Old Ladies

Not too long ago our family sat down to a typical dinner—especially typical because I kept pleading with my children to eat what was in front of them. Apparently fed up with this, Bitty stood up in his chair, and emphatically pointed his finger in my direction, “You eat your dinner, OLD LADY!”

Pearly-Q and I completely broke into peals of laughter. Where a child at that age had come up with age as an insult to his mother, I’ll never know. Thankfully, it didn’t bother me, and I have since smirked with silent delight whenever I hear the phrase. As a result, whenever I have gone to spend time with my book club I always tell my kids with tongue-in-cheek amusement that I’m going to spend time with “the old ladies.” That way, I figure they won’t realize they’re missing out on anything. The real truth of the matter is, if they had any idea how much fun I have with these women, my kids would beg to accompany me each time.

This last weekend was a perfect example of this phenomenon. For just a few choice days, my book club got together for our 2nd annual retreat, complete with lots of time in the car, sharing music, pampering at the spa, eating good food, recharging emotional batteries, walking, watching movies, laughing, and dancing like what else?—“old ladies,” of course.

Truth is—the time I spend with these women can be magical. Though each of us is so unique and different, we share the common joy of celebrating each others’ triumphs while also mourning each others’ losses. Whether it is weathering the storms of ill health, the challenge of caring for aging parents, difficult marriages/children, miscarriage, infertility, financial frustrations, or just rejoicing in new life, new opportunities, or other healing, we are there for one another. We realize that when one of us is down, there is another to strengthen us—all the time realizing that one day the direction of need may be reversed. This is friendship at its best—a place where appearances, social standing, or material wealth mean nothing, but where character and love mean everything.

At our last breakfast together, a member of the book club said a prayer with something that astonished all of us. She asked that we may “always breathe deeply, laugh loudly, and love eternally.” Astounded by the wisdom of that simple phrase (spoken by an English teacher, of course), I ran to write down her words. I recorded them because I felt it embodied much of what I’d basked in for those few days—the joy of feeling love from so many women that I’ve come to respect.

Women need each other, and when other distractions from the world’s expectations of us don’t get in the way, we can really get down to business and become the people God expects us to be. It’s the perspective that all too often doesn’t come until later in life . . . which means, being called an “old lady” ain’t so bad after all.

Belle of the Ball

Mornings at our house are full of entertainment. As the baby awakes bright and early at 6:30 a.m. we can already hear the kids playing together upstairs, awaiting us to catch up with them. After Coco is done eating and starting her morning coos (we discovered more dimples this morning, BTW), her older siblings amble in one by one and eventually surround their little sister on our bed. Surrounding their favorite nucleus, they gleefully hover over her with electric excitement.

Fortunately Coco’s neck is pretty strong, and allows for her to look back and forth, back and forth, as each sibling competes for her adoration and well-earned grin. Meanwhile, she holds the finger of one of them in each hand and basks in all the attention. I mean, who could resist?

Lately this whole scene has been accompanied by its own soundtrack. Sassy loves to sing (in her sweetest little voice replete with cracking), “I love you baby, I love you baby, I love you baa—bee soo much!”

Meanwhile, the Big-O croons, “Hello baby, hello baby. We love you sooo—“

Bitty’s version repeats, “I love you, baby. You’re so cute—baby, baby, baby, ohhh!”

Sometimes all these tunes are delivered simultaneously, which at first might seem overwhelming for a newborn. Gleefully however, Coco identifies with the happy noise. After all, it symbolizes all the sweetest cacophony of childhood.

God's Pencil

For I was hungred and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in:
Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me.
And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.
-- St. Matthew 25:35-36, 40

Today I feel restless. Incredibly restless. And I feel the need to talk about why.

I know that many of you probably feel like you’ve reached your threshold in hearing about the tragedy in Haiti. . . It’s tough, tough stuff.

For those of you who don’t know me as well, I have a bit of history with the place. During my last year in law school I actually volunteered for a nonprofit that had built an orphanage there, and was assisting them in trying to streamline adoption procedures, as well as begin efforts to possibly build an orphanage and/or facilitate adoptions in China. During this time, Pearly-Q and I were childless and infertile. Not knowing what to do, we thought we would prepare to adopt from either Haiti or China. Subsequently, I was scheduled to fly to Port-au-Prince in order to meet with some of their adoption officials, as well as visit the foundation’s orphanage. Unfortunately, because of civil unrest (practically a way of life for the Haitians), we had to cancel the trip 24 hrs ahead of time.

