Happy Mother's Day!

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For the second time in recent years, I was asked to speak in Sacrament Meeting on Mother's Day.  Happy Mother's Day to my mom, my sister, my sisters-in-law, my friends, all the women that I know!  I also hope there are at least three little girls in this world that are being taught to understand their worth.  I'm going to keep sharing this message because the more often my boys and I encourage others, the stronger we all are.  

I am acutely aware that Mother’s Day is painful and awkward for most of us. Each Mother’s Day of my life I’ve spent somewhere in that awkward place. Sometimes it was just an uneasiness, sometimes it was jealousy, sometimes it was sorrow, and a few times it was tentative happiness because of how much I had been blessed.

Mother's Day is devastating for many, many people. I know it's unpopular to shine a light on loneliness and grief. Especially in sacrament meeting.  But Mother's Day is very difficult for many childless women, women with difficult children, birthmothers, children and adults without a mother, mothers who have lost children, and children who don't feel loved by their mother -- to list just a few.

I’m assuming you didn’t want to come to church today.  You don’t want more advice about how to be a “good mom.”  You don’t want to feel like a failure.  You don’t want to feel overwhelmed by what you should be or could be doing better.  You don’t want to compare yourself to all the “good” mothers in this room.  You don’t want motherhood put up on a pedestal.  You don’t want to feel your empty and aching arms.  And then…. Some of you don’t want to come and hear the rest of us whine and complain today.  You DO feel grateful or feel satisfied with your role as a mother.  I’m right here with you.  I’ve felt all of these feelings plus more. I will do my best to make sacrament meeting a safe place for you today.

Last year was an interesting Mother’s Day for me.  I finally had my family.  I had prayed daily for almost 15 years for God to have mercy and give me children.  They slowly and painfully, and miraculously came.  Finally, when my youngest, Andrew, was born, I thought Mother’s Day would start to feel good.  I no longer had that dark cloud of unfairness hanging over my head.  I was excited to get pampered and honored by my adoring children.  I always ask for the same thing every birthday and Mother’s Day.  All I really want is Peace and Quiet, and strangely, my kids are incapable of delivering. 

But the uneasiness I felt last year wasn’t caused by hyper little boys.  The week leading up to the big day, I felt overwhelmed by how difficult motherhood was.  I felt it was wonderful and rewarding, but it was so, so difficult.  I was failing in many ways.  And everyone seemed to point out my weaknesses.  And all the other mothers around me seemed to have it all together. 

Rather than spend another holiday feeling inadequate, I have spent the last year learning about who I am.  I am a mother, yes.  I am so eternally grateful God heard my prayers and three brave women chose me to be a mother.  But this year I learned that I am more than that.  I am a daughter of my Heavenly Father.  I have divine nature.

We weren’t just created by God, but we were created from Him.  Each of us is a literal offspring from the most loving and intelligent being in the universe.  I have learned that God knows my name, He has compassion for me, and He has a plan for me to return to Him. I have inherited divine attributes from my Father. He loves me every minute of the day, no matter what choices I make.  Nothing separates me from His love (Romans 8:38-39).

President Boyd K. Packer said, “You are a Child of God.  He is the father of your spirit.  Spiritually you are of noble birth, the offspring of the King of Heaven.  Fix that truth in your mind and hold to it.” 

I have learned that if I never had children, or if I lose my children to death, I still have my divinity.  If I yell at my children, feed them McDonalds for dinner, let them watch too much TV, if I work outside the home, if I sleep all day, or even if my children fail at life, I still have my divinity. 

You can take my role as mother away and I am still divine.  Mother is my role.  But it isn’t my identity and doesn’t define my worth.  When we are focused on external factors that really have nothing to do with who we are or what God thinks of us, we so easily feel inadequate.  Roles come and go.  I am so much more than tasks, or circumstances, or responsibilities, or my children’s behavior.  There is no checklist of things that a good mother should do.  You can’t ever earn the Motherhood Merit Badge.  I know when I keep my heart knit with my Heavenly Father and Mother, and focus daily on who I am, I feel so much more capable of fulfilling the responsibilities I do have as a mother of three boys. 

So often we think that if we mother well, we’ll be closer to God.  Or if we do a good job as a mother, we’ll be happier with ourselves.  But I think it’s the other way around.  When I align myself with God, I mother so much better.  And when I’m aligned with God, it doesn’t matter how good I am as a mother.  I feel good about myself because I know who I am. 

Take for example several of my friends.  I’ve been talking with a close friend all week because her ex-husband has filed a petition with the court to take away the custody of her children.  Because of some mistakes she’s made, he feels he has good reason to do this.  She is terrified and overwhelmed.  But she is close to God.  And no matter her status as a mother, she still has her divine nature. 

I also texted with another friend this week.  From the outside, she looks like the perfect mom.  But her kids are struggling and the principal at their school is out of options to help her son.  She feels like a failure and a fraud.  But she is close to God and knows that her kids’ success at school doesn’t change who she is. 

We are so blessed to have relationships with all three of our boys’ birthmothers.  Each one is so different but they are all strong and brave and full of so much love for our family.  It is heartbreaking and humbling to walk this path of motherhood with them.  Their role as mother changed dramatically when they terminated their rights, but no signature or court decree can terminate their divinity.

Satan wants us to be confused about our roles.  He tempts us to look longingly at the world and feel insecure about our contributions.  He tempts us to feel inadequate about how we do at our responsibilities.  He tempts us to feel worthless if any of God’s blessings are withheld for a time.  And he tempts us to feel responsible if any of our children stray from the gospel.  Remember, he wants us to be miserable so he fills us with shame.  But God’s message is clear.  We are good enough! 

Elder Holland said, “If you try your best to be the best parent you can be, you will have done all that a human being can do and all that God expects you to do.  … Rely on Him. Rely on Him heavily. Rely on Him forever. And “press forward with a steadfastness in Christ, having a perfect brightness of hope.”  You are doing God’s work. You are doing it wonderfully well. He is blessing you and He will bless you, even—no, especially—when your days and your nights may be the most challenging.”

I read an article in the BYU Magazine this week that mentioned that the teenage brain is the reason we needed an atonement.  Brilliant insight!  But actually, it’s probably the mom brain that required an atonement.  We forget things, we over think things, we lose our patience, we feel anxious, we feel overwhelmed, we compare, we say the wrong things much of the time, and we don’t have any idea what we are doing because each child is different from the next. 

But God is OK with that.  He knows you aren’t capable of doing it perfectly, so he just wants you to do your best.  And even if your best isn’t that great, that’s OK too.  Elder Holland said, “Yours is the work of salvation, and therefore you will be magnified, compensated, made more than you are and better than you have ever been as you try to make honest effort, however feeble you may sometimes feel that to be.” 

