Secrets, Happiness and Comparisons

October 3, 2012 by Leave a Comment

Photo by Paul Brunskill from stock.xchng

Here’s some miscellaneous posts I’ve enjoyed lately.

Keeping Secrets from Mommy – Awesome post for Jamie Ivey about why innocent secrets might be a bad idea. I had never even thought about this but she has some great points. No more secrets in our house.

Your Happiness Means Everything to Your Husband - Did you know that one of the primary indicators a husband uses to determine if he is successful as a husband and a father and a man is – his wife’s happiness. Great post from Peaceful Wife.

Comparisons will kick you in the teeth and hijack your dreams every time – You know I’ve been talk about comparisons and contentment quite a bit lately. This post from Gypsy Mama nails it.

 

Filed Under: Favorite Posts

What I’m really thinking about parenting…

January 23, 2012 by Leave a Comment

The other day a friend on Facebook posted a link to this amazing article “Don’t Carpe Diem”.

I swear it’s like the writer is inside my head.

Every time someone looks at my children and says “It goes by so fast. Make every moment count,” I say “I know” and nod my head sweetly.

What I really want to say is “Promise? Because this is HARD! And sometimes it feels like there’s no end in site.”

But, of course, I don’t. And then I feel guilty for thinking that.

Loved this part of the article…

“My point is this. I used to worry that not only was I failing to do a good enough job at parenting, but that I wasn’t enjoying it enough. Double failure. I felt guilty because I wasn’t in parental ecstasy every hour of every day and I wasn’t MAKING THE MOST OF EVERY MOMENT like the mamas in the parenting magazines seemed to be doing. I felt guilty because honestly, I was tired and cranky and ready for the day to be over quite often. And because I knew that one day, I’d wake up and the kids would be gone, and I’d be the old lady in the grocery store with my hand over my heart. Would I be able to say I enjoyed every moment? No.”

Go read the whole thing. Glennon Melton’s article hits the nail on the head.

At least for this mama.

Filed Under: Family Matters, Favorite Posts

I don’t think he’s a real dog

September 2, 2011 by 4 Comments

Maybe it’s just the adoption “honeymoon” phase, but we’re beginning to doubt if Buddy is, in fact, a real dog.

Why? Let me count the ways…

When you give Buddy a treat he sniffs, gently licks and then nibbles until he gently takes it from you. Seriously, he could eat from a baby’s hand. He’s so gentle.
Snickers would lunge at your hand and scarf down said treat while leaving a long string a drool from your hand to her mouth.

While we eat dinner Buddy lays in the other room and sleeps.
Snickers was always sitting next to the table, eyes darting from one person to the next waiting for an opportunity to lunge for some unwatched food.

At night Buddy sleeps on the floor in our room. He has not yet attempted to get on our bed.
Snickers would jump up on the bed and promptly curl up on one of our pillows. When you attempted to move her she would rumble/growl at you grumpily while moving.

Buddy has yet to swallow anything but dog food, treats and medicine.
Snickers was known to swallow/eat batteries, socks, eyeglasses, cash, and any number of weird items. It’s a miracle she lived as long as she did.

Buddy takes his medicine, squished in a bread ball, and eats it nicely.
No matter how well you disguised it Snickers had a unique talent for sucking off/eating everything BUT the pill which she would then promptly spit out. 

Buddy lays nearby watching while you load and unload the dishwasher.
Snickers would always have stand on the open dishwasher door to lick food off the plates and lick up any water. 

Buddy knows when he’s wrong. If you find him with something that isn’t his, say one of the kids stuffed animals, as soon as you start to walk over he stops chewing and lets you take it.
Snickers would latch on with all her might to illegal item and growl desperately while you used all your strength to get it away from her. 

Do you see why we’re wondering?

Not that I’m complaining! Goodness no! I am thanking my lucky stars we somehow seemed to have gotten the world’s calmest, most well-mannered 8-month-old dog.

