MotheringBoys

Traveling Trio

2012-01-16T06:14:00.000-08:00

Why do I keep doing this to myself? I know how things are going to turn out before I even leave the driveway. But yet, I continuously do it. Even after saying I would not.

We live in a small town. Right smack in the middle where two major highways join, but still, it's a small town. We do not have a book store. Yes, you heard right. No. Bookstore. Which is a horrible situation to be in, if you are my 12 year old son, the book whore. This kid can read like nobody's business. He's not like other kids that you struggle to keep in jeans. Or shirts. Or shoes and socks. Nope, books.

Sometimes on Amazon, or Barnes and Noble online, you cannot find which book comes next in a series. Which totally bugs Kadin as well. He has to read them in order. Heaven help him if he reads the 4th book and he has not read the 3rd book. So, I know a trip to a book store is in order. We have two options. A 45 min drive to the North.....or an hour drive to the South. Either way, I am going to be wearing my shoulders up around my ears by the time we get home.

We decide to go North. Less temptations and it is Sunday so things will not be open late enough for me to stay past dinner time. I load up my three boys and we head out. We are not even out of the subdivision before someone is crying that their DS will not work. I sigh and turn the music up louder.

The drive is actually uneventful, for which I"m thankful. DS's work, Cullen chats the ENTIRE time about his sleepover. I try to pay attention. We stop and eat at Mackie's pizza which is basically cheese on a cracker but they love it. I longinly look over at Red Lobster where I wish we could have eaten. We don't have one in town......it is a small town. :(

Finally we make it to the Book Store..........my kids run in three different directions and I look like a traffic cop trying to maintain 1/4 of an eye on each of them. We.Are.There.Forever! Kadin no longer reads books in the young readers section. No, we have to find the James Pattersons books in the big people section. Where I read each back flap to make sure there is no mention of sex, drugs, or rock n roll and finally give up. I start throwing books that feature Alex Cross into the basket with wild abandon. Whatever will keep me out of thise store that I love but do not get the chance to wander for the longest period of time.

I did mention to him that there may be some adult content and subjects and under all circumstances he was to SKIP THOSE PAGES! Yeah, I got the eye roll in response.

Several hundred dollars later we are blinded by the sun as we exit the building. How can one store be such a time suck? Where did the day go? I'm exhausted from herding boy cats through the store for hours on end. Yet, I'm brave enough to go to TJMaxx and Target....

On the drive home, I'm exhausted. Thinking about how sometime this year, there may be a 4th child to wrestle with at the book store, and I almost pass out. Until I look behind me and see two of my three sleeping quietly, and the third with his face in a book. And then the words come floating to the front..."Hey mom.....I'm on page 150. This book is GREAT!" Nice.........I see another trip in my near future. Who taught that kid to read?

Oh, yeah....it was me.

The little things........

2012-01-10T16:44:00.000-08:00

I've told myself this year, I am going to pay attention to the little things. How God works in small ways. Of course, I want him to put a small bundle of pink into my home of blue, but I also want to look at ways our lives are changed by the small examples. I love how God works in the BIG ways. The healing, the reconnecting, the saving.....all of those things are so important. But I want to concentrate this year on the mustard seed type of things. So here I am. Wide eyed every day. WAITING to be shown how God works in small ways. And since I'm looking, I see. I see people help each other. Holding doors, offering assistance, smiling, kind words.....if you look, we do treat each other with kindness. But tonight, my middle son blew me out of the water. Driving to basketball practice we were talking. It went something like this:

Me: Cullen, do you ever think about what your sister's birthmom will be like?
Cullen: I pray she will be a Christian
Me: I do too, but what do you think we should do if she isn't?
Cullen: We should tell her about Jesus. Isn't that what all Christians are supposed to do? Teach about Jesus and let those they care about know what Jesus did for us?
Me: Yes, that's exactly what we should do.
Cullen: Well, my sister will know what Jesus did to bring her to our family. And her mom will know we have already asked God for a place for Elliana in our family and in heaven. She's on her way mom!
Me: speechlesss...(looking for those little things, I found a BIG one. How I love my Cullybug!)

How does a parent go on from that? I dropped him off and sat in the car in tears. Thankful to God that my son was getting what he needed to from life. GOD IS THERE! And thankful he is seeing what I'm trying to teach him. GOD LOVES YOU! But holy cow! I had no idea he even really thought about Elliana. I guess I was wrong.

We are paper pregnant. No one really knows. But we are expecting a little girl. Sometimes the Fed Ex guy brings an outfit. Or a baby monitor. Or an Adoptive Families magazine. But as much as I internally obsess about this fourth child, my boys await her arrival as well. And I am touched.

Liam: When is our baby's birthday?
Me: I don't know when she will be born.
Liam: But everyone has a birthday. When is Elliana's?
Me: We don't know, Li...only God knows when her birthday will be. When we will find out about her. We just don't know. That is God's work. HE knows when her birthday will be. When she is coming. We just have to wait and pray for her and her Mom and Dad.
Liam: That is so complicated..........

He's right. It is. Waiting for a child to join your family through adoption IS complicated. You are not pregnant. You do not know who the parents are. You do not know what history they will bring to add to your family tree. You know nothing. And you are not in control. Sometimes I think my boys have forgotten about her. But they have not.

Just yesterday driving to school my oldest says:
Kadin: I think it is going to be cool to tell people my sister is adopted.
Me: Really? How come?
Kadin: Because God is choosing her for us out of everyone in the US. She will come to us by choice. I think it's neat that we will have a baby that will stretch our lives.

And so she will, my boys. So she will. I am beyond blessed. Truly, I am.

Roller Coaster

2012-01-06T16:13:00.000-08:00

Have I mentioned lately what an emotional roller coaster adopting is? And as I explore, it's not just me that these crazy things fall upon, but sometimes it sure seems like it. In the past, we have known of situations of young girls being pregnant and thinking of adoption. Twice those young girls chose to parent thier baby girls. Once, we offered to take a baby boy so a mom would not abort him because she did not want another son. We were turned down and a 21 week old fetus lost his life. Now that we are in the washing machine cycle of adoption, I am like a fiend. Reading everything I can, joining online support groups because there are none where I live, and exploring every avenue that may bring our daughter home. Unfortunately, I never expected to be scammed.

How does someone offer their child, make up a horrendous living experience, and have no intention of placing their child, if there ever even was a child? Heck, the writer may not have even been a female! I have learned how emotionally bare I am. I responded to a post on a well known website. I was responded to. Me and this lady, "B", began an online relationship of sorts. Sharing pictures of her daughter, information about her family, and me sharing our situation. I thankfully contacted our adoption agency to look into things. I had friends in the UK planning on dropping by B's house. Scoping out the baby. Another sweet friend googled the address to see if homes were even there on google earth.

But suddenly things did not add up. And then money was asked for. Without an attorney. She would fly from the UK, get a passport with the baby's name and our last name on it. But until then, she needed money. Some help. Didn't I want to help her feed the child that would become our daughter?

I asked her to contact our adoption agency. She wouldn't. She just wanted money. I asked again. She sent an email. No other response.

Emotionally, this one does not take the cake. Although I prepared myself for a 2 yr old instead of an infant. I asked the boys if they would mind. Dave and I discussed it, but it is not the one that left me undone for days.

No, that one was the lady who aborted. I guess if I'm to be scammed over a child that may or may not have existed, so be it. Through appropriate channels, our daughter will come to our house, just has God has written it in our books of life. Just as He has commanded. But until then, watch out! Sometimes things are not as they seem. I'm learning to be a little more jaded every day.

Keep your eyes open...

2011-12-24T14:51:00.000-08:00

Several weeks ago we were told by our minister to keep our eyes open for God's presence in our lives. That is not hard for me to do. I see His hand daily in the lives of my children, the sun rising, or a short conversation with my mom or a close friend. What I specifically wanted to see was a sign from God that we are still on the right path in regards to our adoption. That we haven't been forgotten.

I know that 2 months is not a long time to wait in regards to adopting a child with a family who has their own children. I know that our homestudy has just been completed a few weeks. We have our license hanging in the house and we are officially, official. :) But through the quiet of nothingness, one begins to doubt. Is this right? Will it happen? And since you are not physically pregnant, there is really no one who wants to listen to your concerns. I think it's because of the unknown. When will she comes? Who knows. What will she look like? Who knows. What will her birthmom be like? Who knows. What will that relationship develop into? Who knows. Why don't you just get pregnant or find a surrogate and have a real baby? Um....well, I guess because adoption has always been on my heart. Even since a young child. And she will be a "real" child and we will be her "real" parents and her "real" family.

At Christmas, we remember those we love. We buy gifts to let them know we are thinking of them. We love to surprise others and see the fleeting look of joy upon their face. Twice this season our baby girl has been remembered. Even though none of the above questions can be answered. These people love her, just because we love her already. It's not the size of the token, its the act of acknowleging that we are going through our own type of pregnancy. It's the gift card to Babies R Us to use when we know she is coming. It's the family ornament that adds one more person to our snowman family. It's the fact that so many people are praying for this sweet baby, her momma, and her daddy so that thier footsteps lead to our door.

I'm sorry to those two people who gifted me huge gifts of hope that our baby will come. There was no joy that crossed my face as I burst into tears. For their tiny gifts mean more to me than words can describe. As we are paper pregnant, and not "really" pregnant, no one knows how to take me. I'm expecting but I don't know when. I'm having a girl, but I don't know what season. I don't know what she will look like. I don't know what state she will be born in. I don't know if I will know her birthparents or not, but I have two wonderful families standing with me as we hope for her. As we pray for her.

And through them, I see my sign from God. He is still with us. We are still where we should be. And we will continue to walk by Faith, not by Sight, with Hope that our daughter will find her way to us.

Merry Christmas everyone!

What was I thinking???

2011-12-20T07:04:00.000-08:00

For years I heard about this crazy Elf on the Shelf. Mostly it was in the Georgia schools. The elf messed up the classrooms and the kids had to put things back into order. I never thought about having one for our home. Some of my friends did and their elf did naughty things. Why would I want one of those? Well, this year I totally caved in a momen of weakness. We now have Jack Frost at our house. But he is boring! While others take pictures of their elf in flour on the counter, painting noses, shaving cream everywhere, fishing or getting into glitter and feathers, our elf simply pops up from place to place. And honestly, I find it a total pain in the butt. I cannot tell you the nights I have bolted from the bed in the wee hours of the morning to slam Jack Frost into a different location before my sweet 5 year old comes down the stairs. One day I totally forgot to move him but was able to use the excuse that he was in love with the girl statues he was sitting next to. The next day, Kadin had to distract Liam as I thrust Jack into a candle holder. He couldn't hang out with the girls for THREE days, that would have been suspicious! Why did I cave? I only have one child that believes in Santa at this point. I could have held out and been less stressed at Christmas. I cannot wait for this elf to LEAVE! So, if you do not have one of those creepy elves with no feet, no hands, and a creepy smile that reminds you of Chucky, stear clear at the after Christmas sale and DO NOT GIVE IN!!!!!

