Orphanage Dust

Dust sneaks up on me. I admit that I'm not a regular duster. I assign that to one of the half-hearted cleaners of our bunch. He generally gives things a swipe, one hand holding a book open, the other aimlessly moving the duster. Our dust gets stirred up every once in a while, then settles back down to accumulate some more. One sunny day I'll happen to glance at the piano and grimace. I frantically move from one piece of furniture to another eradicating dust from each flat surface.

I am ashamed to admit that it seems to work the same way with orphanage dust.

Everything seems so clean, so tidy, so perfect. Then, one day I walk by and notice that dust has been accumulating. It's thick and marring the beautiful surface of our child.

Four years next month. Four years in our family. The magic number for this daughter's life. She's been with us longer than she was in Ethiopia. It seems like four years would be long enough.

The dust has been accumulating and we were slow to notice it. A few strange things happened and then, rather slowly, we noticed. The sun shone down and the dust was glaring back at us.

This business of redeeming a hurt child never allows for a quick fix. We admit that we were too lax at the beginning. Medical needs trumped attachment worries. We were careful, but not vigilant. She seemed so well adjusted...until recently.

A friend gently urged me to do something proactive. She was confiding in me about attachment problems and I began sharing some recent worries. The thick layer of dust revealed, I knew we needed to get busy.

I share this, thinking that some of you might have similar concerns. If it seems like it's been long enough, don't fool yourself into thinking that 'she's really fine'. Do something now, because nurturing behaviors are much easier with a 3 year old than an 8 year old! It's easier to win over the heart of an 8 year old than a 15 year old. We press on through the snide remarks, questions, fibs, and sneakiness. She's sweet and yet she knows how best to hurt us.  Ultimately, the battle becomes one within myself.

This is my life with our daughter. She loves me unless there is another adult to please. The kindness of an acquaintance lives on through her praises, while our gestures are snubbed and disregarded. In my heart I want to stop trying and just let her be.  We know she's still hurting and the dust is stirred up. We re-read the books that had long been shelved. Entire paragraphs are highlighted and sticky notes mar the pages. It's a great resource, but when push comes to shove it sure is hard to be stabbed in the back daily.

God didn't bring this soul out of darkness and near death for us to flippantly lose her to her past.  The real changes have to begin with me.  In an effort to win the heart of my hurting child, I realized I have to change my heart.  Five children.  Three adoptions.  Seems like I would have been there and done that.  Read all the books.  Known all the right answers.

Her shrugs have brought me to my knees.  Right where I need to be for all of our children.

Therefore, my beloved brethren, be ye steadfast, unmoveable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, forasmuch as ye know that your labour is not in vain in the Lord.  1 Corinthians 15:58

For the mother who has it all...

Sometimes I'm stuck without a single idea when it comes to gift buying.  Sometimes I'm struck with a great idea and then something better comes along.  This opportunity would be the something better coming along.

The Davidson family is making wonderful cards for Mothers Day.  All of the proceeds will be donated to the building fund for Kind Hearts.  Right now the kids are squeezed into the four available classrooms.  It was fantastic to see so many children (150) this year, but disheartening to realize that they are beyond full.  In order to allow more children into the school, they need more room.  Karen explains the project much better on her blog:  www.family-from-afar.blogspot.com

If you would like to order a card for the special women in your life, visit the Davidson's blog at:
Davidson Party of Five

I've been lax in sharing this, hurry up or you will miss this great opportunity.  They have already raised over $2000 towards the project!

The Stack By My Bed

The tall stack of books on my nightstand tells about what is going on in my life right now. Recent parenting worries are sitting under a frivolous read. An 'encouraging friend' that I visit all year long rests on the very top, easily accessible when I need a quick word. A challenging missions autobiography waits to be finished, smashed in between my pressing worries and my desire to relax at the end of the day. I think my priorities are askew.

What does your nightstand reveal about you?

What a mother will do...

This tells me I'm not the only mother that has resorted to these tricks to convince children of the importance of dental hygiene.