Filed Under: Family Matters, Favorite Posts Tagged With:

My modern medicine birth story

August 23, 2011 by Leave a Comment

My mother later said to me “I was worried about your delivery for some reason. Mine were never easy.”

She spoke those words weeks after I gave birth to Noah in 1999. Turns out she had good reason.

She was supposed to be there for the delivery, but Noah decided to make his appearance three weeks early.

My pregnancy had been easy peasy and uneventful – well except for gaining 42 pounds :-) I wasn’t worried when I went into labor early that Saturday morning. Mark had actually JUST returned from a business trip the night before and his mom happened to still be in town. Yes, it was three weeks early but 37 weeks is still considered full term.

We took our time, getting to the hospital around 8 in the morning. We got settled in to the plush room with the hardwood floors and the 37″ television in the armoire across the room. Amy, our sweet labor and delivery nurse was there whenever we need anything and answered any questions we had.

After several hours of stalled progress, my highly-educated and well-paid doctor decided to break my water. Yeah, that kind of hurt. But there was meds for that. Eventually I got my epidural with my own personal “clicker” that let me adjust the meds as my contractions got stronger. HEAVEN!

I don’t remember doing much of anything except for resting. I didn’t read any of the books I brought or listen to any of the CDs. I think the TV was on but I couldn’t tell you what was on the screen. I was just soaking in the experience.

Some time in the mid afternoon, Amy rushed in and asked “What did you just do?”

“Um, I don’t know. Why?”

“Did you just switch positions or something?”

I had in fact, just rolled over onto my side.

“Well, the baby apparently didn’t like that. Let’s have you lay on your back.”

I did so, and she watched as the baby’s heart rate monitor slowed down to a normal level. Then she left.

Awhile later I shifted positions to the other side. She flew back in the room. (Turns out I was setting off alarms out in the nurses station.) I quickly went back to laying on my back and while Noah’s racing heart rate slowed down again, they felt it necessary to put me on oxygen.

After consulting with the doctor via phone Amy came back into the room. In the sweetest calmest voice she said, “Well, the baby has probably gotten the cord wrapped round his arm or his leg or something (in my head I added “OR HIS NECK”) and so as you shift positions it’s making the heart race a bit. So we’re just going to have you stay laying on your back and keep you on the oxygen.”

As delivery time was imminent my doctor basically told me that since Noah was already in distress, they didn’t want the final delivery to take too long. They felt like anything longer than about 30 minutes of pushing was going to be too much and at that point they would “look at other options” (i.e. c-section). They were also going to use the vacuum extractor to help things along. (Apparently there had been some 60 Minutes special on the use of these things in L&D a few weeks earlier. Luckily I hadn’t seen it.)

I spent the next 20 minutes giving it my all and pushed that little boy out. (Sidenote: When you have an epidural and can’t feel anything below your waist, you won’t realize HOW hard you’re pushing until 3 weeks later when you realize you bruised your pelvis.)

He cried a little and grunted a lot. They had a NICU specialist in there to check him out and while he was doing pretty good they were a tad concerned about his breathing. Translation – they let me hold him for about 10 minutes and then he was whisked off to the nursery, followed by dad. I didn’t get to see him again for a couple of hours.

With Mark and the nurses hovered over Noah, my doctor said, “Well, I guess we know what was wrong. Look – a perfect knot.” She held up the umbilical cord and sure enough, a perfect (and taut) knot.

Everything turned out fine and within a few hours Noah was declared healthy and fine and allowed to come and stay with me in my room.

Then, almost 12 years ago, I completely took for granted my access to technologically advanced healthcare and my slew of healthcare workers. I remember being relieved that insurance would cover the bulk of the expenses and I my child would not suffer for lack of medicine.

Unfortunately this is not the scene that plays out in millions of cities around the world where there is no access to basic healthcare.

Did you know that in Uganda, if you’re lucky enough to be able to deliver your baby in the hospital, you have to bring your own supplies?

