Just a Little Cut

I cannot believe that we packed up our entire family and all our earthly possessions and we said goodbye to so many people we just love with our whole hearts and I didn't even blog one single second of that. We've been here for almost a whole entire month and I haven't written a moment of that down either. The last time I major moved--as in, to another state--I had one wee child and he napped so I got stuff done. Now I have three children and two of them are not wee and the one who is still wee is LARGER THAN LIFE ALL OF THE TIME THAT HE IS AWAKE.

There have been A LOT of incredible miracles and blessings surrounding our move and, for some of them, I've been too worked up to notice. God is doing a work in my worked up-ness, LET ME TELL YOU. Oooof. He is reminding me that in all my big feelings about our exit, he is in control of all of it.

I will, hopefully, eventually, get to the part where I write about all the crazy miracle house stuff that led to us being in this beautiful home that we got for way less than they were asking and then appraised for way more than they were asking. Today is not that day. Today is a day for explaining the miracles about this little foot...

This little foot slipped on a mossy part of a rock at the creek last night and got cut on another rock. Matthew was at soccer practice at the park. He stayed while the rest of us loaded Garrett up to head for urgent care. It's a new town. Our insurance is brand new. We wouldn't have any idea where to take him. Except. It just so happened...

The other day I opened some mail with insurance information. I didn't have time to really look at it but my eyes fell to a particular spot on the page that said where we should go for urgent care. I remembered because I thought, "Oh, that's right across the street from the hotel." I had noticed the clinic from the hotel we stayed at when we candidated. I didn't read ANYTHING else in that medical packet before setting it aside as one of the many things on my very long do-to list.

It just so happened that Matthew's soccer coach is a member of our church so we felt perfectly comfortable leaving him at the park on his first day of practice with a new team while the rest of us drove to the urgent care. It also just so happened that our youth pastor and his wife were available to help Troy get our other vehicle so that the rest of our family could still make the dinner we had scheduled with some people from the church. 

It just so happened that there was NO ONE at the Urgent Care except us. But the biggest blessing was...

It just so happened that this occurred on September 2. Our new insurance kicked in on September 1. Yes, we were insured with our Utah insurance prior to that BUT our Utah insurance was only good in the state of Utah. If we left the state, it turned in to "life or death situation" insurance. I once inquired as to what constituted life or death. My specific question, because my kid was trying to be a surfer, was, "What if he gets stung by a ray?" Not life or death. But without medical treatment I think roughly 10 out of 10 stings become infected. The response was something like, "Oh, I mean, we'd cover that." I didn't feel convinced. So for the last many years, I have felt slightly terrified that we might need medical treatment outside of Utah. Last year, when I smashed my tailbone in Crescent City and thought I had broken it for sure, I paid full price for them to tell me there was nothing that could be done. 

Had this cut happened under our Utah insurance, we'd have paid 100% out of pocket regardless because we haven't met our deductible on the year. Given my close personal relationship with urgent care and the emergency room because God, in His infinite wisdom, gave me a total of three crazy boys and Satan gave me kidney stones (or my lack of liquid intake gave them to me but I think that what can be blamed on Satan certainly should be), I know enough to know that this visit would have cost us hundreds upon hundreds of dollars. My 13 year old knows as well. Not because we've EVER denied him ANY kind of medical treatment because of cost but because he has eyes and has seen some of our bills. (Thankfully, our church had set up an HRA awhile back which helped lighten the load but, regardless of how it's being paid it still really stinks to look at a bill and realize that you're responsible for it in full.) Garrett looked at me, in this middle of all this, and said he was sorry. He'd been apologizing for hurting himself because for a minute there, we thought it was deep enough that he might be out of football for the entire season. Of course we said, over and over, that it was okay. It was an accident. Everything happens for a reason. But this time, his big eyes had a burden behind them. He finished his sentence with, "This is going to cost a fortune."

No child should have to worry about how much the gaping hole in his foot is costing his parents. 

"Maybe. We'll see. We have different insurance now," I told him. "Don't worry about it."

I know virtually NOTHING about this new insurance. Our kids qualified for the Oregon Health Plan. Somehow. I'm still not quite sure how or why but the Marketplace only accepted Troy and me and sent our kids on to OHP. 

When we left, I stopped at the front desk. She hadn't collected a credit card. She hadn't asked me for any money. "So...since I'm brand new to this insurance, can you tell me, will they just bill us?"

She looked genuinely confused. "It's OHP. It should just all be covered. You shouldn't get a bill."

It's so easy to see a gash on a kid's foot and think, "Oh, man, WHY? Why did this have to happen while he's fighting for playing time on his new football team. Why, two days before he starts 7th grade at a brand new school in a brand new town? WHY?" But, instead, I walked away from that office thinking, "Thank you, Lord, for protecting his feet throughout the month of August."

It just so happened that the Lord used a five stitch gash on my teenager's foot to remind me of His infinite goodness.

Thirteen

To My Teenager,

I didn't envision this day when they put your wet, squirmy body in my arms all those years ago. You can't, really. You see this helpless little lump of adorable depravity and you instantly know that you'll do anything for this kid, but you can't imagine it becoming a teenager. That seems so far down the road. There are too many sleepless nights and tantrums and spilled milk and spelling tests before thirteen. And still, here we are.

Listen. You've basically been a dream to raise. I have very few complaints. But if you don't stop talking back to me and rolling your eyes, that's all going to change. Let's get one thing clear. I am not the absolute dumbest person on the planet, even if your internal monologue says otherwise. Let's just keep you on the straight and narrow. Stay the course. Be amazing. Even if we are trading wards on every corner for cannabis dispensaries.

Speaking of the move, you impress me so much with your adventurous, go with the flow outlook on life. You don't want to leave your best friend and of course I get that. I don't want to leave mine either. But you're excited to meet new friends, do new things, and settle in to life in Dallas, Oregon. Once we told you there was a creek running through town, you were sold. I hope that you'll do big things in Dallas, Buddy and I'm excited to watch you become the man you were born to be.

I love watching you play ball. Baseball has become a top love for you and you've improved so much this year. You played all fall and spring and then you made the All-Star team and it was such a joy to see you getting hits and making plays. In the spring regular season, you were the lead off batter and had an on base percentage of something ridiculous like .750. And, listen, we were so proud of you. But we were proud of you before you ever stepped up to the plate because you are kind. You are a team player. You are coachable. I would choose those qualities over an ability to play any day of the week.

You also got to play the lead role in your school Shakespeare play. Watching you in A Comedy of Errors was like a dream come true for me. (Not because of the choice of the show--not my favorite in the Shakespeare canon--but watching my kid up there doing my thing was incredible.) Even if you hate Times Square and would rather spend all your time in Central Park catching turtles, at least you saw the role you wanted and went out and got it. And, at least you didn't hate all of New York City when we went last August. At least you liked pretty much everything except Times Square.

Your leadership skills once again earned you a spot with student council, you finished the 40 book challenge, and you brought home amazing report cards. I couldn't be more proud of the way you shine at school and I am hoping for big things for you at Lacreole Middle School. I know you can take that Enneagram 7 personality and be amazing. And, listen, I know you aren't supposed to label kids but if you aren't a 7, I don't know what is.

No matter what you become, no matter who you become, I love you. I pray that you always walk with Jesus, that you always love big and share generously, that you remember that in all things you are performing for an audience of One. Not me. Not your dad. The One, true King. Do all things for Jesus and you will be right where you are supposed to be.

Thank you for basically being a breeze for these first 13 years. We can totally do this teenage thing. I promise we can. Before we know it you'll have a driver's license and then you'll go to college and then you'll get married and have kids (IN THAT ORDER) and then I will be really, really old. But, for now, let's just put one foot in front of the other and get moved already.

