Here Only

Halloween, Part I

2011-10-16T15:27:00.000-04:00

What better to bring me out of my blogging funk than my favorite holiday? Halloween!

Let's review: I love making costumes. I love candy. I love cool, sunny days. I love pumpkins. I love making costumes. I force my kids to have coordinating costumes (at least two of them anyway).

E mocks me for spending time doing what Party City has already done. Yes, well. I prefer not buying poorly made scraps of polyester in favor of littering my house with poorly made scraps of fleece, felt, and hot glue. To each her own.

Well, I thought I'd go ahead and post my kids' costumes because they had an early party this year, which means that I had to get it together early this year, which means that if you're looking for an easy DIY costume, you can take these ideas and run with them. Because they are cheap, accessible, and easy.

Simon & Charlie wanted to be Mario and Luigi. Well, Charlie hasn't a clue who Luigi is. But he likes to do whatever Simon is doing, so it all works out well. These costumes were perfect and so easy.
1) Overalls. Overalls for a two-year-old are a cinch to find. For a six-year-old? Not so much. Beg on facebook until you find some.
2) Green shirt, red shirt. Plato's closet.
3) Mustashes: dollar store.
4) Hats. Found these on Amazon for a few of bucks each. (Plus, they're prime eligible).

5) Gloves. Amazon again.

6) White craft foam for the M & L circles.

Too much cuteness!

Simon wanted Ben to be Toad.
Ben was thrilled.
He loves Halloween as much as I do.
In fact, every year he begs me to think of costume ideas for him. He especially loves it when my ideas include him wearing tights or being shirtless or wearing ridiculous things on his head.

So, when I made him this giant mushroom head, he could barely contain himself. I know your husband wants one too, so here you go: (adapted from here)

1) Buy 1/2 yard of white fleece. Fleece is stretchy, which works out perfectly here.
2) Double up the material and cut out a circle - so you end up with two large circles.
3) In one circle, cut another small circle in the middle so you have a doughnut. This is the head hole, but make it a a LOT smaller than the head you are fitting.
4) Put the two circles together and sew around the edge. Flip it inside out.
5) Tear apart a pillow and put the stuffing into your mushroom.
6) So that the stuffing doesn't fall out all over your husband's head (even though he is SO in the spirit of the holiday that he wouldn't even mind), take a piece of fabric (I used a cloth napkin) and lay it over the stuffing. You're too lazy to sew it, so just place it there and tell him to be careful.
7) Cut circles of red felt and hot glue them on.
8) Stick it on his head and tell him how much you love him.
9) Put pictures of him on facebook and then giggle with each comment that comes in.

Talya wanted to be My Little Pony. I have no idea why. But, since I liked My Little Pony when I was a little girl, she is more than allowed to like it today. After figuring out to dye and curl dollar store hair, I canned that idea. Too much work and kinda gross looking in the end.

I went with a ribbon headpiece which was cute.

She wouldn't let me take pictures, but if I can get some I'll post more about her costume because it was cute.

Help! Conflicted about The Help

2011-08-27T12:22:00.000-04:00

I'm not sure if I'm going to publish this. It's kind of a charged subject and I am certainly not the expert.

The Help.

I read it. I loved it. Like, really, really loved it. I've been waiting/dying for a chance to see it in the theater. And then I did the thing that I usually do that generally sucks the fun from what I like (see Thanksgiving). I did some reading. I tried to see the thing that gave me joy through the eyes of someone else. Someone who was crying tears of hurt and anger while I was weeping with sentimentality and warmth.

Ugh. The thing is that I live in this world and you live in this world, but depending on who you are, where you were born, what color your skin is, how much money you have, etc., our worlds are not at all the same. And I need to know that. I need to see it. Because if someone doesn't show it to me, I will go along ignorantly celebrating things that hurt people.

I have to come to grips with White Privilege. And when I think I start to, I get blindsided again by another reminder that I haven't at all. That I have so far to go. I'm embarrassed and ashamed each time my eyes are opened again and my head is turned towards The Ugly (and I realize I'm looking at myself).

When I was in college, I learned how to do thoughtful feminist media criticism. I had this great teacher. She was a single, older woman who had a very-easy-to-mock way of speaking. Most people hated taking her classes, and I did at first too. But then I jumped all in to a paper critiquing Fried Green Tomatoes from a feminist perspective. I typed terms like "patriarchy" and "phallic symbol" and other things the likes of which my 3.5" disk drive had never known before. And I learned. I learned to look for meaning and symbolism and types and it made me a better thinker.

It was empowering for me to look at things through that lens because I was a (young, naive) woman.

I never looked at a film through the lens of a different oppressed minority. It never really crossed my mind.

In the past few years, I've been trying to do that. See my things and my purchases through the lens of poverty. See Thanksgiving through the eyes of someone living on an Indian reservation. Read a patriotic slogan with the eyes of an innocent Muslim that's been randomly searched too many times. Hear my spiritual cliches through the ears of someone who is hurting and rejected.

I'll be honest - it's pretty depressing. What's even more depressing is thinking I'm doing it, and realizing I'm not doing it well enough.

So, here's the thing about The Help. Someone could probably argue the racial harmlessness of the book. (I guess?) But, if it hurts others, if it reinforces ugly stereotypes, if it assuages in any way necessary responsibility for racial harm, then I don't want my voice to be in the chorus of "oooohs" that you hear in the back of the theater.

After getting a different perspective on The Help, I was a little devastated. (Can you be "a little" devastated? That's what I was - wrecked, but probably not enough) And, then I listened to the Voice.

The gospel is for this too. For every time that I should have known better and didn't. For every time I have valued my entertainment over someone else's reality. For every time I thought I was thinking through race "better" than someone else. For every time my heart is defensive. For every time I don't "consider others higher than myself."

Which is a lot.

The gospel is for this; it is for me. It's to make my heart soft and my mind sharp. It's to do the difficult, messy work of restoration - not to make it look like no work is needed. And it is to forgive me, even before I realize how much I need it.

Kindergarten

2011-08-24T20:17:00.001-04:00

This school year started out rough. I planned our vacation right over the first day. Simon and Ben had to fly back early to be here for school. I was unprepared on many levels: 1) That school could possibly start as early as the 18th. I mean, really? 2) That in "real school" there are "absences" and "tardies." I was late every day last year for 9:00 pre-K and this year he starts at 8:15. Eek. 3) Uniforms. The girl who once wore gus macker men's boxer shorts to school as clothing is now mother to a rule-following young man who must be in logo-free polo shirts every day.

I at least managed to find all of the school supplies, including the very specific and elusive 6 x 8, 24-page spiral bound sketch book. I was minutes from stapling some copy paper together when I resorted to Amazon. I'm still delinquent in coming up with the smock that must be large enough to fit over his clothes, but not so baggy that it gets in the paint, but also can not go over the head.

But the ramification of all-day school that I'm living with now is one that you moms who have preceded me probably know all too well: the contempt.

I am the dumbest person my son has ever met. I swear. If this is 6, I am NOT going to do well with 16.

So far tonight,

I've been blamed for the fact that he hasn't done his "homework," which is coloring two sheets. It doesn't actually appear to be due back to school. He told me I'm "distracting" him by asking him questions, like, "Do you want to watch a movie?"
He indignantly demanded that he needs to do his "practice reading." The first two words of the book were "I have." He told me that he sounded them out and it says, "itch." I told him that that was a great guess, and explained about that little space that tells us where one words starts and one ends. He informed me just how wrong I am and that there is no way that I by itself is a word. I offered to read him the story and he told me that I couldn't because I would read it wrong.
He has told me numerous times tonight that he's angry with me. Apparently for walking into the room.
Pretty much if eye-rolling were a tone of voice (and I think we can all agree that it is), that's all I've been hearing tonight.

Day 5 of Kindergarten and my baby has already decided he's smarter than me. At least my two-year-old's temper tantrums are seeming adorable in comparison.

Pin-it Cynic

2011-08-08T15:38:00.000-04:00

So, I've been gone a while. I have lots of reasons for that - big and small; good and trivial. I'm sort of in process of figuring out if I want to keep this bloggity-blog going, or if I'm ready to shut 'er down.

One of the trivial reasons that I haven't been writing may or may not have something to do with the inordinate amount of time I spend on pinterest. I only have so much time-to-waste-on-the-internet, and I've got to spend it somewhere. Time wasted on pinterest is equal to the time you waste surfing pinterest multiplied the time you spend shopping for and implementing pinterest projects. Like this:

As you can see, facebook is a much more efficient waste of your time. That equation looks a little like this:

Ok, they're both kind of time-sucks.

Anyway, while I figure out the deep meaning of my blog and my relationship with the internet, I thought I'd start a little series entitled, "The Pin-it Cynic." In this series, I will illustrate why we pinners can get a little pin-happy and start calling things "brilliant" that are, in fact, really bad ideas.

Obviously, this is just my opinion. It might be an idea that completely works for you. So don't let me stop you. And please don't get offended if I feature something that you pinned.

Oh, and this is probably a good time to point out that I loooooooove Pinterest. It's the organizational system I've used with the most consistency to date. That's saying something.

Here's an example of something you might see on the Pin-it Cynic:

Source: lace-nail-art.tumblr.com via Karen on Pinterest

In the time it took that girl to paint her nails like cupcakes, I could have baked a whole batch of the real thing. In the time it takes for her artwork to flake off while doing the dishes, I could consume about 6 of them.

But they are cute.

Source: decorpad.com via Ambra on Pinterest

This isn't a real laundry room. In a real house, those subway tiles, stainless steel and gray granite would be smeared with goo with little pieces of dryer lint stuck over it all. The lids to the cute canisters would be thrown to the side and paper towels would be falling on your head because you'd be too lazy to get out the stool and you'd try to chuck them up there and make them stick. And what is in that urn?

Well, in my laundry room anyway. Which reminds me. Time to go pick little pieces of accidentally-washed cardboard off my wet clothes before I throw them in the dryer! Happy naptime to all!

Oh, and seriously? If you're not on pinterest, please join. It's so fun! (Just let me know if you need an invite!)

Three

2011-06-13T22:49:00.001-04:00

It's late. I'm partied out, exhausted but grateful for great days of celebrating my kids.

About Talya, I don't even know what to say. She's our free spirit. I've been called that a lot in my life by people who think "free spirit" means "dresses weird" or "paints her house bright colors" or "says things she shouldn't." But, really, freeing my spirit from caring what others think - and what I think God would think - is a long and windy process of growth.

With T, the phrase makes sense. She's completely unpredictable; she's entirely and uniquely herself. She wears her freedom like a beautiful dress that I hope she never outgrows.

(She's also a sister wholly devoted to both of her brothers, which is one part of her that I completely get. )

Twos

2011-06-10T14:53:00.001-04:00

For three days, I have two two-year-olds. But, today, I have one with a birthday.

I really love this kid. Because none of what makes him amazing can be genetically attributed to me, I feel very free to brag about him. I tell everyone how smart he is and how he is talking so much earlier than my other two were at this age. How he can count to, like 17, depending on the day. How I've been too busy to teach him one darn thing, but how he knows absolutely everything, as if his brain is extra-spongey.

I look at him, and the ease with which he accomplishes everything, and it is easy for me to predict what he is going to be when he grows up: a soccer play, a football player, an actor, a singer, a dancer. So, pretty much he is going to have a very risky career path, but it will ultimately be very fulfilling and make lots of others jealous.

When he was still in the orphanage, our friend/advocate wrote to me and said "He loves to smile." I was filled with a moment of pride (as if I, having never met this 6 month old baby, had a thing to do with it) and then the cynic in me took over and I was filled with dread. What if that goes away? I thought. What if he comes home with us and he doesn't smile and I'll know it wasn't just his melancholy personality but that he used to love to smile and then he met me and never smiles again?

Over-dramatic much?

When a child has a birthday, the mother usually posts some pictures of what they looked like on their birth-day, and goes through a series of "A year ago, I was rushing to the hospital" or "Two years ago today I became a mother." Even with my other two, there's a sense that their birthday is more than a little bit about me. In fact, Ben used to give me presents on Simon's birthdays because I did all the work.

Hmmm. Two years ago, a child was born but I was not his mother. His birthday is not about me. But it's no less sentimental. It's a celebration of the day his story began. It's a recognition that we don't need to know the details of those beginnings to hold them sacred. It's a prayer for his birth mother and for Charlie that God would heal any hurt that took root two years ago.

When I picked him up from childcare at the Y today, he yelled "Mommy!" An older boy looked at him and said emphatically, "That is not your mommy." I said, "I am his mommy." The boy looked at me, looked at Charlie, and said, "But you're white and he's black so I didn't think you could be his mommy." I explained to him what adoption is, and have never been so proud to say, "So, I am his mommy."

Because it's his birthday, and I don't need memories of his birth to know it happened and to know that it changed my life.

Help Wanted, Immediate Opening

2011-06-06T15:16:00.000-04:00

Seeking an Idea Executer. Candidate should be able to plan, shop for and implement ideas that I come up with, or that I steal from others via pinterest. Candidate will need to be an experienced fundraiser, as no ideas currently have funding. Candidates should be able to draw, use power tools, and have the ability to see what I'm envisioning in my mind. Candidates should be proficient in Sharpie, Xacto, Photoshop, Sewing Machine, and Piping Bags.

Job includes lots of fun parties, just-because art projects, trips to Home Depot, Target, Michaels and the Dollar Store.

The position is currently being filled by my husband, but his job satisfaction is very low and it is becoming harder to motivate him to fulfill his responsibilities.

Compensation includes: eating whatever I envision you to bake, which will likely include a lot of food coloring, so applicants with chemical sensitivities need not apply.

Mama Miti turned beautiful Wall Art

2011-05-18T17:14:00.002-04:00

We bought a piano on Craigslist. Then we decided to finally officially admit that our dining room has absolutely nothing to do with dining, so we've made it the piano/play room. So, we needed to artwork. Actually, we've needed new artwork in there for over a year now, but now that we spend time in there, it felt more important.

What to do, what to do?

A while back, I'd picked up the picture book, Mama Miti at the library. I fell in love with it - it's a beautiful story with the most beautiful illustrations reflecting the beauty of East Africa. The story encapsulated a lot of things I think are beautiful - mothers and children, the wisdom of the elderly, women helping women, resourcing people who need it, and creative problem solving.

Since I can't describe the book without saying beautiful multiple times in one paragraph, I obviously wanted to cut it to pieces and hang it on my wall. But, it was a library book. So I bought my own and cut it up.

I also bought 6 hideous pieces of art from the thrift store and spent a couple of days, cleaning, disassembling, painting frames, recovering the old artwork with burlap, taping a haphazard chevron pattern on the burlap, painting the burlap, ripping tape off, and reassembling.

And hanging.

I love it. Simon told me he doesn't, but we don't have the same taste in art.

By the way, Mama Miti is written by Donna Jo Napoli, and illustrated by Kadir Nelson. You can buy the entire book of "artwork" for $11.

See other creative ideas here:

Fascinating

2011-04-30T15:32:00.002-04:00

I don't know a thing about the Royals. I was like 3 when Diana got married and (I'm about to make some blasphemous statements here) I never saw what all the fuss was about. Where others saw beauty and style, I only saw feathered hair. Even the funeral barely registered with me. Also (I'm sorry if this offends you even more), I kind of have a thing against England.* Mostly because of colonization, especially as it pertains to India, but I'm sure the people of Trinidad and Tobago and British Guiana might have something to say too.

Anyway. Despite that, there was a wedding! (What, you didn't know?) For months, the news coverage proved to be extremely annoying what with all the obsessive hoopla cutting into my normal Good Morning America watching. But then, when it was actually the week of the wedding, I was hooked. A prince getting married! To a "commoner" (blech - who says that? The English)! A princess-to-be (actually duchess to be, but that doesn't sound as cool)! What a brilliant excuse for a party, even at 5:30 in the morning!

I found a few friends to join me in my excitement and I began planning. Obviously, we needed tea and scones. Megan brought crumpets. I bought lemon curd for the scones because that sounded fussy and British. I downloaded and used these adorable decorations.

Only one thing left. Fascinators.

The truth is that I got hooked on the wedding not because I love Royalty but because I'm obsessed with Kate. Which is probably what happened 30 years ago for women around the world with Diana. I didn't get the Di thing, but Kate? With her tiny little hats and her perfect outfits and that expression on her face that says, "I don't need to be princess but I'm not afraid of it either"? She's just precious.

So, my wedding-watching friends and I needed fascinators.

Aren't they cute? Don't you want to make them for your next tea party? Here's what I did.

First: Go to the Dollar Store and buy anything sparkly, flowery or feathery. Plus, buy circle-shaped craft foam. Then go to Wal-Mart and buy a small length of netting, a feather duster, and a few bags of party-favor sparkly rings, and some alligator hair clips.

Second: Cut a slit in your foam circle to the middle and overlap the edges to form a shallow cone. Hot glue it in place. Realize you're going to be working with plastic, netting, foam and everything is going to melt easily so be careful.

Third: Start ripping feathers out of your feather duster and glue them to your hat. Hot glue and feathers don't work well together, but you can figure it out. Dismantle flower stems and start adding flowers to cover up the ends of the feathers. Cut apart your plastic jewels and glue those on too.

Fourth: Figure out how you want the fascinator to sit on your head, and glue the clip and the netting on accordingly. Gluing netting to foam is tricky. I finally figured out to put the glue on the foam, let it cool a bit and then bunch the netting into it.

There you go! Granted, the cheapness of the supplies used means you're not going to actually wear this to a wedding, but these would be so fun for your next girly party - for you or the little princess in your life.

Talya snuck out of bed at 6 am yesterday crying, "I want to go to the party," so I let her stay up with us. She put her fascinator on and watched the princess get married and the little girl giggle made the whole 5:30 am thing completely worth it.

(PS, my eyes here are a little Ramona-ish, no?)

*See the comments for a little discussion on this. I have a "thing against" a lot of things. I'm working on that - really, I am.

Linking up here:

It seems like it's time for a new post...

2011-04-25T16:35:00.000-04:00

So, what can I write about? We had Easter. I'm going to be honest. By the time I flopped into my seat at church and flipped through the bulletin, confirming that there was not a single Easter Hymn for me to mutilate at the top of my lungs, my disappointments with the morning had piled up.

Shall I catalog those for you? Hmmm, yes of course. That's why you're here, right?
I stayed up late surrounded by annoying and bad-for-the-environment (yet, completely necessary, duh) Easter grass and plastic eggs to put together the baskets. I promised myself that I'd get up before the kids to sneak the dyed eggs in so they could experience the "magic" of colorful eggs on a nest of plastic grass, surrounded by plastic toys, in a plastic basket. The problem is that I do NOT get up before my kids for any reason other than catching a plane to Hawaii. That philosophy makes me late for most things in life.

Charlie woke up at 6 crying, which he does from time to time, but always settles back in to sleep for another hour or two. This time was different - he was screaming "Mama! Dada!" and he sounded distressed. I gave the manipulatively moaned "Should I go check on him?" to Ben who responded appropriately with a, "No, I'll do it." I reflected on how thankful I am for that charming hunk and then realized with despair that if I wanted to get up before the kids, this was my opportunity. So, I did. Then I went back to bed, too exhausted from my journey to the kitchen to get up when the kids did so I missed the magic of them witnessing my Easter baskets.

In fact, by the time I officially gave them their baskets, this is what Talya looked like:

Here's me being honest: For me, the most important part of celebrating Easter is getting your whole family to look cute and then taking a great picture. Sounds simple, but that's a pretty high expectation with a pretty low chance of meeting it. We got the looking cute part down, but by the time we shuffled into church (*Oh wait, there are no blocks of ten seats available on Easter Sunday for a family who arrives 5 minutes late? You've got to be kidding me!*), I realized we had no family picture.

Ben, who is the hero of this post, was struck with an idea. When they announced it was time to dismiss the kids for children's church, he whispered grab your camera and we took a quick detour outside to get our picture while all the children of responsible parents traipsed off to learn about Jesus. We got a few pictures that aren't horrible, although Talya kept putting her hand up my dress.

