Baby cries

     I was taking a hiatus.  I wanted to go the whole summer without blogging.
     Nobody likes a whiner.  And it's always the same old drama.  Dis-regulation.  Hypervigilance.  Lack of sleep.  Lying.  Blah. Blah. Blah.  Yada, yada, yada.
     Gonna spare you the gory details of summer share something beautiful instead.  One of those moments I will treasure in my mama heart forever.  THIS.

A nest next to MAMA!!!

       My E has had some especially tough nights.  Like newborn feeding kind of schedules.  We never, ever get angry at him.  I offer to snuggle him when he wakes us up but he always gets upset and resists it. He just wants our "help" when he changes into dry pants, bedding, etc.  Lately it has been goofy stuff like "I heard something naughty outside" or "I was just talking to myself a lot."  I know he is afraid of something but he won't or can't say what.  And I can't comfort or give him peace.
     Tonight we were pulling into the garage from running errands.  Etienne started to apologize for waking me up last night.  I told him no big deal, and then I asked him what I ask him every night.  Every. Single. Night.
"Maybe you are afraid or worried about something and you need me to help you pray about it."
     My E started sobbing.  It was the most real, genuine emotion I have seen from my son.  Deep in his heart kind of gut wrenching sobs.  Big, big tears.  Then he let me climb on to his booster seat.  I got to pick my great big boy up and rock him and he didn't push me or tense up. He just leaned into me and cried.

He told me that he is so afraid that his mom and dad will die without him someday.

He told me he is so afraid that he won't know how to drive a car or read a book or "pay for things."

He told me he is so afraid that he won't know how to tell the truth or respect people without us.

He told me that when his mom and dad die and go to be with Jesus, he wants to too.  

"Because, mom, why wouldn't I want to just be with you and dad and Jesus?"

Then I asked him if he would sleep with me and dad.  He finally, finally said yes.

Hospitable

Hospitality  

    It's funny how God reaches us, isn't it?  This morning I was reading through some scripture on hospitality.  The gift used to be peculiar to me; I didn't really appreciate how welcoming someone into your home could be considered a spiritual gift.  Since my hubs is always looking for a reason to smoke meat and our dining room table is the Imana Kids  HQ, we often have a few extra cars in the driveway or a guest sleeping over.  We dig it.  We're totally hospitable, all six of us.
    A good host has fresh towels out, ice tea chilled and kiddos that keep their clothes on while company is present, right?  Wrong.  This is not the same as hospitality.  This is entertaining.  If my desire is to practice hospitality in the biblical sense, it's not about how clean my bathroom is or whether the boys smell or not.  It's about serving His children.  All of them.  The ones that are easy to love and the ones that press our buttons.  We want to welcome others into our space because that's how God loves others.  He meets them where they're at and welcomes them in.
    Paul wrote a lot about others hosting him.  In one chapter alone, he references a girl named Lydia, a girl who tells fortunes and a prison guard, all of whom he goes on to dine and stay with after becoming baptized (Acts 16).  Strangers became family, just like that.

Being at Home

    What makes a house a home?  I think about how it feels whenever I go to my friend Nicole's house.  She's got lots of kids too and part of the reason I feel comfortable is that I know she gets what it's like to herd cats.  There's always a low level of chaos and that's okay.  In her space, I feel loved, safe and wanted.  I can't recall if she has fresh bath soap or whether there are dishes in her sink.  I know that when I'm there, I can let out a sigh of relief. I'm safe and I'm loved there.
     The Greek word hospitality is philoxenia, which means 'love of strangers'.  I know that Paul talked about showing hospitality to the poor and the brokenhearted, the tax collectors and prostitutes.  But I'm just gonna say it.  There are still many days when I look at my son, whom I know with all my being is my son, and he is so far away and distant and removed.  A stranger to me even though it brings me to tears to admit it.  I need to love that stranger better.  I need to show that stranger whatever I can to so that he can exhale that he is home.
     SO.  So just when I think I can't bend any further, God throws me this. How do I better make my baby boy feel that his family is his home?  What can I do so that he can rest well and have peace in our presence?  There are tangible solutions: empty his room of everything other than a bed, restart our rigid after school routine, eliminate activities.  But I also know that I need to check my own heart.  I gotta let go even more.  Part of being hospitable in a biblical sense is meeting the needs of those around you.  We go in these phases where we think we can jump back in to the rest of the world, doing the American run-around-be-too-busy drama.  What my son really needs is less of that and more of us.

Over and over again. And repeat.

    My kid also needs the kind of mercy and grace that I show my guests.  Instead of raising my voice as he (deliberately) defies me once again, I gotta press on with the kind mommy voice.  You know the one; the after the first-cup-of-coffee voice.  And keep that mommy voice going over and over and over again NOT EXPECTING to be reciprocated, however hard it may be.  Because I know in my heart of hearts that at the end of the day, if I am continuing to correct and discipline and correct and discipline my E, he's going to feel defeated and unaccepted, and ultimately, unloved.  Yuck.  I hate to let that settle. 

    I don't know why it's harder for me to feed the poor and show mercy to the brokenhearted then it is to show patience to my son.  But it is.  I gave up a long time ago into whatever I thought "normal" looked like.  Yet there is still this part of me that wants to change things I can't change; and that's the part of me holding my son back.  Come, Jesus, please come.  I want with all my being for my E to feel at home.  I want him to be able to climb onto my lap and fall asleep feeling safe and wanted and loved.  Home.

