Well. It's here.

Today was Carson's first day of kindergarten.  To be honest, the last few days have been a blur, including the Warrior Dash (blog post coming) an important event last night at church, so I was a little off my game this morning.  I had some expectations of how the morning would go, and didn't communicate or prepare adquately.  ;)  I forgot that we had planned a "no TV" rule until you are all dressed, bed made, breakfast eaten and Bible story read.  So when I heard Trent and Carson digging around for clothes (without my supervision!) around 6:50, I got up and was immediately Mean Mommy, b/c I just really didn't want him wearing an over-sized, glow-in-the-dark Despicable Me shirt on the first day.  It is actually a cute shirt that I approved of when purchased, but just a little too casual for The First Day Of Kindergarten.  Trent, probably against his will, backed me up when Carson fought it and got him to put on a Collared Shirt (this is our rule of thumb, dividing all boys shirts into "play clothes" and "nicer" clothes).  Carson's school doesn't start until 9:15, so I thought we'd have 2 whole hours to ease into the clothes I had in mind.  I also wanted to put on some shorts that matched the shirt, but I let it go.

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Carson got over the clothing decision thing and was really excited.  But those 2 hours I was telling you about?  They lasted a really long time.  Long enough for his mood swings to give me whip lash.  I'm sure it was just his nerves, which I totally understand, b/c I was nervous too!  About 10 minutes before we were going to leave, he said he wanted to take the bus this morning.  I told him it was too late, the bus had already come and it was a special morning for me to take him and meet his teacher.  Cue: 10 non-stop-minutes of begging to take the bus.  Which had already come and gone.  And pouting.  And refusing to pose for First Day Pictures.

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To be honest, I was cracking up as I took these pictures, thinking how we will keep these for all time and look back and giggle.  Yes, he's holding a CD that he chose from the house to listen to in the car.  I asked him to stand by the front door, so we could take a picture like Sydney's First Day picture. He said no.  OK.

 There's a chink in this armor...I was trying to make him laugh.

 Grumpy attitude melted when we parked in front of the school and started walking.  He specifically requested we park ACROSS the street so we could use the crosswalk with the crossing guard.  We got to the front of the school before the doors were open, and there were a lot of kids waiting (and some other nervous Kinder parents.)  He had a stoic face, but did reach up and hold my hand.  I may have gotten choked up just a bit at that moment.

 Here he is in his seat!  Because of buget cuts, our school has a K/1 blend.  I'm choosing to have a good attitude about this.  It really, really helps that our wonderful friend and neighbor, Mrs. S, is the aide in this room!  I can't tell you how much peace of mind that gave this mama.  :) 

 This other little boy is a 1st grader, so he started last week.  I helped them introduce themselves to each other and he said excitedly: "Why don't you take a picture of me and Carson?!?!"  Well, OK!  I will!

 It was a little chaotic in the room, but Carson found his way over to some kids who were hopping around the pond rug.

 OK!  Here we go!  All the unexpected hurdles of the morning were erased from my mind as I kissed my baby and walked out of the room.  Deep breath.  It begins!

Fresh Start

The last few weeks have been Crazy with a capital C.  I completely forgot to tell you all that I was asked to be a guest blogger!  My friend Natalie at Blonde at Heart asked me to write a post while she was on vacation.  All her other guest bloggers wrote these cute posts about fashion and decorating.  What did I post about?  Toots.  Yep.  I pulled out some pretty embarassing moments, b/c I didn't want to be boring.  So go read my post and let me know if you'll ever want to hang out with me again.

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We had a great, long holiday weekend over Labor Day.  It's our annual trek to the beach and Camp Winema, where we attend a family camp.  We added a day this year, so we were gone for 5 days, then came back and jumped right into the new beginnings of school!  Sydney started preschool on Tuesday.  (FYI, the rest of this post is mostly for my own journaling and memory.  Might be pretty boring for the general public.)  I was a little nervous, and I think she was too, but not too bad.  She has the same teacher and classroom that Carson did all of last year, so it is a place and person with whom she is pretty familiar.  We had a minor clothing battle over the shoes (not near as bad as Carson's first day of preschool), but she ended up wearing a pair I approved and even let me spray and comb her wild hair, which is a good thing.

It was a random coincidence that Trent had the day off AND Carson hasn't started school yet, so all 3 of us were there to drop her off.  I noticed her confidence start to waver a bit (along with the lower lip) so Trent wisely suggested that Carson and I say goodbye, and he would hang out a couple more minutes.  He said she didn't cry when he left, and I'm choosing to believe him.  :)

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When I went to pick her up, the class was still outside playing, and the aide was holding Syd.  Hmmm...not a great sign of independence, but the teachers didn't say anything, so I'll assume it wasn't a big deal.  She's younger than Carson was when he started preschool, and I'm really glad we decided to put her in.  I think she can use the social experience and also some help with numbers and letters!  Plus, let's be honest, she and I could use some time away from each other a couple days a week.  Absence makes our hearts grow fonder and 2.5 hours is perfect!

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Today Carson is doing a "practice" day of kindergarten, where they will show him the ropes and assess him.  Then we will find out what class he's in and start next Tuesday.  I didn't take any pictures, b/c I decided this is NOT the first day of school.  So, more journaling continued next week...