All my love,
Mama

P.S. You still occasionally call me Mama. Confession: I love it so much.

Interview 13--Garrett

Through a great blogging mishap, all of these answers were accidentally deleted a year later. I have miraculously recalled all but one of his answers. Thankfully, I had just read them prior to asking him the news ones. I will leave the one blank that I cannot remember and hope that, in time, it will come to me.

1. What is your favorite T.V. Show? Whale Wars

2. What did you have for breakfast? A donut
3. What do you want to name your future son? Troy
4. Favorite Food? Crab
5. What food do you dislike? Mushrooms.
6. What is your favorite color? Purple
7. Favorite lunch? Top Ramen
8. What is your favorite thing to do? Be outside
9. If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation, where would it be? A Mediterranean Cruise.
10. Favorite sport? Baseball.
11. What do you want to name your future daughter? I like Emily
12. Are you a morning person or a night person? Both
13. Pets? I have a snail named Grubby and a dog.
14. Any new and exciting news you'd like to share with us? I'm moving to Oregon.
15. What do you want to be when you grow up? Something in the military.
16. What is your favorite candy? 3 Musketeers.
17. Where is the farthest place you've ever been from home? Israel.
18. What is your favorite book? The Alex Rider books or the Wings of Fire books.
19. What are you most proud of? Being a good brother.
20. What is your favorite movie? The Hobbit Battle of the 5 Armies.
21. Which came first, the chicken or the egg? The chicken.

And, for fun, I asked him the same questions that James Lipton asks at the end of Inside the Actor's Studio.

1. What is your favorite word? Apple
2. What is your least favorite word? Grotesque
3. What turns you on? (I rephrased with, "What do you like?") Pizza
4. What turns you off? (I rephrased with, "What don't you like?") Times Square
5. What sound or noise do you love? Well, I did love Hamilton's squeaks.
6. What sound or noise do you hate? Styrofoam. 

7. What is your favorite curse word? The sh word.
8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt? Dolphin Trainer at Sea World.
9. What profession would you not like to do? 

10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates? (I omitted the "If Heaven exists" part)? Hey, Buddy! You made it. I had some doubts along the way but you made it!

NYC

My mom and I took Garrett to New York City and he hated Times Square.

I can't honestly remember my very first impression of New York. I'd flown in on a red eye and my friend deposited me in her room to sleep while she went to class. I'm sure I had an initial impression but I don't know what it was. And I don't remember at what point on that trip The City grafted itself into my blood so that I loved it in a magical kind of way.

On my second trip, I came up out of the subway station and there were fat raindrops falling. I was in Washington Heights which feels so different from other parts of Manhattan and I just remember smiling and feeling at peace even though New York is really not overly peaceful.

We came up out of the subway and into the edge of Times Square at 40th Street and 8th Ave. There was a weird door that led to an adult movie store. There was always a drunk guy passed out right in front of the door. It was never the same guy.

Garrett loves hotels and ours was a hit.

He enjoyed Madame Tussaud's.

He loves history and the day we spent at the Statue of Liberty/Ellis Island/911 Museum/Trinity Church was right up his alley.

He laughed hysterically throughout the play we saw.

He liked going up into the Empire State Building.

He absolutely adored Central Park.

But he hated Times Square.

We'd be walking through and I would suddenly feel his hand on me--as though afraid he might be swallowed up whole. I tried to make it fun for him by taking him to the M&M store and Junior's for dessert. But he was scared for life by a grown man dressed like a baby trying to get money.

By the end of our four days there, he would say things like, "Does it involve going through Times Square?" If I replied no, he sighed in relief.

I think he enjoyed the experience of NYC. He saw things some 12 year olds only know from books and movies. But he was in his element in Central Park--where he could climb rocks and catch turtles. On our last day, in our last two hours, he asked if I would take him back to Central Park. I wasn't sure I could make it happen given our time constraint. But then I totally did and he got a full half hour with those turtles.

And then we came up out of the subway station. Past the adult movie store door. Past the drunk guy. Onto our street and back to the hotel.

And then it took us a full 18 hours to get home because our flight was delayed and we missed our connector. So he slept on the floor of the Denver airport. It was certainly a trip to remember.

Girls and Boys

I have to go back to school in a New York minute (thankfully, though, not before I actually go to New York next week) and if I think about it for too long I start to have some kind of panic attack and I hover on the verge of an all out toddler temper tantrum.

I love summer.

I never, ever, want it to leave me.

As I laid in bed thinking about my dwindling break, I decided we were definitely making today a pool day and we were definitely inviting friends.We ended up there with my friend, the boys' best buddies and another one of Garrett's friends from school. And so, it was a gang of two twelve year olds, an eleven year old, a ten year old, a nine year old, and a partridge in a pear tree who masquerades as a two year old.

They played and swam and soaked up the sun and one of them pooped a big disaster into a swimmy diaper. After that mess, in which I tried to wash him off in a shower that actually felt like needles were piercing skin and he cried and cried and screamed, "Mommy, no more!" and I finally had to make it work with a few baby wipes, I dried him off and declared it a day.

I'd been told that my nine year old was doing flips off the tall springboard and I needed to see this for myself. I walked over to the diving pool with my toddler in my arms and my friend at my side. As we walked past the springboard, I saw one of the girls from Garrett's grade. She is one of the kindest and most beautiful girls. She's also a giant and my son is a shrimp. As a teacher, I adore her. I pointed her out to Garrett. "Oh!" he said, "Yeah." And then my barely twelve year old marched right over to her and said hello.

I was so proud of his friendliness.

"Oh! Hi Garrett!" she said and she walked toward him with an arm extended in what could only be interpreted as the beginning of a side hug. Just as she began to say, "Let me give you a hu---" he turned on his heels and walked back to his friends.

Oh. Man. Rejected.

She mumbled, "Nevermind..." and then vacated that particular pool immediately. Garrett walked back and I explained that he likely, without meaning to, had really embarrassed her. I knew he wasn't trying to be a jerk. I don't think he even knew she was going to hug him. But she clearly felt burned. It was so obvious to this former sixth grader.

I told him to find her and make small talk. "You don't have to hug her, but at least make sure she knows you're friends. Smooth it over, in case she thinks you were trying to be mean."

He and his friends found her and hers. They stood together for a few minutes. I don't know what was said, but it was a glimpse into my future. This future of cute girls and my son. And his buddies. Eventually he told her he was going to New York next week. He said, "I'm going to a Broadway show." Apparently she responded jokingly with, "What? I hate you!" and then she jumped in the pool.

As we got our stuff packed up, his best friend sat across from him while they both ate a few cookies. "She keeps looking at you."

"She does?" he asked.

"Yeah," his other friend said. "She's staring over here."

"Maybe she likes shorter men," I said. They all broke into laughter. On the way out, I heard the boys teasing each other about girls and I looked at my friend. "They were three. Do you remember that? They were JUST THREE."

My son has been 12 for a week. When I was 12 years and 9 days old, a boy asked me to "go out" with him. For a solid year we never actually went anywhere. We just ate lunch together and, on rare occasion, held sweaty hands. I told Garrett today that I was 12 when I first had a boyfriend. His eyes got huge. "Don't worry," I said. "I didn't kiss him or anything like that. We just held hands."

He wrinkled his nose. "Gross."

Phew.

