The Zoo

We went to the zoo today with the other pastor's wife and her girls. We learned that Little Spuddy is the same size as an infant gorilla. Although, his arms are slightly shorter.

Doesn't it look like I have three hands growing off of my right arm? Holly's oldest was helping me. And we discovered that Garrett is the same size as a juvenile gorilla. So, essentially, I could make a swap with a mama gorilla. I wonder if she'd notice a difference. I don't think things would change much around here. Except that I do have Garrett mostly toilet trained. I might miss that.

The Rock Star channeled his inner spider on the rope web.

And the little spudster finally fell asleep.

The little orangutan slept too. Or, well, vegged. Her daddy slept as well. Under a sheet. It was the funniest thing ever. Okay. Not ever. Not even close, probably. But it was funny. Baby orangutan really entertains herself. That would be nice. Maybe I could trade her for Matthew. Occasionally. On Tuesdays and every other weekend.

The new baby giraffe was especially adorable. I wouldn't trade either of my boys for him though. I don't have a bed big enough. And, while he'd fit through the doors for now, I feel that would be short lived. But oh is he ever a cutie.

Get Me Outta This Mess

The Rock Star's newest phrase is, "Get me outta this mess." I have no idea how he came up with it.

Last week, when he flipped out at swimming lessons (another story for another time) he looked at me and, with crazy lunatic eyes, screeched, "Get me outta this mess!"

If he's in time out...

"Get me outta this mess!"

If he's stuck in his car seat for a moment too long when we pull into the driveway...

"Get me outta this mess, please."

It's always used when he is powerless to control his own situation. I'm wondering if I ought to start praying this way (although, of course, with more reverence than Garrett usually musters).

Dear God,
I'm generally sick and tired of dealing with this messy legal situation. Please get me outta this mess.

Meeting Him

To all of you who were lifting us up in prayer, THANK YOU! All I can say is that we felt them. We could not have hoped for a better meeting. While, of course, it was awkward initially and tense at some moments, everyone was respectful and even nice to one another.

We didn't discuss the court case.

We didn't ask him to sign away his rights and he didn't ask us to give him custody. We left that to the lawyers. Certainly we are still on opposite sides of the battle but I think ground was gained in the department of mutual respect.

We were supposed to end at 2:00. And that's when the social worker left. We ended up dropping him off at the airport at a little before 4:00. We picked up Garrett on our way to the airport and let them meet each other--because he wanted to meet our son. We felt comfortable enough with him to extend our time and take him to the airport ourselves.

It was an enormous comfort when, at one point, he said, "You guys are good people." The fact that he no longer views us as psychotic baby stealers is a real relief. Like I've been saying all along, I have no idea what on earth is going to happen here. I still believe God wants us fighting for this child. I still believe that our home is the best place for him. But at least, for the moment, we have a cordial relationship with his birth father.

Thank you for your prayers. And, please, keep lifting us up.

Deep in the dark of despair
Deep in my heart there's a prayer
That faith will reign over fear
That courage and strength will be mine

My heart is heavy I don't understand
Yet I know my life is in your hands
I realize that I am incapable
Of changing alone the impossible
But I believe in miracles
Together our voices will rise

We are not powerless in the face of fear
As one we will stand and make our voices clear
When God's people pray things will change
When God's people pray all the earth will obey
My faith can't be shaken because I have seen
The amazing, miraculous happens
When God's people pray

Our defense in danger
Our light in the midst of life
Our strength in the weakest moment
Our hope through the night, the night
All things are possible when we let go
Let go of what we can't control

When God's people pray things will change
When God's people pray all the earth will obey
My faith can't be shaken because I have seen
The amazing, miraculous happens
When God's people pray

The peace that we need will only come when we get on our knees

When God's people pray you know things will change
When God's people pray all the earth will obey
My faith can't be shaken because I have seen
The amazing, miraculous happens
When God's people pray

-Crystal Lewis

Three Hours of Prayer

****UPDATED AGAIN****Just for your information, we've decided not to have Garrett there with us. The situation is likely going to be more tense than we had originally hoped and we feel that we need to keep him away from the meeting. Please continue to lift him up in prayer. We can see the effect that the past 5.5 months of stress have had on him. Troy and I could use a lot of prayer as well. We are feeling incredibly taxed emotionally.

