Bullet Point Bonanza

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Ten Things That Luke Doesn't Want:

• "No wanna weed a book."

• "No wanna watch a movie"

• "No wanna go poo-poo on the potty."

• "No wanna pay outside."

• "No wanna go night-night."
  

• "No wanna eat beckfast."
  

• "No wanna bwush da teef."
  

• "No wanna wash da hands."

• "No wanna tiss."

• "No wanna hud."

One Thing That Luke Wants:

• "No wanna cwack..."

(stops and thinks)

• "Want cwackers, Mommy."

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Five Ways Evie Tortures Luke:

• Open mouth kisses

• Sippy-cup larceny

• Holding out desired items and jerking them back at the last possible moment

• Crying loudly when shoved or hit, as to alert parental authorities

• Pulling the toilet seat lid down onto the back of his head while he's trying to do his business.

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Showdown at the O.K. Exam Room

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Evie had another "Well Baby" doctor's visit yesterday. This is when they take a perfectly healthy, happy child and poke, prod and stick them with needles until they're a crying, slobbering mess.

And I can always tell when Evie's appointments are coming up. I don't even need to write them down anymore, it's such a reliable system.

You see, in the week or so before Evie is to see her pediatrician, she goes by the following schedule:

Day 1: Pulls a large, heavy object from the table/bookshelf down....onto her face.

Day 2: Walks into the corner of an open drawer...with her face.

Day 3: Tries running from Mommy and falls into the wall...face first.

Day 4: Falls in the Target parking lot (Mommy wasn't holding her hand tightly enough) and lands hard on the asphalt...on her face.

Day 5: Trips over some curbing in the backyard...and lands on her bare knees (they were feeling neglected.)

Day 6: Walks into the doctor's office looking like she's been in a prize fight...and lost.

I don't know if this is well-known information, but Pediatricians are one of the major reporters of child abuse/neglect in America.

They have CPS on speed dial.

And God bless them for that! What incredible advocates they are for these helpless children. But it does make us non-abusive parents with accident-prone kids just a little bit nervous.

And my daughter's Pediatrician notices everything. It's the part of her neurotic personality that makes me love her so much.

She's a Safety Nazi.

Which makes a "Safety Nut" look like Evel Knievel.

She's gotten me so afraid of choking hazards that I actually cut Evie's Cheerios in half. She makes me want to keep the kids in a rear-facing car seat until they hit puberty. And now I'm so paranoid about sun damage, my children look like Albinos.

But you know what? I love it. I'm a better-safe-than-sorry kind of person. To me, there's nothing more important than keeping my kids safe...even if it makes me look like a freak to some people (I'm sure Tara's on the floor convulsing right now).

I love Dr. Hall.

But she does like to test me.

When Luke was around six months old, she asked me if I had been giving him juice. I said no, of course...the thought hadn't really occurred to me yet.

She nodded in approval and proceeded to inform me of the many evils of "liquid sugar."

I wondered what she would have said if I had responded with a yes...

Since then, she asks me at every visit (with each child), in a completely neutral voice.

"Are you giving her any juice?"

She never makes eye contact when she asks this, probably afraid of giving away the answer with her expression of disdain. Instead, she looks down at the chart and poises her pen a mere centimeter above the paper.

She's waiting for my answer. Waiting for me to say the wrong thing so she can scribble down my parental faults in permanent ink.

"Absolutely not. I hate the stuff."

I blurt it out quickly, hoping she doesn't notice the catch in my voice or the beads of sweat on my forehead.

"Good."

I release a breath and wait for the room to stop spinning. The test has been passed and the next one won't be for another three months. I just hope she tells me when I'm allowed to give the poor kids juice....at this rate, their college graduation seems too soon.

Now, I hope I haven't given you the wrong impression here. My Pediatrician is a kind, intelligent and funny woman. She truly cares about the well-being of my children.

And even though normal people would probably be put off by that kind of pressure, Dr. Hall is not the one that bothers me.

Her assistant is.

