Born at the Right Time

My Blog Is Moving Too

2009-06-29T15:32:00.000-07:00

Because I just can't get enough of moving, I'm moving my blog too. "Born at the Right Time" no longer quite captures where I want my blog to go and where my focus is now that our adoption process is done but the story of our family goes on. So please join me over at:

http://LivingTheEpilogue.com

Please update your bookmarks and RSS readers, and feel free to put me on your blogroll or share the link with others. And I'd love for you to comment over there so I know you found me.

One note: You'll notice over there that just for the sake of privacy/safety, I'll be a bit more vague about some things. In particular, I'm not sharing as many details of Anna's life—and I'll be referring to her as AJ or the Joygirl, so please try to use those nicknames. And I won't be linking from that blog back to this one, although I will leave this one active for some time to make sure all my readers find my new place.

Thank you for following this blog over the last three years, whether the news and posts were interesting or I was in a slump. I hope we can have even greater conversations over at Living the Epilogue.

—Wendy

A Letter to My Church

2009-06-28T10:30:00.000-07:00

To our brother and sisters, our friends and our family in Waldport:

The time has come to remember, to celebrate, and to part ways. Our time here has come to an end so that you may walk into a new beginning. Our epilogue is the new beginning of what God is doing next here in this place, through you and in you.

We are grieving our separation from you as deeply as you are grieving us. But we must turn to the next thing, becoming single-minded as we stretch and begin the next leg of our race, and so must you. Yes, this is difficult. It was not for no reason that the apostle Paul called it “straining” toward the goal. It is a strain. It is difficult. Yet we press on.

We are grateful to you for countless moments shared talking, laughing, crying, praying, eating, playing, working, and singing. We are grateful for your help and hospitality, your patience and forgiveness, your love and affection for us and our daughter. Truly we could not have asked more of a congregation. But as we prepare to step away, I ask one thing:

If you love us, feed these sheep.

Feed the children and teens and young adults who come to church, and the ones who don’t. Feed the Frontline kids, the Young Life kids, the graduates, and the younger siblings. Feed their parents and their unplanned babies. Feed the hungry and the stuffed with overconfidence; the talented and the awkward; the go-getters and the do-nothings; the thinkers, dreamers, in-betweeners. Feed their leaders all the support, resources, and encouragement they can hold.

Feed them with Oreos and soda and pizza and chips. Feed them Mondays before Club and Sundays at Frontline. Feed them a sandwich at the game, lunch out just to talk, or a holiday feast in your home. Feed them the next day with the leftovers you sent home.

Feed them the Word, with Scripture that never changes in language they can understand. Feed them words of recognition and encouragement in the grocery store, at the car wash, on the street. Feed them the Living Word by being the Christ who gives rides to town, who helps with financial aid forms, who simply knows their name. Be Christ with your presence where they are competing or performing or just plain being.

You can do this. You can make a difference. You are ready.

We have taken many steps together, but you can go on in this work without us. God is with you. He will make a way. “He will not let your foot slip—he who watches over you will not slumber” (Psalm 121:3).

And so, as the time draws near, I am finding rest in remembering that Jehovah Jireh, the God Who Provides, is also the Prince of Peace. He will make the way, and He will be present to comfort us when the road seems long and the distance great. And so, dear friends,

For this reason I kneel before the Father, from whom his whole family in heaven and on earth derives its name. I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the saints, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.

Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen.

(Ephesians 3:14–21)

He is able, and I know you are willing. I can’t wait to see what He does with you next.

Blessings—

Wendy

Let's See How Far We've Come

2009-06-27T20:48:00.000-07:00

2003

2004
2005

2006

2007
2008

2009

Wordless Wednesday

2009-06-24T07:30:00.000-07:00

Like the One You're With

2009-06-21T21:01:00.000-07:00

I love that I really like my husband. Twelve years of marriage, and we're still havin' fun.

This year we even got to be together and have fun on our anniversary. Happy #12 to us!

P.S.: Obviously we were only about twelve when we got married—or I was, anyway—because I got carded today. Ha ha!

Friday Face

2009-06-19T16:50:00.000-07:00

Warning: Nostalgia on the Loose

2009-06-18T18:51:00.001-07:00

I have to warn you: I'm having a lot of nostalgia issues lately, and pretty soon they're going to leak into this blog.

I'm also turning into our friend Bob, voted Most Likely to Cry During a Young Life Function twelve years running. I'm at graduation—getting misty. I'm in church—teary. I'm interviewing a pastor candidate—blinking a lot and losing the battle anyway. I'm telling my daughter we have to say goodbye to everyone for a long time and it will be sad, and I'm the one who needs a hug. You can imagine the disaster that was me reading Aaron's final church newsletter column.

We're three weeks away, and I still don't know how to say goodbye.

Wordless Wednesday

2009-06-17T10:08:00.000-07:00

All That You Can Leave Behind

2009-06-14T21:06:00.000-07:00

There goes about a third of our belongings.

I'm ~~gonna miss that stuff~~ so glad it's gone.

And to the people who took the remaining free junk we left at the end of the drive: God bless you most of all.

One Car and One Metric Ton of Junk

2009-06-10T20:57:00.000-07:00

Okay, I admit, I have no idea what a metric ton is, but I'm sure we've got one--and on Friday we'll be spreading it all over our yard. We will create a cozy living room scene out front, since almost all the furniture is for sale. And because we're classy like that.

We are selling about half our furniture, or so it feels. The goal is to leave Oregon with an equal or lesser amount of stuff than we brought. The size of our rental truck demands it. We are alternating between feeling good calculating what clunky things we've gotten rid of and freaking out as we consider the (lack of) size of our truck. I think we'll be okay. We need to be okay. (Tell me it's okay?)

Monday night Aaron put the For Sale sign on our Suzuki, "the buggy." Tuesday he ran some errands and a woman practically begged him to sell it to her right then and there in the Staples parking lot. She drove it, she went to the bank, she came over and bought it. Voila! That was easy. And perhaps it was a tad too cheap, because we got two more calls about it after that. But we're glad to have it done and cash in hand.

We might as well start getting used to being a one-car family again. I haven't gone anywhere this week, but who wants to wager how long until we run into a driving dilemma . . . OH CRAP, THE ANSWER IS SUNDAY. D'oh!

Would anyone like to loan my husband a scooter? I think he'd look cute on it.

Wordless Wednesday

2009-06-10T08:29:00.000-07:00

Graduation Matters

2009-06-06T20:22:00.000-07:00

Saturday in early June: graduation day in Smallport.

Funny hats. Crepe paper. Lame metaphors. Overfrosted cake. It seems like a lot of hype for something everyone’s supposed to do, doesn’t it? Most people these days do get their high school diploma. Where I grew up, most kids were heading to four-year colleges. High school graduation wasn’t the achievement; it was just a step along the way.

Then there’s all the clichés. A whole new beginning—really? The most significant day of your life—really? If these graduates are going to go out and change the world, how come after all these years it hasn’t really changed much?

Yeah, I’m trained to be cynical about graduation. But I also remember: for some kids, graduating really is a major achievement. It really is the end of their education, and it may be the point after which they’re on their own—and in this world of postmodern adolescence and this town of poverty and drugs, a lot of them have already been on their own in too many ways for too long.

I graduated with over four hundred others, and families were not supposed to cheer when our names were called, because the band members’ fingers were already cramped from playing “Pomp and Circumstance” twenty times. Only those who were trying to be funny or thought the rules shouldn’t apply to them dare violate this edict. Everyone just wants to move on. We took it for granted.

In a small town and a small school, graduation is different. Here there are about fifty graduates, and the ceremony is open to all. Every graduate’s name is on the wall. Every one appears in the senior video, their cute baby photos and awkward middle school days and greatest sports achievements fading into each other over John Cougar Mellencamp and Green Day. And every one gets their moment of applause and whoops from the crowd when their name is called. We pause. We let each one have their moment. We join in, because even if we are not family, when we come together in the old, echoey gym, we are community.

When these community members—not your parents—were the only ones cheering for you at your game, at your play, at your poetry reading, their cheers for you now matter.

When you are first in your family to earn a diploma, graduation is a big deal. It matters.

When you walk with a baby in your arms, commencement is a victory. It matters.

When you have difficulty learning, a diploma is a prize. It matters.

So today, we cheered. We cheered for them all: for Chatterbox and The Playmaker; for the cheerleader and the guitar guy and the computer geek; for the valedictorian and the one who almost didn’t pass; for the one everyone in town knows and the one who wonders if anyone would miss him if he were gone.

They deserve it.

They matter.

Congratulations, class of 2009.

She Speaketh

2009-06-05T13:52:00.000-07:00

Anna has been having Early Intervention sessions for her speech for three months now, so I thought I'd give an update.

Judy comes every other week and plays for about 45 minutes. Obviously Anna loves her! She brings puzzles, books, blocks, crayons, and other toys that are very interactive so she can encourage Anna to use words to indicate what she wants and so on. Mostly I think she's training me to interact this way.

Anna has made a lot of progress. When she was first tested I made a list of words she said consistently without prompting and it was maybe 50. About a month ago I listed a bunch more. This time before Judy came I made another list, and I was amazed how long it was. I didn't count, but it might have been 50 more, and she's putting together more phrases.

In the last couple weeks she has really gotten into using people's names. She can identify and say several colors, a bunch of letters, and of course her favorite condiments. She can count to ten.

It's amazing what you can learn when you start talking, eh?

Next visit Judy is going to do a mini re-evaluation of Anna's language development to see how her scores now compare to her first test. Normally they wouldn't do this until a couple months before she turns three, at which point she enters a different phase of the EI program, but since we're moving, this will give us some sense of her progress.

I plan to contact the Michigan program, and I'm sure they'll want to do their own evaluation. Their system appears to be similar, so if she still needs help when she turns three, she might be able to go into a group learning situation, like a focused preschool program, which I think would be good for her since she's not getting that social aspect much now. We'll see.

Wordless Wednesday

2009-06-03T15:49:00.000-07:00

The First Day of What?

2009-06-01T15:23:00.000-07:00

My calendar has got to be broken. Tell me it's broken.

It says this is the first day of Holy Crap! month, more commonly known as June. Its exclamatory nickname is favored in our house, though, because we can see the end (or the next beginning) from here.

Thirty days. Four weekends: graduation, garage sale, Beachcomber Days, our good-bye party.

Then my parents will be here, and we'll close on our house sale and drive away. We have a truck reserved and plane tickets purchased. (My mom and I are taking the red-eye with a toddler and a carry-on cat and a cargo-checked dog. Lord, have mercy.)

Aaron's work is winding down. We are selling his car. Closer to the move we'll get rid of my van.

We are having a ~~garage~~ moving sale on June 12 and 13, 9:00 to 3:00. We are accepting volunteer labor if you'd like to help out!

We are downsizing as much as possible to get everything into a reasonably-sized moving truck. It's amazing how much we can get rid of without missing it, even though we had a huge sale less than three years ago. Aaron recently found some crusty spices of midwest origin in the cupboard, and we decided that no food that moved here with us should move back. The same rule should probably apply to my wardrobe.

But hands off my books!

Back to work . . . sorting duty calls.

Birthdate Reversion

2009-05-28T16:01:00.000-07:00

Or: Why Adoptive Parenting Is Weird Sometimes

Remember our daughter's January birthday? No, you don't. You can't. You mustn't. Forget anyone ever said anything about January. This is not the birth date you're looking for.

Once upon a time at the end of our pre-child days, we received that most remarkable of phone calls, the one telling us we had a daughter waiting a world away. It was April, and she'd been born in December. On the very day we had delivered our completed dossier to the agency, in fact. What a story!

Oh, but there was more to story. Well, actually, less. That birth date was just an estimate and the orphanage doctor didn't think she could be that old when they took her in. We were told to consider her a month younger, January birthday. Okay, Ethiopian Christmas baby, that's cool.

Ah, funny story . . . (not really). There's this little thing in adoption called paperwork. Actually it's such a big thing that it consumes your life almost as much as an actual child, but I digress. The important thing to know about this paperwork is that the parts of it that come from another country may well be full of typos and translation errors and contradictory facts like, oh, say, two different birth dates. So while Anna's medical records show a January 2007 birth date, everything else says December 2006: adoption decree, Ethiopian birth certificate, visa, and so on. We've been observing the January date, but anytime I have to be able to actually prove it I have to remember to say December because that's what's on paper. Confusing and occasionally embarrassing (you don't know your kid's birthday, lady?).

