What Easter Is About

Happy Easter!!!

This morning, while talking to several people, I told them a story.

My parents are here for a visit and my dad put Garrett in his sweater vest. Then he commented that Garrett looked, "Sharp." Apparently, Garrett didn't want to look sharp because he started trying to rip his sweater vest off. I told him that if he didn't leave it on he wouldn't get to have Easter fun after church. At that point, Garrett shaped up.

As I was telling the story I said, "Garrett's attitude changed right away because he knows what Easter's about."

And then I inserted my foot so far into my mouth I choked on it. Quickly, I added, "I mean, he knows what Easter is really about. But he also knows..."

And another person replied, with a smirk, "What Easter is about."

Well, yes. The pastor's wife basically said that Easter is about candy. Good grief, what is the world coming to? Seriously. Thankfully, if you ask my son what happened on Easter he replies, "Jesus rose again."

60520 Minutes

4639. That's the number that did me in last night. That's the figure we owe the attorney in California who represents the birth mother. I was sort of expecting a bill for half that. The number went through the end of March so I haven't a clue what we might owe, on top of that, for April.

Perhaps some of you think I've been handling myself well. I feel it's important for me, in the interest of full disclosure, to inform you that I've kinda turned into a basket case. When I'm not stressing out about money, I'm having nightmares ranging from going ballistic and screaming my head off at a group of women to searching for Matthew and not being able to find him. But I still know that God is in control. And I believe that his plans are to prosper me and not to harm me.

Still, I've told people that I'm not entirely sure what to do when I see bills like that. He's not a boat or a car or even house. He's not something I can just stop making payments on. He's a child. He's my son. And if I could convey, through words, the sharp tingling of my nerve endings when I grind my teeth and, through clenched jaw, mutter those words: my son, I surely would.

60520. That is how many minutes we've spent feeding and bathing and hugging and burping and changing and loving our boy. That's how many minutes have passed since I watched his head enter this world for the very first time. And despite my fears over money and over losing my son, that is the number that matters. Each minute that ticks by with him in my life is so much more important than the number that sucker punched me last night.

My husband keeps reminding me to just sit back and wait on the Lord. A Lord who came down and went to the cross for me and for you. A Savior who owes me nothing. To whom I owe absolutely everything. A God who conquered the grave. It is still Saturday but I know that He is risen. He is risen, indeed.

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On a lighter note, last night I taught Garrett that, when asked what he wants to be when he grows up, he should respond with, an attorney. It was so precious and hysterical coming out of his mouth. Of course, when I asked him again this morning he replied with, "A basket player." (Translated= a basketball player.)

You go, short white boy. You go.

He's Not Just Anyone

I'm down on my knees again tonight
I'm hoping this prayer will turn out right
See there is a boy that needs Your help
I've done all that I can do myself
His mother is tired
I'm sure You can understand
Each night as he sleeps
She goes in to hold his hand
And she tries not to cry
As the tears fill her eyes

Can You hear me?
Am I getting through tonight?
Can You see him?
Can You make him feel all right?
If You can hear me
Let me take his place somehow
See, he's not just anyone
He's my son
-Mark Schultz

I know that song is about a sick boy but most of it feels pretty relevant to me right now. I look at him and, while it's true that we look nothing alike, his heart feels as fused to mine as if we were conjoined twins. Certainly I cannot take his place. I understand that it would be awfully strange for a young guy to fight for custody of a 27 year old woman. I just wish that Matthew's future wasn't so up in the air. I know that, really, none of us knows what tomorrow brings but the uncertainty of Matthew's tomorrow seems so much more...uncertain.

So I lean on the fact that God's knows.

Conclusions

I just got a bill from the lawyer here in SLC for just shy of 1,000 dollars. That was after a courtesy discount of an additional 1,000. And that was after we paid him a 3,500 retainer. I need to send the new lawyer in California a retainer of 2,000 dollars. I am waiting for a bill from the other California attorney which will probably be a couple grand in addition to the 3,000 dollar retainer we already sent her. This has led me to several conclusions.

1. Praise God my grandparents had given us a loan.
2. Praise God that people are sending us donations of 25, 40, 100 and, in a couple cases, even more than that.
3. If the Lord allows us to keep Matthew, he'd (Matthew that is) better never, ever talk back. And also, better play in the NFL or be the president or something.
4. If we lose him, I should probably be locked up. You know, somewhere with padded rooms and finger painting.
5. I should have been an adoption attorney.