The road rises to meet you

2011-12-17T10:40:00.000-08:00

Do you ever sit back and reflect on the road that God has placed you on? Or just look at where you started and see where you sit today? I know I should probably use my brain cells on concentrating on how to make money for my family, better meals, a cleaner house, outreach programs, feed the poor...ect, instead of selfishly always reflecting on my own life and those around me. Guess I'm just self centered that way. ;)

I grew up in a small foundry town. Along the Ohio River where there were no shopping malls, not a lot chain restaurants. There was a church on each corner, and a bar on the opposite one. No one wore name brand clothes, carried expensive purses, or worried about the size of the diamond on their finger. Simply because many didn't even have one.

We were tillers of the land. Workers in dirty, hot jobs. We played over acreage of land with no worries. We drove 20 minutes to the nearest grocery store where we could buy things on credit. We went to 4H meetings and the fair in the summer. Everyone knew everything about everybody, so they thought. Many would never leave that small town. Some did and returned. Others left and seldom go back. I'm one of the later.

I went to college. I went to graduate school. I went back home and worked in our local mental health facility. I dated local guys. Egads, I was boring. I never broke out of the box. Although I was never a conformist (my friends can attest to that!), I still did not eat food I did not recognize. I sought everyone's opinion before I bought a car or rented a place. I still went home and did my laundry. I never stretched my wings, although I ached to do so.

In 1996 I moved to NC. It felt like half way across the world. To a new town where I only knew one person, Dave. I got a new job. Went to a new church. Made new friends. And realized no one knew my past. No one knew what I was like as a child. No one knew what mistakes I had made, or what wonderful things I had accomplished. I could be any part of my life story I wanted to be! I could cloak myself in the successes and ditch the bad parts and no one would be the wiser. What a freeing world! I tried new foods. I shopped in different places. I got in my car alone for 8 plus hour car trips and I was unafraid. I took new roads (without a GPS or a car phone mind you!) and explored. I swam further out into the ocean. I walked more. I listened more. I became, more.

When I think of that young girl who cried as her parents pulled away with the uhaul and compare her to the woman I am now, I don't recognize her much. Yes, innately, I'm the same. I stand up for the underdog. I love deeply. I wear my emotions on my sleeve. My life is an open book no matter how uncomfortable that makes others, or at times, myself. But as I have aged, my life has become more, well, my own.

Dave and I now make decisions together. We don't always ask for outside opinions. We discuss it and move forward. We have moved several times with the weight of each move purely on my shoulders. We have had children without consulting others. We bought a dog and asked everyone if we should. We got a new cat on a whim. We agonize over what tv stand we want in the living room, but jump into adoption with our eyes wide open and our feet firmly on the ground. There is no rhyme or reason, but we do it together.

Once I was a young girl from a small town who needed other people to accept me. I needed to exceed and succeed. I needed to prove something to others. Now, I'm a grown woman who lives in a small town by choice. Because I love it. I love seeing things change, truly knowing my neighbor (love you Meg!), and having those same small town eyes watching my sons play in the neighborhood that I now know watched me when I was small.

Where did you start? Are you still the same, or has life made you different? Are there lifelong dreams you wish you had reached for and ultimately grasped? Are there things left in your bucket list? Have you always wanted to run a marathon? Sing in front of millions? Write a poem? Help the helpless? Hold an orphaned child? Offer comfort to people that live across the ocean from you? What is stopping you from doing those things? Look closely, the only wall in the way, is yourself. Share with me, what are your things left undone???

So Hard

2011-12-06T14:55:00.001-08:00

So the home study is complete. Our paper portfolio has gone out one time. Now we wait. This is the part I do not like. How to get through this part of waiting. It reminds me of being a young child lined up to be chosen for a team in gym class. I wasn't the best, but I wasn't the worst, just in the middle...waiting. Which team would pick me? Would I get picked or would the teacher have to place me? The anxiety in the pit of my stomach would grow and grow. For what? Gym class?!?!

Now it's something more serious. Life altering. Forever. Now I wait for a daughter. Who will come with another mother and a slew of relatives. Some people look at me like I have two heads. "How can you raise a child not your own? With her mother involved? And all of her relatives? I could never do that??" I guess due to the fact that I have lived hours and hours away from my own family for years may help in the fact that those that are close to me and love me and my boys are like family to us. My husband has lived most of his life this way. Friends are like family. So adding a birthmom and her family and possibly a birth dad and his family to our extended family is not scary at all. The more the merrier. The more my daughter knows she is loved, the better she will be. The more her mom and dad are involved in her life, the less questions she will have. The more secure she will feel with us all.

My mom was not there as I planned my wedding. My family was not there as I gave birth to my oldest son. As we laid our cat of 18 years in the ground, my family was six hours away. I have not lived close to my family for over 15 years. That does not mean I don't love them, or them me, we simply do not live close geographically. That said, I drove myself to the hospital when I gave birth. I had a close friend take pre wedding pictures. I had friends step in when I had post partum depression and my mom and sister had left the state I lived in with my second son. I had friends I turned to when my father was diagnosed with cancer.

So, as with many things, I am left alone to wait this through. To try not to talk too much about it with my friends in case I drive them as batty as I feel. To not burden my husband with my daily fears. To not cause my family anxiety with the fact that our daughter is a "maybe baby" to them. What to do? I do what I usually do in stressful situations. I write. Our baby will have a journal of our journey. I call our adoption counselor who patiently listens to me lose my mind and gently guides me back. I read everything I can get my hands on about adoption. I day dream about a birthmom calling me out of the blue, ready to hand her baby to my family and wanting to walk the next 18 plus years with us. But mostly, I pray.

I pray that I am following the path that God has laid on my heart many years ago. I pray that I am being a good mother to my boys. A good wife to my husband. A loving daughter, a caring friend. I pray for God's guidance. I pray for our birthmother, wherever she is. That she will feel His gentle hand upon her, comforting her in this decision that is heartwrenching. That she will be held close by him, and know that the family she chooses for her daughter will always cherish her. Love her. Because we wanted her and her mother.

But the waiting is hard. The daily grind keeps me busy, but I am always wondering....will today be the day? Will we know something more today???? But so far, we don't.

Total Ramblings....

2011-12-04T17:38:00.000-08:00

This is the Christmas season. When people are nicer, family reaches out to other members that they haven't spoken to for the rest of the year, we reconnect with friends with annual Christmas cards, the joy in children's eyes, the surprise of gifts and elves, the mystery of Santa, and the all consuming gift that God gave to us in the form of a small babe.

Which reminds me of the three not so small babes in my own house. To which sounds right now I am reminded I will have to call a painter in for my basement walls soon as well as an electrician for my microwave shorting out. Christmas is a magical time in our house. From the advent wreath, to Christmas card opening, gifts, and this year the appearance of Jack Frost our elf (who does not do anything mischievous, only switches from place to place each day....). I am reminded of the wonderment of Christmas in my own family. Our hand picked tree decorated in the basement where Santa could easily hide gifts without little eyes and ears hearing. The lights outside the house all aglow. Our handmade by Grandma stockings that hung with care. It still feels the same to watch my boys come down the stairs on Christmas Day and see the joy and excitement on their faces. Next year, I hope there is an additional gift under our tree. In a pink bundle.

Now that our home study is finished, my mind begins to wander. Will we get chosen? When will we get chosen? What will she look like? How will we adjust to having a baby in the house again. Everyone is so self sufficient now. I'm just trusting God to pull all of this magic together just as only He can. But this waiting period may do me in. And it's only officially been one day that I've known everything was complete! ACK!

So, I guess I am grateful for the distraction of the holidays. For the reminder that God gave his only son to this Earth for me. For my salvation. So that in times like this that I will lean on him. Depend on him. Trust him. And continue to look to him every day as we raise our boys.

Merry CHRISTmas, my friends. May the blessings of the season be with you all.

Thanksgiving........

2011-11-22T14:40:00.000-08:00

Today while driving to pick up some medical forms for our adoption file, I watched as a young man broke away from a walk with his group home worker and ran away. Since I know with my own background training that the safest thing is to not intervene, I watched him run in the light rain mist with just street clothes on, no jacket. I watched his worker get on her phone (we didn't have those when I worked with kids....what a nice accessory to have!) and I assume call in a run away. It got me thinking about a book I am currently reading BOYS SHOULD BE BOYS.

BOYS SHOULD BE BOYS talks about how important it is for our boys to be loved by their mothers. To be offered time and grace. To be taught how to honor their mother so they will grow to honor and respect other women in their lives. The importance of a father. Or another male role model. To limit electronic devices. To encourage reading and playing with their imaginations. To allow wrestling and war. To let them throw stones, make swords out of sticks, and to build tree houses. How boys need God in their lives. To know that there is an all knowing, all powerful, all loving presence out there for them. That they need our time. Just for us to exist with them.

As my mind processes this child running. His worker. My destination of picking up paperwork so we can hopefully add to our family, I think to the back and my boys. Am I all they need me to be. Am I there enough. Am I silent enough to hear them speak. Am I graceful enough to accept the child and forgive the transgression time after time again? How does a child get to the point where running away from shelter in the rain and cold seem like a good idea?

From my years in mental health, I know the answer to that. Drugs, sex, alcohol, bad peers which give some sort of affection that makes up for none at all. How many young boys that grow up in poverty feel that they will never live past their 30's. And I know a man who defied those odds and made a better life for himself. My husband.

I wanted to jump out of my car and grab that boy. I wanted to hug him tight. I wanted to let him know that people care about him. About his future. About his life. But I knew I couldn't. So instead, I pontificated the reasons he was running with my boys. Where they can turn if they ever feel so lost. And then we prayed for that lost running soul. That he find where he is searching. That God keeps him warm and safe and leads him to a man who can guide him onto the path. And that God watches over my own three boys. So that I may guide them alongside their father. So that the only run they feel like going on, is for exercise, as they return safely, home.

12 years ago.....

2011-11-04T05:15:00.000-07:00

We hold our children's hands for such a short time. When I think that in SIX years my oldest son will be 18, it makes my heart ache. Where has the time gone? How did he grow so quickly? As the days drag by and the years fly, every year on each of their birthdays, I remember them as babies and marvel at the young adults they are quickly becoming.

Kadin's birth was too soon. After a placental abruption, he was forced into this world in port red wine amniotic fluid and interuterine growth restricted. I can remember the NICU workers lingering in the hallway in case they were needed. But from the start, my 5 lb wonder has been a fighter. He came out screaming and wide eyed. Almost as if he were protesting his birth. From the first look into his quiet eyes, we knew Kadin was an old soul. He definitely was sent for a big job of helping his Momma grow into a mother. Oh the journeys we shared!

From the start, Kadin was a pensive child. He talked early, he judged others early. We quickly learned to take our cues from him on the inner most heart of others. If he shied away and cried, we knew that innately, these people were not as caring as we wanted them to be. If he greeted you with open arms, you were an instand extended family member. He still has this uncanny ability to read people and their intentions.

As he grew, he was quiet, compliant, mindful, a total joy to have around. He hardly ever misbehaved, he hardly ever needed disciplined, he never got dirty, he never ran around screaming and shouting, he sat for long periods of time, and we could take him anywhere. Only he NEVER SLEPT. Holy cow! This child did not sleep through the night until kindergarten. I thought I would become a zombie from sleep deprivation. :) He sleeps quite well now, thankfully!

When I think back on that tiny baby and then I look at the strong, strapping young man he is now, I thank God for his greatest blessings. Kadin's name is Arabic and means Companion, friend. And for the past 12 years, he has definitely qualified. He is not only my son, but I am proud to call him a friend.

Happy Birthday to the first miracle in my life! Happy 12th Birthday, Kadin Scott! We love you!

