Harfing Under the Golden Arches

I'm a little late in posting our vacation adventures. Every other year, we head out with the F family to the Outer Banks of NC for a week long lesson in in-law bonding. This year, we had the blue mini-bus complete with copious amounts of "Veggie Tales" DVDs to make the trip bearable...if 17 hours of driving (and that's just one way) can be even remotely bearable!

The girls got to miss their last three days of school as we loaded up the car on Friday and headed out following Husband's sisters Tracy, Zina, and Tracy's three kids. Elisabeth was complaining of not feeling so well but we passed it off as anxiety/anticipation...until we were at McDonald's (their favorite place - gag!) and Husband made her at least try to eat some of her Happy Meal. She started to get a funny look on her face and then proceeded to throw up everywhere...mostly on her monkey pajamas and my flip flops. A fabulous start to the vacation, for sure!

The week was filled with much time spent in the pool. Black hair and chlorine do not mix so we got out their swim caps (which look hilarious to me every time). Husband brought them into the ocean for the first time and they honed their swimming skills all week by jumping in and out of the pool. Kate had a couple of near drownings as she hasn't figured out which is the deep end until I put her in a Barbie lifejacket and taught her how to get it one herself. At one point, I was having a little "too much vacation" and begged off an all-day trip to Ocracoke so Husband stepped in and took the girls for the day. This picture is what happens when I am not along:

The girls slept on an air mattress above an open ceiling to the living room where much of the activity (late night and early morning) was going on so needless to say, they were so slap backwards in their sleep schedule they didn't know if they were coming or going. We let Elisabeth take a "drug holiday" from her ADHD medication so that only added to the chaos.

All in all, we had a great time with plenty of pictures to remember it by. Elisabeth learned to play video games with Uncle Joe and kept Aunt Dena hopping with several rounds of UNO. Kate and Elisabeth both insisted on using their vacation money to purchase pirate outfits. And I know now that even black skin needs LOADS of sunscreen because while their sunburns do not look red, they can peel quite easily.

We'll mark our calendars, Oh F Family, and do it all again in two years!

Joint Heirs to the Family (Mis)Fortunes

Well, hallelujah! The day finally arrived when we could appear before a judge and formally have our petition for adoption heard. It's a bit anticlimactic after the 14,000 lbs. of paperwork you fill out to get to this point as the judge shuffles through several pages, quietly listing all the different affadavits and reports attached to the petition. The judge's eyes widened as she saw the vast horde of family and friends enter the courtroom. We were so excited to share this day with so many people we love and who have been special in Kate and Elisabeth's life so far (and hopefully for years to come).

Then, our attorney asked us to verify our names, the girls' dates of birth, date of placement, and whether we were satisfied with their health, the adoption assistance we would receive, etc. The part that brought tears to my eyes was when the attorney stated that these two girls were now legally ours with the right to inherit our estate. Makes me think of the Bible verse that talks about us being joint heirs with Christ to a fabulous estate in heaven. Not sure how much of an "estate" will be left to them but they are welcome to any fortune (or misfortunes [ha!]) that come with being a permanent part of our family.

The girls' will have new certificates issued as if we had given birth to them (which is a bit scandalous considering Elisabeth was born before we got married) and they now legally carry our surname. We'll change their social security numbers to protect their previous ones from abuse from former family members who may still have those numbers (something we learned in adoption class that I would not have ever thought of).

We celebrated by going out for a late breakfast, going swimming, getting ice cream, and playing with friends. Elisabeth commented at dinner that she thought it would be more "different" once she got adopted but tonight felt pretty much the same as nights before. That's when I realized perhaps all the times she watched "Annie" had built up an expectation that we'd have a three-ring circus and fireworks after the celebration.

Maybe if I were as rich as Daddy Warbucks. Until then, ice cream and swimming will have to do.

