you hear some noise, hear some words and you realize it's your six-year-old waking you. He says, he has to go to the bathroom.
You think you must be dreaming, but after hearing another noise you get up to investigate and discover it's not a dream. Your baby boy's body actually woke him up to tell him to go to the bathroom. SCORE!!!!!
And you don't even mind that 2 hours later, you still can't go back to sleep because for the first time ever that is a light at the end of the tunnel of you sending Pamper executives children to Harvard Westlake. Now if Layla's body would do the same.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Common sense and Oma's findings
"Mommy, is that place Denny's?" Jory inquired as we were stopped alongside the Culver City Denny's.
"Yes, it is. How did you know that?" I asked, surprised he knew what Denny's was.
"Maybe I read it," he said in a sing-songy voice.
"Did you?"
"No."
"How did you know it was Denny's?"
"The TV told me."
I'm not sure what answer I was expecting, something deep or philosophical, but what I got was plain and simple, common sense.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
We picked Oma up after leaving LaLa's house and she said, "I saw some cute Easter dresses at TJ Maxx."
Oma is thinking about Easter. I can't believe it. And if they are at TJ Maxx's, they are cheap.
Out of the all the dresses they had, of course, she loved the turquoise dresses. How am I suppose to find Jory a turquoise dress shirt? Doesn't she remember you're not dressing for two, but three?
It was nice while it lasted. Back to the drawing board.
"Yes, it is. How did you know that?" I asked, surprised he knew what Denny's was.
"Maybe I read it," he said in a sing-songy voice.
"Did you?"
"No."
"How did you know it was Denny's?"
"The TV told me."
I'm not sure what answer I was expecting, something deep or philosophical, but what I got was plain and simple, common sense.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
We picked Oma up after leaving LaLa's house and she said, "I saw some cute Easter dresses at TJ Maxx."
Oma is thinking about Easter. I can't believe it. And if they are at TJ Maxx's, they are cheap.
Out of the all the dresses they had, of course, she loved the turquoise dresses. How am I suppose to find Jory a turquoise dress shirt? Doesn't she remember you're not dressing for two, but three?
It was nice while it lasted. Back to the drawing board.
The horror that is swimming lessons
Let's be honest a week without swimming lessons for Rowan is like Charlie Sheen with a day off of work, which translates to nothing good can come of it.
Last Saturday, the pool was closed so no swimming lessons. Of course, Rowan was thrilled to not go. But this Saturday, we went and to a pool where the staff knows us, which makes me feel good. Because if you showed up around 3:15PM to the pool, you would think a young child was being maimed and tortured. As you walked out of the bathroom, the echoes of her screams bouncing of the walls, would greet you as you made it to the pool.
And it's not that Rowan is scared. If you leave her on the steps of the pool, she's playing, she'll kick her legs, and blow her bubbles. She even does these things in the bathtub.
No, the screams, the tears, the "I have to use the bathroom," are solely devices to make me cave. She seems to think the piercing screams coming out of my oldest twin, the tears streaming down her face are going to make me say, "Will, stop torturing my baby!" I'll open my arms and she'll walk, not run because it's unsafe to run by a pool, right into them. I'll shower her with kisses and tell her she'll never have to swim again.
Oh, the fantasy world, three-year-olds create because that aforementioned scenario would never happen and not gonna happen. I love her and I want her to be safe around bodies of water, so she needs to know how to swim. I love her and I want her to learn that screaming and crying is not the way to get out of doing something. I love her and I want her to know she can't refuse to do something simply because she doesn't want to do it. I love her and I want her to know she's not the boss of her, I am. I love her and I want her to learn how to swim, so she, her brother, and her twin can all be in the Olympics at the same time. Can you imagine a relay team with Layla being the lead swimmer and Rowan the closer?! AWESOME!!! Bob Costas would interview us as they sit with their gold medals hanging from their necks. The kwan would come and Oma and I could cruise the world thanks to their endorsement deals. Cha Ching!
One day the screams will stop and she'll love swimming, until then I'm thankful I'm desensitized to the screeching.
Last Saturday, the pool was closed so no swimming lessons. Of course, Rowan was thrilled to not go. But this Saturday, we went and to a pool where the staff knows us, which makes me feel good. Because if you showed up around 3:15PM to the pool, you would think a young child was being maimed and tortured. As you walked out of the bathroom, the echoes of her screams bouncing of the walls, would greet you as you made it to the pool.
And it's not that Rowan is scared. If you leave her on the steps of the pool, she's playing, she'll kick her legs, and blow her bubbles. She even does these things in the bathtub.
No, the screams, the tears, the "I have to use the bathroom," are solely devices to make me cave. She seems to think the piercing screams coming out of my oldest twin, the tears streaming down her face are going to make me say, "Will, stop torturing my baby!" I'll open my arms and she'll walk, not run because it's unsafe to run by a pool, right into them. I'll shower her with kisses and tell her she'll never have to swim again.
Oh, the fantasy world, three-year-olds create because that aforementioned scenario would never happen and not gonna happen. I love her and I want her to be safe around bodies of water, so she needs to know how to swim. I love her and I want her to learn that screaming and crying is not the way to get out of doing something. I love her and I want her to know she can't refuse to do something simply because she doesn't want to do it. I love her and I want her to know she's not the boss of her, I am. I love her and I want her to learn how to swim, so she, her brother, and her twin can all be in the Olympics at the same time. Can you imagine a relay team with Layla being the lead swimmer and Rowan the closer?! AWESOME!!! Bob Costas would interview us as they sit with their gold medals hanging from their necks. The kwan would come and Oma and I could cruise the world thanks to their endorsement deals. Cha Ching!
One day the screams will stop and she'll love swimming, until then I'm thankful I'm desensitized to the screeching.
Getting Fiesty
One day, I thumbed through Jory's AWANA book and noticed he was near the end of it. So I decided we needed to gear up and get through it, get more patches and stuff that I don't sew onto his vest because I can't sew and I forget to take it so Aunt LaLa can sew them on.
The first Friday after we buckled down, I noticed Jory's book wasn't signed. I emailed the head of his program and she told me Jory was helping with the Old Testament timeline. Okay, I let it go. He was being helpful. We could still learn new verses and review the material he had already learned.
The second Friday after buckling down, I go through his book and only one chapter is signed. One chapter. We went through four. I talked to Jory and asked him what was going on. He gave me some mishmosh answer that didn't answer anything so I emailed his director again. I asked if Jory was having any behavioral issues, was too excited to say the verses he knows, that we say multiple times in a day. She assured me he wasn't any more trouble than any other excited six-year-old boy. Okay, we'll try again I thought.
I reminded Jory this Friday before I took him to class to say his verses and not play or help with the timeline, until they were said. I purposely picked up Rowan first. As soon as it was okay to come into his class, I walked and had Jory hand me his Sparks book. I searched the pages for the all important signature from his Sparks leader underneath mine. Nothing. Not one of the pages signed. Okay, it was on.
I stopped Jory from playing and asked him what was going on. He explained his teacher was going to come back to him, but never did. Uh, dude, you need to speak up. I asked him to point out his teacher. He did so I walked up to the teacher, and asked if we could talk. I explained that Jory knew his verses and the material, yet his book wasn't signed. His teacher apologized for skipping over Jory and said he would be willing to quiz Jory right then if I wanted. I quickly grabbed Jory sat him in a chair and said, quiz away.
The first verse, his teacher told him he got wrong. What? What is he talking about, I thought. Jory knows John 3:14 like the back of his hand. After the second time, his teacher paged ahead and realized the verse had been split up into parts a and b and Jory was saying the whole verse as one. That's what I'm talking about.
Like I knew he would, Jory continued to rock his teacher's world. When Jory tried to get up for water, I told him to sit down, Mommy would get it for him. I high fived him, handed him his water. He took a drink and kept going. My little Bible reciting athlete. Oh, the sound of my baby rattling off the New Testament. I was like buttah. I love this kid. And my mommy anxiety decreased. His teacher wouldn't let him finish the book, something about them having a four verse/material policy. Whatever, but okay.
So now Jory has two verses which we already know and on this Friday he gets his new book, which the director told me was pure review. I tried to get a sneak preview of the new book, but that wasn't allowed. Does this mean we can sail through this book? I wonder if we can finish two books in one school year? I guess we'll see.
Jory and I will have another talk about speaking up for one's self. Making sure your teacher doesn't skip over you and if he or she does to gently, respectfully remind them that you haven't had your turn. And I'll be sure to pick Jory up last and review his book for signatures before we leave. Now that I know who his teacher is, I'll have my eye on him.
The first Friday after we buckled down, I noticed Jory's book wasn't signed. I emailed the head of his program and she told me Jory was helping with the Old Testament timeline. Okay, I let it go. He was being helpful. We could still learn new verses and review the material he had already learned.
The second Friday after buckling down, I go through his book and only one chapter is signed. One chapter. We went through four. I talked to Jory and asked him what was going on. He gave me some mishmosh answer that didn't answer anything so I emailed his director again. I asked if Jory was having any behavioral issues, was too excited to say the verses he knows, that we say multiple times in a day. She assured me he wasn't any more trouble than any other excited six-year-old boy. Okay, we'll try again I thought.
I reminded Jory this Friday before I took him to class to say his verses and not play or help with the timeline, until they were said. I purposely picked up Rowan first. As soon as it was okay to come into his class, I walked and had Jory hand me his Sparks book. I searched the pages for the all important signature from his Sparks leader underneath mine. Nothing. Not one of the pages signed. Okay, it was on.
I stopped Jory from playing and asked him what was going on. He explained his teacher was going to come back to him, but never did. Uh, dude, you need to speak up. I asked him to point out his teacher. He did so I walked up to the teacher, and asked if we could talk. I explained that Jory knew his verses and the material, yet his book wasn't signed. His teacher apologized for skipping over Jory and said he would be willing to quiz Jory right then if I wanted. I quickly grabbed Jory sat him in a chair and said, quiz away.
The first verse, his teacher told him he got wrong. What? What is he talking about, I thought. Jory knows John 3:14 like the back of his hand. After the second time, his teacher paged ahead and realized the verse had been split up into parts a and b and Jory was saying the whole verse as one. That's what I'm talking about.
Like I knew he would, Jory continued to rock his teacher's world. When Jory tried to get up for water, I told him to sit down, Mommy would get it for him. I high fived him, handed him his water. He took a drink and kept going. My little Bible reciting athlete. Oh, the sound of my baby rattling off the New Testament. I was like buttah. I love this kid. And my mommy anxiety decreased. His teacher wouldn't let him finish the book, something about them having a four verse/material policy. Whatever, but okay.
So now Jory has two verses which we already know and on this Friday he gets his new book, which the director told me was pure review. I tried to get a sneak preview of the new book, but that wasn't allowed. Does this mean we can sail through this book? I wonder if we can finish two books in one school year? I guess we'll see.
Jory and I will have another talk about speaking up for one's self. Making sure your teacher doesn't skip over you and if he or she does to gently, respectfully remind them that you haven't had your turn. And I'll be sure to pick Jory up last and review his book for signatures before we leave. Now that I know who his teacher is, I'll have my eye on him.
Learning
TTT and I were sitting at the dining room table. I noticed Layla's hair was disheveled so I ran my fingers through it when I noticed it. Her hair had been cut. Her bangs specifically.
"Baby, who cut your hair?" I asked. Not again. Yes, her hair had been in need of a haircut, but we were going to ask Aunt Julie if she would cut them again.
"Nobody," she said.
"Mommy, I didn't cut the baby's hair. I don't cut anybody's hair anymore," Jory stated proudly.
"Good, Jory. We don't cut anyone's hair." After two "haircuts", my baby boy seemed to finally get it. We don't cut other people's hair. Short haired people can't be trusted around people with longer hair.
"Mom, did you cut the baby's hair?" I asked.
"Yeah, it was bothering me," she replied blasely.
"You didn't cut her hair evenly. And I was going to ask Julie to cut her bangs," I said.
Oma walked into the room. "Oh, I didn't cut them evenly did I?"
"No."
"Well, she never stays still. But I like her with short bangs she looks like Uma Thurman."
I'm still in amazement that Kill Bill made such an impression on my mom that she not only knows who Uma is, but what type of bangs she has. I don't think I'll get over that one. But hopefully next time, she feels like cutting my baby's hair, my baby will be old enough to say, "Let's wait to Mommy gets home, Oma." And Oma sits down the scissors.
"Baby, who cut your hair?" I asked. Not again. Yes, her hair had been in need of a haircut, but we were going to ask Aunt Julie if she would cut them again.
"Nobody," she said.
"Mommy, I didn't cut the baby's hair. I don't cut anybody's hair anymore," Jory stated proudly.
"Good, Jory. We don't cut anyone's hair." After two "haircuts", my baby boy seemed to finally get it. We don't cut other people's hair. Short haired people can't be trusted around people with longer hair.
"Mom, did you cut the baby's hair?" I asked.
"Yeah, it was bothering me," she replied blasely.
"You didn't cut her hair evenly. And I was going to ask Julie to cut her bangs," I said.
Oma walked into the room. "Oh, I didn't cut them evenly did I?"
"No."
"Well, she never stays still. But I like her with short bangs she looks like Uma Thurman."
I'm still in amazement that Kill Bill made such an impression on my mom that she not only knows who Uma is, but what type of bangs she has. I don't think I'll get over that one. But hopefully next time, she feels like cutting my baby's hair, my baby will be old enough to say, "Let's wait to Mommy gets home, Oma." And Oma sits down the scissors.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
2:50
is what the clock says and you groan. You're going to go back to sleep because you feel sleepy, right after you do a thing or two, which leads to you racing to answer the phone at 6AM because you never went back to sleep and there's only two phones in the house currently.
And while you're trying to accommodate your mom by moving the phone closer to her, you lift the stand which is sitting on top of the phone line and the lamp also sitting on it falls onto your back. So as you try to lift the lamp off your back, you realize it's stuck on something and you can't quite figure out what it is. Then the baby starts crying and you know you're not hurting her with the lamp, so you tell her to shush as your mom races into the room to get the lamp off your back.
This is what happens you when you wake up at 2:50AM and stay awake. Thank goodness for the moments in between like when you're playing with your youngest twin baby.
"Baby, what are you doing?"
"I hiding," she answers from under the covers.
"Who are you hiding from?"
"Jory."
"Jory's sleep."
"Oma."
"You're hiding from Oma?"
"Yes."
You see the smile on your baby's face, the impish look in her eyes, her glowing skin, and you fall in love all over again. Ah, the perks of early morning wake-ups.
And while you're trying to accommodate your mom by moving the phone closer to her, you lift the stand which is sitting on top of the phone line and the lamp also sitting on it falls onto your back. So as you try to lift the lamp off your back, you realize it's stuck on something and you can't quite figure out what it is. Then the baby starts crying and you know you're not hurting her with the lamp, so you tell her to shush as your mom races into the room to get the lamp off your back.
