Still coming to terms

I know I just posted about letting clothing go…or rather about not letting them go.  So this might seem redundant, but we keep running into these markers – these reminders that time moves swiftly and takes sweet things away when it leaves…

And don’t get me wrong – this is in no way an admission of any sort of love for diapers or diaper changing…but this week we said goodbye to Quint’s diaper changing pad.  And just like that, his dresser became a fully functioning, big-boy space.  I was looking forward to it – to not changing diapers.  And suddenly, he was potty trained and we had no need for that pad.  No need to place him up there and get him dressed or cleaned up.  Just no need for it anymore.  You see, he can do those things now.  He still needs our help, of course.  But diapers are a thing of the past for him.  And I’m so proud…but I’m sorry to see his babyhood leaving us.  No more crib.  No more diapers.  No more sippy cups.  No more…just leaving.  Leaving me. 

So meanwhile…

While I speak of coming to terms, can anyone tell me?  Am I ever going to come to terms with this mess?  No, for real-sies.  Is this seriously my toll to pay in the parenting track?  If so, just level with me.  Because I am chasing messes all day long – and it’s going to make me a hairy monster.  A hairy mommy monster.  Just a mommy monster.  I don’t know what the hair bit is about.  I don’t even know why I said “hairy”.  It’s not like I’m all hairy and stuff. 

It’s not the point. 

The point is, seriously?  This mess is part of that emancipation “play in your room away from Mom” thing – and I love that they play in there and go all monkey or whatever – but I am still coming to terms with the tornado affect.  Oh, and it comes out of the room.  Into all other areas.  I found the LEG of a Scooby Doo figure in my dresser.  The leg, people.  In my dresser. 

This mothering gig?  I’m still coming to terms with so much of it.

SEASONS!

One of the things I LOVE about blogging, is having a personal space on the web.  A space I can make my own.  And one of the things I love about that space is being able to switch it up and keep it fresh, so that it reflects me as I change.  I love the idea of giving myself a new look with the changing seasons, or as our family has expanded, or just because it's fun and I get bored with the same look...which is why, if you're anything like me?  This post is for YOU!

In honor of Black Friday and the many delicious sales going on all over the place, we cooked up a FANTASTIC deal of our own over at Bushel & A Peck Designs.

If you haven't visited for a while (or ever?), you must jet over there as soon as you finish reading this post.  You must!  Why?  

Because we've changed the look, we've slashed the prices (you can't find a better deal anywhere!) and we've rolled out a brand new package!  

Hang on to your seats.  This is a product that I have yet to see on the market for blogs - especially at this amazing price!  Introducing...

Bushel & A Peck SEASONS* Package 

FOUR Custom Designs over a calendar year for only $100.00.  That's a savings of over $60.00!

Here's what you get for your buck:

• Four Custom Designs over a calendar year.  You choose the style, you choose when. (*Two week notice required for a design change)
• Customized layout, header, background and sidebar titles
• Custom Signature and Post Divider
• Three Customized Sidebar Elements (Family pictures, fun frames, etc.)

Imagine the possibilities ~ Choose your favorite holidays, big events, birthdays, mix and match - it doesn't matter.  It's up to you!  You decide!  Either way, you get to have a fresh new look on your blog throughout the year for one low price.  

Tell a friend!  Give it as a gift to a favorite blogger pal!  Buy it for yourself!  

ORDER TODAY and reserve your spot for a fabulous SEASONS Package!   

*Price valid through December 31, 2010. 

~ Happy Holidays to everyone from Bushel & A Peck Designs!

Happy Thanksgiving

From our family to yours...enjoy your Turkey Day!

Happy Teeth

I don’t remember a lot about dentist appointments as a child.  Just that I went and that I got a free toothbrush and that they always had cool toothpaste.  That’s all I recall. 

So when Quint’s first appointment for the dentist came this week – I didn’t really have any expectations.  Actually, I was just praying that he would be the stellar patient that he always is for his pediatrician. 

He didn’t disappoint…

And maybe Toy Story 3 on the ceiling TV helped?

Maybe picking out chocolate toothpaste helped?

Maybe how nice everyone was?  

How kind and gentle they were with my little 3 year old?

How they gave him a tour and explained every. single. thing to him?