Special Link

I'd like you to welcome a new voice to the wonderful world of blogging! My sis-in-law, Jess has just taken the brave leap over at Choosing Hope. For those of you who have ever blogged (especially the small handful who blog regularly!) you know that in and of itself, blogging is a pretty vulnerable proposition. You share your thoughts and pictures with the world and subject yourself to comments, both good and bad. Or even worse--you get NO feedback whatsoever!

But imagine you were going through the most heart-breaking trial of your life. Imagine if the most personal and intimate details of your body and your life became daily fodder for conversation. Imagine if your private pain was accentuated by the rejoicing and celebrations seemingly surrounding you. Imagine if well-meaning friends and acquaintances accidentally inflicted fresh wounds with their good-natured questions. Now imagine you decided to share these extremely private emotions on a public website!

Jess is choosing to share her journey of infertility on her blog. This journey has already been one of immense sorrow, but as her blog title indicates, she and her husband Chad are choosing HOPE. They are clinging to a God whose decisions they don't understand, but who has promised to never leave or forsake them, even in their darkest hour. I have definitely been in favor of her blogging (whenever she was ready) because I know firsthand that sometimes journaling and sharing your thoughts can be healing and can help sort out conflicting emotions. But I also firmly believe that her story (both the pain and the joy) will be a source of encouragement to another couple who are experiencing similar trials. I'm praying fervently that she will one day look back on her blog entries and see how God worked in her life to bring Jess closer to Himself, closer to her husband, and closer to the experiencing the desire of her heart, to be a mother. I humbly beg you to join me in praying, and/or reading and supporting her on the blog!

Jess also happens to have an incredibly busy job, so I doubt she'll be blogging with extreme frequency, but I hope you'll go check it out and become a follower. (Please note: in your supportive comments, please do not tell Jess that if she could just relax and have a less stressful job, then she would get pregnant. Please and thankyou.)

www.choosinghope-jt.blogspot.com

I want to be your internet-era class clown

Last night my mind was wandering and wondering if people who read my blog are also my friends on Facebook...and if they ever read my status updates. Then I wondered if my FB friends ever read my blog. Then I wondered how I became so narcissistic that I think people care what I have to say. And then I felt uncomfortable as I considered writing about Facebook on the blog. It's as if two worlds are colliding. Like introducing old friends to new friends and hoping they have something in common to talk about. The blog would definitely be the older, more traditional friend who wears low-rise bootleg jeans, and FB is the new, trendy friend with jeggings that the old friend isn't sure they will like--they assume that my new friend has some suspect qualities and may lead me astray. And there are some pretty tempting qualities to the new, fashion-forward friend. See, I get much of the same reward from FB that I do from a blog...throw out some thoughts and get almost immediate feedback. I can stay connected to the world beyond a 5 and 3 year old's daytime routine. But I don't have to spend longer than 60 seconds thinking about my comment, and am not allowed to be wordy (140 characters, I think). And I'm pretty sure a lot more people read FB than my blog.


One problem is that FB doesn't really archive. Once I write down a witty comment or funny happening, I get a few affirming comments, then it disappears into the feed and is quickly forgotten. And mostly, that's not a big deal. Really, my mission statement on FB is to use my 140 characters to make someone giggle at something trivial and go about their day. The blog is where I like to do some deeper thinking as well--and we all know that I can't say anything deep without being extremely loquacious. But my favorite thing is to make people laugh.



Who are we kidding? I sometime work long and hard to make people laugh. I can almost pinpoint the moment--the precise joke!-- in my life when I realized how fun it was to be funny. It was the summer between my 8th and 9th grade and I thought I was going to have to switch schools. (I didn't end up having to...long story.) I had one friend at the almost-new school, which was a big ol' public school, way bigger than my almost-last school. She invited me to a sleepover to meet some of her friends. A bunch of girls I didn't know and kind of needed to like me so I would have friends at my new school. I was pretty quiet for a while, until someone started talking about the hippie vibe in Oregon, and how some people take the "natural living" a little too far. I said, in my best valley-girl speak: "Like, totally! I'm pretty sure some of them are using a leaf for deodorant. AND for toilet paper! Hopefully it's not the same leaf." (Not my best material, but not bad for a 14 year old, off-the-cuff.) And these attractive strangers laughed. WITH me. And smiled at me. And directed the conversation to me a bit more. It was like I had finally discovered my secret superpower--sarcastic humor! GOLD. MINE.


Over the years I have honed my craft, used my powers for good and, I'm ashamed to say, sometimes for evil. I've had some hits and many misses. I realized, mostly by observing other people, that self-deprecating humor is the best, most well-loved type. I also learned that people do not appreciate it when they quietly say something funny in a group, and then you repeat the same joke loudly and get the credit. I learned that not everyone will find funny what I find funny. I learned that mockery can be hilarious, but it can get you in relational trouble, and that kind of cheap humor doesn't give you the same high. I am constantly learning and re-learning when to stop being class clown and just shut my trap before I annoy the heck out of everyone around me. Like I said, that is a lesson constantly in progress.


But if Facebook has taught me anything, it's that the best tool in my comedy box is...my own children! When my own funny well is running a bit dry? Bingo! Just repeat one of the bizarre things that has happened around the house and voila: get a few LOL's. Which leads me back to the problem with Facebook--I'm technically "writing these things down" like so many people keep telling me to do, but then my child's great moment disappears. So in an attempt to a)transfer some of my short and sweet comic gems to the blog archive for posterity and b)maximize my laugh audience, I decided to capture a few of my recent FB status updates in this post. Thank you for humoring me.