Macarana Roller Derby

Elisabeth turned seven last month and was beside herself with excitement to have a birthday party. She had been talking about her birthday for several months prior (on a daily basis) until I told her that she could no longer talk about it until April 1st. She woke up very sleepily on April 1st, and turned to me in a groggy voice to ask "Is it April yet?" When she found out it was, she said, "I can finally talk about my birthday." She desperately wanted to go to Chuck E. Cheese but Husband has very emphatically stated that he will NEVER go to Chuck E. Cheese for a birthday party (What? Bad pizza and germs build character and disease resistance!)

Elisabeth finally selected roller skating and in order to make sure all the girls could stay overnight, we had over all first cousins. Paige, Courtney, Grace, and Abigail arrived with varying skills at roller skating. Paige was the cautious one, making a single lap at a time, never falling, all with careful balance. Courtney was like a wild bird learning to fly, spending half of her time up and half her time either falling herself or taking someone else out.

Grace was the rookie and spent the first half hour clutching the rails, pulling herself around, never lifting a foot. Abigail was very confident although her skill level was around medium. At one point, as the "Macarana" is blaring over the loud speakers, she informs me that she can do the motions while skating. She proceeds to do the shoulder-shoulder-hip-hip action but forgot about the turn on her skates and promptly wiped out. She was also informing me every round that she had ONLY fallen three times (four times, etc.) but when she got to 13, she quit informing me.

We went out for pizza where each girl got to get their own little pizza. Courtney informed us that she LOVED hot sauce but got a little carried away pouring it on her pizza. It was more like a mound of hot sauce with pizza being the condiment. We saw her suffer through a piece or two then offered some of ours before we had to call the M-town fire department.

Back to our house for my sad attempt at decorating an angel food cake (a tradition from my childhood) and ice cream. As Elisabeth eyed the mound of presents, she gleefully looked at me and said, "So this is what a birthday party is like!"

Later on, I told the girls that they could stay up as long as they wished as long as they were quiet. Their eyes were round as saucers as their mouths fell open...no bedtime? Can it be? They rolled out sleeping bags in front of the TV as "Ella Enchanted" began to play.

I don't know how late they stayed up. I heard the TV still on (infomercials) at 4 AM so I shut it off. The girls were sprawled out, most without covers and some pillows were MIA. I tried my best to get them covered up before crawling back in bed myself.

I would like to say they slept in and were in great moods in the morning but that would be lying. It took Elisabeth two days to recover from lack of sleep but if it's anything like my birthday parties growing up...it was TOTALLY worth it!

Habakkuk Upchuck

The other week, our pastor asked Husband and me if we would share our journey from infertility to instant parenthood as an illustration of his message series on Habakkuk. To be honest, Habakkuk is not a book of the Bible I read often. Okay, I think I read it once very long ago and couldn't tell you what was in it but as I read the 2nd chapter, I found the verses Husband and I would expound on.

I formulated some thoughts in my head as we both prepared for the Sunday message. Husband was up there first and gave his very practical version of the story of us "trying" to start a family, our discovery of the medical reasons why it would be a MAJOR uphill battle, and how he figured God was in control and so he didn't sweat it too much.

I was going to say some things I learned through all this but somehow, returning to that period in my life (which I call "The Lost Years") in my mind about set me over the edge and when my turn came to talk, I dissolved into a fit of weeping and gnashing of teeth. It's a place I don't go to very often because the hell that is infertility is an emotional dross that only those of us who have endured can fully understand.

To add to the rawness of remembering, we found out that the girls' birth mom is pregnant. Again. By yet another man. She's still not married. She still puts her partying exploits on her MySpace page. All the feelings of "unfairness" swept over me again as I parent the children she has not been found fit to raise. Yet, God, in His infinite wisdom, allows her to carry yet another child in her womb. I have some hard questions for God when I see Him.

But this I know...

Out of every heartache, God creates a ministry opportunity. I can look in the eyes of other women who are walking the road of infertility and say, "I've been there". I know what it is like to have your intimate moments scheduled like clockwork, taking all spontenanity out of the event. I know what it is like to wait those two weeks wondering if maybe this time is THE time for everything to work. I know what it is like to try every old wives' tale "just in case" (yes, I have stood on my head).

