Telling the Story to Ourselves

I feel sad and overwhelmed today as the sunshine streams through my window on this pretty spring day.  And that's the way it is sometimes.

We'd like to think change is just good and not accompanied with stress and exhaustion and regression.  That healing is only triumph and will erase all trauma.  That progress means that you'll never get stuck again.  That you won't feel gloomy anymore once the sun is shining again.  

Last spring, we went through an intensive training program in order to become certified to teach a set of parenting strategies that we feel passionate about to others.  The program is called "Empowered to Connect," (ETC) and it was developed to support parents & caregivers of children "from hard places."  That phrase "from hard places," gets thrown around a lot as a popular phrase in adoption circles now, but in essence, it refers to a child who has experienced trauma of any form.  (That can include children who were involved in high risk/high stress pregnancies/births, spent time in the NICU/hospital, experienced childhood illnesses, or experienced any kind of traumatic event in their life.  That includes many more children than those who came to their families through adoption!)

We have loved and used this material since it was first presented to us when we were preparing to become adoptive parents.  We've read Dr. Karyn Purvis's book, "The Connected Child," multiple times, attended the Empowered to Connect Conference, participated in both the pre-adoptive ETC course as well as the post-adoptive parent Connect course, and then we were trained to be trainers.  We have had lots and lots and lots of practice with this material over the last six years.

And yet, I felt a heaviness yesterday as I attended a simulcast here in Memphis of the annual ETC conference.  No matter how much training I've received, how many books I've read, how many seminars I use to remind myself of the principals that promote connection and healing with my children...it's still really hard.  It's HARD.  Because trauma and pain and feelings and growing and BEING A PERSON is hard.  For everyone.

We've had a big year.  We're having a big year.  I joked the other day (in the context of forgetting to take a family picture on Easter) that "I don't do 2015."  So many plates are spinning and they're overwhelming and complex, and everything else has been pared down to the bare bones.  I didn't do my "12 Days of Christmas" this year or put ornaments on the tree or travel for New Year's or make Nick's chocolate peanut butter layer cake or compile Rhet's annual birthday video or do anything out of the ordinary for our 9th anniversary or hide eggs to hunt in the back yard.  We are keeping it so so SO simple.

And we're all feeling it, those big changes.  I've been honest with friends about how we're dealing with transition and regression with our kiddos.  But it struck me yesterday as I tried to hold the guilt and shame at bay while listening to experts talk about these parenting principles and values that I feel so passionate about...WE'VE regressed too.  Stress just does that.  It knocks you off your feet...pushes you back a couple steps.  I'm not peeing in my pants, but I might as well be...because I sure am regressing back to that yelling voice and angry eyes and lecture, lecture, lecturing...and so much despair that what I'm doing doesn't matter, that it's not making a difference, that I'm just spinning my wheels...

This is why the story matters.  This is why His Story matters.  We struggle to connect and and we repair our mistakes and we do our best, and then we do it all again the next day.  And through that mess, He is healing, restoring, redeeming.  WE are the WEAK ONES.  He is the strength.  We lose sight of the progress, and we feel like everything is sliding backwards, but He is writing the story.  And when we tell it, we see where we've come from and how we got here.

This whole time I've been thinking, "I need to tell them Brooklyn's story.  I need to tell them how God is at work in the world and in her life.  I need to tell them for His glory.  I need to tell them to strengthen their hearts and faith."  But this whole time...I've needed it.  I've been telling the story to myself.

He is not finished.  There is more to come.  And some of it will be so freaking hard.  And some if will be blindingly glorious.  But I'm going to keep telling this story...her story...His Story...to myself.  Because it's just what I need to keep doing this today. 

JK

Am I the only one with a regular technology conundrum?  I rarely use our laptop and almost NEVER use our desktop computer now that the trifecta of motherhood, i-devices, and the absence of sitting in an office are in my life.  It's amusing to me how many hours of my life USED to be spent in front of a computer screen compared with my present reality.  (This amusement is solely rooted in how I have lived two opposite lives, by the way, and not in any judgment towards those who spend their days at a desk.  Shoutout to myself circa 2005-2011!)

I live my entire life through my (now seemingly ancient) iPhone 4, and the two of us get along fine thankyouverymuch.  

Until I want to post on this blog.  All of my pictures are housed on the phone, but it takes a lot of thumb-power to type up a post on the Blogger app, not to mention my particular blog's quirky posting properties when pictures are involved.  (HTML editing is required on this thing any time I include a picture for some wonky reason.  Does this happen to anyone else??)

So, here we are.  I'm speed-typing along on our 9-year-old laptop and producing this photo-less post.  

So anyways, did you know I'm a preschool teacher now?  

It's a pretty sweet gig for a part-time job, although it IS a job.  I tried to trick myself into sliding into it last spring...you know, just do this little thing in the mornings for some extra money and it's only 8a-noon and I'll hardly notice the change, no big deal.  It'll just be stay-at-home-mom-life-as-usual with this little daily morning errand. 

Except it didn't really work like that.  Any scenario that requires me leaving my house with my child at 7:40am is going to be "noticed."  But we adjusted, and Rhet loves going to her new school (right down the hall from me!), and we love our new friends (grown-up and not), and it's a pretty good job as far as jobs go.

Rhet started Junior Kindergarten two weeks ago.  I really wish they didn't have to call it such a grown-up name.  "They" technically includes ME, because I am a teacher's aid in the other Jr K class.  I just think about it as JK, so it feels like "Just-Kidding-Kindergarten."  ;)  Little Girl is pretty much Big Girl now, and she cuts and glues and paints all on her own.  Four years old is really such a fun age to buddy around with.  We've fallen into a rhythm where we do our work/school in the morning, get our nap on after returning home, and then do a little play/craft time before it's time to start dinner.  

August has decided to finally gives us some summer weather, and I have to be honest in saying that I'm glad it happened after we went back to school.  Instead of figuring out something to do outside of our 900-sq-ft house that doesn't include melting, we spend our mornings in a centrally air-conditioned building.  So, thanks for that August.  

Stop and Smell 'Em

It's completely cliché, but upon waking on the groggy side of the bed this morning, it occurred to me to try looking at life through my perky morning bird's eyes. 

Last week, she cried real tears when she realized Daddy had mowed down all of her beautiful "flowers." This girl adores a big bouquet for her very own. After a batch of spring rains, our front yard was just that. We try to fool the neighborhood into thinking we have grass by keeping only the short green portions of our weeds on display. But this plan was quite heartbreaking to our flower girl. 

I assured her they'd grow again soon. Ever since, she's been collecting puff ball dandelions in the basket of her bike and bringing them home before blowing their seeds into the breeze, as if declaring in her own oblivious way: "WE WILL REBUILD." 

So much of grown up life is weeds, weeds, weeds. Until you remember that weeds can be flowers, too. 

How Does Your Garden Grow?

In honor of the EIGHTH anniversary of this blog, I am resolving to pick it back up and dust it off.  For real.

On one hand, I find it impossible to believe that there are nearly a decade of posts on this site.  My blog is mere days away from being a gangly, sweaty/stinky, front-teeth-missing, carefree eight-year-old!  How did she get so old??!  

On the other hand, I just went back and read my first two posts from May of 2005 in which I sound like a b.a.b.y.  Ahhh, the perspective of passage of time. 

Speaking of the passage of time, I have a tough time blogging about it lately because it seems to be happening at warp speed at my house.  Somehow I was sitting at Rhet's 3rd birthday dinner (which seems like yesterday, but was actually a couple of months ago in February) and burst into tears watching her birthday video with the realization that she is...GROWING UP!  In theory, I have no problem with Rhet growing up...I resist the "stay little" mantra of pop-motherhood...I want to cherish my child in all seasons of her life, and I want to look forward to the new joys of the next stage.  But...

But...these people are not messing with us when they say the time flies by.  They are not exaggerating by any means when they say "the days are long, but the years are short."  Boy, does it, and man oh man, are they.  

Rhet came home on the day she turned 17 months old.  It wasn't even two years ago, and somehow she's already 3, and I've been catapulted into the world of preschool registration and swimming lessons and "whywhywhywhywhy" slash "Rhet do that Rhet-self!"  The rapid change that occurs between 1.5 & 3 years old is breathtaking.  Literally.  

So that's what I've been doing...trying to catch my breath after finally packing away the tiny 18-24 month-sized dresses and bloomers and coaxing myself into deciding whether or not Rhet will do preschool/PDO next year.  

