My Mother will not think this is funny...

But I do.

The truth about adoption and life with two...

Before we even thought about Gracie, I often wondered what life with two kids would be like.  How could my heart be big enough for another child?  I was (and am still) obsessed with Henry.  Would I find out that my hunch was right all along and that Moms really do have favorites?  And what if we adopt a child and I love them less because they aren't a part of my biologically?  Or what if I somehow love them more?  Would Henry one day in a rage because his sibling took the last cookie tell them "you aren't really a Phillips"?  And if so, what would I do? 

I emailed back and forth with Heather Whittaker because she has both biological children and an adopted son.  (Her son, Losiah, is the little boy who wants to be a single lady of viral video fame.)  I read books about adoption and parenting.

Here's what I now know:

First, my heart was not big enough for two children before I had two children.  In an instant, it grew.  In fact, I'd say much like the first time I held Henry, the first time I held Gracie my heart swelled.  Like a balloon attached to a hose, it grew and grew until it burst and there was just love all over the both of us.  And we're still splashing around in it.

Secondly, Moms do have favorites.  Let me explain this.  While I do not love one of my children more than the other, at times one of them is easier to love than the other.  Gracie's main activities involve blowing bubbles with her spit, holding my face with her hand, and smiling when I enter a room.  Henry likes to hide behind the couch and poop in his underwear.  Do the math.  This doesn't mean that I love Henry less when he poops on Buzz Lightyear, just that an almost 3 year old requires much more repentance and prayer to love than an easy going 6 month old.  And with great frequency I forget to repent and pray and so Henry gets the shaft.  I hope that my recognizing this will make up for it and will show him that only God loves him perfectly.  So when he is 30 and comes to me and tells me that I ruined him, I'll just say, "Yep, kid.  I know.  Take a number.  I ruined your sister too.  Good thing we both have Jesus to redeem all that." 

Thirdly, my heart does not know the difference between my biological and adopted child.  I took great offense to the Census when it wanted me to differentiate between my biological and adopted children and therefore I became one of those protesty people who just filled out the number of people in our house and left the rest blank before mailing it in.  Henry loves talking about how Henry and Gracie have brown eyes just like Mommy and if I had a nickel for every time I'm told my daughter has my eyes, well, I'd have about 6 dollars.  I sometimes even forget she is a different race.  I don't even really notice that she is darker than me unless I see Henry holding her hand.  (At which point I really want to break out into Ebony and Ivory live together in perfect harmony).  Just the other day I was kissing her toes and said to Sloan, "You know, her toes look nothing like mine."  Sloan chuckled and said, "You do know why that is, right?" 

Lastly, at present, I have no fears of Henry not thinking Gracie is a Phillips.  For starters, I'm not even sure Henry knows he is a Phillips.  But mainly because Henry's love for Gracie is the sweetest thing around.  At times, I do worry that he will smother her because he leans over her, kisses her, and puts her in a "tickle cave".  And if Gracie is sleeping he gets mad at the phone for ringing.  "Hey, phone.  No ringing!  Gwacie sleeping."  Of course, that is until we are in the car and she falls asleep and he yells, "Gwacie, wake up!  Henwe talking to you!"  Or perhaps he just needs to honk her nose.  And she adores his attention.  He'll grab her hand and she'll laugh.  And when he sticks his finger in her belly button and yells "Dink!" she doesn't even bat an eye.  I realize that at some point in time, her sheer existence on the planet will be problematic for him.  But that is simply because he is the older brother and she is the younger sister and that's just the way it goes. 

Whether you are a Phillips or not.

My Big Fat Yard Sale

For starters, it must be said that I could never be a hair dresser.  I could never have a job where I have to stand all day.  By mid-afternoon yesterday, my calves and ankles were killing me.  You know you are tired when you sit on the potty for the first time all day around 3pm and  you think, Gosh this is a comfy place to sit.  I could fall asleep right.....ZZZZ.

