Kindness Things 1 & 2

In honor of my fortieth birthday quickly approaching, the kids and I have decided to celebrate by doing 40 acts of kindness. Today we kicked things off with our first two celebrations.

First, we cleaned out the garage and held a "Free Sale " with all the stuff that we hauled out to the curb. I posted an ad online and within an hour most of the stuff was gone. I've still got a 1970-era mustard yellow toilet in good working order, though, if you want it. I can't figure out how that little gem escaped notice.

Second, the kids packaged up fresh raspberries and brought them to people around the neighborhood. I was up in Logan yesterday for work, and on the way home I picked up a flat of Cache valley raspberries and a bag of fresh peaches. Oh my goodness, so yummy! It was fun to share the bounty.

We are beyond blessed with many good neighbors, including lovely people who treat my yard like their own. They are the reason my yard is anything other than a dirt patch. One particularly diligent gardener is a fellow adoptive momma, though her children are all grown and now giving her lovely grandchildren. She takes a special delight in my kiddos.

This morning she was the very first person to get raspberries. Mia came back from the delivery this morning and said, "Mom, she was sitting on her front porch reading Calvin and Hobbes. I knew I liked that lady!"

Me, too.

Our first acts of kindness were woefully inadequate thank-yous for people right around us, who bless our lives every day--but the thanks is heartfelt, and kindness begins at home.

Yes, It's True

You may have heard the rumors. You may have even seen my big announcement on facebook, or heard the shrieks coming from our house a couple of months ago.

Yes, it's true.

I'm adopting again.

He's three-and-a-half years old. He's absolutely, breathtakingly beautiful. He's got an impish grin, and multiple reports describe him as a mischief-making little snuggle bug. In other words, he'll fit right in with the rest of my little snuggly scamps.

He's waiting for me in an orphanage on the coast of China. I am madly trying to wade through the mountains and mountains of paperwork required by his government and my government before I can scoop him up and bring him home. It's overwhelming, honestly. In the six short years since Eric came home from China it has become insanely more complex. Thank you, Hague Treaty, for much of that.

Mentally and emotionally, this was a rough journey. It took years and a lot of patience on God's part to bring me here. If I gloss over it and don't go into detail here, it's because it's too private and too sacred. This call to adopt another child, from halfway across the globe, as a single mother to four other kiddos--ultimately it was between me and God. It involved a lot of tears, arguing, whimpering, and whining before I was ready to align my will with His. I'm not proud of this, and I'm not excusing it. I am deeply and profoundly grateful that He was willing to walk with me until I came around. I think He knew I'd get on board eventually. But that is my rambling way of saying that if you've got anything negative to say about this plan, if you want to question my sanity (way ahead of you on that one, trust me) or give me religious reasons why, as a single mom, I shouldn't do this, or tell me that this is a bad idea for any reason....you can say it, but God and I aren't listening.

Oh my goodness, we are so excited! I can't even really put into words. This has been a long time coming. My kids knew it long before I did. I was a tough nut to crack, but they kept working away at me. There was never any doubt in their minds that there was another "China Boy" meant for our family.

That's him. That's my boy. Gotcha Day can't come fast enough.

Privacy is Overrated, Anyway

For some reason the concept of maternal privacy completely and utterly eludes my children. This is most especially true when I am doing anything in the bathroom. It could be 3am, all four kiddos sound asleep--and if I step into the shower, in the downstairs bathroom, at the opposite end of the house, all four will magically appear, with urgent business that has to be addressed I.M.M.E.D.I.A.T.E.L.Y.

Tonight Grace set a new record for number of interruptions. 27 times during a 20-minute shower. I know this because that is the exact number of math problems in her homework, each of which had to be shouted at me through the shower curtain, along with the answer she had solved, to verify that they were correct.

No. 27 came as I stepped out of the shower and grabbed for a towel. With more than a little exasperation, I said, "Grace, someday you are going to be a mother, and you are going to try having a little peace and quiet by taking a shower ALONE, and your children are going to come in the entire time and bug you, and then you will think, 'my poor mom. Now I know how she felt.'"