This is what happens you when you wake up at 2:50AM and stay awake. Thank goodness for the moments in between like when you're playing with your youngest twin baby.
"Baby, what are you doing?"
"I hiding," she answers from under the covers.
"Who are you hiding from?"
"Jory."
"Jory's sleep."
"Oma."
"You're hiding from Oma?"
"Yes."
You see the smile on your baby's face, the impish look in her eyes, her glowing skin, and you fall in love all over again. Ah, the perks of early morning wake-ups.
Inquiring Minds
"What do missionaries do?" I quizzed Jory as we drove to school.
"Tell people about Jesus," he answered without missing a beat.
"Where does your missionary live?"
"Africa."
Score on that one! I had forgotten for a while to teach him where the missionaries we had a picture of, courtesy of Miss Sarah, lived and look he was rocking the new knowledge. "The Bible is made up of two parts. What are they called?"
"The Old Testament and the New Testament. The New Testament has 27 books."
Look at my baby answering questions before I even ask them. "What are the names of the books?"
"Matthew, Mark, Luke, John, Acts, Romans, First Corinthians, Second Corinthians, Galatians, Ephesians, Philippians, Colossians, First and Second Thessalonians, First and Second Timothy, Titus, Philemon, Hebrews, First- -"
"James. Philemon, Hebrews, James."
"Titus, Philemon, Hebrews, James, First and Second Peter, First, Second, and Third John, Jude, Revelation," my brown eyed boy finished with a smile.
"John 3:14. Just?"
"Just as Moses lifted up the snake in the desert, so the Son of Man must be lifted up,"
"John 3:15. That?"
"That everyone who believes may have eternal life."
"John 3:16. For God?"
"For God so loved the world that He gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life. "
"Joshua 1:9. Have?"
"Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous...for the LORD your God will be with you."
"Joshua 24:24. And?"
"And the people said to Joshua, “We will serve the LORD our God and obey him.”
He says Joshua so beautifully. His second younger brother's middle name is totally going to be Joshua and we'll call him Joss. His eloquence just gave his future brother a name and a middle name.
"Romans 3:23. For all?" (In Sparks, you can only get two helps with a verse.)
"For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God."
"Ephesians 6:1. Children?"
"Children, obey your parents in the Lord, for this is right."
I am so madly in love with this little boy. He's so, so brilliant! He's going to rock AWANA this Friday and finish his very first Sparks book. YIIPPEEE!!!! Deut 6:7 says, "Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up." I am so blessed to be able to teach my son God's commandments, His Word.
Amazing what an open heart, mind, and repetition can do. Though strangely, I'm not sure how many times I have said, "Pick up your clothes and put them in the dirty clothes hamper before you leave the bathroom." "When you take off your pjs, put them on the bed." "When I say, 'Pick up the toys,' I mean from all over the house, not just the room you're in." I've been saying these things for years, yet they have to constantly be repeated. Hmm, wonder how that works? You know- - not going to dwell on it now. I'll concentrate on the good.
My son ROCKS!!!! I am truly, madly, deeply in love with the second greatest boy ever born on Christmas!
"Tell people about Jesus," he answered without missing a beat.
"Where does your missionary live?"
"Africa."
Score on that one! I had forgotten for a while to teach him where the missionaries we had a picture of, courtesy of Miss Sarah, lived and look he was rocking the new knowledge. "The Bible is made up of two parts. What are they called?"
"The Old Testament and the New Testament. The New Testament has 27 books."
Look at my baby answering questions before I even ask them. "What are the names of the books?"
"Matthew, Mark, Luke, John, Acts, Romans, First Corinthians, Second Corinthians, Galatians, Ephesians, Philippians, Colossians, First and Second Thessalonians, First and Second Timothy, Titus, Philemon, Hebrews, First- -"
"James. Philemon, Hebrews, James."
"Titus, Philemon, Hebrews, James, First and Second Peter, First, Second, and Third John, Jude, Revelation," my brown eyed boy finished with a smile.
"John 3:14. Just?"
"Just as Moses lifted up the snake in the desert, so the Son of Man must be lifted up,"
"John 3:15. That?"
"That everyone who believes may have eternal life."
"John 3:16. For God?"
"For God so loved the world that He gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life. "
"Joshua 1:9. Have?"
"Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous...for the LORD your God will be with you."
"Joshua 24:24. And?"
"And the people said to Joshua, “We will serve the LORD our God and obey him.”
He says Joshua so beautifully. His second younger brother's middle name is totally going to be Joshua and we'll call him Joss. His eloquence just gave his future brother a name and a middle name.
"Romans 3:23. For all?" (In Sparks, you can only get two helps with a verse.)
"For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God."
"Ephesians 6:1. Children?"
"Children, obey your parents in the Lord, for this is right."
I am so madly in love with this little boy. He's so, so brilliant! He's going to rock AWANA this Friday and finish his very first Sparks book. YIIPPEEE!!!! Deut 6:7 says, "Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up." I am so blessed to be able to teach my son God's commandments, His Word.
Amazing what an open heart, mind, and repetition can do. Though strangely, I'm not sure how many times I have said, "Pick up your clothes and put them in the dirty clothes hamper before you leave the bathroom." "When you take off your pjs, put them on the bed." "When I say, 'Pick up the toys,' I mean from all over the house, not just the room you're in." I've been saying these things for years, yet they have to constantly be repeated. Hmm, wonder how that works? You know- - not going to dwell on it now. I'll concentrate on the good.
My son ROCKS!!!! I am truly, madly, deeply in love with the second greatest boy ever born on Christmas!
Babies grow up
After taking over forty-five minutes to put on a shirt, pants, socks, vest, jacket, and velcro shoes for the second day in a row, I was at my wits end on what to do. On the drive to school, I asked, "Jory, what can we do so it won't take you so long to get dressed in the morning?"
The previous day we had had the convo about how he was purposely taking forever to dress. How he was knowingly doing wrong and that he was sinning. How the older of his twin sisters shouldn't get in trouble, having a crying fit, put her clothes on, get her hair done, yet still be dressed before him. I mean it's one thing if I find he's pushing his car or truck around or playing with his "Bubbles", but it's another thing to just lolly gag when getting dressed. UGH!
So I asked my question and Jory answered, "You could help me."
Did this six-year-old just tell me that he would get dressed faster if I helped him dress?! The six-year-old who has been dressing himself for half his life? Is the baby giving him some of her crack? I just chuckled to myself. My baby is getting older and giving me answers I never see coming.
Tomorrow, I'm going to wake him up earlier and turn the timer back on. His answer was surprising, but not gonna happen.
The previous day we had had the convo about how he was purposely taking forever to dress. How he was knowingly doing wrong and that he was sinning. How the older of his twin sisters shouldn't get in trouble, having a crying fit, put her clothes on, get her hair done, yet still be dressed before him. I mean it's one thing if I find he's pushing his car or truck around or playing with his "Bubbles", but it's another thing to just lolly gag when getting dressed. UGH!
So I asked my question and Jory answered, "You could help me."
Did this six-year-old just tell me that he would get dressed faster if I helped him dress?! The six-year-old who has been dressing himself for half his life? Is the baby giving him some of her crack? I just chuckled to myself. My baby is getting older and giving me answers I never see coming.
Tomorrow, I'm going to wake him up earlier and turn the timer back on. His answer was surprising, but not gonna happen.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Heart Attacks and Big Sisters
On Sunday morning, I dressed both girls, did they hair, and finally Jory had finished putting on his clothes. I was ready to hit the roof. Then in the car, he continually complained that he was cold and asked if the windows could be rolled up. If I roll down the windows, then it's not just a little warm, it's a lot warm because I'm always cold. I had Vandy toss him the jackets I brought in case we stayed late after church.
As we were all getting out the minivan I noticed Jory was missing his vest. Are you serious?!?! If you're cold, you layer yourself. You don't start taking off clothes when you cold. I demanded he find his vest and not get out of the car until he did. After waiting for a few minutes making us even later for church, I had had enough. I reiterated he couldn't get out the car until he found the vest (because honestly we have a minivan not a motor home), then I went to settle Vandy and the twins into church.
I went back to the minivan and he was still searching. I left the car door open for him and went back to my seat.
A few minutes later, Vandy asked if he could go check on Jory. He left and came back to say, "I can't find Jory. He's not in the car."
"What do you mean, you can't find him?"
"He's not in the car."
I got up and left the girls in his care while I walked as quickly as my slightly too big high heels would carry me. Jory was not in the van. I even opened the car door and called his name in case he had shrunk and was hiding underneath the car seats or in the trunk with the stroller.
As I walked back towards the church, I thought we are not going to be an episode of 48 Hour Mystery. This day was not going to end with my son being taken from the church parking lot. I told myself I was being crazy. Jory had not been kidnapped. Then I heard a voice say, the parents whose kids had been kidnapped had probably started their day as a normal day. I quickly thought about Heather and the other teens sitting at the table next to us. They could help me sweep the area for Jory. Though I thought I would have seen him, if he had passed the table and benches. Someone would have heard him if he had screamed and as the door was shut to get him out of the car.
Nope, I wasn't going to think that way. Though I did wonder when I should alert the church. Walking up the curb towards the church, a fellow church member pointed inside and said Jory was in there. I walked in and sure enough there he was standing between Aunt Dee Dee's legs. His vest was lying on the chair in front of them. I walked over to them and picked him and his vest up. My slowly increasing anxiety level lessened. Here was my boy.
"Mommy, I didn't see you so I went and sat with Auntie Dee Dee and Uncle Stan."
"I saw that. Good job, baby." I realized we had never talked before about what to do if we were ever separated. "Jory, you did the right thing by going into church and finding Auntie Dee Dee. If we are ever separated or you don't see me, then you go find the nearest adult you know. And if you don't know anyone, then go to an adult and tell them you've been separated from me, tell them my name, and give them my cell phone number. Okay?"
"Okay."
"Mommy is so proud of you."
I was irritated that he was being slow and what did that and my fit of anger get me, some moments panic that my baby, the love of my life, was gone - - had been taken from me. This parenting thing is not for the faint of heart.
____________________________________________________________________________________________
You know what I love big sisters with the cooking gene because you know, like with Slayers, in every generation in our family a cook is born. Mona is the cook in ours. I'm praying one of mine is the one for their generation.
So when you feel adventurous at Costco and buy pork tenderloin, you can make a simple call and say, "How do I cook this?"
"For how long?"
"At what temperature?"
And she answers all your questions without batting an eye.
As we were all getting out the minivan I noticed Jory was missing his vest. Are you serious?!?! If you're cold, you layer yourself. You don't start taking off clothes when you cold. I demanded he find his vest and not get out of the car until he did. After waiting for a few minutes making us even later for church, I had had enough. I reiterated he couldn't get out the car until he found the vest (because honestly we have a minivan not a motor home), then I went to settle Vandy and the twins into church.
I went back to the minivan and he was still searching. I left the car door open for him and went back to my seat.
A few minutes later, Vandy asked if he could go check on Jory. He left and came back to say, "I can't find Jory. He's not in the car."
"What do you mean, you can't find him?"
"He's not in the car."
I got up and left the girls in his care while I walked as quickly as my slightly too big high heels would carry me. Jory was not in the van. I even opened the car door and called his name in case he had shrunk and was hiding underneath the car seats or in the trunk with the stroller.
As I walked back towards the church, I thought we are not going to be an episode of 48 Hour Mystery. This day was not going to end with my son being taken from the church parking lot. I told myself I was being crazy. Jory had not been kidnapped. Then I heard a voice say, the parents whose kids had been kidnapped had probably started their day as a normal day. I quickly thought about Heather and the other teens sitting at the table next to us. They could help me sweep the area for Jory. Though I thought I would have seen him, if he had passed the table and benches. Someone would have heard him if he had screamed and as the door was shut to get him out of the car.
Nope, I wasn't going to think that way. Though I did wonder when I should alert the church. Walking up the curb towards the church, a fellow church member pointed inside and said Jory was in there. I walked in and sure enough there he was standing between Aunt Dee Dee's legs. His vest was lying on the chair in front of them. I walked over to them and picked him and his vest up. My slowly increasing anxiety level lessened. Here was my boy.
"Mommy, I didn't see you so I went and sat with Auntie Dee Dee and Uncle Stan."
"I saw that. Good job, baby." I realized we had never talked before about what to do if we were ever separated. "Jory, you did the right thing by going into church and finding Auntie Dee Dee. If we are ever separated or you don't see me, then you go find the nearest adult you know. And if you don't know anyone, then go to an adult and tell them you've been separated from me, tell them my name, and give them my cell phone number. Okay?"
"Okay."
"Mommy is so proud of you."
I was irritated that he was being slow and what did that and my fit of anger get me, some moments panic that my baby, the love of my life, was gone - - had been taken from me. This parenting thing is not for the faint of heart.
____________________________________________________________________________________________
You know what I love big sisters with the cooking gene because you know, like with Slayers, in every generation in our family a cook is born. Mona is the cook in ours. I'm praying one of mine is the one for their generation.
So when you feel adventurous at Costco and buy pork tenderloin, you can make a simple call and say, "How do I cook this?"
"For how long?"
"At what temperature?"
And she answers all your questions without batting an eye.
Knowing Your Baby
I remember going to a support group meeting led by my now awesome friend, Tracy and her hubby, Rob, and putting Jory in the daycare in the room next to where the adults would be meeting. I worried once the door would close, Jory would need me or cry for me and I wouldn't hear him. How would I know Jory in the sea of babies and toddlers that were being watched by babysitters?
Thirty minutes or so into the meeting, I hear this cry and I know that's Jory. I knew my baby's cry. So this first time mother quickly walked out of the meeting room and picked up her one-year-old and calmed him down. I tried to give him back to the babysitter once he was calm, but he was having none of it. So I grabbed his baby bag and took him inside the meeting with me.
Why didn't I think I would know his cry? Did I think his cry would get drowned out by the other babies crying? Did I think all babies' cries sounded the same? I don't know. But I do know as soon as he started crying, I thought, that's Jory. My baby is crying and I need to get to him now.
Even now with three, I know their different cries. In my head, I can hear the different ways, the unique inflections in their voices when they say, "Mommy."
And as I know them, they know me. "Oma, Mommy's home."
"She's not here, yet," I can hear my mom telling them.
Then feet race toward me. Layla's high pitched squeal of "Mommy." Jory's giggly "Mommy." And Rowan's calmer "Mommy." They know the sound of my car. They know when their mommy is walking through the door, and when she's on the phone.
They know my cry, like I know theirs. And in a crowd full of people we would know and find each other cause we know each other.
Thirty minutes or so into the meeting, I hear this cry and I know that's Jory. I knew my baby's cry. So this first time mother quickly walked out of the meeting room and picked up her one-year-old and calmed him down. I tried to give him back to the babysitter once he was calm, but he was having none of it. So I grabbed his baby bag and took him inside the meeting with me.
