Strange Bedfellows

When Matthew had his tonsils out last winter, the hospital gave him a blanket to bring home. It's the kind where you take two pieces of fabric, cut the perimeter into strips, and tie the strips together. He loves it. Over time, some of the strips came apart. I could have easily fixed the blanket but I didn't because my boy loves to climb inside and use it as a sleeping bag. He refuses to sleep under his covers. Instead, he just sleeps in his blanket every night.

Several days ago, he had a friend over. It was this friend's first time at our house and Matthew was showing him all of his earthly possessions. They wandered through the playroom and then into the bedroom. I was downstairs baking cookies and I could hear the dialogue. "This is my truck. These are my ninja turtles. That's my brother's bed. This is my bed. This is my blanket that I got when I had my tonsils taken out."

The friend was muttering things like, "Oh, neat. Cool. Nice." And various other pleasantries. When it came to the blanket, Matthew said, "Do you want to see how I sleep in it every night?" I didn't hear the friend's response but Matthew must have started to climb into it.

"See," he said. "I get in it like this. Then I look just like a homeless little lady."

If something had been in my mouth, for sure I would have spit it across the room. Certainly homelessness isn't funny, but the way he said it so matter-of-fact was startlingly hilarious. I have no idea where he came up with this. Our children, for better or worse, really haven't been introduced to poverty. We do things like Operation Christmas Child and other ways of donating to those in need--especially at Christmastime--so they understand that there are people much less fortunate than they are, but they've never really seen what it looks like, up close and personal. So I'm not sure how he knows what a homeless little lady would look like.

But, apparently, when he goes to bed at night, he does so impersonating someone without a home. And someone who is female. And small.

I just don't know where he comes up with this stuff.

Christmas is Coming

You wanna know who's excited about Christmas only being 16 days away?

These guys.

You know what was not exciting?

Picking out our tree.

Because it was freezing cold. So basically, we grabbed the nearest one in our price range and hoped that it looked good when we got it home.

You know what is also not exciting?

Shopping for my husband's stocking stuffers. It's my nemesis. EVERY. SINGLE. YEAR. The boys are easy. Dollar Tree or the dollar bins at Target is all it takes. I'm easy. Chapstick. A five dollar CD from Lifeway. Gum. Heck, even a lint roller will do.

But I lose sleep over Troy's on an annual basis.

You know what is exciting?

Nativities. Christmas lights. Baking cookies. Garrett planning a sleepover with his best friend. Elves moving around our house. Stockings hung on the mantle. Carol Sings and Bell Choirs. The smell of pine. And, of course, the first chapters of Luke.

Love

He loves me.

Eleven years ago he took me on a first date.

It was my last first date.

He gets me.

Even when I make it difficult.

Which I do. More than I care to admit.

He cares for me.

He puts my needs before his own.

He puts my wants before his own.

He loves me.

Let It Go

I keep driving past the movie theater and it's all I can do not to go buy myself a ticket to see Frozen again. I know. I know. I'm a full grown adult. This obsession with a Disney movie is a bit of a problem. But, seriously. Idina knocks it straight out of the park. As if I'm surprised by that.
 
 Insert some sort of transition here as I tell you that I'm going to sing a solo sometime soon here. Like an ALL BY MYSELF SINGING INTO A MICROPHONE SOLO. I don't sound like Idina Menzel. Not one single, solitary bit. I was thinking about how it's a real tragedy and shame that I am not more gifted in the singing, dancing and acting categories. Because there is next to nothing I love more* than the process of rehearsing and watching as a piece of art comes together. I mean, who loves the rehearsal process? ME! That's who.

In college I would go to rehearsals that I wasn't even called to. Just to be part of the creative process. Just to learn from the other actors. Just to become a small fraction of art.

I really just love to perform. To act. To sing. I don't get to do it that much anymore. And whenever I see a great piece of art, I wish I was still performing. Even though I was never really great at any of it. I had all the passion, all the work ethic, but not all of the talent.

A Disney movie is not theatre. Except in the case of The Lion King. And Beauty and the Beast. And Peter Pan. Okay, nevermind. A Disney movie can be theatre. But this song is reminiscent of a show stopping musical number on Broadway. So I can't help but watch it over and over again.

I mean, she sculpts an ICE CASTLE for crying out loud.