*Tonight during prayer, this scene happened. Sydney: Dear Baby Jesus... Carson [in a stage whisper]: Sydney! It's not "Baby Jesus." It's just Jesus. JEE. SUS. JUST JESUS!

*Sydney: Car-car, did you toot?
Carson (annoyed): No. YOU did.
Sydney: Oh yeah. Heehee!

*My poor husband had to apologize to a crying boy, after the boy found a used candy wrapper from his parade stash in the garbage. The wrapper was left right on the top. Poor, sweet, amateur husband. Doesn't he know you have to bury the evidence?

*This afternoon I told my kids they couldn't have another snack. In protest, my son dramatically encouraged hi sister to eat grass, since "that's all we HAVE, Sydney." Don't know what was more surprising, that he actually ate it or that she did too. I guess you gotta admire his conviction.

Have you ever walked out of the grocery store, stood there for a few minutes in a panic, called your husband to tell him the car had been stolen, then just as he answered, you realized you drove the OTHER car? Yeah. Me neither.

*GRANDE ICED SKINNY CARAMEL MACHIATO. Huh. I'm pretty sure I heard Oprah and Ellen say that if I told the universe what I wanted that I would achieve and receive it, but that has not happened so far. Wait....let me go outside my front door in case the machiato is out there...

*Earlier tonight I was reading to Carson on the couch and he said "Can you pause it? I have to go to the bathroom." Yes, son. I will pause my vocal chords and this page of paper.

*Today around noon I started chopping up and sauteing vegetables to put in the crockpot. Doing this at that hour was BLOWING MY KIDS' MINDS. They ran in and asked what time is it? Did I already have my nap? Why didn't we get to go to the park today? Is Daddy almost home? Why are you making dinner?!?!

*Me yesterday: Ew. Why does our car stink? Carson: Probably because I put a sea star in there (pointing). Yep. Newly dead starfish tucked behind the driver's seat for 3 days. Awesome.

*My kids love Adele. I feel extremely satisfied with this fact, b/c I used my best manipulative mommy tactics to pretend I DIDN'T like Adele, thus forcing them to instantly crave her music. Picture me smiling smugly at my windshield as we're Rolling in the Deep.

*"Mom, watch this move!" "Wow! That's pretty coo--" "No! That's not it. Watch again." "Oh! That's great bud--" "No, wait! That wasn't it either. Watch one more time." "OK. Yeah! That's--" "No! I didn't get it yet. Just keep watching." (And repeat.)

*Yesterday Carson was conducting "interviews" with me, asking me questions in his most serious journalist voice. Just as he said into the banana/microphone, "This is Carson reporting...." he let out and accidental (and loud) toot. I can't remember the two of us laughing harder--ever! We could hardly catch our breath! I told him I'm sure that happens even to Brian Williams.

*Why are there MORE streaks on my mirror the more I clean it? Oh. Because I'm spraying it with OXY stain remover, not Windex. That's why.

*Tonight Carson told me he couldn't eat my dinner because it had mushrooms in it. "You don't care for mushrooms?" "Well, actually Mom, some mushrooms are poisonous, so basically this meal is pretty dangerous."

Poor Big Brother

We've entered a unique set-up in the sibling situation of our household, and it is this: Sydney is more often, more work than her brother. She's at that adorable 3 year old stage where one minute she is just beyond-words precious and funny, singing new songs, trying new dances, giving hugs and kisses. But the next minute she's pestering, testing, pestering, testing, then throwing in complete and utter defiance (with a smug smile) just for the sake of variety. I've been breaking up many fights lately, and they usually start with her doing something legitimately annoying and naughty, and Carson over-reacting and freaking out in anger.

The other day Carson had just about had it, and he was in tears. He had still over-reacted, but instead of punishing him right away, I just took a minute to hug him and try to console him. I said "I know your sister can be so annoying, and I know you're frustrated. What can we do to make you feel better?" He answered "I would just feel better if Asher was HOME." Oh my heart! Tears sprung to my eyes at this surprising sweet, genuine comment showing his budding love for his baby brother. BUT...

...then he continued: "And I want SYDNEY to go live in THAILAND!" Okay, there it is. Back to normal. Sorry, bud, this is not an exchange situation we have going on here. Soon enough I'm sure he'll have TWO pesky little siblings giving him reason to over-react. I never thought I'd actually look forward to sibling rivalry!

Feelin' the love.

I gotta say thanks for all the really thoughtful and sweet comments and messages ya'll sent after my last post. It really was a huge source of encouragement for me! I felt the love from our friends and family that have been so right here with us through every step. I loved hearing from other adoptive moms...some who are near us in the waiting journey, others just barely home with their kiddos, and still others whose adopted children are grown. They can relate in an intimate way. And other moms related their support as well--and a kinship we share in this whole business of learning to "let go" of our children. Unfortunately, with adoption, I'm learning to let go before I ever have him in my arms, but it's something that continues to happen...whether it's kindergarten, college, or marriage! But one thing that so many of you pointed out was that my intense sadness over not having Asher here is a step of connectedness towards him. Adoptees are not the only ones who have to learn to bond....we as his adopted family need to form an attachment to him as well. As someone pointed out, this mourning is a sign that God is placing a mother's love inside my heart for a child I've never met, who lives half a world away. It's a good, good thing. :)

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It also helped that we were able to put together our next care package for Asher and mail it off today. Here's the contents of the package, minus a birthday card Carson made after I snapped this shot. My mom finished Asher's lovey/Minky, we included a special hand-me-down shirt, a photo album, a birthday card and a disposable camera. If you are looking for ways to pray, please pray that his foster family is using the disposable cameras to take pictures of him. :) Stealing the idea from Angie and fam, we took pictures of ourselves giving the polite Thai greeting. (Someone remind me what it is called! I'm too lazy to go check right now.)