So to make a short story boring (too late), I thought I could get these reconciled when we did the Oregon readoption process. A lawyer is now working on our readoption papers, and he says that there is no clear-cut process for changing a birth date, so while we have a shot based on the existing medical records, the court might refuse. We could try again with perhaps a new doctor's affidavit, but there's no guarantee on that either and, well, do you know how much lawyers charge for this kind of thing?

At this point we need it done--so there's no confusion as we get new insurance, doctors, etc.--more than we need to spend all kinds of time and money on the chance we can get the date moved one month. It just seems a bit silly to fight for now that we're measuring her age in years. And really, isn't it more fun to celebrate before all the Christmas hoopla makes you feel like if you have to deal with one more present or social gathering or baked good, your New Year's weight loss will start off with gagging on the birthday cake?

Still, it's weird. We're deciding our daughter's birthday? After we've celebrated it twice? Obviously she doesn't understand time well enough to realize this is a change, but someday she'll find out. The really difficult question to answer is why no one really knows her birthday. . . . Having no story of her to go with that day is one of the harder things for me to accept and figure out how to explain. But it's the reality that we will just have to grapple with one year at a time.

All that to say . . . hey, did you know our daughter's birthday is the exact day we dropped off our dossier? Cool story, huh?

Mark it down: DECEMBER. There is no January. If you send cards in January, we will tell her you are tardy and senile.

Born at the right time . . . whenever the heck it was.

Wordless Wednesday

2009-05-27T10:06:00.000-07:00

Book Review: The Unlikely Disciple

2009-05-26T08:13:00.000-07:00

Full disclosure: I got this book for free from the publisher by offering to review it here, which I did because I wanted to read it. My first foray into blogger whoredom, some might say. Will shill for books! But I will always state clearly if I received something for blogging about something.

I did a crazy thing recently: I read a book. I mean read it, for fun, at my leisure, in places other than in front of my computer, with no red pencil or tracked changes in sight. Hey, for a person who edits books all day and often doesn’t want to see another printed word by the end of the day, unless the alternative is dealing with a fit-throwing toddler, finishing a book is a major accomplishment. Happily, Kevin Roose gave me a story that made me want to keep reading: The Unlikely Disciple: A Sinner's Semester at America’s Holiest University.

Kevin Roose was a student at Brown University in Rhode Island, which is the academic and philosophical opposite of Jerry Falwell’s “Bible Boot Camp,” Liberty University, or by conservative Christian standards, “a notch or two above Sodom and Gomorrah.” But after visiting Falwell’s church in the course of a job, Roose was frustrated that the “God Divide” between himself and the evangelical students he met seemed so great. Were they really so different? Or just living in separate worlds?

Roose noted a study showing that 51 percent of Americans don’t know any evangelical Christians, even casually. And neither did he. (But before you rush to judgment on that, churchy folk, how many liberal non-Christians hang out in your bubble? Most of us are guilty of sticking with those most like us.)

So what did he do? He crammed on Christian literature and music, B.S.’d Liberty’s application essays with Christian lingo, and registered for classes at Liberty as his “semester abroad.” Undercover, of course. (Cue suspenseful music and situational hilarity.)

Let’s just say that his experience gave new meaning to baptism by immersion. Roose lived in a dorm, joined the Thomas Road church choir, learned acceptable substitutes for colorful language, and started spending Friday nights at Bible study instead of at parties or watching R-rated movies. He visited a group for guys struggling with, um, certain temptations, and he even landed a face-to-face interview with Jerry Falwell, which turned out to be Falwell’s last.

As you might imagine, plopping a secular liberal into a lot of these situations is a recipe for tension and humor, and Roose writes with plenty of snap and wit as well as honesty, charity, and thoughtfulness. I really enjoyed the sharp humor and storytelling and would recommend this book for those qualities alone.

But The Unlikely Disciple is more than just a fun book with a clever premise. I think there is real value here for the Christian who is willing to consider, “If that’s how outsiders see Liberty, how do they see me?” If someone went undercover to your church, how would they experience it? Are we making our faith into a bubble, and if so, how can we let outsiders in—or better yet, step out of it ourselves? After all, if there really is a “God Divide” in America, God’s people should be the ones trying to bridge it. Kevin Roose showed that it can be done, because on a personal level, the divide is not so great after all.

The one criticism I might have of the book is that it purports to reveal evangelical culture without clearly defining what an evangelical is. If it's the broad standard of someone who believes the Bible and calls themselves “born again,” evangelical includes me, but by Liberty's strict standards I'd flunk out. I mean, I’m a Presbyterian—a conservative one who takes the Bible seriously, sure, but not one to take it all literally as they do at Liberty. I’d consider myself evangelical but not a Liberty fundamentalist—and I’m guilty of looking askance at Falwell and his style of fundamentalism and politics from the outside almost as much as Roose.

So a little more nuanced definition of terms would probably make the broad spectrum of Christianity clearer for Roose and his readers, but then again, that’s the point—at Liberty there are only two kinds of people, saved and unsaved, and they’re not likely to consider you saved unless you meet all the criteria of conservative evangelical (really fundamentalist) theology. But what Roose says of Liberty is just as true for all Christianity: “Once you dig under the surface, Liberty is every bit as messy and diverse as any secular college, and lumping everyone on this campus into a single category seems irrational and simplistic.” Indeed the same goes for any group—secular college students, those of a different political party, those of any certain age or generation. Roose’s peek into life at Liberty gets its wallop from his outsider-gone-underground perspective, but his best contribution to the cultural conversation is illustrating how the same we all are at the basic level.

And if Roose can convince at least a few secular liberals and a few conservative fundies to give each other a chance, at least one of Jerry Falwell’s prayers will be answered: that Kevin Roose would enter journalism “in key places where he can make a difference in the culture.” He’s certainly on his way, and I’ll be watching to see what he does next.

Kevin Roose’s blog: http://www.kevinroose.com/blog/

Kevin Roose on Twitter: http://twitter.com/kevinroose

Liberty in the news last week: LU pulls the plug on campus Democrats

Memorial Day

2009-05-25T17:02:00.000-07:00

Today I:

wrote--for me, not work.
called my grandfather and thanked him for serving on a Navy PT boat in WWII. He downplayed it as just something millions of us did but I think was happy to remember it. Only 4 of the 15 guys from his group remain to share memories.
took a two-hour nap. Oh, glorious day!

If anyone would like to declare tomorrow a holiday as well, I would totally be up for a repeat.

I Fight Authority

2009-05-23T08:42:00.000-07:00

Authority always wins.

Wordless Wednesday

2009-05-20T07:25:00.000-07:00

Pre-Summer Saturday

2009-05-19T17:15:00.000-07:00

Saturday we took Anna to the local kids' fishing derby. We didn't fish, but Anna did:

play some games

get her face painted

try to decide what she thinks about cotton candy

and of course bring home some balloons and little plastic junk toys. Most of them have mysteriously disappeared while she's sleeping. It's the darndest thing.

It was such a nice summery day that we all went to the beach at sunset, something I don't do nearly enough. Anna now yells, "BEACH!" with a toddler accent that sounds as if she's calling me a mean, overbearing woman. (Maybe I am, but that's no way to talk your momma.)

Sunday and Monday nights were the last Frontline and last Young Life Club, but I'm not emotionally capable of describing them just yet. For now I'll just say they were packed and special.

Tonight: semi-improptu grown-up geeks with no life American Idol party here. The Dark Horse versus the Prince of Darkness showdown seemed as a good a reason as any to eat ice cream with our YL leader peeps. BYO phone.

Recent Progress

2009-05-15T08:45:00.000-07:00

I thought I'd give a house and moving plans update on this fine Friday morning:

We had our house inspection yesterday. It took for - ev - er and I had Anna and the dog out and about, shopping, etc., the whole time. Tiring! But I don't expect any problems from the inspection, and we should know today if the buyers' loan is all set, so in a couple days we should know for sure that we are on our way to our early July closing date. (As a side note, we thought we might be getting a second offer to consider if the first didn't work out, but then we didn't hear anything on that. And that's fine.)

We are making progress on moving plans. My parents are flying out to help us pack up, then the ladies are flying home and the guys are driving the truck across the country. Pretty sure we girls are getting the better end of that deal, although we are taking the cat and dog with us, which could make things a bit, ahem, hairy.

I have figured out what health insurance to buy for us and how to avoid the dreaded preexisting condition waiting period. We are not COBRA eligible and can't risk a gap in coverage, so this was essential. The bad news is that what I expect us to spend in premiums, deductibles, and copays is more than I earned last year. Get me a sign: I literally will work for health insurance. (Rent, food, shoes, etc. are so overrated.)

Last weekend I was freaking out because I realized that if I did Anna's readoption papers myself, they might still be in process when we moved, and then I might not get them back to do the next step or it might be a mess with us no longer living in the state. But Michigan has completely different rules and it seemed risky to try to do it in a different state than she came home to. Ack! I decided to call a lawyer to do the readoption for us. It is costing us a chunk of change, but I am relieved to have a pro doing it and to know the time will not be an issue because he'll handle it.

Moral of the story: DO NOT procrastinate!

Yes, this is the moral of almost every tragic tale I tell. Obviously I don't listen to myself.

On the docket for today and the next few days:

hair session with Anna
get readoption papers to lawyer
community kids' fishing derby and YL car wash tomorrow
last Frontline of the year Sunday
last Young Life of the year Monday
finish up some work and start sorting for a massive moving sale!

What's that about procrastinating? Time to get a Round Tuit!

Wordless Wednesday

2009-05-13T08:26:00.000-07:00

Recasting Mother's Day

2009-05-10T17:59:00.000-07:00

Mother’s Day has simple and good intentions, but for many it is a difficult day. Many feel unworthy of it, and many wonder why there’s no day for them. Indeed, the cards and commercials can make it seem like a day for none of us—for who could be so perfect as these sanitized, sparkling, fake families?

In the midst of the myth of Hallmark perfection, let us also remember those often hurt or forgotten on Mother’s Day:

The women who have lost a child--born or unborn, young or old, an only or one of many, recent or long ago but not forgotten . . .

The women and men who have lost or never known their mother . . .

The women who want a child but are still waiting, and those who will never be able . . .

The women who want to adopt but are still waiting, and those who will never be able . . .

The women whose family members don't recognize their motherhood or children as "real" because they came via adoption or marriage or they don't look the same . . .

The mothers who placed their children for adoption and struggle to find their place in their lives, and the mothers who did so secretly and silently endure the condemnation of "I don't understand how any woman could do that" from those who have never even tried to understand . . .

The mothers unknown around the world whose children have journeyed to America without them, their identities lost and too often forgotten . . .

The single mother who feels blamed for society's ills . . .

The lesbian woman whose motherhood is scorned as second class . . .

The woman who regrets her abortion . . .

The woman in the depths of postpartum depression who despite her best efforts, at this moment regrets her baby . . .

The women whose daughters endure abuse and whose sons rot in jail . . .

The women and children and orphans who live on $1 a day while we spend $1.5 billion on throwaway cards . . .

The women who are not called mom but take the time to bake her brownies, go to his games, staff the nursery, take her underwear shopping, vote in school board elections, send birthday cards, attend graduations, chaperone trips, walk to the well, and work for peace . . .

Women who feel they don’t fit, women of complex stories, women of the real world . . .

This day may not be easy for you, but you are remembered, and you too are worthy of honor.

To all the women who have loved me and those I love—thank you for blessing my life and our world with your love.

Partly inspired by this blog post: "For the Childless Woman on Mother's Day" by author Vinita Hampton Wright

Why do we stand for it? World AIDS Orphans Day

2009-05-07T16:36:00.001-07:00

Today, May 7, is World AIDS Orphans Day. I've written before about HIV/AIDS and the 40 million reasons to care.