This devastated me. After years of wanting a baby, I sat in church and wept, knowing that at that moment I could have been in the Haitian orphanage, feeling out whether or not I felt a real connection with any of those children. I knew that if I did, I would then begin down the path to desired motherhood. At that moment I offered one of the most intense, anguished prayers of my life, and pled for the opportunity to be a mother. Little did I know that that very night the Big-O would be born, and that awaiting me within just a day or two I would experience the greatest miracle of my life—when someone would approach me about a beautiful baby boy, and would I be interested . . .? But, that is a different story for a different day.

The point is, I care deeply for the Haitians and their heartbreak. Long before this earthquake hit it was already considered the 2nd poorest nation in the world (Afghanistan being the poorest). So, when I heard about the quake in Port-au-Prince, I shook my head in shocked disbelief—of all the places! It is simply too much to bear.

Since then, Pearly-Q and I have known that we wanted to donate—but where? Having worked with a nonprofit long enough taught me the importance of making sure your dollars go places where they’ll actually make a difference. Not every nonprofit is created equally, and not all their contacts on the ground are reliable—especially in Haiti. The corruption there would make the heads of the Italian mafia spin, and as a result I felt some reserve in giving just any ol’ place. Pearly-Q's company offered to match donations made to the Red Cross, which is awesome. But, I still, for whatever reason felt resistance or difficulty in making the donation there. I didn’t know why, and I had started to feel badly about it.

“Have I become totally callous to the needs of others?” I thought this morning. “Have I forgotten what I have been incredibly blessed with, and have become stingy unfeeling? What is wrong with me, Heavenly Father?”

Then, I got my answer, and it makes me cry to think about it now.

When I went to pick up the Sass from dance class, I noticed people dropping off boxes at a neighboring business, full of all sorts of odd and ends medical supplies and clothing. And then I saw the sign: Healing Hands for Haiti. In all my previous research and work with Haiti, I had heard about this organization before. They provide physical medical help and rehabilitation assistance there in the capital, particularly for those who are disabled. Curious, I went in to ask specifically what was going on with the donations, what the needs were, and how I could help.

Apparently the large medical facility run by Healing Hands, completely collapsed with the earthquake. As a result, the group has been unable to function. Fortunately, the group that I ran into this morning, (the Utah Hospital Task Force), was gathering medical supplies and other items to put on a chartered plane to Port-au-Prince tomorrow, along with 50 construction personnel, 50 doctors, as well as other nurses and medical staff. They will be there for a month while they work to completely rebuild the hospital and get Healing Hands of Haiti back up and running.

Now, if you’re wondering whether or not this is a major need right now in Haiti, read this article off of today’s CNN. It will blow your mind to think of what the Haitians are medically facing right now, and how ill-equipped many of these doctors are who are trying to go down there to help. The need for a decent facility in addition to the medical staff cannot be overestimated. Providentially, in this case the group organizing this effort is incredibly well prepared, and have reliable contacts on the ground with whom they are closely working with . . .

Let’s just say that I found where our money needs to go, and I am once again overwhelmed by God’s awareness of our desires and needs, as well as His ability to communicate that when we sincerely ask. Being led in this way feels beautiful, and it reminds me of something Mother Teresa was known to say:

I am God's pencil. A tiny bit of pencil with which He writes what He likes. God writes through us, and however imperfect instruments we may be, He writes beautifully.

I would never presume to put myself up there with Mother Teresa. The woman was distinguished as a saint for good reason. But, today I can identify with her sentiment. There is nothing more exhilarating that being led by God. The times I have felt that in my life have been the times I have been the most serenely happy. And though right now I come nowhere close to being able to act as His pencil, I hope that perhaps I could at least work as a thumbtack. That would be good enough for me.


Note: For those of you who might be interested in donating to this project, you can do so online, and the gov't will allow you to do so and deduct it off of your 2009 tax return. If you choose to do so, make sure that you follow the directions outlined on the Utah Hospital Task Force website in designating that it goes to their particular group. You'll see what I'm talking about when you get on there. It's an extremely worthy place to send your aid. All donations will go to cover the expenses of the chartered plane, the rebuilding of the medical facility, and basic food/water needs of the volunteers--just what is required to keep this massive project moving forward.

Two Months

As of today, Baby Coco is already two months old. Sheesh! Where has the time gone? It seems like last night I had just survived her surprise breech birth, and now here she is with eleven pounds of squishy flesh and a smile that could melt the most hardened dictator.


