Drum Roll, Please

Have you all been sitting on pins and needles waiting for my post? Have you? Huh? Have you? Am I annoying you? Oh come on, let me have my fun.

So first of all, concerning yesterday's post, I need to clear something up. Troy did not, in fact, fail to call me before calling The Organization We're Adopting From. Apparently, he had no sooner walked in the door that the phone rang. It was Anne and, well, as you all know, she had big news.

I kind of have half a mind to launch into something completely unrelated to our adoption and leave you all wondering just what, exactly, went on today. But, my mom has threatened to post her own blog and ruin the suspense ride that I feel like putting all of you on simply because it's been a long time since I've had a chance to keep you all waiting for my baby news. So...Garrett did the darnedest thing today...

Just kidding.

Alright. I picked Troy up at the airport this morning and headed to another place in Southern California. We arrived about a half hour before my parents and Garrett got there. She wanted to meet them all and we figured it would be a good idea if we had two cars so that, if Garrett threw some colossal tantrum, my parents could quickly escort him off the premises before I drop kicked* him across the room and ruined all our chances of obtaining this woman's offspring.

I'd like to say now that, out of respect for Jennifer's privacy, I've decided that I will not now, nor do I ever plan to, share any details of her life or the circumstances surrounding her decision to place this child for adoption. With that being said...

Our meeting went swimmingly. She was absolutely wonderful and I loved her immediately and she seemed to return the sentiment. Without sharing any real details of our four hours together, I'd just like to announce that all parties are moving ahead. She intends to give us the ultimate gift, her precious baby boy, in just a few short weeks. While our oldest son is pasty white, this precious boy will have a permanent tan. Before we ever conceived Garrett, I had a dream that we adopted an African-American son. Dreams do come true.

Well, there is cleaning and scrubbing and washing and pulling of things out of storage and folding and attorney calling and fake contractions to endure and man, why does my back hurt and are my ankles swollen? and general nesting and packing and trying to prepare my son for his brother. Speaking of my son, I'll leave you with the cutest words ever out of his mouth. When we were preparing to leave I pulled him onto my lap, pointed to Jennifer's expanding tummy and said, "Guess what? Your brother's in there." Garrett found this to be ridiculously hysterical and I didn't think he believed me. Why would he? He hasn't experienced babies coming out of bellies since he actually did and, for him, that was a really long time ago.

When I got home from depositing Troy at the airport I asked Garrett who we met today. He replied, "My baby in that lady's tummy." If that doesn't just pull on every heart string in your chest then I don't know what will. Please continue praying for the health of Jennifer and our son! And please continue praising God with us.

*I have not nor do I ever plan to actually drop kick my child.

I Feel Like The Stick Has A Plus Sign

I had my hair cut on Saturday morning because I'm nothing if not loyal to the woman who has been doing my hair since I was seven years old. After she finished it and it was dried and styled, she noticed a few pieces that she wanted to touch up so she scheduled me for 1:00 on Thursday afternoon.

On Wednesday night I went to bed at 10:30. At 11:29 I woke up with that feeling. It's the one where, if you're me and you've been highly susceptible to the flu for your whole life, you know that puking is imminent. I tossed and turned until 1:30. Then I got up, gagged a few times, failed to produce vomit, and climbed back in bed. Finally, at 2:30, I fell asleep straight on 'til morning. Despite never having upchucked, I still felt sick when I woke up. By late morning I was still extremely sick to my stomach and I didn't feel like driving fifteen minutes to the shop. I called and changed my hair appointment to this morning. I was due to fly home at 4:00 this afternoon so I figured I could squeeze it in. After successfully changing the appointment, I settled into a patio chair and dived into my book while the 70+ degree sun poured over my body.

Garrett played in the yard and, at just after 1:00, I decided it was time to put him down for a nap. I went to put my book on the bed in my old bedroom and I noticed that my cell phone was askew, hanging halfway off the nightstand. I leave it on vibrate almost exclusively so I figured I'd missed a call. Turning it over I discovered that I had two new voice mails. Typically I get voice mails from my mom and Troy. Since I'm with my mother I wondered why Troy had left me two voicemails instead of just calling my parents line.