This one cracks me up:

The kids were really getting into it:

I'm hoping that these pictures can communicate the story across culture lines...

And PS: Almost five years ago, someone else was wearing that same green striped polo shirt for a very special FIRST birthday. :)

Not my favorite milestone

OK, this is not a great post to have after not blogging for so long, but I'm gonna share it anyway, because I know some other people who can relate! Please allow me to wallow in self-pity for a few minutes. Yesterday I experienced another first in the adoption process...I have my first public cry. (Not counting the happy cry in the corner room at Michaels.) (Or when I got choked up reading the Toddler Adoption book at Chipotle.) This was a real one--a sad one--and I didn't like it one bit!





It's time for us to send Asher's second care package. We're trying to follow the guidelines and keeping it simple. We're sending another disposable camera, more pictures of our family, and a lovey for Asher just like the ones his brother and sister have. But next month is his birthday, so I knew I wanted to send a birthday card too. (I have no idea exactly when our package will arive in Thailand, or when the social worker will visit him, but I'm hoping it's somewhere near his b-day.)





But as I was standing there in Target, looking at all these special birthday cards for a one-year-old, I just lost it. Usually those silly sentiments don't do a thing for me...most of the time I skim them and look for the signature. But as I was reading things like "Your first cake! Your first candle! Your first year has come and gone..." Yeah. I was just overcome with sadness that I am missing it. Despite the truth that other families hold to, that the first few birthdays really aren't THAT big of a deal, since the child won't even realize what's happening, we've still had a nice big shindig for both kids' first birthdays.





I want to stay up late to make Asher a special cake...and watch him eat it! I want to snuggle him and laugh as he is mesmerized by the candle. I want to watch him attempt to grab at wrapping paper, then let his anxious siblings actually do the unwrapping for him. I want to sit back and enjoy the glow as our family and friends celebrate this first year of life and look at how much he's grown.





That's it--that's the thing. He's already grown so much. He might even be walking right now, and I've missed it. First words? I'll miss that too...and I probably wouldn't even understand them. I know in my head that he'll be home before his second birthday and we'll have every other birthday of his life to celebrate with him...even until he is tired of making a big deal about birthdays. But I don't think I will ever get over my mourning for missing this first year and a half. We got a call that we probably will not travel until April, which seems another world of wait away.





So, I chose my card. It's not especially significant or meaningful, just one that didn't make me cry too hard. And we WILL celebrate his birthday, even though he won't be here to eat his cake. And I probably will hit a major speedbump of sadness...maybe even after he's home? But right now, I'm snuggling up on that little lovey and sending my love with it, and I find a smile thinking about him sleeping with it a world away from me. And I know most days will be better than this.

Had to be there?

OK, I'm going out on a limb to describe a funny Carsonism, but I can't give it to you verbatim, so it might not translate. The reason is, his comment included the name of our hometown, which I guard pretty closely on this little bloggy thing. I think I have mentioned that we live on the west coast, so I went to google maps and found the first little west coast town I clicked on. It was Millville. So, for this story, our Brazenlilly family lives in Millville:

Carson and I were watching a show where a character was going to Thailand to visit her grandmother. I said "Oh! Carson! Did you hear that? Her grandma is from Thailand, so that means she is part-Thai!" He said, "Just like Asher! But only until he gets here. When he gets here, he'll be part Thai/part Millville."

My Bed, My Deep Thoughts

Last night I slept in a nice bed. The mattresses are really high-quality, given to us as a wedding gift by someone who works in the business. They even have our names embroidered on the side! Oh yes. You read that correctly. The frame is wrought iron and bought from a friend when they were moving. Just for fun I bought a bunch of paint and made it red. So, my bed is comfy AND pretty. The sheets, while not a crazy-high thread count, are also nice and I chose a pretty cute style on them...small red flowers. I have a pillow that cost something like $30. For a pillow! It's a memory-foam pillow that was originally Trent's, which he loaned to me when I was pregnant with Carson and having trouble sleeping...and which I never gave back. I love that thing and take it everywhere.

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When we got in bed, it was pretty warm, so we had the a/c on low. I read for quite a while. Just for enjoyment, with a light sitting on my nightstand. I didn't doubt for a second that the light would turn on, or think about the electricity bill. Then before I fell asleep, I turned the a/c off, and just let the ceiling fan blowing on us. It has 3 speeds, so we chose the medium speed. Then in the middle of the night, I was a bit chilly, so I covered up with one of my 3 blankets.

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My kids each cried out in the night once (maybe twice?). It didn't startle or worry me. I knew they were safe and they, too, have pretty comfy beds. And their own rooms, decorated especially for them. Full of toys and clothes. One just wanted to be re-tucked in and one needed to go to the bathroom. So I took her across the hall to our bathroom, where she and her brother had both been washed clean in the tub earlier that night. We flushed away her pee and didn't have to think about it again. Even in our sleepiness, we washed our hands with soap and water, because it's a habit. I tucked her in where she quickly fell asleep without a care in the world, except for the 1.5 seconds she couldn't find her lovey. Then I got back in my comfy bed and realized: this nightly routine is just a scratch on the surface of a life of abundance that I take so for granted.

