Dear Lord,
I thought I'd already fought Goliath. Remind me that it was You who felled my giants and You are eager to do it again. And again.
Apparently, You are not done forming Your image in me. Give me the strength to be rescued by You. Help me to stop splashing about in my own strength. Give me the faith the drown in You. Thank you that it matters not if I can hold onto You. YOU WILL NOT LET ME GO.
Help me to not believe the lie that I am alone in this. Grant me the faith to trust You as I step out in faith once again.
You say You are the lifter of my head. Lift it.
I want to see Your face.
Through many dangers, toils, and snares, I have already come. 'Tis grace that's brought me safe thus far and grace will lead me home.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Friday, October 30, 2009
Inclined to hear my cry
This post was supposed to be about how I took Henry to meet his baby sister yesterday. And tell you how he was more interested in playing with the toys at the foster parent's house than meeting his baby sister. And how sweet it was to feed my daughter a bottle. And give her kisses and smell that sweet baby smell as she slept on my chest for 2 hours. And maybe even post a picture or two.
Instead, it is to say that Emma's birth mom has decided to parent. We have lost our daughter. I am certain I will have more to say about this later. But for now, I can simply say that I'm not really sure what to feel. Empty? Angry? Confused?
But my feelings are not a barometer for truth. What was true yesterday is still true today: God is for the Phillips family. God has a plan that is glorious for our family. And God is near to the brokenhearted.
Instead, it is to say that Emma's birth mom has decided to parent. We have lost our daughter. I am certain I will have more to say about this later. But for now, I can simply say that I'm not really sure what to feel. Empty? Angry? Confused?
But my feelings are not a barometer for truth. What was true yesterday is still true today: God is for the Phillips family. God has a plan that is glorious for our family. And God is near to the brokenhearted.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Better than waking up with Barry Manilow
We have a little song we sing for Henry and you can sing it too. Channel your inner Barry Manilow (you know you have one) and sing "Oh Henry, yes you came and you gave without taking. Oh, Henry." (This is not to be confused with the praise song I butchered while feeding him. "Open your mouth to put food in. Open your mouth to get food. I want to feeeeed you. I want to feeeed you." )
Most of the time that I sing the Oh Henry song, it is in tongue in cheek, because really, how many children do you know that come and give without taking? But folks, because of my dear boy and his giving heart, the weather report in Elizabethtown is sunny and breezy, with relative few gusts. (I think the fact that I was able to sleep with the help of some chemistry last night may also be to blame.)
I was sleeping soundly when around 5 am I awoke to Henry having a nightmare in his pack and play at the foot of my bed. Too tired to really comfort him, I dragged him up into bed with me and relished the snuggles and tiny feet that always seem to burrow between legs. Around 7:30 this morning, I was gently awakened by the sensation of a little hand gently rubbing my back and Henry, screaming at me in his best whisper voice, "Mommy. Wake up. Mommy, wake up. I wake. Watch Show. Watch show in bed." and then he preceeded to kiss my forehead. I returned the kiss and said, "Mommy is asleep. We're not watching a show. We are going to cuddle until at least 8 am." And so my boy kissed me again, scooched his little butt up to my belly, and as I wrapped my arms around him he said, "Mommy cuddles Henwe. Mmmmmm."
I am quite certain that this is my all time favorite way to be woken up. It sure beats my dad's "Rise and Shine! If you can't shine, you still gotta rise!!!" followed by yanking the covers off of me and flipping on the lights. Note to Sloan--if you could arrange it so that every morning I am awoken to a backrub, that'd be great.
So I began the day well-rested and quite certain that the tornado that hit Elizabethtown yesterday would not occur again. I'd repented of trying to be in control of everything and was resting in the fact that what did not get completed before we bring Emma home would eventually get done and that the world would not cease to exist. I've delegated some responsibilities and just decided that Emma is going to get to help decorate her room. (And by help, I mean sit in her bouncy seat and look pretty. Sitting and looking pretty is one of my favorite things to do and I'm pretty certain that my daughter will excel in it as well. And don't tell me it isn't a skill. Sitting and looking pretty saved Henry's life, need I remind you.) So I was confident that while I certainly didn't have everything together, I had most things together. That was until I dropped Henry off at preschool only to realize it was my week to bring in snack and I left it on our kitchen counter. Hallelujah for Mrs. Tuck, his amazing teacher, who has back up snack on hand.
So now, still high on the cuddles of my sweet boy, I am no longer confident that I have anything together. But I know a Guy who not only has everything together, but has seen fit to grace me with the best son and daughter a girl could ever dream of. So perhaps I should Rise and Shine and give God the glory glory.
Most of the time that I sing the Oh Henry song, it is in tongue in cheek, because really, how many children do you know that come and give without taking? But folks, because of my dear boy and his giving heart, the weather report in Elizabethtown is sunny and breezy, with relative few gusts. (I think the fact that I was able to sleep with the help of some chemistry last night may also be to blame.)
I was sleeping soundly when around 5 am I awoke to Henry having a nightmare in his pack and play at the foot of my bed. Too tired to really comfort him, I dragged him up into bed with me and relished the snuggles and tiny feet that always seem to burrow between legs. Around 7:30 this morning, I was gently awakened by the sensation of a little hand gently rubbing my back and Henry, screaming at me in his best whisper voice, "Mommy. Wake up. Mommy, wake up. I wake. Watch Show. Watch show in bed." and then he preceeded to kiss my forehead. I returned the kiss and said, "Mommy is asleep. We're not watching a show. We are going to cuddle until at least 8 am." And so my boy kissed me again, scooched his little butt up to my belly, and as I wrapped my arms around him he said, "Mommy cuddles Henwe. Mmmmmm."
I am quite certain that this is my all time favorite way to be woken up. It sure beats my dad's "Rise and Shine! If you can't shine, you still gotta rise!!!" followed by yanking the covers off of me and flipping on the lights. Note to Sloan--if you could arrange it so that every morning I am awoken to a backrub, that'd be great.
