today

Today I...

went grocery shopping before 9 o'clock (by myself).


cleaned the kitchen (three times).


scolded and soothed a little boy who broke the baby gate that took us two hours to install just three days ago. (yes, we both have college degrees, why do you ask?)


gave three time outs.


played hide and go seek.


looked for fall leaves with my boy.


got whacked in the head with a wooden toy so hard I saw stars, needed ice, and imagined that I was a cartoon character with birds flying around my head.


harvested my garden, which included one zucchini, one final carrot, some herbs, and a dozen grape tomatoes.


attempted making leaf-shaped sugar cookies for the kid's class, then dropped most of them on the floor.


ate seven cookies.


was reminded of my need to ask for God to be a part of my everyday. 


feel grateful for the four men in this house. Couldn't live without 'em.

little blessings

Last night when I went in to check on Eddie before I went to bed, I laid my hand on his forehead. Eddie is the lightest sleeper of all the boys, so maybe this wasn't the smartest move, but I just couldn't resist. He giggled. His eyes fluttered open and met mine, he showed off his toothy grin, and just as quickly as he woke, he was back asleep. I laughed out loud, thanked God for the absolute gift that kid is, and went to bed.

George started pulling himself up this week and feels pretty cool about it. He is going to be the scrappy one, I can tell. He doesn't care if Eddie crawls over him, if tunnels topple onto him, or big brothers smash his cheeks together. He'll take it, but I don't think it'll be long before he does some smashing of his own. He is quite the character and at only ten months, bursting with personality. If you look at him a certain way, he laughs as if the two of you have an inside joke. I hope he lets me in on what it is someday. 




And then, of course, there's Lute. After I put the babies down for their morning naps, he asked me to turn on his new favorite show, which was welcome, as I was hoping to catch a shower. 


"Sure, bud. Do you want me to watch it with you or can I take a shower?" I asked.
"You should take a shower, Mama. You're looking pretty stinky."


Gee, thanks. At least I can count on him for a little honesty.

being diplomatic and other adoption issues

 If you have ever thought about adoption, are in the process, or have already adopted, I highly, highly, highly recommend this book. We got it while we were in the process, but I finally just read (most of) it last weekend. The author, Dr. Ray Guarendi, has ten adopted children and is one of our parental heroes - he has a daily radio show that we listen to when we can, a discipline book that we love, and does it all with humor, faith, and knowledge. 

I picked the book up again because we have entered into a stage in the journey where we can't just wing it. When we started the process we had to answer questions about how we would teach our kids about adoption, how we would answer people when they asked about it, and so on. We did some research, read a couple of books, talked to people who had adopted. But in our usual "whatever will be, will be" fashion, we idealized letting it all happen organically. While we still hold to that in many respects, we are so regularly inundated with "how did that happen?" and such, that it's time to come up with an answer we're all comfortable with.

My friend Haley, who is in the process of adopting a little boy from Ethiopia, posed a good question on her blog last week.  How much of your child's story do you relay to strangers? I have never been one to hold back on details, so when it comes to friends and family, those who know us and are genuinely interested in our story, those who I really believe are on this journey with us, I don't worry about sharing our story. 

But something I have been thinking about a lot lately is the way everything will be perceived by my Eddie when he is old enough to take part in the conversation. I don't want him to hear the adoption clarification every time we leave the house.  I know people are innocent in their questioning, but sometimes I wonder how necessary it is. Do I really need to clarify that one of our children is adopted? What do they think the other option might be? An affair? Do strangers expect me to go into detail when they are asking? 

If you know me, you know I have a raspy voice. Nearly every encounter I have with a stranger invites one of the following phrases:

"Oh, are you sick?"

"Do you have laryngitis?"

"You take care of that voice!"

"Did you go to a concert last night?"

"You poor thing, get better."

Most of the time I smile and say thanks. But almost as often, I quickly quip, "Nope, I'm fine." 

I know people have the best of intentions, but it gets old. 

So as I think about how to respond to questions about my children being close in age, if they're all mine, if I am the babysitter... to "how did that happen?", I think the answer is going to be: We're just blessed.

Because we are. And really, what more to it does there need to be?

quiet

It's 9:30 on a Thursday morning. I am drinking chai, eating toast and reveling in the quiet. The babies are sleeping and my firstborn is at his second day of preschool. Sigh. 

When I had Lute, my mother-in-law told me that from the birth of a child, it is a constant, subtle letting go. Lute is not thrilled about school yet... Today when I dropped him off, all he kept saying was, "But I want you, Mama." I enthused on and on about how fun school would be, all the the cool things he was going to do, and that it was just a couple of hours and I would be back - nothing to worry about! He bravely made his way to the play-doh and said goodbye.

But the truth is, buddy, I miss you, too.

comedy of errors

Sometimes you just have to laugh. 


Today started out really well. Nick let me sleep in (always the best way to start my morning). I got up to three smiling little boys, ready for breakfast. We said goodbye to Dada and then enjoyed our toast and melon together. Then it was playtime before the babies took their naps.  I corralled Lute and George into the living room and was ready to go back to the kitchen for Eddie. He was pretty content rummaging through the cup drawer - the one place he can go at it in the kitchen with no danger. Famous last words.


I called to him to come with me, which of course had zero effect. As I walked toward him to bring him along, he lost his footing and smacked his lip right on the "safe" drawer, splitting it open. Bleeding and screaming, he needed a little love. As I cuddled him into the living room, more screams erupted. This time from Lute. He had been playing with the airplane I proudly fashioned out of a diaper box, and in his enthusiastic attempts to catapult it across the living room (while inside of it, mind you), he slipped and hit his head on the hinge of our armoire. I didn't know what to do. Lute or Eddie? Then I saw the blood. Lute.


I calmly swept Lute into my arms and beelined it for the sink where I washed the blood away to assess the damage. Not too bad, but enough to make me queasy. I put pressure on it, held him at the kitchen table and tried to calm him down, all while trying to figure out if this might require stitches. As I was processing, Eddie (now over his split lip) had quietly made his way to my side, which also happened to be near the toaster oven, which happened to be hot from our toast the hour before. Without my noticing he opened it up and stuck his hand right in. More screaming. This all happened in less than three minutes.


With Eddie happy to play with an ice pack, and Lute calmed and holding a paper towel to his head, I made sure George wasn't in any immediate danger. Good ol' George was fine. I took the boys (quickly and safely) into the living room, shut all the doors and reassessed the wounds.  Eddie, good as new, looked for new trouble to get into. Lute was excited about a bandage on his head, and Mama was very glad to put the babies to bed, turn Mickey Mouse on for Lute, and pour herself a strong cup of coffee.


We are so not leaving the house today.

goodbye, summer

We had fun while it lasted.

   

And now for fall. Truth be told, it's kind of my favorite.