8 years and change…

A lot to update you on.  I hope to post more details about most of these things in the future, but for now, I’ll simply say:  we are in the process of accepting a referral of a sibling group, Henry is super sick, we are ending our adoption fundraising efforts, we are putting our house on the market and moving.

I promise I’ll say more about all of these in later posts.  But the short story is that the referral we are accepting is EXACTLY perfect for our family and yet different than we first envisioned.  I mean, we started this journey thinking we were bringing home a Chinese toddler with mild cerebral palsy.  Now we are adopting 2 children from the Congo, a boy who just turned 5 and a girl who is 18 months old.  This has made us realize that it would serve our kids best to move now and not a couple years from now.  We need to provide as much stability as possible for our Congolese son as this has been a pretty rough year for him thus far.  And because we want to make sure that people know their donations are going towards the adoption and not to our “buy a bigger house fund”, we are stopping the fundraising efforts. 

Do I still have supplies to make frames and some wreaths to sell?  Yes, and you can buy them and know that it will all go to the adoption.  Will I solicit donations of toys and formula and mosquito nets before we travel to donate to the orphanage?  Yes, but that is more for the kids than us. 

Part of the reason we have done fundraising is because we wanted to invite others to love orphans alongside us.  And I still want to send out that invitation.  Adoption and orphan care is such a clear picture of the Gospel that I truly believe you can’t really “get” how much you are loved by God until you take a peek inside the world of orphan care.  It is a peek inside the very heart of Jesus.  I will always cry from the rooftops “Do you want to see Jesus at work?  Here.  Pray for this orphan.  Make a meal for this foster family.  Send this kid a mosquito net.”  I can guarantee that both your life and the life of a child will be forever improved with these simple actions.

It is also true that we still have 4 plane tickets to buy and other traveling costs, all of which will total over 10k.  And that’s a conservative estimate.  If folks want to consider donating airline miles, I will make that information available when I have a clearer picture of what our actual travel needs will be.

That said, I don’t want to post pics of our new house or write about how I’m pretty sure I’m high right now from all the noxious fumes in our current home and receive harsh judgment.   (We resealed the driveway yesterday and had the mustard yellow shower in our master bath refinished this morning.  It’s like a giant bottle of nail polish made out with a gallon of tar.  It’s awesome.  Thank God for our whole house fan.  Too bad it is 90 degrees outside.)

 I don’t want to have people go all “Why were they asking for donations to adopt when they clearly have enough money to mulch their natural areas?”  (Because in my mind, that’s what rich people do.  Mulch over their natural areas.  And by natural, I mean the places they haven’t been able to grow grass.)  (Also, I can answer that question--bank loans.)

So it’s a whirlwind here: packing up, meeting with handymen, gathering adoption documents, trips to Lowe’s, middle of the night sick sessions, and talking to realtors and oh yeah, IT IS MY 8^TH WEDDING ANNIVERSARY TODAY!

We are celebrating by cancelling our babysitter and our reservations and packing up the living room so we can paint it.  And spraying the aforementioned natural areas with Round Up.  And letting the kids watch hours of movies because Henry is so sick that this morning he puked on me.  As I was cuddling him in the doctor’s office after his strep test.  Oh, and did I mention that the vomit was bloody?  And all down my back?  And then he stood up and puked on my feet?  

But the honest to God truth is, I wouldn’t have it any other way.  (Well, I’m sad Henry feels so yucky.  But thankful to be his Mommy.)  

It is easy to have romance over Fried Green Tomatoes with a Pimento Cheese and Peppadew Aioli or tableside Bananas Foster.  But a marriage isn’t about how well you love one another at candlelit dinners on your honeymoon.  It’s about being forgiven for the thousand times you snap at your spouse because you are certain he is snoring just to spite you.  (He is.  He confessed.)  It’s about the fact every time my dear husband leaves to go out of town early in the morning, he kisses me goodbye, affixes a love note to my alarm clock and makes sure there are plenty of Diet Dr. Peppers in the fridge.  It’s about learning when to feed and when to starve your spouse’s brand of crazy.  When to encourage dreams and when to rein them in.  When to just forgive the lost temper  without having to talk about it and when to step back and rehash each and every word so that real reconciliation can occur.  You never count your money while you’re sitting at the table.  Wait, no, that’s not marital advice.  That’s the gambler.

Well, my darling Sloan, eight years and counting, I’m still all in.  You are my ace I plan to keep.