National Adoption Month

2011-11-01T12:46:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow we meet our Home Study worker from Lutheran Family and Children's services face to face for the first time. I'm nervous. I think I bug this lady and get on her last nerve with my many requests, asking for more information, for her to hurry, for her to give me more tasks to do to get this show on the road. I realize these things take time, but must they be so frustrating? We are her first case where she is straddling her responsiblities at LFCS and also Lifelink, the domestic adoption home study company. We have duplicated paperwork so many times, I no longer get upset about it, simply go and pull the last form I wrote the same informtaion down in a different order and repeat it.

I've started a list of things I want to do around the house while we wait. Because really, waiting should not be that difficult. It isn't as if I have nothing else to do. But getting this home study completed is foremost in my mind. What classes do we have to take? When will the fingerprints be back? What other paperwork is there to fill out? Will we EVER get matched??

So, say a little prayer for us tomorrow afternoon. I know I will need it!

our profiles

2011-10-23T18:46:00.000-07:00

http://adoptionnetwork.com/waitingfamilies/show.html/8303

http://www.theadoptionfoundation.com/adoption-unplanned-pregnancy-waiting-families-profile.html?id=8303

http://www.adoptionspacebook.com/view_photos.html?id=8303

http://courageouschoice.com/album.php?id=8303

We're "live"

2011-10-23T18:41:00.001-07:00

One more stop on this emotional roller coaster. This weekend we told my parents that we will be adopting. Since there is no "when" or "where from", it is confusing. There is not date to have a baby by. There is no season to make clothes. There is no nursery set up. There is nothing but this ambiguous "maybe baby" time that will last who knows how long, but no more than 18 months when we will pull the plug ourselves. Today's sermon was Standing Firm in Christ. Which is so hard at times when you have so many questions. To continue to walk in Faith and not by Sight. Our profiles are live now. Our pictures are being seen by birthmoms that may or may not connect with our pictures, our story. As each day passes, you feel like you are failing. That there is something wrong with you, and that is why you have not been chosen. That they do not like what you see, and you revert back to high school where everything is a popularity contest. Until our time is chosen, we remain dillegent in finishing our home study, enjoying our boys and each other, and keeping our eye on Christ who has promised us that it is now our time to complete our family.

The ball is rolling.....

2011-10-19T05:39:00.000-07:00

Of course, I'm prepared for it to suddenly stop again at any time, but for now, we are on some forward mobility. One thing I've noticed about this adoption process, it's either feast or famine. Especially on the paperwork. We spent the last week getting a bunch of pictures together to show what our lives are like. Dave and I together, the family, us in action shots, our house(which it rained for days so it took forever to get those taken!), the animals, the whole nine yards. Not only do we have to purge our life stories onto paper, but we also do into pictures for the world to see. But that is finished, finally. Sent in. Received. We have our first home study appointment scheduled for the second of November. Susan, our caseworker, should be getting our initial paperwork for background checks today and will help us get our digitalized fingerprints at DCFS. I have had my TB test. Dave needs to get his chest xray. But after she lets us know what to do with our fingerprints, there is nothing to do until after Disney. So nothing will be looming over our heads. Thank you, Jesus!

I'm eager to go to Disney this year. Normally, I overlook the little girls. With an ache in my gut at their cute little outfits. Now little boys are adorable too, but I've been there, done that. Thrice. I usually look over their sweet little heads and focus on how great it is to have my sweet boys. It's easy to do. But this year, I wonder if I will feel differently? Now that possibly next year I will have my own daughter to traipse around with.

This journey has brought on a lot of introspection. A lot of self talk. A lot of wonderment on my walk in life. Walking by Faith and not by Sight is not easy for me, but I'm learning. Slowly, I'm learning.

More Lamenting.......

2011-10-12T17:06:00.000-07:00

I think I may drive everyone involved crazy throughout this ordeal. My adoption caseworker, the media worker, the attorney, my homestudy caseworker.....thankfully my family is spared at this time. Maybe later I will take my anxiety out on them. But for now, they are blissfully aware of the war that rages inside of me. I guess I am a little OCD...ok, I give, a lot. I want things done. I want them done correctly. And I want to have it done yesterday. Going through the adoption process is not like that. I want to Tango, it's more of a slow waltz. Although I understand why, since every i needs dotted twice, every t crossed just so, still, it drives me mad. I have waited to be contacted by the media department. I have driven Michelle, my AC crazy, I know it. Asking..always asking..what is the time frame? Why haven't they contacted me? Is it by email? Is it by paper? What is the deal?? She is so patient. Finally, today, they contacted me. I should have enjoyed the reprive!

They will be building a profile on four sites. And a you tube video. I have to have different birth mother letters for each site, a page about our home and family, a two page questionnaire filled out for another site, and then 50+ photos for each site. Which cannot be the same. ACK! I have a million pictures of my sons. Doing everything under the son. But I do not have 40 pictures of Dave and I. Or just of me. Or just of Dave. This is going to take some work.

And then I have to send it all in on a USB stick. A what? I guess I will educate myself about all of that as well. I'm thankful for friends that remind me of the hassles I went through when I was pregnant. The first trimester trouble. This is it in adoption world. Guess I better get started!

2011-10-10T18:28:00.000-07:00

I'm not going public with this, yet I am. How do you explain that? Well, only my "followers" will get a front row seat into our lives for a bit. The rest will have to catch up later. I've been hesitant to share this journey, yet I realized at church on Sunday where the minister was speaking about the fear of failure, that I really should be an open book on this road as well. Why not, I have every other journey I've been on. People have known about my adoration of my sons, yet my desire to parent a daughter as well. That is no secret. Heck, ALTERED DREAMS has all of my thoughts and feelings in it. I am the proverbial open book!

So, we are beginning a new journey. Adoption is the new pregnancy in the Asbery household. Yes, you read correctly. Dave, the boys, and I are adopting a baby girl. We don't know where she will come from, or when she will come, but we are in the beginning of the process. We have an agency. We have sent off our fingerprints. We have instigated a home study. We have a name. We have a few sleepers, a package of diapers, a diaper bag, but no baby. This is one of the craziest things I have ever done.

First was the shock that my husband wanted to do this in the first place. But he is a good man. He knows my heart. He knows how much I would love to have a daughter. And I admit, I was happy with my all boy family, but still felt there was something missing. I still felt left out. All of the sudden, this dream is a reality. We are going to have a baby girl. Sometime. Then the calls to agencies, deciding which one, did we really want to do this? To disrupt our lives? Things have gotten SO easy with the boys. Were we up for starting over again? Yes, we are. Then the signing and the waiting. Why are they not operating on yesterday-time like we are? Why don't we have her already? We have waited for YEARS for her.....

The boys are beyond excited. We talked to them about it before we embarked on this journey. I told Dave that if even ONE of them says no, it's a done deal. We will not move forward if any of our sons are against it. Unanimously, they wanted a sister. I could hear God speaking..I told you, in MY time...well, now I say it's YOUR time. So I am walking in Faith, not by Sight. On one of rides of my life.

This week we wait. We have turned in our application with the Adoption Network Law Center. We have had consultation calls, follow up calls, calls from their attorneys. We have filled out paperwork and sent money. We have exchanged pictures. We have shared our news with a few friends. We bought sleepers. We had our fingerprints done for the FBI. That was crazy. With Liam and Cullen looking on, we were fingerprinted at our local police department. Talking about living in the South and adopting. That along with five pages of notes, we sent them off to Clarksburg, VA to see if we have hidden records (Lord, please no!). Then came the application for the homestudy. Pages after pages of notes, written, filled out, questions about family, youth, relationships, children, beliefs, the whole nine yards and finally, that was sent off with a fee. Now we are waiting. Waiting for the welcome pack from ANLC to start our media and bio sections, as well as our birthmother letter (which I have written about 6 times!). Waiting for the FBI report (up to 8 wks!), and waiting for the LifeLink home study to approve our application and set up a visit (before Christmas please!). Through all of this, we hold a secret, close to our hearts. Except for the few that know.......and now you. Stay tuned! More excitement and frustration to follow, I'm sure!

Life's roadways

2011-09-28T14:40:00.001-07:00

Author: (excerpt from "Within My Power" by Forest Witcraft)
One hundred years from now
It won't matter
What kind of car I drove
What kind of house I lived in
How much money I had in the bank
Nor what my cloths looked like
BUT
The world may be a little better
Because, I was important
In the life of a child.

Long before I had children, I was an advocate for them. Working with families who were broken or torn was a passion of mine. Getting to see families heal and repair was a joy. Working with children in foster care was especially a soft spot in my heart. Standing up for children who could not stand up for themselves was done early in my career, and later at various pregnancy crisis centers as I aged and had my own children. Once, I believed that a woman had a choice. Then I became pregnant with my first child and knew, I could never agree with that way of life again, for me.

Our family is embarking on a new journey. One that will be based soley on the will of God. It's HIS time for us. I can't wait to see what happens.

Rememberance

2011-09-10T18:31:00.000-07:00

Several times a year I get into a reflective mood. On my boy's birthdays, my anniversary, birthday, ect....one day stands out as well for the past ten years. That of 9/11/01. The day the world seemed to stand still. Only it didn't. Yes, planes didn't fly and many people received the most horrible of news; that a loved one was gone. But on that day, life continued, yet it was changed. Ten years later, I have an almost 12 year old, and a 9 year old who are asking some serious questions. Why? Who? How? Where were you? Where was I? Will it happen again? Why didn't God protect us? How do we live knowing that any day, any moment may be our last?
I think as I am in the midst of this 21 days of praying for my sons that it is appropriate that these questions come. And that I try to answer them as honestly as I can. The "where were you" "where was I" questions are easy. The ones my 9 year old asks are different: "How did something so horrible make you want to have another baby, to bring another life into the world? And then 4 years later, do it again?" Those questions and the "Are the people who did this bad people who will automatically go to hell?" questions get to me. How do I explain that we all have choices to make, that those who did these horrible acts upon the US are to be prayed for, not hated. That everything we have done in the past 10 years for our troops, dear friends of ours, children of friends, new friends, or complete strangers, have been done to support those who put their lives on the line for us back home.
I admit, my kids see me cry. They know the pain I went through on Sept 11, 2001. They know the heart wrenching fear, emptiness, and heartbreak I felt. I do not hide it. They know my experience was different than those who were safe at home, loved ones in their arms. They also know that those who lived close by, those who sent their loved ones to help, have a different story as well. As a picture is painted of people jumping, lives on planes lost, security measures, changes, death, hopelessness; so arise the stories of strength, selflessness, courage, compassion, love, and strength.
So to my 11 year old, I say how much I love him. How being away from him causes this ache in my body that only having him within reach fulfills. How seeing his small body through the window of my parents house a week later than expected will be forever etched in my memory. How I never want to feel that empty arm syndrome again.
To my 9 year old, I tell a story of love and hope. How the next month after these horrible attacks, his Daddy and I wanted his brother to have a sibling. Someone to call in the dark of the night. Someone to exist with that has the same history, the same story. Someone to look out for each other. How having him in our lives, reminded us that good things can come out of the bad. Life continues. Love will prevail. And the goodness of God comes in the smallest of packages. In the form of a child, fearfully made within a womb. A child with a purpose. A child who would know no different.
To my 4 year old who doesn't grasp what his brothers do. Who flits and dances to songs that make his Momma cry, and his brothers hug her close. Who is untouched by the badness of life. Who cries out: "I love my family!" at whim and knows, no matter what, he is adored.