To My Son Who Is Somehow Twelve

Dear Boy,

We're two thirds of the way to eighteen. I can pretty clearly remember when you turned six and I realized that you were one third of the way to eighteen and I momentarily freaked out a little. Maybe it's because I have your tornado toddler of a brother now and in some ways it feels like I'll be actively parenting for the rest of my life, but I'm not lamenting this twelve quite like I lamented six. Perhaps I've just given up on trying to keep you little. Or, perhaps, I'm looking forward, in some warped and demented way, to watching you become a man.

The eye rolling, looking at me like I'm a complete moron, phase of our relationship has begun. I don't love that, not gonna lie. However, I know a lot of preteen boys and, I'm not kidding when I say that I wouldn't trade you for a single one of them. Oh some of them are great, to be sure. It's just that none of them are you.

There are more athletic boys in the world. There are smarter ones and more talented ones. I don't say that to be mean. I say it because you have enough ego strength to handle it. You always have. You may not be the best baseball player and you may not set the curve on the math test but you are incredibly well rounded. And you are respectful and kind. This summer, in particular, I have had several people tell me what an amazing kid you are. People who meet you for an hour or hang out with you for half a day and then send me glowing messages about your maturity and your manners.

I recently received a compliment on my parenting (BY THE GRACE OF GOD ALONE, KID). I was told that we are doing a great job--that we are stricter than most but that's okay. I suppose, as I look around me, that that's true. I'm sure you don't enjoy being the kid who has the "stricter than most" parents. I hope, though, that some day, you look back on your life and appreciate the rules and the boundaries. I hope you are grateful that we do not allow disrespect or entitlement. I hope that you can find peace and joy in the fact that we ask you to try to live like Jesus did and that we try (and oh how we fail) to show that to you by example. And I hope that, under all that weight of strict parenting, you know that I see you.

When we were recently in the Redwoods, I was speaking to a volunteer ranger. It was hard to keep you and your brothers quiet. Will, because he's a maniac. You and Matt because your voices and your countenance were alive with the mystery and majesty of those giants. For dad and me, we feel silenced by the awe of those woody sentinels. But for you, there was adventure in every moment. I apologized to the ranger. "We're trying to keep them quiet--" I couldn't finish my sentence. He interrupted me.

"Why?" he interjected. "They can be quiet when they're old!"

His statement rocked this boymom. I try to let you live, to watch you climb trees because they are God's gift to boys, to allow you to be loud and assertive, to be rogue in this society of screens and quiet whispers. But I still find myself apologizing for my boisterous boys. No more. God gave me larger than life, noisy boys--and He started by giving me you. And you, my dearest one, can be quiet and contained when you are old. (Except when your teacher is talking. Please also be quiet when your teacher is talking.)

You have made me so proud. This year alone, as I sat in our end of the year assembly and heard your beautiful name so many times. Making it to Regionals in the science fair--you just kept doing extra work to make it ready for the next level. You and your dad sat and sat and worked and worked and fixed and fixed that project until you took it as far as you could and got second place at the highest level. You finished the 40 book challenge. You participated in Monster Math. You took second place in the geography bee, losing only to a sixth grader.

Beyond your academic accolades, your teacher told me, on so many occasions in the faculty room, what an amazing friend you had been to someone that day. You served on student council after having to interview for the position. Outside of the classroom, you had an incredible batting average on the baseball field and worked so hard on the football field. You earned your Tenderfoot rank in scouts and are well on your way to Second Class. You participated in Kids Club and always memorized all your verses and completed all your homework.

You love the outdoors and want to be in the military. A free spirit at heart. A boy who loves travel and adventure and discovery. Your eyes--still the most unique color I have ever, ever seen--are deep and wise even if you are telling dorky twelve year old boy jokes most of the time.

We're going to New York. You and me and Grandma. I promised you a trip at the end of sixth grade if you were respectful and kind and didn't turn into a raging preteen jerk. But then we sold puppies and had the money now. And so we're New York bound for this twelfth birthday of yours. We'll kick off your last year of elementary school and celebrate your eclectic self. You are excited to see the Statue of Liberty and your history loving side can't wait to go to Ellis Island and visit Hamilton's grave. But you're also excited to go to a Broadway show and wander Central Park. I'm so excited to spend a few days with just my one oldest son--making memories and seeing one of my most favorite cities through your eyes.

I love you. Don't get me wrong, there are days when I'd pay gypsies to take you, but they are not the norm. The reality is that I wouldn't trade you for all the money in the world. You are such a very, very good egg. I love you. And if you ever, ever doubt that, I hope you will read these words and know that you were worth the wait. You were worth the tears and the fears and every moment that it took to finally hold you in my arms. I am so thankful that you made me a mama.

Always, all of my love,
Mom

Interview with a 12 Year Old

1. What is your favorite T.V. Show? NCIS.

2. What did you have for breakfast? Eggos.
3. What do you want to name your future son? Troy.
4. Favorite Food? Snow crab (Same as last year and the year before that and the year before that.)
5. What food do you dislike? Sushi.
6. What is your favorite color? Brown. (Some things never change. It's been brown forever. He calls it, "a good, solid color.")
7. Favorite lunch? Pizza.
8. What is your favorite thing to do? Go camping. (Last year he said, "Go on cruises." His taste has cheapened in his old age.)
9. If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation, where would it be? A cruise to Cuba.
10. Favorite sport? Baseball.
11. What do you want to name your future daughter? I like the name Emily. (Last year he said, "Lori." I'm glad that ship sailed. I don't hate my name but it's a little dated. Emily though. Emily is timeless. I could absolutely get on board with an Emily.)
12. Are you a morning person or a night person? Either.
13. Pets? Hamster, dog, and cat.
14. Any new and exciting news you'd like to share with us? Baby Declan. (His cousin had a baby. We met him on Thursday. He's adorable.)
15. What do you want to be when you grow up? A pilot in the Airforce.
16. What is your favorite candy? 3 Musketeers.
17. Where is the farthest place you've ever been from home? Israel. That will never change.
18. What is your favorite book? My favorite series right now is Rings of Fire.
19. What are you most proud of? I'm proud of learning how to surf.
20. What is your favorite movie? The Hobbit: Battle of the Five Armies.
21. Which came first, the chicken or the egg? The chicken.

And, for fun, I asked him the same questions that James Lipton asks at the end of Inside the Actor's Studio.

1. What is your favorite word? Probably the. I also like supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. (Ha ha. Bit of a difference between those two words but okay.)
2. What is your least favorite word? Beeeeeeeeeeeeeep. Ef you badness badness after that. (Okay. So, the F word.)
3. What turns you on? (I rephrased with, "What do you like?") Fishing and camping.
4. What turns you off? (I rephrased with, "What don't you like?") I don't like getting sick.
5. What sound or noise do you love? I like air raid siren.
6. What sound or noise do you hate? Styrofoam. 

7. What is your favorite curse word? Crap.
8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt? A Navy SEAL.
9. What profession would you not like to do? Plumber.

10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates? (I omitted the "If Heaven exists" part)? Hello.

On This Day in History

On December 21, we celebrate William Bassham Day--the day we officially and permanently and forever and always solidified Will's legal place in our family. On April 21, we celebrate Matthew Bassham Day for the same reasons. While the day Will joined our family felt like a formality as, after his birth, there were no adoption complications whatsoever, Matthew's day feels like a lot less of a formality and a lot more of the-day-I-finally-exhaled-after-not-breathing-for-nearly-fourteen-months.

If you're new here which is doubtful because back in the days of our contested adoption I had a great deal more readers than I do now, you can look at the archives for 2009 and 2010 to read more about our drawn out adoption process. What I want to say about that now is this...

Matthew's mother never wavered in her desire to place him with us. Oh, to be sure, she struggled in her own heart. While I don't presume to speak for her, I can only imagine that she experienced a daily tug of war of grief and sorrow and possibly regret mixed with the feeling that hopefully she made the right choice. Publicly though, she only ever said that he was ours.