One of the items that the Living Goods Home Health Promoters can sell to the some in their community is a birth kit that includes bedsheets, rubber gloves, antiseptic and a razor blade for cutting the umbilical cord. Without that, these women are forced to deliver their babies at home in unsterile situations.

We are so blessed with our access to healthcare in America!

Will you consider making a donation to my fundraising campaign for Living Goods & The Adventure Project in honor of your modern medicine story? A donation of any amount is great, but each $25 donation will enter you in the drawing to win an iPad. As of now you’ve got a 1 in 17 chance of winning it :-) (For more details on the giveaway, go here.)

DONATE NOW

Filed Under: Favorite Posts, Orphans & Social Justice, The Adventure Project

Black Boots – A Constant Reminder

August 2, 2011 by 2 Comments

Since I decided to self-publish my book, I needed to name my little independent publishing company. Jen and I were sitting at Village Inn during Free Pie Night when it came to me – Black Boot Publishing. The story below will tell you why. (We now sponsor Mary and Mark gets to see her at least once a year on his Ethiopia trips. Last time he brought me back a wonderful video message that I will try to get uploaded soon.)

Originally posted May 3, 2009

As a writer, there are few experiences in life that leave me at a true loss for words. But that is the place I have found myself in since a day last December when an encounter with a beautiful Ethiopian girl touched my heart.

We were in Ethiopia to pick up our kids, but arrived a week early so that we could spend some time seeing the ministry of Hope for the Hopeless which was founded by an Ethiopian pastor in Phoenix.

Our first encounter was at their Drop In Center in the heart of Addis Ababa. Their staff rescues kids off the streets and brings them in, feeds and cares for them and then tries to either reunite them with their family, find foster homes for them or, as room allows, place them in their boys and girls home.

That first day as we entered the gates of their little compound our van was surrounded by about 14 kids, most of them were boys. We got lots of hugs and handshakes and smiles. Later as we sat in the director’s office he began to tell us the stories of some of the kids. He told us about Mary. She was found on the streets, having been beaten and raped by 4 boys. She hovered near death for several days before being healed and brought into Hope’s place. Fekadu cried as he told us about how Jesus changed her life.

An hour later we stood once again in the courtyard and listened as the children gathered and sang us a song. Though we could not understand the words, we could sense the pure joy in their hearts and knew they were speaking of our Jesus. Tears streamed down my face and I could not take my eyes off of Mary, her face lifted to the heavens, eyes closed, singing to her Savior with a beautiful smile on her face.

Two days later we found ourselves at the Drop In Center again. We did not plan to stay long – we were just picking up Fekadu before traveling to one of their other sites. I had brought with me a pair of black boots that one of the other adoptive moms at the guesthouse had given me. She was leaving that afternoon and as she was packing she decided that those shoes could be put to much better use by one of Hope’s kids.

Mary was the only child there that afternoon. The others were in school. (They have had trouble finding Mary’s school records and so she hadn’t been able to start school yet.)

I handed Fekadu the black ankle boots and told him I wasn’t sure who they would fit, maybe one of the older girls. I’ll never forget the look on Mary’s face as she rushed over to Fekadu and put out her hands. He laughed and told her she could try them on. As she zipped up the boots she had the biggest smile on her face and she was literally bursting with excitement. Done putting them on, she began to bounce up and down and spin around like a girl who had just put on a beautiful ball gown. It was obvious to us that the boots were a little too big for her, but she didn’t care.

Then she saw my shoes and rushed over to me, for I was wearing very similar black ankle boots. She stood next to me, her foot pressed up against mine and smiled at me. She pointed to her shoes, then pointed to mine and smiled from ear to ear.

I was half watching her and half talking to Fekadu as she found a small rag or piece of paper and got it wet underneath the water spigot. Then she kneeled in front of me and began to clean the dust of Addis off of my boots.

A million emotions swirled over me. I was taken aback at first. Part of me wanted to bend down and make her stop. It was unsettling to have this beautiful girl, who had been through so much in her short life, washing MY shoes. After all, WE were the ones who had come to Ethiopia to serve these kids, to love them, to help them see how much they were loved by Jesus.

