Mommy Time

This morning my kids and I were outside playing... I was enjoying the chance to just be at home for a little while--this is literally the second day in the last month that we have been home all day with no plans--and had gotten caught up on a few things, and I wanted to just take them outside and relax a little.

I was reveling in the fact that they are now getting old enough that I can relax a little while they play. They are starting to outgrow the need for constant monitoring when we play outside, which is so nice. (Well, Grace has been out of that stage for a while, but Matt is so into everything, I thought he'd forever need a keen eye on him!) So I took a book outside with me--yes, a book, and it had nothing to do with parenting or child development or anything like that!--and sat on the ground to read while they romped.

A few minutes later Grace came up to me. "Do you want to play rocks with me?"

"I will in just a few minutes," I replied.

"Why are you not gonna do it now?" she asked (because she must have a question for everything).

"Because I'm having Mommy Time right now."

"Oh." (Pause.) "Can I have Mommy Time too?"

Oh no, I thought. My precious little girl. How selfish of me to just be sitting here uninvolved, not playing with my dear children, who will be leaving me for school before I even know it! "Of course you can have some Mommy Time, Honey!" I put my book down and grabbed Gracie to give her a big hug.

"Thanks." (Another pause.) "What's Mommy Time?"

At this point I started to laugh at myself just a little, but was still feeling the sting of the lesson that surely was sent to me directly from God Himself. "Well, for you it would be special time that you and Mommy get to play."

"Oh. No thanks. I just want to play by myself."

Ahhhhhh....... the joys of that self-made Mommy Guilt!

At least I was able to find where I left off in my book................

Katy’s Family Forest, part 7

Geez, I can't believe we're at part 7 already—I didn't even know there were 7 parts to this story! J Actually, that's not true. There's still a lot to come…!

Yes, once my parents had officially adopted me and had been given the she's-fully-your-responsibility-no-matter-what speech, I came down with pneumonia. I was hospitalized and put in a tent where they used cold mist on me. My mom said it was torture to watch, because as a parent you always want to keep your baby dry and warm—this completely went against her instincts! But they survived, and so did I. J

And we also all survived that summer, when I was at a picnic with my family and poured a thermos of hot coffee on myself, prompting another trip to the hospital. Apparently my current state of clumsiness is nothing new.

As for my adoption, I'm a little fuzzy on the timeline of what happened next. But basically… well, first let me give you some background.

My mom (my mom, not my biological mother) was the youngest of six children, and her family lived on a farm in a small Ohio town. Unfortunately, her mother died of complications from childbirth just a few days after my mom was born. Her father suddenly found himself dealing with the loss of a spouse, raising his older five children, raising a newborn, and still trying to maintain the farm to provide for his family. He soon realized that he couldn't do it all, and he asked his sister and her husband to take care of the baby for a few months. A few months turned into years, and my mom never returned to her biological father and siblings. She was raised close to them geographically and knew them, but the people that she called her parents and siblings were biologically her aunt, uncle, and cousins.

Are you confused? J

I believe that her own situation is at least part of the reason my mom had wanted to adopt a child in the first place. And now that she had me, she thought again about her life growing up, and the fact that she had never known her biological mother. She wanted me to have that opportunity.

She called my aunt, the one who had connected my parents with my birth mom in the first place, and asked if my birth mom might be interested in being a part of my life. Up to this point, they had never met—the court hearings, the attorney meetings, even my parents' arrival at the hospital, had all been timed so that my parents and my birth mom didn't ever see each other. But now they were reaching out, willing to meet.

But would she want to meet them? Would she be able to handle seeing this child that she had given up? Could she be a part of her life knowing that she couldn't be the mother she wanted for her child?

The not-so-mighty Samson

No, this is not a story of a fallen Biblical warrior. This story is about my cat, Samson.

Let me tell you, as a mom I will do anything for my children. I don't enjoy when they are sick, but I don't mind it, either. You just do what you have to do, and you love them through it, and you think about the grossness of it all later. Right?

Being a pet owner is different.

This morning my kids and I were on the go. We went to the gym for a quick workout (I am so thankful for a gym with childcare!), then to a friend's house for a play date and lunch. We came back home just in time for me to get them down for naps because we're going to another friend's house tonight. I had just gotten them settled and started to make a mental to-do list for nap time.

And then, I heard a noise. "Was that one of the kids?" I asked myself. I listened. There it was again. "Wait a minute... I think that's a cat." At first I thought it was coming through one of the monitors--that the cat had been sleeping under a bed, and wanted out now that I had closed the door. But no... no, this was coming from the basement. I looked down the stairs (to our FINISHED, CARPETED basement, I should add) and saw two huge piles of cat puke.