    

Tryin' for a snuggle

Turning Away

  For 2014, our house has been talking a lot about repentance.  I really like this definition:

Repentance: to turn away, in both mind and heart, from oneself to God

 For my non-Christian loves, Webster's Dictionary defines it like this:

Repentance: 1. deep sorrow, compunction or contrition for a past sin, wrongdoing or the like.  2. regret for past action

     I think all of us would agree that it's really difficult to change a behavior if we just don't care.  Isn't that why I still drink Vanilla Dr Pepper?  I know it's the same reason my pregnant smokers still smoke. We just don't care enough to turn away from past mistakes.

     For Etienne, Ryan and I have really prayed through accepting how some things will always look or (dys)function.  We really don't want to spend our lives nagging and disciplining and running ragged because our son won't change.  Yet we know his loving, squishy heart and we desire for him to live in a way that allows others to see that heart too.  

     Forget the attachment models.  I'm tired.  I just want redemption in one area of our crazy life.  So we've been giving examples of repentance ("see the snot running down Zeke's face from his sobbing? He's sad that his ninja moves took out the plant"), of conviction when we are wrong ("This mama was wrong to freak out about pooping with the door open, it doesn't really matter, it's just gross.").  We've been working on memory verses in the bible.  And, more than anything, we've been specifically praying for Etienne to repent.  

     Friday night Etienne put a hole in the drywall in the bathroom.  Since he's done this a time or two before, Ryan has gotten fairly skilled at the patchwork and repair.  I can sand and paint.  But GEEZ WE JUST DON"T WANT TO SPEND OUR TIME AND MONEY DOING SO!!!!

     When E did the damage, I didn't lose my cool like i did in the above sentence.  I told him I was angry that he did something he's been asked by his parents not to do many, many times.  I made him clean up the immediate mess on the floor.  While he was sweeping the crumbles, he started crying.  Not his fake, manipulative whine but real snotty tears.  He began telling me how he knew dad would be upset when he got home.  I sent him to his room to pray and then I held him on my lap until Ryan got home.

     This is a big deal.  I realize my skeptics will speculate that he cried because he's afraid of his dad.  He's afraid of his dad being upset.  Any of you who know us know that Ryan doesn't raise his voice, we don't physically discipline E and I can count on one hand the times I have seen my man really, really mad.  I don't care about skeptics though.  I care that I saw and heard a little piece of repenting.  Whatever the root of the reason, it doesn't matter.  We start little and we grow these things big.

Baking Bread and stuff

     Etienne's been having some rough days (and nights).  My E has been home from the orphanage for over four years.  But every moment that he was lying in that cold metal crib, away from my arms, damage was done.  We are still reminded of it.  When he stares right through me and tells ridiculous, absurd lies.  At 3 AM, when he wakes us up because's he's taken his shirt off and undone his bed; my brain flashes back to a memory of rows and rows of cribs, all full but silent.  Our poor kiddo, he knows somewhere in his brain all the things he should not do, but he does them anyway.  His lack of self-control makes me sad, and truthfully, fearful of adolescence. The constant battles he fights, they suck.  It's ugly and it's not fair that everything is so hard for him.
     Honestly, it also infuriates me too.  Remember when you were chasing after your two year old all day, keeping them from hurting themselves and constantly finding a nice way to say "no"?  Yes, that.  There are days that I want to scream that he  is still not convinced of our love.
     The thing that helps is those ugly memories of his first home stop.  Thank you God that I can't forget.  Thank you God that You can make good out of the bad.  Thank you God that I today I found empathy with those memories.
     Trying to embrace the attachment thing, even though it makes me want to pull my hair out.  That means E stays by my side.  We decided we'd do some baking.  Molly made bread, E made banana bread and Zeke and I made sweet potato soup.  All at once.  Music blaring, flour flying, everyone talking at once and no one really listening.  It was a blast.  The only thing he broke was eggs.  Lots.  But no lies were told.  He smiled at me and I wasn't pushed away once.  We laughed that Molly's bread tasted like glue and rotten bananas are fun to squish.   We talked about birth moms and yeast and how the Oscars are stupid.  It was messy and loud and grand.

Trust

     It's been a couple weeks since I've written.  In the back of my head, I have a little reminder button that alarms after I hit a week mark of no writing....I've hit snooze a lot lately. :)
     For 2014, I have decided that my word is SWAY.

Sway

verb  /swei/

1. To swing back and forth or to and fro. See Synonyms at swing.

2. To incline or bend to one side; veer: She swayed and put out a hand to steady herself.

3.

a. To incline toward change, as in opinion or feeling.

b. To fluctuate, as in outlook.

I always have a prayer for the year that I write for each of my family members.  The first week of the New Year, Ryan was working in Rwanda, so I had extra time to pray and reflect. Something God revealed to me in choosing this word was that maybe some of the struggles that we have in our day to day functioning wouldn't be such a struggle if I could bend a little, like a tree.  Maybe if I let go of what I want.  Like, if E can not walk upright, if he persistently crashes up and down the stairs, but he doesn't do structural damage, how much does it matter?  Why do I need him to fix his gross motor skills?  Sure, we need new pants every 3 months but the thrift store is just down the street.
 If Etienne constantly fills his pockets and hands with trinkets or trash, it really doesn't matter to the rest of the world.  He can just check all pockets, crevices and holes for garbage before we load the laundry in the washer.
Yet there are some things that I can't sway on.  Trust being one of these absolutes.
Overnight, I heard Etienne up in his room.  His diaper layers had leaked and he was crawling back into a soaked bed.  I whispered for him to let me take the sheets off and after some resistance, he moved out of the way for me to strip the bed.
Later on in the morning, I reminded him that we don't want him sleeping in a wet bed and that he never, ever "gets in trouble" for wet bedding.  He looked at me, with that flat expression that splinters my heart, and said

"I can do it because I don't need your help."

