We aren't Dead

So, it's been three and half months since we brought Mollie and Charlie home.  I haven't written much because a) I am so very tired, b) um, I have four kids 6 and under so there is no time, c) I feel like so much of our life right  now is sacred and private and not my story to tell, and d) I spent a good bit of that time in a cave of post adoption depression afraid of myself of other people. 

So, you know, the usual.

I can say that it has been HARD.  Hard for all of the reasons listed above and also because my dear kids have experienced trauma and that's just difficult to wade through.  Heartbreaking really.  But redemption is always bloody, right?

All that said, I am blessed.  Beyond measure.  All 4 of my kids are hilarious.  And our life is bursting with so much life.  And life is always loud and messy and sticky and joyful.  I don't do anything half-assed.  So this integration of family has been approached with my whole ass.  And sometimes I fallen flat upon it. 

Never the less, if you wanted to buy me this shirt in a pink XXL, I'd love you forever...

So the looks of this blog are going to change.  I'm not quite sure how that is going to look just yet.  I've considered just disbanding it entirely, but I want to document some of our lives.  I'm thinking now it might just be pics and random conversations.  I can't do weighty blogs about transracial adoption or ethics  or attachment parenting or any of that other serious stuff that I spend a lot of time praying and chatting about because I just don't have the stomach to wade through that as well.  Plus, there are already people doing that well.  And I'd just be noise.  (If you don't read Kristen Howerton's blog Rage Against the Minivan, you should.  Like Jen Hatmaker, I like to pretend Kristen and I are besties because I follow her on facebook and we are in some transracial adoption groups together.  I'd love a complete new blog design, but that's not in the "let's get rid of the adoption debt and also have money to readopt the kids and get their citizenship" budget.  So we will just have to work with my playing with the layout button for a few minutes change.  Unless YOU want to make me a new pretty template.  :)

WINNER WINNER CHICKEN DINNER

Soooo trying to figure out the best way to collate all the likes & shares to figure out the winner of the Do Justice Tshirt made my brain ache. And I'm not entirely certain I was clear in my directions. So to simplify I gave everyone who liked the Blog 1 entry & then 1 additional entry for each share, like, and/or comment on the specific Tshirt post.

All in all there were 86 entries. I wrote them all out while watching the Season Finale of Suits. {Sidebar: USA, your seasons are too short. I don't care if Harvey is coming back this summer,I want him now. All the time. But thanks for bringing Dule Hill back next week.}

Then I popped over to the random number generator. Aaaaaaaand the winner is: SARAH BYRD! Friend, writer extraordinaire, former boss. Let me know your size & color preference and you get your Do Justice Tshirt for free!

For those of you who waited to order in hopes of winning, don't worry. We will still take your money. The first printing of the Tshirts have been ordered. We had around 60 pre-orders, but ordered more to fill incoming orders. And we can (and hope to need to) order more.

So shop away my friends! 100% of the proceeds go to helping us bring Charles & Mollie home.

FUNDRAISER FRIDAY--FREE TSHIRT GIVEAWAY!!

The mock ups for the Fundraising Tshirts are in!  You can pre-order yours NOW at our Adoption Fundraising Store at Big Cartel.

I drew out the verse Micah 6:8 in the shape of Africa, reminding us to "Do Justice, LOVE mercy & walk humbly."

For the adult T-shirts, the image is printed in white ink on SUPER SOFT T-shirts in charcoal, heather orange, and Carolina blue.

Available in adult sizes XS-XXL.  $20

For the children's T-shirts, the image is printed in white ink on heavyweight Tshirts in charcoal, Carolina blue, and (of course) pretty princess pink.

Available sizes XS-XL $17

We will be taking pre-orders for the next two weeks to underwrite the cost of printing them. You can pre-order at the Adoption Store linked above, as well as in the sidebar here.  You can also find it on the Elizabethtown Facebook page.

We are also hosting a GIVEAWAY.

To WIN A FREE Do Justice Tshirt, please "LIKE" Elizabethtown Blog then share this post on Facebook. Then comment below the post on Facebook.

For the last three people on the planet who aren't on Facebook, comment below and you can be entered in as well.  The winner will be chosen on February 22nd.  Like and share away!

Settled (lessons learned in 2012)

I’ve written this post a thousand times in my head.  So much that now it seems I really feel like I’ve already said it all even though I haven’t written a word.  But here’s the shorthand version of what I’ve learned in the past year or so.  The little tidbits God taught me about Himself, myself, adoption, and life in general.

