My in laws were chatting with the kids about their Christmas lists. It's still pretty early in the season for everyone to have figured out what they really "need", but those grandmas need time to plan.
After much pestering, Josiah finally looked up from his plate and stated, "Okay. Fine. I know what I want for Christmas. I want to be famous."
That makes Ella's request of a leaf blower seem more manageable.
Showing posts with label children. Show all posts
Showing posts with label children. Show all posts
December 9, 2015
November 30, 2015
Day 100
So if you read the past ten posts ten times, that would equal 100. Can I admit that God gave us exactly what we could handle, and it didn't include me blogging for 100 days in a row?
Women who can raise a brood, write, cook, and teach are of a superhuman race.
I'm deciding, for my own sanity that I have stepped up my blogging and that's the best I can do right now. There is a season for everything and this is my season of wading through teen, tween, and toddler at once.
For example, every other Friday I teach Chemistry lab at our homeschool co-op. It means leaving the house. Yeah, you thought there would be more to that sentence, but there wasn't. Leaving the house is a big deal in itself, especially in the morning, with supplies for a lab and necessities for baby survival. I arrived an hour before class to get things set up. Everett has model United Nations for an hour before lab, and the other bigs watch the babies while I run around. I stopped on the way for donuts and bagels, a Friday morning tradition. I raced to drop Everett off, and unloaded the van. Baby strapped to my chest, toddler in the stroller, glassware and breakfast were stowed underneath--I was on top of things.
In the scramble to get out of the house, my meticulously packed diaper bag, which is actually more like a diaper suitcase, was left behind. My 'on top of things super mom' bubble deflated. It was replaced with the 'I can't handle things and even left the diaper bag at home' storm cloud.
On a more positive note, I didn't forget a baby.
Women who can raise a brood, write, cook, and teach are of a superhuman race.
I'm deciding, for my own sanity that I have stepped up my blogging and that's the best I can do right now. There is a season for everything and this is my season of wading through teen, tween, and toddler at once.
For example, every other Friday I teach Chemistry lab at our homeschool co-op. It means leaving the house. Yeah, you thought there would be more to that sentence, but there wasn't. Leaving the house is a big deal in itself, especially in the morning, with supplies for a lab and necessities for baby survival. I arrived an hour before class to get things set up. Everett has model United Nations for an hour before lab, and the other bigs watch the babies while I run around. I stopped on the way for donuts and bagels, a Friday morning tradition. I raced to drop Everett off, and unloaded the van. Baby strapped to my chest, toddler in the stroller, glassware and breakfast were stowed underneath--I was on top of things.
In the scramble to get out of the house, my meticulously packed diaper bag, which is actually more like a diaper suitcase, was left behind. My 'on top of things super mom' bubble deflated. It was replaced with the 'I can't handle things and even left the diaper bag at home' storm cloud.
On a more positive note, I didn't forget a baby.
November 25, 2015
Can I call this Day 9?
I am a failure as a blogger.
Two months ago I felt guilty about not finding time to write. Slowly, with the madness of life, that guilt slipped away until I didn't give writing a second thought. Then, I talked to my Grandma.
I love my Grandparents. My only complaint is that they don't live next door. We don't see each other often and we rarely talk. I take full responsibility for everything.
She mentioned my blog. She mentioned me writing for 100 days. Her excitement...and my failure. Not really, she didn't mention anything about me failing. She just mentioned that she wanted to hear from me. So, I dusted off the laptop and decided to write. This update is for you, Grandma.
I suppose I should begin with where I left off. We still have seven kids. Life is still quite chaotic. I'm exhausted. Seth is exhausted. We are functioning slightly above survival mode.
The biggest update would be that the babies' week long stay has turned into nearly three months with us. Our new norm is hard, I can't lie. It would be a disservice to moms out there who are struggling with littles and bigs and schooling and life, for them to hear me say, "This is a piece of cake." This isn't a piece of cake.
This is hard.
I let things go that I would have been on top of three months ago. My sliding glass door has dried dog snot on it. If you know how I feel about prints on windows, that's a biggie. I know it really doesn't matter in the long run, so I let it go. Or I remind Josiah to scrub the window, "...and I'm not just talking about at your eye level, I'm talking about that nasty jelly hand print encrusted with dog snot that dried there last week!"
So, I'm calming down about how the house looks. Not to say we live in a pig sty, everyone does their chores, but I can't be everywhere, so I have to trust that trash is emptied and litter boxes are scooped. That's one thing that is hard.