 On the surface, maybe this isn't a big deal.  Maybe it's just him voicing his desire for independence.  But coupled with leftover breakfast bars hidden in his pillow case or the temper tantrums when I cut his food reminds me that there was a time before I was E's.  There was a time when he had no one give him food, wash his hair or kiss his boo-boos.  
So I can not sway on that.  I won't sway on earning his trust.  That's our absolute.
In case you missed it, Ryan and I, along with some dear friends, have started a foundation.  In the first 3 weeks of January we have both returned to Rwanda on individual trips to work.  I feel the judgement, "Well, that can not be good for the children, when their parents are coming and going."
 Let me tell you this.  Me coming home to my Molly, Blake, E and Zeke is healing.  It's promoting trust.  It's a live demo of what we've been trying to teach E for four years.  Our family, our love, our commitment, it doesn't quit or go away.  (Honestly, the reprieve is great and E's behavior is a little better when we get home.)
 So if you notice that E's clothing is falling apart, it's because his mama decided to sway on that.  His crazy 'fro may look increasingly disheveled but he won't be alone in the middle of the night.  I may force him to cover every cut and scratch with a band-aid and I will probably continue to annoy him when I try to rock all 65 pounds of him after a hard day.  That's what mamas do.  

 

Breaking the Sleep Cycle

  I've written a lot over the years regarding our struggles with sleep (or rather a lack thereof).  As I have learned more about my son and the rewiring of his thinking, feelings and even senses, I totally get why he does not sleep well.  Who would, really, when they have such extreme conditions early in life?  Of course he still processes old memories, old feelings and old fears at night.  Of course he needs grace in this.
That being said. UGH! Finding that grace for him in the last hours of the day is difficult for all of us.  Our cycle here is that E wakes up early.  Really early for a kid who goes, goes, goes without a nap or even a pause all day long.  Usually, E is up 2 hours before the rest of the kids.  Some days (note, I didn't use words like many or most!) he will lie in his bed humming softly or talking to himself.  Usually he wonders to the bathroom at least two times.  By the time the rest of the entourage wakes up, this kid is WIRED and ready to go.  It's best for all of us if he gets dressed, brushes his teeth, etc, in my bathroom.  His nonstop chatter, chanting, touching and stomping is a lot so bright and early.
  By the time 4 o'clock rolls around, E is done.  Finished.  Ready for bed.  I would be too if I ran- not walked-everywhere, was hypervigilant to everyone around me and generally was on fast forward mode.  That's where our strict routine comes in with the high protein, the sprints, yada, yada, yada.  Basically we hang on until bedtime.
Now usually I avoid asking for advice.  Please don't take this the wrong way.  It just stems from the fact that parenting E is never going to fit the mold for most kids.  I've been hurt a lot over the years by this.  I value all your opinions and thoughts but I have also come to guard my heart in this area.
E is chronically sleep deprived.  We can see and hear his fatigue.  I don't know how to break this cycle.....I would guess that he gets about 9 hours of sleep.  This is the kind of sleep that involves crashing into the wall, hanging off the bed, tossing and turning, keeping muscles flexed, peeing.  Not that sound or restful.
Thoughts? Suggestions?  I'm bracing myself but I'm ready for my community here.

This is so good!

  My E has been back to some sleepless, wet nights.  He's coming home at the end of the day just worn.  I know that it takes every fiber of him to behave, to try to learn, to not do so many things that he's constantly tempted to do.  He is tired from trying so hard and it doesn't help that he isn't sleeping well.  Remember when you had a baby and between late afternoon and bedtime, it's witching hour? Too late for a nap but too early for bedtime? Yah, that's us.
  So we do our strict schedule and it helps.  Mostly, I really believe that God has softened my heart to him in many ways.  I just don't care anymore about a lot of stuff.  Ryan will roll his eyes at me because by 8 o'clock every night, E and I are arguing back and forth.  We both have to "have the last word."  I know my dad is laughing at this right now; this was always the reason I was grounded as a kid.  He gets that from me.
  Today was different.  Today, E came home, did his snack and his exercise and then-wait for it-he went and got his "sight words" and began writing.  It's Halloween, people!  Candy and lack of structure and routine!!  He asked me to help him write his sight words in 10 sentences.  There was no crying.  No quitting.  No whining or pretending to go to sleep.  No thumb sucking.  When he messed up, he crossed it out and started over again.  It was awesome.

  That is what we like to call evidence of God's grace.  

  I had been pretty frustrated.  We have a lot of stuff (mostly really good, see here) going on.  We have a dead beat renter squatter that owes us over a year's rent to our KS house.  I was bummed about that terrible mess.  At work, we've had an "intruder" (think guy with a automatic weapon roaming the halls of a clinic), super young teen moms, mentally ill patients.  Just ugly stuff that weighs on me.

  And then, BOOM.  God shows up again.  At my kitchen table in the form of sight words.  Reminding me of what He is doing in my son.  And in an orphanage in Kigali.  In the homes of 55 (!) families that are matched with kids.  What a blessed, insanely dramatic life we have here.

