We seem to have survived the stomach bug only to catch colds. Because God has a sense of humor or because Ian must have licked every chair in the doctor’s office on Monday.
But lest you be concerned, life is still very much rolling along as usual. For instance, ever since I went fall shopping for the kids at the consignment sale, Ellen has been obsessed with her new shoes. Today, she lined them up in the window and guarded them like a mother bear.
Not all of those shoes fit her, but she’s playing house and it involves wearing a pink princess dress and lining up her shoes. She didn’t get her version of playing house from MY life, apparently.
Meanwhile, Willa did her own dress-up game, only she never bothered getting OUT of the dress-up box.
This picture was taken AFTER lunch, of course, because her before-lunch-look involved much more snot and whining. Which looked suspiciously like my after-lunch-pre-nap-look.
You all should come visit.
No, really. You bring the chocolate and I’ll put on my pink princess dress…
I have a guest post up at Missy’s blog today. Back before we had a million kids, we were labeled “infertile.” Two years and two miscarriages later, we were pregnant with the twins. It wasn’t nearly as long as some people’s journey, but those labels and those sorrows, they never leave you. I’ve written about our amazing, happy ending before. But for some practicalities on how to help a friend who has a miscarriage, head over to Missy’s.
Rejoicing today in the stomach bug!
Never thought you’d read those words from me, did you?
Sam woke us up early this morning to tell us that Ian was throwing up. This did not inspire peace and calm in my mama-heart, I assure you. The pediatrician said that we had to take him to the ER. In the meantime, Adam threw up and Ellen woke up saying her tummy hurt, so we both relaxed a little. If it was a virus, that was a lot less scary. (And by “relaxed,” I mean mentally. Physically, we were a bit crazed dashing from kid to kid with buckets and wash rags.)
Ian and I spent the morning in the ER while Andrew had the other sick and well children. I believe it was a time of bonding and Nick Jr. for everybody.
The first doctor we saw had the nerve to mention things like “meningitis” and “lumbar puncture.” I will forever hate her guts just for speaking such words in my presence about my son. Fortunately, they decided to start with a CT scan. By this time, Ian was keeping some fluid down and getting his color back. When the CT results were normal, and word came from Andrew that Ellen had puked, we all agreed this was a stomach bug and settled down a bit.
We had hoped that we might be able to see a neurologist while we were at the hospital, but apparently neurologists are as elusive as unicorns. Even our pediatrician was surprised when we were sent home without further testing.
And so we wait. We’re handing out saltines and soup and, for once, trying to be grateful for the stomach bug among us. Nothing like a little perspective…
Since I know disinfecting is heavy on my mind right now, I’m pleased to tell you that our old natural home cleaners are now for sale again. We sold the business and the new owners recently launched a new look. I’ll be stocking up, for obvious reasons. How about you?
Last night at dinner Ian fell out of his chair and had a seizure.
No, that isn’t a punchline.
Andrew held Ian while I called 911. I’ve never dialed 911 before. Later, it occurred to me to be impressed I could do it. I don’t remember punching those numbers. By the time the EMT arrived, Ian was awake and wondering what had happened to him.
We later realized that something similar had occurred earlier in the week when he was alone in a room with only Willa for company. He claims he woke up on the floor and Willa was screaming at him. But he didn’t have the words to tell us what happened, so all he said was, “I fell asleep while I was playing with Willa. And my eyes popped out of my head.”
You have no idea how panicky that makes me feel.
I’d like to say it was the panic that made me eat chocolate peanut butter in the doctor’s office with a tongue depressor, but we all know I would do that on a normal day.
We have tests scheduled for next month, but the doctor assures me that right now, there’s nothing for us to do but watch him closely. And pray.
And so we will. Join us?
As the kids get a bit older, they’ve started using more of the phrases that they pick up from grown-ups. (Yes, this is cause for much tongue-biting and mouth-covering among the adult crowd.) Adam’s current fave is “Awwww, maaa-an!”
Sam and Ian’s recent acquisition is “Bummer.” They got this one from me, only they say it “Bommer.” Which isn’t quite as effective, especially when they use it after every. single. sentence.
Please note my oh-so-classy daughter coming out of the bathroom, still yanking up her pull-up. I could have cropped her, but this picture was so “real life” it made me laugh. Which brings me to the subject of Ellen. Today I noticed she’s started saying, “Dat’s ah-may-zing, Mommy! Dat was ah-may-zing!”
This is precious and I don’t mind one bit. But… later this evening, I heard a voice echoing through the house, “I’m DOOO-OOOONE!”
Every parent knows what that means. And also what follows. I had to wander through the house yelling, “Who is it? Which bathroom are you in? Well, why did you pick the bathroom that was farthest away? I’m coooo-oooming!”
I found Ellen upstairs in her bathroom. I took care of her needs while she chattered away. “Why do we poop, Mommy? Why God make us dat way?”
And then, just as I flushed her deed down the toilet, she said it: “Dat poop was ah-may-zing, Mommy. Ah-may-zing.”
It’s like Andrew said when I told him about Ellen’s phrase, “Sometimes, you’ve got to be your own P.R.”
In Ellen’s case, P.R. stands for “Poop Rooter.”
If you’re reading this in a Reader, click over and check out the new Vitafam digs. Thanks to Jules at Everyday Designs for consulting on the header. And, of course, thanks to the HTD (hunky tech department) here in the House of Vitafam. Without him we would cease to exist.
Willa has a new hobby. She fancies herself a mountain goat. I can’t tell you how many times a day I pull her off the dining room table. I don’t have a picture of it, because I refuse to let her know how cute she is. But she also takes great pride in being able to climb onto any piece of furniture, no matter how tall, so that she can be included in whatever fun is being had.
