Life in the margins

This morning when I went to get my sweet baby up for a busy day...

taking big kids to school, coffee with friends, lunch duty at the big kids' school, and a Costco trip before picking the big kids back up...

I discovered Mary had thrown up. 

All over her crib, and her just-bathed-last-night self.

The clock read 7:30.  We needed to leave by 7:45. 

It's probably no surprise (especially if you know us!) that I don't leave much of a my-baby-might-throw-up cushion in our mornings.  We generally have JUST enough time to get ready, eat some breakfast, and get out the door in time to show up five minutes late to wherever it is we're going.  :)

I live in the itty bitty margins of life's page.  With minimal room to spare.

Not really because I LIKE teetering on the edge, or because I ENJOY showing up places embarrassingly late.  I don't.  But I have five children, and this whole parenting thing is a delicate balancing act of priorities and bare necessities and sanity preservation.  "I could NEVER have five kids aged six an under", people tell me.  Wellllllll, you probably COULD--but you'd have to let some stuff go.  Inch closer to the edge.  And be okay with that.  I rarely entertain, sometimes we go days without going anywhere, and when I'm sick the kids watch Disney movies in rapid succession.

And, when the baby gets sick, I throw her in the tub, throw her soiled laundry in the washing machine, give her some Tylenol, grab some old towels for the car-ride, and pray she doesn't get sick again.  As my four other kids scramble to get in the car.

Small margins.

I will tell you that we still made it to school ON TIME, vomit-free, enjoyed coffee with friends and now we are off to do lunch-duty.  So far, so good. 

But as any mama knows, that could change.  We mamas who live in the itty bitty margins of life especially know that.  And maybe I don't need big margins. 

Because God meets me in this cluttered, fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants space. 

And I'm learning to be okay with that.

A big thumbs-up to Elitch Gardens

Each of my bigger kids (Anna, Yosef, Biniam and Kaitlyn) participated in the library program through the Denver Public Library this summer.  Anna read her books independently, and we read to the not-yet-independently-reading kiddos.

There are different prizes along the way, and one of them is a general admission ticket to Elitch Gardens, an amusement park + a water park here in Denver.

Oh, the excitement.

The kids were SO THRILLED and looked forward to going alllllll summer long.  Finally, we skipped out on church one Sunday and hit up the park.  I have to admit that I was a little nervous about the day.  Spending all day ANYwhere can be a challenge with a baby, but at an amusement/water park?  Yikes. 

But I have to say that we had SO MUCH FUN!  Anna and Yosef were tall enough to ride some of the more adult, scary rides (I took them on that huge sea dragon thingy, where I Yosef clung on for dear life and Anna almost threw up, but I'd call it a success anyway.)

The water park was great too--such a refreshing way to break up the day and spend some of the warmer hours.  And cuddle with this sweet little bug.

We ended up staying until CLOSING TIME.  9 pm.  SO not what I expected we'd do, but Kevin and I were having so much fun and the kids were, too.

Honestly it occurred to me that we so rarely have a day of pure FUN.  We are usually either doing stuff around the house, working on our house, or attending events or things at other peoples' houses.  It felt good to get out and just PLAY for an entire day.  Just us.  Mary did great, and it worked well to sneak in bring our own food--less expensive and more relaxing and healthy that way.

I'm already excited for next summer, hoping the library offers this again.  It's the only way our family will ever visit that type of place, because the cost is outrageous and we have a lot of peeps to buy tickets for.  AND, I feel terribly unfulfilled because the bumper cars broke before I could see my four kids on them. 

I would have paid to see that.  Really.  It would have been hilarious.

And the following story surely loses a lot in translation, but I have to share it anyway.  You see, the highlight of the day involved this jerky roller coaster.  After each lap the ride operator stopped the ride and kids could either give a thumbs-up (wanting to stay on) or a thumbs-down (wanting to get off.) 

First lap of the day and Kaitlyn was crying and giving a thumbs-down, so she huffily climbed off the ride.

As did my sons, who weren't such fans either.  Yosef apparently smacked his head.  Note that instead of consoling him, I photographed him.  Hehe.

Thrill-seeker Anna (she gets this from her dad, NOT from me) was giving a huge thumbs-up and a huge grin.  As expected.  She LOVES roller coasters and crazy rides.  She's nuts.  (Note that by the third lap, only she and one other kid remained on the ride.)

Well, later that night we revisited the Cactus Coaster.  Told our other kids to give it another try, that they might like it.  Encouraged them to give a big ol' thumbs-up to the operator as they came around.  Kaitlyn took some convincing, to get her back on that ride...she did NOT want to go...but eventually, she cautiously climbed on.  Gave a real serious thumbs up as she waited for the ride to begin, when we asked what she was supposed to do.  You know, when the ride stopped and the operator asked.

Yet as the coaster took off, whipping around the track, our Kaitlyn, serious as could be with her usual furrowed brow and dark expression...KEPT HER THUMB UP.  THE.EN.TI.RE.TIME.  Bumping and jerking and getting whiplashed around the loop, there was Kaitlyn.  Concentrating ever-so-hard on keeping that thumb up.

Kevin and I were HYSTERICAL.  Doubled over laughing.  Tears streaming down our faces.  We literally couldn't breathe.

Each time the ride came to a rocky halt, and the operator asked and looked for thumbs that were up, Kaitlyn's was, of course, up.  Because she'd been doing everything in her power to keep it up the whole time.  Must not have realized that it was only necessary when the ride stopped.

Oh man.  How I wish we hadn't run out of video tape or that our digital camera battery hadn't died by that point.

But even so, I don't think we'll ever forget the look of sheer terror/determination/concentration on our little girl's face.

When Kaitlyn means business, she means business.  This we know.  We've always known.

So, yes, Elitch Gardens was a huge hit.  Looking forward to next year!

A million and one things to do

That's how I'm feeling right now. 

Last night it was 9 pm before I felt like I could sit back and breathe.

My day yesterday was spent cleaning my house, homeschooling my kids, doing laundry, and blogging.