Birth Moms

     I swear that the kids save up their most awkard ("Mom, where do you catch the baby out of?), embarrassing ("LOOK! That man looks like Chunk!) and heart stopping (see below) conversations for when Ryan is at work.  I get to be the one to fumble, usually tearfully, through these moments with them.
     To be honest, Blake has been a stinker this week.  That kid is either really, really good or really, really bad.  Luckily, he's usually great.  Not so much this week.  Being the instigator that he is, Blake had managed to get his brothers naked, screaming and running circles around the dining room table.  At one point, I hollered in my toughest voice something about birthing Blake into this world and taking him back out of it.  Don't judge.  You weren't herding loud, nude boys.
     A short while later, as I was lathering lotion on the now clean, naked boys, Ezekiel began to cry.  Really big tears rolled down his soft cheeks.  Sweet boy said in his deep voice

"Mommy, I don't know if I am supposed to love you or my birth mommy more."

     Oh my heart.  I wrapped him in the biggest mommy hug I could and rocked him.  I told him that there is room enough to love us both.  That sometimes he may not want to love her at all and that's okay.  That sometimes he may not want to love me and that's okay too.  He just cried harder and said

"Keep hugging me, Mommy."

     I reminded my Zeke that his birth mom could not give him clean water or food or a safe place to live.  He asked if she was dead and I was honest.  I said I didn't know, that only God really knew.  I said that it really stinks that we don't know for sure but that we do know for sure that I am his real, forever mama.  That God made us family.  Then Molly, whom by this time was rubbing Ezekiel's back, said

"Zeke, remember how God loves us all so much? Remember how He doesn't love some people more than others?  You can have a different kind of love for both your mamas and it doesn't have to be more or less."

     She rocks that big sister thing.  I realized later that my lame comment about birthing Blake must have stuck in sweet Zeke's head.  Ugh.  I always knew that this conversation would come up.  This is one that I've said over and over to myself, in my head.  But saying it aloud to my son as his big body shook with tears wasn't something that I could ever really prepare for.  It's the sin of the world that there are orphans.  That birth moms can't or won't keep their children.  But then there is that thing called grace. Once again,  I was reminded how sacred and precious and-holy cow!-huge this life we live is.  How blessed I am to be the one to guide their little hearts to Him.  

Molly walked Ezekiel to kindergarten but he would not let her hold his hand. Sniffle, sniffle.

  

 

 

 

The Other Shoe.

     We've been waiting for the other shoe to drop since returning from Rwanda.  And guess what?  It hasn't.  That stinkin' shoe hasn't even slipped loose.
     For real.  Pinch me.  There have been countless moments when I have thought to myself "this is the best summer we have had since 2009!"  I can't tell you how many times my eyes have welled up with tears as Ryan and I sit on our red bench, watching our kids play baseball or catch fire flies.  I have not sat on the steps outside the boys' room, crying, once this summer (since '09, I would almost nightly collapse in tears next to Ryan on those stairs).  We are entering our last week of summer here...I think it's safe to say that we stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop.
     There is zero logic in our plan. Zero.  Who goes to the other side of the world to find healing for their son's hurt heart?  We haven't gone to therapy, there aren't any new supplements or theories or attachment techniques.  It's just another chapter that God has written in Etienne's life.  And I am so, so thankful for this illogical twist.
     We still have our wet beds, our crashing into everything, our general random-weird-post institution behavior.  But the dark, flat stares, the manipulating lies, the hurtful actions are nothing like what we've survived in the past.
     Part of it is that I have embraced that my E will never function  like other kids.  Don't judge-let me explain.  For example,  I know Etienne's cues these days and I'm meeting him where he's at.  If he's been out of his comfort zone, over stimulated or tired, it doesn't work to try to snuggle him or even to have him nap.  Instead, we've taken to running together.  The physical exercise helps him regulate himself as well as taking him away from the stimuli (or the grown up that is low on patience).  So when he's starting to do flips off the furniture (I'm not kidding) or laughing his high pitched tired scream, I make him run five laps around the perimeter of the house.  Corporal punishment? Nope, he likes it and we call it "preseason conditioning."
     School starts soon.  E says he could "stay in summer forever."  I'm not gonna lie; I have my own fears about him returning to sitting in a desk, in a classroom with people that don't know his heart.  I get nervous to think that the expectations of the school are going to be really, really challenging for him.  But then I go the grocery store and another mother tells me that E was always the boy that tied her son's shoes.  Or we work in the school garden and his old teacher shares how he always offered to pray for his classmates.  And I know God is using my E in that public school to bring Him glory.
      I think back to a few months ago, when we were so afraid of the aftermath of going to Africa.  And that aftermath has been the best summer of our lives: a swimming, books, ice cream, tan lines, s'mores, road trips, fire flies,  bare feet kinda summer.  It was worth it.  The last four years of feeling like we were just hanging on.  They have been worth every moment we have savored this summer.  So bring on first grade! (Gulp.)  

Updates

     Today I heard a sermon about worship that focused on Psalm 95.  Part of worship is being in awe of how big God is.  How little we are.  Maybe it's looking at the Rocky Mountains, hearing the waves of the Pacific crash onto the shore or watching your baby breathe his first breath.

     For me, I am living in awe right now.  It's like a light bulb came on in our house after all these years of having it blink on and off.  Let me explain.

     A month ago, when we were preparing to leave for Rwanda, we got a lot of questions about our trip, leaving our former orphan to return to his country, would effect him.  How he would cope and what the aftermath would look like for us.  The first of the awe was that I had zero, zero, worries about this.  I felt totally at peace and there wasn't an ounce of anxiety regarding Etienne or his brothers.  Wow, this felt good. It feels good to feel good!

     Here we are, three weeks after coming home, doing great.  DOING GREAT!!!  Our first night home, Etienne said the dinner pray.  It was eloquent and beautiful and thoughtful.  That first night, he prayed for the kids we left behind.  And since that night, he is still on board.  No lying.  No destruction.  No all nighters.  It's like God had been working Etienne up for this too.