Pictures of Bad Teeth

I almost dry heaved. The child in question immediately confessed to skipping his brushing and ran off. Our squeals caused a stir.  Soon the kitchen was filled with exclamations as I scrolled back through the pictures for the four curious children who missed the first viewing.  The kitchen quickly vacated.  I could hear water running and teeth being brushed all over the house.

I even gave my teeth a once over, just in case. 

Kind Hearts Video

This video came from a group traveling recently with Children's Hopechest. I was thrilled to watch it, but generally love watching any clips that people share from their trips. When the video started, all of the kids crowded around me. Unfortunately, they are drawn to the sound of movies playing. As of yet they are unableto discern the difference between Hollywood quality and youtube. I loved explaining that Misikir works with Hopechest and that he has become a dear friend. He is explaining recent projects and hopes for the future of Kind Hearts. We were all spellbound. I hope you enjoy the little glimpse into the great work that is being done.

The End of an Era

Some of you may remember the story that brought us our van. Church van pulls up and three small children climb out. THREE children riding in a 12 passenger van. It was always funny, but never fun to park (or drive in the snow, or fill up with gas).

For five years the great white van dubbed 'Moby' has faithfully taken us all over the country. The words, 'we don't have room' never passed my lips. With a vehicle that seats 12 11 (the dog ate one seat belt), there was always space for another family. We'd squeeze in and bounce down the road together, not in comfort, but together.

It was with some regret that we agreed to sell good, old Moby to a Russian family with nine children. We found a Honda that seats eight--my one requirement of selling Moby--I need to know that I have one seat open. Just in case.

This van is much nicer than Moby, but there are downfalls. I've lost it in the parking lot. That never happened with Moby--he had 'ninja eyes' above the grill, a scripture sticker on his rear and he was usually the biggest, whitest thing in the parking lot. This new van is gold and small and screams ubiquity. I would have named it such, but that would be too hard to say for 3/5 of the children. Everett votes for Megatron and Ella said something about kittens.

I do think one of these is in this poor van's future:
Nothing takes a gold minivan out of ubiquitous and into recognizable like a sweet stache. Right now it's so ordinary it doesn't even qualify for posting a picture.

Farewell, Moby...I hope we don't regret letting you go!

Another Layer Revealed

Our paradigm shift happened five years ago. Our beautiful little Ella was very slow to speak, not uttering more than "ma" at nearly three years old. She seemed slow to pick up on things, and we often wondered whether it was just her adjusting to life in a family. Things culminated one fall when she started 'blinking' and losing a second or two of time. She was diagnosed with epilepsy on the same day that a psychologist told us she had a low IQ and ADD. We, psychologist included, ignored his findings with our new knowledge of her brain activity. Who could possibly take any test while having seizures every few minutes?

That bout of visits with neurologists and psychologists gave us a little glimmer of her uncertain future. We first heard the words 'mental retardation' there, in relation to our daughter. Gone were visions of her in college, leaving our home to start one of her own. We joked about it at first. Around here, laughter seems to be the way we deal with things. I would say, "She's going to be with us forever, in our basement with 17 cats. She will love every minute of it."

Neither of us really, truly thought we were being serious.

I prayed for years that the Lord would "restore the years the locust had eaten" for Ella. As He began to reveal more of her to us; my prayers began to be "let us love her the way she is." He answered those prayers abundantly.

In the fall Ella got 'lost' at church. It's a small church, with only three hallways. She left her class and thought church was over so she waited in the foyer for me. She sat there and watched as the foyer full of people slowly emptied. She sat there thinking she had been left behind, all the while hearing the choir sing from the sanctuary. I finally found her, I guess she had just asked a stranger visiting our church where she could find her mommy. That scared me to death. It also made us think about her future in more realistic ways.

After speaking with our wonderful neurologist, we found ourselves in the lobby of a pediatric psychologist. I had spent the week filling out paperwork as both parent and teacher. I dug through our disorganized file cabinet and found IQ tests and neurologist reports for the last five years. We were both nervous about the next hour. I feared that they would scoff and tell us to send her to a public school where she could get services that she needed. I had a lot of fears that afternoon. Seth was my support, but from the beginning said that I would need to be the one talking. The two psychologists were young and friendly. I suppose their days are filled with anxious parents hoping that they have all of the answers. We were just two more worried faces.

