Remind me to tell you the story about Garrett making his own pool out of the bathroom sink. For now, I must go survey the situation with my still frozen turkey. For a real laugh read this blog on the same topic.
I hope you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving tomorrow.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Spew
I don't really have a weak stomach. I mean, I get the flu on occasion and, as a child, I puked pretty often but I don't vomit at the sight of someone blowing chunks and few things make my stomach turn.
But today, during our Old Rental Cleaning Session, I very nearly blew my own chunks. You see we got a ridiculous list of things we have to clean. I'm not kidding. I mean, one of the things we were supposed to do was dust the plumbing pipes under the bathroom sinks. I grew up with a clean freak father and he NEVER asked me to dust the pipes. So, back to the near chucking session. As I pulled the oven out to clean behind it I discovered that the previous tenants had, obviously, not completed every task on the Silly and Ridiculous Check-Out Cleaning List.
The sides of the oven looked like they were crying thick yellow grease. Lines of coagulated liquid fat crept from the top all the way to floor. But that alone wouldn't have made me almost puke. Under the oven there were pools of grease and layers and layers of dirt and grime and hundreds and hundreds of tiny rodent poops. And a cookie cutter that wasn't mine. We never had a rodent infestation while we were living there. It made me heave. More than once.
But today, during our Old Rental Cleaning Session, I very nearly blew my own chunks. You see we got a ridiculous list of things we have to clean. I'm not kidding. I mean, one of the things we were supposed to do was dust the plumbing pipes under the bathroom sinks. I grew up with a clean freak father and he NEVER asked me to dust the pipes. So, back to the near chucking session. As I pulled the oven out to clean behind it I discovered that the previous tenants had, obviously, not completed every task on the Silly and Ridiculous Check-Out Cleaning List.
The sides of the oven looked like they were crying thick yellow grease. Lines of coagulated liquid fat crept from the top all the way to floor. But that alone wouldn't have made me almost puke. Under the oven there were pools of grease and layers and layers of dirt and grime and hundreds and hundreds of tiny rodent poops. And a cookie cutter that wasn't mine. We never had a rodent infestation while we were living there. It made me heave. More than once.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Here Comes the Calvary
Moving to Utah was a stretch for our little family. I was leaving the only home I had ever known. I was leaving sunny San Diego and trading it in for snowy Utah. Most importantly, I was moving away from my (and part of my husband's) family.
It was this last thing that I knew would be the most difficult. I wondered who would be there to fill in the gaps, help watch our son when we wanted a date night.
This last weekend our church family stepped up in a big way as we moved from one rental to another. They helped load all our earthly possessions into a moving van and several other vehicles. Then, at the new house, they unloaded our possessions. Several men even manhandled our behemoth of a couch through narrow doorways into our new family room. It was nice to realize that while our actual families may be miles away, we have a church family that is here for us.
Today the kindness continued. Several people from church stopped by to help us clean, unpack, and hang our pictures. One gentlemen did miscelaneous handyman work that my dear husband is sadly not proficient in getting accomplished.
While our families are miles away and we miss them very much, it is nice to know we are not alone out her in snowy Utah.*
*Thankfully the snows have not come yet. For this I am still greatly appreciative.
It was this last thing that I knew would be the most difficult. I wondered who would be there to fill in the gaps, help watch our son when we wanted a date night.
This last weekend our church family stepped up in a big way as we moved from one rental to another. They helped load all our earthly possessions into a moving van and several other vehicles. Then, at the new house, they unloaded our possessions. Several men even manhandled our behemoth of a couch through narrow doorways into our new family room. It was nice to realize that while our actual families may be miles away, we have a church family that is here for us.
Today the kindness continued. Several people from church stopped by to help us clean, unpack, and hang our pictures. One gentlemen did miscelaneous handyman work that my dear husband is sadly not proficient in getting accomplished.
While our families are miles away and we miss them very much, it is nice to know we are not alone out her in snowy Utah.*
*Thankfully the snows have not come yet. For this I am still greatly appreciative.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
National Moving Month
This NaBloPoMo is proving a bit harder than last year. And last year we moved 750 miles to this year's, um, I don't even know, eight...maybe.
In any case. Our modem at the old house got accidentally unplugged during the move and we can't get it up and running again. Our new modem isn't supposed to arrive at the new house tomorrow until sometime in the afternoon. So, today, I am blogging from Troy's office in between Sunday school hour and the church service.
Oh. Boy. Am I dedicated or what?