I've been thinking about this recently. If the number of times I fail as a mother were written down, I fear no volume of pages would contain them. Just a couple of days ago, irritated, once again, at Garrett, my eleven year old, for being a terrible, horrible, pack rat slob, I started yanking things out of his backpack and scolding him for carrying around trash. I was throwing several plastic water bottles onto the floor when two thoughts struck me at the exact same time.

1. The "trash" was very colorful and cut in such a way as to indicate treasure where I saw only garbage.

2. My son's face and, therefore, his spirit were crushed.

"Mom," he said quietly before I could fix it, "it isn't trash. It's my art project I've been working on all week."

In my defense, my son is notorious for carting actual trash around in his backpack for days and weeks on end. Still, I'm a horrible parent. The prosecution rests. I did apologize, telling him I realized it was something special and I had assumed too quickly that the empty water bottles were exactly what they seemed. But I will probably carry the look on his face to my grave. I could weep even now.

My parenting fails are great. I desire such a higher standard for myself. I imagined I'd do this so much better than I am. Yesterday, as I got Will ready for bed, I said, "Hey, buddy. You're adopted. Can you say adopted?" He muttered something that suggested he was trying. I continued. "Adopted means that you were in your other mommy's tummy and when you came out, she picked us to raise you." He's not even two. It's going to have to stay that simple for now.

I thought about his other mommy. I thought about Matt's other mommy. And I thought about the weight of what I'm doing. I love Will and Matthew like they were birthed out of my very own body. Perhaps that doesn't make sense if you've never adopted a child but there are times when I forget that their story did not start with me. But the truth is they didn't begin with me. They began with their first mothers.

Regardless of circumstances, each of those women chose me. In a way, they hand picked me out of all the other mothers. Not only did they invite me in to one of the most intimate relationships known to mankind, they then turned around and walked away, leaving their heart in my arms and trusting me to love it more than my own life. I do not just owe it to myself and my children to hope and pray they turn out alright. I owe it to their mothers.

I will fail. I know that. I hope they know that. I hope that they will forgive my failures and my short comings. And I hope that, when their children are grown, they can say that they would choose me all over again. Raising their children--raising my children--is not a responsibility I take lightly. Motherhood is the single most important job I will ever have and I'm doing it, not only for myself, but for them.

On this day, eight years ago, I breathed a deep sigh of relief that my boy was mine forever. But he will never be only mine. He is ours. And I will strive to do my very best with him. For him. And for her.

***********************************
If you're an adoptive parent, regardless of how your children came to you, regardless of the circumstances surrounding their placement with you, be sure to think about their first parents and your responsibility to them. You are holding a significant piece of them in your arms. Love well. Love honorably. Love in such a way that when your child connects with his first family--whenever that might be--you are held in high esteem in the eyes of your child and in the eyes of his family.

I Couldn't See My Fifth Grader When He Was Five

Can I just tell you all that one of the best decisions we've made as parents was the one where we didn't send our barely five-year-old to kindergarten? Oh how we struggled to make that choice. He'd been in preschool for two years already and was doing just fine. He wasn't the smartest kid but he certainly wasn't the dumbest. He had a vocabulary that rivaled some second graders and enough self-confidence to insure success at the next level. And so, as I've written about before, we struggled with the decision.

We talked. We examined all angles. We waffled. I might have even agonized a bit over the choice. He certainly wasn't unready. In fact, by all measurables, he was ready. Something stopped us though. Something (or Someone) made us decide to wait--a decision that a large number of teachers have since validated, not just for our child but for almost every late summer* born child, especially boys.

We weren't actually thinking about kindergarten or first grade or even fourth grade. We were thinking about middle school and high school. We were thinking of the kid who wouldn't be eligible to get his driver's license until the rest of his grade had long been behind the wheel. We were thinking of giving every advantage to the kid who might want to play sports. We were thinking of the guy who would--with our decision--be a year older before he had to take the SATs or decide where he wanted to go to college.

We weren't thinking about our fifth grader.

I didn't know that the class one year ahead of him would loom over him with a great deal of height and general largeness. Granted, my husband is vertically challenged so I assumed Garrett wouldn't be tall, but I didn't think about all the other kids who would be. I didn't know he'd be so slight in stature so that, even having one of the very earliest birthdays in his entire grade level, he'd stand roughly average with the rest of them.

I didn't know that Troy and I would sit around one night, discussing Garrett's confidence, talking about how he is a leader in his grade level. We would also be talking about how he appears to fit in fine with the grade ahead of him as well. He's not shy around them and doesn't defer to their maturity because he's the same exact age as some of them. We didn't realize, when we made this choice, that we were setting him up for social success.

That's not at all meant to toot our horns in the slightest. We beat a dead horse with discussion. We prayed through this decision and felt led to the one we made. I know not everyone will make the same choice and that's okay. Maybe your barely five year old is ready and will always be ready and will never struggle with not being ready. Personally, I am already lamenting Will's unfortunate early June birthday. If it was May, of course I'd start him at five. If it was July, I wouldn't.

But I do think, regardless of what you might decide for your own child, that when to start school should be well thought out. It shouldn't be something you just do because, by golly, they turned five. Consider your child. Consider where they might be in ten years. I'm only one voice but I wouldn't change my decision if I could. The only thing I'd do differently is that I would forget about worrying about it. 

I imagine that the time could come where I'd wish I could go back and start him at five, but in five years of living with this choice, I've never regretted it once. Instead, I have seen (and many teachers have given me) validation upon validation that we made the right choice.

So that's my two cents. In case anyone was struggling with what to do with their late summer birthday baby.

*I realize that July 20 is not actually late summer. But it was when our school was on year round and 3/4 of the school was going to start on July 25.

Merry Christmas

Last week was filled with vomit. Will's vomit, my vomit, Garrett's vomit, Matthew's vomit, more of Will's vomit. We all just dropped like flies. The older boys and I, however, recovered within a day while Will just went on being sick. He was sick on Monday and on Tuesday and Wednesday. He seemed better on Thursday but started throwing up again on Friday and into Saturday. On Saturday night, I ended up at the children's hospital with a dehydrated Will. While we were able to orally rehydrate him without the need of an IV, it was a little scary for me. I'm just really aware of how fast organs can start shutting down in little people. He ended up being just fine and I'm very grateful that we were home within a few hours. I know that isn't the case for the parents of super sick kiddos.

Still, Christmas kind of sneaked up on us after six days of the swirling puke virus. I stayed home on Sunday morning which was tough for me since it was Christmas Eve. I almost never, ever miss church and being home, instead of with my brothers and sisters always makes me sad. I was so glad to be with Will though, rehydrating him and celebrating every wet diaper.

That night, since he'd been puke free for more than 24 hours, I was able to take him to our candlelight service. This was good because I was singing, the older boys were part of a living nativity and Troy was, of course, busy being the pastor.

I'd post a picture of Garrett as Joseph and Matthew as a wise man but I don't want to put other people's children on my blog. When they weren't busy being dressed as biblical characters, my kids were looking dapper. Will was excited to finally be feeling better.

I'm not a huge fan of the snow. But I am a huge fan of the snow on Christmas. Several years that we've lived here have resulted in brown ground on Christmas day. It almost never snows on the actual holiday which was also true this year but what did happen was magical. The snow began to fall, in giant and beautiful flakes on Christmas Eve. The twinkling lights everywhere were made more beautiful by the white and wintery wonderland as it softly fell. It was so fantastic and, as I watched it drift silently down, I had the thought that I would remember those few moments, with my kids in Christmas jammies and our tree framed in the window, for the rest of my life. Garrett is so close to being a teenager. The age gap between him and his baby brother is big and real. I have only these few seconds where all my boys are children. I want to soak up their relative smallness as much as I possibly can.

