tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9989816955643513612023-11-16T06:18:40.230-05:00The HandsThe Handshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04238413205593456248noreply@blogger.comBlogger454125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-998981695564351361.post-91645341464513750142017-01-03T08:26:00.000-05:002017-01-03T08:26:24.920-05:0020162016 is gone, and when I sit and reflect on it, I shake my head in disbelief.<br />
<br />
How can it simultaneously be the best and WORST year of my life?<br />
<br />
In January we celebrated the long-awaited arrival of our daughter, Aliza. Back in 2012, we began the process and became registered to adopt from Bulgaria. We knew it could be a 3-4 year wait, but we were so hopeful it would be sooner. Each year we had to keep renewing countless documents just to keep our information current. It was maddening.<br />
<br />
And expensive.<br />
<br />
$42,000 later we got an email. THE email. We were sitting around with long time besties (The Bauers) when the email came in. I knew something was wrong when my husbands face went from confusion, to surprise, to euphoria to devastation. It wasn't how we thought we'd feel, but there was a huge wrinkle in the plan.<br />
<br />
When we reached the 4 year waiting mark, we started wondering if we were <i>ever</i> going to get a referral. We wondered if renewing our home study (plus other documents) for hundreds of dollars EACH was the best use of money.<br />
<br />
We already had a failed adoption from Ethiopia on the books... $11,000 in and they just pulled the rug out from under us.<br />
<br />
So we registered to adopt from China. We were matched with a little girl.We were about to pull the plug on Bulgaria... then BOOM. Bulgaria finally got it's act together. We'd been waiting for 4 long years and suddenly we have TWO referrals!<br />
<br />
Scott and I immediately start to build our case that we want<b> both </b>of these girls. Don't make us chose one.<br />
<br />
"We can do this!" But our agencies couldn't advise it. We were furious and confused. I was abrupt on the phone: "I will NOT chose one over the other. My heart cannot handle rejecting a child, even if they never know."<br />
<br />
They made the choice for us: if we don't adopt this little one from Bulgaria, she may be waiting for a really long time for another family to adopt her. Adoptions in China are happening fast and reliably... the other little girl will be matched soon. (Even with her serious heart condition.) We heartbreakingly accepted our loss on one condition: they email us and tell us as soon as she found her family. And they did. Not 3 months later... another family chose her. I still smile that she was prayed for and wanted by more than one family.<br />
<br />
We rested easy after that and turned our focus on little Minka. (We hadn't chosen her English name yet) We picked her up in January, and brought her back to America to process her citizenship paperwork.<br />
<br />
For the next several months, we delighted/ marveled/ worried/ stressed over this child. She is a brimming cup of sunshine, almost always happy and very easy to send into a giggle fit.<br />
<br />
Our adoption agency prepared us very well to handle the behaviors that are typical of institutionalized children. Food anxiety, bonding, bathroom habits, communication, developmental delays, etc. But one thing I wasn't prepared for was my own emotions regarding her behaviors. I was smitten with her from the first time I saw her picture. The first time I laid eyes on her, wobbly bouncing toddler-stepping into our room and those chocolate eyes.... oh boy was I smitten.<br />
<br />
But despite her unending cute-ness, one thing was very clear: she wasn't my biological child. I mourned that I didn't have the same emotion for her as I did when my two biological daughters had been born. She was never tethered to me by an umbilical cord, and never was nourished at my breast. I lamented this. I wanted to go through that with her.<br />
<br />
But as we cocooned, I found that bonding didn't need to look like nursing or swaddling. It came, slowly, and is the threads of bonding are being pulled tighter and tighter even now. I could write a whole blog post on how I would have done things SO MUCH differently, but I'll just throw this out there: I would have given up on 90% of the battles we went through with her. As a disciplinarian who feels miffed at being disrespected, I furthered delayed my own feelings of attachment to her with each act that I mistook for "disobedience". <br />
<br />
After a few months of living in the States, we returned to our home in China with all three of our daughters; it was delightful to see everyone's reaction to her. I did have to educate a lot of people on how to make her feel safer (stop picking her up and walking off with her!) but our neighbors were gaga over her, and our story. They marveled at the cost of adoption, and we didn't hesitate to talk about the generosity of the Church when His people are called to action.<br />
<br />
But a dark cloud descended on our fairy tale. I had gotten the flu in January, and then in February I got strep throat, TWICE. Then <i>again </i>in March. My immune system was out of whack and I knew what was about to happen: an autoimmune flare up. I have ulcerative colitis, a devastating chronic illness that mysteriously flares up and causes huge ulcers to engulf in the colon. They bleed and drain, and the colon becomes so inflamed that you look hugely pregnant. In a matter of weeks, I became sofa-ridden. 15 trips to the bathroom a day, becoming severely anemic from loosing so much blood. I couldn't do anything. My husband became a single father, the chef, the chauffeur, the homeschool teacher, the butler. My comforter.<br />
<br />
He finally said "enough is enough" and packed us all up to fly back to America for medical treatment. From July on, I was in and out of my GI's office multiple times a month to keep tweaking my medicines. At one point I had 7 (or 67) pill bottles that covered our bathroom counter.<br />
<br />
A couple of months into the medicine I felt much better and thought remission was right around the corner. We were very excited when Aliza had been home for 6 months because that meant we could pursue... our 2nd adoption!! We were registered to adopt from China, but to avoid another situation where we were juggling two referrals at once, we were told not to look at the list of waiting children until Aliza had been home 6 months to give adequate time for bonding. <br />
<br />
So on that day, my husband went onto the website and looked at waiting children... long story short, thats where we found our son. There was a huge emotional saga of trying to decide if we were financially capable of handling all of his medical conditions. After speaking directly to the American doctor who evaluated him and was knowledgeable about his rare brain condition, we felt quite sure that this was our son. We signed the letter of intent, and skyped with our agency soon after.<br />
<br />
It hit us like a bomb when they told us we would be picking him up in three months.<br />
<br />
I stood up in my chair and paced (they're watching all this via webcam haha) and was sputtering... "Thats October. I thought this would be next year. I need to go buy boy clothes! Scott we have to go to the store now! And we don't have any boy toys!" Scott was doing the clenched teeth fake smile whisper: "Ok. Uh, please sit down."<br />
<br />
They asked "Are you sure you're okay? Were you not prepared for this to happen this year?" And I had to explain that I was simply ecstaticaly flustered.<br />
<br />
While we were waiting for our travel date, my UC condition worsened. Maybe it was stress, but the inflammation was so bad I was afraid I'd have to wear adult diapers on the plane. I was afraid to eat, and plagued by nausea and hunger. But on the plane ride, God clearly lifted my symptoms and for the two weeks we were in China, I was hardly symptomatic. It was such a gift. Thank you Jesus.<br />
<br />
And I could turn my focus away from my bowels and onto my son who was waiting.<br />
<br />
I totally swooned when I first saw him. Stomach jumped up into my throat. What a little bundle of <b>tiny man cuteness.</b><br />
<br />
My little Judson.<br />
<br />
After having a lot of time to evaluate my choice of actions with Aliza, I did things differently. I was more relaxed, and chose to be his observer, not his fixer. I coddled him, doted on him, tried to charm kisses from him. Although I wish I had done more of this with Aliza, it wasn't difficult to get hugs and kisses from her; she was a snuggle bug from day ONE. Kisses and giggles galore. Little man, on the other hand, made us work for it. He was not impressed with us!<br />
<br />
No eye contact, no responding to touch or noise. I became concerned that he may be on the autism spectrum, have severe hearing loss and be partially blind. His cognitive expressions were severely delayed.<br />
<br />
But after a few days, we started to get some giggles out of him, and I won't forget the first fleeting time he made eye contact with me. The first time he mimicked me (waved at me in the car, home for about 3 weeks), the first time he finally played pretend (picked up a toy phone and made a sound like "aaaa-oooooo").<br />
<br />
There was a huge sigh of relief with each new action that told me that his lack of interaction was clearly just from the trauma of adoption.<br />
<br />
A two year old can't possibly understand that leaving the place that<i> he</i> thinks is good and comfortable and secure is a good thing. For adults, adoption is full of hope and fuzzies, but for small children, it feels like kidnapping. They lose, we gain.<br />
<br />
Now Judson has been home for 2 months, Aliza's been home for almost a year! Aliza is not at all the same child. And Jud has made so much improvement, it's hard to believe it's only been 2 months.<br />
<br />
After a month of prednisone, my inflammation is down and I'm living almost normally. I have energy to play, teach, clean and invest in people outside the home.<br />
<br />
What a year. The dramatic ups and downs alone were as traumatizing as a roller coaster that only slings you up and down; no gradual descent or incline. Just paddle ball whacking up and down.<br />
<br />
But let me sing to the Lord a new song. He has done great things. I've tasted and seen that the Lord. Is. Good. I had a crisis of faith after we brought Judson home and I began feeling sick again. WHY oh WHY are you allowing me to be sick when there are two recent-orphans I'm trying to convince are loved and desired and wished for and longed for?! They need a healthy mommy!<br />
<br />
But God, through others, through his word, through his Holy Spirit, through books placed in my hands by family and friends, have shown me the beautiful enigma of suffering. He is bringing the scum of my soul bubbling to the surface to be scraped away. Each scrape is a painful removal of imperfections in my molten, silver soul. <br />
<br />
His sanctification is creating a most beautiful thing to behold. I am most Christ-like now, than I was at the beginning of 2016. I am ever so thankful.<br />
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<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/create/button/" class="pin-it-button" count-layout="horizontal"><img border="0" src="//assets.pinterest.com/images/PinExt.png" title="Pin It" /></a></div>The Handshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04238413205593456248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-998981695564351361.post-35717114898527902272016-12-31T07:14:00.003-05:002016-12-31T07:14:59.230-05:00The GapPlease mind the... 3....year....gap.... in blog posts.<br />
<br />
The last post I wrote was on waiting for Joelle's siblings, well over 3 years ago. We were pursing adoption, IVF.... whew.<br />
<br />
And a lot has changed in the last 3 years. We gave up on fertility treatments, and Ethiopia did not renew it's adoption contracts with our agency (therefore completely halting out adoption).<br />
<br />
In those 3 years we've added 3 more kids... and a cat. I have SO MUCH to write about bringing them home (the cat.. not so much). Their stories will be coming soon.<br />
<br />
For now, I'm trying to hop back into the blogging world because a friend (Hi Shellie) had asked to hear more about my story. I think I stopped writing because I was becoming disenchanted with my blogging stories, worried that it wasn't a big enough deal to put out there.<br />
<br />
But the Word says to Sing a New Song! Let it be known what He has done for us. And not only are every day mundane things a gift and a treasure, He has done things beyond the ordinary, things to great for me to comprehend. Straight up miracles.<br />
<br />
I will be obedient to chronicle what the Lord has done. As I so find joy in what the Lord has done in the lives of others, I hope you find joy in my stories too.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/create/button/" class="pin-it-button" count-layout="horizontal"><img border="0" src="//assets.pinterest.com/images/PinExt.png" title="Pin It" /></a></div>The Handshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04238413205593456248noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-998981695564351361.post-86226408626850411472013-02-26T03:04:00.002-05:002013-02-26T03:04:52.426-05:00While we are waitingWe have been waiting to adopt from Ethiopia and Bulgaria for almost a year now and we were recently told that all adoptions for Ethiopia will be suspended while the Ethiopian government reviews the program. <br />
We've started the process to also adopt from Madagascar, should the Ethiopian program fall through. My secret hope is that Ethiopia gets up and running again and we get referrals from all three countries. <br />
We've had IUI and IVF fail multiple times but hope to try again if and when we have more money and vacation days. Waiting on adoptions, waiting on pregnancy. Waiting for our quiver full. <br />
<br />
Waiting, waiting, waiting. <br />
<br />
I'm tired of waiting. I dream of <em>tomorrow. </em><br />
<br />
But I've noticed that while I'm waiting, I'm also not living. I wanted to wait to home school Joelle until her brothers came- because a <em>full</em> classroom is giggly goodness. I wait to get going with home organization projects, wait on scrapbooks and quilts. <br />
<br />
Sometimes I fear that I'm not giving my beloved and much-prayed-for daughter the full attention she needs because I keep thinking "she would be having so much fun if her brothers and sisters were here!"<br />
<br />
But God has proven again and again that His timing is not mine. His timing is perfect. His timing is for my good. His timing is a father's loving discipline for his child. We are waiting because there is something else I should be doing with my time now. NOW is the time to learn trust and patience.<br />
<br />
I can't help but wonder... is there something I'm supposed to be doing now that I'm missing? I hope I can enjoy the present for what it is in such a way that I'm not always wishing that the future would hurry up and get here already!<br />
<br />