So, I am continuing to pray for my sons. As well as the sons and daughters of my heart who serve overseas. May you all come home to us safely. To the arms of those who love you. We remember. We know what you are fighting for. And I, for one, am eternally thankful.

Obedience

2011-09-08T19:12:00.000-07:00

Ah, the crux of it all. Teaching my children to obey me for daily things is difficult, let alone obey the word of God. I struggle with discipline on a daily, heck, hourly basis. How can I teach them to do things when I sometimes lose control myself? How can I live each moment, within that moment, and not take to heart my own feelings of irritation, subjegation, and testing to know when are teachable moments, and when they should just do what I say when I say it? My husband, as a former marine, tells the boys often that discipline is instant obedience to direction. And they do instantly obey him. But not me. I ask. I ask again. I ask louder. I ask even louder. Then I take something away and the whole time, I am frustrated and they have no idea I have asked 4 times before. What am I doing different? I guess it boils down to the fact that I need to learn to obey God more, before I can teach my sons to obey God more. I better get to work!

Praying for my boys...day one

2011-09-07T15:41:00.000-07:00

Day one: Heart Change
“The good person out of the good treasure of his heart produces good, and the evil person out of his evil treasure produces evil, for out of the abundance of the heart his mouth speaks.” ~Luke 6:45

Today I am praying for my boys to have hearts for God. I will pray for them in the morning as I usually do when I wake up. Only my prayers will be more concentrated towards their hearts being open and remaining open to our Lord instead of my usual.."Please God, help me to yell less and listen more to my sons today." I will pray for them through the day, which I do often with thanksgiving. And pray with them at night, which we do every night. The only thing I do not do with my boys are daily devotionals. I'm wondering if I need to get some of those daily bread books and begin this tradition as well.

The battle for our sons to be Godly men is best fought on our knees, Brooke says, and I think I agree.
We'll see what tomorrow brings!

21 Days of Prayers for Sons

2011-09-06T19:36:00.000-07:00

Today I am embarking upon my first round of 21 days of prayers for sons. Brooke McGlothin has written a book that I have not had the chance to read: Warrior Prayers: Praying the Word for Boys in the Areas They Need it Most that takes you as a parent on a journey to praying the Word for our sons. As the mother to all boys, I am intriqued by how this will all go. Some women find it challenging to parent their boys. I, myself, find it a challenge to parent at all. Sometimes I feel this is another way to divide our sons from our daughters instead of just combining them as our "children" and praying for them this way. But I am willing to remain open to see if there truly are issues that only boys deal with. In my heart, I know there are (jock straps, peeing standing up, girls....) but are there REALLY issues that divide our children when it comes to raising them to be godly children and then adults. All I know is that I want what every parent wants for their children. For them to grow healthy, happy, strong, self sufficient, unmarred by my parenting skills, but overwhelmed with the love I have for each of them. So, here I go. Jumping in with both feet as I pray for my boys, for the boys of my wonderful group of Raising All Boys boys, and for my friends dear to my heart who are also in this amazing boat of raising boys in today's world. Each of you are in my thoughts, and your boys are in my prayers. If you have special prayers for your sons, please let me know so I can include them. :)

My Crazy Life

2011-06-24T14:22:00.000-07:00

Seriously, I think there is medication out there that people would take if they had to live my life. It's not that I am raising all boys that makes things seem like they are always on edge, I think it's me. I can't stop being type A. Litterally, it's gonna kill me. And not the heart attack type of kill me, but the running naked down the middle of the road, screaming at the top of my lungs while waving my hands like a mad woman type of kill me. Ok, so that will never really happen. Those who know me know that I must at least have pants on to cover my ample hind end, not to mention shoes, because OUCH! who wants to run barefoot down the street. There are glass and rocks there!

I think my craziness comes from raising three children on my own, sleep deprivation from the last child never sleeping through the night, adding a new kitten to my bed in the wee hours, and the after effects of Cullen's birthday party sleep over which ended with me screaming like a banshee..."I have to work in FOUR HOURS..Go. To. Sleep!" I'm sorry to any parents who's children were the victims of my forcefullness but a woman has to do what she has to do when her husband deserts her for the bowels of the hospital to deliver a baby instead of staying home for prearranged family time consisting of six kids in the basement, also sleep deprived. ;)

But I am told by slightly older friends that things get better. Soon, this chaos will slow down, I will have a life of my own (although not the sanity to enjoy it), and be able to speak in sentences that don't consist of: Stop! No! Don't! Wait until your Father gets home! or Lord, Help me through this day for I truly love my children.

I have a running group of friends. We run miles and miles for "fun." We yell for each other, support each other, and laugh together. I wonder how many of them would run naked down the street with me screaming.........any takers???

2011-06-22T23:11:00.000-07:00

In the still of the early morning hours, I am able to completely reflect upon the birth of my second son. As I sit quietly, I can conjure up the sounds and feelings of that early morning water breakage, the fear of leaving our home the mother to one child and returning as the mother to two young boys. I can remember the craziness of standing in the elevator with my husband at the hospital, conversing with an old man who got on with us about the beautiful Sunday weather as water leaked out of me and contractions squeezed my body. A child moving softly within my body for the last few precious moments together. I can remember how there was nothing to watch but televangelists on the TV. How Dave and my doctor went to lunch at the local chinese restaurant while I sat alone, contemplating the day as it progressed. I had my yoga instructor come and help me with labor. Her visualizations and soft music lulling my mind into a calm place, even as my body struggled to move my child down the birth canal. Her softly holding my foot as the doctor tried to give me an epidural which would not take. A sweet, smiling doctor who two short weeks later would be dead from lung cancer. Who lingered outside the door as I labored, wishing he could do something for my pain of natural childbirth, but could not. I can remember the tunnel vision feeling of telling the nurses I felt great pressure. How they suddenly became very busy, turning the chest of drawers where I put my clothes into a place where their tools of the trade were placed to help my doctor bring my child into this crazy world. How the camera stuck and my frazzled husband opened the back of the camera and exposed the film of my last days of pregnancy and our oldest son's first blackberry picking with my Mom. There was to be no pictures of this birth. I can remember focusing on Gloria through each contraction, realizing that pushing Cullen out was not the same as pushing out Kadin. I can vividly remember the look of fear on my OB's face as my child crowned. Sternly he made me focus on him telling me he had to get the baby out, now, and I was to listen to him. I can remember the look that passed between him and my husband when Cullen's head came out, but his little body would not. In the confusion of nano-second, I can see in slow motion my husband thrusting his body across my belly, pushing the nurse out of the way, as he and Dr. Thornberry silently communicated. One pushing, one pulling, to release our child into the world. I can remember the unbearable pain passing into euphoria as he was expelled and placed upon my chest only to have the nurse freaking out at his grey color and thrusting oxygen into his face and vigorously rubbing his back as my sweet Cullen stared wide eyed. I can hear my husband telling the nurse to stop, that his body was pink, and he was ok. Only to look down into my child's face and see a new soul. A baby who was smash faced, grey in color, and all my own. The love that comes when you stare into your child's eyes. 15 minutes later I was on the phone with the cord blood place to schedule pick up, the pain of childbirth a short path behind me. Poor Cullen looked like he had been beat up, and I was not any better off. Pushing him so fiercely broke the blood vessels in my eyes and I looked like the victim in a cheap horror show. Painful for all to look at.

As I watch my son sleeping now, nine years later, I am amazed at this child who came so dramatically into the world. My 7lb 3oz baby who litterally got stuck, has not been stuck ever again. A child who gave his older brother the courage to face fears. A little boy who had excema on his face and a ready smile to all he met. A baby who did not toddle, but ran. A child who still bursts forth head first into things in life. A sensitive guy who many people misinterpret. A little boy who is more like me than I sometimes want to acknowledge. I sit here, nine years later, and thank God for the lessons Cullen has taught me. From learning to love another child, to watching brothers grow with one arm slung around the other's shoulders. From early morning feedings where it is just baby and Mommy, to double stroller walks with Daddy. Somewhere along the way he potty trained in one day, learned to read, tie his shoes, and will be entering the 4th grade. His peaceful sleeping face reflects not only the child he was, but the man he will become, with God's grace.

Nine years ago, so much was unknown. And still, today, the future cannot be seen. But I do know I have been blessed beyond measure. By a small, energetic little boy who has captured my heart, filled my life, and given me more than I could ever give him back. Happy Birthday, Cullen McKee! I love you to the moon and back!

Nine Years Ago

2011-06-22T05:43:00.000-07:00

Little did I know nine years ago that today would be my last day pregnant with my second son. Little did I know the trauma from his birth would stay by me for years to come. Little did I know how much a second child could weasle his way into my heart and expand it so much, we would want a third. 37 weeks into my second pregnancy, I'm sure this day was much like any other day with a 31 month old toddler on a Saturday. I can picture a tiny baby's nursery, his little bitty clothes, and my anticipation of carrying this child weeks longer than I had my first one. My mother was at our house in Alabama in anticipation of this small one's birth. Nine years is a blink of an eye, yet a lifetime for one small boy. Cullen McKee. The child who blazed into our lives, blue-grey from lack of oxygen. Who took that first gasping breath and never looked back. The child who has never met a stranger, never lacked for anything to say, and never sat still. A child our oldest son needed in the deepest sense of the word. A baby who gave an older brother wings, and his parents new eyes to appreciate the smaller things in life. A little boy who never ceases to make us stop and take note. I can sometimes glimpse the man he will become. On this day, I will cherish the last day of Cullen being 8. For tomorrow, a whole new year begins! We love you, Cullybug!

Awe inspiring

2011-04-10T17:43:00.000-07:00

If you have never been involved in a huge run or walk, I encourage you to attend one just to see the masses of people. Unless you are the most hardened of heart, or first in the race, seeing the swell of people running through a narrow corral and heading in a huge circle is inspirational to say the least. There is every age imaginable, every body shape conceived, every stride, every shoe, every garment and gadget known to mankind. The commradery is amazing and will bring a tear to your eye. For one day, for a few hours, all is ok in the world. You are starting out on a journey that leads...well, back to where you started, but still, the journey within can be further than the miles traveled on feet. Many of you know I have struggled with my breathing in the past few years. After seeing a pulmonologist (I think it's asthma, not sure. Just in case, stop running! Who wants to run that far anyway?!), an allergist (you have a vocal cord dysfunction, see a speech therapist), a full pulmonolgist team (we have no idea what is wrong with you), a trainer (I can teach you to run with your vocal cord issues!), and many friends (their support is endless!)I slowly was able to start finding my groove back. After pounding the pavement and the treadmill on my own, I have discovered that I can control my breathing without an inhalor, I can control my vocal cord dysfunction (thank you Marijo!) but I still have some anxiety issues to deal with. Often in not a pretty way, hence running alone. :) Today was my final test. To run a half marathon with my safe person, my husband. To cast demons from my past and move forward. And even though I stopped and walked on occasion, and was worn out by 11 miles, we did it! The swell of people in front of us was amazing, as was the swell behind us. To read shirts about how pain is just an illusion, running for lost loved ones, running to run, people who have done 50 marathons in 50 states, the whole nine yards. It was amazing! With my Sole Sister shirt on, I remembered my new mantra: "I do not run to add days to my life. I run to add life to my days." And so I do. So I do.