For a split second Grace looked chagrined.

Then her face split into a huge smile.

"No, I won't," she announced confidently. "I will just be so grateful to have children that I won't even be mad when they bother me in the bathroom. Just like you. 'Cause I know that really you're super glad to have us and you totally love us, even when we're annoying."

I take three things away from this conversation. One, she's not even ten and she's already seriously outsmarting AND out-schmoozing me. Two, that girl has a future in sales, because I'm pretty sure she could talk Kim Jong-un into reciting the Pledge of Allegiance whilst tap dancing to "America the Beautiful."

And three, if my kids have even an inkling how strong and true my love for them is, I am clearly doing something right. Amen, and amen.

Sex Ed at the Dinner Table

If you are easily offended or squeamish about human reproductive issues, please stop reading now. Really.

One of my loftier and more idealistic parenting goals prior to actually becoming a parent was to be very open and forthright with my children about all issues related to sex. I felt sure that my openness and candor would create an atmosphere of trust where my children could come to me, their all-knowing and all-loving mother, with any and all concerns that may arise, and, under my careful guidance, would thereby avoid the pitfalls of STDs, teen pregnancy, and backseat French kissing with acne-scarred, greasy –haired teenagers.

Ha.

The jury is still out on STDs, teen pregnancy, and horny teens, given that we haven’t hit adolescence yet. But I can safely say that the missing ingredient I failed to consider in my careful sex ed plan was my children. Who would’ve thought that they’d have their own ideas about how sex ed is supposed to go?

Consider last night at dinner:

Mia (out of the blue): Do all girls HAVE to do that thing where you bleed out of your privates?

Me: Yep.

Mia: Gross! I don’t want to do that.

Me: Sorry. It’s actually pretty normal. All girls do it. You get used to it, and it’s really not that bad.

Eric: Hahaha!!!! All the girls have to do something disgusting, and I don’t because I’m a boy!

Me: Well, boys’ bodies go through some changes, too.

Grace: Oh yeah, oh yeah, let’s hear about the disgusting stuff boys have to do!

Me: There are just normal things for boy bodies. When a boy’s body is getting ready to help make babies, when a boy becomes a teenager, he sometimes has nocturnal emissions--

(here follows a fairly graphic description, followed by lots of repulsed and fascinated questions, and even more detailed answers. I will spare you all those details. You’re welcome).

Grace : Oh. My. Gosh. That is the worst. Boys are definitely the most disgusting. I am SOOOOO glad I’m not a boy. At least I never have to do THAT.

Eric: Nu-huh, girl bodies are WAAAAAYYYYY more disgusting! You have to do the bleeding thing every single month. That’s D.I.S.G.U.S.T.I.N.G!!!!!

Me: It’s all just normal, guys. This is the way Heavenly Father made your bodies to work. It’s actually kind of cool.

Mia: Whatever. You say cool; I say disgusting.

Mercie: I am NEVER doing that when I’m a teenager.

Me: Um, I don’t think you have much choice.

Mercie: Trust me, I am never doing it. Ever.

Me: Okay, good luck with that.

Grace: The thing I don’t get, is why on earth does anybody do this when it’s SOOOOOOO gross?

Me: What do you mean?

Grace: Sex. Why would anybody even have sex when it’s so gag-gag-gag?

Me: Uhhhhh……well, uhhhh, um,……..okay, I know! Uh, so you know how when you touch your privates it’s kind of a good feeling?

Grace: Not really, it just tickles.

Me: But it’s a good kind of tickle, right?

Grace: I dunno. I guess.

Me: Well, Heavenly Father actually made it that way on purpose so that sex would feel good. That way husbands and wives would want to have sex on purpose. Sometimes they make babies when they have sex, and sometimes they just show each other that they love each other by doing something that makes each other feel good. 

(Oh, Mommy is patting herself on the back with this brilliant teaching moment. My kids are going to have such healthy, mature attitudes about sex. Go, Mother of Year Me!).