I'm sure some of you remember Evie's twelve month visit. The trauma is still fresh in my mind.

This time wasn't any better. Once again, she wanted to poke my daughter in her arms. At first, she acted like they HAD to go there. But when I protested, she said that it would hurt less since Evie was walking now and would be bothered more by a shot in her leg.

I looked at the long needles, then I looked at Evie's scrawny little arms.

"I'd really like it to go in her legs."

"Oh, sure...no problem."

I could tell she was disappointed, though. She was probably looking forward to jabbing a humerus or two, just for kicks.

The leg shots went smoothly, no thanks to her. But the process was drawn out much longer than necessary.

I closed my eyes and kissed Evie's forehead as she tensed in pain. Several moments later, I hear...

"Good job, Sweetie."

I look up thinking it's over.

No such luck.

The woman is sloooowly picking up the second needle. As if letting Evie calm down from the first jab will somehow make the next one less painful.

JUST GET ON WITH IT!!!

The good news is that this will be the last time I have to lay eyes on this incompetent woman. You see, she's very, very pregnant.

Due in June, as I found out during some forced pleasantries.

By the time Evie's due for another visit, this assistant-from-you-know-where will be gone, gone, GONE! And since my doctor is moving to a new office this month, I'm banking on the reasonable assumption that the needle-happy freako will be assigned elsewhere when her maternity leave is up.

I think I'm looking forward to the birth of her baby more than she is.

I'm not normally this nasty...really, I'm not. This woman is probably a perfectly nice human being. We might even be friends under normal circumstances.

But don't ever, ever mess with my baby girl.

I've got a mama bear in me that would make most people cower in fear.



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Child of Mine

I've been thinking a lot about money lately. Scratch that, I've been thinking a lot about adoption and money seems to just tag along. You see, one of the universal injustices (other than the fact that there are suffering and orphaned children out there) is that adoption is psychotically expensive.

At least, it seems that way at first.

Until I look at the shiny new vehicle sitting in the driveway of my shiny new home.

Then, $20-25k to bring a homeless child into a loving, Christian family seems like a bargain.

Coming up with all that money within a year, however, is a daunting task...but I'm a firm believer that where God leads, He provides.

And I've never felt more led in my life.

What an amazing thing it is to feel God's will like it's a tangible thing. To have my heart tugged so firmly and insistently in one specific direction.

I've never been a very good listener, and I've tried to be up front about this from the very beginning in my prayer life....

"I'm a little slow on the uptake, Father, so you're gonna have to be REAL clear with me."

So God, in all His mercy and grace, decided to shout this one straight into my ear.

Adoption!

And suddenly, with all the blinding clarity of a thousand suns (and me without sunglasses), I realized that my next child is already waiting for me.

Somewhere out there...in this terrible, evil, impoverished world...is my child.

I don't know what my child looks like, what color their skin is, how old they are, or even if they're healthy.

But I do know that my child needs me. And, with all the powerful maternal love that God has placed in my heart, I need them too.

I don't know when or where this all started. My brother and sister-in-law probably planted the seed two years ago when they took in and fell in love with two beautiful foster children, whom they are now seeking to adopt.

But some people can tell you the exact moment that adoption actually occurred to them. My memory banks are too full of playdates, birthdays, and doctor appointments.

But, about a month ago now, I mentioned the idea to Chris. Maybe I had seen a video or something on the internet, maybe not. I honestly can't remember (I've since watched DOZENS of adoption videos).

But when Chris and I really started thinking about it together, it was as if Heaven itself opened wide and an angel floated down...and slapped us in the face.

Suddenly it was the easiest decision we've ever made.

"Why on earth didn't we think of this sooner?"

We started by looking into domestic foster care adoption. But, unless we wanted to risk our hearts by becoming foster parents, there really weren't any kids out there in our age-range.

So we put that on the back-burner (for now) and turned our eyes to international adoption.

