My Wandering Angel

My darling Grace

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

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

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

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

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

Fold up your wings, close your eyes.

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

Something's Happening here...

We are almost set to send off our i800a.  In the adoption world, this is our preliminary immigration paperwork.  Basically, we are petitioning the US gov't to allow us to adopt a child from China.  Once we get the go ahead from China regarding our dossier and the like, we will then repetition them for adopting our specific Charlie.  (Insert plea to all young peoples to NOT get an alcohol possession ticket because it will become a giant thorn in your side when doing things like this.  It will require calls to clerks of courts, emails to lawyer friends, and letters overnighted to specific court houses because these tickets get wiped out of systems and then you'll also have to explain again and again that you were an idiot college freshman.)

Also, let it be known that God is at work through many many friends of ours.  Our living room is slowly becoming stacked to the ceiling with items for our yard sale.  And we haven't even finished emptying the attic of all the stuff donated by our families.  Henry's preschool even donated all the toys they decided to get rid of to Charlie's yard sale.  Once again, what a joy it will be to tell Charlie of all the folks who loved him here.

In addition to dropping off toys, clothes, furniture, books, and electronics, my friends are also volunteering to help at the yard sale.  A family is going to host a lemonade stand because they want their kids to be a part of making an orphan a son.  My buddy Ann has requested to be in charge of all the weird people that inevitably show up at yard sales.

With each price tag affixed to an item, I am reminded that it is not just our family that God is growing, but His Kingdom.  This is what God does.  He uses people to love one another.  He sets the lonely in families.  He does not leave us as orphans, but adopts us into the largest, loudest, most loving family in the world.

We are grateful.

Clearly, there is room for one more kiddo in this sleepover bed.  And to top it all off, when Grace requested Henry sing to her, he broke out with the following song, "My Charlie lies over the ocean, My Charlie lies over the sea..." and then Gracie joined in to finish it up:
"Bring back, bring back, oh bring back my Charlie to me, to me!"

For Your Consideration

This post could have also been titled "Yes, I bribe my child to perform."  Today's talent fee?  Mommy pulling out all the little Lego cars and building ramps for them. 

Happy Birthday, Big Gigi!

Henry has two Gigis.  Little Gigi is his 4 yr old cousin.  Big Gigi is my mom.  At first, Big Gigi was not too thrilled about being labeled "big".  I asked her if she preferred "old".  She did not laugh.  And my father gave me the look.  But then she answered, "I guess big." 

We are the people of Walmart...

You may have heard of the People of Walmart website.  It showcases some of the great unwashed that invariably shop at Walmart on a daily basis.  Today, the Phillips family deserved to enter its ranks...

For starters, at Christmastime, our local Walmart has a Salvation Army bell ringer.  But ours is no surly Santa.  We get the A-team of SA bell-ringers: the horn players.  Sometimes it is a trumpeter, sometimes a French hornist, today it was an Irish Tuba Player.  (The musician being Irish, not sure what type of Tuba it was.)  Well, we always let Henry put a coin in the bucket.  He thinks this is loads of fun.  It also sparked the following real conversation...

Henry:  Why you playing music?
Musician:  To celebrate Christmas.
Henry:  Like Swoder?  (Can you tell we've been watching A Charlie Brown Christmas?)
Me:  He is playing music for Jesus' birthday.
Henry:  Oh.  We having a birtday party for Jesus at my house.  We decowated a a tree and put bows on my house. 
Musician:  That sounds lovely.
Henry:  YES!  JESUS IS COMING TO MY HOUSE AND SANTA IS BRINGING HIM PRESENTS!!!  (The stuff he comes up with still surprises me.)
Musician: Oh, great.  Do you have a favorite Christmas song you want me to play for Jesus?
Henry:  How 'bout* Happy Birtday?
Musician (laughing): Well, it is Jesus' birthday, but that's really not a Christmas song.  Do you like Joy to the World?
Henry:  Yes.  Joy.  Mommy sing it with him.

And so THAT is how it came to be that I stood in front of our local Walmart singing Joy to the World while my children danced around a man playing a tuba.  Bonus points for me for not having bathed today and still singing in public. 

But before you sigh and say "Awww" at my wonderful love for my son, let me recount the way we left Walmart.

As we were checking out, Henry told me he needed to go potty.  I told him to hold it, that we were almost through.  (Literally, my wallet was already out.)  I was making sure I had my gift cards put away that I'd purchased for his teachers when suddenly I could not find him.  I was frantic.  I began yelling, "Henry, Henry, where are you?"  expecting to hear him yell, "I right here, Mommy!" 

Nothing.  Also, let it be stated that no one in Walmart seemed to care that I'd lost my child.

I asked the cashier if she'd seen my little boy.  She said, "I think he went into the bathroom."  So I grabbed Gracie from the cart and ran to the bathrooms.  As I neared, I again yelled his name. 

Coming from the men's bathroom, I heard, "I right here, Mommy.  I go pee pee standing up!  I pee pee standing up!"  (We've just recently made the transition from sitting to standing, so this is a BIG deal for him. For those of you with only daughters, see what you miss?)

Then my son waddled like a penguin out from the men's room with his Wall-E undies and pants around his ankles, dragging his coat on the floor behind him.  That's right, my son was nekkid from the waist down at Walmart.

Part of me was happy that my son took initiative and went to the potty by himself.**  He hasn't even done this at home before.  It's always, "Mommy, I need to go potty.  Help me with my pants.  Help me with the seat..."  But a larger part was horrified by the fact that my 3 year old son was alone. In the public restroom. At Walmart.  And then was half-naked. In Walmart. 