Our interview went on for over an hour. I soon got to understand these ladies pretty well. The senior psychologist had the 'encouraging' habit of finishing our sentences. She had somehow picked up the amazing mind reading skill. We were peppered with questions starting at the beginning of Ella's adoption and running through the past seven years.

After being 'on' for so long I started to fade. My exhaustion hit me when one doctor asked how Ella was with puzzles and I just stared at her. Glancing from one corner of the room to another I nearly panicked. A little help from the psychic would have been appreciated but she, too, just stared at me with a smile on her face. My mind was a mess of frantic thoughts..."How is she with puzzles, sheesh. I'm a horrible mom! I can't think remember puzzles, do we do puzzles? Does she like puzzles? When did she do a puzzle last? Like 3 years ago? That's a terrible answer, I can't say that!"

I think I finally murmured, "She doesn't like puzzles too much." We quickly moved on and shortly after the appointment ended. They probably smelled my brain frying.

Seth went alone with Ella for the two sessions of three hour testing. Ella thought it was a fun treat to have snacks and play computer games with these doctors. She also fell asleep in the car on the way home and had double vision the rest of the day. Seth said that the last day the doctors escorted Ella out to the lobby and had a look of pity on their faces. He couldn't tell if it was a "pity you think this perfectly normal kid has delays" look or a "pity you will be met by the child protective services at the elevator" look or maybe even a "pity you have no idea what you are dealing with" look.

I went to the final meeting alone. Seth called in and joined us via speaker phone. All five kiddos were drawing pictures and doing mazes about the Myecean Greeks while he listened to our meeting from a quiet bedroom. Pacing back and forth, I'm sure.

The ladies looked at each other and one flushed bright red before she even began. They slid a stapled stack of papers toward me that had Ella's identifying information along the top. I felt myself begin to sweat and wondered why I had so many layers on. The senior psychologist began with, "This is the bell curve of normal IQs. Here at the bottom is 90 and the top is 110. Ella's right about here." She slid her pen nearly off the paper to the far left. Too far below what we expected, much farther than the previous test. Way down to 65.

I let a wheeze escape.

"Ummm, so what does that mean?" With the psychic doctor's help, we asked a few questions attempting to understand what this looks like as a child and an adult. They were very encouraging and supportive of Ella being homeschooled. They said she was thriving and gave me pages of resources to help in her educational journey.

Over the next hour I felt myself curling up into a ball. As much as I could without totally freaking these two ladies out. At one point I looked down and realized I had both arms wrapped completely around my torso and my legs crossed twice. I was turning into a pretzel.

She probably will never leave us. She will never drive a car or live on her own. She will need our help for the rest of our lives. We have already talked about how to plan so she will be taken care of when we are gone. She indeed may live in the basement with 17 cats. She probably will love it.

Sometimes.

She talks about being a mommy one day. She wants to get married. She wants to be a vet or a plumber or a dog when she grows up. She's beautiful and easily confused. Her best friends are four and five year old kids. She can read, but doesn't understand what she's reading. She can multiply, but doesn't understand why she's doing it. She wants to play with the girls her age, but she can't understand what they are doing and resorts to being goofy to make them laugh.

These test results should not have been a surprise to either of us. We've watched our daughter fall farther behind her peers. I've held her back in school and dropped curricula mid-year because I was losing her. I've tailored programs and done funky multi-sensory things trying to help her learn. Her little brother and sister have long since passed her in school, not that she knows it. But we did, and we should have expected her tests to be low.

That day I thanked the doctors and left their office. When I sat in the car I exhaled for about 5 minutes. My pretzel limbs loosened and I felt okay. I felt okay because nothing has changed in Ella. She's still the same Ella that she always has been. Our lovable, funny, God given, Ella.

Leftovers

A few days ago, Josiah took too long on his lunch and was left alone at the table. While I cleaned up in the kitchen, I noticed that the dining room was exceptionally quiet. That usually means he's in trouble. I peeked in and saw that he had indeed disappeared, but the vultures were taking care of his leftovers.