I'm trying to give myself grace with the whole parenting-learning-cuve, but preschool world requires a whole new skill set than was required of me in toddlerhood.  Planning things 6-9 months in advance.  Extracurricular options.  Some translation skills still required, but beyond that, knowledge regarding the answers to any number of "why" questions from personal to extraneous in subject.  The struggle of child with parent (me!) for autonomy and independence: this main theme running through my college major (Human Development & Family Studies) has officially happened to ME.  I don't know why, but I did not prepare for this new stage.  It snuck up on me.  I read a couple shelves of books on adoption, attachment, transracial adoption, international adoption, "What to Expect the First Year," "What to Expect the Toddler Years," but now?  Now I am scrambling like that HDFS college kid pulling an all-nighter, only it doesn't go down on paper anymore--it goes down in real life!

When Rhet was 1 and then 2, she was developmentally catching up.  She was a happy kid.  And I was a happy parent.  I was happy to let her explore and try things on her own.  For awhile, she was still so much like a baby to me--because she was "newborn" into my family, I guess.  Toddlerhood clung to her for awhile.  But it was like someone flipped the Preschooler switch about 6 months ago, and for some reason, I am morphing into control freak parent.  The stakes are higher, and she is aware of her behavior, and she is pushing, pushing, pushing.  Something about that just makes me pull, pull, pull back.  It's like a law of motherhood gravity.

I'm reading a really good book this week: Tim Keller's "Every Good Endeavor: Connecting Your Work to God's Work."  I wasn't sure if I'd connect with this book because my "work" is unpaid, untimed...essentially unmeasured.  I've been (naively) surprised how much I identify with the struggle of being a stay-at-home mom--I told Nick the first year that I felt like a huge cliche.  I am careful in the words I choose when discussing work with Rhet.  ("Daddy goes to work at his office.  Mommy works at home." Or, "Daddy's job is to help people at the hospital.  Mommy's job is to take care of you.")  I feel justifiably (though predictably) defensive of my right to call what I do "work."  

Luckily, Tim Keller calls my stay-at-home parenting work, and he writes that God acknowledges it as my work, too.  

I'm only about a third of the way in, but I've been struck in the first portion of the book of the mention of "work as cultivation."  Keller writes, 

"If we are to be God's image-bearers with regard to creation, then we will carry on his pattern of work.  His world is not hostile, so that it needs to be beaten down like an enemy.  Rather, its potential is undeveloped, so it needs to be cultivated like a garden... We are to be gardeners who take an active stance toward their charge.  They do not leave the land as it is.  They rearrange it in order to make it most fruitful, to draw the potentialities for growth and development out of the soil.  They dig up the ground and rearrange it with a goal in mind: to rearrange the raw material of the garden so that it produces food, flowers, and beauty.  And that is the pattern for all work... It is rearranging the raw material of God's creation in such a way that it helps the world in general, and people in particular, thrive and flourish."

This blessed me.  It was just what I needed to hear this week in the push, push, push, pull, pull, pull rhythm we've fallen into in my house.  I have this desire to tap into my former (perceived) Zen toddlerhood mommyness that seemed so much more joy-filled and patient.  This is how:

via

I am a gardener.  I am not a sculpter.  (GOD is a sculpter.  But I am not God, and that is a different analogy.)  I am not pushing around a piece of clay, reshaping it into what I want it to be...master of the finished product.  No, I am a gardener in God's garden with God's seed.  There are many elements out of my control.  If I TRY to control them, I will only frustrate myself.  My job as the gardener is to make sure my seedling is planted in good soil.  I can weed around her.  I can add more water if needed, or move her to a sunnier spot.  I can provide for her needs, but I can not make her grow.  I can not determine what kind of plant she is.  I can not control her.  My job is to help her "thrive and flourish."  I think I can attempt that.  And I'm pretty sure it won't be accomplished by pull, pull, pulling...

There is a song by Christy Nockels (2nd shoutout this year--thanks for the good music, Christy!) that was in Rhet's annual birthday video this year, and it was what was playing when I burst into tears at her party...

Sometimes it's hard to grow when everybody's watching
To have your heart pruned by the One who knows best
Although I'm bare and cold, I know my season's coming
And I will spring up in...in this faithfulness 

With my roots deep in you
I will grow the branch that bears the fruit
And though I'm small I still will be standing in the storm
Cause I am planted by the river
By your streams of living water
And I'll grow up strong and beautiful...all for your splendor, Lord

Nockel's song is taken from some favorite verses of mine--one in Psalm 1 that talks about a blessed person meditating on God's law being like a "tree that is planted by streams of water."  The other verse (below) is framed on our living room mantel.  After taking Rhet to Auburn for the last rolling of the Toomer's oaks a couple weeks ago (they were removed three days later due to being poisoned at the roots by an uncharacteristically mean rival fan), these verses have taken on new meaning.  What a sacred role I have, cultivating the soil of young roots...

They will be called oaks of righteousness,
A planting of the Lord
for the display of His splendor.
{Isaiah 61:3}

And Now You Know...

We have some sweet Memphis friends who are in Ethiopia this week to bring home their new daughter, AKA Rhet's new bestie.  My feelings about our life eight months ago have been flooding my heart as I read their emails from Addis Ababa.

I love the way the three of us became a family, but something unique about adopting our first child internationally is that I am mostly incapable of separating our adoption experiences from my parenting experiences.  For example, becoming a mother changed my life.  But so did my time in Ethiopia.  Diving head-first into the world of a 16-month-old was quite jarring, but I'm guessing birthing a baby and diving head-first into infantdom is not smooth sailing either...  {wink, wink}  The transition of teaching our daughter to trust us, of proving ourselves to her as faithful and good, was both precious and challenging altogether.  Is it different than the patience required of a constantly crying newborn?  I have no way of knowing...

I guess that's the way everyone's life is.  You just know what you know.

On the subject of adoption, here's what I know that you can now know too...

1. Did you know that the phrase "put up for adoption" came from the orphan train days when children were actually put up on auction blocks to be sold into families?  Kind of a negative connotation.  A more appropriate phrase is that the parent "made an adoption plan."  Or the child was "placed for adoption."

2. While we're on the etiquette of language, please, please, PLEASE consider adopted children "our own" children.  I know what you mean when you ask if I have or will have children "of my own."  But the phrase implies that Rhet is not my child.  If you're extra defensive, you might even want to argue that Rhet is NOT "my" child.  But see, that is where you are wrong.  She is not my biological child.  But she is MY child.  A judge in Ethiopia looked me in the eye in May of 2011, making sure I knew what she said could not be reversed, and then she told us, "Congratulations.  She is YOURS."  While I try to extend as much grace as possible when the phrase is used (after all, you only know what you know, right?), a better way to phrase what you mean would be "biological child" or "giving birth."  As in: "Do you have any children through birth/biological children?"  (And by the way, "Do you plan to have biological children in the future?" is a very personal question that is probably not your business, unless you are my dear friend.)

On a similar note, it is not necessary to distinguish between adopted and biological members of the family when you are discussing or introducing them.  ("This is their adopted daughter, Rhet.")  First of all, I'm pretty sure most people know Rhet is adopted when they see her with us.  (I do not tan well.  Ha.)  And more importantly, it doesn't matter.  Our adopted child is just...our child.

3. When we first arrived home with Rhet at the end of the summer, these are the things I craved:
- An encouraging voicemail, email, or card without expectation of a response
- Food in any form with a quick hello and exit
- Grace and understanding

My time in Ethiopia was adventurously tough.  It was difficult to become a mother in a third-world country without anything familiar and without simple luxuries.  However, bringing Rhet to the US was adventurously tough for HER.  She was still becoming our daughter in a brand new country without anything familiar to HER and without the smells, sights, and sounds she was used to.  The time zone was all wonky.  The weather was unbearably hot (especially when we came from the "winter" season in Addis).  Everyone looked at her as if they'd known her for months (because they had), but she didn't know a soul except for us.  And she didn't really even know us very well--she was still trying to discern in her little 17-month brain if she even liked us and found us trust-worthy.

She was completely terrified of our dogs, whom she met after her first weekend at home with us.  (They had been at the vet, and we brought them home on Monday--unfortunately, the jet-lag and schedules did not match up and Nick brought the dogs home while Rhet was taking a forever-long nap.  Neither party knew the other existed in the very house in which they lay.  Until we woke Rhet up for dinner and she was dismayed to learn that there were two huge animals in her living room.  And they were dismayed to learn they had been demoted in family status!)

Because of her fear of our big sweet dog-children and overwhelming feelings due to transitioning into a new culture and family in general, Rhet required that we hold her in our arms for the first four weeks or so.  (I would now like to dedicate the feeling in my arms to the Ergo company for making such a life-saving baby carrier!)  I told close friends that I likened my life to joining a very expensive gym--every morning I would wake up, summon up my energy and courage and say "Let's do this," and I would work out harder than I ever had before.  At the end of the day, I fell into bed (it took me at least two months to regain the ability to stay awake past 9pm), with positive feelings of accomplishment, thinking I had just had the best/worst workout ever.

