LOST A SOCK

The Babies are here!

Har har har har, gotcha!

Our babies are a long way off, still.

Our chick eggs were delivered early this morning, though!

Twelve warm, delicate little eggs.

We've spent the better part of the day checking the incubator temperature and moisture level, and reading egg and chick library books and doing egg and chick-related projects, and again checking the temperature, temperature, temperature.  It must stay at a constant 99-100.5 degrees, and in spite of the mad cleaning rampage that is happening in our house at the very same time, I think I will be glued to our incubator this week.  Just to check the mercury, again. 

There are other babies, too. 

Randomly falling asleep in our hands as we play with them.

 

Happy to converse with toddler cohorts, and to receive lots of little girl kisses.

My mom and dad's black lab delivered seven jet-black little puppies a few weeks ago, and while they've been squeaky and smushy and cute since they were born, they have now become infinitely more interesting to my children, as their eyes have opened and they are learning to walk. 

 
 
So dark their sweet little features can barely be seen as they sleep, as if they fell from the sky.

Oh no, this family of five (and one old dog, one old cat, twelve unhatched chicks) will NOT be taking a puppy home.  Nor will we be keeping any of our chicks. I believe my plate is full at this moment.  And so is my back yard.  And our bedrooms are about to fill quickly, as well.  These baby animals are fun for the short time that they remain ours.

As the four of us, myself with Marin strapped to my chest, and the two boys trailing by hands, made our way through the county courthouse for the ninety-seventh home study document required a couple weeks ago, we must have been a sight.  Comical and kind comments abounded as we passed through one hallway after the next, about how full my hands must be, and what a crowd we are.  And then again last week, through the overcrowded hospital waiting room for my bloodwork, and through our family doctor's office for my adoption physical.  I give a smile in appreciation. 

We travel in puffy coats and clunky boots and winter hats, and with miscellaneous action figures and board books and little red boxes of raisins, a bit like a noisy herd.  Growing families are every bit the norm in libraries and at playgrounds-- places frequented by mobs of children.  But when we are the exception to the norm- at ten a.m. in an elderly-filled hospital waiting room while most children are in school, we are doted upon.  Countless silver-haired women smile at my baby girl and quietly lean over to share with me stories of raising their own children.  These have grown to be some of my favorite moments as I am allowed somehow to reach back in time to the very best part, as I am always reminded, of these women's lives.  It is a priviledge to join this very long line of mothers, and to do what I find best for my family, best for our changing world.

Our babies are coming, and my hands will be more full, as will our bedrooms and our back yard.  Raising one child is no easy task, nor is raising three, or imaginably, five or seven.  But if my hands are full, and my days are filled, my heart is even moreso. 

When we reached the car after our most recent courthouse adventure, I called Kevin to tell him that our local background checks were finished, and to share with him our hallway experiences.  I looked forward to next year, when we will repeat these trips-- with three by hands, and a fourth member of our crew being worn on my chest, as we prepare for number five.  Next year another sibling will hatch chicks with us, and excitedly wait for spring with us, and play with Gramma and Papa's eight black labs.  (Oh right, sorry, they are sooo going to give most of those adorable, squishy puppies away.  Wink wink.)  It just keeps getting better.

In which I am positive spring has not come early

As I watched the snow melt last week at a blistering thirty-five degrees, and Groundhog Day skeetered on through, I thought for sure that Spring might present its pretty little self early.  Tulips and green grass and and tree buds, oh my!  Just what I needed!  A quick winter!

 

What the hell was I on?

We live in the Midwest.  And we are less than ten days into the month of February.

 

If you're going to marry anybody, it should definitely be your best friend.  The brides at their wedding site.  Seven months to our their big day, if you're keeping track.

Two weeks ago we chose the agency which will conduct the Homestudy for our adoption (our actual adoption agency is based out of another state, and your homestudy agency needs to be within your own state) and it has been a paperchase of an extreme kind ever since.  Before our meeting downstate next week, Kevin and I must assemble financial documents of all sorts, write essays and provide family histories three generations back, provide documentation of child and pet immunizations alike and make it through seventeen kinds of background checks.  (Fine. Five. But it feeeeels like seventeen, finding that fine line between smashing the prints OFF of my fingers, and sharing my fingerprints with the FBI, and all.) 

I must admit that the OCD part of me really enjoys assembling all of the necessary documents into neat piles and giant envelopes and plastic drawers-- and knowing that each little page brings us closer to our baby is quite exciting.  The copier we bought at the beginning of the homeschool year?  Han-dee!  Unfortunately the wintertime trips involving coats, mittens, car seat buckles and snow with three small children, again and again to retrieve this page or that, are a bit less fun than the organizing part.  Though, eh, the boys have come to love sauntering through the metal detector at the county court house by now.  Ha!