The other real hard thing is not knowing what is going to happen. That seems like a stupid statement, since life is full of uncertainties. This is a different uncertainty. Today, seven children, tomorrow...five? What's going on with the babies' mom today? Is she making choices that are bringing her closer to reunification? Is she straying? Will they be here for Christmas? Will they be okay next week at their aunt's?
It's hard, because they aren't our children. And, we don't want them to be.
As much as we love adoption and what it has done in our lives, it comes from a terrible heartbreak. This is the first time that we have stood on the other side of the adoption story. For each one of our children, we have come AFTER their loss. We loved them and adopted them and they were ours. We love these babies, but they are not ours.
You will never pray more often for a person as when you are raising that person's children. That is the underlying reality of our days--we are raising someone's children. I don't have time to think about it during the busy days. When I'm snuggling with a chubby, tired baby in his last moments of being awake, I think of his mom. I pray for her, because she's missing these moments. His first birthday. Cutting four teeth. Eating solid food and climbing up stairs. He will walk soon and she will miss his first steps. That's heartbreaking.
Her little girl calls me, "Mama" and runs to me for comfort. These are healthy behaviors and it's good that she has them, since she needs a 'mom' now. But it's sad that a family she didn't know three months ago has become her familiar comfort. Her mom missed her second birthday, saying goodbye to her binky, and watching her language explode.
That's hard. Then there's the diarrhea for eight days and waking up at night. Seth wearing a mouth guard because he is grinding his teeth. Josiah enjoying the shrieks of anyone younger than him, so his favorite past time has become taunting babies. That about sums our house up.
Screaming, pooping, and mouth guards. And occasionally, screaming while wearing a mouth guard because the dog just ate a poopy diaper. No joke.
Two months ago I felt guilty about not finding time to write. Slowly, with the madness of life, that guilt slipped away until I didn't give writing a second thought. Then, I talked to my Grandma.
I love my Grandparents. My only complaint is that they don't live next door. We don't see each other often and we rarely talk. I take full responsibility for everything.
She mentioned my blog. She mentioned me writing for 100 days. Her excitement...and my failure. Not really, she didn't mention anything about me failing. She just mentioned that she wanted to hear from me. So, I dusted off the laptop and decided to write. This update is for you, Grandma.
I suppose I should begin with where I left off. We still have seven kids. Life is still quite chaotic. I'm exhausted. Seth is exhausted. We are functioning slightly above survival mode.
The biggest update would be that the babies' week long stay has turned into nearly three months with us. Our new norm is hard, I can't lie. It would be a disservice to moms out there who are struggling with littles and bigs and schooling and life, for them to hear me say, "This is a piece of cake." This isn't a piece of cake.
This is hard.
I let things go that I would have been on top of three months ago. My sliding glass door has dried dog snot on it. If you know how I feel about prints on windows, that's a biggie. I know it really doesn't matter in the long run, so I let it go. Or I remind Josiah to scrub the window, "...and I'm not just talking about at your eye level, I'm talking about that nasty jelly hand print encrusted with dog snot that dried there last week!"
So, I'm calming down about how the house looks. Not to say we live in a pig sty, everyone does their chores, but I can't be everywhere, so I have to trust that trash is emptied and litter boxes are scooped. That's one thing that is hard.
The other real hard thing is not knowing what is going to happen. That seems like a stupid statement, since life is full of uncertainties. This is a different uncertainty. Today, seven children, tomorrow...five? What's going on with the babies' mom today? Is she making choices that are bringing her closer to reunification? Is she straying? Will they be here for Christmas? Will they be okay next week at their aunt's?
It's hard, because they aren't our children. And, we don't want them to be.
As much as we love adoption and what it has done in our lives, it comes from a terrible heartbreak. This is the first time that we have stood on the other side of the adoption story. For each one of our children, we have come AFTER their loss. We loved them and adopted them and they were ours. We love these babies, but they are not ours.
You will never pray more often for a person as when you are raising that person's children. That is the underlying reality of our days--we are raising someone's children. I don't have time to think about it during the busy days. When I'm snuggling with a chubby, tired baby in his last moments of being awake, I think of his mom. I pray for her, because she's missing these moments. His first birthday. Cutting four teeth. Eating solid food and climbing up stairs. He will walk soon and she will miss his first steps. That's heartbreaking.