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How many millions of people in this world do not have a bed to sleep on? Do they have a roof over their heads--and if so, is it more than a piece of corrugated metal or a blue canopy? What are their pillows made of? What do they do when it is too hot? How many blankets can they choose from when it is too cold? How do they keep the possibly-diseased-infected insects away from their children while they sleep? And in many places, vicious insects are the least of the predators putting their children at risk--the human kind being the most terrifying. When they have to go to the bathroom in the night, how far do they walk? And how easily is the human waste removed from their daily activities? How difficult is it and how often can they bathe their children in clean water? Can they wash away germs with the flick of a faucet and the squirt of liquid soap? What nightmares do these children suffer through, and are their minds so greatly eased when they wake up to reality?

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As I laid in bed, a feeling of gratitude washed over me. A sharp ache of the undeserving. And the unmistakable sting of conviction. See, I'm having some people over tonight, some of whom have never been to our house. And all weekend I've been kind of pouting and stressing that our house is...inadequate. It's really small and the floor-plan is strange. Our furniture is the same it was over 10 years ago, and the decor is also the same. There are dents and scratches in the wall and the laminate is warped. Don't even get me started on the carpet stains! Having a bunch of people over often sends me into furies of discontentment. But it took an uneventful 2 am potty break to snap me back to the truth: I am rich. Our family is blessed beyond measure, and a majority of people in this world could only dream of living in a house this nice, this large.

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And because I think God has a sense of humor, and maybe he wanted me to connect in a more personal way with those families who live so differently than us...Trent and I each woke up with some bug bites. It seems some little insect (although I doubt disease-carrying) found its way into our peaceful bed. Ew! I was a little creeped out, but instead of being mad, I just smiled as I stripped those pretty red flowers, threw them into my automatic washing machine, which I can put on a HOT cycle, and thanked God that I am fortunate enough to have an extra set of sheets.

I AM BLESSED.

Memory Lane--music edition

This one cracks me up, b/c it is a true little glimpse into the secret life of the B-lilly fam. Yes, Husband really does make up songs and sing them wildly all the time. Yes, the kids eat it up and dance around. Yes, Carson rarely has pants on (see: previously given nickname Pantless Wonder and also the videos below, taken almost 2 YEARS later!). And yes, I have a strange little noise that I make to scracth my throat and normally only people in my inner circle know about it...now you'll all hear it!

This is similar to one that I took on my camera's movie mode and posted a few months ago. My favorite parts are a)it is clearly December with the stockings up, and yet Sydney is in her swimming suit, b) Carson still has no pants on and c)this is a side of Syd's personality that is rarely seen outside of this house.

This one is the bonus track, b/c yes, it was taken at the same time, but sometimes you just have SING. Sing, sing, sing to the Lord. (Or Lowd.)

I'm in heaven!

About 3.5 years ago, Trent surprised me and got me a nice little digital camcorder for our anniversary. I was excited and used it quite a bit for the first few months, including downloading the software that came with the camera and was supposed to make it ALL! SO! EASY! Well, the first time I uploaded all the new videos, I could not post them, I couldn't burn a disc, couldn't put them into our (very basic) video editing software, and could only watch the videos in that particular software. I'm SURE there was a way around it, but I am not that savvy and after trying a few times I just got frustrated. We still use the camcorder every once in a while, but not as much as I would have if it had been more user-friendly...especially since I often want to post it on the blog!

WELL. Tonight I finally took the time to sit down and check it out. We had to get a new computer earlier this year, and I decided to try NOT using the software that came with the camcorder. Guess what? I'm enjoying a good decision! I can now see all the videos I've taken on the camcorder, uploaded them to our hard-drive and external HD, AND I can post them on the blog! Things may get a little video heavy here for a few days if this goes well.

So, especially all you family members....enjoy!

I think this bath video was around May, 2009. My baby girl!

This was also 2009, I think April. I love his laugh!

This was taken this evening, August 1, 2011. You can tell in the interview portion of this video that I got my wish about an adventurous princess--as Syd took a header on the concrete running full-force yesterday. And my apologies for the finger covering the lense...she wanted to see herself as we shot the vid...and that meant I couldn't see the screen. Amateur move!

Birthday Post

Having a birthday this year is a good way to get me to post! I missed it one year and all my fans went crazy. And by "all my fans" I mean Steph, and by "went crazy" I mean she asked me several weeks later why I didn't do a birthday post. It's actually just another chance for me to wax philosophical on any given topic and narcissistically assume you all care what I think!

Last night right before I fell asleep I was reading a great book that two good friends recommended long ago and I finally took their advice. Basically, it's like finding your favorite blogger has written a book. One of the posts, or I guess in a book they'd be called essays, was talking about the princess phenomenon of the past 15 years or so. It made me thing a lot about myself and my daughter. The author was purporting that the princess concept--of training girls from a young age that their beauty and a handsome prince will rescue them from trouble and deliver a perfect life is damaging to said girls. I fell asleep considering this and agreeing and disagreeing at the same time.