Nests

In a moment of guilt filled insanity, I relented and decided that we would make bird's nests. Not the yummy treat kind that my mom makes at Christmas. The kind that birds make. The science book suggests it as an activity. In the middle of winter. They know this will fall in the middle of winter because it's the middle of the science book. Grrr. How about some nice, clean, inside activities about birds? Like watching them as they eat from our bird feeders while we are sipping hot beverages inside?

Armed with bags and winter coats, I wave from the window as the kids tear into trees, bushes, piles of moss...hoping to find just what they need to build a nest. Unfortunately, the sticky stuff (aka mud) wasn't to be found anywhere, as the ground is frozen solid. I had to don my boots and trek into the far reaches of my garden to chip out some soil. I thawed it in the sink with warm water and viola...mud. That went onto the dining room table. Sigh. I stood guard with the vacuum hose, mistakenly thinking that would make clean up easier.

Notice Sally's look of disdain and distance from the table.

Then Sally started screaming about spiders. I hadn't thought about what we might be waking up by digging around outside. That was the end for her, she took her bag, dumped it onto the pie plate and called it a nest. Ella was thrilled with the prospect of finding something alive in her pile, so she began sifting carefully through leaves and bark. She completely forgot about the assignment as soon as she found a roly-poly. I vehemently refused her pleas for, "making it a home in my bedroom."

Inspecting the pile for bugs, Ella suckered Josiah into helping her.

The nests were a partial success, if measured in learning. Nest building is hard, especially considering birds don't have hands. Ours looked beautiful until the kittens discovered them that night.

Coloring a picture of a nest might have been a nice learning experience, too.

Forgotten Pictures

After reading my previous post, Karen sent me a message with wonderful news. She found pictures from our home visit that she had forgotten about! Even with my descriptions, Seth and our children were amazed to see where Dirbe and her siblings live.

It was so dark, my "fancy" Canon camera couldn't find a focal point in the darkness, and couldn't take a picture. So I reached for my daughter's small point-and-click camera and snapped a few quick pics with the flash. Reading Apryl's post jogged my memory, and just tonight I downloaded those photos and here is what I found - along with a video I somehow captured while holding hands with a child and balancing my other camera too. :)

The mud bench, yellow jugs for water in the background. You can see the thatched roof with black stains from smoke. Dirbe and Meskerem had terrible coughs, as did many of the other children, no doubt due to the smoky house.

The kitchen area, with large pans for injera along the wall. The raised bed is in the background.

One final shot as we leave, the children sleep on the floor near their parent's raised bed. This picture makes me even more thankful for the blankets that we gave to the children.

Karen has about 30 seconds of video on her blog. In it we had just entered the cluster of huts and were approaching the Hunde's home.

The Visit

Last year, when a little girl stole my heart by draping her arm so protectively around her little sister's shoulders, I never dreamed their family would become so familiar to my family. I never would have imagined that we would find ourselves in their home.

We had walked through the fields on a dirt path, gingerly making our way to the crest of the hill. Each of the children grasped the hand of an adult, almost as a badge of honor. We followed the path to a cluster of mud huts surrounded by shrubs and fencing.
This was the first time I had visited the home of one of our sponsor children. The unexpected made me nervous. I was holding the small hands of two little girls. I looked down at my sponsor child, Dirbe, on my right. She was obviously excited about the visit we were making. We trailed behind the group, my mom was just up ahead holding the hands of Dirbe's older brother and sister, whom my parents and sister sponsor. My hands were clammy and my stomach full of butterflies.

From the moment we stole away from the care point; I felt such a burden. I wanted to remember each detail of the walk, each sight and smell, so that I might share the experience with our families back home. I felt such responsibility climbing that hill, as I couldn't imagine many visitors taking this path to these homes. We were there as representatives of so many people and I felt inadequate. I felt so awkwardly American with my cameras and blue jeans. I was so tired from a long flight and no sleep and so, so terribly sorry that I hadn't learned Oromiffa in the past year.