Today will involve a trip to Costco, some baking, and more work around the house.  Our Community Group meets tonight--although I won't be here for it, because I'll be attending a homeschool group meeting with this friend and this friend and some other friends.  (What, you don't join groups based on whether or not you have good friends in the group?  That must just be me.  :) )  I'm sorry to miss our church small group, but I'm excited to meet up with some great homeschooling mamas for our first meeting of the year.  I'll be bringing along some shortbread cookies (that I plan to bake).  And Mary Lucille.  :)

In other news, we just inherited a second laptop from someone and Kevin and I have been playing this game online, Minesweeper Flags.  (Through MSN Live Messenger.  You open a conversation window with your contact, and then you can invite them to play the game.) 

Oh.my.goodness.

This game makes me FURIOUS.  Last night I was irate.  Ticked off.

Because I can't win for the life of me.  Up until two days ago I was doing great.  Now, not so much.  Kevin keeps beating me.

And I'm telling you, the luck is stacked against me.  I click and it seems I always choose wrong.  Or I open up a huge block of squares and Kevin gets all the flags.

Ahem.  Anyway.  I feel as I have a million and one things to do, I'm a bit overwhelmed, and oh, how I hate that feeling!  I'm honestly not even sure exactly where it's coming from.  I'll get done what needs to get done, and leave the rest for another day, right?

Maybe deep down I'm really just agitated about my inability to crush Kevin at Minesweeper Flags.  Perhaps this also explains my general grumpiness.  Hmmmmm.  (It could also however be explained by the various hormones involved in breastfeeding.  I had Hot Tamales and Junior Mints for lunch, my friends.  Enough said.)

People often jokingly say things to me like, "In all your free time...", as if I really am regularly running around like a chicken with my head cut off.  All on account of having five kids.  The truth is, I DO have quite a bit of free time.  Really.  But today, I will be that chicken.  Doing grocery shopping, scrubbing counters, preparing meals, barking orders at my kids.  Finding time to take a shower and put on some makeup and some presentable/clean clothes.  For the homeschool meeting.  But it will be well worth it because I will go and see my friends, stuff my face with yummy food, and feel all footloose and fancy free because Kevin will have the four oldest kids.  (When you have five children, you don't think of taking your eleventh-month-old daughter along as something that slows you down.  You feel free as a bird.)

I actually don't mind the occasional hustle and bustle, but I DON'T like feeling overwhelmed.

OR losing at Minesweeper Flags.

Those things make me grouchy.

What DOESN'T make me grouchy though are my Hot Tamales and Junior Mints freshly mopped floors and clean bathrooms.

Oh how I love a clean house.

So I'm going to focus on what I've done already, not on what I have left to do.

And also not on the fact that an orange crayon went through the washer AND dryer two nights ago.

I'm just gonna pretend that DIDN'T happen.

Which I guess means I have a million and TWO things to do!

First Bible + a giveaway I want to tell you about!

A month or two ago, while browsing the book section at the ARC, I happened upon some childrens' Bibles.  Pristine condition.  Looked as if they'd never been touched, much less read.  None of them cost more than $2.

It suddenly occurred to me that this would be a great thing to buy for each of my kids, to keep on hand until they are able to read (so far I have one reader, Anna, but hopefully soon I'll have more!).  I envisioned them being a special gift.  It's God's Word, afterall!

Last month also happened to be Anna's first communion.  That's when I decided her Bible (which I'd picked up on a subsequent ARC trip, and hidden on a shelf in my closet, waiting for the perfect occasion) would be the perfect First Communion gift!  Symbolic of her unique relationship with Jesus. 

Our church had such a sweet ceremony for the children receiving their first communion.  (Thanks Kevin for coming up with the initial idea!  :) )

So, when she got up that Sunday morning, I had a gift bag waiting for her at her seat at the breakfast table.  And she was soooooo excited to discover that it contained her very first big girl Bible!  (It's the Young Women of Faith Bible, NIV translation, and the recommended age is 8-12.) 

My thinking in all of this is to help my children grow in their faith.  They all believe in Jesus, and in their need for Him.  They believe He is God's son.  They know they are sinful.  As for me, I really want them to embrace God's call on their lives and to follow after Him wholeheartedly.  Faith is not a private affair; it's communal and ought to involve every aspect of our very lives.  We attend church each Sunday where we worship God through liturgy and sacrament.  Then we host and lead a small group study each Tuesday night in our home.  We have family Bible time (sadly sans Kevin since he's usually already left for work) over the morning oatmeal, using this fabulous Bible that we have gone through so many times over the past three years, and occasionally work through catechism questions too.  It's good.  Faith isn't meant to exist in a vacuum. 

But I also want my children to realize that spiritual formation involves personal time spent pursuing God, too.  Personal time in prayer and worship and studying the Bible.  Thus, the gifting of a big kid Bible.  Giving my children the tools to learn more about who God is and where we fit into God's story.  An attempt to make it something special, to show that we should give thanks that we have access to this compilation of precious, ancient writings.

{I was also able to pick up a pack of girly, fun ruled-paper journals at Costco (three for $9.99!)--I'm going to set Anna  up with one of those too, I think, to keep with her Bible. So she can journal, jot down prayer requests, or draw a picture.  Her handwriting is still coming along, but she can get by I think--especially if I include a cute pen with it.  :) }

My childrens' faith is something that is so very important to me.  It's something I take very seriously.  I often think about what I want to impart to them, as I also reflect upon my own upbringing in a non-denominational, conservative country church.  While I wouldn't choose that church for myself today, I have incredibly fond memories of my childhood there: singing old hymns, learning about Amy Carmichael in Sunday School class, and memorizing Bible verses.  And oh how I loved visiting with friends before and after the service.  Good times.  Lots of community.  Experiencing the love of Christ.

And in addition to that community and relationship building, church also somehow helped nurture my own private faith system, which is still alive and well today.  It's all related somehow, and I'm not sure which comes first, or if one even has to come first.  If I'm following after God and trusting and obeying Him, then I can better contribute to my faith community.  If I'm involved in my faith community, then that will help bolster my private spiritual life.