***UPDATED*** You guys are awesome. In less than 18 hours all of the slots were filled. If you would still like to be added to the "official" list, just let me know and I will add you to whatever slot you'd prefer. If you'd like to pray earlier or later, let me know what time and I will extend the hours. Of course, you can just pray without being added to list if you'd like. Again--I am so thankful for you!

Saturday.

We meet BF on Saturday.

I'm more than just a little apprehensive about the whole situation. Here is where you can help. The plan is that we will meet him at a local church from 12:00 pm-2:00 pm mountain time*. We are attempting to work out the details. We actually had them all worked out two weeks ago but then his flight wasn't scheduled to arrive until after we had planned to start the meeting so, on Monday, we were, in a sense, back to the drawing board. We're hoping and praying that he is at the meeting point by noon because the facilitator can only stay until 2:00. Garrett will be there for at least part of the time. I have a friend who will be on sight and available to take Garrett at any point.

I would love it if I could have someone dedicated to actively pray for us during every minute of that meeting. I'd also love to start the prayer a little early and extend a little later than the scheduled meeting time. The Lord has blessed me with so many wonderful readers and I thought that, maybe, you would want to sign up to pray for ten minutes on Saturday. (Of course if you want to pray longer, that would be perfectly wonderful.)

Things to pray for: Safety and security of all involved. We are particularly worried about how this will effect Garrett. Pray that BF might do a 180 degree turn in his view of us as Matthew's parents. Pray that, by the grace of God, BF might see Christ in us. Pray that the logistics of his arrival work out. Pray that Matthew will behave in such a way that BF sees that he is happy, healthy and well adjusted but also realizes the challenges involved in having a baby. Pray that we would be honoring of BF as Matthew's natural father. Of course, please pray for anything else that you can think of.

If you are interested in being a part of this prayer time, please leave a comment and tell me what time(s) you would like me to put you down for. I will fill in the time slots by updating this blog entry. If you want to pray but someone has already signed up for the time you wanted, please sign up to pray then anyway. Truly this is a "the more the merrier" kind of situation.

If you do not know how to comment, click on the bottom of this entry where it says "comments". Then, select anonymous. Please put time slot you will be praying and then your name so that I know who you are. If you want to pray anonymously that is fine but I'd really love to know who you are. If, after this lesson, you still can't figure out how to comment, please email me with your time and I will add it onto my blog.

Troy and I will be praying extensively between now and Saturday. However, it may be a little difficult for us to "pray without ceasing" while we are navigating the waters of meeting BF. Please join us in three hours of ceaseless prayer for Matthew. And thank you.

Three Hours of Prayer
11:00 MST-- Sarah

11:30 MST-- Marcus & Piper
11:40 MST-- Sabrina, Heather
11:50 MST-- Ginny
12:00 MST-- Jayni
12:10 MST-- Maritza, Lynnae
12:20 MST-- Jo
12:30 MST-- Kelli & David
12:40 MST-- Jamie, Jana
12:50 MST-- Jon & Mary Lou
1:00 MST-- Heidi, J'Lene
1:10 MST-- Raine
1:20 MST-- Verna
1:30 MST-- Krista
1:40 MST-- Heather & Nick
1:50 MST-- Ashby
2:00 MST-- Trish
2:10 MST-- Jon & Heather
2:20 MST-- Laura

*For those who don't know, Mountain time is one hour ahead of Pacific time (i.e. when it is 1:00 here in Utah it is noon PST) It is one hour behind Central time and two hours behind Eastern time. Hope that helps. :-)

Sweet Kiss

I want to make a clarification. I said, in an earlier post, that Jaiya John had no religious upbringing. Er, well, I said something along those lines. He was raised in the Catholic church. He just didn't make mention of it until page 156. And I, uh, hadn't gotten that far. I am now about fifteen pages from the end and, for the most part, Black Baby White Hands has been an incredible tool for me regarding our transracial family.