That smiling face kept peering up at me, glancing and grinning. She obviously doesn't care how out of place we look. She's delighted to bring us home. I wish I could capture her excitement! Then I catch a glimpse of the view once we reach her cluster of huts, and I wish I could bring that home, too.


The huts seem abandoned, but we are shown the Hunde family's home. Dirbe's mother comes, smiling. She looks graceful in her traditional flowing dress and scarf. Again, I feel under dressed, though we stand in a smoky mud hut. It's unreal. She puts me at ease as she, too, is obviously excited to have us visit. We talk through two translators to try and understand how many children are in the family and what they do for a living. We are waiting for the children's father to arrive.

I'm nervous and rest in Karen's ability to think clearly and make conversation. What will their father be like? Perhaps angry that these American Christians are here? I have no idea, but not much time to think about it, because soon the crowd peering in the doorway parts for him.

He is small and wearing a ball cap with a large shawl wrapped over his shoulders. He walks with a limp and uses a cane. I never should have worried about this man. The moment I see his face, I see the same familiar joy that I adore on Dirbe's face. He is thrilled that we have come. His eyes adjust to the darkness and he comes towards me, smiling. He is talking, but I can't understand what he says. As the translators begin to sort out what he has said, he is taking my hand. Then he begins peppering it with kisses as the translator says, "He says he recognizes you from the pictures you send. He says thank you, thank you, God bless you."

I'm a mess. I'm a humbled mess. I can't think straight enough to ask any simple questions, for which I will have to beg forgiveness later. We learn that our three sponsor children sleep on the dirt floors. Their father fought in the army and sustained extensive injuries to his leg. He tries to support his family, but relies on the help provided by the care point.

As we begin to leave I realize that I must bring home at least a mental image of the home where this family lives. The three children sleep on the hard packed dirt floor near a raised mud platform where their parents sleep, a mud bench runs along one wall, and in one corner is a small fire, obviously where the cooking is done. Our visit ends far too soon as I realize I haven't taken photos or video to share with our family.

We walk slowly away from the huts and I am elated. I have just seen the smallest glimpse of the blessing Trees of Glory is to the children. I'm excited to be able to tell my sister that 'our girls' are loved and adored by their family. My nervousness has bubbled up into relief and joy. I give the little hand a squeeze and Dirbe smiles up at me again. This time, I recognize that she has her father's smile.

Staycation--The Finale

That fated morning, when the snow was coming down and I was dreading the thought of breaking the sad news to our kids, I was certain that we needed one big ticket item. We have some really good kiddos. They are usually so flexible and willing to change plans at a moment's notice. I shouldn't have worried so much about telling them that we weren't leaving for Florida. But, to my credit, I pictured myself saying, "I know you have been counting down the days until we were leaving, and I know that our bags are packed and you are expecting to pile into the van and head south in a few hours. I know that we have pumped you up for grandparents, theme parks, and swimming with manatees. Instead of that, Daddy and I decided that we are going to stay at home and do some fun stuff instead. I know there is something fun we can do. Really."

Their expected reaction? Wailing as they throw their bodies prostrate to the ground beating little hands and feet while they moan with disappointment and regret over their luck in life to have been put into the care of two senseless and obviously uncaring adults who call themselves parents.

I should have expected more of them. I tried to break it gently, and was certain to stress this particular event. Our trump card--two days at the resort/waterpark just an hour away. I had called and explained that I didn't care what day we came, but I needed something great because, "I'm about to tell my kids we can't go to Orlando for the week."

Though we enjoyed the beginning of the week, I do believe the biggest fun was had during our last two days of staycation. We sucked every ounce of fun from that water park. The discounted price I got for our room was due to low numbers at the park on Wednesdays. The place was relatively deserted and perfect! The four biggest kids are tall enough to ride nearly everything, this year they were able to run up and come down slides on their own. Josiah, ever the water-wimp, hung with me in the shallow part of the wave pool and managed by the end of the second day to be coerced into going down the 'big kid' slide in the kiddie zone.