The Savior’s atonement will fix all of your mistakes.  Your mistakes can be the gateway for your children to learn about the atonement and learn to access it while they are young. The Savior’s atonement is a miracle.  I am so thankful that when I ask the Lord to heal my children of the mistakes I have made, I can have faith that he can and he will.  Elder Holland said, “Know that in faith things will be made right in spite of you, or more correctly, because of you.” 

I stand amazed that because of my strengths AND weaknesses, my children will come to know Jesus Christ. 

In addition, my testimony is strong that God gave me children so I could practice humility, faith, patience, and love -- daily.  These children give me an excuse to pray to God often for help and strength.  And my weaknesses as a mother have given me frequent opportunities to access the Savior’s atonement to heal and change me as well.  I am beginning to see that God gave me motherhood so I could develop, become better, and become more like my Savior.  I do believe that children need a mother and the success of our world hinges on that fact.  But I need my children more than they need me.  God knew that the most effective and efficient way to transform me, was to make me a mother. 

We must understand how much the Savior cares about women.  Howard W. Hunter said, “It must be comforting to you beloved sisters of his Church to remember that this same Jesus, our Savior through the Atonement, demonstrated his love and concern for the women of his time. He enjoyed the company of women and had close friends among them. One of his great parables was about ten virgins. He blessed children. He honored the poor widow who gave two mites. He taught the woman of Samaria and revealed to her that he was the Messiah. He cast out seven devils from Mary Magdalene and forgave the woman taken in adultery. He healed the daughter of the Greek woman, the one stooped and bent for eighteen years, and healed Peter’s mother of a fever.  He restored the dead son to his mother, the daughter of Jairus to her parents, and Lazarus to his grieving sisters, whom he counted among his closest friends. As he hung on the cross, his heart went out to his mother, and he placed her in the care of his beloved disciple, John. Women prepared his body for burial. It was Mary to whom he first appeared as the resurrected Lord, and it was she to whom he entrusted the delivery of the glorious message to his disciples that he had risen.  President Hunter continues, “Is there any reason to think that he cares any less about women today?”

I also am so thankful that I am learning that God approves of me as a woman and as a mother.  I don’t need to be perfect.  He is proud of the hard work I do and the efforts I make each day to connect with and teach my children.  And as I become more confident in God’s love for me, I have realized that my children also approve of me.  I have all these weaknesses that I’d love to overcome, but my children don’t seem to notice or care.  They want me and need me just as I am. 

Besides mothering children, we can mother each other.  We can stop judging and criticizing.  We can encourage each other and support each other through the many different stages and struggles we each face.  When we feel like we are the only one who struggles, we isolate ourselves.  And interestingly, when we feel good about motherhood, we assume everyone else does too and we don’t offer to help. I have a quote by Marianne Williamson, a spiritual teacher, taped to my wall.  She said, “When I’m in the valley, I’m not helped by those who think I’m pathetic.  I’m helped by those who think I can.”  Who needs you to believe in them?  Who needs your influence?  Who needs you to help bear their burdens?  In most cases, our needs aren’t apparent, so give everyone the benefit of the doubt, like God does.

We can also learn to mother ourselves. We can forgive ourselves for our faults and mistakes.  We can let go of the need to please or impress others.  We can ask for help. We can feed ourselves good food, and encourage ourselves to play and do things we love.  We can tell ourselves affirmations about how strong and good we are.  Sometimes our own voice is the only voice we’ll hear all day saying we are good enough.  We can give ourselves breaks when we need them. I give myself a lunch break every day.  During that time I do something that relaxes or fills me up.  I have done this since Noah was born and I think it’s one of the very best things I do for my kids, to take time for myself before they come home from school. 

I feel lucky, blessed, and that it is a privilege to be a mother.  It is more to me than a role with duties and responsibilities.  When I think over the past 20 years and where the Lord has lead me, I am both humbled and in awe.  I could never have imagined how much joy would come to me in teaching my children to love who they are, or how much joy I would feel to be the ONLY person on this earth that can understand everything my 2-year old says, or the joy of discovering the unexpected gifts each of my child has.

2 Nephi 2:23 says that if the fall never happened, we wouldn’t have children, we would have remained in a state of innocence, and we wouldn’t have joy.  I love that scripture.  Having children has brought a type of change and joy into my life that never could have come any other way.  Motherhood, especially when shared with my boys, is a true privilege. 

I am also thankful for a husband who supports me as I study these issues.  He has confidence in my abilities to nurture our children, and he believes that eternal life by my side will be worth it.  With his support, I believe in myself as well.  This is a tremendous blessing in my life. 

Breaking the Record

I picked Noah up a couple hours early from school yesterday for an appointment.  As he walked into the office where I was waiting, he said, "Have you heard?"

I assumed the worst of course because he has pulled all sorts of shenanigans at school. But this time I hadn't heard a thing. 

"Heard what?"

"Heard that I'm now the school record-holder for holding the plank.  I planked for 40 minutes and three seconds today."

I started laughing.  "You mean four minutes?"

"No.  40!"

I spent the next 20 minutes on our drive to the appointment asking about 5000 questions to make sure I was hearing him right.  "Are you sure?"  "Are you sore?"  "Was anyone there to watch this?"  "Does you PE teacher know?"  "How hard was it?"  "What hurt the most?"  "Were you sweaty?"  "What came over you?"  "Why did you do that?"  "You sure you didn't take any breaks?"  "Was it boring?"  And on and on.

He shocks me on the daily.  But I'm pretty sure this one takes the cake.

I am in pretty good plank-shape.  I take a class each week at the gym and we work on our planks.  Plus I do them here and there at home when I feel like it.  So I am completely aware of what it takes to hold a long plank.  And two-three minutes is very difficult.  Try it!  You'll agree!

He said that around minute-16 his back was in severe pain and he was dripping with sweat.  That's when he started meditating and doing slow and deep breaths.

(And here he's been telling me meditation doesn't help him with anything!  Mom is always right!)

His whole class was doing the challenge.  The second place person held her plank for 6 minutes, for perspective.  It was time for his class to go to lunch, so they all left except for one girl who was asked to time him with a stopwatch and support him through the ordeal.  The PE teacher started teaching a second grade class that came into the gym for PE.  Eventually some of his friends finished lunch and came back to cheer him on for his final minutes.  The second-graders cheered for him too.  But the girl sitting with him really encouraged him, he said.

There was another 5th grader in another class who held his plank for 38 minutes a few days ago.  All the kids were freaking out over that, and Noah figured he could give him a run for his money, so he told himself he would not drop his knees under any circumstance until he had reached 40 minutes.