A new beginning....

2011-02-27T21:59:00.000-08:00

Today as we emptied out a small cabin we have only had for a few years, I am reminded how attached to our real estate we can become. This little cabin on a small lake in Illinois has embedded itself into my heart. A tiny one room shack on brick pillars with weeds growing through the painted blue floor, with it's tiny crooked bathroom, and it's non existent kitchen brings a smile to my face. Oh, the history of one small place! 420 square feet of memories not only for me and my family, but for everyone out at the Whippoorwill Club. Everyone knows who has lived there, who replaced what door, built the deck, added the curtains, upgraded the sink, made the walk, planted the hostas.....and we added our mark onto it's walls as well. In a few short weeks, that history will be a memory of pictures as a new cabin will take it's place. Only the ground will be sacred. I'm a little sad at that. As Dave was moving the fridge through the kitchen door, that used to be the main door because the kitchen area used to be the front porch, long, long ago, the folding door broke off. I cried! He just looked at me. How do you describe the attachment to a small place that held many a sleepless night with five people nestled in one room, practically on top of one another? He asked if we should stop the building of a new place. As tears ran down my face, I looked around. No, it's time to make new memories in a new building. To make our mark on the WWC visible. To have a place where my family can be comfortable. The walls we are in may never hear my family's laughter again, but the night air will. That building may never safely keep the critters out while we sit together, but the land will hold up another place that will. And although that small, wonderful cabin will only live on in our memories and in pictures, they will not be forgotten. Ever.

On the Eve of my 40th Birthday

2011-01-31T18:40:00.000-08:00

We grow neither better or worse as we get old, but more like ourselves.

~ May L. Becker ~

I guess on every birthday I begin to pontificate about what the year behind me has brought. Have I grown? Have I righted wrongs? Have I been the best that I could be at any given time. Those are hard questions at times, and sometimes I do not like the truthful answer. Am I a good mother? A good wife? A faithful friend? A Christian in all the sense? Do I walk the walk of my talk? Again, sometimes I do better than others. But my New Years resolution this year was to be kind to myself. I have spent the last 40 years trying to prove something. To prove I could run fast. To prove I was worthy of love. To prove I could carry a fuller than full load in college. To prove I could diagnose and treat patients with the best of them. To prove I could obtain the things I wanted out of life. To be a good daughter. To raise good sons. Now I just want to breathe more and enjoy life. For the past few years, I have gone with the saying that if someone does not fill my cup, they have no place in my life. I have been brought down by people I gave more control to than they deserved. I'm sure in life, others have given me that control as well. I am more apt to see both sides now, where in my younger years, there was just a black and white side. If you didn't agree with me, you were against me. I no longer feel that way. I enjoy friends who are like minded, but friends who make me think out of the box I seem to gravitate to as well. Friends from all walks of life. All religions. I want to know them all.

But mostly I want to be kinder to myself. To realize life is not about losing those last five pounds. Or if my stomach is not as taunt as it used to be. Or if my car is not the newest. My house is not fanciest. My kids are not perfectly dressed at all moments. Or me either. But that my door is always open to those who need something. That my arms are always willing to hug and to help. That my heart is open to those who may not be like me. That my children always know how important they are to me. That my husband knows that we are a team. That life can be taken at a moment's notice and I never want to live with an "I wish" on the horizon.

So on this eve of my 40th birthday, I want to be excited about what the next 40 years will bring. The growing of my children, the deepening of love, the grandchildren that may come. Daughter in laws to adore. Life being lived to the fullest. Not with stipulations. But for the sheer joy of living this life God has given me. It's been good so far. I only expect it to get better! Because after all, you're only as old as you feel. And I feel GREAT!

For the child of my heart.

2010-11-04T05:23:00.000-07:00

Eleven years ago, I was transformed from a mere woman, to a mother. The object of that transformation was a 35 week, 5lb 8oz little boy who captured my heart long before I ever laid eyes on him. I vividly remember wanting so badly to be pregnant. Trying desperately month after month to conceive a child only to be disappointed time after time again. In February 1999, my dreams were answered! Only weeks later, at 9w 2days, to have a horrible bleed and thinking I lost that dream. It does no good at that point, to know that 7 out of 10 women miscarry their first pregnancy. I wanted THIS child. I know the fear of calling an OB/GYN and being told that there is nothing they can do. To wait and see. I bleed and pass clots all the while thinking you are losing your child. Luckily, for us, we had access to u/s machines and quickly knew that our little one was still alive and kicking. That I seem to grow polyps outside of my cervix that grow and pop. And bleed a lot. But comfortably growing inside was a small gift from God. I never took a day for granted. At that point, I knew we were having a son. In my gut, I knew that this baby was a child for me, a child of my heart. I would name him Kadin. It is arabic and means companion, friend. For that is how I felt. It was he and I. At 17 weeks Dave and I went to the maternal fetal medicine doctor to check him out and make sure things looked healthy. Just as I predicted, our baby was a boy! In the car, I handed Dave a small outfit that was green. On the front it had snips and snails, on the back, puppy dog tails. How I loved that outfit! :) As time went by and I got huger than life, the miracle of growing a small life was never far away. Even for the neighbor man who quiety stood by the ladder I climbed when I painted the outside of our house at 5 months pregnant, to the neighbors across the street who checked on me during the eyes of hurricanes. I was surrounded by people who felt invested in this small life, even though my family was so far away, and my husband worked long hours. A few days before Halloween, I was in Kmart and felt like I needed to go to the bathroom. I had on white shorts and a red top. It felt like the bathroom grew further and further away the faster I walked towards it. With what I thought was urine leaking from me, I made it, only to realize the horror show that awaited me. My white shorts were now red. Blood ran down my legs. The child I had felt blissfully tossing inside me, not felt like dead weight. I quickly cleaned up, and waddled out of the store. I did not have a cell phone so the drive to the hospital felt like 100 years long. Luckily, my OB was coming into the hospital the same time I was and took me straight to labor and delivery where my husband was working. Again, God showed his mercy and even though I was dilated and contracting, my baby was alive!! For the next week I walked around at 5 cm, 80% effaced and 34 weeks. I worked every day and rested every night. Life was a blur. Then one day at work, I got a call from Dave. He asked me to leave work and come to the hospital. It was time. An attending doctor had gotten ahold of my u/s of Kadin. He saw something that others did not. He acted like he was presenting a case to Dave. He gave my stats. He gave the details of what happened with the bleed. He asked Dave what he would do. Dave said without hesitation that there had been an abruption and to get the woman in and deliver her baby. The doctor firmly looked at Dave and told him. "Then call your wife!" As I drove to the hospital, I had no idea. I got hooked up, my water was broken. Port red wine fluid. I had abrupted partially. The next day, I pushed out at 5 am, the sweetest little guy ever! With his dark hair and his small body, the NICU team was on call in case he needed to be sent off. But at first gasp, my little man screamed! A healthy little boy born too early with a calcified placenta and an umbilical cord the size of angel hair pasta. There are all kinds of medical reasons on why this child should not have made it. But he did. And he came home the next day. From the moment of conception and before, he has been a dream of mine. That remains the same today. Kadin was always a watchful child. We learned cues from him on what people to trust, which to stay away from. He intuitively knew others feelings and could calm a sad heart with a touch. When we volunteered at the Nursing Home in the Alzeihmer's unit, this small child could warm the hardest of hearts. Never did any one of the residents become combative with him. Those that seemed lost would gather his small body close, listen to his jabber, and tell him stories of long ago as he stroked their faces. This is a child who not only eased my soul, but he does others. He has always been older than his years, an old soul. A child who reacts to my emotions before I even know what I am feeling. A child who sees what needs to be done to help, and does it without question. A companion. A friend.

On this day, November 4th, I once again thank God for the safe delivery of one of his angels. A child given to me for a short time. Every day that I watch this miracle grow, I am reminded that life is not in my hands. And that there is a greater purpose for Kadin in this world. I can't wait to continue to watch the story unfold.

Happy Birthday to the child of my heart. I adore you more than you can ever know. You are more than I deserve.

Happy Birthday, Liam

2010-10-14T17:54:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow, my baby will be four years old. These are the days I usually reflect upon the desires I had before we conceived a child, the dreams I held during my pregnancy, the pregnancy itself, and then the quickness of the births of my sweet boys. Liam is no exception. That desire for a third child when socially, two children is the norm. How my whole life I said I would NEVER have three children. I was the middle child of three. So is Dave. Why would I do that to a child? But yet, at the ripe old age of 36, I ached for another baby. Ten days after I turned 36, we conceived our third son. Week after week I bled horribly, always thinking this was the last that my body would cradle. My friends that read this that walked that walk with me, time after time, as my older boys learned by the look I gave, or the tone of voice I used that they needed to get their shoes on quickly as we drove to the doctors office to see if I had lost the baby. I spent months in fear. Fear of losing a child I loved dearly before he was brought into my womb. A child that at 14 weeks we knew was a boy. A child that completes our family.
Tonight, as I stare at my baby on his last day of being three, I remember those days. Not the sadness of never having a daughter, but the fear of losing a child I adored, even though I didn't realize it. The gift I was given just for asking. How unworthy I felt. Tonight, as I kiss the last three year old from my womb, I will thank God. I will thank Him for giving me the opportunity to parent such amazing children. I will thank him for people who have come into my life before Liam was born; mothers of all sons, mothers wishing for a daughter, and for a woman who unselfishly gave pumpkin pillows from a far away Cracker Barrel just because a friend asked. To a sister who was present for the birth of a nephew. Who loved this child when I wasn't sure I could. For a family who supported me. For children who already existed who showed me that love is all I needed. For friends who offered their ears, their arms, and their daughters. And finally, to a little boy who is the answer to prayers I didn't know I prayed, but am so thankful I did.

Liam is not what I expected in my life, but he is the child my heart called for. Liam is not what I prayed for in the physical sense, but he is the child that fits all of the requests I asked for in personality, health and temperment. Liam is not what I thought I needed, but he proves every day how wrong I was to think I knew best.

So tomorrow, October 15, I wish a Happy Fourth Birthday to one of the best gifts ever unfolded before my eyes. From a hard pregnancy, to a scary delivery, to a reflux filled little boy that has shown me every step of the way what love means. Proving once again that unanswered prayers are the best gifts. I thank God for my Liam Fisher. For the joy he brings, for the laughter he supplies, for the smiles he gives out as freely as his hugs and kisses, but most of all, for a little boy that taught me that dreams come in all shapes, sizes, and genders.

Happy Birthday, Liam. My dream come true.
Love, Mommy

September 11..........