Sometimes the Cat in the Hat fixes things up

Remember when I thought that Henry killed our bathroom by putting a dixie cup in the toilet?  As it turns out, the erupting kitchen ceiling was NOT his fault.  (Sorry, Henry.)  If anything, having the plumber out when we did, saved us.  As it turned out, there was a leak in the wall behind the kids vanity and it had to be replumb.  So, we would've had to tear out the kitchen ceiling anyways.  And, of course, to get to the leak, we had to rip out the kids' vanity which was so waterlogged it was beyond repair.  (Not that you would've wanted to repair it.  It was builder grade faux wood circa 1978. With a snazzy puke green sink and countertop.  To match the floors.)

Yeah, I know.  Who redoes their bathroom when in the middle of a two-child adoption?  Well, first of all, this would be why the adoption account is separate from the savings account.   It's also just one of those things about home ownership.  We recently had to replace the siding on our house.  Which, of course, I felt bad about since we were fundraising.  But one of my friends said, "Um, replacing your siding is only more exciting than replacing your roof or hot water heater."  She later signed off her email, "Enjoy your fancy schmancy vinyl siding."  (I have really encouraging friends.  But sometimes I need to be made fun of.  Because I can be ridonkulous.)  We also realize that a move is somewhere in the not so distant future for us, so having a newer bathroom would've had to happen anyhow.  I was able to find things on ebay, at Lowe's, as well as a great reasonably priced handyman who can plumb, did the painting myself,  so it actually didn't break the bank.  (That said, to repaint the kitchen and kitchen ceiling, Sloan and I are giving each other painters for our anniversary.  Because we are nothing if not romantic.  So in case you are wondering, 8 years is painters.  If you're traditional.  For you modern folk, I think it's scuba gear.)

So without further ado...I give you the new and improved kids' bathroom.

Yes.  The walls of this bathroom are the same color as our front door.  I love me some Benjamin Moore Golden Honey.

My etsy wall art--Wash your hands and say your prayers because Jesus and Germs are everywhere.  Along with my Ebay Pottery Barn Dr. Suess stuff.

A toothbrush holder big enough for four kids.  And I painted tumblers so there would be no more dixie cup incidents.  (And yes, I picked up two extra for mes petits enfants.)

And there's the cat.  In all his cake eating the bath tub glory. 

The truth about Vanilla Care for Chocolate Hair

When we first adopted Grace, I must confess that the number one thing I feared was her hair.  I'm fairly certain that's what all vanilla mommas are afraid of when they have chocolate daughters.  You worry you'll be in the grocery store and all of the African American women will judge you because your cornrows are wonky, your twists are haggard, or worse, it's just a big ole messy ball of dry frizz.  You worry that your daughter will get made fun of on the playground because other girls tell her she's not really black or not black enough because her momma is white. 

So to all of you soon to be vanilla mommas or new vanilla mommas, let me let you in on something: it's just hair.  Is it a marker of a mother's love and care in the African American community?  For sure.  But again, it's just hair.

Before Grace was 6 months old, she had a three foot tall tackle box full of doo-dads and baubles, creams and custards, pomades, all natural shampoos and conditioners, and a variety of combs.  Now she has a beach bucket.  Oh, and about a billion bows.  And pony-Os.  And a giant tub of coconut oil from Wal-Mart.  I rarely shampoo her hair.  I rinse it occasionally with apple cider vinegar, but mainly we co wash with a great conditioner that I found at Costco.  She uses a sleep cap.  But not the original satin sleep cap I commissioned from someone on Etsy, but a Lycra TYR swim cap.  I read a blog called Chocolate Hair/Vanilla Care.  And my favorite styling tool?  My fingers. 

I've relaxed a bit when it comes to doing her hair.  I've also learned that lots of Chocolate mommas have no better control over their daughter's hair than I do.  Can I twist and cornrow and make bantu knots?  Yes.  They're not perfect, but they are getting better. 

The truth is, most people who are going to judge you don't need an invitation to do so.  So when a random black woman in Target clicks her tongue and shakes her head disapprovingly because I let Gracie's hair be free, I don't worry because just two aisles over will be another woman who will rave about it and ask what products I use. 

Or we have a moment like today, when after four days of my first attempt at first two-strand twists we rock a twist out so fierce that literally four African American women at Lowe's will ask if they can have their picture taken with her.  Individually.  As in there was a line at Lowe's to get your picture taken with Gracie like she was Santa.

Ignore the matting in the back of the twist out.  Car seats do this.  So does rolling around in a sand box.

  And as to the girls on the playground?  It is not a question of if.  Both my daughters will face judgement.  And I will be prepared to combat those lies of them not being black enough with the truth:  you are beautiful, you are loved, you are made in God's image and while your Mommy may be Vanilla, I am the one whom God chose to kiss your boo-boos and tuck you in at night.  And that is enough.

A Change in Perspective

What if we've been going about this adoption the wrong way?  Searching the world over for the children who will fit into our family.  Scanning waiting children websites hoping to imprint on a child that pulls at some abstract maternal heart-string. 