I also want to declare for all of you to know that I have the world's best husband.  I know lots of women who put on yard sales all by themselves.  But my dear man not only trod up and down the attic stairs umpteen times carting boxes, end tables, lamps and an iron bed, woke up with me at o'dark early to help me haul stuff into the driveway, helped me haggle with people, fed the kiddos, went for a Dunkin Donuts run, picked up change at the bank, but he also actually ran into four lanes of traffic to retrieve the yard sale signs at the end of the day.  Best.  Husband.  Ever.  Bestest best friend ever.

We woke up around 4:30 to pull stuff out to the driveway.  We had a LOT of stuff.  Not only did we have 2 years worth of Phillips cast offs, but we also had junk from my mom's house, and an entire truck load of stuff from my sister's house.  We had pool umbrellas, bed frames, chairs, end tables, lamps, picture frames, loads of wine glasses (why did I register for 12 red wine everyday glasses and 12 white wine glasses?  When did I expect to be hosting such fancy parties?  We drink wine out of Solo cups around here most days...), toys, bedding, carpets, a dog crate (poor Lolly), and just a bunch of junk.  What a great country we live in where I can just set my junk out on my lawn and then get money for it.  Booyah!

The yard sale was supposed to be from 8-12.  I'd planned on taking pics of all our stuff after we set it up, but the first customer showed up around 6:30.  A lot of our stuff was still in bins awaiting to be set out.  I asked the woman if there was anything in particular that she was looking for.  "Nope, I'm just driving around."  When she left, Sloan looked at me and said, "Who just drives around at 6:30 in the morning?  Who are these people that are coming to my house?"  "Yard salers," I said. 

And that was just the first of the crazies.  More than once I was asked if we had any guns.  Um, no, I'm not an arms dealer.  And then there was the older gentleman in the Elton John glasses whom I affectionately called "the tooth fairy"--because he paid me in $2 bills and silver 50 cent pieces.  Really.  Who carries around that stuff?  Or perhaps the older gentleman who is a retired police officer that now investigates insurance fraud.  Apparently, he knew my grandfather who was sheriff of Henry County, VA.  And did you know the most recent Henry County sheriff was arrested for drug trafficking?  Um, that wasn't my grandpa crazy old man.  He's been dead since 1977.  And then there was the older guy with shaggy hair and the newsies cap who wanted to buy a laundry basket full of picture frames for $9.  Or the man who wanted to buy six hard back cookbooks for $1. 

Or perhaps it is just that yard sales make you crazy.  I accidentally dropped the box of Dunkin Donut munkchins on the ground and simply wiped the pollen off the donuts and continued to eat them.  Sloan asked, "Um, you know that's gross, right?  Those are covered in pollen."  "Yeah," I said, "that's why I just went and took a Benedryl."

And then there was the creepy family.  For starters, they walked up to our house.  No car in sight.  There was a couple who appeared to be in their 40s, three teens to 20ish kids, and then a preteen girl.  They were kind and nice, but still, kind of gave me the heeby jeebies.  Each person, including the young girl, had those giant calf tatoos.  And they all had scraggly hair down to their heinys.  And the young adults had loads of sores around their mouths and bright red noses...so I'm guessing they have some pretty unhealthy habits.  And none of them seemed to have bathed in awhile.  They bought a few things and then just walked off down the street.  Are these people my neighbors?  They make me very sad.

Apparently lots of people live just "right down the street".  These are the people who wanted to write me checks.  "Well, since you live right down the street, I'm sure you know where all the closest ATMs are so you can go get cash.  I'll hold the item for the next 15 minutes for you." 