That's the kind of kid he has.  Noah has many, many challenges and weaknesses.  Some things in life do not come easily for him.  He either really struggles or is really exceptional.  He really isn't average at much.  (However, he is average at math and he would admit that it is so nice to be average!  When you are average at something you don't have to struggle to do it, but you don't have any internal or external pressure to plank for FORTY minutes either.)

The reason I'm typing this out is because I wanted to post about this accomplishment on facebook.  I probably still will.  But I know that by doing so, it's bragging and it makes it seem like I'm competitive -- or that he is.  Neither one of us is particularly competitive, but I've noticed that other people sure are (especially with him because he has so many talents).  And that puts me into a really awkward position.  For one thing, I could never have imagined he would do something like that, so it's fun to share.  Plus it's awesome!  And inspiring!  But "bragging" about kids makes other parents feel inadequate and I wish that weren't the case. 

Two principles are really true with Noah.  "God giveth and God taketh away."  And "Where much is given, much is required."  God has given Noah so many talents it's just crazy.  Before I met him I had no frame of reference for what it meant to be gifted.  I came from an average family and I think average is wonderful!  We didn't struggle with much and we all did... average.  And average has turned out great for me and my siblings.  I would imagine most "successful" people are average.

But then Noah was born and I was like, "Holy crap!  This kid is not average!  What do I do?"  Meanwhile, God has also given Noah challenges that many kids don't have.  Lots of kids have challenges, so I know he isn't the only one.  But he does struggle, unfortunately.  But as he struggles through life, he does some really remarkable things.  Things I don't really see other kids doing.  God giveth and God taketh away.  Where much is given, much is required.

So it's a shame that we spend so much comparing.  And assuming.  We assume that if someone does something awesome, than it came easily for them.  Or that everything comes easily for them.  I don't think we should do that.  We shouldn't feel inadequate when someone's child does something out of the ordinary.  We shouldn't feel uncomfortable if someone is the best.  We should feel grateful. 

I think we should assume that if a child can hold a plank for that long, he has pretty good practice holding planks.

Identity Crisis

I was listening to an interview today the lady was talking about how unproductive she feels being a stay-at-home mom of little kids.  She has 5 kids ages 1-7, so no wonder she feels that way!

She suggested that instead of making a list of things to do that day, make a list at the end of the day of what you accomplished.  I'm a list-maker, so that idea sounded brilliant. 

I make a list each day but 95% of the things I do each day are not things that could be crossed off a to-do list.  They are either things that I couldn't expect would pop up (cleaning up spilled smoothie -- oh wait, that is pretty predictable), they are a expected already every day (meal prep and clean up several times a day), they are not-negotiable (get the kids to where they need to be on time), they are scheduled on my calendar and don't get attended to the to-do list (attend a meeting), or then it's all the nurturing that a mother just does (reading a book to a child, or listening to my husband's day, or saying hi to a neighbor).  I know this is the case for every single person.  We all are busy and usually the task list is un-done each night. 

This interview was timely because I've been pondering how lame my life is lately and I've been trying to re-evaluate how I spend my time each day.  This all started because -- well my life IS rather dull and simple.  And most of the time I really love it like this.  I've worked hard to eliminate people and things from life that were a drain.  But my 20-year high school reunion is coming up and I've wondered if I've simplified too much.  Or if I've squandered my "potential."  I have accomplished several of the things I expected I would that night I got my HS diploma.  That night I wrapped up my childhood, delivered that commencement address to my fellow graduating class, and moved on to adulthood and bigger and better things.  I'm doing now what I thought I'd be doing 20 years later.

It just feels a lot different than I thought it would feel.  Motherhood is much, much, MUCH harder, for one thing.  It's much more boring and isolating -- which I don't mind actually most of the time.  It's much more exhausting.  It's much more confusing.  It's much more expensive.  It's much more competitive.  It's much louder.  And although we live in a progressive time, stay-at-home moms are considered boring, lazy, lame, uneducated, incapable, passive, rich, weak, unproductive, to name a few, by many.  Or maybe it's just me that wonders if that's what I am.

Interestingly enough, during this time of self-reflection, I also had a lengthy conversation with one of G's long-time friends.  He and I were also friends and students together in college.  We spent many long hours in the newsroom at BYU learning the ropes of broadcast and print journalism.  He worked in NYC (my dream) and currently has a master's degree and works at media company.  (His wife is finishing up her second bachelor's degree -- nursing this time -- w
hile working outside the home and while mothering three children.  She graduated back when we did with her first degree.)  I trust his judgment and counsel considering he knew me during my "moving up in the world days" and his wife is not a a stay-at-home mom.

"In this era women can do anything.  And since they can do anything, they feel like they need to do everything.  And when they don't do everything, they feel like they aren't doing anything."

That's what he said.  And I liked that.

So I've been taking some time to reflect on my identity and what I do all day.  (Currently I'm sitting on my front porch in my workout clothes soaking up some serious vitamin D and typing on my laptop.  Being a stay-at-home mom isn't ALL tedious.)

I want to be a champion of all women and their choices. And I want to teach my sons to appreciate women who know who they are.

I can't exactly do that if I'm uncertain of who I am.

I'm trying to remember that my identity has nothing to do with my status as a mother.  It has nothing to do with my religion.  It has nothing to do with my job (or lack thereof).  It has nothing to do with my degree.  It has nothing to do with my talents.  It has nothing to do with my looks or size.  It has nothing to do with my hobbies (or lack thereof).  It has nothing to do with my marital status.  It has nothing to do with my confidence.  It has nothing to do with my interests.  It has nothing to do with my friends (or lack thereof).  It has nothing to do with my kids and their talents, successes, or behavior.

Those are some empowering things to understand.  And yet they are also very easy to forget.

This blog post has helped me to sort through all this.  And my sister has suggested I read Eckhart Tolle for more truth and guidance.

What is your identity?

Next up:  I will make a list of the things I'm proud of accomplishing on a given day.  And what I'm proud of accomplishing in the past year or so.  You should too. 

Rudy's Birth Story--Part 5--Placement Day

We woke up a couple hours after going to sleep.  It was Sunday morning.  Our kids were going to church with my parents.  My mom was supposed to speak that day, which meant my dad would be in charge of wrangling the two boys.  I was a little worried about that.  But otherwise, everything seemed right and good.  We got ready and left for the hospital.  It was eery and surreal and slightly awkward to be walking in with an empty carseat and a armful of gifts and huge grins on our faces.  Luckily the hospital was pretty quiet so we didn't stand out too much.  We texted R when we got there and said we would wait until she was ready for us to come in to see her.  We didn't really know what to expect.  This was our first time doing a hospital placement and we hadn't ironed out any details with her, so we were just planning to go with the flow.