And I have decided that, for me, November is not National Blog Posting Month it is, in fact, National Moving Month. Next year I plan on boycotting this event. I am sick of moving.
In any case. Our modem at the old house got accidentally unplugged during the move and we can't get it up and running again. Our new modem isn't supposed to arrive at the new house tomorrow until sometime in the afternoon. So, today, I am blogging from Troy's office in between Sunday school hour and the church service.
Oh. Boy. Am I dedicated or what?
And I have decided that, for me, November is not National Blog Posting Month it is, in fact, National Moving Month. Next year I plan on boycotting this event. I am sick of moving.
Friday, November 21, 2008
Today's the Day
Peach: Morning. It's morning, everyone! Today's the day! The sun is shining, the tank is clean, and we are gonna get out of... [beat] [gasps] The tank is clean. [yells] The tank is clean! -Finding Nemo
Okay so this tank is definitely not clean. No way. In fact, it's going to take me the better part of next week to get it clean enough to get our deposit back. It's just that when you start packing boxes you stop dusting and vacuuming. But I've got Nemo on the brain. Anyway today is the day and we are gonna get out of here. Unfortunately we like here. But we'll survive and Troy will definitely enjoy cutting his commute in half.
It's time to move.
Okay so this tank is definitely not clean. No way. In fact, it's going to take me the better part of next week to get it clean enough to get our deposit back. It's just that when you start packing boxes you stop dusting and vacuuming. But I've got Nemo on the brain. Anyway today is the day and we are gonna get out of here. Unfortunately we like here. But we'll survive and Troy will definitely enjoy cutting his commute in half.
It's time to move.
Packing & Moving
We are heading over to the new place tonight with a truck load. Tomorrow we'll be moving most of our stuff in a moving van. We have until the 30th to turn this house over so the rest of our possessions will be moved sometime over the next week.
Also occuring next week:
Finish weeding backyard of the old place
Clean entire old place
Unpack boxes in the new place
Shop for entire Thanksgiving meal
Cook an entire Thanksgiving meal with the exception of the stuffing because my mother-in-law makes good stuffing so I am delegating that job to her. I decidedly do not make good stuffing because I think stuffing is the primary food group of the underworld. So I am glad that someone will be here who can make good stuffing and, therefore, make my husband happy.
And now I need to get back to packing and organizing and blah blah blah.
Also occuring next week:
Finish weeding backyard of the old place
Clean entire old place
Unpack boxes in the new place
Shop for entire Thanksgiving meal
Cook an entire Thanksgiving meal with the exception of the stuffing because my mother-in-law makes good stuffing so I am delegating that job to her. I decidedly do not make good stuffing because I think stuffing is the primary food group of the underworld. So I am glad that someone will be here who can make good stuffing and, therefore, make my husband happy.
And now I need to get back to packing and organizing and blah blah blah.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Dear Boy
Son,
Today you are 2 and 1/3 years old. Or 28 months. Or 854 days. It seems nearly impossible that it has been that many days since you first laid eyes on this world, so many nights that I've listened to you breathe, so many memories. In some ways, I know you as though you have always been here. The dip in your chin, the curve of your belly, the exact shape of your scar, the perfect sound of your voice. In other ways, you are surprising me and reinventing yourself every day. You talk like there is no tomorrow and every word must be learned today. You master skills and concepts with ease and I wonder how my baby--my newborn--can climb onto counter tops and comprehend negotiation.
You still take several naps a week but have been choosing to refrain from them often. This leads me to believe that there is a lot of me up in that brain of yours. You love your GeoTrax DVD more than Nemo right now and find "ghost trains" wherever we go. Anything with a cover suddenly becomes a ghost train and we have to watch the 20 minute video at least once a day--usually twice. You also love marshmallows and ask for them several times a day. It should be pointed out that just because you ask does not mean you receive. The day that you stop referring to them as "ma-ma-os" and start calling them marshmallows, however, is the day I say goodbye to my baby altogether.