So I began the day well-rested and quite certain that the tornado that hit Elizabethtown yesterday would not occur again. I'd repented of trying to be in control of everything and was resting in the fact that what did not get completed before we bring Emma home would eventually get done and that the world would not cease to exist. I've delegated some responsibilities and just decided that Emma is going to get to help decorate her room. (And by help, I mean sit in her bouncy seat and look pretty. Sitting and looking pretty is one of my favorite things to do and I'm pretty certain that my daughter will excel in it as well. And don't tell me it isn't a skill. Sitting and looking pretty saved Henry's life, need I remind you.) So I was confident that while I certainly didn't have everything together, I had most things together. That was until I dropped Henry off at preschool only to realize it was my week to bring in snack and I left it on our kitchen counter. Hallelujah for Mrs. Tuck, his amazing teacher, who has back up snack on hand.
So now, still high on the cuddles of my sweet boy, I am no longer confident that I have anything together. But I know a Guy who not only has everything together, but has seen fit to grace me with the best son and daughter a girl could ever dream of. So perhaps I should Rise and Shine and give God the glory glory.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
9 months squished into one week...
I have less than one week until we bring our baby girl home. That sounds like a lot of time, right? Ummm, not so much. I am FREAKING out. I can't even enjoy reading anymore. It seems as though my body is responding to the lack of preparation for a child by having me go through the hormonal tempests of a pregnancy in warp speed. I am trying to calm down and enjoy it all, but usually find the voice in my head screaming as I breathe deeply, "CALM DOWN. DON'T WASTE THIS TIME! CALM DOWN!" Needless to say, this is not helping. I can't sleep, I'm primed to the pissed off position, and I'm going to the bathroom every five minutes. The similarities to being 9 months pregnant I am not enjoying.
And I do want to enjoy it. I want to spend sweet time with Henry during his last week of life at home as an only child. I want to sew cute little pink things, not to mention the three little onesies I have almost finished for my girls Erin and Audrey's babies. This did not happen today. Instead of naptime in his room (which is almost done being painted!), he spent two hours in the pack n play in our room. I couldn't handle listening to him cry for his room, so naptime became rest in your pack n play and watch PBS time. That's some good parenting. What was I doing? Talking to the insurance company, the adoption agency, our foster mommy, and setting up her 2 week check up. I'd like to carve pumpkins, go to the zoo, play with trains at Barnes and Nobles, but I'm pretty sure the only thing out of those three that'll happen is the pumpkins. Friday night. Not last Sunday afternoon like we'd planned because we had to prep the kids rooms. But I'm even a bit overwhelmed as to what to do during my break while H is at preschool. I suspect that I should go to the gym. A spin class would probably do my head a world of good. Give my legs a chance to crank out some of the stress and my crotch the opportunity to be thankful she doesn't have to actually give birth.
I also think it would be helpful if I was one of those people for whom cleaning was restful. Instead, my house is a wreck and I'm too overwhelmed to do anything about it. (And until the painters leave, there really is nothing I can do about the crib box and oodles of pink stuff strewn about my living room and kitchen.) I tried to register this afternoon at Babies R Us and started crying because they don't carry Emma Sloan's kind of formula. Did you even know that something like 85% of African Americans are lactose intolerant? Em's birthmom isn't so I'm hoping she isn't, but don't want to switch her from the lactose free formula that they put her on in the hospital. But the bonus is I test drove some double strollers and have definitively crossed out all the tandem styles.
I was convicted of ignoring Henry throughout this process. In typical big brother fashion, he has gotten really clingy in the past few days. And basically, I just keep throwing sippy cups, gold fish, and the Imagination Movers at him. Every five minutes he wants a hug. Today at Babies R US, I had to walk down the aisles, registry gun in hand, hunched over hugging my son while he went, "Mmmm, Mommy. Hugs from Mommy, Mmmmm." And this made me roll my eyes. What the heck is wrong with me? I was really convicted of my hurried heart, my idol of wanting everything to be perfect, of wanting to be in control of everything, and of just simply wanting everything to go my way all the time. So I had to repent and ask my son for forgiveness. His response? "Hugs, Mommy. Mmmmm. I you, Mommy. Mmmmmm. Mommy my friend."
I did take one thing off my plate this week. I cancelled on work for Thursday. I am planning on sleeping in, playing with trains, and perhaps toasting some pumpkin seeds with the boy. Or maybe hitting Inflation Nation in the morning as Henry, me, and Auntie Robin will be visiting Emma Sloan Thursday afternoon.
As for tonight, I plan on having a glass of wine (or three). Watching my angel Jakob and my crumper Russell on SYTYCD, and praying the Tylenol PM kicks in around 10.
And I do want to enjoy it. I want to spend sweet time with Henry during his last week of life at home as an only child. I want to sew cute little pink things, not to mention the three little onesies I have almost finished for my girls Erin and Audrey's babies. This did not happen today. Instead of naptime in his room (which is almost done being painted!), he spent two hours in the pack n play in our room. I couldn't handle listening to him cry for his room, so naptime became rest in your pack n play and watch PBS time. That's some good parenting. What was I doing? Talking to the insurance company, the adoption agency, our foster mommy, and setting up her 2 week check up. I'd like to carve pumpkins, go to the zoo, play with trains at Barnes and Nobles, but I'm pretty sure the only thing out of those three that'll happen is the pumpkins. Friday night. Not last Sunday afternoon like we'd planned because we had to prep the kids rooms. But I'm even a bit overwhelmed as to what to do during my break while H is at preschool. I suspect that I should go to the gym. A spin class would probably do my head a world of good. Give my legs a chance to crank out some of the stress and my crotch the opportunity to be thankful she doesn't have to actually give birth.
I also think it would be helpful if I was one of those people for whom cleaning was restful. Instead, my house is a wreck and I'm too overwhelmed to do anything about it. (And until the painters leave, there really is nothing I can do about the crib box and oodles of pink stuff strewn about my living room and kitchen.) I tried to register this afternoon at Babies R Us and started crying because they don't carry Emma Sloan's kind of formula. Did you even know that something like 85% of African Americans are lactose intolerant? Em's birthmom isn't so I'm hoping she isn't, but don't want to switch her from the lactose free formula that they put her on in the hospital. But the bonus is I test drove some double strollers and have definitively crossed out all the tandem styles.
I was convicted of ignoring Henry throughout this process. In typical big brother fashion, he has gotten really clingy in the past few days. And basically, I just keep throwing sippy cups, gold fish, and the Imagination Movers at him. Every five minutes he wants a hug. Today at Babies R US, I had to walk down the aisles, registry gun in hand, hunched over hugging my son while he went, "Mmmm, Mommy. Hugs from Mommy, Mmmmm." And this made me roll my eyes. What the heck is wrong with me? I was really convicted of my hurried heart, my idol of wanting everything to be perfect, of wanting to be in control of everything, and of just simply wanting everything to go my way all the time. So I had to repent and ask my son for forgiveness. His response? "Hugs, Mommy. Mmmmm. I you, Mommy. Mmmmmm. Mommy my friend."