Today I'd like to point you to a post by Erin at Full House, Full Hands and ask with her: why do we stand for it? An excerpt from her post:

In the United States, if a child loses a parent to accident or illness, it is considered a terrible tragedy. Such stories are covered by the media, communities mourn and show their support, etc. In Sub-Saharan Africa, parents dieing is a normal part of life. It is still a terrible tragedy for those children, but it happens so often that no one else really pays any attention.
And do you know what makes this really, truly horrible? Do you know what makes my gut twist and my heart ache? HIV IS COMPLETELY TREATABLE.
If a person contracts HIV in the United States or another country where there is treatment readily available, they have an excellent long term prognosis. Most HIV+ people receiving treatment now have close to normal life expectancies and can live in good overall health. With treatment, HIV+ children can be healthy and happy. They can go to school, grow up, go to college, have (healthy!) children, and live long enough to raise them and beyond. Without treatment, an estimated 50% of HIV+ children will die before the hit their second birthday. My Solomon was almost one of those 50%.
HIV does not have to be a death sentence, and yet for thousands of people every day, it is, because the world doesn't care enough to really do something about it.
Can you imagine for one minute if some terrible disease struck the United States (or whatever country you live in) and was killing thousands and orphaning thousands every day? Can you imagine if another country had treatment that could lead to good health and a long life, but it just was too expensive or too difficult or too much trouble to get that medicine to us? We wouldn't stand for it.
So why do we stand for it now?

Erin knows of what she speaks--her family has adopted two HIV+ children, and much of her life's work is helping finding homes for more. But at the present rate of apathy in the Western world, it will not be enough for many millions. If that doesn't sound right to you, I encourage you to check out her suggestions for ways to touch an orphan's life, starting getting educated about HIV and sharing that knowledge with whomever you can--be it two hundred church members, twelve blog readers, or just two friends.

Wordless Wednesday

2009-05-06T06:29:00.000-07:00

SOLD! One Thunderdome

2009-05-04T12:30:00.000-07:00

We have officially accepted an offer on the dwelling known as the Thunderdome.*

Can I get a yeeeeeeeeehaw!?

The offer came in Friday, and we signed it this morning with our agent. The price is a little lower than we were asking but right where we expected to end up.

But the most Providential? Instead of closing in the typical 30 days, thus causing us to be kicked out before we're ready to go to Michigan and have to effectively move twice, their offer was to close in 60 days. Right around July 5. We wanted to pack up and leave town around July 8. So we made an addendum with the slight adjustment of closing and being out of the house July 8. Perfect! (Or if for some reason they balk at that, close enough.)

Of course we have to pass inspection first. That should happen within a week or two.

Then it's time to start packing and sorting for a garage sale. Lots to do, but just knowing the house is taken care of is such a huge relief!

* Thunderdome explanatory note: I accidentally nicknamed our house this at Young Life camp. We were doing an activity one night that was being code/nicknamed “the Thunderdome” so the kids wouldn't find out about it. During cabin time one of the girls says, “I saw in your notebook something about the Thunderdome.” I immediately said, “That’s what we call our garage. Now as I was saying..."

I didn’t think before I said this (obviously), but I did have a reason: comedian Brian Regan does this bit about how ridiculous it is that people name their houses and why not your apartment or, heck, everything in it? (“Hand me the can opener.” “You mean . . . Umberto?”) Anyway, it got around that our house was the Thunderdome. After all, it is kind of dome-like inside with the crazy curved ceiling—and spaceship-like on the outside. It truly deserves a name.

Her 'Do These Days

2009-05-02T11:59:00.000-07:00

I tried a new hairdo on Anna the other day and I really like it, I think because having her hair back really shows off her little face. It's 8 cornrows from the bottom up to a puff. This versatility is why I'm learning to 'row! Just wish it didn't take me so long.

From a distance my cornrows now look almost respectable--to white people, anyway. (Ha!)

Moving Decisions

2009-04-30T20:24:00.000-07:00

For those of you tracking our pre-move preparations, here is your basic update (upgrade to excruciating detail available via phone or in person):

The other day Aaron and I actually took some time to chat (imagine that) and I felt like we made more decisions in a half hour than we had in two months. I think I will probably end up freelancing (although I would still explore any good opportunity, so if you hear of something, please do pass on the tip). I felt like Aaron gave me permission, even though he didn't need to because he's always been supportive, when he said, "Why don't you keep freelancing? You're already doing it and it will make so many other things so much simpler." And it will.

I think I didn't realize how stressed I was at the thought of "having to" find a job, figure out child care, etc., especially from a distance. It was all a bit much to think about at this point. We can always reevaluate once we're settled, but realistically I wasn't going to be able to have it all lined out before then anyway, so it was a pointless stress to self-impose. (Of course I still don't know quite what we're doing about insurance, so the underlying source of stress is still there, but I'm accepting that trying to get covered by a new job by the time Aaron ends his is not the answer.)

Under the work-at-home scenario, we should be fine with one car, which means we'll sell our Suzuki rather than having to move it across the country. Then we'll take my dad's Ridiculously Imposingly Ginormous (RIG™) pickup off his hands, thereby allowing him to complete Phase One of his master "How can I get a new truck?" plan and me to look like a miniaturized King Kong scaling its towering sides to get up into it. I'm thinking of attaching a catapult to the running board so I can more ergonomically heave Anna up into her seat. But hey, at least I will be able to plow through snowdrifts.

Finally, we determined that we should set a target date for moving so we can get a truck rented. We are aiming at right around July 8. I can't believe I just wrote that.

Maybe God was watching for some sign of decisiveness down here, because today we had people look at our house who actually seem interested. We hope that they are rich and get loan approved--or are not rich but will get approved like they are anyway. You know, like us. O dear sweet homeless baby Jesus, save us from this mess and we'll never borrow subprime again...

Heretical kidding aside, we sure are praying and hoping we get an offer we wouldn't want to refuse. Join us, and watch this space for updates . . .

HOLY CRAP 8:45 UPDATE: We are getting an offer tomorrow! Sounds like it should be solid . . . Woo hoo!

Wordless Wednesday: Old Friends

2009-04-29T06:10:00.000-07:00

Sha-na-na-na-nah . . . Get a Job?

2009-04-27T15:03:00.000-07:00

As I mentioned in my recent panicky post, we have less than three months till we put all our stuff in a truck and head east to become cemetery dwellers.

People ask me if I'm excited and I just don't know what to say. I was, and I think I am. I know I will be. But so much must be done first, and right now I don't quite know what I'm supposed to be looking forward to because so much is still unknown, particularly for me. Life in Michigan is in many ways a big, mitten-shaped, blank canvas.

We know where we're living (seminary townhouse), and I think being part of the seminary community will be interesting and good for us. But what does my actual day-to-day life look like? I do not know if I'm (a) getting up and editing two hours in my pajamas before taking my girl for a leisurely walk to the park to smell tulips before lunch, or (b) getting up and putting on stiff clothes I don't currently own and driving 45 minutes to spend 8 hours in a cube at some sort of Evil Spamway Corporation. There is a really big difference between the two.

Freelancing has its, ahem, prose and cons.

I would like to continue the freelance life, but I've never done it full time so I'm nervous about my ability to win enough bread (because health insurance/care will require a lot of extra bread). Yet a job would most likely have to have benefits to be worthwhile since it raises the issues of cars, commutes, clothes, and child care. But in our situation, with "preexisting" health issues, group health insurance is almost priceless, so I might have to take what I can find--if there are any jobs left in Michigan to find.

Another option would be for me move into a Starbucks and simply move from one side of the counter to the other depending on whether I'm working there or freelancing or sleeping. But I might build up an immunity to caffeine, and then I couldn't be a freelancer anymore. It's a rule. (Actually, though, I've heard Starbucks offers benefits and $4000 adoption grants. Hmmmm.)

There is some sort of break-even or tipping point between freelancing and a regular job. Freelancing is a better hourly rate, so a part-time job probably really doesn't make sense, although freelancing does require paying payroll taxes (which has never bothered me since we just had extra tax withheld from Aaron's pay to cover mine, but I'll have to pay quarterly again). But a job with benefits would be a different story. Maybe. Now we'd have child care and commuting costs to consider. So a lot depends on the particulars, but as I'm poking around online, I don't see any tailor-made publishing jobs just begging to be filled. Ten thousand new English major soon-to-be grads, plus half the auto industry, will probably see to that.

What do you think is the tipping point, dear readers? At what point is going back to a "real job" worth it--financially, emotionally, practically? What am I forgetting to consider?

Freelance and work-at-home friends in particular, what are your "wish I'd known that" secrets to making it work well enough to carry the financial load? If you've gone from job to freelance or vice versa, what have been the pros and cons for you?

Most importantly: which would make the best blog fodder?

How's the Honolulu Blue Kool-Aid So Far?

2009-04-25T15:04:00.000-07:00

I'm watching the NFL Draft (and working) without my man today because he's at a youth event until late tonight. So no party despite the Lions' dubious honor of picking #1. And no suspense either (until pick #20) since the Lions signed their #1 pick last night: quarterback Matthew Stafford.

And the fans' reaction? Let's just say they may have grown a tad cynical. Some quips from the message boards after the deal was announced:

The Detroit news is reporting that a 1,000 Lions fans have jumped off the Ambassador Bridge. They're doing all they can to save the people.
Stafford, let me introduce you to the wheel chair.
OK . . . well, welcome to Detroit, Matt! Now get rid of that damn curse and win us a super bowl . . . you have your hands full.
Congrats, Matt! If anyone knows how to lead a team to a championship that hasn't won since 1957, it's you.
Mr. Stafford, welcome to the Lion Nation. We are harsh, sometimes brutal, but loyal. Welcome to hell, rook!!!!
Congratulations, Matt. Now you have the time and money to take piano lessons.
Fan 1: "Hopefully now The Curse of Bobby Lane is officially over!" Fan 2: "For $78 million, something had better be over."
Stafford, welcome to the Lions--if you are a pro bowler and hall of famer, you won't get booed.
Can he be converted to a left tackle?
It's time for the rest of the league to prepare . . . for a Staff Infection!

And most disturbingly:

He will play in year one because I want to see my investment and my draft choice in action. Sincerely, William Clay Ford Sr.

Nooooooooooooo!

But hey, it's spring. Hope springs ~~delusional~~ eternal in for Lions fans. Anna says, "More Kool-Aid please!"

Or if you're not drinking the Kool-Aid yet, add your own smart-aleck quip below!

Awaiting pick #20 . . .

"We're Lions fans. The draft is our Super Bowl."

What Shall We Do with a Sickly Toddler?

2009-04-23T16:06:00.000-07:00

Anna's very "two" behavior has been much better since last weekend. Now I don't have to chase her down to feed her; I only have to chase her down with a ~~tissue~~ bucket to catch all the snot flowing out of her.

Wait--these kid things get sick too? And I'm supposed to do something? Sorry, I'm not that familiar with this part of the job description.

Whether it started with our germs or with allergies, what she has is now very much like what made Aaron and I miserable in succession over the past month: nasal congestion, runny nose, cough, general misery. And although I'd checked her temperature yesterday morning and it was okay, it didn't occur to me to check it again until her bedtime, when it was over 101.

At that moment I realized: My kid is really sick, and I have no idea what to do.

Anna has never really been sick. No fevers, ear infections, nothing. So I couldn't remember where the Fever Danger Zone starts. What's the rule on calling the doctor? If her fever is over 101? 102? Over 100 for 24 hours? Under 124 while watching 24?

Always nice to feel both helpless and clueless.

Fortunately it also occurred to me that hey, they probably make medicine for that, and I had some on hand that she can actually take now that she's over two. Gave her some and checked on her later--fever was down a bit by the time we went to bed and quite a bit when I checked her in the night. (I also got instant advice and assurance via Twitter--viva la connected world!)

Anna was pretty wilted and miserable again this morning but perked up a bit as the meds kicked in again and she got her fill of sweet, sweet mommy sympathy and Winnie the Pooh movies. Well, almost. She can never really get enough Pooh these days.

Perhaps I'll let her watch a little more while I read Mommying Your Sick Child for Dummies.

Wordless Wednesday

2009-04-22T07:08:00.000-07:00

Referral Echoes

2009-04-21T19:35:00.000-07:00

Anna with her referral picture
April 19, 2009

I think I'm going to take a picture of Anna with her referral picture every April 19 from now on to create a progression kind of like the school photos collection you have by graduation. Too bad I didn't think of this a year ago, huh? (Or before Sunday's post. Duh.) I think this would be a neat project with a first baby picture too.

