The Sweet Moments

Grace is another word for the sweet moments of motherhood.  I don't want to be one of those church-word writers, though, so I'll stick with "the sweet moments."  Everyone gets that.

With Josh gone, I'm super susceptible to picking up new obsessions (helllooo lonely, wandering mind!), and it seems that Asperger's is quickly consuming me.  Watching E interact now that I have this label to slap on him, seeing if it really sticks.  Mostly I'm seeing that it makes everything about him *finally* make sense.  And I finally don't feel guilt for making exceptions for him.  His brain truly is different, and I can soften some harsh edges of the world for him until he can learn how to cope.  That's why I'm a stay-at-home mom, right?  To teach and train and get them ready to face all of life?

Anyway, yesterday I was lamenting in the shower for our middle child.  Poor, sweet, wild Z, growing up without a typical big brother.  He's growing up with a role model who does things a little strangely sometimes, who refuses to talk about anything he's not interested in. That hurts my heart.  I don't want any of my kids to suffer, and I definitely don't want them to suffer because of each other.

Then I remember that E is leaving the athletic world wide open for Z to dominate.  Z will have his moments to shine, and like a typical middle child, he'd likely develop rich friendships outside of our family, Asperger's or not.

As I was talking myself through this and other things, I looked over at the boys who had stuffed themselves in a recliner that just barely held them both. Z had his arm's wrapped around E's middle, and said, "E-tan. Bess bruddah evah."

The sweet moments.

Then today, I rounded up the brood for E's OT session.  In the waiting area, I met yet another amazing family.  A gangly boy bounded through the doorway.  "HELLO!!"  His tired-looking mom in an Autism Awareness shirt and 7-ish-year-old little sister followed.  He asked her, about us, very loudly, "Are they friends???"  She said yes, and he asked me,

"What's your baby's name?"
-"M---"
"M---?  Great! Her nickname is McStuffins."

Totally endearing. His mom told me they'd been going there for *five* years now, that her son had autism, and her daughter was on her second round of OT, just to work on some motor skills.  You know, when you already live there, might as well sign all the kids up!  I totally get it.

(I absolutely love the therapy community.  No strange looks.  Familes full of the tired and broken, worn out by circumstances you can only try to manage but never magic-wand fix.  Parents who sit down with a sigh, grateful for someone else to push their kids' limits while they breathe and stare.  Where there are no mean looks, just a lot of howling, wild, and often over-joyed children.  I hate saying it, but it's better than church.  It actually *is* church.  Soul-feeding, encouraging, accepting.)

Anyway, Autism's sister was talking about visiting her grandma in Alabama, and Z got really excited.  "Aaallabaamaa! Aaallaaabaamaa" He loves saying that state.  Autism's mom laughed  (Just out of curiosity, I asked Z what his favorite state was.  He said, "Tekas.") and then he told her his name was "Saturn's ring."  The autistic boy perked right up.  "Saturn? I LOVE Saturn!!"    His mom laughed, said Z was really smart; I explained that he learns stuff from his brother, and she nodded.  Her son has four obsessions (space, trains, carnivorous plants and something else) and her daughter knows way more about those things than anyone should because it's all he will talk about.

My heart exploded.  Yes.  She gets it.  And as I watched her daughter, I noted that she looked completely content, happy.  She played well and talked normally with her brother, like nothing was lacking in their relationship.  They were best friends. It was obvious.  Nothing was lacking.

The sweet moments-- those filled with so much undeserved goodness.  I am so, so grateful for these kids God gave me.  Nothing is lacking.  Normal is just a dryer setting.

(And it's a good thing that God shows up all the time around here.  E just locked Z out of their room in the middle of Quiet Hour.  Ugh.  It's too bad there's no manual I could look in to know how to rightly handle situations like that.  Instead, I'll just have to run with my full heart into the chaos and try to make the best of it.  With a space episode by the "Bubble Buckies."  Hahaha!)