And I tried to get kids to whine to their parents to buy things by telling them, "Hey, if you buy something, you can go pick out a stuffed animal!"  So I was able to offload a bunch of my sister's cast off stuffed animals--which are notorious for being poor sellers at yard sales.  The oddest thing I sold was a pair of my sister's in-law's Cross Country skiis.  Apparently, someone who lives near me is moving to Alaska in a couple of weeks.  I also sold a stack of old Bon Appetit magazines.  Three years worth of mags for $3.  The lady who bought them was shocked I'd want to part with them.  "Um, my mom gave me the subscription for a Christmas for awhile after I got married.  It took my husband and me three years to convince her my lukewarm feelings for cooking weren't detrimental to our marriage. So there you go..."

We had Gracie in her exersaucer out with us for a bit, but most of the time the kiddos were inside with their babysitter, my 10 yr old niece, Rebekah.  She spent the night on Friday and had a slumber party with Henry.  She was a huge help.  But she and Henry did come out and ride bikes in the driveway for a bit during the sale.  I think Henry heard a bunch of people asking if they could get things because at one point he approached me, giant rock in hand, and said, "Mommy, can I have this?"  "Yes, Henry.  You may have that rock.  But you may not throw it or bring it inside."  "Thank you, Mommy.  This is a great rock I got at Henwe's Yad Sale." 

We made a killing.  We're planning on using most of fundage to pay off G's adoption loan.  What we didn't sell has either been taken to Goodwill, taken to the church for the preschool's yard sale, or put onto Craigslist.  So while we did make a lot of money, I worked my tail off.  Between the trips up and down stairs, the pricing, the lack of sleep, the embarrasment of tacking up signs during the morning work traffic, to dealing with the yahoos who don't bathe and wanted to buy my sister's used baby toilets, I'm not so sure we'll be doing it again anytime soon.

I've got to watch what my husband teaches my son...

Overheard.

"Mommy?"
"Yes, Henry?"
"I want to be on da Dinosaur Twain."
"OK, Henry."
"And then I be on da SOOOOUUUUL TWAIN!"

Awesome. 

Next Stop...Traffic School

Remember when in Sex and the City Carrie regails us with the odd things that guy pulls out of his briefcase while sitting in court? (A pineapple? Really?) Well, folks, she was right. You can do some MAD people watchin' at the Chesterfield County courthouse.

First of all, to go through the metal detector took awhile. They could not figure out what something was in the diaper bag. Realizing that my diaper bag is the backpack I carried in college and probably hasn't been cleaned out since the late nineties, I was a bit worried. The culprits? 2 matchbox cars. Aaaahhhh....

Then it was off to court where we had a very serious baliff. Very serious. To the point of hilarity. He looked a bit like Tom Cruise in A Few Good Men (if he gained about 30 lbs), so it wasn't all bad...  He let me sit in the back row because I had my double stroller parked in the one spot for a wheel chair.  (And yes, I would've moved had someone needed the spot.  Geesh!  Get off my back already...)  But to other people, he loudly proclaimed, "First four rows people!  Sit closer to each other!  You all live in the same county.  Get to know your neighbors."  And if someone dared to sit in the 5th row (and then the 6th and then the 7th--there were a lot of people)--"What?  You don't like people?  Gotta learn to like people.  Sit up front!!"  And to the guy who waltzed in wearing a wife beater--"You can't come in here wearing that.  You gotta stand outside until your name is called.  Shoot, wearing a tank top to court.  Not in my courtroom.  Hey lady, you there in the fifth row, move up to the fourth row and spit out your gum.  No gum in the courtroom, people!"

Henry behaved wonderfully.  He looked at his Puzzle Bug magazines all morning long.  (If you don't know what Puzzle Bug magazine is--imagine combining Highlights with puzzles and stickers.  It pretty much is Henry crack.)  And as soon as Gracie started blowing bubbles, we got kicked out of Super Baliff's courtroom.  We got sent to a conference room outside the courtroom and the Baliff came and got us when it was our turn. 