Of course I couldn't get her to sit still and hold it up and smile all at once. But since there is a slightly different version of the photo on the back of the frame, she did eventually point at the baby for me. And kiss it. And try to eat it.

The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face

2009-04-19T14:07:00.000-07:00

Two years ago.

April 19, 2007

April 19, 2009

Happy referral anniversary, Anna Jubilee Yegetanesh.

As Bipolar as This Blog

2009-04-17T16:51:00.000-07:00

First of all, could this blog swing any more wildly from cute smiley pictures to melodramatic bemoaning? I'm sure you're hoping not. Thanks for bearing with me through my e-published mood swings.

Speaking of mood swings, miss Anna is being extremely two this week. In the words of a Seinfeldian keychain, Ho-leeey COW!

This started Easter Sunday, the first day since our trip that we had any real goings-on. I don't know if her tiredness caught up to her and/or she thought we were leaving that evening (as most Sundays) or what, but after her nap she was like thirty inches of saran wrap--would not stop clinging to me and melting down into tears for no apparent reason. She was only really okay when I was holding her; even Aaron would not do.

Monday, again, she was a mess in the evening. The biggest meltdown was clearly a control battle: she put her baby doll and Pooh bear in her chair before dinner, which was all fine and adorable until it was time to eat and she would not accept them moving so she could eat. I can testify to the strength of the chair's 3-point harness. Then she decided that life and food were fine and dandy and was so cheerful I even let her baby sit next to her while she finished her chicken fajita with ketchup (blech); hence the photo.

I know toddlers want control in a world where so much is out of their tiny little hands. I try to give her choices, but frankly, she's not very good at it yet. She wants it all or doesn't know what she wants. Do you want this or that? This! NO, THAT. THAT! THAT! THIS! THAT! THWAAAAAAAAAAH! So sometimes choices helps and sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes she blows a fuse before you can give her an opportunity to choose or do it herself. Looking for ways I can let her assert her independence harmlessly, though.

By the way, just how much cheese can a two-year-old eat before it ceases to be intestinally harmless?

I'm glad she seems to be settling down a bit here at the end of the week (knock on wood) because it is awfully tiring when every other meal, diaper change, step out of the room for five seconds yields a meltdown. Worse yet is when it can't even be traced to one of those things! She almost seems to just want to be held and even babied sometimes--a little regression going on. For example, she came along to Bible study with us Wednesday because I totally forgot to confirm a sitter, and she found a pacifier in the toys she dragged out from the nursery and sat on my lap sucking it for five or ten minutes. She didn't even use pacifiers as a baby but she knows what they are; her cousin we just visited uses one. So I held her and rocked her and told her she was my baby. You'll always be my baby.

I don't know that it has anything to do with this behavior (what would have triggered it in her right now, except maybe our trip away from dad, then back home away from grandma et al?) but this clingyness, plus coming up on two years since referral, reminds me that she is going to be becoming more and more aware of her adoption and we need to be talking about it and helping her understand it (as a two-year-old can). There are going to be times when she's feeling anxious or sad about it, though she might not know quite why, and needs those extra snuggles to feel secure that we will always be her family. That's a grace I hope I can always extend.

You'll always be a part of me
I'm part of you indefinitely
Girl don't you know you can't escape me
Ooh darling 'cause you'll always be my baby

Raise Your Hopeful Voice

2009-04-16T21:51:00.000-07:00

Today the song I needed came to me. Sometimes it is a gift to not be able to stop singing something. You may start believing. Or remembering you do.

We've still got time.

_______________________

I don't know you

But I want you

All the more for that . . .

Falling slowly, eyes that know me
And I can't go back . . .

You have suffered enough
And warred with yourself
It's time that you won

Take this sinking boat and point it home
We've still got time
Raise your hopeful voice, you have a choice
You'll make it now

Take this sinking boat and point it home
We've still got time
Raise your hopeful voice, you had a choice
You've made it now
Falling slowly sing your melody
I'll sing along

"Falling Slowly" by Glen Hansard and Markéta Irglová
(performed on American Idol by Kris Allen)

Wordless Wednesday

2009-04-15T08:13:00.000-07:00

Finishing Strong

2009-04-14T22:11:00.000-07:00

Winter is over. Lent is over. Spring break is over. My trip is over. Easter is over.

And thinking about this the other day, I proceeded to FREAK OUT for just a few minutes.

Why? Because regarding all the many things which must be done and figured out for this whole "move across the country for seminary" thing, I am in exactly the same place as just after Christmas. Or so it feels.

Yeah, we have the house on the market (but few lookers and no sign of offers). We applied for financial aid. And I just suckered my parents into agreeing to take our pets, unless of course one of you wants them.

Other than that? I haven't sorted and packed much of anything. I haven't done Anna's readoption. I don't have any money saved. I don't have a clue how we're going to find, let alone afford, health insurance. I don't have a job or lucrative new freelance leads. I don't know if we need one car or two. I don't know how we're moving all our stuff (and car--or are we selling it?). I don't know how to rent out our house or when to decide if that's what we have to do or if I'd better hurry up and refinance it while Aaron has a job. We don't have a pastor to make leaving seem okay. And I don't know how to say goodbye.

Nine weeks of school. A few more weeks of wrap-up. Boxes, a truck, a plane, a townhouse . . . and what? What am I doing with myself over there in Michigan anyway?

I don't actually have a clue, and I'm kind of freaked out when I think about it. But I don't want that to be the defining feature of my home stretch in this place. I don't want to rob our youth group and Young Life kids by being so infected with my own form of senioritis that I fail to be present as they wrestle with theirs. I don't want to be so obsessive about research and details for the future that the present morning's gone, and then the week, before I've let my daughter go outside and blow bubbles. I don't want to stop caring what happens next to our church. I don't want to stop loving this place.

I want to reach the finish line. I want to run through the tape. I want to finish strong.

But sometimes--like today when we got really disappointing news--I feel like the road is way longer and rockier than it's supposed to be and I wish there was a shortcut, but there isn't. I feel like just sitting down on the curb and saying I quit.

I really need to believe the phrase that sometimes runs through my head: Now is the time to be brave. I really need those marching orders: Walk on. I really need that Easter message: "Do not be afraid."

Crazy/brilliant satirical/thoughtful Steve Taylor wrote a song in the '90s called "The Finish Line" that is clanging around in my head and heart right now. The lyrics alone don't capture the emotional power the song carries, but here is the climax--my prayer for our kids and our church, my hope for me:

Off in the distance, bloodied but wise
As you squint with the light
Of the truth in your eyes

And I saw you, both hands were raised
And I saw your lips move in praise
And I saw you steady your gaze
For the finish line

Every idol like dust
A word scattered them all
And I rose to my feet
When you scaled the last wall

And I gasped
When I saw you fall
In his arms
At the finish line

Deep breath. Squint. Walk on. Finish strong.

Here goes.

Lyrics and background for "The Finish Line" at the Taylor tribute site SockHeaven.net
Crappy bootleg live performance from Cornerstone 1994 on YouTube. Pretty sure we saw this show--memorable because I have never seen anyone so hyper onstage (here he is relatively mellow)--though at that point my husband was still just my stalker since this is where we met. Awww.

Easter Beauty, Joy, and a Little Ham

2009-04-13T21:35:00.000-07:00

Easter beauty:

Easter joy!

Easter HAM.

Happy Easter from the Wetzels!

Easter: Courage and Joy

2009-04-12T07:45:00.000-07:00

"Do not be afraid,
for I know that you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified.
He is not here; he has risen, just as he said...."

So the women hurried away from the tomb,
afraid yet filled with joy,
and ran to tell his disciples.

Matthew 28:5-6, 8

"Do not be afraid" were Jesus' first words to them. The message attended his birth, his ministry, his death and Resurrection. And it comes to us today with the same gentle and compelling clarity with which it was offered on that first Easter morning.

There is much around us that is awesome and awful. We know too well the divisions and suffering that plague our world. We have seen that the authorities today use tactics similar to those employed 2,000 years ago, and many people scheme to play to our fear, destroy our hope, and seal off our joy.

But we have the confidence of our faith. We have seen the risen Lord!

Mary and Mary Magdalene loved with such a perfect love that they shed their fear....They were among the first to know the truth that John later put into words: "There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear" (1 John 4:18).

They challenge us to love and believe. To love Jesus with a perfect love and to believe in the power of his Resurrection.... Their testimony stands through the ages. It is a reminder to "rekindle the gift of God that is within you...for God did not give us a spirit of timidity but a spirit of power and love" (2 Timothy 1:6-7). With courage and joy, let us claim that same spirit that dwelt within our sisters, the first witnesses of the Resurrection.

From Joyce Hollyday, “An Invitation,” Bread and Wine: Readings for Lent and Easter

Photo: José M. Ruibérriz

A Day's Work (Box Braids and Beads)

2009-04-11T19:17:00.000-07:00

My day's work:

In action:

In superfast action!

She likes them very much. (Or maybe she just likes getting dizzy.)

Post-Trip Accounting

2009-04-09T21:13:00.000-07:00

Work projects waiting: 3
Unread emails: 54
Google Reader: 1000+
A week in the mountains with my girl and my fam: Priceless!

(Still, please be patient with me as I try to catch up on . . . everything!)

Wordless Wednesday: Colorado

2009-04-08T20:39:00.001-07:00

Westward Hack

2009-04-02T08:00:00.000-07:00

When you read this I'll be hacking my way to the Wild West (which is actually east, but that just doesn't seem right) of Colorado. Hacking because I FREAKING GOT SICK THIS WEEK.

I am none too pleased that the first day of my vacation may consist of me napping in a hotel room by myself . . . wait, no, that sounds awesome actually. If only I can get rid of the coughing, sniffling, feeling blaaaaaaaah part.

And of course first I have to survive a three-hour drive, the airport, and a two-and-a-half-hour plane ride with little miss probably won't nap because I'll want to. I think it'll be fine, though. She's a good traveler and I'm packing about 47 kinds of snacks.

Here we come Rocky Mountain Hiiiiiiiiiiiiigh, Colorado!

Wordless Wednesday: Nerd Jr.

2009-04-01T11:08:00.000-07:00

Ah, This Will Fill All That Free Time

2009-03-27T16:33:00.000-07:00

Someone is coming to look at our house tomorrow!

Which is awesome timing because I just didn't know what to do with all the extra time on my hands this weekend.

It's nice to have some cleaning to do when I'm supposed to be working, so I can work on those multitasking skills. And to need to clear every living creature out of the house in the middle of the day without leaving any rubble behind is divine.

(Sarcasm about timing aside, this is very good!)

This Life Is Kicking My Life's Butt

2009-03-27T08:45:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time I was going to write a post about how hard it is for me to catch up and keep up on things right now. That was yesterday. And Monday. And last week. And three weeks ago.

Ha ha ha ha ha, said my life.

I love all (well, almost all) the parts of my life, I really do. I love face wiping and hair doing and story reading. I love dodgeball and rides home and spirited discussions with teenagers. I love reading and re-reading and feeling like a manuscript is better now than when it came to me. I love helping our church move forward, helping my husband fulfill his call, and helping pay the bills.

But sometimes I don't love how all those parts all pile together, all the time.

I hate that my blog is all pictures and no words because I have so many words that it would take days to get them out and no days during which to do so. I hate that when I get behind on things, it takes weeks to feel caught up, if I ever do. I hate that I should be working on being proactive on many things but I'm just keeping up with the here and now.

This life, this schedule, is kind of kicking my butt right now. It's kicking the butt of the life it's supposed to add up to, because it's just a bit too much of a good thing sometimes. And I hate to say that, because there may be no more spoiled rotten kind of complaint in the world than "I have too much of a good thing." But it can feel that way sometimes--like I want all these things in my life, but I can't quite handle them all at once, all the time.

In theory and on paper it's all quite manageable. Sometimes I think about other people with more kids and Real Jobs and Big Important Things to do and I actually feel like quite the royal slacker. Then of course that theory of relativity goes out the window when something comes along to throw off schedules and we all get tired and someone skips her nap and I think Child, if you don't stop shrieking and get off that floor, I'm gonna throw YOU out the window!

(Dear social workers: I would never really throw my child out the window. There's a screen.)

All this to say . . . I'm really glad it's spring break right now. We've had a little bit of a break from the activities. But it is a big, busy weekend for our church search committee (please pray!), and Monday I realized it is going to be miraculous if I can get all the work I need to done before I go to Denver next week--and I need to, because I really need for that to be a vacation.