     So I am in awe.  I am in awe that God could take all our years of struggle to shape us for this.  I am in awe that He has given Etienne a peace that only He can give.  I am in awe that us leaving the continent for many, many nights would result in....healing.  I am crying as I type that.

     That is worship.  The awe at my family and what God is doing.  Every theory, every book, every support group; none of it has had the outcome of Ryan and I returning to an orphanage in Rwanda without Etienne. That is God.  That is awe.  That is my worship.  

Goofball is a fish.  The mask is for effect only.

     Wait, there's more.

     Our foundation is taking off.  Imana Kids is the real deal.  I mean, God is moving.  Things are coming together and they aren't stressful or hard or frustrating.  Babies aren't being born while I am on call (more time to work on bylaws and such!), necessary documents are easy to find, people answer their emails, the kids get along while we write.  Who knew a college kid, a couple of teachers and a midwife could figure out a non-profit?  We have 4 kick-off parties with a goal of $10,000 by Labor Day.  It's big.  God is bigger.  That's awe.  It's worship; my life is worship.

     

Hope

I haven't been writing as much lately.
I struggle with my voice.  And that doesn't happen often.  I feel like I can't do justice trying to express this fine-feathered, often over and misused thing called hope.  I think of Kylie and JaninaF, my little trolls that has somehow found a space in my heart (I still really wanna buy them a coffee). Thoughts of them make me stop typing.  It isn't because I want their approval or I need to have "the last word."  It's because I feel so much sympathy for them that they are missing out.
Missing out on how much richer and fuller and more meaningful everything in life is when you have hope in something bigger than you.  When you find that hope that is unchanging, everlasting and unconditional.
I'm gonna continue to be honest here.  We've had to put on our boxing gloves for Etienne more than we'd like.  Old ugly stuff creeping back in.  I physically feel ill when he slips into the protective mode.  You know the one: the lying, manipulating, hurtful stuff that he does to to protect himself.  I can't stand that sometimes he still has a primal need to resist love.  Ugh.
But here's where hope comes in bigger and better.
There's been lots of lies this week.  Ones that hurt siblings and mama.  At bedtime, we were reading a story about when Moses had warned Pharaoh to free the  Israelites.  The gist of the devotion was that Pharaoh's pride had consequences and the little kiddo summary was "God, others, me."  Good stuff.  Etienne on his on accord said "So when you are lying you are just thinking about yourself and what you want, right?"  Bingo.
Sigh.  This is my son that routinely misses the entire plot of a movie, that until last week didn't realize Eve was a woman; that still loses a lot in translation.  But not this.  He got this.
That, dear trolls, is what hope looks like.

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -That perches in the soul -And sings the tune without the words -And never stops - at all - Emily Dickinson

This.

     It's difficult for me to write right now.  I want to be truthful and I want to stay transparent.  I want to express our new found hope; but not discount the daily battles that our boy is still working on.  It's such a fine, fine line.
     My mind thinks of all my friends in our trust based parenting group; the parents that get what I mean when I talk about my giant 6 yo moving his body like a toddler.  The moms that understand the heartache of fighting for a child, day in and day out, that doesn't believe he is worth fighting for.  I want to transpose some of the glimpses of healthy that we are getting more and more and more of.  I want those families to know God is bigger than the hurt any child has endured.  God may not fix it now but He sees and loves and knows each of these babies by name.  As they were, as they are and as they will become.
     Etienne only slept a few hours last night.  Once he needed all his sheets changed, he just couldn't settle his body or his mind back down.  He was in the unreachable place.  I think we both fell asleep just before dawn.  Needless to say, our morning was rough.  Tears over the shape of his Afro and that the toothbrush was "too wet."  Any parent familiar with the hardcore attachment stuff will know what I did.  I hugged him close.  I whispered words of Isaiah to him.  I made him stay right next to me.  This is where we have new hope.  He listened to me and he heard me and he felt me.  He stopped fighting me, he swallowed his tears and he said he was sorry.  I could reach him this morning.  He got out of that unreachable place.
     Those moments, they break my heart all over again for him.  They make me forget our long night and the endless laundry.  They remind me of where we have been and they give me more strength than a restful night of sleep could ever do.

"Great is your faithfulness; Your mercies are new every morning." -Lamentations 3:23

Fresh Paint

   For Christmas, my folks gave me the gift of painting.  Our stairway was more than an eyesore.  Homes with four kiddos are going to look a little rough,  but the wall hangings had been deliberately knocked off (resulting in drywall damage), most of the time Etienne flung himself down the stairs which meant all kinds of markings.  And lets not forget the endless battles with crayons, markers and pens.  Needless to say, I was thinking that this paint job may just be a waste of time.  Six weeks later, the walls are great.  E says things like, "I used to be that way..."  So beyond words grateful for this.

  And even more grateful for this.  I don't like angry or stressed, right?  We took this tonight, in the midst of some hardcore attachment parenting.  Etienne had a no good, very bad day at school.  One at which I know the other adults in his life were glad for the bell to ring.  He came home hyper, loud and looking for destruction.  We did our high protein snack, our 10 minutes of decompressing, our 20 minutes of jump roping.  We did our "brain builders." He stayed within a couple feet, always touching me.  And I didn't lose my mind.  I wasn't counting the minutes until Ryan got home.  This is evidence of God's grace.
  Because let me tell you, attachment parenting is hard.  Most kids that need down and dirty, Connected Child stuff, they are exhausting and frustrating beyond words.   No one really wants to do this intense stuff day in, day out.  Until a few weeks ago, when E needed me holding him, spending every second with him, giving him a ridiculous amount of one-on-one attention, I was gritting my teeth.
  So when E found love, his mama did too.  I have known for a long time now that I would jump in front of a train for this kid.  But now I would do it kicking and screaming and shouting at how good God is; how blessed that I get to be the mama that would die for him.