Maybe because little sister could be easily occupied 

with a bag of crackers while we waited?

Or maybe because he’s just a wonderful boy…

or all of the above

Either way?  Happy teeth.  Happy Mama.  Happy boy.

And another milestone down…

I still can’t believe he’s three.

Letting Go Someday

“It's silly”, I prefaced to AB – who had both hands on the wheel, and a casual demeanor.  It felt safe.  Comfortable.  Maybe I could say this without sounding ridiculous.

I started again.  “I mean, it’s absurd…really.  I don’t know why it bothers me.  I guess I just need to talk about this with someone and you’re probably the last person I should be pouring my heart out to about this”…I was stammering.  Stalling.  Avoiding.  11th hour avoidance. 

He gave me a crestfallen and emphatic look.  “First of all, I should never be the ‘last person’ you can pour your heart out to”, he said.

I already knew that.  It was just…

“Well, you should hear what it is before you say that…you might agree with me”, I cautioned back to him playfully.

“Just tell me, babe…it’s ok.”  He was my rapt audience.

“Alright", I replied. "But be gentle with me.  I'm still not sure why this bothers me as much as it does and I’m trying to figure it out".  This was harder than I thought it would be.

I began…“a few people have been asking me for Keira’s things when she’s done with them.  You know, basically her clothes.  For their girls.  Stuff  that she’s grown out of.”

“Uh-huh…and?” He said gently.  He was listening, it was good I hadn’t already lost him with the word “clothes”.

“Well, I have…I am…it’s just that I feel…”  The words weren’t coming out.  I could not even form a lousy sentence – good grief. 

And suddenly, without warning, a pool of emotion came spilling out of me.  Here it was - face buried in my hands...

“I can’t do it.  I just can’t.  I know it’s the right thing, I guess it is? You know, to give your stuff to another family.  Or to share.  Or whatever it is..hand em’ over, hand em’ down, or whatever you want to call it.  And I know the idea is that you get them back, or most of them anyway.  I get that.  But, well…I can’t.  I mean…”

The tears started falling before I could stop them.  Before I could convince them how silly I would look.  Beg myself not to be overly-emotional and lose all credibility.  I had a point, I just didn’t know what it was. And now I was crying and forgetting what I wanted to convey.  I tried again…

“I can’t let go.  It’s a part of her.  A part of me.  I see those clothes, and I see her in them, at various stages of her babyhood…these past ten months that have been flying by with shocking speed.  Clothes she wore in China. I remember her in each little dress or outfit.  I can see her in my mind, and remember where we were or what we were doing.  I know in my head, it’s just fabric.  But in my heart, it’s a part of her.  I sound ridiculous, I know I do.  I just can’t help it!” Fat tears made their decent.  Still, I continued…

“And it’s not just sharing them – I can’t seem to sell them, consign them…I can’t.  Babe, I have tried.  Just this morning I was putting away laundry in her room and I realized it was time to put the cool-weather PJ’s away.  So I pulled out all her short sleeve jammies and went to put them in the closet in a tub.  You know the one where I put the clothes she's outgrown?  Well, just saying goodbye to those clothes…knowing she wouldn’t wear them again, wouldn’t be that small again…I said out loud to only myself ‘stab me in the heart’, as I placed them in the tub.  And I was mostly joking, but still, it did hurt to say goodbye to them.  To see them go…because they were taking that sweet little phase of her life with them – the summer months of her first year home with us.” 

I waited.  My sadness seeping out and my vulnerability seeping in...

And when he spoke, it was with kindness & gentleness in his voice. 

“Well, the way I see it…most of those clothes were bought over a five year period of time.  A period of waiting for her.  And they were all you had of her for those five years.  You have an emotional attachment to them, because they represent a huge chunk of your life and your heart while you waited for her to come home to you.  So that's why giving them away, or selling them or seeing another child wearing them hurts.

He went on..."you did that for a long time - be apart from her.  So I can see why it would be hard to say 'goodbye' to something that was a large part of your comfort while you waited.  And so now she’s worn these clothes well and she's outgrown them…and you’re grieving.  The clothes, which for you represent your wait for her and loving her all those years...and the fact that she's growing up.  I totally get that.”