It works both ways, and I want my sweet little kiddos to experience that.  We have a lot of community in our busy home, but I also want to encourage personal relationship building with God too.  Thus the gifting of a Bible to each child when he/she is able to read it.  I may continue the tradition of doing it the day they receive their first communion--it was really special and hopefully something my daughter will always remember!

Eventually I'd love to see some individual Bible time worked into everyone's schedule each day, or at least a few times per week.  As part of our homeschool day.  Raising men and women of God, passionate about Jesus and His work in the world and in their lives, is our ultimate goal here anyway!

AND, on a related note, head over to the least complicated to enter a drawing for a Seeds Family Worship CD!  I think my kids would love, love, love to have one of these.  I have to admit that I am not very proactive about scripture memorization in our home, but I do think this would make it a lot of fun!  (My friend Jennifer always finds the best stuff.  She has introduced me to Hoong's Chinese food, the ARC, yummy maltballs from Sprouts...the list goes on.  So if she says this is a great CD, I know it is definitely worth owning!!!)

Football widow

Well it's that glorious time of year again.  Football season. 

Yuck.  :)

I despise any and all televised sports.  Especially football.  But really it's all sports.  Why anyone would want to invest HOURS upon HOURS of their weekend watching people chase a ball around is beyond me. 

If only everyone in my household felt the same.  :)

But it just so happens that I share my home and my life with someone who does rather enjoy watching sports.  Said person also enjoys fantasy sports.  Multiple teams, various sports.  Eesh.

So begins the season of coming home from church, eating lunch...and finding random stuff to do.  :)  Sometimes I go to Target, or do some grocery shopping, or go to the thrift store.  Sometimes I read a book.  Or blog.  One thing I DON'T do is watch football.  Not only do I not enjoy it, but I feel like I'm participating in a silent protest or something.

I feel like I'm saying, "This is a waste of time.  And I for one will not be fooled into taking part."

Hee, hee.

Just kidding.  Sort of.

Deep down I don't really begrudge Kevin the rabid sports-watching and crazed fantasy-sports-team-managing.  (Or at least not TOO much.  Sometimes I get real grumpy about it.  Not gonna lie.)  He really doesn't have any (other) majorly time-consuming hobbies, we spend a lot of time together, and he's so incredibly helpful all the time around the house.  He'll take all five kids without batting an eye if I need to go somewhere etc.  (We don't call it babysitting, we call it parenting.  I have this thing about people referring to a dad watching HIS CHILD as "babysitting."  Another post for another day, perhaps?  But, in a nutshell, if it's your kid, you're not babysitting.  You're being a dad to the child YOU conceived.  But I digress...for now.)

I'm guessing there are some other ladies out there who suddenly have one additional full day a week free.  How do YOU spend those lonngggggggg Sunday afternoons?

Today I'd planned to go thrifting.  But Kaitlyn was up vomiting last night and so I'm pretty exhausted today.  And I don't know if Kevin would be up for babysitting a three year old with the stomach flu.

Hahaha.  I crack myself up.

Well here's hoping that your day is football and kid-vomit free...and if it's not, that you tell me, so I know I'm not alone!  :)

Happy Sunday!

***Kevin may or may not have asked me to add the following disclaimers:

--He generally records the games and speeds through them much faster than if he were watching them live.
--He doesn't watch football on Saturdays, or on Monday nights.  Just Sundays.
--Due to the fast-forward feature on the VCR, this amounts to three and a half hours per Sunday.  Personally I think it's more than that.  He disagrees.  I think I'm right.  Whatever.
--He claims I spend more time on Facebook per week than he does on fantasy sports.  Again, I disagree.

I think we may need to have a discussion... 

Homeschooling: a few weeks in

If you're a homeschooler, maybe you can relate to the following scenario:

{You think through all sorts of curriculums, imagine how the year will go, plan out said year, the year actually beGINS...and a good 40% of your ideas go out the window.}

So far things are going quite well.  Yosef and Biniam LOVE homeschool, and they love their once-a-week Kindergarten class through the public school system too.  They are such happy, eager students.  Yay!

Anna is also loving homeschool again, as well as her First Grade schedule through the public school.  She's having a blast, building lots of confidence, etc.

The Story of the World (we're doing Ancient History this year, so Volume I) is turning out to be a big hit.  The kids beg to do History and get pretty indignant about it if I say, "not today."  We're checking out lots of library books that correspond with what we're studying, and the kids are intrigued.  We've done some mapwork and coloring pages from the activity guide too.

Literature is something I always hope is a priority in our home.  We just finished Little House in the Big Woods and are now on to L. Frank Baum's The Wonderful Wizard of Oz.  Many times after or during dinner Kevin or I (or a visiting grandparent!) will read a chapter or two...or three.  The kids are always begging for more.

One insight I've had about something that needs tweaking is that Biniam's fine motor skills are just not quite at a place where the math curriculum I chose is going to work out.  (Good thing it was free!)  Singapore Math requires a bit of number writing, and on top of that, I'm not that impressed with it in general.  I don't feel like it's really equipping them with good thinking skills, the way that Saxon Math (which includes lots of manipulatives, and that I used with Anna) did.  SO, I've decided to go back to that curriculum and do it with both boys (though I'll have them do the workbooks they already started just for fun sometimes.)  I made the decision to switch in the first place just to try something new, and I thought the boys would enjoy the workbook aspect.  Apparently sometimes it's best to stick with the tried-and-true! 