Monday was late and lazy like our Christmases always are. We opened our stockings and then had breakfast. The boys played in the snow while I cleaned up and Troy shoveled the driveway. Then we rushed through Will's gifts because he was turning into a nap needing tiny toddler tyrant. After we laid him down, the rest of us quietly and calmly opened our gifts.

Garrett received twenty trillion books this year, much to his delight. He's a history and literature loving bookworm. 

Matthew loves science and math and was truly overjoyed to get a chemistry set from my brother and sister-in-law. He loved all his gifts but I think you can see how happy he was about this one.

And Will loved everything, especially toys that made noise and his Busy Board which Troy made him. It's full of gadgets and gizmos he can flip and twist and zip and turn.

 

Our day was lovely. We're so thankful to our Lord for entering into humanity as a tiny baby in the tiniest of towns, in the lowliest of places. And we're so thankful for our family. Merry Christmas!

The Pygmy Antelope

I have an eleven year old. I used to blog about him here, when he was little and said hysterical things. I remember his chubby baby hands and his adorable baby voice. Daddy went to work and, for a minute there, it was just him and me all day long. I didn't work outside the home. There weren't any other kids until he was two and a half. I don't remember how we filled the days but there must have been a great deal of playing and reading. He took a nap or, at least, a rest, every day and I blogged a lot about life back then.

More children came. Preschool started. Then he went to kindergarten and first grade and second grade and third grade and fourth grade. Life barreled along with soccer, swimming lessons, homework, kid's club, scouts, and so many other things. I blogged less and less until it seemed the old fishbowl was just a thing I used to do.

But this first born of mine is pretty fantastic. He's always been one of my most favorite people on planet earth. He's an average kid in so many ways. Pretty average at sports, he makes up in heart what he often lacks in physical ability. A good student, but he's not a card holding member of the Genius Club. I doubt he'll graduate valedictorian or get a sport's scholarship to college. He's a loud mouth with more ego strength in his index finger than some people get in a lifetime. We're constantly telling ourselves that if we can harness all that confidence for good, he'll make a fine young man some day.

He's playing football right now. He plays down an age group because he's a miniature human. Even playing with ten-year-olds, he's one of the smallest. Even playing with ten-year-olds he made the B team. He didn't care. He shrugged off the disappointment, assuming he's right where he's supposed to be. He has a work ethic that won't quit, the heart of a lion in the body of a pygmy antelope.

He is small but he has all the confidence in the world. He made student council--a position he had to interview for. Last night, he earned his Tenderfoot rank--which required a Board of Review that he had to request himself. He's soaring so high above grade level in reading. He carries on conversations with adult strangers and experiences zero anxiety. He chooses to be a leader. The school librarian recently told me, "He is so kind. I do not know him very well, but I know that he is kind." 

He has befriended a student who struggles socially, sitting somewhere on the autism spectrum. This boy adores my son and is doing really well having Garrett beside him. In my drama class, I often ask the students to pair up. The other boy instantly stands next to my son. Perhaps Garrett would like, from time to time, to be paired up with someone else. But when asked, he shrugs his shoulders. "It's okay, Mom," he tells me. "He's comfortable with me and I don't want to leave any man behind."

He wants to be in the military when he grows up. Many mamas try to steer their precious boys away from such a career. But my son, at 11, doesn't want to leave any man behind. I can't imagine a better man to stand by on the field of battle. And I have all the confidence that he would run into enemy fire to drag a brother out of harm's way. 

He is average in so many ways. But he is also amazing. And as I think back 12 years, to a time when I was begging and pleading with my Lord for the gift of a child, I have to smile because this precious child is worth every second of the wait.

Eleven

Dear Eleven,

Once upon a time, there was a baby. He was thin, long of limb, with a large brain or, at the very least, a big skull. As he grew up, he maintained his slight appearance, with the exception of a time during toddlerhood where he resembled an Easter ham--chubby, warm, and sufficiently succulent. One day, quite suddenly, he was eleven. His mother realized, with a bit of a surprised jolt, that he was somehow closer to turning 20 than he was to that day she first held his squishy body in her arms. If there was such a thing as late onset postpartum depression, she would certainly be presenting all symptoms. For it had come to pass in those days that her baby boy had grown up right before her eyes and she had somehow failed to see it until, perhaps, that very moment. Or she had seen it every day but faithfully perfected the art of denial. 

Garrett, you are, somehow, all grown up. And, oh, I know that isn't exactly true. I know that you have to grow facial hair still and eat me out of house and home and grow taller than me. I know there are still countless report cards to bring home and proms to go to. I know that I still have time. But you have become your own person and sometimes, I still want you to be that little boy who made me fast forward through the part of Finding Nemo where the mama dies, that little boy who made me sing him to sleep for years, that kid who kicked the preschool director in the gut because there was simply no way he was going to stay there for one second without his mom.

But mostly, MOSTLY, I really love this version of you. You are a joy and a delight to me. Son, in my days as a substitute teacher, I have met A LOT of kids. Some of them are wonderful, to be sure. But when I see you walking through the halls or laughing with your friends at lunch, my heart swells with pride. I am SO GLAD that you are mine. And occasionally, as misguided and arrogant as this is, I feel sorry for everyone else in the world because they aren't lucky enough to call you their own. Then you'll tell some horrendously corny joke, thinking yourself to be hilarious, and I'll close my eyes, shake my head back and forth, and praise God for humbling me.

You are bold and brave. So much bolder and so much braver than I am. You're smart and athletic. You take direction and criticism but don't let either soak in and change your core. This past year, you participated in a geography bee and were the only fourth grader to advance into the second round. Sitting at that table, with all the bigger kids, you looked small and nervous but somehow confident and sure. You're gaining skills and speed on the soccer and baseball fields, and in a quick minute you'll be trying your hand at football. We tried to convince you that you're too small, that you'll get smashed--possibly beyond repair--but you won't have any of it. Of course, we have friends who look at us like we're psychotic parents for even thinking about letting you play but, Son, parenting is nothing but a fine line between letting your kids live and keeping them alive. I don't want you to look back on your childhood and say, "All I ever wanted to do was play tackle football and you wouldn't let me."

You're already going to blame us for the fact that you'll never reach your full potential as a rugby player. Because that's what you really want to do. And fencing. But the closest fencing place (studio? field?) is in Park City and that just seems treacherous in the winter and rugby is like football without rules. I'm apprehensive enough about football WITH rules. But you look stinkin' adorable in the shoulder pads so I'm embracing it. I know, I know, you aren't "going for" adorable. You're going for menacing but have you seen yourself? You're nothing but lanky limbs and a cute smile.

You love Jesus and that is a source of abundant joy to me. I hope and pray that you keep that fire as you get older. This isn't the easiest place for a pastor's kid who passionately loves the authentic Jesus of the Bible to grow up but you've made the best of it for the past decade. I'm so proud of your unwavering dedication to learning about the one true God.

I continue to believe that you were born in the wrong decade. You're such a free spirit, like Huckleberry Finn without the abusive father, and seem to have been born to wander. But, as Tolkien reminds us in The Lord of the Rings (look at ME quoting LOTR!), "Not all those who wander are lost." You long to fish, hunt, camp, and live a life connected to the land, to the elements, to the wide open countryside or mountain top. Your soul longs for the next journey and almost everything is an adventure in those twinkling green eyes and welcoming grin. I fear and rejoice in the fact that you cannot be contained.