Then we ran home to force the tired and hungry children to have fun hunting for eggs in the wet grass while I cooked lunch. There were major flaws in the plan that mostly related to expecting them to eat a nice dinner at the kids' table hopped up on sugar during nap time. We shuttled them to bed as soon as we could, but the sugar rush kept them up for most of the afternoon.

So, here's what I learned this Easter:

It's important to go to the traditional service even though it's earlier if you want to sing Up from the Grave He arose, Christ the Lord is Risen Today, or any other Easter staple. (The music in our service was beautiful, but my preference is clear.)
The early service is also important if you want the kids to eat lunch at lunch time, not when they should be asleep.
The Easter Bunny is an evil spirit who lives in small pieces of candy and wakes your kids up from much-needed naps.
Holidays are way too important to me.
Cute outfits are way too important to me. Actually, look at these pictures - they are not too important to me - they are well worth the effort. I swear.
Next year, I need to buy an extra bag of robin's eggs, because I'm already almost done with this one and I'm not sick of them yet.
This cake is the best ever. I finished it and want to go make another one.

Well that was an honestly shallow post that I fear has you thinking I'm a shallow person with no spiritual depth. That's not true, but it would be a lie to say that my Easter holiday was spent in spiritual reflection, and not plastic, brisket, figuring out the math on a box of Hungry Jack potato flakes, getting to church on time, and then collapsing in a heap of exhaustion to watch the Last Cake Standing.

But a few days ago, before the hoopla, we did the Resurrection Eggs with the kids. (Cute - check them out if you want.) We opened the egg that held the nails in it and talked about what Jesus went through for us, and Simon said this: "Mom, did you know that the nails didn't hold Jesus on the cross? Love held Jesus on the cross."

I promise you that when a five-year-old says it, it's way more moving than reading it on a facebook status.

So, I'll end my long and shallow post with this from the Jesus Storybook Bible:

They nailed Jesus to the cross.

"Father, forgive them," Jesus gasped. "They don't understand what they're doing."

"You say you've come to rescue to rescue us!" people shouted. "But you can't even rescue yourself!"

But they were wrong. Jesus could have rescued himself. A legion of angels would have flown to his side - if he'd called.

"If you were really the Son of God, you could just climb down off that cross!" they said.

And of course they were right. Jesus could have just climbed down. Actually, he could have just said a word and made it all stop. Like when he healed that little girl. And stilled the storm. And fed 5,000 people.

But Jesus stayed.

You see, they didn't understand. It wasn't the nails that kept Jesus there. It was love.

Boundaries for Dummies?

2011-04-04T16:03:00.000-04:00

So if you're a Christian or been in churchy environments, or even if you watch Dr. Phil, or are just an American living in the 21st century, you've probably heard the term "boundaries" thrown around a lot. There's a book on it, which, to be honest, I haven't read. I hear it's really good, but I'm a little bit of a snobbish pig about reading books that "everyone else" is reading. Which makes me feel like I'm my own person (see? boundaries!) but probably just means I miss out on some good ideas.

Anyways, my close friends can tell you that I always roll my eyes (literally or mentally) when someone mentions boundaries, because I think that in some cases - not all - boundaries have become the "Christian" excuse for selfishness. Here's where you remind me that I haven't read the book so shuttheheckup. I KNOW, BUT... I'm basing my mental eye-rolls on how I've seen boundaries play out, not on what they are supposed to be. So humor me for a sec, okay?

It's become kind of a joke between me and a couple of friends. It's ironic, don't you see? I'm putting up a boundary around Boundaries. Ha ha, I'm hilarious.

Well, now that I'm parenting a child who is old enough for friendships that don't include me, maybe it would be a good time for a refresher course on healthy relationships. He had mentioned that he had a friend at school (let's call him Bob) who always wants to sit by him. We talked about how he doesn't HAVE to sit by Bob all the time, and he can have friendships with other kids too; he just has to be kind and nice to Bob.

Now if that's not great boundary advice, I don't know what is. But, then again, I haven't read the book.

Today Simon said, "Mom, Bob is my best friend."

Well, that's weird, I thought. I said, "Oh really? Why?" Simon said, "Well, that's what Bob said."

Hmmm...

Then he said, "Bob always sits by me. But sometimes he lets me sit by other people. He likes to sit across from me too, so he can see me."

Well, that's just creepy.

Cue the conversation about what it means to be a good friend, and how a good friend doesn't make you do anything you don't want to do. I also encouraged him to continue to be friends with Bob and always be kind to him even if he doesn't want to sit by him (or across from him) sometimes.

(This on a day where I managed to sneak the correct names for pee-pees and hoo-hahs into conversation just so I can not screw up my kids in that department. I also decided it's time for all children to always have underpants on all the time.)

I'm rocking this parenting gig today.

Things I Learned on Vacation

2011-04-01T16:46:00.000-04:00

1) Ten year celebrations are way better than honeymoons. Probably because we've known each other for a lot longer, feel a lot more comfortable sharing the bathroom, and can appreciate the fact that real life is not about the stress of assembling wedding invitations, and therefore can benefit from a holiday.

2) My children can use a vacation from me once in a while. Especially if it's with their grandparents. Especially because their grandparents will do ridiculous things like take them to fly kites even when it's 40 degrees outside.

3) When Ben gets home from a trip and he's jet lagged and exhausted, it's real. He's not being a baby. (I'm not sure that this realization will result in my actually being nicer to him when he can't get out of bed in the morning, but one can hope.)

4) Spray tans are not worth the money when it will only take 5.5 minutes to turn your skin bright red.

5) Of all of the people on the beach, only about 2 percent of them are hot enough to make you feel awkward about your baby jiggle. About 80 percent of them are large enough to make you feel pretty darn good about it.

6) Reading is awesome and is best done when you don't have to cook a single meal.

7) The ocean is huge and scary, and has actual animals swimming around in it, which is also scary, but very cool.

8) I'm pretty convinced that there is something sketchy about Hawaii's statehood that smacks of American Imperialism. I did a little research on that, thank you wikipedia, and there seem to be at least a few native Hawaiians who would agree. (Add Hawaiian vacation to my list of fun things like Thanksgiving and the Fourth of July that I can't experience without guilt.)

9) The Big Island of Hawaii might be the most amazing place on the whole earth. I mean, seriously. God put beaches, a rain forest, black sand, pretty flowers, and perfect weather on a massive volcano that still spits lava into the ocean every once in a while.

10) Peanut butter and Cocoa Krispie sandwiches make a delicious breakfast.

11) Just because pineapples grow in Hawaii doesn't mean that you'll automatically get to eat them while you're there. For instance, you might go for an entire week and not get a single pineapple because you eat Cocoa Krispie sandwiches for breakfast instead of hotel buffet food. If that happens, you might need to order a pool-side mai tai just because they'll stick a pineapple spear in it. Even if that mai tai costs more than lunch. Because, with a pineapple in it, it practically is lunch. Right?

12) My husband? Is the best. And when the kids grow up and move out, we'll still have a lot of fun together.

13) Speaking of growing up, my kids are absolutely not allowed to grow up. Because then we have to deal with teenage girls in bikinis. And, whether we're talking about my sons or my daughter, I'm going to have a problem with teenage girls in bikinis.

sprayed

2011-03-20T10:30:00.000-04:00

im sitting in the airport en route to a magnificent anniversary/birthday vacation with my man. The vacation that I've been working out for, turning down (some) sweets for, and shopping for like I'm the newest cast member of Real Housewives of Southern Ohio. I'm manied, pedied, waxed, toned, and styled for an entire week without a sippy cup or diaper. And one more thing: I'm sprayed.

I ran off last night to get a spray tan. My shockingly pale rationale went something like this:I might be more disciplined with the sunscreen if I'm already a little darker shade of white. Being a google-research junkie and a spray-tan (or any kind of tan) novice, I watched a video on the Internet about what to expect.

I learned that I need to be clean, which is a feat in itself. I learned that when I got there I should rub the all-important barrier cream everywhere, especially my hands and feet. I learned that they'd give me a hair net, nostril filters (so I wouldn't suffocate) and eye wear (so I wouldn't go blind).

So off I went, very nervous that I'd end up either 1) orange 2) streaky 3) suffocated 4) blind or 5) on a creepy Internet video.

The leathery tan lady took me through a maze of shady rooms (the kind that look apt for creepy Internet videos) to the spray tan booth. She told me what to do but once I realized there was no nostril filters or eyewear, I stopped being able to pay attention. I scanned the ceiling for cameras, stripped down, covered my hair and hopped into the phone booth.

With visions of Ross Gellar's disasterous spray tan in my mind, I pushed the button. And then I realized I'd forgotten the lotion! I panicked. I almost bailed. I felt claustrophobic. I started to shake, but I'd already paid, and if I didn't close my eyes and hold my breath, I was likely to drown in brown spray paint.

Unlike Ross, I remembered to turn. But I was freaking out about my hands, my feet, and being butt naked in a small place while I suffered some major anxiety.

I hopped out of the booth, scrubbed the drips off me and ran to the bathroom to was my hands and feet. I was still shaking most of the way home.

But, I'm not orange. My hands and feet are ok, and I can see. I guess it wasn't so bad. Mondays are only $10, maybe I'll be back to maintain my fake glow.

The singles' scene at Childcare

2011-03-05T15:31:00.000-05:00

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.

Potty Training, 2.2

2011-02-28T16:56:00.000-05:00

If any of you have stuck with me long enough (hi, Mom!) to have read about my trials with potty-training Simon, this will sound familiar. Actually, it was a piece of cake: the pee part, that is. When it came to #2, it was a year-and-a-half battle. It nearly did me in. I'm surprised my son is even speaking to me at this point, I'm sure I screwed it up so bad.

But whatever, just like you all promised me, eventually he did it. And it was his choice, not mine. If there's one thing I learned it's this: you can put a kid on a potty, but you can't make him poop. Seriously, try it. I dare you.

Well, this summer Talya decided she was ready. She pretty much potty-trained herself. We went a week in underpants (do you know how hard it is to find little girl underpants that don't have freaking princesses on them?!) with no accidents. She was peeing, she was pooping, she was a potty prodigy.

Until.

She decided she was scared to poop on the potty. Without hesitation, I slapped huggies back on those buns and told her to let me know when she was ready because I was NOT going down that road again.

I thought it would motivate her, but I should have known better. She happily wore her diapers until... this weekend. She showed a little spark of interest, so I let her pick out some Minnie underpants (that's panties to you, Adrianne) and I let her wear them.

We did the whole set-the-potty-timer thing and she was back on the horse. She's done great. No accidents at church or the Y or in the car. And I dare say she has the cutest little underwear-butt I've ever seen in my whole life. I would show you a picture but the creep that was on Dr. Phil this morning caused me to rethink that.

But, like her big brother, she's scared to poop on the potty. It hasn't escalated to any sort of emotional level yet, so here's my plan. Let's see how long I can keep it going:

I vow to never bring Pull-Ups into this house. That of-the-devil product can only make matters worse. I don't even want her to know that there is any option between "soil yourself" and "be a big girl."
I vow to remain cheerful while cleaning up the poop in the pants and remind myself that it's better (though grosser) than the alternative Pull-Ups-of-Doom, which will only prolong this process.
I vow to keep her in underpants during naps because she stays dry, but (and here's the hard part) I also vow to get off my internet-addicted butt and get her out of bed when she wakes up so that she can go potty.
I vow to make her "practice" when she has poop-in-the-pants accidents (that are in no way accidental), even when I'm in the middle of making lunch and waffles are burning and Charlie has uncapped every marker on the art table. I vow to make these practice sessions of running back and forth to the potty the perfect combination of upbeat and sucky so that she won't fall apart but she'll be motivated to avoid them. Imagine lots of sing-songy "Poopy pants are disgusting!" and you'll get the general idea. Try not to be jealous.

Am I missing something?

Cancer, meet Bloggy World. Bloggy World, show Cancer what you've got.

2011-02-16T08:00:00.007-05:00

Remember when I mentioned my friend E? We were sitting outside her operating room waiting to hear if she had ovarian cancer. Well, she did. Or, I guess (though I still don't like to look at it this way) she does.

The good news is that her doctor is great and her tumors were nice self-contained suckers that were able to be removed. The bad news is that cancer is sneaky and evil and so even a successful surgery doesn't mean it's not coming back. So, that leaves E with one more major battle to fight: chemo. Nothing like resting your hopes on pouring poison into your body for four months.

But, if you've read E's blog, you've already seen that her hope isn't in the poison/chemo, it's in Jesus. And she's got a wicked sense of humor to help her fight. And one more thing: she has some great friends who have vowed to join her in the battle. We know she will beat this, but we'd like to make the fight a little more bearable.

A group of bloggers who call E a friend have banded together to ask our readers to consider giving a gift to help E as she enters this next stage of her battle. We're calling our humble plea for help "GimmE 5" because we're asking our readers to consider giving $5, although you can absolutely feel free to give any amount. Just click this cute little button.

All gifts will be used for expenses incurred by the Koproski family during E's months of chemotherapy. Since E is a stay-at-home mom, these expenses will likely include paying for child care, transportation, house cleaning, and grocery shopping but will also likely include many 'unexpected' expenses that at this point we cannot imagine, and other things like insurance co-pays, and any adaptive equipment or items that E might need to be comfortable at home. Rest assured that E and Steve are grateful and humbled by this effort and will be the best stewards of your generous gifts.

All I can say is she is one of my dearest friends, and I am so thankful for every person who seeks to touch her life the way she's touched mine.

Head over to E's blog to read more of her story and see more pictures of her adorable children (um, one five-year-old and two three-year-old boys, yikes that's a lot of work!). She starts chemo on February 21st, so please join me in praying for her. If you want to stay updated on how you can help E and her family during this time, we set up a blog for that purpose, caringfore.blogspot.com.

Thanks to these ladies for participating in this "campaign":

Emily Berry & Jenny Rapson, Mommin' It Up

Andrea Deckard, Savings Lifestyle

Cortney Loyd, Evan Has Landed

Becky Dell, Random Becky

Maria Woodall, the BMC Report

Tricia Callahan, Once a Month Mom

Celia Emmons, WestAnaWillGo

Nidhi - Desi (and not) art I love

2011-02-07T15:41:00.000-05:00

I have a big, gaping hole on my pretty gray wall (that most people think is purple, and that I usually feel the need to correct them that it's gray, even though what's the big deal). I've shared my many rules about artwork and I've also shared how I'm cheap. So, mostly, I browse Etsy for cute things, then decide I can make it myself.

Not this time.

This time, I fell so in love with something that I can NOT do myself that happens to meet my rules. (Specifically, that it can't just be pretty - it must be sentimental or meaningful).

Let me introduce you Nidhi, my new favorite artist/illustrator and her amazing Etsy shop.

Nidhi was born in Calcutta and raised in California, and her so much of her work reflects the beauty of Indian culture. Her characters are adorable and her artistry is impeccable; things like lighting and coloring and all those things that if I knew more about, maybe I could draw things like this myself. (probably not, though)

Anyway, do you want to see what I just bought?

and

I wanted to buy more, like:

and

(My birthday's coming up.)

Well, if you hurry over there, enter the code LOVING for 10% off before Friday.

What do you think? Do you love this as much as I do? Which one is your favorite? Do you have other favorite Desi artists?

Healthy Living - a rant.

2011-02-03T16:05:00.000-05:00

I swear it wasn't a new year's resolution, so much as an impending deadline that caused me to make some changes in my life. They included "healthier" eating and a focused commitment to working out.

Before you get all huffy with me about my body image, let me admit that I know I am vain and shallow. I also realize that I'm not fat, and I don't think I'm fat. I am, however, what some might term "fat-skinny," which means I'm a fat person trapped into a skinny person's body. Like, basically I eat crap and am completely out of shape but I let myself off the hook because I'm sort of slim. I was okay with that until I started morphing into "fat-kind-of-skinny," and then into "fat-used-to-be-skinny."

So, in September, I started working out. I started going to classes so that I wouldn't fall into my usual fitness rut of gingerly tapping on the elliptical until I started to sweat and then hopping off with self-satisfied smugness. Fully aware of my limitations, I didn't attempt to factor good eating habits into my new routine. I told myself that I was "preparing my body" for being healthy. Haha - doesn't that sound genius?

Really, I just knew my will power was no match for Halloween, Thanksgiving or Christmas.

I promised that in January I'd kick it into gear.

Why? Because in March, Ben and I are getting on a plane and heading to Hawaii for an early celebration of our 10th anniversary. (Yes, my very important husband leaves me too much for his job, but I've been a supportive wife and my reward is that all those frequent flier miles are paying for my vacation.) I'm so excited that I'm already sad it's going to be over.

I have one goal in mind: to look good on the beach. Yes, shallow and vain, right here. Blah blah, I know, I know. But really, there was a day where I did look good in a bikini. Not, not bad, but good. I'd show you pictures to prove it, but that's just creepy. And I've had babies, nursed them and just as I was getting my body back to normal tried to induce lactation for adoption. (Unsuccessful, by the way.) All that to say, my fat-skinny body just got a little.... not sure the word for it, but "lumpy" comes to mind as does "droopy," "sad," and "squishy."

It's February, and I have to say I've been doing pretty well. I've made some good choices. I stopped going to senior-citizen water aerobics and started focusing on exercise more likely to make a caloric impact. I met with the fitness counselor at the Y and came up with a game plan. I even let her measure me and pinch me with those horrible, horrible fat pinchers. She jiggled them to "separate the fat from the muscle," or "separate my dignity from my soul," not sure which. It turns out that I've made progress, but have "very poor" flexibility, so I've even gone to yoga. (once.)

I've cut out snacks and desserts... well you know, except on "special occasions," like birthdays and tuesdays. I've avoided the doughnut tray at church, which might be my arch-nemesis. I've eaten an inhumane amount of oatmeal for breakfast while I flip chocolate chip pancakes for the kids.

But, here it is, February 3 and I can feel myself falling off the wagon. It's cold out and I'm sick and my kid's school keeps canceling and hummus just isn't cutting it. I've spent a large amount of my discretionary "Susie Envelope" on Diet Cokes at McDonalds (because since "I don't drink Diet Coke" I don't buy it at the grocery store). I baked cinnamon rolls yesterday and I can't keep my mitts out of them.

Ugh.

Then, this magazine came in the mail:

Doesn't it make healthy eating look yummy and fresh and modern and even pretty? Like I could just make myself a cute smoothie, stick an avocado slice in it, and enjoy my new lifestyle? Well, I settled in with that magazine today and let me tell you, now I'm really discouraged. This magazine, along with Dr. Oz and freaking Oprah, tell me that I actually need to rid myself of Diet Coke, along with all that is yummy and eat things that don't taste good.

Then, they take a pretty picture of it so I'll think that it'll be fun.

Well, I'm too smart for that. I've watched the Food Network shows on Food Stylists and I know that pretty food is not necessarily yummy food.

I need encouragement, so you need to comment, but there are rules:

No telling me I'm skinny. Whatever. It's my white tummy and tushy that are going to be bared on the beach, so we'll just let me decide, mmmkay?
No encouraging me to eat a jar of icing. (you know who you are!) The temptation is already too great.
Recipes would be reallllly helpful.
Only yummy recipes.
No telling me to stop drinking Diet Coke. I'm trying, really, and I'm not easily scared by stories of chemicals. If it hasn't worked on hot dogs and Taco Bell, it's not going to work on Diet Coke.
Feel free to remind me how many days are left until my March 20 vacation and that spring really is coming.

Thanks. What would I do without you?

It's Time

2011-01-31T16:14:00.000-05:00

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.

Gotcha Day

2011-01-23T22:34:00.000-05:00

What a week. E is a rock star at recovering from surgery. I saw her today and she looked better than I did. The doctor did find cancer, but feels confident he was able to get it all and that the chemo will kick that crap out of her for good. Keep praying!