When she’s not climbing, she’s honing her fashion skills, working on how to properly accessorize with red ruby slippers.
Or she’s mocking her sister and “boinket,” by pretending to suck her thumb and dragging her own blanket behind her.
I don’t recall seeing a baby this young with the ability to mock her siblings with such panache. She’s got a flair for the funny, that one. (To understand how funny this is, you need to understand that Willa isn’t attached to her blanket at all. She just followed Ellen around for twenty minutes, making fun of her, mimicking every mannerism of Ellen’s.)
Finally, Willa’s latest accomplishment is spending an entire service in Big Church.
I was very surprised when she made it through the hour and a half service, and even more surprised when she did it again this week. Sit Time has magic powers, y’all.
And so does she.
I’m sick to death of talking about myself on this blog. The other people in this family are living life, too, and I want to document it. But I need to get something off my chest…
I celebrated a birthday yesterday. I didn’t have any sort of crisis of aging (well, not much of one) and I didn’t feel the need to buy a sports car or dress like I’m 12. I was fine. This was due largely to the love of all the people around me, who showered me with well wishes and chocolate. I was so blessed.
But in my head, I sort of felt the need to crawl in a hole. Because as much as I love my birthday, as much as I love the excuse to party and be spoiled, as much as I love the attention, I’m really not worth all that celebration. No, really, I’m not. I’m a sinful person, wrapped up in imperfect skin, living in a fallen world. My birth? Not really worth noting. My life? Totally meaningless.
Until Him. Until Jesus. Until the God who created me, who loved me before Infinity, provided the sacrifice that would make me whole, make me clean, make me beautiful. Through the ugliness and sorrow of the Cross, I was saved from a horror of my own sinful making.
And now I mean something. Because HE means something. He means everything. And His salvation, my redemption, gives my life purpose. And that purpose is His glory.
So if there’s anything worth celebrating in my birthday, it’s what Jesus has done with all my nothingness. Oddly enough, if I remember correctly, my acceptance of Christ’s work for me happened in the same month as my birthday. So that’s what I’m celebrating. I’m celebrating the grace and mercy I received. I’m celebrating this beautiful life I live and the work He’s given me to do. Truthfully, I’m not really celebrating ME at all. I’m celebrating Him.
For from Him and through Him and to Him are all things. To Him be the glory forever. Amen. - Romans 11:36
linking up with Tuesdays Unwrapped.
Today is my birthday. In keeping with tradition, Andrew made a chocolate cake last night (gluten-free this year, look at me, I’m growing as a person!) so that I could enjoy a piece for breakfast. Because he is amazing, he managed to find time to stick a candle in it and get the kids to sing to me before we raced out the door to church.
After church, we went to small group where I learned that our sweet friends have been paying attention when I mentioned that I like chocolate cake. And they took me seriously. Cake Number 1:
And Cake Number 2:
Nothing says “love” like chocolate cake options!
After dinner, the neighbors (and honorary members of the culdesac) gathered next door for yet another dessert.
This one was called “the Marriage Saver” and I do believe this creation of deliciousness and peanut butter could quite possibly save not just a marriage, but the world.
I have never felt so covered up with love - all the phone calls, tweets, facebook messages, and desserts that you people have thrown at me. Thanks for celebrating with me. Thanks for understanding that my love language is words of encouragement and chocolate. And thanks for loving me… even if my jeans may never fit properly again.
Thanks for all the shameless plugging, y’all!
Our winner is number 19, Sarah! (Email is on its way.)
Thanks to all of you for five lovely years of Vitafam Verbage. Here’s to many more…
I asked for questions last week and since I get this one a lot, I figured this would be a good place to start. Jennifer wanted to know How you and Andrew decided to adopt from Africa vs the US or another country. And how do you know what child you are getting. Will you get to go to Africa to meet your child before the adoption, etc?
The shortest answer to the first question is simply “We didn’t pick Uganda. Uganda picked us.”
The decision to adopt didn’t come before we chose our country. The decision to adopt happened at the same time that we learned about Uganda. This country was in our faces, all the time. On the internet, in newsletters, at church, at small group… Uganda was everywhere for us. And at the same time, we were both being pulled to the idea of adoption and the idea of investing in this country somehow. When we learned that Uganda was an option for us to adopt from, it all made sense.
It doesn’t always work for people that way. We had several friends who began with Uganda and then felt pulled to other countries. Sometimes the country that gets your attention isn’t the one where your baby lives. Right now, though, for us, we think it is. There are several things about Uganda’s unique situation that appealed to us in terms of how hard it was to adopt from there, but I’m convinced we would jump through 8 times as many hoops if need be. And if God slams the door to Uganda tomorrow, there are millions of other orphans, at home and abroad, that need families. That need far outweighs our plans or desires.
We don’t know yet which child we are getting. We are waiting on a referral. And we don’t know exactly yet how this will all play out. The odds are, we will meet our child at the same time as we go to bring her home. (We think “it’ is a “her.” Unless God and the lawyer tell us otherwise.) But we will have pictures and information before we go.
And right now? This is all we know. We’ve watched God provide the means, we’ve watched Him open doors in the process, in the Embassy, in the country. Now we are waiting for the next step. We know nothing else. And I’m trying every day to be okay with that. Because when a country picks you, you can’t make it do what you want. You’ve got to learn it, love it, embrace it, and just settle in for the adventure…
Don’t forget to enter the giveaway for 147million earrings and HopeSuds. Help spread the word for us and do a little something for orphans in the process. Also, the family I told you about yesterday has a way for you to help in honor of Judah.