Here is to enjoying today and letting go of the future. <div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/create/button/" class="pin-it-button" count-layout="horizontal"><img border="0" src="//assets.pinterest.com/images/PinExt.png" title="Pin It" /></a></div>The Handshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04238413205593456248noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-998981695564351361.post-6615025505964816452013-01-22T09:00:00.000-05:002013-01-23T09:07:11.949-05:00Dead EndsSometimes... I have no idea where I am going or where I'm being led.<br />
<br />
I know that His light is a lamp unto my feet. The road ahead need not be lit ...for why do I need to know where I'm going if the only thing that matters is Who I'm following? And when the Most High God is the one I'm following, what more could I possibly want for?<br />
<br />
But along some roads we often imagine what might come next and can't help but anticipate and want <em>violently</em> to see a wish come true. What might be. What could be. Where I wish He was taking me.<br />
<br />
The whole time is a small, tender voice warning that our ways are not His ways... and we cannot fathom His reasons. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
We often get angry over how something that clearly seems "meant to be" often ends in a dead end.<br />
<br />
A heart breaking dead end. <br />
<br />
We had so many doors open to pursue IVF; we flew to another country and have been here for almost two weeks, going through grueling amounts of hormone injections and various ultrasounds, blood work, paper work etc. We've got one shot at this. Everything was going well, the doctor performed a small procedure to remove the eggs and then fertilized them; the next step is watching then via microscope to see them split and divide and grow.<br />
<br />
Then the nurse called yesterday to say that none of the embryos developed after fertilization; none survived. I didn't understand. <br />
<br />
The call came while we were eating lunch at the mall. No amount of awkward or curious or sympathetic looks could stop the tears from coming fast and strong. I continued to sob on the walk home, all the time frantically wondering the fastest way to ease this pain. <em>Massage? Pedicure? go shopping? Anything to get my mind off this. </em>Eh. Those all require me to be around people. And spend money. Which we have substantially less of now. So I head to the fitness center of the hotel and jog slowly on the treadmill and listened to "10,000 reasons".<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
"Bless the Lord, oh my soul. Oh my soul."</div>
<br />
My head knows that He is good and kind, and that an act like this: another failed fertility procedure, is not absent of mercy, tenderness and grace. <br />
<br />
But hot, bitter tears fell down my face as I pounded the treadmill. I did not feel <em>willing</em> to bless the Lord.<br />
<br />
Anger, confusion and uncertainty gave more energy so I sped up the pace and ran another mile. I let the song play over and over again. <br />
<br />
Yesterday we went to see the doctor to hear some explanation of why the embryos could not survive. But the nurse came with a small smile and said "Two of the embryos have begun developing." We listened to the doctor explain more. This was hope... a very <em>small</em> taste of hope.<br />
<br />
We waited 24 hours. Waiting, hoping and praying that those two embryos, who are fearfully and wonderfully made, will develop and be ready to transfer into my womb.<br />
<br />
The phone call came today and I knew from the look on my husbands face that it was bad news. The embryos did not make any progress. It's over. <br />
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My question for the Lord: "<em>Why </em>all the false hope? Why the open door if it only led to a dead end?" What purpose did all of this serve, this unnecessary pain and extreme waste of money? Why make me feel like a fool for hoping?<br />
<br />
<br />
I listened to the song again. Bless the Lord, oh my soul. As it played I kept thinking of Micah 6:8<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<strong>And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to <em>walk humbly</em> with your God.</strong></blockquote>
So this was a dead end. But the hope that I cling to is that I<u> </u>did not walk <strong>alone.</strong><br />
<br />
Nor was it in vain<em>.</em><br />
<br />
Who knows what the Father is teaching me, how He is molding me? What I consider a waste of sorrows God counts as a priceless encounter with Him.<br />
<br />
Looking back in thirty years, will I mourn over this, or remember what it felt like as I walked with Him through it? <br />
<br />
<div align="center">
Sing like never before</div>
<div align="center">
...Oh my soul...</div>
<div align="center">
Worship His Holy name!</div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/create/button/" class="pin-it-button" count-layout="horizontal"><img border="0" src="//assets.pinterest.com/images/PinExt.png" title="Pin It" /></a></div>The Handshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04238413205593456248noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-998981695564351361.post-44333475829820215702012-12-09T09:13:00.000-05:002012-12-09T09:13:04.669-05:00ThankfulAs part of their final grade, I required my sophomore college students to complete three essays this semester. Their latest essay was a simple question based on our Thanksgiving lesson: "What are you thankful for?"<br />
<br />
I'm an easily <em>moved</em> person, and I didn't really think I was setting myself up to sit at home tonight, grading papers with a red pen and a box of kleenex crying my eyes out.<br />
<br />
The sweetness of some of these young college students was just too much to keep to myself, so I thought I'd put a few excerpts here. <br />
Be blessed.<br />
<br />
<em>"I love my mother very much. Like many other Chinese women, my mother is diligent. She is engaged in agriculture but she is good teacher of my life........Every child is surrounded by the deep mother love. However, we often turn a blind eye to the love. One day, I deeply felt that love. I hurried home for lunch after school because there would be an exam in the afternoon and I had expected to go back to school early to prepare for the exam. But when I got home, the lunch was not ready yet. I felt unhappy. When the dishes was served, I found none I liked. I ran out of my house angrily and wandered on the street for a while hungry. Then I walked to school. When I got into the classroom, I saw a lunch box on my desk. One classmate told me that it was my mother brought it here. After opening the box, I found my favorite food inside. Mother gave me her love without asking for return. How deep my mothers love is."</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>"I was the second child in my family. Because of the One-child Policy, my mother was forced to accept an injection which was given to my mother to accelerate her delivery, not to kill me, just so that I only stayed in her body for 7 months. After I was born, she always worried about whether I could live.</em><br />
<em>When I had no appetite, my mother would cook pickles for me. I was crazy about it. My mother insists on working hard to afford my expensive college expenses. I appreciate my mother. She suffered many unexpected hardships, but I assured my mother that I will give her well-off life after I graduate from college."</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>"Thank you Lord for everything. Even though my country is not a nation of faith and Ch-------'s are still persecuted, Thank you Lord. Here has your gracious peace and you are making the way in China. There are many people who have never heard the g----l. Even though my family is not perfect, Thank you Lord that I can see my mother, father and sister. There are many children who have lost their family."</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>"Dear Mrs. Christine,</em><br />
<em>I'm writing to express my thanks for your help in learning English. During these days in your class I have learned much from you and it is very helpful to me. I find that learning English is not a boring thing as before and I'm interested in studying English. Before, English was just a necessary task to pass examination."</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>"I would like to thank my parents, thank them for giving me life. Thank them for cradling me, more importantly, no matter what, they didn't abandon me because I'm a girl."</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>"I'm most grateful for my father. He is my hero. When I was a child, he played with me. No matter how busy he was, he was willing to be my company. When I grow up, he taught me how to be a real man and how to live a meaning life. Now he is getting older and his grey hairs make me feel so sad."</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>"My elder sister. I love her so much. She always accompany me. When I felt sad, she comforted me. When I confused, she led me. She play mother role in my young age. Every time when I felt sad, I will call her and cry like a child. I didn't know I cried for what, but I feel relaxed."</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>As the saying goes, "A drop, the smallest favor." [Chinese idiom] However, parents, relatives and friends as I say are not just a "drop" but a "vast ocean".</em><br />
<br />
And I have only gotten through two classes essays! So many more talk about losing their mother or father at a young age, or waking up and coming home to an empty house because both their mother and father were working for 12 hours a day just so they could afford their <strong>high school</strong> tuition. Some had to live with their grandparents because they were the second child born in their family and their parents were given a heavy fine for not having an abortion, and to pay for the fine, the parents would work all day and through the night to make ends meet.<br />
<br />
I'm just in love with these students. I have the usual, expected trouble of cell phones, plagiarism and tardiness- but that's easy to ignore when I get this rare glimpse into their secret lives and see such tenderness!<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/create/button/" class="pin-it-button" count-layout="horizontal"><img border="0" src="//assets.pinterest.com/images/PinExt.png" title="Pin It" /></a></div>The Handshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04238413205593456248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-998981695564351361.post-43132203865097644372012-11-01T11:21:00.003-04:002012-11-02T23:32:07.153-04:00This little monkey went to market<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Joelle loves to play "This little piggy" on my toes, but <em>insists</em> that it is, in fact, a <strong>monkey</strong> that is going to town, staying home, having roast beef or having none.</div>
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I don't argue.... it just fits, as she is so <em>monkey-like</em> herself.</div>
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she is just delightful.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOE78sD2WcRBrtWZlnei7GvIEZR__8Hivpqj9Ybq32M79RHHRdBPIOY22xXk4b6HIU0TFoNToW1WKNiOQR9TKFxx6yoDW2EE0XKvEWKEtF9WR7sFYoX_83bVEwgv3xljj7BGX9L_QN-vZ-/s1600/DSC09835.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOE78sD2WcRBrtWZlnei7GvIEZR__8Hivpqj9Ybq32M79RHHRdBPIOY22xXk4b6HIU0TFoNToW1WKNiOQR9TKFxx6yoDW2EE0XKvEWKEtF9WR7sFYoX_83bVEwgv3xljj7BGX9L_QN-vZ-/s320/DSC09835.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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peekaboo.</div>
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this one loves her daddy!</div>
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"Our God is so big so STRRRROOOONG and so mighty..." </div>
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she really flexes the muscles for this song!</div>
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oh be still my heart. I can't believe the stork brought her almost two years ago!</div>
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My favorite new thing she does is her "goodbye" routine. Scott leaves to go to work and she runs after him yelling "Huuuug!" and then "Kiss!" </div>
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and then after he closes the door, she freaks OUT and opens the door to run after him for "one more kiss, daddy please?!" before he gets on the elevator.</div>
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She had her first hair cut today! Just had to trim some run-away curls that were longer than the rest in the back.</div>
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clippings from her first real hair-cut! I couldn't bring myself to cut much, I was afraid I'd cut out the curls and they'd never come back. I know, silly me.</div>
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<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/create/button/" class="pin-it-button" count-layout="horizontal"><img border="0" src="//assets.pinterest.com/images/PinExt.png" title="Pin It" /></a></div>The Handshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04238413205593456248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-998981695564351361.post-69628352341430104162012-11-01T08:23:00.002-04:002012-11-01T08:23:34.622-04:00International Dance PartyLast night something happened that I'm officially filing under my "Top Ten Favorite China Memories".<br />
<br />
I'm here at a spa/resort away from home with a few other expat women, and last night a few of us were asked to lead the group in some dances. It was pretty warm inside our villa, so we took the dance party outside. We did the Cupid Shuffle, electric slide (of course) and the Cotton Eye Joe dance- and when our legs were burning from all the hop-skips and criss-cross's and walk-it-outs, we decided just to have some free dance. It got pretty silly- and we were having such a good time that we didn't even care that some Chinese people had come to their windows just to stare at the white girls "getting down". <br />
<br />
We were pool-side and a few other vacationers were there just trying to enjoy the nice weather by the pool and seemed to enjoy the free entertainment- and one of my friends (who maybe is even sillier than I) went over to one of the onlookers and grabbed her by the hand and dragged her over to our dance party. <br />
<br />
That was all the invitation that they needed! She and probably five others gladly raced over and we danced together, mixing Asian and American styles and our faces were on the verge of splitting in half from the huge smiles on our faces!<br />
<br />
After the music died down we all formally introduced ourselves and just had a good time making small talk.<br />
<br />
