Rites of Passage & Teachable Moments

First steps.

First pretend tea party.

First Manicure. 

First dance with Daddy.

Oh, the sweet rites of passage for a little girl.  But there's another, less beloved rite of passage for little girls:

FIRST TIME CUTTING HER OWN HAIR.

Well, tonight it happened, folks.  After dinner, we sent Grace upstairs to fetch her pajamas.  She came down awhile later holding her princess nightgown and with a trembling lip, handed me a handful of hair.  

At first I thought she'd given her American Girl Doll a haircut.  She said, "It's not Cici's hair.  It's mine."  

And because it really didn't appear (at first glance) to be that much hair, I calmy just took her hand and said, "Grace, we are going upstairs now to get the scissors and talk.  No dance party for you tonight."  My calm demeaner was also granted to me by recollections of me cutting off my pigtails at the scalp two days before Kindergarten picture day resulting in the worst attempt at a Dorothy Hammel cut in the history of the world.  I mean, I'd known this was coming.  And all she had done was snip her ends. I resolved to not yell at her but attempt to put our relationship first.

But then we got upstairs and she pulled out of her pocket the very sharp hair cutting scissors.  The ones kept in her hair bag.  The hair bag she'd dug into at the beginning of dinner to fetch a rubberband for keeping her twists out of ketchup.  This was premeditated.  And dangerous.  I inspected the damage.  She hadn't just nipped the ends, she cut off one entire rope twist at the front of her head about 2 inches from the scalp.  

Remembering my resolve, I calmly said, "Grace, let's go in the bathroom and take down your twists so you can fully see exactly what you have done."  Her lip quivered, "Will you forgive me?"  

I said, "I love you.  Let's look at the damage."  

We took down the twists.  Her chest began to heave.  "Is it going to come back?"  

"Slowly.  Not for a looooong time," I said softly.  "Now let's try to pull it back so we can brush your teeth and get ready for bed." 

As I brushed her teeth, tears filled her eyes and fell down her cheeks.  

We finished up & I carried her into her room.  She was still sobbing when I sat down with her on her bed.  "Will you forgive me?"

"Oh, Grace, of course.  I love you and love forgives.  Even though you made a bad and dangerous choice, I forgive you. And I love you.  To the moon and back."

"I love you too.  Can we say our special prayer together?"  

And through tears, we said the Lord's Prayer together.  

Y'all, this is the first time my darling daughter showed repentance on her own.  And I totally would've missed it had I yelled at her. Yelled at her like I normally would have.  

Now to call my soon to be niece and tell her that her flower girl cut her hair & decide what we should do about it.  

What is love? (Baby don't hurt me no more)

As a family “project” we are working together to memorize these verses.  (I know, because we’re bored and just sitting around collectively eating bon-bons whilst twiddling our thumbs.)  It came to me one night when I was praying.  I was repenting of losing my temper yet again.  Repenting of overreacting to disobedience, causing one child in particular to dig in her heels, thus, I was really creating the problem through my own lack of self-control.  I said to God, “Lord, I only know anger.  I don’t know love.  (Then in my mind I channeled Helen Reddy and sang “I don’t know how to love him, what to do, how to move him…  Yes, I digress in my prayer life too.  Jesus is okay with it.  In fact, He works with it.)  I confess that I seem to always be at the end of the rope.  In fact, the rope may be gone.  But I don’t know how to love my children well.  I don’t even know what love looks like.”  And then I may or may not have sung “I want to know what love is, I want you to show me.” 

And then I heard Him.  This tiny voice that had been quieted for so long by my efforts to suck it up and just try harder.  He said, “You do know what love is.  I love you.  I am love.”  And so my heart just said, “Ummm, thanks God, but how is that going to help me when my child is losing their shit because I’ve told them they have to cover their nipples at the table.”  He said, “I have shown you my love.  And I’ve written it down for you.” 

And then I rolled my eyes.  Cause that’s the appropriate response for when the Holy Spirit reminds you of what is true.  I thought, Really God?  You’re pointing me to the cheesiest scripture of all time? 

And then I read it again with new eyes and repented my way through it.

Love is PATIENT.  So maybe I should give my son more than three seconds to buckle himself in before I snap at him “Why aren’t you buckling in?  Do you want the cops to take me to jail?”  Maybe I should stop everything long enough to dress the child who asks for help even though I know she is capable of dressing herself independently.

Love is KIND.  Wow.  Can I even be kind?  Do I even have a soft voice?  I think I’ve been kind before.  Maybe.  Certainly I’ve never been kind to my family on a Sunday morning when trying to get everyone dressed, fed, and out the door.  Love sees how many Legos were put away and doesn’t mention the one Love just stepped on.

Love DOES NOT ENVY OR BOAST.  Apparently, love doesn’t have a facebook account. 