2010-09-11T00:57:00.000-07:00

When I think back to this day, nine years ago, I remember bits and pieces of strong emotions. Being in a huge plane headed back to the states from a trip to Paris. Dave was looking forward to a new job, and we were both anxious to get to my parents house to see Kadin who was getting close to turning two. Suddenly we were told there were terrorist attacks against the US and the plane had to turn around. The airspace was closed. Closed? The airspace? How does that happen??? We were re-routed to Amsterdam. I remember getting off the plane, walking into the airport and seeing televisions with clusters of people surrounding them. We watched the second tower get hit and I began to run to the luggage pick up. I remember Dave telling me to slow down, that the bags were not going anywhere but I had this overwhelming need to have my bags in hand. And thankfully I did. Only a handful of us got our luggage. All the rest was confiscated. People were stranded with small children and no change of clothes. No extra diapers. Nothing but the clothes on their back and things in the carry on bags. It was surreal. This doesn't happen in the 21st century. It was like taking a step back in time. We tried to find a hotel room to stay in. All the hotels close to the airport were jacking up the prices. People were walking up to us and offering their condolences. We were like fish out of water. We were lucky to find a room in a close by hotel. The Von Der Valk hotel. It was a short bus ride away. We had not eaten in about 12 hrs. The baggets I was bringing home from Paris were so hard they would have been considered lethal weapons but we ate them anyway. When we checked into the hotel, we were put in the "Jungle Room." Seriously, the room had fake plants everywhere with birds in them. A waterbed with leapord skin covers and a mirror on the ceiling. I remember Dave and I laying on it...holding hands and staring upward wondering what had just happened in our world. The next night we were moved to a different room. The next night, another one. But we were just thankful that we had our clothes. We had a place to stay. We were safe. Our child was safe.

Every day we travelled to the airport. Where we waited in lines. For hours. I think it is much like someone who goes to a hospital. Trying to get in to see a loved one, but they can't. The door is locked, they are too sick, there are no visitors allowed. They reluctantly turn away, yet they cannot make themselves leave the premisis. How do you go on? How do you describe the fear as you perch on the edge of a hotel bed and watch people jump to their death. To feel the desire to hold your child that is an ocean away. To know things will never be the same again.

And yet they are. Life goes on. We were able, by the grace of God, to get on a plane. Once loaded, a muslim walked on and then threw a fit to get off. Everyone was in an uproar. Was this plane condemned to hell? People were rushing to get off. They checked the plane and all was safe. I can only imagine that poor soul felt the anger in people's eyes. For a crime he was not guilty of, yet was being punished by association. How we are so eager to place blame, yet so slow to forgive and find middle ground.

On our flight home, we met two missionary men. This flight was going to Cleveland, Ohio. Our car was in Columbus, Ohio. There were no rental cars available. I did not care. I would walk from Cleveland to Ironton, Ohio if I had to to see my child. To hold my family. To be in the same continent. The same state. The same space. Dave and I ended up driving all night with these two men who were able to get a car. Driving with two people we did not know, but trusted to do us no harm. Two men who were like angels sent from God to help guide us home.

I remember wandering Amsterdam. Looking at things, talking, seeing people who's lives just continued. How do we move on? I missed my son so much. I could relate to mothers who had to leave their children behind. For whatever reason. To not be able to reach out when you want, and hold your baby is the most horrible feeling of all. We tried to be touristy, but it wasn't in us, and we eventually found ourselves back at the airport..waiting.

Thankfully, I have family close by in Amsterdam. We set up times for tea. They would take the train to see us. We were not alone. But we did not keep the date, we flew home instead. I was so thankful.

I remember pulling into my parents driveway. Jumping out of the car and dashing up the stairs onto the back deck. Where Dave and I stood at the door, looking in at our small son who had no idea his world had just been changed. Sitting in a booster seat, safe at Grandma and Grandpa's. Loved beyond measure. Life goes on. Tearfully, my father threw open the door and grasped us so hard, I didn't think he would ever let go. Nor did I want him to. We were home. Safe. Our family was intact. It would be a long time before I would get into another plane that Dave wasn't flying. It would be a long time before I took a trip and left my child.

Yes, life goes on. The world keeps turning after horrible events. The sun comes back up in spite of us feeling as if it should stay dark forever. And God's grace surrounds us. Beconing us into the light of His way. Teaching us the fundamental rules of life. To love your neighbor. To be kind. To be helpful. To exist in peace together. Through those days in Amsterdam, I hugged more strangers, held more babies, touched hands, said a prayer, or just sat next to people I did not know and felt the overwhelming emotions of loss. That one day impacted my life in ways I can never tell. That day changed the very core of my being. Why do things like this happen in our lives? I will never pretend to know. But I'll just do what my mom always says to do. Sit back and look for the reason. For God knows why these things happen. And in His time, He will tell us.

Until then, I will never forget 9/11. Not the people who lost their lives. Not the brave souls on a plane that went down in a small field. Not the friend who worked at the Pentagon but was not where he usually was on that day. Not the men and women who worked, dilligently to find trapped people to give families closure. Or the bravest of all who gave their lives to help save others. My world was impacted by this event. And although my son does not remember it, I will remember it for him.

Once again........

2010-08-30T18:25:00.000-07:00

Another all boy mom I know just gave birth to her 6th child. A girl. Finally. Now she can be done, she says. Why don't you have another one, it could be a girl, she professes, high on the fact that her body has finally given her a girl child after five boys. Seriously? I should just keep having kids until I have a daughter? Does that disregard the other three children I still have to parent, mostly alone, I might add. She told me several boys ago that she would have as many children as it took to have a daughter. And now she has her. And even though that child is only a few months old, she is thinking she should have another one, so people don't think she kept having kids until she had a girl. And mabye she would get a bonus girl at that. Am I missing something? I have dear friends who wanted large families. I get that. They wanted 6 plus kids. I can see that. You have as many kids as you want to have, everyone has a limit or a thought in their mind of what their family will be comprised of. But to have children just to have a specific gender? I don't know about that.

To me, gender disappointment has taught me more about life. About believing in God's word that my time will come. Either a daughter, a daughter in law, a grand daughter, a great grand daughter, or a girl not even related who will come into our lives and become as a daughter to us. There are many ways to influence a young woman. There are many ways to mother.

Could I have another child? Yes. Physically, all of that is working. Emotionally I could adore another child as I adore my sons. But at almost 40, do I want to do that again? I can't answer that and I find I am jealous of my friend who is older than I am, but still can say she wants more. Even as she parents her now six children. If I look honestly at it, her husband works from 9-5 or less every day. He is off each weekend. She gets the emotional support and the physical support of him taking the kids to school each day, going to every sporting event, helping out on weekends. His parents live close by and take her children a few times a month in shifts so they can spend time with some of their children, or even alone. She stays home each day, every day. She doesn't care if she exercises, she does not volunteer in her kids classes, or in the community. She raises her babies. And they are good kids, really. She can do it. She has the support. I do not. Face it. That's how my life is.

Am I jealous? Probably. As I hold her sweet girl and stare at the beautiful dresses and bows. But what am I willing to do about it? Nothing. I'm leaving it to God, and hoping that, like Abraham, he will bless me in the end. The wimps way out?? Maybe so.

What do you think? Would you keep having kids until you got your desired gender, or would you stop and thank God for the blessing that have come and move on with the other stages in life???

How do you feel now???

2010-08-21T10:55:00.001-07:00

I was asked this question today during an interview with a freelance writer for Parent's Magazine. Now, over 4 years from the day of finding I would never have a daughter in my life. How DO I feel? Fine. A little tired, annoyed by Kadin's attempt to play his new Native American flute, waiting for the next wailing session to occur with one of the younger kids, and hoping the dog quits peeing on my kitchen floor some time soon. OH, about gender disappointment....how do I feel about THAT! I feel less in the moment of that actual moment. Life has taken over. I see from having friends lose children, have family members diagnosed with horrible cancers, and seeing families driven apart from strife and stress that there are other things that need my focus. I still trust God's words to me. Not in YOUR time, but in MY time. I know that He will see this tiny part of me that is unfullfilled, filled. I know that my pain is still important to him, even as I go through life. But really, I am so proud of my boys. I am so exceptionally thankful to be their mother. From the other side, I see where my family is different, better even, because I did not get my dream of a daughter. I have been able to totally emerse myself in my CHILDREN. Not my sons, or my daughter. But my kids. My walking hearts.

I found it funny that when she asked me about swaying methods, diet changes, ect., I could barely recall them. From someone who could spout them off in a moment's notice, they are no longer front line items for me. And I felt relieved as I laughed and told her so. I remember the pain of the loss of that dream from so long ago. And it can bring tears biting the back of my throat. But then I see Liam jump from the bottom two steps in an I LOVE DAD shirt, a cape, and alligator boots and I think...I was disappointed? WHY?

So, how do I feel now? Luckier than ever. Thankful to be an all boy mom. Excited to meet each day to hear what I never knew I wanted to know (did you know that if you put a lighter to one's butt as they fart, they could suck the fire back in?? Who exactly really WANTS to know that?? But there it is!). I realize now, more than ever, that I only hold these hands for a brief time. That life is wasted on the What If's and Should Have, Could Haves. I life for today. For right now. I feel blessed beyond measure. For my life, my friends, my family, a conversation with a neice, a laugh with my mother, a shared glance with my husband, and the craziness of raising three children. Yes, it's been awhile since I have visited these feelings. And now I will put them back on the shelf. For there are battles to be won as a Jedi and I don't want to miss any of them! Love the Life You Live!!!!!

Adding a son........

2010-06-22T19:49:00.000-07:00

Eight years ago I gave birth to my second son. I remember the gamet of feelings I went through before his birth. Would I love him as much as I did my first son? Would we bond like I did with Kadin? How would I handle two small children? Would breastfeeding go easier this time around? I remember being petrified of ever going to the grocery store again. Where would I put my groceries? With Kadin in the front seat and the baby seat in the back, where would things go? A neurotic mess I was. When my water broke early on a Sunday morning, three weeks before my due date, I had no idea what to do. I thought I had wet my pants. I changed and went back to bed. Only to have it happen again a few hours later. After changing clothes again and leaking through them too, finally my husband told me to put on a pad. Why hadn't I thought of that?? I guess because I did not expect to stand around leaking on myself! Thankfully my mom was already at our house since I had been on modified bedrest since 29 weeks, we knew this little guy would come early like his big brother. Around 10 or so we headed to the hospital. By noon I had tried to get an epidural which did not take and the contractions were getting hard to breathe through. I had a good friend, my yoga instructor, Gloria, there with me helping me go through each contraction. It was amazing what the mind can control in times of horrible pain. Cullen's birth is a blur. Mostly because I was so relaxed from the subliminal messages of my birth coach that I could barely push. My doctor was sweating bullets when Cullen's head was delivered, but his body was stuck. Um, not good. You can't just shove the head back in and try again. I only remember Dr. Thornberry shouting at me that if I wanted to deliver this baby I had to pay attention to HIM NOW. And so I did. With Dave laying across my belly pushing downward, me pushing, and Dr. Thornberry pulling, Cullen was born on Sunday, June 23, 2002 at 4:03 pm. Weighing in at 7lbs 3oz. He was blue in the face but pink in body. The nurses were frantically massaging him and shoving oxygen in his face until Dave made them stop. Poor kid looked totally beat up. His face was grey and swollen and yet his body was pink. We don't have any birth pictures of him because my camera was on the fritz and the old 35 millimeter film wouldn't advance. Dave opened it up in the delivery room, exposing the film. Yes, I cried. I also broke every blood vessel in my eyes trying to push him out and looked like a cheap horror film actress for weeks. UGH.

From the start, Cullen has been not much like Kadin at all. He was a good eater, a great sleeper, quick to smile, slow to cry. He loved other people and would let anyone hold him. He was an active baby with a curious mind and the ability to make friends in an instant. He gave his older brother wings to do things he didn't know he could. He is quick witted and sensitive hearted. His golden eyes make me smile and his impish grin melts my heart. He has added so much to our family just by existing.