I honestly haven't done much formal reading instruction with Yosef and Biniam yet this year.  I finally got the book from the library that I want to use, Teach Your Child to Read in 100 Easy Lessons.  We've done a little in this book in the past (I checked it out over the summer for awhile) and the boys seemed to respond well to it.  I think it will work for them.  (I tried The Ordinary Parent's Guide to Teaching Reading but it wasn't a great fit.  Very systematic in its approach and my boys just weren't getting it.)  Getting a child reading is really, really important to me.  That being said...and this is where some of my unschooling-ish tendencies come out...not all kids are ready to read fluently at age five.  Maybe you can work super, super hard to push them to do it, but certain skills may just not be clicking yet.  Perhaps some children, developmentally, are more ready at age seven, or eight.  And that's okay.  One benefit of homeschooling is allowing your child to develop and learn at his or her own pace.  Reading should be enjoyable and fun, not a drudgery, and there's no law that says that every child needs to be able to read by age six.

Another thing to throw in the mix is the fact that Biniam has ADHD, which does affect his learning.  His brain works so quickly that reading instruction can prove tricky.  Yosef has occasional issues with auditory processing and as a result has a difficult time memorizing things etc.  But both of my sons are extremely bright, and LOVE learning, and have such natural curiosity, that I'm not overly concerned.  I think we'll just need to make sure we find the right methods, and give them time, and be patient.  (Plus, I think academic acheivement is given way too much priority in our society.  But that's another topic for another time.)   

So as we try to find our groove for the year, I'm envisioning a lot of history and read-alouds, time spent with each of my sons cozied up on the couch working on reading, and just having a lot of fun.  (Anna works independently on math for now, asking for help here and there if she's stuck.  Which is kind of rare.  She will probably be way better at math than I ever was.)  Things feel low-key and laid back, just how I like it.  The kids are learning and loving school and we even just took a field trip to a farm to pick berries and learn about bees.  There's lots of time to play and do things around the house.  A great year up ahead for sure! 

And of course, the ultimate thing we hope to instill in our children is a love for Jesus and a love for others.  That's kind of the whole point, right?  Loving God and loving others.  That can unfortunately get lost in the shuffle of daily life, and so we hope to get into some good rhythms and routines--reading the Bible over breakfast, encouraging the kids to have alone time with God (more on this later), and Anna is now participating in a Wednesday night GEMS club right across the street from us (more on that later too.)

I'll keep you all posted on any other changes we make or tweaking we do.  Homeschooling is really just like anything else with parenting--you sort of learn as you go, and make adjustments as necessary.  And, we love it!

Suffering

Depressing title, I know.  :)

But to be honest, over the past several years I've done a lot of thinking about suffering.  Up until six years ago or so, I hadn't considered it much at all.  My life had been pretty good, and I'm a glass-half-full kinda person anyway.  So if something WASN'T going well, I dealt with it.  I moved on.

The first really, truly tragic thing to befall me in this life was the miscarriage of our baby in 2004.  I was devastated.  For the first time in my twenty three years I had so very many questions and literally no answers.  Questions like, why would God create life only to take it away a mere seven or eight weeks later?  Why couldn't God have prevented this?  Why did I become pregnant (while nursing my six month old no less) simply in order to lose the baby later?  Those are heavy things to think about.  At the end of the day, our baby was gone and we were left picking up the pieces.

And when we brought home our sons in early 2006, we were introduced to an entirely new side of suffering.  There are things we saw in Africa that I'll never forget.  Suffering there is in-your-face, raw, real.  You read about that stuff in books and magazines, and maybe you say a prayer or feel sad, but to see it in person...it changes you.  A whole new set of questions for God began swimming around in my mind: why are they hungry while I am not?  Why do these children have no parents?  Why is an entire continent struggling?  Why does nothing seem to make it all go away?

Then, as many of you know, I lost another baby on New Year's Eve 2008.  So very sad.  Such feelings of hopelessness and what-do-we-do-now and having to come home from our vacation knowing that the last time I was in my house, I was happily expecting a baby.  A difficult homecoming, to be sure.

Each of those things could be included in a summary of my own personal suffering.  Certainly there are other difficulties here and there (kidney stones, anyone?), but most of my ponderings can be viewed against that backdrop.  And I have a mostly charmed life, I think, especially compared to many.  I am happy, I am filled with joy, and I am optimistic.

Lately however I feel like so many around me are hurting.  Friends just lost their very first baby to miscarriage.  Two seperate dear friends each just lost a parent within the last week.  I have friends with children who are chronically ill, extended family members battling cancer and depression and some in broken relationships.  Two family friends were just recently diagnosed with cancer.  It's gotten to the point where it feels like bad news is EV.ER.Y.WHERE.  My heart hurts for each of these dear people and I have shed tears over many of these situations.

And here's the thing.  I've been a Christian my entire life.  Literally.  I cannot remember a day when I did not know the love of Jesus or when I did not believe God was working in my life.  Even amidst the ups and downs of my spiritual journey (how emergent of me), I knew deep down that God was there.  I knew the Bible stories and I prayed and I trusted, more or less.  Yet ever since 2004 I've been hungry (and downright curious) for answers about suffering.  There are so many different paradigms and theologies that people use to explain the whole phenomenon.  Many of them ring hollow.  Most of them are pretty interesting.  If nothing else, we all seem to intuitively understand that suffering is part of the universal human experience and that it matters to God.

I read a fantastic book last year that I've blogged about before.  There is a bit of controversy when it comes to Mother Teresa (I know, right--drama over an Albanian nun?!), especially in Reformed Protestant circles (where people may or may not want to discredit her life and her work for theological reasons), but whatever.  What I've taken away from her, and other similar, writings, is that there is mystery in suffering.  And somehow we can identify with Jesus when we are hurting, and we can offer Him our very selves in those moments.  It's almost like a discipline.  I don't think God likes seeing us hurt or seeing us wrestle through hard times in this life.  At all.  And yet in some ways maybe the ability to suffer is a small gift, a glimpse into God's all-loving, all-good heart.  We see in those moments how broken our lives are, how inconsequential so much of our world is, and we long for something far better.  We feel just a small twinge of what perhaps Jesus felt as He laid down His life so that none would perish.

To be honest, I have not enjoyed suffering through hard times myself, and I have also not enjoyed seeing loved ones hurting.  I want to fix things and of course I can't.  Recently I've been feeling as if "real life" is chock full of sadness and I don't like it, yet at the same time...at the same time I am compelled.

