Da Beach

Sooo....we went to the beach last week.  For the first time ever, we didn't take a billion pictures.  We simply relaxed.  And played games.  And had mad dance parties.  And read books. And dug holes.  And ate popsicles.  And went fishing.  And held butterflies on our fingers.  And even ate some crab legs.  

Fishing with Daddy with his new fishing rod.  

Henry's excitement about fishing even meant he ordered fish at every restaurant.  

In the butterfly house at Brookgreen Gardens.  Be thankful I'm not posting the pic I took of the four inch long mating grasshoppers.  They were very Egyptian.

While Gracie loves the beach and sand, she is not a fan of the ocean.  Or how it kept coming towards her when all she was trying to do was get Bruddah.

Oh how my boy loves his Daddy.  And believe me, the feeling is mutual.

Naptime on the beach. 

Oh, how I love to feel the sand between my toes.  How long is it until Spring Break?

Beach Vacay (and the pictures that prove it)

 

Alligator Adventure should also be called Tortoise Adventure. 

Mom, wait!  I gotta check da map to say where we go!

 Gracie enjoys the show at Alligator Adventure, but wasn't too sure about touching the snakes or gator.

 

The first of MANY spongebob popsicles.  

Seriously, we probably spent $50 on popsicles over the course of the week.  Next trip, I'm buying a case of them and taking them with us.  Geesh!

Do I have something on my nose, Mom?

Seriously, Mom?  This is the lamest photo op ever!  Hurry up and take the picture.

This is just before Henry pressed the emergency stop button on the moving sidewalk.  Hey Ripley's, how about not making them bright red and putting them right at a preschooler's eye level?  

Hi.  I'm Henry.  It says so on my shirt.  I know I look 15, but I'm only 4.

 All that.  And a bag of chips.

Are you kidding me?

Cutest. Baby. Ever.

In lieu of afternoon naps, we just gave her lots of Oreos.

Poor Henry fell off the golf cart, rolling into the middle of a traffic circle.  Thankfully, he was fine.  His whole face looked dirty by the afternoon, but it was just bruising.  And he also bruised up his knees, hip, and father's spirit.  But two bowls of Chocolate Blue Bell ice cream and he was right as rain.

Not today, world. Not today

Last week was a dream.  We spent it at the beach.  Sleeping in.  Playing in the sand, drifting in the lazy river, eating popsicles, walking on the boardwalk.  Seeing far too many tattoos.  I'll be sure to post the pics.  Short of a near death experience where Henry fell off the moving golf court and bloodying his chin, and bruising his face and hip, it was as all vacations should be--joyful.  Perhaps even more so because of Henry's fall, each cuddle, laugh, and embrace was cherished.  The week even ended with a surprise day of fun with my sorority sister Janell's family.

But today, augh, today.  Henry was in vacation detox.  No amount of fun at "Caribbean Vacation" camp at the gym could contain it.  And I was in no shape to re-enter the reality of bills, laundry, an IRS audit (because they're auditing everyone who applied for an adoption tax credit this year--awesome), whiny kids, and a husband who travels for work.  Augh.

I promise I'll post pics of the beach trip when just thinking about trying to find the camera doesn't make me want to cry.  I think the only thing I did right today was put on my socks.  Which beats my yesterday, where I wore my dress to church inside out. 

Life:1. Elizabeth: 0.

Old friends are the best friends

This past weekend was girls weekend for me and eight of my sorority sisters from college.  We all lived in the house our senior year and became life long friends.  Approximately once a year since we graduated we have gotten together--for weddings, baby showers, opportunities to see the Sex and the City movies, but this was the first time we ever had a "destination" girls weekend.  Which means, basically, this is the first time that husbands and kids have been left behind completely. 

Now let me say that those of us who are married with kids love our families.  And our husbands all get along famously and have mancrushes on one another.  And our kids get along.  It's just when we all get together with our husbands and our kids, it is loud.  And not so welcoming to the girls who don't have husbands and instant birth control for those without kids.  9 kids under the age of 5 is really freakin' loud.  Particularly when they are mainly girls.  And, as I've noted before, little girls when they get together click clack around in plastic princess high heels and shriek. 
So when C suggested a destination weekend, we all jumped at the chance.  I offered up my parents' 2 beach condos in Litchfield, SC and all but two of the group signed on for the weekend.  At first, I was a little sad to be leaving my crew.  I'm not one of those women who jumps at the chance to get away with the girls.  Sloan is my best friend.  I like him better than anyone else on the planet by a long shot.  (No offense, friends.)