Why didn't I think I would know his cry? Did I think his cry would get drowned out by the other babies crying? Did I think all babies' cries sounded the same? I don't know. But I do know as soon as he started crying, I thought, that's Jory. My baby is crying and I need to get to him now.
Even now with three, I know their different cries. In my head, I can hear the different ways, the unique inflections in their voices when they say, "Mommy."
And as I know them, they know me. "Oma, Mommy's home."
"She's not here, yet," I can hear my mom telling them.
Then feet race toward me. Layla's high pitched squeal of "Mommy." Jory's giggly "Mommy." And Rowan's calmer "Mommy." They know the sound of my car. They know when their mommy is walking through the door, and when she's on the phone.
They know my cry, like I know theirs. And in a crowd full of people we would know and find each other cause we know each other.
Happy Third Birthday!!!
For Rowan’s second birthday, we went to steak, seafood, salad, Sizzler. The place every little girl dreams of going. I went to the salad bar for my mom and sat her plate on the table.
“You didn’t get anything for the baby,” she stated.
I looked at her plate, stared at the spaghetti I had put on it for the baby, since she didn’t eat meat, then I looked back at her. “The spaghetti is for her.”
“How is she going to eat it?” Oma questioned.
What did she mean how was she going to eat it? You just - - oh wait. It hit me. Layla was my newly turned one-year-old with no teeth. She had been a recently turned eleven-month-old when placed in my arms and my third child, so I decided she was going to graduate early to table food like everyone else in her new family. My days of buying baby food were over. So from our first meal together, I would chew her food then give it to her. Until my mom asked how she was going to eat the spaghetti and meatballs, I hadn’t realized I was doing it.
There I was with this little baby I had only met twenty-four hours before, yet I had unknowingly started this intimate eating ritual with her. Yes, I know we had taken our relationship to the next level with the adoption. We were tied together for life, but our newly acquired eating habits were something else.
As a child, I was constantly under my mother, constantly touching her, but as I grew older I moved away from that. I remember not even wanting to hold Shane’s hand when we were out in public. He questioned me about it and I gave him an answer that firmly stamped me as my mother’s daughter. Yet years later here I was without even thinking about it engaged in this intimacy with this baby who was for all intents and purposes a stranger and I never gave it a second thought. I know intimacy is part of motherhood, Jory taught me that. It never dawned on me on how much I would see a penis until I had a son. Now that’s intimacy. Maybe by child number three, you’re not really aware of how quickly the closeness begins or the forms it will take.
A few days after Layla and I became mother and child, I told her I loved her. Was I truly in love with her? I don’t think so, I think love comes with knowledge and time. But I felt strong emotions for her because she was mine, all mine. No social worker or county worker lurking about. No judge who didn’t have her best interest in mind making decisions about her future. The absences of those things upped my growing feelings for her.
Maybe the eating closeness started so effortlessly because unbeknownst to us it spoke so clearly of our developing relationship. One where my insomnia in Vietnam had her crawling around the bed and playing with her toys that her mommy and Auntie Heather bought her until she collapsed in the early morning hours. One where if I get out of bed and she’s not in her REM sleep, she reaches out for me, cries for me, and as she’s gotten older says, “Go with you, Mommy.” One where from a young age, she held my face between her tiny hands and would kiss me. One where she seemingly has feet and legs, yet is permanently attached to my hip.
I sometimes look at her and wonder if I had held her when she was five-days-old like Jory or picked her up from the hospital like I did Willow, if our relationship would be closer or different. If she would be a different person. But in the end I realize, we gel so well because of that time apart. She was becoming the person she needed to be to become my baby girl and I was becoming the mommy she needed. And really I’m not sure if we could be any closer. I would be slightly afraid of what that would look like.
Being Layla’s mother has been a journey and is a journey. Strong willed is a nice term to describe her. She is funny and smart. My friend, Roxanne, was right when she said watch out when Layla starts walking. Layla is the child that when she’s quiet she’s up to something. Putting toothbrushes in the toilet or in her mind “rinsing” them. Or drinking water from the bathroom sink, a new favorite pastime. Playing with toys that she shouldn’t be. Playing with things that she shouldn’t even be touching. Saying things she shouldn’t be saying, “Oh my gosh!”
When you ask her what she’s doing with the look of angel, she replies, “Noteeng.”
“Then why are all the Memory game cards all over the floor?”
“Roro.”
“She wasn’t even in here.”
“Jory.”
“He wasn’t in here.”
She innocently shrugs her shoulders. Wasn’t aware one so young could throw their siblings under the bus. She is constantly teaching me new things, some days mostly about God’s boundless grace and unending love for us.
I love her to death, but this strong willed one makes me want to scream at times. And other times, I want to drown her in kisses and other times pound my head against the wall.
When Layla was younger, she would cross her arms when she was upset. The first time she did it, I thought I was seeing things. No, a not quite two-year-old didn’t know how to cross their arms. But I wasn’t and she was. So we had to have some discussions about her actions. After some time, she stopped doing it. Recently she has taken to putting her hands on her hips which I guess is her new way to show she’s upset since she has stopped saying, “You not come to my party.” We’re working on this one. But you can always count on Layla to make her feelings known.
And now with her third birthday upon us, we are traveling down this road of independence and babiness. There are some mornings when I all I hear is “I do it myself. Me do it.” And some mornings when I hear, “Help me,” aka brush my teeth for me, put my socks on, dress me. Some mornings looks have to be given for the commands, “Get my shoes. Get my socks.” Even with a “please” attached the tone is pure command. Maybe sometimes she thinks she’s the head honcho in the military. Hmm, maybe we’ve watched episodes of The Unit together to give her such ideas.
I think our future together is going to be interesting to say the least. And there will be more days where I will wonder if she’ll make it to eighteen or if she even wants to based on that attitude at times. And a lot more days when I remember what a true blessing she is and how her and her siblings are miracles, my greatest dreams come true.
Happy Birthday, Layla, and as I dress you with 30 Rock on in the background, I want you to know if you become the next Tina Fey, I would have succeeded as a parent.
I pray for the wisdom, strength, grace, compassion, and love to be the best parent I can be to you. I won’t always get it right because I am a faulty human, but I pray that you will be understanding and forgiving. For you my beautiful, baby girl, I pray for not happiness because that is fleeting, like sadness, but I pray that like Paul in Philippians 4:11b – 13, you can say firmly and confidently, “For I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all this through him who gives me strength.”
Baby girl, you are my heart with arms and legs. I adore you. I love you endlessly. I love you forever. I like you for always, though I won’t always like what you do or say. As long as I’m living, my baby you’ll be.
One day, I pray your eyes and mind will be opened and the words of this Steven Curtis Chapman song ring true for you.
On the bank of the South China Sea
In a Vietnamese town
I drew my first breath one January day
And before my feet even touched the ground
With people gathered 'round
I started to dance
I started to dance
A little girl full of wide-eyed wonder
Footloose and fancy free
But it would happen, as it does for every dancer
That I'd stumble on a truth I couldn't see
And find a longing deep inside of me, it said...
I am the heart, I need the heartbeat
I am the eyes, I need the sight
I realize that I am just a body
I need the life
I move my feet, I go through the motions
But who'll give purpose to chance
I am the dancer
I need the Lord of the dance
And while the music of His love and mercy plays
I will fall down on my knees and I will pray
I am the heart, You are the heartbeat
I am the eyes, You are the sight
And I see clearly, I am just a body
You are the life
I move my feet, I go through the motions
But You give purpose to chance
I am the dancer
You are the Lord of the dance
I am the dancer
You are the Lord of the dance
“You didn’t get anything for the baby,” she stated.
I looked at her plate, stared at the spaghetti I had put on it for the baby, since she didn’t eat meat, then I looked back at her. “The spaghetti is for her.”
“How is she going to eat it?” Oma questioned.
What did she mean how was she going to eat it? You just - - oh wait. It hit me. Layla was my newly turned one-year-old with no teeth. She had been a recently turned eleven-month-old when placed in my arms and my third child, so I decided she was going to graduate early to table food like everyone else in her new family. My days of buying baby food were over. So from our first meal together, I would chew her food then give it to her. Until my mom asked how she was going to eat the spaghetti and meatballs, I hadn’t realized I was doing it.
There I was with this little baby I had only met twenty-four hours before, yet I had unknowingly started this intimate eating ritual with her. Yes, I know we had taken our relationship to the next level with the adoption. We were tied together for life, but our newly acquired eating habits were something else.
As a child, I was constantly under my mother, constantly touching her, but as I grew older I moved away from that. I remember not even wanting to hold Shane’s hand when we were out in public. He questioned me about it and I gave him an answer that firmly stamped me as my mother’s daughter. Yet years later here I was without even thinking about it engaged in this intimacy with this baby who was for all intents and purposes a stranger and I never gave it a second thought. I know intimacy is part of motherhood, Jory taught me that. It never dawned on me on how much I would see a penis until I had a son. Now that’s intimacy. Maybe by child number three, you’re not really aware of how quickly the closeness begins or the forms it will take.
A few days after Layla and I became mother and child, I told her I loved her. Was I truly in love with her? I don’t think so, I think love comes with knowledge and time. But I felt strong emotions for her because she was mine, all mine. No social worker or county worker lurking about. No judge who didn’t have her best interest in mind making decisions about her future. The absences of those things upped my growing feelings for her.
Maybe the eating closeness started so effortlessly because unbeknownst to us it spoke so clearly of our developing relationship. One where my insomnia in Vietnam had her crawling around the bed and playing with her toys that her mommy and Auntie Heather bought her until she collapsed in the early morning hours. One where if I get out of bed and she’s not in her REM sleep, she reaches out for me, cries for me, and as she’s gotten older says, “Go with you, Mommy.” One where from a young age, she held my face between her tiny hands and would kiss me. One where she seemingly has feet and legs, yet is permanently attached to my hip.
I sometimes look at her and wonder if I had held her when she was five-days-old like Jory or picked her up from the hospital like I did Willow, if our relationship would be closer or different. If she would be a different person. But in the end I realize, we gel so well because of that time apart. She was becoming the person she needed to be to become my baby girl and I was becoming the mommy she needed. And really I’m not sure if we could be any closer. I would be slightly afraid of what that would look like.
Being Layla’s mother has been a journey and is a journey. Strong willed is a nice term to describe her. She is funny and smart. My friend, Roxanne, was right when she said watch out when Layla starts walking. Layla is the child that when she’s quiet she’s up to something. Putting toothbrushes in the toilet or in her mind “rinsing” them. Or drinking water from the bathroom sink, a new favorite pastime. Playing with toys that she shouldn’t be. Playing with things that she shouldn’t even be touching. Saying things she shouldn’t be saying, “Oh my gosh!”
When you ask her what she’s doing with the look of angel, she replies, “Noteeng.”
“Then why are all the Memory game cards all over the floor?”
“Roro.”
“She wasn’t even in here.”
“Jory.”
“He wasn’t in here.”
She innocently shrugs her shoulders. Wasn’t aware one so young could throw their siblings under the bus. She is constantly teaching me new things, some days mostly about God’s boundless grace and unending love for us.
I love her to death, but this strong willed one makes me want to scream at times. And other times, I want to drown her in kisses and other times pound my head against the wall.
When Layla was younger, she would cross her arms when she was upset. The first time she did it, I thought I was seeing things. No, a not quite two-year-old didn’t know how to cross their arms. But I wasn’t and she was. So we had to have some discussions about her actions. After some time, she stopped doing it. Recently she has taken to putting her hands on her hips which I guess is her new way to show she’s upset since she has stopped saying, “You not come to my party.” We’re working on this one. But you can always count on Layla to make her feelings known.
And now with her third birthday upon us, we are traveling down this road of independence and babiness. There are some mornings when I all I hear is “I do it myself. Me do it.” And some mornings when I hear, “Help me,” aka brush my teeth for me, put my socks on, dress me. Some mornings looks have to be given for the commands, “Get my shoes. Get my socks.” Even with a “please” attached the tone is pure command. Maybe sometimes she thinks she’s the head honcho in the military. Hmm, maybe we’ve watched episodes of The Unit together to give her such ideas.
I think our future together is going to be interesting to say the least. And there will be more days where I will wonder if she’ll make it to eighteen or if she even wants to based on that attitude at times. And a lot more days when I remember what a true blessing she is and how her and her siblings are miracles, my greatest dreams come true.
Happy Birthday, Layla, and as I dress you with 30 Rock on in the background, I want you to know if you become the next Tina Fey, I would have succeeded as a parent.
I pray for the wisdom, strength, grace, compassion, and love to be the best parent I can be to you. I won’t always get it right because I am a faulty human, but I pray that you will be understanding and forgiving. For you my beautiful, baby girl, I pray for not happiness because that is fleeting, like sadness, but I pray that like Paul in Philippians 4:11b – 13, you can say firmly and confidently, “For I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all this through him who gives me strength.”
Baby girl, you are my heart with arms and legs. I adore you. I love you endlessly. I love you forever. I like you for always, though I won’t always like what you do or say. As long as I’m living, my baby you’ll be.
One day, I pray your eyes and mind will be opened and the words of this Steven Curtis Chapman song ring true for you.
On the bank of the South China Sea
In a Vietnamese town
I drew my first breath one January day
And before my feet even touched the ground
With people gathered 'round
I started to dance
I started to dance
A little girl full of wide-eyed wonder
Footloose and fancy free
But it would happen, as it does for every dancer
That I'd stumble on a truth I couldn't see
And find a longing deep inside of me, it said...
I am the heart, I need the heartbeat
I am the eyes, I need the sight
I realize that I am just a body
I need the life
I move my feet, I go through the motions
But who'll give purpose to chance
I am the dancer
I need the Lord of the dance
And while the music of His love and mercy plays
I will fall down on my knees and I will pray
I am the heart, You are the heartbeat
I am the eyes, You are the sight
And I see clearly, I am just a body
You are the life
I move my feet, I go through the motions
But You give purpose to chance
I am the dancer
You are the Lord of the dance
I am the dancer
You are the Lord of the dance
It started off so simply...
Oma suggested upon seeing Layla’s CoC (certificate of citizenship) that all of Layla’s documents i.e. birth certificate, adoption decree, social security card, all have the same name on them. She said it would make it easier for her. Who am I not to listen to a government worker on the area of Layla’s future dealings with other government or state agencies.
I looked at the paperwork which came with Layla’s CoC, found the form I needed to fill out, and the cost to get a replacement CoC. I am very glad that President George H.W. Bush created a law in which CoCs were automatically generated upon your child touching US soil. A citizen simply because your parent is a citizen. Before families would have to purchase a CoC, which I think many didn’t because of the cost.