"Hi Lori this is Anne* at The Organization We're Adopting From** and I'm trying to reach you guys. I put you in touch with one of our birth moms so I left the same message at home so I'm leaving a message on the cell. I will now try the church number and see if I can reach Troy at the church or if they know how to reach you guys. So anyway I know she's anxious and she's due soon. So um if I don't reach you give me a call and uh at 555-555-BABY***." (And yes, I just listened to it four times to make sure I got every single word right. And no, I didn't mind listening to it four times because hearing that news just doesn't get old.)

So. Anyway. Immediately my arm pits starting sweating profusely. And I started shaking. And I couldn't form a coherent thought let alone a coherent sentence. The second message was from her as well and there were more details but it was more urgent. Said birth mother wanted to get in touch with us right then. I ran out, nearly collided with my mom and shouted something to the effect of, "There's a birth mother and she's due really soon!"

Then I called Troy. "Hey, have you gotten any messages today?" Turns out he'd just walked in the door and gotten the message. Then he'd called Anne and spoken with her and gotten a few details and a phone number to reach the birth mother at. It took me until this morning to analyze the fact that, though we got the messages very close to the same time, I called him first and he called the organization. I think it has something to do with the amount of tears I've shed over my future children during the last five years. I choose to believe that he was being cautious where my emotions are concerned and I don't dwell on the fact that, perhaps, he was shaking and sweating and freaking out just as much as I was and dialed The Organization We're Adopting From before stopping to think that, maybe, he should inform the love of his life first. I need him to be level headed and calm and not sweaty right now.

But I'm not entirely sure this is a non-sweaty kind of ordeal because, I think I might not have mentioned that this baby is due on February 27th! That gives us four weeks. Four weeks to do what most people take several months to do. Four weeks to nest. Four weeks to try to explain this to our two and a half year old whose world is about to get flung right off its axis.

I spent the next hour on the phone with Troy, Birth Mom (who I am affectionately not going to refer to as BM--she's carrying my child for heaven's sake), The Organization We're Adopting From, and airlines. Birth mother Jennifer**** wants to meet us as soon as possible. This meant changing mine and Garrett's flight to Sunday and booking Troy a flight in to San Diego tomorrow morning and out of a different airport tomorrow night so that he can still preach on Sunday morning--pray for him! So we're meeting her tomorrow and if all goes well, we will bring her child home to love and cherish sometime in the next month.

It's just incredible to me that I was here in San Diego when we got this call (she's in the general Southern California area) and I canceled my hair appointment so I was available to make a hundred calls. It's almost as though my non throw up flu was God ordained. Or, perhaps, it's exactly like that.

Please join me in praying that all goes well tomorrow. Pray that we will all feel that this is the Lord's will for our lives. Pray that this would be the baby we've been asking for since April of 2007. Pray that there would be minimal sweat for all involved parties. And please, join me in praising God.

Oh, and one final thing...early ultrasound says:




*Not her actual name.
** Not the actual name of the organization.
***Not the actual number.
****Also not her real name.

What Dat Noise?

Garrett has entered a new chapter of his life. It's the question phase. His favorite question is "What Dat Noise?" and he asks it all the time. Since getting to California, it seems to have become the second most asked question in the history of the world, second only to "What's the meaning of life?"

A distant rumble is heard.
Garrett: What dat noise?
Me: A car.
Another distant rumble is heard.
Garrett: What dat noise?
Me: Another car.
A squeak is heard.
Garrett: What dat noise?
My Dad: What does it sound like?
Garrett: A bird.
My Dad: Then it's probably a bird.
Another distant rumble is heard.
Garrett: What dat noise?
My Mom: Does it sound like a car?
Garrett: Yeah.
My Mom: Then it's a car.
Nothing is heard.
Garrett: What dat noise?
Me: It's you!