But in one moment our trip became not about what I could do for these “needy” kids but what those beautiful, hope-filled kids could teach me about gratitude, contentment and a true servants heart. For this girl, who had nothing, gave everything she had out of a heart of love and joy.

I knew that to try and stop her would seem ungrateful, and so I let sweet Mary continue to wash my boots, tears streaming down my face the entire time. We left a few moments later, my heart forever touched by a simple act of a beautiful orphan named Mary.

(I am not the only one that has been forever changed by meeting Mary. Read about Tom Davis’ encounter and learn more about Mary’s story.)

John 13: 8-17
It was just before the Passover Feast. Jesus knew that the time had come for him to leave this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he now showed them the full extent of his love.
The evening meal was being served, and the devil had already prompted Judas Iscariot, son of Simon, to betray Jesus. Jesus knew that the Father had put all things under his power, and that he had come from God and was returning to God; so he got up from the meal, took off his outer clothing, and wrapped a towel around his waist. After that, he poured water into a basin and began to wash his disciples’ feet, drying them with the towel that was wrapped around him.
He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, “Lord, are you going to wash my feet?”
Jesus replied, “You do not realize now what I am doing, but later you will understand.”
“No,” said Peter, “you shall never wash my feet.”
Jesus answered, “Unless I wash you, you have no part with me.”
“Then, Lord,” Simon Peter replied, “not just my feet but my hands and my head as well!”
Jesus answered, “A person who has had a bath needs only to wash his feet; his whole body is clean. And you are clean, though not every one of you.” For he knew who was going to betray him, and that was why he said not every one was clean.
When he had finished washing their feet, he put on his clothes and returned to his place. “Do you understand what I have done for you?” he asked them. “You call me ‘Teacher’ and ‘Lord,’ and rightly so, for that is what I am. Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another’s feet. I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you. I tell you the truth, no servant is greater than his master, nor is a messenger greater than the one who sent him. Now that you know these things, you will be blessed if you do them.”

Filed Under: Faith, Favorite Posts, The Book

“Which mom should I love more?”

June 17, 2011 by 7 Comments

Beza was sitting at the kitchen table eating ice cream while I loaded the dishwasher.

“Mom, I just don’t know what to say when my friends say ‘Do you mean your REAL mom?’ Which one is my ‘real’ mom?”

Wowzers.

As adoptive parents, we hear and talk plenty about positive adoption language to/from other adults, but this was the first time I had to sit down and talk about our choice in words with the kids. I just hadn’t thought about it.

Obviously her 9 and 10-year-old classmates don’t mean anything negative by it and are simply trying to clarify if she means her Ethiopian mom or me. But I had never stopped to equip her with the right words to teach them. In our house I will usually either say “your Ethiopian mom” or “your mom” (because if I’m saying it, it’s pretty obvious).

So I encouraged her to find a term she was comfortable with using within her circle of friends to define her moms. Of course she could say “birth mother” or “biological mom” – but those are pretty complicated words for a bunch of third graders.

We started coming up with other alternatives when she said, with a smile on her face, “I could just say my black mom and my white mom.”

That sent both of us into the giggles. I told her “That’s fine by me!”

When we calmed down she turned serious and said, “But I don’t know which one of you I’m supposed to love more.”

Wowzers again!

I assured her that it wasn’t a contest. I told her that I was sure there might be times when she felt like she loved me more, and times when she didn’t. And that was okay. I loved her. I knew she loved me. I knew she loved her Ethiopian mom. And I wouldn’t want it any other way.

P.S. Would you please put in your daily vote for our blog in the Top 25 Adoption Blogs. I need your daily votes to stay in the Top 25. It just takes 2 seconds to click the orange thumbs up

Filed Under: Family Matters, Favorite Posts, Post-Adoption Tagged With: ,

Dave Ramsey Show interview clip

June 7, 2011 by 10 Comments

Oh my goodness. What a crazy fun experience! I had an absolute blast and I’m sure it will rank right up there as a life highlight for quite some time.