But wouldn’t it be nice if when politicians and lawmakers came up with new laws, they would bring in a few citizens who the law would directly affect and asked them what they think about the law. Imagine if they had invited a few parents, who created their families through adoption, and asked them what they thought. I bet all the parents would have said, “Hey, can we have a line where we can write our children’s new names, if we want to change them?” But that would be too much like common sense and bureaucracy and common sense aren’t friends, not even frienemies.
Sorry I digress, I downloaded the form and tried to fill it out but there were questions I didn’t remember the answer to or wasn’t sure how to answer. I posted on my yahoo group and for the first time in a long time, there were few answers to my questions. What no one got a new/replacement CoC? Guess not. I finally got answers from a board I posted to out of desperation. I finished filling out the form and moved on to step two.
Who knew getting a one-year-old to take a picture could be so difficult? But I preserved and in the end, I got the two passport size photos.
CoC form filled out - - check
Copy of adoption decree showing name change - - check
Two passport photos with Layla’s name on the back - - check
Original CoC - - check
Check made out for a gazillion dollars - - check (uh, why doesn’t our government have any money? Because this one sheet of paper is mega-expensive.)
I took my precious envelope to the mailroom to be weighed and learn the exact postage needed on it. I put the stamps on it, but before I put the envelope in the mail I once asked the mailroom woman the postage amount and she confirmed what I had on my envelope. Perfect. Now if I could get the new CoC back in a timely manner, then I could get Layla’s social security card and she’d have a number to put on my taxes.
Two days later, I come home to find my envelope returned to me for lack of postage. Are you serious?! The mailroom chick did me wrong. I immediately put the application and its accompanying documents in a new envelope, took it to the post office, I wasn’t taking any chances, and sent it off again.
I waited with bated breath to make sure nothing came back and nothing did. Yippee!!! Twelve days later, an envelope from INS awaited me. Wow, they move fast, I thought as I opened the envelope only to discover my application, its accompanying documents, and my check were inside with another envelope and a letter.
One of my questions about the application was where to sign. One line was to be signed by the applicant. The second line was to be signed by the preparer, who wasn’t the applicant. One person said she signed as if she were the applicant and put in parenthesis that she was mom. The only other person to answer the question said she signed as the preparer, then warned me that the ultimate answer of where to sign fell to whatever government worker opened the envelope and where they preferred it to be signed.
My worker didn’t like where I signed so he or she sent it back saying to sign where the applicant is suppose to sign. I put my John Hancock where he or she wanted, put it in the nicely supplied envelope and back to the post office I went. (Why couldn’t there be a simple line that reads applicant signature or if applicant is under the age of 18 signature of parent/legal guardian? Oh, that’s right. That sounds like common sense.)
Ten days letter another envelope from INS, yes! Layla’s CoC was here. Nope it wasn’t that, thankfully it wasn’t my application back either. It was simply a receipt saying INS had received my application and it was being processed. The receipt did state that while I could go on-line to check the status of my application the status wouldn’t change until the CoC had been mailed out. Uh, okay. So I can order a pizza on-line from Domino’s and watch the progress of my pizza every step of the way, i.e., Bob is making your pizza; Sarah is placing it in the oven; but the government that governs over 300 hundred million people can’t get a similar system so I can estimate when I’ll get an important government document. Gotcha.
I threw myself head first into Christmas activities and one day, guess what was waiting for me when I came home. You guessed it. Finally, Layla’s CoC, except it wasn’t that. It was an official letter saying my application was going to be denied and if it was they were going to keep my money and I would have to start the process all over again.
What was the problem that was going to bring my request for a new CoC to a grinding halt? INS informed me that they suspected Layla’s adoption decree had been forged. Her first and last names were typed on the document, but her middle names were hand written. I was speechless. They were hand written because the form the courthouse had on-line didn’t give me enough room to type her middle names. Strangely enough right next to my neat print was the judge’s circled initials which I know in most circles means he sees, acknowledges, and approves of what’s on the line, but in the world of INS that wasn’t good enough. I mean, who was the judge to okay this?
So in a very specific letter (shocking, I know), INS informed me they needed a certified court document stating what Layla’s full name was and that if the document wasn’t on their desk by January 6, my application would be rejected. Days before the world took off for Christmas vacations, I get this letter. I immediately called the courthouse and the nice woman who answered the phone said, “This is why the judge shouldn’t allow names to be hand written.” I guess INS had sent more than just me over the years back to the courthouse over this issue.
I filled out new adoption paperwork so I could send an amended decree to INS. After everything I had been through, there was no way I was going to chance my new paperwork getting caught up in Christmas cards and letters so I drove it to the courthouse to myself. The woman working the desk couldn’t guarantee me that I would get the documents signed before Christmas. Uh, did she not hear about my January 6 deadline? Not it had to be post-marked by January 6, but it had to be on the Mid-West INS worker’s desk on the 6th.
The woman told me she would do her best and I asked her if I could call in few days to see what progress had been made and she said okay. I also requested and added to the letter that explained my plight that I be called when the documents were signed and I would drive back and pick them up.
During our torrential downpour also known as the week of Christmas, I was slowly morphing into a stalker to get a certain courthouse employee on the line or to return my phone calls to answer my question: was my paperwork signed. Finally I got her on the phone and she told me, the papers had been signed and mailed. Roll of eyes and a sigh. I thanked her and prayed it would get to my house safely.
God answered my prayer and the next day, the very next day, there were our decrees. I made the executive decision to not mail it until the day after Christmas. I couldn’t afford for it to get lost in the masses of Christmas mail. After all the issues I had, I considered sending it Fed Ex, but my mom told me I could trust the post office. Weighed, stamped, and back into the mailbox and hopefully this time INS would be satisfied.
One week past and nothing, a second week and nothing. Score, they must be satisfied! Third week, an INS envelope awaited me on the table. Oh no! But my oh no turned into oh yes, finally the real deal Holyfield was in my hands. Layla’s CoC.
My mom looked at it and said, “Why does it look like she has no neck? And her shirt looks like its too small in the picture. Was that the best picture you could get?”
Oh no she didn’t. “It took an hour to take that picture because for some unknown reason babies can’t have their eyes closed or have tears on their face or be crying.” I tried asking, pleading, bribing. I offered her a soda, a candy bar, cookies, and none of it worked.
She wouldn’t stand on the chair to take the picture. Or when she did the moment I removed my hand from her she started to bawl while slinking down in the chair. I allowed her and her sister to do a big no no and let them push CVS owned cars around so she’d be willing to take the picture. It didn’t work. I was late picking up her brother from swimming lessons. So while her Oma saw what was wrong with the picture, I only saw the miracle that the picture actually existed. It was finally an orange, I found buried in my purse that worked.
With the CoC in hand, I marched down to the social security office. It was possible, my baby could actually have a social security number in time for me to file my taxes. After a nearly three hour wait, I sat down with the government employee only to be informed there was a possibility I would have to return because Layla’s CoC was too new. Too new? Too new?!?! Are you serious?
“I’m sorry?” If I had to come back to this office, it was going to be on and hoppin’.
“It might not be in the system because it was so recently issued.”
How this country’s government functions is truly an act of God.
“But I’ll try it and see,” the worker said.
As he finished inputting all the information, he informed me it was in the system and the application was complete though he couldn’t put her middle names on her card. Which is odd because her name is just as long as Rowan’s who got her complete name on her card. But whatever. I wasn’t going to fight it. One initial will work for me. Who knows maybe like me Layla will never use her middle names and will only hear them when I say her full name.
We’ll see if the card actually appears in ten days. I should have asked if that was business days or regular days.
And that’s the saga of a journey that sounded and still sounds so simple.
I looked at the paperwork which came with Layla’s CoC, found the form I needed to fill out, and the cost to get a replacement CoC. I am very glad that President George H.W. Bush created a law in which CoCs were automatically generated upon your child touching US soil. A citizen simply because your parent is a citizen. Before families would have to purchase a CoC, which I think many didn’t because of the cost.
But wouldn’t it be nice if when politicians and lawmakers came up with new laws, they would bring in a few citizens who the law would directly affect and asked them what they think about the law. Imagine if they had invited a few parents, who created their families through adoption, and asked them what they thought. I bet all the parents would have said, “Hey, can we have a line where we can write our children’s new names, if we want to change them?” But that would be too much like common sense and bureaucracy and common sense aren’t friends, not even frienemies.
Sorry I digress, I downloaded the form and tried to fill it out but there were questions I didn’t remember the answer to or wasn’t sure how to answer. I posted on my yahoo group and for the first time in a long time, there were few answers to my questions. What no one got a new/replacement CoC? Guess not. I finally got answers from a board I posted to out of desperation. I finished filling out the form and moved on to step two.
Who knew getting a one-year-old to take a picture could be so difficult? But I preserved and in the end, I got the two passport size photos.
CoC form filled out - - check
Copy of adoption decree showing name change - - check
Two passport photos with Layla’s name on the back - - check
Original CoC - - check
Check made out for a gazillion dollars - - check (uh, why doesn’t our government have any money? Because this one sheet of paper is mega-expensive.)
I took my precious envelope to the mailroom to be weighed and learn the exact postage needed on it. I put the stamps on it, but before I put the envelope in the mail I once asked the mailroom woman the postage amount and she confirmed what I had on my envelope. Perfect. Now if I could get the new CoC back in a timely manner, then I could get Layla’s social security card and she’d have a number to put on my taxes.
Two days later, I come home to find my envelope returned to me for lack of postage. Are you serious?! The mailroom chick did me wrong. I immediately put the application and its accompanying documents in a new envelope, took it to the post office, I wasn’t taking any chances, and sent it off again.
I waited with bated breath to make sure nothing came back and nothing did. Yippee!!! Twelve days later, an envelope from INS awaited me. Wow, they move fast, I thought as I opened the envelope only to discover my application, its accompanying documents, and my check were inside with another envelope and a letter.
One of my questions about the application was where to sign. One line was to be signed by the applicant. The second line was to be signed by the preparer, who wasn’t the applicant. One person said she signed as if she were the applicant and put in parenthesis that she was mom. The only other person to answer the question said she signed as the preparer, then warned me that the ultimate answer of where to sign fell to whatever government worker opened the envelope and where they preferred it to be signed.
My worker didn’t like where I signed so he or she sent it back saying to sign where the applicant is suppose to sign. I put my John Hancock where he or she wanted, put it in the nicely supplied envelope and back to the post office I went. (Why couldn’t there be a simple line that reads applicant signature or if applicant is under the age of 18 signature of parent/legal guardian? Oh, that’s right. That sounds like common sense.)
Ten days letter another envelope from INS, yes! Layla’s CoC was here. Nope it wasn’t that, thankfully it wasn’t my application back either. It was simply a receipt saying INS had received my application and it was being processed. The receipt did state that while I could go on-line to check the status of my application the status wouldn’t change until the CoC had been mailed out. Uh, okay. So I can order a pizza on-line from Domino’s and watch the progress of my pizza every step of the way, i.e., Bob is making your pizza; Sarah is placing it in the oven; but the government that governs over 300 hundred million people can’t get a similar system so I can estimate when I’ll get an important government document. Gotcha.
I threw myself head first into Christmas activities and one day, guess what was waiting for me when I came home. You guessed it. Finally, Layla’s CoC, except it wasn’t that. It was an official letter saying my application was going to be denied and if it was they were going to keep my money and I would have to start the process all over again.
What was the problem that was going to bring my request for a new CoC to a grinding halt? INS informed me that they suspected Layla’s adoption decree had been forged. Her first and last names were typed on the document, but her middle names were hand written. I was speechless. They were hand written because the form the courthouse had on-line didn’t give me enough room to type her middle names. Strangely enough right next to my neat print was the judge’s circled initials which I know in most circles means he sees, acknowledges, and approves of what’s on the line, but in the world of INS that wasn’t good enough. I mean, who was the judge to okay this?
So in a very specific letter (shocking, I know), INS informed me they needed a certified court document stating what Layla’s full name was and that if the document wasn’t on their desk by January 6, my application would be rejected. Days before the world took off for Christmas vacations, I get this letter. I immediately called the courthouse and the nice woman who answered the phone said, “This is why the judge shouldn’t allow names to be hand written.” I guess INS had sent more than just me over the years back to the courthouse over this issue.
I filled out new adoption paperwork so I could send an amended decree to INS. After everything I had been through, there was no way I was going to chance my new paperwork getting caught up in Christmas cards and letters so I drove it to the courthouse to myself. The woman working the desk couldn’t guarantee me that I would get the documents signed before Christmas. Uh, did she not hear about my January 6 deadline? Not it had to be post-marked by January 6, but it had to be on the Mid-West INS worker’s desk on the 6th.
The woman told me she would do her best and I asked her if I could call in few days to see what progress had been made and she said okay. I also requested and added to the letter that explained my plight that I be called when the documents were signed and I would drive back and pick them up.
During our torrential downpour also known as the week of Christmas, I was slowly morphing into a stalker to get a certain courthouse employee on the line or to return my phone calls to answer my question: was my paperwork signed. Finally I got her on the phone and she told me, the papers had been signed and mailed. Roll of eyes and a sigh. I thanked her and prayed it would get to my house safely.
God answered my prayer and the next day, the very next day, there were our decrees. I made the executive decision to not mail it until the day after Christmas. I couldn’t afford for it to get lost in the masses of Christmas mail. After all the issues I had, I considered sending it Fed Ex, but my mom told me I could trust the post office. Weighed, stamped, and back into the mailbox and hopefully this time INS would be satisfied.
One week past and nothing, a second week and nothing. Score, they must be satisfied! Third week, an INS envelope awaited me on the table. Oh no! But my oh no turned into oh yes, finally the real deal Holyfield was in my hands. Layla’s CoC.
My mom looked at it and said, “Why does it look like she has no neck? And her shirt looks like its too small in the picture. Was that the best picture you could get?”
Oh no she didn’t. “It took an hour to take that picture because for some unknown reason babies can’t have their eyes closed or have tears on their face or be crying.” I tried asking, pleading, bribing. I offered her a soda, a candy bar, cookies, and none of it worked.
She wouldn’t stand on the chair to take the picture. Or when she did the moment I removed my hand from her she started to bawl while slinking down in the chair. I allowed her and her sister to do a big no no and let them push CVS owned cars around so she’d be willing to take the picture. It didn’t work. I was late picking up her brother from swimming lessons. So while her Oma saw what was wrong with the picture, I only saw the miracle that the picture actually existed. It was finally an orange, I found buried in my purse that worked.
With the CoC in hand, I marched down to the social security office. It was possible, my baby could actually have a social security number in time for me to file my taxes. After a nearly three hour wait, I sat down with the government employee only to be informed there was a possibility I would have to return because Layla’s CoC was too new. Too new? Too new?!?! Are you serious?
“I’m sorry?” If I had to come back to this office, it was going to be on and hoppin’.
“It might not be in the system because it was so recently issued.”
How this country’s government functions is truly an act of God.
“But I’ll try it and see,” the worker said.