I did take one thing off my plate this week. I cancelled on work for Thursday. I am planning on sleeping in, playing with trains, and perhaps toasting some pumpkin seeds with the boy. Or maybe hitting Inflation Nation in the morning as Henry, me, and Auntie Robin will be visiting Emma Sloan Thursday afternoon.
As for tonight, I plan on having a glass of wine (or three). Watching my angel Jakob and my crumper Russell on SYTYCD, and praying the Tylenol PM kicks in around 10.
Moving (or One time... at Band Practice)
So....in the next week or so, ejandhenry.com will be moving. I haven't yet decided where she will be moving to. But we'll be undergoing a pretty major renovation and changing blog names. But never fear, I'm sure I can figure out a way that if you come to ejandhenry.com, it'll will bounce you to our new home. At the very least, I'll simply post a link and you can click off to my new blog.
Why the big change? Thank you for asking. I could jump to the punch line, but like Maria said, Let's start at the very beginning. It's a very good place to start.
Last Thursday, I had taken Henry to watch the marching band practice at the high school down the street. He loves to march and run around the fields while they play and circle the high school. On this particular day, Henry had decided to "ride" his bike the half mile or so to the school. And by ride, I mean occasionally pedal while I use the parent push bar. So we're running around, enjoying life without a cast, trying not to interfere with the JV field hockey practice, when I get a call from Sloan.
"Where are you?" he asks. "Um, at band practice." "Oh, no wonder they called me. I just got a cryptic call from Bethany, but my phone is about to die so I told her I'd call her when I got to the hotel." (He's on a business trip.) "What did she want? Was it Valerie?" (our usual case worker) "No. It wasn't Valerie. And I'm not sure what she wanted," Sloan said.
Oh. My. Gosh.
Never before have I noticed how long a half mile really is when attempting to speed up a toddler who is OVER riding his bike. Half the time I was pushing the empty bike while jogging and simply holding him by his waist sideways at my hip. He did not like this. I know this because he was screaming and crying to go back and "See da band." But Mommy had to get home to call the adoption agency. I thought it was probably because I'd emailed our case worker about feedback in regards to our profile. I wanted to know if it was being shown and what birthmoms were saying about it. This is not what the call was about. It was THE CALL. You know, the call where someone says, "Elizabeth, you have been selected by a birthmother and she would like to meet you."
And, oh yeah, by the way, the little girl who may or may not be your daughter was born yesterday and could be resting in your home on November 2nd. WHAT?!? Or as my pastor put it, "Someone greased the wheels of your roller coaster."
We met the birthmother yesterday. (Was it yesterday? It is now 3:50am. I cannot sleep from sheer excitement. Note to self--buy Tylenol PM tomorrow. Today.) Well, in the words of our daughter's birthmom, "She has been your daughter always. Since before I gave birth to her."
We also got to meet our daughter, Emma Sloan Denise, at her interim care Mommy's house. (She'll be taking care of Emma until the birthmom's rights have been legally terminated.) We will be bringing Emma home on Monday, November 2nd. We chose the name Emma because a) I love love love that name and b) my grandmother's names were Elizabeth and Margaret and it combines the beginnings of both their names. We chose to keep the middle name her birthmom gave her, Denise, because Denise is the name of Emma's biological grandmother as well. If Emma complains about having too many names, I'll understand, having grown up Elizabeth Jean Ann. I'll simply tell her the same thing my mom told me, "Sorry you're loved by so many people. When you get married, you can change it."
It has been a whirlwind at our house. Painters began yesterday in both kids rooms. (We've had the redo of Henry's room on the docket for awhile. New ceilings, trim, the works for him as his room once was black and the white ceiling looks more like a cow.) Emma's room will have three lime green walls and one pink wall. We got her a new crib this past weekend (Henry broke his crib and Pottery Barn replaced it!), along with pink crib sheets and other yummy pink things. Now that I know for sure she is ours, I have been given the go ahead by Sloan to make a trip to Babies R Us. I am just supposed to remember that we already have a lot of stuff and that she doesn't have to wear all pink all the time.
But yes she does. Because I have a beautiful baby girl. I am hers and she is mine.
Why the big change? Thank you for asking. I could jump to the punch line, but like Maria said, Let's start at the very beginning. It's a very good place to start.
Last Thursday, I had taken Henry to watch the marching band practice at the high school down the street. He loves to march and run around the fields while they play and circle the high school. On this particular day, Henry had decided to "ride" his bike the half mile or so to the school. And by ride, I mean occasionally pedal while I use the parent push bar. So we're running around, enjoying life without a cast, trying not to interfere with the JV field hockey practice, when I get a call from Sloan.
"Where are you?" he asks. "Um, at band practice." "Oh, no wonder they called me. I just got a cryptic call from Bethany, but my phone is about to die so I told her I'd call her when I got to the hotel." (He's on a business trip.) "What did she want? Was it Valerie?" (our usual case worker) "No. It wasn't Valerie. And I'm not sure what she wanted," Sloan said.
Oh. My. Gosh.
Never before have I noticed how long a half mile really is when attempting to speed up a toddler who is OVER riding his bike. Half the time I was pushing the empty bike while jogging and simply holding him by his waist sideways at my hip. He did not like this. I know this because he was screaming and crying to go back and "See da band." But Mommy had to get home to call the adoption agency. I thought it was probably because I'd emailed our case worker about feedback in regards to our profile. I wanted to know if it was being shown and what birthmoms were saying about it. This is not what the call was about. It was THE CALL. You know, the call where someone says, "Elizabeth, you have been selected by a birthmother and she would like to meet you."
And, oh yeah, by the way, the little girl who may or may not be your daughter was born yesterday and could be resting in your home on November 2nd. WHAT?!? Or as my pastor put it, "Someone greased the wheels of your roller coaster."
We met the birthmother yesterday. (Was it yesterday? It is now 3:50am. I cannot sleep from sheer excitement. Note to self--buy Tylenol PM tomorrow. Today.) Well, in the words of our daughter's birthmom, "She has been your daughter always. Since before I gave birth to her."