I just came back from her two-month check-up, during which I was “grilled” by the most fantastic pediatrician to ever walk the planet. (I’m only slightly exaggerating.) One of the things I love about her is the fact that she not only checks up on the welfare of my children, but makes sure to ask in detail about how I am faring. She wants to know that mom (and dad) are enjoying this experience, and that we’re taking some self-preventative care too.


Now, there was a time that the answers to such questions would have likely elicited some instant tears. (I know I will eventually blog about that time in my life, but today is not the day.) Happily, today I was able to wholeheartedly smile and reassure her that I am doing well, and that I never thought I could enjoy the first two months of a baby’s life like I have Coco’s.


There are many reasons for the difference this time around, and sometime soon I will share more about this. For now, all I can say is how much I am saddened that two months of Coco’s babyhood have already flown by. Like sand through my hands, I feel like I can’t hold onto it fast enough--but I thank God for the opportunity to try.

Here are some photos from a shoot we did for Baby Coco at only 8 days old:

(Wrapped in the blanket Grammy made her):

Love this spontaneous smile:
Just taken this morning at 2 months old:


Now if I could just hold onto this experience forever . . .

Siblings

A few years ago I read an article in Newsweek discussing the longlasting effects of siblings. The article pointed out the fact that one’s brothers or sisters actually may have a more pronounced effect on a person’s life than one’s parents. After all, typically siblings survive parents and continue to be a part of one’s life for decades after that . . . Sobering, but true.

The timing and placement of the article came at an appropriate time. I read it in the bathroom (sorry for that happy detail) of my sister’s Portland, OR condo when Pearly-Q and I were visiting. I remember discussing it with her, as it was something I hadn’t considered much before. I don’t see why not. I suppose it points out my own shortcomings in falling into a trap of adolescence and young adulthood where a person often views their friends as being more noteworthy than their siblings. Just as so many wiser adults once predicted, those friendships eventually faded into a pleasant wallpapered backdrop, while the relationships with my mother and siblings took center stage.

I’ve thought a lot about this recently in observing the relationships my children are developing with each other, particularly since Baby Coco’s birth. The boys have always embodied playful bear cubs together. Then when Sassy was introduced to the mix, she added an element of dramatic femininity that makes their dynamic hilarious. (I crack up every time I hear her command her older brothers to step in line.) The truth is, the three of them all came within a 2½ year period, and as a result, play famously together to the point that I’m almost envious of their fun. I rarely have to schedule a playdate, and hearing them refer to each other as “best friend” or “buddy” warms my heart beyond anything I can express.

As Coco entered the picture I wondered how the older three would respond to her. Fortunately, after a few initial bumps in the road, I can honestly say they can’t get enough of her. I’m constantly having to clear air space for her, as they would smother her with affection if given the chance. I often hear one of them say, “I love her so much, Mom, I just can’t stand it!” Last week Bitty remarked, “Mom, I love her so much, I just can’t stop looking at her. She’s just so cute.”

I cherish these moments. I can’t imagine how hollow my ears will feel one day when I no longer hear their constant chatter of giggles and laughter or even disagreements in my back seat, or how much I’ll long to overhear their latest role play or invention in the works.

The other day the boys made “surprises” for each other by “wrapping up” neglected toys in sketching paper, and presenting them anew. I marveled at how excited each of them was about the chance to give the other something. It made me think about how grateful I was that of all the gifts I could provide them with, I had given them one of the greatest—brothers and sisters. I can’t help but desire that they will continue to find surprise and delight in rediscovering their relationships with each other again and again. Because--God willing-- they will have to take care of each other long after I’m gone, and hopefully that's a joyful thing.

Big-O lovingly watches out for his little sister:

The good ol' pirate & princess game:

Bring on the sharks:

There's nothing like Daddy's shoes:

Big brother extraordinaire:

As soon as she started to hold the baby, the Sass declared, "Mom, I think you should take our picture."

Finite

It always gets away from me—my time as a mother, that is. Every morning I awake with the best intentions. Today I’ll get the laundry done, the practicing done, the cleaning, the cooking, the reading, the grocery shopping, the research for any number of needed items, the bills paid, the office and closets organized, the thank you notes written, I’ll try to actually say a meaningful prayer, and oh yeah, I’ll take care of the baby and manage to absorb and enjoy my kids. (Exhale here). . . If only, right?