But....there's just something different about a weekend with the girls with no husbands and no kids.  Skinny girl margaritas can flow in the afternoon.  You can watch the royal wedding in its entirety.  You can totally make fun of that hat Posh Spice wore on her forehead with the same girls you used to shake your groove thing with in Cancun to the Spice Girls' "If You Wanna Be My Lover."  A zigga zigga aaaahhhh.  You can loll about in your pjs, eat cheetos for lunch, and just chat and drink and eat.  And laugh until you pee in your pants.  More than once.  We had two pregnant girls with us, so there really was no hope for them.

In some ways, it was just like old times--we packed up a cooler and headed for the beach.  Just this time, we filled the cooler with fruit and bottled water and dug holes for the pregnant ladies bellies rather than to hold our beers.  We hit a great resteraunt for happy hour, appetizers, and dinner.  We just arrived at 4:45 and the waitress asked us if we were wanting to order lunch.  (Um, no.  We're just wired to have lunch at 11:30 so dinner HAS to come around 5:30).  And of course, there was a raging after dinner party.  It just ended around 11. 

Laughing until you snort and pee is just good for the soul.  It reminds you that you are fun.  That you don't always have to eat your vegetables.  That 3pm isn't too early for a peach daiquiri with fresh slices of strawberries stirred in.  That you have another name besides Mommy.  And that old friends are just the best.  The remember when you ran down North street naked and love you anyways.  They knew you when you were your skinniest and think you are more lovely now. 

Life's a Beach (Part I)

I took over 200 pictures last week at the beach.  Not including the ones I took on my phone or the various videos of Gracie and Isabel breaking it down to Stevie Wonder.  (Sidebar:  Henry has recently fallen in love with "Stevie Thunder".  "Superstition" is HIS song and "Isn't She Lovely" is Gracie's song.) 

One of my favorite photos: the boys looking up at their kites.

Jonathan and Isabel enjoy the horseshoe crabs at the Aquarium.

DUUUUDE, the Jellies.

Riding the caterpillar.  One part scared to death, two parts exhilaration for the three year olds in with Sloan.

Riding the carousel with Henry and Isabel.

More to come...

I'm not dead (or Gilligan's Island Three hour tour Road trip)...

I've just been on vacation.  And reprioritizing my time (as in enjoying my last weeks of playtime with Henry before school starts). 

But the following will begin my recap of my most recent vacation...I wrote it en route to the beach. 
************************************************************************************

Still full from the previous night’s 6th Anniversary dinner extraordinaire—Fried Green Tomato Beignets, Filet Mignon wrapped in Applewood smoked bacon, Grilled asparagus, and Bananas Foster, and oh, yeah, a bottle of Veauve Cliquot—this morning began wonderfully. I awoke super excited about the summer’s last hurrah—our family vacation to Litchfield. Weren’t we just at the beach, you ask? Yes. But it was a last minute vacay planned with the in-laws and so Sloan had to work the week and was gone on business for three days of it. And let’s just say it’s not really a vacation if you can’t burp in front of your fellow vacationers. (I did not blog about that trip in order to protect the guilty, err, me.) And to add to the excitement (or insanity, depending upon how you look at it), we invited 2 of my sister’s kids to join in on the fun. That’s right, we intentionally added a seven year old and another 3 year to the mix. It is either pure genius or pure lunacy…I’ll let you know in a week.


I’ve spent the last week rewashing all our bathing suits and beach towels, packing snacks, making lists and checking them twice. Seriously. Lots of lists. On post-it notes. Typed and printed. On the backs of napkins and receipts as I thought of things. We’ve got snacks, games, sticker books, toys, stuffed animals, loveys, blankets, a mattress (for the pack and play), bottles, candy, formula, baby food, pull-ups, diapers, no less than 15 trains, sand toys, pillows, and sunscreen. I even packed it neatly so that it all fit into our car with the third row in without interfering with looking out the back window.