I am compelled because I believe there is redemption in suffering.  I am compelled because I know that I am living, and living means hurting.  I am compelled to take risks and follow after Jesus, even if it means going into deep waters, because He's all that matters, the only thing that lasts.  I find myself drawing courage through suffering--both through my personal limited experience with it and through others' that I see around me.  It's hard to describe, but I think God will speak to us in our suffering if only we will  listen.

None of this is to say that we should ever get used to suffering.  It feels unnatural, even though it is pervasive and common.  But like anything else, I pray that God will redeem it and use it in my life.  I'll probably always be exploring the concept of suffering, and not because I'm morbid, but because I think there is a lot there to digest and process.  I wasn't really raised with a solid approach to understanding suffering, so it's something I'm genuinely curious about.  Each of us endures it one way or another.  We will all suffer.  I don't want to make easy peasy, "safe" life decisions to avoid the potential for suffering.  It'll happen.  Better to live well, love deeply, and give everything up to the Lord and live a good story.

On a personal note (time for the cheesy "life application" segment of this blogpost), this is something I've thought a bit about during this adoption process.  Being open to adopting children with medical needs means being open to some unique parenting challenges.  We certainly can't foresee the future, we can't know what interventions or therapies our future children will need.  I don't know how attachment will progress, how they will receive our current children, or what will happen, what stigmas we will face.  I.don't.know.  But I'm not backing away.  Through much prayer and discussion and discernment, we have concluded that God has equipped us and our family for this task, this journey.  It will be challenging.  It will be hard.  Transition usually is.  BUT, I know God will be working in the midst of it, and that there is hope. 

In suffering. 

Perhaps especially in suffering.

Stoned

Well I am officially a fifty-five year old man.

Why, you ask?

Because, my friends, I have kidney stones!!!!

Ugh!

(Do people admit things like this on blogs?  Because I do, apparently.)

Last Friday I was certain I had a UTI, and I called my doctor, who in turn phoned in a prescription for an antiobiotic.

Which didn't really make the symptoms go away.

Then Monday morning I woke up in such extreme lower back pain that I could barely walk.  I HATE being a wimp so I just gritted my teeth, took a shower, got my kids ready for the day, and we set off to drop off my in-laws, who'd been visiting, at the bus stop.  I had plans to go immediately from there to a friend's home for my church moms group.  The first meeting of the year.

But as I was driving away from the bus stop, doubled over in pain and wondering what on EARTH was wrong with me, I realized that there was no WAY I could make it to moms group.  I called Kevin (who was at work) on the cell phone, promptly burst into tears, and told him something was really wrong with me and that I was just going straight home.  During our conversation he mentioned that maybe I had a kidney stone.  And told me he was on his way home to take me to the doctor.

Now being that I am most definitely NOT a fifty five year old male, I thought the whole kidney stone thing seemed pretty far-fetched.  But sure enough, all the symptoms added up.  And because my doctor couldn't see me until late that afternoon, we made the decision to just have Kevin take me to the ER.  (There's a great Seventh Day Adventist hospital right down the street from us.)  I didn't want to wait all day, I was afraid that if this WASN'T a kidney stone, it could be something far more sinister (ectopic pregnancy?  kidney infection?), and let's be honest: I wanted pain meds.

After many hours in the hospital (sooooo frustrating), some blood draws, a urine sample and a CAT scan (but no pain meds, because the pain began subsiding shortly after I got there), it was confirmed that I did, indeed, apparently pass a kidney stone.  What in the world??!!  The lab results showed that NO, I did NOT have a UTI, and those symptoms I'd been having were because of the kidney stones.  Awesome.  The doctor said they didn't SEE any more stones in there, so hopefully I was done...

Yesterday I woke up feeling fine and took my kids with our homeschool group to a farm to pick berries and learn about bees.  A great day overall, minus Mary screaming and crying in the raspberry field, Yosef peeing his pants in the port-a-potty, and Anna having a melt-down after getting stuck in a bunch of mud.  But really, we had a great time.  The kidney stone issue had been resolved.

UNTIL 5:30 AM TODAY.  When I suddenly woke up.  "Why am I awake?" I wondered.  Until I realized that my lower back was in pain.  My left side hurt in an all-too-familiar way.  Yep, it was happening again.  This time though I was prepared.

And not because I'd filled my prescription for narcotic and anti-nausea meds.  That would have been too simple.  (I was feeling better once I left the hospital on Monday afternoon, and I didn't want to buy stuff I wasn't going to use.  So the prescription orders were sitting in my living room.)

But I was prepared for what lay ahead.  I did lots of deep breathing.  Some pacing.  Laying on my back and looking out at the sliver of blue sky I could see outside my window, using that as a focal point.  I told myself that the worst of the pain ought to be over by 9 am or so, based on Monday's timetable.

Around 7:30 am I suddenly had to hobble run to the bathroom and throw up.  Fantastic.

That's how Kevin found me, when he got up for the day.  Crouched in front of the toilet.  I'm such a classy gal.

And that's right, folks, I didn't wake my husband up.  I'm very much like a cat when I'm in pain.  I don't want to be touched, spoken to, or looked at.  I did want to tell him it was happening again, but I also wanted him to get his sleep.  So my reasoning was partly selfish, partly selfless. 

Of course he felt horrible when he found out it happened again, and ran to the pharmacy to fill my prescriptions ($10 each, and a small price to pay for relief).  Neither of which I've taken, though, because I must have passed the second set of stones, since I don't feel like dying anymore.  AND, I'm still breastfeeding Mary Lu, and if I can avoid either a) having to pump and dispose of the milk or b) drugging up my eleventh-month-old, I'll do it. 

I have to tell you that passing a kidney stone is SO INCREDIBLY PAINFUL.  It reminds me a little of childbirth, and a little of a migraine (but instead of the pain being in your head, it's in your lower back and side.)  I totally used my mind-over-matter and breathing techniques I use during labor.  Sadly though, unlike at the end of childbirth, I have no cute little newborn to kiss and hold once the pain subsides.   Nothing to show for it except for apparently some itty-bitty sand-like particles that, while formerly in my kidney, are now in the toilet.  (None of which I have seen.  I feel a little gypped.  You'd think that something capable of making you feel like someone is repeatedly stabbing a knife into your lower back would really be something to look at.)