Reading

Three months ago I started reading a book that has nothing to do with parenting or Christianity.  A Death in the Family has been on my bookshelf for years, probably from some summer reading list that I never got around to fully doing.
I swear, it's the best thing I've ever read. 

Then I realized it's the *first* thing I've read in months that doesn't rhyme or involve a list of things we're out of.  Oh.  Real writing.  What is this novelty??

Of course, it's been three months and I'm only halfway through, so we'll see if I can finish it before the year ends.  (Laugh with me!)

I am a sweating mess. 

A few weeks ago we got a nasty-gram from the HOA saying our fence needs to be cleaned and resealed, and if we don't do it within 30 days, they're going to start fining us daily.  Wah wah.   I got an estimate from some upstanding company I googled up.  Twenty-two hundred dollars.  Er.Mah.Gerd.  So, I told my dad, who "knows a guy" for any of life's little debacles who should be able to help us out for much less. 

So, I pressed "brew" on my little coffee pot, sat down in this chair for my sacred twenty minutes and as soon as my butt hit the seat, my phone rang.  The guy is coming over today to take a look around.  Also price out painting the exterior aaaand interior, since we'll need to get that done to sell the place.  (Don't ever live in a house with flat paint and children.  Just... don't.)

Anyway, since it's well after 8:15am, my house is sufficiently trashed with food and toys and paper cuttings and crayons and markers and clothes and shoes and books and pipe-cleaners everywhere.  And I was in pajamas.  So... I just did the Insane Woman Speed-Clean so I won't be completely embarrassed when this guy shows up.  Whenever that is.

My children have "Quiet Hour" every day in their room.  A lot of days they just keep coming out and yelling things at me that they need, which makes the whole thing annoyingly pointless.  Today they are staying nicely, but they're screaming at each other so loudly, I expect the baby to wake up any second. 

Other news is that Z's speech therapist, Becca, said he's made such improvements in the past 5 months that she thinks if he tested now, he wouldn't even qualify for their program.  I'm proud of him, but I hate that they might kick him to the curb since he loves it sooo much.  And we'll still be going there every week for E's occupational therapy (yeah, we've got a house full of issues!), and trying to get a two-year-old to understand that is going to be difficult. Josh suggested me getting a cake and having a small graduation ceremony for him.  I looove the idea, just wish I wasn't going to have to do it alone.

I used to do crafty kidtivities almost daily.  Now, I just squirt some dish soap in a pan with the hose outside and call it good.  Wait. I still haven't done that yet because it seems like too much work.  Anyway, yeah.  Let me get riiiiiiight on a graduation cake and fake diploma.  Yeesh.

I think I should title this blog "Come Look At All the Ugly Thoughts In My Head" instead.  Maybe one day I'll prose poetic again.  I cannot believe I actually blogged and wrote poetry regularly just ten years ago.  If I saw that girl now, I'd scowl at her, huff, and tell her she has no clue about life.  "Stop being ridiculous, child, and go take a freaking nap then get your haircut every six weeks because the day is coming when you will only be able to get your hair cut once a year and you won't know how to spell anything or find your belongings after you sit them down!"

Yeah.  So, that's my twenty.

The Intent

I'm trying something new.

My husband is across the country for the next four months and he left me with a mission.  "To survive."  While we're not in a war ravaged country, my senses are daily bombarded by the screams and tears of tiny humans.  M is 8 months today, Z is 2 and 8 months, and E is 4 and 5 months.  These are trying times.

I used to blog.  Write, write and rewrite until my sentences were grammatically sound and something of quality.  Now that is a bunch of Sweet Brown and I'm having to fight the urge to just.keep.typing. for twenty straight minutes and hit "Publish" so there will be some sort of proof that I was here.

I'm forgetting that I exist.  My world is my children's, and that is good and Christ-like (they aren't what I fit into my time; they are what God gave me time for), but nobody wants a screaming, out of control Mombie.  So, here I am. 