She asked us to come to her room right away.  When we walked in, the room was filled with peace and love.  Her friends from church were still there.  Everyone was calm and quiet.  We talked casually for a little while, then her caseworker arrived.  We talked for a long time more.  Maybe even a couple hours.  Mostly we watched R holding him, rubbing his tummy, nursing him, and doing all the things a new mother does with her brand new baby.

Eventually we left so she could take pictures.  We left our nice camera with her, which turned out to be really cool because we got all the pictures she took.  After she took pictures, she read through all her paperwork, then relinquished her parental rights.  Her caseworker later told us that she was very thorough and read through every word, making she she understood everything.  The language in those legal documents is harsh and final.  Meanwhile, we sat and waited about an hour in the lactation room there in the hospital.  We were so excited and so nervous.

  
After awhile, another caseworker came to get us.  We stood waiting outside the door for a little while while R said goodbye to her baby.  We made small talk because we hadn't met that particular caseworker before, then shared with her the miracles of us getting to this point.  She shared some of her trials in life.  Even though we had done placement two other times, nothing prepares you for that experience.  And actually, since we had done it twice before, I think we stood there with extra trepidation.  We knew exactly what was happening behind that closed door, just ten feet from where we stood.  And we knew what was about to take place as soon as they opened the door to say they were ready.  It is a humbling experience to watch a  mother muster that much courage.  It is excruciating to watch a mother suffer so much grief and fear.  We felt so much guilt, so much fear, so much excitement, so much awe, and so much peace all at once as we stood there. 

Just then we saw Santa and several firefighters from the local fire department come out of the hospital room next door.  It wasn't our place to suggest they skip R's room, but on the other hand, she was kissing her baby goodbye at that precise moment and certainly the last thing she wanted to do was get interrupted to take pictures with Jolly St. Nick.  And see us standing there waiting for her.  But as luck would have it, her caseworker opened the door right then and said she was ready.  The firefighters said they were coming around to wish everyone a Merry Christmas and to take baby's first picture with Santa.  Surprisingly, R welcomed them readily into her room.  She said she wanted us in the picture, so G and I gathered around her hospital bed.  I was shaking like crazy and was so overwhelmed.  The irony of the good cheer those firemen brought was overwhelming and I couldn't contain my tears any longer when Santa said, "What a wonderful gift you've received this Christmas!"  Immediately R sprung from her bed and came and gave me and G a tight hug.  I could physically feel her strength and confidence.  I knew she was broken-hearted, but she trusted us.  I knew that she was doing this for her baby, and she could handle it.

Santa Claus was obviously very confused at the sudden tears from everyone in the room and made his way out in a hurry.  Later her caseworker told me that she had gone out in the hall to explain to them that the baby's mother was moments away from placing her baby into our arms.  I wonder if those firemen went back to the station and talked about the service they performed that day.  I wonder if those firemen went home and told their families about the love they saw that day. I hope so and I hope they continue visiting new babies at the hospital.  That memory means a lot to our family.

The next part is almost a blur.  It's surreal.  It's so difficult to watch someone grieve like that.  All her friends and the caseworkers left and we gave her gifts.  She said her goodbyes and rocked him and wept.

After a little while she told the caseworkers and friends we were ready  She wrapped him in a blanket and handed him to me.

It was time for us to leave the room, leaving her alone.  I was shaking so badly I couldn't push him in the bassinet out of the room.  It seemed cruel to be the one to walk away from her with her baby.

We were taken back to the lactation room so we could sign our papers.  We were so nervous and overwhelmed we could hardly even look at him.  G held him.  I was still a little to shaken up.  The caseworkers read through all the paperwork, we signed everything.  We took a picture there in that tiny room, then out in the hall in front of the Christmas tree.  By then I had taken enough deep breaths that I had relaxed quite a bit.  Then the nurse watched us change his diaper and put him in his carseat.  A different nurse escorted us out to the car and watched us put him in.

Our first photo right after our papers were signed.  Still a little shaky and overwhelmed.

Our second photo in front of the Christmas tree on the maternity floor.

We drove home. When we got home we facetimed with G's parents and re-learned how to mix formula.  Our boys and parents and brother arrived an hour or so after we did.  We were so excited to have our older boys come home to meet him.  They had suffered so much too, waiting and hoping and nearly giving up hope they'd ever get their baby.  Shortly after they arrived with my parents, my brother and his family came, bringing chili, and then a friend visited that night.  It was all so unbelievable.  Just two short weeks before, I had fasted to know what to do because we didn't have it in us to hope for a miracle that might not happen.

We spent the next week in pure bliss, still very tender though. My favorite thing in the whole world is to snuggle a newborn baby on the couch for hours and days and weeks on end.  I loved every minute with him.  And he was perfect.  He was snugly and warm and peaceful. 

It took me a few days to kiss him.  I loved him and felt like he was mine immediately.  But I was terrified of falling in love with him.  He was too good to be true!  But as the days went by, and as his birthmom texted us reassuring us that she would be OK, my fears subsided finally and I felt more confident. 

We loved him so much.  Wow, it was love from my dreams, honestly.  I just can't articulate how much love I felt for him and how much my love for my other two boys grew, watching how much they adored him too.

Some of the details and emotion of this story probably seem exaggerated.  But it feels good to have it completely written out, even after two years have passed.  Especially because it is a reminder that God is good and loves all of his children.  Despite five long posts detailing how it all unfolded, there are still sacred details to this story that make it even more remarkable.  I hope I never forget.  I hope I never forget that fear and hopeless feeling.  I hope I never forget how nuzzling his cheeks (that still smell like sugar) fills me with joy equal to the despair we all once felt.  And I also hope I never forget that it doesn't take much to get ready for a baby.  We didn't have strong feelings on his name and it worked out.  We started washing bottles and clothes 12 hours before we brought him home and it all worked out.  His room is still not decorated -- 2 years later.  And it doesn't matter.  All that mattered was love.  That's so cliche, but it's true. 

We are so thankful God didn't rush, but brought him to us on the right day.  He was born one day after G's "deadline."  Had he been born any sooner and his birth father would likely have intervened and not allowed placement.  Had he been born any later and our family wouldn't have been available. 

Neal A. Maxwell said, "The cavity which suffering carves into our souls will one day also be the receptacle of joy."

Next I'll have to write about what a delight he has been these past two years.  Andrew=Best Baby Ever.  