Today I celebrate Cullen McKee. And I thank God for our second son. The one who pushes the limits, reaches for the sky, and lives life to the fullest. He is our joy.

Happy Eighth Birthday, Cullen. We adore you!

Resolve to Finish

2010-05-01T12:08:00.000-07:00

Today I was fortunate enough to stare tenacity in the face. Today I was priviledged to witness a woman do something that she never believed possible of herself. Today, I was in the front row of seeing a dream come true and it was amazing. From walking that road myself, to seeing it happen once again to someone in my life, I will never cease to be amazed at what one can do if someone just believes they can. How far one person will push themselves just because someone told them they could. When I crossed the finish line of my first marathon, it wasn't because I was the fastest. Or the best runner. It was because I had the tenacity to endure. The resolve to finish. When I watched, in December, my friend Amy Jones cross the finish line at the Jingle Bell run, it wasn't because she was the fastest on the course either. It was because she has it in her to finish what she started. And she did. Today, I had the highest honor of running a 5k with a novice. A fifty four year old novice. A woman who never saw herself as a runner, yet she is. A woman who had a stroke when she was my age, ran with wild abandon. A woman who has set goals for herself, not waiting for next year, next month or even next week; but NOW. A woman I am so proud to call my friend. I first met Sharon Martin a few months ago when she asked if I could help her run. How humbling! Me? Could I help her? And what exactly did I KNOW about running? Enough to help? Enough to answer her questions? To encourage her? When I had my own struggles I was dealing with. But I tried. She is a natural, I tell ya. ;) I didn't need to help Sharon learn to run. I needed to help Sharon see she could ALREADY run. What an easy task. Never say never. Try it before you say you can't. And then watch yourself do it. And she did. She did so well.

It reminds me of my father. How he would encourage me to try new things. To run the 400 meter dash right after the 300 meter hurdles. To high jump (I was bad) and to long jump (I was worse..). To throw the javelin (I rocked!). To see you don't have to be the best. The fastest. The most notable person on the court, the field, or the track. You just have to have the heart to do it, the audacity to stick to it, and the resolve to finish it. After all of these years, Dad, I finally get it.

It doesn't matter how you finish the race. It matters that you started. That you took that first step. And then the second. That on that day, you did the best you could. That you encourage others, celebrate their highs, and walk with them through their lows. And most of all, that you always have the resolve to finish what you start. With grace, with pride, and with knowledge that whatever you thought you could not do, with God and good friends, there is no limit.

Thank you, Sharon, for reminding me that life is not a sprint, it's a marathon. I'm proud to have run a bit of it by your side. Carry on, Sole Sister, carry on.

Reminded

2010-04-18T23:50:00.000-07:00

Tonight as I sit on the couch, holding a little one who is sick, I am reminded of friends who have lost children. When Kadin was born, colicky, and nursing every hour and a half, I thought I would surely lose my mind. On some nights, rocking him with tears streaming down my face, I simply told myself that my friend Suzie would give anything to be sitting in her baby's nursery, rocking her baby. Suzie and I were pregnant at the same time. She was ahead of me. Her sweet baby had hydrops and did not make it. I went on and had Kadin. So on those nights, I remembered baby Molly and the thoughts of empty arms kept me going. Today some friends of ours lost their son, Hogan. He was born with Trisomy 18 and defied doctors by living for two weeks. Tonight, although his parents get to go home to two other children, I'm sure a part of their arms, as well as their hearts, feels empty.

It may be morbid to think this way. To remember friends who have lost children in order to keep my own sanity, but I don't think being reminded of how fragile life is is a bad thing. How we should be thankful for every day we have been given.

Tonight, as I hold my sweet Liam, I will remember. The Molly's, the Jay's, the Hogan's, and all other babies that are not of this world. And ask them to watch over my baby. Because one can never have enough angels either.

And tomorrow, when I am exhausted, short tempered, and wishing for a nap, I will remember to be reminded of my blessings.

Defining the Lines

2010-04-07T17:37:00.000-07:00

Do you ever wonder where your kids stop and you begin? Or where your husband's needs become separate from your own? Sometimes I feel like that line is blurred. What everyone else needs or wants in the family becomes my top priority and the things that I want or need become second, third, or they never exist at all. On some days, I find it so difficult to maintain the status quo. Keeping the house, the kids, the schedules, the school work, the focus on God and family, incorporating the needs of others into our lives, all before breakfast! Today, Cullen was sick. A high fever pushed him from his bed in the wee hours of the morning and into my arms. After getting him meds, and settled on the couch with ice chips, all I could think of is that his getting sick messed with MY plans for the day.

I guess that is what running has done for me. While training for a race, I have a specific schedule. Time reserved for me and my girl friends. Time to do something for me. With me. And bonding time with some girls that have become my closest friends in a long time. We share it all. No subject is sacred or off limits. We have bared our souls to each other and found true friends in the process. I am eternally grateful. But I also feel selfish for the time I take away from my family to take my runs. Long runs can take up to five hours. FIVE HOURS away from my family. For me. It's crazy.

Yet, I have realized, I need to have those lines. The lines of mother, wife, sister, friend, individual. I need to remember what it is like to be me. In my own skin. With my own likes and dislikes and wants and needs. Doing so makes me a better person. For myself and others. To decide how I feel and what I think on different topics instead of just parroting what others around me say. And to be honest, I like the time with just me. To just exist in the quiet, or in the chatter of others. But doing something for me. Just because I enjoy it.

Do you do things you enjoy in life? Reading the Bible, gardening, photography, running, crafts. Whatever it is you enjoy, go for it. Redefine yourself. Make sure you are ok with you in your own skin. That there is a place where others stop, and you shine. It's hard, but it's a necessity. Carry on!

Getting Away

2010-04-06T16:44:00.000-07:00

This year for spring break, Dave and I decided to get back to the basics. We looked for a destination that was secluded. Nature filled. A time to only focus on the family. Where we would literally be with each other 24/7 for a solid week. To regroup. To reconnect. To breathe together before the chaos of Dave starting his own private practice truly began. We found a home on Don Pedro Island in Florida. As a barrier reef island, most of the small island is reserved as a national park. You get there by a ferry that cost 170 bucks for 5 trips off the island. Or you could pay 55 dollars for one trip. There is a small resort on the island of Palm Island connected to Don Pedro that also has a small store. Small. As in one 6 ft isle with necessities on it. The restaurant was amazing though. A small three bedroom house on stilts. Painted yellow. With the beach in the back yard. We made ourselves at home for a week. Waking early to small giggles, long runs, walks on the secluded beach, watching dolphins, drinking coffee on the front stoop, and basically, just living life at leisure. It was healing. To search the beach for sharks teeth and beautifully colored shells. To sit and read in the accompaniment of God's masterpiece. To watch three little boys we love so much dig in the sand, jump waves, and just know what it is like to be off somewhere, together. Heaven with sand in the bed. Getting away makes me realize how little we truly need in life. Food, water, shelter, loved ones. How much we get sucked into the "I wants" in life that quickly become the "I needs." The rush around so that our children can experience life's opportunities. Really, the best opportunities my boys have had are on a boat my husband has rented where we see nature in it's natural state. Dolphins swimming in the bay. Manatee in the intercoastal. White pelicans on a small deserted island in the gulf. And each other to lean on. Now that we are back into the hustle of things, I look back to the calmness of the sea. The joy in my parents eyes as they see my children excitedly share beach finds. The lazy smile of my husband as we look over little tow heads at each other. And the ocean breeze blowing in a house where the sound of the waves lull you to sleep. Every once in awhile, I encourage you to just, get away.

Leaving Behind

2010-03-08T11:01:00.001-08:00

Some days I cannot wait to get away from my children. To escape the monotony of always reprimanding, fixing, tying, teaching, doing......to just exist in my own body without someone hanging on it or demanding things from me. Last week, Dave and I went to NYC to attend a conference in order to launch our new Center for Medical Weight Loss, that will be an adjunct to Dave's practice. Four days of being little one less. And what can I think of? Nothing but them! How Cullen bounced into school on Wed. morning and I didn't kiss him good bye that one last time. How I missed Liam's tiny voice and never ending chatter. How I wondered how Kadin did on his science test. I missed their ball practices and then ball games. I missed hearing about their days while they weren't with me. I missed them. I couldn't wait to get back to them. And almost tangible feeling of want. It reminded me of when Dave and I were in Holland over 9/11. Before Cullen was even dreamed of. And we just had Kadin. How my heart and my arms ached to touch him. To see him. To hear him. To just exist in the same airspace where he was. How much my children and my husband mean to me. How I would not be the same person without them. How I never want to live a day without them in my life.

And I think of the sacrifices other parents have to make. To say goodbye to a child much to soon. Either through that child's death, or their own. To feel like you haven't said enough. Done enough. Been enough. To want one more last day, last moment, last memory, last laugh.

I want to live each day as if it were my last. Because I don't know. Either way. How long I will be here, or a friend will be here, or my sons. As I run, I listen to a song on my ipod. Talking about how you should always be stronger than you think you are. Get up when you fall down. Trust in God. Unleash your burdens into His capable hands, and to NEVER say something you can't take back.

I wonder. Do I live like that now? Do I encourage enough? Do I love enough? Do I do enough to let my sons know that without them, I would never be the same. Because it is due to them that I am different. Fuller. Complete. Compassionate. Forgiving. It is because of the three of them that I have a more open mind into what life is, can be, should be.

So many times I sat in a room, with a parent or two, and a child or four, and gave parenting advice. Long before I was a parent myself. And I wonder, would I say the same things now? Would I be more of what I am now? Maybe that will be my next book. :)

A Cullen Funny!

2010-03-01T14:40:00.001-08:00

Today the boys are all home from school for Pulaski Day. While we were eating lunch, one of Kadin's friends called. Kadin said he couldn't talk, we were eating and he would call him back. Five minutes later, the kid calls back. We don't answer. Two minutes later, he calls again. We don't answer. Finally after the child had called four times in a row in less than 10 minutes, Cullen lets out this huge sigh and says...

"Man, that kids parents need to give him a brother!"

Getting Bigger

2010-02-26T05:29:00.000-08:00

Oh how they love to say this. "Look Mom! I'm getting bigger!" They do at times, seem to grow over night. How does this happen?? I can vividly remember bringing home Kadin at less than 5 lbs. Funny how you could have hefted my child easier than a pack of sugar. He fit right into the nook of my arm. I could nurse him and do things with both hands. His tininess astounded others, but to me, he was perfect. But as the days went by and he turned into a chunky monkey, I would hear the normal comments: "What do you feed that kid? Geeze? He's chunky!" Yep, I'd say proudly! He eats at Mom's and it's the best food around. At 10 lbs at 10 wks, I was so proud of him for 'getting bigger.' Now I feel the emotional ramifications of that. That tiny little preemie is now a strapping 10.5 yr old. His brothers every day are showing signs of new skills. The extra skin showing at the bottom of their pants are telling me that they are growing taller. It is more evident in Liam's face. Losing the toddler baby fat and growing into a little boy body. As I watch him walk up the stairs alternating steps, drinking from a cup with no lid, and going to the potty unassisted. I know he is 'getting bigger' but do I need to hear it from his own mouth every day??