For a minute I sat in silence.  Absorbing.  Feeling loved and validated.  So I added for extra measure and truthfulness…

"To be honest, I feel that way about Quint’s stuff too…I can’t see it go to anyone and I hate to even pack it up.  I do it, but I don’t like it.  It’s so hard for me.  I physically get sick thinking of giving them away.  I can’t imagine.  Like I’m saying goodbye to his childhood…to him…every time”.

He nodded and smiled.  “Well Honey, Quint was a part of your wait too.  He was a part of the road you’ve walked the past five years – and it was an emotional road.  You’re allowed to feel this way.  You’re allowed to say ‘I’m not letting go of this right now’.  You’re allowed to tell your friends that because these clothes have deep sentimental value to you, you’re just not able to part with them at this point in your life.”

“Any maybe someday I will?”  I chimed in quietly.

“Yes, maybe someday you will…” he said gently.

“And I can be all hoarder-crazy for a while and just keep piling this stuff into tubs in the attic until I can maybe let some of it go?”  I gave him a sideways glance.

“You can.” 

And I leaned over so my head could lay on his shoulder, and so I could dry my tears on his sweatshirt.  And it felt better.  Just to say it all.  Just to admit I couldn’t let go – silly as it seemed, even to me.  And to be lovingly reminded of why I felt this way.  And I listened as the kids happily chattered away in the seats behind us – giggling and laughing and filling the car with sweet jibber-jabber.  My babies who were so little now, but I knew full-well, would be grown and gone too soon.

And so for that day and for today and perhaps for many years, I’m taking baby steps to say goodbye to a long wait that still sits deep in my heart and shows its effects in strange unexpected ways.    Even though it’s over, it’s still a part of me.  And I still struggle to forget how much it hurt.  How much it still hurts sometimes to let go of any part of them.  Even their little clothes.

Maybe someday…but not just yet. 

Keira’s closet, circa “while we waited”

Bob Loblah

(go ahead…say the title out loud.  Laugh….annnnnnd continue…)

Can I be honest?  Good then…

Things are a little hairy.  Not hairy as in, you know…hair on the head, hairy.  As in busy.  Hectic.  A little stressful.

I love this blog.  It’s my spot.  It’s my little cozy corner of the web, and it’s my own.  I have made friendships here and I have blurted out my opinions, and poured out my heart.  And sometimes, it’s just too much.  I love it, but it’s one more thing.  I know you know what I mean.  I say “self, you really should get on there and talk about this, or that, or this…” and those pep talks go about as far as a once a week post.  Maybe two.  And only lately – because generally speaking, I’m a much more frequent blogger.  And I even snap pictures throughout the week of the kids or of whatever and say “now that is gonna be a great post!”.  And we don’t even need to point out how many of those “posts” are actually making it on here.  (Cough)  So I have all this guilt and lots to say, but I just feel like I have no time to do it.  And this is in no way a sign of quitting – rather of breathing.  Taking a little breather.  A couple posts a week for bit, while I get myself sorted out. 

Our life is nuts.  NUTS I tell you.  Is yours?  Is it just me?  What happened?  I’m so busy every day and some days I have nothing to show for it.  That’s darn depressing!  Is it because I now have two kids and my life is flashing before my eyes starting every day at 6am"? (thank-you Quint)  Is it because my days of being a night-owl are long over, because I’m too freaking old and tired to make it past 10pm?  Don’t spare me – no need to give it to me gently…it’s all downhill from here, isn’t it?  Sigh…

We’ve had my parents come stay for a month – there’s a post.  Anton’s birthday party and a great production of Antigone (say it with me…anne-tig-uh-nee)…see here’s the proof:

…and there was Halloween (a post), Quint’s birthday (a great post), my own birthday (Bob Loblah) and church, work, purging, cleaning, making plans for 2011…on and on.  Crazy.

A blur, I tell you.  A blur.

I swear to you…I swear by my housecoat and slippers (eek, there’s a moment of blurting that is probably better left on the cutting room floor) that I was just writing on here about summer at La Cabin.  How Quint was swimming like a little fish and diving and how we were soaking up the sun and eating Frogmore Stew.  Wasn’t I?  Didn’t I just post that like a few weeks ago?  And somehow, without any warning whatsoever, it’s Thanksgiving?  Really?