Pocket Notes

Sam is very enthusiastic about school and everything he learns.  He has been frustrated more than once when he's arrived home and tried to tell me some wonderful fact or procedure, but couldn't remember all the details.  So imagine my delight when one day he came home and pulled a piece of paper from his pocket.  The paper had notes from what they learned that day, things like what serrated means, that a starfish is now called a sea star, large numbers he learned how to write, how many days left until a big vacation, his table partner's last name so they can join the same baseball team -- you know, things that shall be remembered past the school day.

The past few weeks they have had a special instructor coming to their class to teach everyone how to make glass.  He has LOVED this and has meticulously written down the process and supplies needed in hopes that he can become a glass-maker at home.  (He said he hopes all the supplies can be purchased from Costco.  Ha!)  His birth-grandma informed me that glass-making happens to be one of the most expensive form of art, which just figures.

A note I found in Sam's pocket counting down to our Thanskgiving North Carolina beach vacation.

Sam's teacher is wonderful.  I adore her love of learning!  She has been studying the brain and showed the kids a video this week, teaching them the science behind the idea that if they believe in themselves, they can do more than if they don't.  Sam was thrilled because we talk about the brain quite a bit in our family, so he knew what they were learning would be of interest to our family.  When he came home he told us that he had the solution to all of our problems.  "I learned some things about the brain that will be able to help you.  I just know you will feel better if you do these things:  drink lots of water, exercise, and eat healthy food.  And I didn’t learn this part at school, but I think you should do meditation too because I know it can help your brain a lot too.  If you do that you will grow more neurons in your brain and will be able to make better choices.” 

Unfortunately I don't have any pictures of most of these notes but I should take some because they are pretty awesome.

Noah has never done this.  I'd imagine most kids haven't.

But I was cleaning out pockets for laundry a few weeks ago and ran across this gem from Noah's pocket.  It goes without saying, Noah has been trying to convince me to let him wear his new Vans hat to school since Christmas.

Sadly, when I asked Noah about it later, he thought it was a victory -- that his teacher was on his side.  But I let him know I hadn't been worried about him wearing it outside... 

Happy Birthday

 The view from my window on my birthday.  Lovely!

We just wrapped up birthday season at our house.  Five birthdays within a month. 

There were some huge highlights to my big day.

The weather was lovely for winter.  I love Oregon's temperate winter weather since I hate being cold.  It was sunny with black skies.  Those stereotypes about the grey skies, even when it's sunny are true.  And sorry-but I love that.

First thing when I woke up and came downstairs, Sam said he needed to tell me something.  I expected birthday greetings, or something like that.  Instead he whispered, "I have an idea for our last hiding spot for our elf.  Tonight I think you should hide him in the basket of ornaments on the black table."  Now this was particularly funny because the ONLY reason we have "elf on the shelf" is because of Sam.  Noah hasn't believed in Santa or any sort of elf for years.  And while Andrew loved looking for the elf every morning, he was barely two and certainly doesn't "get it."  As far as I knew, Sam was our only "believer."  Apparently we have no believers and I have no idea how/when that happened.  And furthermore, I am so curious about why he whispered.  Did he think Noah believes?

Another joy was asking the kids pick out some costumes for our nativity later that with cousins.  Noah came into my room to tell me something and was wearing an old Captain Jack Sparrow costume he loved when he was 4 (seven years ago) -- reincarnated as a shepherd.  He may be a tween in all it's glory, but he still is creative and a little boy, I love that about him. 

Every year for Mother's Day and my birthday I tell the kids I want "peace and quiet."  They aren't super good at giving that particular gift because... HAVE YOU MET MY KIDS?!  But then I ran across this quote on Brene Brown's facebook page and I thought it was beautiful.  I know I can control the level of peace in my life. And so I enjoyed peace from within that day.  And it was super nice.

Brothers

My two older boys have gotten along really well for the most part.  I know it's unusual and I know quarreling children is a source of stress and exhaustion for other parents.  So rather than bragging about it, I willingly admit I'm very fortunate.  It's a blessing that I can take NO credit for.  They are four years a part, their personalities are vastly different, and they share quite a few common interests, so they enjoy playing together.  Plus Noah is (used to be) very patient and Sam is very mature.  So they are a brotherly match made in heaven.

However, Noah has started getting annoyed with Sam in the last few months.  It's really sad because they used to have so much fun together.  Yesterday I got tired of it.  They'll be spending a lot of time together over the Christmas break, which helps them get along better.  And I wanted to make sure they did have a chance to re-connect right away.  So I decided to start the Christmas break off by having Noah make a list of all the things he loves about Sam.  He ended up with a list of 63 things (he had to add a few extra for non-compliance at first).  He had to read this list to Sam while holding both of Sam's hands.  He was not thrilled at first, but he did it and they've had a great day together, as expected.

His list is so funny.  He describes Sam with perfect detail.  But this list tells just as much about Noah as it does Sam. 

63 Things I Love About Sam:

1. He's funny
2. He's fun (occasionally)
3. He's adopted like me
4. He's great at Legos
5. He goes birding (when he's not annoying and when he actually likes the birds we see)
6. He's nice
7. He's cute (that's what you say)
8. He's good at having good boundaries with me, other people, and our family
9. He is easy to talk to 
10. He is responsible
11. He isn't mean
12. He isn't a person who would make fun of you for your mistakes
13. He really doesn't care about what you do to make a fool of yourself and he doesn't care when you accidentally make a mistake
14. He is a good reader
15. He is a good writer
16. He is good at math
17. He is a good learner
18. He is funny
19. He is kind
20. He is patient
21. He likes what I like
22. His birth family likes me
23. He does lots of service
24. He's helpful
25. He's a good eater
26. He's good at Legos
27. He doesn't make fun of me
28. He likes you for what you are
29. He doesn't care how you look
30. He's awesome
31. He's a artist
32. He's kind and nice
33. He likes animals
34. He's good at using binoculars
35. He's smart
36. He's creative
37. He's good at drawing
38. He's good at painting
39. He's a safe person
40. He's a good brother
41. He's friendly
42. He's a person with integrity
43. He's a good babysitter (that sucks for me)
44. He's cool
45. He's responsible
46. He's good with tools
47. He's easy to talk with
48. He would make a good police
49. He cares about me
50. He wants me to accomplish my goals
51. He's helpful
52. He's swag
53. He's loving
54. He's good at sharing
55. He's fun to hang out with
56. He's more responsible than me
57. He has a lot of friends
58. He's easy to make friends with
59. He's good at skateboarding
60. He's good at biking
61. He's good at coming up with lies
62. He's a good listener
63. He's good at everything

I'm BACK!

I haven't blogged in over a year, despite having more "material" and things to talk about than ever before.  I want to make more time to document the adventures of parenting.  My kids are so much fun and so hilarious and such crazy kids that I feel it a huge shame I don't write all this stuff down.  Plus I have ideas and thoughts that I'd like to write out somewhere.  And bottom line, I enjoy writing!  It clears out the clutter in my head and gives me a sense of accomplishment to have done something with my day and life. 