Today, at the pool, Garrett and Matthew were both wedged into a blow up ring. If the ring had been pink instead of blue they would have looked a lot like Neapolitan ice cream. It was adorable and they were having a blast. Garrett was actually letting Matthew gnaw on his finger although he did refer to it as biting. I pulled them around the pool. For a moment, I turned my head away to navigate through eleven million kids. When I glanced back, I caught Garrett giving Matthew the most gentle kiss--right on the top of his head.

It melted my heart.

I cannot lose that baby. I cannot. I. Cannot. For I simply cannot grieve the loss of my son while picking up the pieces of my other son's shattered heart.

I generally live in denial. Leave it to a three-year-old's sweet kiss to yank me jarringly out of my ignorant bliss. We meet BF on Saturday. Please pray for us. We really need it.

Our Day Away

I pulled off one the best surprise dates in our history. To start, I convinced Troy that we were doing something together as a family and that he couldn't make any plans for our anniversary. Secretly, I had lined up childcare for the entire day. Missy--who has done so very much for us already--stepped up to the plate and hit one out of the park. It should be mentioned that the bases were loaded and she, thus, scored the grand slam of being an awesome friend. I then told Troy to meet me at the church at 10:20. We had to have two cars at the church because our date would end just before my ministry team meeting started--at 7:00. I explained that I had to run an errand.

The back of the car was secretly packed with everything we needed for the day and I told Troy to wear a t-shirt and shorts. "We'll see you soon," I shouted. Lying? Fibbing? Sure. But I prefer to call it Prepping for the surprise. I dropped the boys off at Missy's and headed to the church. When he pulled up and walked over to the car a puzzled look crossed his face.

"There aren't any boys back there." Empty car seats smiled at him.

"There sure aren't." Was my reply.

(Aren't is one of those words that if you say it enough you start wondering if it's even a word. Another thing like that: my name. And now back to our regularly scheduled program.)

Then we drove to Raging Waters.

But let me explain. See, Troy and I had never been to a water park together and we'd always wanted to go. It was just something that never happened. Then we had kids and there are just certain places you don't take infants. Bars, scuba diving, bungee jumping, and water parks, to name a few.

So we spent the day at a water park. We got there around 10:45. We rode all but one of the slides--several of them multiple times. We relaxed in the lazy river. We floated in the wave pool. We laid out in the sun. And time was not interrupted by yelps of, "MOMMYMOMMYMOMMYMOMMY I neeeeeeeed youuuuu!" Nor was it disturbed by shrieks of "waaaahhhh!" Which can only be translated as, "I neeeeed formula or I will die right this instant!" It was him and me. Just him and me. The way it was on that day six years ago. Well, I mean, that was him and me and 398 other people but they brought gifts so who's counting?

At one point we checked the time, thinking it had to be around 3:30. It was 1:58. We remarked that we thought time was supposed to fly when you were having fun. But really, I think some sort of phenomena occurred whereby the fact that we were unneeded by any other human at that moment actually slowed the rotation of our world on its axis. This, I might add, is the definition of bliss.

We left a little earlier than I'd planned and had soup, salad and breadsticks at Olive Garden for dinner. It's been a long time since I've had an entire day where I didn't have to share my husband. Magical might describe it. Wonderful. Peaceful. Fantastic.

Apparently, as icing on the cake, my sons actually behaved! Today it was back to business as usual. Garrett pooped on the potty! And I'd be lying if I said that I didn't almost take a picture I was so darn proud.

It sure is nice when you can have a day completely out of the ordinary. A day where the highlight is not the fecal matter of a three-year-old. Yesterday was that kind of a day for me. I love my children. If it's possible, I might even love their poop. Although, everything about that sentence seems disturbing and wrong. But, man, do I ever love my husband.

A special thanks to my three grandparents who sent us anniversary money and funded our fantastic day. I considered putting it into the adoption fund and having homemade spaghetti for dinner but decided that we both needed time together. Time away. Time to lay on a lounge chair and contemplate the slight breeze as it washed over us. Time, for just half a day, not to think about poop.