I've decided to keep a timeline for our adoption over in my sidebar, to mark the larger steps of the process.  Its something I've found so interesting as I read other bloggers who have brought their children home.

In the wee hours of tomorrow morning Marin and I will embark on a mission of a different kind: the one to figure out what has been causing hydronephrosis of her good kidney, and exactly the severity of it.  She will be given IV sedation and then radiologists will inject nuclear medicine into one of her arteries to watch it travel through her kidneys.  Up until now Marin's urologist has been watching the kidney through renal scans every few months, but at this point he felt it was time to be a bit more invasive.

I am nervous about the test tomorrow- about her being under general anesthesia for a few hours, and about the IV's and the process of going under.  It was awful when we did this last year.  But more than that, I am worried for the outcome (though, obviously, completely beyond my control.)  We made it through last year's surgery with an end in sight-- believing that she would be okay, and that it was a pretty easy fix.  One point five kidneys was totally doable in my mind, and once the surgery was over it would be smooth sailing.

I am not as easy with investigating the whole kidney we have left.  I am even less okay with the possibility of another surgery, and have a million questions to what losing another part of these important organs might mean to her future.  Not knowing is always difficult, right?  I look forward to a bucketful of answers, at least, and possibly a barrell of good news.  And sunshine and beams of rainbow colors.  Or something.

Tonight after seeing KJ and Jack off to their aunt and uncle's house for the night, in preparation for tomorrow's procedure, I enjoyed the quiet of our house for approximately twelve whole minutes.  Marin and I looked at each other, puzzled with what we should do for the next six lonely hours, and I promptly bundled her up and took her out into our latest blizzard, in a very large, far too empty vehicle.  I embraced the fact that I will always be a mother who misses her children when we are apart, no matter how badly I long for the occasional ten minutes of quiet, and I have easily come to the conclusion that a quiet house to me is everything that child-induced chaos is to the quiet-lover.  We were meant to be a large family.  I've always known it, even in moments I forgot it, and I love every time I know it more.

Please do send positive vibes in our direction, for little Sissie Pie, if you get a moment.  While I do not anticipate a hospital stay, we did end up with one last year, so who's to say what will come of tomorrow?  Sunshine and rainbows after all is said and done, I hope.

Irish eyes smiling, and that

(It was not apparently in the cards for me, to be an easy week.) 

My grandfather, known by all of us who love him as Papa Tipping, took a bad fall yesterday.  His leg needed to be amputated, with surgery scheduled for this morning.  He's gone into renal failure, and he had a stroke, paralyzing the left side of his body.  He cannot have the surgery because he likely wouldn't make it through, and the doctors are giving him a few days left to live. 

   

My Papa was a good man.  He worked at a Steel Company in Chicago for many years, and then moved on to be a janitor in one of the public schools.  He lost his brother, Uncle Bob, when he was only thrity-nine years old, and he talked about him always.  There were three brothers left after that, Howard, Ed and Bill, and he was very proud to be one of them.  When I was a kid he would bring us cartons of leftover chocolate milk and sing songs to us about our names.  I loved the wooden desk in his room, full of old pictures and papers and trinkets.  He spent a lot of time there, watching the original Whammy game show and cooking shows, and my gramma was forever ribbing him about knowing how to cook just about anything, but never actually making a thing.  He turned his Chicago back yard into a giant garden with grass only around the perimeter, and I remember pulling cherry tomatoes and green beans off of the plants and eating them, so fresh in summertime.  He enjoyed strange things like pickled herring, liver sausage sandwiches and cow tongue, but growing up in a house where sugary cereal was outlawed, I knew exactly where the box of Frosted Flakes was kept at Gramma & Papa's house, and they welcomed me to it.   

My Papa loved his black labs, and the country, and while he raised rabbits for a while, what he really wanted were chickens.  He was so mad when they finally moved to the country, right around the time of my wedding, and then found out that chickens weren't allowed in their subdivision.  My sister talked about painting them on his garage.  We lost my gramma in 2002, the month before KJ was born, and he's had a very hard time since then.  He loved his great-grandchildren, telling me always what he thought they would grow up to be, but I don't think he enjoyed anything as fully as he did when they still lived in Chicago, and before my gramma died.

I hope from here that his journey to God, and to my Gramma and to his brothers and his children, is easy on him.  I hope that he finds peace soon, and a whole flock of chickens in heaven.

***

Updated to add, he passed away just before ten o'clock tonight.