Surprise

So, when my brother first walked in to his graduation party, everyone yelled, "Surprise!" Garrett and I were tucked away at the end of a table so I couldn't really get his reaction on the camera because homeboy is sitting on the table. But you can kind of hear my brother saying, "For what?" It was pretty hilarious. He graduated in December and Heather and my parents wanted him to be surprised. Needless to say, he was. He started walking through the room and saying hi to everyone. Garrett was sitting on my lap and I continuously instructed him to be very quiet until Uncle Jon saw us. Once my brother spied us, Garrett was glued to his hip. Man, does that kid ever love himself some Uncle Jon.

I love how my brother says, "What the heck?" And then Garrett repeats him. You also can't hear the faint whisper Garrett uttered when my brother first emerged from the crowd. Before my brother spotted us, Garrett saw him and faintly murmured, "A-prise." It melted my heart.

*I don't believe my brother actually has homeboys.

Surprise Trip

Garrett and I surprised my brother at his graduation party last night. We flew in on Friday afternoon and are enjoying a week in Southern California.

Now I'm going to go grab some lunch (in the kitchen) with my brother and his fiancee. I'll try to post as the week goes on but, as always, I'm writing from the office turned toddler bedroom so I can't write during naps or bedtime.

Guessing Game

I find the movie watching patterns of toddlers to be curiously strange. After Garrett's birthday we went through a several month Finding Nemo obsession. Just as suddenly as it began, it was over. He still likes Nemo and he still wants to watch it on occasion, but he doesn't ask for it multiple times a day.

Now he asks for Cars. Several. Times. A. Day. What do you think he's doing right now?

I'll give you one guess.

Gone Fishin'

Hiss, the garter snake, is hungry. It's not all that difficult to tell. When he comes out from underneath the rock he's fond of and starts spastically writhing around in the water hole or, as we like to call it in captivity, the Tupperware, it's fairly apparent that he's looking for food. Thankfully, Hiss consumes fish instead of mice. This is easier for me to justify in my own head. I eat fish. And pretty much as a rule, I do not eat mice. Oh sure, there have been times when I've found a particular course of Hiss's meal to be kind of spunky, attractive, or generally worth more than its lot in life but a snake's gotta eat, right? So I try not to look directly at them. I focus on their lack of contribution to society in general. And, above all, I do not name them. If you don't make friends with the fish, it's easier to watch your snake wolf them down like a hungry, uh, well, snake.

I went to Wal-Mart today to satisfy Hiss's rumbling belly. Garrett looked into all the tanks while Unfriendly Pet Section Girl retrieved eight tiny Rosy Red Feeders for me. I've bought feeder fish at many Wal-Marts in the area and this girl, while perhaps the most efficient at her job, is as rude as they get. Not a lot of social skills, that one. Garrett, who was most unhappy to be getting back into the cart instead of staring all the live long day at the glorious selection of aquatic friends, was permitted to hold the bag.

We strolled along, he intently watching the fish and me pushing the cart forward but looking sideways down the aisles. POP!

My head swiveled forward. Garrett was looking, stunned, at the ground. Water surrounded our cart. The bag, split from top to bottom, lay at my feet. Eight tiny fish wiggled on their sides gasping for breath. On occasion they would squirm, searching and hoping for the discovery of water deeper than a few lousy millimeters. "Oh no, mom!" said the little boy in the cart.

This is much more embarrassing than "oh no" son, I thought to myself. I could feel the warmth creeping into my cheeks. And the worst of it was that I had no idea what to do. I didn't want to leave the poor fish there while I went for help. I'm not sure why death by snake seems better than death by reverse drowning but it does. And it certainly seems better than death by getting run over by a cart. I took off my coat because I didn't want it to soak up fish water and I crouched down. I did the only thing I could think to do. I started shoving the feeders into the deepest part of the puddle--a good quarter of an inch. I watched as the dirt from my shoes, muddy from MOPS (another story altogether), mixed with the fish water and made a filthy paste. Eventually--and I do mean a good two minutes later--an employee walked up with a roll of paper towels and informed me that a mop was on its way. I nodded. With all due respect, sir, I'm more concerned about these fish coding right here on your floor than I am about the puddle. It's a good thing I don't always say what I'm thinking.