We're moving to a new house this weekend. If someone would have told me when I graduated from college that I'd miss my five year reunion because I'd be moving from one town in Utah to another with my toddler in tow, well, I'd have been surprised to say the least. Garrett, before I left to live on campus at that institution, I had lived in two homes in my entire life. At a precious 2 and a 1/3 you will have lived in three. I'm sorry that we haven't been able to give you the kind of deep, twisty roots I am accustomed to and therefore desire for you. But, you are adventurous and I think there is a fair amount of your father up in that brain of yours as well. I tried to explain that we are moving and now, every five minutes, you ask if we can go to the new house. I think I will mourn the loss of this house much more than you will. We made the decision to move closer to the church and save a little on rent but it doesn't change the fact that we spent our very first night in Utah here. And it doesn't change the fact that you learned to talk and sprint and feed yourself with a fork and spoon in this house. This is where you experienced snow for the first time and where we brought you after you had surgery. So even if you are always looking for an adventure, I'm sorry for uprooting your little life--again. And no, honey, contrary to what you might be thinking, your "Rampa" is not going to be waiting for you at the "ew house". But we will have Thanksgiving and Christmas there and I promise to make it feel like home in a matter of days and I assure you that if you are feeling displaced, your dog and cat will be downright neurotic.
This morning, when I went to pick you up after MOPS, I couldn't find you. I scanned the room of toddler heads for that perfectly fuzzy reddish blond head. The one that smells like Johnson & Johnson's and dreams come true and, on occasion, dirty sweaty two-year-old. I couldn't find you, though. There was a sea of blond pigtails and brown braids and red buzzes and black little boy cuts but your head was no where. One of the helpers asked me who my child was. I told her that it was you. She pointed to a little boy at her feet. "He's right here," she offered. The back to me had your name on it. First and last. But it wasn't you. It was a little brown haired boy and the shape of his head was all wrong. I continued to scan the room, curious as to why he had your name tag. She offered again, "Here's Garrett. Right here." I answered her that the boy was not my son. I don't overreact in situations like that but I was starting to feel my heart beat a bit faster. Where were you and why were they trying to convince me that a different boy was you? Just then you crawled out of a tunnel where you'd been hiding and ran to me, all smiles and excitement and just waiting for the piece of candy I promised you could have if you avoided tears when I left you there. Somehow you had given your sticker to Reese. But, like I said, every part of you is emblazoned in my mind. I'd know you from Reese with a blindfold on.
We stood by the car when we left and I told you to put your hands on it while I fished for my keys. You are usually very good at this and, though it looks like you're getting arrested, it's been highly effective for teaching you not to run into the street. Until today. You stood for a few moments with your hands on the door and then you bolted. I noticed the car coming out of the corner of my eye and I screamed bloody murder for you to stop. And you did. Praise God that my shriek stopped you cold, two feet from the front of the oncoming car. Garrett John, two feet is way too close for you to get to an oncoming vehicle. My heart practically stopped in my chest and I think I very nearly went into cardiac arrest in the parking lot. And then you got an ear full. Did. You. Ever.
Son, my heart is wrapped around your little finger. Oh, there are times when I want to drop kick you across the room but, even in those times, you are my answered prayers walking around in Velcro shoes and a striped sweater. You are a little bit daddy and a little bit me and entirely yourself. I don't think I have ever been more terrified than I was when I thought you weren't going to stop. Thank you for listening when I yelled. If you could continue that trend it would make for easier teenage years. I love you more than I ever thought possible--
Love,
Mommy
Today you are 2 and 1/3 years old. Or 28 months. Or 854 days. It seems nearly impossible that it has been that many days since you first laid eyes on this world, so many nights that I've listened to you breathe, so many memories. In some ways, I know you as though you have always been here. The dip in your chin, the curve of your belly, the exact shape of your scar, the perfect sound of your voice. In other ways, you are surprising me and reinventing yourself every day. You talk like there is no tomorrow and every word must be learned today. You master skills and concepts with ease and I wonder how my baby--my newborn--can climb onto counter tops and comprehend negotiation.
You still take several naps a week but have been choosing to refrain from them often. This leads me to believe that there is a lot of me up in that brain of yours. You love your GeoTrax DVD more than Nemo right now and find "ghost trains" wherever we go. Anything with a cover suddenly becomes a ghost train and we have to watch the 20 minute video at least once a day--usually twice. You also love marshmallows and ask for them several times a day. It should be pointed out that just because you ask does not mean you receive. The day that you stop referring to them as "ma-ma-os" and start calling them marshmallows, however, is the day I say goodbye to my baby altogether.