Better days

This post was almost titled The No Bullshit Adoption Disclaimer.  Two days ago I wanted to come here and scream from the tops of my angry lungs, that anyone who was here to mock my family, disapprove of my family or dislike my family for the recent decision we made to grow our family, with, yes oh yes, a baby from Africa, needed to just leave.  I told a girlfriend of mine, at one point, that I was going to have a bright white t-shirt made for wearing as I walked down every street and through every store aisle that simply read Fuck You in bold lettering.  I felt hot-cheeked, ear-smoking mad at the whole country for a little while (hello, misdirected anger) because I could neither believe nor accept that we are still judging people based on the color of their skin in such a free, opportunity-filled place as the United States in the year 2010.  I was hurting for my baby, and hoo boy, I was pissed. 

I took time to work through it, and I found solice in those closest to me.  And I let it go.  Being angry or holding on to sorrows will hurt only myself and my family in the long run, and I want most of all to put my energy into what is good in the world, and to focus on our baby, our orphanage, our life's newest purpose.  There are people around me, both physically and all over the World Wide Web who have extended their hands and hearts to us (you guys!) and that support is more valued than I can ever explain, most especially in the midst of life's thunderstorms. 

I posted news to my facebook account early today, that our adoption application was accepted and we are now on the fast track to our baby.  Then the kids and I headed out to spend an afternoon with some of our homeschool friends-- one family, ironically, who is also looking to adopt internationally.  Kids from Marin's tiny size all the way through age ten or twelve, black and white, spent the afternoon playing together, and I swore that all felt right with the world again.  I hope this incredible, yet simple afternoon is what I remember most after a difficult few days.

Then I returned home to an inbox full of supportive comments and excited emails.  It was like Christmas morning, friends. 

For as long as I live, I never want to be void of the fact that all over the world, there are children in serious need.  If I've ever felt a calling for myself, I am pretty sure that this is it.  When I pull Marin up onto my chest, and we snuggle into our cushy rocking chair beneath her warm pink blanket, the fact is never lost on me that there is an outrageous number of children who have no one to love them in the way that mothers love their babies.  I have heard stories lately, as Kevin and I immerse ourselves into the world of adoptive families, of adopted babies crawling around floors of their new, safe homes looking for crumbs to eat, unable to trust that a next meal will come, and in the same, panicking as they are placed in their cribs, not knowing when someone will come back to hold them again.  That somehow sounds so dramatic to type, but God help me, how awful that it is reality at this very moment.

On multiple occasions in recent weeks, both Kevin and I have been asked by several people why we chose to adopt from Africa, and not here in the States.  I think it is a fair question, and I am relieved to know that there are many people in our country, such as my Aunt Kathy, who (did) adopt within the United States, and people like my mom and dad who foster parented.  At the end of the day for Kevin and I, though, once we had decided that for sure we wanted more children, and that a fourth c-section would be too risky for me, both of our minds went immediately to Africa.  For the millions of kids living on the streets and in packed orphanages there, even the most basic necessities such as clean drinking water, medicines and meals are unavailable.  If these kids can make it to adulthood, there is nothing even close to the hope for a prosperous life there, like what is offered by our country.  Part of me wants to ask in return, Why not Africa? in the most respectful way.  Countries there are full of such culture and beauty- what an addition to our family!  I also think that being born a US citizen and growing up with all of the freedoms and conveniences that we have in our country, we easily forget how pampered we are.  By the time we reach adulthood we've usually become so obsessed with The Pursuit of Happiness, and the constant pull for Bigger and Better, that we forget to count our many, many blessings, and spend far too many of our days griping.  Guilty as charged, here.  In the last couple years I've chosen to focus on my life's positives as often as I can be conscious of them, and it has brought me to the strong conviction that my many blessings also charge me with the responsibility to help, and help good.

I know that this is serious stuff, and so heavy, but as often as I've thought about children in Africa, and about the people suffering in Haiti this week, I realize that I remain quite new to a whole world recently opened up to me, and I am extremely sensitive.  I can't see from here how I will ever become a bit more dulled, but I suppose just as with motherhood in its brand newness, I may someday feel every tiny emotion slightly less, but also become more able-handed with what I know from experience.  I thank you from the bottom of my heart for taking this journey with us, and I promise that Lighten Up will make it onto my to-do list, and soon.

Hard Days

 
:: Thinking constantly about the families in Haiti who have had the carpet ripped out from under them.  Feeling the pain of the adoptive families on message boards I visit, as they wait helplessly to go rescue their children, some of them desperate to know if those children are still alive.  Praying and wondering what will come of a place already so afflicted by poverty, now in physical ruins.

:: Worrying quietly for Marin as she soon faces another round of testing, another MAG-3, and what if another surgery on what was once thought to be her good kidney?  Wondering what it will mean for her future, knowing that somewhere there must be reason and goodness in this.  Searching to find it, and safety.