Her little girl calls me, "Mama" and runs to me for comfort. These are healthy behaviors and it's good that she has them, since she needs a 'mom' now. But it's sad that a family she didn't know three months ago has become her familiar comfort. Her mom missed her second birthday, saying goodbye to her binky, and watching her language explode.
That's hard. Then there's the diarrhea for eight days and waking up at night. Seth wearing a mouth guard because he is grinding his teeth. Josiah enjoying the shrieks of anyone younger than him, so his favorite past time has become taunting babies. That about sums our house up.
Screaming, pooping, and mouth guards. And occasionally, screaming while wearing a mouth guard because the dog just ate a poopy diaper. No joke.
October 25, 2013
Just a Little Trim...
The hair saga. For the past five years it's been a constant presence. A task that required scheduling. Daily maintenance and then an entire evening for a new 'do.
And the drama. Dear me, the drama! The "You are pulling too hard", "Can't you straighten it?", and finally, the always dramatic final sigh after seeing the finished product. Never pleased with the curly gift with which God has blessed her. Never.
I'm not much better--too thin, too straight, too wispy...but this isn't about me, is it?
Dear hubby has been a bystander for all of these years. He's watched the dramatic hair dos unfold. He's had to manage things on his own when I've been out of town. He's made frantic phone calls after a night without the sleep cap, "The kids and I have a picnic with my boss and this hair is a mess!"
A few years ago he started in on, "Cut it short. It was so cute. Your life will be easier. She will look great."
I ignored him. So did she. Neither of us thought it would be a good idea. I, personally, was afraid of how other moms would judge me. Incapable of doing my daughter's hair equals incapable of raising my children properly. I'm serious.
I never thought hair would play any role in the relationship I have with my children. That was years ago. We were in the middle of a domestic adoption. We had a birth mom who was interested in our family--we were thrilled. On a phone interview she asked about hair.
Silence.
Seth finally answered, "We will figure something out. It's not like we will let our child walk around without their hair being taken care of."
And that was the last we heard from her.
We were so clueless. I was flabbergasted that hair was actually a big deal. Like, duh, wash it, dry it, braid it. How hard is that? I have three sisters. I've done hair.
Yeah, right. I was clueless. After we brought Sally home, I checked out every book on African American hair from the library. I bought cheap products. I bought expensive products. I listened to the lady in the elevator who suggested one shampoo and then changed when the hair blog I read said to try something else. I was all over the place. So was her hair.
Recently, we've got it under control. There were still days that she left the house looking like Don King. Usually, she looked pretty good. Then a few days would pass and she wouldn't put coconut oil on her hair and the braids would get frizzy. I'd undo them and put in twists, which she hates. Then we would undo those and wash. The bathroom would look like an afro exploded from all of the hair everywhere. Nuts.
One night, late, I needed to wash her hair and Seth brought up The Cut again. His coworker 'looks great' with this short style. He brought up some pictures on Google. I was won over and, oddly, so was Sally.
I could have knitted a king sized quilt from the amount of hair we cut. Wow.
She looks beautiful. I'm biased, but I think this little trim was a success in every way.
And the drama. Dear me, the drama! The "You are pulling too hard", "Can't you straighten it?", and finally, the always dramatic final sigh after seeing the finished product. Never pleased with the curly gift with which God has blessed her. Never.
I'm not much better--too thin, too straight, too wispy...but this isn't about me, is it?
Dear hubby has been a bystander for all of these years. He's watched the dramatic hair dos unfold. He's had to manage things on his own when I've been out of town. He's made frantic phone calls after a night without the sleep cap, "The kids and I have a picnic with my boss and this hair is a mess!"
A few years ago he started in on, "Cut it short. It was so cute. Your life will be easier. She will look great."
I ignored him. So did she. Neither of us thought it would be a good idea. I, personally, was afraid of how other moms would judge me. Incapable of doing my daughter's hair equals incapable of raising my children properly. I'm serious.
I never thought hair would play any role in the relationship I have with my children. That was years ago. We were in the middle of a domestic adoption. We had a birth mom who was interested in our family--we were thrilled. On a phone interview she asked about hair.
Silence.
Seth finally answered, "We will figure something out. It's not like we will let our child walk around without their hair being taken care of."
And that was the last we heard from her.
We were so clueless. I was flabbergasted that hair was actually a big deal. Like, duh, wash it, dry it, braid it. How hard is that? I have three sisters. I've done hair.