After about six months, I could finally cook dinner in the kitchen while Rhet watched a television show in the room next to me, running in every few minutes or so to check on me.  We've just hit seven months since we've come home with Rhet, and she is stilling learning to feel comfortable playing on her own or being in a different room.  I threw a birthday party for a two-year-old last week when it felt like I had an 8-month-old!

I have no idea which of my experiences in those first months were universal to all new mothers and which were unique to adoption.  All I know is that it was/has been an incredibly sweet and challenging time.  My communication with friends has been pretty much non-existant as I've hunkered down and devoted most of my time and energy to this transition, which has caused occasional guilt and loneliness.

I say all of this to say: encouragement, grace, and understanding are the sweetest gifts I've received!  And they are the sweetest gifts you can give to a new adoptive mom...probably any new mom?

4. You can not adopt on accident.  It's true.  And therefore, there is a lot (a LOT) of preparation and effort that goes into the adoption process.  Some of that includes education and research.  So when you hear some hair-brained idea from me about how we are choosing to parent our child, please do not treat us like crazy people.

For example: We asked that friends and extended family not hold Rhet, comfort her, feed her, or meet any basic need of hers for several months after we returned home with her.  I know, I know.  It just sounds WEIRD.  But there was a reason.  When a child has been with many other children in an orphanage, receiving care from many nannies, there are two things that have undoubtedly occured:

(1) That child at some point in time (and most likely many points in time) needed something.  Food, drink, a diaper change, affection, consoling, etc.  And that child either had to wait to have that need met (until after other children were attended to or until she was noticed) or it was never met at all.  The child learned that she could not trust people to meet her needs.

(2) When a child had a birth parent and then experienced loss of that birth parent, and then had multiple adults caring for her, she learned that caregivers change and go away.

In order to establish in Rhet's tiny toddler mind that we were her new parents...that we were the people she would look to to meet her needs and that we could be trusted to stick around forever...it was necessary for us to prove ourselves.  We had to show her, "Look, Mommy & Daddy fed you this morning, this afternoon, and this evening.  And we will do it again tomorrow and the day after that.  When you cried, we picked you up and soothed your hurting heart.  When you needed clothes or a diaper change, we helped you as quickly as we could.  We love you and we are not going anywhere."  The only way to show her that was to put ourselves in a position to be "her people."  So see?  There is a good reason for those weird requests and parenting styles.  It is good for our child, even if it was inconvenient for us or offensive/strange to those around us.

(Just the other day, I politely asked a well-meaning stranger at the playground to let me be the one to guide my child back and forth from the slides and up the stairs--I explained that I had adopted her and was still trying to teach her to come to me for help.  She drew her hand away from Rhet as if I had just accused her of child abuse.  I felt bad, but I also saw the way Rhet was looking at her as if she was a third grandparent.  And how else can I teach my child who a stranger is?)

I am a people-pleaser, and therefore it pains me to inconvenience others or worse, to offend them.  So in turn, any support and encouragement I've received about the special pains we take to do the best thing for our child has gone a LONG way.

---

I can't wait to share the joy of our friends' daughter's homecoming at the end of this week.  Even though their experiences will be different, I do know that they will be exhausted, overjoyed, relieved, overwhelmed, and ready to settle into their new normal.  I am ready to support them as best as I know how.

And now that you know what you know, you can support your favorite adoptive families too.  :)

Happy Face Day!

A little over a year ago, we saw the face of this cutie-pie:

On January 13th of this year, we decided to start a new family tradition: Face Day. We will celebrate the day we saw a picture of our child(ren) for the first time, be it referral pictures or ultrasound pics.

Face Day was celebrated with face cupcakes (glazed donut cupcakes!)...

...and a special gift that will be "refreshed" each year on Face Day!

Each number also coordinates with past 12 months of pictures we have of sweet Rhet, starting with Face Day.

I'm such a sucker for traditions and celebrations. They don't have to be costly or extravagant to be special!

Love the One You're With: Nursery Space

Betcha thought I was never coming back, huh? Well, I just need to get this off my chest: I'm finding blogging time to be sparse these days. The phrase "no time" doesn't quite fit, because I do have time. I have roughly one hour every day to do whatever I want to do without a toddler present. While I do (often, ok, mostly often) enjoy my time with my little buddy, the all-the-time-ness of stay at home mommyhood can weigh on a lady. While I wish blogging was my activity of choice in my golden quiet hour (and for some people it is), I find that a cup of hot tea and a good book top my list. (And by "good book" I mean several episodes of "Sister Wives." Haha. Just kidding. Kind of.)

But here I am this afternoon, bloggie friends, prioritizing YOU.

This will probably be in two or three parts, but I'd love to show you some special things I've done to Rhet's nursery that were pretty economical, hence loving whatcha got. (Ok, "have" for you grammar people.)

This is the view from the doorway. I took this pic during the Christmas season, so there are a few added holiday touches. Sorry if you're soooo over that. I'm not. And my confession is that the paper snowflakes are still hanging from the ceiling.

The "r" on the door was a little splurge from Anthro. Loving what I have usually includes adorning it in some way with a tiny "happy" that makes me feel...happy. :)

The colors were meant to be gender neutral, as we got started on the room before we had our referral. The grey on the walls was a Farrow & Ball (cha-CHING) color that I saw in Real Simple magazine. I went to my local Benjamin Moore store, which had a color swatch of Farrow & Ball. They color matched to Benjamin paints for me. Then I took the samples to Home Depot and got them to color match some generic and MUCH cheaper paint. Shout-out to my hubby Nick, who REPLACED the baseboards and painted them--a little detail that made the room feel so much nicer.

The curtains are homemade from a cheap white fabric Target shower curtain. I split them in half, sewed up the hems, and sewed on a border from fabric I was already using in the nursery. They are hung with...what else? Shower curtain rings. :) The curtains are shorter than I'd like, but beggars can't be choosers, and neither can people on a budget sometimes.

The tiny Xmas tree and end table were temporary for the holidays--I had to find a spot for the end table, actually, because it was displaced by the Xmas tree in our living room. A lot of things in Rhet's room are like that--"there" because that's where they fit. The cream colored Ikea chair is another example. We have no other spot in our house for it, and it ended up being nice for when Nick and I are both hanging in the nursery.

Rugs always feel like a splurge. This one was from Target and fairly inexpensive as far as larger floor rugs go. I originally felt unsure about it, because it changed the crisp grey, white, golden yellow simplicity of the room. But I settled on it for good when I decided it help to tie in the blues and greens that I can't NOT use because they are my favorites. :)

I'll talk about the crib and bookcases (on the wall you can't see in this picture) on another day. We also made some "big girl" changes after the holidays, and I have finally finished some art projects for the walls, and I'll save those for a later post as well.

My famous buddy Ashley featured my dresser makeover on her blog awhile back. It used to belong to my great-grandparents, and I was hesitant to change it at all because of the history, but my mother urged me to go for it. (The finish was pretty damaged on top, which eased my guilt.)

Ashley also gave me advice/encouragement on the paint colors/finish. I love the way it turned out! We left the inside of the drawers lined with the original paper, and we left the back untouched. (Who's gonna know...until I tell the world on my blog?)

The knobs are a happy splurge from Anthro, and they're also a bit sentimental. My friend moved to Memphis to open our Anthropologie here, and I temped for two weeks to help get the store up and running. It was a super interesting and super exhausting experience. And I made a little cashola with a temporary employee discount...voila. Dresser knobs.

When I first started looking at bedding for the nursery, I was in love with the Land of Nod. (A continuation of my Crate & Barrel love from wedding registry days, I guess.) While I ended up going a less expensive route on the bedding, I allowed myself the changing pad cover. :) We keep Rhet's cloth diapers, disposable diapers, and clothes in this dresser.

Again, the Land of Nod had my ultimate nursery dream item: the upholstered glider. I really wanted a piece of furniture that I could use elsewhere when it's nursery time was up. But I could NOT justify it in the budget.

Instead, we purchased this super cheap wooden glider from Target. The cushions were the color of the ottoman (in the doorway pic)--still need to cover that ottoman! I painstakingly created covers for the cushions out of two different fabrics. And it was true pain--those cushions were thick and running the needle through them made me hate my life. But it was worth it, because I ended up with something I loved even though it didn't start as such.

We keep the little frog fabric crate next to the glider to contain the books we've read that day/week. (Encouraging a little bit less repetition for Mommy's sake!)

The end table was another Ikea purchase that was displaced from another room. I can't wait to show you the lamp...another time!

This little munchkin has awoken from her slumber. Time to get our "zoo" on!

(Literally, we are going to the zoo. Just another reason to love Memphis--a trip to the zoo is nbd and supereasyfun.)

Gratitude

I love that the season of Thanksgiving and Advent are practically intertwined.  I find that most years I can identify with one more strongly than the other.