The thought of standing around in my swimsuit is quite unappealing. Standing in my swimsuit, dripping wet and catching a glimpse of the snow pouring down from gray skies made for a perfect end to a snowy week!

Staycation--Day Three

We woke up on day three to the sound of the sump pump running. The snow that kept us from our vacation in Florida had disappeared. Rain and wind had replaced it--our snowy activities have come to an end. We hit the free Tuesdays at the science center downtown. It's a great place that I usually avoid. A three story museum cluttered with exhibits means keeping track of kids is pretty hard. We hit the entrance and five warm bodies scatter. Soon everyone is hidden among the exhibits. My palms start sweating and images of Josiah getting onto the elevator alone start running through my mind.

Send me to the zoo on a hot day in July. Outside with open spaces wins every time.

The museum was desolate this Tuesday. Having another pair of eyes (and bigger kids) made the experience pleasant.

Staycation--Day Two

Staycation's all I ever wanted...

Snowy theme continues today as we hit the trails to cross country ski. You can only imagine the surprise as we bombarded the clubhouse at the golf course turned winter sports park.

Boots and skis for seven, please.

The unbundling and boot selection, tying, bundling back up was an event in itself. Then snapping on the skis and getting a short lesson. Incidentally, if you ever choose to take five children cross country skiing and the guy managing the place assures you that poles will only make things harder for the kids, don't believe him.

Poles make things easier. Small children with little upper body strength will fall often and have no way to right themselves. If an adult is right there, no problem, but five children falling over and over again soon becomes defeating.

We didn't realize this until we were too far away from the clubhouse to turn back, so Seth and I sacrificed our poles so the kids would have one. Eli, our fearless leader, became so efficient he disappeared from view several times. We managed to make a 2 mile loop. The runner in me was certain (after skiing for an hour) that we must have made a wrong turn (little boy in the green coat, remind me why you are leading us?) and ended up on the 20 mile trail. I was surprised when we looped around and found that after 90 minutes we had only gone 2 miles. I think I pulled Josiah the last half mile. He kept saying he was having fun, but "I'm ready to have hot chocolate, can we just stop?"


Day Two: Ski and Boot rental for 2 hours $85 (kind of pricey but not anywhere near downhill ski prices)
Fun Factor: Much more pleasant than skating. Weather was perfect, we really did enjoy ourselves once everyone got the hang of the skis.

Probably not as much fun as swimming with the manatees, but definitely warmer.

Staycation

Our family is making a vacation out of a snowy weekend.

It's a sad tale involving a week in Florida and two days of snow. I am unabashedly a paranoid freak when it comes to driving in bad weather. Instead of packing the van on our departure morning, I checked the weather and fretted. I talked to my sister and fretted. I realized at some point that I was sabotaging our trip by remaining in my jammies with loaded suitcases sitting by the door instead of in the van. At that point, I called Seth. He tried to reassure me that the weather was only bad up here. Little did he know I'd been planted in front of the laptop studying four weather sites.

If this were our first year of marriage, we would have gotten into an all-out brawl. Since we are so mature and know each other so well, the conversation went something like this:
Seth, it's snowing in the mountains, I am sick at the thought of driving through them.

Apryl, it's not going to be bad, but I'm sick at the thought of driving through the mountains with you.

Yeah, it will be terrible (I'm not going to argue about how ridiculous I act in the van). I already checked plane tickets to fly out tomorrow. That is probably not an option.

Thanks for not calling me a cheapskate and forcing me to fly us down there.

Thanks for not forcing me to sit in the van as we drive to our death.

I'm NOT working next week. What do we do?

I'm NOT telling the kids that the trip to Florida is canceled until we have another plan.

We cooked up a plan that requires us to belt out our own rendition of a Go-go's favorite. Goes like this: Staycation 's all I ever wanted, Staycation--don't wanna get away!

Yep-traded Florida for a snowy week in Ohio. Woo. Hoo.