I know what it is like to inject yourself and pop pills and open the most intimate parts of yourself up to doctors all the while praying with every ounce of your being that God will have mercy on you and bless you. And to find out every month that you still have to wait on God's vision.

This I also know...it is in the darkest moments of your life that your love for God is truly tested. It's easy to love Him when everything is wine and roses. But when you watch your visions and dreams disappear and your arms remain empty yet another Mother's Day...you have to decide whether you will love God for who He is no matter what happens.

I don't know if everything happens for a reason.
I don't know if I'll ever carry a child.
I don't know why God chose this trial for me.
I don't know why the evil prosper and the good suffer.

But this I know...

"Record the vision and inscribe it...that the one who reads it may run. For the vision is yet for the appointed time; It hastens toward the goal and it will not fail. Though it tarries, wait for it; For it will certainly come, it will not delay." Habakkuk 2:2-3

Link to the iTunes recording (our testimony runs from 10:00 until 18:30): http://itunes.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewPodcast?i=55555752&id=319453744

Garage Sale Subculture

This past weekend was spent at some local garage sales. I used to not "get" the whole love affair with garage sales but since having kids, I have found it's a great way to get gently used stuff at way cheaper prices. Having a husband laid off for a while also gave me the kick in the pants needed to cut my consumption. He's back to work now but the uncertainty of what will happen within his company still has made us cautious.

But I digress...

Getting back to the former topic, I have noticed a whole caste system within the garage sale community. I could spend the day just watching the different types of bargain shoppers.

You have your ruthless first searchers. They show up the day before the garage sale as you are setting up and try to peruse for first comers bargains. They rarely look you in the eye but can scan a room with laser precision. They are all business...and are probably looking for things to re-sell on their own garage sale for a higher price. They wear a fanny pack stashed with cash and change and tend to fly solo.

Then you have your lazy perusers. They look over every item with intense focus as if they really might need used potholders or one more glass bowl. They will ask questions about each item but never really intend to buy anything. They are just looking to pass the time.

You have your haggard mothers...usually with multiple kids in tow. She's so glad to be out of the house that she doesn't mind dragging a few kids along. Her kids are, meanwhile, getting into every box of books and toy bin and taking turns begging for their mom to purchase whatever has currently caught their fancy. Meanwhile, the mom is trying to remember which kids wears which size and is lamenting that there are not enough used boys clothes once boys reach the sizes where they can get grass-stained knees.

You have your hagglers...these women should be hostage negotiators. It's a major game for them to get something for less than the marked price. Doesn't matter how much of a bargain it is, they have no qualms about asking if you'll take half. You want to take the item and throw it at them but you instead manage a terse, "Sure." just because you really don't want to bring any items back into your house. You've already mentally purged the item from your memory.

You have your collectors that buy the weirdest stuff. You'll have the lady that buys that crusty Christmas ornament shaped like a holstein cow while she crows to you about her 10,000 holstein cow collection. You have visions of what her house must look like with that many knick knacks and you hope that someone planted a microchip in her left arm in case a search and rescue team has to go in after her.

Finally, you have your last minute sallys. They are like the vultures that pick over the remains. They purposely don't shop until almost the end of the sale because they are hoping you'll say, "You can have it for half price." or even better "Take it. I was planning to get rid of it anyway."

It's a weird subculture and those who venture into its depths are nodding their head with me right now. I'd give a penny for YOUR thoughts. Or perhaps you'd take half?

Doin' the Dirty Work

Tonight was the last night of adoption class for Husband and me. As I looked around the room of adoptive parents, I marveled at the complete diversity of the class. You would expect that it would be a bunch of clean-shaven, Bible-toting, married couples, right? But it was the least obvious people you could have picked from a line-up. We're talking motorcycle-riding fiftysomethings, a single middle-aged black woman adopting a white teenager, grandparents adopting grandchildren that their own children were too messed up to parent, aunts adopting nieces because their sibling just couldn't get their act together. There were a myriad of races, religions, and situations - heartbreaking situations - that were all coming together for a single cause.