Last year (and the year before), Advent was on my heart as we waited.  We waited for the phone call that would introduce us to Rhet.  We waited for redemption of broken circumstances.  We identified with the longing for Christ's coming into the world.

It is difficult (though not impossible) to fill oneself with gratitude when you feel a longing for things to be made complete.  But this year, I carry Thanksgiving into the Advent season.  I remember what it felt like to wait with my life laid open to the writing of God's story...waiting for Him to write another word, complete another sentence, bring resolution to conflict.  And now I resonate with the words of my ancestors in the faith: "The Lord has done great things for us.  And we are filled with joy."

Rhet is entering the "NO!" phase of toddlerhood.  Yay.  ;)  And it is hitting at the most perfect time, because (most of the time...okay, some of the time) instead of feeling exasperated at the 154th "NO!" of the day (when she really means "Yes"), I feel an overflow of gratitude.  Last year, this baby girl was a stranger...today she is my daughter!  Last year, this baby girl was hungry...today she is asserting her desire to choose which foods she would like to eat!  Last year, we all longed for God to bring beauty from ashes...today I will rock my beauty to sleep, whispering that Mommy loves her, thanking God for making us a family.

There is the pain of "not yet" in the Advent season.  But for anyone who has seen God make a new creation, there is also joy in the anticipation that (as Louie Giglio says) "it will all be okay in the end...if it's not okay, then it's not the end."

You might remember this picture:

(circa Dec 2009 from this Jan 2010 post)

Well, now this sweet girl... 

 

...can enjoy this completed stocking:

Comfort AND joy--that's what Advent offers everyone.

The Slacker's Guide to Half Marathon Training

I potentially made a very stupid decision about 4-6 weeks after coming home with Rhet.  I decided to train for the one and only long distance race that I have ever run: the St Jude Half Marathon.  (I'm starting to lose count, but I think I've run the half four times and the full once since 2004.)

It's not that I dislike other races...it's just that I'm poor and lazy.  (Too much money and energy to travel anywhere besides Memphis for a race.)  In fact, Nick thinks I'm crazy, but I would love to run the Nike Women's Marathon in San Francisco one day.

The St Jude half is perfect.  The training season starts just as the weather is starting to cool off.  It ends just as the weather is getting really cold.  Perfect race day weather starts in the low-40's and finishes in the mid-50's.  Plus, running for a cause (for THIS cause) is about as great as it gets.

But let's revisit the notion of my potentially stupid decision.

The half marathon sold out in July.  (I was residing in a different country at the time, so I could have cared less.)  Not long after returning to Memphis, I started getting the race itch.  There's something about fall being right around the corner that makes me want to plan out a race training schedule.  And so I did.  Even though I wasn't registered.  I thought to myself, I'll just train for this thing for fun and maybe someone will drop out at the last minute and give me their spot.

And then I woke up and realized that I was an idiot.  Why would I do that to myself in the first months of being a new mom?  The time commitment.  The energy.  The organization.  What was I thinking?

Well, I was thinking that I love running and how it makes me feel and the sense of purpose a training schedule provides with everything in it's place and how I can indulge in a little more ice cream and chocolate milk for the sake of my caloric intake and how I don't want to lose my identity just because I'm a mommy...

Then, opportunity drove a hard bargain.  My friend Martha needed to relinquish her spot and asked if I wanted it.  Oh man.

So I made a decision to train like a slacker.  And I've enjoyed it so much that I am going to have to give myself a serious kick in the butt to train any other way in the future.

It's no secret that I'm a slow runner.  No, I am a sloooooow runner.  Think of someone you perceive as being a slow runner and then slow them down about 2 more minutes per mile.  I heart the distance races because endurance trumps speed.  (Well, it does for a slow person like me.)  I was jazzed to receive a BOB running stroller from some amazing friends at a baby shower, because I knew it finally made my slow running legit.  Who's going to make fun of a slow running lady when she's pushing a stroller?  Well, I'm not sure, but no one I need to care about, right?

PLUS, have you seen how awesome these BOBs are?  (Beast of Burden, fyi)  I'm pretty sure the shocks on my stroller are nicer than the ones on my car.  We're talking smooooooth.  Throw in the handlebar console add-on and I've got a place for my water, keys, chapstick, and iPhone.  I kind of MISS running without it!

My Slacker's Guide to Half Marathon training entails these simple principles:
1. You are training to MERELY finish the race without getting hurt.  (Save the PR for another year, buddy.)

2. Run for minutes, not miles.  Hal Higdon tells you to run 6 miles, you run 60 minutes.  (And if you run slow like me, you will be finished before you were supposed to be finished.  Repeat after me: NOT cheating...just slacking.)

3. Here comes the beautiful part: No matter what happens, complete your entire run by running 10 minutes, walking 5 minutes, and repeating.  Oh, what's that?  You missed the first 4 weeks of your 12-week schedule and now you're mega-behind?  Just follow my slacker plan and no one gets hurt.  Jumping into a regular 4-miler nonstop when you were only running 1.5 is a quick way to get shin splints at best.  But running 40 minutes the slacker way?  No problem-o.

4. Don't beat yourself up about missing a run here and there.  You can walk the whole race if need be. (Remember?  It's for a good cause.)

Sure you're going to finish with a slower race time, but your knees will thank you for it.  And c'mon...it's still a half marathon!

I am loving this year's training so much because I am really just doing what I can and not stressing about the rest of it.  Rhet and I go out two weekday mornings per week and she naps while I put in my running time.  (Autumn colors, cool breezes, and falling leaves--SO lovely!)  On Saturday or Sunday afternoons (whichever is less busy or has nicer weather), I head out with Rhet or occasionally solo and enjoy the long runs on the Greenline.  She loves to people watch and bob her head to the Nike+ music while I'm huffing and puffing along.

Last week, as I made plans for the end of the race schedule, I decided to bump my long run up from the prescribed 80 minutes to 120 minutes, since I knew the whole race was going run me close to 3 hours.  Because I was slacker-running, it was doable (without injury).  (And I got in about 9 miles!)  This Saturday, I'll go for 2.5 hours.  Instead of seeing it as this huge challenge, I'm enjoying the luxury of my free time!

So there you have it...running for slackers.  Let go of your inner perfectionist and embrace what you can enjoy!

Like it's Nineteen-Ninety-Nine

It was (past) time for a change.  I apologize to all of you who were diehard fans of the vintage title.  "Your Mom's Blog" will be changing names, but the same ole' substance is sticking around so do not despair.  

And just to recap for my own dignity's sake: Your Mom's Blog was created circa 2005 when I simultaneously finished my Master's Degree AND learned from a family friend that my mother had been secretly blogging under an anonymous name.  I wanted to write about my new experiences in the "real world" while also feeling a bit competitively inspired by my mother to try out the new-fangled blog thing.  "Your mom..." was already an outdated phrase, I know, but now it's just prehistoric.  (The Artist Who Was Formerly Known As Prince but is now just Prince reminded me that partying is different than blogging.  And while I'm fairly extroverted and love a celebration, I'm not really a party girl anyways.  And 1999 was kind of over-hyped in my personal life history.  Sad, but true.)

I love the new blog name because it has about 1999 meanings to me.  So pick the one you love and keep reading.

----------

Life in the last three months has been:

An adventure

Full of change

Flexible

But structured

On a learning curve

Fun

Even super fun

But challenging

And exhausting

(But in a good way...like a ridiculous workout)

I am looking forward to writing about my favorite things about Ethiopia (and adoption) soon--I've been collecting a mental list.  In the meantime, I'm going to let you in on a little secret: I'm kind of a drama queen.  (HA.)  And I feel a bit of guilt over dramatically recounting the suffering and trauma regarding the huge life change we underwent over the last two+ years without giving you perspective that includes gratitude & grace.  I was muddling through it all and pouring my life out in words.  And now that I'm seeing redemption, I need to paint another layer on the picture.  

For now, I will share that after a lot of reflection, I think the hardest part of my tough trip to Ethiopia was the fact that I became a (first-time) mother of a toddler there.  (Duh.)  

In some ways (in most ways?), I think it would have been just as difficult & overwhelming anywhere with any age child.  The first few weeks of motherhood are pure bootcamp.  You are learning to do something that requires so much more of you than was ever required before.   

In other ways, to go to an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people without your own "things" and food and comforts and support systems...and sometimes without "necessities" like power and water...this made my bootcamp particularly challenging.

When we returned home to Memphis, I entered a honeymoon-like-stage in my time with Rhet.  Everything seemed so much EASIER.  I could go places.  In my car.  (And with Rhet in a safe carseat.)  I could cook meals for both of us to eat.  I could sleep in my own bed.  (Rhet could sleep in HER own bed!)  I could sit on my own fully-flushing toilet.  I could drink water from and brush my teeth under the tap.  I had my full supply of clothes, diapers, cups, plates, utensils, bibs...okay, you get the picture....  It was AMAZING and it balanced the tough parts of our transition home.