So here's my word of advice to all of you: DRINK LOTS OF WATER.  Lots and lots of water.  All the time.  I do a semi-decent job when it comes to water consumption, but I'm not overly consistent with it and there is room for improvement.  Plus, I live in a really dry climate, which contributes to the likelihood of getting kidney stones.  Soda doesn't help either, although I actually haven't had much soda lately, and I definitely drink FAR more water than soda.

They say 5% of women experience a kidney stone at some point in their life.

Lucky me.

To the other 95% of you: count your lucky stars.  Enjoy your carefree days of walking upright and not having to call on what you remember of Lamaze breathing techniques in the wee hours of the morning, while the rest of your household is sleeping cozily in their beds.

As for the rest of us, well, we can be glad I suppose that we women are tough as nails and can birth eight-pound babies and, yes, pass microscopic kidney stones too.  All pain-med-free if need be. 

But now that I have a prescription narcotic sitting happily in my bathroom cupboard, I may not be able to take one for the team if this happens again.  It might just be too tempting as I'm pacing and breathing and mentally transporting myself to a peaceful sandy beach.

For now though the worst of the pain seems to be over.

And I think I need a nap.

Two of my favorite things

Mary Lu and Oreos.

There is a story behind this picture.

We were at the annual Ethiopian adoptive families picnic several weeks ago.

A sweet little friend of ours offered to keep her eye on Mary Lu while I went and got myself some dessert (not too far away--I could still see Mary from where I was.)

When I returned, this was how I found Mary.

Attempting to devour an Oreo.

Because apparently our friend had decided that Mary needed a cookie, too.

And I must be "that mom", because instead of immediately taking the cookie away, I grabbed my camera to take some pictures.

The funny thing is, this same sweet friend of ours was plying all of my kids with cookies all afternoon long.  After she'd doled them all out, she'd go back for another handful.  When we were leaving, she made sure to hand out a bunch more.  For the road.  SO AWESOME.  Junk food really ought to be standard issue for kids in the summertime, don't you think?

I'm fairly certain that Mary Lu is our youngest to have indulged in an Oreo.  She seemed to like it.  Which is no surprise, because I really like them too!

Bliss

My three oldest are off at their one-day-a-week public school program.  Which means I only have my two youngest with me at home today.

I've never had just two kids before.  Ever.

And I need to tell you, having only TWO KIDS at home is CRAZY!

Crazy as in:

super quiet, laid back, I-could-get-used-to-this crazy.

All I need is a Pina Colada with a little umbrella.

The minute we hit the door after dropping off the bigger kids, Kaitlyn ran downstairs to play.  Mary began attacking a pile of baby toys.  Kevin's parents are in town and at one point they took the two girls for a walk, and it was just ME in my house!  Just plain nuts, I tell you.

I can already tell that Thursdays around here are going to be niiiiiiiiiiice.

And that I need to add Pina Colada mix and rum to my shopping list.

And now for the resolution

We had a big meeting early this morning with our social worker and her supervisor.

I was really nervous going into it.

Remember when I told you about my confrontational phone call?

Well, that phone call had to do with our adoption homestudy, and at the last minute (as in, after our social worker approved and signed it), a higher-up at our homestudy agency (not our social worker) was concerned about us adopting because we already have five children, and because we homeschool, and we're wanting to be approved for the adoption of two children with "mild to moderate medical needs".  This particular agency primarily places healthy infants, or so I'm told, and they don't see a lot of families pursuing children with medical needs.  This is a whole other can of worms that maybe, eventually, I'll explore further on here.  But probably not until after our adoption is complete.  :)

The upshot of the phone call was this: a supervisor had to come and talk to us, maybe we'd only be approved for up to ONE child, how can we possibly pay enough attention to all of our kids, how are we able to homeschool our five kids, and why did we feel the need to do a medical needs adoption?

This of course led to a very stress-filled week for me.  I am a worrier by nature--as laid back as I am, this is definitely a strange and rather annoying quirk of mine--but I tried ever so hard not to obsess or fret too much about it.  Mostly I succeeded, though I did have my moments.

By last night though I was worrying again--not so much about the outcome, but about having to sit in a meeting and defend myself and our values.  Would they believe me if I said that for us, homeschooling is LESS work-intensive than putting our kids into public school?  Would they believe me if I told them that my children receive no shortage of attention from me, Kevin, or their siblings?  That a typical day in our home is quiet and calm?  That sometimes I can even sneak a nap in? 

SO, this morning we were up bright and early (6 am!  That is SO EARLY for me!) for our eight-o'clock meeting.  Shower, get dressed, get kids dressed, feed kids breakfast, put on some makeup, sweep up crumbs until there is a knock on the door.  Oh how I was dreading the knock.

But you know what?  The supervisor was really nice.  Right off the bat she said she wasn't here to judge us or critique us.  She wanted to hear our story, and was totally supportive and acted impressed.  We were apparently not what she expected to find when she arrived at the home of a family with five children ages six and under.  (Maybe she'd been dreading the knock too!)

There are so very many stereotypes today about larger-than-average families.  (I say "today" because historically speaking, it wasn't so long ago that Western families were generally having several children.)  What is so funny to me is that most of my friends seem to have at least four children, and they all have such lovely homes, and are so organized and put-together.  (Me not as much, but THEY are.)  So where are these stereotypes of the over-worked exhausted mom with a filthy house and loud, misbehaved children coming from?  I honestly don't know.  My life feels chaotic sometimes, my house gets messy sometimes, but I hear these same things from single friends with graduate degrees working in well-paying jobs that they love.