After the Judge and court reporters oohed and aahed over my beautiful children, I got to raise my right hand and swear to tell the truth.  Then I asked since the cop told me there was no specific time in which I had to stop and admitted that I had paused at the Stop sign, I would like to know what the difference between a pause and a stop is as my only frame of reference is a DVD player.  The Judge demonstrated for me on his rolly chair.  Awesome.  Apparently I performed what he and his teenage son call a "Hollywood Stop".  And then he told me I could go to traffic school and have it dismissed.  So... I am now enrolled in TicketSchool.com for their online traffic school.  And yes, it is as riveting as it sounds.  Apparently, the way we drive is often controlled by our personality.  And there are three different attitudes we all have--the Parent, the child, and the adult attitude.  Guess which one is preferable? 

And as to the potty training.  Yesterday Henry peed on the family room floor, the couch, and pretty much everywhere but the potty.  Or at least the one time he made it to the potty he forgot to pull down his underwear.  Awesome.  But today we had no accidents.  Of course, he spent most of the morning in a diaper at the courthouse and pooped during his naptime (also in a diaper).

I do think he has an issue with semantics. Should you ask him if he needs to go pee-pee on the potty, he will shout at you, "No! I no need to sit on potty!!!" But if you ask him to "Potty train" he will go sit on the pot. I guess as a male he wants to be active about it. As if it is a sport or something.   He'll grab his crotch, run to the potty, and yell, "Henry potty training!  I potty training!!  Gotta potty train!"  The only time things got messy was when he wanted to empty the potty himself. Guess what was all over the floor. Pee-pee? And once again, splashing around in it in his crocs. Awesome. So we had to discuss that only Mommy and Daddy can empty the potty and if he tries it again he'll lose the potty treat.

He did wear underwear  all afternoon and evening and made it to the potty three times.  And sometimes he went sans clothing and that seemed to work.  He started to pee in the sunroom while coloring and he stopped and yelled "Potty training.  I need to potty train!" and then ran to the potty.  So tomorrow we will be naked potty trainers.  And by we, I simply mean Henry.  I plan on wearing clothes.  Because I'm already on the potty train (that's also why I get to eat M&M's anytime I want).   So if you plan on visiting tomorrow, you may want to call first...

He is Risen, Indeed

We tried teaching Henry to say He is risen, indeed to our "Christ is Risen!' But his response, instead, is "NOOO!!! Stop staying that!" Just proving again that he is not a circus monkey and does not perform on command.
Which is why there is not a cute video of him doing the resurrection eggs. We tried to do it, but he would not be his usual adorable attentive self. Rather, he simply kept pointing to the Flip Video and saying, "Can I see, Mommy?" We will try again tonight (as it is a bedtime ritual). All I will say is that the ritual ends with us singing "He is alive" and him dancing around the room. And then we have to sing the Thomas the Tank Engine song and then, by request, we also have to sing a Santa Song. Because you know, in Elizabethtown, the trinity is comprised of Jesus, Thomas, and Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.

Oh, and by the way, Potty training sucks. Just so you know.

We are in full-on training mode with Spring Break this week. We made it through our Neighborhood Egg Hunt this morning with no accidents and then came home and sat on the pot. He did not pee until we'd unsucessfully sat on the potty for 20 minutes and had gotten redressed in hiss Wall-E underpants and were playing with toys. He looked up at me and said, "I go pee pee on Fammy Room." Sure enough, he had. And then later he pooped on Wall-E. Which was so upsetting to him that he proceeded to stomp on the poo nuggets that fell out of his pants while I was changing him. It took every ounce of patience the Good Lord could supply me with to not yell at him. I kept reminded myself that potty accidents are not a punishable offence. We are day one in actually wearing underpants.

Hopefully he won't poop on himself when I have to take the kids with me to traffic court tomorrow. Henry is my expert witness. I know I stopped at that Stop sign because Henry was chanting "Top at top sign. S. T. O. P. Mommy stop at stop sign." Perhaps poopy pants would work in my favor...

Ready for the Egg Hunt