It was kind of awesome how the hard part would have been hard anyways, but I dealt with it in such a challenging way that the rest of the hard part seemed easy.  Did you catch that?  :)

The temperature was still at 100+ degrees, but I didn't care because I'd missed half the summer.  Rhet was terrified of our dogs and required us to hold her every second we were at home for several weeks straight, but at least it was OUR home with OUR stuff.  It took several weeks to get back to sleeping through the night, but at least those first nights with interrupted sleep were in our own bed with our baby monitor to watch and listen for Rhet.  

And there were the joys of the firsts.  First taste of ice cream.  (Blech, she hated it.)  First cupcake.  (Blech, she hated it.)  First fresh peach from the farmers' market.  (Blech, she hated it.)  Okay, well maybe it was more like the joys of the fourths & fifths.  Because there WAS a first time that she did like ice cream.  And cupcakes.  And peaches.  And watermelon--oh, her love for watermelon was insatiable.  To see her clap her hands for joy with her twinkling eyes glued to that slice of watermelon.  Well, it was just plain fun.  

 So much has morphed and changed that I am constantly reminding myself we've just been home three months.  There is a LOT that I'm still trying to get the hang of.  And it is physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually challenging.  But I mostly feel overwhelmed with a sense of gratitude for this sweet time in life.  There is a line in a JJ Heller song that I am experiencing and pray the same for you, friends:  "May you see redemption on this side of heaven..."

The "Birth" Story

Comparing the adoption process to giving birth is just plain unfair to both groups.  (I say this light-heartedly, FYI.)  I had a mental tendency to relate EVERYTHING to labor..adoption paperwork was the equivalence of labor...waiting for a referral was the equivalence of labor...waiting to bring our child home was the equivalence of labor....  On one hand, the adoption process can be just plain tough!  And on the other hand, I have a feeling that none of those things is equivalent to labor.  Whatever journey one takes to motherhood, there is struggle involved.

Our plane ride home with a very busy 17-month-old:  In hindsight, it is my "labor experience."  I dreaded it.  I psyched myself up for it.  It was tough.  I wish I'd had an epidural.  I knew that it would be over (relatively) soon.  And I knew the whole thing was necessary to move forward with motherhood.  This is the closest it gets to my "birthing" experience!

One thing that became VERY worth it: we upgraded to business class.  It was a fraction of the cost of buying a business class ticket up front.  So many people were trying to fly from Addis to DC that particular day that Ethiopian Air added a second flight/plane at the last minute.  The great news was that instead of business class being the only available option (super expensive), we had the option of purchasing economy class tickets, which we then upgraded to business class (much less expensive).  The not so great news was that the second flight that was added was on an older plane.  So business class was a little less "shiny" and a little more old school.  A little disappointing, but no biggie.

In our old-school business class, I was so very thankful for:

Extra leg room (for our busy toddler to run among our seats)

MUCH better food (a bigger luxury than you'd initially think when you consider the flight was 19 hours long!)

Less people-to-restroom ratio (see above point)

Business class lounge in the Addis airport

Ethiopian Air requests that you arrive at least 3-4 hours in advance before take-off.  We arrived around 6pm for our 10pm flight.  A large portion of this time is spent waiting in lines...the line to put your luggage through the xray machine...the line for the ticket counter...the line for customs.  For anyone preparing for this type of trip, our Ergo baby carrier was ESSENTIAL for standing in all these lines with a toddler!  After the customs line, you entered the portion of the airport that had restaurants, gift shops, and the business class lounge...which...was...awesome.  A buffet of food, all types of drinks, nice restrooms, and tons of couches and chairs set up around televisions--all out of the way of the regular bustle of the airport.  (Already worth the upgrade!)

About an hour before our flight, we headed to our gate, which had its own separate security line--this is the one where we had to take out our liquids, take off our shoes & jackets, etc.  After getting through the long line, there was more waiting to board the plane.  

We were in the very front row of business class, which (thankfully) was not full.  I was super nervous about being in business class with a noisy child--I dreaded the eye-rolling and angry glares.  Aside from one or two snooty passengers, most people were actually quite gracious.  (Life lesson: Please, Lord, let me never forget this trip when I am the one feeling huffy about young children seated near me on airplanes!)  

To say Rhet was excited about being on an airplane would be an understatement.  And there was no way anyone was going to make her sit down.  Which was unfortunate, because the flight attendants required us to buckle her in one of our laps during take-off and landing.  That was definitely 15 minutes of torture right there, and that's all I'll say about that.

Taking off at 10pm played in our favor.  We had not given Rhet an afternoon nap that day, hoping that by the time we took off that evening she would be so exhausted she'd sleep for half the flight.  Rhet DID fall asleep.  For about 2 hours.  And then she woke up when we landed in Rome.  

The return flight required refueling in Rome for about an hour.  Passengers could get up and walk around, but we were not permitted to leave the airplane.  During this portion of time, Rhet became good and awake.

By the time we took off (causing yet another fit due to seatbelt restraints), Rhet was ready to PLAY.  Who cares if it was the middle of the night in Ethiopian time?  We were in a supercool room with tons to see and do!  What did we do for the remaining 15 hours of the flight?  It is a haze.  I know my brain is providing a mental block for my own sanity's sake.  :)

I remember:

Walking up and down the aisles from our row to the veeeeeeery back of the plane to the front again.  Up & down, up & down.  

Refilling Rhet's plastic cup of ice in the middle vestibule of the plane over & over again.

Occasionally, a sweet flight attendant would take Rhet with her and disappear for 20 minutes at a time. In normal occasions, this would stress me out.  In this occasion, it was a God-send.

And that's it.  Seriously.  The three of us (my mom, Nick, and I) took turns walking the length of the plane on each side with her for most of the trip.  It is probably one of the least fun things I have every done, and I would prefer to never think about it again!  (Sorry I'm being so dramatic, but it's the truth for me!)  

We landed in DC at 8am or something like that (US Eastern time).  After de-boarding the plane, we walked down some hallways to a people mover, which took us to another building, which housed customs.  We stood in line and when we reached the front, we presented the huge sealed packet of paperwork that we had received with Rhet's visa from the US Embassy in Addis.  The customs agent open the folder and briefly looked at the contents, then tossed the packet in a corner and waived us through.  

SO anti-climactic!  How about, "Congratulations on your US citizenship, little lady!" or "Wow--what a lot of paperwork--good job?"  Geez.  Whatever.

Next came one of my favorite parts of both trips: the bathrooms in the customs baggage claim of Dulles airport.  They are so clean and awesome.  After spending a month in a third world country, I could've cried as I sat on my first American toilet.  I sound like a spoiled snobby brat, I know, but BOY do I love American toilets.  And the changing tables!  Nick and my mom picked our luggage off of the carousels while I took Rhet to get cleaned up in the bathrooms.  We emerged with a new dress on Rhet and a refreshed spirit in me.  (I'm telling you, those toilets are amazing.  Ok, I'll stop now.)

We entered another line to re-book our luggage and check in for our domestic flights.  Then we headed to our terminal.  Mom and the rest of us were only several gates apart, so we settled down and partook of our first "meal" on American soil: the Starbucks Frappuccino.  I had mocha coconut, Nick had double chocolate chip, and my mom had a chai latte.  Rhet loved my mom's and mine, and she turned her nose up at Nick's.  The girl LOVES coffee & tea.  :)

Our next flight wasn't for hours, so we let Rhet run around the airport and expend as much energy as possible.  Nick and my mom joyfully turned on their iPhones--alas, mine was still frozen from that very first flight four weeks earlier.  (Boohoo.  Poor spoiled me.)  

My mom left first for her flight to Atlanta.  Shortly thereafter, it was time for our next leg of the trip to Chicago.  After boarding, I remembered the mostly helpful toy I brought on our trip.  Ironically, I did not bring it from home--I "borrowed" it on a whim as we were leaving the guest house.  It was a stack of about 5 square Duplo Legos.  Rhet had taken an interest in the Legos in the last day or so before we left, and the little stack kept her occupied through liftoff for the flights to Chicago AND Memphis.  Praise. the. Lord.  Extra praise: by this time, it was the middle of the night in Ethiopia again and sleep deprivation finally caught up with Rhet.  She conked out for the entire flight to Chicago.