My sister arrived with Jonathan and Isabel around 8:45. Our goal was to leave around 9 so that we’d arrive at the beach around 3. Plenty of time to hit the grocery store, unpack, and still get to the pool and lazy river. As we were putting in the kids booster seats, we learned that 2 full back boosters and one backless booster seat do not fit into the third row of a Suburban. We needed to have all three of the big kids in the back row so that we could fold down one of the captain’s chairs for stuff. And for optimal movie viewing. So Sonya and I dashed off to the Target around the corner to get Isabel a backless booster, seeing as she’ll be 4 years old in two weeks anyhow. That’s cool, officer, right? But even with the backless booster, it still takes an act of God and Congress to get all three seats in and buckled. Which makes potty stops a bear. It literally takes fifteen minutes just to wedge the three kids in the back. We will be doing some rearranging once we get to beach. Anywho….

We were finally wheels up around 9:45. No biggie, still time to have a poolside picnic dinner. We decided we’d have lunch in Rocky Mount, NC around 11:45 or so.

Well, you know what they say, right…The best laid plans of mice and men and all that jazz…

We’re barreling down I-95, making pretty good time, the kids are watching Mary Poppins (which my niece Isabel knows all the words to every song, or at least the phonetic corresponding sounds to all the songs…BONUS). Sloan and I are talking about how wonderful the past 6 years have been (because it IS our anniversary), what we want to get at the grocery store, when Sloan suddenly asks, “Hey, did you get the keys?”

“What keys?” I ask.

“The keys to the beach house.”

Oh. My. Gosh.

“Mother Effer!!!!! Are you kidding me? I remembered to pack seven different types of chips and I didn’t pack the damn keys?”

“You really didn’t grab them?”

“No. I really didn’t grab them. Did you?”

“No. I thought about asking about them this morning but got sidetracked by a poopy diaper.”

I am pretty sure by this time my blood pressure was lethal. And the worst of it was that I had no one to blame but myself. And by this time, we’d just crossed into North Carolina. “We’ve got to go back. We’ll need the keys to the owner’s closets and the golf cart.”

We pulled into the nearest rest stop, took the kids in to go to the bathroom, and then struggled to get them strapped back in (a stop that took no less than an additional twenty minutes). I may or may not have told my child to stop whining about having to hold my hand as we crossed the street or I was really going to give him something to whine about. I may or may not have told my son that I just didn’t have the patience to deal with him wanting a juice box because I was the stupidest flipping person on the planet and causing us to have to drive three (really four) hours out of our way. I may or may not have told all three of the children that the week was probably going to be horrible as I had planned it and I am an idiot.

Sloan told me to go sit down as the giant cross on my back was making it difficult to strap the kids in.

So we turned around and headed back home. As we’re driving back to Richmond, the kids start with the how long is it going to be until we get there junk. And at this point, we literally aren’t even going in the direction of the beach. I thought I was going to lose it. Sloan claims that by this point I’d already lost it. Fortunately, Jonathan had an answer to this—“Isabel, don’t ask that. When you start seeing palm trees, then you’ll know we’re near the beach.” Sweet Jon-o-fun.

As we drove home, I stewed in my self-disappointment. Sloan seemed unphased, which honestly, pissed me off. I told him, “I don’t want you to be compassionate. I screwed up. Big time. I want you to be mad at me. I remembered to pack four books for myself, but couldn’t remember to grab the daggone keys.”

“For one, we both forgot the keys. Two, would my being mad at you help? I think you’re mad enough for the both of us. And I don’t think taking it out on the kids is helping the situation, either.”

“Don’t start on me for taking it out on the kids. Does it help you to take it out on us when you have a bad day at work?” I snapped back. Because it is much easier to point out someone else’s flaws instead of dealing with my own.

“Honey, it’s fine. We’re in no rush. We’ll get the keys. We’ll go through some drive thrus. It’ll all get done. Besides, didn’t you say that we forgot to grab Henry’s night-light?”

“Screw the night lights. I made all those dang lists and not once did I write down “Pack keys.” Packing the keys didn’t cross my mind once. What the heck is my problem? I’ve single handedly ruined the first day of our vacation. AND I’m going to have to go the grocery store by myself tonight once the kids are in bed.”

“Well,” Sloan said, “it is going to be difficult to push the cart while simultaneously flogging you. But that seems to be an adequate punishment.”

And this, my friends, is why I married him six years ago. He was able to a) point out my sin in a way that didn’t crush me, and b) make me laugh. Not many people can do this. Sure. I made a mistake. Because I am human. But what really was chapping my hide was the fact that God was serving me a heaping piece of humble pie. But having Sloan for a husband at least made the humble pie a la mode.