January 24 is the day we met our Charlie. I've spent all day today going through videos and pictures and I can't believe how much he's changed - how much we've all changed. We are beyond thankful that he is a part of our family. There is no us with out him, and we feel like the luckiest family in the world.

I mean, I know there are 8 other families who think they won the Miracle of Adoption jackpot too. Want to meet them and relive all of our moments? Visit my friend Adrianne's blog for a sweet little slideshow that details the process and joy we've shared together.

Adoption really is a miracle. It is with wonder that we have watched someone who was Not Ours become every bit Ours. We've felt our family be redefined and re-imagined by the Creator of the Universe. Every time I stop to think about what has taken place over the past year, I am in awe that it is all real, that our home is filled with joy birthed in Africa.

But it is not THE miracle. Seems like a weird day to be a downer, I know. But I can't think of our process without being entirely aware of the brokenness and inadequacy of adoption. Charlie was given family while many of his crib buddies have since moved to the toddler room. From there, they'll move to the big kid room. From there, they'll age out of the orphanage, and I don't know the rest of the story.

Adoption was our answer, but it is not THE answer. The problems of at-risk children, poverty, women who lack education and choice, governments who make laws that are well-intended but can't bring about real change, these problems are complicated and huge. More answers are needed.

It is too easy for those of us who have experienced this miracle to want to make it everyone's miracle. To want to apply our answer universally to the problems of the world. And I do hope that more people will seek room in their hearts and homes for children who need it. But there have been two things that have smashed my tendency to think I have simple answers for complicated problems: living overseas and adopting.

Looking at Charlie, I will always be torn between my joy in being his mother and my heartache that he can't know his birthmom. I will always be thankful that God has cast us in Charlie's story, while recognizing that what I want most for my son is for him to have never needed us in his story. I am glad he is mine, but if I could take away the heartache that brought him to me, I would. Or maybe I wouldn't. Maybe I'd be too selfish for that. (It's a good thing I'm not God, that's for sure.)

Ahhhh, lots of rambling that probably doesn't make sense. (Well, it probably does to Adrianne. Like me, she likes to make things complicated.) The point is this (I think):

The world is full of crap. It's broken and things don't work, and in the process of universal break-down, kids are falling through the cracks. Hearts are breaking. Mothers are weeping and children are dying. And God redeems this crap. He does, I believe it. God has redeemed Charlie's story. But the redemption - The Miracle, The Answer - is not that we adopted Him. There is too much pain and brokenness, potential for corruption and systemic holes for this to be The Answer. It would be arrogant and short-sighted for me to believe that I am his Happy Ending. Our adoption of Charlie is a piece of the story - a taste of real redemption, a shadow of real family, a glimpse of true love.

The Happy Ending is yet to come.

But this Gotcha Day is miraculous just the same.

Remember this?

Waiting

2011-01-21T11:04:00.001-05:00

A small few of us (relative to the general population) have had to experience the pain of waiting through an adoption of process. A great many more have had to experience this kind of waiting.

In an actual waiting room.

With a loved one on the other side of the door. Not knowing what the doctor's going to say.

God has given me great friends. Some that I don't even know beyond this blog or your blog. But He knows we need more than blog friends. He knows we need those in real life, flesh and blood, there to babysit your kids and meet you at Chik-fil-a friends. He knows that we need friends with whom we can actually sit in a room and cry and hug and feel despair and hope with.

One of my great friends - in real life - is E. She's awesome, funny, and she has genuinely (non-judgingly) challenged me to take steps of faith. I really love her. And that's why I'm asking you to pray even as she's in surgery and recovery that there will be No Cancer. None.

I know this little circle of friends isn't the only one sitting, waiting, hoping and trusting. I know some of you might have this kind of waiting - trying to trust in the waiting. I'm praying for you today too - even if I don't know your story.

Friends are so great, aren't they?

(E's on the left)

Funny, Sad, Abusive, Culturally Interesting?

2011-01-12T16:45:00.000-05:00

Amy Chua's recent essay in the Wall Street Journal is making its rounds through the Internet. It's shocking. No, appalling. No, disgusting. No, hilarious.

Titled, "Why Chinese Mothers are Superior," this essay is actually an excerpt from her new book, Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother. She makes a lot of generalizations about Western and Asian parents, summed up like this: American kids are behind because their parents coddle them and so they never live up to their potential. Chinese (as well as Indian, Korean, and most children of immigrants) excel because their parents expect them to, force them to, and will not allow anything to get the way. No parties. No drama. No sports.

Chinese parents can order their kids to get straight As. Western parents can only ask their kids to try their best. Chinese parents can say, "You're lazy. All your classmates are getting ahead of you." By contrast, Western parents have to struggle with their own conflicted feelings about achievement, and try to persuade themselves that they're not disappointed about how their kids turned out.

You can't watch too much of the news without hearing about how American children are falling behind and how it's the schools' fault, the teachers' fault, George Bush's fault, Barack Obama's fault. Chua would contend it's the parents' fault.

I have no idea what to make of it, but I do find it funny and her style is tongue-in-cheek enough for me to take it to heart as more of an interesting cultural insight and less of a how-to manual on parenting.

In my line of work, where we often expose Americans to other cultures, I find myself routinely chanting "It's not wrong, it's just different" - a key principle for any cross-cultural traveler to try to believe. I had to chant it to myself the whole time I read this article.

It is a reminder that no culture has it right. We all parent and educate out of our cultural beliefs and there's enough wisdom and crap mixed into those beliefs to shock onlookers from another world.

My (Indian) husband absolutely disagrees with my (very American) embrace of mediocrity. In my defense, I don't embrace mediocrity because I'm lazy, but because I'd rather know and do a lot of things I'm interested in, rather than one thing really well. To me, mediocrity sounds like an interesting opportunity to try something else. (And sometimes I'm lazy.)

For their part, many Chinese secretly believe that they care more about their children and are willing to sacrifice much more for them than Westerners, who seem perfectly content to let their children turn out badly. I think it's a misunderstanding on both sides. All decent parents want to do what's best for their children. The Chinese just have a totally different idea of how to do that.

What about you? When you read this essay does it anger you or do you relate? Or like me, do you giggle because you've seen the good and bad of both "techniques"?

One More Present! Felt Playhouse

2011-01-05T15:58:00.002-05:00

If you read craft blogs, you've seen these before and you will know just how pathetic my attempt at it is. I lost steam at 11 pm on Christmas Eve, but Talya loves her playhouse. If you google felt playhouse or card table play house, you'll find some really talented people out there make some really great things. The idea is to make a sort of slip cover for a card table that will turn it into a house.

However, we don't have a card table, and Taly's a tall girl and I didn't think she'd have a lot of fun in a 3-foot high box. Instead, I (yes I, not Ben, miracle I didn't cut a finger off) sawed some PVC pipe to size and built my own house frame. There was no way to hide it for a month, so the kids played with PVC pipe for weeks, having no idea what the final product would be.

I used this no-sew method to make the slip cover. It's kind of like making those tie blankets that seemed so clever several years ago. Then I started gluing. And gluing. I think I used a bajillion glue sticks. I made an apple tree with removable apples, windows, a door, a mailbox....

...and a garden. I was inspired by Lier at ikat bag over a year ago to make this garden but when we got our referral for Charlie, I put all crafty thoughts aside. At the time I began a furious search for pool noodles since high density foam is so expensive. I finally found some (it was winter) and kept them in our garage for months while Ben asked me every other minute if he could throw them away. Finally, summer came and there seemed to be no plans to make a garden so I let Ben take them to Lake George and store them in the shed full of pool noodles.

After a few months went by, the weather turned cold, pool noodles disappeared from the shelves of every store, and I decided to make a garden. I sent my dad on a mission into the Pool Noodle shed and he rescued them for me and kept them in Philadelphia until I could come them. You can imagine his annoyance when I left Philly without the pool noodles and he had to mail them to me (along with 60 other things I forgot).

But it was all worth it! I love the garden. Lier has a much cuter version, but if you want to do it quick and dirty like I did, here's a quick run-down:

Cut the pool noodles so you can jam them tightly into a box. Cover them in brown felt.
Realize the box is ugly and cover that in brown felt too.
Make flowers. Tutorials abound - here's a good summary.
Double up pipe cleaners and glue them to the flowers for stems.
Plant your flowers.

I vow to decorate the inside... someday.

Oh, and I'm not going to do another whole post for this, but don't think I didn't make Charlie something too.... I raided my friends' recycling bins of tin cans of all sizes. Then washed them, removed sharp edges, primed and painted and sealed, and he got these adorable blocks. He likes to throw them at people. Which, really, it's better to be hit with an empty tin can than a traditional wooden block. Everybody wins.

Presents! Custom Car Mats

2011-01-04T15:38:00.001-05:00

I'm going to go ahead and post about my other favorite homemade presents for the little ones in my life - keep a little log for myself if no one else, and perhaps inspire some others who may be interested.

I am lucky to have an adorable nephew (Matty, almost 2) and niece (Brooke, just turned 1). They are two of the sweetest, best-natured kids I've ever been around, and both make me think I may have done something wrong to produce kids who cry so much. Anyway, I saw this custom car mat and wanted my special little kiddos to have something similar, but there is NO WAY I can pull of that kind of sewing project.

I can, however, design something like that in Adobe Illustrator. After an entire of naptime of googling, I found Spoonflower, a company that will print custom designs onto fabric. Google also led me to a variety of free vectors that made the designing of an entire town much easier. I was able to find some logos (The Hartford where Brooke's dad works, for example) in vector form and the ones I couldn't find I used Illustrator's Live Trace tool to make a quick rendition of on my own. I found a collection of free houses and buildings to use, and drew others - like Target, Stop n Shop, and Dunkin Donuts.

Of course, I had to include places that I knew were special to each kid (ok, who are we kidding, the kids are too little to care...special to their parents) - like vacation spots, a favorite local bakery, their churches, and grandparents' houses. And, of course, I included the highway to Ohio with a picture of their cousins waiting for them to visit.

For my New Yorker nephew, I drew the Verrazano bridge that he has to cross to get to Amachi's house, the NYC skyline, and the Statue of Liberty.

There is nothing accurate about the maps. Grandma in Philadelphia is around the corner from Connecticut Grandma... but all street names, house numbers, and other details are true to life (which means I have to blur them in the pictures so scary people and don't go looking for these cute babies).

Spoonflower fabric is 42" wide (printable), so I designed each mat to be 42" wide by about 50 or so inches long. I ordered 2 yards, and centered each design on the 2 yards. (Spoonflower gives you all the options you need to do this, and their customer service people were very quick to help when I had a question.)

Once I received the fabric, I sat and sat as it hit me that I needed to back it with something, and I don't really sew. I found some cute printed canvas at Hobby Lobby and sewed the two sides together. Miraculously, the only mishap was melting my carpet with my iron.

The kids are too young to really appreciate it now, but I hope that as they grow the mats will be special to them. My kids are begging me to make them one too.

Presents! Simon's Store

2010-12-22T16:27:00.001-05:00

Sure, Christmas isn't about presents, but aren't they fun?

We had our little family Christmas this morning so that we don't have to truck our load of gifts when we celebrate with family, and it was really fun. Santa is still causing all kinds of confusion and emotional stress - is he real or not? If he's not, why did his reindeer eat the snacks we put outside for them? If he is... well, it all just sounds like a (magical) load of crap.

Regardless of what the kids think about Santa, we don't let Santa take credit for the good gifts. We let the kids think he fills the stockings - with socks, flashlights, toothbrushes, junk from the dollar store. They love it, but the good stuff comes from Mommy & Daddy.

I started planning the kids' Christmas gifts as soon as Halloween ended, but my sorta-Scroogy husband wasn't ready to help me with them until like yesterday. So, we stayed up until 1 am perfecting our creation. Wanna see?

Simon got a store. The second I saw this one, I knew I wanted to make him one, but am vastly unqualified. Then I saw this one and the wheels started turning. I means seriously, any time we can combine the Internet with Ikea, we are unstoppable!

Here's what we did. (Because I know you want one, and it's not that hard and your kid probably has a birthday coming up....) We bought four Ikea rast nightstands. They're pretty tiny. Then Ben just connected two together, added some 1x3s to make a frame for the awning and stapled fabric to the top. Obviously, Ikea's sophia fabric is perfect. I think we used about 2 1/2 yards. I didn't bother hemming it - remember the joy of crafting for kids is that it doesn't need to be perfect, which is why it's the only crafting I do.

Next, Ben added some bars to the back of the shelves so that the wooden baskets would prop up. We filled them with fruit from the dollar store. I picked up some small wooden rectangles, painted them with chalkboard paint, and clipped them to the baskets. I used one as an open/closed sign, and we added a hook for his work apron and clipboard.

My favorite part is the scale. I took an old clock, mod-podged a scale face to it, leaving the glass off so that the kids could adjust the weight. Then I got a metal bowl from the thrift store, chain and hooks from Lowes, and a lightweight spring. Ben drilled some holes, snipped some chain, and - we have a scale!

It's super adorable and the kids love it. Even though Simon keeps calling it a kitchen, Charlie likes to throw the fruit at people, and Talya thinks it's hers. But don't worry - she got a special present too... coming up soon!

Advent!

2010-12-09T16:16:00.000-05:00

Last year, advent was heavy, but in a great way.

This year, advent is glitter and glue and lights strewn everywhere I can find room. We are a family full of children, which feels magical, even though I've screwed up Santa yet again. (Why did it take me so long to realize that small children don't really understand "pretend"... to them everything is real?)

Anyway, I've been busy. I've decided to make some of the big gifts this year, and so far, so good. Only minor glue gun burns and I haven't broken down in tears yet. I'm excited to finish Talya's present so I can show you. But, first, it was time to decorate.

Ben and I have an ongoing battle over real tree/fake tree. You might be surprised which side we're each on. I lost again this year, so we have a needle-dropping, sap-seeping, prickly pokey real tree.

Last year we started celebrating Advent with the Jesse Tree, but instead of a tree, I made 24 envelopes that housed the Jesse symbol and little candies. We hung them from a picture hanging wire. This year, the wire had fallen victim to redecorating, and as I debated where to hang our Jesse Symbols it finally dawned on me that (duh) our Christmas Tree can be our Jesse Tree.

The envelopes became ornaments, and I love it.

Merry Christmas, Happy Advent, The King is coming and we're welcoming Him with lots of sparkly lights.

my day in random thoughts

2010-12-03T19:05:00.000-05:00

Cutest thing ever, esp with the nose picking.

It never takes more than 2 days for Baby Jesus to go missing from the Nativity scene.

If you had seen my kitchen before, you'd see how clean it is now. If you didn't, you'd probably think I was a big slob.

"Mom, I peed on the wall on accident." Not something I want to hear the day after I scrub pee off every surface in the bathroom and lecture every one in the house on "aim."

I made Bee-Bim-Bop for dinner tonight, after my kids fell in love with the children's book on Korean food. My two-year-old daughter ate half a jar of Kimchee and would have kept going if I'd let her. Is that weird?

Referral Anniversary

2010-11-30T00:16:00.000-05:00

Wow it's late. But I just can't go to sleep without officially marking today - the Monday after Thanksgiving last year was the day that I got the best email of my life. Moise Iranzi was matched with us, and we received this picture.

Ben and I got the email on his phone in the lobby of our gym and it was one of the more overwhelming experiences of my life.

Look at that precious kid. Today, his name is Charlie Iranzi and he's a little maniac. He doesn't seem to know how to walk and insists on running full-speed everywhere. He loves to give kisses to babies. He can mimic any word brilliantly. When he wants to accomplish something, he will work on it until he gets it. His favorite thing in the whole world is a sandwich hug between his mom and his dad.

He's freaking cute and I don't believe in luck, but from the moment I saw him, that's how I've felt. Lucky. Really, really lucky.

My Problem with Thanksgiving

2010-11-22T14:38:00.000-05:00

I love pie. I love family dinners that are so big your mom needs you to sit at the Ping-Pong table. I love stuffing and cranberries and sweet potatoes with marshmallows on top.

And, I'm thankful. For a zillion things, not the least of which are my family, friends, church, workplace, growth group, Target, and the experience of living and traveling overseas. Maybe next week I'll feel extra festive and make you a list.

But, I have a problem. If you read this last year, you got a hint of it, but seriously, people - can we talk about this?

Simon came home from school with a paper headdress. And I just don't get it. How that's okay. How we can celebrate a holiday by having our children dress up as a people group that were victims of having their land stolen, and eventual genocide?

The roots of this country are rife with injustice, and it gets increasingly difficult for me to gloss over holidays that don't take time to acknowledge that. I hate how angry this is sounding. I want it to sound light and be a little thought-provoking, but my true feelings keep leaking in to my words.

This summer, I read The Mayflower, and it kind of ruined the fourth of July for me. In a good way, I guess - an important way, if not a fun way. This year I was determined to not let Thanksgiving pass by without learning more about the beginnings of our country, especially around the first Thanksgiving. I forced Ben to watch this with me, and I'm sad.

I think I'm mostly sad we can celebrate without mourning. Thankfulness is good, but how can we be truly thankful for things which we are not willing to acknowledge the cost? The cost was not only in Pilgrim lives lost to hunger and the sea. The cost was that we built our country on a superiority complex, and that that would stick with us for generations, tainting relationships of all kinds.

The cost was that our most treasured values - freedom, liberty and justice for all - was founded on Freedom for Me, Liberty for Those Who Don't Threaten Me, and Justice for Some. The cost was that we fight for things that we feel like we earned, but that we didn't earn without guilt.

I am thankful, but I'm also sad. This week will be busy - full of travels and packing and really festive meals together with people I love the most. We will celebrate and we will enjoy the little things. But, my hope is that I'll take the time to keep learning about Native American history and the Trail of Tears. I hope that I'll let myself feel sad at what went wrong.

I'm not suggesting that a moment of silence before eating turkey is the answer or that it would fix anything. What bothers me is not that we celebrate thankfulness or that we're happy about our blessings, but how our cultural folklore has erased the things that taint our history. My fear is that as we glorify such folklore we subliminally teach our kids and assure ourselves that the noble beginnings (people fleeing religions persecution) or the happy ends (a free society) justify the means.

Ok, I'll stop. I'm sorry for being a downer. The Indian headdress made out of xerox paper pushed me over the edge.

Comments are open, so go ahead and tell me what you're thinking!

Getting Caught Parenting

2010-11-18T15:18:00.000-05:00

Last night, my kids and I went shopping. We were leaving Carter's, me without a stroller, so basically just praying and hoping that the little ones were following me and not getting distracted by things I didn't want to buy. Just as we reached the door, I noticed a really cute mom with her husband and kids. She was beautiful and looked a little familiar, so I did a (rather obvious) double-take, and just as I caught her eye, I saw her clench her teeth and do the angry whisper-yell at one of her kids. You know what I mean. The "I can't yell in public but I'm so freaking angry with you because you're so exasperating" whisper yell.

She saw me catch her. I was mortified. I knew she was embarrassed, and I wanted to run over and say, no really, no judgment here. I know that look, those teeth, the way anger boils over in a way it wouldn't for any other person in the whole world but can't be contained when a three-year-old won't try on the jacket already. I wanted to assure her that I do it too. That I possibly did it this morning. That it was a complete accident that I "caught" her, and that I wouldn't have if she hadn't had such pretty hair (that part sounds creepy), and that I. Totally. Get It.

I managed an empathetic half-smile and high-tailed it out of there to church.

We were having our Thanksgiving Dinner for our ESL students and their families. (More on how awesome this was later). We were supposed to bring our families, but Ben was out of town, so I was accompanied by three hungry kids who don't always respond well to chaos, noise, or you know - expectations of obedience.

I sat them down at a table and my pastor sat with us. Deep Breath. I mean, as if the pressure wasn't on already, this is the man who is preaching a series on Jacob's dysfunctional family brought on by wretched parenting.