As he finished inputting all the information, he informed me it was in the system and the application was complete though he couldn’t put her middle names on her card. Which is odd because her name is just as long as Rowan’s who got her complete name on her card. But whatever. I wasn’t going to fight it. One initial will work for me. Who knows maybe like me Layla will never use her middle names and will only hear them when I say her full name.
We’ll see if the card actually appears in ten days. I should have asked if that was business days or regular days.
And that’s the saga of a journey that sounded and still sounds so simple.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
The more things change or delusions?
My mom and I were watching the Golden Globes on Sunday. Ricky Gervas was painfully funny, which was hilarious at home, but maybe at the hotel where the awards were taking place, he probably made the room a little, a lot, uncomfortable with his brutal honesty. The camera panned to Angelina and Brad and my mom asked me something about their kids.
I mentioned that Zahara, their oldest daughter, was like 2 weeks younger than Jory, and I said I heard a rumor that she was Brad's favorite.
To which my mom replied, over the other kids?
To which I said, that's the rumor.
To which she said, he may like her a lot, but there's no way he loves her more than his biological children.
To which I asked after I stopped laughing, so if I had a biological child you would love him or her more than the other three?
To which she answered without batting an eye, yes.
I laughed again and let the conversation end. The thought did cross my mind to adopt an embryo and nine months later give birth to a little blonde hair, blue eyed baby and see if she would love that baby or would he or she not be biological enough for her....Somehow I bet giving birth would not be enough for her.
I wanted to ask her, how she would love a bio grandchild more and what would that look like exactly. Would she give this imaginary child more sips of her tea that she drinks in the morning, than she would the other three? Would she give this child more bites of her sandwich or of her food than she would the other three? Would she let this child stay up later than the other three? Would she stop buying things and thinking of the other three when she was out because she had this one grandchild that she shared DNA with?
I know in her heart my mother believes her words to be true though she would willing do anything to protect TTT, to keep them safe, to help them be the greatest children of God. I pray TTT will have the wisdom to loving embrace their Oma when she says wacky things she believes, yet her actions and heart say differently and speak the truth.
Why is it that we delude ourselves? And why is it that we think the pasture is greener on the other side? And why is it so hard for believers in God to accept adoption when we ourselves were and are adopted into our Abba's family? Praise God for giving me the wisdom through Oma's self-delusions and the ability to laugh at it. What would I do without the laughs she unintentionally gives me?
I should ask Oma if she thinks Joseph was just really fond of Jesus, but only truly loved his bio children.
I mentioned that Zahara, their oldest daughter, was like 2 weeks younger than Jory, and I said I heard a rumor that she was Brad's favorite.
To which my mom replied, over the other kids?
To which I said, that's the rumor.
To which she said, he may like her a lot, but there's no way he loves her more than his biological children.
To which I asked after I stopped laughing, so if I had a biological child you would love him or her more than the other three?
To which she answered without batting an eye, yes.
I laughed again and let the conversation end. The thought did cross my mind to adopt an embryo and nine months later give birth to a little blonde hair, blue eyed baby and see if she would love that baby or would he or she not be biological enough for her....Somehow I bet giving birth would not be enough for her.
I wanted to ask her, how she would love a bio grandchild more and what would that look like exactly. Would she give this imaginary child more sips of her tea that she drinks in the morning, than she would the other three? Would she give this child more bites of her sandwich or of her food than she would the other three? Would she let this child stay up later than the other three? Would she stop buying things and thinking of the other three when she was out because she had this one grandchild that she shared DNA with?
I know in her heart my mother believes her words to be true though she would willing do anything to protect TTT, to keep them safe, to help them be the greatest children of God. I pray TTT will have the wisdom to loving embrace their Oma when she says wacky things she believes, yet her actions and heart say differently and speak the truth.
Why is it that we delude ourselves? And why is it that we think the pasture is greener on the other side? And why is it so hard for believers in God to accept adoption when we ourselves were and are adopted into our Abba's family? Praise God for giving me the wisdom through Oma's self-delusions and the ability to laugh at it. What would I do without the laughs she unintentionally gives me?
I should ask Oma if she thinks Joseph was just really fond of Jesus, but only truly loved his bio children.
Martin Luther King Day
We were wishy washy about going to the parade today, but after Ronnie called and asked if she could take Jory and I got up to supervise his dressing (I know awesome right that my son can pick out his own clothes and dress himself) and took him over to her house, I decided we should go.
We tried to meet up with Ronnie and the rest of the family, but between the bad directions of my aunt and mother, we decided to park at a bank for gasp- - free, and watch the parade near the end of the route.
As I looked around at all the people, I thought wow I can't believe I brought Layla here two years ago after being home for barely two weeks. That poor baby probably had no idea what was going on. Surrounded by tons of people, being held by strangers calling themselves family. She is and was one tough cookie.
The girls enjoyed the parade, Rowan particularly liked it when Oma took her out of her double stroller and let her stand near the edge of the parade to see the participants.
I enjoyed the parade though as I watched the cheerleaders and drill teams march by, I did wonder how their parents let their daughters leave the house dressed like that. When did the skirts have to become so short in order to cheer on the football and basketball teams? For some schools, I wondered why they even had the girls wear skirts they should have just worn a bodysuit or the sweater with the bloomers and saved the effort of the scant material that was supposedly a "skirt." There was one school that had their team in a long white dress shirt, with black pants, and black tie, and I thought they looked fabulous. Fabulous, cheery, and all body parts covered, what a revolutionary idea.
When Jory came home, he had tons of pictures. It seemed like every cop in the world came up to him. And like I knew he would be, he was thrilled to see all the cops, firemen, garbage trucks that were in the parade. He was in his speechless boy heaven. Gosh, I love that boy!
All in all it was a great day, particularly since TTT were so tired they were all in bed and asleep by 8PM - - SCORE!, warm weather, surrounded by family, watching a parade in honor of a man whom God gave a Moses like task to help free His people. What a wonderful way to spend the day.
We tried to meet up with Ronnie and the rest of the family, but between the bad directions of my aunt and mother, we decided to park at a bank for gasp- - free, and watch the parade near the end of the route.
As I looked around at all the people, I thought wow I can't believe I brought Layla here two years ago after being home for barely two weeks. That poor baby probably had no idea what was going on. Surrounded by tons of people, being held by strangers calling themselves family. She is and was one tough cookie.
The girls enjoyed the parade, Rowan particularly liked it when Oma took her out of her double stroller and let her stand near the edge of the parade to see the participants.
I enjoyed the parade though as I watched the cheerleaders and drill teams march by, I did wonder how their parents let their daughters leave the house dressed like that. When did the skirts have to become so short in order to cheer on the football and basketball teams? For some schools, I wondered why they even had the girls wear skirts they should have just worn a bodysuit or the sweater with the bloomers and saved the effort of the scant material that was supposedly a "skirt." There was one school that had their team in a long white dress shirt, with black pants, and black tie, and I thought they looked fabulous. Fabulous, cheery, and all body parts covered, what a revolutionary idea.
When Jory came home, he had tons of pictures. It seemed like every cop in the world came up to him. And like I knew he would be, he was thrilled to see all the cops, firemen, garbage trucks that were in the parade. He was in his speechless boy heaven. Gosh, I love that boy!
All in all it was a great day, particularly since TTT were so tired they were all in bed and asleep by 8PM - - SCORE!, warm weather, surrounded by family, watching a parade in honor of a man whom God gave a Moses like task to help free His people. What a wonderful way to spend the day.
Living at Home...
When Shane and I first got married, we moved to Montana. I was okay with it. I figured it continued my unexpected pattern of living in places that end in "A", California, Minnesota, Georgia, Louisiana, and Malta. We agreed to live there until we had kids because I wanted our kids to grow up the way I did- - surrounded by family, able to go to church with aunts, uncles, cousins, able to visit family on a random Saturday afternoon, and go shopping with them on a Black Friday.
Now I have kids and I live in the greatest city in the world rearing my kids. And this past Sunday, we skipped going to our favorite church in the OC and instead went to church with my aunt, who was celebrating her 70th birthday. After church, we went to my other aunt's house to change the kids' clothes. (Side note, I told Rowan to get her shoes and the baby's shoes for church and she came back with their cute red shoes. Look at that without my prompting, my big girl chose matching shoes for her and her Irish twin. Did I mention my big girl is a genius. Genius!) Then we followed two of my aunt's to Sizzler.
And you know what true love is...true love is going to eat lunch at 2PM on a Sunday at one of the two remaining Sizzlers in LA. Did I mention it was 2PM aka after church? True love is eating at an okay restaurant which turns into a not so good experience when your waitress takes 10 minutes to bring you a baked potato that is actually hot enough to melt the butter that was put on top of it. Takes 30 minutes to bring you their famous Texas toast. And who never refills your drink. The things you do for the love of your aunt....
After that experience, we went back to my aunt's house for ice cream cake, which was delicioso! My big girl led the "Happy Birthday" song. The kids were more than thrilled to wish their aunt a happy birthday, give her a big hug and kiss, and ask for a happy birthday balloon.
Happy Birthday to my wonderful, loving Aunt Carol, whose arms, heart, and door are always open. The first of my grandma's daughters to live to see 70.
It's days like these, moments like these, that make me thrilled I'm raising my kids around family like I was.
Now I have kids and I live in the greatest city in the world rearing my kids. And this past Sunday, we skipped going to our favorite church in the OC and instead went to church with my aunt, who was celebrating her 70th birthday. After church, we went to my other aunt's house to change the kids' clothes. (Side note, I told Rowan to get her shoes and the baby's shoes for church and she came back with their cute red shoes. Look at that without my prompting, my big girl chose matching shoes for her and her Irish twin. Did I mention my big girl is a genius. Genius!) Then we followed two of my aunt's to Sizzler.
And you know what true love is...true love is going to eat lunch at 2PM on a Sunday at one of the two remaining Sizzlers in LA. Did I mention it was 2PM aka after church? True love is eating at an okay restaurant which turns into a not so good experience when your waitress takes 10 minutes to bring you a baked potato that is actually hot enough to melt the butter that was put on top of it. Takes 30 minutes to bring you their famous Texas toast. And who never refills your drink. The things you do for the love of your aunt....
After that experience, we went back to my aunt's house for ice cream cake, which was delicioso! My big girl led the "Happy Birthday" song. The kids were more than thrilled to wish their aunt a happy birthday, give her a big hug and kiss, and ask for a happy birthday balloon.
Happy Birthday to my wonderful, loving Aunt Carol, whose arms, heart, and door are always open. The first of my grandma's daughters to live to see 70.
It's days like these, moments like these, that make me thrilled I'm raising my kids around family like I was.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Sunday Morning Pray for TTT by the awesome Rebecca St. James
Wait for Me
Darling did you know that I
I dream about you
Waiting for the look in your eyes
When we meet for the first time
Darling did you know that I
I pray about you
Praying that you will hold on
And keep your loving eyes only for me
Cause,I am waiting for
Praying for you darling
Wait for me too
Wait for me as I wait for you
Cause, I am waiting for
Praying for you darling
Wait for me too
Wait for me as I wait for you
Darling wait
Darling wait
Darling did you know I dream about life together
Knowing it will be forever
I'll be yours and you'll be mine
And darling when I say
Till death do us part
I'll mean it with all of my heart
Now and always faithful to you
Cause, I am waiting for
Praying for you darling
Wait for me too
Wait for me as I wait for you
Cause, I am waiting for
Praying for you darling
Wait for me too
Wait for me as I wait for you
Darling wait
Darling wait
Now I know you may have made mistakes
But there's forgiveness and a second chance
So wait for me
Darling wait for me
Wait for me
wait for me
Cause, I am waiting for
Praying for you darling
Wait for me too
Wait for me as I wait for you
Cause, I am waiting for
Praying for you darling
Wait for me too
Wait for me as I wait for you
Cause, I am waiting for
Praying for you darling
Wait for me too
Wait for me as I wait for you
Cause, I am waiting for
Praying for you darling
Wait for me too
Wait for me as I wait for you
Darling wait
Darling wait
Wait for me
Darling wait
Cause I'm waiting for you
Cause I'm waiting for you
So wait for me
Darling wait
Wait for me
Darling did you know that I
I dream about you
Waiting for the look in your eyes
When we meet for the first time
Darling did you know that I
I pray about you
Praying that you will hold on
And keep your loving eyes only for me
Cause,I am waiting for
Praying for you darling
Wait for me too
Wait for me as I wait for you
Cause, I am waiting for
Praying for you darling
Wait for me too
Wait for me as I wait for you
Darling wait
Darling wait
Darling did you know I dream about life together
Knowing it will be forever
I'll be yours and you'll be mine
And darling when I say
Till death do us part
I'll mean it with all of my heart
Now and always faithful to you
Cause, I am waiting for
Praying for you darling
Wait for me too
Wait for me as I wait for you
Cause, I am waiting for
Praying for you darling
Wait for me too
Wait for me as I wait for you
Darling wait
Darling wait
Now I know you may have made mistakes
But there's forgiveness and a second chance
So wait for me
Darling wait for me
Wait for me
wait for me
Cause, I am waiting for
Praying for you darling
Wait for me too
Wait for me as I wait for you
Cause, I am waiting for
Praying for you darling
Wait for me too
Wait for me as I wait for you
Cause, I am waiting for
Praying for you darling
Wait for me too
Wait for me as I wait for you
Cause, I am waiting for
Praying for you darling
Wait for me too
Wait for me as I wait for you
Darling wait
Darling wait
Wait for me
Darling wait
Cause I'm waiting for you
Cause I'm waiting for you
So wait for me
Darling wait
Wait for me
I'm amazed
sometimes at what the kids say or know. On my dresser are pictures of loved ones: three-month-old Mijo in his first professional photo; Jory and Sasha in their first professional photograph; Auntie Em's picture of weeks old sleeping Jory; and some others.
As I was putting up clothes, the baby was looking at the photos.
"Mommy, who this is?" she inquired, phrasing her question exactly like her sister.
I did a quick glance at the picture she was pointing to and said, "That's Grandpa."
"That not grandpa."
"Yes, it's Mommy and Grandpa."
"No," she said insistently.
I went over to her and sure enough she was right. It wasn't the picture of Mommy, Oma, and Grandpa at our family reunion. The picture were I'm upset because one, I was awakened from my nap to take the family photo; and two because Oma was not a happy camper I had decided to take a nap at the 4th of July picnic with my five-month-old baby cousin. I mean, who in the world would want to take a nap on a cool blanket with a sweet baby while being shaded from the mid-day, July, Houston sun? Did I mention I was bored too? Ahhh, Omas. But I digress.
The baby was right it wasn't that photo she was looking at.
"You're right baby that isn't Grandpa, that's Uncle Brandon, Auntie Heather, and Mommy at Uncle Brandon and Auntie Heather's wedding."