It was one o’clock when we pulled back into our driveway. We hit the McDonald’s drive thru on the way back and I climbed back in the back to give Gracie some food and a bottle. The children had already watched the entire movie Mary Poppins before we even left Richmond the second time. We made the kids stay in the car as we did the mad dash for the keys and night-lights.

The entire trip back, I said things like “oh look, there’s the rest stop we peed at when we’d first noticed I’m incompetent,” or “Hmmm, it is the second time today we’ve crossed into North Carolina at precisely the time the Magellan said we’d be getting to the beach the first time around,” or, when passing South of the Border, “Pedro sez who leaves for vacation and forgets the keys.”

The good news of the situation is that McDonald’s has pretty good happy meal toys—Marvel comic figurines for boys and Madame Alexander dolls for girls. And did you know you can buy extra toys for a dollar so your 3 year old girl doesn’t have to share her Dolly with your 10 month old who really only wants to gnaw on it?

So a 6 hour car trip with four kids turned into a ten hour car trip with five kids (I’m including myself in this count). Sloan would probably say that having him be the responsible adult in any situation is problematic, but this time it worked. In total, the kids watched Mary Poppins, Space Chimps, The Princess and the Frog, and G-Force. I rode shotgun in a pool of self-loathing pity typing furiously on my laptop.

It took all of Sunday for me to relax about what a boob I was for forgetting the keys. I probably won’t ever forget them again.

Next time, I’ll probably forget to pack my underwear.

Figure Eight

At the beach with the in-laws.

Six adults.  Five children--Violet (9), Bo (7), Gigi (3), Henry (3), Gracie (10 months).  12 bottles of wine. 3 lap tops.  1 Ipad.  4 Ipods.  1 Kindle.  Too many bags of chips, cheetos, Doritos, Cheez-its, popcorn, pretzels to count.  It's a bit like Costco threw up here.  3 Ginormo holes dug in the sand courtesy of Uncle Marshall.  1 time Sloan forgot to put a swim diaper on Gracie and she pooped in her swimsuit. 

Good times. 

The best part?  I haven't worn shoes all day.  And tomorrow's not looking good for shoes either.

Long Overdue Beach Pics

Riding the cart into the hotel in Smithfield. 

(Yes, I know that's a lot of stuff for only one night.  Shut up.)

Just chillaxin' in the stroller at Alligator Adventure.

Henry has no fear of the alligator.  (Notice he is carrying the map.  He tried to 'diwect da tour'.)

Gracie did not care that her passie got sandy.  Probably because she is working on four teeth.

Dr. Phillips makes a house call. And he only made her gag once while taking her temperature.

At Broadway at the Beach.

I'm blowing this picture up poster size and putting it in his transportation themed bedroom.

In the Butterfly house at Brookgreen Gardens. 

The one butterfly he didn't try to fist bump or give a high five to.

How do you get a three year old do sit back in the stroller?

Walk him around a sculpture garden, zoo, and butterfly house for 6 hours.

We finally figured out the reason behind our mothers telling us the "You'll drown if you swim right after you eat" rule:  Mom wanted to catch up on her reading.  Solution?  Books for everyone!

Chub love.

People are Strange...

We are on our way back home from the beach.  Despite the fact I'll be sleeping in my own bed tonight and expect my new Droid to be waiting for me, I am a bit sad.  It was nice having nothing to do but be together.  Over the course of the week, Gracie went from wobbling while sitting up to being able to sit up unasisted for entire afternoons.  (Sand is a big help.  So is hour upon hour of tummy time while on the beach.)  She has also begun the backwards scoots and up on all fours gyrating that is a precursor to crawling.  Sloan is trying to show her how to crawl while I am encouraging her to be immobile for as long as possible.  

But, the last bit of beach quotes come mainly from other people, or our reactions to other people.

Overheard while I was standing in line at the Red Box Movie Rental at the Piggly Wiggly (which Henry calls the Pig 'Tore.)  It should be noted that I had to bite my bottom lip and cross my legs in order to refrain from laughing and peeing in my pants.

Woman 1:  Oh my gosh, do they have "Dear John" in?  I just can't wait to watch it. 
Woman 2:  I'm not sure.  Have you seen "The Last Song"?  I just loved it.
Woman 1:  The only thing better than Nicholas Sparks movies are Nicholas Sparks books.  Don't you agree?
Woman 2:  I think Nicholas Sparks is the greatest novelist of the 20th century.