Just in time, Simon decided to bury his head in his arms and refuse to talk to anyone. Talya and Charlie just put on a great show of backwashing into the same water bottle. Gross. Simon pulled it together and ended up carrying on pleasantly with our pastor while I tended to the little ones and made really sorry attempts at conversation.

But then disappointment hit. Something he wanted, asked for (nicely), and the answer was no. Crying, whining, oh great, here starts the public parenting. I have no idea what I said to him, but we got through it. We got through dinner. We got through a program and the only casualty was one man after Charlie grabbed an apple from the centerpiece and chucked it at his head from across the room.

I had help from several people, and we made it through the night successfully.

<<<>>>>

On the way home, I got an email from my pastor. He took the time to encourage me in my parenting - not the judgmental kind of encouragement that I recently got from an off-duty police officer - but genuine, specific, grace-filled compliments.

The compliment was surrounding Simon's meltdown and me getting him through it, and the truth is the compliment was not entirely deserved. The truth is that I have no idea what I said to him and that I was thinking in my head "God, please let whatever I'm saying work, because I have no plan B if it doesn't."

The truth is that it didn't matter. He knew that that one exchange was not the sum total of my parenting, just like I know that the whisper-yell was not the sum total of the Carters-Mom's parenting. What mattered is that I'm often caught in the angry looks, the impatient sighs, the annoyed threats. Last night I was caught in a moment of grace, and it did wonders for my heart. It made me want to start watching people more, and want to say something when I catch them doing great.

(But I probably won't because I'm generally scared of talking to people I don't know. But growth can happen here, too, I guess.)

Indian Summer

2010-11-11T15:29:00.000-05:00

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.

Leaving on a jet plane

2010-11-04T17:14:00.000-04:00

I'm off for a great weekend with my adoption wife.

I'd like to tell the woman walking through the terminal that she might not want to let her one-year-old chug down her iced coffee right before flying. Caffeine, babies, and small spaces seem like an unsafe combo. But instead I'll mind my own business and hope they're not sitting next to me.

My husband is amazing and I love him.

Oh, and sorry about the comments thing. There was a situation that was getting a little negative, so we're going this route for a bit. There's a little email link up top there.

Love you all - have a great weekend. And don't worry about ben and the kids, he's much better at this than I am.

Halloween Aftermath - Costumes

2010-11-01T16:22:00.001-04:00

Oh, Halloween, my favorite. Here are some highlights and lowlights, with some interspersed craftiness.

1) Simon is allergic to peanuts. That pretty much sucks, but I selfishly look forward to blessed day that comes around once a year when he gets handed 50 peanut-infested candy bars that I get to eat (for his own good). Seriously, there is no meaner mother out there. This year, when we got back from trick-or-treating, our bowl of candy was cleaned out, so Ben started picking out the peanut candy from the kids' bags to hand out. I was all, "Are you serious - that's my candy." Ben was all, "are YOU serious?!?"

2) I believe I've mentioned that I don't believe in store bought costumes. Not because I'm an especially talented crafter, but because - well, come on people, the kid is going to wear it for 2 hours a year, do you really want to pay for it? Now's the time when you say, "Come on woman, the kid is going to wear it for 2 hours a year, do you really want to spend 5 hours gluing it together?" To which I say, that is an excellent point, but yes, I do. It's fun.

For all my judgment on store-bought costumes, Simon has been given and has worn a store bought costume ever year. This year was no different. I sniffed in judgment as he opened a Buzz costume for his birthday. In my imagination cardboard and felt Buzz is way cuter than nylon and plastic Buzz, but common sense told me to shut up.

So, imagine my eyes glimmering in manipulative hope when Simon announced that his Buzz needed wings! We can make wings! Out of cardboard and glue and paper! Yay! (OK, help me out here: I thought that "yeah" meant "yah" and "yea" meant "yay", but there seems to be some confusion on that out here on the internet, so in interest of not being misunderstood, I'm going to start writing yay. Next thing you know, I'll be ending all of my paragraphs with LOL.)

The only problem was that Simon's eyes were also glimmering in excitement at the thought of making wings. Why was that a problem? Well, he had some actual ideas of his own, which were just wrong and were threatening my project. (Hi, my name is Susie, and clearly, I have a problem.)

It was a challenge, but I told my inner control freak to simmer down, and he and I worked together on making wings. We cut up a purple binder to use the vinyl on the outside and modpodged it all to a diaper box. Simon asked for "sparkles," so I let him shake glitter all over my kitchen, and if I do say so myself, those wings were worth the mess. Have you ever seen better Buzz wings created by a five-year-old and his weird mother?!

3)Yes, this is only point 3. I have about 16 more to go. I made Talya and Charlie's costumes based on this brilliant Martha tutorial. When it comes to halloween costumes, Martha has some ideas that are clever and don't require sewing. Talya was a princess and Charlie a frog prince. They were pretty much adorable. It is insanely hard to find a green hooded sweatshirt for toddlers. I had to buy him a girl's version from Target. I cut off the ruffles, but the sleeves puff a little, which just make it more "princely" I think.

This was Talya's first ever foray into the Princessphere. She doesn't know about Disney or Barbie, and it is just adorable to me that her first princess was all about being cute and pretty and pink. I edited Martha's idea to include a long blonde braid - because the last thing I want my daughter to believe is that to be a beautiful princess you have to have blonde hair. I'm telling you, my neuroses know no end.

4) Speaking of neurosis, one of Ben's is the thought of the kids getting cold. It's one of the things that shows his Indian-ness, that he thinks wet hair or chilly weather will lead to The Plague. Maybe he's right. Either way, we layered our kids until they could have all passed as multi-colored marshmallows in jeans. I think we may have been the only family in our hood that actually had overheated kids at the end of the night.

5) The kids were not the only ones to get in on the fun. We hosted a grown-up party last night. Ben and I went as Tiger and Elin the night of The Incident.

There's so much more to say, but my kids are cleaning the windows and tv with diaper wipes and two of them just ran outside without coats or shoes - don't want them to get The Plague! Happy Halloween.

(Linking here:)

Garage Sale Craft Table

2010-10-24T09:37:00.001-04:00

I am not a garage saler. Mostly because I'm trying to purge my house of junk, not add to it. But, I was feeling crafty and on the look-out for something I could spray paint into usefulness and beauty. Even though I'm terrible about that sort of thing. Seriously, my vision and ideas are so much better than my ability to carry out said vision.

I'm trying to accept that.

Anyway, I found this coffee table for $5 at a house across from my Y. It was insanely heavy but I managed to get it into the van and then out of the van onto my driveway without smashing my toes. My gosh that was a miracle.

We picked up chalk board paint, and blue spray paint. I kind of primed, but not well, which is probably why the paint flakes off if you bump into it? Oh well. Every time I muttered curse words at my failures in perfectionism, Ben reminded me that I was painting it so small people with no real artistic ability could paint and draw on it.

And so I pressed on. I spent about 45 minutes trying to find the center of the table so I could make a circle in the middle of the table. Something about drawing lines and the point of intersection? Whatever I was doing wasn't working, and I was quickly digressing into tears and curses. So, I decided to just paint the whole top chalkboard. Have you ever tried to tape off a circle? What in the world? How do you do that? More tears and curses, and reminders for Ben about children coloring on it.

I wanted a paper tray mounted on the bottom of the table for the kids so they would stop asking me for paper ever 4 seconds. My solution was to duck tape a cardboard box to the bottom of the table to avoid having to ask for help. When Ben saw that contraption, he got out the scrap wood and made a more durable version of a paper tray. We mounted a paper towel holder too, to encourage the aforementioned small people to clean up their own messes.

Next, I invaded Ben's collection of glass jars, scrubbed them up, and made them utensil holders. (I had visions of modpodging cute paper to them... maybe someday?). Seriously, Ben has this obsession with keeping glass jars just in case we need them. Don't tell him, but once the shelf got full, I started chucking them in the recycling bin. Now that I used some, I'll start replacing them.

So, I'm guessing I spent....$5 on the table, $10 on paint and primer, $5 on tape, $2 on paper towel holder, and $6 on the lazy susan.

Thirty of the best parenting dollars I've ever spent. It was fun to make, and my kids love it. When they wake up in the morning, instead of waking me up, they "do art." They lock themselves in that room (door has to stay closed now because glass jars full of markers are no match for Charlie) and "do art" all day long. Sure, we've killed about 40 trees with the paper they've gone through, but those trees have my deepest gratitude for the peace and quiet that has ensued around here.

Oh and PS - I've been a little obsessed with my glue gun this past week, so stay tuned for more far-from-perfect crafty endeavors and failures.

I'm linking up here:

Obligatory Pictures

2010-10-19T14:23:00.000-04:00

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?

Sometimes there are issues others don't understand

2010-10-11T15:36:00.000-04:00

In adoption, sometimes there are issues. Sometimes they're not major at all, but they are issues that you as the parent have to be aware of/ on top of, whatever.

Usually, non-adoptive parents don't understand. It's not their fault. Would you read articles about attachment and institutionalized behavior if you didn't have to? Me either.

Stacey at anymommy has some of my favorite posts about adoption, attachment, and dealing with it all as a mommy. I know, I know, it borders on annoying how much I link to her stuff, but each post really blows me away with her ability to put things into words that I only vaguely know how to express with rambling and ummmms, and studdering, and hoping people will understand what I'm trying to say.

The fact is that it's hard to explain this stuff to people. And, no, I don't really have a responsibility to explain it all the time, but there are people in our life who genuinely love us and our children and want to be supportive. And for those people, information helps.

So, for all of you who are adoptive mamas and want to read something that you'll truly "get," here you go. And for those of you who are friends with us weird adoptive mamas and want to know why we act like it's a problem when our kids hug you and not us and wonder if we're just being insecure or jealous, here you go too. Especially if you're dealing with sending your newly-bonding child to school or childcare, this post is a great resource. And then just read all of her stuff because it's all either hilarious, poignant, beautiful or thought-provoking. And if you just read all her stuff then I can stop bugging you with the links.

My sixty-year-old exercise regimen

2010-09-27T15:04:00.000-04:00

We've "relocated." Not our home, but I've been trying to move our "life" back into our home community. You see, for years we've lived in one town, worked in another, gone to church somewhere else, and sent Simon to school, worked out and hung out in yet another neighboring town. Which means, 8 years later, we knew exactly 2 of our neighbors and exactly 0 other residents of our town.

All of that is a really long explanation as to why I quit my cushy hip gym and signed up with our local YMCA. Cushy and hip it is not, but it is local, and that's what we're going for. Oh how I miss catching up on Bravo re-runs while I'm sweating though. Our town (which I like to refer to as The Born) has a decidedly different culture than our former hang-out town (let's call it The Creek). The Creek is comfortably upper-middle class, filled with comfortable cushy-ness. The culture in The Creek is slightly more sophisticated the culture of The Born. I thought this would be no big deal, but it's turned out to have made me squeamish a time or two.

Like, for instance, the first time I worked out in The Born, I looked around and discovered I was one of only a few people not exercising in pajamas. Most of the others were wearing black velcro sneakers, giving you the idea that I was also at least 20 years younger than most of the others in the room. I'm not complaining.... I even got to help a sweet old lady use a vending machine and twist the cap off of her soft drink.

When it comes to exercise, I've learned a few valuable lessons over the years. Number 1: It is foolish to think I will exercise at home. That would involve getting up early (which would be dumb) or exercising during prime time (also dumb). Number 2: When left to my own devices, I will only work out until I'm a tiny bit fatigued, and then I'll look for a distraction. Since my new gym is lacking in distraction, I found myself wandering aimlessly around the fitness center wondering what I'll look like when I'm 65.

No working out at home and no working out on my own = group exercise class.

The problem in The Creek was that I was way too self-conscious to do group exercise class. When I say I have zero rhythm, I actually mean I have negative 10 rhythm. I am also lacking in balance and the ability to differentiate between "left" and "right," so aerobics is pretty much an embarrassment. But at The Born, I am surrounded by a different clientele, and I decided that I'm not going to let sweet old people shame me into not working out.

So, I go to whatever class they offer at 9 am on weekday mornings. So far, it's been step intervals (not too bad), turbo kick (which is pretty much hip-hop and exposes my horrendous rhythm), and zumba (oh my, that is mortifying). Oh, and water aerobics.

The hour I spent in water aerobics this morning was just bizarre.

I kept waiting for someone to tell me that the minimum age for participation was 60, but no one did, so I jumped in the pool. I felt completely self-conscious (but admittedly it's been a while since I felt so young and perky). It was actually a pretty good workout that I was huffing and puffing through by the end.

You may be asking how is that a reasonably fit (okay, let's just be honest and call it "non-sedentary") person could be wheezing through a workout that her elderly classmates do several times a week. Well, I guess one of the advantages of being underwater is that no one can see if you're actually doing it or not. And, I'm not trying to throw my fellow aerobicizers under the bus, but I think some of them may not have been exactly pushing themselves.

Not that it's entirely their fault. The instructor spent a lot of the time trading recipes for Buckeyes, Thanksgiving pies, and talking about her favorite doughnuts. Talk about demotivating. All I wanted to do was hop out of the water and find the nearest Krispy Kreme.

Again, I am not complaining. If I wanted intense, I could have stayed at The Creek, where I would still be too scared to join in. Clearly, this program is more of a social club than a training program, and isn't "local community" kind of what I was looking for? Maybe next time I'll just bring my favorite pumpkin pie recipe and show those ladies what I've got!

Dear Ben, If I seem mad at you later....

2010-09-23T14:54:00.000-04:00

...for no apparent reason, let me explain. Whatever you were doing today - however overwhelming, stressful or annoying it may or may not have been, you didn't have to do it here. Here, this lovely home that I've created for our family, is not a happy place to be today. It's filled with screaming (me) and whining (them) and other annoying noises (the toys). Everyone is tired but won't sleep and hungry but won't eat.

Talya's little midnight soiree that she decided to hold in our bed last night has left us all at wit's end.

Plus, my aerobics class (the one in which I pretty much peed my pants in last week but still managed to get the courage to show my face in today) got canceled, which means my highly motivated exercise plan has been thwarted three times this week.

Also, it is about 93 degrees in here today, and though it is making me absolutely nuts, I just cannot stand the thought of turning on the air conditioning in the end of September when we are weeks away from cursing the wind chill.

Now, you might be thinking, "none of this is really my fault." Obviously, you're right, but if there's one thing we've learned the last nine years of bless - emotions are not always driven by facts. The facts are:

I love these little people that are terrorizing me and seem pretty insistent on swinging anything that might be construed as a weapon at each others' heads.
I love you and value the work that you do and that you make every effort to be a part of the good and the wretched around here.
You did not teach the kids to whine. (I may have, but who's pointing fingers?)
PBS changed its lineup, and while this is also not your fault, it is so life-altering that it makes me mad at pretty much everyone, so don't take it personally.
Even though I might be a bad influence on them, I wouldn't want to give up this privileged responsibility of caring for these three image-bearers to anyone else. (Other than Miss Morgan at the Y, Marisah on Wednesday nights, Mrs. Thomas at school, the lovely Sunday School and Children's church volunteers, childcare workers during Bible Study, and Miss Krista on Wednesday mornings... ohmygosh, this is why they're crazy - I'm an absent parent!)
This too shall pass, and I'll be sad when it does. (By "this," I don't mean the whining, but I do mean the ages at which whining is so screechingly prevalent.)

See, I've mostly talked myself off the ledge. I've even opened the door to the closet I'm hiding in (mostly because it is freaking hot in here). But, all facts aside, if I remember correctly, your day involved a nice staff meeting during which was planned some sort of wedding celebration for our friends. If it involved cake, and you don't bring me some.... well, let's just say you've been warned.

All my heart,

Susie

Tips Needed: Fair Trade, Sustainable, Empowering Businesses

2010-09-21T15:06:00.000-04:00

Last year, my friend sent me one of my most favorite gifts ever: a bag from sari bari. Sari Bari is a safe home in India where women who have been exploited by the sex industry can be healed, restored, and where they can create a new life. One of the ways they do this (practically and symbolically) is through their business where they take old, worn-out saris and create beautiful bags and blankets out of them. The products are sold at a fair price, giving these women income, purpose and hope.

One of the best details of a Sari Bari bag is that it bears the name of the woman who created it. Every time I look at my bag I think of the artist behind it and the steps she has taken to create a new life for herself, and I am inspired.

Anyway, are there any companies you love that follow a similar model? Any companies where when you buy from them, you get the sense you are participating in something really amazing? I'd love you tips!

Wall Art: Silhouette Timeline

2010-09-17T15:04:00.003-04:00

This one wasn't super easy. It was more of a labor love. And now that it's done, we can't ever have any more children because then I'll have to redo it. Not really :) Actually, once I figured out what I was doing, it got easier. The hardest part was picking pictures that really captured cornerstone moments in our family's journey together.

There's our wedding, of course. Me with the poofy veil and the almost kiss. Then my belly being turned into a giant basketball, from which it's never recovered. Then Simon, adorable and naked crawling around through our home. Then the three of us on an elephant in India a few days after losing Elijah. Then Simon patting his little sister as she nestled inside me. Then Talya reaching out to her Daddy. Then the two of them, the beginning of a great friendship. Then me and my Charlie, the day we first met. Finally, the three of them running through life together.

In between all of these, are other moments that we've lived together - some not easy to capture on film or able to be outlined in black in white. The arguments. The times we were afraid of losing Ben's Dad. The year we had to say goodbye to our family home. The moment I knew there was no longer a heartbeat. The meals we've cooked, the friends who've lived in our home, the sisters-in-law we've welcomed, the holidays we've celebrated.

But these silhouettes reflect the Big Moments, where God made us Us.

**********

I'd been working on this project for a while, and knew I wanted it printed on canvas, so when Groupon featured Canvas on Demand, I was ecstatic! I was able to get a 16x20 canvas of my design for $49, including shipping - quite the deal. I regularly surf all the cities' deals on Groupon, and I see that deal pop up from time to time, so jump on it. Once you start, it's hard to stop, so also head over to Canvas People for another amazing deal on printing your own artwork on canvas - $55 off any order, which amounts to a free 8x10.

If you want a quick synopsis on how I did the artwork, here you go: (I used Adobe Illustrator and Photoshop)

In Photoshop, open up the photo you want. You are going to turn your artwork into a resizable vector, so quality isn't too important - making those iPhone camera photos an option for this piece. First, unlock the layer and create a mask that hides anything you don't want in the silhouette. I use a combination of the lasso tool and magic wand. Then, create a new layer. Paint the new layer black, and move your mask to the new layer. Make sure you hide your bottom layer, and you should be looking at a black silhouette of your image.

If you're like me, your image isn't at all perfect. There are bumps and divots and all kinds of rough edges. Save your photo anyway and place it into a new document in Illustrator. From here, do a live trace of the image and hit "expand." Now, instead of a photo, you're working with an editable vector. Here's where I do my tweaking. I fix any major problems with the sub-selection tool, and then I use the "smooth" tool to get rid of all the imperfections of my unsteady hand. I much prefer working in Illustrator to Photoshop, so I like to do my editing there, but if you're a photoshop person, you can get it the way you want it there.

In Illustrator, I just typed our last name, found a font I liked and arranged the silhouettes over it. I experimented with a thousand different color combinations and decided this is what I liked the best.

When it was finished, I decided it was too small for the space it would be hanging in. It needed a friend, so I whipped up another one to hang next to it using our family promise and another silhouette of all five of us. This one I printed at winkflash because it was the cheapest I could find at the time. They both turned out great, but the one done at Canvas on Demand is crisper, brighter, and smoother. Just so you know :)

And that's us in a nutshell!

I linked up here:

Please visit and check out all kinds of other creative projects!

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

2010-09-13T15:18:00.000-04:00

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.