Later I went back to my room and couldn't stop smiling to myself and thanking God for this unique culture we live in, and for the brief time when something as simple as the joy of dance brought two cultures together!<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/create/button/" class="pin-it-button" count-layout="horizontal"><img border="0" src="//assets.pinterest.com/images/PinExt.png" title="Pin It" /></a></div>The Handshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04238413205593456248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-998981695564351361.post-71007913604175028672012-10-23T20:34:00.001-04:002012-10-23T20:36:27.931-04:00When Chains Are GoneAbout six months ago I started feeling like I was not myself. I began to feel easily irritated (I know what you're thinking- how much worse could <em>that</em> get?), stressed over day-to-day things, extremely angry at culture issues that I've already gotten used to and worse of all, stated feeling a kind-of <em>despair</em> about being a wife and mother. Weird, right? <br />
<br />
I tried to find cause of these new mood swings and for some reason decided to take a look at the information on some fertility medicines I had been on just a few months prior to all this. (We tried 4 fertility procedures within the span of about 7 months last year). Well, whadda you know? A side-effect of the cocktail of fertility drugs I was on said they could cause depression or mood swings. Well. No baby AND depression. How did I feel about that? ...depressed. Is that irony?<br />
<br />
<br />
I tried to take flour and sugar and rice out of my diet as much as I could and I began roller blading every day (when it wasn't raining) and I began to feel a little better- but it wasn't a huge change and it wasn't a "sustainable" life-style. (We live in the land of rice and noodles... and I love sugar so....)<br />
<br />
So back to square one. I had hormone levels checked, said progesterone was too high and estrogen was too low. Talked to some doctors and finally went to Shanghai to see a GYN about a possible hormone imbalance but after asking some questions the doctor said it wasn't a hormone imbalance. <br />
<br />
It was depression. <br />
<br />
<br />
What.<br />
No I'm not.<br />
I have nothing to be depressed about.<br />
<br />
<br />
Sure, we live in a foreign country far from our family, we probably can't ever get pregnant again, we're in the process of adopting three or four children from two different countries, and I have the duties of staying at home with an almost-two curly headed tornado and teach four classes a week at the local college. <br />
<br />
Ok I have a lot on my plate.<br />
<br />
BUT... on a normal day, I feel very supported, I regularly skype with my amazing, encouraging family, I manage to keep it all sorted because we have great friends here who will drop anything to help, and I'm a very happy mostly-stay-at-home mom and a very spoiled wife. Sure there are days I miss my family and all I want is a Chick-fil-A sandwich and a strawberry-lime slushy from Sonic. <em>But depression? </em><br />
<em></em><br />
So she gave me a truckload of Zoloft and told me a little bit about depression. So I took a half a dose for two days until I could get home and read up on Zoloft.<br />
<br />
Although it is an amazing drug and works for a lot of people, I simply didn't feel comfortable taking it. I wanted to be seen by a mental health professional (I think a lot of my friends want me to see a mental health professional, too. ha!) before committing to such a serious drug.<br />
<br />
So I stopped after only ingesting one whole pill, and asked a few friends and some family to pray that this just be taken away so I wouldn't have to be medicated. I sent a few emails about finding a good counselor near us, but then a funny thing happened.<br />
<br />
I went three days without feeling any mood swings or despair. Then five days. Then a whole week. Then two whole weeks had gone by. Now almost three.<br />
<br />
It's gone, at least for now. <br />
<br />
God answered my prayer and just took it away.<br />
I feel like I can't express enough what it feels like to be healed from this. I can only liken it to being in the throws of labor pains and then the epidural kicks in!<br />
<br />
Some days I would feel so exhausted I didn't want to get out of bed, the sight of dirty dishes in the sink would send me into an anger tail spin, Joelle would grind my nerves and I would lay awake wishing I had never come to China, wishing I had never had Joelle and wishing I had never married Scott. One day I was crossing the street and half-way across a guy came to a complete stop in his car to stare at us. I urged him to hurry up and continue so I could finish crossing and then along comes a maniac driver was speeding towards us and was going to swerve around the stopped car- where Joelle and I were standing. He stopped just in time to see us (the onlooker still hadn't moved) and all hell broke loose from my mouth. I yelled at the first car for stopping to stare at us like we were animals and then yelled at the second car for speeding and now everyone in the intersection had stopped to see the foreigner yell. I walked Joelle to the curb and kept yelling, now in English, for when I am so emotional I can only think in my mother tongue, except to yell "YOU'RE ALL CRAZY" in Chinese. I was literally in the grips of insanity.<br />
<br />
My friends at the drink- stand nearby still like to tease me about it and several of my friends have said "Hey, I heard you were scolding people in the street!"<br />
<br />
I had began looking for an excuse- any excuse- to go back to America. One day Joelle was abused on the playground by another child and I told myself "One more time, and that's it. I'm not standing for this." (As if kids in America aren't school- yard bullies) I began seeing that our apartment was simply not fit for human occupancy. I pounced on Scott about every sock on the floor, every time he was a minute late, every crunch of potato chip grated my nerves.<br />
<br />
And now all of that is gone and I'm back to my regular, only slightly irritable self. I praise God because some people live with this terrible condition for years and find that medicine only gives them slight relief. Mine lasted only half a year.<br />
The mind is so precious and yet so frail.<br />
<br />
Sometimes I wonder if God lets us experience physical chains that bind us so that we can understand the depth of what it means to have our spiritual chains unbound. May I never forget the pain so I can thank Him every day for how He heals and protects. <div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/create/button/" class="pin-it-button" count-layout="horizontal"><img border="0" src="//assets.pinterest.com/images/PinExt.png" title="Pin It" /></a></div>The Handshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04238413205593456248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-998981695564351361.post-37067047912099085362012-10-18T08:49:00.000-04:002012-10-18T08:49:34.058-04:00Silly BusinessA few things have been going on, but none significant enough that they deserve their own blog post. So I'm going to lump them all together just for fun.<br />
<br />
- I fell off my bike today because I had tried to wave at some cute kids who were yelling "Hello Foreign Auntie!" <br />
<br />
- We wanted to have hamburgers tonight but the beef we bought a few days ago spoiled! So I had some pork tenderloins in the fridge and ground them up with my Kitchen Aid (with the meat grinder attachment) and ground up some bacon with it to make it interesting. They were SO YUMMO. Who knew? Pork burgers.<br />
<br />
- I found Kid's Crest "Pro-health" toothpaste today! Way to get with the times, River City! JoJo LOVES her "winnie pooh" toothpaste. <br />
<br />
- Joelle has been crazy about helping me do chores. She will take clothes to and from the dryer for me and likes to wash vegetables and rinse dishes in the sink. I put two chairs side-by-side at the sink so she has plenty of room to <strike>flood the entire kitchen</strike> wipe with her little sponge. <br />
<br />
- This last week I let my students out of class early to teach them how to play frisbee. I made them yell "Don't waste the sunshine!" before we got started.<br />
<br />
- One day in class I knocked over the computer (which was already perched precariously half-on half-off it's little cupboard on the ground) and the students all gasped. I looked up like I was in trouble and then ran away out of the classroom. When I came back in, the students started laughing so hard that the teacher across the hall opened the door to see what was going on. <br />
<br />
- A stubborn little neighbor refuses to believe that I speak Chinese to her. She always responds "I don't understand what you're saying!" So today in the elevator I told her how beautiful her hair was and asked if she did it herself. She said "No, my Grandmother does my hair!" and I laughed and said "YOU DO UNDERSTAND!" oh, she was so sad I caught her. she stomped out of the elevator.<br />
<br />
- We have a new foreign teacher at our school. He is 6"11, from Kenya! Oh hallelujah no one even notices us anymore, they stare with goo-goo eyes and shout to their friends "that handsome man is SO TALL!" His first class all the girls were swooning over him and I had to push them out of the way to introduce myself. HA!<br />
<br />
- Earlier this week, while eating lunch, Joelle had a pee-pee accident. So in the moment she was bottomless before I could put a new pair of pants on her, she said "uh oh! more pee-pee!" So I had no time to rush her to a bathroom, she just squatted right there and let it all out. We had to unroll a whole roll of toilet paper to mop it up. And then we had to move tables. Parenting moment FAIL.<br />
<br />
- Joelle said a 6-word sentence the other day. "Mommy help give me game please!" <br />
<br />
- 3 of my jalapeno bushes have finally started producing tiny jalapenos! Baby jalapenos are adorable, by the way.<br />
<br />
That's all the silly business I can think of. More later.<br />
<br />
<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/create/button/" class="pin-it-button" count-layout="horizontal"><img border="0" src="//assets.pinterest.com/images/PinExt.png" title="Pin It" /></a></div>The Handshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04238413205593456248noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-998981695564351361.post-9180263765304044322012-09-20T10:13:00.001-04:002012-09-20T10:23:14.883-04:00Finding GenevaI was born with the name<em> Geneva.</em> I haven't been called that since I was three years old, but over the last few years I've slowly been discovering who that little girl was, the people who were part of my life when I was called that name and what a monstrous whirlwind of events were taking place that eventually led to me being called <em>Christine</em>. <br />
<br />
I was told that <em>Geneva</em> was a forgotten, troubled little girl who's mom and dad despised her and cared nothing for her well-being. But a more solemn, beautiful truth has come out of it's secrecy- and I'm happy to tell you the story.<br />
<br />
Adoption is a triangle of brokenness. As beautiful as it is to take an orphaned child into your home, the <em>warm-fuzzies</em> are not absent of tragedy. Most people think of the suffering of the child in the case of adoption, but I think, in my case, the hearts most broken belong to both the parents who lost me and the parents who gained me.<br />
<br />
Geneva was not the child of evil parents. Evil things happened in the home, but they came by the way of strangers... boyfriends that my mom thought she could trust.<br />
<br />
The things that happened next must have felt like a horror story come-to-life. My mother: unaware, my father: bound to work long hours to provide. Abuse was happening but went unnoticed. A neighbor's boy poured sand into my dad's gas tank; when confronted, the mother of the child made a vengeful call to social services and made up a story about how her neighbor was abusing his children. <br />
<br />
Social services dutifully came to inspect the situation and of course, found evidence to support the claim. That same neighbor later wrote a note saying that she had lied- but it was too late. The late 80's were not a time when the court sympathized with accused fathers- and they had <em>evidence</em>. <br />
<br />
I was put on the stand, and it was there I said "A stranger who looked like Daddy did these things." The lawyer corrected me and said, "Do you mean, <em>Daddy</em> did these things?" <br />
<br />
Since then it has been made illegal to "lead" a witness on the stand, especially children who are eager to please adults.<br />
<br />
But the law came years too late. I can remember being on the stand and feeling absolutely terrified.<br />
<br />
I also remember being in a car with a strange lady who tried to hold me down as I twisted around and screamed, watching my dad getting farther and farther away as we were driven away from him.<br />
<br />
A new chapter came: foster care. The next seven years we lived with five different families, and while I was trying to piece together what was happening, why I moved so often, why I kept getting new families... these foster families answered my questions to the best of their knowledge of what the social worker told them. With this information a hideous story grew in my mind.<br />
<br />
One foster home in particular helped to feed the idea that my biological father was a monster. They forced me to burn pictures of him- my ONLY pictures of him- as a way to "cope".<br />
<br />
I was now 9 years old, and here comes my favorite chapter: adoption. Year after year, we celebrated the birth of our family: December 8th. This was it- the final chapter in the saga of Geneva. With the finalization of the adoption came the option to change my name, and I chose <em>Christine</em>. Geneva was forever gone.<br />
<br />
Until....<br />
<br />
A phone call from my mom one day while I was at work. "Have you talked to your brother lately?"<br />
Through a people search on the internet, my biological mother had found my brother and now my biological mother was on her way up from Florida.<br />
<br />
Coming with her were my two half- sisters. She was divorced from my biological father, so I had no idea where he would come into the mix. They were in Georgia by the time I finally got wind of the whole thing. My boss told me I should leave work early and go deal with my fury/excitement/nausea before they all arrived.<br />
<br />
It all happened so fast, I can't even remember the details of seeing her for the first time and what all else was going on. Although this happened 6 years ago, I have a giant blank spot in my memory- all I can remember is cooking dinner in my kitchen, my biological mother is there, too, stirring the stew and my nephew is trying to sweep the floor. Why my brain has shut this out, I have no idea.<br />
<br />
During dinner the second night or third night (or who knows?) of their visit, my biological mother gets a phone call. THIS I remember clearly: she got deadly quiet, her eyes shot up to me and she covered the mouth piece and whispered<em> IT'S YOUR FATHER!</em><br />
<br />
I grew dizzy. All I could say was "Tell him to come on up, too." He was in Georgia. I talked to him on the phone for a while and the whole time was thinking "I can't believe I'm finally going to meet this man. I'm finally going to get to say <em>I forgive you</em>."<br />
<br />