Our friend and Aaron's old boss would often say that youth ministry is not rocket science. But it's hard. That's how I often feel about what I do: parenting is not rocket science, but it's hard. It's hard because it's constant. It's not hard to understand; it's hard to do, hard to keep up with.

That's how all of life is sometimes. With all these things in my life that I love doing but sometimes still don't want to do, it's not the thing itself that sometimes seems like too much; it's the getting started and the keeping going. It's not the doing, it's the discipline--the doing it even when you don't want to part. That's true of everything worth doing: parenting, marriage, creating, working, being healthy, mentoring, praying, listening. Getting started or pushing through the mundane or difficult parts can be hard, but once you break through, there's a zone of deep reward, satisfaction, and joy.

So I'm digging deep for a little more gumption for the next six days: enough to work hard so I can enjoy the satisfaction of a job well done; to be present in the lives of the teenagers who come to our event and ride in my car; to listen to Spirit guidance above my own desires and fears; to be attentive and loving to my husband and daughter so we are family, not just people living in a house; to not just do but live this life.

And waiting on the other side of this week: Rocky Mountain High. I can't wait.

How do you dig deep and keep going when the constancy of life catches up to you?

P.S.: Sorry this is so long. Finding enough time to edit it would take me another three weeks!

Wordless Wednesday

2009-03-25T15:00:00.001-07:00

Travel Question

2009-03-23T15:49:00.001-07:00

I'm going to Denver in a couple weeks, as are my parents, to visit my brother, sister-in-law, and nephew. Me, a two-year-old, an airplane--two and a half hours. The question is: to bring car seat or not to bring car seat?

I'm thinking it would be easier to strap Anna in and tell her she can't get out, just like in the car, than to have her wiggling everywhere. Last time she slept two hours one flight, which I doubt would happen with no seat. A contained and possibly sleeping child would probably be much nicer for the poor person in our row than Queen Wigglesworth demonstrating her hopping abilities on the seat.

On the other hand, I will have to get the seat, the suitcase, the backpack, and the child from parking to luggage checking by myself. Once I check the suitcase it won't be quite so bad, and thankfully it's a direct flight, so no problems hauling it through another airport. But I'm not sure if it's worth the trouble or not. My sister-in-law can borrow one for Anna to use if I don't want to bring it, so it's not a must.

I'm thinking the deciding factor may be whether or not I can find some way to strap the seat onto my suitcase for the car-to-luggage-check portion of the trip.

What say ye who have traveled solo with toddler?

Sunday: God's-Eye View

2009-03-22T09:03:00.000-07:00

From heaven the Lord looks down
and sees all mankind;

from his dwelling place he watches
all who live on earth—

he who forms the hearts of all,
who considers everything they do. . . .

The eyes of the Lord are on those who fear him,

on those whose hope is in his unfailing love.

Psalm 33:13–15, 18

Overheard in Youth Work

2009-03-19T19:42:00.000-07:00

Student 1: What’s a commodity?

Student 2: Your mom.

File under: Best Use of Old Joke to Disrupt Speaker

Wordless Wednesday

2009-03-18T22:02:00.000-07:00

Speed Blog

2009-03-16T22:01:00.000-07:00

This is an exercise in speed blogging, because it's the only way any post is going to find its way to publish. I think I have a good five minutes of energy left tonight. Just enough for some bullets:

We had a youth group bowling/overnighter Friday night. I didn't even stay all night and I felt wiped out all weekend. It's weird now that we have Anna because I can't stay the night and the next morning I have to take her somewhere so Aaron can sleep.
Confirmed: Wii bowling and real bowling use different muscles.
Also confirmed: all my muscles are out of shape.
Anna is suddenly in love with the word up and somewhat fond of down.
Wednesday an unknown number of real estate agents will come through our house on their monthly "broker tour" of new listings. Guess what I did today? Spackled, sanded, painted, de-littered, laundered. Almost forgot "showered."
Guess what I'm doing tomorrow? Sweeping, mopping, vacuuming, dusting, straightening, sorting, folding, and if I'm feeling really crazy and can remember how, maybe even a little ironing. Also, collapsing.
Happy birthday to my adorable nephew Tobo and to my brilliant sister-in-law Picsis! Anna and I are going to visit them and that guy they live with in Denver over the first week of April, as are my parents. I am looking forward to the vacation, because as always I am delusional enough to think a trip with a toddler might be a vacation, provided we survive the flight. I am sure reality will come crashing down on me in the form of nap refusals and all manner of tantrums, but for now please just let me focus on the concept of a hotel bed and free waffles.

Brain's starting to wander = speed blog's up! And I'm shutting down completely in 3 . . . 2 . . . Zzzzzzzzzzz.

Overheard in Youth Work

2009-03-14T15:38:00.000-07:00

Student: Except for the three houses right by us, we don’t have any neighbors.

Burning Question

2009-03-13T14:08:00.000-07:00

Shouldn't seminary financial aid worksheets have a line in the budget for tithing?

Or are we off the hook on that for three years?

Just wonderin'.

Wordless Wednesday: Wii Are Family

2009-03-11T08:07:00.000-07:00

Midnight Wanderings, Bathtime Pottyings

2009-03-10T14:14:00.000-07:00

Anna has surprised me with a couple of tricks this week.

Friday morning I stumbled downstairs to exercise (yes, miraculously this is happening pretty regularly) and looked at the couch on my way through the living room. What is that? said my sleepy brain. It was Anna--sleeping there! Just lying there with her baby doll, face on a pillow. I was so surprised I said something and woke her up. I'm not sure she knew what she was doing there either. We have no idea when or why she migrated; she never cried or called for us and presumably didn't try to come upstairs to us either. But apparently she figured out that she can indeed get out of her bed at night. She hasn't done it again, though. Even now as she's having a hour-long conversation with herself and her animals instead of falling asleep for her nap, she's staying in bed.

And file this one under Great News on the Horizon (Maybe): this morning she peed in her little potty! It's upstairs so we really only attempt this when we do baths, although occasionally she wants to sit on the big toilet (and get right off without trying anything). I'm not sure if she just got lucky or really did learn from last time when she scared herself by suddenly peeing as she stood naked next to the potty and I tried to throw her on there. Hopefully she is putting together how to make that happen and that we will get all excited and tell the all world. Or at least all the Internet.

I would love for Anna to be potty trained before we move this summer, but I'm not worried about it either. I think I would be a lot more anxious to get it done if we were buying diapers, watching all that money get thrown away. Cloth diapers = way less pressure.

Friday Face

2009-03-06T16:07:00.000-08:00

EI Update and a Quote Come to Life

2009-03-05T12:26:00.000-08:00

The Early Intervention crew returned Tuesday. Really, it was a crew this time: three people. Dr. Jill; her cohort Marion, the speech pathologist, who was sick last time; and Judy, who will be our very own very special specialist.

Anna was quieter this time, with three of them here, but did sit right down and play and read with Judy while Marion observed and Jill talked with us and reviewed her evaluation from last time. Anna again demonstrated that her receptive language is more than fine by tuning in to one conversation between adults while playing with Judy. We were telling Jill how Anna likes to help with the dishes and Anna got up and headed for the kitchen. Let's do some dishes!

One part of the evaluation summary shows what percentage of items she should be able to do by age three she can do right now in six categories. Social communication, which encompasses speech, is only at 47 percent (although that's really not terribly low). But gross motor skills: 95 percent. (That's our Tigger!) Fine motor, 92; social 84. So she's really doing great in most areas. It may be that she's so busy learning in these other areas that she just hasn't really focused on putting together the speech piece yet.

The plan is for Judy to come twice a month for about 45 minutes of learning play with Anna (and, I'm sure, teaching me how to teach her). The goal is to get Anna to use fifty words and two-word phrases regularly, and within that they look for the use of different kinds of phrases using different parts of speech, like "Anna drink," "hot water," "go out." Some of them I think she's close to starting but others, not at all. But I think we all think she'll catch up quickly. Jill said she warned the others she thought Anna might have learned more words since last time already because she does seem like she could have that "language explosion" at any time.

And sure enough, right before they arrived that morning she told Aaron "football hat" (his Lions hat). That goes along with her new fluency in two-word phrases, not just copying but saying on her own all variations of hi/bye+Mama/Dada/Baby/Kitty/Woof (dog). She loves saying these phrases now and runs around shouting "Hi kittyyyyy! Hi kittyyyyy! Byeeeeee!" (as the cat flees the area). It's amazing to see her transform from baby to communicating person.

It's all just like they said on Scrubs:

Turk: Why do you want to have a baby so bad anyway?

Carla: Dr. Cox says having a baby is like having a dog that slowly learns to talk.

Turk: Awesome . . .

Wordless Wednesday

2009-03-04T07:34:00.000-08:00

Yearly Ritual

2009-03-03T19:44:00.000-08:00

This is how I sort and file my papers:

yearly

and with the help of cats.

Happy tax prep season.

Sunday: Discipline

2009-03-01T09:00:00.000-08:00

Discipline is the other side of discipleship. Discipleship without discipline is like waiting to run in the marathon without ever practicing. Discipline without discipleship is like always practicing for the marathon but never participating. . . . Discipline in the spiritual life is the concentrated effort to create the space and time where God can become our master and where we can respond freely to God's guidance.

Thus, discipline is the creation of boundaries that keep time and space open for God. Solitude requires discipline, worship requires discipline, caring for others requires discipline. They all ask us to set apart a time and a place where God's gracious presence can be acknowledged and responded to.

Henri J. M. Nouwen, Bread for the Journey

My Triannual Emotional Meltdown

2009-02-27T19:51:00.000-08:00

True confessions time: Yesterday I was trying to cornrow Anna's hair, which still takes me too long and frustrates me too much because I'm just getting the hang of it, and the movie of choice was not holding her attention. As she started to wander off in the middle of a row again, I yanked her back toward me hard as I barked "Sit down NOW!" loud and mean enough to scare us both to tears.

PARENTING FAIL.

And that was the good day this week.

Okay, I exaggerate; it hasn't been that bad. But it has been a long week.

Last weekend we had a lot of fun time with friends, but it was busy. Saturday we re-perfected the house for the house listing photo shoot. Then I tried to work at the pizza place--hey, it's not bad, it has an ocean view--and a freaking Miley Cyrus birthday party broke out. Nothing nurtures productive concentration like seven-year-old girls prancing around with fake microphones shrieking "I wanna be a rock star!" They are lucky the pinata they smacked five feet away from me did not resemble Ms. Miley herself, or I would have beat the snot out of it myself. Needless to say, I did not get as much done as I'd hoped, and I went into the week tired.

Sunday we had Frontline. Monday we had Young Life. Starting Tuesday Aaron had a problem with his blood thinners, apparently, that had him anxiously waiting to get in for a test and wondering if he should cancel a youth event. And since just the thought of blood and doctors is enough to make me woozy, I was anxious too. I've realized I've been tense and clenching my jaw enough to give me the splitting headache I had Tuesday.

And so it was that on Tuesday, February 24, 2009, 'round about suppertime, I had my Triannual Emotional Meltdown. I am usually quite even-keeled, but at a certain point I break and go batsnot insane. My husband is fortunate that it does not happen more frequently, because it is not pretty. It is almost as ugly as my Semi-Annual Murderous Anger Explosion of Doom.

The EmoMelt consists of a tsunami of tears occurring in unpredictable rise and retreat cycles. Since the tsunami is triggered below the surface of the unstable female, few signs and warnings indicate to the hapless husband that he should shut the heck up and, if possible, retreat to higher ground. The aftershocks may last as few as fifteen minutes or as long as 36 hours. Fortunately, occasional occurrences over the last twelve years have led my husband to develop a fairly sophisticated warning system, leading him to flee the kitchen area with little one in tow, saving him from almost certain ~~death~~ divorce.

The good news is that I did feel better after my EmoMelt, my later hair outburst notwithstanding. But these days are still busy, busy, busy and the future very uncertain, and I sometimes catch myself clenching my jaw or losing my patience or blinking for upwards of five seconds while reading, and I know I'm not yet winning the war for a balanced life and a peaceful soul.

But recognizing an emotional meltdown for what it is and learning to let it come and let it go--knowing that sometimes you'll feel better if you just have that cry instead of trying to hold it all together--for me, sometimes that is half the battle.