I don't care if anyone reads or comments.  In fact, the only reason I am going to make this public or write on a blog rather than just writing a journal, is to hold myself accountable to actually do it.  Plus I hope it encourages other people (family:  I'm looking at you!) to write too. 

And lastly, I'm not keeping my kids' pseudonyms.  The biggest reason I had them before is because we were actively looking for potential birthparents for years and there were/are lots of scammers and creepy people online preying on families hoping to adopt.  I felt like my kids and my parenting were vulnerable enough.  I wasn't afraid for our safety, just careful to keep some of our antics private.  Now that we have three birth families that we know and trust, I don't have the same need to hide as many details of our family online.

The good news is, I've composed the final installment of Andrew/Rudy's birth story.  Yay!  Just in time to celebrate him turning two last week.  I will publish it as soon as I add a few pictures. 

The picture above relates to nothing, but I'm using G's laptop to type and he only has pics from his GoPro on this computer.  And this was a cool one.   That's Sam and his eyelashes really are that long. 

Merry Christmas!  And Happy Birthday to Noah, Sam, G, Andrew, and Me. 

Rudy's Birth--Part 4

Breakfast with my family.  We sent this pic to R to tell her we were celebrating her.  

That night I couldn't sleep. This time because I was so excited and nervous.  The next morning I was up super early before anyone else (first time that's ever happened).  My brother suggested we go to breakfast as a family to celebrate.  While at breakfast, I talked to R's caseworker several times working out details of how the next 24 hours would go.  R wanted to do placement that night, only 24 hours after baby's birth.  We were uncomfortable with that plan because the caseworker was traveling home from a business trip that afternoon, so placement would be late and rushed.  Plus I thought R should take her time making her decision and holding her baby.  R wanted us to come to the hospital to see her baby that day, so we made plans to quickly get a Christmas tree, then drop our kids off at my parent's house so we could spend some time at the hospital.

We still hadn't done a single thing to get ready for the baby to come home, which for a planner like me, was weighing really, really heavy.  But because everything was still up in the air that week prior, we couldn't possibly put things like birthday parties and getting a Christmas tree on hold.  

Putting the tree ahead of the baby that day was a bad idea, however.  We got to to the tree lot and it was cold and pouring down rain.  The saw G brought wasn't strong enough to cut the tree down.  Eventually he borrowed a hack saw and after a lot of frustration, finally got it cut down and roped to the top of the car.  The clock was ticking.  We were supposed to be at the hospital in two hours and we still needed to do the following:  drive home and set up the tree, get dressed and be presentable, drop our kids off at my parents' house, drive one hour to the hospital.  On our way home R texted me that the hospital staff reserved us a room at the hospital so we could stay the night with the baby.  I was terribly uncomfortable taking her precious time with him.  Plus there wasn't enough minutes in the day to prepare for an overnight stay, which would include packing everything we would need for placement (gifts for birthmom, camera, etc) and everything we would need for baby (carseat, clothes, blankets, formula, bottles, diapers, etc), plus our overnight stuff, plus overnight clothes for our other two kids.  Earlier that day we had discovered our bottles -- an entire large tub full -- were missing.  The clothes were unwashed.  And our carseat was still in the box it arrived in.  We had no diapers.  We had nothing ready.

Within the next hour there was a lot of yelling and crying and absolute mayhem and panic.  We were going to arrive late to meet the baby we had prayed for for years!  The chaos seemed so inconsistent with how things should be.  And on top of everything else, the tree we just spent an hour cutting down was way too big for our tree stand.  We tried and tried to get it to work, each minute ticking by as we wrestled with it.  We considered putting it in the yard debris recycling bin and giving up on the tree that Christmas season.  Sometimes you have to know when to hold them and when to fold them.  The tree was not worth losing our baby or marriage over...  It all sounds so dramatic, and trust me, it was.  Finally we decided to put it in a bucket and lean it against the wall in our living room. We figured it could stay like that for a few days until we got everything else in our lives situated.  But in the meantime it fell over multiple times and lost most of it's needles all over our carpet.  We are still enjoying, a year later, looking at the sap stains on the wall from where it rested that weekend. 

The blasted tree.  The carnage actually was much, much worse than it looks.  

Eventually we were in the car and headed for grandma's house.  On route we decided we wouldn't stay the night.  It seemed like a selfish decision from every angle.  Plus logistics played a role in that decision.  

We don't have a lot of feelings or memories from that first visit.  We were nervous as we arrived.  And we thought he was so beautiful when we saw him.  He was fat (9 lbs, 1 oz) and looked like a 6-week old baby.  He had a full head of dark hair with a slight red tint.  His skin was perfect and his head was round like a much older baby.  He had enormous hands and feet and the most pronounced elf ears.  He was our first full-term baby, which made a big difference in his size and how developed he looked.

Each of our experiences meeting our baby's for the first time are all very different.  God gave me what I needed for each individual situation.  I just needed to cope in that moment.  I didn't have any amazing spiritual experiences.  I didn't feel bonded in that instant.  I felt "fine."  I felt like everything was as it should be and he was ours, but otherwise, I was keeping a safe emotional distance.

 G holding his boy for the first time. 

I felt regret that week that when he gets older and we tell him his story, we won't be telling a story of excitement and bliss leading up to his birth.  But as I've thought about it, we were clueless about R's pregnancy, and once we learned of him, we were busy and scared.  We were worried and terrified of not getting him more than anything.

I thought I wanted any baby, but as soon as I got to know him, I realized I wanted him.  So while this baby didn't get a nursery and his parents weren't full of joy and anticipation on the day of his birth, he will grow up knowing we wanted him so badly it physically hurt.  And he will grow up knowing he healed that pain.  It wasn't the anticipation of his arrival that was exciting.  But it was the reality of what he brought to our family that was exciting. 

Rudy's birthfather didn't go to the hospital as feared and his birthmom was still very resolved and unemotional about everything.  This was both a relief and a serious worry.  She was very generous and was willing to let us hold him as much as we wanted.  She was still open to us staying the night with him.  She said he was our baby.  All the details were coming together as we hoped, but it was unusual that she was so detached from the situation.  All birthmoms are different, but we hoped she was OK and was giving herself permission to feel the joys of having a baby, and the deepest lows a person can experience.  She was very stoic during that first visit.

She had amazing friends from church there in the hospital with her.  We were so impressed by their love and friendship.  They all had children at home and here it was a week before Christmas, but they were there with her around the clock.  The staff at the hospital was warm and supportive of her and us.  It was a little awkward feeling like we were intruding on such sacred space, but the staff seemed to go with the flow, which was so nice.