There are MILLIONS of orphans out there, many of them struggling to survive in third-world countries. Unloved and unwanted, they are placed in government run orphanages (if they're lucky) under truly appalling conditions.

Many of them don't survive to adulthood.

And here I am, sitting on my leather sofa and typing on my expensive laptop.

Do I feel guilty for that? Absolutely.

But guilt is not what has compelled me to adopt.

Love is.

My love for my children is...overwhelming. And I have so very much of it to give. But I also understand that there is nothing exclusively special about Luke and Evie. They are amazing and wonderful kids, but so is every other child out there. Believe me, there's nothing in my DNA that would make my offspring any better than the next person's.

And, through this realization, God has put a certainty in my heart that I can truly love any child.

Not everybody can say that. Which is why it's so important, for those of us who can, to do something about it.

Which brings us to the monumental task of choosing an adoption agency, choosing a country, and coming up with the thousands of dollars needed to begin the process.

But, where God leads, He provides.

Chris and I have been blessed recently with unexpected money. An insurance settlement (that we thought had already been settled), a larger-than-anticipated tax return, and an completely unexpected tax rebate (courtesy of Mr. Bush) due to arrive next week.

Whenever this has happened in the past, we usually wait around for an expense to arise. We get some extra cash and the car breaks down, or one of the stupid cats get sick, or a thousand other things that burn through cash like there's no tomorrow.

It's God's provision, and we're grateful for it...but it still stinks.

This time, though, I think God had something much bigger in mind. I'm happy (and amazed) to say that, at this point, we have the money we need to begin the process and pay the adoption agency's expenses. We'll need quite a bit more before everything is finalized, but that's a ways down the road and we have other options to explore before then.

In addition, I found out that nearly $12,000 of our adoption expenses will count as a credit on our federal taxes and all of that money will be returned to us in our refund the following year. Plus, Arizona is one of only 14 states that provides a tax credit as well!

Could God make this any easier?

Oh yeah, He could make my husband's heart match my own.

Done!

Chris is with me on this 200%. He'll say things that I'm thinking and think things that I'm saying. He'll cry just as hard as I do when we watch videos of beautiful children being united with their "forever" parents.

In one month, we've gone from debating on whether or not our third child will be our last, to trying to figure out how many kids we can cram into four bedrooms.

And I don't think I've ever loved him more.

Chris is a living example of God's well-orchestrated plan for me. A plan that started twenty-seven years ago, this June.

You see, I believe that God has been preparing me for this my entire life. Carefully shaping and molding me, like the Great Potter that He is. Breaking my heart again and again each time I saw or heard about a suffering child.

And I'd like to say I've taken it all with grace and dignity. But the truth is that I've been in some ugly places emotionally from all this.

I've wept many tears for abused or neglected children, stayed up long into the night thinking about them...praying for them. Wondering how human beings could ever be so completely, thoroughly evil.

But I've never gotten so angry at God as I did when I started reading about the countless abandoned newborns in Africa. Left in garbage dumps, rivers, and empty fields...most of them never found.

I was driving alone in my car one day and thinking about those precious babies, alone and hungry. Completely vulnerable to wild animals and mother nature. And then I pictured Luke and Evie as newborns in that same situation. Before I knew it, I was crying...and then I was screaming.

"Why, why, why??? Why do you let this happen? Why won't you come now and set this world straight??"

I think that was a breaking point for me but I came out of it with a tentative peace. I don't understand why God allows children to suffer, but He has helped me to realize that I don't have to.

All I have to do is have faith.

Faith in God's plan...in His purpose.

I'm not gonna lie to you, it's still a big pill to swallow...and I have a terrible gag reflex. But God's heart is even bigger than mine, and He loves those children more than I could ever hope to.

So, once again, I'm learning to lean on Him. Accepting that I won't have all the answers in this life, and moving forward in faith with what He's calling me to do.

"Even so, come Lord Jesus." Rev. 22:20

Come soon.


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Please be in prayer for us as we face many difficult decisions over the coming months. Pray that God's will be made clear to us, and that our child (wherever they are) will remain safe and healthy until he or she is in our arms.