Sticky Adoption Thoughts: the Birthmom

2010-09-12T16:21:00.000-04:00

Oh my, we've been all obsessed with capes and crafts around here, and still - life continues to whir on with the important things needing attention.
I've been reading some adoption literature lately, and blogs of course, and something's been kind of troubling me. It's sticky and might not come out right, but I'm going to take a shot at giving it words.
The Birthmom.
We adoptive mamas I think feel a collective sigh of gratitude and respect for these women who bore our children and made certain choices that brought these babes into our lives. We talk about Her as selfless and courageous. And, probably? She is.
Here's my concern though (I'll just make this specific to my situation, because this seems like an area where generalizations are not good): She may not be. She might be a true hero - someone who sacrificed a lot of ridicule and stigma to carry her child to term, someone who went to great lengths to leave her child in a safe place, someone who carefully evaluated the kind of life she wanted for her son and whether or not she could give it to him.
But, maybe not. She might be someone who was reckless, who put her child in harm's way to protect her own interests. She might be someone who, attacked on every side by hunger and abuse, wasn't able to truly comprehend the choice she was making for her and her son. She might be someone who was intimidated and threatened into doing something she didn't want to do - relinquish a child she loved. She might not have even had the capacity to really love him, or to make any decisions motivated by love.
I'll never know.
I do know that regardless of the choices she made or the motivation behind those choices, she is a beautiful child of God, as fiercely loved by her Creator as the child she birthed. I know that she is worthy of respect and dignity. I know that she deserves the benefit of the doubt. I know that God created her for a life of perfect relationship (with Him and with her child) that is impossible every day she walks in this broken world. I know that she is special, smart and beautiful - that much I can see for sure every time I watch my son play or study his gorgeous brown skin.
My concern isn't that we assign gratitude and respect to the birthmom - she certainly deserves it - it's when we connect it to her decision to relinquish her child. In some cases, it might absolutely be connected - her moral character might have been what led her to make her tough decision. But, in some cases her choice may not have been a great one, motivated by integrity and honor.
When I was visiting Adrianne in the spring, we met with a social worker just to chat about attachment and sharing the kids' story with them in an appropriate and healthy way. To tell the truth, she was kind of mean and scary, but on this subject I thought she had some great thoughts. She talked about the danger of connecting the birth mother's love for her son with her choice to relinquish.
She asked us to think ahead to when our kids were 12 and started questioning things and asking the hard questions. If you'd been told your whole life that your birth mom "loved you so much that she relinquished you for adoption," and "I love you so much..." might that not instill fear in a young heart?
I don't intend this to be some kind of soapbox - this is just me processing through how to best be the caretaker of Charlie's story, me trying to stay a step ahead my own tendency to want to give "nice" answers that might not be true.
The same mean scary social worker warned us to talk to our kids about their story much like we might talk to them about sex (she was incorrectly assuming that I'm mature and don't call private parts "hmmm-mmms," but that's another post for another day) - only give age-appropriate information but never, ever lie.
So, in my case, I don't actually know anything about Charlie's birthmom or the choice she made. I need to be careful to not say things like, "She loved you so much that she wanted a better life for you and wanted you to have a mommy and daddy who could do things for you that she couldn't." That may be true, but I don't know that it is. And someday he's going to realize that I don't know that.
Instead, I can say things like, "I don't know Charlie, but I know that God loved her and you so much that even when she was confused, He made sure that you were kept safe until He brought you to us." I can say, "I don't know why your birth mom chose this, but I do know xy and z about poverty in Rwanda, and I can imagine how this may have made her feel scared and uncertain."
I can teach him to love, respect and be thankful for his birth mom, regardless of the choices she made. I can teach him that she is worthy of his honor, not because of the choice she made or in spite of it, but because God created her and only His grace makes any of us "worthy." I can teach him that I have made difficult choices too - some good and some bad, and that he will too, and that all of us need forgiveness and grace as we do the best we can to navigate the brokenness of this world.
Please forgive me if I've gotten it all wrong. What are your thoughts?

********

In other adoption news, Charlie is doing awesome. He's showing great signs of attachment - clinging to me when new people reach for him, crying when I take him to the nursery, playing independently while repeatedly "checking in" to make sure I'm still there. He's growing and running and laughing. This week, though, there have been some interesting incidents - cuddling with my friend while glaring at me, hitting me when I tell him "no," jumping into the arms of strangers. It's a good reminder that while things are progressing well, it's not over yet. And I'm totally okay with that.

Super Simon's Party

2010-09-07T15:47:00.000-04:00

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?

My house Re-done: Family Rules

2010-09-01T14:53:00.000-04:00

Forever ago, I saw this idea about making a family rules canvas. While I'm not big on scrapbook paper or cute and crafty things in my house (I think they're adorable in your houses), I loved the idea of making rules - and I loved some of the rules I saw enough to steal them.

The rest of the rules I unilaterally decreed. I asked Ben's opinion and he wanted a rule about brushing your teeth and bathing every day, which I just think isn't realistic. I know, gross, don't judge.

I'm into typography, and a lot of the new artwork in my house shows that. I just decided to go with a more uniform print, inspired by this one that I saw on etsy. You really don't need to spend $20 on this - you can do it yourself, but if you want to buy one, then there's a lot of options out there.

Here are our (my) rules:

1) Children obey your parents, Parents obey your Father.

2) Nothing that comes out of your body goes into your mouth.

3) Daddy hug Mommy, Mommy take the time to enjoy it.

4) Say you're sorry (and mean it).

5) Don't hit, kick, punch, pinch or otherwise hurt each other.

6) Eat your food, don't throw it.

7) Share each other's happiness - and each other's burdens.

8) No Whining.

9) Give your guests your best.

10) Have a good attitude. When you can't, have a dance party.

11) Always be nice, and always tell the truth.

12) God didn't put you here to be comfortable. He put you here to love His kids and take care of His stuff.

What are your rules?

My House Re-done: new colors

2010-08-31T14:56:00.000-04:00

My house is a work in progress. I have one friend in particular who challenges herself every time she comes over to find something different, and she usually can. I'm usually repainting, rehanging or asking Ben to do those things. OK, I almost always ask Ben.

I like the creative process, and my house is kind of my place to let it all out. It's nothing new. My parents endured me coloring all over my walls with magic markers. I wrote deep things like my favorite Goo Goo Dolls song lyrics, and I colored bizarre wall murals. Not the kind that make you need to call the school counselor, just the kind that are not really artistic unless you're 15.

But, somehow, over the past couple of years, other than redoing my kids' rooms, I lost my decorating mojo*. Everything in the main part of my house stayed generally the same. Maybe because I was too busy filling out 18 dozen background checks and financial statements for the adoption, or just generally trying to keep little people alive.

But, it's come back. My desire to have the spaces I live in reflect and inspire my personality.

When we moved back from India, we painted the kitchen turquoise, which was inspired by our surroundings there, but the living room/great room was some horrific shade of khaki. My least favorite color in the whole world is khaki. In pants and on walls. Gross. No offense. Most normal people like it, just not me. One of the things that makes me weird. That and the fact that I don't believe in reading more than one book by the same author. And that I love Greene County, Ohio. And many other things.

Other factors in my "style." I don't like to spend money. And one other big thing. Everything that hangs on my walls needs to be meaningful to us personally. I don't hang pretty pictures up, I only hang up pictures of places that are part of me (Lake George, India, Rwanda), things I'm obsessed with (paisleys), people I love. And I'm pretty neurotic about it. That leaves me having to make most of the "art" in my house. The next several posts are going to show you what I made. It's not spectacular, but it's all very much "me." Oh, and it was all pretty cheap.

But, first, the paint. Historically, we buy our paint at Wal-mart, enlist some friends or my little brother, and then do it ourselves. We're not that good at it, but we're not perfectionists, so we make promises to touch up later and then don't, and then eventually we just change the color. This time, we decided that three kids + vaulted ceilings + a lack of perfectionism + Ben's fear of heights = paying someone else to do it. This proved to be a good decision and left em free to obsess over colors.

I wanted to get away from warm colors completely - especially khakis, tans, and mustards, but we still needed a neutral, so picked dark gray for the great room. For the kitchen, after much facebook advice, we went with a sort of billboard/grassy green. It's pretty much the color of the green screen the weather man uses. Sounds hideous? I love it. It's bright and cheery and about as green as you can get.

My pictures are terrible, but here you go.

those big pictures are of Lake George, which as my cousin says, is my "emotional home."

family pictures

*mojo in this instance has nothing to do with expertise, talent or skill, just the desire to keep at it.

Up Next: My DIY art projects

Working From Home

2010-08-26T16:23:00.000-04:00

"Working from home" means different things to different people. Lately, for me, it's meant that I check my work email constantly but only sometimes follow through on my inbox. The rest of the time, things fall through the cracks left by diaper changes, temper tantrums, movies ending, errands to run, and emergencies that happen in front of me.

Lately it's also meant that during afternoon nap, I work. Actual, real, responsible-to-other-people work. (Like, not this blog, can you tell?) Anyway. I've liked the schedule, enjoyed the routine and the purpose. "Movie time" is immediately after "nap time" so that I can finish up what I didn't get done to the chorus of "Let's Build a Word!!"

It's been great, but 2 hours is not enough time to actually finish something that other people are waiting on. There are technical difficulties and last-minute edits that I can't control. There are people who work 9-5, not 2-4, and so maybe don't answer their phone when I call at 2:05, which means I can't proceed until 2:05 THE NEXT DAY. Today, I am feeling so done with trying to cram responsibility into two hours that end with whining for snacks, me losing my patience, and a frozen computer.

Grrr.

It's been like two weeks on the same project because between waiting on information, edits, and printers outside the house and waiting on a four-year-old, two-year-old and one-year-old inside the house, has made this take FOREVER. I'm reminded why I don't take on a lot of these projects - it's not really a win for anyone. Who wants to be the boss waiting for the mom at home to hurry up and get the graham crackers out so she could buy herself 4 more minutes to send one more email?

One project. Not yet done. About 2 other projects currently on my list that keep getting bumped, and about six zillion projects that haven't even made the list yet because I'm not THAT unrealistic.

Anyone else "work from home?" How the heck do you do it?

Good Night

2010-08-10T22:01:00.001-04:00

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

Fun and Cheap Wall Art

2010-08-04T16:03:00.002-04:00

I've been a woman obsessed lately. We're repainting our house a dramatically different color and it has me doing all kinds of projects to redecorate. I'm nesting with the zeal of a pregnant woman, but good news - no weight gain and (hopefully) no sleepless nights in my future.

Anyway, I came across the Rasterbator several years ago, but was just recently reminded of it by ohdeedeoh. Seriously, stop it. Raster, like pixelated images. If your minds are in the gutter, get them out for now. It's a genius piece of technology that will take any image and rasterize it into any large poster that you can print out on your home computer. You pick the finished size and the rasterbator prints it out in tiles. The image is made up of dots - you choose black, any other single color, or multi-color.

It's been around for awhile, so it's not a ground-breaking idea, but this is the first time I did it, and I love it. I rasterbated a family photo for our basement/playroom that is a wide open expanse of off-white walls. Our basement is great, but not fun to look at, and the stupid back to school commercials have me dreading the end of summer and the beginning of LOOOOONG days spent in the basement.

My main goal was to do this as cheaply as possible, not knowing if I'd love the end result or not. First, I picked one of my favorite recent family pictures - taken by the insanely talented Perlows at Locke Innovations. That's another post for another day, but I submit to you that the rainbow colors of my family and my kids' stubborn refusal to look at a camera make us the hardest family to photograph in North America.

I chose this one because it's a little quirky and shows all five of us, but the emphasis is on the kids. Also, I think it's a kind of cool photo even aside from the kids' expressions, which is good since you definitely lose detail in the rasterbation. It's also important to pick a photo that has high contrast. And, if you're using your home printer, it's good to pick one without a lot of solid black, unless you want to go through 16 cartridges.

Next, decide if you want to print color or black and white. I went with black for a few reasons. First, it's cheaper. Second, the rasterbator prints color by making each dot the average of the colors contained within it. It my picture, that really dulled down the bright colors, and I wanted my picture to be really bright. So, I went with black on brightly colored paper.

When you are in the rasterbator, it lets you decide how big the output will be. It also lets you crop the picture. I cropped to make sure that my picture filled in entire tiles, so I didn't have weird half sheets on one edge. My output was 42 sheets of letter-sized paper.

I initially decided to print my 42 page PDF file at home. Which was stupid, because I went through 2 printer cartridges and still had 30 pages left to print. So, I organized my colored paper into a perfectly random order and took my thumb drive and my colored paper to Kinkos (I refuse to call it FedEx). It cost me all of $1.50 to have it printed in black and white and get the border trimmed off. And, Kinkos never runs out of ink. (Also, if you bring three hyper kids into Kinkos, they'll help you out because they don't want you and the six grabby hands spending a half hour at the self-service table. My kinkos guy never looks happy to see me, but I love him anyway.)

The next step is to lay out your project. Tell your four-year-old it's like a puzzle. He'll love it. (Put your little ones down for a nap before this step or you'll regret it.) I used sticky tack to stick each piece to the wall. I had a lot more luck with sticking the tack to the wall and pressing the paper onto it. We (me and Simon) used a level to sticky tack a yard stick to the wall where we wanted the bottom to be so that we could start off straight. Then Simon used his helicopter to fly each piece over to me while I yelled, "Don't crumple it! Don't crumple it!" and he reminded me not to step on his train tracks. It only took about 25 minutes to hang it all up, and we'll see how long it takes for the stupid sticky tack to fail on me before the tiles fall into a mixed up jumble on the floor.

I have to say that I love the finished product enough to invest in some poster strips... But four strips times 42 pages is a lot... so I'm hoping the sticky-tack pulls through.

And, voila (it took me until I was 30 to realize that voila meant Wha-la. I promise, I'm smart). I might start hanging rasterbations all over my basement.

Charlie, our 6 month anniversary

2010-07-26T16:54:00.001-04:00

We've known this little guy "in real life" for 6 months. We've loved him, prayed for him, and considered him part of our family for a lot longer than that. Here's a couple of videos to show you what our baby is up to now. We are - all of us - in love. (Please ignore my annoying squealing.)

Proof how normal we are

2010-07-23T22:14:00.000-04:00

Part of the adoption process is follow-up with your social worker. This is not mandated in the sense that no one can take Charlie away if we don't comply, but it is required, begged of us, encouraged, and emphasized by having us put down a thousand dollar deposit that we only get back if we do this. It's fine, I'm happy to do this because we really like our social worker and I can't wait for her to meet Charlie. (She doesn't know about this little bloggy-blog, so don't read this as kissing up.)

Anyway, our first follow-up visit is in a few days, and being the responsible adoptive mother that I am, I just opened up the paperwork that we were supposed to fill out ahead of time. I thought it was a quickie form, but it turned out that we have to pretty much write the whole report, and it took a lot of time.

And then, in some sort of weird dossier deja vu, I realized that we have to submit "picture pages." I assume this is to show anyone who is interested that we are all normal, happy, and functioning as a family. It's required that one picture shows Charlie with his parents.

You'd think this would be easy, seeing as he is perfectly adorable and his parents are also quite cute. Turns out, though, that Charlie would rather look at anything than a camera, I look more tired than I feel, being dressed before noon is optional, and the only photographer I have on call is 4 1/2.

So, here it is. A series of pictures that proves to anyone who wants to know that Charlie is in excellent hands.

I don't feel bad though. Becky is a professional photographer, and look at her family portrait. Judah doesn't look super happy.

Where are you from? I'm from Ohio.

2010-07-21T22:41:00.001-04:00

So, Ben and I *may* have gotten into an argument over the weekend because when someone asked him where he was from, he didn't say Ohio.

Clearly, I *may* have been being a little oversensitive. (Sidenote: I'm pretty sure "been being" is not proper English... Abby? Mrs. Heath? When did I lose my ability to write a proper sentence? Oh yes, sometime around the day I first started this blog.)

But, let me make my case anyway.

First of all, though neither of us grew up here, we've lived here for 8 years. EIGHT YEARS. We've had babies here, built a house here, screwed up our taxes every single year right here in America's heartland.

Second of all, though this might not be fair, I'm not really "from" anywhere else anymore. That's a-whole-nother story, but the bottom line is that the only place I have left to be "from" is here. And if I can't be from anywhere else, Ben doesn't get to be either.
What? I admitted it wasn't fair, but marriage isn't fair.

Thirdly, how many years do you need to be married to be "from" the same place?

Ohio is the best place anyone could ever be "from." It has given us the best years of our lives, and the least we could give back is some pride in claiming it as OURS.

If you're not from Ohio - heck, even if you are - you might have been programmed to believe that Ohio is not a cool place to be "from." Oh, how wrong you are. Now, to be fair, I can't speak for the whole state. I hear Cleveland is kind of a depressing place what with LeBron peacing out and the whole Lake Effect weather thing they've got going on. But here in the Miami Valley, we've got a lot to cheer you up.

Here are some highlights:

We don't have traffic. If you hit traffic, start praying, because it means that someone got into an serious accident up ahead, and that's why things are slowing down.
We can park in actual parking lots. There's only one place I go that has parking meters, and those are for charity, and you don't actually get a ticket if you don't put money in.
Being in the middle of the country, many regional fast food favorites have eventually migrated here, including my favorites - Chik-fil-a, Sonic, and Five Guys, as well as Tim Horton's which made it here from Canada. (Full Disclosure: Dunkin Donuts hasn't shown up on the scene yet, which is profoundly disappointing.)
Sure our economy is in the toilet, but housing doesn't get much cheaper.
Renewing your license at the DMV takes about 6.3 minutes.
Graeter's
Cheap and easy ways to learn anything you'd ever want to know.
Readoption is a piece of cake. A few forms, one check, no court appearances, and BAM - your kid born in Rwanda officially gets a new name and a birth certificate. Sure it's a little anticlimactic. I almost asked the lady behind the window to find a gavel she could bang or something to make it all more momentous, but instead decided to count my blessings and sing the praises of Greene County.
It's a swing state, which makes election years so much more exciting, and I'd like to think also makes my vote count more.

There's more, but the basic gist is that Southwestern Ohio is a cheap and easy place to live, with lots of good fast food.

Plus, I'm from here, which if you're married to me, is a good reason to be "from" here too.

By the way, this post is in no way a joke. I really love it here. Laugh all you want, just don't make me move.

2010-07-12T20:42:00.000-04:00

It's his birthday again.

And as I reflect on this day three years ago, and the many days since, I can't help but be reminded that if I'd carried Elijah to term, if he'd been born healthy, I'd never have Talya, and I may not have Charlie either. It doesn't make July 12 2007 suck any less, but it does remind me:

God's plans are almost always filled with moments of heartache, suffering, and tearful surrender but carry the promise of an eternity of delight.

My life is filled with His gracious gifts, but they are only a taste of what is waiting for me on the other side.

Name That Year

2010-07-10T22:37:00.000-04:00

My grandparents are almost 88 years old, and they save ~~almost~~ everything. It really comes in handy, especially if you need - say - a bucket of pine cones, the plastic tabs that fasten bread bags, or pretty much any Bible commentary that's ever been written. Their house is a treasure trove of memories.

This year, Grandma pulled out a stack of letters that my brothers and I wrote her with our Christmas lists. We thought they were pretty funny, so of course I'm reposting them, which may or may not violate my brothers' privacy.

Of course we were more than thorough with our wants, but none of us wrote a date on our letters, so my challenge to you is to take a look at our lists and tell me what year you think these were written. I'd give a prize to the winner, but, I don't know the answer myself, and I don't have any prizes.

Here you go, in order of age, from oldest to youngest.

Dear Grandma & Pop-Pop -

Thank you for your letter. I hope we can come up for Christmas. Mom said you wanted to know what I wanted for Christmas. So this is my list!

Big sweaters - you know the kind you bought me before except without the turtle-neck.
Jeans - faded
88-key keyboard
earrings
hair-things
books - Peggy Books - 3 & up
Shoes - black Sunday shoes - size 7 1/2 or 8
Stretch Pants

I think that’s it!! Did you have a good Thanksgiving? We did. I love you!! I miss you.