Grace: You mean, like when you rub my back for me and it feels good?

Me: Sure. Except, not really.

Grace: Like when I get a footrub?

Me: Um, maybe? Sort of, I guess. It’s hard to explain.

Grace: Sorry, I think a penis going inside of you sounds way yuckier than a footrub.

Me: Just keep thinking that for now. You can change your mind in twenty years or so.

Grace: Huh?

Mia: She’s saying she wants you to not like sex because then you won’t want to date anyone until you’re old, old, OLD.

Me: Yep.

Grace: MOM! That’s so rude!

Me: Grace, what are you doing?

Grace: Nothing.

Me: Give me your phone. What the flipping #$%^??? You were recording all of this???

Grace: Haha.

Me: WHY?? Why did you record this conversation? I don’t think this is something that needs to be recorded.

Grace: No, don’t delete it!!! I want it!

Me: WHY?

Grace: It’s going to be my new ringtone. I want you to call me at school so my phone will say “Heavenly Father made it so that sex would feel good,” and talking about touching privates and blood and stuff. It would be SO hilarious. My teacher would freak out, and the other kids would laugh sooooo hard.

One thing is clear: the parenting books I revered pre-children never took into account that I would be parenting prepubescent warped geniuses.

The parenting experts clearly never met Grace.

PS—all incriminating recordings have now been deleted. Except this blogpost.

I can’t imagine where Grace gets her perverse sense of humor that manifests itself by publicly sharing grotesquely embarrassing family moments. 

My Boy

Tonight during "snuggle time" (our pre-bedtime ritual), Mercie & Eric asked me to tell the stories of how they came to be in our family. So I did. As usual, I got a little teary. Okay, I bawled so hard one of my contacts flipped out of my eye and off the bed. All by itself.

The miracles that brought each of my babies home bring out the most tender feelings.

The thing is, my daughters, for some bizarre reason known only to them, find nothing else quite so funny as mom getting emotional. If they hear even the teensiest hint of a quaver in my voice, the glint of a tear in my eye, or even a few rapid breaths as I try NOT to cry; they start laughing hysterically and calling each other to come see, and let me tell you--THAT kills those tender feelings dead, yessiree bob.

Note: I feel compelled to state, for the record, that I am a somewhat remarkably UN-emotional woman, who does not tend to get choked up or teary, especially compared to many women I know. Nothing against them, and sometimes I wish I were more easily moved, but I am what I am, and that makes my daughters' response all the more baffling.

So, here we are, telling stories and I'm crying my eyes out (literally) and I'm bracing myself for the loud disdain and uncontrollable laughter, and instead I get--

A little pre-manly arm wrapped around my waist, and a little recently buzzed head tucked onto my shoulder, while a little boy hand pats me. "It's okay, mom, I don't care if you cry."

I gulp back sobs (in a very elegant and graceful way, of course). "I'm sorry, guys. These are happy tears. It just makes me so happy to remember how happy I was when you came to our family."

"Don't worry about it, mom. You can cry here with me." Pat, pat. Sob, sob.

People, I love my girls. Passionately, thoroughly, eternally. I love the frilly, froufy parts of having girls, I love their high spirits and strong characters, their scary smarts and their fun personalities.

And oh my merciful heavens--and yes, it was through that Merciful Heavenly intervention--I love, love, love my boy. Cannot even put it into words how much I love this precious boy.

Someday he is going to make a very special woman very, very happy and very, very lucky. I know this, because I'm the Other Woman in his life, and I can attest that the qualities she'll fall in love with run deep in the marrow of his soul, manifesting even from the time he was a tiny boy.

It's a very good thing to have a boy.

The Good, the Bad, and the Just Plain Weird

Overheard outside the olders’ bedroom:

Grace: Let’s practice our cheerleading.

Mia: Okay. Do you want to do a school cheer or make up our own? 

Grace: Let’s make up our own. Ready? S-I-S-T-E-R-H-O-O-D!!! S-I-S-T-E-R-H-O-O-D!!! We love to be together, ra-ra-rah! Sisterhood, Sisterhood, I-LOVE-YOU!!!!!!!