At this I could not contain myself.  I laughed in their faces and tried to disguise it as a cough.  I really wanted to say "You've GOT to be kidding me.  You mean to say Nicholas Sparks is a better writer than Hemingway?  Fitzgerald?  Lee?  I'd even accept Theodor Geitzel.  Heck, I'd even give you John Grisham before Nicholas Sparks."  I find it as a mark of maturity that I said nothing.

*********

Yesterday, at the beach.  I've titled this section "I hold this truth to be self-evident".

Elizabeth:  I just think that if you are over 60, overweight, and have a  hairy stomach with a clearly marked happy trail, you should not wear a bikini.
Sloan:  So you're saying it is okay for me to wear a bikini now since I'm still in my thirties?

Foot problems...

At Maverick Seaside Kithen, in the Pawley's Island Hammock Shops.

Henry: I can't go on the playground; my feet fell off. 
Me:  What?
Henry:  My feet fell off.  Dey on da fwoor.
Sloan:  What?  You just got bloody stumps down there?
Henry (with a puzzled look on his face):  No.  Dey just fall off.  Can you help Henwe put Henwe's feet back on?
Me:  (Looking under the table):  He means his Crocs fell off. 
Henry:  Das what I said!  My cwocs fell off!

My Funny Boys

Yesterday we went to Brookgreen Gardens.  Part botanical sculpture gardens, part zoo, part park.  And great source of entertainment.

Sloan:  One of the great things about having two kids in diapers is that you can rip one in public and just blame it on the kids.

In the butterfly house:
Henry:  I wanna give da butterfly a fist bump. (Which he did.  Right in front of the lady who told us not to touch the butterflies.)

In the aviary:
Sloan:  This place is scary as hell.  It's dark.  We're in a swamp.  In a cage with a bunch of big birds.  Did you see Jurassic Park 3?  It happened in a place like this.

Seeing a fox in the tree:
Henry: Would you eat it in a box?  Would you eat it with a fox?  I do not like dem Sam I am. 

(And just as a side note, foxes really smell.)

And it is quite possible that Henry is ruining Gracie for my future son-in-law.  No less than 30 times during breakfast this morning he told Gracie, "Gwacie I wuv you."  Sometimes he even is quite militant about it.  "Gracie!  I wuv you.  Do you hear me?  I wuv you!"

B.O. and the Time Bandit (Yesterday's Quotes)

Two Quotes. 

And just the general statement that in a public place we took our son's shirt off so he could have a Fudgecicle.  Which is just about the only icecream in those ice cream stands that does not contain Red40.  Oh well, when in Myrtle Beach, do as the Myrtle Beachians do and all that jazz.

Quote 1.
Getting out of the car--finally at the beach.
Sloan:  Dear Lord, do you smell that?  What is that smell?  It's horrible.  Oh my gosh, I think it's me.  Smell me.  Smell my stomach.  I haven't smelled this bad since playing sports in high school.  Smell me; it's bad.  (Lifting his shirt)  Smell my stomach.  Smell my stomach!!!  Dammit woman, smell my stomach!

Quote 2.
While eating Alaskan Snow Crab legs for dinner.
Elizabeth:  I like to think Andy Hillstrand has touched what I'm putting in my mouth.

Automatic Out of Office Reply

It's official!

We are on vacation.  We were so ready that we left town and are staying in a hotel in the booming metropolis of Smithfield, NC.  Henry is bouncing and  not sleeping on his "magic" bed (aka pull out couch) and Gracie's bed is in the bathroom.  Although she is rolling about on the bed next to me.

We are going to be at the beach a week.  A year ago, while on this very vacation, we learned we were not pregnant with Q and Tenderoni and began the journey of adoption.  As I type this, Henry has left the magic bad and is giggling and cooing with Gracie.  He just wrapped his arms around her shoulders (which makes her crinkle her nose) and said, "Gwacie I wuv you and you tink I am da bees knees."  Other then the sudden onset of fear that I'll be getting no sleep tonight because of the 2 crumb snatchers whose Daddy has invited them to sleep with us, this is pure bliss.

Also, instead of posting, I will attempt to simply select one quote of the day.

Today's quote was during a rousing game of hotel hide and seek.  Sloan was hiding under the covers of the king size bed.  Henry was counting to ten.