Banshees

I know I've been a little quiet but my MIL was in town. Garrett had a blast playing with her and she enjoyed meeting Matthew. Because of her stay, Troy and I have decided we need a nanny to work the hours of 6-10 am. It was much easier to get a few extra minutes of sleep, get out the door in the morning, and feel entirely sane with her assistance.

We don't really want a nanny (do we, Troy?) and I have to say, praise God for infertility and contested adoptions. Did you ever think I'd say that? Here is the thing, without the aforementioned nightmares, the world might be short a couple of adorable little boys tonight.

Garrett is exhausted. He played hard today and he's emotionally edgy and it all came to a head during his bath. I got the baby out and all jammied up. He was happily squirming on the bathmat, staring at the lights, while I attempted to get Garrett out. Something snapped in my firstborn's brain and he was crazily screaming about not getting out. After making several attempts and not being able to pick up his kicking and slippery body, I told him he was making Jesus upset. That actually worked (thank you, Jesus) and he got out. But then he immediately began shrieking again. At this point Matthew decided that, what with Garrett making a scene, he probably needed to join in. Additionally he was due for a bottle and thought that very moment was a great time to remind me. Seeing as how I was busy dealing with a wild-eyed, kicking monster, I had to let the baby cry. And cry he did. Actually, it was more like the wail of a pack of coyotes.

As they both shrieked, I took a deep breath and thought about ripping out all my hair in two fistfuls. Then, like a freight train colliding with one of those teeny European cars, it hit me. I thought about all those long months I spent praying for a child. I thought about how no toddler tantrum even comes close to stressing me out the way infertility did. I thought about how every minute that I get to spend with Matthew is a blessing and if he's crying, well, I will try to remember that sound because maybe I'll never get to experience him throwing a toddler tantrum. And I laughed.

I did not yank my hair out. Eventually I got Garrett's pajamas on him. I got him to go from screaming to whimpering and hiccuping and I got him into his room for a Bible story. I picked the baby up and bounced him as I read to Garrett. I think he was out cold within two minutes of his head hitting the pillow. Then I cuddled with Matthew while I gave him his bedtime bottle. Both boys are asleep now. The house is quiet. Their cries are now only a memory as they sleep in peace.

Thank God for infertility and contested adoptions. I am certainly a better mother because of them. I know I appreciate my boys more--even when they are acting like a couple of screaming banshees.

It should probably be noted that Troy is at a board meeting.

April 16

Again, I don't know much. What I know is that we have a new hearing date of April 16. I don't think we need to be in California for that. Custody will not be decided on that day but rather it is basically a chance for attorneys to sit down and talk. We may be on a conference call with the lawyers and the birth father.

In any case, please pray for a softening of the birth father's heart. We appreciate his feelings but are, obviously, respecting the wishes of the birth mother. She wants him here. We want him here because we think it is the best place for him. Please pray that he would realize that we only want what is best for Matthew. I don't think we'll know a whole lot more after April 16 but please lift our family up in prayer between now and then as it will be the first time people actually come together to start trying to figure this mess out.

This & That

It's been brought to my attention that my donation button was malfunctioning. It has since been fixed--I think. Should you choose to send us a donation, I will, in turn, let you know which part of my child you own. Of course I'm kidding but wouldn't it be cool if you could say, "I own Matthew Doozleberry's pinkie finger nail on his left hand." Or, "Oh shoot, suddenly I am in need of a kidney. Good thing I bought Matthew's."

There is something I really want to blog about but I can't, exactly. See, currently, Matthew has his birth mother's last name and will until the adoption is finalized--if the adoption is finalized. We had chosen his name long before we realized that, for the first many months of his life, he would technically have her name. As far as things like going to the doctor are concerned, Matthew has our last name but, for legal purposes, he has hers. And, when you put his first name with her last name it happens to be the name of a famous person. It's funny. It makes us laugh every time we hear it.

To all who are praying, linking back to this blog on your own, or sending us donations, we truly could not be more appreciative. Thank you~

Scrumptious

My son is fat. He's in the 53% for weight and the 17% for length. I thought about calling him a more politically correct term like husky or rotund or even plump but the bottom line is, he's fat. That's almost the exact opposite of my firstborn who, as a baby, was always average length and pretty low on the weight chart. Garrett, by all accounts, was skinny. Matthew, well, he has folds in places I didn't know could grow excess chub--places like the back of his neck. I'm finding things in the creases on this kid that you wouldn't believe. Things like soured formula, grime, and a decent sized piece of thread. Heck, the other day I couldn't find my car keys but, there they were, tucked away between a couple of rolls in Matthew's thigh.