We're moving to a new house this weekend. If someone would have told me when I graduated from college that I'd miss my five year reunion because I'd be moving from one town in Utah to another with my toddler in tow, well, I'd have been surprised to say the least. Garrett, before I left to live on campus at that institution, I had lived in two homes in my entire life. At a precious 2 and a 1/3 you will have lived in three. I'm sorry that we haven't been able to give you the kind of deep, twisty roots I am accustomed to and therefore desire for you. But, you are adventurous and I think there is a fair amount of your father up in that brain of yours as well. I tried to explain that we are moving and now, every five minutes, you ask if we can go to the new house. I think I will mourn the loss of this house much more than you will. We made the decision to move closer to the church and save a little on rent but it doesn't change the fact that we spent our very first night in Utah here. And it doesn't change the fact that you learned to talk and sprint and feed yourself with a fork and spoon in this house. This is where you experienced snow for the first time and where we brought you after you had surgery. So even if you are always looking for an adventure, I'm sorry for uprooting your little life--again. And no, honey, contrary to what you might be thinking, your "Rampa" is not going to be waiting for you at the "ew house". But we will have Thanksgiving and Christmas there and I promise to make it feel like home in a matter of days and I assure you that if you are feeling displaced, your dog and cat will be downright neurotic.
This morning, when I went to pick you up after MOPS, I couldn't find you. I scanned the room of toddler heads for that perfectly fuzzy reddish blond head. The one that smells like Johnson & Johnson's and dreams come true and, on occasion, dirty sweaty two-year-old. I couldn't find you, though. There was a sea of blond pigtails and brown braids and red buzzes and black little boy cuts but your head was no where. One of the helpers asked me who my child was. I told her that it was you. She pointed to a little boy at her feet. "He's right here," she offered. The back to me had your name on it. First and last. But it wasn't you. It was a little brown haired boy and the shape of his head was all wrong. I continued to scan the room, curious as to why he had your name tag. She offered again, "Here's Garrett. Right here." I answered her that the boy was not my son. I don't overreact in situations like that but I was starting to feel my heart beat a bit faster. Where were you and why were they trying to convince me that a different boy was you? Just then you crawled out of a tunnel where you'd been hiding and ran to me, all smiles and excitement and just waiting for the piece of candy I promised you could have if you avoided tears when I left you there. Somehow you had given your sticker to Reese. But, like I said, every part of you is emblazoned in my mind. I'd know you from Reese with a blindfold on.
We stood by the car when we left and I told you to put your hands on it while I fished for my keys. You are usually very good at this and, though it looks like you're getting arrested, it's been highly effective for teaching you not to run into the street. Until today. You stood for a few moments with your hands on the door and then you bolted. I noticed the car coming out of the corner of my eye and I screamed bloody murder for you to stop. And you did. Praise God that my shriek stopped you cold, two feet from the front of the oncoming car. Garrett John, two feet is way too close for you to get to an oncoming vehicle. My heart practically stopped in my chest and I think I very nearly went into cardiac arrest in the parking lot. And then you got an ear full. Did. You. Ever.
Son, my heart is wrapped around your little finger. Oh, there are times when I want to drop kick you across the room but, even in those times, you are my answered prayers walking around in Velcro shoes and a striped sweater. You are a little bit daddy and a little bit me and entirely yourself. I don't think I have ever been more terrified than I was when I thought you weren't going to stop. Thank you for listening when I yelled. If you could continue that trend it would make for easier teenage years. I love you more than I ever thought possible--
Love,
Mommy
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Dear Utah
Dear Utah,
Thank you for your apology and I forgive you. When I wrote that last letter about getting your act together I hardly knew you would listen so well. I am pleased to discover that you are not above reproach. I respect that. Since that dismal day you have not snowed even once and I, for one, have been immeasurably grateful. And, dear Beehive State (although don't even get me started on that one), I will give credit where credit is due. Not only have you abstained from snow fall, you have had pleasurable weather in the high 50's and even the 60's. I glanced ahead at the ten day forecast and was pleased to discover that while the temperatures are supposed to fall into the 40's, there is no snow scheduled. I can only assume that this is the report you have given the weather people and, therefore, that it is your plan to take my advice on inappropriate November behavior. Thank you for caring about our relationship. I was starting to doubt you but then you stepped up and became a respectable contributor to this great nation. I figured that you would appreciate a public acknowledgement of such maturity. Don't make me regret my decision. Unfortunately, I must keep you on probation until the month is over but I am proud of the progress you've made. I care about you, Utah, and I want you to continue your Snowaholic Anonymous meetings. But, in the meantime, we can be friends again.