Fantastic.

I grabbed the paper towels and Resolve (meaning both the cleaner and my own determination, by the way :-) ) and went down to clean it up. But when I got to the bottom of the stairs, I heard the crying again, from another spot in the basement. I looked... and there he was, under the pool table... along with evidence that he was still sick--and lets just say that it was not limited to puking.

Seriously, Lord?

I opened the window (We have a partial daylight basement, so the window is at ground level.), picked him up and put him outside. (He and Delilah--yes, Samson and Delilah--are indoor/outdoor cats.) And that's when I realized... he was laying in diarrhea. It was matted on his fur. I put him down as gently and quickly as possible.

And then I got to work. If you need to feel better about yourself today, just picture me--not just cleaning up after a sick cat, but doing it while crawling under the pool table. As unhappy as I was, I took comfort in knowing I could share my misery with all of you! lol :-) And so, armed with paper towels and a shop-vac--YES, a shop-vac--I did my duty quickly so that I could come and share my day with you.

For those of you who are worrying that I have left a sick cat laying outside while I blog, my dear, sweet husband came home from work to take Samson to the vet. And since he is taking off from a very stressful week to tend to my cat, I should probably be spending my time doing something useful for my family instead of indulging my blogging addiction. :-)

But before I go, I need to get some advice on future pets... Has anyone ever heard of a puking fish?

Transparency

Well, folks, it's time for a little honesty. It's not pretty, but it's where I am today.

On Sunday night, I had an amazing time with the Lord. My husband and I had gone to a friend's house, where my husband made use of the indoor pool. I opted out of swimming, going for a jog in the neighborhood instead. I finished before my swimmer, so I found a quiet spot by a pond in our friend's yard and laid down to rest. It was around 9 PM and still surprisingly light outside. As I lay there, staring at the single star in the sky, I was overtaken by the vastness of the sky, the universe beyond me. I turned off my iPod and started to pray—and strangely, as small as I felt right there and then, I also felt a connection with God unlike I have ever really experienced.

After that night, I decided to do a two-day fast. There are some struggles that we are having, and I felt that God was really asking me to let go and lay them at His feet. To be fair, I will keep the specifics private—but to ease your fears if you know us, it's nothing between us. J

I have done many fasts before, but I have to say that this was probably the most significant and… purest fast I have completed. By that I mean that my motives were pure (no hidden weight-loss agenda J) and that I was able to keep focused on why I was fasting. (Often I get to the end of my fast and think, "Wow, I'm glad that's over. Oh, I guess I forgot to really be praying about the things I was fasting for…") I was able to appreciate what a beautiful metaphor fasting is in giving your struggles over to God, trusting Him to supply my needs instead of relying on my own human senses.

And I prayed and prayed and prayed. Several topics kept coming up in my prayers. And I thought about the fast and the metaphor, and I was thankful for the way God was teaching me.

At the end of the two days, I took a deep breath, thanked God, and took a bit of food. J I did not get, nor did I expect, a miraculous solution to my prayers, but I felt comforted.

But that was yesterday. Today I am feeling discouraged and forgotten. I did not, as I said, expect the areas I was praying for to suddenly be fixed, but I think that there's a part of me that thought, "I've been earnestly fasting and praying about this for two days—it's going to start to get better." But it hasn't—and in many ways, it's gotten worse.

I stopped in my husband's office this morning, and I told him I was feeling discouraged. I suppose it doesn't help matters that I'm just generally having a lousy day—my kids are tired and grouchy, they are with a sitter today but Matt sobbed when I left, I'm not having a lot of luck with the errands I need to run, that kind of stuff. Anyway, I told him how frustrated I was, and he pointed me to a business deal that he was just able to close this week, which is a real blessing to us. It's not completely closed yet, but it has all come together so easily and seemed so perfect. Yes, I agreed, God has really worked that out, and I'm thankful for that. And then, while we were talking about it, some people we have never met before walked into his office and said, "We live next door to that house you're selling, and we have a problem." You've GOT to be kidding, Lord.

So here I sit in Panera, feeling very… heavy… spiritually, of course. And also, thankful for the free wireless Internet access. And while I would like to feel sorry for myself, God is reminding me that this pain I am feeling… it's hunger pangs. It's my earthly body searching for an earthly solution. But the answer isn't there. The answer isn't earthly, it is heavenly. My heavenly Father is the only one who can truly fill my needs. And while that doesn't necessarily make the hunger pangs disappear right away, it provides comfort to know that He will provide. Maybe not exactly what I think He should or when I think He should… but exactly what I need, when I need it.