:: Realizing for sure that not all of our friends share our love and excitement for the future of our family, and learning how to let go for the right reasons. 

:: Sitting in the emergency room with Jack this evening, waiting for x-rays on his (not broken) arm, thinking again about the children in Haiti and the injuries they suffer from, only without the comfort of a quiet hospital room and proper medical attention, or even the consolation of parents and families who didn't make it.

I am so thankful for what I have- for the general health of my family, the feeling of security and the ability to dream, and the freedom to act on those dreams, that living in this country provides.  I am so grateful for the people in my life who hold my hand through these times, and for the healing that another day will bring.

Twenty Oh-Nine

First, our Christmas celebrations were good and I hope yours were, too.  We completed all but one item on my list of holiday fun (damn popcorn garland) plus took an unplanned trip to Florida this month.  The day after Christmas KJ came down with the stomach flu, and it then shot through every member of our house like a speeding rocket through some home-made pumpkin pie.  Or is that just what my laundry room looked like in its aftermath?  (Yes.)

I can hardly believe we're already a handful of days into the year 2010 (remember how crazy it was to reach Y2K with the projection of computers spontaneously combusting and scribbling out the 19 on every last page of your checkbook?  That was really ten years ago already?)  Last year, at the end of 2008, I wrote a review post, and going back to read it this morning I was surprised to remember what a difficult road we tread that year.  I had high hopes for 2009 at the time, and shared some of my goals here.  And now on the other side, I am so thankful to call 2009 one of the good ones.

With health a fair worry at the beginning of 2009, I am relieved to say that we made it through pretty smoothly.  Marin had surgery on one of her kidneys, and the other continues to be watched by our trusted specialist.  I was given the thumbs up by my own new doctor as well, to leave all return-tumor worries at her office door.  And while I didn't hit my final weight loss goal this year, I came forty-ish pounds closer, which is nothing to scoff at.  There's always the year ahead for celebrating the finish line, right? 

I gave running a try this year, and made frenemies with Jillian Michaels and her Eighteen Thirty Day Shred.  I also participated in two 5K walks for charity and pushed both a lawn mower and a double stroller a whole lot this year.  I loosened up my former strict relationship with the Weight Watchers points program for a balance with plain old healthy, natural eating, and wonder of wonders, found that consuming fruits and vegetables, and exercising, can help one shed pounds, also.  I accidentally dyed my hair black, and brown and had it short and long(ish.)  I lived in jeans and solid color t-shirts, and oversized hooded sweatshirts.   

This year we kept our noses clean financially, steering clear of credit card debt and paying off the lesser of our vehicles.  We were very honest with what we had to save, spend and give away each month, and though I know where I could have done better in certain situations, I am quite pleased in the end.  I learned a good deal about the stock market this year (as opposed to the Absolute Zero that I comprehended in years previous) and managed good returns as the market made its rebound.  I am forever thankful that we came away from the year with Kevin's job in-tact, unlike so many with different stories of 2009.

 
I fell head over heels in love with my simple laundry line this year, and spent more time than ever outdoors with the kids.  We visited our zoo through all seasons, discovered the walking trail near our home, and took full advantage of many free days for our local Chicago museums.  We also had a blast with Little League and basketball, took swim lessons and gave karate the old college try (read: fail!)  We practically lived at the library this year, heh, when we weren't at the zoo.  Many of those outings were done in the name of our new way of life as a homeschooling family, which I am both proud of myself for taking on this year, and proud of my children for embracing so readily.

 
This year was particularly difficult as we carried my Aunt Kathy to the end of her life, which is still hard to believe, and we participated in the Susan G. Komen walk in her name, to find a cure for a terrible disease.  I have remained overly-critical of myself through the year, still deeply longing to conquer my own fears and awkwardness to say the right thing a given moment instead of blurting out a jumbled mess of not quite what I meant to say as I back out of the room, sheepishly.  And still around and around with a sugar addiction, and eating in the name of comfort and celebration and worry, except for the moments when I managed to overcome it this year.  And there were a few. 

 
In response to 2008's Year of No Travel, we made our way from coast to coast in 09.  Kevin and I took a spring trip to California, just the two of us, and left a little piece of our heart at Big Sur.  We made a 3600 mile road trip as a family early this fall, visiting Mount Rushmore and the Colorado Rocky Mountains, the Texas panhandle and many of the plains states.  I will love and remember that trip forever.  Late in the year we took the kids on their first flight, down to Florida where we spent time with Kevin's Granny on the news of her late-stage cancer.  Marin paid her very first visit to Mickey Mouse, also.