What if, and here's a novel idea, this adoption isn't about me? 

What if the question is not what children will mesh well with our family but what children need what we have to offer?

What if this adoption is about meeting the needs of some Congolese children?

What if it isn't even about what I have to offer?  But perhaps what Henry and Grace have to offer as a brother and sister?

What if there is a little boy who needs a brother to hold his hand in school and to cheer him on? A brother who is tenderhearted and prone to compassion.

What if there is a little girl who needs a big sister to laugh with her?  To dance with her?  To share some space during an illegal bed jumping session? 

What if we just said to God "Take our meager loaves and fishes and dole them out"?  What would that look like? 

I'm not quite sure.  But I'm hopeful we will find out soon...

Our Great Cloud

So I spent today scanning and emailing our dossier documents.  Several times, because apparently, I’m not so good at scanning.  Awesome.  And let us never speak of the number of times we had to go to the notary because I can’t seem to bring all the papers at one time.  My kids are thankful for all of the extra lollipops the bank gave them.

While scanning, I re-read our homestudy.  (Perhaps this is why I had to scan it three times.  Note to self: you are incapable of multitasking.  So stop trying.)  And then it struck me.  God really has been preparing us in advance for this good work He’s planning to do in our family. Sure, Scripture tells us that He does that.  But it was neat to take a pause and reflect upon it.  

There is this whole section in the homestudy about how we will handle any adversities that may arise medically or socially and how we plan to instruct our kids on the culture of the Congo. 

And folks, it’s pretty incredible.  

So I’d like to thank God and let the following people know that we see God at work in them in our lives so much that they even got ink in our homestudy:  Kim Eagle, Ali Shenk (so I need to thank Mollie Burpo for introducing us), Carrington Castle, Lisa Cox Nelson, Becky Hartman (again, Kim Forquer shout out for the FB introduction), Jennifer Farkas, Dr. Greg Childress, Dr. Beth Marshall, Dr. Gray Snowden, Cindy and Andy Schwarz, and Sarah and Max Doerfler.

You are our tangible great cloud of witnesses.  Thank you ever so much for your part in touching our hearts, educating us, and praying our family home.

Go...Hokies...Go! (No, GO TARHEELS, but still I like this book.)

Let it be known that I am NOT a Hokie fan.  At all.  Despite living in Richmond and having many Hokie friends, I think Hokie fans are all kinds of obnoxious.  They plaster their cars with turkeys and then have the audacity to change lanes without signaling.  They wear orange and maroon ALL THE FREAKING TIME.  I have a dear friend who is a Hokie who had Maroon and orange purses made for herself on Etsy.  I think it's a requirement if you graduate from Virginia Tech that you get a vanity plate to announce that fact.  Apparently Hokies think we care.  For my North Carolina readers, imagine if all the intelligent Carolina fans weren’t so snobby and behaved like State fans.  Got that?  Smart and obnoxious.  Yeah, they’re like that.  And they. are. everywhere.    

That said, I really am praying AGAINST out of state tuition, so I have to start grooming my kids to be either Hokies or Hoos.  Imagine my delight when I got my hands on this little book.  

You know that mascot book you’ve already got that is all kinds of lame?  And you read it a couple of times because a college friend gave it to you when your kids were born.  But what your child REALLY wants to read is that flap book about the bunny with the fuzzy tail?

Enter  Go… Hokies… Go!  

It takes HokieBird and walks him through the VT campus.  You can rub his feathers, help him flip through a book in Newman library, take him tubing on the New, and help him score a basket in Cassell Coliseum.  You can even scratch and sniff his pizza in Owens Food Court.  (I’m hoping that Hokie pizza actually doesn’t smell like the scratch and sniff.  Because this scratch and sniff pizza smells just like Raggedy Ann’s cooking in my favorite childhood interactive book.  Which made the smell awesome, but not so appetizing.)  It even has the Hokie fight song at the end.  Or, I’m assuming that “Tech Triump” is the Hokie fight song.  Admittedly, I probably would’ve enjoyed the book even more if I had remembered sleeping in Newman library or making out at the duck pond.  (I’m assuming people made out there.  Again, I’m not a Hokie.  And I kinda don’t like Hokies.  But if there had been a Duck pond in Chapel Hill, I think people would've made out there.  Because North Carolina is for lovers.  Wait, no, that's Virginia.)

My kids loved the book.  Henry’s favorite part was helping HokieBird score the basket and looking at the pile up of football players on fold out page.  Gracie’s favorite part was playing with the fans' pom poms.  As a Mom, my favorite part was the sturdiness of the book.  Most flap and play books get ripped up the first time you read them.  But this is printed on thick pages, almost like a board book.  That said, Gracie did rip out a few of the streamers on the pom poms.  But she’s like the Hulk, breaking pantry doors with just a look, so we shouldn’t really count that.  The writing rhymes and the illustrations are cartoony and reminiscent of Gary Larson or Berkeley Breathed.  