I wish I knew what happened. I wish I'd seen whether my son pitched the bag up and over the cart handle or if it slithered out of the leg hole. One option is reprimandable. One is not. "Garrett, you cannot throw fish over the side of the cart." I said anyway. It made me feel better about the careless slaughtering of fish.

At this point another employee approached. "Where are they from?" He asked. Confused and flustered I pointed to the pet section.

"They're from the pet department, back there." I supplied. Puzzled he raised his eyebrows and rephrased the question.

"Right but, which tank? What kind are they?" Well, that does make more sense. I thought to myself. Giving him the answer he headed toward the corner of the store. I began assisting the other employee with mopping up the mess.

"Uh oh, mommy. Ishies, uh oh!"

"You just sit still and watch," I informed him.

Pretty soon the Employee Who Thinks I'm An Idiot returned with Unfriendly Pet Section Girl. She was carrying another bag of water. And she was smiling, amused. It's really the first time I've seen any personality emerge from within her and I was somewhat glad to be of service and mostly just horrifically appalled at the situation. I apologized approximately 192 times to anyone within earshot of the pond. Now Friendlier Pet Section Girl and I picked up the itty bitty fish and deposited them into the new bag. They were all still alive and swimming. I asked for more paper towels. They assured me I could leave. I told them I could help. They told me it was alright--we'd done enough. Okay so they didn't say that. They said something about being paid to clean it up. As I walked away I felt my face return to a much more normal temperature.

My son looked confused. I leaned down, kissed his head and giggled. "I think that was an accident, bud. So I'm not mad. But if you threw them out of the cart, never, ever do it again."

I finished my shopping and we headed home. Upon arrival the score was 7-1. Seven little Rosy Red feeders happily swimming around, oblivious to the fact that though they survived one near death experience, they wouldn't be likely to survive what was coming. And one poor little guy who'd gone belly up. Apparently falling three feet and then gasping for breath for several minutes was more than he could handle.

I dumped them into the snake's tank and walked away. As it turns out, you become attached to fish while you're attempting to save their lives. They become more than just fish as you contemplate mouth to gill resuscitation. I just couldn't bear to watch Hiss happily consuming Frank, Rosy, Thaddeus, Bartholomew, Marlin, Victoria, and Bob.

Head Update. Seriously, The Washing Machine Won!

If you think that, two and a half days later, my head is finished hurting, well, you'd be wrong. The splitting headache vacated sometime during my fitful sleep on Monday night. Why was my sleep fitful? So kind of you to ask. Every single time that I moved and every single time that I did any sort of facial contortion whatsoever in my sleep, I felt the blinding pain between my eyes that sprung me straight awake. Yesterday the pain and swelling was limited to a circle about the size of a fifty cent piece. If I raised my eyebrows, rubbed an eye, or touched the area as gently as I possibly could, pain shot down my nose and up into my head. I was beginning to think there was some kind of upper nose hairline fracture or something. But, today I can successfully raise my eyebrows with little to no pain. The swelling has reduced to a dime size. And, though it still hurts to touch, I can apply more pressure to the area than I could yesterday. For that I am grateful.

Seriously though. I hit that darn washing machine really hard.

Fighting the Washing Machine

I've had a killer headache since this morning. I think this has something to do with the blunt force at which it hit the washing machine. You see, it takes a special kind of person to whack her own head with exceptional speed as she bends down to pick up a stray sock. Honestly, I don't even know how it happened, other than, perhaps, I'm depth perception deficient. I don't think that's a real thing but that certainly seems to be what happened this morning.