Sincerely,
Miss California
Thank you for your apology and I forgive you. When I wrote that last letter about getting your act together I hardly knew you would listen so well. I am pleased to discover that you are not above reproach. I respect that. Since that dismal day you have not snowed even once and I, for one, have been immeasurably grateful. And, dear Beehive State (although don't even get me started on that one), I will give credit where credit is due. Not only have you abstained from snow fall, you have had pleasurable weather in the high 50's and even the 60's. I glanced ahead at the ten day forecast and was pleased to discover that while the temperatures are supposed to fall into the 40's, there is no snow scheduled. I can only assume that this is the report you have given the weather people and, therefore, that it is your plan to take my advice on inappropriate November behavior. Thank you for caring about our relationship. I was starting to doubt you but then you stepped up and became a respectable contributor to this great nation. I figured that you would appreciate a public acknowledgement of such maturity. Don't make me regret my decision. Unfortunately, I must keep you on probation until the month is over but I am proud of the progress you've made. I care about you, Utah, and I want you to continue your Snowaholic Anonymous meetings. But, in the meantime, we can be friends again.
Sincerely,
Miss California
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
More Crazy Dreams
I had a horrid dream last night. It wasn't so bad while I was actually dreaming it but when I woke up I realized just how awful it had been.
We got a phone call that there was a family who wanted to place their son for adoption. They were a family of four complete with mother, father, son and daughter. The daughter was little. The son was sevenish. They contacted all of the couples who had been in our information meeting. Two couples responded. We were one of them. This in and of itself is odd because, unless God bashes us over the head with a sign, we don't want to disrupt Garrett's birth order. In any case, we started trying to one up this other couple so that we could "win" the child.
He was a very large boy. Think Augustus Gloop in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. And his parents just decided that they didn't want him anymore. Other than this decision, they seemed, well, normal...you know, with their heads attached to their necks, no drug addictions, no aliens had abducted them replacing them with robots. They just didn't want their son anymore.
So then it was like an auction and we got in this bidding war with the other couple. Truly, it was ludicrous. THEN we found out that while the boy looked seven he was really 22 but he remained a child permanently in physical appearance as well as mentally. And then I decided that I was only five years older than him so I couldn't possibly be a good mother to him so I told Troy we couldn't adopt him. But then Troy was attached to the idea of this boy so we took him to Disneyland and he told us that his parents had taken his sister several times but had never taken him. It was really sad.
And weird.
But in the dream I managed to get myself really attached to this 22 year old man child. Then, when I woke up, I was kind of sad.
We got a phone call that there was a family who wanted to place their son for adoption. They were a family of four complete with mother, father, son and daughter. The daughter was little. The son was sevenish. They contacted all of the couples who had been in our information meeting. Two couples responded. We were one of them. This in and of itself is odd because, unless God bashes us over the head with a sign, we don't want to disrupt Garrett's birth order. In any case, we started trying to one up this other couple so that we could "win" the child.
He was a very large boy. Think Augustus Gloop in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. And his parents just decided that they didn't want him anymore. Other than this decision, they seemed, well, normal...you know, with their heads attached to their necks, no drug addictions, no aliens had abducted them replacing them with robots. They just didn't want their son anymore.
So then it was like an auction and we got in this bidding war with the other couple. Truly, it was ludicrous. THEN we found out that while the boy looked seven he was really 22 but he remained a child permanently in physical appearance as well as mentally. And then I decided that I was only five years older than him so I couldn't possibly be a good mother to him so I told Troy we couldn't adopt him. But then Troy was attached to the idea of this boy so we took him to Disneyland and he told us that his parents had taken his sister several times but had never taken him. It was really sad.
And weird.
But in the dream I managed to get myself really attached to this 22 year old man child. Then, when I woke up, I was kind of sad.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Uber Amazing
Crayl at Beyond Black & White gave me this blog award which was great because, well, I was sitting in front of a blank screen wondering what to post about. I decided to read some blogs for inspiration. Wouldn't you know, this is the first one I clicked on. It was also great because, well, I am humbled by what she said about me. "Mrs. Schnozeberry*, Living in a Fishbowl, our husbands used to work together, long ago, at a church in southern Ca, neither of us are there anymore... she is funny,a witty actor/director, a great story teller, a pastor's wife(complete with handbook) and PAPER PREGNANT, give her some love. (*name change to protect the not so innocent)." Ahhh. Gee. On this day of weeding and cleaning and packing and diaper changing and pulling cobwebs out of my hair, I needed the love. Thanks Crayl.About the award:Uber (synonym to Super) Amazing Blog Award is a blog award given to sites who:~ inspire you~ make you smile and laugh~ give amazing information~ are a great read~ have an amazing design~ and any other reasons you can think of that makes them uber amazing!The rules of this award are:* Put the logo on your blog or post.* Nominate at least 5 blogs (can be more) that for you are Uber Amazing!* Let them know that they have received this Uber Amazing award by commenting on their blog.* Share the love and link to this post and to the person you received your award from.