I am so thankful every day that they are growing. That they are healthy and thriving in this world of ours that can be so harsh. I'm thankful for past milestones, and those not reached yet. For I remember every day that I do not know how long I will hold these hands that God has blessed me with. I want to live each moment of their getting bigger with my eyes wide open and my heart full.

I know life gets us down. There are stresses that we don't share. There are hardships that each of us endure in our hearts. But take a moment to look at the children around you and revel in their ability to find joy in getting bigger. They are the ones that will lead us one day. Teach them well. And love them more. For there is nothing better than to see the joy in a child's eyes as you clap and exclaim, "My!! How you are getting so big!"

School Battles

2010-02-25T06:23:00.000-08:00

So many times I am reminded of the stereotypes against boys. Especially in the school system. Boys are slower at this...boys can't sit still through that...boys are inferior in this...boys don't learn that....whatever. Sometimes, in the quiet, I think maybe I was given all boys so that I can champion them. So I can throw in people's faces the reality that kids are just kids. They all develop, learn, mature, in their own time. It is not gender related. How I hate those boundaries.

Maybe it comes from my own childhood. There was not a cross country team where I went to high school. But I ran summer track, junior olympics, and basically competed in running events year round. I was encouraged to run cross country to keep my mileage and training up. I was refused. My parents did not accept that answer and kept at the school and the school board until I was able to run with the boys. Running is all I ever wanted to do. And when I was young, I was good at it. But the battle did not stop there. I was harrassed by adults. Threatening phone calls and hurdles too high to climb over were placed in my way until I finally had to drop out of cross country. Much to the disappointment of my coach and male teammates. Several years later, our school had a cross country girls team. But I had already graduated so it was too late for me.

What I learned is that if you don't stand up for what you want, you won't get it. And what I want is equality for my boys in the classroom. My oldest, Kadin, is a model student. He does what he is supposed to. When he is supposed to. How he is supposed to do it. He never questions. He also will not give you more than you ask unless he is pushed. He 'yes ma'ms' everyone and is the model child. Oh, and he is a boy. He potty trained in a day and a half at 27 months. He read before he was 3. He can sit silently. He is the child who you would put in time out and forget where he was because he just sat there. His brother was more active, but very similar. Cullen potty trained in a day. Before he was 2. He read shortly after he turned 3. He is one of the youngest in his class due to his birthdate, but he excells. But he questions. He wants to know why. Why do this? Why do it that way? Why take this test? Why are things this way for girls and not for boys? Why do people think he is one way because he is a boy? Why? Why? Why? I love that about him. We never child proofed our homes until our third son came. He is also active, but quite sweet. He does things in his own time though. He didn't potty train until after he was 3 and it took months. He has no interest in learning to read on his own. He wants to have fun. To laugh and giggle. But he also asks why. Why are you doing that? Where are we going? Why are we doing it? What? When? Where? Who? He is just a million questions in one tiny body.

When I send my sons to school, I expect them to be seen as individuals. For their gifts to be assessed. I do not expect them to be labeled as a BOY and therefore not able to do thing. I do not agree with the whole concept of letting girls go first and then the boys. If my sons do something wrong, I want to know about it so it can be fixed. I don't want it to be considered "boy behavior" and therefore they get picked on more by teachers who are looking for them to fail or to act out. I will not put up with it. My boys know how to behave. The know the rules. They are good kids.

I will continue to make school visits to do the unpopular. To call people on the rug for their treatment of my boys, or boys in general. I will continue to tell people that their views are not indicative of all boys. I have three of them. I think I can say how all kids are different no matter what is between their legs. I have met awesome children of both genders. Just as I have encountered not so great kids of both genders. I encourage you, other moms of boys, to do the same. To stop seeing things in your home as "girl" or "boy" and start seeing them as "kid" behaviors. To stop allowing those gender lines to be smudged further. To champion your boys. Not to allow others to keep them down in today's world just because they are boys. Children will be children. No matter what. I expect nothing else. But do not tell me my boys are less. I will not accept that.

I am a boy mom. Hear me roar. And complain, and gripe, and well, you know...all that stuff "girls" do so well............whatever! ;)

Barbershop

2010-02-14T09:08:00.000-08:00

I can remember many years ago when I first started going to the barber shop in Dublin, Ga. I felt like a fish out of water in the dark panneled room with stuffed animal heads and fish on the walls. The floor had never seen anything stronger than a broom and the magazines were all Hunting and Fishing. What secrets of the man's world would be revealed to me? What actually happened in a barber shop? Well, I'll tell ya. NOTHING. It was boring! The kids swiftly got their hair cut, a piece of gum, and were shooed out the door. :) But here in Mt. Vernon, the barber shop is a visiting area. I am more comfortable now, in this area of my life. I walk in, sit down, pick up a car magazine and go on. The barbers chit chat about fishing on Guntersville Lake. A subject near and dear to my heart. Not the fishing, but the lake. Guntersville lake is right by Albertville, AL where my second son was born. I can chit chat with the best of them. They talk about people in town. The good, the bad, the ugly. They crack me up! They talk about their grandkids, their youth, the way things used to be, and how things are ok now too. It is like being transformed into another world. The chairs are the same. Old, stiff, manly. But the people are so open, friendly, encouraging, and they love my boys. After suckers and gum are given to all, they all stop what they are doing while we march out and shout out: "See you next time! Have a great day, boys!" And for once, I look forward to the barber shop. :)

contentment

2010-02-12T18:48:00.000-08:00

Does anyone really feel this in their lives? Content. Feeling ok with how things are and the direction they are going? So many times, I have wanted more. Worried about catching up with the Jones's per say. Feeling that I have less than. Not only with my home, cars, clothes, jewelry, but also with my boys. I am a parent of one gender. I do not experience both sides of the fence. While I have watched many of my friends shop from both sides of the store, I have been left, half heartedly, on one side. Made to feel less than. Inadequate. A failure. All because my loins produced healthy boy children only.

As my boys grow, the less I allow myself to feel this way. The less I allow others to "make" me feel this way. Like I am missing out. That something in my life is intricately wrong because I have only one gender in my family. Seriously....I am less?? How so?

I have many friends who are raising only boys and others that are raising only girls. I love those moms. Those moms who know what I think and how I feel before I can even put it into words. Not that my both gender moms don't get it. But really, they don't "get it" like my single gender moms do.

I am content. My life is good. My boys are well adjusted and happy. My life is full. My husband is happy. For the most part, I don't think about parenting a daughter, much. And not for the bows, the clothes, the girly things that one would think of. But for the long term relationship with her. The one I see my friend Nina have with her engaged daughter. The planning for life. For adult relationships. But then I see the struggles I have, my friends have, their daughters have, and I know that I am right where I should be. Parenting boys and influencing girls. Just because I did not bear a girl child does not mean I cannot be important in the life of one. It does not mean that my old babysitters do not remember me and my life with my boys and see that as a positive thing. I am a role model no matter what. To mothers, to daughters, to other people as they walk through life.

And I best be aware of that with my words. With my actions. With my living in the moment and enjoying life. Not everyone we make eye contact with sees us. We are influetial to people beyond our scope. Remember that. Make your actions softer. Your words purer. Your love for God stronger. Make sure that others see you as you want to be seen.

I want others to see me as content. With my life. With living with my soul mate, and raising our boys. That my life is good. Maybe not as I envisioned it in my human mind's eye, but as God saw it for me. And I am growing into the role. This role I have as the mother of boys.

Little Liam

2010-02-10T19:47:00.000-08:00

Oh how I adore this third child of mine. My "do over" baby. The child my mind's eye never knew I wanted and yet can't live without. He is so challenging, but also such joy. We are still trying to complete potty training. He does awesome with tee-tee, and has for awhile. It's been #2 that has escaped us. We are now proud owners of tiny bubble gum balls. The kid will try to poo for one bubble gum ball and actually go for two pieces. Cracks me up. He sits there on his tiny potty seat, straining like a man, and then will clap his hands with glee when he is successful. I love the little sayings that only come with potty training. He hits his thighs and says.."Come on out poopy! I want some gum!" or he will say.."Wow! I pooped TTTHHHHIIISSS (while spreading his arms out wide) big!" Things I will one day forget.

Thankfully, one day I will also forget the frustration in trying to train him. I am constantly hearing how boys are so much harder to potty train that girls. WHAT? I especially love mothers of one child (you guessed it, girls) who tell me this. And their basis is on what? They have trained so many children. Well, Liam is my third. I have only trained boys (or is it that they have trained me??). Kadin potty trained at 27 months in a day and a half. Yeah, that was so hard that I decided Cullen would be five before he trained. Nope, before he was 2, he trained in ONE DAY! So of course, Liam has been forever. Still within the "normal limits" of potty training, but way behind his brothers.

I have many theories on this. I'm not home constantly with him to take him to the pot whenever it crosses my mind. We are constantly out the door to one activity or another. He mostly has accidents in the evening when he is playing with his brothers and forgets to go. They are in the basement a lot, and not underfoot like when we lived in one story homes. But mostly, it's because he's my baby. My last one. So frankly, I don't really care to dedicate the time to potty train him. I know it will happen. Eventually. As much as I hate poopy underwear, this is the last time I will have to deal with it and that leaves me feeling a bit verclempt. Sick, isn't it?? Well, that's my story and I'm sticking to it. Now, where are those gumballs??? :)

Yearly Dance Competition

2010-02-09T05:38:00.000-08:00

I just got back from Emma's Dance Master's competition this weekend. A weekend full of girls, make up, dresses, and....well....hurried chaos. I love it. I dive in and only on my drive home remember to breathe. From the moment I load my suitcase into the car and say good bye to the boys, I am in Dance Aunt mode. Believe me, I know NOTHING about dance. I was horrid at it as a girl. Until my neices started doing it and actually got bearable to watch, I had no interest. What does a mom with boys know about dance?? Unless her boys are involved in it. And I admit, watching some of those guys dancing up there, I sigh. So strong and beautiful to watch.

But I digress! Each year, the dance competition has a theme. Each year, we have our own theme. There was the "first year" that I didn't go to. The second year was the "snow year." Last year was the "Aunt Kathy sick" year. This year it was the "forgotten shoes" year. Each year brings its own set of challenges, yet, it's own glee as well.

I love being with my sister and my oldest neice, Emma. They are so much fun. Lisa lets me help with make up and hair. We anxiously wait for Emma to dance her solos. Every time she does, I cry with pride. Then we dash around getting her ready or unready for the next dance. Hurry up and wait. Look at booty shorts and dance shoes. Talk about glitter make up and leotards. Make the girls eat. Shop at the candy store. Wish we had more time to go to the mall.

But through it all, there are those drama girls you can't escape. Oh My! Many times through the weekend, I say prayers to God. Thanking Him that He gave me boys. That all of this dance stuff is for my neice....not for me. Every time a daughter smarts off to her mother, has a meltdown, screams or hurts a friends feelings, I am reminded of how much I love raising boys. Sure, I get attitude. Sure my days are loud and busy. Sure my boys have frienship tiffs. But it is not the same. The stress and the drama are trifold. It makes me smile. And so very thankful.

As I get in the car to head home. I finally breathe. Another year down and yet, I have the dates reserved for next year already. I wouldn't miss this time for the world. But I am always eager to get home.......to my boys.

Starting Over

2010-02-09T05:04:00.001-08:00

Since I lost my last blog on AuthorHouse, I thought it was time to begin a new adventure on blogspot. Stay tuned for some awesome stories about Raising Boys!