I bent down to retrieve a sock that had failed to make it from the basket into the machine and, suddenly, I heard a ridiculous racket and, simultaneously, felt pain searing through my face. It took a good second for me to realize that the noise was caused by said face hitting the washing machine--just above my nose. And by just above my nose I mean, of course, in between my eyes. Seriously. I misjudged so badly that I didn't even clear the area of my face that I am supposed to see out of. I've had a lump between my eyes ever since. I let out a scream and Troy came running. By the time he reached me I was doing the silent cry. Not so much out of extreme pain--although there was that--but more because, suddenly, there was an influx of water pouring from my eyes and mouth at an alarming rate. I can't explain it (never was much of a scientist) but I must have alerted my ducts and glands or something because my eyes were furiously spilling tears and I was somewhat uncontrollably salivating.

Troy kind of cradled me and tried to figure out what had happened because, aside from the loud noise my face made when it hit the washing machine, he hadn't really been left any clues. I was holding my hand between my eyes so he thought I was bleeding. I didn't think I was but, what with the splitting pain, I couldn't properly assess the situation. My sweet son does not like it when I cry. But, at least this time, he knew he didn't cause my tears. Last night some people in our church brought Troy a gift. They'd found a Seahawks Santa hat at the sports store. Garrett knew that it was in the family room so, in an effort to make me stop crying, he sprinted to the couch and retrieved it. Okay, so I imagine he sprinted. I don't really know because my eyes were flooding with tears and, through them, I had begun to see stars. As the sudden siege of tears and saliva subsided and I tried to rub my head to relieve the pain, I saw him standing in the doorway. He was wearing the Seahawks Santa hat and, as we made eye contact, he started dancing and yelling, "Mommy! Ho Ho Ho! Ho Ho Ho Mom!"

Once I made my way to the family room he plopped himself in my lap, hugged me and tried all sorts of silly things to make me laugh. I tried to ice the lump between my eyes but the cold factor made my headache worse. I took Advil. It still hurts. And I look lovely.

The swelling went down enough that we went to lunch at our favorite pizza place and took Garrett to the movies for the first time. There is a dollar theatre nearby so we went to see Madagascar 2. He loved it while the Whoppers lasted and then he wanted his blanket. In fairness to him, it was smack in the middle of his nap time. He made it through the movie and is now taking a late snooze. And I'm finishing laundry--though I have no intention of rescuing fallen socks. They're on their own.

Is He The One Who Wears A Bra?

Garrett just walked up to me with a small plastic carrying case that we use to store his Little People. He had it opened and was holding it on his chest. He proudly declared, "A bra on, mommy." I tried to recreate it for a video because I thought it was pretty funny but he knew I was video taping so he decided to ham it up for the camera. His idea of hamming it up involved doing a strange dance accompanied by weird hands motions. It looked highly suspect. Since I am the only girl in this house and I certainly do not wander around holding my own breasts and dancing--at least not with any regularity--I am extremely curious as to where he came up with such shenanigans. I promptly deleted the video lest it find its way to the media elite when he's running for President in 2044.

Pictures from Fizzle

Today an envelope arrived from my FSiL (pronounced Fizzle and standing for Future Sister-in-Law) with a CD of pictures she took from the holidays. There were some really great ones. I couldn't include all of them in one post because, well, they would take forever to upload and you'd probably get bored. Here are a select few...

Bath times with Papa (Grandpa) and Non (Uncle Jon) are especially special.

These two are best buddies when they get to be together. Of course, now that we live way out here in Utah, those times are few and far between. But they sure are magical--as you can see from the look on my son's face.

I think that, five or six or seven years from now, when this dog closes his eyes for the last time, this picture will be one that I have a really hard time looking at. I kind of have a hard time looking at it now, knowing that one day he'll be gone and it will be hard for me to look at. But I love it. I think it could be on a calendar. I love his jowls and his knowing stare and the way his oversized ear hangs at a slightly strange angle, implying that he's listening...to something.

Mill Creek Canyon

Garrett thinks he's a big boy. He's always thought he was older than he is but the fact that big kids pay attention to him makes him know, deep down inside, that he's all grown up. Today Garrett and I went up to Mill Creek Canyon with some of our best friends. They took their two dogs and we took ours. We sledded and clomped around in the snow for a couple of hours.