So, today I realized that my 4-year-old does not just maybe, jokingly have Asperger's, but probably really, really, truly does lie further down the spectrum than I thought.  (Can you tell I'm still trying to come to grips with this?)  I'm on the verge of literally sweating about it (I should probably be on Zoloft) and wondering "How is this going to affect us going forward??" but then I realize we've been dealing with this since he was a tiny babe.  We're affected now, with or without a label.  We will just.keep.trudging. 

My two-year-old won't stop coloring on himself, and I don't know what to do about it.  No punishment seems to work.  He just doesn't care.  He says he'll only color paper, and every day he liiiiies.  Liiiiiiiiiiiiiiies!!!  He's still stained orange from yesterday's bout and today he turned himself black.  I'm sure they'll all look like awesome bruises when I take him to speech therapy tomorrow.

I have no friends in this city and it blows.  Absolutely blows.  We've been here 3 years, isolated in a civilian town with a husband on recruiting duty.  Our military friends have come and gone (no more husbands with wives in the station) and now we're just here waiting for the next move. Well, *I* am since the hubs is away.  Why is military training so stinking long? I'm sure if they wanted, they could condense all these courses and save everyone a lot of time.

My sweet baby is probably the highlight of my world right now.  She's not crawling yet, which is great news for me, and she loves to snuggle.  After two boys who shoved me off to go exploring the world, her desire for my lap is so, so welcome.  She's been a grumpy little goose the past few days, though, which isn't fun (even the easy babies are work, it turns out), and I'm wiped out.  Wiped.the.ferk.out.

I am with these kids all day, every day, except once a week, my kids' therapy overlaps, and I get a FULL TWENTY MINUTES to spend in a waiting area with my baby.  That, friends, is my break.  Yes, I do want you to feel sorry for me.  Then tell me that I'm amazing for not driving myself into the ocean. 

This is hard, y'all.  Really, really hard.  But I promise I won't whine about it if you decide you want to go to the playground with us. We could really use some friends.

And that is twenty.

My "Thing"

Tonight I was talking to a friend about lifelong dreams and passions.  Even though she knows my heart straight through, it turns out she had no idea I've never had any.  I've never had any overarching life goals, no burning desire to be a [something], no hobby, no niche, no "thing."  She's always wanted to be a wife and mom and since our hearts are so aligned now, I guess she assumed I was the same.  But I'm not.  I remember at 17 very firmly thinking I never wanted any children. 


I spent so much time in college agonizing over my directionless-ness. I prayed, I questioned, I tried my hand at a variety of majors hoping for Great Revelation or even a simple stumbling on my hearts truest desire.  I felt like a wanderer, hopeless and failing.  To make matters worse--in my estimation-- all of that searching came to nothing.  Educationally, I chose the practical path, and eventually God gave me a husband to love, and children to raise. 

Right now, this job has my heart, but it's not something I have always dreamed of or always wanted my whole life.  As all consuming as this task of raising little children is, I know one day they'll be big and it'll be time for me to do something else.  Again, I'll be back to wandering.

Upon first realization, the thought terrifies me and dredges up all the feelings of inadequacy and failure I fought to eradicate during those searching college years.  Then I remembered that life goes on, often magnificently, even when you can only envision your future as a black abyss.

And I see now, that no matter where I've been, I've passed through each stage of my life trying my hardest to do it the "right" way--- in a a way pleasing to God.  ((Of course I've wandered here and there, royally screwed up from time to time, but God's had His way and won my heart back time and time and time again.)) 

I realize now, that perhaps, my life does have purpose direction, even without overarching direction.  I truly can just.be. and glorify God in all the murkiness.

"Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men, knowing that from the Lord you will receive the inheritance as your reward. You are serving the Lord Christ."  ~Col 3:23-24

Hormonal Conversations

(I don't think anyone reads this, but if you happen to stumble over here and learn something new, please don't post it publicly on my Facebook wall.  I'm not ready to share the news with the whole world yet, but happy private messages are always welcome.  Thanks! :) )

This morning as I was puking in the kitchen sink, Ethan looked up from his breakfast and inquired, "Mommy, are you baaarfing?"  I moaned out a yes in between heaves, which was met by laughter.  Then, the 3-year-old jokester started imitating *every* gag and puke sound my body made, right down to the spitting.  (Seriously, what's with all the extra saliva??)  He couldn't stop laughing and kept fake-gagging until I finished, then said, "Mommy, are you done being sick now?"  I wish, Dude; I wish.