Can I just say – Thanksgiving is no longer a holiday.  It is only a bookmark for which Halloween and Christmas share a divide.  Each one sitting on opposite sides.  Glaring the other down.  Christmas always winning, because it’s…well, Christmas after all.  There is no Thanksgiving anymore.  It’s just a feast to mark the opening of the Christmas season.  Black Friday.  Sales.  Whatever else.  And let’s face it, Christmas has already been up for two months.  Christmas trees are up.  Decor is up.  Everything is up. 

Can I not even have one bite of Turkey with cranberry sauce?  Not one taste of my pumpkin’s Pumpkin Pie?  Seriously?  And I’m a Christmas LOVER.  Love it, love the music, love the magic.  But this year – I’m overwhelmed with the speed at which my life is passing.  And I have no time.  And I’m not sure how that happens, but it does and it is.  And I object. 

Meanwhile, I’m working on my Christmas design for the blog – and it’s oh so fun.  So, you see - I’m also a hypocrite.  Yes, I am.

All this talking and what have I said?  Let’s see…we’ve got

• I’m busy.
• I love my blog but I have no time to write on it.
• My kids are growing up too fast and I’m too tired to watch it all unfold.
• I wear a housecoat and slippers.
• Summer was a blink. 
• Thanksgiving has officially died.
• I love Turkey and Cranberry Sauce
• I have a new Christmas Design coming.
• I am a hypocrite.

That’s good for me…

Happy THANKSGIVING.  (It’s Thursday…in case anyone forgot about it…you know…in the Black Friday madness and Christmas Tree lots everywhere…)

Birthday Weekend

They are spectacular.  Every single bit of them down to their tiny toes and their wonderful laughs and their sweet voices.  Spectacular.

And I'm not always so great about realizing the good stuff while it's happening.  Not so wonderful at recognizing what a sweet life it is. What a great man I have.  What a blessing my children are to me.  Not so good at it.  The tough stuff takes over sometimes.  Yes, I admit it.  My attitude goes to the toilet and I forget.

But not looking at this.

Never was a birthday weekend more amazing, just for the fact that both my babies were in my arms for it.  How amazing is that, after all these years?  This is the blessing I'm clinging to. 

How bout' you?

Three

He was one.  I mean, just one year old.  And I thought…this is amazing!  I have a one year old child?!?!  How did this happen?  He’s one!  And it was breathtaking and wonderful and scary and a blur.



Then suddenly, he was two.  I mean, full-force two.  And I was amazed.  I have a two-year old?   How is this possible?  He’s two!  It was wonderful, scary, and sadly – still such a blur of life and activity and time passing way too quickly. 

And somehow…without warning or global shift…he is three.  Three years old.  And friends?  It doesn’t seem possible to me.  That this baby…this child that I held when he was so tiny and could not sit up, this infant who caused my whole world to stop and refocus…that he could be three years old already.  And it scares me.  Because he changes so much, so fast – that I can’t keep up.  And I keep telling myself to enjoy more, worry less.  Try and cherish everything about him that I possibly can, because in a hand-full of days he’ll be four.  And a post, much like this one, will be up.  And I want to yell out for someone to stop the clock – stop the aging…stop the changing.  Let us enjoy each age until we are full…and then move on to the next.  But the clock keeps spinning and we watch as he grows more and more into the person he will be.  Love and pain and love and pain, all mingling together as you see your baby slipping away and the child emerging.  Wonderful, beautiful child.  Wonderful beautiful baby…

A friend reminded me “the days are long, but the years are short…”

So short, sweet boy.  So short…

Mama loves you

Happy Birthday

A Weekend of Q

It’s his birthday on Monday – and he’ll be three.  Which, to be honest – I’m having a hard time with.  And I have a little post about that coming.  But in the meantime, who can argue with me that he’s the most gorgeous and spectacular boy? (with a specific and glorious sense of personal style)

 

          

 

He is funny, charming, and a total hand full.  And he touches my heart with his deep rooted joy for life.  He exudes happiness and it is contagious.

 

I cannot imagine what I did right, friends, that I should get to know him and love him as I do.

 

 

  He is a blessing!

I do my little turn on the catwalk…

Oh, hello.  Were you looking at me? 

