getting cheeky

I know I promised another installment in the 'epic post-placement post' series, but for some reason I haven't made time to sit down and write it yet. In the meantime, I'll share a funny story from last weekend. The kids were invited to 2 birthday parties at the same time last Saturday, so we had to divide and conquer. J took Z to the Super Jump Zone and I took the big boys to the Family Fun Center: sheer chaos and plenty of over-stimulating fun had by all.

Before I go on with this story there is something you need to know: I am obsessed with Z's bum. I think it is the cutest butt in the whole wide world and I don't care who knows it. If he didn't have such an adorable face I'd have to call his bum his best feature. Z is well aware of my love for his backside. He thinks it's normal (poor child), and now pretty much requires that we take note of his junk in the trunk as often as possible. Just about every time we change his clothes, he runs around the house shouting, "Look-a-bum! Look-a-bum!" If someone is not paying it appropriate attention he will get in their face and make them take note: "Daddy! DADDY! Look-a-bum!" (Don't act like your family doesn't do weird stuff like this. You know you do.)

So. Back to the birthday parties. As the cake is being passed out, I get a text from J:



Yep, apparently he just walked up a stranger and gave her a little love tap. Which we I accidentally taught him was an acceptable way to interact with someone. Oops.

But seriously, tell me: how could you NOT be obsessed with this?



P.S. Yes, we are trying to teach Z that it's only OK to talk about / touch / obsess over buns at home. :)

sigh no more

My 2012 New Year's Resolution:

To sigh less.

I don't know when my sighing habit started. I rarely realize I'm doing it, and I probably wouldn't have noticed it at all except for the good-natured teasing I get from my husband about it. It may seem like a small thing that isn't worth bothering over, but I've come to realize that there is a lot more to my sighs than breath.

I sigh when I feel hopeless.

I sigh when I think of all the things I didn't get done today.

I sigh when I'm worried about something.

I sigh when I'm thinking negative thoughts about myself.

I sigh when I'm disappointed.

I sigh when I'm letting the kids' behavior drive me nuts.

I sigh when I'm being impatient.

But mostly I sigh when I forget -- forget who I am, forget my calling, forget God's grace, forget my blessings, and forget my unshakeable place in the everlasting kingdom of the One who calls me his Beloved.

This year, instead of sighing I want to learn to breathe.

To inhale God's peace and exhale my gratitude. To inhale remembering myself in Christ, and to exhale his love to the people around me. I want to breathe in the forgiveness and unconditional loving-kindness of God and let go of the lies, distractions, and anxieties that bind me and blind me to his goodness.

[Notice that my resolution is to sigh less. The grace is built right in, to preempt the temptation to heave a big fat ugly sigh over my failure to completely eradicate sighing. I'm onto you, inner perfectionist!]

Tonight at dinner I caught myself beginning to sigh no less than 10 times. Ten times! During one meal! But that's OK. Ten times to reorient and re-purpose my breath. Ten times to remember. Ten times to let the Spirit of God fill me, even as my toddler screamed and my first-grader asked the same question over and over and my preschooler sassed me and my husband tried to tell me about his day but I couldn't hear a word on account of the screaming and pestering and sassing... Breathe.

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P.S. The title of this blog is a Mumford & Sons song, which did not particularly inspire my resolution but is share-worthy nonetheless:

i guess we're doing ok after all

When I was in 4th grade my teacher had a coupon system. Everyone got 10 coupons at the beginning of the year and each coupon was like a 'get out of jail free' card for turning in your homework late, but if you kept all 10 coupons the whole year there was some special prize. I don't think I'd ever turned in homework late, but for some reason this whole system pushed my crazy button. I remember sobbing in my bed because I was afraid I wouldn't be able to keep all 10 coupons all year. My mom rubbed my back and told me it didn't matter, that I should just do my best and not put so much pressure on myself.

Fast forward 20+ years and I am still not taking her advice.

True, there are no coupons or prizes in adoptive parenting but that hasn't stopped me from putting insane amounts of pressure on myself to do it all just right. And you can imagine the resulting neurosis, since there is no right way to do any of this. "I'm just so afraid I'm gonna mess him up," I told my sister the other day. "Oh, you will," was her immediate reply. "We all do. No sense being afraid of it." She is younger than me, but a far sight smarter.

The trouble started a few weeks ago when Z began having trouble at bedtime and reverting to some old behaviors. Normal, right? Not the end of the world. But in the blink of an eye guilt, fear, and pride crept in and turned a small setback for Z into a huge messy pit for his mama. I fell down the wormhole of worry and forgot a lot of important things on the way.* I forgot to take a long view of things and to accept setbacks as a normal part of the journey. I forgot that I am not in control. I forgot to give myself grace. Most significantly, I forgot that Z belongs first to God. His life, all of it - good, bad, painful, and beautiful - belongs to God. I am Z's parent, but I am not his creator, his healer, or his savior.

And in that truth there is great freedom to let go of all this pressure. The pressure to know exactly what is going on inside him... his Creator knows. The pressure to heal what is broken... only the Healer has power to do that. And the pressure to do it all right so that he will look back someday and be OK with himself and his life... Jesus Christ is the only thing that makes anything OK. I pray that Z knows this for himself one day, but that is the work of the Holy Spirit.

By the way, the real issue behind the sleep and behavior problems? Good ol' fashioned separation anxiety. I figured it out when I dropped Z off at the church nursery and, for the first time ever, he had a total melt-down. The exact same kind he's been having at every bedtime. I probably looked like a horrible mom as I walked away grinning, but I was so happy to have an answer I couldn't help it. Now at bedtime I give him extra reassurance (Mommy is right here, I'll be close by, I'm not leaving just stepping outside the room, etc), and pop my head back in the room a few times to prove that I haven't disappeared... and it works! He lays his head down and goes to sleep. All that drama and worry, and it turns out the kid likes us enough to be sad when we leave. I guess we're doing OK after all.

*I also cried big alligator tears of self-pity at the YWAM Ethiopia moms group last week... and arrived late... and left early... and I'm the one who organizes the group. Yeah, it was that kind of week. Thanks for the grace and Kleenex, friends!