We had a several hour layover in Chicago.  Rhet ran around some more, played with Legos some more, and promptly spit out the first french fry she tried.  She did, however, drink a whole liter of milk.  Which caused a small fiasco when I took her to the restroom to change her diaper, they didn't have changing tables, and she wouldn't lay down on the sink counter, so I tried changing the diaper standing up, and she peed all over her leggings, socks, shoes, counter, and me.  Oops.  I stripped her down, changed her diaper, and took her back to the gate in just her diaper.  We dug the other dress (from the overseas flight) out of our carry-on, and just left her bare-legged and bare-footed.  My pants (fortunately) were quick-drying, and my v-neck cotton shirt by then had become a deeeep v-neck shirt. We laughed at ourselves and repeated our mantra: "This will all be over soon."  :)

After boarding the flight from Chicago to Memphis, I received a surprise.  Apparently I was not yet skilled in the art of putting a diaper on a vertical, wiggly toddler.  It was crooked on Rhet's little booty, and she peed right out the side and into my lap.  *Sigh/giggle*

(Dear North Face,

Your convertible outdoors pants/shorts are the best EVER.

Love, 

A Peed-On Mom)

It was a crazy feeling, the closer and closer we got to Memphis.  I just couldn't believe we were really going to be home.  All three of us would walk through that front door, plop our bags down (to be unpacked several weeks later), and settle into our new/same-ole home with our...CHILD!

As our plane touched down in the land of the Delta blues (no rain), I was just filled with so much weary gratitude.  

When we exited the airport, the whoosh of the automatic doors blew 100+ degree air in our faces, and I put our sleeping baby in her car seat.  (Nick had forgotten to change the height of the straps on the seat, so we actually smooshed our baby into her car seat...haha.)  

(We had requested no friends/family meet us at the airport, for fear of overwhelming a very tired child.  Thankful we made that call, as she slept through the entire de-boarding, luggage retrieval, and ride home.)  

Three months later feels like three years later.  The transition has been fun, hard work, and a really sweet time for us.  

Thanks for stickin' with me as I tried to get all of my memories out into the blogosphere.  Adopting Rhet has been the most difficult/challenging and most rewarding/wonder-full experience I've (we've) gone through.  We're pretty much "back" to normal around here now--our new normal, that is, and I'm looking forward to getting back to the new normal on the ole' blog as well.  Expect some adoption/parent-centric posts along with my old familiar loves of food, running, Memphis, and pondering life.  :)

How do you end such a truly epic series that changed your life?  Like this.  Cya.  ;)

Rarely Early, Never Late

So the VISA.  I know, it's totally unfair of me to leave you with that cliff-hanger in a previous post and then wait this whole time before getting back to it.  But this is going to be a long one, so grab your hot cider in your favorite mug and settle in for the long-haul--this is my FAVORITE part of the story!

Let me review the timeline to catch you up:
Sunday, July 3rd: My mother and I leave Memphis/Atlanta, Ethiopia-bound.
Tuesday, July 5th: We arrive in Addis Ababa and take custody of Rhet.
Wednesday, July 6th: I learn of the expired fingerprints.
Thursday, July 7th: I get my fingerprints taken at the US Embassy in Addis, while Nick figures out what needs to happen back in the States.  We FedEx my completed fingerprints to Nick in Memphis.
Monday, July 11th: Nick receives my FedExed fingerprints and FedExes them directly to his contact at the USCIS office.
Thursday, July 14th: Although the fingerprints get a little "lost" within the USCIS offices, Nick's angel-in-disguise at the office tracks them down and says she'll do her best to get them processed in 24 hours.  (FYI: The first time around, we had our fingerprints done in October 2009 and didn't receive our clearance until April 2010!)
Friday, July 15th: En route to Ethiopia (while in Washington DC), Nick receives word that our USCIS clearance is renewed and is being sent to the National Visa Center in the US.
Sunday, July 17th: Nick arrives in Addis Ababa.

This brings us to Monday, July 18th.  The day after Nick joined us in Addis, we took a "quick" six hour trip south to visit Awassa, Rhet's birthplace.  I could tell you how much fun it is to travel for 6 hours in an old van with no seatbelts, swerving out of the way of cows and goats, with your toddler demanding to take full advantage of her mobility...but instead, I'll tell you that the view out of our windows of the Ethiopian countryside was gorgeous and unforgettable.  :)

The hotel where we stayed luxuriously had wifi in the lobby, and while the trip was short and busy, we took full advantage on Tuesday morning before we left to return to Addis.  I learned through an email from the US Embassy in Addis (on the blessed iPad) that 1) they had received our updated fingerprints/clearance, 2) they had made note of our presence in Addis, and 3) we were not yet cleared for a Visa appointment.

This solidified my email obsession, waiting for that glorious email from the Embassy that would notify us of our clearance for a visa appointment.

We swung by the Ethiopian Air desk in the Hilton hotel when we returned to Addis in late afternoon to change our flight reservations.  (We were originally scheduled to leave Ethiopia that Thursday, July 21st.)  Ethiopian Air told us that all flights were booked until mid-August due to their busiest season and they could not get us on another flight until then.  Feeling unsure of what to do, we let go of our seats on Thursday's flight and decided we would contact our travel agent.

When we returned to Addis Tuesday evening, I had an email waiting from the Embassy letting me know that something in Rhet's file was causing a delay and wasn't expected to be complete until August 28th.

This is a perfect example of a normal day for me in Ethiopia--great news (HOORAY!) followed by disheartening news (WHAT?!) followed by eh--let's wait and see what happens.  Emotional rollercoasting at its best.

Wednesday, July 20th, Nick got the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad altitude sickness.

Thursday, July 21st, (our original date of departure, which our travel agent was able to push back one week for us) our agency told me that the document the Embassy was waiting on was complete and that the party responsible for relaying this information would contact the Embassy again.

Meanwhile, I'd been emailing with our travel agent, and she confirmed that there were no economy seats left on flights in July, but that she could get us into business class on Thursday, July 28th for an EXTRA $3,000 per ticket.  *Gulp*  I was starting to feel like it would cost me my first-born to get home, which was ironic because she was the reason we were there in the first place!  We booked the tickets and we had until Tuesday, July 26th to confirm or change them.

We still needed to be cleared for a visa appointment, after which we were hoping that being present in Addis Ababa already would allow us to get an appointment within a day or so.  After the visa appointment, it takes two business days to process the paperwork before you can leave the country, so the very latest we could get a visa appointment and keep our 10p flight reservations for that next Thursday was Tuesday, July 26th--the same day we had to confirm our flight reservations.

This was a tough part of our wait in Ethiopia, because the news and expectations changed twice a day.  We can go home soon!  Oh, wait, just kidding--you can go home in FOUR EXTRA WEEKS.  Nick was only able to take two weeks vacation time total--he planned to spend the first week with us in Ethiopia and the second at home during Rhet's first week in Memphis.  If we couldn't get out of Ethiopia by that next Thursday, then Nick was going to have to go home without us and we would have to tough it out on our own again until we were able to come home (also without Nick's help).

Well, we just prayed.  Nick was sick and miserable.  Mom and I were in our third week away from home.  Rhet, bless her adorable heart, thought the guest house was our new home.  She acted like she owned the place, literally--objecting when other guests would dig into the food left out for meals or moving guests' feet off of the coffee table.  (Hilarious.)

We were just "over it."  And I felt a tremendous amount of guilt.  I had done this to all of us.  This is not a "normal" experience of going to an Embassy appointment.  I had insisted on going early to be with Rhet, oblivious to what that would require of me.  I had brought my mom with me, who was taking time off of work to be with us and was now just as stuck as I was as she refused to leave me alone in Ethiopia with Rhet (for which I was grateful!).  I had asked Nick to stay as long as he could and now he was laying up in bed, as miserable as I had been.  I had taken custody of this sweet little girl, who had been bonding with us for three weeks and I had NO other option than to stay with her and continue waiting--nothing could be reversed!  Chris Tomlin's new version of "I Need Thee Every Hour" just played on and on in my head and I prayed without ceasing that God would redeem my (for lack of a better word) "mess."

The verse that I clung to and prayed fervently and constantly was Psalm 128:4 (in the Message): "Stand in awe of God's 'Yes.' Oh how he blesses the one who fears God!"


Later that Thursday (7/21), after our agency had given us the encouraging news that the delay should be resolved soon, I received an email from the Embassy with the heading: "Faris Family, Cleared Case."  We jumped for joy in that little hallway in front of the ancient Dell laptop.

There was one snag: the appointment they were assigning to us was two weeks away--on August 3rd.  I immediately emailed them back and explained our situation, asking if there was any way they could get us in by 7/26.  On the end of business hours on Friday, 7/22, they emailed back and said that the very earliest they could get us in would be Monday, August 1st.

We resolved to pray, be persistent, and stay optimistic.  Psalm 128:4, Psalm 128:4, Psalm 128:4...