You were.  I could tell.  You couldn’t help yourself, I know.  Well, let me give you a lil’ sumpin for the shot, eh?  How bout this?  Never mind the boy in the background.  He’s just jealous he can’t pose like this.  All sultry and whatnot in these supa’-fly goggles.  Yes.  I said it.  Goggles.  Now click it.

Here, how bout’ I give you a nice catwalk pose?  What’s that?  Why am I wearing my Halloween outfit after the 31st?  Because that’s what supa’ fly girls do – yo!  We wear black and orange cat shirts and sparkly black pants year-round.  Word.  And Goggles.  What?

Just get this shot…walking away…come on!  This is my cut!  Shoooooot.

Ok, ignore the preachy brother telling me how I should learn to “accessorize better” – whatev!  Like seriously, how can he talk wearing sandals in November? 

 

Fine.  I’ll pose for ONE shot with you.  But that’s all.  And take off my supa-fly girl glasses.  Poser.  Sheesh.

 

Oh, now you’re gonna try and be all “down” with that?  Like you’re up in my business acting like you know me?  Trying to sweet talk me?

No, you can’t borrow my black cat ensemble…forget it.  

I plead the fifth on sharing.  I’m only one.

And no.  You can’t have your goggles back. 

Mom?  Get this shot.  This is the keeper.  For reals.  Rraaaaaawwwww.

Meow, said the kitty.  With the goggles.

Keira.  Out.

Peace.

The Truth of Why

Why did you adopt?

I mean, be honest.  Tell the truth.  Did it start out as a humanitarian effort?  Did it begin as a deep rooted desire to help the parentless children of the world, no matter the cost?  If it did, then…well done!  I mean, that is to say – you’re probably in that select few percentage of people who truly set out to make the world a better place, one child at a time.  And I think that’s amazing.  And I’m jealous.  Why?

Can I tell you a secret?  I think I was very self-centered.  Not that it’s always bad to think of yourself.  Clearly not.  But that thought did not occur to me, nor did it appear in my plans of the perfect life with the perfect man and the perfect children.  No, it did not.  It was a back-burner.  I had talked briefly, while single, about possibly adopting.  But only because I was worried Mr. Amazing might never show up.  When he did?  We talked about having kids on our first date.  Yes, we did.

And AB?  Always felt in his guts he would adopt.  Somehow.  Always open to it.

Let me tell you a little truth about me.  I did not start out in the adoption process to help the motherless child.  I did not set out to do a good deed.  I did not set out to help anyone but myself.  Me.  My own personal #1.  I set out to take care of the deep longing in my heart to be a mother.  To experience motherhood.

And when my own fertility options seemed bleak – and then bleaker as the years went by – we became more and more open to the option of adoption for building our family. 

I died a little bit that day.  My optimism went sailing right on out the Doctor’s office window and into the womb of some other expectant mother.  I heard the words, “uterus not conducive”.  “Most likely a lot of difficultly and that’s if you could conceive”.  “Much higher risk and possibility for miscarriage" and they stung and crushed and wounded and I was numb and eerily calm.  

But friend, when we got home from that appointment?  I wept like a baby there in the fetal position on the floor of our home office –  when it felt safe and when I started to digest that I was woefully made on the inside.  That my “house” couldn’t safely hold what I most wanted to give my husband.  A child. 

Leaving me hurting and devastated and feeling like my body had failed me in what could have been my finest accomplishment in life.  To give Anton a son.  A daughter.  Someone to be ours.  Part of me.  Part of him.  I’ve never felt so broken from my heart down to my broken uterus.  Split right into. 

I wanted what I wanted.  And it was slipping through my fingers.  Never mind slipping.  It was all but gone.  There was nothing to do for it.  Just watch it evaporate with my perfect life…down, down, down until it was gone and with it – all my dreams.

And I do think it was after that…maybe two years later, that Anton mentioned adoption to me again.  And I was listening.  And it seemed unlikely and difficult.  Expensive and out of our reach.  But I was willing to try.  I guess for Anton. 

And AB sent to me an e-mail that mentioned going to a meeting for a particular agency…for a program in China.  For a daughter.  And he said “do you want to check this out?”