I've always loved chubby babies. They are so squishy and delicious. That, on top of the fact that Matthew keeps getting darker and my favorite kind of chocolate is that which has a high cacao content, makes it difficult for me not to eat him. Seriously. You have no idea how much will power I have to exert on a daily basis.

I don't have much to report on the contested adoption front. Our possible new lawyer in California is in court today but we're waiting to hear back from him to get the ball rolling. Stand by. I assure you I will update whenever I know anything. For now we've been able to enjoy some almost normal days around here. Moments go by where I almost forget altogether that we could still lose him.

I love my boys. Garrett, who insists on referring to himself as Echo and introduces himself as such (that's a story for another day), is melting my heart every day by being the sweetest brother ever. He hasn't even been close to the nightmare I envisioned he'd be when a baby moved in. When I remind him that Matthew might be leaving--try explaining that to a toddler and not completely shattering his sense of security--he looks at me with big eyes and emphatically tells me that, "Baby Matt-ooh lives here. In his bed."

And Troy, well, he takes one of Matthew's two night time feedings (the upside to formula bills) and he continues, the second time around, to be such a hands on dad. I know there are men out there who won't change diapers and won't give baths and generally don't view parenting as a 50/50 job. Not my husband. He changes diapers. Even poopy ones. I've been wearing the engagement ring he gave me for six years as of yesterday and I'd say yes again in an instant. Even with the knowledge that I'd be moved to a state that refers to its residents as Utahns which, I'm pretty sure, doesn't even follow the rules of word morphology.

Even

I'm obsessed with even numbers. I don't really know why but I've always liked them much more than their odd friends. Six is my favorite number because when I was six years old I decided that it was the best age. All play and little work or responsibility...that was the life. I also love 8. It's so cute and robust.

Not terribly long ago I discovered a bizarre phenomenon. Okay so it's not actually a phenomenon but it is an incredibly interesting coincidence. It involves birthdays. I'll just show you what I'm talking about...

1. Troy's Dad=June 30
2. Troy's Mom= September 30
3. Troy=June 6
4. Troy's Sister=October 22
5. Troy's Other Sister=January 12
6. Troy's Other Sister= February 8
7. My Dad= October 18
8. My Mom= December 14
9. Me= September 8
10. My Brother= December 24
11. Garrett= July 20

Additionally, I'll just throw in there that Troy's parents, my parents and Troy & I all have anniversaries that fall on even days.

Matthew was supposed to be induced on February 27. I was thrilled to be adding another child to my family and didn't really care when he was born but not a single person in our immediate families has an odd birthday. So, while I didn't actually pray that God would give Matthew an even birthday (I realize he's a little busy curing cancer and stopping train crashes and all) I did seriously hope that he'd be born early or her induction time would be late enough on the 27th that he wouldn't be born until the 28th. Well, as you know, his birth mother wasn't actually able to get the induction until Saturday...

12. Matthew=February 28

So now I have even more reason to love even numbers, my family has this insane trend going. It should be mentioned that brothers-in-law, nieces, nephews and my FSIL have odd birthdays but the families we were raised in and the family we are raising are even.

That's probably not really blog worthy but I just find it to be incredibly interesting. And, while I am not, at this point in my dramatic life, planning on having anymore children, should I find myself pregnant or be led into another adoption, I would seriously hope for an even birthday-ed kid.

Update

First of all, my wonderful friend Joelle made the Praying for Matthew's Future button in my side bar. If you want to grab it and take it on over to your own blog, we'd appreciate anyone and everyone praying for him.

We got a call this evening from the new attorney in California. Without going into legal detail in such a public forum, we are MUCH encouraged after talking to him. Of course, anything can happen but it was wonderful to hear him telling us that case law is on our side! Additionally, he's a believer (Praise God!) and he told us that he would try to keep our costs to a minimum. I'm not sure what that's a minimum of exactly. Could be the GNP of a small nation for all I know.

Again, anything can happen but it was certainly good to feel our spirits lifted.

What We Know

We don't know much but here's what we know so far:

We need our own representation in California. We have a call into the recommended attorney. Hopefully we'll be able to scrape together the retainer. We have no idea how much that will be. Please pray that it's a figure we can get ahold of.