Ten minutes goes SUPER fast. There was so much more I could have said, and wanted to say, but I was really happy with what we talked about. I guess the rest is just good blog posts for the next week right?

So apparently the 450 radio stations that cover Dave have the ability to “mix up” his hours and it could air over the next 48 hours. So if you’re trying to catch me on a local station I can’t tell you when I’ll be on.

So instead you can just listen here. I’d love to hear what you think. Do you have questions I didn’t address? If so, ask them in the comments and I’ll do some Q&A posts this week.

Interview on The Dave Ramsey Show: June 7, 2011

Dave’s intro cracked me up!

Okay, I just listened to the whole thing and I do have to say this. If your adoption is costing $30,000 that’s STILL not an excuse to go into debt. I know families who have raised that much and done it debt-free!!!

We stepped out in faith and God provided BIG time!

A sweet Twitter follower, Stacy Kennedy, lives in Brentwood, Tenn. and she went down to the DR offices and took 2 photos for me while the interview was happening.

Look, it’s Dave…talking to ME! With my book sitting in front of him.

And my name, “in lights”, check out the computer monitor, right above the clock where it has my name in the green highlight bar :-)

 

Filed Under: Favorite Posts, Financial Freedom, The Book Tagged With: , , ,

My Lightbulb Moment – Post-Adoption Depression, Part 2

March 25, 2010 by 13 Comments

For the record I’d rather be catching the NCIS I missed yesterday, but a promise is a promise.

If you didn’t read Part 1, it’s here.

So my “lightbulb moment” happened one evening at the conclusion of a small group BBQ and pool party (luckily NOT in front of my small group). I’m not even sure when exactly it was – maybe July?

When we arrived at the Reeve’s house Noah asked if he could bring his DS inside. My answer was a definite no. There was a pool, basketball and tennis and absolutely NO need to have our nose stuck in a video game. EVERYONE in the car heard me say it.

So we’d had a great time and when Mark and I agreed that it was time to go I said that I would round up the kids which is a monumental task. I mean you get one or two to the right spot and while you go off and find the third and fourth the first two get distracted by something else  – it’s like herding cats! I was rounding up wet swimsuits, finding shoes, grabbing the casserole dish, etc.

Mark was playing basketball.

I was annoyed.

For the record at any other time this would not be a big deal. He went over to say goodbye to the guys and ended up playing for 5 minutes. But it was like turning on the burner under a pot of water that had been sitting on the stove for a really long time. (I love you honey and please don’t take it as me criticizing because I totally acknowledge that my reaction was unwarranted.)

I had one last kid to round up…Noah.

One of the kids mentioned that he was upstairs in the kids room so I traipsed up the stairs (telling the girls not to leave the spot where I had planted them). I found Noah crouched in the bedroom PLAYING HIS DS!!!!

Quite honestly, I don’t remember what my reaction was at that exact moment. I’m guessing I yelled at him pretty enthusiastically. Then I marched him downstairs, rounded up Luke and ordered them all to the van. I’m sure I tossed out a few polite “see you next week” remarks to our friends but inside I was starting to B-O-I-L.

As I’m throwing stuff in the back of the van I found out that apparently Luke had come out to the van, gotten his DS and took it inside. You know, because if one kid does it then it must be okay, despite that fact that mom was very specific earlier.

At that point Mark got to the van and I can only imagine what I must have looked like.  The Tasmanian Devil? That girl from the Exorcist right before her head spins around?

He cautiously asked “What’s wrong?” and I boiled over.

I’m sure I said a lot of other things but the one comment I distinctly remember spitting out, in THE most sarcastic voice ever, was “Well, apparently everyone around here thinks it’s OPTIONAL to obey mom!”

And then I said a lot of other things.

And then I said a lot of other things inside my head.