Nope, I really don't know why it is a base assumption that a family with five children is automatically always a hotbed of chaos and disorder.  I do a better job of cleaning my house now than I did when I only had ONE child.  Go figure.  (This may be more of an indicator of my past housekeeping skills being TERRIBLE.  But you get the point.)

Hopefully today we were able to demonstrate that not all large-ish families are neglecting their ragamuffin-ish, foul-word-spewing children.  :)  Well, from my perspective anyway.  There ARE people who believe that you CAN'T properly parent/raise five+ children, but I'm clearly not one of those people.

What alllllllllllllllllllllll of this means is that our completed homestudy was finally signed today, and I hope we'll be signing placement agreements soon.  We sent our completed dossier to AAI today as well.  We are so dang excited and I'm so anxious to share more with you about our adoption.  But I want to wait until we've signed the papers, because nothing is official yet, and I don't like the idea of divulging information about specific children who I literally have no claims to.

I will say that this will surely be our last adoption for quite some time.  It feels strange to say that, but it's probably true.  I am envisioning the adjustment period and imagining that it is going to be HARD.  And yet I cannot wait to see God's hand in all of it.  I have such peace about this being our last "in the foreseeable future" adoption.  When we brought our boys home, we KNEW we'd be back to Ethiopia to adopt again.  We simply knew.  And we knew it wouldn't be TOO long after.  This time, though, I'm very aware that it may be our last Ethiopian adoption.  I feel like our family will be "adoption complete" for now.  (I say "adoption complete" because God could always choose to bless us with another biological child, and we remain open to that, although of course in my human wisdom I hope that doesn't transpire for some time.)

I feel nervous and thrilled and awestruck all at once, so grateful that our paperwork is finally all in and that we are once and for all approved to adopt up to two waiting children with medical needs from Ethiopia, in the state of Colorado.

God is so much bigger than my plans or anyone else's thoughts or views.  He turned a horribly stressful situation today into something positive.  It felt good to have a professional come into my home and act impressed and like we generally have our act together--when she was initially assuming the opposite.  Beginning an adoption feels so daunting, and really it SHOULD feel daunting because it's a huge undertaking with lots of variables and unknowns.  So it helps to have a vote of confidence, and I think God knew I needed that today.

So.  Homestudy done.  Showed we're not too disorganized to have more children.  Dossier mailed. 

Did absolutely nothing for the remainder of the day. 

But still a productive day overall, I'd say!

Just taking a break...

from doing some MAJOR clearing out of the kids' toys.  OH.MY.GOODNESS.  It is insane.  INSANE I tell you.  SOoooooo much JUNK.  Ratty Well-loved stuffed animals.  Itty bitty blood-pressure-inducing toys scattered all around.  I have a HUGE bag of stuff for the ARC to pick up--and I feel horrible for whatever employee has to sift through it all.  (And I'm trying to keep the bag away from Kevin, who is worse than the kids about getting rid of stuff.  He said seeing what's in there makes him "sad."  Funny, because for months now he's been complaining and saying we need to get rid of the toys.) 

At any rate, I just wanted to let you all know where I am today, in case I never do re-emerge from the mountains upon mountains of toys in my home.  You'll know to look for me under a huge pile of Legos.  Oh, and could someone PLEASE tell me that I'm not the only one who finds old, empty soda cups and fruit snack wrappers IN their kids' closet????!!!

And not to worry--the Barbies and Barbie house that sweet Mary Lu is destroying playing with in the above picture are NOT going to the ARC.  We rather like the Barbies with their tanned skin and golden blond hair and slinky little dresses.  Ahem.  Let me rephrase that before I get a slew of angry anti-Barbie comments: we like Barbie, but not necessarily the messages Mattel is trying to send us about Barbie.  Don't believe me that you can play Barbies without buying into the hype?  Well, see that dumptruck in the background?  My kids like pushing Barbie around in it.  We MUST be counteracting any negative Mattel-isms, because instead of Barbie sitting around in her fancy slippers watching her flat screen TV, she's riding around in a bulldozer.  We're just keepin' it real around here, because that's how we, and apparently Barbie, roll.

Now back to the toys!

Boots no more

I've referred many a time to Kaitlyn's beloved yellow rainboots.

She's worn them all summer.

To the store, to church, pretty much everywhere.

The only problem is, her feet started getting all cracked and yucky from wearing them in the heat with no socks.

Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwww.

SO, I have had to put a stop to the boot-wearing for now.  In colder months when she can wear socks with them--and not sweat a bunch--we can revisit her favorite clothing item.  (She has horribly sensitive skin and is sensitive to the heat too, so it's no surprise that her feet didn't react very well.)

To be honest it is actually a little sad.  The other day she went to put them on and I had to remind her that she can't wear them anymore right now.

{She was so bummed.}

Kevin and the other kids had, in fact, even started calling her "Boots".  As a nickname.

Because, the girl loves her boots.

Too bad the mom doesn't love the cracked, blistered, bleeding feet that come with them.

None of my children are, thankfully, obsessed with clothing or their appearance.  But Kaitlyn loved those boots.

And I'm posting about it, not because I think anyone cares, but because I want US to remember the summer of the boots.

Little ones grow so fast, and sometimes the littlest things make for the best memories.  That's part of why I love having a blog!

So I'm blogging about Kaitlyn and her boots today.  I'll miss the sound of her clunking around, and the look of shorts + a tanktop + rainboots, and the beaming-with-pride she did when she wore those things.

Goodbye for now, boots.

We'll see you, and some socks, in a few months!

Yes, I'm laughing AT you

Sometimes I just laugh.  Really, really hard.

Not necessarily WITH my kids...but AT them.

I know, that is so mean, right?

There are two churches on our street that I can literally see out my window.  Both obviously in walking distance.  One of them has these neighborhood fun day things in the warmer months--BBQ'd hotdogs and hamburgers, the fire truck usually comes by, there's a bouncehouse...and face painting.  A smiling elderly man comes by our house and delivers a flyer anytime there's an event.

Kevin has taken the kids over to this two or three times.  Yours truly however has yet to attend.

Why, you ask?