We also got to meet our daughter, Emma Sloan Denise, at her interim care Mommy's house. (She'll be taking care of Emma until the birthmom's rights have been legally terminated.) We will be bringing Emma home on Monday, November 2nd. We chose the name Emma because a) I love love love that name and b) my grandmother's names were Elizabeth and Margaret and it combines the beginnings of both their names. We chose to keep the middle name her birthmom gave her, Denise, because Denise is the name of Emma's biological grandmother as well. If Emma complains about having too many names, I'll understand, having grown up Elizabeth Jean Ann. I'll simply tell her the same thing my mom told me, "Sorry you're loved by so many people. When you get married, you can change it."
It has been a whirlwind at our house. Painters began yesterday in both kids rooms. (We've had the redo of Henry's room on the docket for awhile. New ceilings, trim, the works for him as his room once was black and the white ceiling looks more like a cow.) Emma's room will have three lime green walls and one pink wall. We got her a new crib this past weekend (Henry broke his crib and Pottery Barn replaced it!), along with pink crib sheets and other yummy pink things. Now that I know for sure she is ours, I have been given the go ahead by Sloan to make a trip to Babies R Us. I am just supposed to remember that we already have a lot of stuff and that she doesn't have to wear all pink all the time.
But yes she does. Because I have a beautiful baby girl. I am hers and she is mine.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Bye Bye Boo Boo
Henry was a champ at getting his cast off. As they were sawing his cast off, he was telling the nurse that Handy Manny had a saw.
Before.
(Can you tell that I just said to Henry, "Hey, I want to get a before picture. Show Mommy your boo-boo"?)
After.
Eating his lollipop and wearing his James sticker for being good during cast removal and Xray. (FYI--Henry LOVES the train James. If you ask Henry his name, he'll say "James". But since a mommy from his preschool class tells me her son Max tells people his name is Henry, I guess it all evens out. Occasionally, when asked his name, Henry will scream "H! E! N! R! Y!" but has yet to actually answer the question correctly. I know he can say it as he likes to refer to himself in the third person with great frequency.)
One of the two corn kernels that accompanied the bucket load of sand that fell out of his cast upon removal. Awesome!
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
When I say Pumpkin, You say Patch!
I've been trying to teach Henry to say Trick or Treat. I've even told him that anytime, and I mean anytime, he wants candy all he has to do is say "Trick or Treat." What I get, instead, is this..."Say Trick or Treat." "Candy!" "Alright, say Trick." "Treat!" "No, say trick or treat." "Candy!" Lather, rinse, repeat.
So trying to explain to him that we are going with his preschool to the Pumpkin Patch has elicited the following..."Henry, say pumpkin." "Patch!" "Can you say Pumpkin Patch?" "Yeah." "Prove it. Say pumpkin patch." "Hay ride!" Yes, Henry. There will be a hay ride.
Lovin' on my lady friend. 
He is literally screaming into the petting zoo feeding tube "Hey! You are hop hops! Hey! You are hop hops!" Thanks, big guy. There's nothing worse than a bunny identity crisis.
So trying to explain to him that we are going with his preschool to the Pumpkin Patch has elicited the following..."Henry, say pumpkin." "Patch!" "Can you say Pumpkin Patch?" "Yeah." "Prove it. Say pumpkin patch." "Hay ride!" Yes, Henry. There will be a hay ride.
"Patch! Mommy, Punkin!"
"Uh oh. Punkin geen. Geen. Yuck, punkin geen."
"Trac-a-tor WHEEL!"
"Hay RIDE!"
Lovin' on my lady friend. (But please notice, Mommy, that Aimee and I have agreed to not look at the camera or smile at the same time. Even if you take this picture 12 times.)
He is literally screaming into the petting zoo feeding tube "Hey! You are hop hops! Hey! You are hop hops!" Thanks, big guy. There's nothing worse than a bunny identity crisis.Monday, October 19, 2009
Make new friends...
I'm not good at making new friends. I tend to overshare. And that is being generous. Old friends are so precious to me because they understand that I really do need to talk about my bodily functions, my husband's cute heiny (really, you oughtta take a look at it sometime!), adoption, and God all within the same sentence. This is how I roll. I'm just a take it or leave it kind of gal.
So what a delight to meet someone new so unexpectedly. This morning, because I was going batty with a boy who has been climbing the walls (both figuratively and literally) after four days of rain, we headed out to Inflation Nation. It is essentially a warehouse full of all things inflatable. We were one of about 5 families there and all had toddlers.
Well, Henry was about to kill this little girl. He was pushing her in a Little Tykes car ever so sweetly, and yet, because she was only a year old, she was slipping out of the seat and about to lose her head. This is how I met Jamie--apologizing to her. Awesome. Well, about ten seconds later I am telling her how we just finished our home study process and are simply waiting to be selected by a birthmother. In truth, I felt pretty confident that she'd understand this answer to the question, "Is he your only child?" because she is white and both her girls are African American--I mean, I had a fifty-fifty chance of finding another adoptive parent, right? Well, low and behold, not only is Jamie an adoptive Mommy, but she and her husband used Bethany as well and even the same social worker.
So we chatted about their adoption process, about the great things God has been doing in our hearts because of our children, and simply that having toddlers is difficult. What a joy is was to bounce and slide with our children. (By the way, I am really old. I pretty much had a heart attack bouncing around inside a monkey. I couldn't chase after my son who was attempting to scale a giant ladder by himself because I was doubled over attempting to catch my breath. But as a side note, slides are fun.) Then we all headed over to McDonald's for lunch.
What a treat! New friends and McDonald's french fries. Does it get any better than this?
So what a delight to meet someone new so unexpectedly. This morning, because I was going batty with a boy who has been climbing the walls (both figuratively and literally) after four days of rain, we headed out to Inflation Nation. It is essentially a warehouse full of all things inflatable. We were one of about 5 families there and all had toddlers.
Well, Henry was about to kill this little girl. He was pushing her in a Little Tykes car ever so sweetly, and yet, because she was only a year old, she was slipping out of the seat and about to lose her head. This is how I met Jamie--apologizing to her. Awesome. Well, about ten seconds later I am telling her how we just finished our home study process and are simply waiting to be selected by a birthmother. In truth, I felt pretty confident that she'd understand this answer to the question, "Is he your only child?" because she is white and both her girls are African American--I mean, I had a fifty-fifty chance of finding another adoptive parent, right? Well, low and behold, not only is Jamie an adoptive Mommy, but she and her husband used Bethany as well and even the same social worker.