We loved watching R nurture her baby.  She was so soft with him.  Rudy was her second baby, so nursing and changing diapers came naturally to her.  She was very at ease caring for him.

We didn't spend a lot of time there that afternoon.  Nobody really had much to say. And we wanted to give her as much time as possible to be his mommy.

Does he look like a baby that is less than 24-hours old?  His hair was amazing and still is.  I could tell already he would be a sweetheart.  

We spent the drive back texting with our caseworker and hers, working out details for placement the next day.  We planned to arrive at the hospital around 10:00.  There was a lot to do in the meantime.  The caseworkers needed to prepare the mountains of paperwork to be signed by her and us.  And in order to do that, they needed his name.  They had been asking us for a few days, as had R.  We had been casually considering names and had a short list, but nothing felt right.  Mostly because I just couldn't bring myself to choose a name for a hypothetical baby.  Now that we had seen him and held him and now that we were 14 hours away from placement, it was time to make a commitment.

The weight of that decision seemed overwhelming.  The task was impossible.   We decided to discuss it over dinner.  As we walked into the restaurant, we saw two of my good friends from highschool, and conveniently, they were also fellow adoptive parents.  It was another huge comfort to have their support, understanding, and listening ear.

We talked and talked and talked about possible names.  R had chosen his middle name a few hours before he was born.  It was a unique Hawaiian name meaning "a cool breeze blowing over a mountain."  She loved it because she wanted him to be a strong person who gave people peace during their difficult times.  It was also a fitting name, considering he was born on a day of tragedy and was such a source of peace for her and for our family.

We considered Edward as a first name, a family name on both sides.  We both loved it and that was R's top choice for him.  (That name would have suited him perfectly, now that we know him.  Darn!)  But it just didn't feel right.  We had a few other options and they didn't seem right either.  G liked one name in particular, but although I liked it, it didn't have any significance to me.  It was just a random nice name.  I needed to feel a connection, enough to trump the family name we were considering. We agonized over this.  Our phones were blowing up with friends and family and caseworkers begging for more details... and a name.

I thought hard about why I cared about his name.  I had cared so deeply for Sambo's name that I traded naming rights for lasik eye surgery.  I got to pick his name, G got surgery to fix his eyes.  Seemed like a fair trade and I am still so happy with that negotiation six years later.  Anyway, as I soul-searched while eating chips and salsa, I realized I didn't care what Rudy's name was.  I just wanted HIM.  For years I hadn't cared which baby I got.  I was even willing to do foster care and share parenting someone else's baby, as long as I got to have a baby.  I sat there in the restaurant and realized I didn't need a powerful connection right away with him when I first saw him.  I knew I'd love him no matter who he was or what his name was.  It's an interesting thing.  When so much is at stake, a baby or not a baby, names just don't matter.  So I let G choose.

I did, however, want to make sure the name he chose was associated with good strong men.  Interestingly enough, the two people we could think of right then with that name were amazingly strong men that we admired from church.  One of the men had lost an infant daughter to a heart defect only three months prior.  We had watched him and his wife handle the experience and their grief with so much faith and grace.  It seemed like a honor to give a son a name that reminded us of somebody so strong and courageous.  The decision was made.  The name was formal for a baby, so G texted our friend and asked him what nicknames he had a kid.  He replied right away with some good ones, including Roo-Roo.  As soon as I heard the name Roo-Roo, my heart was full.  I knew that Roo-Roo was my baby.  Quickly, we thought of the nickname Rudy and then Rooster.  And all three names have stuck.  Now a year later, I don't even think Rudy knows what his real name is. 

We left the restaurant, returned to my parent's house to tuck our kids into bed there.  We then made an 11:00pm stop at Target to buy a bouncy seat (I sleep train from day one and needed one for that purpose), some diapers, formula, and a bottle since we weren't sure where our stash was.  We came home and while G spent an hour (literally) vacuuming up needles that had fallen all over the carpet, I started washing baby clothes.  We eventually found the bottles, thank goodness, hidden in a strange spot in a garage cupboard.  G put together the carseat and we straightened the house.  We organized our gifts for R, charged our camera, chose some outfits for him to come home in -- all hand-me-downs from his brothers.  But we had some darling Christmas outfit options at least!  Eventually we went to bed at dawn.  The stress of the week was over.  We were exhausted but energized yet also very serene.  We had chosen a name.  Our bottles were washed.  We had clothes and all the necessities.  We were beyond ready and it was happening.

Rudy's Birth Story -- Part 3

Considering our baby is turning ONE in two days, I think it's time to wrap up his birth story.  It is important for me to write all this out so he will know about the circumstances of his birth.  But it was a painful part of our lives and so it's been really hard for me to face the trauma of that month.  Everyone has times in their life that are really hard.  And for whatever reason, several "hard" situations came to a head between October and January of last year.  We have had a peaceful year as a result, but we've remained tender for many months.  Still, Rudy's life and birth were a miracle and clearly show God's love for each one of us.  So I want to tell more of the story...

See Part 1 and Part 2. 

I could hardly function when I woke up the next morning -- the day Rudy would be born.  Even without the adoption and new baby on the way, I still would have been overwhelmed.  It was an intense week even without all that going on.

As I was getting Buddy ready for school I knew R was already being induced.  So I sent her a "Good luck!  I hope your day is good!" text.

I asked G for a blessing that morning.  My mother -- who obviously listens to the spirit -- called and said she was coming over to help me clean my house to get ready for Sambo's birthday celebration with his birth family.  It was going to be a very full house with lots of people later that night.  This was the first time some of them had been to our house.  I always feel like I need to have a clean house and have things "all together" when they come, although I really need to get over that.  If there was a time I should have practiced letting things go, that would have been the time, but my anxiety was driving my cleaning spree.  The house would be spotless by that evening. 

I turned on the news right after taking Buddy to school.  I had never once done that so early in the morning.  I was looking for a distraction from the pit in my stomach and thought watching a little news would help.  A massive shooting at an elementary school in Connecticut was all over the news.  Many children were dead.  I turned off the TV instantly.  My stomach was already in knots, and hearing that news, it wound so tightly I seriously could hardly breath.  This news was so upsetting to me I didn't even mention it to my mom when she got here.  I wanted to pretend like it wasn't true.  I was trying so hard to be excited about this precious baby being born into the world.  It seemed like he was coming into such unfortunate circumstances.  It seemed so unfair.  He was coming to a world that was unsafe for children.  He was going to be placed for adoption into a family that was too busy and fearful to prepare for his arrival, get excited about his birth, or even choose a name for him.