And, also, she sounds really good.

*Jesus. My husband. My family. To name just a few.

BRR!!!

I was basically wet for ten years of my life. I experienced some pretty cold moments during that decade. When it's 48 degrees outside and you're diving into an outdoor pool, that feels miserable. What's worse is when it's raining outside and so, between events, your skin stays pruned and damp. 

I know that there are people in other parts of the country who can boast things like, "It's -30 outside today." I can't even wrap my mind around that kind of cold because today, when I dropped my oldest son off at school, it was 12 degrees. I checked the weather page to find that it "felt" like -4.

For those of you blessed by the Almighty God to live in warm parts of this country--places like southern California, Arizona and Florida--let me tell you what that feels like.

-4 feels like your skin is going to split in half and crack right off of your face.

-4 feels like you can't quite catch your breath because the air is freezing your lungs.

-4 feels like YOU WILL NEVER BE WARM AGAIN.

It snowed all day yesterday. A friend of mine sent me a message asking how I was dealing with the snow since she knows I'm not a fan.

I responded that there is a time and a place for the snow. December is that time. I mostly happily deal with it in December because, with Christmas coming, it feels right to wear giant jackets, sip hot cocoa, and stretch out by the fire. 

That said, I am very much hoping that it doesn't feel like -4 for the duration of winter because I might shrivel up and die.

But these kids...

Well, they're loving it.

As I drove down the hill from Garrett's school this morning, Christmas music played and I took a good look at the Wasatch Range. The mountains shoot up from the dreary valley and straight into the sky--almost as far as the eye can see. At this moment they are covered in snow. The sun is shining and the way it hit the peaks is nothing short of spectacular.

It's brutally cold.

But the view ain't half bad.

Fire & Ice

I don't get to go to the movies nearly as often as I'd like on account of the little people in my life. But, in the span of three days I've visited the theater twice. That's almost unheard of. I mean, there was that time in college when I went to see Moulin Rouge and then I went back THE VERY NEXT NIGHT TO SEE IT AGAIN but I was a theatre major and it was Baz.

On Friday we braved the crowds and took the boys to see Frozen. I knew I would love it. I knew I would want to own it and buy the soundtrack. I knew all of this before I ever saw it because I've seen the two female leads in person. I'm practically best friends forever with Kristen Bell (who does the voice for Anna) because, when I was an extra on Veronica Mars, she stepped on my shoe from behind. It came off and, as she went sprinting by, she hollered, "Sorry!" So, yes, you could say that we're pretty tight. I said practically best friends forever because I am really best friends forever with Idina Menzel (who does the voice for Elsa). I've loved Idina since I first discovered her voice back in 1999. I own her albums. I've seen her onstage in concert and off-Broadway. So of course, because of these things, we are the very best of buddies.

I loved and adored the movie. The music was wonderful, the script was hilarious and tender all rolled into one, and it was a visual sight to behold. Of course I'm still singing the songs, even days later. I want to borrow someone else's children so that I have an excuse to go see it again without being labeled as the weird creeper who keeps watching the same children's movie over and over.

Mondays are Troy's day off so today we dropped Matthew off with a friend while Garrett was at school and went to see Catching Fire. I also knew I would love Catching Fire because I loved the first film, I loved the books, and who doesn't like a good love triangle? Especially when it involves Josh Hutcherson, Liam Hemsworth and Jennifer Lawrence.

The only thing I didn't like about Catching Fire is the fact that I know I have to wait until 2015 to see how it all plays out in film. I am actually glad that they are splitting Mockingjay into two parts because there's too much there to shove it all into one. But I'm sad that I have to wait such a long time until the fourth installment comes out. I'm left thinking things like, "What if I die before then and I can't see it through?" These are the important questions in life, I know. These are certainly questions of eternal significance. Nevertheless, someone needs to promise that they'll see it for me if I meet my earthly demise before the end of 2015.

Also, can someone check up on my kids? Troy's a good dad. My boys will not go hungry. They will be well educated and biblically trained. But if I'm dead there's a good chance my children will never again make their beds. Someone needs to promise me that she'll come over and inquire as to whether or not the comforter is at least pulled up.

Regardless of the state of my boys' beds, I'm fully recommending that you run right down to the theater and buy a ticket for either fire or ice. Hunger Games or Frozen. Of course, what I'm really recommending is that you do both.