VI

Two years ago I wrote this. And I posted this which I had written before I maintained a blog. Last year I wrote this. This year, well, this year I don't even know what to say.

It's true. I miss that first year. I miss the butterflies and weak kneedness of it all. I wish I could have bottled that crazy desire I had to be standing by Troy's side every minute of every day. I should have videotaped the fireworks. I probably ought to have, at least, taken a picture of my knight when he rode in on a white stallion. That was back when it was all fun and games and What movie do you want to see? and Wanna get away for the weekend? and lingerie.

On occasion, I am hit with the smell of aftershave and it propels me back into that first year. It seemed like our biggest dilemma was what to make for dinner or, very rarely, how to learn to coexist with all that weirdness under one roof. Obviously, there are times when I wish, for just one day, I could time travel. Perhaps, just for a few moments, I could feel butterflies flapping around in the pit of my stomach and catch a glimpse of that white stallion.

You see, we had to sell that horse--and the shining armor--to pay for fertility treatment. Six years later, we're not living in the middle of a fairytale. Six years later it's vomit and legal fees and Let's not start a movie, I'm exhausted and Wanna get away for five minutes? I'll wrangle the children if you want to squeeze in a shower! and Hanes Her Way underwear that I've probably had since before Garrett was born.

Once I asked Troy if he missed the days of feeling butterflies in the pit of his stomach when he saw me. He pulled me into a kiss and then, "Sometimes," he whispered, "I still do." The fact of the matter is that I do too. On very rare occasions. If, say, I've been away and the plane lands and I look down at the shiny mechanics of the baggage claim and see him waiting for me. I'd be lying if I said my stomach didn't flip. But, for the most part, those flops have been replaced with comfort.

Comfort. A good pair of Hanes Her Way underwear. An old dog lying in front of a fireplace. The familiar smell of a cabin returned to in the summers and left as autumn draws near. The arm around the waist. The one that doesn't neccessarily elicit the misfiring of nerve endings anymore but brings a calm assurance of the fact that I am deeply loved. Comfort in the memories of six years of marriage. Comfort in the smiles of our boys and the endured pain we've felt bringing them into this family. Comfort in watching all that water rushing under the bridge.

I was madly in love with my husband on the day I married him. But I was playing in the breakers. Now I swim with him in the deep blue sea of life, love and affection. It's fun playing in the waves but past them is where it all really begins. It is mysteriously calm and comfortable but there is a depth, an understanding, a delicate dance of sand and water and life. Out here the sky touches the ocean and we swim toward the horizon. Out here, it seems, we don't exist without the other.

Some days I wish I could tap into that initial firework explosion. But only for a moment. Because the truth is, I wouldn't trade the vomit for the firework show. I wouldn't change the pain of making our family because then I wouldn't have the smiles that greet us in the morning. I wouldn't even want to be able to go catch a movie if it meant that I'd miss the contented look on my husband's face while he sleeps. The truth is, I love it this way.

The dynamics have surely changed. But what remains is that I am madly in love with the man that I married six years ago. Sometimes, when I've got a kid under each arm, ten bills in one hand and a broom in the other, I catch sight of that man walking through the door after work and I turn my head to one side. I wonder, is this real? Because, you see, everything I've dreamed of is suddenly right before my eyes.

Happy anniversary, Troy. I love you. Ever so much more now then I did six years ago.

Humilitation

Troy and I are looking for a new church.

This is a problem because he is employed by our current church. However, we can no longer show our faces there. Why? We're raising a disgusting little hooligan boy and we can no longer subject the good people at our church to his behavior. That's why. He is all testosterone and bugs and worms and skinned knees. I think I've mentioned before that sometime during the whole toilet training extravaganza he decided it was a good idea to water the lawn with his potty.

We've tried explaining to him that he is not allowed to do this other places. For the most part, he complies. Today, as I walked toward the childcare room at church I was greeted with the feminine face of a little nursery helper. "Uh. Garrett just did something really weird."

Assuming he had danced on the table or yelped I'm a rock star! or something equally odd I asked, rather uninterestedly, "What?"

"He peed on the grass."