I agree--if that's what you mean by princess: if you are beautiful and demure enough, eventually a good looking guy will come and rescue you at which time you will finally be complete, then no, that's not what I want for my daughter or nieces or friends' daughters. There's a horrible trend lately of almost grown celebs who think it's awesome to act dumb. They are giggly and flighty and flirty and talk in baby voices and it makes me throw up in my mouth a little bit. I don't want to send a message to girls that they need a boy or man to be complete, that if they don't look like Belle or Aurora that well, then you'd better wear more make-up or get a boob job. I want my girls (and by that I mean Sydney, Kaitlyn, Abby and every other little girl in our life) to find pride in their strength--physical and otherwise--in their abilities, in their humor and cleverness. Maybe they like flowers and babies and pretty dresses, maybe they don't. But I want them also to try new things, jump in puddles wearing their brother's frog boots, wrestle with their dads, fall of their bikes because they were riding too fast, lift heavy rocks to throw in the creek, make funny jokes and solve problems.

But I think there's another aspect of telling your daughter she is a princess. If you do it right, you are conveying a message to her that she IS (already) beautiful. That she IS (right now)important, special...like royalty. That she is valuable and cherished and that you would pay a ransom of a million dollars to get her back if she were ever lost to you. I have a friend whose husband woke his 5 year old daughter up in the middle of the night to watch the royal wedding in April. He has strung white Christmas lights from her bedroom all the way to the TV room, where he snuggled with her and they ate tea and scones while watching the wedding. I don't know what he said to her, how he described what they were watching or what makes a princess, but I guarantee she will always remember that with a warmth and a knowledge that her daddy loved her dearly.

It makes me wonder if there is danger and getting caught up in the debate over princess or non-princess, when what we should be focusing on is just LOVING the HECK out of our little girls and pouring into them everything we have to give and teach. I don't remember what season of life it was (probably middle school) and I don't remember the surely dramatic and life-crushing situation that initiated the conversation, but I specifically remember a conversation with my mom when she told me that pretty girls are a "dime a dozen." I wasn't even sure what that meant, but I got the idea. She said there will always be a girl or woman in the room, the class, the school that is prettier than me. And fortunately, I took this as intended, not to crush me that I'll never be the prettiest girl in the room! But she encouraged me that it's fine to want to look my best, but that I should just BE MYSELF and I would stand out in other ways. Find what I was good at and get better at it. Make people laugh and feel good about themselves, and they would want to be around me more. I will never forget that conversation and it has guided me through hundreds of self-esteem crises.

Sorry to my boys that these thoughts are not full of gender equality. And they are not necessarily date-appropriate; I should be talking about all the things I'm looking forward to in the coming year (ASHER! HOME!), but this is what was on my heart as I woke up this morning. I'm so grateful to my parents for, as Tina Fey likes to say, "instilling in me a confidence that is disproportionate to my looks and ability." My birthday wish is to raise my daughter to trust her gut, to value strength and humor, to crave knowledge and wisdom, and to expect to be treated with respect and love--whether she's wearing a Cinderella dress or mud boots that look like frogs.

PS: I'm 34 and proud of it!

Soccer

Yep. I haven't blogged in long time. I don't have a great reason, other than this: I didn't feel like it! So many times I've wished I could turn blogging into a money-making venture (but the first step would be putting advertising on, and I'm not ready to make that step), but then in months like this, I'm glad that I'm just a little amateur blogger with a few loyal readers who will stop back in whenever they get a chance. If I don't want to blog, I don't have to! Plus, I know it's going to be a LONG time before we have any adoption updates, so sometimes that takes the wind out of my bloggersails.

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But here's an update on something we've been doing this summer. For the first time, BOTH kids are enrolled in soccer camp through the city. It's every Tuesday night for 7 weeks. Each week I am exceedingly amused by both of my children. Carson is totally in his element. He gets to run around with other kids and play games with a little bit of structure.

Carson (mostly) tries to listen to the rules of each little exercise or game, so that he can get going ASAP. He is motivated and wants to look like a soccer player and do well. He's focused on what his teammates are doing and usually waits his turn with a patience that is never shown at home. We couldn't find his shin-guards this particular night, but I'll try to post some with the guards. He looks pretty legit. And also like his dad/uncle.



THEN, on the adjacent field, we have the Birdie. Not an athletic bone in her little 29 pound body. Not that we've done much to cultivate it. We don't even have any sporty clothes for her, so she is usually decked out in colorful stretchy clothes of some manner. She makes no notice of the other kids around her, what the purpose of the exercise is, when it is her turn or where the soccer ball is at any given moment. She's just a giggling, clueless little orange fuzz skipping around.

Now, granted, most of this is due to her age--I mean, she's probably one of the youngest kids out there. But honestly, she'd be the stereotypical girl out on the field picking dandelions if this weren't parent/tot class, and her soccer-loving dad were not by her side throughout the entire hour. Daddy says she has one speed, which is "casual." She frequently la-dee-dahs away from the drill to wave, grin and give me thumbs-up. After soccer, she has way more to say about her ponytail (it looks like the babysitter's!) than anything that actually took place during camp.

But I'm so grateful for experiences like this, and grateful that my kids (so far) seem to go with the flow. They are neither the aggressive kid obsessed with winning, nor the unwilling participant crying and laying on the ground. At least not this week. ;)

Plus it gives them both a time to blow off some energy.

And a chance for Syd to have some special time with Daddy.

And after parent/tot is over, they come over with me and we watch the rest of Carson's camp.

And Sydney will give big brother some tips on his game.

A few kisses and wrestles and then we all go home! And hopefully sleep very well.

Because! I said so! And I'm too tired to think of a better reason!