They just might be the cutest thing ever.

* * * * * *

It’s tough being the only boy in an estrogen-filled household, especially when no one respects your mad weaponry skills.

Eric: Mom, here’s all my guns.

Me: Um, okay. Why do I need all your guns?

Eric: Because I think I’m not old enough to handle them and I just get in trouble with them, so I need you to keep them for me until I can handle this gun thing better.

Did I say “boy”? I’m thinking this kid is earning the “man” title. I know some forty-year old boys who could learn a thing or two from Eric’s self-awareness.

* * * * * * *

Mom gets in the shower, after first leaving the kids with a list of tasks to do so that they won’t kill each other or burn the house down while she’s in a compromised position. The kids, responding to the universal law of kid-dom, that if Mom is indisposed you must immediately cause all hell to break loose, begin a screaming, screeching rampage through the house. The overall object of the game appears to be who can open the bathroom door and tattle on the others the highest number of times.

Mia actually makes it past the bathroom door and opens the shower curtain to plead her case.

Me: (frantically yanking the shower curtain back) Mia! Get out of here!

Mia: Eric is trying to headbutt me AGAIN, and by the way, you look really pretty when you’re naked.

Nice try, kiddo.

* * * * * * *

Mercie: Guess what? I know that repentance stuff you told us about really works.

Me: Oh really? How do you know?

Mercie: Well, I tried it.

Me: Really? What did you repent of?

Mercie: Well, I sneaked on your iPad and I watched part of a grown up movie. Then I went in my room and I prayed and told Heavenly Father I was sorry about watching a grown up movie, and then I couldn’t remember the grown up movie anymore. It totally worked!

Note to self: change netflix password. Again.

* * * * * * *

Mom runs into her bedroom to see if she can change into jammies before any of the children realize she’s gone and burn the house down. Mia follows.

Mia: You know what? If there was a contest, and all the third graders had to watch you get undressed, and the prize went to whoever was not distracted, I would totally win because I’ve seen you get undressed and I wouldn’t be distracted, but all the other kids would be SOOOOO distracted if they saw you changing clothes. I would definitely win that contest.

Me: Where do you come up with this stuff???

I worry about that kid sometimes.

* * * * * * *

Mia: Aiden has a crush on me. He pretended to smooch me on the teeter-totters.

Me: What did you do?

Mia: I laughed because it was funny. Then the teacher came over to ask me a question. That’s why she’s probably going to call you.

Me: Why is she going to call me about a question?

Mia: Well, it’s not a question. It’s because I kind of got in trouble.

Me: What did you kind of do to kind of get in trouble?

Mia: She said she needed to talk to me and I said, “Not now lady, I’m talking to Mr. Handsome here.” She didn’t think it was funny. Aiden did, though. He thought it was hilarious.

Me: Uh….

Sometimes kids just leave you speechless.

* * * * * * *

Grace: Jonathan loves me.

Me: Oh really? How do you know?

Grace: Jocelyn told me.

Me: How did Jocelyn know? 

Grace: Jonathan told her. We were standing in line for recess.

Me: And Jonathan just told her?

Grace: No, he told her last year, but he still does love me. He was standing right there.

Me: So he heard Jocelyn tell you?

Grace: No, she used sign language! Duh, mom, nobody talks about love with WORDS!

She has a point there.

* * * * * * *

Mercie: Here’s some money, Mom.

Me: Um, why?

Mercie: So you can adopt a baby.

Me: That’s the entire allowance I just gave you.

Mercie: yeah, I know.

Me: Why do you want another baby so bad?

Mercie: ‘Cause this family is like the best thing that ever happened to me, so I want another baby to have our family, too.

Aw man, I’m tearing up just writing that one.

Kids. They might be the most expensive, time-consuming, exasperating, exhausting endeavor I’ll ever take on, but at the end of the day, I’m with Mercie—this family is the best thing that ever happened to me. 

That, and the entertainment value is priceless. 