Love, 
Susie

Dear Grandma & Pop-Pop

Did you guys have a good Thanksgiving? We did, we went to the Holliday’s house.

Thank you for the letter. That grandparent’s Day was fun. I wish you could have been there.

I will tell you what I want for Christmas:
faded jeans,
T-shirts Adult Small or Medium
Bulls Stuff*
Bears Stuff*
Bo Jackson Stuff*
“NIKE” shoes
Basketball cards
Football cards
Baseball cards
Watch
WWF Wrestling Buddies
Nintendo Games
Money
Bike

From,
Scott
PS Mark copied some of my stuff.
* Stuff as in posters & shirts

Dear Grandma & Pop-Pop,
I want these things for Christmas:

Winter Clothes
Nintendo Games
Michael Jordan stuff
Football stuff
football
Water gun
sword
Bow & arrow
WWF Wrestling Buddies
Ninja turtle figures
Ninja turtle stuff
faded jeans
T-shirts
Basketball cards
Football cards
Baseball stuff
Punching Bag
clothes
Bo Jackson stuff

From,
John

Dear Grandma & Pop-Pop,
This is what I want for Christmas:
Nintendo Games
Bow & Arrow
WWF Wrestling Buddies
He-man sword
School box
Ninja turtle figures
light-brights
coat
Michael Jordan stuff
Bears stuff
football suit
sleeping bag
Ninja turtle stuff
faded jeans
T-shirts
Bo Jackson stuff
Basketball cards
Football cards
Baseball cards
Punching Bag
Construx
Markers
toy boat
clothes

From,
Mark

A few observations and updates: What the heck is a Peggy book? Can anyone explain the obsession with Bows & Arrows? I don't think we got any of this stuff. John did just get a punching bag - lifelong dream fulfilled.

Name that year.

Simon & Talya's Youer Than You Room

2010-06-24T11:44:00.000-04:00

Here are our Craig's List bunk beds, decked out in Ikea bedding... Talya has been doing a pretty good job of sleeping in the bottom bunk.

Rain gutter bookshelves, which I LOVE. The kids love them too. They are already smarter. (I hope you know me well enough to know I'm kidding.) Oh, and that's Charlie showing off his love for all things dangerous and electrical. Don't worry, he's safe, disciplined, and currently asleep.

I created this piece of "artwork" using some great photo transfer techniques I found at nonphotography.com/blog. It's a crappy picture, but it says "Siblings make the sweetest friends." I am loving how good of friends my kids are becoming.

Here's the little corner that shows off their heritage... Cimon Appachan who Sy is named after, and my mom, Grandma, and Auntie Kay who Talya is named after. Oh, and the Indian flag. I have yet to feel a need to showcase Buchanan Plaid, but whatev.

So, that's it... really bad pictures of a really cute room that is, are you ready for it? DONE!

(See Simon being smart.)

It seems like just yesterday that I spent a LOT of time and energy preparing a new boys' room for Charlie and Simon to share.

Well, that was fun, but sure didn't last long. Charlie and Simon did not make good roommates, and Simon ended up spending a couple of months on the air mattress - first in our closet, and then on the floor in Talya's room next to her crib.

Turns out, Simon and Talya make great roommates. I've had to adjust to them taking A LOT longer to go to sleep, but they are enjoying themselves, and their friendship during the day has really benefited from the extra bonding time post-bedtime.

So, we decided to turn Talya's pretty pretty girly nursery into a fun big kid room that both kids could enjoy. We also made the potentially stupid decision to coincide this makeover with Talya's transition to a big girl bed. Normally, I don't rush into these kinds of things, but we've got vacation coming up, and it would be a whole lot easier for us if we didn't have to cart around 2 pack n plays. (Isn't it great to base major parenting decisions on your own personal convenience?)

Since we'd just spent time and money on the boys' room, the goal was not to spend too much cash on this one. I think we did pretty good. There's a few little projects I still want to do, but I'm really happy with the results. Oh, and the white walls need another coat of paint, but I couldn't let that slow me down. So we're just kind of rolling with the bluish tint.

Here are some pics.

I based the room on this great decal from Single Stone Studios on etsy. It says, "Today you are You. That is truer than true. There is no one alive that is youer than you." (Dr. Seuss) Perfect for my very different boy and girl and their shared space.

Rain Gutters

2010-06-22T08:53:00.000-04:00

Isn't the Internet wonderful? Yesterday afternoon, I happened to come across this, which I decided would be the perfect addition to my kids' room. So, I packed them up, headed to Lowes, came up with 20 feet of rain gutter and introduced my husband to his project for the evening.

He loves it when I come home with crazy ideas. He also loves it when I post pictures of him on the internet without his shirt. But, hey, them's the breaks.

So, anyway, I LOVE our new rain gutter bookshelves. Less than $50 for supplies, less than 2 hours of work, and a whole wall of art that (as I assured Ben) will instill in the kids a love of reading for a lifetime.

Once was blind but now I see and other Happy Thoughts

2010-06-20T20:49:00.003-04:00

Color Me Katie asked what makes me happy (I'm sure she was talking directly to me), and since this week was full of happiness, here's my list:

1) Three kids who were each "made" in different places

2) My Baby's first haircut.

3) Father's Day (Long white gloves used to make me happy... sadly, that is no longer true)

4) Going from this:

to this:

to Perfect Vision! Thank you Dr. Stahl for that creepy Lasik procedure that has changed my life!

Also....this picture makes me really happy:

Aftermath

2010-06-13T22:49:00.000-04:00

Oh how I love my kids. All of them, all of the time, even though sometimes I mutter inappropriate words because, I swear, they are always trying to trip me and make me fall down when I'm emptying the dishwasher.

Anyway, I am now the proud mama of a 4 1/2 year old, a two year old, and a one year old. And I couldn't be more exhausted. (That's not true, I could be, let's all remember this.) But, the combination of three kids, 90 degree weather, two birthdays, 3 cakes, 30 cupcakes, and one giant birthday party has left me beyond pooped. (Which, I've had to explain to Simon on multiple occasions does not mean that I've actually pooped.)

My goals for the Epic Week of Birthdays were as follows:

make each ACTUAL birthday special for respective birthday kid, regardless of whether or not they would have a clue as to what was going on.
have enough food and beverage at the party.
make cute (not perfect) cakes.

My first goal was pretty much met, I guess. We celebrated Charlie on Thursday with birthday pancakes, a trip to the farm, and the requisite clown cake. We celebrated Talya today with our first-ever trip to King's Island, a butterfly cake, and presents.

Goal 2 was half-way met, although I had to send my brother to the store for more punch ingredients. I forgot to take into account the miserable, thirst-inducing heat.

Goal 3 was fun. We had cute cakes, that were definitely not perfect, but I didn't care, and obviously the guests didn't either. My barn cake was leaning over, but it never fell. The cupcakes were pretty adorable if I do say so myself, and Charlie had his first taste of sugar and will be forever changed.

Here is our weekend in pictures. They're pretty sorry pictures, but for real, this party was little-kid insanity. Jumping, screaming, tackling, squealing insanity. My house is just starting to get back to order.

Happy Birthday to my two youngest adorable kids. I am so thankful for both of them, and get emotional with gratitude that Charlie's first birthday was spent with his family.

Oh, and PS: in the midst of it all, we went swimming at our new pool we have access to, and Talya puked in the pool. That was a fun highlight of the weekend.

Time to Celebrate!

2010-06-10T22:42:00.000-04:00

I love birthdays and I love birthday parties. With Charlie turning one (today!) and Talya turning 2 (Sunday) I was in all-out planning mode to give them special days.

Then the insecurities started to surface. For some reason, one of my biggest insecurities is that I would make too big of a deal out of something. It's kind of ironic, I guess, that I am insecure about that, since I'm so dramatic, but it's true. I'm always afraid people are going to think that I'm over-dressed, over-thinking, over-working... Why? There are worse things in the world, but I've decided to obsess about this one.

Anyway, so as I planning a special party for my kids, I started to get anxious that I was going to seem like one of those crazy "party moms" who makes a huge competition out of planning the perfect party. The kind who eventually raise kids featured on "My Super Sweet Sixteen."

And then I thought about it for a second.

There is reason - incredible reason - to celebrate! Two of my kids have reached a milestone. They have changed dramatically, grown up magically, and I am so, so proud of how they've weathered this past year.

Talya returned from her first international trip, survived a summer on the road with her family, and got thrust into being a middle child. She's learning to talk. She's grown hair. SHE'S GROWN HAIR! Now that's a big deal! She melts me every day. She fascinates me. She drives me crazy because she spends an hour with her hair box trying to pick out just the right pony tail holder or clippy, but then I remind myself, SHE'S GROWN HAIR - Enjoy the accessory drama!

Charlie... where do I begin? He made it through whatever circumstances brought him to Home of Hope, and he kept his thrilling smile. His heart remained open and soft to a family's love, and he has gone from having zero muscle tone to practically doing gymnastics in his attempts to get into everything. He loves electrical cords (we're working on that) and is obsessed with pulling his sister's hair. And, his favorite thing to do is lead his brother and sister in an impossibly joyful screaming match.

We have reason to celebrate these wonders. To invite their friends and our friends to cram into our small house to sing happy birthday and eat farm animal cupcakes. To remind them - our two little babies - how special they are and how we would give them the world every day if we could, and all the plastic noisy toys that they could ever want. (But we'll probably sneak them off to Goodwill as soon as the batteries run out.)

I can hardly wait til September when it's Simon's turn.

I love birthdays.

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

2010-06-04T17:17:00.000-04:00

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

2010-06-01T14:25:00.000-04:00

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.)

No Princesses, Please

2010-05-26T22:10:00.000-04:00

We've got some big days coming up. Talya's 2nd birthday and Charlie's first birthday are right around the corner. I've begun thinking of how to celebrate so that it's special for both of them, even though they'll have to share the big party, since their birthdays are only 3 days apart. (We can't really expect our friends to upend their lives to come to our house for pizza and cake twice in one week.)

So, here's the thing. I don't know what Talya's "thing" is. She doesn't really talk yet, although she's learning more and more. She's kind of into babies, but I don't really want to add more to the collection of naked dolls that must be located throughout the house so they can go to bed with her at night. As it is, we have a naked white doll (thank you Lucy), a naked black boy baby doll (from Simon's potty training days), a half-naked peek-a-boo doll (thank you Grandma), and another naked baby of mysterious ethnic origin (thank you Megan Aunty).

So, no dolls.

She's not into princesses. I don't think she knows what a princess is. Same with Barbie. I'm not completely against them, I just want her to get interested in them on her own, and I know that this is utter sacrilege in our culture, but I don't think dolls with boobs are age appropriate for a two-year old. When she likes them on her own, she can have them. One. She can have one, not one thousand. Those are words I'm sure I'll be eating shortly.

So, no princesses and no Barbie.

She's not into Elmo or any character. I *may* have told my kids that Dora lives in Colorado, and can't come to Ohio very often. She likes Elmo and Curious George and Clifford well enough, but she's certainly not obsessed with them.

So, no cartoon characters.

I guess, I'm just not big on telling her what she should like. I'm waiting to see what she decides she likes. But, I don't know what it is. Is this some sort of maternal failure on my part - either my failure to recognize her interests or my failure to encourage her to have one? Are we so busy going places and cleaning yogurt up off the floor that she hasn't had time to begin an unhealthy interest in Minnie Mouse? (Because, I swear, all we do is go places and clean yogurt off the floor.)

She likes to get new clothes and shoes. She likes me to do her hair, sometimes. She likes to play with any toy either brother is holding. She likes to color on the coffee table. She likes to throw yogurt on the floor. She likes to smash eggs. She likes to use q-tips to smear toothpaste all over her face. She likes to kiss her baby brother... and then push him over.

I'm just not sure how to make a cake that will really pull together all of these "hobbies" into something special.

Is this some sort of faith blog?

2010-05-25T14:53:00.000-04:00

Is this some sort of faith blog?

That's a recent comment I got. I'm not sure exactly what it means. I'm not sure if the person who left that comment the other day - on a random, non-spiritual, really old post was accusing me of having faith, not having faith, or was just genuinely confused, but I figure I can take a stab at answering it.

This blog is a lot of things. But I'll start with what it's not. It's not a business. It's not out to get followers or advertisers. I don't review things, and I am surprised every time someone new tells me they read this.

It's a log of my thoughts on my life. It's about my kids, my fumblings at motherhood, the ways that I'm trying to grow and change, the things that I find ridiculous, the things that move me, books I love and hate, places I've been to and how they've changed me, people I love and attempt to love better. It's about adoption, and justice, and multi-culturalism, and my status as an Indian-in-law. It's about how happy I am even though I can be a bit dramatic about the things that don't go my way.

All of these things from the deep to the mundane are connected to my faith. They all are born out of my ugly-turned-beautiful, wretched-now-redeemed, self-righteous-changing-to-loving heart.

I know I can be a little vague when talking about it. I'm not trying to be, but as I grow in knowledge of the world and in my relationship with God, I am astounded by how much I don't understand, and how okay I really am with that. Sometimes, when talking about my faith, I rest in beautiful contradictions instead of attempting to package it all neatly. I confess a huge impatience with trite, easy answers in a phenomenally broken world - which most "religion," including a lot of modern Christianity, provides.

Also, growing in God's love for me means that I'm letting go of hiding my shortcomings and ugliness from the world. So, that means that sometimes on this blog, I admit things that make me seem horrible (because, really, I am). Not just "I found my baby sucking on my macbook cord," but, "My prejudices are exposed when I have trouble loving people who are different from me." After that admissi
on, I got an interesting comment questioning why my faith value of Christian love isn't enough to override my propensity towards prejudice.

Great question! I'm learning that values - knowing right from wrong or believing the right thing - aren't really enough to fix any of the ugliness that lurks in my heart. Every attempt at muscling up enough "goodness" to hide my "badness" will just end up making me look stupid as it exposes how bad I really am.

I've learned, and I re-learn every day, that the only fix for my brokenness is resting in Christ's righteousness, that He offered me the day that I first believed in Him. Jesus died to offer me two things - forgiveness for my sin and His goodness to wear as my own. I need both of these things to enjoy a relationship with Him now and eternity with Him in heaven. I can provide neither of those things for myself, but God provides them both for me because He loves me.

I believe He loves you too, no matter where you go to church, who you're sleeping with, how loudly you screamed at your child today, whether or not you've ever had an abortion, or how you make the money you need to put food on the table - no matter if you hate Him. I believe His heart breaks to heal you where you hurt. I believe that when you fail, He jumps up and down like a child, "pick me, pick me!", wanting to step in and rescue you. I believe that He understands what's keeping you from loving Him, but that nothing will stop Him from loving you.

May this little bloggy thing I've got going on here provide you a window into my own failings, and the God who redeemed me once and for all, rendering every single one of them irrelevant in His eyes.

So, is this some sort of faith blog? There's no way for it not to be.

P.S. Since I don't explain it very well, if you want to know more about having a relationship with God, or the specifics of what I believe, feel free to click here.

P.P.S. If you don't believe what I believe, I still like you, I'm still glad you're here, and I don't think you're less than me, or anything like that. Just so we're clear. OK?

P.P.P.S. What did you think of LOST? I loved it, and I miss it already. I still want to know about the numbers though.

Playing House

2010-05-05T20:45:00.000-04:00

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.

Library Day

2010-05-03T22:08:00.000-04:00

Oh, yes, there is still more to talk about regarding racial and cultural bias - aren't you excited? - but tomorrow is a big day here at Camp Chaos. It's Library day.

Basically, it's Library Day because we have about 10 overdue library books that I was too lazy to take back AND too lazy to renew online, even though it takes about 6 seconds.

I think subconsciously I've also been putting Library Day off because we got a good batch of books this month, and I'm a little sad to take them back. Our library has several branches, two of which we often frequent. One, in the "nice" town by Simon's school has a great story time room, but no books on display. Librarians, I don't know if you realize what a serious problem this is. First of all, story time is doable for families with two kids max, so we're out. (As an aside, since you changed your hours to be decidedly unfriendly to small children, story time is out for us even if I did have the mental energy to parent three kids through music, dancing, sitting still, and crafts.)

Secondly, it's great that your children's section has 8,000 books stuffed into the shelves. I'm sure that about 5,000 of them are good books. BUT, I do not have the time to weed through the other 3,000 annoying books to find them, and it is way too difficult to judge a good book by a 1/4" spine.

What makes a children's book annoying? I'm so glad you asked. In general, I'd say any of the following:

No words. If I wanted to make up a story, I wouldn't have drug my three kids to the library.
Too many words. Simon gets three books before naptime. Too many words throws our whole schedule off. Plus, he's old enough to know when I'm skipping.
No rhythm. I like rhyming. But, if you can't rhyme, then at least have at least some rhythm to the story. These are kids for goodness sake - they can read novels when they're old enough to read to themselves.
Bad illustrations.
Preachy-ness.
Full of jokes that go way over the head of your average pre-schooler. I just imagine the author chuckling to himself over how clever he is while I have to take the time to explain it all to my four-year-old, who will never think it is funny.
No story. Seriously. My pet peeve is the one thousand "books" taking up space on the shelves that are full of stock photos with one-word labels. Those aren't books, those are flash cards, and they are not creative, which means they are a waste of story time.

This brings me to my favorite library branch which is in my town, which is often seen as the poor little stepsister to the nice blue-ribbon-town up the road where there are no books on display at the library. This library is my favorite because there are shelves for books to be displayed, so I can actually see the covers, giving me a better ability to judge the potential annoying-ness of the book before I take it home.

Also, I imagine that the kind and knowledgeable librarians at my library take the time to display the books that they like. They are often seasonal, or new, or by notable authors. It gives me a place to start from when selecting my books. I am rarely disappointed when selecting books from the display shelves.

Here's a sampling of what we will be taking back today. I am so hopeful that we stock up with books that we love just as much (except for the ones that I hated)....

The Fartiste

Maybe you don't approve of potty humor at your house, but I don't really mind it. This book is hilarious, and it's a true story which makes it educational, right? Simon picked this one out all by himself, and he especially loved having his Pop-Pop, Grandma, and uncles read this one to him. He calls it the "Tooting Book." It's cleverly written, it rhymes, and the illustrator is really talented: bonus points all around. Plus, it's about a guy who farts, and it manages to seem "smart."

Super Duck

I guess it doesn't take much to please me - rhyming and good illustration do it every time. Simon likes these books, and I have fun reading them to him. Maybe today I'll look for some more duck books that we haven't checked out yet.

How Do Dinosaurs Say I Love You?

I L.O.V.E. these Dinosaur books. The illustrations are so clever, and detailed. The words rhyme. The story isn't preachy or cheesy, but it's full of meaning. This one is about how the parent loves the dinosaur even when the dinosaur is being naughty or mean. My favorite page has a mom yelling at her dinosaur to stop dragging his feet, and the illustration captures the mom's annoyance so well, that Simon stares at the picture in utter understanding.

Namaste

I try to get the kids books about places we've been, but this is the first picture book I found about Nepal. Simon didn't get all that into it, but I liked the exploration of the greeting, "Namaste," or "The light in me meets the light in you."

Four Feet, Two Sandals

I checked out this sweet book about two girls in a Pakistani refugee camp in an effort to help my kids understand more about the world around them - especially the parts we don't like to talk about. I'm trying to do a better job of exposing Simon to suffering in a way that doesn't give him nightmares. He ended up really enjoying this story, even though I think a lot of its deeper meanings went over his head. Either way, now he knows that in many places in the world people have to run away from their homes in fear, and I think he's old enough to start engaging with things like that.

Monster Sleepover

This book is a perfect example of everything I hate in children's books. It doesn't rhyme. Its jokes are stupid and too old for young kids. It's not clever or witty. A 7 or 8 year old who reads to himself and is into monster humor might like this. You know who else might like this? A four-year-old whose Mom hates it but reads it to him every day anyway.