 
KJ learned to ride a bike this year!  Kevin and my dad constructed our backyard swing set!  Sant and Leslie bought a house!  And got engaged!  My major purchase was my Canon Rebel and its lenses, which I love with my whole heart, and we landscaped the front of our house, and carpeted our family room.  We successfully rented out our old house for a second year, and our baby daughter learned to crawl, walk, talk and climb. 

 
This year a new baby began making his/her way into our family, growing in our hearts, rather than in my womb.

This year I learned that personal growth, and change, often do not happen overnight.  Or even in short months or years, sometimes.  I learned the value of solid friends willing to accept you for who you are, forgive you for who you were not but should have been, hold you up when you could barely stand and sincerely pat your back as you giddily make your way down the fast track to happiness.  I learned that making yourself vulnerable has its down-side, but is full of lessons when ridden out to a situation's end.  I saw that there is perfection in life's good and bad, and that opening oneself up to truest sincerity and God's abundance can bring nothing but joy, and even a few surprises. 

2009 was good.

In the interest of sooner, rather than later

The other night I tried to write about our African adoption.  (It's true! You win!)  I had a million worries and scenarios swirling in my head, and every paragraph ended up sounding all wrong to me.  I must have deleted five or six entire posts, until at last I was still typing at well past midnight and decided to call it a night.  I kept the title, posted a recent homeschool picture of Jack and a favorite Rumi quote that says much for where Kevin and I are at the moment.  I labeled it Adoption, because I hoped several months from now I would remember the night I tried and tried to write about our new baby, and couldn't get it right.

Thankfully, just a couple days later Kevin and I have made progress with some of our details, and I think I have my footing in this entry. 

I suppose I should share with you the fact that I am an obsessive planner (heh, my husband loves this about me) but we're less than great with timelines.  We talked about a wedding date, and moved it forward almost immediately.  We planned to have children five years into our marriage, and had been trying for KJ for three months by our first anniversary.  When we think about moving, or buying a new car or going on vacation, we always end up scrapping the original far-off date for something much closer.  We always overshoot on the big stuff. 

So this past July we decided that we would adopt a baby. 

We thought going out a year and some change would give us lots of time for thinking, saving and planning.  We slowly shared our news with friends and family, some of whom have been very excited and a few others who have surprised us with their lack of support.  I shared the news with all of you, and we've spent months having small conversations with our children about their sibling, growing him or her into their hearts and into our little family. 

We think about and talk about our new baby all the time, by now.  I read blogs and family journals, and often plug into search engines or YouTube so I can look at pictures and watch videos of loving families who have brought babies home.  Without fail, I always cry.

African adoption is something I've always recognized as my own.  There was never a moment where I suddenly declared it The Perfect Idea, or something I should do.  Africa has always lived in me, even in times I squelched it with thoughts of too expensive, too far away, too impossible.  As a sophomore in college I was once invited to travel to Tanzania and I loved the idea to my core, but in the end, two thousand dollars might as well have been a million to an elementary ed undergrad slash pizza waitress who was forever trying to afford next semester's books. 

Hello Africa, my old friend.  I'm making my way to you now.

The thing about meditating, and forever pondering your life's purpose, is that eventually you become more in-tune with the tiny voice deep within yourself.  (A process without end, might I add.)  I love what Martha Beck says about not needing to know exactly what your perfect life should look like, but instead make yourself aware of what feels better to you, and what feels worse.  It all comes together in that way.  Long behind me are the days where I chastised myself for not being more interested in Friday night at the bar, and even for finding a way to balance a nine-to-five career with motherhood.  Those things-- every thing is perfect for someone, and many someones (whom I have respect and admiration for) at different times.  I spent far too much time of my early adult life trying to figure that out, where my plans fit in if not with many of my immediate friends' interests and paths.  It was such a struggle for me, but I found my happiness somewhere else, and in this case, across a very large pond.  I think it vitally important for all of us to figure out what feels comfortable and what is most honest for our individual selves-- and to find a way to pursue that.

The more I learn to follow my gut, the happier I am to embrace and investigate my deep draw to spirituality, my dedication to my growing family, our choice to homeschool, and our quest to adopt from a place that I've never been to, but feel I know so well.  Anything worth doing comes with its risks and its challenges, and even its criticisms.  But to return to a place, again and again that is so uniquely your own, and altogether perfect for the time, is worth everything.

So now that we have had almost half of the year to think and talk, Kevin and I really feel that this is the right time for us to start our adoption for our new baby.  Sooner than later is definitely better.  Of course that means figuring out the financial aspect of the process, and quick, as well as making sure we don't end up in Africa during Sant and Leslie's September wedding!  We originally imagined next fall as a good time, but the call to go get our baby has become so apparent that we don't feel the need to drag things out any further.  I've been eating, sleeping and breathing my fourth child lately (friends, we've chosen names!) and the time is right.  We've started comparing agencies and narrowing ourselves down to one country, and I've got rubbermaid containers of boy and girl clothes alike stored in the garage, ready to go. 