Use your wanderlust for good, my boy. Be respectful, always. Love others, always. Show the light of Jesus to an unbelieving world, always. And when they hit you hard in football, hop back up again because your mama can't handle waiting to find out if you're gonna live.

I love you.

-Mom

Interview with an 11 Year Old

1. What is your favorite T.V. Show? Dual Survival

2. What did you have for breakfast? A bagel.
3. What do you want to name your future son? (This is a new question. I got rid of "What's your middle name?" because, well, he's known that for years now. Interestingly, the answer didn't change even though the questions did.) John.
4. Favorite Food? Snow crab (Same as last year and the year before that.)
5. What food do you dislike? Mushrooms.
6. What is your favorite color? Brown. (Some things never change)
7. Favorite lunch? Totinos Pizza.
8. What is your favorite thing to do? Go on cruises.
9. If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation, where would it be? A cruise through the Mediterranean.
10. Favorite sport? Football, wrestling, soccer, baseball, swimming...
11. What do you want to name your future daughter? (This is a new question. I also decided to get rid of, "When is your birthday?" because he's also known that for years.) Lori. (Oh child. I hope not. Although it is better than Brickannlie. Or some other atrocious thing he could come up with.
12. Are you a morning person or a night person? Ummmm. Morning.
13. Pets? I have a hamster. (Now that he has his very own pet, he's forgotten the existence of his dog and cat.)
14. Any new and exciting news you'd like to share with us? Um. No. Not really.
15. What do you want to be when you grow up? I want to work at Little Caesar's and then Subway. Then I want to go into the coast guard. Then I want to be a pastor.
16. What is your favorite candy? 3 Musketeer.
17. Where is the farthest place you've ever been from home? Oh. I don't know. Is it Israel, Mom? Yes. Israel.
18. What is your favorite book? Stranded series.
19. What are you most proud of? Having hammy. (The hamster. It's a pretty big accomplishment. Lol.)
20. What is your favorite movie? Gettysburg. Or the Hunger Games. (We recently let him watch the latter. His brother has not seen it yet. He really liked it. I mean, in that way that you can really like something that has a very disturbing premise. Time for him to read the books, I think.)
21. Which came first, the chicken or the egg? The chicken.

And, for fun, I asked him the same questions that James Lipton asks at the end of Inside the Actor's Studio.

1. What is your favorite word? Probably dangit. Me: That's your favorite word? In the whole world? Him: Probably. (Oh dear.)
2. What is your least favorite word? Using the Lord's name in vain.
3. What turns you on? (I rephrased with, "What do you like?") I like pizza.
4. What turns you off? (I rephrased with, "What don't you like?") Asparagus.
5. What sound or noise do you love? I like Will laughing.
6. What sound or noise do you hate? Will screaming at the top of his lungs.

7. What is your favorite curse word? Shut up.
8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt? A person who studies hamsters.
9. What profession would you not like to do? Cleaning up people's flooded homes.

10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates? (I omitted the "If Heaven exists" part)? Welcome.

Mooners and Flashers

When the boys were little, it was so easy to find things to blog about. They were hysterical little people whose toddler shenanigans were almost always blog worthy. And then they grew up. They're hardly grown, of course, but I don't have hilarious poop stories to regale you with anymore.

THAT'S WHY WE HAD ANOTHER KID.

Just kidding.

Mostly.

I mean, I'm glad that he'll soon enter the stage where everything that comes out of his mouth is funny as heck. He's not there yet. Where he is right now is throwing food, yelling at the tip top of his lungs, and refusing to say any words except, "Ah-duh," which translates directly to, "All done."

My older boys are playing sports and doing homework and generally living life in that stage between little kid and teenager. In some ways, it's the sweet spot. The place where they don't throw food anymore but all the testosterone hasn't flooded their cute brains and turned them into raging hormone monsters. But the sweet spot doesn't lend itself to funny blogging stories very often.

You might not know it. You may not even believe me when I tell you, but I spend a great deal of time trying to make sure my kids don't turn into ax murderers or juvenile delinquents. Consistency is my number one parenting goal and I strive--full force--to be stable and steady in my mothering. They'll make their own choices and their own mistakes but by golly I'm going to do everything in my power to shape them. I want their reputation to precede them in only positive ways.

Which is why I stormed up to the door of a neighbor I'd never met two days ago to give him the WHAT FOR.

There isn't a confrontational bone in my body, actually. So the fact that I was hammering this dude's door with my fist is astonishing. 

See, Garrett had come in from playing outside and he was laughing about how a neighbor of ours thought he had mooned him. HOLD THE PHONE. WAIT ONE SECOND. WHAT, NOW?

"So, he was getting his mail and he asked me if I was the one who showed him my butt a few days ago. I said I wasn't and he asked me which house I lived in. I pointed and he said, 'It was you then.' I told him it wasn't. He said, 'Well, he looked JUST like you.'"

Showing his rump to a random neighbor is about the last thing I can think of Garrett doing. So, off I stormed to inform this guy that my child absolutely was not the one who had mooned him. First, we were out of town until Sunday. Second, our Sundays are very busy and the boys rarely get a chance to play out front and I knew they were never out on Sunday. Third, Monday they were at a church soccer camp in the morning and then running errands and doing chores until evening when we went out to dinner to finally celebrate Father's Day.

Up I marched to the neighbor's door. Garrett, at this point, was hot on my heels and in tears because he was so mortified about whatever I was about to do. I was concerned that his tears were a confession which is ridiculous because, as I've just mentioned, he hadn't been out front. Did I assume he sneaked outside in the middle of his chores for a good ole fashion mooning? "You better tell me right now if it was you."

"It wasn't me! I'm just nervous about whatever you're going to say," he answered. I'm sure that inside he was thinking, MY MOM HAS STRAIGHT UP LOST HER MIND! Bang! Bang! Bang! I rapped on the door. Now, I had absolutely no idea what this guy looked like. He lives down around the corner and I was taking the word of my eight-year-old neighbor--who looks and, occasionally, acts exactly like Dennis the Menace--that this is where the man even lived. The door opened.

"Hi," I said. "Did you just get your mail?"

"Yes," he replied slowly.

"Okay..." I started. And then I built my defense. My kids weren't out. It wasn't my son. I raise my children with a certain level of integrity and I didn't want anyone in the neighborhood thinking they were little miscreants. 

The thing is, my kids will find enough trouble on their own. They will be punished for it. I definitely don't want them getting a reputation for something they didn't even do. 

The neighbor told me that he simply asked my son if it was him and then informed him that he needed to tell his friend that behavior like that was going to land him in jail. Apparently, said neighbor was on his way to church when said miscreant pulled down his pants and wiggled his goods before spinning around and shaking his rump. Unprompted. Unwarranted. 

Now, Garrett hadn't told me that the burden of lecturing this kid (who we believe is our next door neighbor's nephew) had been passed on to him. It's not his friend. Garrett wasn't part of the situation at all. I'm still unclear as to why he needed to be the one to pass this information on. I also think it might be a stretch to assume that this kid is headed straight for the slammer because of a mooning.

"I just wanted to make sure you knew it wasn't my son," I said.

"Oh, sure. He said it wasn't him. He looks like a good kid." Sure. Except five minutes ago, he looked like someone who would flap his business at strangers.

"Alright, thanks. Have a nice day," I said and I headed off.

I do not normally go all Mama Bear freak out. I basically always believe an adult who tells me that my kid did something. They are not sinless little angels. But, when I am 99.99% sure they didn't do something, you're darn right I'm going to defend them. And thank goodness, as of yet, they are not the town flashers.