And now for my Uber Amazing blogs. I'd love to nominate Crayl because her blog title alone always makes me smile but I fear that would keep this rolling in some sort of inescapable cycle. So without further ado, drum roll please...
I first started reading Missives From Suburbia when I won a Starbucks gift card from her after last year's NaBloPoMo. Then I discovered that her son is just days younger than my own son and her wit light years ahead of my own. Needless to say, I've kept reading.
My mom at Empty Nest-Full Life tells crazy stories about her children, vacations and life and cracks me up in the process.
Dena at Happily Ever After has the cutest blog design and she often posts pictures of her adorable house. Once she posted a picture of the cleanest most wonderful laundry room in the world and I realized that I had arrived as an adult. I also love knowing what is going on in the lives of her sweet family members.
I've never met Kate at Our Quiverfull but I have been following the story of her little Noah for quite some time now. He was born just a few weeks after Garrett and he, together with his family, fight for his life as he struggles with some serious health issues. Through it all they continue to praise God and inspire the rest of us.
I don't know Running Wildly personally. In fact, I usually just refer to her as "Running Wildly." I did this once in front of our mutual friend who kindly offered her real name to me. I love hearing about her adventures in nursing, motherhood, and spiders as she lives in our neighbor to the north.
There are so many blogs on my bloglines that it was difficult to choose just five. If you were not mentioned, please rest assured that I also love your blog! Also, Crayl, I have no idea who Mrs. Schnozeberry is. I am Mrs. Doozleberry. But I understand, it's a tough last name to pronounce. Even after all of these years...
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Rehearsals
Children's play rehearsals are a lot different than adult play rehearsals. Someone starts crying or gets his or her feelings hurt on a weekly basis. If I raise my voice at someone they look like their spirits have been crushed forever and I have to do damage control. "I still love you. I just need you to focus. Can you do that for me?" Oy.
Sometimes I want to say, "Honey, what the heck is wrong with you? What are you nine?" And then I remember that, yep, they sure are. Oh the drama~
Sometimes I want to say, "Honey, what the heck is wrong with you? What are you nine?" And then I remember that, yep, they sure are. Oh the drama~
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Save Me
Two night ago I was getting ready to go see a play. Troy wasn't home from work yet and I was feeding Garrett his dinner. The stir fry that he'd devoured the previous night was now covered with, I don't know, the plague or something and Garrett wouldn't touch it. He'd skipped his nap and, let me tell you, when my son doesn't get a little rest in the middle of the day, he turns into a combination of one part terrible two-year-old and one part Frankenstein's monster with a dash of angry mountain lion. He was flat out refusing to put a bite in his mouth and, when I shoved a spoonful in during one of his open mouth screams, he looked at me as though I had just personally ended the world and then he spat it in my face.
I could feel my blood pressure rising.
I took a deep breath and tried again. He stuck his tongue out and allowed the rice to dribble everywhere before spitting the rest of the bits all over my floor. I grabbed his head between my two hands and stared deep into his eyes. "We do not spit our food out!" He answered my lecture with another round of spitting. I put him in time out.
You can lead a kid to food but you can't make him eat so Troy and I have decided that, when he won't consume what is put in front of him, he will have the option of eating a peanut butter sandwich. If he won't eat that, he goes hungry. While he thought about his actions in his bed I made him a sandwich.
I put him back into his high chair and told him to eat his sandwich. "No!" I personally picked up his sandwich and put it near his lips. "No!" I called Troy.
Me: Where are you?
Him: Two minutes from home.
Me: Good. You might find your son on the porch when you get here. I don't want to see him right now.
Him: I'll talk to him when I get home.
It should be noted that, when relaying this story to my mother she asked me if I would have seriously left him on my porch. I hope she was kidding.
I hung up the phone, turned to my son and said, "Garrett, Daddy is almost home and he is not very happy with how you've been treating me. You better be ready." I've never really done that whole threaten the kid with his father thing because, well, he's two. I hardly knew it would work at this tender age. But his eyes got big. I turned away and, glancing out of the corner of my own eye, I witnessed the following.