The other half is not causing too much collateral damage to unsuspecting family members along the way. I'm thankful I have a husband who gives me plenty of grace (and a wide berth) when I am overwhelmed and a daughter who swiftly demonstrates forgiveness through hugs and kisses and an insistent tug on the finger to go jump on the bed again.

As Lent began this week, I saw again how far removed I am from who I'm supposed to be. But I'm hoping to gain a little ground each day, even if only three steps forward, two steps back.

And I hereby declare: I'm giving up emotional freak-outs for Lent.

Jesus and my husband will be so pleased.

Deep Thought

2009-02-25T13:21:00.000-08:00

Do you think my two-year-old will understand if I tell her she's giving up Elmo for Lent?

Wordless Wednesday

2009-02-25T06:18:00.000-08:00

Early Intervention Results Show

2009-02-23T16:46:00.000-08:00

Okay, it's not a show, and I won't drag it out for an unnecessary hour like a certain Idol pursuit. But I know some of you have been wondering how the Early Intervention evaluation went last week.

First of all, how can you not love a person who comes in and immediately starts playing? And brings her own toys to share? Anna is a fan already. "Dr. Jill," we'll call her, basically (1) explained EI to us, (2) played and talked with Anna to see what she can do, and (3) asked us questions to evaluate Anna. Even though we were only concerned about speech, they do a basic assessment of all areas of development.

Hey, guess what? She's normal or high in every area except "expressive communication," which is basically speech (as opposed to "receptive communication," i.e., hearing and understanding).

Recognizing pictures in a book? No problem, one of her favorite pastimes. Push buttons? Easy. Body parts? Know 'em (just don't say 'em). Eating, scribbling, tooth brushing, following directions, taking off clothes--check to the fifth power. Running? Umm, yeah. She runs laps around the house for fun. Jumping, a three-year-old skill? Yes, we'll see you her hopping all the way across a room getting major air and raise you her doing a cheerleading routine in rhythm. (Dr. Jill thought the Irish Rumble was pretty good!)

The next day Dr. Jill called to say that yes, the evaluation scored out as she suspected, and Anna qualifies for services in expressive communication (only). That means that next week she will come back with her partner, who is an actual speech pathologist, and do more in-depth evaluation more specific to Anna's language abilities. Then they will write up a plan for what they/we should do to work with her.

I'm glad (like any proud parent) that Anna is doing so great in so many areas but I'm also glad she qualified for speech services. I'm actually surprised how glad I am. But I'd rather her qualify than have her score borderline and still wonder if she's really okay or if she is being held back by something. I'm interested to see what we learn about how she learns that can help us to help her throughout her development. Pretty amazing what grants and tax dollars can provide.

And how did Anna follow up on this visit on Saturday?

"Hi kitty."

"Hi Dada."

Yes, she was echoing my "Say 'hi kitty'" instructions, but she did do it several times, like it was clicking in her brain that she can say two words together.

Maybe that was "Wolf!" that she cried?

Anna Saying Naooooooooow

2009-02-21T21:25:00.000-08:00

Anna finally started saying no a few weeks ago. She says it most adorably, like a cat pronouncing the word now. Aaron likes to ask her dumb questions just to get her to say it. Here for your amusement is some video of her thinking we're morons for not knowing this is Pooh, plus other adorable overdose material.

(Aren't you glad I finally figured out that adding video is easy? Duh.)

Wordless Wednesday: Cheerleading Recap Edition

2009-02-18T06:47:00.000-08:00

For Sale Sign Is Up!

2009-02-17T20:39:00.000-08:00

It's official.

And suddenly I feel like everyone's staring at me.

We had the place looking great inside when the real estate agent came on Friday. Not a book or a dish or a Mr. Potato Head part out of place. But he didn't take pictures. So I had to keep the joint spotless for a full 72 hours until our Monday morning meeting. I know. But apparently it's possible. He still didn't take pictures (too rainy/dark), but that allowed me extra time to clean up a few more things and hang curtains to cover the back of the room-dividing bookshelves upstairs--the curtains I bought a year and a half ago. Wow, this place is just like I want it. I could live here ~~forever~~ for another five months.

I don't expect a flood of buyers right away (okay, at all), but I'm going to try to keep good habits in case someone wants to look on short notice. I guess that means no more putting clothes "away" on the closet floor or pretending not to see the dishes that need to be hand washed. Good thing we have a little helper.

Too bad she also spreads small plastic objects around like a preschool full of Tazmanian Devils.

If you know anyone who would like to relocate or invest in a charming beachside community on the gorgeous central Oregon coast, let them know:

FOR SALE
3 bedroom, 2 bath
Open floor plan, high ceilings
Large master suite loft with office area and deck
2 car garage, storage shed
Dog and cat negotiable

What's the Gesture for Highfalutin?

2009-02-16T13:51:00.000-08:00

Ah, this explains everything.

Baby's gestures reflect family's wealth
Infants with parents of high socio-economic status have bigger non-verbal repertoires, a study shows

New evidence suggests that the better a baby is at grasping the meanings of these hand gestures, the better his or her vocabulary will be by preschool age - which is itself a known predictor of future academic success.
The new study out of the University of Chicago, which appears today in the journal Science, also found that children from higher socio-economic backgrounds have a distinct advantage over those from lower-income backgrounds. They gesture more as babies and have larger vocabularies at age 4½.

So my baby girl's not a tiny mime because she's at all developmentally behind in her speech. It's actually because we are rich, demonstrative snobs.

Someone forgot to tell my checkbook. It's acting all lower-income again.

Of course this is just one study and the comments on this article bring up some good points as to why I wouldn't put too much stock in it. But it will be interesting to hear what the Early Intervention people have to say about how gestures and speech relate. They come to evaluate Anna on Thursday morning. I fully expect her to start speaking in long paragraphs on Wednesday night, just to make me look like The Parent Who Cried Wolf.

Toddler Bed Time

2009-02-14T16:12:00.000-08:00

Aaron converted Anna's crib to a toddler bed last week, sort of on a whim when he realized it wouldn't be too hard. She cried/whined more than usual at bedtime, but shockingly, she did not get out of bed. She stayed in it the next day at nap time too, even as she protested her nap at great length and volume because she was overtired from a busy morning. It's like she hasn't figured out yet--thankfully--that she could just get out and play with toys or try to escape the room. We're keeping our ears close to the monitor for when she does, though!

I always check on her before I go up to bed to make sure the room's not too cold and put a blanket over her. That first night in her "big girl bed," she looked so small when I went in, instead of like a giant sprawled across her crib. My tiny baby, a big girl!

~~No babies~~ Only one baby fell out during this transition

"Wakin' Up Is Hard to Do"

So Tired. Period.

2009-02-12T19:20:00.000-08:00

There's this old worship song that starts "I am so tired..." We are singing it--stopping there.

So tired. Period.

Aaron has his usual busyness plus he is preaching this week. Friday is usually his day off but he thinks he still needs to polish his sermon a bit.

I have lots of editing work calling, but I have been cleaning the house top to bottom. Scrubbing cupboards. Touching up paint. Washing windows and sills. Organizing closets. I even found an old oak desk under stacks of paper in my office. Who knew? Archaeological analysis indicates the surface may have sat untouched for two to three years.

I still have to clean up our bedroom and clean out the closet. Blaaaaaah. I will probably do it tonight, though, because a real estate agent is meeting us here tomorrow about getting this place listed. I mean sold! He told me on the phone that sales are down about 45 percent from last year (in volume, not price), so we have to be competitive if we want to sell it, not just list it. And we need to sell. Thus my compulsion to make a good first impression on him and every potential buyer.

Meanwhile, I have determined that we need to either move or have an adoption home study every two years. It's the only way this place gets whipped into shape!

Wordless Wednesday

2009-02-11T06:13:00.000-08:00

P.S.: My mother made me those pants circa 1978. They are corduroy and yes, a little flared. And very, very groovy.

The Pre-Sale Blues

2009-02-10T13:42:00.000-08:00

Where have I been all your life? Well, much of the last few days I've been painting a wall. Yep, just a wall. We have this crazy open floor plan and barrel-vaulted (now doesn't that sound fancy?) ceiling, and that big main wall was rather dinged up and dirty. But because much of the house is connected, with the walls and ceiling sloping way up to the loft, to paint the whole room would require scaffolding, patience, and bravery which we do not possess. Thus I decided, after perhaps one too many decorating shows, that just one wall could be painted. It's now an accent wall (now doesn't that sound stylish?).

View from the loft, before/getting ready to paint:

After:

Yes, I hate those black ceiling fans with a burning passion. See scaffolding problem.

This was the only other "big thing" I really wanted to get done before getting our house on the market; the rest is basically cleaning, organizing, touching up paint. But there is quite a bit of that stuff to do and unfortunately my recent flurry of motivated activity was short-lived. I've got to get back to making my mornings productive. But today the phone guys were here (rewiring so our phone and DSL work right when it rains--kind of handy in Oregon) and I spent way too long doing hair, and tomorrow I have an appointment. Not sure when we'll get a real estate agent out here but hopefully soon. Then I will have no choice but to get to work before buyers start coming.

Or I'll be really depressed if they never do. Ack! Let's not think of it.

Ruh-Row

2009-02-06T14:45:00.000-08:00

First, the good. I thought these triangle parts I did a while back turned out cute. Easy enough, too.

This first attempt at cornrows . . . not so much. Must be my extra thumbs.

I know practice makes perfect, though. I'll have to keep trying.

Anyone have links to a good cornrow tutorial with pictures and/or video? How did you learn? Teach me, O skilled ones.

Like Cops, Only More Embarrassing

2009-02-05T19:25:00.000-08:00

Great Moments in Youth Ministry

We had about 30 teenagers here for the Super Bowl last week, as is our custom. We project the game on the wall—now in 3-D!—and even have balcony seating (in the loft). Aw yeah, this is a party house. (And it could be yours! For sale!)

Monday we had perhaps the greatest Young Life scavenger hunt ever: Mattress Madness. Four groups of about eight kids, each group carrying a mattress around town on a photo scavenger hunt. Leaders drove around trying to catch them; they would lose points if they were tagged not all jumping up and down on their mattress. Like idiots. Highlights:

I got to ride shotgun with a night vision video camera and a ten-thousand-jiggawatt spotlight (I'm sure that's legal).
In an attempt at a spy-vs-spy -style sneak attack, I jumped out and sprinted two blocks with a Mag light, alarming some guy who seem unsure if I was robbing him or being robbed.
One kid got yelled at by a grumpy cop for running into the street to flag down the cop car.
One group got eggs thrown at them; one girl got hit in the head.
The Post Office and some banks will see one heck of an entertaining show if they look at their security camera footage.

In short, it was awesome. It was like Cops meets . . . a bunch of idiots jumping up and down on mattresses.

Alas, all photos are currently undergoing forensic examination to see which groups cheated (most). But I'll long treasure the memory in my mind. And in my calf muscles. I really don't do sprinting. Ah, the things ~~the love of young people~~ adrenaline and sugar can compel an old person like me to do.

Overheard in Youth Work:

Impulsive Cop-Chasing Student: "I said we need our picture with your car and he said, 'You're about to be in my car!'"

Wordless Wednes-dork

2009-02-04T06:24:00.000-08:00

Making Goals: How Alive Am I Willing to Be?

2009-02-02T14:21:00.000-08:00

"You can't make footprints in the sands of time if you're sitting on your butt. And who wants to make buttprints in the sands of time?"
Bob Moawad

As I've already mentioned, last week I wrote up two things: (1) my To-Do List of Doom and (2) ongoing and specific goals for various aspects of my life.

The first is pretty much what it sounds like: things that have to be cleaned up, cleaned out, fixed up, organized, and checked off in order to get our house on the market and get moving toward moving, as well as some paperwork type things like readoption and taxes and--oh joy! welcome back to my life!--FAFSA forms.

My personal goals are a revival of what FunnyWriterMommy and I used to work on together when we had our pseudo-accountability (pseudo because who are we kidding, we were still slackers) and writing times together. We'd taken ideas from a couple books we'd read and made it into this process of writing personal goals for all aspects of our lives: spiritual, physical, relationships, vocation, use of time and money, and so on.