We are struggling with this. We certainly don't want to steal a baby from his birth father but we have been given reasons why we feel like he might not be the best option to raise Matthew. We really don't feel like this is the right forum to speculate on someone's character or ability, but such concerns DO play into our decision making and prayers. Additionally, I spoke to Jennifer yesterday and she is still completely committed to us raising Matthew. She wants him here and will back us 100%. So, if we chose not to fight this, we'd be going against her wishes. She said that I am his mother and that I love him as though he came from my own womb and I show no difference between my love for him and my love for Garrett and that he absolutely has to stay with us. Um...I'm glad that Matthew's birth mother can see what I know to be true.

I was talking to God. I asked why. I didn't mean why is this happening to us and not someone else. I simply meant why is it happening at all. What are we supposed to be learning and how should we proceed from here? I know that Troy and I didn't do anything wrong in this situation. We didn't go in with our eyes closed. There were no red flags. Yesterday Jennifer reiterated that God had led her to pick us and she believes that he is exactly where he is supposed to be. It struck me when she said--again--that God led her to us. I know that he is in control but it just made me realize that, for some reason, we are exactly where we're supposed to be. Whether we are supposed to be Matthew's parents for two months or a lifetime, God placed us here.

I take some small amount of comfort in knowing that my God trusts me with this. I sure wish he didn't have as much confidence in me. I certainly don't see whatever he sees. But I'm being held by a force much, much bigger than myself.

DNA Results

He just went from the potential birth father to the birth father. I don't know much else. I don't know where we go from here but I know it involves a third lawyer. And I know, through my tears, that God is in control.

28 Days

Dear Matthew,

You are not one month old already. It's impossible. I mean, sure, you were born in February so you were technically cheated out of two or three days but still. You cannot possibly be 28 days old. See because that would mean that I've spent 28 whole days feeling like I'm trying not to drown. In some ways, I think you've been a part of this family for much, much longer than a month but, in other ways, I know that it was mere moments ago that I first laid on eyes on that head of hair as it emerged from within your mother.

In the hospital, on the day we were discharged, she was holding you and you started to fuss. She said that it sounded like you wanted your mom and she handed you to me. And you stopped. Just like that. Maybe I mentioned that before but it made my heart swell.

Matthew, I hate that it's hard for me to think about all the adorable things you've done in the past month because all I focus on is please, God, let me have a lifetime with him. You look at me with the deepest chocolate eyes and you trust me. You smile in your sleep and melt my already mushy and emotional heart. You coo and I wonder if it's the only voice I'll ever get to hear. And so I contemplate fleeing to Canada. Your father says we'd be safer in Ireland and it really makes no difference to me, as long as we're together. I won't do it, of course, even though the mother in me wants to stop at nothing to keep you here with us. In some ways, I'm angry that I'll never get the last 28 days back. I'll never get to snuggle you, fresh from the womb, without worry about what tomorrow might bring. But, if these are the only days I have with you, I'll be thankful that I had them. I'll be glad I pulled you into bed with me and breathed you--you smell like baking bread, don't ask me why--into my nostrils. I'll be thankful that I kissed your chubby cheeks two thousand times. I'll be so proud to have called you my son and to have felt you grip my fingers tightly in your fists.

Today the church gave us a baby shower--or, as your brother called it, a baby bath--and it was wonderful. I was truly dreading it on account of the fact that I burst into tears at extremely random times these days. But, buddy, you deserved to be showered upon. Your little life is worth something more than a giant custody battle. Hoards of people showed up to celebrate you and it was perfect. I wore regular mascara just so I wouldn't be tempted to cry. I certainly couldn't walk around the church with raccoon eyes. I am happy to report that I did not cry a single tear, though Allison did choke me me up once during her devotional. It was completely unintentional because it was a part that I certainly wasn't supposed to cry over. As she talked about hearing her son's deep belly laugh for the first time on account of dancing around the living room with him instead of doing the dishes, I couldn't help but wonder if I'll be privileged enough to hear your own laugh ring through my ears.