Meet Men. Men is the older brother of Mimmo and Mimmy who Garrett now refers to as Tim and Immy. Despite Garrett's ability to say his B's...Ben remains Men. Men is eleven years older than Garrett but the age difference doesn't bother my son a bit.

It was chilly so my kid is pretty bundled up. He's there, though, tucked neatly into Ben's lap. That picture makes me contemplate age differences. Allison, their mom, is twelve years older than me so, if taken 25 years ago, this could have been us. Except that we lived several states apart and there isn't snow in San Diego. Or, you know, given the age difference between my husband and I, I suppose it could have been Troy and my first picture together. But let's not go there on account of the fact that it's creepy.

The creek that runs through the canyon is gorgeous this time of year. I'm sure it's not altogether pleasant to fall into but it's quite beautiful to look at. After their dog, Wally, decided to stand in it for a few moments, my dog contemplated joining him. Much to my surprise, my water-loving golden retriever stayed on the shore.

Down here in the valley it's been really warm. And by warm, of course, I mean not warm at all. Because I generally define warm as seventy. Three. At least. But, when it was hovering in the low teens for awhile, thirties and forties seem really nice. So anyway, in the valley it's been nice-ish. All that to say, our snow is melting! But up in the canyon there was plenty! It was fun and beautiful and both my dog and my boy are now completely conked out...which is always a good thing.

Yo Quiero Quesadilla

So concerning yesterday's post about Quesadilla, it really is true. That really is how he says the name of one of my oldest friends. Had I known when I met Marissa back in the sixth grade, when I grew up with her, when we went to college together and when she was my maid of honor, that my child would one day call her Quesadilla...well, I would have laughed. And then I would have said something like, "I love that kid! And I can't wait to meet him."

So, in case you maybe have a hard time believing that he really called her that or in the event that you think I embellish for comedic effect, I present to you Yo Quiero Quesadilla. Enjoy!

Oh Garrett!

Joelle tagged me!

Here are the rules:

1) Choose the 4th folder where you store your pictures on your computer

2) Select the 4th picture in the folder

3) Explain the picture

4) Tag 4 people to do the same

This picture was taken at the pumpkin patch near my parents house. That's my little guy, on a mission of some kind. This is evidenced by the determined look on his face. Or, maybe, the Focus Face is genetic.

I tag Amy from The Adams Family cuz I'm thinking there might be a cutie picture of wee Scarlett. My mom at Empty Nest-Full Life. Veronica at Amazingly Life-Like. And Crayl at Beyond Black & White.

****************************************************************

Today on Oh Garrett!

My friend, Marissa, was visiting Salt Lake City for a few days and she stayed with us last night. I also had the opportunity to catch up with her on Saturday and we all went out to dinner together. Well, after spending such time with her, my son began referring to her by her name instead of just dragging her around by her fingers. What should he call her but Quesadilla. Of course! Actually, it's more like Case-Dia but I still have no idea how he gets that from Marissa. Oh Garrett!

Today, the wife of the previous pastor from our church came by and we had tea and chatted for awhile. My son, at one point, decided to show her my "tummy". Well, he lifted my sweater all the way up to my neck and she got to experience my bra-clad breasts as well as my tummy. Special. Oh Garrett!

The Dance

Okay, so let me start off by saying that when Troy married Justin and Abi (as in, performed their ceremony. Not as in, is now legally bound to both of them.) back in September, Garrett was already supposed to only have his pacifier in bed. However, the reception went until well after his bedtime and he was an exhausted little bugger. So that's why he has it hanging out of his mouth. And, now that it's gone forever, I cherish pictures like this just a little more.

I stole this picture from Abi's facebook page and oh sure we could have found someone to watch our child so that we could dance. There were hoards of people from our church who would have been glad to do it. And I do think that Troy and I were able to steal a few dances, just the two of us, while Garrett played happily nearby. But, when said toddler is crashing and said parents want one more dance, you improvise.

That improvisation turned in to one of the sweetest moments. I've got my arms wrapped around my boys and nothing in the whole world could possibly fill them any better.