Bryan assured me that books for Carolina, NC State, UNCC, ECU, and Appalachian State should be coming out this fall and winter.  You can bet your bottom dollar that we are pre-ordering our Tarheel edition and will be emailing Bryan on a regular basis until there is also a Gamecock edition.   

Want a copy of your own?  You can buy yours here:  www.collegiatekidsbooks.com.   I think there may also be some copies floating around some specialty shops and kids’ stores in the Richmond area.   

Because you aren’t getting my copy.  We love it.  Even though it has that stupid turkey on the cover. 

*In the interest of full disclosure for the FTC, I was NOT compensated for this post.  The book was given to me by the author because we are friends and he was in town.  And by friends, I mean to say that his little sister is one of my childhood besties.  So in this case, “friends” means that he mocked and made fun of me for my entire childhood.  As in, when I told Sloan about the book and Bryan dropping it off at our house, he replied, “You mean that guy who always makes fun of you and calls you “Kings and Queens?  Sinchy Sinchy?”  Yes, Sloan.  That guy.

But we’ve both evolved.  For those of you who know us, Bryan Jones becoming a children’s book author is about as hilarious as me going to seminary.  Am I right?  

Also, let it be known that if one of my three books in process ever gets published, I fully expect all of you people to buy it, read it, and market the crap out of it on your blogs and facebook walls.  Cause that’s what friends do.  Unless the book sucks.  Then you can do nothing.  And that’ll be fine.  Because if this book had stunk, I wouldn’t have done this review.  Also, for the record, Bryan did NOT ask me to do this review.  I'm just doing it because I'm awesome like that.

So nobody sue me, because all of my money is tied up in adoption and giant holes in my kitchen ceiling.

Ballerina Girl

In an effort to live vicariously through my eldest daughter, she has been signed up for dance.  Well, Creative Movement really.  It's all part of my master plan to make the world cry.  Either from her bio film on So You Think You Can Dance or (please oh please!) in the Women' gymnastics finals of the 2028 Olympics.  Who knows?  Depending upon the age of her little sister, they could both be balance beaming and vaulting for Team USA.  Magnificent 7?  Fab 5?  Ha!  It'll be the Phillips Dynamic duo!

Also, I may have cried as she was getting fitted for her first ballet shoes, tights, and leotards.   Be still my ballet loving heart...

My Wandering Angel

My darling Grace

Most days we spend a lot of time at the bottom step.  We talk about what hands are for and blow kisses and clap and high five and hug.  We practice whispering and using our inside voices.  We stand for minutes on end with our noses to the wall.  We pray.  We ask for forgiveness.  We say we are sorry.  These moments, while they are how we spend a lot of our days as of late, are my least favorite parts of the day.  Well, least favorite AFTER the incidents that mandate our presence on the bottom step.

My favorite part of the day with you is bedtime.  Not because you will soon be asleep, but because of our dear ritual.  We lube you up with Coconut Oil.  We gather your hair or braids and put on your pretty pink silk scarf.  We read a Bible story and then you and Henry each get to select a story.  Then Henry goes to his room and, here is my most favoritest part, you and I snuggle up with your lovey and Pinkie and rock in the yellow rocking chair and sing.

Generally, we sing three songs.  You always ask for ABCs.  And once we are done singing the ABC song, you ask we sing it again.  We do not.  You also love Twinkle Twinkle, Jesus Loves Me, My Bonnie, Amazing Grace, My God is So Big, and your all time favorite finale song—La La Lu (from Disney’s Lady and the Tramp).  You love La La Lu.  You are so precious as you belt out the words.  Your nose crinkles, you rub my face, as you snuggle into my chest.  You even tap my nose when you sing, “Here comes a pink cloud for you.”  

And then I tuck you in, with your head on your satin pillow case, and gather up Pinkie, your multiple loveys, and all of your stuffies—Eyore, Piglet, a sea lion, a lamb, a mermaid, an owl, a purple sock monkey, the stuffed Build a Bear dog your brother made you while we were waiting for you, and your two blankies.  Without even looking, you know if one is missing.  

That’s how I feel about you.  Even with my eyes shut, I see you.  Do you drive me bonkers?  Yes.  Because you are so. much. like. me.  You love and approach life with everything you have.  You never walk, but dance everywhere.  You shower me with kisses and snuggles and zerberts.  You have always been, and will always be, no matter how many more kids God brings into our family, my little star sweeper and wandering angel.  

Fold up your wings, close your eyes.

La la lu, la la lu, and may love be your keeper.