When things calmed down and we had cordially looked at photo albums and talked about our lives, he pulled out two thick black binders. He told me in a slightly trembling voice, "I didn't come to convince you of anything. I don't know what you were told. But these are all the court documents, the prosecution and defense." <br />
<br />
That night, after they had gone back to their hotel room, Scott and I poured over the documents. A strange combination of relief and misery filled my soul. <br />
<br />
He was innocent.<br />
<br />
An innocent man was had been dragged into a courtroom, convicted of monstrous, evil abuse. What this man had gone through to prove his innocence, what he had gone through to get me back... the tragedy sunk in while hot, wet tears streamed down my face.<br />
<br />
The next day his wife handed me another binder. It was a scrap-book filled with a shirt I had worn as a baby, some pictures-- and birthday cards. They bought me birthday cards every year and put them in the book. Never knowing if I would ever receive them.<br />
<br />
I called my Mom and Dad to tell them who I'd just met. My Mom who adopted me when I was 9, who loved me through my awkward years of becoming part of the family, who forgave my insane behavior and coached me. Who took me horse back riding, who cheered me on to become a writer, who loved the Lord out loud. My Dad, who would sit and listen to me practice piano for hours, who played badminton in the backyard with me and who took me on camping trips with friends... who would listen to my business ideas and make me believe no one else could be as successful as me. I could go on for pages about how we made up for the 9 years that they didn't have me.<br />
<br />
It was their turn for heartache. Would I forget the times they stayed up all night and read me stories when I was sick? Would I throw it all away, now that my "real" dad was in the picture? To whom to I give my loyalty to? Did they wonder if they were ever <em>even needed</em>?<br />
<br />
No matter what I say, I'll be breaking some one's heart. So I'll just say God's truth: I wouldn't change a thing. God. makes. no. mistakes. The triangle of brokenness has led us all to be the people we are today. All three families- believe it or not- following the Lord and serving Him where we live and serving him BETTER because of the fire we were put through.<br />
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So, who am I? Geneva or Christine? My biological mom and sisters always calls me Geneva. I love that. That's how they "keep" me. Every one else calls me Christine. I love that, too. Emily calls me "Genny" sometimes, which is who I was when she first met me in the fifth grade.<br />
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I can't believe that, when I thought I was forgotten and <em>unloved</em> by every person I ever lived with, I had TWO families fighting for me. <br />
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I can't wait to meet my beautiful, adopted boys and girls look them in the eyes and tell them: <br />
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"Something in your eyes, I see, reminds me of what used to be</div>
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When I was still uncertain of the truth.</div>
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Sleepless nights that turned to days</div>
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alone inside an endless space, counted on someone to see me through.</div>
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If there's one thing I know, it's you were never left alone</div>
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Cause you can always call on Jesus name.</div>
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If there's one thing I pray, it's Jesus helps you find a way</div>
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to make a change and listen to your heart. </div>
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God will take away your pain if you chose to let it go...if there's one thing I know.</div>
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How can I convince your heart His light can find you in the dark?</div>
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And only He can make your blind eyes see.</div>
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For if we speak of lost things found, or lives that have been turned around, </div>
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then tell me who knows better, child, than me?"</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">- "If There's One Thing I Know", Selah</span></div>
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<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/create/button/" class="pin-it-button" count-layout="horizontal"><img border="0" src="//assets.pinterest.com/images/PinExt.png" title="Pin It" /></a></div>The Handshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04238413205593456248noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-998981695564351361.post-48333499399708036832012-09-13T09:37:00.000-04:002012-09-14T07:49:03.239-04:00When Mommy Boileth OverI never imagined I would be having a fight on a playground with another mom. I am not ignorant that kids are going to beat up on each other and I even know that Joelle could at some time be "the bully". <br />
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But I am still sitting in shock, feeling angry, hurt and flabbergasted at what happened at the indoor playground today.<br />
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A four year old was tearing around the whole playground while his mom played cards and squawked to her friends like a gossiping chicken. A lot of his bumping into other kids was just because he was plain <u>out of control.</u> But when the swings and slides and ball-pit became old news, he turned to throwing things at the others and was quick to shove others out of the way to get by. He started jumping into the ball pit, intentionally landing on other kids. Thankfully, Joelle had been playing in another section the whole time~ but I was watching other mother's faces carefully and it was clear that they were unhappy with this little tornado from Hell.<br />
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Joelle was climbing up the stairs and the boy and another older girl were close behind her... at first they played SO CUTE, the 'big brother and sister' tried to carry her up the stairs until they realized she could climb them herself. But Joelle tumbled on the last step and landed on her back and I watched in great curiosity as the boy proceeded to raise his foot and try to stomp on her.<br />
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What is wrong with this kid.<br />
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A grandpa looking on scolded him before I could get there, so thankfully the said stomp never happened. So the three started to climb into the tunnel and the boy shoved Joelle from the back and then climbed over her. I jumped up and yelled "Little sister is smaller than you, don't PUSH HER!" (keep in mind: other moms saw this, too) I decided to stay right beside them- just in case.<br />
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I know every little bump or run-in doesn't warrant me jumping to her defense. I don't want Joelle finding every little encounter to be offensive. But what happened next made me want to slap the brat out of this kid. Inside the tunnel again, I saw him shove her shoulders and she fell down, hitting her head on the hard plastic. He climbed on top of her and SAT ON HER with his knees on her chest and grabbed her cheeks and dug in his fingernails, pushing her head down. I was up in that playground a nano second later and threw him off of her... but I didn't let him go.<br />
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I know I have a temper. But I never thought I could get so angry at a child. Looking back I'm a little frightened to think of what I might have done had I not had a merciful dose of self-control from the Holy Spirit at that moment. <br />
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I pinched his cheek (not nearly as hard as he had done to Joelle) and said, "See how much this hurts? She's just a baby! Do you want your friends to hurt your face like this?" And of course he screamed BLOODY MURDER. I took him by the arm and brought him down the stairs and his mom, who finally stopped squawking long enough to hear her child screaming, and (not letting go yet) told him "Tell your mom what you just did!" <br />
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The mom was bewildered, of course, because she didn't have a clue what a nasty little boy he is. I told her what happened and of course..<br />
she got mad. at ME.<br />
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She started her chicken-squawking at me about not "hitting kids" because I reached up and pinched his cheek again to demonstrate what he had done. And I scolded her "Why are you mad at me? You should be mad that your 4 year old is hurting a 2 year old! If you don't punish him, <em>I will</em>. You need to do something with him because he has been hurting kids this whole time, he plays too rough but you don't know that because you don't watch him! Why are you mad at me?" And I showed her the claw marks on Joelle's face. I continued "I will not allow him to hurt my child!" <br />
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Perhaps what made me most sad about this whole thing was how the onlookers reacted. There were at LEAST five other moms who saw this kid abuse my (and their) children. NONE of them came to my defense and helped this mom see that she needs to correct her son. ALL of them came and tried to "calm us down", and although we were not screaming or getting physical, they pushed us away from each other and said "forget it, forget it."<br />
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oh so many cuss words come to mind at this point.<br />
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I sat down with a screaming Joelle beside the mom who I'd been hanging out with the whole time and she came to coo at Joelle. People quieted down and I tried to coax Joelle to go play again. She was not having it. She kept saying "Ge ge (brother) hurt!" I vented to my new friend and was pleased to look up and see that the crowd of onlookers had gathered to hear me explain what happened and how we SHOULD raise our children. <br />
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After I was able to gather myself (took about 20 minutes) I put Joelle's shoes on and got ready to go. On a whim and another merciful dose of common sense from the Holy Spirit, I went over to the other mom and tapped on her shoulder and asked her to talk in private with me. I apologized for raising my voice and making a scene (at this point she wanted to start her squawking again) but I stopped her and told her that I worry about kids treating each other well. I said "I didn't squeeze his cheek to hurt him, I did it to teach him.(ok, maybe I wanted to hurt him) But next time if there is a problem, I will just come get you, and I won't let them play together."<br />
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She looked at me sternly for a moment before turning on the charm, "Oh, he was just touching her face because her skin is so white and it's so beautiful!"<br />
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I corrected her. No- he was <em>trying</em> to hurt her. But we had drawn another nosey crowd so she said to Joelle "Come say goodbye to Ge ge and you will play together next time much better!" So Joelle (bless her heart) said goodbye and even threw him a kiss.<br />
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I know, I know, my child is an angel. haha<br />
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So, I know what I did wrong. I shouldn't punish another child (no matter how good it feels to avenge my child), it would have been better to remove Joelle and comfort her and then let the mother 'handle' it. I know I can't change people. But I really hope there will never be a next time. I feel baffled by this mom's behavior and betrayed by the other mom's silence. <br />
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SIGH. Advice?<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/create/button/" class="pin-it-button" count-layout="horizontal"><img border="0" src="//assets.pinterest.com/images/PinExt.png" title="Pin It" /></a></div>The Handshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04238413205593456248noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-998981695564351361.post-69213308588981951132012-08-18T05:12:00.001-04:002012-08-18T05:12:19.551-04:00A ray of sunshine<div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Yesterday I received some much-needed encouragement from my daughter. Without being asked, she picked up all her blocks and put them away while singing up the "clean up song" (keen bup! keen bup!) and then asked for help to get her coloring book and crayons down. Then she sat down for 5 whole minutes and colored very happily, and cleaned up her crayons with a happy heart when I asked her to. </div>
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And just now I heard a giant CLUNK and looked up to see that she had just put her milk cup in the sink! Without being asked!</div>
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This doesn't happen every day, but it's happening more and more. Yesterday I felt like God gave me her peaceful behavior as His way of saying "<em>Keep it up, it's not in vain."</em></div>
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I get a lot of criticism, especially from one neighbor, about how strict we are. One day we wouldn't let Joelle eat any bread when she refused to eat her noodles and vegetables and I'm pretty sure the woman thought I was the devil. But we patiently explained that we do not always have the money to make her something else if she doesn't like what we put before her. "Children will eat when they are hungry!" She gave me a death stare and said "We don't do that here." I wanted to say "I can tell. All your children are candy-eating, toy-stealing, fit-throwing hellions." But I restrained myself. </div>
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It's easy for me to question myself and wonder if what I'm doing is truly the best for our daughter, but when I have days like yesterday I become more determined than ever that the time-outs, spankings and supervised play times are not for her good, they are for her <em>best</em>. </div>
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Joelle knows how to play with toys, they are not broken and destroyed. She can sit with one toy for sometimes up to ten minutes because we don't let her drag out every toy at once willy-nilly. Self-control and attention-span training can be started now!</div>