So we chatted about their adoption process, about the great things God has been doing in our hearts because of our children, and simply that having toddlers is difficult. What a joy is was to bounce and slide with our children. (By the way, I am really old. I pretty much had a heart attack bouncing around inside a monkey. I couldn't chase after my son who was attempting to scale a giant ladder by himself because I was doubled over attempting to catch my breath. But as a side note, slides are fun.) Then we all headed over to McDonald's for lunch.
What a treat! New friends and McDonald's french fries. Does it get any better than this?
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Ennui
This is a second attempt at this post. I first wrote a really long one comparing the differences between novels and movies and how everyone wants their life to be like a movie rather than a novel. Becuase in good novels no one runs in the rain with a boom box to tell you they love you and I'm pretty sure that is what we all secretly believe we deserve. In books you get entire chapters about the landscape in Egypt. Guess what? There is a lot of sand. But the post bored me to tears.
In my sister's house, and some others I hear, to say you are bored is the ultimate sin. Bored? Really? Go clean your room. My mom told me that only boring people are boring, something I was pleasantly surprised to hear repeated on the show Mad Men. But my problem as of late has not been that I don't have things to do--there are four laundry baskets of clean clothes that need to be put away, the kitchen could use a mopping, Henry's room needs to be repainted, and there are baby clothes to be sewn for all my dear pregnant friends. But I don't wanna. And even facebook is letting me down. Apparently, I'm not the only bored one because no one has been having any good status updates as of late.
I'm sure a lot of this is just the change in the seasons. I've been sick so I can't go to the gym or rake the leaves and I have an extra 7 hours a week sans Henry now that he is in school. The fact that it is 50 degrees outside and raining is no help.
I resorted today to roasting pumpkin seeds and baking pumpkin bread. From scratch, with no recipe. Daring, eh? Snoozefest. (Though, surprisingly, the bread turned out well.)
I feel sort of like those chapters in the Bible with all the begats--Seth begat Enosh and had other children and then he died. Enosh fathered Kenan who begat someone with a crazy name. Yada Yada Yada. But I am reminded that a)life is like a book--it has highs and lows and meanders a bit like a dog on a walk, and b)God was there for all that begatting and took notice enough to include it. So even the boring bits bear His presence and matter. The fact God notices and cares about the boring stuff lets me know He really does love me because of who He is, rather than who I am. Because I am pretty boring.
So maybe life as a book won't be so bad. Books are always better than movies.*
*Unless they are both by Nicholas Sparks, in which case, they both suck. Spoiler alert--someone falls in love, commits adultery and/or gets a disease , and then dies.
In my sister's house, and some others I hear, to say you are bored is the ultimate sin. Bored? Really? Go clean your room. My mom told me that only boring people are boring, something I was pleasantly surprised to hear repeated on the show Mad Men. But my problem as of late has not been that I don't have things to do--there are four laundry baskets of clean clothes that need to be put away, the kitchen could use a mopping, Henry's room needs to be repainted, and there are baby clothes to be sewn for all my dear pregnant friends. But I don't wanna. And even facebook is letting me down. Apparently, I'm not the only bored one because no one has been having any good status updates as of late.
I'm sure a lot of this is just the change in the seasons. I've been sick so I can't go to the gym or rake the leaves and I have an extra 7 hours a week sans Henry now that he is in school. The fact that it is 50 degrees outside and raining is no help.
I resorted today to roasting pumpkin seeds and baking pumpkin bread. From scratch, with no recipe. Daring, eh? Snoozefest. (Though, surprisingly, the bread turned out well.)
I feel sort of like those chapters in the Bible with all the begats--Seth begat Enosh and had other children and then he died. Enosh fathered Kenan who begat someone with a crazy name. Yada Yada Yada. But I am reminded that a)life is like a book--it has highs and lows and meanders a bit like a dog on a walk, and b)God was there for all that begatting and took notice enough to include it. So even the boring bits bear His presence and matter. The fact God notices and cares about the boring stuff lets me know He really does love me because of who He is, rather than who I am. Because I am pretty boring.
So maybe life as a book won't be so bad. Books are always better than movies.*
*Unless they are both by Nicholas Sparks, in which case, they both suck. Spoiler alert--someone falls in love, commits adultery and/or gets a disease , and then dies.
Monday, October 12, 2009
One thing I've done right...
And no, it is not buying up all the Count Frankenberries I can find. (Although, for the life of me, I do not understand why it isn't sold year round. It is the best cereal. Ever.)
Henry has become a bit of a bully. I don't know if it is that he realizes he is weaponized with his cast (only one more week!), but he has left behind the docile little boy that will let you take his toys or play with the toys he so ardently desires. He will push, pull, and even tackle. What makes it worse is that his "tackle" is quite manipulative. Exhibit A--This morning we were at his buddy Nano's house. Nano was playing with a big 18 wheeler toy, riding around on it. Henry wanted to play with it. When told he had to wait his turn, he simply looked at Nathan and said, "Nano, hug!" at which point Nathan got up from the truck and went to hug Henry. Henry hugged Nathan down to the ground, then crawled over Nathan and onto the aforementioned big rig. Much to Nathan's dismay--"Phillips! Phillips, Henhe hugged me and stole my truck!"
So I took Henry into the dining room for a come to Jesus meeting. And as soon as I was done laying down the law, Henry tucked in his bottom lip, folded his hands and said, "Pray." So, at the very least, and I mean the very least, my boy knows that when you mess up and need forgiveness, you pray. And so we prayed, I hugged him, told him I forgave him and that I loved him and was proud of him for wanting to pray.
And then he played nicely...for about three minutes.
Henry has become a bit of a bully. I don't know if it is that he realizes he is weaponized with his cast (only one more week!), but he has left behind the docile little boy that will let you take his toys or play with the toys he so ardently desires. He will push, pull, and even tackle. What makes it worse is that his "tackle" is quite manipulative. Exhibit A--This morning we were at his buddy Nano's house. Nano was playing with a big 18 wheeler toy, riding around on it. Henry wanted to play with it. When told he had to wait his turn, he simply looked at Nathan and said, "Nano, hug!" at which point Nathan got up from the truck and went to hug Henry. Henry hugged Nathan down to the ground, then crawled over Nathan and onto the aforementioned big rig. Much to Nathan's dismay--"Phillips! Phillips, Henhe hugged me and stole my truck!"