Don’t Feed the Crazy.

I’ve said it before.  Crazy is like a gator on a golf course—feed it and it will hang around and eventually will bite you in the bum.  Ignore it and it’ll leave you alone and, perhaps, go away.  This advice holds true whether it’s your in-laws, some yahoo commenting on Facebook, or even that little voice in your head.  Just let other folks be crazy.  It’s not your job to make them sane or correct them.  Leave the room.  Block the feed.  Tell that voice to sell crazy somewhere else.  Life is short and you’ve got real stuff to deal with.

There’s Dr. Pepper in the Dr. Pepper Can

I have been known to lose my temper.  Because the kids don’t listen, because the seat was left up, because all I asked was for him to take out the recycling and it’s still on the back porch.  But guess what?  I’m angry because I have anger inside me.  I can’t be made angry.  It’s already there, bubbling under the surface.  And I have to own that and repent.  Then, and only then, am I able to quietly return to my daughter and ask her to try again to come when called, to remind Henry about bathroom etiquette, and calmly say, “Hey, I went ahead and took out the recycling but please try and get to it next time, thanks.”

And the same goes for other people.  It helps to ignore the crazy if you remember that it has nothing to do with you.  Or even the topic at hand.  Scripture describes it this way “Out of the overabundance of the heart, the mouth speaks.” (Matthew 12:34)  So when someone is angry with you, remember, it’s about them.  They’re just angry.  You don’t have to soothe them or fix it or convince them to calm down.  Generally, if you just listen and try to figure out exactly what it is that let the anger out, you can love them accordingly.  

And when dealing with a toddler’s anger, remember this sage parenting advice:  Don’t negotiate with terrorists. 

Less is less and that’s More

When we moved, we purged a lot.  A lot.  And after the move, we purged some more.  I seriously have no idea how we had so much stuff crammed into the old house when the new house is literally twice as big and still it was too much.  

And I’ve purged elsewhere.  I was just doing too much to be the kind of parent, wife, daughter, friend, and follower of Jesus I want to be.  Every time I say “no” I’m saying “yes” to that.  Though I feel as though I’m introverting a bit, it feels right.  It feels like home.  I have room to breathe.  My main ministry is to my growing family.  That is who I’m serving.  

I’m a Stay at home Mom, and that’s enough

Since I’m a missionary to my kids, I need to treat that with the same level of professionalism and respect that my working friends treat their jobs.  It has value and meaning, even if it only has benefits and no paycheck.  If I’m too busy doing other stuff, then I’m slacking on my job.  Yes, yes, I still facebook and Instagram like a madwoman, but that’s generally in the carpool line or while sitting in time out with one of my little terrorists.  

Patience doesn’t mean liking to wait and Impatience is a sign of mistrust

After the loss of the referrals of K & N, I felt at peace.  It was like I had been splashing about just trying to keep my head above water until then and then we just sunk.  We drowned into Jesus.  And we were fine.  More than fine.

So it has been easier to wait on our adoption journey.  Because of our agency’s unwillingness to participate in unethical practices in a country full of corruption, they won my trust.  I trust our case worker completely.  I know she will keep me in the loop.  I can rest knowing she is advocating for us and our family.  And I’m happy to report that not only is all of our paperwork is in the DRC and we have a court date at the end of January.  We are on track for hopefully traveling this summer to pick up our kids.  

But don’t confuse this with liking the wait.  I’m just trusting that it will happen when God deems it appropriate.  Because when Henry complains that I’m not bringing him a snack fast enough, all high pitched and whiny, it tells me he doesn’t believe it’s going to happen.  And in his case, I do sometimes forget.  But God does not forget me.  He is for me.  He is for my family.  Our names are written on his heart. 

I will say that I owe a lot of these lessons to our new house.  The flow of it just calms me. And the knowledge that we will never move again until it is time to pay someone to bathe us makes me happy. We’ve got a huge basement and a great yard, so to be clear, the kids are elsewhere a lot.  That makes my mothering a tad easier.  But they’re playing and jumping and running around like banchies til they fall asleep in their new Ikea beds.  We are beyond blessed.  Beyond.  Our cups runneth over.  More than enough for our two newest little loves. 

The Beautiful (and tricky) Incarnation

The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.

John 1:14

The incarnation.  