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Adventures in Potty Training, Vol. 2

International House of Pancakes

Let me just start by saying how much I love IHOP. Where else can you get a plate of steaming, delicious, perfectly browned French Toast in less than ten minutes?

Not at my house, that's for sure.

But their bathrooms, like many others in a public setting, leave much to be desired.

This time was a little different, though. You see, I'm no longer a public bathroom rookie...I'm a hard-core veteran. I've experienced things that would keep you up at night and make you go running to your mommies.

For example, the restroom at the Phoenix Zoo a few weeks ago was over-crowded, suffocatingly hot, and make-your-knees-weak-stinky.

My major mistake was bringing along Luke's little toilet ring again. The seats at the zoo were so elongated, that the ring only fit at the very back of the toilet. There was so much left in front of him that poor Luke couldn't even bend his knees.

And yet, we prevailed.

Pee found a way.

But wisdom comes from experience...which comes from making lots of stupid mistakes and learning from them.

So, when it came time to leave for IHOP, I decided to leave the toilet-ring-of-shame at home and brave the porcelain seat unfettered.

Still, when I got into the stall and looked at that cavernous toilet bowl, and then at Luke's rather minuscule bottom, I got a little nervous.

That's okay, I'll just spread his legs REALLY wide.

So, I situated my son behind me and got to work on the preparations.

"Luke, don't...touch...ANYTHING."

I grabbed up the tissue toilet seat cover and carefully punched out the center (with only minor tearing). Then, for extra protection, I grabbed some toilet paper and laid it across that dangerous gap right in front where the toilet seat is separated and does not cover the vile, urine covered, germ-infested toilet rim underneath.

Then, I totally stripped Luke's pants and underwear off, since I needed his legs to do things they probably weren't designed for.

This also involved removing Luke's shoes and exposing his soft, bare feet to the contaminated bathroom floor....but, in times of war, one must make difficult sacrifices. I did make a mental note not to kiss the soles of his feet before his next bath, though.

Next, I turned Luke so he was facing me, lifted him up against my chest with one arm, bent his knees and held them against my stomach with the other arm, and lowered him onto the seat without disturbing the delicate tissue seat cover....which, I've found, will blow into the next stall if you breathe too heavily.

And I actually managed to get him settled with almost no skin-to-toilet contact.

I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.

However, by this time, my irrational intense fear of germs must have worn off onto Luke a little bit. The moment I squatted in front of him to watch his progress, he leaned forward and threw his arms around my neck in a hug...something I mistakenly took for affection.

Awww. What a sweet boy. He must really love his......why does my thigh feel warm all of the sudden?

I looked down and saw that Luke was peeing on my leg. His aim was all messed up from leaning forward into our embrace. I hurriedly tried to push him back but he just held on tighter. Finally, I gave up and shifted my legs so he was peeing on the floor instead...figuring I'd just wipe it up with some toilet paper afterwards.

Little did I know that my two year old is a Marathon Urinator.

By the time he was finished, nearly the entire floor of the stall was one big pee-puddle. At the last possible moment, I had grabbed up Luke's clothes and saved them from the oncoming yellow tide.

I tried to use the toilet paper as damage control but an entire wad of it completely dissolved the second it touched the puddle.

Stupid cheap toilet paper!

With a frustrated sigh, I found a small dry spot near the door and dressed Luke...then went out to retrieve some paper towels.

There was another mom at the sink with a child in her arms and another on the floor in a car seat. She watched my personal drama unfold with a sympathetic smile on her face that I immediately connected with. So, I trusted her to keep Luke from killing himself (who cares about germs anymore) while I quickly mopped up the mess.

I spent another few minutes washing our hands (and arms) and then we walked out of the bathroom and back to our table....while I hoped like the dickens that anyone looking at my wet jeans would just assume I got a little overzealous at the sink.

But the French Toast nearly made the whole thing worth it.

Nearly.



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Kissing Cousins