One year of thanks

Last Monday (yeah, a day(week) late and a dollar short AGAIN) we celebrated Molly Kate's 1 year Family Day anniversary.  One YEAR?!  How is that even possible?!  And then in the same breath I want to say ONE year?  ONE?!  How is that even possible?! 

We've come so very far in a year.  She came to us very loved, but lied to and very frightened.  Then angry, sad, and grieving.  My heart ached for her every minute of the day.  I've finally begun to prove to her that I will come back.  Every.single.time.  Always.  Her ability to believe it is still, most often, lacking.  She will fight tooth and nail to come with me.  It doesn't matter where I'm going.  It runs deeper than a child who just doesn't want to stay home.  It runs to the very core of her being - she isn't absolutely sure she'll ever see me again.  And it scares her to death.  While it's wonderful to be loved in that way - to make someone feel safe and secure to the point where they will choose to be with you over any other human being on the earth, but it's a bittersweet wonderful when you know that the need to be with you stems from fear of loss so tremendous you couldn't imagine being able to bear it again.  Molly Kate is much more profoundly affected by her transition into our family.  Every day. 

From our perspective, Molly Kate has melded into this family like she's always been here.  She is deeply woven into the fabric that makes our family what it is and we can scarcely imagine life without her.  Yet just two years ago we didn't even know she existed.  And that is one of the beautiful things about adoption. 

We weren't sure we wanted to say yes to another child.  We REALLY weren't sure that we wanted to say yes to dwarfism.  As with all of our other children, though, when we saw Molly Kate's face none of that mattered.  She was ours.  And she's the best risk we've ever taken. 

Her light shines so bright it fills a room.  She is funny, tenacious, tender, loving, spunky, smart, and the light of our lives.  Her smile always reaches (and squinches) her eyes and it is contagious.  Her laughter remains elusive but is one of my very favorite sounds.  She is joyful most of the time and she is insanely easy to love. 

Christmas Season is upon us and although we celebrated last year, having her home to experience all of our traditions has given this Season new joy.  Most often, Molly Kate is joy embodied and I am so blessed to be her mom.  So thankful.

just one moment

A minute ago, as I sat here at the table assessing what needed to be tackled next, a certain little sprite of a girl sidled over and coyly asked, "I hab gum, Mama?  No, wight?"  I told her that she could, in fact, have gum.  She melts my heart in ways I never could have imagined and I often find it nigh onto impossible to tell the girl no.  About anything.  So especially when the matter is trivial, I say yes. 

The joy on her face was bright and undeniable.  She started over toward the fridge (upon the top of which one would find the gum supply).  I beckoned her back silently with my index finger curling toward me.  When she realized I hadn't followed her, she turned back, saw me asking her to come on back, and she did.  And then I was going to scoop up that happy little sprite of mine and give her a hug and marvel in the beauty of the love I feel for her.  Instead, I accidentally thunked her in the head. 

No matter - she was unhurt and still keen to be lifted into my arms and be snuggled.  "I buy more kuh!(hug)" she gleefully said, and then gave me one to prove it.  A kiss on the cheek followed.  Often this is the "toll" I charge for doing something the kids ask.  I looked at her - deeply - as only a mama can do - and I said, "Mei, I love you SO much."  It wasn't an exclamation (this time).  It was a soft, straight from the heart declaration.  She turned her head toward me and said, "I wuh ju, too, so muh, Mama."  And she didn't exclaim it, either (this time).  And knowing that she really does love me...that she knows what love really is...that she is really learning that I AM her Mama...well I'd like to just keep that little moment forever.  I am so very, very blessed.

I dooney dare you!

I think that the "dooney dare" would fall right after the "triple dog dare" in the dare escalation diagram.  Just kidding.  The dooney dare isn't a dare at all. 

"Dooney dare??" is a phrase oft heard around our house and always uttered by a nosy rosy three year old with bright eyes, a most likely messy face, and fat little hands who is keen not to let a single detail of the goings on around her slip past her.  "Dooney dare, Mama?"  "I'm just mincing garlic for supper."  "Myyyyy supper?"  "Yes, sweetie.  For all of us."  "Oh." 

Dooney dare about 37 times a day until it ALMOST loses its charm.  Almost. 

It's all good unless I'm hiding somewhere trying to sneak a piece of chocolate.  Then the telltale "Dooney dare?" will send a ripple of disappointment through me.  Busted.  Again.  "Dooney dare?"  "Nothing."  "Wasss in dare?  (if I don't immediately give her an answer or a look inside my mouth, she'll open hers and point so I can fully understand what she means)"  Busted.  And I'll have to share.  Just try to sneak something past her.  I dooney dare you!

And they're off!