For no known reason, I began to weep when I clicked that link.  I was at work.  There I sat, crying.  And my favorite co-worker came around the bend and saw me.  “What is it?!?!  What’s the matter?!?!” and I could only say the words “I’m adopting a little baby girl”.  I knew…down in my soul.  This is what we’re going to do.  And it feels so perfectly right. 

And you know already that on the way to China and to our sweet Keira Joy…we found Ethiopia and in it, our amazing son Quint. 

I don’t think wanting to be a mother, wanting to have a family, wanting to be a parent is a wrong reason to want to adopt.  But somehow, I think as adoptive parents we feel obligated to have the idea that we set out to save a child as the back-lighting to our stories.  That somehow we set out to help someone other than ourselves.  And maybe you did.  And I’ve already said that I applaud that.  I truly do.  But I can’t say that for myself.  I set out to mend my broken heart.  And before you think for a minute that my children are second string to the dream – let me tell you the truth.

Oh my sweet beautiful children.  They taught me everything that was truly important.  Not to think of myself.  But to think of others.

They light up my life with joy, happiness, laughter, love and yes, sometimes even pain.  They could never play second fiddle to any imagined child in my mind, because they are our everything.  They always were and they always will be.  They are not, nor could they ever be – second to anything.  I was never meant to have biological children.  And it took time and acceptance, but I released that long ago.  And when you cannot bear children, take it from my heart to yours that you absolutely must grieve that.  Anyone who tells you that you can always “just adopt” needs to be slapped.  Twice.  It’s a painful journey for many of us.  And it cannot be disregarded.  It’s devastating and it is a dream that you have to let go of with time.

But it was right.  It was right for me.  Because my kids…what they mean to me?  To us?  What they are?  Is the exact and utter will of the Living God in my life.  They are and always were my children.  They have two earthly mothers and two earthly fathers and I’m so truly and deeply blessed beyond measure that we should get to be part of that.  We love them with every breath within us.

I have often said that our adoption journey has healed my heart so much better than anything I could have ever attempted to do on my own.  It has taught me so much about myself, about my heart and the depth of my love, and my ability to love and to allow myself to be loved.  It has taught me how sweet healing can be and how amazing our lives can be if we are willing to open up our minds to the possibilities.  Stepping outside your comfort zone is often the very first step. 

And though I did not start out this journey with a humanitarian heart – I would be dishonest if I did not tell you that it changes you.  It marks you.  You cannot go to some of these 3rd world countries, see what you see, and not be changed.  You can’t come home and on some level…not want to find a way to make a change for the orphans left behind.  Your eyes become opened to the world in a new way.  You see the hurt outside your own.  Suddenly it becomes a larger picture of what can be done and what should be done.  You become less and others become more.  You decrease and so does your pain.  You are small and the children in need…they are big.  My journey has taken me further and further from the dream and focus of being a mother, and more and more towards being a mother to the motherless.

How richly it has blessed me to take that step of faith.  I would be lying if I told you that we felt we had done enough.  The truth?  The truth is that we often talk about finding room for more in our family.  Finding a way to help.  Finding a way to reach in and pull one more, two more….out of that broken life.  We don’t have money, but I have such a hard time accepting that children are forced to live in an orphanage with no hope and no one to love them…over money.  That emptiness of having no one.  That loneliness of being left.  It’s so heartbreaking.  Can you imagine it?  I can.  Every time I look at my babies.  It could be them.  Left behind.  It makes me sick.  How many more then could be brought up out of that?  The journey is sweet and the road is hard.  But my heart…I would never change a minute of it.  Not a single minute.

Do I wish I could have biological children?  Not for a single minute of a single day since my son was placed in my arms.  That’s the truth.

I think that’s how God reaches out to us in our despair.  Through brokenness and frailty, curled up in that ball…sobbing my heart out…asking “why me”.  This path was set into motion of love and compassion and life changing experiences…and two little children.  Motherless no more.  And this aching need to be a mother…filled and filled again and again until it truly has overflowed with the love I bear them.

He sets the lonely in families, friends.  Truly He does.  And He heals the brokenhearted.

Are we listening…

and so Apathy sets in…

So I feel guilty.  Guilty that I haven’t posted yet.  And it’s been, well…a while.  It’s not because I have nothing to say.  It’s just because I haven’t felt the motivation to say it.  Any of it.  Some of it is sweet and fine and dandy, and other things are more serious and thoughtful and probably too opinionated.  And anyway, I’m wondering, contemplating that perhaps blogging is in a way, a dying art form any more.  Because I notice a lot of people have dropped off the map of blog-world.  And many people have resorted to Facebook only. 