They were not pretty things.

I have NEVER been so angry in all my life.

And THAT, was the issue.

On the tensely quiet ride home I stared out the passenger window, my mind swirling with all kinds of thoughts.

I could sense Mark looking over at me occasionally, too smart to say anything. (He’s a quick study!)

See that girl, the one who blew up over a disobedient child, was not ME.

I do not have an extreme temper. Yes, I can feel strongly about stuff, can argue a point with the best of them, and I won’t try to tell you that I never lose my cool or yell at my kids.

But the intensity of what I was feeling that night was enough for the lightbulb to go off and for me to realize “This is not me!”

It was not just normal adjustment issues. It was not just being tired. It was not PMS.

The ugly beast had reared its head again.

In a way that realization was incredibly freeing because all of a sudden I knew where I was. It was familiar and I knew where to go from there.

Depression has a laundry list of symptoms but what the last seven years has taught me is that MY most obvious sign of depression is my irritability and anger level. It’s why I had been going back and forth in my head for a couple of months, debating, praying, trying to figure out whether things were bad enough to go back on my meds.

I am not the “wallow in bed with the covers over my head” kind of gal. I am stubborn and I push myself and while that is good, it also allows me to hide from some of the other symptoms that really are there, just undercover.

So I went back on my anti-depressant (Wellbutrin seems to be the right one for me) and within just a few days it was like that scene from Song of the South with the “bluebirds on my shoulder”. Yes, I think I actually hummed “Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah” intermittently for a few days.

If you asked me “What were you depressed about?” I couldn’t tell you. With my first clinical depression I could list the triggers for you (four major stressful life events in a short span of time). But it’s not like I was sitting around bemoaning the “way things used to be” or dealing with major attachment issues with the kids. We were actually VERY fortunate with our kids and had a relatively easy transition. Yes going from 2 kids to 4 was hard, yes there were challenges but nothing that seemed like that big of a deal.

But that’s the thing with depression, it doesn’t play nice and logical. Which, for someone who LOVES nice and logical, is really annoying.

Other than being therapeutic for me, I hope my story might help others struggling through the same issues. If you’re not sure if you have PAD, go talk to your doctor. Open up to the people closest to you about what your struggling with. Sometimes those around us see things we can’t see and it brings clarity to the issue.

Don’t wait until your boiling point.

Filed Under: Depression, Favorite Posts, Featured Articles, Post-Adoption Tagged With: , ,

The Realities of Post-Adoption Depression – Part 1

March 24, 2010 by 7 Comments

I can remember exactly where I was when I first heard the term “post adoption depression”.

We were sitting in a hotel conference room in Spokane, WA at our required adoption training.

I’m pretty sure that the thought that went through my head was something like

“Crap! I’m screwed.”

Eloquent? Maybe not.

Truthful? Yes.

See, I’ve been down that road before.

Well, a slightly different version of that road, but one I did not want to revisit.

But the ugly truth is that I have a “genetic predisposition” with a history of depression in my family.

So yes, I had accepted the fact that I would most likely face this issue on and off throughout my life. I was just hoping it would be a dozen years or so before it smacked me down again.

The few scientific studies that have been done on post-adoption depression show that approximately one half of adoptive mothers will experience it – some very mildly and some more severe.

One might compare it to postpartum depression although most professionals attribute PPD, at least partially, to post-pregnancy hormones being out of whack. No such hormone issue can be blamed for PAD.

It seems so bizarre that here, at the joyous completion of a year-long journey, one filled with ups and downs, that depression would rear its ugly head.

With my first bout of depression in 2003 it was a full 6 months or more before I became so desperate that I reached out and got help. Since then I have learned to recognize my warning signs. But even still there is always doubt. Am I just tired? Is it just PMS? Is it just normal adjustment issues?

All it took was one defining moment for me to realize that it was so much more…

(Continued)

Filed Under: Depression, Favorite Posts, Featured Articles, Post-Adoption Tagged With: , ,