Who knew between the two pictures casually placed throughout the house, the baby could recognize Grandpa?
And the surprises kept on coming on Saturday when Mr. Will told me he was going to hand Rowan back to me for a while then start the baby's swimming lessons. He's found it's better if he takes them one at a time because occasionally the baby decides to mimic her older sister which means there's not one but two crying Irish twins in the pool. Though praise God Layla's cries can't and don't get to that high pitched screech her sister's does. I informed Mr. Will the baby wasn't swimming today.
"You're not swimming today, baby?" Mr. Will asked.
"My nose runny," she answered, pointing to her nose.
Wait, she knows her nose is running? Wait, she knows her nose is running and that's why she's not taking swimming lessons today? Are you serious? I didn't tell her that.
"Your nose is running?" the swim instructor continued.
The baby nodded her head.
"Next week, you'll swim, right?"
"Okay," she said, nodding her head.
She knows her nose is running. I find that amazing. Who told her that? Have we been saying it so much that she knows? But how did she know to answer Will's question like that? It's like my baby is getting older.
Children get older
I'm getting older too
And sometimes I'm surprised what comes out of my mouth. As we were walking to the car after swimming lessons, the following convo took place.
"Mommy, I want to go to the park," Rowan declared.
"Mommy, I want to go to Chuck E. Cheese," Layla announced.
"We've already been to the park, Rowan. We're not going again," I answered. "And we can go to Chuck E. Cheese on Jory's birthday." I really try to go to that place once a year, maybe twice but that's it.
"Mommy, I want to go to the park," the older of the two repeated.
"Mommy, I want to go to Chuck E. Cheese," the younger of the two insisted.
"And Mommy wants to marry George Clooney. But these are all things that probably won't happen today. I'm 99.9% sure they won't happen today," I responded.
Was that really necessary? There was a bit of sarcasm in there. I've got to watch my tongue. But my answer was successful in stopping all talks of the Mouse and the park.
As I was putting up clothes, the baby was looking at the photos.
"Mommy, who this is?" she inquired, phrasing her question exactly like her sister.
I did a quick glance at the picture she was pointing to and said, "That's Grandpa."
"That not grandpa."
"Yes, it's Mommy and Grandpa."
"No," she said insistently.
I went over to her and sure enough she was right. It wasn't the picture of Mommy, Oma, and Grandpa at our family reunion. The picture were I'm upset because one, I was awakened from my nap to take the family photo; and two because Oma was not a happy camper I had decided to take a nap at the 4th of July picnic with my five-month-old baby cousin. I mean, who in the world would want to take a nap on a cool blanket with a sweet baby while being shaded from the mid-day, July, Houston sun? Did I mention I was bored too? Ahhh, Omas. But I digress.
The baby was right it wasn't that photo she was looking at.
"You're right baby that isn't Grandpa, that's Uncle Brandon, Auntie Heather, and Mommy at Uncle Brandon and Auntie Heather's wedding."
Who knew between the two pictures casually placed throughout the house, the baby could recognize Grandpa?
And the surprises kept on coming on Saturday when Mr. Will told me he was going to hand Rowan back to me for a while then start the baby's swimming lessons. He's found it's better if he takes them one at a time because occasionally the baby decides to mimic her older sister which means there's not one but two crying Irish twins in the pool. Though praise God Layla's cries can't and don't get to that high pitched screech her sister's does. I informed Mr. Will the baby wasn't swimming today.
"You're not swimming today, baby?" Mr. Will asked.
"My nose runny," she answered, pointing to her nose.
Wait, she knows her nose is running? Wait, she knows her nose is running and that's why she's not taking swimming lessons today? Are you serious? I didn't tell her that.
"Your nose is running?" the swim instructor continued.
The baby nodded her head.
"Next week, you'll swim, right?"
"Okay," she said, nodding her head.
She knows her nose is running. I find that amazing. Who told her that? Have we been saying it so much that she knows? But how did she know to answer Will's question like that? It's like my baby is getting older.
Children get older
I'm getting older too
And sometimes I'm surprised what comes out of my mouth. As we were walking to the car after swimming lessons, the following convo took place.
"Mommy, I want to go to the park," Rowan declared.
"Mommy, I want to go to Chuck E. Cheese," Layla announced.
"We've already been to the park, Rowan. We're not going again," I answered. "And we can go to Chuck E. Cheese on Jory's birthday." I really try to go to that place once a year, maybe twice but that's it.
"Mommy, I want to go to the park," the older of the two repeated.
"Mommy, I want to go to Chuck E. Cheese," the younger of the two insisted.
"And Mommy wants to marry George Clooney. But these are all things that probably won't happen today. I'm 99.9% sure they won't happen today," I responded.
Was that really necessary? There was a bit of sarcasm in there. I've got to watch my tongue. But my answer was successful in stopping all talks of the Mouse and the park.
Friday, January 14, 2011
Friday Ol' School Love for TTT
You all are the sun
You all are the rain
That make my life this foolish game
You all need to know
I love you so
And I'd do it all again and again
I know you know
The way I feel
I need your love for always
When I'm with you
I fall in love
Again and again
You all are the sun
You all are the rain
That make my life this foolish game
You all need to know
I love you so
And I'd do it all again and again
I am madly and hopelessly in love with my three beautiful, talented, funny, smart babies. And this is also for my two sons and daughter that I have yet to meet. Praying for all six of you...I love you!!
You all are the rain
That make my life this foolish game
You all need to know
I love you so
And I'd do it all again and again
I know you know
The way I feel
I need your love for always
When I'm with you
I fall in love
Again and again
You all are the sun
You all are the rain
That make my life this foolish game
You all need to know
I love you so
And I'd do it all again and again
I am madly and hopelessly in love with my three beautiful, talented, funny, smart babies. And this is also for my two sons and daughter that I have yet to meet. Praying for all six of you...I love you!!
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Feet
I am sure when Jory was a newborn I smelled and kissed his little tiny feet after he screamed his way through bath time those first few weeks. Before I put socks on them, I would kiss them, play "This Little Piggy" with them. They were cute adorable little feet. But when they kick me in the back or appear on the top of my stomach as I sleep, they aren't so adorable anymore.
It's not that they aren't cute, but they are just big. His feet are getting longer, his toes longer. He's almost at a size 12. What happened to the feet that weren't touching the top of his newborn footie pants? They are morphing into boy feet from the cute little baby feet I use to kiss.
It's not just that his feet are getting big, but what that represents.
"Mommy, I need a haircut because my hair bothers me when it grows."
Where did this line of conversation come from? What prompted a haircut discussion? He's never talked about or requested a haircut before. Though I agree with him, he's desperately in need of a haircut. We shouldn't have to brush his hair in the mornings. I had a whole year of that with him and that was more than enough.
"I feel like taking scissors to it and cutting it."
"You do not touch any scissors," I said authoritatively, as I only half-listened to my conference call.
"Mommy, I'm not- -"
"You do not pick up or touch scissors, is that understood?" Flashes of my babies' hair cut circle my mind.
"Yes, Mommy. I wasn't going to cut my hair with scissors I was saying I felt like doing it."
See this is what the feet growth represents having conversations with me that's he's never had before, putting things together like he never has before. It's the loss of innocence.
"Oma, why is that man sleeping in front of the building? Is it because he forgot his address?"
His Oma answered, "Yes."
One day homelessness can't be explained as simply as a man forgetting his address. I want him to stay in his pre-apple eating days in the Garden of Eden, but alas it is not possible. Plus let's be honest, if he was in his pre-apple eating days I wouldn't hear myself saying, "Jory, stop that." "Put that down." "What are you doing?" "Are you listening?" But in the world where my baby is a perfect angel, it saddens me that he is on his way to seeing the non-Eden world. Darn that Adam and Eve and growing feet!
It's not that they aren't cute, but they are just big. His feet are getting longer, his toes longer. He's almost at a size 12. What happened to the feet that weren't touching the top of his newborn footie pants? They are morphing into boy feet from the cute little baby feet I use to kiss.
It's not just that his feet are getting big, but what that represents.
"Mommy, I need a haircut because my hair bothers me when it grows."
Where did this line of conversation come from? What prompted a haircut discussion? He's never talked about or requested a haircut before. Though I agree with him, he's desperately in need of a haircut. We shouldn't have to brush his hair in the mornings. I had a whole year of that with him and that was more than enough.
"I feel like taking scissors to it and cutting it."
"You do not touch any scissors," I said authoritatively, as I only half-listened to my conference call.
"Mommy, I'm not- -"
"You do not pick up or touch scissors, is that understood?" Flashes of my babies' hair cut circle my mind.
"Yes, Mommy. I wasn't going to cut my hair with scissors I was saying I felt like doing it."
See this is what the feet growth represents having conversations with me that's he's never had before, putting things together like he never has before. It's the loss of innocence.
"Oma, why is that man sleeping in front of the building? Is it because he forgot his address?"
His Oma answered, "Yes."
One day homelessness can't be explained as simply as a man forgetting his address. I want him to stay in his pre-apple eating days in the Garden of Eden, but alas it is not possible. Plus let's be honest, if he was in his pre-apple eating days I wouldn't hear myself saying, "Jory, stop that." "Put that down." "What are you doing?" "Are you listening?" But in the world where my baby is a perfect angel, it saddens me that he is on his way to seeing the non-Eden world. Darn that Adam and Eve and growing feet!
Evening Scenes
"Mommy is here!" the six-year-old announces, as the Mommy walks into the house.
"Mommy's home!" the two-year-old exclaims, as she races to the Mommy to hug her legs.
***************************************************************************************
"Who didn't flush the toilet?" the boy asks, entering the family room.
"Mommy, did you forgot to flush the toilet?" he further inquires.
"Didn't I just get home? Have I had time to go to the bathroom?" the Mommy responses, then pauses, "Baby, did you flush the toilet?"
"I flush toilet," the baby says, as she stops playing and walks into the bathroom.
The Mommy follows her. "Baby, you have to remember to flush the toilet every time you use it."
"Okay," the baby responds as she flushes.
"Where's the toilet paper?" the Mommy ask, watching the water and content swirl away.
"Right here," the baby answers, pointing to the paper on the toilet paper holder.
"No, not that toilet paper," the Mommy counters.
"Over there," the baby states, pointing to the cabinet that contains the extra toilet paper.
"No, baby." The Mommy shakes her head and rephrases. "Did you use toilet paper?"
"Oh, toilet paper," the baby declares, as she pulls down her pants.
Now she gets it.
"Flush now, Mommy?"
"Yes, you can flush now and we can wash your hands."
**************************************************************************************
"Wade in the water," the three-year-old sings.
"Wade in the water, children," the two-year-old joins in as the sprays of the water rain down on them in the shower.
**************************************************************************************
"Mommy, can we watch a movie?" the older Irish twin asks.
"I wanna watch She-Ra," the younger of the Irish twin interjects.
"You can watch Signing Time," the Mommy says.
The Irish twins cheer.
**************************************************************************************
"Here, Mommy, I finished," the boy says to his half-asleep mommy as he hands her a piece of paper.
The Mommy looks at his homework and tries to remember the words, she thinks she sent him off a lifetime ago to write five times each. "Did you write them five times each?"
"Yes," he answers assuredly.
"Did you double check to make sure?"
"I will," he says.
"What is this word suppose to be? You need to erase this and write it over again. Remember you have to be neat. And can you please make this 'e' look like an 'e'," the Mommy requests.
He takes back his work and returns to his work station as the Mommy eases back into her half-asleep world.
*************************************************************************************
"Mommy if I lay down for two hours- -" the boy begins.
"Three hours. If you lay down with your eyes closed and quiet for three hours and you're still not sleepy, then you can- -"
"Get up and play."
"Yes."
"I'll set the timer," the boy says eagerly reaching for the timer.
"You can't set the timer for three hours. Get in bed and Mommy will let you know when three hours have passed," the Mommy assures the young boy.
And another night comes to an end without the steak being eaten.
"Mommy's home!" the two-year-old exclaims, as she races to the Mommy to hug her legs.
***************************************************************************************
"Who didn't flush the toilet?" the boy asks, entering the family room.
"Mommy, did you forgot to flush the toilet?" he further inquires.
"Didn't I just get home? Have I had time to go to the bathroom?" the Mommy responses, then pauses, "Baby, did you flush the toilet?"
"I flush toilet," the baby says, as she stops playing and walks into the bathroom.
The Mommy follows her. "Baby, you have to remember to flush the toilet every time you use it."
"Okay," the baby responds as she flushes.
"Where's the toilet paper?" the Mommy ask, watching the water and content swirl away.
"Right here," the baby answers, pointing to the paper on the toilet paper holder.
"No, not that toilet paper," the Mommy counters.
"Over there," the baby states, pointing to the cabinet that contains the extra toilet paper.
"No, baby." The Mommy shakes her head and rephrases. "Did you use toilet paper?"
"Oh, toilet paper," the baby declares, as she pulls down her pants.
Now she gets it.
"Flush now, Mommy?"
"Yes, you can flush now and we can wash your hands."
**************************************************************************************
"Wade in the water," the three-year-old sings.
"Wade in the water, children," the two-year-old joins in as the sprays of the water rain down on them in the shower.
**************************************************************************************
"Mommy, can we watch a movie?" the older Irish twin asks.
"I wanna watch She-Ra," the younger of the Irish twin interjects.
"You can watch Signing Time," the Mommy says.
The Irish twins cheer.
**************************************************************************************
"Here, Mommy, I finished," the boy says to his half-asleep mommy as he hands her a piece of paper.
The Mommy looks at his homework and tries to remember the words, she thinks she sent him off a lifetime ago to write five times each. "Did you write them five times each?"
"Yes," he answers assuredly.
"Did you double check to make sure?"
"I will," he says.
"What is this word suppose to be? You need to erase this and write it over again. Remember you have to be neat. And can you please make this 'e' look like an 'e'," the Mommy requests.
He takes back his work and returns to his work station as the Mommy eases back into her half-asleep world.
*************************************************************************************
"Mommy if I lay down for two hours- -" the boy begins.
"Three hours. If you lay down with your eyes closed and quiet for three hours and you're still not sleepy, then you can- -"
"Get up and play."
"Yes."
"I'll set the timer," the boy says eagerly reaching for the timer.
"You can't set the timer for three hours. Get in bed and Mommy will let you know when three hours have passed," the Mommy assures the young boy.
And another night comes to an end without the steak being eaten.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Omas
you know what's great about them is that what they think is exactly how everyone else thinks. Say you make lamb for dinner for your kids only to discover a few days later that none of the lamb has been eaten.
"Did you see the meat in the fridge?" you ask.
"The kids didn't like it," Oma replies.
"It doesn't look like the kids even ate any. Do the kids not like or do you not like it?"
"How can you eat the Lamb of God?"
Are you serious?! And let's be honest there's no comeback for that.