My friend Tiffaney and I were cracking ourselves up yesterday, discussing all the random rules and logic we pull out of our hindquarters during the daily parenting rigmarole. (Oh yes. I just used that word. Semi-correctly.) Because as Director of Development--aka Mommy--the one main perk of my job is that I am The Boss. The highest human authority. The Big Kahuna. Of course this is a jobshare situation when Daddy is home, but I'm talking about the long days when he is at work. As The Boss, I have the executive authority to decide on new founding principles of our family unit, create new standards and also imply that any such newly articulated guidelines have been in place since the beginning of time. And with this executive authority, there are no checks and balances, people.

In the defense of these tactics, might I point out that there are some rules that I never KNEW would be needed. For instance, my friend Amanda was recently shocked to find herself declaring "We never, EVER lick the toilet. Under any circumstances. No. Licking. Toilets." See? New rule! I had no idea we'd have to formulate our family's clothing (and lack thereof) policy. "You have to at least be wearing underwear when you leave your bedroom. You must have pants on when answering the door or talking to neighbor girls. Sydney must have a shirt on as well. I know, it's not fair, but it's a cultural expectation that we will abide by." Speaking of the outdoors, I tend to make and break my own guidelines on when it is and is not permissible to urinate in the backyard.

But it gets rather humorous when I start getting all "moral high ground" on the kids. No, I'm not proud of it, and please don't see this as an invitation to help me rewrite our household rules or my parenting technique, but I have been known to say things like "That would not make Jesus happy." I know! Mommy guilt PLUS religious guilt! So terrible. But actually kinda true. My "go to" fly by the seat of my pants rule creation is the ever-popular "IN OUR FAMILY." See, we learned early on that you can't make sweeping rules that seem universal, because then your kid will learn that it is forbidden to stick his tongue out (which is like flipping the bird in our family) and then fly off the handle when some other kid does it innocently on a playdate. (Or the reverse, like when your kid is allowed to play with light sabers and other kids are not!) So we focus the rules on OUR FAMILY. Oh, man, I use this one a lot. I justify it in my mind by thinking of the wonderful foundation of justice and goodness that I'm surely laying in their little minds.

IN OUR FAMILY, when we spill something, we clean it up. IN OUR FAMILY, we slide down slides, not walk up them. IN OUR FAMILY, we don't splash mommy when in the bathtub. IN OUR FAMILY we don't say "butt" or "shut up" or "hate." IN OUR FAMILY we don't like being late. IN OUR FAMILY we flush the toilet promptly and jiggle the handle in the front bathroom because you know that one gets stuck. IN OUR FAMILY we don't roll up in the floor rug, thus exposing the disgusting stuff underneath that mommy doesn't ever clean. IN OUR FAMILY kids don't hold fancy cameras or permanent markers, they don't drink mommy's soda or coffee, and they don't put stickers on glass or wood.

Tiffaney said her special off-the-cuff authority spouting is the "threefold reasoning." When she gives an instruction or order, and some child pouts and says "Aw! WHY?" She is never to be found without reasons, demonstrated with dramatic finger gestures: "FIRST, you'll do it because I told you to. SECOND, you'll do it because we need to take care of our things. And THIRD...you'll do it....BECAUSE I TOLD YOU TO DO IT!" She is very wise and witty, and I'm sure she never falls short on the threefold, but I know I do.

But as with the vast majority of my parenting practices, the goal is to get through the day without harming anyone and making sure everyone knows they are loved. Then just pray that by God's grace they really will find a balance of justice, morality and sanity that they picked up...IN OUR FAMILY.

Random

I forgot to post about a funny quote from Carson on the day of our referral. Carson was actually on a fun outing with Bapaw Roy when we got the call. After I picked him up, we were in the car on the way to Daddy's work when I told him the news. He was satisfactorily excited and asking lots of questions about Asher. After a couple minutes, our conversation lulled and he asked where I was when the social worker called me. I told him I was at Michael's.

"The craft store?" he said with a smile, but also a semi-confused look on his face.
"Yes! The craft store!" I said.
"Huh," he replied, with a very matter-of-fact tone. "That's random."

How I almost cursed at the ice cream man who was a lady

I don't have a lot of blog fodder right now that is not a long complaint about parenting a whiney three-year-old, so I'm going to have to go elsewhere for a story. I've been sitting on this story for a few weeks and thought I'd share.

If you'll remember, the second week of June we had a HUGE SALE fundraiser in our yard/garage. Doing a garage sale of any kind is exhausting, but the martyr in me likes to think that when over a dozen different families bring you all their treasures, the sheer volume of merchandise to be stored, moved, organized, priced and sold entitles me to a little more exhaustion. (Not that I didn't have help, because I had great help!) Also you need to know that Trent and I kind of have a deal about these kinds of things: I do it and he stays out of my way. Or helps in specific ways that I request. Like staying out of my way. And keeping the kids out of my way. Wow, I'm really starting to sound like a crazy mean lady, but it's all for the BABY, people!

So, let's just say that after weeks of prep, two LONG days of dealing with weird garage sale people and constantly adjusting the position of the sale items for optimum presentation, by Saturday evening? I was DONE. Dead woman walking on shakey legs and even more shakey temperament. Trent, the T family and my in-laws had done a wonderful job of caring for my children during the sale, but they were home when we were cleaning up. My parents were also there helping, which was wonderful. There were a few straggling shoppers that wanted to haggle/scavenge, and I wasn't having it. I told them to remove the items from my sight pretty please, hoping they would be scared off by my rudeness.