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We've started enforcing a 30 minute quiet time on the carpet each morning where she can only look at her books so Mommy and Daddy can finished their quiet times uninterrupted. We don't let her leave the table until every one is done eating so that Mommy and Daddy can eat in peace without constantly going to check on what mischief she is getting into. In the afternoon she has "sofa time" with a quiet toy, training her to someday be able to entertain herself for 30 minutes so that on Sundays Mommy and Daddy can both participate in worship and fellowship . People think this is too much to expect from an almost-two year old, but what they really mean is that's too much to ask of a parent to <em>teach</em> a two year old. </div>
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These are some things that we have succeeded at, but I am certain our failures can sometimes outweigh these successes. I know that my first responsibility to my daughter is to love and respect her father, and about once a day I fail to do that right in front of her (sometimes very loudly). I also tend to care less about her heart attitude, and more about her behavior. It's so easy to get frustrated at her childishness (spilling milk, dropping dishes and other things she can't help because of her developmental level). But I hope those things will change as I pursue becoming a more gentle, gracious and patient mother.</div>
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I write this to remind myself to be encouraged, but also as an encouragement to the other mommies who have had it "up to here" (wherever that is...). These days are not <em>training her behavior</em>. They are teaching her the skills she will need to learn for the rest of her life: self control, patience, imagination, to have a longer attention span, and to be "happy with what ya got". </div>
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Our most recent "family purchase": a bike with a kid's seat. We took out the belt from her old car seat and put it on her bike seat! haha. Now a "quick trip to the market" is much quicker, and I have a way to exercise with Joelle in tow.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3Du8TCnR_TUzx2CpixmXniVxLk-t2ZnbX0UJq2kZojigfUUXrw0zvvdcE8luDNvKR-6LEjkmgXOuSLDVhrN_UEeRwpL_W2u5l1-VWLxvp91BDenn-YBGcTuIhVi-gk1gyyVhCkUGnm2Hz/s1600/DSC08389.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3Du8TCnR_TUzx2CpixmXniVxLk-t2ZnbX0UJq2kZojigfUUXrw0zvvdcE8luDNvKR-6LEjkmgXOuSLDVhrN_UEeRwpL_W2u5l1-VWLxvp91BDenn-YBGcTuIhVi-gk1gyyVhCkUGnm2Hz/s320/DSC08389.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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This just cracks me up. Scott stretches each time before he goes to play basketball, and Joelle likes to use him as a jungle gym!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY9xbx8p50J75jG9U6BwjZTUnJoogwfjE9v-dr19ChMZRv1CwGIVAVWfrM6IXi3HXur-JegKZrwbCao8F5EQZt7IUxWIYAKwYeuYt8yL9y-fpcx34uXi3JU16bC3g7TRwfJ5y1WcwARMhC/s1600/DSC08481.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY9xbx8p50J75jG9U6BwjZTUnJoogwfjE9v-dr19ChMZRv1CwGIVAVWfrM6IXi3HXur-JegKZrwbCao8F5EQZt7IUxWIYAKwYeuYt8yL9y-fpcx34uXi3JU16bC3g7TRwfJ5y1WcwARMhC/s320/DSC08481.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgmEV0JerX_1PPXG-j-GLXxD6k2g5dXUlPgDWKwutwkLiJkYdt2H45_jsKF4DErKv3n-vAuK1imzfHPnwqFSnEwTZHhENJY5s4N7OIbkTV6Y11wsxrzhXtMPeSNe1mfn2r4Fe0wkDmAsR_/s1600/DSC08484.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgmEV0JerX_1PPXG-j-GLXxD6k2g5dXUlPgDWKwutwkLiJkYdt2H45_jsKF4DErKv3n-vAuK1imzfHPnwqFSnEwTZHhENJY5s4N7OIbkTV6Y11wsxrzhXtMPeSNe1mfn2r4Fe0wkDmAsR_/s320/DSC08484.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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One morning during her "Quiet Time" on the carpet- I just loved the look of her hair falling in her face and her books scattered all around!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKpVJqWYRVJWywqEZkE1Mq5P24U7_YIOy7fj7_3z1Yst34HuKfxJz1xoOZqJ00pZ6oIu92_QndOhE5AGgL-qaeoCI1qPib3F0elp6gEeOjyE1GssvHwHZgF0Rr3kT2jpTo44MJuY5LVI3H/s1600/DSC08512.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKpVJqWYRVJWywqEZkE1Mq5P24U7_YIOy7fj7_3z1Yst34HuKfxJz1xoOZqJ00pZ6oIu92_QndOhE5AGgL-qaeoCI1qPib3F0elp6gEeOjyE1GssvHwHZgF0Rr3kT2jpTo44MJuY5LVI3H/s320/DSC08512.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/create/button/" class="pin-it-button" count-layout="horizontal"><img border="0" src="//assets.pinterest.com/images/PinExt.png" title="Pin It" /></a></div>The Handshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04238413205593456248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-998981695564351361.post-90212816132902357802012-07-30T19:38:00.000-04:002012-07-30T19:38:35.366-04:00A day in the life of...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Two weeks ago we had a non-stop adventure of a culture exchange (pictures and stories coming soon), the week after that I taught English in the mornings, this past weekend I had a "girls only club" with Joelle because Scott had to spend the weekend in the big city....</div>
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and now I'm back to another teaching week.</div>
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Busy but happy!</div>
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I have LOVED being back in the teaching saddle again. Don't know what it is, but seeing the light bulb come on in their little faces is such a joy for me.</div>
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So, Scott has been Mr. Mom for me in the mornings while I teach and he sent me a picture-message from his phone one morning:</div>
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His caption said, "I heard Joelle screaming "FISH! FISH!" and looked and saw that she had drawn this:"</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8nfAdEs-2mHDigIc9eupT64Rf2IdY9_Xalr13cqnhdseOAW57xCHanEFaqRIuTjOVOcexK1Dd-PD94Xk9u8Yu-YdDqHAWblS2N-inNZw_2eceAGnFWBq8Ye6jzXV_pkTrhWa8BTy2_OU2/s1600/Photo-0003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8nfAdEs-2mHDigIc9eupT64Rf2IdY9_Xalr13cqnhdseOAW57xCHanEFaqRIuTjOVOcexK1Dd-PD94Xk9u8Yu-YdDqHAWblS2N-inNZw_2eceAGnFWBq8Ye6jzXV_pkTrhWa8BTy2_OU2/s320/Photo-0003.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Funny story: I was intrigued by my bff's daughter, Mecaden, who is all the time drawing amazing things on her magnadoodle.... so when I saw one at the store I snatched it up. Thanks for the great idea, Mecaden!</div>
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Lately I have developed an obsession for these dumplings in soup called "chao shou" and it's getting pretty serious. I was so distracted by my bowl of dumplings that I didn't notice Joelle had grabbed my rare treat: sprite in a bottle. The only reason I looked over is because she was saying "Memanade!" (lemonade) Little snot. That's mommy's memanade.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkJxk6w4_xvzzU_uQVCRrFXwXc5o-FRECas3wCqyqans5acNS4wgNlZOZZMzfx7RqUnDo6J1WkNTvFGivL2_Imicv5winsfYqCCv5W9_AXZEpYOYEHttZaQAC5ZLES7F-jeybp-2Nc23ot/s1600/Photo-0109.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkJxk6w4_xvzzU_uQVCRrFXwXc5o-FRECas3wCqyqans5acNS4wgNlZOZZMzfx7RqUnDo6J1WkNTvFGivL2_Imicv5winsfYqCCv5W9_AXZEpYOYEHttZaQAC5ZLES7F-jeybp-2Nc23ot/s320/Photo-0109.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Our pool has opened, and I've only braved the crowded waters twice. The second time was much better because most of the people who were there had already harassed her enough the first time we came. That adorable suit is a love-me-down from our sweet friends who moved back to the States. Today as Joelle was walking in the kiddie part, she got silly and put her face in the water- and came up coughing but then cackled and said "Mommy! water... nose!" </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlYPVuyfK7VUN8DacfZ8MlsFHHXrqV7X09I7fgYLJweRZuFFPq0EyeJmUJU1FcvVFP8tZO86elTIthhvKuMTSsnTM02NbQLHWh6FECcXAUUtDrOMeVZjvyYxerlvDJcD8M42kfF8zRoJLb/s1600/Photo-0110.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlYPVuyfK7VUN8DacfZ8MlsFHHXrqV7X09I7fgYLJweRZuFFPq0EyeJmUJU1FcvVFP8tZO86elTIthhvKuMTSsnTM02NbQLHWh6FECcXAUUtDrOMeVZjvyYxerlvDJcD8M42kfF8zRoJLb/s320/Photo-0110.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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After swimming in our pink cover-ups: </div>
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My co-teacher, Laura. This girl is wild and funny and silly and blunt. My breath of fresh air every day.</div>
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Ah, my classroom. The best part of it so far has been letting them earn fake money for a week and then using that money to go shopping in my "store". They bought water guns, remote control cars, pool floaties, water balloons, candy, suction-dart guns, girly things and some small stuff.</div>
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<br />Girl, you got the look.</div>
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A rare treat, made possible from several coincidental things coming together: first, I made bread. The next day we went to an import store and we bought butter, sliced ham (WHAT?!) and we were given three giant blocks of Velveeta cheese just two weeks ago. (Thanks, girls) </div>
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Ham and cheese melt.</div>
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I hid while I ate it so I didn't have to share.</div>
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garden's coming along....</div>
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<br />All of my students over for fried chicken and a lot of other American goodies. We were given a deep fry-er and thanks to that, we cooked up this meal in just a few minutes!</div>
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Bought these chairs with "family planning" in mind. The adoption is moving along steadily, we hope to be matched with our boys soon. Jojo loves her puzzle floor map...she has yet to find Ethiopia on the map, but she can find China and America! haha</div>
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As a side note, Joelle can string three words together now, "Mommy! hurt! sorry." (for after she is too rough) or "Addian! kuai lai" (Come quickly, Adrian)</div>
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As I'm writing this I'm just now realizing just how bilingual she already is- wow, it gives me goosebumps!</div>
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Kids here start kindergarten when they are THREE years old... I just hope she is fluent by then to understand her teacher and friends.</div>
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This picture below has the potential for a thousand funny captions. To me it looks like she just "layed an egg" but layed a dog instead. Or the dog is saying "Thanks for cracking my back, kid." oh the possibilities.</div>
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<br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/create/button/" class="pin-it-button" count-layout="horizontal"><img border="0" src="//assets.pinterest.com/images/PinExt.png" title="Pin It" /></a></div>The Handshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04238413205593456248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-998981695564351361.post-28254278919636806482012-07-13T08:34:00.000-04:002012-07-14T01:25:21.021-04:00Why despise motherhood?In light of our pursuit to adopt, I've been reading as much as I can and sharing our news with every one. My heart has been devastated by people's (not our family) reaction to the idea of adoption. <br />
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These are the most common reactions:<br />
<em>They aren't your own children, you can't love them like you love Joelle</em><br />
<em>Aren't adopted people bad people?</em><br />
<em>You already have one child, and that's enough</em><br />
<em>One person can't take care of three children</em><br />
<em>If you want more children, you should just get pregnant again</em><br />
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The last one is particularly hard to swallow, seeing as our last round of failed fertility treatments was only six months ago. But, honestly, it's only hard because it's so recent... our despair has slowly given way to the understanding that God simply has something better for us.<br />
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The thing I can't understand is not just their ignorance of the beauty of adoption, but how parenthood is generally <em>despised. </em>And it's not just here in China- a lot of American families have more cats than children, and I've heard a thousand-too-many-times "Stay at home mom? What a waste of a college degree!"<br />
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It is a growing trend among women to <em>not chose</em> motherhood, so of course <em>adoption</em> is just plain absurd. <em>I don't even want to raise any natural born children, let alone someone else's child! </em><br />
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Women of God need to come back to a Biblical view of our role in life. Society has told us that a career and "following our dreams" are the admirable things in life, but the Lord says that the woman who rises while it is yet night and provides food for her household <strong>surpasses all others</strong>. The movie <em>Eat, Pray, Love</em> very much encouraged women to abandon all responsibility in order to "find yourself". Ladies: find yourself in God.<br />
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Now, I admire working women- I <em>was </em>one and enjoyed it and at times I miss it. But I wonder if the incline in all the problems we are seeing in young people today is in any way linked to the incline of women who push back "starting a family" in order to concentrate on their career? I'm not speaking out against child care, but can we really be surprised to find out that our children have gotten into all kinds of trouble when they have been being raised by a stranger for 8 hours out of the day?<br />
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When I think about my own mother, I consider her to be a woman who had the best of both worlds. I often find myself bragging about how she has started businesses and a ministry from the ground up- but she was <em>not</em> a woman who despised motherhood. So much so that she decided to become a mother to two children who were not "her own". She and my father adopted my brother and I and MADE us "their own." She put aside her career to stay home with us and help us walk through very troublesome years. She did not let strangers at day-care or the T.V. guide me in my impressionable years. My sister is a lot like that. She works as a nurse so she and her husband can have two incomes but works nights so she can stay home with her four children during the day. I'm pretty sure she moonlights as wonder woman on the weekends.<br />
<br />I also think about my friend, Emily, who just had her third baby and recently blogged about how she went about her Saturday like any other day cleaning, playing and all those full-time-mommy things. Emily does not despise this season of life- quite the opposite. She <em>prayed </em>for these days of no sleep and round the clock feedings to come.<br />