If Oma can't eat lamb, then no one can eat it. Actually the abhor the idea of it. Darn that dude at Costco for making it taste so good.
Why is there steak still in the refrigerator? Because Oma, who hasn't eaten meat since the mid-90s, has decided it looks too tough thus the kids won't eat it so why bother giving it to them.
It's moments like these when you think why cook.
"Is that what they're going to eat next week?" Oma asks, as you cook for the following work week.
"Yes."
She sighs and turns away.
And you know the chances of your children eating the food that you're cooking has just decreased by a minimum of 50%.
Why don't Omas cook more when they know what everyone wants to eat? Which is exactly what they want to eat. If only Omas could rule the world, what a better world we'd live in.
"Did you see the meat in the fridge?" you ask.
"The kids didn't like it," Oma replies.
"It doesn't look like the kids even ate any. Do the kids not like or do you not like it?"
"How can you eat the Lamb of God?"
Are you serious?! And let's be honest there's no comeback for that.
If Oma can't eat lamb, then no one can eat it. Actually the abhor the idea of it. Darn that dude at Costco for making it taste so good.
Why is there steak still in the refrigerator? Because Oma, who hasn't eaten meat since the mid-90s, has decided it looks too tough thus the kids won't eat it so why bother giving it to them.
It's moments like these when you think why cook.
"Is that what they're going to eat next week?" Oma asks, as you cook for the following work week.
"Yes."
She sighs and turns away.
And you know the chances of your children eating the food that you're cooking has just decreased by a minimum of 50%.
Why don't Omas cook more when they know what everyone wants to eat? Which is exactly what they want to eat. If only Omas could rule the world, what a better world we'd live in.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
What big ears you have?
"Everyone falls down. Everyone crawls now. You cry if you want to. That's what we all do." These were the words I heard coming from the dining room from Jory.
What was he saying? Or what was he singing? It sounded vaguely familiar. Wait. Wait. I know those words. He's singing Martina McBride's Wrong Baby Wrong.
Come on now
Everyone falls down
Everyone crawls now and then
Then they get up again
You cry if you want to
That’s what we all do
But if you think you’ll never move on you’re wrong baby
Who knew he knew that song? We'd only seen the video a few times. I was amazed. And as we were walking through the mall, it happened again. He was singing to himself and I overheard a few lines. You've got to love the world/Be a friend and when you're down/You've gotta get up again .
Hmm, love the world- - be a friend? I knew those lyrics. I knew those words. Oh snap! My son was singing the words to the chase song in Scooby Doo. We were obviously watching way too much Scooby if he was singing the songs from the chase scenes. Not even the opening theme, but the chase song.
"You stole my happy/You made me cry..." My singing boy was at it again, but this time, though I was surprised he knew the song, I sang the end of the chorus with him. And I wanna uh-uh-uh-uh-uh undo it
. Yes, my handsome five-year-old boy was singing Carrie Underwood. I have to say he's got good taste in music.
What big ears he had indeed. Half the time, I thought he was in his own world in the car and wasn't listening to the music. But as the voice in theater says, "The audience is listening." My audience is not only listening, it's also retaining. I think it's time to learn a nice little dc talk song or album.
What was he saying? Or what was he singing? It sounded vaguely familiar. Wait. Wait. I know those words. He's singing Martina McBride's Wrong Baby Wrong.
Come on now
Everyone falls down
Everyone crawls now and then
Then they get up again
You cry if you want to
That’s what we all do
But if you think you’ll never move on you’re wrong baby
Who knew he knew that song? We'd only seen the video a few times. I was amazed. And as we were walking through the mall, it happened again. He was singing to himself and I overheard a few lines. You've got to love the world/Be a friend and when you're down/You've gotta get up again .
Hmm, love the world- - be a friend? I knew those lyrics. I knew those words. Oh snap! My son was singing the words to the chase song in Scooby Doo. We were obviously watching way too much Scooby if he was singing the songs from the chase scenes. Not even the opening theme, but the chase song.
"You stole my happy/You made me cry..." My singing boy was at it again, but this time, though I was surprised he knew the song, I sang the end of the chorus with him. And I wanna uh-uh-uh-uh-uh undo it
. Yes, my handsome five-year-old boy was singing Carrie Underwood. I have to say he's got good taste in music.
What big ears he had indeed. Half the time, I thought he was in his own world in the car and wasn't listening to the music. But as the voice in theater says, "The audience is listening." My audience is not only listening, it's also retaining. I think it's time to learn a nice little dc talk song or album.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
It's 9:55
and I'm watching Merlin thanks to fanfic on the angst ridden relationship of Gwen and Arthur. If only I had read The Once and Future King like I was suppose to in Mrs. Smith's lit class I would probably have a better idea of what's going on. I still can't figure out how I got out of reading it. Obviously we weren't tested on it or had a paper on it. Or at least, I don't think so. I'll have to ask Sarah or Brian and see if they remember.
But that wasn't the point of this post. The point was it's now three minutes to 10PM and I'm up by myself. The baby is sleep. Rowan is sleep. And gasp of all gasps, Jory is asleep. My goal was to have everyone in bed by 8PM but I got caught up in a Christian movie. (Why is it that in Christian movies you never see anyone of the other race? It's like, "Hey, if you're white and a Christian than this movie is for you." or "Hey, if you're brown and a Christian than this movie is for you." Maybe they have to be that way so their audiences can overlook storylines that go no where or don't make any sense and for all the incredible, beat you over the head preachiness. The movies would be less preachy if the star of the movie just sat down and started reading from The Bible.) But I digress.
So by 8:20 devotions were done, verses for AWANA gone over, prayers were said, kisses to Oma given, and everyone went to bed. Quietly too. I tucked everyone in, than jumped in the shower, and when I came out everyone was asleep.
What in the world did we do today? Whatever it is or rather was we need to repeat it and do it constantly. Now if I can go to bed at a decent time and sleep all night, we'll be in heaven. Belinda Carlisle did say that heaven was a place on earth and tonight I know what she's talking about.
Off to watch more Merlin.
But that wasn't the point of this post. The point was it's now three minutes to 10PM and I'm up by myself. The baby is sleep. Rowan is sleep. And gasp of all gasps, Jory is asleep. My goal was to have everyone in bed by 8PM but I got caught up in a Christian movie. (Why is it that in Christian movies you never see anyone of the other race? It's like, "Hey, if you're white and a Christian than this movie is for you." or "Hey, if you're brown and a Christian than this movie is for you." Maybe they have to be that way so their audiences can overlook storylines that go no where or don't make any sense and for all the incredible, beat you over the head preachiness. The movies would be less preachy if the star of the movie just sat down and started reading from The Bible.) But I digress.
So by 8:20 devotions were done, verses for AWANA gone over, prayers were said, kisses to Oma given, and everyone went to bed. Quietly too. I tucked everyone in, than jumped in the shower, and when I came out everyone was asleep.
What in the world did we do today? Whatever it is or rather was we need to repeat it and do it constantly. Now if I can go to bed at a decent time and sleep all night, we'll be in heaven. Belinda Carlisle did say that heaven was a place on earth and tonight I know what she's talking about.
Off to watch more Merlin.
"You not
yada, yada, yada (aka sounds like Charlie Brown's teacher)," the baby mumbled, as she moved to the other side of the sofa away from her Oma who refused to give her some of her drink.
"What is she saying?" Oma asked me.
"She said, 'You're not coming to her party.'" I answered.
"What party?"
I shrugged my shoulders. That was a good question. One I did not have the answer to. Other than to say, she learned the phrase from Rowan and they now both use it as a way to show their disapproval of you. So we're working on not saying that.
When Jory started pre-school, he'd come home with some behaviors or words that I hadn't taught him and I realized how EVIIILLL other people's kids were. You know because my son was/is perfect. And then baby number three came along spouting things like, "Leave me alone" or "Don't look at me" or "Roro did it" and I knew she only learned those sayings and other fun ones from two little people and it dawned on me that older siblings can be shady. Who would have thunk it?
"What is she saying?" Oma asked me.
"She said, 'You're not coming to her party.'" I answered.
"What party?"
I shrugged my shoulders. That was a good question. One I did not have the answer to. Other than to say, she learned the phrase from Rowan and they now both use it as a way to show their disapproval of you. So we're working on not saying that.
When Jory started pre-school, he'd come home with some behaviors or words that I hadn't taught him and I realized how EVIIILLL other people's kids were. You know because my son was/is perfect. And then baby number three came along spouting things like, "Leave me alone" or "Don't look at me" or "Roro did it" and I knew she only learned those sayings and other fun ones from two little people and it dawned on me that older siblings can be shady. Who would have thunk it?
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Omas
are great because just as you wake up they say, if you get up now you can make a quick trip to Home Depot before you drop the kids off at school and go to work. Quick and Home Depot can those three words go in the same sentence? Aren't they an oxymoron? I thought it was a poor idea, particularly when she said she would dress the kids for school. It can take Oma up to an hour per child to dress them. But I thought it would be easier to go along with her plan than argue.
I did luck out at Home Depot and found an employee who was willing to walk me down every aisle of the store until we found what I was looking for. Along that walk, my money fell out of my pocket, unbeknownst to me. Forty-five minutes later, I returned home moneyless but with the needed item only to discover Jory is only half-dressed and Rowan is watching TV. Okay, Oma definitely is taking them to school. I drop of my Home Depot purchase and run out the door so I can make it to work on time.
Nine hours later, I rush out the door to take the kids to the first AWANA of the year. I call the house to see if they are at home or at Aunt Linda's. The phone is busy so I know they are at home. I drive swiftly yet safely home only to see my son walking around with pjs on and Rowan playing on the bed with the baby.
They didn't go to school? They didn't go to school. I didn't even bother to ask why because I knew the answer. She didn't feel like driving them the 8 blocks down and 2 blocks over to take them. Plus I'm sure it was cold outside and the baby does have a cough and a runny nose.
"Why didn't you call and tell me to get them dress?"
"I've been calling for the last hour. The phone is off the hook."
"Oh, it is? I was on the phone earlier."
"It's probably been off the hook since then."
"Is that why nobody called?"
I look down to see the phone off the hook underneath the sofa she's sitting on. I guess we'll go to AWANA next week.
When does she go back to work again? The idea of retirement truly frightens me.
I did luck out at Home Depot and found an employee who was willing to walk me down every aisle of the store until we found what I was looking for. Along that walk, my money fell out of my pocket, unbeknownst to me. Forty-five minutes later, I returned home moneyless but with the needed item only to discover Jory is only half-dressed and Rowan is watching TV. Okay, Oma definitely is taking them to school. I drop of my Home Depot purchase and run out the door so I can make it to work on time.
Nine hours later, I rush out the door to take the kids to the first AWANA of the year. I call the house to see if they are at home or at Aunt Linda's. The phone is busy so I know they are at home. I drive swiftly yet safely home only to see my son walking around with pjs on and Rowan playing on the bed with the baby.
They didn't go to school? They didn't go to school. I didn't even bother to ask why because I knew the answer. She didn't feel like driving them the 8 blocks down and 2 blocks over to take them. Plus I'm sure it was cold outside and the baby does have a cough and a runny nose.
"Why didn't you call and tell me to get them dress?"
"I've been calling for the last hour. The phone is off the hook."
"Oh, it is? I was on the phone earlier."
"It's probably been off the hook since then."
"Is that why nobody called?"
I look down to see the phone off the hook underneath the sofa she's sitting on. I guess we'll go to AWANA next week.
When does she go back to work again? The idea of retirement truly frightens me.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
My clothes are cold
are you serious?!?! Are you serious, little boy? Did you just say to me "My clothes are cold."? What am I suppose to iron them moments before you put them on so they can be warm for you? Are we in some alternate reality where I have tons of free time and I'm your maid? You iron a few times in the morning and it goes straight to their heads.
And how is it that one can cry for like twenty straight minutes? I try not to cry because crying gives me a headache. Is it a gift that children have to do it for so long? And have you noticed when a six-year-old and two-year-old are both sitting on your lap crying, it's like a crying symphony. I wonder if I recorded it, put it on youtube and got tons of hits, if someone would push through auto tunes and turn it into a song. Then I could get enough money to completely remodel the whole house and have enough to add a pool.
And although your three-year-old has been wearing blue pants with either a blue or white top four days a week since September, she can't pick out her clothes from her Irish twin's, who wears whatever theme her mommy has going on that week. Are you serious?!
"Rowan, what color pants do you wear to school?"
"Grey."
"Grey?"
Picking up on the look on my face, she hesitated. "Blue."
"That's right. Blue. Do you have blue pants in your hand?"
"No."
"So should you put those back and find your blue pair?" You know the only blue pair of pants by you. By your foot to be more specific.
"Yes. Oh look, Mommy, here they are."
"Good, putt them on." UGH!!!! God is using them to grow me, to teach me, and the reward will be when my Jorge comes along and Jack, Jude, Tatum come, they are all going to be my morning babies to offset the non-morning set I'm dealing with now.
And how is it that one can cry for like twenty straight minutes? I try not to cry because crying gives me a headache. Is it a gift that children have to do it for so long? And have you noticed when a six-year-old and two-year-old are both sitting on your lap crying, it's like a crying symphony. I wonder if I recorded it, put it on youtube and got tons of hits, if someone would push through auto tunes and turn it into a song. Then I could get enough money to completely remodel the whole house and have enough to add a pool.
And although your three-year-old has been wearing blue pants with either a blue or white top four days a week since September, she can't pick out her clothes from her Irish twin's, who wears whatever theme her mommy has going on that week. Are you serious?!
"Rowan, what color pants do you wear to school?"
"Grey."
"Grey?"
Picking up on the look on my face, she hesitated. "Blue."
"That's right. Blue. Do you have blue pants in your hand?"
"No."
"So should you put those back and find your blue pair?" You know the only blue pair of pants by you. By your foot to be more specific.
"Yes. Oh look, Mommy, here they are."
"Good, putt them on." UGH!!!! God is using them to grow me, to teach me, and the reward will be when my Jorge comes along and Jack, Jude, Tatum come, they are all going to be my morning babies to offset the non-morning set I'm dealing with now.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Dear Lord,
Please rescue me from crying, whining, taking an hour to get dress six-year-olds, who snuck out of bed and played until 2AM and now don't want to get dress because they didn't want to get out of bed. Thank you, Lord, for the invention of bathrooms where crying people can go so I don't have to hear the endless crying which prevents six-year-olds from putting on their tennis shoes.
"Mommy, I don't wanna take a shower," the baby says.
"Why not?" I respond.
"I die."
What?! What is this little girl talking about? Did she just use the word "die"? "You're going to die?"
"Yes," she says and nods.
"How?"
"I bump my head," she continues, raising her hand to the back of her head.
"You bumped your head?"
She nods.
"Where?"
"In the shower."
"When?"
"Last time."
"Last time you took a shower, you bumped your head and died?"
She nods.