I don’t know if there has ever been a Christmas where the fact that God left heaven where there was no conflict or lost tempers or grudges harbored or disobedient children or expectations unmet or too many people under one roof or burnt bacon or gifts that don’t fit or nights of no sleep and came to this world that is all of those things and more has been so precious to me.  Can you imagine?  Would you ever leave a place where the people you were with were always complimentary and in perfect union with you?  Where there were entire fleets of angels worshiping you? And to leave this to go live with people who would kill you?

No thank you.

This Christmas was hard.  Not just because the brokenness of the world is so apparent, but because the brokenness of my heart is.  The stress of visiting both sets of family over the weekend returned back to Richmond with Sloan and me. And we, well, we were less than our best selves today.  Tempers were lost.  Tears were shed.  Feet were stomped.

Happy birthday Jesus, sorry your party was so lame.

As we left my sister’s house this afternoon from Christmas dinner, Sloan and I reconciled to one another and laughing, I started crying.  Not because my feelings had been hurt or my expectations unmet, but because I was overwhelmed with what Christmas really is about.

Incarnation.  Willingly entering into vulnerability and conflict for the love of another.  For the sake of another.  Bearing with and for another.  It's beautiful and tricky at the same time.

It is only fitting that we get stressed out about visiting family and it sometimes gets ugly.  That’s incarnation.  That’s what Christmas is.  It’s about a young girl, 9 months pregnant, having to go to her in-laws and there not being enough room so they stick her and her husband in a barn to have her baby.  (Can you imagine that conversation?  It was a census.  It’s not like Joseph’s kin didn’t know they were coming.  And convention would’ve had them staying with family, not looking for a Motel 6 like we often think.  But they were stuck in a barn.) It was into this smelly family quagmire that Jesus came.  God put on flesh.  Flesh that can hurt and bleed.  He chose to enter into conflict so that we could be re­conciled to Him and to one another.  He dwelt among us so that we could see and partake in His glory, grace, and truth.

In the dark, Henry remarked, “Daddy, Mommy is crying.  Again.” 

I said, “Henry, I’m crying because sometimes Daddy and I fight and I get my feelings hurt and I say mean things, but Jesus still came for me.  As a baby born on Christmas, he entered this difficult world so that Daddy and I could say we are sorry and forgive one another and really, really mean it.  Even though we are still sad a bit and hurting.  But we know that Jesus loves us and forgave us and forgives us still.  That is why we celebrate Christmas.  Because God is with us.”

And in typical 5 year old fashion, my darling son said, “Yeah, yeah. Merry Christmas, Happy Birthday Jesus.  Is Santa going to come again tonight?  Because I REALLY want to get some more Skylander guys.”

Oh, come, our Dayspring from on high,
And cheer us by your drawing nigh,
Disperse the gloomy clouds of night,
And death's dark shadows put to flight.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to you, O Israel!

Oh, come, Desire of nations, bind
In one the hearts of all mankind;
Oh, bid our sad divisions cease,
And be yourself our King of Peace.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to you, O Israel!

Good things are coming...

So you were probably expecting this to be a post about how we only have two more nights in this house.  How Henry helped me pack up all his Thomas trains and tracks and said, "I guess this is really real because where my trains go, I'm going too.  Two more nights and then I get my new room!" 

But the post about the new house will have to wait. 

Why?

What could be more exciting than the new house?

This.  That's two signed and sealed referral acceptance letters.  That's right.  We've got kids! 

(And sorry if these descriptions are kinda cryptic.  I don't want to divulge too much identifying information on the interwebs that could possibly interfere with our adoption.) Our children are biological siblings from a town whose primary language is Swahili.  And because God likes to mock me with His sovereignty, the city where they are from was called Elizabethville under Dutch rule.  And we got the referral the day after we closed on the new house.  You know, when we actually had room for 4 kids.  One year to the day from when we learned that Grace had two younger birth siblings and we first thought that perhaps we'd be a family of 6 one day. 

Classic Jesus showing me what's up.  I get it.  I get it.  You've got this.  I'll just hold the tail while You skin this cat.

Our son, C, is a few months younger than Gracie.  Our daughter, A, turned 1 over the summer.  It is our fervent hope to have the kids home prior to her 2nd birthday.  From this point, the average time frame is typically 6-9 months.