Bon Voyage

Years ago, my parents asked us if we'd be open to having them take our boys on a trip--when they were a little older. Of course, we enthusiastically agreed. They talked about all the different options. We were really up for anything. I mean, we're the parents who took our kids to Israel when they were four and seven so, short of them planning a trip to Afghanistan or Syria or maybe the Gaza Strip, we were fine with it. 

The time has come. At eight and almost eleven, the boys are ready for an adventure with their grandparents. It's a combined birthday present (and, really, it could count as their birthday gift from now until forever) and they've known about it for several months. They've been receiving twice weekly clues to try to figure out where they're going. 

Clues like:

You'll need a passport

There may be an animal in your room from time to time

Many cultures come together

You will have the opportunity to go back in time

And so many more.

Garrett was dead set, most of the time, on it being a cruise. Matthew wasn't quite as invested in the clue situation as Garrett was but was very excited when he found out that there would be a lot of opportunities for eating.

I had told only a limited number of people because I was so worried that the surprise would be ruined. When I told people, most of them made requests for my parents to adopt them as grandchildren. Most of these people are close to my age and I'm not sure my parents are looking for adult grandchildren but I GET IT because this trip is AMAZING.

My parents flew in on Thursday and told the boys on Thursday night where they were going. They're cruising to Honduras and Mexico! (And, yes, their parents are JEALOUS!) Here they all are just before we took them to the airport...

Last night, they stayed in Houston and this morning they went on to Galveston. They've boarded the ship and are waiting to set sail.

They've already found lots of yummy food and have enjoyed one of their favorites...crawfish.

My parents booked the MOST FUN excursions for them. We cannot wait for pictures so we can live vicariously through them. We hope they know how very blessed they are and we hope they're minding every last manner. Bon Voyage, Boys!

Movin' and Shakin'

Matthew was this amazing little mover and shaker. He lifted his head off my shoulder, IN THE HOSPITAL ROOM, WHEN HE WAS TWO HOURS OLD, and just held it steady, staring at me like, "Whoa, you're white." He walked just shy of ten months and crawled at six. He was/is just a freakishly coordinated human being. This post isn't about him.

Garrett was content to do his own thing. He had no siblings to chase. I was a first time mom and all my friend's babies were doing things way faster than him and I was afraid he'd never figure out how to crawl. He did, at eight and a half months old, in a hotel room in northern California. Then I worried he'd never walk. He did. At twelve and a half months. Not in a hotel room.

Will reminds me SO much of Garrett. They have a very similar "I'm About to Cry Because My Feelings Are Hurt" face. And they seem to be hitting milestones at roughly the same time.

Will has been desperately trying to crawl for a couple of weeks now. He tried the site and bounce which was somewhat effective if not overly practical. The Sit and Bounce evolved into him getting on his hands and knees with his feet tucked up underneath him. He tried, valiantly, to crawl this way, but his feet kept getting in the way. He'd end up sprawled on the floor, mad that he couldn't seem to use the force to make whatever object he was trying to reach come to him instead.

I worked yesterday and Troy told me that Will was SO close. I have to work tomorrow and the next day. The fact that Will decided he'd learn how to Scoot-Crawl today was just great. Albeit hilarious. He kinda walks with one foot while dragging the other foot behind him.

I have spent forever trying to upload the video and Blogger is JUST HAVING NONE OF IT. So I'm sorry. Suffice it to say, he's now capable of reaching whatever he'd like. Which, today, happened to be a Pokemon card that he sucked on until it was effectively ruined. Also, he may or may not have consumed a portion of it.

Roughage. Right?

Looking Back on the Time We Traveled Internationally With a Seven-Year-Old and His Younger Brother

As was largely detailed here several years ago, we took our small children to Israel. We received overwhelming support from friends and family who thought it would be an incredible experience for our boys. Of course, there were also more than a few naysayers who thought we were absolutely OFF OUR METAPHORICAL ROCKERS.

"What if they won't eat anything?" Um...I don't think they will actually starve to death in a country with plenty of food.

"What if they are awful travelers?" They're great travelers so far so I think we'll be okay. If they're awful, I will eat my words and tell you that you were right all along and I shouldn't have wasted my money.

"What if you get shot or bombed?" You people are too dependent on your western news. And also, too driven by fear. I've been there. I was neither shot nor bombed.

"What if you spend that money and they don't remember?" Hmmmm...

We knew that was HIGHLY likely to happen. We also knew that God provided a way to take them when they were little. Given that, even though I'm not afraid of being bombed in Israel, I am aware of its frequent travel advisories, we decided to take them while we could.

It was one of the best decisions we ever made.

I knew before we left that we would make them Shutterfly books so that we could always remind them of their trip.

My friend is traveling internationally with her son soon and asked me for some tips for getting him adjusted to the time change as fast as possible. We messaged back and forth and I got so jealous of her trip to London and Italy and so nostalgic for our trip to Israel. After chatting with her, I went into their rooms and grabbed their Israel books down from their shelf.

I started flipping through Garrett's. He was seven when we flew him halfway around the world. We bought him a drawing pad and, at some point during our travels on the following day, we asked him to color a picture of his favorite thing from the previous day. We then took pictures of his drawings and included them in his Shutterfly album. Nearly three years later, I was looking back on these drawings and it hit me what a great idea that had been.

Now, while we did tons of things every day and there were many things every day that he loved (and sometimes he had a really hard time choosing), we have a glimpse into what really impacted our seven-year-old on his historical and biblical tour of Israel.

Our first day was spent alone with just our family. We arrived in Israel and spent the night right by the Mediterranean Sea. Garrett's favorite thing from the entire day was when his daddy threw him, repeatedly, into the sea. I sat on the shore, nursing a raging case of airsickness and the beginning of a sinus infection while three guys hit on me in Arabic.

On day two, Garrett drew a picture of him, his brother, and a women we'd just met who became a fast friend, standing in the ancient remains of Herod's Pool. Turns out they weren't really, actually, exactly supposed to get in it but it's his favorite memory from that day and no one threw us into an Israeli jail so I consider it a win.

Our third day was filled with sites. Among them, Tel Dan, which is stunning. People think of dirt and dust and heat when they think of Israel. That's there, but there is also water and trees and beautiful country. Garrett took off his shoes and waded through the streams and pools that come together to form the headwaters of the Jordan River. His picture, sketched with first grade hands, shows him standing next to a tree in the middle of a pool on our nature hike. The tree looks like a big person with blue hair. Just go with it.

One of the things we did on day four was visit a working replica of a Nazarene village. This kind of things was, is, and will probably always be right up Garrett's alley. I'm certain if he had any idea that places exist where people reenact the Civil War, I would have to move him to the battle field where he would set up permanent residence. He LOVED Nazareth Village.

Our fifth day was filled with archaeological sites and places with deep biblical history. I'd begged Troy to beg our tour guide to stop at Gan Hashlosha, a spring that they've turned into a type of natural water park. It's refreshing, beautiful and SO FUN. In the middle of a busy tour schedule, it was nice to take a dip. I'm so glad I pushed the issue and got it worked into our trip because it was my son's favorite thing that day. He didn't actually go fishing but there were fish so his picture shows some dude trying to catch them. Even though they were, like, the size of my toe.

Day six was also filled with sites. We took a boat ride across the Sea of Galilee. The captain and his crew tossed fishing nets into the sea, the crew and some of our group danced a traditional dance, and the ride was what my kid chose to draw. His little brother ate a bunch of fish eyes that day. I might have drawn that.