You will always be mine. Even if they take you, not a day will go by when I won't wonder how you are and what you're doing. Not an hour will pass where I don't love you. But, through it all, I want nothing more than to stand firm. If I were to leave you anything from our 28 days together, I would want it to be an unshakable faith. People have said that they're finding it hard not to be angry or upset with God because this just doesn't make sense. They've said that if they are feeling that way, surely I am. Matthew, I'm not. I've been there. The road that finally led us to your brother was painful and I questioned God more than a few times. I shook my fist at the heavens on several occasions. But I lived to tell about it and I regret that it showed me what a pathetic lack of faith I had. My heart ached but it did not break. God did not give me more than I could handle. We were blessed immeasurably with your brother and I wouldn't trade a second of our pain for that spirited toddler who is obsessed with touching your nose. How, on earth, can I be upset or angry at a God who allowed me these past 28 days and may, very well, allow me your life. Sure, the days have been filled with anxiety and stress, but he could have not given you to me at all. I am confident that's not what I would have wanted.

So I'm sorry that your first month has been full of turmoil, but at least you can know that we are loving you fiercely and standing firm in our faith. It's been a tough month but the beginning of things, of a world especially, is necessarily vague, tangled, chaotic, and exceedingly disturbing. How few of us ever emerge from such beginning! How many souls perish in its tumult! That's Kate Chopin and, if you live with me long enough, you'll be introduced to her again--if I have anything to say about it. I took that quote completely out of context and I don't even care. I'm not even going to apologize.

I love you, Matthew. Happy 1 month.

Two Funnies and a Bloody

Today, as we exited the store, Garrett spied a cigarette lying on the ground. "Ew, yuck yuck. People die!" And the "die" was so overdramatic it was almost ridiculous. It was like bad acting where the performer grabs his neck and chokes several times. But at least he's learning young.

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Yesterday, as I quizzed him.


Me: Where is Jesus?
Garrett: In my heart.
Me: What happened to him?
Garrett: He died.
Me: Then what happened?
Garrett: He rose again!
Me: Who was his mom?
Garrett: Mary.
Me: Who is his dad?
Garrett: God.
Me: Who was his earthly father?
Garrett: Mary.
Me: No, Mary was his mom. His daddy on earth was Joseph.
Garrett: Doe-huff.
Me: Who was the disciple Jesus loved?
Garrett: Mary.
Me: No, his name was John.
Garrett: Uncle Jon and Heather!
Me: Well, he loves them, too, but a different John. Who was the naughty disciple?
Garrett: ME!


I corrected him.

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This morning I had to lug the boys to the pediatrician because Matthew got a nose bleed. He's been shooting bloody boogers out of his nose for over a week now but this morning was different. This morning it actually bled. All over two baby wipes.


After several medical professionals conferred, it was determined that we would do a strict regimen of saline nose drops and some sort of jelly junk to try to heal the bad blood vessel. If it isn't cleared up by next Tuesday, we'll have to see an ENT for a possible nasal surgery of some sort. Because the hits just keep coming.


And, it makes me want to call up Potential Birth Father and declare, "Alright, fight us for custody, but you'll want to have a good ENT lined up if you win. He has a bum nose. I can explain what that is if you need me to. I can also answer any plethora of parenting questions you have. Really I can. Try me."

My Friend, Michelle

I've been meaning to tell you about my friend, Michelle. I met Michelle in the fall of 1999 which seems entirely impossible because that means that we've known each other for almost TEN YEARS. We lived on the same floor together during our freshman year of college and each year after that we lived in the same room. We canceled class together, we laughed together, and we cried together. After graduation, I was in her wedding and she was in mine. I love Michelle.

In the past several weeks there have been days when I want to blog a little something like this, "@^&#!" and leave it at that. I don't, because good little Christian boys and girls aren't supposed to say bad words, much less make them a topic of their latest blog. But on those days I think of Michelle. Michelle is pregnant with her first baby, a girl as far as anyone can tell. I'll let Michelle's blog tell you the story because I'd probably get it all wrong but, to make a long and painful story short, there have been complications in her daughter's development.

Michelle is getting me through my days. While I am anxiously awaiting DNA results and feeling the anguish of not knowing, I know that Michelle is anxiously awaiting her own test results. When I am feeling ridiculously sorry for myself, I think of Michelle, and of course her husband, Kevin, and I pray for them. And every night Troy and I lift them up in prayer together. It helps, to turn the focus outward.

I am so thankful for all the people who are lifting us up in prayer on a daily basis. Some people have linked back here on their own blogs and that kind of networking has led to an outpouring of prayer from across the nation. So, if you have linked to my blog, thank you. I want to pay it forward and send you to Michelle's blog. I believe, completely, in the power of prayer. If you throw a prayer out for Matthew, please add on another name and pray for little Karsie who, at just 13 cm, has certainly stolen my heart.

www.karsiegene.blogspot.com