Oh for the love of Peter, Paul, Moses, and the Mother Mary herself. You have got to be kidding me. We've told him not to do this anywhere except the privacy of his own backyard. For that matter we've tried discouraging the use of even our own lawn. So he chooses to drop trou and whiz in the play yard at church. Does he not realize who his father is?

If there had been a rock big enough I would certainly have gathered my entire family around me and climbed under it. There wasn't, so I'm back where I started. Anyone know a good church in the area? And then, as a follow up question, is anyone hiring?

The Crayons

I've been a little stressed lately because some of the 12,000,000 people involved in our case are attempting to make this a race issue. White state. White mother. White father. White brother. Black Matthew. We just don't see it that way. These are my sons.

One happens to be African-American. I'll teach him about that heritage. But I'm not going to make this a race issue. I'm not gonna spend my life being a color.

Oh That Baby

No, the sound effects heard in this video are not, actually, bodily functions. I feel like it's pretty obvious but thought I should clarify on the off chance that you maybe thought they were.

This morning The Rock Star put a hard hat on Little Buddy. And see, Little Buddy loved it but, well, he looked like a bobble head doll and we thought it probably wasn't the best idea to have the weight of a hard hat on the neck of a 5 month old. So we took it away. And Matthew cried. So Troy gave him this instead. Then he was happy. The end.

Birthday Suit

This morning, we were slightly confused when The Rock Star wandered into our room wearing absolutely nothing. We discovered his underwear buried under the sheets in his bed. Garrett is three. His underwear fits rather snugly. So you can imagine my amusement when I asked him why he was naked and he replied, "My underwear just kind of fell off while I was sleeping."

Hmmm.

Garrett & Jesus

On Sunday, after I set up the table for communion, Garrett was fiddling with one of the bread lids.

Me: No, no, no! Don't do that, Garrett. This is something really special for Jesus.
G: (His eyes widened with the excitement of Christmas and his birthday all rolled into one) Jesus is coming today?

And except for the fact that I believe there are still a whole lot of lost that need reaching, in that moment, I wanted nothing more than for my three-year-old to see Jesus in the flesh that very moment. Later that day, he got in a hefty amount of trouble. He'd found a cough drop and asked me if he could eat it. I'd said no. He'd eaten it anyway. As Troy talked to him about what he'd done and what he needed to do, Garrett looked up at the ceiling and began, "Sorry Jesu-" stopping mid sentence he shifted his eyes down and stared at his chest. He started over, "Sorry Jesus in my heart."

Black Baby White Hands

We didn't go looking for an African-American baby. But then, we didn't go looking for something else either. We were open to any ethnicity. The pigment of our baby's skin hardly mattered to us. It was rather exciting to wonder if we'd be chosen by a birth mother carrying an Asian daughter or a Caucasian son or some other wonderful combination of heritage.

When we were chosen by an African-American woman I knew that I wanted to prepare myself for what that might mean. What would he feel like being the one cookie in a family of Oreo frosting centers? Would he resent it when we all compared our tans and deemed him the winner every single time? What would it be like for him to blatantly and obviously flow with a different set of genes than his older, whiter brother?

I wanted to learn what to do and what not to do before we ever brought that boy home. But, I barely had enough time to prepare for the fact that we were going to get him. The month between being chosen and sitting in the operating room waiting for him to be cut from his mother was consumed with all the nesting and preparation that most women fill half a year with.

I'll start when we get home. After all, he has the same basic needs as my firstborn had. Eat. Sleep. Poop. Repeat.

I wanted to start collecting literature on raising a transracial child so that I would be prepared for his different needs as he developed. But what with all the lawyers and court dates and general stress of all that's happened on top of all the poopy diapers and baths and daily grinds, it just didn't happen.

Until now. I want to be well educated on how to best care for this child. I have all the love in the world and that works great for now. It will probably work great for several years--and I'm hoping I have that long with him. But it won't be all that matters when he's eight or eleven or fifteen. Likely, he will see our racial divide and he'll have needs. I want to be able to nurture those questions or concerns. I want him to feel that his blackness is something to be embraced and not something to hide under the blanket of a white family.