This morning, I sent my two oldest kids off to 3rd and 1st grade.  Wow.  Oh wait... the plan was to send them off.  Then we missed the bus.  It drove away as we hurried out the door and never looked back as Kailin and Colby ran their hearts down the sidewalk.  Nothing like yelling "Winner winner, chicken dinner - and on the first day!" as your neighbors and friends look down the block at you in your shame.  Oh well.  I had to take Carter to his 4k "meet the teacher" day right after school started anyway.  What?  Actually show up late to school so that you can be the crazy mom telling your kid to "get the lead out, we're late!" on the first day of school?  That was the plan all along, right??  And forget the camera for the 4k meet and greet.  Definitely put that on the list of things to do.  Check!!

I can't believe I have two kids in full day school.  I also can't believe that I'm saying that the house feels empty and quiet after the number of hours I spent counting the days until today this summer.  But it IS quiet.  And I suspect that the quiet might be a little deafening come Friday morning when Carter boards the bus for 4k. 

I can't wait to hear about the first day of school!  I CAN wait for two kids with homework and the advent of Saturday soccer games.  I am wise enough to know, though, that someday I'll wish it all back, so I'm going to sit back and try to enjoy this crazy season of my life.  And tomorrow WILL be better.  Right??

10 things

I'm so far behind on blog posts that it isn't even funny.  I feel a lot like that's just how I roll lately.  A day late and a dollar short. 

I've been meaning to post for quite some time about ten things my kids have taught me.  These aren't in any particular order and some of them just might be a little "tongue in cheek."

1.  How to dance.  I've never been a good dancer.  I'm still not.  I am, in fact, horrible at it.  Really, truly, terrible.  But I used to be terrible and self conscious.  I probably still would be in front of adults.  But my kids have shown me how to let myself feel the music - all the way deep down into the heart of my being - and let my body respond.  I'm sure I look like a dork.  The point is, though, that I don't FEEL like a dork.  It feels good, actually, and I try to take the opportunity when it arises.

2.  How to be late.  I'm not sure "taught" is as appropriate here as "caused me to" would be, although most often if I get down to the nitty gritty of it, it is my faulty expectations that lead us to be late.  It's not like they're purposely stalling when we're trying to get out the door to Nai Nai's, a party, or the beach, but they ARE going to take approximately 37 minutes to use the bathroom and find their shoes (each) and I almost ALWAYS fail to account for it.  I'll think we're doing WELL and then have the audacity to actually go ahead and "think it out loud" and then poof - there goes our extra time and now we're LATE.  Again.

3.  How to be really, truly sorry for something and apologize for it.  I wish I could say that my children are such fabulous and sincere apologizers that they've taught me a thing or two, but if I said that I suspect I'd soon smell the smoke from my smoldering pants.  They are, at times, the most INsincere apologizers I've EVER met!  (I know I wasn't like that as a kid - for sure I wasn't.  I definitely didn't have "tone" when I apologized.  Ever.  I'm pretty sure.  Well, maybe one time....)  However, their apology skills aside, I've been able to hone mine apologizing to them for the times when I've managed not to be the mom I'd like to be.  And sometimes when I've not only not been the mom I'd like to be, but have actually been some kind of psycho freak mom from another planet.  And it's good.  It doesn't make me FEEL good that I've done something that, afterward, makes me feel like such a huge schmoe that my heart hurts even after I've looked in their eyes and apologized and told them that mamas make mistakes, too.  What's good about it is that they see that I am a person.  I make mistakes.  It's not always about the fact that you made the mistake.  It's about being truly sorry that you made a bad choice.  It's looking someone in the eye and telling them that you're sorry - that you'll try your very best to do better next time - and it's about being able to forgive and move on.  I hope someday when they are parents and they lose it and act like a psycho alien, they'll remember that it's okay to make a mistake.  And I hope that they don't have "tone" when they apologize to their kid - I hope to train that right on out of them one of these days.

4.  How to cry.  All of my kids are "easy criers".  I was not.  I don't think I've actually learned it from my kids per se, but I do know that the moment I became a mother, it was all over.  I cry.  All. the. time.  Over everything.  Over nothing.  Thankfully, it's most often not out of true sadness.  Sometimes it is over utter ridiculousness (like a commercial - I mean, come ON!!).  The other day, while watching the kids at swim lessons, I watched a teenage boy (substitute instructor) get totally amped over watching two girls in his class execute perfect dives off the side of the pool.  His fist went up and he pumped it for them - even though they couldn't see.  I teared up.  I cry during at least one hymn during every church service.  It doesn't take much to move me to tears anymore.  It's sometimes a little embarrassing.  But I think it's an improvement.  I'm pretty sure I wasn't really FEELING for a long time.  A very long time.  And embarrassing as it can be, it's nice to feel something again.  Motherhood gifted it to me.