Garrett folded his little hands. He closed his eyes tight. He bowed his head and began whispering something to God. Something I couldn't quite hear. Something that probably went a little like this.
Dear Jesus,
Please let me live another day.
I don't know for sure but that's what I used to pray when my mom uttered those dreadful words, "You just wait until your father gets home!"
I could feel my blood pressure rising.
I took a deep breath and tried again. He stuck his tongue out and allowed the rice to dribble everywhere before spitting the rest of the bits all over my floor. I grabbed his head between my two hands and stared deep into his eyes. "We do not spit our food out!" He answered my lecture with another round of spitting. I put him in time out.
You can lead a kid to food but you can't make him eat so Troy and I have decided that, when he won't consume what is put in front of him, he will have the option of eating a peanut butter sandwich. If he won't eat that, he goes hungry. While he thought about his actions in his bed I made him a sandwich.
I put him back into his high chair and told him to eat his sandwich. "No!" I personally picked up his sandwich and put it near his lips. "No!" I called Troy.
Me: Where are you?
Him: Two minutes from home.
Me: Good. You might find your son on the porch when you get here. I don't want to see him right now.
Him: I'll talk to him when I get home.
It should be noted that, when relaying this story to my mother she asked me if I would have seriously left him on my porch. I hope she was kidding.
I hung up the phone, turned to my son and said, "Garrett, Daddy is almost home and he is not very happy with how you've been treating me. You better be ready." I've never really done that whole threaten the kid with his father thing because, well, he's two. I hardly knew it would work at this tender age. But his eyes got big. I turned away and, glancing out of the corner of my own eye, I witnessed the following.
Garrett folded his little hands. He closed his eyes tight. He bowed his head and began whispering something to God. Something I couldn't quite hear. Something that probably went a little like this.
Dear Jesus,
Please let me live another day.
I don't know for sure but that's what I used to pray when my mom uttered those dreadful words, "You just wait until your father gets home!"
Friday, November 14, 2008
They Keep Getting Younger
This morning I had a doctor's appointment because, well, I've never had a skin check in my life and I didn't want to keel over one day and die of moles. I don't have ninety two million or anything but I thought it might be best to make sure I wasn't harboring melanoma in any of the ones I do have.
And then Doogie Howser walked in. Except he was a she. A little baby dermatologist. I guess I'm under the impression that doctors should always be older than me. This will be a problem if I live to the ripe old age of 92. But for real. I feel like really young people should only be allowed to be pediatricians. And it seems like they keep getting younger. Or is it that I keep getting older? In any case, she was very friendly and very professional. I did not get the feeling that she had been drinking at a sorority party until late last night.
And apparently, I am not dying of moles yet and any removal would be cosmetic and, therefore, cost me 95$ each.
Me: And what is the procedure?
Her: We numb the area with an injection. It's a lot like having dental work done. So you know when you've been given nova--
Me: I've never actually had a cavity.
Her: Really!? Well, you have very nice teeth.
Me: Oh. Thank you. (I really wasn't fishing for a compliment, I was just explaining that her example would be difficult for me to comprehend.)
Her: Well, so, it's basically just a prick near the area.
Then she continued to discuss the procedure and I continued to think about my precious 95 dollars and the fact that she said none of them needed to be removed. Then I thought, well, hey, why don't I just wait until I get a cavity and then convince the dentist or the dermatologist to give me a two for one...
And then Doogie Howser walked in. Except he was a she. A little baby dermatologist. I guess I'm under the impression that doctors should always be older than me. This will be a problem if I live to the ripe old age of 92. But for real. I feel like really young people should only be allowed to be pediatricians. And it seems like they keep getting younger. Or is it that I keep getting older? In any case, she was very friendly and very professional. I did not get the feeling that she had been drinking at a sorority party until late last night.
And apparently, I am not dying of moles yet and any removal would be cosmetic and, therefore, cost me 95$ each.
Me: And what is the procedure?
Her: We numb the area with an injection. It's a lot like having dental work done. So you know when you've been given nova--
Me: I've never actually had a cavity.
Her: Really!? Well, you have very nice teeth.
Me: Oh. Thank you. (I really wasn't fishing for a compliment, I was just explaining that her example would be difficult for me to comprehend.)
Her: Well, so, it's basically just a prick near the area.
Then she continued to discuss the procedure and I continued to think about my precious 95 dollars and the fact that she said none of them needed to be removed. Then I thought, well, hey, why don't I just wait until I get a cavity and then convince the dentist or the dermatologist to give me a two for one...