Sloan (laughing, from under the covers):  I'm pretty sure this is going to end with my balls getting stepped on.

beach grab bag and making new friends

So we're here at the beach. I love the fact that our days are so simple: breakfast, pack the cooler, go to beach for 5 or so hours, Henry takes the nap while Mommy and Daddy read or watch Bravo, go to pool, dinner, golf cart ride, then Mommy and Daddy watch a video from the red box from the Piggly Wiggly. Rinse. Repeat. (I am on my third book of the week, so yeah, I'm in heaven...)

Henry loves the beach. He also loves riding the golf cart. He sits between Sloan and me and slaps the steering wheel saying, "Beep Beep, aw, Toot, toot." Sloan is less than enthusiastic that I taught him this song. Oh well. He'll just have to wait until Football season is in full swing and I teach him Rocky Top. (Oh, btw, GOOOOOO GAMECOCKS!)

Henry has also developed the nastiest diaper rash. It even goes down his thighs. And yet, this does not seem to phase him or deter him from digging holes and then sitting in them, only to cover himself up. When we get home, he'll be going commando for a bit, but as for now, we're simply lubing him up with Lotrimin and Destitin.

Henry has also made a friend at the beach. A little boy who is three days younger than him--Gabe. Gabe is from the DC area and we've enjoyed collectively parenting the two boys, which basically has amounted to me and Gabe's mom (who is 6 months pregnant) sitting and chatting and the two dads running after the boys.

Henry's friendship with Gabe has me longing for the days when all you had to was walk up to someone and laugh and they'd hand you a shovel and then the two of you could just play for hours at a time. No games. No sucking in. No matter that your skin is different colors. And your only fights are over a dumptruck. (Thank goodness we brought H's dumptruck to the beach as well so we don't have to force them to share too much.) They shared snacks, toys, Dads, and beach chairs. It was truly one of those rare moments in life where you sit back and reflect this is what is all about.

This friendship of Henry's has been a blessing for me as well. I don't like meeting new people. I pretty much assume that if I don't know you, there is good reason for that. Mainly, it is that I don't do small talk. And that can intimidate people. But what a blessing that Gabe's Mom is actually an adoption case worker. So we got to talk adoption and pregnancy and nesting. I shared with her tips for transitioning to a big boy bed (as if I'm some sort of expert!) and she told me all about the kid friendly museums in DC. She also didn't look at me as though I was crazy when I shared with her my ideas for the nursery or regale me with her thoughts of me being noble because of adoption. We were just 2 women chatting about getting ready for our second child.

I am sad that we leave on Saturday, but thankful that Monday is also a holiday and so we'll have time to readjust to home before really having to enter the real world.

Oh and also, it should be noted that I am now sporting a rockin' tan. Seriously. And Sloan's Chaco "Z-tan" may just be the coolest thing I've ever seen.

Faith like a wooden roller coaster

I like it when life gets wrapped up for you in a neat little package with a neat little bow.

Or, rather, I assume I would like that. I've never actually experienced that tender tidy time.

That being said, as I try to figure out what I'm going to wear tomorrow for my last Bethany interview, I realize that God has given me bookends. To the beginning of our adoption process. Nice beachy bookends. When our case worker comes to our house (which is ridiculously clean, organized, and fire-retardant), the car will be packed and after the home visit we will leave for vacation. Friday, our 5 year anniversary, will be spent in Greensboro (where everyone who is anyone goes on anniversary trips--or at least those who want to drop their kids off at Gigi and Papa's and then spend the night at the O. Henry Hotel), and then Saturday we will head to the beach. The beach where we first heard God's call to adoption.

I was speaking today with someone about our adoption process. She remarked that she thinks it is noble and so good for us to provide a home to a child in need. But I don't really think this is what adoption is about. Or at least not for us. Yes, I am excited about having a new child. Ecstatic. Elated. And lots of other "e" words--exhilarated, exuberant, ebullient, expectant, exultant, and perhaps, exhausted. This will be the first time that I get to put together a nursery for my child. (Being on bed rest from week 18 on interfered with Henry's nursery, which was put together by his Dad, Aunt, Cousins, and family friends.) There is also the possibility of being able to take my child home from the hospital, rather than have to visit him in the NICU for the first weeks of his little life. These things, which fill me with deep joy, pale in comparison to the great unending joy that comes from jumping feet first into the arms of God.