So, what do you recommend we pick up this week?

There and there and there and back again, plus some thoughts on Arizona

2010-04-27T21:53:00.000-04:00

Yes, I'm back from my trip falling off the face of the earth.

We went on a little trip that involved a whole lot of chaos and fun, and left me so exhausted that I didn't even open my computer for nearly two weeks. On top of that, I'm dealing with some mystery illness that first led me to believe I might be pregnant, but it turns out I'm just sick.

But, all of this computer-free living in a feverish near-coma has left me with a lot of time to think. What I really want to do is respond to some comments and questions on my post on cultural bias, but I'm going to let that one continue to simmer a little bit.

That post, however, isn't completely irrelevant to this one. Thoughts on race, culture, bias, prejudice and injustice keep swirling around in my head, and throughout the world around me. We are talking about it at work, at home, in some of my friendships, and it's been SO GOOD to bring into the light some of this darkness that has plagued our relationships, our community and our country.

And then, in the midst of these conversations, about how to really love with a love that crosses barriers (economic, racial, cultural), Arizona made news with its tough new law on immigration.

I've formed myriad opinions on this subject. (I've actually read almost all of the arguments for and against that my facebook friends have posted.) I'd share them with you, but you'd be confused because all of my opinions contradict each other. Because, the thing is, I get that Arizona is facing a serious issue that needs to be addressed. And, I get that technically law enforcement is not allowed to single out anyone based on race alone.

BUT....

I also get that people single others out ALL THE TIME based on race, culture, and accent. Not just in Arizona - everywhere. We identify these things, and they trigger a thousand things inside us, many of which boil down to fear. Some of our fears may be based in reality, some not.

I don't live in Arizona, so I probably have no right to criticize a law that exists within a larger context that I haven't actually experienced.

But, here's what I have witnessed first-hand: My husband being asked by total strangers where he's "really" from. My in-laws being treated like foreigners even though they have paid taxes to this country for longer than I've been alive. Also, they actually took an oath to this country, while the people who look down on them (or usually, look past them) earned an incredible amount of rights and freedom just by being born here.

My guess is that people who haven't experienced that kind of treatment don't see what the big deal is about having to carry around documentation of your "right" to be here.

Two of my kids look like they could be hispanic. That might not seem like an issue when they're 4, but it could be a bigger deal if they come of age in a world where it becomes okay to equate "hispanic" with "drug dealer" or "illegal."

But, all of this really isn't about the law. I don't know enough to claim any authority on the politics of it all. This law is probably justifiable. It's probably well-written. But, I think it makes it a little easier to cloak prejudice in something less hideous. Maybe the law isn't racist. But people are. And that's what scares me - not the law, just We, the People.

*As I strive to fight racism in my own heart and in the world, learn more about what it means to have been born with white privilege, and what it might mean to be a white ally, I have been encouraged and challenged by my friend's posts on race and ethnicity at Infinite Queso. If you're also on a journey like this, check out her thoughts and links - I'd love to know what you think.

Time to Party Again

2010-04-14T14:35:00.001-04:00

It's time again for the Ultimate Blog Party. Last year was my first year participating and I met some new friends, and got to expand my blog-reading addiction for the year.

If you're new here, I'm Susie and I write about raising my kids in this big world. I talk about having a multi-cultural family, how adoption has expanded our family, what it's like to be married outside my culture, and the many ways I try not to screw up my kids. Sometimes I talk about important stuff too, like my faith and what I'm learning about myself.

If you want to know more about me, this story about sums it up:

The other night we were praying before bed, and Simon said he wanted to pray, which is weird because he never wants to pray. He said, "Dear Lord, thank you for faith and help us to do more grace and help us to obey, especially Mommy because she keeps losing her patience. Amen."

I'm working on that. What are you working on?

PS - Prizes I would love are, of course, US39, the gift certificate to Hilton Garden Inn, or anything like that. Or, USC 8, the gift card to Amazon (or any of the many such gift cards). Or this sweet necklace (or anything like that)!

Race, Culture, and In-laws: What I've learned in the first 10 years

2010-04-09T15:29:00.002-04:00

Ten years ago I met my (then future) in-laws for the first time. Have I told those stories yet? Wow, lots of tears as I came face to face with my future forever and how different everything would be for me. Not bad, just really, really different.

Forgive me if I'm repeating myself, but here's the gist of it. I grew up in a very white community in the midwest. Close enough to Chicago where there should have been more diversity in my life, but there wasn't. I was raised on church, Christian School and the Cosby Show. Every Thursday night on tv, I learned an important lesson in regards to race and culture: We're all the same, we just come in different colors.

And then I met Ben's parents, and my world came crashing down as I realized that everything the Huxtables taught me had been wrong - we were NOT the same. We weren't even close to the same. In fact, other than the fact that we were all fond of Ben, I don't think think there was anything between us that resembled sameness.

We spoke different languages, ate different food, wore different clothes, had very different ideas about what it means to be polite, what it means to be modest, where one should sit, whether or not it's acceptable to kick your husband in public, etc.

So, ten years ago, I met Ben's parents and decided that the Cosby show didn't do me a whole lot of good. I won't bore you with the details, but let's just say that Easter weekend 2000 involved my future mother-in-law trying to make me kill a duck, say "fart" in Malayalam to my future father-in-law, and bringing up each of Ben's former girlfriends who were "so nice" and "so pretty."

It's been a journey. A journey on which I've mostly been arrogant, selfish and insecure when confronted with people very unlike me. But, I've been seeing it little by little - the ugliness in my heart that bubbles up when everything I know to be "right" doesn't apply.

Do you like all the "quotation marks" in this post? It's important, because I'm learning that we all use similar words, but often don't all mean the same thing.

Here's the thing about Ben's parents: Despite the whole duck-killing and other mean-spirited tricks that weekend, they are great people. Ben's mom was just trying to make sure I knew who was in charge, I think. I have a son now, who isn't allowed to marry someone I don't like, so I know things now I didn't know then.

Ben was recently giving a talk to a large group of people, and he used some stories from his upbringing as illustration. He did great - painting the picture of his parents as new immigrants sacrificing everything to help others in their community gain a foothold in the New World. He described how even though the four of them lived in a one-bedroom apartment, they always made room for relatives who needed a place to live.

It was beautiful. People ooohed and ahhhhed at all the right places. Concepts like that are completely foreign to us Americans. We hail from the Land of Boundaries. We say things like, "We'll just get a hotel room so we don't overcrowd you," and no one gets offended.

Anyway.

Afterwards, I was chatting with a friend about the story. She knew a little of my adjustment to my new culture, my new family. I remarked that Ben's story was a perfect example. Yes, they are AMAZING people. But, you try marrying into a family where it's perfectly acceptable, expected and assumed that you would share a one-bedroom apartment with all your relatives.

I don't even like sharing my bedroom with my baby boy.

So, it's been a (tricky, stretching, gratifying) journey. It's shaped me and given me perspective. It's stripped the polish and veneer off my efforts to convince the world and myself that I'm not prejudiced towards other cultures.* I am. We are. All of us to a certain degree, probably, but I'll go ahead and put myself in front of the bus first.

I prefer to be around people who make me comfortable. I prefer to love people who communicate love the same way I do. I prefer to go to a church where I am fully familiar with all social "rules", eat food that reminds me of home, and when people speak my language easily and clearly, I assume they are smarter than I would if they didn't.

Ugly.

And just so I don't keep sugar-coating things, it's not just that I feel uncomfortable. It's that I get fiercely defensive of my way, which is of course the right way. It's that somewhere in my heart I believe that I'm right and so people like me are also right, or at least more right than people not like me.

Ugly.

I am learning. It's been ten years and I'm still learning. It's hard for Ben to believe that it can take this long. It's exasperating for me that it's taking this long. I'm a slow learner, I guess.

But like all journeys, it is one rich with reward. Hopefully my slow learning will teach my kids important lessons about race and culture, and about sin and grace. Hopefully walking the long distance that lies between my right and their right (or your right) will mark the difference between real relationship and convenient relationship.

I have a lot to learn from my husband's family, so my future daughters-in-law better watch out - I've got some new tricks up my sleeve!

*After a lot of thought, I edited this statement. Originally, I used the term "racist," and I don't think that's an accurate description of the issue at hand. Skin color doesn't scare me. Differences in cultures, values, upbringings, and communication freak me out and can bring out some ugly sides of me. Thanks for your patience and understanding!

Housekeeping

2010-04-07T19:27:00.000-04:00

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.

Easter Mourning

2010-04-05T10:55:00.000-04:00

Easter is a tough one for me to process. Last year, I wrote this post, and it's still what I felt rising to the surface of my heart this weekend.

Something else happened between last Easter and this. I learned more about the Genocide of my son's birth country. I learned that it happened over Easter break. I learned that while the world wore bonnets and sang Allelulia, my son lost relatives and countrymen. Of course that was before he was born, but it will forever be a part of him, and because of that, it will forever be a part of me.

Easter demands I feel this despair. Without the Darkness, the evil and the Death, there is no power of Life. The resurrection teaches me that life is good, but that Life Restored from Death is something else. If I protect myself from the suffering, I deny myself a piece of the Allelulia.

Victory is meaningless if it is not hard-fought, over a powerful enemy.

This week, I mourn with the people of Rwanda for what they lost and what little we did to help. I grieve in hope that ashes are turned to beauty, death is turned to life, and that New Life is better than the one before.

Don't Worry, it was Negative

2010-03-31T13:33:00.000-04:00

Yesterday was a doozy of a day. All day, alone with three kids, me as sick as could be. The sickness matched up with some other "symptoms" which matched up with some timing that sent me into full-on freak-out mode. Maybe I wasn't actually sick....

In the last week or so, Simon dug out the "Baby on the Way" book, and I read it to him over and over again (skipping words like uterus and breast - yuck), hoping, praying that he wasn't being prophetic.

Finally, I decided I should put myself out of my misery, and I dragged my three kids to Meijer to purchase a pregnancy test and some other, bulky items that could cover it up in the cart. Because, for real, how embarrassing. To buy infant formula and a pregnancy test in the same trip. To march through a store with three kids strapped to me who appear to come from at least two different fathers. Inviting the stares of judgment - "Doesn't she know how this keeps happening?"

I shoved the test in the cart, behind my diaper bag but not in it - because the only thing that could have been worse than running into someone I knew while carting around two babies and a pregnancy test would be getting arrested for shoplifting said pregnancy test while my three kids watched.

I don't know if this is normal or not, but I promise, everyone I passed in the store peered into my cart and laughed at me. For real. No, really.

The whole time my mind was flooded with scary questions: How will Charlie fit in the bed when my belly gets enormous? How will I do this three-kid thing in a more hormonally-heightened, exhausted state of mind than that which currently grips me? Does the church still offer to bring you post-baby meals if you need them twice in one year? To get those thoughts out of my mind, I began to pray:

I trust you God, I do. I trust you, but you should know, I can't do this.

To which He replied via a line-less pee stick,

"Well, duh."

Status Update

2010-03-24T14:11:00.000-04:00

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

Exhaustion and Attachment

2010-03-22T14:24:00.000-04:00

It's 6 am. Between Ben and myself, we've been awake pretty much all night. Maybe a couple of moments to doze off before Charlie squeaks, then starts wailing. We've done it all. We've been trying the co-sleeping thing, which has just made everything worse. With every exception we've made to our we'll-never-do-that parenting rules, his demands have grown. At times during the night, it feels like we're negotiating with a terrorist.

I'm just telling you like it is.

Never mind, there he goes again. To be continued....

~shhhh, bounce bounce bounce, rockrockrockrockrockrock~

....and I'm back.

We're to the point where Charlie will gladly sleep in our arms all night long. Unless we try to get comfortable, and which point he usually begins to protest that we stand up and start bouncing him.

When we put him down, he starts frantically hitting his face/wiping his nose/rubbing his eyes, which begins the squeaking to wailing sequence.

All of this from a boy who is smiley, pleasant, friendly, independent, and cheerful all day long.

Time out again.

~shhhh, bounce bounce bounce, rockrockrockrockrockrock.... try to figure out how to blog and hold baby, give up, go to work, come home, eat lunch, shhhh, bounce bounce bounce ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh naptime~

Time in.

Now that daylight washes the world with perspective, I no longer liken my nights to negotiating with a terrorist. But, I'm going to leave that part in this post so you can get a sense of the ugly things that night time does to me.

The bottom line is that Charlie is not sleeping well. Emotionally, I'm fine with the long process of attachment. Emotionally, I don't mind a bit giving up my sleep and my comfort to hold and rock and bounce. But, practically, well.... we all need sleep. Sleeplessness makes you (me) crazy. It wears us thin, leaves us no buffer of time to recuperate and get ready for another day of attachment, much less work and answering a four-year-old's questions.

In my sleep-deprived-insanity, it's hard to differentiate the good thoughts from the crazy. But, here a few I'm going to let take root in my life for a start:

It is foolish to assume that his happiness means he's attached. He likes me, he likes life, but that is not the same thing as forming a healthy attachment with a caregiver that will be the foundation for a healthy life.
In light of this, I need to make some changes. No more checking my email while I feed him a bottle. When I'm not scanning the room to assess the safety of the older two, this is eye contact time. I need to wear him more - just because he's happy to play on the floor while I clean up doesn't mean that's what's best for him. We need to go back to not letting others hold him (again, just because he likes it doesn't mean that's what's best for him). And, saddest of all: it might be time to give up the gym for a spell... we'll see.
I want to put more work into the attachment thing during the day, in the hopes that it will lessen the need for some of it during the night.
Maybe a swaddler, this blanket specifically, will help with the frantic nose-wiping, face-hitting, ear-tugging? We'll see, because I'm ordering it right now.

I'm still not sure where I'm at with the crib/co-sleeping dilemma...

Am I making a bit of sense or has the Crazy seeped in to this post?

I am so tired that I cried this morning when someone asked me to move seats during a meeting. I am so tired that I don't even know how I feel about one of the biggest legislative controversies in recent history. I am so tired that when people talk about said controversy I want to cry because everyone seems so mean about it.

I'm just tired. And trying not to hang all my hopes on the Miracle Blanket.

Pride comes before a fall...

2010-03-15T21:38:00.000-04:00

I admit, I was starting to get a little cocky. I'm not going to make the mistake again of bragging about good sleep, but let's just say I'm a little more rested than before. Overall, Charlie has fallen into a routine with the family - a routine that allows me to go to the gym, go to the office when I need to, and get at least a few minutes of nap time all to myself.

In all my arrogance, it was time for me to re-learn the basics of mothering - today was a day of remedial lessons in parenting. Here's what I've had to review:

Four-year-olds are not old enough to babysit.
No matter how long the baby usually naps, he will wake up as soon as you get in the shower.
It doesn't matter if you go to Meijer for one thing, if you bring three kids into the grocery store at 5:00 pm, you will spend at least $50.
We are always almost out of formula...
...and I always need to buy more Diet Coke.
On the days that Daddy has all three kids and you trot off thinking, "Now he'll see what it's really like," all three kids are perfect, nap for 3 hours, and eat their dinner.

Hopefully, you'll learn from my experiences so you don't have to spend a day in Mommy Summer School.

Yes, Taly is licking the cart. And, no, I don't wipe it down - partly because I'm lazy and partly because I'd rather her eat cart dirt than bleach...

Mommy Blogging 101:

2010-03-10T14:29:00.000-05:00

When you write on your blog something like, "we've finally turned a corner with night time sleeping," it will come back to bite you. You will not sleep that night.

Don't write that stuff.

*******

PS, if you've come to this blog searching for actual Mommy Blog tips, I'm sorry to disappoint. This is not that kind of blog. I don't make money, review cool products, or do anything more constructive than put my feet up during nap time and write. xoxo

One Month Home

2010-03-09T15:05:00.000-05:00

Charlie has been home for a whole month. Like with all things, in some ways it seems like forever, and it seems important to me as his mother to reflect on how short it's been, how fast it's gone, and all that's happened to my son in the 6 weeks since I first met him.

One day he woke up in the home he'd always known: a crowded, dusty orphanage. He was held and fed by the nannies who always cared for him and his 25 baby roommates. Then, all of a sudden, a woman came down, picked him up out of his miniature crib, dressed him in unfamiliar clothes, and marched him and three of his roommates out into the sunshine, where he was plunked into new arms.

He didn't cry. He stared at us, and appeared to be simultaneously confused, blinded by the sun, and interested in what was going on. He didn't cry for 2 days, just stared at us and enjoyed the attention. As the shock wore off, he woke up more at night, waking up between his new parents, who were sharing their bed with a child for the first time.

In the following couple of weeks, he spent hours on a bus, got stuck with needles, flew across the ocean, met his new siblings, got placed in a new crib that probably seemed enormous, and had to start eating vegetables. America - his new home - was a freezing place and everywhere he went he had to get strapped in a car seat and bundled in blankets. Where was the sunshine now?

I feel like the mother of a 6 week old baby - beyond tired, beaten down by sleeplessness, and thank goodness you started to smile just now or I couldn't go on. Charlie's been smiling for the duration of our time together, and his friendly nature has gotten me through many a weary day. His smile, though, has changed, become new in this last week. It's gone from a charming, attention-grabbing smile with which he greets new people (the smile we knew for the first several weeks) to a familiar, peaceful, content, joyful smile that seems saved just for us. I could live off of that smile alone (well, plus diet soda and baked goods).

The nights have turned a corner, and not a moment too soon. For weeks we were getting up several times a night and there were periods of screaming at night-time, exacerbating all of my mothering insecurities. My familiar, stand-by tools of motherhood (breastfeeding and cry-it-out) weren't options to get me through the middle-of-the-nights, and I was getting a bit stressed.

Big sigh of relief - things have calmed down. He usually wakes once before we go to bed for a snuggle and once in the middle-of-the night for some milk and peaceful rocking. Once I drag myself out of bed, I actually enjoy the quiet moments... I play solitaire on my phone to stay awake, dragging myself further into a severe iPhone addiction (which I've sadly passed on to my 4-year-old) but that's another post for another day.

In my most frantic moments, other Rwanda adoption mamas have been my voice of encouragement and perspective. Sometimes because they're struggling more than I am, sometimes because they've made it to the other side, and sometimes just because they get why I'm not going to let him scream at night just so I can sleep, and always just because I trust that they get it.

The most valuable piece of advice that I've been letting sink into my heart is the idea that two of them have passed on to me, via blog comment and email, that there is a cost to being this family. Some days it costs me my blog/email time, or a work-out, or time to take a shower. They shared this with me in love, I think knowing that I would instantly agree that any price for being OUR family of five is worth paying.

Every child added to this family has taken a bit of my free time, my independence, and my previous pre-kids identity. It hurts each time, and I would be lying to say it doesn't. But of course it's more than worth it - I love being the mommy of each of these cuties and I love our family of five, and there is not a price I would not pay.

Round Here

2010-03-02T21:26:00.000-05:00

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.

I'm Growing Like a Weed - is that good or bad?

2010-02-27T14:24:00.000-05:00

The organization I work for is really big on personal growth. We are encouraged to do assessments to discover our strengths and "areas for development," and then come up with a plan (on paper) as to how we're going to grow in one or two of these areas. We are also encouraged to be a part of a peer coaching process, or "growth group" that will help keep us accountable to our personal development plans, and encourage and motivate us along the way.

I've gone about this process a little backwards as I joined a growth group several months ago, with no plan in place. Basically, because I liked everyone in the group, and if I could be a little more like each of them in some ways, it would amount to a lot of growth. But also, because it's fun to sit around a table for a couple of hours while someone watches your kids and say things like, "Yeah, you think that's bad, well MY husband..."

Just kidding Ben, we like totally never say things like that.

Well, just the other day, I finally finished up the assessment part of this process, and began to get a plan in place. I won't share all of the gory details, just the ones I think are funny, ironic, or make me look especially ridiculous or awesome.