This is Better

     I sent Etienne to school with 2 apology notes and a check today.  One was regarding a broken bookshelf and a shattered box, the other a Junie B Jones book (who lets him check that out anyway? Really?!).  His report card was less than stellar and he was angry at us for going to a Maroon 5 concert without him.  All that is okay.  Sure, we expect him to be respectful, to represent Christ to his teachers and his peers; and I am pretty sure Jesus wouldn't crash into furniture, leaving it shattered but still "being the first in line, Mom."  (Insert Molly trying to tell him about the "first shall be last" here).  But....this is better.
    Thursday night, Etienne sat in the bathroom, praying, as I sat exhausted on the floor listening.  He had been more than a little insecure about his brother having a birthday and a lot of extra attention.

 "God, thank you for my warm house and for mac and cheese.  And please help me be potty trained.  Please strike life into people. Amen."

     I thought I misunderstood him, so I asked what he meant about striking lightening into people.  

"Not lightening, Mom! Life! God can strike life into people and that is what I was thinking when I told Keagon about God."

           "Huh?" Me, still on the floor in the corner, wishing someone else was hearing this.

"Well, everyday when I am telling Keagon about God, that is what I was praying.  He thinks we came from Adam and Eve, but I keep trying to tell him.  Tomorrow I have to tell him about Jesus on the cross."

     He went on to tell me his conversations with his friend that had been going on all week.  This child, this 6 year old, this boy that probably wore his  teacher out today, exasperated his sister and had me praying aloud for patience.  This kid who just a few weeks ago (!) never said he loved me and absolutely doubted his worth in Jesus.  This boy that can't sleep through the night and worries about a hangnail yet gets his hand stuck in the van door without a flinch.  This is our son that we have been fighting for.  Sharing  the gospel at recess.  Holy awesome!   There aren't words.
     I tear up thinking about this battle and how God always, always wins.  There have been many times in the last couple of years that I have physically found my own fists clenched and ready to fight for this child's heart;  I have felt so strongly that there was a spiritual battle going on for his soul to be all ours.   We know that God has plan for each of his children, and we have known for some time that someday, Etienne's redemption story would blow people out of the water.  The water is rippling here.
     So I know that we need to deal with the broken furniture and missing library books, but I don't care.  In the big picture (as my dad says), it doesn't matter.  Etienne has found love.

 

Why Would I Change This?

     Wednesday I thought I was going to die.
     I am a storyteller, at times I am dramatic and my husband and my brother would both say that I exaggerate.  I think I am working on that and I know that crazy stuff happens to us all the time.  Remember this conversation on Father of the Bride?

George: "You know, Bryan, Annie is a very passionate person and passionate people tend to overreact sometimes.  Annie comes from a long line of overreactors.  Me.  I can definitely lose it.  My mother.  A total nut.  My grandfather.  Stories about him were legendary.  The good news, however, is that the overreacting tends to get proportionally less by generation...so your kids could be normal....but on the upside, with this passion comes great spirit and individuality, which is probably one of the things that you love about Annie."
Bryan: "That's what I love most about Annie."
     So when I say that I almost died on Wednesday, the insecure me thinks that my husband and my brother and my loved ones won't believe me.  That the truck, with good wheels and 4WD, going only 30mph, didn't really spin from the inside lane acrossed 4 lanes of traffic and into a snow drift.  But it did.  And I did see, in slow motion, cars in every lane coming at me.  And after I freaked out, I shouted thanksgiving and I got a bit ticked off that I could almost lose everything so quickly.
     I want to complain and whine about the constant chaos that I feel finds me.  Do other people start a sentence with "Remember when I was doing CPR on the side of Hwy 7?" or "Nevermind, I just found my pager in the  tree house."  It annoys me that I know how to snake a toilet, patch drywall and filter out the washer from diaper goo.  I get grumpy that my son is constantly taking something apart and dissembling our house while lying the whole time.  There are days when I feel like the contestants on "Wipe Out," when they get their balance and then from out of no where they get nailed in the head with a pie.  Good gracious.  My home has clean, running water.  There aren't bars on our windows.  I have a healthy family, a husband that loves me and an amazing job and most importantly, salvation from God.
     The selfish side of me doesn't want drama but it finds me anyway.  And it blesses me not to be mundane or ordinary.  When I get to wallowing, God throws something at me to remind me that there is a purpose in every bit of chaos, even if it seems so frustrating or exhausting.  Last night as we were leaving Sam's Club, the woman that checks our receipt for stolen eggs greeted my children by name.  She drew them a picture on the back of our lllloooonnggg ticket and said "You are some of my very favorite people."  Now take a step back and think about what it looks like for us to take all 4 children to Sam's Club.  We have a pep talk that goes like this "What do we expect at Sam's? Yes, that's right. No climbing the shelves. No running or screaming.  Yes, you can pretend to be the Muppets, that is fine."   It is stressful, often embarrassing and sometimes more than frustrating.  I would imagine that Ryan and I usually look a bit frazzled by the time this lady sees us.  But our kids run to her, call her by her name and tell her funny stuff like "I worked a long shift today."  And apparently that is a highlight of her work day.  In other words, my drama my indeed be entertaining and enjoyable to others.  Sweet.
  So bring on the obscure home projects, the nudity and the inappropriate comments ("Mom, what would happen if that man's legs got even fatter? Would he be an elephant?")  And maybe next time I won't need a near death experience to find my gratitude again.