On day seven we did so many fun things. Garrett stood in a waterfall in En Gedi, floated in the Dead Sea, and rode in a cable car. But, he was also baptized in the Jordan River. And THAT was what made the biggest imprint on his mind. The picture kinda looks like a couple of praying mantises playing in a pond but is, in fact, his daddy submerging him in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

Day eight was spent relaxing in Eilat. I was in the horrendous stages of my sinus infection and we just went to the beach for a few hours before I slept all afternoon and the boys played in the hotel pool. I think it was one of his most favorite days. The picture shows Troy and me on top of a short retaining wall. The beach was below and you can see the boys playing beneath us.

On day nine, the boys climbed a hill. I mean, they did WAY more than that but that's what Garrett drew a picture of. We'd gone all over and, eventually, ended up at the valley of Elah where David fought Goliath. Troy took the boys up a steep hill and they ended up having to kind of slide back down on their bums. Garrett got some scrapes and scratches, had a blast, and drew all about it.

On day ten, among other things, we visited the Garden Tomb. Likely not the actual site of Jesus's resurrection but beautiful, peaceful, and impressive, the Garden Tomb stood out in Garrett's mind above everything else from that day. That's a tree you see. Not a giant carrot guarding the tomb. He must have been going through a very Picasso-y tree phase.

Day eleven was filled with so many Jerusalem sites. We walked the Via Dolorosa, saw Gethsemane, went to the western wall and more. But Garrett was seven. And Garrett rode a camel. Not a hairy elephant, a camel. I mean, he rode a donkey, too, but, apparently, the camel made a bigger impression.

On our last day, we walked a third of a mile through an underground, water filled tunnel that may have been used as an escape route out of the walled city. It didn't matter what else we did that day. Walking through an underground tunnel was most impressive to a seven-year-old. And to his then 32 year old mother.

I'm so glad we did this trip with them and so glad we had Garrett draw pictures. They're hilarious and also so telling of the things that might stick permanently in his mind. If you get the opportunity to travel with kids, DO IT. Jet lag, interesting foreign foods, scrapes and cuts and one kid barfing on the tour bus and all, I wouldn't change it for the world. They both talk--always--of wanting to go back and of wanting to see the rest of the world.

I'm also glad that his carrot/blue hair person tree phase will forever be remembered in this photo album.

Upon Seeing a Beautiful Picture

I see it time and time again, beautiful pictures of an adoptive mother seeing her child for the very first time. She's covered her mouth with a hand and tears are filling her eyes. It's caught forever, that incredible moment of love, joy, amazement and instant motherhood.

I don't have a picture like that of me.

I guess I could have faked it. I could have used every dime of my theatre degree to glaze my eyes over with tears. I could have reacted the way 90% of moms do which is exactly the way I imagine I should respond. And, truth be told, I feel sad and sorry because that wasn't my reaction with either of the children who have come to me through someone else's womb. But, in all honesty, it wasn't how I reacted to the son I carried either.

Of my four children, I only sobbed the first time I held one of them and that was because her heart was still. The ones that were breathing and moving and peering at me through eyes I'd longed to gaze into for forever, caused no immediate or intense emotional reaction.

In part, I suppose it's denial. I'd waited for each of them in painful ways and, once they got here, I think there was a part of me that was holding back, afraid to have that instant and overwhelming bond. Most of it is that people are always looking at me. If you'd put me in a room alone with each of my boys, I'm certain the tears would have flowed freely just as they did when the door closed and it was just Kate, me, and a flood of wounded grief--except in place of grief would be relief and joy. But there have always been doctors, nurses, and adoption coordinators standing by, watching that intensely personal moment.

The robot in me can't share the space. Because of that, none of my boys have a picture of their mother in awe, overcome by emotion. And so, they may forever think that their entrance into my life was without fanfare. They may wonder if I felt any kind of sudden attachment to them. There is, after all, no proof.

I just recently saw a beautiful picture of an adoptive mother seeing her boy for the very first time. I stared at it, wishing there was a picture of me looking that very same way. Instead, there are pictures of me holding them with stoicism written boldly across my face.

There aren't pictures of Garrett waking me in the middle of the night when he was six hours old, my newfound maternal instinct pulling me from a deep sleep as I flew into motion with that first cry. There's no picture of him, cradled against my body an hour later, as silent tears of joy dampened his head in the dark.

No one was there to take a picture of me staring through the window at Matthew before I was allowed to hold him. He wailed and I wiped tears from my eyes. All I could think about was getting to him so that I could hold him and make it stop, a non-biological maternal instinct that I found to be both surprising and beautiful.

There weren't hidden cameras when it was finally just Will and me and he snuggled into my body like we were always meant to be together. There were so many emotions, so much surprise that he was mine, so much to do to get him home, that my tears for him came later, in the privacy of my own bedroom, staring into his eyes and realizing the full weight of the miracle.

I wish I was a lovely person with lovely pictures to tell my story. Instead, these boys will have to settle for the words I splatter onto a page. Words about how they each came into my life and, behind the veil of privacy, I was finally able to really see them. And what I saw was glorious, miraculous, and life changing. What I saw were souls and smiles and blessings. What I saw were my babies. And I put my hand over my mouth and tears sprung to my eyes because they were perfect.

Interview With a Ten Year Old

1. What is your favorite T.V. Show? Bonanza. (He's a funny kid.)

2. What did you have for breakfast? Raisin Bran
3. What is your middle name? John (Back when he was a toddler this was a funny question. Now that he's ten and his middle name doesn't change, it's kind of ridiculous.)
4. Favorite Food? Snow crab (Same as last year)
5. What food do you dislike? Avocado (Same as last year)
6. What is your favorite color? Brown and black. (Some things never change)
7. Favorite lunch? Top Ramen (Oh child, I'm ratted out forever. It's organic ramen made from vegetable noodles. With no added garbage or sodium. I'm lying. It's absolutely Maruchan. Which, by the way, is so much better than Nissan. I should know. I EAT IT TOO! #shamoftheperfect)
8. What is your favorite thing to do? Go deep sea fishing. (He's done it once. Apparently it made a BIG impression.)
9. If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation, where would it be? Uh...probably to Israel again.
10. Favorite sport? Football
11. When is your birthday? The 20th of July.
12. Are you a morning person or a night person? MORNING!
13. Pets? Two. Dog. Cat.
14. Any new and exciting news you'd like to share with us? I've got a new brother.
15. What do you want to be when you grow up? A Guy That Jumps Out of Helicopters in the Coast Guard. (See! I told you!)
16. What is your favorite candy? Him: Is ice cream a candy? Me: No. Him: Then probably a milk shake. Me: That's ice cream. Him: Oh. Then chocolate.
17. Where is the farthest place you've ever been from home? Israel
18. What is your favorite book? The Land of Stories series
19. What are you most proud of? Him: Being born. Me: BEING BORN? Him: Yeah. That's all I can think of. It's a pretty big accomplishment.
20. What is your favorite movie? The Hobbit Battle of the Five Armies.
21. Which came first, the chicken or the egg? The chicken.

And, for fun, I asked him the same questions that James Lipton asks at the end of Inside the Actor's Studio.

1. What is your favorite word? Probably supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. I say that word a lot. (Um. Alrighty.)
2. What is your least favorite word? The "F" word.
3. What turns you on? (I rephrased with, "What do you like?") Surfing
4. What turns you off? (I rephrased with, "What don't you like?") Getting hurt.
5. What sound or noise do you love? Bang! I like big bang type noises.
6. What sound or noise do you hate? Styrofoam creaking.(Same answer, four years running.)

7. What is your favorite curse word? Crap. I would say that all the time if I could.
8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt? Pastor
9. What profession would you not like to do? Cleaning out porta potties.

10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates? (I omitted the "If Heaven exists" part)? Welcome.