<br />When we asked Scott's brother what he thought of taking custody of the five children we hope to have one day (even though he already he has four of his own)if something ever happened to us he said, <em>Doesn't the Bible say that it's a blessing to have a quiver full? </em>Well, Jason and Shanna, you'd have about two quiver fulls. haha<br />
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Why should we let a secular, depraved world define what a woman's role in society is? The world tells us "SOW YOUR WILD OATS! <em>Find yourself!</em> See the world before you settle down, because once you have children, it's all over!" (ahem, my child was born in Thailand and has already traveled and lived in <em>three</em> countries. Myth busted) Realize it is the voice of the serpent that is hissing, "<em>your talents are being wasted on keeping house all day!</em> "<br />
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Pregnancy, childbirth, the toddler years and teenagers are not easy, but if we despise these years it will start a near-unbreakable cycle. I once read, "Raise your children, or you'll raise your grandchildren."<br />
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Women all around me try to encourage me to find a nanny to stay with Joelle so I can go to work. Luckily for me, I don't have a college degree so I can't get paid enough to cover the cost of a nanny! (how's that for making lemonade out of lemons?) But even if I was a rocket scientist, I was counseled by women older and wiser than me that these years of wiping noses, cleaning spaghetti off the ceiling and Little Einstein's reruns are the years that matter most.<br />
<br />This is the truth: no one cares enough about your children to love them with discipline. Believe me- I worked in child care a loooong time. I disciplined my classroom for the sake of my <em>own sanity</em>. But I discipline my daughter because I can look into her future and know that if she learns a love of the law <em>now</em>, she will crave it as an adult.<br />
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I hope you will cherish motherhood <em>however</em> it comes to you.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/create/button/" class="pin-it-button" count-layout="horizontal"><img border="0" src="//assets.pinterest.com/images/PinExt.png" title="Pin It" /></a></div>The Handshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04238413205593456248noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-998981695564351361.post-23913993890978161362012-07-09T08:41:00.000-04:002012-07-09T08:41:34.976-04:00First Ever: Cell phone photo dump!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Some of my favorite posts to read on my friends' (or complete strangers that I think are interesting) blogs are cell phone photos so I decided it was time to dump my cell phone (since it's full) and spread the joy.</div>
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This photo is from way back last winter. They pile the clothes on kids and even when I think "holy cow she's going to have a heat stroke" my neighbors shame me into putting on another layer. Finally I said<em> fuhgedaboutit</em> and plopped her wrap-around sleeping quilt in the stroller, then put her inside it. It's seriously like a sauna sleeping bag. But were they happy with my oven-on-wheels? no.</div>
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Not a great photo, but I took it the day after our plane flight from America back to country- it was three days before Christmas. Those suitcases behind/beside her are full of Christmas decorations, and we unpacked them all and had three whole days of fa-la-la-la-la.</div>
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Goats head, anyone? Lunch? Supper? No? C'mon, the eyeballs are still intact. Sorry about the ears, though. Gotta come early for them.</div>
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Look, that man is so strong he pushed that car over all by himself. oh wait...</div>
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Back in February we went back to Bangkok (where Joelle was born)- here she is remembering her roots and munching on some beloved mango. </div>
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While we were in Bangkok we went back to Cafe Fish- remember this place, Mom and Dad? They came when Joelle was born and stayed a month and we loved this place's fish n chips! Joelle likes it too much- she got too excited and lost her shirt. (Hey, it's Bangkok. Who are we going to see that we know?)</div>
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Poolside in Bangkok, Joelle loving pomegranate juice and wearing my shirt to avoid a sunburn. Thanks, Dad!</div>
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Chiangmai, Thailand- mom has discovered pigtails. </div>
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Back in country- loving playing on the concrete playground. </div>
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Scott and Joelle hanging out at the Starbucks in Guangzhou. We went to Guangzhou to go to the American Embassy to file the paperwork to get our boys from Ethiopia! </div>
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In a truck on the way to go pick strawberries. </div>
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She's fancy.</div>
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The secret to a bilingual child. Seriously, she's looking intently at a Chinese-English dictionary. ha. Please don't notice that it's upside down, that'll just ruin it for me.</div>
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This was taken just yesterday- I wanted a picture and said "JOJO! SMILE!" and she seriously looked at me and cheesed it for a milisecond- and I got it. oh mercy, this child makes me cackle. </div>
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A few nights ago we fired up the grill for our friends. I love how a casual dinner turned into a night of impromtu p&w, fellowship and of course, a little silliness.</div>
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Joelle's names for every one are hilarious: </div>
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"Macy", "Nanul", "Sooti", "Noooora" and "Ee-ah"!</div>
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"smell-no-evil" joins "speak- no- evil", "hear- no- evil" and "see- no- evil"</div>
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Don't know how that (above) turned into this (below) </div>
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The boys ignored us while we captured the silliness on camera.</div>
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happy!!</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/create/button/" class="pin-it-button" count-layout="horizontal"><img border="0" src="//assets.pinterest.com/images/PinExt.png" title="Pin It" /></a></div>The Handshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04238413205593456248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-998981695564351361.post-76650145967134157392012-06-26T03:17:00.001-04:002012-06-26T03:17:47.627-04:00Just another day in paradise<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Welcome to a typical day in our home:</div>
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snuggle the unwitting dog</div>
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help mommy <strike>get the entire kitchen wet</strike> wash the dishes </div>
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"Mommy, you told Daddy you didn't want to be in the picture... but here you are!"</div>
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Thanks, hon.</div>
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a little <span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">roof-top pool</span> action </div>
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homemade sausages and fresh veggies on the grill.</div>
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a game of ultimate Frisbee, if it's Saturday</div>
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playing on our balcony</div>
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try to scare mommy to death with your obsessive need to conquer all climbable objects </div>
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taking time to find the joy in a rainy day </div>
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mommy didn't plan ahead, so it's watermelon for lunch </div>
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and spinach. I'm NOT kidding. I blanched several batches of spinach to include in my morning smoothie and Joelle asked for some... and proceeded to eat it<u> hand over fist</u>.</div>
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# 1 reason I made my own baby food:<strong> she makes healthy choices like this now!</strong></div>
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And if there's still enough day-light, we'll explore a new part of the city.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4C5EcgZDJCDHzCpUKb4noX_yLa0IHtVWeBKyC0mv1EPHL6FTvsrfWYhOlOYSvtqZYM_phq3ZaFCRnUtDcsXBF3z6P6s5TBAT10hHJLBxBF0gwrxZn0sVTZXUIdVchtnDcWhhn_X59lknh/s1600/DSC07162.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4C5EcgZDJCDHzCpUKb4noX_yLa0IHtVWeBKyC0mv1EPHL6FTvsrfWYhOlOYSvtqZYM_phq3ZaFCRnUtDcsXBF3z6P6s5TBAT10hHJLBxBF0gwrxZn0sVTZXUIdVchtnDcWhhn_X59lknh/s320/DSC07162.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/create/button/" class="pin-it-button" count-layout="horizontal"><img border="0" src="//assets.pinterest.com/images/PinExt.png" title="Pin It" /></a></div>The Handshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04238413205593456248noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-998981695564351361.post-38711939507210959962012-06-22T20:48:00.001-04:002012-06-22T20:48:46.742-04:00Happy Birthday Christine!! (Written by Scott) If you could put a tape recorder in our house you would hear an extreme variety of things. You would hear words of affection and honor; you would hear lots of laughter (especially from our daughter); you would hear occasional arguments, disagreements, shouts, and tears; you would hear conversations about our future, raising children, our work here, and adoption; you would hear lots of the Andy Griffith Show, Friends, Psych, and every Disney movie known to man, and you most definitely would never hear silence. :) So, Christine, in honor of your 27th birthday, I've compiled a list of your "greatest hits" (i.e. things you say the most around the house). These are not necessarily in order of most frequent, but they're pretty close.<br />
<br />10) "Do you have to go potty?" (said to Joelle, not me :))<br />
<br />9) "Let's go outside and play!"<br />
<br />8) "I made a new friend today." (at the market, on the bus, in the downstairs courtyard, etc.)<br />
<br />7) "I saw this recipe on Pinterest I really want to cook tonight."<br />
<br />6) "Guess what I read in the Bible today?"<br />
<br />5) "I need a hug."<br />
<br />4) "Wow this stinks!" (said to both Joelle and me, I'll let you decide to whom she says it more) :)<br />
<br />3) "I have an idea for a new project!" (a new dress for Joelle, a new plant for the garden, a way to improve the house, etc.)<br />
<br />2) "DADDY'S HOME!!!"<br />
<br />1) "I love you."<br />
<br /> Christine, today on your birthday, I want you to know that you are so loved by your family, and we are blessed to have you as a wife and mother. You are an amazing woman who constantly impresses everyone you are around. You have many gifts and talents, the best of which is the happiness you bring to our home.<br />
<br />Happy Birthday! I love you<br />
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/create/button/" class="pin-it-button" count-layout="horizontal"><img border="0" src="//assets.pinterest.com/images/PinExt.png" title="Pin It" /></a></div>The Handshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04238413205593456248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-998981695564351361.post-47178630732021426532012-06-21T23:04:00.002-04:002012-06-21T23:04:48.997-04:00Celebrating Father's Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Mothers Day</span> and <span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Fathers Day</span> have become<em> favorite holidays</em> ever since the Lord sent the stork to our house.</div>
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Parenthood is blessing and a miracle. Not only is it just filled with humor, discovery and much sanctification, it gives ust joy to think of my own earthly fathers!</div>
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Here is a picture of these two knuckle-heads enjoying Father's Day breakfast (eggs, biscuits and bacon). Look closely and see our four-legged daughter refusing to be left out, haha! Do you REALLY think he's going to share his bacon, Adrian??</div>
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and look at my child prodigy... already writing!</div>
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Ever since we started getting to know eachother, Scott has always expressed his desire to be a father. I love that he was the 'strong one' when we realized it wasn't going to happen easily for us but still cried with me over every negative pregnancy test.</div>
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...He was appropriately giddy when we finally got a positive test! And appropriately ADORABLE when she was finally born:</div>
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When this little bald baby started stealing my snuggle-time with this man, I just couldn't be mad.</div>
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And it's safe to say he ALWAYS steals my snuggle time with HER! </div>
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No one gets her cacklinghappy like he can!</div>
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I love how we're growing together in parenthood. It has changed us so much- and I always tell Scott that I wish he would just.grow.up...but you know? I think I take that back. Well... except could you please keep doing chores around the house? Now that I've gotten used to it, I don't think I can go back.</div>
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But in every other way, I don't want either of you to grow up! You're so fun to watch. I honestly don't know how you can handle the burden to provide for us and then have the energy to come home and goof off like you don't have a care in the world!</div>
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Happy Father's Day, Scott! Joelle has told me her favorite things about you, and here they are:</div>
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1. All of her nicknames, which are: BoBo, Jujubee and Smobobee (don't ask)<br />2. How you fix her breakfast on days you don't have an early class</div>
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3. How you throw her up in the air and we all wonder if she will return to earth</div>
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4. How you play hide-and-seek</div>
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5. How you help her to obey all the rules (well... she'll thank you for it one day)</div>
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6. How you love her mommy unconditionally</div>