When Prayers Aren't AnsweredBless

      I love my minivan.
     That is a statement the pre-adoption me never would have embraced!  I love the automatic doors, the "room for one more," the camera on the rear bumper.  But mostly I love the space between the kids that gives the opportunity to chat rather than punch each other.
     Driving after school earlier this week, Blake said he missed E at recess.  It came out that Etienne had been disciplined.  I asked him what happened and he said

"I was tired.  I guess I am just not a night sleeper. like bats."

     Sigh.  As I type it, my shoulders slouch.  Luckily, I didn't have a chance to respond because big sister said "That's good that you know you were tired, E."  She didn't miss a beat and asked him why doesn't he sleep all night.  He didn't even pause and said that if his diapers didn't get all wet, than maybe he wouldn't wake up.   
     SNAP!  What just happened?  We had a moment where apathy left the building.  Again, I was still reeling from this statement to reply when Blake said

"Well we should just pray that you get potty trained all the time."

     Zeke, not to be left out, chimed in with

"That's a good idea!"

     By this point, I recognized that me keeping out of this was serving a purpose.  Etienne and his sibling formulated this prayer plan and recruiting "our friends that keep a secret that E still wears diapers at night."  
Love that, right?
     Fast forward.  The first night, E still woke up wet sometime around 3a.  We played it cool (like always, dude, the layers of diapers are totally normal).  The kids played it cool too.  The second night, Etienne woke up wet but slept longer than he usually does nad RYAN AND I GOT 6hrs OF UNINTERRUPTED SLEEP before the pee.
     High fives all around.  I turned our morning music up extra loud.  We were in praise mode.  But this is where the logic hit the fan.
     Etienne screamed at me harsher and meaner than he ever has that I wasn't combing his afro right.  Desp;ite the "good rest."
     He had a meltdown, tears and fists, regarding Blake wearing his underwear by mistake.  Even though he slept more hours than usual.
     He stole some money from his dad and lied about it to his mom.
     All this before 8am.
     He missed recess again and will today too for poor choices.  Darn it.
     I put  my hope in rest for a couple days and I know that isn't my source of strength.  At 3am this morning, when E started his day, as I tried to massage his muscles and recite Psalms to him, all I could think about was that I can do this.  Ryan and I are descent at redirecting ourselves to the foot of the cross.  It's just my babies.   Molly, Blake and Zeke that are diligently praying for E to be potty trained so than he can "make good choices."  Their little faithful hearts.
     Do I not mention any of this?  Do I remind them that God always, always hears them but that sometimes His timing is different than ours?  I know I won't tell them to"pray harder," (dumbest statement ever, non-Christ followers, FYI).  God knew that we would have a difficult week and he knew my sweet entourage would react the way they did and he knows how they will respond.  And that is what I am choosing to rest in this morning.

I don't need an interpreter

     Etienne spoke French last night
     He hadn't done this, to my knowledge, in several months.  I went into the boy's room because Blake needed "retucked."  As I was turning to leave, Etienne started jabbering.  He had already been tossing and turning restlessly.  I lay down next to him and put his face in my hands.  He shook his head and continued jabbering in French.  He wasn't consciously awake and yet I could feel his unrest even after I left the room.
     The remainder of the night, we were uninterrupted but I could hear so much movement from their bed.  He called out again so I went to my son but he didn't respond, again lost in some other reality.  I tried to hold him but I don't think it mattered.  So I just prayed over him.  Later, he came into our room to use the restroom and take off his wet layers.  He didn't wake either Ryan or me.  We had previously praised him for the rare occasion that he did this but this morning, in my heart, I knew this praise needed to stop.  No matter how little sleep I get, my kid deserves help in this task.
    Lately, some stuff going down has been a harsh reminder of our boy's beginnings.  Behaviors that are a result of unlove.  Of hurt.  French is a beautiful language but I don't want it in any corner of Etienne's brain.  It is still a part of him that we can't quite reach.  It's a part that maybe I never will get to.
     It's easy to let this sadness fill me.  To let my tears flow for him.  It is also a comfort.  A  comfort that I do indeed love this child.  That I would jump in front of a train for him.  I couldn't always say that aloud.  That is evidence that God is filling in those gaps of my heart.  And hope in knowing that at some time, somehow, that same grace will reach those dark corners of French and hurt and uncertainty.

   

Tuesday Topic: Date Nights

     I don't like to give advice for many reasons.  The biggest reason being that I don't often feel like advice, unless it is sought, is warranted.  Most of the time, since becoming mama of 4, when we think we have something "figured out," it changes and we are back to square one.
     There are a couple of things that I do know.  I do know that a solid marriage has got to be a foundation in every family-and maybe even more so when you are parenting a child from a hard place.  Ryan and I tell the kids "It's us against you all forever. We are always on the same team."  Sometimes this may be between gritted teeth and a glaring smile, but we honor that we were together before these little people joined us, and we will be together when they leave us one day.
     That being said, there is one more thing I know about kids in general and especially kids that aren't attached to their parents.  Routine is huge.  Let me say that again. ROUTINE IS HUGE.  A child that once didn't know if he would get food when he was hungry or a hug when he was scared needs strict structure to get through every day without those old fears creeping back in again.  That sweet kid needs us to reassure that we will meet his physical and his emotional needs every moment.   Example: the day that I didn't eat breakfast with all four kiddos the way that I do every single day of their lives was the day Etienne ran himself full force into a wall at school.  Or when we tried to have our sitter put the kids to sleep one night, I found the frame of the bed covered with teeth marks.  These two incidences have happened in the past few months.  Those teeth marks are a permanent reminder that breaks my heart.  Routine matters a whole bunch, friends.
     Obviously, if we strive to have a strong marriage and we need crazy structure at the same time, we can't easily go to dinner and a movie.  It isn't for lack of friends and family not offering (you all have been great), it is just that most of the time, it's too much change, even if only for a night.
     Here's some things Ryan and I do:

• We utilize our parents when we can.  For us, we know our parents know the ugliest and most challenging times in our family.  They've seen the intimate stuff and they love us better than anyone else in the world.  If grandparents offer, we don't ever turn them down for giving us a date out of the house.
• Early bedtime.  We are religious about "mommy and daddy" time.  The kids all know that after lights out, their parents are spending time together and they have learned to honor that.  Almost every night, we have 2 hours together without kids.  Sometimes we will make it an official date with fun nachos and a movie.  But most of the time, we just share a love seat together.
• Overnights.  This is tricky but good.  Etienne especially needs to see us leave him and return to him again.  We don't get to do this a lot but we know it's invaluable for us and him.  Again, hit up the family for this one.

     I could write blogs and blogs about strengthening a marriage.  That's not the topic here.  The topic is specific to date nights.  And more specific, to parents with kiddos  that have a lot of struggles.  So my first discussion is how do you keep your relationship strong when alone time leads to distress?

Resolutions (yada, yada, yada)

Welcome to 2013.
Whew.  I am not one for setting resolutions....I kind of think there is no time like the present to make a change.  That being said, I am contemplating fresh starts, new approaches...who am I kidding?
Resolutions:

• TOPIC TUESDAY: I want to hear from my readers and engage in lively discussions.  Thank you, Kylie! I am all for free speech and I wouldn't put myself out there the way I do if I was going to take every opinion personally.  So, coming next Tuesday, I will start posting a topic. 
• REFERENCES: I had debated moving to wordpress but losing my archive makes me sad...instead, I'm playing around with the format and creating more links/tabs to adoption and attachment stuff.
• BOOK CLUB: I would love your thoughts on this....reading a book only on adoption and attachment? On parenting? On the fiscal cliff?

  On that note, I still want my blog to be my blog.  There are a lot of adoption bloggers out there.  Lots of mama bloggers. Faith bloggers.  I suppose my blog has evolved into all three.  I'm still gonna share our stories and pieces of my heart; the good, the real and the in-between.
  How do you make a kid know love?  I suppose this has been my quest for some time.  The theme of so many actions I take. To make Etienne feel and know our love.  This is weighing on me today.
  Lately, we've had some good days.  We've also had some new, bad behaviors that I can't share because I want to honor my son's privacy. Last night, after some tough conversation, all three of his siblings were crying.  They were crying because they love him, they want him to be "normal," they want him with them for the long haul.  He heard and saw their tears but if he felt the love behind it, if he felt guilt or even satisfaction, he didn't show it.  All those tears were out of love for him.
  I am not sure if anything hurts me more than some of my children crying on behalf of my other child.  Truthfully, there is a little corner of my brain that whispers that this is my fault.  My children are grieving because of what we have done in this family.  But than God whispers in my ear and reminds me and I know once again that that's the Enemy tearing into my heart, making me doubt what is good and right.  There isn't a lot that is worse than feeling at cause for your child's pain; but it is worse to know that your child still doubts that he is loved, wanted and worth dying for.  That is worse.
  So my other hope for 2013 will be that this is the year.  The year that all my children know the depths of their Father's love for them.  That all four, all four, will believe in their core that they are worth dying for.  That someone did indeed die for them.  Because that, my friends, is a game changer.  I so want 2013 to be our  game changer.

Each kiddo painted their tree today with their thumbprints.  We live in a forest, at the top of a hill, so trees  (and those roots) are a tangible thing to associate family with.  Thank you, pinterest.

...the weary world rejoiced

After Thanksgiving, I will tell you that my bar for the holiday season was so low, you could have just stepped over it.  I anticipated the month of December to be super stressful.

     God totally showed up.  We did things like the Jesse Tree and NOTHING WAS DESTROYED.  Huge.  I took Etienne on a date to a Christmas concert and we stayed for almost the whole show.  Ryan has been able to have the kids join his engineering students in building a robot; and to date no one has gotten hurt.  Molly has had friends over without being humiliated with nudity or inappropriate comments.  Some of our dearest friends Kat and Lonnell came all the way from San Jose for a visit and never once saw any of my boys naked, breaking something or hurting someone (not that these friends would have minded).  No one got lost or hit by a carriage when we went to The Plaza, Ryan and my old stomping ground.  Each Higgins and Holz family event we attended on time (European, that is) and we didn't even make early exits because we'd worn out our welcome (I think, don't burst my bubble if you heard otherwise).

     It has been by and large a season of joy.  My head keeps spinning "a thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices" over and over again.  I can't tell you the depths of gratitude my heart feels to have such sacred, peaceful time.  I shared a few pics below.

Time with cousins far.

...and cousins near.

Time for creative mischief

   

Time with old friends in favorite places; the Country Club Plaza with Ryan's oldest, best friend, Adam and his wife (one of my favorites), Hillary.

   

Yes, we do the zoo all year round.  Enjoying time with our San Jose friends.