Yeah, right. I was clueless. After we brought Sally home, I checked out every book on African American hair from the library. I bought cheap products. I bought expensive products. I listened to the lady in the elevator who suggested one shampoo and then changed when the hair blog I read said to try something else. I was all over the place. So was her hair.
Recently, we've got it under control. There were still days that she left the house looking like Don King. Usually, she looked pretty good. Then a few days would pass and she wouldn't put coconut oil on her hair and the braids would get frizzy. I'd undo them and put in twists, which she hates. Then we would undo those and wash. The bathroom would look like an afro exploded from all of the hair everywhere. Nuts.
One night, late, I needed to wash her hair and Seth brought up The Cut again. His coworker 'looks great' with this short style. He brought up some pictures on Google. I was won over and, oddly, so was Sally.
I could have knitted a king sized quilt from the amount of hair we cut. Wow.
She looks beautiful. I'm biased, but I think this little trim was a success in every way.
September 6, 2013
13
Writing that gives me a shiver. Delight and dread. Watching the transition from child to teen is thrilling. Around here, that transition has been punctuated with eating, eating, more eating, and occasionally choosing to hang out with adults instead of running amuck with kids.
My sister called me and almost hung up when she heard an unrecognizable, deep voice. That deep voice and his sudden growth (I'm tenaciously holding one inch over his head) caused him incredible frustration this summer. We traveled to Connecticut to visit friends and family. My kids were anticipating loads of squeezing and snuggles with their far flung cousins. When my 2 year old niece saw Everett, she cried. When he dared touch her, her lips curled and she wailed. She adored the girls, tolerated Josiah, and warmed up to Elijah. Everett...he was too much like a scary, unknown, man for her. After a week of begging, she finally gave him the coveted hug. She threw in a snotty kiss and walked away. Everett, wiping his check, remarked, with a good natured smirk, "Well, that was slimier than I expected."
I hesitate to make this statement. But here goes...Thirteen is easier than I expected. I have enjoyed Everett's company lately. Loved it. Mostly. I think he gets life more than ever before. When I'm flustered, he sees it and gives me a hand. He's independent in his school work, able to come to me for help or to discuss a point, but doesn't need me to nag him. He still has his moments, don't dare try to interrupt him in the middle of a good read (or even a mediocre one). He turns into a roaring lion. Just like his dad.
But, I figured that guy out years ago. Since the apple can't fall too far from the tree, I think I might have my 13 year old figured out too.
I might delete this post in a few years to avoid being called a liar.
February 27, 2007
Life with five
We got home last night from a weekend away visiting my sister's family. We were greeted by loads of mail, included were the letters from INS requesting our presence to have "our biometrics taken" (ie fingerprinting done). The appointment is set for March 19, too bad as we would be in town the next week for another visit with the same sister. I'm not about to send the form back requesting another appointment! We will happily spend 4 hours in the car to avoid being lost in the shuffle. We also had a message from our social worker trying to schedule our first appointment with her.
On a different note-
My sister has two kids, 3 years and 8 months. Over the weekend I got the wonderful opportunity to watch my nephews (and my three kids) while while the other three adults vacated the premises. WHAT A HOOT! My mom called while the hullabaloo was in progress. She asked me how I liked five kids under the age of 6, and then laughed her head off. What a show of support! That leads to something I haven't really mentioned in detail. Seth and I are planning on requesting to adopt two children. I don't know more than that. I don't think he does either. As I'm thinking about this, it lends itself to another post since I can feel myself getting ready to be long winded :)
By the way, five really wasn't that bad. No one was (seriously) injured, they all ate lunch, they took naps, and I got about 30 minutes to myself. Pretty successful experiment I'd say.
On a different note-
My sister has two kids, 3 years and 8 months. Over the weekend I got the wonderful opportunity to watch my nephews (and my three kids) while while the other three adults vacated the premises. WHAT A HOOT! My mom called while the hullabaloo was in progress. She asked me how I liked five kids under the age of 6, and then laughed her head off. What a show of support! That leads to something I haven't really mentioned in detail. Seth and I are planning on requesting to adopt two children. I don't know more than that. I don't think he does either. As I'm thinking about this, it lends itself to another post since I can feel myself getting ready to be long winded :)
By the way, five really wasn't that bad. No one was (seriously) injured, they all ate lunch, they took naps, and I got about 30 minutes to myself. Pretty successful experiment I'd say.
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