Some of these goals were ongoing every day, week, or month: drink so much water a day, take a sabbath day each week, go on a date with husband once a month. Some were more specific tasks to be done in a certain time frame: this month I will finish reading X book, make gift for so and so, clean closet and donate old clothes, outline X writing project.

Then every quarter we'd get together and admit how much we sucked at meeting our goals.

So I figured, hey, I don't need FunnyWriterMommy around to suck at meeting goals!

Last week I finally actually sat down and thought through those areas of my life and prioritized some goals. And wow, do I have a lot of room for improvement.

I'm trying to trim the fat from my body and our budget.

I need to get the house ready to show, get control of my inbox, and get more productivity out of each day.

I'm confessing that I'm a freelancer who doesn't market, a writer who doesn't write, a youth worker/youth pastor's wife who hardly ever reads the Bible, a stay at home mom who barely plays with her child more days than not.

Hey, I'm a picker, I'm a grinner, I'm a lover, I'm a sinner . . . and I bet you are too. We pick and choose what "disciplines" we adopt. We grin and say everything's fine when we meet those acquaintances in front of the store, even if we're overwhelmed by what we left behind closed doors. We love to be loved, and we sin to be sinners, because the truth is we really like that truism that everyone has their weakness, because we really love having ours.

The thing is, a discipline is not a discipline if you only do it when you feel like it. That's a hobby. As my crazy drill sergeant math teacher would bark, "Discipline is doing what you are supposed to do, when you are supposed to do it, even if you don't want to." It's that last part we all make an art form out of denying.

But confession is good for the soul.

Discipline is good for the life.

I confess I've had too little of each, but I'm starting over again.

And I'll need you to help me do that again too. Again, and again, and again.

Because to fail at my goals? I can do that on my own. But to move forward, I can't walk alone. And I want to live a life that's not just keeping up but really going somewhere, whether I can see what's ahead or I'm feeling stuck in between.

"How alive am I willing to be?"*

I wanna see miracles
To see the world change
Wrestled the angel for more than a name
For more than a feeling
For more than a cause
I'm singing 'Spirit, take me up in arms with You'
And you're raising the dead in me
___________________________________

It was a beautiful letdown
When I crashed and burned
When I found myself alone unknown and hurt
It was a beautiful letdown
The day I knew
That all the riches this world had to offer me
Would never do . . .

Easy living, not much like your name
Easy dying, you look just about the same
Won't you please take me off your list
Easy living please come on and let me down

We are a beautiful letdown,
Painfully uncool,
The church of the dropouts
And losers and sinners and failures and the fools
Oh what a beautiful letdown
Are we salt in the wound
Let us sing one true tune

lyrics from Switchfoot, "Twenty-Four" and "Beautiful Letdown"

*quote from Anne Lamott

It Burns, It Burrrrrrnses!

2009-02-02T10:07:00.000-08:00

Warning: If you are allergic to Visine, don't put it in your eye.

How will you know, you ask? Ah, funny thing about that--you can't know until you've already put it in your eye.

But don't worry. It's only a scratchy, burning sensation and lids swollen like you've been crying for hours (with one eye).

Take it from me, ol' Puffyface McRedEyedWetzel, who found this out last night and still looks like she was punched in the face.

Arrrrrrgh.

Take That, To-Do List!

2009-01-31T18:27:00.000-08:00

Accomplished this week:

had new carpet installed in A's room, touched up paint
bought paint to transform dining/living wall from banged-up to fashionable accent wall
swept and thoroughly mopped wood floors for the first time in...never mind
washed rugs
dusted and changed lightbulbs in crazy-high ceiling fans
removed paint spatters on outside of crazy-high window
changed look of high ceiling corners and high window from Haunted Mansion to non-embarrassing
scraped half-inch dust coating from top of kitchen cupboards
took down glassware that was stashed up high and boxed up rarely-used glassware
moved seasonal and storage boxes out of closet
taped up boxes ready to store and put them in garage
wrote deposit check to Western Theological Seminary

Holy crap. I think we are actually moving and going to seminary.

Aaaaaaiiiiiiiih!

We Pffffft!

2009-01-29T19:40:00.000-08:00

Along with tackling my To-Do List of Doom--yes, I have created an actual document with this title--I have been working on putting some structure back into my life so I can meet some personal goals and generally life the kind of healthy, balanced life I ~~say I~~ want to live.

I intended to get some goals written in time to make January 20 my "new year" day, since I was so far from thinking about the upcoming year on the 1st and the 20th seemed like a fresh start, new beginning, yada yada yada kind of a day, but of course I didn't have my goals list to tell me to do this by then, so it didn't get done. I have to write it down to cross it off, you know. I'm like Frog. Or was it Toad? Whichever.

But last week I did start ramping up my Fit in Four program.

Also known as Yes We Can Be in Better Shape Four Years from Now Than We Are Today.

Also known as logging off and standing up and stretching, walking, dancing, or otherwise putting my lazy booty in motion a few times a week.

Yesterday I had to make an unscheduled trip to BigPort to get a large screw removed from Aaron's flat tire. But the inconvenience was worth it because I was able to procure our Wii Fit! I'd seen them in the store right before Christmas but not since. Regardless, merry Christmas to us (and thank you Christmas money-givers)!

With my Little White Thing You Stand On I can now entertain myself with such amazing new games as Standing On One Foot On A Board, Imagining Skiing Down A Hill While Actually Standing On a Board, and Running In Place With Imaginary Friends. All are sure to help my friends burn many calories as they laugh uncontrollably at how much my "moves" resemble uncontrolled full-body muscle spasms.

In all seriousness, though, do not believe the Wii Fit BMI Lies! The Wii Fit is notoriously prone to wildly swinging measurements, and BMI is not necessarily a good measurement of health anyway. Case in point: we have a friend who is training for a bodybuilding competition. He could beat me up with one pinky and has about 4 percent body fat. The Wii Fit says he's morbidly obese. Come on now. Is he insane for eating only chicken and potatoes for five months so some people can judge his buffness? Maybe. (If I ever do something like that, you should check me in somewhere, because I'll have lost my mind.) Is he in any way fat? NO. BMI should be called B.S. Lie!

So while I'll probably check my stats out of curiosity from time to time, I'm not going to put too much stock in them. This thing is a game, not a doctor. And the last thing I want is my little girl stepping on there and internalizing the insult of this inanimate object treating her like she's an object that should be resized to match some one-size-fits-all standard, especially while she her body is still developing (which is why BMI shouldn't be applied to kids). I'm sad to think how many young people may feel even worse after trying something that's just supposed to be about making moving a bit fun.

Wii Fit? Yay! We fat, according to you? We say pffft!

Time for me to give it a try, before Aaron gets home to laugh at me, and then make some brownies to go with our CSI-watching. One can't overhaul a lifestyle too completely!

Wordless Wednesday

2009-01-28T06:21:00.000-08:00

Wordless Wetzel: Our Tiny Mime

2009-01-26T20:36:00.000-08:00

As I alluded to in my she's-two update post, Anna seems to have something funny going on with her speech. Namely, she seems to think it's more fun to not talk. She's big on charades, not so much into speechifying. The question is whether this is something truly wrong with her ability to speak or she is one of those kids just holding back until she can bust out in full-on Shakespearean monologues.

She does communicate. Like crazy. She told me at dinner, using only the word "woof," that she wanted to clean off her tray and get down the big pad of paper with the dog on it and draw. She constantly gestures for things she wants (dance music, basketball) or wants you to do (sit here, draw, put ketchup all over my carrots). She's much more into motions than words--for instance, an O-mouthed silent "blub blub blub" impression means fish or Goldfish crackers. She knows the word well but won't even try to say it. Why should she when she can act it out? It's like living with a tiny mime. Or being trapped inside a game of Guesstures.

I mean, she just started saying no, instead of just shaking her head, about two weeks ago. A toddler who doesn't say no! Well, maybe I should enjoy that while it lasts . . .

It was suspect #3--'that one'!

Her comprehension is even better than her charades ability. You can have a whole conversation with her and she'll nod and make expressions and point to what you're talking about to let you know she's following you. She can point out almost anything you ask her to in her books. She knows a ton of body parts but only says "teeth." She loves animals but prefers to call them by their noises rather than names. And her memory is ridiculous: she'll go find things where she left them ages ago, and yesterday at church she pulled a friend of ours over to a certain spot to do a little pretending game she'd thought was funny--a month ago.

So like most parents, we think our kid is dang smart, but that's also because other people keep saying to us, "She is so smart!" I mean, I think she is too, but I also know she's not saying as much as other people's even younger kids are saying--so it's been a bit of a nagging worry. I know, but . . . why won't you talk, child?!

Still, at Thanksgiving we made a list of all the words she'd said (with meaning and some regularity) it was almost 50, which is about where an 18-24 month old should be, so I decided we could wait until she turned two and see if she would start putting two words together by then. But she hasn't, other than sort of getting lucky a couple times. Of course, she can put two gestures together like nobody's business.

So our pediatrician told us to call Early Intervention for an evaluation and whatever magical powers they possess. Apparently this is all free (well, prepaid through your taxes, thank you) no matter your income and they even come to your house. I should get a call back from them tomorrow to find out more.

As stupid as I know it is, I can't help feeling like maybe I/we should have been or should be doing something more or different. Are we letting her off the hook with her gestures too much? Not enough reading? (Doesn't seem possible.) Too much TV? (Uh, are you counting football?) White noise machine scrambling her brain? (Oops, now my mom's worried about that.)

Or is it in part because she had 9 months in the womb and 7 months in Ethiopia hearing only Amharic, not English?

Or maybe it just is what it is, and worrying about why will not add one hour to my life or one word to her vocabulary. I'm trying to remember that as I wait for the Early Intervention cavalry to arrive. And I'm remembering to be grateful to have access to such a resource here in the U.S.

And I'm enjoying the sweet sounds from downstairs which will all too soon be gone--the beautiful, mysterious poetry of "Dab be! Abb beee! Dabyee abbayae abbyeeeeeeeeee!"

Et Two, Bebe?

2009-01-23T15:01:00.000-08:00

Anna is now officially--not just behaviorally--a two-year-old. After she got her eyes uncrossed, she wished for a pony, a helicopter, a sixteen-year moratorium on naps, and a lifetime supply of bananas and Goldfish crackers.

Last week she checked out at the doctor's office at a little over 27 pounds, 34 inches ("36 with the afro," for you Fletch lovers). People often think she seems tall and is older than she is, but she's right in the middle of the growth curve at around the 50th percentile for height and weight. Big change from her 10th percentile days! She still has a big head, though. Developmentally she is on track with the exception of speech--more on that in another post.

Some of her favorite things right now are anything that makes noise, like the little piano she got for Christmas; she mostly likes to push the button that makes it play "ABC" by the Jackson Five. So often that I had a dream about the dumb song! She also likes her little laptop with learning games, but they are really for older kids, so she mostly likes to hold down the volume button that makes a little monkey say EEH-EEH! EEH-EEH! EEH-EEH! a hundred times consecutively. So often that I threatened to smash the thing into a pulp with her precious bananas. Or maybe with the similarly charming birthday card with the ~~dying~~ singing cats.

For Christmas she also got play food from us and from my parents, plus plastic pots and a shopping cart (the cart is still en route from Michigan), all of which she loves. Some of the food velcroes together so you can slice it and stack it into sandwiches and burgers.

She will gladly pay you Tuesday for a hamburger today!

Anna also loves her baby doll, balloons from the grocery store produce guy, telephones, Sesame Street, Mr. Potato Head, and the music between Wii Sports games. She's learned to take off her diaper and open certain doors, including, I'm pretty sure, the baby gate cutting her off from the Spiral Staircase of Doom. We are so screwed.

Sharing is . . . not something she has mastered.

Her favorite word is currently "bye." If you appear to be leaving the house (or simply the room), she will shout "Bye! Byeeeeeee!" She sometimes puts one of her little bags over her shoulder like a purse and heads for the door, announcing "Bye! Bye!" And when former President Bush's helicopter took off, she waved frantically at the TV and yelled "BYEEEEEEEEE! BYEEEEE! BYE!" But he shouldn't take it personally because she kept doing it to Wolf Blitzer too. That guy can not take a hint.