So I took Henry into the dining room for a come to Jesus meeting. And as soon as I was done laying down the law, Henry tucked in his bottom lip, folded his hands and said, "Pray." So, at the very least, and I mean the very least, my boy knows that when you mess up and need forgiveness, you pray. And so we prayed, I hugged him, told him I forgave him and that I loved him and was proud of him for wanting to pray.
And then he played nicely...for about three minutes.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Bill Cosby is right...
Kids DO say the darnedest things.
Remember how Sloan warned me I was opening up Pandora's box by putting Henry in speech class? Yeah, well, Henry has now entered the land of verbage. And, like most things about parenthood, my expectations were a little off.
For starters, let us begin with Henry's exclamations of dismay. Sometimes he says "Oh no, ash ash all fall down." It is quite possibly the longest response I've ever heard to dropping one's sippy cup. And I have no idea who he's been playing ring around the rosy with because it hasn't been me. We also have the quick inhale followed by a long drawn out "NOOOOOOO!" (I am totally to blame for this one.) Thank you, Dora, for Henry's favorite exclamation, "Oh man!" I always laugh when he says this. Which I'm pretty sure he does not appreciate. Not one. Little. Bit. But my personal favorite (and again, I'm totally to blame for this one) is his occasional response to me telling him no. He does a Napoleon Dynamite impression. "Cookie?" "No. You may not have a cookie." Hugh sigh, roll of the eyes. "Duuuude." Perhaps if he asked for some of my tots? This response will not be as funny in a decade. Note to self, stop using sarcasm around your son. It will come back to bite you in the ass.
And speaking of things I'd rather not hear my son say, please be aware that Henry loves to say s-h-i-t. As in, "My shit is messy." Or "I need my shit." Or "Shit here." Or when we are reading Hop on Pop, "No, Pat, no! Don't shit on that." So apparently, it is the same word for both "shirt" and the verb "to sit". But until it becomes one of the aforementioned expletives, I will still giggle every time he tells me he needs his shit.
Or how about when I point to a picture of him and say, "Who is that?" His response, "That. Is cute!" Yes, Henry, that is cute. I would've also accepted the answers "Baby", "Boy", or, I don't know, perhaps your name?
We also have these random sentences that have just come from nowhere. In general, these fall into the Mommy is doing something I don't like category. As in when I'm burying his truck with leaves. He stood straight up, pointed his finger at me and said, "Mommy, don't do that!" Or this morning when I went into the family room to play trains with him. "No, mommy. Go out. I play 'lone." He then proceeded to push on my legs and shout, "OUT! OUT! OUT!" Fine, Henry. I'll just go check facebook. I commented on a friend's blog that when Henry began speaking in sentences I was really hoping to hear things like, "Mommy, you are pretty. Mommy, you hair is not frizzy. Mommy, I am going to cook dinner tonight." Perhaps, instead, I should teach Henry to make that game show sound--Wah Wah.
Today, in celebration of me finally getting a haircut I like and finding a hairstylist who I can visit again (I've been on a 2 year search), Henry and I went out to lunch. We were sitting at Kabuto and the waitress brought him the soup that comes with the meal. She said, "I wasn't sure if he'd like it, but it comes free with his meal." Henry looked at her and said, "Oh no. I like soup." Really, Henry? You like soup? When have you had soup? But, actually, he did like the soup. And it looked good on him. Bonus.
And sometimes, my little boy just breaks my heart. Yesterday, we had my dear friend's little four month old daughter, Emily, over for a couple of hours while her Mommy had a doctor's appointment. Henry would sing to her "Baby Em. Baby Em." He cried for her when I put him down for his nap--"No no, Mommy. I sing Baby Em." And poor little pumpkin, she went home while Henry was napping. When I went in to get him at the end of his nap, he sprung up, saying. "Baby Em. I play Baby Em." I gently told him that Auntie Ann had come to pick up Baby Emily. Quick inhale, then "NOOOOOOO!" as he flopped back down onto his bed, into the comfort that only Hop Hop can provide. Through his tears, he looked at me and said, "No no no no no. I need baby. I want baby. Baby Baby." "Oh, Henry," I said, "me too. I need baby too. Wanna just turn your lights back off and lay here for a little while with Mommy?" "Yeah." And so we cuddled. Because sometimes, even when you know how to use your words, nothing helps you feel better than an extra five minutes of nap time.
Remember how Sloan warned me I was opening up Pandora's box by putting Henry in speech class? Yeah, well, Henry has now entered the land of verbage. And, like most things about parenthood, my expectations were a little off.
For starters, let us begin with Henry's exclamations of dismay. Sometimes he says "Oh no, ash ash all fall down." It is quite possibly the longest response I've ever heard to dropping one's sippy cup. And I have no idea who he's been playing ring around the rosy with because it hasn't been me. We also have the quick inhale followed by a long drawn out "NOOOOOOO!" (I am totally to blame for this one.) Thank you, Dora, for Henry's favorite exclamation, "Oh man!" I always laugh when he says this. Which I'm pretty sure he does not appreciate. Not one. Little. Bit. But my personal favorite (and again, I'm totally to blame for this one) is his occasional response to me telling him no. He does a Napoleon Dynamite impression. "Cookie?" "No. You may not have a cookie." Hugh sigh, roll of the eyes. "Duuuude." Perhaps if he asked for some of my tots? This response will not be as funny in a decade. Note to self, stop using sarcasm around your son. It will come back to bite you in the ass.
And speaking of things I'd rather not hear my son say, please be aware that Henry loves to say s-h-i-t. As in, "My shit is messy." Or "I need my shit." Or "Shit here." Or when we are reading Hop on Pop, "No, Pat, no! Don't shit on that." So apparently, it is the same word for both "shirt" and the verb "to sit". But until it becomes one of the aforementioned expletives, I will still giggle every time he tells me he needs his shit.
Or how about when I point to a picture of him and say, "Who is that?" His response, "That. Is cute!" Yes, Henry, that is cute. I would've also accepted the answers "Baby", "Boy", or, I don't know, perhaps your name?