As I was pondering all of this in the car earlier today, this song came on. It has always been one of my favorites, and the lyrics really struck my heart this morning. If you are hurting or feeling like you need some peace, I hope they will speak to you as well. Oh, and even if it sounds like I'm working my way out of my discouragement, if you could spare a prayer for me, I definitely wouldn't argue. J Thanks for indulging me.

Hold Me Jesus

Well, sometimes my life
Just don't make sense at all
When the mountains look so big
And my faith just seems so small

So hold me Jesus, 'cause I'm shaking like a leaf
You have been King of my glory
Won't You be my Prince of Peace

And I wake up in the night and feel the dark
It's so hot inside my soul
I swear there must be blisters on my heart

So hold me Jesus, 'cause I'm shaking like a leaf
You have been King of my glory
Won't You be my Prince of Peace

Surrender don't come natural to me
I'd rather fight You for something
I don't really want
Than to take what You give that I need
And I've beat my head against so many walls
Now I'm falling down, I'm falling on my knees

And this Salvation Army band
Is playing this hymn
And Your grace rings out so deep
It makes my resistance seem so thin

So hold me Jesus, 'cause I'm shaking like a leaf
You have been King of my glory
Won't You be my Prince of Peace

You have been King of my glory
Won't You be my Prince of Peace

Katy’s Family Forest, Part 6

I am definitely not an expert on domestic adoptions, so I don't really know what the typical one looks like or how or where that first meeting usually takes place. But I know that mine was special.

My parents met me at the hospital, the day after I was born. It was especially memorable for my dad, who hadn't gotten to hold his sons until they were out of the hospital—back in the days when dads were kept at arm's length during the hospital stay. This time, though, not only did he get to hold his newborn baby, but he got to feed her too. In fact, they wouldn't release me until I took a bottle for my parents, so my dad sat down, held me, and said, "I'm your daddy. And you need to drink this bottle." And I did. J See, I've always been a Daddy's Girl.

As I mentioned before, my parents had kept this whole adoption a secret, so they had some explaining to do when they got home. My brothers, now 8 and 10, suddenly had a new baby sister to figure out… but even they were easier to convince than our church family. No, they weren't opposed to the idea of my parents adopting a child—they just didn't believe it! About a week after they came home with me, they attended a church picnic. Everyone kept asking, "Who's baby is that?" "She's ours!" my parents would proudly respond. And then they'd hear, "……Nooooo… Who's is she really?" No one could believe that they had kept such a secret or that my parents' hopes of adoption had finally come true. But there I was!

Those of you who are familiar with domestic adoptions know that they aren't finalized overnight. Although my parents had taken me home rather quickly, it was several months before everything was official. In fact, the final adoption hearing wasn't held until February of 1980.

It's important here to remember that we're talking about an adoption that happened almost (yikes!) 30 years ago. So before you read this and then e-mail me and say, "That's not right! We did this or know someone who did that or…" whatever, please remember that this was a long time ago. Some things have changed. Are we all on the same page? OK, then keep reading.

On the day of the final hearing, the judge took my parents into his office individually to ask them some questions. Both of them were a little nervous when he started asking about money. "Have you helped the biological mother with her expenses?" he asked. "Medical expenses? Helped her with her rent? Food? Clothing?" They explained that they had wanted to—had offered to—but that she had gotten a job with benefits, so she hadn't needed any help. Apparently a law had been passed during that time that said pregnancy could not be classified as a "pre-existing condition," so she was able to get everything covered. (As an aside, a friend of hers had also basically blackmailed my biological father into helping her financially through her pregnancy, so that helped to cover her non-medical costs.)

The judge continued to press them. "You didn't help the mother of your child at all?" At this point, I think they were getting a little nervous. Was he going to take away their baby because he thought they didn't care enough? Should they have insisted on helping with something—some costs along the way? But then the judge softened. "Good. You see, if you had given her even one cent, this would have been considered a black market adoption, and we would have had to take the baby away." Praise the Lord for working out those details—can you imagine if they had helped her financially, out of the goodness of their hearts, only to have it bite them by having their child taken by the courts?

The rest of the hearing went off without a hitch. And at the end, the judge admonished them that I was now fully theirs. "You are now responsible for her every need," he explained. "If she needs food, you provide it. If she needs clothing, you provide it. If she gets sick as you leave this courthouse, it is your responsibility—she is fully your daughter." They accepted this responsibility and left, now officially a family of five.

And the next week, I came down with pneumonia.