It also occurred to me that I can in no way guarantee that my son actually peed in the proper urine receptical.  Most likely, he peed on the floor. 

But, he did it while standing up!



*"How 'bout" is Henry's new phrase that pays.  As in, "How 'bout you give me chocolate milk?", or "How 'bout we play for five more minutes?", or my personal favorite, "How 'bout...no."

**Yes.  I chastized him for going to the bathroom in a public place alone.  I told him that he was too cute to be by himself in a potty that wasn't at home or school.  That someone might take him from us and that would make me sad.  I also told him it was against the rules to leave my side when we are running errands and that if he ever went to the potty in public without me or Daddy or an adult he knows, he would be punished.  And yes, I did this all while refraining from laughing as the thought of him waddling into Walmart after peeing on the floor played in my mind.  Once again, bonus points for Mommy.

Better than waking up with Barry Manilow

We have a little song we sing for Henry and you can sing it too.  Channel your inner Barry Manilow (you know you have one) and sing "Oh Henry, yes you came and you gave without taking.  Oh, Henry."  (This is not to be confused with the praise song I butchered while feeding him.  "Open your mouth to put food in.  Open your mouth to get food.  I want to feeeeed you.  I want to feeeed you."  )

Most of the time that I sing the Oh Henry song, it is in tongue in cheek, because really, how many children do you know that come and give without taking?  But folks, because of my dear boy and his giving heart, the weather report in Elizabethtown is sunny and breezy, with relative few gusts.  (I think the fact that I was able to sleep with the help of some chemistry last night may also be to blame.)

I was sleeping soundly when around 5 am I awoke to Henry having a nightmare in his pack and play at the foot of my bed.  Too tired to really comfort him, I dragged him up into bed with me and relished the snuggles and tiny feet that always seem to burrow between legs.  Around 7:30 this morning, I was gently awakened by the sensation of a little hand gently rubbing my back and Henry, screaming at me in his best whisper voice, "Mommy.  Wake up.  Mommy, wake up.  I wake.  Watch Show.  Watch show in bed." and then he preceeded to kiss my forehead.  I returned the kiss and said, "Mommy is asleep.  We're not watching a show.  We are going to cuddle until at least 8 am."  And so my boy kissed me again, scooched his little butt up to my belly, and as I wrapped my arms around him he said, "Mommy cuddles Henwe.  Mmmmmm."

I am quite certain that this is my all time favorite way to be woken up.  It sure beats my dad's "Rise and Shine!  If you can't shine, you still gotta rise!!!" followed by yanking the covers off of me and flipping on the lights.  Note to Sloan--if you could arrange it so that every morning I am awoken to a backrub, that'd be great. 

So I began the day well-rested and quite certain that the tornado that hit Elizabethtown yesterday would not occur again.   I'd repented of trying to be in control of everything and was resting in the fact that what did not get completed before we bring Emma home would eventually get done and that the world would not cease to exist.  I've delegated some responsibilities and just decided that Emma is going to get to help decorate her room.  (And by help, I mean sit in her bouncy seat and look pretty.  Sitting and looking pretty is one of my favorite things to do and I'm pretty certain that my daughter will excel in it as well.  And don't tell me it isn't a skill.  Sitting and looking pretty saved Henry's life, need I remind you.)  So I was confident that while I certainly didn't have everything together, I had most things together.  That was until I dropped Henry off at preschool only to realize it was my week to bring in snack and I left it on our kitchen counter.  Hallelujah for Mrs. Tuck, his amazing teacher, who has back up snack on hand. 

So now, still high on the cuddles of my sweet boy, I am no longer confident that I have anything together.  But I know a Guy who not only has everything together, but has seen fit to grace me with the best son and daughter a girl could ever dream of.  So perhaps I should Rise and Shine and give God the glory glory.

No More Shows

Henry is done.

Even if you say please, he will no longer show you where his nose is. Or where his ears are. If you ask him to, he simply squints, as if to say, "Woman! I ain't no circus monkey!" In his defense, I have long thought these to be some of his lessor skills and, in the long run, completely useless. Perhaps they are beneath him. He has taken to pointing to clocks and saying, "1,2,3,4,5" (Okay, it is really more like "One, Ooh, Eeh, Or, Ive" but still more impressive than the knowledge of where his freakin' ears are.)

I, on the other hand, am considering putting on shows. Not only will I be pointing to my various body parts (something I'm sort of an expert at), but I'll also be singing duets with my 16 year old nephew. We're awesome, I tell you, awesome. I'm a little bit country. He's a little bit rock and roll and our version of Aladdin's "A Whole New World" is the stuff grammys are made of.

Move over American Idol (And bring on the Oxygen tank)

It should come as no surprise that I spent a large part of my childhood with the music cranked, armed with a hair brush, dancing around my bedroom, thankful for the double wide full length mirrors that hung on the double doors of my closet.

It appears that this is how I am now going to spend large sums of my parenthood as well because Henry likes a good show. (And I put on a really good show. A really good show.)

So I've decided that I'm going to start choreographing dance numbers to accompany my singing. Only problem is--Henry's two favorite songs are John Denver's "Thank God I'm a Country Boy" and Michael Jackson's "Beat It." This is what happens when your husband travels for work, you just have too much time on your hands, and the weather is too yucky to play outside.

I might be too old for this job.

Days and Nights Confused

Mommy tries to nap when Henry does. Unfortunately, he is on a alternating night schedule. He slept well last night, so tonight I am expecting him to be awake between 12am and 3am. During this time, Daddy sleeps and Mommy sings every song she knows and rocks Henry, careful to hold in his pacifier. He is certainly loud. Sometimes his cries are so loud it sounds as if I'm stabbing him with a fork.