Life Lessons on ebay

About a week ago I did a very routine thing and ordered something small on ebay for my girls. When I say "routine," I mean that I've got over ten years on ebay and several hundred rated transactions. When I say "small," I mean a whopping $3.77, including shipping. Easy-peasy, lemon-squeezy.

The whole episode should have lasted ten seconds, start to finish.

As sometimes happens, it quickly mushroomed into so much more.

Apparently when I set up my paypal account to accept donations for my current election campaign, I inadvertently removed my other bank account--you know, the one that pays for things I buy on ebay. Assuming it would be a quick and easy fix (HA!) I filled out the online form and waited.

Long story short, I'm still waiting. Paypal is being spectacularly unhelpful, which is leading me to rethink our relationship.

On the other hand, the poor ebay seller who landed in the middle of my messed-up account, is quickly moving up my shortlist for sainthood.

So many emails between us that I've lost track. Two trips to my bank. Emails from me to ebay. Emails from her to ebay. Treks to the post office--one for me; one for her.

Yesterday I sent what I expect will be my last email, ending with my profuse thanks for her patience and good nature through this, all for a sale that won't even get her a combo meal at her local burger joint.

Her response: "The nice thing about complications like this is the chance to get to know each other. That's a good thing."

And here's what is just rocking my world right now: how many times do I look at the complications of life, the messiness of relationships, the little daily agonies of family life, the ups and downs of friendship, and think "this is a chance to draw closer together, this is a good thing."

I believe the answer to that is never.

I roll my eyes, I huff and puff, I drag my feet, I whine, I complain, I throw up my hands, I walk away. I think my solution to annoying problems is more along the lines of "grit your teeth, hang on tight, and ride it out."

Yet aren't relationships built out of complications? Isn't it in the messiness, loudness, and craziness that we truly connect with each other? My kids and I love each other because of fun swim trips and happy snuggle times and awesome giggle sessions, but we love each other even more because of cleaning up puke in the middle of the night and footrubs for sore feet and saying "I'm sorry" and freely forgiving.

Ms. Ebay Seller Joni could have rolled her eyes, gritted her teeth, and been a total jerk about my problems. After all, there were MY problems. She didn't ask for me to stumble into her ebay shop and spend (or attempt spending) a whopping $3.77. She could have made things much more difficult. She could have basically ignored me, because really, $3.77 is hardly worth it.

She chose to be nice. Don't we all kinda pretty much love people who show kindness even when they don't have to, even when we don't deserve it, even when it wasn't their problem? Yeah.

I saw a sale. She saw a relationship, even if it was just a teensy-tiny one over the internet.

I'm thinking that what I got out of this is worth far more than $3.77.

Family Time

Eric spent last night on a father-son campout with his dad. When he woke up the morning before he seemed a little nervous.

"You okay, bud?" I asked.

"Yeah," he sighed, doing that sucking on two fingers thing that has always been his favorite coping mechanism, and which has slowly been disappearing as he becomes more of a MAN.

"It's just, I'm nervous because I've never been away from my sisters before."

I didn't bother reminding him that he has actually been apart from them a couple of times before, when he's had sleepovers at mom's house or dad's house, in order to get some quality one-on-one time. I understand that going off to the scary outdoors and sleeping outside, and doing it all without the loud, obnoxious sisters who run his life, could be a little overwhelming.

Still, he was excited. He barely threw us a backward glance as he ran to help pack the car when I dropped him off.

The sisters chose shopping for our girls-night-out, and shop they did. They shopped and shopped until Mommy dropped. The thought of those girlies as teens is truly terrifying. However, even with the lure of commercialism, it took less than an hour before they started moaning about how much they missed Eric.

In and out of every store, to and from the car, they maintained a running litany about how much they missed Eric and how much more fun it would have been if he were here, too.

When we finally collapsed at home, Mia spoke for the group.

"If it's been this hard having Eric gone for just one night, how are we ever going to survive when he goes on a mission???"