Thankful

Happy Day After Thanksgiving. Yesterday I had a flu that nearly killed me dead. I caught this unhappy little bug from my son who, when he had it, insisted that he drape himself over me thus contaminating me with all of his germs. Oh motherhood!

Thankfully, our house guests left yesterday morning and made it home to their family in time to spend the holiday with them. We decided that we were not eating Thanksgiving food on account of the fact that I never got out of bed. Instead, I threw up for roughly ten hours, ran a fever, slept when I wasn't visiting the commode and felt like death was upon me.

I looked at Facebook a time or two. This was a stupid idea because, in the words of Junie B. Jones, first grader, wowie wow wow! (If you've never read those books, they are hilarious!) Did you know that everyone and her brother's wife's neighbor post pictures of food on Thanksgiving? Did you know that? This is a very bad thing when you are bound to your bed and bathroom with the plague of vomit. So thank you all. I'm fairly certain I tasted all of your food--only it was coming back up. I'm sure that is not the way you intended it.

I'm so thankful today that it is gone. I still feel like I got hit by a truck, but I'm definitely mending.

I'm also thankful for:

My incredible husband who took care of the boys all day, did a ton of laundry, cleaned the basement, washed the sheets on our bed when I told him they smelled too bad for me to get back in them, brought me Gatorade, and held down the fort. He's a good catch. And don't think I've forgotten.

My boys. They crept into my room last night to check on me. They missed me. It's good to feel wanted.

My family. I missed being with them yesterday. Not that I would have wanted to be with them while I was throwing up but I missed the idea of them being there.

My church family.

The roof over my head.

The food in my pantry and refrigerator.

The fact that we are blessed beyond all measure. We don't own a home. We don't have fancy cars. We don't eat at the nicest of restaurants. But we are privileged to call ourselves God's children. We are redeemed. We are His.

And there is nothing I am more thankful for than that.

Hot Chocolate and Bad Words

This morning, while doing some reading work with Matthew, he was sounding out three letter words. They had pictures with them so he was having a great deal of success. That is, until he got to the card with a picture of a mug on it. "Hot chocolate!" he loudly declared, very proud of himself.

It didn't help that I started to laugh somewhat uncontrollably.

Also noteworthy was the fact that I read him Fix-It Duck. His job was to say that sight word "the" every time we came to it. He was moderately successful. His other job was to shout out the words, "FIX IT DUCK!" whenever we came to that part of the story.

He was doing very well with that part. That is, until the time when he became a little tongue-tied and replaced the all important D in duck with an F. He screamed loudly, "FIX IT %^#*!"

Have I mentioned that the people staying with us are in ministry? I'm sure it was startling when a four-year-old shouting the worst of all bad words echoed down through the ventilation system.

My Boys In Pink

So basically, I'm just sitting around waiting for a six centimeter cyst to rupture inside my body. This is especially special because many of my friends have seen fit to explain the sheer heights of pain that this will bring me. It's apparently like the end stages of labor, passing a kidney stone, swallowing a double edged dagger and having one's body ripped in half all at once. I will likely also be crawling on all fours, writhing, screaming and vomiting all at once. 

Neat times.

I really hope it happens tomorrow or Tuesday while I am teaching math to first graders. "What's happening to you?" they'll ask.

"Oh, just the ridiculous effects of Common Core," I'll reply, through gritted teeth and between rounds of regurgitation. 

I can see myself crawling to the neighboring classroom, barf spewing from my throat. It'll be super if that happens.

Um. Not.

In the meantime, yesterday was National Adoption Day. We celebrated it by snuggling this adorable baby girl.

And realizing just how good my boys look holding pink.

They are now both completely smitten with the tiny bundle.

And I am completely smitten with how gentle and sweet they both are with her.

Pay It Forward

If you've spent any amount of time reading this blog, you know that adoption is one of our most precious joys. So many of you helped us fight for Matthew by lifting us up in prayer, sending money, and holding fundraisers. With every fiber of our being, we know that we could not have done it without the generosity of our families and our friends.

We have always longed for a time when we could pay it forward.

Unfortunately, our financial situation is not one that allows us to hand someone a large check to help them fund their adoption.