5. That sand can keep surprising you for days and days and days.  It's everywhere and it's nowhere all at the same time.  You think you have it cleaned up, cleaned out, and cleaned off of everything and suddenly there it is again.  Forever.

6. Little boy pee STINKS.  I didn't even know that little boy pee had a distinctive smell until I potty trained a few.  My downstairs bathroom permanently smells like the stuff and it doesn't matter if I've cleaned four minutes ago or four days.  Little boy pee.  We'll replace the toilet seat (and maybe the linoleum, too) someday when we don't have any more little boys and when, please Lord I hope, they won't be missing the mark quite so often.  Until then, don't be offended if you visit us and "eau de little boy" is the fragrance of the day in the downstairs bathroom.  I've tried to help it, I truly have.  The bathroom is probably clean.  But the scent of little boys will linger. 

7.  That Play-Doh gets EVERYWHERE and even if you try to ferry the Play-Doh playing child up and over the mess when they're done, you'll still find Play-Doh bits mashed into the carpet.  Every time.

8.  That mama kisses and BandAids do truly hold mystical healing powers.  I'm always glad that I have an ample supply of both!

9.  That little stuff matters.  That dandelion bouquet covered in ants was lovingly picked for me by my child who believes that dandelions are one of the most beautiful flowers on the planet.  And it's up to share in their joy, blow the ants off, and see the beauty in the gift or I can see it as a bunch of anty weeds and crush that joy just as quickly.  I try pretty hard to share in the joy whenever I can.  It doesn't take much to be my children's hero and I've been working really hard to take the opportunity more often.  A little inconvenience for me can make all the difference to them and I do my best to keep that in perspective whenever I can. 

10.  How to appreciate what you have and understand what you need.  Again, I'd love to say that my children are pillars of being grateful for what they have and the blessings they've been given and that they are NEVER ungrateful or imply that they are lacking.  If there's one thing my kids are, it's real.  We're working on the "being grateful for what you have" bit.  A lot of adults I know haven't mastered it, though, so I cut them some slack.   The lessons my kids have taught me about appreciating what I have and understanding what I need go a lot deeper than being gracious what's under the brightly colored wrapped paper they maniacally tear away.  We've made a LOT of "sacrifices" so that we could pay for four adoptions over seven years and so that I can be home with our kids.  We're still paying off adoption debt and will be for several years to come.  We don't eat out.  Basically ever.  Not even McDonald's.  I coupon.  A lot.  I menu plan based on what's on sale this week, not on what I'd like to make for supper.  Steve and I often don't exchange gifts anymore, not because we've run out of things we think the other would enjoy, but because it saves us a few dollars.  We don't see movies in the theater unless we have a gift card or we can get in free or pretty cheap.  We don't hire babysitters.  We just traded my 2000 Dodge Caravan (that was gifted to us for free) for a 2005 Toyota Sienna.  I'm not sure I ever would have guessed that I'd be over the moon excited about getting a "new" vehicle that is already 8 years old, but I totally am.  I don't say any of this because I think anyone needs to feel sorry for us.   We made our choices.  We put family first and the cost of that is that we chose to put "things" and sometimes experiences, second.  I wouldn't change that for anything in the world.  It would be lovely to "have it all" so to speak, but actually I don't think I'd want to change these years of lean.  My perspective has changed a lot.  Sure, it would feel nice to have a new shirt just because and I would love to take a vacation.  And I did admittedly get mired down in feeling like I "deserved more" a few years back when living lean was new to me.  But do I NEED a new shirt today?  No.  Will my kids have a full, fun, and memorable childhood without Disney?  You bet they will!  And will they still have each other when childhood is over and memories of Disney would have faded?  They will, and they'll be continuing to make memories with each other and with us.  That, to me, is worth wearing the same shirt until it literally wears out, evaluating how big the holes in my socks need to be before I can justify pitching them and buying new, and watching a movie on the couch instead of in the theater.  That's not who I was nine years ago.  At all.  And I'm so thankful for the change.  I do hope that we'll get to take some vacations as a family - maybe not Disney, but a road trip to someplace that will really wow the kids - but I'm okay, most days, with waiting a few years for that.  My children were the best thing that ever happened to me.  They've taught me so much about who I am and who I would like to be.  The things I don't have now have helped me to keep my focus on what I do have - four beautiful and amazing children and a loving and devoted husband.  Wouldn't trade them for anything in the world.

farewell to a good friend

This week we made the very tough decision to say goodbye to a dear friend.  Our almost 11 year old Peanut, whom we used to joke was a foxhound/goat/kangaroo mix (a mix that produced a dog who looked like a beagle on stilts who could jump SUPER high and ate everything in sight) will truly be missed.