I didn't tell her that she might be pushing him out the door by then, or that we've got years of scout camps and school trips and other adventures to prepare us for that separation. I didn't tell her that it will be easier because they'll be grown up by then and maybe not as close as they all are right now.

I didn't say any of that. I just blessed the moment, in between the fights and the sibling rivalry and the tattling and all the messiness that comes with four little people learning together how to be big people; blessed this one precious evening when we could all be reminded that what we love most of all is just being together.

One lucky momma, that's me.

Rocking Grace

Some background:

Gracie was born dancing. At two weeks old she scooted from one corner of her crib to the other. At four months she entertained herself--and her teachers--at daycare by spending hours bouncing up and down in her exersaucer. In short, the girl was born to move.

Today my little girl turned nine, and she is beautiful. She's such a tweeny-bopper, coordinating her clothes and practicing cheers and beating all the boys in foot races.

A couple of weeks ago she accompanied me on a shopping trip where she discovered a row of wooden rocking chairs. Miss Always-In-Motion parked her butt on one and instantly settled down into pure bliss. As I did my shopping she kept returning to the rocking chairs. When I finally coaxed her away after I'd checked out and paid, she sighed. "Ah, if I had one of those at home, I'd never be mad again. If I got upset I'd just go in my room and rock."

Last weekend Grace was with her dad. As I ran my errands and did my child-free stuff I couldn't shake the feeling that I should get Grace a rocking chair for her birthday. For the record, I was already done with her birthday shopping. For the record, I'm a birthday minimalist. For the record, rocking chairs are bigger and more expensive than I do for birthdays.

Also for the record--when I have those feelings, I've learned to listen. Plus, I love my kid.

When I brought the rocker home it looked a little lonely sitting there by itself. The thought popped into my head that I should also give Grace my special teddy bear. It's a plain brown bear that I inherited at Christmas time when we spent the holidays with my family and my mom decided that everyone--including me--should have teddy bears. For some reason Grace prefers my teddy bear, and when she is most stressed or upset she'll ask if she can snuggle my bear. So the bear sat on the rocking chair and waited for Grace as well.

That's when it finally sort of clicked in my mind. This more-than-I-would-usually-do-for-a-birthday was exactly what I wanted my daughter to know of God's love. It's how God parents me. He gives me ongoing reminders of just how much He loves me, even when He doesn't have to, even when there isn't a reason, even when it's over the top and far more than I deserve. Grace's life would have been perfectly fine and happy without the rocking chair or the teddy, but I gave them to her because I love her and I want her to be not only happy, but gloriously, profoundly happy.

Even more than I wanted her to have the exciting moment of walking in her room to discover that she had exactly what she wanted, I want her to know the depth of God's love for her.

When she came home there was a card on the teddy bear's lap that read:

Dear Grace, 
I love you so much. I wanted you to have a rocking chair to rock on when you are upset, and I wanted to you to have my teddy bear to hold when you are scared. I want things that make you happy because I love you SOOOOOO much! Heavenly Father loves you even more than I do. I hope you'll always remember that He wants good and happy things for you, even more than I do. I hope you'll know that He loves you, and that when you sit in the chair and you hold your teddy, you'll feel my love and you'll feel God's love for you. I love you, sweetie! 
Love, 
Mom

Isn't it awesome that we get to share the parenting experience with Him?

A Matter of Perspective

Tonight the older girls and I tried a restaurant we'd never tried before. Candlelit and comfortable, it was a pleasant dining experience, and they enjoyed practicing their grown up manners.

Grace made the rather odd--though true--observation that the entire waitstaff was male; not a woman in the bunch. As dinner progressed, judging from the flirting going on, the attractive male waiters were most likely much more interested in each other than any woman. Cindy Crawford could have walked in and I'm not sure they would have noticed.

Near the end of dinner Mia said, "Mom, do you know why every guy in here is being so nice to you and bringing us food all the time?"

"Uh, because we're paying them lots of money?"

"No! Because you are so beautiful. You're like, the prettiest lady here."

Someday her rose-colored mommy-glasses will come off, but until then, I'll just soak it in.