A little while later I told him it was time to get dressed to go to CBS (a women's Bible study with an awesome children's program we go to weekly).  He was tracing letters, mid-alphabet so not surprisingly, he asked me to leave him at home and just take Zachary.  I tried talking him into it various ways, but he just wasn't having it.  As a last resort, I took the scary-truth approach.  I told him that since he's only 3, he isn't allowed to stay home by himself.  I told him that he can't stay home alone until he's 10, and that's a long way away.  I said that everyone at church would miss him and know he was home alone, and that when little kids stay home alone, they get taken away from their mommies and they have to go live with new families.

And that's when the unexpected happened:  I completely broke down in tears! Sobbing like a freak. I told him that I would be so sad if he couldn't be my baby anymore and I needed him to always be in our family because I love him so much. All of that through tears. Even, "Look Ethan! Look how sad it makes me just thinking about it! You HAVE to be my baby!"  My mouth was in full word-vomit mode and I couldn't stop. Ethan's eyes widened as I sobbed but he didn't cry or get emotional.  He just calmly and rationally said,  "Okay, Mommy.  I'll go," and put up no fuss afterward.  He even started making jokes to try to help me pull myself together.... or to change the subject because I was being weird and awkward.

At this rate, I'm pretty sure this pregnancy is going to scar him for life.  Or maybe, it'll just make him be a really awesome husband one day, calming down the future hysterical woman in his life. 

------

Fun fact:  Here's how a typical Ethan joke usually goes:  [the microwave beeps]  "Mommy, where did that sound come from?  Did it come from the... pillow??? .... No, not from the pillow!  Did it come from the cup?  No, not from the cup!  Did it come from the  [insert object, repeat at least 20 more times with 20 different objects then say]  I tried everything!  WHERE did it come from???  The MICROWAVE! It came from the microwave!!! AHAHAHA!!!")

Simple.

Imagine having the opportunity to sit down with Jesus and confess, "Jesus, I want to be involved in what God's doing on earth.  What do you want me to do?"  What would you expect him to say?

I don't know about you, but I would fully expect him to tell me about all the pain and suffering the world, to chastise me for my time-wasting and self-centered pleasure seeking, to tell me that I'd be better off spending  my money feeding the hungry than on a Groupon (no matter how great the deal was).  I'd expect him to tell me to find a homeless person and invite them to dinner and probably adopt an orphan or two.  Maybe even 20 since our house is spacious and we aren't on welfare.

I'm well aware that I'm wasting a lot of potential for good over here, and I wouldn't expect Jesus to say any different.  Because of that, I find it so surprising that when a group of people had that very chance, the response was so, so different.

Then they asked Jesus, "What must we do, to be doing the works of God?"  Jesus answered them, "This is the work of God: that you believe in him whom he has sent."       John 6:28-29

Really?  That's it?  Just... believe? 

I've been a Christian for decades.  I know there are things God desires for His children and I know that there are sacrifices pleasing to Him-- "cease to do evil, learn to do good; seek justice,correct oppression; bring justice to the fatherless, and plead the widow’s cause" just to name a few from one tiny verse in Isaiah. There are many, many more.  I've read them, studied them and compared myself to them!

But Jesus didn't say any of that to the crowd. And going out on a limb, I imagine that Jesus knew some of these people might not be back the next day--- that they might not hear any more of the message--- and the *only* thing he felt important to include was belief.  That's it.  No list of deeds, no feelings of guilt to muster.  Just sweet, freeing belief.
 