As a parent, particularly as a Christian parent, it is commonplace to say things like "I trust God with my family." But this faith, while real, is coupled with all the tiny things we do to insure that we never really have to trust God to take care of them. We get insurance; we go to our pediatrician; we limit TV; we eat healthy (most of the time); we set limits; we parent. In fact, we parent in such a way as to reduce our child's inherent need of us and his Creator. After all, a child who never disobeys, talks back, or rebels needs little grace. And it is through grace that we receive everything from God.

But adoption is different. This little child will be born of grace. Born of our humble prayers to God saying, "Lord, we believe, help our unbelief." After 10am on Thursday morning, there will be nothing more Sloan and I can do to receive our child. We will hand over our beautiful adoption profile scrapbooks, write a check, and then wait on the Lord. All the while, repenting of all the times I think, "Geesh, what if we never get picked? What if no one wants us because we have a biological child? What if they think I'm fat, ugly, and a complete dork because I included that picture of us with the dolphin in our profile?"

Henry was a gift from the Lord. No doubt. After tests, surgeries, miscarriages, procedures, and hospital stays--there is no way I could ever say that God's faithfulness to us was not demonstrated in Henry's life even prior to his birth and it is a delight to tell Henry of how God fought for him even before he first drew a breath. But this is a different kind of gift. We're not being proactive, or even reactive, about our infertile situation. We're being receptive. Quite literally, we are doing nothing to bring this child into being. We're simply trusting that God will be true to His word--Do not be afraid. Stand firm and you will see the deliverance the LORD will bring you today... The LORD will fight for you; you need only to be still.

Holy crap! I've never done this sort of thing. I feel like saying to God, "What is this being still that you speak of? Be still and know what? Oh yeah, that you're God."

I've written about this before but I think it is worth repeating, if only to remind myself. Trusting God, with your whole self, is a bit like riding a roller coaster. Often, that thing you're trusting God in is something you've waited awhile to receive. And there are lots of yahoos in front of you who seem to be ignorant of their body odor and your summation of their being undeserving. And yet, there they are, getting theirs first. And you're just stuck there waiting. Sweating. And this is even before you really sit into trusting God--you're just thinking about maybe trusting Him. And then, you say, No, God gave me this free ticket and says I am tall enough to ride this ride. So you put your full weight into it. You sit, somewhat scrunched up like a sausage, possibly regretting that second funnel cake, and you, albeit white knuckled, grab onto Him. You resist the urge to pee in your pants or puke. Every muscle is clenched. It is scary as all get out, particularly when your feet dangle or your face is mere inches from a spout of fire. But if you close your eyes, you miss it. It's a rush. And your best bet it to simply scream your head off and throw your hands in the air, and trust that you are secure enough to enjoy the ride.

(I just wish faith in God came with a soundtrack--- one of my all time favorite sounds---the click-click-click you hear as you escalate up a hill on a wooden roller coaster.)

Click-click-click-click....Here goes nothing.

In Case You Haven't Met Your Cute Quotient Today

My apologies to those of you who've already seen some of these on Facebook. The weather report for Elizabethtown today is sunny and clear and so I'm wanting to brag a bit about the cute little bundle of blessing we've come to know as Henry.

Henry's first trip into the ocean. Can you tell he loves it?

Touching a King Snake named "Link" at Alligator Adventure. He also touched an Australian Blue Tongued Skink. I kept calling it a "blue tongued skank" until Sloan chastised me saying, "Will you stop telling people we let our son touch a skank in Myrtle Beach? It's a skink!" Oops--two totally different things, skanks and skinks.

Driving the dunebuggies at the Pavilion Rides at Broadway at the Beach.

At Ripley's Aquarium. I promise that I did not plan for the boys to match. Sloan saw what I'd dressed Henry in and then changed shirts. That's just how they roll. Atop the "broken oak" at Litchfield By the Sea. Inspired by awkward family photos. (Thanks, Los for the tip off to this site. If you haven't ever been to this site, be prepared to lose an hour and laugh your tail off.)Because you can't go to the beach and NOT take pictures of your kid in khaki and white. I think there is some sort of fee you have to pay if you do not do it.
Making a break for it!Dear sweet Henry, I'm pretty sure that when you laugh, Jesus tells all the angels to stop their singing just so He can hear it.

Bye Bye Beach. Daddy promises a forlorn Henry that we will return to the beach soon.