Why do I make my poor, defenseless husband play the single dad while I hide stay at home?

Honestly, and I KNOW you are going to think this is RIDICULOUS...

I just don't want to have to go and make small talk.

There.
I said it.

The proverbial antisocial cat is out of the proverbial antisocial bag.

We don't attend that church, likely never will, and I don't know anyone there.  So attending their event makes me feel all socially anxious and I just refuse to go.  Free food or not.  Our family stands out--no WAY we could just blend in amongst the other attenders--and I just don't want to spend my precious Saturday explaining why we have so many children, why we adopted, or how I'm old enough to have kids in the first place.

Please don't get me wrong, the people there have always been more than nice to Kevin and the kids, I just don't want to go.  Every time they have an event, Kevin attempts to coerce me to go along.  This last time, he said he was embarrassed to always have the kids by himself, and no wife.  Still I refused.  I'm stubborn like that.

Back to laughing at my kids.

A few weeks ago, Kevin took them over there for the usual hoopla.  As you can see, they got their faces painted.

As you can also see, Biniam looks  like an old man with a huge white mustache and a sickly orange hue to his cheeks.  Yosef looks hilarious too.

And the girls look like they're ready for Prom 1985.  (Oh looky there, you can see me in the background stuffing my face.  See, you can laugh at ME, too!)

They all came trudging into the house after spending HOURS over there.  HOURS, people.

"How was it?" I asked.

That was when:

Anna burst into tears, upset that some boy there had smacked her on the back and made a mean face (note the smudged face paint on her cheek), 

Yosef proceeded to grumble about how he left his fire station pencil on the table AND about how he didn't get to finish his food because a bunch of flies landed on it,

Biniam eagerly showed me his facepaint and asked if I liked it, all the while making repulsive tiger faces, and

Kaitlyn handed me a melty piece of cheese she'd been clutching (probably a Kraft single), saying she'd brought it home for me to eat.

And that's when I began laughing.  At every.single.one.of.my.big.kids. 

It was beyond hilarious.

The painted faces...disgruntled attitudes...melty cheese...it was all just too much. 

Kids are funny.  Really, really funny. 

And if you never laugh at them, you may want to try it every now and again.  Because you're really missing out!

Con to the front

Yesterday something really crummy happened.  I'm afraid I can't go into it on here right now--though down the road I definitely will.  (NOT trying to be cryptic, I promise.  But this is a public blog, so I can only say so much.  For now.  I'm already envisioning a future rant on the subject.)

As a result of said crumminess, my entire day felt derailed.  I hate that!  I went from lazily laying on the floor, reading library books about archaeologists to my kids, to being really frustrated and upset about something that is out of my control.  All because of a telephone call.  Which just happened to tap into all my feelings and thoughts on, well, everything in my life, really. 

And it involved confrontation.

I despise confrontation.

I have ALWAYS despised confrontation.

At any given point in my life, I have done whatever it takes to avoid confrontation.  Anything.  Because during a confrontation, I get very uncomfortable, grow very anxious, my throat starts feeling tight and I have to expend large amounts of energy to fight the hot tears threatening to spill down my cheeks. 

You see, I HATE to cry.  I don't cry often, and I NEVER cry in public.  I don't however mind other people crying, not in the least.  It doesn't make me uncomfortable and it demonstrates vulnerability.  But as for ME, I'm just an ugly crier and once I get going, it is oh so hard to stop.  And then I wind up with a headache for the rest of the day.  Complete with red, puffy eyes.  No thanks.

Anyway, this morning on the phone, I was on the verge of crying for much of the conversation.  Not because I was sad or had hurt feelings, but because I was upset, and stinking mad, and felt as if a great injustice were being done.  AND because I found myself smack-dab in the midst of a confrontation.

Somehow though I was able to remain calm and firm and say the things I wanted to say.  Even the hard things, that felt confrontation-ish.  I felt like I got to advocate a little for something I'm passionate about.  It wasn't a happy conversation, but I was polite.  And honest.  Honest about what I thought.

I'm generally what someone could classify as a "relatively nice person."  In junior high, my friends used to tease me and say that if anyone were ever to call me a dork, I would probably just smile and cheerfully reply, "Okay!"  There's probably some truth to that.  (With the caveat that I have a mean-looking resting face, am hard to get to know, and some people think I'm stuck up when they meet me.)  But as a general rule, I don't rock the boat.  I keep a low profile and go with the flow.  I have a few strong opinions and hold some convictions pretty tightly, but I don't usually broadcast that stuff or make it an issue.  I live and let live.  This has, on occasion, led to me being a bit of a doormat.  I tend to think of great things to say AFTER the fact--but I know myself well enough to know that I would not have had the courage to say them at the time, even if they HAD come to mind.

Let it be known that I'm really quite happy to go through life this way.  No need to have major confrontations or bluster around telling people what-for.  I'll leave that to others.  I DO like to always have a few friends of this sort around, because they intrigue me and I, the consummate wimp, need some gutsy-ness in my life.

But every once in awhile, like yesterday, confrontation cannot be avoided.  And I find myself having to stick up for me and mine, tight throat and all.  It was awkward, left me feeling upset the rest of the day, and I didn't get half the things done I'd hoped to.  (Yes, confrontation is so stressful for me that I'm apparently rendered incapable of doing housework.  Perhaps I should be grateful that this happened!)  That being said, I'm glad I have the ability to have tough conversations when I need to.  I was forced to face one of my weaknesses head on, and I did it.  I'm hoping and praying that the outcome is good--I'll know in a week.

Oh and for the record, as of last night, I still couldn't fully shake the yuckiness of the whole fiasco.  I'm hoping that today is a new day, and that there isn't a lingering ick-factor casting a pall over my week.  I honestly don't think I could ever get used to confrontation, no matter how often I had to face it.  Part of that is surely due to my sometimes-unhealthy desire to be liked. 

But that is an issue for another blogpost. 

Today's was about my aversion to confrontation, remember?

One neurotic tendency at a time, folks.

Because if I ran out, what would I possibly have to blog about?