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7. How you explain to strangers that babies don't like to be smacked in the face :-)</div>
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8. How you read her a bed-time story from her children's Bible each night</div>
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9. When you put on Laurie Berkner videos and she can "marching-marching"</div>
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10. How you cheer her on in everything- even going pee-pee in the "pobby".</div>
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Happy Father's Day, Scott!</div>
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ps. You're right: lists are better in increments of ten.</div>
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<br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/create/button/" class="pin-it-button" count-layout="horizontal"><img border="0" src="//assets.pinterest.com/images/PinExt.png" title="Pin It" /></a></div>The Handshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04238413205593456248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-998981695564351361.post-56691372709116461972012-06-14T10:41:00.001-04:002012-06-14T10:48:32.665-04:00Party on the Roof!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
The end of the spring semester means SUMMER is coming, but it also means that a lot of our fellow foreign teachers will be going back home to America for summer vacation. SAD FACE!</div>
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So as a last <em>hurrah </em>we gathered for a cook-out on the roof of our apartment!</div>
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Slushy-punch:</div>
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frozen lemonade, apple juice, orange juice, peach slices, a mashed-up banana and lemon slices.</div>
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A summer time drink for Brittany.</div>
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Getting all the tables set up...</div>
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Cooling off the drinks in true red-neck fashion: in tub of ice. Really. That's Joelle's tub.</div>
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Is it really ever a party without devilled eggs?!</div>
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So there is a story to the green water. It's not scooped out of a pond.</div>
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I saw this cute picture of a jug of water with colored ice cubes, so I thought I'd try it.</div>
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Apparently my ice cubes couldn't hold their color, so my beautiful plethora of teal, pink and yellow ice cubes turned into pond scum. SAD FACE!</div>
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I loved the atmosphere. Some of our friends will be moving to Shanghai or will be staying in America and we will miss them so much! This was a great way to say good-bye.</div>
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Ah, how we have missed having a grill. Thank you CHRIS AND KAREN for selling it to us. We're making sure it feels like part of the family.</div>
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What a blessing this group has been. We prayed for the Lord to bring fellowship into our lives and He answered that prayer abundantly!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6qeUvkK0sVFTHy7e5NF5CDFT81TCcnL1PIRI6q4CW4Tji_QyXqpTSnfJ1CDmHi8Ldd4XBqohybuuRTMbk7cLG0iyUDFJIBXOOzPUBEUX5j9cLtiS2916rZPEqRFCHyipkGb6Gwi9kr870/s1600/DSC06926.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6qeUvkK0sVFTHy7e5NF5CDFT81TCcnL1PIRI6q4CW4Tji_QyXqpTSnfJ1CDmHi8Ldd4XBqohybuuRTMbk7cLG0iyUDFJIBXOOzPUBEUX5j9cLtiS2916rZPEqRFCHyipkGb6Gwi9kr870/s320/DSC06926.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/create/button/" class="pin-it-button" count-layout="horizontal"><img border="0" src="//assets.pinterest.com/images/PinExt.png" title="Pin It" /></a></div>The Handshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04238413205593456248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-998981695564351361.post-65413537297161530052012-06-12T03:02:00.001-04:002012-06-12T09:26:47.437-04:00Apartment Farming<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Thanks to my sister and her wonderful package of vegetable/flower seeds, I was able to start a little garden on our balcony. My dream home would have about 10 acres of land for all this tomfoolery, but I have a cute little balcony and it'll do for now.</div>
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Things have come a long way since I started the seeds in the eggshells a few weeks ago- everything but the rosemary is transplanted and growing!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAbPX4pbqsxkf4WrSylNUYxG66PSKZoKGUDnrXQ8sCCMzT9-CjKXEM7QypsiMLSFMBMYiDuxhzedUQHJ2iwYnwOeqS6BSF-s1CA_1wh4la5a2gvicqm_0hyphenhyphenga7xDS30obpDesGtjMgXTwH/s1600/DSC06800.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAbPX4pbqsxkf4WrSylNUYxG66PSKZoKGUDnrXQ8sCCMzT9-CjKXEM7QypsiMLSFMBMYiDuxhzedUQHJ2iwYnwOeqS6BSF-s1CA_1wh4la5a2gvicqm_0hyphenhyphenga7xDS30obpDesGtjMgXTwH/s320/DSC06800.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Chives:</div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYogzOMJA-LLQWgf5_zd7kY_yVUA3O_3eAhCOelkN_vSShDoC3bq-8gWBzUwhBkhK-uuDbGCCU3qoFol8JsFZ_uVyBgFqq6lO-aLXZtiIDHZNZUh90WEDyUQqvnvv8_BVAp-j9qljMjuBS/s1600/DSC06844.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYogzOMJA-LLQWgf5_zd7kY_yVUA3O_3eAhCOelkN_vSShDoC3bq-8gWBzUwhBkhK-uuDbGCCU3qoFol8JsFZ_uVyBgFqq6lO-aLXZtiIDHZNZUh90WEDyUQqvnvv8_BVAp-j9qljMjuBS/s320/DSC06844.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
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Summer squash: </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3inLWcDuN0jMF7OTTNHhwfRlde8HjOgariNNU9GtXb2ur6a40DVxn-9H69KnuPphlzwXj_QSfMjn277xg5okHgK4SQEzMgeorlZbn6Gadb6hEN7QWT9XeMa8xt7XkCmnhMlNuRo4xSVJL/s1600/DSC06851.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3inLWcDuN0jMF7OTTNHhwfRlde8HjOgariNNU9GtXb2ur6a40DVxn-9H69KnuPphlzwXj_QSfMjn277xg5okHgK4SQEzMgeorlZbn6Gadb6hEN7QWT9XeMa8xt7XkCmnhMlNuRo4xSVJL/s320/DSC06851.JPG" width="212" /></a></div>
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Petunias: </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTM3ayZlGEuBIODueXhvLOBlNhmwySNEetpg4da2ZCEDmgt0FypBsi3H5ClXnEsOoMRjQwKo50QFfYTbo-RF6KyyNqAdFUXq7ihIdgBgIqxhpcLgO0gOtXMPSOD6AbO33CoUqZMEiF5-jk/s1600/DSC06858.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTM3ayZlGEuBIODueXhvLOBlNhmwySNEetpg4da2ZCEDmgt0FypBsi3H5ClXnEsOoMRjQwKo50QFfYTbo-RF6KyyNqAdFUXq7ihIdgBgIqxhpcLgO0gOtXMPSOD6AbO33CoUqZMEiF5-jk/s320/DSC06858.JPG" width="212" /></a></div>
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Sweet Basil</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY1el4quk3SytLckqgxDF58OqgDm6hKjBxJkyYE_sB9bj0irJfK6xMHeUAQQuibNC081dM8O_-SKhQStUUyaKBBDv1s8Ovyc8S72CCkSQBb8paGzPov7yOJOkv_uY2gOHe_-rZ33ritNpv/s1600/DSC06996.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY1el4quk3SytLckqgxDF58OqgDm6hKjBxJkyYE_sB9bj0irJfK6xMHeUAQQuibNC081dM8O_-SKhQStUUyaKBBDv1s8Ovyc8S72CCkSQBb8paGzPov7yOJOkv_uY2gOHe_-rZ33ritNpv/s320/DSC06996.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Thyme: </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN6dF_pz7DgBwilnZ9yy2jdrAYflZsxRBo18vw4aQgef5M7_6dXYAzR18tSRrA-6R6bjzV7gU7MYVmPu-WhSz75A5woQU_Pmj4Ioke3unSrW5SdxbXlhiDncWNJApLta3hjLc5TT5ZnIOn/s1600/DSC06998.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN6dF_pz7DgBwilnZ9yy2jdrAYflZsxRBo18vw4aQgef5M7_6dXYAzR18tSRrA-6R6bjzV7gU7MYVmPu-WhSz75A5woQU_Pmj4Ioke3unSrW5SdxbXlhiDncWNJApLta3hjLc5TT5ZnIOn/s320/DSC06998.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Squash/cucumber trellis:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYYiNGHLjbSt2I7adUqerYyapX_cjFUz6XAH3fbURfDsTsLto4efY1SFNXPsue9EWc2tWG5eZcghFFSbIiivbLEqcMF8zJBTejWLV-y4YgHGS4jL5Dn4lx_hyphenhyphenjX4ZScW98HD3tnGadhFFE/s1600/DSC06861.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYYiNGHLjbSt2I7adUqerYyapX_cjFUz6XAH3fbURfDsTsLto4efY1SFNXPsue9EWc2tWG5eZcghFFSbIiivbLEqcMF8zJBTejWLV-y4YgHGS4jL5Dn4lx_hyphenhyphenjX4ZScW98HD3tnGadhFFE/s320/DSC06861.JPG" width="212" /></a></div>
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The afore-mentioned squash and cucumber: </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBO9tFDDzMS20Qe6Ncf4I3HmapMTaakjat_AkOdTOLu6iHFhB_c7gkRJ1FNGY-jfFgiQC_h9t3k5MerMWWEySxDtU10nlbk_vYtyS_t8boVAT9I8DIUmzE-N7G-ZwRk9Eq-SoalbE3Hjey/s1600/DSC06993.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBO9tFDDzMS20Qe6Ncf4I3HmapMTaakjat_AkOdTOLu6iHFhB_c7gkRJ1FNGY-jfFgiQC_h9t3k5MerMWWEySxDtU10nlbk_vYtyS_t8boVAT9I8DIUmzE-N7G-ZwRk9Eq-SoalbE3Hjey/s320/DSC06993.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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A little visitor we had this afternoon:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlknkBpgJbmlG4b8-7u_iQ4TGoAYetKacnJtfZ-jaEY-29kEshUqKj6ShVqQYMgN0a2TN8oaudctyEgaED7NNndlJVvF9KjgXc9poXtWxwo2D84Yle6eYl5fGV1kupl-84vjPomci9pI59/s1600/DSC07028.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlknkBpgJbmlG4b8-7u_iQ4TGoAYetKacnJtfZ-jaEY-29kEshUqKj6ShVqQYMgN0a2TN8oaudctyEgaED7NNndlJVvF9KjgXc9poXtWxwo2D84Yle6eYl5fGV1kupl-84vjPomci9pI59/s320/DSC07028.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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By the way: butterflies? only pretty from far away. Close up, they are aliens with giant powdery wings. My camera took these at 1/1250th of a second. I love my Sony a580!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhitfS14w-O9llb_GMKERNYofvpCxLnClcG5AU36HhLXnU-PR6XW5mdt1P0nPhB9IHrgi41_CTej_IJqCXNuU4PNmmBh4w9FZHqdop7-LGacURAbSf8_RrOWB17wmgoMMTOiQfreGc1P66r/s1600/DSC07073.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhitfS14w-O9llb_GMKERNYofvpCxLnClcG5AU36HhLXnU-PR6XW5mdt1P0nPhB9IHrgi41_CTej_IJqCXNuU4PNmmBh4w9FZHqdop7-LGacURAbSf8_RrOWB17wmgoMMTOiQfreGc1P66r/s320/DSC07073.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Also growing on my balcony are:</div>
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jalapenos</div>
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sweet banana peppers</div>
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thyme</div>
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basil</div>
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oregano</div>
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sweet peas (the flower)</div>
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cherry tomatoes</div>
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Parsley</div>
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Shasta daisies</div>
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All of this is mostly a way to get Arianne to come over and hang out with me! We'll get our goats and chickens one day, Arianne!</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/create/button/" class="pin-it-button" count-layout="horizontal"><img border="0" src="//assets.pinterest.com/images/PinExt.png" title="Pin It" /></a></div>The Handshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04238413205593456248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-998981695564351361.post-5072011413170827702012-06-08T21:30:00.000-04:002012-06-08T21:34:52.678-04:00Potty Trained!!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
I've put off telling the good news until Joelle went a whole day without an accident, and that was yesterday!</div>
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It started just for fun about a month ago when we were sitting her on the big potty if she she told us she was 'going'... when it seemed she was constantly aware she was about to "go", we got her a kiddie "pobby" (as she says) and took a layed-back approach to letting her sit on it if she wanted. She took to it quickly but if #1 or #2 didn't come out immediately, she would only sit for a microsecond and then get up- only to make little Lake Joelle's elsewhere in the house!</div>
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So I figured she needed to sit and let her muscles relax, so we brought out the timer and make her sit for 5 minutes. We still have lots of false alarms and she will sit for 5 minutes and not go... but she'll learn to read her body better soon. I'm sure she'll be in nap/nighttime diapers for a while yet- she's only 18 months old. But two diapers a day? I'll TAKE it!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhj2RLHxkt26IkUQutk2otwRlSZps85gp-LCGPLQjxevtXwwV_K-v1OZ3MeP8XtF1PUC4qkwePuW-t78ZF7EnhrcZuCAovv6MFQu4Ln5rw74zJRRq4c7b4JwwKLAsf-_F5SC_ByEqtzMbz/s1600/DSC06874.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhj2RLHxkt26IkUQutk2otwRlSZps85gp-LCGPLQjxevtXwwV_K-v1OZ3MeP8XtF1PUC4qkwePuW-t78ZF7EnhrcZuCAovv6MFQu4Ln5rw74zJRRq4c7b4JwwKLAsf-_F5SC_ByEqtzMbz/s320/DSC06874.JPG" width="212" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQs65KMikWxM_Z5WhnGDRUy3xGMh3mWKue5N3ZplOblEwis8zFyQQ0-cdM3fqPAKocUTwwiB2X87XkUL9b_z19htmdmEIL7bUxwUN_HHDgaEAw32kX2PFD41HoV4ct8ODpu_xqRKmWFx-h/s1600/DSC06875.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQs65KMikWxM_Z5WhnGDRUy3xGMh3mWKue5N3ZplOblEwis8zFyQQ0-cdM3fqPAKocUTwwiB2X87XkUL9b_z19htmdmEIL7bUxwUN_HHDgaEAw32kX2PFD41HoV4ct8ODpu_xqRKmWFx-h/s320/DSC06875.JPG" width="212" /></a></div>
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The five minutes were like agony to her (and me) so I put up alphabet stickers so we can sing the ABC's each time, and I also put some paint in a zip-lock baggie to play with.</div>
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I have to say, I learned an important lesson in perseverance. One day I was not feeling well and I just wanted to slap on a diaper and put her in front of the TV with a bowl of granola- but she was so insistent when she asked to sit on the "pobby" that I gave in and sat with her 21 gazillion times while she tried. It was THAT day that she really got the hang of getting there on time, sitting until she was all finished and even learned to wipe #1 and throw the tissue away. I can't believe what I almost missed out on by being lazy!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbyr0BS3LtsgHkabUs7YYjD_jo6DY9Zekz6fycb6SWgzrS3GkE5xwKwGxA6A_SI5AwuO7pLAQVhWP9QbH8Y2wK25ZRTBSN5xhdFep1AuNzR6er95Hj6KTlkuW68YZEmW7SGjluapjH58Zf/s1600/DSC06886.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbyr0BS3LtsgHkabUs7YYjD_jo6DY9Zekz6fycb6SWgzrS3GkE5xwKwGxA6A_SI5AwuO7pLAQVhWP9QbH8Y2wK25ZRTBSN5xhdFep1AuNzR6er95Hj6KTlkuW68YZEmW7SGjluapjH58Zf/s320/DSC06886.JPG" width="212" /></a></div>
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Hopefully this post isn't a huge jinx! Way to go, Joelle! ... now to find tiny pairs of underwear...</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/create/button/" class="pin-it-button" count-layout="horizontal"><img border="0" src="//assets.pinterest.com/images/PinExt.png" title="Pin It" /></a></div>The Handshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04238413205593456248noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-998981695564351361.post-8266004454943874622012-06-04T11:41:00.001-04:002012-06-12T00:01:48.168-04:00What happened on Rawhide DriveWhile we were in America last fall/winter I finally decided I was ready to go back to an old foster home.<br />