She's going to make a marvelous big sister. 

The Life List

It is no real secret that I am quite goal oriented.  I've spent the last three years overhauling the very essence of my self, searching for truth and learning to embrace with gratitude each of my experiences, good or bad, for how it can mold me.  In 2007 I started a list of goals for my life- one hundred of them because I like nice, even numbers.  As things go, I became busy and my list was shelved and briefly forgotten. 

Then in mid-summer this year I really felt a pull back to my list.  I resumed working on it, asking myself again and again what I really, really wanted to do in my lifetime.  Fairly in touch with my personal callings-- that is, knowing at least what intuitively feels right and not right for myself, I included things that were ridiculously easy but meaningful, and things that possibly would take a bit of effort on my part.  Each item means something to me.  I do not concern myself with when any of it will take place, or how, and I am very open to creating edited drafts should the need arise in years to come.  I'll never back down from a goal because it seems difficult or unreachable. 

I never intended to post my list here, until recently when my girlfriend Bree posted hers on her own blog.  Suddenly it made sense that I, too, could share my own life goals.  The 07's are mixed together with the 09's here, which is why some have been completed and crossed off the list.

My Life List of 100

1. Stand in Times Square, NYC
2. Own both of our vehicles outright
3. Homeschool for as long as possible with each of my children
4. Photograph the Northern Lights of Alaska
5. Go camping as a family
6. Write a book and publish it
7. Pay off my (undergrad) student loans
8. Adopt a child from Africa
9. Then adopt more
10. Get a tattoo
11. Eat raw for seven days

 
12. Make a quilt for Nathan
13. Finish losing weight, and stay there
14. Meet Oprah
15. Take Jack on a real train ride
16. Grow my hair long
17. See Paris, France with Kevin
18. Visit Scotland's Eilean Donan Castle with Kevin
19. Own a laptop
20. Throw myself a girlfriend party with all my best girls
21. Spend a sunny summer afternoon on a boat

 
22. Take the boys to Lego Land
23. Sell our first house for (*) profit
24. Bike ride as a family
25. Donate $10,000
26. Inspire someone
27. Pet an elephant
28. Have a home office
29. Own a nice camera with lenses
30. Lay on a blanket beneath the stars, away from the city lights where they can really be seen

 
31. Cry tears of joy
32. Own a jean jacket
33. Photograph glaciers
34. Be fearless in public
35. Earn my Masters Degree
36. Thank (college professor) for the wonderful, human lessons she taught me about being a teacher
37. Hear the Dalai Lama speak in person, here in the United States or far away where the Tibetan Prayer Flags fly

 
38. Take in the Rocky Moutntains in Colorado
39. Publish a book of photographs I've taken, just for myself
40. Take a writing class
41. Attend Maria Shriver's Women's Conference
42. Make a twirling skirt for Marin
43. Photograph Marin in her twirling skirt
44. Tour the Eastern Seaboard in Peak Fall
45. See a Broadway show
46. Attend a Notre Dame game as a family
47. Learn to meditate
48. Drink a beer in a Boston bar
49. Live in my perfect house, detailed with beautiful baseboards, oversized windows and a library, surrounded by tall trees
50. Feel truest peace in my heart
51. Learn to play the accoustic guitar
52. Spend a weekend in Las Vegas

 
53. Complete a Breast Cancer walk for my Aunt Kathy 
54. Be a keynote speaker
55. Start my own charity
56. Befriend my daughter(s)
57. Buy a Thomas the Tank Engine table for the boys
58. Attend a spiritual seminar at The Omega Institute
59. Run a 5K
60. Own two-inch heels and wear 'em proud
61. Attend the religious services/places of worship for twenty faiths (As of late 2009, Catholic, Lutheran, Episcopal, Baha'i)

 
62. Enjoy fine dining
63. Catch fireflies with my kids
64. Be humble
65. Host an incredible Christmas party
66. Attend a tent revival
67. Own stainless steel appliances
68. Open my own retirement account
69. Rock my sister's baby
70. Attend a week-long silent retreat
71. Indulge my African connection
72. Earn my PhD
73. Teach my children to swim
74. Go RVing! with Kevin
75. Make my own summer dress
 
76. Cross and photograph the Brooklyn Bridge in NY, Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco, Perrine Bridge in Idaho, Royal Gorge Bridge in Colorado, George Washington Bridge in NY/NJ, Mackinac Bridge in Michigan, Tower Bridge in London and Pont de Normandie in France
77. See a panda bear in person
78. Take my children on an airplane flight
79. Give excellent advice
80. Go horseback riding (as an adult)
81. Meet my dearest Internet friends
82. Habitually give meaningful gifts