Peanut's supersonic superpower hearing allowed him to hear threats real and imagined from such distances as three counties (or states) over.  He was always on patrol and keen to warn us early of any approaching danger or nefarious plots.  His warnings had escalating levels depending on the perceived urgency of the situation.  His ears were constantly twitching - at the ready for any new intel.  The nearly constant low growl was kind of like threat level yellow - nothing serious, but we should be vigilant nonetheless.  The growl kicked up a notch when the threat level went to orange - someone/something was on the move or the grass was perhaps blowing in the wind three blocks away.  Row row row!!!!!!  was kind of in the orange/red zone - and he was incensed if we didn't see the imminent threat and respond accordingly.  Threat level red meant throwing himself with all of his medium sized canine force into a barrage at the door or window, full bark/sometimes scream, hair on end, ready to rip to pieces the forces of evil that plague our neighborhood......kids on bikes, CATS!, and occasionally the person with the audacity to walk a dog past our house.  He was a pleasure to walk as long as we didn't see any other dogs and as long as he didn't perceive any threats - near or far (so....rarely).

Although he tried his very best to be a good dog, his alter ego, Larry, often visited.  Larry was naughty through and through.  He jumped up to steal things off of counters and the kitchen table, chewed up the kids' toys (particularly fake food and army guys) with zest and without prejudice, and occasionally peed in the house. 

Peanut loved to snuggle and had a blanket detecting radar that could sense a blanket being pulled out even from a different floor of the house.  He would look longingly at you with his big, bright eyes, shift his ears forward, and cock his head to the side a bit in a "saddest little puppy on the block" way that had you inviting him to share your warm and comfy blanket even if you'd sworn only moments before that this time it was all yours.  He delighted in lurking until you got up from your spot on the couch and then in the blink of an eye, he'd have it thieved and was all snuggled in and ready to look pathetic upon your return.  He often began the night under the covers, but soon grew too warm and would shift himself up and put his head on the pillow next to Steve - just like a little person.  And he snored like a little person, too.   While I'm recounting his nasal noises, he also used to run to the door and lift his head as far up as it would go and make little pig grunts.  He didn't seem to mind being affectionately called "Piggy Piggy" as a result.

His many quirks are part of what endeared him to the hearts of those of us who loved him. He was forever convinced that if he just stared at a doorknob long enough, the door would indeed open.  Much like a cat, he preferred to hang out on the back of the overstuffed chair or sometimes even the couch.  As a puppy, he was totally enamored with shiny things and once ate my diamond pendant (which was recovered eventually after "nature had run its course").  The hound in him caused him to howl on occasion, although we never did quite figure out what would spur him to "sing",  and the howl ALWAYS always ended in him choking and shaking his head.  It never failed to make us laugh.

For as bad as he often was, he was a good dog with a fierce love for our family (and food, if we're being honest here).  Although our plastic troops and supply of fake food are no longer in mortal peril, our house sure will be quiet without him.  He will always have a place in our hearts and he will truly be missed. 

A mid night visitor....

Not a midnight visitor, but a mid night visitor. 

We were having a little down time watching tv when I heard the telltale whump whump whump of one of the boys on the stairs.  I knew it wasn't a girl because it was too much heel action to be a girl and also because Kailin is always trepidatious about coming downstairs after bedtime and Molly Kate just stands at the top of the stairs and whines.  The speed of the whumps led me to believe we were dealing with Colby. 

Sure enough.  In he walked, eyes wide open, shirt hiked up, scratching his bare belly, smacking his lips.  "Umm..err....ummm...those people....uhhh...rmph....hrm.....those people...just...those people...."  I stifled a laugh and said, "What did you say?  What about the people?"  He was irritated, "Oh nevermind."  There wasn't a soul stirring on the street or in a yard and along with his brazen assault on the living room, I was fairly sure that what we had was a sleep walker.  I asked again and was eventually informed that "those people" were making him angry. 

He's come down a few other times - always boldly, typically entirely annoyed, and he's always asleep when he does.  The lights are on but clearly no one is home. 

I asked him if it would help if I sent the people home.  He said it would.  I said I'd do just that and we should get him back in bed.  I got him all snuggled in and then reaffirmed, "I sent all the people home."  "What people?" he asked.  "Nevermind," I replied.  I chuckled to myself and said a little prayer of thanks for that moment.  It was a rough, rough day yesterday and that little moment of humor was exactly what I needed. 

This morning he remembered none of it, but he was really amused by the story and wanted it recounted several times over.