We also have these random sentences that have just come from nowhere. In general, these fall into the Mommy is doing something I don't like category. As in when I'm burying his truck with leaves. He stood straight up, pointed his finger at me and said, "Mommy, don't do that!" Or this morning when I went into the family room to play trains with him. "No, mommy. Go out. I play 'lone." He then proceeded to push on my legs and shout, "OUT! OUT! OUT!" Fine, Henry. I'll just go check facebook. I commented on a friend's blog that when Henry began speaking in sentences I was really hoping to hear things like, "Mommy, you are pretty. Mommy, you hair is not frizzy. Mommy, I am going to cook dinner tonight." Perhaps, instead, I should teach Henry to make that game show sound--Wah Wah.
Today, in celebration of me finally getting a haircut I like and finding a hairstylist who I can visit again (I've been on a 2 year search), Henry and I went out to lunch. We were sitting at Kabuto and the waitress brought him the soup that comes with the meal. She said, "I wasn't sure if he'd like it, but it comes free with his meal." Henry looked at her and said, "Oh no. I like soup." Really, Henry? You like soup? When have you had soup? But, actually, he did like the soup. And it looked good on him. Bonus.
And sometimes, my little boy just breaks my heart. Yesterday, we had my dear friend's little four month old daughter, Emily, over for a couple of hours while her Mommy had a doctor's appointment. Henry would sing to her "Baby Em. Baby Em." He cried for her when I put him down for his nap--"No no, Mommy. I sing Baby Em." And poor little pumpkin, she went home while Henry was napping. When I went in to get him at the end of his nap, he sprung up, saying. "Baby Em. I play Baby Em." I gently told him that Auntie Ann had come to pick up Baby Emily. Quick inhale, then "NOOOOOOO!" as he flopped back down onto his bed, into the comfort that only Hop Hop can provide. Through his tears, he looked at me and said, "No no no no no. I need baby. I want baby. Baby Baby." "Oh, Henry," I said, "me too. I need baby too. Wanna just turn your lights back off and lay here for a little while with Mommy?" "Yeah." And so we cuddled. Because sometimes, even when you know how to use your words, nothing helps you feel better than an extra five minutes of nap time.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Magnificent
So last Thursday night, Sloan and I headed to Charlottesville for the U2 concert. For Sloan, this was his third U2 concert. I was a U2 virgin. In truth, I adore seeing live music. I am thinking of making it one of my hobbies. But also, I tend to enjoy smaller venues that give me the sense that maybe in between sets, the band might let me up on stage to sing. The U2 concert did not disappoint. In fact, I have decided that when (okay, IF) I become a rock star, I will have a stage similar to the the U2 360 stage. But I also will have a jet pack and fly over the crowd. I got this idea from the movie Space Chimps. Sloan has informed me that the King of Pop, MJ, already did this. Yes, but I'm a girl--so it will be totally different.
Before I tell you about U2, I must first give you a little context. For starters, we told our nephews that we'd get them Tshirts if they paid us back. The tshirts were $40. $40, people! Am I that old that I think this is ridiculous? Particularly when they sell online for $30? I justified my waiting in line for the shirts by thinking that Bono is probably buying food and meds for people with AIDS in Africa. I don't know if this is true, but please, if it is not, don't tell me. Because I bought the tshirts. I mean, it's Bono, right? It sounds like something he'd do.
Concerts, in addition to being a great way to see bands, are also great venues for people watching. And you'd think that with it being Charlottesville and all that it would be the wine and cheese crowd. And certainly the golf clappers were in attendance. We just didn't sit near any of them. In front of us were these women who looked just like I imagine Montessori School teachers in the 1970s appeared. Tapered jeans, homemade sweaters, no make up, and long frizzy hair down to their butts. What made it even better was that these women rocked out! And I mean rocked out to the opening band MUSE. (Who the soccer mom sitting next to me generously looked up for me on her Blackberry). Teacher 1 was standing up, waving her arms around, and yelling. To MUSE. Oddly enough, when U2 came on, she stuck her fingers in her ears, saying it was too loud. "Um, well, it is a rock concert, M'am," I said. But the craziest thing about Teacher 1 was her hair brush. She must have brushed her hair at least 30 times during the concert. I counted how many times she brushed it during the hour interim between MUSE and U2--11 times. Is it just me or is this weird?
And MUSE, by the way, proves the point that even if you have messed up teeth, you can still throw on a shiny shirt and look hot so long as you know how to play an instrument. (Their bassist grew on me. He's sort of a Spanish Jeremy Piven. And their drummer is so Rupert Grint. Post Swine flu. And nothing says "Awesome!" better than a skinny Ron Weasley on the skins.)
And of course, there was the point during the concert where everyone in our section starting sniffing and wondering who it was that just lit up a doobie.
Also, at one point, I looked at Sloan and started laughing hysterically because I was convinced that our section had a mime in front of it. I thought, "This is the weirdest thing I've ever seen at a concert." But no, it wasn't a mime. It was a sign language interpreter. In my defense, she was wearing a black hoodie, black pants, and had on white gloves. But still, that's a bit out of the ordinary right?
So this was the context in which Bono, Larry, the Edge, and Adam would wow me. (Or, as I like to call them in Elizabethtown--Paul, Larry, David, and Adam). The set was amazing. This sort of honeycombed TV thing at the top of it that would move and get larger. A disco ball (which makes EVERYTHING better). Over a dozen manned spotlights. And they truly were in 360. We sat behind the stage and did not feel like we missed out at all. At one point, I thought I would've liked to have been down on the floor with some of my buddies--but then I remembered they had no seats, no way to put down their coats, and, of course, no mime or brush lady. (Of course, they DID have Bono ten feet away.)
Definitively, the U2 concert affirmed to me something that I've always believed--there is no such thing as a distinction between the secular and the spiritual. Everything, be it your favorite TV show or song, has a spiritual message in it. Because we are spiritual beings, we have no other way to communicate, whether we intend to or not.
What has always struck me most about U2 is their intentionality. The fact that as celebrities, I know what matters to them--fighting injustice, feeding the poor, being kind. In Christian circles, it is always debated about whether or not Bono is a Christian. He cusses on TV and the like. But of course, as my Pastor's son has pointed out, a lot of times he's drunk when he's dropping f-bombs, so you can't really count that. And I get that what we say does matter. But in my denomination, we have a catechism that can basically be summed up by its first question--"What is the chief end of man? To glorify God and enjoy Him forever." And people, never before have I witnessed this being fleshed out on such a large scale and by so many people. I was overwhelmed by it at the concert. I'd close my eyes and then would have to remember, wait, you can close your eyes and feel it on your Ipod, watch Bono as he bears his soul and cries out to God, "How long must I sing this song?" Or perhaps as he leads the stadium in singing "Amazing Grace" during the first encore.