It was Friday. and the weekend was ahead of us.  Nick was still feeling ill, but he braved a trip uphill (sans Rhet and my mom) to Kaldi's with me, where I thoroughly enjoyed their carmel macchiato and (kind of) french fries.  (SO much better than that first trip!  Ha!)  After regretting the strenuous hike, Nick spent most of Saturday in bed.  On Sunday, we gave it another try and we went to the swanky Sheraton for my birthday brunch (again, just the two of us).  The food was delicious!  I had MILK in my coffee!  Chocolate croissants!  Smoked salmon!  FRUIT!  And the Sheraton toilets...OH the toilets...

(Someday I'll post my complex thoughts on our experience in the Sheraton versus the poverty we witnessed everywhere else. But for now, I'll say that I was so grateful for this extravagant treat.)

On Monday, 7/25, I checked my email every hour.  Nothing, nothing, nothing.  We got out of the guest house for lunch and bravely took Rhet down the hill (in the opposite direction from Kaldi's) to a restaurant for lunch just to do something with our jittery selves.  Three adults for one Rhet proved successful, and she kept us all busy enough to keep our minds off the uneventful morning.  Psalm 128:4, Psalm 128:4, Psalm 128:4....!  The day came and went with no news.

It seemed highly unlikely that the Embassy would give us an appointment on the day they contacted us. I awoke on Tuesday, July 26th, anxious and prayerful.  I felt like Charlie opening his chocolate bar and willing that golden ticket to slip out as I checked my email that morning...but...nothing.

My mother, on the other hand, received a very important email that morning.  It was from her employer, who was upset with her for being stuck in Ethiopia.  He was terminating her employment.  We sat there with dropped jaws in front of that old laptop with its sluggish internet, marveling at the impersonal nature of that email, the awful timing of its arrival, and I boiled inside with guilt over the whole thing.

The day droned on.  No news by breakfast.  Nothing by lunchtime.  Every second was an hour.  We were quiet and subdued as time ran out.

At 2p, with a sliver of business hours left, I began to accept that Nick was going to go home that week without us.  We would stay two more weeks.  I forced myself to look at the positives: We would be here for another fried fish and cake Monday (two more, actually!).  At least there WAS an end date now.  Now we had time to go visit the lion zoo.  I guess this meant my mom had some extra vacation time.  We would run out of diapers soon--a trip to the store to purchase Ethiopian Pampers would need to be lined up.  (We had already done this once.)  I wonder if we'd be able to get seats on a plane or if we would indeed have to wait until late August to leave.  And very quickly those thoughts became little stones weighing my heart down, down, down...I sent the email to our travel agent letting her know that Nick would keep his flight reservation for Thursday, and my mother and I would need to let ours go.  I checked the inbox one more time before pressing "send," but it was empty as ever.  I can't believe He didn't come through, I kept thinking.  My heart just deflated and sank as I realized there was no redemption for my mess.

Nick and I went upstairs to put Rhet down for her nap.  We read,  How big is Elmo?  Sooooo big! and Hello.  Howdy do, little Princess Honeydew!  We sang, "Jesus Loves Me, "and "I am a Sheep," and as we started in on the Nick-n-Jesse 2011 remix of "Go to Sleep Little Baby" and Rhet fought the whole notion of naptime, I started to cry.  I was completely helpless in all senses of the word.  Rhet wiggled and wailed and we rocked and cried.

Downstairs, the phone rang.  (Not uncommon.)

There was the sound of a muffled exchange.  (Not uncommon.)

"JESS!" my mom called.  I handed Rhet to Nick and rushed downstairs.  I went into the little kitchen off the side of the house where the housekeepers were preparing dinner.  I sat down on the little wooden chair in the corner and picked up the corded phone.  It was the social worker from our in-country offices.  The Embassy had called and said they could take us if we could be there NOW--they closed in an hour.

I ran into the hallway, looked at my mom, who was wide-eyed and hopeful, and I said, "Yes.  YES!  Get your stuff!"

I ran upstairs, where Nick was still trying to rock Rhet to sleep.  "Naptime is over," I announced.  "We have an embassy appointment RIGHT NOW!"  We crammed all necessary items into our backpacks, grabbed the Ergo and Rhet's shoes, and rushed downstairs.

The question of whether we'd even be able to get a driver on such late notice was solved immediately.  A driver was just returning from the Embassy to the guest house with some other guests.  When we asked if he could take us to the Embassy, he explained that the social worker had called him on his cell phone and he was on board with the plan.  Nick, my mom, Rhet, and I crammed into the backseat of his SUV, swung by the offices down the road to pick up the social worker, and we were on our way.

We stared out the windows on the 10-minute drive in shock and disbelief.  It started sinking in.  This literally happened in the 11th hour.  This was HAPPENING.  We were all going home TOGETHER in two days!

When we arrived, there was a short wait while they prepared for our meeting.  I showed Rhet the American flag waiving out the window--I am not an overly patriotic person, but I couldn't stop staring at it--it looked beautiful because it looked like home.  The "Today Show" was playing on the mounted TV in the corner.  (I have never been so excited to see Matt Lauer's blessed face!)  They called us up to the window, we answered questions and signed papers, and then we were told, "Congratulations!  You can pick up her Visa on Thursday morning."

Elation and weary relief was just seeping out of us as we walked back to the SUV.  My mom could not stop her steady stream of tears.  Nick and I just kept looking at each other and laughing.  And sweet, adorable Rhet...Little Girl was giddy over "tricking us" out of a naptime!  She just laughed and laughed.

Surprised face!

It was especially then that the old saying, "God is rarely early but never late," just kept echoing in my brain.  I was flooded with gratitude, humbled by this enormous and personal act of mercy.  He DID come through.  In the best way.  I was not on my own--I never was!  I truly stood in awe of God's "Yes."

Oh, and I emailed our travel agent back that evening with the subject heading: "DISREGARD FIRST EMAIL."  Luckily with the time change, she hadn't even begun work that day and we were able to keep our reservations.  In an extra turn of good "fortune," a second flight had been added, so we did NOT have to pay the extra $3,000/person after all!  Well how about that?

The next day (Wednesday), I went back to the Sheraton and this time I took my mom.  We treated ourselves to that amazing brunch and celebrated and processed all that God had done.  I can never express how grateful I am for the huge step of faith, the enormous sacrifice (financially, emotionally, physically), the pouring out of herself for me that my mother exhibited.  She is my very closest friend and what amazing acts of friendship she gave to me in that month!  I hope I can be the same kind of mother to my own daughter.

Thursday afternoon, Nick walked down the street through a downpour to the agency offices to pick up our oh-so-precious documents.  We packed and packed and packed.  We tried to prepare for that never-ending flight with our busy little toddler.  We tied up lose ends.  And at last, the driver arrived with a quick honk of his horn.  We loaded up our many bags and began our last drive in Addis Ababa.

The UnBirthday

I can't wait to start sharing my daily thoughts and experiences once the overseas mini-series is complete!  But alas, there is so much I want to remember about our time in Ethiopia before I move on.  So please indulge me with these posts while I play catch-up!

Somewhere within my Ethiopian adventures, I celebrated my 31st birthday.  My mom really wanted it to be special, but Nick was due to arrive the next day and I was just too antsy to have him there with us to think about anything else.

The day of my birthday, my gift was sleeping in.  It was glorious.  Thank you, Mom!  I dismissed the invitation to go get a pedicure.  I put off the suggestion of a yummy brunch at the Sheraton.  I just wished the minutes away and, wouldn't you know, a watched clock never turns.

Because of the connections and the time changes, it takes two days to get from Memphis to Ethiopia.  (We flew Memphis --> Chicago --> DC --> Addis Ababa.)  Nick left on Friday, the day before my birthday, and he arrived on Sunday, the day after my birthday.  My birthday just disappeared into thin air...It was a weird feeling.  (I'm a big birthday celebrator, if you're not already picking up on that--ha!)

The day he was to arrive, I went with our driver (who had become kind of a buddy by then!) to the airport to pick him up.  Nick's flight was delayed (about 3 hours!) so Abraham (pronounced AH-brah-hahm) and I chatted about anything we could think of.  He laughed when I mentioned celebrating my birthday--he told me most Ethiopians don't know when they were born (and they think the idea of celebrating birthdays is funny).  "How do you know how old you are, then?" I asked incredulously.  He said, "We just guess."  I asked him how old he was and he said his mother says he is 27 and his father says he's 28, so he picks 28.

Poor Nicholas, in the meantime, was on that loooong flight overseas and their flight was delayed due to someone becoming ill.  The plane had to detour and land in Rome before they could make their way to Ethiopia.  Hence the extra 3 hours.  (When your flight is already 15 hours long, an extra 3 hours is torture!)  Of course, we didn't know all of this until later--all we had to go on was the listing of "delayed" on the television screen at the airport.