To stand in the gap.

People want to put Husband and I on this pedestal for what we do. It may look brave and wonderful from the outside but the real work of the Lord can be "dirty" work. It's messy. It can leave you wondering if you are making a difference for anyone in this world. It can mean never hearing a "thank you" or a "job well done". It can make you feel like you are failing half the time and DEFINITELY erase any romantic visions you have of being a hero.

I think of my sister's friend in Mexico who has come alongside the red light district women from Boystown in Reynosa. She is a friend to those caught in the lucrative destructive work of selling themselves for money. She is doing the dirty work of the Lord. She is standing in the gap. And it makes plenty of people who claim the name of Christ very uncomfortable to hear about.

I think of another friend who created a support group for those caught in sexual addiction. Man, that's an addiction that no one wants to talk about in polite, Christian circles. Yet he is doing the dirty work of the Lord. He is standing in the gap for those who are too ashamed to bring to light the secret sins of darkness.

Foster care and foster adoption are not glamourous or romantic. It certainly doesn't carry the dramatic stories of rescuing babies born in huts in the Amazon or babies being left on doorsteps of orphanages in foreign lands. It's messy and the birth families can be messy and the court system can be messy and yet the children caught in its web desperately need someone to stand in the gap.

We don't do this to be heroes. I've wanted to quit more times than I can count. Everyone else's adoption situation looks easier. And yet, I will do my part to make sure one or more of the 143 million fatherless children in this world have two fathers - one they live with for a while and one that I tell them about everyday so they can live with HIM forever.

Look, Mom, I Can Do Yoda!

In all the bouncing off the walls around here, Elisabeth was upside down in the rocking chair the other way with her legs bent, standing on her head. "Look, Mom, I can do yoda!" she proudly proclaimed.

Well, namaste. I think she meant "yoga" and probably part of the new mind+body+spirit connection in P.E. Whatever happened to good old fashioned square dancing and shin-blistering scooter hockey? Kids these days...

Actually, I'm okay with them learning yoga. I took a stab at it myself when I was in NC. Only I had Miss Gumby for a teacher...she could bend in positions I'm pretty sure require more ligaments and tendons than I have. She would speak in a cool, soothing voice, encouraging us to salute the light in each other (say WHAT?). I had an 80-year-old lady in my class that would consistently pass gas whenever we did the "Happy Baby" position (on your back, all fours in the air, and using your hands to grab your feet). I guess when you are 80, you no longer care whether or not others are around to partake in your bodily functions.

I found the class much better than the Denise Austin yoga video I tried. Denise Austin has voice made for porn videos...all breathy and low. At one point, I hear Darren outside the door of the exercise room, as I am panting and sweating (to yoga, I know...how pathetic) and he pauses and tentatively asks, "Ummm...what are you doing in there?" as Denise Austin is breathlessly purring, "Feel your stretch...mmmm...doesn't that feel fantastic?" "Nothing, honey!" I yell. Yeah, nothing but hearing from muscles I had long forgotten about in my body.

I also did a stint at pilates. I was worried about my core. You know, since I have an apple shape, it makes sense that I have a core. I found pilates to be impossible. There was a lady in my glass I dubbed "Barley Water" because she was one of those people who probably didn't shower because it hurt the water's feelings. She had hair past her waist and a pasty complexion from staying indoors too much. She probably wove baskets or made pottery, who knows. Anyway, she was very bendy and stretchy, unlike me, who went from laying on my stomach with my head and feet raised to trying to roll over and keep the position. I got stuck halfway through and had to endure the eye rolls of my instructor. So much for my core.

So now I am hopelessly unflexible again. I may have to tape some yoga shows off of FiTV and get back into bending and stretching. At least this time, I won't have Miss Gumby behind me telling me to deepen my stretch while bending me into very hurtful positions. My Warrior II salutes your Downward Facing Dog. Namaste.