I was struck by not only was it Bono singing these words, it was the entire Scott stadium. I wondered, do these people know they are singing scripture? That Sunday Bloody Sunday is essentially a prayer to God to deliver us from sin? That Bono and the boys are pissed off about the very things that God hates. And that yes, some of their music could be considered love songs, but I think Bono would agree that even the greatest human loves are shadows of our greatest Lover. That being said, I do often wonder if sometimes the other band members are like my friends after I've had too may drinks--we get it! we get it! God is good and injustice is bad. And to the Edge I say, dude, what do you wear to the beach?
So if you still believe that there is such a thing as "secular"--I leave you with the words of U2.
Before I tell you about U2, I must first give you a little context. For starters, we told our nephews that we'd get them Tshirts if they paid us back. The tshirts were $40. $40, people! Am I that old that I think this is ridiculous? Particularly when they sell online for $30? I justified my waiting in line for the shirts by thinking that Bono is probably buying food and meds for people with AIDS in Africa. I don't know if this is true, but please, if it is not, don't tell me. Because I bought the tshirts. I mean, it's Bono, right? It sounds like something he'd do.
Concerts, in addition to being a great way to see bands, are also great venues for people watching. And you'd think that with it being Charlottesville and all that it would be the wine and cheese crowd. And certainly the golf clappers were in attendance. We just didn't sit near any of them. In front of us were these women who looked just like I imagine Montessori School teachers in the 1970s appeared. Tapered jeans, homemade sweaters, no make up, and long frizzy hair down to their butts. What made it even better was that these women rocked out! And I mean rocked out to the opening band MUSE. (Who the soccer mom sitting next to me generously looked up for me on her Blackberry). Teacher 1 was standing up, waving her arms around, and yelling. To MUSE. Oddly enough, when U2 came on, she stuck her fingers in her ears, saying it was too loud. "Um, well, it is a rock concert, M'am," I said. But the craziest thing about Teacher 1 was her hair brush. She must have brushed her hair at least 30 times during the concert. I counted how many times she brushed it during the hour interim between MUSE and U2--11 times. Is it just me or is this weird?
And MUSE, by the way, proves the point that even if you have messed up teeth, you can still throw on a shiny shirt and look hot so long as you know how to play an instrument. (Their bassist grew on me. He's sort of a Spanish Jeremy Piven. And their drummer is so Rupert Grint. Post Swine flu. And nothing says "Awesome!" better than a skinny Ron Weasley on the skins.)
And of course, there was the point during the concert where everyone in our section starting sniffing and wondering who it was that just lit up a doobie.
Also, at one point, I looked at Sloan and started laughing hysterically because I was convinced that our section had a mime in front of it. I thought, "This is the weirdest thing I've ever seen at a concert." But no, it wasn't a mime. It was a sign language interpreter. In my defense, she was wearing a black hoodie, black pants, and had on white gloves. But still, that's a bit out of the ordinary right?
So this was the context in which Bono, Larry, the Edge, and Adam would wow me. (Or, as I like to call them in Elizabethtown--Paul, Larry, David, and Adam). The set was amazing. This sort of honeycombed TV thing at the top of it that would move and get larger. A disco ball (which makes EVERYTHING better). Over a dozen manned spotlights. And they truly were in 360. We sat behind the stage and did not feel like we missed out at all. At one point, I thought I would've liked to have been down on the floor with some of my buddies--but then I remembered they had no seats, no way to put down their coats, and, of course, no mime or brush lady. (Of course, they DID have Bono ten feet away.)
Definitively, the U2 concert affirmed to me something that I've always believed--there is no such thing as a distinction between the secular and the spiritual. Everything, be it your favorite TV show or song, has a spiritual message in it. Because we are spiritual beings, we have no other way to communicate, whether we intend to or not.
What has always struck me most about U2 is their intentionality. The fact that as celebrities, I know what matters to them--fighting injustice, feeding the poor, being kind. In Christian circles, it is always debated about whether or not Bono is a Christian. He cusses on TV and the like. But of course, as my Pastor's son has pointed out, a lot of times he's drunk when he's dropping f-bombs, so you can't really count that. And I get that what we say does matter. But in my denomination, we have a catechism that can basically be summed up by its first question--"What is the chief end of man? To glorify God and enjoy Him forever." And people, never before have I witnessed this being fleshed out on such a large scale and by so many people. I was overwhelmed by it at the concert. I'd close my eyes and then would have to remember, wait, you can close your eyes and feel it on your Ipod, watch Bono as he bears his soul and cries out to God, "How long must I sing this song?" Or perhaps as he leads the stadium in singing "Amazing Grace" during the first encore.
I was struck by not only was it Bono singing these words, it was the entire Scott stadium. I wondered, do these people know they are singing scripture? That Sunday Bloody Sunday is essentially a prayer to God to deliver us from sin? That Bono and the boys are pissed off about the very things that God hates. And that yes, some of their music could be considered love songs, but I think Bono would agree that even the greatest human loves are shadows of our greatest Lover. That being said, I do often wonder if sometimes the other band members are like my friends after I've had too may drinks--we get it! we get it! God is good and injustice is bad. And to the Edge I say, dude, what do you wear to the beach?
So if you still believe that there is such a thing as "secular"--I leave you with the words of U2.
Magnificent
Oh, oh, magnificent
I was born, I was born
To be with you in this space and time
After that and ever after
I haven't had a clue only to break rhyme
This foolishness can leave a heart black and blue, oh, oh
Only love, only love can leave such a mark
But only love, only love can heal such a scar
I was born, I was born to sing for you
I didn't have a choice but to lift you up
And sing whatever song you wanted me to
I give you back my voice from the womb
My first cry, it was a joyful noise, oh, oh
Only love, only love can leave such a mark
But only love, only love can heal such a scar
Justified, till we die you and I will magnify, oh, oh
Magnificent, magnificent, oh, oh
Only love, only love can leave such a mark
But only love, only love unites our hearts
Justified, till we die you and I will magnify, oh, oh
Magnificent, magnificent, magnificent
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