 
83. Own a Mercedes Benz
84. Make bracelets for each of my girlfriends
85. Wear braided hair
86. Author an important essay
87. Own a piano
88. Paint on canvas and display it at home
89. Send my children to college, and others too
90. Ride a camel
91. Write an important letter
92. Hatch chicks with KJ
93. See the Vatican in Rome, Italy
94. Set foot in all Fifty States together with Kevin (as of late 2009, 24 of 50)
95. See the Argentine Patagonia
96. Grow a large back yard vegetable garden
97. Eat a fancy cupcake in a charming little cupcake shop
98. Visit Holland, MI in peak tulip season
99. Become a grandmother
100. Serve Thanksgiving dinner to a long, festive table of my favorite guests

Stuff of Life

Yesterday was my ninth wedding anniversary. 

It didn't make my blog, but I didn't forget.  In fact, I spent most of the afternoon making Kevin one of those fabulously sappy videos I am notorious for, only to have it disappear into thin air juuust before I saved the finished product. 

Thankfully, he was able to console himself with the twelve string guitar I bought for him. 

(Wife of the year?  Check.)

*

My friend Breain has inspired me to start running.  So far, I love it. 

*

Earlier this month, lost in the thick of homeschool, laundry and long fall walks, I met with a new doctor concerning the state of my reproductive organs; to tumor or not to tumor.

Not to tumor, my kind new doctor tells me, and probably not even the ovarian cancer before long, as had been predicted last year by my previous physician.  Not really the need for tests every couple months now that we are past one year, and not really the need to worry about what monsters, in the form of really bad news, could be lurking around the corner anymore.  Many people have something like this, and then never again, she says.

Having buried my aunt just a few months ago, after her tough battle with breast cancer, knowing what she went through and how it ended, my second opinion sort of sounds like a new lease on life-- Raise your family, write your book, adopt your African babies.  You're okay now.

Beautiful relief.

*

I recently finished another quilt.  It is perfect, just like sweet little boy I made it for.

*

My husband works in a tall building in downtown Chicago, and on his walk to and from there every day, he encounters many homeless people. 

He often gives them dollars from his wallet, and sometimes we buy a handful of gift cards to cover a couple meals each, and he hands them out.  He stops all the time to ask people how they are and if they need anything that he can help with.  He has a friend that we pack the occasional bag for, with clothing and toiletries, and he sometimes brings him dinner late at night, on his way back to the train.  Recently he bought another man dinner, and stayed to sit across the table from him as he ate, listening to the man tell his story of how he ended up on the streets.

I won the husband lottery.

*

My oldest child, who I brought home for first grade because he is a brilliant little boy, who I committed myself to educating in the most hands-on ways by running with his best curiosities, who has finished his first grade math book in the first eight weeks of school and nearly all of spelling, who I love with my whole heart and soul, is showing strong signs of Attention Deficit Disorder.  My instincts tell me so, as does everything I know from being a licensed special education teacher, but I will wait on the official word from a child psychologist down the road.

Add to the list of ten thousand reasons why we homeschool, because I am the teacher who will stop at nothing to ensure his success.

*

My children somehow each ended up with two or three Halloween costumes apiece this year.  I can hardly figure how there grew so many, but we've had great fun with it so far.  Turns out everyone loves Batman in Target, and a baby pumpkin at the library.

*

On my way home late this evening, with my three children asleep in their car seats, I witnessed a high speed police chase.  The vehicle being pursued was driving at least seventy miles per hour on a four-lane street through town, headed East.  I was headed West, and while nearing a red light I realized in great horror that the car approaching the red light on the other side, with the flashing red and blue on its tail, was going to blow through the intersection. 

He did.  He smashed into a truck, sending it skidding to the other side the road, and then he veered across the median into oncoming traffic for a moment, where mine was the first vehicle approaching the red light.  Had I been a second or two earlier, actually stopped there, he would have hit my car head on. 

He skidded back into his own lane again and hit the gas.  A minute later the hood of his car flew up to cover his windshield, and the chase came to an end.  The light turned green and I continued towards home with my intestines quivering and every hair on the back of my neck standing up, thankful for only a close call.

*

All is well.

Full House, The Lost Episode

Last Monday morning as we were freshly home from our mountain trip, I carried ten thousand things on my mind for what I would need to accomplish.  Kevin was back to work, there was no fresh food in the house, laundry piles hip-high and half filled suitcases and souvenir bags lay everywhere, and also Vacation Journals called for me, as we hadn't gotten around to them while on the road. 

