My neighbor (and I have very few of them!) killed her toddler son. Why yes. That's bothersome. For a variety of reasons. Surely, it is. I am terribly sad for their entire family and can understand the complexity of the situation. My heart goes out to them. All.

It's really not having an impact on my daily activities.

Permagrins are ridiculously lame and phony. Shall we wear them for the sake of other people?

Why is it so uncomfortable, causing us to mentally writhe, wanting desperately to make everything fine, when we observe people sad, struggling, mourning, troubled, sorrowful, or any other number of "negative" emotions?

Don't those feelings enable us to process, develop compassionate hearts, connect, gather around one another, heal? They move us, prompting action and assistance and prayer and love and courage. They cause us to cry out to God on behalf of ourselves and others. They keep us looking upward, longing for a day with no more suffering, no more pain, when we will meet Him face to face. They help us appreciate and savor the sweetness of the good times, to not take them for granted.

Quickly "fix it fix it fix it" ((((everything is fine!))) is the American way, right? If it's not, cover it! We wouldn't want people to know we have tender hearts that are prone to cracking underneath all those smiley faces!

I just don't believe our expectations for abiding in okey dokey fine and dandyland are realistic or beneficial.

It's ok to not be ok.
For a while. During certain stages. Some rather long, some quite short.
In fact, it may even be absolutely, essentially, idyllically, ideal.

I look out our playroom door and see off in the distance a gorgeous sprawling stucco and brick home on a 35 acre lot with a barn and horses set beside it. While we dyed eggs today and played outside and helped the big kids with their awanas grand prix cars, the mother who is usually in that house, doing those same things with her children is now in jail facing first degree murder charges. Their older son placed in another home by child protective services. The dad? I don't know. Is he there alone? At a friend's or relatives? He has lost a son. At the hands of his beloved wife. His other boy is not with him. How deep his grief must be.

I've scoured the internet reading every account I can find of this story. So close to home. We saw the emergency response vehicles come in our development that night, the flight for life helicopter arriving and departing, we prayed, we wondered, our hearts raced. Sirens, flashing lights, in our rural area are rare. Passing right by our house? A first in our 6 years here.
Lord, please let those boys be ok. What if it was one of those little ones flying off to the hospital? We didn't hear anything until a week later. When I turned on my tv to record Jamie Oliver's Food Revolution, there was her face on the screen. My neighbor. The news. I dropped to the ground.

I can't get it off my mind. How could this be? This is not a 16 year old father, utterly unprepared, ill equipped for parenthood, or a mother addicted to drugs. This is right here, in my neighborhood, a 39 year old, stay at home, adoptive mother. A loving father. A Christian, married couple with 2 young boys. We just spoke, briefly, at the mailboxes the day before.....everything was normal, fine....

The comments following the news stories are laced with venom and hatred. She deserves to die, they say. How could anyone, ever do such a thing? She should have never had kids. If you can't protect your children, give them to someone who can. I can almost hear them snarling. The stones being hatefully cast. They see her mug shot. They know a child died at her hands. They think they have all the answers.

They don't.

I have no idea what happened that night while we were sitting here, right down the road, watching t.v. A young boy died. Yes. His mother was the reason. So it seems, yes.

She was a person you would never have thought could do such a thing. Never. These are good people. Responsible people. Good parents. Kind folks. Animal activists. Generous. She held candle parties and talked about homeschooling and church and her children. Just like all of us. She could have been anyone you know.

As we age, we see people rise, we see people fall. We observe other's humiliation and embarrassment as they are caught in various acts. We see repentance and deliverance and redemption. We see hard heartedness and refusal to accept, acknowledge, change.

We see sin. Terrible, hideous, awful, ugly, despicable, hurtful sin. We see it in the lives of others played out. We see the pain it causes. We see the splash effect it has.

We see it in the mirror too.

Maybe we don't get caught. Maybe we do.

Maybe the results are devastating, invokable, beyond repair. Maybe they are not and God will make glorious good come from the exposure of what was once hidden, done in secret.
Either way, we know it's there.

This woman, my dear neighbor, is no different. A few days ago, I could not say I know anyone who has ever killed anyone else, unless they were a soldier. Now I can. I know her. She was a mother, a peer. Someone like me. Perhaps, someone like you.

Let our hearts break because of the devil's stronghold in our lives, our homes, our families, our communities, our country, our world. Because of the damage he causes. He is so subtle, so sly, so sneaky, so underhanded, not to be underestimated. Let us mourn with those who mourn and weep with those who weep and pray for God's tender mercies to fall upon each and every one of us. We all need it. We know we do. Let us be on our knees in prayer for one another. For families suffering from the horrible, horrible effects of sin, like this one is.
With or without bars, this woman will likely be in prison for the rest of her life.

Please, Lord, let me refrain from casting stones. Not even one.
Let me love my neighbor as myself.

My neighbor

Who lives in a very big house down the road and rescues injured horses and is the president of the HOA and goes to the same Calvary church we used to attend with her husband and 2 boys and decorates her living room with pictures of her kids all over the walls and has a playset with a slide and swing in her back yard, turned herself in today for murdering her 3 year old son last week by blunt force trauma to the head.

Gosh.

News like that is jolting.

Sin can so easily beset us all.
Damn that roaring lion.

Burning question

It is hard for me to take blogging breaks. I can't shut myself up! There are about a million wordy posts floating around in my brain.
***Interruption*** from hiatus ***again*** to ask you something I can't get off my mind. Maybe you have the answers.

Is setting the captive free, loosening the chains of injustice, releasing the oppressed, breaking yokes, about social justice, or spiritual liberation, or both? Are they inherently, inextricably linked together?
Where should our focus lie? Or are they an intertwined chord?

(Yes, I'm still thinking about Glen Beck's claim.)

Ideas?