This is serious business. It would be easy for us to just sit around for a week. We made a plan, that fated morning, while I sat in my jammies, dreading breaking the news to the kids. We decided to make the most of this blasted snow. Perhaps our antics this week will be an encouragement to you to take advantage of the cool (sometimes cheap) things to do around your neck of the woods. I'm pretty good about taking the kids on adventures around the city, but there are a few things I just wouldn't attempt alone unless forced. This week is the perfect opportunity for us to 'force' ourselves to do all of the things we've been meaning to.

Day One--Ice skating at the outdoor rink at University Circle. Surrounded by three museums--we figured we would skate then visit the art museum to check out their ancient collections. Sadly, we were wet and frozen by the time we finished skating. Well, those of us who remained upright weren't wet, but the other five were soaking.
Cost: skate rental $3 per person=21$
Fun Factor: Marginal only because the girls and Josiah weren't very steady on their feet and it was C-O-L-D.
Even huddled around the outdoor fire, we were chilly and ready to go. Everyone, that is, except for Ella who was as determined as ever to get this skating thing down.

We had the entire rink to ourselves at first. We must have looked like we were having fun, as couples and college kids began meandering in asking where to rent the skates. Must have been because we kept yelling, "Staycation 2012!" We have no shame.

Elijah is Nine

Every birthday a child celebrates brings the "I can't believe time is passing so quickly" thought. It seems like we were just rushing to the hospital. I waddled across the parking lot telling Seth to leave the bag (and camera) in the car since it would be a while before we needed them. By the time we made our way into a room I was certain that baby was about to make his appearance. He did, much to the surprise of the doctor, nurses, and us. He's been in a hurry about everything since the day he came.

We always celebrate as a family with a dinner chosen by the birthday child and cake. Later, we have a party--Eli has always (except for his first) shared a party with his cousin. This year the festivities took place at the professional baseball stadium turned snow festival. Cake, pizza, and gifts took place at our house. This was probably the easiest party ever and the cake I made was probably my most successful (also easy) cake making venture ever.

Happy Birthdays, boys!

Merry Christmas!

Well Digging

Every year our homeschool co-op hosts a "Kringle Shop." It serves dual purposes. It's an opportunity for the kids to shop without mom tagging along, and families get to turn a profit by selling some crafty item to the shopping kids. Last year, I started thinking that if our family was going to come and shop; we could at least fund the shopping by making a few things to sell. Then months passed...and suddenly it was December and we hadn't made a thing.

Then a sweet friend mentioned digging a well in Ethiopia instead of buying gifts. Would we like to help?

Absolutely.

Would our children understand? Maybe. In the end we decided that we could cut a few corners (like Christmas cards), but we needed some creativity to make this well digging work.

We decided to make shovel ornaments and give them as gifts. We made little cards with an explanation, tied them to the shovels, and hoped it would go over well. The shovel debut was at Kringle Shop.
By the time the day arrived, each of the kids had been working on various projects (bookmarks, ornaments, shovels) and were pretty excited to see how the things were received. Getting everyone and everything into the van that blustery morning was chaotic. I actually pulled out of the driveway and realized we had a 'pan of shovels' baking in the oven. I wonder sometimes if I am ruining our children by doing too many things at once. Do they think all adults function like their dear Momma?

The 'vendors' get to shop first, then man their table for a few hours while other families make their purchases. I knew that Josiah wouldn't last long behind the table (and with so much chocolate being sold at the table next to ours...). The girls and I took him to watch Veggie Tales with other waiting children while the boys took table duty. The hours dragged on, and it was interesting to hear their updates on selling the shovels. Everett, ever the salesman, talked them up quite a bit.
I have included this photo lest you think we are raising children who are pious and always thinking of the plight of others. Sometimes, reality is smoothed out in blogging. Here's a little glimpse of it. While I have photos of children working and talking about how many shovels we might sell and how much a well might cost to dig, I also have to admit that this was made more than once:
If you can't identify that...then you are definitely more pious than us (or you don't own an 80 pound golden retriever).

Final Blanket Update

A picture is worth a thousand words.