I'll say it again.  I've been a Christian for DECADES.  I *know* it only takes belief, but here I sit, so surprised by the response and so convicted of my distrust in such a simple system.  I know I'm distrusting because I've spent much of my time on earth feeling like I'm failing at becoming like Jesus, that I'm not helping enough people know Him.  In my best moments I am giving and temporarily selfless but then I get prideful and imagine that those deeds are earning God's love.  Add up enough of those up and down moments, and somehow, I forget Jesus and think I'm earning my own salvation and God's favor.

But I'm not.  I will never, ever be perfect enough to earn the kind of acceptance I need. Only belief, unwavering, and all the way to the end is what He desires.  The rest is His to sort out, and all we have to do is hang on for the ride without giving up.  I'm willing.  And I'm grateful He's made it so, so easy.

I know I am always so close to falling away, becoming numb, and not caring at all about Jesus.  Being a Christian isn't always fun and it's not very satisfying if you're doing it without the Holy Spirit.  Forcing myself to be be kind like Jesus when I just want to hormonally scream "SHUT UP AND GO AWAY!!" isn't joy to the full, even if I try to fake it and pretend it is.  And that's why it seems easy to drift slowly and not be concerned if my heart turns to stone in the end.

But this, this just *believing* is fresh air to my soul.  I can already feel the guilt lifting. And I already know that it's going to be a whole lot easier to believe with my entire heart until the day I die now that I fully realize I don't have to worry over I'm *doing* enough.  He's done it all already.

 To him who is able to keep you from stumbling and to present you before his glorious presence without fault and with great joy— to the only God our Savior be glory, majesty, power and authority, through Jesus Christ our Lord, before all ages, now and forevermore!  Amen.                                                                            (Jude 24-25)

Adoption Costs

Friends of friends are adopting 3 little girls from Africa.  In their efforts to raise the money it will take to bring them home, they detailed the fees involved as follows: 

$250 Application Fee
$500 Dossier preparation, review, and processing fee
$4,750 Agency Services Fee
$1,000 Community Development for the DR Congo
$6,500 Foreign Services Fee (Part One)
$5,500 Foreign Services Fee (Part Two)
$15,000 Adopting two biological siblings of child #1
$1500 Three Congolese passports for our girls
$1750 In-country travel and administration fee for escort of our children to the capital.
$1500 Kinshasa emigration assistance
$600 Medical exams for all three girls required for Visa by US Embassy in Kinshasa
$500 DRC Consulate Legalization Fee
$250 Dossier Translation Fee
$720 USCIS I600A Filing fee
$170 USCIS Fingerprinting for both parents
$1200 US Visa fee for adoptive children
$300 Accomodations in Kinshasa per night
$50 Mandatory Airport Exit tax per passenger. Paid at airport in Kinshasa
$4000 Two round-trip tickets to DRC; one per parent
$4500+ Three one-way tickets to US for our girls!
Total: $50,540

Over fifty-thousand dollars!!  Following Jesus is costing them.  And that's just the *beginning* of their parenting journey with their future daughters. 

I studied the list.  While I understand medical exams, plane tickets, and legal fees (to some extent), I have no idea what the $12,000 of Foreign Service Fees are.  Who gets this money?  The officials in the country?  For what?  Their own gain?  So that they will be empowered to live in luxury while they let their citizens literally rot away in cardboard shanties without food, water, or medical care? 

It hurts my heart to think that greedy men somewhere could profit from the sale of the impovrished children to wealthy Americans.  If that's the case, what makes these precious babes any different than slaves? 

Immediately my heart felt hard.  I wondered if this is something we should even be apart of.  Empowering wicked men to continue in their wickedness?  At what price will these three girls be rescued from loneliness?  How many children will be left behind to reap the harshness that $12,000 brings to the hands of thugs?  Is supporting that the Christian thing to do?

But isn't that was Jesus did? 

My heart hurts just thinking about it.  Ultimately, I know our job is to love as Christ loves, no matter the cost, no matter the consequences.  No matter who seems to reap the rewards of evil in the meantime.  God will tip the scales in the end.  It's so hard to remember sometimes.  And at others, it's plain ole difficult to wrap my my around -- how to have enough faith to keep believing, press on and do good for the *one* you can save, in spite of it the rest of it.