Truth is, one of my most difficult struggles with mothering is the wide divide between my expectations of what I would be able to undertake as a mother versus the reality. Think about it. When parenting is at its theoretical stage, (i.e. before that first baby has landed in your home), one has any number of expectations of the experience. Mine included all sorts of glorious ideals: I was going to read classics with my children every day, include them regularly in service projects in order to foster empathy for others, give them access to lots of physical exercise or sports, have each one of them learn a musical instrument, make sure each of them was nurtured individually in their relationships with me on a daily basis, and help them foster a deep love of the gospel of Jesus Christ. And all this was supposedly going to take place in the midst of maintaining some sort of a meaningful career/outlet on the side, having a clean home, and getting enough sleep to look like I at least look my own age. . .

I suppose much of this anticipation evolved from the fact that I used to be capable of accomplishing a lot on my own as an individual. In my former life I used to be a serious musician, and later an attorney. On my own it seemed I could get anything done with just a little concentration and time management. I even used to have the arrogance to tacitly judge stay-at-home mothers of my acquaintance in wondering what it was they did all day.
Oh my, does karma have a way of biting you in the back side or what? Eventually, (and thankfully), I had my own turn with closely spaced little children, struggling health, and all of my previous expectations staring me back in the face . . . Judging me JUST AS I DESERVED.

There was simply no way to anticipate the realities of trying to get anything done when you’re trying to help other little hands and feet move at any “normal” pace, nor the time it takes to decently and consistently discipline/referee, to even get them dressed, to build in time or plans in order to avoid tantrums , to plan around very necessary naps, or what it feels like when the little folks constantly find ingenious ways to undo your work. (I always tell Pearly-Q it feels like someone keeps hitting the delete button around here). There’s certainly nothing that can prepare you for what it feels like when you have appropriately done all these things, are finally ready to walk out the door (hopefully with at least a little mascara on by this point), and then your baby has a complete diaper blow-out—usually part of it ending up on you. The whole world comes to a standstill, and you essentially start all over again. I mean, yesterday I finally took my first shower of the day at 5 p.m.

I suppose that much of this stems from the fact that we are, I believe, actually eternal beings, with spirits and desires that are greater than our current earthly capacity and are eager to progress as much as possible not only here, but also in the eternities beyond. Our intentions are bigger than we are, and we’re still trying to get our heads around how finite time is here. For as many times as it hits me over the head, it is still hard for me to believe that I really only have 24 hours in each day, and that somehow most of my heavenly intentions are left unrealized at the end of the day. I can’t stand it. Sometimes it makes me mad, (which makes absolutely no sense). Then again, it certainly gives me greater empathy for other mothers, and most especially for my own, which--in the end--makes a lot of sense.

Wonderbaby

Imagine a sister. A fantastic sister. Someone who you love and admire and appreciate for all that she does to hold the family together and nurture those around her. That's my sister R.J.

Now imagine that that same sister who has been married for the last several years to a wonderful man (Groove), and has been unable to have a child that whole time. It's been hard for me to watch, not because they've felt sorry for themselves, but because I have observed their remarkable talents as potential parents go unrealized thus far. As in most cases of infertility, it has just seemed inherently unfair.

Now envision a miracle--a miracle of grand proportions that enters into their lives. Her name is Wonderbaby.

Wonderbaby is from Western Samoa--where Groove is from. On an unexpected day in May, Groove and R.J. received a call from his parents there saying that they had a baby for them, and wanted to know what they would like to name her.

What the? . . . They had no idea what to think. But, as is often the case with God's hand in things, one thing led to another, and they were on the road to adopting Wonderbaby.

That road had its twists and turns--uncertainty, and a great deal of longing on the part of my sister to finally hold Wonderbaby in her arms. However, along the way, I have been astounded at the phenomenon that has taken place. It has rivaled Big-O's miraculous adoption in its magnitude, and I have often found myself thinking that it is the Lord's international equivalent.

Wonderbaby came home with her parents last night. Her deep chocolate eyes and supple brown skin were almost as irresistable as her huge grin. Wonderbaby's ability to stay contagiously happy in the face of hours of international travel tells you much about her temperament, and I think she's earned her nickname for many reasons. More than anything, my heart melted to see Wonderbaby's magical effect on her mommy and daddy:
It's amazing to consider the healing effect that a baby can have on those around her. In this case, Wonderbaby leaves individuals behind in Western Samoa that will have their souls etched by her magic forever. As a family, we honor these precious people, and thank them for the joy they have brought to another family that will forever be changed by their goodness, as well as by God's unmistakable hand.

Welcome, Wonderbaby, welcome! We couldn't be more excited to love you.