Still, we have talked and prayed about a time when we could really help someone realize their dream of bringing a child into their home.

Earlier this month, Troy received a phone call from a pastor in Alabama. He and his wife were awaiting the birth of their third child, whom they would welcome into their home through the miracle of adoption. The baby would be born here in Salt Lake City. This couple was hoping to save hundreds of dollars by finding a home they could stay in instead of paying for a hotel every night.

Troy said he'd see what he could do.

And he mentioned it to me.

One of my pet peeves is when something is so obviously the right decision and people say, "Um...hmmm...let me pray about that and see what God says." Sometimes, I don't think we need to consult Him through prayer. Not when it's all lined up in the Bible already. We are called to have a spirit of hospitality. Of course we can still pray about it. Of course He wants to hear from us. But He isn't going to contradict what He's already said in His Word.

Adoption=Good.

Hospitality=Good.

Add to this situation the fact that we've been there, done that. Add to it the fact that this baby is half African-American and we know a little bit about transracial adoption. Add to it the fact that we aren't handing them money but we are saving them money and, therefore, giving back.

They got here on Wednesday.

The cutest, tiniest little peanut of a baby girl was born on Thursday.

They brought her home to our house yesterday.

When I heard the key in the door, I ran down the stairs yelling, "Yay! Yay! Yay! Yay!" They immediately handed me their 6 pound, 17 inch long daughter and it's entirely possible that I fell in love with her straight away.

Then my 7-year-old asked if he could hold her. They said yes and he fell in love with her straight away.

Matthew did not, so much. He knows she isn't staying but I think he's slightly jealous anyway. We own a golden retriever and a cat. If my children had to represented by those animals, the youngest would definitely be the cat. He loves what he wants to, in his own time. Like the dog, Garrett just loves anything that walks through the door.

The thing about thinking that you are blessing someone is that you always end up being the blessed. We get to snuggle a newborn until their ICPC goes through. We get to talk about ministry and adoption. We all get our baby fix.

Of course, I might already be contemplating felonies. I kind of want to keep her.

Six Centimeters

There's a six centimeter cyst on my ovary.

Yeah. I'm going to go ahead and lead with that from now on.

"Hello, how are you?"

"Good, how are you?"

"There's a six centimeter cyst on my ovary."

And let me tell you, it is not pleasant. It has not been pleasant since Monday when I first started feeling it. It has been unpleasant every day as I have instructed a room full of first graders while wanting to curl into a ball to wait for death.

Or something slightly less dramatic.

My ovaries are covered with cysts all the time, but they are teensy tiny cysts that have never bothered me except to say, "Hey, we're going to make it really hard for you to have babies." This cyst is different. This cyst is dwarfing my ovary.

I went to urgent care on Wednesday. The doctor there pushed and shoved and poked and prodded my abdomen. He checked my urine and he had a nurse take incredible volumes of my blood. Then he told me to follow up with my regular physician yesterday. She wasn't available. So I saw someone else.

Who recommended an ultrasound which happened today.

Now I wait.

For rupture.

For absorption.

For it to grow two more centimeters so that I can have it removed.

I vote for absorption. And it is my after all. So I should get a vote. I should get the only vote.

That's the story of my cyst. The end.

Sice

For some odd reason, I've been getting notes almost every day at work that ask me to excuse students from recess. They go a little something like this... "Please let Fitzpatrick* stay in during recess. He hasn't been feeling well."

Or...

"Aristotle** is still getting over a cold. Please excuse him from all recesses for the week."

Or...

"Brinkleighanna*** is still recovering from the stomach flu and needs to remain inside during recess." Swell! Thanks for sending her!

So it was becoming an epidemic of notes and illnesses and the first grade team got wind of it. They told me that the kids were getting their parents to write notes because they thought that staying inside would be fun. But then I wasn't getting any kind of break in the day at all. They told me what to do.

During lunch recess the students stay in the cafeteria. It's not very fun in there.

During afternoon recess, they stay in the classroom. However, instead of playing and having a grand time, they have to put their heads down on the desk and rest. They are, after all, recovering and need all the rest they can get. I think this is a great idea because if they are truly not feeling well, rest is what they need. If they're milking it, a power nap is not something they enjoy.

It works like a charm.

There are some students, however, that still have a romanticized idea about what goes on when their friends stay inside. I encountered one such student today.