And I’ll be the first to admit, it’s practically impossible for me to keep up with my blog-roll.  The list of blogs on my Google Reader alone is enough to overwhelm me – but actually making the time to sit down and catch up…it’s not pretty.  And some of you post daily.  Wowza.  It’s taken me three months to read “The Shack”.  I mean, I can’t even read a chapter of a book a day, let alone post every day.  Or read blogs every day.  And that kinda makes me a bad blogger.  Maybe a little bit of a hypocrite, because I love having you stop by – and yet, I’m not always able to return the favor.  Gulp.

Whew.  Got that out there. 

I think this hiccup in blogging comes from a deeper place.  There is a lot going on right now.  Life stuff – changes, decisions, and things that upset the norm.  And that’s enough right there to merit e-mails and phone calls from family and friends.  So, all of you out there – never-mind that.  Don’t call.  We’re fine.  We’re just in transition.  When you spend the last five+ years of your life in the adoption process – and then you find yourself “done” – you have to ask yourself, “what’s next?”  What now?  Where do we go from here.  We’ve accomplished what we set out to do – become parents.  And we’ve done that – with all sorts of wonderful added blessings we didn’t expect.  But now we’ve reached that big, huge goal.  And we’ve been able to re-adjust to having a new baby.  And we’ve had almost a year (yes, it’s almost been a year…) to get to know her and pull her into our hearts and lives.  And suddenly the transition period seems to finally be settling. 

We’re content.  (ish)

Do you know our family?  Intimately?  Those that do already know…we are not ones to sit in a place of “contentedness” for long.  It seems we are incapable.  There is too much life to live and too much to do to sit still for long. 

And so we’re praying for direction.  But we certainly feel the winds of change blowing in…and it’s getting a bit breezy here in the comfort zone.  If you pray, would you keep us in mind?  We would covet your thoughtfulness.

Do you ever feel that were it not for money, you could do a great many things? 

Yeah, me too.

Also?  I miss my parents terribly.  I cried and cried the day they left, and the next day too.  And it doesn’t matter we drive each other a little nuts.  I wanted to crawl in that truck with my two little babies and ride all the way back with them.  Instead, we sucked it up and waved like mad and blew kisses and sobbed our way back into the house after they drove away.  Distance?  For the birds.  And I don’t really understand the point of living so far away from the ones you love.  Life is too short for that.  When it’s all said and done, is it worth it?  I’m not sure it is.  Not at all.

Anyway, I think this could go on and on here.  I have many a post up in the old noggin – but I need to organize them. 

For starters?  I’m reading “The Strong-Willed Child”.  And it’s tremendously helpful.  And it’s for both of them.  Yes, both.  And I have much to say about it.  Amen.

I’m also not missing the fact that Christmas is cropping up around town and in stores and yes, even homes.  And I’m mixed up about it.  I love it, I hate it.  I love it, I hate it.  I’d just like to taste the turkey first…ya know?  Just a taste.  Meanwhile, I love this time of year.  It’s my favorite.  But I hate to see it go so fast and be stuck with January.  My least favorite month of the year.  And I feel like it’s slipping away…this year.  This 2010.  This year that my family of four finally happened.  Gone too soon…

I haven’t had TV for a year, this month.  A year.  Yes, we have Netflix, but it’s not the same.  There is no news.  No sports.  No Thanksgiving Day Parade with my kids for the first time ever.  Sob.  Another mixed bag of emotions about how dependent we are on the tube, as a society.  As a family.  And how that transition has helped and hurt.

Said it already, but we’re fast approaching our “Referral Day” anniversary for Missy Lou Lou.  December 2nd.  A day that I will never forget.  And right behind it, our Gotcha Day – January 18th.  So much to say about this past year – and I know I have said very little after the initial posts about our homecoming.  Still a painful topic – but I think I have some stuff brewing I’d like to talk about.

So there’s all that.  But I’ll wait.  At least another day or so.  Instead, I’ll leave you with my favorite pic of the week…just cuz.

 
I’m missing you all.  Truly, I am.