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I was moved there when I was six or seven and lived there until I was nine. Oddly enough, I remembered the street address and even how to get there without MapQuest when we got close enough. I haven't seen that place in 18 years, but my memory had preserved everything perfectly.<br />
<br />As Scott drove the car into the neighborhood and I told him what street to turn on, I couldn't decide if the pounding in my heart was excitement, fear, rage or curiosity. What would bring me back to this house? What was it about <em>this</em> foster home that made me so thirsty to see it again? <br />
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My family knows some of the details of what happened on Rawhide Drive. Sometimes I need to talk about it but I can see that some stories are too hard to listen to. This was an unhappy home. Over and over my husband asked why I wanted to go back.<br />
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<em>Closure.</em> If I could see the place again, remember more of what happened... maybe I could make heads or tails of it and close that chapter in my life and move on. But no matter how I looked at it, I couldn't make heads or tails of it. <br />
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It's true I wasn't a normal child. I didn't know how to "play like a girl". I got in trouble every day for spitting on my friends or putting mud on their clothes. I didn't know how to do homework or what to talk about in a group of friends. I had been exposed to sexual behavior and therefore mortified children and adults alike when I brought it up in conversation. I wasn't trained or coached that certain things were embarrassing. This foster family was not prepared to handle a child that did everything wrong. <br />
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On my first day of school, I followed all the other kids in the cafeteria line, silently put the food on my tray but craned my head to see where the line was going. I was horrified when I realized everyone was taking their tray to a lady who sat with a machine on a table, the kids handed her something and then she let them go sit down and start eating. I watched carefully as the girl in front of me hand something to the lady, trying to see what it was- knowing I didn't <em>have</em> <em>whatever it was</em>- and then could barely mutter "I don't have any of that" when the lady held out her hand to me. <br />
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"What?!" she barked at me. I swallowed, "What that girl gave you... I don't have any." The woman shook her head and then waved me away, "<em>Bring it tomorrow".</em> I had been sent to school without lunch money; but I imagine that's a easy mistake for any parent to make. Later that day, I watched as the other students went home when their parents came to pick them up until I was the only one left in the classroom. Finally someone walked me, terrified and tears dropping down my face, out of the classroom and told me I would have to wait in the lobby for my mom-- (I chimed in there to say I didn't <em>have</em> a mom)-- and we were almost in the lobby when I saw her walking briskly toward me and saying "Look at those alligator tears!"<br />
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In this family, the last person to finish eating had to do the dishes. It was usually me- I had to finish what was on my plate and I hated lima beans. I was washing the dishes one night and took a fork to a particularly stubborn baked-on mess and without warning was knocked to the ground. She stood over me and screeched about how I had ruined the pan by scraping it with a fork. <br />
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Things like that started happening more and more until it was every day I was shrinking back from a raised hand or shaking in my room when the door slammed and the yelling began. <br />
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And now, eighteen years later, I was standing there, willingly looking at the home that held all this horror. Everything looked mostly the same, maybe a little more run down. As I stood there looking at the window to my old room, looking where the wood pile was that we used to shoot our BB guns at, remembering where I kept pet chickens in the back yard, I was <strong>so unsatisfied</strong>. Where was my <em>closure</em>? Knowing I would probably never come back again for a second attempt, I decided I had to do the unthinkable: go knock on the door.<br />
<br />Scott was dumbfounded. How could I face the man and woman who did these things? he asked. I could barely answer him a satisfying reason. Seeing this home wasn't enough to help me move on.<br />
I started walking toward the front yard, wondering what in the world I would say. I was at the front walk, <em>how do I even introduce myself?</em> Up the stairs to the porch, <em>they're going to pretend like it never happened. Maybe I will, too.</em> Nothing left to do, I knocked.<br />
<br />No answer. Knocked again, this time a little more desperate. I couldn't believe it- yet why should I be surprised. Who lives in one house for that long any more? Even if they lived there, it was noon on a week day.<br />
<br />At this point I became desperate. Somehow, talking to someone from my past seemed like something I HAD to do- my last chance was to go to the neighbors house. Up the hill lived the Preseley's- their son and I were the same age and we played together almost every day. I convinced a flustered Scott to let me at least say hello, so we knocked.<br />
<br />An older-than-middle-age man answered the door and waited for us to say something. "Are you Mr. Presley?" I asked him. To my astonishment, he nodded, "Yes, I am."<br />
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At that point my mind raced with possible explanations. I couldn't start by saying "Hi, I'm Christine! Remember me?!" because he's never known a Christine. My name was <em>Genny</em> back then... but I haven't been called <em>Genny</em> since the 7th grade so I can't say "Hi! I'm Genny!"<br />
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I told him I used to live down the street with the D---'s and they were my foster parents, and that I had come back to visit them but they weren't home. <br />
<br />The poor man stood at the door and kept it cracked open just enough to be seen, wondering if the terror of the neighborhood was back to kill everyone. I explained a little more, "My name was Genny, my brother and I used to come play with Jason all the time... but I only lived here for three years... maybe you don't remember me..." I trailed off, hoping for him to say something.<br />
<br />He only said "Yes, yes I <em>do</em>, I remember you." He didn't open the door any further. He told me that the D--'s had divorced and moved away right after we left, hadn't heard from them since. <br />
<br />
I was wrought with disappointment. My last hope to connect with a fading past life had just been snuffed out. I tried to engage him a little in conversation, introducing Scott and Joelle to him, asking where his son was now, how he was doing. But, his dog came to the door and wiggled out, which gave him the opportunity to say excuse himself and say goodbye. <br />
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Scott walked silently next to me and reached out to hold my hand as we walked back to the car. The older-than-I-remembered neighbor was still ambling after his runaway dog.<br />
<br />I got in the car and Scott slowly started driving away after I assured him I was ready. As we drove away from my old home, the well-expected tears finally came. He let me cry for a long time before asking me to tell him what I was feeling.<br />
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What an impossible question. I was both relieved but furious that they weren't there, angry again at remembering how I was treated, disappointed that my old neighbor was so flippant about seeing me again. I wanted Scott to turn the car around so I could scream at him, <br />
<br />" I'm okay! I was finally ADOPTED! and my mom and dad LOVE me<strong> so much</strong>. Look at me, LOOK AT ME, I'm okay! After all I went through I'm <em>OKAY </em>and you should be thrilled to see me all grown up with a good husband and a healthy baby girl, living a normal life."<br />
<br />But we had already driven out of the neighborhood, so I kept all my screams to myself.<br />
<br />So where is my closure? <br />
<br />
Part of if comes from writing this, finally able to talk about the visit to my foster home. Part of it comes from raising my own daughter. Kissing her boo-boo's, rushing to her after a bad dream and being her coach and cheerleader in everything she does somehow makes me feel like I'm saving my own childhood. <br />
<br />
But those are only a small part of the healing. In my opinion, I'm not sure we can be totally healed from a childhood such as mine. I HAVE cast my burden on the Lord and my anger and bitterness have melted almost completely away.<br />
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But I'm waiting for the day when I am not terrified of the same thing happening to my daughter. I'm waiting for the day when I can think about my childhood and not feel the hurt, shame and abandonment give me a lump in my throat.<br />
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That day will be when I see Jesus face to face. These awful memories won't follow me to heaven, nor will any pain and suffering or tears or heartache. I can't feel abandoned because I'll be in his presence forever from that day on<br />
<br />
My closure is in Heaven.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/create/button/" class="pin-it-button" count-layout="horizontal"><img border="0" src="//assets.pinterest.com/images/PinExt.png" title="Pin It" /></a></div>The Handshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04238413205593456248noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-998981695564351361.post-91779127776691299952012-06-03T09:50:00.000-04:002012-06-03T09:50:27.754-04:00Playground advice?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTZRvZintV4QPuzdQ4sLfclmEsfA1a0o9GPHDYIV9Hxsfu4dHavYUztP9g5fVsXgFPrKfLjACkKzneYJSL1pYnLK1kLqnfCmLCakKpEjEEc_VzGcjS4eqFl-9ojsP8Uf8euQZsqqzHLyg2/s1600/DSC06421.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTZRvZintV4QPuzdQ4sLfclmEsfA1a0o9GPHDYIV9Hxsfu4dHavYUztP9g5fVsXgFPrKfLjACkKzneYJSL1pYnLK1kLqnfCmLCakKpEjEEc_VzGcjS4eqFl-9ojsP8Uf8euQZsqqzHLyg2/s320/DSC06421.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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We have a playground just a few meters outside of our building and now that Joelle's gross motor skills have caught up to her independent and adventurous nature, we go out and play as much as we can.</div>
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I don't have a problem with letting her take a few non-life-threatening risks on the playground BUT I am a hovering mother-hen when it comes to her interacting with the other kids. </div>
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Kids are MEAN.</div>
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Kids here seem to be meaner because they can do anything in front of their mother and get away with it. The one-child policy has created a phenomenon we call the "Little Emperors"- spoiled, rotten and overall violent, unhappy children that scream and beat their mother in public and then are given what they were screaming for. Watch out, I'm sure this is coming soon to America, too... not because of a one-child policy, but because of a lack-of-common-sense policy. I digress.</div>
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I often find myself removing children's fingernails from another child's face or comforting a child just pushed down the stairs and have my eagle eyes out for the child who dares to cross this American mama bear by laying their hands on Joelle.</div>
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So far, the children are enamored with her white skin and yellow hair calling her "Snow White little sister" and "Barbie doll little sister"- though they do tend to touch her face much too much, nothing bad has happened so far. But I know how children are, and I am not ignorant of the fact that bullying can be so much worse for the child who is different than every one else.</div>
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How should I react to bullying? How do I balance teaching Joelle patience and forgiveness with self- defense? Do moms in the states also worry about what happens on the playground? How do you deal with the mom of said bully? How do you have the self-control to not go around just giving away free spankings to all the brats AND their lazy mothers? (haha)</div>
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I can't help but feel sorry for myself because the trouble of bullying is complicated because of a language and culture barrier; I pulled two children apart on a slide and chastised a boy for pulling a little girls hair and an onlooker said "oh, you are compassionate." with an amused smile.</div>
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If I ever see Joelle doing anything, even raising her hand like she's even <em>thinking</em> about hitting, she goes straight to time-out and then must give a hug when time-out is over. Common sense, right?! sheesh.</div>
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Anyway, enough about my worries. Look how cute she is playing on the play ground!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihuIkQZ1AKSn_hjWZ-HAosC2zSQfUg5pal-dTTcsRgm2EizZlc5aXTPSxcxx2ID0abdRTz9K3cXOd5hdl2-FAi3QglDpywYPtWiF3JBPxoUuzgFffHRNMhjZalvFyE2WBlaiVM8jT98eqw/s1600/DSC06449.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihuIkQZ1AKSn_hjWZ-HAosC2zSQfUg5pal-dTTcsRgm2EizZlc5aXTPSxcxx2ID0abdRTz9K3cXOd5hdl2-FAi3QglDpywYPtWiF3JBPxoUuzgFffHRNMhjZalvFyE2WBlaiVM8jT98eqw/s320/DSC06449.JPG" width="212" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzeWhyphenhyphenUyMc1gNY1MswejenFiKfOQCny6ruZJK9i2JJTxd5FoTcgHwj3xhvJ-6ekjKLWxo7HQ0QznU5oFUnhScWx0nM33d7EVDHhzdIynTgTOdIhGD1VOuAIdi24vyV3YS2CXc7AONWqZtU/s1600/DSC06462.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzeWhyphenhyphenUyMc1gNY1MswejenFiKfOQCny6ruZJK9i2JJTxd5FoTcgHwj3xhvJ-6ekjKLWxo7HQ0QznU5oFUnhScWx0nM33d7EVDHhzdIynTgTOdIhGD1VOuAIdi24vyV3YS2CXc7AONWqZtU/s320/DSC06462.JPG" width="212" /></a></div>
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<br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/create/button/" class="pin-it-button" count-layout="horizontal"><img border="0" src="//assets.pinterest.com/images/PinExt.png" title="Pin It" /></a></div>The Handshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04238413205593456248noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-998981695564351361.post-54583051857760742962012-05-21T08:53:00.000-04:002012-05-21T08:53:55.316-04:00A funny story...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
involving a low counter and a sneaker toddler:</div>
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