I'm reading essays and articles online. I've got a list of books I can check out from the library. And I'm reading two books. One of them is Black Baby White Hands: A View From the Crib. The book is Jaiya John's autobiography. It is his story. It will not be Matthew's because, as John says, "Six billion variations of perspective are what make humankind so volatile." We all have a different perspective. We all have a different experience. There are parts of John's story that I will not take with me into parenting my child. His lack of a religious upbringing certainly shaped him. Hopefully, Matthew's introduction and instruction in our faith will mold him a different way. But there are pieces of Jaiya John's story that I am so thankful for--pieces that give me another perspective on race.

I want to do right by both of my sons. I want them to be brothers. I want one to know his heritage. I want to see how far the apple falls from the tree. I want the other to know his heritage, as well. I accept that he may grow off of an apricot branch that is entwined with those of an apple tree and land, nevertheless, at the base of the apricot tree. What matters to me is not that one piece of fruit is an apple and the other an apricot. What matters is that both are fruit. They are completely different, but they need the same things to grow.

I hope that, by educating myself, Matthew learns that it's a marvelous thing being an apricot. I hope he doesn't feel like he has to be an apple. But, secretly, I hope that when he falls, he lands at the base of the apple tree--accepted and comfortable with being an apricot but thankful for growing so close to the apples.

Why I'm Allergic to Utah

I'm allergic to Utah.

And that statement is so not figurative. I'm honestly, truthfully, full blown allergic to Utah.

Or, that is, the air here or something that resides here or blooms here. I really don't know. What I do know is that for a full year I've been having an allergic reaction to this state. It all began a year ago when I thought I had conjunctivitis. One year and a lot of drops later, it was determined that I have Chronic Allergic Conjunctivitis and, according to the Ophthalmologist, it's being aggravated by, in a word, Utah.

The dry climate, the wind, something in this valley is making my eyes go crazy. I've switched contact solution. I've switched (for more than a few pretty pennies) contact brands. I've tried various drops. I've seen the eye doctor enough in the last ten months to qualify us as a dating couple. I've bought new glasses out of sheer necessity. I wouldn't wear the old ones in public unless my eyes were actively spewing goo. Now that I've become a part time contact wearer and part time glasses wearer, owning a pair with my current prescription was imperative.

I'm not having an outbreak of chronic allergic conjunctivitis at the moment. But still, I pop my contacts out in the evening, throw an anti-inflammatory drop in, attempt to hold my tears at bay as my eyes burn with all the wretched dryness of this state, put my glasses on, go to bed--eventually, wake up, put a wetting drop in my eye, and spend the rest of the day poking my pinkie finger into the corners to remove the goo that is pooling there. It's all very glamorous.

And it's making me absolutely insane.

My eye doctor thinks that because of the time of year we moved here, whatever it is that is waging war on my eyes wasn't blooming or the air was different. He thinks that last summer it reared it's ugly head and has done such a number on my eyes that the bumps living on my lids never fully disappear. Then, whenever it blooms or, well, whatever it does, the bumps flare up again.

They crust and goo and it's really quite unpleasant. And then there are the days where the conjunctivitis comes out of remission and it's a real party. There's twice as much crust and goo and we throw some serious watering and stinging and blurry vision in.

When I figure out what it is...we are going to have some serious words.

Update on Retreat Speaking

Do you want an update on the status of my speaking engagement in September? What do you mean not really? I'm going to tell you anyway. I am speaking four times. I have three of them completed in outline form. (Of course, I have to go over them a whole bunch between now and then). The final "talk" is in the early research and development stages. I have just under two months so I am finally starting to feel like I have a handle on things. I've only been working on these since February. Sheesh. I so totally need to get my act together. For some reason it's difficult to find time to work on them. Could have something to do with the two small children in the house. In any case, I am now hopeful that I won't just be standing up there in front of a bunch of women going, "Well, it sounded like a good idea back in January. Since I have nothing prepared, let's play Duck, Duck, Goose. Or Red Rover. Your choice."

Blog coming soon: Why I'm allergic to Utah.