Food-wise she's doing just what the doctor said two-year-olds do: being picky and eating nothing sometimes, then at other times eating to rival her father. I'm glad to have her past the two mark so she can eat everything and anything and doesn't need whole milk anymore. Please, please let her quickly develop a love for the economical protein wonder that is peanut butter...

After we cut out milk before naps and bed, I realized I should move her nap up earlier in the afternoon since she's mellow after lunch. I started putting her down before 1:00 instead of at 2:00 and she slept three full hours five days in a row! Why didn't someone tell me this before?

She also napped for a sitter yesterday, which frankly I didn't think she'd do. She was cranky as heck all evening and wailing at bedtime, though--perhaps letting me know she did not appreciate that disruption to our daytime routine? She usually only has a sitter during evening play hours, and she is always fine with it. Still, I'm glad to know we could leave her with someone over naptime or bedtime and she would probably go to sleep fine. Maybe someday we will do something crazy like go to the movies . . . ah, who am I kidding? Crazy for us is staying up late enough to watch CSI and American Idol!

And that's life with Little Miss Two!

Wordless Wednesday

2009-01-21T07:56:00.000-08:00

Day of Possibility, Once Again

2009-01-20T09:55:00.000-08:00

God bless America, whose children make its possibility possible.

We walk into that which we cannot yet see.

Say it plain, that many have died for this day....

Praise song for struggle. Praise song for the day....

In today's sharp sparkle, this winter air, anything can be made, any sentence begun. On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp, praise song for walking forward in that light.

excerpts from Elizabeth Alexander, "Praise Song for the Day,"
Inaugural Poem, January 20, 2009
(transcript from the Chicago Sun-Times)

Make your Shepard Fairey-inspired icon at Obamicon.Me

Remembering: In the Name of Love

2009-01-19T16:16:00.000-08:00

Power at its best is love implementing the demands of justice. Justice at its best is love correcting everything that stands against love.

Martin Luther King, Jr., Where Do We Go from Here: Chaos or Community?

Our Irish Rumbler

2009-01-16T21:12:00.000-08:00

Here she is in the full court debut of her favorite cheer . . . our little Irish rumbler!

She can actually shake her hips a lot more than that...although I'm not sure I want her to. She was a bit baffled to be standing down there, I think.

Sorry the quality is so bad--perhaps we'll try again soon.

Ahh, That New Coach Smell

2009-01-16T13:29:00.000-08:00

It's that time of every-three-years again: a new coach for the Detroit Lions is announced!

The ~~lucky~~ daring soul this time was the Tennessee Titans' defensive coordinator, Jim Schwartz. [Insert Spaceballs joke here.] I must have been pondering this the other night before bed, because I had a vivid and hilarious dream involving Titans coach Jeff Fisher showing me around a "training camp" which looked like a summer camp--while I was wearing pajamas. I asked him about the possibility of getting a job since I knew I'd be cut from the team (ya think?). I love my crazy dreams.

Coach Schwartzbewithyou is certainly saying all the right things to impress me so far. Then again, don't they all? I am just glad they pulled the trigger on who they wanted so they can get on with hiring assistants and scouting for the draft. Can we interest anyone in a really expensive #1 pick? Please? Nope, we are probably stuck with it. Let the great QB vs. O-line vs. defense debate commence. After all, the fans have been anticipating this #1 pick since, well, the disastrous first play of the regular season. It's ~~all we have to~~ what we look forward to. As the saying goes, "We're the Lions. The draft is our Super Bowl."

But hope springs eternal even, or especially, in beaten-down Detroit. Mitch Albom wrote a great (if a tad schmaltzy) article called "The Courage of Detroit" which captures this spirit. It's almost enough to make a person want to move to Michigan. (Okay, maybe not quite to the eastern part though.)

Coach Schwartzbewithyou, we wish you luck, perseverance, a sharp shovel, and the wisdom to not take the wind.

Who do you think the Lions should draft #1? And clearly a different question: who do you think they will draft?

Wordless Wednesday

2009-01-14T08:21:00.000-08:00

The Weeklong Reentry

2009-01-13T15:59:00.000-08:00

I think I am finally coming out of my post-vacation reentry fog. It always takes a few days after a long trip for me to unpack and unstack (because when I unpack, I stack, but eventually all the piles are in the way too), get back into a routine, and feel un-fogged enough to actually comprehend what people are paying me to read. Considering we got home last Wednesday night, I'm not setting any records for getting right back to it this time.

Thursday we kicked the tree to the ~~curb~~ porch; Friday I organized toys and we had the downstairs of this house ~~spotless~~ highly presentable. Then we celebrated Anna's birthday with friends, and inevitably there were presents, which meant more toys and paper strewn about for days (because that's how we roll). And dishes--who does dishes? Okay, we should. More often. So downstairs had to get re-cleaned-up over the last couple days too. Totally worth it for birthday fun, of course!

Meanwhile, upstairs? No clear path to, well, anywhere--suitcases and laundry and piles of Christmas goodies and wrapping paper were all standing around like Stonehenge reorganized itself into an obstacle course. Only today did I finish emptying the suitcases and put them and the wrapping paper away. I still have piles, but at least they're all in the office half of the room, where they're being made to feel at home by all the permanent resident piles of paper.

The sad thing is that this feels like a metaphor for my life sometimes--an obstacle course of messes I can't get motivated to start dealing with. Well, okay, that's a bit over the top. But until today's improved productivity, I have been dragging pretty hard since we got home. Tired. Unmotivated. Sugar addicted and sugar crashing. Unable to remove butt from couch in front of football. Depressed by thoughts of job and housing markets. Really depressed by thoughts of health insurance costs.

I hope and think it has been mostly due to getting back into the groove and caught up on sleep and urgent tasks. I did feel better and get more done today, and once I get some work off my plate I hope to take some time to take stock of what needs to be done before the Great Uprooting of 2009 and, more importantly, what my life should look like now.

There was a time when an inspiring yet practical friend and I got together quarterly to make and share goals: spiritual, relational, physical, and practical to-do list goals. I am badly in need of such an inventory. And an accompanying butt-kicker to make me accomplish ~~all~~ roughly 40 percent of them.

As much as there is to do, I think my biggest problem is figuring out where to start. But also I think I know the answer: I need to start by not trying to do it all. I need to start by stopping, by sabbathing. By taking time each day to listen to and love and be loved by my Lord again instead of always milling around in the aimlessness of figuring out how I can do and figure out all the things that I can never do or know.

All I need is everything.

Here's to grace in 2009.

Hair Article of the Day

2009-01-12T18:04:00.000-08:00

Am I obsessed with Malia Obama's hair? You might think so from the links around here. But hey, I just started trying to master two-strand twists, and she's my inspiration!

"Twist and Shout: Why Malia's Hair Speaks to Me"
by Nikita Stewart at The Root

Sunday

2009-01-11T07:38:00.000-08:00

Be exalted, O God, above the heavens;
let your glory be over all the earth. . . .

For great is your love, reaching to the heavens;
your faithfulness reaches to the skies.

Psalm 57: 5, 10

Stay Classy, SmallPort

2009-01-09T09:24:00.000-08:00

A view of my front porch:

Every time I open my door (and run into my dead tree), I am compelled to sing a snippet of Elvis: "In the ghettoooo . . . "

And I don't even like Elvis that much.

But I guess I know what to name the tree.

Stay classy, SmallPort.

Home Stink Home

2009-01-08T22:43:00.000-08:00

On the twelfth day of Christmas/Epiphany/Ethiopian Christmas (Genna)/Anna's birthday, we gave her . . . a long journey home. It began with snow and traffic and proceeded through carseat installation problems, missing cash, inability to procure coffee, and blustery bridge crossings. Anna slept in the car (as did Aaron, aka Vicodin Man) but was happy to run around for a while as we unpacked some things before a reasonable bedtime which got her back on our time zone pretty well. She didn't even seem to notice the terrible bitter stench of our twelve-foot memorial to the death of Christmas, or whatever you want to call that stinking dry botanical taking up half our living room. I owe our dog-watcher an apology. And maybe another hundred bucks or two or three.

I was really just glad we got home without any sickness from either end of the girl. That was more than Aaron was able to do on Saturday--she had been sick earlier in the morning and then when he was bringing her home she threw up all over herself and the carseat in the car a couple miles from my parents' house. Upon his frantic arrival as my mom and I were babysitting my nephew, what would have been hilarity if it hadn't been so nasty ensued. It was equally unfunny when I fell for her apparently improved health act and had milk barfed over my shoulder across our bedroom floor. Such a lovely smell for an enclosed space.

Anna was restricted to the BRAT diet for most of the next few days. This was a handy way to suddenly stop giving her milk before naps and bed, just in time for her two-year checkup. Now I don't even have to lie to the doctor (about that...).

Our trip was quieter in some ways, since we were not able to see as many relatives. My grandparents and aunt stayed in Florida this year, and my other aunt and grandmother were not able to come across the state because my grandma actually went into the hospital the day we arrived. She is doing better now and has moved into a rehab place. Traditions changed on Aaron's side too, without the big Christmas day gathering at his grandparents' house, although most of the family made it to his parents' the day we did our Christmas there. I was actually too lazy to make a lot of plans with friends, but a highlight was a breakfast gathering that turned into a downright raucous reunion.

Nonetheless the trip still seemed full and fast, mostly because six adults, a sleep-resistant two-year-old, and a fitful-sleeper nine-month-old in a three-bedroom, one-bathroom house is a lot of fun but not exactly what you'd call a zen-like spa atmosphere. More like a rousing game of baby hot potato, aka "One Up, One Down--Who's Eating and Sleeping Now?" My nephew kind of likes to torture his parents by restarting bedtime a few times per evening. My daughter likes to torture my nephew's parents by making them think she's being tortured as she screams her head off for ~~a handful~~ ~~a dozen~~ an hour of minutes before falling asleep. Whether or not you consider this sleep method cruel, for the record, it is unusual--she fell asleep in all of about thirty seconds tonight.

In comparison, our day today was lazy: three loads of laundry, get groceries, remove scary things from fridge, do dishes, go through mail, take horribly smelly dead Christmas tree down, vacuum, move giant-ass TV and furniture, put away toys, vacuum more, move giant-ass TV and furniture again, wonder why we have giant-ass TV, put away more toys, wonder why we have so many toys, make salsa, watch football. Okay, that football part was pretty nice, though it brought no clarity to the Lions #1 draft pick dilemma.

Can I interest anyone in a smelly, dead, twelve-foot fir tree?

New Year Flashback

2009-01-02T11:32:00.000-08:00

Christmas 2007

Christmas 2008

Whatever Day This Is Update

2008-12-30T13:47:00.000-08:00

We are in Michigan and I'm not really sure what day it is. But in a good way--isn't that how vacation should be? What's been going on:

Spending Christmas Eve and Christmas at home was wonderful. We had a nice relaxing, fun day with Anna, packed while she napped, and had a lovely dinner with friends.
Friday's drive to Portland: uneventful. Flight to Chicago: tolerable, despite non-sleeping child. Flight to Grand Rapids: CANCELLED due to smothering fog. Curse you O'Hare! We spent the night in a hotel and my parents came and drove us to GR.
Weather: confused. It was over 55 degrees on Saturday when we got in, then promptly got cold again the next day. We need, and should get tonight, some fresh snow to pretty the place up again.
Football: let's move on.
Christmas: bountiful. Sunday we had Aaron's immediate family Christmas at his parents' house and the extended family was over later on. So we did get to see most everyone, the three girl cousins got to play, and Anna was quite charming throughout despite her lack of nap, with the exception of a couple toy disputes early on. (Apparently the hot item all the kidlets covet this year is a kids' toy laptop. And Anna is that bully who starts a fight in the mall to get her hands on the last one. And whatever else you have in your cart. We need to practice sharing...)
Sunday afternoon my brother, sister-in-law, and 9-month-old nephew arrived, so the farmhouse is family-filled and festive. How we spent our lovely day yesterday: cook, eat, open gifts, play Wii (repeat). Anna is really into the opening this year--loves ripping that paper! She will even help you with yours. Even if you don't want her to. Fortunately, she also likes delivering, so she can be distracted by the task of taking a gift to someone else.
Today I hung out with a friend and I think we are all going out to dinner, but in between we are doing nothing, nothing, gloriously nothing in particular! Very nice and I hope to do some more of it this week.

Merry Christmas and here's to a happy new year!