Finally finally FINALLY we saw people leaving baggage claim from the DC arrival.  I was SO excited to see Nick--I scanned each face quickly in anticipation, and finally the face of my best friend and true love walked around the corner and lit up in weary relief and joy when he recognized us.  It was so weird to have said goodbye two weeks before and feel that we were reuniting a lifetime later with new responsibilities and life roles.

It sounds so wimpy that we were without Nick for only two weeks--I know I melodramatically make it sound like years.  But it kind of felt like years.  You just don't know until you know.

We spent the drive "home" just smiling each other and trying to catch up.  ("Hey, we're parents now!")  When we arrived at the guest house, Rhet was quiet and shy for about 5 minutes before remembering that this was the "Baba" she's been talking about for so long.  (Baba means "father" in Amharic, and she had been repeating it over and over since we had been with her.)  Then she proceeded to adore him exponentially.

Nick got sick with altitude sickness a couple days after arriving in ET.  Same symptoms, same length of time.  I selfishly felt so justified for being "normal" instead of the freakishly wimpy sickly frail person I worried I was.  Even with Nick being sick, it was STILL better having him in Ethiopia with us.

Our first family pic :)

And I know you are just feeling so sorry for me about the UnBirthday, so I will ease your concerns by letting you know that we did go to brunch at the ritzy glamorous Sheraton in Addis and treated ourselves as soon as Nick started feeling better.  Phew.  I know you are so relieved.  ;) 

A Month in the (Ethiopian) Life

By the end of that miraculous Saturday, I was feeling back to normal, albeit a little frail.

I was so thrilled to wake up on Sunday morning feeling well that I suggested a celebratory outing.

My original vision of my time in Ethiopia with Rhet was an open-ended amount of time in which she and I explored the city and frequented our favorite coffee shops & markets, making friends along the way.

My reality turned out like our celebratory outing:

We decided to go up to Kaldi's, which was a coffee shop that mimicked Starbucks right down to the circular green logo. We were staying at a guest house owned by our agency liaison, and while it was possible to hire drivers when going out, it required planning ahead and paying by the hour. In addition, our agency only approved a handful of locations for families to take their Ethiopian children before the adoption was completed, and all of those locations were within walking distance of our guest home.

Kaldi's was described as a 10-15 minute walk from the guest home. I donned the Ergo carrier for the first time and Rhet was amused to ride in it. We stepped out into the sunshine and ventured beyond the gate.

There was a rocky dirt road that led out to a street. (Waive to the children playing and asking for "sweeties" and watch out for the heard of goats!) After turning onto the street, we passed a mosque from which we heard the daily prayers chanted over their loudspeaker. Lots of people walked on this street and cars passed by, honking at any person or animal (cows, goats) in their way. Our agency's offices were toward the end of this street behind a bright blue metal gate. At the end of the street, we turned right onto the sidewalk of a major road. Addis Ababa is quite dusty and smoggy--this road was noticeably different in air quality. We started the hike uphill on the sidewalk, passing little shops and people selling things on blankets or begging on the street. Up, up, up we went. Finally we saw the multi-level shopping center with Kaldi's in the distance. We crossed an empty concrete lot and then an interstate-like ramp. We walked down to the end of the parking lot and [whew!] we were there.

The morning sun had been beating down on us. The uphill hike in the altitude was brutal. With a 25 lb child hanging on the front of me. We were huffing and puffing and sweating when we walked into the coffee shop.

(10 minute walk?! Ummm...I don't think so.)

We found a table upstairs, fell into a booth, ordered a latte and some pineapple juice, and shed our layers. Ahhhh.

Reality check: Little Girl was hot and tired of being in the Ergo. Her idea of a good time had less to do with leisurely chatting and more to do with running, climbing, and squealing. (Duh, Jesse. She's a toddler. How many toddlers I have I seen sitting around Starbucks reading the latest bestseller? That's right...NONE.)

While this big scene was bound to happen at some point, I did not wish for it to be in front of a crowd of quiet Ethiopians. I got flustered, realized I forgot to bring snacks or toys, felt like a dummy, and then freaked. I stuck Rhet right back in the Ergo, told Mom to get everything to go and take care of the bill, and I rushed out of there.

I was so embarrassed and tired and frustrated and dreading the walk back and feeling like a big dummy. I took it out on my mom as we headed back in the now seemingly scorching sunshine. Then I felt guilty and I apologized. We both cried most of the way home. Scarred. For. Life.

I thought I knew what the whole thing (parenting, superlong trip to third world country, being away from husband, todderhood) was going to be like...but I had no idea. I really didn't have a clue.

Being a mother required my constant vigilance and energy all the time. ALL THE TIME. Do not mistake this as a complaint--it's more of a revelation. I was shocked that the whole thing blindsided me like it did.

After the Kaldi's misadventure, until Nick arrived later in the month, I did not even dream of thinking of having the notion of doing any "fancy" outings.

-----

Instead, this is what life looked like in my Mommy Bootcamp:

Wake to the morning prayers being chanted from the mosque around 5am. Drift in and out of sleep until 6am, when Rhet wakes up in her pack-n-play at the foot of my bed.

Drowsily distract her in the bedroom for as long as possible until she inevitably voices her strong opinion to go downstairs and eat breakfast. (She likes to cut to the chase.)

7am breakfast #1 of rice cereal & bananas.
8am breakfast #2 made by the housekeepers.
(The girl is serious about her food!)

Play in common room with the guest house toys.
She started falling asleep on the floor from 9-10am.

Around 10am, go get dressed--her in a supercute outfit and me in waaay stretched out jeans and long sleeved tshirts.

(My belly doesn't show in this boyfriend cardigan, does it?)

10:30am - Head down to the agency offices to get the latest update.
Come back and play in the courtyard.

12p - Lunch made by the housekeepers or pulled out of our stash of Easy Mac, Ritz Bits, Goldfish, and Luna Bars.

Naptime lasts for about an hour while I straighten up our room and read "Hellhound on His Trail" on the iPad.

Afternoon playing in the courtyard and common room.

Dinner at 6p usually prepared by the housekeepers, if we signed up for it in the morning. Otherwise, we ate from our stash.

Post-dinner bath in the tub that we shared with most of the other guests in the house. (Ew. But Rhet didn't care--she loved bathtime. And as seen in this picture, she sorely needed it!)

Baby Mozart on VHS in the common room. Whoever left that behind: Thank you. Really. (Before traveling on our second trip, I had resolved that Rhet wouldn't watch TV until she was 2. That rule was quickly broken by this heavenly 22 minute video that glued Rhet to one place for brief spurts of time. Magic!)

Bedtime around 7:30pm. Afterwards, my mom & I watched Parks & Recreation on the iPad for an hour and then succumbed to sleep.

-----

Power was hit or miss, as was running water, due to rationing. Ethiopia's weather was between 50-70 that month and no heat or air conditioning was needed (or available). The power outages meant that no lights would turn on & no showers would be warm, but that wasn't a big deal during the day, and the guest house ran a generator from dark until 10pm which allowed us to use the most important items requiring electricity. Water outages only affected washing hands or showers, because we used bottled water for everything else.

Using the Internet was addictive torture. You had to wait for a connection which could take 5 minutes or an hour on an old Dell laptop. (Identical to the one I bought for grad school in 2002--ha!) Then it was only a matter of time until being cut off. Web pages took awhile to load. It was hard to be away from Nick without an easy way to communicate with him. There was no way uploading and sending pictures was an option with this connection. I used an old Nokia cellphone (again, like my phone from 2002) to talk to Nick. He had to call me because I had to get the guard at the gate to load minutes on it, about 10 minutes at a time. When we returned to the States and got our phone bill, the total was more than $600! Ka-ching!

The rainy season was such a mystery to me before arriving. From the States the previous year, I had learned that the Ethiopian courts close every year during the heaviest part of the rainy season. While July was just the beginning of the season (courts close in September), I imagined mud and muck everywhere, walking in downpours, leaky ceilings, rain boots & coats...

The reality was that the weather was heavenly! 60's and low 70's during the day, sunny and pleasant. It rained about once a day, usually during the afternoon, in a rainforest/beach-like downpour for an hour or two. Thunder rumbled and rolled like a lullaby. And my dog with storm phobia was thousands of miles away in a sweltering, dry Memphis.

-----

The fingerprints I had taken at the US Embassy in Ethiopia were FedExed to Nick. Meanwhile, Nick rushed to the USCIS office in Memphis and got a walk-in appointment to have his fingerprints taken. He had made a contact at the USCIS headquarters who was an angel in disguise. She promised to expedite the process to update our fingerprints. Nick then FedExed our fingerprints directly to her. She got the results in 1 business day and sent them onto the US Visa Center along with a request to continue expediting the processing. The US Visa Center then sent approval ASAP to the US Embassy in Ethiopia. And the rest will come in the next post...