First of all, I did two assessments. One is called the EQi, which tests something called emotional intelligence - how you view yourself, relate to others, your general mood, how you manage stress, stuff like that. Another is the 360, which asks people in your life to evaluate you in various areas. Not my favorite, because that's just kind of awkward for everyone involved.

Then, a coach in our organization got on skype with me for 3 HOURS to go over the results. That's a long time. We didn't use video, and I still managed to resist the temptation to surf facebook the entire time we were talking - which I think should have earned me some extra points in the "impulse control" category.

Here's (some of) what I learned about myself:

Disclaimer: most of this is my unqualified interpretation of the results, not my coach's. Dee Dee, if you ever read this, I promise I was listening!
I seem to relate to myself better than I do to other people. I know, awesome.

That being said, I scored pretty well on empathy. The downside of that is I have a hard time turning my empathy into actual actions of care for people. My coach says that means I'm off to a good start. All that comes to my mind is the verse about how terrible it is if you know the right thing to do and don't do it.

My lowest score was in stress tolerance. That bodes well for this week as I have three small kids, an unavailable husband (just this week, not usually), and an enormous sleep deficit. I have to admit, I do find myself dealing with stress lately by loudly clapping my hands and yelling. Room to grow? probably.

Lastly, my favorite observation about myself. I feel oddly affirmed to have this quality factually confirmed. One of my lowest scores was in "optimism." But, one of my highest is in "happiness." I think that's pretty unusual (read: special). Yes, I am *a tad* negative. But, I am one of the most deep-down happy people you'll ever meet. I just like to point out the drama in life.

I was a little surprised to find out that I am not especially "independent" or "assertive." Anymore. I used to be. But, I also didn't used to be especially empathetic either, so I guess it's a trade-off.

What about you? Is personal growth something you think about?

And would you look at that - I just wrote an entire post that is not related to the adoption in any way.

Mommy Guilt

2010-02-17T15:17:00.000-05:00

I think it always comes harder when a new child has been introduced into the mix. Those first moments of going from 0 to 1 or 1 to 2 or, in this case, 2 to 3 bring with it a season of trying to find the groove. And, while it's all normal and natural, at the time, it really just feels like trying to find the way to LEAST neglect everyone you love.

How do you bond with the new one while not completely cutting out your oldest's naptime routine? How do you still take time to sing to your daughter before bed without letting on that you have one foot out the door to hold the baby?

Don't get me wrong, it has been overwhelmingly happy to add a child to our home, and to watch the older two kids learn to love their baby brother - who overnight went from picture and idea to in-the-flesh always-hungry human being. It has been overwhelmingly happy to sit back and watch them become siblings, and watch us become a family.

Having enough love for one more is never the issue. It's having enough time to love the way you want to. And having enough patience, enough grace, enough sleep....

On Attaching

2010-02-12T10:15:00.000-05:00

I've gone to bed early every night this week. And by early, I mean as soon as I can toss my kids under their covers, I am under mine. Except for Monday night, because the Bachelor was on, and even then I fell asleep right before Jake was hit with the bombshell that Ali was leaving - gasp!

But last night, little Charlie didn't want to go to bed. He wanted to sleep, but only in my arms, not in his bed. I've been tired and a bit sick, so my patience was draining. But still, I couldn't shake the thought that every time he cries, I have a chance to tell him that he has a mommy now. As I'd lay him in his crib, he would go from sound asleep to wide awake screaming as soon as his back touched the mattress. Then, as soon as I'd pick him up, his body would go limp - peacefully asleep.

It is so frustrating! But, it is so beautiful - this needy attachment. 3 weeks ago, he could fall asleep by himself. Now, he needs a mama (or a daddy or a grandma) to snuggle with.

Still, my weakness is greater than my appreciation of this beauty. At 10:00, I collapsed into bed - 2 hours past my bedtime - and let grandma take over the rocking until Daddy got home. After that, he slept great.

As for me, I'm off to the doctor. Grandma is only here a few more days and I'm going to need medication to help me out in her absence.

Gotcha Day Video

2010-02-10T12:13:00.002-05:00

Oh Happy Day!

Jiggity-Jig

2010-02-09T16:13:00.000-05:00

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?

So, Nairobi.....

2010-02-04T02:21:00.000-05:00

Everything was going soooo smoothly. Charlie, officially ours, bonding with his new mommy & daddy. Us, getting to know more about him and the place that he called home for 5 months. Paperwork, getting finished and forwarded to the appropriate places.

Charlie, officially a member of this traveling family, got his passport, his first stamp (Kenya), and slept through his first flight. The hotel we're in has cribs, so we are all sleeping better now that we're not afraid to move.

We've gotten a little taste of what it is like to immigrate to the US, and if I could just be permitted a few moments on my soapbox: It is hard. People have to go through SO much, jump through so many hoops, hope for so much luck, just to get a chance to come to the US. We owe everyone who works through these impossible channels a lot of respect! I've spent the past few days watching Africans be grilled by Embassy Officials, accused of lying (maybe rightly so), turned away left and right. It was a little sad.

Even our sweet Charlie is being held up before he can get his visa. There is one more screening that none of us knew had to happen. It has something to do with the guy from America's Most Wanted and a law he had passed years ago. While I'm *sure* it's a great law that does a lot of good, since it has me stuck in Nairobi away from my sweet kids, right now I hate that law!

We have been told it could take 2 days to do, could take 1 week, someone even mentioned 2 weeks. I'm trying not to think about that right now and am just praying we can get Charlie's visa tomorrow as planned.

In the meantime, Ben has developed a weird ability to watch dumb British movies on the one English channel we get. Right now, he's watching one about a little girl who misses her best friend. I'm feeling like the internet connection is totally worth the $20 a day we have to pay for it! I need to check the Bachelor Recap.

Here's a pic of Charlie practicing sitting up...

Practice makes perfect?

How we're doing

2010-01-28T14:17:00.000-05:00

Charlie is asleep on the bed next to me. He's starting to get attached to the blue lion that we brought him, and seems to take comfort from it when he wakes up. It's been five days of knowing him, and we are still overwhelmed with thankfulness.

Sorry I stink at updating this....I have been reminded that there are people waiting for an update! (I'm sorry, Adrianne's friend!) Well, here's an attempt at it.

As a mother, I am at a loss as to how to parent a boy I just met whose situation requires that I don't jump into my default motherhood tasks - cry it out, independence, boundaries, etc. (Who am I kidding? I don't have many boundaries other than when it's naptime, you need to stay in your freaking room please.) However, I am secretly loving living life on the other side of the great Mommy-hood divide: attachment parenting. I am loving holding him all the time, picking him up when he cries, and accessorizing all of my outfits with the Ergo Baby Carrier. I don't know what the heck I'm going to do when I get home and need to adjust back into life with a schedule, but for now, this feels really great.

I am also overwhelmed with learning and experiencing so much of the heavy reality that has brought Charlie to us. I have been awash in Rwandese history (see, all this time, I've been saying "Rwandan"), and that is tough stuff. Today was spent at the genocide memorial, which is a beautiful tribute to the lives lost during one of the most horrific 100 days on this planet. All I could think about was the fact that Charlie's birth mom lived through this (I assume. I don't actually know anything).

We have learned a bit more about how Rwandese orphans can get put up for adoption, which makes his being part of our family seem all the more miraculous. There is only one orphanage in Rwanda that puts the work into getting their kids adopted, and Charlie was brought to it. In Rwanda, it is illegal to abandon a child, and children can only be adopted if there are no relatives found. It is sad to me that he will probably never know his specific family, but I hope to always help him know and love Rwanda and the Sisters who cared for him.

Yesterday, we went to visit Home of Hope and say goodbye to his caretakers and friends. It was a blur of activity, but I got to see his crib, and see the faces of those still waiting for families.

Charlie is doing fantastic. In the five days we have known him, he has grown to recognize us and get comfortable with his. Yesterday we had a major victory when a friend picked him up and he started screaming. When I went to get him, he settled down right away. Score 1 for progress in attachment.

To us, he already looks like he's put on a bit of weight, and we're working on building strength in his legs and trunk. He started waking up in the night to eat, which I think is a great thing (though not fun for sleepy mommy) because it shows me his appetite is growing.

He babbles and giggles, and says Dada all day long. Right, I know he's too young to talk, and if he could, he wouldn't magically speak English just because some Americans picked him up. We're still taking it as a sign that he loves us.

We are an Indiwandan family. (Kirsten, is there a cuter way to say that?) And we are loving it.

Very Few Words, Very Full Heart

2010-01-25T14:20:00.001-05:00

Thank you isn't enough

2010-01-19T22:34:00.000-05:00

The car is packed. It's almost time.

But I can't go without saying thanks.

Thank you to everyone who has been happy for us, who felt the urgency with us, who tried to understand why waiting for a piece of paper could drive us absolutely insane.

Thank you to those of you who sent stuff for the Bloggy Baby Shower for Charlie's orphange. I got stuff with no information identifying who sent it, but know that I am so thankful!

Thanks to our parents & siblings, who have loved us in a way that has shown us we always have enough love to give. We make crazy decisions often that you are dragged along behind, but you always do it with so much enthusiasm, which makes it infinitely easier.

Thanks to Lindsay & Megan. Without you, I'd be up til 3 am packing and cleaning. Megan, when I put Sy to bed tonight and thanked Jesus with him for Megan, he interrupted me to correct, "No Mom - Megan Aunty." You are indeed an aunt to all three of my kids. Lindsay, you cleaned my bathroom, is there any greater love? Yes, there is - peanut butter smoothies, and you brought me one of those too.

Adrianne, Ben calls you my adoption wife, which I think might be slightly overstating matters, but I can't imagine having done this without your voice on the other end of the line. Becky, Suzanne and the rest of you, I can't wait to meet you either.

Thanks Elizabeth for showing me that adoptive moms don't have to be weird (although right now, I think I'm evidence to the contrary).

Thanks John & Lisa for easing the burden and loving us like family.

Thanks Pop-Pop for lending your name to our son. We hope you are as proud to be his as he will someday be to be yours.

Thank you to Ben for always listening and obeying, which makes it a little easier for me to obey when I don't want to.

Thank you to the Inventor of Adoption for allowing me to be a part of Charlie's story.

To my baby's first mama

2010-01-13T21:15:00.000-05:00

I know nothing about you, whether you've passed from this world after birthing a baby you grew inside yourself, or made the excruciating choice to allow others to care for him. If you're alive, and you chose this path for your baby, I'm sure you have hopes for him - high hopes for his new life with a mommy & daddy who can place fresh meals in front of him and keep the mosquitoes at bay.

I think of you often, and only in part because of the gift that I hope to receive from you someday soon. I think of you because I want to know every detail of your life, of the moments that brought us to this point, where our lives begin to anonymously intersect for eternity. I want to know your favorite memory, the sound of your voice singing lullabies, the comfort food that you ate from your grandma's kitchen. I want to see your eyes smile.

I want to promise you that I'll always love him, and that I'll tell him how much you loved him too.

Someday we'll bring him back to visit the land of his mother, and I believe he'll feel the familiar comfort of your breath in the smell of the breeze.

You know, he'll so badly wish he could know you, even if he doesn't want to talk about it. I won't make him, but I'll listen if the words escape. I'll tell him how I prayed for you, how I loved you in a way I can't express with words.

When he's older, I'll try to explain the complicated things. How though I love him as sure as I breathe, I really wish for him that he never had to leave you. How I will always be grateful for his sweet voice calling me "Mommy," but how I know it comes at a cost for you and for him. How my gratefulness will always be mixed with a tinge of guilt (no....regret or wistfulness, I'm not sure what the right word is here) for being the one that held him tight on the airplane as it climbs towards the sun that shines down on you.

I'll explain so that he knows I that I know. Not that I understand, because I never will, completely. But that I know these things are not easy to fathom. I want him to know he never has to have it figured out for my sake.

He's going to grow up, our little boy. He's going to surpass those expectations you treasure in your heart right now. And when I'm cheering him on, I'll give him an extra pat on the back from you. But someday, his heart will break, and mine will too. And as the tears fall down my face, I'll cry for you too. I'll cry the tears you would cry and I'll wonder if your mother's heart would know just the right thing to say.

Some days I will think of you with longing, and wish I could channel the instincts that took root as you felt him kicking around inside you. Other days I know my fragile heart will fear you, and the prominent place you will hold in my son's dreams. But every day I will remember you, and every day I will thank you.

To Us a Son is Given

2010-01-08T14:29:00.000-05:00

Charlie Iranzi Thomas is our little boy always and forever.

Iranzi, his given surname, means "God Knows Me" and we rejoice that He does, and has known him always.

Charlie is my Pop-Pop's name. Ben and I both love Pop-Pop so much and are honored to pass his name down through the generations.

All I want is to post his picture, but Ben and I are currently in negotiations about that. Ben doesn't want to post pics of Charlie until he's united with his family. I think that is sweet, but no fun. Right now, he's winning. Two more weeks, people and you'll be screaming at me to put away the camera for goodness sake.

Indian Cooking

2010-01-07T15:45:00.000-05:00

To my (adorable) nephew, I'm Velymama. That means, in Malayalam, you guessed it: White Aunt. So, I'm told. It could mean "stupid white girl doesn't understand our language" for all I know.

Anyway, the point is, I am. White, not stupid. I've learned a lot about my family's Indian roots over the years, but I still have a lot to learn. But, since yesterday was Ben's birthday, I decided to make him and his buddies an Indian feast.

As I was cooking (all FREAKING day), I took some time reflect on what I've learned about Indian cooking.

The internet is my friend. Pachakam is my go-to site for Indian recipes. It makes me laugh, because the Malayalam and English are kind of used interchangeably, and sometimes I don't know what things are. So then I go to my Internet BFF google, and all is solved.
If you're uncertain of your cooking skills, serve to your doting husband and white people. He will be too smitten and impressed with your effort to criticize, and they don't have a clue what it's supposed to taste like anyway.
It's not true Indian cooking if you don't dirty every. single. dish. in your kitchen. And every utensil, and definitely every pot. Actually, there's no way (unless you're my mother-in-law) that you have enough pots in your kitchen to cook a full Indian meal, so go ahead and plan on washing a few as you go.
The reason for the excessive dish dirtying is that Indian cooking requires cooking things (getting a pot dirty) and then cooking it a different way (new pot dirty) and then frying some stuff (new pot dirty) to add to it. Also, you don't just add spices. You roast them (dirty pot), blend them (dirty blender), and then add them to the recipe.
Indian food has some WEIRD ingredients in it. The only thing you can get at Kroger is meat, potatoes, onions and garlic. Everything else must be bought at your local Indian grocery. I know you might think you don't have one in your area, but you probably do. And, if you smile and look sweet when you ask stupid questions, they will be more than happy to help you figure out what you need.

Yesterday I made Sambar, which calls for Puli (Tamarind). It looks disgusting. You soak it in water to make disgusting Puli juice. Apparently, it's very important when cooking Sambar. Yuck.

Another weird Sambar ingredient is called Hing, or asafoetida, or Kaayam. I have no idea what the heck it is or what it does, and it looks like bootleg medicine in the container. It looked so scary that I figured it was important, and put some extra in the pot.

Who knew that coconut isn't just for dessert? Ben's from Kerala, famous for its coconut trees, and coconut is found in many authentic dishes. I had no idea you could (or would want to) buy coconut unsweetened, but apparently you can, and definitely should when using it in Indian cooking.

I don't want to judge, but for Americans new to eating Indian food, it can be hard to get over how it looks. Many Indian dishes look pretty yucky to ~~ignorant Westerners~~
me. But, look how pretty it looks before you cook everything!

So, that's the summary of all of my knowledge. Helpful, I know. It's taken me 10 years to learn this stuff.

The best decision I've ever made

2010-01-06T14:30:00.001-05:00

I married him because I knew for absolute certain that he was the best guy in the whole world and if I didn't say yes I was just plain stupid. I married him because when he took me home for the first time to meet his family in the Most Overwhelming Weekend of my life, I met Sunimom who helped raise him and I could see in her enthusiasm that I was right - he was a good man.

He's young for where he is in his life, but that's nothing new. His mom somehow got him into kindergarten when he was like 4. It seemed like a good idea at the time, until he wanted to play football, and he was a full year younger and smaller than everyone trying to crush him.

Fortunately, he seems to lack the part of the nervous system that registers pain. He reported to college football weighing 134 pounds, and if I need to state the painfully obvious, that means that at 8 inches taller than me, he weighed less than I do now. (Someone should check with the NCAA, but he's got to be like the only Indian to play college football...)

He doesn't like dessert, reading fiction, or watching the Bachelor. He thinks the more the merrier when I think the more the awkwarder. He's boycotting baseball (something about Barry Bonds, and not what you'd think) and I'm boycotting football.

So, really, we have very little in common.

But, it turns out that at the immature age of 21, when I was wrong about so much, I was right about the really important stuff: He was - and is - a great man.

I would have been stupid not to say yes.

Today is his birthday, and I don't know about him, but for me, it's a happy one.

Counting Down

2010-01-05T14:54:00.000-05:00

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.)

Learning to want the good stuff

2009-12-29T21:13:00.000-05:00

The parallels just keep coming. There’s a small voice inside me that tells me I’m stretching, reaching too much. But there’s another voice that I’m going to listen to that says, If you’re not going to stop and learn the lessons, why bother?

There are about a billion reasons we decided to adopt: some spiritual, some altruistic, some common sense, some personality-based, some lifestyle, all mysteriously rooted in my heart.

As we’ve gotten closer, I’ve been soaking up the Truth that’s cloaked in Process. Process is annoying, but when it houses truth, it’s so worth digging through.

You hear a lot about attachment – how important it is, and how difficult it can be to achieve in adoptive families. You want to believe that Love is enough to solve all problems, but in our broken world, it’s just not sometimes – not on this side of eternity.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot, and thinking about other things and how they relate: nursing, feeding, weaning, baby-wearing, etc. In my quest to educate myself on adoptive nursing, I spoke with a wonderful mom who tried to nurse her baby boy adopted from a similar situation as Charlie.

As she told me her story, I was surprised with how much I hadn’t thought of. She told me that she abandoned the nursing when it became clear that it was a big enough job just to teach her baby to be full. Just to teach him that he could eat a whole bottle, undiluted, full of goodness, and that it would take away that nagging hunger.

I have grown in awe of my coming responsibility: to teach a child to crave the good things I can give him – food, love, comfort, things that he has had doses of, but hasn’t experienced in the consistent waves of a family.

I haven’t had to teach my other kids these things. They were born knowing I would feed them, that every three hours there would be a whole tummy-full of milk available for them, that they could drink until they spit up and then drink some more. They were born knowing that I would obsess over their intake, diapers, tummy time, soothing, routines, temperature and cute baby clothes.

But with adoption it’s different. In adoption, the cycle of dependence is (generally) interrupted. Kids have been taught that these things aren’t true, and so they need to learn or re-learn, which is what we refer to as attachment.

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Here’s the point, the parallel that has been making itself known to me.

I can identify a bit with these kids – who need to relearn love, consistency, security, and full-ness. I’m adopted too, spiritually. As a once-orphan, now treasured, favored daughter, I am given an inheritance, access to a Father who will pull strings for me, a legacy of family to which I have no blood relation but can still call mine. I am offered full-ness. Over, and over again, it is offered to me. Sometimes I take it. But sometimes, I resist. I revert back to patterns learned in the orphanage, coping mechanisms that maintain my control, even if they do leave me dry and hungry.

I do this because I am adopted – the relationship has had to be learned. I was a stranger to God, and He made me His own, but that doesn’t automatically take away the scars, wounds, and patterns of destruction I learned as an orphan. So, I fight it – the fullness and the good stuff.

There was more to the story told to me by my fellow adopted mom. She told me that once her baby learned what it was like to be full, he started waking up ravished in the middle of the night, craving FOOD like a newborn. He gave into his hunger, over and over again, and found full-ness.

Oooooh, I so want to be like that, and I am sooooo excited to teach my baby to crave the good stuff.