We haven't yet decided 100% on what we plan to name our children.  With K and N, we planned to bump their African names to their middle names and give them family first names.  We had planned to call K an American nickname for his African name.  But our children's names given to them by their African birth mother are not your typical African names.  They are French and the family names we had picked out just don't seem to fit them.  We think we've settled on their names, but we aren't sure.  So we are going to hold those close to the vest for a little while.  So as for now, we are simply calling them their given names.  But Gracie calls her little sister something completely different.  She can say her sister's actual name, but prefers a nickname she has given her.

She is acting like a big sister already.  Bossy and planning to not share her toys. 

But we did get to send in packages for them to get at Christmas.  

For A. 

For C. 



Next month, we hope to send them shoes, but we don't know their actual shoe sizes, so I think we will try to get them some Crocs.  In order to insure that the packages make it through customs, it is best if we send them gently used items. Thankfully, I have friends who have kids roughly the same age as my youngest children. 


We are over the moon. 

Take two Leapsters and call me in the morning

I spent most of the night up with Henry (yeah for finally getting the whole puke in the toilet scenario!).  Thankfully, he awoke feeling fine.  No more sore throat or hurt tummy.  He even whined when I told him that we couldn't go to the gym.  (I thought about it, because I love my two hours of me time--if it takes lifting weights and sweating on an elliptical to get it, so be it--but I would be ticked if someone else brought their kid to the gym 5 hours post-puke, so I declined.)  I could tell that Henry still wasn't 100% because his appetite was shotty and he wanted to spend all day in his robe.  And headband.

 

Because he takes getting well seriously.

I used the day as a bit of a loll day.  I may or may not still be in the Tshirt and jammies I put on yesterday.  We watched a lot of Olympics, played some Lego Star Wars on the Wii, and Leapsters and Leappads were out.  A lot.  

I used this "let media parent your kids while they are sick without guilt" day to get a lot of stuff done for the adoption.  And by a lot, I mean I talked to several case workers in various time zones. I joined Yahoo Groups.  I scanned docs, prepped letters for FedEx, and sent emails.  I would say the next big turn in our adoption journey would be sending off our dossier to the Congo.  And y'all, I'm about to turn on my blinker.  I expect to be able to get the rest of our documents authenticated by the end of the week.  Which means I'll be scanning and emailing and fedexing stuff next week.  You know, for translation.  

I am SO ready to just be waiting.  During Grace's adoption, I thought the paperwork was easy and the waiting was hard.  But it taught me that God is really driving this thing and He is more than trustworthy.  I am SO ready to have it in His hands.  To stop the juggling of redwells and secretaries of states.  I am ready to know there is nothing left to do but trust.  No more papers or notaries or scans.  Just trust.  

But the blinker is on.  The blinker IS ON.

The one where a chupacabra ate my ceiling

On Saturday, the kids’ toilet was clogged.  I plunged.  Sloan plunged.  We poured a kettle’s worth of boiling water down it.  We snaked.  We wire coat hangered.  We (gasp) put on big gloves and inserted hands.  (Let us never speak of this again.)  All to no avail.  

On Sunday, we tried again.  And then Henry confessed that he had flushed a plastic Dixie cup down the toilet.  

Upon googling and facebooking about what we could to rectify the Great Dixie Cup Incident of 2012 (heretofore referred to as the DCI), knowing there was no way I was going to purchase large animal vet gloves or  do anything requiring pliers or actually lifting the toilet, I knew I was going to call the plumber on Monday morning.  

Oh, and did I mention that Sloan left for a business trip Sunday afternoon?  Yeah.  Awesome.

Oh, and did I also mention that Sunday night I saw a little black mouse dart across my family room floor while I was watching the Bachelorette’s hometown dates on Hulu?  Seeing as our last mouse was David Schwimmer, I decided to name this one Matt LeBlanc.  Except since he was black, I decided Matt LeNoir was more appropriate.  Sloan told me this was ridiculous and possibly racist.  I told him that when he was home he could name the mice whatever he damn well pleased, but since he was in Raleigh going to see Roger Waters with a client that he could just suck it.  The mouse is named Matt LeNoir.

Let it also be known that during this time I was finishing up Jenny Lawson’s memoir Let’s Pretend This Never Happened.  And in her book she has hundreds of scorpions in her wall and I think a demon goat.  So of course, I was pretty damn sure that our house was built on Native American burial grounds and our house was attacking us, avenging the long ago murder of a squirrel chieftain.  Every noise I heard, I was certain it was a chupacabra.  Yes, yes, I didn’t even know what a chupacabra was until I read this (because I’m not insane from Texas).