I felt overwhelmed in the first days of being home, not as if we'd been gone for months, but more overwhelmed than I saw fitting, just the same.  

We were all worn out from traveling and I gave us time to slowly fall back into a routine.  I continued to feel off, and awful, and by mid-week with the ever-repeating cloudy weather and chill in the air I realized that it was possible I was coming into seasonal depression.  It happens some years, and others not.  And it's the most peculiar thing, since fall is one of my very favorite things in life, that the chemicals in my brain should pronounce themselves Terribly Out of Whack while I attempt to devour the best of the colors, smells and crisp autumn temperatures from behind my camera lens and within my favorite jeans and hooded sweatshirts.

Just the same I trudged forward with my List of Musts and previously signed-up-for engagements and Kevin and I had an important pow-wow, now sure that my person was taking an unplanned trip through utter Sadness and Despair.  It was, in fact, bringing luggage filled with all motivation and ability to process day-to-day normalcies with it, and I, not a crier, was crying about everything.   

This past Monday was KJ's seventh birthday.  And if there is one thing that is high on my list of Important Things, it is making sure that there are fantastic birthday memories for my children.  We have family gatherings for cake and presents, and fun activities.  This year we'd met friends at Lego Land the day before, and planned cake again the next night, which I think would be the eighth time this birthday season.  Birthdays are those days I get to think about my child all day, and over all the years how wonderful he is and how my life is infinitely richer for having him in it.  You never know how special childhood birthdays really are until you are on the parent end of them, and you get to fall in love with your child all over again.

And then I opened my eyes on Monday morning feeling like a goner, as if I'd been hit in the gut with an old wooden baseball bat, and couldn't muster the strength to get myself up and pull myself together.  I lay in my bed beside my birthday boy, there after a bad dream the night before, quietly singing happy birthday to him as he opened his eyes, and I told him that I loved him, and I was so proud of him and that I wanted him to have a wonderful day.

Then by mid-morning he was screaming from the tops of his lungs, and the Earth spun far from its natural orbit as my son got the idea somewhere that there existed a possibility that he should not have to homeschool on his birthday, but possibly he could watch television all day instead, he thought.  And this is the part where parenting is so difficult, and so tricky, because with your first child it is always the first time for everything and there is no manual for how to get through a very important battle with your child on his birthday. 

As things escalated, as they sometimes do, I stood there sobbing in the middle of my kitchen, lost in the chemical warfare going on inside my brain, trying to explain to a now-seven that spending your birthday painting pictures of mountain sunsets and creating other masterpieces on All Day Art Day, and calling it homeschool, is infinitely better than five hours of SpongeBob.  We live a good life on our birthdays, or at least we should.  We do what we do, not lay around wasting time.  How do you tell that to a kid?  A kid who is now so worked up, yelling and stomping his feet, crying such angry tears because he suddenly believes it possible that his mother is trying to cheat him on his day?  It probably would never have even surfaced in a parallel universe, had I whisked him off to public school earlier that morning, because all kids go to school on their birthdays, right?

He insisted that I was mean, so mean, and that I was ruining his birthday by not giving him the day off.  We yelled at each other and we both cried.  I had a fit of my own, in the middle of all of the anger and sadness that might be remembered as the seventh birthday morning.  These are the things we mothers don't talk about very often, how we majorly screw it up with our kids because we, too, are human, and we have all-too-short tempers and simply don't know what to do, most especially with an oldest child, because we've never been there before.  We don't have the right words, we didn't expect the problem, we don't have all the answers.  I mostly try to handle things from a calm place.  I have worked very hard over many years to keep my shit in check.  But I blew it, here.

By lunchtime I told the boys we needed to start over.  No day ever has to be a wash-out unless we decide it so, and we apologized and settled down and painted.  We rented a movie, ordered his favorite dinner and had one of his friends over to play with his new Lego set.  Kevin came home from work on time, we had cake, and a mostly good day.

A volcano, even, in his mountain sunset. 

So I went to the doctor yesterday, with symptoms ranging from chills and fever and wheezing all the way down to sure death, and I feel almost silly admitting that I managed to catch the Swine Flu, of all things.  But I certainly believe it, having been sick as a dog since Monday afternoon.  My to-do list seems to be growing by the second, but at least this evening I can sit up straight again and speak English.  We did indeed skip homeschool yesterday instead of the day before, and my children did watch television a good portion of it while I lay shivering and dying on the couch.  This early part of fall has been quite the learning experience, if nothing else.  I hope that I can again gain momentum and drag myself out of the seeming pit of misery as my tamiflu kicks in, or hope at least that maybe all of the despair was only my body gradually losing the battle against a bunch of pig germs.

Thankfully, we have almost all of the autumn season left to go.