These pictures are the culmination of months of work from people all over the country. By the time the blankets arrived in DC, many of them had cris-crossed the US. We left the United States with just under 500 blankets for the children in Ethiopia. I worried as I packed the night before we left. I worried at 3:30 am the morning we left. I was worried standing in line at the airport, wondering if they would turn me away. I thought I'd breathe a sigh of relief when the boxes and suitcases were turned over to United for the flight. Then, I started worrying about boxes being tossed carelessly into planes and blankets exploding on the tarmac. I worried needlessly. Every box was fully intact and every piece of luggage arrived in Addis. I started worrying about how we would deliver the blankets. The sheer numbers were overwhelming. We finally turned the main floor of the guesthouse into a sorting factory--school supplies here, blankets counted, labeled and stacked in whatever we had ready to go to the right care point with care packages.

I finally exhaled and months of worry melted away. Each blanket you made was going to be delivered to a child who needed it!

This is what the beautiful chaos looked like...

at Kechene:


at Trees of Glory:




at Kind Hearts:

at Onesimus (ministry to homeless children):


The children were thrilled to have these blankets. Most of the children sleep on hard packed dirt floors. These blankets will be treasured every night! Thank you for your time and effort to make this project possible!

Lessons

My schoolroom in the weeks before leaving for Ethiopia. Blankets cluttering my busy room as they wait for their long trip across the ocean. A daily reminder of work that needs to be done.

I roll blankets while Sally reads aloud to me from Frog and Toad. I call out spelling words as Eli helps me tape blankets up. Everett tapes boxes closed as we talk about his grammar lesson.

Mommy guilt sets in that evening as I think back on the day. Many blankets were packed up and mailed. Lessons were taught. My attention was not on our children as I went through the motions of teaching. I was counting and mentally checking lists. I wasn't looking at their faces and listening to their questions.

Guilt. They can't learn this way.

As I lament, I hear footsteps on the stairs. It's late and everyone should be asleep. Wondering whom it could be, Everett peeks around the corner. My first reaction is to be upset, as we tucked them in nearly an hour ago. Then he says, "Eli and I were talking. If we put our allowance together, we could sponsor another child in Ethiopia."

My heart breaks. Their allowance? If they pooled their money they would have $40, enough for sponsorship...barely.

He continues,"We were just thinking that we don't need to buy the stuff we save for. It would be better to sponsor another child."

I kiss his forehead and thank him for redeeming my day. What they are learning is much more important than grammar.

Three Days and Counting

Today was a cold, overcast day. I had a long list of things that were double and triple starred. Teaching grammar and history were not on the list. So, I scurried around getting nothing done (history included) until the guilt of being so disorganized motivated me to call a family meeting and get organized.

Errands seem to take longer and the gray clouds were a constant reminder of the impending winter. By evening, I had only marked a few items off of the list, but threw together a dinner I've been craving. Curried chickpeas--good stuff for a yucky day. Then the mail arrived! It's a big deal around here, the dog begins barking ferociously, kids scramble to see who can open the mail slot and rip the mail out. Envelopes scatter as a search for interesting mail ensues.

It was a very good mail day at our house.

The little photo books for our sponsor children were there.

A box arrives filled with blankets--that were already ROLLED UP AND PACKED. I. Could. Have. Cried. I love the beautiful blankets that have passed through this house. I am excited to be a part of bringing them to the children in Ethiopia. I am so done with rolling them up and packing them. I could have just let the tears of joy flow.

Nestled in with these goodies was something I have been hoping would arrive before I left this week. You other adoptive parents will understand my excitement. The IRS finally decided that we did indeed really, truly, adopt our children. We took a few steps in the wrong direction earlier this summer in the middle of the audit, in which they decided to go back to Ella's adoption in 2004 (yes, really) requesting receipts. They finally saw the light, and it only took seven months to convince them! They are actually shorting us $1400, but I'm just jumping for joy that we got where we did. My husband, glass-half-empty-man, will pursue the extra moola. I. Am. So. Done. With. The. IRS. Seven months of wondering and digging through files and copying was seven months too long for me.
After such a busy, frantic day filled with trip preparations, our evening turned out to be quite delightful thanks to a pan of chickpeas and the mail carrier.