Love is NOT ARROGANT OR RUDE.  So love probably doesn’t judge other people for the way they parent.   Or mouth off to its parents.   Or talk about people behind their back. 

Love does NOT INSIST ON ITS OWN WAY. Really?  So maybe “Because I told you so” isn’t a loving parenting response.  You mean loving my kids means focusing my parenting style on their needs and not just on what is easiest for me?  Gah.  But what if I really don’t want to read Danny the Dinosaur again?  What if that means waking up earlier so we can take the time together to pick out a school outfit?  Augh.  What if that means waking up earlier so the child who is pokey in the morning can take his time getting dressed without having to be yelled at to hurry up.  Surely love doesn’t mean waking up earlier.  God can’t be saying that.  Please Lord tell me that at least sometimes Love means just yelling “Why can’t you just do what I ask the first time at least once?”  What if I just yell that at my husband?  Is that cool.  No?  Augh. 

Love is NOT IRRATABLE OR RESENTFUL.  So I take this to mean that love isn’t in a permanent state of hanger.  Love doesn’t wax nostalgically at pictures from when it had no children and could afford to go to places like Chicago to see the Rolling Stones.  Love doesn’t snap at its husband for travelling for work, acting all pouty, holding his loving provision for us against him. 

Love  DOES NOT REJOICE AT WRONGDOING, BUT REJOICES WITH THE TRUTH.  Love doesn’t tattle.  Love doesn’t seek out opportunities to correct.  Love isn’t hyper-sensitive.  Love isn’t bitter.  Love isn’t over critical, but paints with a wide brush of grace.  Love seeks out opportunities to lavish praise.  Love gives high fives.  And stickers.  Love doesn’t slam doors.  Love doesn’t shame or use sarcasm.  Love doesn’t bring up fights long ago resolved.  Love looks for change and progress, even tiny slivers of change, and celebrates them.  Love’s wall are plastered with artwork. 

Love BEARS ALL THINGS.  It goes to the time in couch again and again.  Even when it hurts.  Especially when it hurts and especially when it means being late.

Love BELIEVES ALL THINGS.  Redemption is real.  God is for me and my children.  He is near.  He has overcome the world. 

Love HOPES ALL THINGS.  This is not as good as it gets.  Jesus is making all things new.  He will walk amongst us and wipe every tear from our eyes.  

Love ENDURES ALL THINGS.  It’d have to to love me.   Love, in fact, endured death.  For me.  So I could have life.

So this is why were are memorizing these verses.  I want them to wallpaper our hearts and minds.  I want God’s love to be ever before me, changing the way I parent and love my kids.  I want to be at that point of almost losing and remember, “Love is patient and kind” and then be able to approach my children proactively and gently, not just mad.  I want less me and more love. 

Our family needs MORE LOVE. 

meet the sweetness

I’ve been hesitant to write this or say this out loud for fear of jinxing us.  But I’m going to do it.  

Grace has exited the terrible twos.  

People, her twos were terrible.  Thank you to my dear friends who didn’t judge me but prayed for me as I cried and cried in a mall play place because I just couldn’t bear to face another day of it.  I am thankful for the phase teaching me to rely on Jesus to redeem all of mistakes and to prepare me for the extraordinary high maintenance parenting that is in my future.  The long and short of it is that I just cannot self-produce love and Grace’s terrible twos helped to completely dash that illusion. 

If nothing else, Grace’s “terrible two” phase taught me that it’s not just Lent that is for repentance.  Because I had to repent every.single.day for the way I was impatient, exasperated, and just all around hard-hearted with her.  And still, God and the girl love me. 

Ever since Thanksgiving, she has softened.  It is as though we are getting to meet our daughter for the first time and we adore her.  We get to meet the soft and kind and spunky girly-girl that her preschool teachers kept telling us about, rather than the tiny terrorist that once sat at our kitchen table.

So allow me to re-introduce you to our daughter.

This girl loves her Daddy.  She wants to sit by him at every meal and adores bounding into our room in the morning to give him his wake-up snuggles.  But she also adores me.  Beyond explanation.  Apparently all those times I lost my temper while sitting with her on the steps didn’t scar her.  She cradles my face and tells me she loves me, she really loves me.

She loves to sing and bounce.  In particular, she loves Hip Hop music.  I’m embarrassed to confess that if she asks about Beauty and the Beast, she isn’t referring to Belle and the Disney Classic.  She is requesting Justin Beiber.  She also requests “Tay-bor Wift”, “Kesha”, and “Twift Pop”.  She has, on more than one occasion, had a full on temper tantrum because I could not find “Juttin Beeeeeeeeeeber” on the radio.  At some point, I’m going to have to break down and download some of her faves.  I also may have taught my kids that Britney is singing “Britney Ditch.”  Just play along.  