She came up to me, armed with her best pouty face. "Hi," she said, her voice dripping with fake illness. "My mom says I have to stay in today because I'm sick. Here's a note from her" she told me. She handed me a tiny scrap of paper.

Sarah is sice. Except it didn't say Sarah because that isn't her name. It had her real name. Insert real name here is sice. It was all I could do not to burst into hysterical laughter right then and there.

"Sarah is sice?" I read aloud. And by the way, in case there is any other way to read that word, I am pronouncing it as though it rhymes with nice. Or ice. Or lice.

She replied, "No. It says, 'Sarah is sick.'"

"It says, 'Sarah is sice.' What exactly is sice?" I asked. Then I looked at her. "Your mom did not write this."

"YES SHE DID!" The little girl insisted.

"She did not," I replied. Annoyed that she was really going to try to keep up the charade.

"She did so! She could only find a little tiny piece of paper. But she wanted you to know I am very sick!"

"Okay. Well. I'm sorry you're sice," I replied. I couldn't help myself. Seriously. I mean, really. If my only job for the entire day had been to not respond in a snarky manner to this little lying miscreant, I would not have been able to do it.

"So can I stay in for recess?" she asked.

It took everything in me not to burst with mirth. "Um. No."

Of course I shared this with the first grade teachers. Of course they laughed. Of course I contemplated letting the mother know that her daughter is a complete liar by showing her the note. Of course I decided to let it go. Mostly because I really wanted to bring the note home with me and keep it forever and ever. It's sitting on my nightstand right now. I can't look at it and not laugh.

And, from now on, whenever I'm sick, I fully intend to tell people that I am feeling sice.

"I can't come to your dinner party. I'm very sice."

"Last night I was super sice. Up all night with the stomach flu."

"My son won't be at school today. He's really sice."

There is no end to the joy that this little girl gave me today when she chose to exercise her devious sin nature. My world is truly a better a place.


*Not really the name of any kids in my class. Not that I'd put it past anyone. This state has some really strange names.

**Also not the name of any of the students I have. However, once, when I was subbing for a high school class, I had a Socrates. True story.

***It's only a matter of time before I come across this name. I kid not.

Israel 2013

I finally made time to put together a slide show video of our trip. It's nine minutes long and I'm sorry for that but you try choosing between 900 pictures from three different cameras. In any case, here's a recap from our trip.

 

Perspective

"Look what I got!" Matthew said as I walked through the door at 4:00 pm. He was sporting his alphabet crown. Although he's known his letters for quite some time now, he always managed to miss one when he was being tested. Until today.

And I wasn't there to pick him up.

I was there when a first grader started to cry over something so ridiculous it's ridiculous. "What's wrong?" I asked her. She said her eyes were watering. Why do we do that? Why do we hide what's wrong? Bury it under ten feet of crap and lies. I'm a woman. I've been pretending that my eyes are just watering for a long time. I saw through. So I sent everyone else away and I talked to her. And we fixed it.

It was a first grade problem. But we took care of it.

I feel good about that.

But I feel bad about missing my kid's crowning moment.

I live my life wishing I could have a career. I live my life wishing I could be the very best mom. If anything, these past three days have showed me that I can't really have both. And I'm thankful that this job has an end date.

***Edited to add.
I was thinking about this post while I was driving home from Bible study and I realized that it maybe sounded like I was saying that women can't have a career and children and do either job well. That is absolutely not what I was trying to convey. I simply know that, for me, having a full time job and being as involved of a parent as I want to be would be a very difficult balance. One that I am glad, at this point in my life, I don't usually have to attempt. Women who do it all (especially single moms) have my utmost respect.

What Does the Fox Say?

It's become apparent to me that the blog will suffer while I work full time for the next three weeks.

I'm enjoying it but I'm already thanking the Lord that I don't usually work this much. I miss my kids. Our evenings feel super rushed. By the time I finish my Bible study it's dinner time. By the time we finish dinner it's time to start the bedtime routine. I'm thankful for this time of employment but I'm already thinking about what we'll do together in December, when I'm no longer spending my days inside a first grade classroom.

I might be able to live my whole entire life without ever again hearing, "What does the fox say?" However, since it is my first graders' most favorite thing to say, I am not holding my breath.