This did not help me sleep Sunday night.  

Monday morning, I was fearful of running into a goat sucker in the kitchen but was met with something actually more frightening, a wet floor and a sagging ceiling.  

It was unavoidable; I was going to have to call the plumber.  And the exterminator.

The plumber came quickly and fixed the toilet (in ten minutes) and replaced about ten things in our toilet.  I didn’t even know our toilet had ten things in it, and that’s counting the stupid Dixie cup (which has yet to be located, by the way).  He also drained the ceiling.  (Since the Tupperware cereal container I had placed under the drip was now full.  FULL.)

Monday afternoon, the handyman came to look at the ceiling and we made plans for him to come this afternoon.  Monday evening, however, when I went to straighten up the kids’ bathroom, I discovered a huge puddle of standing water in the base of the kids’ vanity.  You know where I usually store all the toilet paper and paper towels I buy at Costco?  Throwing away 24 rolls of waterlogged toilet paper and five rolls of paper towels was beyond gross.

I sent this picture to my handyman who is also a plumber.

And when he came to set to work on the ceiling this afternoon, it was discovered that it was not dry yet.  In fact, as he set to pull some of it down, it sagged off and even more water rolled out into our kitchen floor.  

So now the hole looks like this.  

Awesome.  That smaller hole in the back?  That's where our pot holder chandelier used to hang.  And to answer your next question, yes.  We did go out for pizza for dinner.  It was $7 pizza night at Angelo’s. 

With 6 you get eggroll...

Sometimes I like to pretend my life has a soundtrack.  Before I had an Iphone, this was aided by my cell’s ringtone of Toto’s Africa.You can’t have a bad day singing, “Duh duh duh duh duh duh duh duh…I hear the drums echoing tonight…”

I think right now, the soundtrack would be The Cars’ You Might Think I’m Crazy.  

You see, Sloan and I are adopting from the Congo.  Which is a pretty dangerous place to go.  It is, in fact, the poorest nation in the world.  It is the most dangerous place in the world to be female.  There are roughly 5 million orphans.  515 out of every 1,000 children born in the DRC will not make it to age 5 due to malaria, malnutrition, parasites, or HIV.   And after that, life expectancy tops out at 42.  We have close friends adopting from there, an acquaintance who has just returned from there, so it seemed a natural fit for us.  

But the more we researched and subsequently fell in love with the Congo by watching the Congolese symphony and reading about other folks’ adoption journeys, we both knew in our hearts that there was no way we could go into the Congo and bring home only one child.  We always felt that after this adoption there would be another, so we are prayerfully hoping that we can be a family of six sooner rather than later.  A boy AND a girl, preferably a sibling group ranging in ages 0-4.  

People’s responses have varied from the excited to the quizzical.  Someone responded, “Wow, four under the age of 5.  You must be very patient.  Are you a patient mother?”  

I had visions of me snapping at Henry because it took him (no lie) 35 minutes to get dressed in the morning or how most days Gracie has lost all stuffed animal privileges because the child can't seem to keep her hands to herself.  So I responded,  “Well, not particularly.  But I’m guessing that an impatient mommy beats no mommy.”

Then I’ve also been told about how hard it will be.  As in eyes getting wide and saying “Oh, wow.  Are you sure, sweetheart?  They will be African.  Will you even know how to do her hair?”

Ahem.

It is only by the grace of God I haven’t stabbed anybody in the eye with a fork.  I consider that a sign that I’m really patient.  Also, I have a toddler in my house right now who is making me well aware that adding another toddler and an infant to the mix will be difficult.  The depth of the pool that we are jumping into has crossed our minds more than once.  

The truth is, the folks who REALLY know our hearts aren’t surprised by this in the least.  Didn’t Henry say all those months ago that he needed a brother and a sister?  So while we are a bit afraid of the noise and chaos it will bring, we are eagerly looking forward to seeing God show up in our lives.  While we have very little to give, we know that in Jesus’ hands, our meager abilities will be enough for a multitude.  We will be a LOUD party of 6, but Jesus will be our hope and salvation.

You might think I’m crazy.  And you might be right.   But we are choosing to rock out to a little Rihanna because we've found love in a hopeless place.  For if God can defeat death, I’m fairly certain He can make our crazy gloriously beautiful.