She has never seen a musical she doesn’t love.  Her current favorite is the Wizard of Oz and she is usually singing “Oh ee oh, yo um” or chanting “Lions and Tigers and Bears! Oh my!”

She continues to be a picky eater.  We’ve stopped fighting her on this and are just resigned to the fact that she may only eat breakfast some days.  She would prefer to only eat carbs and dairy.  Oh, and bacon.

 

She was super easy to potty train.  Two days after we made the plunge to panties, Sloan and I put together the boys’ bunk beds (meaning we ignored the kids all day long).  No potty accidents.  She even forgets to asks for a treat sometimes and has woken up with dry pull-ups on many occasions.  I assure you that we have done nothing unique for this.  She is just independent. 

She can dress herself, brush her own teeth, sloppily make her bed, and is all around very helprful.  Not in that “oh we will let our three year old help to instill a work ethic even though it adds hours to the process”, but actually helpful.  She can vacuum, dust, straighten pillows, empty the dishwasher, fold napkins and blankets, bring in groceries, push the little grocery cart without killing anyone and even help Henry get dressed.  She even attempts to pour her own milk.  This, um, is NOT actually helpful.

While I didn’t want to confess it, I’m certain that part of the delays in our adoption journey were to give Grace time to mature a bit and to teach me that I can rely on Jesus to do his work in our children’s lives. 

Thank you Jesus for using my stubborn daughter on my stubborn heart.  Please continue.

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. 

two months---in bullet points

When you've blogged pretty regularly for 5 and half years and then  you go dark for almost two months, you have a choice.  Explain why you were gone and catch everyone up, or just start from where we are now. 

So the short explanation is I've been busy.  REALLY busy.  I thought giving up the blog would just kill me.  But it didn't.  I think sometimes it feeds my crazy a little too much and lately, well the crazy level has been so high and things have been hectic that, well, the crazy has not needed feeding. 

Here is just a taste of what has happened since I last posted: 

• Henry had pnemonia and had to receive IV fluids.
• We put our house on the market and it was discovered that I can keep our house perfectly clean OR be a patient wife and mother.  But not both.
• We rode Thomas the Tank Engine, went to Field Days of the Past, the VA State Fair, walked in a fundraiser for Prader-Willi research,  and visited both sets of grandparents.
• Hosted our last Phillips Family Homecoming parade extravaganza for the high school homecoming parade that goes by our house.
• Regressed from potty training to being back in pull ups because Grace pooped in the foyer 30 minutes before we had a showing.  (But that's Ok, because we...)
• Accepted an offer on our house.  20 days after we put it on the market.  (GO GOD!  GO Elliott Gravitt, realtor extraordinaire!)
• Made an offer on a new house and are under contract.  (I will write about this house later on because it is ridiculous.)
• Given Gracie roughly 300 nebulizer breathing treatments (fall is not her friend).
• Had both kids LOVE LOVE LOVE their new teachers at school.
• Completely changed the way we parent Gracie because of some behaviors she's been exhibiting that we suspect are from the crank she was exposed to in utero.
• Prayed for more and more patience as we await news on our kids in the Congo.
• Discovered that Gracie has imaginary friends.  They are adults.  Their names are Mrs. Fox (?) and Mrs. Walker.  (Mrs. Walker is also a teacher at school.  But sometimes "Mrs. Walker" has tea parties here.)  Gracie also sometimes plays with Jesus.  She REALLY wants Jesus to come to her birthday party.  Because He is her best friend.  
• Henry earned his yellow belt in Tae Kwon Do.  
• Henry can now count to 10 in Korean.
• Gracie started dance class and it is the cutest thing in the world.
• Learned some upsetting news about our son in the Congo and prayed him back into our family.  
• Hugged our kids who live here extra tight every night because never ever did I think I'd see the day when I'd be praying for one of my kids to get INTO foster care.  

I think that's it.  There might be other stuff.  I don't know.  I'm going to try and get back into the habit of posting more regularly, but my guess is that it will be shorter.  And probably kinda trivial.   But y'all gotta hear some of the things that come out my kids' mouth because they. are. hysterical.

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...

Phlippy Phuneral

Phlippy the fish hadn't eaten all weekend.  So on Sunday afternoon, I hurried to Petsmart to get, I don't know, drops that would make dying fish live?  Things for neutralizing Ph and such.  While the kids and I did a 25% water change and gave him his broadrange fishy antibiotics, Sloan reminded me that the meds cost more than the $3 goldfish and that he was pretty sure Phlippy had signed a DNR.

And I get it.  It's a fish.  But it is also my kids first up close experience with death.   I wanted to be careful with how it was dealt.  Henry prayed for Phlippy every night.  For Jesus to heal him and make him be flippy and swimmy again.  We'd be out shopping and Henry would randomly say, "Mom, I'm worried about Phlippy."  So even though there a a part of me that wanted to snicker, I said, "Well, sweetie, then we should pray for God to heal our fish because God is powerful and in control.  Just remember that sometimes a healing can come in the form of death."