As we were tearing down, moving heavy items, boxing up the many things that didn't sell, trying to find a way to get stuff back into our garage, etc. THE ICE CREAM TRUCK comes down our cul-de-sac. Now, i don't have a lot of enemies, but in my mind? The Ice Cream Truck is my enemy. I never make eye-contact with the driver, but imagine him as a childless jerk who has years of manipulation perfected in the art of seducing little ones with sugar and fracturing parent/child relationships. My kids and I can be having a lovely, whine-free afternoon full of free back-yard sprinkler fun, and as soon as they catch a note of that tinny, jack-in-the-box music, and all hell breaks loose. They burst into begging and pleading with such passion that you would think someone was offering them a new car, not a $5 treat that is really worht 75 cents. Sometimes they evade my capture and run out to the front to "just look" at the truck, which totally eggs-on the Ice Cream Truck, who slows to a crawl and (I imagine) a smug, knowing smile. He may not get my $10, but he's wreaked havoc, which is worth almost as much. So it goes in my mind.

But back to the garage sale. The kids were out front with us, and they, of course, were jumping up and down with excitement, begging and pointing. All four adults took the classic stance of ignoring the entire existence of the Ice Cream Truck. This is my go-to move for such situations. Pretend it doesn't exist and soon it will go away. BUT IT DIDN'T GO AWAY. The truck not only slowed to .5 mph, it made LOOP around the cul-de-sac and came BACK around to our house where the children were on the verge of hysterical tears at the injustice of their parents. I walked inside for a moment, and my anger (surely compounded by my exhaustion) started to bubble up as I walked back outside and saw the Ice Cream Truck has STOPPED right in front of my children. Oh no he di'int. I put on my best confrontational face (which actually not that great) and started my Stomp of Justice out to that driver to give him a piece of my mind. Oh. I tell you. I was on FIRE with all the zingers I had planned for this stranger (so much easier to tell off a stranger!).

But when I approached the truck, this little post-middle-aged lady came out to meet me. Hmpph. OK, first surprise. It was a "she." Then she asked where we were adopting from. She had seen the signs. So I told her. But I still was mad at her! I was! Then she asked if she could buy this total gym thing that hadn't sold, but that we'd been lugging around for weeks and were wondering how we were going to get rid of. And I told her that everything was free at that point. She was overjoyed and almost hugged me. She asked if she could come back in an hour and pick it up, and I said yes. Then she asked if my kids could have a popsicle. And I said yes. I almost bartered for Klondikes instead, but I decided to let it go.

But she totally ruined my angry mojo. Now instead of picturing an evil, faceless, family-wrecking man behind the wheel of that pink truck, I'm picturing Sandra, the 55 year old grandma whose niece is adopting domestically and who is trying to earn a living and maybe do a little exercise on the side. Well. Pff.

So maybe the ICT is no longer my enemy. But that doesn't mean I'm going to drop $10 everytime Sandra drives by. But I MIGHT crack a smile. Or possibly wave.

"A gentle answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger." Proverbs 15:1

Photo Overload

Here's a post for the grandmas & grandpas & aunts & uncles.
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This is the first weekend in 7 that we will not be out of town, having a birthday party/Father's Day/Referral, doing a garage or consignment sale. I'm quite happy to be past the craziest part of our summer! The last 2 weekend we were at the coast and the mountain, respectively, first with Trent's extended family and then with my family. I had my camera on me a lot more on the mountain, but got a few pics of the beach weekend too!

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The highlight of beach weekend for Sydney was having Baby McKenna there! They are...second cousins? Their dads are cousins. It was a mutual entertainment for the most part.

G.G. with her 2 great-granddaughters. And a doll.

Gorgeous, gorgeous day at the coast!Auntie Tata and Riley--whom the kids think is their other cousin.
Cousin Kevin entertained Carson endlessly by building little villages and then inventing nature weapons to destroy said villages.
Denae has the patience to wait for Sydney's extended shyness to end...then they were best buds!
Chasing Auntie Shell in a pick-up game of beach baseball. 4 generations!

Now to Mt. Hood!
These boys have been coming on this trip since they were in utero.

"Huh?!?"

This picture feels very Mark Twain-esque to me.

All 8 kids loved playing in this lovely, shallow creek!

These are the kids as they were almost done with their traditional treasure hunt. Henry is especially loving it.

Dirt, water, rocks, sticks? 2 year old boy is in heaven!
As Aunt Steph said, this picture really captures JACK!

The lake was so shallow, the daddies waded out and pulled the kids in the rafts. They loved it!
This girl takes her relaxing very seriously. Look at those divas! Ethan is giving Trent a good splash.

Beautiful Pacific Northwest!

My stubborn girl didn't want to walk back to the campsite, but since I was already carrying the tricycle she abandoned, I couldn't carry her as well. This was our stand-off.

Nina is the queen of fancy S'mores! I wish I had a picture of her fixing them up. We all loved them! Jojo was showing Sydney the finer art of tasting sticky marshmallows.

You don't have to ask her twice.

Oh yeah. that's the good stuff. This was right before we went home. We were flithy and stunk like smoke, but we had a great weekend! Why, yes, we bribed the kids with sugar to hold still for a picture. Except for poor Wyatt in the front row--we hadn't given him a sucker yet. This was the moment he realized....