I wonder what TLC or Discovery Health show she and Oma watched where they learned about falling in the showers. Gotta love that granddaughter and grandmother time together. The things your two-year-old learns.
"Mommy, I don't wanna take a shower," the baby says.
"Why not?" I respond.
"I die."
What?! What is this little girl talking about? Did she just use the word "die"? "You're going to die?"
"Yes," she says and nods.
"How?"
"I bump my head," she continues, raising her hand to the back of her head.
"You bumped your head?"
She nods.
"Where?"
"In the shower."
"When?"
"Last time."
"Last time you took a shower, you bumped your head and died?"
She nods.
I wonder what TLC or Discovery Health show she and Oma watched where they learned about falling in the showers. Gotta love that granddaughter and grandmother time together. The things your two-year-old learns.
Six-year-olds
are amazing little creatures who can wake you up when you feel someone in the room with you and you open your eyes to find one along with their three-year-old sister playing with the flashlight and their newly opened Fisher-Price camera, which you immediately confiscate as you're chastising them.
Why do they try to corrupt the one good sleeper you have? The one who when the world inside your head is about to explode, you can send to bed and know they will actually go to sleep while you deal with Nick and Knack.
My morning person self and his night owl self are clashing heads big time. It's time to put the smackdown, but how do you make someone who can lay in bed for hours and not go to sleep go to bed at bedtime?
Maybe I'll have to use Ro's soothing bath technique. Or maybe he needs to run around the block a few times before bathtime to get some of the energy out.
It would be perfect if we could have swimming lessons every night, then I could give him his pjs and he could shower, put them on, and fall asleep on the car ride home. Oh that would be perfect! Dear God, I'm not saying I need a rich husband but could we get enough money to put a pool in. Some nightly laps and presto the problem would be solved.
Why do they try to corrupt the one good sleeper you have? The one who when the world inside your head is about to explode, you can send to bed and know they will actually go to sleep while you deal with Nick and Knack.
My morning person self and his night owl self are clashing heads big time. It's time to put the smackdown, but how do you make someone who can lay in bed for hours and not go to sleep go to bed at bedtime?
Maybe I'll have to use Ro's soothing bath technique. Or maybe he needs to run around the block a few times before bathtime to get some of the energy out.
It would be perfect if we could have swimming lessons every night, then I could give him his pjs and he could shower, put them on, and fall asleep on the car ride home. Oh that would be perfect! Dear God, I'm not saying I need a rich husband but could we get enough money to put a pool in. Some nightly laps and presto the problem would be solved.
Who you gonna call?
We need to call the Ghostbusters. There's a ghost in Oma's room. According to Scooby Doo and I believe Scooby and the gang, ghosts aren't real. They are just selfish people who dress up as ghosts and monsters in order to feed their greed. But with that said, sometimes when the baby goes into Oma's room she comes out with these maroonish colored markings under and above her lips. The markings smell a lot like lipstick.
Now some of you might be skeptical about the ghost, but the ghost is real.
"Layla, did you go into Oma's drawer and put on her lipstick?"
"No," the baby said sincerely.
"You weren't playing in Oma's lipstick?"
"No," she reitterated while shaking her head.
See, there you have it. There's a ghost in Oma's room attacking my poor, little innocent baby.
If there's something strange
in your neighborhood
Who ya gonna call?
GHOSTBUSTERS
If there's something weird
and it don't look good
Who ya gonna call?
GHOSTBUSTERS
When it comes through your door
Unless you just want some more
I think you better call
GHOSTBUSTERS
Who ya gonna call?
GHOSTBUSTERS
Who ya gonna call?
GHOSTBUSTERS
I think you better call
GHOSTBUSTERS
Who ya gonna call?
GHOSTBUSTERS
Now some of you might be skeptical about the ghost, but the ghost is real.
"Layla, did you go into Oma's drawer and put on her lipstick?"
"No," the baby said sincerely.
"You weren't playing in Oma's lipstick?"
"No," she reitterated while shaking her head.
See, there you have it. There's a ghost in Oma's room attacking my poor, little innocent baby.
If there's something strange
in your neighborhood
Who ya gonna call?
GHOSTBUSTERS
If there's something weird
and it don't look good
Who ya gonna call?
GHOSTBUSTERS
When it comes through your door
Unless you just want some more
I think you better call
GHOSTBUSTERS
Who ya gonna call?
GHOSTBUSTERS
Who ya gonna call?
GHOSTBUSTERS
I think you better call
GHOSTBUSTERS
Who ya gonna call?
GHOSTBUSTERS
Missing You
After church and in the pouring rain, I had to make a stop at Home Depot. Unlike what their commercials portray not every employee is knowledgeable, but this unknowledgeable one sent me to one that was. And as I waited for my required item, my jam came on. First, there was Let's Chill by Guy, followed by I'll Be Your Baby, Tonight.
I was singing along, moving slightly as I waited. I so wanted to scroll down my phone book and hit the phone button that would allow me to talk to my friend since the age of ten, when she somehow had her first day of school coincide with the last day of school before Christmas vacation, Grace. I wanted to call her and tell her what was playing. Laugh and take a trip down memory lane, but I couldn't.
After endless years of friendship, we are currently on hiatus. Over the years as TTT have taken over, we didn't get together as much or talk as much. At some point, the girl whom I spent every birthday with, visited every day after I got out of summer school, who had lunch with me every week at my new job, became the person I saw once or twice a year. But she was always there for those "Can you believe this just happened" calls, even if we hadn't really talked in months.
On hiatus means no talking or I'm sure I could email her but I wouldn't get a response back. It means second guessing if I should send her a Christmas card or an update on TTT. Most days, it's okay. God had slowly weaned us off of each other, but it's songs in Home Depot or incidents like the one I'm about to describe which make me wish we our new season of life together would start up.
One summer afternoon as I was driving home from work, a car tried to pull up next to me. I assumed the car wanted to make a right hand turn. The street was small, but I tried to be accommodating and moved over so the car could turn. As the light turned green, I noticed the car didn't turn, which I thought was odd but I kept driving. Some blocks later, I looked in my rear view mirror and I saw the same car was behind me and my panic alarm was about to be pushed. Was this car following me? I sped quickly across one intersection only to observe the car do the exact same thing. All of my 48 Hour Mystery, Dateline knowledge started jumping into the foreground of my mind.
I remembered the woman who pulled her hair out by the root and a ring she never pulled off her finger and buried them in between the car seats so someone could know she was there. I was ready to do that and dial 9-1-1. I started driving through stop signs and looking to make the next left turn so I could be on a major street. I was close to home, but there was no way I was leading a killer there. As I signaled to turn left, the car pulled up next to me.
"What does a guy have to do to get your attention?" the twenty-something-year-old asked me.
Uh, not stalk me? I shrugged my shoulders. Cause really what was I going to say to the guy who had me playing my episode of ID's Disappeared in my head.
"Can I get your number?" he continued.
"No, but thank you for asking," I answered politely. Plus while I'm flattered I'm so hot that you decided to stalk me...how exactly do you know I'm hot when we weren't even driving beside each other?
"Please."
"I can't I'm married," I said, showing him the ring on my left hand.
"We can be friends, then," he continued.
Dude, are you serious? Really?! I say, I'm married and you say, we can be friends? "No, we can't. My husband wouldn't like it."
"All three of us could be friends. We could go out to breakfast."
"I don't think my husband would like that."
The man nodded his head and smiled. "You tell your man, he's got a good one. A good one."
"Thanks," I responded, then let him make a left hand turn first off the side street. I needed to make sure he went on his way before I continued home. He turned and drove in the opposite direction of me. As I left, I thought how sad that 1. he thought following a woman was a great way to get her to talk to him; and 2. he wasn't detoured when I said I was married. I realized obviously the following ploy had worked for him before, I couldn't be the first chick he had tried it on. And that he had talked to other women who had told him they were involved or married, yet had still given him their numbers upon his continued rap. How sad that my slight lie impressed him. How sad he was amazed he had met a woman, who said she had a man, and was faithful to her man and didn't want a "friend."
As soon as he left, I wanted to call Grace and share this tale with her. She would have found it hilarious. I knew no one would get the craziness of the whole situation like she would. Okay, Chi would have, but heavens knows she never answers her phone. Not quite sure why she has one.
God has blessed me with some amazing relationships since our hiatus. Friendships that have encouraged me, strengthened me, changed me. And I am ever so grateful for that, for my growing relationships with two wild and crazy sisters that live on the other side of the moon, but there are those moments when I just miss my Lizabeth, mi Graciela, and wished we weren't on hiatus. Maybe with a change of heart and tons and tons of prayer, our new season will begin.
Since you've been away
I've been down and lonely
Since you've been away
I've been thinking of you
Trying to understand
The reason you left me
What were you going through?
I'm missing you
Tell me why the road turns
Ooh ooh
I'm missing you
Tell me why the road turns
I was singing along, moving slightly as I waited. I so wanted to scroll down my phone book and hit the phone button that would allow me to talk to my friend since the age of ten, when she somehow had her first day of school coincide with the last day of school before Christmas vacation, Grace. I wanted to call her and tell her what was playing. Laugh and take a trip down memory lane, but I couldn't.
After endless years of friendship, we are currently on hiatus. Over the years as TTT have taken over, we didn't get together as much or talk as much. At some point, the girl whom I spent every birthday with, visited every day after I got out of summer school, who had lunch with me every week at my new job, became the person I saw once or twice a year. But she was always there for those "Can you believe this just happened" calls, even if we hadn't really talked in months.
On hiatus means no talking or I'm sure I could email her but I wouldn't get a response back. It means second guessing if I should send her a Christmas card or an update on TTT. Most days, it's okay. God had slowly weaned us off of each other, but it's songs in Home Depot or incidents like the one I'm about to describe which make me wish we our new season of life together would start up.
One summer afternoon as I was driving home from work, a car tried to pull up next to me. I assumed the car wanted to make a right hand turn. The street was small, but I tried to be accommodating and moved over so the car could turn. As the light turned green, I noticed the car didn't turn, which I thought was odd but I kept driving. Some blocks later, I looked in my rear view mirror and I saw the same car was behind me and my panic alarm was about to be pushed. Was this car following me? I sped quickly across one intersection only to observe the car do the exact same thing. All of my 48 Hour Mystery, Dateline knowledge started jumping into the foreground of my mind.
I remembered the woman who pulled her hair out by the root and a ring she never pulled off her finger and buried them in between the car seats so someone could know she was there. I was ready to do that and dial 9-1-1. I started driving through stop signs and looking to make the next left turn so I could be on a major street. I was close to home, but there was no way I was leading a killer there. As I signaled to turn left, the car pulled up next to me.
"What does a guy have to do to get your attention?" the twenty-something-year-old asked me.
Uh, not stalk me? I shrugged my shoulders. Cause really what was I going to say to the guy who had me playing my episode of ID's Disappeared in my head.
"Can I get your number?" he continued.
"No, but thank you for asking," I answered politely. Plus while I'm flattered I'm so hot that you decided to stalk me...how exactly do you know I'm hot when we weren't even driving beside each other?
"Please."
"I can't I'm married," I said, showing him the ring on my left hand.
"We can be friends, then," he continued.
Dude, are you serious? Really?! I say, I'm married and you say, we can be friends? "No, we can't. My husband wouldn't like it."
"All three of us could be friends. We could go out to breakfast."
"I don't think my husband would like that."
The man nodded his head and smiled. "You tell your man, he's got a good one. A good one."
"Thanks," I responded, then let him make a left hand turn first off the side street. I needed to make sure he went on his way before I continued home. He turned and drove in the opposite direction of me. As I left, I thought how sad that 1. he thought following a woman was a great way to get her to talk to him; and 2. he wasn't detoured when I said I was married. I realized obviously the following ploy had worked for him before, I couldn't be the first chick he had tried it on. And that he had talked to other women who had told him they were involved or married, yet had still given him their numbers upon his continued rap. How sad that my slight lie impressed him. How sad he was amazed he had met a woman, who said she had a man, and was faithful to her man and didn't want a "friend."
As soon as he left, I wanted to call Grace and share this tale with her. She would have found it hilarious. I knew no one would get the craziness of the whole situation like she would. Okay, Chi would have, but heavens knows she never answers her phone. Not quite sure why she has one.
God has blessed me with some amazing relationships since our hiatus. Friendships that have encouraged me, strengthened me, changed me. And I am ever so grateful for that, for my growing relationships with two wild and crazy sisters that live on the other side of the moon, but there are those moments when I just miss my Lizabeth, mi Graciela, and wished we weren't on hiatus. Maybe with a change of heart and tons and tons of prayer, our new season will begin.
Since you've been away
I've been down and lonely
Since you've been away
I've been thinking of you
Trying to understand
The reason you left me
What were you going through?
I'm missing you
Tell me why the road turns
Ooh ooh
I'm missing you
Tell me why the road turns
Happy New Year!
"Mommy, I want a fater," Rowan said.
Happy New Year! And thanks a lot Superman with your episodes of showing Kal-El living with Jor-El, his dad, and his mom on Krypton, then Jor-El sending him to earth where he was adopted by Ma and Pa Kent. Thanks for putting ideas in my daughter's head.
"Well, you should pray and ask God to send you a daddy," I responded, cool as a cucumber under pressure.
"Okay. I'm going to ask Jesus for a doggie and a kitty cat- -"
"God says, 'No, to the dog and the cat.'"
"Why?" she asked.
"Because Mommy doesn't like dogs and cats."
"Oh."
I am in awe at times at what TTT knows. It's not like things are secret. They know they don't have a daddy, but to hear them vocalize it is something else. Last year, when we Jory told his AWANA teacher, "We don't have a daddy!" I was shocked. I never thought about what he thought about our family. We just live our every day lives, but while I was living he was storing away info, watching, observing. Ready to answer questions that he thinks are directed to him about his family. It'll be interesting what other new tidbits, they will wow me with this new year.
Happy New Year! And thanks a lot Superman with your episodes of showing Kal-El living with Jor-El, his dad, and his mom on Krypton, then Jor-El sending him to earth where he was adopted by Ma and Pa Kent. Thanks for putting ideas in my daughter's head.
"Well, you should pray and ask God to send you a daddy," I responded, cool as a cucumber under pressure.
"Okay. I'm going to ask Jesus for a doggie and a kitty cat- -"
"God says, 'No, to the dog and the cat.'"
"Why?" she asked.
"Because Mommy doesn't like dogs and cats."
"Oh."
I am in awe at times at what TTT knows. It's not like things are secret. They know they don't have a daddy, but to hear them vocalize it is something else. Last year, when we Jory told his AWANA teacher, "We don't have a daddy!" I was shocked. I never thought about what he thought about our family. We just live our every day lives, but while I was living he was storing away info, watching, observing. Ready to answer questions that he thinks are directed to him about his family. It'll be interesting what other new tidbits, they will wow me with this new year.
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