Which then would then translate into a discussion of heaven.  How in heaven there is no pain or death or black spots on fish.  That when Jesus returns all things will be new and there will be no more tears.

Now some people don't believe all dogs (and fish) go to heaven.  And to be sure, I'm not exactly sure about the whole theology of it.  But it seems to me that if Eden before the fall had fish and animals in it, a new heaven and a new earth would include the animal kingdom.  Yes, there's the whole "but animals aren't created in the image of God" argument, but Romans also tells us that ALL of creation is groaning and waiting for the redemption of the Lord.

So I did not feel even the slightest bit deceitful when upon returning from the gym this morning and discovered that Phlippy was no longer breathing,  I told Henry and Grace that Phlippy had gone to be with Jesus.  That he was no longer hurting or struggling to breath at the bottom of the fish tank.  To which Henry said, "Uh, mom, but Phlippy is still at the bottom of the fish tank."

Details, details.  I am not getting into a discussion about souls and bodies and the like with a 5 year old before I've even had a shower.

We let Henry decide whether we should have an outdoor burial or, perhaps, "at sea" (thank you Nemo for teaching our kids that all toilets lead to the ocean...).  He chose to give Phlippy a watery grave.  Like the Huxtables, we prayed over the toilet.  For Jesus to receive our fish.

And then Henry scurried off to cry by himself.

It was hard for me.  I wanted to comfort him.  To wrap him up in my arms and tell him it would be alright and maybe we could go get some ice cream. That we'd buy him a new fish bigger and better than that old fish.  But I also knew that this very moment could possibly shape the way he handled disappointment and grief for the rest of his life.  (I tend to be a little dramatic. At times.) 

I went to him slowly, sitting next to him on our living room couch.  His whole body was shaking.  I wrapped him in my lap and kissed his forehead.  "I'm just so sad for Phlippy," he said.

"Darling, it is very sad that Phlippy is dead.  You are right to miss him and be sad.  But this hurt, this death, is exactly why Jesus came.  When Jesus rose from the dead on Easter Sunday, he defeated death.  And when he returns, there will be no more death.  Ever.  And so that's our hope.  That's what we look forward to.  But it is still sad.  So if you need to cry, cry."

He rubbed his eyes, then looked up at me.  "When I'm done crying, can we go get a new fish?"

I chuckled.  "Not today.  How about next week after we visit Grandma and Grandpa Phillips?"

At this point, Gracie ran into the living room chomping on a chocalate coin, her "treat" for going poo on the potty.  (Yes.  I use chocolate.  Stop judging me.)

"Okay.  Can I have a chocolate coin now?"

"Yes, my dear.  You can have a chocolate coin."

Because it's also true that even when something you love can't be replaced,  a little piece of chocolate goes a long way in reminding us that all things bitter can be sweet as well.
 

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.

Slumber My Darling

I’ve been so busy with paperwork and busywork and pricing and sorting that I haven’t really had or taken the time to actually consider why we are doing this giant yard sale very much.  Or, I am cognizant of its purpose—to bring Charlie home—but I haven’t really sat with his absence very much.  When someone asks me how many kids I have I say three, but it is still foreign to me.  

This afternoon, while sorting and pricing the mountain of items that were cascading out of my home and down my stoop into my yard, our babysitter showed up and offered to take the kids to the park.  So I was alone in the house.  Knowing I was beyond stressed and that my own home was making me itchy from all the disorder, I pulled up the Yo Yo Ma station on Pandora. 

Folks, Yo Yo Ma is the antidote to stress.  Or maybe it’s just the cello.  Something about its low aching timbre grips my soul.  It is simultaneously melancholy and joyful; it is the music of the human condition.  I mentioned this on facebook and peeps began sharing their mutual love of Yo Yo Ma and the cello.  And then my friend Angie sent me this link: 

Something inside me broke.  Or maybe the song just wiggled loose the right pebble in the wall I’d built up around the agony of waiting for Charlie thereby letting a flood of ache pool around me.  

I am writing this through tears.  Not misty tears, but full on I am now congested and puffy eyed and out of breath tears.  My son is not in my arms.  Someone else will put him down tonight.  Will they kiss his head and tell him he is loved?  Will they rock him to sleep if he lets out a cry?  Will they stroke his hair until it is shiny and stuck to his forehead? 

I am his mother and he is not near.  He is unaware that while he is crowded in a room with a dozen other sick and waiting little boys, his mother is crying out for him in a language he has never heard. 

My darling Charlie, though your surroundings do not show it, know this: you are no longer an orphan, but a son.  Though I am not near you now, I am coming for you.  Soon—but not soon enough.