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Active
This morning I got a call from our adoption organization letting me know that they have received and processed our information. Our file is now considered active which means we will be shown to prospective birth mothers.
My heart may have skipped a beat. My chest tightened the way it does when I'm hovering on the brink of something extremely life altering. My mind started screaming through scenarios that involve a child coming to live with us before Christmas even though I know this thought is as improbable as it is optimistic. But that's what this adoption process has started doing to me. I have to remind myself to be cautiously optimistic. In my normal, every day existence, I try to curb the intense level of pessimism draining from my pores. But, in the here and now of this process, I have dared to let myself really hope.
I'm sure I've mentioned before that Troy and I had a heart for adoption before we ever knew that biological children would be, well, difficult for us. I think we both recognized the biblical call to adopt. I don't think that it's God's plan for everyone to adopt but I do believe it's extremely important to him. In Ephesians 1 it says, In love he predestined us to be adopted as his sons through Jesus Christ, in accordance with his pleasure and will.
Genesis 15:3 says And Abram said, "You have given me no children; so a servant in my household will be my heir."
Romans 8:23 says that we wait eagerly for our adoption as sons.
James 1:27- Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.
Romans 8:15- For you did not receive the spirit of bondage again to fear, but you received the spirit of adoption by whom we cry out, "Abba, Father."
My heart may have skipped a beat. My chest tightened the way it does when I'm hovering on the brink of something extremely life altering. My mind started screaming through scenarios that involve a child coming to live with us before Christmas even though I know this thought is as improbable as it is optimistic. But that's what this adoption process has started doing to me. I have to remind myself to be cautiously optimistic. In my normal, every day existence, I try to curb the intense level of pessimism draining from my pores. But, in the here and now of this process, I have dared to let myself really hope.
I'm sure I've mentioned before that Troy and I had a heart for adoption before we ever knew that biological children would be, well, difficult for us. I think we both recognized the biblical call to adopt. I don't think that it's God's plan for everyone to adopt but I do believe it's extremely important to him. In Ephesians 1 it says, In love he predestined us to be adopted as his sons through Jesus Christ, in accordance with his pleasure and will.
Genesis 15:3 says And Abram said, "You have given me no children; so a servant in my household will be my heir."
Romans 8:23 says that we wait eagerly for our adoption as sons.
James 1:27- Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.
Romans 8:15- For you did not receive the spirit of bondage again to fear, but you received the spirit of adoption by whom we cry out, "Abba, Father."
John 14:18- I will not leave you as orphans, I will come to you.
This is how I know that I will love a child born not of my own body just as much as I love Garrett. The way he stares at me now, with those deep oddly colored eyes, the same way he stared at me in the delivery room, my heart feels like it's going to burst with love. But it's my heart that feels that joy. It isn't my uterus or my ovaries that leap with adoration. I can't wait to stare deep into the eyes of my next child and feel that same depth of love.
And now our file is active. Praise God!
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Home?
We're not moving this weekend.
In fact, this whole move has become an ordeal. Not that moving in and of itself isn't an ordeal because it is but, frankly, this one has become rather precarious.
The people we are going to be renting from are still living in the house that we are supposed to move into. They are buying a house south of here and it still hasn't closed. We're still praying that it actually will close but the closer we get to the end of the month the more I am trying not to worry. We have to be out of this house on November 30th because new renters are moving in on December 1. Technically speaking, we need to be moved out early on the 28th because the carpet cleaners are coming at 8:00 am.
I have a signed lease agreement so I am wondering at what point I need to start looking for something else. I mean, I've been checking on the classifieds page but I really don't want to be living in my husband's office with all of my stuff in the church parking lot because I wait too long to really, truly, officially start worrying.
In fact, this whole move has become an ordeal. Not that moving in and of itself isn't an ordeal because it is but, frankly, this one has become rather precarious.
The people we are going to be renting from are still living in the house that we are supposed to move into. They are buying a house south of here and it still hasn't closed. We're still praying that it actually will close but the closer we get to the end of the month the more I am trying not to worry. We have to be out of this house on November 30th because new renters are moving in on December 1. Technically speaking, we need to be moved out early on the 28th because the carpet cleaners are coming at 8:00 am.
I have a signed lease agreement so I am wondering at what point I need to start looking for something else. I mean, I've been checking on the classifieds page but I really don't want to be living in my husband's office with all of my stuff in the church parking lot because I wait too long to really, truly, officially start worrying.
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