I kept thinking:  We all need peace.  We all need some hope.  If I had peace and hope, I could do this.  

I also had been thinking for the past three days that someone really needed to invent an epidural for adoption.  Unfortunately, it doesn't exist!  The only thing that relieves the pressure is prayer.  So I prayed a lot.

Sambo with his birthmom.  

I texted R all throughout the day.  She was happy and calm all day.  That evening we had Sambo's party.  It was wonderful to be with his birth family that night for a lot of reasons.  It was comforting to be with people that understand the trauma and heartbreak and also indescribable joy of adoption.  And it was good for them to experience the angst and worry about what was happening to R in the hospital.  We grew closer that night as a result of that shared experience.    

That evening around 8:30 I got the text that our sweet baby had been born.  R was open with details and asked us if we wanted him immunized.  She said she was feeling great and he was perfectly healthy. 

This was the picture we got saying he was here. 

As soon as I heard he was here, I had a flood of peace and hope.  I needed hope and here it was.  I needed peace and it was here too.  

To put it simply, he was born a day after G's supposed "deadline."  He was born on a day when the world needed a sign that God holds children in the palm of his hand.  If he had been born a week earlier, we wouldn't have had him.  His birthfather would be his father.  If he had been born much later, we wouldn't have gotten him either.  He came on the perfect day. 

P.S.  You won't have to wait 7 months this time.  More of the story to come within a day or so. 

Beautiful Children

It's not my fault my children are the best looking in kids in the entire world.

One perk to adopting is I can brag about my kids' looks all I want.  I can't help but have a soft heart toward their shenanigans when looking at their sweet faces.  We thought we were due for an average-looking, if not homely, child after the first two.  Nope.  He is so cute we can hardly stand it. 

Lookalikes

Is it just me, or does my youngest boy look EXACTLY like his older brother?

 Rudy 9 months

 Buddy 11 months

 Rudy 9 months

Buddy 11 months

You might not be able to tell in these pictures, but they have the exact same color of red suuuuper thick crazy hair.  They both have round faces and bright blue eyes.  Rudy's are a lot brighter than they appear here.  They both have translucent skin and smile with huge open-mouth smiles.  They are both happy, friendly, and extremely busy.  There are very few differences between the two!  ...Except at 9 months Buddy was 4 pounds more than Rudy is (20 pounds). And they don't share any common genes.  Amazing, if you asked me. 

Our Newest Addition

Congratulations on your new addition!

My sister threw me a baby shower when Buddy was born over 9 years ago.  Buddy was the first grandchild, so everyone was pretty excited about his arrival.  Right away everyone begin assuming and mocking me about being the first family member to own a minivan.  My parents didn't own one growing up and none of our relatives did either.  I'm not sure why having the first grandbaby made me the "minivan" type. Or why everyone assumed I'd buy one at the first sign of parenthood. 

To prove her point, my sister gave me the card pictured above at my baby shower.

Well low and behold, she was right.  We were the first to get one.  It just took us 9 1/2 years.  We lasted six whole months cramming all three kids in the back of our Subaru once Rudy arrived.  It worked for the most part, but having all three of those boys yelling in my ear was a serious hazard to my mental health.  Plus it would have been nice to be able to carpool with friends these past few months with a newborn.

Alas, the minivan because a near-necessity.  After driving to central Oregon a couple weeks ago as a family -- with the kids yelling and laughing like the savages that they are -- G ordered the minivan the next day.

He picked it up Thursday night.  I drove Buddy to school on Friday.  We left it home Saturday so we could go to the beach.  (I refused for the maiden voyage to be somewhere dirty.)  Sunday G drove it to church.  And by Monday morning it wouldn't start.  We had literally driven it six miles total.  By some grand miracle, G was working from home so I could go to an early morning meeting so I was able to take his car.  He got it started while I was gone and took it to work the rest of the day.  Tuesday it started fine and I took Buddy to school.  But when I tried to leave to pick him up from school it wouldn't start again.

To say I was irritated would be a huge understatement. I had Sambo's friend in the car and I was trying to drop off at home.  Buddy was stranded at the school.  And I was stuck in the garage in a brand new minivan with no battery power.  Luckily I got a hold of a friend who was also at the school getting her kids and she brought Buddy home.

Sambo's friend's mom came to get him and in the meantime a garage door repairman showed up (2 hours late mind you) to work on installing a garage door opener.  Since he was so late I had assumed he wasn't coming.  While my friend was trying to collect her son, the garage door guy was trying to tell me that I would be happier with a different type of door and he would have to re-schedule the appointment since he didn't have the right parts... the front door was open and a mama barn swallow that was nesting above the column on our porch flew into my house.  Her chicks had hatched that day so she was a little stressed to be away from them, to say the least.  Right away she started pooping all over the place. 

My blood pressure was through the roof.  Especially because I hate critters of any type.  The kids were all running around saying "Yay!  We have a pet!" and trying to close the door so the bird would stay in.  I was trying to get them to stop yelling, usher the bird out the door, say goodbye to my friend, and figure out what garage door we needed/reschedule that appointment, and figure out why my car wasn't starting, and figure out how to get Buddy and his friend to track all at the same time.  Birds always seem to fly in my house when G is unavailable, so luckily our good friend Ben stopped by and got her to fly outside before she crapped all over my house and before she lost her mind trying to get to her babies.

Anyway back to the minivan.  The next day that thing was in the shop.  Turns out it had a bad battery is all.  Thank goodness.

Now to rate the minivan.  I'm still a little embarrassed to drive it around.  And I still feel like I'm in some sort of twilight zone (when did I become old enough to drive a minivan?).  But I LOOOOVE it.  It's so convenient.  And I can hardly hear Sambo's shrill voice way in the back which is a dream come true.  The only thing I hate is the cargo space.  My Subaru Outback's cargo area was large and fit everything I could even need including a gigantic stroller.  The van... not so much.  I was transporting 6 cases of strawberries this week and got my first taste of "minivan tetris" as I put a few boxes here, a few there, and some on the floor of the front seat.  That will get old, but it's a small price to pay for the convenience of not having my kids yelling right in my ear.

In the 7.5 years I had the Subaru, it started every single time I told it to.  It'll take awhile before the annoyance of that wears off, although I guess it's not the minivan's fault per se.

Here I am saying goodbye to my car for the last time.  We miss it so much!  And the saddest part, we learned it was sent to auction and wasn't even fixed up to be sold at the dealership.  Our cars always get the worst kisses of death.  Our first car was sold to a cousin who sold it to the "cash for clunkers" program.  Our second car was sold to my brother who got it stolen from his apartment complex a short time later.  And now this beloved car was traded in only to be sold at auction.  So unfortunate.